Savage Games of Lord Zarak Read online

  “That fellow’s in big trouble,” Wash said.

  Then Reb caught another flash of movement. “Look at what’s coming, Wash!” he exclaimed. “Those are hunting dogs! Those dogs are what’s after that man!”

  The baying animals were lean and well fed and fast.

  “Those are rough looking dogs. If they catch up with that fellow, he’s a goner,” Reb muttered. “What’s going on?”

  “You know what this is, Reb?”

  “What?”

  “I think it’s the Hunt of Death.”

  Reb blinked. “You reckon that’s it? The Hunt of Death?” He kept on watching, horrified. Below them in the valley, the dogs had almost caught up with the fugitive. “They’ll get him sure,” he said. “Come on, Wash. Let’s see if we can help him.”

  Even as they started to scramble down the incline, the man took refuge on a small rise. The snapping dogs surrounded him, and he beat at them with his bare hands.

  Reb caught at Wash’s arm, stopping him. “Too late. Look what’s coming!” he said and pointed.

  A troop of horsemen swept toward the man and the dogs. The riders were shouting and seemed to be having a fine time. Soon Reb could pick up some of what they were saying.

  The lead rider was a large man with black hair. He carried a spear. “There he is!” he cried. “We’ve got him! He’s gone to ground!”

  Just behind him rode a smaller man, who also carried a spear. “You make the kill, Your Majesty,” the smaller man said.

  “No. Today it is your turn.”

  The smaller man bowed in the saddle, then galloped forward. He rode to within throwing distance and with a practiced arm poised his weapon.

  “He’s going to kill him!” Reb cried. “We’ve got to help!”

  “Too late,” Wash said sadly.

  Indeed, it was too late.

  Unbelievingly, Reb and Wash stared at the sight below.

  “Might as well go, Reb,” Wash said. “We can’t do anything for him now.”

  The boys fled back through the forest, still horrified at what they had seen. As soon as they ran panting into the camp, they were surrounded by the other Sleepers, who wanted to know what was wrong. Bentain was also there, along with Garn and his family.

  Reb could hardly speak, so filled was he with anger. Wash told the story of what they had seen. Bentain said sadly, “Poor fellow. Poor fellow. Probably one of the farmers from nearby.”

  Reb said through tight lips, “I’ve seen some bad things in my time in Nuworld, but that was the worst. What kind of a king is this, anyhow?”

  Bentain met his eyes. “He is a proud man who is in the power of the Dark Lord, my friend. Zarak is but the instrument. He has blinded the king’s eyes, and unless something happens, we all must die. The land itself will perish.”

  6

  Roland’s Mistake

  I think what we ought to do is attack the palace.”

  The Seven Sleepers were gathered around their campfire on the edge of Garn’s farm. They had eked out a meal of squirrel and rabbit, all thrown together into a stew. There had not been enough to go around, but no one complained—this time not even Roland.

  But it was Roland who had spoken. Everyone’s eyes turned toward him.

  “Attack the palace!” Josh said in disbelief. “You heard what Goodman said. To do that would take an army.”

  “Well, Goodman doesn’t know everything,” Roland insisted. He looked dirty and uncomfortable and was no doubt hungry. “I say the king doesn’t always stay in the palace,” he said crossly. “You saw him, didn’t you, Reb—when you and Wash were out hunting?”

  “Yes, and he had his guards with him, and they look like rough fellows,” Reb answered. “You think you could’ve done something to save that man if you had been there?”

  Roland glared. “I would have made a try, at least!”

  “Wait a minute, Roland. That’s not fair,” Abbey said quickly. “You’re always jumping to conclusions and thinking you can do things better than anybody else.”

  Roland grew angrier. He got to his feet and stood looking down at the Sleepers. “We could stay around here for a year and not get anything done! We’ll probably all starve to death in this blasted forest!”

  “You don’t really think we should attack, do you, Roland?” Josh asked curiously. He was sure that a successful attack was impossible and could not believe that the tall young man was serious. “Attacking would be suicide!”

  “I’ve heard a lot of tales about you Seven Sleepers. Looks like they were all just a lot of hot air.”

  Jake threw a stick onto the fire and sent the sparks flying upward. Ordinarily he was fairly hot tempered himself, but now he just looked discouraged. He merely said, “Don’t you remember what Goél told us, Roland? You must have a short attention span.”

  “What are you talking about now?” Roland demanded.

  “Goél was very clear,” Jake said. “He told us that most of the battle wouldn’t be a physical one but would take place ‘in the spirit.’ That’s what he said.”

  “That’s right,” Wash threw in quickly. “Something’s got to happen to change the king’s heart.”

  “Well, one thing would change it—an arrow right through the middle of it,” Roland Winters said, and once more he stalked off indignantly.

  “I’ve heard of a pain in the neck, but that guy gives me a pain in my whole body,” Reb muttered. “I still can’t see why Goél insisted on his coming along.”

  “Well, his suggestion to attack the castle was sure foolish,” Josh said. “No doubt about that. Even Goodman says winning by a direct attack is impossible. And he’s lived here all his life.”

  The Sleepers sat around weary and discouraged until finally it was time to roll themselves into their blankets and go to sleep. Probably none of them would sleep very well.

  When Josh woke up the next morning, he rose stiffly and looked around. Wash and Reb and Jake were still asleep. “So where’s our friend Roland?” he asked no one in particular.

  Sarah and Abbey had been sleeping in the lean-to that the boys had made for them out of saplings and boughs. It gave the girls some privacy. Sarah came out at once and said, “Maybe he’s already gone for a walk.”

  Josh walked toward her. “Don’t think so. I woke up several times during the night,” he said. “He just didn’t come back.”

  Sarah frowned worriedly. “You know, Josh, he could have wandered off and gotten lost. That wouldn’t be hard to do.”

  “Maybe so.” He gnawed his lip. “Well, we’ll have to go looking for him, then. I’ll wake up Dave and tell him what we’re doing.”

  Dave took the message glumly. “Just let him stay out there wherever he is,” he muttered. “When he’s lost, he’s not giving us problems.”

  Sarah said, “We’ll be back soon. He can’t have gotten far.”

  As they left the camp, Josh said, “He usually goes down toward the stream when he goes walking. Let’s go that way.”

  They made their way among the trees, calling Roland’s name from time to time.

  When they reached the brook, Sarah said, “There are fresh footprints, Josh. It looks like he crossed over. They go up to the water, but they don’t come back.”

  The stream was shallow at this point. Josh looked at it and sighed. “We’ll have to go over. He’s evidently wandered off someplace. Let’s go.”

  The two started across. The water came up only to their knees in the deepest spot. Most of the time they just stepped from stone to stone until they got to the other side.

  “I don’t know this part of the woods too well, so we don’t dare go far,” Josh said.

  Sarah agreed.

  He led the way, keeping the sun always in the same position over his shoulder. “We don’t want to get lost ourselves,” he said.

  They kept calling loudly. But there was no response, and finally they stopped and just looked at each other.

  Sarah said, “Josh, we may be going e
ntirely in the wrong direction. We don’t know which way he wandered off.”

  “I guess so,” Josh said. “Well—”

  At that moment a frightening man in a suit of chain mail armor burst from the woods in front of them. He wore a strange symbol on his chest, and he held a sword in his hand. “Don’t try to run away,” he warned. “All right, tie them up.”

  Four other men stepped out of the bushes.

  Sarah looked wildly at Josh, as though she was as stunned as he felt.

  “My name is—” Josh began.

  “I don’t care what your name is. You’re strangers. You’re probably spies, and you are now prisoners of Lord Zarak.”

  Josh felt his heart grow cold. Immediately he said, “We mean no harm, sir. We are not spies.”

  The man strode forward and struck him across the mouth. “Silence!” he said. “See that their hands are bound securely!”

  In moments, Josh found his hands tied so tightly that the circulation was almost cut off.

  “They are bound, Sheriff Cranmore.”

  “Good. We’ll see how fast they can run. Now bring out the other one.”

  Moments later, two more soldiers appeared, each gripping Roland Winters by an arm. He was bound as Josh and Sarah were, and his face bore signs of a battle.

  “They jumped me. I didn’t have a chance,” he groaned.

  Sheriff Cranmore pulled a short whip from his belt. He stepped forward and slashed the air viciously with it. “Keep your mouth closed, slave,” he said, “or I’ll give you something to really cry about! All right, men. Bring the horses!”

  Soon the soldiers were mounted, and Cranmore nodded toward one of them. “See how fast you can make them run, Zeiter.”

  Zeiter was a broad individual with a cruel face. He made his own whip whistle in the air, and he said, “All right, let’s see you run!”

  The journey was a nightmare. Every time one of the three slowed down, the sheriff or Zeiter or one of the other soldiers struck them across the back of the legs with a whip.

  Joshua’s blood boiled when one of them struck Sarah. “You’re brave men, aren’t you?” he said. “Hitting a helpless girl.”

  Cranmore leaned forward and raised his whip.

  Josh managed to turn his face aside, but the whip curled around his neck. The cut stung, but he gritted his teeth, determined not to cry out.

  “If you want more of that, just open your mouth, serf! Now run!”

  For hours, it seemed, the torment continued. Finally they reached a well-traveled road, and there in the distance arose a castle. They crossed the drawbridge that had been lowered on rattling chains. Josh was almost blind with fatigue.

  “Throw them in the dungeon,” Sheriff Cranmore ordered. “The lower dungeon.” He laughed at their expressions. “You’ll have plenty of company there. Lots of rats.”

  The soldiers seized Roland and hauled him along with Josh and Sarah into the castle and down two flights of stairs. The lower dungeon was a dark place, illuminated only by feeble torches stuck into the walls.

  A jailer, fat and greasy, rose to meet them. He grinned and said, “What’s this?”

  “Spies,” was the brief reply.

  The jailer opened an iron door. “In there,” he commanded.

  The three of them were shoved into an evilsmelling cell. A soldier then cut their cords, and they stood rubbing their wrists, trying to restore feeling.

  “You’ll enjoy your stay here,” the jailer said, grinning. “Too late for anything to eat today. Maybe tomorrow you’ll get something.”

  “Can we have some water?” Roland asked.

  The jailer grumbled but did bring them a single small pail and a single cup. “There. I don’t want to hear anything else out of you. Don’t worry about escaping. Nobody ever has.”

  The door clanged shut, and they all drank thirstily.

  “Better not drink it all,” Josh said. “We don’t know when we’ll get more.”

  Sarah slumped down on some dirty straw and murmured, “I feel like I could sleep forever.”

  Roland glanced at her, frowning. Then he went to the door and peered through the grate. He saw that guards were on duty in the dimly lit passage. He pulled at the bars on the door, shook his head in despair, and slumped down himself, his back against the cell wall.

  Josh seemed totally exhausted. He lay down and appeared to go to sleep at once.

  Roland watched them for a while. He had fought hard with the guards, and they had beaten him so that he was black and blue. He was sore in almost every joint. And now as he sat there in the gloomy dungeon with no light except for what came through the grate, he knew fear for the first time in his life. It seemed to grip him like a cold hand.

  He stood again and pressed his face against the bars. The fear was almost a physical thing. Suddenly Roland Winters felt completely helpless and alone.

  “I hear you made a capture, Lord Zarak.”

  King Falmor was seated at a massive table. At his right hand sat a young woman, and across from him sat Zarak.

  “Yes, my lord,” Zarak said. “Three captives, as a matter of fact.”

  “Who are they?”

  Zarak looked at the girl. Lady Lara, princess of Falmor, was eighteen. With black hair and dark blue eyes she resembled her father very much. The emerald-green gown she wore today was trimmed with fur. There was a sparkling ring on her finger, and around her neck was a rope of precious stones that glittered and flashed as she moved.

  “More peasants, I suppose,” she said carelessly.

  The wizard shook his head. He took a sip of wine from a golden cup and shrugged. “Not peasants. They were foreigners, strangers. Spies, no doubt. They’ll make good sport at the next Hunt.”

  “I would like to see them,” Lady Lara said. “See them, my lady?” Lord Zarak lifted his brows in surprise. “Whatever for?” “I’m just curious. I never see anyone from the other parts of the world. Have them brought in.”

  “But, my lady—”

  “Did you not hear me, Lord Zarak? Are you having trouble with your hearing?”

  Zarak swallowed hard. This young girl had often driven him nearly to distraction. Everyone in the kingdom obeyed him and feared him except Lady Lara. But since he hoped to one day marry her and thus gain the kingdom for himself, he forced himself to smile pleasantly. “Of course. Of course. It just never occurred to me that you would be interested, my lady.” He raised his voice, saying, “Guard, have the three new prisoners brought in.”

  Twenty minutes later the door opened, and guards led in the captives.

  The guards roughly pushed Sarah and the boys into a room where three people sat at a large table.

  She knew at once that the man seated beside the young woman was the king. He had been described by Bentain very accurately. And surely, she guessed, the beautifully dressed girl who looked so much like him was his daughter, the Lady Lara.

  “That’s close enough. They’re dirty,” the girl said. She sat staring at the three of them, and her eyes narrowed. “They are not like our people. Where are you from?” she demanded.

  Sarah’s lips were dry. They had finished off their scanty supply of water and had not been given more. She waited for someone else to answer.

  Josh tried to speak for them, but talking seemed difficult for him too. “We are not spies,” he managed to say.

  “Why do you speak? You’re but a child,” the girl snapped. “You, the tall one. What is your name?”

  Roland said hoarsely, “My name is Roland Winters. And we are not spies. We do indeed come in peace.” Sarah knew that he had not slept at all the previous night. At the moment he probably could barely see. The bright sunlight streaming through the window appeared to be half blinding him. He blinked at the three figures seated at the table. “We are not spies, Your Majesty,” he repeated.

  King Falmor fingered the medallion with an eagle carved into it that hung around his neck. He continued to gaze at Roland with a hard light in his ey
es. “We’ve had spies before, have we not, Lord Zarak?”

  “Yes, we have, my lord, and these three are certainly not of our people.” “Your Majesty,” Josh croaked, “we come in peace. We come from—”

  “Keep silent!” the man called Lord Zarak shouted. His face was cold, and his black eyes glinted with an unearthly light. “Take them away. They will be good sport for the Hunt of Death.”

  “You speak far too quickly, Zarak.” The princess lifted her eyebrows and gave the wizard a haughty look.

  The king glanced at his daughter, and a puzzled expression came over his face. “Why do you speak so, my daughter, and thwart the will of Lord Zarak?”

  The princess suddenly rose from her chair. She came gracefully around the table, and the light from the windows falling upon her gown made it sparkle like green diamonds. She halted before the three prisoners and looked them up and down. “There may be some use for them,” she said with disdain. “The tall one, for example. My groom is getting old and soon will be unable to attend to my horses. This one will do to clean stables at least.”

  Roland stiffened and said, “I won’t clean stables for anyone!”

  Sarah knew that was a mistake.

  “Oh? Is that what you believe?” Lady Lara laughed, and for all her beauty there was cruelty in her eyes. “I think you will change your mind. You could not like it all that much in the dungeon. You will like the dungeon even less after a month. The flesh will fall off your bones by then for you’ll be fed nothing but a crust of bread and stale water. But the choice is yours. Will you go back to your dungeon and starve, or will you clean my stables and obey my commands?”

  Sarah saw that a struggle was going on in Roland. It’s probably the first time he’s ever had to take such an order, she thought. But he’d better do as she says, or he’ll die down in that foul place.

  “Well, what shall it be?” Lady Lara said. “Quickly! Choose!”

  Roland Winters bowed stiffly. He might not be accustomed to showing this kind of submission, but the memory of the stench of their foul cell would be very painful for one who had known the outdoors all of his life. To be caged like an animal was no doubt more than he could bear. “I will do as you say.”