The Dark Caravan
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THE DARK CARAVAN
Cronk’s show had finished now, and neither he nor Jonathan was around, but the merriment of the worn soldiers continued. Even though many had lost a few silver in the tug-o-war with Cronk that did not diminish the flow of ale into their bellies. Not until the sun started to peek over the mountains would the warriors of Ishtabar head for their bedrolls.
Seeing that Briar was not at his or Cronk’s wagon, Tyree figured there could only be one other place he could be hiding — Jonathan’s. Tyree just hoped that no one had opened up the pack and seen the magical case inside. More than that, he hoped none had figured out how to open the chest to find the heated dragon egg nestled within.
Tyree made his way through the throng of soldiers. Laughter and ale flowed freely and none noticed the Halfling racing by. Reaching Jonathan’s wagon, Tyree grabbed the door handle and flung it wide open. Stepping in, he did not see Jonathan or the others.
Tyree started to search the cramped space within the wagon, which had more than enough room to hide the pack, be it under Jonathan’s bed or table, or hidden within a box or drawer. When Tyree reached the area next to the bed where Eve’s cage had sat, he grabbed the cloth that covered the small table and pulled it off. Instead of seeing the wooden table, he saw a skeleton sitting still on the floor, with legs tucked up to its chest. Tyree was taken aback by this. Thinking it was one of the demonic creatures that had stalked him just a few days ago, Tyree wanted to run for his life, but his feet would not move. The skeleton lifted its bony head, and placed its black eyed stare upon him. Glued to the spot, Tyree locked eyes with the undead. Unable to catch a full breath, he watched the bones rise to its feet, all the while fear seeped into his body.
“Caught in the act,” the voice of Jonathan came from the wagon’s doorway.
Tyree did not hear the hefty man at first. All of his attention focused on the skeleton before him. The skeleton took a step forward and lowered its head to look eye to eye with Tyree. The Halfling saw pinpoints of light deep within the orbital sockets of the monster’s skull. Feeling his nails cut into his palms, Tyree realized that he had a death grip on the tablecloth, and he dropped it. As he did, his knees went weak.
“Trying to steal my money?” Jonathan exclaimed, stepping into the wagon. “It’s a good thing that I have Dole on guard. Otherwise you could have been off with it,” he continued, taking Tyree by the collar of his worn tunic.
Pulling hard, Jonathan made Tyree turn away from the skeleton and look him in the eyes. Tyree could feel the hatred coming off of the carnival barker even as a smile crept on Jonathan’s fat face.
“What do you have to say for yourself? After all the help I gave you. Put food in your belly, and a cover over your head,” Jonathan spat out between clenched teeth.
“Briar…” Tyree stuttered, confused at the man’s outburst.
“Trying to put the blame on Briar, are you?” Jonathan cursed, keeping a tight hold on the Halfling’s tunic.
“No!” Tyree stated, but the heavyset man was not giving him time to think straight.
“No?” Jonathan shouted, “What then, boy? No one else to put the blame on?”
He tossed Tyree to the ground, where the Halfling knocked into the skeleton’s legs. With a sharp kick, the dense bones of the undead lashed out and knocked Tyree into a chair, where it crashed to the floor, almost striking him in the head with a wooden leg.
“No one steals from me,” Jonathan ranted, his face turning red and eyes bulging as if they may burst at any moment.
“I wasn’t trying to steal. Briar…” Tyree started to say, but was cut off.
“No more!” Jonathan shouted, white spittle showing at the corners of his mouth. “Dole, show our friend here what we do to thieves.”
With unnerving ease, Dole stepped forward at Jonathan’s command. White hard fingers lashed out, knocking the desk on his left against the wall. As fast as he could, Tyree scuttled across the floor, heading towards the door.
Jonathan took a swipe at Tyree with the sole of his boot, but missed by inches. Taking another swing with sharp finger bones, Dole knocked another small chair to the side, where it bounced against the wall, then directly into his path. Stumbling against the crashing chair, Dole stopped to kick it out of his way.
Jonathan shouted for Tyree to stop and take his medicine, but the Halfling refused to surrender for something he did not do. Tyree pushed the door open. Reaching for the stairs to pull himself out, he felt the cold grip of Dole’s hand on his bare ankle. Before the skeleton could get a firm grasp, Tyree tumbled out of the wagon and onto the damp grass.
Tyree looked up at the doorway to see Dole crouched down, staring, ready to leap out at him. But he did not, for the door closed, blocking his visage from the milling crowd.
The drunken crowd remained unaware of the commotion at Jonathan’s wagon. Taking advantage of the situation, Tyree ran through the throng of soldiers, knowing every second counted. He ducked underneath a cart, and made his way through the small paddock that corralled the work animals. A few oxen grunted and snorted at the disturbance, but Tyree kept away from their large hooves and horns. He slipped out of the corral and into the darkness beyond. Night vision became clear as the torchlights burning behind him no longer cast their glow on this side of the caravan. Breathing hard, Tyree dashed down the hill and toward the makeshift village alongside the slumbering war camp.
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