Sheffali's Caravan

They deserved retribution.

Once the scorching flames of his mad rage had been replaced with ice, he slipped back down the side of the dune, removed his robe, collected a long slim blade from a pocket, and began to hunt. He preferred to use his claws, but the knife left wounds more easily explained.

He made his way north until he picked up the heartbeat of one of the sentries sitting atop a dune facing away from their encampment over the next dunes further north. Zell moved closer, ever so slowly. The guard was asleep, so that's how he died. The thrust from the knife punched through his throat and severed his spinal column. He may not have had time to wake.

Listening for sounds of alarm, Zell wiped the blade clean on the male's clothing, then searched him for useful items, finding none. He propped the guard up in a seated position.

Zell detected the next guard's heartbeat and noticed how slow it was as well. Dung, these males were stupid.

Moments later, the second sentry joined the first in death, and Zell moved on.

The next three guards on watch were not sleeping, but their night vision and sense of hearing were not sharp enough to detect the Ush slipping up behind them to drive his blade into their necks. They died quietly and remained in their position, facing the empty sands of the darkened desert. Only after he'd dealt with the three mercs did he feel safe enough to raid their corpses. His ears trembled with excitement as he found a fragmentation explosive tied to each of the merc's wide belts. Zell realized he needed his robe for its pockets, so he retrieved it, put it on, and stuffed the grenades inside.

With the large opening in their defensive perimeter, Zell slipped closer until he could peer over the final dune into the encampment. In the glow of the two separate bonfires below, Zell could easily distinguish between the bandits and the mercenaries as they weren't intermixing. Bad blood, maybe? The separation of the two groups let him make some accurate counts.

The mercenaries were all wearing dark grey cloaks. The three sentries who'd been awake also wore these. They probably had better training, so they'd have to die first.

There were nine mercs around one campfire below. Adding in the three he'd already killed and estimating at least two more being sentries on the far side came to fourteen. For a five-wagon caravan, Zell expected three mercenaries per wagon. That left one unaccounted for unless his estimate for the sentries was off.

Focusing on the bandits, he saw a collection of a dozen Borrelians in a variety of outfits. Mostly male, but a few females as well. They were noisier than the mercs, laughing and cursing in equal measure. Likely at the expense of the dead families. Zell pushed that down and let the energy boost his senses.

On the opposite side of the two groups were the five large wagons of the Krattos caravan. The smaller Sprell wagons were a short distance away.

The dead sentries could be discovered any moment, so Zell slipped back into the shadows and rushed around to the other side of the encampment.

He had to pass through the group of Druug from the wagons. Thirteen of the fourteen which had pulled the Krattos and Sprell wagons were still alive but unhappy as they hadn't been fed or watered. They also smelled the dead Druug, and that was disturbing them. Zell did his best to settle them as he slipped them treats of cut grass bulbs he'd collected earlier. They calmed, and he moved on.

He found he was correct about the number of sentries. One was a dozing bandit and died quickly. The next two were mercenaries. He caught the first unaware and promptly killed him, but the second one had been alerted by a noise his teammate made and fought back savagely when Zell attacked. The Ush's first slash had missed the merc's spine but hit the side of his throat, stealing his voice, so he couldn't call out for help. Zell slapped away the drawn gun, so the sentry switched to his blade. He was highly skilled with it and fought with frenzied desperation. He cut the Ush several times before his neck wound slowed his reflexes from blood loss. Zell ripped his throat out with a sweep of his claws, and the merc stumbled and fell onto his back. He looked up at Zell with hate in his eyes as he gurgled his last breaths.

Zell knelt and removed the grenade from the dying male's belt. In a last moment effort to strike back, the dying mercenary grabbed and pulled the trigger pin. Zell scowled at the smirking mercenary, then raced toward the encampment and lobbed the grenade toward the bonfire amid the other mercs. Zell immediately pulled a second one from his pocket, yanked the pin, and launched it toward the bandit's bonfire. He threw himself to the ground and burrowed under the sand, his ears pinned tight to his head to protect his sensitive hearing. He still heard the dual detonations and immediately surfaced to see the outcome.

The first grenade must have exploded just above the bonfire's flames as the fire had been snuffed out by the concussive blast. Embers were scattered amongst the bodies of the downed mercenaries, and the area had been dropped into deep shadow.

The second grenade went off at least five seconds after the first, giving the bandits time to leap to their feet and turn to face the danger. It dropped into their bonfire and exploded from within it, sending deadly shrapnel and burning wood splinters in all directions. As they were encircling the fire, none were spared injury. The burning embers were scattered, so their side of the camp was also cast into darkness.

It was time to get some revenge for the two families. He slipped forward into the shadows of the campsite, visiting the injured and the dying to expedite their deaths with a quick thrust of his dagger. Some mercenaries had a little fight left in them but couldn't fight an opponent who vanished into the darkness. He'd suddenly reappear next to them, blade driven into their necks before he rushed on to the next.

By the time he finished off the last of the mercenaries, he'd collected three additional gashes, the one on his left shoulder being fairly deep. There was still one missing merc, according to his estimate.

Zell passed through the midst of the bandits, ensuring none remained alive. Some weakly tried to fight back, but Zell was savage in his need to see them pay for the deaths of the families they left in the dunes.

The muted click of the middle wagon's rear door latch opening was all the warning Zell had, but it was enough to save his life.

Throwing himself to the left, he spun and pulled the corpse of the last bandit he killed between him and the wagon. A bullet ripped through the body, striking bone and angling up. When it left the corpse, it punched through the meat of Zell's upper arm, pulling a roar of pain from him.

The sound caused the bandit leaping from the rear door to freeze momentarily. He landed awkwardly and crashed face-first into the sand. A male dressed in the grey mercenary robe was on his way out the door but halted in fear. He pulled himself back inside and slammed the door closed.

When the fallen bandit scrambled back to his feet, something flashed past his face, taking his sight with it. The pain arrived a second later, and he screamed as he fell to his knees, lifting his hands to the ruin of his face.

Zell gave him a moment to live with the horror of that. His screams echoed across the dunes, likely audible within the wagon where his last target hid. When he'd heard enough, Zell drove his blade into the male to silence him.

Moving into the shadows beneath a wagon he knew to be empty, Zell allowed himself to rest. He sat and licked at his wounds, feeling them go numb. The shoulder gash and the bullet wound were most concerning. He'd heal, but it might take a couple of days. In the interim, his left arm would be weakened.

He frowned at the condition of his robe's left shoulder. Noola wouldn't be pleased with how he'd ruined another robe.

Thinking of her, he felt a warmth in his chest.

He realized as he looked around at the aftermath of the carnage how badly it might have turned out. He'd been... overly ambitious, his father would say. He'd been swayed by his emotions... rather strongly.

If the mercenaries hadn't supplied the explosives, he wouldn't have gotten away with so few injuries with this many opponents. He sighed.

"W-WHAT ARE YOU?"

Zell looked to the wagon containing his last target. The voice sounded both defiant and terrified.

"I am your death."

Keeping to the shadows, Zell silently moved around the wagon to slip under the one positioned before it.

"BUT I DON'T HAVE TO BE! THE KRATTOS LEADERS ARE ALIVE! HERE, INSIDE WITH ME! YOU CAN HAVE THEM IF YOU LET ME GO!"

Zell listened carefully, but heard only two heartbeats in the wagon.

"You lie."

"NO! NO... Dung! THE MOTHER LIVES!"

Zell climbed silently to the roof of the wagon. With the changes in his locations, the Mercenary had to be struggling to track him.

"Are you a murderer or a betrayer?"

The merc was silent for a bit, likely trying to think which answer was safer. Zell used that time to drop from the roof to the sand and slipped under the middle wagon.

"B-betrayer."

The merc's voice was barely more than a whisper, but Zell heard him.

"An honest answer," Zell said and immediately rolled out from under the wagon.

"AAAHHH!!!" the merc screamed as Zell's voice rose from between his feet. His nerve broke, and he ran from the wagon. He leaped out the back door and landed on his back, twin guns aimed at the darkness under the wagon, but Zell was standing above him. His eyes looked up just in time to see the stars blotted out by a shadow.

Zell struck the merc's head with a mighty slap, snapping his neck. With a gurgle and sigh, life left his eyes.

With his last target dead, he listened carefully, and there was only one remaining heartbeat, and it was coming from the wagon. Zell cleaned himself quickly with sand, pulled his hood over his head with the face-covering in place, then moved to the wagon's open door.

"I mean you no harm. I was sent by a friend," he called out softly before entering.

He found Indri tied to a chair next to her dead husband. She'd been beaten, but not as savagely as Axell. The bruises were difficult to look upon. This could have been Lissan.

The old female's eyes were open but held no fear. She knew she wouldn't last much longer. Her injuries were too great.

"Can I get you something? Water?" Zell said gently.

"No... who sent you?" she whispered.

"Lorrenz and Lissan Sheffali."

A slight smile appeared on her face. "Ah... You're their... guardian angel. Their... secret... for dealing with bandits. I've always wondered."

Zell said nothing.

"May... may I see your face?" Indri asked.

"I don't wish to frighten you," Zell replied.

"Does Lissan... find you frightening?"

Zell couldn't block the snort of amusement. "No, but she adopted me. Mothers always find the good in their children."

Indri nodded faintly, and tears ran from her bruised and reddened eyes. "My children... are gone... except one who... I also failed to protect."

"Lorrenz and Lissan will take good care of Stron and Illia," Zell assured her.

Her expression relaxed. "The Sheffalis are good people."

"Yes, they are," Zell agreed. Then he saw the woman looking into his cowl once more as if curiosity alone was keeping her alive. He was hesitant to take that away.

"I can't hold on much longer. Please," she begged. She seemed to understand his hesitation.

He reached up and undid the mask and pushed back the cowl. His ears flicked to relieve the stress in them. He looked kindly at the female, who was staring at him in shock. "We Ush aren't the monsters they say we are," he whispered.

"Yet... you murdered all of them?" Indri asked.

He shook his head. "Not murder. Retribution for betraying your family and taking their lives."

Her eyes looked into his, and he saw she understood and was grateful. Then a look of dismay appeared on her face. "My family! The ritual!"

Zell nodded to calm her. "I've heard the poem once, and I've witnessed this ritual. I can do it for them if you wish. For you and your husband, as well," he offered, and her face relaxed once more.

"Yes... thank you. We will be together again... on the other side," she sighed as her eyes closed. "Tell Lissan... thank you."

He held her hand, and moments later, he felt her take her last breath.

She and her husband could remain in the wagon until he readied the pit for their cremation. He had much work to do, and his weak left arm would slow him down. He'd have to wait for his family to meet him here tomorrow. He needed to rest and heal. He'd do that after taking care of the Krattos and Sprell family and dumped the bandits and mercs in the pit for the beetles.

He heard a grumbling noise a short distance away. Right! The Druug needed feeding and watering.

He sighed wearily--no rest for him tonight.

Chapter 8

There was an unspoken tension in the camp this morning as Lorrenz and Lissan took their first meal. Everyone was eager to get moving, so they cut short their personal rituals and broke camp early. They wanted to get the caravan to the desert as quickly as possible.

As they made their final preparation to get back on the road, Lorrenz and Lissan confessed to having dreamed of Zell being in some kind of crisis. Noola became distraught and begged everyone to move faster.

While the foster parents hadn't expected to see Zell until today when they got to the desert, their fear of what forces they'd be facing disturbed their dreams and raised their anxieties.

Soon enough, the five wagons were racing along the road toward the western horizon. Each time they crested one of the gently rolling hills, the drivers and passengers would strain to see if the sandy expanse could be seen ahead.

The Druug were quite pleased with the new pace, and their tummies were content from the meal Zell had prepared for them the night before. They had plenty of energy for running today.

Lorrenz ordered everyone in the wagons to their defensive positions with weapons ready, on safety, as they didn't know what they'd be riding into.

Bonna glanced over at the desperate worry on Noola's face. "Zell will be fine. I remember growing up with him. We could never fluster him. He was always so calm and aware of everything around him. I used to try to catch him by surprise, but he always knew exactly where we were." She grinned at her sister, who gave her a brief smile, nodding.

They were in the last wagon, so they were the last to see the desert ahead as they crested another rise. Noola made a sound of relief as she saw it.

Lorrenz whistled, and everyone took their positions. Noola had her rifle across her lap, barrel pointing away from anything friendly.

They finally left the grassland behind them, and the wagons slowed as Druug preferred a slower, more energy-efficient pace on the softer surface.

The dunes grew in size the further they went into the desert. They followed the road marker posts and saw one with a red ribbon tied to it. This flag was next to the entrance of a wide side trail between tall dunes.

Noola watched anxiously as she saw her father collect the ribbon. Then his wagon pulled off the main road to follow Zell's flag.

When they came around the side of a dune into a large open area, they saw the Krattos and Sprell wagons and the signs of a bloody battle spread out across the sand.

Noola spotted Zell sitting in the shade of a wagon, leaning back against it. She leaped off the bench to the ground and sprinted to his side before Bonna could say anything.

He looked up at her wearily. "Hi, Noola."

She immediately examined his shoulder wounds and was relieved to see they'd begun healing without infection. "Where else are you hurt?" she demanded, worried about his lethargy.

"Just the shoulder," he said and turned his face to smile at his parents, who'd joined them. "Greeting, Mother. Father. Only Indri was alive when I found her." He held his Mother's eyes. "She asked me to thank you."

Olle joined them with a look of shock on his face. "I found the pit containing the bandits and mercenaries. How many?"

Zell nodded slowly. "Fifteen mercs. Sixteen bandits." At his brother's incredulous look, he snorted. "I didn't fight them all hand to hand! The mercenaries were carrying grenades. Quite an equalizer if the enemy gathers in a cluster, around their campfires." Olle nodded with a grin.

"Why are you so weary?" Noola asked.

Zell turned her eyes back to her concerned face. "After the battle, I did the crossing over ritual for the Krattos and Sprell families. I put the others in the pit for the beetles. Sorry, I didn't have the strength to undress them. Then I had to feed and water the surviving Druug which are further along the trail." He pointed a finger in their direction. "This all happened after I dealt with the ones in the pit. It was a very long night. I just need food and sleep."

Noola grabbed his head between her hand and kissed him hard.

When she pulled back, Zell could see the grins on everyone's faces as they saw his surprise and embarrassment.

They were chuckling and enjoying the moment, and his eyes returned to Noola's.

He saw love there, and he knew he felt the same for her.

-=-

Pinorra had ridden his avian mount hard to catch up to the fleeing caravan. It had taken longer than he'd expected to rally the troops and organize a posse, but they'd be following him later in the day.

Hresh had contacted him to tell him to wait for a delivery. If he was going after the Sheffalis, he needed protection as they had a reputation that made even the crime boss take note.

When the crate arrived, Pinorra was grateful he'd waited. It was a suit of battle armor the military used in their campaign against the Ush. When he put it on, he felt like a walking fortress. Unfortunately, while it was powered so he could move around in it with little effort, it weighed as much as a fortress. It took three tries to find an avian mount strong enough to carry him.

He didn't care if his ride died of exhaustion after he found his target. He'd be returning on one of Sheffali's wagons after he killed them all. He had some pretty impressive weapons in this suit, but the learning curve for operating it was significant. He used the time in the saddle to investigate the functionality.

He knew he was a coward and would never have made the cut for the elite group who got to wear this armor, but it made him feel invincible!

His sergeant was riding next to him, without battle armor, but he was carrying one of the energy rifles the old trader had returned to Gorresh. It seemed poetic to have it used for his original plan.

Pinorra had expected to find the wagons jammed in the narrow gap as they'd ridden over the mountain pass. Apparently, his man hadn't been successful in stopping them. He finally spotted signs of the man in a cleft high above the trail. He'd been crushed under what looked like a rock slide. Terrible timing for that! It also meant they had to keep chasing the damn caravan!

After riding for hours across the grasslands, they passed a spot where the caravan had likely camped overnight. He was surprised they'd made an effort to cut the grass so neatly. Odd.

When they reached the sands, they followed the fresh tracks of the caravan. A short way into the side trail, he gestured to his sergeant to dismount and circle the dune to take up a sniper's position at its top lip. The male nodded to him, so he rode on. He had the element of surprise, so he would take full advantage of that. He was trembling fearfully at the idea of running into a gunfight, even in his armor!