by Aaron Bunce
The Nymradic moved, suddenly awake and alert to the life flowing into him. The creature seemed to swell, if only just a bit, greedily stealing the warmth before it could spread.
It was a frightening sensation and jarred Julian’s attention off of Tanea. The trickle of warmth promptly faded and he once again felt cold and utterly alone. Well, not completely alone.
More! How do you do that?
I don’t know, Julian thought bitterly, deciding on a half-truth.
Do it again, the Nymradic demanded simply.
Julian considered the creature’s tone, but also what it wanted. It knew about the magical connection that he and Tanea shared, perhaps even on a deeper level than himself. But where he saw a tether bridging him back to everything he cared about, it saw only sustenance. And the stronger it became, the more tenuous his control over his own body.
I have never felt a flow of life like that before. With more of that I could, and the Nymradic flooded his mind with images and sensations. He felt the ropes disintegrate from around his wrists and the freedom of open ground beneath his feet. It was intoxicating, and he became lost to it as Craymore rose up in the distance.
Julian shook his head and forced the images away. He knew they weren’t real, no matter how badly he wanted them to be. He simply had to look down to his hands to see the bindings still in place to remind him of that fact.
Why do you deny it? You asked what it would take. Well, that is it. It is strength. It is power. For you, it is freedom and so much more. The Nymradic bombarded him, its voice stronger than it had been for some time. But as much as Julian wanted to believe it, and to trust it, he couldn’t escape a single pervading doubt.
What would happen to him if he allowed the Nymradic to grow too powerful? Would it take complete control of him as it had done in the tunnels? Or could it? Everything seemed to rotate around that uncertainty. Somehow he was able to channel strength through his bond with Tanea, but was he weakening her at the same time? Could the Nymradic harm her, through him?
Freedom…Julian echoed the thought and he felt his counterpart acknowledge him and silently agree.
I will catch one of the Yu warriors unaware. When they are sleeping, or perhaps when they separate, Julian thought hopefully, desperately seeking any other route to freedom than the one centered on Tanea.
A fool’s hope, the Nymradic replied simply. Julian understood well enough.
It could work. I just need enough time to get clear, cover my tracks, and…he started to rationalize, but the Nymradic interrupted him
They are discussing that very thing right now. One fights the other, because he fell asleep while it was his turn to watch you while the other rested. That was when you forced the vision and almost dashed us against the rocks. They will not make the same mistake again. They would rather slay you here, than fail at their task. Besides, we do not possess the strength to flee yet. There is no way you could cover enough ground, or hide your tracks well enough. They are more than your match in every way.
Julian remembered their vicious curved blades, but it was more than that. It was how they moved, interacted with their surroundings, and how they watched him. They were more than simply capable fighters. They were larger, stronger, and in all probability, faster as well. They had the look of honed warriors, and as much as it pained him to admit, more than his match in an even encounter. Above all that, there were two of them.
I will think of something…I will think of a way, Julian promised silently.
Think of something soon. You…we cannot stand before the whispering stones and live. We are growing close, I can feel them. Julian could feel the fear the Nymradic associated with the stones. That fear permeated into him, becoming his own as well.
Settling back against the stone and closing his eyes, Julian did his best to come up with a scenario that would separate the Yu’urei warriors, or at least give him the upper hand, but no revelations immediately came to mind.
What should I call you? Julian thought during a momentary lull in his scheming. I mean, what is your name?
He felt the pressure mount slightly as the Nymradic considered him, moving in his mind like a snake, temporarily displacing his own thoughts and memories. He picked up on a strange number of sensations emanating from the dark creature. He felt a profound sadness that cut through all of the rest. A longing for something lost, or stolen, but there was no way for him to be sure what of.
My tongue is old, far removed from any tongue of your people, or even your ancient relatives. For your sake, you can call me Pera.
Julian went quiet, but as much as he longed for sleep, he found that it would not come. The Yu’urei warriors finished their argument and ended up deciding to tie his legs together. They went about their camp, preparing food and rolling up their furs and bedrolls. But they wouldn’t take their eyes away from him now, not completely. It made Julian feel uneasy.
* * * *
Wraithman settled into a seat just as Sigmere appeared from a doorway in the pit below him. He looked up and scrunched up his shoulders, his face contorted in his typically confused scowl.
“Where have you been?” he shouted.
Wraithman waved him off. He doesn’t want to know, he thought. “Are we ready?”
Sigmere nodded, scratching his head, and disappeared back through the gate.
“You got stones on you, Wraithman. I’ll give you that,” a burly man in well-tailored furs said. The bench groaned under his considerable weight as he settled down next to him.
“Benik,” Wraithman said, acknowledging the man with a forced nod. “I thought for a moment you wouldn’t show.”
“Ah, ha-ha-ha!” Benik laughed, dropping his dinner plate sized hands onto his belly. “A challenger for Goliath! It’s not every day the Champion of Spear Point is presented with a challenger offering coin. Whatever you found out there…it doesn’t matter, Wraithman. A bear, saber cat, puppy dog, or giant rabbit.”
Wraithman grinned through Benik’s insults and taunts, all the while patting the knife sitting on his right hip. The only response that seemed fitting was a cold blade in the throat, so the arrogant prick couldn’t speak anymore. The thought made him smile.
“Strange, that no one knows what you brought back. But I hear tell that it can jump. Is that true?” Benik asked, grabbing a plate of food from a serving wench who happened by.
“It’s possible. Pit’s over twenty paces deep an’ lined with sheer stone. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of it jumping at ya, little mouse?” Wraithman replied, watching the man take a bite of turkey leg and dribble juice down his beard and furs.
“Nya! Bwah-ha-ha,” Benik bellowed, bits of food and saliva flying everywhere. “I ain’t afraid of yer beast, Wraithman. But I feel for you. When that thing sees Goliath, it’ll hop out of this pit and scurry back into the mountains. Just like a little rabbit! I hope you haven’t become too attached to this beast, cause Goliath’s unbeatable.”
“That’s the thing about champions, Benik. Eventually they get old, or hurt, or they simply make a mistake. The crowd will forget them before the pit boys even have time to scatter fresh straw to soak up the blood. The pit is struggle. It is life, and death. No one can deny that,” Wraithman said.
A woman approached the two men and stopped, holding out a wide, smoothly polished platter between them. Wraithman fished a bag of coil out of his pocket, and let it jingle once before setting it on the platter.
“If yer beast fights half as well as you talk, it might at least entertain this crowd long enough for em’ to slobber down one drink,” Benik said, pulling out a considerably larger bag of coin and setting it down. “Take a good look. That’s the closest you’re coming to the winner’s purse! You know, you still have time to walk away. You’re the best trapper in the Bleak Falls area. We could forget this whole challenge, and you could still be the best trapper. You lose, and not only will you lose your reputation as best trapper, but you’ll be just another pit challenger that lost t
o Goliath. You’ll be nothing.”
Wraithman chuckled, but turned away to hide a sneer. The overstuffed tub of shit has something coming to him, but first things first. Win the pit. Patience, Wraith. Patience.
A tall, skinny man in a dyed fur vest strode casually out to the middle of the pit. He ran a hand through his long brown hair, turning to take in the crowd as the pit boys finished their work and exited.
“Slass og liv. Slass og den!” the man said loudly, raising his hands into the air.
The crowd leapt from their seats and cheered, erupting in a chant of fight and live, fight and die, the motto of the Pit.
“Yes!” the announcer yelled, pumping his fists, encouraging the crowd. “Long has it been since you saw your champion. Long has it been since you saw Benik’s Goliath, challenged.”
Wraithman cast Benik a sidelong glance. His beard split as he cast a grease-covered smile all around. More turkey fell out of his beard. Wraithman had to look away. The large man’s gloating made his stomach churn.
“A challenge of blood and coin has been made. Wraithman the Trapper, fresh from the wilds, has offered up his new beast as challenger!”
Wraithman’s thoughts flashed back to the mountains, and the night he trapped the beast. He suddenly felt very uneasy sitting so close to the side of the pit. His foot ached where the beast’s teeth tore through his flesh and marked his bone. It was still healing. He couldn’t help but wonder if the Pit was truly deep enough.
“Copper, silver, gold…place your final wagers now. Liv eller den! Goliath or Wraithman’s beast!” the man cried out and started walking out of the pit.
Wraithman turned and looked behind him. Men and women walked between every row, accepting handfuls of coin as wagers. A scribe followed each, tallying wagers and handing out blue or red strips of parchment. The sight of so much coin changing hands made his mouth water.
Sigmere appeared next to him, a grimy, blood-covered rag clutched tightly in hand. He knelt down before Wraithman.
“Is it ready?” Wraithman asked.
Sigmere nodded eagerly, “I think so. Hasn’t been fed for a couple days, so it’s good n’ hungry, but damn, Wraith. It almost took off me hand!”
“Perfect.”
Sigmere nodded stupidly, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He walked over to the edge of the pit. A stalky man settled next to the wall directly across from him. He bent over and pulled a heavy length of chain off a hook. Sigmere did the same before him.
The crowd started to chant, their voices melding together loudly. “Liv og den!”
“Yes! Live or die!” Wraithman whispered excitedly, leaning forward as the two men started to lift the cage doors.
* * * *
The sun rose a short time later, brightening the sky with a beautiful orange hue. But there was no warmth to it. The warriors deposited a plate of food in Julian’s lap a short time later. He ate ravenously, stuffing the strips of meat into his mouth and licking his fingers clean when he was done.
His stomach gurgled loudly, grateful, but demanding more at the same time. He longed for a real meal. To eat until his stomach swelled and he had to unbutton his trousers. And then lay down for a sleep, and a real bed. One with no rocks and roots digging into his back.
The warriors cut the bindings around his legs only when they were ready to depart. They pushed out of the sheltered camp, bracing against the wind as it swirled and buffeted out of the river valley.
Make the connection again, let us grow stronger, Pera demanded as Julian lifted his arms up to shield his face from the wind. As much as he wanted to focus on Tanea, to pull a little bit of her into himself, he refused.
I won’t! Not now. It could be weakening her, or harming her. I won’t do that to her!
Fool! Every step brings us closer to death, Pera thought and Julian felt the creature pushing against his resolve, fishing for a weak point with which to exploit.
The warriors led them along the elevated river valley, following a narrow but established foot trail. Despite the approaching dawn, it was still difficult to see with only patches of ambient light.
When the sun finally crested the eastern mountains, Julian felt his spirits lift. It wasn’t the sudden appearance of light, or the much-welcomed warmth on his face, but the distant columns of smoke from the valley below. They crested a large bluff, chiseled into the shape of wolf’s head by the wind and rain, and a village came into view.
Despite the substantial drop and distance separating them, Julian could make out wooden structures clustered around the river. There were buildings with smoking chimneys, which meant fires and hot food.
He took a breath, intending to ask the warriors if they might stop in the small settlement, if only to warm their hands and re-stock with provisions, but changed his mind.
You are correct, they will not stop, Pera cut in, reading his thoughts and indecision. You must give them a reason to stop. You must make them.
Julian looked around, searching the trail for inspiration, but all he could see was rocks, snow, and trees.
“Think, damn you,” he growled quietly, frustration giving way to desperation. Nothing jumped out at him, and the trail ahead of them curved away from the lip of the valley and would soon put the small settlement to their backs.
They will stop if you cannot continue, Pera offered in response to Julian’s panic. They will not be able to carry you through these mountains once the trails end. If you cannot walk, you cannot continue.
Julian felt his eye twitch and burn as the Nymradic compelled him, until the pressure in his head had grown tenfold. He drug his feet through the snow and felt his boot skip off of a rock, and it came to him. He knew what he needed to do.
Julian drifted towards the side of the trail, his head down as he watched the ground carefully. He saw a thick bramble of root and broken rock sticking out of the snow. Julian flinched as he approached, temporarily dissuaded by the promise of pain.
Do it! Pera roared in his mind, and before he could stop himself he drove his foot into the rocky fissure. Julian took a hobbled step forward with his right foot but as he moved to pull his left foot free the sole of his boot lodged into place.
The rope pulled taught and Ghadarzehi snapped to a halt. The large warrior half-turned, an angry sneer played at his lips as he mouthed an angry curse. He gathered up the rope, winding it around his fist several times and then gave it a tremendous pull.
Julian cringed as his balance shifted. His upper body fell forward, his right leg shooting out to catch him, his left leg wedged firmly in the bramble.
His leather boot stretched as the ground rushed up to greet him. Pain exploded in his leg and with a pop bones and ligaments snapped.
Chapter 14
Nightmares relived
Dennah’s head snapped up, the lord constable’s voice raking across her frayed nerves like jagged fingernails. The crowd in the gallery grew frantic, their collective murmurings filling the cavernous space.
Lord Desh drove his cane down into the platform at his feet again and again. When his attempts to bring the crowd under control did not immediately work the crier stepped in.
“Silence…we will have silence in this chamber!” the man screamed, until finally the fervor started to die down.
Dennah watched the lord constable, but the man’s face was an unreadable mask. She looked to the soldiers, the crowd, and then to Roman, hoping for some clue as to what would happen next.
Roman caught her glance and mouthed, it’s going to be okay. But she didn’t share his optimism.
“There will remain a level of civility in these proceedings, or I will have the guards clear this chamber!” Lord Desh growled, before nodding in her direction.
Sayer and his counterpart appeared before her cage. The lock clicked open and the door swung free before she realized what was happening.
“Wait…no, wait. I didn’t do anything. Please…” Dennah said as the men reached in and grabbed hold of her arms.
“Please…” she whispered to Sayer, who stood on her right, but he shook his head.
The two men walked Dennah forward, dragging her out to the middle of the chamber. She stumbled once, and then a second time as her legs started to give out. Fear clenched her heart. She hiccupped and her breath caught. A sour taste washed up her throat, and for a moment she thought she would be sick.
The chamber seemed to grow larger and then shrink back in around her. Dennah could feel each and every eye pressing down upon her and she hated it, she had never felt so horribly small. They stopped just before Lord Desh in his massive, raised seat. Sayer pulled a small knife out of a sheath on his belt and cut the ropes binding her wrist.
Two boys appeared from the gallery, their arms burdened with heavy chains. They locked heavy hooks to brackets set in the ground and then pulled cuffs affixed to the opposite end up to Sayer and his counterpart.
The cuffs snapped around Dennah’s wrists, effectively covering the rope-mangled skin. The boys tugged on the chain, pulling it tight, link by link, until Dennah’s arms were pulled out wide, and she could not move. The soldiers stepped back out of sight, their hands resting comfortably on the hilt of their swords.
Dennah’s body started to shake.
She forced her gaze up to Lord Desh, who sat square in his throne-like seat, his face unreadable. The crier pushed his chair out with a loud scrape, and stood.
“For the scribe’s record, state your name and profession,” he said coolly.
“D…Dennah, Thorben. Caravan guard for Lord Thatcher,” she said, her voice quavering.
“Miss, do you know why you were brought to Faalksgrad?” the Crier asked.
Dennah nodded, but was at a loss for words.
Is he looking for me to admit something? Her thoughts swirled with endless possibilities, so much so that she didn’t hear the crier’s next question.
“I said, how long have you been in Lord Thatcher’s service?” the crier repeated.
“This is my first season. But I am from Yarborough. I was pledged to Lord Kingsbreath and then…” Dennah explained, but the crier cut her off.
