by Kai Widdeson
From the entrance, there are a couple of different doorways leading to rooms either side as well as a wide staircase leading above. Arthur takes us up the steps which impressively don’t even creak beneath our weight. At the top of the stairs we move down a narrow hallway and past a couple of closed doors. This is definitely an important place, very few have doors in this kind of condition on the outside of their homes let alone within. Arthur ushers us into the room at the very end.
Inside is spacious, even more so than it would appear from the outside. Many chairs sit around a large table in the centre of the room on which several crudely drawn maps have been scattered across. At the head of the table stands one chair much larger than the others. It is this one that Alice immediately hops onto, I quickly brush any important looking papers out of her mischievous reach. A pile of books and half written abandoned pages rest untidily at the room’s edges.
“Stay here. I’ll be back in a second,” says Arthur, pulling the door too as he leaves. I stiffen as I anticipate the click of a lock, but none comes.
None of the tribespeople take a seat and so I stand also. Orrian hasn’t stopped pacing since being shut in here and has just reached the point of verbally considering whether we should leave when the door opens again.
Arthur steps inside, now at the front of a group of around six villagers, all of them are at least as old as himself. Something considerably larger shifts at the back, at least two heads above the rest of them.
The man must duck as he enters through the doorway, squeezing slightly to fit his shoulders through the apparently narrow gap. Even once in the room he is unable to fully straighten. Now I know why the stairs had to be so solid, I am still a little surprised that anything other than stone would be able to support the man’s immensity. No wonder he kept the colony collectors in their place, I certainly wouldn’t want to risk upsetting him either. The impossibly large warrior really does live up to the legends, Thoren.
“Hey, get out of there,” an old man snaps at my sister. He reaches down to take her by the arm, but she’s already leapt out of the way before he can get to her. I scowl at him and he returns the gesture.
The villagers begin taking their seats as Thoren takes his place at the head of the table. The chair complains beneath him but manages to hold. His people have all sat as close to him as possible, and they watch us suspiciously as they collect up their papers so that the table is now bare.
“Please, sit,” says Thoren, his voice as deep as the rumbles of thunder. The gravelly words wake the tribespeople from their awe and we take the last four remaining seats at the far end of the table. Damion should really be here but Orrian was right, he and Bennie need some time to themselves. Orrian positions himself so that he sits opposite the giant.
“Who are you? Tell us everything,” Thoren orders.
“This is Dale, he’s one of ours, and-” Arthur jumps in from Thoren’s side.
“Not you,” Thoren booms, he doesn’t raise his voice, but his words still seem to shake the walls. He raises a finger at Orrian.
Orrian begins telling our story, he starts the same way he started with me outside Edwyn’s den so long ago. He talks of life among his tribe and the war that ended in the Great Fire before he took refuge in Avlym. As he talks of Avlym, Arthur opens his mouth to contribute on several occasions, but each time thinks better of it, clearly not wanting to be reprimanded again. Orrian describes our adventures for what seems like the hundredth time, the only thing he leaves out is the location of the tribe’s mountain stronghold. He continues all the way up until the point where he and the others had chased after me into Tarrin. Thoren nods along as Orrian talks as if everything he says fits with what he knows so far.
As soon as the young king finally stops, the village people break out into conversation among themselves. They talk in hushed whispers, cupping their lips to each other’s ears so that they cannot be overheard. Meanwhile, Thoren sits quietly in his own thoughts.
Finally, the elder opposite Arthur on Thoren’s other side taps him on the arm. He bows his head but even still she has to get up from her seat to whisper into his ear.
“The colony sent birds out before you arrived. The letter gave us strict instructions about what to do if you came here. It also contained a message,” says Thoren.
“What message?” asks Orrian.
A portly white-haired man on our right pulls out a crumpled roll of parchment and hands it down towards us. I lean over Orrian’s shoulder as Damaris leans over the other.
People of Tarrin,
A group of highly dangerous individuals have declared war against our people and the treaty. Their leader, Orrian, calls himself king and has led an army that has taken countless lives from the colony. These animals are a wild group of savages, intent on upsetting the peace we have all worked so hard to maintain.
These murderers were in captivity but have unfortunately managed to free themselves after brutally killing numerous fine soldiers. We now ask you to be wary of them if they try to approach you, for your sake and ours you should let us know immediately if they do. As a reward, we will lessen our requirements from you if you hand them over to us. You will earn the king’s favour and you will be honoured suitably.
One of the killers is a known traitor from the village of Avlym, which as I’m sure you are aware recently rebelled against our alliance. We do not want to hunt down the remainder of Avlym’s people, they have suffered enough. However, if you are harbouring them you should know that this group will likely try and contact you. It should also be noted that without these felons, Avlym’s destruction would never have occurred.
I must warn you that if any village is found to have let these people or their associates into their home they will be dealt with appropriately. I ask you not to forsake the peace over these lowlifes. We have stood together for too long and it would be foolish to let hospitality towards criminals come in the way of that.
Now, a message to the false king should he be reading this. You have abandoned your people and slaughtered ours. We appreciate that you could leave and we will likely never find you, but we urge you to do the right thing. We were generous and merciful, yet you betrayed us. Hand yourself over to us and we will spare your people. I hope it is clear what will happen if you don’t.
Too much blood has been needlessly shed, stop this madness or forever be hunted as an enemy of the crown.
In the name of his majesty,
King Breyden II
I sink back into my chair before Orrian and Damaris have finished reading. Tarrin’s village council all watch Orrian expectantly. A couple of seconds pass before the forest king lays the letter down on the table and raises his head to meet them.
“Well?” asks Thoren.
“We are clearly not the people they describe here,” Orrian begins. “They burnt down our home and then hunted the rest of us down. We only ever fought back in self-defence. Please, believe us.”
“It’s not a matter of believing you, we know what the colony’s like,” a villager says.
“It’s the question of why should risk ourselves to help you,” the woman on their right says.
“Because it’s what’s right, because we all know who the real enemy is!” I blurt out.
The woman turns to me with a patronising look on her face, “Obviously we know that they’re the enemy, but your home is gone and ours is very much still standing. I think we would all like to keep it that way.”
“I say we hand them over as soon as possible,” says the overweight man that had passed us the letter.
“No! These are our people!” Arthur steps in defiantly. I was wrong to ever suspect the man of evil, even after we left him and his home has been destroyed his loyalty towards his people is as strong as ever. My mother was right to leave Alice in his care, I’m sure he would die for her if he had to.
“I will not have him handed over to the colony, he is one of us,” Arthur continues.
“Careful Arthur, y
ou’re lucky we’re allowing your people to stay here at all. Now you want us to risk our own necks for them and a group of strangers?” warns the woman next to Thoren. The enormous warrior stays silent.
“What would you have us do? I assume you weren’t planning on just collecting the girl and leaving,” someone asks Orrian.
“I want to fight,” Orrian answers simply
The room explodes into a frenzy of reactions. Some outright laugh, others scoff, and one even rises to his feet and shakes a wrinkled fist in our direction. Still, Thoren keeps motionless and voiceless.
“Fools! You dare to challenge the colony!” the overweight man bellows.
“Yes,” Orrian confirms boldly.
“This is insanity!” one of the elderly ladies’ sneers at the young king. “Let’s tie up this one already and hand him over.”
Damaris’ chair flies backwards as she launches onto her feet, her sword is already free and pointed towards the lady. “Quiet, hag.”
“Sit down,” Thoren orders, the force of his voice banishes the yells of complaint and uproar that have started among his advisors.
Damaris still stands. Orrian mutters her name under his breath but she doesn’t move.
The floorboards creak as Thoren rises to his feet, he presses his knuckles into the wooden table. With his shoulders leaning forwards and his head lowered by the ceiling like this, he mimics the form of a great ape. He is a silverback ready to face his challenger.
“Don’t you dare draw your sword in here,” Thoren roars causing Damaris to retreat in her seat. The warrior keeps his eyes on Orrian as he settles back down, “Keep your people under control.”
“There’s one thing about your story that I don’t understand,” says Thoren. “You say that this boy, Damion, helped you get out of your cells. Why?”
“He knows them, Thoren,” one of the grey men answers for us. “I saw him run up to one of their people in the tavern, they’re probably still there weeping.”
“How?” asks Thoren, keeping his focus on us.
“Thoren, we should talk,” Arthur daringly places a hand on the larger man’s shoulder.
“What? Spit it out, man,” Thoren snaps. Arthur pointedly looks around the table but gives up on the effort when Thoren refuses to acknowledge his hints.
“Damion’s from Avlym. He was taken from us when he was younger. Like all the others,” says Arthur.
“Taken? What do you mean taken?” Thoren faces Arthur now, the rage still hasn’t been fully retracted from his voice. He cranes his neck to look down at the widow.
“The children that go missing in the forest. It’s all the colony. I’m so sorry, I’ve only just found out. Dale-” rushes Arthur. Why is he so apologetic? What don’t we know?
As soon as my name leaves Arthur’s mouth I am back to being the centre of the room.
“Is this true?” Thoren whispers, I wouldn’t have thought his voice capable of such softness.
“It’s all part of the deal, they get to take whoever they want,” I say nodding.
Thoren sits back in his chair, he breathes a single word but it’s too faint to here from the other side of the table.
“You all knew,” Thoren says bluntly, he directs the statements at the much older men and women around him.
“Yes Thoren, we did. But we had to, it was so unfortunate that it happened to her, but they would have killed us otherwise and we thought-” the lady next to Thoren blurts.
“YOU KNEW!” Thoren smashes his fists into the wood before him, a crack shudders beneath my hands as the wood at his end of the table splits. One of the table legs has caved in and a large piece hangs loosely at Thoren’s seat. Not that he still sits in it. Alice jumps in her seat next to me and releases a small sob.
A vein pulses angrily against Thoren’s deep reddish-purple forehead which pressed into the ceiling. Here is a man that could make an entire army think twice. The elders all cower beneath his fire, mixing their words as they spit out their excuses.
Thoren drives his fist once more into the table and the crack etching its way through it extends. His leg lashes out against his chair and I flinch as it is reduced to splinters against the wall. His wrath sweeps the room one last time before he’s ducking out of the doorway.
“Take me to see this boy!” he demands behind him. Arthur is already on his feet and following Tarrin’s leader, Orrian is also up and moving.
I take a moment to whisper in Alice’s ear to calm her down. I follow behind Damaris, we are the last ones in the room on our feet. The council all still look down in shame at the slab of wood before them, the damage they have done is irreparable.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Nahia? I- Yeah, yes, I know Nahia,” Damion stammers before Thoren. It had taken a brief search of the village before we had found him and his father sitting together at the edge of the lake. The hulking man had rudely interrupted the pair of them in his haste and had immediately posed the question to the former slave. Bennie had been about to complain but thought better of it upon seeing the enormity of the intruder.
Damion’s red eyes blink furiously as he wipes at his flushed cheeks, behind Thoren’s back Bennie mirrors him. I have a feeling I know exactly what the topic of their conversation had been, and I pity them for having this shared moment interrupted.
“She’s still in the colony? How is she? Is she ok? Did they hurt her?” Thoren asks each question without waiting for an answer, yet after the last he holds Damion by the shoulders and waits for him expectedly.
“Yeah, yes sir. She’s there, there were a lot of us with her as well. She was as good as the rest of us, last I saw her,” says Damion. “They hurt us sometimes, if we did something wrong, but most of the time they just left us to clean up after them.”
At Damion’s admission that they were hurt occasionally, Thoren’s grip on his shoulders has visible tightened. The boy’s cheeks raise slightly as he tries to hide his pain.
“Uh-” Bennie begins, rushing to his son’s aid. I’m impressed by his nerve, particularly when it results in Thoren realising his intensity and releasing his grip.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if the deep gruffness of his voice sent out ripples into the otherwise calm lake.
Now that he is free again, Damion tenderly and quietly massages his shoulders. As Thoren turns to look out over the water, Bennie drapes an arm over him and leads him away. They head off around the water’s edge, hopefully this time they’ll be left alone until they can say what needs to be said.
“Arthur,” says Thoren without turning around.
Arthur steps forwards so that he stands next to Thoren. Their two startlingly different silhouettes are outlined in gold as the sun begins to approach the horizon.
“I need you to go to the other villages, take a few small groups with you. Tell them that the time has come to make a stand. The ones who will fight with us, bring them here,” Thoren orders. “They should bring everyone, even their weak and young.”
“What about the council?” asks Arthur.
“Tell them that unless they want the whole village to know their secret then I want their complete support,” says Thoren. “Go now. I want you out of here by dusk.”
Arthur hurries up the slight slope towards us. There’s a grin on his face, who would have thought that the placid man I grew up knowing would get so ignited by the prospect of war. Despite the fluttering of wings in my stomach, I know how he feels. We’re finally doing something; our people are actually challenging the tormentors that have ruled over us for too long.
“King Orrian. You will never rule my people, but we will fight alongside you,” says Thoren. Still he doesn’t turn to face us. “You speak of this mountain, does it have space for others?
“Yes, it does,” answers Orrian from beside me, unlike Arthur he doesn’t move to Thoren’s side.
“We’ll need you to take all of the vulnerable there before the fighting begins. If the colony retaliate
, I don’t want any of them anywhere near here,” says Thoren.
“Of course, Damaris can take them there. She’ll bring our fighters back with her,” Orrian says.
“Good. We start preparing in the morning,” says Thoren with an air of finality.
We leave Thoren to his thoughts as we trudge back up towards the town. I give the giant one last look before we disappear among the buildings. He hasn’t moved, his broad arms are crossed and he stands straight as he stares into nothingness. I wonder what it must be like to find out that his daughter still breathes, how would I react if I suddenly found out that my dad was alive after all this time.
“Orrian, my king, please don’t make me leave you,” Damaris begs once out of Thoren’s earshot.
“I’ll be fine here, I need you to do this. Thoren’s right, if this goes wrong, we can’t let these people suffer like ours have,” says Orrian.
“Send Dale, he knows the route better anyway,” says Damaris.
“Damaris, that’s enough. I need Dale here,” says Orrian, his voice sterner now.
“Yes, my king,” Damaris grumbles.
We step back out from between two houses and onto the main street through Tarrin. Not sure where to spend the night, we begin down the road towards Arthur’s hut. Hopefully with him leaving there should be space to let us sleep there tonight.
“DALE!” a girl’s voice shouts from far away.
Robyn is running towards us, strands of her chestnut coloured hair coming untucked from behind her ear as she sprints down the dirt track. A bow bounces against her back and she wears the skin-fitting, forest-coloured clothing of a hunter. Dark brown boots cover tight dark green trousers and her hands are encased by leather archer’s gloves.
