Stolen

by Adam Collins

  After a stout breakfast they were all feeling a lot better. Gwen furnished them with one of her husband’s maps and they also purchased one of his old shallow-draft boats. The water was deeper out here away from the road so they would be able to use the waterways to get them to Ash. Karem paid the old woman handsomely and thanked her for her aid. As early morning Sun peeked over the far off horizon, they said their good-byes and set off for Ash.

  17. Saved by the Devil

  Anabel had fought against the hands that held her, but a swift punch had ended her struggle. When she finally came too, she was being carried over someone’s shoulder. Her hands were tied behind her back and she was gagged. They were still in the swamp. She could see the muddy water swirling around the man’s legs, as he struggled against the pull of the sticky mud. A voice called out from somewhere behind, ‘Easy Lagnu don’t drop her. Do you want me to take her for a bit?’

  ‘I’m okay. We’re nearly past the worst of it anyways.’

  Anabel managed to catch a glimpse of the second man. It was one of Grik’s slavers. A cold shiver ran through her body. Grik and his men were vile animals, lacking even the most basic elements of decency. The man carrying her had become stuck and was finding it hard to free himself from the mud.

  ‘Give us a push, Frenn! Bloody mud’s partial to me boot.’

  Frenn duly obliged and pushed the man free of the ooze. The ground became more solid.

  ‘How much further to the trail? asked Frenn.

  ‘Not far now, few minutes should do it.’

  ‘Don’t know why you bothered with her. She’s more trouble ‘an she’s worth.’

  ‘Told you I’m not leavin’ without bein’ paid, and she’s me pay.’

  Frenn scratched his head, ‘What you mean?’

  ‘She’ll be worth a bit over in the ports. Get a pretty penny for her over there I will. They’re always be lookin’ for fresh meat for the brothels,’ Lagnu patted Anabel's bottom. She wanted to scream, but managed to stay silent.

  ‘But what about the gold that Karem fella owes us. You’re not letting that go are you?’

  ‘I am. I wants to get as far away from that lot as I can. Had nothin’ but bad luck since we signed up with ‘em, an’ I mean to start changin’ it right now.’

  ‘Spose your right. Leastways you were right about scarperin’ last night. Do you think anyone else got away?’

  ‘Not sure. Don’t think so. Last I saw, that thing was makin’ mince meat of ‘em all.’

  ‘Even Grik?’

  ‘He was in the bunch alright.’

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘Thought you hated him?’

  ‘I did! But the blaggard owed me,’ Frenn kicked a rotten branch in anger. ‘That’s the end of that then.’

  ‘At last! Here’s the trail,’ said Lagnu.

  ‘I knew you’d get us out,’ laughed Frenn. ‘How much further to Ash?’

  ‘Too far, for today leastways. It’ll be dark in a few hours. Better make camp while we still have light.’

  ‘I’ll get a fire goin’, we can dry off a bit,’ Frenn started looking for kindling.

  Lagnu gently placed Anabel on a dry patch of ground, ‘You can stop pretendin’ now. I knows your awake.’

  Anabel opened her eyes and looked at the slaver. His black hair was receding, and a leather patch covered his left eye. A ragged scar ran down his forehead and disappeared under the patch before reappearing again and continuing down his cheek. His one good eye was as dark as his soul, and his sneering grin exposed yellow broken teeth. He looked hungry. But not for food.

  Frenn, a slim weasel type, was gathering a pile of sticks into a bunch on the ground when he noticed Lagnu hovering over Anabel. He smiled, ‘So how fresh does she have to be then?’

  Lagnu grinned and looked into Anabel's terrified eyes, ‘She's a looker, so I 'spect we’ll still get a fair price even if she's mostly fresh. Not premium mind, but fair all the same.’

  Frenn laughed and rubbed his hands in glee. Just then there was a crack of snapping twigs. Both men froze. The light was starting to fade and it was hard to see further than a few yards in any direction through the thick foliage. More cracking sounds followed, but louder now. Whatever it was it was getting closer. The men stood and drew their swords. A dark figure lurched out of the gloom. The slaver’s jaws hung slack at the sight of Grik standing before them. He still carried the crossbow.

  ‘Boss, your alive! I mean...’ exclaimed Frenn.

  Grik coldly eyed the two men, ‘What happened to you two last night?’

  ‘We...ar...em...’ stuttered Frenn.

  'Got knocked senseless,' interrupted Lagnu. 'When we come too we got lost in the fog. Been trampin’ about tryin’ to find our way ever since.’

  Grik looked at Frenn, ‘That the way of it?’

  ‘Aaa...aye, that’s it, Boss...been lost’er ‘an a fish ’n the desert,’ Frenn grinned nervously.

  ‘What ye got there?’ Grik pointed at Anabel, who was still trussed and gagged.

  ‘Oh her…we come across her last night. She tried to make a run for it in the confusion. We was bringin’ her back to Ash. Knew we’d meet up with you there,’ answered Lagnu.

  Grik walked over to Lagnu, and stood so close to him that their faces almost touched. He stared into the slavers only good eye. ‘Good...well done,’ he growled. ‘Ye did a good job...the both of ye.’

  Lagnu was beginning to sweat nervously, ‘Thanks, Boss...thought it was for the best.’

  ‘Cause, you know, a few of the boys ran last night! Can’t blame ‘em I spose. Well...now I thinks on it...I can blame ‘em! An’ if they turn up...I’ll be blamein’ ‘em personal like. Know what I mean?’

  Lagnu and Frenn looked ashen faced.

  ‘Now, let’s have a look-see at what you caught,’ Grik smiled as he walked over and knelt beside Anabel.

  ‘Let's get this gag out the way first. Is it you, my pretty?’ he removed the gag and pulled Anabel’s hair back from her face.

  ‘Get your vile hands off me, you pig!’ shouted Anabel.

  Grik was momentarily surprised by the sudden outburst. ‘No 'tain't, my pretty. Shame. And how are you this fine evenin’, Lady Anabel?’

  ‘I was happier amongst the snakes and crocodiles!’

  ‘You have spirit I like that,’ he grinned

  ‘Untie me and I’ll show you spirit, you hairy brute!’

  ‘You know, I believe you would too,’ he smiled, and gently stroked the side of her face.

  Anabel turned her head and bit his thumb.

  Grik screamed, ‘Agh! You vicious wench,’ he roared as he pulled his hand away.

  Anabel kicked out and caught Grik across his ribs. Grik jumped back away from her blows, while still cradling his wounded hand.

  ‘She’s a bit of a wildcat, Boss,’ laughed Frenn.

  Grik shot the man a murderous look. Frenn suddenly found great interest in examining his boots.

  Grik gave a chuckle, ‘She is at that. Packs a wallop too for such a small parcel.’

  ‘Want me to open your present for you, Boss?’ leered Lagnu, while pulling a wicked curved knife from his belt.

  Grik turned and looked at Lagnu, ‘Touch a hair on her head and I’ll gut you from gullet ta gizzard!’ there was bile in Grik’s words.

  Lagnu stopped smiling and quickly returned the knife to its scabbard.

  Grik turned to the two slavers, ‘I’ll make it plain so’s there’s no confusion. Touch her and ye die. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, Boss,’ they both nodded.

  ‘The deal was to deliver ‘em to Ash, unharmed, or no payment. And I mean ta get me gold. Come between me and that, and ye’ll rue the day ye first drew breath. Okay?’

  ‘Okay, Boss. We didn’t mean nothin’...improper like,’ squirmed Frenn.

  Grik looked sternly at Lagnu.

  ‘Course, Boss. We’d never touch her,’ he answered quickly.

  ‘Good! Now get that fire goin'. It’ll be dark
afore long, an' I’m feelin' the chill.’

  18. Briefing

  King Fredrik of Jarro stood looking out of the great arched window of his private chambers, his face contorted by a worried frown. The news from the front was always bad of late. He had grown used to it and, to date, had been able to bare it with strength and tenacity. But the loss of his beloved daughter seemed to suck the life out of the once vibrant monarch. The pain was simply too much to bear. He was losing interest in the essential affairs of state, and seemed to be withering by the day.

  A fire crackled in the hearth. Overhead the mantle hung a painting of his late wife Queen Rosalynn. Fredrik glanced up at the painting. Megan was so like her mother. He sighed heavily. Behind him two of his most senior generals, Markas N’Dhun and Drogo Chael, stood patiently awaiting his council. The news rarely changed. A retreated here, a tactical withdrawal there. He turned and walked back to the large mahogany table in the centre of the room. On it lay a map of the whole territory. He paused and looked at the markers showing the positions of the various battalions. Eastgate was home territory. They were running out of space and men too, he acknowledged. ‘How goes the recruitment, General?’

  ‘It goes well, Sire. We’ve press-ganged all of the available men from fourteen to sixty, from here to Averlyn,’ said Markas N’Dhun, the King’s cousin on his mother’s side.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘About five thousand, Sire,’ answered N’Dhun.

  ‘Only five thousand!’ the King exclaimed. ‘That won’t even cover our losses for the last two months!’

  ‘True, Sire, but a willing bunch, and eager to get to grips with the enemy,’ said Chael.

  The King stared at the map again and at all the markers apportioned to the enemy divisions. ‘Cradle and cane,’ he shook his head solemnly, ‘is that what we are reduced to now?’ he mumbled.

  ‘Sire?’ said N’Dhun.

  ‘Nothing, General, just thinking aloud. How goes the training?’

  ‘As well as can be expected, Sire. It may take a little longer than normal to get them into shape, but they are making progress,’ said N’Dhun.

  ‘How long before they can take the field?’

  N’Dhun glanced at Chael, ‘The formal training has only just started, Sire. Weapons and armour have been distributed and billets assigned-’

  ‘How long, General?' Interrupted the king.

  ‘A month to six weeks, at least.’

  ‘Six weeks!’ bellowed the King. ‘Six weeks is an eternity! Time runs short, General.’

  ‘Some are at a more advanced stage of training than others. We could send perhaps...a thousand...to the lines in three to four weeks if needed,’ offered N’Dhun.

  The King thought for a moment. ‘Okay, make it so. But only if they are truly ready. I don’t want you sending half trained men to their slaughter. Lights above, that’s the last thing we need!’

  Fredrik leaned over the map once more. His eyes strayed away from the battlefield toward the swamps of Gantu and beyond, ‘Has there been any further news on the whereabouts of the Princess, General Chael?

  ‘Our spies say that she was definitely taken into Gantu, Sire.’

  ‘For what purpose? Ransom? Revenge? And by whom?’ the King growled, and thumped his fist down onto the tabletop.

  ‘That's harder to presently ascertain, Sire,’ said Chael.

  ‘Then I suggest you find out!’ the King shouted. ‘I don’t care if you have to break a thousand heads, or hand over the keys to the treasury! Do whatever it takes to find my daughter and bring her home safely!’ Tears filled the old monarch’s eyes. ‘Do you understand, General?’

  ‘Yes, Sire, I do. We have...’ Chael hesitated.

  ‘Our best men are on her trail, Highness,’ interrupted N’Dhun. ‘All possible measures are being exercised. They will be found, Sire.’

  ‘Best men indeed. I hope you're not referring to that murdering cut-throat, Thronso.’

  ‘Among others, Sire.’

  ‘I’m afraid I do not hold as high an opinion of the man as you, Markas. It will take more than a back alley assassin to remedy this situation I feel.’

  ‘If I may speak plainly, Sire?’ said Chael.

  ‘Indeed, General, speak your mind.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, Sire, but Captain Thronso is more than a back alley assassin. He has twice won the highest bravery honour in your service. Before his fall from grace, that is.’

  The King was getting redder and looked on the verge of exploding.

  ‘But more importantly, Sire. The group is being lead by one of our very best officers,’ interrupted N’Dhun, trying to dissipate the growing tension.

  Fredrik looked crossly at the general, ‘And that is?’

  ‘Major Antillus Brok of the Pathfinder battalion.’

  ‘Brok?...Brok? Ah yes, I remember him! A fine officer. Lead the charge at Tremblo Ridge, if memory serves.’

  ‘That is correct, Sire. You presented his citation personally.’

  ‘Yes a fine fellow indeed,’ affirmed the King. ‘Well at least we have one good man on which to rely.’

  The King walked over to the fireplace and looked dreamily into the flames. He stayed there for long moments before speaking, ‘We’ve had news...from Prince Ralto of E’Ben,’ he almost stuttered. ‘It seems his father, King Mallik, is poorly and not expected to last much longer.’

  ‘Did he make any mention of aid, Sire? asked N’Dhun.

  The King kept looking into the flames as he spoke. ‘With regards to the kidnapping of the Princess Royal…he sends his deepest regrets.’

  ‘And what of the alliance. Will he join us, Sire? inquired Chael.

  ‘I’m afraid that, there too, he is also most regretful, General. It seems, gentlemen, that we are on our own. General Chael, if you would please excuse us. I would like to speak to General N’Dhun alone.’

  ‘Of course, Sire. I’m yours to command,’ Chael bowed and pressed a fist against his chest in salute, then turned and left the room.

  As the door closed Fredrick turned to his cousin. ‘I not forgotten about Anabel in all of this, Markas. I just wanted you to know that.’

  ‘Thank you, Fredrik.’

  ‘I gave clear orders. Anabel is as dear to me as my own daughter. The same effort will be made to bring her out safely, cousin.’

  ‘I suspected as much,’ Chael nodded, but a wave of relief washed across his face nonetheless.

  ‘How is Agnest taking it? asked the King.

  ‘Like any mother would...badly.’

  The King nodded, and looked down at the floor, his sadness evident, ‘Have you heard from Aaron lately?’

  ‘He’s with his battalion at the front. The last that we heard he was doing well.’

  ‘This war, Markas,’ the King shook his head sadly, ‘if I could stop it by giving my life, I would say small price and do so willingly. But I fear the enemy’s plan is darker than we know, and his goals beyond our understanding. This much I do know. He is spurred by more than lust for conquest alone.’

  ‘Sire, even if your life were the only price, your men would fight to the last rather than pay it. We are yours unto death, my King.’

  The old King smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you, Markas, my loyal friend.’

  ‘Now, Sire, with your permission, I will look to my new recruits. I'll make them a force of which you can be proud.’

  The King nodded and the General turned and left the room. Fredrick’s eyes returned to the map on the table and to the fetid swampland that was Gantu. He wondered where she was in that hellhole, and if she was still alive. He quickly banished that thought. Then an image of a crouching black panther entered his mind, he smiled. And for some unknown reason felt a little better. At least now she would have a chance.

  19. Ash

  Ash, a large fortified town of over three thousand inhabitants, was a staging point on the slave road from the western port cities of Rigby and Gantu-Prime to the slave markets of Kirtuk in Amaran
, and Mabak-Var in Anvar. Over half of the town was given over to holding pens for storage and feeding of captives.

  A rough-hewn log wall encircled the entire settlement. Tall wooden towers, filled with armed guards, spaced every two hundred yards, or so, a precaution against escape rather than fear of attack. Megan was glad to finally place her feet on solid ground. They tied the boat up at one of the many jetties on the southern wetland approach and were slowly making their way towards the centre of town. Dangerous looking men walked the streets, or gathered in small groups boisterously talking and laughing. The roads were brown mud latticed by wheel ruts hard baked in the heat of the summer sun. There were three large taverns spread about the town. The Mangrove was the best, by Ash standards at least. Karem arranged for rooms for the night, allowing Megan her first proper wash in days. The window of her room was barred. She suspected the room was used for - special - guests; ones that needed a little extra watching. Karem had her clothes washed and returned while she bathed. She quickly dressed and ate the food that had been left on the table by her bed. The evening shadows were starting to lengthen when a scullery girl entered, lit the lamps and prepared the fire in the corner. The girl was plump and not very attractive. Her clothes were worn and dirty and she seemed a very timid sort.

  ‘Hello,’ said Megan.

  The girl looked up and nodded, but then turned back to lighting the fire.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  The girl looked towards the closed door, then back to Megan, ‘I’m Treena, Ladyship,’ she said quietly.

  Megan saw how nervous the girl was, ‘What’s the matter, Treena?’

  ‘I’m not sposed to talk to you, Ladyship,’ she whispered. ‘I’d get a lickin’ if they heard me.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ said Megan sitting down on the end of her bed. ‘We could keep our voices down so they won’t hear, if you like.’

  The girl looked back over at the door again before turning back to Megan, ‘I spose, but we’ll have to be quick, malady, I’m ‘spected downstairs in a minute.’

  ‘Thank you, Treena.’ Megan paused then whispered, ‘What is this place called?’