by Peter Plasse
“My Lord Prince, my life is not yours to bet.”
The doctor dismounted and took the hand of Daria. “Go on,” he called, offering up a broad smile. “We’ll meet you at the river.”
Daria smiled as well as they started to fall behind. “Indeed,” she murmured softly.
It was a blessed moment. So simple in its purpose: To jog to a river’s edge and get a drink, and quench a thirst on a beautiful day, hand-in-hand with the one you love more than anyone else in the world.
It was a moment that might give a person hope for an entire lifetime.
But it was not to be.
It was not at all to be, as an entire battalion of Trolls suddenly materialized directly in front of them out of the vegetation. A stand of Poplar trees turned into at least fifty troops, a hundred feet away, who stared menacingly at the four of them.
All were dressed for combat, and all immediately set out on a dead run straight towards them. In an instant they were looking at hundreds of Trolls whose only thought was killing or at least capturing them. Knowing personally how the Trolls took great pleasure in the torturing of their captives, Erik would rather a quick death than another stay in the horror of the dungeons of Ghasten.
He wheeled Cloud in a wild about-face and away they raced. The nearest Trolls threw spears and several archers let fly with a volley of arrows, one of which found its mark.
Doreen felt a searing pain as one of them tore into her right lower flank and ended up protruding from the front of her blouse out from under her body armor. Knowing that there was nothing she could do about it at the moment, she hung on and rode. With one last spike of adrenaline, the horses raced away from this certain death, their hoofs thundering even as the sound was softened by the plant growth. The Trolls gave chase, their battle cries deafening as they surged forward.
They encountered the doctor and Daria as soon as they were out of view of the troops rushing madly after them. Daria helped to throw the doctor onto the back of Spirit, then ducked down in a thicket out of sight as the soldiers once again burst into view. Their archers let loose with another barrage of arrows.
The doctor slumped forward, then slid from the back of Spirit, one of the deadly projectiles having struck him in the neck. In a grisly display of gushing blood he fell crazily, all the while hanging on to the vicious dart that protruded from the wound.
Doreen felt him slide from the horse's back and cried, “No!”
“No! No! No!”
He mercifully slid into unconsciousness as soon as he hit the ground, the massive loss of blood causing him to crumple.
And die.
It was an insane mad dash for freedom. It lasted for hours. It was as amazing a display of strength and courage as has ever been witnessed in a war, but in the end the Trolls won the chase. It was inevitable. The Trolls could run at a full gallop for hours at a time, and while their gallop in the short run was no match for that of the horses, the horses could not keep up this blistering pace. It is amazing that they kept it up for as long as they did. So, despite the fact that for the better part of an hour they put considerable distance between them and their pursuers, in the end the horses succumbed to plain exhaustion. Cloud went down first. It was a magnificent fall, from a hard gallop to a flail animal in an instant. Erik was flung wildly off. It was a wonder that he did not break his neck. Spirit simply slowed to a stop and eased her way to the ground, but Doreen knew it was over for her glorious and splendid beast when her eyes rolled and she gave one final gasp... and stopped breathing. Her poor heart had given out. She felt a sadness as deep as she had ever felt anything, but really had no time to feel it as she dashed towards Erik, only to find he was dashing towards her. They had a good head start thanks to the horses, and now they intended to do something that no Human had ever before done. They were going to outrun the Trolls.
They took off, running as fast as they could. It became evident that Doreen was the better of the two runners, with Erik laboring hard to keep up the pace.
Within the hour they could hear the Trolls advancing on them, now only a few hundred yards behind.
In between gasps Erik grunted, “We need … to split up.”
Stephanie nodded.
She motioned ahead with her hand. They could now see the faint outline of the mountains that marked the border.
“Go!” cried Erik, pulling up. “Make … the mountains. It’s your … only chance!”
Doreen started to slow. Erik had nocked an arrow and was clearly going to try some sort of standoff to buy her time. She stopped as well.
His breathing ragged, and his face drawn, his next words were barely comprehensible.
“Go … If you don’t, we … will both surely … die here. Go now. I can’t … keep up with you. You can … make it.”
Doreen looked at him. Then she looked at the mountains, merely shadowy silhouettes in the distance.
“Go!” he croaked. “If you don’t, it’s all for nothing!”
Doreen retraced the few yards that separated them. She put a hand to his face and looked deep into his eyes. Erik seized the moment by forcefully yanking out the arrow that was even now protruding from her flank. She had completely forgotten about it. The wound started to bleed freely again.
“Keep pressure on that while you run. Go now. Go.”
Doreen turned abruptly and started to sprint towards the distant peaks.
She did not look back.
Chapter 14
Blake pressed close to the giant tree. In the darkness, he had made the terrible mistake of stepping on a tiny branch that had popped like a pistol shot. He knew from his years of deer hunting in Connecticut that such a noise was made by only two things: a man or a deer. He hoped fervently that there were creatures wandering about these woods that would make such a sound, and that it would be overlooked by the Gnomes in the camp less than fifty feet from him, but logic told him this was probably wishful thinking. All the years he had trained and practiced with the military in the art of sneaking up on an enemy undetected were now out the window. He cursed himself under his breath. Still, he might get lucky. Surely there must be animals in these woods that might make such a noise. He tried to recall what Rolan had said about the dangerous animals that they might encounter, but found he couldn’t remember.
He never knew what hit him, which ended up being a rock the size of a golf ball flung with lethal accuracy from the hand sling of a Gnome. It struck him behind the ear, and he fell like a sack of dirt.
The Gnomes cried out with delight as they pounced on him. “Are these Humans stupid, or what!” one of them howled. In a matter of seconds they had him bound securely. They dragged him into the camp, dumping him at Jessica’s feet.
“Look, pretty Human lady,” one growled, “your rescuer is here.”
“Doesn’t look like he’s going to be doing much rescuing soon,” called out another.
Three of them danced around him, kicking dirt in his face, which caused him to cough and choke as he lay unconscious before her.
Jessica reached out with her foot to try and clear some of the dirt away, knowing he could asphyxiate.
“Stop it, please stop it,” she pleaded. She tried hard to keep any anger out of her voice. “You’ll kill him.”
Now, five of the Gnomes were gathered around him. They continued the taunting.
“Poor Human lady. He doesn’t look so good to me.”
“He looks like he has one bad headache.”
“Does he always pass out with these headaches?”
With every jibe, they would howl with laughter, dancing and gesticulating wildly about.
The captain got tired of the ruckus they were raising and stormed out of his tent.
“Enough!” he hollered. “Oddwaddle, Biliar, get back on night watch. The rest of you finish up with that meat.” With that, he re-entered his tent and flipped the entry flap back into place.
Jessica, meanwhile, continued to try to clear the dirt and leaves and such
away from his mouth and nose, knowing that an obstruction of his airway would be lethal in no time. Her task was not an easy one as she could barely reach it, and doing so forced her to stretch her bindings to the point that she threatened dislocating both shoulders, but within a few minutes, she knew his airway would be all right. Now, if only he would wake up. She jabbed him repeatedly with her toe, calling out softly to him. She didn’t want the wrath of the Gnome captain coming down on her for being too loud, but couldn't stop herself from calling, “Wake up. Wake up, Blake.”
He stayed asleep.
Eventually, she too fell asleep, leaning against the large tree to which she had been tied.
He awakened in the middle of the night, tightly bound beside her. The sky had cleared, the two moons were out and full, and it was almost as bright as daylight. He worked feverishly at his bonds, but when it became painfully obvious that they were not going to loosen, he stopped trying. Through slits of eyes he surveyed the camp. This was no ramshackle affair. All was neat and in place. The weapons were placed centrally, all polished and gleaming in the moonlight. All were within an arm’s reach of the tents of the Gnomes that slept beside them. Uniforms and other clothing articles, that looked to have been freshly laundered, hung on lines at the perimeter.
One Gnome tended the fire, smoking and drying meat from the carcass of what looked like another of the small moose-like creatures hanging nearby.
“Hey Gnome,” he called out softly. “Hey. Please.”
To his surprise, the Gnome approached him, stopping a few feet away. He didn’t say anything so Blake spoke first. “Gnome, could you please loosen these straps a bit. I can’t feel my hands. I give you a soldier’s oath that I will not try to harm you, or try to escape.”
“Human,” said the Gnome, expertly flipping the butcher knife he had been using on the moose-like animal, “you will not need your hands in the cooking pot of the Trolls. Three days from now you will be food. Trolls like Humans. With onions, in a stew.” He started to laugh, walking away. He stopped suddenly and turned on his heel. “You are a soldier, then?” he asked.
“Not anymore,” said Blake. “I used to be, many years ago. Now I am a doctor.”
“Oh,” said the Gnome. “Well, I hope you’re a good doctor, because you’re a terrible soldier.”
The Gnome turned to leave again and Blake asked, “Why do you say that?” The Gnome cocked his head and put a finger to the side of his cheek as though he were pondering a highly intellectual issue. Then he answered. “Because it’s true.”
He resumed laughing and walked away.
Jacqueline was quite surprised to find herself in a tree, holding Cinnamon. She was not surprised that Hemlock was nowhere to be seen. The tree was a massive thing, with a trunk at the base easily ten feet across. The branch upon which she and her kitty sat was at least three feet wide, maybe four, and she figured they could sleep in this thing if it proved necessary. “Hemlock!” she shouted.
“I don’t think we’ll be seeing him around here any time soon,” said the cat.
Jacqueline nearly fell off of the huge limb, which would have been certain death.
“Cinnamon! Y-you can talk? A-and you have a British accent?” she stammered.
“Well of course. What did you expect? I could always talk. I’ve been talking to you since we were both little. You didn’t happen to speak ‘cat’. As for the accent, my parents were from Great Britain. Anyway, it is certainly my dream come true that now we really can talk. Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“Well, it sure makes being alone in the woods a lot less scary. Where’s Hemlock, anyway?”
“Forget about him,” said Cinnamon. “We won’t see him again. The way I read it is that he sent us both here to die. Think of it. He transported us to the middle of the woods with no food and no water, and absolutely no way of providing for our needs. Then he abandoned us. No, make no mistake about it, this ‘wizard’ is a bad, bad dude.”
“Oh,” said Jacqueline. Her fear returned, which must have registered on her face because Cinnamon said, “Relax. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you. I’m a cat remember? And we cats have been providing for ourselves for centuries. We’ll land on our feet. Trust me.”
She hopped out of her lap and walked a short way down the branch. There was a long pause as each took the time to survey their surroundings. Enveloped in a sea of greenery, it was apparent they were in a dense forest. The trees were the largest that either of them had ever seen. Thick vines hung everywhere, draping over the canopy and hanging down like one gigantic spider web that has been subjected to the high winds of a ravaging storm. Jacqueline noticed that many of these hung all the way to the ground, on which there was a light scrub growth, mostly large ferns. They could hear birds chirping raucously, and the smell was that of the deep forest in summer.
Finally, Jacqueline spoke. “Do you think it’s morning or afternoon?”
“Hard to say,” replied Cinnamon. “But I had better be off to do some checking, don’t you think? Besides, I have to get us something for dinner. You sit tight, and I’ll be back as soon as I can, hopefully with something to eat.”
“Oh, Cinnamon,” Jacqueline groaned. “Please don’t leave me. I don’t know what I’ll do with you gone.”
Cinnamon jumped back into her lap, where Jacqueline stroked her with all the love she had ever felt for her animal friend, tears silently wetting her cheeks.
After a fashion Cinnamon said, “I heard one of your Dad’s friends say once that the monster in your mind will always be worse than the actual monster that is out there, so let’s take this one baby step at a time. I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. You wait right here. Try to sing, maybe. That might help. But sitting here isn’t going to get the cow to give milk, now is it?”
“I guess not,” said Jacqueline, “but I’m so afraid. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it if you leave.”
Cinnamon stood up and licked her on the ear.
“You’ll be fine, my darling. We’ll get through this. I promise. I’ll be right back.”
She skipped to the nearest branch, disappearing up into the vast cover overhead.
Perhaps an hour passed. Then another.
Jacqueline spent the first night in their tree in a state of near catatonia, curled up in a ball and lying against the smooth bark. With the passage of every minute she became more fearful that Cinnamon would never return and she would be left to fend for herself all alone in this great forest. She tried humming, as she remembered Cinnamon saying that singing might help, but found that she wasn’t up to it. After that she tried mumbling to herself and found that at least by doing that she wasn’t on the verge of panic every moment. She had little pretend conversations with her mother and her friend, Collin, from home.
She heard a large rustle in the branches and jumped up, crying, “Cinnamon!” But it was a large bird that had come to roost and, upon spying her, had flown away as quickly as it had landed. She lay back down and began to softly cry. “I hate you, Hemlock Simpleton,” she mumbled and, gratefully, fell asleep.
When she awoke, she at first thought it was sunup, but it was the bright nighttime cast from the twin Inam'Ra moons. Because there was still no sign of her cat, she began talking to herself again, becoming more and more detached from reality.
She found she had to pee something terrible, so she inched her way out a little on the limb and relieved herself. She made her way back slowly and fell asleep again.
The next time she awoke it was sunup, and this time Cinnamon was sitting exactly where she should have been.
“Oh Cinnamon, you’re back!” she cried out.
By now she was used to the tree enough so that she did not make the mistake of jumping about, but instead sat in the crotch of the limb, whereupon Cinnamon hopped into her lap. After Jacqueline had nearly hugged the life out of her, Cinnamon spoke softly.
“My dear, I have some good news, some bad news, and some more bad news. Where shall I start?”
“Start with the bad news first,” said Jacqueline, “because I’ve already had good news.”
“And what is that?”
“That you’re back, of course. Did you bring any food?”
“Sorry, no.” said Cinnamon. “But that is part of the good news. I did some chatting with some of the forest creatures I ran into. It’s midsummer here. But, from what I gather, I believe the seasons pass much more swiftly than they do at home.
Because of this, things ripen here much quicker. At any rate, we’ll be able to find you all sorts of berries and other wild fruits to keep you from starving right away. I’ll also be able to provide some smaller game animals, which will help. Oh, and I found a clean stream that is right close by, so you’ll be able to get a drink in a few minutes, and I’m told that there are lots of springs and streams in these woods. That means water should not be a problem. Now, as to the bad news … ”
Jacqueline interrupted her, saying, “Oh Cinnamon, can we please go get a drink before I hear the bad news?”
“Well,” said Cinnamon, “no, the reason being the safety of going down on the forest floor at all. Let me explain.” She hopped out of her lap, stretched mightily, and turned around to face her.
“Our good buddy, Hemlock, has transported us to a part of this world known as the Agden Woods. The thing of it is, the planet we are on is not named Ravenwild. It’s named Inam'Ra. It is much, much smaller than Earth, as I told you, and there are basically five parts to it: Ravenwild, the citizens of which are Humans, Elves, and Dwarves, and there are two other countries called Slova and Vultura. Slova is occupied by Trolls, and Vultura by Gnomes. They are allied in a war against Ravenwild that has gone on for a long time.
