by Peter Plasse
He snuck down to the river’s edge and drank his fill. There were some berries growing wild among the bulrushes, and he tried a few. They were sweet, and while they did not satisfy the enormous hunger that burned in his belly, they took it away enough for him to concentrate on what he had to do. He got out his maps and saw that Gracie and Ryan had made their way several miles to the west. “Good,” he thought. He also noticed that the dot that they had all assumed represented Forrester had moved as well, clearly headed in the direction of Ghasten, and was closer to him than it had been in the morning.
Once again he thought, “Good. He must be alive.” They wouldn’t be transporting him if he were dead.
He continued along, sweeping as he went. In an hour, having noticed that he suffered no ill effects from the berries, he ate as many as he could. They gave him a lot of energy, so when he ran into a big patch he spent a while filling his pack with as many as he could. He walked all night, always conscious that the most important things were silence and leaving no trail. So far, so good. Just as the sun was peeking its head over the trees on the far side of the river, he checked the maps one last time. Gracie and Ryan were farther to the west, but Forrester’s dot was where it had been the last time he had checked. He crawled into a thick tangle of growth and slept.
He was awakened this time in the mid-afternoon by the sound of voices. They were close! His heart pounded in his chest. Not risking even a cautious glance, he tried to make out where the voices were coming from and what was being said. While he did, he concentrated on keeping his breathing under control, remembering what Forrester had said about the Gnomes’ keen sense of hearing.
Within minutes, those speaking were within a few feet of him. Slowly, he checked his sword to be sure it was free in its scabbard, and was about to jump up and try and fight his way out of this impossible mess, when he heard footsteps running through the woods further inland.
“Captain,” he heard a Gnome shout. “We have found the trail. My lieutenant ordered me to get word to you at once. The three of them are riding west. They are riding hard. We will have to move fast to catch them.”
“You two,” the captain ordered. “Get word to the others and have them transport the prisoner directly to the castle. Malance will have a good time with that one. Everybody else, come with me!”
The soldiers, not six feet from him, ran quickly to join the rest of the outfit, and in a few minutes he was alone.
He waited a good long time and cautiously lifted his head. Nothing. Sighing deeply, he sat up and rubbed all of his muscles to soothe the hard aching from having lain so still for so long. He could smell smoke, and when he snuck to its source he found their temporary camp had indeed been hastily abandoned.
Likewise, they had left a half-cooked animal that looked like some sort of goat roasting on a metal spit over the coals, as well as a small metal boiling pot with what looked like tea leaves laid out neatly on a flat rock. He tore off a piece of the meat and wolfed it down, then quickly butchered the remains of the carcass and repacked his few things. Discarding the vines, he instead placed a generous quantity of leaves between the meat and the maps to avoid soiling them.
In a few hours he had made his way another mile up river. The maps indicated that he was still on the same side as his large friend. If he could only keep going in the direction he was going there was a good chance he might intercept them. He was exhausted, but doggedly continued on, knowing that he had to make better time than they, or all was lost.
He found himself thinking back to football camp in August, the grueling drills done in the miserable Connecticut summer heat, the emphasis on toughness, on loyalty. He kept moving.
At sunset he stopped to eat some of the meat he had stumbled upon, to drink, and to check the maps.
“Hmmm,” he thought. From the location of Forrester’s dot, it looked as though if he continued on his present course, he would definitely cut them off, if he could keep up the pace for just one more night. The maps indicated that there was a bridge over the river a few miles ahead, and if he could get to them before they crossed over it, while he had the cover of the woods, there was a chance. They would still be well away from Ghasten.
He knew if they made it to the castle, his chances of rescuing Forrester went from slim to none.
So with steely resolve he forged forward, putting one foot in front of the other.
He was no less exhausted.
He was no less afraid.
But he found that, while no less shaky, his feet kept moving, and that he never forgot, not once, to carefully sweep his trail clean to cover his tracks every few steps. And that he never forgot to keep “woods quiet” so as to not give away his position to the enemy that he knew was out there hunting him. And that there was an abundance of berries upon which to munch as he kept going on this trying slog along the river bank. And that he had meat in his pack, which, however awful it tasted in his mouth, sustained him.
Suddenly he found a quiet confidence that he could somehow succeed in this as he walked through the shadows of this valley of death.
When he finally collapsed in the tangle and wrap of the shoreline scrub, having walked all night, his final thought was: “Hang on Jacqueline, I’m coming.”
He was so beaten down that he slept until a short while before sundown, which he knew right away by the position of the sun in the Slovan sky. He suddenly realized that he had forgotten to check his maps before crashing, battered and scratched, which he did before he stood to relieve himself.
He saw that Gracie and Ryan were now farther to the west by several miles, that his mother and father were slightly farther to the east, still in the northern Ravenwild forest, that Stephanie was approaching the borderlands of Slova and Ravenwild far to the north, and that Jacqueline was pretty much in the same place in the Agden Woods.
He also noticed that Forrester’s dot was missing!
“Great,” he thought. “He’s dead.”
It had all been for naught. A vision of his enormous friend, covered in Gnomes, hacking and slashing at him on the edge of the flat of the Vargus Woods, flashed into his mind. “Why did this have to happen,” he found himself thinking. “All he did was to try and help us, and guide us, and, and be our friend. Why did I have to get separated from Ryan and Grace? They’re city slickers. They won’t stand a chance in the woods against the Gnomes.”
So now, pressed down by this massive weight of dejection, like the weight of the bench press that crushes against the athlete in the weight room when he is training, he curled up in anguish.
He found himself muttering, cursing under his breath.
Then, out from beyond the boundaries of his despair, he heard a familiar rumble. “You shouldn’t be making all of that noise. The Gnomes will hear you from a mile away.”
He jumped up and into the arms of Forrester, hugging him ferociously.
“Forrester!” he cried, “You’re alive!”
Forrester hugged him back, saying, “So it would seem. But hey, keep your voice down. There are unfriendlies about.”
He set his young friend back onto the forest floor and said, “But not to worry. I have sent our would-be friends on a little wild goose-chase, so we are most likely quite alone. But it never hurts to be cautious.”
Chapter 15
“Human, wake up. Hey, Human, wake up.”
Blake heard the voice, from what seemed like across a great valley, pleading with him. He fought to regain awareness, but as he did he deliberately maintained the semblance of unconsciousness. He didn’t know why, because he couldn’t remember how it was that he had descended into oblivion. Who was it? He tried to think. His head pounded terribly. Deep within his cranium, waves of pain ran wild with every beat of his heart. For a moment he thought he had been captured by a rebel in one of the Afghanistan drug-lord’s armies, but then it flashed on him, and he remembered. He had been hit in the head with something and had passed out. He was in a place called Ravenwild, and he and Je
ssica were … that’s right, trying to rescue Stephanie who was being held in … No, they were trying to get to Mount Gothic …
His thoughts were jumbled and came slowly. He felt bile rise in his throat and fought to suppress it, but found himself gagging on it anyway.
Then he remembered that he had awakened some time during the night and actually spoken to one of his captors. He remembered asking him to please loosen the bonds around his wrists because he couldn’t feel his hands. That’s right, he remembered, as the fog lifted from his brain. Jessica had been captured by this band of Gnomes that he had followed for days, and right when he thought he might rescue her, the tide had turned and now they were both in captivity.
He tried to open his eyes a little to assess the situation, but shut them again when he heard other voices approaching.
He heard them stop directly in front of him.
One of them seized him by the hair and roughly turned his head side to side.
“The left side. I hit him on the left side. There, see it? Wake him up.”
“You wake him up, Oddwaddle. You’re the one who knocked him out.”
“I’m a good shot, what can I tell you?” said Oddwaddle. “Hey, Human, wake up.” He slapped him hard. “Come on now, wake up.” He slapped him again.
“That’s enough of that,” Jessica demanded in a loud voice. “There’s no need for that, now. Take me out of these bindings, and I’ll wake him up. You’re not afraid of me, are you? Three of you, one of me? You with weapons, which you are plainly good at using, me with none?”
“Hey, I know,” said Veinn. “Let’s torture the lady Human. He was awake last night, maybe he’s awake now and faking.”
“Good idea,” said Biliar. “What shall we do to her?”
“Well, as long as it doesn’t affect her ability to walk, and it doesn’t bruise the meat, I guess we can do anything we want,” said Veinn.
“She won’t need her eyelids,” said Biliar.
“Of course she’ll need her eyelids,” said Oddwaddle. “If we remove her eyelids, her eyeballs will dry out, and she will be blind. Do you realize how much more work that will make for us to get her to where we’re going? How it will slow us down? Are you an idiot? Remove her eyelids. Yes, Captain Pilrick would love that suggestion.
“Besides, there’s no reason to torture anybody.”
The three argued for a while on whether or not to heap suffering on Jessica in order to ascertain whether Blake was feigning unconsciousness, when Captain Pilrick flipped open his tent flap and bellowed, “Biliar, Oddwaddle, Veinn. What are you doing? One of you bring me some water, and one of you bring me some flatbread and some sliced roast. Never mind standing there and gawking at those two. We’ve all seen Humans before. Move it now, or I’ll have Jebwickett give you a few lashes to remind you how things are supposed to work in the Gnome military chain of command!
“Gall, you stand watch over the prisoners. You’ve done more work this morning than the three of them combined. You deserve a break. Keep a close eye on them, now.” Then he wandered out behind his tent, presumably to do his business.
Biliar, Oddwaddle, and Veinn jumped to do their captain’s bidding. Gall strolled over to stand watch over the two prisoners.
Blake, deciding there was no more use pretending he was still insentient, opened his eyes and said, “Gall. Is that your name?”
“So you were awake, wily Human. Captain Pilrick will not appreciate tricks. No. Try to trick us and you will never make it to the Troll cooking pots. We will just kill you and leave you to rot in the forest. We do not need to give you over to the Trolls. No. In fact, Gall could kill you right now and not be in trouble. Gall could say he had to, that you were trying to escape. Captain Pilrick would understand. He would not punish Gall. Captain Pilrick likes Gall.”
“Oh, like surviving a few more days only to end up in a Troll cooking pot is worth it?”
“Worth what?”
“He’s simple,” thought Blake.
“Was it you that I asked to loosen my wrist restraints last night?” he asked.
Gall didn’t answer. He seemed to be listening to something far away.
“Gall,” said Blake. “Gall.”
“Hear that?” asked Gall. “Those are Troll war drums. They are sounding something, but Gall cannot tell what. But it is something important, of that there is no mistake.”
“Was it you that I asked … ” he started to repeat the question.
“Gall heard you the first time,” he said. “Stupid Human. That was Biliar. He was the one you asked to loosen your bonds. He told Gall about it this morning as we washed up. He said you gave him a soldier’s oath to not try and escape. Stupid Human, are you that stupid you cannot tell one of us from the other?”
“My Name is Blake,” he said. “This is my wife. Her name is Jessica.”
“Biliar said you are a doctor,” he said. “Is this true?”
“Yes, Gall. It’s true. I’m a doctor. Jessica is a doctor as well.”
She opened her eyes and said, “Good morning, Blake. Good morning, Gall. I need to go to the bathroom. Could you please lead me somewhere where I could go, like you did yesterday?”
Gall looked from one to the other. “Gall will do it after Gall first asks Captain Pilrick. He likes Gall to ask about everything. When Gall does not ask, he sometimes gets very angry. Gall does not want to make Captain Pilrick angry. No, no, no. Gall does not want to make Captain Pilrick angry.”
“Could you ask him now?”
“Better to wait. Yes, better to wait until after he has eaten. Gall made very good flatbread this morning. After Captain Pilrick has eaten some roast and some of Gall’s special flatbread, and had some tea, he will be happy. Gall makes the best flatbread.”
“You make the best flatbread?” asked Blake.
“Yes. Gall just said that. Are you stupid, or are you trying to trick Gall, crafty Human?”
“No, no. No tricks, Gall, I was wondering if you’re a cook, or, that is, if you ever were a cook, you now, like it was your job before being a soldier?”
Gall smiled. “Yes,” he said, his voice excited. “How did you know? Gall was a cook before he started this stupid soldiering. Stupid soldiering. Gall hates soldiering. But wait! Yes! You are tricking Gall. Now you will tell Captain Pilrick what Gall said about hating soldiering, and Captain Pilrick will have Gall whipped. Jebwickett gives bad whippings. Bad, bad, bad. Jebwickett likes to give whippings, see?” He turned his back and showed them the severe scarring. “That’s why Captain Pilrick has Jebwickett do them.”
Now he looked panicky. Blake and Jessica both thought he was teetering on the brink of breaking down and doing something irrational.
“Gall, take it easy,” said Jessica. She kept her voice deliberately toned. Soothing. She knew she was talking to a child, a badly frightened child, and removing his fear was the immediate task at hand. “It’s all right. Neither of us is going to tell Captain Pilrick about anything that will get you whipped. Gall. Please look at me. Please?”
Gall tore his angry glare away from Blake and looked at Jessica.
“I promise.”
The captain pushed his way through the tent flap and burst out. “Gall,” he hollered. “What are you doing? Are you talking with those slippery Humans? Get over here and make me some tea.”
Gall looked quickly at both of them, his eyes silently begging them to honor Jessica’s promise, then wheeled and left on the run to make the captain his tea.
“How are you holding up?” asked Blake.
“I’m okay,” said Jessica. “I have to go. I really have to go.”
“Try and think of something else.”
“Nice job last night,” she said. “How many times did we practice that exact same maneuver at Camp LeJeune, anyway?” She shook her head in disgust.
“I know,” said Blake. “Sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
They watc
hed as Gall handed the captain his mug. He took a bite of his flatbread and a big drink of tea. He almost seemed to smile and reached out and patted Gall on the head. They talked for a bit, Gall waving his arms about the whole time, after which the captain approached them.
He stood before them, holding his cup of tea and the last corner of his flatbread, chewing slowly. “Gall says you’re a doctor?” he said to Blake.
“Yes,” he said. “I am.”
From up close both could see that one of the captain’s eyes was badly swollen, almost shut. “Your eye is swollen,” said Jessica. “You should have the doctor look at it. Maybe he could fix it.”
He turned towards her and popped the last bit of flatbread into his mouth, which he seemed to chew more slowly, finishing his tea with a last gulp and a contented sigh.
“Did I ask you to speak, Lady Human?” he asked. “Speak again without being asked to and I will have you killed, and your body left to rot for the crows.”
He turned back to Blake. “Can you fix my eye?”
“What happened to it?” he asked.
The captain closed the gap between them with two strides and delivered a hard kick to his left mid-chest. He grunted hard, feeling the rib break under the captain’s heavy boot.
“Stupid Human!” he shrieked. “I asked you a question. Sneaky Humans. Always trying to trick. I will ask you one more time. Can you fix my eye?”
He struggled to catch his breath as the lancinating pain threatened to cause him to pass out. “Yes,” he gasped, “I can most likely fix your eye.”
“Jebwickett!” screamed the captain. “Where is Jebwickett?”
“He is out standing guard,” called Gall. He scampered towards them, stopping a yard from the captain, where he bowed his head.
“Get Biliar,” he said. He looked Gall up and down. “You don’t have the stomach for this, son,” he said softly.
The captain turned back to face them. “I am going to cut your bindings,” he said to Blake. “One false move and I will kill her myself,” adding, “after she has had a taste of Jebwickett’s whip.”
