by Sam Ferguson
Aikur stepped forward. “Is this a cruel joke, that you tease me with such a possibility?”
The king shook his head. “I do not know if it is true, but I thought that a man like you would want to know of its existence. If, as you say, you are ready to spend eternity in Hammenfein after facing the executioner’s block, then perhaps you should go in person and knock on Hatmul’s door. Go and see if it is possible to get your family back.” The king held out the parchment.
Aikur took it and looked over the contents. “I expected a longer text,” he said.
The king nodded. “It is short, but it is direct. My scholars believe the original was written by Kyra after Trystan was imprisoned in Hammenfein.”
“Kyra? You mean Icadion’s daughter?” Aikur asked.
The king nodded and smiled. “She was betrothed to marry Trystan, another god of good and noble birth. However, Hatmul tricked Trystan into coming to Hammenfein, where he imprisoned him and prevented the two from marrying. Kyra planned to infiltrate Hammenfein and rescue her love, but Trystan was killed before she could act on her plans. However, if anyone would know the way to sneak in, it would be her.”
Aikur nodded. “If this is true, why did you not pardon me publicly in the court? Why wait until after my sentencing?”
“If this is true, I could not risk other, less savory men discovering the parchment’s existence. Imagine the kind of frenzy that would incite.” The king shook his head. “No, that would not have been wise. Now, I can release you in secret. Officially, you are being passed directly into my custody, but in reality you are free to pursue this if you wish.” The king pointed to the parchment.
Aikur nodded. “What do you want of me?”
“I expect you to get them back. Bring their spirits out to the world of the living.”
“But I will be unable to rejoin their spirits with their bodies.”
The king nodded. “I will have a pair of priests waiting for you at Belknap. Get your family there and then my priests will call upon Nagé to open the bridge for you and your family to cross into Volganor.” The king then held up a finger. “But be warned, Nagé will only do this once, as she promised me a favor for something I did for her long ago. Use this gift wisely, for it is not often that we can open the bridge.”
Aikur folded the parchment and tucked it into his trousers. “Are you sure they can get us into Volganor? We won’t be safe if we just go to the plane of the dead. Hatmul would be able to reach us there.”
The king smiled wide. “If you can get through Hatmul’s guards and hell hounds, my priests can get you across the rainbow bridge. On occasion, the gods have unlocked the bridge for kings or other great men to pass a few at a time.” The king inserted the key and twisted it. The lock popped open and the door creaked outward. “Understand, I can send a troop with you as far as Mat’Jhar, but from that point onward, you will be on your own. As brave as my men are, I cannot expect them to risk their souls by trespassing in Hatmul’s domain.”
“I understand,” Aikur said. “And what of Lord Consuert?”
“Lord Consuert has already been stripped of his title and rank. His manor and lands are forfeit, and he will come back to Graebner where he will face a public trial, most likely followed by execution, or perhaps banishment to the nesting grounds.”
A tear fell from Aikur’s cheek. “I have no words to thank you appropriately.”
The king slapped a hand to Aikur’s shoulder. “See to your family, and that will be thanks enough for me.”
“I will do better than that,” Aikur said. “I will tell the hosts of Volganor what you are doing for me, and your name will be exalted in the highest halls of heaven.”
“Come,” the king said. “Let me show you out of this prison and to the armory. I have reclaimed your axe and procured new armor for you as well. Better than that, I have twenty of my best men waiting for your command.”
Chapter 10
As the two walked back up the winding stairs to the ground floor of the courthouse, guards stepped aside, bowing reverently at the sight of their king. They left the courthouse and stepped out into the cool, evening air. The king pointed to a building across the wide dirt road.
“My men are there,” he said.
People all around stopped and stared at the two of them as they crossed the street. Aikur could see them whispering, but he didn’t care what they were saying. His only thoughts centered on the hopes of rescuing his family. The king led Aikur into the building through a large door and then closed it afterward. Aikur and the king were met by a group of twenty men, each clad in armor and wearing swords, bows, and axes. On a long wooden table in the center of the room, Aikur spied his belongings. He moved swiftly, purposefully to the table where he found his armor and weapons waiting for him just as the king had said. He pulled on the thick leather hauberk and tightened the straps at his left side for a secure fit. Next he slid the boots, with their studded leather shin guards, onto his feet. He then took up his battle axe, but then paused when the king bent down to a box at the end of the table and pulled out Aikur’s cloak made from the fur of a Kottri.
“I was able to reclaim this,” the king said.
Seeing the cloak reminded Aikur of Karyna, who had urged him to wear the cloak and take his place as part of the community. Perhaps, had he listened to her advice, she would still be alive. Yet, as he turned and allowed the king to place it upon him, he felt as though Karyna was near him even now, encouraging him for his final battle. “You have given me hope,” Aikur told the king after the cloak’s clasp was fastened.
“And take these other gifts, with my blessing,” the king said.
Aikur looked to the other items on the table and nodded. He slipped his left arm into the straps on the back of a large, round shield and then examined the proffered helmet briefly before donning it, careful to clasp the strap under his chin. The last thing he took was a khilij, a slightly curved long sword with a pointed wedge near the top of the blade’s back.
He held the blade up in the light, admiring the black, Telarian steel. Then he slid it into its scabbard and secured it around his waist so that the sword hung at his side.
“And the gauntlets,” the king said with a smile.
Aikur pulled on the gauntlets, admiring their sturdiness and the gold etching design along the top that almost looked like feathers.
“You have given me enough already, I cannot ask your men to travel with me where I must go.”
The king shook his head. “It is I who command them to go with you. The way to the door is treacherous. They will aid you in arriving there safely. They will then wait for you for three days. Once you have your family, they will escort you to Belknap to meet with my priests.”
Aikur pulled the parchment out and read the first few lines once more. “The back door to Hammenfein is lost in the fire pits of Deuldoran, in the southern most mountains that touch the seas upon the island of Mat’Jhar.” He then skipped down to the bottom of the parchment. “Items needed are a cloak woven from the white hair of the fair elves, the scale of a leviathan, and the twisted horn of a great albino ram that roams the elven forest.” Aikur looked up to the twenty men around him. Then he read the rest of the parchment. “The cloak shall make the wearer invisible to mortal eyes as well as the eyes of the Bloodguards that patrol Hammenfein. The leviathan scales will enable the wearer to see hidden ghosts. The horn shall be fastened to a pole and fashioned into a spear. This spear will have the power to slay spirits, and send them to the void where they shall live no more, and vanish into nothingness.” Aikur folded the parchment and put it back into his pocket. He gave a solid nod, then turned and bowed one more time to the king before marching out the door.
*****
The group travelled eastward, over the main road to Gilbrait. Soldiers in carts and on foot passed by them, heading back toward Lockleer for reprieve and healing. Several moans and wails came out from the backs of covered wagons.
“The battles hav
e become fierce,” one of the king’s men said. “Since your attack on the goblin mines east of Oakhaven, the lines along the front have broken, and the armies have had to fall back.”
“What happened?” Aikur asked. When he had been captured by Captain Marsten, there was no danger to anyone in the forests.
“Apparently a pair of female goblins managed to escape and find others to come to their aid. A group of orcs, accompanied by a trio of ogres, has amassed along the front and conducted several successful counter attacks. It looks like the border will hold, but Oakhaven has been evacuated.”
Aikur nodded, but he said nothing. He didn’t detect any anger in the man’s voice, yet he couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t blaming him for the recent course of events. Fortunately, the warrior ended the curiosity with his next words.
“The king has sent for reinforcements,” he said staunchly. “We have bolstered the defenses and purchased enough time for the wounded to be carried back here where they might receive aid that otherwise they would not. The king has also called for Captain Marsten’s arrest, and is in the process of pulling back from the front lines while negotiating a peaceful resolution. Last I heard there were some elves who can speak goblin tongue sent out to resolve the misunderstanding. The war will end soon enough, though it is an ugly business.”
Aikur nodded. “That I can agree with,” he said. “War is very ugly. That is why I wanted no part of it.”
The two fell silent then and they continued marching along the road until it was night. As the moon and stars hung in the sky above, they made a fire and pitched camp. It was then that Aikur noticed each of the king’s men had a small sack slung across their backs. From the sacks they pulled food; bread and dried meat mostly, but some had apples or other fruit to augment their meals. Aikur felt a coarse rumbling in his stomach, but he was not about to ask for someone to share with him. That was not his way. He started to look around, thinking about where he might find some food, when someone tapped on his shoulder.
Aikur turned to see a young man in his early twenties holding a sack out for him. “The king instructed me to carry this for you, it has the provisions for your journey.”
Aikur looked at him quizzically. “Where is your food?” he asked.
The young man offered a half smile and turned to reveal a second pack still hanging on his back. “I have my own as well.”
The Konnon warrior took the bag with a thankful nod. “My thanks for this,” he said. “From now, I will carry it myself, no need to carry anything for me.”
The young warrior nodded. “As you wish,” he said. Then he pulled his own bag and started to rummage through for some food.
The two sat together in the cool grass, eating bread and dried beef. Aikur found three bottles of water in his sack, so he pulled one out and drank from it. He watched the young man eat silently, wondering where he was from, and why he had chosen this particular profession.
The young soldier looked up and smiled. “I am a bit young compared to the rest, I know,” he said quickly. “Most of the other veterans in this group are more than ten years my senior, and they have many scars to show for it as well.”
“Yet you sit among them; surely that must speak to your skill and prowess on the battlefield, does it not?” Aikur asked.
The young man shrugged. “I am stronger than some I suppose,” he said.
“Young, and humble, that is not an oft found combination, especially among warriors,” Aikur noted. The young warrior chuckled to himself and took another bite of bread. “What is your name?” Aikur asked.
“I am Finnigrel,” the young warrior said.
Aikur paused, waiting for more. When Finnigrel continued eating instead of introducing himself further, he nudged the young man on the arm for more information. “Where were you born? Who is your father?”
Finnigrel shrugged. “You’ll have to forgive me, it isn’t that I mean to be rude, it’s just that I don’t rightly know. So, while another might say he is Finnigrel, the son of some great lord from some honorable, beautiful land, I am just Finnigrel. I was left on a doorstep when I was a few months old. I was raised in several different monasteries, and then I became a soldier.”
“If raised in a monastery, why not become a monk?” Aikur asked.
Finnigrel shrugged. “Seems to me that a sharp sword or a strong fist usually stops the wolves of the world faster than throwing old tales and books.” Finnigrel swallowed an enormously large, half-chewed mouthful of dried meat and then washed it down with a quick swig from his water jug. “I was never much for sitting still anyway. This way I can see the world, and I help people when I can. I may not preach and save souls, but I fight to protect lives. That has to be worth something, am I right?”
Aikur thought for a moment and then nodded. “It is a better reason than most for picking up the sword,” he admitted.
“I bet you have some tales to tell,” Finnigrel said excitedly. “When did you leave New Konnland?”
Aikur looked off to the fire and his smile faded to a stoic, solemn expression. “It was several years ago. My wife and I had no children yet, but we knew we wanted to have some. We also knew that our way of life was not what we wanted to give them. We wanted something better for them than what we had. So, when a shipment of supplies came in from the mainland, we bought passage back.” He set his food down and sighed. “Our families disowned us, said we were abandoning them and our heritage. We didn’t care. After arriving in Stoktown, I took my savings and bought a wagon and supplies. We traveled east for many months along the roads until we arrived in Gilbrait. Once there, we went to the governor’s steward, who in turn directed us to Wallace, the town master of Oakhaven. We spent a week traveling and then purchased the deed to a healthy plot of land in the mountains, near where the front lines are now. We built a home, and planted gardens and trees. It wasn’t long before we were pregnant. Life was good. We had peace, we had a family, and we had our own piece of heaven right here, nestled in the mountains of Kelsendale.” His voice cracked and his eyes welled with tears. He couldn’t continue speaking.
Finnigrel leaned over and laid a hand on Aikur’s shoulder. “What happened to you wasn’t right, not in the slightest,” he said. “Every man here volunteered to come with you and help set it right, myself included. Furthermore, the king had no knowledge of what that coward Consuert did to make you fight the goblins. We’ll get them back, no matter what it takes.”
Aikur nodded, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up at the young man. He choked back the tears, not willing to let them fall. Finnigrel stood and left Aikur alone.
After he walked away, Aikur pulled the transcription out to study it. He looked over the items he needed, and where to find them. Another warrior approached him from the left and pointed to the transcription.
“Do you think it is possible?” the warrior asked.
Aikur shrugged. “I am not for knowing,” he replied honestly. “I have never dealt with elves, nor have I ever tried to walk among the fire pits of Mat’Jhar.” Aikur folded it over once and swallowed while he thought. “I suppose I would try anything at this point.”
The young warrior nodded and knelt down next to him. “May I see it?” he asked.
Aikur eyed him warily.
The young warrior nodded. “I will be careful with it,” he promised. “I just like to know what I am getting into.” Aikur held out the transcription and the young warrior slowly mouthed through the words as he read it to himself. He stopped abruptly and showed a line to Aikur. “How are we supposed to get the leviathan scales?” The warrior shook his head incredulously and ran a hand through his hair. “It says to play a series of notes using a flute made of the tusk of a narwhal. There are no such beasts in our oceans.”
Aikur nodded knowingly and took the transcription back. “I know where we can acquire such a flute.”
“Where?” the warrior asked.
Aikur smiled. “I have heard tales of an ifrit who carries exactly suc
h a flute. My people knows of ifrits because we had to battle many of them when we first settled New Konnland. They were tricksters and thieves, reveling in the chance to murder innocent people for pleasure. But don’t worry, we don’t have to go to New Konnland to find one. The merchant ship we bought passage on to Kelsendale had a pair of bards. They sang often of the ifrit, and spoke of several people who had fallen victim to him. He roams the deserts near the well of Akoranth.”
“An ifrit?” one of the warriors asked.
“How can you trust in a bard’s song?” another asked.
“Don’t worry, my people have a lot of knowledge about the ifrit. Everything the bards said in their tales matched the description of the ifrits we speak of back on New Konnland. I have a plan to defeat him and get both the flute, and the scales.”
The young warrior shrugged. “Well, I am not one for tucking tail and running. If there is a back door to Hammenfein, I want to be named as one of the warriors brave enough to find it.” With that, he rose to his feet and left Aikur to his thoughts. Aikur watched him go and then surveyed the camp. The others were all preparing to bed down for the night. He decided to do the same. He lay on his back and watched the stars until his eyelids finally closed and the thoughts raging in his mind quieted enough for him to slip into the land of dreams.
Chapter 11
The men rose with the sun the next morning and marched with new vigor, quick to pass the southern edge of Cherry Lake and through the dense forest as they kept up a grueling pace for the mountains of Kelsendale.
They arrived in the foothills shortly before dusk. The smell of fire and death hung heavily on the foggy air. Ruined pickets and overturned wagons dotted the landscape, along with newly dug mounds of dirt heaped up with a helmet or a sword marking each. Carrion birds circled overhead and a pair of wolves prowled the ground below.
“The orcs must have given Captain Marsten’s men a harder fight than the man had prepared for,” Finnigrel said.
