by Mark Dame
The possibility that such an environment might make the people of the valley be distrustful of any strangers, human or no, was beginning to creep into Flyn’s thoughts. If Kel felt the same, he didn’t say. But they didn’t have much choice. They knew how the orcs and ogres felt. At least with the humans, there was a chance for help.
Before they had traveled more than a couple of hours, the path began to slope down and they could see trees far off in the distance. The sight of the trees encouraged them to pick up their pace, as much as Flyn's injury would allow, anyway. They were determined not to stop until they reached the forest ahead, forgoing a dinner break and instead snacking on some of their remaining food as they walked.
The sun was already sinking toward the horizon and the trees were still at least a league away.
It was dusk before they reached the first sign of greenery, and fully dark before they reached the trees. The stone road had begun to disappear as the land transitioned from rock to dirt. At first, dust and silt had just covered it in a few places, but as they had traveled farther, the stones became more broken and uneven until the road turned into just a dirt track with only an occasional broken flagstone to show that it had once been paved.
At the edge of the forest, the road split, one branch turning to the south, the other continuing straight to the west. Tired from their long day, and unsure of which path to take, they decided to camp for the night. Flyn pointed out that in the morning, they might be able to find tracks on the road, especially after the rain from the previous few days. If they could find human-sized footprints, they might have a better idea of which way to go.
They agreed that camping on the road was a bad idea, so they moved into the woods to find a place to sleep. After the sun had gone down, the air had quickly changed from cool to cold. The trees sheltered them from the wind, but it would be a chilly night. Kel wanted to build a fire, but after the encounter with the ogres, Flyn felt a fire would be too risky. Eventually, Kel relented. They settled for a cold dinner, then climbed into the bedrolls, hunkering down in the blankets to ward off the cold.
Kel was asleep in minutes, but Flyn’s injury kept him awake. Every breath was agony. He tried lying on the opposite side and taking shallow breaths, but every time he started to drift off, another wave of pain would hit. Although he didn’t normally drink whiskey, he was wishing for some now. Just a little to dull the pain so he could sleep. Even the disgusting pain medicine his mother used to give him when he was younger would be better than lying on the ground in misery.
After a while, he couldn’t take the pain anymore. He rose from his blankets and stretched to relieve the ache in his side. Nothing seemed to help, though. That the rest of him was sore too didn’t help matters. He decided to go for a short walk to stretch his legs.
Since they hadn’t built a fire, they had chosen a spot not too far from the path. Flyn was back to the fork in the road in a couple of minutes. The moon was still climbing in the cloudless sky and once he left the trees, he could easily make out his surroundings. The wind had died down, leaving everything still and quiet. Just the chirps and calls of the bugs and birds of the night. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.
Standing in the middle of the intersection, Flyn took a slow, deep breath to stretch his sore ribs. The air still smelled of damp earth from the rain, mixing with the other smells of spring. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was standing in the Brekkness Forest. Which was where he and Kel were supposed to be right now, instead of wherever they were. He didn’t even know the name of the island they were on. Not even the fairytales they had heard as children had names for the lands where the stories took place. The only land beyond Trygsted that he had ever heard of was Vahul. And this place didn’t look much like the afterlife described in the tales.
A noise from the southern road interrupted his thoughts. Someone was coming, though he couldn’t see anything yet. A furlong or so to the south, the road went over a hill, blocking it from view. A faint glow reflected off the trees on the other side of the hill.
Flyn scrambled back into the woods to hide and crouched down behind a large trunk to watch the road. He considered going back to wake Kel, but there wasn’t time. Whoever was coming was moving fast, not bothering to conceal themselves.
He watched as four men on horseback rode over the top of the hill, torches in their hands. They rode up and stopped short of the crossroad, their horses snorting and grunting, ears twitching.
The men were all dressed in dark armor. The vests were made of overlapping plates of leather, covering the torso, shoulders, and upper arms. The pants were similar, with leather plates covering their boots. Leather helmets protected their heads. Each had a sword hanging from his saddle.
The man in the lead got off his horse and walked to the crossroad, holding his torch down to examine the ground. After a few seconds, he turned back to the others.
“They were here,” he said. “There’s a lot of prints, but they definitely came through here.”
“Which way?” one of the other men said.
“Hard to tell. There’s prints going all over. It looks like they might have gone back into the pass, but then came back and headed toward Gurnborg.”
“Gurnborg? Why would they go there? I’ve never heard of ogres working for Jarot. If that’s changed, then war may be closer than we feared.”
“There’re more prints here too,” the first man said. “Human size.”
“Did somebody get away?”
“Can’t tell that, but there’s two sets of human footprints heading into the woods.” The man pointed toward the trees. The other men turned to look where he was pointing. They looked right at Flyn.
“You there,” the second man said, drawing his sword. “Come out here.”
Flyn hesitated. Were they rescued or captured? After everything they had been through since being swept to this land by the storm, he found he wasn’t sure. The men before him could be friendly and helpful, or they could just as easily be hostile. The man with the sword certainly wasn’t acting particularly friendly. But then, Flyn was the one hiding in the trees.
He stood up, checking that his hunting knife was in its place on his belt. It was a small comfort. A knife wouldn’t be of much use against a man armed with a sword. And certainly not four of them.
“Easy now,” the man said. “We’ll not harm you if you mean no harm to us.”
Flyn eased out from behind the tree. The other two men still on their horses had drawn their swords as well. Flyn put his hands out in front of him and walked slowly toward the road.
“Who are you and what are you doing hiding in the woods?” The man handed his torch to one of the others and climbed off his horse. He waited for Flyn, his sword in front of him.
“My name is Flyn. Flynygyn Geirrsen."
“That answers who you are but not what you are doing here.”
“My friend and I are lost. We’re looking for help to get back home.”
“Well, Flynygyn Geirrsen, my name is Gudbrant, son of Adalwolf.” The man lowered his sword, but kept it in front of him. “Where is this friend you speak of?”
“He’s sleeping. Back there.” Flyn pointed into the woods.
Gudbrant studied him for a minute then lowered his sword completely.
“You certainly look lost, boy. Where is home?”
“We’re from—”
A loud shout interrupted him.
“Get ’em lads!”
Flyn turned in time to see three orcs jump out of the trees from behind him. He recognized one as the large orc he had seen the first day.
He tried to run, but one of the orcs knocked him aside. His head hit a tree. His vision blurred and faded. As he lost consciousness, he heard a familiar voice.
“There's the other one! See, Kargguk! We tell you they here!”
Chapter 5
Flyn paced around the small room, occasionally stopping to look through the bars in the only window. The stre
et outside was dark and quiet. He had no idea how long he had been there, only that the moon had set and dawn had not yet come.
The only furniture in the small room was a chair and a cot. A lantern hung in the corner and an earthen pitcher of water, now empty, sat on the floor next to the cot. Even though he was exhausted, he was too frustrated to sleep. He had given up banging on the door and yelling to be let out several hours ago.
He was standing at the window again, looking out at the empty street, when the lock clicked and the door opened. Gudbrant, now without his armor, entered the room.
“Why am I locked in here?” Flyn asked. His face flushed with anger and frustration.
“Just relax.” Gudbrant closed the door and motioned toward the cot, indicating he wanted Flyn to sit. “Let’s discuss what you were doing wandering around in the woods last night.”
Flyn stayed standing.
Gudbrant was taller than Flyn, over six feet. Flyn had trouble estimating his age. From deep lines around his eyes and mouth and across his brow, he seemed to be much older than Flyn, though he carried himself as a younger man. His clothing was simple, a dark green tunic with brown pants and heavy leather boots, but clean and well-tailored. On the left side of his chest, the tunic bore an insignia of a bird with spread wings, its talons extended below it as if it was about to grasp its prey. The neck of the tunic was trimmed with two gold braids.
Gudbrant shrugged and sat in the chair. Crossing his arms, he looked up at Flyn with raised eyebrows and waited. After a long awkward moment of silence, Flyn sat down on the cot.
“You haven’t answered why I’m locked up,” Flyn said, calmer this time.
“I apologize, but these are dangerous times. You may be exactly who you say you are, a lost traveler. But then you may not. We can’t afford to take that chance. I’m sure you understand.”
“No, I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t even know where I am. And where’s Kel? Do you have him locked up too?”
“Kel? Is that the name of your companion?”
“Yes. Where is he?”
Gudbrant hesitated and looked away before answering.
“You’re in the town of Garthset. As for your friend…” Gudbrant paused again. “We were able to drive off the orcs. Fortunately, the ogres didn’t get involved. But the orcs took a captive with them when they left. It must have been your friend.”
Flyn jumped up, ignoring the pain that flared in his side. “Are you sure? He was sleeping in the woods off the path. Did you check for him?”
Gudbrant nodded. “We found your campsite and gathered your belongings. Your friend was not there. We found this on the ground.”
Gudbrant pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to Flyn.
It was Kel’s stupid hat.
“We have to go after them! I have to save Kel!”
“I’m sorry for your friend, but there’s no rescuing him.” Gudbrant looked at Flyn, pity in his eyes.
“What do you mean? We have to save him.”
“Once Jarot’s slavers capture a man…” He paused for a moment. “Or a woman, there’s no rescue. His forces are too great. Even if we knew where your friend was being taken, which could be almost anywhere, we would need an army to free him.”
Gudbrant looked away again.
“But there must be something we can do?”
Flyn could not accept that his friend was gone. He had talked Kel into coming on his grand trip around Trygsted, and that made Kel his responsibility. Even if Flyn could find a way home, he would never go back without Kel. How could he? Kel’s family would never forgive him, even if he somehow found a way to forgive himself. The pair had rarely been apart for more than a few days at a time. Kel was his brother, in some ways even more than Ty.
No, more than just a brother. Kel was Flyn’s anchor. He kept Flyn out of trouble. At least most of the time. It was Flyn who always came up with the wild schemes and plans. Kel was the voice of caution. He usually talked Flyn out of his more dangerous ideas. And even when he couldn’t, Kel still managed to keep Flyn from getting into too much trouble. If not for Kel, Flyn would probably be sitting in the Drogave jail. Or worse.
Like the one he was in now.
He looked up at Gudbrant. “Why would they take Kel?”
Gudbrant raised his eyebrow. “To be a slave for Jarot, of course.”
“Who’s Jarot?”
Gudbrant stared at him before answering. “He’s the last of the Yonarr.”
“The Yonarr? What’s that?”
“Where is it that you come from?” Gudbrant asked after a long pause.
“We live on another island called Trygsted.”
“Trygsted?” Gudbrant stood up. “I have no time for liars. I’ll have someone bring you some food when the kitchens open, then you can be on your way. Until then, you’ll stay here. With the door locked.”
Gudbrant turned to leave.
“Wait!” Flyn jumped up and grabbed Gudbrant’s arm. “I’m not lying. I’m Flynygyn Geirrsen of the Andor clan. I live just outside Drogave, on the west coast of Trygsted. Kel and I were trying to travel around the island in our boat when we got caught in a storm that blew us to your island. You have to believe me.”
Gudbrant looked down at Flyn’s hand then up at Flyn. Flyn let go of his arm and stood, waiting.
“You’re of the Andor clan,” he said.
Flyn nodded.
“And you live on Trygsted.”
Flyn nodded again.
“This isn’t Trygsted. This is Tirmar, and it isn’t an island.” Gudbrant walked out, closing the door behind him. Flyn heard the lock click.
The sun was up before the door opened again. A young girl brought in a tray filled with breakfast foods. She didn’t speak, just smiled shyly at Flyn, then set the tray down and left.
A guard stood outside the door, sword drawn, waiting for her to deliver the food. He was dressed in the same brown pants and green tunic as Gudbrant, though without the gold braid around the neck. He was even bigger than Gudbrant, almost seven feet tall. He could almost pass for a small orc. Apparently to keep him from trying to overpower the delivery girl and escaping. Not that the guard was necessary. Flyn wasn’t in any condition to overpower anyone. Even without the injury to his ribs, several days of climbing and hiking with limited food left him far from his peak form.
The meal the girl left was more than he had eaten since leaving home. Flyn hadn’t realized quite how hungry he was until he smelled the bacon, eggs, and toasted wheat cakes. Within minutes he had devoured the entire meal and washed it down with a large mug of a fruit juice he didn’t recognize. If nothing else, at least they had good food.
After he ate, Flyn spent the next hour staring through the bars in the window at the morning outside.
From what he could see, he was in a large village or small town. The window overlooked the street in front of the building. Other buildings he could see looked to be shops for food, clothing, and tools. They all appeared to be made from stone, with wood doors and shutters. Even the roofs seemed to be made from thin, overlapping slabs of rock. The street was paved with flagstones, similar to the mountain pass, though not with the same level of craftsmanship.
People moved quickly along the street, not stopping to socialize. Everyone seemed to be focused on their tasks, whatever they happened to be. Occasionally, pairs of men on horseback rode by, wearing the same kind of leather armor worn by the men the previous evening. For all the people, the street seemed oddly quiet. The only sounds were from the horses’ hooves on the flagstones and the clanging of a blacksmith hammer from somewhere nearby.
Flyn sighed and turned away from the window. He was still trying to understand what Gudbrant had said. The orcs had kidnapped Kel to be a slave for someone named Jarot. But why Kel? He remembered the ogres saying something about escaped slaves, but he and Kel weren’t slaves.
And why would Gudbrant think he was lying about coming from Trygsted? He h
ad clearly heard of Trygsted, which was more than Flyn could say about Tirmar. And he had said Tirmar wasn’t an island. What did that mean?
Flyn had more questions now than he had before he had met Gudbrant and his people. Why were they holding him captive? He hadn’t done anything to them. Although, he supposed none of that mattered now. All that really mattered was getting out and finding Kel.
Flyn looked up as the door opened again. Gudbrant came in, the guard standing behind him, sword still drawn.
“Well, Flynygyn of the Andors, the Thane wants to speak with you.”
“Why?” Flyn wasn’t feeling very cooperative after being locked up for hours.
“I guess he found your story more intriguing than I did, although I think it’s a waste of time. You’re obviously lying, and it’s not even a very good lie. Do you really expect people to believe that you’re from Trygsted or part of the Lost Clan?”
“Lost Clan? What does that mean?”
Gudbrant grunted. “Let’s go. The Thane is a very busy man, especially now. You’ll not keep him waiting.”
Flyn followed Gudbrant from the room. The guard fell in behind him.
Gudbrant stopped at the door to the street and turned to Flyn. “Don’t try running. Harvig here is faster than he looks. I suspect the Thane will allow you to leave after he’s spoken with you. Unless you prove to be something more than a liar.”
Flyn just nodded, then followed Gudbrant out the door.
The air still had a cool bite, like a crisp winter morning in spite of the season, though the sun was just cresting over the mountain peaks to the east, promising a warmer afternoon. Only a few wispy clouds floating overhead interrupted the expanse of rich blue sky. The light spring breeze carried the same flowery spring scent Flyn had noticed before. Suddenly, he was very homesick.
The road in front of the building only went a few hundred yards to the east before ending at a gate in a large stone wall. Several guards stood on top of the wall, looking out beyond it. A small building that Flyn suspected housed more guards stood next to the closed gate.
