The Andor: Book One of the Legends of Tirmar

by Mark Dame

  “I understand, My Lord. And yet, I still must go. I will see her safely returned home or die in the trying. I have no choice. I have tried to accept her fate as the will of the gods, but alas, I am haunted by Brenna in my dreams. I cannot lead the Militia while my heart holds out hope that she yet lives. If I must resign my position, so be it.”

  “Would you sacrifice all of Garthset for one woman? Surely, you see the folly in that?”

  “I do, My Lord. And still I must follow my heart.”

  Meinrad sighed again and walked back to his desk. On top of the desk was a map. He looked at it for several minutes before speaking again.

  “Very well, Gudbrant,” the Thane said. “It seems I cannot stop you from going. I shall at least provide you with the best chance for success. But tell me, where will you look for her?”

  “I’ll start at Gurnborg,” Gudbrant said, pointing to a town on the map. “Surely they would have taken her there first. If she’s not there, we’ll find someone who has seen her and knows where they’ve taken her.”

  “I think I know,” Flyn said, speaking for the first time since they had arrived in the Thane’s audience chamber. A thought had come to him.

  Both men looked up at Flyn, their eyebrows raised.

  “And how would you, stranger to our land, know where our enemy has taken my daughter?”

  “Our first day in Tirmar, when we came across the orc patrol. I didn’t know who they were, so I hid and listened to their conversation. One of them was talking about a woman he had recently captured. She was on horseback and they talked about how she fought back. She even stabbed one of the orcs with a knife. Apparently, she told one of them that she was someone important.”

  Gudbrant and Meinrad exchanged a glance, then turned back to Flyn.

  “Did they say anything about what she looked like?” Gudbrant asked.

  “No. But she had long hair. One of the orcs said he pulled her off her horse by her hair.”

  Meinrad gasped, but Gudbrant just scowled.

  “Sorry, that’s just what he said.” Flyn realized he probably should have left out that detail.

  “That could be her,” Gudbrant said to Meinrad. “She was on horseback when she left that morning and she certainly would have fought back.”

  “Even if it was her, how does that help?” Meinrad said. “Already knew she was captured by those filthy animals.”

  “That was the thing,” Flyn said. “They were talking about how she was being sent to the master’s palace.”

  Meinrad sat down in his chair, as if his legs had collapsed. Gudbrant hung his head.

  “Why?” Flyn said. “What’s so special about the master’s palace?”

  “It’s Jarot’s personal residence,” Gudbrant said. “That’s the one place we cannot go.” He sat down in one of the chairs in front of Meinrad’s desk and put his head in his hands.

  The color had drained from Meinrad’s face. He sat staring at nothing, his jaw hanging loose.

  “Why can’t we go there?” Flyn asked.

  “Because, my young friend, that is the most well protected place in all of Tirmar. Not even a ghost could slip in there without Jarot knowing about it.”

  “I’m still going,” Flyn told Gudbrant.

  After leaving the Thane’s Manor, he and Gudbrant had returned to the barracks. Gudbrant was even quieter than usual on the walk back. Now they were sitting in the mess hall, their lunch plates nearly untouched.

  “I suspected you would say as much.” Gudbrant stared at his now-cold soup as he slowly stirred it. “The Thane has forbidden me to go, but he has no authority over you. You may do as you please. Take fair warning, though. Your quest is destined to fail.”

  “Maybe so, but I have to go.” Flyn had explained himself to Gudbrant several times in the days prior. He didn’t see a point in discussing it again.

  He and Gudbrant had grown close during Flyn’s recovery. Flyn had been encouraged about his chances by having Gudbrant at his side. They had spent much time planning their journey to Gurnborg, the logical first destination. Now, knowing he would be on his own, the hopelessness he had felt his first day in Garthset returned.

  “You won’t go alone, Andor.” Gudbrant was looking at him now, apparently guessing his thoughts.

  “But what about the Thane’s orders?”

  “He forbade me to go,” Gudbrant said, a small smile on his face. “He never said no one else could go with you.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m going to send Randell with you. He’s my best tracker. You met him the night we found you in the woods.”

  Flyn was surprised by the offer.

  “Gudbrant,” Flyn said after a long silence. “I am grateful for the help, so don’t take my question the wrong way, but why? After all you’ve said about how we’ll likely die trying to find Kel and Brenna, and how you wouldn’t allow anyone else to risk his life on a fool’s errand. Why have you changed your mind?”

  “A fool’s errand, yes, with little chance for survival. But alone, you stand none. Randell has already volunteered to help. I told him no, but now… Perhaps the two of you will at least discover the fate of your friend. Maybe you will find him serving meals to the orcs in Gurnborg. Or working in the mine.”

  Gudbrant fell silent again and returned to stirring his soup. Flyn, too upset to eat before, now found himself too excited to eat.

  “I would prefer you should get some rest,” Gudbrant said. “You’ll leave this evening, just before the gates are closed for the night, and we have much to accomplish before then. Our first task will be to make sure you’re better equipped.”

  Gudbrant rose without finishing his meal. Flyn hurried after him.

  “Our first stop will be the armory. We should be able to find something to fit you. And you’ll need a better weapon than that knife.”

  Gudbrant led him through the barracks to the rear of the building, an area Flyn had not been to before. Soldiers guarding the entrance to the armory saluted Gudbrant and let them pass without comment. Once inside, Gudbrant introduced Flyn to the duty guard, a stout man named Agilric. He instructed Agilric to outfit Flyn with anything he needed, then left before either could say anything.

  Agilric brought him a leather harness, similar to the one Flyn had seen Gudbrant wearing the night they met, and a pair of leather leg plates. He even found a pair of old leather armguards that fit Flyn. Flyn came across a leather helmet that would protect most of his face as well as his head.

  Flyn had never worn armor or used a sword, so he had to rely completely on Agilric’s help to make sure everything fit properly. Agilric gave him a belt that had holes for attaching weapons and pouches. To these, he attached a short sword, a large pouch, and a waterskin. Wearing all the gear, Flyn could barely move. He also felt a little foolish, like he was a child dressing up for the harvest festival. Still, the armor and weapons gave him some comfort that he would be better protected should he find himself in a fight with an orc.

  He was still trying on boots when Gudbrant returned. Randell, the tracker, was with him. Gudbrant introduced Randell to Flyn, and then turned his attention to Flyn’s gear.

  “Not the best-fitting armor I’ve seen, but it’ll do,” Gudbrant said, inspecting and tightening Flyn’s harness and armguards. “You’re a little smaller than most of my militiamen.”

  Flyn had noticed that too. He was smaller than just about everybody in Garthset, even the women.

  Gudbrant made a few more adjustments, then stood back to look at him.

  “You look like you’re ready to take on Ugglar himself.”

  “Ugglar?” Flyn remembered hearing the orcs mention the name.

  “He’s one of Jarot’s Lieutenants. He’s in charge of the garrison at Gurnborg.”

  “Where we’re going?”

  Gudbrant nodded.

  “Does he even know how to use that sword?” Agilric asked.

  Everyone turned to Flyn. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He lo
oked to the floor and shook his head.

  “Don't worry about it,” Gudbrant said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Randell can teach you a few things this afternoon. At least enough to keep you from cutting your own leg off.”

  The three militiamen laughed. Flyn wanted to sink into the floor and crawl away.

  “Do you know how to use a bow?” Gudbrant asked.

  “I’m great with a bow,” Flyn said, perking up. “I can hit a running deer at fifty yards.”

  The men laughed again.

  “Well, then let us hope the orcs run no faster than a deer!”

  Agilric led Flyn to a long rack full of bows. He tried several before settling on one. Agilric attached a quiver to Flyn’s belt, then showed him to the barrels full of arrows. Flyn filled his quiver, inspecting each arrow before storing it.

  “I think I’m ready,” Flyn said when he was done.

  Gudbrant smiled and nodded. “Very good, don’t you think, Randell?” Gudbrant said, turning to the tracker.

  “I’d feel better with you at my side, Captain,” Randell said, frowning at Flyn. “But let us see what the young one can do with that sword before we judge one way or another.”

  Gudbrant thanked Agilric for his service, then led Flyn and Randell to the courtyard where Flyn would spend the next few hours with Randell learning how to fight.

  Chapter 6

  Flyn was sore from his afternoon sword training with Randell, and his ribs still ached from his injury, which didn’t help. He had never realized how hard sword fighting was. Randell had been patient with him, teaching him a basic fighting stance and how to slice and parry. He didn’t know how much it would help, but at least by the end of the training session, he wasn’t dropping the sword as much. Randell promised to teach him more during their travels. Flyn hoped that he would be able to defend himself by the time he needed to use his new skill.

  As planned, Flyn was waiting for Randell near the main gate just before sunset. He was wearing his new leather armor, his sword and quiver of arrows attached to the belt, as well as his new waterskin and a belt pouch full of what Gudbrant called “high energy snacks.” He had attached his old hunting knife to the belt using waxed twine.

  Gudbrant had provided him with a new pack, larger than his old one, filled with provisions for the journey, mostly cured meats, dried fruits, and hard loaves. The pack had a belt that, when used properly, took the weight off the shoulders, making it easier to carry for long treks. Flyn was grateful for that, as his new pack was significantly heavier than the one he had carried from home. It even had pockets on the outside for tools like his flint and steel, and eating utensils. In the top of the pack, another gift from Gudbrant, was a new bedroll made with a fur lining that made it warmer than his own simple blanket.

  Other items Flyn had tied to his pack included a coil of rope and a new cloak, one better suited for their journey through the mountains. Made from oiled leather and lined with fur, like the bedroll, it provided protection from cold, wind, and rain. It even had a hood to keep his head warm and dry. He had gloves made from similar material in the cloak’s pockets.

  Across everything he carried his new longbow.

  Randell told him their path may take them higher into the mountains, and this time of year, storms were common. They might even see snow, though most likely they would be dealing with cold rain and bitter winds. Without the right clothing and equipment, they would die from the elements without any help from the enemy.

  Flyn had been anxious to start on their journey all afternoon. Now, waiting at the gate with all his gear, he was more nervous than eager. Mentally reviewing everything he had packed, and the challenges ahead, he began to wonder if he was doing the right thing.

  The task before them was daunting. First, they had to travel through the mountains, a potentially treacherous journey even without the weather or orcs to deal with. They would then have to infiltrate an orc garrison and find Kel, or if he wasn’t there, find someone who could tell them what had happened to Kel. If that was the case, they might have to travel even more dangerous routes. Assuming they even found his friend, the hardest part would be rescuing him from his captors without being captured or killed themselves.

  Each step seemed to be a near impossible task. And yet, even if they located Kel and found a way to rescue him, their biggest challenge remained. They would have to elude orc patrols, and most likely pursuers, all the way back to Garthset. Orcs who were stronger and faster, and were more familiar with the land than Randell.

  Surely their chance of ever seeing Garthset again was small.

  And yet, in his heart, he knew he still must try. He couldn’t live knowing Kel’s fate was in his hands.

  “Are you ready?”

  Flyn started. Randell had walked up behind him while he was lost in thought. He was dressed similarly to Flyn, with leather armor and a large pack. He carried a bundle of short, metal poles.

  “As ready as I can be, I think. What are those?” Flyn asked, pointing at the bundle.

  “These are for our tent. I’m carrying the canvas. You get to carry the poles. Turn around.”

  Randell secured the poles to Flyn’s pack. When he was finished, he turned Flyn around and stepped back, inspecting him.

  “Looks like you have everything in place. Let’s get moving before they close the gates for the night.”

  Flyn nodded and followed Randell through the main gate. His guide waved to the guards keeping watch on top of the wall. Flyn’s heart raced and his stomach fluttered as they passed under the archway. Then they were through, the city behind them, the valley forest in front. Flyn stopped and looked back through the gates.

  “You aren’t changing your mind, are you?” Randell asked with a grin.

  “No. I was just expecting Gudbrant to come see us off.”

  Randell grunted and turned back to the path. “So did I. In fact, I haven’t seen him since your training session this afternoon. Something important must have come up. Let’s get moving. I want to get at least three leagues before morning.”

  Flyn turned his back to the town and jogged to catch up with Randell.

  Their plan was to travel at night. They would be less likely to run into patrols that way and they could hide their camp in the woods during the day. They would also have better luck sneaking into Gurnborg in the dark, so Gudbrant had suggested they should acclimate themselves to working at night. With everything that was against them, they should avail themselves of even the smallest advantage.

  Gurnborg was almost a week’s journey by foot. Randell had wanted to take horses. They could have made the trip in two or three nights on horseback, but Gudbrant had pointed out that stealth was more important than speed, and there was no way to hide two horses. They had even discussed taking a third person who could return with the horses when they got close to their destination. Gudbrant had rejected that idea as well, with no explanation. Flyn suspected that he didn’t want to ask anyone else to risk his life on a journey that was all but doomed to fail.

  “So why did you agree to come with me?” Flyn asked after they had been walking for a while.

  Randell didn’t answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and far away.

  “I owe Gudbrant my life.”

  Again, Randell was quiet for a while. For a minute, Flyn thought he wasn’t going to say any more than that. Finally, he continued.

  “When I was a boy, Asgerdale was peaceful. There were no walls around Garthset, and many people had farms in the valley. We knew of Jarot, of course, but his fortress is far to the north and his minions never traveled this far south. There were rumors from farther north of orcs raiding outlying farms and small villages and taking prisoners back to Jarot’s palace to be his slaves.

  “In those days, most thought Jarot was just an orc warlord, if he existed at all. Gurnborg hadn’t even been built yet. The Yonarr were gone, so no one even considered that Jarot might be a Yonarr. Stories of people disappearing we
re discounted as being victims of the harsh conditions in the north.”

  They walked in silence for a while before Randell continued.

  “One night, an orc raiding party came into Asgerdale and attacked some of the outlying farms. I heard them smashing down the door to our house.”

  Flyn looked over at Randell, but the militiaman’s eyes were lost in the past.

  “I was only six years old at the time. I cracked my bedroom door to see what was happening. My father ran down the hall, yelling at the orcs, telling them to get out. The orcs just laughed at him, then one of them hit him with a club. My mother screamed and another one smacked her and knocked her to the ground. I didn’t know what else to do, so I hid under my bed. When they started searching the house, I was terrified that they would find me, so I crawled out from under the bed and climbed out the window. I ran as fast as I could to the woods and when I looked back, I saw the orcs carrying off my mother and sister. They bound them by their hands and feet and threw them onto a cart. I never saw my father. Before they left, they set fire to our house, our barn, and our fields.

  “I hid in the woods until morning. By then, the only thing left of my home was a pile of smoldering ash. I knew my father was dead and his body was somewhere in the midst of the remains of our house. I like to think the orcs killed him before they set fire to the house. The alternative is too hard to bear.”

  Again, Randell stopped speaking for a while.

  “Anyway, sometime later that morning or early afternoon, a militia patrol from Garthset came to investigate. They had seen the smoke. I hid when I heard the horses coming. I watched as they sifted through the debris, looking for survivors, I suppose. Eventually, one of the men saw me looking out from a tree. It took him a while, but he finally convinced me to come out. He asked me what happened, and I told him. In the end, I cried and he held me until I stopped. Then he gave me some food and water. When they left, he put me on his horse in front of him and brought me back to Garthset.