The Andor: Book One of the Legends of Tirmar

by Mark Dame

  They crouched down and waited.

  The sun must have risen because the mist was a lighter gray now than before. Still, they could see no more than a few yards in any direction. Thankfully, the top of the wall was still obscured from view, hiding them from the orc sentries stationed there. Even so, Flyn hardly dared to breathe for fear of alerting the guards to their presence.

  After a few minutes, the sound of a bird whistle came out of the fog. Randell nodded to Flyn and Harvig. It was Gudbrant’s signal. He was in position. Randell pursed his lips and replied with a similar call.

  They started toward the gate, staying crouched down and moving slow. Before long, two vague, dark shapes appeared in the gloom. The guards. They stopped and waited.

  The bird call came out of the mist again. Ahead of them, one of the guards said something to the other, but they were still too far away to hear the words. Then something clacked in front of them. The guard turned to look at the wall. Then a dull thud.

  “Hey!” the guard yelled.

  “What?” the other guard replied.

  “Something hit me head.”

  Another dull thud.

  “Ow!” the second guard said. “Somebody throwing rocks.”

  Thud. The first guard reached up and rubbed his mouth.

  “Go see what’s out there,” the second guard said to the first.

  The guard trudged off into the mist.

  Thud.

  “Stop that!” the remaining guard yelled.

  A clatter of rocks, then another thud.

  “Now you making me mad!” The second guard tromped off into the mist after the first.

  Randell motioned for Flyn and Harvig to follow him, then ran for the gate, watching for the guards in the fog. When they reached the gateway, Randell stopped and pressed his back against the wall. He peered around the corner, then slipped through the opening. Flyn followed with Harvig close behind.

  The wall was thick, at least twenty feet. The gateway was like a tunnel through the wall. A raised portcullis hung over their heads, its spiked bars pointing down at them. Large, wooden doors stood open at the far end of the gateway.

  Past the gateway, the road continued, disappearing into the garrison, flanked by low buildings on both sides. On the other side of the gate, stairs led to the top of the wall. There was commotion up there now. Orcs shouting down at the gate guards.

  “Come on,” Randell said in a loud whisper. “They might send reinforcements.”

  The trio ran along the inside of the wall until the gate was out of sight, then ducked into an alley. Gudbrant had told them to wait no more than five minutes for him. If he couldn’t make it, they were to go on without him and he would meet with them when they exited the garrison.

  The orcs on the wall continued to yell. Flyn could only assume they were running down the steps and out the gate to join the hunt for the intruder. There seemed to be little chance for Gudbrant to escape, much less sneak into the garrison. Yet they still waited, as planned.

  Five minutes passed. Then ten. And still they waited. The yelling from the guards had stopped and all else was quiet.

  “We have to go,” Randell whispered after fifteen minutes had passed.

  “You go if you want,” Harvig replied. “I’m waiting for Gudbrant.”

  “If we split up, we’ll probably all get caught,” Randell argued. “Besides, Gudbrant told us not to wait for him. He’s probably hiding in the mountains somewhere.”

  “I have a bad feeling that something has happened to him. I want to stay until I know for sure he’s all right.” Harvig peeked around the corner toward the gate.

  “If he’s been captured or killed, we won’t find out about it by waiting here. Our best option is to stick to the plan.”

  “Whatever we do,” Flyn said, “let’s do it quick. You two arguing is just going to attract attention.”

  “He’s right,” Randell said, lowering his voice. “We can’t stay here. We’re too close to the guards.”

  “I’m holding you accountable for whatever happens to Gudbrant.” Harvig scowled as he stood up. “So what do we do now?”

  “We stick to the plan,” Randell said. “We search for Flyn’s friend. The garrison isn’t that big.”

  They decided to start along the wall, searching for buildings that looked like they might house prisoners or slaves. They started with the one they were hiding behind. There were no bars on the windows, so they suspected it was a troop barracks. Flyn volunteered to look through the window.

  The building was one long room, with a low ceiling, and bare, wood walls and floor. Lanterns hanging at regular intervals provided light. Low-lying cots lined both sides of the room and a heating stove sat at each end. Several orcs milled about, some of them kicking those still in their cots. Flyn wondered how bad the prisoner accommodations must be if this was how the soldiers lived.

  He ducked down before he was noticed and shook his head at the others. Harvig returned from checking the building on the other side of the alley.

  “Empty,” he whispered.

  Randell nodded, then led the way out of the alley and back to the wall.

  The fog wasn’t as thick inside the fortress walls, though they still couldn’t see very far in spite of the brightening sky. Flyn supposed that the fog hid them from the orcs just as much as the other way around. Still, they had several close calls, with orcs appearing out of the mist in front of them without warning. Each time, they managed to duck into an alley or hide behind a small building before they were seen.

  They snuck along the north wall, checking every building along the way. Most were storehouses or weapons lockers. One appeared to be a dining hall, though it was dark and empty. Not until they were working their way toward the middle of the garrison along the eastern fortress wall did they find any sign of prisoners.

  About halfway along the east wall, they found a building with no windows and a large wooden bar across the door.

  “That has to be a stockade,” Harvig said. “Why else would there be a bar on the outside of the door?”

  “And if it’s barred on the outside, there’s probably no guards inside,” Randell added.

  The building was smaller than most of the others they had investigated, only about twenty feet long and ten wide. And unlike the others that were wooden, this one was built from stone block. It sat in the middle of an open courtyard with several stocks lined up in front of it and what appeared to be a gallows.

  No one was around.

  “If they have prisoners in there, shouldn’t there be guards posted outside?” Flyn asked.

  “I doubt they’re worried about anyone escaping,” Harvig said. “That bar looks pretty solid.”

  “Do you think Kel might in there?”

  “I don’t know, but we should check,” Randell replied.

  Randell peered around the corner, then ran across the open courtyard to the small building. Once there, he knelt down and looked around again for guards, then waved at Flyn and Harvig. Harvig raced across the open courtyard and crouched down next to Randell.

  Flyn took another look around, then followed the other two.

  The sound of voices and clanging metal drifted out of the fog. Though they still couldn’t see more than fifty feet in any direction, the fog was beginning to lift. Without the fog, they would soon be exposed to the waking garrison. If Kel wasn’t in this stockade, Flyn was afraid they would have to give up their search.

  “Help me with this,” Harvig said, trying to lift the massive wooden beam securing the door. It took all three of them to lift it from the brackets holding it in place. Once the bar was free, they let it fall to the side, where it landed on the ground with a loud thud.

  Randell quickly pulled the door open and they peered in.

  The inside of the building was completely dark except for the light coming through the open door. It was nearly empty, with plain wood walls and a dirt floor. Shackles hung from the walls at regular intervals. In the
shackles straight across the room from the door was a person.

  The figure appeared to be a woman, only about four-foot tall, with broad shoulders and muscular arms and legs. Her flaming red hair fell to her waist. She was dressed in torn rags, not much different from those they had seen on the slaves with the orc raiding party. Her feet, twice as wide as Flyn’s, were bare.

  As she lifted her head to look at them, Flyn realized that some of her hair was actually a beard as long as the rest of her hair.

  “Who are you?” she asked, blinking in the light.

  Randell rushed over to her.

  “My name is Randell,” he said, trying to undo her shackles.

  “Well, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you, but you should have run when you had the chance. If they catch you, you’ll be hanging right here beside me.”

  “We’re not trying to escape,” Randell replied. “We’re here looking for someone.”

  “You mean you broke in to this place?” She shook her head. “By the way, you’ll have an easier time with those shackles if you use the keys hanging by the door.”

  Randell looked up and blushed. On a hook next to the door hung a ring of keys. He grabbed the keys, then went back to free the woman chained to the wall.

  “Thank you, lad,” she said once her hands were free. “Now who are your silent friends?”

  “Harvig is my name.”

  “And what’s the matter with you?” she asked, looking at Flyn. “Ain’t you ever seen a dwarf before?”

  “I’m sorry,” Flyn stammered. “I didn’t mean to stare, but no, I’ve never met a dwarf.”

  “Heh,” she grunted. “You look like you ain’t seen much of nothing. What’s your name, Skinny Boy?”

  “Flyn.”

  “Well, thank you all for freeing me. My name is Sigrid Kirr.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Sigrid,” Randell said. “How did you come to be a prisoner of the orcs in Gurnborg? I didn’t think there were any dwarves this far east anymore.”

  “Aye, there aren’t. Me brother and me were looking for an old mine in the southern Estlaeg Mountains. Rumored to still be full of gold, but it was abandoned during the Tirmar Revolution. Didn’t know about Jarot and all these damn orcs. We didn’t even see them coming. They grabbed us up and hauled us up here. The bastards killed Osgar when we were trying to escape. I’ve tried to escape a few times since, but I never make it past the gates. They lock me up in here for few days, then send me back to the mine to dig out iron for their blacksmiths.”

  “How long have you been a prisoner?” Flyn asked.

  “Hard to say. Days blend together when you’re stuck inside a wooden box. A month or more, at least.”

  “We’re looking for two people we think the orcs brought here a few weeks ago,” Randell said. “One was a woman, tall, long black hair. The other was a man, probably about his size.” He pointed at Flyn.

  “I remember a woman like that being brought in several weeks ago. Fiery lass. She wasn’t here long. Don’t know what happened to her. As for the other one, there’s a lot of Ilfin men here, and you all look alike to me.”

  “This one wasn’t an Ilfin. He was an Andor.”

  “An Andor! Well, why didn’t you say so?” Sigrid laughed.

  No one laughed with her.

  “You’re serious,” she said after a studying them for a moment. “Well, there was a young lad that came in claiming to be an Andor. The pig-faces had him locked up in here, trying to break him. I was in here at the time, caught after another escape attempt.” She snickered. “Anyway, they didn’t believe him. Kept trying to get him to admit he wasn’t an Andor. Claimed he was from Trygsted and everything.” Sigrid chuckled again.

  “He is from Trygsted,” Flyn said.

  Sigrid cocked her head and looked at Flyn with a raised eyebrow.

  “Flyn is an Andor as well,” Randell said. “He’s trying to find his friend.”

  “Well, you’re out of luck, lad. The bastards hauled him off to Uskleig.”

  “Isn’t that where Brenna is?” Flyn asked.

  “If what you heard is true,” Randell said, “then it would seem both of them are personal guests of Jarot.”

  “But why would they take him there?” If what Gudbrant had told him was true, he might never see Kel again.

  “When Ugly-lar found out your friend claimed to be an Andor, he came down here to interrogate him himself. The poor lad was in tears, completely broken. There was no way he was lying. I figured him for mad. But I guess big boss pig-face believed him. A couple of hours later, a pair of uglies hauled him off. Said Jarot himself wanted to talk to the boy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” Randell said, “that your friend is most likely already dead. I’m sorry, Flyn.”

  Flyn’s knees went weak and he slumped down against the wall. Kel dead? He didn’t want to believe it.

  “But why would they care about Kel?” Flyn asked. “He wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

  “Because of what he represents,” Harvig said. “During the Revolution, Andor was the one who led the rebellion. According to legend, he was a wizard. Some say he was more powerful than even the wizards of the Ranjer clan. According to some myths, if the Andors ever return, they’ll bring magic with them more powerful than anything used in the Revolution.”

  “But Kel isn’t a wizard and neither is anyone else on Trygsted. The only wizards I’ve ever heard of were in fairytales.”

  “I never said I believed the myths,” Harvig said. “I’m just telling you why Jarot might want to talk to your friend. He’s probably afraid that if an Andor has returned to Tirmar, his days may be numbered.”

  “I wonder…” Randell said to himself.

  “Wonder what?” Harvig asked.

  “Just thinking out loud, but I’m wondering if those troops we saw weren’t an invasion party, but a search party. I’m sure Jarot has learned by now that Kel didn’t travel to Tirmar alone. Suppose he sent those troops to find Flyn?”

  “All that just to find me?”

  “Well, even if Kel isn’t a wizard, Jarot may still think you are.”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Sigrid said, “but we best be going. They’ll be bringing me my breakfast soon and I for one don’t want to be locked up again.”

  “The dwarf is right,” Harvig said, not noticing the scowl Sigrid gave him.

  “But where do we go?” Flyn asked.

  “We need to find a way out, then we head north to Uskleig,” Randell said.

  “We aren’t going anywhere without Gudbrant,” Harvig replied.

  “I would do anything for Gudbrant, you know that. But he asked me to go to Uskleig and try to rescue Brenna. And that’s exactly what I plan to do. He can take care of himself. There’s no point in us getting captured lurking around the garrison trying to find him when he’s probably outside hiding in the mountains.”

  “We don’t know that. He may have been captured. We have to search for him.”

  “You two can argue all you like, but I’m leaving,” Sigrid said. “I suggest you come with me and argue about it later.”

  Sigrid walked over to Flyn, still slumped against the wall.

  “Come on, lad. I’m sorry about your friend, but you won’t do him no good by getting yourself captured too.”

  She reached out to help Flyn to his feet.

  “I’m not leaving the garrison until I know Gudbrant isn’t a prisoner,” Harvig was saying. “They know who he is. They’ll torture him for information as long as they can keep him alive. I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “He said he would wait for us outside the fortress if he couldn’t find a way in after us,” Randell argued. “The orcs sent reinforcements, so he had to hide. While you stand here and argue about it, he’s waiting for us outside.”

  “Do those two always bicker like that?” Sigrid asked Flyn.

  Flyn just shrugged his shoulders.

  “All right!” Sigrid said.
“That’s enough. I’m leaving with the Andor. If you two want to stay here and argue like a bunch of wash-women, you can do it without me.” She turned to Flyn. “Come on, laddie.”

  Flyn and Sigrid started toward the door when the light was suddenly blocked out.

  “Ho, ho! What do we have here?” The loud deep voice came from the dark shape at the door. An orc.

  “Damn!” Sigrid spat.

  The orc moved into the room.

  “Trying to escape again, you hairy rat?” the orc growled at Sigrid.

  “Aye, you ugly beast,” Sigrid replied. “I’ll not be your monkey girl.”

  The orc scowled, then turned to the humans. “And more workers for the fields. I don’t know how you got here, but you belong to the master now.”

  Harvig pulled his dagger out of his belt and leapt toward the orc. But the orc was ready for him. Before Harvig could strike, the orc smashed him in the face with a large fist. Flyn cringed at the sound of bones crunching. He watched helplessly as Harvig fell back against the wall and slumped to the floor. The orc laughed and turned to the others.

  “Anybody else want to play?” the orc snarled.

  The rest stood still.

  The orc turned its head and yelled out the door. “Bring him in.”

  Two more orcs came through the door, dragging an unconscious man between them.

  It was Gudbrant.

  The orcs carried Gudbrant to the wall and secured him in a pair of shackles, leaving his limp body to hang by his wrists. Then they joined the other orc blocking the door.

  “Chain ’em up,” the lead orc said.

  The other two closed on the humans and the dwarf.

  Chapter 9

  "Why you here, pink-skin?"

  Flyn winced as the orc hit him with the whip again.

  The orcs had chained them up and left them for several hours before returning to take Randell for questioning. When they brought him back, he was bruised and bleeding, barely conscious. Flyn was next.

  “I said why you here?” Another whack with the whip.

  They had taken him into the courtyard, ripped off his tunic, and put him in one of the stocks. The orc with the whip cracked it on his back every time the other orc asked a question. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Streaks of fire crisscrossed his back.