The Andor: Book One of the Legends of Tirmar

by Mark Dame

  “First, we must resupply and rest,” he replied. “Though I do not wish to stay long. Every day we delay, our chances of rescuing Brenna and Kel alive diminish.”

  “How far is it to Uskleig?”

  “Be careful about stating our destination out loud,” Gudbrant said, lowering his voice. “In a remote town such as this, the enemy may have spies.”

  “Why would anyone help those monsters?” Flyn said.

  “Money is the usual reason. Power is another.” Gudbrant glanced at the man in the corner. “To answer your question, however, four or five days. Perhaps six if we can’t find the Yord Trail or some other good path through the mountains.”

  “Why can’t we just travel through the foothills?” Randell asked. “Surely that would be easier than trudging through the mountains.”

  “It would, but we would likely encounter orc patrols. We would like to avoid them as long as possible.”

  Randell nodded.

  The man in the corner was still watching the group over his mug.

  “Why’s that man watching us?” Flyn whispered to Gudbrant.

  “I have no idea,” Gudbrant said. “But I think we should find out.”

  Gudbrant turned to the man. “Is there something we can help you with?”

  The man grinned, showing gaping holes where most of his teeth should have been. “I think it’s me who can help you.”

  “How can you help us?” Flyn said. “You don’t even know us.”

  “I know more than you think, boy.” The man chuckled, then drained his ale and slammed the mug on the table. He stood up, using the table and chair to steady himself, then stumbled over to the table where Flyn and his companions were seated.

  Harvig started to get up, but Gudbrant put a hand on his arm and he sat down again.

  “Three Ilfins, a dwarf, and a boy,” the man said, still grinning. He sat down next to Flyn.

  “Our business is our own, old man,” Sigrid said from across the table.

  “That’s good sense, these days,” the man replied. “But I can guess at your business. There aren’t too many that come from the south without goods to trade.”

  Flyn glanced at Gudbrant, but no one replied.

  “That can only mean one thing,” the man continued. “You’re prospectors.” He grinned his toothless grin again and sat back in his chair, arms crossed.

  “You seem to presume a lot, but you don’t even tell us your name,” Gudbrant said.

  “The name’s Gunnulf and I’ve been prospecting in the Nidfels since before any of you was born. Excepting maybe you.” He looked at Sigrid.

  “Why should you think we are prospectors?” Gudbrant asked.

  “If you’re not here to trade, there’s only one other reason for a man to come to Kaldersten from the south. To try his luck with the Nidfels.”

  “Very astute,” Gudbrant said, playing along with Gunnulf’s assumptions. “So what help might you be able to offer?”

  “As I said, I’ve been prospecting here for a long time. The Nidfels are a dangerous place. I’ve seen a lot of men come from the south, men with years of experience at prospecting in the Estlaegs. But the Nidfels ain’t the Estlaegs.”

  Gunnulf stared menacingly at each of them.

  “But I’m thirsty,” he said, leaning back in his chair and grinning again. “Perhaps you could offer me an ale in exchange for a little bit of my knowledge?”

  Gudbrant flagged down the innkeeper and ordered another round of ale.

  “I am much obliged,” Gunnulf said. “Now, where was I? Oh yes. The dangers of the Nidfels. In the Estlaegs, your biggest threat is the weather, or maybe a perky ogre. Well, at least if you stay away from the orc strongholds. But the Nidfels are another beast.”

  “Why’s that?” Flyn asked.

  “The weather is a bigger problem for one. Storms come from nowhere, with blinding snow even this time of year. Winds stronger than any you’ve ever known can pick you off a mountain trail and throw you into a ravine before you know what’s happening. And that’s if you can find a trail. Not many exist because so few brave the Nidfels.”

  “If it’s so dangerous, how is it you’ve survived all these years?” Randell asked.

  “Because I’m smart,” Gunnulf said with another big grin. “I’m smart and I’m experienced. That makes me good at what I do.”

  “What else can you tell us?” Flyn asked.

  The innkeeper brought the round of ale and left without interrupting.

  “I can tell you much.” Gunnulf took a long drag of his ale. “The Nidfels are full of strange beasts. Some are just curiosities, but others… Well, I don’t want to frighten the young one right before bedtime.”

  Flyn felt his face flush. “I’m not as young as you think. And I’ve been in more dangerous situations that anything you’ve told us about.”

  “All right, boy,” Gunnulf said, leaning toward Flyn. “You want to know about the dangers? I could tell you stories that’d turn your hair white. There are beasts living in the Nidfels with claws as long and as sharp as daggers and teeth as big as spikes. I’ve seen grown men crying for their mommas just at the sight of some of them. I’ve seen battle-hardened warriors torn limb from limb. The likes of you wouldn’t last long enough to piss your britches.”

  Flyn glared at the old man and was about to respond, but Gudbrant interrupted before he could speak.

  “You’re good at telling tales, but you haven’t yet given us any useful information.”

  “As I have said, there aren’t many paths through the Nidfels, but those that do exist are where they are for a reason. Leave the trail at your own doom. The trails will lead you around the worst of terrain and the areas where the most dangerous beasts live. Not that the paths are safe for the unwary.”

  “So how do we stay safe?” Flyn asked, trying to remain calm.

  “Don’t go into the mountains!” Gunnulf laughed. “There’s nothing safe about prospecting, boy. You want safe, go back and hide in your mother’s apron ’cause the mountains will kill you.”

  “I think we’ve heard enough of your prattle, old man,” Gudbrant said. “We aren’t interested in fairytales and ghost stories.”

  “Think of them as fairytales at your own risk. And don’t say I didn’t warn you when a vargolf sneaks into your camp or a deeser drains your soul from your body because you wandered into her domain.”

  “I’m sure we’ll manage,” Harvig said.

  “I’m not sure why you are trying to frighten us off from the Nidfels, but our business is not concerned with monsters and demons,” Gudbrant said. “Good evening.”

  “Wait a moment,” Gunnulf said. “If my warnings seemed overstated, it’s only because I wanted you to understand the dangers for those who are new to the Nidfels. You need not think I’m trying to scare you away. On the contrary, I would like to offer my services as your guide.”

  “And what manner of payment do you seek for your services?” Gudbrant asked.

  “I don’t feel twenty-five silver fennings per day is too much to ask for expertise such as mine.”

  “We could hire a squad of soldiers for that,” Harvig scoffed.

  “But do the soldiers know the Nidfels?”

  “We’ll pay you one gold mark for five days,” Gudbrant said.

  “One mark for five days?” Gunnulf stood up. “I won’t risk my life for ten fennings a day.”

  “That’s what we’re prepared to offer you.”

  Gunnulf looked hard at Gudbrant, apparently trying to decide if he could negotiate a higher rate.

  “I want payment up front,” he said. “And you provide my food.”

  “Done. We depart the morning after next.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Southlander. One more thing. I always get the first watch. If I’m to lead you, I don’t want my sleep interrupted.”

  “As you wish,” Gudbrant agreed. “Just be ready to leave the morning after tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be ready.�
�� Gunnulf finished his ale, then left the group with no further words.

  “Are you sure we need him?” Randell said once they were alone again.

  “He may have been dramatic about it,” Gudbrant replied, “but he was right about the Nidfels being a dangerous place. Having a guide will be useful.”

  “But for a whole gold mark?” Randell shook his head. “That’s nearly a month’s pay. It seems like a lot for just a guide for a few days.”

  “Perhaps, but if it gets us safely to our destination, it’s worth it.” Gudbrant smiled at Randell. “Besides, I’m not asking you to pay for it.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Flyn said.

  “He’s a frontiersman,” Gudbrant said. “They are an odd sort, and not wholly civilized, but that’s no reason not to trust our new friend.”

  “Is there anything else I can get for you this evening?” the innkeeper asked as he approached the table.

  “Do you know that man?” Flyn said. “Gunnulf?”

  “He comes to Kaldersten once or twice a year,” the innkeeper replied. “Always offers his services as a guide to anyone who might need it. From my understanding, he does the same at other towns along the Nidfels, west of here. But I can’t say I really know him.”

  “Does he know what he talks about or is he just full of stories?”

  “He is a bit of a storyteller,” Svendar said. “Still, he’s been around for nearly as long as I have, so I think he probably knows his way around the mountains pretty good.”

  “Good to know,” Gudbrant said. He stood up. “I thank you for your hospitality and your insight, but I believe I’ve had enough for this evening. We’ve had a long journey and much to do tomorrow.”

  Everyone thanked the innkeeper and said good night.

  Later that night, even though he was exhausted, Flyn couldn’t sleep. He lay in his bed, going over their conversation with the frontiersman. In spite of Gudbrant’s words, and those of the innkeeper, Flyn still didn’t trust the man.

  Chapter 12

  With their fresh supplies packed on the mule, and one last meal in their bellies, the party departed Kaldersten. Their departure was sooner than they would have liked. Two nights of rest weren’t enough to fully recover from their journey from Hemdown, but the fates of Brenna and Kel urged them on.

  Uskleig was less than twenty leagues from Kaldersten, according to Gudbrant. Even though traveling through the mountains would slow their pace, he felt they would arrive before the end of their fifth day. They had brought enough supplies for two weeks, with extra to account for their guide for five days and two more people on the way back.

  The sky was gray and a chill wind blew down from the mountains as they set out, cutting through their cloaks. With the smell of rain in the air, Gunnulf had tried, unsuccessfully, to talk them into waiting for better weather to leave. They were all anxious to complete their journey and rescue Kel and Brenna.

  They still had no idea how they would accomplish that task. As none of them had ever been to Uskleig, they would have to wait until they got there to come up with a plan. Gudbrant warned that it wouldn’t be as easy as getting into Gurnborg had been, and if they were captured, there would be little chance for escape. Their biggest, possibly only, advantage was that the orcs would never expect someone to try to rescue a prisoner. The thought was too inconceivable.

  As they left town, Gunnulf pressed them about their intentions.

  “Did you have a particular area in mind or do you need me to suggest some locations to prospect?” Gunnulf asked.

  “For now, just get us to the Yord Trail,” Gudbrant said. “Once there, we’ll discuss our destination in more detail.”

  Gudbrant had advised them not to discuss their plans with anyone prior to leaving, even Gunnulf.

  “Suit yourself.” Gunnulf shrugged and kept walking. The others followed, with Flyn leading the mule at the rear of the party with Harvig.

  The rain started a little more than an hour out of Kaldersten, a light mist that turned into a steady drizzle, leaving everything damp and cold. The road north from the town diminished to a narrow, muddy trail through the wooded foothills and lower slopes of the Nidfels. The air grew colder as they climbed, turning the rain into sleet, then finally snow. Flyn welcomed the snow over the rain, preferring cold over wet.

  By midday, the trail had disappeared under a thin blanket of snow. Gunnulf trudged on, seemingly unconcerned about the lack of a visible path. He led them through winding ravines, along sheer cliffs, and over the smaller peaks, always moving deeper into the mountains. Flyn hoped Gunnulf really knew where he was going because Flyn was utterly lost.

  Whether by luck, or by Gunnulf’s skill, they encountered no beasts, whether normal or supernatural, save birds and a few squirrels. Flyn suspected the real reason was because the stories were just myths and legends rather than because of any skill of their guide. Whatever the reason, he was glad that they didn’t have that extra complication.

  The snow stopped falling at some point in the afternoon, though with the wind blowing the drifts around, Flyn wasn’t really sure when it stopped. Still, Gunnulf kept up the pace, seemingly confident in his direction. There was nothing for Flyn to do but follow.

  He tried several times to start up a conversation with Harvig. The big militiaman responded to his questions with short answers, never elaborating or engaging in conversation.

  “Are you ever going to tell me why you followed Gudbrant on this quest?” Flyn asked after a while.

  “As I’ve told you, I owe him.”

  “So you’ve said. But why?”

  Harvig was quiet for a long time. Flyn had decided to give up on his attempt at a conversation, and was about to move off to join Randell when Harvig finally answered.

  “I was a thief when I met Gudbrant. I grew up on a farm in Asgerdale. Like Randell, the orcs destroyed our home when I was boy, though older than Randell. They burned our fields and killed our livestock. We were fortunate that we weren’t captured, but they had taken everything from us. With no home, and the clothes on our backs all that we had left, we traveled to Garthset for help.”

  Harvig was quiet again for a while before continuing.

  “The Thane had set up shelters for those like us who had lost our homes to the orc raiding parties, but there was no work for my father. We did what we could to help the others displaced by the raids, but eventually I grew restless. At first, I just stole food, as what was provided to the refugees wasn’t enough. Eventually, I learned how to pick pockets and discovered stealing money to buy food was easier than stealing the food directly. And the money bought other things.”

  “I can’t know what that must have been like,” Flyn said. “Surely, though, you can be forgiven your crimes, considering your circumstances.”

  Harvig grunted. “There is no excuse for what I did. Others were just as bad off as we were. I didn’t have the right to take from them. But I did. I was eventually caught and spent several months in jail, but that didn’t stop me. As I got older, I grew until eventually I didn’t bother with pickpocketing. I just took what I wanted. But of course, my size had a distinct disadvantage.”

  “What was that?”

  “I was easily identified.” Harvig chuckled. “Not many in the Ilfin clan grow to my size. I sometimes wonder if there isn’t Mundar in my bloodline.”

  “Gudbrant told me about them. He said they’re warriors.”

  Harvig nodded. “They’re big as well.”

  Flyn wondered how big they must be if they were even bigger than the Ilfins.

  “You were caught again?”

  “I was, and this time they sentenced me to five years imprisonment. I had only been in prison a few months when the orc raiding parties started attacking Garthset. The Thane ordered the wall built around the town. Everyone who wasn’t building weapons or standing guard was put to work, including the refugees and prisoners. When the wall was finished, they needed more men to guard it. Gudbrant had the Thane offe
r to pardon any man who committed to serve in the militia for the remainder of his sentence.”

  “So you owe Gudbrant for getting you out of prison?”

  “No,” Harvig replied, shaking his head. “I enlisted because I hoped to get revenge on the orcs for what they did to my family. I was full of hate and anger. But I discovered that hate doesn’t absolve a man of guilt for killing. I got my revenge, but instead of feeling justice, I felt shame. Even though it was an orc, and it would have killed me without hesitation had I not killed it first, I killed it out of hate. And for that, I was ashamed of myself.”

  “But after everything the orcs had done to you? And you were fighting to defend yourself, surely you were justified?”

  “Whether I was justified or not did not come into my thinking, neither at the time nor after. I struggled for many days until one night I could no longer stand the guilt. I had watch duty on the wall. When it was my turn to man the watchtower, I climbed up with the intent to throw myself from the top. When I got there, Gudbrant was waiting for me. He knew what I was planning, even before I knew myself.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all Flyn could manage to say. He hadn’t expected that.

  “Not to worry. I’ve never spoken of that night with anyone but Gudbrant until now. I’ve felt as much shame about it as I did killing that orc out of hatred, but perhaps speaking of it out loud is not such a bad thing.”

  “And now you feel like you owe Gudbrant?”

  “I do owe him. If not for him, I would have died that night. Instead, I have learned to let go of my hatred. Now when I must fight, I don’t kill for hate or anger or vengeance. I do what I must to defend myself and my home from our enemy.”

  Flyn nodded, remembering his own battle experience, killing three orcs as if they were nothing more than wild animals. He had managed to avoid thinking about it until now. Their capture and escape at Gurnborg had provided a distraction. After that, he had just kept his mind on the road ahead. Even during the rest they had taken in Hemdown, he had forced himself to focus on what still lay before them. After listening to Harvig’s story, he remembered what Gudbrant had told him after the battle, about it being okay to feel bad.