The Ageless Giant

by B K Suitter

  As Torique rode up to the bank, he knew he would be waiting for quite some time. There were many horses and wagons all along the front of the long brick building and people were clustered all around the main entry. Torique climbed down from his horse and tied the reins to a long wooden post that ran the length of the building. Then he went over and stood in a very slow-moving line.

  Torique waited patiently, conversing with the old couple behind him as well as the single mother and three children that stood in line before him. They all inched along slowly, and as Torique finally neared the front of the line, his patience was thin and his legs and lower back were aching.

  “Good afternoon,” said Torique as he finally had his turn before one of the bank tellers. It was an old man in a black suit, and he had a wrinkled long face and sour expression. He wore spectacles and he stared at Torique with dark uncaring eyes.

  “Afternoon,” he replied coldly. “What can I do for you, Mr. Waterrun?”

  The fact that the old man knew his name sent him back just a bit, but he quickly recovered and remembered his plan.

  “I would like to withdraw all available funds and close out my account,” Torique replied, trying to sound confident.

  “Serious?” the old teller replied under his breath while shaking his head. “Why?”

  “I am moving away from Fantior and I wish to take what is mine with me,” Torique said. “What business is it of yours?”

  The old man just stared at Torique with disdain. Then he spoke and his words were short and seemed to carry a fine edge. “Mr. Watterrun, as you well know this is an account set up by The Crown. That means that the standing account cannot be simply closed out, but rather absorbed by The Crown if you were terminated. Were you terminated, Mr. Waterrun?” the old man asked, his voice thick with derision.

  “No, I was not terminated,” Torique responded quickly. “I am simply moving to Dragonport so I can be closer to my ship,” he lied. “I am captain of The Coral Rose.”

  “I know who you are,” the old teller said coldly, a hint of a smile creasing his aged face and Torique wondered if the man already knew the truth about him.

  “I can set up an account in Dragonport and have all your credits transferred there. Will that be all, Captain Waterrun?” the old man asked with a sneer.

  “Yes, that will be all,” Torique said as he turned away from the teller in defeat. Not having any funds did complicate matters, but they had enough food and supplies to make the journey back to Dankar City, and Torique’s friends would help them once they arrived.

  He rode home with a sense of optimism, trying to think of the positive aspects of their uncertain future. He made his way to the stables where he tethered his horse and walked up to the back of the house, knowing that a young lad would be along shortly to take care of the animal.

  Torique entered a small room through the back door and took his boots off. He glided over the thick carpet in his socks and knew that the luxuries of the house would be sorely missed. He walked into the front room and began stepping up the long staircase when he realized it was unusually quiet throughout the manor. Torique thought his wife and daughter would still be busy packing up their belongings, but then he surmised that they must have taken a break.

  He moved quietly throughout the bedrooms but found no one. He looked through windows to see if maybe they were in the backyard. He moved quickly now, going down the stairs and calling out their names.

  “Elizabeth! Angelica, where are you?” Torique called out. He walked calmly but with purpose through the lower level, calling out their names and trying not to sound desperate. He had a strong feeling that something was wrong and as he entered the kitchen his legs became weak and he stumbled across the wood floor to see a letter hanging on the wall, held there by a sharp knife that was buried to the hilt.

  You are expected IMMEDIATELY in Dragonport.

  You will report to the Ministry of Naval Affairs.

  Once you have checked in, you will be reunited with your lovely family. No one quits The Crown!

  THE CROWN

  Torique read the note many times before he exploded into action. He raced to the front door and threw it open, hoping against all odds that his family would still be close by. He ran out of the house in long strides but lost all momentum when he saw the dozen knights, all on horseback and wearing full armor. A small carriage waited as well, with four strong horses ready to pull him to Dragonport. Their hooves raked at the dirt and they snorted with agitation as a man dressed in colorful silks opened the carriage door and beckoned him inside.

  *****************

  The wagons were long flatbeds and built sturdy with the strongest of woods from the Timberlands. Each carried three large iron cages that were full of frontier folk. The men that had raided Fedor’s town kept the children separated from the women, and the women separated from the men.

  Fedor was a large man – a lumberjack – and even though he was nearing fifty summers, he was still strong as an ox. He wore his brown hair short and grew a beard the same, always keeping it neatly trimmed. His eyes were also brown, but they were swollen and purpled from severe beatings by his captors. Fedor’s large nose was broken so he was forced to breath out of his mouth, which was also swollen and bruised and stained with dried blood.

  He sat down on the hard wood in the corner up against uncomfortable iron bars and watched the long train of wagons round a bend in the road. Each slave cart was pulled by six to eight strong horses and there were guards that walked beside them.

  At first the captured men were loud and angry – slamming kicks and their own bodies up against the bars of their confines, but when two women were pulled at random from out of their cages and killed brutally in front of them, the men became obedient and docile.

  Fedor often wondered about his children. He knew they had spent the night in the forest before the invaders attacked and he hoped they had gotten away. He could picture his young daughter in one of the dirty cages and it filled him with sorrow, knowing he could do nothing. He was the leader of the town and he could not save even one of them. They had all counted on him to keep them safe while living in the Timberlands and he had failed them.

  After being on the march for nearly two days, the wagon train finally came to a halt next to a large stream. Soldiers set up guard while attendants filled buckets with water and splashed the slaves and filth clean from the dirty pens. They gave out small rations of food to the women and children, but gave the men nothing, keeping them weak.

  Fedor sat in his corner and tried to sleep. Their clothes were soaked and a chill in the night air added a touch more misery to the captured people. There were moans, both distant and near. Some were women, but most were children and their cries echoed from far up the line.

  “Father,” Jase said for the second time, trying to wake him.

  Fedor opened his swollen eyes and turned his head to see his son standing next to the wagon, just outside his cage. He chuckled and slowly shook his head, knowing he was caught in a dream and he tried to ignore the annoying apparition.

  “Father, it’s me,” Jase kept repeating. “You have to believe me; this is the only way I can talk to you now. Have heart, soldier!” Jase cried out.

  Fedor turned his head to look at his son. Have heart, soldier, were words he repeated to his son after he was poisoned by the frog. He never knew if Jase could hear him or even understand him when he spoke.

  “If I am sleeping then this is a dream. If you are real, then I would be awake and the soldiers would be on top of you,” then Fedor took a deep breath. “You would also not be able to speak because of my decision to let you go to the pond that day.”

  Jase knew his father blamed himself for the accidental poisoning, and if not for the strange appearance of the old healer, he would have died. Jase also knew he was touched by magic and given the power to separate his spirit from its shell. The problem was, he hadn’t been able to get back into his body after he left it the first
time. He came close on several occasions, but his body always rejected him in the end.

  “Michael and Tris are safe,” Jase said to his father. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep him asleep, so he kept it short.

  “How?” Fedor whispered.

  “We slept in the woods when the town was ambushed. Evaylia and I are with them. We travel to Warmwater with other refugees from towns all throughout the Timberlands. Prince Hadias and his evil army are sweeping the Timberlands all the way to Eight. I believe this train of wagons is heading for Dragonport. Apparently, the king has put out a standing order for thousands of slaves to be taken there.”

  “Why?” Fedor asked tiredly.

  “I have not come across anyone who knows. I will try to get more information, but these soldiers are not well informed. I will try to find help, but I can’t be sure where!”

  Fedor opened his eyes and realized immediately he was awake. He looked around slowly to see if his son was still around. Was there a chance that he really was talking to Jase and that he was out there somewhere? Were Michael and Tris really safe and on their way to Warmwater?

  Fedor tried to muster a tiny measure of hope, and he whispered his son’s name. “Jase.”

  14

  Year of the Frost Horn 2318 A.A.

  Michael knelt by a thick tree where tall blades of grass and other forest growth kept him mostly hidden. He was waiting patiently in a small dell and watching intently up the sloping landscape to the distant ridge above. It was well past midnight and a clouded moon hung over the rim and bathed it in an eerie glow. The tall silhouettes of trees stood high on the horizon, their dark shapes looking like immense creatures with twisted appendages growing out from all angles.

  There was movement; a dark shape that coalesced with the black trees. It held still for many heartbeats, and then slowly emerged from the brush. A large buck walked tentatively into the open and his rack of antlers looked more like moving tree limbs. The animal froze for just an instant, then it darted off into the forest and Michael sat and waited.

  They were three nights into their trek to Warmwater and he was exhausted. He slept the first night, but not very well. He had dreamt that Jase had been slain and it bothered him so much that he had difficulty sleeping after. The next day was an uneventful walk through the forest, and that night Michael slept in fits and was troubled by the absence of Jase in his dreams. He was worried that his brother had been injured somehow and he would not be able to commune with him again.

  The next morning, they discovered they were being followed. A scout stayed far back but suspiciously out in the open, keeping the frontier folk hustling down the road to Warmwater.

  They walked all day and well into the night, tiredly hurrying with their pursuer always in the distance behind them. When they came down the wooded slope, Michael got the idea to lie in wait for the scout and put an end to his nagging pursuit. He was still angry that the soldiers had dared make such a move on the Timberland folk and he thought it time to take a small stand. He had never killed a man before and the thought brought a cold chill to his body.

  Michael took a quick breath as his heart jumped into his throat. A dark shape emerged from over the ridge and Michael realized he’d been staring at the shape for quite some time before it moved. Michael slowly reached down and picked up his axe as he watched the scout creep forward through the trees, but when he saw more men sneaking over the moonlit ridge, he quickly abandoned his plans of ambush and slowly backed away through the brush to join his fleeing group.

  ******************

  Rakkus moved through the forest, slipping from tree to tree as he watched the young man creep off into the night. He had followed the group all day, hearding them on as they fled towards Warmwater. He had been watching the boy hide down in the dell for some time before deciding to move on. He knew that with his men behind him, the boy would discard all plans of an ambush.

  Sergeant Semik had warned him before they parted ways not to interfere at the mouth of The Woodcave, so Rakkus stayed far back, making sure he was not too close when the sergeant and his men started killing the Timberland folk.

  Rakkus and his men followed the group at a distance until they came to a clearing at the edge of a grassy bowl-shaped valley. The Timberland folk walked a trail that wound its way to the other side where a steep rocky hill was like an unpassable barrier. Rakkus could see the large group of people heading towards the entrance of the large tree-shrouded pass.

  He held his men back and watched as a glowing moon cast light on what would soon be a blood bath. Rakkus remembered the wild look in Semik’s eyes when the angry sergeant swore to kill all the forest folk just to provoke Kneeamara’s wrath, and he knew that at any moment, Semik and his men would jump out and slaughter the innocent people. He found himself oddly anticipating the carnage.

  Rakkus watched as the group of people walked harmlessly into the pass and he listened intently for the cries of death that should have followed, but only silence ensued. The scout took a small step forward as he contemplated the thought of allowing the people to get away. That step turned into another, and soon he and his men were sprinting towards The Woodcave.

  ****************************

  Michael and the group held hands as they made their way forward through the darkness. On both sides of the narrow road, countless trees grew thick and tall and they covered the sky with their bulky tangle of branches and leaves, blocking out the soft light of the night sky. They waited on lighting their torches to keep themselves hidden from the men that followed.

  Then, soft moans began to filter their way through the darkness and the group became nervous. The muffled wails grew louder as more and more voices toned up and Michael fumbled with his torch and flint as Tris and the others called out for light. With his little sister wrapped around his leg, Michael struck at the flint again and again, trying desperately to light the torch. Flashes of light sparked off the flint and a few women in the group screamed and cried out that they saw men in the trees. As Michael struck at the flint, he looked up at the tree in front of him and jumped, dropping his torch to the ground. There, in front of the tree was a man dressed in chain mail armor.

  Michael tagged at the flint in quick desperate strikes, using the brief flashes of light to see the soldier that was bound tight against the tree. The group started to scatter in fear and some of the frightened women and children fled up the dark road.

  Suddenly, a burst of light flooded the surrounding area as Norman fired up his torch. Michael looked up the road and saw men tied to the trees on both sides far into the darkness. He reached down and picked up his own torch and lit it, and then he slowly moved over to inspect the man that was tied to the tree in front of him.

  “Don’t go near him, Michael,” Evaylia whispered harshly as she began to usher Jase and the others in the group forward. “Let’s move on. We need to get through the pass.”

  Norman and Big Tim agreed and helped the people forward, giving encouragement and advising them not to look at the men that were bound to the trees along the dark road.

  Michael inched closer and stared into the man’s eyes and saw the crazy hatred that dwelt in their depths. The soldier had thin wirebrush wrapped tight around his throat and his head was pulled back against the tree so he couldn’t move. The man also had wirebrush looped around each wrist and his arms were pulled back around each side of the wide tree and tied firm, stretching him back tight to the bark. The soldier’s legs and feet were bound as well, and he tried to spit curses at Michael, but the wirebrush around his neck was too tight and he could barely breathe.

  “C’mon, Michael, let’s go,” Tris said quietly, urging her brother to leave, but when he didn’t respond, she grabbed at his hand and began to try and pull him away. Michael continued to stare at the man with long dirty hair, a scraggly disgusting beard, and a large nose.

  “Michael, let’s go,” Tris repeated as she tugged on his arm.

  “Go,” Michael said
without taking his eyes off the soldier. “I’ll catch up.”

  “No, Michael, you have to come with us. Let’s go,” Tris pleaded with him, pulling on his arm.

  Michael spun on the little girl with anger, lowering himself to look her in the face.

  “Go!” he roared to his sister as he shook his hand free. “I’ll catch up!” The look she gave him broke his heart, but he was wrestling with greater demons at the moment, and he stood and faced the soldier again. Tris burst into tears and ran off to catch up to Evaylia and the others.

  Michael stood there with his torch spitting flames and smoke and he continued to stare at the man while the rest of the party moved up the pass. He wanted to kill the man, and the thought reverberated through his head.

  “I could kill you,” Michael whispered to the man, trying to sound threatening.

  Sergeant Semik just smiled. Michael slowly reached over to his side and grabbed the hilt of the dagger that was sheathed there. He wanted to be brave as he stood there facing the restrained soldier. He was so angry at the events that transpired over the last few days and he wanted to pour his bound-up aggression all over the smug warrior.

  Michael growled in fury and drew his blade and plunged it into the man’s chest, but the soldier’s chain mail armor kept it from going too deep. The soldier gave a gurgled cry as Michael retracted the dagger, and he looked into the angry eyes of the soldier and brought the knife down again, driving the blade down even harder. Semik growled in pain as he struggled with his bonds, but his attempt was futile as they were expertly tied.

  Michael smiled and brought his knife up for another stab just as a flare of light burst from the entrance to the dark cave only thirty yards away. Michael turned to see the scout and his men entering the pass with torches and weapons drawn. He quickly looked back at the soldier and found him smiling.