The Lost Country

by Brian Bakos

  ***

  Dim moonlight illuminates our path, and we make steady progress.

  “Where to now?” I ask after several minutes have passed.

  “Demon’s Maw pass,” Talbot says. “Along the main road if possible. We should be able to ... uh!”

  A sickening thump! Talbot stumbles back, grasping his head. A compact figure charges out of the darkness and knocks him over. I see the gleam of sharp steel.

  “Stop!” I cry.

  Clyde looks up from his stunned victim. I wrench my hands free of the rope.

  “Put away that knife!” I command.

  “Why?” Clyde says. “Let’s cut his throat and be off.”

  “You don’t understand,” I say. “Release him – now!”

  Reluctantly, Clyde rises and sheaths his knife. I help Talbot to his feet and bring him to a large rock nearby. He sits upon it, cradling his head in both hands.

  Only now that the excitement is over can I voice my astonishment.

  “How on earth did you find me, Clyde?”

  “I know the gang’s hideouts well enough,” Clyde says. “Me and my kinfolk saw Afflis carry you up the pass, since he rode right through our property.”

  I clap his shoulder. “Good work!”

  “Eric and the others wanted to come, too, but I said I’d do better alone,” Clyde continues. “The guards on Windy Gap were too much confused to notice one person sneaking past them.”

  “My dearest friend ...”

  I feel tears welling up in my eyes and brush them away. Clyde jerks his head toward Talbot.

  “What about that bandit?”

  “He is aiding my escape. I have promised to speak favorably of him to the King.”

  Clyde is aghast.

  “You trust him?”

  “He has thus far kept his word.”

  Clyde smacks a fist into his open palm with frustration, as if to say that I’ve taken leave of my senses. I move to Talbot’s side.

  “Are you all right, Lieutenant?” I ask.

  “I don’t know ... what happened?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I say, “just a little misunderstanding.”

  “I bounced a rock off your skull,” Clyde says.

  Talbot looks up.

  “Oh, it’s you again.”

  “Yes, fancy that,” Clyde says.

  Clyde glowers in the moonlight, murder in his eyes. Talbot stares back from his rock, like some long, thin snake poised to strike. I attempt to calm things.

  “Well then,” I say, “now that the greetings are over, shall we get moving?”

  I help Talbot up. He must have an iron skull to survive the blow he received.

  “Let me bring up the rear,” Clyde says.

  “Certainly,” I say, “as you wish.”

  He turns on Talbot.

  “I’ll be right behind you, Lieutenant. Should anything happen to His Royal Highness, you will be the first to die.”

  “Should anything happen to him, we’re both dead,” Talbot replies.

  25: Unwilling Comrades

  The next couple of hours pass happily enough. The rocky, twisting road seems a smooth highway beneath my feet, and the night air holds the sweet scent of liberty.

  Then Talbot dumps some shadow onto my cheeriness.

  “Everything has been too easy thus far,” he says. “The escape from the castle dungeon, tricking those dice players – ”

  “This disturbs you?” I say.

  “Yes,” Talbot says. “It goes against the nature of things. I fear that we’re heading for trouble.”

  “Let’s hope that good fortune attends us a while longer,” I say.

  “Even the King’s victory over us was too easy,” Talbot says. “Imagine, wagons carrying barrels of wine blundered right by us. Naturally we took it, and everyone got dead drunk. So, when the attack came, we were unable to rally our defense.”

  I choke back a snicker.

  “This amuses Your Lordship?” Talbot asks.

  “No, no, of course not,” I say. “Just clearing my throat.”

  I add a robust Ahem! to emphasize the point.

  Several seconds pass. During this time, I can almost hear the thoughts churning within Talbot’s mind.

  “Wait a minute,” he says. “Were you involved with the convenient appearance of the wine?”

  “Well ... I did suggest it to the King.”

  “So, things are not quite so simple after all,” Talbot says. “And you, my lord, are far more dangerous than I reckoned.”

  I wave a hand amid the chilly air.

  “Why dwell on such matters?” I say. “This is a night of fresh starts, is it not?”

  Talbot chuckles. “Actually it is rather amusing – now that it’s over.”

  Approaching hoof beats cut off our conversation.

  “Take cover!”

  We dive into the high weeds, raising our heads just enough to watch two horsemen clatter past on the road. The lead rider is a stout man whose bald head shines in the moonlight.

  “Durwick!” Clyde spits.

  “Who?” I say.

  “Another warlord,” Clyde says, “Afflis’ chief rival.”

  “He’s looking for us,” Talbot says. “News of our escape must be out. If only that fool of a guard hadn’t defied me!”

  The night suddenly becomes threatening. A thick cloud drifts in front of the moon, and the last of my good cheer trails off with the fading hoof beats. It’s Talbot’s turn to smack a fist into his palm.

  “Durwick knows of our defeat,” he says. “Otherwise, he would never have dared enter Afflis’ territory. I’ll wager he’s already been at the camp seeking to kidnap you.”

  “Can we take a different route to Windy Gap, er ... Demon’s Maw?” I say.

  “I think not,” Talbot replies. “Durwick’s men must be watching all approaches.”

  “Are there other routes over the mountains?” I say.

  “A high pass to the north might be scaled,” Talbot says, “but the climb would be very dangerous.”

  “We’ll have to risk it,” I say. “What other choice do we have?”

  Clyde scrambles to his feet.

  “This escape was a fine idea, Talbot!” he says. “Were it not for you, His Lordship would be safe at home now.”

  Talbot’s voice takes on a steely edge. “Highness, please tell your servant that I have had enough. Either he stops his slanders, or I will teach him a harsh lesson.”

  Clyde’s hand goes to his knife.

  “How about right now, Lieutenant?” he taunts.

  “Please, Clyde,” I say, “I do not ask you to be Talbot’s friend, but can’t you accept him as a comrade-in-arms? All our lives depend on the trust we have for each other.”

  Clyde glares at Talbot. Then he looks toward me, and back to Talbot again. Finally he speaks:

  “All right ... I will.”

  The words seem to almost choke him.

  “And you will not provoke the Lieutenant with angry words?”

  “I will say nothing more,” Clyde answers. “But only for your sake, my lord.”

  “Good.” I rub my chilled hands together. “Well then, let’s head north.”

  ***

  After a few more hours, we gain some woods and decide to halt. We settle into a patch of underbrush, concealing ourselves as much as possible. Talbot produces some biscuit and salted pork for a meager supper.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Clyde says.

  “Wake me for the second,” I say.

  With a final suspicious glance at Talbot, Clyde moves out alone into the darkness.

  I shift about in the underbrush, trying to find a tolerable position. I am exhausted, but questions are preying on my mind, forbidding sleep.

  “Talbot,” I say across the prickly little enclosure, “you said the escape from the dungeon was easy. Why?”

  “His Majesty’s soldiers are poor jailers,” Talbot says, “and the lo
cks were rusted with age.”

  “I’d thought there were near 40 of you in the dungeon,” I say, “yet only half that number broke out. What of the others?”

  “They refused to leave,” Talbot says. “Claimed that they’d rather risk the King’s justice than serve Afflis again. I might have stayed, too, had I not already felt the rope about my neck.”

  Here is something of great interest for me to chew on in.

  “Your kidnapping was Afflis’ idea,” Talbot says. “I was in no position to stop him, so I had to go along.”

  I am too tired to think any more. Tomorrow will be soon enough for pondering incredible facts.

  26: A Rude Awakening

  Come morning, just as we are preparing to leave our campsite, the world crashes in.

  “Hold it right there!” a harsh voice commands.

  Talbot and Clyde draw their weapons.

  “Show yourself!” Talbot says.

  For several moments, the misty air is quiet as a tomb. Then, ghostlike, a dozen armed men emerge from behind nearby trees. Their leader, the largest and ugliest among them, approaches.

  “Give me your weapons,” he says.

  Talbot’s eyes scan the group surrounding us, calculating the hopeless odds. He hands over his sword. Clyde flings his knife into the ground at our captor’s feet. The man regards Clyde icily. A scar on his face reddens, but he does not attempt any violence.

  “You must be Lieutenant Talbot,” he says, “formerly in the service of Afflis.”

  “Who wants to know?” Talbot replies.

  “I’m Lieutenant Franz, in the service of Captain Durwick.”

  “Why are you trespassing on Afflis’ territory?” Talbot demands.

  Franz chuckles. “Afflis is a broken man. You know that yourself. Why else did you steal his hostage?”

  He points toward me. I feel polluted by his attention.

  “You must be the wayward prince,” he says.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I reply. “Now, kindly allow us to be on our way.”

  The bandits break into coarse laughter.

  “You sure got plenty of brass!” Franz says. “Now come quietly. Durwick wants to see you.”

  The bandits start pushing us along.

  “Anyone harms His Lordship deals with me!” Clyde shouts. “I swear, first chance I get I’ll slit your belly open.”

  The bandits laugh again, but seem to give some weight to Clyde’s threat. At least nobody pushes me further.

  Anger boils within me, but I can do nothing except yank the makeshift bandage from my ear. The wound has pretty much healed, and rending the cloth gives me some slight relief.

  Of course, I do not look my best – with a piece of my ear missing and my hair not yet long enough to conceal the disfigurement. But personal vanity seems absurd under the circumstances. Talbot slips ahead and takes a place at Franz’s side.

  “Might I have a word with you, Lieutenant?” he asks quietly.

  Franz nods, and they continue together at the column lead.

  “The scoundrel!” Clyde whispers harshly. “He’s trying to make a deal at your expense.”

  27: The Enemy Encampment

  By mid afternoon we’ve reached an encampment of tents and small huts clustered around a wretched log building. Numerous outlaws mill about, gaping at us. The whole area smells of old smoke and unwashed bodies.

  “Don’t these brutes have nothing else to do but stare?” Clyde mutters.

  “It isn’t every day they see a ‘wayward prince,’” I say.

  The guards bring Clyde and me inside the log building and order us to sit on the floor beside a small table. Talbot remains outside with Franz.

  “Treachery is in the air,” Clyde says. “Talbot’s bargaining to save his own neck.”

  I bite my lip. As much as I want to deny it, Clyde’s words make perfect sense. Why shouldn’t Talbot betray me? A man of his abilities could easily find a place in Durwick’s crowd. A position of authority and a full purse would dispel any notions of the ‘Golden Land’ from his mind soon enough.

  My heart sinks to a new depth.

  The building begins to fill with bandits, every one of them reeking of ignorance and cruelty. Some also radiate a cold wickedness such as Mulgar has. The evil batters my senses, making it difficult to breathe.

  Talbot enters and nearby in front and to the right of the table. He looks toward me and nods. I nod back.

  Is there treachery in Talbot’s heart? The possibility oppresses my spirit. I reckon the question will be answered soon enough.

  Franz enters with Captain Durwick. Tension shoots through the air.

  “We’re in for it now,” Clyde mutters.

  Captain Durwick strides through the crowded room, his men stepping aside with respect. Or is it just fear? Someone produces a chair upon which the leader spreads his bulk like an overstuffed sack of manure. The scene resembles a grotesque royal court.

  This ugly slob is the parody of a king! All he needs is a crown to make the joke complete. Durwick indicates with a flick of a finger that Talbot has permission to speak.

  “Greetings, Captain Durwick.” Talbot bows respectfully. “I trust you are well?”

  “I trust I’m more well than you are,” Durwick says.

  The outlaws laugh harshly, following the lead of their chieftain.

  “How could anyone fare better than to be under your protection?” Talbot bows again.

  “Enough of your flattery,” Durwick says.

  He tries to sound annoyed, but I can tell that he does, indeed, enjoy the flattery. I’ve seen this kind of thing at court – the more undeserving the man, the more he likes hearing such nonsense.

  “Lieutenant Franz says that you’ve been talking his ear off,” Durwick says.

  My hand slides to the side of my head at this distressing turn of phrase.

  “In a manner of speaking, perhaps I have,” Talbot says.

  “Sum it up for me quick like,” Durwick says.

  “Yes, sir,” Talbot says.

  Talbot adjusts his stance, straightening his clothes and clearing his throat. He says:

  “I advised your lieutenant, in the most direct terms, that Prince Rupert should be returned home unharmed at once.”

  Amazement shows on all the bandits’ faces. Excited chatter breaks out.

  “What’s he doing?” Clyde whispers.

  I’m too astonished to reply.

  “Why should I return the Prince after all the trouble I had finding him?” Durwick says.

  “To gain favor with his father, the mighty Sovereign over the mountains,” Talbot replies.

  “Just like that?” Durwick tries to snap his fingers, but no sound comes from his fleshy hand. “Without even a ransom payment? Do you think I fear any man that much?”

  “Of course not, sir,” Talbot says. “Your bravery is well known.”

  Durwick’s vanity is incredible, as proved by his craving for an audience. He shouldn’t be holding this parley before the common men. Franz has thoughts similar to mine, judging by the nervous way his eyes dart about the room. He whispers something into Durwick’s ear.

  “The fighting skill of Afflis’ men is also well known,” Talbot says. “Yet King Bertram’s army overcame us in battle.”

  “That ain’t how we heard it told!” a bandit yells. “You was caught napping like babes.”

  Talbot reddens. “Yes – that’s true.”

  Laughter roars through the building. Durwick leads the chorus, his double chins shaking.

  “But that only proves King Bertram’s cleverness.” Talbot’s voice rises over the din. “He struck us when we were least prepared.”

  The raucous laughter gets even louder.

  “I have seen the Sopronian King,” Talbot says when things calm down. “He is a man of honor and will reward you handsomely for rescuing his son.”

  A scrawny, greasy-looking man speaks up.

  “In a re
al battle we could defeat this king. With a few other bands, we could conquer his whole realm.”

  “On to the Westlands!” a second man shouts.

  “Slit the prince’s throat and be done with him!” cries another.

  Many of the outlaws roar agreement. I almost feel the sharp steel at my throat.

  “Do you really think the bands could work together?” Talbot says. “We’d scarcely cross the border and we’d be fighting each other, just as we do here.”

  But his comment is ignored. Violent talk rumbles through the mob – like maggots squirming inside rotted meat. Most of the voices call for my head, but I also sense an undercurrent of support for Talbot, though no one dares express it openly.

  Again Franz whispers in Durwick’s ear.

  “Oh, all right,” Durwick says. “Shut up everybody!”

  The babble instantly stops.

  “Franz requests a private audience,” Durwick says. “I suppose I should accommodate him.”

  He hoists his bulk out of the chair and walks outside with Franz. Talbot attempts to follow, but the door is closed against him. The supply of fresh air is thus cut off, but the place stinks a bit less without Durwick’s presence.

  28: Rebellion

  Talbot stands quietly, trying to maintain his dignity. He’s been excluded from the conference, which is a very bad sign – for all of us. He glances my direction, then looks away, as if shamed by his failure.

  “Well, I can die now,” Clyde says, “content that I have seen everything.”

  This talk of death is not reassuring, but I am too busy studying the ruffians to pay much heed. Many of the men are obvious lost souls ... but others seem less corrupt, somehow.

  I wonder how many have been forced into the gang, and how many would welcome a way out? Might an honest leader, even a very young one, sway them to a just cause? The air squirms with possibilities. Soon Durwick will return to announce my fate. It won’t be pleasant, I am sure.

  Without realizing what I’m doing, I climb atop the table. Clyde and Talbot stare up at me, astonished. The bandits gasp. In moments they will recover from their surprise and throw me down. I blurt out the first thing that came into my mind.

  “Look at you brave heroes!” I say. “Pig stealers no better than the beasts you take from unarmed peasants.”

  Anger shoots through the crowd.

  “All of you,” I wave an arm over the room, “stupid, frightened children cringing before your master.”

  A ferocious-looking man advances.

  “Get down!” he growls.

  Talbot withdraws a hidden dagger from his boot and blocks the man’s way.