The Lone Apprentice

by I K Spencer

  The figure passed from the dark spruce copse and Anthen could see a staff in one thin hand and a rucksack clutched in the other. The cloaked form halted at the edge of the clearing. The wide-brimmed hat rose and the guardsman beheld a thin face gazing down at him.

  The man wore a patch over his right eye and the other black eye bulged beneath a dark, thick brow, making the man look both angry and demented, an unsettling combination. The large eye moved over Anthen and his belongings, then settled on the guardsman's face again. The man was clean-shaven and wore close-cropped black hair, blended with streaks of white.

  "Hail, sir," offered Anthen tentatively, unsure of the stranger's intentions.

  "Greetings fellow traveler," the man replied in a soft, deep voice. He was at least a head taller than Anthen and perhaps two score or more in age. His eye fell to the bow Anthen still held. "I come in peace. There are so few wayfarers of late and I spied your fire. The fish smell delicious."

  "Forgive me," said Anthen, putting the bow away, "I was taught to be cautious. Sir, please share my camp and supper."

  "I do not wish to intrude."

  "I welcome the company and have had good luck with the trout. Store your gear and relax; supper will be ready soon."

  In truth, Anthen would rather the disquieting stranger leave but he guessed it would be better to know this man's whereabouts once darkness fell. Also, the intruder might have news. The man's speech was certainly not that of a commoner.

  "Thank you. You are most kind. I will just refill my flask from the stream." The stranger nodded to Anthen without smiling, turned and strode away to the stream.

  Anthen turned the fish over and set a pot of water to boil for coffee. He then returned to mixing batter, pouring more meal to make extra fried cakes for his guest. The stranger returned from the stream’s edge and settled his lanky frame across the fire from the guardsman. He reclined against a rock and watched Anthen intently.

  Anthen broke the silence. "Are you journeying to Dolonhold?" He did not want to specifically ask the stranger's ultimate destination.

  "Nay, I seek the comforts of Verilia."

  "Aye. The fish is ready; help yourself. Coffee and fried cakes will be ready soon."

  The stranger nodded and leaned forward, reaching with a shiny dagger to spear a couple of trout into his battered plate. Anthen did the same, then spooned globs of fried cake batter in the empty spots in the same pot. The batter bubbled and the young guardsman deftly flipped the cakes with practiced strokes from his own knife.

  "What of you?" queried the stranger, waiting for the fish to cool and eyeing the holes left by Anthen’s quarrels. "Shooting fish with bow and arrow is no easy task. Are you to be posted at the garrison?"

  Anthen shook his head, spooning coffee grounds into the hot water pot he set aside to steep. "I journey to Gates."

  At the mention of his destination, the stranger's one eye blazed at him. "Gates? Do you hail from the border region?" There was an edge to his voice.

  "Nay, I journey to visit relatives."

  Anthen held out a plate of fried cakes and the stranger scraped about half into his own plate. Anthen sat back against another rock and commenced eating. The trout were the best he had ever tasted. The stranger continued to scrutinize his host closely as he ate. Anthen could tell he had something to say so remained silent. Finally, the odd man spoke again. "Young friend, the border region is not the place for careless travel."

  It was the opening Anthen was waiting for. "You journey from near the border?"

  The stranger bowed his head for a long time and did not answer. Finally he nodded and raised his head, fear clearly evident on his gaunt face.

  "What news have you from the border?" Anthen asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Anthen rose to fetch the coffee. He poured some into the stranger's cup and his own, then returned to his seat.

  "Dangerous times have come again," warned the stranger. "It is safe enough here west of Dolonhold and in Gates-proper but evil dwells elsewhere." His face was in shadow except for his good eye, which seemed to stare right through the guardsman.

  "Aye," Anthen agreed. "I hear the highwaymen are thick—"

  "I speak not of thieves," interrupted the other man. "Yes. They are rampant between the garrison and Gates but they are no match for your bow skills. I speak of sorcery!"

  Anthen said nothing, waiting for the man to continue and wondering if perhaps the man were a zealot, or insane.

  The stranger quickly scanned the camp's perimeter, as if concerned that he might be overheard. "There is great fear across the plains," the wayfarer continued, his one eye blazing at the young guardsman again. "The farmers and villagers lock up their doors at night and no one ventures out after sundown." The eye turned toward the fire and the man did not continue.

  "Why?" prompted Anthen after a long pause.

  "Winged demons roam the skies," the stranger said in a quiet, quavering voice, "seeking human prey."

  "Winged demons? You have seen them?"

  The stranger nodded. Again he did not speak for a long time.

  "I was in a small hamlet in the foothills between Dolonhold and Gates. The hour was late and the road empty." The stranger stared off into space, seemingly no longer aware of the guardsman's presence. "I came upon a pair of young sweethearts by a stream. A simple peasant boy and girl, stealing away for some time alone. The moon was full and I spied them on the bank, holding each other."

  "I watched them for a time. It is the usual tale of young lovers." A small smile briefly flickered in the man's face but then faded, replaced by a pained expression. "But then a shadow passed across the moon and startled them. I was startled as well. It was not a cloud." He paused and took a long swallow from his flask. "The pair whispered and looked all about for an explanation. Then the boy rose and pointed away from me across the stream. My eyes sought his target. At first I could see nothing, then I could see ... movement. It was very strange, a flickering of the light as some form moved rapidly forward about ten feet from the ground." The troubled man shook his head as though he sought to escape the memory. "Then the maiden screamed and I stifled a scream in my own throat as a pair of large, fiery eyes suddenly appeared in the apparition!" He spoke faster now, his voice rising. "They ran toward me but the form was on them in moments, knocking them both asunder and then gone from view! They rose and seemed to be unhurt. He pulled the crying girl up and tried to quiet her. Then he pointed again and I saw the form approaching a second time. They tried to run in the opposite direction but the beast was on them before they ran more than a few steps! They were both knocked to the ground and this time the boy screamed! When he stood, I saw that the back of his tunic was torn away and bloodied! He whirled around, searching for the beast! The girl rose and he pushed her back down and picked up a stout branch." The man gestured with his hands, grabbing an invisible bough as thick as Anthen’s calf. "The form came from yet another direction. The lad saw and swung the limb with all his might. Mind you, he was large and I thought it a mighty stroke but the blow stopped ... as if it hit a stone wall and the log was torn from his grasp like as if he was a babe." His one eye appealed to Anthen for a reasonable explanation. When none came he looked down and when he continued, his voice came barely above a whisper. "Then the demon toyed with them. What manner of beast is this that behaves thusly? What world spawns such evil?" The man glared at Anthen, his gaze again begging an explanation that made sense. The haunted stranger sobbed as he continued and the guardsman knew he was reliving the gruesome experience, his horror palpable. "It made several passes. Sometimes it feinted attack and other times it slashed the boy, each time in a different part of his body. Soon he was bloodied from head to toe, tottering on his knees and all the fight gone from him. Then, the beast snatched him, wailing. I heard his cries fade and stood to help the lass but then his cries rose anew and the form flashed just over the shrieking maiden's head. It looked as though the writhing boy were flying. The creature wheeled a
nd swooped, tormenting the senseless, howling maiden. All at once, there was a sound, as of breaking kindling, and the young man wailed no more. I’ll never forget that sound as long as I breathe ... The shapeless form moved some distance away, and I thought it might be over but no. It just took some time for it to circle around and approach again, this time from the direction the girl faced. It moved slowly, its crimson eyes floating above the lifeless form of the mutilated boy. The shrieking girl shook her head trying to rid herself of the nightmare coming toward her but she was frozen with fear and did not try to run. I prayed to the gods that she swoon from the shock but her cries never stopped as the demon tore her from the ground and carried her off," his voice trailed off and he stared into the fire, his cheek shiny with fresh tears. "You know I now think if she had fainted, the demon would have waited for her to regain her senses before making the last pass. I think it craved ... the fear."

  Anthen waited for the stranger to continue the tale until he could wait no longer. "And the girl?" he finally prompted.

  The wayfarer just shook his head but Anthen knew from the agony in the man's face that she was gone and presumed dead. He attempted to ask the stranger some questions but the man refused; telling the tale seemed to have cost him dearly. Finally, without a further word, the man lay down and feigned sleep, turning his back on his host.

  Chapter 10

  Anthen paused to rest Rorc and admire the terrain surrounding the mountain pass that would eventually lead to Dolonhold. Ahead and on both sides the peaks rose thousands of feet above him and though it was mid-morning, the sun had not cleared the great heights. The snowy summits above the tree line were brilliant in the bright morning sunshine while spruce and fir trees dominated the steep slopes below.

  The guardsman was tired, having obtained little sleep after the tall stranger's horrific tale. He had dreamed that he and Urvena were stalked by the winged demon instead of the sturdy farm hand and his maiden. Between the nightmares, Anthen had awakened often to keep watch over the disconcerting traveler.

  Upon waking, the hollow-eyed stranger had remained tight-lipped, saying only that his was not the sole tale of such attacks and warning the young man to travel only during the day once he passed the garrison. The strange wayfarer had then bid Anthen farewell and strode west, his final forlorn look back suggesting he did not expect to see the guardsman alive again.

  Anthen wondered if the stranger's tale could be true. Sorcery existed but true wizards were very rare, according to his teachers. Most enchantments were simple mind tricks used to manipulate people or strike fear in an enemy. The winged demon was obviously not a mind trick unless it lived only in the tormented stranger's head.

  Could the demons, or tales of demons, in the border region have any relationship to Cidrl? He thought it possible and if so, there might not be a threat to him but Garrick was a different story. Anthen decided he must wait for, and warn, the elder guardsman.

  ********

  Garrick had kept about an hour behind the apprentice since leaving Verilia. The cuts made in one of the shoes of Anthen's mount made tracking a simple task and he was thankful for it now. He had met the one-eyed stranger on the trail shortly after starting out that morning and the disturbed look on the outlander's face had caused him to ride hard to cut the distance between himself and the apprentice. He now squatted next to his horse beside the stream where the young warrior appeared to have shared a camp with the stranger. He was grateful to see Anthen's tracks continuing east from the site.

  Garrick looked up at the mountains and remembered the first time he had made this journey. It was during the first of the two Dolonarian wars in which he served. As he had entered this pass all those years ago the Dolonarians had held all the lands east of Dolonhold. He’d been a young man, barely out of the academy, and soon to face his first taste of battle.

  Granted the standard officer’s commission as a guardsman, Garrick had been made captain of a squad. His squad and several others had arrived at Dolonhold just in time to preserve its tradition of invincibility. When they arrived the garrison had been surrounded. It had taken a full day and night for them to drive the Dolonarians back from the fort and the carnage he witnessed that day ended any delusions he held about warfare. It had taken all his will to keep from running away and he bore no animosity for those who did.

  Lance finished drinking and Garrick shook his head as he mounted; yet another time he must pass this way without the chance to fish this stream. He pulled Lance around and urged the horse up the pass, no longer trying to catch the apprentice.

  A few hours later, Garrick crested a rise and was startled to see Anthen in front of him.

  "Hail, fellow traveler," the apprentice called cheerfully, feigning ignorance of Garrick's identity just as the elder guardsman had in Verilia.

  "Hail," responded Garrick in a friendly tone but his eyes shot the younger man a questioning look.

  "I spied you coming up the pass and thought we might share the journey for a time."

  Anthen slid up into his saddle, then proceeded to retell the one-eyed man's strange tale as the pair continued up the pass together. Garrick listened quietly, without interruption. The apprentice did not tell all the gruesome facts but made sure not to omit any details regarding the winged specter's description and tactics.

  Garrick did not respond immediately when the apprentice finished. He was reminded of the night, now seemingly long ago, when he buried the fallen guardsman who had attacked him. That night something had passed across the moon, startling him. Could that shadow have been this demon? Was it also possible that the one-eyed wayfarer was one of Cidrl's consorts? Regardless, it was more imperative than ever that Anthen not be compromised; they must not be seen together.

  "'Tis a wild tale," Garrick said, breaking the long silence. "Still, there are other tales of folks disappearing in that area." He continued in a whisper, "You suspect our interest may have a hand in this? Even so, if such powers lay within his grasp, we must not travel together."

  "I agree," whispered Anthen, not a bit embarrassed that they were whispering in the middle of a vast wilderness. "I just wanted to warn you. If this is somehow tied to our mission, you are more at risk than I."

  Garrick nodded. "I understand. Be very careful. He may be reaching out to you already."

  The older guardsman halted and spoke once more in a normal voice. "Farewell sir. Unfortunately, I must leave your company here to try to catch my supper." He nodded to where the stream had neared the trail again, forming a clear pool very tempting to the avid fisherman.

  The younger man bade him farewell and continued up the pass. Garrick watched Anthen depart as he retrieved his fishing gear. He looked up to check the position of the sun. He would wait an hour before following the apprentice. It was not the best time of day to fish but he might get lucky.

  Garrick sat heavily on a log next to a small pool a little way off the road. He was very tired; years of sedentary life in Kaslow and towns like it had not left him in suitable shape for life on the trail. It felt good to not be moving for once while the sun was up. He closed his eyes and raised his broad, bearded face to the sun, hoping the rays would refresh him. He would have to be careful, though, not to fall asleep.

  He withdrew his favorite pipe, the only one he had brought on the trip. It was small and made of unadorned wood but it kept a flame well and provided a subtle flavor that enhanced the tobacco somehow. He lit the bowl and breathed in the fragrant fumes, thoroughly enjoying the rich aroma. While puffing, he scanned the pool, deciding what areas he should fish and in what order. Sunlit grass a vivid green filled his side of the pool but the far shore was thick with brush and a few young birch trees so white they looked to have been freshly whitewashed. He hadn’t seen many prettier views.

  The gray-haired man threaded a worm onto a hook and tossed the bait across the pool to a shadowy area. He had collected a few worms back in the farmlands in hopes of this opportunity. He fished with a cork, too tired
for the constant motion and close attention needed to fish without one. He stared at the float and let his mind wander over their situation.

  He thought first about Cidrl. It was hard not having a face to go with the name; he could not think as clearly without picturing the man. The question so often on his mind since the other man came under suspicion was what could make Cidrl stray from their brotherhood in the first place? Perhaps he was not the master but the puppet. He much preferred that explanation because then it might not be a case of a rogue guardsman. With Dolonar so close, he had little doubt who might be in control if Cidrl was not. However, if Cidrl proved a traitor, Garrick hoped it would be his blade that put a stop to the monster's life.

  He watched the cork vibrate as fish nibbled at the bait. He had learned that jerking the line at this point would be fruitless so he patiently waited for a cautious fish to take the bait.

  He was worried about the apprentice and unsettled by the appearance of the strange, one-eyed wanderer. If the wayfarer was one of Cidrl's minions, what could his purpose be in warning Anthen of demons ahead? Perhaps Cidrl wanted his next recruit on edge.

  He saw the cork pulled beneath the surface and quickly jerked the line. The satisfying tug on the line told him the hook was set. He pulled the struggling fish in hand over hand and lifted a foot-long speckled fish out of the water. He tossed the fish into a basket beside him and baited another wriggling worm. Another toss placed the float under another set of overhanging branches and the game began anew.

  The young damsel the apprentice had rescued in Verilia also concerned Garrick. He still believed that her attackers had been overcome too easily. And even if the assault had not been contrived, the youth could not afford entanglements with the gentler sex. The guardsman chuckled at the thought; in his experience, women were about as gentle as cobras, manipulating their prey and then striking the mortal blow. All the women he had spent more than a night with, including a wife, were expert at using tears, rage, joy, and even ecstasy to manipulate men.