The Lone Apprentice

by I K Spencer

  Garrick felt a slight rise in his spirits. He had secretly believed that the apprentice would likely be a pawn sacrificed to learn more about Cidrl. Since he’d been the one to champion this plan, he felt considerable guilt, having little doubt he had sentenced Anthen to either an early death or, recalling the malevolent face of his attacker, perhaps even a worse fate. Now, he felt a glimmer of hope that the impressive young man might survive the apprenticeship.

  Garrick sat by his dying fire, smoking and drinking tea for over an hour, to give Anthen time to get a good lead. Plus, he was worried about passing through the garrison. Cidrl would know that Anthen, and anyone following his next apprentice would have to pass through Dolonhold. Perhaps the suspected traitor had placed a spy there to see who might be following the young warrior. Garrick decided to enter the garrison and try to time his departure with another party so as not to look so conspicuous. He packed up and rode toward the fort, the knots returning to his stomach.

  As he approached the fortress his unease intensified. Every landmark caused a painful memory and he could not stop the resulting images that kept entering his mind. All those years ago, the enemy had surrounded the fort and his unit and others launched a counterattack to drive the Dolonarians back to the far side, away from the vulnerable west wall. The battle had been especially bloody and Garrick's unit was decimated. Everything he recognized reminded the guardsman of someone's death and the memories surfaced, still vivid even though so many years had passed. At one point it proved too much for the old guardsman and he leaned over as his stomach pumped out his morning tea.

  At last he reached the gate and entered, noticing wary looks on both the guards; he must look like a man who had seen a ghost. He felt better once inside and he rode silently down the main street and over to the inn. His appetite somewhat recovered, he would have breakfast and look for some party traveling east that he could blend in with when he departed.

  During breakfast, which consisted of leftover stew, bacon, and fresh bread, he realized that someone was watching him. With furtive glances during the meal, he kept an eye on the man and determined that the stranger was unknown to him. The tall, trim man wore the garb of a warrior. He appeared to be roughly the same age as Garrick, sporting a trim gray mustache and goatee.

  As Garrick sat smoking and drinking tea after finishing the hot meal, the man approached. Garrick's hand slowly crept toward the dagger in his belt as he watched the man come closer out of the corner of his eye. He saw and felt the man raise his hand and in response, the startled guardsman jumped from his seat, drawing the weapon. As he turned to face the man he found the outstretched hand empty, frozen in a pointing gesture.

  The man sputtered an apology for startling Garrick, obviously startled himself. "It is you," he said. "I recognize you from the war."

  Garrick quickly slid the dagger back into his belt and resumed his seat, not wanting to attract more attention. "Well I am sure you are mistaken, sir ,but please join me. I gather you have a tale to tell."

  The man introduced himself as Ballidor, a captain in the garrison forces, and went on to tell how as a new recruit twenty-five years ago he had been on the wall during the great siege. "We thought we were doomed when out of the mist there appeared a hulk of a man wielding a mighty battle hammer. That man almost single-handedly turned the tide of the battle and that man is you!"

  Hopeful to avoid attention, Garrick tried to dissuade him but Ballidor grew more animated, and louder, with each denial from the guardsman. Finally, in hushed tones Garrick explained to Ballidor that he was on a mission for the king and wished to remain anonymous. He admitted that it might have been his face the captain recalled, reminding the man that he had been scared to death and just one of many men of valor that day.

  Ballidor, no stranger to the horror of battle, nodded. "If there is any way I can be of service to a hero, you need merely name it," he offered, his voice lowered considerably.

  Garrick leaned forward. "Is there any way to leave the fort, heading east, with less ... notice?"

  Ballidor rose and gestured for Garrick to follow outside.

  The pair paused beside Lance in the stable while Ballidor explained, "What I am about to offer you is a closely guarded secret of Dolonhold and you must not tell anyone, not even other guardsmen."

  Garrick started to deny that he was a guardsman but Ballidor jumped in, "We suspected you were one twenty-five years ago; your tale today confirms it. Forget it. Your secret is safe with me."

  Ballidor again gestured for Garrick to follow and they walked on, followed by the guardsman's mount. They walked out behind the main administrative building, which housed the garrison commander and any visiting dignitaries. The only stone structure within the fortress walls, it would be more accurate to call it a castle. The pair walked around the building and entered a small stable attached to the rear of the structure. A few horses and a cow occupied some of the stalls inside but otherwise it was empty.

  Ballidor walked to the corner of the shed, up to the stone wall, and reached into a crevice. With just a slight scraping noise, a large portion of the wall slid inward, revealing an entrance large enough for two riders to enter abreast. Garrick urged Lance inside and Ballidor pulled a lever to slide the wall back into place. Ballidor lit a torch taken from a stack just inside the entrance and illuminated the windowless space. The compartment was narrow and Garrick could see it was actually a long, descending hallway as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Ballidor led them down the ramp, beneath the surface. They descended perhaps twenty feet, then leveled off and the guardsman realized that they were in a subterranean tunnel carved out of the solid bedrock.

  "Ah, this feature has been added since your time here," Ballidor offered, in answer to Garrick's questioning look. "Most of the caves were here. A previous fort commander, who loved to explore the surrounding cliffs, happened upon the caves and came up with the scheme. They brought in miners to build entrances and interconnecting caves. Each miner only worked on one area so none could know the whole."

  "A good measure," replied Garrick, "Dolonar would pay dearly to know a secret passage that leads inside the Dolonhold. In fact, tell me no more. I should know as little as needed."

  "As you wish," Ballidor replied but smiled as though he didn't agree. "Though, if one of your stature cannot be trusted, then no one should be."

  Garrick winced at that. A few months ago the thought of an untrustworthy guardsman was as impossible to him as it still was to Ballidor.

  As the pair conversed, Garrick followed the thin captain through several large caverns and smaller tunnels. Ballidor's torch the only source of light in the darkness, and Lance kept close behind. The guardsman knew the loyal horse was none too happy to be in the dark caves and he could sympathize. In the large caverns, Garrick sometimes could not see the ceiling or all the walls within the reach of the torch light and felt dizzy.

  "Speaking of Dolonar," Garrick queried as they passed through one cavern so large he could hear a faint echo, "What news have you from the border?"

  The captain was thoughtful for a few moments, then finally answered. "I am not at ease. I hear loose talk of strange things afoot between here and Gates and that is an ill omen. I fear more what I do not hear—tales of Dolonary raiding parties."

  "That is common in time of peace?"

  Ballidor nodded. "Aye. We never have total peace with Dolonar, only more limited warfare. In the two dozen years I have been here, the skirmishes have never stopped completely, until the last few years that is."

  "Mayhap loose tongues would rather gossip over the strange tales of late," offered the guardsman.

  "It may be so, but I still am wary."

  The guardsman nodded grimly, sharing the other man’s concern.

  After nearly an hour in darkness, Ballidor stopped at what appeared to be a bare wall. At his touch, the wall slid to the left to reveal a thick stand of young pines slightly taller than the opening.

  "Travel to the south un
til you hit an east-west trail," Ballidor explained, "That is the road to Gates and is but a few hundred feet from where we stand."

  "I am grateful, Ballidor. You have been of considerable service."

  Ballidor bowed. "I am honored to be in your service. You are a hero to the realm."

  Garrick bowed also and grasped the captain's hand. "No more than you. All who held Dolonhold that day are heroes."

  Ballidor beamed. "On your return trip ask for me and we shall dine and talk of the old times."

  "Agreed," said Garrick, though he had no wish to reminisce. He turned and pulled Lance into the thicket, then turned to look back at the cave.

  "Farewell, guardsman."

  Ballidor saluted, then disappeared as the wall slid back into place. Garrick could barely find the seams of the opening after a minute. He turned and led Lance beyond the pines to a clearing no more than fifty feet away and looked back again. He saw pine groves against the cliffs in both directions as far as he could see. Even though he knew the opening existed, he doubted he could find it again.

  Chapter 12

  Anthen noticed little change in the landscape of the mountains east of the garrison. The pass narrowed again at the far end of the valley and returned to alternating rises and falls, though deviated little from due east. The tall peaks rose majestically to either side, their white summits brilliant against the clear, blue sky. He found the trail itself, however, in worse shape than to the west of the garrison. It looked as though few carts or wains passed this way. On occasion, the apprentice even had to dismount and walk under low branches that rose over the path.

  All day, clear and warmer than the last, he saw no sign of any other human life after departing the garrison. Normally the vast wilderness might make him feel lonely but the visit to Dolonhold was still fresh in his mind and his thoughts continued to turn to Urvena. He knew, though, that with several days of desolate territory left to cross to reach Gates, loneliness would be his close companion soon enough. He capped the pleasant day by finding a picturesque campsite next to a clear, spring-fed pond.

  Halfway through the next day, another glorious clear spring offering, the mountains diminished to foothills and he began to see signs, wisps of smoke in the distance, that some hardy folk called this rugged land their home. The trail improved gradually throughout the morning and widened into a serviceable road about midday.

  About the time the trail widened, the guardsman's special ability signaled that he was being followed. He paused and scanned the perimeter but could discern no threat, empty wilderness in all directions. He continued on, though the feeling he was being stalked persisted. He grew more vigilant as the afternoon progressed. He rode with a constant urge to look behind him and quicken his pace but he resisted the impulse, allowing only an occasional look over his shoulder. It did not matter; whomever or whatever pursued the guardsman was never visible.

  Nearing dusk, Anthen halted at the crest of an open hill and used his glass to survey the land around him. The guardsman methodically searched the wooded valleys and surrounding hillsides. At one point he was startled by movement he thought he saw in the valley behind him but there was nothing when he jerked the scope back. He searched the area for several minutes more but saw nothing further.

  Frustrated, he mounted up again and resumed his journey, looking for the right spot to spend the night. He studied the land, searching for a site suitable for thwarting an attack, for the guardsman felt certain an ambush of some sort would come. After a time, he came upon what he was looking for. At a bend in a shallow stream stood a small cliff about fifty paces back from the water. The space between the water and the bluff was clear of trees and contained very few places to hide. He forded the stream and made camp next to the cliff, limiting the directions he had to worry about.

  Anthen made a small fire from driftwood and supped on dried meat, coffee, and some young fern stalks growing at the edge of the water. He placed his bedroll so his head was just inches from the rock wall and tried to sleep. He dozed fitfully, waking fully at every unusual splash from the stream, though he sensed no immediate threat.

  Well before dawn he woke for good and felt right away the same presence from the day before. He lay for some time without making a sound but heard nothing peculiar. Wearily, the young guardsman rose and carried out his morning exercises, his bow kept near at hand in case it was needed. Afterward he bathed in the cold stream and felt somewhat refreshed, though the feeling of being watched persisted.

  While bathing he noticed some fish moving in the shallows and decided to treat himself to a hot breakfast. Soon the fire was rekindled and a couple of good-sized carp were sizzling. He then sat near the fire and ate his breakfast while his eyes continually scanned the road and the woods across the water. Perhaps the smell of cooking fish and fresh coffee would draw his pursuers into the open.

  A short while later, Anthen broke camp and set out once again on the road to Gates. The weather was again clear but cooler and breezy. He rode a bit faster than usual and had to fight the impulse to ride faster still. The terrain went by unnoticed as he strained to hear movement behind, a task more difficult in the rising wind, and his mind timed the intervals at which he permitted a glance behind. Throughout the morning, he continually constructed defensive maneuvers in his mind for each new section of the road.

  Shortly before noon he rounded a bend and used the opportunity to scan the road behind and saw nothing yet again. As he turned back though, the guardsman was shocked to find three riders facing him, barely twenty paces ahead. One had a crossbow drawn and fixed on him. Anthen cursed his mistake; with all his focus on the phantom presence behind he failed to sense the bandits as they approached from the front.

  The one in the middle, a fat, middle-aged man wearing a shabby battle helmet, ordered him to dismount. The bowman to the right of the leader also looked to be older and Anthen could tell from his expression that the man would not give a second thought to murder. The third highwayman appeared about Dunsten’s age, a slight boy with fair hair and a crooked, nervous sneer.

  The leader shouted the order to dismount again. Anthen slowly complied but and as he did he tapped his horse on the inside of the nearest foreleg. Trained to respond to the signal, Rorc immediately raced off back to the west. The bandits were startled and Anthen tensed, thinking the bowman might fire, but the leader quickly gestured for the man to wait. The bowman's eyes blazed with frustrated anger but he did back off the trigger slightly.

  "You'll pay for that," growled the leader and angrily ordered the youth to chase down the horse, exactly the result Anthen wanted.

  On command, Anthen unbuckled his sword belt and pulled a dagger from his boot and laid them on the ground. Appearing disarmed, he slowly reached inside his shirt and pulled out a bag of gold. He shook it and the leader and bowman smiled and laughed, happy to hear several coins inside and gaining confidence that their quarry was apparently no threat. Out of the corner of his eye, Anthen noted that the bowman's trigger finger had strayed further and the weapon was no longer aimed directly at him, again as he had hoped.

  The leader urged his mount forward to take the gold. When the highwayman was just a few feet away, Anthen softly tossed the bag in a high arc. As he released the bag he glanced over at the bowman, and, noting the man's greedy gaze followed the bag, he pulled the handbow from his cloak with a quick, practiced movement. The leader recognized the trick and yelled but was too late; Anthen shot the bowman between the eyes and the cutthroat fell backwards off his horse, dead before he hit the ground. The leader, quick for his size, jumped from the saddle and hit Anthen before he could swing his weapon around, knocking the bow from his hand and sending both men to the ground.

  When they rose facing each other, Anthen was unarmed while the bandit leader held a large dagger. The guardsman could hear the pounding of hooves getting louder and knew he could not wait, for his odds would only get worse with the return of the third thief.

  He rushed forward an
d feigned a lunge. The bandit thrust the blade forward in anticipation of the attack and Anthen gripped the man's arm and brought it down hard upon his knee. The robber yelped and dropped the weapon. Without hesitation, the guardsman twirled and whipped his elbow up, catching the man in the temple with a solid blow. As the bandit leader fell back, already out cold, Anthen ducked under the swinging blade of the remaining young thief as he charged past. While the rider reined in and dismounted, Anthen ran to his sword and turned back to square off against the remaining thug.

  The youth turned and started to advance but then paused as he took in the fate of both his elder comrades. When his gaze returned to their intended victim, Anthen instantly saw the growing uncertainty in his young face. The thief clearly did not want to continue the fight but was reluctant to back down and, as his eyes locked on Anthen's, the guardsman knew his reaction would make all the difference. Anthen had no desire to take the young man's life and he feigned indecision, letting the tip of his sword drop to the ground. Seconds passed slowly as the youth considered what action to take, then the hoped-for outcome took place as the lad jumped upon his horse and raced away to the north.

  Anthen let out a deep breath and dropped to one knee, suddenly weak from the shock of what had happened. He looked around and, upon spying the still-prone leader, rose again quickly and readied his weapon. He warily approached the still figure until he noted a large pool of dark blood spreading under the man's head. Lifting the lifeless form, Anthen saw a deep slice across the back of the man's neck. The youth's initial slash meant for him had nearly beheaded the man instead. Anthen dropped him and moved to the bowman.