The Captive

by Paul Lauritsen

  “General!”

  Garnuk turned and identified Danur, jogging towards him from a cluster of larger tents, the command center. The captain of Shadow Squadron inclined his head slightly as he approached. “General,” he repeated. “Welcome back. Did you see anything of note on your latest scouting trip?”

  Garnuk shook his head. “Nothing,” he growled, “But that is good, I think. If we are not suspected of destroying Ishkabur, then nothing is what we should see.”

  “A good point,” Danur agreed. “In that case, perhaps these patrols are a waste of you and Zanove’s time.”

  “Strategically, yes,” Garnuk agreed without hesitation. “But Zanove needs the exercise to stay battle-ready, and I can still grow more accustomed to flying. We will continue to scout the surrounding area every other day.”

  “As you wish,” Danur agreed.

  “What news from our spies?”

  “Your plan is working,” Danur replied, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Refugees are turning up in every coastal city and village, proclaiming the Keepers have betrayed the Sthan.”

  “Good,” Garnuk grunted. “Do we know anything about the king’s response?”

  “Not yet,” Danur said, “But we are working on it. Tarq has a few informers with very high up connections. We’ve been trying to get in touch with them, but they seem to be laying low.”

  “How high up?” Garnuk asked absently as he strode towards the command tent.

  “Extremely,” Danur told him, moving quickly to keep up. “General, the informers from the Council of Masks claim to have direct access to the king’s activities and plans.”

  Garnuk stopped, frowning. “How is that? Are they connected to advisors of some kind?”

  “I’m not sure,” Danur replied uncertainly. “The way Tarq described it, it seemed more like their contacts were adversaries of the Sthan king than advisors.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Garnuk pointed out. “They may be men the king trusts, even as they betray him and funnel information to our cause.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Either way,” Garnuk murmured. “The king is more embattled than we thought. This will make his next move all the more interesting. And all the more difficult to predict.”

  “Exactly,” Danur agreed. “We are keeping our eyes and ears open though. The moment anything happens related to the Ishkabur attack, we will know.”

  “Anything else new?”

  “Nothing of note, general.”

  “In that case, send for Tarq,” Garnuk grunted, turning towards the command tent. “I have a mission for him, now that events are in motion and our army is fully mustered. Well,” he added darkly, “Almost fully mustered.”

  “General, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but Tarq is already gone,” Danur said uncomfortably.

  “Gone?” Garnuk snapped. “What do you mean gone? Where to? Why? What for?”

  Danur flinched. “He said he had an important mission from you, one that couldn’t wait. He put me fully in charge of Shadow Squadron and training the troops, then disappeared.”

  “That is disturbing,” Garnuk growled. “He did not say what this mission was?”

  “No, general, only that it came from you and it was urgent,” Danur shrugged apologetically. “I did not think to verify his story since he is your second in command in so many things.”

  “No matter,” Garnuk said, waving a hand in dismissal. “I would not expect you to stop him. But I am puzzled by what could have caused Tarq to leave without a word to me.”

  “So you have no idea what his mission could be?”

  Garnuk thought back on previous conversations with his second in command, pondering each word and phrase. “There are some things he could have interpreted as orders,” he admitted finally. “But nothing I would have expected him to act so decisively on. Which way was he traveling when he left?”

  “South.”

  “And he left when?”

  Danur thought back quickly, counting up the days on his clawed hands. “Almost a week ago, general, soon after the first clans began arriving here with their soldiers. He delegated the camp and the training of our soldiers to me, then left. Headed south.”

  “South,” Garnuk murmured, ducking into the command tent. “What is there to the south?”

  “Snow and mountains, and eventually the sea.”

  “I wasn’t asking you,” Garnuk muttered, leaning over the table in the center of the command post and studying the oversized map placed on top of it.”

  “Sorry, general.”

  Garnuk nodded in acknowledgement of the apology, then went back to studying the map. The vale the army was camped in was in the northernmost regions of the Southern Fells, close enough to the edge of the mountains that Garnuk had been able to set up a lookout post with a view of the Renlor Basin. A little ways to the west, the pass from the Basin to Ishkabur cut through the mountains, likely to be deserted now with the destruction of the city. Although, Garnuk mused, they should keep an eye on the pass anyway, in case someone was sent to investigate the city or soldiers were sent to rebuild the ruined stronghold.

  “South,” Garnuk murmured to himself, tracing a path through the Fells. “There are many things to the south, Danur. A great many things. Snow, mountains, and the sea, yes, but also significantly more interesting destinations.”

  “Such as?”

  Garnuk jabbed a clawed finger at a small dot marking a settlement on the map. “Resistant clans. Some who may not have sent all the warriors they promised, others who clearly held back their best fighters. Tarq could be investigating those personally, rounding up anyone who should be here but is not.”

  “A worthwhile mission,” Danur agreed. “But I would have thought he would take some warriors with him to assist in subduing any belligerent fighters who do not wish to come. There are certainly many of those lingering in their home villages rather than joining the full army under your command.”

  “A strange solo mission,” Garnuk agreed, “But one that makes sense. There is another objective to the south he could have gone to, but it is not marked on this map for a number of reasons.”

  “The hidden city?”

  “Precisely,” Garnuk said, nodding. “Banta Kodu, the home of the Banuk tribe.”

  “Why would he go there?”

  “Because the Banuk have resisted joining the war at every step,” Garnuk growled, “They even had the audacity to declare themselves outside of my authority and refused to send a representative to the gathering of clans.”

  “What?” Danur demanded.

  “You did not know?”

  “No,” the captain replied, scowling. “The Banuk are reclusive, yes, but I cannot remember the last time they did not attend an official clan gathering. So much of import happens in those meetings, particularly the ratification of a new Ramshuk.”

  “Which is their grounds for not accepting my rule,” Garnuk explained. “They never ratified me, so they do not have to answer to my commands.”

  “That is absurd!” Danur protested hotly.

  “I agree.”

  “They forfeited that argument when they chose not to appear at the gathering,” Danur continued, warming to his theme. “And the other clans who did not agree with you have all come around. Leave it to the Banuk to hold out and cause trouble. I assume none of their warriors have joined us yet?”

  “None. And as far as I know, none of their warriors plan to join us,” Garnuk replied heavily.

  Danur gnashed his fangs agitatedly. “This is dark news, general. Our force is impressive, and all the more so when you consider our best fighters and our largest clan are not represented here, but for a clan to deny the will of the Ramshuk? It does not set a good precedent for the future. It’s just wrong!”

  “The spirits will judge them for their lack of loyalty,” Garnuk said. “I hope most harshly.”

  “Not for some time,” Danur muttered. “They are safe in their hidd
en city, behind their invisible walls. If I could find the place again, I would go there right now and give them a piece of my mind. I would force them to fight!”

  “Zanove and I have tried,” Garnuk informed him. “We failed. The Banuk had hundreds of warriors on guard, and Chief Carh himself commanded us to leave. They want nothing to do with the war, or the outside world, ever again. They have promised to destroy any non-Banuk on sight, no questions asked.”

  “And you think this is where Tarq has gone?”

  “It is possible,” Garnuk agreed. “But I do not know to what end and purpose he has taken that journey. I had discussed sending him to the Banuk as an emissary, but he resisted mightily at the time. What could have changed his mind?”

  “Maybe he received new information from our spies,” Danur suggested. “Information that indicated we needed more soldiers if we plan to succeed.”

  “Possibly,” Garnuk mused, “But we have always known we will be outnumbered.”

  “Maybe he thought he could make up the disadvantage with training,” the other vertag mused, “Then realized there was only so much he could do in such a short time and that vertaga are not apt learners when it comes to things they do not see a purpose for.”

  “Another possibility,” Garnuk agreed. “However, I would expect there to be – ”

  A commotion outside the command post drew his attention. Raised voices filtered through the canvas, then a braying horn. This was closely followed by a cacophony of growls and snaps, enough noise for a battle though no alarm had been sounded. The horn rang out again, but Garnuk did not recognize it as one of his own, or one of the Sthan for that matter.

  “A Banuk horn?” Danur asked tentatively.

  “No,” Garnuk replied. “Theirs have a different tone. This horn is something else.” He reached out to Zanove, querying the silver dragon. What’s going on out there?

  A great host has arrived at the edges of the camp.

  Where from? Garnuk asked urgently, snatching up his helm and settling it on his head.

  From the mountains.

  Garnuk frowned, puzzled. “I’m coming,” he said aloud. “Danur, prepare yourself for battle. It seems an army has arrived.”

  “An army?” Danur asked, perplexed. “That’s not possible, you would have seen it on your scouting trip.”

  “It came from the mountains,” Garnuk explained. “Or at least, that’s what Zanove said. We focused most of our attention on the Basin and other man-inhabited areas. We thought that was where the threat would come from.”

  “Is this new force a threat?”

  “We will see,” Garnuk grunted. “In any event, Zanove and I will need to be more thorough in our scouting missions in the future. We cannot afford to miss events such as these.”

  The host is stopping at the edge of the camp, Zanove reported.

  They are not attacking?

  No. They appear to be waiting for something.

  The horn sounded again. Garnuk ducked out of the command post and ran to Zanove’s side. The silver dragon was standing upright, wings half spread, eyes fixed to the south. See? He said, not even turning to address Garnuk directly. A great host. Waiting.

  Garnuk followed the silver dragon’s gaze and grunted in surprise. Drawn up on a ridge bordering the vale was a force hundreds strong. The banner they flew was not familiar, but he had his guesses as to who fought under it. The sigil emblazoned there was that of a demonic wolf, a bloody axe clutched in its teeth. And in the first rank of the army were dozens of varloug prans.

  Garnuk glanced back at Danur. “Find a horn,” he commanded. “Signal their leaders to approach for a conversation. They will be granted safe passage into the camp.”

  Danur nodded, then ran among the tents, a moment later, he returned with another ram. The captain repeated Garnuk’s orders, and the ram he had brought blew a complex series of wailing notes on his horn, the ululations reverberating from the mountains.

  There was a pause, then three riders detached themselves from the front rank, their beasts loping down the ridge and into the vale, making straight for Garnuk’s position. The Ramshuk waited patiently, trying to make out the three riders. He had his suspicions, and those suspicions made him both nervous and excited. This could either be a momentous opportunity or a devastating disaster. He hoped fervently that the encounter would be the former of those two options. Beside him, Zanove growled at the approaching wolf riders, and he soothed the dragon’s uneasiness quickly.

  Be on your guard, but be welcoming. This force could be a powerful ally in our war.

  They could also attack us and ruin our plans.

  If they attack, you will have plenty of opportunity to flame these three. The wolves are far from fireproof.

  That is good to know.

  The three riders came to a sliding scrabbling halt about ten meters from Zanove, the rider in the center dismounting immediately, without asking permission or acknowledging Garnuk at all. He was clad in a white-furred cloak, the hide of a varloug pran, the head of the beast sitting on his own head like a demonic hood or helm, the fangs of the slain monster hanging down on either side of his head.

  The ram came to a halt just a couple meters from Garnuk and pushed back the hood of the furred cloak. Underneath the hood was a face Garnuk had not expected to see ever again, but the one he had suspected would be the leader of this unusual force.

  “Arasnak,” he said quietly. “You have returned.”

  “I never left,” the Butcher growled.

  “Then where were you when Dun Carryl fell?”

  “I fought,” Arasnak replied. “And nearly died. In the name of Ramshuk Norkuvad.”

  “The Usurper,” Garnuk observed. “His name will not gain you favor with me.”

  “He was the Ramshuk at the time,” Arasnak replied, shrugging disdainfully. “He gave me the opportunity to tame the wolves, so I served him. But now, I am free to choose a new master. I knew of your hatred for Norkuvad though, and that you had secretly fought against him and undermined him.”

  “And how do you think you know that?”

  “It is common knowledge now,” Arasnak growled dismissively, crossing his heavily scarred arms over his chest. “Just like the fact you lost your mate and cub in the destruction of our home.”

  Garnuk scowled. “Have you come here to mock my suffering then? You are truly a servant of Norkuvad if you have.”

  “I have not, and I am not a servant of Norkuvad,” Arasnak growled. “You see, I am here because I seek the same thing you do. Revenge.”

  Garnuk stood silently, watching the Butcher’s massive, scarred frame, keeping one eye on the snarling varloug prans behind him. “Go on,” Garnuk said finally.

  Arasnak shifted a fold of his cloak aside, baring his left shoulder for Garnuk to see. “See this?” he asked, indicating an ugly burn scar that stretched from his upper arm onto his chest. “It came from a beast even harder to tame than the wolf spirits. One I ultimately failed to tame, and one that killed many of my best warriors and closest friends. The green dragon, the same one that took down Dun Carryl.”

  Garnuk scowled. “You were responsible for the beast?”

  “For a time,” Arasnak agreed. “Until Norkuvad pulled me off the project, just when I was starting to make progress.”

  “And then the dragon escaped.”

  “And turned on us,” Arasnak agreed. “It attacked me again in the battle of Dun Carryl, but I survived. The only problem was, I had nowhere to go at the time. I knew you might not accept me, since I had served the one who usurped your rule, so I retreated into the wilderness with as many of my followers as I could muster to continue my work.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “To build an army,” Arasnak replied promptly. “One that would keep men out of the mountains forever. One that would haunt their nightmares and linger in their waking thoughts. One that would instill fear in them, mortal fear they could not overcome. And I succeeded. I have mustered every
varloug pran I could find. They all will answer to me, and to my chosen master. We came today, because we recently found out you were on the move, from one of the villages we stopped at. The clan elder there told us where we could find you.”

  “And you wish to join our ranks?” Garnuk guessed, committing to nothing yet.

  “We do,” Arasnak agreed. The scarred warrior knelt, drawing his axe and laying it at Garnuk’s feet. “If you will have us, we will fight for you. Every varloug pran and vertag at my disposal. We seek revenge, Ramshuk, and we will see the humans and their pet dragon fall.”

  Garnuk made a pretense of considering the Butcher’s offer, even though he had already made up his mind. “How many?” he asked bluntly after several moments of silence.

  “Over seven hundred varloug prans, plus two hundred rams.”

  “Seven hundred?” Garnuk repeated, momentarily shocked. “How? Where were they?”

  “Where most vertaga would never bother them,” Arasnak replied grimly, “You know the lands of the endless ice, at the southern edge of the mountains? Where the horse lords fell?”

  “Yes, though I have never been there.”

  Arasnak nodded slowly. “Understandable. I suspect few who have been there came back in one piece. It is the home of the varloug prans now. Or was,” he added. “If you accept my rams and varloug prans, they will have a new home. They are highly capable, Ramshuk.”

  “The rams or the varloug prans?”

  The Futcher gave him a feral grin. “Both, Ramshuk. They will not disappoint you.”

  “I know,” Garnuk replied. “Take up your axe, Arasnak. Welcome back into the fold.”

  The Butcher picked up his weapon delicately, then slung it over his shoulder and stood, inclining his horned head respectfully. “Thank you, Ramshuk. We are grateful for the opportunity to prove our loyalty, and to fight alongside you against the Sthan.”