Shadows

by Michael Duncan

  “What is that?” Aaron demanded.

  “Medicine,” was the dwarf’s curt response. “And you’ll do good to leave me alone and let me work!” The dwarf continued to grumble as he put away the vial. Even as the old dwarf spoke, the liquid began to work. The blood stopped, and a wax-like seal formed over the wound.

  “There,” said the grey dwarf, “good as new. It’ll heal in a day or so and then that patch will fall away.”

  Rayn began to revive and lifted his bound hands to feel the place where the gash had been. Just as the old dwarf had said, the wound was covered and the bleeding stopped.

  The dwarf commander pushed through the crowd that had formed around Rayn and stood before the two soldiers. A tall, powerful figure in comparison to his companions, he stood over four and a half feet tall and wielded a large double-bladed battle axe, honed to a razor’s edge. His long, dark-red beard, braided with gold woven twine, gave the man the appearance of some form of royalty. The dwarf carried himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His companions parted to let him pass.

  The dwarf commander stood over Aaron and Rayn as they sat on the frozen log. He looked down at the two soldiers with a hard expression on his face.

  “Who are you… and what do you want with us?” Aaron spoke first and anger filled his words.

  “I am Kaurn, commander of the warriors of Brekken-Dahl. You are our prisoners and will be handed over to Lord Dunstan where your fate will be determined.” His voice, strong and rough, carried a hint of disdain toward Aaron and Rayn.

  “By what right do you take us captive?” Aaron challenged his captor. “You have no authority in Celedon, and I’ve never heard of your land. You will do well to release us now for the emperor will not sit by while citizens of the empire are abducted.” Aaron’s spoke with stern authority, his composure tempered by years of service.

  Undaunted, the dwarf commander looked Aaron up and down, a grim expression on his bearded face. “I know of you and your emperor.” The dwarf leader spoke with a note of finality. “You will be brought before Dunstan to stand trial for the atrocities you’ve committed. There you will learn your fate, both you and your companion.” The dwarf turned and hoisted his axe over his shoulder. “Give them some of the draught!” Kaurn barked his order to the older dwarf as he walked away.

  Aaron and Rayn were given warm, thick liquid that tasted of licorice. Then, with little regard for dignity, two guards forced Aaron and Rayn to their feet and pushed them to continue the march. Aaron was afraid Rayn might collapse again, but discovered the elixir had an unusual effect. It coursed down his throat and radiated warmth to the very tips of his fingers. Exhaustion from the long journey through the cold winter night faded in the warmth of the drink. Aaron felt refreshed and noticed the private also gained a renewed vigor.

  Mile after mile they continued through the darkness. Aaron wondered if the dwarves intended on carrying the forced march through the woods all night. He was right. The hours passed in a blur of shadows when the morning light broke over the eastern horizon. Aaron believed they traveled farther north than the village where their adventure began.

  The dawn shone red and illuminated a hazy mist nestled in a valley before them. Carried along on the morning air, the pounding rumble of a river echoed through the mist. Their road, a narrow passage, overgrown and treacherous to navigate, descended along the side of the ravine through the dense forest, and meandered back and forth down switch-backs into the mist-shrouded valley. Far to the east, the sun crested the horizon and shone its glorious brilliance upon the band of travelers and reflected like stars in the snow. No clouds, just a brilliant blue sky heralded the arrival of a crisp, bright winter day.

  As they made their way down the trail, the noise of the river grew louder and filled the forest with its rhythm. The drink that Aaron imbibed hours before had worn off, and his joints ached with each step. He looked at Rayn, concerned for his young private, and realized Rayn’s strength began to fail him as well. Several times Aaron stumbled, half asleep even as he walked, his muscles burned with weariness but he forced himself to press on. He didn’t understand how the dwarves endured such a long, forceful pace, but Aaron willed himself to suffer through the pain and not give his captors the satisfaction of seeing him collapse.

  Rayn, however, did not fare as well as his captain. The young soldier had grown increasingly worse and often needed to lean on Aaron to traverse the precipitous valley wall. Together, however, they navigated the terrain without any aid from their dwarf guards.

  “Halt!” Kaurn barked, and a collective sigh of relief resounded among the party. “Keep those two men together and get them some food! I’ll not have them fighting hunger when they have to climb the mountain.”

  They stopped at a thick enclosure of trees and brush. The ground was bare; the winter snows never penetrated the canopy of branches that shrouded their encampment. The forest, however, displayed a dazzling frost from the mist that swirled off the nearby river. Aaron listened to the violent flow, its roar echoed through the woods like thunder.

  Aaron pressed close enough to Rayn to be heard over the din of the river. “Rayn,” he whispered, “we must be near the northern border of Celedon.” He paused as he looked around. “Yes, we are definitely at the most northern border.” Troubled, Aaron wondered if his captors meant to try and cross the massive torrent that roared in the distance.

  “Captain,” Rayn whispered, “where do you think they’ll take us?”

  “I don’t know. We’re too far north,” Aaron replied. “As far as I know, everything beyond this is just mountains and wasteland.”

  As if on cue, the dwarf commander returned to speak with Aaron. “Soon we will cross the river and enter our realm. Soon, you and your companion will travel blindfolded. No one but the inhabitants of Brekken-Dahl are permitted to know its entrance.”

  “You expect us to continue at the pace you’ve set, and then you take our sight? How are we to navigate a river blindfolded?” Aaron spoke up, agitated at the prospect.

  “I expect you to, yes.” The commander’s voice came across stern and left no room for debate. “You will not be given the opportunity to know the secret entrance to our realm. You will be blindfolded or you will be blinded, either way you will not see the passage that leads to our home.” His words ended the debate, and Kaurn walked away. Aaron let the matter drop.

  “Sir, the night we spent at Kaylan’s… your vision, wasn’t it about these very people?” Rayn leaned over to speak.

  “I don’t know.” Aaron seethed with anger at his circumstances. Yet his mind reeled at the fact that he and Rayn were captured by a race of people he thought were a mere myth. What he saw with his eyes fought against what he thought was the truth. He struggled against the fact that all around him stood the very evidence that defied what he had long been taught and believed. Ancient stories leapt through his mind as he considered the reality of his situation, and he wondered if any more fairytales might jump out of the mists of legend and reveal themselves. His eyes gazed at the ground. “I just don’t know,” he spoke, almost to himself. Tired from the march, Aaron regressed to introspection.

  After an hour the sun rode high over the canopy of trees that sheltered Aaron and Rayn, its yellow light brilliant in the ice blue sky. Noon had come and despite his captivity, he marveled at the beauty of the day, painted in colors of green and white. Tall pine trees reached toward the heavens. Shafts of filtered light broke through the intertwined branches and illuminated the mist.

  To Aaron’s relief, the steep descent leveled off. Now, however, the roar of the river filled the air. Mist swirled just beyond the tree line, churned up by the turbulent waters. The icy waters flowed swift over massive boulders, worn smooth. From Aaron’s vantage point, the river flowed southwest and raged along its channel for miles. The river stood as an impasse, a barrier too wide to cross, which rolled with the deadly fury of a violent storm.

  On the opposite side of the river, a
s if grown out of the very edge of the torrent, the Shadow Mountains rose in stark contrast to the vibrant colors of the forest. Large, sharp monstrous mountains, grey and dismal, stood like a granite bulwark. In the clear light of day, Aaron looked up to the very peaks where enormous glaciers filled massive cracks and valleys at the higher elevations.

  The forced march brought them to the riverbank and there they stopped. The cold mist generated by the maelstrom again covered trees and rocks along the edge of the river with a thick layer of frost. Even the dwarves’ beards seemed to have turned white from the spray off the river. Icicles hung like spears on various trees, and branches too weak to bear the weight were cast down like severed limbs on the ground. He saw no possible means of crossing the river and only a fool would dare to swim in such a turbulent wash.

  Aaron knew the river that raged before them, it was the Hoppe River, a torrent that cut its channel along the entire length of Celedon’s northern regions, ultimately pouring all its force into the great Inland Sea. He also knew the rumor that no one who ever tried to cross into the mountains beyond ever returned to speak of it. Aaron turned to see Rayn staring in disbelief at the fury of the river.

  “Captain,” Rayn exclaimed, “there is no way to cross this!”

  “Perhaps,” Kaurn said as he approached, “we dwarves have some means to cross the river that you’re ignorant of.” The dwarf leader held two squares of cloth in his gloved hands. “Here is where you must be blindfolded. We do not allow strangers to enter our realm, and all prisoners are forbidden to know the secrets which allow entrance. You will be blindfolded until we pass through the gateway to our land.”

  Rayn was blindfolded first, and then Kaurn wrapped and tied the cloth over Aaron’s eyes and took pains to ensure that he was unable to see.

  The men were made to stand and led blindfolded toward the river. Aaron feared for Rayn’s safety as the sound of the river grew louder in his ears. The icy mist stung his face, and he stumbled on the frozen ground. His dwarf guard, however, proved stronger than Aaron surmised, and the steel grip on his arm prevented him from falling. Then his guard stopped him.

  “Captain!” Rayn shouted over roar from the river. “Captain, these dwarves mean to throw us into the river!”

  Aaron listened as Rayn struggled against his captors. “That’s enough, Private!” Aaron barked. “Control yourself!” The commotion ended, and Aaron took some small comfort in the silence.

  Suddenly, the noise of the river was overpowered by the sound of massive rocks grating against iron, slow with reverberations that felt like a minor earthquake. Then, as Aaron listened, the sound of the river changed. The rhythmic pounding of the water took on a new sound, as if it rushed over a fall and crashed back to earth. Then the river’s tone changed again and became a hollow roar like water in a mad rush through a large tunnel.

  The cold air and frozen vapors of the river chilled Aaron to the bone. He shivered uncontrollably in the grip of his captor as he waited for the dwarves to make another move. A few minutes passed that seemed like hours to Aaron when Kaurn gave the order to move out. “Make sure these two keep their feet! We’ll not let Lord Dunstan’s prisoners escape in the river.” The dwarf commander laughed, echoed by his squad as Aaron was forced to move forward.

  Held in the iron grip of his dwarf escort, Aaron was led across a rough stone walk. All around him the river rumbled its thunderous voice. The ground beneath him shook, but with each step, he felt more secure his captors meant to keep him from a disastrous fall. Soon he stood on a solid ground, and the roar of the river dimmed.

  Aaron’s guard propped him against a cold stone wall. The same grating sound resonated like the working of a massive machine and the river regained its former voice, that of a rushing torrent. “Rayn,” Aaron shouted over the noise of the river.

  “Yes, Captain, I’m here,” Rayn said.

  Relieved, Aaron again found himself in the grip of his escort.

  ****

  Lorik gathered the necessary equipment for his campaign to find Lieutenant Morryn. He dismantled a small tent, not much more than a lean-to used to keep firewood dry. He took some food, dry wood for a fire, and two heavy wool blankets. By the time he was ready to go, it was past noon, and the sense of urgency nagged at his thoughts. Lorik took one last look around. He heaved a sigh of resignation and left the scene behind. These men deserve better, he thought, but I have no time to spare and cannot take any to give each one a proper burial. He swung his leg over the saddle and spurred the mare to follow the trail through the woods.

  The tracks were not difficult to follow. “Morryn didn’t bother to cover his trail,” Lorik spoke aloud. He rode through the woods as swift as possible but took care not to miss Morryn’s tracks. The forest was wrapped in a serene beauty as light filtered through the trees and snow-dressed branches shimmered in dazzling display.

  The woods that he rode through reminded him of the forests he enjoyed as a boy, full of mystery. Now, however, it was more than just boyhood adventures that captivated his life, more than just childhood games. The mystery before him was grim, and Lorik grew increasingly cautious, unsure of what he might find at the end of the trail.

  Morryn’s tracks continued southwest and weaved through the forest to disappear in the distance. To Lorik it seemed endless. As he continued to follow the tracks, the sun fell close to the western horizon and filled the sky with a ruddy glow as it descended beyond the Shadow Mountains. Shafts of light glimmered through the trees and reflected off the carpet of snow.

  Clouds from the north trailed a slow path across the sky with their grim reminder that winter was still in full command. He had to decide, follow the trail or make camp and run the risk of losing the path to a new snowfall. Lorik stopped a moment, dismounted and examined the hoof prints of Morryn’s horse. The tracks continued southwest and drew close to the Hoppe River. He took a bite of beef and gave his horse time to rest, but he decided to continue the pursuit until the last possible moment.

  It didn’t take long until he came to a wide glen, a meadow covered in snow. The dim light of dusk cast voluminous shadows across the frozen glade. From a distance, Lorik spied a horse, black and large that wandered near the edge of the glen. He dismounted, anxious over what he might find, and tied his horse several yards beyond the meadow. Keeping to the trees, he made his way to the stray horse. He knew, even before he laid his hand upon the animal, that it belonged to Morryn. The mount looked in good condition as he examined it, no injury or sign of trauma. Lorik was comforted to know that the horse was well. But the lieutenant was still lost.

  He stepped through the trees, drew his sword, and moved closer to what looked like a man lying motionless in the center of the field. The snow was trampled all about as if a mighty host of soldiers marched across its breadth. Lorik gazed over the circumference of the glade and, with no sign of an adversary, rushed to the fallen man. His heart fell when he saw the man’s face. It was Lieutenant Morryn.

  The lieutenant lay in a pool of his own blood. His chest was crushed by some massive weapon. His sword lay several feet away, out of reach and of no use—it had been broken. Tracks unknown to the sergeant ranged all over the glen along with the obvious prints of the lieutenant. Intermingled with Morryn’s steps were deep prints like cavities of melted snow. Lorik judged by the size of the footprints that Morryn’s assailant must have been over eight feet tall. There were several places where the snow had been melted to the ground and the grass beneath seemed charred. Lorik scratched his head, puzzled over what type of creature could leave such tracks.

  The twilight deepened, and Lorik paused to consider his next move. He didn’t want to remain in the glen for fear that Morryn’s adversary might return, but he needed to piece together the strange circumstances that destroyed his entire squad and left Morryn dead in a lonely field. To try and find some answers, Lorik began to search the surrounding environment.

  The snow all about the field was littered with tracks. Some Lorik e
asily identified, others remained a mystery. Some animals, perhaps deer and elk, had crossed through less than an hour before he arrived. In the western side of the meadow, he discovered the tracks of two other men, both booted. He followed the tracks to some brush on the edge of the field and noticed that two men must have lain on the ground and used the brush to hide.

  From the north, however, Lorik discovered the greatest mystery of all. Dozens of prints from booted feet, small and heavy, covered the ground. The prints were too small to be that of men, certainly not soldiers. They were the same size of adolescent children, but made much deeper impressions, much like that of grown men. From what Lorik surmised, a group came into the glen, wandered about for a moment, gathered into a two-column formation and left again. What surprised him was that the same tracks he had seen at the western edge of the glen joined with the smaller prints and left the field northward.

  It appeared, from what Lorik observed in the dim twilight, that the smaller prints had scattered all around the meadow. There were several places where the snow had been brushed away as if someone had searched the field for something lost. All the evidence around him left him with more questions than answers, but he was a soldier not a sage, and all he knew to do was to follow the tracks that headed north. Night started to envelop the region, and he needed to set camp. The tracks were fresh, and there were plenty to follow so he didn’t fear losing the trail even if it snowed. From all that Lorik determined, whoever belonged to the tracks took no pains to hide their passage through the forest.

  He returned to where he had tied his horse. Morryn’s stallion stood with it. Lorik relieved the lieutenant’s horse of its burdens and let it roam free in the wild. He would follow the new tracks until he found the answers to all the mysteries. Alone and unaided, Lorik determined to stay on the trail until he came to its end, no matter where it led. With less than an hour of light, he mounted his horse and turned north.