by V K Majzlik
“I don’t think it would be prudent to camp by this though. We don’t know who else will visit it.”
Gomel stood, hand on hips, straining his neck as he tried to scan the horizon. The lush grass was very tall, coming above Cradon’s knees or higher, so naturally Gomel was unable to see very far at all, being only chest height against Cradon. There were three tracks that led off in different directions. The young Hundlinger stared down each of them, looking for anyone coming. Only one appeared to have been used recently, with the hoof marks of several large horses discernible in the dirt.
“You are learning quickly, Cradon. I’m impressed you are already being so careful,” flattered Gomel.
Cradon tried to hide his pleasure at receiving the compliment.
Leading Danfur away from the waterhole and the tracks, they found a small ash tree under which they decided to make camp for the night. Using the bridle, Cradon tied Danfur securely to the tree, giving him enough length to reach down and pull on the long grass. He was surprised to see Khar was still with them, joining them for the night, perched in the tree.
They decided not to light a fire that night. In such open lands, it would only act as a beacon to unwanted attention. With no fire, they were forced to have a very frugal meal of dried crackers and salted meat, the last of the supplies taken from the soldiers. Neither was satisfied and as they lay back looking up into the clear night sky their stomachs rumbled angrily.
“We need to get more supplies if we are to continue much further. With winter being nearly upon us we will struggle to hunt much, even in these mild lands.” Gomel was clearly concerned. He looked over at Cradon who was stretched out on his back chewing a long blade of grass. “I think we will have to pay a visit to one of the local market towns.”
Cradon was surprised. “But there will be troops. People will see you! How can we?” he exclaimed as he sat bolt upright, his nervous stomach turning to tangled knots.
“Well,” signed Gomel, “we will just have to think of a way!” He watched as Cradon’s head dropped into his hands in despair at their situation.
“It’s just hopeless!”
Gomel felt a fleeting moment of guilt as he thought of what this poor boy had got himself into. An idea came to him. Gomel jumped up and snapped a sturdy branch from the young tree. Measuring halfway, he broke it in two and threw one at Cradon’s feet.
“This ought to tale your mind off things!” he laughed.
“What?” Cradon was in no mood for games and threw the stick to the ground.
“I said I would teach you to fight, so, On Guard!”
Gomel sprang forwards towards Cradon and slapped the stick against his arm. Cradon winced in pain and began rubbing his arm, which was already smarting.
“Why did you do that?” he whined.
“I warned you!” Gomel mocked. “Come one! Defend yourself!” He lunged at Cradon again, hitting him twice on each arm playfully, challenging him.
“Stop it! I don’t want to! I don’t even know how!”
“How else are you going to learn!” For a third time, Gomel bounced towards Cradon and went to hit his arm again. Cradon ducked, snatching up the stick. He instinctively batted Gomel’s blow out of the way. Gomel nodded, pleased that Cradon was now starting to play, and tested him twice more.
“Good! But I was only playing at a very slow pace. First, let me teach you how to stand correctly!” Gomel demonstrated, holding his stick out, his feet apart, planted firmly on the floor, slightly side on. “Now, try to hit me as hard as you can!”
With all his might, Cradon hacked at Gomel who easily absorbed the blow, bending his knees slightly and defending himself with his stick. “Did you see that?”
Cradon nodded.
“Now, you try. Take the same stance!”
With some help and readjustments from Gomel, Cradon managed to copy the position. Gomel attacked him, and to Cradon’s surprise he easily defended the blow. He was pleased with himself and ready for more. Gomel however, was already out of breath and slumped on the floor, cross-legged.
“I think that’s enough for tonight, don’t you?”
“No! Please! Teach me more!” Cradon was now full of energy and eager to learn. He pranced around the camp, swishing his stick through the air to prove how eager he was.
Gomel moaned and slowly forced himself onto his feet. “Omph! If I must!” He paused for a moment to think. “Where to start, ummmm……defence! Right, boy, I am going to teach you the main defence positions, and you are going to learn them off by heart!”
Over the next hour, Gomel proceeded to teach Cradon several defensive moves, showing him how to hold his pretend sword correctly.
It was hard work and all new to him, but Cradon was enjoying it. Of course he had pretended to sword fight as a young boy with Nechan, but that was just child’s play compared to this. When neither companion could take any more, they both collapsed, exhausted.
“Tomorrow night, I will teach you how to use those positions against different attacks,” Gomel yawned. With that, the gnome rolled over and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
Cradon hardly heard the snoring as he played over in his mind the different things he had just learnt. Eventually he drifted off to sleep also.
Chapter 26 – Transporting The Prisoners
Nechan lay on the cold, hard ground listening to the sound of the soldiers, his captors, laughing raucously. The bonds around his wrists burned from when he was dragged and there were already bands of dark bruising forming where the rope cut. His ankles were as bad, with the thin wirey rope rubbing his skin raw with every step he was forced to take.
The others were fairing no better. In fact they had been treated far worse over the past three days as they tried to resist being dragged and mauled by the soldiers.
For some reason the soldiers had taken a strong disliking to Jaidan, and his face bore the bruises. They kept the two elves at a distance, and apart from the black metal brace about Nymril’s neck and the occasional slap for resisting, they were relatively unharmed. Gaular however, was fairing the worst. He was bound far more rigorously than his comrades, hardly able to breathe, let alone struggle. Even so, the soldiers had taken to whipping him every time he slightly stumbled.
Nechan rolled onto his side to face Jaidan. There was a deep cut between Jaiden’s eyes and his nose was swollen and bruised, encrusted with dried blood from where he had been struck earlier that day.
“Are you all right?” Nechan whispered.
A guard looked over in their direction briefly, but then turned back to carry on shovelling down his supper.
Jaidan opened his eyes, but the pained expression did not pass. “As well as can be expected. How are you holding up?”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. They seem to leave me alone.” While he was grateful for the lack of attention, Nechan could not help feel guilty.
“You are wise not to resist them!” Jaidan almost laughed, but choked it back, grimacing in pain, holding his bruised ribs. “The rest of us are just too stubborn!”
“Did anyone say you could talk?” The guard had strolled over and kicked Jaidan hard in the leg.
“Leave them be. What harm can it do? Perhaps the boy can convince the rest of them to behave!”
Nechan looked up to see the shadowy figure of Tavor standing over him.
“Leave us! I want to talk to the boy!” He signalled to the soldier to go back to the rest of the men. The man seemed reluctant at first, but was reassured by a discreet nod from his sergeant, Javil.
Tavor helped Nechan sit up, and dropped a chunk of stale bread and slice of salted meat on his lap.
“Here, eat this.”
Nechan looked over at Jaidan still lying on the floor, who nodded his approval. With both hands still tied together he began tugging on the dry bread, pleased he had finally been fed.
“Why have you fed me? And why did you say I was only seventeen?” he asked with his mouth full. “Won
’t the others be angry with you if they find out the truth?”
“Does my safety worry you?” Tavor queried, poking the boy provocatively in the shoulder. When he got no response, he sighed and continued. “Nechan, as I have said all along, I mean you no harm. I know that you are an innocent caught up in this. Besides, I’m afraid the punishment is likely to be the same whether you are traitor or a deserter.” He went to place a consoling hand on Nechan’s shoulder but the young clansman flinched out of the way.
“Then why did you betray us? You led us into a trap!” he snapped throwing the remains of the dried meat back at his betrayer in disgust. Hearing the commotion, several soldiers stood up to look, ready to draw their swords. Tavor motioned for them to stay calm.
“Perhaps if you had trusted me and told me about the Spirit Star none of this would have happened. I would have been happy to take it and let you go on your way!”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Tavor sighed, scratching his head. “I couldn’t be sure you had it. You rarely let your belongings out of your sight. In fact Cradon even slept on it. I had orders to look after you and make sure you had it before we made our move.”
Tavor rubbed his face with his hands. He looked drawn and strained. “I never meant any harm to come to you or your brother, regardless of what you might think.” He stood up to rejoin the others.
“You’re a traitor to your clan!” Jaidan shouted at him, propping himself up on his elbows. “Brathunders are born to be friends of the Elves. Look at you now, a slave of the Empire!”
Angered by Jaidan’s words, Tavor swung round instantly, lunging right down into the clansman’s face. He grabbed him by his tunic, lifting him off the ground, pulling him close. “I am not a slave. I choose to be an honoured servant of the Empire!” he hissed venomously through clenched teeth. He dropped Jaidan back on the ground and left the captives alone to sit by a campfire by himself, his back to the rest of the group.
“He appears to be hiding something. I can read the guilt he feels. It gives me hope that we may have a chance!” Eilendan had been listening in silence to every word, lying next to Jaidan on his stomach, his hands tied behind his back.
“A chance for what?” whispered Nechan, leaning closer.
“Escape!” There was an excited glint in Jaidan’s eye. “But we must be patient, bide our time until the opportunity arises.”
“Both of you should get some sleep. We will have another long day again tomorrow,” Eilendan advised, tryingto get himself into a more comfortable position to sleep. Jaidan and Nechan lay down again and tried their best to drift off despite rowdiness from the soldiers.
The morning came too quickly, and as on previous days the prisoners found themselves abruptly woken by guards dragging them off the ground and barking orders.
The comrades were tied together in a long chain once more, the cords running between their ankle and wrist bonds, making it awkward to walk. The only way was to try to fall into a rhythm. Nymril was still struggling, the heavy neck collar sapping her strength and power, almost stifling her breathing, making her weary and stumble all the more. Eilendan and Jaidan tried their best to help her, giving her as much support as possible, but were constantly met by the snap of whips from their captors.
“Captain, is the plan still to transport the prisoners to Ath’Yarzon before going on to Damankhur?” Javil watch the soldiers march away in a column leading their prisoners.
“Yes! It will take too long to transport them all the way on foot. We need to get a prison wagon to take them on to Damankhur,” Govan smirked, knowing what fate awaited the prisoners.
Two more days of hard marching on empty stomachs and swollen ankles passed. Govan gave his prisoners no opportunity to attempt escape, ensuring they were kept under close guard and their bonds never removed. Finally they reached the safety and increased security of Ath’Yarzon, a city and garrison of the Empire. The comrades had seen black walls and pinnacles towering above the horizon a day before they reached them. From this city the Empire ruled the surrounding lands.
As they entered the walled city through the imposing, heavy iron gates the security was immediately evident, with vast numbers of city guards and soldiers milling around. Eilendan and Jaidan dropped their heads in dismay, knowing an escape while here would be highly improbable.
“What do we have here then?” The eclectic group of prisoners bound together intrigued the captain of the gate watch. He had not seen an elf or a dwarf before, only heard about them in legend.
A multitude of soldiers and citizens began congregating around the prisoners, each of them gasping and talking amongst themselves. Could it be that the Elves had returned? Where had they been? How were they captured?
Sensing the heightened security risk, Govan ordered their captives be taken straight to the city prison for the night. His troops, accompanied by city guards, escorted the prisoners through the crowded streets towards the monstrous fortress that dominated the city.
Nechan gasped as the building grew in size, filling the sky as they approached. Its towers were the tallest he had ever seen, even larger than the council chambers in Ath’Garnoc. Its walls of black granite shone in the sunlight yet it was still an oppressive force that overshadowed the maze of streets. They crossed the drawbridge and were led under the open portcullis, its cruel, jagged spikes hanging menacingly above them.
This garrison had not received such priority prisoners, or a visit from a high-ranking officer as Govan, in many years. All the soldiers had lined up on parade, saluting as Govan entered the courtyard. Their commanding officer greeted him with a swift salute and quick click of his heals. “Captain, it is an honour that you have chosen to visit us.”
“Enough of the grovelling and pleasantries. We will not be staying long, only tonight. My men need beds and food. We will also be requiring a prison transport for tomorrow.” Govan had no time for this inferior officer, commandant or not, keeping his eyes at all times on the prisoners.
“Of course, Captain. My men will take the prisoners to the dungeons for you. Let me escort you to the officer quarters!” The man almost bowed, desperate for Govan’s approval.
“That will not be necessary!” snapped Govan. “My men and I will escort the prisoners ourselves. I will also post my own watch. I cannot afford any mistakes!”
His orders given, he pushed passed the commanding officer and signalled for his men to bring up the comrades, who were so tired and hungry they could barely stand.
Still bound together, they were led in convoy down a cold dark spiral staircase, lit only by the red glow of an occasional torch. The walls were glistening with moisture, with evidence of mould and moss growing here and there. A guard greeted them at the base of the stairs and opened a heavy wooden door, studded with black metal spikes.
At the end of several short corridors and two more sturdy locked doors they finally entered the dungeons. There were several large holding cells, with steps leading down into them. Each was filled with knee-deep, freezing black water with a disgusting pungent smell, reminiscent of the marshes. The prisoners were forced down into one and the heavy, iron door slammed closed behind them, sealing them in complete darkness, except for the small slit in the door for the guard to peer through.
“At least we are only here for one night!” growled Gaular, trying to make light of their desperate situation.
“This is nothing compared to the dungeons of Damankhur.” Jaidan had heard many stories from survivors of Damankhur.
Nechan’s eyes began to adjust to blackness. He found a long bench against the back wall and pulled his feet up out of the water, hugging his knees.
Several hours passed, with barely a word spoken between them. As they listened in the silence, they heard the sound of the heavy doors being opened and closed one after the other. Someone was coming down to the dungeon. Naturally, they assumed it was just another guard on his rounds, but to their surprise their door was flung open and before them stood Tavo
r.
“I have brought you all some food.” He was holding a wrapped up bundle of crusty bread. Tavor waited, but the comrades did not move from their bench. They did not trust him. He sniffed, turning his nose up at the stench of the foul water. “Don’t expect me to come to you. If you don’t want it I can just chuck it out on the street. There are plenty of beggars who would gladly take it!” He began to turn, closing the door behind him.
“Wait!” Nechan shouted just before the door slammed shut. He looked at the other comrades, and although they hated the thought of taking charity from a traitor their hunger got the better of them. They all stood, giving Nechan enough slack rope to wade through the water and reach the cell door. Tavor swung opened it again and handed him the cloth bundle of bread.
“Don’t worry, I am not expecting a thank you!” He laughed and slammed the door, plunging the comrades back into darkness. Nechan fumbled in the gloom, handing out the bread. They each took a chuck gratefully, except for Nymril.
“Nymril, you must try and eat!” begged Eilendan, as he pulled her close, rubbing her shoulders, trying to bring back some warmth to her cold body. She shook her head, and clung on to him tightly.
“What is that around her neck?” asked Jaidan, looking at how drained and pale she appeared even in the gloom of their cell. It was as if her inner glow had faded and she was but a shadow of her original self.
“I do not know……….but I can feel its black magic running through my body,” she whispered in reply. A single, silvery tear trickled down her cheek glinting in the faint light coming through the slit in the door.
The comrades, still bound in a chain, sat in silence, chewing on their bread and watched as Nymril shivered through the night. There was nothing they could do to help her.
The night passed slowly and the darkness seemed impenetrable, but eventually their prison door was opened. Several burly guards armed with iron shackles dragged them from the cell, even braving the dirty water. The heavy shackles were promptly fastened around ankles and wrists before the prisoners were led back outside.