by V K Majzlik
“Hey, I know who you are! You’re that Tavor. Just been given your honour back, right? Well deserved on all accounts!” The first guard raised his beer to Tavor in salute.
“Let me get you another drink. Stanik?” offered the second guard, signalling to the barman. “My name’s Tozan and this is Borvik.” He pulled his stool towards Tavor’s table.
“I won’t say no!” replied Tavor, finishing his drink, slamming the empty tankard down on the table. He was pleased that he had lulled the guards into a false sense of security. Hopefully they would be able to tell him more the prisoners.
“So, did they find out any information from the prisoners? Who did they put through the grinder first?” asked Tavor, taking the drink from the guard.
“One of the elves…….the male one,” replied Tozan.
“They didn’t get anything out of him though,” laughed Borvik.
“How so? I thought Canvil was the best in the trade?” Tavor leaned in. They responded likewise, happy to divulge all they knew.
“He is! That’s the point! That elf didn’t know what hit him. Inflicted so much pain that the poor fool passed out. He had to be taken back to his cell………couldn’t be questioned any more!” whispered Tozan, not wanting everyone in the bar to hear what they were talking about.
“What did he do to him?”
“Sliced his ears off!” hissed Borvik, delighted at the sheer genius of the torture. “Right mess it caused as well. Don’t look like an elf no more!!!”
Tavor sat back and took a deep sigh before having another sip of stanik. The two men opposite took long swigs of their beers.
“What about the others?” asked Tavor.
“The others? Well, Canvil’s going to get started on them tomorrow. Got plenty planned for them. We’ve been making preparations all day.”
This was what Tavor really wanted to know, and he pulled his seat closer to the men. He knew it could be his undoing, but he could no longer fight the overwhelming urge to discover the boy’s fate. “What sort of things has he got planned?”
Borvik was becoming uncomfortable about Tavor’s interest. “Why do you care so much? Whatever Canvil’s got planned, you know its going to get the results the Empire wants.”
Tavor sensed the hint of distrust growing in Borvik’s voice. “Care? I don’t care! I want to make sure they get what they deserve. They’ve caused me no end of hassle, especially that boy. Tried to lead me on a wild goose chase, not to mention the fact his brother clubbed me on the back of my head.” He parted his hair showing the men the deep gash that was now covered with a flaky scab.
“I see! It’s revenge you want! I appreciate that.” Whether it was the drink or the scar he had just seen, Borvik was convinced and relaxed once more.
“So, what’s Canvil got planned for him then? I’m not interested about the others, just him,” pushed Tavor again.
The two men looked at each other and then Tozan answered, “Going to string him up tomorrow. Flog him, stretch him, and hang him. That sort of thing. Won’t kill him though, not too soon at least,” Tozan laughed.
“Like you, Canvil seems to have taken a disliking to the boy!” said Borvik.
“I’m guessing its because he’s a traitor. Elves and dwarves are born enemies of the Empire. People like that lad make a choice to betray the Empire. Far worse a crime if you ask me!” agreed Tozan. Tavor and Borvik nodded in agreement, clinking their glasses together.
Tozan drained the last of his drink and signalled for another round to be brought. Tavor, having found out all he needed to know, resisted the urge to leave the men. Instead, he stayed for several more rounds, ensuring that when he left he did so without leaving any doubts in their minds.
That night Tavor could not sleep. He had too many plans to make. After turning over all the thoughts in his head for days, he could not shake the immense feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach and knew what he had to do.
Tavor had decided he was going to get the prisoners out. He no longer cared for his honour and name. The Empire had turned on him once, and that was one too many times. After twenty years of solitude he had finally learnt something about himself. Tavor no longer believed in all that the Empire and its devout followers stood for.
He had initially toyed with the idea of just fleeing with the boy, but then he knew that they would not get far and would have nowhere to hide. They would be hunted to the ends of the earth and executed. The only way was to free them all. The elves could then take Nechan back to their hidden places where the Empire would not find him.
Knowing he had to plan the exact details of the escape in the little time he had, Tavor got up to explore the darkened corridors of Damankhur. They had to escape under the cover of darkness otherwise they would stand no chance of crossing the vast plains of the Davathon plateau.
He slipped out of his quarters quietly, but his comrade next door still heard the door creak open. Govan could not resist finding out what was going on.
“It’s late…….you should sleeping!” Govan peered round his half open door. Tavor could see that he was still fully dressed and obviously could not sleep either.
“Long, slow day. I find it hard to sleep after being cooped up all day,” replied Tavor, leaning against the wall trying to look as relaxed as possible even though his insides were churning. He did not have time for this.
“Then you will be pleased to hear that you won’t be as of tomorrow. My platoon is moving out for reassignment, and so are you!” Govan smirked, with a glint in his eyes.
“Where have you been today? I haven’t seen you. I’d have thought you’d have been at Canvil’s side!”
“I went out to meet my scouts. I needed a progress report on the hunt for your two missing friends, the boy and the gnome.”
“And?” Tavor probed.
Govan shook his head and rubbed his stubbly chin. “Nothing. They lost the trail. Found two dead scouts, but that’s it.”
“Looks like it all rests on our prisoners, then.”
“I guess it does. Shame about the boy.” Govan paused for a moment, hoping to read some reaction in Tavor, but he did not flinch. “I need sleep. It’s been a long day for me.” He sighed and closed the door, leaving Tavor standing alone in the gloomy corridor.
Govan listened to the fading sound of Tavor’s footsteps down the corridor. He had no intention of going to bed just yet. His instinct told him that his friend was up to something. He slipped out of his room to follow the clansman through the maze of corridors and winding staircases, but even with his expert tracking and covert skills he could not keep up with Tavor. He quickly lost him in the multitude of turns and was forced to give up.
Tavor’s mind was set. He knew Govan was starting to suspect him but he no longer cared. Nothing was going to stand him the way of his new mission. His first stop was the main council chamber to retrieve the prisoners’ weapons. These would have to be stored somewhere so they could be collected during their escape.
Chapter 32 – It’s Up To Us!
“Must we practice again tonight?” moaned Cradon, as Gomel handed him a crudely crafted wooden sword. “My arms and shoulders still ache from yesterday!”
They had spent the past three days riding hard, avoiding settlements and caravans, only stopping at dusk. Khar had proved very useful at warning them in advance about approaching troops and convoys. Flying high, her keen eyes were able to spot dangers far in advance. She would dive towards Cradon squawking her warning loudly. It worked well, and they safely passed through the grasslands without any trouble.
“Every day you are getting better and stronger. Who knows, perhaps you will be able to beat me soon!” joked Gomel, trying to encourage Cradon as he took a fighting stance preparing to attack. He was genuinely pleased with the boy’s progress and natural talent.
Realising he was going to receive several smacks with a sword whether he defended or not, Cradon reluctantly forced himself to stand and prepared for the gnome’s atta
ck. Secretly, he knew he was improving and despite the moaning about it did actually enjoy the lessons, even though Gomel did sometimes hit him harder than was needed.
Gomel swung at his left shoulder, but Cradon quickly deflected, parried and lunged forward to hit his right side. With great ease, Gomel read Cradon’s moves, nimbly spinning out of the way. Cradon stumbled forwards, losing his balance and fell flat on his face as Gomel smacked the back of his legs with his wooden sword. He stood over Cradon laughing as he wiped the dust from his face.
“Must you hit me so hard?” huffed Cradon, rubbing the backs of his legs. From the smarting pain, he already he would be left with two large bruises across his calves.
“I’m just hardening you up! Besides, you are still too easy read. Your movements are too slow and far too big.” Gomel mimicked Cradon’s large swinging arcs. “The bigger the move, the longer you give your opponent to avoid them.”
“But it’s the only way I can get any power,” Cradon said, standing up again.
“The power will come as your strength grows.” The gnome stood in an attack position again, beckoning Cradon on. “Bear in mind, regardless of how strong your blows are, it does not matter if you cannot land them!”
He lunged towards Cradon again, this time to the other side. Cradon dodged, and swung his sword over Gomel’s head as he spun out of the way, finding himself behind Gomel. He raised his sword to hit the gnome again, but Gomel blocked it effortlessly, catching Cradon off balance again. Cradon stumbled forward, surprised by the gnome’s reaction. Instead of landing on his face, however, he successfully rolled out of the way as Gomel hit the ground. Much to the gnome’s amazement, Cradon instinctively kicked Gomel’s chest with both feet, knocking him backwards. It gave him opportunity to spring back to his feet and with great pride, panting deeply, he found himself standing over Gomel for once, the tip of his fake sword under the gnome’s chin.
“Well done, lad! You actually got me!”
A beaming Cradon offered a hand to help his friend.
“It’s good to see you have an ingrained knowledge. Are you sure your father never taught you?”
Cradon shook his head. “I have never even seen a real sword used.”
“Well, that bodes well! You’re clearly a natural. Now, lets see how that stew is coming along, shall we?” he slapped Cradon on the back and plodded over to the bubbling pot of stew dangling over the campfire.
Cradon’s hunting skills were also improving. This was the second night he had provided fresh meat, having shot two hares with his bow earlier that day.
“This is ready! I think we have done enough practising.” Gomel sat down carefully on the soft grass, rubbing his tender coccyx.
“You can’t stop just because I’ve beaten you!”
“You need to be careful, boy, you’ve only defeated me once.” He handed him a small wooden bowl of stew.
They relished every bite, whilst sitting in the small thicket hidden from any prying eyes. After three days of riding across the grasslands, the landscape was eventually starting to change. The flat land was slowly becoming more hummocky, gradually rising higher and higher and the long, lush grass was being replaced by increasing numbers of gorse bushes and small ash and birch trees.
“How much further is it?” asked Cradon, his mouth full.
“Well, if we keep going at the same pace, probably another three or four days before we reach the start of the Lopthian Mountain chain.” Gomel took another spoonful of hot stew, then continued, “But our journey is going to get much harder after that.”
“Why?” Cradon stopped eating, looking up expectantly.
“We need to travel deep into the mountains. The Lopthians are renowned for their ferocious weather. We will not be able to ride as the ground will become far too steep and dangerous.”
“Is there no other way?”
Gomel shook his head as he scraped his spoon round his empty bowl. “No! How do you think my kin kept hidden all these centuries? It is an inhospitable, inaccessible place, but it’s safe.” He patted the saddlebag in which the Aeonorgal was hidden.
“Can I ask you something?” Cradon leaned forward, throwing his empty bowl to the ground. “Where did that thing come from?”
“The Aeonorgal?”
Cradon nodded.
“Not even the Elves know. They say it is older than time itself.”
“But what is it?”
Gomel paused as if trying to work out how to phrase the explanation. “Well, it is the source of their magic. It links their spirits with the earth energy around them. That is the foundation of their White Magic.”
“But how?” Cradon persisted.
“I really don’t know. You have to understand that Gnomes are not the most magical of beings. We know it exists but we don’t use it ourselves, nor do we understand it. Our knowledge lies in the rocks and ground beneath us.” Gomel shook his head, his greying beard waggling from side to side.
“So what’s the link between Elves and Gnomes?” Cradon asked.
Gomel sighed, sensing this was going to be a long night. “Omph! Gnomes are also an ancient race. No one knows how we began, but we are just as old as the Elves. Our races have always been close.” Gomel lay back, patting his round stomach. “Gnomes look after the Under-Earth, while the Elves looked after the Over-Earth. At least, that’s how it used to work.” His tone of voice had changed, becoming more sombre.
“What do you mean?” asked Cradon, still probing.
“Before the clans learnt dark magic.”
The gnome paused again, but Cradon waited for him to continue.
“The Elves trusted man too much. They entrusted too much power to them and some clansmen became consumed by it. And when the Elves refused to teach them anything more, these men found their own magic.”
“You mean, Black Magic?”
Gomel nodded, “Yes!” He shook his head in dismay again, and rubbed his bald head with his small gnarled hand. “It was too late when the Elves realised. Before anything could be done, the men waged war against elves and all fellow-kind, Gnomes, Dwarves……..” Gomel trailed off.
“And that’s when you went into hiding.”
Gomel rolled onto his side, taking out his pipe to fill it with tobacco. “After the Great War, there were too few of us left. With the Aeonorgal, the Elves source of power, captured, we were forced into hiding until our strength was great enough once more.”
“So that’s why you came out of hiding now?” He was now lying on his stomach, his chin resting in his hands, watching his friend light his pipe. “So, are you going to wage war against the Empire?”
“Only if we can get this back to the Elves. It all rests on this. The return of the Aeonorgal will signal the start of the end.” He patted the saddlebag again. “We dare not fail!”
Gomel’s words hit hard. It suddenly dawned on the young man how serious this mission truly was. With so much resting on this pair, Cradon now understood why Gomel was teaching him how to fight.
With nothing more to say, the two comrades wrapped themselves up in their blankets, and tried to sleep the night away. There was a growing chill in the air and the wind was howling all around them.
Cradon tried his best to get to sleep, but could not shake Gomel’s words. He lay on his back, looking up at the black cloudy sky, with his stomach tied up in a thousand knots. It was a long, restless night, listening to Gomel’s snoring shake the mist-laden air all around them.
Chapter 33 – Escape from Damankhur
Tavor was now certain of their escape route. It was mapped out in his mind, although he knew it would be hard. They would only have one opportunity. If they were caught, it would mean death for all, himself included. With his own fate decided, he could wait no longer.
Sitting in his darkened, private quarters, with faint, flickering candlelight drawing dancing shadows on the walls, he took a few moments to compose himself. His stomach churned with nervous anticipation that tingled down to h
is toes. He dressed himself in the new Imperial armour that had been presented the day before. Tavor flexed his shoulders, feeling the weight of the metal and leather restrict his movement. It may have been a long time since wearing such armour, but his body quickly remembered the sensation. The last time he had worn it with great pride, but this time he donned it only out of necessity.
Silently he slipped out of his quarters, snuffing out the torch in the corridor, and disappeared down into the blackness towards the prison.
The way was easy, burnt into his memory. He paused before approaching the guard stationed outside the dungeon. The man stood to attention, surprised to see anyone so late.
“Identify yourself!” he demanded, peering into the darkness, holding up his torch.
“Sleeping on the job, soldier?” Tavor stepped out of the shadows.
“Sorry, Sir. I didn’t recognise you.”
“Borvik! Good to see you again!” Tavor slapped the guard in a friendly fashion, as if they were old friends.
“I hope you’ve bought something for me to drink!” jested Borvik.
“Actually, I’m glad it’s you on duty.” Tavor looked over his shoulder, checking no one else was around. “I was hoping to see the boy.”
“Tavor, you know I can’t. I’d be flogged,” Borvik shrugged his shoulders, apologising.
“I just want to see him before Canvil does his work. It will give me more pleasure to see how much pain Canvil inflicts!” Tavor raised his eyebrows, a dark smile on his face.
Borvik contemplated Tavor’s reasoning, then smiled and nodded. “Alright! But make it quick. I don’t want to get caught.”
With a jangle of keys he unlocked the heavy door. It creaked loudly as it opened making Tavor close his eyes in prayer, hoping the sound would not draw anyone’s attention.
“You owe me, Tavor! I’ll give you a few moments!” Borvik closed the door behind him, leaving Tavor standing in the prison alone.