by Mark Dame
Gudbrant led him away from the gate, the sun at their backs. The town was bigger than Flyn had first guessed. The buildings continued beyond his sight, all of them made of stone, but of varying designs. Most of them low, squat buildings housing various shops. Aside from signs identifying them, the fronts of the shops were mostly unadorned. A few of the buildings appeared to be residences, some single-story structures like the shops, others two stories. Many of the residences were distinguished from the shops by low hedgerows or flower gardens in the front. Flyn noticed that very few of the windows were open. On most, the shutters were closed tight.
Side streets intersected the main road at regular intervals. Most of the streets were dirt, though a few were paved with the same flagstones as the main road. The buildings on the paved side streets were predominantly shops and saloons, while those on the dirt streets seemed to be mainly houses, though not as nice as the ones on the main road.
People traveling the other way passed them without stopping. Some glanced suspiciously at Flyn, though none spoke. They all hurried along, going about whatever business they were attending to. Most had swords or daggers attached to their belts. Flyn sensed a tension in the air of the street, a foreboding even in the bright morning sunshine.
After several blocks, they arrived at a large building with three stories, the only one he had seen with more than two. A tower built into the middle of the building climbed another thirty feet above the roof. At the top was a large bell and several guards watching the streets in all directions. Unlike the gray stone the other buildings were made from, the stone of this building was almost pure white. The entrance to the building was a pair of massive wooden doors, reinforced with metal bracing. Guards stood on either side of the doors, swords drawn. Above the doors, carved in a stone lintel: “To Serve the People of Garthset.”
The guards saluted Gudbrant with their swords as the trio approached. Gudbrant returned the salute, then the closest guard pulled open one of the doors. Flyn followed Gudbrant into the building.
The floor and walls of the main hall were made of the same white stone as the exterior. They almost seemed to glow in the light of the lanterns that were mounted on the walls. The ceiling was made of wood, polished to an almost mirror finish. Several doors, every bit as magnificent as the main doors, lined both sides of the hallway, three on either side. Each had a plaque mounted on it, denoting its purpose: Treasury, Defense, Agriculture, and others. Apparently offices for the town administrators.
At the far end of the hall, a stone staircase led up to the second floor. Another pair of guards at the bottom of the staircase saluted Gudbrant as the group passed.
On the second floor, another hallway led to a pair of closed doors, again flanked by a pair of guards. The walls were still stone, only here the floor was the same highly polished wood as the ceiling. Instead of doors, the walls of the second-floor hallway were adorned with paintings of serious-looking men dressed in fancy clothes, most appearing quite old. The oldest portraits were the ones at the very end of the hall, by the double doors.
Once again, the guards saluted Gudbrant, who returned the salute, then stepped up and knocked on the door. The door was immediately opened by another guard stationed inside the room. The neck of this guard’s tunic was trimmed in a single gold braid, similar to Gudbrant’s double braid.
The guard saluted, then greeted Gudbrant.
“Captain Gudbrant. The Thane is waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Gudbrant led Flyn into the room. Harvig stayed at the door with the Lieutenant.
The room spanned the width of the house, with windows on either side as well as the front. The walls were the familiar white stone as the rest of the building, though they were mostly covered with paintings and tapestries.
Opposite the door was a large desk with two chairs in front of it. Behind it sat an elderly man, shuffling papers. He stood as they entered and came around the desk to greet his visitors.
“Health and happiness, friend!” the man said, grasping Flyn’s forearm in greeting. Flyn reciprocated, eyeing the man. He smiled at Flyn, but the smile showed no happiness.
He was almost as large as Gudbrant, though not as lean. A nasty-looking scar ran down one cheek from his eye to his square jaw. His deeply lined face was framed by long, gray hair, tied back. His clothing appeared to be made from silk, with a dark red tunic and dark blue pants. A leather belt with a large, gold buckle was wrapped around his waist. His feet were covered in brown leather shoes, buffed to a shine that rivaled the finely polished floors and ceilings.
The man held Flyn’s arm for a moment, his eyes, pale blue and deep-set, staring straight into Flyn’s.
“Come, have a seat so we can talk,” he said, finally releasing Flyn’s arm. He sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk and motioned for Flyn to sit in the other. Gudbrant stood still between the chairs, his hands clasped behind his back.
“My name is Meinrad,” he said after Flyn sat. “I’m the Thane of Garthset. And your name is Flynygyn?”
“Most people call me Flyn.”
“Flyn. Very good, then. I trust you had a good rest in the barracks? I know they aren’t the most comfortable accommodations.”
“It was fine,” Flyn said, more to be polite than because it was true.
“Good, good. Gudbrant tells me that you claim to be part of the Andor clan?”
Flyn nodded.
“And that you are from Trygsted?”
“Yes, but he thinks I’m lying.”
“And why shouldn’t he?”
“I don’t understand. You’ve heard of Trygsted?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of… Tirmar is what you called it?”
Meinrad nodded.
“On Trygsted, we’re taught that there are no other islands or other people.”
“Do you know anything of the Yonarr or the Revolution?”
Flyn shook his head.
“I don’t think he’s lying,” Meinrad said to Gudbrant, who just grunted in response.
“Why don’t you tell us how you ended up here,” the Thane said, turning back to Flyn.
“I suppose it all started when I built a boat a few years ago.” Flyn recounted the story of his boat, of how people in Drogave were becoming suspicious of him and Kel, and their plan to take the boat to the other side of Trygsted to destroy it. He told them of the storm, and everything that had happened since, including their encounters with the orcs and the ogres.
When he was finished, Meinrad sat back, watching Flyn and stroking his chin.
“That’s quite a tale, young man,” he said after a long moment. “And why should we believe you?”
“I don’t know,” Flyn said, shaking his head. “But I don’t really care. I just need to find Kel.”
“Well, that’s quite impossible.”
“That’s what Gudbrant said, but I don’t really understand why,” Flyn said. “Anyway, I have to try. It’s my fault he’s caught up in this mess. Why won’t you just let me go? I don’t even know why am I being held here. I didn’t ask for help. I can find Kel on my own.”
“Gudbrant here is the Captain of the Garthset Militia. It’s his job to protect this town and its citizens. We don’t get many visitors these days. It’s not safe to travel, with the orcs constantly patrolling the valley. So those few we do get, we have to question their loyalties. Jarot has tried to send spies into Garthset before.”
“Who’s Jarot? I heard the orcs mention that name, then Gudbrant mentioned him this morning.”
“Well, Gudbrant?” Meinrad said, turning to the impassive soldier. “Do you still think he’s lying?”
“Perhaps he’s just mad.”
Meinrad grinned. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he truly is from the Lost Clan.”
“What’s this Lost Clan? Why is it so hard to believe I’m from Trygsted?”
Meinrad glanced at Gudbrant before responding. Gudbrant just star
ed straight ahead at the shield hanging on the wall behind the Thane’s desk.
“Because, young man, Trygsted is a myth.”
Meinrad stood and walked to one of the windows.
“Long ago the Yonarr ruled over Tirmar,” Meinrad said, staring out the window. “There were great cities and machines. The world was full of magic. I suppose, for the Yonarr, life was good.”
He turned back and looked at Flyn.
“For humans, life was not. You see, the Yonarr were very powerful, but there were too few of them to maintain their cities. They had to rely on slaves. Human slaves.”
He walked back to his desk and sat in his chair.
“Almost all the humans in Tirmar were slaves to the Yonarr. The elves and dwarves too, for that matter. They had many other slaves as well. Orcs and trolls were chief among them, but unlike the humans, elves, and dwarves, the orcs and trolls didn’t care about being subjugated. In fact, they thrived on it, so the Yonarr used them as slave masters to keep the others in line.”
“And the ogres too?” Flyn interrupted.
“No, the ogres weren’t slaves. The legend is that they are descended from the Yonarr, but if they are, they’re very different beings. The Yonarr are powerful and intelligent, maybe more than even the wisest of humans. Ogres are dull brutes, but they tend to keep to themselves unless they want something.
“In any case, that was how it was for hundreds of years. Perhaps thousands. No one knows for sure. Over time, the Yonarr grew lazy and the slaves began to rebel. How it began, I do not know. But however it began, the humans and elves and dwarves were able to overthrow their Yonarr masters and thus began the Tirmar Revolution.
“The war lasted decades, and in the process, all the Yonarr cities were destroyed, and most of the Yonarr were killed or driven from Tirmar. Eventually, Mijon, the ruler of the Yonarr, was defeated. The remaining Yonarr fled, along with the orcs and trolls and others who were loyal to them.
“The humans were led by four leaders: Ilfin, Ranjer, Mundar, and Andor.”
“Andor?” Flyn interrupted again.
“Yes. They each had a different philosophy about the world, and so after the war, they went their separate ways. But the people were lost without them, so the humans divided into the four clans, each following the leader whose philosophy they identified with. Andor felt the Yonarr would one day return, so he left Tirmar with his followers. He built great ships to find the mythical land of Trygsted where legend had it the Yonarr could never go.
“The problem was that it was just a legend. Most people thought it was just a story mothers told their young children before the war to give them hope that one day they would be free from the Yonarr. There were some who believed it was real, but no man could get there, that it was an enchanted realm that required great magic to enter. Very few believed Andor would find Trygsted, so only a handful followed him when he left. Some say as few as fifty, others as many as five hundred, though there were no records to be sure. They sailed from Egrathwaite and were never heard from again.
“So, Flynygyn of the Andors, you see why your story sounds like a tall tale.”
Flyn sat back, trying to absorb what the Thane had told him.
“I’ve always wondered why there was only one clan on Trygsted,” he said finally. “Our priests teach that our clan was chosen by Andor the Great to live on Trygsted and that he brought us there from Vahul, where we return when we die.”
Meinrad laughed. “You’re not from Vahul. But perhaps you were chosen by the gods to live in Trygsted. No others who have ever looked for it since have found it.”
“But what about this Jarot? Gudbrant said he was the last of the Yonarr, but you said they were all dead.”
“No, I said they fled Tirmar. A few decades ago, orcs began appearing in remote parts of Northeastern Tirmar. At first it was just rumors about orcs capturing unsuspecting travelers. After a while, orc raiding parties began attacking smaller towns and villages, taking prisoners back into the Nidfel Mountains. Over time, they began to travel in the open, their war cries calling Jarot’s name.
“The Ilfin clan was a peaceful people. After the war, the other clans argued that we should prepare for the return of the Yonarr. The Ilfins, however, believed that if we just left them alone, they would leave us alone. After all, there were only a handful of them left, and though they are immortal, they can’t procreate. So the Ilfins argued that they would never again be a threat.
“A miscalculation, I suppose. Our ancestors never thought the orcs and trolls would follow a single Yonarr. I suspect that’s why Jarot chose this part of Tirmar. Our clan was easily splintered, many of our people taken as slaves. Those remaining retreated to the larger towns, such as Garthset. For a time, there was still trade between the towns, but of late, Jarot’s forces have grown too powerful. Rare is news from others of the Ilfin clan. Rarer still is news from the other clans. Those who are caught by Jarot’s minions are never seen again. My own daughter was taken not even two weeks ago.”
Meinrad bowed his head and didn’t speak for a long time.
Flyn broke the silence. “Did you send anyone to try to find her?”
Meinrad looked up, his eyes filled with tears.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “As I said, there’s no rescuing someone taken by Jarot.”
“But she’s your daughter,” Flyn insisted.
“Don’t you think I want to rescue her?” Meinrad yelled, jumping to his feet and leaning over the desk toward Flyn. “I would give anything to have her back, but there’s nothing I can do. Gudbrant wanted to go after her single-handedly. Stopping him was the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life.”
Meinrad sat back down. “Brenna, my dear, sweet Brenna. I miss you so.”
He turned away to hide his sobs from his visitors.
“My Lord,” Gudbrant said. “We’ll take our leave of you.”
Meinrad didn’t respond.
“Let’s go,” Gudbrant said to Flyn.
The two men left the way they came, only this time Flyn walked next to Gudbrant instead of behind. Harvig had hurried out ahead of them and was out of sight before they reached the street.
Gudbrant was quiet as they walked.
“You know,” Gudbrant said after a few minutes, “I almost disobeyed the Thane’s order and went after Brenna.”
“Why? If it’s so impossible to rescue people who have been taken, why would you risk it?”
Gudbrant sighed and was quiet again. As they reached the barracks, he stopped and turned to Flyn.
“Because she was to be my wife.”
“I’m sorry,” Flyn mumbled. He didn’t know how else to respond.
“If you go after your friend, you’ll likely be killed.”
Flyn nodded. “I understand, but I have to try.”
Gudbrant studied him. “I can see that no one will talk you out of it.”
“No. I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try.”
Gudbrant nodded slowly before responding.
“You won’t go alone. I’m coming with you.”
Flyn was anxious to set out to look for Kel, but Gudbrant insisted that he complete his recovery before leaving. He told Flyn the ride would be hard, and if they were forced into a fight, Flyn would be worthless if his ribs hadn’t healed yet. The town doctor told him he should wait a month before getting involved in any strenuous activity. Flyn refused to wait longer than two weeks.
During his recovery, Flyn and Gudbrant met with Meinrad to discuss their plans to search for Kel and Brenna. As Gudbrant predicted, the Thane was less than accommodating.
“No,” Meinrad said when Gudbrant told him of their plan. “Absolutely not. I forbid it.”
“My Lord,” Gudbrant said, “I know in the past we have never been successful in rescuing those taken, but that is not a reason not to try.”
“Don’t you think I want her rescued, Gudbrant? She is all I have left. Without her, my only p
urpose in life is to be Thane, until such time the people feel another should sit in my stead. It is a hollow existence. I weep for my little girl every night, and wake every morning hoping her loss was just a terrible nightmare. I grieve for her absence, but mostly I grieve for what she must be enduring, wherever the foul Jarot has taken her. And yet, I am powerless to change this. I’m just an old man, and what is an old man without a wife or children?”
Meinrad paused, his eyes full of tears.
“If her rescue were possible, I would go myself to bring her home from whatever damnation she is suffering. What I will not do is send more of my people to their deaths or worse to try and save her. As much as I grieve for her, her life can be no more important than any other.”
He turned to Gudbrant.
“I know you grieve for her as well, my friend. Do not let your grief become your doom. I will not have your death on my conscience.”
“Let your conscience be clear, My Lord. You are not ordering or even asking me to go. I go of my own free will. And if I may beg your pardon, I will go without your consent if necessary.”
The old man sighed and put his arm around Gudbrant’s shoulders. He led Gudbrant to the window where they could see the town laid out around them. Flyn stood alone, for the moment, ignored by the two men.
“What do you see when you look upon Garthset?”
“I see my home.”
“Do you know what I see? I see my family. Now more so than ever. A Thane is not their ruler. He is their leader. They have put their trust in me to guide them, to keep them safe. With the threat of war on our doorstep, my best tool, my only tool, to keep them safe is the Militia. And you, my old friend, are the handle. Without you, that tool is useless.”
“Haller can lead in my place while I am gone. He’s a very capable soldier.”
“But he lacks experience. No, you cannot abandon your family in its greatest time of need. You and I suffer the same fate. We are not granted the privilege of having our own lives, of making choices for ourselves. We must put Garthset, indeed the entire valley of Asgerdale, ahead of our own desires.”