by Mark Dame
Only he didn’t feel bad.
In spite of how he had thought he felt at the time, now he felt nothing. No remorse, no joy. He felt no different about it than he did slaughtering a pig for food. It had simply been a task that he had needed to complete.
What did that say about him?
“Not to worry,” Harvig said, seeming to sense his thoughts. “You will come to peace with yourself. You have an inner strength. I think Gudbrant sees it too, which is why he chose to help you find your friend.”
Flyn nodded, but didn’t reply. He sure didn’t feel an inner strength. He mostly felt numb.
The light was beginning to fade when they came out of the trees and entered a wide valley between two mountain peaks. The valley was covered in snow, giving it the appearance of a large, ice-covered lake. On the far side of the valley, the ground sloped up again, disappearing into another grove of trees.
“The Yord Trail lies just ahead,” Gunnulf said.
“How far?” Gudbrant asked.
“No more than ten or fifteen minutes.”
“We’ll make camp here, under the cover of the trees,” Gudbrant said. “We can start our trek on the Yord Trail in the morning.”
The next morning broke bright and cold. During the night, a strong, northerly wind had cleared out the clouds from the previous day. In spite of the clear sky, the day promised to be a cold one.
“I’m going no farther until you tell me where we’re going,” Gunnulf said as they ate breakfast. “You’re obviously not prospectors, as you led me to believe.”
The others all looked to Gudbrant.
“Very well,” Gudbrant said. “No, we are not prospectors. We will be following the Yord Trail east.”
“The only thing east of here is Uskleig,” Gunnulf said. “You can’t be going there.”
Gudbrant looked at Gunnulf but didn’t reply.
“Uskleig?” Gunnulf said. “You must be out of your minds. Why would you want to go there?”
“Our arrangement requires only that you show us safe passage through the Nidfels. Our business when we reach our destination need not concern you.”
“Our arrangement was for me to show you safe passage through the Nidfels. There’s nothing safe about Uskleig. I wouldn’t go there for all the gold marks in Tirmar.”
“You don’t have to get us inside. Just lead us to it and, when we have completed our business, lead us back.”
Gunnulf scowled at Gudbrant.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll take you to within half a league of the city, but after that, you’re on your own.”
“That will suffice,” Gudbrant replied.
Gunnulf muttered to himself as he returned to his meal. Flyn couldn’t hear what he was saying, only that he didn’t seem very happy about the situation.
The Yord Trail turned out to be nothing more than a narrow, unmarked path through the mountains. If not for Gunnulf, they would have never found it, especially with the ground covered by snow. Even following it would have been a challenge. Their guide seemed to know where the path was even without being able to see it. At times, the path seemed to disappear completely, leading Flyn to think Gunnulf was lost. Then, minutes later, the path would reappear.
The trail led them around the steeper peaks, sometimes turning completely around before continuing its trek to the east. Gunnulf said that although they were within twelve leagues of Uskleig, the journey would take three or four days, assuming no unexpected obstacles. What he meant by that, he wouldn’t elaborate. Flyn suspected the old man was trying to scare them again with hints of monsters lurking in the mountains, perhaps to try to get more money from them later, though they still hadn’t seen any sign of anything larger than a rabbit.
One thing he had been right about though was the treacherous conditions. In many places, the trail was covered in ice and the wind seemed to never stop. At several points along the way, Flyn found himself inching along a sheer drop with his back to a cliff wall. Looking down hundreds of feet into a rocky ravine made his head swim and his stomach churn. Even the mule seemed to be uncomfortable in some spots.
Near the end of the fourth day from Kaldersten, they found themselves on a small plateau overlooking the eastern foothills of the Nidfels. In the distance, the Estlaeg Mountains marched up from the south to join their northern cousins. Laid out below the plateau was a city with a colossal tower in the center.
The tower was larger than any building Flyn had ever seen, rising above the surrounding foothills. Its sides were perfectly straight and black as coal, with the sheen of polished metal that reflected the setting sun. Smaller towers rose from the corners of its flat top. At its base, a complex of buildings surrounded it. A wall separated the fortress from the rest of the city, which in turn had its own wall. The city wall seemed to be ordinary stone, but the wall around the citadel appeared to be made from the same black material as the tower.
“Jarot’s citadel,” Gunnulf said, his voice almost a whisper.
The group stared at the city and its citadel in awe. The buildings of the city appeared to be more traditionally built from stone and wood, but the buildings of the citadel were made of something else, though Flyn couldn’t tell what. But the construction wasn’t the only difference. The buildings of the citadel were laid out along straight roads, the entire complex forming a perfect square in the center of the city. The rest of the city seemed to be laid out almost in random fashion, with roads twisting and turning around hills and rocky outcroppings. Though they were too far away to see people, Flyn could imagine the streets bustling with activity as people moved about, visiting shops or traveling home at the end of the day. Smoke rose from many of the buildings, mostly the white and gray smoke of cooking and heating stoves. Some buildings, however, spilled a darker smoke into the air. The smoke of foundries and blacksmiths.
Mountains surrounded the city on all sides. To the north, a massive peak rose higher than any they had yet encountered. Its crest was white with snow, the very top hidden in clouds. At its base, the mountain formed the north wall of the city, with the city’s east and west walls abutting its steep slope.
“We’ll camp here tonight,” Gudbrant said.
No one objected. A small grove of trees covered most of the plateau, providing shelter from the wind and wood for a small fire. They camped as far from the edge of the plateau as they could to hide the light of their fire from the city below.
That evening, Gunnulf tried again to find out why they wanted to go to Uskleig.
“Are you spies?” he asked. “Are you looking for weaknesses in their defenses so you can attack Jarot in his fortress?”
Gudbrant didn’t reply.
“You know you could never get an army through the Nidfels. You would have to go through Felmote Pass. But if you tried that, your army would be decimated before you even reached the gates.”
“We’re not spies and we’re not planning an attack on Uskleig,” Gudbrant said.
“Then what possible reason could you have to go there?”
Gudbrant sighed.
“I suppose at this point it doesn’t matter whether you know or not,” he said. “We’re on a rescue mission.”
Gunnulf laughed. “That’s even crazier than an attack! You can’t really expect to break into the most heavily defended fortress in Tirmar and come out alive?”
“My best friend is there,” Flyn said. “And it’s my fault. I’ll do whatever it takes to rescue him.”
“Or die trying?” Gunnulf laughed again. “More than likely what will happen. If you’re lucky that is. You’ll probably end up as one of Jarot’s slaves, working to feed and supply his armies.”
“That may very well be our fate,” Gudbrant said. “Nevertheless, we must try.”
“Well, crazy or no, you’re going to need help of the gods to rescue your friend and escape again. But I can help you get in.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t go into Uskleig for all the gold in Tirmar,” Flyn said.
Gunnulf laughed again. “I said I could help you get in, not that I would go in with you. I should charge you another gold mark for what I know, but I feel bad for you. You’re all going to die.”
“Very well,” Gudbrant replied. “We would be most grateful for your help.”
Gudbrant drew a gold coin from his coin pouch and tossed it to Gunnulf. The old man bit the coin, then squirreled it away in his tunic.
“I haven’t been this far east in many years, so the information may turn out to be worthless anyway.” Gunnulf took a swig of wine from his wineskin. “Most people think Jarot built Uskleig, but he didn’t. At least not the citadel. He built up the city around it, sure, but the citadel itself is far older. Some people think it’s been there since before the Revolution. Now, I don’t know about all that, but I do know the citadel has a series of tunnels under it. I don’t know what they were originally for, but now they are mostly used for storage. And Jarot’s dungeon. For people he wants to keep alive, but doesn’t want to use as slaves for whatever reason.”
Flyn glanced at Gudbrant. Could Kel be one of those prisoners?
“How does that help us?” Harvig said.
“Patience. I’m getting to that. So there’s a whole tunnel complex under the citadel, as I said. But the citadel isn’t the only way into the tunnels. There’s a secret entrance into the tunnels north of the city.”
“A secret entrance?” Flyn asked. “How do we find it?”
“I’m trying to tell you, if you’ll just let me talk. The entrance is, or was when I was there last, hidden on a small plateau on the north side of Mount Yemsok, that tall mountain on the north side of the city.”
Gunnulf took another swig of wine and grinned at his audience. They were all staring at him, eyes wide.
“How do we reach this plateau?” Gudbrant asked.
“Calling it a secret entrance may not be quite accurate. Some think the tunnels were built to allow whoever built the citadel to escape from a siege. It’s impossible to climb up to the plateau from below, though you can scale down from it if you have rope. The only way to reach it is from above. As luck would have it, the Yord Trail goes around the city to the north and passes right above the plateau.”
“Why would Jarot keep the tunnel open?” Harvig asked. “Clearly it’s a weakness in his defenses.”
“He may have closed it off, but I doubt it. No one travels the Yord Trail this far east anymore and as hard as the entrance is to reach, no army could ever use it as a way to invade the city. Besides, the tunnels are a maze of narrow passageways, easily defended.”
“And how do you know of this entrance?” Randell asked.
“I’ve been prospecting these mountains for decades. When I was younger, and more adventurous, and Jarot wasn’t as bold, traveling near Uskleig wasn’t as dangerous as it is today. I had heard stories about the tunnels and wanted to find out for myself.”
“Did you go in?”
“Of course. I was hoping to find storehouses full of gold and silver, or at least something worth selling. All I found were cells full of dead and half-dead prisoners. Never went back.”
“Can you take us to the entrance?” Flyn asked.
Gunnulf laughed. “I won’t go that close to Uskleig. But it’s not that difficult to find if you know where to look.”
“It appears we have a plan for getting into the city,” Gudbrant said. “We should turn in. Tomorrow will be a difficult day.”
The group dispersed to their tents, Gunnulf taking the first watch as agreed.
Flyn crawled into his bedroll and tried to sleep. He was buzzing with excitement. News of the secret entrance was his first ray of hope since starting on the journey to rescue Kel. Maybe Kel was in a cell somewhere in the tunnels and they wouldn’t even have to go into the city or even the citadel to find him.
Maybe he and Kel would see home again one day.
The gray light coming through the crack between the tent flaps signaled dawn was near. Flyn stretched and yawned. Randell was still asleep on the other side of the tent. Flyn listened to the birds chirping as they woke and thought about the previous night’s discussions.
Gunnulf had been quite adamant that he wouldn’t go with them into the tunnels, though he had agreed to show them the plateau where the tunnels exited the mountain. At least he had after Gudbrant had paid him an extra gold mark. Even so, Gunnulf was convinced they were all headed to their deaths at the hands of Jarot’s elite troops that guarded the citadel.
The entrance wasn’t far from where they were, only a couple of hours, according to Gunnulf. They would easily reach it before noon. That meant that with a little luck, before the day was out, Kel and Brenna would be free and they would all be on their way back to Garthset. Then he and Kel would be able to focus on finding a way home.
Flyn crawled out of his bedroll, no longer able to lie still. Today was the day he had been working toward for so many weeks. Even though he was sore and tired from the constant travel and sleeping on the ground, not to mention the ordeal at Gurnborg, he wanted to get moving as soon as possible. He decided to get an early start on breakfast. The rest of the party would be awake soon, and they would want to eat before setting out.
Outside his tent, the crisp morning air felt good on his face. He stretched again as he looked through the trees toward the eastern horizon. From their campsite, all he could see of Uskleig was the top of the citadel’s main tower. Behind it, the orange glow of dawn silhouetted the mountain tops.
Flyn turned toward the fire, intending to add fuel and stoke it up to cook breakfast. He stopped as something occurred to him. No one had awoken him for his watch shift. He had been assigned the last shift. Randell had the shift before him, but Randell was sound asleep in the tent. No one else was awake.
He hurried to Gudbrant and Harvig’s tent and peeked inside. Both were sleeping, lightly snoring. Sigrid was still in her tent on the other side. He turned to Gunnulf’s tent.
It was gone.
Flyn stood staring at the spot where Gunnulf’s tent had been the night before. All that remained was a depression in the snow. Flyn rushed toward the trail, searching through the trees. Maybe Gunnulf had moved his tent during the night.
After five minutes, Flyn had searched the entire plateau. There was no sign of their guide.
He hurried back to the campsite and woke Gudbrant.
“Gunnulf’s gone,” Flyn said.
“What? What are you talking about?” Gudbrant said. He didn’t seem quite awake.
Flyn told him what he had found when he’d gotten up a few minutes earlier.
“Wake Randell and Sigrid,” Gudbrant said. He turned to wake Harvig and Flyn went to wake the others.
A few minutes later the group was standing next to their tents as Flyn recounted what had happened. It was Sigrid that noticed the other problem.
“Where’s the mule?” she said. “And our supplies?”
They all look around, dumbfounded.
The mule and all of their supplies were gone as well.
“That rotten toad!” Sigrid said. “I’ll string him up by his toes if I catch him!”
“I knew we couldn’t trust him.” Flyn was trying hard to control his anger. “We have to go after him.”
“I think it’s safe to assume which way he went,” Randell added.
“We’ll not catch him.”
The others turned to looked at Harvig.
“If we assume he left as soon as we were asleep, then he has at least six hours head start,” Harvig continued. “What’s more, he knows these mountains. We do not. He won’t stay on the trail longer than he has to. And if we try to search for where he left the trail, we’ll have to travel at a much slower pace, allowing him to get even farther ahead of us.”
“Harvig is right,” Gudbrant said. “We have no chance of catching him. The only food we have is what little we have in our own packs. We only have one choice.”
“We have to continue on to Uskleig,
” Flyn said.
Gudbrant nodded and the others slowly agreed.
“But how?” Flyn asked. “What if he was lying about the tunnels and the secret entrance?”
“I don’t think he was lying about that,” Gudbrant said. “Gunnulf strikes me as one who likes to embellish his tales, but not one clever enough to make up something as involved as his story about the tunnels. No, I think the tunnels exist, and he may have even been inside them, though I doubt he spent much time exploring. That path remains our best hope.”
“Even if he was telling the truth,” Randell said, “how will we find it?”
“One problem at a time, my friend,” Gudbrant replied.
They took a quick inventory of their supplies and determined they had enough food for two meals, if they rationed carefully. They ate a small breakfast and saved the rest for after they reached the tunnels. After that, they would have to steal food from Jarot’s citadel.
The only good news was they had plenty of water. They had been able to regularly refill their waterskins while in the mountains. After eating and packing their gear, they used the snow to fill them again.
The sun was above the horizon by the time they were ready to set out. The party shouldered their packs, which were lighter than Flyn would have liked. Only Sigrid’s seemed to be normal sized, though Flyn supposed it was just a matter of perspective, since she was so much shorter than the rest of them.
Gudbrant led the party from the campsite and back to the trail. Flyn looked down the trail to the right, back the way they had come, hoping that maybe Gunnulf had a change of heart and was coming back. The trail was empty. He sighed, then turned left and followed the others.
The enthusiasm he had felt when he had awoken had drained away, leaving only a feeling of dread for what lay ahead.
For a while, the trail was easy to follow, even without Gunnulf. Though it was narrow, requiring them to travel single file, the path was mostly clear. It had turned northward, first making its way along the cliffs above Uskleig, then winding down between the lower peaks, soon losing sight of the city. Mount Yemsok, north of the city, grew larger as they drew closer.