by Rex Foote
Captain Randa Yount was a tall, lean woman with a build distinctly suited to being a soldier. Her face was compact, her features small, and her straw-blonde hair done up in a short braid that ran down the back of her shirt. She was wearing the formal uniform of the Caladarian Expeditionary Force, well-fitting clothes with a sharp cut and a pragmatic feel. Without waiting to be offered a seat, she sat next to Storkhelm.
“Not usually,” she admitted with a slight tilt of her head. “But the king has asked me to sit in on this.”
This announcement startled both Storkhelm and Gibson. Why, in the names of all the gods, was the king interested in this mess? Recovering himself, Gibson carried on.
“Very well. Sergeant, please relate to us the events from eight nights back that led you and your men out of Caladaria.”
Storkhelm began to tell her tale, leaving nothing out. Gibson observed Yount out of the corner of his eye as the sergeant spoke of the merchant paying her to go look for his daughter and the Elreni suspected of kidnapping her, but throughout all this, Yount’s face remained utterly impassive and unreadable. Damn Expeditionary, he thought, they never truly let their guard down.
It was only when Storkhelm reached the part where she and her men confronted the Elreni and girl at the camp before the attack that Yount spoke. Just before the sergeant got to the attack, she interjected, “Sergeant, having seen the two together, do you think the Elreni kidnapped the girl?”
Storkhelm paused and thought about it before replying, “I could not say, sir. What I can say is that he seemed to be in good condition, relatively clean and healthy. However, the girl looked dishevelled, tired, and dirty. I don’t know if that’s enough to accuse him of kidnapping, though.”
Leaning closer, an unnerving glint in her eyes, Yount persisted, “But if you had to say whether or not he kidnapped her, Sergeant, what you would say?”
“I would say that it looked bad from where I sat, sir.”
“Very good.” Sitting back in her chair, she addressed Gibson. “Captain, I want you to transfer this guard over to the Expeditionary Force at once. She is no longer under your command.”
It took all his self-control for Gibson to keep his tone neutral as he asked, “Why would I do that?”
Yount produced a scroll and handed it to him. “Because your king commands it.”
Gibson broke the royal seal which bound the scroll and quickly scanned its contents. After a brief pause, he handed it back to Yount.
“Very well, Captain, as His Majesty commands. Sergeant, gather your gear and report to the Expedition’s barracks.”
A stunned Sergeant Storkhelm rose to her feet, saluted, and left. Gibson turned to Yount, his face a stone mask to hide the storm of his thoughts.
“Why, Yount? Why does he care about an alleged kidnapping?”
Standing, Yount looked down at the man and gave him a thin smile.
“His Majesty has been concerned about the Elreni for some time now. When word reached him that a prominent Mage Guild member’s daughter may have been kidnapped by no less than the son of the Elreni envoy, he was very concerned and wished to get to the truth of the matter.”
Gibson, disliking being talked down to, rose and met her gaze. “There is more to this, Yount. This is a serious allegation, and the opinions of a corrupt gate sergeant won’t be enough to prove anything either way.”
Her next words left him speechless. “Who said he was trying to prove anything?”
As she started to leave, he called out to her, “Tell me why you took Storkhelm?”
Over her shoulder, Yount replied, “The king rewards his most loyal servants.”
***
Yount strode up the stairs and past a set of guards who came to attention as she passed. A few yards down the corridor stood another pair to either side of a door, which they opened as she passed by. The door opened into a large room whose walls were lined with well-stocked bookshelves, and in the centre of the room was a large desk behind which a man sat, looking intently at a scattered layer of paper, diagrams, and maps on the desk’s surface. Yount saluted and sat down in a chair opposite.
Without glancing up from the desktop, the man said, “Captain Yount, make your report.”
Clearing her throat, she began, “In short, my lord, Expeditionary Storkhelm believes that it was likely that the girl was kidnapped and would say as much if she were asked.”
The man looked up at her, and she found herself gazing into the dark green eyes and strong features of Samson Avery, King of Esmor.
“Excellent,” he said in a deep, drawn-out drawl. “I want her to spread this story throughout the Force, and in so doing shift their opinions in the right direction. It is quite important to me that Caladarian Expeditionary Force shares my views on this matter.”
His emphasis on the word “right” caused a chill to travel up her spine, one which she suppressed without thinking. Her king’s thoughts on this matter were her own, and damn her moral compass for thinking differently.
“Also, the Expeditionary Forces’ training continues at a steady pace. I believe they will be ready within a few months, no later than Prime, I should think.”
The king nodded at this, then rose and turned to gaze out the window behind him that looked out over the northern section of Caladaria. Yount knew what he was really looking at, though the actual Kuddin Woods were weeks from Caladaria and couldn’t be seen from the city.
“Your progress, and that of your men, is welcome news, Captain,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “The Expeditionary Force will be vital in the opening phase of what is to come.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. But if I may ask, has the rest of the council been swayed? Will they support you?”
Sighing, he turned back to her, a flash of anger darting across his features. “They are foolish. They push back against my efforts to lead them in the right direction.”
“I believe the Arch-Mage will come around,” Yount offered. “Averie Lane certainly feels that her daughter was taken against her will, and though I doubt she will blame the Elreni as a people for it, she will have nothing good to say about the envoy or his son.”
“You make a good point, Captain,” he replied. “And if the rest of the council sees one come around, then maybe others will follow.”
Sensing the conversation was at its end, Yount rose and bowed to the king, who dismissed her. As she left the room, he remained seated for a while, his eyes scanning the documents on his desk while mulling over the captain’s report. Abruptly, he stood and walked to the windowsill and leaned his hands on it. Gazing out in the direction of the Kuddin Woods, he murmured, “Soon. Very soon.”
Part 2: Forged Anew
Chapter Eleven
10th Day of Daaris. The Season of Light. Year 250
Hark dreamed of the Kuddin Woods and the settlement that he had been born in. In his dreams, he saw the mighty Okryd tree that dominated the centre of his village, the Warden that ruled in union with the sentient tree, and the roundhouse where he grew up, as well as the familiar faces of friends and fellow Elreni. And then suddenly it was all gone, vanished as if it were never there, and in its place was a forest bare of all leaves and life. Dead or dormant, he could not tell, but he knew that something was wrong. It was then that he saw the Okryd tree, that mighty oak that had been the centre of his early life, as little more than a trunk, all branches hacked off until only a rough column of dead wood remained. Then he felt something wet and sticky land on his left cheek, and he looked up to see…
Hark woke, bursting free from the nightmare his sleep had become. Sitting up suddenly, he was surprised when his chest came into contact with a large, wet nose attached to the muzzle of a big brown wolf. The animal fixed him with its amber eyes, scanning him, perhaps deciding if he was a threat or a possible meal. Hark remained utterly still, his mind trying to figure out what he could do to avoid the fate that surely awaited him in the jaws of this monster. Beside him, he heard the sounds of so
meone stirring and knew that it was Esme. He was about to warn her when a high-pitched whistle sounded, and the wolf turned and trotted to the side of a tall, broad shape sitting opposite him. Still recovering from coming face to face with a wolf, it took a few moments for Hark to fully take in the stranger. He was tall, about six foot five, Hark guessed, and his mostly naked frame was covered only by a loincloth of what looked like tanned animal hide and a cloak of plains bear fur. Then Hark noticed the skin and face. The man’s skin was the colour of grass, a light green that seemed to reflect the light, giving him a faint shine. His face and features were broad and open, and he had a pair of jutting tusks that protruded horizontally a quarter of a foot from the corners of his mouth. It’s an Ohruin, Hark realised with a jolt. Beside him, Esme had sat up, and together they stared at the Ohruin, who for his part stared right back. This standoff was broken when the Ohruin spoke in a low, rumbling tone, “Now this is strange. What is a Human girl and an Elreni boy doing sleeping huddled together out here on the plains, dressed in animal skins, and covered in drying mud? Did you happen to take a swim in a swamp?” As he spoke, he gestured behind them to where, Hark presumed, the swamp was located.
“Traveling,” was Hark’s groggy reply, and the Ohruin’s answering laugh was like the sound of boulders rolling down a hillside.
“I can see that, but to where are you traveling? And why are you wearing those poorly made clothes? And did you actually try to cross that swamp by yourselves?”
Esme surprised Hark by suddenly rising to her feet and saying, in a stern tone, “None of that is your concern. But if you must know, I almost died in that swamp, and we had to make new clothes after our old ones fell apart.”
The Ohruin smiled at her answer, probably out of her sudden willingness to tell him all about things that had been none of his concern. Seeing how unsteady she was on her feet, Hark rose and helped her to sit while the Ohruin rummaged around in their gear, drawing out their waterskins and two bundles of food. Passing them to the pair, he said, “Perhaps you will be more willing to explain why you are out here after a meal.”
Realizing how hungry he was, Hark began eating at once, Esme quickly following suit. While they ate, the Ohruin, his wolf now sitting by his feet, watched and when they had finished, he spoke.
“Now let’s start again. Firstly, what should I call you?”
Hark was still swallowing his last mouthful of dried meat, so Esme replied, “I am Esme, and this is Hark.”
The Ohruin gave them a faint smile and, raising a hand to his chest, he replied, “My name is Orgha. So what are you two doing out here?”
The pair looked at each other, neither really wishing to tell this stranger much of anything. This indecision ended a moment later when Orgha said, “Well if you don’t want to tell me why you are out here, then I guess there is no reason for me to take you back to my tribe.”
That settled it. Fuelled by the desire to accept the lifeline the Ohruin had offered, the pair took it in turns to tell him all about the journey so far, with Esme starting off on the night she left Caladaria and Hark taking over after the creature’s first attack. At the mention of the monster, Orgha’s face went from an expression of attentive interest to one of concern, one that developed into wonder when they told of their last encounter with the monster and its eventual defeat. As they finished telling him about their time in the swamp, Orgha nodded slowly.
“This explains why you are covered in mud,” he said, pointing to Esme, whom Hark noticed for the first time looked more like a clay statue than a human.
Esme nodded, shuddering at the memory of the cloying, thick mud as it sucked at her skin and filled her throat, eyes, and ears. She was saved any further recollection by Orgha’s sudden announcement.
“That settles it; you are coming with me to meet my tribe’s shaman.”
Hark and Esme looked at one another in surprise. Both had been hoping for this when the Ohruin had brought it up, but now that it had been decided, both were surprised.
“Why?” Esme asked.
“Because what you encountered should not have been allowed to roam the lands for as long as it did unchecked, and my shaman will want to know of this. Besides, you killed the thing, and the least I can do is take you somewhere safe as a token of my people’s gratitude.”
“Wait,” said Esme, rising and giving the Ohruin an intense look. “You know what that thing was?” At Orgha’s nod, she carried on. “Please, tell us it what it was. Ever since we first ran into it, we have wanted to know what it was.”
Hark thought Esme’s use of the word “we” was not entirely accurate. For his part, he would have been happy if he never had to think about that thing ever again.
Orgha smiled, impressed at this young Human’s desire to learn, and said, “Tell me, what do you know of the Skittering Dark?”
“I know it’s a place where no one but the vilest and foulest flee to,” Esme replied as Hark climbed to his feet and stretched.
“All I will say is that there is a reason that the Skittering Dark has such a reputation. Though I am disappointed that Humans have decided not to teach their young the truth about that place.” He turned to regard Hark. “What of you? What do you know about the Skittering Dark?”
Shouldering his bow, quiver, and bag, Hark replied, “Little. My father told me that is a place to avoid, even if there is no other place to go.”
Orgha snorted in disgust at this, muttering to himself as he picked up a flint-tipped spear that had been lying beside him in the grass. “Well, I guess you deserve to be told of that place. After all, as ones who slew one of its denizens, you deserve to know where it came from. But I won’t be the one to tell you; I leave that to my tribe’s shaman, who knows more about it than I.”
Hark was going to say something, but Orgha carried on.
“Now that you have risen and eaten, we start our journey to my tribe. It shouldn’t take long, only two to three days of running.”
At the word “running,” Esme groaned audibly; she still felt drained after the last few days’ events, and even if she weren’t, she still wasn’t fit enough to endure three days of nonstop running. Out of concern for her, Hark asked, “Could you perhaps slow the pace, for Esme?”
A wide grin split Orgha’s face at this, and he replied, “No, and I wouldn’t assume that it’s only going to be your friend who will struggle with my pace, young Elreni.” Hark felt offended by this and was preparing an angry retort when Orgha added, “No, there will be time for rest when we reach my tribe. We Ohruin move around a lot, so if we slow the pace, it could mean it could take days longer to reach them.”
Then he turned to face the plains before him, the newly risen sun’s bright rays faintly reflecting off his green skin. Shouldering her gear, Esme nodded to Hark to indicate she was ready. As she did so, Orgha took a long, deep lungful of the early morning air and said in a content tone, “A good day for travel.”
***
It turned out that Orgha was right. Regardless of his confidence in his fitness and endurance, the first day of travel with Orgha left Hark spent. His feet ached, his legs trembled, and he felt exhausted at day’s end. But no matter what state he was in, it was far worse for Esme. Even after everything she had gone through so far, she hadn’t been prepared for the pace the Ohruin had set, and had collapsed exhausted not long after they set out. It fell to Hark to help her to her feet, and half carry her as she stumbled along at a far slower pace than their Ohruin guide. Though he had not intended to stop for rest, or slow his pace, Orgha found that he had to do both, and so the group halted at sun’s peak, and after about an hour-long rest set out again at a much slower pace. Despite this, when Orgha did call a stop to the running, both Hark and Esme collapsed where they stood. They both lay there, Hark feeling miserable and Esme feeling worse than she had at the end of the first day out of Caladaria.
For his part, Orgha didn’t seem affected by the full day spent running over the plains and went about setting
up a fire using dried dung chips he took out from a pouch in his cloak. Eventually, and accompanied by groans of pain, Esme managed to climb to her feet and offered to help him. From his tone, Hark guessed that he was surprised by this offer and gratefully accepted it. Hark would have felt pride for his friend if he were capable of feeling anything other than his burning leg muscles. By the time dinner was cooked, Hark had recovered enough to sit and gratefully accept the spitted meat Esme offered him. They made idle talk as they ate; Orgha asked casual questions about their lives so far and the pair were willing enough to answer them. During this idle talk, Esme asked, “Orgha, why has your skin changed colour?”
Hark looked at Esme, shocked. Orgha’s skin hadn’t changed colour; it was still the same light green…Then Hark turned his gaze back to the Ohruin, and gaped. Where his skin had before been the colour of fresh plains grass, it was now a dark, smoky grey, a perfect match for the darkness that surrounded their camp. Orgha chuckled, though if it was in response to the question or Hark’s expression, he could not tell.
“It is a gift of the World Spirit,” he replied. “The guiding force of my people. In order to help us carry out its will, it gave us these,” he said, indicating his tusks, “and granted our skin the ability to change colour, to reflect the land we walk in.”
This answer left Hark with more questions than he’d had before, and a quick glance at Esme told him his friend had just as many, and maybe more. Orgha must have seen it too, for he held up a hand and said, “I cannot say more; to do so would be to reveal knowledge that I am not permitted to. Save your questions for my shaman; he can give you answers to your questions.”
His answer wasn’t what Hark had wanted to hear, and he knew Esme well enough to know that she felt the same way. But Orgha’s expression told them both that he would say no more on the matter.