Legends of Gravenstone: The Secret Voyage

by Alex Aguilar

  Once the cage was locked again, Hauzer cut the rope from the young man’s hands as Jyor did the same with the woman. One thrust was all it took, and the thick rope split in two.

  The piece of rope hadn’t yet hit the floor yet when the silver-haired woman suddenly squeezed her hand through the gap between the bars and pulled Jyor inward by his ragged vest. She said nothing, only hissed at him and glowered at him heatedly. She was imagining the many possible ways she could kill him, and somehow the elf could read those thoughts in her eyes.

  “Go on, you old wench,” Jyor taunted her maliciously. “Give me a reason to kill ya… I’ll do it slowly. Make a day out of it. Go on, then…”

  Her glare did not change. Perhaps she may have been frightened on the inside, but her eyes spoke differently. Then the young man she had been imprisoned with placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Not today, Valleria,” he said.

  The blade was still on Jyor’s hand. It may have been too wide to stick it through the gap between the cage’s bars, but he was sure it could make it far enough for the pointy end to stab her belly. She must have noticed it, for she eased her grip on the elf’s vest slowly and carefully.

  “Come on, Jyor. They’ve started to march,” Hauzer said, walking away towards his horse.

  The elf sheathed his blade and followed his companion, holding on to the glare with the silver woman for as long as his neck allowed it.

  It wasn’t long before the cagewagon moved again, pulled by two horses at the front. And the princess’s eyes refused to move away from the two new prisoners. The woman had a certain fierceness to her that Magdalena had never seen in a woman her age before; at least no peasant or noblewoman, which is all she had known all her life. The two new prisoners sat alongside one another, quiet and cognizant.

  “So much for help,” the old man in the cagewagon scoffed again.

  Magdalena and Thomlin sat back, trying their best to find comfort in the rickety wagon. The boy’s eyes closed for a moment and he sighed with slight bleakness. The princess felt his head rest against her arm, and she allowed it. They were dragged along the path for several hours until the sun began to set and a cluster of tiny lights began to appear on the horizon. The princess shook the boy awake when she saw the lights. He awakened and stood eagerly on his feet. And it was the first real image of the city of Roquefort that Thomlin’s eyes had ever seen.

  * * *

  The forest grounds were just a mile ahead when the first attack came…

  Viktor Crowley had seen the signs minutes before it happened and he held himself as firmly and calmly as he could. The first sign was the quiet stillness all around them. The fields of Vallenghard were often filled with wild boar, deer, and even moose. But on that afternoon, it was as quiet as death. The others in the company were too fueled with unease as they approached the forest grounds, John Huxley included. But both the golden knight and the observant thief Hudson Blackwood knew that the silence seemed far too intentional.

  The incline of the path was leading them upwards towards a hill of misshapen gray stones caked with humid green moss. And just beyond those rocky hills was where the Woodlands began. Dusk had come, and the setting sun casted long black shadows of the trees and stones that stretched towards the company, and the slightly misshapen figures among those shadows were quite obvious to Hudson, who was skilled in remaining unseen and unheard.

  Clumsy or lazy, the thief thought to himself.

  Either way, he was sure there were people hiding among those rocks…

  Viktor tugged at the reins and brought his horse to a halt, and he removed his helmet for a better look.

  Jossiah Biggs approached him. “What is it, old boy?” he asked.

  “See that?” Viktor aimed at the shadows with his eyes. “Someone’s up there…”

  Confusion spread among the squadron. They looked at one another hesitantly, their hands gripping their weapons out of precaution. John Huxley moved closer to a pair of more familiar faces. “Why are we stopping?”

  “Don’t know,” said Thaddeus Rexx. “He might’ve spotted someone…”

  “Is it freaks?” young Cedric asked nervously.

  “Couldn’t tell ya, lad…”

  Viktor Crowley considered their options… If the company deviated from their path or turned around at that point, the bandits ahead would suspect they were spotted and come after them. And turning your back on an enemy was never the wisest choice. Sending one soldier ahead would surely be a waste and a dangerous act. And yet standing still that way was perhaps the worst thing they could do.

  “Want me to go on ahead, old mate?” Hudson offered loudly.

  Viktor clenched his teeth with frustration. “Will someone shut him up?”

  “Just thought I’d offer,” Hudson shrugged. “Gods know you all find me disposable.”

  Viktor was sure he had gone through every possible scenario in his mind.

  But nothing had prepared him for what happened next.

  A loud echoing whistle with a smooth ring to it that seemed almost playful was coming from behind the squadron, and so they all turned their horses. Viktor drew his sword almost by instinct and gazed towards the east. Walking towards them was a single man with no horse, just far enough that his face was a blur. His only visible aspects were his reddish-brown shirt and a bundle of grey curls on his head swaying in the air with every step of his. And there was a furry brown creature about the size of a cat hopping along his feet.

  “Who the bloody hells is that?” Wyll Davenport’s horse stood a bit too close to his brother’s. There was no answer, for Martyn Davenport was lost in thought, his trembling hand placed firmly on his sword’s hilt.

  The armed Viktor Crowley galloped to the front of the company, standing guard, facing the incoming man. He turned his horse halfway, taking one last opportunity to address his company privately. “Nobody speaks a word,” he said. “I’m talking to you in particular, Blackwood. One word and I will have your damn tongue.”

  Hudson said nothing, only lifted both hands into the air as if to assert his defenselessness.

  As they all waited silently, observing every move the stranger made, John Huxley’s chest began pounding. Out of the whole crew, he felt the least protected. The only ones wearing steel armor were Viktor, Jossiah, and the three hired soldiers who thought they were taking orders from the king’s right hand knight. The rest of them wore thick leathers, enough to prevent flesh wounds but none that could block a jab to the chest.

  John looked down at his raggedy clothes, his brown leather vest being the thickest protection he could afford, and frowned at the sight of it. Should anything unexpected happen he would have to rely on his skills for protection. Suddenly, the silence was broken. The stranger in the distance whistled a second time, lifted his arms at his sides, and moved his fingers up and down as if signaling someone.

  Nothing happened at first.

  Viktor simply waited, and there was a strange feeling in the air as if they were being watched. Then the mysterious man whistled a final time, this time louder and much less playfully.

  Out of thin air, a group of men dressed in rags and furs began to rise from the ground, shaking away the chunks of dead grass and dirt that covered their bodies. They were armed with blades and bows, and there were ten of them easily, not counting those hiding in the rocks atop the hill. They had been hidden in plain sight and were dangerously close to Viktor’s company, and despite the company’s expectations they all happened to be human.

  “Clever,” Hudson mumbled sourly.

  The bandits closed in on them all, swords aimed frontward, remaining mostly quiet save for the snickers and hisses at whoever moved too quickly. And then Viktor turned his horse back towards the east as the mysterious man arrived at the scene.

  He was an ordinary man with an unfortunate face, and his right cheek was marked with a burn scar in the shape of a scorpion, suggesting he had been a prisoner of the Rogue Brotherhood at some p
oint in his life. His vest was made of brown fur while the rest of his clothes were made of red and brown linen. On his wrists were an assortment of bracelets and trinkets, which were visible from afar, but it wasn’t until the mysterious man arrived that they realized what he wore were actually dozens of human teeth held together by string.

  Up the man’s leg, the furry creature climbed and settled itself on his right shoulder. It was a monkey, coated with a thick beige pelt, and it had sharp jagged fangs that may have been sharpened purposely by its master.

  The mysterious nameless man began to clap his hands, slowly and almost threateningly.

  “Well look at this now. We’ve got ourselves a hell of a catch, boys!” he spoke with a heavy Vallenghardian accent, his voice raspy and hoarse and with a higher pitch than Viktor had anticipated. “One hell of a catch, indeed…”

  “I can’t tell if they’re nobles or beggars,” one of the bandits said, aiming his sword directly at young Cedric, who cowered his gaze downward.

  “Looks like a mixed breed lot,” the nameless man in charge commented. Up close, his hair had quite obviously grown past its maturity and was now a bundle of grey locks, tangled like an unkempt bush, with a few black hairs hiding somewhere within. The wrinkles on his ivory skin aged the man at about fifty, a rather strong fifty, but he seemed more than fit for a fight and his confidence only redeemed him further, despite his short height.

  “Why don’t we start by puttin’ them weapons down, yes?” he requested, his monkey hissing right at Viktor as it sat with its tail wrapped around its master’s stubbly neck.

  Viktor hesitated, but his recruits knew better and dropped their weapons where they stood.

  John unstrapped the silver blade from his belt and set it down gently as if it were made of glass. A bandit snatched it immediately, one with a nasty grin and tattoos on his neck that were either ancient inscriptions or scribbles of gibberish. He’s not worthy of such an elegant weapon, John thought to himself as a sickness settled into his belly.

  “Your blade, chief,” the nameless man said, shooting Viktor a menacing wink. “’Less you want one of my men up on the hill to shoot an arrow at one of your apes. All it will take is a wee whistle. Now drop it ‘n’ climb off that gorgeous beast slowly.”

  Viktor’s blade hit the dirt, followed by his thick armored boots. There were unfriendly chuckles among the bandits as they forced everyone else to dismount their horses as well, and a few of Viktor’s men shot angry stares back at them. John was startled and he was having trouble hiding it, but being surrounded by men like Viktor Crowley, Jossiah Biggs, and even Hudson gave him a mild sense of comfort. Out of the whole company, however, the thief appeared to be the calmest one, keeping his guard close to his witch companion.

  “That’s it. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” said the nameless man as he picked up Viktor’s steel blade and gave in to the unavoidable impulse to admire its gracious shine and stability. The man’s appearance was far more threatening than his demeanor was. Had he not been robbing the company, he would have seemed almost friendly. His men, on the other hand, had ‘trouble’ written all over their glares.

  “Beautiful blade, this is,” the nameless man said. “Fancier than I’m used to, sure, but a man can change.”

  His men chuckled in unison, knowing precisely when to allow their leader to speak.

  “It was a gift,” Viktor spoke, much to the man’s surprise.

  “Ahh, I see… You look quite fancy yourself, there. Who d’you serve, chief?”

  “I serve the Lord of Yulxester. He’s sent us out on a hunt,” Viktor’s lie came almost naturally to him, as if he’d been preparing it for days.

  And it was then that the nameless man’s expression changed from amusement to distaste. In a manner of seconds, his near-friendly manner had vanished, replaced by a nasty scowl and a twitch of the nose. “That so?” he asked. “A hunt so far from home, eh?”

  “’Tis a very particular hunt,” Viktor tried to match the nameless man’s ingenuity, failing.

  “Ahh,” the man replied. “And tell me, what kind of shit crew is this for a hunt?”

  More laughs… And the tension was only getting worse…

  “I wonder if half your apes can even shoot an arrow.”

  Viktor Crowley’s jaw tightened, wishing his sword were still in his grasp. He tried his best to remain calm and keep his friendly grin to a minimum. But they were coming across as weak and there was no worse impression to convey to a group of bandits. The nameless man began to pace slowly, his seemingly sentient monkey glancing at every face in the squadron.

  “It seems we find ourselves in a bit of an impasse, yes?” the man said loudly, his raspy voice only adding to his intimidating tone. “If I’m bein’ honest, chief… I’m not exactly known to be a reasonable man, so to speak… But I do try me best to be fair. The way I see it, no one has to get hurt here… You stay friendly, I stay friendly… I take what I want, you get to keep your lives ‘n’ we all win… But… D’you know what I hate the most, chief? D’you know what really irks my bones?”

  Viktor was silent, his amiable smirk now vanished. He was silently thinking of ways to hurt the man, but in his unarmed state the only way he could manage that was with his helmet.

  “Liars,” the man finished his thought. “See, I happen to know that the Lord of Yulxester’s disappeared… It happened almost two weeks back now. Whole city’s gone to shit without ‘im ‘n’ no one’s got a clue where he is. If he did send you on a hunt, then that’s one hell of a long hunt to be on ‘n’ not be carryin’ a single catch yet… So unless one of your starvin’ apes ate it all or they have somethin’ hidden in their trousers, I’d say you’re a lyin’ sack of shit, chief…”

  With their best attempt at subtlety, Viktor’s men threw gazes of concern at each other. Hudson’s urge to speak had never been as strong, but knowing that they were unarmed and possibly outnumbered, he figured silence was a better alternative. But it didn’t do much to stop the voice in his head…

  One quick move, it told him. That is all it would take to pull the sword from the cross-eyed bandit to his left. One swift kick on the loose soil beneath his boots and he could blind the bandit, snatch his sword, and kill him faster than the man could remove the dust from his eyes.

  The thief had become so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed his hand twitching, nor did he notice the bandit noticing it. The bandit’s blade moved from Syrena to Hudson. And then the witch moved her cuffed hands over the thief’s, calming his nervous spasms.

  “Not now,” she whispered at him gently, and then the bandit grunted and moved the blade closer. Hudson could somehow feel Syrena’s warm touch through the ogreskin, and it was keeping him calm for the time being.

  “D’you know who I am, chief?” the nameless man suddenly asked Viktor, who chose not to respond. “Have you even the slightest idea who I am?” He lifted the majestic silver blade and pressed the tip against Viktor’s neck.

  “Can’t say I do,” Viktor spoke slowly, careful not to prick his chin with his own blade’s edge.

  “Good,” the nameless man replied, his grin coming back to him. “Now… Here’s what’s going to happen… We’re takin’ your weapons, your food, ‘n’ your horses. And since I’m feelin’ a bit generous today, I’ll let you leave here with a warning… But do remember, chief, there here’s our ground… We see your faces ‘round these parts again, ‘n’ you best believe my pretty face will be the last you’ll see.”

  All of a sudden, the man’s monkey hissed sharply and unexpectedly, jumping off his master’s shoulder and startling them all. He hopped between the company’s feet, his nose close to the ground as if he was following a scent.

  “Looks like he found something, boss,” one of the bandits snickered.

  The monkey stopped at Syrena’s feet, his flared nostrils twitching in the air as he sniffed the decaying ogreskin on her wrists. The witch’s heart began to race and her eye was twitching fiercely as the damn m
onkey shrieked loudly and shifted all of the attention to her, as if notifying his master about his catch.

  “Ahh,” the nameless man chuckled, his eyes broadening and his lips curving into a wide grin, revealing his yellow teeth. “Is that a witch you got there? Well, what a hell of a catch, indeed… I think I’ll be takin’ her too, chief…”

  Syrena’s twitching wouldn’t stop, and for a moment she swore she felt the heat radiating from the ogreskin, she was so enraged. She then felt Hudson’s hand tighten around hers, and he stepped in front of her, shielding her from the bandits. And the monkey at their feet hissed and scratched at the thief’s black boots.

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” Viktor finally spoke again.

  The nameless man took a step forward, close enough that Viktor could smell his reeking breath.

  “I wasn’t askin’, chief…”

  The look that both men shared was mutual. Neither one was willing to cave.

  Viktor may have set down his weapon but he would not allow for any man, much less a bandit, offend his honor. He may have had his knighthood taken away, but he would let no one take away his name. The Golden Eagle of Vallenghard took a step forward himself, ignoring the threat of the blade’s sharp tip on his neck.

  “The witch stays,” he said.

  And then there was a long silence. The bandits glanced at one another, unsure of how their leader would respond. Viktor felt the pressure on his neck ease down as the nameless man began to chuckle suddenly, his monkey hopping back towards him and climbing up his leg again.

  “You’ve got quite a pair, chief,” he said with a sigh, before his grin faded. And then he turned to his men and said, “Hold him down.”

  They grabbed Viktor Crowley by the arms and forced him down to his knees.

  “Get your bloody hands off him, you bastard!” Jossiah took a step forward but was held back by a dagger to the neck.

  “Now I did say no one had to get hurt, didn’t I?” the nameless man chuckled. “But you lot just don’t seem to get who’s in charge here!”