by R D Wolfe
Chorrun took another drink from his water pouch, and Darien decided to drink from his own this time. The heat was stronger now that they were no longer in the shadow of the trees.
“Farkland Reach is central to most of the lands in Olympus, as you saw on my map,” Chorrun said. “Because of its location, it’s a trading hub and respite for travelers of all races. If you were surprised by my appearance when we first met, you may want to prepare yourself for an even greater shock. I counted no fewer than five different races last I visited Farkland Reach.”
“Five?!” Darien couldn’t help the outburst.
“Oh yes,” Chorrun nodded. “It is a troll city, but it is home to fairies, sprites, harpies, cyclopes, the odd peronia here and there, and many others. Suffice to say, you’ll meet several of those peoples on your journey. The only people not represented in Farkland Reach are the mers, who are locked into their ocean home. They seldom venture onto land without the magic Cyprin stole—it leaves them completely vulnerable.”
Darien didn’t know where to begin, so many more questions had surfaced with all this new information. And did Chorrun say trolls? The only trolls he had ever heard of sat under bridges to attack travelers who tried to cross over it.
Just before he could ask about the trolls, a horn sounded in the distance. Chorrun stopped, turning his attention to the direction of the trumpeting sound.
“Blast it!” he exclaimed. “The reports said they had moved off to the east! Jodin, is it—”
“It’s a marauder group!” Jodin cried.
“We have to run, Darien,” Chorrun said hurriedly. “These marauders are outcasts who rob, steal, and hold for ransom anyone they can. That is, if they don’t kill them first.”
Chorrun scanned the land around them and pointed. “There! We can lose them in the western forests if we can make it. Darien, you stay with me. Lotry and Jodin, follow close behind.”
Without another word, Chorrun galloped towards the cluster of trees. Darien spurred his horse into motion, attempting to keep pace with Chorrun, but finding it difficult to remain stable. Darien found that standing in the stirrups increased his stability but made him feel like he would fall off the back of the beast.
The horn sounded again, closer this time. Darien glanced over his right shoulder, seeing through the cloud of dust the four members of their little company, rose a group of maybe ten riders all on horseback, their faces all covered by cloth. They were quickly gaining. Darien faced forward and realized that he was falling behind Chorrun, who was now riding side-by-side with Jodin and Lotry. Leaning over his saddle, he urged his horse on, not even able to feel the panic on his counterparts’ faces for fear of falling from his mount.
Darien felt his horse lurch and the world upturned as he was thrown into the air. A pain shot up his left wrist as his body crashed through bushes before hitting the hard ground. Dust whirled around, choking him as he tried to catch his breath.
Disoriented, Darien rolled onto his back, hearing the thundering hoofbeats encircle him. Darien opened his eyes, hoping beyond all hope to see Chorrun, Jodin, or Lotry, coming through the cloud of dust to rescue him Instead, he was met with the covered face of a green-skinned rider. His eyes, which were all that was visible above the face covering, stared down at him impassively.
“We got at least one of them, secure his horse, assuming it’s still ridable. Let’s see what we’ve caught!”
Chapter 7: The Marauders
The green-skinned rider deftly dismounted and walked over to where Darien lay crumpled in the bushes. Darien’s one link to any knowledge about Olympus had run off into the trees, unable to prevent him from falling into this hard-eyed bandit’s custody. The rider knelt down to Darien’s eye line and studied his face intently. The eyes were cold and unsettling, giving nothing about their owner’s state of mind.
“I don’t recognize your kind. I’ve been to nearly every scrap of land, but I don’t recognize your skin, or your face. What are you?” The voice of the rider staring down at him was as callous and unfeeling as his eyes.
Darien’s mind raced to find an answer. He did not want to tell this stranger who he was. With Chorrun’s warning about ransom, he wanted to avoid becoming a prisoner at all costs, though the alternative option didn’t seem to be a good path, either. As he worked the problem in his mind, he felt a sharp slap against his right cheek. The rider had hit him with the back of his hand.
“I asked you a question, whelp,” the rider snarled. “What are you?”
“I-I’m not really sure,” Darien decided to risk a half-truth. “No one’s been able to tell me what I am. I woke up a few days ago with no memory. We were on our way north to try and see if the trolls could help.”
The black eyes stared at Darien, examining intently. After a few beats, he stood up and motioned to one of the other riders, who dismounted and pulled Darien to his feet. The rider disarmed Darien and removed his armor, binding his hands in front of him.
Pain shot up his left wrist as the bindings were placed. Darien had tried not to wince, but couldn’t help himself, a small cry escaping his lips. Mustering up a bit of courage, Darien glanced back towards the forest, but couldn’t see any sign of Chorrun or the others. Fear took hold. If he didn’t find a way out of this, who knew what would happen?
“Were you able to recover the horse?” the leader shouted at a rider approaching from the trees, was wielding a crossbow.
“No, I had to end it. Snapped leg.”
Nodding, he turned his attention back to Darien and the one who now held him in custody.
“You said you were going north to the troll city? Well, I think we need to take on a bit of a detour. You’ll be heading east now. We’ll decide what to do with you tonight. Krat, pull our newest acquisition onto your saddle. Let’s get moving.”
Darien was helped into a saddle behind the pudgy rider. As they turned, Darien looked back again towards the tree line, still seeing no sign of his companions.
“Don’t even think about it. No one’s ever been able to escape Totra-Dal’s capture. The only ones who ever tried never got the chance to try again.” Krat chuckled as the group began to ride back towards the eastern horizon.
The group remained silent as they rode, allowing Darien a chance to think about his situation. These were marauders, as Chorrun had called them. They wanted to rob, steal, and hold ransom. That meant they wanted money. Chorrun would be able to get that. If Darien could convince this Totra-Dal that he had some worth, some sort of value, maybe Chorrun could get the king of Farkland Reach to pay whatever ransom Totra-Dal asked for.
Besides, I am one of the Four.
The party rode on in silence until they found themselves working through a small bunch of trees. Darien spotted a makeshift camp the marauders had set up. The trees gave the circle an effect of permanent dusk as the shadows streaked across the clearing. As they moved around the perimeter, heading towards the largest tent of the camp, Darien heard a gruff voice call out.
“Ho there! How was the ride? Was the journey out worth the risk?”
“That is yet to be decided,” said the leader of their group.
The gruff man was muscular, built like Philip, but much larger. His skin was a dull grey, and his face oddly angular, more elegant than the riders he had arrived with. A bright red beard sat in stark contrast to his skin. He had a strange weapon slung across his back, and light leather armor covering his body. Darien could see hair still attached to pieces of the armor, giving the man a mangy appearance.
The group of riders dismounted, and Krat helped Darien to dismount without too much trouble, trying to avoid damaging their newfound prisoner.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here? What are you, boy?” the man in the leather armor barked.
Bristling at being called a boy, Darien decided it would be better to continue his lie for the time being.
“I don’t know. I woke up, not knowing anything about who I was, and some centaurs said they�
�d take me north to find answers. We were on our way when they chased us,” Darien motioned towards the lead rider, who still wore the cloth over his face. “I lost my horse and got caught.”
“I think you’re lying,” the large man snarled. “You know what you are, and you don’t want me to know. That means what you are is important. A prince, perhaps? Maybe a half-breed? Mix of mer and fairy? Any of that ringing a bell?”
Darien looked genuinely puzzled, which seemed to satisfy, and at the same time frustrate the large man.
“Nicely done Kort,” the man said to the green-skinned rider. “Come see me when you’ve cleaned yourself up. Take him to where we have the girl. We’ll see if I can get anything out of him later.”
Kort nodded, leading Darien to the opposite end of the camp, past a large fire pit, with lightly smoking embers from the prior nights fire softly smoldering. They entered a three-walled tent, the front wall facing the camp left open. Four metal rings were pounded into the ground, and on one of the rings was the small frame of a child bound by their wrist, the hood of a cloak obscuring their face.
“Sit,” his captor commanded, binding Darien’s hands to one of the other rings. “Don’t try to cause any trouble. We have people all over the forest. You wouldn’t make it fifty steps out of this camp without an arrow in your back. But feel free to try, if you want to give us the practice.”
With a wicked smile in his eyes which ran counter to the words he had just spoken, Kort left Darien alone with the other prisoner. He fumbled with his bindings, but there was no way to get free. The movement caused pain to shoot up his arm again.
Darien cursed under his breath. He didn’t think his wrist was broken, but it was definitely sprained. That fall could have been a lot worse if it weren’t for the bushes he had crashed through before slamming into the ground. He was lucky, all things considered.
Darien looked over at his companion, who hadn’t moved since he entered the tent.
“Uh, hello?” Darien said quietly.
Nothing.
“Can you hear me?” A bit louder this time.
No hint of movement.
“Listen, I have friends nearby, they’re gonna help us get outta here.”
Still no indication that the other was even aware of his presence. Resigned to loneliness, Darien turned his attention to watching the camp. It was chaotic. People worked, laughed, ate, and went about their day in a normal fashion, but always seemed to be moving with a sense of urgency. Darien caught sight of the large man, who he guessed to be Totra-Dal, the one Kort had mentioned briefly on their ride into the camp. Every time Totra-Dal came into view, people quickly moved out of his way. They didn’t appear afraid, but it seemed like they were simply avoiding him for some reason.
Darien began to feel hungry as the afternoon drew to a close. The sun had dipped far below the tree line when a new face came into the tent. It was a woman, gray-skinned like Totra-Dal, with solid black hair that ran to her waist. Her face was soft, and yet hard at the same time. In different circumstances, Darien would have thought her to possess genuinely natural beauty. She spoke sternly, with no emotion.
“Totra-Dal wishes to have you dine with him tonight to discuss your… options.” She pulled out a small dagger and pointed it at Darien. “I’m going to release you, so don’t make any stupid decisions.”
Darien nodded as she came forward and released his bindings, allowing him to stand for the first time in hours. Darien rubbed at where the ropes had dug into his skin. He flexed his left wrist and was glad to see that he could move it without much discomfort. The woman moved behind him and he felt the tip of her dagger pressed against his back.
“Walk,” she said flatly.
Darien obeyed, following her lead, passing figures obscured by shadows as they approached the largest tent in the camp. Darien felt the dagger leave his back, and the woman opened the tent flap, radiant light coming from inside obscuring Darien’s vision, which had become accustomed to the mellow tones of the setting sun beyond the trees. Raising his hand to his face to block the brightness, he took a few tentative steps inside, finding a moderately-sized table, overflowing with food. Not just fruits, vegetables, and cheeses this time, but meats as well. It wasn’t a grand display but compared to the spartan nature of the rest of the camp, it was opulent.
“Ah, our newest guest!” Totra-Dal bellowed. “Please, please, come in and join me! Sit down! Sit down!”
Totra-Dal stood at the far end of the tent, motioning for Darien to take the seat closest to where he had just entered. The giant man had shed his armor for a red-striped tunic and pair of pants, no longer resembling a mangy animal. His attitude was upbeat and friendly, a clear contradiction to his earlier demeanor. Darien couldn’t help but glance towards the now closed flap where he had entered.
“No need to fear Hodra,” Totra-Dal said. “She speaks in rough enough tones but won’t do anything to you without my order. We’re an unsightly bunch, but we aren’t uncivilized!” Totra-Dal laughed, clearly amused by himself.
Darien hesitated, and the hulking man’s expression changed.
“I don’t like to repeat myself,” Totra-Dal growled. “You are under my command and my mercy in this camp. I’ve extended the invitation for you to dine with me so that I may learn more about you, but you are my prisoner, and you’ll do as your told. Now sit!”
“And if I don’t?”
Darien’s voice portrayed more boldness than he actually felt. The statement was a bit brash and stupid, but Darien was looking to gain any advantage possible. Totra-Dal eyed him over the table before moving to take a seat opposite where Darien stood, clearly trying to show that he was willing to make the first move.
“The consequences of that would be… unpleasant,” the grey-skinned man answered darkly. “But come now, you must be famished!” He shifted back to his jovial, yet unsettling tone. “You haven’t eaten since you came into our little home. Surely you must have questions, particularly if what Kort says about you is true, and you weren’t lying to me before. Perhaps I can even help you. And if luck favors you, perhaps you can be useful to us as well.”
Darien waited several heartbeats before finally stepping forward and sitting in the previously offered chair.
“See? That wasn’t too hard, was it?” Totra-Dal condescended.
Darien didn’t answer, still trying to decide what to try next.
“Now, I’ve got many questions for you. First, let me introduce myself. I am Totra-Dal, leader of this family of bandits. And you are…?”
“Darien,” he replied, expressionless.
“Darien, it is a pleasure to meet you, though I admit the circumstances are less than ideal from your point of view. No no, please don’t look so surprised. I may lead a group of marauders, outcasts, and the like, but that doesn’t mean I’m not schooled in the finer points of courtesy and nobility. Now that we know each other’s names, why don’t we dig into the meat of the matter: what exactly you are. To what race do you hold claim?”
Darien noticed Totra-Dal studying his face closely. He had to be careful here. Should he lay his cards on the table and ask for man’s help, or maintain his story from before, hoping he would be interesting enough to keep alive?
“I’m not sure. I woke up south of here, some centaurs found me walking south and said they’d take me to Farkland Reach to see if anyone knew me there. When I woke up, I had no idea who I was or where I was coming from. All I can remember is my name, and that’s it.” Darien hoped he had said enough to satisfy the big man’s curiosity.
Totra-Dal looked at him sternly for several moments before tossing food from the table onto a plate, passing it to Darien. “That’s quite a convenient story, with more than a few problems in there. Here, please enjoy our food. It’s rude of me to invite you to eat and offer nothing to satisfy your appetite.”
Darien took the plate, thanking his host and setting it down in front of him, trying to figure out exactly what kind of meat had been placed
there. Regardless of the animal, the food smelled delicious, but his anxiety over the situation prevented him from eating.
“What do you mean it has problems?” Darien forced his voice to remain calm.
“Well,” Totra-Dal began, past a mouthful of food which he swallowed before continuing. “You say you woke up all alone, and were picked up by the three centaurs who we found you with, who were already traveling north?”
Darien nodded, placing a piece of bread into his mouth attempting to appear at ease with his fabricated story.
“You see, there is where your first problem arises,” Totra-Dal swallowed. “Why would three centaurs, all laden with packs, have a horse with them, not only saddled for a rider, but weighed down with food and supplies for said rider, conveniently ready and waiting for the chance opportunity that they may find someone who could use it?”
Darien stared back at Totra-Dal, now chewing silently on a new bite of food.
“You see Darien, if I may call you Darien?” Darien nodded his consent and Totra-Dal continued, “I think you’re lying. I think you came from the centaur village south of here. what’s it called? Titron? I think you were traveling with those centaurs from the beginning. The rest of your story may be true, but if it begins with a lie, how can you expect me to trust you? So answer me honestly. You’re clearly no troll as I am, nor a goblin like Kort. You’re also clearly no wraith, nor any other creature I’ve robbed or stolen from before, and I’ve seen them all, so answer me true and honestly. What are you?”
Darien was caught, he had nowhere to go. Totra-Dal knew Olympus far better than Darien could ever hope to. If he was too detailed, his captor would know he told another lie. If he wasn’t detailed enough, there would be more questions.
“What are you going to do with me?” he asked, trying to buy more time to think.
Totra-Dal eyed Darien up and down for a second before answering. “That hasn’t yet been decided. Kort wants me to kill you and leave you behind. More specifically, he wants to kill you. He has an unhealthy liking for the act. I think he’s being too hasty.”