by R D Wolfe
Darien paused, considering what to do next. He could get a horse, he had a weapon, and his captors weren’t paying any attention to him. He could leave now if he wanted to. He didn’t owe anything to these people—they had captured him after all. He could leave, head west along the way they had come, and then find his way north to the city. There were enough streams to provide him with water, and if a marauder group could survive by raiding travelers out here, he was sure to find a group who would share their food with him for a few days.
Just then, Darien caught sight of Evatra trading blows with another black-clad warrior, her opponent gaining the upper hand. She had left her horse, struggling with the hulking thing from the ground. Her speed had given her the advantage on horseback, and her small size gave her the advantage on the ground. Darien watched as she stumbled over a piece of the debris that littered the ground. There was too much scattered around her for agility play in her favor. Darien made up his mind, turning away from her battle, in the direction he had been keeping watch.
Evatra was beginning to lose. After a particularly nasty and strong flurry of blows from the hulking brute in front of her, she was knocked to the ground by a blow from the empty hand of her opponent, sword flying out of her hand. She rolled, seemingly refusing to die with her face in the dirt and looked up as the monster raised his sword. Suddenly, he stopped. A sword tip sprouted from her attacker’s stomach. Evatra hurriedly crawled backward as the giant crashed down. Her eyes met Darien’s. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Darien walked forward and, tucking the sword under his left arm, pulled Evatra to her feet. She stared at him, wiping blood from her lip. Without saying a word, she retrieved her sword and, calling Darien after her, ran to where the others were fighting.
Darien lost himself in the whirlwind of battle after that. He was in his element. This was different than any fight he had ever had in the arena, but he hardened his mind to block out the fact that he was slicing through flesh and bone. Darien worked methodically through the battlefield for several minutes, helping to take down another five of the seven remaining attackers, the other two being felled by their allies.
By the end of the fighting, Darien, Evatra, Drack, and two others remained standing from their group, everyone else lay on the ground around them, none of them stirred. All of the survivors were stained in blood. Evatra eyed Darien questioningly, but didn’t say anything. He expected her questions would come later, when the others weren’t within earshot.
“Who are these beasts?” Drack asked, his words barely making it through gasps.
“I don’t know,” Evatra replied, a trickle of sweat running down her face and mixing with the blood from the corner of her mouth before she wiped it away with the back of her hand, “Let’s find out.”
She walked over to one of the fallen brutes and removed his helmet. The five survivors stared down at the contorted face which now stared into empty space. The thing’s skin was stark black, like its armor. Its face was angular, like that of a troll, but twisted out of shape, and the skin around its mouth had been pulled back into a permanent snarl, giving the face a gnarled appearance.
“What are they?” Darien asked.
“I don’t know,” Evatra replied, a trace of fear creeping into her voice. “They almost look like trolls, but there’s something… off. Drack, tie this… thing behind the horses and bring it with us. We’re going back. You two, there’s a chest by the pile of armor and equipment. Grab the valuables and load them into your packs. Leave everything else. We need to get back to camp as quickly as possible.”
Evatra then turned to Darien as the others hurried away to complete their assignments.
“You stayed?” she sounded incredulous. “You could have left us all for dead. Why?”
“I gave my word,” he shrugged.
Evatra eyed him suspiciously. After a few seconds, the tight expression relaxed.
“Thank you,” her voice was softer than ever. “If you hadn’t decided to help us, I would have been killed. You turned the tide of that… whatever that was. Without you, we’d have all gone to our graves. Keep that sword on your way back to camp. I think you’ve earned the right to carry it, at least, for now. The rest is up to Totra-Dal.”
Evatra walked away, directing the others in various tasks as they prepared to leave. Darien’s mind then began to whirl. He had killed people. He knew it was what had to be done, but that didn’t make him feel any better about it. Sickness pitted in his stomach, and he felt that he might vomit for a second time that day, but a few controlled breaths forced the feeling away. He silently thanked Master Whyn and the rest of the faculty at The Academy for so thoroughly ingraining such discipline within him.
The others finished gathering their things, salvaging what they could from their fallen comrades, before closing their dead eyes, and mounting up. They had recovered four of the horses and roped them together, the others having run off or been killed in the fighting. Once everything was situated, Evatra gave the order to leave the rest behind. The group began their journey back to the encampment, riding single file, with Darien in the middle. The mood was somber as they made their way along the tree line they had followed before, silence ringing louder than anything they might have said to each other.
Chapter 10: The Request
The first thing Darien noticed when he rode into the camp, was that nothing had changed. The people he saw acted as though no battle had occurred, no one had died, and all was as it had been when Darien, Evatra, and all the others rode out only hours ago. How could they go on like normal after what had happened? Then it dawned on him: None of them knew yet. The change in his own mind had been so dramatic, it seemed that the whole world should be upturned from the force of the emotional and mental blow Darien had suffered at the site of the sacked caravan and the people he had seen killed, and those he had killed himself.
The band of survivors rode into the center of camp, dragging the dust-riddled body of their attacker behind Drack’s horse. Night had fallen by the time they entered the camp. The central fire crackled loudly, and shadows danced around the tree line of the clearing. The gentleness of the night was disturbed once marauders caught sight of the black hulk being lugged around. Totra-Dal made his way out from his tent as he heard the commotion of their arrival. Evatra dismounted, and the rest of them followed her lead, placing their own feet on the ground for the first time since they had left the grisly scene.
“Where? How?” Totra-Dal stammered for a moment, seeming to count their number again and again, having trouble coming to grips with the diminished number of riders in front of him. “What in the blazes happened out there? Did he give away your position?” Totra-Dal motioned towards Darien. “I knew it was a mistake allowing you to take him. Kort was right, he—”
“He didn’t betray us, we were ambushed,” Evatra answered calmly. “In fact, if it weren’t for Darien, the rest of us would likely have been killed too.”
Totra-Dal eyed her for several seconds, incredulity crossing his face, before looking at Darien with a softer expression.
“Forgive me, I lost myself.” Totra-Dal stepped back, examining the group more closely. “Never, in all my years, has a party of fifteen been reduced by two-thirds! Drack, take Evatra and Darien’s horses to their stables and dress them down. You two, come with me.”
Darien looked at Evatra, but she was focused straight ahead as they walked. Onlookers watched with great interest, hoping to learn something about the massacre, or the behemoth that had been brought in. With all the eyes staring at them, the short walk seemed to take ages.
The three of them passed Hodra, who stood at the entrance flap, eyeing the sword on Darien’s hilt with great suspicion. Totra-Dal crossed to the far side of the tent and calmly sat in a high-backed chair, crossing his arms. The big man eyed them curiously, sternly motioning for them to explain themselves.
“I anticipate this to be quite the story, Evatra. You have lost ten of my men, armed an
outsider in our midst, and returned with only a handful of valuables. Not to mention the corpse of that monster out there. Now tell me, what happened?”
Evatra began explaining how they had initially seen nothing on their ride along the forest’s edge. She told him how they spotted the ransacked caravan, and the caution they took when approaching, and how they had set up perimeter watches. Then came the riders’ attack, the ensuing battle, Darien saving her life, and turning the tide of the battle.
“Do you have anything to add to this accounting of events?” Totra-Dal looked at Darien.
Darien paused to think.
“Only that I thought I saw something in the trees before the riders came. I thought it was just an animal, so I didn’t say anything. I know it looks like it’s Evatra’s fault for what happened because she pulled me off watch, but it’s not. The riders came out of the trees so quickly, no one could have given enough warning to stop them.”
Darien felt a sudden wave of nausea come over him as he relived the events of a few hours before. He attempted to tamp it down again as best he could.
Darien and Evatra stood in silence, while Totra-Dal examined them for several seconds.
“I want to know who this group was,” he said, looking off. “You say you haven’t seen their like before either?”
“No,” Evatra shook her head. “They look almost like trolls, but they can’t be. They waved no banner, had no crests on their armor or horses. The arrows they fired were the same ones that struck the caravan, and they had taken nothing of value from the scene. They wanted nothing more than to kill.”
“Darien, do you have any idea who these brutes might be?” Totra-Dal asked, grasping for any bit of information that he could. “Has any of your memory returned?”
Once again, Darien considered how much of his thoughts he wanted to share with Totra-Dal and Evatra.
“Well?” Totra-Dal asked, impatient.
“No.” Darien shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t have any idea. You know more than I do.”
The two of them watched him in silence, and Darien squirmed a bit under their uncomfortable gazes. Eventually Totra-Dal turned back to Evatra.
“Go, give word to the Scillans,” Totra-Dal sighed loudly. “Remove the armor from that thing you brought back with you and try to figure out what it is or where it came from. After that,” Totra-Dal’s face relaxed a bit, “get yourself some rest. I know you were close with several of those we lost today. We will honor them in the only way we ever have. We will find whoever sent these monsters into the world, and hunt them down, even if it’s Cyprin himself.”
Evatra bowed her head before turning to exit the tent, leaving Darien and Totra-Dal alone. Darien thought he saw a single tear flowing down her cheek as she passed him.
“You, my young friend, are a mystery to me,” Totra-Dal said, eyeing Darien with friendly suspicion. “A complete mystery.”
Totra-Dal stood and made his way towards the table where they had dined two nights before. He picked up a bottle of amber liquid, grabbed two glasses and poured a small amount into each, offering one to Darien.
“Do you know what this is?” Totra-Dal asked, inhaling deeply over his glass.
Darien looked into his own glass, lifting it to his nose to smell. The vapors burned his nostrils. He shook his head.
“This is a fantastic concoction made only in the northwestern cities by the fairy peoples. They call it ‘Freolia.’ It’s a spirit gives that you the sensation of flight, if drunk to the point of intoxication. No, no, don’t worry, you’d need much more than you have there to induce the effect, but the experience should still be quite enjoyable. It will help to soothe your mind. You’ve had a trying day.” Totra-Dal raised his glass and sipped, smacking his lips together. “I know you need rest, but I have more questions for you. And quite frankly, I enjoyed our last conversation and wish to continue it.”
Darien was unsettled. The hulking man had gone from somber, vengeful, and caring, to jovial. Totra-Dal motioned for Darien to take a drink and, not wanting to be rude, Darien raised the glass and took a tiny taste of the amber liquid. A small cough threatened to expel the contents of his mouth almost instantaneously. Darien held it at bay and, closing off his airways, swallowed the small bit of the concoction in his mouth. Even though it was a liquid, it dried his mouth and throat almost instantly, burning the entire way down. He gasped and began to cough.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Totra-Dal chimed gleefully.
Darien nodded, and pounded at his chest.
“It seems I owe you a great deal of gratitude,” Totra-Dal’s mood returned to one of a more serious nature. “You seem to have been instrumental in returning what was left of my family to me after that attack. We captured you, we threatened you with death—at least Kort has—and we relegated you to manual labor. According to that tale Evatra spun for me, you had any number of chances to head off on your own. Instead, you decided to risk your life to save your own captors. What would make anyone do such a thing, I cannot even begin to fathom.”
Totra-Dal stared intently at Darien, as the red beard parted for him to take another sip from his glass.
“Now, can you tell me what kind of man risks his life to save the people who threatened him with death? The only reasons I’ve ever seen anyone do such things are for love, greed, or some foolish notion of honor. The latter usually ends in some ‘heroic’ death. You can’t be in love with anyone, and you don’t strike me as the greedy type. Yet here you are, still alive. So why are you here, and not halfway to Farkland Reach?”
Darien sat quietly as the long-winded man finished his inquiries. He thought he knew what Totra-Dal wanted to hear, but he wasn’t sure.
“I gave you my word that I wouldn’t run away, and I didn’t want to sit there and watch people die when I knew I could help.”
Totra-Dal looked at him seriously for a moment before he burst out in sudden laughter.
“So,” he said between chuckles, “you are fool enough to fight for honor. Let me tell you boy, that’s liable to get you killed faster than crossing blades with Kort. Though given Evatra’s description of your skill, you might just best him in such a fight.” He took another sip from his glass.
“That brings me to my next question: How is it that you know nothing of your past, nothing of where you come from, and nothing of who you are, yet you can wield a blade better than half of the people in this camp? Not to mention, the fact that you, of an unknown race, and knowing nothing of who you are, appeared to us only two days before we find these new foes walking in Olympus. That’s quite the coincidence isn’t it?”
The questioned seemed rhetorical, so Darien sat silently, letting Totra-Dal guide the discussion.
“Now,” Totra-Dal cut into his thoughts, “unless you have any new information about who you are and where you learned to use that sword, I’m left with a dilemma. I promised you a chance to earn your freedom. In one sense, you’ve more than earned that, today. At the same time, if I let you leave now, I fear Kort will use it as an excuse to finally challenge my claim of leadership. He still wants to kill you, after all. It was supposed to be one of his number to join Evatra on this mission, and he will surely blame you for the incident.”
Darien began to protest but Totra-Dal silenced him.
“To Kort, it’s not going to matter how or why it happened. All he will see is you returning alive, without the others, and almost nothing to show for it.”
“What’s going to happen to me, then?” Darien asked, growing anxious.
Totra-Dal looked at him pensively for several seconds. “That is still to be decided. For now, until I know more about who, or even what you are, you’ll remain here. If I can find a path to let you leave, without jeopardizing the stability of my ranks with Kort and his ilk, then we will pursue that path.”
“So, I’m still a prisoner?” Darien asked.
“I prefer to think of you as a guest.”
“Your hospitality leaves somethin
g to be desired,” the words slipped out of Darien’s mouth before he could stop himself. His beleaguered mind was unable to appropriately filter his thoughts.
“Ha!” the large man let out a single laugh. “You’ve become bolder since we last spoke. I like it!” Totra-Dal slapped his thigh and stood up. “Darien, listen. I don’t expect that you’ll be with us forever. I’d love to have you stay, of course, given your skill. I think your morals would get in the way of you ever being truly useful, but I understand your desire to get to Farkland Reach. You must realize, I have to keep order among the family here. I need to be fully satisfied about who you are before you leave us.” Totra-Dal took another sip from his glass, his speech becoming more slurred the more of the freolia he imbibed.
“I’m sure you can understand my position,” he said. “If I let you leave, and then we discover that you’re some prince between races, or the son of some duke, imagine what I would suffer for letting you walk off with nothing to show for it! Why, Kort would snap my neck!”
“Kort really wants to overthrow you?” Darien asked, curious about what the goblin’s motivation could be.
“Oh, yes,” Totra-Dal snarled. “Kort thinks I have grown soft. After allowing the child to stay after that… incident, and then letting you roam free only a day after coming into the camp, and now seeing you armed with a sword, all of it sets his teeth on edge. If he had his way, the child would have been dead the moment the wraith entered her body, and you would have been food for the dogs on the first night. Sure, I could have given into his wishes but—”