The Forgotten Tribe

by Stephen J Wolf

  “Understood, and expected,” he nodded. “In fact, I would have been insulted if you hadn’t said that.”

  “Insulted?”

  “I would have thought you doubted my conviction.”

  Randler chimed in again, “No one doubts you, Ruhk.”

  Verna snickered. “I don’t know, Dariak, what if the king offers to clear his name and restore his position in the Hathren army? He might be the poisoned thorn in the garden.”

  Ruhk grew angry with the affront, but Poltor diffused the moment. “Missie, why do you think Dariak’s taking you away from here?”

  Her jaw dropped and she turned to Dariak, “What!”

  The older man laughed and slapped the table. “So impetuous, so young. Have you ever thought of being mentored by someone like me?”

  Verna returned his gaze and answered, “I suppose it depends on what you’d intend to mentor me in.”

  He grinned, “I do have many talents…”

  “All right, all right,” Dariak interrupted. “Actually, Verna, I was going to give you the choice of supporting Ruhk here or heading east with Carrus.”

  She sank back in her seat and considered her options. “My father is out there fighting somewhere. As much as I want to find him, he would be furious seeing me there. After all, he went to war in my stead. If I showed up, he would feel it was all for naught. But also, Hathreneir is my home and I would like to have a hand in its new beginning. I would like to remain here.”

  “With me?” Poltor said toothily.

  “As if you’re staying,” Dariak commented. “I would ask you your plans for now, but I’m sure you’ve got something surreptitious up your sleeve.”

  “A banana?” Verna muttered, causing a few chuckles around the room.

  “You rightly assume I will not linger for long, nor will I tell you my intentions. And I appreciate your candor about not asking.”

  “But you’re going to stay to hear all of our plans first?” Lica wondered.

  Poltor smiled. “Naturally.”

  Kitalla finally pulled herself together and joined the rest. “Where do you want me?”

  Poltor knew better than to insert a comment and so he let Dariak speak instead. “I thought perhaps you should go with Carrus.”

  “I see,” she said. “Then you’re not heading the same way yourself.”

  “I have to visit my father’s laboratory. His research may be able to shed some light on the jades and other aspects of magic that I haven’t considered yet.”

  Kitalla turned to Randler. “And you?”

  The bard tilted his head toward the mage. “With Dariak, of course.”

  “You can barely move,” Dariak protested. “You would be better off here until you’re better recovered.”

  Kitalla rolled her eyes and her voice was biting. “Not this again. You’re really going to leave him behind again? Have you learned nothing from watching me and Gabrion? Or do you want to end your relationship with him?”

  Dariak was taken aback. “What! No! I just—”

  “Spare us the ‘I want what’s best for him’ nonsense,” Kitalla said. “Keep him or ditch him. Decide it here and now.” Then she turned to the bard. “I’m sorry, Randler. I’m not being very delicate.”

  He shrugged. “I’m a little curious myself about his answer.”

  “What!” Dariak gasped.

  “What will it be?”

  Dariak shook his head. “We’ll get horses for the ride. It’s going to b—” but he stopped himself from warning about the rough ride. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

  Kitalla clapped her hands together once sharply. “It sounds like everything is all set then. Let’s break the news to Prethos and then go have a farewell feast.”

  The king showed a clear sense of relief that they would be heading out so soon and he accepted Ruhk and Verna as chancellors in his court. Ieran balked at the appointments and it wasn’t until Prethos threatened to remove him that he calmed down.

  Once the meal was over, the members of Dariak’s army and the king’s were split into various groups to either journey north with Gabrion, south with Lica, east with Carrus and Kitalla, or to remain behind and continue the efforts to rebuild the castle and to enforce the new philosophy among the people. Kitalla took a majority of Hathren soldiers, hoping to deplete the castle somewhat and reduce the chance of another takeover attempt, and along the way she could teach them the importance of following her orders. Additionally, having them could assist in influencing the rest of the skirmishers.

  Gabrion had avoided the meal, instead spending his time completing a special rucksack so that he could securely carry the king’s baby on his back. He then allowed the king one last opportunity to visit with Perrios before setting off into the night with a host of ten fighters.

  “You’ll keep him safe,” Prethos demanded.

  “You have my word,” Gabrion said.

  “That means little to me, you realize.”

  “I know. Nonetheless, it is true. This place is in turmoil and a child should not be part of it. Besides,” he added with a darkness to his tone, “if you set up some sort of mutiny, then Perrios would be in grave danger, even if you tried to account for his safety.”

  The king’s voice was stern. “I committed to this effort to end your own influence here and to restore my family. If that means I must go without my child for a year, then I will make do. War is the only thing we know, and by the look of your physique, and the death in your eyes, you know it all too well yourself. Whatever happened in that outpost was a fluke and it was among a small number of lonely men and women, all of whom were far from their homes. Your optimism about this peace is going to cause disaster, and it is fitting that you should be the one to set it all in motion.”

  “You’re wrong, but only time will show you that.” Gabrion took Perrios from the king and tucked him into the rucksack and then, with the king’s help, strapped it onto his back. “Have you any message for Mira’s parents when I reach them?”

  “Yes,” he said, his face curling angrily. “‘Don’t kill my son.’”

  Chapter 13

  Urrith and Ordren

  Urrith sat in an alcove inside a dark cave, trying to keep his breathing calm, but he was being hunted and it wasn’t easy to be still. A month had passed since Gabrion had sent him from the Kallisorian outpost to escort Ordren and a contingent of the king’s supporters back to the monarch. It should have been a two-day journey to bring the men far enough into Kallisor to release them and then a two-day journey back to the border outpost to rejoin the rest of Gabrion’s new regime.

  Things hadn’t gone according to plan, unfortunately. Gabrion had sent Urrith with enough fighters that they evenly matched the Kallisorian supporters, but in the end it wasn’t enough. The pack allowed themselves to be led deeper into Kallisor, heading for the castle in Kaison, but after a single day of travel, Ordren showed that he wasn’t as helpless as he had made himself seem.

  Indeed, the older commander had allowed Gabrion to usher him out of the outpost because he knew he didn’t have the support there to reclaim it. The group moved to the east and, though they barely spoke, the soldiers with Ordren knew him well. Some had even come along with him from Pindington and had stayed at the outpost when Gabrion and the others had first ventured into Hathreneir. He didn’t need to issue any verbal orders. All he had done was raise an eyebrow, tilt his head, then nod.

  It had happened so fast, Urrith still couldn’t believe it. The soldiers all turned on their guards, himself included, and many had died. Urrith was one of only four who had survived the surprise attack and it was a terror the seventeen-year-old wasn’t ready to deal with.

  Urrith was nimble and very flexible, able to bend and dodge more fluidly than some of the best dancers in the land. He had grown up in northern Kallisor, trained since birth to serve his king as a warrior, and he had shown great aptitude. A host of beasts had attacked the town and, even at ten years old, he did more to protect
his home than most others. At fourteen, his father had sent him to the king to be further trained, and the king had seen fit to usher the boy off to the outpost to be sent to the front lines. As one of the youngest fighters there, he had always been left off doing chores or sparring with the few people who deigned to entertain him, often to their chagrin.

  But young Urrith hadn’t seen an actual battle where blood was drawn and people were slain. True, he had seen Gabrion kill a host of Hathrens to make his point to Ruhk, but it was different than the slaughter that Ordren’s men had committed. They had turned and slain people they had trained with for some time. People they had dined with and slept beside. There was something dark and unsettling about it, and every time Urrith dwelled on it, he shuddered.

  He looked around the dank cave, hoping he wasn’t making any noise. It was still light out and Ordren’s men hadn’t yet given up on finding him, though Ordren himself had continued on to the castle with a couple of the men.

  Urrith had been lurking in the shadows from one place to the next, keeping out of reach of Ordren and his gang. He had scurried off from the first strike, sprinting to a copse of trees and scrambling up the boughs. Ordren and his men hunted down the other three fighters first and slew them before fully pursuing Urrith. By the time Ordren tracked him down, he had moved on to a thicker forest area, heading deeper into Kallisor, even though he wanted instead to return to the outpost and warn Gabrion of what had happened.

  Over the weeks, Urrith had stumbled through a river and come across a sleeping pack of lupinoes, who awoke to his presence and gave a chase of their own. He still had his short sword, but he was no match for the beasts, so he had run as fast as he could manage, dodging trees and debris as he found his way into a forest. The lupinoes had kept pace with him and had even managed to rake his body with a few angry claws.

  Luckily for Urrith, a group of travelers was passing by and they fended off the lupinoes and tended the best they could to Urrith’s wounds. He wanted to stay with them, but it would have meant endangering them, for he knew Ordren was still in pursuit. So he had slipped away in the night when he felt he had the strength to carry on. Eventually, he found this cave and had taken refuge within for a few days since.

  Urrith listened carefully, tilting his head to hear better. His thick black-brown hair swept in front of his eyes and he brushed it absently away. There were no footsteps out there now, but he dared not assume he was in the clear. Not yet. Not when the soldiers had been there hours earlier.

  His stomach grumbled and not just from hunger. He frowned, knowing that his choice of meal was limited. Scrounging around, Urrith upended a small rock, then another, until he found a few worms, which his picked up, brushed off, and then consumed. They were barely keeping him fed, but it was all he had until he could effect a proper escape. Not that he knew where he should go next.

  Rocks clattered outside the entrance and the blood drained from his face. Urrith glanced around and squinted against the light that barely drifted inside. The shadows cast over various rock formations had daunted him ever since he had come inside here, but he needed to ensure they weren’t actually moving. He crouched low, keeping his eyes ahead toward the opening, then he stepped to the nearest bit of stone, keeping his hand on his scabbard so it wouldn’t hit anything.

  Footsteps sounded at the entrance and Urrith froze. He couldn’t make out the muttered words, yet the message was clear. They were about to enter the eerie cave and pursue him. He had hoped that after two days with no sign of him that he would have been left alone. But apparently Ordren had made it clear that he was not to be left alive. After all, the commander had made a point of slaying the others when they had been caught.

  Urrith’s deep-set eyes trained on the entrance of the cave, and with every passing second he hoped the newcomers would turn and walk away. He knew he was being a foolish boy wishing for such a ridiculous thing, but it didn’t stop him from thinking it. Today, it seemed, his luck would run out.

  Two soldiers unsheathed their swords and lit a torch as they pressed into the cavern. The flickering light cast even spookier shadows on all the walls, and Urrith shivered despite himself. He could just make out their faces, and they were indeed Ordren’s men. Two of them. Just two.

  He could fend off two men. He had held his own against Gabrion at the outpost and that had been a challenge against a powerful and greatly skilled opponent. Gabrion had then folded him under his wing and entrusted him with so much… And he had failed in the one task that had mattered most, but Urrith tried to shrug that off.

  His mind was wandering too much, he knew. But he couldn’t focus. He was too frightened and he hated admitting that to himself. Urrith’s options were few and fear prevented him from considering them fully.

  He crouched lower still; hopefully they wouldn’t see him and they’d leave. Their footsteps moved closer and they spoke to each other in low tones he couldn’t hear. Moments ticked by like hours, and Urrith’s trepidation only grew. His palms were sweaty and he doubted he could even lift his sword, never mind defend himself with it.

  He scolded himself for his terror, taking a silent, deep breath, and pulling his sword ever so slowly out of its sheath. Turning it over in his hand, it caught a glimmer of torchlight and cast a reflection upon the ceiling overhead, giving away his position.

  The two soldiers rushed in and brought their swords to bear. One soldier swept the torch at Urrith’s face to blind him as the other, taller man leaped in with his sword. Urrith shrieked, falling back and kicking his foot up, catching the torchbearer in the groin. The youth then twisted to the side and reached out with his short sword, deflecting a blow in a shower of sparks. He pounced to his feet before the man could strike again.

  The torch lay on the ground, deserted, as the other soldier rose up, brandishing his weapon fully now, his face an angry snarl. Urrith jabbed left, causing the tall man to pounce back, then he swept right and nicked the arm of the other assailant. The tall soldier reacted quickly, cutting downward as he stepped in with a lunge, striking Urrith in the shoulder.

  Urrith took the hit and allowed his body to drop to the ground to try to minimize the damage of the actual strike. Sparks of searing pain erupted in his body but he knew it would only get worse if he didn’t do something about it. He could barely see through his tears but he was used to fighting with his vision impaired. He had adapted to having his hair long sweeping in front of his face because he thought it made him look more interesting and older. Now it allowed him to focus through his blurry sight and still judge the actions of his enemies.

  Unfortunately, the sounds of the fighting rang through the cavern like a summons and the other soldiers milling about outside heard the noise and made their way within. He risked a quick glance to the distance and saw the misshapen blobs of three other men approaching, and he doubted they would be the last. Ordren had left eight men behind to search for him.

  With a screech, Urrith leaped up and turned away, wiping his eyes quickly and then sprinting to the back of the cave. He hadn’t been able to explore it properly without a light and he didn’t have a chance to swipe the fallen torch. Instead, he ran blindly into the unexplored section of the cave, keeping his sword out ahead of him, scraping it along the wall to make a running trail of sparks to guide him.

  He was in a panic, with no hope of escaping this nightmare. Not only would his mission be a failure, he would die at it. It certainly wasn’t how he thought his life would end. As a young child, his father had told him that dying in battle was a great honor if it was in defense of the kingdom, while dying any other way was a pointless waste of his training. And here, Urrith was running away from his destiny because he had no idea how to defeat eight foes at once—even if his shoulder wasn’t badly wounded.

  Urrith ran and ran, and he realized he was actually whimpering aloud in fear, like a scared little baby, he chided, but he couldn’t stop; his life was about to end terribly. If only he could have died at Gabrion’s side, t
hen it might seem worthwhile, for Urrith believed in Gabrion’s vision of the future. He agreed that the wars needed to end, even despite his lifelong training and love of swordplay. There would always be beasts to fight, and so even if peace came to their lands, his skills would still be useful. Yet, not if he died here.

  He stopped himself from his panicked sprint and turned around in the darkness to catch his breath. Footsteps echoed down the corridor and soon torchlight flickered once again. Urrith reached around to get a sense of how large this pathway was and there was little room to maneuver. He felt the walls closing in on him, pressing against him until it was too hard to breathe. He hated himself for the terror that gripped him. Why couldn’t he be braver and stronger, like Gabrion?

  The walls continued to close in around him and even the light approaching from afar seemed to lessen, as if it were being pinched out of sight. He blinked his eyes in the utter darkness and realized that something was happening.

  It wasn’t as if the soldiers were moving away. No, they were just… He wasn’t sure what. He reached out to the wall to steady himself, but the rock seemed pliant somehow. It was slightly springy to the touch, then damp, and the next thing he knew, it was a wall of dirt, somehow suspended vertically. Before he could stop himself, he fell through and crashed to the rocky floor.

  He heard a guttural voice sputter unknown words and he had the sense that the dirt wall behind him had become solid rock once again. The voice cautioned him to remain silent for a few moments and Urrith didn’t argue, willingly lying there trying to make sense of what was happening.

  A distant echo sounded on the other side of the restored wall and Urrith realized that the soldiers had run past his location. He looked up to see his benefactor, but it was too dark. A gnarled hand reached down and took Urrith’s uninjured arm, guiding him to his feet and then tugging for him to follow. He was so relieved not to be dead, he openly obeyed.

  He couldn’t see anything, yet his guide apparently could. There were no obstacles but they made several sharp turns this way and that until eventually a dim glow shone in the distance. Urrith slowed down nervously and his guide had to stop and tug on his arm again to get him to proceed. They pressed on until they broke into the evening twilight.