by F M Andrews
Turrin and Surrin began to stumble backwards facing the oncoming threat, not really knowing what to do. Turrin’s heart sank, not only had he failed to save the guardian but he had also given the troll a chance to escape and, worst of all, he was going to get this brave girl killed.
Chapter Five
It would be no contest. They were unarmed and Surrin was badly injured.
It all seemed so unfair, so unbelievable that the victory, so assured a moment ago, could turn to disaster in a split second. Turrin could feel the rage at the injustice of the situation rising within him. Here, racing towards him, was the cause of all the sadness in his life, the cause of his nightmares and the endless aching loss of his parents. He was damned if he was going to let them win. Manoeuvring Surrin behind him he drew himself up to his full height and gave vent to all the pent up anger he had ever felt towards these ugly brutes, anger that had been bubbling just below the surface for as long as he could remember.
“You want a piece of this, do you?” he yelled, slapping his chest and taking a step forward. “Come on, then, you ugly mother fucker. Come and get it.”
It was a new obscenity he had heard Hexrick use but it seemed to feel right. “You big fat mother fucker. I bet you still suck your thumb.”
He had not expected this outburst to do more than make him feel better but the troll stopped, with what almost passed for a look of fear in his face, and even started to take a step backward. Turrin could not believe it, who knew trolls were afraid of insults. “Yes, that’s right, you arsehole, you better run back to mummy cause I’m not afraid of you!” The troll continued to back away, but now Turrin noticed that it was not looking at him at all, instead it was looking past him to something behind.
Turrin turned and his jaw dropped, because there, walking calmly towards him and the troll, was Errin holding her bow with an arrow pointing directly at the monster’s eye. However this was probably not the cause of the terrified look of fear on the troll's face. It was much more likely to be the fact that Errin’s entire body was surrounded in a halo of fire. The flames were not touching her; instead they were igniting the grass all around her and a haze, caused by the heat, rose high above her head. Turrin could feel the heat from where he was standing. He had never seen her do anything remotely like this before and once again he was beginning to wonder if he really knew her at all.
It was all the distraction the knights needed, and before the troll had time to take action they had raced up, surrounded it, brought it to its knees and bound it hand and foot.
It took them the rest of the day to treat the wounded, bury the dead and burn the trolls. By evening everyone was exhausted. They had made a bonfire of what was left of the wreckage and were sitting around it now sharing stories and cider from what was left of the liquor store that the trolls had not finished. Jevrrin had quickly ‘mind talked’ with the nearby village to ask them to send help to rebuild and restock the outpost.
It had been an exhausting two days and Turrin was finding it very hard to keep his eyes open. He was leaning into Errin, enclosed in the warmth of her protective arms. He felt very young, tired and vulnerable. The fire was bright, and the surrounding night velvety black. There was a definite autumn chill in the air and the men sat huddled in their saddle blankets or cloaks. Stories of valour during the day were recounted and kind words shared about those who had died. It was a new experience to be one with a group of people who had just claimed victory over an impossible foe together. Fenrick had composed and sung a song about the battle earlier on in the evening and Turrin had been mortified when the bard had included a verse about his “stout stand, and accomplished swearing, that had caused the beast to shake with fear.” But everyone had laughed and raised their cups to him in salute. It did feel good to belong.
There was another verse dedicated to Errin and her “blaze of glory” which raised a muted cheer from the audience. Turrin wondered if they were as much in awe of her as he was. He had always known that she could achieve things others could not: her healing was miraculous, her mead legendary, but he had never known her to burst into flames before. If they were living in the time before the wild magic he would have thought she was a mage. He had asked her how she had done it and the only answer she had given was that it was a form of mind speak, that she had made everyone believe that she had been on fire. There were so many questions he still wanted to ask but he just could not keep his eyes open any longer.
#
Turrin spent the next few days helping Errin with the wounded. His time occupied with cleaning wounds, changing dressings, making poultices and encouraging those who were giving in to their wounds to fight. Many of these wounds made his stomach turn and if it had been anyone but Errin treating them, many would not have survived. Rarrin has sustained a badly broken leg and although he was being stoic about it, the fact that he would not be riding for a few moons was making him seethe with frustration. He did not do sitting still well.
Surrin was a miracle herself. She quickly recovered and, with her arm strapped to her body, insisted on helping Turrin as much as she possibly could. He felt a certain bond with her as both of them shared the experience of facing the trolls alone and surviving. She was like the big sister he never had. She had told him about Reina and he had awkwardly patted her shoulder as she cried. Being able to talk to someone about her beloved dog had seemed to help her, and he noticed that she was smiling more. He even heard her laugh at something Dissan had said this morning. She still could only mind talk for short distances and duration but at least it appeared as if this, too, would recover.
The villagers had arrived early on the second day and in no time the outpost was a hive of activity. All wanted to gawp at the captive troll and many shuddered, unable to believe that the knights had fought and killed such ferocious beasts.
At the end of the third day, as they waited for the deer to finish roasting on the spit over the fire, Dassin banged his cup and called for attention.
“The time has come for us to ride.” He announced. “Those of us that still cannot sit a horse will ride in the wagon the villagers have lent us. We move out on the morrow for the palace.” This was news that had been expected and it was accepted calmly, many nodding in agreement. It was time.
“Already word of the trolls has spread through the guardians’ ‘mind speak’ and now each outpost will be guarded by a troop of knights. We don’t know where these trolls come from, how they survive the wild magic or how they can pass the boundary, but now we have a prisoner and maybe we can start to get answers. My brother has studied history, languages and science and he may be able to help. We need to get our prisoner to him as quickly as possible. This is a matter for the council, and my father needs to have as many facts as he can before he leads them to a decision.[CL4]
“Surrin, Errin and Fenrick,” he paused, turning to each as he said their name, “I would ask you if you could come with us, as your insight and advice would be very welcome in this.”
Errin reached for Turrins hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Of course I will need my trusted healer at my side” She whispered, smiling down at him.
Turrin blinked. Hardly daring to believe his own ears. He was going to the palace. Not in his wildest dreams had he ever thought he would ever get to see Hope, the most exciting city in the world, let alone go to the palace itself. What an adventure, Werrin will be so envious. Turrin could not wait to see his face when they rode through Upper Hull on their way to the palace.
That night Turrin found it impossible to sleep. He was so excited, his feet would not stay still and his mind kept racing, thinking of all the wonders he was going to see. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the night sky. The full moon hung above him like a huge gleaming silver ball suspended impossibly in space. They had been so lucky with the weather but tonight a few wispy clouds scudded across the face of the moon, borne on fast winds, high overhead. No wind had yet reached the ground, maybe tomorrow. He sighed and roll
ed over again. It was no use: the more he tried to sleep the more awake he felt. At last he could stand it no longer, and with the pretence of going to relieve himself he climbed out of his bedroll and stumbled towards the latrine.
The moon was so bright that it created black shadows cast in a liquid silver light, making it easy to see where he was going. Because he had not really needed to go to the toilet, he took the long way round past the food wagon and the makeshift shelter that housed the last of the wounded, his bare feet silent in dewy grass.
A lamp still burned in the shelter, and as Turrin passed near to the entrance he heard voices. He expected to hear Errin but he was surprised that the answering voice was Fenrick’s and judging by the tone, they were discussing something really interesting, something adult. He couldn’t help himself, he just had to stop and listen. If they caught him, he could always tell the truth that he was on the way to the toilet.
“It was a risky stunt you pulled the other day, with the aurora of fire, so close to the boundary. If your projection had passed through it, he would be sure to recognise your signature.” Fenrick’s voice sounded concerned.
“I didn’t really have a choice,” Errin replied. “I had to save the girl. I am still positive that he cannot see into Feld.” Turrin heard the utter weariness in her voice “I am also certain that he knows I am here,” she added, sounding utterly defeated. “Why else would he send the trolls? I was hoping to have more time, at least two more turns. I’m just not ready yet! My seekers are not ready yet!” She paused before asking, in a bewildered whisper, “How did he find me?”
Turrin could hear Fenrick pacing as he always did when he was thinking.
“You know, he may not have found you yet. He may just be getting so strong that his influence is felt everywhere, even here. He will be so incensed that he cannot see past the boundary that he will be throwing everything he can at it to break it down and get a good look inside. He may still only be eliminating places you might be, one by one, and he might not know, for certain, that you are here.”
“You're such a kind man, Fenrick,” she said with a sad smile in her voice, “but this attack has made it obvious to me that I cannot wait any longer. I will speak to Salassan about gathering the seekers as soon as we reach Hope. Winter is not a good time for travel, yet we have no choice. With luck, we could be ready to begin sending the seekers before spring.” There was a heavy, heartfelt sigh before she continued. “I am tired, old man.” Errin sounded exhausted. “I was really enjoying this break, but it looks as if it has come to an end and the battle must commence once more.” There was a rustle of clothing, possibly Errin standing, before she murmured quietly, “Go on, go and get some sleep and I will see you in the morn.”
Turrin crept backwards to make sure he was safely out of sight and watched Fenrick stride off towards the fire. Replaying the whole confusing conversation in his head, but unable to make any sense of it, Turrin found the latrine pit, relieved himself and trotted back to his bed roll.
This time of year the temperature dropped dramatically once the sun went down and Turrin snuggled right down into his blanket, very grateful for the fire. As he began to warm up once more, he re-examined Errin and Fenrick’s conversation. It was all a bit strange really. What were the seekers and who was hunting Errin? It sounded like someone outside the barrier, but how was this possible? The other thing that confused Turrin was that Errin talked about the king, Salassan, as if she knew him well. In all the years he had lived with her she had never even mentioned him. If she was on friendly terms with him, maybe she would take Turrin along to meet him one day[CL5]. He could see it now, his imagination beginning to weave many different scenarios all involving himself doing something very heroic that resulted in himself being knighted by the king, whilst Errin proudly looked on. He fell asleep and continued to dream.
The next morning dawned grey and misty. Everything was covered with a thick dew, the trees dripped sullenly onto the damp ground and the sounds the knights were making breaking camp were muted. Turrin was glad to be moving, at least it kept you warm. It did not take long to make the horses ready to ride. The wagon was packed with bedding, extra saddles and gear from the fallen knights, and the wounded had been carefully positioned amongst this. The troll was tied to a stretcher on runners that was to be pulled behind three horses. The new guardian, who had arrived to take over from Jevrrin, his family and the troops sent to guard them, all came to say farewell. Rude comments were swapped and laughter shared and there was almost a festive air about it all as they rode out to begin the long journey to Hope.
Because they were now pulling a wagon and the troll’s stretcher they had to use the common road instead of cutting through the forest. The weather finally packed it in and rain squalls lashed the troop, causing everyone to hunker down into their rain soaked cloaks, hoods up and shoulders hunched. Horses’ tails flew like ragged flags and mud covered everything. Turrin had seen Errin talking to The Prince just before they had set out and he wondered if she had impressed on him the need to reach Hope as quickly as possible because, although the pace was nothing like the crazy ride to the boundary it certainly was not leisurely either.
Even so, it still took them a full two days to reach the first village, Surrin’s village, where they were welcomed with open arms. Surrin was hailed as the saviour of the day and many came up to her to quietly say a few words of praise and comfort her for her loss. Reina was loved by many. News of their daring rescue had preceded them via guardian ‘mind speak’ and everyone was anxious to hear the full story. When it was discovered that Fenrick was with them their delight knew no bounds.
It was good to be dry, warm, with a full stomach and in the company of everyday folk again. Turrin basked in the glory and enjoyed every moment until he finally fell asleep curled up with the dogs near the fire. The next morning the whole village turned out to say farewell. Surrin’s family had surrounded her, each taking a turn to hug her goodbye and it was clear that only a command from Prince Dissan would rescue her. All the wagons were loaded once again. The wounded had been left behind in the capable hands of the village healer. Errin had left him with a huge list of instructions as to how to best proceed with each of the men. The troll was now confined in a wagon with an iron cage that was previously used to cart pigs, and the wagon that had held the injured was now full to bursting with provisions.
It took two more days to reach Upper Hull. The closer they came the more excited Turrin got. He could not wait to tell Werrin all about his adventure and, more importantly, to see his face when he did so. It was evening when they finally reached the last rise before the village and looked down onto the houses nestled along the river. The first lamps had been lit, their warm glow inviting to the weary travellers. Turrin was home and it had never looked so good.
To begin with, the welcome they received was all Turrin dreamed it would be, everyone crowding round wanting to hear the tale, wanting to catch a glimpse of the troll or the prince or both. There was lots of backslapping and in Errin’s case, hugging, and Turrin found that his every wish was anticipated and fulfilled. He only had to think that he was getting peckish and a pie would appear in his hand.
Werrin had been one of the first to race up to him and, in typical Werrin style, he had tackled Turrin to the ground and sat on him, threatening not to let him up until he told him everything. Turrin, who had soon started to turn a very interesting shade of red and was finding it hard to talk at all whilst having his chest crushed, was rescued by Hexrick who was passing. Hexrick did not even break his stride as he gently picked Werrin up by the scruff of the neck and then not so gently deposited him on the ground a few paces on and then just kept on walking, not even saying a single word.[CL6]
Werrin was delighted, and began firing a barrage of questions so fast that Turrin did not have a hope of squeezing in an answer in between. “Who was that? He looks mean. Is he mean? How do you know him? Did he fight the trolls? Did you see a troll, I mean a fighting tro
ll, not the one in the cage? Did you see the fighting or were you too far away?”
“I am sure Fenrick will tell you all about it tonight.” Turrin grinned, knowing full well that his part in the story always made people gasp. “What’s been happening here?”
The boys had then gone off to see the knight’s camp, now lit by a ring of wavering torches and everything seemed to be back to normal except that wherever they went people would always be looking at Turrin. He was now someone of interest. It felt strange. This was his village, and his people, and they were not behaving towards him as they usually did.
Things had changed, or had he changed. The more he talked with Werrin the more he found that it was impossible to explain to someone else what had happened to him. He almost felt like an outsider now, someone only those who had been through what he had been through could understand. It was a weird feeling of both sadness that he could never go back to being who he was before the trip, and excitement that he had seen and experienced an adventure the rest of the village had not.