Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias
Even as dawn approached, the inside of the mill
remained a dark and shadowed place. The
surrounding countryside brightened slowly with
each passing second, revealing the thousands of
needles fixed to the pines and scattered across
the ground the subtle line of pitch fixing the
beams of wood together in the Fjellvidden homes
that were visible, as well as a variety of other
signs and portents of coming day.
Jarl sat in the shadowed darkness near the
waterwheel, gazing out through the slats in the
walls at that scene. Guard duty was not his usual
avocation and it certainly wasn't his primary
role in the Resistance. How well he, Jarl
Thoronson, could remember in the days of his
childhood his father Thoron Angulfson preparing
him for the duties and responsibilities of his
caste. How well he had been taught the land about
Fjellvidden that was their guard their land to protect and lead.
For generations Arabarb had been a patchwork
quilt of ancient guards that splintered with
inheritance, until they were too small to
maintain against the forces of an aggressive
neighbor. All of that changed a century past when
the Ecclesia had come and found willing adherents
amongst the people. Not that peace had come
immediately, nor that rivalries had not
continued, but they were no longer so frequent or bloody.
The coastal guards of Arabarb had always been
wealthy from trade and from raiding in older
days but so too had the principle city on the
mighty Arabas, the river whose arms touched all
the disparate corners of their wild land.
Fjellvidden was the shining star of the north,
the fortress whose sinews held fast the country,
and to whom the country had always turned.
And when Nasoj's forces under Baron Calephas's
command, with its host of wizards, Lutins,
giants, and other monstrosities seized the castle
in addition to the forts in the mountain pass, it
was almost an afterthought for them to pacify the rest of the country.
Thane Angulf, his grandfather, had been killed
and his head decorated a spike. Jarl was grateful
that he had never seen it, as his father spirited
him and his mother out of the city in advance of
the coming army. Into exile and hiding he had
been raised, knowing that he had once been
destined to rule the most important city in
Arabarb, but now without any way of telling
anyone who he was. If anyone knew, his life would
be forfeit. Especially now with Gmork's spies
able to pretend to be allies in convincing ways
that none of Calephas's agents had ever been able to muster.
Jarl ground his teeth as he pondered those
injustices. His father died leading a flanking
force that was crushed by the giants. His mother
died a few years later from a winter flu. He was
left in the hands of fishermen along the southern
coast who had no idea who he was, only that he
was an orphan in a country filled with them. He'd
learned their trade from necessity, nursing every
one of his wounds with each fish he scaled and
gutted. The knives became his friend and he
practiced with them every day, for he would never be allowed a sword or spear.
And then, two years ago, he learned of the
Resistance through his adopted parent's older
son, and he had been an eager recruit. But to his
chagrin, to his eternal chagrin, no matter how
much he tried to assert the authority he should
have, he had only ever been just one more body,
one more contact to perform tasks ordered by
another. He'd hoped that it might be one of his
relatives that had miraculously survived the
slaughter Calephas and Nasoj wrought. He had
hoped that it would be somebody of his own station.
Rather, more often than not it had been orders
from the beastly Metamorians who sought to
coordinate the Resistance for their own ends.
He'd secretly rejoiced with Gmork's arrival
almost a year ago and the subsequent complete
eradication of Metamor's presence from Arabarb.
But then, on that day when he'd finally set foot
in the city of his childhood, not only did he
discover that they were here at the behest of
more Metamorians, but also, that the Resistance
as a whole looked up to a man who was father to
one of them, a man who had never been more than a
trapper in the southern forests, he knew that he
would never be Thane of Fjellvidden.
And so, rather than be in the same room with one
of those infernal Keepers, and rather than having
to take orders from that woman, he had chosen to
stand watch over the mill where he could be alone
with his thoughts and his anger. Jarl Thoronson
stared past the line of trees at the city that
should be his and hated it. He could see the
castle in the distance as the brightening sky
illumined the cold gray stone of its walls. The
torches flickered ever so faintly in the
distance, and its pinions hung limply green from their stanchions.
Once the castle would have been his by right of
family. But now that family was gone ten years.
Even were they to win and he revealed his
birthright it would not be honored. Jarl seethed
knowing it, and knowing that he could never
enforce it and that, with his family's defeat, he
had no right to. They had lost in battle and so had lost any claim to rule.
His one hope was to win it back for himself by
victory in battle. It had to be his knives that
killed Calephas. It had to be his knives that killed Gmork.
He just couldn't understand why they honored
Alfwig and never his family's memory. Alfwig had
been taken prisoner and was most likely dead! And
what had Elizabaeg ever done anyway? He ground
his teeth and balled his hands into fists until his knuckles turned white.
As the vista brightened with approaching dawn, he
kept a careful watch for any movement in the
woods and in the city. Tree branches swayed with
each breeze but otherwise he saw the same nothing
he'd seen for the last few hours. No people, no
animals, nothing. Neither in the woods nor in the city.
He didn't truly expect to see anything in the
woods, but with dawn coming, it did surprise him
that he saw nothing in the city either. He'd been
here two days now. There had been plenty of
people about this early yesterday tending to
their various duties, especially the soldiers who
patrolled the city and its boundaries. So why not
this morning? Surely they weren't all within the inner districts of the city?
A sudden fear gripped Jarl and he took a long
moment to study the woods nearby, carefully
noting everything he saw. The nearest copse of
trees was perhaps thirty paces away, covered in
pine needles and moss. Little flowering buds grew
out of the moss, though there were a few small
patches where all the flowers were crushed. Jarl
sucked in his breath as his eyes fixed on those
places. After an interminable number of seconds
had slipped away, one of the slender stalks bent
down by itself to lay flat against the forest floor.
His hands went for his knives as he slowly backed
away from the wall and made his way to the
waterwheel. He gently rapped against the hidden
door as he kept to the shadows, hoping that none
could see him there. It took far longer than it
should have for somebody to come up the hidden
stairs and open the secret door. Jarl pushed
inside as soon as it was open a crack and pulled
it shut behind him. Brigsne the black-bearded
innkeeper from Vaar sucked in his breath and glowered at him.
Before he could offer some sharp rebuke, Jarl
shook his head and whispered, I think the pups are here.
Brigsne expression turned from anger to deeper anger. Are you certain?
One thing he definitely did not like was being
questioned. Of course I am! He pushed past the
man and took the stairs two at a time and as
lightly as he could. Brigsne followed after securing the latch.
Some of the men were taking their rest when he
came back down, while the other half kept their
weapons ready and their eyes alert. Elizabaeg was
one of those awake and she turned to Jarl her
face weary with exhaustion. Had she tried to get
any sleep at all? Even Ture was laying down to
rest and his apprentices were almost certainly in Calephas's hands by now.
He stood a little taller and kept his hands on
his knives. This was an opportunity to take the
lead for his people. Gmork's pups have found the
mill. They're outside even now. We have to gather
our supplies and escape down the tunnel. We can't
afford to wait for the tundra men and the bird. We have to go now.
Her eyes, bloodshot and at first a little vacant,
came into clear focus as her strength returned to her. Did you see them?
Jarl bristled but kept his face steady. I saw magic. Who else could it be?
Eli protect us! She ran one hand through her
hair and then turned to the other men. Wake
everyone up. We have to leave now.
Jarl looked over his shoulder at the innkeeper
and said, Brigsne, bar the secret door and give us more time.
The innkeeper didn't move until Elizabaeg turned
back and said, Aye, do that, Brigsne. Jarl,
gather your things too. Ture, take Jarl and two
others and go for the boat. Ride down the river
and lead the pups away. The rest of us will go
into the forest and make our way to the eastern gate. Hurry!
Jarl spun on the woman and drew one knife,
pointing it at the tunnel door which Luvig was
already opening. I should be going into the
castle. I'm a close-quarters fighter. You need me there.
She frowned and nodded. But I need smaller
people on the boat. We have no time to argue.
Here, she handed him two of the little jars that
Luvig had spent so much time preparing. Now hurry.
Ture already had his gear on, and with him were
two other men both thin and younger like Jarl.
They slung short bows with a fresh quiver of
arrows over their shoulders. The tanner caught
Elizabaeg's eyes as he put one massive hand on Jarl's shoulder. Why me?
She smiled faintly as she took a bow for herself,
Because they're after you. Shout when you hit the water.
Ture grunted and then pushed Jarl along and into
the dark tunnel. The young man, the hidden heir
to the thane of Fjellvidden swore under his
breath as he rushed headlong down that narrow
track of rock, wood and dirt light only by the lantern Ture carried.
So much for his chance to be a leader.
----------
Gmork's eldest could feel the many hours of
wakefulness beginning to wear on him. He could
see it in his younger brother as well. They
crouched on the moss beneath the last line of
trees watching the mill and waiting for their
other brothers to arrive, each of them trying to
stay alert. The soft loam and the aromatic trees,
as well as the cool air brushing through the furs
they wore and the fur they bore lulled their
already taxed bodies and seduced them with slumber.
But still they kept themselves awake. Father
would be most displeased with them if they were
to let weariness overcome them. They were Gmork's
sons and there was a certain pride to be had in
that. He would not allow himself to give into
exhaustion, and he kept a close eye on his
younger brother to make sure he would not do the same.
Still, he shifted positions on that bed of moss
to keep himself from growing too comfortable,
secure in knowing that his spells would prevent
anyone in the mill from actually seeing anyone
outside of it. He could have gotten up and
stretched, yawning long jaws framed in the
morning twilight and they would never have known.
It was a rather appealing idea, and he was about
to stand and do just that when his younger
brother whispered in a short, quick bark, Did you see that?
He blinked, all thoughts of his weariness passed
and he focused keen blue eyes on the mill. The
building remained as empty as it had been before,
its only sign of life the creaking of the
waterwheel as the river rushed by. What was it?
A flash of light, his brother replied. He rose
to all fours, long-fingered hands not even
disturbing the tangled weave of moss as his claws
pressed into the loam. I saw it just now. Something in the back of the mill.
The tanner?
Or the others. Is it safe to approach? Will they see me?
He shook his head and wagged his naked tail. Go.
His youngest brother loped forward silently, head
turning from side to side every few paces,
listening to the air, and then lowered to sniff
at the ground. He did this three times before he
reached the mill and began to pace around to the
right-side, listening and sniffing, and then back
to the left doing the same thing.
Gmork's eldest heard something behind him and he
spun swiftly, but his heart beat with a growing
exhilaration and hunger when he saw his other two
brothers come bounding from the outskirts of the
city toward them. At last! Now the hunt could
begin. Soon they would taste man-flesh again.
The three of them moved into the clearing before
the mill, while their younger brother moved south
from the mill with his head close to the ground
and his tail lifting up attentively. They paused
and watched him for a moment before he turned
back and growled, They have a tunnel and their fleeing through it!
A tunnel? the eldest asked, running to his
brother's side. He listened at the ground but
could hear nothing. Where does it lead?
South, the youngest said, golden eyes
narrowing, body tense with unwavering focus.
He turned to their brothers waiting behind them.
Find the entrance in the mill. We'll follow the
tunnel and trap them between us!
Their jaws slavered as his brothers jumped
backward, rose to two legs, and burst in through
the mill door. The eldest and youngest loped
southward on all fours, their heavy paws rending
the soil in long sodden gouges.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
!DSPAM:4dc689fe26671804284693!
_______________________________________________
MKGuild mailing list
[email protected]
http://lists.integral.org/listinfo/mkguild
