OUTLANDER
It was dank and deeply gray in this thick stone dungeon chamber with no windows to the outside or in the heavy oaken door laden with steel plates. The only sound had been that of rats scurrying about in the dark searching everywhere for sustenance and the slow constant drip of water at one of the solid stone walls. But now there was the plodding of heavy footfalls from someone in the corridor outside the door and the slight glimmer of light from a torch being carried in the corridor outside it. Then there is the slow metallic grinding of a key in the doors lock.
Following the creaking of the great door being slowly swung open and the amber vibrating glow of light intruding on the interior of the chamber a hulking man dressed in the homespun of a jailer can be seen holding the torch and peering into the room before entering it. Then the deafening silence is broken by the rasp of his low voice.
“Are you still alive in here Outlander?” the jailer demands.
There is no sound at first in answer, only an unbroken silence from within. Peering closer now that his eyes have become more accustom to the heavy dimness he sees the form sitting with his back braced against the opposite wall. It is too dark to see much more than his form, although the Jailer knows he has short dark hair and a beard, now shaggy from not being clipped or groomed.
“Ah, I see your eyes are open and yet you do not answer me Outlander. Would you prefer that I come over and kick you with my boots or poke your face with this torch I hold?” He warns.
“Do as you wish oaf, I am here and in no need for your unintelligible palaver. My companions, the rats, make better conversation.” the man in the dark replies finally.
“Humph, well stand on your feet or be dragged to them then. The Keeper of the Gates has questions for you.” the Jailer says in a flat demanding tone full of threat.
Much to the apparent dismay of the Jailer the Outlander rises rather effortlessly and takes two steps toward him. The man’s wrists are bound in iron cuffs and chains, yet hang at his sides after rising from the floor and coming nearer his Jailer in slow deliberate manacled steps.
“Walk in front of me, make one wrong move or turn and I will split your skull with this iron torch.” the Jailer warns him as they start walking down the dark stone corridor, except for where the glow of the torch reaches. Other oaken doors are passed as they walk forward with not a single sound coming from any one of them. Then they reach a long stone stairway ascending into the still dark surroundings.
The dim light of evening eventually penetrates the dark as they near the top of the stairs where two soldiers in cloaks and helmeted armor with broad swords await the approaching men from below.
“Come with us, dog.” the soldier on the right says. As they begin to walk across the courtyard, one on either side of him. After walking under an archway and making several turns between buildings to both the right and left they finally enter another larger oak door with more elaborate metal decorations on it. Once inside they stand in a large ante room until another soldier this one without a helmet walks up to them.
“You two stay here and you Outlander come with me. Be very careful or you will not make it to the Keeper of the Gates chamber in one piece.” the soldier says before turning to direct him forward.
As they stop at a set of large double doors the soldier quite loudly requests entrance and a deep voice from within tells him to enter.
“Lieutenant, you can leave him and stand guard outside. I will call you when I need you.” the man at the large table said. He is a man of some stature and girth in the clothes of a nobleman. Then the soldier turns on his heel and goes back out the double doors with but a bow in answer. ”I am surprised to see you outlander. According to my jailer, he has not brought you food or water in all the time you have been under his care. Since you have been there for more than the turning of the moon, I had expected you to be dead. How is it you can last longer than any other man without food or water? You do not appear to be drawn or gaunt from our hospitality at all.”
“I have known those who could teach you much about being a Jailer.” He answered.
“Sir, Outlander. You forgot the Sir!” The Keeper of the Gate said, his voice elevated and menacing in tone. “You are my prisoner dog. Do not forget it or I will have you taught your place.”
“My place, Sir? Your men took me for no reason, you have imprisoned me without charge or trial and you expected me to just sit in your dungeon and die. I think not Sir.” the Outlander said in return.
“You were found to the northwest of Throgmarden camped in the Thanes forest eating one of his boars without his leave. Poaching is an offence punishable by death and you killed three of his soldiers while resisting them, doing their duty. I have every right to do with you as I deem fit.” The Keeper of the Gate yelled in answer. Now standing behind his table and beating his fists on it for punctuation.
“I did not know I was in anyone’s forest or that the boar was anything more than a wild animal. I was hungry and it presented an acceptable meal nothing more.” the Outlander answered in a tone just short of contempt.
“I doubt, my Thane will see it your way regardless of your apparent ignorance.” He answered.
“Then your Thane is nothing more than a gnat buzzing at the Great Gods arse.” the Outlander retorted.
“Silence you traitorous dog, silence!” the Keeper yelled. “Lieutenant, get in here.”
The door immediately opened and the soldier burst in with his sword drawn at the ready. “Yes my Lord, what will you have of me.”
“Take this outlander dog back to his Cell. You and that ineffectual jailer find out how he can still be alive and report back to me or maybe the two of you can share a cell next to him!” The Keeper threatened.
“Yes my Lord.” the soldier said quickly, then turned to the outlander and continued. “Let’s go dog, now.”
After being prodded back to his cell and thrown against the wall, four of them peered into every nook and crevice finding nothing. Then they all left, the jailer turned the key in the oaken door and the light disappeared down the corridor once again. As they plod almost out of earshot only one word did the jailer faintly hear. “Fools.”
Time passed slowly in his darkened grey cell, days almost indistinguishable from one another. Only the faint grey of light that permeated through the slight crack in the outer wall at midday, which one would only know of if they were in the cell at just the right time, gave him awareness to the difference between day and night in the outside world. The Outlander ate when he needed nourishment from his cells only companions and acquired water through the same crack from dew and rain seeping in slowly but fairly constantly. He passed much of his time in exercising rigorously and practicing his skills with imaginary weapons. But mostly he sat in contemplation keeping himself as calm as possible. To accomplish this he forced his mind’s eye to see the gently rolling plains of Lagdia with its gentle long haired giants that have the massive tusks grazing on long stemmed grasses, or the endless sands of the waste running from the Windless Sea to the mountains where the sun rose and the proverb “walk only on the sand”. He slept when his body needed it, but only when the faint light was not there, attempting to maintain an orderly body clock of days passing slowly.
Many days had come and gone before he heard the sounds of footfalls in the corridor on the other side of the heavy oaken door again. More than one set again and none with the same shuffle as the jailer he remembered. Finally the metallic turning of a key in the lock and creaking of the door being pushed open. It was nighttime outside again and the flickering glow from the torch was the only light starting to penetrate the cell.
One man stood to the door’s side in the opening as another started to enter the room. This man was different, taller and more gaunt than the last, robed from head to foot and walking very slowly with purposeful steps. He used a long gnarled staff as he took each step.
“I see you are still with us, man of the outland, and aware of my presence here. I have heard of your disdain for conversation with the jailer, but tell you I am not one of them. I wish to talk with you a moment if you will agree and we can both ask questions if you wish. I will answer as much as you do in trade. Do you agree to this proposal?” the gaunt one asked.
“You are all jailers here as far as I am concerned. However I will talk with you under those conditions.” the Outlander answered.
“Good, I am called Ceric. I am the Mage here in Throgmarden and High Councilor to its Thane, Erik Throgmarden. What then, should I call you?” Ceric asked.
“Most here have called me Outlander, if not dog, I suppose you can do the same.” the Outlander retorted flatly.
“That would not be a fair trade of information by our agreement now would it.” Ceric stated.
“No, but you only wish to disseminate some added information by my giving you another one, such as where I am from, family or the like. However fair is just that, I am called Dax by those who have had reason to know me.” Dax answered without a hint at deception.
“Hmmm, I do not believe I know of this name in familiarity or from any annals of the ancients. But Dax it is, as you say. So Dax why did you come into Marden, before you were caught poaching the Thanes boar?” Ceric queried more.
“I knew not that I was poaching. I simply came down the Arn River and into the forest, saw a boar and made him into my meal as I was going to rest there for a time. There was nothing there to tell me that the forest was privately owned by anyone, much less your Thane. I was leagues from any town or city.” Dax could now see that this Ceric was not only gaunt but wore a long grey beard of many years. He also noted that the long gnarled staff had intricate carvings on it that he could not discern easily.
“Possibly, but all lands here in Marden are owned by the Thane, unless granted to another by decree. This, however, does not tell me of your business here. You say you came down the Arn, does that mean you were in Eigel before here? Your name is not a common one on the Eagles Plateau.” Ceric said and asked.
“Yes, I was in Eigel for a time and no, I am not originally from there. I am, in truth, only traveling through these lands or at least was, before being wrongfully taken and imprisoned here. What does my business matter to anyone, I am but a traveler and no threat to anyone here.” Dax replied.
”A traveler, you may be. But a man who knows how to not only live, but thrive in a dungeon cell without food or drink, I doubt you are not dangerous when your need arises. I can also see the strange tattoos I heard about, from those who have seen you, on both your shoulders.” Ceric says and continues. “It appears to me that you may have spent some time beyond The Waste, maybe even in Pelia itself.”
“Very perceptive of you, yes I had spent much time in Pelia, once a long time ago. Living and thriving in this place though is easier than my jailers think. Only those from here or somewhere like here would find it a place to die.” Dax recounted.
“Much time or may be even service, I think. I can also assume now that your food source comes from the rodents living here with you; however water is still a question. I heard you said our Thane is but a gnat on the great God’s arse. Which of the ancient gods do you think has a great arse for him to be buzzing?” Ceric asks.
“Many people have different gods, some ancient and some not. As well there are those with less or none at all. It was merely a statement of contempt for my situation, not a religious affirmation. The rats here are plentiful, as are other possible forms of nourishment. It could be more difficult to find a meal in The Waste or parts of The Fire Mountains.” Dax answers.
“Well for now I must be going, this guard owes me much but I will not be the cause of him needing to endure questions of my visit. A poacher you still are under our law, regardless of your ignorance of the law. If the occasion was to arise that I could get you an audience with our Thane, in which your case could be settled, would you take the chance on its final outcome?” Ceric asks of Dax pointedly.
“Of course I would, regardless of the outcome, any finality is better than the darkness of uncertainty.” Dax says with complete sincerity.
“Good, we may well talk again soon.” Ceric says just before turning and walking back out of the cell.
As the mage and guard leave the cell, its door is pulled creakingly closed. Then after the now familiar turning of the key in the lock, the dim light begins to fade from under the door as footfalls are retraced down the corridor outside.
A few days later Dax hears men coming once again in the corridor, this time during the light of day outside. When the door opens he recognizes the mage Ceric, who has four armored men with him.
“You have an appointment Dax of the outland, get on your feet and come with us. Mind yourself though; we are going to see my Thane, Erik Throgmarden.” Ceric says in a tone of command.
“To hear is to obey, at the present time, greybeard.” Dax replies as he rises to his feet and steps forward to follow the mage and high councilor of Throgmarden.
It is a long walk through of the maze of corridors outside his cell and finally into the light of day for the first time in the turning of two moons and more. His eyes adjust to this now harsh light just as they enter high and thick oak doors emblazoned with the crest of wild boar. The mage enters first, then two of the soldiers followed by Dax and the other two soldiers behind him. He hears the doors closed behind them as they walk onward through high ceilinged halls. At the halls’ end, two more doors are opened and all step into a large room where there sits several men behind a long thick wooden table. Seated at the center is a large man of middle years, who Dax assumes to be Thane Erik Throgmarden. To one side of him is seated The Keeper of the Gate, who Dax remembers from their last meeting.
As they near the table, Ceric stops, turns toward Dax and says. “Wait here, Outlander.” Then he steps forward and gives greetings to his Thane before joining him at the table to the other side of the Keeper of the Gate. At that time the four soldiers take a step behind Dax, yet flanking him on both sides. Two other men also sit at the table, neither of whom, Dax has seen before this minute.
“You seem to be of quite an interest to both my Mage and Keeper of the Gate, Outlander. The stories they tell me are both very different and yet compelling. I am Erik Throgmarden, twenty seven of my line have ruled here before me. You were caught eating one of my boar in my forest, you killed three of my men while being captured and yet the only weapon I am brought is this fine dirk.” The Thane says as he is holding and twirling the same dirk on the table he is sitting at. “Where is the weapon you killed the boar with, man of the outlands?”
“You have it in your hand there, Thane Erik. I carry no other weapon.” Dax replied flatly.
“You wish me to believe that you killed a wild, thick-skinned, dangerous boar with but this dagger. Then when caught killed three soldiers wielding swords before you were bested. I may be able to accept that you are quick and deadly enough to have killed the soldiers, I could have myself, but the boar I find incredible to believe. Even with this fine a dirk, that is hard to accept.” Thane Erik retorts. “Now you have survived for over two turnings of the moon in my dungeon without food or drink as well, or at least I am told you have not been given either and you look quite hale to me. Even though you do look and smell as if you have existed in my dungeon for at least that long.”
“As I have said Thane, the dirk is my only weapon. You were not lied to, none have brought me food or drink in my cell but that does not mean I have neither eaten or drank. I have known many who could have done the same in the cell I am in, in your dungeon.” Dax replies in a calm merely factual manner.
“Hmm, I think Mage Ceric is right, you may warrant more discussion about and possibly with Outlander.” Erik states then turns to the Keeper of the Gate. “I believe Lord Daka I will offer this Outlander a choice in deference to your actual wishes in this.”
“Sire that is yours and yours only to decide, I serve you in all things.” Lord Daka replies in sincerity.
“Outlander, here on the table are two decrees I had prepared prior to our meeting, I will let you decide which I sign and seal. This one to my left is a decree of your guilt on three counts all punishable by death; first the killing of my boar, second the killing of three of my soldiers and thirdly treason for some remarks you made about my person itself.” Erik pauses briefly to look at Dax’s eyes and let the severity of his words take hold. “This other one is a statement of reprieve stating; that I have belatedly given you permission to kill and eat the boar as you traveled through Marden, that you were only defending yourself from wrongful capture in that incident and that your statement about my being merely a gnat buzzing at the some Great Gods arse was but a small humor between myself and you. Which of these, do you believe is more advantageous?”
“The second one, of course, generous Thane is the more agreeable to me.” Dax answers quickly but with a sound of waiting.
“As would I Outlander, but it comes with a cost, also written into the decree. That being due to the high price of my boar and your remorse at killing three of my soldiers, you agree to be in my service for two years.” Erik says with a smile.
“Service as what, might I ask Thane Erik?” Dax questions discretely.
“As whatever I desire Outlander, there is the other option still open to you.” Erik states flatly.
“I see, my Thane.” Are all Dax replies without hesitation?
“I thought you would. Guards, unlock the manacles and then you four can leave us.” Erik directs the four soldiers standing flanking Dax.
Once they have removed the manacles from Dax and carried them away, they all bow to the Thane and back away out the doors, closing the doors behind them as they go.
“I am releasing you into the charge of Mage and High Councilor Ceric, Dax of the Outland, keep your oath to me well. We may well talk soon.” Erik states to all five seated at the table. He then rises and heads out of the room by a hidden door behind the tapestry on the wall, behind the table where he, the mage and the keeper of the gate sat.
Once the Thane is gone Lord Daka rises, walks around the table and pauses briefly along the side of Dax saying. “Well indeed Outlander, I will be waiting for you to break your oath.”
As Lord Daka steps into the hall outside the door, he takes the four soldiers with him as he leaves.
“Stay true to your oath Dax of the outland, Lord Daka was not pleased here today. Now, come with me and we will find you suitable accommodations near me and food much more tasteful than rats, bugs and seeping rainwater through rock walls.” Ceric says as Dax turns to follow the Mage elsewhere in this city called Throgmarden.
As they walk through Throgmarden, Dax notices the close proximity of many of the buildings and structures. Buildings of all sizes dominate the skyline inside the walls surrounding the entire city. There are several levels of walls and expanses that appear to have been added on during the growth of Throgmarden over the centuries since it was first founded. Buildings of all sizes and heights and uses, various towers along the inner walls; some round with cone roofs and some square connected by high walkways bordering the walls inner structure for defense against attack. Water runs in the center of the stone streets between the buildings carrying waste to small holes in the wall that lets the water and waste flow to the outside of these walls.
“Throgmarden is well defended by this layout of walls Ceric. How long has it been since anyone attacked the city?” Dax asks the Mage and High Councilor.
“Over a hundred years. Thane Erik has only been compelled to lead our army only once during his reign, so far. That war ended in treaty negotiations at Eigel.” Ceric answers.
“Many conflicts get settled there.” Dax says flatly.
“Yes they do. Here we are this will be your place to live. My apartments are just there. When you have had a chance to bathe and change into clothes I had brought here for you, I hope you will have your evening meal with me, so we can talk more.” Ceric points to a small abode of modest size and appearance. He then gestures toward a slightly larger one being his across the street and down a short distance.
“Of course I will, I also have a few questions about my new service here for the next two years.” Dax replies as he opens the door to his rooms and goes inside.
Inside there are three rooms with modest furnishings. In this main room a couple of chairs near a fire place and a table with two benches. Through an arch on the back wall appears to be a small larder and cooking area with a basin of water on a high bench along the wall. On the wall opposite the fireplace Dax steps into the last room where there is a bed and a set of hooks on one wall with fresh clothes hanging on them.
After washing the grime off himself and changing into the clothes Ceric has had provided, Dax rests for long moments sitting in one of the chairs at the fireplace. Then he rises and goes out the door, turning in the street to walk toward the home of The Mage.
A rather rotund middle aged woman answers Dax’s knock on the heavy oaken door. Dax wonders to himself if this could be the wife of the mage or a servant. She beckons him to come inside and leads him to a room near the entry where he can sit and wait for Ceric to join him.
“You look more relaxed Dax of the outland. I am glad to see that my description of you to Mejara was close enough for those clothes to fit you well.” Ceric says as he enters the room.
“They are fine Greyhair; I thank you and your woman. I will clean the others when I can. It has been a long time since I had more than one set of clothing to wear.” Dax answered him.
“Mejara is her name and she is my sister Dax. She has no speech, so do not be offended by her silence. She hears quite well and will respond when she knows she is being spoken to. In fact she understands 3 languages.” Ceric tells him.
“That speaks well of her, I take it she has been mute for a long time.” Dax says in return.
“Yes, although she was not born that way. Enough of that though, if you are ready we can go into the larder and have our meal?” Ceric asks him.
“That would be fine. I am quite ready for a real meal, as you can imagine.” Dax says with a hint at humor.
Once they are seated at the table, Mejara brings; meats, vegetables, fresh bread and fruits to the table for them along with mugs of mead to drink. Then she sits at a chair herself to dine with the two men. The three of them enjoy the meal in simple silence until Dax compliments them both on the diverse offering and thanks them for their hospitality.
After the meal is over, Ceric and Dax return to the room near the door and sit in chairs near the large fireplace to talk. Ceric pulls the dirk belonging to Dax from his sash about his waist and turns it in his gnarled hands as he starts to speak.
“Thane Erik gave me this to return to you when I thought it proper. Could I ask you more about it though, I do not believe I have ever seen one similar to its like before.” The Mage asks.
“It was my fathers and his father made it for him. My father was an Iron Monger, as his father before him. My father spent all his life moving from place to place, trying to make another just like it.” Dax replies.
“Why do you say trying, may I ask?” Ceric asks again.
“Father was a fine Iron Monger, maybe one of the best ever. He knew how to make it, but he said he never found the right combination of ore and conditions to exactly duplicate the metal.” Dax answers more completely.
“Why did he not just return to your grandfather and smelt and smith it there?” Ceric continues to query.
“I cannot answer that with any certainty. I never knew my grandfather or where my parents came from originally. It was a topic my father did not talk about or answer questions about. My mother died when I was very small, I have no real memory of her, only those things my father did tell me.” Dax relates to Ceric.
“So you have spent most of your life traveling from place to place then, as you said when I first met you and you called yourself a traveler. Where then do you call home?” Ceric asks.
“No where actually. I am just where I am, at the present time.” Dax said flatly.
“So all the work on this dirk was done by your grandfather?” Ceric asks.
“Not all, in truth. My father added the bone covering the hilt and the copper orb behind it. I then added the etchings in the bone a few years ago.” Dax points out.
“I see them both. I return it to you then, but beware of how you use it.” Ceric says as he hands it to Dax.
“Thank you, may I ask if this is all that the soldiers called my possessions when I was brought here?” Dax asks.
“Yes it is. I asked that question of Lord Daka and the jailer both.” Ceric answers.
“That is too bad; there was a satchel I carried, at my campsite when I was taken. Do you think I would be allowed to return to that campsite and attempt to recover it?” Dax inquires.
“Probably with an escort, it would be thought you would just keep going right now. I think you can understand that.” Ceric says.
“I would expect that, could it be one of the men who know where I was taken from possibly?” Dax asks.
“That should be possible I think. We can ask Lord Daka on the morrow if you wish. There must be something of value in the satchel for you to want to return there?” Ceric questions lightly.
“Only to me, but they are my only remaining possessions.” Dax says
“I can understand that.” Ceric replies.
After some more conversation between the two men about a variety of topics, Dax bade Ceric farewell for the night. The next morning Ceric stopped on his way to see Lord Daka and had Dax accompany him. Lord Daka agreed to the short excursion back to where Dax was arrested, however he sent four men with the outlander saying that he, Lord Daka, did not trust Dax to return of his own will freely. He did not even as much as apologize for the intended slur, that Dax would break his vow at his first opportunity.
The small party of men left that same afternoon and one of the four men accompanying Dax was named Ruthor. Ruthor was one of the survivors who finally over powered Dax at his apprehension. He was a large flaxen haired robust man at arms with a burly full beard and not an ounce of fat anywhere about his sturdy frame.
“Outlander, Lord Daka told me your name is Dax. What kind of name is that? I have never heard it’s like before” Ruthor asked after they had camped for the night in a small clearing. “My name is Ruthor and common in many places.”
“It is just a name Ruthor, I was never told of its origin.” Dax replied. “How about your companions there, what are their names?”
“That rather round one over there is Ofid, the tall lean one beside him, with the bow and quiver is known as Cran and the one with the scar across his eye is Vlad. They are all common soldiers, but very good ones; we have all known one another many years.” Ruthor answered as he pointed out each man in turn. “You would not best us with just that dirk you carry. I have heard of your strange tattoos as well and was told you got them while in Pelia, is that true ?” The man at arms asked.
“It is true ; I lived there for quite some time, a few years ago.” Dax said.
“I have seen them before, on a soldier from there. He was one of a party that came to Throgmarden on business with our Thane. I understand they have specific meanings and take a long time to obtain and heal. Not like the ones some of the sea men wear from Tripolia or Nofall; they are just dyes needled into ones skin.” Ruthor relates.
“You were told correctly, they take much time to earn and then have burned or cut into your shoulders. Healing is a long process between the different applications as well.” Dax explains.
“So that must mean you were a soldier there at one time.” Ruthor states not too matter of factly.
“I was in service there for a while, not too different as I am now to your Thane.” Dax answers.
“It is time for sleep outlander; by late the day after tomorrow we will be at the spot where you were captured.” The man says as he turns to roll onto his cape for sleep.
“Good, then we can return to the city.” Dax answers as he too rolls to find rest for the night.
Two days later, just as dusk was settling upon the forest they arrived where Dax had meant to camp almost three moon cycles before. It was apparent to him alone that the spot had not been visited by anyone since his capture here. He approached a tree and moved aside some stones, twigs and leaves to reveal his satchel just as he had left it. Then he looked inside for a few moments, convincing himself that everything was still there.
“Are your valuables still there Outlander?” Vlad asked in a harsh tone.
“Mind your place Vlad, we are under orders here.” Ruthor interrupts menacingly.
“I have had a long walk on account of this dog, Ruthor; I just hope it was worth it to someone. For it surely wasn’t to me.” Vlad states to his friend.
“It was worth it to me soldier, worth more than just a walk if needs be.” Dax retorts to the both of them.
“That will be enough of this, both of you. We will camp here tonight and with the dawn return to Throgmarden. It is just as long a walk back as it was getting here.” Ruthor states deeply and in a commanding tone.
All five men rolled onto their backs for sleep soon after a meal of hardtack and jerked meat. For refreshment they had all drank from the Arn River, close by. In the middle of the dark night Dax rolled over quickly and silently putting a strong hand over the mouth of Ruthor, while holding the large man down and in place.
“We are not alone here, man at arms. Very quietly awaken your companions.” Dax whispered just above a silence. Ruthor quickly did as Dax asked.
Now all five men crouched close to one another, weapons in their hands, staring into the dark.
“Who or what makes us not alone Outlander? I can see or hear nothing.” Ruthor questions Dax, his own tone just above a whisper.
Before Dax can speak several shadowy figures are upon them wielding axes and spears. Dax, Ruthor, Vlad and Ofid jump into the fray using their dirks and swords with lightning ferocity. Cran crouches and looses arrows so fast that the second is in flight before the first strikes it target. Blades slash, parry and thrust at rapid intervals into and against those using axes, clubs and spears upon what they thought would be easy prey.
“Die dog, you will not take Vlad like a sleeping woman.” Vlad curses.
“Shut up and just hack them down.” Ofid yells at his companion.
The melee of blood and cutting seems to go on for an hour, when in truth, those not dead flee the small clearing after only a short time in truth. After the attackers retreat back into the forest, some dragging or carrying their own wounded with them Ruthor notices that Cran is on the ground and bleeding profusely about his mid section.
“Gelds bones Cran, what have you let happen to you.” Ruthor says as he kneels near his friend. “Ofid come over here and see if there is anything you can do.”
“This is too deep I am afraid.” Ofid says after looking quickly at Cran and shakes his head in the direction of Ruthor.
“Here let me have a look.” Dax says as he bends down to look closer at the archer. Then he rises again and heads to the river’s edge. “Wait a moment, I will be right back.”
Moments now seem to creep by until Dax returns with some thick green mass in his hand. Then he bends down to Cran lying on the ground and places the greenish mass upon the wound.
While Dax is tearing a long strip of cloth from Crans outer cape and starting to bind it tightly all about the man, Vlad calls Ruthor over where he is looking at one of the dead attackers.
“Look here this carrion is dyed with the dark blue in spirals of a Lagdian rebel. What would they be doing in this part of Marden and why would they attack anyone here.” Vlad says to his man at arms.
“We will never know that, at least not from this one. Are all of them dead?” Ruthor asks.
“All of them that I have found so far. The wounded they carried off.” Vlad answers.
“Lord Daka will want to know of this. He will also be very surprised at the outlander’s actions this night.” The man at arms comments to his subordinate. “Dax how is Cran?”
“His bleeding will stop, but we will have to carry him back to Throgmarden on a litter.” Dax answers.
“What do we do with these Dead, Ruthor?” Ofid asks.
“Take anything off them you want. Then pile up their bodies and burn them. Leave nothing for their cowardly companions, if they return.” Ruthor says. “We will leave as soon as we can make a litter to carry Cran. Staying here the rest of the night could be unwise.”
Once they construct a crude litter, Ofid and Vlad move Cran onto it and then pick it up between them. Ruthor leads off back in the direction they had come from earlier that day. Dax shoulders his satchel, picks up Cran’s bow and quiver and follows the others as he follows the others as a rear guard. They walk all night and into the next day before resting again.
“Early on the morrow we will be back in Throgmarden. Let us rest now and eat of our remaining provisions. How is Cran?” Ruthor asks.
“He is weak but he is alive, thanks to the outlander, in truth.” Ofid replies to his leader.
“When we have him on the ground, I will change that dressing and the herbs. Once you have him back in the city make sure he is seen to by someone with more knowledge than I have.” Dax says.
“We can since you knew what you did. I owe you at least that outlander, Cran is my friend.” Vlad says.
“We all owe him that Vlad.” Ruthor adds in a solemn low toned voice.
