He'd been flying for what felt like hours in a zig-zag pattern but mostly heading south. Quoddy's wings were burning up in pain and his breaths were ragged and ever shallower as he danced across the forest canopy through the winding hills and slopes of that broken land. The lights of Fjellvidden were lost behind the hills, but the clouds had broken apart and the stars shone bright enough that he could see where he was going. And whenever he glanced over his wings he saw the dark shadow of Lubec following him.
At least that half of his plan had worked.
But he knew that his wings wouldn't for very much longer. He hadn't slept much the night before, and now, already enervated, every muscle in his body wailed for relief. If only he could find some place to hide that would keep Lubec looking for him. And even if Lubec headed back to Fjellvidden, at least Machias would have a few hours.
Quoddy descended and slowed, allowing himself to glide over the treetops. He scanned the midnight vista, and while there was still very little to see, he did notice a break in the treeline that snaked between the folds of the hills. A stream perhaps? He angled toward its nearest curve and was rewarded with a glittering light beneath him. The trees opened on either bank just enough to allow him an easy path into the sheltered branches, as well as a quick drink of water when he was thirsty.
He glanced over his shoulder one last time and saw that Lubec was following and gaining quickly. The gull pushed his wings one last time and angled towards the stream. He banked just as he passed between the line of trees on either side and darted within the open branches. He beat his wings back to keep from running into any of the pines while dropping down toward the ground where he'd be harder to see.
Lubec's wings ruffled somewhere behind him, but his brother didn't risk following him into the darkness quite as far. Quoddy settled down on a branch within view of the forest floor and then collapsed against the tree trunk, his legs splaying on either side and his tail bunching behind him, while his wings rested at either side to frame himself. He'd furiously preen his feathers when he had the energy, but for now he tolerated their disarray.
Glancing back up, he could see something moving through the trees, hoping from one branch to another, but much higher up and obscured by the long boughs between them. Lubec was searching for him. His heart beat a little easier then as he tried to breath as quietly as he could through his beak.
Just as felt like he could relax, Quoddy heard something scraping against the bark behind him. He turned his head only to have something heavy come crashing down atop it. Everything went dark.
Gmork remained in a half-doze while he sat on his haunches in his listening room. The numerous baubles glowed serenely on the wall before him, their little voices tickling his ears with every thought his pets had. At his side rested two of his pups, their sleep interrupted by the occasional twitching leg or slight whine as they roved through beastly dreams. Gmork didn't dream; he planned.
But he was still subject to exhaustion like his pups and his pets. Minutes swam from him before he even noticed them near. Few of his pets had anything of interest to think, and most of them were asleep and beyond his hearing anyway. His thoughts, when they were coherent, were mostly focused on the bird Lubec. The gull had fled south and so Lubec was following him, but he had no idea where the puffin had gone.
That meant that they knew where the rest of the Resistance was hiding. Gmork should not have wasted his time trying to trick the half-dragon into revealing his secrets. He should have taken the minds of those two birds immediately and learned from them what he wanted to know. He might have learned about the dragon before he'd been brought to his door. He might have saved his fourth son.
It may have won over his youngest, but the price was too steep. And so it was that the remainder of his lucid moments were spent hating Nasoj. If not for that treacherous wizard, he would have over a dozen pups now and could spend his time creating more entrapment baubles for his pets. Until then he would always have to hide and that was one thing he truly hated to do.
But most of the time he sat there with no thoughts in his mind at all. And so it was when his ears perked at the sound of many booted feet approaching. He yawned, long tongue stretching past his teeth, and rose to a mostly human stance. When the knock came at his door, he said, "Open and speak."
Beyond stood a few of Calephas's soldiers. The leader of them yanked a young man bound and gagged into the doorway. "These are the tanner's apprentices. We were told by your sons to bring them."
Gmork noted the dark-haired man with disinterest, and the blond-haired young man that followed him with equal complacency. He'd waste no time in making them his pets to learn what they knew. "Did they learn anything there?"
The guard smirked as he hauled a third, but younger boy into view. "They didn't want to talk."
"They will," Gmork assured him. His eyes alighted on the boy whose face was besmirched by a trio of hairy warts. His heart skipped a beat and he grinned widely, revealing an array of teeth that made all three of the apprentices pale. "Oh my, thank you. You and your men may wait down the hall."
When the door had closed, Gmork clapped his hands together twice. His two pups stirred and after blinking a few times, walked to his side and nodded. The elder of the two asked, "Are these to break our fast?"
"Nay, your brothers sent them," Gmork replied. "Keep them from moving, and remove the gag from the black-haired one." So saying, he turned and took one of the six unlit baubles from its place on the cushioned shelves and rolled it about in his hand which swelled with thick, dark calluses and sharp claws that curved to meet the brass bauble. His pups obeyed, pushing the young men into one corner and moving the boy atop their disheveled blankets where his third pup forced him to sit leaning against his fur-coated side. A long red tongue groomed the boy's neck despite how much he struggled to get away.
"Damn you, Gmork!" the black-haired man shouted as he struggled against his bonds. His hands were tied firmly together so all he could do was try kicking with his legs. Gmork shook his head and leaned closer with the bauble.
"You aren't angry at me, boy." His voice glided over his tongue, across the surface of the smooth brass sphere, and went into the young man's ears where they twisted and twisted. "You are angry at your master Ture for putting you in such danger. The soldiers could have killed you for Ture's treachery."
Within a few minutes of many similar words, that same man was crying for forgiveness because he did not know where Ture had gone. Gmork even allowed the man to kiss his toes since he begged so earnestly for such a debasement. The bauble glowed a bright orange, vibrant and all-absorbing.
The blond-haired man wailed beneath his gag and struggled to break his bonds, but Gmork's second son put one paw on his chest and held him down as firmly as if it were an anvil. When his gag was removed, he begged for mercy. "I don't know anything! He's told you already. I don't know anything!"
Gmork leaned back on his haunches, tail wagging, as he put one finger to his chin and sighed, "If only there were a way I could know for certain that you were telling the truth." His eyes brightened fiendish and triumphant. "Ah, there is." He took another dark bauble and walked toward the cowering man. The last apprentice wailed as he struggled against his third pup's embrace and impromptu grooming.
The blond-haired man surrendered his will even more quickly than his fellow, and within another minute both were slavish pets waiting with nervous anxiety for a command from their beloved master. Gmork set their baubles back in the reliquary and considered what to do with them. The answer was obvious.
He turned to his second pup and said. "Show these two where they can watch the Baron's little laboratory unobserved." Then, he smiled to his pets and stroked them each on the head as if they were little dogs. "You are going to watch what the Baron does and says. Think every one of his words as clearly as you can in your mind. Do not reveal yourselves for any reason. I will send for you when you may rest and when you may eat. And obey my sons as you would obey me. Do you understand?"
They nodded eagerly. He licked them across the face from chin to forehead before turning to his two pups. "Since you are now awake, find your brothers and once you can, send them back here so they can sleep. And tell the soldiers to return to their patrol."
His third pup deposited the boy on the rumpled pile of fur and cloth as he followed his brother and the two pets out. The boy scooted on his rear as far as he could away from Gmork who paid him no mind until he closed the door.
"You do not need to be afraid of me, boy. I am not going to hurt you. I am not going to make you one of my pets." He turned and allowed a mostly human face to smile ever so faintly. "You are a very fortunate boy."
The boy pressed as far into the corner as he could go as Gmork came closer, crouching over him and gently placing his hands on the boy's knees. His face loomed close, ears twitching and nose swelling with each measured breath. He studied the boy intently, looking into him and seeing the way his spirit brushed against all the threads of magic flowing past him. Most humans were so detached from that flow that they could never even discern its presence; they could only marvel at what magicians could do.
But this boy could feel them, and from the way little threads were being bound together in his presence to form some rudimentary shield, the boy could willfully use them too. Gmork's lips and teeth stretched a finger's width as he blew into that mental casting, scattering the threads like dried leaves. "You don't need those; not from me. Nor do you need this anymore." He lifted one hand and pulled the knot out of his gag. He tossed the rag aside and then grabbed the boy's head firmly in one hand, while the other very gently stroked along the red marks where the gag had bit into his flesh.
"I am sorry that the soldiers handled you so roughly." His touch conveyed a sullen warmth that did nothing to still the boy's trembling fright, but the bruising healed. And with each stroke he brushed his own magical core against that of the boy's. "Isn't that better?" The boy alternately glared and cowered. His grip did not tighten, nor did he press his claws into the boy's cheeks, but his jaws did stretch further and his voice was accompanied by an insistent growl. "You will answer me when I ask you a question."
"No!" the boy said through clenched teeth. "I hate you! I hate you and your filthy pups! I hate you all!"
The burst of anger made the boy's magic flare erratically. Gmork reached into it and slid his will through its variegated channels and paths. The sudden invasion made the boy gasp and moan like an oily liquid being sucked down a drain. His eyes widened and his head rolled back, spittle dribbling across his lips. Fur sprouted along Gmork's back as his nose swelled and blackened.
Unlike the foreigner, this boy had little self-control and knew nothing about guarding himself. His magical talent was weak and unformed, but it could be trained. There was some meager strength in the boy that would be useful. Weaker than any of his other pups, it was nevertheless strong enough to enable him to become a child of Gmork. So weak, so unprepared, it would not be more than a few days before Gmork had begun to mold his flesh and his will. He would only ever be able to cast minor spells, but if used wisely even they could prove devastating. At the very least, in a few weeks, Gmork would have another son.
But there was only so many changes he could make at once without hurting his newest pup. Once he was satisfied that he knew the boy's magical abilities and had begun laying the foundation for a love of his father, he withdrew and resumed stroking the boy's face with rough paw pads. "Now, isn't that better?"
The boy blinked, eyes and face still completely human though now slack and dazed. "I... I..." Slowly he lowered his head and his eyes briefly met Gmork's golden regard. He quickly lowered them further and stared at his knees. "It is."
"Father," Gmork said softly. "Call me Father."
The objection had no energy behind it. "But you... you aren't..."
"I am now. Call me Father."
The boy swallowed and tried to shake his head. "You aren't... I... I cannot..." He winced and tears began to flow down his cheeks and across Gmork's furry hands. "I... you aren't my... you... you... Father."
"I am." He reiterated. He narrowed his gaze and leaned back a hand span. "I can see why the Baron never took an interest in you. Your face is marred in a way he would consider most foul. These," he tapped one of the warts with the tip of a claw, "are not healthy for you. I will remove them." The boy stirred with a sudden apprehension, but he pressed his other paw-like hand against the boy's chest and stilled both his heart and his magic. "The Baron will not touch you. You are under my protection now. You are mine, my little pup."
The boy blinked but still the tears came. His mind was a cacophony of fears and confusion that rendered him pliable. The adoption was always different for each mage, Gmork had learned. Where his eldest here in Arabarb had eagerly welcomed the change thinking it would bring him more power, and his latest had resisted it with titanic effort for over a month, this one would eventually cling to Gmork out of fear of everything else. He could see it already.
He grasped the nearest of his warts between his thumb and finger, and pulled firmly. A little magical will expended, and the wart and its disgusting roots in the flesh slid free of the boy's cheek. Blood followed which Gmork cleaned with his tongue until the wound had closed. He held the fungus up so that the boy might see. "This was eating into you, my son. If not for this, you would have been brought to the Baron earlier this year. I would have protected you then too. This is foul. I will destroy it for you."
Gmork set the wart on the stone as far away as his arm could reach. He spread his fingers wide a few inches above the wart, and the entire thing was consumed by a burst of flame. A moment later nothing was left but a wisp of ash and a blackened scar against the stone. The boy's eyes fluttered in wonder.
Gmork smiled and stroked the boy's now clean cheek. "Would you like me to remove the others, my son?"
The boy hesitated, but as that soft hand continued to brush against his cheek, he finally started to nod. "Aye... Father."
Gmork growled in delight.
Yajgaj had been surprised when Gmork and his slavish pups had returned when they did. He'd hoped to have another hour or two to make his preparations. Instead he gave order to the Blood Harrow he'd grown closest too since coming west to Arabarb to wake him after an hour's rest. It was all he dared allow himself. The beast mage would be at his most alert after returning from their hunt and so he could do nothing then.
His rest was deeper than he would have liked, and the Lutin warrior had dreams of the man in the dungeon, the boy in Calephas's laboratory, the dragon that had killed Gmork's youngest pup, and the woman they all sought. Wisps of reverie floated through his thoughts and chased after him, no matter how much he tried to run from them. Nearby he could see the camp of his tribe nestled in the crook of the mountains overlooking a plain so cold that only stunted trees and bright wild flowers grew. His dreams assured him that within the Blood Harrow camp he would find security and an end to all confusion; but no matter how fast he ran he never seemed to get any closer to it.
Two faces laughed him to scorn. The lupine visage of Gmork, his muzzle drenched in blood from an adoring pet, barked in mocking derision to his left. And to his right the sneering countenance of Baron Calephas regarded him as he crushed Lutins and men alike beneath his boot. Yajgaj reached for his bone knives but could not find them. And one by one those evil men murdered the prisoner, the boy, the dragon, and the woman over and over again.
So when his friend and fellow warrior returned to wake him, he felt better merely for having risen from his meager cot. "Khilaj," he said as he pulled his hides over his wiry, green chest and arms, "where is he and his young?"
Khilaj grunted and his yellow eyes looked hatefully at the ceiling. "Two went into town. They sent the tanner's apprentices back to their father. They're with him now."
Yajgaj licked the back of his sharp teeth as he wrapped his bearskin buckler and sheathed his knives. "Then he will not watch us a while." Grabbing his friend's shoulder, he leaned in close and whispered into the long, pointed ear, "Send six of our tribe to guard the armory. Make humans there go man the wharves." He smiled in wicked amusement. "Don't want Resistance taking the river."
Khilaj laughed and nodded. "And you?"
"There's other places in the city the men need to watch. I tend them."
The two Lutins grinned as they left the dungeon's antechamber together.
Machias was very grateful that he'd had a little something to eat before he'd left the mill. After an hour of flying north, following the forest tracks the tundra men had told him about, he felt sore but not exhausted as he feared he would. With so little light he had trouble distinguishing the tracks and roads through the woods, but his eyes did adjust just enough so that along with his memory, he was able to follow the paths from above without having to circle constantly to find them again and again.
The cloud cover began to break up after he'd been flying for nearly two hours. Dawn would come soon, but still he had not seen a hint of the men from the north. They had assured him they would reach Fjellvidden that day with ease, but the puffin knew it would take them twice as long to hike those paths as it did for him to fly over them. He started to despair of them reaching the city in time to help Elizabaeg.
Then, through a tight bend in the road, shielding on all sides by a cavalcade of stone that jutted through the clustering trees like a drowning man's hand breaching the water one last time, he saw a dozen dogs milling about with a pair of thickly clad men watching them. His wings cramped even as he turned to swoop down and land amongst them.
He cawed and flailed his wings as best he could as he banked haphazardly over the treeline and into view of the shelter. The dozen snow dogs and two men all looked up. In the light of the single torch the one man carried Machias saw a familiar face and felt a surge of relief.
Somehow, despite the sudden pain in his back, he managed to land on the top of one of the upthrust rocks. He tumbled down the side until he landed against the broad base of a sheltering pine. He stood, shaking his head and his back to get the needles from his feathers.
"Machias," the one man said with a gentle laugh. "Is everything all right?"
"Now that I've found you, Thuring, it may be. We've got a plan to enter by the eastern castle gate. The men from Fjellvidden and from the south are there already. We have to be there before dusk though because that's when the guard changes." He gasped for breath and slumped back against the tree. One of the dogs circled around and sniffed at him curiously. He batted at the large canine's nose with one wing. The first time they'd met two months ago the dog had tried to take a bite out of his wing, but Thuring had taught them to treat the puffin as a friend.
Thuring and his friend glanced at each other as they gathered the dogs. "We're breaking camp even now. We'll just ride a little harder to the bridge now. Come on, you can ride with me. You can tell me more along the way."
"Thank you!" Machias hopped back to his webbed feet and then onto the large northerner's arm. Together they went back into the shelter of the rocks to where the rest of the men and horses waited. Only a few of their tents remained standing as they hurried to stow their gear. Seeing those burly men made indomitable by the bitter, northern winters, winters that made anything that happened at Metamor seem a balmy summer day, gave the puffin hope again.
They just might be able to win this fight after all.
The tanner's trail was not difficult to follow, but it was twisted and doubled-back on itself several times. The man had made sure that he had not been followed and done his best to look like he was going everywhere but where he was going. But his path led Gmork's pup inexorably westward. They darted along on all fours as the clouds above began to disperse and the stars of night revealed themselves for one last glimmering shine before the dawn dismissed them as if with a flick of the wrist.
Eventually the path led them beyond the last line of homes that clutched to the city's crumbling walls and passed into the scattered copses of trees newly grown at Fjellvidden's western periphery. They did not follow the east-west road, but moved south along old beaten tracks toward the old mill abutting the smaller river whose name Gmork's youngest did not know.
They stopped and hid themselves within a copse of trees that afforded them a good view of the mill. They could hear the groaning of the waterwheel as it turned, the firm press of the river as it rushed headlong into the Arabas, and a gentle breeze moving through the upper floor of the building. The mill was built on a stone foundation, but, mostly it was wood and it creaked with each turn of the air. They saw no lights, but they could smell not only the tanner, but several other people as well.
The pups looked at each other, their long snouts breaking in hungry grins. The younger licked his nose and cast a quick glance at the mill before turning back to his older brother. In a quiet whisper, more wolf growl than human voice, he asked, "What now?"
His brother wagged his naked tail, paws digging at the ground as his eyes narrowed and his ears folded back against his head. "Wait, watch and listen. They have nowhere to go. I am going to cast eyes. I'll see everything but they will not see us."
The youngest waited, panting slightly as his brother slid away and back around the trees a good distance from the mill. After his brother was gone to sight, he crouched low and allowed his body to melt back into a more human guise. The fur retracted over most of his flesh apart from his tail, his pointed, mobile ears, and along strips of his legs. His canines were sharp and long but the rest of his teeth were human enough. He straightened out his robe where he lay, taking care to make sure the heraldry over his left breast was unmarred by either crease or dirt.
Once satisfied, he returned his undivided attention on the mill. His father's enemies were hiding in there. It both saddened and infuriated him that any would hate his father.
Far above the sky brightened with the promise of dawn. He swallowed and waited anxiously for his brother's return.
His head didn't hurt and he felt warm and well rested. That was the first thing he felt after arising from the darkness of unconsciousness. Blinking his eyes, he saw a long orange beak in front of him and above a brightening sky. To either side were a pair of bearded men staring down at him. The one on his right had a red beard that went down his chest, and he wore a horned helmet that came just over his brow.
Quoddy squawked in pleased surprise, "Gerhard!"
The trapper shook his head and put a finger to his lips. In a quiet voice he said, "It is good to see you too, Quoddy. Sorry we had to knock you out. Had to make sure you weren't one of the mage's pets."
The gull blinked, as if that shouldn't have been his first concern. He tried to remember what he'd been doing last but it was all a blur. Something about flying until he couldn't fly anymore. "How... how can you tell?"
"I can," the other man, who looked similar to Gerhard only that his beard was peppered with gray as if it had been strewn with cobwebs. His eyes crinkled and his cheeks were lined where visible. But his brown eyes were bright with laughter. "There's a way to see it if you are a mage."
"But... but... I didn't know there were any mages here in Arabarb."
Gerhard nodded. "Harald is not a mage like the sort the Baron used to keep."
"Earth, trees, snow," Harald admitted with a strange sort of modesty. "If the Baron knew about me, he would have hunted me down. If Gmork knew about me, he'd make me one of his pups. But.. your friend convinced me to take that risk."
Quoddy blinked again and shifted about. Laying on his back was never comfortable and so he rolled onto his side, and then pressing with his wings and legs, managed to stand up. He fluttered his wings and folded them behind his back. Glancing around he saw that they were in a small culvert next to a stream with a small window through the trees open to the sky. For some reason that made him anxious but his thoughts were still so scrambled that he couldn't quite remember what it was. With them were several horses drinking the cold water, and a few other men who were more rugged than most he'd seen in this harsh country. He didn't recognize any of them apart from Gerhard.
"But..." the gull finally remembered one thing, "I thought you weren't going to come."
Gerhard nodded and stroked his beard braid with a half grin. "Changed my mind on the way back home, then I gathered Harald and a few other friends who've been in hiding for the last ten years, and we've ridden here as fast as we can. Just a few more hours of riding and we'll be at Fjellvidden."
"How... how did you find me?"
"You were making quite a bit of noise," Harald said with a warm gentleness that seemed so strange to hear from one of the northerners. "You and your brother."
Quoddy blinked and then stretched out his wings, standing a little taller and squawking louder than he knew he should. "My brother... Lubec! Is he... did you see him?"
Gerhard gestured at a sack a dozen paces away near a couple other men who were watching and carrying bows. Quoddy's heart froze in his chest and he almost jumped into the air in his rush. But the trapper put a hand on his shoulder above the wing and held him back. "Don't be afraid. We didn't kill him. Just knocked him out like we did with you."
"He is one of Gmork's," Harald said with a heavy sigh. "I hate seeing what that monster has done to our people and yours. Your brother... that only makes it worse."
"You... you healed my head and you gave me my strength back, right?" Quoddy asked, feeling his mind start to clear at last. He glanced at the mage and tried to speak respectfully in his impatience. "Could you... help my brother?"
His heart fell again after rising so swiftly in hope. Harald shook his head slowly and frowned like a father at his son' funeral. "There is nothing I can do. Gmork's magic is too powerful."
"Please don't kill him! He's my brother. There has to be a way to save him."
"There may not be," Gerhard pointed out with morose resignation. "At the very least we'll keep him alive until we've killed Gmork. That might work."
"The magic controlling your brother is connected to something," Harald added with a sigh. "I cannot see what. It might be Gmork's lifeforce, and if he dies they could be freed. There are many we know who have also become his. We don't kill them either for that same hope."
Quoddy glanced at the sack and noted that it was shaped like a bird the same size as his brother Lubec. He took a step toward him but only a step. "I'd like to see him."
"It's best if you don't," Gerhard whispered sullenly. "He's sleeping right now, but we don't want him to wake just yet. Not until we've decided what to do." He glanced at the sky which was a deep blue steadily brightening. "Dawn will be here soon. Things are not going well in Fjellvidden are they?"
"Nay," Quoddy admitted. "They captured Lindsey and us. Pharcellus rescued Machias and I, but Lindsey is still captive. Elizabaeg is free, and I sent Machias to the mill where she's supposed to be. I led Lubec away, but... that's all I know. But... if we don't do something Calephas and Gmork will win and you'll never be free and I'll never get my brother back. And Lindsey... they'll kill him!"
"Calm," Gerhard advised and held out one hand. "We are not cowards. We've come this far, we'll go the rest of the way. If we're going to die then we'll make them bleed for it." He stood, walked over to the man crouched near the sack and whispered in his ear for several seconds. When he was finished, the other man stood and mounted a nearby horse. While he gained his bearings, Gerhard lifted the sack with Lubec and handed it to him.
Quoddy craned his neck to watch, before turning back to Harald. "What is he doing?"
Harald smiled and wrapped the end of his beard around one finger. "Lubec can't stay with us. As soon as he wakes, he may be able to warn Gmork. Don't fear; he'll be fine."
He turned to object, but the rider gave his steed a kick and the horse bolted off across the stream out into the west. He disappeared within the woods before the gull could even squawk in anguish. His brother...
Gerhard's expression was determined and flat when he returned to their side. "Time for us to go too. Quoddy, you'll ride with me. Come."
The gull let out a long breath and, with nothing else he could think to say or do, meekly followed Gerhard to his horse. At least he'd found friends; unexpected but very welcome. His brother would be as safe as they could make him. With that comforting thought in mind, he flew up to Gerhard's saddle horn and gripped it as tightly as he could with his webbed toes.
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 they're 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.
The tunnel ran for a hundred feet, some of it natural, but most of it dug out in a painstaking process that had taken the Resistance in Fjellvidden years. Jarl couldn't help but admire their ingenuity and the fact that it had remained hidden all this time. The little hiding hole that his foster parents had made for him and his new siblings beneath their house to hide in when the soldiers came around had been so cramped that he'd quickly accepted them as brothers and sisters.
And while he'd never lost his sense that he was the grandson and heir to a powerful thane, he did love his brothers and sisters and would never do anything to hurt them.
The tunnel turned to the left sharply before a set of stone steps that led up to a wooden trap door. Just before this was another hidden door in the stone that Ture opened out onto a small underground culvert. The morning twilight reflected off the waters that fed into the culvert and almost threatened to overflow into the door. Once all four of them were through the tanner shut it behind them and rubbed his hands together. "The boat. Quickly."
The boat was wide enough for two men to sit abreast, and long enough for eight men all together. A metal chain hooked to the cavern wall overhead kept it in place. Jarl quickly noted that the chain was so short that even at its highest the water would never touch it. He hated to think how far down they'd have to carry the boat in the Summer or Autumn. But with the Spring thaw the keel kissed the water's gurgling surface.
The other two men whose names Jarl had never learned in the two days he'd been in Fjellvidden hastened to remove the chains and settle the boat in the water. Behind them they could faintly here the others running down the tunnel. "Quick, get in," Ture said as he put on hand on the gunwale to steady it.
Jarl and the other slid over the side. Ture jumped over the edge and the boat began to turn a bit in place as the inrush and outflow of river water into the culvert took them. Jarl and Ture took the oars while the other two readied their bows. They paddled around a bend in the narrow underground and saw the opening and the river before them.
"Now," Ture said with a vicious scowl, "let's make noise and get those pups to chase us."
Jarl swallowed, nodded, and started shouting.
The two pups sniffed around inside the mill for a few seconds before both of them came to the inner wheel. Their clawed hands felt along the walls, rubbing against the wooden panels and gently knocking as their black noses inhaled every scent that had been left behind by the pathetic humans. It did not take them long to find the hidden door.
Gmork's second beat at it with his fist ineffectually a few times before holding his hand over the door and growling arcane words. A bolt of blue light erupted from his palm and struck the door with the force of a hundred hammers. The wood splintered and stuck in his fur-lined cloak. Behind it they could see the descending stone staircase, as well as the heavy oaken beam laid across the door. Another bolt struck this and they were through.
The room at the bottom of the stairs had several cots, a larder, and strange smelling beakers that reminded them of the putrid Baron's laboratory. That they had at one time both been mages in Calephas's employ did not improve their opinion of him. A single lantern had been left hanging from a rafter, but otherwise there was no sign of habitation.
Remembering their younger brother's words, they both headed straight for the wooden door in the southern wall. It too had been barred from the other side, but this time both of them were able to reach and detonate the frame. Beyond they saw a narrow tunnel and in the distance they could see humans fleeing down it.
With ravenous howls they jumped through the remnants of the door and took up the chase, energy crackling along their paws, tails whipping back and forth with each step, and ears lifted to hear the fearful cries of their prey.
Gmork's youngest lifted his head when he heard the shouting coming from his right. He spun immediately, and bounded through a thicket of close-pressed pine and came to the edge of the river. The water flowed rapidly past, glinting with a million sparkling azure gems as day dawned. And riding that swift current was a single long-boat with four humans madly trying to escape.
His older brother was at his side only a second later, and his voice barked in his ears, "It's the Tanner!"
One of them, the youngest of the four, pointed with one arm at the bank where the pups stood. "They've found us!" He rowed faster as two of them turned their bows on them and nocked arrows.
Gmork's youngest ran along the river's edge, glaring down at the boat. It was just too far to jump, and even he didn't dare try swimming in current as harsh as that and with water so cold. His brother was at his side as they ran, drawing runes in the air even as the arrows rushed to meet them. But each arrow struck an invisible wall of force that glowed a sultry violet and bounced away as if they were twigs.
The brothers ran back toward the mill as fast as they could, only barely outpacing the boat. His older brother followed him, and he could sense an odd uncertainty in his gait. It was if he were following him just to see what it was Gmork's youngest intended to do.
He thought the solution obvious. Catch one of them alive, and they would have everything. Father would manage that. But to catch them, they had to reach them. And there was only one place they could do that.
The river flowed into the Arabas not far north from the mill. There was an old stone bridge crossing the river shortly before that. He'd seen it as they were heading toward the mill. With the Spring thaw, there would not be much clearance for the boat. He allowed his muzzle to lengthen to its fullest extent and ran his long tongue across the back of his sharp and strong fangs. Maybe Father would let them eat whoever he captured once he was finished with them.
That thought did not give any celerity to his steps, but it made his stomach growl as loud as his throat.