A Facet for the Gem (11 page)

Reluctant to move, the prisoners stayed huddled in utter confusion, bound to the wagons. Then quietly, the hidden archers—both male and female—emerged from their places of concealment along the perimeter, numbering roughly thirty in all. A sturdy man with grayish black hair appeared to be their leader, who stepped up to address the one who, up until a few moments before, had looked to be on the verge of death.

“The horn, Matufinn,” he said apprehensively, tossing him a sheathed sword.

As the fighters spread out to cut them all loose, they rose, none now doubting the legend that had ignited hope within so many. Now he had a face, a name.

“Yes,” said Matufinn, strapping the sword around his waist. “We’ll leave at once. And, I’m afraid this will have to be the first and last time you help me, Edrik.”

Seeming to take issue with this, the archer protested. “I don’t understand.”

Matufinn replied, “Felkoth has let me carry on for a full year, unabated. Whatever he’s planning, I fear it will not be safe for you or the others to return.” Then, mounting the nearest horse, he said confidently, “Morlen and I will take it from here.”

The female prisoner asked, “How did you all manage to stay within the woods unnoticed, with the shriekers patrolling night and day?”

Edrik answered her pleasantly, “We only just arrived.” Then, turning toward his group that brought in the scattered horses, he called out, “Forty must ride double.”

Climbing into one of the unmanned saddles, the gruff farmer studied the bowmen’s leader with great interest. “Edrik the sword smith?” he asked tentatively. “I stood with you when the Freelands fell. I heard you disappeared from the forges a month ago.”

Nodding toward Matufinn, Edrik replied proudly, “With a little help.”

Matufinn grinned, preparing to spur his horse on. “More than a few will go missing today.” Then finally, with all seventy horses occupied, he led them off the road, heading southeast through the woods. “We ride to the Isle!”

And, as quickly as they could, they wove with great care around trees and brush, knowing the shriekers would rapidly be approaching.

Daylight had receded when they broke out into the open fields, where, to their relief, no enemies were yet in sight. Still, their destination was two hours’ ride away, ample time for a patrol to gain on them.

“Form up on our left flank!” Edrik bellowed to his archers over the trampling hooves. “By nightfall, we’ll be easy game, and they’ll catch up before we make it through these parts, you can count on it!” Heeding his command, all thirty fighters spread out along the party’s side, holding their bows tightly.

As each bounce sent flames through the gash on his back, the bearded man noticed the scarred fellow riding close by. Everything had happened so quickly, he hadn’t yet been able to show gratitude for the man’s aid during their predicament. Graciously, he said, “Thank you for helping me,” and laughed, gesturing at Matufinn, “though, ultimately, he could take care of himself.”

The scarred man smiled, and as they looked on, Matufinn rode out in front, glancing neither left nor right.

“Three packs following our trail,” he called to Edrik. “A few miles behind.”

The group pushed on for a great distance, seeing the Forbidden Isle under falling night. Soon, with visibility limited, unable to hear anything but the cacophony of horses, they felt naked out in the open, vulnerable to any predator with a mind to attack.

“Keep close together!” Edrik bellowed.

But as they pressed in tightly, they found little comfort, and one archer cried out, sending an arrow to a spot behind them with a short volley from his nearest companions.

“What?” Edrik shouted as they galloped on, trying not to slow. “What did you see?”

The bowman looked troubled by the dark that concealed whatever crept closer. “It was one of them. I’m sure of it.”

The others, now fully alarmed, turned their heads to look all around, and the lightless surroundings haunted them.

“Matufinn?” Edrik called, unsettled by the jarring silence.

Holding his position out in front, Matufinn glanced back at the rest of the group. “They’re close,” he answered cautiously. “Be ready.”

Wasting no time, the archers fitted their bows, each of them nervously staying mounted by knee pressure only. Their spirits lifted slightly when the Isle’s blue vapors rose high before them, less than two miles ahead. But they were quickly deflated by shaking cries from the rear horses, whose riders struggled to keep control as they seemed to sense danger pouncing.

“Steady!” bellowed Edrik, who swept a handful of bowmen around the group’s perimeter, firing into the air behind them.

“Edrik, keep up!” Matufinn yelled from the front. “We cannot fall back if you get separated.”

The archers lingered for another moment before bolting to rejoin the group. “Show yourselves, you wretched dogs!” Edrik cursed. “I am in need of a winter pelt!”

Spurring the horses urgently, they rode on, finding the short stretch between themselves and freedom more unpleasant than any of the countless miles covered in captivity. Then, a sinister growl rang out, followed by many more in a bloodthirsty eruption all around.

“Hold your fire!” Edrik commanded as the group turned frantic, their enemies still unseen. “Watch all directions. Wait until they come in for the attack. Ride! Ride!” The screams closed in on every side except the open area before them, which was diminishing, with the Isle at its end.

“Ride!” Edrik urged. “Almost there—” But a wild bark cut him off, and the pair of jaws it came from quickly lunged on his right side, about to strike for the kill. Then an arrow flew from far ahead, darting over his shoulder directly into what could only be the creature’s body, still veiled by the dark as it gave a shrill whine.

Looking up front, Edrik soon understood where the arrow had come from when another flew out from behind the mists, followed by one more, hitting targets that even he could not see. Then, the disembodied onslaught abruptly halted, pulling back in retreat when they finally reached the Isle’s border.

“Quickly, into the mists,” commanded Matufinn, who held back beside Edrik, standing guard while the others rode through. They kept eyes and ears open for any sign of the beasts’ return, and watched as the former slaves made safe passage. Then, when the entire group had gone through, both pushed forward to follow.

“Extraordinary,” Edrik marveled, slowly becoming immersed as they went on. “He can see through the mists, in the dark no less?”

Matufinn smiled in reply, gladdened by the thought of seeing the one on the other side. “He doesn’t need to.”

Morlen leapt with tremendous speed through the moonlight, his brown cloak a canvas for the reflected colors of apples that blurred as he moved. It whipped against the wind, but didn’t slow him in the least while he sprinted up a grassy hill, breaking out into open air. Four lions curved around its wide bend while he ran along the top, skidding down to head them off.

“You think I can’t see you?” he called, and lunged through the trees again. He felt them like brilliant rays when his eyes closed, illuminating the paths that wound ahead in all directions. Obstacles were mere illusions now, the curtain of darkness a friendly backdrop to his mind’s radiant torch. The woods thinned out and gave way to rocky cliffs. He was almost there… he would beat them for certain… just a little farther.

Their paws shook the earth beneath his feet, stomping with fierce determination to outrun, to overtake. He saw the edge, jutting out high over the water like a perfect platform from which he sprang, soaring without fear and plummeting, breaking the surface with a spectacular splash.

Spewing a laugh through the water, he was soon joined by an even heavier plunge, followed consecutively by three more. Then, muffled roars ascended from below as four stout heads shattered the epicenters of each rippling circle, assaulting him with volleys shaken from their manes.

Morlen drank deeply of their bright presence before they swam to shore, leaving him in the current. Feeling content, he gave in and drifted downriver comfortably on his back, toward the far-off lake. He would reach it near the same time his father led the others to it. The rescued prisoners were undoubtedly enjoying many forgotten comforts within the forest, their stomachs full of the meat he had helped provide before setting out ahead.

He was unsure how many had come and gone over the last year, and contemplated the prospect of setting out soon to help his father, who had faced more than his fair share of danger rescuing them alone. Soothed by the river’s cool embrace, he was reluctant to leave this place behind when it felt as though he had only just entered.

But, he was ready. Well, nearly ready. There was still one task that lay ahead before he could join the struggle against Felkoth’s oppression. One that many before him had attempted, only to fail.

But, the moment in which he would come to that trial still seemed ages away. Now, while the eternal river cradled him, there was only peace.

Matufinn led the group of freed men and women onward, carrying Morlen’s bow and quiver that had once been his own as a young man. Beside him walked the two men who had tried to help him in the prisoner caravan, while Edrik and the rest of the party kept close behind.

With a strip of cloth now bandaging his back, the darkly bearded man reveled in the Isle’s beauty. “You truly gave up this place to come live in squalor with the rest of us?” he marveled.

“I found more opportunity in a year out there than a life in here ever brought me,” Matufinn replied. “And I resolved to help others find the same freedom.”

“The others,” the man said hopefully, “who were they?”

Struggling to remember all he had brought to safety over time, Matufinn said, “First, it was remnants of shattered families inside Korindelf. But, with the shriekers so alerted to my scent, attempts at rescue soon became too dangerous for those I wished to help. But there were many,” he assured, “before I could finally do no more alone in the city. Then, as you know, I moved on to the different prison camps, infiltrating, extracting with care, and to that course I held, till today.”

“Are they still here, then?” asked the man whose face was scarred, walking on his other side.

Matufinn grinned. “No,” he answered. “Most of those I rescued departed to Veldere, while select others chose to stay, forming the band that helped carry out this latest campaign.”

Intrigued, the scarred man pressed him. “But none can cross the border between the two kingdoms unseen. How could they possibly reach Veldere from here?”

Pleased to relive the joy of introducing distressed, hungry minds to wonders he’d come to take for granted, Matufinn replied, “You’ll see, my friend. You’re all about to join them.”

Morlen waited in the lake meadow as the group filed through the trees, and they greeted him with appreciation one by one. Glad to absorb their outpourings of friendship, he could not help but wonder if any recognized him from Korindelf, from his old life, when every collection of energies had all but stung him to death.

“Here,” said Matufinn, taking the bow and quiver from his shoulder, handing both to him. “I trust you moved quickly without these on your back. Though, sometimes we must learn to run with our burdens, till we feel them no longer.”

Morlen had grown somewhat taller over the last year, now almost the same height as his father while they walked together. They came to the lake, a diamond carpet sprawling in the moonlight, and he stood aside while Matufinn prepared to address the rest.

All seemed to brim with interest as Matufinn began to answer what most were undoubtedly wondering. “The lake is a nexus between our world and a plane beyond distance and time,” he projected loudly. “It bends the miles of stretching space around us into a mere stride that will take you anywhere in these lands you wish to go. It is what enabled me to reach the scattered camps undetected, and you can take it, like the others before you, to Veldere. There, you will find friends old and new in civilization once again.

“By bringing you into the Isle, I have committed a sacred act, one that empowers each of you to return here whenever you wish, with whomever you choose. For having been shown the way, you may now show it to others.”

“Then let us hope we are all trustworthy,” Edrik joked, laughing with the others, and Morlen realized that the scarred man was studying him intently, with eyes that quickly darted away upon being noticed.

Opening his arms to bid the group farewell, Matufinn said, “Go now, one by one, so your arrival draws no suspicion. Swim down into the lake as its doorway opens for you, and find life on the other side.”

They slowly came forward, dozens offering their final thanks before wading through the shallows, and swam down toward bright pulses in the depths that suddenly whisked them away, leaving behind only faint ripples on the surface.

Coming face to face with the two men from the caravan, Matufinn said, “I wish to express my gratitude to both of you for the good will you showed, thinking me to be on the verge of death. You,” he spoke kindly to the darkly bearded man, “were bold in the face of certain doom, and I only hope the marks left by your lashes remind you of that bravery.”

With a wide smile, he clasped Matufinn’s arm.

“Brave indeed,” said the man whose face was scarred, grinning at the bearded one. “I was convinced
you
were the Missing Prisoner. How very surprised I was.”

“And you,” Matufinn replied. “You too will always be welcome here in the Isle.”

The scarred fellow smiled thinly, and Morlen sensed a strong surge of excitement in him. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I think I should like to return, someday.” Then, the two men went into the water after most had already departed. Finally, being one of the few remaining, Edrik approached them.

“My old friend,” Matufinn said gratefully as they clasped arms, “Remember always that you have strong allies in the two of us.”

Bowing his head in appreciation, Edrik smiled. “I shall remember it.” Then, looking at Morlen, he said, “I understand you will soon be claiming a new sword. I’ll certainly be putting my skills to better use now. Come find my smithy, and I’ll craft a fine sheath for the blade.” Nodding in return, Morlen shook his extended arm, and Edrik followed his band’s last members down the bank.