Inside, the house was cold and quiet. To his left, Ilkar saw an open door and recalled that it led to a sitting room. To his right was another open door but this one led into a basic dining room. Candlelight flickered through both doorways. The corporal glanced into the dining room and could see two rotians sat opposite each other at the table, heads bowed. He moved into the sitting room and saw Daen standing just inside, looking down at three men who were seemingly asleep on the floor, covered with blankets.
“
Are these the injured men?” asked Ilkar, trying to make out Daen’s face behind the unkempt hair.
Daen nodded. “Yes, but I do not believe you can do anything for them. They have fallen into unconsciousness and we cannot wake them.”
Ilkar frowned and turned to face his friend. “Are you hurt? You sound…different.”
“
Much has happened,” came the distant reply.
“
Daen, there are many matters we need to discuss but first we need to help these men and then get you all out of the settlement and away from the Ulmerien.” Ilkar waited for a response but none came. “The king will be here in a moment and he personally led us here to help when he heard you had survived Turambar.”
“
I need to speak with the king,” Daen said, still looking down at his wounded companions. “There is something important I must tell him.”
“
You can tell me.” Ilkar reached out and gripped Daen’s shoulder, turning the man to face him. “What is it?”
Daen’s dark blue eyes locked with Ilkar’s and the corporal saw the weariness within them along with a sadness. “I am tired. I would like you to see to it that these men are treated whilst I speak with the king.”
Ilkar tried to hide his surprise at how Daen now looked and sounded. The man had been strong, loud and the eternal optimist. Now, his face was ashen, his eyes ringed with darkness and his voice sounded forlorn. At least Daen still wore the Turambar armour and carried the sword at his side which had served him well for so many years.
“
We will speak with the king shortly,” said the corporal. “I’m glad you survived the attack, my friend. After I saw Sarin die, I had pursued the man who killed him below the fortress and I recall how futile our defense seemed at that moment. How did you and the others get out?”
“
It is hard to recall now. I am so tired.”
As Ilkar went to ask another question, heavy footfalls could be heard entering the house so he reluctantly stepped back into the hallway. Four soldiers stood near the door, with Afaron entering behind them.
“
How are they, Ilkar?” the king asked, pushing aside the men in front of him.
“
The honest answer, sire, is that I do not really know. Daen seems almost ready to drop and the three wounded are in the sitting room with him but they are unconscious. I have not yet seen the extent of their wounds. The final two men are in the dining room but were resting when I came in.”
Afaron signaled to someone behind him and two men wearing light armour entered the house. “See to the wounded,” he ordered them. He then turned to one of the soldiers who had entered before him. “I want some of your men to remain close to the healers but the rest can be positioned outside.”
“
Yes, sire,” the officer responded, immediately moving to delegate positions to the soldiers.
As the healers moved into the sitting room, Ilkar stepped closer to Afaron. “Daen insists on speaking with you, sire. It seems he has something important to tell you but he was reluctant to speak to me.”
Afaron noticed the corporal’s concerned expression. “Speak your mind, Ilkar.”
“
Daen is not himself and I believe that whatever happened to them has weighed heavy on their minds. It would be wise to get them away from here as soon as possible.”
“
As soon as the healers have gauged the extent of their wounds, we will see to it. In the meantime, introduce me to Daen and I will see what he has to say.”
Ilkar led him into the sitting room, where Daen remained standing by the door. He was watching the two healers begin their examinations of the three Rotians lying on the floor. Two soldiers entered behind Afaron and made their way across the room to stand behind the healers.
“
Daen, this is King Afaron,” announced Ilkar, having to tap his friend on the arm to get his attention.
Daen turned. “I need to speak with you in private.”
Afaron saw how exhausted the man was and could excuse his abruptness. “Whatever you have to say can be done so in front of Ilkar.”
“
So be it,” said Daen, almost with disdain. “But not in here.”
He staggered past them and across the hallway into the dining room. A moment later, he emerged holding a dimly lit lantern then proceeded towards the back of the house. Ilkar and Afaron followed. Two soldiers standing by the front door began to walk after them but the king signaled for them to remain where they were.
As they turned a corner, Ilkar remembered that they were close to the bedroom where he had been healed by Rynn. “You can speak freely now,” he said to Daen, who came to a halt and turned back to face them.
“
We have captured one of them,” he said, his voice still weak. “He is being held in that room.” He pointed at a closed door nearby.
Afaron and Ilkar exchanged looks of surprise. “One of the foreigners?” Afaron asked. “How?”
“
Shortly after your scouts left here two days ago, we caught one of the…foreigners trying to break in to this house. We believe he had been sent to kill us.”
Ilkar felt his mouth go dry. “Why couldn’t you tell us this in front of the others?”
“
We interrogated him as best we could,” continued Daen, as if he had not heard Ilkar’s question. “However, he told us he would only speak with our king. As you were already on your way here, I thought it best to wait for your arrival.”
“
I don’t understand,” said Afaron. “If he was sent to kill you then why would he want to speak to me?”
“
Under interrogation, he agreed to give up information on their plans but he refused to tell me.”
“
I don’t like this, sire,” Ilkar whispered to Afaron. “These foreigners are extremely dangerous, even without weapons, and you shouldn’t be in a room alone with one of them.”
Afaron nodded his agreement. “Your suggestion?”
“
Have several soldiers in the room with you, including myself.”
“
He will not talk with you in the room,” Daen said to the corporal.
Ilkar noticed how he spoke to him as though they were not friends. “You have given us this information, Daen, and we are grateful to you for capturing him in the first place but you need to rest now. Let us deal with this.”
Daen swayed again and then shook his head slowly. “I am clear-headed enough to help you. I will accompany you inside myself. This man knows now what I am capable of doing so surely that will be an advantage.”
Ilkar was certain that Daen had inflicted great pain on the foreigner in the next room. The Turambar officer was always capable of doing damage to someone he did not like but he always had enough willpower to refrain from doing so. However, after seeing so many of his fellow soldiers killed by the invaders, there was no doubt that Daen would not have the resolve he once had.
“
Very well,” agreed Afaron. “Before we go in though, I need further information from you. How well does this man speak our language?”
“
He has clearly been studying our tongue for some time,” said Daen. “He understood everything I said to him and replied almost fluently in the Rotian dialect.”
“
Has he given you his name?”
“
No. He gave away very little about himself. However, I was in no mood to ask him personal questions at the time.”
“
What
did
he reveal then?” Ilkar asked.
“
I have already told you,” growled Daen. “He agreed only to give information to the king once you reached the settlement.”
Ilkar’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How did he know the king was on his way here?”
Daen sighed and bowed his head. “In my tired state, I accidentally mentioned it.”
“
It is not a problem,” Afaron stated. “What did he tell you prior to this?”
“
That a small number of them had been watching the settlement from the north bank and, when they saw that we were here, he was sent across the river further to the west. He then made his way along the bank until he reached us.”
“
Did his companions stay on the north bank?” asked Afaron.
“
Yes.”
Ilkar leant close to the king. “Sire, if he has not reported back soon, they will know something is wrong. All the more reason to leave this place quickly.”
“
Ilkar is correct.” Daen lifted his head slowly to regard them both through his fringe of unkempt hair. His eyes glinted for a moment in the light of the lantern. “We should question this man now and, by then, your healers will have examined my men.”
“
Of course,” smiled Afaron. “I can understand that you want to be away from here as soon as possible. Lead the way then, Daen.”
As the burly soldier turned and headed for the door, Ilkar unsheathed his sword. “I’m hoping you took his weapons,” said the corporal.
“
They are back in the front room.” Daen opened the bedroom door and entered.
As Ilkar and Afaron followed him in, their eyes were immediately drawn to the black figure sat upon the edge of the bed. Daen had taken up a position next to the foreigner and was looming over him. The lantern cast dancing shadows onto the wall.
“
Do you know who I am?” Afaron said boldly, stepping forward.
“
You are the Rotian king.” The man’s reply was so quiet that they struggled to hear him.
As this was the first of the foreigners that Afaron had seen, he took a moment to study him. He wore only black clothing, including a long cloak and hood that was pulled up to hide his face. He was as tall as the king but, whilst Afaron had been expecting a slim, wiry figure, he was surprised to see that the foreigner was well-built and no doubt powerful.
“
I have been told you have information for me.”
The man tilted his head, as if looking down at Daen’s boots. “I do, but not while
he
stands so close.”
As Afaron signaled Daen to move back, Ilkar regarded the foreigner anxiously. There was something about the man he found familiar but he had seen many of them both at the temple in Boraila and at Turambar.
“
Pull the hood back so we can see your face,” ordered the corporal, stepping past Daen and snatching the lantern from him.
“
Three rotians to question one man?” came the foreigner’s mocking voice. “I will only speak to the king.”
“
Then hear this,” said Afaron. “First you will remove your hood, then you will tell me everything you know. These men remain with me and you are in no position to make demands of us.”
Ilkar moved closer to the foreigner and held the lantern up. “Perhaps you need further persuasion? My friend here will be happy to oblige.”
Afaron pulled his own sword from its sheath. “As would I and every other Rotian in this kingdom. I did not come here to play games.”
The foreigner looked up at the king and the lower half of his face was illuminated by the lantern. Pale lips parted in a cold smile. “No, you came here to rescue your men from Turambar, as hoped.”
Ilkar froze as he heard the man’s voice more clearly. It was one he would never forget. “Sire, move back,” he yelled.
Suddenly an unnatural cry came from behind him and Ilkar spun on his heel to see Daen standing in the doorway, his head thrown back. The spine-chilling noise – sounding like a child crying blended with the threatening growl of a mountain lion - was seemingly emanating from deep within the soldier. Somewhere towards the front of the house, similar sounds could be heard.
Confused, Afaron looked from Daen to the foreigner, who calmly stood from the bed, drawing a curved sword and long knife from beneath his cloak. The king did not hesitate and lunged for the foreigner’s throat but his sword was parried aside with minimal effort. He had expected a quick follow-up attack but none came and the man merely regarded him with dark eyes from beneath the hood.
“
Who are you?” Afaron asked, glancing at Ilkar, who had placed the lantern on a nearby table and was shouting for help from the soldiers at the front of the house.
“
My name is Saroth.”
“
My men will be through this door in seconds. I suggest you surrender your weapons now before you are cut down.”
“
Unfortunately,
sire
, your men will have their own problems to attend to. I admit that I had not expected the Rotian king to be so foolish as to walk boldly in here and deliver himself to me so easily.”
The noise coming from Daen had ceased and the Turambar soldier’s head snapped back down, his eyes burning into Ilkar with hatred. In an instant, his sword was in his hand and he was bearing down on the corporal.
As Ilkar blocked Daen’s vicious attack, he saw only malice in his friend’s eyes. He called for him to stop but Daen launched a second offensive.