Chapter 19 – The Next Morning
“Urgh,” Vard said as he slowly awoke. His head was pounding, and he felt like he had been sleeping for days. He opened his eyes and found to his surprise that he was still in Argus Vyle’s camp, lying face first on the rough-hewn wooden table alongside his plate of half-eaten food, which by this point had long since gone cold. The spilled goblet next to his plate helped him recall his unsuccessful struggles to resist falling asleep, and the strange laughter he had heard as well. He blinked as he looked around, seeing that the clearing was full of renegades asleep like he was, some of whom were slowly stirring. Besides him was Sir Kyr, still asleep, ears twitching as he dreamed his unknowable thoughts. Argus Vyle, head lolled to the side, mouth open, snored loudly on his throne.
Vard didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he had a vague, growing sense of unease, as if he had misplaced something crucial. Grabbing Sir Kyr by the shoulder, he shook the knight violently. When that didn’t work, he bellowed, “Hey! Wake up!” directly into his ear. That did the trick, and the knight’s eyes flashed open. He bolted to his feet, knocking his chair over with a loud clatter as he quickly looked across the room, taking in the situation.
“Looks like we were all drugged,” Vard said. “Though who did so, or why, I don’t have the slightest of ideas.”
“I do,” Sir Kyr said, fists clenched tightly at his sides, shaking with suppressed emotion, though with rage or something else Vard couldn’t tell. “Look who’s missing.”
Vard looked around quickly, then took in a sharp breath through his gritted teeth, making a furious hissing sound in the process. “Of course. The twins…”
“If I had to speculate, I guess we will find that ‘Alys,’ though I doubt that’s her true name, has disappeared as well,” Sir Kyr added. “I had my suspicions as to who she might be. I had plenty of time to approach Vyle and let him know. How could I have been so foolish?”
“Do you think she works for the Master?” Vard asked.
Sir Kyr hesitated, unsure how to answer the question. Rather, he then stepped over to where Argus Vyle had fallen asleep and slapped him once across the face. The bandit lord snorted once, then awoke, staring at Sir Kyr with astonishment. “My face feels like it got kicked by a horse,” Vyle complained. “Did you just slap me?”
“It seemed the fastest way to wake you,” Sir Kyr replied calmly.
Argus Vyle considered that, then shrugged. “Well, I can’t argue with the results.” He reached out an unsteady arm, and Sir Kyr helped him get to his feet. Vyle wobbled for a moment, then steadied himself. He looked around the clearing, expression darkening. “What happened?” he asked.
Sir Kyr responded to his question with a query of his own. “When did Alys join your band?”
Vyle frowned, tugging on his mustache absently as he tried to recall. “Less than a month ago. Perhaps two weeks, at most. Why?”
“She drugged us all, and kidnapped the twins,” Sir Kyr told the bandit lord.
Vyle spluttered with indignation. “If so, then she has made me look like a fool! Worse, she has violated my sacred honor as your host! She must pay!”
“She’s also long gone, if I had to make my guess,” Vard grumbled. “We don’t have a prayer of rescuing the twins.”
“Are you really so quick to surrender?” Sir Kyr asked, folding his arms across his chest as he studied the bard. “We haven’t even begun searching for them yet.”
Vard stared at Sir Kyr in blatant astonishment. “How could we possibly follow them through Ar Goll Forest?”
“Kyr here is the best tracker I’ve ever known,” Argus Vyle said, slapping the knight on the shoulder. “If anyone can hunt them down, it would be him.”
Sir Kyr ran his tongue along his fangs, as if anticipating tearing through the twins’ kidnappers. “If we work quickly, we may still arrive in time to save them.”
Vard rubbed at his chin, considering the information. “And if we’re too late?”
Sir Kyr drew his sword. “Then we shall avenge them.”
“My men and I will assist you in whatever way we can,” Argus Vyle told the two of them. “We will hack and burn our way through all of Ar Goll Forest until we find Alys and the twins, and we will give her the execution that she deserves.” The formerly jovial bandit lord had lost all humor, his eyebrows drawn together and his entire face contorted into a glower. “Let us see how Alys fares against the full might of Argus Vyle’s army.”
“Thank you,” Sir Kyr said politely, “but your entire force would only slow us down. Choose your best dozen or so men, and your fastest, surest-footed horses, and we will get on our way.”
Argus Vyle nodded as he thought. “Aye, that does make sense. Let’s get to work, then.”
Time flew by in a frantic blur for the trio as they worked to awaken the rest of Vyle’s camp, who had been uniformly affected by the sleeping potion that “Alys” had prepared for them. Once they had finished rousing the bandit army, Argus Vyle hastily commanded them, putting Lloyl Renzir in charge in his absence, preparing the camp to move in case “Alys” had revealed their location to an outside enemy in addition to kidnapping the twins, and carefully selecting his dozen best fighters to join them on their expedition.
By the time all these preparations were finished, a formidable force stood at the edge of the camp’s clearing, besides an equal number of horses. All the bandits were armed with every weapon they could scrounge from across the camp and its stocks, and Sir Kyr had managed to convince Vyle’s blacksmith to loan him a new helmet to replace the one he had lost previously, as well as a sword breaker, a weapon with large notches along its length to catch and shatter enemy blades, to join his other sword. Armed with two weapons once more, Sir Kyr felt satisfied. Vard, who carried no weapon, was happy to trust in Sir Kyr and Vyle’s men should it come to bloodshed with “Alys.”
“The men are ready to go,” Vyle informed Sir Kyr and Vard. “We will follow your lead.”
“We may well be facing a well-trained hemomancer, and, if my guesses are correct, possibly more abominations such as myself,” Sir Kyr warned. “This could prove fatal for us all. Are your men sure they wish to follow us?”
“My men don’t take well to traitors, any more than I do,” Argus Vyle said, gesturing with a flick of his wrist towards his waiting followers. “They’ll follow us, even if we were going to face the Empress herself, backed by an entire army of hemomancers. You have no worry on that end.”
“Very well,” Sir Kyr said, glancing back over his shoulder at Vard. “I understand that you are no fighter. You may remain at the camp if you wish.”
Vard snorted in disbelief. “After you accused me of wanting to surrender? I’ll follow you to the ends of Waed, if that’s what it takes to get the twins back.”
Sir Kyr grinned, then, shouting, “hah!” kicked his horse into a canter. He led his steed out of the clearing and onto one of the forest’s myriad winding trails. The rest of them followed behind him, making their way down the winding path, the clearing and the rest of the camp quickly being swallowed from their sight by the entangled branches of the trees behind them. Sir Kyr took the lead, occasionally stopping to sniff or stare intently at the forest floor before leading the group off in a new direction. Argus Vyle rode immediately behind him, an infectious, careless grin on his face, which occasionally slipped, showing the determined man bent on vengeance beneath. The rest of the bandits formed a rough column behind the two of them, a long, serpentine body that stretched back through the woods. Vard, the least experienced and therefore slowest rider among them, trailed along at the very end of the band, additionally serving as a lookout to make sure that no one approached them from behind, although with few living in the great forest, none of them truly expected any danger there. They rode in silence, broken only occasionally by a soft whinny from one of the horses or a sudden burst of birdsong that just as quickly fell silent.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Ah, it’s just like old times,” Argus Vyle said wistfully after several minutes, stroking his mustache as he did so.
“Not quite,” Sir Kyr responded dryly, using his reins to urge the horse to ride a little bit faster. “We’re after a little more than plunder or the Empress’ annoyance this time, friend. There are innocent lives and the honor of us both at stake.”
“True, I suppose, but permit an old man to enjoy his reminiscences,” Argus Vyle said. “I…”
He was cut off by Sir Kyr raising his hand as a warning, eyes narrowing as he considered something. Argus Vyle instant gestured to his men, and they all pulled their steeds to a stop. “What is it?” Vyle asked, the joviality completely absent from his voice.
“This trail,” Sir Kyr said, his voice constricted, as if in pain.
“Have you lost it?” Vyle asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.
“No,” Sir Kyr responded. “It’s…where it leads that surprises me. Although, I suppose I shouldn’t be as amazed as I am. She isn’t from this region, and thus wouldn’t have those superstitions.”
The bandits clustered around the knight and their leader, curious. Vard drew close to the pair, curious. “Where?” Vyle asked simply.
Sir Kyr hesitated for a moment, then, pointing off in the distance, said, “the twin fangs.”
Argus Vyle clucked his tongue, then, kicking his horse’s sides, said simply, “Well, then that’s where we shall go. To the twin fangs!”
“To the twin fangs!” his followers echoed, and, for the first time since he had awoken, Vard felt the faintest stirrings of hope within his soul.
----------------------------------------
Zull groaned, shifting slightly. He was sore from his neck all the way down to his feet, as if every inch of his body has been the subject of a furious assault. His head felt fuzzy, and his temples were pounding, making it even harder for him to try and collect his scattered, disoriented thoughts. He opened his eyes, only to see darkness. After a moment he realized that he was wearing a blindfold. Confused, he tried to reorient himself, and realized that he was lying sideways across the back of something which jostled and bumped him at steady intervals. Zull quickly deduced both where he was and the cause of his bruising: he was lying across the back of his horse. Shaking his head to clear the last wisps of fog, Zull tried to focus on what was immediately important: the last thing he remembered was Vyle’s feast. Somehow, he had gotten from there to wherever he was at present.
“Where am I?” he tried to ask, but found a gag stuffed in his mouth reduced his words to little more than muffled grunts.
Regardless, his attempt to call out was heard by someone, as he heard a voice softly whisper “woah,” and an instant later the horse came to a halt. Zull heard the soft crunching of someone dismounting from another horse and walking towards him across piles of leaves and sticks. So, we’re still in Ar Goll Forest, he thought. I haven’t been unconscious for that long, then. He was startled out of his musings when a surprisingly strong hand grabbed him by the jaw and lifted his head up. There were noncommittal noises as whoever was his kidnapper studied him, then they spoke at last, saying, “It took you long enough to recover from the sleeping draught. Your sister awoke hours ago. You possess quite the weak constitution, it would seem. Disappointing, but something to note for later experiments, I suppose.”
Zull felt a sliver of cold dread ooze its way down his spine. His mysterious kidnapper had Zaphyr captive as well. Zull immediately dreaded the worst, fearing that they had both fallen somehow into the hands of one of the Master’s agents. But how? Zull wondered. Zaphyr and I were just with Argus Vyle and his men. I don’t even remember a struggle or anything. How did I get here? It was then that something that the kidnapper had said jumped out to him. “Sleeping draught?” he tried to ask, but through the gag it was little more than a tone of questioning.
His kidnapper laughed airily, saying, “Yes. You know those beautiful, poisonous flowers that grow all throughout this forest? When combined with some other herbs, they make a marvelous sleeping potion. I drugged the entire camp, lacing the stew with my potion, then simply waited.”
She waited expectantly, as if she anticipated Zull clapping in admiration of her genius. When he didn’t, she huffed, then continued, “I put all those arrogant buffoons into a sleep so deep I could have slit all their throats and none of them would have awoken. A shame that I did not have the time to spare to do so. After that, all I had to do was grab the two of you and take my pick of their horses. They should all be awake by now, unless they’re even weaker than you, but there won’t be a trace of us that they can follow.” After a short pause of silence, the kidnapper added sadly, “I would have so wished to grab Sir Kyr as well, but his raw strength means keeping him captive would have been difficult at best. Besides, I couldn’t have carried all three of you at the same time.” The kidnapper lifted Zull off the horse and roughly tossed him to the ground, like he was little more than a sack of rotten vegetables. He wheezed, letting out a gasp of pain. His kidnapper then knelt beside him and, to his mild surprise, undid his gag and blindfold, allowing him to see and speak once more.
Zull blinked rapidly, his eyes readjusting to the light as he looked around and took in his situation. There were three horses in total, the one he had been riding a moment before, one on which Zaphyr sat, gagged as well, staring at him with evident fear in her eyes, and the one their kidnapper had been riding. That kidnapper, to Zull’s bewilderment, turned out to be Alys, Vyle’s silent companion and cook.
Seeing his dumbfounded stare, she shook her head, snorting in amusement. “No, I’m not Alys. My real name is Sangue Phlegm, a name that all Waed will come to know and respect in the future.”
Zull’s eyes slowly widened in dawning horror and realization. “I see Sir Kyr did tell you about us, then,” she said, clearly enjoying the reaction her name elicited. “Isn’t it just delicious how fate twists the lives of people together like this? Of all the people that the Master could have possibly sent to destroy you two, he chose my father and I, and of all the people to be defending you, it happens to be our rogue knight Sir Kyr, that ungrateful brute.”
Zull felt the last flicker of hope in his heart dwindle down into the tiniest of embers. “You were hired by the Master?” he said quietly. He saw Zaphyr stiffen as well.
“Of course,” Sangue said dismissively. “Why else do you think we chose to hide out in this miserable forest? After my father and I set up our new laboratory, I joined Argus Vyle’s forces as ‘Alys,’ knowing that Sir Kyr was likely to guide you through here, thus allowing us a chance to bait a trap for the three of you. It worked perfectly.”
“If you’re going to kill us, do it now,” Zull said.
Sangue through her head back and laughed, a tittering sound like the song of a mad bird. “Oh, you really are so silly. I can see why Sir Kyr was so enraptured with the two of you that he chose to go along with you on your ridiculous quest to try and protect you. You all share the same overdeveloped sense of duty and drama.” She smiled sleepily at Zull. “Why on earth would I or my father want to kill you?”
Zull simply stared at her, utterly confused by this point.
She sighed, rubbing at her temples, as if having to explain a very simple concept to a stubborn toddler. “We may tell the Master that you two have been slain, and I’m sure my father will quite creatively thing of some means of providing proof to that effect, but we would be even greater fools than poor, deluded Sir Kyr if we would throw away two talented hemomancers like yourself.”
Zull’s skin crawled as he understood what she was implying. “You mean you want the two of us to help you…create…”
“…hemomantic abominations, yes,” she finished for him impatiently. “After all, you two have the talent for it, and I’m sure with the persuasion, you two could both prove very efficient works. Everyone benefits, see?”
Zull wanted to spit in her face. “I would never commit one of the Unthinkables willingly.”
“Ah,” she said, lids-half shut over her sleepy-looking eyes, but Zull knew she was very alert and aware, carefully watching every move he made, every response to her own words. “And there is the point. Willingly. Don’t worry, my father’s a miracle worker when it comes to convincing people to see the error of their ways.” She pulled a canteen out of her cloak and tossed it carelessly to Zull, who caught it, nearly fumbling and dropping it to the ground in the process. “Drink,” she commanded him. “I don’t want one of my prizes dying of thirst, after all.”
He quickly and greedily downed most of the canteen, then tossed it back to her. She caught it easily, smiling at him all the while. “Good lad. Now, get back up on your horse, and get ready to ride. We still have a way to go, and I am impatient. Oh, and put your gag back on. I prefer the quiet.”
He looked down incredulously, then to the gagged Zaphyr, then back to his captor. “Why would I do anything you ask? I could run away right now.”
Sangue pouted, her lips pursed. “See, that’s an interesting idea, except for one fact: my father has been experimenting on me as well. I am twice as fast as a normal human being, and far, far stronger as well. In the time that it would take for you to stand up and start to run, I could have already caught up to you, grabbed you by the head, and then torn your body in two with barely a thought. Am I understood?”
“Yes,” Zull said quietly. Zaphyr nodded energetically from where she was bound.
“Good,” Sangue said, the cheerfulness slipping from her expression to be replaced with an icy anger. “Now, get on that horse.”
Zull hastily complied, scrambling atop his beast, which obediently followed behind Sangue’s own steed as she kicked it into a trot. As their horses walked through the forest, Zull thought furiously, trying to think of a way to warn Sir Kyr and Vard, who he knew would try to track the two of them down. But in a forest this size, and this mazelike, and with Sangue guaranteed to have tried to hide our trail, could even Sir Kyr track us? He clenched his fists, feeling the tension and worry radiate through his body before an idea struck him.
Clenching his fists even tighter, he drove his nails into his own palms, until he had cut his skin. Holding his hand out besides him, palm towards the ground, he waited patiently for a drop of blood to drip forth, which struck the ground, guided carefully by his hemomancy to form a tiny arrow pointed in the direction they were traveling. The blood would dry eventually, he knew, leaving a dull red stain in the shape of a guiding arrow. Zull waited to see if their captor had noticed what he was doing. When she failed to respond, he glanced back at his sister, who nodded once, acknowledging what he had done, before balling her hands into fists as well. Zull tried to resist a smile which he knew if Sangue saw it would only make her suspicious as to what they were planning.
You think you have won already, but it isn’t over yet. Your confidence, like Choler’s, will be your downfall, Zull promised.