Bebo

Hoofdstukken lezen

	Chapter 1
	Chapter 1 --------------- Fane did his best to try to keep up with the dog. His boots slid on the dry dirt as he scrambled up grassy slopes, clutching at the tuffs of grass and moss with his fingers, trying to find some purchase on the increasingly desolate mountainside. As he ascended to the crest of a slope, following the least steep path possible, the mountainside seemed to twist about-face slightly, forcing the boy to gaze back out at most of which he had climbed, and all that he had called home for the short years of his life. The sight was magnificent … he could not have pictured it as being so breathtakingly beautiful, yet so massively terrifying. He looked down upon mountains; mountains upon mountains laddered beneath him into the pit of the valley where his small town looked insignificant. Small wisps of grey smoke rose from the chimneys, climbing into the dusk to disperse in the chill of the approaching night. Everywhere he looked were mountains and hills, even beyond the ring of protective landscape that shielded his home town … and in the distance he was certain he could make out the capital city of Hood; its hazy stone towers like spikes amidst the milieu, far beyond the greys and greens and browns of the summertime landscape of Tylunia. Tylunia had always looked smaller from the village. The forbidden mountain-range had stood watch over him all through Fane’s life, looming on the northern skies like an image etched into the horizon; too colossal to be real, too pretty to be anything but a picture. As massive as the mountain-range had looked from the house he had grown up in, it felt a great deal bigger when he was running up it. Fane’s breath seared as it passed through his lungs, the cold air scraping his dry throat so harshly that he thought it must bleed. In the pit of his chest a forest fire blazed, threatening to choke him at every step, summoning a steady produce of bile and flem which tasted like poison in his mouth. He had heard of the expression: ‘lead weights tied to your boots’ … it sounded like a cliché, but now he knew where clichés came from; he couldn’t think of anything else tied to his boots that might hurt his legs quite as much as this did. It was, he decided, an accurate cliché for this situation. How his dog was managing it, he had no idea. For a puppy of just one year, he was fast, had far too much stamina, and by all the gods was he disobedient. Fane tried once more to call his name as he chased the pup up the mountain but again to no avail. The mutt didn’t even glance around at his master. There was not even a twitch of the ear or a sagging of the tail in shame. *1 ‘Clyde you mutt! Heel!’ Fane shouted up at the dog as it skipped between boulders, taking the steepest, most treacherous path imaginable for the boy to follow. Clyde’s long ears flapped around in the wind as he bounded past a perplexed sheep, not even bothering to direct his attention at the animal. He appeared interested in something else. Fane’s boot slipped on a particularly smooth brown rock and he went down. The boy’s stomach clenched in shock as his arm went out, catching a jagged end of the mountain. All too quickly there was blood over the dirt and the sleeve of his torn shirt, the warm flow of sickly copper-smelling claret was trickling down his forearm. Silently he cursed the animal and stumbled to his feet, not bothering to stop to bind the wound. The moment his head was above the crest’s level, he saw them. Fane couldn’t believe his eyes. In that instant, the freezing-cold fingers of fear laced around his heart, chilling the blood right up to his eyes and down to his toes. It was The Zard. Three of them; all dull-green of skin and hunched over like wiry monkeys, their long spiked tails twisting around the rough bark-like hide of their legs. Smaller than a Human, but by no means weak; their powerful dog-like snout held rows of dangerous looking teeth, backed up by dominant jaws and a fearsome snarl. Their heavy set forehead rutted at the brow, framing bright red eyes of anger and hatred. Although Clyde had not stopped to acknowledge the sheep, he didn’t hesitate to stop when he saw the fearsome Zard. As Fane rose to his feet, Clyde sat hunched defensively, growling at the foreign creatures; his posture threatening and the fur on his back raised like porcupine quills. ‘Clyde! No! Come back!’ As one of the Zard turned to look at Fane, Clyde pounced. Without hesitation the creature removed his blade and battered the dog aside easily in a single fluid motion. Clyde whimpered, and yelped, scrambled to one side and then fell back down again, obviously heavily wounded by the blow. Fane didn’t hesitate, his considerable fear momentarily forgotten, he ran at the three Zard, empty handed and yelling in rage. His stomach caved inwards, tangling in knots. Despite his outrage - as usual - fear gradually became the seamstress of his intestines, or so it felt. He had no idea what he was hoping to achieve by approaching the Zard, perhaps he sought to scare them off like a pack of hungry scarion *2, but as his feet took him closer and his terror brought him to his senses, he realised that they weren’t exactly intimidated. The Zard stood by and watched the Human run at them without any expression on their alien faces. He stopped about 20 feet short of the alien creatures, looking at them without really seeing them. They were smaller than they were usually depicted in the history books, but in person they were at least twenty times as petrifying. The wind brushed past their backs and headed to him, carrying with it their scent. It was the scent of a swamp in Autumn; dry, rotten, infested, and yet sweetened by the juxtaposed aroma of lilies cresting the far bank. He could smell them – oh gods he could smell them! They were real, and he was dead. A single Zard approached him, and his legs would not move. He could not run; he could not even still his beating heart enough to allow his paralysed arms to raise a defence. He knew he would be dead in the next second. The creature’s blade came out, accompanied by the chilling noise of unsheathed metal; the grating of steel in a deliberate menacing act, which spoke louder than any words. The next instant, the thing’s sword was imbedded deep into Fane’s hip and pain spread through his body like electricity - the cold steel a shocking contrast against his warm innards. Fane fell backwards, gasping, and landed heavily on his already-injured arm which twisted awkwardly against the dry earth. He screaming in agony, seeing – through tear-blurred vision - as the Zard come forward another step, raising its bloody blade up, point face-down, ready to impale the boy and suffer the final blow… --- ‘That’s not what I meant.’ The grime-covered man interrupted. ‘When I asked ‘ow ya got caught, I didn’t mean the actual event, I means what led up to it.’ Fane frowned, ‘But this is how I got caught.’ He replied. ‘You might think that’s how ya got caught, but you don’t actually know why ya were taken do ya? ’ They were in the cabin of a large ship, that much was obvious by the constant sickly rocking and the oddly comforting slosh of the sea as it barraged their hull. The man speaking to them had already been there when they had awoken. He was a fairly tall, skinny, Dreyhood Male with a grubby appearance; covered in mud and dirt, and not clean shaven by any standards. His long scruffy hair was greasy and fell loosely in his eyes over his brow, masking his features. Sec Rell interjected ‘We trespassed on Zard sacred land?’ He ventured. ‘No!’ The scruffy man said impatiently, ‘Don’t ya get it?’ Fane gestured for his friend, Sec, to be quite by holding a hand up before he could say another word. ‘Well why don’t you help us get it?’ The man laughed; an ill-natured snort followed by a dry chuckle. ‘I’ll tell ya what,’ he said, leaning closer, his chains pulling taught as a wry expression crossed his face, ‘Ya tell me the rest of the story ya were in the middle of. It was a fun story, and ya never know, ye and your sidekick here might put two and two t’gether and get it all by ya little selves.’ Sec looked like he wanted to beat this man, chained to the wall or not, but Fane shook his head and turned his attention back to the rogue in bondage. ‘Okay. We’ll finish the story, but after we’ve finished you’d better explain what the hell is going on here, especially why we’ve been taken and why on earth my wounds have healed overnight. Deal?’ The man nodded, ‘Deal.’ --- Sec parried the downward thrust with a stunning blow of his own; deflecting the killing strike away from his best friend. Fane lay on the ground, clutching his side and staring up at his Sec in shock as the Zard fell back and regrouped, freeing their swords from their scabbards, not taking any chances with the newcomer. ‘Where did you come from?’ Fane said, grinning, or at least it had intended to be a grin but came out more like a painful contortion. ‘You’re stalking me, admit it.’ He jested. ‘I know I’m beautiful, Sec, but I didn’t think I was your type.’ The joke lost impact due to the fact that Fane looked as though he was about to pass out. ‘You think I’d let you chase your mutt all the way up Tylunia alone? It’s a forbidden mountain range for a reason.’ Sec replied as he readied himself for combat with the three alien beings. His stance, although untrained and undisciplined, was fairly good considering his age. He held himself - and his blade - very well. ‘Just be careful, you idiot!’ Fane called, grimacing. The Zard warriors approached slowly, fanning out around the single combatant and his injured friend. Their movement was like the crawl of a lizard. They swayed and rolled their shoulders as they groomed the dirt with their hoofed feet and their arms hung loosely by their sides, perhaps even longer than their legs. As one they rushed at the boy, their swords sweeping at him from all angles. Sec deflected one blow head on and then leaned forward, allowing a second attack to sour past him. Nimbly he danced out of the circle that the Zard had him in, blocking a series of blows from the nearest creature as he went. Sec was unskilled in comparison, but his courage and his luck seemed to keep him alive in this instance. One of the Zard rushed at him in alarming speed, bounding over the fallen Fane and hacking at the Sec’s head in a blur of motion. It was obviously annoyed by the impetuous youth. Sec’s reflexes alone saved him from the initial attack, but as soon as his blade had deflected it, the Zard followed it up with a deadly sweeping blow upwards, tearing at the boy’s jacket and slicing the skin of his chest. Sec stumbled backwards, clutching his injury with his free hand. A blob of deep red blood oozed out from between his forefinger and thumb and rolled quickly down the length of his forearm. Another of the Zard charged him down; this one even faster than the last. They were inhumanly fast, and there was nothing the swordsman could do to save himself against such speed and prehensile reach. One slashing blow from the left weakened Sec’s one-handed grip on his long sword, the second attack simply disarmed him as it pummelled down on his waning guard. His sword fell useless at the ground to his side, slipping over the smooth rock and rolling downhill until it was out of the boy’s reach. The Zard’s own sword rose threateningly to his gullet, warning him – unmistakably - to still himself. And then there was confusion. ‘What do ya mean confusion?’ The scruffy prisoner asked, ‘Explain it ‘ow ya saw it.’ Sec nodded, and continued with his part of the story. There was a flash of light. Sec didn’t know what had caused this flash … it was just there; soundless, bright, and frightening. The Zard in front of him were simply dispersed, thrown to the wind like leaves caught in an unfelt gale. Their spindly bodies thrashed and clutched at the air as they sailed away. Sec turned and saw … something … … a large man … no, men … … and then he passed out. --- The grimy man laughed ‘Ya don’t need to be so bloody melodramatic.’ He chuckled. Sec shook his head, which was turning beetroot with annoyance, ‘Listen, we’ve just been taken away from our homes – our families … we nearly died and we just met the Zard … a damned race that everyone told us was extinct. And here you are laughing at us and it’s all just some big joke to you isn’t it?’ The man paused his laughing for a second, raising his eyebrows in thought, ‘Yeh.’ He said finally, nodding with a straight face. Sec, who was not chained to the wall, took a swing at the man and hit him hard in the mouth, snapping the man’s head back against the cabin hull. The punch was audible; it sounded like an axe hacking at the base of a large oak tree. The man squinted in pain, gritting his teeth. His eyes closed, he wrinkled his nose, attempting to dispel the discomfort of the well-connected punch. It took him only a few moments before he shook his head, clearing his mind of the pain … and then he was laughing again. ‘I like ya, Sec, ya gots guts!’ He said in between guffaws. His teeth were stained slightly red with what must have been blood. Sec Rell glared at the man, clenching his jaw in a series of frustrated pulses. Sec was a very short young man, even by Dreyhood standards. The boy barely even reached 5’5” in height, but the way he carried himself made others think of him (or at least remember him) as being much taller. He was not nearly as slim as Fane or the other Dreyhood, but he was not overweight either. Trained as a warrior from an early age, the little man had developed quite a muscular torso, which bulged and rippled even under his relatively loose-fitting cream tunic. The man had a kindly, yet brooding face, which flared around the stocky jaw-line, creating an almost comical caricature of what might typically be considered the face of a mean boxer, or gangster. Were it not for his defiantly righteous gaze or his short stature, he might have even been fearsome to look at - with his short-cropped hair and thick, frowning eyebrows. ‘I’d shake ya hand; introduce me’self if I wasn’t chained to this damn wall.’ The man offered, ‘The name’s Kern. Kern Ravenkarf of The Dreyhood.’ Fane didn’t like Kern already, but he offered a nod and his name in return. Being polite was important, even to your enemies. And besides, it wasn’t as if this man was his enemy … they were both in the same situation. ‘Now, Kern,’ Fane said, ‘Keep your end of the bargain.’ Kern nodded, wiping his bleeding lip on the collar of his tunic with an awkward slow nod. ‘Well, what do ya think that flash was? Eh? Lightnin’? Followed by some freak storm from outta the nether?’ *3 There was silence. Then the sound of a lock sliding back came from the direction of the cabin door. All eyes turned to the doorway, and a middle-aged man with red hair and a short beard stepped through. He was a giant of a man; tall and wide, stern of features and garbed in plain sailing clothes of browns and dark blues, but there was something else about him; something calm and peaceable, yet determined in his expression. His nose was bulbous, and his skin slightly freckled, revealing him as being of Irralonian heritage. He walked boldly over to where Kern was chained, ignoring the other two occupants of the cell. At the door stood two guards, which would have proved difficult if Fane and Sec wanted to make a run for it. The big man unlocked the chains around Kern and pulled him towards the door, pushing him on ahead to walk out of the room first. ‘I’ll explain when I return!’ Kern called back as he was escorted out of the door, ‘I’m off to gets tortured for a little bit. Yeeehaaa!’ The door was slammed closed. --- The forest clearing lay still and tranquil under the mid afternoon sun. Distantly, a flock of brightly coloured birds swooped overhead, singing songs of love, of hope, of young and of sights seen that only they could see. Singularly their voices were pretty, yet harmonically, they became beautiful. Perhaps they had begun their journey south for the approaching winter, or perhaps they had simply decided to add a little background colour to the already restful glade that they swooped over. The Trees swayed softly under the gentle breeze of autumn and with it, golden-brown leaves fell slowly, coming to rest at last on the green-woven quilt of nature’s bed. Gusts of warm air rolling from the backs of the valley hills sent ripples through the long grass and were gone in the next instant, rushing off toward the heart of the thick woodland. A small rabbit bounded onto the grass, sniffing the air as he climbed cautiously from its hidden barrow. Satisfied that nothing was wrong in the clearing, it hopped with a certain glee across the open space, springing between the long wildflowers. A wild boar ran into the clearing, barging through the hedges and nearly skidding to a halt as it huffed in apparent indecision. The rabbit pelted, back into his haven, with wide-eyed fear on its face. The boar turned his head toward the noise and snorted, eyes wide and fore leg shaking, obviously Startled by something. Fane jumped into the clearing, bellowing for his brother to follow. His hunting daggers were out in a second with a broad smile on his boyish futures. The large hog looked ready to charge, but then turned and ran, with Fane in close pursuit. ‘Here he comes Bo!’ The young boy shouted over the noise of the fleeing animal. The clearing ended suddenly as a figure lurched out from the bush and pounced onto the fleeing boar. Fane lost his footing as he attempted to steer clear of the two combatants but instead tumbled atop his older brother, Boseraphim. The two grunted and fell away from the startled animal in a heap, where they fought to get clear of each other and resume the hunt. Boseraphim, realising it was too late, and that the boar was already gone, stopped at his knees and turned to his brother. ‘Fane! You let him get away!’ Said Boseraphim. ‘It wasn’t my fault!’ Fane whined, as he dusted himself off. ‘I fell over on something!’ Boseraphim looked annoyed, but only slightly ‘On what?’ ‘On…’ The younger stammered, searching around for the thing that had felled him. ‘That!’ He said, pointing at a molehill nearby. Now Boseraphim laughed. ‘We came from that way!’ He pointed the opposite direction to where the molehill was. Fane stopped, his mouth open to protest, and then gave up and began chuckling with his brother. ‘Okay, okay, I’m just clumsy. I’m sorry.’ He grinned. Distantly, the sounds of the fleeing boar faded with a few muffled snorts and thrashing of leaves. Boseraphim stopped and looked around. ‘Well, looks like we’ll have to settle for dear or stag or something tonight. I would have much preferred boar, but its fate’s will that the animal should get away and who am I to challenge fate?’ Fane got up and glanced about. He was the shorter and younger of the two boys; Fane and Boseraphim were both Dreyhood. A race similar to the Humans, but slightly shorter, more pleasant, and with a tendency to be more clever, or so Fane’s Father would like to think. If truth be known, they were almost identical to the eastern human race, bar a few political disagreements. A major one being that the Dreyhood were the rebellion to the Human empire. They tended to have slightly sharper features though; finer, one might say, and they were usually quite noticeably tanner of skin than their Human relatives. Additionally, where Human’s enjoyed the growth of a beard on an adult male, the Dreyhood preferred clean shaven skin, though this was simply a generalisation. As the two boys stood side by side, searching for an idea that would gain them their hunt, they looked very much alike. Both were dressed in the green and black of a Dreyhood hunter - Fane in a simple woodland green shirt, with loose fitting trousers tied to his waist by a grey sash-belt. Boseraphim wore the full, hard wearing tunic of a professional ranger, with brown gloves and a wooden training bow strapped to his back alongside his black quiver of arrows. It was not hard to see that they were of the same blood. Both had the sharp eyebrows true to the line of Vale, and both had almost identical large blue eyes and finely chiselled small noses. Yet Boseraphim was dark haired and had a seemingly permanent expression of introspection and sagaciousness that had almost cast his face to a different set. Boseraphim’s face showed deep consideration and worry, with a kindness to his cynical eyes. His mouth was also set in an expression which almost made you believe that he was mocking you constantly, which of course was inaccurate. Fane, on the other hand, had light brown hair, shot with red, and a glow in his cheeks that brimmed with life and optimism. He always wore a huge carefree smile and possibly had the most expressive eyebrows of any person which you are ever likely to meet. His eyes told of youth, of wonder and of eagerness to learn. Fane was one of two brothers who had been raised by the village huntsmaster. The other was Boseraphim, who had been hunting before. At the age of 16, Fane had not been hunting, but had been judged level-headed enough to do so for the fist time with his 18 year old brother. So far the hunt hadn’t gone as they had hoped. ‘So, where do we start?’ The ever eager Fane pressed. Boseraphim raised an eyebrow, looking up at the trees ‘I have an idea.’ The dark haired youth responded. Fane groaned. Boseraphim smiled; his mouth curling at the edges without baring his teeth, ‘You think you can attract some deer?’ Fane shot his brother a pleading look ‘Oh, Bo!’ He protested ‘You know father told me not to use my gift unless I was in trouble!’ ‘We are in trouble. Or we will be if we don’t bring back some dinner for Mother and Father.’ ‘But…’ Fane began to complain. ‘Come on, Fane. It will be fun, and besides, you know how to attract animals easily, right? It’s what you do best.’ He paused, and then added, “Well … except for the wooing of impressionable young ladies, of course.” Fane didn’t look entirely happy at the idea, but decided that it was the only way to get the hunt that they had promised their parents. He didn’t like using his gift for things like hunting, it felt wrong somehow. Not just because his Father had told him not to, but because he felt he was betraying the animals trust. The skill was simple. He could feel what each and every animal of the forest was feeling, and he could communicate, not words, but emotion to the animals, sometimes attracting their interest. Why or how he could do it, he didn’t quite know. He had been told when he was young that it was a hereditary gift and a skill, and that it made him special. ‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ He said, reluctantly. ‘But you’ll scare the animals away when they see you.’ Boseraphim nodded, ‘I have that part planned out already… Fane sat crossed legged at the centre of the clearing, hearing the noises of the forest and almost feeling the life thriving from all around him. He closed his eyes and let his energy drift in the tranquil afternoon wind. He could hear, distantly, the flow of a small stream, accompanied by the chattering of swans and a low moan of some stray cow that was drinking from the spring. He smiled as he thought of the farmer that was probably searching for it. Not fit prey for one with any honour, he thought, as he continued along the waters edge with his minds eye. It worked like an invisible arm, he had decided long ago. You stretch out your hand and you can feel things that others cannot. Of course, it was an ‘arm’ of his mind, an unseen muscle that others lacked, his to call upon by reflex if he needed to and concentrated enough. He couldn’t remember how he had discovered the gift – perhaps it had happened first when he was too young to even remember. All he knew, now, was that he could do it, and that it was almost instinctual to him now. He could feel, more that hear the presence of the still-scared boar that had escaped them due to his earlier clumsiness. He laughed again, and wished the animal well in the future. The boar calmed slightly at the friendly emotion that the Dreyhood boy a sent him. Fane’s mission was suddenly and disturbingly interrupted. Usually he would feel the presence of life while probing his surroundings; but suddenly now something more sinister had found him. It was like looking in a mirror; only the person looking back was not himself. He stared at this other person with his minds eye, not seeing anything, simply feeling another like himself … watching back … probing back. He tried to feel the emotion of the other being, but found only a deep, silent emptiness. Fane cut the connection, rattled and slightly perplexed by his experience. Attempting to forget about the strange occurrence, he latched onto the assertive presence of a group of deer grazing the south only a little way off and he momentarily forgot about the apparition. He skimmed past the mind of a young one who was currently occupied with the happiness entailed with eating large quantities of green. Then he settled on an older deer; one that had seen his life flow by happily and so held surprisingly little fear of death. Fane thought silently that it was better to take this old one than a younger, with its whole life ahead of it. So he let his mind relax and concentrated. He felt the animal’s life force, blurred by the other life about it. The trees, the birds, the worms, he ignored everything else but the target, and sent an emotion to the single life on which he had his mind set. He couldn’t describe properly the emotion he sent... it was a welcoming one; one of friendship and love, one that encouraged the animal to be curious. At first the deer did not take the bait. But slowly, it became intrigued. It was not long until the deer was tentatively entering the clearing, leaving behind the safety of his herd. It stepped in cautiously, sniffing the air about it as if testing it for hidden traps. Slowly, realising that the Dreyhood seated in the centre of this glade meant him no harm, the old stag proceeded on cautious hooves. Boseraphim sat in wait in the tree directly to the left of his younger brother, silently wishing that he had not asked for the burden of using the bow. He knew his strength was up to the challenge for just one shot, but only just, as he was only young, and his muscles were not fully developed for the requirement of an archer he had always wished to become. Plus, the pain of the bow was not something that was to be forgotten easily, particularly if you were not wearing an arm guard. Then he caught sight of the animal that his brother had attracted as it made its way slowly toward the boy. He readied himself, withdrawing an arrow from his quiver. The deer stepped closer, urged on by the smiles of the strange boy sat in front of it. Only a few feet from Fane now, it stopped and extended his neck toward the youngster. Boseraphim pulled back the bowstring with all his power and let loose the arrow. The wooden object darted through the air, as it sailed true towards its intended target. But then something moved, swooping down from overhead. The Stag pelted, startled and scared, back into the forest from where it had come, rushing into the foliage with a clatter of dull thuds in rhythmic succession. Fane opened his eyes and looked to the grass at his left, where he saw the lifeless form of a sparrow laying belly-up with a large wooden arrow protruding from its breast. He stared in wonder for a second before looking up at his brother seated in the tree, who had a clearly disbelieving expression on his face. Boseraphim tore his gaze from the unfortunate sparrow, and looked down at the face of his brother. ‘Where in hell did the sparrow come from?’ Boseraphim said. Fane couldn’t help himself; he doubled over on the floor, laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. Boseraphim climbed from the tree saying ‘It’s not funny. I hardly think the poor sparrow thinks it’s funny!’ But the grin on his face betrayed his amusement at the irony. This only made Fane laugh harder. ‘Now what?’ He managed, in the middle of laughing. ‘I don’t really know, brother. We need something to take home for Mother to cook don’t we? I just can’t think of anything…’ He stopped as he heard a very soft rustle just next to where they sat talking. Fane also stopped laughing and both brothers looked down simultaneously at a hole in the ground by their sides. --- The rabbit swung slightly on the hunters pole as the boys walked triumphantly back to their home. Actually, Fane walked triumphantly, with a broad smile on his face, while Boseraphim almost cringed as people gave them strange - or mocking looks. The trees thinned and the blue afternoon sky came properly into view. Around them villagers went too and throw between town, farms, and the castle. The burly mumble of a merchant could be heard off to the main path as he announced the superiority of his goods in a cavernous bark that none could quite fathom. The man’s voice was drowned out - only slightly - by the grating of wooden cart wheels on the cobble-stoned pavements as they rumbled past, accompanied by the higher pitched clack of iron horseshoes. Life went on in the Rebel village of Tunlan. As they joined the main road, the castle of Dun Tyrin came into view on the horizon. Boseraphim muttered that it would be “just their luck” for their Lord to see them returning from a hunt with a “damn” rabbit in tow. Fane smiled at this. Dun Tyrin was an old, large castle built originally to keep the barbarian Zard at bay in the nearby mountains. Now it was used as the second line of defence against the greedy empire of Man. It was second strong only to the forts of the West Republic, along the eastern border between Dreyhood and Human territories. With a good army and a good captain, Fane had always felt very safe when seeing the patrols in the early morning. Fane’s mind was brought back to reality when a stout Fisherman, Ineka, walked past and muttered a brief hello to the two boys. Fane liked the closeness of Tunlan village. Much more civilised than life in the city, he had noticed, and he knew almost all of his neighbours. As he thought this, he saw the rosy cheeked form of their mother’s friend, Mera, the Blacksmiths wife. Boseraphim and Fane both smiled as Heara approached. She was a well liked woman and a good friend of the family, not to mention the mother of Fane’s best friend, Sec Rell. ‘Hello my boys!’ She greeted with her eternally cheerful smile. ‘How are you both?’ Boseraphim maturely answered: ‘Hello Mera. We’re fine, and you?’ ‘Oh, I’m just fine and dandy, Bo.’ She looked at the rabbit hanging from the pole. ‘Ah, your first hunt Fane? How did it go?’ She said, without a hint of mocking in her voice. Fane grinned. ‘Well…’ He gestured toward the poor excuse for a rabbit, let alone a hunt. ‘Well, at least you enjoyed yourself’ Heara replied. ‘And your mother? How is she?’ ‘Well, the flu has passed.’ Boseraphim said, ‘And she’s again in high spirit. I’ll tell her you asked after her.’ ‘Not to bother. I’ll stop by later. That is, if I can find a baby-sitter.’ Boseraphim laughed, and Fane grinned, both realising she wasn’t talking about her son, Sec, but her husband. Even though Fane was young and not as intelligent or mature as Boseraphim, he knew about the Blacksmith’s drink problem. Fane was perceptive, and sometimes that counted more than intelligence. Heara bade her farewells and departed, back toward the marketplace at the foot of Dun-Tyrin. The two continued on East again, passing a few more villagers who smiled or greeted the boys. A few laughed at their prey, but this didn’t bother Fane, who had an odd, unabashed sense of humour. As they passed Seonry’s farm, just a small walk from their house, Fane glanced at the mountain range of Tylunia to the north, wonder in his eyes at how big they really were. The mountains seemed almost to dwarf the town and the farm to the point of surrealism. The largest of the mountains in the range, the Tylun, was like a grey giant that had strayed too far out of a picture book and had been given small toy houses with which to play. Hazy from this distance the peak was smothered in a heavy shroud of rolling clouds as they gently hugged the cliffs and snow covered ridges. The effect only added to the premise of surrealism; to see such a distant thing as a cloud towered over by something scalable was sobering. Sometimes Fane would watch the clouds sail overhead and then break like waters on the rocky shores of a beach as they collided with the Tylun, casting shadows up and down the slopes of the great landscape. Although Fane had grown up and lived with the old grey monsters, the mountains of Tylunia seemed – at times - frightening to the boy. It was probably just history and children’s bedtime tales that unnerved him. ‘What’s wrong Fane?’ Boseraphim asked his younger brother, interrupting his daydream. Fane looked up at his brother ‘Nothing, Bo. I was just wondering if they live up there anymore.’ ‘The Zard?’ Boseraphim frowned. ‘That’s for Lord Kondo to worry about Fane, not a sixteen year old boy. Anyway, they were driven away in the last war, over 800 years ago. If they do live up there still, then they keep to themselves, just as the legends say.’ ‘Yeah, I know what they say but…’ ‘What?’ Fane looked back at the mountains again; something in his eyes came close to fear. ‘It’s just that I get a bad feeling…’ Fane stopped and took a deep breath, forcing his gaze away from the Mountain of Tylun. ‘That all’ he smiled again. --- Nearly a year later and he still remembered that day and that feeling. As he drifted in and out of sleep, locked away in that dark cell aboard their captor’s ship, his mind drifted back. He already missed his brother, his village, his family, and he had only been gone not two days. Stripped away from his home without explanation, he wondered if he would ever see any of them again. He looked over at Sec, who was asleep on the floor beside him, wrapped up in his brown travelling cloak, with the cunning use of his praying hands as a pillow. He was so glad his friend was with him. He was so much braver than he, so much stronger in every way. He thought suddenly of Sec’s own family, and of his mother, Heara… they must already be searching for the two boys. The possibilities behind the reasons for their capture span through the boy’s mind, each one more terrifying than the last. What if the Zard had them? The Human army? Or perhaps worse … slavers? It was very likely that he would never again see any of his family or friends. All that was left to remind him of the home now gone was the friend beside him, and the pendant that hung around his neck. He couldn’t handle this; he was just a boy - just a child. A warm throbbing began behind his eyes as the heat rushed up to his cheeks, and then - all of a sudden he was sobbing softly into his hands. He cried like a lost boy; afraid, and alone in the dark, his fears swamping his hope and reducing him to total despair. He cried silently, praying inwardly to his gods that he would not wake Sec. He could not bare the thought of his friend seeing him sobbing like this, showing this much weakness. Sec was the brave one, and he would not understand the feeling of weak hopelessness that sat in Fane’s heart, sinking his very spirit with each passing moment … with each painful, convulsive, muted wail that sought to escape his lips. When at last he was done – his tears and emotions spent down to the last penny - he dried his hands and his eyes on the knees of his trousers and sat silently in the dark, acceptant of the possibilities of his future, yet not defeated. The tears had washed away his uncharacteristic pessimism, and replaced it with a slight resolve. If he did not at least try to escape this place then he would make his mother cry, and Sec’s mother. He would escape not for himself, but for those that would morn his disappearance, and for his friend. There was still hope, there was always hope, no matter how dim it looked. He sat there in the dark for a long while after that, his thoughts drifting back to that day one year ago, drifting back to his home. --- Fane’s Parent’s welcomed the boys home before they got to the door. As usual, their mother, Mera, ran to the boys smiling and asking them how they got on. When she saw the rabbit, she laughed and told them that they did their best, and not to worry about it. ‘When Boseraphim first went hunting, Fane, he very nearly got himself killed, let alone bring anything back. So tell me all about it.’ They related the story of the sparrow and the boar to their mother, omitting the details about Fane’s use of the ‘gift’ (his Father, Gerad didn’t like Fane using his skill at the best of times). Mera laughed out loud at less dangerous parts of their story and they were just finishing telling her about Heara as they came to the door. Their Father was waiting at the door with an amused look on his face. Gerad looked at the boys awkwardly, ‘erm . . . well done, boys.’ He said; peering down at the small rabit hung on the hunter’s pole. Gerad was a tall man, for a Dreyhood. He had similar features to Boseraphim, but his expressions were deeper; sterner somehow. There was a strange strength to the man’s kindly aging eyes, lined with the subtle touch of time and sun-bronzed skin. He wore his jet-black hair long, tied back in a single clasp which allowed his locks to fall in straight lines over his shoulders and down almost to the base of his spine. There was a penetration to the Father’s gaze which unnerved most people he met, but it was the stare of appraisal and meaningful consideration, rather than of arrogance or eccentricity. On the other hand, Mera, the boy’s Mother, was a short, slightly plump woman. She was her husbands younger by a full six years, but time had taken an equal toll on the woman, due to her damaged constitution caused by an illness when she was younger. Still, she was a beautiful, pale, delicate flower of a woman. She was doe-eyed and slim-cheeked, with naturally deep red hair and features quite nearly as expressive of those of her younger son. On this day, she wore her deep blue dress, which hugged her womanly hips but blossomed at her feet, like a saffron flower in full bloom. ‘Don’t mock us, Father. We were just unlucky.’ Retorted Boseraphim, ‘Were it not for a low-flying-sparrow, we would be dining on white-tail deer tonight.’ Gerad smiled and held his hands up defensively ‘I have no doubt as too that, Boseraphim, but I was just wondering . . .’ ‘What?’ Asked Boseraphim. ‘Why didn’t you bring back the sparrow?’ Gerad said. Fane, Gerad and Mera all laughed at that, and they walked inside, still chuckling. But Bo looked slightly offended by the laughter. ‘I did bring it back.’ He said in response to the sarcasm, pulling the body of the small bird from his bag. ‘I was hoping you could cook it for Seonroy’s dog.’ The table had been set inside the kitchen and their was a stove crackling in the corner, ready to cook what ever it was the boys had brought back. The boys had been brought up the offspring of a rather prominent huntsmaster who had graduated from the Hunter‘s Guild at the comparatively young age of 27, and from whom the majority now of Tunlan’s meat stock came from (with the help of a group of understudy hunters, of course). Because of this, they were always safe and never hungry; moreover, they could never have been classed as poor either. They were richer than most of the tradesmen’s families in Tunlan, and certainly a lot richer than any peasants in the town. Their house was built on a hill on the edge of town which overlooked the village to the west, where the castle loomed over the quaint houses and farms. It was a beautiful view, especially mid-morning when the sun sat just behind the castle and the mountains had yet to emerge from the snug blanket of clouds and mist that enveloped them. The house itself was a fairly good size; it had a small allotment out back, and a veranda out front. The brick chimney was its most noticeable feature, which climbed out of the wooden structure in the very centre of the main construct, adjoining to all the lower-floor rooms, and giving each of them a different access to a flue, which was surrounded in each room by carpets and rugs of thick lavish furs. It was the building of a hunter, especially in its location being that of close proximity to the south-eastern forest. The family trailed into the kitchen, the mother taking the small animal to the side ready to prepare it for eating. ‘Now, boys, no offence but this won’t be enough to feed us all, so I shall have to cook that glorinph that your Father caught yesterday.' Mera said, ‘It’s a lovely rabbit, but he’s a bit of a scrawny lad; barely enough to feed a dog, who I’m sure will be quite grateful for the additional snack, mind you. It’ll go quite well with the sparrow.’ *4 Fane nodded understandingly, but caught himself as he saw the look that Boseraphim gave his Father. ‘But Mother...’ Boseraphim cut in, with a slight pause, ‘Okay, cook the glorinph, but I shall be eating the rabbit if it’s alright with you.’ ‘Bo’,’ Mera replied, looking to Gerad for support, ‘there’s not enough meat on that to keep you full until morning ... not even nearly.’ Even when protesting in what should have been annoyance, Mera was soft-spoken. Boseraphim shook his head ‘It doesn’t matter, we killed the creature, and its death should be honoured by at least eating it. It’s dishonourable to kill an animal and not at least eat it or make use of its hide or fur. It’s simply no better than murder.’ Fane raised an eyebrow and glanced sideways at his brother. Gerad nodded, ‘While I disagree with the extent of this offence in your eyes, it is dishonourable none-the-less, Bo. And a noble decision to come to on your own. Mera, if the boy wants to eat the rabbit, let him have some.’ Fane paused. He’d never thought about this sort of thing before really, at least not in-depth. While he had a love for animals that matched his brother’s, he had not yet grasped the entirety of morals and honour, and more importantly the reasons for morals and honour. While he wasn’t a bad person, he was certainly not as thoughtful as his brother. Fane would transgress or sin and then realise his mistake afterwards and learn by it, Boseraphim on the other hand would stop to think before he acted, and righteousness guided his footsteps more often than not. Fane drummed his fingers on the table for a few moments uncomfortably. While the glorinph sounded like a nice idea at this moment in time, his brother was right, and he himself had aided in the death of the rabbit. ‘Mother ...’ he said out loud, ‘Could you serve me a ... small piece of rabbit with my glorinph, please?’ Gerad laughed out loud at this, as if he had seen something funny that the others had missed. -------------- *1 Which was strange, as Clyde was a King’s White Ballot pedigree; a comparatively rare breed selected for obsessive obedience. They are a medium sized hunting dog, originally found mainly in the country of Kingsbridge, particularly used for hunting around the mountainous region surrounding the city of Victory. The fact that Clyde was descended from a breed of mountain-hunters might have gone some way to explaining to Fane how the dog seemed so adept at traversing the more treacherous parts of the mountain. But Fane, of course, did not know this. *2 Scarions are classed as a Monster, but they are far from fearsome. They are scavengers, who only ever feed on the dead or dying, and only in large groups. They are insect-shaped, with odd tails flowing down the back of their necks, coming from the base of their head. They are easily scared off by sudden noise, light, or movement. The meat of a Scarion contains a high quantity of protein, iron and vitamin C. *3 Kern spoke in a regional dialect of the Ryadellian language (which is to say, Western Human language). It is the dialect they speak in the country of Zar, to the east of Fane’s hometown. Although not an entirely different language, it is odd enough to be misunderstood by Humans from either neighboring country of Horn (Fane’s homeland) and Kingsbridge. The Zarians themselves call it “Dellian”, but most other countries refer to it in the derogatory term of “Broken Ryadellian”. *4 A glorinph is a monster breed that is little more than a walking plant. It masquerades as a plant with long leaves and what appear to be wild berries, but when a small animal approaches, it uses vine-like arms to snatch its pray and consumes them strange, mouth-less crushing into the surrounding soil, from which it extracts the nutrients using its mobile roots. Thankfully, there are only a few glorinph that grow over four feet in height; so, as in this case, sentient beings became the hunter of the edible (and very tasty) monster.
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