Companions

Neither man spoke as their horses walked side by side up the twisting mountain road. 

The taller man, with short black hair and a beard that needed trimming, watched ahead at the edge of the trail.The blond man was twisted, examining the contents of a saddlebag, his curly hair bouncing next to his face. Behind him, slung over the horse and tied down with strong leather straps, was a suit of armor; the full moon and a field of stars were reflected in its polished surface. 

The rhythmic sounds of hoofbeats against the ground were muffled by the dense trees on either side of the road. The tall man shifted in his seat, darting his eyes to his companion, then back to the road. After a moment he did it again, this time sighing in frustration. 

“If you haven’t found it yet, then I'd bet you left it behind.”

The blond man's horse slowed, then stopped. The tall man had to stop his mount as well so he didn’t round a corner and lose sight of his companion. 

“I swear I put it in here,” he pushed his hand around the bottom of the saddlebag, “Or maybe,” he dropped the bag and reached behind him to a sack tied down by his armor,“in here.” His young face was twisted as he searched, one eye partially squinted, his tongue jutting out of his lips.

The other man rolled his eyes, “Is a piece of fruit really worth this effort?”

“Faski, it was a yellow plum from Daldurive, I haven't seen one in years.”

“Then maybe you should have kept better track of it.” Faski said, looking at the road ahead, the sharp lines that made up his face set in a determined expression. 

The blond man looked up from his sack, scowling, unamused at his friend. He put the sack back in place, abandoning his search and re-tying the straps. Then he kicked his horse and trotted ahead. 

“I don't know why you have to be so serious all the time Faski, it wouldn't hurt you to think about something besides our work.”

“What is there besides our work, Gipp?” He kicked his horse so they were again riding side by side.

The blond laughed, “Friends, music, dancing. Family. Don’t you think about your family, Faksi?”

“I do, when I am with them. But they are on the other side of the world right now, what is there to think about?” He looked at his friend, pulling up his dark eyebrow in genuine inquiry. 

Gipp scoffed in disbelief, “About how much you miss them? How much you wish to see them again? I think about my little brother almost every day.”

“And what good does that do you, or him? Does that make you a better swordsman? Does it help you serve Solinda?”

Gipp rolled his eyes, “Sometimes I think you are beyond hope, Faski.”

“If it’s any consolation, Gipp, I often think the same about you.”

Both men grinned, though Gipp’s grin was wide and full of teeth, while Faski’s only turned up the very corner of his mouth. 

“I was going to share my plum with you, you know.”

“I’ve had plums before.” 

“Not like this.”

They stopped talking for a moment as they rounded another turn. The road before them narrowed, no longer wide enough for them to ride abreast. Faski road ahead, Gipp falling in behind. The packed dirt was looser underneath them, with more frequent stones and branches. They had to concentrate to keep their horses on solid footing. 

“If there is nothing up here worth the trip, then I think Goanna will own me yellow plum,” Gipp said after a time, not comfortable with so much silence.

“What, Gipp? You don't want to stop and enjoy this mountain road for its inherent beauty and splendor? All you can see is our goal at the end of this winding path?”

“You're not nearly as funny as you think you are.”

Faski’s grey eyes twinkled in the starlight, though Gipp could not see them. 

“Either way I think we should plan to spend the night up here. It’s starting to get cold.” Faski pulled his cloak around him.

“Agreed. Though that inn did have such a nice fireplace.” Gipp pictured the warm, tight space of the inn in Tavrulan, where they'd left most of their companions.

“You could have stayed behind with the others.”

“And let you walk into a den of agnoras all on your own. I couldn't abandon my friend to such and end.” Gipp smiled, his voice full of false bravado.

“You and I are both in trouble if there are agnoras up here.” Faski did not smile, “more likely we'll just find some abandoned raider base.”

“Well agnoras would be more interesting.” 

“Yes, I've always found having my entrails pulled out for the amusement of a magic-crafter to be a very stimulating time.”

“Well maybe we should have brought Vo with us," Gipp mused, "his sense of humor might be worse than yours, but at least his craft -”

Both men stopped their mounts. The horses shifted nervously, sensing danger. Faski sniffed the air. 

“Fire.” Gipp said, “close.”

“Too close, we should have smelled it before, seen smoke,” Faski looked up to the sky, the bright field of stars unobscured. 

Gipp suddenly regretted his joke about agnoras; if it the fire ahead was magical, neither men stood much of a chance of making it back to the cosy inn at the base of the mountain. 

Faski kicked his horse and hurried up the path.

“Is it wise to charge ahead?” Gipp called, even as he too hurried his pace.

“This is no coincidence Gipp, there is something up there that Marcus doesn't want us to find. We need to get there before it's gone.”

After a sharp incline and a short series of switchbacks that cut across the mountainside, an orange glow appeared in the trees. A moment later the lowest stars in the sky vanished behind a wall of smoke. 

Faski dismounted, pulling his bow with him and dropping to one knee to string it. 

Gipp rested his hand on his armor, then turned to Faski. 

Faski flung his bow over his shoulder and stood, looking at Gipp, “No time,” he shook his head.

“I should have put it on in the village,” Gipp scolded himself as he jumped off the horse. He reached into the clutter of his armor and pulled out his sword belt, fastening it around his middle as he followed Faski into the trees. 

Their horses stood together on the road, trained to wait for their riders to return. 

Faski rarely took his sword belt off, so it hung by his leg as they navigated through the dense trees. 

“You go left,” Faski pointed through the trees to a spot that would put Gipp on the far side of the fire. 

Gipp nodded and moved away, his eyes on the red-orange glow. 

As they approached they saw a clearing in the trees, and a small cabin. The walls of the cabin were still intact, but inside it was filled with flame, and smoke poured out of the windows.

Faski stopped at the treeline, lifted his bow and dropping again to one knee to steady his aim. He watched the cabin down the shaft of an arrow, trying to find who had set the fire.

Gipp left the treeline, moving slowly across the field, his sword still undrawn. The heat of the fire hit him like a wave, making making his skin feel pulled and dry. 

A dark form crossed in front of the fire, running across the field.

“Faski,” Gipp called, pulling his sword out, charging after the shape.

Faski pivoted at the call, but only saw the fire and Gipp moving through the field. Then there was a shape, just behind Gipp, dark and unclear. It seemed to lift and arm, something in its hand. The arrow loosed a second later.

Gipp heard something slump to the ground behind him and spun to see a man, an arrow through his neck, a hatchet still clutched in his hand. Gipp’s sword was up in time to block the second man, who charged at him from the direction of the burning cabin. His wild, undisciplined hacking was easy to deflect; in seconds Gipp had disarmed him of his shortsword. The man came at Gipp with his bare hands, he didn't make it two steps before he was cut down. 

When Gipp looked up Faski was in the field, running after more figures. Gipp ran to join him. The heat grew more intense as he passed the cabin, and the sound of fire eating wood briefly overwhelmed his ears. 

His senses were restored in a moment and he thought he heard Faski calling to him. He wanted to shout out to him, but he realized it was not Faski’s voice he heard. He stopped dead and looked to the cabin. The sound was clear, behind the roaring of the flames and the wood popping, someone was calling for help. 

“Faski!” He yelled, but the man was already far away, past the cabin and almost vanished into the trees on the far side of the field. 

Gipp thought for only a moment, weighing his choice. If he tried to saved whoever was in the cabin Faksi would face an unknown number of men alone. If he chased Faski, the people in the cabin might never make it out. If the other men fought as poorly as the man Gipp had killed, Faski would make short work of them on his own. 

Gipp moved toward the cabin, holding his left hand up to block his face, his sword still in his right hand.

The screaming was unmistakable now, multiple voices, high pitched and full of terror. 

The door looked clear, not yet touched by the flames, but smoke poured out around the edges. Gipp didn't want to risk what might be just beyond. The window closest to the door provided a view inside, its wooden shutters wide open. It looked like a good portion of the floor was still untouched by flame. 

He dropped his sword on the ground and reached to the window’s edge, pulling himself up. 

His lungs were hit by a wave of smoke. He held his breath until he was over the ledge and down in the room. He crouched low and coughed, pulling his shirt up to cover his mouth. 

The flames were along most of the walls and licking around the ceiling. It seemed to be centered on a cluster of tables and chairs, he guessed that's where the fire started. 

“Please, help!” 

The voice came from his left. He turned to the corner of the room still free from flame. Three small figures sat huddled in the corner, gripping each other tightly.

He kept his legs bent and his head low and walked carefully to them.

“Come here,” he reached out a hand and pulled the shirt from his face, “I'll get you out.”

Only one of the three watched him - the biggest one, a girl, maybe 15-years-old. The others had their faces buried to block the smoke. The girl was shaking her head and pulling at her arm. Then Gipp saw the chains holding them to each other and to the floor boards. He moved closer, putting one hand on the girl’s arm before he turned to the chain. It was thick, bolted firmly to the ground at either end and wound through shackles on each child’s wrist. 

This close he could see them all, the girl, a boy close to the same age, and a small child they were both covering with their bodies. 

He thought of his sword outside, about using it to pry the chains loose, but at that moment a huge crash sounded through the room. The children screamed and Gipp lifted his arms, trying to cover them. 

He looked back at the other side of the room, a beam had fallen out of the ceiling, landing on the table. The flames were closer now, running down the wall toward them. 

Gipp grabbed the chain, yanking at it, trying to rend it from the floor. He gave up after a moment, knowing it was too secure. 

The girl was looking at him, her eyes pleading with him. He looked at her, sure she could see his desperations and fear. 

He cast another look around the room for a tool. His eyes fell instantly on the fireplace. In the hearth a simple cook fire burned, the stone and mortar that separated it from the rest of the room as yet untouched by the inferno around them. An iron poker rested on the hearth. 

Gipp was up and across the room as soon as he recognized the poker. Flames reached out for him, some catching him on the arm. He pulled it back, and felt his skin twinge with pain.  

He hurried back to the children, avoiding a line of flame that was cutting across the floor. He went to pry the bolt from the floor, but the girl pushed a part of the chain in his way. It was the part attached to the shackle on the smallest child’s arm. 

Gipp looked into the girls eyes. She was determined, and still pleading. He nodded and worked the poker between two links, using the floor for support. He angled the poker and the chain spread, opening slowly. When that was done he loosed a link on the other side of the shackle, completely freeing the child. 

The child did not move, but clutched to the boy. The girl pointed at him, and Gipp understood, he freed the boy next. 

The fire was over their heads now, embers flew in the air, burning Gipp’s skin as they landed on him.

Gipp pointed to the window, telling the boy to get to it, to get out. 

The boy scooped up the small child and ran for the window. Gipp watched just long enough to see that they were safe across the room before he worked at the bolt still holding the girl to the floor. 

He ripped at the floorboards with the poker, which gave much easier than the chain would. In a moment it was up, the girl was free. 

Gipp lifted her and she wrapped her arms and legs around him. The fire was on all sides, working its way across the floor at them. Dodging lines of flames, Gipp crossed the room lifting the girl up toward the window as soon as they were close. 

The other children were gone. The girl grabbed onto the window frame, pulling herself up and swinging her legs though. She looked back into the room and reached out to Gipp, motioning him to follow her. He nodded.

She vanished from sight, dropped down on the other side, Gipp reached his arms to the frame and lifted himself up. Then the air was pushed out of his lungs and the window disappeared from sight. His head rang and it felt like fire was burning through the flesh of his back. He tried to scream, tried to lift his arms to push himself to his feet, but his body was heavy and his throat burned with pain. 

The last thing he saw was the world turning from bright orange to a shadowy dark. 

In the woods, Faski steadied his aim, the shot easy as long as the men were on level terrain. The first man was falling with an arrow in his back by the time Faski was taking aim at the second one. This time the arrow did not hit center, but struck the man in the side. He lost his footing, falling, grasping at the shaft. 

Faski was on his feet, his sword drawn to run down the third man who was moving too erratically to track with the bow. 

He spared a thought to Gipp, who it seemed had stayed in the field, maybe dealing with more of Marcus’ men. 

The man Faski chased was fast, but was running wildly, darting from side to side, maybe hoping to shake loose his pursuer. All it accomplished was to give Faski a chance to gain ground on him. 

Faski’s breath was steady, his eyes darting between the man ahead and the ground, avoiding any roots or stones. When the man heard Faski closing on him he let out a shout, a cry for help, but none came. 

The sword came down, the man dropped to the ground, the gash down his back soaking his clothes with blood. 

Faski dropped to the ground, his knee sinking into a bed of rotting leaves. He lifted the man, turning him over to see his face.

“What was Marcus doing up here!” He pulled the man’s face to his own. 

Moonlight cut through the tree cover in long, thick shafts. One shaft illuminated the man’s face, collapsed and covered with blood where he'd landed hard on a stone. Faski dropped him, standing and wiping his sword clean on the man’s pant leg. 

“Gipp!” He called out into the woods, seeing the orange glow of the cabin in the distance, “Gipp, where are you?”

He slipped the sword back in its scabbard, taking hurried steps back to the clearing. A low moan sounded from somewhere to his left. He stopped to listen, then turned toward the sound. 

Sprawled on the ground, blood soaking into the dirt, was a woman with a broken arrow shaft in her right side. The figure Faski had downed.

Both her hands were covered in blood, and blood leaked out the edge of her lips. Faski’s arrow had hit her between the ribs, probably striking a lung. 

“Help, please,” she said, her hand grasping limply at the shaft in her side. 

He stood over her, his hand resting on his sword hilt. 

“What was Marcus doing up here?”

She looked at him, not lifting her head, but looking out the top of her eyes, her expression weary. 

“Crafters, children, he was trying to make them his.” She coughed and frothy blood erupted out of her lips. 

“Children? In that cabin?” He spun his head.

“If they weren't going to be his, he didn't want anyone else to have them.” Her next cough was halted, her eyes bulging as Faski’s sword slipped through her neck. 

He ran back to the cabin, as fast as he dared in the dense forest. The roar of the flames hit him along with the hot air as his broke into the field. A short distance from the now mostly consumed cabin there were small forms, huddled together. 

He ran to them, dropping his hand from his sword when he saw their young faces. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, his hands moving from child to child, looking for signs of injury.

“You have to help him,” the girl said, “he didn't come out.”

“Who?” Faski turned to the cabin, the flames so tall they blocked out the sky above.

He looked all around, seeing a long, metal shaft in the grass, a swordblade that reflected stars, flame and a cloud of smoke. 

“The man, the one who got us out.” 

“Man?” Faski didn’t know if anything could come out of that cabin alive now, then his eyes snapped wide truly understanding the girl’s words, “Gipp!”

He walked toward the cabin, the flames so hot it felt like his skin was already burning. Fire danced in the windows, through the planks of wood; most of the roof had collapsed. He crouched low, holding his arm out as far as he could, pushing the door. It gave slightly. Smoke belched out the doorway, one large flame licked out, then retreated back inside. 

Just inside the door, flames ate at the floorboards and a fallen beam prevented the door from swinging fully open. Faski ripped off his cloak, beating them back. 

“Gipp!” Faski called, barely able to hear his own voice over the roar. 

Flames danced around him as he tried to see into the room beyond. 

To the left of the door he saw Gipp’s golden curly hair, then he saw the beam holding him to the floor. 

Holding his cloak over his face to block the smoke, Faski moved across the room as quickly as he could. The beam pressing into Gipp’s back was on fire, flames running along its top. First Faski tried up pull Gipp out from under it, grabbing his arm to drag him toward the door. He stopped almost instantly, seeing it was doing nothing to dislodge Gipp. 

He wrapped the cloak around his hands and pushed the beam, his feet sliding on the ground under him. At first Gipp moved with the beam, sliding to the side, but Faski lifted up, moving it off Gipp’s back and the beam fell, the flames wrapping around to lick at the yet unburned sides. 

He took his friend around the middle, holding him just under the arms, and pulled him toward the door. Without the cloak over his mouth, smoke filled his lungs, making him cough. He cast an eye to the door, much of the archway now aflame. He kept his head low and walked backwards through the narrow space as fast as he could. 

When he was out in the field he kept walking, pulling Gipp as far away from the cabin as his strength would allow before he collapsed in a fit of coughing. 

Gipp rested face down across Faski’s lap, his back a messy pulp of burns and blood. The cold air of the night felt good in Faski’s lungs, clearing out the smoke. He put his hand on his friend’s wounds, trying to judge their severity. 

A small hand came to rest next to his, he looked up into the round, oval eyes of a young elf. The suddenness of it shocked him, it was rare to see an elf at all in this part of the world, let alone a child, who should rightly be in some protective grove of Matron Wood. 

“She might be able to help.” It was the boy speaking, standing just behind the young elf. Shackles hung from his wrists as he gripped his arms to his chest. 

“She is the only one who can use her craft at all,” the girl said, “but only to heal. She’s cured fevers before.” 

“Craft,” Faski said, haltingly, “you're all crafters.” 

“No, not yet,” the girl looked at the ground, “We were on our way to the asylum in Wi'non when those people took us. But Rhi is an elf,” she put a hand on the elf’s shoulder, “she knew a little healing to start.” 

Faski nodded, looking to the small child, his hands wrapped affectionately around Gipp. 

“Please try, I don't think he'd survive the ride back down the mountain.” Hot tears ran down his face, clearing away the dirt and ash and vanishing into his beard. 

The elf nodded, her spindly fingers moving in the air over the long red gash that ran from the base of Gipp’s shoulder blade almost down to his waist. The strain of it was obvious, the smooth, graceful lines that made up her round face twisted and bent in pain. 

Gipp stirred, jerking his head. Faski grabbed him on either side of the face, trying to hold him still. 

“Don't move, you're hurt.”

“The children?” Gipp managed to say.

“They're here, they're safe. Lay still.”

Gipp put his head down and closed his eyes, Faski’s hand resting in his dense blond curls.