Secrets of Arkana Fortress (6 page)

              He slipped and slid his way northwards – that’s where he assumed he was heading – and flinched every time a screaming projectile hurtled at him.

              There was a splintering crash of energy.

              Byde’s face was planted into the ground again; his body completely exhausted this time around.

              After a few minutes of gathering his strength, he looked up with red-rimmed eyes and held his breath.

His heart stopped.

He was encircled by heavily armoured warriors, each wearing shielded helms to hide their faces. The escape was over.

              One of them stepped forward, dressed differently from the others in a sleek set of silvery steel and earthy green cloth – he was obviously the leader. He knelt down a few metres away from Byde’s face. ‘Giving up now, Byde?’ he cooed in a rough, sarcastic voice.

              Byde snarled at the unknown man. ‘I will never give it up willingly. Not to you… whoever you are!’

              The warrior stood up and stepped back. ‘Then we will take it from you by force.’

              Suddenly the fog cleared completely. The soldiers looked around letting out voices of concern from within their caged helms. The leader looked at Byde and growled.

              Byde’s veins, arteries, capillaries – they were all aglow with silvery-blue light, emitting a faint but audible hum that resonated around him rhythmically like a heartbeat.

              ‘Kill him!’

              Arrows flew from crossbows and bows alike, converging on the glowing figure now on his knees. A sudden thundering hit the air like a shockwave. The arrows wavered and fell to the ground.

              ‘Sorry… not today,’ Byde chuckled weakly. He closed his eyes with a smile. ‘Carry me away,’ he whispered to something, or someone invisible.

              The earth shook. A crack appeared in the ground and circled around Byde. Water shot upwards with unimaginable geyser-like pressure, creating a wall around him. Spray hit the warriors, pushing them back; both surprise and awe in their screams. What was this?

              The liquid fell back into the fractured circle… and Byde was gone.

              The leader cursed loudly, kicking the ground. ‘Damn it,’ he cried angrily. ‘I fucking hate casters!’

***

Byde opened his eyes and peered around the fading grassy plain. Where he had ended up was unbeknownst to him, but he thanked his lucky stars he was at least safe. His entire body ached and groaned, the beating of his heart pounding in his ears. He looked at his hands, tracing the glow of his veins and arteries with his gaze. He hadn’t used his magic as powerfully as that before… not in a very long time.

              A hazing mist shrouded him, receding slowly as he regained his strength. The shine from his body died away, and he shook his face free of his long hair. Now was the time to work out where exactly he had ended up.

              The sky was clear with only a few wispy clouds living high up above the land. This didn’t seem like any island in Dinsk that he knew of. Had he gone so over the top that he had launched himself out of the isles? If he had then it would have explained the rock-splitting headache he was now the unfortunate owner of. The magic he had just used to save himself was not something he could just conjure at any time he liked. For years he had not understood the nature of it, however during his solitude in the Isles of Dinsk he had experimented with various scenarios to try and work out what triggered this submerged power. He had concluded that it emerged when he was in near death situations – some kind of last resort use of his magic that was purely brought about by the survival instinct of himself, or maybe the magic itself.

              A copse of trees was not far off in the distance next to a small fresh spring watering hole by the looks of it. He waited for a trademark Dinsk anomaly.

              Nothing happened.

              He was used to feeling some sort of jolt or hearing an explosion or creaking sound in the distance, but nothing was happening. He rubbed his lightly toned, leathery face and could feel the warming sensation he always got after he called upon his magic. He was burning up this time, however.

              The grass beneath him was sharp and stuck into him like a bed of nails. Rolling over, Byde heaved suddenly. ‘Oh, by the gods,’ he remarked under his breath as he wiped his mouth clean. With one hand in front of the other, he crawled across the floor looking like a drowned rat after a storm – he more or less was. His robes were a sodden mess, his hair matted and soiled, and his face was stained with his tortured experience.

              The strain of his movements was too much for him, and he blacked out again.

***

A sudden pain brought him back into consciousness, and he coughed with a deep grating sound in his dried-out throat. He tried to lift himself up, but was pushed back down by a pair of hefty hands.

              ‘For crying out loud keep him still,’ a woman’s voice snapped.

              Byde stifled back a shout of agony as he felt something sharp stab him in the leg. ‘What the fuck are you doing to me?’ he cried weakly, the fatigue of his ordeal still weighing his body down like a lead weight.

              A woman with short blonde hair looked up from the end of the bed, a metal sewing utensil in her hand. ‘I am stitching up this giant gash in your leg… now keep still!’ Her voice screamed with urgent authority.

              He grunted with reluctant approval as he looked at the dark skinned man who still had hands pressed down on his shoulders.

              ‘Who are you two?’ Byde croaked.

              The man, built like a castle fortress topped with a mane of jet black hair, looked at him with soothing brown eyes. ‘We found you on the eastern plains near the watering hole at Spring Waters. You were in a bit of a state so the wife and I brought you back.’ The man looked at his wife who was cross stitching a fine surgical thread through Byde’s leg.

              Byde groaned. ‘It’s… very kind of you. You could have just left me there to die, you know?’

              The woman laughed as she tied up a loose end.

              ‘What’s so funny?’ asked Byde.

              ‘We’re not barbarians in Cryldis, you know?’ the husband replied with a sly smirk.

              Byde spluttered at what he had heard, nearly choking. ‘Cryldis? Are you sure?’

              The wife finished up the stitching, and packed her sewing equipment away in a long steel case, placing it on a bedside table. She stood up, looking at Byde with cloudy blue eyes. ‘Well we’ve lived here for thirty odd years now, so we’re pretty sure of what this place is called.’ She placed her hand on his forehead and clucked her tongue. ‘You’ve still got quite a temperature.’

              He remained silent and stared at the ceiling of the hut. It was surprisingly big for what it was; probably a hunter’s lodge. Furs of various animals adorned the walls and floor. There were cuts of salted meat roasting on an open fire giving off a mouth watering aroma that made his belly rumble loudly.

              ‘I bet you’re hungry, pal,’ said the husband.

              Byde smiled pathetically. ‘You can say that again.’ He sat up, struggling to do so without help. Glancing down he noticed that his clothes were gone. There was a sudden panic in his voice. ‘Where are my things?’

              ‘Your clothes are hanging up by the fire to dry. The rest of your stuff is over on the table,’ said the wife pointing a slender forefinger in its direction.

              ‘Could you bring me the things from the table, please?’ he asked the husband with a building urgency in his tone.

              He was handed his belongings – his sword, a pair of gloves, a belt, a small knife, and a brooch. His heart slowed down. ‘Thank the gods for that.’

              The man looked at him with a bewildered expression. ‘What was so important?’

              Byde looked up and stuttered. ‘N…nothing. Just that some of this stuff is inherited, that’s all.’ He breathed a sigh of relief then assessed the couple. ‘What are your names anyway? I can’t thank you properly without knowing them.’

              ‘I’m Ilsa, and this is my husband Olen,’ said the woman with a thin smile.

              He looked up at the husband. ‘Nice to meet you, Olen.’

              He then looked at the wife. ‘Thank you, Ilsa, for sorting my leg out.’

              She smiled warmly. ‘It was no biggy; had nothing else to do today so I thought ‘
why not stitch someone’s leg up
?’’

              Byde laughed briefly before coughing up what felt like his innards. ‘My name is… Byde.’

              ‘It’s a pleasure’ replied Ilsa as she fiddled about with a dressing for his leg.

              ‘Oh, I bet you’re in need of some grub, mate,’ remarked Olen. ‘It’ll be up in an hour or so, so you should make yourself comfy till then, alright?’

***

That evening at the table, Byde was treated to a hearty assortment of salted meats and steamed vegetables, which he wolfed down as if he hadn’t eaten for a millennia. ‘Good food,’ he stated with a more than ample mouthful. His fingers, riddled with juices from the meat, were poised to refill his gullet as soon as the present load had gone.

              Ilsa covered her mouth, trying not to giggle too much at the sight of this stranger’s enthusiastic consumption of her cooking.

              Byde looked up. ‘What’s so funny?’ he asked after swallowing too much, nearly choking. He lubricated his throat with a tankard of ale.

              She shook her head timidly. ‘Oh nothing… it’s just that I know Olen has an appetite, but I’ve never seen anyone eat food that quickly before.’

              Olen agreed with a throaty chuckle as he tenderly chewed on a piece.

              Byde stopped and put his hands in front of his mouth. He wore a guilty look in the recesses of his face. ‘I’m so sorry; am I making a pig of myself?’

              ‘No no, it’s OK… carry on; I’m flattered you find it so tasty.’

              He exhaled. ‘Thanks… it is some bloody lovely stuff, Ilsa.’ Byde smiled before stuffing a hunk of pork into his mouth.

              Olen finished off his chunk of meat and shifted on his chair. ‘Not to be offensive, but you act like you’ve never eaten food like this before.’

              ‘That’s because I haven’t.’

              ‘What you mean?’ asked Olen, genuinely bedazzled by his comment.

              Byde stopped in mid-chew. He realised that he was divulging too much pertinent information to the two of them – anyone could have been watching or listening. ‘Erm… what I mean is… I don’t have stuff like this where I come from.’

              Ilsa leaned forward, resting her elbows on the hardwood table top. ‘Where are you from then?’

              He kicked himself again. ‘
You dumbass
,’ he thought to himself. ‘I… err… come from the south. Lived on my own for many years now, so I… don’t get the chance to cook up such a spread – I’m no hunter or expert cook; simple food is all I’ve had for a while.’

              She smiled broadly. ‘Oh well, I’m just glad you like it anyway.’

              Byde calmed himself, thankful that he had narrowly avoided burdening these people with truths that they would find horrifying.

              The room was warmed by the crackling of the roaring fire, giving it a simple and relaxed air that Byde found endearing. This place was so different to the unstable Isles of Dinsk with its magical disasters, earthquakes, storm-ridden clear skies, and magical illusions. Cryldis had undisturbed weather processes, carefree wildlife, and no earthquakes or illusions of any sort. He had long forgotten what normality was like.

              ‘Tell me about Cryldis… I’ve never been here before,’ he asked after taking his last piece of the feast with a pincer-like motion of his fingers.

              ‘It’s an alright place to live,’ replied Olen as he handed an empty plate to Ilsa for washing. ‘Not many cities or large towns here though. You’ve got Hocklino – the port to the north-east of the island just past the forests. That’s the big place for incoming trade from anywhere in the northern territories.’

              ‘What about the south?’

              ‘There’re a few smaller port towns that aren’t on any map that’s been recently drawn yet, but Cryldis rarely trades with anybody from the southern territories coz they tend to keep themselves to themselves down that way; bunch of unsociable people if you ask me.’

              ‘I’ve never dealt with anyone else in the south other than my own sense of loneliness,’ said Byde casually.

              Olen looked at him. ‘Where in the south do you live? Anywhere near that port town of Pillin? That’s the only place in the south I know of.’