I try to pick out the others, then from the corner of my eye, I see a sparkle of silver, but as I turn my head, it’s gone. I scan the woods, hoping to see the glint again. What was it? I’ve heard tales of beasts that roam the woods on the road to Zury. Ghouls, wraiths, crawlers, and banshees are said to walk these woods. Although the stories of the banshee vary, some say they sing laments and lure unwitting travellers to their deaths, while others say the songs they sing warn folk of an upcoming death and mean no ill.
I’d rather not find out either way, so while the guards drink beside the fire, I watch and wait.
The night is a quiet one, and an uneasy sense settles within me. Dread, that’s what it is.
“Tomorrow night we’ll be back in Zury, I can’t wait,” a guard says, lifting his flask in the air, toasting to nothing.
“Got a whore waiting for you, eh?” another jests, and the others keel over laughing.
“Two actually...” The guards cheer loudly. So loudly they never hear the whoosh of an arrow as it lodges itself deep in one guard’s throat.
Silence fills the camp before the other guard’s shout in uproar, lunging for their weapons a little too late. More arrows fly through the air from all directions. One by one, the guards drop to the ground.
Bearnard and I huddle up to the door to look out into the woods. An arrow lands in Bearnard’s chest. He slumps onto meand we both fall to the floor, trapped under his weight. I watch as Bearnard laughs, a smile broad across his face as blood bubbles in his mouth, then he falls silent. I hide beneath him, waiting for the arrows to cease.
My heart races with the soft crunch of footsteps walking around the camp, the rustling of the guard’s pockets being looted. Are they bandits? I can’t tell, no one speaks for me to gauge who I’m dealing with. I lift my head slightly to peek out of the wagon, but it’s too dark to make anything out. Whoever they are, they move quietly and carefully.
“Well, well, who do we have here?” A man steps out in front of me, his voice muffled behind the scarf covering half his face, only his eyes can be seen. Strange gold eyes, unlike anything I have seen before.
Another voice near the fire shouts over, “Kill him and be done with it.”
The man nearest me shrugs as he reaches for a dagger at his chest.
“No, please. I haven’t done anything wrong.” I hold my hands up in the air.
“Nothing wrong? Why are you in a cage then?” He crosses his arms, and the glint of his polished dagger shines in my eyes.
“The guards were taking me to Zury to the High Lord, because I attacked some of his men. But it was self-defence. That’s it.” My eyes are wide, my breathing shallow. “They deserved it.”
Please, don’t kill me.
The man looks at the others behind him, and a silent agreement is made. He gestures to another to come and tug me out, my legs wobble, trying to find my feet after being cramped.
“Take him with us. But keep his hands tied, we’ll leave the decision to Caelan.” One of the men walks towards me and chucks a sack over my head.
“Looks like you get to meet the chief.”
With my jailors gripping tightly onto my arm, I stumble and trip over overgrown branches and tree roots. Exhausted with traipsing through the woods, my legs struggle to keep me upright. Up ahead, birds staggeringly whistle from the treetops. Wait, not a bird? Them.
One of the men pulls off my blindfold once we stop, and I shield my eyes with my bound hands at the sudden burst of firelight that burns my eyes. Once they adjust, an ivy-covered wall blocks our path, surrounded by dark, glistening walls, with water trickling in a steady stream down them. With another whistle, the ivy opens like a door.
The men usher me inside, into a dark cavern with torches lit along the surface. A young boy heaves a rope to close the door again before barricading it. With a grey scarf covering his face like my captors, his narrow eyes dart to me as one of the men whispers something to him.
Ignoring the stares and murmurs, I try to survey the surrounding cave. It's old and narrow. Torches have been attached to the walls, guiding us down to the exit. With another bird-like whistle, another door swings open by yet another young boy. Without his scarf, I can clearly see the quizzical look on his face, his eyes shooting straight to my captors, full of questions.
While being pushed forward, I look around in amazement, hidden within the mountain is a valley. Surrounded by high walls and men guarding from above, it looks like there’s no way out. Small wooden huts covered with ivy are dotted all around. Torches illuminating small dirt tracks, and in the distance, small farmlands with livestock grazing in the fields. I keep my eyes peeled for any sign of an exit, but in the darkness, it’s too difficult to see what’s in front of me.
Based on the number of cabins, there must be around fifty folks here. Only a few are awake this late into the night. Where have I been taken?
They can’t be bandits. Bandit camps aren’t like this, or at least not ones I’ve read about.
“Where’s Caelan?” a deep voice says from behind me.
The young boy who opened the door points down the hill.
The man who spoke grabs hold of my arm and walks me down timber steps to a tall, large wooden hut, standing in the middle of this make-shift village. The already quiet hamlet goes into complete silence.
Anyone who is up and about at this time, stops dead and watches as we walk to the centre of the village. My captor hammers on the door of the hut with his fist.
