The Commander

Something poked me in the back, and I turned over with a moan. Slowly my brain began to fire up and I remembered where I was and what had happened yesterday. The marsh sprit, Fynn, Roric, the battle, it all came flashing through my mind with alarming clarity. My eyes snapped open and I sat up, hoping that I would see my bedroom instead of the miserable forest that had become my prison. My heart sank as I stared up at the leafy trees and heard the sounds of Roric’s men breaking camp. Not a dream, it was real, like I had told myself yesterday. I was still stuck in this strange land, caught between Dyrel and Huryl, not knowing which side was safer or where I should go.

Roric appeared beside me and shoved a piece of hard bread and dried meat in my hands. He smiled and seemed much more relaxed than he had the night before. As I ate my breakfast, I wondered if I had earned his trust by not running off into the night. Fynn had certainly been no help, vanishing at the slightest sound. I almost laughed as I drank some of the water offered to me by one of the axe-men. My eyes caught those of the elf, and he stared at me with utter contempt. I turned my gaze away.

“Not far now,” Roric told me, holding out a hand to help me to my feet.

I took the offered hand as I finished the last of my breakfast. My bag was where I had left it, and I put it firmly on my shoulder in preparation for another long walk. As the men moved out, one dragging the elf scout behind him, I fell into step beside Roric.

“What’s your commander like?” I asked.

Roric thought for a moment. “He’s a good leader. The men like him well enough. He’s fair with the pay and supplies, doesn’t like needless slaughter.”

“What about towards prisoners?”

Roric laughed. “Worried about the elf, lass?”

“No,” I replied honestly. The elf could take care of himself. “About me.”

“You’re not a prisoner. I told you that you’d reach your village safely, and I’m a man of my word.”

I forced myself to smile. But you’ll never find my village, I thought. I can’t even find my village.

“Where are you from?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from me.

Roric smiled in memory. “We call our village Donstun, near the capital city. Ever been to the capital, lass?”

I shook my head, feeling relieved that I could answer a question honestly for once.

“Donstun provides a lot of the grain for the capital. We’re farmers, mostly. It’s a quiet life, but when I heard Huryl had been invaded, I left my wife and sons to join the battle. Can’t say it was the smartest decision of my life, but I have to protect them.”

“Why didn’t your sons come?”

“Too young,” Roric replied with a laugh. “My eldest came, Jakob. He’s in the battle somewhere, or lying dead.”

Roric fell silent. I kept my mouth closed, not wanted to cause any more suffering to the man who had showed me so much kindness. I wished there was a way to know if Jakob was alive or dead, if only to ease his father’s mind. My eyes began to wander through the trees, and I caught a glimpse of something white and black moving quickly, following us. I stopped and pretended to be searching for something in my bag, Roric slowing slightly so I wouldn’t be left behind, but I raised my eyes to stare into the forest. The striped creature had stopped as well, and I saw it was a human shape, like the marsh spirit, only with white skin. It had triangular stripes all over its body and a long mane of thick black fur running from the top of its head down its back and ending in a kind of tail. Fangs protruded from its black lips and it smiled at me. I started to walk again, not liking the smile that reminded me of a tiger about to strike. I caught up to Roric and tried not to think about the striped figure.

By mid-day, we had reached the outskirts of the Huryl camp. I could hear the sounds of battle and smell blood and sweat heavy on the wind. Carrion birds circled high in the air, waiting for their opportunity to feast. I turned my eyes away from the horror and focused on a plain looking green tent that sat overlooking the battlefield. A man stood outside it, staring across the battlefield with an intense look of concentration on his face. Servants were running to and from him, handing him notes or taking dispatches away. Roric took me firmly by the arm and led me to him.

“Commander Mattis,” Roric said with a bow. “We captured a Dyrel scout, and found this girl wandering around the forest. She claims she is not with the Dyrel, nor do I believe she is with the Huryl.”

Commander Mattis turned to face me. He wore the same armor as Roric, but he was slight in frame, not very muscular at all. He had short black hair and green eyes that stared at me as if he were trying to read my soul. I blinked and he smiled at me. The expression reminded me of the striped figure in the forest.

“Neither Dyrel or Huryl, eh?” Mattis repeated. “Well then, my dear. Where are you from?”

I hesitated. Roric stood next to me expectantly, waiting to hear my story. Should I continue the lie about searching for my brother, or should I tell the truth? My heart raced and I felt faint, but I knew I could not escape. Mattis waited impatiently for me to speak.