Famfrit's Jewel - Chapter 2
Hunter & Hunted
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Dagnar felt the shape of the footprint in the frost, hard, cold, and recent, left by a heavy step. The soldier who left it was over-encumbered or… he looked ahead, the trail of steps in the frost were all deep and hard with the night’s chill, the men who’d sacked Kol were marching single file. The trail led north-east well beyond Dagnar’s knowledge of the world. The forest grew thinner, the trees thicker and more ancient but there were less of them, far more old stumps, and a dearth of bushes and undergrowth. Dagnar stood up, his head spinning with the effort. He was unused to injuries limiting him for more than a day, especially minor ones, but the bruising all round his midriff, not to mention black eye, were leaving their mark. Checking once again his ribs weren’t broken he carried on, he had to reclaim Famfrit’s Jewel and avenge his family and village.
Hours later, when the sun launched glistening spears across the horizon that pierced the forest and dazzled him, he stopped. The trail continued, a long train of deep footsteps in the solid frost. He was fortunate it had not snowed and nor was there a feel of snowfall in the air. Sitting at the foot of a large fir he pondered starting a fire. The warmth would be welcome but the sound and the light was not, it was still a day, at least, until he caught up with the soldiers unless they were being spirited on by mystical means. He hoped not, magic was the purview of the gods, not man. He leant back on the trunk and found his eyes closing against his will.
Darkness had crawled along the sky by the time Dagnar awakened, the spiny branches swayed in a bitter breeze from the north. His stomach ached with hunger, his ribs with pain. Squirrels were abundant and roasted well on an open flame. Catching one was a different matter.
A branch snapped behind him, a good few dozen yards away least. Dagnar froze and strained his hearing. Snow crunched under foot, gentle and mingled with the sound of the wind. He rose to a crouch and scurried noiselessly to the next massive tree along the soldier’s trail. Waiting and listening revealed nothing, the footsteps had ceased. He carried on through the dark, feeling ahead for the footprints that led to his quarry. Progress was slow but he had to lose whatever it was that had tracked him, there were creatures far worse than deer or wolf in the forests. The cracking of a dead branch rang out, whatever or whoever was following either wanted him to know or was a terrible hunter. He unsheathed the dirk on his thigh and squinted into the moonlit gloom, the velvet tones shifted before his eyes and he could barely make out the nearest tree trunk. Hurried footsteps shot past his right, too far away to attack, yet close enough to be intended.
‘Who’s out there?’ Dagnar growled into the night.
‘A friend,’ a woman’s voice whispered back.
‘All my friends are dead,’ Dagnar turned to face the direction of the sound.
‘Mine too, that’s why we are friends. The name’s Alaea and I’ve been tracking the sorcerer for two weeks. He slaughtered my village and stole something dear to me and mine,’ her voice cracked. She sniffed. ‘We can take revenge together,’ her voice hardened yet a crack betrayed her brittleness, sorrow swirling beneath the surface.
Dagnar stayed still and silent for a time. A companion had its advantages and if Alaea had survived two weeks in the wilds then she knew how to hunt, skin animals, and survive. Likely she was deft with a bow or knife too, ‘Come closer and collect firewood on your way.’ Or she was lying, he’d figure it out in time.
Alaea didn’t respond but her movements echoed through the trees. She appeared with a bundle of dried branches and dead leaves for the fire. ‘I have some squirrel from this morning if you’re hungry?’
‘Fire first,’ Dagnar arranged the branches and leaves in a cone. He struck a flint against his dirk and the leaves caught on the first sparks. The light burst forth, blinding him for a second, and he found Alaea sitting opposite him. Her red hair shone in the fire, her green eyes blazed. Pale skinned with full cheeks and a face more round than straight, she was younger than he first thought though her eyes betrayed her fury and experience beyond her years. She leant around the fire with a handful of squirrel meat, charred on the edges. ‘Thank you,’ Dagnar ate the meat in a single mouthful and knew he’d have to hunt animals tomorrow before continuing his hunt of men.
‘You’re older than I thought you’d be,’ Alaea dusted her hands of the squirrel. She sat with her legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, her trousers were baggy and turned up at the hem.
‘You’re younger than I thought,’ Dagnar scanned across her noting that the trousers were likely her father’s or brothers, her fur lined leather jerkin, however, was fitted to her, accentuating bust and hips. Three knives lined her thigh, one long and thin, the other two for throwing. She’d set a short bow on the ground beside her, along with a quiver of feathered arrows. ‘You’re not used to hunting are you?’
‘Haven’t done it since I was a child, three brothers meant I didn’t have too, but it came back naturally enough,’ she flung her hair over one shoulder and leaned back on her hands.
‘In my village we teach all the children to hunt and fish, vital for harsh winters,’ Dagnar picked squirrel meat out of his teeth, uncertain what else to say. The fire crackled and hissed, melting the snow and ice in a wide ring, he could have stared into the flames all night wishing for visions of what was to come, though he was never a capable seer, not like Krina.
‘Our villages are… were not much different I suspect. I wish I had carried on hunting, at least then I’d have clothes that fit,’ she chuckled, her cheeks dimpling. ‘Father’s trousers and little brother’s coat. The rest…’ She sighed. ‘The rest burned,’ Alaea blinked back tears, the last words catching in her throat.
Dagnar had no words of comfort for the woman, no consoling realities, no hope but that of justice, though that was ash in truth. Revenge, justice, the same thing and neither would bring back those who were dead. He’d not even buried the dead, though the six in Jareel’s Outpost would be the only bodies, the rest reduced to ash. He vowed to return to Kol, if only to bury the ashes.
Alaea lay down, pulling her collar up to her ears, ‘There’s more I must tell you but it can wait till morning.’ With that she turned to face the dark and was soon asleep.
Dagnar watched her still form. Her story was plausible and the sparse life in the forest would have kept her safe and barely fed but she had feathered arrows, a good bow, and fine leathers, even if they didn’t fit properly. Now she promised information, likely to stop him sneaking off in the night, though Dagnar had shared little. There were few villages near Kol, two came to mind, Iylst and Trarnum though he didn’t remember seeing Alaea any of the few times he’d visited to sell excess furs and leathers. He remained awake for awhile longer until Alaea began to gently snore, only then did he lay down and close his eyes.
Snow crusted one side of his face, the chill sending a sharp pain through his teeth and up to his eye. Dagnar sat up, a sheet of icy snow slipping off him in one lump. The fire had guttered out, the embers sodden. Alaea lay under a blanket of snow, unmoving. Regret bubbled up inside him, alongside hunger and cold, the soldier’s tracks would be covered his only hope to stumble across more devastation, not that he wished to find it.
‘Alaea, time we move,’ Dagnar growled.
The woman shuddered awake, rolling onto her back. ‘Snow.’
Dagnar rose and slung his bow across his shoulder, ‘If we continue that way then we should come across tracks by day’s end.’
Alaea yawned and stretched her arms into the air, she hopped to her feet. ‘I have a better idea. We head for Ankoron.’
‘Ankoron? The city?’ Dagnar had heard traders speak of it but he’d never left the greatwood. Images of thousands upon thousands of people all crammed into one place terrified him. He’d never seen more than a few hundred people at once.
Alaea picked up her short bow and headed east, ‘Snowfall’s covered the tracks but they’re headed for Ankoron eventually. It’s at least three days from here, come on.’ She glanced back and winked.
Dagnar watched her go. It was true he had little hope of finding the soldiers without a trail and he didn’t want to risk coming across them unprepared. He stalked after Alaea, ‘How do you know this?’
‘I overheard the wizard, Marazoth’s his name, and his second-in-command, talking a few days ago, before they reached your village. I didn’t understand what they were saying, something about a crystal and how it could be used to control the King. King Ceradas rules from Ankoron so I figure that’s were this Marazoth is headed.’
‘You were close enough to hear him speak and you didn’t kill him?’ Dagnar grabbed her by the arm. ‘Why?’ He forced himself to loosen his grip and relax his jaw.
Alaea jerked her arm out of his grip, ‘He had seven heavily armoured men about him, not counting his second who looked to be a sorcerer too. Besides, even I could have thrown a knife accurately enough, one is rarely enough, not too mention He. Is. A. Sorcerer. Barriers, familiars, deception, that’s all it is with them. It may not have been his true self,’ Alaea glowered up at Dagnar. ‘You think you look calm but you don’t. You look like a bear ready to strike, all tensed and waiting to burst.’
Dagnar relaxed into anger, ‘How do you know he is a mage?’
‘You heard a loud clap before the attack? Like cymbals or a click of the fingers?’
Dagnar nodded.
‘Amplified. Marazoth does not march with instruments, doesn’t have to because of his manipulative powers,’ Alaea folded her arms under her bust. ‘I believe he has far greater powers but I haven’t seen anything definite.’
‘This is all too convenient,’ Dagnar looked to the horizon so he could think clearly. ‘What was your village called?’
‘Ilyst,’ she answered without a thought. Her stomach rumbled, ‘Can we do this while finding breakfast? I understand your suspicion,’ she stroked his arm. ‘I’m suspicious of you too, that’s why I followed you for half-a-day before approaching.’
He twitched at her touch, too familiar too quick. The mutual distrust didn’t provide comfort, nor did it disturb him, instead it focussed him. So long as he continued on, found this Marazoth and slew him, all was well. ‘They’ll be squirrel and deer in these woods, we can hunt while we travel.’
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