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Drevel released her, with a minor rumble of concern.

  “I won’t go far.”

  The rumble increased to a growl.

  “Just in the trees. Honest.”

  As she climbed over some exposed roots and made her way behind a large tree, she glanced back. Drevel’s head was turning right and left, scanning for trouble. Rustling her way through dripping foliage, Elaine found a suitable place to relieve herself and had just started to undo her trousers when an arm gripped her throat from behind.

  * * *

  Myrrdinus was a fine young man, gifted with strength and kindness. He didn’t, however, have any viable sense of direction. Having crept around the forest for hours, he had no idea where he was or how to get back to the camp. He was about to swallow his pride and start shouting for Gwyneth when a twig snapped nearby, causing him to brandish his sword in every direction.

  “Be me, dumbwit,” announced the arriving Gwyneth. “Finding ye, ‘fore ye starve to death.”

  “Hardy har,” was all the retort Myrrdinus could manage because, if truth be told, he was relieved to see her.

  “Been going round in circles,” Gwyneth informed him. “Camp only over there.”

  Myrrdinus was racking his brain for something to say when a shriek of terror pierced the night air. As it sounded remarkably like Elaine, Myrrdinus was soon in pursuit.

  Gwyneth found herself abandoned. “Go,” she muttered, sadly. “Be wonderly by meself”.

  * * *

  “Who be ye?” the assailant hissed in Elaine’s ear. “What ye want?”

  “Can’t…speak,” Elaine pointed out, squeezing the words through her compressed windpipe.

  When he slackened his hold, Elaine kicked backwards with all her strength, landing a savage blow to his leg. The man dropped his arm and groaned in agony, exclaiming, “Pilt. Pilt!”

  Elaine didn’t wait around to debate the rights and wrongs of violence or profanity. She raced through the foliage, screeching at the full pitch of her lungs. The attacker pursued, but didn’t appear to be gaining on her, principally because he was moving with a pronounced limp.

  “Wait!” he called after her. “Not hurting ye!”

  Right, thought Elaine and kept running.

  The man eventually gave up his pursuit and slumped on a rock. When his curious prey peeped, stealthily, through the undergrowth, she found him massaging his painful leg and lamenting his lot in life.

  “Not hurting ye,” he insisted, spotting her white face against the darkened foliage. His voice was that of a young man.

  “What was the throat thing about then?” came the testy response from between fronds.

  “Anybone up here, likely looking for me. Never been goodly for me,” the man explained.

  Elaine wasn’t entirely convinced by his misery, besides her gander was up. “You grabbed me. Do you usually pick on those who can’t fight back?” She was surprised when he laughed, however brief and cold the occurrence.

  “Ye can fight back, well nough. Beside, be looking at me,” he said, struggling to his feet. “Easy to outrun me.”

  Even in deep shadow, Elaine could see that his right leg was bent at a strange angle, as though it had been broken and badly re-set. A clawed hand hung limp beside his right thigh. His face, however, remained shrouded in darkness.

  Taking two tentative steps closer, she was opening her mouth to speak when a flying mass of black hair shot across her vision, landing squarely on the stranger’s chest. He staggered, unable to balance his own weight plus that of a large dog, and fell flat on his back. A snarling Drevel took a firm grip on his left sleeve and began worrying at it for all he was worth.

  “Let go, arnus!” the young man hollered. “Be me. Harlin!”

  The revelation of his identity didn’t endear him to Elaine. In her mind, brutality against women had now been added to the crime of dereliction of duty. Drevel, for his part, had no intention of letting go. He had never particularly liked Harlin and was enjoying the moment, shaking and tearing, up, down, side to side.

  Myrrdinus crashed onto the scene, nearly knocking Elaine down. He grabbed her and set her upright, demanding “What be matterly?”

  Elaine pointed at the Drevel versus Harlin melee.

  “Drevel. Drevel. Put him down,” Myrrdinus insisted, to no avail. “That be nough!”

  Banging his fist on the dog’s head with a thumping ‘dong’ did have the desired effect, in that Drevel let go of Harlin’s sleeve as though dropping a sour prune. The resulting display of teeth was less encouraging.

  “Wow, down boy. Goodly Drevel,” Myrrdinus whimpered, trying to appease the animal, without success. He was almost relieved when Drevel took another bite at Harlin.

  And there they stood; whichever of the two men twitched, received a snap; Drevel’s head going back and forth as though watching tennis. The sight was both touching and amusing to Elaine, eliciting a rare smile.

  “Not funny,” remarked Harlin, frozen to the spot.

  “It is actually,” replied Elaine.

  Drevel duly snapped at each man in turn, reinforcing the point.

  Gwyneth appeared through the trees in a state of jogging-induced exhaustion. “Thank ye muchly for leaving me,” she told Myrrdinus, “I not saving ye again.”

  “At last, goodly news,” was his clipped response.

  * * *

  “Asher? Wake up, lazy pilt.”

  Asher’s eyes opened, squinting with pain, to the sight of his cottage ceiling. He heard a groan; then realised it had originated in his own throat. Every inch of his body was throbbing, aching or shrieking in outright agony.

  “Oh. Thank me God. Asher.”

  Melith’s tearstained face appeared in his line of sight. Soft hands gently wiped the blood from beneath his nose.

  “Bout time,” remarked Bert, the owner of the first voice. “Worrying women, ye be.”

  “Bert?” asked Asher, the ringing in his ears making him unsure.

  “Not Melith.”

  Asher struggled to sit up. It was far too early for his abused body, so he lay back down.

  “Be still, silly gumble,” murmured Melith, stroking his hair.

  A worrying thought made Asher grasp his friend’s hand with surprising strength. “Bert, warn tother villages?”

  “Course,” was Bert testy response.

  “Harpy want Elaine badly,” Asher continued, despite Melith’s insistence that he lay quietly. “Best she be with Harlin, case tothers here think of giving her up. Goodly Myrrdinus not here.”

  “Be, aye,” said Bert, not meeting Asher’s eyes, but glancing at Melith.

  That told Asher everything he didn’t want to know. “Ye not send to Myrrdinus. Bert?”

  “They needed to know,” Bert insisted.

  “If he knowing, Gwyneth knowing,” Asher moaned. “Rather they staying up there, safely,”

  “Shut up groaning,” grumbled Bert, unsure of his previous decision and covering it with his usual brand of miserating. “Ye making me stump ache.”

  * * *

  Whilst Gwyneth and Myrrdinus had accepted Elaine’s amnesia without too many questions or suspicions, Harlin didn’t share their ability to trust a stranger, especially after so short an acquaintance. He feared the possibility of a spy being in their midst and insisted on using the most tortuous route possible to his cave hideout, reasoning that they would never be able to lead an enemy back to him.

  The caves ran throughout the mountain top, interlocking through a system of holes and tunnels. In the ten years that Harlin had been residing in his cave, he had explored much of the system, laying down multiple traps to prevent a surprise attack. In truth, Harpy had never attempted to find him, seemingly content for him to remain an isolated hermit.

  Thus, it was, that Elaine found herself nervously shuffling through pitch darkness with one hand tracing the jagged edges of the cave wall and the other firmly gripping Gwyneth’s coat. The human chain kept to the right, having been warned of disguised pits l
urking on the left. With nothing to occupy the eyes, the sense of hearing was magnified to compensate, causing every little scrape of weary feet to echo through the tunnel. The monotony was broken by an occasional murmur and Drevel’s disgusting fart.

  A dull thud was followed by a gruff, “Ouch.” Myrrdinus, being more statuesque than the others had, for the fourth time, bumped his head on overhanging rock. “We nearly there?” he moaned into the darkness, receiving a terse, “No,” in response.

  Elaine tightened her grip on Gwyneth, terrified that her hand would slip free and she would be lost; she and those relying on her, behind.

  “Be fine,” Gwyneth whispered, sensing the fear clinging to her coat.

  Elaine was grateful for the encouragement, however small. She had no idea how much time passed on that blind walk; it could have been hours or minutes. She was overjoyed when a warm current of air reached her shivering body. Sure enough, a visible glow penetrated the darkness and the outline of her companions began to emerge, the chain moving faster as it sensed arrival at their destination.

  “Stop!” Harlin ordered, his body emulating his instruction.

  Like a heavy goods vehicle, Myrrdinus took longer to slow than his slighter friend and plunged into his back. The rest of the line chose to stifle their mirth, except Gwyneth. Her peals of laughter were, to over-sensitive ears, painfully loud.

  “Shut up,” Harlin ordered in an unmistakable tone of command.

  “Rack,” muttered Gwyneth under her breath, but everybody heard it.

  “Listen carely,” Harlin continued, choosing to ignore the previous insult. “There be six pits ahead of ye.”

  Elaine strained her newly returned sight, but could see nothing but darkened rock. This Harlin had a talent for espionage, that’s for sure.

  “Be following only me steps. Walk where I walk, understand?”

  “Even Myrrdinus understand,” Gwyneth jibed. “Please can we be getting warm?”

  Elaine struggled to maintain her balance on each precise step. The climb had taken its toll and she was obviously far less fit than the others, having spent most of her life sat in front of her computer. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she turned a corner and saw a long stretch of tunnel, with a parade of wall torches, warming and illuminating the path. In this relative brightness, Elaine got her first good look at Harlin.

  He was a little taller than her, ebony haired and, at one time, must have been athletic. Hindered by his deformed leg, he had still tried to maintain a level of fitness, evidenced by his lean musculature. His strong right arm ended in a clawed hand as though every tiny bone had, at one time, been crushed; however, it was his face that most shocked Elaine. Living within the Academy and various laboratories, she had worked with those who would be considered disabled - their extraordinary minds not limited by their straining bodies - but she had never before gazed on a victim of torture.

  The skin on the right side of his face had melted under searing heat, forcing his features to glissade like snow in an avalanche. The unscathed left side, with its smooth olive skin, bore witness to how handsome he must have been and served to illustrate the level of degradation heaped upon him. He looked a little older than Myrrdinus – late twenties perhaps – though it was difficult to tell.

  Harlin caught her staring at him. From his expression, she thought that he was about to confront her, but he suddenly seemed to wilt and turned away in embarrassment. Elaine wished that he had shouted at her; it would have been preferable to the shame that swept through her.

  Having safely negotiated the corridor, Elaine ducked to avoid low rock and straightened up inside a small cave. Flaming torches cast flickering shadows of the new occupants on bare walls. A smouldering central fireplace cried out to be replenished from a pile of chopped wood, lurking nearby. A heap of furs in a dry corner and a few tattered rugs were the only other features in the miserable dwelling. Elaine watched a trickle of water run down the wall and pulled her leathers tighter about her shoulders, smothering a shiver. Whatever this Harlin had done to be considered a betrayer of duty, he had suffered a lonely, dreary punishment in this place.

  “Now!” Harlin began, making Elaine jump. His voice echoed off the walls, returning in a gentle whisper. “What ye wanting here?”

  “Sit first, ‘fore ye starting?” Gwyneth grumbled, plopping herself down on a rug and throwing more wood on the fire. She had little patience with Harlin or his cherished inner demons.

  “B’not making yeself easy. Not staying,” was the discouraging response.

  “Still charmer, I see,” quipped Gwyneth.

  Myrrdinus decided to get to the point before Gwyneth’s animosity forestalled their cause. “Need ye to hide her,” he stated, pointing at Elaine.

  Drevel instantly pressed against her side.

  Harlin’s penetrating gaze swivelled to the shivering woman. “And we be all way back to question: who be ye?” A lengthening silence followed the simple query. Harlin’s eyes narrowed. “Not going to like this, am I?”

  “Elaine,” the visitor stated.

  “Elaine,” repeated Harlin, as though uncomprehending.

  “Elaine,” she confirmed.

  “Elaine,” Harlin repeated, again, although somewhat more stridently.

  “Is there an echo?” asked Elaine, both annoyed and fearful. Her concern magnified when Harlin delivered a cold, sharp laugh.

  “She be our friend,” stated Gwyneth, as though that should halt any objection.

  “Not mine,” Harlin snapped, limping towards Elaine until they were almost nose to nose.

  Refusing to be intimidated, she stared right back at him. Drevel, ever loyal, let loose an ominous, rumbling growl. With her eyes never leaving those of Harlin, Elaine patted her protector on his flea ridden head. “If you want to scare me,” she told Harlin, “better men than you have been there.”

  “How ye get scar?” was Harlin’s inappropriate and aggressive inquiry, prompting another rumble from Drevel.

  “Harlin,” said Myrrdinus, trying to intervene in the tense exchange. The protagonists completely ignored him.

  “Same way as you, I expect,” Elaine replied, answering Harlin’s question whilst involuntarily fingering her scar. “Someone gave it to me.”

  “Why?”

  Elaine leaned even closer to Harlin and her forehead almost touched his burned face. “Because he could.”

  There was an electric moment in which two tortured souls somehow came to an agreement, without the slightest element of trust or understanding.

  “So, what ye need?” Harlin asked, backing away a few steps.

  “From you? Nothing,” Elaine replied. “They hoped you’d help me. But if not…”

  “What ye doing in realm?” insisted Harlin.

  “I don’t remember,” Elaine told him, heartily sick of the lie.

  “Harpy look for ye for years. What she want with ye?”

  “I don’t know,” Elaine replied in a softer voice, her resolve weakening.

  The frail connection between them suddenly snapped when a horrifying thought occurred to Harlin. “Ye doing magik to be here?” he shouted. “Get away from me.”

  “That goodly coming from ye, Magiker,” Gwyneth sneered.

  Harlin’s reaction to that nickname surprised Elaine. She watched the passionate young man seem to fold inside himself.

  “Never asking nobone of ye here,” he snarled. “Take her and go.”

  “And where we taking her, where she be safe?” Gwyneth pointed out.

  “Not caring,” Harlin murmured, caught in an obvious childlike lie.

  The trauma of her arrival, coupled with fatigue, overcame Elaine’s usual reticence in a stream of angry truth.

  “Magic, whatever. I don’t know how your Queen even knows me. I’ve never met her. All I know is, I’ve been hunted, shoved around and strangled, and I’ve no idea why. If I could get home, I would. Goodbye. Go on with your miserable life and don’t mind me.”

  Spinning
on her heel, Elaine turned to leave, ignoring Drevel’s whine. Harlin yielded.

  “Alright. Eat. Rest here night,” he told them. “In morning, all going.”

  His steps echoed down the tunnel, favouring his damaged leg: step, scrape, step, scrape.

  Chapter 5

  Even though she was exhausted, Elaine lay awake long after the others had drifted into blissful sleep. Troubled by a piercing headache and frustrated by her inability to relax, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. The central fire burned a little lower, but the cave was still comfortably warm. Drevel lay on his back with his legs wide open in slumbering disregard for propriety. Gwyneth had manoeuvred herself into Myrrdinus’s embrace and, in sleepy ignorance, he held her close. The only sounds were the soft rise and fall of breathing and the occasional canine grumble. A telltale step, scrape, however, announced the imminent return of Harlin.

  Elaine looked away as he limped over to his makeshift bed and lay down, without a word. He was still for a brief moment, after which he began to toss and turn impatiently, unable to find a comfortable position. He eventually gave up and joined Elaine in staring into dying embers. A sound resembling a child blowing a raspberry echoed through the cave with rumbling intensity. The appalling smell that followed was the last straw. Glaring at the offending canine, currently oblivious to censure, Harlin struggled to his feet and limped over to Elaine.

  “Come with me,” he whispered.

  Surprised, but eager to vacate the vicinity, Elaine followed Harlin down a different tunnel. It was illuminated by more torchlight, corkscrewing its way through endless twists and turns.

  Please don’t let him abandon me here, thought Elaine. I’d die before I’d find my way out.

  With torches becoming fewer, the light had gradually dimmed, allowing her eyes to adjust to natural light. Glancing above, she realised that they were standing within a fissure in the cavern, the weak rays of dawn struggling to penetrate cloud cover. Rainwater gurgled through the opening, supplying a tiny, bedraggled garden beneath.

  “Ye greening?” Harlin asked, having noticed that she continued to rub her temples.

  “Dizzy,” Elaine replied. “I’ll be fine. Just tired. You do this?”