Chapter Thirteen: An Unexpected Friend

Tranith Argan: Book 3

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Having been tortured, Felanar is healing in his cell from Alessa’s care.

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The next few days passed uneventfully, interrupted only by the bringing of meals. But no news. Felanar could still barely move, and Alessa and Kara tended to him to speed his healing and ease his pain. The elf worked on his wounds, some of which were deep, while his sister comforted him with words of encouragement. Felanar said little in those days but did begin to appear more comfortable.

Then one evening, about a week after their second imprisonment, they heard something odd in the hallway. It began quite far away like the sound of metal on metal, but faint. Then Alessa said she heard voices – angry voices and excited voices. Soon they all heard a disturbance in the hallway, with shouts and the sound of running and doors being opened one by one. The four of them stood up, backing away from their cell door. Not sure of the cause of this excitement and mindful of Felanar's recent injury, they moved cautiously. More doors opened as the sounds drew closer. Finally their own cell door swung open and they shielded their eyes against the blazing of the torches that were thrust into their cell.

“Free you are!” said a gruff voice.

Felanar could not see who was speaking, his eyes trying to adjust to the light of the flame, but he knew that voice.

“Slakh?” he asked tentatively.

As people rushed in confusion in the hallways, the voice with the torch stepped into the cell and illuminated Felanar's face.

“It is you,” the saark leader said gruffly in recognition. “You are free to go, just like the rest.”

“Are you not taking us prisoner again?” asked Felanar.

“No,” said Slakh, “I do not care about you any more. I only care to hurt the autarch, and if you are his prisoner then you shall be free to hurt him. My troops have freed me today and today I free everyone else to hurt the one who betrayed me.”

“You, a prisoner too?” asked Felanar. “I don't understand.”

“The autarch is not a ruler of honor,” said Slakh, “but now is not the time to talk. If you wish to be free, follow us. Hurry!”

He left the cell and joined fellow saarks waiting for him in the hallway. The four prisoners left the cell and followed. They saw in the torchlight that all of the cell doors had been opened, using keys one of the saarks had taken from a guard who now lay dead on the floor. Other guards lay in a heap further down the hallway. Prisoners in various states of health were in the hallway too, some anxiously running this way or that, others blinking in the light of the flames, others too broken down and confused to do more than crawl feebly forward.

“Come,” ordered Slakh, “we must hurry!”

He led the saarks, ten in number, up some nearby stairs and Felanar and the rest followed. In the light of the hallway Kara and Alessa could see Felanar limping slightly but otherwise capable of moving.

“Can you manage?” asked Alessa.

“I can run if it means freedom,” Felanar said brusquely as he limped onward. He didn't turn to face the elf as he said this. Alessa did not continue the conversation but kept her eye on him as he ran and quietly took inventory of the various injuries he seemed to be suffering from.

They ran up the final set of steps that led to the main palace level and burst through a door into a long hallway. More guards lay there, killed when the saarks had entered the palace and made their way to the dungeons. In the distance, voices were raised in alarm and the saarks kept running.

As they ran from room to room, an occasional guard would confront them but he was quickly cut down by the furious saarks. They were armed with their scimitars and armor and were stronger than any adversary they faced.

Suddenly Slakh stopped and held up his arm. He paused and looked around. They were in a crossroads of hallways.

“This way,” he said finally, pointing away from where they had been running and indicating the hallway to their left.

“The front doors are this way, sir,” said one of the saark guards.

“This way,” Slakh repeated. “By now they will have the front entrance well guarded. We will go out one of the servant's entrances.”

They ran to the left, Felanar limping as fast as he could. Passing through several empty rooms, Felanar thought that Slakh had made the right choice. They saw no guards and he could imagine that Slakh's surmise had been correct. After a few more minutes of running they came to a small set of doors, which opened to the night air.

They peered out of the door and saw no guards, or anyone else, between the door and the palace grounds wall about fifty feet away.

They moved quickly toward the wall and got there unimpeded or apparently seen. From their packs some of the saarks removed coils of rope and prepared to lasso one of the rock protrusions on the wall as an anchor. After their first couple of attempts failed, Alessa spoke up.

“Allow me,” she said as she took one of the ropes, scampered up the fifteen feet of wall and sat on its top as she tied the rope around the protrusion and made it fast. “It is secure,” she smiled.

As the saarks and the former prisoners began to scale the wall, Slakh turned to Felanar and asked, “Elves can do that?”

Felanar was pleased at Slakh’s amazement. “Elves will continually surprise you.”

When all had climbed over the wall to the other side, Felanar with some difficulty, they looked around to see the best route of escape. They were still on palace grounds but on an uninhabited grassy section that circled the walls. Beyond that lay the city, but it was now night and there was little activity. Torches were seen here and there along the streets in the distance, and some homes were lit from within, but overall the darkness would hide them well as they traveled. To the north, they heard shouting in the distance. They had scaled one of the western walls, while the main entrance faced the north.

“We will travel with you for now,” said Felanar to Slakh.

“Why?” Alessa started to ask, but Felanar cut her off with a glance.

“Welcome you are to join us as we leave the city,” said Slakh. “You have proven yourself useful to us once already.”

“Let us help each other since we seem to be on the same side at the moment,” responded Felanar.

“Agreed,” said Slakh as he held up one of his hands in agreement. Felanar matched the gesture.

“Ready to run?” asked Slakh, who by now had noticed Felanar's condition.

“Yes, but which way do you plan to run?” he asked.

“Straight ahead,” Slakh answered, pointing toward the north and toward his home.

“May I suggest this way instead,” said Felanar as he pointed toward the west. “Polandolar, if I recall, is more narrow in this section toward the west. We will reach wilderness more quickly this way, and then we can turn toward the north and toward home.”

“We do not fear to fight,” said one of the saark guards gruffly.

“Neither do I,” said Felanar, “but if the autarch has time to call his entire army, do you want to fight your way through that when a simpler way is open to us?”

Slakh held up his hand before the other saark could respond.

“Fel is correct. We are a small band at present and it is wisdom to wait for another day for our revenge. I promise you, that day will come, but it is not today. We go west, all of us.”

They began to jog along the grass toward the darkest of the streets that stretched out in front of them and soon they were passing homes and buildings, the dark occasionally broken by a torch. They sometimes came across an inhabitant of the city who, taking one look at the large group of running saarks, quickly ducked into a doorway to avoid confrontation. Only once did they meet two soldiers on guard duty. In a brief flurry of noise and flashing scimitars, the guards were cut down.

Within an hour they were beyond the city limits and in the darkness of the semi-wilderness. Around them were only an occasional house and sparse trees and brush became thinner as they moved along. With only a new moon offering faint illumination between clouds, it was quite dark. After another hour of running, with Felanar's limp growing worse, Slakh called for a halt. They were near a large rock formation just off the path and here they would rest.

“I can continue,” objected Felanar.

“Sir,” one of the saark guards added, “we should keep marching while it is dark.”

“Your limp is getting worse,” said Slakh with the closest thing to kindness the others had ever heard in a saark's voice. “You need to rest and we are far enough away to be safe.”

“I can run,” said Felanar.

“Not very well,” pointed out Alessa. “I have been watching you and you are getting worse. You should rest.”

“She's right,” said Kara, “you were badly injured and need to heal. Let Alessa work on your wounds first and then you can run when you are feeling better.”

Felanar was silent. Each step was causing him pain now.

“We rest for now,” repeated Slakh. “Let us talk, you and I. You have an interesting story to tell, if I read the autarch correctly, and now I would like to know it if you are willing to tell me.”

They sat down in a circle.

“You sold us to the autarch as spies,” said Felanar. “Do you still think we are spies? Are you going to take us prisoners again?”

“No, Fel,” said Slakh. “I wanted to use your appearance to gain favor with the autarch. Our peoples have been in a strained relationship for too long and I thought by providing him with spies I could demonstrate my honor and my willingness to coordinate power in this region. His treachery, however, has brought an end to this idea, and now conflict is what he has sown. I deal not with the autarch. If you are no threat to my people, as you say, then you and I no longer have a quarrel and you are free to go as you will. I am sorry that I treated you badly before now.”

“I accept your apology, Slakh,” said Felanar. “We are no threat to your people, and when I told you we were in your land by accident, I was telling the truth. But since then you and I have had some interesting conversations and I have learned more about saarks than I once knew, and I have come to see you are a people of honor even if I cannot agree with all you do.”

“You honor us with your dignified response,” said Slakh quietly. “With nothing to gain from my people, you show us respect. This is rare in my experience. But tell me, Fel, you are not really a fisherman, are you?”

Felanar laughed. “I was. That is how my sister and I were reared and all I knew until a short time ago. But allow me to correct one falsehood I used: My name is Felanar, not Fel. I gave you a wrong name for fear that my true name would give something about me away. Do you know this name?”

“I do not know it,” said Slakh.

“Slakh, I am the king of Tranith Argan.”

The saark chief stared at Felanar in surprise. Then he turned to the others and said, “And these are also royalty?”

“Yes,” said Felanar. “This is my sister Kara. This elf is Alessa, daughter of the Lord of the Llaráin Findára. The dwarf is Dolen, now king of the dwarves. The rest of what I told you is the truth. We were caught up in a storm and blown off course to your land and now we are trying to make our way home. We are not spies, we mean no harm to your people or your land, we do not even want to be here. It is by accident that we are even in your land.”

“Why did you not tell me this before?” asked Slakh in amazement.

“For fear you would hold us hostage, or,” and Felanar paused while he smiled in the moonlight, “maybe sell us to the autarch.”

Slakh laughed, his fangs catching the dim light. “So true, so true. Ah, but it would only have been to gain advantage for my people.”

“I know that,” said Felanar, “and I have seen that you act out of honor and on behalf of those over whom you rule. I respect this way of ruling – more than I respect the ways of the autarch who seems to have no honor regardless of his motive. I will be honest with you, Slakh, my first taste of saark treatment caused me to hate your kind. Since then I have come to see there is more to saark ways than I first thought. I cannot say I agree with all your ways, but I do see you have your reasons.”

“Thank you, king of the eastern lands,” said Slakh. “It is no wonder the autarch reacted as he did when I told him of your identity. You were indeed prisoners of high worth and it gives me delight to know I have robbed him of such treasures.”

“It gives me even more delight,” said Felanar.

Alessa, who had walked away from the conversation, now returned with a few herbs in her hands and suggested she use them to heal Felanar's wounds. She began to crush the herbs and added water from a nearby stream to create a poultice to place on Felanar's wounds. As she did so, Kara sat down next to her brother.

“Was it wise to tell Slakh so much?” she asked quietly.

“I think so,” he said. “I meant what I said about honor. The saarks have it and I trust that honor.”

“I begin to think you are right,” said Kara.

“As do I, much to my surprise,” said Alessa as she pressed down on one of Felanar's wounds. He winced.

Alessa never ceased to treat Felanar's injuries through the night.

The next day began bright and clear. The pathway on the other side of the rock formation was empty except for an occasional farmer or trader making his way to the city. Alessa listened for any sounds from the path but heard nothing. There were no signs of pursuit.

“They think we have gone north or east,” said Dolen as he ate some of the breakfast the saarks shared with them. “Going west makes no sense to them, and soon not to me as well.”

“We can turn north at this point,” said Felanar. Alessa had tended him all night and in the morning Felanar was amazed to see how well his wounds had healed. His face had more color and he seemed to have more strength. “We have seen no one searching for us, and now there is only wilderness to the north. If we avoid the roads, we should be able to circle around toward the Red Mountains.”

“Is that our destination?” asked Dolen.

“No,” said Felanar, “but it is a good starting point for our journey. We must turn east at some point, but I would rather do it as far north of the Tri-Cities as possible.”

“What journey do you plan?” asked Slakh, finishing the last of his grank and wiping his face with his right arm.

“We make for Elaria eventually,” said Felanar. “You too, Dolen?”

“Aye,” said the dwarf, “for I must cross the Straits somehow, and I cannot do that on my own.”

“Then to Elaria we all go,” said Felanar turning back to Slakh. “Do I understand the layout of the western lands correctly that we can safely cross the Great Plain toward the mouth of the river Arenton.”

“If by 'safe' you mean you will encounter no others in your journey,” Slakh began, “then yes, it is safe. But a reason there is for such isolation. The heart of the Great Plain is barren. You will find it dry, without water for many days of journeying.”

“Where do people live in these lands then?” asked Felanar.

“Along the northern coasts,” said Alessa, “or along the banks of the Arenton or Marske.”

“Or in the mountains,” added Slakh, “as well as the desert cities of Shakaart. If you wish advice, I would go north along the Marske and then travel east along the coastline. Your journey would be longer than if you cut across the Great Plain, but it will be easier.”

“Is that what the autarch would expect us to do?” asked Kara.

“If that is the logical way to travel, probably so,” mused Felanar.

“So then his search parties would, no doubt, look for us along the rivers and the coast,” she said. “Plus if we hug the coastline, we pass close to Dragon Island again, do we not?”

“We would,” said Alessa.

“Slakh,” said Kara, turning to the saark chief, “how far is it from the base of the Red Mountains to Mount Majestic at the foot of the Arenton?”

“This must be eighty leagues,” said Slakh.

“Which is shorter than crossing the Plain to the northeast, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“Could we get horses for this journey?” asked Felanar.

“To cross the Plain it would not be easy,” said Slakh. “No water for days, so you would need to bring something for the horses if they are to make it to the end, and then there would be the problem of finding horses for sale in the wilderness.”

“We’ll have to go on foot then,” said Felanar. “Ten leagues a day, eight days’ worth of water in our packs.”

“Eight rough days for your kind,” said Slakh.

“Rough, but limited. Once done, we’re free,” said Felanar. “Once we reach Mount Majestic, we not only get the water of the Arenton to sustain us, we reach the Elven Plain and can call for help, can we not, Alessa?”

“Easily,” replied the elf. “There are knight patrols all along the border. I could call them at once. In fact, once we get close to the Arenton, I would once again trust the birds to carry a message ahead of us.”

“Then it is eight days to freedom,” said Felanar. “Compared to, at best, if we go by horse, what, ten days along the coast? I make it a journey of two hundred leagues that way, and we could make that in eight days if we push hard, twelve if we travel at a normal pace.”

“Not much of a difference in time,” said Kara.

“But a big difference in potential for trouble,” replied Felanar. “Not only would the autarch expect us to be going that way, and not only might Vélakk send men along that route, but we will be encountering villages and settlements all along the way, and each encounter is one more opportunity for trouble, for being seen by spies of the autarch. If we cross the Plain straight to Mount Majestic, we should encounter no one, and no one would expect us to go that way.”

“Then we should go that way,” agreed Kara.

“We will journey with you, Slakh, until we reach the base of the Red Mountains,” said Felanar.

“We shall journey together that far,” said Slakh, “and we shall talk as we journey. I have much I wish to ask you about your lands.”

They gathered their equipment and turned north.