[THIS STORY IS A WORK IN PROGRESS]
[This story is a continuation of Forogil's Captivity in Enedwaith]
He sat with his eyes closed. The sound of running water was unmistakable. Then the footsteps. He sighed and opened his eyes. Turning his head towards the sound, he saw the young woman approach. She was somehow different. Her smile felt brighter and her steps light. She kneeled beside him and just as before, put her palm on his cheek. This time he felt her warm and soft skin, almost as if real. He knew this was but a dream but he allowed himself to immerse into the kind touch. Just for a moment. It seemed to be lasting longer than usual. He expected to have been struck by now. He looked up into her eyes. Her face seemed almost apologetic. “You know what comes now.” she said with a distant voice. She raised her hand, ready to strike him. “Wake.”
He opened his eyes to see the Dunlending guard, arm raised to slap him once again. Forogil swiftly angled his head as far to his right as he could, just in time to dodge the strike. The guard was thrown out of balance and with full force, his hand instead struck the pole behind the prisoner.
“RHEG!” he yelled out in pain, grabbing his wrist. “Dievlig duvodiad, you will pay for this!“ he shouted and kicked Forogil in the ribs. Sharp pain shot through the hunter‘s torso but he was glad to have gotten somewhat of a revenge on his captor.
Forogil grunted in pain and collapsed his torso forwards. He forced out a sickly cough and looked up at the guard with tired anger in his eyes. His show of weakness seemed to have worked. Though the one closer was still clenching his injured hand, both Dunlending guards looked the man with satisfied grins.
“Tired, little ranger?” asked the other guard in a mocking voice. “It will only get worse once we march you out.”
Forogil hung his head. “Just take me to your chieftain, get this over with for today.” he said.
“No interrogation today.” said the injured guard, sounding almost disappointed. “Chieftain leaves with the men to deal with the dragon cla-“ before he could finish his sentence, the other guard punched him in his shoulder and gave him a furious, reproachful look.
“No more questions duvodiad, or I will come whip you myself!” he said. He turned to leave, angrily beckoning his loose-tongued comrade to come also. Forogil had been watching them intently as they walked out. Then he turned his head to Arandil.
The ranger looked back at him. “It has to be done today.” he stated. Forogil knew what the ranger meant. He nodded.
The commotion was now at its peak. Wild men were shouting commands over one another, with the chieftain’s unmistakable imposing voice thundering over the rest. Through the small exit, Forogil could see men carrying arms and furs back out of the armory. Not long after, almost every warrior that walked past his vision was clad in said furs. With the chieftain coming with them, this would have to be a sizable party. Several guards entered their enclosure. One by one, they started leading out the tired and stumbling Dunlending captives. One seemed to ask something in Dunlendish, but the only answer he got was a first to his rib. Three of the Dunlendings didn’t survive the night. They left their bodies there, tied to their poles.
The early afternoon was pierced by the sound of a horse’s neigh. They were preparing chieftains steed. They would depart soon, Forogil realised. He saw through the entryway groups of Dunlendings tied together by a long rope. Then a horn was sounded. The party started moving towards the gate, followed by the cheering of the women and remaining men. The cheering faded as the crowds moved towards the gate, further from Forogil's confinement. He looked over at Arandil. The ranger was already fiddling with something behind his back. He was obviously struggling and frustrated. His eyes rose to meet Forogils. He gestured his head towards the exit. The hunter understood, gave his friend a slight nod and moved his attention towards the exit. He noticed how few men were now walking the streets, mostly only seeing the back of the warrior guarding their enclosure. With the chieftain gone, the discipline in the settlement seemingly also loosened. From what Forogil could hear, there were men drinking, singing and fighting.
There would be no better time. It was now or never.
Through the evening, the guard came to check on his prisoners a few times. Each time they acted broken and barely conscious. Eventually, the guard stopped bothering to check on them at all. Then, as darkness enveloped Enedwaith, the settlement fell silent. The drunks were passed out, the brawlers unconscious or licking their wounds in their homes and even their guard was visibly having a hard time staying awake. Forogil heard a quiet snap to his right. He looked over and saw Arandil holding his hands in front of himself, tattered rope still hanging off of them. In his left hand was a slightly sharp stone. He must’ve been slowly cutting his rope for the last few hours. The ranger looked at his friend, eyes wide open. Though a bit clumsy from his extended stay in one position, he moved towards Forogil without making a sound. He swiftly freed him from his binds but as the hunter tried to get up, he put a hand on his shoulder. Looking him in the eyes, he shook his head. Forogil froze in place.
The ranger crept up to the guard standing in front of the entrance. With swiftness Forogil hadn’t seen before, Arandil drew the guard’s shortsword from its scabbard, stabbed the Dunlending through his upper back and grabbed his mouth to muffle any screams. The guard let out but a light whimper and fell limp into Arandil’s arms. The ranger moved him behind the wall where the body wouldn’t be seen from the streets, drawing the shortsword out of the guard’s back. He beckoned towards Forogil to come.
The two men carefully peeked out of the exit. The streets were empty as far as they could see. Swiftly and quietly, they moved towards the armory and entered through the cracked door. They began searching for their belongings. Arandil managed to find his longsword and satchel which he promptly threw over his shoulder. Forogil found his bow; his fall must’ve snapped the bowstring and the Dunlendings seemingly didn’t have one strong enough to repair the elven made longbow. He swiftly threw on his gambeson and tied the unstrung bow to his back. He checked his inner pocket; his skinning knife was still there. He began searching for his sword but it was nowhere to be found.
His search was disturbed by a Dunlending woman entering the armory, seemingly curious about the sounds coming from within. For a moment, all three exchanged startled looks. Then the woman shouted in rage and drew her dagger, striking out at Forogil. The hunter barely dodged her blade, stumbling backwards and falling on his back. Arandil stepped over his friend to defend him. With one swing of his blade he cut the woman’s hand off. It fell on the ground alongside the dagger with a thump. The woman began to scream but her agony was cut short by another swing of the longsword. It left a long, bloody mark across her chest and she collapsed on the ground, dead and free of pain.
“Forget the damn sword, Breadwick. Flee!” shouted Arandil.
They both ran out of the armory. The ranger pointed east. “Make for the gate, find us horses, I will catch up!” he said and readied his sword.
Two Dunlending warriors were swiftly making their way towards the commotion. Forogil nodded and started heading towards the eastern gates. Turning back to check on his friend, he saw Arandil making quick work of the two warriors. In a few moments, they laid dying in the dirt and the ranger was catching up to Forogil. When they made their way to the gate, it was wide open. The two Dunlendings standing guard outside the settlement walls were making their way inside to check on the commotion. Forogil drew his dagger, but Arandil shouted at him. “Ready the horses, lad. I can deal with this on my own.” he said as he charged towards the two guards. Forogil untied two of the five horses that stood alongside the wall and lead them back to the gate. Arandil stood over two dead Dunlendings.
Both men swiftly mounted the horses and bolted out of the open gate just as a group of a dozen more warriors turned the corner. Just a few seconds after the two prisoners left the gate, three more horsemen chased after them, two of them armed with shortbows. A chase ensued. The two riders were fleeing up the old road and across the ancient bridge, arrows flying around them. Each shot closer to the intended target.
“Whatever happens Breadwick, do not stop. Do not stop until you’re far away from this forsaken land.” Arandil shouted. Moments later, an arrow hit his horse in the shoulder. The steed squealed in pain and after two more steps collapsed, throwing the ranger off.
Forogil turned his head around to see his friend getting up on his feet. The rider with a large sword was swiftly approaching him, the two archers following close behind.
“No! Arandil!” he shouted and started turning his horse around. But he knew it was too late.
Arandil gave his friend one last sad smile. Then, the Dunlending warrior’s sword made a deep cut in his back. A spray of blood shot up into the air.
The ranger fell on his knees. Forogil had to turn away. He regained his composure and turned his attention back to his escape, furious tears running down his face. The chase was not yet over. Arrows were flying still, though with decreasing frequency. Still, one of them managed to hit its mark. He heard a thump followed by his steed’s squeal. He turned around to see an arrow sticking out of the horse’s hind. But it kept riding fast, though breathing heavier. Forogil noticed only one of the two archers was still giving chase alongside the swordsman that had slain Arandil. He still had a chance.
After several more minutes, only the swordsman was still on his heels. But Forogil noticed his own horse was running out of strenght due to its wound. Losing blood, it was slowing down and he knew it would collapse sooner rather than later. But he was ready. As the horse gave away beneath him, he fell into a roll and landed on his feet. Readying his dagger, he turned towards his pursuer. He knew he’d be run down with ease, but he wouldn’t go down in flight. As the Dunlending swordsman approached the resolute hunter, he slowed down his horse. He came to a halt and with a grin, dismounted.
“You think to defend yourself with that toothpick, duvodiad?” he said as he approached the hunter, large sword in hand. Forogil realised it was the man who cut his horse from beneath him on that fateful day. The warrior approached and made two swings towards his opponent. Forogil dodged them with ease; he knew he was meant to. The Dunlending, twisted grin from ear to ear, was like a cat playing with its food. His imposing stature was towering over the malnourished prisoner.
“You will die here, duhirun!“ exclaimed the warrior and with a laugh, swung at Forogil. The hunter successfully dodged the slash. Then came another. And another. Each harder to evade than the last. Then the warrior made a particularly dangerous swipe and though Forogil almost evaded it, the tip of the blade connected with his left leg, cutting into it. He screamed out in pain, stumbled forward and got too close to the warrior’s side. The Dunlending hit him hard on the head with his pummel. Forogil staggered back a few steps and everything was hazy for a few moments. He fought to keep his balance as he heard the muffled laughter of the warrior. When he came to, the warrior was holding his greatsword above his head, ready to strike down at him.
It was as if time stood still for a second. The intense pain in his wounded leg was no longer on his mind. Forogil made two swift steps forward and before the Dunlending could react, drove the dagger into his side. The warrior grunted in pain and halted his swing, still holding his sword above his head. He looked over at the hunter, seemingly confused by what just occurred. His confidence was gone. Forogil twisted his dagger and the Dunlending screamed out in pain, dropping his sword on the ground behind him. Forogil pulled the dagger from the man’s side and he collapsed on his knees, blood spewing from the wound. The hunter gathered what strength he had left and kicked the man down onto the ground. He was lying on his back and gasping for air, blood dripping from his mouth. Forogil knelt on the warrior’s chest and looked him in his eyes. There was terror in them.
He really wanted to say something. He wanted to scream at him for killing his friend. For slaying his horse. For putting him through the torture. For everything that had happened to him over the past week.
Instead, he started stabbing. And then everything went red.
When he came back to his senses, he was laying on the ground, breathing heavily. Next to him lied the lifeless corpse of a Dunlending warrior, his chest riddled with stab wounds. Still trembling, Forogil sat up. Sharp pain from the wound on his leg shot through his body. He looked around himself. His surroundings were lit by bright moonlight. The steed he used to escape was laying dead in a pool of blood. Only he and the warrior’s horse were left alive after the battle. It was standing off the road and curiously watching Forogil. He checked his wound. It didn’t seem too threatening, but it was bleeding. His shirt resisted valiantly before it finally gave in and he tore off a piece of cloth. He made a temporary but tight bandage. Now that his wound was taken care of, he could focus on the rest.
Arandil. Arandil! He needs to go back for him. A surge of adrenaline gave the hunter the power to rise on his feet. With a supressed scream, he fell back down, squirming in pain. How is he going to do this? His heart froze and he fell silent for a moment. He heard horses and they weren’t far. They were searching for him. Forogil remembered the ranger’s words. “Whatever happens Breadwick, do not stop.”
“I’m sorry, my friend.” Said Forogil with sorrow in his voice and looked one last time in the direction he last saw Arandil.
He had to spring into action. Gritting his teeth, he crawled towards the dead horse. There laid his bow. Its binds loosened and it fell off during his fall but luckily remained unharmed. Forogil grabbed his weapon, knelt and threw it on his back. He started crawling towards the Dunlending horse, hoping it would not spook. The steed was bred for war and did not flinch. With what strength he had left, Forogil rose on his feet and after a few failed attempts, mounted the horse. “Heyah!” he exclaimed. He was finally trotting towards Eregion.
The journey seemed to be taking forever. He could swear he had been travelling for weeks, but he’d been going down one direction on the only road around. He must be on the right track. As the hours passed, Forogil had to fight to keep conscious. He was feeling cold and hot at the same time, the trees seemed to be moving around him and his leg felt like on fire. His bandage was soaked with blood, as the rough ride did not do his wound any good. He rode.
The sound of water. Ulundín. Was he dreaming again? Was he dead? A few moments later he saw the grand stream. Its waters, once pure and cool, were blood red and boiling. But there was no other way to go. He looked to see whether the young Dunlending woman would make her appearance. She didn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t dead just yet. He took a deep breath and commanded his horse to go forth. Though it was passing through the flowing blood, boiling and unruly, the horse did not mind. It calmly exited the stream on the other side. Eregion. Forogil wasn’t sure he’d ever see it again. He looked back across the river and for a moment, he thought he had seen her, waving. He turned back. His flight to safety was not yet over.
His journey continued up north through Eregion, fighting to stay out of sleep’s embrace the whole way. It was now early afternoon and sun illuminated the land around him. Everything was different than he had remembered. Then he noticed three figures sitting by a fire by the road. They stood up, looking at him curiously.
Dunlendings. This was it.
Forogil came a bit closer to the three men. They shouted something at him but he could not comprehend their words. Were they threatening him? Something wasn’t right. He looked around and to his horror realised that on both his flanks stood two armies of Dunlendings. Thousands of men with spears, swords and shields, ready to take his life.
Suddenly, everything was clear to him. All worry left his mind. This is how he dies. In a swift move, he dismounted the horse. His leg gave away as he landed and he fell in the dirt. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins. The pain no longer mattered to him and he rose back on his feet. The armies began their charge against him. He slapped his steed on the hind thigh. “Flee, save yourself!” he shouted after it as it ran off spooked. His dagger was still covered in blood as he drew it.
“You will never take me alive! For Arandil!” he shouted at the three Dunlendings that stood still, observing him.
Then, the waves of Dunlending warriors from his flanks crashed into him. He was dodging sword after sword, breaking spears in half. His dagger was like a blur, slashing throats with incredible accuracy. One after another, the wild men fell. He could not prevail against them all, but he’d give them a fight they’d never forget!
Three elven hunters stood and watched in confusion as the man who had approached them on horseback dismounted and started shouting incoherent nonsense. The steed he came upon stood some distance away, watching the scene also. They instinctively put their hands on their blades as the delirious stranger drew a dagger. With a valiant scream, he started swinging at non-existent enemies. His swings got slower each time but he kept going. He swung one last time and fell into the dirt face first, unconscious.
[This story will continue]
