Chronicles of Den'dra: A Land Torn

Chronicles of Den’dra: A Land Torn

Spencer Johnson

Published by Spencer Johnson at Amazon.com

Copyright 2013 Spencer Johnson

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Chronicles of Den’dra: A Land on Fire

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Chapter One

The term ‘deep taken’ has come to be used as a curse or an expression of disbelief and surprise when used in the form of ‘love of the deep’. There are many beliefs as to the origin of the term and few scholars are able to admit they made up the origin they propose is the only accurate one. I believe that the term was derived from the Silent Sea. It is said that a person who ventures on those waters is never heard of again. This phenomenon, so shrouded in mystery, sparked the phrase ‘deep take’ whatever it is that is being insulted. It was then adapted for the form expressing surprise or astonishment. It is also entirely possible that the term originated with the Dwarves and refers to the literal deep places of the mountains. Incrin, Record Keeper of the Shadow Order. Written during the Unification Peace.

The sun burned high overhead in a clear blue sky. Normally, there would have been a few fluffy clouds marring the azure canvas, but there were none today. Skeln wondered if that meant there would be no rain for the next few days. He shaded his eyes to look at the two rough trough-shaped horizons that the valley granted access to. The blue canopy faded until it was almost white before disappearing behind the distant mountains in the Heights. To the west, a crook in the valley hid the Lowlands from sight.

Skeln was thankful for the light breeze that played up the valley as he returned to the task at hand. The weeds were not so bad today. He had spent the last week cleaning them out of the patch of earth that he and his father called a garden. There were ideas for some potatoes in the corner, with some carrots along the other side next to a row of onions, turnips, and beets. He hoped to get a good enough harvest of potatoes to have a supply through the winter. Food was difficult to come by without coin, and his father lacked coin.

Urake wasn’t a gambler or anything of the like. It was only that his chosen profession was not a lucrative one. It was not easy to make one’s living as a goldsmith and jeweler. If Urake had been situated in a larger city, or as a traveling merchant, it would have been a different story. As it was, rarely did anyone have the need for Urake’s art in this village. In times past, he had done a small business in wedding bands and jewelry repairs, but now he was no more than an outcast. The initial novelty of having a goldsmith in the village had worn off and the villagers had not gotten over treating him like a stranger, despite his fourteen years as a resident.

Skeln, on the other hand, had grown up in the community and was more or less accepted. He had subsidized the money sack since he had been old enough to do anything anyone was willing to pay to get done. Still, it was an empty sack more frequently than not. Neither Urake nor Skeln were given to frivolities, but the basic needs of sustenance and clothing consumed the carefully earned coppers. The last gold had been spent many a season ago.

A factor in this decline had been when Urake had dabbled in brewing to supplement his waning income. The rumor spread like wildfire that the man drank most of his product. What little was left of the goldsmithing business rapidly dried up as the rumor took root. Nowhere was to be found a man or woman willing to entrust a grain of gold, let alone a jewel, to the hands of a drunk with obvious solvency issues.

Skeln stood with one hand full of weeds and his cultivating tool in the other hand. It was not made like a proper garden tool with a metal earth-working edge. This one had been constructed out of twine and sturdy pieces of wood. It wasn’t much to look at, but it broke up the clods better than one could by hand.

He spied movement down the road that led towards the village. As he turned to get a better look, Skeln’s back stiffened. He immediately moved to the far corner of the plot and bent back to work. The object of his alarm soon arrived at the gate, and the most-avoided girl in the village trotted up and tossed her glossy locks. Akeli wasn’t a bad-looking girl, but through her golden looks, she had already gotten three boys from the village beaten to within an inch of their lives. The girl had a high estimate of her beauty and would ply her wiles on every boy that had the misfortune of meeting her; hence, all the boys made efforts to avoid meeting her by chance in any setting.

She was only a year older than Skeln, making her fifteen, but he feared that he had caught her eye lately. He, as her first foray into boys younger than herself, had not yet come to the point of seeing the opposite sex as anything other than annoying, and so was not pleased with the attention. Akeli seemed to think his heritage something romantically mysterious. Skeln himself hardly knew anything of his ancestry beyond Urake. The man never mentioned Skeln’s mother or his own past. Those were topics that seemed painful to his father, so Skeln didn’t pry.

Skeln had dodged into alleys and behind hedges every time he had seen Akeli coming. She seemed to think that his rejection of her advances was a part of some game and had only intensified her attempts at trapping him alone in a secluded corner. Yesterday had been a close escape when he had been trapped between Akeli and the angry dog that was tethered behind the saddler’s house. He had decided that it was safer to brave a dog bite than to risk her touch. Surprisingly, the dog had ignored him and Akeli had been stymied by the surly brute.

Skeln was at a loss to guess what she saw in him. Despite his torn clothes and dirt-smeared countenance, she was not becoming dissuaded like a normal girl should have. It was possibly because she was somewhat simple and tended to look at all things through tinted glasses. Her father must have passed the trait on to her. Surely, he hoped, the infatuation would wear off after a few weeks of continued avoidance.

The local blacksmith was known to fly into a rage anytime that he heard a boy had been seen with his daughter. Convinced that they were all untrustworthy and out to steal his precious Akeli’s innocence, the man had nearly killed her three previous suitors. The first two had been willing and may have posed a threat, but the third had been a victim of Akeli’s actions and her misguided belief that there was something there that wasn’t. After that, all the boys and young men had left a wide berth around the girl that no amount of good looks was likely to bridge.

Desperate for attention, Akeli had set her sights on Skeln. She must have thought that he would fall all over himself when a pretty girl batted her long, dark eyelashes in his direction or flounced her blonde curls. He had no illusions to the fact that he would fare no better with her father than the last three to have crossed her. The fact that he was the son of the village drunk did little to increase his trustworthy standing should the blacksmith ever hear that he had been seen with Akeli.

Isn’t it a wonderful day today? she said.

Skeln contemplated ignoring the pleasantry and continuing the task of pulling the endless weeds. He straightened up after changing his mind a moment later. Massaging his lower back and stretching, he thought it through. The last boy was still walking with the help of a crutch after he had met his accident. His mistake had been telling Akeli that he didn’t like her. She had flown home in tears and sobbed the whole story of her broken heart on her father’s shoulder.

It is nice if you don’t have to work in the sun. Skeln shaded his eyes and scanned the horizons for a hint on a cloud. I hope it rains in the next few days.

I don’t want it to rain. I want it to stay like this all the time. Akeli wrinkled her nose at the idea of her azure canopies clouding and storming.

Skeln bent back down and began pulling weeds before he answered.

If it rains, I won’t have to carry water for my garden. To avoid this conversation, Skeln would have bolted in the opposite direction when he saw her if it hadn’t been for the briar patch adorned with cruel, sharp thorns.

All right, for you, I will let it rain.

Skeln almost braved the briars when Akeli opened the gate and stepped into the plot. Only twenty feet of fresh dirt now separated them.

Won’t you come over here so we can talk?

Skeln glanced over and thanked the heavens, the deep or whatever it was that might have been responsible for this piece of good fortune. Akeli wore a dainty pair of shoes that must have cost her father a month’s wages. There was no way that they would survive the trip through the mass of earth that Skeln had just finished working.

He finally thought of an excuse that prevented the requested journey.

I have to finish working up the garden so I can get it planted.

Why do you even need a garden, anyway? They are so dirty. Akeli sneered at what she considered work for lesser people than those of her lofty station.

So I can grow food for this winter so we don’t have to buy any. The tiresome conversation was grating at Skeln’s nerves.

If your father got a real job, then you could just buy everything you need like my father does.

Skeln winced at the unintended insult. He was about to respond when he heard footsteps on the path. Skeln apprehensively looked to see if it was the blacksmith that approached, but was rewarded with the sight of a slight boy, only ten or so.

Papa wants to know where you are.

Akeli turned in disgust at her younger brother’s interruption.

Tell him that I am only talking to Skeln and that I will be home soon.

Skeln stiffened and made a mental note to avoid dead-end passages and to run the next time that he saw the blacksmith. Mosn cast a curious glance at Skeln before responding.

"I will tell Papa that you will be home real soon. I won’t tell him that you are talking to Skeln or he won’t let you out of the house for a week at least."

Mosn then cast a smile at Skeln and dodged his sister’s clutching hand. Akeli gave up and began smoothing her dress as she watched the boy trot back down the path toward town. Skeln was thankful that Mosn had not inherited his father’s simple mind. The boy was more intelligent than he looked, but didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He knew how to manipulate his father and sister and had honed the skill to a fine edge.

The blacksmith adored his daughter and ignored his son. The lad had inherited his mother’s thinner build so there was little chance he would ever join his burly father in the forges. Skeln felt sorry for Mosn when he saw the dainty shoes that Akeli wore and compared them to the worn clogs that the lad had trouble fitting his growing feet into. He suspected that the boy didn’t have another pair. It wasn’t that Skeln was better off. It was just the injustice of the contrast that irked Skeln.

"Impertinent child. He simply doesn’t understand adult things."

Skeln refrained from commenting on Akeli’s observation.

I'm sorry to have to leave like this, but I need to go home and make sure Mosn doesn’t spread any vicious rumors. Children can be so cruel, can’t they? Akeli lapsed into a whining tone and sent a sneer down the road.

Skeln had to admire the boy’s subtle trick. Not only was Akeli’s father expecting her home soon, but she was also going to be trying to prevent her father from finding out about her communication with Skeln. He hoped that the threat of imprisonment would be enough to discourage any further attempts at communication. Skeln would have tried befriending Mosn if it hadn’t been for Akeli. As it was, he was Skeln’s primary competition when it came to doing odd jobs around the village. On the other hand, if they worked out some sort of business arrangement, both of the youths could have benefited.

I have to finish this garden. Skeln didn’t want to leave any parting comments that Akeli might construe as encouragement or, for that matter, open discouragement. To encourage her speedy departure, he threw a clump of weeds near her feet then apologized for the ‘accident.’

That’s all right. Akeli looked the plot over with a critical eye before turning to leave. I suppose I will see you around the village, then.

With her parting comment, she walked through the gate and down the path. Skeln breathed a sigh of relief and returned to work.

The day had been spent and Skeln was ravenous when he returned to the house he called home. It was propped up on one side and seemed about to fall over in a stiff breeze, but it was sturdier than it looked. The roof only leaked in a couple spots, although that was little problem as long as the buckets were emptied regularly during the rainy seasons. It kept the worst of the weather out and most of the heat in. There were drafts that could smother a candle, but it was home. Skeln had spent his life here. Urake had built up the house himself from the trapper shack it had been after showing up with the infant he called Skeln. Lack of a maintenance fund was the only real problem that the house suffered from.

Skeln could already smell the stew before he opened the door. His father was leaning over the pot that hung over the fireplace. Urake may have had the reputation of a drunk, but he was not a bad cook. The ways he managed to make the meager provisions into edible dishes was beyond Skeln’s comprehension. Today’s supper was a stew made from the last scraps of meat from the rabbit that Skeln had brought down the day before. There was a little bit of soaked grain to add substance to the broth, along with a few fresh herbs that gave it a savory fragrance.

How is the garden plot coming along? Urake stopped stirring as Skeln entered the room.

I almost have all of it worked up. I should be able to start planting tomorrow.

I have another keg that can be sold. It should get us enough coin for seed. Urake began ladling the stew into a bowl. After filling the bowl and handing it to Skeln, he settled into a seat across the table.

Won’t you have any? Skeln asked.

I already had a bowl before you arrived.

Skeln scowled at the pot before Urake picked it up and replaced it near the fire. There was a line where the top of the soup had been before Skeln’s bowl had been taken out. There was only enough of a drop to accommodate the one bowl. Skeln suspected that Urake had lied about having eaten or he had only eaten a few mouthfuls. It was something that Skeln had caught the man on several times before. He had always made excuses about the supply of food being too meager to feed more than Skeln, or that he had eaten earlier.

Akeli came by today and wanted to talk.

You had best stay away from that girl. She is not good news. Remember that last three boys she got involved with?

You don’t need to remind me. I got rid of her as fast as I could, but it was only when her brother came that she left. Skeln paused between bites to explain.

Just stay away from her in the future. Urake ended the conversation abruptly on that arbitrary note and gave the stew a couple more stirs before slipping through the partition that separated the dining room from the bedroom.

Skeln was left with only the fire as company. After eating another bowlful of soup and cleaning out the last bit, he took the pot to the stream that passed near the house.

Washing the eating utensils and the pot in the icy cold water and scouring the last traces out with sand left the pot as good as new. Skeln looked up at the darkening sky as the first few stars were appearing. Down the valley a little could be seen of the lights in the windows of the village houses. He washed the dirt off his feet and tried to scrub the oil out of his hair. The dirt smudges mostly came off, although several proved resistant to the cold water. If it had been earlier in the evening, Skeln would have walked to the pool that was formed by a fallen log across the stream. The pool was a short distance up the valley and was secluded enough that he could strip down and get properly cleaned. But it would be almost completely dark by the time he had to navigate the trail back if he were to go now.

There was not much that could be done for his clothes. They had acquired a permanent earth-colored stain and were beginning to come apart at the seams. He feared that washing them would remove the dirt that was holding them together. Skeln had been saving coppers from odd jobs in the hopes of at least getting enough cloth to make some more soon.

Urake’s clothes were in nearly the same condition. After being ostracized for being the drunk he wasn't, Urake appeared to have given up. His shirt and pants were the same shade of brown as his tattered cloak. They gave one the impression that they held together by force of habit but that they could change their mind at any time.

Returning to the house as clean as he could get, Skeln put the pot, bowl, and eating utensils in the cupboard and slipped into the bedroom. His bed was opposite of Urake’s and soon he had slipped under the blanket and waited for sleep to carry him into oblivion. Urake’s soft snoring was the baritone for the alto crickets and tenor notes of the gurgling stream outside. The day’s work combined with the melody and soon oblivion was a reality.

Daylight was streaming through the windows when Skeln woke up. Urake was already gone, like usual. Skeln grabbed the piece of hard bread left on the table and wandered outside. There was a wheelbarrow with the promised keg outside the door. Urake was sitting on a piece of firewood basking in the warmth of the rising sun.

You ready to go into town? Urake acknowledged Skeln’s presence without opening his eyes.

I suppose.

Skeln tore off a piece of the bread and sucked on it. The hard bread tasted best this way. To take the route of chewing on it was to endanger one’s teeth. He put the rest of the loaf in the wheelbarrow, picked up the staves and began pushing the barrow down the path. The keg was not so large, but it was still more than Skeln could handle by himself. Urake offered to help push the barrow, but Skeln insisted on doing the work alone.

Skeln took breaks periodically to eat more of the bread. The loaf was almost gone by the time that they had reached the outskirts of the village. Several of the villagers were up and about by the time that the father and son had arrived at the village square. Urake shrugged off the dour glares he received and Skeln merely flashed a smile at anyone who would meet his eyes. The inn, pride of the village and making it prominent enough to mark a dot on the map, was a squat construction with only one level and a handful of rarely used rooms. Its primary attraction was the bar that sat in the common room. It was here and only here that any kind of spirits were sold in the village, so it was here that Urake’s brew was to end up. They made their way around to the back after speaking with the matronly woman who ran the inn.

It’s about time you brought another barrel. I sold the dredges of the last one more than a month past. Darsay planted her fists on her hips after indicating where she wanted the keg placed.

You can't rush a good brew. Especially this one. Urake leaned on his walking stick and contemplated the innkeeper.

Aye, then make a bigger brew and don’t drink it all. Darsay looked the keg over critically before giving it a shake as if to assure herself that it was indeed full. I’ll give you three silvers for it.

But you gave us ten silvers last time. Skeln couldn’t help himself. He knew that Urake would take the offered coin without question and ignore the insult along the way.

Times are harder and people aren’t as willing to buy a cup of ale anymore, Darsay retorted peevishly before she pursed her lips and looked at Skeln with a disapproving squint.

You can make at least forty silver coins off a single barrel this size. Parting with ten won’t hurt that much.

Skeln had made some careful investigation and knew from one of the kitchen lads that it was closer to the tune of fifty silver that was made from a good keg. If the inn had been in a larger city where more than the locals frequented, it might have been as high as a gold coin, or two if it was one of the unbelievably large inns that boasted ten or more rooms.

But if people don’t buy it, then it will spoil if left open for too long. Darsay was downright scowling now. I will give you eight silver and not a copper more.

Make it nine and a couple sacks of those sprouting potatoes over there. Skeln pointed at a dark corner where a couple gunny sacks with the pale new growths were visible.

Eight and one sack of potatoes. Darsay waved a hand as if to dismiss the issue as settled.

For the difference we could get a half dozen bags at the market. Skeln received a glare, then an exaggerated eye roll. Darsay turned to Urake, who quietly watched Skeln and Darsay haggle, and almost appeared to appeal to him before thinking better of it.

Eight silver and one bag of sprouting potatoes. That’s my final offer. Darsay glared at Skeln, as if to dare him to make a counter.

Come on, Urake. We could always see if old Redzyn is willing to buy the whole keg or maybe we could even offer it at the market. Skeln made as if to prepare to load the barrel back on the wheelbarrow.

Fine. Nine silver and two bags of potatoes. Darsay was muttering something about it not being natural that one so young could cheat honest people out of their hard-earned coin as she went to get her coin purse.

There is no need to make enemies over a little coin. Urake gave Skeln a helping hand with the bags of potatoes. Besides, what makes you think that Redzyn would buy a whole keg?

It is a game to her. If we had given in, she would have lost out on the fun and wouldn’t have respected us for it. As for Redzyn? Mosn told me that his father said that Redzyn buys a mug of your brew every time he is in the inn. There wouldn’t be any reason for him to go to the Inn to drink if he had his own keg and Darsay would lose out on all the profit.

The explanation was cut short as Darsay was heard coming through the hallway with the coin. After inspecting the two bags in the wheelbarrow and mumbling over the unfairness of them being the largest sacks, she handed over the coin and watched suspiciously while Urake and Skeln left.

Skeln pushed the wheelbarrow up the path and left it parked in their garden plot before he went back to town. Urake accompanied him to the market as they searched for seeds with which to plant their garden. Skeln could have accomplished the task alone just as easily. When in town, Urake often acted differently. He had to use the staff to support himself and acted like the drunk that his reputation told of. Skeln had stopped wondering years ago why his father felt the need to act the part. His disheveled hair and unkempt beard combined with his ragged clothes finished the appearance of what one would expect of a drunk. It didn’t seem to matter if he was clean or not—people still tended to give him a wide berth when they saw him coming. There was a foreboding air about him that the rags couldn’t entirely dispel.

The market had already begun filling with people. It was held once a week in the summer and once a month in the winter. As was often the case at this time of year, there were several farmers or landowners that were selling the extra seed from this year’s plantings. People would come from miles around to buy or sell goods. They would gain a few extra coin with their extras and replenish their stores with this fall’s harvest.

One silver was spent on a bag of beans and another went for seed of several kinds of vegetables. Urake remained silent through the proceedings and only produced the coin for payment after Skeln had finished haggling. When everything had been purchased, they returned to the garden plot. Skeln expected Urake to continue up the path towards their house, but instead, he turned into the garden with Skeln. He even began sorting through the bag of potatoes for the usable ones and tossing the rotten ones away.

Skeln couldn’t have cared less either way. He was used to working alone. He finished removing the last of the weeds and began the task of softening the soil for planting. Several rows were finished when he heard footsteps on the path. Looking up he saw Akeli skipping up the path in some rather sturdy-looking shoes. His heart sank to his stomach at the implications. Sometimes he wondered if she was really as simple as she acted. His ploy of staying on the other side of the garden wasn’t going to work today. Skeln thought about hiding but realized it was too late. She had seen him. The options of enduring a tiresome and potentially dangerous conversation or fleeing through a patch of brambles were all that was left, with the latter appearing more preferable by the moment.

Are you all right, little miss?

Akeli’s hand shook like a leaf in the wind as she froze, holding the twine that held the gate shut. She hadn’t realized that Skeln wasn’t alone. The disgust was evident on her face as she turned and skipped down the path without offering an explanation for her visit. Skeln was glad then for Urake’s company. The potatoes were planted without further interruption and Skeln decided to leave the rest of the planting for the morrow. There was still enough time left to take a bath before dark. To this end, they made their way up the valley to their house. Skeln left Urake at the house and continued to the pool.

After stripping, he slipped into the frigid water and began scrubbing himself. The water came off a glacier field high up in the Garoche Mountains. It warmed but little in its cascades down the hill. The Heights were not that far removed from the Highlands so there was little difference between the two points. Skeln had been told that if he were to follow this valley up the hill, he would find himself in an area where not even trees could grow and winter reigned year-round.

Soon the water that flowed past Skeln was no longer murky with the dirt he had washed off. The cold water didn’t bother Skeln like it bothered most people. Cold weather never bothered him either. Slipping into the dirty clothes was a necessary evil. Skeln returned home and ate supper in silence. By the time he had finished, Urake had already gone to bed, as usual.

Skeln tossed and turned on his bed for a while before he managed to fall asleep. He wondered how he was going to live in the years to come. Living off the proceeds of a small garden, odd jobs and the infrequent barrel of ale did not make a very secure future. He thought about apprenticing in the village for a bit. The one occupation that he had any real interest in learning was blacksmithing, but that was clearly out of the question. There was the leather tanner who also served as the village saddle- and harness-maker. There were also a couple landowners that might hire him as a field laborer this summer. Beyond that, one would have to travel beyond the valley into the Garoche Lowlands to find any other apprenticeships. Sleep finally came, but it didn’t bring the restful slumber that Skeln had hoped for.

Chapter Two

Patience is an easy thing to learn when one has a few thousand years to try. What astounds me is that humans sometimes manage the feat in a few dozen years. Eld’or the Night Soul, Dragon Lord. Middle years of the Millennium War.

The sun was still climbing in its circuit as Skeln finished planting the last of the seeds. Urake hadn’t come today, so he was keeping a watchful eye on the path in the hopes that Akeli didn’t come visiting. He had taken the precaution of smashing down a path through the brambles from the back of the plot on the chance that she did manage to sneak up.

Nothing unusual was happening until he heard the sound of hoofs on the hard-packed path. Horses were not creatures that commonly came up the valley this far, so Skeln went to the side of the garden closest the path to watch them come by. He was mildly shocked to see a carriage pulled by a double team of horses. There had never been, in his memory, such an occurrence. There was no reason that he could think of that might warrant a team of horses and a carriage this far up the valley. Only Urake and Skeln and a couple trappers lived beyond the village.

That’s the boy.

Skeln recognized one of the traders he had made a deal with at the market the previous day. The carriage rumbled to a halt and a couple of men in dark cloaks leapt to the ground.

Seize him.

One of the men’s cloaks was thrown over his shoulders and Skeln could see ring mail armor and a captain’s insignia. He stood rooted to the spot in surprise for a moment before realizing what was happening.

A couple of the men were slowed momentarily by the gate before Skeln reacted. Nothing good could come of uniformed men wearing the king’s sigil wanting him. He heard the gate being smashed down as he vaulted the back fence. He landed on his feet and was off as fast as he could run through the safe path he had made earlier through the brambles. Out of the brambles, he sprinted up the valley side. He hoped to outrun his pursuers and find a hiding spot in one of the many nooks he was familiar with in the woods.

A quick glance over his shoulder told Skeln that one of the men had hopelessly entangled his cloak in the briar patch and the other was not gaining ground. The heavy armor was handicapping the man. Skeln made good his escape and melted into the trees above the garden plot. Traversing the side of the valley, he arrived at the thicker woods that extended up the valley. From here, it was child’s play to find a hiding spot under the stump of an old fallen tree. Succumbing to a storm, the tree had toppled, tearing the roots out of the ground. The trunk had been cut up for firewood and the stump had settled back into its original position. Still canted to one side, it left a nook under the root mass large enough to secret someone as thin as Skeln.

Skeln huddled in his hiding spot for what seemed hours before he heard voices. One, he recognized as the voice of the captain that had ordered his seizure. The other, he recognized as one of the trappers that lived up the valley. Skeln hadn’t counted on them getting a tracker to help them search. It was now only a matter of time before he was found.

Skeln decided to act preemptively and run before they got too close. He figured he’d be able to outrun them again and keep running until they gave up the search. Skeln couldn’t think of a reason that they would possibly want him in the first place, so it would only be a matter of time before they gave up.

Skeln squirmed out of his hole and cautiously peeked out of the crater that had been left by the overturned tree. Seeing no one in sight, he sprinted away from the voices he had heard. His flight was cut short by a sudden burning pain in his shoulder. The shock caused Skeln to trip and fall. This intensified the pain. He gritted his teeth and tried dragging himself to his feet. One arm hardly worked and caused intense pain with every movement. He had almost regained his feet when an impact in the back of his head caused stars to flash before everything went dark.

Skeln didn’t know how long he had slept, but when he awoke, it was pitch dark and he was being moved. His shoulder was on fire and his head felt like it was going to explode. After laying still for a time, he began investigating his shoulder. The first thing he found was the sharp metal point of a crossbow bolt protruding from his blood-soaked shirt. Further investigation told him that he was unbound, although that fact made him no less a prisoner. He was inside the black carriage he had seen with the soldiers. Every window was boarded over and each crack was plugged so not a chink of light was able to penetrate into the prison cell. Weak with the pain and with his head still felt like it was split open from the blow he had taken, he lay helpless for the time being.

Hours passed by before a slot opened and a piece of stale bread, along with a ray of blinding light, was tossed inside. Skeln dragged himself over to the food and slowly consumed it. Despite the poor fare, it helped clear his mind and reintroduce strength to his limbs. Deciding that he was on his own, Skeln began thinking about what to do with the crossbow bolt in his shoulder. He had done some hunting with homemade arrows and knew that it was not a good idea to pull a barbed head back through the wound. Investigation told him that a short section of fletching was protruding from his back. Deciding that the feathers were glued on, he began pulling on the arrowhead.

Pain coursed through his body at the slightest movement. Taking breaks every few moments, Skeln worked the bolt through his shoulder. Finally, with one last effort, he yanked the arrow free. The iron taste of blood filled his mouth from his bitten tongue and he only half-succeeded in suppressing a scream. For a time he lay motionless, having exhausted all his strength removing the arrow.

It wasn’t until the slot opened again and another piece of bread was given to him that he roused himself. There hadn’t been any light through the slot and the carriage was no longer moving, which led him to the conclusion that it was night. Calling for release to deal with pressing physical needs went unheeded for a while before he was gruffly told to wet his pants for all they cared. Skeln discovered that the carriage was parked on a slope so he did his business on the downward side and hoped that it would leak out eventually. The odor permeated the cell until Skeln was able to ignore it.

Between the pain in his shoulder and the uncertainty of his situation, he didn’t get much sleep before the carriage began moving again. Boredom was Skeln’s only companion for hours in the dark. He finally decided he wanted to see light—needed to see light. It was a craving like for sweet candy, except far more intense. The total darkness was driving him insane. A thorough search of the carriage again assured him that there were no cracks to be found. He was about to despair when his hand landed on the discarded crossbow bolt.

Feeling the forged iron head under his fingers, Skeln picked it up and began whittling on a likely spot towards the front corner. Hours passed and the iron blade lost its edge cutting through the thick planks. Reduced to prying the wood off sliver by sliver with the warped arrowhead, Skeln at