Rise of Dachwald (Boxed Set, Books 1 through 2) Page 5

  “You should not question me, but simply OBEY me,” he heard the voice say.

  As he heard the word “OBEY” being uttered, he felt the swelling in his back wound increase drastically, as if the voice itself had some sort of remote control over it. Pitkins felt all of his energy draining like water out of a punctured canteen as the pain became more and more unbearable. And as his energy ebbed away, his courage also began to forsake him.

  “COME to me, and your pain shall cease.”

  Now everything was switching back and forth between the wolves and the face of the old man, in slow motion. The wolves began to simultaneously charge him, their movements intermittent with the appearance of the ghastly face of this old man. Deafening silence. Time stopped following its conventional rules. It was stopping and starting jerkily like a heavy load of wood being pulled uphill by a team of oxen. His wound continued swelling. He had suffered wounds before, but this was unlike anything he had ever suffered. The pain consumed his very soul.

  “AGHHH!!” he screamed, breaking away from his usual stoicism. “Tell me what I have to do!” he screamed, surrendering himself to forces he had never felt before, forces that made him feel like an ant trying to resist a swirling whirlpool in a violent sea. The wolves were gone.

  “Wake up,” the voice said, “and go to your window.”

  He awoke. His back was killing him. He reached his hand behind him, and he could tell that the wound had enlarged greatly.

  (soon it’ll be a full-sized anacobra)

  Suddenly, he saw the face of the old man again.

  “Go towards the window,” the voice said.

  He turned and looked at Donive. She was sleeping, but tossing and turning restlessly. The pain shot through his back again; he had never before thought death such a better alternative to living.

  “Come towards the window,” said the voice again.

  It was impatient, authoritarian. He looked out the window. The moon was full, just like in his dream. A whirring sound. Total blackness.

  Chapter 9

  Donive awoke. It was morning. “Dear,” she said, rolling to her side to hug Pitkins. “How are you fee—?” She stood up terrified. There was an imprint next to her in the bed where Pitkins had been lying, nothing more. It was soaking wet; she could tell by the smell it was sweat. She saw more than dampness. A vile, pussy substance lay on the bed like juice from a rotten pineapple.

  (from his wound?)

  She noticed the window was open and it was a beautiful day. However, its beauty didn’t offset the nauseating surge of sadness, fear, and confusion that swept over her like an enveloping ocean wave.

  (he wouldn’t have just left me)

  She didn’t know why he had been attacked at Seihdun, nor did she know who was the target.

  (was it I, he . . . both of us? who was he? who paid him? had anyone paid him? was it due to a grudge? perhaps someone jealous of Pitkins’s recent knighting? Batsin and Gunder sure were jealous . . . I’ll kill them if I find out they had anything to do with this! just KILL them!!!)

  She saw Pitkins’ large sword lying on the ground, fully sheathed.

  (he would never leave his sword)

  She went outside the inn. No sign of Pitkins. Fear bit into her stomach like a wild dog and began gnawing. She wanted to go home. If she took the route by which she and Pitkins had come, it would take two more days to get back.

  (there is a quicker way)

  There was. A shortcut. It would take about one full day on horseback. But it was dangerous. It was not the kind of route one or even two men would prefer to travel alone.

  (and you, a woman . . . alone?!)

  But she had to . . . if she was going to get help to find Pitkins while there was still time.

  (if you plan on making it back to Sodorf by nighttime, you better leave now!)

  It would be evening by the time she arrived if she left now. If she delayed longer, she would have to ride through the night alone on horseback. She didn’t want that. With Pitkins at her side—five-foot-long, razor-sharp sword at the ready—it wouldn’t have bothered her. But Pitkins was . . .

  (gone?)

  As these thoughts were working their way through her head like frantic, burrowing earthworms, she noticed a man staring right at her. Unfriendly eyes. Looking at her like a cut of choice meat. He was a distance away, but his unswerving gaze made it seem he was right in front of her. He smiled. Yellow, crooked teeth greeted her.

  She couldn’t stay here any longer. She was no good to Pitkins dead, and there wasn’t anything she could do for him right here, right now. She had to get help. She looked back towards where the ugly man had been standing. To her relief, he was no longer there. She bent over to tie her boots to ready herself for the long ride ahead. When she stood up, there he was. What was ugly at a distance was the stuff of nightmares up close.

  “Evening, miss,” he said. His yellow, crooked teeth on display, looking like pieces of scattered, hardened corn left out in the open sun. “You seem kinda lost. Is there anything I could ‘elp ya with?”

  His eyes showed he had no intention of offering any kind of help she might be interested in.

  “Mister, I suggest you mind your own business and that you go about minding it right now!” she replied.

  He looked stunned. Who did this woman think she was anyway, talking to him like that?

  She suddenly felt the spirit of a lioness. Fortunately, for her, the man had even less brains than teeth, and she was on her horse before he had fully registered the meaning of her words.

  “Hey, you,” he said angrily. “I ain’t done talkin’ to you just yet!” He grinned.

  His grin added a disgust-flavored nausea to the fear flavor her stomach had been grappling with. Feeling like someone else was inside her body, she witnessed her right foot lash out like a rattlesnake right into his face, unsure if she had given it that command or if someone else was temporarily taking control of her body to make sure it did what it had to do to stay alive. The man howled in pain and fury. And then lunged for her.

  “Giddyup!” she screamed and felt her feet dig into the horse’s sides hard. The horse reared, almost bucking her, and then bolted off like a cheetah with its hindquarters on fire. Adrenaline was making her vision blurry, but she saw the man’s lunge fall short as he landed in a giant mud puddle.

  “Damn youuuuuu!!” it sounded like he said.

  She rode hard all day, stopping only occasionally to give the horse a drink. Each time, she kept a tight grip on the dagger Pitkins had given her.

  (just in case)

  She brushed a few tears away from her cheeks as she thought about the bliss they enjoyed a short time ago. They’d made love like two dolphins in calm seas.

  (there’s no point despairing yet, Pitkins is still alive, just need to get help, just need to find Father; everything will be okay; there’s an explanation for all this; soon we’ll be telling jokes about this and laughing so hard we’ll pee!)

  Wolves howling. Her blood ran cold in her veins like the glacier streams of the surrounding mountains.

  (those aren’t really eyes looking at me, those aren’t really eyes looking at me; stop imagining things!)

  She dug her heels in hard to the horse, although it might not have been necessary. It had smelled the wolves before they howled and had already picked up the pace. It was galloping full speed.

  Her father’s house in the distance. Its sight made her feel like a sailor who’s spotted a lighthouse on a stormy night. Eight o’ clock. Nighttime descending quickly like a dark blanket over the City of Sodorf. As Donive approached her father’s house she noticed the scarecrow tree towering over the surrounding trees way off in the distance. Tears stung her eyes.

  Such a short time ago,

  (Saixen, that was only weeks ago!)

  but it seemed like ages had passed since that first day she met him. She had been attracted at first sight, and love didn’t take too long join the party. His soft brown eyes capt
ivated her mind, body, and soul as a bright yellow flower draws a honey bee into its cavernous interior. And she remembered the snake.

  (how gallantly he fought against that beast!)

  Her heart weighed heavily as she thought of the happy times they shared only a short while ago. He was gone now, and it didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense . . . .

  (if strong-arm kidnappers had come, why didn’t you wake up? if not kidnappers, then . . . who . . . or . . . what? did he walk away on his own? could he have been tricked? no, he wasn’t stupid, . . . besides, if someone persuaded him to leave the room, he would have woken you up first . . . wouldn’t he have? sure, if that’s what you want to hear.)

  She was at her father’s door.

  “FATHER, FATHER . . . FATHER!!” She banged on the door. All was quiet for a moment, and for a split-second she was afraid she had been robbed of everyone she loved, leaving her to fend for herself in a mean, cruel world.

  (perhaps the nice gentleman you kicked right in the mouth will open the door! you’ll have plenty to discuss he’s probably made dinner for you and)

  Then, suddenly, the door burst open. Fritzer stood there sword in hand, sleepy-eyed, but with an aura of alertness about him, his hair sticking up and out and every which way like a jumble of ropes thrown together into a careless pile. Fritzer looked at Donive: something horrible had happened. She had tears running down her face like rivers and was shaking.

  “Holy Saixen,” he uttered in a whisper. “My dear Donive, what in the world has happened? Where’s Pitkins? Quick, quick, come inside.”

  Donive told him the whole story.

  “We’ll assemble a search party first thing, tomorrow, my dear, and we’ll find him. We will also find the murderous thugs responsible for his . . . kidnapping

  (that rascal better not have run off!)

  and hang them from the tallest gallows!”

  (was my first impression of Pitkins right? did his display of sword know-how weaken my judgment?)

  “But, Father, don’t you think we should go tonight? If we wait until tomorrow it may be too late!”

  “My dear, it’s too dangerous for us to travel the road from Sodorf to Seisphen at night, even with a band of armed men. We would likely perish before we ever even made it to Seisphen. I understand your desire to act quickly—act quickly we shall—but it must wait until tomorrow. We will leave early—two or three hours before daybreak, in fact. Tonight, I shall go and gather men to accompany us on this journey tomorrow.”

  (I give my daughter in marriage to a nobody, and he leaves her to fend for herself in the middle of nowhere?!!)

  But this was the anger in his head. His anger was at war with confusion because his initial impression of Pitkins was he was a shameless social climber.

  (what sense would it make for him to acquire knighthood and the most beautiful woman in all of Sodorf and then leave it all?)

  His head hurt just trying to process it.

  Donive was disappointed they could not leave that night, but part of her knew her father was right. Fatigue was beginning to gain the upper hand in its battle against adrenaline.

  “Now, my dear, you must rest.”

  “Yes, Father—I’ll need to be well rested for the journey tomorrow.”

  “No! It’s far too dangerous for you to come. It will be better for you to stay here.”

  “But, Father, I must come; how are you going to find him without my help . . . how will you even know where to look? I need to show you where we stayed.”

  He frowned. Then, a reluctant grin formed across his face.

  “It would be difficult to conduct much of a serious search without knowing where you stayed. You’ll come. But now you must rest.”

  Patsrona did her best to comfort her saddened, exhausted daughter. For the first time in what seemed like centuries Donive felt a glimmer of hope.

  (perhaps tomorrow we’ll find him, and everything can go back to the way it was before . . . perhaps)

  With these mildly self-assuring thoughts Donive lay down onto her large bed in her old room. She thought it strange such a short time after her wedding finding herself back there. She had expected to spend the rest of her life going to bed with Pitkins in their bed in their house. But before she could ponder this irony further, she drifted off into a deep sleep. A dreamless sleep. No glaring eyes of wolves or yellow-toothed men with questionable motives for wanting to help her. Just sleep.

  Fritzer went to the barn and got on his horse. He rode it down the dirt road that went alongside his large fields of grain. He had a sword attached to his belt in a long, gold-covered sheathe. When he finally got to the temple, he rang the bell. It was the size of a small house and was located inside a chamber designed specially to maximize its sound.

  DONG . . . DONG . . . DONG . . . it echoed loudly and methodically like a giant sergeant bellowing out orders. After a brief while the nobles began stirring in their beds, wishing the fulminating sound they were hearing was part of a dream, not something that was going to require them to part company with their beds. But there was no denying what the sound was. Most of the Sodorfian nobles lived mere miles from the temple, and many lived even closer.

  After Fritzer had rung the large bell for about three minutes, he stopped, slightly winded. He felt horrible for his daughter but didn’t know quite what to think. The whole story was so strange. Just days earlier Pitkins had given an inspiring display of martial talent—had nearly seemed invincible—and now he had been whisked off so quickly and silently Donive didn’t even wake up? How much of the story was true? Donive was no liar, but perhaps she suffered a certain amount of trauma seeing the bloody fight between Pitkins and the assassin and had also not quite gotten over her close call with the anacobra.

  (her imagination could be in overdrive)

  As he mulled over the strange recent events, the nobles began trickling into the temple one by one. He convinced twenty-six nobles to go with him the next day.

  Five hours later, the nobles arrived. They brought swords, helmets, breastplates, and had even armored their horses. Each had a long sword, as well as a quiver packed with about a hundred arrows. The arrow tips were razor sharp, and their edges glistened as they caught the rays of sun just starting to shoot across the eastern horizon. Their helmets had a mask that could be raised to allow a wider range of vision or pulled down to protect the face.

  The men mounted up after a quick breakfast served by Patsrona. Fritzer insisted Donive wear armor and bring a sword and a bow and arrow. He didn’t fancy women in combat, but he had no choice but to bring her along, and he would rather have her violate Sodorfian gender norms than be defenseless against their unknown adversaries. He didn’t want to lose Donive, as well as the son-in-law he had possibly lost already.

  (Pitkins better not have abandoned her)

  They headed towards Seisphen via the shortcut Donive had taken.

  Upon arriving in Seisphen, the nobles took care not to let their hands stray too far from their swords. They attracted quite a bit of attention. “So here they are—the nobility of Sodorf,” the townspeople muttered amongst themselves. The man who had accosted Donive the day before nearly soiled himself at the sight of the heavily armored warriors. He felt sure they were coming for him and went sprinting off into the forest.

  Muddy streets. A cool day, but not cold. The sun still shining in the gorgeous sky, but beginning to turn orange, losing some of its midday radiance.

  When they approached the innkeeper and requested to search the room Donive and Pitkins had stayed in, he took one look at the razor-sharp swords the men held and was quite accommodating. Donive led them to the room. The sheets had been changed, but Donive wasn’t sure if they would have offered any useful clues anyway. They searched the room for signs of foul play. Nothing.

  “Pitkins’ sword!” Donive said. “It should still be here. It was here when I woke up yesterday morning, but I left so quickly I forgot it.”

  Fritzer’s eyes turn
ed towards the innkeeper.

  He gulped nervously. “I swear . . . there was no sword when I cleaned the room yesterday, just the foulest, most disgusting sheets I’ve ever seen since I opened this place!”

  He gulped nervously, perhaps only in that moment realizing that the wrong word or tone at a time like this could sever his head from his neck.

  “Please,” he said, his voice becoming accommodating, “search my office. Search my home. I have nothing to hide. There was no sword here.”

  “Search his home and office!” Fritzer shouted. But his gut told him the man was telling the truth. Deisun and around fourteen other nobles accompanied the innkeeper as he took them to his office.

  “Let’s question the townspeople,” said Donive.

  They spent over an hour going around the town, asking questions. They stopped in butcher shops, barber shops, inns, taverns, the constable’s office, many of the residents’ homes, even the town brothel. Nothing. Donive was losing hope.

  (you really think he was KIDNAPPED? of course I do he wouldn’t just leave on his own there is some explanation there is SOME explanation)

  Deisun motioned to Fritzer to come and have a word in private with him.

  “Sir, I’m very sorry for your daughter, and for you as well. This is going to be hard for Donive to accept, but we may as well admit Pitkins is likely gone for good. We searched the innkeeper’s home and office top to bottom. We turned both places inside out. There’s no sword there, and he wouldn’t have expected an armed search party this quickly, if at all. I think we would have caught him redhanded if he had taken it.”

  Fritzer looked at him unflinchingly.

  “Sir, with all due respect, it is possible that . . . it is possible that . . . . Pitkins simply got up and left Donive!”

  A flash of anger shot across Fritzer’s eyes. He had to resist the urge to strike Deisun right across the face. Deisun sensed perhaps he had spoken unwisely.