FARHAYVEN: VENGEANCE (78 page)

     The sun finally shone bright overhead. The downpour had stopped. Thorn was cold, wet and miserable. He also felt a hunger pang. He needed food. But more importantly, he needed a water container, which was his primary goal in approaching the camp in the first place.

     All of the Serpentian nomads were awake now. The men came out of their tents holding long canes in their hands, no doubt to be used to control their livestock. He noticed their swords as well, worn at the waist. They were worn out and not well maintained. It seemed that this group of nomads were not so much of the aggressive, war-mongering type; but more to the isolationist type. This was good news for Thorn, for it meant that they were not in good terms with the local battlelord and were lesser of a threat. All of the men had left the encampment, together with the livestock. Only the women and children remained. Thorn had to move fast and with precision. He crept around the encampment looking for opportunities. Then he spotted one.

     One of the Serpentian women grabbed a child by the back collar of his shirt and pushed him towards a nearby stream. The child obeyed quietly and conformed. Clearly, Serpentian mothers were quite forceful in the handling of their children. But Serpentian parenting ethics were of no concern to Thorn, only the empty tent that the woman had vacated. He looked around and then made a dash into the vacant tent. First, he searched for a water container of some sort. After upturning a few bundle of leather and fur, he finally found one. It was a leather water pouch and it was half full. Next Thorn grabbed a bowl off the floor and scooped into it several ladlefuls of porridge from a huge pot in the middle of the tent. He grabbed some bread buns as well and like a flash of lightning he was out of the tent and into the grasses.

     Thorn crouch ran as fast and as far away as he possibly could, while taking bites off one of the bread buns. The fresh smell and sweet taste of bread was heaven to him
!
His stomach yearned for more
!
He gulped down chunks of bread while hardly chewing, and almost choked himself. But he withstood the urge to cough and slowed down enough to take a swipe from the water pouch. The cooling liquid washed the chunk of bread down his throat and he stuffed the rest of the bun into his mouth, promising himself to chew properly this time before swallowing. Then he was off again, crouch running in the Serpentian plains, trying his best to disappear amidst the clusters of grass and muddy terrain.

     Thorn sat in the middle of a cluster of grass, contemplating. Food was impossible to find unless he hunted for it, but this would take up too much time. Crossing over the Fallsian border would be far easier than penetrating the stronghold of Battlelord Constrictor. Strategy dictated that he should head for the Fallsian border and then somehow return with a rescue party. But honour and pride dictated that he should try to rescue Caramel, or at the very least, see her and ascertain for himself that she was still alive and well. The warrior in him said to go for the border, but the
man
in him said to rescue the one he had sworn to protect. The soldier in him was silent, because he was long gone. He was gone the moment he decided to jump over the parapets of Fort Eastguard and abandon his post.

     Finally, Thorn decided that there were times when even strategy became a hindrance, for too much caution and considerations could cause fear and paralyses. So the man in him had won and the warrior in him was to be its slave. The soldier in him was, of course, dead. He got up and started crouch-walking northwards.

     Thorn woke up cold and shivering on the
25
th
Night of Third Month of Dry Season
. It was the buzzing of mosquitoes that had woken him up. He had intended to already be on the move by this time but had overslept. Crawling out of the cluster of tall grass inside which he had hidden himself earlier, he began crouch walking northward. He then began to feel much better because his body heat had built up and his blood was circulating. The waning crescent moon above gave a faint illumination.

     After crouch walking for an hour, Thorn finally saw a vague outline of a man-made structure in front of him. This was exactly what he was looking for. For on the very top of a rocky hill a short distance away was the stronghold of Battlelord Constrictor. Fort Constrictor, the fort that was the battlelord’s stronghold, was not particularly sophisticated or well-built. Unlike Fallsian forts which were made of rocks, boulders and stones, Serpentian forts were made of thick wooden logs; no doubt stolen from Fallsian forests and built with Fallsian forced labour. The Serpentians’ sense of aggression had their minds tuned to attack and not defence, therefore they never saw the need to build stronger, more sophisticated forts.

     Thorn pressed on towards the rocky hill and within an hour he was at the base of it. He looked for the best way up. He reasoned that the eastern slope offered the best concealment although it was the steepest. Wasting not a moment of the darkness of night, he climbed up the steep, rocky surface of the hill. He could hear laughter and loud conversations, but worse still, he could smell the aroma of a well cooked meal. Thorn felt his stomach growl in yearning, but this did not sway his mind away from his mission.

     Thorn pressed his back against the wooden, heavy-log wall of Fort Constrictor. Thick clouds had just slipped in to conceal the moon. He stayed still as the footsteps of the sentry passed by just above him. He counted quietly in his mind the interval between the different sets of footsteps. Thorn smiled a little, for the intervals between the sentry’s rounds were approximately a quarter of an hour. Thorn wasted no time. He took off his cape, rolled it into the shape of a rope, tied one end of it to the handle and hand-guard of his sword. Then he threw his sword up and over the top of the wooden wall while holding on to the free end of his cape. The sword made a soft thud when it hooked on to the wooden parapets. His heart skipped a beat. He held his breath and listened out. Nothing
!
There was only silence. Thorn let out his breath. His heartbeat quickened. Steadily and stealthily, he climbed the wall and pulled himself over the top. He did it
!
He had broken into the stronghold of Battlelord Constrictor
!

     Thorn unties his sword from his cape. He dons back the cape but he leaves his sword unsheathed in his hand. He crouches and creeps along the top landing of the wooden wall, searching for the sentry. He has but moments before the cloud cover breaks. A tall, large figure stands in front of him looking the other way, clearly unaware of his presence. Thorn creeps up behind the Serpentian sentry and raises his own sword high. Then he swings it down in an arc similar to the letter ‘C’ and chops off the sentry’s head. The headless body falls with a loud thump.

     Thorn decides to search the dead sentry’s body for anything that could be useful. He finds a sheathed dagger and a pouch on the sentry’s belt. Inside this pouch, he finds a smaller pouch of bandages and medicine, a small notebook, a small bundle of fishing lines and hooks, a small cloth-wrapped bar of soap and a large piece of bun. He gobbles the bun down hungrily and washes it down with water from his water pouch. Not wanting to waste time, he unbuckles the sentry’s belt and then buckles it onto his own waist, on top of the belt that he already has; thus transferring the dagger and the pouch onto his own body. He took the dead sentry’s bow and arrows and after equipping himself with them, he got off the top landing and sneaked into the shadows.

     Thorn continues to crouch run his way inside the fort. He chances upon another sentry. He is seated on a stool, eating his meal. Thorn sheaths his sword and draws out his newly acquired dagger instead. Then he slowly creeps up on the sentry. Grabbing the sentry from behind, Thorn stabs him in the back. Thorn has his hand tightly cupped over the sentry’s mouth. All that can be heard is a muffled sound of panic. Thorn twists the blade of his dagger slightly to widen the wound. The sentry goes numb. His body becomes soft but heavy. Thorn pulls out his dagger and lays the dead Serpentian gently down onto the ground. The Serpentian’s eyes are opened but are still and motionless. There are several drops of tears flowing down his cheeks.

     Man, or hardly, for the cloud cover has just broken and Thorn now sees clearly that the sentry is in his late teens. Thorn looks on indignantly, thinking it undeserving that this dead Serpentian took to the trade of murdering at such a young age and shed not a single tear for the number of Fallsians that he and his kind has killed, tormented and enslaved; but wept for his own demise instead.

     Thorn sheathed his dagger and ate a little bit from the sentry’s meal. Then he took two pieces of bun and kept them in his newly acquired pouch and moved on.

     There were several large buildings in the fort but it was not hard for Thorn to guess which one was the residence of Battlelord Constrictor. This distinguished building faced the main gates of the fort. It consisted of two storeys and had a main entrance secured by large, thick wooden doors. There was a pair of sentries posted in front of it. The layout of this fort was no different from any other Serpentian fort.

     All Serpentian forts consisted of a main residence, barracks, a stable, a slave quarters and a warehouse. The ground floor of the main residence served as a gathering hall and administrative office while the first floor was for the personal use of the battlelord. The treasury, of course, lay within the main residence and was located next to the battlelord’s private chambers on the first floor. Sentries were always posted in the main residence, not so for the protection against intruders but against mutineers and usurpers.

     Thorn was not interested in the slave quarters, for he knew Caramel would not be found there. She was in the main residence, either in the harem or Battlelord Constrictors’ private chambers. Getting to her would be like sneaking into a lion’s den and pulling its tail. This act was close to being suicidal, but he had no other option. He had made a pledge and he was obligated to fulfil it. He was obligated to rescue her. He wanted to rescue her. He
was
going
to rescue her
!

     Thorn sneaked his way to the back of the main residence and climbed up one of its pillars. He crept slowly and quietly on the tiled awning. He peered into one of the opened windows. He saw a dimly lit room full of books. Maps and charts were hanging on the walls. This was Battlelord Constrictors private study room, or perhaps his war planning room. Under normal circumstances, Thorn would not hesitate to jump into this room and gather as much intelligence material as possible; but he was not here for military intelligence, he was here to rescue Caramel. So as tempting as it was, he decided to move on to the next window.

     The next window was rather small and it had bars on it. Thorn was sure it was the window of the treasure room. He was not interested in the gold as well, so he crept on. The next window was one of two large windows belonging to a dimly lit room. On a very large bed in this room laid three naked figures who were deep asleep under layers of sheets and blankets. Two of the figures were females with dark hair, clearly not the female he was looking for. The male figure in the centre, as best as Thorn could guess, was Battlelord Constrictor and Thorn was not interested in him either.

     Thorn crept on. The next window
was
the one he was looking for. Through it he could see several dozen women asleep on small mattresses in this dimly lit room. The door to the room was closed, no doubt locked from the outside. Thorn scanned the room. Then he saw her, Caramel Verance, asleep in the far corner. There were red marks on her back and arms. He guessed that they were whip marks, much like the scars on his back, except that these were made from the whippings of a rattan cane instead of a leather bullwhip.

     Thorn could only afford to rescue Caramel and no one else. He had no illusions on this issue. How does he get Caramel’s attention without waking any of the other girls up
?

     “Intruder
!
Intruder
!
Intruder
!
” yelled one of the Serpentian sentries suddenly.

     Thorn’s heart skipped a beat. His face became pale and sweaty. Caramel Verance woke up to see Thorn couched by the open window. For a moment they stared eye to eye.

     “I shall be back for you
!
I shall be back for you
!
” was all Thorn could think of saying.

     Caramel sobbed and nodded her head. The other girls began begging Thorn to rescue them. They grabbed onto his arms. With one final look at Caramel, Thorn wriggled his arms free and jumped off the tiled awning.

     Thorn pulls his sword out of the scabbard instinctively. A thousand thoughts race through his mind. How is it that they have discovered his presence
?
Is it because they have found the sentries whom he had killed
?
Should he have hidden their bodies
?
Or perhaps he should not have killed any sentry at all
?
He finds himself surrounded by a dozen sleepy Serpentians. Metal clashes with metal as he block cuts and strikes from oncoming Serpentians and delivers a few counter-strikes of his own. He aims to escape, instead of to engage, so he focuses on manoeuvring, evading and running.