The Silver Arrow (21 page)

It was past midday when they
arrived at the northern gate, which was not as heavily guarded. It
led out of the city into the open plain.

The sun was below the horizon,
and they followed a natural path created through the trees when
Samuel smelled it: burning wood from a chimney. “We are getting
close to homes again,” he thought, just as what looked like a
cottage appeared overhead between the trees. From a distance, the
windows on the building were like the glowing eyes of an owl.

They rode down a steady slope
toward the only house in the middle of the woods and unsaddled
their horses in a fenced area by the house. They made their way to
the front door, led by Gabram.

Inside, they were greeted by
Gabram’s wife; as soon as she saw that they had guest, she went
straight to work.

“Let me get this child
something to eat,” she said as she scurried off into the
kitchen.

“Maria, your father is home,”
she called out, and a young girl in her teens ran out to meet
Gabram. Maria was dressed in a long purple square-neck gown with a
white short-sleeved shirt underneath. Her hair was pulled back,
held in place by a white ribbon. She ran into Gabram’s arms and
gave him a hug as he kissed her on the forehead.

Once Maria took her head from
her father’s shoulder, Gabram gestured toward Samuel.

“I would like you to meet a
friend of mine. Samuel, this is my daughter, Maria.”

“Nice to meet you,” Samuel
said, bowing his head slightly.

She smiled in return. “Nice to
meet you, too.”

“Samuel will be staying with us
for a while. Do you mind taking his things to the vacant room? And
let your mother know we have two more guests outside.”

“Yes, Father,” she said before
disappearing with Samuel’s saddlebag.

Sometime later, they all sat at
the table as supper was served. Gabram’s wife was a stout woman
with shoulder-length hair and an average build. The table was
covered with food by the time she sat next her husband.

“Please, go ahead,” Gabram said
as he began to serve himself. While Gabram’s wife took small bites,
she scanned everyone’s plate and cup, ensuring that none was empty.
Samuel declined more after his second serving, but took her offer
of a bucket of hot water and a washcloth for the morning.

“Samuel,” Gabram announced, “is
going to be staying with us a while and he’ll be working with
me.”

“Where are you from?” Maria
asked

“Chartum-Valley,” Samuel
replied, and Gabram’s wife looked up at him, not sure if what she
heard was correct.

“Is that the same valley north
of Orie?” she asked with some surprise in her tone.

“Yes!”

“That is a long way from home,”
she said just before Maria cut in again. “Tell me about this
Chartum-Valley?”

“Maybe some other time,” Gabram
chimed in. “Let him eat his food.” Gabram changed the subject to
other small matters, such as things going on in the city and at
home. When they were done with supper, Maria was asked to show him
to his room.

Samuel’s room was lit by two
oil lamps, one on the wall next to the door and the other on the
only table in the room. A single bed was pushed close to the far
wall, with a chair tucked underneath the table with the second
lamp. To the right of the table, which was at the base of his bed,
was an oak dresser four feet tall.

Alone in the room, tired from
the day’s travel, Samuel lay on the bed with his hands behind his
head, staring at the roof, his thoughts distant. The short time
he’d spent with Gabram made him realize how much he missed his
family, with everyone sitting at the table for supper after a long
day at the farm. The aroma of his mother’s cooking and the long
nights talking and playing with his brothers seemed like such a
long time ago.

The feeling of loss ran through
Samuel’s mind in waves, stirring his emotions. Like a rock on a
sheet of ice too weak to hold its weight, Samuel’s eyes began to
swell with tears. He broke down and weep till sleep came and took
him.

When Samuel woke up the next
day, he found a note underneath his door.

Opening it, it read, ‘You’ll
find a washcloth with a bucket of hot water and some clean clothes
by your door. What you are wearing will be cleaned by the time we
return.’

“I hope they fit,” Gabram said
when Samuel came out of his room. He remembered Iseac once wearing
this shirt while he was preparing him for his unlocking not that
many years ago.

“Yes, they fit just fine, thank
you,” Samuel said.

He was dressed in black
trousers and a deep green shirt laced in front and embroidered
vertically with a gold pattern along the left side. It was a nice
shirt, or, at least, nicer than anything he’d ever owned.

“Walk with me,” Gabram said as
he handed Samuel what looked like a new cloak, and they made their
way into the misty morning.

A single leaf dropped from one
of the trees; it swayed in the air as they passed by. A new season
was about to begin.

Iseac heard a growling sound as
he was jabbed from behind; his vision was still spotty, but he
blindly stepped forward, not wanting to be pushed again. As he
walked, he couldn’t help but notice the rancid smell that clung in
the air that made it hard for him to breathe. He felt as if he was
being choked and coughed, trying not to breathe in the foul smell.
He was pushed again and asked to pick up his pace.

Along the way, his vision came
into full focus and he could see they were somewhere underground,
or in a cave, maybe; he wasn’t sure.

The tunnel he was in was narrow
and could only admit four normal-sized adults at a time. The walls
had red gems planted along a rough surface that gave off a soft
glow and they were the only sources of light along their way. The
tunnel in some spots branched off to unknown areas, with each
junction supported by heavy wooden beams.

Outside of the low grunts and
stomping sound of footsteps behind and in front of him, Iseac heard
another sound. It was a low murmur that grew the farther in they
went, and after a short span, was clearly. It was the crackling
sound of whips mixed with screams and the clanking sound of working
tools. The sound of raised voices that weren’t human giving
commands rose and fell along the way.

As they meandered through the
tunnel, they came to a vast opening inside the cave. Several yards
from their position was a suspension bridge. As they crossed the
massive canyon, Iseac saw other bridges above and below him as far
as the eye could see.

“How long has this been going
on?” he wondered as they moved across.

Once he was over the bridge,
they led him through a wider tunnel that sloped down slightly. Just
before it leveled off, the Agoras in front of him stopped.

From where he was standing, he
saw two armed men with their backs facing him. Guards, he
suspected. They were abnormally broad and muscular, with networks
of veins making their way up their necks. The guards’ breastplates
were dull and dark, like the cave, and their helmets looked like
they were built right on their massive heads.

One of them turned to look at
Iseac and he was surprised to see a wolfish face. They were half
beasts with yellow eyes and thin pupils. The creatures all had a
grayish tone to their skin, with arms wide as a bull’s hind
legs.

This part of the tunnel, Iseac
observed, was darker, and instead of gems, they had fire posts.

The man who led the group spoke
to the two guards briefly and then left with his men, leaving Iseac
alone with the guards.

“Bring him,” the one in charge
said, and Iseac moved before he was pushed. In the dim light he saw
bars lining this section of the tunnel. There hadn’t been any along
the way till now. This was one of the areas where the people were
being held. The guard in charge opened one of the iron gates and
before Iseac could step in, he was pushed inside. Iseac fell,
sliding on the dirt floor as the rusty cage was locked behind
him.

He rose from the floor,
listened to the sound of the guards walking away until he couldn’t
hear them anymore. He had no light in his cell as he pushed himself
up and grunted from applying weight on his bad arm. He felt stiff
all over. A result, he suspected, was due to the way they had
traveled to this place. He made himself walk to his cell bars. Fire
posts were placed on both sides of his cell, both dim, so he
couldn’t see much, but at least he knew the guards were a safe
distance away.

Iseac took in a deep breath,
allowing his weariness to overcome him as he got down on one knee.
He placed his left hand on the damp floor and began to
concentrate.

It was hard to focus with all
the pain. It felt as if every part of his body was pounded back
together. His head was still foggy from the loss of blood, but
after several minutes of painstaking concentration, images of his
four walls came into view. He began the slow process of spreading
his mind and, within seconds, flashes of life began to pop up
around him, but he was too exhausted to continue, so he
withdrew.

Yosterio was a lot of work, and
he needed to conserve his energy till he found out why he was being
held. He had his suspicions.

After weeks of mining and
watching people fight for food that was delivered once a day, time
became subjective. Iseac, like the others, looked forward to the
gathering. It was an arena, of a sort, where he and roughly five
hundred other people were herded. In this cramped space, some
struggled for the best position, with everyone looking up for what
was coming. A black metal pot containing food enough to feed fifty
was poured down into the area. They did this throughout the day
because of the number of people the area could hold. Those who
could not fight died from starvation, while others were killed by
those stronger in the fight for food, with the guards watching
above.

“You there,” the grinding bass
of one of the guards called to Iseac as he stepped toward his cell,
unlocking it. It had been a long time since anyone had paid him any
attention; he was beginning to wonder if he was just another
victim.

“Around your neck,” the guard
said, tossing Iseac a metal chain with an open ring at the end.

He looked up into the wolfish
yellow eyes of the guard, whose size was almost the weight of his
cell, and without saying a word, Iseac rose up, walked over to the
chain, and clamped it around his neck. The creature spoke to Iseac
with the same distaste it had for all humans.

“While my men enjoy the chase
and killing those of your kind that think they can escape because
they have not been bound…this, I guess, helps to tame that urge,”
He watched Iseac pick up the chain.

“Good,” he said as if
addressing an animal, once he heard the clasping sound of the ring
around Iseac’s neck. He tugged on it, jostling Iseac forward before
he was led out of his cage.

The creature took him through a
different part of the tunnels. For several minutes they made their
way in almost pitch blackness with the guard, who could clearly see
in the dark, leading the way.

After several minutes, a
flickering light appeared overhead. As they got closer, the tunnel
opened up, revealing the first double doors he’d ever seen inside
the cave. Two guards stood at the entrance. They relaxed, lowering
their weapons when they saw their commander.

They let them through, closing
the door behind them. Once inside, they made their way through
several open draperies that extended from the rooftop of the long
hallway. This part of wherever they were was completely different
from the damp rock wall he was used to seeing.

Finally, he thought. He was
going to meet the person behind all the people that have been
disappearing.

Ahead of them were several
young women standing along the side of archway they were
approaching. They were scantily dressed, but clean, and stood
evenly split on opposite sides of the wall, watching something in
the direction they were heading.

They turned briefly to look at
them and just as quickly returned their attention to what they were
looking at before.

The men facing the entrance as
they entered lifted their heads to look at them; but they weren’t
the ones who caught Iseac’s attention. His eyes were instantly
drawn to the figure who had his back turned to him, dressed in a
dark red silk robe similar to a Patron.

The man took his hands from the
table as he stood straight. Iseac could not help noticing his
companions watching as he turned. The man had a narrow face with
dark blond hair. His feet made no sound as he walked down several
flights of a well-polished marble tile to meet them.

He was of average build and
taller than Iseac, standing at the same level. His hair was cut
below his ears and eyes ashen gray as he looked at Iseac as if
studying a piece of his missing puzzle. He half−raised an arm and
opened his fingers in a flickering motion. The chain around Iseac’s
neck snapped and dropped to the ground.

“Thank you, commander; I will
take care of this one,” he said, dismissing the creature. He walked
around Iseac once before speaking.

“We know who you are,
Anamerian. Do you see the wreath boy?” he asked rhetorically.

“Your gift,” he said with some
distaste, “is what our Lord seeks. If you do as you are told and
prove yourself worthy of his mercy, then maybe your FALLING will
not be cut short.

“Tomorrow we shall begin, and
you do not want to find out what will happen if your information is
false,” he said, picking up his slow and purposeful walk again
around Iseac.

“My companions think we should
do it without you, but they will need parts.” The man sounded as if
he hadn’t quite made up his mind.