Douglas Niles - Fate of Thorbardin

She thought back to the incident, several hours earlier, when he had accosted her in the woods. Why hadn’t she fled when she first had the feeling that someone was watching her? By the time the urge to flee had possessed her, he had already bound her wrists. Immediately thereafter he had pulled her off the road, roughly dragging her into the woods.

They had climbed a steep slope and descended another, where she had bruised her legs and buttocks sliding painfully down on rough rock. He had pulled her through a thicket with long thorns that tore at her face and hands and waded through an icy creek. Following that splashing waterway, they had pushed up through a narrow gorge, between stone walls that sometimes ran so close together that they had to wade right up through the middle of the stream, until they had arrived at the remote grotto where they stopped.

High, rocky bluffs rose to all sides, except for the twisting ravine up which they had ascended. The surrounding woods were thick, and she had seen no sign of any other inhabitants or even the work sites of a woodcutter or miner. It seemed they were really, truly alone, so much so that she felt certain that, even if she screamed, the sound of her voice would have been blocked by the stones and trees. And certainly it would awaken Garn.

When they had arrived there, the mad Klar had pushed her roughly to the ground then secured her already bound wrists to a tree trunk with a further length of the rough cord. Only when she was tightly bound had he set about making a fire.

“Garn?” she had pressed, trying to keep her voice soothing and gentle. “Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends.”

“Friends?” he said, his eyes lighting up, the whites shining brightly in the growing light of the newly kindled flames. “Yes, friends,” he agreed, nodding as if savoring the taste of the word.

“But then you don’t have to tie me up so tightly, do you? Can’t we talk about it?” She felt her voice growing shrill as her fear swelled, so she took a deep breath and tried to force herself to remain calm.

Garn, for the time being, seemed content to ignore her as he piled more and more dry branches onto the fire. He apparently didn’t have any food to cook, and, to judge by his appearance, it might have been many days since he’d had a meal. But he stoked the blaze into a roaring bonfire and settled down before it.

Abruptly those wide, staring eyes fastened upon Crystal again. “Do you have food?” he asked as if the very possibility of the question was a sudden revelation.

“Why, yes. I have a little. Some bread and cheese that I was eating on the trail. Here, if you’ll untie me, I’ll get it for you. It’s right here in my traveling pack.”

The Klar pounced on the pack as if he expected it to make a break for freedom at any moment. Pulling out her spare cloak, he came upon her sleeping robe and rubbed his filthy fingers through the soft fabric for a very long time. Finally he set it aside, taking surprising care to see that it didn’t get dirty from the ground, and fished out the small half loaf of bread and wedge of hard cheese that was all that remained of her traveling supplies.

“This is all?” he asked, glowering at her.

“Well, it was only food for the day,” Crystal explained. “I’d planned to stay at another inn tonight and to eat the fare of their kitchen. You know, I’m sure there’s an inn not far away! If you take me there, we can both have a hot meal. I’ll pay for yours, happily. Imagine a roast duck! Or perhaps a ham or even a beef stew. Wouldn’t that be good?”

She kept her voice light and cheerful but was surprised to feel her own stomach rumbling with hunger. Desperately, she watched the Klar, hoping for some sign that her tempting suggestions had penetrated the layer of his madness.

But he shrugged and laughed. “This is fine. I don’t need more. Don’t need any hill dwarf inn, that’s for sure!”

“But, Garn,” she continued while she had his attention momentarily, “why are you doing this? Why did you follow me? Why are you holding me captive?”

“Oh, you know,” he said with a sly grin. “You remember.”

“Remember? Remember what? Please! I don’t understand!”

“Ah, what a coy game you play!” he said with a sound like a giggle. “All those nights in the dungeon, when you were talking to me … I could hear the sounds in your voice. You knew that I desired you. And I knew that you desired me. Now we can be together.”

She almost gagged at the memory but bit back a rebuke. She had only meant to be kind, visiting him in prison. But as he continued to talk almost nonstop, Crystal was appalled to learn how much time he had spent thinking about her, desiring her, imagining things about her.

“I know, when you sleep, that you dream of me,” he confided. “But know that I dream of you as well!”

She didn’t try to dissuade him from his wilder fantasies-such as his belief that she desired him as much as he desired her-for she feared his rage if she made him angry. Still, she tried to reason with him.

“You know, you really don’t have to tie me up,” she repeated as sweetly as she could muster.

At that, his eyes narrowed, and he uttered a short cackle of laughter. But he made no move to remove her cords, and he frightened her too much for her to try and make an argument out of it. So she watched him and watched him, and finally he fell asleep. Only then did she begin to work on her tight bonds in earnest.

And finally, she was rewarded by a loosening; she felt the strands of the rope parting.

She pulled her hands apart and looked up to see her worst nightmare: Garn Bloodfist was awake and watching her. She tried to stand, but he sprang right over the mound of coals. His rough hands grasped her shoulders, pressing her back to the ground.

And his grotesque mouth, wide open and panting, pressed over her own.

“I knew you’d try to leave!” he crowed, his vile breath making her gag. “Don’t you dare! We’re just getting started!”

Brandon caught up to the Redshirts at the interior fortification of the gatehouse. General Watchler’s men had secured a foothold in what looked to be a barracks room. Tankard’s first companies still fought at the two tunnels leading out of the gatehouse, while more and more of the Kayolin troops filed up the trail and into the breached entry to Thorbardin.

“The bastards have forted up in both guardhouses,” Watchler reported. “We can’t get to them without passing through a hail of crossbows. Hacksaw and I have already lost a score of men each.”

“Is there any other way around?” Brandon asked, dismayed at the thought that they might have broken through Thorbardin’s main gate only to be blocked a few hundred yards farther on.

“We’re checking it out, but I don’t think so. This place was made for defense, after all. Anyone coming in the main gate is channeled through one of these two halls, and they’re both pretty much the same. There’s a long, open passageway before you get to the interior doors, and the defenders have firing platforms above the floor and inside the city where they can shoot from cover and pick off our warriors almost at will.”

“All right,” Brandon said with a grimace. “I’ll go have a look. Stay here and keep the men formed up as they come through the outer gate. If we can carry one of these doors, I want to be able to pour a thousand troops into the city in the first wave.”

“All right. Good luck,” the veteran campaigner said.

“You stay with Watchler,” Brandon said to Gretchan, who hadn’t left his side since they had breached the outer gate. “Get the troops ready for the main attack.”

“You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?” she asked with just the hint of a twinkle in her eye.