Shortly after breaking camp and resuming their journey to
Anchorwatch, the vegetation suddenly thinned around them. They were exposed to
the road without any cover. Up ahead, they could see the road crossed the river
at a bridge to the side they were on.
“This is a clear cut area,” Fretly said. “We must be really close
to Anchorwatch. I think we can just take the road now. We haven’t seen anyone
follow us yet.”
“We haven’t seen anyone at all,” Dashyl reminded him. “But
that doesn’t mean we’re not being followed. You’re the one who insisted we be
careful, I’m doing what you say.”
“Right. They don’t even know that we came this way, though.
It’s probably all right. We should be there very soon.”
The two set off through the clear cut down towards the
river. As they approached, they could see there was an old weathered hut
sitting up the road from the bridge. They were walking right to it.
“Fretly, what should we do?”
“It looks abandoned, doesn’t it,” Fretly asked. “Even so,
let’s stay away and make our way to the road past it.”
The two crouched down and crept slowly through the grasses
and ferns that were growing up around the many thick tree stumps in the field.
After a short while of this, Fretly changed their course to intersect with the
road. A few yards from the edge of the road, he flopped down on his belly and
motioned for Dashyl to do the same. They shimmied their way to the edge of the
road and poked their heads out of the grass surveying each direction.
“I don’t see anyone,” Fretly whispered. “I think that hut is
empty. Let’s stand up and go.”
As soon as they did stand up, a voice bellowed from the hut.
“You there? Where did you come from?”
It was a deep voice. It wasn’t the voice of anyone of the
sidrani or sarion races.
“Who asks,” called Fretly.
Out of the hut, a tall, well-armored being emerged. With
long strides, the being quickly walked toward them, wielding a huge hammer. He
wore a metal helmet with long, white locks flowing from it. The face inside the
helmet did not appear menacing, just annoyed. He walked up and stood over them.
The young men craned their necks to look up at him.
He’s twice as tall as the tallest sarion I’ve ever met,
Dashyl thought, before the voice bellowed again.
“I, Soern Kwath, protector of the road to Anchorwatch, ask
you. And I will ask you again, who are you and where did you come from?” Soern
Kwath spun the massive hammer in his gigantic hand like a toy as he spoke. When
he was finished speaking, he put the hammer’s head under Fretly’s chin and bent
down to look him in the eyes.
“I…I’m Fretly from Fairewood. We, uh, we came from, uh…”
“Shush,” Soern insisted and turned to Dashyl. He put his
hammer under Dashyl’s chin and leaned in to get a closer look.
“I’m…”
“Dashyl! You’re alive!” Soern dropped his hammer and caught
the boy in his two hands and lifted him high in the air.
“Whoa!” Dashyl lost his breath. He had no idea how Soern
could know who he was.
Soern set the boy down and stood up tall again. He pointed
at Fretly and asked, “are you Dashyl’s friend?”
“Yeah, oh yeah, most definitely, I am Dashyl’s friend.”
Fretly answered, speaking quickly and nodding his head.
“Good,” Soern bellowed, clapping Fretly on the back so hard
he fell forward. “Come back to my hut and have something to eat and to drink. I
want to hear all about how you survived, Dashyl. I’m so curious.”
