Garren, chapter 3

The golden midday sun beat down upon Garren’s back. The warmth was comforting, as the fall brought a usual cold at this time of day. Garren approached the river, staring into the forest on the other side. It appeared much darker than he thought. The bridge that spanned the river was made of a hard rich wood. It had fallen slightly weak with age. This was uncommon, Garren thought, for no one came across the bridge often, as the path that led up to the bridge was clean of footprints.

Gripping the black dagger tightly, Garren stepped onto the bridge. The planks creaked under his feet, but held firm. He remembered stories Denmont told him as a child about trolls that live under bridges and devoured their victims. That was the primary reason Garren never came near this part of the river. While a hint of fear still lurked within him, he knew his destiny lay ahead of him and he couldn’t stop over a childhood fear.

He walked across the bridge slowly, tempted to bend over the side to look for a troll. Suddenly, a short gust of wind broke a branch off a nearby tree. Garren jumped at the sound of the snap behind him and raced the rest of the way across the bridge. On the opposite side, he paused for only a moment to see nothing behind him.

“Get a hold of yourself,” Garren mumbled to himself. He wished Malvor had come with him. He could use his friend’s companionship as well as a sword if he would need it.

He walked on, scratching the stubble of peach-fuzz that was starting to show on his chin. When he got to the nearest town he would shave it off. He didn’t want a beard like Denmont had. In order to impress the queen when he found her, Garren assumed, he would have to be clean-shaven. It had been several days since his vision of the queen, but his memory of her was as clear as ever. Once he defeated Multan, he would go to her and she would fall for him. And praise him for his victory over Multan.

But how was he going to find Multan? He heard the lord’s castle was to the west. In that case he was headed in the wrong direction, at the same time, finding some companions for the remainder of his journey was the first priority. He didn’t want to be foolish enough to think he could do this on his own.

Glancing through the web of leafless branches, Garren could tell that nightfall was approaching. He chose a strong oak and climbed up into it. It wasn’t a warm bed, but it would keep him safe from wolves and brigands. Garren leaned back against the tree trunk and prepared for a restless night’s sleep.

* * *

A bird chirped happily nearby. Garren opened his eyes to see that morning had come, and not too soon. He yawned and jumped to the ground, the brown and orange leaves rustling as he landed.

“Time for breakfast,” Garren sang as he searched the bushes for some berries. Denmont had shown him which ones where poisonous, but he had forgotten the rhyme the man had taught him. “Purple is royal, they will not spoil. If they are red, you will be dead?” He wished he had paid better attention when he was younger, but it was too late for that now. He left the berries alone. Though his stomach growled, he would have to wait to eat.

As he set out, Garren remembered the food he had packed right before he left home. He shook his head as he dug through his pack for the food…he felt like he was distracted or mentally out of it. There was a loaf of bread, some cheese and fruit, and a few pieces of meat that was now dried. He bit into the cheese, savoring the chewy morsel as he swallowed.

The cheese was just about finished, and the bread started, when Garren realized he should save his limited resource. He packed up the rest of the food into his pack, not completely satisfied, but knowing that it would tide him over until he reached town.

Garren walked along the leaf-covered path, listening to the other birds that had joined the chorus of the first. He whistled along as he looked around him. Among the trees, it felt as though eyes were watching him. Garren remained steadfast as he treaded on, fixing his eyes on the road ahead.

Suddenly, rain started to fall. It was a light rain, not more that a sprinkle. Garren covered himself in one of Denmont’s thick cloaks, a bit big for his small frame, but it kept him dry. The rain started to pour harder now, and Garren picked up his pace. One thought lingered in his mind: the storms. He hadn’t predicted any storms coming. His heart raced as he now sprinted along the path.

Perhaps this was merely a normal rain. Garren sighed. He sank against the trunk of a crooked oak tree. The sound of the rain became drowned out by a heavy wind. Garren pulled his cloak tighter around his body. A petite female figure stood nearby, reaching a slender arm out to him. He looked up directly into a pair of gray eyes and a pretty, tanned face. Though not as elegant as the queen, she was rather cute, in a girlish sort of way. Her shining black hair flowed with exuberance in the wind. She waved her hand in front of Garren’s face, whispering something, as he suddenly felt dizzy.

The rain was pouring again, though harder than before. Garren’s cloak was soaked. How long had he been out? Garren thought about the vision as he clambered to his feet.

Three figures appeared on the path ahead, all walking on foot. One was noticeably taller than the other two. They held hooded lanterns that glowed faintly in the new fog. “You there, boy!” one called, walking ahead of the others. “What are you doing out here getting drenched in the rain?”

“I’m trying to find my way to town,” Garren shouted back.

By the time he reached the first man, Garren could tell that he didn’t like him. The man’s scruffy face scowled under his hood. “To pick a few pockets, no doubt,” he grumbled, yellow teeth showing as he spoke.

“I was…”

Before Garren could continue, the taller man had reached them. “Now, Wadril, we shouldn’t assume anything about the boy.” He looked Garren over with his piercing blue eyes, but his manner was much more peaceful that Wadril’s.

“I still don’t trust him, Ocuric.” He turned to Garren. “Where you from, boy?” Wadril reached out and rustled Garren’s hair.

“I live alone in the forest, past the river.” Garren backed out of Wadril’s touch, scowling. “And my name is Garren.”

The third man joined the others. He was about as old as Denmont. His white hair was disheveled and beard rather unkempt. A longbow was slung over his back along with a quiver of arrows. “Well, Garren, there’s no use standing out here in the rain,” he said in a softer, almost whispery voice. “Let’s get you back to town.” The thought of a good meal already comforted Garren as he eagerly followed the three men.

Before they reached town, Garren heard Ocuric and Wadril whispering to each other. He couldn’t make out a word either of the two was saying, but it sounded as though they were talking about him. He decided to make a run for it, before something happened to him.

Horus was in front of the two, fortunately not paying any attention to him. He slipped off into the brush. While running, however, his foot crushed pinecone. Ocuric rushed over and grabbed him by his collar. “What do you think you are doing?” A dark shadow covered the man’s face. He no longer looked as gentle as he first had. “You could get lost out here.”

Garren said nothing.

“If you try to run away again, you won’t be so lucky. Now, stay where we can see you.” Ocuric dropped Garren on the ground in front of him. He just walked over to where Horus and Wadril waited, and followed along obediently.

* * *

The streets of Adwiennor were flooded with vendors and merchants from all over, and the flocks of prospective customers for their wares. It was the Sixth Day, the day when just about everyone was out running errands or making merriment. On one street corner a minstrel sang, his voice ringing out over the bustle of conversation and gossip among the crowd. Garren rather admired the song and wanted to stop and enjoy the man’s singing, but Wadril pulled him along.

The façade of the building Garren was being led to was designed to look like a palace, with polished pillars holding up the marquee, which was covered with a sheet of cloth, above the entrance. Banners of red, green and blue flew from the roof of the two-story building.

“Welcome to the Brass Monkey.” A dark-skinned woman wafted out of the tavern to greet the men, grinning at them. Wadril took to her right away, breaking ahead to stand closer to her. She giggled lightly as he kissed her hand.

“He’s got one in every town. Charms them like an enchanter, he does,” the older man, who earlier introduced himself as Horus, laughed.

The Brass Monkey wasn’t very crowded, but then again most of the patrons were outside doing their business. The few that were here, however, were too immersed in their drinks to pay any attention to them. The aroma of spices and baking bread hit Garren in the face as he entered. He licked his lips, anticipating his next meal.

“We’ll sit here,” Ocuric said, leading Garren to a vacant booth on the far side of the room. Garren slid uneasily into his seat. Wadril joined them moments later, with the dark-skinned woman following with an empty tray.

“What will it be, sirs?”

Garren was about to order steak and potatoes, but Wadril interrupted him. “Nothing but ciders all ‘round.” Ocuric and Horus nodded, but Garren frowned in discontent. The woman smiled and departed.

Ocuric drummed his hands on the edge of the table. “Tonight we put you to work, Garren.”

“Work?” Garren’s eyes widened.

“It’s simple, really,” Horus whispered. “You cause a mischief in town, and we act as bounty hunters and capture you.”

“And we split the reward,” Wadril added. It didn’t take long for Garren to realize that ‘we’ didn’t include him.

“What do you want me to do?” Garren took his mug as the woman passed them out.

Ocuric stopped drumming and looked at Wadril, who returned a toothy grin that Garren didn’t like. “Well, boys, let’s drink to tonight!”

The four men clapped their mugs together, and then downed the frothy liquid in unison. While the others laughed and continued to drink, Garren shifted and sank lower in his seat. He dreaded tonight’s coming, and his uneasiness, mixed with his growing hunger, made him feel nauseous. He closed his eyes and tried to think of the queen or the girl.

Instead, Garren was back in the castle courtroom. The young man who had ignored the king and queen in his first vision paced about, murmuring curses under his breath. Maybe, Garren thought, he would respond to the name the king had called him.

“Tarin?”

The man looked at Garren as if he understood.
Before any more words could be said, Garren’s sight grew cloudy. He was lying in a bed, and someone hovered over him, tugging at his clothes. “Feeling better, young lad?”

Garren sat up in the bed and looked around. His possessions were placed neatly in a pile on a nearby table. “Where am I? What happened?”

“You were out cold for a few hours. I brought you up to a room here so you could rest, but it appears like you are well again.” She felt Garren’s forehead. “Your friends are in the room next door. I’ll let them know you are awake.”
Garren’s face went pallid with terror. “No! They aren’t my friends. I am their prisoner, and they plan to use me in a foul scheme.

The woman listened intently as Garren recounted the details of the plan. “Well, sugar, we can devise a plan of our own so that nothing will happen to you.”

In hushed voices, Garren and the woman began discussing their plot.