The Messenger: A Hailgalad Story

Frits woke to the faint light of an old night. All was still, but he could smell something was burning. He tried to shift his body as he felt Jon's hand still in his. Jon was unmoving and looked to be in a peaceful sleep.

You did not deserve this, no one deserves to die like this, Frits thought to himself as he stared at Jon. At least he was not alone.

He gave Jon's hand one final squeeze and tried to roll, but the pain shot all over his body like little daggers needling their way deeper and deeper. It suddenly all rushed back to him.

The weerwolven bursting out of the brush and the attack by the river. Eva riding off like a gale into the distance. Frits abandoning the mission, abandoning his friend.

Regret rushed into his head, making him dizzy as he laid there and thought, You gave up. What is wrong with you? You are a messenger of the crown and you abandoned your mission. You deserve this. You deserve to lay here and die.

Anger swelled as he laid in agony. The pain in this arm and side was almost too much to bear. A flash of being stabbed by the northfolk solider flashed in his mind and he winced. He put his hand down to his side and felt his blood soaked tunic and the blanket he had bunched up to put pressure on his wound.

Then, an odd thought came into his head, how am I alive?

Before he could rationalize an answer, the door to the cabin burst open. There were two northfolk laughing and eating food. Frits turned his head to see them with arms full of the supplies from the cabin. They had a small, open fire outside where a chair and some of the books were burning.

"We had better get going. Need to join up with the raiding party," the larger one said.

Frits shuddered as he recognized the figure. He was the one that stabbed him in the side. He remembered the harsh laugh and his thick beard as he fell in an unconscious heap.

"I'm not going out in those fields," sneered another who was the smallest of the bunch.

The group spoke in heavy, jaded voices and it was clear the Vaeloran dialect was not their first language. It seemed that they must have different tribal languages and this dialect was the only one they shared.

The small one continued, ”Once they get their horses out there, we will be hunted down and killed. We would not stand a chance."

A woman who was holding a large broadsword over her shoulder cut in, "The chiefs say their royal army is out west fighting those Vaelorans. Let them kill each other. More spoils for us. The horses won't come to save them."

"Besides, their capital is a bit busy with the surprise Bok had for them," the large man said with a chuckle.

"Do you know what it is? The chiefs don't share anything with us," the smaller northfolk asked.

"It was some kind of sickness. I don't understand this magic stuff, but I know someone in the Yeleai leadership that was assigned as a guard around Bok's hold. He stays up by the ruins. She said he is able to conjure great and deadly works. Just like the catapult that busted down those gates," the woman laughed a hoarse laugh that shook Frits' spine.

"How do you think it will fare against the stone walls of their big city south?" the large man asked. "I have never seen anything that large and strong before. It seems impossible if you ask me."

"Good thing I'm not asking you," the woman countered. "It will do its job. Bok has not let us down yet. With the sickness, once the walls are down the capital will be ours for the taking."

"Why are we here anyway?" the small one whined again. "I understand their town in the North, but this is so far from home. Why should we risk our lives for this? Why not just go home with what we already got and save our skins?"

"Quiet! Do you want one of his wolf people to come down on us?" the woman went down to a harsh whisper. "Didn't one of them come to your tribe and tell you about what these people did to our ancestors? Those lands in the North were ours and they have taken them and killed our people for generations. The plunder they used to build this kingdom came from our people. This is our best hope to take it back."

The large man looked around, and spoke in a low voice that Frits could barely hear, "Anyway, I heard the Trimbi refused to march for Bok. He sent in his wolf people and conjurers to teach them a lesson. Let's just say there is no more Trimbi anymore. Those that were not killed were enslaved in their minds somehow."

"I have seen them," the woman said in agreement. "Strange folk that don't seem themselves. Either we fight as free folk or we fight was mindless slaves."

"I still don't get why attack the capital. It seems too risky," the smaller one shook his head. "We should just fortify our winnings in the North. The forest is the only part worth saving anyway. Who needs those fields of grass?"

"Think about it," started the woman. "If we attacked Frostwatch and went home, the capital would eventually hear about it. Once they did, they would send their royal army to snuff us out for good. We know that in a fight with our tribes separated and with without Bok, they would destroy us. Better to take care of them now. Crush them good before they know what's going on."

"That's why we had to hunt these boys," the large one laughed and kicked Jon's body. Frits' friend flipped over so he was now face down. "Couldn't let them run home and tell those in the stone fortress what is going on."

Anger leapt into Frits' head. He wished so dearly get up and cut each of them down, but he did not have the strength to intervene. He tried to steady his breath and stay quiet. If he was still, he may have hope they would move on after a while.

If I can, if I have the strength, I need to make it to the capital, he thought. They need to hear about this. It is my duty.

"That other one, the woman, she made it though. Our archers missed her in the dark," the smaller one said. "What if she made it?"

"Shh," the northfolk woman countered. "Right now, only we know that. If we keep it to ourselves, we may escape punishment."

"They told us that the horse fell. That is worth something," the smaller one said. "She can't run all the way to the city before our army arrives. She's as good as dead.”

As if their uncertainty summoned it, a weerwolven crashed though the brush. He growled and circled the area. Fear gripped Frits' heart as he tried to stay as still as possible. He could hear the wolves heavy footsteps and it's loud snorts as it scoped out the area. Then, a cloud of black smoke enveloped the creature and revealed the tall, slender man that was in the woodsman community.

"Report," he said harshly.

"We hunted the last of the riders," the large man said as he drew himself up. "No word is getting to the capital."

"Do you think I am stupid?" the slender man asked without looking at them.

"U-uh no," the large man stuttered. "That is why you are the boss."

"I am not the one in charge. You know who is," the slender man said in response.

With that word, he grabbed the blade the woman held and impaled the large northfolk man. The blade went through his heavy leather and cloth winter armor. With a wheeze of air, he fell to his knees in a heap.

"And he does not take kindly to failure. Where is the woman?"

"The woman?" the northfolk woman asked in a confused and frightened tone.

“There was a woman rider. I see two men here on the ground. There was a third. She was a woman on a white horse," the weerwolven captain spat. His patience was wearing thin as he paced before them.

"She must have gotten away," the woman said with her head bowed low. Her eyes were fixed on her companion that was dying. "We will look for her right away."

The captain gave the northfolk woman a backhand that sent her into the ground, even though she looked considerable stronger than the man.

"Enough, you will never catch her on foot. I will find her and I will finish this."

The man turned to walk away, but he stopped and peered over to Frits. The messenger's blood ran cold by the sight of the weerwolven's shrewd, piercing eyes.

"That one is alive. Take care of it."

Just as quickly as he appeared, black smoke rose up and he was gone, howling into the cold morning air.

The woman got to her feet and pulled her blade out of the large man. "You are pathetic."

"What do you mean?" the smaller one counter as they walked over to Frits.

"You just sat there like a little rat. You were just as much to blame as either of us. It should have been you that got stuck," she spat and punched him.

"Maybe," the other chuckled nervously. "But it is all over now. Let's finish this scum and get on our way."

The woman kicked Frits hard on his left side. He was grateful it was the side that did not have the stab wound, but it still hurt and knocked all his wind out of him. He coughed and curled into a ball on the ground.

The woman whistled, "He is still alive. Tough little runt to take a blade and survive the night."

Frits opened his eyes to see his attackers. The woman rose her axe to land the finishing blow.

I suppose this is how it ends, he thought as he held his breath.

A strange calm draped over him as he welcomed his final moments. It meant a finish to the suffering, an end to the nightmare.

"Wait," the smaller one chuckled. "Let's toss him in the river. Give him to the water god, Arshnu, to devour."

The woman hesitated, then shrugged. She threw her axe to the side, "Alright, beats cleaning one more's blood from my blade. Get his legs."

Frits struggled as she carried him. They laughed at his feeble attempts to fight them off.

"Look who just woke up," the smaller one laughed. "Hope you are thirsty. We will get you a little drink."

Frits tried his best to break free as he heard their feet squish in the mud of the riverbed. He did not know how or what he would do if he got free, but he tried as hard as he could to no avail. His body was too broken and too exhausted to do much of anything in their strong grasp.

The two stopped at the edge of the river. Frits could hear the loud, rushing water under him. "Will this kill him?" the woman asked, unsure of the act. "I don't want to know what will happen to us if he survives."

"No chance he will live," said the other. "Barely alive as it is. Would be dead soon if we left him on the ground. Current will whip him up and drown him before anything else."

They laughed again and heaved Frits into the icy depths of the Frostfall.

***

Frits felt lifeless as his body fall into the water. The current was strong and it immediately dragged him into a somersault. He could not control his body as he was tossed under the water in an endless torrent.

He did not struggle, instead, he resigned to the fact that he was dead. His breath has running out and darkness was consuming him.

I am ready, he thought.

That is when another current pushed him to the surface. Sunshine and fresh air greeted him as he emerged from the water. With the air came new life. Frits was quickly woken up by the cold water as he realized the armor he still had on his arms and legs was pulling him back down. He found himself submerged again as all went dark once more. Numb from the cold, he was able to struggle all of the dirty steel and leather armor off until he was just in his cloth shirt, pants, and boots.

Now relieved of his burdens, Frits floated back to the surface. The cool water rushed over him and the sun shone bright down onto his face. The current had let up in this area and he slowly passed along the watery path. For a moment, he was genuinely at peace as he floated along in the river. Frits let out a loud sigh of relief. The water seemed to give him new life and strengthen his body.

It was not long lived as the river started to quicken once more. He lifted his head to see he was now in the middle of the wide river. Down the way, he could hear the rushing of rapids. Although he could not see, he had to get out of the river.

Fritz started to struggle to riverbed, but the water was moving too quickly. To his dismay, white rapids were right in front of him. Without warning, the helpless man was dragged treacherously down, under the water again. His body was again thrust back and forth under the current. It seemed like an endless torment from which he could not escape. That was until he hit the back of his head against a rock and everything went black.

***

Frits woke with his face in the mud. His legs were still being dragged by the rushing current as his torso was firmly planted in the riverbed. He still felt at peace and did not wish to move a muscle. He knew it would only bring back the shooting pain and agony. With a loud sigh, he lowered his head to his left cheek and closed his eyes.

Then, he heard the plotting of heavy feet in the mud. Some animal was sniffing around him which filled Frits with fear. He thought of the wolf and knew it was hopeless if it was the beast. He winced and tried to brace himself for a deadly blow.

None came, but the sniffing came to his hair, then a lick. Frits raised his head to see a familiar face.

"Taunten," Frits chuckled softly.

The horse snorted in what Frits took to be a happy greeting. He nuzzled his snout into the man's neck.

"Okay, okay," Frits said as he struggled up to a slumped, seated position. "You did not leave me this time. I am grateful you have found me. I could not have asked for a better companion."

As he sat there, he heard the pounding of hooves nearby. They approached at a brisk pace. Fear subsided in him as he knew none of the enemy he saw was horsed. Frits looked to the noise, but it was blurry in the sunshine.

"Frits?" a voice shouted as a figure dismounted one of the horses.