She crept carefully down the long dank passageway. Her soft footsteps gave a slight echo as her foot disturbed a broken stone, causing her to take an involuntary deep breath. The mouldy stench filled her mouth and made her splutter. The noise echoed eerily down the passageway, and she immediately pressed her back up against the slimy wall and extinguished her candle. The smoke from the snuffed flame curled up into her nostrils, but she was glad of it. It at least masked the stale stench that was slowly turning her stomach.
She waited. A moment, a lifetime, she wasn’t sure. Amid the deafening silence she could hear the slow methodical drip of water on stone and the scratching scuffles of the sewer rats. When she was confident that there was no one following her, she forced herself to relax a little and continued her way forward.
She fumbled for the coal stone in her pocket. Producing it from a small leather pouch, she gently blew on it and immediately a happy flame flickered to life. After lighting the candle she quickly put it away, before it became totally engulfed, and continued down the tunnel without incident until she came upon a fork.
A dark tunnel veered off to the left, while the tunnel ahead turned to steps leading upwards toward a dim light. She expected this intersection eventually, but now that the anticipation was over, her hands really began shaking. She reached into her belt pouch for the sewer map, as she studied it her braid fell over her shoulder. She flicked it back before it caught aflame by the candle, then traced her fingers over the lines of the map. Two left turns, one right, then straight on until the path divides left to continue on to the centre of the town, or straight up the stairs. She folded the map up again, confident that she was on track, and began ascending the stairs.
She came up against a dark wooden trapdoor that emitted a dull light around the edges and through an open knot in one of the planks. The air escaping through the trapdoor was cool, but stale. It wasn’t much better than the air in the sewers which caused her to worry over whether this was the right door or not. Regardless, she had no choice, and the others were counting on her.
She blew out the candle and pushed gently on the trapdoor. It was heavy, and it creaked slightly. In one fluid movement she quickly pushed the door up and then ducked back down into the tunnel. She kept her hand close to her right boot where she concealed a dagger and waited, scanning the space through the trapdoor with sharp eyes. The dust from the room above billowed out from the movement of the trapdoor and was beginning to fall down the tunnel. There was no one in the room but hungry mice so she cautiously poked her head up and stared around.
The dim light of pre dawn was filtering through a filthy window perched high up on the far wall so she blew out the candle and put it away and carefully climbed up into the room. Her boots thunked quietly on the dusty stone floor. Footsteps on the wooden floor above sent a rippling pulse of panic down her spine.
“You idiot, “ she whispered fiercely to herself, and straightened up dusting herself off. She looked around. Lining most of the walls were stacks of crates and rubbish that were mostly covered with dust. A few crates near the door were dust free, as was the floor surrounding them, and she could clearly make out footprints leading from the crates over to a door.
She crept over to the crates and peered inside. Empty. Her heart rate quickened as she traced the sound of the footsteps from above the room she was in. The methodical heavy clunking suggested that they were descending some stairs and were now getting closer and closer to the door just to her left. With shaking knees she quickly crept back to the trapdoor and disappeared down the tunnel, closing the lid behind her just as the door to the basement room opened. Silent as a mouse she peered through the open knot in the trapdoor, but could see little.
Heavy boots were walking lightly towards the crates where she had just been. She heard some quiet profanity and then they disappeared back through the door. After a long while listening and waiting she ventured up through the trapdoor again, this time with renewed hope as the smell of food wafted in on the wind from when the other person opened the door. She peered through the keyhole, which exuded a light. She expected to find what she had been sent for, but nothing prepared her for this.
Piled high from floor to roof on different levels were crates and crates stacked full with fruit, vegetables, grains, animals, and other foodstuffs. The enormity of the stocks of food overwhelmed her and her stomach growled fiercely with hunger. Her mouth watered like never before and she almost cried out in desperation.
She had not seen even the tiniest scrap of food for at least six days and neither had the entire village, and now she knew why. She scanned the room and found the man who had just exited the room that she was peering from. He was tall and solid with shoulder length black hair which was thinning on top. She could only see him from behind, but from his dark clothes she knew who he was, and she knew that if he turned she would find a large scar up his right cheek that her crew had inflicted on him earlier this year.
Drewen Hawkson stood arrogantly not far from a shabby curtain which half shielded a small bedroom from her eyes. He reached down to a table next to two roughly made beds, occupied by two sleeping men, and picked up a half finished cigar and lit it with an expensive flint lighter.
Carlin, crouching behind the door, gritted her teeth. She was furious, but not surprised. Everyone suspected that Drewen had something to do with the sudden disappearance of all the food in the village and surrounds. Thieves and bandits could never have pulled off such a heist, not to this scale and not so quickly leaving no trace. Even the forests were stripped of food.
She let out a deep breath, stood up, and brushed her face with her hands. She was so tired, but what could she do. Everyone was weak from hunger, only she had the strength to try to find out who was behind all this.
Angry and exhausted she decided the best action was to return to her crew, because although she was stronger than any human, she did not know how many men there actually were guarding all that food. She crossed over to the trapdoor and proceeded to climb back down into the tunnel, but having the answers to her task of finding all the food made her complacent. Her boots clunked loudly on the trapdoor lid as she crouched down to climb through into the sewer.
She realised her mistake even before Drewen’s quick and heavy steps came charging towards the door. Panic rose up in her throat and she rushed, almost fell, down into the tunnel. As she flicked the trapdoor closed behind her, she heard the basement door fly open. She scrambled quickly down the steps two or three at a time with incredible accuracy considering she was submersed in darkness.
“Hey, “ roared Drewen as he flipped back the trapdoor with such ferocity that its hinges groaned angrily. “Rasten, Andersen, get up you bastards.“ He let out a string of profanities as he descended the stairs in hot pursuit of her, but he wasn’t as sure footed. Within moments, he slipped a few steps but managed to gain control again. Ignoring the darkness and focussing on the sound of the footfalls of the person he was chasing, he reached the bottom of the stairs and raced along the tunnel.
The musty air whipped around, billowing his cloak out behind him. He could hear the footsteps getting louder, and he snorted in satisfaction as he gained speed. He was catching up, and if they were not in darkness he was sure he would be able to see her.
He heard the footsteps ahead falter a little and let out an exalted breath. He was so close, just a bit farther. Sure that he was about to tackle the hunted he pushed himself hard to gain more speed. A flame flickered up ahead and he could see her just metres ahead of him. A trim girl wearing forest garb with an animal skin sack dangling from her side. He grinned in shear delight and considered the sport he and the others could partake in once she was captured, but when he saw her long braid dangling down her back he choked back an exclamation of fear.
She was not just a girl. She belonged to the race of gilden, who frequented villages but lived in the forest. They looked human, acted human, and even spoke like humans. However, they were far from that. Humans kept their hair cropped short, for fashion, health, and rank. The gilden however had long hair, which marked them apart from humans.
Drewen tried to slow down, to quit the chase, because he knew that three men were no match against one gilden. They had strength beyond that of a human, and wielded arcane magic that no human would be game enough to try. He swore and began to call out to his guards who were somewhere behind him down the tunnel, but was cut off when a massive flaming ball of red fire exploded in front of him, consuming all air and space in the immediate surrounds within the tunnel.
The fire, searing hot, burned his face and arms. As he tried to shield himself, he fell onto the hard stone next to some scorched rats, and the ball of flame winked itself out. He cursed as he pulled himself together, furious that he had failed. He heard Carlin’s footsteps echoing out into the distance, and his guards’ footsteps getting closer and closer behind him. He stood up to greet their surprised and anxious faces, but didn’t say anything as he shoved his way past them. Disgusted and hurt, he made his way back along the tunnel towards the warehouse where the stocks of food were kept. At least, he thought, she didn’t get to take any, but he’d have to step up security before word is spread all over the village.
Carlin could hear her heavy footfalls surrounding her within the last stretches of the tunnel. Up ahead the dawn was turning gold and casting its rays into the sewer, illuminating all the refuge she was skipping around. To avoid landing in a pool of sewage, she climbed around the tunnel opening up the side and over the grassy embankment. Still fearful of her pursuers she kept low to the ground and kept her speed up as she raced towards the edge of the forest.
The chilly dawn air tugged at her clothes, but she paid no heed. Scrambling quickly through the sparse trees and long grass she could see the forest looming up before her still draped in darkness. There was an eerie silence to the air; no birds, no animals, and even more disturbing there were no insects. It gave the surrounds a peculiar ambience, and it also made it difficult to keep quiet as there were no sounds to disguise her movements through the brush.
Carlin ducked under a bush hastily as she heard a quick shuffle in the grass nearby. She recognised the person scruffling past, and she reached up, cupped her hand over his mouth, and pulled him down into the grass with her. He let out a muffled yelp and tried struggling, giving up in relief only when he saw who had captured him.
“Carlin,“ he exclaimed, “You scared me half to death. “
“Tyrran, what are you doing out here scampering around like a thief in the night?”
“The Preceptor sent me to scout out to the west.” He paused a moment, hesitating as if he was about to tackle a sensitive issue, “He’s had another vision. He sees an army led by General Westmarker of Carron Village over the river. He thinks they’re forming for attack. No one believed it to be true, I was the only one who offered to scout it out.” He paused again, playing with his clothing nervously. “I’m afraid he may be right.“
“What do you mean? They can’t possibly be. What on earth could be driving them to attack?” Carlin held him by the shoulders.
“I don’t know, but no one in the village knows and with this food crisis no one has the energy or strength of mind. We’ve got to warn them otherwise it’ll be an all out slaughter.” Tyrran’s boyish face was distorted with worry. His nervous hands came up to straighten his long hair that had fallen from its braid.
“Come on, we’ve got to get back to the Preceptor. I know where all the food is, and who’s behind it all.”
“But shouldn’t we warn the village?” Tyrran asked anxiously.
“No, come on. We have to report back first.” Carlin pulled him up and cautiously looked around. There was no sign of Drewen and his guards, but they raced quickly towards the forest anyway.
Upon approaching the revered tree of gildenkind both Carlin and Tyrran dropped to their knees in prayer. They chanted passionately, if quickly, and wasted no time when they finished.
“They’re back, “ called the watchers, almost in unison. Deep within the forest, from under bushes, branches and rocks, the gilden crawled out of their havens, rubbing the slumber from their eyes. They emerged from the thicket and filed towards the clearing where they held council. As they seated, they grouped themselves into their crews, with the exception of Carlin and Tyrran who headed towards a fallen tree trunk where the Preceptor was already seated.
They bowered in reverence and remained kneeling while reporting all they had seen and discovered that night. The gilden remained quiet, but unsettled, as each tale was told, their concern etched clearly on their faces. The Preceptor remained stoic and when the two had finished reporting in, he raised his arms for quiet and attention.
He did not speak. He never spoke. Instead he used hand and arm gestures, and clicks with his tongue to express his beliefs. His audience, as always, were in awe of his wisdom. By the end of his silent speech, he held every eye in the crowd, and had filled them with hope. A plan was devised to counter Drewen’s cruel plan to feed the coming army and betray his own village, and they all cheered in celebration as the suns waking rays pierced warmly through the forest canopy.
