Author: Johannes "Jergen[K]" Cruz			Viewing: Chapter 3

Caer Dublin sat nestled between a stream and the beginning of the Vanassair foothills. In three generations what had been a heavily forested valley had been turned into rolling pasteurized hills and sprawling farmsteads. The town itself was little more than a trading post for the local dairy farmers and slaughterhouses that prepared their goods and shipped them south via the Vanassair River but it did boast a stout stone wall, and a garrison that saw little action from either raiders or outlaws. Because of this, those that lived in the outlying realm generally considered themselves fortunate to live in such a tame land. Like the spokes of a wheel four roads lead from the city into the outlying countryside. Each one carried its fair share of traffic this late in the day from farmers returning home from the marketplace. William watched the farmers pass him by with little curiosity. Most of the travelers stared at the man in his makeshift cage, and a few of them even managed a rude gesture or two. William paid them no heed, he wasn’t worried about his fate here, and had no doubts that when he was brought before the magistrate that he would be set free. Sure, he had been party to several incidents in the past, but that was a long time ago, and since then he had gone straight. A particularly sharp jolt sent him sprawling in the cage once again. He rolled over onto his side and forced himself to sit up, cursing his bruised buttocks and hands. He frowned imagining the bruises he would have from this journey. The guard riding second to the old farmer pointed at a man wearing the tabard colors of the Prince, “there,” he grunted. The wagon lazily moved itself along the rutted road, coming to stop in front of the man in the Prince’s livery. The guard dismounted form the wagon and saluted hastily. “Prisoner from the outpost sir,” he reported. He handed the man a small writ and then moved to untie the cage. “Come along nicely now,” he said to William. “We don’t want any trouble from the likes of you.” William snorted at the man as he moved to slide out of the back of the wagon. His legs felt rubbery under him, but they somehow managed to hold him up. The guard had him by his right arm and was leading him along briskly behind the officer of the guard when they entered the guardhouse and then took a set of steps down below the wall to a branching of corridors. The entire complex was made of worked stone, and oddly enough was much lower than the height of an average man. They came to a passageway filled with ironbound doors. They stopped in front of the first door on the right and the officer opened it and motioned the guard to unburden himself. As William passed by his hands were unbound and the door closed and locked behind him. He faced the door, trying to look through the slit near its top and even considered calling out, but decided against it. He had been in similar situations enough times to know it wouldn’t make any difference. Turning, he took in the room he had been locked into. There was a straw mattress that to his surprise looked fairly clean, and next to that stood a bucket of nearly fresh water. There were no windows, but the area didn’t seem overly damp, and as far as he could tell there weren’t any vermin living in the rushes that had been scattered across the stone floor. Light was provided by torches that burned in sconces along the wall outside of his room, but it was bright enough to see. As prisons went, this one wasn’t all that bad. As a matter of fact, he had paid for rooms worse than this one. William sighed as he moved over to the straw mattress and tried to make himself comfortable. It might be hours until they came for him, and if he was very unlucky, it could be days. *** The rain from the night before had made him feel almost clean again. It had started just after sunset, and had accompanied him through the entire evening’s run. Then, just before dawn, the moons had risen and pushed back the dark shroud of clouds in all of their silver glory. He had smiled to them, those twin sisters, as they had reached out to him with gossamer fingertips and colored his way with the brightness of starlight. He had been able to keep running despite his pain and growing fatigue thanks to their gentle uplifting gift. He came to a road at daybreak, and knowing it to be good cover to evade his trackers, he ran along it for a while. It was a north road, and as far as he could tell, north was as good a direction as any as long as it led him away from his captors. Twice he had to dive from the road and seek the underbrush against passers by, but both times it had been nothing more than wagons laden with sacks of grain or flour and neither had seen him. He doubted if he had stood directly in the road and shouted that they would have roused enough to take note, but he knew that he could afford no chance for mistakes or discovery. Those looking for him would provide gold to speed the tongues of those they questioned, and if that didn’t work they would in turn use steel and cut the information from them. At noon he found a stream, and after following it away from the road, a clear pond. He stripped his clothes from his body and quickly bathed himself. After this he washed each piece of his tattered clothing as thoroughly as he could before laying it out to dry on a flat rock. He laid himself out on another rock and soaked in the gentle warmth of the noon sun, and soon he managed to drift off into the half-sleep he had grown so accustomed to. He was light in this world, so light he could float, and everything sung to him. Some of the notes were high and resonant, others were lower, a deep bass thrum not unlike that of distant thunder. The music was real here, the notes tickling his flesh and pulling him. The sounds tugged at him, drawing him in every direction, and thus he spun in place, his arms wide to accept the embrace of the chorus as he laughed at the sheer joy of it. Then he was awake. He felt his body tumble as if compelled, and at once he slammed into his waking and sore flesh. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked as he sat up, the muscles of his sun-warmed flesh rippling with the effort. At first he did not understand what had woken him. Every sense was alert, searching for something that was not right. He felt himself begin to tremble from the anxiety of waiting, the fingers of his right hand absently toyed with the broken links of his collar as he stood from the rock and began dressing. The stiff leather of the clothes felt dirty against his skin, and he could still smell himself in them despite his attempt at cleaning them, but he felt better for having them on than not. Then he knew. Fire. He could sense it more than see or smell it. The forest was dead silent with it, and fear washed over him like a cold slap. He shook his head, and water sprayed out from his hair to splatter on the rocks about him. The feeling of panic passed, leaving him free of his senses. He turned a slow circle, reaching out with every breath to find the source of the flames. Then the smell of burning wood caught his nostrils, and he turned to face it and ran.