Captain Márden's Tale: Part 3 - A Desperate Flight

"We have to rest", said Tárenis, turning to his companion, Márden, as the two young men reached the pass of Kel Stûras, having ridden hard north across the barony of Néln, avoiding all contact with locals.

Their horses were exhausted, and the two young men were equally tired, not having halted since leaving the ford of Òdelýn. They had begun their journey early that morning, had slept little the night before, and had been travelling south on this same route only the day before.

Dusk was falling once again, with a low mist covering the Kúden valley behind them, and sea fog rolling in over the Démath marshes before them. It was growing cold and damp.

Márden sagged in his saddle. He was haggard, exhausted in ways far beyond the physical. He nodded silent agreement, and slipped from the horse to the ground. His legs nearly gave way, but he managed to steady himself, and lead his horse off the trail towards the stones of Kel Stûras.

"Over here", said Márden. These were virtually the only words he had spoken since they had left Òdelýn.

"Here? Amongst the stones?". Tárenis looked dubiously at the looming monoliths in the growing gloom.

"Yes. Here. This is a place of my ancestors. I feel safer here than... anywhere else I can think of right now".

Tárenis was unconvinced, but the surprising sense of authority in his companion's voice, which he had missed since the dreadful news last evening, was enough to persuade him to go along.

Márden led his horse and his companion through the outer stones, and deep into the ruins that made up the Kel. The stones were ancient and moss-covered, and the rising fog flicked around them in wisps and eddies. There were several rings of stones, some standing, some tumbled over. Some were large monoliths, others smaller markers.

In a hollow near the central circle, Márden halted, and looked back towards the trail. It was now entirely obscured by the stones. He nodded to himself, satisfied. He tethered his horse with a rock, and began to unpack their camp gear. Tárenis assisted him, and soon they had set up a make-shift tent against a bank, and ate a cold meal of hardbread, preserved meat and cheese. Tárenis wished they could light a fire, but he sensed that Márden had no interest in additionally light, and their seemed perilously little dry kindling or firewood in any case.

Despite the cold, they soon began to drift off to sleep, huddled together for warmth.

❧

Márden awoke with start. He felt groggy, but his head cleared rapidly and his heart began to race when he heard, carried on the wind, the whiny of a horse. The sound came from some distance off, below the pass, back the way they had come. He strained to listen, and heard the unmistakable drumming sound of hooves at a canter - several horses, moving at a good pace, and in the dark.

He sat up. Tárenis was sound asleep beside him. He quietly rose, taking care not to disturb his friend. He crept from their shelter, and checked the horses. They were quiet and well tethered. He made his way cautiously towards the trail, ensuring he kept well shielded by the stones.

He suddenly saw a glint of torchlight, bobbing in the night, and heard the sound of horse hooves. A group of horsemen, perhaps ten or twelve strong, was riding hard up the slope from the valley below, towards the pass. He crouched down beside a large stone, but kept careful watch.

As the group rapidly approached, he could make out that there were in fact a dozen of them, all fully armed. Their tabards and shields were emblazoned with a white hound on a dark background - clearly the arms of the Duchess of Kolârè. The hounds were hunting, and he was pretty sure he knew their quarry.

Márden's heart drummed in his ears, and he could scarcely believe the riders could not hear it. He pushed himself even closer into the stone, but could not tear his eyes away.

The riders paused at the top of the pass, and he would have sworn one of them looked straight at him. The conferred for a moment, then their leader spurred his horse onwards, beyond the stones, and towards the marshes and Tálgadh lodge.

The riders' hooves thudded on the damp earth but soon the pass and the standing stones were quiet again, and the glint of the torch light had vanished down the slope beyond the pass. Márden realised he had hardly breathed the whole time he had watched the riders, and sucked in a huge breath.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and only just managed to stifle a cry. He spun round, and saw Tárenis crouched in the gloom behind him. He slumped back against the stone in relief.

"They were after us, right?", Tárenis whispered.

Márden nodded.

"Where have they gone?", Tárenis asked.

A terrible feeling, a mixture of fear and revulsion, washed through Márden, as his friend's question caused him to realise where the riders were headed.

"The lodge!", he exclaimed under his breath. Márden sudden sprang up from his hiding place and rushed back towards their shelter and horses. In the dark he nearly stumbled and fell, but Tárenis caught up to him and steadied him.

"We have to warn them!" Márden rushed around their small campsite, tearing down the shelter and beginning to pack their belongings.

Tárenis stood quietly, watching his friend's frantic action, hesitating.

"Márden...", he eventually said.

Márden looked up, noticing his companion had not been assisting, and had in fact been standing motionless.

"Tárenis! Come on, help me. We have to hurry!".

Tárenis remained silent for a brief moment.

"No".

His voice was quiet, but determined.

Márden looked up, astonished.

"What do you mean? We must hurry! They must be warned!".

"No", said Tárenis. "Listen to me, Márden. There is nothing we can do".

Márden stopped his packing and stood, slack-jawed, gaping at his friend. He could scarcely find words.

"The riders are now far ahead of us. Whatever we do, they will reach the lodge first. If we try to ride after them, we risk being caught. And whatever we might want, that is not our duty. Our duty is to our houses. And that means staying away from trouble... and alive".

"But...."

Tárenis sighed. "Did you listen to what I said, Márden? We can't get involved, and even if we could, we must not. We should get some more rest, but we should leave well before dawn, so that we can make our way towards Eilýria under cover of darkness, in case those riders double back..."

Tárenis began to re-assemble their shelter, and settled down to rest. Márden joined him, but was clearly reluctant. Tárenis ignored him, and tried to sleep.

❧

He had little luck. Many thoughts were racing through is brain, including pangs of guilt at not having taken action to warn the inhabitants of the Tálgadh Lodge; even though he knew that he had been right to stop Márden racing off in the dark after the duchess's riders.

Eventually, after several hours, he gave up, and rose to prepare for to continue their journey in the dark. Astonishingly, Márden had managed to fall asleep, and Tárenis let him rest while he struck their camp and saddled the horses. Only once all was ready did he rouse Márden; his friend was clearly exhausted, and the sleep seemed to have helped little.

"We should lead the horses rather than ride. I don't think we should use any light other than the moon". Márden nodded, still half asleep.

They carefully made their way through the tumble of stones, and back to the main trail, which they followed back to the ridge line. For an hour or so they picked their way down the slope, carefully following the trail and doing their best to avoid injury to themselves or their horses. The trail dropped down from the ridge-line, and ran north-west along the edge of the marshes towards another, lower, ridge.

Here the trail divided, one route leading off to the west, and down towards the marshes, the other running north... towards the lodge. The marks left by the riders were clearly visible, even in the dark, heading north.

Tárenis glanced at his companion, and it was clear that Márden still wished to make his way north, but when Tárenis led his horse to the west and down the trail to the marshes, Márden followed without comment.

The going was slow, in the gloom before dawn, but soon the hints of light began to creep across the sky from the east, lighting the vast expanse of marshland below them. This made their journey easier, but increased the tension. Tárenis felt very exposed on the slopes leading down to the marshes, and constantly glanced northwards.

By the time they reached the end of the ridge-line of hills that jutted west into the marshes, the sun was already rising over the hills behind them. Once again, Tárenis glanced northwards, and this time, he saw something.

Smoke. Rising high in the windless morning. And as best he could judge, it came from where the lodge lay, about 10 leagues to the north.

He glanced at Márden, and saw that his friend had already seen the smoke.

"Márden..."

Márden's expression was grim, but determined.

"Don't worry, Tárenis. You were right. Doesn't make it any better, however".

Tárenis was surprised. This was the Márden of old - the firmness and clarity he was used to.

"We should hurry. If they find we are not at the Lodge, they will return. We must get off this ridge and into the marshes as soon as possible".

Now it was Tárenis' turn to simply nod and agree.

❧

They moved down the slope towards the marshes as quickly as they dared, and soon came to the edge of the reeds and water-ways. The trail continued westwards, marked with poles at irregular intervals.

Márden now led the way, as he had always done in the past. The going was difficult, particularly with horses. Every now and then they had to back-track and find another route, as the trail became too boggy or watery for the horses.

A light mist hung over the marshes in the early autumn morning, and as Tárenis had always found, they were eerily quiet. They did hear the occasional bird or insect buzzing, but it was far too quiet for Tárenis' liking.

It was in just one such quiet moment that Tárenis heard a sound that made his blood run cold. It was the whiny of a horse, and it came from behind them, back up in the hills.

Márden heard it as well, and looked back over his shoulder, but the trees and reeds blocked any view of the hills. Quickly, Márden began to look around for somewhere they could get off the trail.

"Márden...", Tárenis felt a rising sense of alarm.

Márden held his finger up to his lips, signalling for silence. "We need to get off this trail, and fast", he whispered. "And we need to hide our tracks, as best we can".

Up ahead a large clump of trees rose up, and the trail skirted round to the left. Márden led his horse and Tárenis off to the right, through the trees.

Once they were well off the trail, he handed his horse's reins to Tárenis and signalled for him to wait. He then made his way back the way they had come. Tárenis watched, and it was clear that Márden was attempting to cover their tracks, as best he could.

After several minutes, Márden returned, moving quietly and carefully through the undergrowth.

"This way", he said, taking the reins of his horse once again. The two companions continued away from the trail, through the trees, and out beyond them. Márden led them to a rivulet.

"We will need to swim, Tárenis. Make sure you hold the horse tightly".

Márden led off, walking into the water, then swimming forward with strong strokes.

Tárenis muttered a small prayer to Laráni, and followed. He was not a strong swimmer, but thanked his father's foresight in insisting he learn, and Márden's encouragement over the last year.

The water was very cold, and Tárenis gasped as he nearly sank, but managed to pull himself back to the surface. His horse was clearly a better swimmer, and he held onto its mane, and paddled forward after Márden.

They made their way as quietly as they could down the rivulet, around a bend and towards a large clump of reeds and small bushes. Márden reached the edge of the rivulet, and tested the firmness of the ground, which seemed to hold. He pulled himself out, and turned to pull his horse out as well. This was something of a struggle, but he managed it. He led the horse into the reeds, and returned to help both Tárenis and his horse out of the water.

Tárenis was shivering and cold, and exhausted. Márden took charge, however, and led Tárenis deep into the reeds, where the horses were standing. Márden gently coaxed the two horses down onto their knees, and reached into his saddle bag, pulling out feed for both. The horses seemed quite content, and remained quiet. Tárenis, however, was sure that the whole marsh could hear his chattering teeth.

They huddled low, next to their horses, which were warm at least, and listened.

It was not long before, now some distance off, they heard the unmistakable noise of the riders approaching. The riders appeared to be moving very fast, and seemed to be taking little effort to hide their approach. The trail was far beyond sight, but the sounds of the riders travelled well and easily across the marsh.

Suddenly the noises of the riders halted. Tárenis felt Márden tense beside him. They waited agonising moments, straining to hear if the riders had moved on.

Then from away to the west came a yelp or cry. Voices called back and forth; the companions could not make out what was said, but clearly the riders were excited. Shortly they heard the sound of the riders' horses once again, moving swiftly away to the west, down the trail. Several more cries could be heard, each further away and further west. In very short order, they could no longer hear the horses, and silence once again descended on the marsh.

"How long should we wait?", whispered Tárenis. The fear and excitement of the last few minutes had banished all feeling of cold.

"A while. Something strange happened there. Something caused them to think we had ridden on", said Márden.

Márden fed the horses once more, and Tárenis even managed to find some dried meat for the two of them to chew on.

After some time, Márden rose, and crept to the edge of the reeds. He looked out towards the trees where they had left the trail, some 200 yards away. He could see no sign of the riders, or anything else for that matter. In fact, the marshes were almost preternaturally quiet. A shiver ran down his spin, and he spun round and hastened back to Tárenis and the horses as quickly and quietly as he could.

As he stepped into the little hollow they had created in the reeds, Tárenis looked up and would have yelped, if a hand had not snaked out of the reeds behind him and clamped over his mouth. Márden spun round to face whatever it was that had drawn the stifled cry from his companion, and came nose to nose with a tall, dark, hooded man, with piercing eyes and long hair, whose finger was immediately pressed to Márden's lips.

"Quiet now, young master", said the dark figure, in a voice so quiet that Márden could scarcely hear it. But something in the tone of the voice and the calmness of the speaker meant he simply obeyed.

"Good. They said you were a smart man. Silence is best when the hounds are hunting", added the stranger, who had moved his hand from Márden's lips to his shoulder, and quietly and gently turned and guided him around.

In the hollow were now several figures. One was holding Tárenis, who, it seemed was too shocked to do anything but stand stock still. Two other hooded figures, in dark leather clothing, were helping the horses up, and a fourth, shorter than the rest, stood nearby, observing. Márden realised he held a bow, with an arrow notched. Márden then noticed that all the men were armed, with long knives and slung bows.

A voice whispered in his ear.

"You did well, leaving the trail, and using the open waters. But they would have found you if we had not given them reason to believe you had ridden on...."

"Thank you", said Márden.

"No need for thanks, young master. We are loyal servants of your clan..."

Márden paled. "You know who I am?"

"Of course. We have been watching for you. We hoped you had escaped. When we saw the smoke from the lodge, we feared the worst. But enough talk. We must get away, into the deep marshes, where the hounds cannot find you. We have much to discuss".

❧

It was dusk by the time the group of marsh folk led the companions and their horses to a small village of reed huts on a tiny island deep in the marshlands. Their journey had been slow and tortuous, principally because of the need to take many detours to find paths and routes that the horses could take.

Márden and Tárenis were led to the largest hut, and saw a twinkle of firelight within it. The leader of the group that had 'rescued' them, pulled open a leader door-flap, and motioned them to enter.

The inside of the hut was dark, even through a fire crackled in a central brazier. The heavy cast-iron bowl of held the fire off the ground, and was itself warm and radiated head across the room. Around the edge of the hut were bundles of reeds, forming beds and seats. Two men sat opposite the fire, and rose as the companions entered.

The men hailed each other in a language Tárenis did not understand, but Márden looked up and smiled. The companions were led round the central fire, and presented to the two men opposite.

One was elderly and wizen, with a bent back and white hair, holding himself upright with a sturdy staff. He was clearly still strong and alert, despite his age. The other was younger, but equally imposing. They bowed slightly to Márden, and acknowledge Tárenis, but warmly grasped hands with the leader of the group that had led the companions to the village.

"Lord Márden, may I present our clanhead, Cówellyn", indicating the younger of the two, "and our lawspeaker, Ârrynlas", motioning to the old man.

"And I, I am Kélas. I lead the group of hunters and rangers who watched and found you. Welcome to Káis Alwás".

Márden acknowledged all three men with a short bow. "And my thanks to the loyal people of Alwás. House Telégah is honoured to have such vassals and friends".

Márden then spoke in (Tárenis guessed) the same language that the villagers had used when they greeted each other, and all three beamed in delight.

"House Telégah has always been good to the Alwás and to all the people of the marshlands. And you speak the Old Tongue! A light shines in this hour of sorrow and sadness...", said the old lawspeaker, Ârrynlas.

The old man's words reminded Márden of terrible events of the last few days, but he managed to remain composed.

"Please, young masters, sit with us. We must talk".

All sat down upon reed seats and beds.

"We sorrow for your losses, young master Márden. Your lost is our loss. The fall of House Telégah is cause for great fear amongst our people. Without your clan's protection, we fear for our future".

Márden nodded. "I wish... I wish there was something I could do... But it seems that duchess has out-flanked us. Now I can do little but flee for my life to Quârelin, and seek assistance from our allies there".

The three marsh-folk looked at each other.

Now Cówellyn spoke. "Young master... we fear... we have word... Quârelin is not safe..."

"Not ... safe? Nowhere is safe... but we have allies there. Baron Marátel, lord of Òdelýn, and father of my companion Tárenis, believed this was the best option", Márden replied.

Ârrynlas spoke once more. "No. Young master, the word we have is clear. You must not travel to Quârelin. If you do, your line will fail. And the darkness will come to the people of Alwás".

"My line will ... fail... how can you have word of this? What do you mean?". Márden was perplexed, and Tárenis even more so.

The two leaders of the marshfolk looked at each other, and the old man nodded to himself.

"Very well then. I have seen it. A vision. A hound with a heron in its mouth, upon a gated bridge of blue and red, surrounded by vipers. Quârelin bridge flies a flag of blue and red; this much I know. And that city is the greatest den of vipers in all the land. You must not go there..."

Márden shook his head. "If not, Quârelin, then where? I must act! The murder of my family cannot go unavenged..."

The old man sighed. "Young master. Revenge will destroy you, and your house. I have seen it. There is only one future for you. The Heron must ride the waves, where the feet of the hounds cannot reach. This I have seen".

"The waves? What do you mean, old man? You suggest I should abandon my home, my people?" Márden was exasperated.

The old man nodded. "It is a harsh fate, but it is the only way. Your people - and our people - must have hope. If you fall, all hope will fall. Only if you are safe beyond the waves can hope survive. And where there is hope, there is a future".

"You expect me to abandon the plans of my liege lord based on your vision, old man?" Márden's anger was palpable.

"No". Cówellyn interrupted. "There is more".

Márden sat back, and seemed to get himself under control.

"My apologies. My anger was unwarranted. But... I need more than a vision..."

"Indeed", said Cówellyn. "Sadly there is more. We have word, actually word, from our people in Eilýria. The duchess' forces are everywhere, and they are looking for you and anyone associated with you. The hounds have spread far and wide - so far, indeed that it is clear they were sent out before .... before the terrible events in Kolârè. The attack on your house has been well planned, young master".

"And", added Ârrynlas, "the price they are offering is... staggering..."

"Price?", Márden felt sick.

"Yes. Anyone who brings you, dead or alive, to the duchess' forces, has been offered a manor, and a knighthood... And the Laránian bishop of Kolârè is said to have sanctioned this offer. Together with the Writ of Attainder that hangs over you and all who aid you, there are many who will turn against you, and few who will help you... save us..." the old man finished.

"But ... how can this be? The duchess and the bishop have never been close... and the barons and lords of Kolârè can scarcely stand by and allow the duchess to become so powerful...". Márden had had little time to debate the terrible events over the last few days, and all his fears and doubts, his lack of comprehension at the downfall of his powerful clan, all rushed to the surface.

"We do not know. How can we? We are simple marshfolk. All we know is this - Teléged is in the hands of the church, held in trust under the terms of the Writ, until all the charges against your house are fully investigated. And no, we do not know the details of the charges, only the rumours. But they are dire... I would rather not repeat them, as I am sure they are false. But there are plenty of eager ears, especially when rewards so great are being offered..."

Márden slumped back. He felt, once again, broken and powerless.

Tárenis sensed his friends despair, and leaned forward. "So, goodfolk, what would you have my friend and I do, if you believe that Quârelin is not safe?".

The old man shrugged. "I fear, young master, my vision is not that clear. All I know is, your friend must find safety upon the waves, where the heron soars above the blue".

A sudden thought occurred to Márden. "Heron? The Fûren?"

"Indeed. The bird of your house, and of the marshlands, and of the river of our land", the old man replied.

"The ship....", Márden muttered to himself.

"Ship?", queried Tárenis and the old man simultaneously.

"Yes. The Fûren. One of my clan's ships. She lies at Eilýria docks...."

The old man's face lit up. "Your clan has a ship named 'the Heron'? I did not know that. Now it all fits together!"

Márden was still unconvinced, but the old man's vision and the news of that the Duchess' troops were looking for him across the land were beginning to make an impression.

"Eilýria will be as dangerous as Quârelin, if what you say is true", Márden noted.

"That is true", Cówellyn replied. "But we have ways of getting you there without declaring your arrival to all and sundry. In fact, we could probably get you to your clan's ship without even entering the city. Who is her captain?"

"She doesn't have a captain at present. The last was discharged some time ago - there was some issue between him and my father - I don't know the details. That's why she is sitting idle at Eilýria docks.", Márden replied.

"Seems like yet another remarkable coincidence, young master", the old man said quietly.

"Will any of the crew know you?", queried Kélas, who until this moment had not contributed to the debate.

"I think so. I remember meeting the ship's mate, an old sailor from Chélemby. I assume he is in charge of the vessel while she is in dock", Márden replied.

"Let us hope so", added Kélas. "How many outside your clan know of this ship?"

"Very few. The ship is registered in Eilýria, but through an agent. My father was not keen for his fellow lords to be aware of his trading interests".

Kélas nodded. "Then, there is a chance that the duchess has no knowledge of the ship?"

"It is possible. I'm sure my father kept records, but whether they have been foundand read yet, I have no idea".

The old man interrupted. "Clearly, there is no time to delay. Eventually someone will reveal the ship to the duchess's forces, and it will be seized along with the rest of your house's property and lands. You must move swiftly to take the ship, and escape with it across the waves, as my vision has foretold".

Márden was lost in thought.

Tárenis leaned forward, and gently touched Márden's arm.

"Márden... I think what they say makes some sense...", he said quietly.

"You do? But your father gave us clear instructions - travel to Quârelin and obtain assistance. Would you go against his orders?", Márden said.

"He also told me, and you, that we needed to take responsibility. And in any case, I am not suggesting that his orders be ignored. I will travel to Quârelin and make contact with Lord Târin. But you, you should take charge of your clan's ship before it is seized by the duchess. Once we know more of how things lie in Quârelin, word can be sent to you, and decisions made in less dangerous circumstances", Tárenis said. He spoke with quite some intensity and assurance, and Márden marvelled at the transformation of his young friend over the last several days.

Kélas nodded in agreement. "Lord Márden, your companion speaks good sense. The danger in Quârelin is to you and your house, not to others. And securing your clan's vessel is surely wise in any case".

Márden pondered their words. He was, as ever since hearing the dreadful news of his family's fall, conflicted and unsure. He looked at Tárenis, who nodded, encouraging him.

"Very well", said Márden. "I will take your advice my wise young friend, and that of my loyal vassals. I will try to take charge of the Fûren and head to Chélemby, to await news, and you should travel to Quârelin as your father intended".

❧

Read Part 1 of Captain Márden's Tale.
Read Part 2 of Captain Márden's Tale.
Read Part 4 of Captain Márden's Tale.