With his soggy clothes under his arm, Garinor left Tomli’s house. He needed to navigate through some of the streets in order to leave the village and head off toward the north. It wouldn’t be easy. He wondered where he could discard his wet clothes to throw off his pursuers.
People wandered the street in the late morning sun. It was a great day for being out and about, though not for Garinor, who felt the threats on his life were very real. He knew all the villagers by face, if not by name. Some greeted him with a polite nod; others tried to carry on a conversation. Luckily, Garinor was known to be abrupt at times, and when he didn’t answer, they assumed he was in one of his moods.
He was nearing the eastern exit of town when he caught a glimpse of a face he didn’t recognize. He changed direction and hid behind other passersby and hoped he hadn’t been spotted. No running footsteps, bird calls, or cries of surprise filled the air, so he felt he was safe.
Twisting through the streets of town, Garinor finally reached the place he was looking for. It would be a short sprint, a hop over the stream, and then into the woods to safety. He glanced toward the north and saw in the distance the town bridge that spanned the stream he had ridden down earlier. He looked again to see if the woman who had chased him into his house was still around, but he didn’t see her.
Garinor broke into a sprint. He darted across the field, sprang over the stream, and ran into the woods. He smiled at his success, slowing down once he was out of sight. Only then did he hear sounds from two locations. In front of him were jeers and shouts and the clashing of wood on wood. From behind he heard running footsteps. A glance over his shoulder showed him the woman he had trampled on his way out of his house. He thought her nose looked mangled from the chair he had thrown into her. But he couldn’t hesitate. He ran forward into the noise ahead of him.
He burst into a small clearing in the woods, and he saw something that simultaneously filled him with warmth and dread. There, his three best friends were sparring like usual on a nice spring day.
“Run!” he cried. “Run!” He tried to shoo them out of the area and in the process dropped his soggy clothes at last.
The female warrior entered moments later, her sword at the ready. Garinor’s friends gaped and seemed uncertain about what to do.
“Garinor, stand back!” called Tomli, the tallest of them all. He swung the sturdy branch he had been using as a sword. “Come Marrin, Besfa, to arms!”
The woman laughed at the bravado. “Stand aside, children. This doesn’t concern you, only him.” She pointed her sword at Garinor and took a menacing step forward.
“He’s our friend,” Tomli retorted, “and so to deal with him, you must deal with us all.”
“Yeah!” cheered Marrin.
“Right on!” agreed Besfa.
“Stupid,” the woman accused as she ran forward, swinging wildly. The three boys stepped back a pace, branches at the ready. Besfa crouched down and tried to sweep her legs from underneath her, but she seemed to expect it. Her sword swung carelessly about and nicked Besfa in the arm. He cried out in pain and grabbed the wound.
Tomli and Marrin were not idle. They used the attack on Besfa to their advantage. Marrin was small and fast. He pounced at the woman and struck her a glancing blow on her cheek. Tomli barreled straight ahead, ducking as she brought her sword up to impale him. The tall boy was strong and he caught her in the stomach with a well-placed shoulder, knocking the wind out of her.
She crashed to the ground and let out a wail of frustration as her sword dropped from her grasp. Tomli fell on top of her, determined to pin her down, but Besfa had other ideas. Furious that she had sliced his arm, he grabbed his branch with his left hand and swung it with force into her temple, knocking her senseless. Her head lolled to the side, but she was still alive.
Tomli turned his head. “You alright, Gar?”
He came over quickly. “Yes, thanks. You guys were awesome.”
“What’s all this about?” Besfa asked, not taking his eyes from the woman in case she stirred.
“I was summoned by the king this morning. A guard took me away but then he was killed and these people have been hunting me.”
A dark look passed between Marrin and Tomli. “The king,” Marrin whispered. “Could it be—?”
Tomli interrupted him. “Garinor, you have to run. One way or another, you have to escape and try to go see the king. He’ll know what to do.”
“What? But—”
“There isn’t time, Gar,” Tomli insisted. “You have to run, before she wakes up and calls for help.”
“But I can’t leave you guys.”
Besfa grinned and only then turned away from his victim. “We can handle this. As you can see. But Tomli’s right. You have to get going before others come. Go north, fast as you can. We’ll be fine, really.”
“But your arm,” Garinor protested.
Tomli’s voice rose, “Garinor, this is no time for discussion. You must run now! Go! Please!”
Garinor frowned and lowered his head. Marrin jumped over to Garinor’s side to console him, but an arrow shot through the air and landed on the ground nearby. His words of solace turned into a panicked cry. “Hurry, Garinor, run!”
The sight of the arrow renewed his fear and Garinor thanked his friends for their help before he turned and darted away. He didn’t see the archer enter the clearing, but since he didn’t hear screaming and shouting either, he assumed his friends had managed to talk their way out of a fight.
His feet pounded the ground as he navigated the woods instinctively, having spent most of his childhood playing here with the same friends he had just left behind. The sounds of pursuit didn’t follow him, but he didn’t allow himself to slow down. He activated a few harmless traps he and his friends used against each other. They wouldn’t do much to hurt anyone coming after him, but it would at least signal the pursuit and maybe slow the hunters down. It was the only thing he could do, along with continuing on.
As he went, he recalled the look Marrin and Tomli had exchanged. They knew something, but hadn’t shared it. Or maybe he was imagining things. One thing he hadn’t imagined, though, was the fury with which Besfa had swept his branch toward the swordswoman’s head to knock her out. He had seen Besfa in several rampant temper tantrums through the years. At least this time the anger had ended up doing some good.
Garinor leaped over a small pit and then scrounged up the earth blanket covering they used to conceal it. Anyone running after him through this path wouldn’t likely see that the sticks and leaves were actually tied together with vine, and so they wouldn’t suspect anything stepping on it. With any luck, the hunter would twist an ankle and not be able to run.
Having set up the few traps in the area, Garinor jogged around to another section of forest. He paused there to catch his breath.