He looked at the panicked expression on the man’s face and understood that there might really be a threat to his life, but he wasn’t about to follow a complete stranger away from the outpost.
The man waved one hand urgently and pressed his finger to his lips to signal for silence. “Come on,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder.
“I don’t think so,” Garinor replied, sitting up.
“What? But that’s madness. You would rather stay here and be killed?”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
The man shook his head. “There’s no time for this. Any minute now he’s going to barge in here and it’ll all be over.”
Garinor clenched his hands into fists as he eyed the man darkly. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Of course not. How could I?” he hissed. “What am I supposed to say, ‘I’m a nice guy looking out for your welfare, now trust me’?”
It was a good point, but Garinor kept his guard up. “I just don’t know.”
The man was exasperated. He pulled out a dagger. “I have to get you out of here. If you won’t come easily, I’ll make you come with me.”
Garinor’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the dagger and he knew then that his instincts were right. “You’re not looking out for me. Not if you’re pulling a dagger on me.”
“It’s for your own good, you ingrate.” He stepped forward and reached out to grab Garinor’s arm with his free hand.
“Song! Help!” Garinor screamed out as he rolled back on the bed and swung up his foot. He connected with the outstretched arm, but the man still had his dagger. Garinor turned onto his side and lashed out with his other foot, all the while calling for his friend.
The bed shook when the dagger was thrust into it, missing Garinor. He twisted about, trying to take advantage of the poor aim, but the man grabbed his face with his one hand and wrenched the dagger free with the other. Garinor reached around but he couldn’t quite snag the man’s face with his shorter arms. Writhing around kept the attacker from getting a firm hold on him, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he lost.
Grabbing desperately, Garinor’s hands clutched the pillow and he swung it up into the man’s head, stunning him for a moment. Garinor folded his knees up to his chest, prepared to kick out and catch the man in the face. His counterattack failed, however, and the pillow was lowered onto his face and held there to smother the life out of him.
“Insolent boy,” spat the man, pressing down harder on the pillow.
Garinor’s legs and arms flapped uselessly and he was unable to strike another blow. He knew it was the end of him and he couldn’t believe that after everything, he was being killed in an outpost where he was supposed to have been protected.
The door crashed inward and Garinor heard a cry of outrage then a splintering crash. The pressure of the pillow lessened and he batted it away at once, gasping for air. When he was recovered enough to see, he saw Song on the ground, his knee pressed into the assailant’s spine, pinning him.
“Are you all right?” Song asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you go get someone to help?”
Garinor darted from the room, calling out for assistance. Many of the men in the outpost were too obliterated from their drinking to help, but one staggered up anyway, snatching a bit of rope to tie up the spy. Garinor tried not to notice that it took the man a few tries before he was able to wrap his fingers around the coil, but he led the man upstairs, where Song had the situation subdued.
The prisoner was taken away for questioning and Song’s face fell into his hands. “I’m so sorry, Garinor.”
“If it hadn’t been for you, he would have killed me.”
“I let my guard down and for that you almost died. I promise I’ll pay more attention in the future. Forgive me.”
Nothing would console his morose protector and eventually they barricaded the door and went to sleep.
The next day was awkward for Garinor, for every member of the outpost made it a point to seek him out and apologize for lack of diligence. He kept shrugging off their concerns, but he left the place feeling that at least he might have encouraged them to stay a bit more alert in the future.
Song guided him to the north where they would later cut to the west to rejoin the army. He apologized profusely and eventually Garinor had to tell him to stop outright.
“Song, that’s enough. I can’t listen to it anymore, please. I’m fine now and we’re on the road again. Can’t we focus on that instead?”
The man looked at him with a frown but then he nodded. “I want you to know that I’ll do anything in my power to protect you from now on. I won’t fail again.” He was silent for a moment. “I barely know you, Garinor, but you’re like a brother to me. I’ve already lost a brother to this nonsense. I couldn’t stand to lose you, too.”
Garinor patted his friend on the back, not sure what to say. “You’re really noble, Song. And I’m glad I’ve gotten to know you.”
They walked quietly for some time, then Song decided he had sulked enough. He piped into a lyrical tale of an adventurous farm boy who went seeking fame in a distant land only to find out that his sister was already queen. Garinor laughed at the antics of the farm boy’s journey, from getting into a mud fight with another farmer, to being chased by an old woman with a broom after he said her cooking wasn’t all that great, and then his ultimate defeat at finding his sister on the throne, thereby declaring his whole journey meaningless because he was already famous through her, but it didn’t stop him from throwing her into the castle pond.
The mood was greatly lifted after that and there was no more talk of sorrow or regret, which suited Garinor just fine.
A line of trees arose to their left side and before they entered the forest, Song called for a stop. They ate a bit of bread and drank some water, ready to turn into the trees and return to the Daggerfist camp, though Song wondered if the group might have marched further north in their absence. They entered the sparse woods and trundled about, keeping watch for others, but also dashing behind trees and trying to hide from one another.
All at once, Song called a halt and ducked behind a tree. Garinor froze instantly, his nerves ready to react. The warrior pointed off to the west and when Garinor looked he saw something that made him want to scream in protest.
There was a group of about forty men skulking quietly through the woods. They wore matching leather armor and they moved with purpose. Each carried a sword at his hip and it was clear that were gearing up for a fight.
Song whispered into Garinor’s ear. “They’re with the prince. I recognize the armor. There must be a battle going on and this group is going to sneak in and launch a surprise attack.”
“What can we do?”
Song stared at him. “I can’t put you into danger, Garinor. Your safety is too important.”
“Maybe, but so is the safety of everyone else, Song. It isn’t all about me.”
Song resisted the urge to ruffle Garinor’s hair, but he smiled instead. “We can’t possibly hold them all off,” he said, thinking furiously. “We could run back to the outpost. But no, by the time help reached us here it would be too late.”
“Do any of them have bows, can you see?”
Song peered around the tree again and scanned the group. Because they were trying to move with stealth, they were making slow progress, but Song was able to steal a decent glimpse. “No, I only see swords. No quivers, no bows.” He sighed softly. “We have to do something. We can’t just let them take over the camp.”
Garinor looked up into the trees and wondered what he should suggest. He thought that since the group didn’t have bows, they could perhaps lob down objects from up among the branches. But he also knew that they should get word to the others as quickly as possible.
Garinor should suggest taking to the trees.