"Even without words, you amaze me with your insight. Yes, yes, I will set that aside for now. We do have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and the Pass will be no easy trip," he stated. He gave Hatal another pat and turned over to try to get some rest.
Morning came, and the tip of Coltend Castle could still be seen off in the distance, shining brightly with the morning sun beaming off its highest peak. Hatal was already awake, and prodded his master with his nostrils flaring in his face, making him wriggle in response to the nudge.
"I'm awake, I'm awake," he said, petting the horse's nostrils and chin. He put out his fire with his piss, and scattered the soaked ashes as best he could to not leave any trail to be followed. He rolled his small bed back up and mounted it to the side of the saddle, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had caught up to him.
"We must go, Hatal," he said, getting his foot in the stirrup and throwing his leg over to the other side. He clicked his tongue, and they were off. The Rhydian pass was about two kilometers up a steep, winding trail. It was primarily used by merchants who sought to sell their goods in the Coltend markets, though not all made it through without trouble.
About halfway up the trail, he heard a sound coming from behind him. He stopped his horse and looked back to try and see what it was. Captain Gorm rode up the steep slope with about forty or more men following closely behind, as far as Bashir could tell. "There he is! After him!" Gorm's eyes widened as he shouted. "Shit," Bashir said, and dug his heels into Hatal's sides.
Neither he nor the party of men behind him could go very quickly up the steep slope, and the other, fresher horses were beginning to catch up to him. His heart raced, and his first thoughts were that he was going to die, without telling his people what had happened. He had assumed that his men, whom he had left behind in his flight, were already dead.
I must press on for their sakes. I need my country to know what happened to my son, he gritted his teeth as he dug his heels into Hatal's sides.
Hatal was breathing more and more heavily, desperately trying to keep up his pace. His eyes were wide, and Bashir knew he wouldn't last much longer at this pace. The riders got closer and closer to him, and they were within bowshot of him now. "Hurry, Hatal! We must make it over this ridge," he yelled, digging his heels in again.
The ridge he saw was that of the peak of the pass, which, if one were to stop, had quite a fantastic view of Caegwen to the southeast and Harut to the northeast. "Come on!" he yelled once more. Hatal gave it everything he had, and finally made it over the ridge. The riders weren't too far behind. "Hyah!" Bashir shouted, urging his horse to pick up the pace on the flat ground. "We're almost there, Hatal. Keep going," he said, patting his horse's nape.
The Rhydian Pass was known for being confusing for those who did not know the way. The harsh weather of the mountains had destroyed all the wooden signposts ever placed there, so traders resorted to carving signs into the rocks themselves. Bashir knew this and looked for the carvings at the beginning of every road.
"This way!" he said aloud, and turned his horse to follow the marker in the right direction, just managing to turn the corner in time to avoid being seen by Gorm and his riders.
The hunting party made it over the ridge, only a few short moments after Bashir had already disappeared. "Damn it. Where the fuck did he go?" Gorm yelled aloud, hoping one of his men had seen a trace of him. They looked about them for any signs of tracks, but found none in the well-used pathway's solid dirt. "Find him!" he barked.
The men dismounted to get a closer look at the ground. The merchant's tracks were embedded deep into the ground, and most were still fresh from the last caravan that had passed there the previous day.
"Nothing here, Captain," one of the guardsmen shouted. "Nor here, Captain," another chimed in. Gorm looked about him, hoping to find even a horseshoe mark out of place. He heard a rustling in the bushes nearby and turned to find out what it was. He dismounted and walked over to the origin of the sound, drawing his sword.
I have you now, you piece of shit, he thought.
He stepped as quietly as he could, and when he was close enough to where he thought nothing could escape, he saw the tip of an arrow sticking out from behind one of the bushes. "Ambush!" he called out, backing away. All of the men heard his cry and drew their swords immediately. They formed a circle with their backs to one another's, and watched as the figures began to sprout out of the bush.
The figures were none other than elven bandits, clad in dark green. Their tunics and boots were mud-stained, and most had holes in them. Each one had a curved blade and a knife lashed to their leather belts by a dark brown sash. Hardened by the elements, their hands and forearms had scars that could be seen through the holes in their gear.
"Bandits!" Gorm barked to prepare his men as they waited for an almost inevitable attack. "Some may call us that, whereas I would rather call my people and I opportunists," one of the elves replied to the remark. He was standing on a tall rock at the side of the pass. "Thieves. Bandits. Good-for-nothing degenerates; All of these are quite derogatory terms for free folk who have been cast out of their homes and seek a living elsewhere," he continued. "You mean making a living from other people's hard work," Gorm spat.
"That's one way of putting it, sure. Most of them have plenty more than they need, anyway. Their greed becomes their downfall," the elf shrugged. "However, we do not steal from everyone who comes through here. We tend to leave those who are visibly inferior to the other merchants alone; after all, we know what it is like to be in their shoes," he continued.
"A thief with morals; never thought I would see the day," Gorm scoffed. "Live as long as I have, and you will come to find that stranger things have happened. There is nothing wrong with having morals, as the dichotomy of good and evil is all but a matter of perspective," the elf said, scrutinizing the man.
"What is your name?" the elf asked. "I am the captain of the guard of Coltend Castle," Gorm replied. "And I am not as dumb as you presume me to be. Now, answer my question: what is your name?" the elf retorted, his patience growing thin.
"Gorm," the captain replied. "Are you sure it's just Gorm? No other fancy titles or family name?" the elf asked with a slight hint of sarcasm. "Just Gorm," he replied. "Well then, Captain Gorm, my name is Gwili Gwynn, and it would seem we have at least one thing in common," he smiled wryly.
"Let me guess: both of our names begin with the letter G? How adorable," Grom said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "Well, that's probably one thing we have in common, but no. We're both commanders of bands of warriors, though mine are certainly confused at what you're doing here with yours," Gwili chuckled.
"We seek a lone rider who passed this way a few moments before you interrupted us," Gorm answered. "We interrupted you? You're the ones who aren't very good at tracking. Otherwise, you might have already found your prey," Gwili laughed.
"You dare mock the captain?" one of the guardsmen shouted. "Oh, but I do dare. I have you and your bed warmers surrounded, although you can only see me and the few who stand beneath me," Gwili replied.
"Shut the fuck up, Carl," Gorm snarled at his avid defender.
"I'm sure there's a way we can be reasonable about this whole situation, Gwili," he said. "Is there, really?" the elf asked with obvious sarcasm. "Yes, I believe so. You see, we have no business with you and your troops. All we seek is the rider who came through here," Gorm replied. "Forty-some-odd men after one man? Sounds a little unreasonable if you don't mind me saying so," Gwili replied, raising a thin, blonde eyebrow.
"I know how it looks, but the man we are after has done something terrible against my king," Gorm sighed. "Well, indeed he must have, if so many of you are after him. I would have liked to have gained that sort of recognition," Gwili said with a chuckle.
Gorm was becoming increasingly frustrated with the elf. "Can't we simply go on our way, and be done with this?" he asked. Gwili digested the question carefully. "I'm afraid not," he replied, causing Gorm to furrow his brow.
"You see, I know who the lone rider was and where he was headed. There was a reason I didn't stop him," Gwili answered. "And what reason might that be?" Gorm asked, clearly irritated. "The Rhydian Pass is used by merchants from all four countries. Each and every one of them knows we live here, and if they refuse to leave us tribute, be it money or food, we will take it by force," Gwili began, making the captain increasingly annoyed at his long-winded explanation.
That rat will be long gone by the time he's done, Gorm huffed in frustration.