Vikta stood patiently in the north tower guest chamber. He was waiting for one of the Underlord’s visitors. Footsteps sounded outside and the murmur of voices. The ornate door swung open. “Please, your grace, after you.”

A portly man entered, a wide smile on his face. He was dressed in fine clothes of various colours, generously cut in an attempt to hide his bulk. A mop of loosely curled brown hair hung over his ears, his grey eyes were bright with excitement. The man licked his pale lips and looked Vikta up and down. “My, he has grown since my last visit, and his hair is different, have you done something to it?”

“It’s been over three years, your grace, since your last visit. Closer to four in fact.”

“Is it? Well how time dashes by if we don’t keep a watch on it.”

“I’ll leave you to get settled your grace, please call if you need anything, at any time, I’ll have one of the servants listen out for you.”

“Thank you Underlord Guamon, but I think I have all I need.”

The Underlord smiled at the man, then left the room, glancing at Vikta and winking.

As soon as the door was closed, the portly man slammed home the heavy bolt and turned towards Vikta. “Now young man, let’s get you out of those clothes. Come on, strip now, let’s see what I’m getting.” His voice was light and pleasant, but his hands pulled nervously at his neckline.

Vikta pulled open the bow that held his flowing tunic together at the neck and it dropped to the floor. He stood naked before the man, one hand gripping a post of the canopied bed.

“My, oh yes, how pale you are. Now, turn around, let me look at you.”

Vikta turned a full circle on the spot.

“Oh yes.” The man said, he was swallowing hard now. He stepped closer. “So pale, so clean, and what lovely hair.” The man reached out and stroked Vikta’s hair, then ran his hand down his face to his chest. “Oh, and what is this?” He fingered the coin on a thin chain around Vikta’s neck. “A keep sake, a gift from an admirer? Take it off, I don’t want any distractions.”

He shook his head. The man’s eyes widened in surprise. “No? And what would your master say? Do as you are told.”

Vikta spoke for the first time “No.” It was quietly said but there was a finality to it.

The man wrapped a finger around the chain and pulled. It parted easily, with a slight sting of pain to the back of Vikta’s neck.

The pain moved down into Vikta’s stomach. Deep inside a thin crack appeared in the granite block that held his anger. The crack widened as the man threw the coin across the room.

Anger poured out, a red rage held back for so long. He looked down at the man, the sweating, salivating pig that ran his hand down over his belly. His hands came up and he pushed, a single thrust that propelled the man across the room. The man stumbled, cried out but managed to stop himself falling. “You dare lay a hand on me without my permission? I’ll have your hide for this.”

Before the man could move any further Vikta ran at him and pushed him again. The man staggered backwards and this time tripped over his own feet. As he fell Vikta began to punch him, his anger lending him strength his muscles didn’t normally possess. The man thudded against the door, then slid down it, falling sideways as he hit the floor. All went quiet as Vikta stood over him, his breathing heavy. The man wasn’t dead, just unconscious, he knew all about that.

His rage calmed for now, he went and sat on the bed, watching the man. But as the rage cooled, he realised what he’d done, and the other emotion he owned began to take the upper hand. Whatever had made him act like this? He looked over to the small coin where it had landed on a sheepskin rug against the wall. Quickly he ran over and picked it up, clutching it tight in his hand. The cool metal offered little comfort and less solutions.

The night wore on, the castle quieted as the last of the servants went to bed. Still he was crouched on the rug, naked and shivering, and not just with cold. The coin had become sweaty in his palm, but still he gripped it. His gaze wandered from the warm bed, over to the prone form of his grace, and back again. Vikta longed to crawl under the warm blankets on the soft bed, or over to his clothes so he could at least dress. But every time he started to move, the man by the door would breath, an irregular breath, but loud in the quiet of night.

So there he stayed, fearful, cold, with a knot of anger burning inside, fighting against the wash of fear that threatened to quench it. The first signs of dawn began to lighten the windows. Ragged breaths still came regularly from the man, but he had not moved, besides the occasional muscle twitch, all night. They’ll come soon, Vikta thought, they’ll come to call him for breakfast. When he doesn’t appear, he was never a man tardy to a meal, they’ll come looking.

But they won’t be able to open the door. The man is in the way. They’ll break it down and he’ll be hurt. That was good. The anger glowed brighter, the fear melted slightly. He would get the blame, he’d be made to do laps around the castle. Just like Marsa.

Vikta leapt to his feet with a cry. He ran over to the far wall and scrambled at the window. It was too thin, and filled with thick sheets of poured glass, he couldn’t get out there. He dashed into the garderobe, throwing open the ornate wooden door. No escape that way, unless he jumped down the latrine. He spun around, his eyes frantically searching for another exit. It was no good, there was only one way out, and that was through the door. Perhaps he could drag the body away, escape before any one was awake. But then he would have to touch the man.

His heart pounding in his chest, his hand gripped around the coin and held over his mouth, he approached the body half a step at a time. The windows were visibly brighter by the time he was within touching distance. A trembling hand reached out towards the man’s ankle, the closest part to him. Sweat poured from him, the trembling grew more pronounced.

There was a knock at the door, a gentle, respectful tap, and a tiny voice said “Your grace?”

The man roared into motion. His eyes opened, his limbs thrashed for purchase.

“Help!” He shouted, “Mad man in here, mad, please help, what have I done?”

Vikta’s hand had been a hair’s breadth from him when he suddenly animated. The effect was startling and immediate. Mindless fear took over, Vikta stood and turned in one go, bolted for the garderobe and crawled head first down the latrine.

His slim body slipped down the faeces lined square passage set into the castle wall. So great was his panic, the stench didn’t hit him until his entire body was several lengths down. He cried out as he tried to take in the fetid air. His voice echoed along the passage. Another breath and his stomach rose, emptying down the passage. His hands pushed against the walls in a vain effort to go back. All he achieved was to drive himself further downwards.

Some instinct inside took over as his mind slipped to madness. There was light at the bottom, dull but still there. His hands reached out towards it, his legs pushed. Vikta slid again, closer to the light that meant freedom. And there he stopped, the square of illumination just above, or so it seemed, his head, half a hand further than he could reach.

The square of light brightened as he stared at it, the shadow moved from one side to the other. Light warmed the ends of his fingers. Absently he tried to grab it. Perhaps if he could get enough of a grip he could pull himself out. The shadow moved, fading as it went. With the darkness came the cold. But at least the buzzing stopped. When the light came again, so did the voices. People moved around only a short distance away. He opened his mouth to call out, but something crawled in. He chewed on it. It didn’t taste of much, and it was difficult to swallow, but he opened his mouth again and got a few more.

The voices, and the light went away. He missed the light, but not the voices. He didn’t like the voices, but he didn’t know why.

An itching on his back was driving him mad. He couldn’t reach it, couldn’t bend his arms back. He tried to push his back against something, but he couldn’t move.

It was really annoying now, something was crawling around on him, itching and itching, up and down his back.

Then it started to bite. The fear came again, and with it a small amount of sanity. He looked around. Somehow, he was stuck in some kind of tunnel, his arms above his head. His skin itched all over, and in places was hot and stinging. Just above his head was an opening, probably big enough for him to crawl out of, if he could just climb up to it. Bracing his upper arms and elbows against the rough stone, he tried to pull the rest of his body upwards. He succeeded in moving about a finger’s thickness. He tried again, pulling and straining with what little strength he had. This time he moved enough so that the first joint of his longest finger could reach over the ledge. Heartened by this, he tried again, putting everything he had into one last effort.

He didn’t move at all, not even a hair’s thickness. He was stuck, he would die here, in this fly infested tunnel, with one finger free. His mind began to slip again as the images he had conjured blossomed in his mind. The itching and scratching seemed to return with renewed vigour as countless tiny jaws chewed and burrowed into his flesh. He panicked. A mindless scream croaked from his dry throat, he threw his arms around and kicked his legs. He clawed at the ledge, ripping his skin and fingernails. Grit and slime and insects rained past his head. Pain and fear and anger threatened to drown his psyche forever.

His body slipped again, releasing in a sudden rush as the madness welled. The back of his head hit stone and everything stopped. Sound, vision, pain and madness stilled. Vivid, psychedelic dreams took their place. He saw tunnels of colour, rainbows rolled into tubes. Along the walls, huge insects of every hue swung amazingly long antenna, caressing him with the gentlest of touches as he flew by.

The tunnels and passageways seemed to last forever, until suddenly everything stopped and he was looking at a pair of legs, walking on the ceiling of a square of light.

It seemed very odd for a dream, he thought, very dull after the last one. The legs moved around, occasionally they would bend and a pair of arms came into view, holding some king of wooden implement. The wooden thing, like a spade, would scrape some of the brown stuff and straw off the ceiling and move it over to another wooden thing, like a square barrel. The brown stuff then floated off the spade and into the barrow.

With gentle movements, Vikta climbed out of the tunnel. It was then that he realised he was at odds with the world, instead of climbing he fell, tumbling from the tunnel in a shower of shit.

His vision swam and his head throbbed with pain as the blood drained away, threatening to make him pass out. He took as deep a breath as he could. Again his head spun, but what a relief it was to be the right way up and out in the fresh air. Forcing his eyes into focus, he looked at the man with the spade. He had stopped shovelling and was standing motionless, his mouth open and the spade drooping loose in his grip.

Vikta pulled himself upright using the wall for support. If the man attacked, he was defenceless. He tried to speak, to show he meant the man no harm, but all that came out of his parched throat was a hoarse whisper.

The man dropped the spade and ran, screaming for help as he went. As the sound faded around the castle wall, Vikta realised this was his chance, probably his last chance to get away from…

From what he would think about later. Now he would just concentrate on getting away. His first step ended in a face down sprawl in the muck. He crawled the rest of the way, until he was on all fours on sweet grass. He buried his nose in it and took a deep breath. Never had he smelled anything so good. With some regret, he forced himself upright, sitting on his haunches then slowly standing.

Vikta found himself to the north of the castle on the grass that was kept short to prevent raiders sneaking up on it. Ahead of him was the longer grass mixed with meadow plants and furthest away was the forest that fed the carpenter’s workshops and fires of the castle. He headed straight for it, wanting to be out of sight as soon as possible.

Those few servants observing Vikta at the time saw a strange brown creature hobbling away across the meadow and finally disappear into the forest. In its wake it left a trail of straw, dung and insect larvae. For many days thereafter, none of the servants would go anywhere near the dung pits at the foot of the castle walls, and then only agreed to return if they had an armed guard.

Vikta wandered for sometime through the forest. He had never been here before, never been this far away from home. All his efforts were concentrated on getting one foot in front of the other. He tried not to think about his raging thirst, the pain in his stomach and the crawling of his flesh. He couldn’t help but think about his stink. He would get a few seconds of fresh air when the breeze blew into his face, then the smell would return. Occasionally he had to stop and retch. His stomach spasmed painfully, but it had long been empty. When he’d cleared the tears from his eyes and managed to stand again, he set off once more. Foot in front of foot, step by step.

He found by keeping the wind to his left he was able to keep the smell at bay and keep heading in as straight a line as possible. After what seemed like several hours the land began to slope downwards. Stopping for a quick rest, he surveyed the slope. It would make travel easier, provided it didn’t get too steep, he didn’t think he could manage much speed at the moment.

A chill ran down his back as a distant sound reached his ears. The booming howl of several shadowhounds, and the sound of thundering hoofs. Fresh tears filled his eyes as the realisation hit. Quickly he set off down the slope in a kind of stumbling run. His breath came in sobs. It couldn’t be, could it? How can he have worked so hard, spent so much effort and energy, and still be within moments of the castle. Horses couldn’t be galloping through the forest, it was too thick, the branches too low. Which meant they were on the meadow, the meadow he had crawled across so long ago. And they’d cross it in moments, be in the forest, following the shadowhounds as they slipped between the trunks. This was one trail they’d have no trouble finding.

The fear in Vikta’s stomach rose up. But the anger flared too. He wasn’t going to get this far then be dragged back to that chamber, or be torn apart by the shadowhounds. He began to run, though every muscle cried out in hot pain, though his body screamed for food, water, sleep. The two emotions mixed in his stomach, fear lending speed to his feet, anger the will to keep going. His ears could just make out the signs of pursuit over the blood roaring in his veins. Any moment now he would hear the hounds reach the top of the slope and start down. The guards, now on foot, would be close behind. He wondered if a crossbow bolt could outpace a shadowhound. From what he’d heard it would be a close run thing.

Although it cost him some speed, Vikta began to run around the trees, almost close enough to their trunks to rub by with his shoulders. To the left of one he went, to the right of the next. On and on, left then right. A sudden prickling in his back made him think one of the hunters was about to shoot him, until he realised it was just the insects burrowing in his flesh.

Vikta’s tortured body finally began to sag. His head was buzzing, his heart pounding in his chest. With limbs as heavy as stone, he took one or two more small steps, then fell forwards, hit the side of a shallow pit and rolled down into it. As he took stock of his new position, he was amazed to still be conscious. He was down again, but this time he’d landed on his back in soft soil, this time he was looking up at the blue sky through the soft branches of tall trees. It did make a difference he found, at least he’d die with a nice view.

Somewhere, shadowhounds howled again, close but not as near as he expected. Vikta was well aware he would never get up on his feet, but perhaps he could crawl or drag himself further on. With muscles almost locked in pain, he managed to move onto his stomach and look around. He was in a depression that looked like a collapsed burrow. A few smaller burrows and one larger one angled down into the ground. Without thinking, he found himself crawling towards the larger one. At the entrance he stopped. There was a strange smell, quite strong and animal-like in nature. But the hole didn’t smell at all as bad as he did, and he would probably dirty it by going in. With nowhere left to hide, and the shadowhounds only moments away, Vikta wiggled and dragged his way in, hoping and hoping that whatever lived here was more scared of him than he was of it.

The burrow sloped down a short way, then turned left and carried on level. The turn was a bit of a struggle, but the sounds from outside soon drove him on. The light faded almost to nothing here, forcing him to move blind. At the moment he didn’t care, a sudden drop or the feel of teeth or fangs was nothing compared to his need to rest, to sleep. The floor dropped away as he thought this and his heart missed a beat. But his hand soon found the floor again, covered in moss and soft fur, so he carried on. The wall rose suddenly after a few paces. Feeling all around, he realised he was in a spherical chamber lined with warm and soft material. Whatever had built and lined this nest either wasn’t here or was being very quiet. Vikta didn’t care which, as long as it left him alone.

He turned around and looked back the way he had come. A small amount of light entered via the entrance, but not enough to see in any detail. But Vikta was past caring for such things. He curled into a ball, his head facing the burrow entrance and closed his eyes.

The sound of shadowhounds moving and the hoarse cry of the beast master made his heart sink. But his body was too weary to do anything else. Even his thoughts seemed too heavy to think, they mixed and swirled in his head. For a moment he thought he was upside down in a stinking passage, then he thought perhaps he should have caved in the ceiling to stop the hounds smelling him. But then he remembered the roof was made of stone and he wouldn’t be able to. Then it all went black.

He awoke to a strange snuffling sound coming from the burrow. His body was warm but stiff all over. The sound grew closer, as did the smell he had noticed when he first found the burrow. When he opened his eyes, he at first thought he hadn’t, for it had not increased his ability to see at all. At his slight movement the snuffling stopped and a strange growling noise replaced it. For a moment Vikta thought the shadowhounds at found him, his heart almost stopped. But this was nothing like them, either in sound or smell. Carefully, he pushed his way upright until he was almost sitting up. His head knocked against the roof, roots tickled his face and loose soil showered over him. The animal retreated, grumbling as it withdrew. Vikta hadn’t heard the thing turn, and suspected it was walking backwards.

He waited for quiet, then reached out carefully and felt for the hole. Pushing his head in a little way, he listened. Nothing.

If there had been shadowhounds around, the animal wouldn’t have approached, Vikta thought. So they must have gone. As it was also dark at the end of the burrow, he decided now was the best time to move. With a little energy restored, but still almost crippled with pain, hunger and thirst, Vikta crawled out of the tunnel. It seemed to get warmer and warmer as he moved, and when he was able to stand upright again he found a sweat beading his forehead.

Water, he decided, was his first priority. To get clean, to drink, and if possible, to cross over to the other side. Then food, perhaps he could snare something, he didn’t know how but it couldn’t be too difficult, the hunters came back with piles of stuff when they went out. He thought briefly that perhaps he should have grabbed the snuffling thing when he had the chance. But he soon discarded the idea, it just didn’t seem fair to use its burrow and then eat it.

The sweat spread throughout his body, making his already itchy skin even worse. He headed the same way he had been going, as best he could tell in the pre-dawn gloom. He stopped to listen often, only moving again when he was satisfied he’d heard nothing. The slope carried on for a while, and by the time the sun was almost up, he had moved a fair distance from the burrow with no sign of pursuit.

Through the trees up ahead, he realised the light was brighter, as if there were no trees to block it. A river! His heart leapt, he moved at what for him was a dash towards it, emerging onto a wide clearing that stretched east and west in front of him. Opposite, on the northern side, the forest continued. In the centre, stretching as far as he could see in both directions was a road.

His disappointment flooded him with heat, a dizzyness made him stagger and fall among long grass. The grass was wet with dew, he tried to lick it up, but got very little for his efforts. Instead he contented himself with grabbing a double handful and cramming it into his mouth. After the dizzy spell had cleared enough to allow him to sit, he began to pick at the grass again, eating the wettest blades, and this time clearing out the spiders and other insects that lived there. The few wild plants he found he ate as well, just in case they were medicinal.

The day warmed and made him feel drowsy. Realising he was by the side of a road, and not knowing if crossing it was like crossing a river, he decided to hide until dark. A wind-felled tree lay within crawling distance by the side of the road. He curled into the cool grass where the lowest branches met the trunk, had the tree been upright, and settled down to sleep.

The sweating was almost constant now, and his vision began to blur. His body turned cold despite the warm day, but at least the itching had stopped. It was a small thing but to Vikta it was important. Some time went by as Vikta dozed, waking himself every so often with sudden muscle twitches. Once he awoke and wondered how he had managed to climb up a tree. He considered climbing down to lay on the floor, but it looked like too much trouble.

As the figure came into view along the road, Vikta’s first thought was that he was hallucinating again. The man was quite small and walking barefoot along the middle of the road. He was also bald, and wore a tiny hat from which a cloth tail hung to his shoulder. As he drew nearer to the tree, the man stopped. Vikta thought he heard the man sniff, but wasn’t sure. The small man stepped from the road, right on to the verge where Vikta had eaten the grass. Carefully lowering his pack to the ground, the man crossed his legs and folded himself into a sitting position. For sometime he merely sat, eyes closed, no sign of movement. Vikta wondered whether he should greet the man, but decided not to startle him, he wasn’t exactly at his best.

Shadows moved across Vikta, but still the man sat unmoving. Within his screen of branches he dozed fitfully, awaking at some imagined enemy. And each time he opened his eyes there was the stranger.

Finally, the small man moved, a reversal of his sitting motion, lifting his pack to his shoulder. Then the noise of horses cantering down the road reached Vikta’s ears.

Four mounted guards appeared, wearing the red and orange colours of Underlord Guamon. They wore leather armour studded with small metal plates and were armed with swords and staves. They stopped several horse lengths from the man, two of them dismounted and walked over to him.

“We’re looking for a boy, about this tall and thin, pale skin, blonde hair, although he might be covered in shit.”

The man looked thoughtful a moment, then answered in a strange voice. “Such a boy would be difficult to hide, especially about my small personage.”

The guard stepped closer. “I didn’t ask if you had him, I asked if you had seen him.”

“Indeed you did not sir, no questions at all were asked, merely a statement made.”

The guard turned and looked at the other soldier, who moved up closer, gripping his stave loosely.

The first guard leaned in to the small man, who seemed not in the least intimidated. “If you don’t start answering questions, I’m going to stop being so pleasant. Look around boy, there’s no one here to help you.”

“Pardon me, but there is someone around and if you would just plainly ask such questions as you need answering I will gladly answer to the best of my abilities.”

“Right, now, have you seen a boy like I just said.”

“The complete truth is no, I haven’t seen such a boy.”

“No? What about yesterday, what about earlier today? Where are you from anyway? I don’t like the way you talk.”

“I have never in my life seen a boy covered in shit, not today, yesterday or ever, nor do I have any wish to. I am from Astatai. And there is nothing I can do about your opinion of my enunciation, so I will not trouble myself to dwell on it or attempt to change it. Also, you may ask me the question all day, in various different ways and in several different languages and the answer will be forever the same; I have not seen a boy as you describe. Now I will be on my way.” He bowed slightly and turned away.

The guard tried to grab his shoulder, but the man stepped quickly to one side, to again face the men, but now he was in the road.

“Where do you think you’re going, we haven’t finished with you yet? Get him Tammo.”

The guard called Tammo lifted his stave and stepped towards the small man, swinging the weapon towards his head.

Vikta nearly cheered out loud as the small man caught the wooden bar and smartly chopped it in half with his other hand. The broken half he gave back to Tammo, who meekly took it.

The first guard moved to stand beside Tammo. “Right, that’s damage to the Underlord’s property, you’re under arrest.” On some pre-arranged signal, both men launched gauntleted fists at the small man. Both men missed as he ducked backwards, moving so quickly Vikta gasped. With all that was going on he wasn’t noticed.

They tried again, rushing bodily into the fight. Vikta didn’t see all that happened, his eyes were still a bit blurry and the small man moved so quickly, in short sharp movements. At the end of it all, the two guards were lying on the road, flat on their backs. Then came the sound of steel being drawn and the clop of hoofs. The other two guards drove their horses forwards, their swords aimed directly at the small man.

What happened next made Vikta rub his eyes in disbelief.

In a single movement the man pulled what looked like two wooden short swords from his pack. Then he stood motionless until the swordsmen were virtually on him. His hands a blur of motion, the small man parried both weapons, ducked and twisted, leaped in the air and smacked both men on the back of the head as their horses rode by. Both guards fell from their mounts much as Vikta had fell into the burrow. But they didn’t get up, whereas Vikta was on his knees just in time to see them hit the road.

The first guard and Tammo had climbed to their feet now, and both had drawn their swords.

The small man spoke again, his voice not at all smooth and quiet as before. “I have just disarmed two mounted men without even breaking sweat, and you are stupid enough or arrogant enough to think you can do better?”

The two guards looked at each other. The one who seemed to be in charge sheathed his sword. “This time, as we’re busy, I’m going to let you go. But if we meet again, I’m going to arrest you for damage to the Underlord’s property.

“Tammo, get these two up and let’s go, we’ve got a maggot to dig out.”

With some coaxing and shouting, the two unconscious men were roused and put on their horses. Eventually they managed to ride off with some degree of dignity, and were soon out of sight. The small man watched them go, made sure they weren’t coming back, then turned towards Vikta’s hiding place.

“You may come out now, despite appearances, I am no threat to you.”

Vikta was unsure, the man was obviously dangerous, but what alternatives were there? He was in no state to run, didn’t know how to fight, and there were no holes available to hide in. Besides, perhaps he was a friend of this boy they were looking for, perhaps he could help him find the lad. Maybe the man had water and food in his pack. Vikta took one step from his hiding place and fell forwards, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Next Chapter: Chapter Four - Gryph