The Fallen Odyssey

Chapter 9: Do Your Best and Don't Look Back

Do your best and don't look back, thought Justin as he ran, struggling under the weight of the heavy satchel slung over his shoulder. That's what Mom would say. She would say, do your best and don't look back!

With every step, Justin felt as if he were about to collapse. The bag of books over his shoulder probably weighed sixty pounds, and his new outfit was oversized and unwieldy. He must have been a pitiable sight, running up the hill from Zechariah's hut to try to catch up with the old man, tripping over his too-large boots while his cloak dragged behind him.

At the top of the hill, he saw Zechariah already at the bottom on the other side, walking toward the burned house. A ghostly vapor of stale smoke hung over the wreckage, blurring an otherwise cloudless sky.

"Wait!" Justin shouted. "Zechariah!"

"Hurry up then, if you're coming, you damn fool!" Zechariah barked over his shoulder without even turning around.

Justin growled in annoyance and adjusted the satchel as he ran. He nearly fell several times, and he was gasping for breath by the time he caught up with the old man. "You, uh, really like to read, huh?" he said, hefting the pack of books a little higher on his shoulder.

Zechariah overlooked the comment. "Before we join Ahlund, there are a few things you should know," he said in a low voice. "First off, the young woman who's been kidnapped is the daughter of the king of Nolia."

"The king?" Justin said. "Of this place?"

"No," said Zechariah. "This town is called Deen. It is an independent municipality. Nolia is a nation to the west beyond the Gravelands. A few weeks ago, the king of Nolia and his family were killed. He, the queen, his sons, his siblings, and every other known successor to the throne were all murdered. The entire royal bloodline was severed in a single evening-almost, anyway. Somehow, the king's only daughter survived the regicide."

Zechariah stopped talking as they passed an adolescent boy mending a part of the fence the cattle had broken the night before. The boy barely even looked up from his work except to wipe the sweat from beneath his straw hat, but Zechariah remained silent all the same until they were out of earshot.

"It's possible that the coup originated from inside the Nolian government," Zechariah continued under his breath, "so the princess quietly relocated to Deen, bringing only one bodyguard so as not to draw unwanted attention."

"Ahlund," said Justin. He tried to pronounce it the way Zechariah did-Ahl as in "all" and und as in "under"-but it felt awkward on his tongue.

"Yes, Ahlund," said Zechariah. "The fugitive princess has been living secretly under his protection. The Nolian public believe she died with the rest of her family, and the people of Deen think Ahlund's just a wealthy rancher from inner Darvelle here to stake a claim on some land. But, apparently, someone learned the truth. And last night, they acted."

"Seems risky," said Justin. "Having only one soldier to keep her safe, I mean."

"Well, Ahlund is no soldier. He is a sword-for-hire. A mercenary under contract with the government, and a very dangerous man. At any rate, now you understand why we must help him. I don't know who took the princess, but I suspect that with the potential of a royal ransom to be made, almost anyone would be interested in her capture. A word to the wise, though: I wouldn't mention any of this in front of Ahlund. He would not be pleased to know I had told you."

Justin looked ahead at the wreckage of Ahlund's house. There were no visible flames at this point, but the blackened pile still smoked like a chimney. Nearby stood the very tall man called Ahlund.

"So, how do you know all this?" whispered Justin.

"Pardon me?" said Zechariah.

"The stuff you just told me is supposed to be top-secret, right? What makes you the exception?"

"You're rather forward, aren't you?" whispered Zechariah.

Justin shrugged.

"Ahlund and I are acquaintances," Zechariah said.

"You?" said Justin. "You're friends with a mercenary?"

"Acquaintances, I said," said Zechariah.

Justin considered for a moment. "Hold on," he said. "You told me that Ahlund found me out on the plains. What was he doing out there if he was supposed to be protecting a princess?"

"I have been wondering the same thing," said Zechariah. "Maybe you can ask him, at a more opportune moment."

Ahead, Ahlund as watching them as they approached. He had replaced his burned clothes with fresh ones and now wore a cloak of forest green with the hood pulled over his head. One gloved hand rested on the hilt of a longsword sheathed at his side.

If he's the one who found me and brought me here, thought Justin, maybe he can help me find my way home.

"Dream," he whispered. "Don't forget. Not real. A dream..."

Three horses-that-weren't-horses were tethered nearby. The animals had muscular bodies with short, umber-brown hair, hooves, and wiry tails. Their long faces had the pronounced brow ridges of a camel, and their snouts were elephant-like trunks that hung halfway to the ground. To Justin, they looked like the kind of bizarre extinct species you might see painted on a museum wall-an ice-age precursor to modern mammals. All three had saddles on their backs.