A rasping voice which sounded like a pit full of snakes responded, “Wouhld youuu prehfehr thihs?”
The arrow morphed into a large purple spine in his hand. Andrew dropped it in terror and tried to scream, but no sound came out of his mouth. Something grabbed him from behind and wrenched him around. He was looking at the familiar face of Master Orin, but something was wrong. Suddenly, the man started sprouting purple and hissing. Andrew was paralyzed. He felt a burning, stabbing pain in his neck.
The Hivemind is master. The Hivemind is master. The Hivemind is master.
Andrew woke in a cold sweat. He was breathing hard, and the sheets of his bed were tangled around him. “It was a dream,” he panted to himself. “Just a dream. It was only a dream.” A faint hope began to grow within him. “Maybe this was all just a nightmare.” He felt his neck: it was still slightly painful to the touch, and he could feel the scar where the Slyg spines had penetrated his flesh. So part of it was real, after all. Andrew sighed dejectedly as everything began to come back into place.
After being dropped off by his father, Andrew had started wandering around the Highlands. As a young man going through the fasaerid, everyone had been so kind to him. He had gotten cocky, and decided to go exploring. Ignoring whispered warnings of an unknown menace, Andrew decided to cross the Trederis river. A number of years ago, this river had become the eastern border of Kovàl, and no one seemed to know why the king had given up the thin strip of land between the river and the desert. Though his father the baron had warned him not to look too closely into this matter, Andrew was very curious. He laughed at the rumors about “Slygs”, supposedly 10-foot-tall monsters that made mincemeat of anyone who wandered into their territory. Andrew decided to ford the river and find out what was going on. He found out all right: much more than he had bargained for. Months later, his brief captivity still haunted his dreams.
Andrew got up and began pacing. He was in Àmstaad, the seat of the highland barony of FinLaughington, in the upper bedroom of the Master Fletcher Orin’s house. He had taken a temporary job running errands, helping the master in the workshop, and doing odd jobs. In return, Orin was teaching him the art of arrow-making, as well as giving him room & board, and a small hourly wage.
Andrew heard a knock at the door. He quickly threw on the dressing-gown which had been hanging on a chair by the bed. “Come in!” he called. The door opened, and the master’s daughter, Karèl, entered the room. She had just turned sixteen years old, and was about a head shorter than Andrew. She was holding a steaming cup in her hands, and looked at Andrew with concern.
“I heard you shouting. Another nightmare?”
Andrew nodded silently.
“I couldn’t sleep, so when I heard you, I came up to investigate. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“That’s very kind of you, but I’m fine. Really.”
The girl smiled. “Here,” she said, “I brought you a cup of warm mead. Maybe it will help you get to sleep.” Andrew smiled back, taking the steaming honey-wine gratefully. Karèl yawned. “I’d better be getting back to bed. Good night. Pleasant dreams!”
She closed the door behind her. “How sweet of her,” Andrew thought, then shuddered as an image of Karèl infested by the Slyg flashed through his mind. Poor girl. She had no idea what was out there. She had no idea what he had been through, what he was still going through. Andrew sipped away at the mead, his head a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. But as the warm drink slowly began to work its way through his system, Andrew began to nod. He got back into bed, and at last fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.
* * * * *
The next day, Andrew was working in the shop, when Master Orin came over to observe his work. He looked at the arrow which was taking shape under Andrew’s hands. “That’s fine work, my boy. You are coming along very well!”
“Thank you, Master,” Andrew replied. He felt a glow of pleasure. Orin did not give praise lightly. When he said something was done well, he meant it.
“Andrew, when I first took you in, I wasn’t sure if it was going to work. But you’ve turned out to be one of the quickest and most hard-working lads I’ve ever met. You have the makings of an excellent fletcher. I have a proposition for you. After your fasaerid is over, would you consider staying on with me? You say there’s not much opportunity for you back home in the lowlands, but you certainly have a future here. I’d like to take you on as a full partner in my fletching business. What do you say?”
Andrew was taken aback. What could he say? He was a Baron’s son! This was a very generous offer, and showed how highly Master Orin though of him. But there was simply no way he could accept. He stammered. “Uh, that’s… wonderfully generous of you. Do you really think I’m that good?”
“Of course you’re good. And…” he grinned knowingly, “I’m not the only one who would be happy if you agreed to stay around here.” Andrew felt his ears turn red. He cleared his throat.
“Well, I’ll think about it,” he said. “Thank you.”
* * * * *
That evening, Andrew was on his way home from the small forest outside of Àmstaad. He was carrying a bunch of saplings for Master Orin’s workshop. As he passed the gate of one of the outlying houses, Andrew saw Karèl running out the front door. “Karèl!” he called in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
She hurried towards him. “I was just visiting my friend Erica,” she said. “I guess we lost track of time.” she giggled nervously, then suddenly became serious. “Papa must be terribly worried: I’m not supposed to be out after dark.”
“Oh, don’t fret,” said Andrew. “I’ll walk you home. You’ll be just fine.”
The pair were soon on their way. Andrew started whistling merrily, but Karèl seemed nervous. Gradually, a strange feeling began to come over Andrew as well, as if they were being followed. He started to say something, but Karèl halted abruptly and held up her hand. “Did you hear that?” she whispered. They waited in silence for a moment.
“It was nothing,” said Andrew after a moment. “You must be imagining things.”
“Wait! There it is again!” This time, Andrew heard it too. Someone was definitely behind them. Andrew nodded silently. Then he whirled around to confront the stalker. Only his quick reflexes saved him from a heavy blow to the head! With the speed of long practice, Andrew drew his dagger and rose onto the balls of his feet, ready for a fight. Narrowly avoiding another swing of the club, Andrew leapt forward and thrust his knife into the attacker’s chest. Before he could withdraw the blade, he and Karèl were surrounded by several more thugs. Karèl screamed, but the sound was suddenly cut off, as if someone had covered her mouth. Andrew turned around again, but not fast enough. A menacing shadow loomed up in front of him, a cudgel in its upraised arms. The blow fell more quickly than he could react. Andrew’s head felt like it was split in two. Lights flashed before his eyes. He fell to the ground, and knew no more.
* * * * *
Andrew woke in a smoky cave lit by torches. His hands and feet were bound, and he was facing a stone wall. Andrew rolled over and looked about him. Karèl was lying nearby, apparently still unconscious. He saw a scruffy-looking guard sitting in the corner of the room. The guard’s clothes were tattered, and it looked like he hadn’t bathed for weeks. He was holding a slightly rusty scimitar in his hand, and a pistol was tucked in his belt. He looked at Andrew and grunted.
“You’re awake.”
He got up and stomped out of the room. The sound seemed to wake Karèl. She stirred and sat up.
“Andrew?” she said groggily. “Wha- What’s happened? Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “We seem to be in some sort of cave. I think we’ve been captured by bandits. The guard just left.” His mind was working furiously. “If they are just common thieves, what do they want with us? Why didn’t they just take our money and leave us lying in the street?”
Andrew could feel the waithe-brom against his chest. “Should I use it?” He thought uncomfortably. He finally decided against it. “I’m not in mortal peril,” he reasoned. “If they wanted to kill me, they would have done it already. There’s no need to use the stone.”
His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of several ragged and unwashed ruffians, led by a man who seemed to be their leader. He turned and barked at his men. “Stay here and guard the door, but don’t make a sound.” Turning back toward Andrew and Karèl with a big smile and assuming a jovial tone, he said, “Greetings! Allow me to introduce myself: I am Joràn. Welcome to the Brotherhood!”
“Brotherhood?” snorted Andrew. “You’re nothing but common thugs!”
Joràn's eyes flashed angrily, but he quickly regained his composure. He chuckled woodenly, and said, “My associates are sometimes too… enthusiastic. But I assure you, we are not ‘common thugs.’”
Andrew looked at Joràn skeptically. The man cleared his throat and assumed a lecturing tone.
“We are the Brotherhood. We are all men who have been exploited by society, deprived of their basic needs by the wealthy and privileged….”
The men around him began to yawn. They’d heard this speech before. Joràn continued, oblivious. “We simply retake what is ours, earning a meager living by freeing the rich of their excess wealth. In fact…”
“So you’re common thugs,” Andrew interrupted.
Joràn, jolted out of his speech, glared at Andrew for a moment, then gave another lifeless laugh. “It is true, my associates are sometimes too… enthusiastic,” he said.
Andrew rolled his eyes. “And what do you want from us?”
“My men were sent to invite you to join our company. We are always looking for new recruits who are willing to join us in providing a valuable service to society, for everyone knows that riches are the gateway to corruption.”
“A fine way to invite new members: knocking them on the head!”
“Ah, yes. Well…” he paused. The men behind him were grumbling. Joràn turned.
“What are you complaining about?” he snapped.
“The boy killed Arnie!” one of them shouted. “We want revenge!”
Joràn sighed angrily. “We need him. The boy’s a fletcher. I’m not sure if you noticed, but bows work better if you have arrows to shoot with them.”
The men shuffled their feet nervously.
“Besides, didn’t you see the way he fought in the alley? We had him surrounded and caught by surprise in the dark, and he still managed to kill Arnie. He will be a valuable member of the brotherhood! More valuable than Arnie, and certainly more valuable than you are, morons!”
The men, subdued, returned to their posts. Joràn turned back to Andrew, again wearing the same hollow smile.
“What do you say, boy? Take it or leave it.”
Andrew curled his lip. “I’ll leave it. ‘Brotherhood’ indeed. I would never associate with scum like you.”
Joràn snarled and gestured to one of his men. The goon grabbed Karèl and held a dagger to her neck. She gave a little shriek of fright.
“Join us, or we slit her throat.” Joràn’s smile had suddenly turned into a sadistic grin, and his eyes glowed with malice.
Andrew’s mind started racing. He couldn’t just give in. But he had to save Karèl! A drop of blood trickled down the girl’s neck from where the dagger’s point was pressing against her skin. Her eyes were wide with terror.
“Andrew!” she gasped.
A dozen wild schemes flew through Andrew’s mind, all of them completely useless.
“Very well, if that is your decision,” sneered Joràn. He nodded to the man holding Karèl. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for the final blow…
“Wait!” shouted Andrew. “I’ll join!”
Joràn smiled triumphantly. He gestured to the thug, who let go of Karèl. She collapsed to the floor in a faint.
“Take her back to her father, and I’ll join your ‘brotherhood’” Andrew said dejectedly.
Joràn nodded. “Very well. But if you should ever go back on your word, we know just where to find her.” He chuckled to himself, then turned on his heel and marched out.
