Strange Traveller

Uthar's eyes were closed, his face peaceful, his hands folded across his chest. Grim had never seen the king wearing his full regalia, but the garb he wore now bore a striking resemblance to the armor worn by the guards. It was identical to the leather jerkin and the helmet with the ram's horns.

At least, Grim assumed it was the king. The corpse certainly looked like him. After all, it was impossible to tell a man's age when they were dead. Nevertheless, Grim studied the body carefully, searching for any sign that the deceased might be someone else. There were no visible wounds, no signs of a struggle.

But then, what did he expect to find?

Grim turned to the two corpses lying beside the king. One of them was a young boy, maybe five or six winters old. Grim didn't recognize him, but he did recognize the other. It was the youngest son of the royal family, the one who had accompanied his father on the voyage to Thorgilsstad. He was a year younger than Grim.

He's the one they want to keep safe, Grim thought, turning back to the king. So why would they kill him?

Before he could ponder the answer to that question, he noticed something strange. The king's right hand was resting on his left arm, which was draped over the table. But now, Grim saw that the king's left arm was missing.

Had he lost his arm in the fighting? Grim wondered. Maybe it was cut off in the battle, or perhaps it was broken and had been removed later. Whatever the reason, it must have happened after the attack.

Grim turned his gaze back to the corpse. It was difficult to tell whether the king was injured, but he definitely had a bloody wound on his right side. Grim was about to inspect it further when he noticed something else.

There was a small wooden box sitting next to the king's right leg.

Was it the king's? Grim wondered.

As he moved closer, he saw that the lid of the box was open, revealing a collection of jewels and coins. There were gold and silver coins, some with the profile of the king stamped on them, others with the symbol of the red dragon. Among the gems were several uncut rubies, sapphires, and emeralds.

And then Grim saw something else.

The king's fingers were clutching a dagger.

The blade of the weapon was embedded in the king's right forearm, its hilt still firmly grasped in his hand. The point protruded from the flesh just below the elbow. Grim couldn't imagine how the king could have held onto it while falling to the ground.

Why would they stab him in the arm? It made no sense.

Unless...

Grim's heart raced as he realized the truth.

Could it be?

Yes, it had to be!

He had to be sure.

Quickly, he pulled the dagger from the king's arm. A gush of blood followed, spraying the floor beneath the body. Grim knelt down and examined the wound. It was deep, but not fatal. The king's skin was torn, but it was a superficial injury.

But it wasn't the only one.

On the king's left thigh, just above the knee, there was another puncture wound. Grim turned the king's leg so he could see the damage better. He was relieved to see that the bleeding was minimal.

This time, Grim didn't hesitate. He lifted the king's trouser leg, exposing the wound. Then, he placed the tip of the dagger against the edge of the hole. Grim pushed down with his thumb.

There was a sudden rush of warm liquid.

The king's blood flowed freely.

Grim had to stop the bleeding.

It took him several tries to get the dagger positioned correctly, but finally, he managed to draw the blade across the flesh, cutting through the veins and arteries. He pressed harder, trying to stem the flow of blood.

When the bleeding slowed, he put the dagger down and began looking for something else to use.

Finally, he found what he needed.

Using the sleeve of his tunic, Grim wiped the blood from the blade. He cleaned it thoroughly, using the hem of the garment to wipe away the gore. When he was satisfied that he had done all he could, he returned the dagger to its sheath.

Then, he stood and surveyed the carnage.

He didn't know what to do next.

Grim had to think. He had to make decisions.

The king's death was not the only thing he had to deal with. There were others who needed help.

Grim started towards the nearest door.

***

"Are you going to tell me who you are?" asked the warrior.

"No," Grim replied.

"Very well," the man said. "Follow me."

Grim followed the stranger out of the great hall. Once outside, they crossed the courtyard. As they passed by the main gate, the man stopped.

"Wait here," he said.

The man stepped inside the gate and disappeared from view. Grim waited patiently, pacing back and forth. After a while, the warrior reappeared, leading two horses. Grim approached the animals, inspecting them.

"They are fine," the man said. "They will carry you to the fortress. You should reach the gates before nightfall."

"Thank you," Grim replied. "What about the king?"

"I will return for him," the man said. "For now, it is best if you don't speak to anyone. If you do, you risk revealing who you are."

Grim nodded.

"You can ride behind me. I will protect you."

The stranger mounted one of the horses. Grim did the same, riding behind him.

The man guided the horse to the east, leaving the city and heading north. After a while, he reined in the animal and dismounted. Grim followed suit.

The man produced a flask from his belt and offered it to Grim.

"Drink this," he said.

Grim accepted the offer. The warrior poured a measure of liquid into a cup and handed it to him. Grim drank it down in one gulp.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A potion that will make you forget everything," the man replied. "Everything except what I tell you to remember. Do you understand?"

Grim nodded.

"Good," the man said. "Now, drink again."

Grim complied. The second draught tasted even stronger than the first. Soon, Grim felt a tingling sensation spreading throughout his body. He realized that the effects of the potion were starting to take hold.

"Remember this: the king was killed by an arrow fired from the bow of a black-haired woman. She came from the sea, carrying a large chest."

Grim nodded.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," Grim replied.

"Repeat it."

"The king was killed by an arrow fired from the bow of a black-haired woman. She came from the sea, carrying a large chest."

The man nodded.

"Very good. Now, go!"

The warrior kicked his horse and set off at a gallop. Grim did the same, following the man's lead. They rode for a long time.

Eventually, the warrior slowed his pace and turned around. Grim did likewise. The man pointed to a small farmhouse, a short distance ahead.

"Get down and hide in the barn," the man ordered. "I will distract the farmer."

Grim dismounted and crept towards the building. He crouched low, moving as quietly as he could.

The barn was empty.

Grim climbed up the ladder and entered the loft. He found a pile of hay and lay down, covering himself with the soft material. He waited.

After a while, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the barn.

The door opened and a figure appeared. It was the farmer, the one who had given Grim directions earlier. The man's eyes darted around the area, looking for the intruder.

Grim watched him carefully. The farmer was a big man, but not strong. His clothing was dirty and ragged, his beard unkempt.

Grim had seen him before.