by RG Long
"We will," Darrion said. "I will not take this lightly, I promise. You gave us power when no one else would believe in us.”
"It’s our fault the thief got away as he did," Rosha added. "It has to be us that bring him forward for justice."
"I hate my reputation here," Darrion said. He spoke with conviction, against the silence of the night, to his mentor and friend. "I will be a King's Guard. This is but one venture in my journey. I will show it to you and everyone else, the day Darrion Falstead earns his way up!"
Garis beheld the two with fondness. He nodded to them both and acknowledged their ambition.
"Go now, young ones," he said. "May your hearts stay brave against the dark."
The two set out. They walked an hour before they reached the base of the bandit forests that led to the old fortress. Garis watched them until they finally blended as shadows into the night against the long, rolling plains, and they disappeared into the woods, one night ahead of the royal guard's procession. One night's travel closer to their fate.
Chapter 7
THE SUN BEGAN ITS RISE along the eastern horizon, and its light was late and distant to meet the hidden camp of Darrion and Rosha in the wilds far from Oldrum's reach. The castle had grown distant in their retreat across the plains and into the hills, but even as they traveled far to the rim of the forest that held the lost outpost, they could still see it, and it could see them. The pull of their own destiny, the ever-present monolith that constantly shaded their homes from the thriving light, like the reach of royalty over empty lands, it was always in sight.
It was comforting for the purpose of travel, but upsetting to the growing sense of freedom they enjoyed. Rosha and Darrion's rest was cut short by the first glint of light through the trees as the sun rose over the rolling hills in the distance. Their small camp with a tight, huddled little fire pit dug into the ground was already long extinguished and cold. Their waking was rough, but they were used to hard mornings in different ways.
They slept back to back with the bindle between them to protect the meat from nighttime forest critters. They were just barely on the edge of the woods, only a few trees in, knowing that their path further in would have no landmarks or navigation beyond their intuition. They were slow to rise but steady to wake, just like every morning. Whether it was chores at the inn or rising with the horses, the only difference was that they were outdoors and had a far greater personal quest ahead of them to complete.
"Good morning," Rosha moaned.
"Yeah," Darrion replied.
Rosha picked up her spear, and Darrion hoisted and hauled the bindle across his back. They fought off the shivers of the stark night and looked back one last time across the fields they traveled under darkness.
"The guards," Darrion said, "won't be coming up through here, that's certain."
"The horses will get here shortly," Rosha said, "but they're field runners. The guards prioritize sheer speed over rough riding, mostly."
"Then we can keep to the rough road," Darrion said. "It'll be faster than finding a smooth way to go running."
"Is it just at the top of this hill?" Rosha asked, uncertainly. "Or, is it beyond?"
Darrion swung the bindle down to his side, under his arm, and reached in to fish out the map. Beyond showing the blueprints of its design, the walls of the fort with many architectural, engineering notes that baffled them both, it also had instructions for approach and arrival as well as secret avenues for entry and potential emergency exits. The map they had showed a sketched drawing on the reverse side from the perspective of Oldrum's castle itself, a span of horizon drawn out by hand and detailed with swipes of a charcoal brush. On one hill, they marked the presence of the outpost by its design, the angles it viewed over the landscape, and the route through the wooded hills where supplies would travel to.
"Okay," Darrion said, "we're here."
He pointed to the nearest hill and the closest forest past the plains. Rosha awed at the map.
"I've never seen the land from that high up before," Rosha said. "The village would be just below this, yes?"
"I think so," Darrion said. "But here, that's the outpost, and we're down here."
"That's miles out," she said. "If our run across the plains took as long as it did, we'd have to hike the whole day to reach the outpost. The horses will reach the path before we do."
"This map is ages old, though," he said, "and the outpost has been abandoned for as long as I know. The path would be too and covered by bandit's eyes. If the thief fled there, they'd know the safe way through, to avoid bandit traps or ambushes to reach the outpost."
"Then, the guards will just follow the old path and get caught?"
"If they find the old path," Darrion said. "I've heard talks from guards and travelers who encountered bandits and raided their camps. Bandits are tricky and clever, not wild random criminals. After all, one stole from the castle and got away..."
His voice went lower when he mentioned it, reliving the shame of his failure, which led to this incident going on for as long as it had. Rosha could tell he was conflicted and reached out to him, but he stood up with conviction.
"They say they hide themselves. They replant bushes and brush, even trees if their band is large enough, into places that seem natural at a glance to cover the trails to their camps."
"So the opening of the trail will be hidden," Rosha said. "Or, if they're smart enough, inaccessible on horseback."
"The thief abandoned the stolen horse," Darrion added. "If they could have, they would have kept it. Covering a horse's trail would be easier than simply going on foot."
"And a horse with that speed would be handy, regardless of where they were headed," Rosha said. "Then I suppose you're right."
"If we didn't have a chance, Garis would have stopped us," Darrion said. "He believes in us."
"Then, won't the guards also know about the blocked path?" Rosha asked.
Darrion put the map away and looked away into the woods.
"I just want to be sure we're going to do the right thing. I've never... We've never tried anything like this before."
"You're right," Darrion said, "but we have to try. They'll most definitely get ahead of us if we don't leave now." He adjusted the bindle back and began hiking forward, using the distant Oldrum at the top of the cliff as a landmark to guide him on. There were many trees to pass through to stay on the rough road.
They started their day walking. They walked through the forest and traveled deeper. They kept away from the sight of the plains around them. Out of sight of anyone passing through the woods, for good or ill. They had to keep themselves hidden from the enemy that would possessively stalk and control their dark forest fortress and guards who would see them as potential allies of the royal thief.
Occasionally, Darrion would walk down the slope, toward the plains, just to check the surroundings. The hill between their woods and the Oldrum castle gave him an idea of where they were. The actual hill the outpost was hidden on was still a considerable ways away, but they'd made much progress before the sun got too high. It was only barely noon when they managed to make their way to the foot of the final hill. At the top of the miles-hike would be the outpost. Finally, they had a reason to stop and eat.
There was no time or place for formality with their food. They ate without caring. It wasn't unusual for Darrion. He was used to eating away from a table with the family gathered around it. Mostly, he wanted to get away from his aunt and uncle. Darrion preferred to be alone and relaxed, without obligations or chores weighing on his mind. Rosha ate more slowly and solemnly until she saw Darrion dipping a hard tack biscuit into a jar of mashed, cooked forest berries. The biscuit broke in half, and he fished it out with his fingers until it was soaked with sticky juices.
"Do you think," Rosha asked, "I should dip my smoked meat into the honey?"
"Why would you?" Darrion asked.
"I... I don't know," she admitted. "I’ve never tried it. When will I try a
gain?"
"Well, go for it," he offered.
"Will you try it with me?" she asked.
Darrion was already halfway through the thick, tough bread that coated his mouth with sugary jam. Rosha looked excited. She was so free suddenly, so far from town and her obligations, and she seemed so happy just to do something so outlandish.
"All right," he agreed.
He took half of Rosha's stick of meat and swirled it around in his jam while she did the same. They both used it to scoop up a thick wad of the raw amber goo. They sucked the food in their mouths and stopped for a moment.
There was instant regret.
The smoke and spices of the meat didn't mix with the berries or the honey. The flavors clashed and couldn't mix; both were too powerful to be handled at once.
"Ugh," Rosha moaned.
She was visibly unsatisfied. Darrion nodded, agreeing with her. While their mouths were full, and their lips stuck shut, all they did was groan and grumble and moan, using their inflections exclusively to try and talk.
Partway through, they started laughing. The food went unchewed for a moment in the final portion of their rest until it overwhelmed their senses and palates to the point where they had to either gag it out or choke it down.
Darrion tilted his head up and gulped a few times. He reached blindly for the waterskin and finally managed to struggle his throat clear again. He was panting and saw Rosha struggling as well with her cheeks full to bursting and amber-tinted drool dripping out. He handed over the waterskin and watched her choke her mistake down.
"Well," he said, "let's not try that again."
"Gah," she gasped at length. "Agreed."
Once they recovered, Darrion walked down the slight grade toward the plains and checked once more to see if the pursuers from the city were in sight. He checked carefully along the long and distant ways around the interceding hill that blocked Oldrum from sight and spotted a faraway blur of dark colors set against the vast green open grounds. They were coming, and he and Rosha were only minutes ahead at the rate they were traveling. The fast road was certainly quicker, but the rough road they took would be more direct.
He returned to Rosha with a grim expression, and she immediately understood. They moved with haste into the forest, down one slope and up another, beginning their ascent toward the hidden outpost and the scepter hidden away.
Chapter 8
THE FOREST GREW DARKER as they ascended the hill. They found no path, and the further in they went, the more broken and rugged the terrain became. Sheer faces of rock rose up from the ground and lifted shelves of trees above the rest of the ground. Divots stretched out into ditches and ravines, long cracks in the earth that split open long ago from unknown forces when the mountains were first being formed. All of it was overgrown and lush with life. The forest continued to become dense until it tightened into a darkened jungle.
The setting was enough to send a seasoned guard or even a stalwart bandit into a fearful stance that could invite much paranoia of their unseen surroundings, but the two exploring youths were enamored even by the harshest darkness being so nearby their own home. They had never been in such untamed wilds. The forests around Oldrum were curated and tame with only harmless hunting game for the Prince's leisurely practice in the summer months. It was not a place for them to play, but when they did, they got used to the closeness of town, interrupting the serenity of nature.
Out beyond the city's walls and the purview of the guards, the exhilaration and excitement replaced all of the fear that would have been normal. They were young again, like kids in the woods, forgetting their places at home and the chores they avoided in favor of frolicking and having fun together in the forest. But things were just different enough that some of their fun was numbed by the weight they carried. On Darrion's back was the food and supplies, and tight to his hip was the dagger. Rosha used her spear, with the sharpened, flanged tip in the air, like a walking cane to push her over small gaps with the butt.
Their unmarked path led them further up the hill of the forest, ever towards the unseen outpost at the end of the forest. Yet under the tight-woven canopy that cast the ground in shadows, it felt like they made no progress at all. Darrion started to stumble a bit as he lost his placement. The forest was warping his sense of stability.
He walked on the slanted ground so long with no horizon to adjust to and no flat surface to reset himself on that his body became confused, and his legs started to buckle. He didn't know which way his body should go, up like the trees grew or straight up from the ground, which was slanting enough that the weight on his back aiming down made him feel like he was about to fall every other step.
"Hold on," Darrion said.
He lowered himself down to his hands and knees and stopped in place. Rosha went to his side and held her spear up. Her sense of loss gave her a different perspective that confused her mind and caused her body to follow. She'd never been somewhere so dense for so long. As a stable hand and a horse breaker, she was used to wide-open spaces where horses could run free. The most restrictive place she ever stayed in for extended time was her own family home, but that was different. It was safe there; everything was solid and built together. The woods were different.
"Let's rest," she said. "Even if they arrived at the base of the hill, unless they abandon their horses, they won't make any progress."
"And what if they do?" Darrion asked. "Leave one guard behind to keep the horses fed and wrangled while the rest find the old supply path and make their way into the bandit's ambush? Then we'll have bandits armed with royal steel and guarded by heavy mail."
"The guards will surely defeat the bandits," Rosha said. "They're not fools, just complacent. Now they have something to work for. Like Garis, with motivation, even the guards of Oldrum can be honorable warriors."
Darrion scoffed.
"We shouldn't wish for them to die, either,” Rosha added. “As contentious as we left the town, we shouldn't wish ill on our own neighbors."
Darrion sighed. He sat up and held his head, hoping the pressure from his hand would counter the swimming feeling inside his skull.
"I'll forgive them when they ask me to," he said. "And if we retrieve the scepter, they will."
"Then let that be your whole revenge," Rosha said.
She reached down and offered a hand to pick him up. He hooked his elbow with hers, and she lifted him and his heavy bag up again. He felt more controlled and certain in his posture.
"Killing is not our first option. Remember that."
"Yes," he agreed. "But, the bandits can't know that."
She tightened the grip on her spear and nodded. They both understood that, between the two of them, she had the greatest potential for killing blows. Her spear, and the way she learned to use it in their brief mentorship by Garis, left a stunning impression. It made her fear the power at the end of her weapon, despite knowing extremely well that fear would stop her hand and never let her use it. Darrion's dagger was likewise lethal, but not at such an impressive range.
They took a short break, only eating rational and conservative amounts, allowing their burden in the bundle to lighten. They had at least one day remaining in their journey no matter what. If they retrieved the scepter and ran back home, they would still have to rest through one more night abroad in the forest. Any further complications would extend their stay in the wilds, and their supplies were not unlimited.
"We overpacked," Darrion sighed as he gnawed on a rawhide of meat. Rosha looked at him and his haggard eyes, his slumping shoulders, his tired posture, and felt guilty.
"I can carry it for you," she offered.
"No," he rejected proudly. He hoisted it up again. "It's getting lighter. Once we get the scepter, I need to carry it home."
"Fine," she relented.
They kept eating, grinding hardened, dry meat between their teeth, and listened to the sounds of the deep woods. Chirping birds and rustling leaves from all around them gave life and sight to
the invisible wind above. Then, suddenly, they heard a shout. They had to stop chewing and looked up the hill the sound echoed from. There was uncertainty in their minds of whether or not it was real.
Darrion put his finger up to his mouth to hush them both, and they listened closer. Then, once more, a shout, just as panicked and strange as before. Darrion dropped what he was eating and picked himself up to run up the hill. Rosha kept her stick in her mouth and ran up after him with her spear over her shoulder and both hands trained onto the shaft. Darrion did not know who it was, a guard or a bandit or a lost and wayward traveler, but it led upward, toward the outpost. It was unseen trouble being sown in the woods.
Darrion got near enough to the source and immediately slowed himself down. He hid behind trees and slowly approached the visible pathway in the woods, a slightly grown out clearing path of grass and weeds where wagon tracks used to travel.
The ruckus was coming from up that road. Darrion looked down the hill to check and see if any of the guards were making their way up already in their heavy armor. Then, from his cover behind a tree that grew on the edge of a steep dirt wall, he peered out up the road to the source of the noise.
There were three men on the road. Two were wearing tattered and pilfered looking half armor sets, with torn up gambesons and studded leather shoulder pads. They were cackling tauntingly and circling around the third man. He was lankier, cleaner, and wore a flowing red robe with black trim. He was holding a bag close to his chest, guarding it from the men that surrounded him. It was an obvious scene. Darrion signaled Rosha to stay down and stay close as he kept his place in observation.
"What is it?" she whispered.
