by Jon Kiln
“Do you think yourself mightier than this man? A finer warrior?” Peregrin continued. The huntsmen were silent once more, some of them turning to look at Stone, wondering if he would reply. He did not.
“If anyone doubts my decisions, they should feel free to take another path. But any man who rides with me must trust me: we shall return to that hellish desert, but we will return ready for war.”
With that, Peregrin turned and spurred his horse westward, continuing towards the King’s City on the Fawn’s Trail. Wordlessly, the huntsmen followed.
The riders continued through the Banewood throughout the day. When shadows began to gather and the light grew dim, Peregrin ordered the men to light torches. They would ride through the night.
Riding by torchlight in the Banewood was, as a rule, never done. Torches made travelers easily visible from a distance, and marauding bands of thieves that called the wood home could all too easily waylay a caravan before the riders knew what was upon them. Peregrin was well aware that, since the demise of the fairly noble Brath, lesser clans were making bids for supremacy in the Banewood, and the informal pecking order that had long stood was now in shambles. However, with Rothar’s ailment being a mystery, and time being such a factor, he decided that the huntsmen had no choice but to take their chances in the darkness.
The going was slow in the wavering light, but it was better than making no progress at all. The huntsmen spoke not at all, and the only sounds, save for the hooting of owls and the skittering of night creatures, was the hissing of torches and the stamping of the horse’s hooves as the weary men picked their way through the haunting trees.
The horses skidded and protested when the path fell steeply into a shallow ravine. A small creek ran though the bottom and the riders paused to let their steeds drink. Peregrin sat up straight as his ears caught a subtle sound on the wind. It was a shuffling, not like an animal, but hurried… and approaching. He snatched his bow from his back. His companions took notice and followed suit. The sounds ceased and the night was still again, too still for Peregrin’s instincts. No night birds chirped, and the horses lifted their heads from the brook.
A hoarse cry split the darkness, followed by a chorus of hoots and howls. More than a dozen men spilled over both edges of the ravine and sprinted down the steep banks, weapons raised. Peregrin let loose an arrow and wounded the nearest attacker, piercing his thigh. The marauders approached liked spiders, quick and wily.
The other huntsmen took aim and fired. Gamble killed a man at twenty paces and notched a new arrow in one motion, knocking down another that was closing in on Trevitt, who had leapt off his mount to join his brother in hand-to-hand combat with the fast approaching scoundrels. The twins swung their torches like clubs, smashing the glowing ends against the skulls of the whooping and cursing shadows that lunged at them. Sparks flew, shadows screamed, arrows whistled through the air, and men died.
The huntsmen were outnumbered but were dispatching the bandits handily before the group was befell upon by a tangle of heavy rope. The net blanketed the huntsmen and made it near impossible to get off a shot with a bow or strike a blow against an enemy.
The whirling mass of thieves stilled themselves and began to laugh at the encumbered huntsmen. The leader stepped forward and addressed Peregrin.
“Huntsmen, eh?” said the wiry man. “Ye should know better than to travel the Banewood at night.”
“We have an urgent matter,” replied Peregrin in a measured tone, though he was more than a little angry. “We have an ill man, in need of help. We must get him to the King’s City.”
The leader looked at Rothar and then shook his head dismissively. “Nay, he is the least of your worries. I am the new king of the Banewood, and I say ye shall not pass.”
The poacher lifted his sword towards Peregrin, reaching through the net to touch the tip of the blade against his chin.
“My lot has been pushed around by the huntsmen for long enough,” he continued. “But Brath is gone, and the law of the land is changing. The new law, my law, demands that blood be shed for transgressions and trespasses.”
The man pressed harder with the tip of the sword, a thin line of blood trickled down Peregrin’s neck. Suddenly, the self proclaimed king of the Banewood, straightened up, his eyes went wide and he emitted a strained sound. He slowly turned around in a half circle, the shaft of an arrow stuck between his shoulder blades.
Before anyone could react, another arrow hissed into the ravine, striking one of the bandits in the neck. At the back of the line, Dewitt and Trevitt freed themselves from the net and set to work hacking the ropes away from the rest of the group. The remaining thieves were too busy frantically searching the shadows for the archer, and took little notice of the emancipated huntsmen until Gamble planted an arrow in one man’s eye and Dewitt caved in the skull of another.
With the help of their unknown ally, the huntsmen ended the fight in short order, with the last man dying under Peregrin’s longsword. Quiet returned to the night and the huntsmen stood, scanning the darkness.
“Who are you?” called out Peregrin.
Silently, a slender silhouette stepped out from behind a tree at the top of the ravine. The figure gracefully moved down the slope and stepped into the light.
“Taria!” exclaimed Peregrin. “Whatever are you doing out here?”
Shame mixed with excitement and surprise as Peregrin realized that she had come out of worry for Rothar. He felt ashamed for bringing back her love in such a condition, and ashamed for causing her to endanger herself in such a way. A lone woman, at night, in the Banewood.
Taria said nothing, she only rushed past the men and took Rothar’s face in her hands. She whispered something into his ear that none of the others could make out. To everyone’s surprise, and for the first time since the red desert, Rothar’s eyes flickered open. They remained open for only a moment, just long enough to gaze back into Taria’s before fluttering shut again. The sight gave Peregrin new hope that his friend would recover, and also firmly reinforced something that he already knew to be true: he was hers, and she was his.
Chapter 34
In the hellish world in which Rothar was trapped, the flames continued to lap at the corners of his vision, and the shrieks and screams were never ceasing as hot, sticky blood splashed down upon him endlessly.
But now, something new, something hopeful had arrived. As Rothar stared out at the leering faces on the other side of the flames, he glimpsed someone beyond them, someone familiar. At first, he could not focus on the features, and his clouded mind would not recover a memory of the image, but then suddenly, there she was, as clear as the midday sun. Taria stared back at him from the edge of the shadows, her face clouded with concern. Then she was gone.
Rothar rushed at the flames, straining against an unearthly force of gravity to leap through an inferno and go to her, to run to wherever she had disappeared. He dove into the flames only to crash against an unseen barrier, as solid as a stone wall. Rothar tumbled to the ground. The flames still seared his flesh, and the hands of the damned reached through to grab and claw at him. He was unable to pass through. He was trapped in a dungeon built of flame and reinforced by hatred. But he had seen her, and that was new.
***
Harwin had never been one for the Banewood. As a child, he had been forbidden from venturing into it as the children of most sensible parents were, and as an adult, he still carried with him some of the cautionary revulsion that most of the people in the city had for the lawless forest.
However, Harwin had left no stone unturned in the King’s City, and Witherington in particular, for Taria. She was nowhere to be found and no one could remember seeing her. He had been on the verge of giving up completely when he had gone to Rothar’s place to see if the woman was hiding out there.
He had no intention of dragging Taria back to the castle, as far as he was concerned, if she wished to be elsewhere, then elsewhere she should be. But he had made Kind Heldar a pro
mise that he intended to keep, and he himself would feel better knowing that Taria was safe.
He was dismayed to find that Rothar’s place was empty, but his disappointment soon disappeared when he noticed some food that had been half eaten and left on the table, as though someone had left in great haste. Harwin was certain that there had been nothing on the table when he came to retrieve the women and take them to Castle Staghorn.
Having determined that Taria must have been in the home, Harwin searched the ground around the house until he found a few small, human shoe prints in a patch of soft earth. Rothar’s home overlooked the rooftops of Witherington on one side, and faced the Banewood on the other. The tracks were heading straight into the forest.
So, much to his chagrin, Harwin called upon all that he could remember about tracking and set off into the Banewood, searching for the wily Southland maiden who had eluded them all.
It was mid afternoon when he left the golden light of day and ventured into the shaded and fabled forest. He had brought along a short sword for protection and to help him pass through thickets and brush. He swept the blade back and forth at intervals, clearing away anything that looked like it could be Quietus.
It did not take Harwin long to lose the trail, but he continued on anyhow, letting the forest guide him. A steep rise to one side and a boggy march on the other steered him in a decidedly sensible direction. Unless Taria scaled the rise or slogged through the swamp, she must have traveled this way. Of course, Harwin was entirely unsure of how much of a head start Taria had gotten, but he continued his search all the same.
After a couple of hours, the big blacksmith came to a small clearing. At a distance, it looked spectral: a wide beam of light cutting straight down through the permanent shade of the Banewood, as though a lighted stage had been built in the deep forest. Upon closer inspection, Harwin found that the clearing was, in fact, man made. Dozens of trees had been felled and dragged off, and their stumps had been burnt. The clearing appeared to be roughly egg shaped and was easily two hundred feet across at it’s widest point.
Sitting down to rest on one of the large trunks at the edge of the clearing, Harwin turned his eyes to the sky. Evening would be coming soon and the sun was beginning to hide behind the western canopy. He would have to make a decision shortly, whether to camp in the woods for the night or head back to the King’s City. He considered that he was probably in no more danger in the Banewood than he would be in the riotous city, but he did miss Esme.
Harwin had just resolved to start back to civilization for the night when an odd sound caught his ear. The low droning tone was faint at first, but grew quickly. He soon realized the sound was coming from the eastern sky, and he turned to search the horizon for it’s source.
A shape began to appear above the tree line, round and dark. Startled, Harwin knelt down behind a large trunk and peered over the top. The orb grew and came nearer, humming incessantly and frightening flocks of birds out of the trees as it approached.
Impossible, thought Harwin.
The hovering, droning contraption floated to the space directly over the clearing and stopped. There was a change in the pitch of the humming and a series of knocking sounds, then, slowly and eerily, the orb began to descend.
For the first time, Harwin noticed the stout wooden box that hung from the bottom of the orb. Also, he saw that long wooden legs were affixed to various points around the impossible machine, and as it landed, they held it perfectly upright.
Once the orb was firmly situated on the earth, the humming ceased. Harwin crouched lower behind the fallen tree as he watched a half dozen men climb out of the wooden cockpit. The men wore black and kept their faces covered, and they busied themselves unloading many parcels out of the flying machine.
Harwin’s instincts told him that these were not men with whom he wanted to associate, and he began to slowly back away, deeper into the Banewood. Suddenly, a loud snap came from beneath his right foot. He had stepped upon a small, dry branch. The shrouded men turned in his direction, drawing long swords.
Harwin knew he had been spotted, and he did not wait to see how the mysterious flying men would greet him. He turned and sprinted into the Banewood. A couple of the men shouted and Harwin could tell they were pursuing him. Leaping over downed trees and skidding down old riverbeds, Harwin kept his short sword clutched tightly in his hand.
After a short while he felt his pace begin to slow as his lungs burned and he gasped for breath. The sound of snapping twigs behind him told him that his pursuers had not given up. Harwin made a decision and headed towards a large swamp. At the very edge of the swamp he turned and took cover among the hanging limbs of a massive willow tree. There, he waited and tried to quiet his panting breath.
In short order, two black clad men dashed into view. They ran to the edge of the swamp and halted, looking down for Harwin’s tracks in the muddy earth. Harwin crept silently on the mossy ground, and neither soul had sensed his presence when he slit the first man’s throat. The second man spun to face him, sword readied, but Harwin had already launched a hard kick at the man’s midsection. The blow found it’s mark and the man let out a loud grunt before he staggered back into the swamp. He kicked and flailed for a short moment before he found his footing and stood, incensed, in the waist deep water.
The man’s scarf had fallen away from his face, and Harwin could see that he had dark skin and a black beard. His eyes were obsidian and filled with hatred and rage.
“Simpleton!” the man yelled, his words tinted with a subtle accent. “You will not make it out of the forest alive! You will die before all of your loved ones!”
Harwin heard the words, but he was distracted by movement in the water behind the shouting man.
“Or better yet!” the man continued. “We take you alive, back to Haval, where you can feed our garden!”
It seemed as if the livid soul was going to say more, but the alligator silenced him with a single snap of it’s mighty jaws. Harwin saw the man’s legs kick for only a moment before they disappeared beneath the green, filmy waters.
Harwin paused only long enough to roll the other man into the swamp before he hurried back on his way. The alligators would find the other body quickly. Any further pursuit would be slowed when the mysterious strangers could not find their companions, and never would.
Chapter 35
Harwin escaped the Banewood with no further complications, although he had kept one eye on the trail behind him and his ears piqued for the sounds of pursuit.
At the edge of the wood, he strode out into a wide and grassy meadow. In the distance and silhouetted by the setting sun, he could see Rothar’s home, sitting high and proud on the hill. Harwin shared a view of Witherington with the house, the hills rolling gently down to the edge of the village. Even at such a distance, mobs could be seen moving about the city, although less and less rioters were moving about Witherington. Most had moved up into the finer parts of the King’s City proper. It was not surprising, there was hardly anything left in Witherington to destroy.
The sight saddened Harwin deeply. He had spent his entire life in the low village and he loved it very much. People watched out for one another in Witherington. The community was free of the brutal ambition that ruled the upper neighborhoods. Everyone had always made certain that their neighbors had enough to live on, and no one took anything for granted.
Now, as a gentle wind pushed the clouds of smoke away over the sea and gave a clear view of the destruction in the streets, Harwin cursed whoever had poisoned his home with Obscura. Witherington was unrecognizable, not only in physical appearance, but in spirit. Brother had turned against brother and every afflicted citizen was motivated only by their own depravity. Those who had stayed away from the drug were forced, nonetheless, to take up arms against their neighbors in order to protect their homes and their lives.
Harwin was about to ride down into the city and straight to the castle when the sound of approaching riders gave him pause.
Shortly, a contingent of riders burst out of the Banewood, led by Peregrin, whom Harwin recognized. Several other wild looking huntsmen rode behind, and in the middle of the pack Harwin was shocked to see Taria, riding Stormbringer, with the limp body of Rothar jostling slightly on the saddle behind her.
Waving his hands in the air, Harwin caught the attention of the riders who veered in his direction. As he approached, Peregrin reached out a hand towards the blacksmith.
“Climb on, we must get Rothar to the castle immediately.”
Harwin obliged and climbed onto Peregrin’s horse with him. The steed grunted in protest.
“What happened?” Harwin asked as Peregrin spurred the horse towards the city.
Peregrin quickly related the story of all that had transpired since they rode out in search of the scouts.
“You saw the flying machine too?” exclaimed Harwin. “I thought perhaps I was losing my mind!”
“Perhaps we all are,” replied Peregrin.
The riders thundered through the streets of Witherington, causing scavengers to scatter in every direction when they galloped through the ruins of the town. Taria now rode beside Harwin and Perergin, and the blacksmith looked over at his unconscious friend. He considered that it might be merciful that he could not see what had become of these streets in the days past. No one cared more for the poor and meek in Witherington than Rothar. Harwin knew that if and when Rothar recovered, the destruction of Witherington would only fan the flames of his vengeance.
The streets began to rise and the group entered the upper city, where the rioters were still doing their worst. The riders turned a corner to find the street blocked by a mass of writhing humanity. Gaunt looking villagers screamed profanities and tore at anything they could destroy. The sight struck a revulsion and fear in Harwin’s heart that was unlike anything he had ever felt. It was as if the people had become more animal than human.
