by Lee LaCroix
Chapter Five
In order to reach the capital of Amatharsus, their journey was not an odyssey of undertaking. During his many expeditions across the land, Garreth could reach the city in two days’ time. The nearby road occupied many houses, inns, travelling merchants, and vendors, but it was frequent that these places of beds and business took up roots near the forks of a crossroad. After seeing the previous house in such disrepair, Garreth began to peer into the distance for traffic on the road, which wouldn’t be unheard of at this distance from the city. Instead, he saw an oncoming forest that intersected their northward path. Novas did a similar investigation of his surroundings, but his attention was caught by a plains hare that kicked up dirt and dust in its escape. He felt a primal excitement inside and wished that he had time to hunt.
The two had broken into a light jog as they passed into the borders of the wood and then stopped with their hands upon their knees, breathing in the moist air of the cool forest. When they passed the first row of bushes that masked the forest’s depths, they saw a steep ditch to the left of the path. Inside, there was a wagon in thorough disrepair. Many of the supports were shattered and broken, the seats were hewn in two, and the covering and some of the back had been burnt away. Upon closer inspection, Garreth found four arrows, complete with rusted heads and tattered feathers, stuck into its carriage. Fearing the worst, he surmised an unfortunate fate for this wagon and its passengers.
The father and his son soon returned back to the road, and they watched the gaps between every tree and the covering of every bush. Although Garreth had not alarmed Novas to the possibility of danger, they travelled down the forest path with cautious haste. Their aptitude in hunting and their reclusive existence had made them quiet and fast travellers.
As they made their way around a bend in the path, the two men came across a robed and hooded figure kneeling prostrate to the right of the road. The person was still as if slain. No features of his flesh could be seen like his face, hands, or feet.
“You there on the road! May you be alive or dead?” Garreth bellowed from a safe distance off, but the figure remained silent and immobile.
“Follow me swift and quiet,” Garreth turned to Novas and whispered, and they took to the left of the path and proceeded to cross the fallen man.
As they neared to pass the shrouded man, he began to cough, sputter, and slam his arms in a panicked manner. As they continued to creep past the noisy man, Garreth whirled around at the sudden sound of breaking timber and caught sight of two new wayfarers on the road in front of them, close enough to startle the hunters.
With unkempt, greasy hair, gritty faces, and ragged cloth tied across their bodies and faces, Garreth could only suppose these strangers would be highwaymen. The bloodshot eyes, nasty grins, and rusty shortswords couldn’t have fooled anyone against their true intent: robbery and possibly murder. Amidst the noise and the discovery of the bandits, the prostrate man rose from his place on the road and leapt upon the hunter’s son. In the panic, Garreth took his eyes off the approaching adversaries and unwound a kick to the robed man, knocking him off the path altogether.
“Your knife, boy!” Garreth yelled as he grappled his bow and slid an arrow into position.
After a short scuffle, Novas was in the ditch with a knife to the man’s neck, and Garreth was keeping the other two at distance with his drawn bow.
“Do you really want to die here?” the hunter yelled to them.
Only a short distance off, the two thieves approached without haste or pause. A sick and weary chuckling was the only answer he was met with.
“Soon, there will only be one of you!” Garreth shouted as he tightened the string on the bow and aimed at the closest man.
The downed bandit growled as the other two licked their lips and handled their blades with a loose swagger as if driven by a sickening hunger. In the panic and excitement of the moment, Novas’ knife began to dig and draw blood from his hostage’s neck. The man was startled as his face became flush, and his breathing became heavy and stressed.
“Enough! Enough!” the hostage shouted. “Gret! Khern! Leave them be!”
The two bandits lowered their weapons and let out a long sigh. Dropping their shoulders to a slouch, they sheathed their weapons, backed away, and disappeared into some nearby brush. As Garreth turned away, he drew his blade and pointed it at the captive.
“Thievery will be the end of you. Find an honest life or a beast’s death.” he commanded as the hunter delivered a swift kick, launching the thief deeper into the roadside ditch.
The thief fell out of his hood to show a bruised complexion, darkened lips, and either missing or rotten teeth.
“Honesty? In this accursed land!” the man bellowed, spat, and continued laughing.
“Good chance of that!” he exclaimed and then coughed low and hoarse.
“Leave him. Let us continue, unbothered I hope,” the hunter replied as he lowered his bow.
Novas looked at his father, curious as to the meaning of the man’s bold reply. He relaxed his tense grip on his blade, returned it to its sheath, and hurried to his place at his father’s side as they continued along.
Their journey through the northern section of the forest was much more watchful and cautious. In their verbal confrontation with the robed thief, Garreth had lost sight of the two ambushers, and he had scolded himself for failing to watch the direction of their escape. Considering the ruin that lay behind them, the father wanted to avoid any further meetings until they were close to safer havens. Garreth took the lead in the group, and his son kept a busy eye on the path behind them.
Novas discovered newfound liking to his hunting blades and twirled them around in his hands. Around and around the blade and hilt would spin, over and under the boy’s palms. He had never considered his blades to be a weapon, for the bow had always sufficed, but he felt an unusual amount of comfort in his play. He tossed them in the air without incurring a reproaching sting or a well-deserved lesson as they returned to his hands. The pair was continuing along a curve in the path when Novas began to utter a question about the blades. As Garreth stomped down upon a branch, he spoke under its breaking cry.
“Quiet,” he urged.
Garreth motioned with his hand, pointing at his eyes and ears and then down the path. They began to wait to hear the source of the noise that crept ever closer. The sound of creaking wood, panging metal, and clopping hooves grew louder and louder. They watched as two barebones work horses plodded by carrying a flatbed carriage. Nine figures in patchy, dark garb sat in the trailer. They were just like the highwaymen or the woodsmen that they had seen before. At the front of the wagon, a man turned around to speak.
“The travellers should not be far ahead. We followed them north for quite some time,” he grumbled.
As he turned, his face revealed his identity to be either Gret or Khern; the jagged scar over his brow made him easy to recognize.
“Well then, shut it. Ya’ll give us away,” another bandit barked.
A chorus of growls and fist-slamming followed, and the cart continued on its way south.
“We should stay off the path until we are out of this forest and have reached safer fields,” Garreth ordered.
As the two continued north through the brush, they pushed away the boughs, ducked under the branches, and kept an eye on the forest path. However, they came across no other living souls until later in the day.
When they had left the forest, the sun was drawing into the evening, and the clouds had come out to coat the sky. Due north from the forest, the light continued to pour in linear streams, looking uniform in width and depth like pillars of celestial fire. The rays of light moved across the plains with the movement of the clouds and caused the grassland to flicker and fade in reflection. Garreth raised his hand to his brow to block the light and peered into the distance down the northern road.
“The road looks clear enough to be safe. We will continue on it with caution because we are cl
ose to the Crossroads and there is little brush to conceal our journey,” the man dictated as he scanned his surroundings.
The two travellers continued for some time down the road without seeing a single person, but Novas spotted a lone fox on a hill and a gaggle of turkeys on a nearby plain. The sunset turned the light gray clouds into a plenitude of red, rose, orange, and yellow smears across the sky, and the night came over the world like a giant wave of darkness itself. Famished, the two men gnawed on some jerky as they approached a rising plateau that seemed to intersect the direct path north.
“Around this hill is the Southbriar Crossroads, one of the larger trading posts south of the city,” Garreth informed.
“And that is the Crossroads Watchtower, which is used to watch over these highways by the Crown Aegis,” the father continued saying and pointed to a wooded pinnacle on the top of the ridge.
The tower rose to the sky and looked tall even in comparison to the hill. The spires of dark brown wood that structured its length were only contrasted by the shingles of black stone on its roof. Novas was agape at the size of watchtower as he had never seen an object, save the birds, to rise above the trees. As they walked ever nearer, Garreth commented to himself that the tower did not look occupied nor was the watchmen’s beacon ablaze.
When the pair rounded the hill, Novas was met with surprise and wonder. He had never seen so many buildings before, and they were all so different than their forest cabin. Novas began to skip ahead, but his father’s firm grip on his shoulder kept him safely at Garreth’s side.
“Keep close. Many things have changed in this place since I have last travelled through here,” the father warned his son.
To the northwest and northeast of the intersection, lay the Smithy and the Inn. These two buildings were the oldest businesses at the Crossroads, and they continued to be the only fixed places of trade there. On the southwest corner of the Crossroads, there was a pavilion for nomad tradesmen and merchants to sell their wares. On the southeast corner, stood the barracks and the watchtower. As Novas marveled over his newfound glimpse of civilization, Garreth looked up and down each of the crossed roads. As they walked by, they surveyed the merchant’s pavilion, which once was alive with trade was now asleep with misuse and stagnation. Garreth remembered a time when there were so many vendors that they flooded over the pavilion and continued down the east and western roads. It was a place not only of commerce but of culture, for he remembered the acts of travelling minstrels and performers. Which once was robust with life was now silent and still.
Garreth spied a wagon with splintered boards and a broken wheel, a group of aged barrels with panels missing or damaged, and a pile of crates in similar condition. Unlike the tradesmen and the tents they prepared, a merchant was selling his furs out of the back of the wagon, and the sun had marked the passage of time on his red, balding head. With a wave and a glance, Garreth caught the skinner’s eye and moved on; a shared understanding between hunters and those who labour in the wild to survive. Novas walked unfazed through the intersection with his father but stopped and tugged on Garreth’s sleeve, and with his outstretched finger aimed his direction towards the smithy.
“Look! One of those beasts! Like the ones in the forest!” Novas shouted, and he looked at his father with wide eyes.
A horseshoe remained polished and gleaming above the entrance to the smith’s workshop, and a horse was being restless inside.
“That is a horse by the looks of it. A fine one for riding,” Garreth explained with a chuckle.
Garreth shook his son’s shoulder to move him from his wonder.
“Come on, Novas,” his father called as Garreth directed them towards the inn nearby.
The inn was a roadside rarity; a two-story building of stone and mortar, wood and windows, and a homely atmosphere. With its collection of candlewick lamps and bushels of straw wedged between the frame of its arched roof, the Broken Kettle radiated a sense of warmth and safety that seemed to be uncommon for the time and location. The two walked over to the inn and savoured the thought of a safe place to rest their weary limbs.
As they entered the lodging, some heads perked up in attention as if starved for a fresh face. Garreth, however, was more interested in the eyes who feigned ignorance, hidden in the darkness between mounted lamps. The sound of the place was not too loud but definitely not silent. Erratic outbursts of boisterous laugher, offbeat claps, and excited recollections created an opportune cover for the faces bowed close and their whispered exchange. Surrounded by the cacophony of language, a minstrel sung and played a lute next to the hearth; whose airy notes and wistful melodies struggled to keep tone and composure against the volume of the patrons, emanating near the barkeep at the opposing end.
Garreth strode through the din of noise to a worn desk of wood adjacent to a flight of stairs where a man in stained cloth and an apron stood working over some glassware. As they approached, the man set aside a mug and cloth and straightened to greet the pair.
“Welcome! What can ‘ee do for yee?” the innkeeper asked as he placed his hands on the counter and sized up the two.
“I need a room until the morning, a pitcher of mead, and a basin for washing,” Garreth replied as he folded his hands on the counter.
The innkeeper made a tapping gesture between his fingers and stared at the ceiling above.
“That will be two tetra and five tri, if yee will,” the innkeeper stated as he matched eyes with Garreth again.
Garreth reached under his cloak and withdrew a handful of currency. After quick deliberation, he placed upon the desk an assortment of coins shaped square and triangle, which produced a quivering melody as they settled to stillness. The man swept up the money and stored the payment inside his apron.
“Yer room is up the stairs, second door on the right,” the man said with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “Yer necessities will be delivered shortly.”
Garreth gave the man behind the counter a quick nod and turned to continue up the stairs. Novas had stood the whole time, mesmerized by the bard’s tune. Such music to his ears seemed to bring cohesion and understanding to disparate elements of the forest’s song as if every chirp of the robin and every flutter of leaf had reason and place left out of time’s design. A firm grip pulled Novas away from his dream and close to his guardian.
“This way, Novas,” bid Garreth, placing the boy in front of him as they ascended the stairs.
The room was small but cozy and warm. Novas had stripped off his leathers and had fallen into bed almost immediately upon entering the room; the exciting episodes of the long day’s journey had tired him out completely. Garreth had placed his gear down beside the bed, unpacked some supplies, and placed them on a nearby stand.
“You’re lucky that the cot is large enough, or you would have been down here on the floor,” Garreth mused as he sat on a chair at the table, looking over the map.
He brought his eyes up to chart the direction of tomorrow’s journey, but his attention was caught to a different sight entirely.
“See, Novas. Look here,” Garreth asked as he pointed eastward, out of the window.
With a groan, Novas twisted out of the bed and made his way to the windowside where he craned his neck and looked beyond. Past the borders of the Crossroads, the rolling hills continued. Instead of their surface being spotted with tiny brush and small boulders, the land was rigid with jagged stumps and spikes.
“It’s not much to look at. Fair grisly if you ask me,” Garreth explained as they continued to peer out at the field where a forest had once stood.
Novas agreed with him. In the orange glow of the setting sun, the desolated land seemed alight with fire and destruction.
“If I had not had stopped those men yesterday, our forest would be reduced to such. The birds would no longer nest, the beasts would no longer run, and our home would be exposed to the same ruin as the house we passed on the road before,” Garreth continued as he looked up at his son, who now looked at the h
arvest with a different view.
Novas said nothing, but Garreth could tell from the bulge in his son’s throat, his son’s frequent blinking, and the fixed stare in Novas’ eyes that his message had been understood. Novas bowed his head, made his way over to the bed, and sprawled across it again. He turned, stared out the window, watched the daylight fade, and new thoughts began to stir in his head. Novas resolved that he could not let that fate befall his home. That place was a part of him as much as it was a part of Malquia, he decided. Novas felt uneasy about felling the man who attempted to execute his father. However, that trial had been passed, and it now strengthened his will. Still, he felt unsure about confronting this challenge. So far, many of his fellow Malquians did not inspire Novas with the greatest confidence. Novas felt as if he was against a hostile and faceless enemy, one which outnumbered him and could possibly overpower him. Even with his father’s protection and his meager years of hunting experience, he began to regret leaving the shelter of his home. Novas sighed and closed his eyes.
The near silence of hushed breathing indicated to him that his child was finally asleep, so Garreth shook his head and was content. When the basin and pitcher were brought up to him, Garreth continued to unwind his recent bandages, wiped away the dried poultice, and applied fresh medication. When he was sure that he was continuing to heal, he dozed at the windowsill and tried to enjoy the tavern brew while humming low and soft to the minstrel’s melody that rose up through the wood.
Chapter Six
The next morning, Garreth rose before dawn to explore the Crossroads area and to catch some breakfast for his son and himself. He donned his cloth and strapped on his hunting leathers as well as his skinning knives, bow, quiver, and blade. After the recent encounters in the forests of Malquia, there was no measure he wouldn’t take to ensure his safety. He had planned to march into the woods that lay a short walk from the Crossroads itself. Under the ambience of the waking inn below, the hunter prepared and slipped into the hallway without a sound. After the rowdy energy and the peering eyes of last night’s crowd, he had concluded it would be wise to question the various inn staff for recent news in the morning. As Garreth thumped down the wooden staircase, a ruddy head popped out from behind the desk, and a matching arm was raised in greeting.
