He had agreed with Barak which two men he could appropriate for his own task when the labourers were loading the supplies from the two wagons into the rowing gigs. “That’s fine Master Torr, just so long as men and the crew get to share your quarry later” said Barak, in his deep Sommerswake tones.
There was a notable breeze this far into the season of Highsun, which meant two men had to hold each gig steady. Everyone else had to watch their footing down the short jetty anyway as the wood was now prone to moss as it had not been tarred for a season. It was difficult enough, without a large and heavy hessian sack or crate to manage as well. Add in a boat that was leaping up and down on its moorings, and calamity was just around the corner. The two lucky candidates seemed quite happy with their new assignment, therefore.
Barak knew his duties well enough as did the labourers. Still, a family member should still be present with such a trip. The lighthouse might be theirs by deed, but they still owed a duty to all shipping merchants throughout the land and beyond. A good tariff was taken by the Skarsdale family for the upkeep of the lighthouse (or an onerous one, according to some merchants from the southern lands). A nice supplement to the family’s primary income of ship building and their own merchant fleet. If any problems befell shipping because the lighthouse was out, unmanned or not supplied, then the punishment would be severe.
Torr really had no need to get involved with the loading directly. The men knew their task well enough. They were paid well for labourers and knew it. Family Skarsdale was generally held in good stead in Paegas Bay and the surrounding villages. Work at their yard was usually long term and as largely free from bodily risk as was likely. Anyone not pulling their weight was generally heading straight for conscription into the army or local militia, and headlong into border patrol and skirmishes with giants, ogres and gaestnips, many of which could be quite one sided!
Torr could see the lighthouse from the side of the hill he was on, with Drim Forest stretching behind him. The forest ran all the way down the coast, towards the alchemists and mages tower of Oaks Keep and eastwards to the border of the neighbouring town of Tantes. It’s thick, deciduous nature courtesy of the trade and coastal winds that blew mild air to this most western part of Sommerswake.
Of course, it was God’s blessings that had given the Skarsdale family the balance of navigable waters running past their home. The sheltered natural harbour of Paegas Bay and a ready supply of building material in the form of the ‘Night Forest’ as it was known locally, had also allowed Torr’s grandfather to start the family shipyard many years ago.
Oddly enough, there had been no need to exploit this particular part of the forest for primary ship material yet. Their lumber yards had to be situated closer to the river, where there was a good current for the saw wheels.
Just as well, no caravan would be able to stay upright on a slope as steep as the one he stood on now. Sandstone outcrops would break the wheels at about the same time as it would tip the wagon over. The man hours needed to make a viable caravan trail here were not justified when they had a good supply route just north of their yards.
However, the timber of the forest still had uses for masts, tillers, oars and a dozen other fittings for their ships as well as wood for the bowyers, fletchers and other artisans, for both Paegas Bay and the nearest trading town of Tantes, on the other side of the forest.
In fact, the wagons carrying out the wood did so on the far side of the forest, far nearer the road leading into and out of Tantes than Paegas Bay. There had always been skirmishes between the loggers and denizens of the forest, but the increased production, loggers’ mill and camps had meant greater safety in numbers. Wolves (and more fell creatures) were less likely to attack larger work gangs.
Thus the wild folk and forest creatures had actually been pushed back deeper into the forest, towards the borders of Torr’s own lands. The fields where Torr now found himself had therefore become wild meadow over time as they were not tended by any farm beasts now. It was too far from the nearest farmstead to be used even for long summer grazing, and farm dogs would prove no match for the multitude of wolf packs this close to their forest home. In addition, dryad legends (which most men his age took more than a passing interest in hearing about) and other monsters said to dwell within this natural green habitat, were enough to spook farmhands charged with moving cattle back to their barns. Torr, however, had no such fear, particularly with the twelve men with whom he had come up here.
Looking down the slope, Torr could see Barak still and the wooden winch that was busy lowering the largest crates that could not be carried by hand to the unseen jetty below. The men had to make their own way separately up and down a difficult flight of stairs cut into the rock face, some one hundred feet below. This most unlikely of places had been deemed the best point to load boats to get to the lighthouse as it was the shortest distance to row against strong tides in a boat that weighed, fully laden, over a tonne.
“Right then lads, this one’s making me work for my supper” said Torr as he approached his two hunt bearers. “I’m going to have to move quickly and quietly back down along the coast path and try and scramble up the short rock face, closer to the forest edge to get it”.
The men looked slightly bemused. No one came up here who had any lawful business in the area and Torr had no time to point out exactly where he was going. Three of them would make too much noise or raise too much scent. “Stay here and I’ll come back over the top of the ridge to let you know”.
Frankly, he wasn’t sure if they heard this last bit as he had already broken into a trot past them as he said it. However, they weren’t following or shouting out for orders or directions. They seemed quite happy leaning on the long spit on this warm, but still breezy, afternoon.
Torr realised he could use the strong breeze to his advantage as the wind would funnel along the path, not over it, away from the meadow where the deer was. He would still need to be quick and quiet though, the hunting thrill quite palpable in him at this point as he stalked his quarry.
He had time to note that the first gig was loaded, well below him, but struggling to pull away fully laden. He hesitated for a second. If the boat could not pull away from the jetty cleanly then the wind could turn it into the rocks, smashing all and sundry to pieces. The supplies would be lost and, quite possibly, any men in the water as well. Roping them out would be difficult.
He took a deep breath and offered a prayer to The Lord for their safety. Some in this coastal region would probably still have made an offering to Stormsen, the old sea god, before setting foot on the jetty.
He turned away from the jetty and onto the narrow and eroded track of the coast path that ran all the way into Paegas Bay some miles behind them, all the way past Drim Forest and on for many leagues south. It was prone to erosion from the strong winds that tore up twice a year past this stretch of Sommerswake coastline. Even on this mildly windy day, Torr could see regular white crest tops to the waves which, he knew from his previous voyages, could rise as high as the side of his father’s largest ships out into the trade routes of The Great Sea itself.
He only needed to jog a hundred yards maybe along the path before he found a suitable point in the sandstone up which he could scramble. He had dropped maybe twenty yards from his original point, where he had been lying prone in his favoured spot. The hand holds were easy and obvious enough for him to climb without making any noise that could be heard above him, particularly with his sinewy and relatively tall frame, ideal for reaching for the next outcrop of sandstone to climb up.
The necessity of climbing meant he had slung his bow over his back so, first of all, he just needed to take a peak over the top to check the damn deer was still there.
It wasn’t!
“Sodding hells” he muttered, but then he caught a slight shimmer again halfway along the tree line and, just about, in range. Torr slowly climbed fully over the rock face and knelt next to the tree line. He had emerged right next to the e
dge of the forest. There was an intangible feeling he got, just crouching next to the forest. Natural instinct cautioned him against going any further away from the rock face, towards the centre of the meadow. To his left, at the crest of the meadow, he could see the lone tree against which he had been crouched before he decided to change position.
Just as he was about to give up, having decided the deer must have gone into the forest (which would be very unusual), the shimmering became clearer and the deer came into focus, just at the edge of his range.
It had not seen him nor did it give any indication that its own animal senses were on heightened alert. It appeared to be grazing happily
Torr just needed to move forwards slowly ten paces, maybe fifteen. At this range his arrow could possibly reach but there was too much risk of deviation and, with the animal’s agility, could actually be avoided by the deer. He needed to be closer.
His own senses felt unusually focussed and the deer seemed calmer than any animal had the right to be so close to the forest. However, he was buggered if this deer would be getting away after the trouble it had put him through. He was stalking now and had unhitched his own bow with slow careful movements as he paced forwards.
He started to reach for an arrow and then the deer vanished, back into the forest. “Ogres’ bollocks!” he exclaimed, gave up his stance and just stood upright. He’d had enough now. This wasn’t right somehow though. That deer just seemed to be leading him on and he did not have the time of a full hunt to go after it. Not that he would venture further anyway, at least on his own. He had enough common sense to realise it was time to turn back.
As he turned, he froze. No more than five paces away, between him and his scramble back down to the coast path, appeared to be three young women. An instant of sub-conscious fear disappeared as he took in their form and clothing. Their dresses appeared to shimmer like the deer he had been chasing.
It also made it difficult to look at them directly for any length of time. Torr cupped his hand over his eyes, but already it had given him the starting of a headache. Undeterred, he continued to stare, most unbefitting a young man of his station. He knew they were dryads, dangerous and beautiful, but something had him routed to the spot, not least that they were standing in his intended path.
Conversations amongst groups of men often turned to the topic of dryads, particularly after several ales or glasses of cider. These tall tales playing purely to the fantasies that kept these creatures a common topic of bard song in the taverns.
Torr had only had one account accurately recalled to him by his father’s ship captain, Gaerulf.
Gaerulf had told him about one previous encounter sometime ago. “Men can be lured in without the dryads even having to break cover if they need to. Some come to the tree-line or just beyond if their prey is proving too virtuous for their liking. Once their mind is ensnared, then there is no hope for the fool. He would gladly kill any of his former comrades if they tried to stop him and, unfortunately, that is often the only way to stop the fool anyway”.
Gaerulf had then related the story of such a man in more detail, during a stop made by his old regiment, Valheimers Swords, whilst serving in The Giant Wars to the north. “He put a sword through the first man that tried to stop him and forced the corporal I sent after that to defend himself. Only a bow bolt stopped him”. A shudder came over Gaerulf. “They gave a terrible hissing then, like some demon serpent, when we took their prey from them. I can tell you lad, we moved camp on the double after that”.
Despite this horror story, Torr stayed where he was, still hoping that these dryads would somehow be good natured.
They seemed to be alternating between talking and giggling amongst themselves and flashing their eyes at him. The shortest of the three, looked at him with a playful glint, sweeping away her mousey hair from her eyes and face in the breeze. Torr realised at this point that she had a bow. He could see little more than the nocks at each end. She wasn’t tall so it could not be any bigger than the training bows Torr used when he was younger in their nearest paddock back at home. She wore her quiver by her hip, which accentuated her curves here.
The stare he received from the blonde haired one seemed less furtive at times, more intense, but still flashes of a smile would pass her lips. Garlands of wild flowers adorned her hair, ankles and waist. The brunette was notably taller and slimmer than her two, younger, companions. She seemed to view Torr with an air of inscrutability. Her taller, slender shape partially concealing a wooden staff strapped over her back. The staff did not appear fashioned or worked, but somehow more than a mere dead branch picked by some rambler.
The motion of their long hair and dresses seemed as one with the wind. Despite the glory and beauty of the visage before him, which was more than he could have dreamed of, Torr couldn’t shake the beginnings of a headache, even over the pounding of his blood and desire.
“Hail young Torr”. He couldn’t tell which one of them spoke, even just from a few paces, their hair blowing as it was. It was a voice young and fair and he was not perturbed by the fact that they knew his name. “We have watched you upon your father’s errands, both now and before”. Torr could not tell if it was the same voice simply becoming more melodic, or if another of the dryads was speaking to him.
“We know of your desires and thoughts. Come, join us Torr”. The brunette held out her hand, palm open, towards him now.
His heart was pounding, but so was his headache. The only time he had previously suffered this level of cranial discomfort had something to do with not paying attention during basic combat lessons and stepping back into the path of a mounted knight. The knight’s mace had been swinging from the saddle and connected with the back of his head. The apothecary who had nursed him back to consciousness had told him that only Torr’s helmet had saved him on that occasion and then only because it was a glancing blow. His war priest had said that if the knight had swung the mace with full force, it would still have caved the back of his head in, helmet or no.
This time though, his balance and sight were unaffected by whatever malady was causing this, now strong, pain behind his eyes.
The two younger dryads giggled, furtively shifting their stance as they did. Even the taller, more austere girl, who still stood with slender arm outstretched smiled thinly. As the blonde and mousey haired girls continued to glance at each other with knowing smiles, the brunette spoke, her tones seemingly matching the darker colour of her hair. “We are glad that you have come to us for we seldom have guests stand before our home. Will you not join us?” As she said this, she put her hand lightly on his shoulder. It was only then that Torr realised that he was standing right in front of them, but he could not recall if he had walked the few paces to them or if they had crossed over to where he had stood.
Even through his padded tunic, her hand felt supple and warm. Still with mirthful smiles the two younger girls eagerly approached, one either side. They were both shorter than him by about a head. As the blonde girl approached him on the left he glanced at her curves down her split and only slightly opaque dress. He was only drawn away from staring at her when the mousey haired girl, now on his right, leaned up on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “Welcome Torr, will you come with us now, to see where we lie, to enjoy the pleasures of the forest as we do”. The blonde girl slipped an arm around his back. “Yes, Torr, we can show you your hearts’ desire, come now”. At the same time, the brunette had run her hand down his arm and took him by the hand leading him into the forest. A natural path into Drim Forest now appeared before them which Torr did not recall walking past in the first place.
The brunette now leading him into the forest turned to smile at Torr. “Do not worry handsome boy, our desire will be your desire soon”. He thought he saw the briefest flicker of a frown cross her face then and, for the first time, he heard other sounds, very much like voices, men’s voices, being carried into the forest on the wind.
By now, he cared no more about anything. His s
ole focus was going, willingly, with these three heavenly creatures. The pain in his head had gone but he still felt strange, almost as if in a trance. He was conscious of motion but not if he was actually walking. The brunette then said something which he didn’t catch, a fortuitous gust of wind catching her breath at this point, or so it seemed to Torr. It seemed to be directed at the other two and could either have been their names, which they had not revealed to him, (nor did he care now), or commands to them. The mousey haired girl quickly took his right hand where the brunette had let go and put it around her waist. There was a passion on her face and in her eyes. The brunette was now out of sight but, as he was now pressed against the mousey haired girl, he cared not where their apparent leader was. He thought she must be just behind them.
“Quickly Eagred, not here, we must get him away”. The voice came from his other side, but he was no longer paying attention to the blonde girl holding onto him. He could not recall, or care, what had become of his bow or sword, which had been sheathed on his belt. His focus now was solely on the mousey haired girl, to whom he had now turned. He was gazing directly at her.
“Hush Taenna, you know Kaerunda will deal with them. What harm is there in stealing a kiss now from our beautiful boy”. As the mousey haired girl, whose name he now knew as Eagred, said this, she did so without taking her eyes away from Torr, caressing his hair at the same time, “Besides, I have been granted this bow by the Forest Lord for a reason if I am not mistaken”. As Eagred said this she inclined her head towards Torr’s ear, her lips just brushing his lobe as she finished her sentence.
Torr could contain himself no more, just as the Dryad called Taenna began to protest, he put both his hands firmly on either side of Eagred’s face and kissed her.
His last vision was of a startled look in Eagred’s eyes, her hands letting go of him just as the sounds of men’s voices could still be heard, nearer now, more than one. He thought the loudest sounded like Barak’s heavy tones, shouting over something that then sounded like an animal hissing.
Fates Choice Page 2
