They tethered their horses to the trees and built their camp beside the road. It was an uneasy nights rest, often being disturbed by the noises coming from inside. There were strange calls, howls and moans coming from the shadows but Haggart had heard them all before. Still, the younger members of their party struggled to sleep despite the roaring fire the Captain had lit in the centre of their camp. It was for this reason that Haggart kept the first watch until he was relieved by the Captain who took up his usual position at the fire with a cup of hot coffee in his hands and saw in the dawn.
When they woke they found the ground and everything on it was damp with the mist that had crept down the hillside and across the flats. It wrapped itself around them like spectral cloaks and dampened beards and hair and clothes with its soft touch. The hills around the forest had disappeared within it and this sudden closeness did nothing to ease the fears of Lorrie, John and Talbert, who were now convinced that the forest was haunted.
“Is there no way around?” pleaded Talbert who'd found his voice again.
“Don't be so soft,” growled the Captain. “There's more to fear from the living than the dead.”
“For now,” muttered Haggart under his breath, remembering the details of the vision.
Once camp had been broken, the Captain put on his armour and so did the rest of them. Haggart draped his cloak over his shoulders and mounted his horse, settling his shield on his arm and his helmet on his head. Talbert and John, their arrows in a quiver at the pommel of their saddles, loaded their bows.
“I'll take the point. John and Talbert - you're our eyes. When something happens, you need to spot them early on. Haggart and I will then try to send them running. They'd be fools to try to attack us in there but I've killed many fools in my time. Lorrie, remember what we've shown you and stay close, okay?”
“Okay, Captain,” she replied, lowering her hood and adjusting the leather plates of her robe.
“Okay then - after me,” said the Captain and rode slowly under the arch.
The forest was as thickly grown as Haggart remembered, perhaps even more so and he felt the close air and the penetrating humidity as the sickly-sweet scents assault him. His horse stepped carefully over gnarled, twisting tree roots and around the sharp chiselled boulders that had been unearthed by the rains. The path was still visible despite the ongoing efforts of the foliage to reclaim it and looking down at it he saw no fresh tracks other than their own.
“This isn't what I'd expected,” whispered Lorrie. The forest had that effect, thought Haggart - a need for respectful silence and hushed voices. “It's rather pretty, really.”
“It's beautiful, I'll grant you that, but it hides a number of dangers and most people would do well to avoid them,” he replied.
“So why did they lay the road right through its middle then?” she asked.
“The forest stretches east to west for miles upon miles like an enormous green belt. To go around would have been impossible. Under the King's rule there was a path carved right through it six horses wide. Carts and wagons could come and go as they pleased. Since the Council came into power the forest has been steadily reclaiming the land and I have a feeling it wasn't an accident,” replied Haggart.
“What do you mean?”
“He means,” said the Captain. “That the Council doesn't really care what happens north of the forest.”
“Maybe they will soon enough,” said Haggart.
“It's a shame. I could get used to a place like this,” said Lorrie. “It has a strange kind of beauty to it. A wild, out of control beauty.”
“So do the people who live in here. So wild, in fact, that they'll kill you just for daring to enter their home.”
They pushed on, only ever stopping when absolutely necessary. They saw nothing that day and Haggart was inwardly grateful. The last time he'd fought in anything like this he'd lost several good men. It was close, dirty fighting and trying to stay on your feet was the hardest part. The horses made good time and by evening the Captain knew they were nearly on the other side.
“What do we do now?” asked John. “Do we continue?”
“I don't think it's wise to camp inside the forest. We should make torches and risk losing our way rather than put our lives at risk by sleeping in here,” he replied.
“I agree,” said Haggart. “We'll be able to be seen by all for miles around, yet it might be better than having our throats cut in the night.”
John cut some limbs of suitable size off the nearest trees and Haggart made up four torches, lighting them and passing them to the Captain, Lorrie and Talbert. No sooner had they set off again than the night swamped in on them; in the already oppressing darkness of the forest, the lack of anything else made them blind but for the light of the torches. Still they ambled along the path, sometimes stumbling on tree roots, but otherwise reaching the other side with relatively little trouble. It was only when another archway was in sight and they could see the moon-lit fields that an arrow sliced the air and just skimmed the neck of John.
“GO!” yelled the Captain, knowing that to fight in that pitch darkness was impossible. He spurred his horse on, Haggart and Lorrie not far behind.
“Hurry,” he called to the two archers. John had already loosed an arrow in reply to the first and Talbert was reloading his crossbow. Another arrow caught his cloak and punched a hole straight through it. He responded with a bolt, then turned his horse and galloped towards the archway.
“This way,” yelled Haggart. Suddenly a figure emerged from the trees - tall and dressed in the colours of the forest. He grabbed John's reins and yanked the animal down, throwing him from his saddle. Haggart rushed him, kicking the flanks of his horse and leaping a fallen log to bear down on him. In moments he was upon him, his sword raised, and he took the head off the man without even checking his mount.
“Dad!” yelled John. Haggart had time to turn in the narrow confines of the forest and face a rider as he bore down on him with his axe. The blow came too high and he caught it with the edge of his shield, striking quickly with his own weapon and slashing across his chest, letting loose a spray of pink mist. They locked together, their legs crashing into each other as the horses pressed side by side. Haggart rammed the rider with his shield and thrust it upwards into the chin of his helmet just as the axe came down upon his shoulder, skidding down his mail at the wrong angle. He parried another swing and caught him with a back handed slash that left another red cut upon his chest, criss-crossing the first. The rider grabbed his sword arm with his only free hand, letting the reins fall and in a moment would hack Haggart's arm off at the elbow. The axe was raised and Haggart shifted his weight towards him, bringing the edge of his shield down upon the horse's head. The terrified animal reared and he fell, his horse bolting out from underneath him. Haggart yanked on his own reins and brought the two front legs of his horse up into the air, only to bring them crashing down upon the rider. Bones snapped and a gout of blood sprayed upwards like a fountain from his mouth.
Haggart drew in a deep breath, turned his startled horse from the scent of blood and led it out towards the archway where John and the Captain were waiting.
“Was he carrying anything valuable?” asked the Captain.
“I didn't check,” said Haggart, making sure his son was okay.
“Shame on you, Haggart. I hate leaving the dead unlooted.”
The Captain led them onwards despite their need to rest. Haggart was happy to put a fair bit of distance between the forest and themselves. When the sun was just starting its ascent into the morning they became satisfied that they'd lost anyone who might have followed.
“We'll camp here for the day and start again tomorrow,” said the Captain, choosing a shaded area concealed behind a wall and surrounded by a number of shrubs and trees. They tied the horses, pitched their shelters and within moments were snoring as the birds began to wake.
A few hours later, Haggart began his watch as the Captain lay down on his blankets.
He'd been dreaming of cavalry horses and upon waking a little more he realised he could still hear them. The rest of the party were asleep, including the Captain who was now snoring loudly and dribbling from his bottom lip. Haggart crept over the wall and in the direction of the noise. It was coming from the east and, crouching down, he reached the edge of a small drop across broken stones and looked down onto the Royal Road that they'd camped a good distance away from. There, beneath the afternoon sun, a great black worm of traffic was moving north, wriggling and writhing as great scores of soldiers walked straight backed towards the forest. There were a great number of riders as well and they were uniformed in the black and white mantle of the Council's own men. To his horror Haggart saw that in the centre of the cavalcade were five of the same machines they'd destroyed in Hector's cellar being pulled by mules and surrounded by armed men. Their tubes, the very instruments that had devoured the poor man they'd seen, were chained to the sides of the cart, yet they still continued to pulse and throb in a futile attempt to devour those soldiers nearest to them.
Haggart led as flat as he could to avoid the gaze of the outriders and he watched them pass for over an hour, making a note of how many he thought might be in the line. Then, when the last of the outriders turned his horse towards the north, he returned to the camp, waking the Captain.
“What is it?” he asked as he sat up.
“Didn't you hear them?” Haggart asked. “The horses over there?” He pointed back the way he'd come.
“Horses? I just assumed there were riders on the road and thought nothing of it. What did you see?”
“There were thousands of them, going north. They were dressed like Council men but I'd bet a hundred gold pieces they were imposters.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I never saw the beginning of the line but I counted 5,000 troops from the time I started watching them. Why would the Council send that many north and we not know about it?”
“A fair point and mighty odd. We would've heard something about it, even if it were only rumour.”
“Odd? That's not the half of it.” Haggart continued. “Outriders. Foot soldiers. And guess what else? Guess what they were escorting?”
“I haven't a clue.”
“Five more of those bloody machines! Five of 'em.”
“A curse on those blasted builders!” said the Captain. “Five, you say?”
“Five. Chained to their carts but very much alive - just like before.”
“Where could they possibly be going with five of them? What could they want them for?”
“We must ride,” said Haggart. He almost choked on his water as he tried to eat and drink as fast as he was speaking. “The Council need to hear about this.”
“You're sure they weren't Council men?” asked the Captain. Haggart shot him an impatient glance.
“They wore the garb but there were no standards, no colours flying, no sigil. I think their intention was to give the appearance of being Council soldiers at a distance so as to not draw any unwanted attention.”
“If you march that many men you're bound to draw some funny looks. Tongues will wag.”
“Exactly - all agreeing that they must be there on behalf of the Council when in fact...” Haggart shrugged and began packing up his equipment. “We need to get to the City with as little delay as possible.”
“I think you're right,” said the Captain. “Things are moving faster than we'd anticipated. We need to find out the truth of it all. Let's get moving.”
They were travelling again with a quickened pace for most of the day, only stopping for brief moments to rest before spurring themselves forward once more. Their evenings were spent training Lorrie and John with a much more urgent and pressing manner than before. They were both doing well and since the trauma she'd had at the village, Lorrie had thrown herself into the work and was determined to arm herself so it couldn't happen again. Haggart also took the time to show her how to use her abilities to summon during combat, but that was harder than she'd first realised.
“Concentration whilst fighting will be hard to master. You'll naturally want to focus on your physical survival and this will close down your mind to that purpose and that purpose alone. You need to develop the ability to do both at the same time,” said Haggart.
“Show me,” she said.
“Take up your sword.” They began to clash blades, Haggart offering only weak blows and parries until Lorrie, in the corner of her eye, saw the raider who'd attacked her as clearly as before. He was running towards her with his weapon raised and his face twisted into a terrible snarl. Her head turned with horror and Haggart struck her across the back of her thigh with the flat of the sword. She wailed in pain. “That's how,” he said. “Again.”
They fought, but this time Lorrie was visibly shaken by what she'd seen. Her grip upon her sword was weakened and Haggart knocked it easily from her hand.
“Again,” he said. “You'll see worse than this raider, Lorrie. You need to be master over your fear before summoning can be of any use to you.”
Haggart dodged a strike that'd been aimed for his head. He summoned the raider again but this time she ignored it, coming at him with a feral cry and even he struggled for a moment to deflect her blows. But, once the raider was upon her, she turned to attack him and lost her footing. Haggart grabbed her and stopped her from hitting the ground.
“It's not enough to just ignore it. That image will come between you and your opponent until it overrides your instincts and forces you to do something about it.” He helped her back to her feet. “You've overcome the first part, now the next is to counter its effects.”
“How on earth do I do that?” she asked.
“I will summon the raider again. Stay still and let him walk towards you.” The raider was to her left instantly and began a slow, passive trot towards her. “Continue to look at me but force the image of the man from your mind.”
She stared intently at Haggart as the sweat collected in beads upon her flushed brow. He felt her power begin to press against him, to direct him away from conjuring the raider until it became a loud, roaring sound in his mind that dominated every thought he had. For a time there was only the intense pressure of the sound upon his consciousness until he broke off the effort and released his held breath like steam from a boiling kettle.
“Dad - HELP!” came a horrifying cry from behind him. Haggart spun round, lowering his sword just as Lorrie jumped, bringing her own crashing down on his helmet. The blow knocked him to the ground and she stood over him, the tip of her blade at his throat.
“Like that?” she asked.
“Just like that,” he replied.
On they went and drove their horses harder by their fear over what the five machines and their escorts implied. The days slipped by until autumn went with them and the first bitter kiss of winter came early one morning as they slept in amongst the woods of the Midlands. Haggart woke with a frosted beard and a numb face and saw the Captain struggling to light his tinder.
“Why can't you just do this for me,” he said and Haggart gave him a knowing smile.
“I can, but to be honest I don't enjoy doing it. I’ve met other Summoners who rarely use anything else and the idea never appealed to me. First of all it can be traced by a Hunter which should be incentive enough not to use it for anything other than an extreme emergency...”
“And secondly?”
“Secondly,” he began but paused in thought.
“Well?” pushed the Captain as the sparks from his flint finally caused the tinder to erupt into flame.
“I have an odd... impression - I think that's the only word I can use to adequately describe it, that in this world everything has its price. Every time I use this power I'm spending a currency that's limited, that might eventually come to an end.”
“You mean your life?”
“I think so. I’ve looked at other Summoners, I’ve seen the ones who use it often and they look older, wiz
ened, drained even. I never wanted that for myself. If it's something I can 'spend', so to speak, like all things of value I'd prefer to spend it on something more worth while than lighting your bloody fire.”
“I didn't need it anyway,” laughed the Captain. “But I see your point. Have you told Lorrie all this?”
“No,” he replied. “Not yet anyway. Like I said, it's only a suspicion I have.”
“I personally think you just like doing things the hard way. It's a stubborn streak that runs through you like iron in a mountain and people like me keep digging it up.”
“I apologise,” he laughed. “I think it's stood us in good stead for many years now. My stubbornness and your grumpiness.”
“What a team, eh?”
An hour or so later Lorrie and John woke and Haggart wasn't upset to see they'd found each other in the cold of the night. Over the last weeks they'd grown closer and Haggart was glad to see his son becoming the man he'd wanted him to be since the day he was born. With luck, he thought at times, he might become a better man than himself. As he looked at the innocence of Lorrie he felt the strong sense of guilt mirrored back to him. It'd started in the early days of his career and grown ever since - the heavy weight of so much blame for so much hurt. It was a bag that grew heavier each day and he felt at times that his deeds were only adding to it.
“Are you okay, Dad?” asked John. Haggart nodded and accepted a cup of coffee from the Captain before climbing out from under his warm blankets.
“Aye, son. Though I won't be if the snow falls before we reach the City,” he said.
“There's still time,” said the Captain. “A month maybe.”
“We're running short of many things,” said Talbert, checking inside the saddle bags of the pack horse. “Although the beast looks happier with less weight, we'll be needing to stock up again soon.”
Haggart's Dawn Page 12
