by Aaron Bunce
Gor and the other mules lumbered down the valley ahead, their packs bobbing along like oversized turtle shells. The men continuously scanned the forest around them, their long spears held ready. Thorben’s eyes snapped up to the tall and narrow trees standing creek side. Sunlight streamed down, dancing from the shifting branches. Something sparkled in the shifting light between the trees, like the glint off a diamond, just for a heartbeat, and then it was gone.
“Wait!” he gasped in horror, kicking forward into a run. His boots bit and slid treacherously on the eroded slope. “Don’t approach the water!” Thorben hollered, moving as quickly as the footing would allow, but Gor and the mules were approaching the creek, and worse, lowering their spears and sloughing off their packs.
Iona turned towards him, his face scrunching up in alarm. Thorben shoved by him and jumped over a large puddle. He jumped onto a rotten log, the crumbling wood and fungus collapsing as he kicked off. Thorben landed awkwardly in the broad-leafed plants, teetered, and just managed to keep his balance.
Thorben reached the mules just as Renlo pulled the stopper from a water skin and took a step towards the creek. He bounced off Gor’s considerable frame and snagged his fingers inside the neckline of the short man’s shirt, both falling and pulling with all of his might. Renlo gave a startled, strangled cry and fell backwards, his weight dropping squarely on Thorben.
There was a commotion, a scuffle, the ache flaring in his side and leg. Renlo rolled free, but a boot swung down and caught Thorben on his shoulder, knocking him back down and pinning him to the ground. A bladed spear point swung in a heartbeat later and hovered just below his Adam’s apple.
“What kind of man attacks when another’s back is turned? I ought to give you a new wind hole!” Gor snarled, towering above him.
“You don’t understand…I was just trying to help…”
Gor leaned forward, shifting even more of his considerable weight onto Thorben, cutting him off. Renlo stood next to the big man, rubbing his neck where the collar left a red imprint.
“Hold…Gor, please lower that spear!” Iona hissed, pushing past the two smaller men.
“No hold,” Gor snarled, his fleshy cheeks scarlet and his eyes wide. The shiny, copper coin sat perched between two of his meaty fingers.
“A coward, he is a bleedin’ thug,” Renlo said, trying to push past Iona, “Cowards attack a man’s back…when he ain’t looking. Cowards can’t be trusted. You said he was good, but it appears you are wrong. This one’s a coward.”
Something shifted in the tall trees above them, a small cloud of leaves drifting down around them. Thorben seemed to be the only one that noticed. He tried to lift his arm to point, to tell them, but Gor smashed him down again.
“Gor, let the man up and speak his defense. There has to be a reason, let’s hear his piece–”
The big man’s massive knuckles popped, the spear shaking in his grip. Thorben’s gaze flitted from his hands past the big man’s face and wide eyes, to the dark recesses of the trees. Something was moving in the shadows, uncoiling, too many legs unfurling and wrapping around the largest branch.
“Gor!” Iona said, all subtlety and gentleness gone from his voice. He stepped forward into the big man’s shadow, a child in comparison to the spear wielder.
Gor’s attention wavered, his dark eyes sliding to Iona. “You don’t decide these matters…fate does!” the big man said, and without hesitation flipped the wide coin into the air and caught it. He looked down, snorted, and rocked back, the bulk of his weight falling away from Thorben’s chest.
With the weight gone, Thorben rolled away and pushed up to his knees. He stabbed a finger up to the nearest tree, the dark branches creaking and swaying.
“Get back! I was…trying to…warn you,” he gasped, heaving, his ribs protesting every movement.
The group moved as one, their eyes lifting towards the tree, and then they all fell back, stumbling and shoving past one another to get clear. Thorben lumbered forward, staggering into Iona and knocking Jez aside. He turned just as two long, dark legs extended out of the tree’s shadowy foliage, extending just enough into the narrow band of sunlight to be seen.
Gor, Renlo, and Hun fumbled their spears up defensively.
“A death fisher! Good eye, Owl! Where there is one, there may be more. You just saved us all from a painful end,” Iona said, slapping him on the shoulder.
“Wha…what is that? And why couldn’t I get a drink of water if it’s way up there? I’m fast like…” Renlo asked, his mouth agape.
To answer his question, Thorben scooped up a handful of leaves from the ground at his feet, carefully stepped forward, and tossed them into the seemingly clear space between trees Renlo would have passed through. The leaves scattered in the air, but only a few hit the ground, the rest catching on and sticking to an almost invisible web.
“It wouldn’t matter how fast or strong you are. Once snared by a death fisher, there is little hope. They spin their sticky webs along spots like this, and once you become caught–”
“I’m strong. I’d break out of any web. No matter the beast,” Renlo interrupted, slapping his fist against his chest, although his eyes didn’t drop from the shadowy branches.
“Have a look for yourself,” Thorben argued, and gestured to another gap in the trees, just down the creek.
Renlo begrudgingly turned to look, leaned, and approached cautiously. The narrow trees were bent, their lower branches broken and hanging. Thick gouges marred the bark, the ground churned for a stone’s throw, as if turned by a horse and plow.
Thorben pointed to where the tree’s branches came together, forming a wide canopy. A considerable shadow hung in the mass of branches and leaves, the bottom of two reddish legs and hooves just visible in the light. Renlo recognized it and immediately jumped away, his spear jabbing the air above him.
“That rootstag put up one hell of a fight; and if it’s a female, I wager it outweighed you by at least what, ten stones, maybe twelve? Do you still think you’d be able to break free?”
Renlo looked back down to the mud, to the deep furrows, and then to the trees, where the beast’s antlers scored deep into heartwood. He swallowed and shook his head, reluctantly meeting Thorben’s gaze.
“Run the lane, dance the field, but wary cross the stream.”
Gor led them back up the valley, where they traveled parallel to the creek for a while before finally working up the bravery to pass down through the valley. The mules led, waving their spears before them to detect invisible traps and snares.
They traveled in silence after that, Renlo grumbling quietly and refusing to meet Thorben’s gaze. Iona walked just ahead of him and behind the three mules, a map held out before him, studying the details with great interest.
“Murderers…the three of ‘em,” Jez whispered, appearing next to him without warning, and nodded towards Gor and the others.
“Murderers?” Thorben asked. She slapped a finger to her lips, shushing him.
“Murderers,” she repeated, simply, her eyes telling a story he didn’t understand.
“Tell me.”
“You don’t know who they really are. It is in their eyes, the way they talk and move. Look for yourself. Decide for yourself. You’re not safe,” Jez said, her voice low. A shiver coursed through his body.
“Sometimes people kill others to defend themselves,” Thorben said. He understood the power of stigma better than anyone.
Jez shook her head, and stopped suddenly as an animal screamed somewhere off in the distance. Thorben watched her scan the forest. Then he spotted Iona standing a fair distance ahead, the map clutched tightly against his chest. He was watching them, his dark eyes unreadable.
“You don’t seem to be like the others. You look nice, so I just thought you should know. You shouldn’t be here,” Jez whispered, her eyes not leaving Gor and the other mules, and then abruptly moved off, slipping almost silently through the trees.
Thorben suddenly wonder
ed what kind of people he was traveling with. He turned and quickly cast an eye over the woods behind him, before following the others.
Chapter Seven
Not What You Think
Using the map, Iona led them through the forest for the better part of the day. The sunlight filtering in through the trees dimmed, and by the time they cleared the woods, dusk was upon them.
“We’re clear of the woods and should camp here for the night. The Klydesborough River Guard patrol just north of here, so we should be relatively safe,” Iona said, inspecting a patch of flat, dry ground.
Thorben stayed out of the way as Gor and the mules set up the camp, and reluctantly joined Iona and Jez around the fire once they were done.
“You needn’t worry, my old friend. Let the mules do the work. That is how they earn their share of our reward. Soon enough, you will earn yours,” Iona said, noting his indecision. “We all contribute in our own ways.”
“Another day’s travel?” Thorben asked.
In response, Iona held out the folded map, Renlo ducking around him to hang a kettle over the fire. He accepted the parchment and unfolded it, turning to use the fire’s warm light.
He immediately recognized the Snake River, the oft-traveled road running north through the boroughs, and the Bear Claw River’s run west. A stretch of forest extended north and west of Yarborough, and just beyond that stood the immense, sloping bluffs of the kongelig blöd mounds. A river sat just beyond the bluffs, extending from the Bear Claw and running southwest, before disappearing into a scribbled clump of trees and blocky hills.
“What is this river here?” Thorben asked, pointing to the strange waterway, “your map shows no name.”
“Keen as ever, Owl,” Iona said, unpacking a sack of rolls. “It is the ‘unchartered river’, and our destination.”
“It doesn’t appear to be a small river. How could it have gone all this time without being charted? With river merchants traveling up and down the Bear Claw, and the River Guard out of Klydesborough, surely someone would have named it by now,” Thorben offered.
Iona shrugged his shoulders, “All good questions, but I’m afraid that I am not the one to answer them, Owl. I do know that it is to our benefit. The river shallows out just north of the mounds, separating into a small delta and some dozen or so smaller waterways. Our entrance is just off that delta. The Council built a bridge, and a fairly rough road from the Shale approach. We have to watch for patrols along that route, as well as around here, and here,” he said, coming forward and pointing to the edge of a forest bordering the southwestern edge of the mounds.
“Patrols?” Thorben asked, the idea of sneaking around trained soldiers spiking his worry. A twinge suddenly pinched his wrists as he considered the idea of men shackling him once again. They wouldn’t just brand his other arm, but would throw him back into that stinking, dark mine. He wouldn’t breathe free air, lay with his wife, or see his kids ever again. He’d die there this time.
Iona waved him off. “Don’t worry yourself; it is a nuisance at best. They’re sellswords working for the Council’s copper. The bulk of their force is stationed here, at the crypt’s main entrance,” he said, circling the southern bluff, “which is far from where we will be. Our path is well hidden, trust me, they’ll never be the wiser.”
“There is risk in all deeds,” Jez added, quietly, from her lounging perch on the far side of the fire.
“Including speaking out of turn,” Iona scolded, turning his dark eyes on the young woman. Jez dropped her gaze to the fire, her mouth screwing up in a sour frown.
“Don’t listen to her, Owl. You will be like a shadow before the sun. Treasures lay within those crypts unlike any other delved before. Wealthy men will gaze upon their treasures and whisper our names as legends for thaws to come. I just know it!”
“Or not, and we risk everything for nothing,” Jez whispered harshly, leaning towards them. “What makes him the ‘delver of legend’? He isn’t the smallest or largest of men, the youngest or oldest.” She shifted her gaze from Iona to Thorben, adding, “I mean no offense, but there is more at risk here than copper, silver, and gold. You appear to be a particularly ordinary man. I see nothing exceptional about you. You don’t even understand what you’ve stepped into…”
“Silence!” Iona hissed, throwing the girl a simmering glare. Thorben flinched back from the smaller man. There was something in his expression that went beyond anger, deeper.
“Ignore her, Thor–” the broker started to say, but Thorben cut him off and sat up. The girl’s words sounded strange in his ears, ringing oddly out of tune with Iona’s initial promises. He hadn’t delved for half a lifetime, and surely hadn’t grown stronger, faster, or smarter in that time. Something continued to feel off, and for once, it was nice to hear someone else say it.
“She’s right. And yes, Jez. I’ve never been the biggest, the strongest, or the nimblest. But…” he trailed off, his thoughts and memories sliding back to his younger thaws. He struck on the thrill of near capture, but also the way the darkness wrapped around his body when first stepping into a crypt. It was truly horrible, the smell of damp and decay lingering with him for so many thaws. He remembered the thrill of stepping back into the sunlight the first time after. It was being born all over again.
Iona cleared his throat, and gazed nervously around the camp. Thorben jarred loose from the drifting memories. He took a breath and continued.
“…from a young age, I just seemed to understand how things worked. I stole iron shavings from my uncle’s forge and taught myself how to pick the lock to his tool shed. I tapped the barrel hinges out of the cupboard door to eat the sweets my mother locked up, then put the door back on and replaced the hinges. She was convinced a wraith plagued her kitchen. Later I learned how to mortise and tenon beams together, and helped my father and grandfather build our house. When I was twelve winter thaws old, my father took me to Klydesborough so I could help the armorer repair the River Guard’s crossbows. Those little, moving pieces always made sense to me, in some ways more than people ever did. I could look at them, puzzle them, and make them work.”
Jez nodded, the faintest ghost of a smile pulling on Iona’s lips.
“A man with such skill could live like a king – with such skill he could have secured the patronage of every merchant and skilled craftsman in all the boroughs, built trinkets for the wealthy, or serve the Earl himself,” Jez said, her gaze dropping from his eyes and crawling over his old, tattered shirt and plain trousers. Her eyes said what her words didn’t…if blessed with a rare skill, why do you dress like a pauper?
Without thinking, Thorben’s hand dropped to the cuff of his shirt.
“No, you don’t have to…” Iona said, shaking his head vigorously, but Thorben ignore him and pulled the sleeve up, the scarred brand almost glowing in the fire’s warm light.
“I was a fool and careless, and have spent every sunrise and sunset since paying for it,” he said, and let the sleeve fall back down, not bothering to refasten the button.
Learn from my stupidity, girl. If you can be anywhere else, go. Don’t make it any harder than it has to be…he thought, imagining what it would feel like to run his fingers over the smooth and unblemished skin of his forearm once again.
Thorben returned his gaze to the map, studying the lay of the land – the unchartered river and its rocky gorge, the hills and sweeping valleys, and hoped beyond all hope that the drawn likeness was exact. He didn’t want to see the shock or pity in the young woman’s eyes, whichever one it was. He only hoped that she would take his warning seriously. Most of all, Thorben hoped that he could capture just a little bit of luck and delve without losing his life, or his freedom, return home to hold his wife, watch Paul realize his dream of becoming a river watchman, and hold the rest of them.
Thorben traced a finger over the map, troubling over the approach to the river. If they committed to an approach and it didn’t provide cover or access to the river near the hidden
cave, then their delving was doomed before it ever began. He was glad Iona seemed to understand the route.
That evening they ate a cold meal of salted meat and pickled carrots, washing it all down with a cup of bitter, odd-smelling tea. Thorben took a bedroll and set up as far from the three mules as possible without losing all of the fire’s warmth. He lay on his back, catching brief glimpses of the stars through the clouds.
Iona sat by the fire for a long time, muttering quietly to himself, studying the map and scratching in a rough, leather journal. Thorben watched him for a time, even after everyone else had turned in. Iona’s demeanor changed then. He would be sitting, staring at the map one moment, and stand up in the next, staring into the darkness before pacing back towards the fire. There was an anxiousness about his movements, a restless quality that Thorben knew all too well. He’d spent enough sleepless nights lately thinking and praying for something good, while at the same time dreading the bad that usually came instead, to recognize the signs.
Iona had practically pushed him out of the River’s Mouth Inn, and then set a walking pace that even Thorben struggled to maintain. Now he was awake in the black of night, watching the darkness as if something or someone might appear.
But what was following him? It was a question Thorben wasn’t sure he wanted answered.
* * * *
Exhaustion and anxiety swirled together, tying Thorben’s belly into knots and at the same time, playing tricks with his mind. Dreams fell over him, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was asleep. The backlit clouds slipped in front of the moon, the wind rustling the long grass and trees all around their camp, but it was quiet – too quiet.
He was at home in the next moment, walking in through the gate to find Dennah and the boys playing in the yard. Dennica greeted him at the open kitchen door, her embrace warm and soft, her hair clinging to the aroma of lavender oil and freshly baked bread.
