by AJ Adams
Chapter Seventeen: Fletcher
As I’d feared, we moved much slower than we’d planned for. We’d been on the road a fortnight when we finally moved from travelling through farmed land to forest.
Unlike Tanweld’s dark lands, Caern’s forest is a pleasant woodland, rich with game and littered with hunting lodges that the duke and his friends use.
A ranger’s duty is to plan for problems, but I was expecting that to be limited to lost children and foragers. However, three days into the woods, about a week after Lind told me she was worried Jarvis was stealing supplies, I got up an hour before dawn and made sure that everyone out foraging had a partner and stayed within calling distance of the convoy.
It was freezing cold, and the wind wasn’t helping, but the lure of greens and mushrooms was too strong to keep the migrants in camp.
“Stay in sight, and if you can’t, stay within hearing,” I said the same thing every time we halted. “Remember to come straight back when you hear me blow the horn. When I call, you have ten minutes before we start moving. Don’t delay your return. Better hungry than alone in the forest.”
Duggard was still asleep, the lazy lump, but Kennard was up. “I don’t know why you bother.” He was not a morning person. “They’re just migrants.”
By this time I’d learned that his personal dislike of me wasn’t the sole cause of our conflict. Nobles and craftsmen know they were raised above the common people, and they respect their position by nurturing those beneath them. But Kennard was a brute, and Duggard was copy of his pirate grandfather. They had no feeling for the poor, no sense of even basic duty, and on the road, it showed.
I ignored his sulking. “We’ve five days until we get to Little Creek, but I’ll send two rangers down there tomorrow, just to get the jump on any activity.”
Little Creek is a river crossing that’s notorious for ambushes, so I was gearing up for trouble.
“Yes, yes, stop fussing, Master Ranger.” Kennard was yawning, then yelling at his thrall. “Hurry up with that tea!”
Leaving the bully to rant and rave, I went off to see my rangers. They were riding in as I reached our meeting point, a point a mile up the road from our convoy.
I knew at once they were worried. “Everything seems clear,” they murmured, “but it’s too quiet. There’s trouble coming.”
Listening, I sensed their concern. There was birdsong but not much of it. That’s always ominous. “It could be bad weather.” As I spoke, the wind turned fierce. The sun wasn’t up yet but the sky was lightening. The clouds looked dark; rain was on its way.
“Maybe.”
The rangers agreed politely and I instantly apologised. “I’m a damn fool. You know your business. Thank you. I’ll warn the sergeant and the steward.”
There was a pregnant silence. They had as little respect for them as I did. I kept my peace though, no sense in stirring up more trouble, and handed over pouches filled with good stew, made by Lind the night before.
“Your thrall is an excellent cook.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell her.”
“We’ve ordered extra supplies at Torre’s Halt as you asked.”
“We’ve watched Jarvis. He’s milked the migrants dry.”
“The men are becoming angry. Now that they have nothing left, Jarvis is propositioning the women.”
They’d been in the forest but they still knew what was going on in the convoy. You don’t get anything past the rangers. Their vigilance is so acute that it seems supernatural at times. “I’ll expose him soon. And we’ll replace the supplies.”
“Very well.” The two turned, readying to go back on the road. “We’ll take another look. It really is too quiet.”
“Thank you.”
They hesitated and then pointed west. “There’s a small shrine, twenty paces south from the path. Dedicated to Apollo.”
“Thank you. I’ll go and pay my respects.”
They were still waiting, their horses shifting impatiently as the men exchanged silent looks. Eventually, they turned back to me.
“We heard your farm was destroyed.”
“The shrine, too.”
I swallowed away the rage. “Yes.”
“Ranulf’s manor lies deep in Tanweld.”
“Head south from the city, follow the river for three days, then turn west when it forks.”
“There’s a path at the fork, marked by red stones. A hundred paces apart.”
“Thank you!” But my words floated in the air. The rangers had said their piece and they were off.
The shrine was a small one, merely a little well with a brass cup. I said my prayers, took a drink and vowed vengeance. “I’ll spill Ranulf’s blood as he spilled that of your servants and my family. And I’ll bring back your arrow, lord. It will be the centre of a new shrine for you.”
I’m not sure if the gods pay much attention to us—we must seem like ants to them—but I felt better as I rode back to the camp. Lind was busy, making tea and stirring a pot of warm oats. The heat of it drove some of the chill from my bones. The sun was climbing rapidly now, but it was a cold, miserable, windy day.
When I finished, Lind took the cup from my hands. “Duggard is after you. I’ll saddle Wolf while you settle him.”
It didn’t even occur to me to tell her off for not calling him by his title. “Thanks.”
I blasted my horn, a signal for the foragers to come back, and went to see the steward.
Duggard was breakfasting with his cousins, Kennard and Jarvis, and from the sound of his ugly, grating whine, he wasn’t happy. “Violet, these oats are terrible,” he growled at his thrall. “Where’s the honey? And the tea is too strong.”
The way he spoke to her infuriated me. He had the manners of a pig.
His thrall bent her neck in contrition. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“And why is my shirt still damp? You must do better!”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Unlike my wicked girl, Violet didn’t crack back that dew will dampen shirts or give him filthy looks. As she rushed around, I spotted her swelling belly. She was pregnant. Not far gone, but the road is no place for an expecting woman. Duggard was a selfish son of a bitch and I really loathed him at that moment.
Perhaps that’s why I was snappy with him. “The rangers are concerned. They think trouble’s coming our way.”
“Nonsense. I’ve hunted here all my life. Robbers wouldn’t dare attack this close to Caern.”
Kennard was frowning. “Are there any signs?”
“No, but the birds are quieter than they should be.”
“What utter rubbish you talk, Chief Ranger!” Duggard was loud and nasty. “Who cares if the birds aren’t singing? They don’t exist to amuse you, you know.”
Jarvis laughed along sycophantically but Kennard knew his business. “I’ll tell the guards to be extra careful.”
“Really, cousin, you mustn’t indulge him.” Duggard was sneering. “The ranger’s fussing to be interesting.”
That sneer tore it. I’d had enough. Being pushed about, insulted, and treated without a shred of respect or even common decency for more than a fortnight had shredded my temper. I wasn’t taking this anymore. It was time to turn the tables.
I took a breath and began setting them up. “We should check supplies too,” I pretended not to see Jarvis swallow nervously. “It will rain this afternoon. Best be sure the carts are properly secured.”
“Nonsense! Jarvis is doing an excellent job!” Duggard blared.
In a camp you are never more than a few feet away from other people. I knew several guards and drivers were listening in. I could have just walked with Jarvis and he wouldn’t have been able to stop me, but I was after revenge.
I played up to my audience and needled Duggard by imitating his pencil-pushing manner. “Supplies are the heart of a convoy. We should be checking them every day.”
“Rubbish. You mind your business and I’ll mind mine.”
&nbs
p; “With greatest respect, Steward, transparent checks should be made every day.”
“I’m doing my duty, sir!” Duggard was rearing up, red-faced and furious. “You go and do yours!”
“Sergeant Kennard has checked the carts?”
He hadn’t, the lazy bugger so he was up and screaming, too. “How dare you question me? I work for the duke!”
“It’s not personal.” I was loud, too, but deliberately calm. The guards and drivers were lapping it up. “If you and the steward are supervising Jarvis, that’s good enough for me.”
They fell for it hook, line and sinker.
“Be off with you!” Duggard snapped. “I have complete trust in my cousin!”
“As do I!” Kennard barked. “And stop trying to frighten us with your stories of ambush!”
“Yes! Your stories of bandits are ridiculous!” Duggard jeered. “Go tell it to those grubby brats you spend so much time fussing over!”
I had what I needed. “I warned you about a possible attack as it’s part of my duty. My concern about our supplies also stems from duty. Gentlemen, I bid you good morning.”
As I turned to leave, the three of them jeering in front of an audience of drivers and guards, there was a loud familiar hissing sound. I looked up, and saw a streak of green flame.
“Incoming attack!” I was moving fast, running to Wolf who was standing next to Lind, saddled and ready to go. “Everyone to their posts!”
I always carry my bow, so I was on my horse and prepared for battle in seconds. The guards were armed, too, but the drivers were standing about, too taken by surprise to rush for the swords they’d left by their bedrolls.
“Lind! Get under our cart!”
As another burst of green flame lit the sky, I saw her dive for cover with relief.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Duggard was screaming, absolutely furious. “There’s no attack!”
Sometimes the gods are watching because at that point an arrow came bursting out of the woods. It flew between his legs, missing his balls by an inch.
“Men, to your stations!” Kennard was up and running. “Incoming!”
They attacked from cover, firing arrows in a continuous wave. One of Duggard’s male thralls went down, shot straight through the heart, and a driver sank to the ground, shot in the back as he went for his sword. The migrants were screaming in panic, rushing to take cover under the Guild carts and being mown down as they ran.
There’s no point in firing at a target you can’t see, so I whipped out a Flamethrower, dipped the end into Lind’s fire and sent it screaming into the woods. It exploded, trailing fire into the knots of concealed attackers.
A second and third arrow forced a half dozen out. I took down three, left the others to Kennard’s men, and Wolf whipped me around so I could flush out the rest.
“Ware!” Lind was yelling, pointing behind her. “They’ve got torches!”
The frontal assault was a cover for a small band of bandits attacking our flank. They were aiming straight for the Guild wagon carrying swords, and to cover their tracks, they were setting fire to the supply carts as they passed.
As I galloped round, one of the horses was screaming in fear, rearing and crashing into the cart before him as he tried to escape the sudden searing heat behind him.
I took out their leader, the man next to him, and the one behind, when Lind popped up, my best knife in her hand. I love that knife; it’s so sharp, it cuts through an inch of oak like butter. I was letting fly, taking out one man after another as Lind used it to slash through the traces, setting the terrified animal free.
“Lind! Get under cover! Now!”
I didn’t have time to watch her follow orders because Kennard was yelling urgently. “To me! To me!” He was surrounded by five bandits, all carrying swords. He was a good hundred paces away, and the wind was whipping fiercely, but luckily I’m a superb archer. I took care of three, which allowed him to deal with the rest. He was efficient, the old war horse. It took just two cuts to finish the job.
Wolf turned me round, and put me in view of a knot of bandits who were trying to face down the fowler, who’d hidden his family under a supply cart. He was armed with a stave, fighting bravely. With my help, the fight swiftly turned in his favour.
All of a sudden there was smoke, swearing and lots of people running around, but the action was over. Battle’s like that. Everything happens at once, and then it seems to stop at once, too.
I looked over the camp, seeing a dozen or so of our people down. Most were wounded, but a few were too still for life. The bandits were easy to spot because they’d crammed greenery into their clothes in an effort to disguise their presence. I counted thirty of them lying dead and dying.
My rangers were there, holding up their fingers to show they’d dealt with another dozen bandits in the woods. I mimed my thanks, and they disappeared again.
“Go fuck yourself!” The high pitched scream pierced the air. “Tyr take you, you poxy whoreson!”
Lind. With a sinking heart I realised I couldn’t see her. Her voice was coming from the edge of the forest. Someone was trying to drag her away. I turned Wolf and plunged straight into the bushes. “Lind! Lind!”
“Fucking creep! Get away from me!”
My girl was taking on two bandits at once, flourishing my knife but being pushed steadily backwards as they lashed at her with long wooden staves. I was on the ground, grabbing one by the shoulder and throwing him to Wolf while I took down the other.
Neither of them stood a chance. I gutted the one in front of me, carving him practically in half with my hunting knife as Wolf’s razor edged hooves tore at the other man.
It was the work of seconds but I was so concerned for Lind that I was gasping. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
Her eyes were huge, frightened and angry. “This is your fault!” She punched me in the chest. “They wanted my collar!” Another punch. “You almost got me killed!”
I swept her up and held her. “You’re okay, Lind.” I was so relieved she was in one piece that I wasn’t even listening to her. “Come on, let’s go.”
We trotted back into camp, Lind scolding me all the way. “If they’d had a sword, I would’ve been dead!”
“Yes, but you should have stayed under the cart, like I told you.”
“And left that horse to burn?”
She’s brave, my girl. I petted her and lowered her gently onto our cart. “Look over Rose and Daisy while I check Wolf.”
“I don’t know why you do that,” Lind was grumbling, still working through her shock and fear. “It’s not like he’s the one with the gaping chest.”
“In the east, men have loose metal pins threaded through their armour. When the horse attacks, these are driven into the hoof and the leg beyond it.”
“Freyja’s purse, that’s evil.” Lind was by my side, checking Wolf anxiously. “Is he okay?”
“Yes.” I had to smile. Lind was cheerfully ignoring the smoking carts and groaning drivers and guards, but she was totally up in arms over the horses. “Can you make some more tea, Lind? We’ll be stuck here tending to the wounded for another hour at least.”
And digging graves. Walking down the row of Guild carts, I found two drivers and three guards had died in the assault.
“It’s a disgrace.” Duggard was whining, and shaking like a leaf too, the coward. “I hunt in these woods. I should be safe here.”
“It could have been worse.” Kennard was philosophical. “The fletcher gave us an extra few minutes’ warning. And those Flamethrowers worked a treat.”
Duggard wasn’t having any of it. “He should have known earlier. The rangers were useless. Their warning came far too late.”
I was so angry that I went to the back of the column to assess the damage there. If I’d stayed, I would have clocked the steward again. That would have been satisfying but counter-productive.
The migrants had lost a woman and her child, a singl
e arrow going through the little one, piercing her mother’s heart behind her. Two men had been killed, as well, with arrows in the back. A dozen more had been hit, but the wounds weren’t mortal.
A funeral pyre is proper, but it takes a day to gather enough wood and another to burn. You need fuel, too; oil is best. Sometimes you have to be practical.
“We bury them,” I told the fowler. “There’s a small shrine just up the road. I’ll get some water, and we’ll invoke Apollo to guide their souls to the care of the gods.”
“It’s a disaster, but it could have been worse.” He was quiet but unafraid. “If you hadn’t driven them out from cover, we would have been lost.”
“It was a team effort.”
“There’s a gale blowing, and you were shooting like Apollo himself. You didn’t miss once.”
He’s a sensible man, and he got his friends digging, so I left him to it.
Duggard was still screaming when I got back. I could hear his whining wails a mile away, so I stopped at Lind’s fire. “Is there any tea?”
She handed me a cup and looked over at the Guild carts. “He’s blaming you.”
“I’ll deal with it.” I was in the mood for a showdown. Sipping my tea, I planned it carefully. It was going to be epic, and I was looking forward to it.
The steward’s shrill wails were drifting over the entire convoy, “I said, more honey!”
Duggard’s blonde thrall was running around busily, trying to please the difficult bugger. I looked at her with relief. She was unhurt. “Thank the gods she’s all right.”
“I don’t see anything to smile about,” Lind grumbled.
“She could have lost her baby.”
“It’s not hers. It’s her rapist’s.”
It was as if I’d been dowsed by a cold shower. “What?”
“You don’t think she likes that scum-bucket, do you? She’s a thrall. She has to fuck him, and now she has to carry his child.”
I didn’t know what to say. All the breath was sucked out of me.
“And if the poor bitch ends up loving it, she’ll be in a terror in case her master decides to drown it at birth.” Lind’s eyes were snapping angrily. “They usually drown the boys.”
