by A J Allen
“How do you know?” She sniffled and rubbed her nose.
“I learned from a tracker in one of the forest work camps, an old man from one of the nomadic tribes. If you didn’t know how to track, you didn’t eat.”
“Aye, a big one on its last legs. We’ll be sure to put it out of its misery.” Byrch gripped the handle of his ax and nodded at Simon. “And I’ll be sure to make those damned Tiberions shoulder it all the way back to Farrhaven. We deserve a king’s feast after all this trouble.”
They descended along the path, walking in silence, eyes on the ground searching for any clue someone or something had passed this way. The sun was at its lowest point on the horizon and soon it would be dark. Simon paused at the sight of more dried blood on a clump of broken branches. “It’s the same.”
They tramped around a mossy rock outcrop. A slow running river lay on the other side.
Mr. Byrch sniffed the damp, misty air. “Somebody’s made a fire. We’re getting closer.” He stuck his huge hand out, stopping everybody in their tracks. “Back behind the rock. Now.” He slid his ax out of his belt. “Don’t move unless I say so.”
Jack and Simon withdrew their swords and Rachel placed an arrow in her bow. She raised it, ready to release on command.
Two people were approaching with swift, padded footsteps. Byrch edged around the rockface, two hands on his ax, raised and ready to strike. “Stop and show yourself… and I’m in no mood to ask again.”
Simon and his friends inched around and joined Mr. Byrch. He didn’t look pleased to see them. A shrouded figure, the face covered, stood no more than twenty paces in front of them. Another, a young woman with black, shoulder-length hair jabbed her spear forward and glared at them with intense, knife-like eyes.
Byrch stepped forward. “I said I’m in no mood to—”
“Why do you bring dark powers to our home, old friend?” The voice was deep and sorrowful. The stranger slid back his hood. It was an old man as ancient as the Holy Seer herself if not older still. His white beard extended for several inches to a point, his face wrinkled like a dried plum.
Byrch stepped forward and squinted. “Mathurin Saros?” He lowered his ax. “What do you mean hovering about like a shade at night? Don’t you know it’s not safe to be out alone?”
“It wasn’t so in all my years before. None of my people feared living in the forests of their ancestors... until now.”
Mr. Byrch shook Mathurin’s hand. “On my word, old friend, whatever you have seen or heard is not of our doing, but we will undo it, God willing.”
“Your God needs to be more than willing, Oswin Byrch of Farrhaven, for there are others whose dark designs are already manifest in this world as we speak and will not be so easily undone.”
“That’s why we’re here. This is Rachel, Jack, and Simon. They’re protectors chosen for the Rites of Succession.”
The old man glided by Mr. Byrch and smiled at Rachel. “After all these centuries, you come to choose your new King? Someone to lead you from the darkness and into the light?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Then where is he?”
“We... we won’t know until it’s over.”
“Then you had better pray it is not too late, child. Men of good intentions cannot inspire the courage of a terrified people to sacrifice all for an untested king they neither know nor trust.”
Byrch cleared his throat. “Come now, old friend. No need to frighten the young ones anymore today. None of this shall come to pass, for the King will be crowned soon enough and if war comes, he will lead us into victory.”
Mathurin bowed. “Please forgive my rudeness. This is my granddaughter, Donia. We are tired and hungry; we have been hunting for two days without a single kill.”
“And what is worse, we found a deer dying most horribly,” Donia said, interrupting as she stepped to her grandfather’s side. “Its flesh was withering and falling from the bone as though it had been dead before. It was so strange and so… painful to see.”
Mathurin flinched visibly. “There is a silent evil that moves through this land,” he said in a low tone, as if hoping his own words were untrue. “The boar and deer are moving farther away.”
Mr. Byrch reached into his pouch and pulled out two pieces of dried meat. He handed one to Mathurin and the other to Donia. “You have my word, old friend,” Byrch said, “If there should be something here that means you harm, we will rid the forests of it after we find our own. Have you seen others like us hunting nearby?”
“There used to be more than enough for all. Our ancestors never knew hunger when the winged queen ruled,” Mathurin ventured.
“Please Mathurin, none of the old stories now. We’re searching for more of our people. Have you seen them?”
Mathurin swallowed a mouthful from Mr. Byrch’s wineskin and passed it to his granddaughter.
Donia wiped her mouth. “We have seen signs of others hunting boar further down river.” She handed the wineskin back. Mathurin gestured toward the water. “When you find them, you must leave, old friend, and do not return until the animals share the forest with us once more. Good eventide to you all and safe journeys to wherever your paths may lead.”
He disappeared around the edge of the mossy rock with Donia.
Rachel stood beside Mr. Byrch. “They live in the forest?” she asked.
“Mathurin and his kin, whom we call the Eldorah. They’re the last nomadic descendants of the original people who lived in the woodlands and plains of this land… before it was called Miradora,” Byrch replied.
“Our teacher said they still live in clans spread out across the Kingdom.”
“And they keep to themselves mostly,” Byrch said. “The Eldorah are a peaceful people unless threatened. They’re very protective of these woods and only want to live in the splendor of nature’s bounty.”
Jack examined his blade. “But they’re pagans, aren’t they? I’ve heard they make sacrifices.”
“That is true, for the animals sustain every part of their lives and for that, many of our people shun them. But I know old souls like Mathurin with more reverence of spirit than those I sit beside when I bow my head at prayer.”
They followed Byrch for a long time along the bank of the meandering stream. The sun was almost gone now and soon it would be dark. Walking at the rear of the group, Simon kept pausing and looking over his shoulder. He remembered what Goran had said about needing eyes in the back of his head and his gut told him they were being watched.
I’m not afraid of Mathurin and his people. I would do the same thing until the intruders were gone.
They weaved around a bend in the stream, pushing through and parting the thick bushes as they walked. Rachel touched her nose. “Do you smell that?” Byrch stopped again and blocked a clear view of what lay ahead.
Rachel tried to peer around his enormous girth. “What is it, Mister Byrch? What do you—” Rachel screamed and turned away. A moment later, Simon and Jack saw it too.
The disemboweled corpse of a bound and gagged young man, his face turned away from them, hung from a thick, low-hanging branch of a dead pine.
Byrch relaxed his ax hand. “May Saint Kaja herself protect us and God have mercy on this departed, tortured soul.”
The embers were still glowing faintly in the fire. Simon leveled his sword and stepped closer, heart pounding against the burning brand on his chest, his legs strained and tingling. He listened and scanned the encircling trees for any sudden sign of movement.
Byrch circled in front of the body and stared, tears flowing down the creases of his ruddy face.
Simon stepped next to him and now saw why he was crying. The body was butchered and gutted, yet the face still remained almost lifelike, a horrific death mask of unimaginable pain and suffering scorched into the skin during the final breath of Brennus Paliter.
Mr. Byrch wiped under his deeply sorrowful eyes. “Aye. He worked so hard in the foundry that most never saw him outside his work. Now, do you
remember the promise you made to him?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“Then cut him down.” Mr. Byrch opened his arms, ready to catch.
Simon sliced the rope with his sword and Byrch caught hold of the body. He lay Brennus gently on the ground.
Simon kept his sword at the ready. “Did you know if he’d tried to run away?”
“No.” Byrch closed the vacant eyes with his fingers.
Intense sickness and desolation swept over Simon. He had seen many hanging trees and had yet been able to steel himself against the shock and horror of it. If the blood of warriors flowed through his veins, then the tears for their fallen friends did too. Simon hung his head and wept.
Jack stepped around the fire pit.
“This is the most hideous sight I’ve ever seen and I am sorry, Mister Byrch,” he said. “Our family has never owned slaves and I trust never shall… but I believe if one tried to escape and was caught... well, could he not be put to death immediately in exactly this gruesome way?”
“But that’s not the way it’s —” Byrch looked away and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “This would have been reported first at Farrhaven and a decision made. Not all need end this way. If a noble did this then it was for a darker purpose.”
“I mean no disrespect, sir, but you don’t know that for certain. Many nobles and their armed escorts pass through these woods and any could have taken it upon themselves to do this terrible thing without a care of reporting it later.” Jack poked the smoking embers with his sword. “And what about the old man and his people? He said game was scarce. Maybe they caught him hunting where he shouldn’t be.”
Byrch glared at him. “You’d do better to keep your tongue still until your thoughts are better formed, my young lord. He wasn’t reported missing to my knowledge and this isn’t the way the Eldorah deal with trespassers. They’re not murderers and butchers.”
Rachel dropped her bow. She fell to her knees and sobbed. “I don’t want to see any more of this. I just want to go home. I’m not a protector of the realm. None of us is. Please, I want to be with my family.” She made a pitiful, unexpected spectacle.
Byrch sighed and closed his eyes as though saying a prayer. “And I promise you will.” He turned to her. “But if you do not fulfill your solemn and sworn oath to help choose the King and vanquish whatever evil thing did this, then, my fair lass, you’ll have no family to go home to. None of us will.” He offered her his hand and helped her to her feet. “Now please, Rachel, pick up your bow and stand watch while I wrap the body. We need all the keen eyes and quick hands we can muster.”
Rachel wiped her cheek. “You’re taking him back? What about Lord Dowrick and Callor?”
“What would you have me do? Leave him to the animals or worse? They need to see what’s happened to this poor boy and then they’ll know the truth. His Lordship and the Tiberion imp can take care of themselves.”
Simon stood guard while Mr. Byrch and Jack wrapped Brennus in the bearskin guard’s cloak. Rachel circled the site, her bow drawn.
A raspy voice scratched at Simon’s ear. “Do it now boy, while they’re not looking. Strike them both like a man and you will never bow to any as a slave again,” the man’s voice said. Simon jerked around. Nothing there but the wind in the trees.
Jack looked up at him. “What’s wrong? Did you hear something?”
Simon shook his head. “No.” He walked to the edge of the campsite and peered through the darkening forest. “You should have done it while you had the chance and taken the woman for your own. That’s what she wants. Can’t you see that?” The deep sounds taunted his ears, challenging him to ignore it.
Simon pressed his palm against his forehead.
“Do it or beware your friend,” the voice spoke. “Soon, the young Evermere will take her sweet, perfect body into his bed every night. And you? Those noble young lords will cut you clean and sell you as something less than a man to the slavers when the rites are finished.” Simon squeezed the hilt; if he knew what this thing was, and where it was, he’d… he’d—
Well, he didn’t actually know what he’d do; the disembodied voice was belittling him to the very core, hell-bent on cutting his self-esteem to the quick. He was infuriated and refused to be its victim.
Never again would he ever let himself be that worthless, downtrodden slave boy from Grimsby. He was an initiated protector of the realm now, and with his new-found power and skills could survive and escape the borders of Miradora. He knew he could this time but he didn’t want to hurt Mr. Byrch and Jack to do it.
Another silver spike of pain struck Simon’s head, raw and deep. “Why not, boy? Think they care for the likes of you? They’ll hunt you down the moment you run and string you up like a gutted pig—just like your friend. A gutted pig. A garrotted corpse… wriggling with maggots.”
Simon stared at Brennus’s corpse wrapped in the bearskin cloak.
“Yes. That’s it. Feel the rage,” the taunting voice said. “Let your anger free you and guide your blade. Punish them for who they are and what they did to all like you. Look, their backs are turned again. Kill them now! Do it and you’ll be free forever!”
Byrch loomed over him. “Simon? There’s no shame, lad, if you’re feeling queasy.”
The voice stopped. Simon shook his head as though breaking the hold of some dark spell. He slapped his flattened palm against his right ear, as if trying to shake out a lost bluebottle. He looked at his trembling hands.
How long have I been standing here? Where did I go?
Byrch placed several large rocks underneath the hanging branch to mark the location.
“I’ll ask the Holy Seer to send monks tomorrow to inspect the site,” he said. “If what I suspect is true, they’ll know what to look for.”
Simon swallowed and walked back to the fire. “If Jack is wrong then who would have done this?” he asked the big man.
“Who, exactly, I can’t say,” Byrch answered. “But whatever you saw in the Corridor of Shadows may well hold the key. The Holy Seer says that to summon the most powerful demons, the Choldath requires a sacrifice to satisfy their ravenous hunger.”
Jack tapped the hanging tree with his sword. “I’m still not convinced, Mister Byrch. Who’s to say it wasn’t a cruel noble’s hunger to inflict death on a runaway just because it’s his deplorable right to do so? Some will make a terrifying example of one just to scare the many, will they not?”
“Well, I’m in no mood to argue it anymore tonight,” Byrch said.
He heaved the bearskin-wrapped corpse onto his broad shoulder. “All I want is to get him back to Farrhaven and prepare him for a proper burial. Upon death, the Council has the power to release all from their bond. Insignificant to most, but the last words spoken will be over the body of a freeman.”
The pain in Simon’s heart was so sharp he leaned against a tree, fearing his shaky legs would give out beneath him. He didn’t want to vent his seething rage about noble gestures toward butchered slaves, despite what the cunning voice urged.
And who or what was that voice? Was it nothing more than his fettered will and desire for vengeance struggling to break free, no matter what the cost may be? Simon drew another deep breath and steadied himself. “And you think someone would do this if they believed it would summon a powerful demon?” he asked.
Mr. Byrch stepped past. “I wish it were not so. The Choldath know us all too well. The old stories say they will promise any sort of earthly desire or power for those who join their legion, if it will help them rule over our world for eternity.”
“Quiet.” Rachel raised her hand. “Did you hear that?”
All fell silent, their weapons raised. A few moments later, there was no mistaking the faint echoes of the sentry horns sounding from Farrhaven.
“Bloody bastards.” Mr. Byrch pointed to the fire. “Light your torches and lead the way. And be quick about it.”
Rachel nocked her bow. “But what about Lord Dowrick
and the others?”
“Seems his Lordship has managed to find his way back to Farrhaven after all. That was the signal.” He shifted Brennus higher onto his shoulder. “Look lively now and show me a clear path. Sword and bow at the ready, for unholy things may still be afoot.”
Simon kept a firm grip on the hilt of his sword and followed his friends along the twisting pitch black path. With every step closer to the sentry fires of Farrhaven, he was seized by the overwhelming desire to fuse steel to flesh, for the blade to become part of his body so that he’d never be unable to defend himself again or fail to wreak bloody vengeance on those who deserved it for what they had done to his friend.
Chapter 12
Accusations and Lies
Mr. Byrch stomped down the hall leading to the Council chamber. Simon, Jack, and Rachel hurried after him barely able to keep up.
“Please, Mister Byrch,” Rachel pleaded. “You should stop and think the matter through first.”
“That’s all I’ve been doing, lass. No more time for that now when the answer is staring me in the face.” He rounded a corner and barreled toward the chamber door.
Mr. Kovoth raised his hand. “You can’t go in there, Byrch, they’re having an important—"
“Get out of my way.”
Kovoth’s hand slid to the hilt of his weapon and stepped forward. “Don’t be a bloody fool, man. They’ll throw you in the stockade.”
Byrch grabbed him by the front of his uniform, yanking him off the floor. “If ye wish, Kovoth, we can continue our little disagreement outside but I’m going through that door even if I have to go right through you first.”
Mr. Kovoth shrugged. “Your neck, Byrch, not mine. But I suspect they’ll have to find a bigger tree to hold the likes of you.”
Byrch growled and tossed the grinning guard aside like a scarecrow.
Although Simon was pleased to see Kovoth tossed on his backside, he feared the unforeseen consequences which lay on the other side of the door.
I must stand with him as he has for me.
