Knight and Champion

by Steven J Shelley

  “Follow me,” Tanis said, launching himself across the current toward the jetty’s foremost support strut. He approached the landing at dizzying speed. The first pole slid by, then another. He wrapped both arms around the third but it was furry with slick weed. For the moment he had defied the current but he was slipping fast. Hadley had successfully latched onto a pole and was peering through the murk.

  “Lucky,” she said breathlessly. “We were about to hit that boulder.”

  Tanis followed her gaze. There was a dark shape smack in the middle of the channel, but he couldn’t remember it ever being there.

  “Night boat,” he said quickly, his hopes soaring.

  The boat’s approach was a revelation, but the dreaded patter of horses counteracted Tanis’s joy.

  “Not a sound,” Hadley whispered. “They may not have seen us.”

  Tanis slipped further until only his taut, quivering fingers were keeping him anchored to the support strut. As so often happened in times of need, his mind swiftly calculated the odds. The elves would find them in less than a minute. The boat’s arrival was harder to pin down. Considering the high difficulty of tacking upriver against a spring current, the vessel might be two, maybe three minutes away. Too long. Tanis made his decision and immediately knew it was the right one.

  “I’ll find you,” he said, meeting his sister’s eyes. For once he wasn’t intimidated by her searching gaze. “When I do, we’ll make amends.”

  “Tanis, no -”

  There was no time for discussion. Tanis let himself slip back into the current, only this time he was facing the wrong way. He anticipated the blow a split second before it came. His head struck the last pole and his world went black for a horrible second or two. Blood trickled steadily into the water as he turned himself around. Only he could conjure an embarrassing concussion from what might have been a gallant gesture. Now that he was again locked into the river’s furious current, the night boat approached at an alarming pace. Tanis dived to the right as the prow split the central channel. He brushed against a bargeman’s pole and resisted the urge to scream for help. The crew needed to reach Hadley without delay. With any luck the elves had seen his renewed passage downstream and would be tracking him along the bank. The moment passed and Tanis shot out beyond the aft prow. In the weak light he got a glimpse of a thick, meaty hand on the rudder before the boat was consumed by a low mist sliding in from the east.

  In theory, Hadley’s safety had been secured. Whilst Tanis was reasonably satisfied with the outcome, he still needed a way out of the water. He’d had more than enough of the swift Ebbe and feared what lay downstream. Sure enough, as he rounded another bend he saw the froth of white water. Rapids. It would’ve taken the boat hours to tack through there. Submerged rocks were dangerous, but they broke the flow of water. This was his last chance to reach one of the banks. With several frantic strokes he surged toward the nearest bank, but was torn sideways by the current. He turned his back at the last moment before striking a boulder. The impact winded him, but he was turned around the rock and deposited in a relatively gentle pool. Ignoring the sharp lacerations on his palm, he grabbed a handful of blade leaf from the bank. With an animalistic grunt, he hauled himself onto firm ground.

  For several minutes Tanis simply filled his lungs with sweet air. The mighty Ebbe had almost claimed him. Slowly but surely his brain began to tick over once more. He focused the purple-blue foliage of the riparian ash trees. A chorus of aquatic critters murmured contentedly. The peaceful scene seemed hopelessly at odds with the deadly pursuit down the river. By his crude calculations, Tanis been swept at least five miles southeast of Guill. He’d ended up on the east bank, which posed an obvious problem. From here, one option was to head north in the hope that a bargeman might happen along and transfer him to the other side. The other involved heading south to Feyn Bridge. That would take over a day. For the moment, he just let the dawn wash over him, appreciating the change in ambient light. The reassuring chirp of blackbirds, robins, and bowerbirds raised hopes of safety and sanctuary. After all, Rahal Dane and his elves were now the ones that needed to flee.

  A sharp thrumming sound preceded a dull pain in Tanis’s foot. He looked down in horror to see an arrow sticking through the ball of his ankle. Rolling gingerly over the blade leaf, he crouched low in a blackberry thicket. There was no sign of enemy activity on the opposite bank, but elves were adept at camouflage and there was every chance his unskilled eyes were blind to the enemy. Not for the first time over the last few hours he lamented his utter lack of wilderness skill. It was nothing short of a miracle that he was still breathing. As he crouched and waited for the inevitable follow-up arrow, an inner voice warned it was time to move. Certain he was doomed, he blundered east through the thorny vegetation and risked a glance over his shoulder. This time he could see three elves kneeling with bows poised on the opposite bank, but any kill shot would need to be perfect at the range.

  Still, Tanis took no chances, keeping low until the pain in his ankle was too much to bear. He sat at the base of a gnarled sassafras and considered the malignant arrow. Just the sight of it made him feel ill. He knew next to nothing about first aid but clearly the thing needed to come out. Did the elves use poison tips? He reasoned that he’d already know if they did. At least the shaft had passed clean through. In theory it would be simple to pull free - the first step was to break the end off. Tanis bent his leg and grasped the tip with both hands. Snapping it was harder than expected. Adner liked to use the phrase “stiffer than an elf’s arrow” and it now made perfect sense. The shaft moved agonizingly against muscle and bone with each tug. Tanis sat in the dappled shade of the sassafras for the better part of an hour while he worked the cursed shaft. By the time he had the end off, he was covered in sweat and the sun had risen. He pulled the arrow free with a yelp that scattered the lorikeets from the ash canopy.

  The neat hole in Tanis’s ankle probably needed medical attention, but hanging around wasn’t going to help. He found a suitable walking stick and began hobbling his way through the trees. Logic suggested the elves would attempt to ford the river on horseback. If that meant traveling south to Feyd Bridge, they might be able to catch up with him later in the day. Which left two choices - he could either travel north and hope for a barge, or he could head east into the Dawn Forest and track his way to the Border Village. Truth be told, the latter option filled him with dread. Even if he knew the way to the village, which he didn’t, he was no forester. He wasn’t even a casual hunter. There were numerous threats to the east without even considering the elves on his tail. The way north along the river would at least be open and somewhat familiar to him.

  On the other hand, the Border Village was the closest human settlement. Tanis could reasonably hope to find protection there even if he was closer to elvish territory than he would’ve liked. Further, a bed and a warm bath sounded like heaven after the night’s horrors. On the morrow he’d send word to Guill and establish whether it was safe to return. There were probably several competent guides in the district who could see him safely across the Ebbe. His mind set, Tanis headed east across a damp field of lavender. The emergent splendor of the day was wasted on him. He was weak with exhaustion and still shivering from his miserable time in the river. His trousers were sodden and torn, making fresh clothes a top priority. Whilst structurally sound, his ankle groaned with every step. The wound needed to be dressed and bandaged. Shoving his myriad concerns aside, Tanis simply focused on the humble truth that it was good to be moving.

  At length he came across a small stream, one of hundreds of tributaries that nourished the reaches. Stepping gingerly on the spongy tradescantia beds, he followed the channel as it snaked in an easterly direction. The sun was now high enough to lance the woodland with reassuring shafts of warmth. Tanis’s mechanical rhythm, coupled with the emergent heat of the day, lulled him into a mild stupor. He failed to see the fishermen until he was right on top of them. Two fly fishers standing mid-stre
am, watching his approach with bemused detachment.

  “You alright, boy?” the bearded one asked.

  Tanis shook his head, emotion bubbling over unexpectedly.

  “My village …” he began.

  “I can see,” the man said, nodding sympathetically to the north-western horizon. A plume of black smoke fractured an otherwise serene sky in that direction.

  “Then you know,” Tanis said quietly.

  “Border Village sent a few men,” the bearded fisherman said. “Though I’m sure the Baron is in control.”

  The men smiled at some private joke.

  “Do you have any spare clothes?” Tanis asked, trying not to sound desperate.

  “Farmer lives just down the way,” the second man offered. “Canning might give yer somethin’.”

  The conversation appeared to be over. Despite Tanis’s obvious plight, the fishermen were quite happy for him to move on. Left cold by the encounter, Tanis bowed and kept moving. Sure enough, a modest wooden hut was nestled further along the stream. Furrowed, loamy fields, thick with spring heat, spread like checkerboards to the north. Smoke trailed lazily from the homestead. Tanis’s hopes rose as he approached and rapped on the door. No answer. Cursing his luck, he sat on the front porch and waited the better part of an hour. The sun climbed steadily, burning the dew off the grass.

  “Can I help you, son?”

  Keeping his wife behind him, a gray-haired man peered around the corner of the house. Tanis realized he looked more than a little disheveled.

  “I’m from Guill,” he said simply. “A survivor.”

  “I see,” the man known as Canning said, glancing west with a furrowed brow. “Expectin’ any trouble?”

  Tanis shook his head, disappointment blossoming within him.

  “Fine,” Canning said abruptly. “You’d better come in.”

  Tanis was admitted to a cozy little hearth where a pot of farmhouse stew bubbled. The rich smell had his stomach talking to him. Loudly.

  “Might have somethin’ for yer out back,” the farmer said awkwardly. “Sela?”

  The pear-shaped woman disappeared into the only other room. Tanis couldn’t help but eye the fragrant stew as he waited beside the dinner table. Canning either missed the obvious hint or chose to ignore it. Either way, his hospitality would be limited. Sela returned with an abrasive-looking sack. Tanis winced as he pulled it over his head - murder on his lacerations. Still, it was better than nothing. At least it was dry.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “My family won’t forget this.”

  The farmer’s eyes lit up.

  “You’re one of them La Bernes,” he observed.

  Tanis nodded, wondering if he should’ve kept his mouth shut after all.

  “Nothing comes free, boy,” Canning said. “Not any more.”

  Tanis suddenly felt every inch of his exhaustion.

  “I have nothing,” he said. “Perhaps if you let me stay the night, we could negotiate a trade of services. I could work the farm for a day or two.”

  “No,” the farmer said quickly. “Best you keep moving, boy.”

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Sela said, hands clasped tightly.

  “Elves are no longer our allies - you have trouble whether you wish it or not,” Tanis said with more anger than was wise.

  The grizzled farmer bristled and turned a shade of crimson.

  “Along with you, boy,” he said. “I’ve never had reason to hate the farne.”

  Tanis left without another word. He was tired and frustrated with the small-mindedness of the Southern Reaches. Canning was worried that the wrong people would see Tanis on his homestead. As ridiculous as it sounded, it didn’t pay to assist those in need. Far better to keep one’s head down and ignore the ebb and flow of the wider world. In truth, Tanis could understand the farmer’s perspective, but it wasn’t difficult to see why the Reaches had become such an insular place. Tanis chose to leave his bitter ruminations behind him as he attacked a goat track further along the stream. It still made sense to continue east into the Dawn Forest, however daunting it seemed. It was a place he could hide, at least for a few days. Of course, the worst case scenario - that Border Village had already been sacked by elves - didn’t bear thinking about. The absence of smoke in the eastern sky was a good omen.

  The going was fairly easy for a couple of hours before the stream veered southeast through a vine-choked ravine. Tanis scooped a mouthful of water before heading due east through sun-dappled woodland. Though he was hydrated and able to walk, hunger was fast becoming an issue. His stomach groaned moodily as he picked his way through a standing army of grass ferns. The woodland was alive with critters but Tanis had zero chance of hunting or trapping a meal. What had always seemed a frivolous pastime now became a missed opportunity. The la Bernes were the only folks for miles with the freedom of leisure, but that privilege was a double-edged sword.

  Tanis’s sense of helplessness deepened when he stumbled across a badger’s sett under an elder oak and was forced to back track. He’d seen what badgers could do to human flesh and considered the diversion well worth it. The canopy gradually became so thick that most of the sun was blocked out. The trees here were ancient and gnarled. The ambiance was dark, shadowy and sent a tingle down his spine. The various chittering and warbling animals who’d accompanied him over several hours melted away. Senses on high alert, he waded through a cold sea of thigh-deep bracken. An unfamiliar bird call echoed through the gloom and wormed its way under Tanis’s skin. He’d never ventured this far east. Various village children over the years had likely come this far, even if it was just for a fleeting dance before turning back. Hero worship always awaited them on their return.

  The Dawn Forest wasn’t exactly an elf heartland, but hunters were occasionally spotted at a distance. The region was ostensibly human-controlled. A lumber camp operated in the foothills of the Furan Mountains to the northeast. In theory, Border Village was no more than six hours to the east. If Tanis somehow missed the settlement, the Great Southern Forest lay beyond. That was elvish territory and Tanis might well be killed on sight. His most immediate issue was the lack of discernible tracks through the ancient trees. All he could do was stick to what he hoped was an easterly bearing. He gradually became aware of tiny glowing lights in the tree boughs. They were known as fairy beads and he stayed well away from them. According to various tales that drifted around Guill, they were a luminescent fungi filled with toxic liquid. Better safe than sorry in any case.

  The afternoon wore on, strangely timeless in the quiet, moss-covered netherworld. If anything, the forest grew darker, reflecting his mood. A herd of hog deer skittered away before Tanis could get close, their low grunts setting his nerves on edge. What would he even do if he caught one? Feeling horribly ill-equipped, he wrestled with his despair. What was the point of all this effort? Why was he the one to make it here? It should’ve been Catelyn. Or Cybil. Loved ones who actually stood a chance of using the forest to their advantage. He’d gladly swap places with them. Worst of all, he had no idea if he was heading east. There were no obvious navigational aids in this solemn place. Well, none that he could see. Elder trees supported a verdant ceiling in all directions.

  The ankle wound began to throb painfully. For a while there it had loosened up nicely, but all the walking had taken its toll. Tanis had been trekking for several hours since losing the elves at the river. There were subtle indications that night was falling - the appearance of a large, dusky-black bird, emergent cricket chirp and the sweet tang of night pollen. Just as he was contemplating a fatal night in the chilly forest, he spotted an irregular pattern through the trees - a wooden palisade. He stumbled over the moss and bracken, cursing as he stubbed his toe on a submerged log. There was no mistaking the defensive structure - he’d seen similar on the western outskirts of Guill. Against the odds, he’d reached the Border Village. Somewhat chuffed at his latent orienteering skills, he weaved in and out of the staggered palisades. />
  It was a surreal moment to finally set foot in a trading outpost so ardently mythologized in Guill. The reality didn’t exactly match Tanis’s embellished mental image. Border Village was a tight cluster of low, sturdy buildings crafted from the abundantly available hard timber. The palisades hinted at the outpost’s vulnerable position on the eastern boundary of Ardennia, but as far as Tanis knew the settlement had never been attacked. After all, elves had been allies for as long as anyone could remember. A light rain began to fall as he gingerly threaded a path between lichen-smothered dwellings. Light was fading fast and not a soul was to be seen. A slightly larger building in the village center seemed like a worthy destination. Golden light oozed from an open doorway like syrup. A tavern, surely. Tanis was so enamored with the idea of warmth and nourishment that he failed to spot the prone figure across his path. He tripped and very nearly broke his nose on the hard-packed dirt. Brushing himself down, he was about to apologize when he saw the vagrant’s face - an elf’s face. A decrepit, shabby-looking elf, but an elf nonetheless. Tanis couldn’t control the white anger that rose like a specter within him.

  “Fucking degenerate,” he seethed.

  Before he could stop himself, he spat at the man’s bewildered face. The elf blinked rapidly, muttered something in his own tongue and cowered like an errant child. He was either drunk or unhinged. Even so, Tanis needed to check himself - he’d never acted so spitefully before. When he looked at the elf, all he could think of was Ril’s lifeless body. For a horrible moment he considered the possibility that the village had been taken by the enemy, but was relieved to see humans emerge from the tavern.