by Jon Kiln
“Well, with you two for companions, I don’t think I’ll have any need in the near future!” laughed Myriam.
A few moments later Artas came riding back from the house.
“What did you find?” asked Ganry.
“It looks okay. This is a summer house for the Stapleton family. They’re not here, but if we pay the foreman then we can refresh the horses and they will give us some supplies as well.”
“Perfect. Lead the way.”
They soon had their horses unsaddled. A table had been laid for them for lunch.
“So where are you heading?” asked the estate’s foreman, joining them at their meal.
“West,” replied Ganry, “back to our farm there.”
“Unusual to be traveling along the old forest trail? Why don’t you take the main road?”
“There seems to be a lot of soldiers on the road at the moment. We’re simple folk. Easier to keep out of the way of trouble.”
“You know… I had some hunters through here a day or so ago.”
“Oh?” replied Ganry, biting into some bread and cheese, trying to appear disinterested.
“Yes, they were hunting some people. A man and a girl. They were offering a hefty reward for their capture. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”
“Like I said, we’re simple folk. We haven’t heard anything about that.”
“I’ve never seen a farmer carry a sword like that one,” insisted the foreman.
“It’s just a family heirloom. It’s useful for deterring bandits. And people who ask too many questions.” Ganry glared at him. He could tell the foreman would cause trouble. They would need to leave here sooner than they planned.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Myriam apologized to the foreman. “It’s been a long journey for us and my father is tired and irritable. Please, tell me how much we owe you for your hospitality and we’ll be on our way.”
Artas handed over the payment and they quickly gathered up their horses and resumed their journey along the trail.
“You know that he’s going to try and collect that ransom from the hunters. They’ll be on our trail before nightfall,” grumbled Ganry as the estate vanished into the trees behind them.
“I don’t think your farmer story is particularly effective,” said Artas. “None of us look like simple folk for starters. You are a warrior, and we are obviously noble.”
“The farmer story is fine,” Ganry insisted. “You just need to act more convincingly. Or why don’t you come up with something better next time.”
“Perhaps I will. Anyway, if they know that we’re on this trail, then their dogs will be able to track our scent whichever direction we go.”
“The road is definitely too dangerous, we’re going to need to push deeper into the forest. Let’s take the horses into the water of the creek for a while, try and lose the scent.”
They could only make slow progress, but the horses tentatively picked their way along the narrow bed of the creek, dodging the loose stones and deep pot holes.
“There are fish swimming between the legs of the horses,” observed Myriam. “Should we try and catch some?”
“Let’s focus on getting somewhere safe first,” cautioned Ganry. “We’re going to need to find a camp within a few hours. It’s going to be another long night without much sleep.” The sound of barking dogs floated on the breeze that stirred through the leaves of the forest. “We need to stay in the water a bit longer, and then we’ll try and find cover.”
After another mile of slow progress through the water of the creek, they came to a small stone bridge where a young man was fishing. He looked up in surprise as the three travelers approached. Ganry placed his hand firmly on this hilt of his sword.
“Hello,” said the young man cautiously.
“Hello,” replied Artas.
“Why are you walking your horses in the water?” asked the young man. “You’re scaring all the fish away.”
“Sorry about that. We had just got a bit muddy on the path, a lazy way for us to clean their hooves.”
“Oh,” replied the young man, not particularly convinced.
“You live around here?” asked Ganry. The young man nodded. “What would we find if we rode that way?” Ganry pointed deeper into the forest.
“Why would you want to ride that way?” asked the young man perplexed. “There’s nothing but forest. It just gets deeper and darker and then there’s a big ravine. I don’t know what’s on the other side of the ravine, I haven’t found a way across it yet. Wait a minute, you’re hiding from those hunters aren’t you?”
“Don’t be silly,” quipped Artas, looking sidelong at Ganry. “Can’t you see we are just simple folk heading back to our farm? That sword and those blades that big man is carrying are all heirlooms. Myself and this young lady here, often enjoy dressing in our Sunday best while we toil in the fields.”
The young man just stared. “Err…”
“Artas!” laughed Myriam. “Yes, we’re hiding from the hunters. Have they been past here?”
“Yes, a couple of times,” nodded the young man. “I stay out of their way. Their dogs frighten the fish.”
“Would you help us?” asked Myriam. “We need somewhere safe to spend the night.”
The young man appeared to consider it. He had exchanged a few words with the hunters earlier. They claimed to be seeking a young servant girl who eloped with an older man. The young lady in front of him was definitely no servant, he knew that much. Her demeanor suggested one high-born. The young man claiming to be a farmer was dressed in fine, well cut clothes. He hesitated because of the large warrior glaring at him menacingly. But a smile and nod of encouragement from the pretty girl made up his mind.
“It would be my pleasure. My cottage is only small. But it’s fairly well concealed. Follow me.” The young man picked up his fishing rod and the string of fish that he had caught and led the way down a small narrow path. The three travelers followed, dismounting from their horses so that they could thread through the undergrowth and dodge the low hanging branches of the forest which immediately became denser on this side of the creek.
After about ten minutes of walking, they came to a small clearing and a cottage made of logs and earth. There were a couple of goats tethered to a post and a handful of chickens scratching in the dirt. “Here we are!” said the young man proudly.
“You live here alone?” asked Myriam, noting that the cottage was particularly basic in every respect.
“Yes,” replied the young man. “I lived here with my father, but he died last winter.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” said Myriam sadly, his words making her think of her own parents. “How rude of us, we don’t even know your name. I’m Myriam, this is Artas, and that angry man is Ganry.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Hendon.”
“I guess you don’t get many visitors out here,” observed Myriam. “Don’t you get lonely?”
“I’m kind of used to it I suppose. I have the goats to keep me company. Will you share the fish that I caught?” Hendon proudly brandished the string of silvery brown trout.
“We would love to,” beamed Myriam, happy to be welcomed by a friendly face.
Hendon set to work and expertly cleaned and prepared the fish, throwing some small logs into the wood-burning stove so that he could heat a pan in which to fry them.
There weren’t enough chairs around the small table, so Hendon graciously stood while his guests sat to eat. He was captivated by the young girl. He thought she looked like a living doll, as she was extremely pretty. But Hendon thought the young man, Artas, was even more arresting, with his handsome good looks.
“Hendon, could you guide us through the forest?”
Hendon started, afraid that Artas had caught him staring. “The only way to head further west is to cross the ravine. There’s no way across.”
“Are there no paths leading down into the ravine?” asked Ganry, picking at his teeth with
a fish bone.
“Nothing that I’ve found. The sides are sheer, even the goats don’t attempt it.”
“What are we going to do?” moaned Artas. “It feels like we’re trapped.”
“Horses can swim, can’t they?” asked Hendon. Ganry nodded. “About five miles downstream from here, the stream enters a large lake. If you could cross the lake, you should then be able to pick up another trail that would lead you to the west.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Ganry, getting up from his seat. “We’ll leave tomorrow. I expect you to guide us to this lake, Hendon.”
Hendon didn’t feel like he was being given a choice. “Okay.”
“Thank you, Hendon,” smiled Myriam brightly. “What about your goats and chickens?”
“My neighbor drops by occasionally. I’ll leave him a note to care for them until I return.”
Ganry stretched his arms wide and yawned. “We’d better get some sleep. It sounds like we’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”
Hendon insisted that Myriam take his bed while he slept on the floor with Ganry and Artas. Myriam slept deeply, dreaming of her grandmother and Castle Locke.
6
“You can ride with me,” Artas offered to Hendon. “Orton is strong enough to carry both of us,” he said, patting the neck of his horse. Hendon eagerly swung himself up to sit behind Artas. “Do we walk in the water of the creek again or risk taking the trail?”
“We’ll move much quicker on the trail,” decided Ganry. “We’ll just have to hope that the hunters are behind us and not ahead of us. Let’s go.”
Hendon and Artas led the way along the winding forest trail, snaking its way through the trees beside the crystal clear waters of the creek.
“Isn’t it dangerous? Living in the forest by yourself?” Myriam asked Hendon.
“Dangerous? What could harm me out here?”
“Oh, I don’t know, bears… wolves… woodsmen…” suggested Myriam.
“It’s more dangerous living in a castle by the sound of it.”
“You have a point,” sighed Myriam. “Maybe I would be better off living out here in the forest.”
The sound of barking dogs cut through their conversation.
“They’re close!” snarled Ganry, urging his horse into a fast canter. “How far to the lake?” he shouted to Hendon.
“Just a few more miles!” Hendon was clutching onto Artas to avoid falling off as they sped along the uneven track.
Artas rode up beside Ganry. “Sounds like they’re out on the road.” Another bout of barking suggested otherwise. “And behind us! We could have two packs on our tail!”
“They know we’re heading west. They must be covering every escape route possible. Let’s just hope that they haven’t thought of the lake. You go on ahead with Myriam. I’ll try and distract them and buy us some time!”
“Are you sure?” shouted Artas.
“Yes, go!” urged Ganry, pulling his horse Bluebell to a standstill and watching Artas and the others ride on towards the lake. The sound of barking dogs was drawing closer. Ganry quickly tried to think of a way that he could slow down the hunters that were in pursuit.
Meanwhile, Artas and Myriam drew within sight of the lake.
“Let’s aim for that rock over there on the other side,” pointed out Artas. “We can’t swim too far or the horses will tire. Try and keep the heavy cloaks dry by tying them on top of the saddle. We’ll need to swim with the horses to lead them. Quickly now!” Myriam followed Artas’s instructions, preparing Oaken to go into the water while Artas tied his cloak on to Orton’s saddle.
Myriam looked around in alarm. “Where’s Ganry?”
“He’ll be here,” reassured Artas. “Get going now, start swimming. They may chase us into the water.”
“Hendon! You should come with us,” Myriam waved her hand urgently, beckoning him. “If the hunters catch you, who knows what they will do to you.”
“I can’t! I have to stay!” protested Hendon.
“It’s too dangerous!” insisted Myriam. “At least help me swim Oaken to the other side!” Hendon relented and helped Myriam lead her horse into the water. They tentatively began to swim across the lake, leading Oaken towards the rock on the opposite shore. Artas looked hopefully down the track, trying to see some sign of Ganry. All of the sudden there came loud yelling.
“Artas! Your bow!” Ganry was riding recklessly down the narrow winding forest trail, as fast as he could possibly go. “The dogs! Shoot the dogs!”
Artas knelt one knee to the ground to steady his aim. He notched his first arrow and waited for a clean shot. As Ganry rounded the final bend, Artas could see a pack of large wolf-hounds almost upon him, barking, snarling, snapping at Bluebell’s hooves as he galloped along in panic. Artas released his first arrow and one of the dogs fell down. He calmly notched a second arrow and released it. Another dog fell. He could see that Ganry was also being pursued by men on horses. He contemplated targeting them but decided to follow Ganry’s instructions and loosed his third arrow to take down another dog. His fourth arrow and fifth arrow both missed. His sixth arrow finally felled the last wolf-hound just as Ganry skidded to a halt next to Artas at the edge of the lake.
Artas watched in amazement as Ganry spun Bluebell around on the spot and rode straight at the pursuing hunters. Drawing a wicked looking curved short-sword in his left hand, and his long sword in his right, he swung the blades with a mad fury that made the hunters hesitate in their attack. His long sword, WindStorm was just a blur, creating a high pitched whooshing sound as it cleaved through the air. Just like the wind.
Artas considered shooting his bow, but with Ganry in amongst the hunters, he didn’t want to risk it. It didn’t look like Ganry needed help in any case. In a few short moments, all four hunters had been cleanly dispatched. Artas saw that Bluebell was instrumental in the victory, using his body to barge into the other horses, knocking the men off balance. Ganry used his short blade to block, and WindStorm to thrust up close. He would swing the blade in big arcs to parry and cleave at a distance. As the last of the huntsmen fell from his horse, Ganry raised his sword high in the air and shouted in triumph at the empty forest.
“Ganry, we need to go!” urged Artas, securing his bow and cloak to the saddle of his horse, Orton, and leading him into the lake. “There are bound to be more huntsmen on our trail. We should keep moving.”
“Of course, you’re right. Sometimes the rush of battle overwhelms me.” Ganry quickly secured his cloak and sword to the saddle of the panting Bluebell and followed Artas into the water. They could see that Myriam and Hendon were almost half way across the lake, making good progress towards the rock they were aiming for.
“Nothing in this lake that we need to worry about?” shouted Ganry to Artas as they led their horses, swimming through the water.
“Such as what?”
“I don’t know… we never swam in the marshes of Llandaff because of the snakes there… just wondering if there was anything that I should be keeping an eye out for.”
“I think the catfish grow pretty big around here but let’s just get to dry land and try not to think about it.” Artas increased the speed of his swimming.
When they reached the other side of the lake, Hendon and Myriam helped to pull them up out of the water.
“Can we light a fire and try to keep warm?” asked Myriam.
“Given the mess that we’ve just left on the other side of the lake, I don’t think it would be wise to hang around. We should get moving,” said Ganry, trying to shake the water out of his pants. “Lead the way, Hendon.”
“I can’t go with you. I can’t leave my home,” protested Hendon.
“Hendon, there’s a whole world waiting out there for you. You’ve proven yourself useful. Look, Myriam is the princess of Palara. Serve your kingdom, boy. She needs you more than your goats and chickens.”
Hendon stood flabbergasted. He decided to drop to one knee. He heard that’s what people
do in the presence of royalty.
“Oh, get up,” Ganry pulled him to his feet. “No time for that. You might not have been this way before, but you know the forest better than we do, so lead the way.” He gave Hendon a little push in the back. “That’s not a suggestion.”
Myriam tried to smooth the situation. “Please be nice, Ganry. Here Hendon, you can ride with me for a while.”
Hendon sighed, resigned to his predicament. He swung himself up behind Myriam, on the back of Oaken. “It’s this way,” he pointed.
They rode mostly in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It was a warm day, and as they rode, their clothes soon began to dry.
“Are you okay?” asked Artas, falling back a little to ride next to Ganry.
“Yes, that was a close one. Thanks for your help back there. I didn’t stand a chance with those dogs on my heels. That’s some nice shooting. I knew it was a good idea to bring you along.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” chuckled Artas.
“Does this forest run all the way to the Berghein Valley?” Myriam asked Hendon.
“I’m not really sure,” replied Hendon. “I haven’t been this far before. But we’re traveling west so that’s the right direction at least, isn’t it?”
“Yes I guess so. I suppose there’s nothing stopping the hunters swimming across the lake too, but I feel that we’ve at least got a bit of a head start on them. I just wish we knew what lay ahead.”
“I can’t help you with that one, I’m afraid. Fortune telling has never been one of my strengths. You need Barnaby of Bravewood for that.”
“Barnaby?” Myriam touched the silver chain that hung around her neck. “You know him?”
“Yes of course,” nodded Hendon. “Everyone in the Cefinon Forest knows Barnaby.”
“He gave us food as we rode past his cottage. He gave me this nice little present. Are you saying he is a fortune teller?”
“There’s not much that Barnaby can’t do. At least that’s what he says. My father always warned me to stay away from him, saying that he practiced dark arts, but I’ve always found him fairly harmless. I like the stories he tells.”
