by T. C. Edge
“Where’s Rhoth?” he asks.
Alfred’s general state of agitation leads me to think he’s got bad news to spout. Given that it’s the man’s default setting, it’s hard to know until he speaks.
“I told him to…to stay here,” he stammers. “He wouldn’t…l..li..listen….”
Zander steps in and takes possession of the man’s narrow shoulders.
“Where did he go, Alfred?” he asks firmly.
The pointy nosed man lifts a shivering finger towards the western woods.
“Has he returned home?”
“No…no. He just said he was….hun…hunting. Said he’d…return by…mid…midday.”
Zander’s frustration seems to break apart and a laugh escapes him as he gazes up to the heavens.
“Typical Rhoth,” he calls out. “Always trying to get one over on us…”
“What the hell, Zander,” I say. “Why would he go hunting when he knows we need to talk with him?!”
“Power games,” answers my brother. He taps Alfred on the arm. “Don’t worry about it, Alfred. If Rhoth wants to do something, there aren’t many who can stop him. He’s just trying to prove a point.”
“And that is?” I ask.
“That he’s got something we want, and he isn’t going to give it up so easily.”
He turns towards the woods.
“Right, come on sis,” he says. “We’re continuing on foot.”
20
The western woods are a tangled mess of boles and boughs and thick, dripping foliage, still glistening with morning dew that cascades down through the canopy like rain.
I’ve passed through here once before, the place wild and untamed and staggering in scale. Yet it’s not as foreboding as the woods that lie to the north, those that scatter the roots of the mountains and call home to the Bear-Skins. Right now, our people from the mines must be being escorted right through there by Cromwell’s Stalkers. I could hardly think of a less pleasant stroll, though where I am now can consider itself a decent rival.
Were I alone, I’d surely be less at ease and more certain of getting quickly lost. As it is, these are the very same woods that my brother has regularly hunted himself, grounds laid claim to by Rhoth and the Fangs and long considered to be up for dispute with both the hunters from the Nameless, and those from the Bear-Skins.
Fitted in our gas masks to shield ourselves from the thicker fog that lurks in these parts, we move through with a silent grace to ensure that we don’t alert any unwanted beasts to our position. It’s the best we can do, yet there’s little we can offer in defence of our scent, our aromas clearly defined among the staple of smells the beasts are so accustomed to sniffing out.
We begin our hunt for Rhoth with little to go on beyond the direction of Alfred’s finger. Given the fact that it refused to stop shaking, and we were a good couple of hundred metres from the treeline, a single shudder could put us off by several degrees. Extrapolate that and, after a few miles, you might just find yourself well off track.
Thankfully, my brother is a gifted tracker, and well used to searching out the clues to hunt down his prey. Seeing as Rhoth decided to leave with his full party, leaving not a single one at the church, their entry point into the forest is also clearly identified.
The trees start thin, but quickly grow thick. Zander tells me that that’s a good thing, and will make following the path of a grouping of fifty or so men much easier. I have to trust him, because as far as my eyes can see, there’s not a single sign here that anyone has passed through.
“I wish Kira were here,” I hear myself saying out loud.
Zander, casting his eyes ahead, suddenly stops and stiffens.
“I just mean, because of her powers,” I quickly add. “You’re doing a good job, though, bro…really.”
I bite my lip and wait for a word from him. It doesn’t come. I suspect that’s more down to his kinship with Kira, and her recent loss, rather than any withering effect my words might have had on his ego.
I imagine that she probably played quite a crucial role in many a hunting trip in the past. Her ability to use the Sight would quickly bring the entire party to bear on whatever tasty meal they were seeking for dinner. Zander, with only his eyes and wits, surely cannot compete.
He sets about proving me wrong, giving me my own orders as we venture deeper into the web of branches and vines.
“Look out for any threats,” he says. “Wolves, snakes, bears, Shadows…they all lurk here.”
I’m all too aware of that. So far, I’ve had run-ins with all the listed beasts, minus a bear. Although, I’d say Bjorn’s a good enough stand-in, and probably just as large and ferocious.
As my brother continues to lead us on, I set about my task. Not that I was required to be told. This is hardly the sort of forest you skip through on a spring day, hunting for wildflowers.
My ability to watch for danger is, however, rather limited here. My eyes are muted by the tangle of trees, and beyond that my senses are no more attuned than a regular person. I sniff and prick up my ears as best I can, but given I’m wearing a gas mask, find the former a pointless endeavour. All I smell is the plastic that makes up the mask’s interior, and the minor burn of the fog that’s able to creep through the cracks.
It is daylight, though, so that’s one thing, and the weather today is currently being kind. Should a heavy cloud rumble over, the light in here will fade dramatically, and within the murk the beasts tend to smile. As long as the sun stays bright, the sky clear, and the breaks in the canopy above plentiful enough to let in the light, we should we fine.
Should…
We don’t talk, not unless we stop to discuss something specific. After half an hour, Zander’s head seems to be turning an awful lot more than it did, swaying left and right and bringing his body with it. He seems confused. This isn’t a good sign.
“What’s the matter?” I whisper.
“The tracks diverge,” he says. “They split here, into three different groups.”
“So…do you know which one to take?”
He leans down and searches some random point in the ground, then points at a portion where the earth has been somewhat impacted.
“This looks like Rhoth’s print,” he says, suggesting with his eyes that I follow the direction of his finger.
I lean in and take a closer look. I can make out a couple of small ridges compressed into the earth, but little more.
“Right…yeah,” I say. “Just like it.”
“You can’t see anything, can you?”
I shake my head silently.
“Well, trust me. It’s Rhoth…well, I think it’s Rhoth’s…”
He seems certain…
“Why are they splitting anyway?”
“Two options,” says Zander, conducting some further searches of the three routes. “One: they’re spreading out to flank their prey and set traps for them to run into. Two: they know we’re coming, and are just toying with us. Given who we’re dealing with, I’d say the latter is a firm bet.”
“Is he really that petty? He has been told, hasn’t he? About what’s going on?”
“The basics only - that we need to talk with him. Rhoth doesn’t care much about ‘the big city with all the lights’,” he says, mimicking the big man’s manner of speaking and strange accent. It’s good enough to draw a chuckle from my throat as he goes on. “He just wants us to help secure his territory and deal with the Bear-Skins and Skullers. He’s a big guy, but he has small ideas.”
“Yeah, but he’ll be dragged into this too if Cromwell’s telling the truth.”
“He doesn’t see it like that. The tribal people, around here and much further, do a lot of fighting. But they’ve got one shared enemy above all others…”
“Us? Haven?”
He nods.
“Exactly. So don’t put too much trust in Rhoth, sis. He’s got a quirky charm to him, I know, but he can be dangerous and unpredictable too. We can rely on ourselve
s, and ourselves alone.”
“What are you trying to say? That Rhoth would join forces with whoever comes here? He wouldn’t do that…would he?”
“He might. Rhoth knows us, and he knows some of our secrets and weaknesses too. At the end of the day, he’ll side with whoever he thinks will give him what he wants. We need to make sure that we convince him that’s us. That’s why he’s doing all of this today. He’s testing us, and exerting some of his power. He plays the big, simple hunter, but he’s got a sharp mind for getting what he desires.”
“Right, gotcha. Don’t trust the Fangs,” I say, tapping my temple. “So, what’s the plan now?”
I arch my eyes from one path to the next, before settling on the one with, apparently, Rhoth’s footprints.
“We’ll follow this one,” says Zander. “But I reckon they’ll all converge up ahead anyway. Like I say, this is just mind games.”
We press on through the dense woods, hurrying a little faster now as the day eats up the final morning minutes and reaches out to grab midday. Clearly, Rhoth had no intention whatsoever of returning by then, luring us out into his territory where he has a little more power to bargain.
It makes me wonder what he might know. In order to negotiate, you have to hold some cards. Zander just mentioned his knowledge of us and basic knowledge of the city. That’s one. Should he choose to team up with another, foreign force, that’s a good place to start in getting help wiping out the Bear-Skins.
It’s also a good deterrent for us, and a good motivator to keep us sweet. But beyond that – and, I have to admit, I still consider Rhoth and the other local tribes as a minor threat, given the sorts of soldiers we have at our disposal – he surely has something more to offer. Since we’re coming to see him in search of information, I can only assume he’s got some knowledge of the wider world that’s going to prove fruitful.
If that turns out to be true, I’m not entirely sure what I want to hear. Would I rather he completely debunk this idea that some force is gathering to march on the city? Would I rather the prospect of teaming up with Cromwell is tossed aside, and we can return to the very appealing prospect of destroying the man once and for all?
I muse on the point, and by doing so probably lose some focus. Out here, that’s not a good thing.
A sharp crack of wood, and flutter of leaves pulls me back to the here and now, and I swing around. I do so with such force that I almost twist my ankle, catching my foot on a root and tumbling to the ground. Zander’s quick enough to rush in and break my fall, hauling me quickly to my feet and planting me back down with a strength that defies his age and size.
“What is it? What did you see?”
“Oh…nothing, just a bird I think. It just caught me off-guard.”
Always wary, he doesn’t take my word for it. For a few minutes, we sink towards the trunk of a large tree and lift our pulse rifles ahead, using the thick bark to defend our backs. Nothing happens for those few minutes, and soon enough my conclusion that it was merely a flapping bird is accepted.
We move on, tracing the invisible track, veering a little further northwards until the earth begins to climb just a little. The rattle of water begins to sound, a stream trickling down from the mountain passes above, and we emerge into a little clearing where the brook cuts right through.
The sun beats down, and the air seems to clear a little around the water’s edge. Zander checks the bank and once more calls me over to take a look at a series of footprints that I’m still struggling to see.
“He was definitely here,” says Zander. “Definitely…”
At that exact moment, as if awaiting this particular point in time, a spear comes surging from the high branches of a nearby tree. It comes with a pace and precision that even the two of us, with our super-powered vision, are unable to react to time.
As it is, we don’t need to. The tip of the spear cuts into the earth a metre or so ahead of us, before several more pepper the ground on all sides, encircling us in some hastily erected wooden cell.
After the first couple of spears come, the surprise in Zander’s face fades and he stands up tall and merely awaits the final javelins as they stick in the dirt. I don’t share his calm. My eyes dart up as the lances appear from the surrounding trees, and I lift my pulse rifle instinctively with the aim of lighting the place up.
My brother’s hand comes down on the top of my weapon and pushes it away. He shakes his head and calls out into the air.
“All right, Rhoth…you got us. You can come down now.”
From the trees, figures emerge, leaping and swinging from high branches with incredibly dexterity and speed. I recognise the faces and outfits immediately, and if nothing else gave them away, the clinking of teeth and claw necklaces would have done just that.
As the Fangs appear, their leader drops with a lightness of foot from a high perch that you’d never expect from a man of such size. He hits the earth, bends at the knee, and lifts to his full height in a single, powerful motion. With mighty strides he comes forward, grips his spear – identified from the rest via its slightly longer length and thicker girth – and pulls it from the earth with a big, yellow smile.
“Ah, the twins,” he roars. “You got lured right into our trap. Good thing it wasn’t Bjorn, my boy. He’d have you on a spit in no time at all.”
“We knew it wasn’t Bjorn. I’d know your prints anywhere.”
“Ah, how sweet of you to say. I feel all bubbly and warm inside.”
A gurgle of cluttered laughter coughs up his throat. Then a short silence falls; some brief standoff between the two very different men.
“So, I see you decided not to stay at the church,” says my brother eventually. “Apparently you told Alfred you’d be back by midday. Brie, what’s the time?”
I check my watch.
“Um, it’s nearly 1 PM.”
“Timekeeping not your strongest suit, it is Rhoth.”
“I keep time by the sun and the stars and the feel of the air, boy,” counters the hunter. “And I will return to my woods as and when I wish to. Your Lady of the Nameless will not set orders into my mind.”
A rumble of assent lifts from the surrounding group. They close in a little with a hint of threat. I haven’t felt this intimidated by them since we met. And probably not even then.
“I agree with you,” says Zander, lightening his tone. “You can go where you want…”
“I know I can,” growls Rhoth. “You don’t have to tell me that.”
Another silence. The larger man glares, the smaller dips his eyes. It’s clearly what Rhoth wants, some show of submission. He rolls back his shoulders and heaves his chest out. Then he turns to me, and his sharp-toothed smile reappears.
“Lovely Brie,” he says. “Sorry to drag you all the way up here. The wilds call to us at strange times. We have no control over that. But come, take a drink from the spring. The water is good this high, sweet as a songbird’s tune.”
He opens up his large arm, draped in furs and macabre jewellery, and his men step forward and retrieve their spears. I walk through the space towards the stream, cup my hands, and take a sip. He’s right. It’s invigorating.
As I fill my palms once more and take a further gulp, I hear him speak again above me.
“Now, I hear you’ve come to talk. So…let’s talk.”
21
Rhoth leads us away from the brook towards the far end of the clearing, where the canopy above gives some shade from the steadily warming sun.
He gestures for us to take a seat, and I eye the stream with a note of desire. Damn that water was refreshing.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” says the hunter, noticing my avaricious gaze. “Didn’t I say? Zander, have a gulp, go ahead…”
My brother shakes his head.
“I’ve tasted it plenty of times before. Now come on Rhoth, stop delaying. You’ve dragged us up here so the least you can do is tell us what you know.”
The tribesman sets his eyes
around the group with a dramatic frown.
“Know? What I know? I…don’t know anything.”
The men all laugh, revealing their sharpened teeth as their necklaces jingle against their hirsute chests. Rhoth’s eyes gleam, enjoying the attention, before returning to Zander. My brother’s don’t gleam, but roll. He’s getting restless already.
“Rhoth,” he says, nice and calm, “you just said you wanted to talk. You know what this is about.”
“I know some things, yes,” he says, the laughter around us fading. “I know that you wish to hear of the happenings beyond this place. But, what makes you think I know about any of that?”
“Well, that’s just what we’re here to find out. You’ve had dealings with all sorts of people from all over this country, and probably further afield by my reckoning. We’re merely here to confirm something we’ve been told…”
“And that is?” cuts in the great Fang.
Zander fills his lungs with a breath of clear air.
“Apparently,” he begins, speaking slowly, “there are many people beyond these lands who covet this city. Whether to take it for the purposes of living, or merely sacking and pillaging, we don’t know. But, with our war on-going, and the High Tower falling, it seems they’ve sensed an opportunity and have decided to band together. We are simply looking for evidence of this. We hoped you might have some.”
Rhoth’s dirty and sharpened fingernails lift to his long brown beard as Zander speaks. His digits begin twirling the rough hairs pensively, something he continues to do for a few long moments after my brother’s voice is consumed once more by the trickling of water flowing from the passes above.
After those long moments, his bushy eyebrows fall into another questioning frown.
“Who gave you this information?” he asks.
“Director Cromwell,” says Zander, with a hint of reluctance. He clearly knows what’s coming, and duly Rhoth throws his shaven head back and laughs to the heavens.
“Cromwell! This man you’ve been trying to kill?! You’ve been speaking with him, have you? What an interesting people you are.”
