Dark Oak

by Sannox, Jacob

  ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ flew back at him.

  ‘I don’t know your views, and I don’t know your politics, but here are mine. I didn’t want to fight in this war, and I’m not proud of our ancestors for granting safe passage to Awgren’s army so he could attack Crinan. I’ve been doing my duty to keep us alive and to keep our families safe. This is a day I’ve been hoping for my whole life. The rightful queen has won through, and the Creatures of the Devising are rotting or imprisoned. Does anyone feel differently?’

  ‘No!’ came from a few of the men whilst others shook their heads.

  ‘Don’t be afraid to speak your mind, now,’ said Morrick. ‘For good or ill, we need the truth.’

  Silence again.

  ‘All right then. Well here’s how it is. The officers are gone, as are most of our brothers-in-arms; maybe some of your brothers by blood too, as well as fathers, cousins and friends. Maybe sons, the Forest forgive us. Right now, I don’t know what the queen plans to do with us. After all we’re thought of as turncoats, in some ways worse than the Devised, but I have no desire to become scapegoats for the entire war. We need to show the queen and the lords of the Combined People that we are grateful at being liberated, that we may have collaborated, but we will work to right the wrong. Understood?’

  ‘Understood, Sarge,’ they replied, practically in a roar.

  Morrick nodded, smiling.

  ‘Well here’s how it’s going to be. Consider yourself all on duty, but not as was. I’m disbanding the old regiment. I’m taking command and will be seeking an audience with Queen Cathryn and Lord Lachlan tomorrow in an effort to state our case. We will now be known only as the men of the Hinterland. I stand forward as your captain, unless there is some other man you’d prefer?’

  Silence.

  ‘Good. Right. Form up ten to a rank facing me. Move.’

  The men began to filter into position.

  ‘Varney will be coming down the line taking your name, state of health and where you come from. That will give me a muster roll. As soon as Varney dismisses you, I want anyone with rank to report to me here. We will strike camp and have some order in here. I want the tents in rows with a clear square at the centre. Distribution of food will be organised. Guards will be posted and at dawn, I will speak to the queen or her lords as the captain of an organised people. Everybody on board?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ shouted the now regimented ranks of men.

  ‘Good. Now, those of you who are lying can find me in my tent after Varney dismisses the muster. We’ll have it out, away from prying eyes.’

  He pointed at another man.

  ‘You there - complete a census of the wounded after providing your own details.’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant.’

  Morrick stood with his hands on his hips.

  ‘Let’s get about this then, men of the Hinterland. We have fought hard and long and under duress. Today we stand imprisoned and yet more free than we have been in years. We must earn the trust of our captors. We are tough folk from a hardy country. We will win through.’

  He breathed in deep before shouting,

  ‘Long live the queen! Crinan! Tayne! Culrain! The Hinterland! Long live the queen! Long live Lord Lachlan!’

  He repeated it over and over, urging the men to join in until the cry was taken up and echoed so loud that the sound carried to the ears of the guards, the Creatures of the Devising and the encamped army of the Combined People beyond. Lord Lachlan heard the noise and turned to his wife, Queen Cathryn.

  ‘Can you make that out? What do they call?’ he asked, taking her hand.

  Cathryn encased his hand in both of hers and listened for a moment, but it was Lord Aldwyn who spoke first.

  ‘They call for you and for the old countries, my lord.’

  Lord Linwood of Stragglers’ Drift looked up from the campaign desk at which he was writing upon a piece of parchment.

  ‘They do indeed. The sons of the Hinterland are in full voice.’

  He pushed back his chair and drew up to his full height. An immense figure of a man; his head was shaved, his face scarred and he still wore his armour of blue steel and brass rivets. His left hand was draped across the pommel of the bastard sword which hung from his belt and the other gripped the handle of the hunting knife that hung from his right – a stark contrast to the simple boiled leather armour worn by Lord Lachlan and the queen, as well as the iron breastplate of Lord Aldwyn.

  He barrelled across the command tent and, Lord Aldwyn, a diminutive terrier of a man, stepped back to let him through. Linwood stood just outside and listened, wondering what to make of the call.

  ‘Long live the queen. Crinan. Tayne. Culrain. The Hinterland. Long live the queen. Long live Lord Lachlan,’ he said quietly and then repeated it louder so all inside could hear.

  Aldwyn came to stand beside him and hear for himself.

  ‘Do you believe their hearts are in it?’

  Linwood ducked back inside.

  ‘Who can tell?’

  He returned to the campaign desk, and Queen Cathryn left her seat to stand before him, her hands clasped behind her back.

  ‘We would value your opinion, my lord,’ she said. She looked on patiently. Linwood did not look up, merely continued writing.

  Lachlan stirred in his chair, irritated by the perceived slight, but Cathryn raised a palm to him and he settled again.

  ‘Lord Linwood…’ she said once more. He paused and set down his quill. After a second he looked up to meet her gaze then slightly bowed his head. He sighed slightly before speaking.

  ‘The dogs are quick to come to heel now that they consider us masters. Where were they before? Driving pike and sword into our sides? We are all here because of the Hinterland. A small people they may be, but it is their betrayal that cost you…’ he pointed to each of the others in turn, ‘and yours our homelands and ultimately, our kingdoms. They do not deserve our forgiveness and were it up to me, I would reject any offer of fealty as quickly as we have done that made by the Creatures of the Devising. They are Awgren’s folk and have made their choice.’

  Lachlan stood.

  ‘We have yet to decide about the Creatures of the Devising,’ he said.

  Linwood sat back in his chair, his hand wringing the pommel of his sword.

  ‘My lord, the beasts are black of heart and action. They throw down now, I admit, but it is a mystery as to why. We can scarce afford to feed our own, let alone thousands of Devised. Our supply lines do not permit their continued existence. They are forged of evil by evil intent and must be destroyed.’

  Lachlan turned to Lord Aldwyn, whose shoulders hunched forward, hitching up his crimson cloak so that it no longer dragged in the mud. His arms were folded defensively across his chest, Lachlan noted.

  ‘I find it hard to disagree with Lord Linwood on this matter. No good can come of working with the Devised.’

  ‘And the regiments from the Hinterland? What would you have us do with them, Lord Aldwyn,’ said Cathryn. She took Lachlan by the arm and he sat once more. Now that Linwood was giving his full attention, Aldwyn sat as well, and all attended the royal couple.

  ‘Well, Your Majesty, I believe that the men of the Hinterland were fighting under duress. Their country has done us a great harm, but the men imprisoned yonder had nothing to do with that decision. I doubt they fight because they wanted to do so, Your Majesty. I would hold counsel with their ranking officers and if all is well, send them home.’

  Lachlan and Cathryn exchanged a look.

  ‘We are of one mind on this matter,’ said Lord Lachlan. ‘Linwood?’

  Linwood scratched his head, seeming to wince.

  ‘I say they turned the coat once and they will again. Besides, we will need the Hinterland.’

  Seeing that all eyes were still upon him, he continued.

  ‘We have an army here that the fields protected within the Folly cannot sustain. If we are to reclaim all of our lands, how will we feed our men as the years prog
ress? Awgren has scorched the farmlands, burned the forests south of the Hinterland and killed the livestock. The Hinterland, remote though it may be, is the only place where crops are still grown and animals still graze. The folk there have forfeited their rights of ownership.’

  ‘Surely we would be as bad as those we have overthrown if we uproot or destroy that people?’ Aldwyn insisted. ‘‘Whatever wrongs they have done, I would not set them out in the cold so that we can pillage their supplies.’

  ‘Then it is well that it is not your decision,’ said Linwood.

  Lachlan stroked his jaw, his features mostly shrouded by a full beard.

  ‘The queen and I will consider what has been said. We will contemplate the fates of both the Devised and the people of the Hinterland. Justice will be handed down tomorrow.’

  The standing guard woke Morrick at dawn. He ventured out into the new light of morning and took stock. The camp was laid out as he had wished, regimented and ordered into easily traversable lanes. Breakfast was being handed out and unarmed guards patrolled the interior of the palisade, mirroring their armed counterparts on the outside.

  Morrick went to clear his bowels, fetched breakfast and then moved towards the main gate set in the south wall of the palisade.

  Only then did the shouting begin.

  Morrick ran north through the camp towards the sound, wheezing and wrapping his arms around his ribs as he did so. Mud splattered his legs as he went.

  At the sight of the smoke he stopped short. The shouts turned into screams. He burst forward into a sprint, forgetting all about his ribs until he reached the palisade. Here many of the men were climbing up one another to try to get a view, but none yet had managed to do so. As the smell of burning flesh reached his nostrils, Morrick knew what was happening. Varney came tripping up to him.

  ‘What…’ he began.

  ‘They’re burning the Devised. That is the smell of a thousand creatures dying by fire.’

  So pass the Creatures of the Devising. The land is cleansed once more, thought Morrick, but he did not feel clean. Yesterday morning he would have sworn that none of the Devised were anything but drones and yet they had thrown down their arms in self-preservation; they had offered to work and pay their way. Perhaps some of them were sentient beings that had now been herded up and burned alive. Morrick felt nauseous. He found a tent pole to brace himself against. The hope that had been kindling in his heart began to fade. Foul as the Devised had been, he doubted he could have killed one of them if it stood before him unarmed and surrendering – so what did that say of those who had ordered this act?

  Who were Lachlan and Cathryn? What would their reign bring him, his family, his men and the Hinterland? Morrick was barely done thinking this when the main gates of his own camp burst open, and a company of armed infantry marched in. A shout was taken up throughout the camp until it reached the woodcutter’s ears.

  ‘Form up on me!’ cried Morrick.

  ‘Men of the Hinterland, form up on me!’

  The infantry and their spears bore down upon him. Morrick stepped out from the ranks of his men and stood to meet them.

  Chapter Five

  The figure kept to the shadow of the barn. Rowan stalked forward and crouched beside a fence post that would not have been wide enough to disguise her in daylight. She deliberately softened her breaths so as to make them as quiet as possible and watched. As she did so, straining to make her eyes as wide as possible, she gripped the handle of her knife tight and began to edge along the fence to come up behind the figure.

  One of the Devised, she thought. It’s surely slipped out of the camp. Where there’s one there’ll be more so keep your wits about you.

  The blacker shape within the black shadow darted forward towards the corral, and, bent double, a man-like figure followed the fence towards the stables. Once it was sufficiently far away and she had gathered her courage, Rowan followed on behind, padding as softly as she could. A light snow began to fall. Flakes came to rest then melted upon her hair and her freckled cheeks.

  Rowan considered making her way to the house, but decided her best chance was to pick off this creature then double back to search for more. The shape had reached the stable, and she heard one of the horses whinnying as the door was unbolted. Rowan saw the figure disappear, and the door swung slowly closed, but not quite fully.

  Rowan rose up and sprinted across the yard. She slowed as she drew near to the stable and listened. Something was moving about inside, talking softly to the horse. She pondered her options. Burst in and take it by surprise? Very risky - she might be outmatched. Almost certainly she would be. Inspiration dawned on her muscles before it reached her mind. Without even thinking, she slammed the stable door and bolted it shut. This done, she spun her back to the stable door and surveyed the ranch. Nobody else was in sight. She ran back to the lodge and eased open the door so as not to wake Bracken.

  Her mother, the two boys and the baby were still sleeping soundly. She moved beside the boys’ bunk and gently shook both of them.

  ‘Callum, Declan, wake up. Quick now.’ She shook harder until they both stirred and looked up at her in dazed alarm.

  ‘There’s something locked in the stable. Fetch an axe each and one for me.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Callum, the elder.

  ‘We’re going to confront it. You two stay behind me. But first, the axes – go!’

  Rowan found Bramble’s cot and woke her next, asking her to find a hiding place with the baby. This done, she met the boys at the door. Armed with both knife and hatchet, she led them back to the stable.

  ‘Declan, unbolt the door, and as you swing it open fast, hide behind it. Callum, stay to my left and behind me. Understand?’ she asked as they trotted forward.

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ said Callum. He sounded eager.

  Foolish boy, Rowan thought. Too keen for action, just like his mother it seems.

  ‘Declan?’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ he nodded, quieter and shaky. ‘I understand.’

  The yard was quiet, bar the usual sounds made by the horses locked in the stable and the vague murmur of cattle in the barn. Rowan put her ear to the door, but could hear nothing inside.

  ‘Who’s in there?’ she ventured. Declan ducked down beside her with his hand on the bolt. Callum stood back and wrung the axe in his hands.

  ‘Who’s in there? Answer,’ she said.

  ‘What’s the correct answer?’

  A man’s voice.

  Rowan frowned and shrank back from the wood momentarily, looking at it as though it was translucent, or perhaps as though it had offended her. She returned to it.

  ‘The truth. Who are you, and what are you doing on my land? Quickly now or me and the men will take the answers by force. Quick about it now,’ she rushed the words and cursed herself for sounding less than composed.

  There was no reply for a moment then Rowan thought she could hear a sigh.

  ‘My name is Captain Jacob Lynch. I’m looking for food and shelter.’

  Once more Rowan shrank back, this time exchanging looks with both boys. Neither of their faces conveyed any answers.

  ‘Captain of what?’

  ‘Captain of the Hope; a trading schooner. Who are you?’

  ‘But the sea is many miles from here!’ she protested.

  ‘We foundered on a reef on a scouting expedition up the east coast under orders from Lord Aldwyn. My crew and I made it ashore in the boats, but we’re losing men fast and our supplies are gone. Can you help us?’

  Rowan tensed.

  ‘A scouting expedition?’

  ‘Aye. When last we were at the Folly, Lord Aldwyn drafted us into the royal fleet to assess Awgren’s strength on the east coast.’

  ‘You know of the war?’

  ‘I know it will be ending very soon one way or the other. All forces are committed. The Folly is emptied. The Stragglers and Islanders have landed.’

  The words bit at her heart like ice win
d on the skin. She felt despair shudder through her, and she looked down at her son thinking that there was every chance he might never see his father again.

  ‘Will we kill him, mother?’ hissed Callum. Rowan held up a hand and glared at him.

  ‘Captain Lynch?’ she called, hoping the man had not heard her son.

  ‘If I am to let you out, I want your word that you will not harm my family. I think we may be able to aid one another.’

  No need for silence this time; Captain Lynch replied without hesitation.

  ‘I was never a man to turn down a business proposal, madam – ‘specially if I’ve little choice. You have my word.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Rowan. She backed off and took up a fighting stance, ready to pounce if need be. She nodded towards the left of the stable door, and Callum moved so his back was to the wall, ready to strike from behind if Lynch burst out into an attack.

  ‘Declan, do it.’

  Her youngest shot back the bolt and heaved at the door. Callum tensed and readied his swing. The door burst open and revealed only a deeper dark.

  ‘My weapons are sheathed,’ said Lynch’s disembodied voice from the dark of the stable. Only the vague shape of the horse was visible.

  ‘Come out slow with your hands raised above your head,’ said Rowan. ‘We’ll kill you dead if you don’t.’

  The silhouette of a man emerged from the darkness with his hands on his head.

  He stood just outside the stable door and looked around, seeing only Rowan.

  ‘What happens now, ma’am?’ he asked, his voice was gravelly and coarse now he was out in the open and the sound was no longer fettered by passage through wood.

  ‘Stand where you are, sir,’ Rowan replied, and she circled behind him. She pressed in close, and her breasts pressed against the wolf pelt that covered his back. She held the knife to his throat.

  ‘I gave you my…’ Lynch began and started to shift his weight.

  ‘I accepted it, but I’m cautious. You can understand that, sir. Stay still and no harm will come to you. Callum, disarm him. Captain, if your hands leave your head, your throat will be slit. Do you understand?’