Dark Oak

by Sannox, Jacob

  The people of the Folly gave way as Aldwyn and his retinue pounded the streets towards Linwood’s quarters. Aldwyn kept his eyes to the ground, trusting in the efficiency of the men in front of him to clear a path.

  He realised someone was speaking.

  ‘What?’ he snapped, annoyed that his thoughts were disrupted; he was far from certain how to deal with Linwood.

  ‘What will you do, Your Grace?’ asked Morrick as he jogged to keep up.

  Aldwyn shook his head. He wanted to forget that Linwood had acted at all. He wanted to return to his quarters. He wanted to speak to Cathryn to tell her she had betrayed him. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to run.

  The thought of confronting Linwood interrupted all else; the image of the bigger man’s broken face barking in his. In the brief moment of every blink, when the world went dark, he imagined a similarly fast strike from the Duke of the Drift – a strike that Aldwyn was too slow to defend. He imagined himself responding, landing ineffectual punches as Linwood laughed.

  He wanted to turn to the captain and say ‘I don’t know, but it cannot stand.’

  But he was feeling himself begin to shake as adrenaline was deployed into his bloodstream, and he halted, driving his face into Morrick’s so that their noses touched, and he could smell the suppurating flesh where the brand had lain.

  ‘Who are you to presume to chase me down like a coursed hare?’ he roared. He expected Morrick to fall back, but instead the other man’s eyebrows knitted and he took one step back after a heartbeat then bowed his head momentarily.

  ‘Not my intention, Your Grace. Apologies,’ he said. ‘But if it is true that we are now your people, surely Lord Linwood had undermined you. If my men are to follow you, do you want it to be out of duty, out of fealty or do you want men who follow you because they believe in you?’

  Morrick could hear the tremor in his own voice, and for a time both men, shaking and doing all in their power to emanate strength, locked eyes. It felt as though the moment would strain and break, so Morrick decided to release the tension. He held a hand to his heart and once more bowed his head.

  ‘Forgive me, Your Grace.’

  Aldwyn stood up straight and looked about him to gauge his men’s reaction. He shook his head and Morrick thought he had regretted his own behaviour – a positive sign.

  ‘Walk with me, Captain,’ said Aldwyn.

  His retinue moved off again, but the haste was gone from their steps. Aldwyn turned the situation over in his head. This upstart Captain was right, but the love of his people was of less concern than how allowing Linwood to hurt them would be perceived by the Duke of the Drift. Cathryn, he knew, had carefully positioned his lands between Linwood’s. If Aldwyn showed any weakness now, he was inviting an invasion of the Hinterland and the hastening escalation of the situation on this whole continent. Aldwyn sighed and once more his feet began to pound faster and faster. He would have to act and he knew it.

  Once more they turned into a side street, and the entire retinue halted, this time of their own accord, for the way was blocked by a column of men marching across the road ahead of them. Morrick recognised the colours and the bright steel of their armour as the same worn by the men who had held him down and branded him; Linwood’s men.

  ‘They’re heading for the harbour,’ said Aldwyn. He stormed on towards the troops and called out.

  ‘Who commands here? Where is the duke?’

  A mounted officer called out as he trotted by.

  ‘Lord Linwood and his household have put to sea, Your Grace. Can I serve?’

  ‘No. Thank you and safe travels, sir.’

  The officer nodded acknowledgement and rejoined the column as it made its way through the stone streets, the sun glinting on the soldiers’ armour.

  Aldwyn turned back to his men, shaking his head.

  ‘Take a good look at those faces. Before long we will be facing them across a battlefield, I do not doubt it.’

  He rubbed his temples. Morrick puzzled as to what he meant about the battlefield, but there was no time to ask, as Aldwyn was instructing the senior man in his company.

  ‘We should make similar arrangements and with haste. We sail for Oystercatcher Bay and from there we march on the Hinterland in the name of the queen. See that it is done. Dismissed.’

  Aldwyn’s men set off for their own quarters in the Folly, but Morrick stayed as the duke attempted to gather his thoughts.

  ‘Are not Linwood’s men and your own, also the queen’s?’ asked Morrick, leaning back against the stone wall and folding his arms across his chest.

  Aldwyn’s look tore into him from beneath dark brows, but Morrick decided to hold his ground. He was cautious of appearing overly co-operative and deferential given his people’s reputation for collaboration. Excessive fawning after turning sides would surely sow the seeds of doubt over his loyalty. Standing his ground would serve him better in the end, even if it went against all of his instincts.

  Morrick held the duke’s gaze, hoping that his face appeared placid, and waited for Aldwyn to answer. Every second seemed to last longer than the last.

  The column tailed off and once more the people of the Folly milled about in the streets, but giving the duke, resplendent in fine clothes, and the filthy prisoner, a wide berth. Aldwyn’s anger seemed to dissipate, and Morrick thought the younger man looked worn, as though he was being whittled away. Still, he waited.

  Finally Aldwyn straightened up.

  ‘Let’s go up to the battlements and watch his fleet depart,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

  The inner wall of the Folly dropped abruptly into a chasm that fell a hundred feet to rocks below. It could only be spanned by walkways lain across the gap whenever they were required and stowed on the inner wall when not. Aldwyn walked across one of these narrow platforms without a second thought, but for the first time in his long years, Morrick found himself at height and fear seized him. He froze on the inner wall, and it was only when Aldwyn looked back that he stepped cautiously forward. He looked down at his feet as he moved and either side of him the rocks far below seemed to rise up towards him at an alarming rate then drop again just as fast. Dizziness overcame him and he stumbled to one side, but just before he could fall, someone grabbed his arm and propelled him to the other side.

  Aldwyn smiled.

  ‘The height?’

  ‘Seems so,’ Morrick nodded.

  The immensely tall outer wall was some 30ft wide with high, crenelated battlements towering another 20ft above the top. Ladders led up to stone platforms just wide enough for a single man to stand with a bow, yet not so wide that they could even sidle past one another to return the way they had come. Any attacker who somehow managed to get over the crenulations would be an unmissable target from the outer wall below, with their only chance being to drop onto the ledge and file round, fighting off defenders, until they reached a ladder down, lest they take a considerable fall.

  Hatches were set into the top of the wall, giving access to the armouries and barracks below, but even the off-duty Folly guards passed the time around campfires, playing dice and talking up in the sunshine.

  Armed with the fresh knowledge of Morrick’s fear, Aldwyn led him across the wall and up one of the ladders to the battlements. Morrick paused, breathing heavy and feeling his heart beating faster.

  This is ridiculous, he thought. I have the courage to face down hundreds of armoured horse, armed only with a pike, but I cannot face a ladder and a fine view?

  He mustered his courage, knowing that he had an opportunity to prove himself to the duke and grabbed hold of a rung just above head height. He began to climb, and his body shook.

  Morrick had learned from his experience of crossing the chasm between the inner and outer walls. As he ascended, he kept his eyes focused resolutely on the rungs dead ahead of him. After what seemed like hours, he reached the top and, finding a metal rail set into the floor on the platform, he hauled himself up.

  The wind hit
him harder than he would have believed possible. He wrapped an arm around the parapet and swung his body so that his chest pressed against the lee side of the stone. His forearm bore the brunt of the wind on the other side and Morrick could feel the cold biting at his skin. He took a moment then straightened up and gradually brought his arm back in. For a moment he stood unsupported, but from the corner of his eye he could see the ground far below through the gap of the crenel. He staggered. His hand found a rail running around the inside of the stone at chest height and he gripped it so tight that his knuckles turned white.

  ‘Well done,’ said Aldwyn, off to his right. ‘It’s no easy thing facing down your fears, and this is quite a height.’

  As if to validate his point, Aldwyn too seemed momentarily a little off-balance and steadied himself on the rail sunk into the next rise in the stone. He stepped out from shelter and looked down and south towards the sea and Morrick, reluctantly, did the same.

  The wall dropped down over one hundred feet on the outer side, and as it continued southward along the coast, it curved out towards the west, sloping down with the hillside so that Morrick could see over it and down into the Folly.

  The inner and outer walls skirted the entire peninsula. Concentric walls stood at some distance apart between the Maw Keep and the plains below, staggered down the hillside with houses, keeps and other buildings in-between. Smaller castles and keeps stood on the plains, some miles distant and hundreds of feet below. Morrick looked out across farmlands and smaller towns, still all contained within the great wall of the Folly. At the southern tip of the peninsula, Morrick could just make out the bowl of the harbour, some two miles across and encircled by the sea wall, except for the entrance to a wide canal, barred by an iron gate. A succession of gates blocked the passage of the canal for a mile out to sea. The canal itself was a blue artery between tall stone walls set wide enough apart that a ship could pass between them to the final Sea-Gate.

  Morrick could see tens of vessels at anchor in the harbour and a line of more ships already at sea sailing westward towards the open ocean. One vessel was approaching the inner harbour gate, which was slowly beginning to rise.

  Morrick forgot his fear as he looked out across the sea for the first time in his life. The blue seemed to stretch on endlessly to the west, but his view to the east was blocked by the towering keep behind him. To the south he could see the long unwavering line of the horizon and his heart seemed to double in awe. The sun was beginning to sink in the west, and a pink light tinged the clouds there. Morrick gripped harder on the rail, feeling as though the vastness of the world might reach out and pluck him from the wall.

  Aldwyn watched the older man and smiled, turning back to watch Linwood’s ships. They would bear away west until they had cleared Cape Tendril, then take the passage northward between the west coast and Gannet Island, an isolated tower of granite where once a lighthouse had been manned and a quarry maintained. Aldwyn considered that even now, somewhere beneath their feet, some part of Gannet Island probably made up part of the outer curtain wall.

  ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he said, still looking out to sea.

  Morrick steadied himself.

  ‘What do you wish to know, Your Grace?’

  Aldwyn snorted.

  ‘I’m not fond of that address. There is very little grace about me. Who are you? How come you to be here?’

  Morrick yelped as the wind picked up and looked at Aldwyn, eyes imploring.

  ‘Could we have this conversation at a less challenging height?’

  The duke conceded and, slowly, they returned down the ladder to the top of the outer wall.

  Aldwyn surprised Morrick by sitting cross-legged atop the outer wall. The duke patted the floor beside him. When Morrick had settled, Aldwyn spoke.

  ‘So how does a man end up a soldier in the service of Awgren?’

  Morrick rubbed his eyes, resting his elbows on his crossed legs. He sighed and paused for a long time. He sounded exhausted by the effort of thinking of an answer.

  ‘As you would imagine, my lord. An army marched into the Hinterland out of the Wastes and informed the overseer in my village that those who did not fight would be killed and if any man did not go, the entire village would be razed.’

  Aldwyn’s expression suggested a mockery of weighing up the choice.

  ‘Awgren made a compelling argument,’ he said when he saw Morrick was not amused, holding up a hand to pacify the woodcutter.

  ‘Indeed. We had little choice. Our people had long been drilled with the pike and the overseer had promoted me sergeant not five months before Awgren’s call-to-arms. All our men, no matter their occupation, were trained for the day we would be called upon. Part of Awgren’s price for our continued existence being tolerated.’

  ‘What was your occupation?’

  Morrick laughed gently, but Aldwyn heard no amusement in the sound.

  ‘My wife and I have a farm on the edge of the Impassable Forest, not far from the Whiteflow. We’re descended from the thegns of the Hinterland and so relatively well off. We sustain ourselves for the most part, but my wife is the farmer, even employs people from the village. I work with wood. They call me a woodcutter, but it’s a little more than that,’ he said, finally stopping rubbing his eyes and giving Aldwyn a weak smile. The duke thought perhaps Morrick was being too humble and so pressed him to explain.

  ‘I felled trees, sculpted logs and supplied not only Awgren, but the rest of the Hinterland too, with wood for construction; firewood too. I fell, I sell, I carve and I build. Wood is my life,’ he shrugged then went on: ‘and here I am, in a country with no woods, let alone a forest, in a city of stone upon a bloody mountain.’ He shook his head.

  ‘And you have a wife back in the Hinterland?’

  ‘Aye, Rowan. Two sons, Callum and Declan. Too young to fight, thank the Forest. A baby, by now, though I haven’t met her and don’t know her name. Sure she’s a girl though.’

  Morrick returned to rubbing his eyes. Aldwyn rested his back against the wall, watching the sergeant. His conviction that he had made the right decision not to punish these people was strengthening. He was about to ask how the Hinterland was governed under Awgren, but Morrick looked up suddenly and spoke firmly, as though it had been an effort to begin and he was determined to get to the end of the sentence.

  ‘Is there any word from my homeland? Are the Devised defeated there too? Was it invaded?’

  Guilt stabbed at Aldwyn when he heard the earnest fear behind the words, despite Morrick’s efforts to appear stoic. This man had managed to put aside his own concerns in order to meet his obligations to both his men and his new lord.

  ‘No, Captain. Awgren committed the bulk of his forces to meet the Combined People on the fields of Tayne. What has come of the provincial forces is as of yet unclear. I am entrusted with clearing Culrain and the Hinterland, while Linwood will claim Crinan. I believe the Lord of the Isles will deal with Tayne. As for penetrating the Wastes, there has been little talk of it. None in fact.’ He stopped himself and apologised.

  ‘I’m wandering, forgive me. There has been no word from the Hinterland as of yet. I cannot reassure you about the fate of your family nor the family of any of your men, but we will sail for Oystercatcher Bay as soon as is practicable. We will march on the Hinterland and, together, we will see.’

  Morrick nodded and cast his eyes down to the floor.

  ‘Captain, who governs the Hinterland now the thegns are gone? Under Awgren, I mean.’

  ‘Each village had an overseer appointed by Awgren - mere puppets for the most part, although we never allowed his people to know we could see that. A council of elders advises each overseer. Each village has a garrison of Devised to keep order and to keep the overseer making the correct decisions,’ said Morrick.

  ‘And militarily? Who commands your forces?’

  Morrick laughed. Aldwyn thought it a bitter sound from this generally affable man.

  ‘Those men you saw
in the square yonder. That is what remains of the menfolk of the Hinterland. Of the thousand who came, less than fifty have survived.’

  ‘Hardy soldiers indeed, to have done so. Do not think I have not heard tales of the daring sergeant who so valiantly strove to save his men after Lachlan and Cathryn struck Awgren down.’

  Morrick’s head snapped round.

  ‘Is that how it happened?’

  Aldwyn regaled him with the tale and Morrick listened intently, absorbing as much detail as he could. His men were hungry for information so that they could make sense of their ultimate defeat. For a time after Aldwyn finished, there was silence, but the duke eventually broke it.

  ‘Morrick, I should like to name you as one of my captains and commander of the forces that will be stationed in the Hinterland. Until we arrive in your homeland, I consider you to be the leader of your people. You will speak for them.’

  The offer should have set his mind a frenzy, he should have struggled for words or been overjoyed, but Morrick barely seemed to react. He was simply too tired.

  ‘There are so few of us left that the role scarce seems to matter, my lord. But I will serve in whatever capacity you deem fitting in the hope that the Hinterland may recover.’

  Aldwyn, and thus Morrick, began readying for departure. When the day came, Aldwyn set his captains about the long task of departing through the sea canal. His own ship had the men of the Hinterland aboard and was scheduled to leave last of all.

  Finally the time came to depart and Aldwyn strongly considered slipping away, but duty dictated that he call upon the royal couple before setting sail and so he set about it. He saddled a horse himself and rode across the Arduan Peninsula, up the hillside towards the Maw Keep which housed the royal quarters and the throne room.

  Men-at-arms opened the great oak doors to the throne room. It was open to the north, the ceiling supported by stone columns. The thrones at the end of the room were vacant and for a time, Aldwyn waited dutifully in the centre of the room as the doors were closed behind him. Some minutes passed and he grew restive, beginning to pace. He came to a halt beside a column and rested against it. From here on the second highest floor of the Maw Keep’s barbican, Aldwyn looked north across the rocky barrens of the Maw beyond, now devoid of the siege forces that had been maintained there for so many centuries, harried by archers and engines of war that now stood idle in the mountain strongholds.