‘If not?’ Rowan would ask him.
‘We’ll see,’ was his only reply.
Sure enough, one cold morning when the frozen grass snapped beneath her feet, Rowan emerged from the Impassable Forest and looked down the slopes towards the ocean, shining silver in the early sun, its ragged waves dancing across the horizon. She looked south along the curve of Oystercatcher Bay, hemmed in with wooden palisades which defended against any attack from the land. Great ships were hove-to out in the bay, their sails drawn up, but still beautiful to Rowan’s eyes. Declan and Callum ran to her side, and she wrapped her arms around them, tears streaming down her cold cheeks. She hugged them close and they marvelled at the view, both secretly wondering if the folk down there would have any news of their father.
By now Lynch was much healed and though far from fighting fit, he was capable of walking unsupported. Straightening up, he stood before the refugees.
‘Listen up, now. We don’t know the lie of the land down there. Perhaps the war wages on, perhaps we’ve won and perhaps we’ve lost. We don’t know how they’ll respond to you folk, so it’s best I present myself as in charge of this little band till we clear things up. All agreed?’
Those who would have proudly contested such a suggestion weeks before had no energy to quarrel now and so the people of the Hinterland trailed behind Captain Lynch and his crew as they walked down to the gate in the palisade.
Rowan drew nigh to him from behind and saw his head incline. His pace slowed somewhat.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘What makes you think anything is wrong?’ he replied.
‘You always slow up when you’re thinking. And tilt your head,’ she whispered back. He huffed a little and issued a little laugh.
‘You know me well, ma’am. There are more folk on the gate than I expected - many more.’
‘And what of it?’ she pressed, but Lynch had no answer for her. Wearily they made their way to the gate.
Not far behind them, Morrick was lying nestled in the crook of an oak’s roots, lying on a bed of moss.
He woke when hands, forming from the bark beneath him, gently rocked and stirred him. He yawned, stretched and sat up.
The low leafy boughs made a low ceiling above him through which shafts of light illuminated the grass. Morrick rubbed his eyes, and he took in the beauty of his surroundings. He felt remarkably at peace, certain that he would be reunited with his family soon. He got to his feet and knelt by the stream they had been following, cupping ice water and sipping it before it could escape through his fingers.
‘Are you hungry?’
Riark’s voice came from behind him, and Morrick turned to see the Dryad’s body form as he stepped out of the oak. He shook off loose bark and tilted his head inquisitively.
Morrick nodded.
Riark waved his hand towards the roots of the tree, and Morrick saw a parcel of large leaves. Folding them back, he found a selection of fruits, berries and roots laid out for him. His heart sank a little, wishing for meat and bread and yet, a little later seated upon the banks of the stream, he was surprised at how satisfying a meal Riark had prepared.
‘It seems a man can live quite well in the Forest,’ he admitted, reaching for more water from the stream.
Riark did not seem to react. Indeed he once again resembled a young tree as he stood straight and tall, vines whipping about him in the strong breeze.
Morrick left him to it and walked a little further upstream. He stripped down to bathe in the water then returned to find Riark had scarce moved at all.
‘Shall we head on?’
Faster than could be perceived, Riark shifted from his treelike state to an animated creature once more. He nodded slowly and strode ahead through the trees. Morrick trotted to catch up.
‘Tell me, what do you expect to happen next, Woodcutter?’
‘Next?’
Riark did not repeat the question, looking resolutely ahead.
Morrick reached down and picked up a fallen branch, using it as a staff.
‘I’ll find my family,’ he said.
‘And then?’ asked Riark.
‘And then go home,’ said Morrick.
Riark laid a hand on Morrick’s shoulder.
‘I’ve some respect for you, Woodcutter. You are different to the men in the north.’
Morrick did not reply, sensing there was more to come. Sure enough, Riark continued,
‘You have experience in war and have survived to come home to your family even when others did not. You’ve even come to lead what is left of your people then thrown aside a potentially comfortable life of power under your new rulers in order to chase down your family.’
Morrick said nothing.
‘Times are changing for all of us. Mankind has always relied on building and taking resources from the world to a great degree, but of late things have shifted out of balance. There may come a point very soon when I need to rally the forest against the men in the north. It would be of use to me to have someone at my side that both respects the forest and can understand the ways of mankind, yet without being loyal to their masters.’
‘Are you making me an offer?’ asked Morrick as he drew closer.
Riark’s face cracked into a smile.
‘Perhaps you and your family could come and live within the forest. We would establish a home for you here and all your needs would be met. In return, I would seek you out for counsel as and when it is needed.’
Morrick stopped and met Riark’s eyes, not entirely sure how to respond. His mind was caught on returning to a home that no longer existed and yet there was a wide world now open to him. Could he really commit his family to the forest with these strange creatures?
‘What of my people?’ he ventured.
‘They would be welcome also, if they will live in a manner I deem acceptable.’
‘You’d grant the people of the Hinterland a home under your protection away from the Combined People?’ Morrick ran his fingers across the scarred flesh of his face.
‘If they will live in harmony with the forest and not exploit it,’ said Riark.
They walked on, deep in conversation. Morrick opened his heart to the king of the Dryads, voicing his concerns and, in return, learning what he could of their ways. Riark told him much of what had passed between him, the queen and Lord Linwood.
In the bright morning light, they reached the edge of the forest and Morrick stepped out from under the trees. He looked down once more upon Oystercatcher Bay and the palisade that surrounded it.
‘Have you thought on my offer?’ said Riark.
‘I have, but I need to speak to my family and my people. Wherever we decide to make our home, I will always be grateful for your assistance these past days and, if you can reach me, I am always happy to offer what counsel I may even if I am no longer under your protection.’
Riark bowed. He looked out from the brow of the hill at the plains rolling down towards the Blade Mountains and out across the ocean in the direction of the distant Isles. Morrick thought that he looked as though he was trying to remember something.
After a time Riark nodded.
‘If you should decide to take shelter with us, just re-enter the forest and word will find me. I will set the watch.’
With that, Riark walked to the trunk of the nearest tree, sank into the thickest of its roots and was gone.
Morrick counted the ships in the bay and gave up at thirty. It seemed there would be more people down there than before. He adjusted his belt, slipping his axe into its loop and set off down the slope towards the gate at a jog.
When Morrick had set out from here many days before, Lord Linwood’s men had manned the gate, but now he saw Lord Aldwyn’s uniforms. It seemed that not only had the queen’s fleet arrived from the Folly, but Lord Aldwyn had returned to the bay in the time it had taken for him to take the longer road back.
Morrick slowed his pace and approached the closed gate.
�
��Who goes there?’ shouted one of the guards.
‘A servant of Lord Aldwyn,’ called Morrick, conscious that his heritage might not stand him in good stead with these men. He had spent very little time amongst Aldwyn’s folk on the journey and was unsure of their feelings towards him. He drew nearer to the gate and attempted to shift the length of his hair across his face without drawing attention, hoping to hide the scarring caused by Linwood’s brand.
‘Name?’ demanded the guard.
‘Morrick. I am one of his captains,’ he said, though unsure of his continued status.
‘Why come you from the woods?’ said the guard.
‘I marched with Lord Aldwyn to the Hinterland and was separated from him there. I returned under the cover of the trees. May I pass in? I have urgent business.’
‘What kind of business?’ asked the other guard, stepping closer and barring the way.
Morrick faltered momentarily before replying.
‘I am a captain of the Hinterland. My family escaped the burning there, and they were headed here in hope of their salvation. Have they passed by this gate, sir?’
He gripped the collar of his filthy shirt as he talked so as to prevent fidgeting and the betrayal of his unsteady nerves.
The guards exchanged a look.
‘The Hinterland?’ said the first guard and both men stepped closer.
‘Aye that’s right. I was one of the conscripts.’
‘Is that what you’re calling yourselves now, is it?’ said the man.
They loomed in with weapons in their hands. Morrick backed off a step, his foot sinking in the black mud and slipping slightly. His balance was off. He held out his hands to steady himself.
‘Sirs, I have no quarrel with you nor did I ever.’
‘Oh no? I suppose not, as I do not ride a horse; I hear tell ‘twas the cavalry you boys thrust your pikes at, to great effect.’
The first guard, who was the larger of the two, seized Morrick by the arm and the second grabbed the other side when the woodcutter wheeled back trying to loosen the first man’s grip.
‘Off me!’ he roared and began to exert all the strength that he could through his arms.
The larger guard thrust a gloved hand at Morrick’s face, and he flinched in anticipation of the blow, but it never landed. Instead the leather swept aside his hair and the mark of Awgren was exposed for all to see.
‘Devised scum,’ the guard hissed, and the other spat in his face.
‘We were pardoned,’ Morrick growled and the first guard leered at him, moving so close their foreheads were touching. Morrick could feel hot droplets of breath spattering his skin.
‘Not fuckin’ pardoned by me, boy.’
The second guard punched him in the gut, and the air rushed out of him so that he doubled up. The same man seized his hair and yanked him over. As he did so, the larger guard relinquished his grip and dealt him another blow to his lower back – Morrick’s kidneys quivered and he felt a sharp pain there. He cried out, but kept his feet, slipping and sliding below him though they were.
The guards thrust him into the mud then returned to the gate.
‘Open up!’ the larger man called, and Morrick looked up in surprise.
‘Go find your litter. May you fare no better within than without, traitor scum,’ said the guard and stood back in his original position, huffing and blowing as he tried to regain his breath.
The pain in his stomach and back was immense, but Morrick was keen to get inside before the guards changed their minds and decided to make sport of him once more. He was coated on his entire right side in the thick black mud, which reeked of a thousand years of defilement by the Creatures of the Devising. He pushed his hands deep within the muck and forced himself up to his knees then staggered through the open gates. He turned aside only to speak a few words to the guards.
‘We did not fight by choice.’
‘Do any of us?’ snarled the smaller guard and shoved the gates closed behind him.
There had been considerable change since Morrick had first passed this way many days before. Guards were posted all along the palisade. In addition to the original huts which served as barracks and guard rooms, Morrick could now see rows of tents which were reminiscent of many a battlefield camp. The pathways between the tents had been strewn with sawdust to give better footing.
Soldiers gathered around small fires or paraded. Folk moved about with baskets of food or carrying loads.
Morrick ducked between tents when he had the chance and smeared some of the mud across his face to better disguise his brand; his hair was now too clotted with sludge to be of any use. He found a patch of sawdust to sit upon for a few moments while he pulled himself together and while the pain dulled. All the time he looked about him for a sight of a familiar face, but saw nobody he knew.
Once he had adequately recovered, Morrick began to wander the lanes in search of his family, all the time whispering their names to himself.
‘Rowan. Declan. Callum. Rowan. Declan. Callum.’
There were many soldiers and though they cast their eyes towards him, they saw only a homeless vagabond who wandered the camp covered in reek, and he thought it best to avoid them in case of another violent reaction.
He pulled his cloak tight about him as he walked, glancing furtively from behind his hair. At length he saw a man who was clothed in such a way that Morrick thought he him a civillian. He was crouched on his haunches tending a cooking pot, and he appeared to have his family with him; a wife and a little girl.
Morrick approached openly but with caution. They became aware of him when he came close and the father started then got to his feet.
‘Good morrow to you,’ he said. His tone was cautious and Morrick could not blame him.
‘Good morrow,’ Morrick replied. ‘I am sorry to disturb you and yours.’
The man was looking him up and down.
‘You’ve fallen? My wife fell yesterday.’
Morrick shifted his eyes to her, and her cheeks reddened, but she gave a little smile.
‘Arse over tit, I went. Came up looking blacker than the dead of night,’ she said.
Her husband chuckled, stirring oats into the water in the pot. He caught Morrick looking.
‘Have you eaten? You look famished.’
‘I haven’t yet today, but I couldn’t take what store you have, sir,’ said Morrick.
‘Nonsense. Besides, it all comes from the same stores, and you’ve as much right as do we. Take a pew and we’ll get you warmed up. Dry your cloak by the fire if it suits you.’
Morrick was in no hurry to reveal the garb below in case it gave him away. He wrapped his cloak about him and seated himself on a hewn log, thinking of Riark as he did so and feeling a little guilty. Nevertheless, he was tired, and he took the chance to be seated while he could get it.
The man handed him a bowl of the porridge, and Morrick tucked in as fast as decorum allowed. He had finished the bowl before the man had finished serving his family.
‘My name is Morrick.’
‘Flynn, Nadia and this is my daughter, Cathryn.’
‘Like the queen,’ said Morrick gravely, but shot the little girl a smile, and she beamed back at him before setting about her morning meal.
‘Like the queen,’ said Nadia. ‘How come you to be here, Morrick? I don’t recognise the accent.’
Morrick made a show of scraping out his bowl while he thought of a suitable reply. Who knew how these people would react to any story he told?
‘I came with Lord Aldwyn to advise on the Hinterland. I was a woodcutter with many men in my employ and latterly a captain of men. My passion has always been carving.’
‘From whereabouts?’ asked Flynn, frowning. ‘I recognise the accent.’
‘I’m from the Isles,’ lied Morrick. ‘Have you heard of Iona?’
‘I have. I’m surprised you know how to speak, let alone have an accent, given how few people live there.’
‘You’ve be
en?’
‘Never in life!’ said Flynn. ‘Think one such as I could afford such a voyage? But believe it or not, the Isles do get mentioned in the Folly! The Taynish do have schools!’ He raised his eyebrow in a playful challenge. Morrick realised that even between the friendlier parts of the Combined People, there was some rivalry. He smiled.
‘I hear the education is first-rate down that way. What brings you up here?’
‘I squire for one of the queen’s captains – we came up with the royal fleet.’
‘Where are Lord Linwood’s folk?’ said Morrick. ‘They were manning the palisade when first I came through.’
Flynn shook his head.
‘No sooner is the world rid of one dark lord but another rises up, so it seems. The word is Lord Linwood is raising rebellion. No sooner had Lord Aldwyn disappeared, but he marched his folk right back and rousted Linwood’s folk back to their ships. It’s said he had word from the Folly that Linwood has turned. Aldwyn’s encamped now at the shore. You’ll know that surely - if you came with him?’ Flynn’s tone changed.
There was a moment of silence, and Morrick thought the time had come to ask.
‘I’ve heard survivors from the Hinterland came this way?’
Flynn looked up and was about to reply, but Nadia cut in.
‘Whole gaggle of them came through in custody of a sea captain named Lynch. Turns out that was just a ruse! Begging at the door they were, as though we owed them a thing.’
‘How they’ve the guts to show their faces.’ Flynn was shaking his head in disgust. ‘If I was them I’d have turned tail and hid in the forest.’
‘I heard Lord Aldwyn pardoned them with the blessing of the queen?’
‘Aye, he did so, but there’s scarce a one among the rest of us who understands why. Sure enough, they were forced into service, but they’ve had a thousand years to rebel or send word and have we heard a thing?’
Morrick said nothing, as nothing came to mind which he could show as proof to the contrary. The feeling was uncomfortable.
Dark Oak Page 24
