Rowan glared at him.
‘So you are done with us?’ she said.
Lynch stood and stepped outside to take some air, returning once he had mastered his own temper.
‘I have a great affection for you, Rowan, and I have thought of nothing but taking you and yours to safety over these past weeks. And of late, I have thought that we might find a life together.’
He stared down at her. She seemed to him to be an animal with its hackles standing on end, ready to receive him in a fury of talons and teeth. Doubt rose in him, and he was relieved it had done so before any formal ties had been made between them.
‘I have secured berths for all the Hinterland refugees aboard the ships bound for the Isles. There is land enough there for you to build new homes and start again away from this place. I will come to join you when war is done and the duke grants me leave.’
At this Rowan felt her anger abate somewhat.
‘The queen would allow it?’ she said, thinking of her cottage by the sea.
‘Aye, she will. You can start anew, away from the judgement of bitter eyes and in time, maybe in the time of your grandchildren, the memories of the betrayal of your ancestors and your menfolk will fade.’
Rowan looked down to her lap, nodding. Lynch saw a tear roll down her pale cheek. He went once more to sit beside her.
‘What are you thinking?’ he said.
She shook her head and buried his face in the fur that covered his shoulder. She would say no more.
Lynch wrapped his arms around her, and he wrestled between guilt and relief, feeling certain that Rowan would go forth, and he would be released from his recently implied commitments to her.
‘What of your sons? Will they come with you?’
She pushed away from him.
‘What do you mean? Surely they are not bound into service?’
Lynch shook his head.
‘Nay, but will they willingly leave their father?’
‘After all he has put us through?’
Tense silence. Lynch eventually broke it.
‘Sons do not always see things with their mother’s eyes. They still have great love for Morrick,’ he cautioned. ‘They do not see events as do you. They believe he did no more than he was compelled to do and, in all honesty, lady, there is some truth in that.’
‘What?’ she said.
‘I know that were I in your husband’s place, I would have gone to war just as he did. What choice would I have, knowing I had a wife and children to protect?’
‘You don’t understand,’ she said, almost a shriek. She lay down once more and rolled onto her side away from him.
‘I’ll speak with the boys and glean what I can from them.’
Lynch stood and as Rowan made no reply, simply lying there with her shoulders heaving up and down under the blanket, he departed. As he made his way through the lanes to his own tent, he breathed out a loud, heart-heavy sigh into the biting wind.
‘We can’t just leave him again,’ insisted Callum. He had been standing over her and now folded his arms. Rowan stood and loomed over him.
‘We never left him. He abandoned us and now it’s time you see your father for the man he truly is!’
‘He never wanted to go! He didn’t want to leave us! I saw him weeping the last time he left. I saw you weeping to see him go. It wasn’t until he showed up,’ he pointed at Captain Lynch, ‘that you started talking ill of Father!’
Declan’s arms were folded too, but he was digging his nails into his upper arms and backed as far into a corner of the tent as the canvas allowed. Lynch thought the boy was near to tears.
‘What gives you the right to speak to me in such a way, you ungrateful boy?’ spat Rowan and she was crying.
Lynch felt a near irresistible urge to escape. He felt for the woman, but all the more now he was coming to believe that perhaps he had judged the woodcutter harshly – following his heart rather than his head.
‘I’m not ungrateful!’ shouted the boy. ‘But I won’t leave Father after he’s been through so much for us!’
‘You have no choice!’ hollered Rowan. Her voice was raucous and ragged. It seemed to tear the air around them, and Lynch was compelled to step forward to intervene before things escalated further.
‘The boy will have to decide for himself, Rowan.’
‘No!’ she shrieked, ‘No, I won’t lose another one! Not on account of him!’
Callum stood resolute, arms folded across his chest and his face a mask. Lynch clutched Rowan to him, and his eyes made a desperate appeal to the boy.
‘It’s not that I don’t love you, Mother, but I cannot forsake my father. He belongs with us.’
‘He left us! He left us to those savages and we are one the fewer for it!’
‘Father didn’t kill the baby,’ snapped Callum, ‘you did!’
Rowan pushed both palms into Lynch’s chest with such force that she broke his hold on her, and he fell back a step. She snarled as she sprang forward and dealt Callum a heavy blow across his face with such speed and ferocity that he fell down. He made no sound, just stared up at her with accusing eyes as she stood panting over him.
‘Go to him then. Go and be damned!’ She turned and taking Declan’s hand, she tore out of the tent and through the partially struck camp.
Lynch shook his head and reached down a hand. Callum looked as though he might not take it for a moment, and Lynch was about to withdraw when the boy’s fingers curled around his wrist. The captain hauled him to his feet.
‘Do you not see that she is quite mad?’ asked the boy.
Lynch said nothing, but took off his hat, swept back his hair and replaced it. The two of them exchanged a glance.
‘Go seek for your father, Callum, and wish him well from me. Please send him my regrets. It was never my intent to hurt or malign an honest man.’
Callum nodded.
‘I will, and I know it. I appreciate all you did for us. Even if things have turned out badly for our family, it could have ended far worse without your aid.’
With that Lynch withdrew and sought for Rowan. He found her on the beach with her arm around Declan, waiting for a boat to take them to a ship, along with Garrick, Acorna and the rest of the refugees.
Lynch tousled the boy’s hair, but Declan did not look up. His chest was heaving and the captain could hear him sob. He turned his attention to Rowan, whose eyes were red and puffy. Her pale cheeks had come up in red blotches and in her face he saw little of the beauty he had come to admire over the past weeks.
‘I will keep an eye out for Callum when I can, my love,’ he said, hoping the last did not sound as false as it felt. ‘I will see him returned to you in due course, fate permitting. Do not harden your heart against him.’
Rowan’s weeping eyes looked out to sea, but she rested her cheek on his shoulder.
‘We’re to be put down on the Butterfly Isle, so they say.’
‘I heard as much,’ said Lynch. ‘There’s good land there and woodland as well. You’ll be able to make a life.’
She said nothing but slung her other arm around him.
The time came and without further discourse, Rowan led Declan to the boat and Lynch, solemn and still, watched as they were rowed out towards the flotilla in the bay.
He made his way up the beach, picking his way between the slippery rocks and across the slippery seaweed, with the sound of the waves in his ears and salt air in every breath.
Callum reached the tent where his father had been recovering to find that it was empty and devoid of all possessions, save for his father’s axe. He lifted it and turned it in his hands, knowing that Morrick would never abandon it in his right mind. In alarm, he ran for the palisade gate and there questioned the guard.
‘A branded man passed through some time ago. What of it?’
‘Which way did he go?’ asked Callum and followed the guard’s gesture in the direction of the treeline. He set off after him at a run.
Riar
k was perched high upon Mount Greenwood in the midst of the forest when he sensed that the woodcutter had already re-entered his realm. He dispersed into the matter of the growing mountain and travelled deep into the soil, arriving in a birch tree not far from where Morrick had been last seen. He concentrated his being and the leaves whispered to him. Once more he travelled into the soil and, stepping out of the bark of an oak, he found Morrick.
The woodcutter was hanging by the neck from one of the lower branches, his skin blue and his eyes bulging, the light fading from within them.
Riark thrust his limbs into the trunk of the tree and his essence swelled the branch around which Morrick’s belt was tied. It expanded with such force that the leather broke and the woodcutter’s body fell to the ground.
Riark spread his open hands across the woodcutter’s face and focused all his thought into feeling the very molecules of the woodcutter’s skin. He slipped his own between them and the two creatures began to merge. His sap seeped into the woodcutter’s veins, mingling with the blood that cooled as it lay still within them. Riark grew within the woodcutter, pulsing through his cells and his organs, his thought coursing into the flesh. Near done, but not quite, Riark took the woodcutter into his arms and beneath him his form began to shift; where moments before, an approximation of a man had tended the human cadaver, now Riark appeared as a great stallion with a mane of moss and hide of interlocking oak leaves. Morrick was across his back and yet part of it, too.
Callum burst into the clearing just as Riark bore the woodcutter away, but the Dryad checked his pace and extended roots into the ground for a moment. Without a glance backwards, he galloped into the forest at a pace unmatched by any animal that walked the land.
Riark’s form intermingled with the woodcutter’s as they travelled. Morrick’s body writhed and contorted, as though something was fighting to depart it and yet was prevented from so doing.
Callum cried out as he saw his father carried away and broke into a run, but another such steed as he had just beheld leaped from an ash tree up ahead. Nayr sat astride it.
Callum came to a halt with eyes wide as Nayr extended a hand towards him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The combined fleet of Queen Cathryn and Lord Aldwyn departed Oystercatcher Bay and sailed for the Drift.
Cathryn retired to her cabin as soon as they were at open sea and insisted that Ailsa share a bottle with her. Her aide had private concerns about the queen’s increased intake, but thought better of expressing them. As predicted, one bottle turned into two and two turned into three. Ailsa was grateful that the ship had a limited supply.
Lord Aldwyn stayed on deck for much of that first day and often took a turn at the wheel, while Lynch set about forgetting the business of the last few weeks and trying to make a good impression on his commander in the hope that he might soon command a vessel of his own.
Rowan and Declan passed their first afternoon at sea overcome with sickness of both stomach and mood. They sailed westward for their new home in the Isles, but a great sadness was upon them, and they cowered below decks together to seek what comfort they could in each other’s arms.
Morrick awoke to find himself hemmed in by wood. He thrashed about and felt as though his limbs were moving through slime. His brain told him his knuckles scraped against the wood, yet it was not so.
I’m in a coffin, he thought and tried to beat upon it, screaming silently as he imagined his mouth and lungs filling with fluid.
The tunnels beneath the Whoreswood stretched far out in many directions, with entrances concealed in rock outcrops and copses all around the area. Under Stragglers’ End itself, the tunnels widened into caverns and halls, crudely fashioned and supported with beams of timber, hewn centuries before.
Habit clutched a flaming torch and held it aloft as she guided the way. Behind her came Lachlan, Hadwyn and Belman, then her own people. Two young men dragged Habit’s mother along on a bier.
‘I’ve lost all notion of time,’ said Hadwyn and his voice echoed up and down the tunnels, competing with the sound of their feet.
‘That’s all time is,’ said Habit, ‘a notion. See how you fare just as well without it?’
Lachlan looked back over his shoulder at his brother’s features in the torch light. He smiled.
‘We’ve arrived,’ said Habit.
The party found themselves in a cavern taller than most and widening out on either side of the tunnel. Beds were made up around the walls, with wicker partitions separating each small area from the next. A circle of benches stood off to their left. Lachlan noticed the walls were of chalk and that moisture ran down them, dripping to form pools upon the floor.
Habit’s mother was drawn up to one of the beds, and the two men lifted her as gently as was possible to lay her upon the furs atop it, propping her up so that she could see the room. Men began to emerge from the shadows at the base of the far walls of the cavern and began to congregate about them.
‘Well met, brothers,’ said Habit. ‘Best you put on your shirts and shine up your armour. We have many a noble visitor this day.’
‘Oh aye?’ said a short, fair man who stepped out from the crowd.
Habit saw him and gave a little shriek of excitement. She hurried over to embrace him, her height making him look all the shorter. Lachlan wondered for a moment if he was her lover, but the look of the embrace suggested siblings. She stepped back and waved a hand towards the three southern nobles.
‘Lachlan, Lord of the Isles. Lord Hadwyn, Steward of the Isles. Lord Belman, General of the Isles.’
‘Did they take a wrong turn?’ said the fair-haired man, but even as he smiled he bowed low. Lachlan returned the gesture.
‘Many a wrong turn,’ he replied, ‘and I am in need of your assistance.’
‘What would the Lord of the Isles ask of the likes of us?’ said the man.
‘Your name, sir?’
‘Sir!’ the man laughed. ‘William. Her brother.’
‘William,’ said Lachlan, ‘I’ve come to see whether the Partisans still honour the line of Tayne.’
‘They do,’ interrupted Habit. ‘So say I, and I is the only one that has say.’
She turned to her brother.
‘We need word sent to the four winds to gather both our strength of numbers and to find out what support there is for the queen of the Combined People. Linwood has seceded and declared war.’
A murmur grew up amongst the crowd. It heartened Lachlan and his allies. He nodded, held up his hands and thanked them.
‘Might we prevail upon your generosity here until I can muster enough troops to move in the open against him?’
Habit nodded.
‘Beacon Hall is, as of yet, unoccupied.’
Belman started forward.
‘Beacon Hall? Surely…’
‘Straight out of legend,’ said William. ‘Ancient seat of the long-forgotten natives hereabouts. Our people found it during their tunnelling under the Drift.’
‘The northern kings are nothing but a fairy story,’ said Hadwyn. ‘There was never any proof that men lived north of the forest before the Combined People were forced into exile.’
‘Proof enough if Beacon Hall truly exists!’ said Lachlan, ending the conversation. ‘Lead on and indeed, send word and find out what numbers can be gathered. Bring all who are loyal to Beacon Hall.’
Outside the gate of Stragglers’ End, Linwood’s army had formed up on the east road. When all were assembled the lord appeared, resplendent in full armour, and rode to the head of the column. He set out towards the forest and the march began.
They advanced on throughout the night and into the next day, resting only when necessary and only for as long as was required to prevent men from dropping out of the march. Outriders gathered more men from the surrounding villages, and all who saw them marvelled at the spectacle of thousands of armed troops as they trudged ever eastward.
Linwood raised his fist and halted the line. His captains ga
thered about him and he gave his orders with no embellishments and no fuss.
‘I want encampments from coast to coast, each just within sight of the next. Say, half a mile out from the treeline. The watch must be maintained at all times both to the front and to the rear. I will advance to Lady Isobel’s position. The outermost camps will light signal fires when in position and the next camp will do the same when ready. When I, at the central camp, see lights in the north and the south, we will strike. Understood?’
Grim men and women nodded then spurred their horses and rode away.
And so while Lachlan’s spies delved into the hearts of his people, Linwood’s soldiers fanned out across the northern border of the forest, and as they reached their given positions they made camp. Days passed. Linwood’s people took up their positions, while Lachlan and Habit gathered what strength they could in the ancient caverns of Beacon Hall.
Linwood spent his days as was his custom; he rose before dawn and bathed. He donned his full armour, regardless of the likelihood of combat, and then visited his sentries. He led a morning briefing of the captains and received reports from up and down the line. After briefing, he sat at the board to breakfast alone, supping on warm beer and picking at slivers of his cheese. His stomach full, he took to a square prepared for his own use where he would spar with the best fighters in his retinue while his captains paraded the men elsewhere; after all, he did not want them to see any weakness in his art.
Normally he would ride out in the evening, but one day after the northern camp’s beacon was lit, he was preparing to mount when a runner came to tell him that the southern beacon too was aflame.
Linwood checked his progress, one foot in the stirrup then nodded before hauling himself up.
‘Send word to the captains. Prepare the archers and on my mark, send out the advance parties.’
Ere long Linwood set his horn to his lips and let out five long blasts. For a hundred miles to the north and a hundred to the south, the call was taken up and the air rang with the sound of horns.
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