Dark Oak

by Sannox, Jacob

  For the first time since arriving in the Drift, Lachlan openly wore the silver crown he had long kept secreted in his pack.

  They had passed but a few hours along the road when they came upon the first survivors of Lord Linwood’s army. Lachlan’s first instinct was to jump down from the saddle and get amongst them to hear what they had to tell, but he thought of Cathryn and how she would have carried herself, all too aware that he needed to appear lordly. And so, he sat atop his mount and remained aloof, dispatching his brother and general to gather what news they could. He leant upon his saddle, his heart beating fast, and Habit moved up beside him.

  ‘Don’t look like things have gone so well,’ she said.

  Lachlan said nothing, but nodded.

  Ere long Hadwyn returned and with him came the castellan of Stragglers’ End, humbled and apologetic.

  ‘Make your report, Castellan.’

  The man bowed his head.

  ‘Lord Linwood has been killed and much of the army has been destroyed. You will think me mad if I say more, Sire.’

  ‘Speak and be judged,’ said Lachlan.

  The man shifted his weight to his other foot then back again.

  ‘Creatures of the air drove the smoke from the fire down upon us and an army of Dryads invaded the Drift from the trees. They smashed through our lines and their king drowned Lord Linwood in the mud. Their king burned up right in front of us and turned to ash in the wind. I have never seen the like, Sire.’ Lachlan saw that the castellan was shaking, and he held up a hand.

  ‘Curious. What did you make of their king burning?’ he asked, but it seemed none around him could judge its meaning.

  ‘Where are the Dryads now?’ he asked.

  ‘They ran for the forest when their king burned,’ said Willard.

  Lachlan nodded.

  ‘Linwood has made much mischief, and we must seek an audience with these creatures before we return to Stragglers’ End. I…’

  ‘Your Grace!’ blurted Willard, and his face reddened. He bowed low.

  ‘My apologies for interrupting you Sire.’

  Lachlan dismissed his apologies and urged him to speak.

  ‘The Dryads and the other creatures that I saw in the air and the water, there was no killing them. We didn’t take down a single one of them. If they should take against us?’

  ‘He makes a fair point,’ said Hadwyn and Lachlan nodded.

  ‘We’ll proceed slowly and not form line of battle.’

  He turned his attention to Belman.

  ‘General, take a small party of riders ahead to the forest edge, and call out for truce and parley.’

  ‘Aye, my lord,’ Belman set off to gather his choice of companions.

  Lachlan straightened up in his saddle.

  ‘Men and women of the Drift,’ he called, his voice booming out so that the survivors gathered in around him as they walked closer. ‘Listen up, now. Linwood committed treason against the realm and has paid with his life. I see that it can be no easy thing to stand and defy one who had led you for so long and to so many victories, and I know that in your hearts you are loyal to the crown. Is it so?’

  A resounding ‘AYE’ rose up from the crowd.

  Lachlan nodded, making an effort to survey the whole crowd, making what eye contact he could.

  ‘Then forget the doings of these past days and fall in behind me. Castellan, have your people fall in at the rear of the column,’ he said and spurred on his horse.

  Belman and his riders disappeared and Lachlan led the column onward at marching pace. He was confident now that his position in the north was secure and was anxious to meet with the Dryads to sue for peace and explain Lord Linwood’s betrayal. Even more so, he was anxious to send word to Cathryn for he knew that for the first time in their long marriage, she would be truly proud of him.

  But his hopes and confidence dwindled fast when they drew close to the spot where Linwood had been killed.

  Horses without riders came galloping past the column, back the way they had come. It did not go unnoticed that they matched the number which departed with Belman.

  ‘Brother…’ said Hadwyn, but Lachlan made no reply.

  ‘Onward and with haste!’ the Lord of the Isles roared.

  They reached the ridge upon which Linwood’s army had been assembled and Lachlan looked on with sadness at the dead men all strewn across the dead ground before him, but there was no time to pause and reflect. He led his people onwards, concerned that there was no sign of Belman.

  Lachlan halted the column a few hundred yards from the treeline. He addressed Habit, the castellan and the captains of the Drift.

  ‘I will set out for the trees alone,’ he said, and no amount of objections from Hadwyn would dissuade him.

  And yet before he could set out, the ground began to shake and all around them shoots burst out of the ground, growing fast into young saplings. Bright sunlight shone down upon them and as far as the eye could see a young forest was growing up. Many of the men who had fought the Dryads let their fear overcome them and ran, but the new growth of the forest could not be escaped.

  From the old forest, thousands of Dryads burst into view and charged towards Lachlan, Hadwyn and the people of the Drift.

  Lachlan jumped down from his saddle, shifted his weight from foot to foot and when the Dryad onslaught was but yards away, he drew his sword. He burst forward, leaving the ranks of his men behind him, yelling out until his hoarse shouts were lost in the noise of the fray.

  He sidestepped the whipping branches of a silver birch and disappeared amongst the Dryad ranks. Hadwyn and Habit tarried for mere moments before they had roared their orders and set out after him. They too were lost from sight.

  The captains called out instructions, but the soldiers could not be rallied in spirit. The saplings had sprouted up into young trees and now all around a young forest divided Lachlan’s army. Men ran in all directions and what battle there had been for a few minutes dissolved into quiet.

  When the battle was done, birdsong filled the air and a sweet silence hung over the Drift. Men wandered here and there amongst the trees and ran from the Dryads as they stalked the woods. Satisfied that the men had scattered, the Dryads stepped into the trees and disappeared. All was still but for the sobbing and quiet talk of the survivors who banded together.

  The soldiers could not find their captains or the castellan. The Partisans searched here and there, but there was no sign of Habit, and none could find Hadwyn or Belman. Though they called his name, Lachlan did not answer.

  William, Habit’s brother, wandered the new woods looking for his sister, the missing members of his family and the lords.

  He came upon a spot deep in the midst of the forest where the light splatter of blood-spray coloured the grass. As he walked, he found crimson pools in which scraps of leather armour now floated like barren islands. William followed a sodden path of bloodied grass through the woods until he came upon a hawthorn tree which seemed to grow up from a pool of blood and splintered bones. Its trunk was a mess of gore and flaps of skin hung from the branches; it looked to William as though someone had been driven back against it and battered into pulp. He approached the tree slowly, seeing something glint in the noon sun. His feet crunched bone until finally he stopped and, with trembling hands, he plucked Lord Lachlan’s silver crown from the berry-laden lower branches of the hawthorn tree.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The cuckoo raid began two days before Lord Linwood fell in battle.

  From the depths of the cellars of the Maw Keep, the hidden regiments of Stragglers’ Drift tore through the stronghold level by level, killing all that stood in their way. Those of their number who had ingratiated themselves set about the Folly Guards from the side and behind, thrusting knives and hacking at undefended backs just before the two groups engaged.

  Their priority was to secure the Maw Keep and thus the Maw Gate, therefore the fighting was most bloody around the doors that led into the r
est of the Folly. Linwood’s men, heedless of their lord’s demise, swarmed through the fortress and bloodied the previously unsullied floors.

  The battle for the Maw Keep raged on night after night.

  Lord Aldwyn stood at the taffrail of his ship, the Nightingale, and surveyed the fleet. Far astern and away in the west, the queen’s own vessel led her line of ships and was visible through the rain only by its lights.

  A beam of light shone out from the east where Abernath’s Lighthouse stood on a patch of bare land on the coast midway up the western edge of the forest.

  ‘Perhaps a week till we make landfall, my lord,’ said Captain Lynch, who bounded up the steps from the main deck, taking two steps at a time. Aldwyn nodded. He’d never made the voyage before and looked on with curiosity at the lighthouse.

  ‘It must be a lonely posting,’ he said.

  Lynch nodded as he came to stand beside him. Unlike Aldwyn he was well accustomed to the sea and felt no need to grasp the rail.

  ‘A welcome escape for many a family man.’ Lynch smiled and Aldwyn laughed,

  ‘You speak from experience?’

  Lynch raised an eyebrow.

  ‘The woodcutter’s wife?’ asked Aldwyn.

  Lynch tilted his head.

  ‘I may have made an error in judgement there.’

  ‘You had relations?’

  Lynch said nothing.

  ‘We are all capable of the odd moral lapse,’ said Aldwyn.

  ‘Even the high lords of old Tayne?’ said Lynch, still staring out at the light.

  Aldwyn said nothing.

  ‘You know of Abernath’s Lighthouse?’ said Lynch.

  ‘I knew of its existence, but not of its origins.’

  ‘It might not look it, but it was quite the feat at the time. After many of the Crinish were wrecked on the reefs that lie between us now and Strewn Men Bay, they spent years travelling down the coast with materials to build a tower upon which they could set a beacon. They say it has never been out since the day they lit it nigh on a thousand years ago. To think of the journey that stone must have made by narrow coastal path or by sea.’ Lynch shook his head.

  ‘None could accuse Linwood and his forefathers of a lack of tenacity,’ said Aldwyn, ‘but look, the light has just gone out even as we look on! Perhaps legends are not always so accurate.’

  Lynch’s head snapped back towards the lighthouse and his brow furrowed.

  ‘I’ve made this journey more times than I could count, and I know many a man who has done the same. Never have I heard of the light being out.’

  ‘Perhaps Linwood anticipates our coming.’

  At this Lynch seemed to hearten.

  ‘Maybe so, my lord, and if it is the case, we should extinguish the lights of the fleet and go on our way in darkness. Change course and throw off any pursuers or observers if we can.’

  Aldwyn mused on it and nodded.

  ‘Speak with the captain and see if he concurs. If so, have him signal the fleet,’ he said, gripping the taffrail so tight that his knuckles whitened. His stomach lurched as the Nightingale crested a wave.

  To the east, the lighthouse keeper cried his last as the stones of the tower fell down upon him.

  Nine Days Later

  Queen Cathryn was awoken by a knock on her cabin door and Ailsa left her cot to answer.

  ‘The captain’s compliments, and the queen is requested on deck. We are entering Seal Bay.’

  ‘Very well, send word that the queen will attend shortly.’

  Cathryn screwed up her eyes against the screaming headache. Her mouth was dry and when she sat up, her innards churned.

  ‘Not before time.’ she said and deflected all of Ailsa’s attempts to assist in dressing her. She adorned herself in full armour, unwilling to appear anything less than regal, and proceeded upon deck. Those who saw her dropped to one knee momentarily, and Cathryn passed between them without a word until she found the captain.

  ‘Good morning, Captain,’ she said, granting him a courteous moment of eye contact before turning her gaze to the coast.

  The sight of the trees crowding the shoreline puzzled her, and she turned back to question the captain, but he was shaking his head.

  ‘The shape of the land tells no lie, and I’ve been diligent in checking the charts, Your Majesty. This is Seal Bay. I’ve been here many a time, but these…’ he waved a hand towards the trees, ‘were not here.’

  Cathryn and Ailsa advanced upon the rail and, taking up the captain’s telescope, the queen glassed the coastline from east to west. The beaches had given way to grass banks, which stretched into plains towards the cities, but now they were hemmed in by forest as far as the eye could see.

  ‘There were no defences here?’ said Cathryn, unable to see a soul ashore.

  ‘There were, Your Majesty, a stockade and garrison. Yonder…’ He pointed towards a headland now populated by what looked like mature pine trees.

  Cathryn handed back the glass, unsure what to think and aware that all eyes were upon her. Was this Riark’s doing? Had Linwood enraged him further? If it was so, what had happened to her people here?

  ‘I must know what has happened,’ she declared in a quiet and calm voice. ‘Take me to the Nightingale. I will speak with Lord Aldwyn.’

  The Isles appeared as a low black ridge on the horizon which grew larger as the supply convoy made its excruciatingly slow approach. Rowan had long since lost her wonder at the sea and yearned to set foot upon the island that was to be her home.

  Each day she and Declan had spent a while on deck before the cold wind got too much, but now as the shape of the mountains became clear, she fetched up blankets so they could stay even longer. She did not want to miss a single detail, ready to fall in love with these new lands about which she had dreamed ever since she was a girl. Here was where the line of the kings of Culrain now dwelled in their fearsome clans.

  The low black ridge became towering peaks in the distance, and a passing sailor she queried told her that those were the mountains on Long Isle which was still some way off.

  ‘Long Isle?’ said Rowan and clasped Declan to her. ‘That’s where the Lord of the Isles comes from!’ Her voice was excited, and he cuddled up to her leg.

  Between the supply ship and Long Isle were the tiny Horseshoe Isle and Low Isle, now distinguishable in the foreground, the Isles no longer appearing as a single dark entity. The ports of both isles were all on the westward side where they were protected from rougher waters by the natural barriers of the land, yet as they passed between the two small islands, the crew became agitated and soon Rowan saw why. The sea was littered with planks, sail cloth, barrels and other such detritus. It appeared to her that great ships must have been wrecked here and yet she spied what seemed to be thatching from a roof and fencing too bobbing upon the waves.

  The coastline was unfamiliar to her but word went round that there were trees now lining the shore where before there had been fields. She saw a lighthouse wrecked on the north coast of the Horseshoe Isle and as the convoy drew closer the crew began to work harder at getting every last knot from the ship.

  The cliffs of the Horseshoe Isle loomed towards them with tall pine trees crowning their edges.

  The convoy rounded the island and entered the Inner Sea, where the wreckage in the water became ever denser, and Rowan began to panic. What had happened here?

  ‘Mother, what is it?’ Declan implored, but Rowan could give no answer. She knew and indeed all aboard knew that something was much amiss.

  ‘Come below,’ she said and, ignoring his resistance, Rowan dragged Declan below decks to where they had made their berth.

  She cuddled him close to her that night, drawing his face to her chest and only after several anxious hours did she fall asleep.

  Rowan woke and all was black – the swinging lanterns with their amber glow had all gone out. She was soaked from head to foot. The ship ducked this way and that. She shivered with cold and reached first for the blanke
t and then for Declan, but her fingers could not find him. She scrambled about and called his name, but heard no reply. There was a metallic smell in the air.

  ‘Declan,’ she screamed. No sounds greeted her bar the creak of wood and the slap of slack ropes against sails.

  ‘Anyone?’

  She heard a faint cry. Rowan crawled forward and rounded a makeshift partition. The decks sloshed with fluid and, recognising the smell finally, Rowan knew it was iron – blood. She crawled faster as her heart rate went up.

  Some way along the deck a hatch was open to the outside, casting a square of light upon the steps. She got to her feet and picked her way across the deck, steadying herself where she could. The cry came again, and she knew it was him.

  ‘Declan!’ She shouted so hard that her throat felt as though it was ripping. Finally she reached the steep steps and crawled up them, too unsteady to walk. The main deck was empty and the sails flapped uselessly above it. Rowan looked all around and could see no one.

  ‘Mother!’ a voice shrieked, and she knew it was her son. She ran towards the sound and reached the rail.

  There in the water was one of the creatures she had seen before in the Whiteflow, carrying off her baby daughter. That churning figure of sea foam seemed to tread water effortlessly at some distance, its figure feminine and lithe.

  Whiteflow looked up at her mother and smiled.

  Rowan screamed.

  ‘No!’

  Declan too was in the ocean and Whiteflow’s arms were wrapped about his chest, somehow holding him just high enough so that his shoulders were clear.

  ‘Give him back,’ Rowan shrieked. ‘What do you want?’

  Perhaps in days gone by Whiteflow would have taunted her mother, but in truth the emotion had faded and now she acted purely because she remembered she had once cared, and that Dark Oak had given her instruction. She vaguely remembered these people and had an academic understanding that some sort of justice was being served, but she knew not how and simply trusted to Dark Oak’s plans.