Escana

by J. R. Karlsson

  'What are you going to do?' she asked.

  Jakob shrugged. 'I have to leave, I don't know where, but I have to go.'

  'I'm coming with you,' she said immediately, seeing the same faint hint of the fear she had witnessed last night when she had found him.

  'I can't let you do that,' he said, struggling to maintain his composure.

  Ella shrugged. 'You saved my life, the least I can do is try and save yours in return.'

  'I don't understand.'

  She adjusted the shirt she had stolen off him to cover the makeshift bandages he was staring at, now it was time to explain what she had been thinking about all night. 'People will assume that I've gone off somewhere with Solomon for a while, and Jimmy told me that you disappear for days at a time.'

  She saw him trying to interject at the mention of the innkeeper's son but cut him off, she knew she had to be forceful here. 'You don't understand, you don't have a say in this. I'm going to follow you and if you slip away from me I'm going to keep wandering until I'm caught and killed for confessing my crime of helping you murder Solomon for me. Understand?'

  Jakob grabbed for her, she let out a measured hiss of pain and he guiltily let go, seemingly forgetting what she'd just suffered. 'Why are you trying to blackmail my conscience? Why are you doing this for me? Why are you even here?'

  Ella smiled cheerlessly. 'You don't understand Jakob. The life I led back there isn't worth returning to even if I could. I needed a way out and you've given me one. It's not up to you whether I take it or not.'

  She stiffly lowered herself down onto the floor again and turned her back to him. The conversation was at an end. She had her way out now, for what little it was worth.

  12

  Ruben

  He spat on the gravel path in disgust. Fifteen days of sweet fuck all didn't sit well with him no matter how nice the weather had been.

  'What in the blue hells are we doing out here?' he moaned again at Lucas. He knew the leader of this merry fucking band was in a foul mood but he couldn't help but complain.

  Lucas turned on him. 'Last time I looked I was the one giving orders here, so we're out here cos I says we are.'

  He knew that was a weak excuse at best. 'We're out here because there's profit in it, no other fucking reason.'

  The murmurs of agreement from the men behind Ruben bolstered his confidence, he knew he wasn't alone in feeling this way. 'I don't see no profit, do you Lucas?'

  The bandit leader shrugged. 'We're not enough men to take out one of the armoured trade wagons, the folks on foot will show up eventually, it's just been a dry spell is all.'

  His explanation didn't seem abate the continued grumblings behind him, he knew time was running out and the men would go their own way should he not deliver soon.

  As if on queue, the rain started pelting down out of nowhere, The six men behind him groaned as one and sought cover in the trees to either side of the path.

  Ruben hunkered down in the dead leaves and much to his chagrin discovered that Lucas had joined him. He refused to acknowledge the man, there was no point starting a fight in such close quarters, they could be stuck here for the night if the rain didn't subside.

  'I'm getting very tired of you, boy,' Lucas finally said between gritted teeth, once again asserting his seniority. 'I lead here, I call the shots. If you don't like it you can piss off back to where we found you. Don't even think of trying to cross me.'

  Ruben said nothing, the deadly serious tone of his 'leader' brooked no argument and now was a terrible time to get into a confrontation, even if it looked like there was no pay to be lost in doing so.

  They sat in tense silence then, both watching the rain strike the road to while away the dull hours.

  He turned painfully toward Lucas after a time, rubbing the pins and needles out of his calf. He shaped to say something but was silenced by an upturned hand.

  'Quiet,' Lucas hissed, pointing at the road.

  A single set of light leather shoes walked across the path silently, coming to a halt right beneath their gaze. Ruben stared at them and held his breath, an odd feeling of trepidation rising in his gut.

  Lucas signalled furiously to the men on the opposite side of the road, then stood and started clapping his hands. 'Well done you, figuring out we'd camped on the side of the road in the pouring rain, which one of this sorry lot gave it away?'

  The hooded figure stayed silent as Ruben reluctantly joined Lucas's side, the rest of the men formed a menacing circle around their victim.

  'I don't like this,' Ruben muttered to himself, Lucas shot a glare at him but spoke no further of his insubordination.

  'So we've got ourselves a quiet one then boys,' the bandit said, addressing the circle as if they were a captivated audience. 'What would you say to us lot taking what's under your cloak then? Consider it a road tax if you will.'

  The sighing sound Ruben heard was accompanied by the strangest sensation he'd ever felt, it seemed to come from within his own head and outward into his ears. It was like a violation of his body to have this alien sound emanating from him, more importantly it was met with an almost overpowering desire to run. Looking around at his partners he could see that once again he wasn't alone in feeling this way.

  'So very disappointing,' the cloaked figure said, turning to survey each member of the group. 'What was I expecting? An intellectual behemoth to stride forth and debate with me on existential matters? No, I find before me exactly what my mission portended. A group of small and fragile minds huddled together in the hopes of picking scraps to lose in turn to their betters.'

  If Lucas had been effected by the cloaked figure's words he didn't let it show. 'So you do have a fucking mouth on you then. Hand over your belongings and we might just let you live in spite of your tongue.'

  Ruben knew in his heart of hearts that this was a grievous error, he had learnt long ago to trust his gut instinct on matters like this and before Lucas goaded the 'victim' further he took off like a scolded dog up the pathway.

  The rain beat him mercilessly into blindness as he lunged through it, running purely on adrenaline and waiting for his muscles to cramp up in protest. Just as he felt like halting to check for pursuit a scream from behind sent him sprawling onto the road. It seemed to linger a sickeningly long time, scaling upward toward the end before cutting out entirely. A second lower scream followed just as he was finding his feet, then after a third Ruben curled up into a foetal position, gibbering to himself.

  He lost count of the number of screams, they didn't even sound human. The hackles on his neck stood on end and a chill rushed down his spine each time he heard it. It was more like an animal in distress, a pig being butchered perhaps. He had no other reference with which to compare the noise and his body had shut down entirely in response.

  He had known the risks, he desperately needed the coin and in taking action he had found escape from a place he could never return. Yet as terrible as the squalor had been, as slavish and unforgiving the work, it now seemed preferable to being at the mercy of whatever that thing was in the forest.

  The final scream died off, the rain seemed to ease into a light patter on his soaking body, he mastered himself and gained his feet, not daring to look behind him.

  A cloaked figure stood before him. Ruben let out a shriek and turned heel in one last desperate attempt to escape. His legs had long passed the point of exhaustion and chose to betray him, sending him sprawling into the muck once more.

  He didn't know why it was he decided to look up then, maybe to take in one final glimpse at the sky before whatever it was caught up with him. Instead he saw the same cloaked figure standing in front of him.

  A hand reached out of the cloak and placed itself on his forehead, it was surprisingly soft and delicate. 'Luck favours you this day,' the voice said. 'Your mind has just the right amount of fear that you would choose to forget everything about this.'

  Ruben thought he caught the glimpse of a smile under the hood.
<
br />   'Yes, you are a good man fallen on hard times, good men are very hard to come by in this day and age. You will forget everything about this encounter and return to your family.'

  The hand lifted off Ruben's brow and he found his feet a second time, he was going to offer a thousand thanks to this strange creature for sparing him but all thoughts seemed to wash away.

  He had to go home and return to his family. Yes, he had to go home.

  13

  Thom

  The three men sat behind a large steaming bowl of spiced potatoes with mugs firmly planted on either side. Gossip and scandal flowed forth thickly into the smoky inn air, eliciting a sneering laugh from Harold Gooseman, the owner of The Chipped Flagon. He had returned from his dispute that morning and was full of tales.

  He nursed the wound on his left leg where a wayward arrow had scored it. It was nothing that a lot of drink and a few tales couldn't make him forget. When a fighting man got to his age you were essentially a series of old wounds patched together into the shape of a man. What was one more to add to the collection? He wouldn't have a lived it down had he been stuck by a mere farmer after everything he had been through but there you had it, anyone could kill you at any time given the right opportunity no matter how battle-hardened you were.

  It was his duty as a good citizen to regale the inn with tales of his doings, it was something that the entire area had come to expect from the Warden in order to pad out the gossip that spawned from the drudgery of their own lives. At times it would be a tale of action or adventure, embellishment of the highest calibre in order to further cement his reputation. Then there were nights like this.

  'So then old Olford himself comes down knocking on my door saying “there's a storm brewing up between young Miranda and her boy” and he stands there with his hands on his hips blowing hot air all over the place. He starts working himself up into a right fuss so I ask him why he's telling me this and he says he expects me to do something about it! Me!'

  Garth cracked a laugh, goading him on, the big smith knew that a Warden made a poor babysitter. 'What then Thom, what did you do to the poor bastard this time?'

  He smiled back as he played along. 'I went all quiet on the filth and told him if he can't educate his own lass I'll do it for him.'

  A roar of laughter rose from the surrounding patrons, with more than a few knowing nods at the false gleam in Thom's eye. 'You dirty scum Thom you would and all!' and renditions on the theme were cheered at him.

  Garth interrupted with further questioning, drawing the tale out of him word by word. 'Did you go see the boy then, settle the matter?'

  He nodded. 'That I did, s'my job after all. Turned up at the young lad's place and asked him what was amiss and out he trots with a young lass half his age. Methinks Miranda may have inherited a little too much of Olford's hot air to keep him.' The beer-sodden laughter erupted again.

  The locals always congregated at The Chipped Flagon as regularly as they could. The inn was steeped in a mirthful and ribald atmosphere whilst also sporting the finest selection of food and drink local coin could buy.

  When the curiously named Harold Gooseman had first arrived in Escana twenty years ago there was distrust in the sleepy farming community. An outsider flush with cash was nothing but bad news, especially one that challenged their local Golden Rat pub with such vast opulence. He spoke loftily of bringing business and commerce to the area and won few hearts and minds with his tone. But for the consultations of Thom and Garth his establishment would still be seen as a dangerous and foreign land, nobody wanted an invasion of strangers destroying the spirit of their community with their odd ways. In spite of this the construction of the inn had aroused a cautious interest in the neighbouring hamlet, it was but a short walk from the centre and the increasing size of the project filled many with awe amidst their fear. Few folk this far from the cities had seen such vast houses being created.

  Due to the monumental task of erecting a four story building, the site was placed directly beside the main trading road. The best decision of Gooseman's career was to then hire the local craftsmen and various hands nearby to help create the structure. In that one act it was transformed from a looming presence of change into a community project and an extension of the surroundings. Tongues wagged and prestige and attention came from working on the local wonder, much to the chagrin of the owner of the Golden Rat. Gooseman's pleasant demeanour during his supervision of the project helped foster respect and then friendship with many important local figures. He was always open to new ideas and suggestions from those that offered to help and regularly deviated from the plans on a whim. What once had brought the divisive community together in fear now brought them together in a common purpose. This was their inn. When it finally opened for business the entire area to a man was there to celebrate and from day one it had become a mainstay in the fabric of the land.

  A young whip of man breathlessly burst through the door calling for the Warden, sending a tray of drinks flying into the air and crashing onto the floor with them. Thom fixed the newcomer with an unkind glare, he recognised him from the farm. 'What's wrong with you? Spit it out son.'

  'Solomon... the riverbank... he's dead.' A deathly silence seized the room, then uproar broke its hold.

  Chairs went flying, glasses shattered, tables were upturned and even Gooseman seemed too dismayed at the news to fear for his property.

  'When did you find the body?' demanded Thom, after Garth had halted the cacophony with an earful of expletives.

  The man now looked a boy as he wilted under the intense gaze of the crowded room. 'I was going down to fish and I smelt...'

  Thom's glare hardened somewhat. 'Out with it lad.'

  A wide-eyed look of terror passed across the boy's face. 'The smell was terrible, I crept closer and I found an arm, all lined up neat-like with the rest of the body. Next thing I know he's got me over the back of the head.'

  'Did you see what he looked like?' he asked, his tone encouraging the lad.

  The boy nodded vigorously, 'Oh yes, big chap he was, dark hair and fists the size of hams.'

  Thom arched an eyebrow and rose to his feet, motioning to a few men nearby. The boy had no idea who had knocked him clean out. 'Show me where the poor bastard's body is.'

  Garth offered to join him, as did any number of the young bucks who thought a pair of muscular arms gave them the right to aid a Warden. Others were just nosy, wanting to see a dead body so they could chatter about it later to their friends from afar.

  Thom rejected all aid, it was something that a warden had to do alone and he suspected that most of the people trying to get involved knew that already.

  The old cart that he used to get about clattered its way down into the forest as the bean pole of a youth sat next to him, shivering more in fear than cold as the rain lashed at both of them. He sincerely hoped that the wheels didn't get stuck again, it had taken him hours to remedy that situation last time.

  'You're away from the crowds now, boy. You can tell me what you really saw,' he prompted the youth sat next to him.

  The young man let out an involuntary shiver that sent Thom's right arm reaching for his sword hilt before stilling. 'It was as I said Mr. Warden sir, I was out minding my own business and fishing and I caught the smell of that there body. Ran off to your place as soon as I woke and was told you were up in the Flagon so I made my way up there.'

  Thom nodded, there was no point in trying to draw out any more information from this boy, he clearly knew nothing. He just had to hope that the tracks would enlighten him further instead.

  'Don't mind me asking sir, but how does you gets to be a Warden and all?'

  A slight smirk crawled across his face. 'Why? Are you looking to take this old man's place, boy?'

  The youth's eyes bulged wide in fear. 'No sir! No, I was just curious! Forgive me!'

  Thom nodded. 'Forgiven. Remember that you can't go about asking people about their past and expect them to just cough it up fo
r your entertainment. Some folk don't fancy talking about themselves that much, understood?'

  A gulping was all the response he got. It was satisfactory. Let him keep his threatening mystique, he owed nobody any explanation of his history or life no matter how shiny and new he was as an attraction to the younger locals.

  Thom chuckled to himself as he stared down at his threadbare clothes that had already been soaked through by the rain. Oh yes, the glorious life of a Warden in some shitty backwater where the locals assumed you made as much from the Empire as the Justices in their big towns and cities. Still, Kelgrimm was a brave age now, perhaps it wouldn't be too long before the man retired and a certain someone took his place.

  He shook his head to himself, making the boy stare nervously at him. Justice Kelgrimm had to have been the Justice for Urial going on thirty years now. Quite the nice job to have when you had others to be your muscle as age robbed you of yours. He flexed his leg painfully and wondered how many good years he had left before the same thing would befall him.

  The cart trundled on without incident, its wheels thankfully holding up against the uneven track that they wound through into the forest and down the river. Eventually they had to abandon it altogether and start wading ankle-deep through the shallows. Had the boy forgotten where he had encountered the body in his fear? He didn't fancy treading water up this pissing river the whole night even though the moonlight made for excellent illumination.

  After a time he didn't need to worry about locating the body. The dank smell of bloated flesh called to him immediately and it was so apparent that the boy picked up on it too.

  It was as the boy had suggested, the body had been cut into pieces and it looked like the perpetrator of the crime had planned on stuffing the contents into a nearby badger's den. That would explain the lack of head at least, even though the clothes were clearly the finery that Solomon wore to identify him.