The Brotherhood (The Eirensgarth Chronicles Book 1)

by Philip Smith

  “No?”

  “A gnome?”

  “Nope.”

  “Centaur?”

  “Surely you jest.”

  “Not at all. They’re out there somewhere. I’ve met a faun. Lovely chap, sold me an oil lamp years ago when my mentor took me south of the Great River.”

  “I had no idea…”

  “It’s a big wide world out there,” Robert said, gesturing to the sky and beyond. “There’s so much more to this land than just the Wild.”

  “So what are you, then?”

  He turned and looked at her with slight annoyance.

  “Don’t give me that look. You’re clearly not a man.”

  “I’m myself,” Robert snapped. “And that’s all anyone needs to know.”

  Paige looked him over again and then it dawned on her.

  “You don’t know?”

  Robert didn’t answer her, rather just kept trudging ahead in a sulking silence. They continued on jumping in and out of dry seasonal creek beds, but Robert didn’t talk for a long while. These little creek beds dotted the landscape like the thin webbing of a spider's roost. As night approached, Paige felt shaky. Her ribs were still sore, making the pack a cumbersome and painful thing to adjust back and forth with every step. Her feet were sore and cramped, adding to her ever-present headache pounding like a water-drum.

  “Did you know my father?” She took a swig from a wooden canteen off the back of her guide’s pack. Robert shrugged, continuing to hew the thick underbrush and tall grasses with his machete.

  “Yep. I met him a handful of times when he came to visit my mentor. I wasn’t much more than a child, but I remember him well.”

  “He must have been pretty young then.”

  “Ha! Not by much.”

  Paige frowned. “Just how old are you?”

  “Not sure. All I know is, I’m older than you,” he said with a mischievous wink. His expression softened as he took a more serious tone. “He was a good man, your father. He was always kind to us.”

  “Who is this mentor you keep talking about?”

  “He was a great man and a fantastic teacher. Taught me how to fight, raised me to live off the land and adapt. Closest thing I ever had to a father.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Robert’s expression darkened momentarily before it was replaced by remnants of a grief long buried. “The one enemy we can never outrun is time, and sometimes… yours just runs out.”

  Paige felt a pang of sorrow. Her own loss still lay heavy on her. She began to feel little tendrils of fear creeping around her heart with icy fingers, and she tried to brush it off. What if Robert was wrong? What if the Brotherhood didn’t want to help her? She knew she would have no choice but to forge on ahead and go it alone. Quitting was not an option for her. But the thought of also failing or being too late terrified her to her very core.

  “So what makes you think this Dinendale character knows the layout of Aschin?” Paige queried.

  “Because he should. He was there when it was built.”

  Paige’s head jerked up in surprise.

  “He helped build the fortress?”

  “He didn’t have much choice as a slave, now did he?”

  “I didn't know that, you sarcastic twat,” Paige spat, indignant.

  “You're cute when you get snippy, anyone ever tell you that?

  “No one more than once,” Paige warned, grinding her teeth. Robert chuckled.

  “Fair enough. Din is from the south lands beyond the Great River. He was captured when he ventured too far north, and from what I can gather, was pressed into service for the Sharadhen’s construction efforts.”

  “An atrocity!” Paige hissed. “The very idea that someone thinks it’s okay to own another human being is absolutely revolting.”

  “Welcome to the Empire,” Robert grumbled. “I wish the Sharadhs thought the same way. Instead, they imprison the free peoples of the land and make them erect monuments over their own farms. I know the slaves they pushed to build Aschin numbered in the thousands.”

  Her stomach twisted. Her own countrymen would be added to that number soon. She silently promised herself that someday, if the Creator granted her the chance, she would do everything in her power to free as many of those poor souls as she could.

  “So, since he was there to help build the structure, you think he will be able to help us rescue Olivian?”

  Robert shrugged. “He’ll at least have a better idea of the layout than any of the rest of us. So that’s a starting point.”

  They continued on in silence for some time as Robert hacked their way through some the dense bushes that were quickly wilting in the autumn cold. Paige heard the honking sound of a flock of geese and stared high into the sky. Through the colorful quilt of fall leaves, she could see the familiar chevron formation passing over them as the birds headed south for the winter. Paige felt a pang of jealousy strike her as she imagined what it would be like to have no cares in the world, aside from flying south with a family. She longed for that sweet simplicity, that ability to roam free without kings and killings. Paige brushed a tear from her cheek as it fell warm amidst the cool evening air.

  The sound of the birds began to give way to an orchestra of crickets. Robert stopped for a moment at a large fir tree and selected a young, springy limb towards the bottom and hacked it off with his machete.

  “We’re not far now,” he said, tying the end of the switch into a course knot of sappy wood. “Best we keep quiet till I tell you it’s alright to speak, you hear?”

  Paige nodded as Robert finished his rough knot. He yanked a piece of flint out of his pocket and struck the back end of his hunting knife till a small shower of sparks cascaded onto the makeshift torch. The canvas caught, and the wood popped and spat as the fire spread around the knot, lighting up the dusky forest. Robert jerked his head, and Paige followed close behind as they walked deeper and deeper into the ever-darkening woods.

  They walked for a while before Robert pointed to a large boulder. If he hadn’t motioned to it, Paige wouldn’t have seen it in the dense foliage. The heavy fog that was falling was not helping matters either. It twisted and curled about like a sea-green smoke, drifting to and fro. Paige wanted to grab Klaíohm but resisted the urge to pull the hairpin from her braid. Instead, she gripped the dagger tightly Robert had loaned her as they trudged forward.

  CRACK!

  Robert halted and stuck out his arm. She yanked Klaíohm out of her hair, her muscles tense. Her guide looked around them warily, peering into the foggy quagmire swirling around them.

  “I can’t see a bloody thing!” Paige spat. Robert hushed her urgently.

  “That's one of the secrets to having a secret hideaway,” Robert muttered. He then straightened up and pulled his spear from its strap, placing the torch into the ground.

  “Jey, is that you?” he called out, pointing his spear into the mist. There was no answer in the heavy forest air. Paige combed the trees with her eyes, her ears lying flat against her head like a cat’s. But there was no tingling at the base of her spine, which made her wonder if perhaps the sound they’d heard was a squirrel or a dead branch simply falling to the ground.

  A slight sound just to her right. It was a faint slap, like someone had struck a rock with a leather glove. This was followed by a soft hum growing ever louder as the seconds ticked on. Suddenly, out of the darkness, a thin shape leaped through the fog, punching a vortex through the air. The long shaft of an arrow quivered in the ground inches away from Robert’s foot. Paige was about to summon her sword when Robert caught her wrist and held it fast.

  “Jesnake, it’s Robert, you melodramatic prat!”

  “I know it’s you,” a thin, low voice hissed through the fog. “Why do you think that arrow is in the ground instead of your gullet?”

  “Could have lost your edge? It’s been a couple months; for all I know you’re missing a couple fingers now and that’s the best you got!”

  “
Never.” The voice chuckled. Paige imagined the voice would pair nicely with a talking fox. Thin, but not in a weasley way. A cunning tone that sounded like it was almost spoken through the nose. She heard a rustle in the branches of the trees above her and caught a flash of moving metal in the torchlight. A figure sat perched on one of the branches, his chainmail glittering in the light. His silhouette was tall and slender, with a pair of lean arms and what appeared to be a bow grasped in his left hand. His bearing reminded Paige of a panther lazily perched in a tree after a successful hunt and subsequent feast.

  “The others here?” Robert asked. The slender man nodded, letting one foot hang lazily.

  “Aye. Most. Is this the princess the short one spoke of?”

  “Indeed,” Robert said, nodding towards Paige. “Paige, this is Jesnake of Westfjord, House of Some Long Name I Can’t Pronounce, Son of Someone-Important but not important to me. Jey, this is Paige of the Alatarians, Daughter of Alaire.”

  “I’m honored to meet you,” Paige added quickly, bowing slightly.

  “But what is your real name, child?”

  “My real name?”

  “Aye. The one your mother gave you. The one that matters.”

  “Alwasu,” Paige said softly. The figure inclined his head in return and slid nimbly off his perch, landing on his feet with hardly a sound.

  In the light of the torch, Paige could now make out more of his features. Although his pointed ears immediately gave his elven heritage away, he looked nothing like her mother. He was much taller than he’d appeared in the tree; the top of Paige’s head would have barely come up to his chin, she guessed. His features were all more sharply pointed than her mother’s had been; longer, pointier ears and thin, almond-shaped eyes the color of cool water. The only thing not angular about him was his nose; it was round and slightly bulbous.

  “The honor is all mine, Alwasu,” Jesnake said, bowing once again. “Though I wish you were here under better circumstances.”

  “As do I,” Paige said softly. She felt that all too familiar ache in her heart threaten to spill over into her eyes. She bit her lip to compose herself. “But there’s no changing that now. Only righting the wrongs done.”

  “Indeed,” Jesnake said grimly. Robert yanked the arrow out of the dirt and handed it back to the elf.

  “You’ll come along, then?”

  “It isn’t me you’ll have to worry about,” Jesnake said, wiping the iron arrowhead off on his palm and returning it to its sheath. “You know me—I’m always in the mood to off a few Sharadhs.”

  “Din not wanting to come?”

  “I doubt it. But I can’t say for certain, as he’s the only one not here yet.”

  Paige bit her lip. Robert snorted.

  “He’s always late. At any rate, you might as well meet the rest of the lads,” Robert said to Paige. Then, turning to Jesnake, he said, “You waiting out here till he arrives?”

  Jesnake nodded but didn’t say anything further. Robert shifted his pack and jerked his head for Paige to follow him as they continued into the dense underbrush, Jesnake disappearing into the dark mist behind them. They forged ahead into the fog for another five minutes or so, the sound of the crickets muffled by the density of the cloud swirling around them. Paige began to wonder just how far out Jesnake had been standing guard when something damp and stringy suddenly slapped her softly in the face.

  “Mind the willow,” Robert chuckled as Paige pushed the branch to the side like a curtain. He held the torch further forward. Paige blinked as her eyes adjusted. The fog seemed to clear ever so slightly.

  It was indeed a willow tree, but to call it ‘huge’ would have been an understatement. It was the size of an Elder tree, at least four stories tall, with a trunk so thick, ten men could have stood hand in hand around it and still not closed the circle. The branches around it draped down in a thick curtain over seven paces thick. The leaves had already turned to yellow but had not yet dropped from their dense veil, so Paige nearly had to swim through them with each step.

  “This is magnificent!” Paige gasped. “I’ve never seen a willow this big!”

  “Aye, not many Willow Elders left in the Wild, but we call it home when something important is on the wind.”

  Robert carefully guided Paige through the curtain and into the clearing by the tree trunk. In the light of the torch, Paige could see a series of wood timbers acting as steps from the base of the large root system and ascending upward around the trunk of the willow. They were solid and sturdy-looking, but Paige guessed by the way the tree had grown around and over the timbers, they had been in place longer than she or Robert had been alive.

  “Up?” she asked.

  Robert nodded. “Welcome to the Willow of the Wild,” he said, taking the first step and offering a hand to Paige. She took it and hauled herself up onto the first step, appreciating the gesture, as her heavy pack threatened to topple her with one off-balance move if she wasn’t careful.

  “How on earth did you find this place?”

  “Dinendale brought us here the first time we banded together. Apparently it used to be a pagan temple of some sort, but it’s been long abandoned.”

  “There were pagans that worshiped the Elder trees back home, but I didn’t know they used temples,” Paige mentioned, feeling the coarse bark under her palm as they continued to ascend the stairs. Since the trunk of the tree was so large, the steps were spaced at a steep incline to keep the ascent as short as possible. Still, Paige could feel her thighs starting to protest, especially after an entire day of walking.

  “They usually don’t, but it’s not like they left a journal for us to read. So we turned it into our meeting point.”

  “How far spread out are you all?”

  “Not far. We each have dwellings about a day’s walk in any given direction. Keeps us from being vulnerable at any given time.”

  “So how did you get the word out to meet so fast?”

  “Pigeons. Broadside keeps a couple here just in case. He probably used them this morning when he arrived.”

  “Pigeons?”

  “For all the innovations your father built at Kapernaum, you never used carrier pigeons?”

  “We didn’t exactly correspond outside the village,” Paige reminded him. Robert nodded as if that explanation made sense to him as he helped haul her up another step. They stood two thirds of the way up the tree. Paige could see the end of the stairs ahead where they connected to a timber-framed deck that vanished over the top of the tree, giant branches looming around it and dipping low to allow the canopy curtain of willow leaves to cascade to the forest floor below. She felt a dull ache in her heart. This was so much like home in so many ways, and she would never see it again.

  Flickering light emanated from beyond the dock. Paige could hear low voices drifting down from the dwelling. Robert reached the top of the landing first, his visage cascaded in dancing yellow light. The murmuring stopped and Robert waved briefly to whomever owned the voices above. He then turned back to Paige, reaching out to help her. Paige grabbed his hand, and he hauled her up and over the last step and onto the deck.

  The sudden change from dark to yellow, dim, tavernesque light was enough to make her eyes strain to refocus. The ancient platform they stood on was polished to a dull ebony from use. A large doorway stood open to them with a spiked stockade wall extending around the top of the tree in either direction from the entry. As she followed Robert through the open doorway, she felt a jolt of surprise nail her feet to the ground. Ahead of them stood a flat, wide expanse the size of a ballroom. Walls ran twelve feet tall, with sharpened sticks at the top and a lofted platform set just tall enough to allow a man to peak over the wall if needed. A set of stairs to her left led up to the battlements, the same peg-style construction that had led up to the top of the willow.

  As they stepped into the enclosure, Paige glanced down and saw that the deck had ended, giving way to the thickest carpet of moss she’d ever seen in her life. It cov
ered the enclosed space like a blanket of snow as smooth and flat as a frozen pond. An assortment of chests, pots, barrels, and shelves of jars lined the walls, and several stacks of spears, swords, bows, and barrels filled with arrows lay scattered about. Several bronze braziers with glowing ember charcoal fires in them crackled and popped to Paige’s right. Around each basin was a square arrangement of wooden and canvas cots, some empty, some with gear cluttering them. The only other piece of furniture in the room aside from these was a large oak table in the center of the circle enclosure, and around it stood three figures.

  The first figure stood at the right end of the table. Or rather, he stood atop a stool at the right end of the table. Broadside now wore a baggy crimson shirt tucked into fur-lined vambraces lashed to his thick arms. Over the shirt he wore a leather vest that was a size too large for his frame. The vest draped comically over his pants, which looked like they were made of thick green wool homespun cloth. The trousers were neatly tucked into cuffed leather boots sporting steel-toed tips that glinted even in the dim yellow light. His arming cap had been topped with a shiny, unadorned steel helm.