by Kel Kade
Aaslo stepped back and waited. A tiny flicker lit near one window and then steadily grew. The light moved to the next window, and Aaslo watched it flash past each level of windows as it descended. A few minutes later, the massive door silently swung inward, and a tiny head wearing a bed cap peeked out from behind. The man was very small, barely rising to Aaslo’s chest. He had narrow features, a pointed nose, and large, startled eyes. He pursed his lips and stared at Aaslo.
Aaslo said, “Greetings. I bring shade in my heart and water in my soul. May I enter?”
Somehow, the little man’s eyes widened farther, and he sputtered, “Yes, yes, m-may the soil bear the fruit of your labors.” He pulled the door open and stood back as his lantern shook in his upraised hand. The little man glanced back toward the others and then blinked up at Aaslo.
Aaslo said, “Is there a place to stable my horse?”
“Ah, yes, Sir Forester. It’s not a stable, as such, but the woods are in the back.”
“You have woods?” Aaslo said, a tiny blossom of hope in his chest.
“Well, not so much as a forest. But we have a small courtyard with several trees. It’s the most trees gathered in one place in all of Tyellí, except for the palace grounds, of course. We have a fountain and a pergola that should do well enough for the horse. Will your men bring him around?” He pointed a finger toward a small gate to one side.
Aaslo looked back at Peck and Mory. Both appeared confused and anxious, but neither made to leave. He wondered why they hadn’t yet disappeared.
Peck gathered Dolt’s reins and said, “We’ll take him to the back and brush him down.”
“They might steal him.”
Aaslo had no idea what the thieves intended, but he figured Dolt would do what he wanted, and there was little Aaslo or anyone else could do to stop him. He nodded toward the thieves and then followed his host into the hovel. It was more spacious than it had appeared from the outside. The ground floor contained several rooms, most of which had furniture for sitting or dining. In the back was a kitchen, and Aaslo could see the “woods” through the window. The loggers union and carpenters guild wrapped around three sides of the courtyard, with the Forester’s Haven at the entrance. Although it was dark in the courtyard, he could see the silhouettes of the two thieves and the horse wandering through the trees.
He turned to inspect the kitchen and found his host staring at him again. The man shook himself, then bent to stoke the fire in the hearth. He threw on another log and then hooked a pot of water on the crane to boil. “I shall make you some tea, Sir Forester. Have you eaten? No? How about some stew? It won’t be long.” He pointed to the hearth with his wooden spoon and said, “The pot’s enchanted. It takes less than half the time to cook than a normal pot.”
Aaslo watched the tiny man move about his kitchen with ease. His host set to gathering vegetables and herbs from the cabinets, then started furtively chopping. The water began to bubble, and he ladled hot water into several cups before adding herbs from a ceramic jar. A subtle tap at the back door announced Peck and Mory’s arrival. His host ushered them into the kitchen and bade them sit at the table with Aaslo. Aaslo wondered why the two were still hanging around, especially since they seemed hesitant to meet his gaze.
Their host paused and took a deep breath as if to center himself. He looked up at Aaslo and said, “I’ve never met a forester. None have come here in all the years I’ve cared for this place. It’s been, oh, fifty … ah … fifty-seven years. Yes, that’s right—fifty-seven. Oh, my Maralee would have been so excited to meet you. She passed away several years ago, but she always told me you would come. When I began to doubt my calling, she would say, ‘No, Galobar, don’t you doubt yourself. The foresters will come, and when they do, they’ll need you.’”
“How do you know I’m a forester?” Aaslo said, and he saw Peck and Mory blinking at him from the corner of his eye.
“Oh, well, I’ve had a few show up over the years claiming to be foresters,” Galobar said as he sliced potatoes into the tiniest chunks and tossed them into the pot. “They’re usually looking for free food or a place to stay, but no one has ever rung the gong. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure it really worked. My master claimed it would, but I don’t think he had ever heard it himself. Nor have any used the formal greeting. My master taught the words to me long ago, but never have I heard them uttered on the lips of a forester. No, not I. This is truly an exciting night.”
He paused in the chopping of his vegetables and said, “Oh, I am so sorry. I’ve forgotten myself. Silence is a virtue. Foresters like solitude and quiet, and here I am talking my head off. What may I do for you, Sir Forester?”
Aaslo said, “I need a place to stay.” He pulled the purse from his belt. “A bath and a meal would be much appreciated, too.”
Galobar held up his hands and said, “No, no! You can’t use that here. This is the Forester’s Haven. It’s paid for by the crown. It’s a monument for the people—to remind us of who the foresters are and why we must respect and revere them.”
“Did you feel revered every time I laid you out during practice?”
“No,” Aaslo grumped. The keeper blinked at him. Aaslo said, “Why? We’re not mythical creatures. We’re men and women who plant trees and help them grow after the loggers cut them down.”
Galobar looked at him in shock. “Oh, no, Sir Forester. You are so much more than that. You may not realize how special you are because, well, it’s who you are, but do not doubt that you are worthy of our reverence. You are all so secretive and aloof, it would be too easy for people to forget.”
Aaslo was unconvinced, but Peck and Mory seemed enthralled with the keeper’s claim.
“Why are the foresters so special?” Mory asked.
“Well, I must say, I feel a little strange talking about the foresters with one sitting right here in front of me.” Galobar nodded to himself. “It’s true that some fantastic tales have grown around the foresters. Some say they’re a kind of fae creature or elves or the like. I even heard a tale claiming there was really only one forester, and he was actually a god that deigned to walk among men to make sure we didn’t destroy the forests he had worked so hard to create.”
“Did you hear that, Aaslo? You’re a god.”
Aaslo nearly joined Mathias in his laughter, but somehow laughing with a ghost seemed wrong. Then again, so did carrying around his best friend’s head.
The keeper continued his discussion of foresters, while Aaslo retreated into the quiet space of his mind. He imagined he was lounging beneath the trees on his back porch, his father sitting silently beside him rocking in his chair and watching the stars twinkle between the swaying branches. He lost himself in the memory and even Mathias was silent. When he finally roused, he realized a significant amount of time had passed. Galobar was gone, and the steamy aroma of stew reached his nose from the bowl in front of him. He reached for his spoon, and Mory jumped.
“S-sorry. I thought you were sleeping with your eyes open,” the boy mumbled.
“Not sleeping,” Aaslo said. “Just caught up in another place and time.”
“For real?” Mory said, his eyes widening.
Aaslo scowled. “Only a memory—like any other. Nothing magical about it.” Turning to Peck, Aaslo said, “Why are you here?”
“Um, we’re eating stew.”
“No, I mean why are you here—with me? Why haven’t you gone home?”
Peck glanced at Mory, then said, “You bought us, so now we’re your men. We do what you want us to do.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t buy you. You can’t buy a person.”
Peck nodded. “Yes, you made a deal with Jago. Paid in full, you said. Our lives for his.”
Aaslo scoffed. “I only said that to get him off your backs. I don’t own you. You’re free to go your own way.”
Mory grabbed Peck’s arm, and Peck shifted anxiously. “Well, you see that’s kind of a problem. You made the deal with Jago, but if
he thinks you’ve let us go, he’ll come after us. He doesn’t recognize our freedom, only your protection. He’s afraid of you.”
“Then, why don’t you leave Tyellí? Wouldn’t it be worth your freedom?”
“Where would we go? What would we do?” said Peck. “If we go anywhere else, we’ll just end up under someone else’s thumb. I don’t know how to do anything but thieving.”
“You feed them once and they never leave.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do with you?” said Aaslo.
“Your bath is ready, Sir Forester.” Aaslo turned to see Galobar beckoning him toward the stairs.
He scarfed down the last few bites of his stew, collected his pack, and left the table. He could feel the thieves’ gazes on his back. He turned and said, “Eat, bathe, rest. We’ll discuss this further in the morning. If you rob me or this house, I’ll find you.”
Peck and Mory adamantly shook their heads, but he caught them grinning at each other as he ascended the stairs.
“How much of this house do you think they’ll be able to clear out while you and Galobar sleep?”
“I hope the crown will cover the cost,” Aaslo mumbled.
“Not good, Aaslo. The first forester to visit the Forester’s Haven brings thieves with him.”
“What was I supposed to do? I can’t kick them out now. That crazy Jago is likely to kill them.”
“Since when is that your problem?”
“It’s what you would do.”
The voice fell silent, and Aaslo knew his words to be true. Mathias would have helped anyone who needed him.
CHAPTER 9
A white marble fountain stood in the center of the square at the front entrance of the palace. Despite the unreasonable heat that morning, the center square was bustling with patrons, merchants, and city officials. Shops lined three sides of the square, and a ten-foot wall topped with iron spikes occupied the fourth. A massive iron gate manned by four palace guards stood opposite the fountain.
Aaslo urged his horse forward. Upon reaching the feature of glistening blue water, Dolt refused to heed Aaslo’s command to stop and instead hopped over the fountain’s rim to stand beneath the frothy spray. He then proceeded to flick the water with his tail, flinging it several paces in every direction, seemingly delighted by the patrons’ protests. Aaslo tumbled onto the fountain’s ledge as he gracelessly dismounted while scolding the horse. Shouts from the crowd echoed his own, except that they were directed at him. By the time Aaslo had his feet firmly on the ground, two city guards had joined him.
“What do you think you’re doing? Get that horse out of the fountain!” said the first, a brown-haired fellow with a thick mustache and a dimpled chin.
“Oh, you’re in trouble now.”
“Can’t you see that I’m trying?” Aaslo muttered. “The infernal beast does what he wants.”
“Well, he’s your responsibility, and you’ll be paying for any damages. If you don’t get him out of there right now, we’ll have to arrest you for disturbing the peace.”
A crowd started to form, and Aaslo wanted to get away before attracting any more attention. He said, “All right, how about you help me get him out, and then we can both be on with our business.”
The guard drew a baton from his belt and pointed it at Aaslo. “Do I look like a stable hand?”
“Actually, he kind of does.”
“Stable hands are usually bigger,” Aaslo muttered.
The guard stepped forward. “What did you say?”
Dolt snorted, turned his massive head, and nabbed the second guard’s hat from his head. The young man shouted and hastily reached for the cap, but Dolt dodged the attempt with a pleased nicker. The crowd roared with laughter as the young guard toppled into the fountain.
Aaslo turned to the first guard with a heavy sigh, crossed his arms, and said, “Doesn’t matter your position. You’re a man, and a man can choose to make things more difficult, or he can choose to help. In the choosing, he decides what kind of man he wants to be.”
“More sage forester wisdom?” called a familiar voice. Aaslo turned to find the marquess’s party watching the display from atop their mounts. “It seems your horse is up to his usual antics.”
Dolt turned as if he knew they were speaking of him. He abruptly vacated the fountain and plodded over to nip at the tail of his former acquaintance. The other horse was again disquieted by the attention and summarily sent its rider crashing to the ground. The patrons jeered while the marquess’s guard collected himself and hollered epithets. The marquess watched the scene with apathy, but laughter danced in his eyes.
The marquess’s servant tapped two hollow metal shafts together, causing them to ring louder than the boisterous crowd. He called over the din, “The Most Honorable the Marquess of Dovermyer.”
The crowd hushed, and then everyone was bowing—everyone but Aaslo. He glanced around and suddenly felt awkward to be the only one standing erect in the presence of the marquess. He decided that a belated bow would be even more uncomfortable, so he stood his ground with a scowl.
“You rebel. Still seeking the noose, are you?”
“If it’s not a noose, then it’s a thief,” Aaslo muttered.
“What are you going on about now?” said the marquess. “Has someone robbed you?”
“This city is full of thieves,” Aaslo replied. “But I got back what was taken.”
“And then some.”
“I am pleased to see you standing here well enough, then. I hear tell that some of these thieves can be quite brutal.” The marquess tilted his head to examine Aaslo. “It seems you did not escape unscathed.”
Aaslo brushed his fingers across the sore spot on his split scalp. Although it no longer bled, the injury was bold enough to stand out from his hairline. He said, “I’ll live.”
“Quite so,” said the marquess, “but did the thieves?”
“The noose grows tighter.”
Aaslo said nothing, and the marquess hummed under his breath. Glancing toward his frustrated guardsman, the marquess said, “Perhaps I should hire you to train my guards.”
With Dolt’s reins in hand, Aaslo yanked the horse away from the poor man. “I’m not a soldier. You know that.”
“I’m not sure that I do, Sir Forester. You seem qualified to me.”
Aaslo’s stomach churned with the marquess’s use of the title. A wave of chatter rushed through the crowd of onlookers, who suddenly appeared hungry. People were jostled as others pushed forward to see the forester on display, and his personal space began to shrink. Aaslo wished Dolt would dash through the crowd and drag him away. The horse turned to look at him as if to ask if he was serious.
“May I address the Most Honorable the Marquess?” said the city guardsman.
The marquess looked to the man and said, “What is it?”
The guardsman straightened and said, “Shall we arrest this man?”
“I am almost inclined to allow it,” said the marquess.
“What? Why?” said Aaslo.
“If you are arrested, perhaps I can convince the king to sentence you to service in Ruriton.”
Aaslo crossed his arms and said, “More likely he’ll scold you for allowing a forester to be mistreated.”
The marquess sighed dramatically and said, “Yes, you are probably correct. You foresters are so very fragile.”
Mathias burst into laughter, and Aaslo was almost glad of it. How he missed that sound.
Aaslo glanced at the marquess’s guards, a couple of them still sporting bruises. He said, “Your guards can attest to our fragility.”
The marquess’s expression sobered. “Indeed. They have rigorous training in their futures.”
“They should’ve had Cromley.”
“Cromley wouldn’t put up with them.”
“Marius Cromley?” said the marquess’s guard captain, Greylan. He suddenly appeared much more interested in the conversation.
Aaslo didn’t like that Greyla
n knew Cromley’s name. Cromley had once served in the army, he knew, but hadn’t been anyone of note—or so Aaslo had thought. If Magdelay was the high sorceress, though, and Mathias the chosen one, then it stood to reason that Cromley was more important than he knew. Electing once again to remain silent, Aaslo maintained his stubborn poise, but the marquess and Greylan shared a suspicious glance. The name Cromley was whispered among the other guards, and even the city guardsmen were looking at him strangely.
“What are you doing here, Marquess?” Aaslo said, knowing it would elicit a reaction. The redirection seemed to work, as the crowd gasped and chattered about the informal address and his questioning of the marquess. The soldiers seemed ruffled and tense.
The marquess smirked and said, “You do love to push the bounds, and so eloquently done, I might add. With every detail, things begin to make more sense and less. Perhaps this is not the appropriate venue for discussion, though. To answer your question, the news is all over the city—a forester came to call at the Forester’s Haven. Naturally, I thought it to be you, so I paid the haven a visit. The keeper said you had inquired about the palace, and so here we are.”
It was Aaslo’s turn to smirk. “You do realize that the marquess just publicly admitted to personally following me about the city.”
The marquess rolled his eyes. “Yes, but I knew if I sent a summons, you would not answer it. Therefore, I had to come to you. You foresters are a privileged lot.”
Aaslo huffed. “You can keep your privilege. I’m here to deliver a message, and then I’m done.”
The marquess grinned. “Excellent. I happen to remember you promising to assist me with a little problem once your task was completed. It seems my efforts have not gone to waste. To where must we deliver this message?”
Aaslo motioned over his shoulder. “There. My message is for the king and none other.”
The marquess looked to the palace, then rested his gaze on Aaslo for longer than was considered polite. All mirth had departed, and the prospect of news that had not yet been delivered by the mysterious forester seemed to weigh heavily upon the man. The marquess glanced at the crowd and then whispered something to his servant. The servant clapped the metal tubes together again and hollered, “Clear the square! By order of the Most Honorable the Marquess of Dovermyer, clear the square!”
