by H. A. Harvey
“It’s not just short, Ni, it’s brown, stubby an’ brown is about as ugly as you can get among our folk. Generally means you’re poor, or came up in bad surroundings, maybe both.”
Nian sank back onto the grass dejectedly, “Wow. . .thanks for buttering that bit of burnt bread for me. I was mostly kidding but. . .well wow. So I’m your ugly friend huh?”
“Aw, don’t go all wilty on me. You know I don’t waste time painting arrows. . .I say what is is all. And with Chrys. . .you really don’t have a shot. You’re like a brother anyway, from a human point of view, we have that in common with you humans, it’d be weird. Speaking of sisters, Karen’s wedding is tomorrow, right?”
Nian nodded rather than answering as he stared up at the sky. He was still unsure how to feel about his sister getting married. Karen, his elder by two years, had always been adventurous, and made no secret of her intent to travel when she came of age. Even as she entered her early teens, she began hiring out, driving carriages to the Gateward markets for several of the local farmers, both to put aside money and to see more of the surrounding country.
Then their father fell ill, and she took over running the family tavern. It was not long before healers, herbalists, and alchemists had depleted her meager savings, and despite Nian’s efforts to earn added income as he grew older, their family seemed to slide farther and farther into debt. Finally, Karen provided a solution. David Brighthold, whose family owned more than half the local farmland, had always fancied her, and by agreeing to marry him, Karen secured the wealth needed to clear their family debts and care for their father as long as needed. It wasn’t that David was a bad man, quite the opposite, he was among the most-loved gentlemen around the community. However, he was as married to Longmyst as Karen was about to be to him, and neither of them would venture beyond the Gateward markets.
Finally, he sighed, “Ro, are you sure you can’t stay for the dinner? I’d like to have one person there that wasn’t just coming to suck up to my new brother-in-law. I hear they’ve got a whole barrel of Gatefield mead they plan on draining.”
Rowan let out a low whistle, “You know how to sweeten the pot, friend, but no. I have to make it up to the lumber camp by midday tomorrow. I couldn’t even have stopped off for the morning if I didn’t have Tombo here.”
Nian snorted as he sat up and pitched a small stone over the cliff edge, “I figured it’d be worth a shot.”
The two sat and chatted for another hour as Phoenix climbed higher in the sky and the mist drained slowly from the town below, finally revealing the silent flow of folk moving here and there along the cobbled streets. Spireward, the cold Spireguard Mountains stood stark on either side of the Frosthold as it flowed down through Caer Dunan Pass. At length, the beast Tombo roused himself and nuzzled his master.
“Right, I suppose it is time we start getting on.” Rowan sighed and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “C’mon, Tombo and I’ll give ya a ride down to town.”
Nian blanched visibly, “I dunno Ro. . .”
“Oh don’t be a ninny. We both climb up here every time I come by since we were ten. Tombo could out-climb both of us while he was carrying a bag of gold.”
“Yeah? When have you ever had a bag of gold?”
“Stop arguing and climb on.”
With a sigh, Nian realized that he was utterly trapped and walked over to the waiting hampan. He gazed over the array of knotted ropes running all around the creature’s torso. “You guys have something against a saddle?”
“Only that you’d fall right off of one on a hampan,” Rowan laughed, “The harness lets you shift depending on how the hampan’s moving. High on the shoulders if its running overland, low on the back for climbing, and on the chest when it goes through heavy brush. See?”
Rowan stepped up onto the hampan’s hip and slid his fingers through behind a knot over its shoulder blade. He then reached down to haul Nian up next to him, who promptly scrambled and slid about trying to find purchase on the tight harness. After a few moments, he managed to anchor the toes of his boots in the harness and grasp a few looser cords at the creature’s collar. Finally somewhat settled, Nian shrugged and smiled at Rowan.
“Okay, I guess this isn’t so bad.”
Rowan grinned back, “Time for the fun part, hold tight.”
Before Nian had a moment to object, Tombo lurched forward and carried the trio out into the gaping abyss beyond the cliff edge. A large, curved, blunt claw trailed along the loose soil at the top of the cleft, finding purchase on solid stone at the very edge and swinging them down into the cliff face where the hampan splayed it’s limbs to hook crevices hidden along the stony face. The long, heavy tendrils of Rowan-Willow’s pine-green, vine-like hair whipped about in the updraft along the cliff as he hung out precariously far on the beast’s back, joyously shouting praises that were drowned by the fierce roar of the falls. Meanwhile, Nian clung in terror so tightly to the hampan’s back that his ruddy clothing and dusty brown hair might easily be mistaken for a mottled patch of fur on Tombo’s back. The large, long-limbed primate moved with unhurried, deliberate movements along the cliff face that propelled it deceptively fast down the length of the two-hundred foot plummet.
When a score of feet still remained in the descent, the hampan responded to a tug on his harness, tossing itself free of the cliff face. The bundle of fur and passengers plummeted, turning in the air until Tombo landed, his claws curled into tight, rock-like balls that drove deep into the sandy shore. The impact of the great beast sent a geyser of sand and water up about them, and Rowan leaned his head back to let the debris shower across his face on its return to earth.
“There really is no finer way to travel. Don’t you agree, Ni? . . .Ni?”
Nian gave no answer for several moments, his white-knuckled grip still pressing him tightly against Tombo’s back. Rowan dropped lithely to the ground and nudged is friend’s ankle, producing a muffled protest before the other slowly lifted his head, moist sand crumbling and falling free. As he started to look around and get his bearings, the hampan suddenly gave a violent shake, hurling free both the caked-on sand, and his remaining passenger. Nian landed with a thump and groaned as he pushed himself to his feet.
“I feel like I’ve been shaken half to bits. . .and if we’d landed any harder, I woulda cracked my skull on that shoulder blade of his.” Nian complained.
“Well, that’s your own fault, you’re too rigid. . .you have to loosen your limbs. Grip tight, but the rest of you has to be like a spring sapling.”
Nian chuckled ruefully, “Well right now I feel more like a spring rug, well-beaten and needing to be hung out to dry.”
The young man dusted off more sand and rung out the hem of his shirt. The two shared a laugh as they wandered toward the old stone bridge that spanned the brief stretch of river between the falls and Longmyst Lake. The bulky Tombo lumbered along behind them, his movements deceptively awkward and slow looking compared to his agile motion only moments before.
“So,” Nian said, “You’re heading out then?”
Ro nodded, “Right after I see your sister. You didn’t think Chrys would let me swing by without a wedding gift, did you?”
“Oh, yeah? What’d you bring?”
“Well, when it’s your present, you get to see it first.”
Nian continued to hound his friend all the while as they wound through the small lake town. On every street, the traffic cut a wide berth around the two boys and the large primate sauntering along behind them. Their banter continued unabated until they emerged onto a small grass commons across from the family’s tavern. Quite suddenly, Nian ground to a halt so sharply that Tombo bustled into him from behind and sent the boy sprawling onto the lawn.
Nian barely noticed, for his gaze was fixed upon a group of riders tethering their mounts in front of the tavern. A small, heavily armed company of three men and one woman stood out s
tarkly from the general traffic on the street. One large Orc bearing a great winged axe across his back was flanked by two Human men wearing straight short swords, the elder wore a weathered leather strap over his left eye. All three were garbed in heavy hauberks of linked steel chain.
The fourth stood in heavy contrast with the others, a slight wand of a woman, only a little more than a girl, who stood a head shorter than any of her companions. She did not wear the heavy chain as did her fellows, but a bodice and studded skirt of grey leather. A light, curved blade nestled across the small of her back, and a quiver hung from her hip, while the arms of an elegant bow of black briar and white horn ran along her back from just above her heel to well over her head. The girl’s feet were unshod and her legs below the knee and arms displayed smooth, impossibly white skin painted with irregular streaks of black. Her shoulder length hair hung loose in a feathered cut, and deep crimson locks all seemed to end in bright gold, giving the impression of autumn leaves. It was undoubtedly this last stranger that had given Nian pause.
“Who do you think that is?” He whispered as he stumbled to his feet.
“Amazing amounts of trouble, I’d assume, and way more than you can handle.” Rowan replied with a chuckle and gave a nod at the group. “That Dryad is with a group of mercenaries, which is strange, since Dryads are never mercenaries. . .shifting loyalties aren’t in their nature. More than that, you see the silver medallions she’s wearing on her choker and on the brooch of the one with an eye patch? Those mean they’re not just any mercenaries, they’re wolves. And lastly, that colored ring around her medallion means she’s in charge of the others, like an officer.”
“Officer?” Nian asked incredulously, “But she can’t be older than me, maybe by a year at the most.”
Rowan guffawed and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “You really need to leave this village sometime, Ni. Dryads are Fae, once they’re grown, they don’t age for like a hundred years. Even then, they can ‘look’ young if they want. She could be fifty years older than us and she’d look like that. Besides, this one’s trouble, not just a mercenary, but travelling at all is hardly ever heard of among Dryads. I’d wager she’s some other Fae passing off as one to keep people off guard. Just best to keep clear.”
“Right, keep clear.” Nian was already shambling across the lawn, his feet obviously of a different mind than his mumbled speech. “After all, you’re the expert on woodland folk. . .and trouble, wouldn’t want any of that.”
Rowan sighed and shook his head as he watched disapprovingly. He leaned back against Tombo’s side for a moment before sighing and following across. Tombo fell in step behind Rowan until his master waved him off, at which point he resigned himself to taking up a sentry nap in the shade of the small stand of apple trees that marked the midst of the commons.
Nian strode briskly across the lawn only to pull up short at the edge of the grass where he stood staring at the Dryad, suddenly very confused. Perhaps he’d expected Rowan to tackle him before he crossed the lawn, or for the commons themselves to reveal some hidden fissure gone unnoticed the sixteen years he’d lived across from it and swallow him up. The only certainty was that he had somehow not expected to get this close and had absolutely no plan as what to do from here.
Before Nian could decide what should happen next, it did. His view of the strange girl was suddenly blocked by the shadow of the large Orc as he glared down at the boy and growled a few syllables of some deep, guttural tongue. When Nian failed to respond, the Orc gave him a hard shove, and seemed nearly as surprised as the boy was himself when he managed to keep his feet. The older Human laughed from the side of the Orc. Whether he had arrived during the discussion, or simply not been noticed next to the Orc, Nian wasn’t sure.
“He asked what you want.” The man translated. “Turev here understands Hearthspeak just fine, but says it feels too soft in his mouth.”
“I-uh,” Nian swallowed, his brain was twice muddled, once by the Dryad and now staring up at the Orc’s sour face framed on either side by the horns of his massive axe. “Uh, I mean, I was going to ask th-that same thing.”
The faces of both men darkened, “What makes that any business of yours?” The one-eyed one said.
“Ah, your pardon, sir,” Nian started to find his tongue and fell into the role of host more out of default than any real plan, “B-but family business. My name is Nian Cartwright, we own this tavern . . . I’m sure you need stabling for your horses, yes?”
Nian saw the one-eyed man starting to form a protest and his habit as an innkeep’s son completely took over. “Fortune brought you on a fine night, food and drink will be free this evening, and plenty of it. We’ve prepared a banquet to honor my sister’s wedding on the morrow. All comers are welcome. Your rooms and the stabling for the horses will still need to be paid, but the Gatefield mead alone will make up for that after a couple mugs.”
Nian smiled. It was his normal, boyish, welcoming smile, but inwardly he could see he had them now. His father always told him men on the road never have enough to eat, and a soldier can’t pass a free drink. His grin turned to a beam as their conversation brought the girl over.
“No need, we won’t be here long. We need to resupply and catch the others before dusk.”
The Orc looked as crushed as Nian felt. If they weren’t staying, he wouldn’t get any chance to speak to her and that is exactly what he suddenly realized he wanted to do. Or more precisely, to hear her speak. Her voice was like wind through the evening woods, soft but strong, and he felt certain he could hear it from a mile away as sure as though she stood as close as she did now.
“Well,” Nian countered, thinking quickly, “We have farmers bringin’ in all sorts of goods for the party . . . I could send a runner to have a few bring what you need extra. Besides, I know who has the best prices around, and you can have your horses fed and refresh yourselves in the shade here instead of riding all around town. And while you wait, you can honor me by drinking to my sister’s health.”
The Dryad stared at Nian with the flattest, blankest stare he had ever seen. The Orc muttered in her direction in his odd speech, and her eyes shifted to the man with the patch, who snickered slightly at the plaintive tone in the Orc’s voice.
“It sounds like it’d save us a few coins, and a boat load of time . . . not to mention the drinks.”
The Dryad’s flat stare now focused on the eye patch, and his mirth quickly wilted. She finally spoke as she turned back to Nian.
“Drink, not drinks. One pint each, and a hot meal, but we will pay, since we won’t be here for your sister’s banquet. We will even let you keep half of what you save us if your runner can gather the things we need.”
“You won’t be disappointed, I promise miss. . .?”
“Autumn.”
“Autumn,” Nian parroted with an ear to ear grin, “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll see to the horses and bring out your meals.”
Nian trotted off to untie the horses as Rowan, a silent observer in all this, fell in beside him. As he helped untie the Orc’s big destrier, “Your inn doesn’t have any runners.”
“Yeah. . .that’s where you and Tombo can really help me out.”
“What? Nian, I’ve gotta get going. I can’t chase around town all afternoon.”
“Rowan! Please.” Nian shot a desperate glance back at the mercenaries as they propped their weapons against the apple trees and seated themselves in the shade, drawing an annoyed look from Tombo as his spot became decidedly more crowded. “Look, Miller Dobbs is bringing in a bunch of sweet buns, and they’ll want hard cake. Then the others are pretty much on the way up the hill anyway, farmer Rawlings keeps a stock of dried meat for the militia patrols, and if they need bandages or bags, the tannery and sac house are on the landing past the curve of the high road, so that puts you on the Spireward edge of town, and you can head out from there. Everybody in town wants an excus
e to ‘drop in’ on my sister and her future husband, so you don’t have to bring a thing back, just tell ‘em what to bring.”
Rowan started to protest but found himself just laughing, “You really do know how to work this town. Who knew it just took a pretty girl to unlock your inner merchant?” He held up a finger as he walked toward the mercenaries, “I’ll bet you a dozen buckskins against one flagon of ale that she’s actually seventy years old.”
. . .
“I can’t just sit about and do nothing!” Karen tossed a frustrated glance back over her shoulder at David as she scooped a trio of empty mugs from a table with one hand and set their replacements down with the other. Her long, raven hair was pulled back into a loose braid that arced and twirled along behind her in an oddly hypnotic dance.
Karen’s hair was one thing in which she took girlish pride. Her love of sweets, hearty meat, and a combination of loading wagons for market and dashing off on thoroughly un-ladylike trips into the woods left her with a build that she always thought was a bit too stocky next to the delicate beauties about town. Her friend Celia often poked fun of her “man shoulders”, but even Cel’s curly tresses of spun gold didn’t hold a candle to Karen’s hair. Unbraided, it fell low enough to touch her thighs and her mother used to say it was “Fairy-blessed”, as Karen’s was quite possibly the only head of hair that stayed presentable during the heaviest humid fogs that frequented Longmyst. She could curl up in her tresses and sleep in a pile of leaves, but bound into town with its dark, lustrous life curving its way along behind her like a cloak. While Karen honestly didn’t put much stock in looking pretty, and never really had plans to marry before recently, she still loved the green tinge that grew in other girls’ complexions whenever they eyed her hair.
David strode after his fiancé and took the empty mugs, having to tug them free of Karen’s protesting grasp, diminishing the gallantry of the gesture.
“Karen, your mother is no stranger to running this place, and I’ve all my father’s kitchen staff here tonight, as well as half a dozen girls from out of town to help serve. There’s no cause to work yourself to death the night before our wedding. Step back, have a drink yourself, play the hostess and mistress of the house for a bit. . .you might even enjoy yourself.”
