by H. A. Harvey
“We don’t know how, most of us. Most that did lost their fight when they saw what they did to your poor husband.” Bridgette swallowed and hung her head, gently stroking David’s few locks of hair that stuck out from her bandages. “Still, Sarai and two men tried when they were shoving us in the cart and chaining the others. They buried them in the field before they left. Dunno why they did that, a dug up field is easy to see as a body, more even. Anyhow, after that, nobody fought back.”
“Bridgette?” Karen cleared her throat softly. “I don’t suppose you remember my brother, Nian? He’s a little taller than me, with sandy hair cut short? Did you see him with those on the chain?”
“No. . .I mean yeah I remember him, but no he’s not on the chain.”
Karen’s heart fell, Nian couldn’t have been one of the two men that fought back. He always avoided conflicts. Even small arguments seemed to cow him into some compromise or another. Still, if they’d been hauling them off to some unknown doom, perhaps he found some well of courage. Karen felt a knot in her stomach thinking of all the stories she had told him of brave knights in the big cities and their deeds. He had always looked up to her. If he’d gotten himself killed trying to be one of her knights. . .
Bridgette’s hand squeezing her own interrupted Karen’s thoughts. “I didn’t mean like that. I mean he wasn’t there when they came.”
Karen sighed, “You’re sure?”
“Yes miss, completely.” Bridgette nodded, “I remember he left before Phoenix-fall. Said he needed some air and he’d be back. I remember ‘cause. . .well I thought he was kinda nice lookin’, and I’d hoped there’d be a lull in the cups so maybe he’d ask me t’ dance. I was wachin’ for him t’ come back, but he hadn’t by the time it all happened. An’ I’d have noticed him in those what were chained up, miss.”
Bridgette flushed a pretty crimson and turned her head away. Karen couldn’t help but manage a feeble smile that she was embarrassed over what seemed so minor a thing in their current circumstance. Karen rested a hand on Bridgette’s upper arm reassuringly.
“You didn’t miss much. Nian can’t dance. He never learned and he’s clumsy as a three legged horse to boot. He’d have stomped your feet into bits.”
Bridgette looked back at Karen and held back a giggle, “I wouldn’t have minded. I guess . . .I guess things are going to be real different now. I don’ know where we’re goin’, but I think foot stomping will sound better’n better.”
Bridgette’s stark reminder broke their brief moment of distraction, and Karen noted to herself that the girl looked like she regretted ending it as much as Karen missed it. The two girls rode on in silence for a while, though they sat each with one hand holding the other’s and another hand keeping contact with David’s still form. Karen shifted back to eyeing her surroundings as they bumped along in the wagon.
They were just entering a bumpy old forest road and, while she didn’t recognize the road, Karen could tell they were entering the Lone Wood. She wondered why there was no guard bringing up the rear, but after a moment noted the reason. She made out a faint mumbling sound coming from the roof of the wagon, and watched behind in dismay as the deep ruts cut by the heavy cart filled back into unbroken earth. As she watched, wagon trail, hoof-prints , and even broken plants vanished into untouched terrain behind them. It was hard to tell the space between the trees had ever been a road.
Bridgette must have seen Karen’s spirits fall at watching the slavers’ trail vanish, for she nodded up toward the ceiling, “He kept it up all night, that mumbling. We didn’t see what it was doing till dawn. I don’t think anyone will be able to find us.”
Karen fought to keep from giving in to despair, but her eyes kept drifting back to the line where the track vanished behind them, erasing any trace of passage. Her one hope had been that Rowan would be able rally help from Highkeep and track them, and as that glimmer faded before her eyes, it was hard not to lose all hope. As though mocking her, a small white bird plucked an acorn from the branches of an oak overhanging the trail and dropped it into her eye-line, just before the line of magic overtook it. She watched in miserable reverie as the acorn split and rooted itself, sprouting a short sprig with tiny leaflets already forming. Anyone who knew trees as Rowan did would see that and know it had been growing for at least a week’s time. Karen felt tears begin to well, and a sob of surrender was forcing its way up her throat.
Seemingly drawn by her sorrow, her little white tormentor swept down and perched on the far rail of the wagon, looking at her. Sorrow turned to irrational anger at the small bird, flaunting its freedom over the doomed carriage passengers. Were she not afraid of jostling David, she would have kicked at the wretched thing. Instead, she just glared.
As she watched, the bird seemed to bob its head back and forth at her. Now its jeering was too much, Karen began to look about for anything, a loose sliver of wood or a shoe, to throw. A low whistle from the bird, carrying almost an admonishing tone, gave her pause. Karen looked back at the bird, taken a little aback. As she watched, it returned to bobbing its head in the same odd manner. As she watched closer, Karen noticed it would meet her gaze, then look down at David’s arm in her lap and back to her again. She slowly became aware of an uncomfortable lump between the weight of David’s elbow and her thigh. Shifting a bit, she reached into the pocket of her apron and drew out Chrysanthemum’s little doll. In a flash, Rowan’s introduction of the charming little wedding gift returned to her mind.
“Roper’s vine from the Kaesan Wilds, and never grows this far Spireward.” Karen whispered, quoting Rowan softly to herself.
Suddenly, the white bird shifted, drawing Karen’s attention back to it. The bird had turned around and was just pulling a sliver of wood from the wagon rail. It looked back at her over its wing before it tossed the sliver out of the cart and took wing into the canopy. Karen stared after it a moment, then she plucked a leaf and bit of stem from the doll’s dress, letting it slip between the slats of the wagon floor. She sat, not daring to breathe as she watched out the back of the wagon. The renewing line reached and passed over the little bit of vine, and like the acorn, it rooted itself and grew into a small curl of vine along the forest floor.
Karen actually let slip a squeal and nearly leapt for joy at the discovery, quieting herself quickly at a warning shout from one of the flanking riders. She realized Bridgette was staring at her, terrified her new friend was going to get them both beaten. Silently, Karen motioned for Bridgette to watch as she plucked another leaf from the doll. Slipping the leaf through the crack at her feet, she pointed out the back of the wagon. Bridgette watched the small leaf spring into a vine, seeing another just like it a few yards before, she clapped a hand over her mouth and looked at Karen with admiration and a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
4
Brewing Storms
Phoenix had just begun her arc across the bright morning sky when Rowan first spied Deepwood Fort from the top of one of the last hills outside the Gateward edge of the Lone Wood. He pointed out the small cluster of watchtowers and the highest floor of the wooden fort in a clearing a few miles beyond the wood’s border.
“We’re nearly there,” Rowan declared. He’d had a somewhat brighter disposition since waking that morning, though no less determined to press on as quickly as possible. “We should be at the fort well before midday.”
Kolel sputtered awake. He’d been dozing in the saddle most of the morning, content to trust Gatefyre to follow Rowan’s hampan bearing the two boys. He drew out a leather tube and peered through the lenses that ran the length of the thing. After a moment he paused, rubbed sleep from his eyes, and looked again.
“Rowan, my friend, how many men did you say this Earl had at the fort?” He queried.
“I never thought of asking them to line up for a good count, but close to a hundred. Only a score or two of that are his men though, the rest are on loan from the king
.”
“Yes, you mentioned as much,” Kolel spoke while still looking through his glass, “And please do not take offense, friend, but you are quite confident in your ability to count to a hundred?”
Rowan scoffed, “I may be a forest child, but I all but grew up with Nian and his father’s tavern. I can count just fine. Why? Is the fort empty? It’s always crawling with at least half of them.”
The Sattal shook his head as he slid his spyglass back into his saddle bag. “Quite the opposite, my friend. It seems something is already brewing at the fort, for there is quite a crowd even outside the gates. We’d best get close enough to take a look before announcing ourselves.”
The trio rode quickly down to the edge of the wood and dismounted. Rather than tether his horse, Kolel stared at Tombo a moment and moved to stand in front of the big creature. Tombo looked down at the Sattal, who smiled back and quite suddenly, lifted his hand palm-up between them. Tombo seemed intrigued, and pantomimed the little feline’s motions, at which point Kolel deposited the reins to his horse in the hampan’s open claw. As Kolel walked over to the boys, Tombo watched after him a moment before looking at the reins, the horse, and then Rowan, making a rather comically high-pitched bleat.
“You played the game, Tombo.” Rowan laughed, “Just keep him safe till we get back.”
As the other two headed into the woods on foot, Nian paused to stare at the two riding beasts, staring at each other over the rein-filled claw. It was quite clear that neither entirely approved of the situation, but both were too well-trained and loyal to be the one to break the uncomfortable bond. He chuckled at the odd sight and jogged after his friends.
As the three closed on the fort, noise and clouds of dust floating through the trees confirmed the crowd Kolel had spoken of long before they could see them. Kolel let his hat drop back over his shoulders to hang by its tether as they started to move from tree to tree, peering ahead before each dash over open space. The general ruckus was so loud, with the ringing of weapons and loud voices, Nian braced himself for his first glimpse of a real battle. Rowan dashed low past him and flung himself against the slope of an embankment. Over the peak of the rise, Nian could see the towers of the fort a hundred yards or so beyond. Whatever was happening, they were about to find out. He and Kolel joined Rowan and the trio slowly peered over the crest of the embankment.
What they saw was no battle, but every bit as chaotic. A collection of dozens of tents, all varying in size and shape from one to the next, lay scattered before the fortress walls. For every tent, there were at least three open air camps scattered around the scene. Hundreds of armed men moved here and there through the camp. Some sitting or sleeping by a fire, others were sparring or brawling, and few of them wearing any colors or uniform of note other than light armor of more makes than Nian knew existed.
“Family keep us!” Kolel exclaimed, “There must be five hundred men here! Most of them mercenaries, by the look of it. I see a few tabards with livery, but only here and there. It is likely that they are squires and young knights out to make a name for themselves.”
Rowan shook his head, “This makes no sense. Why come to the Lone Wood for fame and fortune? Nothing happens up here.”
“Not the Lone Wood, to a lord’s fort on a contested border. This crowd didn’t wander here, they were summoned.” Kolel nodded to himself, “It must have taken weeks or months to attract so many. The earl has been preparing for war, and from the number of mercenaries, I’d wager he plans on starting it as the aggressor. You don’t pay that many men to wait for a siege, especially as a backwater lord.”
“Then we should have no trouble getting men to go after the slavers.” Nian added, encouraged by the army camped before them.
“We shall see.” Kolel seemed unconvinced. “Nian, go back and get the mounts. Rowan and I will report the slavers to the earl.”
“Why?” Nian protested, “It’s my town, and my sister! I should go in!”
“I know how to speak to nobles of every sort, and tell them apart before taking a wrong step. Rowan-Willow knows the fort so I will not blunder about like an idiot.”
“Peace you two.” Rowan interrupted before Nian could think of a retort, “I guided you to the fort, from here, anyone can find the earl’s lodge. It’s the big building in the center. I’ll go for Tombo and the horse, I hate crowds anyway.”
Kolel laughed to himself as Rowan slid down the embankment and trudged off through the trees. He turned to Nian and nodded, setting his hat back atop his head and brushing dirt from his coat.
“Shall we then, master Nian?”
The gates to the fort were open, and inside was only slightly less chaotic than the camp outside. Soldiers and mercenaries moved here and there about more serious business than those outside. Amidst their number, stockmen and smiths rushed to and fro with supplies and wares. The two companions passed a small tavern, perhaps half the size of Nian’s which was full to bursting with men, shouting and cheering at some event within. Eventually they came to the front of a sturdy, square building of thick logs. The first floor of the place stood just over a dozen feet high, with a smaller second story sitting back from the edge of the high first wall.
Before the door and to the side, a slight man with short-cropped black hair, wearing a well-made silk shirt and trousers sat behind a table, a large book open before him with a inkwell to one side and a strongbox at the other. Beside and behind the man at the table, a monolithic figure leaned casually against the heavy wall. He looked much like an Orc, but stood three-quarters the height of the wall behind him, with painful looking bone spurs jutting from his flesh along the ridges of his eyebrows and nearly every joint. One eye stared a cold, blinded white with a pair of matching, star-shaped scars on either side of his head, one by his lower right jaw and the other just over his left temple and blind eye. Nian pulled up short at the sight of the massive thing, a sword taller than a man leaning next to him with equally casual menace.
“An Ogre,” Kolel whispered, trying to sound more reassuring than impressed. “Orcs sometimes have a growth spurt that would kill anyone else, I’m told. The ogres are supposed to be half-mad with the pain of their bone spurs that never stop growing.”
Nian nodded, “I-I know what an Ogre is. . .but I’ve never seen one.” He whispered. “I know this one though, from stories. He has to be. . .I forget the name, Axus or something, but he’s the Scourge of Shaleridge. Twenty years ago he killed a hundred Baedite soldiers there in a day, burnt the place to the ground and lined the walls with the soldiers’ heads. They say he was shot through the head at the beginning of the fight, left the arrow in all the way through the fight.”
Kolel’s eyes narrowed a bit, “Twenty years, you say? If that’s him, we’d best keep clear. That would put him nearing the end of his prime, and any Orc is dangerous at that age. They hate growing old and weak, so look for some glorious way to die before their prime years are over. It makes for wondrous stories, but it tends to be poor luck for those who happen to go down with them, and with an Ogre, that will be no small number.”
Nian strode forward, doubt gone from his mind, “A number like thirty slavers might sound good to him then.”
“Ah, perhaps it would be best if you followed my lead, friend.” Kolel fell into step next to Nian. “To say we were in a bit over our heads would be a fair assessment, but this ground is more familiar to me than you by a good margin.”
Nian wanted to protest, but nodded quietly instead.
“Good, don’t say anything. I will deal with the clerk.”
The man at the table eyed the two as they approached. Dipping his pen and scanning the book, “You’re late, but we can still manage to add to the muster. A foreign knight will receive five silver as a stipend, and a silver a day on march. We do not pay squires.”
“I’m not a squire.” Nian protested before Kolel could elbow him in the ribs. The man’s s
arcastic, superior tone annoyed him to no end.
The man exhaled wearily, “Nor do we pay porters, stable boys, or other lackeys. Their wages you will pay from your own.”
Kolel doffed his cap gallantly, giving an elegant bow. “Apologies, my friend, but I am not here to enlist. My name is Kolel of Ilien, and my companions and I require audience with the earl.”
With another sigh, the man deposited his pen back in its holster, “Concerning what? The Earl of Deepwood is, as you may have guessed, rather occupied.”
“That is a matter for the earl, my friend. However, you may tell him it concerns action along his border into the region of Baeden.”
The dark haired man leveled a cold stare at Kolel and was silent for several moments. At length, he stood and spoke curtly to the ogre as he waved at the Nian and Kolel. “Axios, watch them. You two wait here.”
“Youz got it Malor.” Axios scooped up his big sword and planted its broad tip into the soil at their feet, leaning his forearms on the wide arms of its crossguard to hang his gnarled face in front of them. Meanwhile, Malor vanished through the door into the keep.
Nian watched the strange man disappear before turning to look up at Axios, whose face still hovered a head over his own. “Are you truly the Scourge of Shaleridge?”
“Yeah, or I wuz, a score o’ yearz ago.” Axios snorted back in rough, accented hearthspeak. “Why, youz scared?”
“I don’t have time to be scared.” Nian retorted, “I have to be somewhere.”
The ogre laughed, blasting Nian’s hair back and Kolel’s hat back on its tether. “Ha! Two fearless little squirrelz eh?”
“Two?” Kolel scoffed lightly, “I assure you my friend I am hardly fearless.”
“Really?” Axios snorted, “I know about ten times as many idiots aren’t scared o’ me as doze wut’ll get cheeky wit a wizard. Specully one whut lurned in thuh empoire.”
