by Hooke, Isaac
He paused occasionally to move deeper into the woods in search of food. He found berries and mushrooms. He caught a hare, and cleaned the animal before cooking it. He salted the extra meat and stored it in the appropriate saddlebag.
He continued his journey, eventually emerging from the woods at a small village in the early afternoon.
Welcome to Abe’s Wood, a sign read. Smoke wafted cheerily from the chimneys of several quaint buildings.
A short fence enclosed the place, and at the main entrance the poorly-armed guards let him pass without issue.
He made his way to the tavern. Bold letters over the door proclaimed the place The Guzzler’s Delight.
“My kind of place,” Malem murmured. “Nothing like a good mid-afternoon’s drink to wake one out of their traveling stupor.”
He secured his iguanid to the provided hitching post mostly for show—the lizard would never run away. It was a good thing there were no horses, or the animals would have been spooked. Not that he couldn’t remedy that, though today he just wasn’t in the mood.
A man walking by paused to gawk. “Nice mount! How much did that thing set you back?”
“I got it for free,” Malem said.
“For free?” the man said. “How in Creation— you won him in a wager?”
“Something like that.” Malem entered the bar with Felipe on his shoulder.
There were only a few patrons at this early hour. The members of one table—looked like a traveling merchant and his wife—were eating roast mutton. At another table, several locals gambled.
A strongman next to the door held out a hand.
“Can’t let you bring the monkey in,” the strongman said.
Malem shrugged. He glanced at Felipe and sent the mental order, making a clicking sound for the benefit of the strongman; the capuchin lowered its head in disappointment and promptly leaped down, dashing outside.
The strongman peered past the swinging doors. “Well-trained.” He held out his hand. “Your sword.”
Malem glanced at the collection of weapons in the rack behind the strongman, swords and maces and morning stars, obviously relieved from the other patrons. Malem shrugged, unsheathed his sword from his back scabbard, and handed it over.
The strongman racked the sword. “Any other weapons?”
Malem shook his head. He wasn’t about to mention the hidden dagger strapped to his ankle. The strongman nodded toward the common area, indicating he could enter.
Malem approached the bar. A middle-aged woman in a tight corset that emphasized her hips and ample bosom was the barkeep today. She had long black hair, and a face that could best be described as handsome. Her nose was a bit crooked for his tastes, but Malem would have still bedded her, like eighty percent of the female population.
“Well hello, young pup,” she said, biting her lower lip suggestively. “What can I do to you? Er, for you?”
Malem grinned amiably. “Your finest mead would be nice.”
She looked him up and down. Her eyes lingered on the shoulder hole in his jacket before returning to his face. “I doubt you could afford it.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll settle for your worst,” Malem said.
She promptly filled a tankard with foaming ale and dropped it on the table. The hinged lid slammed shut, preventing the foam from overflowing.
“That’ll be two drachmae,” the barkeep said.
Malem reached into his pouch and slapped the requested coins down onto the countertop. She promptly slid them off the counter and the coins jingled into a money pot.
He flipped the hinged lip and quickly took a sip before the foam spilled over. He grimaced. “Definitely your worst. But it’ll do.”
He took a long gulp, doing his best to ignore the sour flavor. Then he set down the mug and glanced at the gamblers, wondering if he should join in whatever card game they were playing. With Felipe’s help, he could have spied on their hands. It was too bad the strongman had barred the monkey. Maybe Malem could sneak the animal in…
He sensed the presence of animals outside, approaching at a trot. Probably horses drawing a merchant caravan. The mind of one of them seemed slightly more complex than the others, but that could be expected from highly intelligent creatures like horses. The animals pulled up next to the inn, according to his sense.
A moment later he registered a sudden sensation of annoyance from Bounder. That usually happened in towns when children or other unwanted admirers got too close.
Malem was about to ask the barkeep to watch his drink so he could check on the iguanid when the swinging doors slammed open and a squat man appeared at the entrance. He was dressed in the bright robes of a garment dealer. A traveling one, judging from the soiled sandals—no local dealer would have dared show his face in public with shoes like that. He was unarmed.
The merchant rested his hands on his expansive girth as he surveyed the patrons. He loudly cleared his throat, causing every eye to swivel his way. “Whose animal is that?”
Malem remained quiet. He took another sip from his drink.
“I’d like to buy it,” the merchant announced.
“He’s not for sale,” Malem said.
The merchant’s eyes alighted on him and he smiled patiently. “Name your price. I must have it.”
“Really?” Malem said. He knocked back his drink and slammed the mug down on the table. “I could probably let it go for a million drachmae.”
“Preposterous!” the merchant said.
“Exactly.” Malem turned his back on the man and gestured at the barkeep. “Another.” He dropped another two drachmae on the table, which the barkeep promptly scooped up. She refilled the mug and set it down in front of him.
He heard the swinging doors again behind him, and a subtle perfume tickled his sensitive nose. Curiosity got the better of him and he glanced over his shoulder toward the source.
A woman stood there, her presence regal, commanding. The lower half of her face was covered by a blue, slightly translucent mask that hung over the bridge of her nose, bandit-style, so that only her forehead and her eyes were visible. The latter were almond-colored, at odds with the straw-colored locks that framed her face in bouncing curls. A red bonnet topped her head, and silver filigree earrings, shaped like interlocking claws, hung from her lobes.
A tight red dress outlined her hourglass waist, with a bodice trimmed in gold lace. Simple silver rings shone from her fingers, matching the wide metallic bracelets that covered either wrist. She wore simple traveler’s sandals on her dainty feet. The shoes looked just as sturdy as his own.
Malem completely forgot the beer, the barkeep who had prepared it, the merchant, and in fact the entire tavern. He had eyes only for her. He could see the faintest outline of her high cheekbones behind that mask, and knew her beauty must be something to marvel at.
But it wasn’t her potential looks and figure that had him transfixed, though both admittedly had their allure.
No, it was the fact that he could sense her. She was one of the presences he had dismissed as a horse, earlier.
He felt that familiar swirl of textures and scents and colors that all animals had, representing her thoughts, emotions, and current state of mind.
That was impossible. The minds of people were always shut out to him. Always.
Unless…
“What are you?” Malem whispered.
She hadn’t yet noticed him, her eyes still taking in the rest of the tavern, but she cocked her head slightly at his words and her gaze immediately shot toward him.
Somehow, she had heard, though she was well across the room.
The woman stepped toward him, and the merchant followed at her side, slightly behind her.
“Is that your iguanid?” the woman asked when she reached him.
“Who wants to know?” Malem said.
“I am Abigail,” she said imperiously. “And you?”
“Malem.” He pointed at the merchant. “You guys related?”
&
nbsp; “She is my passenger,” the merchant said. “I take on customers, now and again. When they can pay.”
“Is that your animal?” she repeated.
Malem nodded slowly.
Abigail studied him uncertainly. “Those are the mounts of the Tempests. You don’t look, or talk, like a Tempest.”
“Probably because I’m not,” Malem agreed.
“I must have that animal,” the merchant said. “Tell him.”
Abigail ignored the man. “And how did you happen to acquire a Tempest mount?”
Malem shrugged. “Maybe I stole it.”
Her eyes bored into his for several long moments, and he stared back defiantly, unwilling to break that steely gaze.
She gave him a final once-over with her eyes, then spun about, pirouetting almost like some dancer, and promptly headed for the door.
“I can offer you fifty silver drachmae,” the merchant said when she was gone.
Malem ignored the man, and instead stared at the doors until they ceased swinging. He reached out, searching for her.
There.
He could sense her, moving away from the tavern. She paused beside his iguanid for a few moments before continuing on her way.
Malem had a sudden mischievous thought. If he could feel her presence just like he could a beast’s, could he not also wrap his will around hers?
He reached out, extending his mind around hers, but was unable to get a firm hold and she slipped out of his grasp. It was like trying to grapple with the mind of a monster.
He was about to try again when suddenly his sense of her was ripped away, just as if she had slammed closed a mental door on him. Malem flinched as the severed connection boomeranged back on him; it felt almost like being slapped in the face.
Not fun.
“Fine, seventy drachmae?” the merchant pressed.
Malem turned his attention to the man. “Seventy drachmae? So you can sell it in the next town for seven hundred drachmae? No thanks. I know the value of my steed.”
The merchant threw up his arms in mock frustration. “Your loss. One hundred, my final offer.”
Malem turned around and grabbed his drink. “Piss off.” He took a long draft and finished the mug.
When he heard the swinging doors behind him, he spun around to lean against the counter. He couldn’t see the merchant any longer, and he thought it best not to leave Bounder unattended, at least at the moment.
He glanced at the barkeep, who blew him a kiss, and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” she said.
He retrieved his sword from the strongman at the entrance, slid it into the scabbard, and then stepped outside. The merchant’s caravan was already trotting away. Three horse-drawn carriages, with an equal number of drivers, one of them the merchant. Four mercenaries in chainmail provided escort. As he watched the caravan go, his eyes fell on the final carriage. From the window, Abigail was peering out. She promptly shut the inner blinds when his eyes met hers.
Malem shook his head. Felipe crawled onto his shoulder, and he glanced at the monkey. “Who the hell was that?”
Felipe squeaked some incomprehensible reply.
He had originally intended to drop by the victualer to pick up some extra curing salt, and then visit the apothecary to buy more healing balm, but he wanted to know who that woman was. Or rather, what.
So Malem changed his plans. He was leaving. Now.
As he unhitched his iguanid from the post, an overexcited passerby peppered him with questions about the mount.
“What kind of animal is that?” the man said. “Where did you get it? It looks like a big lizard! How much did it cost? Can it really carry your weight? Can it fight? What do you feed it?”
Bounder, sensing Malem’s agitation with the man, abruptly chomped down on the individual before Malem could stop the iguanid. At the same time, Felipe vaulted across and poked him in the eye.
Malem spent the next half hour dealing with the city guard. He ended up paying off both the guards and the bite victim with the last of his drachmae, as well as parting with a good portion of his healing balm to mend the bite marks on the man’s leg.
“Nicely done, you two,” Malem scolded the animals as he mounted Bounder. “Why can’t you do that when bandits attack?”
By then the caravan was long gone. Even so, he couldn’t get the strange woman from his thoughts. He rode west at a gallop, in the same direction the caravan had gone; the guards near the fence didn’t try to stop him as he raced past.
He arrived at the eaves of the forest. The path forked north and south as it went inside, with wagon grooves rutting the earth in either direction. It wasn’t obvious which way his quarry had gone.
He reached out with his mind, searching for her, but found only other animals. It was possible she was nearby, but blocking him.
Before making his choice, he paused to look at the village one last time. What was he doing chasing some random woman into the woods, simply because he thought he had sensed her for a few seconds? He’d probably imagined it. Her beauty had sent hormones raging throughout his body, no doubt triggering the part of his mind responsible for his beast sense. Dazzled by her beauty, he’d momentarily mistaken Bounder’s mental presence as belonging to her. That had to be it.
Except he knew that wasn’t true.
Still, he wondered if he should forget her; he probably wouldn’t catch up to this Abigail anyway. There was a fifty-fifty chance he’d choose the right fork, and maybe a twenty-five percent chance in total he’d find her after that. Instead of running after her on some wild duck hunt, he could stay here and secure some short term work as a farmhand or apprentice to a local business for a week or so, and earn some much needed coin. He had apprenticed in every major trade at one point or another in his travels: blacksmith, farrier, victualer, saddle maker, dyer, glass worker, you name it.
But the restlessness that came with every attack of the Dark still ate away at his soul, and he knew he wouldn’t last here more than a day or so. Which was for the best, really. He’d grown complacent in the last village, almost allowing the Darkness to appear in the heart of a village because of his attraction to a pretty girl. A lot of people could have died if that had happened.
He could never forget who he was, and why he could never live an ordinary life.
“Well, my friends,” Malem told his animals. “Let’s see if we can find this mystery woman.”
He took the northern fork on a whim and rode into the forest.
4
Malem alternated Bounder between a quick trot and a rapid canter, as dictated by the mount’s energy level. He encountered only one other group of travelers on the road: a farmer and his two grown sons bringing a cartful of pumpkins to Abe’s Wood, no doubt to sell to either the victualer or the tavern. The sons pulled the cart by hand, and had swords strapped to their hips. One was missing an arm, which made dragging the cart difficult, while the other had lost an eye—the empty socket was surrounded by an ugly scar. The entire group seemed a bit stunned when they saw his mount, but they recovered quickly and gave Malem a warning look as they passed.
He ignored the scowls of the sons and inclined his head toward the elder farmer, who offered a weak smile and a nod in return.
He could see actual farms when the pines occasionally thinned, but most were abandoned and overgrown. It hadn’t been all that long since he’d passed this way, and he was saddened by the changes.
The world is always changing. Where once the trumpets of peace blared, now the bells of war peal. Farms that once gave birth to oats and barley now sit abandoned, the sons sent off to battle, the remainder forced to work in the cities.
The father he had just seen was very lucky to have his sons with him. Very lucky indeed. Malem guessed those sons had already seen battle, given the wounds of war they had borne.
During the ride he thought often of the strange woman. He kept expecting to sight the merchant’s caravan up ahead whenever he rounded a
bend, but always the path was empty, the trees ever-encroaching overhead and blotting out the sun.
As the hours passed, he began to wonder if he’d chosen the right fork, because he figured he should have overtaken them by now. However, if this was indeed the wrong way, there was no point in turning back now: if he did, he’d never catch them anyway.
Evening was coming, and the branches overhead began to take on their usual dreary quality. In the forests of the Midweald, trees that seemed benign and even welcoming in the day became clawed apparitions at night. While higher level monsters were rarely found this far east, the forest was still home to numerous species of night predators: jackal beetles, bog panthers, and claw owls, among others, to whom humans were considered just another item on the menu, or perhaps even a delicacy. Something like a bog spider could also be deadly, if one wasn’t careful—though Malem would never admit that to Bounder.
Of course, there was also the latest predator to have infested these woods: that particular subset of man known as the bandit.
He reached out, trying to get an idea of what other animals were out there, but he didn’t sense anything dangerous. Nor did he sense the unique swirl of emotions that composed the mind of the mystery woman, Abigail.
He rode on after dark. The sky was overcast tonight, shielding the half moon, but when he activated his night vision he could see just as if the moon was out in full bloom. He imbued the gift to Bounder and Felipe. The latter had been scrunching close to Malem’s shoulder, slightly afraid, but squawked happily and relaxed his hold when the vision took over.
He easily steered Bounder along the trail with his night vision. Although the iguanid’s footfalls were softer than that of a horse, they weren’t exactly stealthy. Any nearby predators would have heard them. Indeed, while Malem scanned the area, he felt the senses of two particular carnivores prick up. Bog panthers, he thought. Though most of them haunted the marshes that littered the interior of the Midweald, the animals often roamed well beyond when food was scarce.
