by Wil Clayton
Chapter 3
The world became darker as the fields beyond the tree line fell away and were replaced by dense forest. The soft grass and vines that grew along riverside turned to hard tangles of branches and thorns. Enticing berries of red and yellow dotted thick shrubs, Roland warned Calum not to touch them.
The river started to deepen and the stream rose to Calum’s knee, the cold water drowning his boots.
“There’s a woodsman’s path up ahead,” reassured Roland as Calum almost lost his footing against the force of the stream.
Calum simply grunted in response preferring to focus his attention on staying upright.
The small path appeared on the bank, a narrow tunnel of green. Calum struggled out of the water and up the mud of the bank as Roland followed behind with his horse.
The tunnel was small made of thick, sharp branches which shot inwards from either side. Calum was thankful for his small stature as he moved into brush. Behind, Calum could hear the snapping of branches as Roland’s much larger frame struggled to find its way through the space, the horse gave a noise of discomfort as it was pulled along the path.
“Keep moving forward,” ordered Roland, “you see something move, stop and tell me.”
“I will,” replied Calum his voice wavering slightly as he looked down the strangled path.
Above, the canopy tangled together to make a thick net which kept most of the daylight out. To the left Calum heard the fast rushing of waters.
“Is that The Grey Wash?”
“Yes, keep going,” barked Roland in frustration.
“Then these are the forests of Arn,” cried Calum with joy as he continued down the path.
The borders of The First Kingdom were behind them and his father had not found him.
“Keep your voice low and keep your eyes on the path.”
The tunnel ended abruptly, throwing Calum out onto an expertly built highway paved with simple stone. Calum was taken back for moment, it was first piece of civilised construction Calum had seen since he had left the wayhouse.
“Where are we?” asked Calum disoriented.
“Diana’s Road,” explained Roland emerging from the brush, his cloak and hair littered his broken pieces of sticks and leaves.
The horse emerged similarly dishevelled throwing its head around, annoyed
“That way leads back to Kabrace,” said Roland pointing up the clean, empty road that led straight to the horizon flanked on both sides by the forest.
Calum looked the other way at the sturdy stone bridge that spanned the violent torrent of frothing water.
“Then this is the road to Yulas’rel,” said Calum.
Calum remembered the map of the realms which he had studied back at the castle, the network of roads built by the men ruled by Dragons. The roads crossed the lands from the northern mountains of Ulnsearth to the southern coasts of The Hold, connecting every major city and capital, from Illaid’s End in Burroway in the west all the way to far eastern shore where Quillo, the capital of Sia watched over the oceans.
“Come, quickly. We do not want to stay too long on the highway,” called Roland as he finished brushing the twigs from his hair.
Roland swung himself up onto his horse and led the way over the bridge as the Grey Wash roared below. The excitement of finally reaching the forest gave Calum the energy to run ahead of the horse.
The pair kept to Diana’s Road a short while until they came to a worn path that met the highway, the dirt road was wide and open to the sky with two tracks dug out by carts travelling in both directions.
“This way,” said Roland.
“We are not going to Yulas’rel?” asked Calum.
“It is too dangerous for you there,” said Roland, “your father has many friends in that city who will happily return you to Kabrace for a reward. We keep to the woods.”
Calum was disappointed, he had read so much of the maze of walkways and ladders that made up the city in the trees. It was said the Arn had built a castle of nothing but naturally grown oaks, their trunks and branches tamed and twisted together to construct floors and walls to rival the castles built by his own people.
Calum recalled the story of his ancestor, Low King Lansel, who in the Age of Men had attempted to raid the castle in one of the many Kaborn conquests of the forests. The tale said the castle came to life and moved the walls and corridors around them, sealing the invading force within, Lansel and his men were never seen again.
This was one of many stories that had led Calum to enquire about the mysteries of magic and had brought him many rebukes and disparaging comments from the scholars that worked for his father.
The Kaborn of The First Kingdom had no talent in the magical arts, instead they were untouchable in their proficiency with the sword and hammer and used both throughout history to work their will upon the world.
Even the gods with their strange powers, seemed to have turned away from Calum’s people. While the clergy of the Heartland could conjure spirits and return the sickly to health with a few powerful words, the clerics of The First Kingdom simply poured alcohol onto wounds and fix broken limbs with splints and cloth.
Many of his kinsman preferred it that way, magic was dangerous and unpredictable, they claimed, but Calum did not agree.
Calum had asked his mother, only a year ago, to allow him to travel to the White Spire to study the magical arts. He explained to her that he wanted to bring the gift of magic to Kabrace and be remembered as the first Kaborn to wield the powers of magic but in the way his mother always did she refused him gently. He was needed in Kabrace to sit at his brother’s side, help Damon with his duties as Low King and then as King when Father died.
The refusal was what had set him on the course that had him walking the paths of Lay’tol with Roland at his side. Calum was never a person to hear and accept the word no. He never wanted to hear why he could not do something. He knew the world could be a difficult place but he knew there was no trial he could not overcome and he would find the mysteries held by the lands outside The First Kingdom. And when his adventures were done and he had unearthing those mysteries he would return to sit at Damon’s side in whatever role his people needed.
So, Calum had dutifully went about his royal tasks as required, attending his lessons, dining and pleasing the daughters of the landed men, making sure the servants kept to their work cleaning and maintaining the castle but when alone he worked, against his mother’s wishes, on his escape.
Beggars from the alleys of Kabrace were his eyes and ears. Careful never to hire the same one twice, Calum acquired news of possible escorts passing through the capital but the ones the beggars found were either too loyal or too disloyal.
The news of the great Roland passing through the city was unbelievably fortunate, a man famous for his defiance of the leaders of all the realms as well as his adherence to duty and protection of the weak. Roland would never return him into his father nor would he leave him dead on the side of the road. In Roland’s shadow Calum knew he could escape.
And he had escaped, Calum sung to himself as his thoughts returned back to the world around him. He looked down the dirt road ahead, it disappeared quickly as it bent to the left. He enjoyed the thrill that came as he realised he did not know what lay just beyond its bend.
The sun was getting low when Roland called for them to break for camp. They found a small patch of dirt just off the path and Roland kept watch as Calum slept and dreamt of his father’s garden with its ponds of ducks and geese inside the keep’s high grey walls.
The morning came. Calum awoke and finished some berries he had picked with Roland’s guidance the day before when a noise came from the road as a cart full of barrels trundled past. Calum leapt to his feet and chased it down.
A man sat at the front, slender in build with a long, squared-off face, dressed in simple white cotton robe that covered his whole body. He had grey-white hair that hung to his shoulder, his skin was pale and flawless, the
man was the first Arn Calum had ever seen.
“Do you have any food for sale?” asked Calum panting as he kept up with the cart.
The man pulled the reigns of his horse and the cart came to halt.
“What is a Kaborn boy doing in the forest by himself?” asked the Arn in a soft voice.
“I am travelling with a friend of mine,” replied Calum quickly.
“Where is your friend?”
Calum looked up the road Roland had not emerged from the clearing.
“He is sleeping,” said Calum, “I am just looking for some dried meat or breads.”
The man looked at him, then up into the tree and past into bushes.
“These are dangerous roads, lad, you and your friend should come with me back to the main road. I can take you to Yulas’rel, if you wish.”
“Thank you, good sir, but we have business on this road.”
The man looked at Calum for moment.
“What business is that, lad?” he asked his eyes narrowing.
Calum was suddenly lost for words.
“If you don’t have anything for sale, I will be on my way,” replied Calum quietly.
The man simply nodded and whipped his horse on.
Calum returned to the camp where Roland was still sitting by the fire.
“If you run off like that you will get yourself killed,” said Roland standing up.
“I thought the man might have some food to trade.”
“These back roads are full of beasts. If you run blindly after things in the trees you will get yourself killed.”
“Aren’t you suppose to keep me safe,” snapped Calum not caring to be lectured to by Roland.
“I told you I will protect you from aggression, but I am not a guardsman. If you run off into the woods then you find your own way back.”
“And if I die, who will pay you then?”
“I will find your body and claim what is mine, do not worry about that,” said Roland his voice still plain and level as it always was.
Calum was angry again.
“Who will honour a writ of dead prince?” challenged Calum.
“Most of the noble men in The First Kingdom, I have heard,” rebuked Roland as he took the reins of his horse.
Calum huffed and started to chew on his cheek, he felt the fire in him today. The dreams of home, the forest, the air, everything about the day had given him a new energy and he wanted to expend it.
“Let’s go then, the day is moving without us.”
“It is,” agreed Roland.
Calum strode confidently out on the path and looked on way then the other. The cart was gone, leaving worn tracks in the road stretching both directions the sound of wheels turning drifted on the wind.
“Which way?” asked Roland.
Calum paused for a moment. The cart was going the wrong direction. Unless there was a different road to Yulas’rel. Calum knew they had come up the road from the left, or did they? Both ways looked the same in the morning light.
“This way,” Calum pointed down the road finally his cheek burnt.
“Are you sure?”
Calum’s face went red.
“No, I’m not sure,” he yelled.
“No matter,” smiled Roland to himself, “you were right.”
Calum laughed, loudly and forcefully, and started to make his way down the road, quicker then he normally moved. He felt like running, the air was clean and perfumed with a slight, sweet pollen. He had made it to forest, his father and mother none the wiser, the road he walked was exciting and new, it was a good day.
The day passed and for the first time Calum kept in front of Roland, who swayed quietly on his plodding horse behind.
The night came, the pair camped and for the first time Roland hunted telling Calum not to leave the clearing until he returned. He fetched two rabbits bigger than Calum had ever seen. After finishing only one Calum’s stomach was bursting and the other was left for the wild dogs.
The next day they continued their journey.
The forest was thicker now and did not allow Calum to see far beyond the first line of trees, shrubs and brush filling the space between the trunks. Small dirt tracks occasionally met their’s, some were open and well worn, others only large enough for men to walk single file, others just holes in the vegetation that the forest was slowly reclaiming.
Calum wanted to know what was beyond those trees. Where were all the forest folk he read about in his books?
“Do the Arn have villagers?” asked Calum, “are you leading us around them?”
“There are a few villages but the Arn tend to live solitary lives, there are much fewer of them than there are of your people. So, the ones that desire company usually head to one of the forest cities.”
“I would like see a village,” said Calum and then added, “it will be safe, my father does not have friends this deep into the forest.”
“There is a village on our way that we could reach in a few days,” sighed Roland, “if you insist, we can stay there for a night.”
Calum cheered in response.
The day passed, then the next and the road continued to pass beneath. A few Arn passed them without a word of acknowledgment. Some of them had fiery red hair, others had pitch black hair, one Arn had a large, silvery mane that held itself high above his head, sparkling in the midday sunlight.
As the afternoon sun was getting close to setting Roland signalled towards a side road Calum had barely noticed.
“Hold,” he called and dismounting his horse, “this takes us to Salm’rel, the village you wanted to see.”
Calum smiled and led the way down the path as the sky was turning a swirl of purple and red, the path ended at a large clearing.
Directly in front of Calum sat a garden bed full of pumpkin vines, bean poles and strawberry patches sitting at the back of a home. A young child looked up, he was crouched over one pumpkin as large as his body. The boy studied the stranger for a moment and then turned his attention back to the pumpkin and after a short struggle, the vegetable was in his arms and the boy waddled into the house.
Beyond the small yard stood several, solid wooden houses that followed a well worn path through the clearing.
“Is this Salm’rel?” asked Calum.
“Yes.”
Calum did not know what to make of it, other then the encroaching trees the village was similar to many of the villages he had seen in the hills at home. He had been told the Arn lived high in the tallest trees above the forest with houses held in place by magic but this place was not magical, it was horribly similar to a Kaborn village.
“I did not know the Arn lived like this?” said Calum to nobody.
“How do they live?”
“Like us, I had heard...” Calum’s voice trailed off he was sure Roland was readying another of his insults, “where is the wayhouse?”
“The building with the green roof,” Roland pointed across the clearing to the building that had a large trail of smoke coming from its chimney.
Calum led the way around the small garden and down the village’s main road that cut the clearing in two.
The wayhouse was full of laughter and smoke. A large lump of meat roasted over a fire pit in the centre of the large room. Patrons were gathered around it, collecting cuts of meat onto chucks of bread.
“Grab a piece of bread and get yourself some meat. I’ll find the keeper and get us settled,” said Roland and walk away.
The group of men and women sitting around the wayhouse were mostly Arn. Those that weren’t were larger men and women with round faces and uncut, matted hair, dressed in clothes made of animal skin sown together. Calum knew who the people were, they were the Northern Men who live in the wastes immediately north of the forest.
Calum broke off a chunk of bread from a large pile of loaves on a table. He then found a discarded knife and a free space between the patrons and began cutting at the meat that huge over the fire. The others talked around him a
bout this and that, he felt their eyes on him, he was very aware of how much he stood out in this place.
The meat slice came loose but before he could position his bread it slipped and fell into the fire.
“Do you need some help?” asked a high, sweet voice from behind.
He turned and saw a slender, tall woman with blonde hair and sparkling, silvery-blue eyes smiling at him.
“Yes, if you would,” said Calum, he always knew to accepted the help of a beautiful woman.
She took the knife from his hand, deftly cut the meat and while keeping it balanced on the blade placed it on the bread.
“There you are, child,” she said handing him the piece of bread, “where is your father or mother?”
“My travelling companion,” emphasised Calum, “is just setting up our rooms.”
“Would you like to sit with us?” smiled the woman and then motioned to a circle of people by a window, “until they return.”
“Thank you, good woman,” he replied taking her hand in his and kissed it , “my name is Calum of Kabrace, what is yours?”
“I am Dolsel,” she replied with a smile, “you’re quiet well manner for a child.”
“My mother taught me to always be a true gentlemen in presence of great beauty,” he said with a sly grin and she laughed.
“Come and sit,” replied Dolsel and ushered Calum over to the circle of Arn by the window.
Calum pulled a chair up to the circle, the others were heavy in conversation about recent attacks on wagons travelling the roads in area. The conversation died away as Calum sat down and the gaze of group turned to him.
“Greetings, Kaborn,” said one, “what brings you so far into the forests?”
“I am travelling to Dunway,” replied Calum warmly.
Three of the men laughed and then one of them spoke.
“You’ve gone the wrong way, lad, Dunway is south. Who is taking you this way?”
“My friend, he is just settling up our rooms.”
“We’ll have to find your friend a map, you would be best to go back to Yulas’rel and find the road from there.”
“No, its too late for that, you want to find Diana’s Road and then head west to Diana’rel, then the south road will take you there without issue,” stated another knowingly.
“Travelling by land these days is a sure way to get yourself killed, you want to get a boat at Ilan’rel take Gella’s Way to the Silver Marsh, then take the low road east,” snapped another harshly his hair a pure, dull white, “get out of this forest as quickly as you can, Kaborn, it is not safe for someone as young as you.”
“Why are the roads so dangerous?” asked Calum and then quickly added, “beside the usual beasts that stalk them.”
“It’s the damn Saquaari,” snapped the white-haired man.
“You cannot blame them for the actions of men,” said another man dismissively.
“Men used to be men,” continued the white-haired man ignoring the others, “the dragons knew this and so they let the men fight their wars, but now the Saquaari keep us from our ways proclaiming peace has come.”
“They keep us from slaughter,” said a woman, “some would think that is a blessing.”
“Bah, a blessing if your land has open skies for them to watch from,” said the man turning back to Calum his finger pointed and hard, “you cannot keep men from their ways, you cannot keep men from war. It is where the lesser of us release their darker selves without it you have what we have now.”
“What is that?” asked Calum intrigued by the man.
“Demons among us, boy, the lesser men born for battle and blood. Nowadays, people just call them thieves but the word does not describe them fully. A thief wants your coin, the demons, they just want your blood, your goods are just what sustains them.
“The nobles cut back patrols of the northern borders now the Saquaari have come and leave us to deal with the monsters left behind. Born in your homeland, our forests, the northern wastes and any other place men call home. Free to release their dark selves upon whoever they choose.
“The fact, you got here alive is a blessing from Zeria, herself, it’s strange you were not strung up the moment you entered the forest without an Arn to keep you safe.”
“Stop it,” snapped Dolsel, “you’ll frighten the boy. You’re an old fool, the thieves are no worse than they have ever been.”
The white-haired man shrugged and took a swig from his mug.
“How many are you travelling with?” asked another Arn to Calum, “my family is moving on in a few and we could use some extra hands. I can show you the way south to Yulas’rel through the back roads.”
“Just me and my friend,” replied Calum finishing a mouthful of bread.
“Stop trying to burden the boy with your problems,” snapped a red-haired woman at the Arn.
“We have been travelling for a few days,” said Calum, “we haven’t seen a single raiding party. Maybe the problem isn’t as bad as you think.”
“Unlikely,” snorted the white-haired man, “I think you’ve just slept under a lucky star.”
Calum saw Roland across the room. One of the Arn sitting next to Calum gasped and poked at her friend. The round face men watched Roland from the across the fire, one cleared his throat and spat on to the floor.
“I see you have found some friends,” smiled Roland and then took Dolsel's hand and kissed in gently, “good evening to you all.”
“If I am be so brave,” Dolsel beamed back, “are you Roland the Black?”
“Some call me that, yes,” replied Roland turning to group, “thank you for helping my ward but I am afraid we have both had quite a long day and need our rest. We will take our leave.”
“No, please, have a seat,” said the white-haired man suddenly filled with a joy, he jumping from his seat, “surely you have a few tales for an old man before you depart.”
“Where is the bard?” called Roland to the room and laughed, “they always have a far better memories of my exploits than I do.”
“What brings you through the woods?” asked another as Calum noticed people starting to mass closer to large man in the bearskin cloak.
“The Festival of the Bear and Horse, of course, the Sisters would curse me to the Savage Lands, if I did not attend.”
Dolsel now had her hand draped on Roland’s shoulder.
“I’m sure they would,” she agreed with a smile.
“My good people,” smiled Roland, “I am afraid that I must rest. I thank you all for your kindness. You have a quite beautiful town here. May the gods, watch over you all.”
He was slowly backing himself away from the crowd, letting Dolsel’s hand drop from his shoulder.
“Lad, to the back stairwell, please,” he said in a cheery manner and nodded to a staircase across the room.
Calum picked himself up and puzzled at the kind manner that was coming from Roland.
“Excuse me, please,” he nodded to the Arn and moved to the stairwell past the fire pit when a round face blocked his path.
“Do you answer to the name Roland the Butcher?” asked the Northerner.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the Hool are weak and worthless men who cannot protect their own,” snarled Roland and spat at the face that had blocked his path.
There was a whirl of blades as yells and screams erupt from the men and women draped in animal skins. Calum was caught in a flood of arms and bodies as the Arn who had massed to see Roland fled from the centre of room.
Calum recovered himself and when he caught sight of Roland again, the man who had challenged him was on the ground gasping for air, his left arm twitching.
Another Northerner jumped onto Roland from behind. With a simple and precise motion Roland was behind the man’s square, wide frame, then the man’s head was helpless in the solid grip of Roland’s hands and with a sickening snap the body went lose and dropped to the floor.
Roland stepped onto
the body of the dead man and then lunged at the two standing before Roland, the attackers had their daggers ready in hand. The blades cut the air and sliced deep into Roland outstretched arms. Deep, red wounds opened in his flesh. Blood flowed but Roland did not stop. Wide, clawing fingers seized around the Northerners’ faces and then palms drove their heads back and down into hard, wooden floor. The man and woman screamed as their skulls warped and cracked from the pressure of the mountain bearing down on them.
Two large men and a slight woman moved in from the side dropping their large swords and drawing small throwing blades from their belt as Roland spun to face them. The knives flew through the air and Roland wrap the cloak around himself. The daggers hit the bearskin, a sound rang out as though they had collided with metal armour and the blades dropped harmlessly to the ground.
Before Calum could comprehend what was happening Roland whipped the cloak forward catching one of the men with it and the fur tore his face from his skull. Blood, bone and muscles screamed as the man collapsed to the floor writhing in pain.
The slight the woman dodged under the cloak and stabbed into Roland’s gut. The blade found it’s mark and dug deep into Roland’s side. He screamed, deep and low, with pain and swung his fist across his body and struck the woman, her body flew a few feet through the air before falling lifeless to the floor.
Rolland yanked the dagger from his side and flung it at the man who was now running at him. The dagger was thrown with such force it cracked through the man’s ribs lodging the blade into the attacker’s chest causing him to stumble forward and collapse to the ground.
Blood began to stain Roland’s white shirt a gruesome red where the woman had cut into his gut. A man and woman to the side were the only Northerners left, they held there swords strong and without fear.
Roland, oblivious to the gash in his side, leapt like a cat on to a waiting mouse. Each became pinned under one of Roland’s arm. The man yelled a battle cry as he tried to push Roland off him, but Roland held him firmly.
Roland picked up both of the warriors by their animal skin shirts and slammed them into the ground. The man and woman started to cough and drown in their own blood, Roland picked them up and slammed them again against the floor and the two went quiet.
Roland stood, paused for a moment and surveyed the room. The mountain covered in fur and blood turned and walked over to the man who had challenged him. The Northerner was still holding his arm and trying to pull himself from the ground.
Roland picked the man up with both hands, his forearms had become covered in black, clotted blood.
“What is your name?” yelled Roland
“Rein.”
“Are you a Free Man?”
“Yes.”
Roland bared his teeth, dug his fangs deep into Rein’s nose and pulled back tearing it from Rein’s face. Roland dropped the screaming man to the ground and spat the appendage to the ground as blood poured from the cavity in Rein’s face.
Roland grabbed a piece of coal from the fire pit in his bare hand, seized Rein’s head with the other and drove the burning rock into the man’s face, the smell of burning flesh fouled the air.
Rein screamed and kicked as the bleeding slowed. Roland tossed the now cold stone back into the fire pit.
“Return to your clan and show them the people of Hool are still as weak and pathetic as they’ve ever been,” growled Roland and pushed the man to ground.
Roland found Calum in the room of terrified Arn.
“Upstair,“ he barked.
The dream came again that night and the colours of the court were the most vibrant they had ever been as the blood flowed and frothed like the waters of The Grey Wash.
