by Sharon Rose
So here he wandered—mapping uncharted lands. An endeavor no one had requested. Precious little value in it. Moorelin had no interest in this land. Even the location of the ridge crossing mattered little—provided all was well with the Lady Havella. And it probably was. She had a guard, after all. The biggest man Tristan had ever seen. With only one access point to Fountain Isle, that guard wouldn’t be easily overpowered.
The hours of riding through empty forest grew tiresome. Endlessly guiding a horse and watching the unremarkable woods. Why could he never get past this restless feeling? The cities were too brash, the woods too quiet. Too many people, not enough people. What did he want? Where did he belong? He glowered. So far into his third decade—certain, he should know by now.
“Hold,” Cotrell said. He stopped, looked all around, then walked his horse several paces aside. A fox darted away with a bone in its jaws. Cotrell studied the ground, his bow in hand as always, then rejoined them. “Another deer kill, with little left for the scavengers. The wolves may not be oversized, but there are a great many.”
“Plenty of game means plenty of wolves,” Tristan said.
“True.”
They set off again. The near side of the ridge grew steeper as they traveled, forcing them to ride farther from the peak. Nonetheless, they scaled it twice a day to track their position against northern landmarks. They made camp, then repeated it all the next day, and the next.
The rolling hills descended overall, and cedars joined the forest. Bear tracks interspersed the wolves’, and by the fifth day, they were indeed larger.
“Not entirely surprising,” James said. “There is usually a little seed of truth behind grand tales.”
Cotrell grunted. “I’m still wondering about the vixicats. I’ve seen only one set of cat prints, and they were no bigger than a fox’s print. A small lynx, perhaps.”
“Burk’s description placed vixicats west of the castle,” Tristan said, scanning the forest. “Wherever that might be.” The rising sun angled across the slope to their right. “What think you of this ascent, Cotrell?”
“More promising than most. Shall we ride up?”
“Aye.”
They gained the crest. At last—a possible crossing. A few trees and enough soil to support grass ran along the top for fifty yards or so.
Tristan studied the valley as the horses grazed. Grassland stretched in a long swath beside the river below. A lone cart traveled east from the distant peak of Fountain Isle, following the south shore. ’Twas the only route, for the bridge to the isle lay on this side of the River Thane. He joined Cotrell, and they looked for a descent route on the river side.
Cotrell shook his head. “Still too steep and rocky.”
Tristan gripped a small tree and leaned outward. Pointing west, he said, “It looks better over there. Let’s continue.”
Boulders forced them to descend again, but around noon, they reached the crest on a gradual ascent. A high meadow stretched twenty to thirty feet wide and a hundred yards long, with few boulders jutting through the grass.
Higher ground rose to the west, and James pointed up it. “Look, my lord. A stream.”
“Excellent! And good fortune this high. We’ll lunch here.” Tristan dismounted. “Walk with me, Cotrell.”
They paced the meadow and found two piles of small boulders, which flanked smooth ground that descended the north slope. Success warmed Tristan’s chest. “Cleared of rocks and easily the width of a carriage. That, my friend, was once a road.”
Cotrell followed the slope a few paces and smiled up at him. “Aye, this must be it.”
He stomped grass aside to find the direction of the road, while Tristan let his gaze linger on Fountain Isle, closer now, but still northwest of their position.
The river frothed around the long island. Lush on this end, with a black peak jutting high at the far end. He could just make out the spacious cottage that stood on the island. No sign of any disruption, but how could he really tell from here? There had been a couple instances over the decades when unscrupulous folk had ousted the Lady Havella from her domain and tried to extort a profit from those desperate for the waters.
As Tristan watched, a tiny dark figure came into view, crossing in front of the cottage. That had to be the same guard. Few men were tall enough to make that cottage look small.
Cotrell returned up the bit of old road he’d exposed and followed Tristan’s gaze. “Looks peaceful to me. Does your long vision tell you anything I cannot see?”
Tristan shrugged. “I saw a tall man stroll a few paces. By height, he is likely the same guard.”
Cotrell lifted his brows and glanced back at the distant isle. “The things you can see never cease to amaze me.”
“I feel much the same when you tell me of something you heard. Let’s see if we can find the southbound road.”
They discovered a likely spot more toward the western end of the meadow, where James was setting out food on a flat rock. Instead of grass, trees had encroached on this slope, making it harder to find the road.
Tristan noticed some bare, blackened trunks, and he climbed a tilted slab of rock to look over the edge. A burnt, split trunk remained below the black scar, now carpeted with foot-tall pines.
Cotrell joined him. “It must have been hit by lightning, soon followed by rain, for it didn’t burn much of the woods.” He narrowed his eyes at the lowest trunk. “That must have been one ancient tree.”
Tristan considered the distant view, staring through the gap left by the fire. “I fancy I see sparkling blue on the horizon, and I think there is a bare swath between this forest and that farthest, hazy rise.” He sucked in a breath, a tingle coursing up to his scalp. He snapped his arm straight and pointed across the hills. “Look!”
“What do you see?” Cotrell shaded his eyes. “Is it within my range?”
“I believe so. Is that not a peaked tower roof, just barely showing through the highest branches? Ah, there is another beyond it. Roofed in blue tiles.”
“Towers, indeed!” Cotrell exclaimed.
Tristan tilted his head back and laughed. “We have found the castle!”
James hurried over. Cotrell jumped down and gave him a leg up onto the rough perch.
A little more exclaiming, and then James said, “Now that we’ve found it, let’s eat.”
He scooted down the rock face, and Tristan jumped to level ground. “Ah, James! Ever practical.”
Tristan said little as they consumed a dull meal, but his gaze turned southwest ever and again.
Cotrell cast sideways looks toward him, then slid a question out, excessively casual. “I wonder which direction we’ll head next.”
Tristan laughed. “If you think I’m going to pass up a close look at that mysterious castle, you are not the captain who has followed me these last few years.”
Cotrell grinned.
A moment passed before James said, “’Tis not without risk.”
“Nothing is without risk,” Tristan said. “We intended to cross over to the plain anyway, and then down to the sea, so it’s really not even a detour. We can reach the castle before dusk and give the horses a day to rest while we…investigate.” He couldn’t help laughing again, for even to his own ears, boyish mischief infused his words. And, oh, it felt good! “Let’s plan.”
He and Cotrell climbed to the perch again, counted hills, and agreed on a route, while James packed up. Down the old road, they headed, losing it at times and finding it again, until a sharp drop-off brought them to a dead stop. A cascading stream had cut a deep cleft between the hills. Hewn timbers, rotted and broken, hung down the opposite side.
Chapter 3
Beyond the Border Lands
The three men looked down the chasm, their eyes tracing it east and west.
Tristan’s stomach felt leaden. “Too far to jump,” he said. “We’ll have to find a crossing.”
Cotrell’s voice lowered. “If someone bothered to build a bridge, there is no
nearby crossing.”
Tristan shifted his legs, and Dauntless backed. “We’ve had good travels all along. There is bound to be something that does not favor us. Hence, we adjust our plan. Which direction do you suggest?”
Cotrell sat still, but Tristan knew he was not inactive. Listening, rather, to the myriad rustles throughout the woods and testing the breeze. Finally, he said, “East.”
They turned their mounts, following the chasm, which remained deep. Slow going amidst the trees. The pack horse stumbled but recovered. Though James kept it near, leading a horse through rugged woods proved troublesome. Farther up the hill, a large stag watched them with statuesque poise. A couple of does raised their heads behind it, then returned to eating.
The men continued searching, for they had no other choice. From the corner of his eye, Tristan glimpsed a gray form rising from an equally gray outcropping. Half again as big as any wolf should be.
“Cotrell,” he whispered, drawing an extra arrow from his quiver.
They stopped at the same instant. “Yes, I saw it. There is another. James, turn and retrace. Do not run.”
It took James a moment to turn both horses. Slowly, they moved back the way they had come.
The wolves slunk down into the undergrowth, following. Another joined them. Probably more hidden from view. Tristan spotted the stag again but kept his eyes averted. It was fixated on the horses.
Let it stay that way!
Guiding Dauntless with only his knees, he held one arrow nocked and the other ready. Through his legs, Tristan felt Dauntless’s tension, but battle-trained, the horse would never bolt.
They passed below the deer. Not much longer. Hoofbeats measured the passing seconds. Then, behind him, the sharp snap of Cotrell’s bow. The stag leapt—off balance—an arrow in its shoulder. The does fled up the ridge. The stag blundered, gaining speed as it followed them. With the call of a single wolf, the pack burst from cover and pursued the stag.
“Steady on,” Cotrell said.
In a few minutes, thrashing in the woods told of the certain ending.
Tristan exhaled, his next breath feeling fresh and new. He motioned Cotrell forward and murmured, “Well done. Lead.”
Cotrell, on his gray, moved ahead of James. Tristan’s heart returned to a calmer rhythm. They passed the broken bridge and continued on.
Jagged slabs of rock tilted from the forest floor, forcing them to ride farther from the stream. They paused to confer. James’s expression remained calm, but his fist gripped the reins tighter than needed.
Cotrell looked grim, his searching eyes never still. “We lost over an hour backtracking.”
“Do you still have a feel for the direction of the castle?” Tristan asked, not that he doubted it.
“South-southwest,” Cotrell replied.
“We were fortunate, back there,” James said, “that deer were nearby. What if we are chased again?”
“If we can protect our backs,” Tristan said, “a few well-placed arrows will drive off wolves.” He nodded toward the bay mare, their pack horse today. “If not, release her lead and stay ahead of her.” Sad, but better to sacrifice a horse than any of them. Tristan took the map tube from the pack and buckled it to his saddle. They each transferred some necessities to their own horses.
Cotrell raised his head. “Hush!” After a moment, he said, “There are a couple of bears a good way off. They seem to be occupied with an argument.”
“Let’s not wait for them to finish.” Tristan nudged Dauntless with his knees and headed south, hoping to reach the stream again. What had become of it? Had it veered away?
Any hope of recovering lost time was soon dashed. They could never see far enough ahead to avoid obstacles. Game trails led around them, but wolf prints were almost as plentiful as deer. Then, they saw the bear tracks. The size of them!
Cotrell’s brows stayed high as he looked from the ground to Tristan. “We shouldn’t have laughed at those stories.”
Time and again, they had to backtrack for one cause or another. As the sun sank, they rounded a hill, hoping to follow the valley south. Instead, they found that a rotted tree had tipped down the steep slope, crushing the smaller trees below into an impassable tangle.
At least they hadn’t gone far along this blocked path. They found another route, though not south.
Cotrell pointed at tracks. “A bear headed east here not long ago.”
They turned west and found a broader valley with the sun slanting through it.
“We cannot follow this for long,” Cotrell said, “but ’tis a relief to be able to see ahead for a change.”
“Indeed.” Tristan looked at the sky. Wind rattled the gold-flecked branches farther up the hills and filtered through the valley. “I don’t see us reaching the castle before nightfall.”
“Nor do I.” Cotrell halted his gray gelding. “Though the moon is nearing full, I’ve no fancy to wander these woods by its light alone.”
“’Twould be madness,” James said. “Let us find a site to make camp.”
The best they could find was shielded by steep hills on the north and south. Tristan tied his stallion beside the mare on the west side, and Cotrell tied the other two horses on the east.
As the men gathered wood, a distant yowl brought all three upright. Tristan and Cotrell dropped their armloads and slipped their bows from shoulder to hand. They made not a sound, listening to the answering yowl. The beasts could not be near, but the way their calls increased, lifted the hair on the back of Tristan’s neck. They reached a crescendo and erupted into fierce battle. In the end, only one deep-throated beast was left yowling of its victory.
Cotrell drew an audible breath. “I take that to be a vixicat.”
“Aye,” Tristan said, his voice low. “Keep your bow up, Cotrell. James and I will gather the wood, and plenty of it.”
Two more fights echoed through the forest as Tristan stood the first watch and fed the fire to keep a steady blaze. Occasional snores murmured during the lulls, but he doubted his friends slept well.
When the moon passed its zenith, the woods had been still for perhaps an hour. Tristan found it harder to stay awake. He circled the fire, then leaned against a tree. Dauntless and the mare grew restless, and the other two horses angled their ears westward.
Tristan could hear nothing but the shifting horses. He slipped the toe of his boot under Cotrell’s shoulder and nudged him.
Cotrell grunted and rolled to his side, mumbling, “My turn?”
“Get up.”
The horses stamped and tugged at their reins. In an instant, Cotrell was on his feet, bow in hand. James cast aside his cloak and drew his dagger. All else was quiet.
Try as he might, Tristan could see nothing. Keeping his back to the fire, he took a step closer to Dauntless, bow half drawn. Something must be out there. If only he could—
A flurry of breaking branches erupted. The mare tried to flee, then reared, snapping the branch she was tied to. Black jaws clamped on her neck.
Dauntless kicked. A solid thud, which changed nothing.
The beast shook the mare violently, dragging it backward.
Tristan snapped out of shock and shot his arrow. He and Cotrell peppered the creature with arrows as it turned and dragged the horse away. The clamor in the woods slowly faded into the distance.
His heart thudded through an eternity. Beside him, Cotrell panted. Tristan’s pulse finally began to slow, and his stomach revolted. After a moment, he wiped his mouth, then went to calm Dauntless, smoothing a hand down his sweaty neck.
Several minutes passed before any of them spoke. Cotrell tossed more wood onto the fire.
James, his voice still unsteady, asked, “How big was that thing exactly?”
“I don’t know,” Tristan said. “Bigger than a horse.”
“It stank worse than a bear,” Cotrell grumbled. “How clear of a look did you get?”
“Not very.” Tristan spread his hands apart. “Its jaws must have b
een this long. Narrow, like a fox’s snout, but its eyes were gold and…cat-like.” He dwelt on the image seared into his mind. “Its teeth were wrong.”
“Wrong, how?” Cotrell asked.
Tristan shook his head. “Too many of them, or maybe just strangely placed. I had no time to inspect them.”
“True,” Cotrell murmured. “It doesn’t mind arrows. I’m sure we hit it at least a dozen times. I made out a couple arrows as it turned, but they hadn’t gone deep. At that range, the shafts ought to have penetrated.”
Silence lengthened.
“Now what?” James asked.
“Only two choices, in this moment,” Tristan replied. “We either ride or stay. Your opinion, Cotrell?”
“That beast will be too busy gorging to bother us tonight, but there could be others. The last thing I want is to ride unfamiliar woods with black night-hunters on the prowl.”
“Agreed.” Tristan looked at the pack they’d hoisted up a tree. “Let’s divide that up and leave what we don’t absolutely require. Get the horses ready to ride in case we must, then we’ll stand watch till first light.”
This they did, reaching the stream again as the sun rose. At long last, they descended a steep hill and found a crossing.
The horses struggled up the opposite bank. Either skirting or climbing each new obstacle, they eventually found a grassy hilltop where an aged maple spread fat limbs.
Cotrell climbed up into it and scanned their surroundings. He looked down at Tristan. “I’m tired of your yawning, so here is the plan. James and I will keep watch from the boughs in opposite directions. You sleep at the base. If anything approaches, we’ll wake you, and you may scamper up the tree like a squirrel.”
Tristan accorded that a weak smile and didn’t bother arguing.