'No, take it. I owe you more than gold, but this is all I have. If you are ever in Naeth, come and see me. I will reward you properly if I still have a head by then.'
'It has been a pleasure, as always. It’s never dull when you’re around. Life gets so boring without you to spice things up.'
Darwell nodded and turned to the Drayman. He took the Drayman’s hand. 'You too are always welcome, my friend. It has been a pleasure and an education knowing you.'
The Drayman smiled his thanks and bowed deeply.
Knowing you has been an honour, too.
'Come on, enough slapping of backs. Let’s get on the horse and get out of the city before they shut it down.'
With a final glance and a hurried wave Roskel led the Drayman into the stable yard. Minstrel was already saddled, but Roskel noticed she was fat. Nobody had thought to exercise her. He wondered if she’d done anything but eat this last few months. He hoped she could take their weight and still manage a run, for surely they could not make it if they had to carry her.
'I’ve missed you,' said the thief, and stroked the stout horse’s nose. She snickered in reply and nuzzled his hand.
Leading her out of the stables, he was surprised to see the Drayman emerge from another stable leading a black mare by the reins as if he knew how to handle a horse all of a sudden. Then he realised it was not a sudden thing. He’d probably been riding in the hope that one day they would escape the city with breath still in their lungs.
'You are full of surprises, Drayman. Come, let’s ride!'
They mounted and heeled their horses onward, toward the outskirts of the city.
Roskel did not hear the approaching guards over the clatter of Minstrel’s hooves. They surprised him as he rounded a corner, but Minstrel’s flank caught the man’s helmed head and bowled him over. He urged the fat mare faster, and soon they were galloping through the city streets at breakneck speed. Cries and whistles followed them, but they did not stop for anything.
Three guards ran out into the street, trying to frighten the horses with shouts and waving their swords, but they ran over them. Roskel took a sword blow on his leg but it was shallow. In return, the Drayman decapitated one of the men.
They reached the outskirts of the city and everything was a blur for a time. Roskel looked behind and saw that a company of guards had finally got horses and were pursuing. Their mounts were sleek and fine, whereas Minstrel was overweight and struggling.
The Drayman saw that Minstrel was flagging and falling behind. He slowed and rode alongside the mare for a moment, reaching across the gap and laying his hand on the horse’s flank. A beautiful song arose and the horse gained speed, then more, until she was flying across the grasslands. A farmer’s fence loomed in front of them but before Roskel could rein his horse in she had leapt the fence like she was twenty stones lighter. He could feel her powerful muscles bunching beneath him, and her lather on her coat. But she no longer snorted like she was out of breath.
Soon they had increased the distance between themselves and their pursuers.
The Great North Road was before them, easy riding for a while. But their pursuers were not giving up.
Roskel was loath to take the horses into the woods, but he could see no other chance to lose the guards.
'To the north, Drayman. Our only chance of losing them is in the Fresh Woods!'
They headed toward the distant trees, and the chance to hide. Roskel knew all the trails from his time with the bandits of the Fresh Woods. He just hoped they had been kept clear. It was their only chance.
His heart beating wildly and excitement flushing his face, they entered the Fresh Woods at a gallop and ran in single file through the trees. The growth was not too heavy and the going was easy. For a time.
Then branches that hung low began to whip their faces and the ground became uneven, deadfall beneath the horse’s hooves deadly and lurking in the gloom.
Still Roskel was happier than he had been since he had become Lord Protector of the country. He felt more alive than he had for at least two years. He was back in familiar territory. It was their best chance at freedom, and a risk. But a thief was never happier than when he was on a knife edge.
Darkness was fleeing before Carious’ first light on the plains, but under the cover of the trees there was still a heavy gloom. The forest deepened, and they headed on, into the dark heart of the Fresh Woods.
*
Chapter Sixty-One
Savan Retrice returned from his conjuring. The soldier he sacrificed to perform his sickening ritual would not be missed and the small risk had been necessary. But he was deeply troubled. The thief had entered the Fresh Woods. It was a place of powerful magic and he had not been able to scry his whereabouts. There was a creature of dark rage within the woods. It was a dangerous place. There were many pitfalls for the careless of foot, and the woods themselves were sentient. There was a kind of low, angry intellect that he sensed, repulsing his vision as it hovered over the forest, trying to find the thief.
There was little he could do. It was beyond his power to pierce the fog over the forest.
The Thane did not need to know. Now he had the Thane in his pocket, and the fool thinking he was king, he could tell the man anything he wanted and be believed. His ally was suspicious of him, but what did that matter? Soon he would rule this country in the name of the Hierarchy and destroy it utterly. It would never again be a force to be reckoned with. It would be a dark age for the Sturman nation, and he would preside over its fall.
Savan strolled back into camp shortly after Dow rose in the sky. He entered the king’s camp without being challenged by the guards and sat back on a cushion on the floor. The man was a pig, his breakfast crumbs littered his beard. Savan suppressed the urge to gag.
Time, thought Savan, to let the cards fall where they might.
'My king, the thief is dead. He will trouble you no longer,' said the hierarch.
The man who would be king smiled at this news.
'Congratulations, Savan. You are indeed a man of unusual talents. You will be highly placed among my advisors after the coronation.'
'That is all I ask, my king. Just a friendly ear.'
'I am well disposed toward you, my friend.'
'I try to prove my worth, my king,' said Savan, and permitted himself a rare smile.
*
Part VI.
The Fresh Woods
Chapter Sixty-Two
The air within the depths of the forest was stagnant and oppressive. Moments earlier the Drayman had told Roskel that something was wrong…their pursuers no longer followed, but they should.
Roskel had heard no sound behind him for some time, but he knew the Drayman’s ears were near mythical in their power. If he could not hear them, then they were no longer there.
He should have been pleased at the news. It was, instead, somewhat ominous. There was no reason for them to give up, unless they had been made to. By what, he did not like to guess, although his imagination conjured up creatures of terrible countenance stalking them through the trees, their footfalls silent, their teeth barred in rage and hunger.
He tried to rein in his thoughts, but the forest leant itself to dark fancies. It felt different to the first time he had wintered within it. Then it had been a source of life, game plentiful, berries and nuts and mushrooms for the taking. He had seen no forage, and although winter was just ended, there should have been early blooms and sickleberries. There was nothing. The forest had become a barren place, but overgrown with inedible shrubs and bushes beneath the canopy of the tree tops. The growth snatched at their legs and made the going slow. Already they had been forced to dismount and lead the horses.
Roskel was hungry and tired, too. He considered stopping for a rest. He had not slept, and his last meal had been the night before. His stomach was rumbling and he felt his exhilaration fade in the face of the unending gloom of the forest.
They pressed on. The Drayman took the lead and hacked
back the path where he could. Hours passed and with it came midday. Still no sign of any sustenance to be had, which was highly unusual in the forest. There was a loaf of bread and some cheese which was all the Drayman had time to pack, but that would not last long, and they had a long way to go until they reached Haven and a friendly face.
A throaty growl came from somewhere deep in the undergrowth. It was jarring and out of place, and the suddenness of it made Roskel jump.
Something was stalking them.
The Drayman indicated that he had heard it, and pointed to three places in the undergrowth. His sword was already in his hand, and his shoulders became loose and easy, readying himself to fight.
With a nod of his head the Drayman led them on.
'The lake should be a few hours more,' Roskel said in hushed tones.
The Drayman was silent.
The growl came from a different direction this time, up ahead. It was trying to herd them. But the Drayman was not swayed. He pushed on through the undergrowth, sticking to the trail, driving toward the lake and hopefully a rest and a bite to eat.
Roskel drew his short sword with his free hand, but he wondered what good he could do. The beast, or beasts, sounded large and fearsome, and he was a poor fighter at the best of times, let alone after three months of incarceration, an empty belly and a sleepless night.
He gripped the sword as hard as he could and prayed that whatever came was smaller than it sounded.
But perhaps through luck, perhaps through the threat the Drayman presented, the attack did not come that day.
They made it to the lake without further incident.
The water was frigid but Roskel washed his face.
He sighed and dunked his head in, the coolness pleasing and refreshing after their long hike.
Something leapt from the lake a few feet from his head and startled, he scrambled away from the shore, fumbling for his sword.
'Did you see that?' he sputtered, shaking water from his shining head.
The Drayman touched his arm and spoke.
We must be doubly careful. The forest rises against us. I feel its wrongness. There is nothing unnatural about this place. It rages against all humans. It will kill us if it can. Stay close.
Roskel nodded and sat away from the water’s edge, rustling around in his pack for his lunch. He tore off hunks of bread and they ate in watchful silence.
The forest watched. The lake watched.
Waited.
*
Chapter Sixty-Three
Roskel’s sword hand was tired and he felt foolish. Nothing jumped out at them. Even if it did his sword would do little good. Once more, he would have to rely on a man who could use a blade.
He scratched at an irritating itch down the front of his trousers. He had a burning sensation, too. It was growing more annoying as time went on. A fine pickle, he thought to himself. The first woman he had lain with for more than half a year and she’d given him the pox. He resolved to have a good look at it when they stopped again in the evening. He scratched himself and shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position as he walked but he could not.
The trees crowded close to the edge of the lake. They headed around it, hoping to reach Haven before midnight. There was a mist hanging over the lake. Roskel hoped it would stay there, but whatever ruled the forest now was angry at the intrusion. He was sure the mist would grow come the night, cutting them off from the forest, leaving them in a dark patch ready for some beast to tear them apart. His imagination was running away with him again, but this time he felt his imagination was erring on the side of prudence. They needed to reach a place of man. Haven was their only chance of making it through these woods with their lives.
Flies buzzed his sweaty forehead as he trudged behind the Drayman. Sweat ran down his neck and his arms and legs ached. He hated the forest more than he thought he ever would. The air was chilly but it only served to make his sweaty shirt cold. It gave no relief. Nothing was giving him relief on this journey. He forgot all about his good fortune at losing his pursuers. Even that seemed like an ill-omen.
Cursed forest. It was nothing like he remembered. It fought them every step of the way, pushing them away from the lake, sometimes so that they lost sight of it. It wanted them to stray to its heart. It wanted to devour them.
He was thoroughly miserable.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he only narrowly avoiding bumping into the Drayman’s horse. He stood stock still, holding his hand for silence.
Easy for him, thought Roskel grumpily.
Then he heard it, too. A steady creaking through the trees, as if the trees themselves were straining at the roots, preparing to tear themselves from the ground and attack the two tired travellers. Roskel stared at the trees and held his sword before him.
Something was wrong with a large oak, its trunk so wide that five men would not be able to link arms around it.
It was creaking and groaning. A knot hole facing them was shifting, changing. He wanted to run. This was foul magic indeed. But his legs were jelly. He did not have the strength to run.
He stood shaking, watching in horror as the bole changed to a man’s face, a distortion of the truth no doubt, but the face smiled terribly. Then it spoke in a yawning, growling voice.
'Turn back, humans. It is your life to travel in my forest. Turn back and live.'
The Drayman hummed softly in response. Roskel was rooted to the spot like the trees around him, surrounding him, pushing in…
'Turn back and live,' groaned the face.
Roskel felt true terror for the first time in his life. This was the forest speaking-- an ancient power beyond his understanding.
But then he heard the bladesinger’s song rising, and as he heard the tune, his spirits lifted. The face in the tree roared in fury. The song was as majestic as the voice of the forest was terrible.
Roskel’s fascination broke.
'Run!' he shouted, and pushed past the Drayman. They broke into a run, forced to lead their horses, the tree screaming its rage behind them. The Drayman hummed all the time, and Roskel took strength from it.
As they finally ran out of earshot, they slowed. Roskel waited for the Drayman to catch him up.
'Was that truly the forest?'
The Drayman shook his head and sang.
Roskel saw a vision of a man surrounded by animals, speaking to them, sending them forth to do dark works and kill men. The trees and grasses around him intertwined with his limbs, so that he seemed almost organic. With the song came a sense of anger and wrongness.
'It is a man? Bonded with the forest?'
The Drayman nodded. His song rose, and Roskel sensed nature out of balance.
'A druid? But a mad one?' he guessed.
The Drayman shrugged expressively.
Maybe. Probably.
Either way, the man was dangerous. He had the power of the forest at his beck and call, and they were in his lands.
But these lands were no man's. It was not right. It could not be allowed to persist.
There was, however, little Roskel could do to fight such a man, with just the two of them. He thought for a moment that he would return to Naeth and raise the armies to march on the Fresh Woods and hunt the man down. But then he realised he was falling into the same old trap. There was no one else, and he was here. It was his responsibility, and no one else’s.
He imagined the people of Haven were in trouble, too. The innkeeper at Year’s End, Sam Durnborn, had hinted at troubles in the north of the forest. Now Roskel knew that the rumours were true. The forest had risen against man and all his works.
It was an abomination. Nature did not think. Men thought, and one man had perverted the forest to his own ends. He must be stopped.
First, thought Roskel, concern yourself with staying alive.
There was a crash from behind them. Some huge creature came toward them through the woods.
A nightmare beast crashed through the brush and wit
h a roar, lumbered toward them. Roskel raised his sword. The Drayman stepped in front of him, his curved blade held before his face.
At first glance it looked like a bear, but it was in terrible pain. Shoots had grown through its flesh and thorns the size of a man’s thumb poked through its matted fur. Its eyes were bleeding and it had the look of insanity about it.
With a cry of rage and pain it slashed at the Drayman with one massive paw. He dived to his left, narrowly evading the blow. The bear’s claws tore through a small tree and broke it in half.
Roskel flailed at it with his own short sword, scoring a glancing blow. Then he dodged back as it swung a paw at him.
While it was distracted, the Drayman leapt forward and his sword danced. Blood and some other fluid flew from the numerous cuts he inflicted, but the beast did not go down. As Roskel watched, the forest floor seemed to grow up and into the beast. Where there had been blood there was now plant growth.
It was horrible, even more so for the obvious agony the unnatural melding caused the beast. It could no more control its rage than they could halt it. It was living off the forest, and the druid’s mad rage was driving it forward to attack them.
'Run!' he shouted over the lumbering thing’s crashing and trees’ cracking.
The Drayman slashed one final time, blinding the creature in one eye, then ran to his horse. Roskel followed his lead. Then they were rushing through the grasping trees at dangerous speeds, not looking back; running from the fury of the forest.
*
Chapter Sixty-Four
They reached the edge of a clearing as twilight finally slid into night. They wasted no time. Roskel and the Drayman leapt onto their horses’ backs in unison, heeled their mounts and broke for Haven. The bear could not follow fast enough. It reached the clearing and suddenly the plant growth that sustained it rotted and fell back. The bear crashed to the ground and blood exploded from its many wounds.
The Thief King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two Page 17