CHAPTER TWO
A warmth flooded over Torr the likes of which he had never experienced, even when standing by the fire at Home Manor on a cold Witherings eve, after sneaking in a fine porcelain carafe of Westernesse red wine from his father’s study. His first taste of that velvety mead and its effects paled into comparison with the rush of blood through his body upon that kiss.
As he closed his eyes, the image of Eagred remained very clear seemingly in his mind’s eye. He could not tell if he had entered a dream state of some magical description, or if Eagred had somehow physically found her way into his head. Given her nature, both explanations seemed plausible. The dryad still seemed real enough. She appeared to be speaking to him, but he could hear no sound, just her visage etched in his mind. The coastal wind still appearing to tug at her thin gown, but there was no forest around her, no path leading through the trees or coast’s edge, just Eagred.
He felt nothing now, no attachment to any mortal body, but this vision of Eagred was more than a dream, he was sure. When he recalled their kiss, he felt a surge, like a rush of blood, even if he had no conscious physical feeling, as if some unknown power had been awakened in him. Holding on to the image of Eagred though seemed to be getting harder. There was no physical impression of her moving away or becoming less real, just a sense that she was slipping away. As she faded from his mind (if this was truly where he saw her now) the nature of his encounter with these creatures started to dawn on him.
He started to feel something else now, a sickness in the pit of his stomach but again no other sensation that he was truly alive. That his encounter with these creatures had not been what it seemed, or at least, what he hoped it was or would lead to. However, he remained entirely certain that Eagred may have genuinely felt something for him. This did not waiver and gave him a crumb of comfort as it started to dawn on him that all they had planned was to lure him into the forest, to be slaughtered or left some mindless husk, or to some other unimaginable fate. He was their prey and he had walked into their trap more willingly then any deer he had baited whilst out hunting with his father and brother.
Another sensation now - anger, the feelings of drunken wooziness all but gone. Still, he knew he was not awake but not dreaming, he thought. This gave rise to some confusion as well now. Where was he then? If his ordeal was over, why could he not just wake? He thought he heard a low moaning sound, as confusion gave way to worry. Was he perhaps still in the dryads’ clutches? Was he still in mortal danger? Was this death? Worry became fear, almost panic. A sensation of movement and more moaning, slightly louder now.
Then he felt something, not in his mind’s eye, for he could see nothing now but he felt something, a soothing hand on what should be his head he thought. Words as well, a female voice, comforting. He couldn’t make out what was being said but something about the touch of the hand and the tone of the voice seemed entirely familiar. He could feel then. Some comfort returned to him and a feeling of rest. He thought he could hear more voices as his panic subsided, as he could focus, yes, a focus only gained through physicality. The other voices, there were more than one, were mens’, again familiar to him, another females voice now, slightly higher and younger sounding than the first: sister!
Without conscious thought, he tried to open his eyes, no clear images, but blurry shapes looking directly down at him. All of a sudden his connection to the real world and his body rushed over him, overwhelming his mind. His dizziness returned in abundance. He thought he had the sensation of trying to sit up, but fell back again on whatever he was lying on. He opened his eyes again. Slightly more focussed this time, yes, his sister, brother and mother, and also, his bedroom. He was home! Another sensation; relief. He tried to speak, but could only manage a low croaking noise. The lanterns in his room burned brightly, too brightly. He closed his eyes again, his relief now giving way to a feeling of exhaustion. No feelings of pain, just a mental tiredness he could not explain. He could feel his mother holding his hand.
As his sense of physicality returned, and a certainty that he was safe and seemingly physically uninjured, so did his sense of humour: Sodding hell, he thought. I’m in for a world of shit now!
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When he woke again, he knew he had slept, no dreams, no sensations, no visions of Eagred (although thinking about her bought back a feeling of dizziness at first), just waking from a very heavy sleep. He still felt tired, as he often felt on The Sunlord’s day of rest, after nine days of waking at dawn all the time in his heavily regimented world.
He went to get out of bed, knocking a pan of warm, herbal smelling, water off his bedside table. The clattering had brought in one of the housemaids, Shishgaerd, one of the younger maids (who seemed to blush when addressed by Torr’s older brother). She looked alarmed and unprepared for a conscious, but still clumsy, Torr. “Young Sir, you’re awake! I must fetch Maem and your mother at once”. Shishgaerd turned on her heel, picked up her hem and left, like a fast moving curtain.
Torr sat back down, not having had time, or the voice to protest. He tried to clear his mind for the inevitable backlash that was undoubtedly to come. Gods, his punishment had been severe enough when he was quite a few years younger, just for wandering unaccompanied further up river from Home Manor to go and see his friend, Raeknor, the miller’s son. Admittedly, he had taken the watch guard’s longsword (without the watch guard knowing!) to protect himself against the bandits that he had heard everyone talking about at the time. It was only when the search party found him three miles further up river that he considered he might be in a spot of bother then as well!
Oh well, at least father won’t be back for a long time, depending upon the winds and currents.
Aelboric, Torr’s father, was on one of their ships on a voyage to the island city state of Sha Haram.
It was not often that Aelboric Skarsdale had the need, or time, to personally oversee a convoy now. Not since their new class of ocean traders took to the waters of The Great Sea some four years ago, but Torr had been told this one was important.
According to the ship birds that had been sent, all was going well and he was due to start his return trip in The Sunlords Blessing, as the ship had been named. This was much to the approval of The Abbot of Paega at its launch.
Whilst musing that his father would have enough time to calm down when he learnt about Torr’s latest escapade, his Mother, Mae, entered his room almost at a run and in one fell swoop, attempted to crush poor Torr in her joy at seeing her youngest son up and, seemingly, no worse for wear. “My boy” she had time to exclaim, before the house Maem entered his room as well, looking somewhat terser than his mother although that seemed to be the only expression she could muster, even when addressed by her employer, Torr’s father.
“What on earth were you doing, wandering off from Barak like that and going into the Forest with those things!”
Both his mother and Maem examined him closely, looking beyond his face for signs of madness or other, hidden, malady. “I’m fine” Torr said automatically.
“You said that when you stepped into the path of that knight at the tourney ground yet you couldn’t stand straight for a week”. Mae held him at arm’s length, still staring intently at Torr. “You will worry your mother so”.
“Your poor mother has been beside herself these last few days and nights, unable to rest, even with the monastery’s best apothecary staying here almost permanently while you tossed and turned in your fever” chipped in Maem, in tones of some disgust.
Torr’s mother turned only slightly before addressing Maem. “Yes, thank you, Maem, for your concern, I shall deal with our boy now. If I am not mistaken, we shall be hosting the miller’s family tonight”. A thinly veiled command to Maem that she had other duties to attend to. Torr had always known that his mother had never really approved of their Maem, a clash of temperament and personality. Nevertheless, she was one of the best heads of house and staff in the town of Paega and bey
ond, if his father was right.
Torr had sat up straighter at the mention of the miller’s impending attendance at Home Manor. That would mean Raeknor would be over as well. Mae sensed why Torr had taken note of that comment. “Alas, Raeknor will not be over I am afraid. He has business in Paega to oversee. Besides, the apothecary who has seen you through your fever insisted no one but immediate family be allowed to see you when or if”, Mae's face dropped at this last word “you woke”. She quickly composed herself. Maem seemed right though, his mother looked tired.
Mae looked at her son again. “You will be the death of me I’m sure. Now, I must get someone to ride for Paega. The apothecary insisted on imposing himself on us again upon news of your recovery”.
Torr reflected on his mother’s worries. Again, only after his latest act did he consider the consequences of his actions (a point he knew his mother meant him to consider when she said this). Not that he felt he really had any choice in the matter. His intentions had been innocent enough. He had hunted deer there for years now, so had his brother, and his father. It could have been either of them that the dryads could have ensnared in their trap. However, something in him knew that he still would have wanted to enter the forest willingly with the creatures.
True to his mother’s word, there had been no visit from Raeknor that evening and Torr was confined to his room on the order of everyone who seemed to hold, or thought they held, authority over him over the course of the next few days. The apothecary had looked him over again the following day he awoke and prescribed more crushed herbs in all his washing and drinking water for another ten-day. He had at least agreed that Torr could roam the grounds but only during hours of daylight in case of some hidden curse brought on him by ‘those fell night creatures’ as the apothecary had put it. It wasn’t even at night when this happened you daft old goat! Torr thought to himself.
Torr understood his predicament though. He had placed himself in mortal danger, albeit unwittingly to begin with perhaps. He was not, therefore, in a position to start protesting at anything he was told to do.
“A large degree of contrition is in order brother” Torr had been told with a grin when greeted by Aelfsige, his older sibling and his twin sister, Freda. Although they had obviously been among the first to see him, it was only when Torr spoke to his brother that it occurred to him to ask how long it had been before he awoke. “You were asleep and in the grip of fever for two days, and you awoke on the third, scaring the shit out of the young maid in the process”.
“Yes, and I’m sure you were quickly there to comfort her brother” said Torr, making a thrusting motion with his loins as he said it. Torr was not sure if his older brother laughed at his comment, or the fact that he winced when moving quickly. Clearly he had been in bed longer than even Torr was comfy with.
“You are both quite foul” said Freda, with her usual admonishment of most conversations that her brothers held. “Your poor mother has been sick with worry and all you can do is laugh”. Her tone turning to slight anger as she cuffed her twin on the shoulder. “You are lucky father is not here, otherwise you would find yourself working in the shipyards all by yourself I shouldn’t wonder, if that’s what it will take to stop you from wandering off so. What on earth possessed you? I will have to fend off questions from my friends and peers about this for at least a month, possibly right through the season of Highsun”. Freda seemed to have the ability to make herself angrier the longer she spoke of a disagreeable topic.
“Come sister, I am quite sure our brother here will be punished fully in the course of time, but for now, he still appears to require rest”, Aelfsige turned his sister and ushered her out of the room whilst looking back at Torr and winking.
Over the course of the next few days, Torr had the opportunity to describe his incident with the dryads to his brother without Freda present. Being only a few years older, Aelfsige seemed as keen on the details of the creatures’ figures and garments as he was about the mortal peril that Torr may, or may not, have been in.
He had also received a visit from Barak, in his brother’s company as well. “Our good Barak here has also been beside himself as a result of your actions little brother” mocked Aelfsige again, who was clearly going to make the most of this for as long as he could. “I do believe you owe him an explanation given that he singlehandedly saved your backside from a bedevilled fate”.
“Barak...I”, began Torr, but then it occurred to him that he had asked no one, and no one had offered, any explanation what had actually happened. In truth, he had been too ashamed to ask.
“Now now young master, I will brook no apologies. I am simply glad that you are alive and well. I feared you were dead when I got to you, pale and cold you had gone and I could discern no breath. Me and the lads got you back here on horseback. We unhitched the wagon and rode straight for Home Manor”.
“But...so, what happened to Eag...?” Torr started to say her name but his brother quickly gave him a stern glance. “Err..those dryads. I was in the forest, I thought, and.....”. Torr quickly realised that there was no point trying to explain his actions. Any male, of any race with a pulse, would instantly discern anything other than a truthful explanation for trying to wander off with three dryads!
Fortunately, Barak was quick to pick up the threads of the tale’s ending. “The two lads who were helping you could see you and those.....things, so they ran to me double quick. I came to the top of the hillock and saw two of `em carting you off between them, with the third behind. I shouted to you sire, honest I did, but the third one then turned to me. The two lads with you followed me down brandishing the hunting pole and some of the other lads had responded to my shouts and had come up behind me with oars and picks. Fortunately, they had just come back up from the jetty. If they were all in the boats, I would have been on my own. This third one looked awful fierce sir but I realised that if I lost sight of you that....well”.
Torr swallowed. Barak’s explanation was another nail of reality about the predicament he had put himself in. “I never meant to....well, I am so sorry Barak”.
Aelfsige patted Barak on the back. “A regular hero our Barak was by all accounts”. Aelfsige had a sense of the dramatic which he now adopted. “He grabbed your sword that you seemed to have dropped near the bottom of the hill dear brother, before charging the foul creatures with nary a thought for his own wellbeing. He forced them to flee appearing, no doubt, to be twice their size before rescuing your sorry backside and returning you here for your family to pick up the pieces”.
“Now now, sir, it was only the first one that faced me and, I must admit, that is all a bit of a blur. By the time I got to young sir, the other two had already made off”. Barak said with some embarrassment. “Blood rage the apothecary called it, `e believed it made me immune to any spell they may have tried to cast”.
Something else then dawned on Torr. “Barak, why are you wearing a marine guard’s uniform?” he asked.
This earned Barak another slap on the back by Aelfsige.
“Well, in recognition of his bravery, our Barak here is one of our ships marines now”. Barak looked down sheepishly. “I only did what anyone else would `ave done”.
“Nonsense dear fellow, Sommerswake needs more stout hearts like yours”, finished Aelfsige. Barak bowed and left, claiming his new duties awaited him.
“Well at least someone got something out of this,” said Aelfsige when Barak had left. Aelfsige leaned on the door frame as he addressed his brother now and looked behind him to make sure no one was listening before turning to Torr again in quieter tones. “Truth is, I suspect he realised how much shit he would have been in, if he came back with either your dead body or no body at all. Still, all the labourers agreed that he charged downhill like a mad berserker, making at least one of your new friends flee”.
Torr looked instantly concerned. “Did he see what happened to them? There were three of them and one was...” His voice trailed off. Aelfsige raised one of his long,
gangly, arms and gripped Torr’s shoulder and winked. “Barak also said he saw you in the clutches of one of them or, at least, that’s how he put it when addressing everyone when he returned with you on the back of one of the packhorses. Your mother and sister have taken ‘clutch’ as a vile term full of the creatures dread. I, on the other hand, suspect any ‘clutching’ may have been more on your part! Don’t worry dear brother, your secret is safe with me”, he said with a wink before standing straight. “But he did not say what became of them, no. Having seen them off with blood rage, he quickly scooped you up covered by the rest of the men and returned forthwith. Don’t worry, I’m sure your new friends have simply retreated to lick their wounds”.
Aelfsige then left as well. As was the custom in the wealds, or at least in the Weald of Sommerswake, Aelfsige would be expected to take over the running of the family business as the eldest male child, leaving his sister ‘free’ to marry into any suitable family of repute. Fortunately, both seemed genuinely keen with their respective tasks and outlooks on life. Their grandfather had been a boat builder by trade and his father before that a carpenter as well. The success of the Skarsdale business as esteemed ship builders to merchants from all corners of the known world of Gaerd (or at least its known trading ports) was, in fairness, as much down to their geographical position in these troubled times as any other factor.
Still, they had come to be a well respected family in Paegas Bay and the quality of their fleet had never been questioned. The disruption of the established caravan trade routes through the lands of the Deeplings and into Theat and the troubles affecting the northern borders of the wealds meant that merchant houses had to become creative, very quickly, with their supply lines if they wanted to survive. The alternative was a mercenary company so large that any profits were instantly wiped out.
Fates Choice Page 3