by AC Cobble
She nodded in response.
Ben had spent years hunting game around Farview with his friend Serrot, so he was comfortable moving silently, but Amelie was not. She tried to follow in Ben’s footsteps and winced every time she stepped on a fallen branch or inadvertently brushed against low-hanging foliage.
Ben glanced back at her and smiled encouragement. He hoped the trickle of water over rocks in the stream would mask any sounds they made.
Near the bottom of the ravine, the ridgeline tapered off, and the smoke smell grew stronger. Ben frowned. They were not smelling a temporary campsite. This was a serious encampment, or possibly a small village.
Again, he looked back at Amelie and saw her raise her eyebrows questioningly. She was no outdoorswoman, but even she could tell there were likely more people ahead than they wanted to fight.
“A little further,” whispered Ben.
Together, they moved past the end of the ridgeline and saw another narrow creek meeting the one they had been following. They walked until they were on the end of the spit of land between the two creeks. They looked downstream but could see nothing.
Thick trees and undergrowth around the water obscured anything further than thirty paces away. Ben was certain the source of the smoke was nearby. Like he had speculated, it seemed to be located near the stream.
A distant clang of metal on metal jolted both of them. It continued at a regular interval.
“Men at arms training?” whispered Amelie nervously.
“No,” answered Ben, listening closely. He smiled. “That’s a blacksmith.”
Once he identified it, it was clear. Ben could almost picture the blacksmith’s hammer coming down over and over again.
“What do we do?” she asked in a low tone. “If it’s a blacksmith with a forge, it can’t be anything related to us.”
Ben nodded. “I think you’re right. Let’s head back up the other creek and find a place to cross. We can keep going north. Whoever is down there, they are not interested in us.”
One hundred paces upstream, they saw a small foot bridge connecting the two banks.
They looked at each other then back at the bridge.
“Let’s cross,” Ben suggested. “That’s easier than finding a shallow point somewhere else, right?”
On close inspection, the bridge was solidly built but with crude tools. The walkway was made of split logs instead of milled planks and the handrails were affixed with wooden pegs instead of nails. Despite that, it didn’t shake or even move when Ben stepped onto it.
Amelie followed quickly behind. She tried to shake the handrail but it didn’t budge. Next, she hopped up and down, causing thumping sounds through the pleasantly solid logs. She grinned at Ben then they started walking across.
“Myland!” called a firm voice. “Is that you?”
Ben and Amelie froze. They were paused halfway across the bridge, trying to determine which way the voice came from.
“Aye,” answered a call from behind. “Come help me. I’ve got your dinner!”
Panicked eyes met. Ben and Amelie started forward but stopped short at the foot of the bridge when a man stepped into view. He appeared almost as shocked as they did.
“Ho now,” he blurted. “You don’t look like Myland.”
The man stood a good hand taller than Ben. He was dressed in a rough tunic and britches and carried a huge longbow. He had a hunting knife on his belt and a quiver full of arrows over his shoulder. He was otherwise unarmed.
“I’m, uh, I’m not Myland,” replied Ben.
“I think he knows that.” A man behind them laughed.
Myland, as the newcomer must be, was a shorter, stouter version of the first man. He was a hand shorter than Ben but made up for it with a bulky frame. It wasn’t fat though, as evidenced by the deer slung over his shoulder. He balanced it with one hand and clutched a longbow similar to the first man’s.
The newcomer continued, “Since we’ve established that your name is not, in fact, Myland, would you be so kind as to share it?”
“Ben.” Ben cursed himself for not thinking to give a fake name. “And this is my friend Meghan.”
“Well, pleased to meet you, Ben and Meghan. Now, if you’d care to take a step off the bridge, I’d like to keep moving. This deer weighs at least five stone and I’m ready to put the damn thing down.”
Ben and Amelie sheepishly stepped off the bridge and Myland strode confidently across with the deer hanging over his shoulder.
“You folks are obviously not from around here,” stated the woodsman. “You in a hurry or do you have time to stop over for the night? My friends and I don’t get to hear a lot of news from the rest of the world. We’re always willing to share a bite to eat and a few drinks for an update on what is happening.”
Ben and Amelie looked at each other nervously.
The man sighed. “We don’t much care what you’re running from. Most of us in Free State, we’ve been on the run before, too. As long as you don’t have a dispute with one of us, which I highly doubt you do, then you are welcome around our fire.”
The man started off again then turned back to them. “You look like you need a rest. Come on!”
Free State turned out to be a humble village with about forty log and mud structures. It was set on the bank of the stream they’d been following and it was filled with people moving about their daily tasks.
A gaggle of small, yelling children came running up when the party walked into the village. The children swarmed around them, which drew a smile from Amelie, but Myland shooed them off.
He glanced apologetically at Ben and Amelie and explained, “They don’t see outsiders very often.”
He turned to his companion and instructed, “Athor, tell everyone we’ll have a gathering at the common house this evening. I’m sure they’ll all want to hear any news.”
The man nodded and headed to one of the low buildings where a woman poked her head out to see what the commotion was.
“You two can come with me to my house,” Myland offered to Ben and Amelie. “Later, everyone will want to hear all about whatever you can tell us. First, I suggest you rest.”
Myland’s house was fashioned of rough logs and mud like the rest of the village. He dropped his deer on the ground near the back then they went inside. The low ceiling barely cleared Ben’s head.
“Sorry about that.” The man grinned. He patted his own lower-to-the-ground head and chuckled. “Plenty of room for me.”
“Thank you for offering to put us up,” said Ben. “Is there anything we can do for you? We don’t have much in the way of coin.”
Myland shook his head. “It’s my pleasure.”
The man rushed about, tidying up. After a minute, he added, “Honestly, I talk to the same folks around here every day. A man gets tired of it. It’s worth sharing this hut for a night to get some fresh conversation.”
Ben nodded and looked around the small structure.
It was split into a kitchen and sitting area in one room and a separate bedroom in another. Myland gestured toward the bedroom and suggested, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight if you two want to share the bed. You are together, right?”
Amelie blushed.
Ben started to answer but she interrupted him. “Yes, we can share the bed.”
Ben looked at her. Her eyes darted toward the window carved in the back of the bedroom wall. The only opening in the main room was the door. If something happened and they needed to escape, that window would be a useful exit. Ben nodded to her in understanding.
They deposited their packs in the bedroom while Myland filled a pair of large buckets from the stream. He dumped one of them into a washbasin.
“You look like you’ve been traveling hard,” he remarked. “Feel free to wash up and change. If you need any medicine or first aid, we have some people who could make do.” Myland glanced at Ben’s bound arm and torn shirt but didn’t comment further.
“I’ve got to go settle a d
ispute. It’s about a goat.” Myland sighed. Shaking his head, he continued, “Some people… Anyway, I should be back in half a bell. We’ll head to the gathering at twilight, if you’re still up for it.”
Ben smiled at him and the man left.
“Do you think we can trust them?” asked Amelie before walking over to the washbasin.
“Maybe,” replied Ben. “They’re too far away from any roads or real towns to be bandits, and we don’t have anything worth stealing anyway. I doubt they have ties to the Sanctuary. Could be they would turn us in for a bounty, but we’re going to have to take that risk sooner or later. When we get to Kirksbane, it will be a bigger problem than here I think.”
Amelie agreed. “You’re probably right.”
She then paused before the washbasin and looked back at Ben coyly. “Don’t get any ideas just because we’re sharing a bed tonight, Master Ashwood, and whether in the woods or her manor house, a lady prefers to bathe privately.”
He blushed and stepped outside of the small hut.
Life in the village was going on just like it was before they arrived. It was rougher, but it reminded him of Farview. Aside from a few long, curious glances at him, men and women went about the same domestic tasks they did back home. Children played amongst the buildings and a few chickens pecked fruitlessly nearby.
A young man with a nasty scar across the left half of his face and one missing eye stopped by Ben. “Stranger, you’ll be at the gathering tonight?” he inquired.
Ben nodded.
The man walked on, calling behind him, “The name is Bartholomew. I’ll see you there.”
The man had the light gait and wariness of someone used to combat, but Ben didn’t sense any threat from him.
On further observation of the village, Ben decided they could trust these people. He saw plenty of curiosity in the faces around him, but no one seemed to be hiding anything.
Before long, Amelie poked her head out of the door and told him he could wash and change now.
Ben ducked inside and saw she’d laid out a change of clothes for him, his only one.
“Sorry,” she said. “I had to go through both packs to find everything I needed. I figured you would want to change too.” She was wearing a different outfit and looked like she had been bathed and dressed by her handmaids. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders and her cheeks had a rosy glow.
He looked down at the washbasin then back at her.
“Um, are you going to give me some privacy?” he asked.
“I’m not going to go wandering around outside by myself, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” she responded curtly. “You say we can trust these people but we don’t really know.”
“B-But…” he stuttered.
“Ben, hurry up and wash,” she insisted. “You think too much.”
That evening, as the sun began to set, Myland took them to the common house. It wasn’t any more than an open dirt space with a high, thatch roof.
“We have community meetings here, the occasional feast, and anything else that requires a lot of room,” he explained.
Earlier, he told them that the village was called Free State and it was a community of people who were sick of living under the thumbs of lords and ladies, so they found their own place. There was no government and no leadership, he said, but as they arrived at the common house, it was apparent Myland was at least an informal leader.
With quick commands and gestures, he organized the few early arrivers.
Soon, there were long tables in place and people placing a disorganized jumble of food on them. It was simple stuff, game that could be caught in the surrounding woods, rich-smelling stews, rough grained breads, and piles of vegetables that Ben recognized would be easy to grow with minimal cultivation. A bored looking boy was turning a whole hog on a spit over a fire in the hearth.
“It’s not fancy,” Myland said with a grin, “but it will fill you up.”
“It’s better than we’ve been eating recently,” muttered Amelie.
“You haven’t seen the best part.” Myland beamed. “My own contribution.”
He took them to one side of the pavilion and showed off two large jugs containing a clear liquid. He unplugged one and lifted it up to them. “Smell,” he encouraged.
Ben inhaled deeply then stepped back, coughing. His eyes watered and he felt a tingle at the back of his throat. Amelie looked suspiciously at Myland, who held the jug toward her, a broad smile plastered across his face.
She sniffed delicately at the jug then frowned dubiously at Myland. “What is that?”
“It’s made from corn. Want to try some?” he asked.
“No thank you,” she answered abruptly.
“Come on. It’s good for you!” insisted Myland.
His enthusiasm for the brew was infectious. Eventually, Ben and Amelie gave in and let him pour some of the concoction into three battered tin cups. He clinked his against theirs and they took a tentative sip. The solution tasted just like it smelled, like liquid fire scorching its way through the mouth and down the throat. Ben got nervous about what it would do when it hit his stomach.
He coughed and spluttered. “That is awfully strong.”
“Have a few more and you’ll start to like it,” defended Myland. “I tell everyone it’s the third cup that tastes the best.”
Eyes watering, Amelie choked, “Do you have any water?”
Myland sighed. “I think we can find some water. Let’s go over and I’ll introduce you around.”
The common house began to fill up as the sun dropped below the trees and darkness fell across the village. The hearth on one end of the open structure and a roaring fire in the middle provided the light.
Myland’s brew set a warm tingle in Ben’s body. He found himself famished when scents of the food drifted to him. They gathered a flagon of water and piled heaping plates with the simple but hearty fare the villagers were carrying in. Myland led them to a table and bench. Before long, people crowded around, tentatively asking questions. Ben tried to answer between mouthfuls of food, but as soon as he answered the first question, more people pressed close.
“Let them eat. Let them eat!” barked their stout host. He stood up and shooed people away so Ben and Amelie could finish their dinner.
“He wasn’t kidding about them wanting news,” whispered Amelie.
“I don’t mind telling them a few things in exchange for this,” answered Ben before tearing into a steaming shank of venison. Juices dripping down his chin, he added, “Of course, we can’t tell them anything about our situation or who you are.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
As soon as Ben mopped up the last of a puddle of gravy from his plate with a slice of bread, Myland reappeared with his jug of spirits and refilled the tin mug.
“If you don’t mind obliging us, some of them are desperate for news,” he said with a smile.
Ben turned on the bench to face a crowd of people who were shuffling closer.
The young man with the scar and missing eye who spoke to Ben earlier that day was the first to draw close.
“You remember me from earlier?” he asked quickly.
“Yes. Bartholomew, right?” answered Ben.
The man nodded eagerly and blurted, “Can you tell us about Argren’s Conclave and the Alliance?”
Ben and Amelie exchanged a worried glance.
“It’s okay if you don’t know anything about it,” continued the man apologetically. “The last visitors we had said it was happening soon. A great force was to be raised to meet the threat of the Coalition in the east. We’ve been hearing about the Coalition for years now. How it’s growing, taking more territory.”
“Ah,” said Ben, relaxing and leaning back against the wooden table. “Yes, we do know a little bit about that.”
“Just what has been told on the streets,” added Amelie quickly. “You tell them, Ben. You’re better with stories.”
Bartholomew sat down on a near
by bench to listen. Several other villagers drew close.
Ben took a sip from his tin cup and winced at the burn. He thought about what to say while the fiery liquor leaked down his throat.
“Well,” he started, “what you heard is correct. There was a Conclave in Whitehall and King Argren did form an Alliance. As you say, they plan to oppose the Coalition. Most of the cities on the Blood Bay and along the Venmoor River joined. Northport, Venmoor, Fabrizo, and of course the Sineook Valley. I’m probably forgetting a few…” he trailed off.
“What about the City?” blurted a young woman. She looked down sheepishly when the group turned toward her. “My sister lives there.”
“I heard the Sanctuary had a representative at the Conclave,” said Ben slowly. “They didn’t sign the agreement though. From what I understand, the mages try to stay out of these kinds of things. I couldn’t tell you what their intentions are.” He looked at Amelie who shrugged. “Who knows if they really support the Alliance, or if it was just an act,” he finished, a bitter note creeping into his voice.
Myland snorted from the back of the crowd.
“Will it be war then?” asked Bartholomew.
“It may come to that.” Ben nodded. He was certain it would be war if he and Amelie made it to Whitehall and informed Argren what the Coalition and the Sanctuary had attempted, but they couldn’t tell these people that. “I would say it is a strong possibility.”
“Of course it will be war,” growled Myland, glaring around the group. “It’s always that way. That’s why we live out here. Why I live here at least.”
After that, the villagers asked less dangerous questions and ones frequently Ben and Amelie couldn’t answer. They wanted to know what was happening wherever they came from or had family. Most of the places they asked about, Ben had never heard of. He certainly had no details on whether long lost loves ended up getting married or what people’s parents were doing.
Before long, the questions tapered off and Ben was able to ask a few of his own.
“So, what exactly is this place?” he asked. “I think you called it Free State?”
Myland turned up his tin cup and gulped the liquor. He splashed another measure into his cup and offered to refill Ben’s. Ben nodded. Once he was topped off, Myland answered, “We don’t call it Free State because we’re a bunch of creative geniuses, I’ll tell you that. When I first arrived, they were already saying Free State. When I suggested they change it, well, people around here are stubborn. They call it Free State because we are free here. We are free from the influence of any lord, lady, mage, or whoever else tries to tell us how to live our lives.”