by Emmet Moss
“And the armies of Lord Dalemen? What can we expect of their deployment?” Gavin asked.
Sifting through a thick stack of parchments, Captain Draven withdrew a detailed list of company names and troop numbers.
“At the very least,” he began, “we can expect nearly twenty-two hundred. If the remainder of the other companies near the bottom of that list actually arrive, we could be facing three thousand enemy soldiers.”
“He has ten companies? How can he afford so many?” Gavin exclaimed as his mind registered the new information. The cost of that many men would be enormous. Most battles throughout the summer pitted three to four companies per side. Employers simply could not afford the price to feed and supply that large a force.
Furnael shrugged, “Although Lord Dalemen is fronting these armies, Gadian Yarr is funding the better part of any fees owed. As we all know, his coffers are deep.”
“His influence hurts us as well. He has required less men in the east fighting near Matanis this year. Few companies dare to stand against him. That city is weak, with only a token defense beyond what the Grey Rangers and Herod’s men can provide,” Gavin added.
“Will it hold?” Captain Sledge asked.
“I believe it might,” Furnael answered with an uncertain grimace. “Lord Baleford is leading the defense. He’s a capable tactician, but he’ll be hard pressed. He can expect high casualties and that means we may lose more allied companies before next spring’s Ca’lenbam.”
“Forcing Dalemen out of this fight would be a severe blow to both his numbers and morale. It would certainly make Yarr look far less shrewd,” Captain Draven offered.
“How severely?” Gavin pressed.
“It would cut his force in half.” Duke Berry responded after a moment spent pondering the situation. “To save face, he will not allow any company with ties to his money draw blades while his consort is in mortal danger. At least eleven hundred would stand down.”
Gavin followed the duke’s assessment. “Those men would stay in the vicinity, but until her Ladyship is released, Lord Dalemen is effectively neutralized.”
“Will they still attempt a siege with such a loss?” Captain Draven asked. “Our soldiers would be at an advantage.”
“Have no doubt, Gadian Yarr wants this city and he wants it badly,” Duke Berry cursed. “I hold more than a few resources he’d like to see fall into his lap, including the mines along the Karipaal range. I also hold the key to the defense of the east. If he hadn’t slipped those men north around the Caeronwood so late in the summer, only the Seracen Pass would have been open through the mountains, and I would have strategically blocked it with my own men.”
“Seems like bad business to attack, knowing your allies may very well be slaughtered.” Gavin frowned.
“He’ll attack no matter the cost. He needs Garchester if he wants to control the east. The west is already under his sway, but I’ll be damned if I let a man get that powerful,” the duke avowed. “There hasn’t been a noble with such power in nearly two hundred years, and if someone doesn’t stop his march across the Protectorate territories, he’ll stand uncontested.”
“Well then, it seems we have no choice in the matter,” Captain Sledge said. Reaching into the pile of maps on the table he smiled grimly as he pulled one and placed it before the other three men. Gavin nodded his approval as they looked over a detailed map of Garchester.
“Gentlemen, we have a long night ahead of us,” Furnael sighed, looking in turn at each of the captains under his employ. “We can assume that the siege will begin tomorrow. There is the final defense of the city yet to plan.”
The sun’s rays were already spreading across the fields next to Garchester as Gavin stumbled into his quarters. Hoping to steal a few hours of sleep before he was needed once more, the Fey’Derin Captain slowly pulled his boots from his feet. Sitting quietly on his bed, he glanced briefly out the small window of his chamber and out across the very same road his men had fought upon a day earlier. Only a few scattered rags and blankets remained where, not so long ago, hundreds of terrified labourers had nearly lost their lives.
Comforted by the silence, Gavin rested in his bed with one arm covering his eyes in order to block out the bright morning sun. Sadly, he knew that the new dawn would bring none of the same peace. Instead, there would be the chaos of war and the death of many. Drifting off to sleep, he tried his best to hang on to the serene moment. Only the gods knew if it was to be his last.
Of quiet days and glory, they stand the test of time. Alone amongst friends, of the tenders they yearn.
—Unknown
Chapter VIII
Briar, Northern Council
To Alessan Oakleaf, the Black Boar had suddenly become a much smaller place. The stout wooden passageways and busy common room that had once loomed so large, now seemed quaint and cramped. One visit to that beckoning world so close beyond the gates of Briar, had produced in him a bubbling impatience.
Alessan found it strange that a place so important to him could so easily be cast aside. Now, when he picked up a mop or slogged through another day in the stables, it wore down his constitution. Each command barked by the cook, and every whispered assurance from his mother, drove him to frustration. He was no longer content in taking in the rich aromas drifting through the rooms and hallways of the inn; smells that used to elicit many fond memories. He wished only for the sweet fragrance of moss, fresh grass between his toes, and the brisk bite of wind on an autumn afternoon. He longed for a refreshing drink from one of the streams along the edge of the Aeldenwood. Above all else, Alessan Oakleaf wished fervently for his freedom.
With his mind awakened by the new experiences made possible by Corian Praxxus, Alessan took every opportunity to join the master merchant at Oakfeld Patch. His mother continued to believe that he was being paid to work on the man’s accounts, and so he did, to a certain degree. Corian spent the day lecturing Alessan on the art of mercantilism, and revealing many of his strategies and goals. That Praxxus was business savvy was never in doubt, but Alessan quickly realized that he genuinely liked the man. He was boastful to be sure, but not unkind in his demeanor, as the merchants of Innes Vale were often portrayed. He encouraged Alessan to ask questions about the trade, and seemed delighted with the opportunity to teach a willing student.
Although wealthy beyond belief, Corian Praxxus listened to what Alessan had to say. And so, the ba’caech from Briar, someone who had never been accepted by the Lumbers, was filled with pride whenever a Sylvani messenger arrived with a small pouch of coins and a missive requesting his presence. Both his mother and sister grew suspicious as his time with the merchant increased. Yet seeing him truly happy for the first time since his father had passed, they would always agree and grant him permission to leave.
Although Master Praxxus had become somewhat of a mentor, Alessan still pondered the encounter in the Aeldenwood with the peculiar figure by the water’s edge. C’Aelis had spoken to him through the very thoughts in his mind, and he yearned for answers. Could the long-forgotten Gorimm have returned? And if so, why? Where have they been since disappearing so long ago?
These questions gnawed at him while he slept, consumed him during his menial tasks, and tugged at him whenever he walked under the eaves of that Great Wood. Praxxus, to his credit, noticed the curious behavior, but Alessan refused to elaborate on his worries. Other than the brief and carefully worded conversation with his sister after the incident, he had spoken to no one about the mysterious meeting. Sitting with his feet dangling lazily in the water of a newly discovered stream, Alessan tried his best to push aside the constant thoughts.
“You have that serious expression on your face again, lad,” remarked Corian. The oversized merchant lay floating on his back, stark-naked in the waist deep water, and basking luxuriously in the sunshine. Alessan shook his head, trying in vain to dispel the white-b
ellied image from his mind. He could see that Corian was apparently not embarrassed by his ample girth.
“Just thinking about how my mother and sister are getting on without me, Master Praxxus. It’s not usual for me to have missed so many days of work. Come to think of it, in a given year, I can’t say I’ve ever missed so many,” Alessan replied.
“Your mother is making a tidy little profit off me, young Oakleaf, so don’t fret too much. She knows as well as I that I’ll be leaving soon enough, and things will return to normal,” he replied.
“What if I don’t want everything to go back to how it was?” Alessan asked quietly. “What if I want to be more than just a stable boy?”
“Now what do you mean by that?” the big man pressed.
Shrugging his shoulders, Alessan dropped his eyes to his lap and muttered a quick, inaudible reply.
Standing up abruptly, Corian Praxxus drew himself out of the water, his naked form dripping profusely as he towered over the younger man. “Now see here, Alessan Oakleaf. If I have taught you anything, by the gods, I hope I’ve taught you to stand up and make your voice heard!” the merchant barked.
“Your problem isn’t that no one respects you, it’s that you refuse to be heard. You cower in a corner, pretending to care about what those bloody Lumbers think, but you don’t have the stones to say or do anything about it! Oh you’ll complain, that’s for sure, but that’s all you’ll do! You’ve a sharp mind in that body of yours, and you refuse to be anything but what others have already deemed your lot in life!”
Stunned and angered by the passionate words, Alessan rushed to his feet, planting himself firmly in front of Corian Praxxus and looking him straight in the eyes. “I believe you have no right to tell me what is wrong with my life!” he hissed menacingly. “You can’t possibly understand.”
Laughing sarcastically, the merchant continued, his bulk quivering with every word. “You think everyone grows up with respect and a good life?! Do you honestly think you’re the only boy ever to grow up with adversity, Alessan? Listen to yourself for a moment.”
Alessan looked away, and Praxxus continued in a quieter tone. “You’ve had a tough life, I’ll give you that, but I was born into a poor family. I never let my family’s lack of wealth stop me from attaining my own dreams. I wanted to travel the world, and so I have, from the fortresses of the Iron Shield, to the far off deserts of Kaleen. But I made it happen, boy. I clawed, I scratched, I fought and pushed myself through all of the barriers, and who’s to say you can’t do the same?”
“I’m not you, Master Praxxus. I can’t do it alone,” Alessan slumped back down near the stream’s edge, his hands clasped tightly together.
Grabbing his robe from the shore, the Corian covered himself and sat down heavily at Alessan’s side. Breathing deeply, he put a large arm around Alessan’s thin shoulders. “I never said I did it alone, Alessan. There was a time when I needed help, and you know what?”
“What?” Alessan whispered. “I asked,” he replied quietly.
“Asked?”
“Aye, lad, I asked for help,” Corian Praxxus replied.
Alessan had always been attuned to his dreams. Being a heavy sleeper, he had somehow tapped the uncanny ability to clearly remember his nightly imaginings. Beginning when he was a young boy, he faithfully kept a journal at his bedside. Filled from cover to cover with strange and exciting stories, he had painstakingly recorded everything in as much detail as possible.
As he grew older, and the despair of his frustrating life started weighing him down, his dreams seemed to darken. Clouded by inner doubts and turmoil, he had lost the ability to remember them, and it had been some time since they were at the forefront of his mind. Now, since meeting the silver-haired man in the woods, the clarity of the nighttime visions returned.
For three consecutive nights, he dreamt of C’Aelis. They were not exact recreations of that afternoon by the water’s edge, but they were remarkably similar nonetheless. In each of the dreams, he spent his time wandering under the eaves of the Aeldenwood with the stranger.
He was calm and more relaxed than he could ever hope to be. His body felt stronger, and the daily aches and pains that were second nature had receded. His arm was still shriveled, but there was a healthy glow to the skin that was surprising. And walking beside him was C’Aelis, the slight impish man offering a supportive arm as Alessan struggled to avoid slipping on the thin layer of frost that coated the ground.
The Aeldenwood was beautiful. The ancient gnarled trunks of the large trees dominated the area, each and every one unique. Alessan was sure that every tree had a fantastic story to tell. The ground, although lightly dusted by the weather, was soft and yielding as they tread upon it. Oddly, the deepest cold of winter never penetrated the strange woods.
The contempt for the forest, shared by all the people of Briar, seemed absurd when surrounded by such serene beauty. In the distance, the gentle rushing of water could be heard, the sound soothing and, regardless of the temperature, inviting. All around them, life was abound. Be it through a thick piece of dangling brown moss, or the defiant green leaves fighting off the approaching winter; the forest was alive.
Both travelers found a large boulder to sit upon. They rested and enjoyed the bold rays of sunlight making their way through the thick canopy of leaves looming overhead. Alessan was certain that they spoke as they often stopped moving and stared intently into each other’s eyes for long periods of time. And yet, he could remember nothing of what was said. In that moment of the dream, he was a disconnected spectator, a presence flitting about the edges of the trees, hoping to glean some knowledge from the two figures he observed.
And with every vision there came a moment of panic, a disturbance in the surrounding forest that heralded the end. Darkness would creep up menacingly, and a chorus of wolf howls would shatter the peaceful scene. Fear would overtake him, and he would awaken.
Not long after his first visit to Oakfeld Patch, disturbing rumours began making their way to the Black Boar. With the details discussed in hushed tones, many Lumbers wore grave expressions that bespoke of tragedy. Bran Elmwood, a well-respected man and member of the Guild, had gone missing. An excursion to his homestead was planned by members of the Guild in the hopes that they would find Bran unharmed, but many held little hope.
Stubborn Lumbers who refused to give up their family homes, even after the Aeldenwood had encroached upon their fields, were often never seen again. For generations now, the Aeldenwood had claimed not only Lumbers, but entire households. Rare were the cases where any sign of the disappearances were unearthed. It was as if they had simply vanished, with nary a word to their neighbours, relatives, or friends.
Alessan was certain Bran’s disappearance did not bode well for the region, or himself. His mother would be hard pressed to let her only son travel to Oakfeld Patch on the heels of such dark tidings. If there was one thing Alessan had come to expect from his current employer, it was the man’s insatiable curiosity. Now for the first time since meeting Corian Praxxus, Alessan was afraid of where that curiosity might lead.
Not surprisingly, a note arrived early the next morning. The clean-shaven Sylvani recruit passed on the message while wearing a bored expression. Alessan assessed that the soldier would rather be doing anything other than delivering messages like some errand boy for the wealthy. Yet he was relatively polite, and the small sack full of coins was exactly as promised. Watching the messenger leave, Alessan fought hard to suppress his old dreams of one day becoming a soldier himself; a mercenary destined to gather fame and fortune on the battlefields of Kal Maran. Shrugging, he let the foolish daydream pass.
Corian was waiting for him near the Burning Hearth. The big man lay seated in its shadow, a long, thin wooden pipe sent smoke drifting lazily up towards the ceiling. As always, Alessan spared a quick glance at Sorrow, with its names emblazoned upon the ancient wood. The merchant se
emed lost in thought. His lips were pursed slightly around the end of his pipe, and his eyes held a faraway look.
Gently sidling up near the man, Alessan cleared his throat before speaking. “Pardon me, Master Praxxus, I hope I’m not disturbing your thoughts, but I felt compelled to inform you of my arrival.”
“Eh?” Corian murmured. “Oh, it’s you, young Oakleaf. I was startled there for a moment.”
“My apologies, sir,” Alessan replied.
“No, no, don’t apologize. You know, you can never leave an old man alone with his thoughts for too long. Do so and he’s sure to wander a long ways down that path before all is done,” Corian stated.
“Sound advice, sir.”
“I’m not so sure that you’ll be remembering that bit of advice anytime soon, you young rascal!” the merchant bellowed. Pausing to put away his pipe, he pulled himself to his feet. Stretching loudly, he jerked his head towards the tribute Alessan was trying to avoid.
“They carved that fellow’s name in the trunk this morning. I’ve never experienced anything like it, what with nearly a hundred men here chanting and speaking soberly on his behalf. It was almost spiritual,” he finished solemnly.
“To the people of my town, and others along the northern edges of the forest, it is very spiritual. Our reverence for the Lumbers is something every man, woman, and child in Briar considers to be essential, Master Praxxus,” Alessan replied.
“You are a strange folk, Alessan,” Corian said with a sad smile. “But you are also a brave and noble people. I grew up in a society where your standing and accumulated wealth defines you. In my travels, I have seen few lands, with the exception of far-off Kaleen, that stray from that basic tenet. And yet here, in the middle of the Northern Council territories, I find a small town that has built their faith around the axe, and that Great Wood.”
“We’re not really worried about politics and the like here in Briar. We chop down trees, and that’s about all,” he replied.