by Liam Reese
Decision made, the six mounted again and turned to head directly for where Besmir hid. He shuffled backwards and turned, crawling for the trees and relative safety. With the thicker underbrush tantalizingly close, Besmir heard a voice bellow from behind him and turned to see the group had closed the distance between them by half somehow. Without another thought, he sprinted for the forest and his horse.
Lungs burning, legs aching but fear driving her on, Keluse ran through the trees. She stuck to the lesser known paths and animal trails Besmir had shown her, trying not to leave any sign she had been there. If whoever was following her could track half as well as Besmir, however, they would easily be able to find her.
Keluse knew running into the wind might help them so she cut South to try and escape. Although there had been no sign of anyone following her, Keluse knew they were there. Knew they were after her without knowing how.
Running blindly now, the unfamiliar territory added to her panic and Keluse lost her bearings, turning along little-trodden paths at random. To her right a mound of soil and stone seemed to leap into the air, growing into one of the random small hills that seemed to appear in the middle of this forest.
Keluse headed for it hoping it would turn out to be one of the small shelters Besmir had dotted throughout the forest. Her heart soared when she located the pile of brush and leaves that disguised the entrance and wriggled inside, curling up into a ball.
Within was a cave Besmir had dug. Just small enough for one person to hide, it gave shelter from the elements in case he found himself caught in bad weather, somewhere to wait out a storm.
Keluse tried to slow her breathing so she could listen for anyone outside. What little light penetrated from outside barely revealed anything, making her rely on her other senses.
After what felt like hours, Keluse had just about convinced herself she had concocted the whole situation and was about to crawl out of the shelter when she heard a low voice.
“I am sure this was the direction she came.”
“So where is she now?” another asked.
Keluse listened to the rattle and clink of men dismounting and searching for clues to her whereabouts. Her heart raced as the footsteps came closer to the hidden entrance, closer to finding her.
“That’s a well-hidden hole you have there,” the first man spoke.
Keluse’s heart sank and fear threatened to overwhelm her.
“We only wish to speak to you,” the second said. “You have no need to fear.”
Both men had a trace of an accent, Keluse noted, making her wonder if they had come from the capital.
“Maybe you are in need of some refreshment,” the first said. “Morcath, shall we have some tea?”
“Certainly, I will build a fire,” Morcath said.
“Will you join us?” The nameless man asked.
Keluse remained as silent as she could while the sound of Morcath scraping sparks from a flint came to her ears.
Besmir spurred his horse on between the trees at an alarming speed, dodging from side to side and ducking low to dodge the low branches that came at him. A few limited options registered as he fled. He could try to get home, grab Keluse and make for Tyrington but that would expose her to these people and if caught, there was no telling what they might do. He could lead them on a chase through the forest, his knowledge of the area a distinct advantage. Yet this left the problem of how to escape them completely. Besmir decided on his next idea, however, and altered his course for Lime Gully.
He could not be sure how close the group of men behind him were but his trail was barely hidden so he knew they would be coming.
Lime Gully began as a slight raising of the ground to either side of him. Tree and shrub growth dwindled, eventually becoming bare earth as he progressed. Patches of white rock started to appear then predominated the landscape as the gully walls towered above his head. Abandoned decades before, the lime quarry had a few remnants of the operation still in place. Dilapidated wooden shacks dotted the base of one wall and the gaping maw of darkness leading down into the body of the world beckoned Besmir hungrily.
Rather than hiding in the buildings or mine, Besmir dropped from his puffing, snorting gelding and grabbed the few supplies he had with him. White powder coated his hands immediately as he started to climb, hand and foot holds coming easily. Minutes later he had reached the top and rolled from view, panting for a few seconds before glancing back down into the gully.
Half a mile away he spotted the glint of sun on metal and squinted to see the mounted group halted at the entrance to the cleft.
Wondering if it’s a trap?
After a brief discussion, Besmir watched as the men, along with the strange, hooded figure, turned and retreated the way they had come. Now Besmir wondered if this was a trap of theirs, attempting to fool him into thinking they had left. They must know he could only take his horse back the same way he had entered and would probably wait farther down the track. What they did not know was Besmir’s horse would happily make his own way back to the cabin eventually, having been left any number of times to do exactly that. Safe for the time being, Besmir took a few mouthfuls of water and set off North to cut a wide circle around the men.
“These honey cakes are exceptional,” Morcath said to his companion loudly enough for Keluse to hear.
“And mint tea,” the other man said. “I am surely glad I am not stuck in a dirty hole in the ground.” Keluse could hear the amusement in his voice and anger started to replace her fright. “You might as well join us. We are unable to leave until you come out.”
Keluse thought for a few seconds. She could not stay in here indefinitely, physical needs would force her out eventually, so the pair merely had to wait. Plus, they could easily have come in and get her, dragging her out by force, but had offered her tea and cakes instead. There were several ways to have killed her if they wanted her dead; set a fire to the dry brush, collapse the hill on top of her or sharpen a long pole and start poking around. The pair had done none of these which made Keluse believe they meant her no harm.
“I’m coming out!” she called. wondering what Besmir might shout. “Throw your weapons down and prepare to surrender!”
The soft chuckle spurred her on and she wriggled free of the tight space, dry soil and dust making her skin prickle.
Two men sat at ease around a small fire over which a metal kettle sat, steaming gently. Ignoring her, the men chatted quietly, sipping tea and munching the small cakes that made her mouth water to see. While both were obviously warriors or fighting men by their appearance, what made her heart nearly stop was that they both looked like Besmir.
“Well met,” one said. “I am Morcath Dubron and this is Ranyor Shern,” the first man to speak smiled and waved his fingers at her. “May I ask your name?”
“Keluse,” she said before she could think to give a false name.
“Will you join us, Keluse?” Morcath asked.
“Why were you watching me?” she asked, not moving.
“We have been tasked with locating a man,” Ranyor said quietly. “We needed to make sure we had examined your home thoroughly. Why did you run?”
“You two were spying on me!” Keluse spat. “What did you think I would do?”
“In my experience women, tend to run inside their homes,” Morcath told her darkly. Keluse swallowed. “Tea?”
Is there any point in refusing?
Keluse stepped forward and took the cup Morcath offered, noting the massive difference between the size of their hands. Morcath was easily as big as Besmir, with imposing dark eyes and short black hair. Ranyor was a similar height but slender where Morcath was bulky. Closer now, she saw just how handsome he was, almost girlishly pretty rather than ruggedly good looking. Dark green eyes studied her in return, skimming over the lines of her body and taking in every detail. Heat rose in her cheeks as his intense stare left her feeling naked and vulnerable. She crossed her arms and folded one leg in front of the other. Ra
nyor smiled gently and sipped his tea.
“To business then,” Morcath said. “The man we seek is not native to this land, he favors us in color and build. Have you seen such a man?”
Keluse shook her head, pretending to think.
“What do you want him for?” she asked, sipping her tea to hide her face.
“What does it matter if you do not know him?” Ranyor wondered with a raised eyebrow.
“In case he’s a danger to me or my husband,” she said. “If he should come to my home, should we be scared? Is he wanted for some reason?”
The two men glanced at each other, some kind of secret message passing between them, then turned to her.
“We have been searching for him for three years,” Morcath said. “He is most certainly wanted.”
“What’s this man’s name?” Keluse asked. “In case I hear of him.”
“Besmir,” Ranyor said, holding her stare.
Keluse tried not to react but the sound of his name drained the color from her face and both men shifted, turning to face her more fully.
“So you are aware of him,” Morcath said in a strange tone. “Please, we must find him. It is of utmost importance to my people.”
Keluse frowned in confusion.
5
Besmir read the signs Keluse had left when she ran and of the two men who chased her. The men had both been mounted while she was on foot and his heart sank to think what she must have felt to be hunted by two men.
What memories will that bring up?
Inside, Besmir grabbed his hunting bow and quiver of arrows. Whoever these men were, they would pay for scaring his apprentice. Grim determination drove Besmir to follow the tracks and whatever conclusions he might find.
Long shadows grew as the sun waned, creating hiding places for ever larger foes. Besmir, however, knew he was the only thing to fear in these woods as he padded silently through the trees. Neither Keluse or her pursuers had tried to hide their passage and his eyes easily picked out the foot and hoof prints in the spongy soil. Something nagged at the edges of his awareness but he ignored it in order to focus on finding them.
Eventually Besmir had a good idea of where Keluse had been going and picked up the pace, heading for Scroods Mound.
The flames of a small fire made the shadows cavort demonically when he reached the back of the small hill. Two men sat by the fire, talking intently to each other and turning towards another who Besmir was unable to see clearly. Silently he moved around to see who this other was, a chill of shock cutting into him when he saw Keluse kneeling at their feet.
Although she looked unharmed, it was obvious they had caught her and Besmir knew it would only be a matter of time before they finished with her. With practiced movements, he slipped two arrows from his quiver and laid one against the bowstring.
Keluse could barely keep the astonishment from her face as Morcath and Ranyor took turns explaining why they had come seeking Besmir. It was clear from their barely concealed excitement they both spoke the truth and her heart soared for the man who had saved her life.
The fire crackled loudly when Morcath added a handful of dry brush to it, sparks leaping into the air along with the gray smoke.
“So you will help us?” he asked eagerly. “You will explain we mean no harm?”
Keluse smiled at him. The two men had changed completely from the gruff pair who had chased her down and into child-like and excited people.
“Of course,” she said, genuinely warming to these men. “I’ll...” Horror closed her throat when she saw firelight glint from the arrowhead. “Besmir, no!”
“Besmir, No!” Keluse’s scream registered a fraction of a second too late.
Besmir watched as she launched herself forward at the same time as one of the men lunged towards her. The other man, his target, rolled forwards, scattering the little fire and plunging the forest into darkness.
“Besmir, stop!” Keluse cried out. “They’re friends!”
Confusion swamped his mind. How could they be friends after chasing her through the forest and cornering her like an animal?
It did look like that one tried to protect her though.
Besmir, still wary, knocked his second arrow while his eyes adjusted to the lower light. The campfire recovered a little, casting weak light a few feet. Enough to see Keluse make her way over to him as the other two men knelt at the far side of the light.
“It’s all right,” she said, holding one hand out towards him. “Really.”
Besmir looked from her face to the kneeling men and back.
“What’s going on, Keluse?” he asked. “These two chased you from home.”
“They’ve come looking for you,” she said, “with some incredible news.”
Besmir heard her words but his attention was drawn to the slender man he had loosed an arrow at. His breathing had become loud and rasped from his lungs. His companion glanced at him worriedly but stayed knelt before Besmir.
“See to him,” Besmir said, lowering his bow and putting his arrow away. “See if you can get the fire going, Keluse, we’ll need some light.”
As she added dry wood to the glowing coals and blew a flame into life, Besmir approached the two men.
“How is he?” he asked the burly man.
The similarities between this pair and himself were not lost on Besmir, but the arrow jutting from the other man’s chest was more important at the moment.
Wonder carved his features into an expression of awe as the large man stared at Besmir as if he could not speak.
“I will live, my Lord,” the other man managed to rasp.
Besmir cut his eyes towards him as Keluse knelt beside him in horrified concern.
“Ranyor!” she squealed, her face pale.
“I will remove the arrow, my Lord,” the other man said, but Besmir stopped him.
“Wait, I’ve got medicines and poultices to halt infection at my home.”
“As have I, in my saddlebags, my Lord.”
“What’s all this ‘my Lord’ business all about?” he asked with a frown.
He watched as the big man’s mouth opened, tried to form words and failed.
“It is not my place to say, my Lord, but we have been seeking you for years.”
Before he could ask anything more, Besmir heard someone shout from beyond the trees. In a single, fluid move, he rolled, drew an arrow and had his bow at the ready, aimed in the direction the call came from.
“Be at peace, my Lord, they are friends,”
“More friends, Morcath?” Keluse asked.
“Yes,” Morcath said, peering off into the darkness. “Over here!” he called.
Besmir watched in growing fear as the group of men who had followed him into Lime Gully guided their mounts into the tiny clearing, taking in the scene that unfolded before them. Besmir’s eye was drawn to the robed, hooded figure at the rear of the group.
Ice cold bands of iron gripped his chest, stealing his breath, but he stood facing whatever the robe covered. Vile, scaled hands jutted from the sleeves of its clothing as it dismounted and turned to face him. Silence fell over the tiny clearing like a blanket and Besmir’s world shrank down until his attention focused entirely on the monster approaching.
At four paces from him the thing stopped and raised its reptilian hands to the folds of its hood. Besmir’s hands twitched, automatically raising his bow despite the near paralyzing fright threatening to unman him. It halted in surprise, twin points of light reflecting the firelight as it studied him. His heart beat so fast he thought it might burst but fought against the chill water filling his belly.
“So, it is true then,” a grating, rasping, hollow voice reached from inside the hood. “Besmir, Holy Warrior and true leader of the Granash people lives.”
Chill fear cut into Besmir with every word the creature spoke. Its voice echoed from beyond the grave, sounding like a thousand tortured souls combined.
“What are you?” Besmir asked, his voice
sounding weak and frightened.
He heard a few surprised comments from the gathered men but kept his focus on the thing that stood in front of him. It carried on pulling the cowl back, firelight revealing the horror that lay beneath.
“Death,” it rasped.
Besmir tensed his muscles, pulling the bowstring back as far as he could and aimed straight inside the cowl.
“Farewell, death,” he said in an abruptly calm voice.
Besmir released the string with an audible thrum. His arrow disappeared in a blur and the thing calling itself death was thrown backwards as the missile hammered into the hooded face.
“Zaynorth!” One of the five strangers bellowed, darting forward.
“Someone needs to explain what is going on here,” Besmir growled at the same time as pulling another arrow from his quiver and putting it to his bow.
“Worry not, Kathnor,” an old voice said. “I am unharmed.”
Besmir stared down as the creature he had just shot in the face turned, its hood falling back to reveal the face of an old man. He smiled up at Besmir, ice white teeth gleaming in the firelight. “I believe this belongs to you, sire,” he added, holding out Besmir’s arrow.
Besmir, Keluse, Zaynorth, Ranyor and Morcath had squeezed into Besmir’s small cabin while the others pitched a tent in the paddock. With some help from Zaynorth and some of Besmir’s herbs, Morcath was tending to the arrow wound through Ranyor’s shoulder.
“Just an inch lower and it would have punctured his lung,” Morcath said as Ranyor passed into unconsciousness on Besmir’s bed.
“That’s why I shot him there,” Besmir said calmly. “I knew he’d recover if treated properly.”
Morcath stared up at him, shock, fear and a little awe on his face. Keluse stroked the hair back from Ranyor's forehead and traced her fingers down his face gently. Besmir held his smile in check when she glanced up at them all.
“Can you go over this one more time,” Besmir asked, “just so I fully understand what you’re trying to tell me?” He stretched out, crossing his ankles and studying the old man.