Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1)

by Alan Ratcliffe

  “What about supper?” Cole moaned. “Everything in my pack has probably frozen solid by now. I’ll break a tooth!”

  “You seem unduly concerned about your teeth,” Harri observed. He fastened his sheathed sword to his belt, having volunteered to take the first watch. “I can promise you that yours are neither as large nor as sharp as those belonging to many of the beasts of the Spiritwood. As they would not hesitate to show you.”

  Conceding defeat, Cole had rummaged through his pack, finding a spare linen undershirt and wool socks, which he pulled eagerly over the ones already on his feet. Soft leather gloves had also been packed, and a thin woollen blanket. Wrapped up in these and his cloak, the cold was at least bearable.

  As he sat nibbling at his meagre supper, to any outside observers he would have appeared to be a particularly large and sullen caterpillar. By the time he had finished, forlornly licking the last crumbs from his gloved fingers, Raven was already dozing. Seeing little point in remaining awake, he lay down as well. The last thing he saw before sleep took hold of him was the silhouette of Harri standing nearby. The young hunter’s hand rested lightly on the pommel of his sword, as he stared out towards the forest.

  The following morning had dawned grey but dry, which Cole was thankful for. His nose, the only part of him that had been left exposed to the elements, was as cold and numb as an icicle, but other than that the night had not been too uncomfortable. When he rose, a thin layer of frost that had settled on top of his blanket cracked.

  “Will we train this morning?” he asked Raven, who was filling her pack nearby.

  “We should not tarry here for too long,” said Harri behind him. “As cautious as we have been, we cannot be certain we have not been seen by the Moon Tower’s sentries.”

  “It will be a long ride to reach the Fens by nightfall,” Raven added, as she stood. “Once there, we’ll be out of the sight of Moon, and there will be time to work on your skills. I fear you will have need of them.”

  And so they had set out; Harri in the lead, and Raven bringing up the rear on her black stallion. Throughout the morning, Harri would often canter ahead to scout the way. At other times, he would drop back alongside Cole or Raven to share a few words.

  Cole was surprised to find himself warming to the young hunter’s company. At the moot, his first real encounter with Harri, the blonde hunter had been angry and frustrated, bristling against his father’s inaction. Then, throughout their private audience with the chieftain, Harri’s simmering resentment had been palpable.

  But here, in the wilds beyond Hunter’s Watch, he seemed a changed man. He remained alert and cautious, but also seemed to enjoy the brief moments of conversation. He didn’t smile often, but when he did it was a broad grin that split his features. He was not without humour, either, though his wit was of the dry kind; often Cole could not tell whether the hunter was being serious or jesting with him.

  At one time, they stopped at a small stream to refill their water skins, when Cole spotted a small brown duck half-hidden in a patch of tall reeds. As it peeped out, Cole noticed that the feathers on the top of its head stood straight and tapered to a point, giving it the appearance of a small horn.

  “I didn’t realise there were unicorns in these parts,” he observed to his companions with a laugh.

  “Cole, stay absolutely still,” said Harri urgently.

  “What? Why?” he asked, confused.

  “What you’re looking at is the deadliest creature in the whole of the north.”

  “It is?” The colour drained from Cole’s face. He looked back at the patch of reeds, where the glittering of the bird’s dark eyes seemed to have taken on a certain malevolence. “A duck?”

  “That’s a bog duck,” said Harri, who had inched closer to crouch beside him. “They’re a rare enough sight in the mire, and I had not expected to see one this far south. The point on its head is tipped with a venom most foul, just one scratch and all that is left to you is an agonising death.”

  Cole glanced at the hunter suspiciously, but his face was grim, his grey eyes focused unblinking on the reeds. Without moving, Cole tensed his muscles, ready to spring away at any movement from the stream.

  “It attacks thus,” Harri continued, bending his head down, with his index finger extending from his scalp. “When your attention is elsewhere, it charges.” He shook his head sadly. “We lose a hunter this way each year. The last thing you feel is a scratch above the ankle, then it’s over.”

  “They die quickly?” Cole asked worriedly.

  “Most do,” Harri nodded. “The poison itself kills slowly, its victims left to writhe in pain for a day or more. Many take their own lives rather than suffer that fate, or ask their fellows to end it for them. Be ever wary of the bog duck, my friend.”

  Harri patted Cole on the back and rose cautiously, returning to his horse. Cole continued to watch the reeds for a few moments, but the duck showed little inclination to charge out towards him. He looked to Raven for confirmation, but she was staring gravely at the bird. He thought he saw her frown tremble ever so slightly, but then it was gone.

  “You’re no help,” he said bitterly. “I’m already heading into a haunted forest with the Legion on my heels, and now I need to be watching for deadly waterfowl, it seems.”

  Raven cleared her throat. “Come,” she said. “It’s time we were off.”

  Eventually, Cole decided that the hunter had been pulling his leg. All the same, for the rest of the day, he gave a wide berth to every pond and stream they passed

  On one of the rare occasions he dropped back to speak to Raven, he commented on the change in Harri’s demeanour.

  “He’s in his element,” she said. “At the Watch, especially as Yaegar’s son, it’s all politics. He chafes against it. Over the years, his father has grown used to the demands of leadership, which Harri has yet to do. But out here,” she indicated the open space all around them, “he can be true to what he is.”

  “A hunter,” Cole replied thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I could be so relaxed in the face of such danger.”

  “Danger is all around us, even more so for those who patrol the Spiritwood. But there is an honesty to it. Out here it is just you; your skill against that of your foe. All that is important is who is stronger, quicker. Life and death decided on the point of a blade. Everything else ceases to matter.”

  “I think I understand,” Cole said. “There is freedom in that, of a sort.” He sighed. “I used to think that I would be free once I left the Crag – free of the Brothers’ chores and rules, but instead there is a... a weight on me. A responsibility. Even once I finish the task that Merryl gave me, I fear that will not be the end of it. Sometimes it feels as though the person I was before is gone, and the responsibility is all that remains.”

  Raven looked at him oddly, and for a long time she said nothing. They rode side by side in silence. As they did whenever there was a lull, Cole’s eyes drifted to the line of trees to their right. Again, there was an uncomfortable sensation of being observed, but no matter where he looked, all he saw were smoke-grey trunks and branches.

  “It can be easy to lose sight of yourself,” Raven said, breaking the silence. “When you’re young, you have plans. Things you’ll do, places you’ll go. But life has a way of making your plans for you. I don’t think any of us are ever truly free.” She gazed out towards Harri, who was trotting back towards them. “Perhaps that is why the moments where it seems that we are feel so sweet.”

  There was sadness in Raven’s voice. Cole was about to ask more, when Harri pulled his mount up alongside them.

  “We are approaching the edge of the Fens,” he said. “There are a few dwellings a league from here, peat miners most like. I could not see any signs of life, but I did not want to stray too much farther ahead. If all is well, it would be a good place to rest. Even so, we should remain on our guard.”

  They rode on, staying closer together this time. The ground beneath them began to slope
downwards; gradually at first, but more steeply the further they went. Meanwhile, the forest on their right remained on a level. Soon enough, the trees were on a rocky outcropping far above them, while they themselves continued downwards. The further they travelled, the wetter the ground became, until their horses were slopping through ankle-deep muck. Their hooves splashed brown water over the boots and legs of their riders.

  “We’re grateful for any natural barrier that keeps the Spiritwood contained,” said Harri, when Cole pointed out the landscape. “A few leagues farther on, there is a two-hundred foot cliff separating us from the forest. Once we’re past the falls two days hence we will climb back up to meet it, but for now it is a welcome respite, is it not?”

  “But why not just enter the forest from this side?” Cole asked. “Surely it’s easier to cross a river within the forest than climb up a cliff?”

  “Are you so eager then to enter the Spiritwood and meet those that dwell there?” Harri replied with a grin. “You will understand when you see the Ymbral – the mighty river that flows down from the very mountains you’re trying to reach. Even if it didn’t flow through a gorge too perilous for even the bravest hunters to climb, its speed and power is such that you would be swept away before you had the chance to try. The only place to cross is a bridge guarded by the Dusk Tower.”

  “And there is no way to sneak past? I thought you said that the Legion’s towers were barely garrisoned now.”

  Harri shook his head. “The Legion is more focused on that bridge than anywhere else in the north – for that is where they take their tolls.”

  Cole was appalled. “They charge people to pass through the forest?”

  “Of course!” Harri laughed. “Why do you think the emperor was so keen to free the hunters of the Watch from their onerous duty of taming the Spiritwood?”

  “And people pay the toll?”

  “What choice do they have? The trade must flow, so the caravans must pass through the forest. They refused to pay a toll at Dawn or Moon, however. The owners of caravans about to enter the forest were unwilling to empty their pockets in case they didn’t live to see the other side, and those leaving are usually travelling too fast to stop.” He laughed again. “So, the Legion takes payments at the only bridge across the Ymbral. Easy to enforce, even with only a handful of men. If you wish to escape the Legion’s notice, the only place to cross the Ymbral is after the falls, across the fens.”

  Cole remained doubtful. But Harri was right, he was not particularly eager to enter the Spiritwood at all – even though he was still not entirely clear on what dangers lay within. The look and the feel of it, even from a distance, was enough to tell him that it was a dark place. One which, if you must venture within, it was best to delay for as long as possible. Even so, he was keenly aware that, while he was making progress towards his destination, geographically at least he was still travelling away from it.

  As they rode down the slope, they saw the dwellings that Harri had spotted. They appeared to be little more than a collection of small huts; low, mud walls topped by untidy thatch. Cole also noticed what the young hunter had mentioned previously: of the huts’ residents themselves, there was no sign.

  His two companions visibly tensed as they approached, any levity in Harri’s manner replaced by caution. Cole thought about calling out, to see if anyone inside the huts could be roused, but there was something about the stillness of the air that discouraged him.

  It did not take them long to reach the huts. When they were only a dozen feet away from the nearest, Harri dismounted and crept closer, brandishing his longsword before him.

  Raven followed suit and jumped down lightly from the saddle, and a second later held a blade in each hand. Harri reached the door of the nearest hut and peered carefully inside. “Hello?” he called.

  “Do you sense anything?” asked Raven, joining him at the doorway.

  Harri shook his head. “It is perfectly still. Either it is empty... or whatever lurks within wishes to remain unseen.”

  Neither the young hunter nor his guide had acknowledged him, so with a shrug Cole clambered off his mount. When he reached them, he noticed a large stack of black bricks between the huts. “You were right,” he told Harri. “Peat miners were here.”

  “Aye, so it would seem,” Harri replied. “It is very late in the year for gathering fuel, though. The bricks cannot dry in the cold and rain. Look.” He crossed to the stack and removed one of the topmost bricks. “Soft and wet. It will be no easy task to get this to burn.”

  “Abandoned,” said Raven. “Whoever was here must have left some time ago.” She glanced up towards the forest above them. “One way or another.”

  A shadow passed over Harri’s face, and his jaw tightened. Without a word, he ducked through the open doorway and disappeared from sight.

  “Wait here,” Raven told Cole, before striding towards another hut.

  Feeling surplus to requirements, Cole wandered away from the empty dwellings. As he passed the stack of peat bricks, he prodded one experimentally. It was, as Harri had pointed out, still soft and tacky to the touch. He knew little of the process of extracting the fuel, but guessed that it was a gruelling undertaking. It seemed unlikely that whoever had gathered this quantity would willingly abandon it.

  Beyond the stack was a marsh, filling the horizon. The Ice Fens, I take it, he thought. As far as he could see, the land was a mix of still pools of water reflecting the iron-grey clouds above, interspersed with mounds of damp-looking grass. Some of these seemed to form narrow pathways between the pools. Hopefully Harri knows the safe routes to travel.

  Close by, a series of long trenches had been dug into the earth, apparently to drain away some of the water. Intrigued, he moved closer, and squatted down at the end of the nearest trench. Inside, the exposed soil was nearly black. In many places, neat, square sections had been cut out; no doubt to form the bricks that were stacked behind him.

  He tried to imagine what it was like to live here, to spend his days knee-deep in the mud and marsh water, digging out the soil and shaping it brick by brick. All while working under the shadow of the forest above; distant enough to bring comfort, but too near to ever forget. It seemed to him a bleak existence.

  Just then, Harri emerged from the hut behind him, followed moments later by Raven from a neighbouring doorway. “Did you find anything?” he asked them.

  “Nay,” Harri replied, his face grim. “There are no signs that anyone has lived here. No clothes, food or belongings.”

  “This one is the same,” said Raven. “Just empty rooms and a few sticks of furniture.”

  Cole stood, wiping the mud from his hands. “Perhaps their harvest was spoiled by the weather and they just left, to return in the spring.”

  “Perhaps. I hope for their sake that it was so.” Harri sheathed his sword, and glanced up towards the forest. “Even so... it is not often that one of our patrols passes this way. When I return I shall suggest to my father that must change. We sometimes forget that the influence of the Spiritwood can spread beyond its borders.”

  “So, do we still spend the night here?”

  “Evening is fast approaching, and this could well be the last time we have a solid roof over our heads until we reach the mountains,” said Raven. “Whatever happened here, I doubt it was anything that we need to fear. I say we make camp... unless Harri has any objections.”

  The young hunter had none and, as his companions made their way to their horses to gather up their packs, Cole eyed the stack of bricks thoughtfully.

  “At least we’ll be able to make a bloody fire tonight,” he said.

  Cole was right about that, although Harri had spoken truly about the difficulty of the task. The peat bricks were too damp to catch alight by themselves. Both he and Raven had been forced to scour the collection of huts for kindling, while Harri went to hunt fresh game for supper.

  The pair of them were able to gather several handfuls of sticks, before Raven disappea
red into one of the huts to re-emerge with a wooden chair. “It looks a bit rickety,” he commented, eyeing it doubtfully.

  Raven placed it on the ground, and with a few stamps of her boot reduced it to broken splinters. “It will serve to burn, though,” she replied.

  “The miners won’t be pleased when they return to see that someone has destroyed all their furniture.” Cole looked around towards the spartan huts. “It probably took them a year of digging mud to buy that chair. I bet they even wrote home to tell their families.” He mimed writing on a piece of parchment. “‘Mother, all that standing around up to our armpits in rotting vegetable matter has paid off. We will no longer have to covet our neighbours’ furnishings, for now we own a chair. Inform father.’” He shook his head sadly. “It probably even had a name.”

  “And now it has made the noble sacrifice in order to cook your dinner.” Raven smiled. “Truly, a prince among chairs.”

  “If we weren’t surrounded just by mud, muddy puddles and houses made of mud, I’d make a boat,” replied Cole, gathering up the splintered wood. “We could lay the remains of this heroic seat inside, push it out into the marsh and set fire to it while Harri tootles something suitably maudlin on that horn of his.”

  Raven giggled. It was such an unusual sound to hear from his guide that Cole was as surprised as he was gratified. He grinned widely in response, and together they arranged the kindling around a couple of peat bricks.

  By the time Harri returned, the wood was burning merrily and the bricks, having dried a little in the heat, had begun to smoulder. “Good, a fire,” he said as he approached and threw a bulging leather sack onto the ground. “Did you have any trouble finding the kindling?”

  Cole and Raven met each other’s eyes, and burst out laughing. Harri just stood staring at them, a baffled expression on his face. The joke had not been that funny, Cole knew, but he felt it lift the tension that had existed between them since the night of the krigsmoot, perhaps even longer.