“Fool,” snorted Raoul in disgust. “You could have gotten yourself killed for nothing.”
Belyn's face became a mask of mock contrition. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said with a flourishing bow. “I acted with little or no thought and mine error almost proved costly upon mine own body. I beseech thee, my Lord, to lay a penance upon me. In fact, I beg thee.” Belyn's archaic speech reduced everyone to smiles and not a few fits of laughter. Raoul frowned at his friend, but the red -bearded man just kept on grinning. “I was never in any trouble. At least not until this one,” he paused to kick one of the unconscious men in the stomach,
“They were all off looking the other way, paying no attention to their mounts, so I thought I would borrow one. It was just as I was tightening the saddle that he saw me and they gave chase.”
Raoul looked outraged. “Theft! That is against the very principles of the Old Law!”
“I believe it is,” agreed Belyn. “As is murder. When he saw me, this one here yelled something about me being one of the three, with lots of comments about killing us all. All in all, I am glad that I got this horse, otherwise I would not be here for you to scold.” Belyn looked around at the mess on the road. “How about we leave now before this lot has the chance to wake up?”
“A plan with much merit,” said the large but rarely noticed Malcolm, who was still watching the unconscious, and sometimes twitching bodies on the ground.
“Do we take the horses?” Raoul asked in protest.
“Yes, we take them,” Belyn agreed. They are far stronger than our own and a lot fresher as well. If it helps at all, Brother Raoul, think of it this way. If we leave horses here with them, they will only come after us. It looks like they were either waiting for us, or had trailed us from the pass. I for one would like to stay in one piece for the rest of my life.”
Raoul thought it over, and then grudgingly nodded. “It would be as you say. If people like this were after us once, prudence dictates that we remove their method of transport so they cannot come after us again.”
“I knew you would see it my way,” replied Belyn through a bushy grin.
“Why not remove the threat permanently?” asked Malcolm, getting a stare of disapproval from Raoul, and mutterings from amongst the tribesmen.
“That is not the way of any of us,” Belyn replied compassionately. “We were born to forgive, and our training in the law emphasises that. I would not be capable of killing an unconscious man, and I don't think you would either. Raoul is right in what we must do. Take these horses and leave, for the intent to murder is almost as bad as the crime itself, and I would never be able to condone that.”
They transferred their belongings to the larger horses and rode off to the West, leading the spare horses by the reins. The next few days were uneventful, and mainly involved Keldron telling the rest of his story, and a lot of camping in the chill wind that they found blew constantly out of the North. They were much more alert at night though, even so wary as to post guards. Everybody took their turns, with shifts of two.
One night, when Raoul was standing guard with Malcolm, he tried using the focus of far-sight that he had learnt such a long time ago now. He followed the paths and roads for what seemed miles, but all that could be seen were shadows in the dim light of the quarter moon. It was a way to pass the time.
“Anybody out there?” Malcolm asked softly.
“Nothing more aggressive than a rabbit or an occasional fox.” the tall man answered without pausing. “I am almost worried that we have seen nothing. You would have expected that band to be trailing after us, but there is nobody to be seen.”
Malcolm grunted. “Might they not be hiding from you?”
“It is certainly possible that they may be concealed.” Raoul conceded. “But how would they know that I am even looking for them. There is a lot of distance between them and us, hopefully. They might even be going in the wrong direction.” Raoul broke the focus, sighing inwardly as he let go of that oneness with nature that emanated from somewhere between his mind and the crystal he was using to scan the surrounding area. Malcolm stood there impassively, silently regarding him with the faintest air of curiosity, nothing more. “I wish I knew where they were.”
Malcolm shrugged. “They could be anywhere, my friend. I prefer to think that they are further away though as we did take their means of transport. But should they be close, we will be ready.”
“Are you sure about that?” Malcolm looked over at the camp. The tribesmen all seemed asleep, some of them sprawled, with one enterprising chap using the saddle to snore over, his mouth hanging wide as he made a ghastly noise. Malcolm whispered something under is breath, and instantly the snoring man was on his feet, eyes alert, bow in hand with an arrow notched. He looked over at Raoul and Malcolm enquiringly. Malcolm beckoned him over. “It is of no moment,” he said reassuringly to the tribesman. “Our friend here just needed a bit of reassurance, that is all.”
The tribesman nodded, and then spoke to Raoul. “You have no need for trepidation, my Lord. We were trained to recognise our names, even in sleep.” The man bowed, and returned to his former position. Raoul looked around at the group of tribesmen. Once he knew what to look for, it was obvious they were all ready to jump up at but a moment's notice, sleeping with weapons almost at the ready, and in positions that would allow them to get to their feet quickly. The man who had awoken returned to his former position, the quiver of arrows on his back seemingly slipped underneath him. When Raoul stepped around to look at the man from a different angle, it was clear to see that the quiver had been arranged so that when the man was asleep, it would hang suspended from his back between him, the saddle and the floor. Raoul saw now how the man had come to his feet with his bow at the ready. It was strung, and concealed under a square of oilskin, as were the bows belonging to the other tribesmen.
“Do you understand now?” Malcolm asked in the silence of the countryside around them. “They may be asleep, but they will recognise their names, as they will also recognise any out of the ordinary noise from around a camp such as this.” “That may be a problem where we are going,” Raoul replied. “There will be noises they have not heard before. Most of them will be pretty jumpy.”
Malcolm rubbed at one of his hands with the other. “It is of no moment. They will adapt. If it is to a city that you lead us, then they will soon learn the noise to listen for, and they fall asleep almost as quickly as they wake.” Raoul nodded silently, returning to his scanning of the surrounding area, this time with just his eyes instead of his stone.
They continued westwards for another two weeks, with the weather growing bleaker with every new day, as if it were attempting to reach out and claim them, but it never did. Instead, the skies remained that scuddy grey of a late autumn day that mingled somewhat with early winter. The snow promised by the constant layer of cloud was never delivered, and the breeze blew from the North.
Quite often, the group would come upon valleys cut into the flat of the ground. These valleys would be filled with forests not unlike the one the tribe had come from. These refuges were the only place that the trees could grow though, out of the way of the constant breeze that blew across the land. One such wood they stopped in had trees so twisted and gnarled, that Joleen judged they were almost as old as the trees in the deepest part of their home. It was a miracle they had survived for so long in a world that relied on trees for fuel, furniture and a myriad of other uses. One such stop brought an explanation from an old man they encountered as they were riding out of the wood.
“I hope you didn't chop anything down in there?” the old man wheezed at them in a voice that was nearly empty of breath.
“Nothing could be further from the truth, father,” Keldron said politely, inclining his head. “We three are servants of the old Law, and our friends are members of a group that revere the woodlands above all else in this land. It is mainly for them that we entered the wood.”
The old man nodded, apparently satisf
ied. “All is well then. Folks round here support any efforts made on behalf of the old Law and the Gods. There are those who don't believe that such places are refuges on this earth for the Gods. Like that lot back in spring.” Before Keldron even thought about moving on, and saying his farewells, the man continued, and Keldron felt that he must listen, at least for the sake of being polite.
“They came through here and chopped away a load of the saplings. Big brutes of men they were, all dark and not unlike your friends here.” The old man indicated the tribesmen who were gathered, listening to his tale. He squinted and peered at them. “Not quite like you though, now that I see you closely there is a difference.”
“How different?” Keldron asked, now serious and fully intent on finding out all that he could possibly learn.”
The old man paused as he remembered. “They were rougher, bigger perhaps. Your friends here are fairly slim, and lithe, whereas these were not a whit less than burly. They had a look about them that was somehow unfinished, as if they were poor copies of these men here. They marched into the woods without so much as a by-your-leave, and they chopped a load of the saplings, not far from here.”
“Can you take us there?” Keldron asked of the man.
“I can do indeed, good sir. As I would for any man of the forest. You may not be the same as these forest types, but I can sense a kinship in you, as if you were meant to belong.” Keldron helped hoist the man up onto one of the spare horses, and pondered his cryptic words. How did the events so far away over the mountains leave their mark on him? It certainly wasn't anything physical.
The old man led them back into the forest, and then took a well -used path to the right, and toward the edge of the forest again. The cliffs loomed up above them, but never looked imposing, as they were not far enough to be out of reach, but far enough still to protect the wood from the wind above. They rode into a glen that for all intents and purposes looked entirely natural. Looking more carefully however, it was obvious that someone had slaughtered the living trees here. Hacked stumps protruded ever so slightly from the ground in several places. Keldron dismounted to have a closer look. It was near impossible to tell what sort of trees had been taken from here, or even their size. Whoever had taken them had been pretty violent about hacking the stumps, even if they had been thorough about it.
“How big would you say those saplings were, sir?” Keldron asked of the old man.
“I would say they were as thick as a man's leg at the base,” he replied.
“That's some sapling,” Belyn commented.
The old man snorted. “What you have to understand, youngster, is the rate of growth in these woods, which, because of the surface condition, it is extremely slow. As a result of this, a tree is considered a sapling here for much longer than in your great forests where everything grows much faster. The passage of time, albeit enforced, is much slower here for these woods than in any other place you have encountered. A tree is a sapling here for decades. That is why their destruction is such a tragedy. The Gods themselves look upon such places as this as heavens in the land, and they must be preserved at all costs. Were this to happen again it could ruin the ecosystem within this wood.”
Keldron had been thinking about the saplings, and the connection to the band of men responsible for this, if there was indeed one. “May I ask, have there been any stories of significant events around these parts in the past few seasons?” Keldron put the question as circumspectly as he could, not trying to goad the man into any answer that may be forthcoming anyway.
“You mean anything more significant then those barbarians doing this to the wood? No,” the man answered.
Keldron looked slightly crestfallen, but decided to ask the same question differently. “How about any stories of murders, perhaps around the time that these trees were taken?”
The old man shuddered as Keldron mentioned the trees, but he gave the question considerable thought, leaning back against his horse. “Well, to tell you the truth, I do not get a lot of news from people around here, so committed am I to the wood, but occasionally I might see a lone traveller heading for the pass back east. One mentioned something about people dying in a manner that he had never seen before, but when I asked him about it, he just urged his horse from a walk to a gallop and disappeared. Until you mentioned it just then I had completely forgotten about it.” He pointed around him. “I had more pressing concerns at the time, as I am sure you can understand,” he said with a tinge of regret in his voice.
Keldron looked around him. All of his companions were subdued, believing the old man spoke the truth, and he felt the same way. What had happened here was much more profound than the mere chopping down of a few trees. It had a lot to do with the recent conversation about intent perhaps, but Keldron swore he could sense the evil in the ground where the men who had done this had been standing. If they were the same people who may have been involved in the old man's story then intent could be much more important then he had previously thought. It was best, he decided, that he got his companions out of this place before they began to lament too much.
“Which direction did the man you spoke to travel from?” asked Keldron, more to break the silence than for any other reason. It was perfectly obvious which way the man had come from.
The old man pointed West. “There is a track – a road of sorts, which you will pick up a short way North of this wood. It leads due West. There is a town along the river there. If I were a betting man, I would say that this person had travelled from there. He was shaken, but it is a goodly way, and I think he had travelled far enough to regain at least some of his wits by the time he reached my small abode.”
Keldron reached over and clasped the man's hand in thanks. “Is there anything we can let you have for our help – any supplies?”
“You don't happen to have anything that would warm an old man's bones on a chilly night do you?” The old man asked hopefully. “I have more than enough staples to last me for months, and the wood provides for me in most cases.”
Belyn silently handed the old man a large, stoppered flask of their spiced brandy. The old man uncorked the bottle and took a sniff, pulling his face away quickly. “Phew!” he exclaimed. “What is in that?”
“Kimarullian brandy, spiced up with a special recipe of our own. It will warm you old man, but don't drink too much.” The old man was about to protest, what with him obviously being older and wiser, but Belyn held up his hand and silenced him. “Just trust us, friend. We have been making it for too long now. If you drink too much, you will drink it all, and forget where you have been and what you have done.”
Evidently this was enough to convince him. He silently smiled his thanks, and bowed slightly. “May the Gods speed you all on your way, my children,” he said benevolently.
Keldron nodded. “This chance meeting has been a great help to us and you have our thanks,” he said, leading the group northwards to find the road that would take them to the West once more. Finding sudden purpose and direction they rode with renewed vigour and an atmosphere about them that was clearly palpable, and Keldron found himself taking the first tentative steps on a journey towards the answers he had been seeking for so long now.
The old man watched the group riding off to the North, and thanked his God that he happened to be in this place when they happened by. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and took a good long drink of the liquor, only stopping because he needed breath. If this drink would make a man forget things, then it would surely help his maladies. The feeling of warmth as the liquid ran down his throat was met by an eruption of fire that poured into his stomach. He breathed in deeply, the cold fresh air barely making a difference. Already he was feeling woozy. He regretted the fact that he had not asked the recipe, or where he could get some more. He wished them luck in their search for the men who had destroyed this forest. He only hoped there was no trace of them in the town that he had tried so hard to forget about.
The horrors he had witness
ed there were recalled only in his most vivid nightmares, but even now he was having them almost every other night. He knew that peace and solitude were the only things to keep him sane, and help him forget. He had broken the tenements of the old law so many times that he had forgotten what it really meant to serve everything around you, ahead of yourself. The fact that he was in another room when the men stormed his house and impaled his brother was subject merely to chance. It could so easily have been him. He felt blessed that he was one of a mere handful of people who knew about this secret valley, as he called it.
A chill passed over him as he recalled that those that had done this also knew the location. As he stumbled back towards his cave in the woods, dreadfully intoxicated by the liquor that he admitted to himself was much stronger than anything he had tried before, he passed on the smallest of prayers for those youngsters, praying that they might put right what was done wrong to so many. Although, in truth, he didn't hold much hope for them at all.
Chapter Fourteen
The deer pawed at the frozen ground, scuffing at the hard-packed snow in an attempt to get at the slow growing shrubs beneath. It spent a good while and not a little amount of effort on this task, eventually persuading the frozen surface to yield its green and yellow treasure. The effort was worth it though, for although the leaves were small, and there were not many of them, what was there was food enough, and food in places such as this was very rare. The deer had spent all day at this particular patch; a favourite place, and the browsing ground of many creatures, seeking the shelter of the trees. Not many trees grew in this part of the world, although the deer did not know that. To her it was just another place to graze during the bitter winter months. Come the warmer weather, food would be everywhere, and she would move south with the rest of her kind. For now though, this was as good a place as any, better even than most, for searching for food.
The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1) Page 43