by Troy Reaves
“I wonder if that was what brought him to Travelflor the day that I encountered him and he gave me his daggers.” Boremac recounted. “He seemed all too willing to give up something precious to one as young as I was. Alchendia has favored me so often in my younger years, even now I should note with you finding me, that I sometime am forced to wonder if she has some odd plan for me yet. I hope not. That would be entirely too much pressure.” Boremac shook off the thought. It was much too presumptuous of him, at least that was what he felt. Frost seemed to disagree with his unspoken thoughts.
“It has come to pass over time and my position that I have found it necessary to take the full measure of people very quickly, Dead Man, and I will say that my presumptions are very rarely far off the mark. There is a great deal of potential in you that clearly you have not yet realized, when it is so apparent to almost everyone you have had dealings with, including Rinoba. I think we can safely assume those with influence and, dare I say even power, will be drawn to you. What will matter is what you do with these opportunities. I can say with conviction you will make the right choices, even though they may not seem to be at the time. The God and Goddess have an interesting way of putting us right in front of where we are needed and asking just a little more of us than we think we are capable. Whether this is to assure our own growth, protect the balance in this world or for some amount of unfathomable distraction for them is not for me to say. It has been my experience that those who try to interpret, and then act upon these desires of the higher powers, are generally wrong and certainly foolish for wasting their time. You are no fool, Dead Man. Remember this when you leave here if you remember nothing else. Keep your eyes, and more importantly your mind, open. One just never knows when Alchendia is going to pinch your buttocks, especially the backsides of her chosen ones. I cannot help but think you will not be sitting for quite some time when she grabs you.” Frost let out a hearty laugh befitting the size of a man like Harse more than he. Boremac hopped to his feet, rubbing his butt at the jest, and joined Frost’s laughter. It felt good, better than Boremac had felt for quite some time. It made him feel oddly safe too, in this dank cave with this old warrior, and he sat back down more quickly than he wanted. He looked into the fire, lost in thought, missing Mama Bear and George, and wondering if he would ever see them again. Frost left him to his musings, quietly going out to gather more wood, though there was already plenty to last through several days. Boremac wondered where his path would lead next, and a single city leapt into his mind, Verson. The den of bounty hunters, thieves and mercenaries was the perfect place for him to disappear, a chicken dressed as a fox lying with foxes, and the thought brought a grin to his face. It seemed Frost was more correct in his assumptions than Boremac would have thought. Alchendia was far from done with him.
Frost returned some time later and joined Boremac at the fire once more, the old warrior noting that Dead Man’s mood seemed to have recovered. “Looks like you have made some plans in my absence. Care to share, or am I to make my own assumptions from the fire in your eyes and the cunning grin on your face?”
Boremac shared his half hatched plans which did not go much farther than going to Verson at this point, as Frost nodded sagely. “Going to lie down with wolves to take on their scent even though you are a tasty morsel at this time, no doubt. Bold and cunning, much as I would expect from you, Dead Man. I can give you some contacts there that have helped the Gang in the past. We should probably see about changing your appearance some with chances being what they are that you are still fresh in Rinoba’s mind. We would do well to age you a bit, and the hair retreating from your brow will make the change easier for you to accept, I believe. I am sure you are thinking of a new name to carry you. No need to share it, just make a habit of thinking of yourself that way while you are here. Mercenaries and bounty hunters do require certain papers from the thieves’ guilds where they are based, but this should not be a problem for you in Verson under an assumed name. The master of the guild house there has become lax with his inspection of potential contributors to his ever-growing coffers. You do not even need to bribe him, just be sure to pay him his percentages on time. The daggers you carry are a dead mark on you, so you will have to store them and we should give you the outward appearance of a soldier, perhaps recently relieved of duty. No trouble there. I have trained farmers and made them fighting men even I would hesitate to cross blades with at my age. We can acquire some weapons easily enough without arousing suspicions and a pack for you to carry some gear for the trip.”
“You offer so much and I hear no request for payment. Let me ease my conscience on this point now before we go any further.” Boremac stood up briefly, digging through his coin purse for a moment before tossing his prized ruby to Frost across the fire pit. “That should cover any expenses you incur on my account. Thank you for everything, Frost, and the rest of the group as well.”
“It will be more than adequate. I can put the surplus with the rest of the coin I hold back from our… adventures. Do not mention there is a secret stash, or even the gem you have blessed us with. I would prefer to maintain my one secret from the rest for now. I plan to purchase some land for us one day, some farm in the area I hope, and have enough to get us past a couple of hard winters as we learn the trade. We need to retire someday. The Gang gets better working together all the time but too many close calls, with the animals and with the caravans, make me nervous every time out. I am not a man shaken easily, as I am sure you can imagine, but I am not the brash young man I once was. Time wears you, Dead Man. Do not doubt that, which brings me full circle to your own predicament. We need to put some years on you. Do you want to shave your own head or shall I do the honor?” Boremac rose by way of reply and hesitantly took the keen knife that Frost held in his hand. He ran his own hand through his dark brown hair one last time before dumping the bucket of water nearby carefully over his head.
***
The rest of the Gang returned just after sunset as expected. Harse was the first to remark on Boremac’s metamorphosis in their absence. The other two were too busy laughing as the big man stood there with the puzzled look on his face. “What happened to your head, Dead Man?” He frowned in concentration while rubbing his chin with his newly restored hand.
Though this set off a new barrage of open whooping at Boremac’s expense, Spike recovered himself enough to address Harse’s inquiry. It appeared to them all that Boremac was far too engaged at staring at the fire, and poking it intermittently, too reply. “Frost happened to him. You are a wicked man, Frost! How long did you wait before you told him of the razor and hot pot? Looks like a wild animal got hold of his head and held on tight. Well fought, Dead Man, though it looks like the critter got the better of your head.” Spike could contain himself no longer as even Frost lost control, rolling around spasmodically in fits of gut busters. All except for Harse who still appeared to be lacking understanding.
Boremac took pity on Harse, observing his confusion, and set about explaining. “Frost was’helping’ me alter my appearance. He was kind enough to hand me his knife to shave my head, thinking the years it would add to me would help disguise me. He did not mention the hot pot and razor until I was well into my personal hair removal. Thankfully the old piss pot took pity on me when it came time to shave my cheeks.”
Frost had regained his seat, though he was still chuckling when he addressed Boremac. “I am sorry, Dead Man but that was funny and much too easy to pull off. One in our profession should have been paying more attention to his surroundings. It was not like the cooking pot and straight razor were tucked under anything. I mean, by Alchendia, it was hanging from the makeshift shelf where the pot sat with the tongs. We do manage some amount of order in here. I did share the alum block with you at least.”
“Thank you so much for that, Frost.” Fire danced in Boremac’s eyes as he met Frost’s own. It was hard to tell if the flames were reflected or whether Boremac had produced them himself. Demons would have shuddered u
nder the gaze. Frost did not. He only smiled warmly at Boremac by way of reply. “I can still feel the burning from that alum block.”
Frost replied gently. “I told you to take the thing to the lake with you before rubbing your whole head with it. Sometimes I do long for the folly of youth. This was not one of those times. Lessons learned, I hope, and more importantly kept. You all would do well to note Dead Man’s mistakes to avoid making them your own.”
Spike chimed in, a thoughtful look on his own face with only his broad grin breaking the intended effect. “I have been ill used often enough by you, Frost, and that twisted thing you call a sense of humor. I will say there is always a lesson with your pranks, none of which is easily forgot.”
Twitcher flopped down on his bedroll, taking a draught of the poison the Gang called drink. He wiped his mouth and spoke his piece, for all appearances not wanting to be left out. “The goatee looks good, or at least it will once it has had time to fill in. Lucky Harse recognized you so quick. Could have been a bad bit when we returned, for as tense as we were. Harse was chucking axes at every broken twig and rustle we heard. Wasted more time than a little getting the things out of trees on our way here. Looks like his healing took, as can be attested to by all manner of startled wood dwellers. I have no doubt that there were nuts droppin’ all over the woods with his cleaving. Wake me when stew is ready.”
This statement seemed to bring Harse back to the present. He moved off to get the cooking pot and spit, making quick work of setting them over the fire pit. “We got taters and meat and fresh vegetables while in town. Eating like kings tonight, we are. My stomach been growling since we left Travelflor.”
“Don’t forget the spices, Harse. He’s a damn fine cook with little neeed of guidance.” Spike turned to face Boremac before continuing. “You be seeing some fine stew tonight, Dead Man. Might even make up for your mistreatment. Bet you don’t turn a blind eye to Frost again. That is a bet I would take for certain. I would be damned if I did not say you look like you could be Frost’s son for the way Frost looked when we met him. Carved in your own image, Frost?” Frost made no motion that confirmed or denied the assumption, so Spike turned back to Dead Man. “Just as well you stay shorn, Dead Man. Looked like your hair was fleeing from your brow a mite early anyways. I don’t envy that task laid down on you so soon. Frost grew that mane on his head in pretty quick, if memory serves. No luck for you on that point, I guess.”
Spike turned away just in time. Boremac had to settle for burning holes in the back of his head. The group quieted down, waiting for the coming feast, and settled into filling in Frost about their adventure into Travelflor. It was remarkably without incident and Boremac felt relieved for that at least.
Boremac’s time with the Gang settled into a normal rhythm after a couple more days. The group of men even quit poking fun at him constantly over his morning shaving. Frost kept a tight leash on the men, forbidding assaults on traveling merchants for the time being and spending most of his time training all of them along with Boremac in proper weapons handling skills. It was readily apparent Frost was enjoying mentoring again, even though Harse would occasionally break his reverie when the big man mishandled a sword and almost took someone’s head off. Boremac was a passable swordsman, molded by the daily exercises. He could at least respectably fend off attacks with a long sword and was actually becoming quite good with the old shield they used. He was able to regularly maintain his guard in combat against Harse’s axe, no mean feat itself, and knock the big man to the ground using the weight of his shield.
Food stuffs of various sorts were brought to the group whenever they encountered Fisher out at the lake. Frost explained that this had been set up with the old drunk ranger while the others had been off at Travelflor. What he did not tell the others was that the ranger had declared the wood off limits for hunting to all comers for the foreseeable future. Frost knew the truth of Fisher and his elaborate ruse to hide his true identity. The’ranger’ was actually the local lord and master of the lands, and his forest dwelling persona was a home away from the troubles of that position. The rest of the Gang did not need to know that Fisher had gone to great lengths to protect his fishing buddies, even posting his own militia at the borders of his forest. He had justified this action when they had discussed the proposal by stating that good fishing buddies were hard to find.
Boremac’s goatee did grow in well, as Twitcher had predicted, and Frost educated him in the art of graying it up, adding even more age to the rogue than the shiny head did. Of course, upon seeing the results, Harse insisted Frost put stripes in his hair. Harse was not one to argue with when he set his mind to something and even Spike had to admit it was something of an improvement to the man’s soft features. This led to Harse’s new unkempt beard that made him look very similar to a rabid bear, after a fashion, and especially after dinner. The fact that Harse took up the role after Frost noted it one evening did not help, although it did seem to have some solid effect keeping wolves away when he roared.
Just when Boremac was growing accustomed to the training and eating on a regular basis, Fisher paid an unexpected visit to the cave. His demeanor was the part that struck Boremac most immediately, not to mention troubling the Gang as a whole, for he was dead sober with a haunted look in his eyes. When he spoke, the ever present good cheer that was his nature was gone. “You must go, Dead Man. Two militia guarding the forest have been slain and someone has broken the peace of my forest. I will take you as far as the edge of the wood in whatever direction you wish but pack hurriedly and pray to whatever power has kept you safe so far. There is death in my wood and I will not have it any longer. The rest of you, go to the keep. The lord awaits your arrival and will see to your safety. Be careful and quiet as you go. Take only so much that it will not impede your defense if you find the murderer, or murderers. Quickly!”
Boremac noted that Fisher’s words carried weight, not unlike Frost’s own, as he spoke. Frost only nodded by way of reply to the news, and the whole of them set to packing hurriedly. Boremac strapped his daggers to his sides, strapping the shield and long sword given him by Frost across his pack, knowing his chosen weapons would serve him better if he and Fisher ran into trouble. He took only a moment making the rounds to the other men, shaking hands and offering Alchendia’s blessing, before leaving with the ranger. Boremac could only hope he would see them again. They had risked much for him, too much it now appeared, and he was much in their debt. Boremac knew it was a debt that would weight heavy on him because it was born of friendship. That made it even stronger than a blood bond to him.
Boremac did not care for their haste but kept his thoughts to himself, trusting Fisher knew his way better than Boremac in the woods. Boremac decided they should go north, forgoing the most direct path to Verson. It stood to reason that bounty hunters willing to kill innocent men would have come from that hive of hunters, and so he took a less direct route. When Fisher held up his hand to stop him, knocking an arrow in his well-worn bow, Boremac knew he had underestimated his enemies. They were either more numerous or more skilled than he had thought. Boremace took some solace in the fact they were at least well away from the Gang and the keep, but his initial hope was wiped away when he saw where Fisher’s bow was pointed. There were at least five of them in the group that Fisher had spotted, each dressed to blend into the woods. They all carried loaded crossbows and bore hilts with easily accessible short swords meant to be wielded unhindered in the trees.
Fisher took only a moment to take some cover behind an ancient oak near him, gesturing with his bow for Boremac to slip into the deeper shadows at the ranger’s right. Boremac moved to flank the men, setting his pack silently on the ground and sneaking through the old trees with little more sound than a ghost. That was the easy part after years of a life doing just that. When Fisher called out to the men, only two of the men turned toward his voice while the other three fanned out at their backs scanning the woods. “What are you doing here? These woods ar
e off limits by order of the lord of these lands! Loose your bolts into the ground or feel the sting of my bow! I will not repeat my warning!”
“No need for threats, old man! We are not here to take advantage of the bountiful game in these woods! We have tracked a man here for whom we possess legitimate contract. We will, of course, pay the lord his due if we find the man here, and his capture will remove a significant threat to your person as well.” The men facing the ranger lowered the crossbows but did not disengage the triggers, obviously awaiting Fisher’s next move.
“I have received word of no such man. I know these woods well enough that I would know if one were hiding here. No poachers escape my notice here, though you might be more tolerated if that is what you were. I am responsible for the safety of the game, and the lord himself, when he chooses to hunt here, which is why the wood was closed! Disarm and be gone now! I will not warn you again!” Fisher’s voice carried the weight of command and the men appeared to be ready to comply, until the two facing him fired on him as one. Fisher had anticipated as much and dipped behind the tree as the bolt whispered past where he had just stood. His reply was swift and one of the two men fell back with an arrow in his eye. Boremac wasted no time making his own presence known as he flicked a dagger into the neck of one of the three men he was now facing. He used the depths of the shadows, sliding effortlessly into a solid position to take another of the remaining men.