by Clare Smith
Old Friends and New
The horses were waiting just as Allowyn had promised they would be, saddled and with their few possessions tied behind. Sansun showed his pleasure at being reunited with his master by butting him gently in the chest and searching his pockets for treats. Beside the other large horses stood a small, grey mare which Birrit eyed with trepidation; city girls, especially whores, never rode. This was going to be a new experience for her, and despite her mistress’s assurances that riding was easy, it was an experience she wasn’t looking forward to. Next to the mare stood a sturdy pack horse laden with enough provisions and camp gear to keep them going until they reached their destination, and beyond that if necessary.
It would have been so much better if they could have slipped away in darkness, but that was the time when Borman usually sent for Tarraquin. They would have been quickly missed and then easily recovered before they had gone very far. As it was, they walked their horses around the outside of the city wall keeping as close to its shadow as possible and constantly looking behind them.
When they came in sight of one of the many tracks which led from the nearby villages to Tarmin, they mounted at the last moment and hoped that they would blend in with the other traffic coming in and going away from the city. Allowyn had suggested this particular track as it was always busy with small groups of merchants, and they wouldn’t stand out with their laden pack horse and well worn travelling cloaks. The only real problem had been Jonderill’s robe, which in his confused state he had been reluctant to remove, but eventually Tissian had persuaded him to exchange it for shirt and breeches until they reached the forest edge.
That had been this morning, and now, in the evening gloom, Tarraquin led the way. She picked a pathway between the closely spaced trees, and led them around hidden dells and dense thickets where the entwined brambles made it impossible for the horses to pass with riders on their backs. Tissian hoped that she knew where she was going, because he certainly didn’t. Without moon or stars to navigate by he was as lost as he could be.
If it had been up to him he would have stuck to the main paths and ridden hard and fast. However, he supposed Tarraquin was right; with Birrit never having sat on a horse before, and Jonderill so weary that he could barely sit up straight, galloping for long distances was not a viable option. He looked over his shoulder for a hundredth time and wondered if their absence had been discovered yet, and if so, who and how many were following them, and would Callabris and Allowyn be amongst them.
Up ahead, Tarraquin pulled her horse to a halt and slipped from the saddle as lightly as if she had been riding for a candle length instead of most of the day. Tissian rode up alongside her, taking in their surroundings. They had arrived at a tiny clearing surrounded by a ring of weiswald trees, their thick limbs spreading out to touch each other as if they were holding hands and forming a roof of branches and leaves overhead. It was unusual to find the ancient trees in a forest full of white bark and everleaf, but it was a place which was clearly known to travellers. A quantity of chopped wood was piled up by a fire pit surrounded by stones, and several small pots and a cauldron were stacked neatly beside a spring which bubbled up between two moss covered stones, and then disappeared again into a crack in the ground.
Tissian dismounted and took the lead rein of Birrit’s horse, tying it to a branch and helping her to dismount on unsteady legs. Ignoring the tears of discomfort in her eyes, he helped her to a space by the spring and left her there in Tarraquin’s care. He turned back and hurried over to Jonderill who had at least managed to dismount by himself, but stood at Sansun’s head looking confused.
“Where in hellden am I, Tissian? I feel as though I have been asleep for a seven day. What in the goddess’s name is going on?”
Tissian smiled to himself in relief. “You’ve not been well master, but I think you’re going to be alright now. We decided that it was time to leave Tarmin, so Tarraquin and her maid took the opportunity to come with us.”
“Tarraquin?” He looked blank for a moment and then opened his eyes wide in surprise as the memory of what had happened came flooding back. “Good goddess, I think I’m losing my mind!”
He hurried over to Tarraquin and gave her a hug as if he hadn’t seen her for a very long time. Tissian smiled at the surprised look on her face and left them to it, whilst he went to unsaddle the horses and see to their comfort. By the time he had finished, Tarraquin had a small, smokeless fire going, and a single pot of stew, made from dried meat, wild onions and forest mushrooms, was bubbling over the fire.
Jonderill, who had changed back into his robe, was sitting next to Birrit talking to her quietly, obviously trying to give her some comfort and encouragement. She looked pale and tired, but then again, they all did. He sat on the ground on the other side of the fire and gratefully took the small pot of stew and the wooden spoon which Tarraquin passed to him. It wasn’t much, but at least it was hot, and the travel bread helped it to go further. As soon as they had finished, Tarraquin smothered the fire, making sure that there was no smoke which could be seen or smelled from a distance. The last thing they wanted to do was give their location away to anyone who was following them.
They were tired and dispirited and the darkness seemed to make things worse, so Jonderill lit the small travel lamp, giving them just enough light to see each other by, and handed around a flask of grain spirit, allowing each of them just enough of the fiery liquid to warm them through.
“Do you think they’re following us yet?” asked Birrit in a small, frightened voice, breaking the tense silence.
“They could be, but it’s much more likely that they’ve gone to check Maladran’s tower hoping to catch us on the way. They might have guessed that’s where I would make for.” Jonderill gave Birrit an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry so much, we have a good head start and Tarraquin knows these woods better than anyone I know.”
“Except Jarrul,” put in Tarraquin quietly.
“Yes, except Jarrul.” He glared at her and tried again to lift their spirits. “With luck we’ll make it to the rebels’ old hide out before tomorrow nightfall, where we can rest for a few days, and then we can double back through the forest until we reach the tower where we will be safe.”
“What are we going to do when we get to the tower? asked Birrit, “I mean they’re still going to be watching it aren’t they?”
“Yes, but I’m certain that I can get us in there without them stopping us, and once we’re inside, even Callabris won’t be able to get in. Then we just wait until they give up and go away.”
Tarraquin looked dubious. “Borman doesn’t strike me as a man who would give up and go away easily.”
Jonderill shrugged and tried not to sound irritable. “No plan is perfect, but if you have a better idea then I’m happy to listen.”
“No, I don’t have a plan,” she said miserably.
“Then let’s just get some sleep shall we? It will be dawn in a candle length or two and we’ll need to be on our way as soon as it’s light enough to see where we’re going.” He blew out the lamp and rolled over dragging his blanket over his head.
He woke to the pre-dawn whistling of sky flyers calling to each other, and the very faint, low hiccoughing sound of someone crying to themselves, and doing their best not to be heard by others. Birrit lay asleep nearby and Tissian had gone, presumably having spent the night on watch further back down their trail. That just left Tarraquin, so he looked around the early morning gloom trying to find her.
She wasn’t in the clearing, so he rolled from his blanket and followed the sounds of sobbing until he found her sitting with her back against an everleaf, on the other side of the spring and a little way into the woods. He felt guilty about being so sharp with her the previous night; this couldn’t be easy on her either, so he went and sat beside her. It was difficult to know what to say to a woman, who had gone through so much, to stop her crying, so he reached for her hands to give her some comfort and noticed the small silver box that
she was holding.
“What have you got there?”
She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and held the box out to him so he could see the two tiny silver leaves inside resting on the boxes green, velvet lining. “A friend gave it to me and said that if life ever became too difficult to bear, then I was to open this box and these would remind me of him, and give me hope of better things.” She carefully closed the box and held it closely to her. “Oh, Jonderill, I’ve lost them all, my friend, who I left when he needed me, Istan, Jarrul and even Malingar. You and Birrit are all that I have left.”
Jonderill put his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder and some time, just before the sun filtered through the trees, they comforted each other with their bodies, making gentle love underneath the trees.
If Tissian had seen them he gave no indication as he walked out from amongst the trees, waving at them and looking as fresh as if he had slept all night in a feather bed rather than keeping watch the entire time perched on a branch in a tree. “Lord. We need to leave soon. They’ll be on our trail by now.”
Jonderill helped Tarraquin to her feet and gave her a gentle smile whilst she put on the determined face that he knew so well. She gave Jonderill’s hand a firm squeeze and Tissian a smile. “You’re right, let’s go.”
*
They rode for half a day in the gloomy woodland and then had to stop, as Birrit was too sore and exhausted to go on, and the bruises on Tarraquin’s ribs, an unwanted gift from Borman, made it difficult for her to ride further. Not knowing how far behind their pursuers might be, they made a cold camp in a hidden hollow, and both Tissian and Jonderill kept watch whilst the women slept. When darkness came and the women felt a little better they set off again, Tarraquin leading the way with the lead rein from Birrit’s horse tied to her saddle. Tissian brought up the rear, often dropping back to check if they were being followed. With the unplanned delay and frequent stops, it was well beyond dawn before they cautiously approached the large forest clearing which Tarraquin and Jonderill knew well. It was from here Tarraquin had once led the rebel band.
It had been a long time since the camp had last been occupied, and the forest had begun to reclaim what it had once owned. Creeper had grown up the sides of the huts and thick grass grew in tufts on the sod roofs. There were even some spindly saplings which had grown to waist height in their rush to reach the sun before the forest canopy returned to block the sunlight from the clearing. For all that, the place didn’t feel deserted. There were fresh footprints in the dirt which the breeze hadn’t yet had a chance to blow away, and there was a smell in the air of old food and last night’s cold ashes.
They left Birrit with the horses, whilst Tissian made his way silently from one hut to another, heading for the place where the smell of last night’s fire was the strongest. Jonderill made his way around the other side of the clearing, keeping to the trees and desperately thinking of some sort of magic which would be of use if Tissian ran into something he couldn’t handle. He watched, as his protector scooted from the last hut to the one they suspected was occupied, and pressed himself up against the wall by the door. Jonderill gave him a sign that he was ready and behind him, Tarraquin waved Jonderill’s old iron blade in the air to show that she too was able to help if he needed it.
Taking a deep breath Tissian swung around, kicked the door open with as much force as he could manage so that it crashed against the wall on its leather hinges and dived forward into a roll to avoid anyone with a bolt bow. He came out of his roll and froze with his sword extended, its tip resting against the hollow of the throat of the startled man in front of him. The man didn’t look very dangerous, in fact he looked terrified, but Tissian wasn’t fooled. He held his position as the man tried to sink further into the solid wall behind him and waited for Jonderill and Tarraquin to back him up.
From behind him Tarraquin gave an excited shout and barged past, bowling him out of the way and throwing her arms around the man pressed to the wall. Jonderill followed behind, pumping the man’s hand up and down and slapping him enthusiastically on the shoulder. He turned back to Tissian and gave him a big grin. “Tissian, this is our friend Jarrul, back from the dead!”
Tarraquin pulled back from her friend with tears of happiness in her eyes. “Jarrul, you have no idea how happy I am to see you. We were told you were dead and sly hunters had taken your remains.”
Jarrul was still shaking from his close encounter with Tissian’s sword, but was obviously pleased to see them. “I very nearly was.”
“What happened?” asked Jonderill, stepping back and giving Jarrul more room to breathe.
“I’m not really sure. After we escaped from the city and reached the forest we thought we were free, but this white robe came after us. It didn’t matter what we did, we couldn’t shake him off our tail, and eventually the men with him had us surrounded. I don’t remember much after that. The magician pointed his fingers at me and there was an explosion of some sort, and when I came to, I was in the bottom of a ditch covered with leaves and everyone else had gone. I came here hoping that Istan would find his way here.”
Jonderill shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jarrul, Istan is dead, the Guildmaster too.”
“I’m sorry too; they were both good men, even the Guildmaster in his way. But what are you doing here, My Lady? The last time I saw you, you were being held prisoner by that beast.”
Tarraquin took his hand and led him to a chair. “It’s a long story so just sit and I’ll tell you everything that has happened to me.”
Jarrul sat down in the chair looking confused, but Tissian interrupted them before Tarraquin could start on her tale. “Master, I’m not sure how safe we are in this place. If Callabris could track Jarrul so easily, it will not be difficult for him to find us here. I think I should tend to the horses and Birrit should prepare some food, and afterwards, we can decide where we can hide so that Callabris won’t be able to find us.”
“Birrit’s here with you?” interrupted Jarrul eagerly.
Tarraquin smiled at him. “Yes, and she is going to be very happy to see that you are alive too.”
Jonderill nodded in agreement and sent Tissian and Jarrul to fetch her. The protector retuned with their saddle bags and supplies, and then left again to tend to the horses, but it was some time before Jarrul and Birrit came back holding hands. Jarrul let go of her hand, giving her an affectionate smile, so she could get on with her work, whilst Tarraquin sat down next to him and filled him in on what had happened. By the time Tissian returned, Birrit had produced a meal of fresh flatbread, seared wild grunter and boiled greens. The clearing and the forest around them was filled with the mouth watering smell of food which would carry a long way, but everyone was too hungry to care, knowing that this could be their last hot meal for some time.
Jonderill was the first to finish, pushing his empty plate to one side. He waited until the others had done the same. “We had planned to stay here for a few days and then back track and come out of the forest as close to Maladran’s tower as we can get. Now, I think it would be best if we left as soon as we can, tonight if possible.”
Jarrul sat upright, a look of fear on his face. “You’re going to Maladran’s tower?”
“Yes, we’ll be safe there.”
Jarrul shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jonderill. I know you think you’ll be safe there, but after what happened last time, I can’t set foot in that place again. You must go without me; I’ll stay here and hide in the trees if anyone comes.”
“We go together or not at all,” said Tarraquin firmly, glaring at Jonderill who glared back and muttered something about wimps under his breath.
It was Tissian’s turn to shake his head; this wasn’t going to get them anywhere. “Are there any other alternatives to going to Maladran’s tower, because it will definitely not be safe for any one of us to stay here?”
The others were quiet for a moment and then Tarraquin looked up from the silver box she was holding in
her hand. “There is a fortress in Tarbis which would be safe. When I left there, Captain Tangier said that his master would always welcome me back if I decided to return. I’m sure that welcome would be extended to us all if I asked.”
“I don’t think I could stay there either,” said Jarrul, “At least not in the long term, the beast terrifies me.”
“The long term shouldn’t be a problem,” interrupted Jonderill. “I have some friends in Alewinder who would be pleased to have your company, and Birrit’s too if she cares to go with you. They would welcome me and Tissian too, but that may cause more problems than it would solve. What do you think Tarraquin; would your friend give us sanctuary until we can arrange a more permanent place to stay”
“I think he would do that, but we must get there soon.” She looked down at the two tiny leaves nestling against the amber lining of the box; one was bright silver but the other was tinged with bronze.
*
Sharman sat on his horse feeling every one of his sixty summers and wondering how it had come to this. Beneath him his old horse plodded along giving the occasional disgruntled grunt and feeling as old as he did. They had been together a long time, young man and colt, soldier and war horse. It had been his intention that they would have retired together, him to his chair outside a cottage with two rooms, and the horse in the paddock with a lean-to against bad weather. He’d had it all planned. There was a small cottage on the outskirts of a nearby village that he had his eyes on, with just enough land to grow some root crops and greens and keep a few cluckers. There had never been time to have children, but his sister’s girl and her brood lived nearby, so there would be plenty of family at hand to care for him when he became too old to dig and cook his own food.