by Damien Black
The Earth Witch reached into the folds of her bizarre robes. ‘Perhaps in happier times we might have known each other better,’ she said in a voice that was strangely neutral. ‘I want you to take this. Call it a token of… a partnership that never was.’
‘I could always come back after we’re done,’ he said, smiling broadly and feeling suddenly giddy. A desire to have the sorceress right then and there shot through him with a jolt.
‘Maybe you will,’ she said, still smiling as she handed him her gift. He stared at it. A bronze brooch, shaped like a round shield, with an embossed silver hawk on it. ‘I think you should wear this on your cloak, sir knight. It matches the colours of your tabard.’
‘I… yes, certainly,’ he replied, snatching the proffered brooch as though it were a king’s ransom. ‘I’ll wear it at all times!’
Her smile crooked a little. ‘Good, see that you do.’ She suddenly looked past him up the trail. ‘I think your companions are leaving you behind,’ she said. ‘You’d better go and catch up with them.’
‘Yes, I better had!’ he exclaimed, turning without another word and striding up the path. He was still clutching the brooch tightly when he drew level with Vaskrian.
‘Everything all right?’ his squire asked him.
‘Aye…’ replied the knight, feeling confused, though he didn’t know exactly why. ‘Of course. Now let’s get out of this place, while we still can!’
Even as he was saying that, his hands were reaching up to fasten the brooch to his cloak. He had the strangest feeling that they weren’t his hands at all.
Burrow led them back to the clearing that overlooked the waters of the Girdle. It was the same as they had left it. No new craters marred its edge, and everything appeared much as it had when they first entered. Adelko had been half expecting to come under attack by night, to wake to the sound of trees erupting into balls of fire as Andragorix sent Saraphi to torment his foe, but the night had been strangely still and calm – though certainly not uneventful for him.
He had barely had time to take stock of his strange vision. Already it was fading in clarity, though he knew it would linger in his psyche, a perpetual source of food for thought. His strange conversation with the Earth Witch crowded at the forefront of his mind instead, particularly her parting words.
Many truths, Adelko, many truths – and often we see only what we want to see. Your job from now on is to try and get past that, if you can.
The bridge was still there. Burrow stopped before them and cocked his head towards it, before scurrying off into the undergrowth. Gazing at it and mulling over the Earth Witch’s counsel put the novice in mind of a question he had been meaning to ask his mentor.
‘So when you crossed this bridge the first time, after you said those Psalms, was it a miracle?’ he asked Horskram as they crossed back over.
‘No, though for now it will be in our interests to let yon knights believe it was,’ said Horskram in a low voice. ‘Technically a miracle would be petitioning the Almighty to revoke the laws of nature on one’s behalf.’
‘Like what sorcerers do when they tap the powers of the Unseen using Thaumaturgy?’ queried Adelko. ‘When Andragorix conjures up his fire spirits for instance?’
‘Just so. I didn’t do that – in fact my prayers did just the opposite. They channelled the Almighty’s powers to reverse the unnatural alterations the Earth Witch made to this forest with her witcheries.’
Horskram’s voice hardened at the last word. He clearly had not relished the alliance or any of the past day’s events. All save one that was.
‘You seemed so happy when you did it,’ said Adelko.
‘Aye, I was!’ replied his mentor with rare levity. ‘The Psalm of Gramarye’s Quenching is a joyous passage, a celebration of the Redeemer’s might over all the misguided teachings of the Unseen. To master it and feel its sacred power coursing through your soul is a rare privilege.’
‘The Unseen – by that you mean the Archangels as well as the Archdemons,’ said Adelko, remembering the Earth Witch’s words.
His mentor’s face darkened. ‘Not even the Archangels are all-wise or all-knowing, Adelko, as we have discussed on previous occasions.’
And perhaps neither is the Almighty Himself, Adelko longed to reply. But he kept that thought private – he didn’t think it wise that his mentor should learn of his conversation with the Earth Witch.
‘I’d never heard it before you spoke it,’ he contented himself with saying.
‘That is because few know it,’ said Horskram. ‘Even most adepts seldom master it.’
‘So… I imagine you’ll be using it, against Andragorix?’
Horskram nodded as they reached the other side and waited for the others to join them. Kyra took the lead now, taking them back into the forest and steering a course south-west. Their next destination was the resistance camp she’d spoken of – without the help of Madogan any attack on the Wadwo fort guarding the path to the Warlock’s Crown would be futile.
‘I’ll use it as well as I can,’ replied his mentor when they were on their way again. ‘Though it was not enough to defeat him utterly the last time we met.’
Adelko sensed a sadness in the old monk. He guessed the death of Sir Belinos of Runcymede, the pious knight who had helped him against Andragorix last time, still weighed heavily on his conscience.
‘Be of good cheer, Master Horskram,’ he ventured. ‘At least this time we have the blood of the Redeemer to aid us.’
Horskram’s face darkened again as he replied: ‘And even that may be cancelled out by his increase in power, though we should be safe enough from his demonic servitors thanks to the succour it gives us.’
Another question occurred to Adelko.
‘I thought the Golem was a demon,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t the Redeemer’s blood help us then?’
‘Perhaps it would have – we didn’t have to find out, Reus be praised,’ replied Horskram. ‘But the Redeemer’s blood is at its most powerful against demons in bare form. A demon bound to an earthly substance is harder to turn – the ways of magic and the means to fight them are not always easily grasped. That is why we cannot rely solely on its power alone – we will have to work hard at our recitals too!’
‘… we? But I don’t know the Psalm of Gramarye’s Quenching… and you said most adepts never master it. I’m just a novice.’
Horskram turned to look at him, his blue eyes twinkling in a stray ray of sunlight as they pushed through a thicket behind Kyra.
‘Correct on all three counts,’ he said. ‘But I will not expect you to master it, or even to learn it. When we confront Andragorix, I will lead the recital. You must join your voice to it as best you can – I shall need your elan! Every bit counts.’
‘So why didn’t you bring more friars with you? When we stopped at Ørthang you could have enlisted more support.’
‘You are forgetting the need for secrecy. I can’t have everyone in the Order knowing of our mission.’
‘Why not?’ Adelko called after him, stopping short as his habit got caught in the thicket. ‘Why always this need for secrecy?’
‘The Fallen One’s servants are everywhere,’ said Horskram, without slowing. ‘The fewer who know of what we’re up to, the better!’
Disentangling himself, Adelko stumbled after his mentor. He considered pressing him for more answers, but his sixth sense told him a familiar story. The adept was done talking for the nonce, and that meant no more questions.
‘Who goes there?’
Sir Torgun brandished his sword, angling his body to present a more difficult target. He missed his kite shield, left in splinters by the fight with beastmen.
Disappointment fell on him like a wet shroud as five woodlanders entered the clearing in response to his challenge, clutching their long yew bows. Dawn wasn’t far off and he had taken a double turn on watch; he rarely needed more than four hours’ sleep a night and wasn’t tired.
On the contrary, he bur
ned with energy.
Fury at the unavenged deaths of his brethren still consumed him. He didn’t like getting angry: it led to conduct unbefitting a chivalrous knight, so he needed something to channel it. Another fight would do handsomely – preferably with a mortal foe.
But there was no sense in fighting these honest folk, especially not if they were natural allies against the unnatural foe they marched to face.
‘Well met, sirrah,’ said one of them, eyeing his surcoat warily. ‘What brings raven knights t’Argael?’
‘We seek your leader, one Madogan,’ replied the knight, nudging Aronn awake with his boot. ‘One of your folk guides us to him.’
‘Oh aye?’ asked the woodsman as the five of them edged forwards, fanning out to surround him. They still had not let go of their bows, and arrows remained nocked to strings. A cowardly way to approach combat, but you could only expect so much from commoners and Torgun knew better than to judge such men harshly.
‘We mean you no harm,’ the knight said, sheathing his sword and relaxing his stance.
Sir Aronn had pulled himself to his feet and was blinking sleep away. ‘Go and wake the huntress,’ said Torgun softly. ‘Probably best if she talks to them.’
Favouring the woodfolk with a surly glance, Aronn did so.
‘Kyra,’ said the leader when she had been fetched. ‘Sorry fer sneakin’ up on ye like that, canna be too careful nowadays.’
‘Think nowt on it, Rafe,’ replied the huntress. ‘Ye did the right thing. Where’s Madogan? Is he near? We’ve a tale fer ‘im an no mistake.’
‘He’s got us camped towards the outskirts of the forest,’ answered Rafe. ‘We’ve a tale fer you an’ all. We’ll take ye to him.’
Shadows were lengthening through the forest by the time they reached another stockaded clearing. It was larger than any Sir Torgun had seen yet; an outer perimeter had been hastily constructed around the original set of walls. The young knight cast a keen eye over the defences. It was no castle, but the woodfolk had done what they could with the resources at their disposal. The inhabitants of the Argael had long enjoyed independence from either realm at its borders, and they guarded it fiercely.
Rafe whistled at the guards on the outer wall, who let the drawbridge down. It opened inwards, straddling a ditch lined with stakes surrounding the inner wall. The gate was hauled open for them as they marched into the compound.
There were no dwellings, only four long low buildings that Torgun guessed doubled up as storehouses and barracks. Standing in the middle of these was a group of woodlanders, holding close conversation. They parted as the newcomers approached.
Sir Torgun spotted the leader straight away. Something in his bearing marked him out. He was taller than the others, with blond hair and a close-cropped beard and moustache, handsome enough after his own fashion. The woodlanders were a mix of Vorstlending, Northlending and the ancient tribes who had been there before the First Reavers. It looked as though Madogan had a fair streak of Northlending in him. Sir Torgun hoped that would make him easier to deal with.
Madogan nodded at the new arrivals. A scouting party had encountered them during the afternoon, so their arrival wasn’t a surprise.
‘Welcome back, Kyra,’ he said, ignoring his guests. ‘aven’t seen you in a month o’ Restdays.’
‘I’ve brought us some ‘elp,’ replied the huntress. ‘And I’ve some news fer you.’
‘I’ve some news fer you,’ said Madogan. ‘We’ve found the Woses, where they’re based. They’re not even in the woods.’
Kyra looked surprised. ‘How did ye ken?’
‘Dunna ken if ye’ve met Ratko,’ he said, introducing a shifty-looking woodlander standing next to him. ‘Sez he found their fortress, on the outskirts o’ the forest, a day away from ‘ere.’
Horskram cleared his throat loudly. ‘Perhaps some introductions might be appropriate?’ he said pointedly.
Madogan turned as if noticing him for the first time. ‘Madogan Steadyhands, at yer service,’ he said brusquely. ‘An’ you?’
Horskram introduced them.
‘That’s a motley band an’ no mistake,’ said Madogan. ‘So what brings such men to our troubled lands?’ He had returned his grey eyes to Kyra.
‘Probably best if we talk to you in private,’ she said.
One of the woodlanders spoke up at that. He was an ill-favoured looking fellow, with a face like an anvil and eyes that squinted meanly.
‘Why should we trust this wanderin’ slattern?’ he spat. ‘Always got to do it yer way, ‘aven’t ye Kyra?’
‘Aye, I have,’ she replied. ‘Got a problem wi’ that, Baldo?’
‘Aye, I do,’ said Baldo. ‘Had a problem wi’ you ever since ye killed yer ‘usband, my cousin. Ye should’ve hanged long time ago.’
There were some mutterings at that. Torgun could tell some were on Kyra’s side, but most seemed to sympathise with Baldo. His instincts already told him whose side he was on. His hand moved deftly to the hilt of his sword as Kyra rounded on her cousin.
‘There’s good reason why I didna hang, as well ye ken!’ she yelled. ‘Ereth Hunter was a womanising drunk who beat me black an’ blue, till I put a stop to it. The reeve found me not guilty o’ murder ten summers ago, and that should be an end to it!’
Baldo’s eyes narrowed even further, if that was possible. ‘Found ye not guilty, yet banished ye from yer community,’ he growled. ‘I’ll not be a party to any ploy o’ yours, Woses or no Woses.’
He spat on the ground and turned to leave.
‘I suggest you apologise to yon woman before you leave.’
Sir Torgun’s words were quiet and calm, and all the more dangerous for that. Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to look at him uncertainly. Horskram’s rolled as he resigned himself to another conflict. But Sir Torgun was damned if he would let a woman, even a common one, stand abused.
‘Begging yer pardon, sir knight, I meant no offence,’ said Baldo, taking in the knight’s huge frame.
‘Really?’ said Sir Torgun mildly. ‘It seems to me you did. Chastising a woman who has been exonerated by court of law is not acceptable. Though the King’s law doesn’t apply here, I am still sworn to oppose injustice in all its forms. Your behaviour just now was as uncouth as it is unfair. Therefore I think it behoves you to apologise.’
Baldo blinked. Kyra was staring at the knight incredulously. Torgun guessed she wasn’t used to having members of the nobility speak up for her. Or speak to her at all, come to that. But as far as he was concerned justice was for everyone, not just the high-born.
‘It be… what?’ replied Baldo, looking perplexed now. The word ‘behoved’ obviously wasn’t in his vocabulary. Communicating with common folk could be tricky.
Madogan, who had said nothing but watched the proceedings with an amused smile, chose that moment to intervene.
‘I think, Baldo, what the knight is sayin’ is ye should say sorry, afore he cracks yer thick skull apart.’ Laughter erupted around the compound. This Madogan was clearly well liked by his men. That boded well: it was important to know one had charismatic leaders on one’s side going into battle.
‘The Code of Chivalry forbids me to duel with a commoner in any case,’ Sir Torgun reassured him. ‘Therefore, if you really will not apologise, I suggest a bout of fisticuffs. I’ll tie one hand behind my back to make it a fairer fight.’
Sir Aronn and Madogan were both grinning broadly. Horskram exchanged glances with Braxus and shook his head. Baldo turned pale and took a step back. ‘No… no, that wilna be necessary, sir knight…’ he stuttered. ‘Kyra, I’m sorry fer what I said. It wilna happen again.’ He stumbled against a tree stump and nearly fell over. More laughter filled the clearing.
‘That’s alright,’ said Kyra, laughing with the rest. ‘It’s not yer fault ye’re a born fool with a walnut fer a brain. Now be off wi’ ya, we need to speak wi’ Madogan.’
Baldo turned and practically ran for the nearest building.
&nbs
p; ‘Now I ken I can trust ye,’ said Madogan, smiling at the knight. ‘The ravens ‘ave a reputation fer justice, and we’ll be needin’ all the good fighters we can get. Follow me if ye will, sir knight, an’ tell us what ye know.’
‘We’ve about an’ ‘undred and forty men an’ women ready to fight,’ said Madogan, leaning on his bow.
His face was set grim in the light of the charcoal braziers. Vaskrian couldn’t blame him – they were doing their best to hammer out a good battle plan, but it looked for all the world as though this wasn’t going to be a fair fight. But then what was fair about the world? He pushed away his gloomy thoughts and forced himself to concentrate as Madogan went on.
‘Better marksmen ye’ll not find in the Free Kingdoms, but at close range it’ll be a slaughterhouse an’ no mistake.’
‘We’ll take care of the fighting at close quarters,’ said Sir Torgun. ‘Just place as many archers as you can on the ridge overlooking the fort. We’ll goad the beastmen out to fight us, then you pick them off with poisoned arrows. Because of their size they should present easy targets even when we’re in a melee with them.’
Kyra had already broken out the Wose’s Bane that the Earth Witch had given them. There was enough for two or three arrows per archer, plus their own blades.
‘Aye, but we’ve no idea ‘ow many o’ them are in there,’ said Madogan, still looking deadly serious. ‘An’ yer only six – countin’ the Vorstlendin’ knight an’ this foreign freesword – plus some forty o’ the stronger lads I’ll send wi’ ye, the ones that ‘ave a chance o’ fightin’ hand t’hand. Woses ‘ave the strength o’ two men at least, chances are the odds won’t favour ye.’
‘Then you’d better shoot straight, and you’d better shoot fast!’ said Sir Aronn. ‘If what yon woodland trader says is true, they’ll have to cover several hundred paces of broken ground to reach us, with little in the way of cover. That should give you time to even up those odds before they close on us.’