Gordath Wood

by Patrice Sarath

  “Dismount here. Fan out and empty the houses, and then torch them. We’ll have no hiding places left for our man.”

  The small group of stone houses, whitewashed and gleaming in the light of the afternoon, nestled against the foot of the hill that rose into the Wood. A well, water spilling merrily over its lip and running down toward the river in a stone channel, cut a glittering path in the ground. Goats browsed along the edge of the field. A few people watched warily as the soldiers suddenly entered their midst. Colar swung his leg over his saddle-bow and dropped to the ground, snaking the reins over his horse’s neck and letting them fall untied. His horse stood obediently along with the others. They would remain ground-tied until the scouts returned.

  The butterflies in his stomach returned, but it was less pleasant. Next to him, Jayce had already begun stalking through the village. So had the others, swords drawn, though the smallholders could be no threat. Colar swallowed back the bile in his throat and drew his own sword. With no plan of his own, he followed Jayce.

  Colar ducked into a small house behind the other scout, cool in the shadows with only two small windows to let in the light. Outside he could hear the rising cries of panic of the smallholders. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and he felt a moment of stark fear. Think, boy! he heard his father say. Don’t just react. Colar gripped his sword and resolved not to enter the next small house like that. Too much of a disadvantage, even though Jayce had gone in as if there were no danger.

  He was likely right, Colar thought.

  “Everyone out!” Jayce said cheerfully, grabbing an old woman by the collar and apron of her blousy shirt. She began to wail and protest, but he pushed her toward Colar and the door. Feeling stupid, Colar stepped aside as she stumbled over the threshold. He wondered if he should have helped her—or turned and kicked her harder. The thought made him sick. Turning back at him Jayce laughed. “We’ll just keep the pretty maids, right, boy? Some of these have to be good for a bit of fun.”

  Colar didn’t respond for a moment while he tried to get his voice to work again. “Any sign of him?”

  Jayce had taken a poker and raked the fire out of the small hearth, throwing a small chair with a caned seat onto the scattered flames.

  “Him who? Oh, the runner. Not likely. We beat the fire here, so even if he’s on his way, he won’t be here for a while. This is just for fun.”

  He stood back to watch the fire catch. “Love to watch the flames. Something about it . . .” He grinned. “On to the next one. Ready, boy?”

  I’m not a boy, Colar wanted to say. And anyway, you aren’t much older than me.

  He couldn’t make the words come. Instead, he just nodded and ducked out the little cottage, letting Jayce follow. He had a moment of blessed fresh air, then smoke billowed from the windows and a random spark caught on the overhanging thatch. Jayce came out, hurrying and coughing, but his eyes were bright and he grinned. “Come on, boy!” he shouted, and Colar followed, but not before he caught sight of the old woman, standing off to the side, her wrinkled hand covering her mouth. She never even looked at him, as if he were beyond her notice.

  Colar stumbled backward, his long legs suddenly as awkward as a newborn colt. He found his balance and hurried off, scurrying to catch up with Jayce.

  While they continued their destruction, the Gordath Wood fire caught up with them, and smoke began gushing out of the forest, hanging at the top of the hill. The villagers, caught between the scouts and an even bigger threat, left off protesting and began to pull out their belongings as quickly as they could. Colar watched their exodus with the rest of the scouts, the line of refugees dwindling around the bend.

  Only the old woman and a few others lost everything. Artor and the rest of the scouts let the villagers go in, get their few things, and pack out. I should have done that, Colar thought, ashamed that he had not showed mercy and restrained Jayce. He thought of what his father would have said and winced.

  Afternoon sun glinted on the waters of the Aeritan. The sun lowered behind the trees. The well still bubbled, and except for the scouts, the little village was now deserted. Colar scanned the top of the hill where the trees formed a dark line and shook his head. Even if the runner did come through the woods, there was nothing to say he would come to this exact spot.

  Evidently Captain Artor thought the same thing. He waved a hand, pulling everyone in.

  “Doubt we need to stay,” he said. “It was long odds, anyway, that our man would come this way. Let’s finish the fires here and go home.”

  There were a few mumbled “aye, sirs” and nods, and everyone dispersed. Colar took one look back at the Gordath Wood, then looked again.

  “Soldier’s god,” he half whispered, an oath he had recently learned. “Captain!” Artor, already heading back to the horses where they were grazing by the shore, turned and also looked twice.

  A rider came galloping out of the woods, followed by smoke.

  “Down!” Artor ordered, and they all dropped at once behind the small stone walls and the houses that were still standing.

  The rider dismounted at a gallop in one neat movement, sliding on his heels as he sought to keep his balance and check his momentum down the hill. The horse, a small, neat, well-built little horse, looked to have been ridden to the edge of exhaustion. The rider pulled him up, looked behind them at the fire, and looked again at the village in front of him.

  He’s suspicious, Colar thought, daring to take the smallest look over the top of the midden heap he crouched behind. He knows something’s wrong. He’s—

  A girl. Colar almost stood straight up in his surprise. The rest of the scouts were exchanging astonished glances. Jayce’s expression had gone from confusion to glee. Colar remembered what he had said about maids. This girl was no village maid nor even one of the noble class, like the girls he knew. She wore no kerchief over her hair, just a strange white helm. Her thin, short shift was white, too, or had been. Now it was gray with soot and dirt. She wore light trousers and short boots—he had never seen such ridiculous clothes. Had she had to leave her home before she had gotten dressed?

  This girl had decided to take a chance on the village. She clicked to her horse and led him over to the well, letting him drink and washing out his nostrils and his eyes of the smoke and soot. She stripped his saddle and threw it off to the side and unstrapped the strange helm, tossing it down, too. Light, flyaway hair hung damply around her round face.

  Colar felt pleasantly uncomfortable. He glanced at Artor. The captain seemed as astonished as his men. He looked around and caught everyone’s eye, then jerked his head toward the girl. They rose as one and began to advance.

  She never even noticed their approach. Her horse tended to, she began to drink, gulping in handfuls of water, splashing it onto her face and letting it run down her front.

  Jayce reached her first, grabbing the back of her shirt and dunking her into the water. When he pulled her up, she gasped and choked, trying to cry out. Whatever protest she planned to make died in her throat as she looked at all of them, wiping away the water still streaming into her eyes.

  “Where is your saddlebag, courier?” Jayce said in her ear. He tightened his grip on her hair. “Or do you need another swim to help clear your head?”

  Captain Artor came forward

  “Stay your hand, Jayce,” he said curtly.

  Colar thought Jayce would disobey. For a moment he held her, then growled in frustration and released her, shoving her hard into the lip of the well.

  “What are you doing?” she cried out, her accent strange, barely intelligible. “Let me alone!”

  Skayler, Artor’s second-in-command, came up with the contents of the girl’s saddlebag.

  “No letters,” he said crisply. “But look at this.” He held out a soft, thin cloth, completely transparent, and a light bottle. He shook out the bottle, and a few drops flung out of it, gleaming in the sun until they vanished into the grass. For an instant Colar
smelled something sweet and fragrant, and then the tantalizing scent was gone.

  Jayce turned toward her.

  “Where are they?” he advanced on her. “Where are the dispatches you’re carrying for Tharp?”

  She shook her head in confusion. “I’m not—”

  He slapped her, and she gasped again. Colar jumped a little and hoped no one noticed.

  “Jayce!” Captain Artor snapped. “Hold! She can’t tell us anything like this.” He nodded at her. “Now, girl, tell us who you are and what you are doing out here by yourself. Be quick about it, and no sniveling.”

  Colar had heard that tone before; he’d been on the receiving end of it himself. It evidently had a bracing effect on the girl, because after only a quick glance at Jayce, she said with some calm, “My name is Kate Mossland. I—I’m lost. I was riding on the trails, I was looking for a friend, when I got lost. We ran from the fire. My horse—” She nodded at the little horse, his reins now held by Skayler. “He was very tired and thirsty, and I had to tend to him. I’m sorry if we did anything wrong. I thought it would be okay to get a drink. But, if I could borrow a phone, I could call my parents and have them come get me. Please?” she added hopefully.

  No one said anything. She looked around at all of them, and as if she could see herself through their eyes, the color rose to her cheeks, and she crossed her arms uncomfortably. Jayce hooted softly. The other scouts remained emotionless. Colar did his best to act like the older men.

  “A young girl, out here alone—” Artor said. He shook his head. “For your own protection, we’re going to have to take you with us.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “No, please. If you could just tell me how to get home. I don’t want to be a bother . . .”

  Artor looked her over, his own arms crossed. He looked as if he were trying to stare into her thoughts. Colar shifted uncomfortably.

  “Your parents,” he repeated. He scanned the village and the Wood. “Are they here?”

  “No . . . no. I told you, I’m not sure where—I mean, if you had a phone, I could call them and they could come get me.”

  “So call them,” Jayce smirked. “How loud can you scream?”

  She looked at her tormenter, and Colar felt a shiver. She was lost and frightened, certainly, but the look she gave Jayce was neither. It was anger, the kind of anger that was born of desperation, perhaps, but there was nothing subordinate about it. She is no village maid.

  She turned back to Captain Artor and waited, as if Jayce were of no importance. Artor caught Skayler’s eye, and Skayler shrugged the least bit. Artor turned back.

  “I don’t understand half of what you say, girl. I’ll leave it for the general to decide what to do with you.” He turned toward Jayce and Colar. “You two. Take her and her horse back to camp and report to General Marthen. The rest of you, split up and finish torching the houses.”

  The girl’s eyes went large at that, but she made no sound and no struggle as the scouts saluted and set to their work. Colar took the reins of the little horse from Skayler. The sandy-haired scout handed over the saddlebag with the strange bottle and cloth in it and nodded at Jayce. “Watch him,” he said, his voice low. “Could be there’s more to her than first glance sees. She needs to go to the general in one piece, now.”

  Colar nodded back, glad to have the commission. He clicked to the horse, and it fell in beside him.

  “Here,” he said to the girl. “Saddle him up.” He did not trust himself to say anything else, though questions pounded with every heartbeat. Who are you? Those strange things in your saddlebag, what are they? Why are you here?

  She barely looked at him as she did as she was bid, tossing the small saddle lightly onto the horse’s back. He watched her fumble with the buckles with shaking hands, so frightened she made a mess of it again and again. He was about to take over when finally she gave a short, frustrated “Oh!” took a deep breath, and let it out before trying again.

  It was something Colar did; it looked so odd to see a stranger girl use the same trick to calm herself.

  Jayce bumped him with his shoulder, and Colar started and turned around. The other scout had a length of rope in his hands. He raised a brow and looked at the girl, a grin of anticipation on his face. “We should tie her, right? I think we should tie her.”

  Colar lifted his shoulders. “Where is she going to go?”

  Jayce made a dissatisfied expression at his response. “I’m going to tie her,” he said. He turned around and looked at the rest of the scouts, busy at their work firing the houses. When he turned back to Colar, he said, “We’ll make a stop after we clear the bend. I don’t see why this has to go beyond the two of us.” He cocked his head, regarding Colar. “You can go first,” he offered, grinning.

  The blood thundered in his head, and only when it cleared could he trust himself to speak. Colar forced himself to look at the other scout and tried to act like the captain.

  “We aren’t touching her, and we aren’t tying her.”

  Jayce stared at him, incredulous. “You don’t give the orders here, boy.”

  Colar almost couldn’t breathe. Instead, he put his hand to the hilt of his sword. He hoped that was enough of a threat. He hoped he wouldn’t have to say what was struggling to come out from behind his teeth.

  If you touch her, I’ll tell my father.

  When Jayce sneered and turned away, Colar knew that it was that last unspoken threat that he responded to.

  The girl was watching them silently. If she understood what had happened, it did not appear on her face. She stood next to her horse, patting his neck, and he had to bark at her to make his voice work.

  “Mount,” he said tersely. Jayce made an under-his-breath oath and swung into his saddle. The girl mounted lightly, swinging easily up onto the small horse. The rising evening breeze flared up, and the girl shivered in her inadequate clothing. Colar shrugged out of his leather coat and handed it to the girl. “Here,” he said, and for the very first time, she really looked at him. Her eyes were pale blue and rimmed with red from the smoke. Her skin was blotchy and smudged but looked like it was fair under the dirt and tears. She had a sprinkling of spots on her chin. She had to swallow before she could get her voice to work.

  “Thanks,” she said and put it on and hugged it around her. The breeze that came off the river felt good against his fevered skin.

  As a precaution against her trying to flee, though he doubted her tired horse could make it ten strides at a gallop before falling over, he shook the reins over its head and led her away. Jayce followed. The back of Colar’s neck itched, with the man riding behind them like that. No—Jayce wouldn’t dare try anything against the blood of the House of Terrick. Colar sighed. So there went his chivalry.

  Jayce’ll get over it, he told himself hopefully. When we get back to camp. Jayce didn’t have a woman in the camp, but he always found one of them to lie with when he wanted, and he rarely had to pay coin—though Colar wondered if the girls had a choice in that.

  Colar glanced back at his little train. The girl hunched up on her horse, holding the coat closed at her throat. Jayce sulked behind them. The lowering sun turned the Aeritan to glowing gold, and the pall of smoke rising over the forest was tinged with it as well.

  It was going to be a long ride back to camp.

  Four

  Climbing the ridge after Dungiven and the horse thief brought Lynn out of the shadow of the woods and into sparser cover. After the twilight of Gordath Wood, it was almost bright. The air on the ridge was crisp, and the insects that had been harassing her ceaselessly in the damp woods were blown away.

  She swiped her hair back and made a face when she saw how grimy and sweaty her hands were. A little dirt never hurt anyone, she thought gamely and limped out into the open.

  She had come out onto the backbone of the ridge, skirting a jumble of rocks that tumbled precariously back down into the woods. One massive boulder had been split in two. Vines crawled over it, and a s
apling came up in the middle. It balanced on three smaller rocks, settling onto them the way a pot settled on a stove.

  A tongue of rock thrust out from the ridge over a wide bowl filled with trees. Far below ran the silver line of a stream. On the other side of the valley, a swath of green field swooped up toward the sky. The wind picked up a bit, and Lynn closed the collar of her vest, staring at the distant field and scanning the rest of her surroundings. She couldn’t see any roads or telephone wires. Electrical towers should be marching up that field, carrying wires along outstretched arms.

  She looked up at the dulling sky swept with wisps of cirrus clouds. No planes.

  Her knee hurt, and she was getting cold, the sweat from her hike chilling her in the cool breeze. Lynn turned away from the ledge and back toward the forest, limping over to a gnarled tree. She slid down, wincing a little.

  Sparse grass cushioned her, warmed by the sun. Taking advantage of the warmth, she drew off her boots. The hot leather slid away grudgingly, exposing her sweaty toes in their shredded nylon socks. Blisters were rubbed raw all over her feet. The cool air flowed over them, but Lynn already knew what it was going to feel like when she had to put her boots back on.

  She sighed, shrugged out of her vest, and folded it under her feet. Couldn’t be helped, she thought. She wasn’t going anywhere without a rest, and she closed her eyes.

  Without sight, she was lulled by the rest of her senses. The smell of sun-warmed grasses filled her nostrils, and the faint sound of the wind in the trees washed over her.

  Lynn was reminded of a late-summer evening in her apartment over the top barn, the curtains lifting in the open window, letting in an evening breeze. She kept her eyes closed, indulging the memory.

  She can smell the familiar barn aromas of horses and tanbark, dusty hay and leather, and breathes in deep. Joe stirs next to her. She doesn’t want to burst the illusion by reaching out to touch him, so she just concentrates on the familiar aroma of him. Over them the white curtains waft gently, billowing out from the cool air.