by GJ Kelly
Foolish child echoed in her memory. This is not your path.
oOo
12. Croptop
Elayeen hadn’t expected the entire population of Fourfields to turn out in the damp and chilly darkness before dawn to see them off. After saddling the horses and watching while Tilly harnessed the mighty Borbo to a hay wain that had clearly seen better days, hot food and wine appeared as if from nowhere, everyone sharing a warming and hearty breakfast with those about to set out on the expedition to Croptop.
Few spoke, and those that did only in soft murmurs. For the elves, the quiet, undemonstrative but obvious support of the entire hamlet was a powerful and moving gesture. Trigo tipped the floppy brim of his battered and ancient hat in their direction, clambered into the wagon, an old crossbow canted across his shoulder, and sat next to Tilly. An immense man, doubtless Rickerd, casually heaved bundles and bags up into the wagon before hefting a three-foot long six-pound sledgehammer and slotting it through his belt the way a dwarf miner might shove a rock-hammer in his. Then the planks forming the bed of the hay wain groaned a little as he heaved himself up to sit opposite Trigo and the mayor’s daughter.
Pahdreg helped his wife up onto the narrow seat at the front of the cart and handed her Borbo’s reins before walking, tall and proud, to stand before the three elves.
“We’re ready when you are, Ranger Leeny.”
“Then let us be on our way, Serre Mayor, for the honour and defence of Fourfields and its people.”
“Aye,” Pahdreg gave a weak but earnest smile, and touched the brim of his hat, and took his place on the hay wain.
Elayeen nodded to her companions and they mounted, adjusting belt-hung weapons and the bows slung over their shoulders, shifting in the saddle until comfortable, and then they formed a line, clearly waiting for the Mayor of the tiny Mornland farming community to take place of honour and lead the expedition out of Fourfields, watched by all who dwelled there.
Pahdreg and the others in the well-used wagon straightened their backs, and at the cluck of a tongue, Borbo strode forward, and turned towards the seldom-used path by the stream that led through the trees towards their ultimate destination. A short time later, with the wagon still leading the way, passing into the woodlands and thus out of sight of the villagers, the sky lightened, dawn breaking on what promised to be a damp and dreary day.
Borbo kept up a good pace, considerably quicker than the ambling walk Tilly had commanded when first they’d passed along the path through the woods. Doubtless, Elayeen thought, the young girl had deliberately slowed the great shire’s progress yesterday in order to spend more time alone in the company of the three Rangers. Today, though, Pahdreg was anxious not to delay the Rangers’ any more than the use of the hay wain made necessary, but not at the expense of the animal’s welfare.
‘There’s only one Borbo in Fourfields’ had been heard on a number of occasions, and Elayeen had quickly come to recognise that the huge and gentle beast was greatly prized by the community. The work he did was both considerable and vital to all their well-being, and thus the great care and attention afforded to him and to the elderly workhorse which shared his paddock.
But while the path alongside the gurgling stream afforded a measure of peace in which to reflect on the lives of those who dwelled on the farms so far from their nearest neighbours, within two hours the trees suddenly thinned, and the way ahead became steeper. In a few minutes more, the trees were behind them, and they were travelling up the rise beyond which lay Croptop, and whatever unknown peril lurked there.
It was at the crest of the rise, and with the tall and conical hill in plain sight a mile from them, that Elayeen called a halt, and eased her horse alongside the wagon.
“From this point, Mayor Pahdreg, we shall lead the way. I intend to pause again where your daughter called us to a halt yesterday, a safe distance from whatever danger may lurk within the copse yonder.”
“As you wish, friend Ranger,” Pahdreg acknowledged.
“Serre Trigo, in all the tales you have heard and in all your experience, what distance from the peak of the hill may be considered safe?”
“Fourfields,” Trigo muttered darkly, “Never had no trouble there. But in truth, folk believe the hill itself is where the true peril lies, and I reckon I agree with ‘em. Never heard tell of ought afflicting folk anywhere but on its slopes. Though that don’t mean ought, since none ever survived to tell otherwise.”
“Thank you,” Elayeen nodded, and Trigo tipped his hat again.
With a nod for Valin and Meeya, Elayeen rode forward, and flanked by her companions, led the way almost to the very spot where they’d waited for Tilly yesterday. There, they paused, eyeing the summit of Croptop some half a mile west of them.
The sun struggled to burn through low grey cloud behind them, and here and there beams of light lanced through breaks in the cloud, shafts of brilliance which raced each other across the land before being snuffed when breezes sealed the breaches in the leaden overcast. A glance at Valin showed that neither he nor Meeya had seen anything of concern on Croptop with their eldeneyes, just as nothing sinister had been revealed to hers.
Behind her, in the wagon, she heard the slight pop of a cork, and turned to see Pahdreg holding a large and battered canteen, and filling plain wooden beakers on a tray held by his daughter. Breakfast wine, still warm but cooling rapidly after its journey from Fourfields. She signalled her friends to dismount, and with the Mornlanders gathered around the wagon, shared the welcome beverage, eyeing the hill all the while.
In the silence of that small gathering, Elayeen became aware that all of them were waiting for her to speak, and she felt the worms of doubt and nervousness stirring again. Gawain could make a powerful speech of a shrug or by simply arching an eyebrow, and not for the first time did she envy him his qualities of leadership.
It didn’t help that she’d caught sight of her reflection in a water-butt that morning while washing her face, and in spite of her newly-cleaned clothes she still looked like a well-armed scarecrow with mouldy stubble for hair. Or so it seemed to her, anyway. But she knew she needed to say something.
“Where did you find the boy’s campfire?” she managed.
Pahdreg nodded up towards the summit. “You can’t make it out from this distance, big though it was. But it’s slightly more to the south than dead ahead.”
“Aye,” Trigo confirmed, “Clodwit strode straight up from the path we jess took, up and over the rise yonder, and straight up the ‘ill. Newsrider though, he come up from the south, marks of his passing were a quarter way around of here, on the southern slope. Nought left of that now, and not much left to mark Gillane’s last spot, not after all this time, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Elayeen nodded her thanks. “When our wine is finished and our pause over, we shall move to within a quarter mile of the slope. From there, we shall proceed on foot, leaving the horses with the wagon in care of the ladies.”
Then she turned to face the men of Mornland. “Do you still intend to venture into that woodland, knowing that certain doom may await us all therein? You each have many occupations, and are needed by your people. Just as there is only one Borbo in Fourfields, there is also only one Pahdreg, one Trigo, and one Rickerd.”
“I am the Mayor of Fourfields. With such honour comes responsibilities. I can’t let you go where I will not. I have my whole family here, and we spoke of it last night, and are all agreed. It’s why we all are here.”
Trigo lifted his head, and scratched the stubble on his chin. “Beg yer pardon, miss, but I dint come all this way with a hay-cart rattlin’ my old bones jess to set and watch you all walk up yonder. You bein’ forest-born might not need an old huntsman, but where these two go, so goes me.”
Rickerd shrugged his immense shoulders, and shuffled his feet, adjusting the massive sledgehammer in his belt. His hand, Elayeen noticed, almost completely covered the six pounds of steel jutting from the studded leather girdle around his waist. �
��Ain’t much for words. Mayor asked fer muscle. I got muscle, and there’s an end enough fer me.”
“We live here,” Pahdreg added softly, “Might not be brave enough or warrior enough for war, nor even for going up there on our own. But we heard tales from the newsriders about you Rangers, and all you did, and all you gave up, to stand up for folk like us up there in the north. At least you’ll know you’ve friends at your back, up there in the woods.”
Elayeen drew a breath, hoping she looked dignified in spite being pricked by the sudden emotion evinced by humble farmers’ words. She gave a curt nod. “Very well. If we’re now ready, we’ll advance.”
Advance then they did, the three Rangers taking the lead and moving far enough ahead of the wagon for Valin to cast a quizzical glance towards his queen. To his credit, he didn’t ask the question that was foremost in his mind. But Meeya did.
“They will be in the way, Leeny. Why do you allow them to accompany us? For the sake of two ancient crossbows and a blacksmith’s maul?”
“Who am I to deny them? You heard them speak, Meeya. Would you rob them of their pride and crush their spirit?”
“No. But I had expected, the task falling to you, that you would. We have no idea what awaits us in there, and at Far-gor the Mornlanders were all healers and cooks and helpers, none of them warriors, just as none of these are.”
“Yet when battle was joined they formed ranks in the infantry and fought alongside us all.”
“And died.”
“As did many of all lands, including our own. We shall keep them at our backs, where their lights will not interfere with our eldeneyes. If there is something dark in there we cannot yet see, we shall deal with it head-on, and thus keep our new friends safe.”
“And if one or all of them should fall, Leeny, how will you keep your heart from breaking?”
“It was broken at Raheen. Do you think I could have coped with all that has happened since then if it had not been?”
Meeya fell silent, and they rode on, crossing softer ground where springs made the going slow for the wagon until firmer ground was achieved. There, perhaps four hundred yards from the bottom of Croptop Hill, Elayeen abruptly reined in, and dismounted to await the arrival of the wagon.
“Still I have seen nothing dark,” Valin announced quietly, in elvish.
“Nor I,” Elayeen admitted, swivelling on her hips to glance up at the tree line above them. “We should now speak only in the common tongue. We may have to give words of command to the men of Fourfields, and it will not do if they cannot understand them.”
The hill, now they were this close to it, was steep. It would, she grudgingly conceded, make a good place for a night-camp, easy to defend if needs be and removed from the softer, and in places boggy, ground below. Not surprising, then, that travellers might unwittingly camp within striking distance of whatever danger lurked there.
But the fact their eldeneyes could see nothing dark at this close range was a little disturbing as well as a source of relief. Elayeen herself had seen a Kraal-beast at almost a mile through the woodlands alongside the Jarn Road in southern Callodon, and all the elves of the ninety-five had seen Graken on the wing a greater distance away, further than the ordinary eyes of men and elves not possessed of the gift passed to them through Elayeen.
Something had killed the boy, Gillane, four weeks earlier. Something that the old huntsman now clambering from the back of the wagon had found no trace of anywhere below the tree line at the summit.
“Never thought me and Borbo’d be standing ‘ere so close to Croptop,” Tilly announced, startling them all with the suddenness and volume of her speech.
“Nor any of us,” Tilda agreed softly, “Now hush, the Rangers don’t want to hear your chattering now.”
“Sorry.”
Elayeen glanced up at the sky, and clearly reading her, Trigo stepped forward, stretching his back and testing the tension of the string on his crossbow.
“No rain today, young miss. Sun’ll burn it all off come mid-arternoon. Marnin’s are damp this time o’ year, but won’t be til March we might see heavier rain. Mild this year, too, no snow, not that we gets much anyway.”
Elayeen released the clasp of her cloak, and rolled it, stuffing it through a loop on her saddle-bags before taking up her bow and feeling the tension in its string. Valin and Meeya followed suit, shedding the heavy garb which might otherwise impede them in the copse. Behind them, a click of a mechanism told of Pahdreg testing the action on his crossbow, too.
“Notice anythin’ else up there, young miss?”
Elayeen glanced at the old man, noting again the depth in his eyes before casting her gaze upward once more.
“No,” she announced, “Nothing dark has been revealed to us yet.”
“Aye. And noticed any birds, have ye?”
Elayeen summoned the Sight, and scanned the dim grey frosting that was the grass-covered hill, and the taller, lighter grey of the trees, sap low, their life-lights at a low ebb, enjoying a winter’s rest perhaps. But there were no birds, and there was no birdsong. The last time she had noted such absence of aerial life was in the immediate vicinity of Calhaneth.
“Odd, innit?” Trigo whispered. “Always been like that. Silent up there, too, it is, jess the wind in the trees whisprin’ soft.”
Elayeen felt the worms stir and crushed them mercilessly, turning to face the wagon.
“I would have you keep our horses safe and close, Tilly, since you are fond of horses and care so well for Borbo. Do not let them stray, and do not stray yourself. Remain at the wagon at all times.”
“I will Ranger Leeny, I promise.”
“Lady Tilda, you should remain likewise, and no matter what sounds you may hear, or what you may see up there, do not leave the wagon. There are creatures of Morloch’s making able to disguise themselves well, and if there is evil here, what you see and hear might not be what you think it is. Please, for your own sake, do not leave the wagon, nor permit Tilly so to do, even should you hear one of us call for aid.”
“It’ll be as you wish, friend Ranger. Tilly and I shall make the wagon ready should a healer’s services be needed.”
“One final thing,” Elayeen gazed at both of the ladies. “Should any threat approach, should you fear for yourselves or see anything unknown moving down the hill towards you? Take a horse each and ride without hesitation for Fourfields. Do not pause, do not look back. We shall follow in due time.”
“I understand.”
“Then, if your farewells are said, we shall advance.”
While Pahdreg gave Tilda and Tilly a hasty embrace and a kiss, Rickerd drew the sledgehammer from his belt, hefted it to test the haft and eyed the wedge holding the steel head in place, and nodded to himself. Trigo cocked and bolted his ancient crossbow, and the three Rangers of the Kindred, Elayeen to the fore, set off towards the east-facing slope of Croptop.
oOo
13. A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing
Once on the upslope, they took their time. It was a steep climb, and since it was scarcely mid-morning, they had no fear of losing light. However, one thing Elayeen did not wish to do was arrive at the tree line too tired to fight, should fighting prove necessary. Nor did the elves need to be concerned for the fitness of the Mornlanders behind them; they were outdoorsmen, farmers, lean and able and well used to physical toil, not the kind to tire easily.
No-one spoke. Heads swivelled, eyes scanned, and ears strained. And the only thing that could be regarded as sinister was the absence of birds. The nearer they drew to the tree line, the more marked that absence became.
At a little over halfway up the slope, Elayeen paused, cocking her head this way and that, listening intently but hearing nothing. She turned, and gazed at the panorama stretching away before her. The high mountains of Threlland far to the north, the rolling hills to the east, the Three Beacons at the coast too far now to be seen, and the verdant lands to the south, streams like silver ribbons winding here and there. Th
e landscape around them was a gentle as the people who dwelled therein. Two of those people were below, tiny figures sitting in the wagon, horses tethered and standing patiently watching their progress.
She blinked away the momentary lapse in concentration, and turned, and continued upwards.
“Yonder’s the remains o’ the boy’s campfire,” Trigo announced quietly, and a glance over shoulders revealed the direction Trigo was marking.
Sure enough, a dark blotch could be seen higher and slightly more south of their position. Elayeen turned towards it, and ten minutes later they surveyed the scene of Gillane of Fourfield’s last night in this world.
In truth, there was little to see. Rains had washed away almost all trace of the blood and gore Trigo had described, and the ashes and embers from the fire had also been slowly dispersed downhill. A pile of wood, an empty bottle, and nothing else remained. A poor monument for a poor life lost on a hillside in the middle of nowhere. Elayeen again studied the tree line, closer now, perhaps thirty yards away. Again, nothing was revealed to eldeneyes, either nearby at the campsite, or further away in the trees. Wordlessly, she set off again, keenly aware of her own heart beating.
Nor was there anything to see at the tree line itself, no impressions in the soil, no broken stems of dock, nettle or fern, no disturbance in the leaf litter to mark the passage of animals, small or large.
“Found the spoor a little ways off, ‘bout ten yards north,” Trigo whispered, and Elayeen moved away.
There was nothing there to be seen now, of course. The tree line was by very definition exposed to wind and weather, and there’d been plenty of both in the last month or two. Only the gloomier interior of the woods would remain relatively undisturbed, even though most of the branches overhead were winter-bare and would remain so until the arrival of spring.