by J. W. Webb
“Best put an arrow in Parrantios. He’s a dangerous bastard.” The captain leaned closer. “The men can draw lots. The six losers will enter the wood at dawn. A dozen more will block all roads beyond. I will join the rest at Kashorn to await our royal prisoner and the pirate ships of Crenna. There are to be no mistakes. Is that clear? I want that fucking gold Caswallon promised. Every shiny sovereign.” He spoke on in whispers, and Cale’s ears strained to listen…
“Some kind of conspiracy,” the leader was saying, “Belmarius and Halfdan are part of it. Caswallon means to crush them all.” Cale spied another cockroach within range. He tried to resist but his stomach grumbled. He pounced, narrowly missing the creature and slipping from his bench with a thump. All eyes turned toward him.
“Have you been listening, you little shite?” The leader’s granite stare pinned him to the spot. Cale gaped stupidly. The crossbowman smiled evilly and brandished a curved knife in his grubby fist. He thrust its point into the table.
“Let me silence him, Captain,” Borgil ventured.
“You can kill me, I suppose,” gulped the boy, “but you’d be wasting a lot of talent. I could be useful to you, Captain Hagan.” He watched the cockroach scale the table leg and winced as an ironclad fist splattered it to oblivion. What a shame, Cale thought. The leader laughed, breaking the silence.
“Do tell me,” he barked. “What possible use could be gleaned from a guttersnipe like you? Speak, gobshite, while my patience endures!”
“I’m a trained thief and cutpurse.” Cale puffed his chest out amid hoots of derision from the men. He ignored them. “Academy of Kelthara. I recently travelled with two renowned brothers. They trusted me, and because of my skills I won their respect. Unfortunately, my contract expired four days past. My partners were murdered by an unpleasant character called Corin an Fol. Hence…” Cale sighed theatrically and dusted his sleeve. His dignity and gravitas were lost on this audience.
“I’m seeking new employment and am ready to negotiate terms. I” Cale stopped, noticing how the captain’s stony eyes had narrowed dangerously.
“What business led you to cross paths with Corin an Fol?” Captain Hagan demanded. “Speak quickly!”
Cale blanched. This Hagan bastard made the twins seem like nursemaids. Hurriedly he recanted his tale, telling of the raid at the smithy, the twin’s bloody demise, and the fury of the longswordsman from Fol. Hagan nodded thoughtfully as Cale’s tongue dried and his fingers fiddled beneath the table.
“So…” Hagan sighed. He winked at Cale and smiled the sort of smile you’d see on a lazy snake, were you to look hard enough. “Corin has returned from Permio. Interesting. Last I heard he was working for that oily bastard, Silon. A cushy job down there in the sunshine. Wonder why he quit?”
“Gold?” suggested Borgil.
“Aye, probably, but gold from whom and for what? Silon’s not big up here, and I know most the players who are. They don’t offer contracts to lone operatives—not without my permission. No, I think our boy’s got in with Kelwyn.”
The captain watched Cale’s bug eyes twitch nervously for a moment, then yelled out for the landlord.
“Feed this sweet boy and dry his cloths by the fire,” he ordered. “Oh, and give him a hot toddy—the little fucker’s half frozen.” The innkeeper emerged red-faced and flustered but rushed to obey.
Hagen turned to Cale again. “Maybe you will prove useful, boy. You’ve certainly got pluck. What’s your name?” Cale puffed his chest (not much of a chest, but one had one’s pride).
“Cale an Kelthara,” he offered, feeling rather pleased with himself. The crossbowman glared at him beneath his helmet, Cale would have to watch that one, he decided.
But hey, things were on the up! After a steaming meal and a hesitant wash, the boy felt that at last his luck had turned. The future looked suddenly very bright. Who needed arseholes like Ulf and his brother anyway? Cale had found his niche. He would become a leading member of Captain Hagan’s mercenary band.
***
“What hour is it?” Corin enquired, rolling from his blanket and coughing into the grey morning.
“Almost dawn,” replied Roman. “I’ll wake the other beauties and the Queen.” He grinned. Corin stifled a yawn and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Close by, the others were stirring as Roman stomped about.
Ariane, already up and sorting her stuff out, appeared bright and fresh with the determined look that seemed her constant companion. Tamersane and Roman were soon busy breaking camp, whilst Galed sat dreaming, bleary eyed, over a cold cup of tea. Corin managed a wry grin. It seemed the poor fellow hadn’t got a wink of sleep throughout the whole night.
After a swift breakfast and more tea, they bade farewell to Tamersane and the horse. Corin patted Thunderhoof’s chestnut flank. “Take care of him. We’ve been through a lot together.”
“Do not worry,” replied the younger man with his winning smile. “Thunderhoof and I are already fast friends!” Thunderhoof snorted in derision but didn’t complain when Tamersane heaved Corin’s saddle across his back. “Your bow, Corin, you had best take that.”
“Keep it for now. You need speed, and a well-placed arrow might get you out the shit. I’m a crap shot anyway, it would just be more clobber to carry.”
“Thanks, I’ll look after it.” Tamersane awarded the bow a critical eye. “Yew, the best for length and strength. You carry good weapons, Corin an Fol.” He turned to Ariane. “Any particular message for the merchant in the south?”
“Just inform him of our plight,” she responded. “Silon needs to know how powerful Caswallon has become. He’ll need to keep watch on the Usurper’s movements within Kelthaine. Go with speed, cousin, and watch your arse. There might be more Groil lurking about.”
Tamersane saluted her and waved farewell to his companions. Moments later he was off, easing Thunderhoof down the lane. Corin watched horse and rider fade into the morning.
Farewell, Thunder…Corin straightened Clouter on his back and turned to face the forest.
Queen Ariane’s quick mind was racing this morning. Yesterday’s attack had shaken her worse than she’d thought. Last night she’d hardly slept. The Queen shuddered thinking of the power wielded by the ruthless new ruler in Kella City.
Caswallon. A man steeped in dark lore, whose obsidian eyes had followed her so rapaciously last year during their visit to the High King’s court. And what of Tarin, her stupid, idle, distant cousin? Corin was right, the Prince was an idiot.
But lived he yet? Most likely not. Ariane knew this quest to be a desperate gambit. It was hard to hold positive, but one thing assured her. She studied their guide with professional interest (and a hint of personal, too, were she to own to such) as his long strides led them toward the forest.
This Corin an Fol was a strange one. There was such an air of resentment about him, as if he begrudged his lot in life. But he was arrogant with it, which spoke to her of breeding.
And he had a good face—strong. Ariane sensed a rebellious streak that didn’t take well to authority. She imagined him in court and smiled. This Corin had attitude, though she didn’t like the way he goaded Galed. But then Galed needed to toughen up, and Silon had spoken well of Corin. Ariane perceived that somewhere beneath that roguish exterior resided a noble heart. Buried deep, admittedly.
And this Corin was pleasing to the eye, she decided. Not like Tamersane, who was actually ridiculously handsome—prettier than she, if truth be known. The girls back home, they all loved Tamersane. And Tamersane—he loved them all right back, did old silver spoon.
Corin an Fol was not remotely pretty. Rather he was ugly in a very attractive way: his too-long nose, curling lip, sulky gaze—and that nasty scar. All made for a weather-beaten, wintery kind of look.
Their guide’s long face loomed from one scowl to the next. Despite that the Queen found him fascinating, and she wondered what went on inside that cloudy head. Corin was attracted to her, that much was blatantly obvious. She
could read him like a poster. She’d caught him gawping last night. The impudence! What a savage! Ariane smiled invisibly. The days ahead would prove interesting, at least!
Corin paused beneath the canopy of trees. He adjusted the priest’s cloak over his steel shirt. He’d recently acquired it from Tamersane.
Give away horse and bow, get this sack of shit instead.
This additional cloak was an encumbrance, and together with his own practical one and weapons, Corin felt weighed down and rather idiotic. The Queen had insisted he dress like the rest of them. He had reluctantly conceded to her wisdom but felt hot and irritable beneath the woolen garment. He turned to face the others.
“Here we leave the road, follow what tracks we can into the forest. We had better tread carefully, people. This is a strange place.”
“Best get on with it, then,” grumbled Galed, following the others beneath the creaking boughs.
At first they made good progress. The forest felt warm and sheltered after the bleak region they had left. Late autumn sun shimmered through branches of beech and oak. The feeling was one of peace. But as they drew deeper into the wood, the trees closed in on them and it was hard to follow any defined path.
It grew stuffy. The air felt oppressive, and they struggled beneath the weight of their green cloaks. The atmosphere was strange in this wood; a cloying, watchful silence. They felt hidden eyes on their backs, unfriendly eyes. The companions glanced nervously from side to side. Every now and then, Galed jumped at a noise that only he had heard
“I don’t like this wood,” he grumbled. “There’s something uncanny about it. I feel naked beneath these trees despite this heavy cloak.”
“There is a presence in the forest,” agreed Corin, for once abandoning his dislike of the squire. “But as we mean it no harm, it should leave us be. I hope,” he added with a wink. Corin glanced up. The light was dimming every step, for now the leaf-laden branches formed a solid roof above. The track ahead narrowed to scarce more than a deer run. Corin paused for a moment, listening. Beside him Roman wiped sweat from his brow and fingered his sword hilt.
“Fuck this heat,” he muttered.
“Corin, are you sure this is the right way?” asked the Queen, sensing his doubt.
“Aye, Queen…Your Highness…ladyship…madam.” Corin felt awkward under that acerbic gaze. The Queen raised a brow and revealed the faintest glimmer of a smile. Corin straightened, manfully summoning a confidence he didn’t feel.
“The heart of the forest lies to the northeast. As long as we proceed in that direction we can’t go far wrong. Besides, most these tracks will lead us to the sacred grove where the Oracle lies. No problem.”
“Good,” the Queen replied. “I don’t want to become lost in this place. These ancient trees dislike our presence here, and I sense other beings dwelling in the darkness.” She smirked slightly at his awkward expression.
“Plain Ariane will be sufficient from now on, Corin an Fol. We are all friends here.” Corin grinned and winked at Galed, who for his part looked outraged at his Queen’s familiarity with this rogue.
“Ariane it is,” Corin answered, hoping his face didn’t look as red as it felt. It was so damned hot in this wood. It was all right for the Queen and Galed. They weren’t wearing steel coats. He and Roman were struggling beneath steel, weaponry and double cloaks. They squished and stooped like soggy bears, with grumpiness to match.
As the day wore on, the stifling heat drained their energy. There was very little air. Here and there a mighty oak, or a tall forbidding ash, blocked their way, and they had to scramble through the thicket of briar and thorn before they could regain it. They struggled and swore, particularly the Queen, Corin noted with surprise. He recorded every expletive, and glanced at Roman in alarm. The big champion grinned like a shark as he squelched on through the gloom.
“She spent a lot of time with my men in the barracks, learning sword craft and strategy,” Roman explained. “That and colorful language, too. She’s like her old man. The King. Nogel had little time for the niceties of court.”
Corin wasn’t sure what to think about that. This Ariane wasn’t quite what he’d expected in a Queen. He’d imagined a whimsical floaty beauty with lofty airs and graces. Instead, here was someone who could teach Holly a few tricks. That said, she was definitely worth a go and she seemed to like him. And you never know…
Their cloaks were becoming a worsening hazard; they caught on branches and got punctured by inch-long thorns. And drowsiness assaulted them, sapping their will. Galed held back a yawn, looked ready to drop off.
Corin was about to suggest they stop and have a bite to eat when he heardor rather felta rush of wings above. Cursing, he looked up and saw a raven settle on a low branch a dozen paces away. Its beady eyes watched them pass beneath with silent scrutiny. Corin scowled at the bird, resuming his pace, and the others followed in morbid silence. Roman hung back for a minute eyeing the raven suspiciously.
“I don’t like that bird,” he muttered, sensing something odd about the creature. “Something’s amiss here,” he whispered re-joining the others. Roman glanced back, eyes narrowing. There was movement behind them—just a flicker of light but enough to alert Roman’s seasoned eye.
Someone follows.
He stared for a moment longer, then he caught it: movement, a figure flitting silently from tree to tree. Roman caught up with Corin and placed a warning hand on his shoulder.
“We are being stalked,” he said.” We’d better hide up for a while and see if we can find out who it is!”
Corin nodded, cursing under his breath. The last thing they needed was another attack by Groil or any other doggy horrors Caswallon could muster against them. Roman whispered in the Queen’s ear, and she nodded. Galed looked on with sweating, creased brow.
They abandoned the track, mindful not to leave footprints and faded like ghosts into the darker trees to their left. These were great evergreens, and their dense resinous blanket wrapped the companions in darkness. The air was even closer here, and their speech was muffled. They stood motionless, listening, waiting…
Long moments passed. The forest held its breath. Then Corin heard it. He nodded slowly at Ariane’s champion, who bulked beside him in the silence. The sound was closer, easier to define. Corin recognized soft patter of footsteps hastening along the track.
He looked out carefully from behind the stump, saw six figures dressed as hunters hurrying passed the spot they had just vacated. The leader shouldered a heavy crossbow. His features were hidden beneath a large kettle helmet. Corin recognized him immediately.
Borgil of Leeth, Hagan’s brutal lieutenant.
He shot a warning glance at Roman “I know these men,” he hissed “They’re fucking mercenaries down from Morwella.”
“In Caswallon’s pay, no doubt.” Ariane’s dark eyes penetrated the gloom. “Can we lose them, Corin?”
“Aye,” said Corin, nodding, “if we journey deeper into this thicket and steer clear of the more obvious tracks. But be on your guard, Quee—Ariane. We are deep inside the forest. It doesn’t bode well straying from paths.” She nodded and bit her lip in silence.
They crouched uncomfortably for several moments as late flies buzzed in their ears. One settled on Roman’s nose.
“Bugger off,” he hissed, but the fly ignored him. They waited for several minutes after the last soldier slipped from view. Corin was the first to move. He signaled they follow and with practiced silence weaved a way forward beneath the cloying firs.
For over an hour they struggled at snail’s pace. Invisible branches whipped their faces, and roots trapped their feet. The heat was almost overwhelming. It was hard to breath. Their feet felt leaden, and their eyes itched from the resin and bird shit.
“Are you sure we are going in the right direction?” Galed demanded of Corin. The squire resembled a walking sack of sweat. He looked worn out, and Corin could tell he’d almost reached the end of his tether.
“I kn
ow what I’m—”
A man’s scream sundered the silence.
“That was a death cry,” whispered Roman grimly. “Someone else is hunting!” All thoughts were on the mysterious archer who had come to their aid.
“Best we keep moving. Come on, people!” Corin urged. Even Galed needed no further prompting, finding some energy from somewhere and launching himself in the opposite direction from the distant cry.
Minutes passed, maybe half an hour. The squire started grumbling again. Then Corin grinned, feeling a rush of relief flood through him. They’d stumbled across another path.
“I think I know where we are,” he told them. “I recognize this track. If followed, it will lead us to a large lake at the other side of these pines.”
Corin paused, taking a grateful sip from the water gourd Roman handed him. He wiped his mouth on the priest’s cloak before continuing. “If we skirt around the lakeshore and then turn right again, we should come across the Oracle in several hours’ time. Follow me.”
Corin led them on in haste. The hours were passing and they still had a way to go. It wasn’t long before they glanced water shimmering through the trees. Moments later they emerged at the shore of a wide serene lake.
A vision of tranquility, it shimmered before them. Polished by sunlight, the blue expanse caressed emerald swards and tapered into a narrow point at the distant northern shore. From there the rhythmic chime of a tall waterfall could be heard cascading ceaselessly into the perfect blue beneath. Birch and maple framed the shoreline, their gold and crimson mirrored in the water. Nothing stirred; it was as though they’d wandered into a dream.
It was beautiful, like the canvas of a giant watercolor crafted by a joyful god. They felt like trespassers, rude, grubby intruders. They stumbled on, lost for words. Light spilled from clear skies overhead. They forgot the stifling firs and the enemies that stalked them. There was something about this place. Was it witchcraft? The water promised serenity. It called out to them, soothing fraught nerves, quelling fears.