by Cale Madison
“Pfft.” he spat before rolling onto his back, “You sound just like everyone else.”
“Malachi.”
“Yeah?”
“Skalige was a warlord in the Southern Isles. He left his country to accompany me on my task to find you. If he can uproot himself at the drop of a hat, so can the King of Tuskan. I can tell you now that harpies are as ugly as shit and screech like squealing bats. I’ve seen an imoogi up close and they’re frighteningly repulsive. Vampires and werewolves will kill you just for sport. If you want to travel, then travel. But you seem like a smart kid and the world needs smart leaders. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I asked as I realized the prince had been plucking apart a dandelion instead of listening.
“No.”
“One day, you will.”
“You sound like my father.”
I suddenly reverted the conversation, “When are we going to the palace? We’re wasting time sitting here. We should keep moving.”
“You need to rest. If bandits pass by and see an exhausted knight with a boy who favors the missing prince, they’d strike you down and take me. I can’t have you fainting again. I barely managed to drag you last time, and lucky for us, a stream was nearby and downhill. Lay there and gather your strength. The palace isn’t going anywhere.” he persisted. I groaned and eventually gave in. I hadn’t the strength to resist further.
Morning birds fluttered between their nests in the trees, chasing one another. Nurmels hopped from their burrows like rabbits and disappeared into the underbrush. I listened to the sweet songs of thrushes and wrens in the tree tops. Rare gusts of wind blew through the grove, blowing loose leaves into the air and into the stream. Malachi breathed so quietly, I almost forgot he was there.
Then, we heard the sound of hooves approaching, followed by men’s voices.
“Oi, Borhart!” a man shouted, “Hurry yerself! We’ve got to make it to Brunson by nightfall! The lord says if we’re late, we only get half!”
“Aye, aye, give me a fuckin’ moment! Are you plannin’ on timing the seconds it takes to piss? Doubt that’d slow our time at all! You’re a piece of work, you are!” Borhart called back. I hurriedly pulled Malachi behind an oak, wrapping my fingers around the hilt of my blade. One set of boots came trudging through the thickets behind us. What emerged was a burly, moustached man with a shaved head and two daggers at his side. He wore a black tunic with rattlesnake skin stitched into the sleeves.
Borhart stumbled towards the ravine and unfastened his trousers. As he began to relieve himself into the stream, his companion called out, “Borhart! Hurry the hell up!”
“By the Gods, shut yer mouth! Brunson ain’t goin’ nowhere! You’re lucky we happened upon this patch or I would’ve smacked you across the head for rushing me.” the burly man called out over his shoulder.
“You ain’t smackin’ nobody!”
“I’ll smack you if you keep shouting, Tevril!” Borhart shouted back.
“Come back up here, then! We’ll see who smacks who once we’ve made it to Brunson! You’re only sour because the wench chose my bed instead of yours!” Tevril yelled, becoming more agitated with every passing second.
Borhart muttered under his breath, “You inbred bastard, the second I’m through with you…”
“What was that? What’s he sayin’ down there? Not man enough to say it to my face, are you, Borhart? No, I’m going down there! Don’t try and stop me!” Tevril said to someone else before he began stomping into the grove.
Malachi held his breath as the two men squared off only a few meters from where we hid. Tevril wore a similar jerkin with rattlesnake skin but his sleeves had been torn off at the forearm. He had moppy blonde hair that fell past his ears. He shoved Borhart as he began to fasten his trousers. The burly man shouted, “Can’t wait until a man’s properly tied his pants, can you? Can’t wait until my prick is tucked in? You whoreson, I’ll show you!”
“Ever since we left Rotera, you’ve been a thorn in my side, bastard! You wanted that starry-eyed whore but she chose me first! Admit it! Let’s have a go and settle this now!” Tevril hissed before he shoved the bigger man. After a quick punch to the jaw and a flurry of obscene curses, the two began tussling in the dead leaves. I whispered to Malachi, “Move quietly. Don’t step on any twigs or branches.”
Tevril and Borhart snapped at one another, shouting as they beat each other senseless behind us. We crept uphill, ascending the mountain as the two made enough ruckus to drown out our steps. It wasn’t until the prince stumbled over a rotted stump that they halted their fight. Borhart whispered, “The fuck was that? That noise. Grander! Sheepskin! Was that you up there?”
I realized in terror that two other men were emerging from the road. They both wore black tunics with red shirts underneath. One fastened their horses to a birch and turned to spot us before we could flee. He wore a hideous scar over his left eye and had stringy black hair that barely reached his shoulders, “Look what we’ve got here, Sheepskin. Two drifters in the woods. That armor...look at it...that’s not Tuskan Guard armor there. That craftsmanship looks elvish to me. What’re you two doin’ this far out in the country?”
Sheepskin, a tall, gaunt-looking fellow, drew a saber from his side and said, “Haven’t seen armor like that since two winters back, when elves raided our camp and butchered my men. Swine. Half-breed swine. What’re you two doing, wearing that? Robbed some elves in the woods, did you? Speak up!”
“I’m an errant of the Tuskan Guard and this is my son.” I lied, straightening my face, “We take frequent trips to this stream, where he killed his first doe. Right over there, by that rock, is where he shot it. Ran twenty yards before collapsing into the water. If you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way now.”
“Oho, what a surprise! Forgive us, O’ Errant of the Tuskan Guard! Didn’t mean to intrude on your memories here! Wait a moment, there, you two.” Sheepskin hissed and tapped his sword against his boot, “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, gentlemen, but a lone errant is powerless in these lands. Your nearest commanding officer isn’t for a hundred miles. Take off that armor and hand it over. I don’t care how you came across iron like that. It’ll sell for five hundred crowns, nonetheless.”
“Be reasonable. Threatening a knight errant will have you kil-”
“He bloody knows well what happens!” Borhart shouted as he and Tevril emerged from behind us, rubbing their bloody mouths, “Sheepskin led the Eighty-Ninth Battalion into Graystorm the day we took the city. That sword there took the lives of a hundred men in one afternoon.”
“Two hundred.” Sheepskin corrected him, picking at something wedged in his teeth.
“Deserters!” Malachi suddenly shouted, prepared to charge at the two men, “You’re wearing the Tuskan colors inside-out! I’ve seen that before! Traitors!”
“Better tell your son to hold his tongue, errant!” Grander snapped.
I placed a hand on the prince’s trembling shoulder and said to the troupe, “If we give you our armor, will you let us leave? We are of no use to you.”
“That’s where our problem lies, errant.” Sheepskin said and stepped towards us, “You know us now. You may swear to Opheria above that you’ll never tell a soul, but you’ve seen our faces. We can’t risk you searching for us, and I know you both heard where we’re heading. We’ve been promised too much gold by the lord in Brunson to turn back now, and we can’t ride into the city with a thousand soldiers searching for us. See our dilemma, here?”
“You turned your back on the king!” Malachi cried out, “You broke your oath!”
“Be quiet, son!” I snapped.
“Hang on…” Sheepskin said, narrowing his eyes at Malachi, “I recognize this one here. Have I seen you around Dadelburg before? Bardford? Your voice sounds like...hmm...I swear you look familiar…”
“Need to teach your boy some manners before we teach him for you.” Borhart interjected, wiping blood from his cheek, “What does he know about war? What it do
es to a man? We’re done fighting their king’s war. A pox on you and your loud-mouthed son, errant. Hand over the armor willingly or we’ll pry it from your lifeless bodies. Your choice.”
“Do it quickly.” Tervil added, drawing one of his daggers.
I stepped towards Sheepskin, pretending to unfasten my armor as the four men began nudging each other and laughing. I unsheathed my sword before they could react and sliced it through Sheepskin’s hand, severing it from his arm. He shrieked in pain, clutching the bloody pulp and fell to his knees. Malachi and I fled from the grove as their leader shouted, “Chase them! Catch those bastards!”
I cut through one of the mare’s reins and tossed Malachi onto its back. He turned his head to see the three deserters sprinting from the grove’s edge, “Come on, Caine! Hop on! They’re coming!”
I climbed into the saddle and kicked with all of my might, prompting the horse to thrash her head and gallop forward. Malachi clinged to my back as we sped across the road, pursued by the three men. They waved their swords and cursed at us as we stayed one step ahead of them. Grander, Tervil and Borhart mounted their mares and followed. I could hear them calling for us in the distance as we moved further and further away.
We galloped from the patch of groves into an open field, where I could see the faint silhouette of the Tuskan Palace in the distance. Malachi turned his head again and shouted, “Hurry! They’re coming!”
I could hear Borhart bellow, “You’re dead men, errant! Dead fuckin’ men!”
“I’ll cut off your hand and feed it to your boy!” Tervil shouted.
Our horse whinnied exhaustively as we rode at breakneck speed. I patted her neck and said, as if I were talking to Nadi, “Please, girl, you can do this! Keep going!”
The clouded skies began to break, shedding rays of sunlight over the expansive lands. The only sounds I could hear were the drumming of my racing heartbeat and the rhythmic pounding of the mare’s hooves on the grass. Trees lashed at our clothes and heads as we passed through another plot of woodlands, staying just ahead of our pursuers. Tevril shouted something I could not understand before a sharp pain grazed past the side of my neck. Malachi noticed it too and frantically cried out, “They have crossbows, Caine!”
Bolts whizzed past us as we continued to gallop between the trees. I could see the missiles soaring overhead, scarcely missing us. The woodland had just enough of a gap between the trees to traverse safely. Our mare snorted wildly as we crossed between birches and leapt over half-buried boulders. The prince shouted over my shoulder, “If one of the arrows hits the horse, we’re done for! Do we have anything to shoot at them?!”
“No! Keep your head down!” I answered as another bolt struck a tree limb beside us. The deserters were now gaining on us, reloading their arbalests as they rode. They sliced through overhanging vines and branches that nearly knocked us from our horse. I felt the prince’s small arms wrap tightly around my waist and his face press into my back. I could see the end of the grove, which led into another valley ahead. Our horse was panting heavily, about to collapse from exhaustion. I clenched her black mane tightly, dug my heels into her ribcage and prepared myself for the worst outcome.
Without warning, their shouting suddenly stopped. I called out to Malachi, “What happened? Where did they go?”
“Turn around!”
I trusted the prince and halted our mare.
Behind us, Grander, Borhart and Tervil were lying sprawled on their backs in the middle of the road. Their horses had sped away, fearfully whinnying and neighing as if speaking to one another. I could see a lone branch stretched across the path above the men. Malachi squinted his eyes and asked, “Do you see that, Caine? That branch must have struck them from their mounts! Hah! How perfect!”
“How did we not hit it?” I asked myself as the deserters began to stir, “I don’t remember ducking under it? Do you?”
The extended branch suddenly spiralled back into the trunk like a coiling rope. As Tervil climbed to his feet, the branch lashed out again and smacked him hard in the mouth. The man tumbled for several feet, his head twisted completely backwards. Borhart screamed and tried clawing away until a second branch wrapped around his ankle, then dragged him to the wood’s edge. He became pummeled beneath a birch as it collapsed forward and crushed him. Malachi and I watched with our mouths hung open as Grander suffered the worst fate. Three sets of branches reached into the road like claws and snaked around his waist. He attempted to cut through them with his sabre but the bark was incredibly tough. He was then squeezed until his eyes bulged from their sockets and blood seeped from his lips. His hands went limp and he dropped his sword into the grass.
“What...Caine…” the prince said, unable to process what had just happened.
A deep rumbling came from the trees, “Gwydion thanketh thee.”
Without a word, I nodded and then galloped away, mostly out of fear. Malachi turned to watch as the living trees crept back into the groves and out of sight. He called out from behind me, “I always thought the Ents of Avenwood were a myth! Stories meant to scare kids. They don’t walk or move like us. Did you see their faces? They had faces! Caine?”
“I don’t care, Malachi, as long as I never see one again!”
***
Midday, when the sun is at its highest and the overbearing heat swarms throughout the land; the absence of a good breeze can be sorely missed on days like this. Lord Gavin sat at the far corner of the King’s table, directly beside Athalos and several appointed guests of honor. He rapped his knuckles against the wood, palming his glass as he stared into the thick, red wine inside. He listened to Darius banter with one of his trusted advisors on the other end of the table, pretending not to care.
Platters of roasted goose and chicken lined the outer perimeter of the rectangular table. Bowls of plum jam and honey-berry sauce sat next to plates of venison and bushels of cranberries. Trout, fished out of the mountain lakes, sat in the table’s center, surrounded by apples and assortments of berries. Haunches of boar were gradually being devoured by Athalos and Gavin, who both shared a liking for the cooked game.
“Mother! Mother! Dane keeps flicking his peas at me!” Alice cried out, grimacing as another series of missiles became embedded into her curly, golden hair.
“Dane, stop!” Athalos snapped, wiping his lips.
“Or what, big brother? If you hadn’t of eaten your peas so fast, you could’ve joined my army in attacking the wicked witch of the table! Take that!” Dane began flicking more peas at his sister.
“Stop or I’ll wallop you!” Athalos warned, starting to rise from his chair.
“Boys, boys, quit your bickering.” the king ordered from the opposite end, “Be quiet now, the both of you! Athalos, threaten your brother again and I’ll force you both to walk through Brunson, midday, holding hands while singing the Tuskan Anthem. Dane, if you flick another pea, I’ll have you sent to your room for the rest of the day.”
Dane seemed almost thrilled to hear his punishment.
“...without dinner or any free time in the stableyard.” Darius finished, prompting the prince to fold his arms and reluctantly oblige.
“Sire, I don’t mean to interrupt you, but the scouts claim to have seen five factions from the duchy in the past week. They’re moving north to bypass us over the mountains. If we do not act now, we risk breaking our alliance with the elves forever.” his advisor said with intent seriousness, “We’ll appear as if we’re allowing them to pass. If we lose them as allies, we’ll be exposed on both sides.”
“We will not start an open war over suspicions.” Darius replied as he bit into the leg of a roasted turkey, “Arrigon’s squabble is with Gwydion, not us. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, sire.”
“I will not risk the lives of our people to protect those who would never come to our aid.” he continued to say, “Enough innocent blood has been shed already. Now, let me eat in peace without discussing politics or war.”
> Gavin could feel a vein bulging in his forehead, usually accompanied by feelings of tension and bottled hostility; he contained this agitation through heavy breathing and snarky grimaces. Prince Athalos placed a comforting hand on his arm as a method to calm him, seeing that the Lord was clearly aggravated. He could not contain his tongue any longer as he proceeded to hiss, “Tell me then, sire, what would we risk their lives for?”
“What did you say, Gavin?” Darius asked, lowering his turkey leg.
The Lord rose from his chair with his glass of wine, “I’m merely questioning the longevity of your words, sire. The elves depend on us to be their watchful eye...your people depend on us to not declare war...there can be no catharsis, you say? I have one solution.”
“How dare you address the king in such a manner?” one of the advisors snapped, “You have no right to flash your wicked tongue, speaking this way!”
“I am not the King’s tongue, I am his Hand. This country used to stand for something, remember? Arrigon once trembled under the mighty Tuskan fist...we held Arrigon and the Isles with an iron grip. What are we now? Hmm?” Gavin proclaimed to the table, “A bunch of blind and deaf fools who sit around, waiting for the war to come knocking at our doors? I declare that we retake what we’ve lost with the numbers and strength our armies now possess. No more waiting for an attack to happen! What does the Tuskan crest stand for now, if not to set wings to our stagnant militia? Attack Arrigon now, while they are unsuspecting. We still have the elves as our allies. With their numbers and vast knowledge of guerilla warfare in the woodlands, we can overtake Fortaare in a week’s time!”
“The crest means that we have full control over our actions, Gavin.” Darius replied, sternly, “That Tuskan fist represented tyranny and fear. If you remember those times so fondly, you also remember the civil wars and rebellions that frequently broke out across our lands. Thousands died who did not need to. Peace is our priority. Now sit down and dine with us. I don’t wish to discuss this any further. Do you hear me?”