“Won’t be seein’ forty-four, though, will ya?” Red Sam laughed as he jabbed the tip of his sword into Sir Baelan’s mail-armored thigh.
“Ah!” Baelan cried as he turned the Chadiri longsword away with a scrape of steel on steel.
“You need any help, Sir, Baelan?” Garrett asked.
“Mind your manners, boy!” Red Sam said, “It’s rude to cut in on another man’s dance.”
“I need no assistance!” Sir Baelan shouted, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
“All right,” Garrett said, walking over to take a seat on a stump at the edge of the forest that afforded a good view of the battle.
Red Sam stalked Sir Baelan like a wolf circling a wounded stag. Baelan retreated slowly toward the tree line, countering the bandit’s probing strikes with increasingly sluggish parries of his blade.
Baelan staggered back against a large tree, leaning heavily against it for a moment as he gasped for breath.
Red Sam giggled as he dodged clear of Baelan’s clumsy sword thrust, coming around behind the tree. He circled the tree, mocking the older man as he sprang back and forth from one side to the other, eluding the Astorran knight’s sword jabs that only scraped weakly against the bark of the tree.
Sir Baelan fell back toward the greenway again, his breath labored and rasping now.
Red Sam stepped from behind the tree and moved in for the kill with a vicious leer on his face.
Suddenly, Sir Baelan held his breath. The knight’s sword swung in a glittering overhand arc, nearly cleaving the bandit’s head in two before the startled Chadiri could raise his sword to block it.
Red Sam staggered backward under a hail of blows as Sir Baelan swung his sword in both hands, hammering down the bandit’s defenses in a flurry of bright steel. Red Sam cursed as he tripped over the roots of the tree behind him, and his foot turned beneath him. He went down hard, and Sir Baelan’s sword followed him like a heron diving for a fish.
Red Sam sputtered and then groaned. His boot heels gouged twin furrows in the grass, and then he lay still.
Sir Baelan slowly withdrew his blade from the dead bandit’s chest and then stooped to wipe it clean on the man’s red surcoat. He straightened his back and drew in a shuddering breath, and Garrett remembered to breathe again as well.
Garrett rose from his stump and approached the weary knight. Sir Baelan sheathed his sword and then stooped to pick up Red Sam’s weapon. Baelan jammed the Chadirian blade beneath a protruding tree root and then covered his face with his left forearm as he levered the sword sideways. The sword rang like a bell as it snapped, leaving the better part of the twisted blade still stuck in the crook of the tree root. Sir Baelan turned and hurled the broken hilt into the forest. He stood, staring into the shadowy woods and breathing heavily.
“Are you all right?” Garrett asked.
“It’s getting worse,” Sir Baelan said.
“What is?”
The Astorran knight turned and looked at Garrett and then shook his head. “Those men should have been tilling fields and harvesting crops,” he said, “They aren’t warriors... This... madness is turning my people into savages.”
“Then do something about it,” Garrett said with a shrug.
Sir Baelan’s eyes narrowed. “I do my duty,” he said.
“To Cabre?” Garrett scoffed.
“To the crown he wears!” Baelan snapped back.
Garrett pursed his lips and looked away. “What about your duty to these people?” he asked, gesturing toward the bodies littering the greenway.
Sir Baelan let out an exhausted breath and rubbed the sweat from his forehead with the leather palm of his gauntlet. His shoulders sagged as he counted the dead. He looked toward the forest, seeing no sign of Mirion’s return and then moved closer to Garrett, lowering his voice as he spoke again. “What are your intentions, Deathlord?” he asked.
Garrett hesitated.
“What do you mean to do when you arrive at Braedshal?” Baelan whispered.
“I don’t know,” Garrett admitted quietly, “I really don’t know.”
“Do not lie to me!” Sir Baelan hissed.
“It’s not a lie!” Garrett insisted, “I just... I just know that nothing is gonna change... for anybody... until Cabre and I settle things between us.”
Sir Baelan lowered his head, his voice barely audible now. “If you attempt harm to the King, I am bound to defend him with my life,” he said.
“I know,” Garrett said.
Sir Baelan’s eyes lifted again, filled with anguish. “He loved his father, you know,” the knight sighed, “After King Haerad’s death... he was never the same again. I couldn’t stay there. Don’t you understand? I couldn’t watch what was happening to him... so he sent me away... and I paid for my cowardice, many times over.”
“That’s why you were with the Inquisitor?” Garrett asked.
Sir Baelan nodded. He looked as though he might say more, but Mirion emerged from the forest just then with a young boy and a middle-aged woman, both looking a bit rumpled but otherwise unharmed.
“They had them tied up on a deer path, a short way in,” Mirion said, looking relieved to find Sir Baelan victorious.
“Thank you all!” the older woman said, rushing forward to fall to her knees at Sir Baelan’s feet.
“Come now, Goodwife,” Sir Baelan said, helping her to her feet again, “All is well, and no thanks are required.” He walked her back to her wagon and began to help her recover her scattered goods.
The Astorran boy stood, wide-eyed and staring at the dead men strewn across the grass until Mirion took him by the shoulder and guided him a short distance away. Garrett watched as she knelt before the boy, whispering to him. After a few moments, the boy seemed to gain a new measure of resolve, with only a little fear remaining in his eyes as he glanced toward Garrett and then swiftly looked away.
Garrett took the opportunity to slip away into the forest to relieve himself among the trees. He glanced around cautiously to make certain there were no fairies nearby and then did what he came to do.
As he turned to go, he heard a slight thump on the top of his hood, and an acorn bounced off into the underbrush. He looked up to see Haven perched in a tree branch above, grinning like a deranged squirrel.
“You forgot to look up,” she whispered.
“What do you want?” Garrett demanded.
“To embarrass you,” she answered, dropping from the tree to land in front of him.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I’m bored,” she said, leaning in to kiss him.
“That wasn’t exciting enough for you?” he mumbled against her lips as he lifted his arm toward the battlefield beyond the trees.
“You know how many years I’ve had to watch other people do exciting things while I had to sit back and hide in the bushes?” Haven sighed.
“All right,” Garrett chuckled, “next time, you can do all the fighting, and I’ll hide in a tree and watch you pee.”
“You’d fall out of the tree,” she laughed.
“You’d catch me,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.
“Maybe,” she mumbled back.
“Someone’s coming!” a slightly tremulous voice whispered from nearby.
“Mualip?” Garrett exclaimed, pulling away from Haven to see the little selkie peering at them from between the bushes.
Mualip put his finger to his lips and then pointed toward the greenway. Garrett glanced back to see the outline of Mirion pushing her way through the trees toward him.
“Love you,” Haven whispered into Garrett’s ear before she and the selkie slipped away into the forest again.
Garrett lifted his hand in parting, smiling slightly as he watched her brown cloak disappear between the leaves.
“It’s time to go,” Mirion called out.
Garrett turned to see her approaching through the undergrowth with her sword held ready in front of her. His eyes fell to the tip of the blade, freshly
cleaned after the battle and gleaming in the light of a sunray that that had managed to pierce the thick canopy of leaves above.
“Let’s go!” she said, her eyes hard and her lips set in a scowl.
Garrett gave her a crooked smile and then began to make his way back toward the road with the sour-looking squire close behind.
They found the farmers and their wagon gone and Sir Baelan dragging the bodies of the bandits off the road to leave them a short distance back among the trees.
“Shouldn’t we bury them?” Mirion asked.
“Let their families and friends have a chance to claim them,” Sir Baelan said, “We’ll make a report when we reach Terrelshire. They’ll send someone to pick up whatever is left and, hopefully, set a watch on the road until order is restored in the area.”
“Anybody seen my horse?” Garrett asked.
“You’ll ride with me back to the packhorses,” Sir Baelan said, “You’ll have to make do with one of them until we can find your horse again.”
“I hope you like riding bare-back,” Mirion snorted.
Sir Baelan’s face darkened with rage. “Give him your horse, Mirion,” he said.
“What?” Mirion demanded.
“Give him your horse,” Sir Baelan repeated, his voice gravelly and low.
“I really don’t...” Garrett tried to interject.
“He’s the one who lost his horse!” Mirion shouted, “Now you want me to...”
“That is the second time you’ve questioned my order, squire!” Sir Baelan roared, “Am I being unclear?”
Mirion fell silent, her face pale with suppressed rage.
“Give him your horse,” Sir Baelan said again.
Mirion stamped over to the tree where she had tethered her horse and snatched up its reins. She dragged the nickering animal over to where Garrett stood and shoved the leather lead into his hand. Her lips were pulled back over her gnashing teeth, and her eyes glistened with unspeakable anger.
“Thanks,” Garrett whispered, withering beneath the heat of her gaze as he took the reins.
Mirion turned on her heel and strode a short distance away, pausing to unbuckle her sword belt.
Sir Baelan, now astride his own horse, rode up to her and held out his hand.
Mirion tried to hand him her sword, but he refused it.
“The sword is yours now, squire,” he said, “Wear it with honor... even when you must endure chastisement.”
“Chastisement?” she sobbed.
“The lesson of Courtesy is often the hardest to endure,” Sir Baelan said, “Especially so for those whose bravery is never questioned.”
Mirion started to look toward Garrett again, her mouth half-opened as if she would say more, but then she fell silent. She buckled the sword back around her hips.
“Come, ride with me,” Sir Baelan said, offering his hand to her again.
“I can walk,” she whispered, her eyes on the ground.
“This I know,” Sir Baelan said, “but I ordered you to ride.”
Mirion looked up and took his hand. The big knight grunted as he pulled her up behind him on his horse’s back.
Garrett mounted the girl’s skittish horse with some difficulty and then hurried to catch up with the others as they rode back toward the hill where they had left their packhorses. He rode alongside the knight’s horse and passed Sir Baelan his scabbarded sword. Sir Baelan accepted with a silent nod.
“We will tend our wounds and then make for the ruins,” Sir Baelan said, “We’ve lost far too much time already.”
Garrett’s backside was already beginning to hurt again by the time they emerged from the forest.
Chapter Nineteen
Gob’s Hollow lay in the shadow cast by a wooded hill rising to the west. The ancient greenway, now surrounded by low hills and sparse bushes, led directly into the heart of the vine-choked depression below. Six great pillars of alabaster stone rose from the hollow, wreathed closely by trees. A stream tumbled down a series of rocky waterfalls from the wooded hill above to disappear noisily into the depression, only to emerge, placid and tame, from a ravine on the eastern side of the hollow. The waters drained away into the eastern farmlands, glittering in the purple light of dusk.
Sir Baelan squinted at the distant lights of a small farmhouse, nestled in the shelter of an eastern hill. “You say the local people avoid this place?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir Baelan,” Mirion answered. She sat astride one of the packhorses now, looking a bit foul-tempered after riding all afternoon with nothing but a blanket and a bit of horsehide between her and the creature’s backbone. Her pale shoulders shone from the ragged hem where her sleeves had once joined to her gray tunic. Now both of her arms hung bare, with only strips of white bandage to cover the several nicks and abrasions she had suffered in the earlier skirmish.
Sir Baelan continued to scan the surrounding hills for a moment before he grunted and urged his horse on toward the dark hollow ahead.
The stars began to twinkle in the indigo sky when they reached the hollow. They followed the greenway directly into the heart of the cool, shadowy woods beneath the ghostly white standing stones. Sir Baelan reined his horse to the side of the road and then pulled a torch and a flask from his saddlebag.
The fishy stink of whale oil filled the air, and then Baelan restoppered the flask and put it away. Tiny flashes of light lit the determined man’s face as he struck sparks from a flint, trying to ignite the torch.
“This help?” Garrett said, producing a burst of blue flame from his fingertips to illuminate the startled knight.
The horses nickered in fear and stamped their hooves, but Garrett held the flame long enough for Sir Baelan to get his torch lit.
“My thanks,” Sir Baelan said as Garrett let the icy flames die out.
Garrett smiled and nodded as the orange glow of Sir Baelan’s torch filled the grassy patch that marked the end of the greenway. Rustling noises among the trees caused them all to look around, straining their eyes against the darkness. Garrett had the distinct feeling of being watched. He hoped it was only by a few bored fae folk of his acquaintance.
“This way,” Sir Baelan said, leading them deeper into the hollow, “I don’t want anyone to see us from the road.”
The sound of bubbling water grew louder as they made their way deeper into the trees. They arrived presently at a small clearing beside a dark pool, ringed with marshy ground and clusters of grayish toadstools. Sir Baelan dismounted and began to search for a likely campsite, leaving Mirion to tend to the horses.
Garrett relinquished her horse back to her care. She did not look at him as she took the reins.
Mirion led the horses to the edge of the pool and allowed them to drink as she loosened their saddles and packs.
Garrett stretched his legs and listened to the crickets and frogs that filled the darkness with their creaking song. His boots sank a little into the marshy ground as he arched his back and massaged his sore buttocks.
A flicker of violet light at the corner of his vision caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes as he turned, searching the brooding darkness between the trees. He carefully made his way around the perimeter of the marsh, still scanning the darkness for any sign of movement or light. Was it Sender, trying to signal him from the shadows?
Garrett’s boot sank through a damp mass of rotten leaves as he stepped into the forest. Moldering twigs snapped beneath his boot heel, and he leaned against a nearby tree for support. The brown, spongy bark peeled away to reveal the glistening red heartwood beneath, and Garrett recoiled from the loathsome tree in revulsion.
A harsh, clicking sound, like the noise of some enormous swamp insect, made Garrett start. He looked toward the source of the sound and froze in fear. Two large eyes, glowing with violet light stared back at him from the darkness of the forest. Garrett stood in stunned silence as more violet eyes blinked open, the darkness now alive with scores of the creatures, watching him with an unnerving sense of malice
.
Garrett sent a burst of icy flame skyward, illuminating the shadowy woods. For a moment, he thought he saw a mass of twisted gray shapes, hunched and malformed, in the stark light of his fire, but their bodies vanished like smoke as the azure flames licked at the branches of the trees above. Night birds shrieked and beat the air with their wings as they took flight from the dying embers of chill magic that rose into the starry sky.
“What is it?” Sir Baelan shouted as he rushed back into sight, bearing his crackling torch.
“I dunno,” Garrett said as he stumbled away from the woods. The marshy ground sucked at his boots as though trying to impede his escape.
“What did you see?” Baelan demanded.
“I dunno,” Garrett repeated as he kicked his way free of the mud and struggled to higher ground.
Sir Baelan drew his sword and looked to Mirion who was watching Garrett’s struggles with a dour smirk. “Did you see anything?” Sir Baelan asked her.
“I told you this place was haunted,” Mirion said. She turned her attention back to unsaddling Sir Baelan’s horse.
“Did you find a good spot to camp?” Garrett asked, trying to shake the embarrassment of his ghostly encounter.
Sir Baelan shook his head. “We’ll make camp here,” he sighed, pointing to the driest patch of grass near the end of the greenway, “and do our best not to disturb the spirits of this place.” He looked around a bit nervously, obviously bothered by the thought of spending the night in a haunted wood. “We’ll be on our way at first light,” he added, perhaps as much to appease the ghosts as to reassure the others.
Garrett’s bedroll landed on the ground, atop his muddy boots. He gave Mirion a dark look, but she ignored him as she passed Sir Baelan his pack before returning to the horses to retrieve her own gear.
“We’ll need the tent,” Sir Baelan said. He held his torch behind him and shielded his eyes with his free hand as he studied the night sky through the trees above.
Garrett looked up to see the wispy, mares’ tail clouds stretched across the stars. “You think it’s gonna rain?” he asked.
“It may,” Sir Baelan sighed, “There’s no point in chancing that it won’t.”
Trials of the Twiceborn (The Songreaver's Tale Book 6) Page 25