Black Arrow

by J. P. Ashman

  Cook laughed heartily and pulled Correia through the doorway.

  ‘Wait for me in the tavern,’ Correia shouted back, before the door slammed behind her.

  ‘I hope he wasn’t being literal.’ Sav scowled at the tower-like building.

  Fal and Gleave laughed, before pulling Sav along with them, following Starks and Errolas who were being guided into a thatched hall of a tavern, nestled in the sprawling expanse of courtyards and water bridging walkways.

  ‘This place is huge,’ Starks said, disappearing into the tavern.

  ‘So was that bloke,’ Gleave said, winking at Sav, whose response came in the form of two raised fingers and nothing more.

  Chapter 25 – The calm before the storm

  ‘I never thought it’d be like this,’ Flavell said, eyes sparkling up into Croal’s.

  ‘And I never thought I could take any more of this sickening display,’ Amis whispered to himself. Croal flashed Amis a dangerous look and Amis made a mental note to think things like that in future, rather than whispering them.

  ‘Does he need to be here, my love?’

  My love? Amis thought, baulking. He’s known her but a heartbeat in the stretch of a life and he calls her his love?

  ‘You know he does, Croal. He’s my chaperone. My father would never allow such meetings between us without his presence.’ She glanced at Amis, who continued to look forward, towards a light filled window. ‘I’m surprised as it is that he left us alone in your reception room the other day, when he disappeared with the Earl of Bratby.’

  Croal wrapped his arms around Flavell and squeezed her tight. ‘Well, I for one was glad, and I hope it happens again; Giles can have him for good, for all I care.’

  Flavell giggled as Croal moved in to brush her pale neck with his lips.

  Amis rolled his eyes.

  ‘I think perhaps you should leave us now, de Valmont,’ Croal said, from beneath Flavell’s curled hair.

  Amis flashed Flavell a look. The woman smirked and winked.

  ‘Mademoiselle?’

  ‘Go on.’ Flavell took a sudden, deep breath as Croal nipped at her neck. ‘Go on, de Valmont. Please.’

  With a huff, Amis turned and left the room, hand wringing the hilt of his sword. ‘As you wish, mademoiselle,’ he said, again, for his ears only. ‘I know when my betters don’t want me around.’

  ***

  He wasn’t sure why it made him sweat, especially when the cold wind sent chills through to his bones, but when the bile hung from his mouth like yoke from a cracked egg, Quin wiped his brow and heaved again, despite it doing no good.

  ‘You’ve nowt left, lad.’ Lefey appeared by his side to lean against the gunwale, which she spat over.

  Quin groaned. ‘I know.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it. Maybe.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Quin hacked up a cough as the wind caught and plucked the bile from his bottom lip.

  ‘My pleasure.’ Lefey patted him hard on the back, dropped to her haunches and ruffled the fur of Guse, who wobbled off down the ship, uninterested in the attention. As soon as the polecat left, his twin arrived, sniffing Lefey’s hand before attempting to climb her leg. ‘Ouch! Little monster.’ She chuckled and stood, Arrik hanging limp from the hand that’d grabbed him. He hissed as Lefey stroked his back down to his puffed-up tail.

  ‘He likes you.’ Quin spat over the side after talking and heaved as Sessio rolled over a large wave, the spray taking what was left from Quin’s cracked lips. He winced.

  ‘He’s hissing at me.’ Lefey brought the animal up to face her, eye to eye.

  ‘But he’s not struggling. Nor has he sunk his teeth into you and locked on. And he certainly hasn’t sprayed. He’d smell even worse if that was the case, and you’d bloody well know about it. We all would.’

  Lefey put the polecat down and Arrik proceeded to bounce around, making a similar noise to that of a clucking hen.

  ‘Saying that, you’re more likely to get bitten by Guse, when you least expect it. At least Arrik is predictable.’

  Lefey watched the spinning, jumping polecat at her feet. ‘How do you tell them apart?’

  Quin managed to look down at Arrik. ‘See the black mask around his face?’ Lefey nodded and used her hand to block the sun from her eyes. ‘Well, Arrik here has white spots above the eyes. Guse doesn’t. Well, he does, but they’re less obvious.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Lefey turned, whacked Quin on the back once more and started away. ‘Grubs up, Quin,’ she said, turning and walking backwards with ease as the deck pitched and rolled. ‘That’s what I came to tell you, so head on down before you miss out. If you can stomach it, that is.’

  Quin waved his thanks as Lefey grinned at him, and then she was off, off up the main mast to the fortified crow’s nest above. Quin looked up and shook his head. ‘I have no idea how she does that.’ It was barely a heartbeat after that vocal thought before the apprentice shipwright was back over the gunwale and throwing up what little remained in his stomach, and all whilst Arrik attempted to kill his shoe.

  ‘Oh Emms,’ Quin managed between gut wrenching heaves. His eyes watered, and not because of the wind. ‘I’m not sure if it’s the sea making my stomach twist so, or the thought we’ll not be together again…’ Quin sobbed.

  Arrik hissed.

  Chapter 26 – Twin Inns

  Fal looked across the slab of food-scattered oak to the kitchen door, which opened with a squeak. Seeing who entered, and the look on her face, Fal hushed his companions, most of whom drained their preferred drinks before returning the pots, tankards and goblets to the table. All turned to look at Correia, who scowled back, before leaving the quiet tavern.

  Sav grinned.

  ‘I’ll go talk to her.’ Errolas slid his stool back and made for the door.

  ‘And I’ll order another round,’ Starks said, dropping his heavier than usual coin pouch on the table.

  Gleave grimaced.

  ‘I would’ve bet the same way, if that’s any consolation,’ Fal said to Gleave, who stared out the small window besides them.

  Starks placed their order with a girl who rushed across the tavern’s stone flags, eyes lingering on the coin pouch longer than any man.

  ‘I’m not convinced,’ Gleave said, trying to make out the two warped figures on the other side of the small squares of bubbled glass. ‘We never heard such a thing last time we were here.’

  ‘Of which you admit to having little memory,’ Fal said. ‘Since, again by your admission, you ended up paralytic through the consumption of mead.’

  ‘Bar girl said so,’ Starks said, before Gleave could reply. He leaned into the high-backed chair he’d rushed for when they entered the tavern. ‘Troll Bridges are named after the trolls that live under them.’

  Gleave huffed. ‘And I’m a billy goat wanting to reach a meadow on the other side.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Sav said, hovering over his stool, trying to look through the open-again door that Correia had come out of. The large cook peered through, saw Sav and winked. Sav surged to his feet and strode across the room, slamming the door on his way out of the tavern.

  ‘Let’s pretend he’s off to tend the horses,’ Fal said, failing to hide a smirk.

  Gleave’s mood seemed to lighten at that, and he slapped his dice pouch on the table as drinks were delivered.

  ‘Time to win my money back, eh lads?’

  Fal groaned and Starks’ eyes glinted, as did the serving girl’s as she spied the amount of coins the two gamers threw onto the oak space from which platters had been pushed aside.

  Errolas and Correia heard the door slam and watched Sav storm past, heading away from them over a small stone bridge that led to the stables.

  Correia sighed and Errolas smiled.

  ‘You were saying?’ Correia’s arms folded across her chest, fists clenching.

  ‘I was saying that for no messages, no travellers even, to be coming through this inn… Well, I don’t know what to say. I’
ve never heard the like. They’re either taking a ridiculous detour west, via Royce, or east, via Stonebridge. Either way, it makes no sense unless something is stopping them on the other side of The Marches.’

  ‘Eudes de Geelan?’ Correia set off towards the stables at a slow pace. The direction wasn’t lost on Errolas, who shook his head at the question.

  ‘We can’t be sure,’ Errolas said. ‘Besides, the marquis would surely lose a lot of trade by closing the border.’

  Correia nodded at that. ‘Could it have something to do with him holding Giles Bratby?’ She stopped on top of the small bridge Sav had crossed and looked down into the channelled, fast flowing water below. Looking back up, she watched the slow, creaking motion of a wooden water wheel which turned milling stones on the other side of the wall it clung to.

  Errolas stood beside her, watching twigs and such race beneath them. After a while, he shrugged before answering, ‘We can’t know. Did your man inside have nothing at all for you?’

  ‘A recipe.’ Correia’s answer came with a smile, although it was short lived, despite Errolas matching it. She pulled her lips into a thin line and took a deep breath, before releasing it heavily. ‘Nothing more than that. The recipe confirmed what I was expecting from our domestic reports.’ She looked at Errolas, brow creased. ‘Nothing, Errolas. No word from my man in Easson. I can understand that, perhaps, but no word from anyone at all? No travellers, pilgrims, traders? It makes no sense.’

  ‘We’re to enter Sirreta then? Do as you told Sir Allon and seek audience with Eudes de Geelan?’

  Correia looked back to the water below. ‘I couldn’t not seek an audience now, could I?’

  ‘I suppose not. We need to know what hampers our neighbours, for it could very well darken our doors before long.’

  Sighing again and rubbing at her scarred face, Correia left her head in her hands a moment before straightening and looking back at the tavern, then towards the stables.

  ‘You go tell the lads we’re heading into Sirreta, and get some more food and drink down you. I’ll go tell Sav. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’ Errolas smiled. ‘We’ll know more soon enough. Just hope we’re the first back across these waterways, and not hounded all the way if we are.’

  Nodding, Correia squeezed Errolas’ shoulder before leaving the bridge and walking around the mill that the diverted section of river fed.

  Errolas spent a little while with his tender eyes closed. The sound of the water below, the rest of the river and waterfall nearby, all washing through him, soothing his mind, his aches and pains. He smiled at the sound, a sound followed by the pleasant call of a bird. He opened his healing eyes, light flooding in, and looked down at the small, white-bellied brown bird that dipped up and down on a protruding rock. Ruffling its feathers as tiny droplets of water caught them, again and again, the bird looked up to Errolas, its head tilting one way, then the other. With no one else present, the dipper flew up to the stone wall Errolas leaned on before alighting on his shoulder.

  Smile broader than it had been for weeks, Errolas leaned in and listened to the dipper’s melodic voice. For several heartbeats, that soon quickened, Errolas listened to the bird and took in what it had to say. Its fear was palpable, its message filled with urgency. Errolas’ smile faded.

  ‘Thank you, friend.’

  The dipper bobbed once, twice, thrice and was gone, down and under the bridge and away, back to its family in an area of the forest far from men.

  Standing straight and looking to the tavern, and then towards the stables, Errolas swallowed hard before choosing the latter and making his way there with haste.

  ‘I’ve told you, Sav, nothing happened. Not that I need tell you anything anyway.’ Correia looked up to Sav, who was brushing down his horse, a chore he’d relieved the stable boy of.

  ‘I know, and I never asked.’ The horse was receiving a brushing like it’d never received before.

  ‘Maybe not, but your bloody eyes did, and your expression. There’s no time for this, anyway, we need to prepare to move, first thing in the morning.’

  Sav turned to face her. ‘Already? I thought we’d take a couple of days here, for Errolas at least.’

  ‘Yes, and I’d planned to, but—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Watch your tongue, Sav. You’re pushing it.’

  Sav inclined his head at that. ‘Apologies. What’s wrong?’ He softened his voice, and his brushing.

  ‘We need to go now!’ Errolas said, limping into the stables, face ashen. Both humans frowned.

  ‘What is it?’ Correia said, moving to him.

  ‘I’ve had a message. It’s not good.’

  ‘You’ve had a message?’ Correia’s question was full of scepticism. ‘You’ve had a message,’ she repeated before Errolas could answer, ‘where I have not?’

  ‘You’ve had nothing?’ Sav asked Correia, dropping the brush and coming over to them both. ‘You said that was what your meeting with the fat cook was.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say he was fat, just big,’ Errolas said, receiving sharp looks from Correia and Sav.

  ‘He’s had no word from Sirreta for weeks,’ Correia explained, before rounding once more on Errolas. ‘But you have?’

  Errolas nodded. ‘A bird—’

  ‘Blind me, Errolas,’ Correia said. ‘Another bloody wren, is it?’

  ‘A dipper.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Correia’s hands moved to her hips. ‘Spit it out.’

  Errolas looked to Sav before carrying on. ‘It wasn’t specific.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Correia said. ‘I want some news, any news, from the far side of The Marches.’

  ‘Animals are fleeing,’ Errolas said. ‘Fleeing north, towards and into this forest.’ Both humans frowned. ‘They are coming out of the Woolf Fells for certain, but I think some are coming from as far off as Lejeune Forest and the Chriselle Coast,’ Errolas added, the bruise-free skin of his face remaining pale. ‘As far as I could glean anyway, from talking to a dipper.’

  ‘They’re fleeing what?’ Sav asked, leaning in.

  ‘Armies on the march. They’re burning as they go. They’re burning and logging, leaving death in their wake, bodies in the rivers, poison in the ponds and lakes and wells. Whoever moves through Sirreta, they’re closing on The Marches and they’re winning.’

  Correia and Sav stood straight at that. They looked to no one but the horses and stable around them, before looking again to each other.

  ‘We move now,’ Correia said.

  ‘Back to Sir Allon’s army?’ Sav asked.

  Correia shook her head. ‘On to his father’s captor. On to Eudes de Geelan and his chateau.’ Sav looked aghast.

  ‘We need to get our marcher lord back, Sav, and ensure theirs is planning on holding the border, from those within Sirreta itself.’

  ‘And the army we have at our back? The army we need protecting our borders, our towns?’ Sav asked, holding Correia’s gaze. ‘Who will warn them what is to come?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Errolas said. Incredulous, both humans looked to him.

  ‘They’ll string you up, you fool,’ Correia said, rolling her eyes.

  ‘You concussed?’ Sav added.

  Errolas’ cheeks reddened. ‘Fair point, as Gleave would say.’

  ‘No…’ Correia made for the door. ‘…Cook will send word, if I warn him. I trust him and I know he’ll have a way.’

  ‘Perhaps he has a blue tit that can mime the warning to the whole army,’ Sav said, following Correia, Errolas close behind.

  ‘’Morl’s flaccid cock, Sav,’ Correia said whilst walking, out of the stable and across the front of the mill, ‘now isn’t the time for shit jokes.’

  The joke might not have drawn smiles, but Correia’s retort did, although they were short-lived.

  ‘I think I love her,’ Sav whispered, knowing Errolas would hear it over the rushing water below the bridge they crossed, ‘for that filthy retort if nothing else. I’ve never heard
the like from her.’

  Errolas said nothing, but his swollen eyes revealed the smile his mouth guarded.

  Nothing else was said before they crashed through the tavern’s door, warnings on their lips. After that, the tavern was awash with movement and chatter. Soon after, a pigeon left Cook’s hands, followed by two others, all of which headed north, towards an army, and castles; everyone hoped the messages would be received, and received well.

  Supplies were gathered swiftly, saddle bags packed even quicker. Weapons were sharpened by the inn’s team of smiths – proficient in weapons due to their family’s nature – whilst arguments were fought between Correia, Errolas and Cook.

  ‘I’ve sent the messages, but there was no mention in them of support coming here, Correia?’

  Correia placed a hand on Cook’s thick arm. ‘I know, but we can’t risk funnelling an army through the forest road and across the board-walks to squeeze into Twin Inns—’

  ‘Inn,’ Cook said, staring at Correia. ‘There’s no need to protect those bastards over there.’ He pointed at the wall behind him. ‘Have Bratby’s son send men to man our walls.’

  Correia sighed and Errolas answered.

  ‘You have a lot in your stores, but you don’t have enough for a protracted siege, and that’s what will befall you should you stay here; especially if you man the walls with more men.’

  Cook’s jaw bunched as Errolas spoke. ‘We’ll defend it on our own then. This is our home, our ancestral home. We’re not leaving on the tweet of a dipper.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to leave,’ Correia said, placing her other hand on Cook and turning him to look at her. ‘But I am asking you and your family, and those in the other inn…’ She shook him. ‘And those in the other inn, to prepare for a fighting retreat should we come back with gods know what on our heels. Or, should whoever or whatever is smashing through Sirreta be closer to The Marches than we fear, not return at all.’

  Cook swallowed hard and sighed. ‘I’ll see what I can do, Correia, but I don’t speak for the family. I’ll need to request a family meeting for this and organise a parley with the shits over there.’ Again with the pointing to the wall.