Dayton grasped the proffered hand with a firm grip. “I heard reports of some trouble with wild animals from a merchant I met on the road, so I thought I would investigate. The baron heard of my arrival and sent word to me. You must be the baron's brother?”
“Yes, Lord Richard Fitzwilliam, but you may call me Fitz.”
“Nobody ever does,” piped up Sir Rodney.
Fitz turned in his saddle, “What was that?”
“Nothing, Lord,” the knight said as he fumbled in vain to suppress another sneeze.
“Where would you like to begin, Lord?” asked the ranger.
“We’ll ride to the edge of the Whitewood, and we’ll show you where the last attack occurred. After that, it’s up to you. You’re the expert in these matters.”
“Very well,” said Brock, “lead on.”
They made their way out of the little village past the wall that was under construction. The houses were grouped around the Keep, with a new wall being constructed to give the village some protection, but it was an ongoing affair, and Lord Richard feared it might never be complete.
Soon, they were past the half-built wall and making their way across the fields, the Keep shrinking behind them.
“Tell me, Brock,” said Fitz, “how did you become a King's Ranger?”
The man mulled over the question before answering, “I was always a hunter, Lord. While I lived in Shrewesdale, I was hired to help with one of the earl’s hunts.”
“I hear,” Sir Rodney interjected, “the earl’s hunts are quite extravagant.”
“It’s true,” confirmed the ranger, “though that only extends to his friends. The rest of us were far too busy. The hunt was led by a ranger named Madson.”
“I take it,” said Fitz, “that’s how you became a ranger?”
“Aye, Lord, he saw something in me and convinced me to join the King's Rangers. That was five years ago.”
“And how is life as a ranger?” asked Fitz.
“Hard work,” the man replied, “but rewarding.”
Closing the range on their destination, the small group could now make out the edge of the woods that was their target.
“Up here is where the last attack occurred, Lord,” said Sir Rodney. “A hunting party was just leaving, by that large tree over there, the one with the twisted trunk.”
They rode forward, coming to a halt just shy of the undergrowth that marked the edge of the Whitewood.
“I see how it gets its name,” said the ranger, looking at the cluster of birch trees. “Is the entire forest like that?”
“No,” answered Lord Richard, “but those are quite common here.”
Dismounting, they lead the horses toward the large tree. Sir James ordered the new knights to guard the horses as Sir Rodney guided Lord Richard and the ranger to the site of the last attack.
“It was right over here,” pointed the older knight. "A hunting party was coming out of the woods with a deer they’d killed. You can still see evidence of the attack where the underbrush has been trampled down.”
Brock began examining the ground carefully. “Tell me more,” he asked. “What was the nature of the attack?”
"The hunters heard the baying of wolves and were rushing back to the edge of the wood when a bear came at them.”
“A bear? Are you sure?” asked Brock.
“Oh yes,” replied Sir Rodney. "There were survivors, and their wounds definitely looked like those from bear claws.”
“Most unusual,” muttered the ranger. “And they’re sure it was wolves?”
“Yes, why?” asked the knight.
“It’s most unusual,” said Brock, “for wolves and bears to work together. I’ve certainly never heard of it before.”
It was Fitz who spoke next, “Do you think something is behind this?”
“Hard to say,” the man responded, “but I suspect so. Let me see what I can discover from the site of the attack. Keep your men out of the way so they don’t ruin the tracks.”
Fitz wandered back to the horses. Sir Maynard was helping himself to a wineskin that hung from his saddle while Sir Lionel was talking to him. As Lord Richard approached, the two grew silent, both staring at him. Was there a guilty look on their faces? Fitz wasn’t sure if he was imagining things.
“We’re waiting on the ranger,” he explained. “In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled. Remember, there are wild animals around here, creatures quite capable of killing you if you’re inattentive.”
They nodded their affirmation, but Fitz felt uneasy. This was no simple military exercise, and he didn’t know what to expect. He watched, absently, as the ranger stooped to examine the ground. Hearing the snap of a twig, he looked to his side to see Sir James approaching. The man stood beside him a moment, watching Brock at work.
“Do you trust him, Lord?” the knight asked.
Fitz was surprised by his question. “Trust him? Why wouldn’t I trust him?”
“He’s a King’s Ranger, Lord. They’ve become a law unto themselves.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, man; he serves the king. Besides, he’s the only one around here that knows how to track, unless you have a better suggestion?”
“No, my lord,” the man retorted, and then fell silent.
It was only a little while later that the ranger called them to follow. The trail led deeper into the woods, and the group followed, walking beside their horses. The ground here was very uneven with fallen branches and leaves often covering holes that could damage an ankle or foot. The group made their way forward, steadily, until Fitz thought it likely near noon. At the ranger's suggestion, they halted for a rest. Fitz pulled his wineskin and took a deep drink. The air here was still, and moisture seemed to cling to their skin until it ran down in rivulets.
Shortly after resuming their trek, the ranger was stopping them again as he knelt to examine the ground in detail. “There’s something here,” he said, beckoning to Lord Richard.
“What is it?” Fitz replied, his interest sparked.
“There’s a footprint,” the man explained.
“There’s a surprise,” inserted Sir Maynard snidely, “a footprint where people have been hunting.”
“Shut up,” spat Sir Rodney, “and let the tracker have his say.”
“Please continue,” urged Lord Richard.
“As I was saying,” the man continued, “there’s a footprint here, but it looks a little strange.”
“In what way?” asked Fitz.
“It appears to be a Human print, encased in a boot of some type.”
“A boot of some type? What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s obviously covered, likely with leather, but there’s no evidence of stitching or nails. I’ve never seen its like before.”
“How do you know it’s Human?”
“Oh, you can see the markings where the balls of the feet strike, it’s definitely Human, but there’s more, there are wolf prints nearby. Whoever it is, is being followed.”
He looked at Fitz as the meaning sunk in. Being the baron’s brother, it was his duty to safeguard the people of Bodden. They must hasten to rescue whoever was in danger.
“We must hurry then,” said Fitz. “Can you tell how old the tracks are?”
“The tracks I was following earlier are older, while these are more recent. I reckon we’re only a short distance away.”
“How short a distance?” queried Lord Richard. “Can we catch up before nightfall?”
The ranger stood, “Oh, we’ll catch them long before then. In fact, I’m surprised we can’t hear something in the distance. I suggest we draw weapons; those wolves must be close.”
Fitz turned to Sir Rodney, but his unofficial second was already giving the order, and a moment later everybody stood with their swords held ready in their hands.
Leaving Sir Dudley to care for the horses, they moved ahead in single file, following the lead of the ranger. They had only gone an the flight of an arrow when the ranger halted and c
rouched, the rest automatically mimicking his actions to the best of their abilities, being as they were clad in chainmail. The green attired tracker motioned with his hand for Fitz and Sir Rodney to creep up to his position in a crouched posture, hoping to avoid detection. The ranger waited until the two came beside him and slowly used the edge of his sword to part the leaves of a fallen branch before him.
They looked into a small clearing where a woman stood, her back to them. She was tall and thin, and though they couldn’t see her face, they observed her long black hair that was braided, falling down her back. She was wearing a plain green dress that went to the ground, the hem torn and dirty from travelling through the woods. Fitz, about to stand and announce himself, was stayed the ranger’s hand on his forearm warning him to stop. The lord looked down at the tracker who pointed to the side of the clearing. Soon, Fitz realized what he meant, for a group of wolves were at the edge of the tree line, looking in the woman's direction.
Lord Richard had fought for years against Norlanders, but here, in this clearing, he was out of his element. Were they Human, he would simply attack, but the woman’s life was in jeopardy; if the knights charged, there was no guarantee that they would reach her before the wolves sprung.
The ranger leaned in close to Lord Richard's ear to whisper, “I’ll hold them off with arrows, you must reach her as quickly as possible.”
Fitz nodded his understanding and waved his men forward. Brock moved closer to a tree so that the growth would hide him as he strung his bow. A moment later, his arrow notched, he nodded, and the knights sprang from their cover, dashing towards the woman. It only took a moment for the woman to react, for chainmail is noisy and, combined with the slapping of scabbards and the thud of many boots, it drew her attention quickly. She turned at the sound, her eyes going wild as the group burst out of the cover of the trees.
An arrow buried itself into one of the wolves, releasing a terrified howl from the creature. The woman screamed as Fitz raced toward her. He shouted a warning, but the clanking of his armour and yelling of the knights drowned out his voice. He wheeled as he reached her, facing the threat from the edge of the woods, protecting her from the expected onslaught of wild beasts.
He saw a blur to his left, and suddenly Sir James was struggling with a wolf on his back. Sir Rodney swung at the creature, and it leaped away, growling as it did so. The whole clearing had erupted into a cacophony as the low growls melded with the clank of armour to produce an almost melancholy sound. Fitz turned abruptly as one of the beasts surged toward him, instinctively blocking. The creature swerved at the last moment and ran past him, his movements too slow to do anything but watch in amazement. He got a quick glimpse of Sir Ethan, a wolf tugging at his leg, but the beast's teeth failed to penetrate the man's chainmail leggings. It was almost comical to Fitz’s eyes, had it not been a matter of life and death. The tall knight swung with his sword, and a yelp indicated a hit, forcing the creature to release its grasp.
All around him, dark shapes flew past as more and more wolves materialized. Arrow followed arrow, flying into the clearing, the deadly shafts striking true more often than not. Throughout the barrage, the knights had formed a protective circle around the woman, who was now screaming, but he couldn't make out her words in the ensuing pandemonium. A wolf bit into Fitz's arm, his mail protecting his flesh. He flung his attacker off, its teeth gliding from his mail without penetrating.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a massive shape bearing down on the ranger. He yelled out a warning, but the archer was too occupied with the multitude of targets within his view. Unable to do anything but watch in horror, Fitz bore witness to the great bear striking out. A terrible shriek of pain pierced the woods as the creature’s claws dug into their intended victim. The animal disappeared into the woods with his prey, the ranger’s screams trailing off as the great beast did who knew what to the poor man.
Sir Rodney ducked as a wolf jumped at him, flying over his head, an arrow protruding from its flank. The knight twisted and struck with his sword, covering himself in the blood that spurted from the beast. Fitz stepped forward to finish the creature off, but as he raised his sword, the woman screamed.
“NO,” she roared, “Enough! Flee for your lives!”
Astonished by her actions, he looked to her, confident she had been talking to them, but to his surprise, she was leaning over an injured wolf, its blood staining her hand as she stroked its fur. The creature lurched to its feet and ran off into the underbrush, disappearing from sight. Soon, the clearing was quiet, save for the heavy breathing of the two-legged combatants. They were all standing around, looking confused by the unexpected development. The woman faced him, her hands held out in front of her, waiting for something.
“I surrender,” she offered, “but you must stop the killing.”
“Tell that to the animals,” said Sir Maynard, in a harsh tone.
“They were trying to protect me,” she retorted, “doing what they thought best.”
Lord Richard could only stare at her as her words sank in. “You’re behind the attacks,” he declared. “Why would you order them to attack?”
“You invaded their land, what did you expect.”
Sir James was, by now, standing where the ranger lay, but he emerged from behind the tree, his face pale. “He’s dead, I’m afraid, ripped to pieces.”
“She’s killed a King's Ranger,” said Sir Maynard, “that’s the death penalty. We need to put her to death.”
“Quiet,” commanded Fitz. “We need to take her back to Bodden.”
“Are you insane?” Sir Maynard continued. “She’s dangerous; she could summon another attack. She’s a witch.”
“Then we bind her and gag her,” Fitz retorted. “Sir Rodney, prepare the prisoner. We’ll take her back with us.”
“What of the ranger, Lord?” enquired Sir James.
“We’ll bring his body back with us so we can see to a proper burial.”
“But Lord-” objected Sir Maynard.
“Enough!” yelled Fitz. “My brother placed me in command, I’ll not have you question my authority. Now,” he paused to calm his temper, “we need to get moving, or it’ll be dark before we get back to the Keep.”
Sir Dudley was called over with the horses, and he began the process of wrapping up the ranger's body. The woman watched them intently as Sir Rodney tied her hands. Fitz wondered who she was, but was too busy directing the others to begin any interrogation.
* * *
Sometime later they were on their way back to the Keep. Lord Richard and Sir Rodney took the lead, with Sir Maynard and Sir Lionel following directly behind. The prisoner was tethered to Sir Maynard's horse by a rope which ran from his saddle to her hands that were bound securely. Sir Dudley and Sir Ethan rode behind her, eyes darting about in case the creatures returned to finish what they started. Sir James brought up the rear, leading a horse with the ranger's body slung over the saddle.
“What do you make of it, Lord?” asked Sir Rodney, his cold all but forgotten.
“It’s most curious,” said Fitz. “I’ve never heard tell of anything like it.”
Sir Rodney turned in the saddle to look at the prisoner, struggling to keep up. “Isn’t it dangerous, trying to hold a witch?”
Fitz likewise turned to view the woman, “She doesn’t look very dangerous now. Anyway, it’s for my brother to decide, he’s the baron.”
He was about to turn back, but the woman stumbled as Sir Maynard tugged abruptly on her line. She fell, and the knight, laughing, sped up his horse slightly, dragging her painfully along the uneven ground.
“Enough of that,” said Fitz, irritated at the young knight's actions. “Let her get to her feet. It’ll do no good to bring her back dead.”
Sir Maynard halted, dismounting to drag the woman to her feet. “You’re a pretty one,” he said, almost spitting in her face, “I bet I could break you.”
“I said that’s enough!” roared Lord Richard
.
Sir Rodney had turned his horse and now rode up to the younger knight. In a flash, the older knight's sword was at Sir Maynard's throat. “You were given an order,” he said, “or do you choose to dishonour your oath?”
There was a tense moment as the two men stared at each other, then the younger man cast his eyes to the ground, “No, Sir Rodney. My apologies. I was just overcome by the death of the ranger.”
“Understandable,” said Sir Rodney, “but we must still carry out our duty.”
“I wonder,” said Fitz, “if we might make better progress by putting the woman on the ranger's horse?” He rode over to look down on their prisoner. “Can you ride?” he asked.
She nodded her head.
“Very well, let’s put her on the horse, and just to make sure there are no further improprieties, she’ll ride beside me.”
“Is that wise, Lord,” pressed Sir Rodney.
“You take the lead, Rodney, and we’ll keep a man to either side of us in the event she tries to make a break for it. Just in case, we’ll keep her hands bound and tie them to my horse. Will that suffice?”
The elder knight nodded, “Indeed, Lord. I should think those precautions would be entirely adequate.”
Rodney settled the prisoner on the ranger's horse, in front of his body. The sky was starting to darken with clouds, and they would be lucky to arrive before the rain came. The ride continued in silence until the Keep was in view, then Fitz turned to the prisoner, pulling the gag from her mouth. “You haven’t told us your name,” he said. “What shall we call you?”
“It matters not,” she replied. “I am your prisoner, and I expect no mercy from you. Call me what you like.”
Riding on, he let her words sink in. Who was this woman, and how did she control the animals. Was she indeed a witch? He knew little of them. They were said to be the masters of nature, what one would call an Earth Mage, but his knowledge of the arcane arts was very limited.
Fitz considered himself a well-read man, but magic had been in decline for generations, and now there was only one mage left in Merceria, the King's Healer, Andronicus. Could there be other mages that the crown didn’t know about? He thought it unlikely, but in truth, it wasn’t his place to worry about it; that was the prerogative of his brother, the rightful Baron of Bodden.
Mercerian Tales Page 2