Mercerian Tales

by Paul J Bennett

  She considered swimming across but decided the rocks would be just as treacherous, so she moved slightly upstream, hoping for surer footing. Wading in slowly, she took her time with each step, holding her pack above her head to keep it dry. The force of the water was pressing against her, trying to push her further downstream, but she held on, determined to keep her footing. Soon, the water was up to her chest, and she struggled mightily to make progress. The river splashed her face, stealing her breath from her while her limbs became numb.

  Almost there, she thought and forced her extremities to work. Thankfully, the water became shallower and then she was out on the other side, shivering despite the warm weather.

  She gathered sticks to start a fire and was soon sitting, eating her meagre rations. For three days she had made her way through this inhospitable region only to end up here. “Oh well,” she muttered to herself, “I was the one that wanted to be a ranger.”

  Aldus had gifted her some herbs, and now, as she drank the infused tea, she felt the warmth returning to her limbs. It was quite nice here, away from civilization, and she wondered if anyone had ever been out this way before. She downed the rest of her tea and moved to the river to rinse out her mug.

  It was as she was returning to her fire that she noticed the white bones lying at the edge of the forest. She approached, assuming they were the remains of a dead animal. Her theory proved valid as she got close enough to make out a small clearing full of them, all picked clean. This was a bone pile; she must be close indeed.

  She doused the fire and packed up her gear, her discomfort all but forgotten. There was a steep hill to her east, leading to the top of the cliffs on this side of the river and she made her way forward, her senses alert. Soon, she was at the top, and the first thing she noticed was the smell; the stench of rotting flesh.

  She made her way to the top of the cliff and peered over. Sure enough, below her was a cave opening from which the smell emanated. She listened carefully but heard nothing from below. Dropping her pack to the ground, she began looking for a way down. This, she decided, would be the most dangerous part, for if the creature came home while she was descending the cliff, she would be doomed.

  Down she went, one handbreadth at a time. The rock here was exposed, and she found it challenging to grip the stone as she made her way down its face. Finally, she stood looking into the mouth of the cave. The smell was overpowering, and she turned to gulp in fresh air. She closed her eyes, making her way into the entrance, and then opened them, letting them adjust to the darkness.

  She thought she saw movement, and then unexpectedly a squawking noise erupted to her left. The cave turned, and as her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, she made out the forms of three small creatures, in a rough nest of sticks and brambles. The chicks had, no doubt, heard her approach, and, assuming that their mother had returned, bellowed for food. She made her way out of the cave and inhaled some fresh air. Now that she had confirmed the nest, she must make her way back to town. Hopefully, when they realized that the creature would be moving on soon, they would be relieved.

  * * *

  The return to Mattingly was uneventful, and she soon reported to the reeve. The townsfolk were called to the Green Unicorn so that Hayley could give her report. By the time she arrived, the place was packed. Even before she entered, she heard the noise emanating from within. The two entered the building, making their way to a slightly raised area at one end. It was typical for entertainment to use this space, but today it was for this official meeting.

  “Quiet down, everybody,” Simon yelled, “we have the King's Ranger here to speak with us. She’s managed to track down the source of our problems.”

  “About time!” yelled an angry stocky man.

  The talking died down as she put her hands up to get their attention. “I’ve tracked down the creature responsible for the attacks,” she started.

  The noise level picked up. “What was it?” demanded a voice.

  “A gryphon. Its lair is upriver, on some cliffs.”

  “Did you kill it?” asked a woman.

  “No, it’s nesting,” she explained.

  Simon, who was watching the crowd, turned on her, “What?” he asked, an incredulous look on his face. “What d’ya mean you didn’t kill it. That’s what we brought you here for.”

  “There’s no need to kill it,” she stated. “It’ll be moving on as soon as its young can fly.”

  “Hogswallop,” yelled the stout man, “you were brought her to kill that thing! You’ve failed.”

  “I was brought here to investigate the problem,” Hayley protested, but the crowd's volume intensified. The room was filled with yelling and jeering, but nobody was doing anything until she heard someone call for immediate action.

  “We’ll go by boat,” someone yelled. “There’s only one river hereabouts. How hard can it be to find the nest?”

  The roar of agreement from the crowd signified the end to the discussion, and then without warning the room was clearing as the villagers stormed out with promises of torches and weapons. She tried to stop them, but they pushed past her, knocking her out of the way in their mad rush out the door.

  Somebody grabbed her arm, and she was pulled to the side. She wheeled on them only to see the concerned face of Aldus Hearn peeking out from beneath a hood.

  “Come with me,” he said, guiding her around the side of the inn.

  “That didn’t go the way I expected it to,” she commented.

  “It seldom does,” he responded. “The question now is, what you’re going to do about it?”

  “What can I do? There’s no way I can get back there before the townsfolk do. I’ve led them straight to it!”

  “I know a shortcut,” the mage said.

  “If you knew where it was, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t recognize it until you described it. I haven’t been there for years, but I know a trail that leads there. Remember, you went due east, over some of the worst terrain imaginable. The animals know an easier trail, though it loops around a bit.”

  “But they have boats,” she pleaded.

  “There’s rapids that will have to be crossed, that’ll slow them down, but you have to move quickly, or it’ll be too late. Do you want to stop them, or not?”

  Hayley didn’t have to think twice. Her father had taught her to do the right thing, regardless of what people thought. “Very well,” she said, “I’m in. Tell me how to get there.”

  * * *

  She crouched in the bone pile, looking downstream. The boats approached, and she counted at least two dozen people manning them. The men were armed with an assortment of weapons, and even at this range she recognized the look of determination on their faces.

  The only way for them to get to the cave was the same route she had taken, so she made her way halfway up the hill, turning to face the on-coming villagers. With her arrows planted in the ground in front of her, she strung her bow. Perhaps, she thought, she could scare them off. She had no desire to kill anyone.

  From her position, she was no longer able to see the boats, but the sounds of the hulls grating on the banks of the river announced their arrival. The splashing of boots in water accompanied by the curses of the villagers told her all she needed to know.

  Tucked behind a tree, she leaned out to peer around it, watching for their approach. Finally, she spied a group of six men making their way up the hill, their weapons held ready.

  “Stop! Don't come any further,” she yelled.

  There was a cry of alarm, and then a voice called back, “Ranger? Is that you?”

  “Leave this area at once,” she responded, “in the king's name.”

  “Bugger the king,” a voice responded. “We have to kill that creature.”

  “I can’t let you do that,” she replied, her voice steady. “If you don’t leave, I’ll have to use my bow.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Hayley stepped out enough to get a c
lear shot. The arrow flew true and struck a tree close to one man's face. The cursing that followed would have turned a Holy Father crimson.

  “Saxnor's balls!” bellowed the stout man.

  “Leave now, I beg you,” pleaded Hayley. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Things went quiet, and then they all broke their cover at the same time, coming forward in a mad rush. Her two shots put arrows close to their feet, and she watched as they turned tail, and ducked behind cover, cursing yet again.

  Time dragged on, and she wondered what the townsfolk were doing, as she heard them shuffling about, but couldn’t make out any details. No doubt they were plotting their strategy, and she began to worry. What could she do against all these villagers? The afternoon wore on and then a new problem erupted in her mind. If they waited until darkness, she’d have no way to stop them; her arrows would be next to useless. Would she kill them to make them stop? No, of course not, but she had to somehow convince them that it was her intention.

  She was starting to wonder how much time she had left when she heard the second rush begin. At first, there was some crashing sounds from the woods, and then two dozen villagers, armed with spears and pitchforks charged up the hill. She looked on with dismay, hesitating to fire. They were closing the distance quickly when all at once the sturdy man in front crouched down in fear. The others soon followed as Hayley heard a rushing noise behind her. She instinctively ducked, and a large shape flew overhead, no more than an arm's length above her.

  It swooped down the hill, weaving its way through the trees with a precision that baffled the mind. Finally, it flew up into the sky and circled. The villagers cowered on the ground, their weapons forgotten. She looked to the sky once more to see the magnificent beast circle the hill, then, with three shapes following it, it headed south, soon disappearing from view. Stunned by what she had witnessed, all she could do was stare south, longing for one more glimpse of the creatures, but soon the reality of her situation became apparent to her as she was surrounded.

  “What’s the meaning of this,” yelled the stout man. “You’ve no right to do this. You fired on us. We should kill you for that.”

  “And who would kill a King's Ranger,” interrupted a calming voice. The crowd split to reveal a man in hooded robes. He pointed at the leader of the group, “Would you be the one to carry out such a deed? You know it’s death to kill a King's Ranger, can you be sure that no one here would reveal that you were the one responsible?”

  “Fine,” the man grumbled, throwing his club to the ground, “get back to the boats everyone. This is over.”

  They made their way back to the river bank, leaving the hooded man behind with Hayley. “Well, you seem to have made some new friends,” the man said, pulling his hood down to reveal the face of Aldus Hearn.

  Hayley smiled, “I don’t think I’ll be revisiting Mattingly anytime soon.”

  The old man returned her smile, “They have short memories. Soon, they’ll sober up, and be thankful they didn’t have to fight the creature. You’ve done the right thing, Ranger Hayley. Now, I suppose we must make our own way back; I doubt very much they’d be willing to share a boat.”

  -Interlude IX-

  Bodden

  Summer 960 MC

  “And that,” said Hayley, “was the first, and only time I ever saw a gryphon.”

  “So far,” corrected Albreda.

  Hayley looked at the Earth Mage, not sure if she was joking. “Just how, exactly, did you know about that?” she asked.

  “Aldus Hearn is a colleague of mine. Besides which, we have a family of gryphon’s in the Whitewood.”

  Baron Fitzwilliam almost spit out his wine, “What?”

  Albreda smiled, “Don’t worry, Richard, they’re a long way from here. The creatures will never trouble Bodden.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” he said, gulping down his drink. “I must say, Albreda, you’re full of surprises.”

  “A fascinating tale, Hayley,” said Beverly.

  “Yes,” agreed Anna, “very interesting. What Aldus Hearn was talking about was real, you know. The great wizard Thromglaster was aided by a gryphon at the battle of Tengart's Trail back in 245.”

  “Where’s that?” asked Gerald. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

  “It's near Redridge,” continued Anna, “but that was before Bodden was built. That was the frontier back in those days.”

  “I think I’ve heard of it,” said Beverly, “wasn’t that a Westland invasion.”

  “Yes, back in the early days of the kingdom. They weren’t too happy about Merceria being founded on their doorstep,” explained Anna.

  “It seems to me,” observed the baron, “that we, as a kingdom, spend an inordinate amount of time fighting others.”

  “Well,” said Hayley, “Merceria was founded by mercenaries. I suppose warfare has been in our blood for generations.”

  “Yes,” agreed Anna, “but we need to make peace with our enemies, they’re people just like us.”

  “Agreed,” added Gerald.

  Baron Fitzwilliam chuckled, “An interesting observation, Gerald, considering your background.”

  “What do you mean, Father?” asked Beverly.

  “It wasn’t all that long ago that a young Gerald Matheson would have wanted to kill all the Norlanders.”

  Anna looked to her friend, “Is that true, Gerald? You always told me that they were people, just like us.”

  Gerald blushed, “It’s true, Anna. After the death of my family, I sought only revenge.”

  Anna rose, making her way over, and took his hand tenderly in her own, “I’m sorry for your loss, Gerald. I know how hard it was for you. Tell me, what changed your mind about them?”

  Gerald took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, “It was just after I was made Sergeant-at-Arms. It all started when I fell into the river…”

  Gerald and the Norlander: Part I

  North of Bodden

  Spring 934 MC

  There was a crispness to the cool spring air that nearly took Gerald's breath away as he rode. This past winter had been harsh, but now the warmth of the spring, cold as it was, threatened to melt the snow with great speed, turning the ground to mush.

  Beside him rode Blackwood, while the rest of the patrol followed behind them in pairs. He spotted the strange twisted elm tree that marked the boundaries of the Ramstead farm and the outer limit of today's patrol. Pushing his horse into a faster trot, he looked forward to soon returning to the warmth of the Keep. He was about to say as much to Blackwood when something caught his attention. He listened intently, trying to place the sound, and there it was again; the familiar noise of fighting.

  He drew his sword, urging his horse into a gallop, the rest of his patrol automatically picking up speed in response to his actions. There was a thicket of trees, and the moment he rounded them, he was brought back to his earliest memories with the dreadful scene that awaited him.

  Just like his own father years ago, an older man lay strewn on the ground, his blood staining the earth crimson, while a woman bent over him, weeping inconsolably. Nearby, a Norlander hacked at a young lad, who deftly ducked behind a well and crouched for safety. Gerald roared as he drew his sword, and the raider attacking the youth looked up to see vengeance charging down upon him. The enemy called out in alarm and then ran for cover.

  Half a dozen men erupted from the house, one dragging a young girl by the forearm. As arrows began to fly, Gerald felt one hit his armour, but the mail held and it deflected harmlessly off him. He ignored the archers, charging at the man dragging the girl. His sword slashed across the back of the bastard's head, collapsing the raider to the ground, releasing the girl from his clutches.

  Swordplay erupted all around him as the patrol joined in the fray. He twisted in the saddle, spotted another raider running for his horse, and then turned his mount to charge the man, cutting into his lower back even as the raider attempted to leap into the saddle. These men
were vermin, Gerald thought, and deserved no pity!

  He heard horses and wheeled about, trying to get his bearings. To the north he saw half a dozen riders who had managed to get on their mounts and were fleeing, riding hard for the river that formed the border of their two lands. Norland horses were smaller than the Mercerian mounts, but their riders wore less armour. They would quickly outdistance the patrol from Bodden. He spat on the ground in disgust.

  Leaving Blackwood and four men to help the farmers look after the dead, Gerald and the remaining men pursued the raiders. There was not much chance that they would catch them, but he must follow, lest they turn back to do more damage.

  Clearing the edge of the farm, he spied them in the distance, trotting along, secure in the knowledge of their escape. His frustration turned to elation when he watched them turn eastward, and he realized his chance. There was only one ford around here, and it lay north of the wood, but the enemy, unfamiliar with this area, rode east, to circumnavigate the forest. Gerald, knowing the pathways here, made his decision, and plunged into the woods, his men close behind. With any luck, he would arrive at the river just before the enemy.

  * * *

  The forest was thick, and the going was slower than he had hoped for. The ground was wet, and the horses slipped through the mud as they pushed forward. He was forced to slow the pace and cursed at his bad luck. Finally, emerging from the woods, Gerald looked down at river before him. The raiding party had fled the farm at the first sign of the Bodden patrol, giving them a head start, but now they struggled to cross the river, for the spring thaw had raised the level of the water. The enemy had to pick their way carefully across the ford, lest they fall into the raging waters.

  Gerald urged the patrol forward, and they charged downhill toward the disorganized Norlanders, his men yelling their triumph. They had brought their enemy to heel, and now the invaders would pay the price. The horses’ hooves thundered toward the river, their excitement mounting the closer they got. All day long Gerald’s men had raced through the forest to beat the enemy here, and now the raiders were trapped.