by Adam Bennett
He was wondering if he’d ever work up the courage to ask Lillian to the summer festival, when Daeron told him to take another six tankards of ale to the back room of the inn. Carrying them in he saw a warband sitting around the largest table the High Horse offered. Junhill Ride was a big town, situated on a busy crossroads between Noreim, Astir, Eriston, and Guardi, and the High Horse was one of the larger taverns on the eastern arm. Even so, it was unusual for a party of eight to visit wanting their own space. Usually such a group would take refuge in the halls of the Dancing Maiden or make use of the private rooms at Garrett’s Garret, which despite the name, was the largest inn in Junhill Ride, as well as the most expensive.
As he was placing the drinks on the table he heard a slim, well dressed man say, “We’ll need nine according to my research. It’s a number signifying closure. Eight is good, an unlucky number for witches, but if one of us falls ill, or is killed, she’ll be facing seven and the advantage will be firmly in her court. Seven is very lucky in their craft, I’m told. Definitely nine...”
Another of the strange men, broad chested, and clearly the leader of the party of warriors, grabbed Isaac by the forearm. “You boy, have you ever swung a sword before.”
Isaac shook his head at the stranger.
“Well, you’re big enough, and it's a long bloody journey. I’ve worked with worse.” Several of the others chuckled at this. “The name’s Dex. Do you want to join our illustrious warband? We’re on a witch hunt you see.” More chuckles. Dex gestured at the thin man across the table. “Our employer here says he wants nine of us. For luck… So, what do you think? Ready for a life of adventure?”
Isaac raised a protesting hand, “Thank you, sir, but Daeron needs me here. I wouldn't even know what to do.”
“No problems, lad. I was hoping to leave before the light fell, but I’m sure we’ll be able find someone keen to be paid three hundred and fifty spears for two months of his time.
Three hundred and fifty spears! That was more than six months’ worth of wages from the High Horse!
Isaac quickly said he’d changed his mind.
He went and thanked Old Daeron for giving him a job, quit, and the nine of them set off that very afternoon, getting a league down the eastern road before night fell.
Dex gave him a sword and some armour, and told him that they’d train him up good. If he fit in well with the group, and wanted to stay on after they slew the witch, he’d be welcome to a full share going forward. It all sounded too good to be true.
Without warning, the dream flickered and changed, and Isaac was suddenly charging a woman dressed all in black, his brand new sword held high, a battlecry on his lips. She turned to him, eyes shrouded in black lace, lips cracked and swollen, and she smiled. With an almost lazy wave of her hand the sword was wrenched from his grasp, sent spinning across the small, dark room. With a second wave he was sent flying through the air like a cloth doll thrown during a childish tantrum.
He crashed into a wall, multiple bones breaking on impact. He slumped down the wall, leaving a bright trail of fresh blood streaked across the undressed stone. His head rolled to the side, useless. He couldn't control the muscles in his neck anymore, and even more frightening; he felt no pain. Something was horribly wrong.
He rolled his eyes up to look as the blackclad woman approached, her dreadful, cracked grin unwavering. She raised her hands and began to cackle with wretched laughter as light gathered between them, growing brighter and brighter.
Isaac woke with a start. It was still dark, and Talent crouched beside Isaac’s bedroll, a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Be at ease, friend. It was just a dream.”
Isaac fought to catch his breath. He was sweating hard and his heart was hammering away, set to burst through his ribs.
“I saw her!”
“Calm lad. No need to shout. Who?”
“The witch… I saw her… She…” But it was all becoming fuzzy as he woke further.
“I’m sure it was just a dream, lad. There’s no such thing as witches.” Talent smiled down at him, crouched on one knee. “It’s just this fool Tormell putting ideas in your head. That, and your first night of proper sleep since you joined us. Congratulations. You made it through a month of nightly watches. Dex does that to all the new recruits. Most don't make it.” He smiled. “It’s late, time for me to wake Saef for his watch, but if you think you can't get back to sleep, you and I can take the late watch and leave him be.”
Isaac shook his head. “I’ll be fine, thanks. Like you said, it was just a dream.”
Talent nodded and stood, walking over to one of the other dark mounds littering the ground about the fire. Isaac settled back down and pulled his blankets up trying to regain some of the warmth he’d lost.
After a short while he gave up and stood, walking out into the trees to relieve himself. When he returned, Saef Scarless was sitting in the gloom on the edge of the trees watching the darkness surrounding the small clearing. He said nothing as Isaac passed and made for his blankets by the freshly stoked fire.
He was soon nestled in a warm cocoon and was on the verge of sleep when he heard a rustling near him. He was trying to pay it no mind when a hand reached into his covers and grabbed him by his manhood.
He nearly jumped clear of his skin, but as the shout was welling in his throat another hand clamped over his mouth.
“Calm the fuck down, it’s just me,” said a feminine voice, low and breathy. The hand beneath the blankets began to rub up and down. “We’re headed towards trouble, and I can't let you die a virgin now, can I?”
The hand clamped over his mouth released, perhaps to allow him to speak, but the other hand was making him unable to think, so nothing passed his lips but a low moan. She smelled of sweat, and woodsmoke, and oiled leather, and her hand left the taste of duck grease on his lips. She smelled nothing like Lillian or any of the other girls he’d grown up around in Junhill Ride, but something about it was powerfully alluring in a way he’d never imagined before.
Chae clambered under the blankets with him, climbed on top, and moments later, warm and deliciously wet, he was inside her. She ground her hips down against him, clamping a hand over his mouth again as he nearly cried out.
She lifted away and then slammed back down against him. Again, again and a fifth time and with a barely muffled groan he shuddered violently, and it was over.
With a light giggle he’d never heard from the woman, Chae climbed off him, scattering his blankets. “You dumb fuck,” she said quietly, mirth in her tone. “You really were a virgin.” She shook her head, turned, and made her way back to her own bedroll, carefully threading her way through the sleeping warband, moonlight showing her thin naked frame.
Isaac breathed out for what seemed the first time since Chae had grabbed him. He gathered the discarded blankets tight around him, mind racing. What the hell had just happened?
Before he could think anything through, he was being kicked in the ribs by Gil. The sun was up and the warband was making ready to leave. It was almost as if none of it had ever happened.
***
Everyone knew, of course. Rass and Saef took a decidedly different attitude towards him from that point, even clapping him on the shoulder when Chell wasn't looking. Talent and Gil’s demeanour didn't change but he supposed they didn't much care who fucked who. Dex only gave him a small knowing smile the morning after and that was that, he went back to treating him the same as he always had, an odd mix of instruction and command. Tormell wasn't truly part of the warband and as such he didn't seem to have much of an opinion.
For her part, Chae ignored him as much as she ever had, spending all her time talking with Chell in that hushed tone they shared so intimately. She rarely looked in Isaac’s direction, and when she did, her face was expressionless.
Chell was another matter entirely. He was like a small boy who’d left his toy behind and had come home to find another child playing with it. He pouted, refusing to even
look in Isaac’s direction, and making a point of taking the lead or the rearguard when they marched, Chae at his side.
Over the next four days they made good progress up the road to Astir, climbing towards the top of the mountain range, Tormell directing them towards the place where he and his brother had diverged from the path.
Isaac’s training schedule was maintained during the steady uphill climb, fighting Saef, Raceron, Gil, and Saef again. All four bouts were decidedly losses, but he noticed something a little different in how they approached the fights from before. He couldn't put his finger on what the difference was, precisely, but he noticed it all the same. It was as if they were fighting harder and faster than before, more ferocious as they neared their destination.
The band then made their way into the snow wreathed woods lining the road, following the slender cartographer’s direction. On the first night they made camp after leaving the road, Dex announced—to much laughter from the others—that Isaac would fight Chae. He thought the laughter was because he’d been given an easy opponent for once, but he knew she was an excellent shot with her bow so he considered how he would avoid her arrows as he built the fire.
He was wrong on all counts, as it turned out. When Dex said it was time for their combat to start, Isaac moved to the side of the clearing, ready to dodge and weave his way through the incoming shafts as he made his way towards her, but when he turned to face her, Chae was already upon him, short curved blade bared and swinging for his face.
He managed a hasty block and stepped away to gather himself for an entirely different fight than he’d expected. He made a half prepared swing of his own sword towards her lightly armoured chest and she caught it with her blade, guiding his blow around her slender frame. Using her momentum to pirouette, Chae spun inside his reach, small blade whipping around in a tight arc.
The curve of her sword came to rest against his exposed neck and the group cheered her performance. She slid the blade away, nicking his skin with the razor keen edge. “Just a lover’s kiss,” she said quietly as he reflexively put a hand to the small stinging wound.
“Dead!” she announced to the group as she spun to face them and executed a curtsy that would have impressed the most proper lady’s maid in Eriston.
Wolf whistles followed her back to her seat beside Chell, and for the first time in days, the man seemed mollified.
The next night Isaac fought Raceron once more. The fight lasted longer than any he’d fought before. Isaac even managed to strike the man. Rass feinted, guard open and ready to punish Isaac for taking the bait, but he’d used the same move a week before and Isaac wasn’t going to fall for it a second time. He stepped into the trap, spun around the expected attack nearly as gracefully as Chae, and sunk his elbow deep into the side of Raceron’s stunned face. He was so shocked that he’d landed the blow that he forgot to follow up and Rass was able to recover.
Filled with rage, Raceron let out a bellowing cry and quickly executed a staggering blow into Isaac’s chainmail and a follow up to his head, stopped much closer than made Isaac comfortable. He was forced to fall back on his rump to avoid having his head split in two.
He pushed the blade aside and shouted, “What the fuck? Are you trying to kill me?” He turned to face Dex, the man’s inscrutable expression unchanged at the outburst. “What’s the fucking point here, Dex? Am I just along as amusement for the rest of the group? You’ve proven I can’t beat them. Are you trying to get me killed too?”
Dex looked across the fire, not moving a muscle, “This is training, lad.”
“Training?” Isaac spat. “Training! Why the hell are we using sharpened steel for training? One slip, one wrong move, and I’m fucking dead! But I suppose you don't care about that.”
“Not really, no.”
That brought Isaac’s fury up short. “I… Wait, what?”
“You are of no use to me, or this warband, if you aren't smart enough to keep your neck clear of sharpened steel. What do you think you’ll be facing in a real battle? Wooden practice swords?” His voice dripped with derision. “No, if you can’t keep yourself alive in a practice ring against one opponent, while wearing the very expensive armour I’ve provided, you are of no use to me. Get used to it, or fuck off.” And he pointed back down the mountainside, west towards Junhill Ride, back the way they’d come over the last five weeks of hard travel.
Isaac looked at the warriors sitting around the flickering flames, saw the obvious disinterest in their eyes, and shook his head in disgust. He tossed his sword into the ankle deep snow between himself and Dex, and stormed off into the dark woods, mind racing at the man’s words. He hadn't made it far when he heard footfalls crunching through the snow behind him. He turned ready to tell whoever was following he was done with this ridiculous charade. It was Talent, and the flames of Isaac’s rage ebbed at the sight of the man.
“Come, lad, you know he didn’t mean it. Dex is a tough teacher, but the gods know he’s excellent at what he does.”
Isaac grimaced. “Enough is enough, Talent. I don’t understand how I am supposed to put my life in danger every single night and keep my mouth closed about it.”
“You’re missing the point. You’ve got this lot scared of you, lad.”
“I what?” Isaac laughed.
“You’re one of the quickest studies I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been in this business for twenty years.” Talent smiled. He had a warm, genuine smile that lit up his stony face. “I’ve seen a few with your natural aptitude for the sword, but only a few. I could count them on my hand. You’re a fast learner, and if you ever swung your sword in anger, more than half of this lot would fall to it. Think, lad, have you once yet taken the initiative in a fight and started out on the offensive?”
Isaac frowned. “I…”
“Exactly. You wait to see what they are going to do and allow yourself to take the back foot. Already you have Chell and Chae fighting dirty to keep your steel at bay. Trust me, lad. If you challenge any one of them to a fight tomorrow when we set camp and take the fight to them from the start, you’ll have yourself a victory. Against anyone here.”
Isaac wasn’t sure what to think about that. He was certainly a better swordsman than he’d been a month prior, but could Talent be right? It was a compelling argument. “I don’t—”
Talent cut him off. “Just think about it. You’re a good fit in this group, and I think we’d be lucky to have you with us once you’ve realised your full potential. Come back to the fire once you’ve cleared your head and consider my advice for tomorrow.” He turned, heading back towards the orange glow filtering through the snow laden trees.
“Talent…?”
He turned back. “Yes, lad?”
“What… Why are you with this lot? I mean… You don’t really fit with the rest of them. You seem like someone who should be fighting for the gods in the south, or guarding a king’s throne, or something… well… noble.”
Talent’s warm grin faltered, shadows moving across his rugged features. “A story for another time, but you’re not far wrong. I… Let’s just say I loved the wrong woman… I loved and lost, and Dex was the one man who understood why. He took me in, and he never demanded that I answer for my sins.” He turned back to the faint glow. “I’ve found a home among these ruffians. If you want, you can have a home here too. You just need to believe in yourself.” Talent disappeared into the trees, leaving Isaac to think on his words.
Isaac’s fury at his close call had mostly faded, and he was cold in the snow, but he decided to wander and think on the conversation a little longer. He was lost in thought, walking slowly through the trees when he heard a rustling behind him.
He turned, ready to tell Talent that he would return in a few minutes but the words caught on his tongue. He was standing in a small clearing in the trees, lit by the full moon high above. The trees around him were clear of snow and carried bright pink and pristine white blossoms on their flowering boughs. Beneath, roses were in full blo
om, a dozen different varieties of flowering bushes scattered throughout the clearing. A clear line marked the difference between the snow coating the wintery woods he’d left behind and the clearing’s thick green grass, almost as if drawn by the gods themselves.
Between the stand of white coated trees and Isaac stood the source of the rustling that had brought him out of his pondering. The creature was seven feet tall and Isaac had to blink before he believed what he was seeing. A man wrought from branches and sticks, walking around as easily as Isaac, long spindly arms reaching forth and tending the blossoms all around. Isaac reached for the sword at his hip and caught nothing but air.
He’d thrown his sword away back at the campsite!
The creature shuffled towards him and seemed to notice his presence for the first time. Its hands retracted from the cherry blossom it was caressing and thickened and shortened into more anatomically correct arms as Isaac watched in awe. Everything about the tree creature seemed to imply that it was growing rather than moving. Isaac couldn’t put his finger on what exactly gave him this impression, but the creature walked around as a man might despite seeming to grow between each position, rather than stepping.
The treeman walked towards him, growing in size with each step, bulking up and becoming truly formidable as it approached. Isaac wasn’t sure how you would fight such a creature. He was wondering what his best route to escape was, planning to return to the campsite and gather the warband when he heard more rustling coming from behind him, this time much closer. Before he could turn, he was struck a mighty blow to the back of his head, knocking him from his feet, and everything faded to black.
***
The copper taste of blood lingered on Isaac’s tongue as he regained consciousness. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, but as it returned to him he sat up with a jolt. Stabbing pain slashed at him, and he recoiled. He blinked the fog from his eyes and saw that he was encased in a thick cocoon of brambles, each strand finger thick, wrapped in inch long barbs, and tangled so tight the light barely filtered through. A fat drop of blood adorned one of the long thorns close above, falling free as he focused on it, dripping onto his face. He’d cut himself in several places, and the back of his head stung from the blow he’d taken.