Chapter 29

The Greenwood

The wheels groaned in protest against the broken stone road. The cargo in the merchant’s cart rattled and clanked. The cart was not a complex thing, it had no magic or specialised mechanics to it. It was a simple cart of greenwood and iron pulled by two shaggy oxen. A round and soft man sat at the head of the cart, he was bald but he made up for it with an impressive white moustache. Alongside the cart another man rode a large black horse. This man could never be described as soft or round, he was stalwart and weathered, the kind of man you would expect to find in the iron mines to the north, or out logging in the surrounding woodlands, but this was no workman. The sword at his hip and round wooden shield at his back made it clear to any that he was a warrior and any wise outlaw would avoid this merchant’s cart but bandits are seldom wise men.

“If my memory serves me, there’s an inn at a crossroads a few hours ahead, we should reach it before sunset,” The round man said.

“If my memory serves me, the innkeeper is a cheat. Two copper marks for a night in a lumpy bed, I’ll pass. I can sleep for free under the cart,” The rider said, in truth he preferred to sleep outside, even this late into autumn. It was the best time for it when the air was sharp and fresh but not too damp. “I thought your type were loose with their coin, at least in my experience,” the round man grinned.

“My type?”

“Hiresword—mercenary—or whatever it is you call yourself. Considering how much you lads cost, I'm surprised you’re so stingy is all.” It was true an experienced fighter and runewielder did not come cheap but people who can pay more for the best often do. This merchant was no exception, his cart may look like a simple thing but beneath the canopy there were dozens of ironcast caskets. Each one held a gold mark’s worth of lamp-oil—not the expensive stuff that they farm lizards for in the south—the cheaper and fouler smelling stuff that the Rakmen traded up past the Nortara Sheet. His simple appearance was all a front to dissuade any unwelcome attention and the large bodyguard was extra security.

“So you’ve been up this way before then, Lenn?” The merchant asked.

“I’ve taken a few contracts to Rubastre before, usually I wouldn’t take one so far from home but I’ve some family that live out near the city and I try to visit every few years,” Lenn replied.

The two went on in silence, the surrounding woodlands became sparse patches of trees and eventually only empty fields and farms could be seen. The small cluster of buildings at the crossroads was too small to even be called a village. It didn’t even have a real name with locals just referring to the village as Crossroads. The inn was the only structure of stone. The inn had no name, just a hanging sign with a bed crudely carved into the wood. The round merchant—Baird was his name—was eager to get inside but like all meticulous merchants, he saw to his cart first.

“Hang on,” Lenn advised, eying the surrounding structures suspiciously, his hand going to his sword.

“You mercenaries, I tell you, jumping at shadows at every—” a crossbow bolt burst through the merchant’s neck.

“Fuck!” Lenn growled, drawing his sword. He whirled his horse about away from the inn and found that a small number of raiders had blocked each of the crossroad openings. He counted a half dozen and likely some more inside the inn. They were armed with rusted weapons, and one big lad with a tuft of brown hair carrying the crossbow.

“This doesn’t have to get more bloody than it has,” Lenn said to the big man, assuming him to be the leader. It made sense.

“No, it don’t,” the big man barked, “just drop yer weapon and yer coin. Get off that horse and we’ll let you walk outta here.”

“Sure you will,” Lenn replied, “Listen, I’ll keep my horse, my sword and my money, and I won’t come straight for you. How’s that?” The big man lifted the crossbow.

Lenn didn’t hesitate, kicking into his horse who launched forward. The raiders were quick to form into a line, but Lenn was a skilled fighter—and a runewielder to boot. He doubted any of these grunts had a runestone between them, let alone ever learned to use it. He drew on the power of his earthstone, forming a spear of rock that he propelled toward the leader. As expected, they were an untrained bunch. As soon as they realised they were up against a runewielder, the more inexperienced broke formation, fleeing to the shelter of the houses. The rock spear was crude, not as sharp an edge that he’d seen more accomplished stonebreakers form but it was enough to crush the big man's chest as it smashed into him. Lenn barrelled past the remaining group, some of the veteran thugs attempting to block his path. He cut down one of them as he passed at a gallop.

Shit. There goes my pay. He thought bitterly as he tore away, the merchant had only paid him a silver penny upfront with the balance due when they arrived at Rubastre. Fucking waste of my fucking time. The rest of his money was now being plundered by the raiders. Although, did he really deserve it if the merchant died and had his wares stolen?—The answer of course was yes, he did still deserve it.

Pain erupted in his shoulder and his body lurched forward from impact.

“Ahh,” he shouted, whipping his head back to see some of the raiders had run back onto the road, one of them carrying the former leader’s crossbow.

You the leader now, eh, ye fucker? The sight of some of the raiders mounting horses, spurred him to kick his heels in, urging his horse to more speed. The crossbow bolt bit further into his shoulder with each bound the horse made.

He grit his teeth through the pain and reached out his edir behind him. He pulled at the earth of the track, drawing it into his earthstone. Leaving varying holes in the road behind that would impede his pursuers. He formed small projectiles—nothing fancy, just a few lumps of earth and rock—and launched them behind, not looking back to see if any hit a mark. Lenn didn’t need to runewield often and as a result his edir wasn’t as honed as other runewielders. He found himself tiring from the strain on it and along with the wound he was soon pushing through exhaustion. Only the surge of adrenaline was keeping him upright in his saddle.

Well this day has just gotten a lot worse.

***

“I don’t think we’ll make it to Crossroads,” Rowan called back to Tanlor and Daegan. Daegan groaned, his entire body slumping back in the saddle of his wretched horse. The horse wicked its head in a sign of mutual disdain, steam puffing from its mouth as he protested.

“Does that mean we’re sleeping out here?” Daegan asked, his eyes flicking apprehensively to the snowlined trees.

“There’s a good clearing just off the road a bit further ahead,” Rowan replied, “we can have a fire safely there.”

“What about bandits or raiders?” Tanlor put in.

“They tend to stick to the main road,” Rowan maintained, “a trail like this gets used by goats and farmers. A band might come out this way if they’re desperate or running from something. I think we can take the risk. The alternative is pushing through the night and chance getting lost in the woods.”

“We’ll freeze sleeping out here,” Daegan objected. Rowan pulled up his horse and turned to look back at him. It wasn’t an intentionally patronising look, but Daegan couldn’t help but feel like Rowan thought of him like a child despite them not being too far apart in age.

“Listen up, Dessie,” Rowan started, “where we’re going,” he pointed towards the woods rather than the road ahead, “up past the Nortara Sheet. There’ll be no comfy inns up there. So you best get used to sleeping out under the moons or we can turn around and head back to Rubastre right now.”

“No,” Tanlor said quickly, “it’ll be fine,” he added, looking at Daegan.

Daegan nodded, this was better than the alternative, wasn’t it? But maybe Ferath had given up searching in Rubastre and was now on his way back to Reldon—or to whoever had ordered him to kill Daegan. He dismissed the thought, Ferath wouldn’t give up, not with the job left unfinished.

“Luna should be full tonight,” Rowan said, looking up at the sky which was still bright and moonless, “a warm red moon and a cloudless night… we’ll have a comfortable camp, trust me.” Daegan didn’t trust him. He’d trusted Ferath and he’d tried to stick his sword in him. Rowan was Tanlor’s brother and that was the only reason Daegan had allowed the extra travelling companion at all. Tanlor had come to his rescue when he’d needed it most and for that the man had earned Daegan’s trust.

It was a strange thought to have for a man he hardly knew but he trusted him more than anyone he had before. But then again he’d never had anyone try to kill him before and never thought this much about immediate threats to his life. Having Tanlor near gave him a slight reassurance, it was a far cry from any notion of safety but he latched on to that tiny shred of security.

They rode on for another hour through the forest trail. The sky above—visible between the breakings of the trees—was clear and fading to orange red.

“I miss the sunset,” Daegan mused.

“There’s one every day,” Rowan scoffed, “we’ll be out of the woods tomorrow. The land is pretty open as far as the river. So you’ll get a look at one.”

“Not here,” Daegan replied, “sunsets up here aren’t as dramatic as back home. The sun becomes an orb of an orange light, painting the whole sky in red. It’s quite the spectacle.”

“Sounds the exact same as here,” Rowan rebuffed.

“It’s not.”

“Red sky, big shiny orange ball. I’m telling you, it’s the same.”

“It’s too cloudy up here, obscures all of it,” Daegan affirmed, wistfully wishing he was in the palace on the Pillar, watching the light of a setting sun reflect on waters of the bay.

“How far to the camp?” Tanlor asked. He didn’t talk much, Daegan had attempted to draw him into conversation a few times over the past few days on the road but other than discussing the route ahead, Daegan was met with one word answers.

“We can turn off here,” Rowan replied, squinting into the trees, “there were a few paths to it back along the road but it’s all overgrown. This will be as good as we’ll get I think.”

He urged his horse through the underbrush and into the woods. Daegan didn’t even need to direct his own horse, the beast had already decided that Rowan was its master and followed his lead regardless of Daegan’s instruction.

The branches attacked Daegan, clawing at him as they made their way through. He lifted his hands to shield his face from them, in turn tugging on the reins but of course that didn’t stop his horse who dutifully plodded along after Rowan. How could he possibly know where he’s going through this. The fading light made the shadows of the woods grow deeper and more ominous as the trudged deeper in. Daegan couldn’t see much beyond the dark mound of Rowan and his horse ahead of him and Tanlor behind. Ugh, we’re going to have camp right here. He looked down at the uneven ground, laden in roots and undergrowth.

“Do you even know where—” Daegan trailed off as they emerged in a small clearing. Remnants of a stone structure in the middle of the clearing, it had no roof which was made all the more evident by an enormous tree growing from the center of it. Daegan looked at it in astonishment, it was a beautiful tree. A gnarled trunk with huge heavy branches drooping out. It looked like an oak tree but on a much grander scale.

“A greenwood,” Rowan said, dismounting from his horse, “you don’t find many of them this far south.”

“Huh, so they are real,” Daegan chuckled, his horse following Rowan’s until eventually stopping, indicating it was time for Daegan to dismount.

“What’s that?” Rowan asked.

“Greenwoods, I thought they were a myth,” Daegan shrugged.

“Think you’ll find a lot of things you thought were myths are very much real up these parts,” Rowan cautioned, “and on that point—Tan, you do a sweep of the perimeter. We’re closing in on Rakmen country now.”

Rakmen! Daegan decided not to voice his opinion on the existence of Rakmen, considering he was looking at something he believed to only exist in stories. Perhaps there was truth to the claims of Rakmen although a part of him still believed they were likely just regular men. The stories claimed them to be more demon than man. Tanlor also dismounted and unslung his greatsword from the saddle, strapping it to his back.

“I’ll check for tracks too, make sure we’re not encroaching on any bear or wolves’ territory,” Tanlor said, hitching his horse to one of the ruin’s walls.

“Are there really bears and wolves out here? I’ve not seen any,” Daegan put in, Rowan was unpacking supplies from his saddlebags and Daegan was unsure what was expected of him.

“You might not see the wildlife but trust me, lad, the wildlife will see you,” Rowan said to him and then turned to unsling his bow and quiver from his saddle, handing it to Tanlor.

“I’m not likely to catch anything with this light,” Tanlor said but took the bow all the same.

“Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it,” Rowan replied with a wink.

“Don’t quote father to me,” Tanlor shook his head and then disappeared back into the trees.

“Looks like someone had a fire here recently enough,” Rowan started, kicking at the remnants of a firepit, “few days by the look of it. You got a topaz, lad?”

“No,” Daegan answered tightly.

“Right so,” Rowan replied, not acknowledging Daegan’s shift in tone. He fished out a dimly glowing orange runestone from his pocket, “not much left in here. But might be enough to get it going.” He tossed the runestone to Daegan who caught it—fumbling only a bit. It felt warm to the touch, like it had been sitting next to a fire.

“I—” Daegan croaked. Rowan was already walking past him back to the treeline. “I’ll get more firewood for the night, there’s enough dead wood around here to get you going though.”

“Uhm, w-wait,” Daegan stammered before Rowan could leave him.

The other man was equal in height to Daegan which was unusual for a Rubanian. Along with his built shoulders, his bulky cloak and chainmail beneath, he felt a lot larger than he was. Daegan felt like a small child, as he gripped the runestone, its uneven surface biting into his sweating palm. Rowan looked at him expectantly.

You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? A moment passed and Rowan’s expression fell further into confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. He’s going to think I’m a moron. The past few days, Daegan had been enjoying how refreshing it was, talking with a man who didn’t think that he was broken. Rowan was condescending, yes, and he knew that Daegan knew nothing of the outdoors but at least Rowan didn’t think he was incompentent. That he wasn’t secretly measuring his worth with their every interaction, seeing if he could keep up with the conversation.

I’m not an idiot.

Rowan’s eyes just watched him, a question in them. “I—I can’t,” Daegan said.

“What do you mean, you tired?” Rowan replied, flippantly.

“No,” Daegan murmured, “I can’t… I’m hindered.”

“Ah,” Rowan nodded casually, “right then. You can collect the firewood so.” he said, clapping Daegan on the shoulder, and proffering an open palm. Daegan gave Rowan an expectant look, waiting for the man's response. Rowan just waited, giving no indication he cared about what Daegan had just told him. Daegan looked down at the man's open hand and dropped the topaz into it. Rowan nodded and strode back over the old campfire and knelt, getting to work on re-igniting it.