Chapter 30

An Unexpected Guest

Lenn slumped, he weakly gripped the front of the saddle to keep himself steady in it. His muscles were strained from the ride and his shoulder ached where the crossbow bolt had got him. The bolt was still lodged in his shoulder, he knew it was keeping the blood staunched. The blood had run hot down his back and side at first, but had since cooled and now made him feel cold and sticky. He hadn’t wanted to risk slowing his pace to remove it and bandage the wound, a price he was now paying for.

The raiders—from what he could tell—had given up the chase an hour back on the road. For Lenn, tracking someone through the woods wasn’t a daunting task but for the raiders, Lenn guessed, it was too much effort to bother with. Even if I had killed their leader. He doubted it was any sense of loyalty to him that had drove the raiders after him and more the fact that he clearly had a valuable runestone on him.

He wanted to stop, to allow himself to collapse into the soft earth and sleep but the rational part of his mind told him to continue on. He knew that he needed to find a safe place off the main track before he could rest. He also needed to get that fucker’s bolt out his back. He’d also need a fire to ward away any wolves or bears that caught the scent of his blood.

Probably some of the furry fucks on my tail already. He knew a good spot in these woods—an old abandoned lodge with a greenwood growing out of it—nestled a comfortable distance off the main track. The raiders would likely know of it—if they knew the area—but Lenn hoped they were blow-ins, pushed up north from the Duke’s patrols and unfamiliar with the woods. He thought of the warm embrace of a nice fire to drift off next to.

The daylight was fading fast and he would be hard pressed to find that ruin in the dark. He leaned forward to his horse's ear.

“You’re a good lad,” he wheezed, “I know you can understand me.” The horse flicked its head.

“You know the spot we need to go,” Lenn continued, “the greenwood. Take me there.” He let one hand go off the saddle and felt his whole body lean, his remaining hand strained to keep balance. He leaned further forward, his shoulder protesting at the movement. With his free hand, he weakly grabbed for the reins he’d long since dropped, dangling tantalisingly out of reach.

Come on, you useless shite. He leaned a little more forward.

The world spun, his head crashing into the ground. Pain lanced into his arm as the crossbow bolt dug deeping into him from the fall.

The frosty ground felt sharp against his head. It was a relieving cold, the kind that let him know he was still alive. There was a warmth spreading down his back. That kind of seeping warmth meant death. He coughed, his shoulder flaring in pain but he didn’t spit up any blood. That’s good. He tried to lift himself to his feet, but didn’t have the strength and he collapsed back down on his face against the cold ground.

Maybe just… rest… a little. He deserved that much at least.

***

Daegan reclined back on his log. With a full belly of campfire roasted beef strips, and the warmth of the fire on his face, he discovered that he quite liked camping. They’d stopped on the first day in a small village for some provisions. Mostly grains and dried meat. On Rowan’s recommendation, Daegan had purchased a sheepswool lined cloak that had been treated with oil to repel water along with matching pairs of breeches, boots and gloves. His old fine stitched cloak had been reluctantly traded. Cotton kills apparently. The quality was the best the village had to offer, but still far from the luxuries Daegan was accustomed to. His nicer fur-lined clothes that he’d worn in Rubastre were packed away in his saddlebag. Best to keep clothes like that hidden away, Rowan had cautioned, no point making yourself a target for no good reason. The cheaper clothes were far from roughspun, and were a good deal finer than anyone in the village had been wearing but to Daegan they might as well have been rags. Warm rags, he conceded appreciatively… Very warm.

“So you’re the Hunter’s eldest son?” Daegan asked Rowan who was still munching through his strip of dried meat. Tanlor sat further away, wiping a cloth on the blade of his greatsword for some reason. Daegan would have recalled it if he'd killed someone with it, wouldn’t he? Then again he had been pretty tired, hungover and reasonably distracted the first few days of their ride from Rubastre.

“Aye,” Rowan answered, “so you know the story?”

“A version of it,” Daegan replied, “but I’ve bet you’ve heard all kinds of embellishments on the true story—Dragons, Rakmen, Arctic Bears and the like.”

“Oh there were Rakmen,” Rowan admitted, Tanlor was notably quiet—although he was always quiet, but Daegan got a more tangible sense of quiet from him.

“up past the sheet,” Rowan continued, “There’s a lot more of ‘em.”

“You’ve seen them?” Daegan asked curiously.

“Seen ‘em, fought ‘em, ran from ‘em. Usually in that order. If you see ‘em, you’ll run too,” Rowan promised.

“We’ll stay well clear,” Tanlor put in, not looking up from his wiping, “Rowan and I know how to cover our tracks. We also know the signs of Rakmen.”

“Let me guess,” Daegan smiled, “the trees wither and die, cups of water start to boil.”

“They’re not storybook demons, Dessie,” Rowan pointed a cautionary finger at him, “they’re not too different from men… but they are dangerous.” His tone was heavy with warning, “…very dangerous.”

“What do they look like?”

“Like us,” Rowan replied, “but also not like us. Their skin is black. Not darker like yours is, there’s is as black as a moonless night. Got these blue marks all over their bodies too and pointy ears.”

Pointy ears?! Daegan laughed, “are you talking about the Aeth?! Elves! They’re nothing special, they might live a little longer than regular men and women but they’re not any more dangerous.”

“They’re not like the Aeth,” Rowan said darkly, “and it’s not something you laugh about. I’ve had friends die on Rakmen blades.”

“Sorry,” Daegan faltered, “I-I just… This is all very new to me.” Rowan nodded and accepted the apology. The conversation slipped away and three of them sat quietly eating their dinner to the sound of the crackling campfire.

“I’ve met your cousin, Boern,” Daegan said after a few moments, looking to get the conversation going again.

“Most people call him the Duke, these days,” Rowan grunted.

“Ah, I thought they were calling him the Dick. Seems more fitting.” That earned him a choked laugh from Rowan as the man spluttered on his beef, “Ha! Where'd you find this one, Tan?” Tanlor didn’t acknowledge the joke. Rowan thumped at his chest to clear the bit of food he was choking on. “So not just me then,” Daegan smiled.

“Nah… not just you. Boern’s always been an ass. Ever since we were boys. I remember one time, he knocked out half my teeth.”

“He’s a good fighter, then?”

“Hardly,” Tanlor scoffed, a grimace on his face, “Rowan was only a boy. What ten? Boern was almost twenty. Good fighters don’t pick fights with boys half their age and size.”

“Is he the reason you like to pretend you’re not highborn, then?” Daegan asked pointedly at Rowan, who leaned back on his rock. “I’m not highborn,” he replied, casually.

“Your grandfather was Duke Garron, was he not?”

“Aye. Doesn’t make me shit though. My father was a hunter, I’m not going to parade about pretending to be one of them.”

“You’re not pretending if it’s in your blood,” Daegan said, dismissively, “paint it anyway you like but you’re still highborn, despite pretending you’re not.”

“And what’s your reason for pretending you’re not highborn?” Rowan countered.

“Leave it be,” Tanlor interjected, giving Rowan a levelled glare.

“Fine—You think of anything better than a merchant as a cover?” Rowan asked Daegan, “that story is fine down these parts but once we get to Urundock, people are going to start getting real curious about a merchant travelling up past the Sheet. Only men who go up that far are trading with the Rakmen and that won’t go down well with the locals.” He was looking at Daegan expectantly.

Tanlor cleared his throat and sheathed his sword, “what about Iron pros—”

“—cartographer,” Daegan interrupted him.

“What—like a mapmaker?” Rowan questioned.

“Yeah, you said it yourself, no merchants go up that far north,” Daegan replied, “and the map that we have from Duke Edmund doesn’t even have anything on it past the Notara Sheet. I’m guessing the region is mostly uncharted.”

Tanlor was nodding along, “makes sense,” he agreed.

“Also—who wants to kill and rob a man who only has pens and parchment,” Daegan added.

“You’d be surprised what men would kill for,” Rowan replied, “but you’re right it’s a good cover—if a bit unusual. Just keep things like that fancy revolver of yours hidden. I once knew this lad with a fancy cloak that—” Rowan cut off, his head whipping towards the forest.

Tanlor was on his feet in an instance, his face also pointing in the same direction.

“What is—” Daegan began but was hushed by Rowan sharply throwing up his palm at him.

“You did a full perimeter check, Tan?” Rowan whispered, barely audible to Daegan. Tanlor nodded, “half mile around the camp, all clear,” Tanlor replied in a similar hushed tone.

“You stay with the mapmaker,” Rowan said, picking up his own sword and soundlessly disappearing into the blackness of the surrounding forest.

“What—” Daegan tried again, trying to match their breathy tones. Tanlor did the same sharp gesture as his brother and gave Daegan a firm look for silence.

I deserve to know what’s happening! He wanted to snap at him but Daegan restrained himself. The Shrydan brother’s were sometimes an overly cautious pair but the darkness of the woods gave Daegan the eerie feeling of being watched. A part of him doubted they were as jumpy as he was in the woods at night so this was not the reaction to a shadow.

Tanlor slowly and soundlessly drew his blade from its sheath. His eyes not leaving the dark tree line. How can he even see anything in there? Was it some unknown runewielding ability he didn’t know about? Luna’s red-tinged moonlight gave ample light in the clearing, along with the bright orange glow of the fire but the trees themselves were a ring of impenetrable blackness. They waited in silence but for the wind rippling through the trees, each apprehensive minute drawing out. Daegan wanted to speak, he wanted to know what was happening. Instead he very slowly stood up from his position and reached into his cloak, drawing his revolver. He didn’t bother with the sword. He asked Tanlor a few days before to recharge the runestones in it for him and they now glowed orange and yellow. They stood out in the night, but didn't add much next to the light of the campfire. Tanlor didn’t chastise him for taking it out either so Daegan assumed it to be a good move.

There was a rustle in the trees, the notable sound of cracking twigs. Daegan sensed a relaxation in Tanlor’s posture, but the man didn’t sheath his sword so Daegan kept his revolver up. The large dark shape of a horse loomed out of the trees, guided by Rowan into the light of the campfire. There was a man draped over the saddle like a corpse.

“You killed him?” Tanlor asked, surprised.

“No, someone else got him. There’s a crossbow bolt in his shoulder. Still alive… barely.”

“We should pack up, could be raiders or bandits,” Tanlor said with concern, his eyes flicking from the newcomer to the treeline.

“Maybe he was the bandit?” Daegan offered.

“Not likely, cloak and weapons are good quality. A hiresword, maybe,” Rowan replied, lifting the man off the saddle and next to the fire.

He had wiry grey hair, slick against his face. He had a pallid look and Daegan would have guessed he was already dead. Rowan cut through the man’s cloak and the leather jerkin underneath exposing the man’s wound to the light. The bolt was broken, just a shard of black wood protruding from the man’s back. Dark blood, caked and flaked around it.

“This happened a few hours ago,” Rowan mused, cutting away more of the man’s shirt, “all this is old blood.”

“He must’ve been in a rush to get away if he didn’t stop to pull that out,” Tanlor said, he’d appeared kneeling over the man with a bottle of alcohol and a rag. Daegan watched on in stunned silence, as the pair efficiently pulled out the bolt and pressed the alcohol dapped rag against the wound. Rowan wrapped up the man’s shoulder while Daegan just stood there like a useless idiot, Rowan glanced up at him only now noticing him staring dumbfounded.

“Go hitch this man’s horse to ours, Dessie,” Rowan instructed him, “check his saddlebags. See if there’s anything that tells us who he is.”

Daegan jumped to the task, eager to be away from the bloody work. The horse grunted at his approach and stamped, but Daegan held out his hands and hushed him, slowing his approach and gently taking the reins. He led the mount over to where their horses were hitched to the old ruin. Daegan shuddered, the chill getting into him now that he was away from the fire. He looked through the man’s saddlebags but all he could find were some provisions, clothes and a few knives which he brought back over the fire to sort through.

“Anything?” Rowan asked as Daegan walked over, dumping the pile.

“Just these,” Daegan held up the knives.

“Clothes look like decent quality… he probably works the road to Rubastre,” Tanlor noted.

“Bodyguard,” Rowan affirmed, “well, let’s get him stitched and see if he wakes up—Dessie, why don’t you try to get some sleep, eh? We might be in for a hard ride tomorrow.”

“Sleep?” Daegan asked incredulously, “you think I’ll be able to sleep knowing there’s some lunatic with a crossbow out there,” he added waving his hand out at the ominous trees.

“You can take guard duty if you want,” Rowan offered calmly, “but frankly I don’t trust you with the task so me and Tan will be doing that anyway in shifts. You’ll just be awake for no real reason. The best thing you can do is to lie down near this fire and try to get some sleep, alright lad?”

Daegan was used to being patronised, he’d experienced it his entire life. But that had been different, it had been unjustified. People assumed he didn’t know what he was doing because he was hindered. But out here, he really didn’t know what he was doing. He was lost in the dark and without Tanlor and Rowan he’d very likely be dead already so despite wanting to argue further, Daegan grudgingly lay down on the sleeping roll.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that Rowan was treating him like this because he learned that Daegan was hindered. If he could use runestones, would he have been trusted with guard duty? Maybe runestones did give you an enhanced ability to see in the dark that Daegan wasn’t aware of? Daegan tried to dismiss the pestering thoughts. His body ached from the days in the saddle and despite the bedroll only being an inch thick of material between him and the cold earth, his weight sunk into it with satisfaction. The nearby fire gave him a comfortable warmth but sleep eluded him. He couldn’t relax knowing how useless he was while Tanlor and Rowan worked to save a man’s life only a few feet away.