《The Tune of a Thousand Blades》


 1.1 At Winters End pt.1

    1.1


    At Winter''s End pt.1


    ¡°Everyone, be quiet!¡± Halfden called from the front.


    His men obliged.


    Harald, too, fell silent. If there was nothing else he had learned during his time amongst the man¡¯s guard, he was sure that anything that could gag them should gag him too.


    He hadn¡¯t seen the initial attack, if that is what it was; but he had seen when Agmund Gimmal, Halfden¡¯s top man, fell abruptly from his horse, crashing into the mud-stained snow beneath its hooves.


    Harald¡¯s eyes darted up the hills to their right, past thinned trees and dying brambles. He saw nothing. There was no life in the forest except their murmuring convoy of two hundred; none that he could see, anyway.


    The others remained silent. Gimmal lay still in his own growing puddle of crimson, while those still on horseback seemed stunned equally lifeless, lost.


    The biggest issue, Harald now noticed, was that Halfden seemed no different. He sat, as brutish looking as usual, only this time he made no booming calls, no passionate rallying cry. He only waited.


    At that moment, Harald could not help but wonder where the man he had seen ruthlessly protecting his people through the year-long winter had gone. Where was the man that had offered him protection when even his own father would not?


    He watched as the man¡¯s eyes darted similarly around their surroundings. It seemed to be all that he could do.


    Then came the whistle, that deafening, death-like screech. It echoed between the trees and rang like thunder as it reached Harald¡¯s ears.


    Another of Halfden¡¯s men fell; then another, then another, only this time Harald saw what hit them.


    Arrows!


    Finally, Halfden regained his stolidity. ¡°Shield wall!¡± he called, throwing himself from atop his horse. He turned to its saddle, ripping his shield from the leather strap holding it in place, breaking with it the thing¡¯s sturdy metal buckle.


    His men followed suit. Those on horseback dismounted, while those already on foot sprinted at whatever pace their armour would allow, forming a makeshift line facing the hill.


    It was only now that Harald recognised his lack of experience and training, for he was still atop his horse by the time the wall had been formed.


    The others were trained for this, weren¡¯t they? That was why they acted so quickly!


    As Harald finally fell unnaturally from his saddle, catching his foot in its stirrup, Halfden had disappeared somewhere into the wall, recognisable only by the booming voice that carried over his men¡¯s nervous whispering.


    ¡°Shields ready!¡± He called. He was somewhere to Harald¡¯s right. ¡°I will not be seeing any more of you die here today, do you hear me?¡±


    Harald got that fuzzy feeling down his spine as Halfden¡¯s men roared in solidarity with his words, smashing swords or axes against heavy wood.


    It was not long before everything fell still once more. Following the initial rush of movement when forming the wall, only quiet remained. But for the bodies that lay lifeless behind it, the whole thing seemed almost like a training drill, as if not truly a battle.


    The wall swayed, pulsating with the breathing of its makers. One ¨C Harald noticed from behind his loyal horse ¨C stood above a circle of yellow snow, legs shaking.


    He, too, couldn¡¯t help but shake. There was no sign of whatever had killed the others, nothing except¡­


    A dark speck had appeared where the top of the hill met the blue winter sky. It was small at first, peering only slightly around one of the thicker trees.


    Harald blinked, wiped his eyes, and squinted, hoping that the thing might disappear. It didn¡¯t. Instead, it seemed even bigger now, more than just a speck behind a tree.


    It had limbs, at least two. They were gangly, almost armlike, and stuck out from behind the tree like twisted branches. Those limbs were brought upward, and its twig-like fingers twisted into a sort of circular shape around a small hole that Harald could only assume was its mouth.


    This time, there was no gap between the screeching whistle and the ensuing barrage of arrows. Harald had no time to duck behind his meat shield and could only watch as the volley arched and began to fall.


    The arrows had been fired so perfectly in unison that they seemed almost a single brown line, spreading across the horizon, with none being any closer, nor further away, than the next.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    After what seemed an eternity, they hit. Some smacked hard against the colourfully decorated fronts of the wall¡¯s wooden shields, splitting shards of splintery timber as they burrowed, while others pierced the shield wall entirely, sending its holders flying back into the wet mud behind. One, which veered from the rest, landed within a few steps of Harald, and he cowered once more behind his horse, poking his head around only when it seemed safe to do so.


    The wall quickly closed its gaps. It grew thinner on either side while maintaining its strength at its centre.


    Harald found himself sighing with relief as Halfden¡¯s voice continued to shout its commands. He was ordering the wall up the hill, step by step.


    There was nothing Harald could do, he knew that, so he remained hidden. He knew nothing of battle tactics, of how to fight a real swordfight. He knew only what he had been taught by Grimvald. Even then, he had scarcely allowed the man to teach him the basics.


    As the fight moved further uphill, Harald found himself with an odd moment to think, unaffected by what was happening around him. At that moment, he thought of home, of where he was returning to, of the warm keep fires and of his own bed. He felt almost as if he could touch it. It was as if it warmed his shoulders in that otherwise freezing place.


    Warmth? Why could he feel the warmth?


    Harald¡¯s mind rushed back to reality as a piercing pain stung sharply where his shoulder became his arm. He brought his left hand up, clutching firmly against it. He could already tell exactly what had happened. As he pulled his hand away, drops of wine-like liquid fell like the early signs of rain onto a patch of otherwise untainted snow at his feet.


    Shit!


    His throat became both bone dry and agonisingly wet at the same time as he was forced to swallow several mouthfuls of phlegm. He knew that feeling¡­ Who didn¡¯t?


    Dizziness overtook him. Things seemed to darken in the outskirts of his vision, and he stumbled a few paces away from his horse, managing barely to keep himself upright.


    After desperate attempts to keep it down, Harald gave in and threw the morning¡¯s meat soup up in his mouth before swallowing it back down with a hard gulp. Even in such a situation, winter habits told him not to waste food. It went down like wood chippings, and he had to swallow a few more times to keep it down.


    This is no place to die, he thought, clutching at his blood-stained shirt. He had never been hit before, and it was making him beyond nauseous. I¡¯m so close to home¡­ so close¡­


    Harald was awoken by the not-so-gentle bobbing of his head against something hard. It took a moment for him to collect himself as he opened his eyes, his head still a dizzy mess.


    Finally, his sight cleared enough.


    A figure sat before him, burly in the same way that Halfden was, and tall enough that Harald was only at shoulder level. The man¡¯s feet were placed in the stirrups of a brownish-black saddle ¨C one that Harald recognised but couldn¡¯t quite place ¨C and his gloved hands clutched firmly to the reins, carefully avoiding wetter patches in the mud.


    Harald attempted to crane his neck ¨C to work out with whom he had made his escape ¨C but he couldn¡¯t. His body ached, everywhere. It wouldn¡¯t move when he told it to.


    He could, however, manage just enough movement to catch a glimpse of his shoulder. It seemed that whoever he rode with, or perhaps someone else entirely, had made quick work of bandaging his wound. A decently thick stretch of cloth had been wound tightly around it. The application was not perfect, but even he knew it could be considered an experienced job, even given the situation they found themselves in.


    Harald dozed in and out of consciousness as he rested his head against the figure¡¯s back. It could have lasted days, or it could have been minutes.


    It was almost evening by the time Harald regained enough strength to do more than weigh against his saviour¡¯s back. He grabbed at the figure¡¯s shoulders, steadying himself, and raised his chin.


    Thin grey whisps of hair crawled down the back of the man¡¯s head, clutching desperately for life as the wind blew them backwards. Though he had not seen it from that angle before, it was a sight he recognised.


    Grimvald! Of course, it had to be Reinhardt Grimvald, his father¡¯s most loyal bannerman, friend and advisor.


    The figure¡¯s silence had worried Harald. Who was it that had taken him? Why had they not said anything? But now it was the man¡¯s silence that reassured him. Though silent, Grimvald was a calculated warrior, efficient in every sense of the word. He spoke only when necessary, when his reliable strength would not carry him further.


    ¡°How much further, Grimvald?¡± Harald finally said, pulling gently on the stringy fur of the man¡¯s cloak.


    The old man, revealing no sign of his distaste for conversation, replied: ¡°Not much, lord.¡±


    The pair travelled slowly now, and Harald had been able to loosen his grip. It was made apparent by their lack of pursuers that they had not been the targets of the attack. They seemed to have made their escape.


    In a brief conversation, Grimvald had outlined how he found Harald passed out in the snow, how he had thrown him over the back of his horse and had fled under the cover of the chaos.


    ¡°What of Sammi?¡± Harald asked, suddenly remembering the others in his party. ¡°What of the others, of Halfden¡¯s daughter?¡±


    Grimvald only shook his head.


    That didn¡¯t mean they were dead, did it? It only meant he didn¡¯t know. There was no way that he wouldn¡¯t tell Harald if they were.


    ¡°We have to go back for them!¡± Harald accidentally raised his voice. It carried and echoed in the otherwise silent stretch of forest they found themselves in. ¡°We have to help!¡±


    ¡°It would be no use now,¡± Grimvald managed, ¡°it is much too late, and much too difficult to find our way back.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Harald couldn¡¯t argue against the logic. ¡°We have to try!¡± He felt almost childish continuing the same line of argument. He knew that he was being too emotional, but couldn¡¯t help himself regardless.


    Grimvald brought the horse to a stop, turning back to face his young lord. Harald noted that his face had taken a look of seriousness, but that the old man still showed some sort of sympathy for his opinion. ¡°Halfden and his men are perfectly capable,¡± he said, ¡°you know that.¡± He pulled on the reins a little, and the horse began moving down a path to their right. ¡°I know you worry for them, but you, too, are injured. And my duty lies in protecting you.¡±


    Harald had no response. As usual, Grimvald was right. The two continued their journey in whichever direction his father¡¯s man was taking them.


    ¡°Here is as good as anywhere,¡± the old man said, finally, as he brought the horse to a stop. The two hopped from it on its left side ¨C there had been a deep-looking puddle to its right ¨C and Grimvald tied the thing¡¯s reins around a neighbouring tree. He did so tightly enough that the horse would never even dream of breaking free while they rested.

 1.2 At Winters End pt.2

    1.2


    At Winter''s End pt.2


    ¡°Hurry!¡± Nevynthi called back as they charged quickly through the meadow. Wind blew her hair which, after a few days spent in the wilderness, she was sure matched the straw-like, tall grass they darted through.


    Cathan and the others were three whole horse lengths behind her, their steeds struggling to match her pace. The beasts snorted great strings of liquid that dripped from their chins like candlewax.


    It seemed as though they were far enough away already, with their pursuers out of sight since before the sun had begun disappearing beyond the horizon. Even so, it was not sufficient reason to slow their movement, not yet.


    Other than the distant sounds of water and the crashing wind that smacked them from one side, Nevynthi could tell nothing of their surroundings. She was sure it was the same path they had travelled during the day ¨C when it had been light ¨C but it was hard to tell now. Now, they crashed heavily through thick and unknown terrain, unable to see much more than the ground beneath their feet.


    ¡°We are trying!¡± Cathan finally replied, having caught up just enough for her to hear him. ¡°You know our horses are not as fast as yours!¡±


    It was true, hers might as well have been a different breed entirely. But that didn¡¯t matter, they just needed to escape.


    Despite their inferior steeds, their pursuers from the realm of men had dealt significant damage before falling behind. A portion of her company had been lost in the escape, more than she had lost during any job in the last century.


    Where had things gone wrong? It seemed a task like any other, one that the Epeltu Beiri were more than capable of taking on. All they needed to do was eliminate their target¡­


    Seeing her pull ahead, the others picked up their pace; such was the competitive nature of the Fayne. They pushed their horses to the limit, charging like a brigade of war beasts.


    Nevynthi craned her neck, looking over her shoulder. She granted her people a smirking grin, before encouraging her horse with a soft slap at its side. The pair broke away from the group with ease.


    Nevynthi ducked her head so that it rested on the matted hair of her steed¡¯s mane. It was her method for going faster ¨C one of the things she had learned in Lluendar as a youth. Something about becoming streamlined, she remembered her mother saying. Its hair was musky, much like that rough stench that emanated from the men¡¯s barracks, only a little less tangy.


    In that stretch of the Eastern Islands, there was little that might deserve to be called civilisation. But for the odd collection of small shacks that emerged every so often amongst the overgrowth, the place was empty, empty of buildings, empty of light, empty of life.


    Even where they had found signs of life, men were quick to hurry their scrawny children in and bolt their doors shut. It was no different than could be expected, Nevynthi had thought, for they were a people almost entirely forgotten by the world, a bogeyman of sorts.


    As the last amber light of day shone brightly between a nearing outburst of trees, Nevynthi gestured for her company to slow their pace.


    For better or worse, it seemed that the darkening of the sky had completed their escape. Their pursuers had given up.


    Frosty gusts of wind blew through that new woodland of brown and green, sending the last clinging leaves tumbling to the floor.


    Nevynthi caught a glimpse of Cathan as he tried to quickly flick away a leaf which had found itself caught between his cloak and forehead. He had that sort of flustered look as if it had caught him off guard. Caught off guard by a mere leaf, Nevynthi thought, how the Epeltu Beiri have fallen.


    ¡°Err¡­ what now?¡± Cathan asked, riding up to Nevynthi¡¯s right. He towered over her in such a way that he blocked whatever light remained. ¡°What happens when you fail a mission?¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The question was a good one. It was the same question that had lingered on her mind throughout their escape. She never had failed, not in her near thousand years of service ¨C at least not that she could remember. What she did know, however, was that it wouldn¡¯t be as simple as a slap on the wrist or a mild talking-to. No, Merywyn the Recaller was not so soft that she would let them off so easily.


    ¡°I do not know,¡± Nevynthi said, ¡°but we must return to Ysberinor; of that much, I am sure.¡± She combed her hand through her horse¡¯s mane. ¡°The longer we wait, the worse our punishment, I would have thought. Merywyn will want to know how our mission went, too.¡±


    Cathan signed, bringing a nervous palm to his face. ¡°I¡¯d rather not be there when you tell her.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Nevynthi smiled, ¡°it is not you all who will be punished. It is me. I am your leader, so I will be responsible.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not it,¡± Ruadan, another of her party, interrupted. His voice always carried with it a tone of sincerity ¨C as if he either only spoke truths or was stupid enough to believe his own lies. ¡°We don¡¯t want you punished in our place,¡± he continued, ¡°I wish you¡¯d put some more responsibility on our shoulders. Share your burden!¡±


    Surprisingly, the others nodded in agreement. Even Cathan, who she had often found to be the most troublesome, seemed on the same page as the rest.


    When had they grown to respect her? She could still remember their cries as she put them through hellish training in the peaks of the Aryd mountains. They had sworn to kill her if they survived, hadn¡¯t they?


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± She allowed herself to smile, before pulling up her hood to cover it.


    The group stopped beside a rough crag that cut out like a cliff edge from the hillside. The shaded ground beneath it would offer shelter from any barrage that could be thrown at them, be it sun, snow, or rain.


    They took their bags from atop their horses, setting them beneath the rock. Bags made good seats when the ground was soaked through. Some of her company set about preparing the camp, gathering firewood and ensuring their surroundings were secure.


    The fire was made small, just big enough to cook the few rodents they had managed to catch as they rode. Nevynthi was almost thankful, however, that there was little to eat; she had no appetite and was sure that whatever went down would soon come back up.


    Still, Nevynthi was given half of one of the creatures once they had been cooked. Chewing on it, a small bone jabbed at the inside of her gum with knife-like sharpness. That rancid taste of metal polluted her mouth, and her mind was sent back to the sight and smell of her people falling during their escape. She passed her share to Ruadan, who accepted it thankfully. Nevynthi couldn¡¯t eat.


    Her people were quiet. Long gone was the confidence that had filled them as they sat similarly around their campfire that morning. Gone was the dancing, the songs, the clinging arms trying to drag her to join them. Instead, there was only silence, interrupted only by the calls of a late-sleeping bird or the racket of crickets lingering in the grass.


    Once meals had been finished, the fire was smothered. Darkness fell completely before long, their surroundings lit only by the minimal light of the moon. Two remained up to keep watch, while the others set to their blankets.


    Nevynthi was used to being warmer.


    As Nevynthi opened her eyes, the gentle blue hue of the morning sky was blocked by a small, yet wide, figure. It towered over her as a tree stump might a fallen branch.


    ¡°Mornin¡¯,¡± the figure said.


    ¡°I wish you would speak properly,¡± Nevynthi yawned, ¡°were you not taught to speak?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, ma¡¯am,¡± Ruadan joked, standing at attention. ¡°Just how I am, how¡¯ve always been.¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine.¡± Nevynthi pulled herself from her blanket, and the pair set about climbing the steep bank.


    Her long legs carried her easily up the rough slope, while Ruadan struggled a little. He was an odd type of Fayne, his legs not as straw-thin and agile as others, and his upper body a little too heavy for climbing.


    At the top of the cliff, Nevynthi stretched, bringing about that satisfying feeling only made possible when stretching muscles soon after waking. Then, with great flexibility and smoothness, she crouched and crossed her legs so that she was perched comfortably atop the frontmost edge of the rock. She was like a barrelman perched in his crow¡¯s nest -¨C scouting.


    Ruadan stumbled up beside her, panting. Nevynthi noted how unnaturally large his feet were. They ran from the point of her elbow to the ball of her wrist. Odd for such a small man.


    ¡°D¡¯know how you do it,¡± he huffed. ¡°How d¡¯you all move so easily.¡±


    Nevynthi ignored the question. She was sure that he knew the reason all too well.


    ¡°Quite a drop,¡± Ruadan continued, steadying himself as he overhung the decline. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to fall down there, would you?¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t sit down and shut up,¡± Nevynthi replied, ¡°I will throw you down there myself!¡±


    ¡°Ah, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I was joking, Ruadan. Sit.¡± She patted the hard stone beside her, where it was still somewhat dry, gesturing for him to join her. ¡°I fear I am in need of company on a night like tonight. Company better than Cathan¡¯s, that is.¡±

 1.3 At Winters End pt.3

    1.3


    At Winter''s End pt.3


    Harald awoke on the brink of a memorable dream. It lingered just out of reach, too far for him to bring to the front of his mind.


    It hadn¡¯t been a nightmare; of that much, he could be sure ¨C those usually ended with a pool of sweat seeping into the matted fur of his blanket. This one had been different. He didn¡¯t wake up annoyed that it had ended, nor was he happy to have been pulled free from it.


    Harald pulled himself from his blanket, then wiped its outside, attempting to clear away the non-existent snow ¨C a lingering habit of winter. At his side, Grimvald sat atop a fallen trunk. He was fully armoured, sword in its sheath.


    ¡°Did you not sleep?¡± Harald asked, then yawned mightily.


    ¡°I did, my lord, but I woke before you.¡±


    Harald knew not to ask further, even if he knew the old man was lying. ¡°You should get some more, anyway. There is still time before the light of day is fully upon us. I can keep watch.¡±


    ¡°I know you can,¡± the old man scoffed, ¡°but I am fine.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Harald¡¯s heart sunk, ¡°as you wish.¡± He pushed himself up off the ground, hands placed carefully so as not to plunge into wet mud, so that his knees were in a squat. ¡°What happened to the fire?¡±


    A scattered pile of ash and black charcoal lined the ground where there had been a tower of wood.


    ¡°I allowed it to burn until you slept, then put it out. Fires are too easy to find in the dark.¡±


    Even I know that much, Harald thought, feeling that the old man was babying him again, but what need was there for getting rid of the fire if we weren¡¯t being followed? It¡¯s cold.


    Again, Harald knew not to argue.


    ¡°Where to today, then?¡± Harald asked as he stood upright.


    ¡°I am thinking, perhaps, that it would be worth waiting for another night¡¯s passing before heading north again,¡± Grimvald replied, ¡°we don¡¯t know the situation of Halfden or his people.¡±


    Harald couldn¡¯t help but agree; Grimvald was probably right. They had no way of knowing what had happened, where they were and, even if he didn¡¯t want to think about it, whether his father¡¯s most loyal friend was dead.


    Even so, Harald¡¯s people were there amongst Halfden Urdinsan¡¯s men. Sammi Sigeric, Marlin ¨C Grimvald¡¯s squire ¨C and, even if he hated to admit it, Yiri, Halfden¡¯s daughter.


    ¡°Or,¡± Harald was thinking out loud, ¡°they won the battle already and await our return. Or they have sent out a search party. What then?¡±


    ¡°If they had sent a search part for us, they would surely have found us already.¡± Grimvald gestured to their surroundings. ¡°We are scarcely hidden.¡±


    Harald hadn¡¯t seen it in the darkness of the night, but they were within obvious view of the nearest gravel road.


    ¡°Perhaps you are right. But what if you are wrong?¡±


    Grimvald sighed. Harald assumed that his father must have ensured the old man would consider his words, if nothing else. ¡°Let¡¯s pack our things, at least. Whatever happens, we shouldn¡¯t camp in the same place twice.¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    It was well into the morning when they finally set off. Harald had convinced the old man that they should at least begin their journey northward, even if it meant moving at a slowed pace. Each step was taken more carefully than the last as they plodded forward. Grimvald had chosen to lead the horse on foot, while Harald had regained his sole position on the saddle.


    The path was just wide enough for man and horse to pass side by side. The ground was fresh, untrodden since the snow had melted, and the bushes that flanked either side seemed untouched. That was encouraging, at least, Harald thought, since it meant that there were no enemies close ahead.


    Grimvald was the first to break their silence: ¡°Are you looking forward to being back home, my lord?¡±


    Harald, shocked that the old man would initiate conversation ¨C it truly must be weary times ¨C had to think for a moment. It had seemed a lifetime since he left the Keep in Nyrback. He had been such a boy when he left, even more so than Grimvald might think he was now.


    There were things he missed, things he looked forward to --¨C the warmth of the fire, the great hall, the food, the chambermaids ¨C but there were also things he didn¡¯t.


    ¡°I guess so,¡± he said, ¡°but that¡¯s only if we make it home.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for talk like that!¡± The old man blurted before quickly hushing his tone. ¡°I¡¯ll have you home, no matter what it takes, my lord. On my honour!¡±


    On his honour? Though it was true that Grimvald had been a great and honourable fighter once, that had been so long ago, in the early years of his father¡¯s tenure. Sure, the old man still knew how to fight, he had shown as much in the past year, but for how long could he keep that up?


    Still, old man Grimvald was as good a chance as any that Harald had for making it home.


    ¡°What about you?¡± Harald asked.


    ¡°What about me?¡±


    ¡°Are you looking forward to returning home?¡±


    ¡°Ah, that. Yes.¡± A strangely gentle look took over the old man¡¯s face for a brief moment before he quickly resumed his usual solemn appearance.


    Nothing more? Harald wondered. In their year together, he really hadn¡¯t learned much about Grimvald; nothing more than he already knew, at least.


    Seemingly noticing Harald¡¯s intrigue and knowing that he would be dealing with such a look their entire journey if he did not answer, the old man loosened up a little. ¡°I look forward to seeing how my son has grown in his position,¡± he managed. ¡°I wonder how my lovely wife fares, too. I imagine they have both thinned terribly through winter, as we have.¡± He pulled a hand up and scratched at the whiskers of grey hair that fell from patches atop his head. ¡°But I trust my son. I trust that he has kept things in order in my stead. He is capable, that boy.¡±


    Capable. Harald might kill to hear those words from his own father¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°Your son is amongst my father¡¯s council, is he not?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m surprised you remembered,¡± Grimvald said, ¡°you weren¡¯t one for court life, were you?¡±


    He was right. Harald hadn¡¯t involved himself in the goings-on of his father¡¯s court, not as his elder brothers did.


    ¡°Am I unfit to aid my father?¡± Harald asked.


    ¡°In what way?¡±


    ¡°It just never seemed like he needed me, not like he needed the others. Why else would he send me away as he did?¡± Harald had never said such things out loud, and it almost sounded silly now he did.


    ¡°No, my lord. We both know you weren¡¯t sent away because he dislikes you,¡± Grimvald pondered for a moment, struggling to find the correct wording, ¡°you were sent away for your¡­ immaturity. Had you asked me as we left Nyrback a year ago, I would have seen you no differently.¡± He turned to Harald and smiled. ¡°You are a different person than when you left,¡± he said before turning to face forward once more.


    Harald was shocked silent. Who had stolen Grimvald and who was this that had replaced him? Never had the old man spoken to him with such kind words.


    Harald looked toward the man for some sign of jest or sarcasm and saw nothing. The old man had simply returned to his usual silence, leading the horse by its reigns, ducking beneath an outstretched branch. It was almost as if he hadn¡¯t said anything at all.


    That silence lasted as the warmish rays of the sun passed from their east, over the tall trees, and headed for the west. There was a long way to go before they made it back from where they had fled. At such a snail¡¯s pace, Harald found himself nodding off into sleep on multiple occasions.


    It was only when Grimvald shook him awake that Harald realised they had come to a complete stop, frozen in the near darkness of late evening.


    ¡°What is it, Grimvald?¡±


    The old man brought a finger to his lips. ¡°I smell smoke.¡±

 2.1 Smoke pt.1

    2.1


    Smoke pt.1


    The pair stood in silence for a moment, Grimvald¡¯s hand gripping nervously at the hilt of his sword.


    ¡°Tie up the horse,¡± he said, the old man¡¯s voice no louder than the wind that had carried the smoke between the trees.


    Harald hadn¡¯t been able to smell the smoke, not at first. But he had noticed a thickness in the air, a terrible smog, that he hadn¡¯t remembered being there before blacking out. It had become more difficult to breathe, much harder to catch even a shred of fresh air as he hopped from his horse into the wet ground below. His boots, which had almost dried completely in his lack of time on foot, quickly became sodden once more, as mud and water seeped through small holes that Harald had been unable to repair properly in his time away.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we just take another route?¡± Harald asked as he reached for the reins of his horse, the thin leather strips, weathered and worn, and brought his horse to the nearest tree.


    ¡°There is no other way,¡± Grimvald said, ¡°this is the quickest route north. Any detour would take us first further south, then a much longer way around.¡±


    ¡°Would it not be safer¡ª¡±


    ¡°Safer, yes. But we don¡¯t have the provisions to last us a longer journey.¡±


    ¡°So we must meet whatever danger lies ahead of us here?¡± Harald said, hoping that Grimvald would change his mind.


    ¡°Yes, now come on!¡± Grimvald was already making movements down the hill, taking careful steps so as not to stumble and fall on upturned roots or ancient stones. He moved, Harald noted, like someone twenty years his junior; each movement was made with such free-flowing dexterity that no age was shown, no fading in ability. Ah, Harald thought, so the old man still had this left in him?


    Harald tied his horse loosely around an outstretched, limb-like branch. This much, he thought, would keep the beast here for long enough, but would allow it to free itself with enough force should they not return any time soon. He followed the old man off the gravel road, tumbling much less deftly than his elder companion. Unlike the old man, he did stumble on multiple occasions, finding himself thrown to the dirt below enough times that one might think it was where the world intended him to go.


    Slowly, they moved onward. Behind them, Harald¡¯s horse had made initial huffs of protest against their absence, but eventually those had quietened and fell silent, leaving the pair alone against the wilderness and what lay below.


    The stench of smoke only grew as they descended. The smog became thicker and darker, consuming the air entirely. Harald had to keep himself from coughing, burying his face in the crook of his arm. He would let neither himself nor Grimvald down by being the one to give away their location. Who knew what evil-doers they were headed for, and who might be listening out for them?


    By this point, Grimvald had grown too impatient to keep his sword sheathed, and it now gleamed proudly, sharp end pointed toward the ground. The blade showed lingering stains of darkish red, smudged from where the old man had attempted to scrub the thing clean.


    Now, Harald thought, the man seemed entirely different than the one he knew. Broad, cloaked shoulders, hair, which from Harald¡¯s height still looked as though it covered his head entirely, and a warrior¡¯s stance: it was as if he purposely mimicked the stories told of him in the halls of Nyrback.


    Finally, as the hill gradually became less steep and eventually flattened, Grimvald brought his arm up, signalling Harald to stop. The man¡¯s cloak slipped off it, revealing his armoured wrist and blotched hand which gripped tightly to his sword, veins popping out like rivers carrying blood down his mountainous limb. ¡°Up ahead,¡± he said, pointing forward.


    Harald took a few steps to one side so that his view wasn¡¯t obstructed by the hunk of a man. Emerging slowly from behind the old man¡¯s silhouette, perhaps only a skilled stones-throw ahead, bursting balls of flame sent light flying between the tall trees.


    He continued stepping so that the rows of trees seemed almost to align perfectly at either side of his vision, creating an opening between themselves for him to see through. Grimvald, who had crept silently behind him, grabbed at the back of Harald¡¯s cloak. It tightened around his neck, choking him. Grimvald dragged him back behind one of the trees before letting loose his grip.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move any further,¡± the order came, ¡°not if you wish for us to stay hidden.¡±


    Harald nodded. ¡°What is it?¡± No, that question was wrong. ¡°Who is it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Grimvald said, ¡°bandits, maybe. It could just be travellers, for all we know.¡±


    ¡°And how many normal travellers have we seen on our journey so far?¡± Harald asked smugly. ¡°Who but us would find themselves in the middle of the forest when winter has only just begun to settle into spring?¡±


    Grimvald fumbled with the hairs of his beard, stumped. Harald had stumped the wise old man! A minor accomplishment as he quickly remembered their situation.


    From behind the tree, they had difficulty working out who accompanied the fire. Harald could make out four or five huddles of brown and black cloth, gathered closely. Little could be seen of their appearance but that they were thin, their shoulders no more than half the span of Grimvald¡¯s. Children, then; or impossibly thin adults. They couldn¡¯t tell from where they were. The fire did little to help either; its snaps and crackles conveniently covered any muffled talking ¨C if there had been any in the first place.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Do we get closer?¡± Harald asked. They were minutes from the gravel road, minutes from the quick escape of his horse. Whatever lay ahead, they needed to deal with it now, while they had the benefit of surprise, or return quickly while it was still safe to do so.


    ¡°Careful,¡± Grimvald said, gaze focused entirely on the makeshift camp before them, ¡°it is unlikely to be anyone we know. More likely, it is those who ambushed us in the first place! Who else would burn such a confident fire?¡±


    The old man was right. Who would be stupid enough to set such a beacon in the otherwise pitch-black forest, unless they thought they wouldn¡¯t be attacked, or had the power to defend themselves if they had been? But, Harald thought, they did not look like the one that he had seen. Sure, they were similarly thin, but they were not nearly as lanky.


    ¡°You might be right,¡± Harald responded, ¡°but how are we to know if we won¡¯t get any closer than this?¡± Harald¡¯s stomach grumbled, and he fell silent, worrying that it might have been too loud. It wasn¡¯t. The cloaked group showed no signs of alert. ¡°And what if it is someone that we know? What if we might be able to help?¡±


    Grimvald shook his head but started forward. ¡°Not too close.¡±


    They moved so close behind the group now that, should the fire huddlers turn to face them, they would be caught as if in broad daylight ¨C such was the intensity of the spotlight fire.


    They were silent; even more so than they had been during their awkward journey downhill. For a moment, Harald thought he might even have to stop his breathing. Grimvald, scarily, managed to make silent the movement of his feet and the clinking of his armour. He moved as an assassin might move, like a cloud of darkness that disappeared in and out of the smoke and fog. That was a skill which he would ask the old man to teach him should they make it home safely.


    Behind a hedge of brambles and bushes at the camp¡¯s outskirts, they found themselves a ditch to crouch in. It was barely deep enough to contain Grimvald¡¯s huge figure, and his head poked like a rabbit¡¯s might, watching.


    They watched the camp dwellers for what seemed an eternity. From the ditch, the figures had been made more obvious. To their delight, they were not in fact creatures, but men. That, or the creatures really had shrunk in the last passing of the sun.


    The figures chattered obnoxiously ¨C as if they feared not the forest, nor anyone who might inhabit it. They made no effort to conceal themselves; perhaps Grimvald was right, and they were strong.


    One stood up from the fallen log on which they all sat, walked to the fire, and poked it with a long, knobbly stick. This sent sparks erupting from the ashes, and bright orange flickers rose into the night sky like flying lanterns. Once satisfied with his prodding, the figure turned back with such sudden movement that Harald was forced to duck quickly into the ditch, catching his knee on a protruding stick. He span, lying with his back against the wall of dirt. He hadn¡¯t been seen, had he? He was sure their eyes had met!


    Grimvald being Grimvald, he had pulled himself into the ditch before he could be seen. His face showed evidence of anger with Harald, but in their need for silence, he let none slip. The pair sat wearily in the moist dirt, the stuff oozing into their cloaks, matting the fur.


    It seemed that the camp had fallen silent, too. No more was the tavern-like babble that had erupted in the moments prior.


    ¡°What was that?¡± A soft voice said.


    ¡°What was what?¡± Another asked.


    ¡°I saw something. I¡¯m sure I did!¡±


    Harald¡¯s stomach twisted. His heart skipped multiple beats.


    Squelching steps ensued, sloshing through the melted snow toward them. Harald panicked, gripping at the hilt of his sword, teeth chattering ¨C a mix of fear and bone-shattering cold. Beside him, Grimvald already had his sword between the palms of both hands, pointed upward, ready to pounce.


    The footsteps got closer, and closer, and closer, until eventually they could have been no further than ten steps away. At that point, they stopped, crunching a final print in the snow.


    Through the brambles, Harald could make out no more than he had been able to from afar. The figure¡¯s cloak covered its face with a shroud of darkness. Harald traced from its head downwards, where the cloak opened up to reveal a lightly armoured body. At its waist, a rough, partially decorated sheath hung. A blade! These were no normal travellers.


    A drop of sweat dripped from Harald¡¯s hairline, caressing his brow, slipping effortlessly across his thinned cheek and finally falling from his jaw. He watched it as it fell. It must have taken an eternity, or at least that was what it felt like. The thing moved in slow motion, and he even managed to make out the shimmering orange light of the fire as it reflected off the droplet.


    In the corner of his eye, Harald noticed, Grimvald had begun to move. As one thing fell, the other rose from the depths of the ditch like a wild beast. The old man made one quick motion, throwing himself in the direction of the soft-spoken one. He caught the figure with an unorthodox bicep across the back of the head, wrapping his arm around and knocking them to the floor. Grimvald fell with them, landing atop the figure with all his weight, pinning them down.


    The figure squirmed. Flailing about and squealing like a pig sent to slaughter, the cloaked figure tried to escape the grasp of his captor, sending weak punches Grimvald¡¯s way. Few made any real contact, though one caught him across the face, and he pinned one of the arms back in retaliation.


    The squealing made the others of the camp aware, and they had turned around now. However, none stepped further, instead stuck completely still where they had stood. Harald thought he was out of his mind as, for a split second, he was sure that he had seen one of them smiling from his position in the ditch. That could not be right, though. What reason would they have to smile as their companion was attacked?


    Then, one finally took a step forward, beginning to remove their hood. They were going to gang up on the old man! Harald reached for an upturned root, pulling himself from the ditch with lacklustre speed. His leg, damaged by the earlier dive, stung where the fabric of his bottoms caught the gash. By the time he was out, Harald could see that the second cloaked one had taken a few more steps toward the scuffle. He would have to speed up.


    ¡°Sir Grimvald?¡± The second one said as his hood finally fell from his dome. Black hair fell simultaneously, falling in locks that sat at shoulder-length. Green, tired eyes sat centrally on an all too innocent face.


    Grimvald stopped his battery for a moment, though still pinning his target down with enough strength. He stared at the second figure for a moment as if caught in some terrible act and unable to get his words out. ¡°Marlin?¡±


    The figure pinned to the ground stopped its squirming, cloak falling lifeless as a rug in the wet snow. ¡°Sir Grimvald?¡± a muffled voice managed from beneath the old man¡¯s weight.


    All parties seemed entirely confused. As the smoke dispersed for a second, faces became more easily seen, and Harald¡¯s heart turned from stressful beating to that of joy.

 2.2 Smoke pt.2

    2.2


    Smoke pt.2


    ¡°I knew you would be safe!¡± Sammi Sigeric exclaimed proudly, turning to his hooded companions, ¡°I said so, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    The others nodded, huddling together atop their log. The fire burned a little less brightly now that Grimvald had set about dimming it, and the cold of the night chilled them to their bones.


    Sammi had spent what remained of the evening outlining their own escape, making gestures and movements that acted out the story he told. The stable boy, it seemed, had noticed the fighting even from the back of Halfden¡¯s convoy, and had set about dragging the rest of their companions to one side, deciding what to do next. When they had found themselves separated from the House Guard, who had joined those at the front, he had decided that it was no longer safe, that they needed to escape ¨C he made sure to emphasise that it was his decision, that he had been the one to lead them to safety. As the fighting grew and all fell into a chaotic mess of screaming and shouting, they fled.


    ¡°What of Yiri?¡± Harald asked. It was not that he cared deeply for Halfden¡¯s daughter, quite the opposite, but something strange brought her to mind. Yiri had been a thorn in his side since they had first met. She was a truly irritating girl whose only goal in life seemed to be making sure that his became more difficult. Too many days had been spent recovering from her many annoyances. Even so, the thought of her being gone completely dug a hole inside him that he could not quite explain.


    ¡°We tried to bring her,¡± Sammi said, his face souring. He couldn¡¯t bring his eyes to meet Harald¡¯s. ¡°But her mother would not let her come. We tried; we really did; I swear it!¡±


    Harald¡¯s heart sank. ¡°It is okay, Sammi. That is just how her mother is, protective.¡± He hoped she had not been killed, at least.


    ¡°What of the others?¡± Grimvald jumped in. ¡°What condition was Halfden¡¯s Guard in before you fled?¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Sammi scratched his head. ¡°Wel¡ª¡±


    ¡°Many dead, Sir,¡± Marlin spoke. His tone was much like Grimvald¡¯s, solid and intentional, and he spoke as a soldier would to his general. ¡°The wall still stood in the moments before we fled, though it had been beginning to fall apart. Halfden¡¯s men seemed scattered and disorderly, and the others ¨C the civilians ¨C could do little but hide. Whoever attacked the convoy fled as quickly as we did, and those still on horseback chased after them.¡±


    ¡°And Halfden himself?¡±


    ¡°Still alive,¡± Marlin continued, ¡°or at least he was while we could still see the fighting. It seemed that he was still in good spirits, though it was hard to tell from where we were.¡±


    Good, Harald thought. So long as Halfden was alive, his men would not fall completely, they would keep fighting as long as they needed to.


    He could not help but wonder just who it was that had attacked them. Who, in his father¡¯s territory, had the military skill to take on one of his father¡¯s key bastions? Another of his father¡¯s men? Had someone betrayed them? Or was it someone else entirely? How had they made it within such a short distance of the convoy so easily, without Halfden¡¯s scouts discovering them? They had not seen their ambushers coming, they had not been able to prepare.


    These were questions for another day, perhaps, as just the thought of it made his head ache. Harald¡¯s father would surely hear of this soon enough and would ride to their aid. Then all would be resolved.


    Before tucking themselves tightly under their blankets, the freshly reunited party set about combining their resources, determining what they had pooled between them. Luckily, it seemed, Sammi had chosen the horses that carried their provisions; Harald had underestimated him.


    They decided on their destination. Each, it seemed, longed for home more than anything, for family, for the warmth of the city¡¯s fires. Nyrback it was.


    As Harald slumped into the darkness of sleep, his mind churned. When the pain of the cut on his shoulder dwindled, he dreamed of Yiri, of his mother, and of home.


    It took several days of riding before they came upon what remained of the fighting. Smoke still clung to the air as they rode up the gravel road, two to a horse, passing the rearmost fallen tree and what remained of a burned carriage. The simple cart had burned to a crisp, its leading horses apparently freed in time as they had not seemed to perish alongside it.


    In a clearing to the road¡¯s right, the ruins of a huge pyre lay in blackened ash. Juts of wood poked out from the earth in each corner, not yet charred completely. Harald tilted his head down, closing his eyes. He made the triangle sign with his hands, spending a sombre moment thanking those who had been lost for their sacrifice, wishing for them to join the ancestors in the great halls. He was sure that they would have ¨C they had died honourable deaths, after all ¨C and would be drinking and dancing now.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    The further they went, the closer they got to where the fighting had occurred. The closer they got, the more carnage they came upon until, eventually, Harald recognised the spot where he had hidden ¨C thirty or so steps from where the wall had marked its place in the ground. From there, the sheer craziness of it all set in. Red crimson stained the hill almost entirely, and it seemed to leak downward in curving streams, though the streams were no longer flowing. Scraps of fabric, wood, and metal were still scattered where men had fallen, and tracks of trodden earth sunk in paths up the slope where the horses had chased. The battered hill seemed less like a battlefield and more like an obscure ritual site, with its strange lines and blotches of red. It was like an offering to some blood-obsessed god.


    They did not stay for long, they couldn¡¯t, just the thought of what had happened here made Harald queasy. The fighting, the screams, the death: he had no intention of lingering any longer than he needed to. The other youths reacted similarly, trying their best not to look, while Marlin attempted to maintain his soldier-like indifference, continuing as he had been, unaffected. The boy made a good squire, Harald thought; he seemed a man years Harald¡¯s senior, be it in experience or mannerism.


    ¡°Who could do such a thing?¡± Sammi asked, staring uphill. ¡°What have we done to deserve this? We have been stuck inside for a year! Who have we insulted?¡±


    ¡°Did it seem a targeted attack to you?¡± Harald replied. ¡°To me, it looks no more than a bandit ambush.¡± He was lying. He knew well that it could not be bandits. He just did not want to imagine what else it might be.


    Grimvald shook his head. ¡°This could not have been bandits. None that I have ever met or fought could have pulled off anything like this.¡± He pulled his horse up to a nearby tree, pulling out a deeply planted arrow. ¡°Look,¡± he continued, examining the thing. He showed it to the group: ¡°What bandits do you know that fire arrows like these?¡±


    Harald had never seen such precise craftsmanship. The wooden stem had been carved with delicate markings ¨C symbols that Harald could not make sense of ¨C while the arrowhead itself twisted perfectly into a sharp point. Even the feathers that made up its rear had been dyed to make sharp lines that stood out in comparison with their own. Not only had they made it look nice, but the thing had not been damaged as it burrowed into the tree; it was of high build quality. What a waste, Harald thought, to send such a thing flying toward your enemies. Or perhaps that was the beauty of it all.


    ¡°We will take this to your father,¡± Grimvald said, wrapping the arrow in his bundled blanket.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget to take that out before you go to sleep, old man,¡± Harald joked, though this fell on deaf ears. The man just continued tying up his new prize, while the others continued down the road.


    Once the old man was ready, the group set about picking up their pace.


    ¡°I hate the darkness of the forest,¡± Sammi said, ¡°we should have ridden a little further. You said we weren¡¯t far from the nearest town, did you not, Grimvald?¡±


    They sat, huddled closely, their horses tied to neighbouring trees, blocking much of the wind.


    ¡°Within a half day¡¯s riding, yes,¡± Grimvald replied. The man cradled the arrow between his hands, flipping it between thumb and finger. ¡°But that is not to say we could have done it today, even if we had continued. You saw how fast night came upon us once we had stopped. And I, for one, do not want to set up camp under that cover of darkness.¡±


    Sammi had been stumped. He only huffed and pulled himself beneath his hood.


    ¡°You say you hate the darkness of the forest,¡± Harald added, ¡°but you have spent much of the last year sleeping in such a place.¡±


    Sammi¡¯s hood remained down, and his body moved as if he were shaking or crying. ¡°That was before I knew,¡± he whimpered.


    ¡°Knew?¡±


    ¡°Knew what lurked out here. Knew what could come for us when we let our guards down.¡± The boy was crying now. ¡°We¡¯ll be next, I¡¯m sure of it!¡±


    Harald scooted over, shuffling his knees across the still-drying ground. Surprising even himself, he placed a consoling hand on Sammi¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Whatever they were, those¡­ things¡­ they weren¡¯t there for us!¡± He said it, but Harald was not so sure of it himself.


    ¡°How can you know that?¡± Sammi barked, ¡°Look how many of our people died!¡±


    ¡°Our people?¡± Harald asked, his outburst a natural reaction. ¡°None of our people died. Our people are here, all of us. Look around!¡±


    Sammi pulled back his hood only slightly, enough to take a glance at the glaring faces of their companions as the light of the moon cast dark shadows across them.


    ¡°These are our people,¡± Harald exclaimed, ¡°these are my people!¡± He squeezed Sammi¡¯s shoulder tightly. ¡°You are my person. And, unless I am seeing things incorrectly, you are not dead, are you?¡± Harald pinched the skin on the boy¡¯s arm, and he wailed with a pig-like squeal.


    Sammi pushed Harald away, and he fell abruptly onto his rear. The boy then pulled a hand up, clenching it and spreading it a few times. ¡°I guess not.¡±


    ¡°See!¡± Harald said, shocked that he had spoken so well. ¡°We have nothing to fear, not from the forest, not from the night!¡±


    As Harald¡¯s words echoed between the trees, the others stared at him with what seemed a look of surprise or confusion. Had it been so strange to hear him speak that way? Embarrassed, he too pulled his hood over his dome. It was not long before the others set about their own doings, and he was left alone to think.


    There was no fire to warm them that night, so they made an early escape into their blankets. Harald stayed awake a while, listening. If there was going to be any danger, he would stop it before anyone could be harmed. These were his people, he had come to realise, and he would protect them to the best of his abilities.

 2.3 Smoke pt.3

    2.2


    Smoke pt.2


    Nevynthi tilted her head to the side, clicking her neck to relieve the stiff, uncomfortable feeling that had crept in throughout the night. They had ridden for several days under the cover of darkness, moving in the hours when the hunting packs of men would be less likely to spot them, and sleeping in places where they hoped not to be found.


    Unfortunately, however, as it did for men, this also meant they could scarcely see that which surrounded them. All but the ground beneath their feet seemed a pitch-black nothingness ¨C as if they rummaged through the dark, wet caverns deep beneath the Aryds. Should they be walking into an ambush, or headed straight toward a thousand-man army, they would not know ¨C not until it was much too late, at least. Lucky, Nevynthi thought, that they had met no such trouble so far. The common people in this realm of men, it seemed, had no will to fight when their lords were targeted. That, or word of their attack had not made it this far. It was a race against time.


    Their convoy was much more orderly now. Sentries had been placed at both front and rear, swapping shifts by the day. They were in charge of scouting, of hunting for hiding enemies. Even so, it was not just those stationed to watch who remained alert. In such conditions as they found themselves, it seemed that none allowed themselves a break from vigilance, from scouring the visible circumference. Their formation was rigid, more soldier-like than they had forced themselves to be in recent years. Escape was the only thing on their minds, escape without losing more members.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we stop, already?¡± Cathan groaned.


    Nevynthi almost ignored him. She wished to keep going for as long as possible, as long as it would take them to get to where they needed to be.


    ¡°Nevynt¡ª¡± He continued, his voice rising to a slight shout before he caught it with a cupped hand.


    She turned back to him, scowling. How could he be so stupid as to shout? Did he not hear how quiet it was, how quiet they needed to be? ¡°What?¡± she said, teeth gritted.


    He rode up beside her, unwilling to make the same mistake twice. ¡°Why do we not stop for the night,¡± he repeated, ¡°our people are tired, too tired. And their horses need rest.¡±


    Nevynthi glanced past Cathan. Her men¡¯s faces fell loose from their bones, the skin under their eyes sagging with the weight of their journeying. Some, she noted, slumped in their saddles, hanging on weakly to the reins as their horses trudged forward.


    But what was another few hours to those already beyond sleep? They could go further; she was sure of it.


    It had become apparent over the last few nights, however, that their pace was slowing. On the first night, they had made it nearly ten leagues. On their most recent, they managed only five. The horses were tiring. But if they could make it a little further... if they could just get that little bit closer to home!


    ¡°Nevynthi!¡± Came the call again, only this time it wasn¡¯t Cathan. Ruadan, who headed their formation, had shouted back from the front and was gesturing her forward with a stubby, waving hand.


    Nevynthi rode cautiously forward, passing many more tired faces. None looked up in her direction. Ruadan, unlike Cathan, was not one for causing a scene if he did not need to. Anything that he had called her forward for was enough to make her nervous.


    A single tree stood closer to the road than the rest, forming an overhanging shelf that reached for the other side. Its branches were mostly thin and scrawny, twisting unnaturally as if aiming or grabbing at something. Nevynthi¡¯s eyes traced the thing from its roots, up its rough, bark trunk, past holes that more than likely housed birds, and finally to its thickest branch; the one that hung highest. As if in some ironic mirroring of the deathly tree, some form of justice had been carried out ¨C if justice was truly what it was. Left to rot in the harsh weather, two lifeless figures hung like morbid decorations. They swung minimally with the wind, rocking back and forth.


    Nevynthi couldn¡¯t help but stare as they passed beneath the corpses. Both she and her party were silent, either out of respect for the dead or from sheer tiredness. The exposed faces of the hanging ones had been chipped away, leaving dried blood and mangled flesh, while their clothing seemed equally torn and tattered, draped unfittingly atop thinned bodies. Even had they been criminals, she could not help but feel sorry. None deserved such a fate.


    ¡°A bad omen,¡± Cathan managed, covering his face with a piece of white cloth, ¡°nothing good will come of us continuing tonight.¡±


    Nevynthi struggled to come up with an argument against it. Whether she liked it or not, an eery fog had fallen about the place. A splintery chill passed through her spine.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°Let us,¡± she replied, forcing her gaze away from the bodies, ¡°get far enough away from here, at least. This is no place to make camp.¡±


    Days passed more quickly than nights as they neared Hafynstur. Cathan had stopped much of his grumbling as Nevynthi had decreased their riding times, while their supplies grew increasingly strapped. Much of what had remained of their dried fruits and meats was gone, and they now relied almost entirely on what could be caught on the road. They had found a fox one night, which had not lasted long, while on other nights they had found nothing at all. In the darkness of night, it seemed, not many creatures roamed freely here. Those that did would make themselves scarce at the coming of a convoy of horses.


    It was an arduous journey, monotonous in all the worst ways. They passed trees, then fields, then trees again, sometimes interrupted by the battering rapids of a waterfall or stream. Whatever beauty they had seen in it on their way through had grown tiresome and dull. Nevynthi, if not all of them, longed only for home; her real home.


    Finally, a few hours after that familiarly sharp seaside smell had emerged as a tinge on the breeze, they topped a steep hilltop, coming upon a scattering of stone-based buildings. Though rain created a mist before them, they could see much of the town. Most had tall, triangular-fronted rooftops, some tiled, some thatched. They crowded around a central square, bordering the seafront at one side, where piles of barrels and boxes were tied together untidily with rope. Water crashed against the sea wall, and a few fishing boats rocked uncouthly a little further out. The square was empty but for a few buildings where smoke plumed from rooftop openings and orange, flickering light escaped from gaps in walls and doorways. Hafynstur! It was the same as it had been when they arrived.


    They waited until the sun emerged from its resting place beyond the horizon. As it did, visibility increased, and it became evident that they had beaten their pursuers here. No army camped outside the town. No unwanted guests could be seen patrolling its outskirts. As the first few inhabitants emerged from their homes, no questionable urgency was shown, no evidence that news of their ambush had reached the town yet. It should, Nevynthi hoped, be safe to continue.


    Nevynthi could wait no longer before descending upon the town. How could she? The boat that secured their freedom was there waiting for them, ready to leave as soon as they arrived. That, and they were in dire need to escape the night¡¯s rain.


    The road became more sophisticated the closer they got, better maintained and more comfortable to ride. Though their steeds¡¯ shoes clopped loudly against the shiny cobbles, the racket was almost entirely covered by the sound of heavy rainfall.


    Nevynthi caught a glimpse of some sticks and other bits as they floated beside the road, water carrying them down makeshift gutters. She watched one as it passed her, faint memories of a childhood game she had played creeping in, before it disappeared into a shimmering reflection of the rising sun.


    They passed the first of a few scattered buildings on the town¡¯s outskirts. Its door was boarded up, shutters closed. Not a peep escaped as they passed. Nevynthi paid little attention, instead focusing on the larger buildings that lay before them, the inhabited ones.


    ¡°It is quiet,¡± Cathan said as they passed between two close-built buildings and emerged in the town¡¯s square. His head was jerking from side to side atop his broad shoulders. ¡°Where are the people?¡±


    Nevynthi spared a second to follow his gaze and listen. ¡°It is no different than anywhere else we have been passing,¡± she said, ¡°it is not like we have seen many people since we left the forests, is it?¡±


    Cathan thought for a moment before responding. ¡°But it was not like this when we arrived the first time, was it?¡±


    ¡°We are a large party,¡± she continued, ¡°and we arrive under the final moments of darkness. It is no wonder that the townspeople have no wish to interfere with us. Let us pass peacefully; we need not cause any harm to them and should be grateful that they pose no threat to us in return.¡±


    But Cathan was right; the town was quiet ¨C even more so than it had been upon their arrival the week prior. Where had been a bustling marketplace, empty stalls remained. Where had been children playing amongst themselves, toys were left untouched. That eery, dark feeling seemed to follow them still as they crossed the square.


    The few that ventured into the streets avoided Nevynthi¡¯s party at all costs. Two, what looked to be a mother and a child, cowered into a dark alleyway until their horses passed, before quickly scurrying away behind them. Something seemed wrong, but Nevynthi could not place what had changed.


    They would continue onward. It was all that they could do. They would be rid of this place soon enough.


    They were headed for The Desperate Traveller, a tavern built conveniently beside the main shipping port. It was, for most, nothing more than a tavern, a place to drink and dance and sing. Of course, it had its fair share of unscrupulous folk, but such was common in places where men were prevalent. For the Epeltu Beiri and other informed people, however, it was something else entirely. A smuggler¡¯s outpost, men called it. For Nevynthi, it was nothing more than a convenient means of travel where travel would be otherwise difficult.


    Knock three times, then say the magic words, the smuggler¡¯s rules had been quite childish. But Nevynthi had no other choice. She raised a hand, damp cloak slipping down, revealing her arm. Water had seeped through, and a droplet dripped slowly down her skin, finally falling as she brought her hand forward.


    She knocked once, a heavy slam against the wood ¨C that would be sure to wake any who might still be sleeping ¨C before finishing the other two with more rhythmic precision.


    Then came the silly part. Nevynthi cleared her throat. ¡°Show me the light,¡± she said quietly, embarrassed.


    Nothing.


    ¡°Show me the light,¡± she said again. She could hear her companions snickering behind her. As she turned, intending to give them a dirty look, their faces showed no signs of laughter, and they made no noise.


    The door creaked open, and Nevynthi¡¯s head snapped back. A hunchback sort of man, the kind that looked as though he might be near the end of his life, held the door open.


    ¡°You¡¯re early,¡± he croaked. ¡°Come in.¡±