Haggart's Dawn Page 9

  The Captain set to work building a fire while Lorrie, John and Talbert collected wood. Haggart, meanwhile, hung large animal skins at angles from the trees to form shelters using twine.

  “I'm glad we brought the pack horse,” he said as he unloaded some dried sausages, a corner of cheese and some bread. He passed them around until all had enough to eat.

  “Too right. You need some comfort out here given that the rain doesn't look like stopping,” said the Captain – and he was right, the rain had no intention of letting up and it drummed against the skin shelters trying to drown the fire but it was burning too well to be stopped. They ate in silence and listened to the crackling, spitting flame as a skin of mead was passed around. After finishing the meal, Haggart rooted in his saddle bag for a book bound in a leather pouch and took it to his bedroll - it was a book on runes, the older ones, and he was hoping for a little more insight. At some point during the evening Lorrie nodded off, quickly followed by Talbert and John. Only the Captain remained awake and he continually stared beyond the fire and into the night, seeing something there that no one else could see and choosing to take the first watch himself.

  *

  In the morning they pressed on, only stopping to have lunch at the collapsed ruins of an old frontier fortress that had been one of the busiest places along the Royal Road. They continued on, the rain now passing to the west and leaving them with a cold but clear afternoon. Haggart shed his cloak and draped it across his pack to dry. They all looked tired and Haggart realised that they had a long way to go.

  “It's been far too long since we last ventured out, Captain,” he said, cantering up to ride beside him. The horse's hooves clattered across the broken stones and echoed along the forest walls.

  “After a few days the worst should be behind us,” he replied. “But perhaps you're right. Retirement doesn't suit us.”

  “This is what it's about,” said Talbert from the back. “The road. The risk. The adventure. Right now any number of bandits could just come running out of those woods.”

  “Really?” said Lorrie, turning pale.

  “Shut up, Talbert,” said the Captain. “It won't be long before you have your chance at some real war and then you'll realise it isn't as glorious as you think it is.”

  “War?” said Lorrie again.

  “We don't know what's ahead,” spoke Haggart. “Let's just try and get to the City in one piece, yes? Without your mouth getting us into trouble, Talbert.”

  “Maybe he spoke too soon,” said John. “Look.”

  They rounded a corner and, coming towards them, they saw the steady stream of bandits ahead. They were marching slowly along, their backs laden with sacks of food and rusting weapons and they didn't even look up as the Captain rode closer and put his hand on the shaft of his axe.

  “They're Forest Lurkers - bandits I guess by their garb, but where are they going?” asked John.

  “I don't know, but maybe you'd better check the flanks, son,” said Haggart. John leapt down from his horse, handed the reins to Talbert and disappeared into the dense woodland. Haggart waved the others back as he moved closer to them, loosening his sword in its scabbard.

  “We don't want any trouble,” said a voice from the front of the column, someone the Captain took to be their leader judging by his willingness to speak on their behalf. He was a tall man who looked like his pride had suffered with his age and he wore animal skins and pieces of clothing that didn't match. His eyes were pale blue and they looked grieved, burdened by some inexplicable sadness. “We're just passing through.”

  “Where are you going?” asked the Captain.

  “Our business is our own,” he replied.

  “It's my business now. I take a dim view to Lurkers on this road.”

  “I can see that. I thought all the King's soldiers were long gone. I’ve not seen a mantle of that colour for an age.”

  Haggart rode closer and brought his horse alongside the column.

  “What troubles you, man?” he said. “We've heard that some of your people are fleeing, escaping something your seers saw. What is it that could spook even the feared Forest Lurkers?”

  The man looked at him, then looked at his gloved hand. “You're marked,” he said. “You've seen them too.”

  Haggart peeled off his glove and showed him the rune.

  “Then you already know. They're coming. You've seen them, that's for sure. Dead men on the march.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Go north, now, before it's too late.”

  “Why north?”

  “He wants this island. He wants Ulfwen. He won't bother with the frozen north lands. We go to make peace with those of your own kind. With you we could perhaps stand a better chance. Come with us and escape before it is too late.”

  “My business lies in the south. If something is coming then I would rather face it like a man than run and hide like a coward.”

  Something flickered in those eyes and for a moment Haggart thought he saw the embers of a soldier's pride glowing as if his words were fanning them. The moment passed. It quickly vanished and he bowed his head and carried on walking.

  “So be it,” he mumbled. “When you see them it will be too late.”

  The Captain moved back and allowed them to file past him like prisoners condemned to die. None of them looked up. They just marched on, already broken men without drawing a single sword.

  “Things are getting stranger,” said the Captain. “Bandits choosing to flee rather than fight. I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

  “They've seen what me and Lorrie have seen. They're terrified and I can't blame them for running, though I doubt they will be welcomed by my own people,” said Haggart. “More than likely they'll become slaves. That's if they aren't killed for appearing to invade their territory.”

  “We'd better press on. The afternoon is coming to an end and I want to find a nice spot to camp in before dark. The sight of these feeble men has sapped the last of my strength. How long before this mood spreads? Are there no more men of courage who would sooner stand than run?”

  “Don't judge them too harshly,” said Haggart. “Did you see their faces? They looked old and tired. They couldn't stand on a line of battle even if they wanted to. I feel that their guilt has aged them far more than an upright life might have done.”

  “Guilt has a way with the guilty. It robs them of peace either in action or in rest. Perhaps it is better that they run, but pity those they have robbed who will need all the help they can get if even a word of this warning is true.”

  The forest soon gave way to rolling hills of green, marred only by the dry stone walls which ran in all directions like cracks in the hill side. The sky was a pleasant blue and cloudless and yet the cold still managed to whip around their cheeks and eyes, carried on a fast moving breeze. The land was empty save for a few sheep that had escaped their pens and were grazing nearby.

  “Tea?” asked Talbert, miming a crossbow and pretending to shoot the animal.

  “Only if you want the Farmer to come after us,” said the Captain. “I'd sooner knock on his door here and see if we can make use of his barn. Grab the roaming sheep and lets take them back, it might sweeten the deal.”

  John and Talbert tucked one of the beasts under their arm and together they approached a small thatched cottage nestled between the edge of the forest and the stone wall. As they neared, a creaking black door scarred with animal markings opened and the Farmer stepped out into the daylight, a loaded crossbow in his arms.

  “Evenin',” he said, aiming at John. “Something I can help you with?”

  “Good evening, sir,” said John. “A couple of escapees for you. We found them on the road.”

  “Very kind of you not to eat them,” he replied. “Just leave them there and be on your way.”

  The crossbow moved between the two of them as they both moved to put the struggling animals down. The moment their hooves touched the ground they sprinted in oppo
site directions with baleful shrieks.

  “We're not here to hurt or rob you,” said John.

  “It's well that you aren't,” replied the Farmer. “Now be on your way.”

  “We were wondering if we could stay the night, in your barn perhaps,” said John. “We'd be willing to pay for your trouble of course.”

  “There was a time that we'd house a great many travelling that road. Made quite a few coins from it too. Not any more though. Times are changing, faster than I'd care to imagine.”

  “More than you know,” said Haggart. “There are five of us, sir. If we wanted to harm you we would have done so by now. We want only a night in your barn before continuing our journey.”

  “And where might you be journeying to then?”

  “The City, sir.”

  “Really?” The Farmer grinned. “Long way to go.”

  “We were once men of the King's army - as I suspect you might have been.”

  “What makes you think that?” Haggart pointed to the crossbow.

  “That is no common weapon.”

  The Farmer, still smiling, looked at the thing in his hands and laughed. “I couldn't part with her, not even when the Council threatened to have me imprisoned if I didn't hand her over.” He removed the bolt and pulled the trigger, releasing the taught bowstring. “You can use the barn, aye. We'll say no more after paying a coin for each of you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said John.

  “Enough 'sir-ing', boy. Get yourselves settled and the wife will bring you out some mead and a meal. Try not to burn my barn down too.”

  Once they'd laid out their bedrolls, the Farmer and his wife appeared with trays of mead and plates of bread, cheese and onions and a chunk of boiled ham.

  “The City eh? What makes you want to go all that way when there's nothing there but soft southern folk and bad ale?” asked the Farmer, sitting down on a barrel and packing tobacco into a pipe.

  “I have family there. It's been a long time since I’ve seen them.”

  “No offence was meant by my comments,” said the Farmer.

  “None was taken. They are not people of the south but northerners like ourselves. They moved there to tend to the needs of the Council.”

  “And you're going there in full armour? Must be a dangerous family to warrant mail and blade.”

  “You don't miss much, do you?”

  “Nope. I didn't miss the colour of that mantle either. Which unit were you in?”

  “Haggart here was in the King's light Cavalry. I myself had command of the infantry.”

  “Must have been the northern legions or we'd have met. I was under Fraus.”

  “I knew Fraus. One eye and a bad temper.”

  “The very man! He was a wild one was Fraus. I was just a Footslogger during the Overthrow of 1298. Still remember it though. All those people, brother against brother, families torn apart. Sad days. Very sad.”

  “Have you heard any news from the road?” asked Haggart.

  The farmer shook his head slowly, blowing smoke clouds into the air in front of him. “Not much, I dare say. You saw the bandits on your way here?”

  “Aye, we did. Odd bunch,” said John.

  “Seems strange not to have them trying to rob my sheep. Their leader took one look at me, nodded, and walked right on by. Odd, that is. Rumour has it they've heard about something to the south-east. Something dark.”

  “We heard the same. Any idea what it could be?”

  “I don't put much stock in the prattle of so-called 'seers'. A lot of none-sense if you ask me. Them and those 'Summoners' are thrice-damned folk. The Council was right to ban all that superstitious twaddle. Still, seems strange not to see a church no more, or a temple.”

  “Still, it's got them scared enough to flee,” said Talbert.

  “That may be but I’ve seen enough wars come and go and my farm here is the only thing that hasn't changed so I'll be sitting out the end of our world right here with my wife and my animals.”

  The evening was coming in quickly and they lit a lamp that hung on the wall. The Farmer, feeling the cold, stood and finished his pipe, tipping the ash out onto the floor.

  “I'll leave you boys, and girl, to it then. Be sure to leave my barn as tidy as you found it,” he said, laughing. Then he disappeared back towards the farmhouse.

  “A nice chap,” said John.

  “It was kind of him to let us stay,” said the Captain.

  “He doesn't like us though, does he?” said Lorrie. Haggart had long since become numb to the hatred that most people had for Summoners such as himself, but the pain was still fresh to her.

  “They fear it, that's all. We have to respect that,” he said.

  “There was this one time that Haggart and me were scouting south of the Gorm battle lines,” began the Captain. “We were maybe thirty in number - mostly young lads who'd been drafted only a few weeks earlier. Haggart and me were watching these hills and they couldn't have been more than a mile or so from the Gorm stables where their mounted soldiers camped. The next thing we know, six horses crest the farthest hill riding hard right at us. The lads were starting to lose it when Haggart here puts a hand up and tells them to wait. We were all convinced they'd seen us and were coming to hunt us down. They reached us in a few minutes, their horses sweating, and one of them jumps down. He's only the bloody Gorm champion, Covax, come to offer his sons into our custody for their own protection.”

  “They were changing sides?” asked John.

  “Aye. Bloody fine horseman too!” said Haggart. “Covax knew they were on the verge of losing the war and so he wanted them safe.”

  “What happened to Covax?” asked Lorrie.

  “We don't know. His lads went looking for him a few years later and never came back. I'm just glad we didn't fire on him. It would have been so easy to surrender to our fear of the enemy and murder them, just like Haggart is saying,” replied the Captain.

  “Does any one accept us then?” she asked, wrapping her blankets tighter around her. “Or do they just fire on us without hearing what we have to say first?”

  “A few. You'll meet them sooner or later,” he replied. “In the meantime...” He rooted in his saddle bag and found the book he'd been reading and passed it to her. “Keep studying.”

  “Aye, tomorrow you'll be learning how to swing a blade. No book can teach you that one,” said the Captain.

  “I'm looking forward to it,” said John. “I love the bow, but the sword is far more...”

  “Brutal,” he finished. “To kill someone up close is a world apart from firing an arrow. It is no easy task, and not one to be taken lightly, boy.”

  “Won't be long now before we'll be tallying up some Gorm corpses or the like,” said Talbert. The Captain shook his head.

  “Let's see such bravado when the time comes, Talbert.”

  *

  They rode on as soon as the sun came up behind the trees, riding late into the evening until the last of the summer light was gone. It was fast becoming autumn and the last vestiges of the hot, dry season were behind them. The leaves were transforming from their usual lush green hue to the first shades of orange and yellow, like frozen fire. After a few days the rain returned bringing with it a chill wind from the north just as they reached the feet of the Gorohan mountains. Huddled under a rock shelf, the Captain spoke.

  “From here we climb half way up the side of Gorohan itself. Take it slowly - the path is treacherous at best.”

  “It's hard to believe that the Courier came all this way by himself,” said Lorrie as the Captain began to lead his horse at a trot along the broken stone path. John followed as there was only room for them to ride in single file.

  “It would have been a lonely journey,” said Haggart. He followed Lorrie along the path as Talbert brought up the rear leading the pack horse. Twice Haggart saw the Captain's horse stumble on a loose rock and watch it cascade down the side of the mountain, taking with it a host of other smaller stones. />
  “It's a long way down,” said Talbert.

  “It's not so bad. It should only be like this for another mile or so. Then we shall hit level ground as we cross from Gorohan to Gorohim, the lesser of the two peaks,” said Haggart.

  “Weren't Gorhan and Gorohim two fairy-tale characters?” he said.

  “Aye. The story goes that a young King, one of Aaron's ancestors, named them after his favourite bed time stories. Whatever name they had before has long since left recorded history. Their sister peaks, about four miles east, are named after two famous Summoners - Andread and Andala.”

  “Who were they?” asked Lorrie.

  “They were daughters of the only Queen Ulfwen had ever known. Both had been born with extraordinary abilities and it is said they were able to summon the two mountains out of the ground itself.”

  “Do you believe that's possible?” she asked.

  “I don't know. I think it was just a legend, but perhaps there is some truth to it.”

  They rode on, reaching the plateau between the peaks as the sun was setting. Not wanting to camp under a potential rock slide, the Captain ordered the camp to be pitched in the centre of the plain. It afforded little shelter and as the night came the temperature dropped suddenly. With only a small fire to keep them warm, it was a cold night where no one could sleep. The mead skin was passed around but it didn't help much. The silence was ominous too. Despite the lack of wind, they could hear nothing, no bird song, no animal calls, nothing. It was like the mountains had silenced them all. There was only the faint smell of sulphur in the air and the dampness that comes after a storm.

  “So what was the story of Gorohan and Gorohim?” asked Lorrie.