In The Shadow Of The Beast (14 page)

‘
Nevertheless, here I am,’
smiled Sigourd.

The wild man grunted at this, continued to
poke around in the fire as if he had no more to say on the
subject.

‘
And what of you,’ asked
Sigourd, ‘what gave you cause to hide out here in these dark
forests, away from the sight of your fellow man? You search for
your own demons. Or perhaps they hunt you?’

‘
I’m not hiding from no one
or nothin’ if that’s what yer getting at!’ snapped the wild man, ‘I
choose this life because it suits me.’

A distant look came over his face then, as
if remembering some long ago angst that he had not managed to
wrestle into submission perhaps as well as he’d liked to imagine,
‘this is the only place I’ve ever known. These forests are my home
now and forever. I’ve seen how the rest of you live, stuck inside
your stone hovels sealed off from the sky. I’d find it a damn sight
difficult living in a house, or even a castle. In, in, in. No
thanks not for me.’

The wild man looked up then, up at the
endless dark of the night sky with its blanket of twinkling stars
so distant, ‘This is the life for me. Out here under the open sky
I’m free, I’m at peace.’

Sigourd studied the other man for a moment,
weighing the merit of this statement.

‘
And what do you do when it
rains?’ he asked of the wild man, who looked up at him in
surprise.

For a moment, the wild man considered the
question, and then a broad grin crept over his face before he and
Sigourd both burst out laughing at the same moment.

‘
I go and sit under a
bloody tree, don’t I!’ bellowed the wild man through his laughter
as he leaned toward the fire and skewered a piece of the sizzling
boar meat with his blackened stick. He gingerly blew on the morsel
to cool it, before deciding it was safe to eat and clamped his jaw
down to tear half the strip off with his mouth.

‘
Bacon’s done!’ he threw
the other half of the strip to Sigourd, who caught it, his face
twisting with mild disquiet as he studied the half chewed shred
between his fingers.

Sigourd suddenly looked up as if something
of great import had just occurred to him, ‘I have introduced
myself, but you have yet to reveal your name to me sir.’

‘
You can call me Jonn
Grumble’, said the wild man matter of factly between
chewing.

‘
That’s it, just ‘Jonn
Grumble’? You have no family name?’ inquired Sigourd.

‘
Families are like yer
average hovel. Who needs either of ‘em. Besides, I never knew
mine.’

Sigourd was quiet as he considered this
information. He studied the wild man, and realized that despite his
fearsome appearance and rather noxious odor, there was a
vulnerability and an honesty to him that Sigourd found greatly
endearing. Jonn Grumble was like a lonely child trapped in the body
of a feral man, surviving out here in the wilds either by choice or
by design.

A great pity swelled in Sigourd at that
moment, for the unknowable hardships he had no doubt Jonn Grumble
had had to face.

‘
Say, that was a fancy bit
of footwork you got me with before,’ said Jonn Grumble, chewing as
he spoke, flecks of spittle and bacon falling into his beard in a
manner that was rapidly causing Sigourd to loose his own
appetite.

‘
Footwork?’ Sigourd
asked.

‘
After we took that bloody
great tumble through the bushes. How the hell did you know I was
creeping up behind you? I’ve been tracking animals in these forests
my entire life and I’ve got a bit of a talent with that sort of
thing. But it was as if you knew I was there. I’ve never seen
nothing like it!’

In all the excitement of the boar’s sudden
attack, Sigourd had entirely forgotten about the strange feeling
he’d experienced during his struggle with the wild man. It had been
so surreal. The heightened sense of hearing, the heightened
awareness. How was it possible that a normal man could hear the
beating heart of another from twenty paces away?

Sigourd was dread to consider the
implications of such strange phenomena, and was loathe to think
about them further. He had more pressing concerns to attend and
pushed his worries down into the pit of his stomach where he hoped
they would not trouble him further.

He managed a weak smile, ‘I got lucky I
suppose,’ he said finally, trying to make light of the strange
occurrence.

The wild man took another piece of the
blackened meat from the fire and bit into it, chewing away
contentedly as if the matter of Sigourd’s uncanny reflexes had been
explained to his satisfaction. An overwhelming sense of foreboding
had caused Sigourd’s appetite to disappear entirely.

The next morning Sigourd awoke to find that
the little fire had died down. Only white ash lay piled in shapes
suggestive of the twigs and branches they had used to keep them
warm through the night. A thin whisp of smoke coiled lazily up from
the fire.

The morning air was crisp, and despite the
brightness of the day Sigourd could not help but shiver at a chill
that was set deep in his bones. His flesh stood up like that of a
goose, and he pulled his simple cloak about him to shield him from
the cold.

The pair gathered up their belongings and
erased all trace that they had passed this way. Sigourd was only
too aware that his father would have sent search parties after him,
and wanted to lend them not a jot of assistance in locating him
before he’d had a chance to rescue Isolde.

The little nightingale flittered in the
trees above their heads, apparently eager for their journey to
resume. It had returned that morning, chirruping pleasantly and
adding its own sweet voice to the chorus of other birds that
chittered and sang throughout the forest.

‘
Friend of yours?’ said
Jonn Grumble, looking up at the bird with some curiosity. It didn’t
take a person with an exceptional understanding of the habits of
birds to see that the little creature was tethered to Sigourd by
choice.

‘
The bird belonged to
Isolde. It followed her everywhere and I believe it’s trying to
lead me to her now,’ he said. The wild man looked at Sigourd
incredulously, ‘It sings and it doubles as a compass? You rich folk
get all the good stuff don’t ya?’

Sigourd smiled politely as he hoisted his
pack onto his shoulder, ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Jonn
Grumble of the Velvet Forest. Perhaps some day our paths will cross
again?’

‘
Sooner than you think me
old mate. I’m going with you,’ said the other, ‘I think I’ll join
you for a while. Make sure you and your little feathery friend
don’t get into too much bother.’

Sigourd was more than a little taken back by
the wild man’s offer.

‘
I appreciate your gracious
intentions, but it’s really not necessary. I am more than
cap--’

Jonn Grumble raised his hand, shaking his
head to cut Sigourd off, ‘I’m not havin’ any of that. You saved my
life yesterday, and we got a bloody good feed out of it to boot. I
owe you there’s no doubt about that, an’ I’ll not have anyone say
that old Jonn Grumble doesn’t pay his debts.’

Sigourd considered for a moment before
answering, studying the wild man to gauge the firmness of his
intent.

‘
The path I intend to
travel is only just beginning,’ he said, ‘I have no doubt that
along the way there will be hazards and dangers
aplenty.’

‘
Exactly!’ exclaimed Jonn
Grumble, ‘you need a big malodorous brute like me along for the
ride to show you the way of things. Tell me, how often have you
been beyond the walls of your fair city?’

Sigourd did not have to think too long to
tally up the count, ‘This is the first time,’ he said.

‘
Well then it’s settled.
We’ll travel together until such time that your lady friend is
returned to you safely,’ a feral grin split Jonn Grumble’s face,
‘or until death takes us.’

Sigourd frowned, uncertain that drawing
another soul into his concerns was something he wanted to do, but
Jonn was right about the dangers, and having a companion by his
side, especially one as able bodied as Jonn Grumble, might prove to
be the difference between rescuing Isolde or not.

‘
Besides,’ said the wild
man in a jovial fashion, ‘at the very least we’ll both have a bit
of company for a while. I’ve been out here whispering to my own
shadow for too long.’

After another moment’s pause, Sigourd held
out his hand and Jonn Grumble took it. They clasped firmly each
others forearm in the old manner.

‘
It would be an honor to
have you by my side, Jonn Grumble of the Velvet Forest,’ said
Sigourd.

‘
And it would be great if
we could get a bloody move on. I’m mad for a bit of strong mead and
I’m as thirsty as a dog without a tongue!’ replied Jonn
Grumble.

With that, the two companions shouldered
their packs and set off from the tree line after the little
nightingale, leaving the Velvet Forest behind them.

Huron watched from the deeper shade of the
forest as the young lord and the wild man shook hands, threw their
packs upon their backs and broke with the cover of the trees. They
moved off at a jog across open grass plains that rolled
hypnotically in the gentle breeze, bearing south east.

Huron had tracked Sigourd into the forest
and come as close he might without giving away the fact of his
presence.

He had been able to maintain his
surreptitious pursuit over an even greater distance than might
otherwise have been possible thanks to the far sight of his hawk.
Even now the winged predator circled high above, keeping constant
vigil on the young lord’s progress.

Huron knew that despite his innocence of the
greater world beyond the walls of the city, Sigourd was no fool,
and to stray too close to one as well trained as he might risk the
knight’s entire endeavor.

If he had ever doubted the youngster’s
competence, he no longer did so after having witnessed the contest
between himself and the wild man, who had himself proven to be a
skilled and resourceful fighter, if a little hectic with it. Not to
forget for one second Sigourd’s dramatic slaughtering of that
maddened boar.

The young lord had indeed been schooled
excellently, and his survival was a testament to his own abilities
and those of his instructors. He would make a testing opponent if
it came to it, even for a killer as efficient as Huron. Although
the knight had no doubt about the eventual outcome of such a
contest, he would be reluctant to put the lad to the sword as The
Baron had implied that he should.

Huron considered the butchering of women and
children, or even young menfolk on the cusp of adulthood as the
lord Sigourd now was, to be beneath a warrior of his standing.

Although in truth, he had committed many
abhorrent acts in the course and the conduct of his services to The
Baron Mortaron and others like him. Huron was loathe to undertake
such acts. Each time he had done so, he cursed anew a world that
was capable of manufacturing monsters such as himself to loose upon
decent folk.

But there was more to his disposition toward
the young heir to the realm of Atos. Something that had been
growing at the centre of his soul far deeper than any unresolved
self loathing concerning his lifetime of heinous acts.

A feeling that during the entire course of
his life he had oft heard talked about by others, and had
occasionally even read a little about. A strange feeling that fired
his soul and lit up the darker corners of his heart like the rising
sun whenever he had cause to think about the root of this most
alien of emotions. Love. Love for the Lady Veronique.

Huron had come into The Barons service
nearly five years previously. Discharged from his knightly order
after the end of a particularly long and gruesome campaign for
crimes that he no longer cared to reminisce over.

Mortaron had brought the wandering knight
into his household, deciding that there was a place for his talents
as The Baron’s brutal right hand, and from the first time Huron had
laid eyes on the Lady Veronique he’d fallen madly in love with
her.

He had decided long ago, after struggling
with his strange feelings for some time, that the situation was
absurd. That a man of his savage character had no business loving
anything but the clamor and the bloodletting of fierce battle.

Yet he could not help himself. Something
about the Lady had enthralled him, stirred some deep emotion within
that could not be denied. Was it the color of her fair skin, the
way it glowed softly in the radiance of the light of day like
clouds before the sunset. Or perhaps the gentle curve of her bosom,
the pleasing lines of her figure, concealed so teasingly behind
cloth and corset. Maybe it was the sparkle in her clear blue eyes,
the light of keen intelligence and fierce passion twinkling
therein.

Never before had Huron experienced anything
like this in all his years. Of course, like any man of the sword
he’d taken his fair share of joy from fireside whores and from the
captured wives and daughters of the villages he’d burned and the
men he’d butchered. But all that had been just exercise. A physical
necessity like eating or sleeping. He’d never before had cause to
second guess his own motivations in the prosecution of such
acts.

But the Lady Veronique was beyond his reach.
She belonged to, of all people, the lord of the realm in which he
now resided. Secondly, she was sister to his current employer, and
Huron was not so big a fool as to cross a line that would
undoubtedly cost him both his position and his life, and not
necessarily in that order.