Sword of Light (The Knights of the Golden Dragons - Book One) (5 page)

           
The
shadow that had been hiding in the tree dropped to the ground with a volley of
curses that would have burned a sailor’s ears. “He is a reasonable shot maybe,
but I take orders from no one. I will, however, take the coins and cover these
as I see fit.” Boremac mumbled more curses as he kicked some fallen leaves and
debris over the bodies of the assassins. “Amateurs. Better off dead than
stupid.” He took just a moment to think over his options. Obviously the Hand
wanted one of those two dead instead of him. Even with Boremac’s skills, he had
to admit this bunch would have been difficult to slay alone. As it was, he had
been watching the group of assassins’ movements for two days without drawing
their attention, no mean feat.

           
“So
the sloppy young warrior would have required no effort to take which means they
must be after the ranger. So capture the ranger…that will be fun, to be sure,
and give me a chance to trade with the Hand for my life. No honor among thieves,
but the Hand, they are something else altogether. My handsome life for a
scraggy ranger? Works for me.” Boremac took to the shadows he had known so well
all his life and set out after Silverwing.

4

Strange Relations

           
"I
can do this. I grew up with the woods all around me. I trained with the great
Lord Silverwing. How could I possibly go wrong?" Gregor spoke aloud in the
dark night for the first time since leaving his mentor. Another howl pierced
the darkness, and Gregor's hands went instinctively to his mentor's blades.
"Master Silverwing entrusted me with his weapons and I have no right to
end up lost and eaten in this forest. Follow my feet. Yes, well, my feet have
found every root and rabbit hole this forest has to offer. What next, Master
Galant?" Gregor knew all too well what was next, as another wolf answered
the first. He couldn't be sure, but the calls seemed to draw closer each time
the throaty howls broke the silence. Gregor doubted there were any deer near to
distract the pack. He was quite sure he knew who was on the menu tonight. He
longed for a fire, but knew better.
 
The
killers they had defeated may not have been alone, and the woods could host any
number of poachers or rogues. He had no desire to draw any more attention to
himself than necessary, and he dared not stop tonight.

           
The
rising sun was little comfort as it broke the horizon, but at least the wolves
had not found him. Gregor prayed his luck would hold for another day. The
passage through the wood wearied him to the bone, and he could not rest again
until nightfall. His aching legs reminded him of this unpleasant fact with each
step. "Keep the sun at my back until it carries over me at midday, then
follow it. Simple enough. A bit of luck may even bring me a path for a while.
It seems strange how the trees take ones voice. Should be glad of it I guess.
Surely the woodsmen would think I was quite cracked wandering out here in full
chain mail talking to myself."

           
"I
would have to agree with you. Of course, any hunter worth his bow would have
heard you clattering through his wood soon enough to avoid you
altogether." The hunter in question rounded a tree in front of Gregor, a
grin breaking his weathered features. "You have cleared this bit of wood
of game. It seems my only recourse will be to get you out of my hunting grounds
and hope the deer return in a day or two. Come. I have a cabin near here. Let's
see if we can get you somewhere else. I am called Dakin. You must be
lost."

           
"Thank
you, Master Dakin; I am in your debt. I am Gregor, student of Master
Silverwing, sent on an errand in his service. He has graced me with some skill
and a bit of direction, but little else, I fear." Gregor felt himself
flush as he bowed before the huntsman. "He said the hunters of the wood
were kind and would lend me aid. I am glad to see it is true."

           
"No
need to honor me with titles, sir. Dakin will suffice, and anyone possessing
merit enough to train with Master Silverwing has my deepest admiration, and no
small amount of pity, besides." Dakin laughed at his own jest. "I
understand he is a terror to poachers and brigands alike that happen into the
forest under his protection. I can only shudder to think of the trials he must
have put you through as his pupil." He punctuated his words with a hearty
clap on Gregor's back as he began to go deeper into the wood. "It is good
to keep the sun at our backs and the breeze in our faces. Let's be off."

           
Dakin
spoke little as they made their way deeper into the forest, and Gregor was glad.
The hunter kept a quick pace, and talking would have wasted Gregor's breath.
Dakin shared bits of lore concerning the local flora and fauna, and Gregor
found he was as modest as he was knowledgeable. Dakin had spent all his life in
these woods, with his parents at first, until they had died, taking up the safe-keeping
of the land as his father had done. He seemed somewhat sorrowful that no brave
pup from the local villages bordering the forest had been sent to learn the
hunter's ways. The keeper of the wood had no son or daughter to train, and
feared he might be the last guardian of this forest once he died. Gregor was
surprised to learn that Dakin's fate was shared by many of the roving hunters,
since there just weren't many fair maids that would choose the forest over the
farm. Many of the young men and women that might have taken up the call were
fleeing the villages for the promise of wealth in the cities.

           
"Can't
really blame the young ones. The merchants come out all showy and full of tales
of this hero or that. This life is a hard one, but no less fulfilling. The
woods are getting more dangerous all the time, though, with the incursions of
poachers and worse. Goblins been sighted, I hear. Small groups for now, but the
mountains and hillocks don't suit them so much since the hired blades and
adventurers been going after them. Someone is making ready for war, I imagine,
and those warriors that drive the goblins from their caves control who mines
the mountains. Yes, times are getting tough for man and beast in the
forests."

           
Gregor
couldn't help but wonder at Dakin's words. He had heard some rumors of such
things, but had mostly dismissed them as tales of bluff from the far traveling
tradesmen. The only goblins mentioned in his village had been the ones that
come and take naughty children away when they stray from their beds at night.
He resolved to ask for more information once they reached Dakin's home,
deciding to keep in step with him for now.

           
Dakin's
home was a sight to behold. The cottage was nearly indistinguishable from its
surroundings. The walls were supported at the four corners by trees of
considerable diameter, creating a natural camouflage for the roof angling
gently upward inside the cover of their boughs. Greenery of various sorts seemed
to grow out of the walls themselves, as vines had traced patterns up and over
every surface. The doorway itself was the only sign of man-made intervention;
intricately carved with runic symbols Gregor could not begin to decipher. He
could make out forms of trees, flowers and a few animals, seemingly scattered
at random, with strange symbols forming pictures at nearly every exposed
surface. The arched entrance was just a hand taller than he was, and bore the
same runes etched into it. Only the top of the doorway remained in its original
form, stripped of bark and worn smooth.

           
"Do
you like it?" Dakin's pride could be heard in his voice, as Gregor
marveled at the entrance. "My great grandfather found the trees and built
this family home, oh, a hundred years ago, for my great grandmother. A woman
can't much see rearing children in a cave. The forest seems to have taken to
our line quite nicely. Haven't had to do much in the way of directing the
plants, not that they would have much let us anyway. Those older markings at
the base of the archway there are from my great grandfather’s own hands. He
asked the Goddess of the wood to protect his kin, and devoted his line to
protect the wood in return. Each man of the family has made his own mark in his
time, reaffirming the commitment and asking for his own blessings." Dakin
sighed, tracing his fingers across what Gregor assumed were the hunter's own
markings. "Haven't had mine answered yet, and I am not getting any
younger. I am sure the Goddess will send a new protector when she sees fit.
Come inside and let’s get you some food. Looks like you been traveling through
the night and this day is nearly gone."

           
The
mention of food made Gregor realize just how hungry he was. The interior of the
house was simple compared to its exterior. There was a wood stove and a table
with four chairs. Two beds were positioned near one another off to one corner
of the single room, and a beautifully carved bassinet had been positioned under
the only window, not far from the larger of the two beds. Gregor noted a bit of
late sun still shone on the baby bed. Delicate vines creeping in the window had
formed a halo around the upper edges of it, and small pink flowers had sprouted
everywhere. "Three generations of huntsmen were raised here and slept in
that tiny haven. The scent of the flowers never quite goes away. We have always
just let the petals drop where they will. Never more than one child, and always
an extra chair at the table, just in case there was a visitor." Dakin
smiled and motioned toward the table. "Go on and rest a bit. Might want to
take the armor off. Gets a bit warm in that chain mail, I would imagine. If you
would like, there is a shirt and leggings in the chest near the stove there.
You could take a chance to clean your undergarments and dry them by the stove
while we eat."

           
Gregor
thanked his host, and removed his chainmail armor. Pegs along one wall meant
for hides served to keep the armor, and he found himself very comfortable in
the spare clothing the hunter offered. Gregor felt the tension of the past few
days drain from him, as the smells of cooking venison and the gentle tug of the
perfume from the flowers penetrated him. It was a simple meal of meat and
hardtack, with warm broth to wash away the journey through the wood. Gregor was
comforted to find a warm meal with such a gentle soul. He and Dakin spoke
little, except for praising the food the forest provided. Each man concerned
himself with the business of eating. The meal finished soon enough, and Dakin
pulled the plug on a large jug in an almost conspiratorial fashion. "I
have been saving this for a special occasion. Trader said it is a fine brew.
Called it the drink of kings. Haven't tried it yet, but what better time than
now to share it? Don't know about ‘the drink of kings’ part of it, but the
scent is promising. Care for a cup with me?"

           
Gregor
hesitated before answering, and decided the truth was the best reply. "I
have not imbibed anything stronger than ale, and so would not be one to measure
its worth. If it pleases you, I would share a cup with you."

           
Dakin
took two fine glasses from a cabinet filled with various herbs and seasonings.
"These poor cups have seen little need of use with me. My father acquired
them for my mother when she carried me in her belly. A special gift for the
next of our line, I suppose. My mother was a city girl when they met, and wine
was a treat for her they could scarcely afford." Dakin filled the glasses
with two fingers of the dark golden fluid and bid Gregor to rise from his chair.
"A toast to new friends. May we each find our paths clear, and the breezes
gentle in our faces as we travel
them.
" Dakin
sampled the amber liquid with a smack of his lips. "Well, I will say this
for it, kings may frown, but it suits me just fine."
 
Gregor felt his face flush as the liquid
passed his lips; the burning sensation it caused ran across his tongue to his
belly with no hint of lessening. There was a warm glow, almost a haze that
passed across his eyes, as Gregor sat down hard in his chair. He felt an
awkward smile break across his face as he nodded his head in agreement. He made
note to sip slowly lest he embarrass himself.

           
The
drink gave flight to Dakin’s words, even as it quieted Gregor. The woodsman had
learned much of recent events from the traders and fellow huntsmen he had
encountered. Despite the numbing of his own tongue, Gregor was able to learn a
great deal from Dakin. The young warrior asked a few slurred questions,
cautiously sipping his own drink, when the hunter would pause to take a breath
or refresh his own goblet. Goblins did indeed exist, and were making quite a
nuisance of themselves for the merchant travelers. The demand for trained
blades and marksmen had steadily increased, and prices for goods traded between
the cities had grown with them. Local militias had their hands full with the
usual brigands, and the raiding parties of the goblins were staying well
outside the reach of the regular soldiers. There were rumors of worse things,
as well.

           
Orcs,
the boar-faced humanoids that had infrequently raided isolated villages for
pillage and slaves, seemed to be growing bolder and more organized. These
tribal creatures grew easily a head taller than the average man and had great
strength. The orcs had long ago learned rudimentary metalworking, fashioning
brutal weapons similar to the great axes and two-handed swords wielded by human
warriors. The humanoids’ great strength allowed them to wield the weapons with
one hand and carry hide shields with the other that were large enough to use as
makeshift sleds to carry away their ill-gotten spoils. Villages that before had
been able to repel the creatures could no longer stand against them. Villagers
had been slaughtered, and piles of ash and cinders were all that remained of
their homes and farms.