Dogs barked in the darkness and the flickering of a dozen torches appeared between the trees. Thorn was being hunted. He was in the chilly waters of the Rewbeck making sure to keep close to its high banks to avoid being spotted. An hour had passed since his confrontation with Kip and he was shivering from the cold. It was now clear that his stepmother and Lord Broadbane had been planning his father’s murder for some time, how else could she have summoned so many men so quickly? Anger mixed with fear in his heart.
‘First, I must survive the night,’ he thought as he continued to swim down the river. The two moons were casting enough light to allow him to get his bearings. He wasn’t far from the bend where he’d encountered Meric and Nix earlier in the day. He muttered a silent prayer hoping that his old friend had left the tavern and was there. The water carried him around the bend and his heart sank. Sure enough, there were two tents set up in a clearing close to the bank, but no lanterns were lit, and no campfire burned. Crestfallen he was tempted to lie back and let the Rewbeck take him but a flicker of light from one of the tents caught his eye. Curious he swam to the bank and using the exposed roots of a tree climbed out of the river. His tired limbs shook from exertion and the cold of the night combined with his sodden clothes to send a chill through his body. If he didn’t get warm soon he’d run the risk of getting hypothermia. He hurried over to the tent and went inside. A simple pallet lay to one side and a dozen sacks containing clothes and other items were piled next to it. The flickering he’d spotted from the river was coming from a strange looking stone on the floor. Strange markings were etched on its surface giving away that it was magical in origin. Curious, he touched it.
A blinding light filled the tent causing Thorn to cover his eyes to guard against its intensity. As quickly as it had appeared, it faded. Thorn lowered his arm from his face and gasped. Standing in the centre of the tent was Meric. Except, he was see-through.
“Thorn I hope it’s you that found the projector stone and not some thief. If you’re a thief then kindly piss off as this message is for my friend. Hic, I may still be a tad intoxicated despite the purifying spell I just cast. Anyway; myself, Nix and Beric have left Linden. Shortly after you left the tavern we got talking to those Bannermen and it turns out the only reason they’re out this way is to find new recruits. Naturally, me and Nix signed up immediately and Beric will try and get permission from his pa in the morning. The man we saw in the tavern, the one with the eyepatch, is called Glover. A real nice guy as it turns out and he promised that he would talk to Beric’s old man and convince him to let him join up. Anyhow, as me and Nix left the tavern, we heard the commotion coming from your father’s keep and a dozen or so armed men came charging through the village. They demanded to know where you were, and they said that you were wanted for the murder of your father! Now, I know you, Thorn Linden, and I know that you would never harm Lord Jasper despite your differences. I knew something was up as soon as I noticed that these chaps wore the badge of Broadbane on their mantles. We, of course, denied any knowledge and they let us be, but I knew that we had to help you out. I used a rather nifty invisibility spell and we snuck off to the Keep. The place was swarming with armed men and it was clear they were looking for someone, which I immediately surmised was you, so good job on escaping their little trap. If not, then this is a bit awkward- anyway, against my warnings, Nix sneaked inside the Keep and retrieved something that we think you’ll be happy with. That is, of course if you’re still alive. If you’re just some random sot watching this, again, piss off.”
The ghostly apparition vibrated slightly as a disembodied arm elbowed Meric in the chest.
“I was just getting to that Nix,” the vision complained. “If you’ve made it to our camp in one piece we’re obviously not there. Instead, take the road south until you reach the Rew crossing. That’s where Lord Raron is encamped. We’ve told Glover everything and he has promised to ask Lord Raron to take you in. I have to go as I can’t remember how much storage capacity this...”
Suddenly the image vanished once more darkening the interior of the tent. Thorn’s mind raced. So, his friends had made it out of Linden. He had to reach them. His eyes fixed on one of the cloth sacks next to Meric’s bed. Before long he’d changed out of his sodden clothes and had put on a new tunic and breeches. He and Meric were of similar build but even so, the magician’s clothing felt a little tight on him. To round off his new outfit he put on a dark red hooded cloak. If he was to reach the south road he’d have to do so without being recognised. He picked up a satchel and checked the rest of the camp for anything useful he could use. He found a dagger in Nix’s tent which he tucked into his belt and a bottle of water and some bread which he put into the satchel. In the distance, he could hear dogs heading his way. He wouldn’t be around when they got there.
*
All night he had played a game of cat and mouse with his pursuers. He thought he’d lost them when he’d backtracked into the river, but they had quickly picked up his trail again. He’d fled deep into the woods not caring about the dangers that might have been lurking within, but the fear of losing his bearings and an ominous snarl from the darkness had forced him to head back to the village.
Now, the sun was beginning its daily sojurn across the sky. The stars had faded as its light began to dance over the world below.
Pulling the hood of his cloak tighter, Thorn hurried through the woods and skirted the edge of the village. From the treeline, he could make out several men on horseback patrolling the muck covered street while dismounted men carrying swords went from house to house. He paused as he watched a big brute of a warrior push a bleary-eyed Alvor outside. The two men argued before the blacksmith was sent to his knees with a punch to the guts. The warrior spat before moving onto the next house.
Riding down the main street was the unmistakable visage of Lord Broadbane. At his side were his bodyguards. All wore chainmail, and each carried a sword and shield. Broadbane wore a simple chest plate of forged steel over his expensive clothes. The fact that he wasn’t dressed fully for battle suggested that he was expecting little to no resistance from the shocked residents of Linden. The villagers were cajoled into the street and forced to watch. Thorn crept closer making sure to use the shadows to mask his approach.
“Fear not people of Linden the murderer of your beloved Lord Jasper shall be caught and executed.”
Shocked gasps came from some of the villagers. Many of them hadn’t yet heard the news of their lord’s death.
“In the meantime, as is the law of Kastador, Linden falls under the rule of the next in succession. But seeing as how poor Jasper’s own son is suspected of his killing the right to rule passes to Lady Delera who in turn has requested my assistance in hunting down the murderer.”
Thorn’s hands knotted into fists at his words. He wanted nothing more than to step out of the shadows and denounce the man for the liar he was. Just as he was about to make a move a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back into the shadows.
“Don’t do it, Thorn. You’ll be dead as soon as they set eyes on you. I get the feeling they don’t want a trial here,” said Nix in his ear. Thorn shrugged her hand off his shoulder.
“I can't let them get away with this,” he said with tears in his eyes.
“You won’t, but now isn’t the time. Come with me and let’s get you to safety,” Nix replied softly. She took his hand in hers and gently pulled him after her back into the woods.
They moved quickly through the undergrowth. They travelled for what felt like an age until they emerged from the forest and onto a dirt road. Ahead of them was a narrow stone bridge called the Rew Crossing. On the opposite bank of the river were tents arrayed in a semi-circle. The smell of cooking bacon made Thorn’s stomach growl.
“Wait. Why were you in the village?” Thorn asked Nix tiredly when they stepped onto the road and approached the camp.
“I went looking for you after you didn’t meet us here. It’s lucky I found you and stopped you from doing something rash. You look like shit by the way,” Nix added.
“Halt. Who goes there?” commanded one of the camp sentries as they crossed the bridge.
“Lower your spear. Oak it’s our new friend Nix and I daresay the lad she went off to find?” came a voice.
Striding over to them was the man they had seen in the tavern the previous night. He fastened his sword belt around his waist and pulled his white mantle straighter. Emblazoned upon the white material was the fearsome visage of a snarling Red Lion.
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“My name is Glover, second in command of the Red Lion Banners. Your friends told us of your trouble. Bannerlord Raron wants to meet with you. This way,” he said.
Glover led Thorn and Nix through the camp. There were around twenty well-armed and armoured men all wearing the livery of their Lord. A few of them nodded in Thorn’s direction but most ignored him; instead focusing on their breakfasts or early morning training. Thorn spotted Meric chatting with a delighted looking Beric. His two friends waved at him in greeting.
“You can talk with your friends in a bit lad. Lord Raron comes first.” Glover said as he led the way towards the largest of the tents. Two men armed with spears and adorned in the finest suits of plate armour Thorn had ever seen stood guard outside. They saluted Glover as they stepped aside and allowed them entry.
To Thorn’s surprise the inside of the large tent was more like that of a wealthy noble’s manor house than a military camp. Pieces of expensive furniture and ornate rugs and wall hangings gave it a cozy feel. In the centre was a large desk and sat at it a man with receding silver hair and dressed in a shirt of royal blue silk and trousers of black velvet. Lord Raron looked up at his visitors and sat back in his chair. He appraised Thorn with piercing green eyes.
“So, you’re the one that’s caused so much ruckus in my camp,” Raron said in a deep authoritative voice. “Your friends begged me to help you. I’m still undecided whether I should or not. Tell me, lad, did you murder your father?”
The direct tone of the man caught Thorn off guard. He was exhausted and could feel himself swaying from tiredness, every part of his body ached. He blinked a few times before replying.
“No, I did not,” he answered, shivering but doing his best to hold the man’s gaze.
Raron regarded Thorn for a few moments and stroked his beardless chin.
“You can always tell if a man is telling the truth if he can hold your gaze. Alright then lad, you have my protection. I’m in dire need of recruits so can’t be too picky after all. Hells, half the men we picked up from Rini are ex-convicts so a lesser noble suspected of murder isn’t too far out of place here. Go get cleaned up and get something warm in your stomach. We leave within the hour.”
With that Raron dismissed them with a gesture and Glover led them back into the camp.
“Well, that went well,” the gruff warrior said with a chuckle. They arrived outside a tent at the edge of the encampment and there found Maric who was busy packing a sack. Upon seeing Thorn, he laughed and pulled him into a hug.
“Oh, Thorn, my friend I am so glad to see you’re alive. That business in Linden was most unpleasant. Come, have something to eat,” the magician said handing him a bowl of lukewarm stew. Thorn took it gratefully and sat heavily onto one of the hammocks.
“I could sleep for a week,” he moaned before devouring the meal. Even though the lamb stew was bland, after the events of the previous night it tasted as good as any Lord's banquet.
“No time for that,’ Nix said as she joined her brother in packing up the tent. ‘I’m guessing Lord Broadbane's goons will be along soon. If they find you here and Lord Raron doesn’t hand you over there will be trouble. Oh, before I forget,’ she added before reaching under one of the hammocks, ‘here, I managed to get it from your father’s Keep.” She pulled out a long object covered by a blue piece of cloth. She handed it to Thorn. He looked at her in amazement as he removed the cloth to find his father’s sword. He trembled and tears fell from his eyes.
“Thank you-” he said softly, wiping away the moisture.
Angry shouts came from the direction of the bridge.
“Thorn Linden. We are looking for the Lordling Thorn Linden in connection with the murder of Lord Jasper Linder,” boomed a voice. Thorn paled. Maric and Nix looked at each with fearful expressions.
Thorn walked toward the commotion and instantly regretted doing so. There, arrayed across the opposite bank of the Rew River were dozens of armed men. Most wore jerkin made of leather or cloth and carried knives, swords and spears.A small group of bowmen took up positions close to the bridge their weapons held at the ready. Movement from inside the camp caught his eye. He spotted Glover rallying the Bannermen. Quickly they strapped on weapons and armour of far higher quality than that possessed by the motley militia arraying against them. A tense silence fell over the camp as the two sides regarded each other. From what Thorn could see, Lord Raron's men were outnumbered nearly three to one. Finally, Raron himself appeared. Now dressed in a suit of plate armour. Carved into the steel was his sigil of the roaring red lion. He strode to the river bank and drew his sword.
“Who are you, sir, to make any demands from a Bannerlord?”
Kip shoved his way to the front of the militiamen and pointed his dagger at the BannerLord.
“I do on behalf of Lord Broadbane. We know the little shit is with you, there’s nowhere else he could be and I recognise that simpleton friend of his cowering over there,” he replied, his voice full of venom.
“Come say that to my face little man. You can meet my axe face first,” Beric shouted back. The big man wasn’t the brightest but he was certainly no coward.
Lord Raron gestured to Glover and the Red Lions formed a wall of steel shields and plate armour to block their side of the bridge.
“Thorn Linden is now under my protection as is my right under the Law of the Banners. I suggest you and your men turn around and leave us in peace, otherwise not one of you will make it home this day,” the Bannerlord said his tone light but the threat clear.
Thorn could see some of the militiamen pale at the words. A few even sheathed their weapons, turned and fled. The rest, however, bristled angrily.
“If you don’t hand him over, we will kill you all, Bannerlord or not.”
The Red Lions banged their swords on their shields creating a noise like thunder that boomed across the clearing.
“You can certainly try,” Raron answered jovially. The Bannerlord stepped back, a smile on his face. He took a shield from his squire and then joined his men in the shield wall.
“We do love a fight in the morning don’t we lads?” Raron said loudly. His men cheered in reply.
Thorn and the others cowered, a sense of nervous excitement mixing with abject terror. The tension grew until Kip gave the order to attack. With a roar, the militia began to advance across the narrow bridge, their spears and swords aimed at the bannermen. The archers drew the cords of their bows and shot a volley. With expert skill, the bannerman shifted their formation to form two ranks. The rear of which lifted their shields above their heads. The arrows pinged off the wall of steel with no effect.
Seeing that the motley crew of archers was proving ineffective, Kip screamed at his men to press forward. It was clear to Thorn that most of the men he’d gathered were nothing more than locals pressed into service by Lord Broadbane.
The first men hurled themselves screaming at the bannermen, axes and spears glinting in the morning sunlight. The Red Lions raised their shields to form an impenetrable wall absorbing the mob's attack. With an unspoken command, the second rank stepped forward to stab their own spears and swords into the mass. Blood sprayed and agonised screams filled the air.
As quickly as it had begun the ‘battle’ was over. Seeing their mates slain and blood spraying caused the undisciplined mob to flee. Six bodies lay on the ground, the victims of the Bannerlords weapons. Unable to hold his excitement and anger at bay, Thorn ran to the river bank, his father’s sword in hand.
“You will pay for murdering my father Kip. I swear it to Niveren, Aniron and all the old gods!” he shouted, thrusting the sword at his father’s killer. Kip glared at him and ran forward. For a moment Thorn thought the man would try to cross the bridge to reach him, but then realised he was running towards one of the discarded bows. Quickly he snatched up an arrow, placed it on the cord, took aim at Thorn and loosed.
Thorn was frozen to the spot in shock, his eyes not leaving the arrow as it flew towards him. Just as it was about to strike him down there was a flash of magical light and the projectile transformed into a white dove.
“Are you insane, Thorn Linden,” scolded Maric who was standing behind him, a wand pointed skyward. “Move your ass before that lunatic tries to shoot you again.”
Thorn did as he was told and ran back to the tents and safely out of range of the bow. Kip swore in frustration and threw the weapon to the ground in a rage. He faced the Bannermen and swore again.
“You’ll pay for this. Lord Broadbane will raise his banner over this. Then you’ll be sorry!” he raved.
The Red Lions weren’t fazed by him at all, their mocking laughter only adding to his rage. Lord Raron stepped forward.
“You tell that cur, Broadbane that he is free to try anytime he likes. Thorn Linden is under my protection and under the protection of the Banner law. If Broadbane is really that upset over this, he can take it up with the King,” Raron replied with a chuckle.
Kip turned and fled into the forest in hot pursuit of his routing men, the jeers of the bannermen following close behind. Lord Raron faced his men and raised his sword into the air, eliciting cheers.
“Right you sods,’ he said to his men, ‘break down this camp and get ready to leave. I want us on the road to Sunbourne within the hour,” he commanded. The men scattered and set about preparing the camp for travel. Noticing Thorn, he walked over.
“Well lad, there’s no going back now. I daresay that bastard Broadbane won’t let this lie.”
Thorn nodded. He was doing his best not to throw up. His nerves were shot and exhaustion was threatening to overwhelm him.
“Thank you Lord Raron. I swear I will do my best to make you not regret this,” he replied, doing his best not to let out too much emotion. The Lord placed a hand on his shoulder.
“No need to act tough in front of me, boy. Any man here would be weeping like a baby if they’d gone through what you have. Stick with me, and I’ll teach you everything you need to know to avenge your father,” Raron said kindly before walking off towards his tent.
Thorn watched him go. When the lord was out of earshot he wept.
***