Darius Chapter 32
Marth’s army had skirted far enough south that Lord Grenfell started to suspect they were past the Southern Ranges of Barringvale. Marth gave the order to travel due east, hoping to intersect with either the Great Road (if they were lucky), or one of the smaller routes leading from Barringvale to the Southern Islands. If they hit one of these, they were home safe – though slightly more well-traveled than was required. It took a half day’s march before a scout came back, reporting sight of the forest and Great Road only an hour’s ride ahead. The scout benefitted from having two horses with him – one to ride and one to rest – so it took the army closer to two hours to get back to the murky forest that they’d exited almost two weeks prior.
The forest stretched almost the entire distance from Erinstone to Barringvale, like one giant, breathing organism with a root system interlocked for hundreds of miles. Some of the patches of fungi or groundcover literally extended for miles, a singular plant or chain of spores which altogether claimed huge portions of the forest as their territory.
Marth had mixed feelings about once again cutting through its moggy, tangled vines and branches. On the one hand, it was a welcome break from the withered desert and miserable plains. On the other, it was just so sticky. His clothes, which had weathered the dusty clay and endless grass seeds, were immediately covered in gunk and mould and all the other lovely gifts of the forest. He had half a mind to implement some kind of deforestation plan once back in Barringvale – the wood would have to be dried for a few years at least, but the castle fires – hell, the peasants fires – would be stocked for at least a few winters.
Marth took a break from leading the group, handing a freshly sharpened machete to one of his captains. He dropped back and spoke to Grenfell.
“I reckon this is gunna pop us out just where we want to be. Maybe even right in front of the city gates! Want to make a bet on the first thing Dad will say to me? I reckon ‘Son, why is your uniform so dirty. Where is your wife. Hurr durr bring me some wine.’”
He put on a deep voice that sounded nothing like Tarth Ranvost. Grenfell rebuked him.
“If you paid attention at dinners rather than drinking with the soldiers, you would know that King Ranvost does not drink wine anymore. He prefers a small tankard of mead.”
“Small my ass. He’d barely be able to see his belt over that mead-gut.”
Grenfell huffed and faced forward. Although he was currently Marth’s advisor, his loyalty lay with his ruler, Tarth Ranvost.
The army filtered through in double file, carving a path through the dense forest. In a month or two, any evidence of them being there would be gone. The stomped-down shrubs would reform, the vines would regrow and drape themselves off the branches left behind. The forest’s regenerative power was enviable.
Marth slowed down, standing by the side of the track and waiting for his soldiers to pass. Some nodded to him, others jumped and swore when he caught them off guard. The whole army was feeling the effects of the long march. He eventually found the scout who had sighted the forest.
“Hey, Ron, good job finding the forest, we might’ve ended up with the Islanders if you hadn’t been on the ball.”
The scout looked down and studied his shoes. He wasn’t good at handling praise.
“’Twas my pleasure, Captain. I just wish I’d found a section that wasn’t so thick and hot.”
Heldrus laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“No worries, mate, no worries. I reckon you woulda been out there all week if you tried that. This swampy shit goes forever. Anyway, I wanted to ask if there was any sign of our pursuers? I’m concerned that they may have just taken the Great Road all the way to Barringvale, since they know we’ll be coming out there at some point. They could just patrol the last few kilometers.”
The scout ran a muddy hand through his hair, removing it from his sticky face.
“Aye, that’s a good point. I couldn’t quite see over the treetops I’m afraid. The canopies are really high up near the road and they basically cover it from all directions. I could head out again and check?”
“That’s okay, and no thanks, I’ve worked you hard enough over the past few days. Rest up, there’s a promotion waiting for you once we get back to Barringvale.”
The young man beamed. He’d wanted to be a Royal Ranger since the day he joined the Barringvale Army, and being promoted from a scout was one step closer. Marth picked his way back along the edges of their track, pushing to get back to the front of the army. He wanted to lead his forces proudly into Barringvale, despite the uncertain circumstances.
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Mitrev had four platoons of eighty men at his disposal. On Lady Silfor’s orders, he had sent one platoon south-east, one platoon south-west, and the remaining two platoons directly south down the Great Road. All platoons were instructed to reconvene five kilometers from Barringvale in twelve days' time – a swift journey considering they also had to keep a lookout for the Barringvale forces on the way.
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Six days into their journey, a messenger from the south-western platoon reached Mitrev on the Great Road. He was in a miserable mood after two of his men had opened their packs and discovered piles of moldy bread and fruit – the dolts hadn’t had the presence of mind to speak up at mealtimes and point out that their pack contents needed to be eaten fresh. Mitrev was a man who appreciated peak efficiency, and he mentally noted the names of the soldiers who had wasted their rations. On a brisk journey like this, stopping and scavenging lost them precious hours.
The messenger brought good news, however. The tail end of Prince Ranvost’s army had been spotted along the rocky outcrops west of the Great Road. The Erinstone platoon was still at least seven kilometers away, and they were unable to engage due to lack of numbers, but it meant that Mitrev’s forces could be called back to the Great Road – aside from a few scouts, and they could make a dash for Barringvale. Mitrev’s had been concerned that they would take an extremely wide berth and hole themselves up somewhere in the mountains, which would have made it near impossible to find them.
The eastern platoon was called back and instructed to scavenge what they could on the way, bolstering their supplies for the march ahead. The western platoon did the same, leaving a small retinue of scouts and horses. Mitrev’s pack recruited some of Layla’s bandits on the way, equal to another platoon of men. Now they just had to wait.
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Before Marth’s forces broke through the tree line, he decided to let them rest for an hour while he and Grenfell checked for any pursuers on the Great Road. Some complained about the humidity and smell of the rotting logs and fungi, so Marth showed them how digging themselves into the soil would cool them down. As far as the smell went, he told them to sniff their armpits.
“Who do you reckon is enduring the worse smell. Us, or the forest?”
The soldiers dipped their noses to their shirts and came up clawing for breath. That settled the debate.
The Road was quiet as Marth and Grenfell approached, but with the density of the forest, that didn’t mean much. There could have been a stampede of boar passing through to Barringvale and they would have made as much noise as a stampede of ants. As the trees and bushes thinned, they began to see glimpses of the Road.
“Looks pretty clear. Let’s poke our heads out a bit and see if Barringvale is in sight, eh?”
The pair stood out in the middle of the Road, shielding their eyes from the blazing sun. It was quiet, aside from the crunch of fine gravel underfoot. Grenfell wasn’t aware how desperately he needed glasses until Marth pointed to an indiscriminate brown lump on the horizon and spoke.
“Barringvale. There she is. I can see Lathamir’s Keep.”
“Are you kidding? That lump of sand over there?”
Marth looked at Grenfell with furrowed eyebrows.
“That lump of sand is where you’ve lived your entire life. Should’ve brought a scout with me rather than your ancient eyes.”
They laughed and turned around, checking the road from Erinstone. There was a light crest maybe two kilometers from them, so it was hard to see more than the shimmering heat rising above it.
“Could get a scout to check it out, but ahh well. So close to home now, we may as well just get moving.”
Grenfell made one final suggestion before they turned back to return to the troops.
“Let’s not stop to change into ceremonial uniform this time. Don’t want to tempt fate.”
It was still a sore topic, but Marth agreed. He’d had the men ditch the uniforms back at Erinstone.
They tramped back through the forest and scrounged up the troops. The news that they were so close to Barringvale was good for morale and before long they’d burst out onto the Great Road, casting away the slime and dirt of the forest for the sweat and dust of the Great Road. Unfortunately, the strong morale didn’t make the horses go any faster, and amidst the energy-sapping heat and difficult morning of fighting through the net-like branches of the forest, the horses shuffled along at a miserable pace.
Marth dropped back to the group of scouts, picking out one that he thought would be the ‘freshest’.
“Lin, how’s your horse? I need someone to take my seal to the gates and request water and an escort into the city. They might not recognize us from afar – we're not the strapping young lads we once were. Can you do that?”
Lin looked down at his two horses. The black horse he currently rode was sweating like a priest at the brothel, but his secondary mare stood strong, though its ribs were becoming visible.
“Aye, sir, this one’ll get us there, not sure if we’ll get back too quickly though.”
Marth gave the horse a scratch on the tender skin under its muzzle, and nodded to the young scout.
“You send an escort out to us and that’s all we’ll need. Take this lass and get her as many apples as she pleases – and a right good brush and wash.”
“Aye, sir.”
Lin stopped his horses so he could switch the saddle and bridle across to his fresh horse. The pack slowly left him behind as he unclipped the various clips, bits and straps that were tight around his horse's belly and head. It shook itself free and brayed when the gear finally came off, free to travel without the restrictions on its chest. Lin dropped the saddle to the dirt and rearranged the bridle to go around the mare’s head. He stood in front of the horse, looking back along the Great Road from where they’d come. There was something in the distance, like the sandstorm they’d encountered out on the plains, but it was tightly packed, contained to the Road.
Riders? Not much else would kick up a dust cloud like that.
He stood for a moment longer, then turned to the Barringvale army, which had left him behind. They were at least a few hundred paces away now. He looked back to his horse, only half saddled up, and the approaching riders.
Surely someone has seen them?!
He dropped the bridle and sprinted to the riders at the rear of the group. His tired legs ached, but adrenaline spurred him on.
“HEYYY! Prince Ranvost! Anyone! Riders behind us! RIDERS BEHI –”
He fell forward, an arrow bristling from his back. The Barringvale soldiers had heard his cries, and now they felt the earth shake under the barrage of hooves.
Mitrev and his platoons were upon them.