Darius Chapter 13

When he heard the servants dissipate, he leapt out of bed. As he had done only a handful of hours earlier, he pulled on his boots, clothes and cloak, trying not to alert anyone that he was awake. He grabbed a small pack, his sword, and a bow that he’d commissioned from a merchant in the Trader’s District. He slid out the door towards the kitchens where he grabbed two husks of bread and some other bits and pieces of fruit that were close to hand. Not pushing his luck further, he exited the kitchens and went out to the front of the castle, tracing his steps from the night before. This time, however, he ventured west to the stables. He jogged past the rows and rows of gigantic warhorses before arriving at his mare, a comparably small, grey horse that he had brought with him from Barringvale. Opening the gate, he led her out into the walkway, unhooking her saddle and bridle from the wall. Marth jumped when the voice of the stable groom came from inside a cell further down.

“Headin’ for an early mornin’ ride, are we?” The man poked his head out so he could be seen.

“Aye, couldn’t sleep last night, the morning air helps clear the brain fog. Thanks for looking after her while I’ve been gone.”

The old man tipped his hat and went back to rest in the hay.

Marth put a foot in the stirrups and jumped up onto the horse, giving her a slight nudge forward. He ducked his head as he exited the stables, despite being well below the high beam of the door. Turning south, he cantered down the path, waiting for a moment at the gates while the guards heaved it open. He continued south through the Trader’s District, hearing what sounded like a parade over to the east, towards Darius’s forge. He shrugged, not curious enough to deter him from his current goal.

He hadn’t been lying to the stable groom – He had been stifling yawns since he got out of bed, but riding down the quite streets and feeling the cold rush of wind streaming past his thick cloak was refreshing. He rode faster and faster as he went south through the districts, and before long he had exited Mouse’s Melee, crouching behind his horse's neck as they rushed out of Erinstone. Even whilst protected, the wind pulled icy tears from his eyes which streamed across his face, flying off when he shook his head or wiped his face with his sleeve. If it had been possible, he would've ridden like this all the way to Barringvale.

After he passed the last of the farms on the brink of Erinstone-controlled land, he slowed, allowing his horse and his burning thighs to rest. His forces had been attacked only a couple kilometers from here; he could see along the straight Road to where it had happened. He figured that Heldrus would've taken his men off the Great Road before they were too close to the bandit’s hunting grounds, so he slowed to a trot, examining the west side of the Road for any signs of Heldrus’s platoon. He searched for a half hour, eventually switching to the east side as he returned towards Erinstone. Finally, he saw signs of a group of soldiers – trodden down shrubs and torn up grass, courtesy of the hooves of their horses.

Marth followed the grooves, dismounting once he was led into the forest where the branches were low. His mare had to be guided over fallen logs. It was slow going, but the path of fifty men was easy to follow. He stopped at a stream to let his horse drink, and he sat nearby, chewing his bread and spitting out the pits from a handful of cherries. He sat with his feet in the stream, letting them cool after a long morning in his boots. This part of the forest was very pleasant – the peace was disturbed only by the gurgling of the stream, and the occasional shlop shlop shlop as Marth’s horse drank. A few miniscule fish darted around in the clear water, their silver bodies producing the tiniest glint when the sunlight refracted onto them. Marth moved his foot an inch, and they all dispersed, zipping away to the nooks and crannies in the streambed.

Looking upstream, Marth noticed something lodged between two rocks, a small wake rushing behind the item as it parted the stream. Not wanting to muddy his feet on the bank, Marth waded upstream to investigate. It was a wooden tankard, pockmarked with scratches and nicks as though knives had been thrown at it. For Marth, it was the key to the castle. He hopped up onto the bank, kicking around in the grass and wiping his feet with the ends of his cloak before putting his socks and shoes back on. He resumed his travels by heading south-east, tracing his course upstream. Before long, the sounds of civilization were becoming clear – he could only pray it was Heldrus’s group rather than the bandits that had ambushed him on the Great Road. He spotted a few sentries who must have been half asleep at their posts, none of them noticing a blonde man and a grey horse clodding through the forest. Looking at their armor, he noticed the Erinstone banner emblazoned on their right arm – luck was on his side. He raised his arms above his head, calling out to the nearest sentry.

“Hey, mate, over here, I mean no harm and I come alone.”

The soldier flinched so hard that Marth thought he was going to spontaneously combust.

“HooOOoly FUCK!” The man unsheathed his sword and then contemplated what he was going to do with it. He turned around and called the alarm to the camp, then kept his eyes on Marth, moving closer.

“OI, you lot! We got a lurker! - You there, who are you?”

Marth felt like he’d chosen the jumpiest soldier in the Erinstone army, there was no way he was trusting the sword making its way toward him.

“I’m Marth Ranvost, I have a very important message to deliver to Heldrus Avongold – is he still here?”

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“No, he ain’t. Come into the camp, slowly now, and don’t even think about touching that sword.”

Marth chuckled at the preposterous idea and walked forward with his hands still raised. Coming into the camp, he was surrounded by twenty-five armed soldiers. He was starting to regret not wearing anything to verify him as an Erinian.

“Alright lads come on, do we really need the theatrics? Put those stupid swords away, you can’t be threatened by just one of me.”

The men acknowledged the fair judgement, and for the most part sheathed their swords and unstrung their bows. One forced his way through the sea of shoulders and stepped out from the crowd, offering a gloved hand to Marth.

“Hullo son, you gave us a bit of a fright there – I'm Merl, in charge round ‘ere while Heldrus and Falsith are gone. What can I do ya for?”

Marth relaxed, happy to have finally found a sensible person among the fidgety soldiers.

“I have an urgent message for Heldrus Avongold – it concerns his mother, Layla. That’s all I can say.”

The weight of Layla’s name had an instant effect on the squadron. Marth saw some of them recoil, taking a step back as though Marth was going to grow jaws and eat them whole. Merl’s cheeks puffed out as he exhaled, considering his options.

“Right, yeah okay we definitely don’t want you being late to deliver that one – I’d hate for you to be fed to the dogs on my watch.”

Marth was astonished by the state of awe and fear that Layla was held in. It seemed that the covert act he caught her in last night was perhaps a common occurrence. He tried to think of any of the nobles in Barringvale that had the same influence and reputation – perhaps he had just been ignorant since he’d grown up around them. Marth motioned around him, swinging his arm as he attempted to move things along.

“Very well then, where am I off to? Time is of the essence with this one.”

Merl laughed as he led Marth to the eastern fringe of their camp, stopping next to two trees with yellow ribbon tied to them.

“Alright son, it’s a bit of a dense hike, so it’ll be best if you leave the horse here, she’ll only slow you down. I promise I’m not hungry enough for dinner just yet, so she’ll be safe. We’ve had men going back and forth between the camps for the last couple days, so you just follow the tracks they’ve made for about 3 kilometers, and you’ll be home safe, understand?”

Marth nodded and thanked Merl, then went in the direction he had been pointed in. The path was even easier to follow than Marth had thought. The debris and destruction of the packs of soldiers had left a trail more well-defined than some of the alleys in Mouse’s Melee, and it certainly smelled a lot nicer. He set off at a reasonable pace, and in around twenty minutes, he found the second camp. He could appreciate why Heldrus had split his platoon in two. The forest between Merl’s men and Heldrus’s was too dense to get the horses through, but this camp was in a great position – not too close to the Great Road like the first camp was, and deep enough in the forest to be in amongst the rabble that they were after.

He slowed down as he entered the camp, choosing a different approach to the one that almost got him killed an hour earlier. He strode in, giving himself a quick tour of the site before approaching a man chopping firewood.

“Excuse me, soldier. I’ve been directed here by Merl – I have a message to deliver to Captain Heldrus.”

The man kicked a split log off the block and set down his axe, turning to Marth.

“Aye, second one today! I can help you with that, what did you say your name was?”

Marth opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted, a voice cutting across the clearing like steel.

“Marth Ranvost.”

Marth turned to see Heldrus standing before him, arms crossed, and his sword strapped to his side. Marth was surprised to hear the tone Heldrus addressed him with – it was clear they weren’t on as healthy terms as Marth had been led to believe.

“Hey. Heldrus, we need to talk privately, you and your men are in trouble. Is there somewhere...?”

“We could talk in the forest, but you might stab me in the back again.”

Marth raised an eyebrow at that, but he tried to be polite.

“Look, we’re obviously not great mates, but this is important. I overheard your mother and Marcough talking about coordinating an attack on your men after calling you back to Erinstone. I don’t know why, how, or anything other than that, but you need to recall your men and get them out of here.”

Heldrus drew his dagger, tossing it in the air and catching it again, sometimes by the hilt, sometimes by the blade.

“Pff. You’re late, Marth. My mother’s messenger already got here with her actual orders. I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but she’s calling me back to Erinstone so she can congratulate me for taking care of these bandits that are stopping your wedding. I’ve earned my rank, and probably a promotion too.”

He continued tossing the knife while he spoke.

“But if you want to babysit my men from your imaginary threats, be my guest.”

He called out to the camp.

“All soldiers present! We’ve been gifted with the presence of the Crown Prince of Barringvale, Marth Ranvost. He has kindly offered to lead you in my stead whilst I return to Erinstone to receive rewards for our efforts. You can expect a pretty penny sent to your families very soon!”

The camp cheered, some already cracking open a barrel of the bandit’s mead despite the early hour. Marth opened his mouth to object, but Heldrus had done a nasty job of boxing him in. If he left now and returned to Erinstone, it would spread like wildfire that the Crown Prince was a deserter – unable to handle a couple days out of the castle. He’d made his bed, now he had to sleep in it.

Marth waved to a large man he’d heard being called Falsith, who lumbered over to him.

“Falsith, is it? Merl told me you’re the second in command. Can you please get the men to halt the festivities for just a moment? We’re going to escort Heldrus back to base camp since we won’t be hunting bandits without him.”

Falsith seemed disappointed that the hunt was not to continue, but he did as he was ordered, instructing the men to wrap the tents, gather their gear and re-seal the barrels, ready to be carried back. The group took considerably longer to return, having to carve their way through the tight forest with wide tents and burgeoning packs. Heldrus didn’t speak to Marth at all.

When they got back, Heldrus reiterated his earlier decree, tightening the screws on Marth’s instalment as temporary captain – technically a demotion.

Soon after, he untied a piebald horse and left the camp in Marth’s care, keen to return to what he dreamed would be celebrity status in Erinstone.

Marth set himself up in Heldrus’s tent. It hadn’t been taken down since the platoon had split, and it smelled like sandalwood and stewed peaches. Marth debated the possibility that he just order all the men to uproot and move from the clearing to a new location, one that Layla’s men wouldn’t know about. But Heldrus had irked him, and he wanted to prove him wrong, even if it put him in danger.

Marth was going to fight.