Tenth of Harvest
Roulson had been running as far and as fast as he could since fleeing the battlefield. The panicked screams of the wounded still echoed in his ears with every step and when he closed his eyes he saw the shattered bodies that had scattered the earth. He’d quickly thrown away his armour and helmet, both to lighten his load and to hide the fact that he was a soldier. He’d even left behind his sword with its distinctively military hilt. To his shame, Roulson had raided a farmhouse the night of the invasion and taken a man’s clothes for his own; a roughly spun tunic and trousers, both of them a size too big. Still, most wouldn’t see him as a deserter, dressed as he was in the way of the poor. There were plenty of them roaming the Svaletan countryside this side of winter. He kept his necklace with its red jewel but tucked it under the tunic and prayed that it wouldn’t be noticed. When the jewels had been handed to the newly appointed border guards, it was said that they were blessed by the Prophetess herself and would keep them safe from harm. Most of the guards had mocked that idea but regulations demanded that they wear them at all times. Roulson had believed what he was told, and even now he silently prayed his thanks that he had been kept alive, albeit through his own cowardice. Prophetess, guide my steps, his tired mind prayed as his steps began to grow more staggered. He was on the side of a road that led from the Aliri border to King’s Crossing, a route often favoured by farmers selling their wares – though he hadn’t seen any other travellers, a corner of his tired mind recognised. Perhaps they had –
He awoke to find himself in an open carriage sprawled across a hay bale. A woman sat beside him, running a wet cloth over his head. She was Svaletan, but the lighter tone of her skin suggested that she had an ancestor from Wexburg. It wasn’t unheard of for citizens of that regal nation to head north in search of a life closer to nature. Many songs and stories had been written on that topic. The woman’s eyes were warm, and her lips gave a grim smile when she saw him wake.
“Don’t move, friend,” she said, her voice gentle and musical. “Your body needs to rest.”
Roulson tried to speak but couldn’t form words. The woman stroked his cheek and spoke slowly as his tired mind tried to process what she was saying.
“You’re with a group of us on our way to Hirton. My name is Ingrid. My husband and I are farmers. We found you passed out along the road. Charity demanded that we help.”
“Thank you,” Roulson managed to groan.
“Of course.” Ingrid lifted a water bladder to his lips. “Take it slow, friend. Tell me your name when you’re ready.”
Roulson forced himself to take slow, careful sips. He couldn’t remember passing out, but the pain across his body testified to his fall to the hard earth. He forced a smile. “Roulson. My name is Roulson.”
“It is good to meet you,” Ingrid said. “Although the circumstances leave something to be desired. Where are you headed?”
Hirton was far enough way that he could disappear, Roulson knew. If he was lucky news of the war had yet to reach the city. He didn’t like his chances; he’d seen the signal fires during the night. The king would know by now, and the army would be alerted throughout the Kingdom.
“I travel to Hirton,” he told her but could tell that she knew he was lying. “My pack?”
She passed it over as he sat up. He pulled out a coin purse, also ‘liberated’ from the farmhouse. Passing it over, he said,
“For your troubles.”
“And silence,” Ingrid affirmed as she passed it to her husband, who had yet to speak a word. He was a tough looking man, Roulson thought, but his eyes were kind. Farmers tended to be simple folk, at least in Roulson’s mind. He understood little of how the world worked. The man would not have taken kindly to his opinion.
“I saw the jewel,” Ingrid’s husband said, his voice low enough that the driver couldn’t hear him. “You put all of us in danger.”
Rangir’s hand instinctively sprang up to make sure the necklace was still there, and he relaxed when he felt its presence.
"He has our silence,” Ingrid said, shooting her husband a stern look. He shrugged.
“I’m merely reminding him of the price of desertion.”
“I am well aware of the laws,” Roulson told him. “I have my reasons.”
“I’m sure you do,” the man said but didn’t press any further, instead turning to watch the countryside as it passed by.
“These are dark days,” Ingrid spoke up, bringing Roulson’s attention back to her. “Strange bodies have been showing up. I’ve heard rumours of dwarves wandering the Hold.”
“Now that is just a drunk’s story,” her husband snapped. “Foolish talk.”
“I don’t discount anything nowadays,” Ingrid remarked. “I’ve seen too much.”
Maybe there was something to that, Roulson thought. He turned away from Ingrid and stared out at the horizon. Three, maybe four days, and he could disappear into Hirton. That was worth looking forward to.
* * *
Davos arrived in King’s Crossing late that afternoon just as the various traders and shopkeepers were shutting down for the night. Other than quiet greetings, few took note of him as he slowly rode to a tavern named “Mead and Mischief”. The name earned a chuckle as he tied his horse to a spare stake and dropped some food into the trough. After making sure that he hadn’t drawn attention, he stepped inside and let his eyes adjust to the candle-lit building. His usual source wasn’t in sight, so he chose a stool near the front and signalled for the owner to bring him a drink.
“It’s been a while, Davos,” the man said as he dropped a mug of ale in front of him. “A long ride?”
“Long enough,” Davos confirmed. “Could I borrow a moment of your time?”
“It’s always business with you,” the owner grumbled, but took a seat. Davos always paid well for his information, and he wasn’t one to turn away easy gold. “What do you need?”
“I’m tracking someone, but it’s unusual. I know he came this way, but I don’t know who he is.”
“That would be quite the dilemma.”
Davos grunted. “Has anyone unusual come through in the past, say, two days?”
“This place attracts the unusual, I might remind you,” the owner said with a smile. “But there was a woman here just yesterday. She raised my attention.”
“You’re a married man,” Davos pointed out, glancing at the man’s wife as she came out of the kitchen with someone’s meal.
"Not like that, you young fool,” the owner hissed. “This was a well-to-do woman – and she wasn’t Svaletan. Pale skinned type, like she was from Wexburg. She dressed well, you know? Like a noble. But she walked here. You can tell by the boots, you know. All scuffed and muddy. She made friends with a local sell-sword. They left either last night or early morning. I was down here just after dawn, and they were gone. I never did get her name.”
Davos thought it over, and asked, “Did she speak to anyone else?”
The man let out a hearty laugh. “Yeah, Ralof over there. Our local blacksmith. They got acquainted, shall we say. In daylight, no less. You may want to have a talk with him.” He leaned in close and whispered, “If you get any details, feel free to share.”
“You’re a married man,” Davos said again, and rose to his feet. There was a piece of parchment under his mug. “Please pass that on to my comrades when they arrive. You’ll find something inside for your trouble.”
“Always a pleasure,” he mumbled as he pocketed the message and coins without looking at either. “You take care now.”
“I always do, old man,” Davos chuckled, then wandered over to the blacksmith. “Ralof, right?”
“Depends who’s asking,” the man replied, setting down his drink and sighing. “And if it’s worth the interruption.”
Davos’ response was to drop a sack of coins on the table. “Is this worth it?”
Ralof stared at the coins for a seconds, then grunted. “I suppose I should offer you a seat, my friend.”
Only then did he look up at Davos, staring into his faded blue eyes. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. It’s Davos.”
Ralof’s eyes narrowed. “No last name, I guess. We don’t like you half breeds around here.”
“The man serving your drinks seems to disagree.” Davos’ hands curled into tight fists. Ralof glanced at his white knuckles and smirked.
“You should be used to it by now.”
“Ralof, you filthy mongrel, shut your mouth,” the tavern owner called out. “This is the Chief Scout of Larton. Keep going and you won’t see dawn.”
Ralof grunted. “Figures. What do you want?”
Davos let his hands uncurl and leaned back in his chair. “You met a woman yesterday.”
Ralof looked away and whispered a curse. “Tell me that wasn’t your sister or something.”
“I have no sister,” Davos assured him. “What was her name?”
“She said it was Anna, but no one uses their real name around here,” Ralof shrugged. “I never thought to pry.”
"What did she look like? In detail, please.”
* * *
It was slow going in the forest. Belkai and Loranna had been walking for around ten hours, but had made far less progress than Belkai had anticipated. Even with regular rest stops, she was exhausted by the cross-country efforts. When Loranna announced the latest rest, Belkai hid a sigh of relief, closing her eyes as she sat against an oak tree. There was only a faint breeze, but she embraced it, letting her senses drift and gather what information the air would bring.
“How far are we from King’s Crossing?” she asked, her eyes unmoving.
“About ten miles,” Loranna replied. Her voice was steady, betraying no sign of exhaustion.
The answer didn’t disappoint Belkai, but it did give her a reference point. She could feel the heartbeat of the horse she’d heard the previous night. He’d made good time, too fast for a casual traveller. Was it paranoia that made her try to find the rider? Or carefully honed instinct? She wasn’t sure, but she told Loranna,
“I think we’re being followed.”
Loranna’s hand dropped to her axe and she scanned the trees for threats. Belkai slowly opened her eyes, and shook her head when she saw her companion’s caution.
“Sorry, not here. In King’s Crossing.”
Loranna’s eyes narrowed as she studied the younger woman before her. “Are you a fortune teller now? An acolyte from the Temple?”
Belkai smiled, appreciating the sarcasm. “Not exactly. But I can sense things, feel things. I hear whispers in the breeze. A horse and rider rushed to the town. I may be paranoid, but I won’t assume that it is a coincidence.”
Loranna thought about this for a few moments. “Prove it.”
Belkai nodded. “I understand.”
She took a deep breath and stayed silent for a few moments. Finally, she said, “You want to believe me, but too many people have lied to you. When you first saw me, you felt contempt. But your heart wanted to believe me when I revealed who – what – I was. It opened a door to something in your past. Something that you had hidden from yourself.”
Loranna didn’t reply as she looked away. “When did you imagine all of that?”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“We are taught to feel others, to connect to every living thing,” Belkai told her, with the gentleness of voice that one would use when speaking to a young child. “We are called to use it to serve others. And use it to protect ourselves when necessary.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Loranna snapped, turning back to face her. “Isn’t there?”
“We all have our demons,” Belkai confirmed. “The burden is my own.”
She almost felt shame for the lie but pushed it away. “Do you believe me?”
Loranna nodded. “You have killed before.”
“I have done what I had to in order to survive,” Belkai confirmed.
“So why do you need me?”
“My…abilities…they are draining. They leave me vulnerable.” Belkai studied Loranna’s eyes for a moment. “That is not something that we make public.”
“I imagine not.” Loranna sat down next to her. “Would you know the rider if he followed us into the wood?”
“Perhaps,” Belkai said. “He will carry some essence of the horse. I cannot explain what that means, but I will recognise it.”
That confirmed it for Loranna. She had known plenty of liars in her life. All of them would embellish, explain every intricate detail of their story. Only the honest would admit the gaping holes in their knowledge. She opened her pack to find some food.
“Then, my friend, we will need a plan.”
* * *
We’re monster hunters now. The captain’s words ran through Rangir’s mind as he barked out orders to the company. The men spoke no words as they formed ranks, the afternoon sun shining off their steel armour. The front rank locked shields, spears and pikes sticking through the regular gaps. Behind them a squad of archers stood at the ready, the final row Rangir’s expert swordsmen prepared for either a counterattack or desperate defence against anything that broke the shield wall. The other four companies of the detachment stretched out on either side of Rangir’s troops, all prepared for assault. Whatever rivalries that had existed in training had disappeared as strangers locked shields, joined ranks, and prepared for combat.
It had only been a matter of minutes since a sentry sent out the alert. Something had been spotted emerging from the forest. More sentries had quickly added to the report. This was no wandering creature; whatever force governed the cursed forest was launching an attack.
“The company is assembled,” Rangir shouted as Ertas came running from the detachment commander’s tent.
“Join your swordsmen,” the captain ordered before turning to the troops. “You have trained, you have fought. Now you stand. Archers at the ready!”
Rangir passed by the squad as they readied their first shots. He didn’t know what was coming, but this was a strategy used against enemy formations, not lone monsters. What did the sentries report? As he joined the swordsmen, he heard Ertas shouting at the men in the shield wall.
"You do not shift, you do not break. Stand fast!”
Rangir heard the sound of dozens of scattering feet, and someone from the front rank shouted in fear.
“Stand fast!”
“Here they come!”
“Archers fire at will!”
The first volley tore through the air, and screeches filled the air. What is out there?
“Don’t stop firing! Archers, don’t stop firing!” There was almost a note of fear in Ertas’ voice, and Rangir rediscovered the fear that he’d first felt five days earlier. The archers recognised the same urgency and began loosing their arrows as fast as they could draw them.
Rangir heard a crash as the first wave smashed into the shield wall. Here and there along the line soldiers were pushed back a few feet, only to rush back into place. They’re holding, they will hold, Rangir told himself as the archers aimed higher, dropping their arrows right in front of the shield line. His blood went cold as he finally saw their attacker. Thick furry legs climbed up and over the shield wall, a black and orange creature – spider, he realised – the size of two men. It dropped down behind the first rank and charged the archers. Massive fangs tore through the first man’s skull before the monster tossed him aside like he weighed nothing. Legs crushed two more before the archers had a chance to react. With shouts of fury, they unleashed their full wrath on the creature, and it screeched as their darts tore through skin and flesh. It shuddered as a second volley sliced through its eyes into the brain cavity, and collapsed, crushing two archers who didn’t get out of the way in time. By now most of the archers had empty quivers, and they unsheathed their swords, ready for the next attack.
The next wave hit harder, crashing through the shield wall at multiple points. The archers had learned the dangers of a static defence, and they charged forward as the spiders came through the new gaps. They sliced at legs, stabbed abdomens, and tried to dodge thrashing legs and slashing fangs. It was a bloodbath, a flurry of blades and bone as those assigned to the shield wall tried to focus on the threat ahead and reform their line, leaving the breaches to the rear defences to clear out.
“Hold your line!” Rangir shouted, watching some of his troops begin to shift in their positions, whether to advance or flee.
Their numbers decimated, the archers dispatched the last of the breaching spiders. They quickly pulled back in line with the main force of swordsmen, their eyes wild with either bloodlust or fear – or both. Rangir’s own heart pounded as he waited for the next crash, the next flurry of legs leaping the shield wall. But nothing came. Finally, Ertas’ voice sounded calling that the area was clear. Rangir slowly walked over to the first spider corpse riddled with dozens of arrows. He ran his hand along its hide. Despite the fur, it was tough, enough so that he was surprised the arrows had managed to pierce it. He looked at the fangs, venom still dripping even in death.
“We were lucky,” Ertas said, coming up beside him and kicking the corpse. “Most of the first wave impaled themselves before they realised that they could just climb over.”
“Lucky,” Rangir whispered. “What sort of Hell has been unleashed in that forest?”
Ertas looked past the disassembling shield line at the trees, deceptively quiet in windless air. “I have no answer to that, Rangir. But I will make damn sure we celebrate tonight. The men have earned it.”
Rangir’s eyes were glued to the spider. “Do we burn them, Captain?”
Ertas looked around the killing field and nodded. “Gather our dead first, give them a burial. Then burn the spiders. Right at the forest edge. Send a message to whatever demon is sending these things.”
“What sort of message?” Rangir asked, his mind not entirely in the moment. Ertas grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, putting his face right in Rangir’s.
“Mount their heads on spikes. Tear them open. Do what you please,” he hissed. “Just make it clear that we are prepared for this war and we will murder every savage creature that crosses that tree line.”
Rangir nodded. “No mercy.”
“No mercy,” Ertas confirmed. “No matter what comes, we will kill them all.”
* * *
Davos had found someone who confirmed that they had seen his new targets leaving King’s Crossing just before dawn, heading south to the woods. He’d gone that way himself once or twice in his life, and he knew how dense it was. Even with their head start, he had a chance of catching up by morning if he didn’t wait. He gave the tavern owner an extra payment to watch over his horse, then gathered his essentials in a pack and set off on foot, a short sword strapped to his belt. He rested only when necessary, darting from tree to tree to avoid the rough ground as much as possible. He made good time, slowing when his quarry’s scent became stronger. By dawn, he was close. Another hour and he climbed one of the many vine-wrapped trees and surveyed their camp. They seemed to have slowed their pace in the woods, as most reasonable people would. One of the women, a Svaletan, was curled up in a bedroll sleeping soundly, an axe in easy reach. She was turned away so he couldn’t see her face, but he knew that this was the sell-sword. She was no immediate threat.
The second woman was kneeling over a nearby stream on the left, lifting water to her lips with cupped hands. Her auburn hair looked wet, as if she’d only recently bathed. The sunlight seemed to shine off her soft, white skin. Her cotton top and leather pants highlighted a shapely figure, and he could imagine himself buying her a drink in a tavern. Davos shook that image as he silently pulled his sword from its sheath and crept forward from her left, keeping her between him and the sleeping mercenary. The woman stopped drinking and began to fill her water bladder. Davos stopped as he felt something move on his foot. He glanced down, too late to react. To his horror a vine wrapped itself around his feet and pulled tight. Before he could fall, two more silently seized his hands, holding him suspended in the air, unable to move, not even to drop his sword.
“Are you here to kill me?” the woman at the water asked softly. Though hardened by aggression, her voice sounded gentle, almost musical. She sealed her water bladder and turned as she stood up. She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side. When he didn’t respond, her green eyes flashed with anger. “I advise that you speak.”
“You belong to the Silent Order,” he said, surprisingly calm as he tried to move. The vines still held him in a death grip. “If I wanted you dead, I would have brought an army.”
“And how do you know what I am?” She didn’t move, but he saw a change in her eyes. No longer wrathful, they almost seemed amused. The corners of her soft lips curled in amusement. She had the look of a cat who, once catching a mouse, decided to toy with it instead of closing in for the kill.
“I saw the bodies you left behind,” he answered. “No one kills like that. No thing kills like that.”
“Am I a thing?” Anger flashed again in Belkai’s eyes. The vines tightened around his feet and hands. “Something that you must control? Is that why you chase me?”
For the first time, Davos truly felt fear. Whoever it was that stood before him held a power that he hadn’t imagined possible.
“I don’t know who you are,” he admitted. “But I do know what you can do. I did not come to kill you. I came to know your purpose.”
“And who are you, purpose seeker?” Belkai took a breath and gave the slightest of nods. He gasped as the vines released, and he dropped to his hands and knees. Steadying his breathing, he said,
"I am a deputy of this land. I was asked to find the killer.”
“And here I am,” Belkai yelled, throwing her arms out wide. “You found her. Now what is your charge?”
For the first time, he stopped looking at his prey and instead saw the person in front of him. Though small, her body exuded a sense of power, of authority. There was a passion in the green of her eyes, a light that refused to be extinguished. He knew that she would not submit, and he knew that he could not win. Now that he saw her, he felt drawn to her. To know what had driven her onto this course.
“I would join you,” he said quietly. “I wish to learn who you are, and your purpose.”
“I have a companion. I have no need of another,” she replied, waving at the sleeping mercenary.
“My loyalty is not to silver or gold,” Davos told her. “Otherwise I would have brought that army.”
Belkai considered him for a moment. She had no interest in having another complication in her journey. But he was telling the truth, much to her surprise. That raised her curiosity enough to accept his presence, though not without the need to test his spirit.
“You don’t want to follow where I’ll lead,” she replied with a smirk. “No mortal would.”
“I need to know if there is danger to my people,” he said. “They say that the Silent Order only appears when disaster looms.”
“People say a lot of things.” Belkai shook her head. “You have much to fear, Deputy. But not from me.” She looked to the horizon for a moment, then sighed. “Pick up your sword, you look ridiculous. You’ve tracked me for three days, gods know I won’t be able to make you leave.”
Four days, he thought, but remained silent as he reattached his scabbard. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I head to the Dark Forest.”
“Another six days’ journey,” he said, hiding his shock. “And no one has come out of there alive.”
"More have than you think,” Belkai said quietly, slinging her pack over her shoulders and stretching her back. “Nonetheless, I have my commission. You’re welcome to stay behind. I never asked for a pet.”
“A pet?” His hand dropped to his sword again, his face flushed with anger. “I am a deputy of the Hold, the Chief Scout of Larton.”
Belkai couldn’t help but laugh. “You are Chief Scout because you are a Lowborn. Not a man, not an elf, a mixed-race. Luckily for you, all one sees is a man.”
“And now you claim to know what I am?” He shook with fury. Good, Belkai thought. He’s capable of feeling. That set him apart from Milton.
“Since I crossed the Veil, I have been called many things,” Belkai told him. “But no one has ever thought I killed. The only way you’d know me is if you smelled it. You followed my scent.”
Belkai glanced at him and gave a half-smile. “I hope you liked it.”
He didn’t blush, much to her disappointment. “I may be Lowborn, but I earned everything I have.”
“No doubt.” Belkai sighed and glanced up at the sun. “It’s late. We would have left hours ago if you hadn’t been close. I never asked your name.”
“My name is Davos.”
“Child of the Moon,” Belkai translated. Seeing his surprise, she said, “I make a point of understanding the lands I travel.”
“You have my name,” Davos pointed out. “I will require yours.”
She studied him for a moment before answering, “My name is Belkai, daughter of Androv.”
Davos nodded appreciatively. “And what meaning does your name possess?”
“Soft Petal.” She laughed, a sweet sound after the previous tension. “My parents were optimists.”
She had the beauty to go with the name, Davos thought. If he had met her in a tavern, he would have pursued her. And he would have dreamed of her afterwards. He looked away and pushed the thought away. You travel with a killer, he reminded himself. Close your eyes and you die.
“What is in the Dark Forest that you seek?”
“Time will show you,” Belkai answered. “My goal is my own.”
There would be no further answer, Davos knew. To the side, the mercenary began to stir. Was she faking sleep? Davos suddenly wondered. Or did the two of them already have that much trust in each other?
“You’re eager for someone who lives where magic is banned,” Belkai remarked. Davos frowned.
“We don’t ban magic. We have several leagues of mages.”
Belkai laughed, this time far more sarcastically. “You have healers who play at magic. You have prophets who pretend they know power. And that’s all they do – pretend and play. Davos, my dear, if you follow me you’ll learn what real magic is.”
A coldness flashed across Belkai’s eyes as she spoke, and for a moment Davos had gotten a glimpse of the woman who had mercilessly killed so many people in the past few days. There was something beneath her surface, something that he would do well to remember.
“Real magic?” He forced himself to ask. Belkai stopped and turned to face him.
“There are forces you won’t ever understand, Lowborn. Accept that. And don’t fear the things that are outside your control. You’ll live longer.”
Davos wasn’t sure why, but a chill ran up his spine.
The tension was broken when the mercenary sat up and called out,
“So, shall we kill him?”
It was a voice that Davos knew well, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“That is no way to treat an old friend, Loranna,” Davos yelled back, satisfied to see the surprise in Belkai’s face. “She told you she was formerly in the militia, didn’t she? I trained her.”
“And he did a poor job,” Loranna laughed. “I apologise, Belkai. If I had known that he was tracking us, I could have saved us some stress.”
“You slept through the whole thing,” Belkai shot back, a playful smile on her face. It suited her, Davos thought. “Besides, we came to an understanding. He will be joining us.”
Loranna’s face darkened. “Do you know our goal?”
Davos nodded. “Narandir.”
A thought occurred to Loranna, and she crossed her arms. “Where is Ukari?”
“I set out on my own,” Davos replied. Belkai turned away as she felt the lie. Loranna noticed and warned,
“You should tell the truth, old friend. She will know if you lie.”
Davos eyed Belkai uneasily, then nodded. “Okay. He and a small detachment are about a day behind. They have instructions to arrest you only when I give the word. I have been leaving signs for them. If that stops, they will assume that I am dead and act accordingly.”
“I can handle them,” Belkai assured him.
“I have no doubt that you can,” Davos said. “But I doubt your will. So far you have not killed any innocents.”
Belkai was already walking south, and didn’t slow as she softly replied, “I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you, Davos. I wouldn’t be sure of much at all, in fact.”