Chapter four: The Great Wood

It was easier going down the mountain than it had been to come up.  As they galloped at a steady pace, the group of misfits took in impressive vistas, having a bird's eye view of almost the entire western half of Selenia, as the road snaked its way around the mountain to the valley below.  The ocean stretched out before them to the west, as far as the eye could see.  Some brave Southern folk tried to cross it, from time to time.  None ever returned in their giant bone-wood ships to tell their tales.  To the south, far off down the coast, Hifrim's Perch was a tiny blur of dark grey and brown amongst the lush greens of farms and fields.

"There's the Perch,"  Korbax told Sarephel as they rode. "See that little castle, atop the hill there?"

The woman squinted into the distance, blinked, then shook her head.  "Not really."

"Nevermind," Korbax said. "Point is, that's where Baron Paegar and the rest are headed.  The King sent his woman, Yarwen, to smack the local baron about a bit, our baron's going to help her.  And over there. . ."

He pointed out into the east, towards the Great Forest and Father Sun;  the cyclopean god still burned bright, but not quite so fiercely now, and cast a deep, reddish hue over the land.

". . . is Hartford.  You can't see it for the trees, but that's where we're going."  Korbax smiled at the notion.  It wasn't quite the same as returning to his home of the Delamere, but a forest's a forest, and any old forest was better than none.

Brinkle and Flick rode side by side as usual, closely following behind the spearman and Sarephel.  Wren rode way out ahead, taking the lead, and Talorook brought up the rear.  The Khivarian listened closely as Korbax continued.

"Apparently, Baron Lubbrant is having a bit of trouble controlling his slaves,"  he glanced back at Talorook, pityingly.  "Can't say I sympathise with him, either."

"Do not feel sorry for me, Korbax," Talorook brought his horse alongside the Selenian.  There was more than enough room on the wide road.  He scratched at his hot, itchy neck, where he told himself the rusty mail armour was merely rubbing his skin raw.

"Why do you have so many barons?" Talorook was confused by all the new names, unable to keep track.  "No lords, or even jarls like the old days?"

"We do have lords, but they don't rule much other than trade anymore," Brinkle spoke up.  He dabbed his sleeve gingerly to his bloody lip and winced.

"Only barons, now, ever since the war," Korbax agreed before continuing.  "And not many of them are legitimate.  Nothing more than the biggest, nastiest survivors, who carved up the kingdom between themselves, after most of the real barons were dead and gone.  Lately, they just sit in their castles, ignoring each other for the most part.  The Captain, now, he's legitimate, at least as legitimate as a bastard can be.  He's the King's brother, however, and he does have Duddaburg, though we haven't been back there in, oh, almost two years now?"

"In Khivaria, we have no barons," Talorook said.

"Lucky you," Brinkle spat blood off the edge of the cliff, "I'll have to visit sometime."

"So, why Hartford?" Sarephel asked Korbax, turning away from Brinkle in disgust.

"Wren thinks that the Wrackbone has something to do with the trouble there.  The Wrackbone needs an army, and what better way to hurt Hasrin than to take all the kingdom's slaves and turn them into vengeful soldiers, eager to turn on their masters?"

"Bloody hell," Sarephel looked at Talorook.  The Khivarian grunted and slowed his horse, saying nothing as he fell back to ride by himself once more.

They pushed on, covering almost ten more leagues before the Father finally began to vanish below the trees on the horizon.  Mother Moon would soon take over, and along with her blessings, she would also bestow more unpleasant things upon the land;  wolves were always a concern in these parts, prowling around in the dark, and would become more so the closer they got to the Great Forest.  Whatever the case, they made their camp a short way from the road and spent the first night in peace.

The next day passed by uneventfully.  They made over thirty leagues, resting during the hottest hours and spending most of their time walking alongside the horses, allowing them an easier time of it than the previous day.  Brinkle's horse was especially grateful.  They passed through shallow valleys of farmland and open meadows, seeing nobody but the occasional small trade caravan heading the other way, back up the road to Palecrest.  The small group of six gave these merchants plenty of room, riding in the long grass to the side of the road and not wanting to spook anybody.  Bandits were not uncommon in these parts, and just like the wolves, it became more likely to run into them closer to the forest.  Fortunately, nobody tried to bother them, and before they knew it Father Sun was saying farewell once more.

An hour earlier than was usual, they headed south a league, into the fields, before circling back and making camp behind a small hillock, which overlooked the road from where they had come.  Wren and Korbax walked two-thirds of the way up the hill before dropping to their bellies and crawling the final few feet to the top. 

"Okay.  I'll watch from here tonight, then," Korbax looked back along the road to the west, in the direction of Palecrest. "If I'm right, hopefully I'll spot 'em soon."

Wren picked a long blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers.  "Who d'you reckon it is?"

"Who knows? Someone King Hasrin's sent to keep an eye on us?" Korbax licked his lips.  "Got any water?" 

"Sorry," Wren shrugged, "back at camp."

Korbax huffed and squinted into the distance.  A storm raced towards Palecrest from the west, rolling in off the ocean and threatening to engulf the city.

"There'll be plenty for all soon," Korbax nodded towards the massive, dark grey clouds.  "Don't bother making a fire, besides, we'd best be stealthy-like."

Mother Moon was well on her way across the sky before Korbax gave out a trill, the whistle of a chaffinch sounding ever so strangely out of place in the dark.  Wren got up from his bedroll, picked up his belt and dagger, then moved towards the hill.

"What's up?" Sarephel asked as Wren jogged past where she laid, hands behind her head, staring at the stars.

"Could be trouble, wake the others," Wren hissed back.  He scrambled up the side of the hillock, once again dropping to his belly and crawling the last few feet.  He moved cautiously, trying not to disturb any of the foliage as he crept alongside Korbax and nestled down in the grass.

"What's up?" Wren looked down the road, in the direction of Palecrest.  He saw nothing.

"Someone's in the bushes down there, see?" Korbax pointed at a patch of privet, perhaps two hundred feet down the road.  The shrubs encroached on either side, making a natural ambush spot.  It was far too dark to pick out much of anything amongst the leaves.  Behind the bushes, however, clearly stood a big, black horse, grazing with its head to the ground.

"He knows we're here, I think," Korbax explained, "he got off the road all of a sudden as if spooked.  Left his horse and jumped in the privets."

The two men kept watch for a while, saying nothing.  The privet shrubs were perfectly still; nothing seemed to move around or cause any disturbance other than the ocassional, gentle tug of the breeze as the storm grew ever closer.

"Are you sure it's not just a horse?" Wren asked.  He was beginning to get impatient.

"I saw him, a big fellow in black armour," Korbax whispered in protest, "just watch."

And so they watched.  Minutes slipped away as nothing happened.  Just as Wren was about to call the spearman a fool, then head back to bed, Korbax shifted and pressed himself even flatter against the dirt.

"Riders," he whispered, "coming on quick."

Wren stared into the night, straining to pick out any sign of movement from down the road.  "You've got bloody good eyes, Korbax," he said, finally picking out the tell-tale cloud of dust being thrown up behind a group of fast-moving horses.

"Who's this then?" Wren wondered aloud.  As the horsemen came closer, it soon became possible to pick out individuals amongst the group.  There seemed to be a half-dozen of them, riding hard behind a stout looking man wearing plate armour and a kettle hat.  

"Montok," Sarephel's voice made both the men jump.  Wren turned to see the woman had crept alongside them, without making a sound, and now stared wide-eyed at the approaching riders.  

"Montok?" Wren whispered, "the Baron of Mudroot?  Oh, for Mother's sake."

The riders reached the privet shrubs, and as they flew by, one of them must have noticed the black horse or some other sign of trouble.  A cry could be heard as the man in plate held up his hand.   The group of riders plowed off the road and wheeled back around, spreading out and surrounding the privets.  Spears were couched and aimed into the darkness as Baron Montok dropped from his saddle.  Wren and his two friends could just about make out his voice from the top of the hill, as he shouted for whoever was skulking about to show themselves.

The person Korbax had supposedly seen chose to remain hidden, and Montok couldn't be heard as he lowered his voice and spoke with the bushes.  This went on for a short while until Korbax decided he couldn't take it.  "Wait here, I want to listen," he pushed himself forward from the crest and went scrambling down the hillside on his stomach, moving fast but carefully, sticking to dips in the terrain like a grass snake.

After a few moments, a shadowy figure rose from the privets and moved to the centre of the road.  He wore all black armour from head to toe, good quality plate, and an old fashioned full helm.  He drew his longsword and looked up at Mother Moon for a few seconds, before lowering the faceplate of his bascinet.  He yelled out a muffled challenge, and Montok's men fanned out to watch as their baron drew his own longsword and walked towards the stranger in black.  He stopped ten paces away and raised it above his head, ready to swing down from above.

"From the roof," Sarephel whispered.

"Eh?" Wren didn't understand, "What roof?"

"Shhh.  Watch."  The woman stared with fascination at the two swordsmen.  

The man in black lowered the tip of his longsword almost to the ground, shuffling a foot back to brace himself in a defensive position. 

"The fool," Sarephel chuckled, "we'll see." 

"Which one?" Wren asked, confused.

Montok charged at the black armoured man like a demon from the gates of hell.   His blade glinted in the moonlight as he swung it down towards the stranger's head.  The blow was deflected as the man in black's sword came up, parrying it away and slicing back in an arc at Montok's visorless face.  The Baron jerked back as the blade passed an inch from his nose.  He moved back a few steps, holding his longsword in front, tip up to point at his enemy. 

"Plough, not a good idea, now the black one'll come at him," Sarephel grinned, her white teeth gleaming.  She was getting excited.

The black armoured man rushed towards the Baron, and their swords rang out across the quiet of the night.  They blocked, parried and dodged around each other, testing for weaknesses, probing for openings.  

Korbax wriggled down to the side of the road, then carefully worked his way towards the fight.  He moved a little quicker, keeping out of sight but trusting the distraction to cover his approach.  Finally he reached a big privet of his own, rolled underneath, and kept his head down as the two armoured men clanked around each other, trying to get the upper hand. 

Montok thrust his sword at his opponent, side-stepped and deflected the counter.  He was clearly getting tired, and the younger man in black pressed his advantage.  The Baron kept up his defence for as long as he could, weaving and parrying, but before long, he over-reached with a foolish counter-attack.  He took a pommel to the eye and staggered backwards, dazed and half-blinded.  The black armoured stranger moved in to finish Montok, but the baron quickly reversed his weapon and submitted to the man in black.

"Obviously," Sarephel complained, shaking her head.  Her ponytail bobbed around as she mumbled, "I wish he'd killed him."

"Bloody hell, woman," Wren frowned, "where did you learn about longswords?"

Sarephel unconsciously rubbed at the sleeve of her chain mail, a wistful look on her face.  "My dad," she muttered.

"Well, aren't you just full of surprises?" Wren smiled as he looked back to the road.

Baron Montok and the stranger in black talked for a while, as the thick, grey clouds rolled in closer.  Palecrest could no longer be seen, the entire top half of Mount Pale having been completely taken over by the storm.  After a few minutes, the man in black went and fetched his horse before mounting up and joining Baron Montok.  The two plate clad men seemed friendly enough as they rode off eastwards, towards the forest and Hartford.  Wren and Sarephel kept very still, and very quiet, as they watched the Baron's men file past below and gallop off after their leader and the stranger in black.  They waited a few minutes to be sure they'd really gone, before Korbax came back up the hill, and the three of them set off back to camp.

"Well, did you hear anything?" Sarephel asked, eager for answers.

"I heard some," Korbax took his leather water flask and upended it, drinking greedily.  He gasped, fastened it shut and winked at Wren.  "Montok's very upset with us for killing his son-in-law.  He's been to Palecrest, and it sounds like Hasrin told him to fuck off, but Montok found out where we're headed, somehow."

"Shit," Wren said, "well, that's a problem.  What about the stranger?  The black knight, or whatever he is?"

"You'll not believe it," Korbax grinned, "but Montok was calling him 'Priest.'"

Wren's eyes widened.  

"Priest?  Oh no, for Mother's sake, please, not a priest."

"Yes, a priest," Korbax punched Wren gently on the shoulder.  "It seems you really got under the Church's skin this time."

"They sent a warrior, not a priest.  He's no priest, can't be."  Wren looked up at Mother Moon, pleadingly.  "Not another zealot, please, Mother."

"Sorry, Wren," Korbax sounded sympathetic, "but if it was Brinkle, you'd tell him it serves him right!  Now get to sleep, I expect we'll reach the forest before mid-day if we get a move on.  If we really get a move on, we can reach Hartford by sundown."

The rain came an hour or so later, accompanied by the rumble of thunder as it pitter-pattered down, lightly at first, before steadily intensifying through the early morning.  Little sleep was to be found, and everyone was reasonably grumpy by the time Mother Sun popped up.  They ate a quick breakfast of smoked meat, eager to get back on the road and under the shelter of the Great Forest.  "What the fuck is this, anyway?" Brinkle asked, tearing off a stringy strip with his few remaining teeth, "It's not half bad."

"Cat," Korbax shrugged, "from Palecrest."

Brinkle glared at him and spat his mouthful of meat to the ground in disgust.

"I'll take it," offered Talorook, holding out an upturned hand in hope.  "It's better than anything I've had in a long time. Brinkle pinched the remaining meat between his thumb and forefinger as if he had a dead rat by it's tail.  Keeping it at arm's length, he dropped it on Talorook's palm in disgust before leaving to help Flick and Sarephel ready the horses. Talorook ripped the cat flesh in two and shoved one half into his mouth.  "I could get used to banditry," he said, smacking his greasy lips.

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"We're not bandits," replied Korbax. "We're soldiers.  Mercenaries, if you like."

"Legionaries," Wren joined them.  He grimaced into the lashing rain and pulled his fur-lined hood tight around his face.  "We're still a legion, technically."

"You seem like bandits to me," Talorook insisted, picking at his teeth with a fingertip.  He walked off towards the hillock, calling back as he went, "I need to make some rain of my own."

"Don't be long, we'll be off in a minute."  Wren watched the Khivarian's back as he walked away.  "What do you think, Korbax?" 

"I think he'll fit in, as will she," Korbax pointed at Sarephel.  She was helping Brinkle the Big up into his saddle, shoving her shoulder against his buttocks as he threatened to crush the woman.

"What about Montok, and this 'priest' we saw last night?" Wren asked. "We should take it easy today, I don't want to ride right up their arses by mistake."

"Aye, we'll be careful," Korbax chewed down his last bit of cat and clapped his hands together. "Time to go?"

"Time to go," Wren nodded, shaking rainwater from his hood.  "Fuck this for a lark."

Drenched and miserable, they joined the others and mounted up.  Talorook, having relieved himself, climbed to the top of the hill, intending to take one quick, last look around before they left.  He stared off into the east, before running back down the hill towards them, hollering out as he came, "Smoke! There's smoke in the forest!"

"Smoke? What sort of smoke?" Wren asked the Khivarian, who ran to his horse and hopped up into the saddle with ease.  "From a campfire?"

"Bigger, from the forest," Talorook said,"quite far in, the trees are ablaze."

"In this weather?"  Brinkle pondered.  "It must be fierce, a rare beauty!"

"Let's go, we've dallied here long enough," Wren turned his horse towards the road. 

"We'll see for ourselves, soon, Brink," Korbax winked at the big brute.

The six of them rode back to the road, then headed east towards the Great Forest.  Before long, they could all clearly make out the billowing plumes of thick, black smoke rising above the trees a few leagues in.  Heavy rain hammered down on their heads from above, and would certainly temper some of the fire's fury, but the general consensus among the party was that to give off such volumes of smoke, it must have indeed been a raging inferno.

"It looks like the fire's cut the road to Hartford, so we'll have to go around," Korbax told Wren, who nodded in agreement.

Of the six, Korbax was most familiar with the Great Forest, and Wren knew they would have to trust him to get them through to Hartford safely.  

"I suppose it'd take too long to find another path?" Wren asked, wringing rain water from his beard.

"It's a long way, twenty leagues or so to the north there's a trail that could take us, but . . ."  Korbax paused, considering it for a moment before nodding, his mind made up.  "It'll be quicker if we push through the trees, we can get around the fire to the south, I reckon."

"That's why I brought you, Korbax," Wren said appreciatively, touching his fist to his forehead, "Lead the way." 

Korbax spurred his horse ahead, and Wren felt sure that the spearman would be able to navigate his way through the trees.  As long as they didn't get too close to the blaze and get turned around in the smoke. 

At around midday, they began to pass the thick bone-pine trees of Great Forest fame.  They were smaller here at the edge of the forest, perhaps five or six-foot thick at the most, but as they travelled deeper into the trees, the trunks began to thicken, and grew denser around them.  It suddenly felt extremely gloomy and oppressive to the tired party, as heavy branches loomed overhead, bristling with dark green needles.  The same needles blanketed the ground beneath the horses' hoofs, muffling their sound as they kicked the scent of pine up into the air.

"They grow up to twenty-foot wide, deeper in," Korbax told Saraphel, who was amazed by the trees' size already.  "Can I borrow that axe, Brink?" 

Brinkle the Big pulled his new axe from where it was belted behind his saddle.  It was a sturdy little hatchet, perfect for close work.  He handed it to Korbax, saying, "Careful, I've not used her myself, yet."

Korbax took the axe and rode over to one of the smaller specimens of bone-pine.  Leaning from the saddle, he hacked at the tough bark, splitting his way through to the white sapwood beneath.  He jabbed at the wound with the point of the axe and grunting with the effort as he pried out a small chunk of the wood.  He handed the hatchet back to Brinkle and tossed the chunk to Sarephel.  She caught it skillfully with one hand before scrutinizing it.

"It really is like bone," she said, trying to squash the wood between her fingers.  She passed it to Flick, who seemed very pleased as he gazed at her with adoration.

"Tough as bone and heavy as stone, which is why it's not really used elsewhere, it's too hard to shift the shit," Korbax looked up through the thick branches, trying to make out the clouds above.  "At least we're out of the rain."

They made good progress throughout the afternoon, the strong smell of pine mingling with an ever-increasing hint of burning wood as they got closer to the fire that blazed ahead.  Before long, the air was filled with the sound of roaring, crackling flames, and rounding the next bend they were suddenly face to face with a wall of thick, black smoke.  It billowed around the trees to either side of the road, and an ominous red glow, deep within the clouds, made Flick feel like he was peering into the depths of hell itself.  He shivered, telling himself it was just the cold, and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

"Fuck me, look at her go!" Brinkle gazed into the smoke, looking up at where flames could be seen licking the uppermost branches of  the pine-bone trees.  As he watched, one of the great limbs snapped free with a crack, tumbling into the inferno below, showering embers.  "Bloody hellfire!"

Flick felt a small knot in the pit of his stomach.  He tugged on his reins, coming closer alongside Sarephel.  They followed Korbax off the road, passing between two of the great trees and into the darkness beyond.  Purple moss grew in thick patches on the bark around them, and huge ferns sprouted up from the ground as they weaved their way through the dim, dank labyrinth.  The soft earth and pine needles of the forest floor soon became less firm, forcing them to dismount, lest one of the horses stumble and break a leg.

"It's like a catacomb," Brinkle nudged Flick with his elbow, "that's where they used to put dead people, lad."

He grinned and poked the tip of his tongue though the new gap in his teeth.  "Maybe there's some of them knocking about in here, eh?"

"Ha, I hope not," Flick forced a smile,"Do you think Korbax can find his way?" 

"Aye, lad, he can,"

"You sure, Brink?" 

"Sure, Flick," Brinkle comforted the boy.  "He could find a hymen in a whorehouse, could Korbax."

Sarephel grunted and sniffed at the air.

"We're moving away from it, Flick," she leaned over and ruffled her fingers through his wild tangle of hair.  "The smoke's thinning."

She was right.  They continued through the gloom, heading slightly uphill, the horses sounding far too loud in the eery quiet.  Soon, the scent of smoke was gone and Flick began to feel a little better, but all of a sudden, up ahead, Korbax stopped dead in his tracks.  He slowly looked to his right, then to his left, before turning to face the others with a puzzled look on his face. 

Flick watched as Wren approached the spearman's side, before suddenly jerking back, catching his balance as if about to fall forward.  He seemed to scan the ground in front of himself as the two men talked in hushed tones.  Flick couldn't make out what was being said, but at one point Wren turned his head inside his hood, glancing over at the boy.  Flick felt the knot in the pit of his stomach twist a little.  A few moments passed, feeling to Flick like minutes, before Korbax shrugged and Wren strode back over, casually.

"There's a bloody huge gorge ahead," he explained,  "a stream Korbax forgot about, evidently.  He's beating himself up about it, but he'll find a way, no problem."

They followed the ravine back downhill, walking along the top of the cliff.  They moved quickly but carefully; it was a fifteen foot fall down soft peat and jagged rocks to the boggy stream below, and the rain made it perilous underfoot.  Flick edged away from the cliff as he walked, and his horse made things awkward as it struggled behind him, it's weight pushing it's hooves deep into the soil.  Before long, they were able to work their way back away from the cliff, and found firmer footing, but they still kept the gorge to their right as they followed it downstream.

The hint of smoke in the air returned, drifting through the trees like a whispered threat.  Goosebumps tickled along Flick's arms as he shivered.  They were being pushed back towards the fire and Korbax seemed to be getting anxious, noticeably increasing the pace and hurrying them along.  Every now and then he would leave them to scramble his way back up to the top of the cliff, searching for a way to cross the ravine, before returning, shaking his head and pushing on.  Around ten minutes passed, as they went steadily downhill through the forest.

Once again, they heard the fire before they saw it, though the smoke was thick about the trees.  Flick stared, peering past the great trunks into the pink haze before them.

"We have to go back," Korbax came stomping past the other way, "fucking hell."

"A hymen in a whorehouse," grumbled Talorook, as he turned around and followed Korbax, quickly.

Back they went, up to the ravine and along the cliff.  They were soaked through with rain and sweat, and their clothing clung stickily against their skin.  It was hot and humid and hard going.

When they reached the spot where they had first came across the ravine, Flick nearly walked into the back of Talorook's horse as it stopped in front of him with a jolt.  He dropped his reins and pushed past the animal to join Korbax and Talorook on the ridge, the others not far behind.  The six of them gathered around Korbax and looked the way they had come, back downhill towards the road.   The whole forest was ablaze.  A lake of flames filled the ground between the trees, ripping through the ferns like water flooding around the mighty trunks.  They were cut off, unable to retreat, either to the road or along the cliff.  Flick's heart skipped a beat, and the knot in his stomach pulled tight.

"What the fuck?" Brinkle demanded, rounding on Korbax. 

"It's not his fault, Brinkle." Wren stared at one of the burning bone-pines within the inferno.  It was split from within, as if an alchemical explosion had erupted inside the heartwood.  Jagged, flaming splinters of wood burst outwards from the giant trunk, unnaturally.

"Get your axe and get to work!" Wren shouted, "We need a bridge, and fucking quickly!"

Brinkle grasped the situation immediately.  He picked out a suitably tall, two foot thick tree near the edge of the ravine and set to chopping with his hatchet.  The small axe moved back and forth, almost in a blur as Brinkle sent small chips of the bone-white wood flying. 

"You'll not make it," a voice cried out behind them, from the opposite side of the ravine.  "You've not enough time!"

It was the black armoured priest, not twenty five feet away.  He had removed his helm and everything from his pauldrons down, leaving only his breastplate.  The sleeves of his gambeson had slits from sleeve to elbow, and were pinned against the priest's shoulders, revealing his bare arms.  They were covered in swirls and patterns of scar tissue, self-mutilated sigils carved into his own flesh.  More sigils adorned his bald head, above a freshly shaven face.  He was in his late twenties, perhaps thirty, a little younger than Wren, and wore a stern look.

"Oh, fuck me silly," Wren exclaimed as he took in the newcomer.  "He's a zealot, alright."

"Face the flames like your ancestors did, witch," the priest stared at Wren. "Have a little dignity in death."

"Danico took it hard, eh?" Wren smirked. "I didn't for a second think he'd send a fucking holy sigil-slinger though.  I'm honoured."

"Cunt!" Brinkle yelled, simply.  He turned back to the bone-pine and renewed his attack.

"Baron Montok wanted you dead, not Danico," the black priest said.  He walked over to a big tree of his own, laid his hand against the bark and closed his eyes.  "Danico only wanted me to keep an eye on you, but once Montok had told me what you did in Mudroot, I felt I must concur."

Tendrils of smoke began to curl from beneath the priest's fingers.  He clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes tight and pushing against the tree.

"Stop him, Korbax!" Wren hissed.

Korbax took a few steps back, hefted his spear and ran towards the cliff.  He released the weapon and they all watched as it soared out across the abyss, straight at the priest.  He opened his eyes and jumped back, the spear passing harmlessly between him and the tree.  He smiled a slow smile, stepped forward and replaced his hand on the bark.

"Bloody shit!" Korbax yelled.  

Flick glanced around at the flames below.  They were getting closer every minute, creeping their way up the hill towards them.  He shivered again, this time from fear, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself otherwise.  

"Come on, Flick, give us a hand," Sarephel gestured at the lad.  "Talorook, come on, we can't take the horses across.  Get everything off them, they'll have to take their chances."

As they got to work unpacking and unsaddling the horses, Wren stared at the priest.  The smoke coming from the man's hand grew thicker, and he kept moving his fingertips as if they were burning against the hot bark.  Suddenly, the priest jumped back, this time not to dodge a spear, but an eruption of flame, gushing from within the tree with a shower of sparks.  More holes blew out all along the height of the tree in quick succession, spouting forth liquid fire to the forest floor below.

"Hey, you son of a whore!" Wren shouted as he watched in amazement.  "By the holy Mother, where did you learn that one?"

The priest rounded on Wren, anger flaring across dark green eyes.  "Do not speak of her, witch!"

Wren grinned. "Fuck your mother, and fuck your master, too! "

"My master?" The priest smiled. "I stopped calling that rotten abomination, Danico, my master long ago.  I serve a new master now, Wrenfin Agodak, and though you will burn here like the witch you truly are, my master will not be pleased that you stole his sigil."

The black priest turned and walked away before Wren could recover from his shock.

"Fuck off!" He weakly called after the man.  "Shit. Brinkle, get a move on!"

Brinkle was making good progress, having chopped his way a third of the way through the bone-pine tree.  He brandished the small hatchet in the air, complaining, "It's too bloody small!" before swinging it against the wood with all his strength.

"Get us across, Brink.  That priest is setting fire to the whole forest."

Wren helped the others finish unpacking the horses, setting the saddlebags and packs in a pile on the ground.  They removed the saddles and sent the animals on their way, hollering and slapping at the creatures to drive them off.  Brinkle's horse, most eager to be leaving, lead them away through the ferns, heading upstream into the trees.

"I hope they make it," Flick thought out loud, watching them go.

"Horses are clever, much cleverer than us, Flick," Korbax grunted. "They'll find their way better than I did."

"Come on, lend a hand!" Wren and Brinkle were pushing against the tree, above Brinkle's cut. "She'll go!" Wren shouted.

Korbax ran to help, throwing his weight behind them.  The three men shoved against the tree, and it let out a cracking sound as the tough fibres began to snap and give.  

Sarephel joined them, followed by Talorook and they yelled at the tree as they heaved.  Slowly at first, it began to fall, splintering at the cut and toppling towards the ravine. It gathered speed and came down perfectly on the other side with a crash, altogether too close to the flaming bone-pine. 

"Hurry now, over you go," Wren needn't have bothered telling them.  Korbax ran over to the other side with ease, scurrying across sure-footedly.  He was followed by Sarephel, who went slower, taking care on the slippery tree. 

"Go on," Wren pushed Flick towards the precarious bridge.  "You'll be alright, quick now!"

Flick glanced back at the flames, then stepped up onto the tree and took a deep breath.  He shuffled forward and slipped, but Wren's hand was there to push him back on track.  Flick wobbled and took a step out towards the middle.  

"Go fast, or you'll fall," Wren said, as he swung a saddlebag around his head.  He let go, and it sailed out across the chasm to land amongst the fallen pine branches on the other side.   Saraphel scrambled over and retrieved it, as he bent down and picked up another bag from the pile and started tossing them over.

Flick took a second step out onto the bridge, then a third.  He felt the knot in his gut loosen a little, escape was so close, and he ran the rest of the way, arms flailing.  Sarephel was waiting on the other side and took his hand, helping him the last few feet and down off the tree.  Wren was right behind, followed by Talorook, who was as nimble as Korbax had been.  He clutched Brinkle's saddlebag in one hand and 

Brinkle seemed to take forever.  He shuffled across the makeshift bridge, inch after inch.  Wren yelled out encouragement between mumbled complaints;  he glanced around at the flames and said, "Come on, Brink, this fire's getting hot!"

The burning bone-pine had spread it's flames to the surrounding ferns, and now the entire upper half of the tree was threatening to go up, it's uppermost branches already smouldering.  Korbax retrieved his spear and came to help chivvy Brinkle along.  "Come on!" He shouted.  "Get a move on!"

"Shut up, you pair of tits!" Brinkle shouted, his face red and furious.  "I'm coming, alright?"

When he was finally close enough, he stopped his shuffling and hurled himself off the tree, out into the tangled branches laying on the other side of the gorge.  They cushioned his fall, and he came to his feet in a second, swearing and picking smoking pine needles from his chain mail.

"Fucking arseholes.  Where's that fucking priest?" He asked Wren.  Wren turned to Korbax, who pointed downstream.  Brinkle set off in a hurry, stomping along, not waiting for anyone.  "I like a good fire as much as the next man, but he's taking it too fucking far!"

Korbax ran off with him, saddlebag throw over his shoulder, as the rest gathered their things.  "What, in the Mother's name, did he do to that tree?" Saraphel asked Wren.  She heaved Brinkle's saddlebag over her own shoulder and moaned.  "Bloody hell, Brinkle."

"I'm not really sure," Wren replied.  "He worked a sigil, that much I know, but I've never seen anything quite like it."

"Wren can make us go unnoticed," Flick chimed in.  He was glad to be away from the fire, and the knot in his stomach had vanished.  "And I've seen him turn the ground to mud, but it took hours!"

Defel scowled.  "It's not easy to work the old magic, but that priest isn't just a priest," he explained. "The Church sink their rotten fangs into them while they're still young, even younger than you were when we met, Flick.  They'd never admit it, but they teach them all the beautiful blasphemies of the Mother, all the wonWrenul things they claim to hate, and turn the poor children into loyal little soldiers."

"So, you can do that, too?" Sarephel asked, her eyes wide.  "Burn trees from the inside?" 

"Like I said, I've never seen that before." Wren tapped his leather pouch of tricks at his waist, "I wouldn't need half of this shit, if it were that easy.  Good sigils take time, time he didn't seem to need."  He furrowed his brow, then shook his head, "Now's not the time, come on!"  

He set off after the others.  Talorook was nearly out of sight already, dodging through the trees.  They caught up with Brinkle first, panting and sweaty.  Sarephel slammed his saddlebag into his gut as she jogged by.  "Yours, I believe?" she asked, sarcastically.

They headed away from the gorge, moving deeper into the forest.  Korbax and Talorook stopped at the top of a small rise in the land, and waited for the others to catch up.  

"They're here," Talorook said.  "What should we do?" 

"You'll do nothing,  You don't even have a weapon," Wren replied.  He moved to the crest of the hill and looked down the other side.  

"See?  Down there," Korbax pointed through the trees, "it's their camp."

The black priest stood in a small clearing below, watching them.  He was fully armoured now, helm on head, visor up.  Wren felt, more than he saw, the green eyes piercing him as he stared back.  Montok and his men were mounted, waiting for the priest, and they milled about as they too looked up at their univited guests.  The priest kicked at the cold fire in the middle of the space, sending ashes scattering; he was clearly upset that he had clearly underestimated Brinkle's woodcutting abilities.  Turning away, he crossed the clearing and climbed up onto his big, black warhorse.  Baron Montok rode alongside, and the two talked for a moment, before the Baron turned to the hill and flicked two fingers in their direction.  He shouted a command and his men wheeled around, following their master and the priest off into the treeline.  

"Bloody cowards!" Brinkle yelled, "Fuck off, you cockless wonders!"  He laid his hands on his knees, breathing hard.  "I'm sweating like a butcher's armpit, here."

"They won't fight us, not uphill and not unless they outnumber us," Korbax said.  He took off his helmet and let it dangle at his chest on it's straps.  "Good job with that axe, Brink, that fucking priest thought he'd cooked us for sure."

Wren stared down at the empty camp.  "They'll be waiting for us, somewhere.  That priest is the Wrackbone's man. . . the fucking Wrackbone's got his crooked claws into the Sun-damned Church of the Mother.  He's been busy for a long fucking time, longer than I thought."

"Where's Hartford, Korbax?" Talorook asked the spearman.  "I'll come with you."

"This way," Korbax headed off through the trees, back towards the ravine.  "Maybe we'll run into them again, there."

"I hope not," Flick said, wiping rain from his forehead.  He pushed back his tangle of wet curls and shivered again.  "I didn't like that fire business much." 

Brinkle chuckled, and patted the lad on the back.  "What's not to like?" he asked.

They set off after Korbax and Talorook, back towards the ravine and, hopefully, the town of Hartford.