Kaczmarek was completely right, I had to admit, and the Ostwald here was very little different to the forests before Kurnich where we had occasionally had to leave the road -- first to avoid the wyvern, then to reach the hunters’ cabin. The biggest difference to this journey, of course, was the fact that we were making it in darkness apart from the light of the single lantern. Once we were fifty metres into the woods, the jäger had opened up the rest of the shutters to allow it to light more than one direction, but it was still only a little light and the footing would be treacherous by day.
I found myself envying the horses their iron-shod hooves, which splashed through the water and bit through the mud to strike true onto earth beneath, or bit into the twisting roots that interrupted the path at intervals. My own boots were not hobnailed, only deeply scored, and they slid in the mud or glided off tree roots far too easily for my liking. More than once I stumbled and only barely caught myself before planting face-first in the water, and His Highness ahead of me was faring little better. He pressed on admirably, though, still uncomplaining.
My head was still on a swivel, looking from side to side into the forest searching for any hint of movement. It was something of a fool’s errand and I knew it -- my eyes were night-blinded by the lantern light -- but the woods made me uneasy. I wished we could have done this by day.
Ahead, Kaczmarek seemed to have no such concerns, her posture relaxed. If one hand wasn’t occupied with the reins of her horse and the other with the lantern, I guessed they would be swinging loosely at her sides. She knew the woods well, I supposed, and I reminded myself that this close to Kurnich the forests barely counted as wild. Of course that didn’t mean they were entirely safe or that children could play in them or anything, but the chances that a pack of greatwolves or the like was prowling about was almost nil.
I finally breathed a sigh of relief when the path ahead widened out and then abruptly stopped where the road cut across it. The road itself was only just broad enough to take a wagon, with enough room cleared for two to pass each other if the drivers left the road carefully, and relatively level and paved. The main thing about the road in my eyes, though, was that it was well-travelled and straight enough one could see ahead for some distance.
Or, well, one would be able to see ahead for some distance by day and in more clement weather. Or if you had an immensely powerful light, I thought whimsically for a moment. The idea of walking around with a beam of light as intense as the sun amused me briefly.
Though the trees were for the most part cut back over the road, we had decided not to mount up tonight. The lantern light wasn’t enough to see everything by, and it was all too possible that a narrow branch or a reaching twig could catch a rider in the eye, or simply strike them on the head if it were heavy enough. The road was, however, wide enough that we could walk three abreast instead of in single file, and I took the opportunity to check on the prince.
“Everything alright, your Highness?”
“Quite fine, gefreiter,” he assured me. “Although, what was that song the jäger used earlier? Why did the Torreans let us pass? Some kind of code?”
Kaczmarek and I stifled laughter, I more successfully than her.
“No, your Highness,” I said, “It’s a Szekeryan dirge. Suppose you’re a common soldier on patrol, sir. It’s dark and stormy, you’re cold and wet and can’t see more than ten metres. Then you hear a woman singing and three riders come out of the dark, sir, and completely ignore you. They thought we were spirits, your Highness, or ghosts or devils.”
The prince was silent for a moment, then laughed quietly. “Well, if it works, it works. Excellent job, Jäger Kaczmarek.”
“Thanks, your Highness,” the jäger in question said, still a little breathless from choking down laughter. “I hope to never do it again.”
“I can’t fault you there,” he said drily. “I too hope when I’m dead I’ll rest easy in my grave. An afterlife of scaring Torreans in the rain sounds dismal.”
That set us both off in a round of undignified -- well -- giggles, again. The weight of the darkness seemed a bit less for a while, though the rain continued to come down in shifting sheets around us and drip from the reaching trees above.
***
We had been riding for what felt like an hour -- time was difficult to gauge, with the moon behind the clouds -- when Kaczmarek called a halt, gesturing to a narrow trail I would have taken for an animal path.
“There’s an old set of boulders through here where we can crash for the rest of the night,” she said. “It’s not exactly a bed and hot meal, but it’s safer than sleeping on the road, and the rocks keep most of the wind out so we can make a lean-to.”
“Will we get the horses down the path?” I asked, eyeing the encroaching branches.
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“Should be fine. Shouldn’t be thick new growth yet, and giant deer use this trail sometimes. Not as big as a horse, but pretty big.” She gestured vaguely, indicating a height somewhere around my shoulder level, and shrugged. “Worst case I think they can shove through it.”
“Let’s just try it, Schreiner,” His Highness chipped in, to my surprise. It was uncommon for him to voice an opinion on these things, although I supposed the last few days had been a bit odd. Either the choice had been obvious or there’d been none at all. “If need be we can come back about. I should dearly love to stop for the night.”
“As you say, your Highness. I think we’d all love to,” I said. And with the jäger as well we’d be able to take shifts and sleep properly, too, although perhaps not for as long as either of us would like. Still, two of us somewhat tired was certainly better than just me, completely exhausted.
Kaczmarek led the way down the path, which narrowed quickly and soon I was walking in front of Munter, pushing withy branches away as they flicked back off His Highness’s mount ahead of me. It was not far before the path broadened again, opening up into a small clearing with a collection of moss-covered boulders. The largest stood well above my height, looming in the darkness. The jäger walked around the side of the rocks, where their arrangement left a vaguely square nook perhaps two metres deep and two metres wide, open to the sky but with some space where one might huddle under the overhang to keep out of the rain -- if the rain weren’t running down the rock through the moss, dripping all the way, that is.
The light of the lantern flashed off a few well worn staves set at the back of the nook and Kaczmarek made a pleased noise. “I was hoping there’d be some poles left. We can out up a lean-to, then.”
I tethered the horses and freed the bundles we’d need for the night, setting them on a groundsheet, while the jäger went about setting the poles up. Some of the rocks, I realised, were not there wholly naturally but had been arranged into rough cairns by past travellers. Those cairns were large enough to support the staves, with a little careful moving and stacking, and in blessedly little time we had a canvas sheet stretched overhead with the rain gently drumming on it. Kaczmarek laid out two bedrolls and affected a courtly manner, bowing and gesturing.
“Your retire for the evening, your Highness,” she said in a nasal voice. I winced. That didn’t even make sense.
The prince just shook his head. “Thank you, jäger.” He ducked under the lean-to and shed his cloak, shaking some of the water off it, then paused. “What shall I do with this?”
“Just fold outsides to outsides and set it by on the groundsheet,” I suggested. “It won’t dry in this weather no matter what you do, sir. May as well just try to keep the insides dry for now.”
He nodded and fumblingly folded together, dropping it in a barely-tidied heap. “Will there be anything else tonight?” He asked.
“No, your Highness. Get some sleep,” I encouraged him. “More long days ahead, sir.”
He mumbled something in response and collapsed on one of the groundsheets.
Kaczmarek crouched beside me. “Can I have first watch? I’m a night owl anyway, and I’m still too jumpy to sleep.”
“I don’t mind.” I shrugged. I was worn down enough from holding my footing in the woods, and staring about non-stop as well, to be sure I’d sleep immediately I hit the sack. I was a little surprised she wasn’t as well. “Will you be able to tell when your watch ends?”
“No problem,” she assured me. “You just get your sleep, gefreiter. I’ll dim the lantern, but keep it burning in case we need it.”
“As you say, jäger. Then, good night.” I unbuckled my belts and cast off my sodden coat, but didn’t strip any further. I was still not wholly comfortable, animals and men and things halfway between lurking in every shadow in my mind. It was with the grip of my scimitar in hand that I stared up at the roof of the lean-to, listening to the rain until sleep closed my eyes.
What seemed like an instant later, I woke with a start to something shaking me, blade halfway free of the scabbard before I realised it was Kaczmarek.
“Bleeding Heavens, man, you always sleep like that?” She hissed at me, recoiling.
“Only in an undefended camp in the middle of nowhere, closer to the enemy than my own.” I hissed back, sliding the blade back home and rolling over to crawl far enough out of the lean-to to stand. “Nothing while I slept?” I asked in a more normal low voice. She shook her head.
“Nope, not a peep. Told you.”
The initial surge of adrenaline from being woken had worn off leaving me a bit muzzy, so I just nodded. “Alright. Get some sleep.”
I picked up my coat and shuddered. It was, of course, still heavy with water. I set it aside again and opted to wrap myself in the cloak I’d unpacked last night instead. It wasn’t much for immediate warmth, but it kept the wind out and it’d keep my body heat in given time. If the air had been chilly when we set out, now it was bitingly cold. Not enough to frost, I hoped for the sake of the crops, but enough sitting about in just damp shirtsleeves would have you blue and frozen. We would have to make better shelter tomorrow -- today, rather -- with a proper fire to warm and dry by, or I feared the cold would overcome us. The melting of the snows didn’t banish winter’s icy claws. It only took the edge off them, so they took longer to cut to the bone.
After half an hour on watch, I was beginning to agree with Kaczmarek’s dismissal of the danger. The only interruption to the quiet dripping of the forest was the occasional croaking of a frog or singing of a cricket that had found shelter from the rain. No branches stirred, no puddles splashed, no twigs cracked.
I took to whittling away at a stick with my knife as I waited, looking up to gaze around the clearing between every couple of strokes, just in case. The night slowly wore down with the carving, until eventually the hint of a grey dawn began showing through the trees and I rose, rolling my shoulders with a fusillade of pops that had me wincing. Time for a cold breakfast of dry bread, cheese, and plain water, and another day of long riding. I sighed, and woke the others.