2.2

Smoke pt.2

“I knew you would be safe!” Sammi Sigeric exclaimed proudly, turning to his hooded companions, “I said so, didn’t I?”

The others nodded, huddling together atop their log. The fire burned a little less brightly now that Grimvald had set about dimming it, and the cold of the night chilled them to their bones.

Sammi had spent what remained of the evening outlining their own escape, making gestures and movements that acted out the story he told. The stable boy, it seemed, had noticed the fighting even from the back of Halfden’s convoy, and had set about dragging the rest of their companions to one side, deciding what to do next. When they had found themselves separated from the House Guard, who had joined those at the front, he had decided that it was no longer safe, that they needed to escape – he made sure to emphasise that it was his decision, that he had been the one to lead them to safety. As the fighting grew and all fell into a chaotic mess of screaming and shouting, they fled.

“What of Yiri?” Harald asked. It was not that he cared deeply for Halfden’s daughter, quite the opposite, but something strange brought her to mind. Yiri had been a thorn in his side since they had first met. She was a truly irritating girl whose only goal in life seemed to be making sure that his became more difficult. Too many days had been spent recovering from her many annoyances. Even so, the thought of her being gone completely dug a hole inside him that he could not quite explain.

“We tried to bring her,” Sammi said, his face souring. He couldn’t bring his eyes to meet Harald’s. “But her mother would not let her come. We tried; we really did; I swear it!”

Harald’s heart sank. “It is okay, Sammi. That is just how her mother is, protective.” He hoped she had not been killed, at least.

“What of the others?” Grimvald jumped in. “What condition was Halfden’s Guard in before you fled?”

“Hmm,” Sammi scratched his head. “Wel—”

“Many dead, Sir,” Marlin spoke. His tone was much like Grimvald’s, solid and intentional, and he spoke as a soldier would to his general. “The wall still stood in the moments before we fled, though it had been beginning to fall apart. Halfden’s men seemed scattered and disorderly, and the others – the civilians – could do little but hide. Whoever attacked the convoy fled as quickly as we did, and those still on horseback chased after them.”

“And Halfden himself?”

“Still alive,” Marlin continued, “or at least he was while we could still see the fighting. It seemed that he was still in good spirits, though it was hard to tell from where we were.”

Good, Harald thought. So long as Halfden was alive, his men would not fall completely, they would keep fighting as long as they needed to.

He could not help but wonder just who it was that had attacked them. Who, in his father’s territory, had the military skill to take on one of his father’s key bastions? Another of his father’s men? Had someone betrayed them? Or was it someone else entirely? How had they made it within such a short distance of the convoy so easily, without Halfden’s scouts discovering them? They had not seen their ambushers coming, they had not been able to prepare.

These were questions for another day, perhaps, as just the thought of it made his head ache. Harald’s father would surely hear of this soon enough and would ride to their aid. Then all would be resolved.

Before tucking themselves tightly under their blankets, the freshly reunited party set about combining their resources, determining what they had pooled between them. Luckily, it seemed, Sammi had chosen the horses that carried their provisions; Harald had underestimated him.

They decided on their destination. Each, it seemed, longed for home more than anything, for family, for the warmth of the city’s fires. Nyrback it was.

As Harald slumped into the darkness of sleep, his mind churned. When the pain of the cut on his shoulder dwindled, he dreamed of Yiri, of his mother, and of home.

It took several days of riding before they came upon what remained of the fighting. Smoke still clung to the air as they rode up the gravel road, two to a horse, passing the rearmost fallen tree and what remained of a burned carriage. The simple cart had burned to a crisp, its leading horses apparently freed in time as they had not seemed to perish alongside it.

In a clearing to the road’s right, the ruins of a huge pyre lay in blackened ash. Juts of wood poked out from the earth in each corner, not yet charred completely. Harald tilted his head down, closing his eyes. He made the triangle sign with his hands, spending a sombre moment thanking those who had been lost for their sacrifice, wishing for them to join the ancestors in the great halls. He was sure that they would have – they had died honourable deaths, after all – and would be drinking and dancing now.

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The further they went, the closer they got to where the fighting had occurred. The closer they got, the more carnage they came upon until, eventually, Harald recognised the spot where he had hidden – thirty or so steps from where the wall had marked its place in the ground. From there, the sheer craziness of it all set in. Red crimson stained the hill almost entirely, and it seemed to leak downward in curving streams, though the streams were no longer flowing. Scraps of fabric, wood, and metal were still scattered where men had fallen, and tracks of trodden earth sunk in paths up the slope where the horses had chased. The battered hill seemed less like a battlefield and more like an obscure ritual site, with its strange lines and blotches of red. It was like an offering to some blood-obsessed god.

They did not stay for long, they couldn’t, just the thought of what had happened here made Harald queasy. The fighting, the screams, the death: he had no intention of lingering any longer than he needed to. The other youths reacted similarly, trying their best not to look, while Marlin attempted to maintain his soldier-like indifference, continuing as he had been, unaffected. The boy made a good squire, Harald thought; he seemed a man years Harald’s senior, be it in experience or mannerism.

“Who could do such a thing?” Sammi asked, staring uphill. “What have we done to deserve this? We have been stuck inside for a year! Who have we insulted?”

“Did it seem a targeted attack to you?” Harald replied. “To me, it looks no more than a bandit ambush.” He was lying. He knew well that it could not be bandits. He just did not want to imagine what else it might be.

Grimvald shook his head. “This could not have been bandits. None that I have ever met or fought could have pulled off anything like this.” He pulled his horse up to a nearby tree, pulling out a deeply planted arrow. “Look,” he continued, examining the thing. He showed it to the group: “What bandits do you know that fire arrows like these?”

Harald had never seen such precise craftsmanship. The wooden stem had been carved with delicate markings – symbols that Harald could not make sense of – while the arrowhead itself twisted perfectly into a sharp point. Even the feathers that made up its rear had been dyed to make sharp lines that stood out in comparison with their own. Not only had they made it look nice, but the thing had not been damaged as it burrowed into the tree; it was of high build quality. What a waste, Harald thought, to send such a thing flying toward your enemies. Or perhaps that was the beauty of it all.

“We will take this to your father,” Grimvald said, wrapping the arrow in his bundled blanket.

“Don’t forget to take that out before you go to sleep, old man,” Harald joked, though this fell on deaf ears. The man just continued tying up his new prize, while the others continued down the road.

Once the old man was ready, the group set about picking up their pace.

“I hate the darkness of the forest,” Sammi said, “we should have ridden a little further. You said we weren’t far from the nearest town, did you not, Grimvald?”

They sat, huddled closely, their horses tied to neighbouring trees, blocking much of the wind.

“Within a half day’s riding, yes,” Grimvald replied. The man cradled the arrow between his hands, flipping it between thumb and finger. “But that is not to say we could have done it today, even if we had continued. You saw how fast night came upon us once we had stopped. And I, for one, do not want to set up camp under that cover of darkness.”

Sammi had been stumped. He only huffed and pulled himself beneath his hood.

“You say you hate the darkness of the forest,” Harald added, “but you have spent much of the last year sleeping in such a place.”

Sammi’s hood remained down, and his body moved as if he were shaking or crying. “That was before I knew,” he whimpered.

“Knew?”

“Knew what lurked out here. Knew what could come for us when we let our guards down.” The boy was crying now. “We’ll be next, I’m sure of it!”

Harald scooted over, shuffling his knees across the still-drying ground. Surprising even himself, he placed a consoling hand on Sammi’s shoulder. “Whatever they were, those… things… they weren’t there for us!” He said it, but Harald was not so sure of it himself.

“How can you know that?” Sammi barked, “Look how many of our people died!”

“Our people?” Harald asked, his outburst a natural reaction. “None of our people died. Our people are here, all of us. Look around!”

Sammi pulled back his hood only slightly, enough to take a glance at the glaring faces of their companions as the light of the moon cast dark shadows across them.

“These are our people,” Harald exclaimed, “these are my people!” He squeezed Sammi’s shoulder tightly. “You are my person. And, unless I am seeing things incorrectly, you are not dead, are you?” Harald pinched the skin on the boy’s arm, and he wailed with a pig-like squeal.

Sammi pushed Harald away, and he fell abruptly onto his rear. The boy then pulled a hand up, clenching it and spreading it a few times. “I guess not.”

“See!” Harald said, shocked that he had spoken so well. “We have nothing to fear, not from the forest, not from the night!”

As Harald’s words echoed between the trees, the others stared at him with what seemed a look of surprise or confusion. Had it been so strange to hear him speak that way? Embarrassed, he too pulled his hood over his dome. It was not long before the others set about their own doings, and he was left alone to think.

There was no fire to warm them that night, so they made an early escape into their blankets. Harald stayed awake a while, listening. If there was going to be any danger, he would stop it before anyone could be harmed. These were his people, he had come to realise, and he would protect them to the best of his abilities.