The air temperature was bearable at daybreak and the dawn chorus made the most of it. Eirik stood in the washroom in front of the tiny window. Motionless, he listened to the early morning sounds of nature making best use of time before the sun began to scorch the earth.
Bare-chested, he pulled the bandage covering the spear-wound away from his skin and inspected the damaged flesh beneath. Whatever the herbalist had smeared on him had taken effect very quickly. A black central scab and a circle of slightly reddened skin were all that remained of the messy stab-wound he'd received during the ambush
He sighed and wandered back to the bunk room where his comrades were going through the usual morning routine of washing, dressing and complaining. A strident trumpet from Ruefin's bed formed the lead into another tradition of early morning farting. Eirik pulled his greaves and cuirass on, made his own contribution to the chorus and headed outside with his eyes watering.
Although the sun had barely risen, Eirik saw Captain Holgrim striding northward from the market area toward the north gate. Beside him walked the man in crimson robes who'd greeted them on their arrival. The rumour around the campfire was that the agent had been unable to get to Canthia and anyone who tried had been murdered by the Mantea. It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility. It had already occurred to Eirik that he had been the only one to notice the stalkers in the trees, and he shuddered to think of the slow-moving trade caravans which lacked organised support to protect them.
Knowing he had plenty of time, he dropped in on the local quartermaster for his ration packs, then followed the palisade round to the north gate where Holgrim had stopped in conversation with the agent. One of the town gates stood half-open and it appeared that the two men were discussing the travel plan. Not wanted to appear too noisy, he stopped at a nearby well for a drink until a shout got his attention.
"Wilder! Come here."
Eirik turned his head and acknowledged Holgrim, then hastened over. He directed a respectful bow to the agent and a more formal salute to the captain.
"How's the wound doing? You fit enough to move on?" Holgrim gestured at Eirik's side.
Eirik rested a hand on his armour over the bandaged area. "Fine, sir. I'm good to go,"
"I'm told you got wind of the ambush in time," said the agent, offering his hand which Eirik shook. "Haarlan Greenwood, Order of the Sacred Hand."
"We were lucky," Eirik replied, somewhat embarrassed by the attention. He still didn't understand how he'd known and didn't want to explain.
"Yes, you were. I've been here a while and few survive an encounter with the tribes."
Eirik saw Greenwood's attention flick back to Holgrim.
"Perhaps this man should take position at the front of the column, just in case they come for us again."
"I agree," Holgrim said, his head nodding slowly.
A pained expression passed across Eirik's features which Greenwood picked up on immediately.
"You dislike the idea?"
"It's not that, sir," Eirik paused for a moment, unsure how to explain, "it's just that I didn't really see or hear anything. I just knew we were being watched. Can't really explain." His voice faded away and a mild blush coloured his cheeks.
"You don't need to explain," Greenwood said, his smile friendly, "I've encountered this sort of thing before. You know something, but you don't know how you know. I like to think of it as a sixth sense that some people have and most people don't. Whatever the explanation, it will be very useful to have someone sharp at the front of the line."
Eirik nodded and lowered his head, not wanting to argue but not really wanting to be in the leading ranks.
"Go and get your kit together, we'll be leaving soon," Holgrim said, stifling a yawn.
Dismissed, Eirik jogged back to the bunkhouse to find his comrades donning their packs in readiness to leave while engaging in more of the traditional complaining.
Despite the earliness of the hour, the temperature began to rise sharply as the column of soldiers marched through the northern gates of the settlement and onto the northward Canthia road. Each man had his hands close to his weapons and his eyes fixed on the surrounding vegetation.
At the head of the column, Eirik and Ruefin walked side-by side and made muted conversation under their breath. Eirik watched Holgrim's resolute posture fail to mask the nervousness that manifested as a near-constant movement of head and shoulders. By contrast Greenwood seemed almost casual as he made light conversation and comfortably kept in step with the captain. The sword hanging at the agent's side almost vanished in the folds of his crimson robe, but Eirik could see the marks of use on the handle and guessed that the blade would be drawn in an instant if danger threatened. The man himself appeared self-assured and comfortable around soldiers. He stood around half a head shorter than Eirik with dark hair that brushed his collar. The Greenwood name rang a faint bell in Eirik's mind and he suspected it was one of the old family names of Solendura’s capital city, Patra. Eirik hadn't spent much time around the nobility other than army officers and his opinion of those he'd met had been low. This man had a more pleasant manner, however, and Eirik had a good feeling about him.
"Too many bloody trees for my liking," Ruefin muttered, spitting into the dusty earth and taking a drink. "There could be dozens of those little bastards hiding in there."
Eirik shook his head, gently rubbing his scalp. "Not here. We're too close to the settlement. If they're going to have another go at us, it'll either be halfway between here and the campsite, or at the site itself during the night. Besides, the trees here are a fair way away - too far to start a decent charge from."
He passed an eye over the green wall of trees two hundred paces away. Tension rested heavily in his mind but he had no sense of immediate danger. As they walked and the tree line drew closer to the road, he felt a tightening in his shoulders. Perhaps it was just the memory of the ambush, but something told him to be wary.
The day wore on, the noon break for food came and went, and, as the distance to the overnight stop became shorter, the uncomfortable itching feeling came back. Immediately stiffening, Eirik scanned the greenery, narrowing his eyes against the sun and trying to filter the sound of marching feet from the muted twittering in the vegetation. No matter which way he turned, the intensity of the itch stayed the same.
Haarlan Greenwood had evidently seen him and fell back until they walked together.
"Something has your attention. What's wrong?"
"I think we're being followed," Eirik said, his voice low enough that only Greenwood and Ruefin could hear. "Is it far to the campsite?"
"A couple of hours, that's all,"
Eirik nodded and scanned their surroundings again. Did he hear a twig snap? Was that a glimpse of bare skin he saw for an instant between the grass and leaves? He didn't know, but the further they walked, the more convinced he became that a silent menace crept through the undergrowth, keeping pace but keeping distance.
"Maybe we should move a little faster," he whispered, leaning a little closer to Greenwood. An eyebrow raised, along with one corner of the mouth.
"We're in danger?"
"They're tracking us. There might be a point they're waiting for us to reach where an ambush would work,"
"Right. They'd need to overtake for it to work but movement will be slower through the undergrowth than it is for us on the road."
Greenwood quickened his step to catch up with Holgrim and exchange a few words. Holgrim glanced briefly at Eirik before making his right hand into his fist and tapping it against his leg. Both Eirik and Ruefin saw the sign together, looked over their shoulders and repeated it to the next line. It was a silent signal used to increase pace in situations where a bugle blast was inappropriate or dangerous. In less than a minute, the whole column understood and began to move along faster.
"The moment's gone," Eirik said to Ruefin, despite the buzzing in his head, "we've moved ahead of them. Expect some excitement after dark."
"How can you know that?" Ruefin asked.
"I don't know for sure, but that's what I'd do. Let the quarry think it's ahead then attack when it relaxes."
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"Looks like we won't be relaxing much tonight then," Ruefin opened the flask and took a swig. "Best get a shot of this down your neck now."
The column of soldiers reached the campsite in the latter part of the day and a general murmur of relief passed through the men. Set back from the seaward side of the road, the trees had been cut down to build a low wooden barrier around the site. Although empty at present, there was enough room to accommodate a reasonable sized trade caravan without jamming people too close together.
Captain Holgrim sent four men scouting the eastern side and another four to the west who were advised to use the utmost caution. Eirik watched them leave, knowing they would find nothing. Along with his comrades, he began the usual routine of setting up camp, checking his equipment and waiting for the night-watch rota to be announced. As he worked, he wiped the sweat from his eyes and paused frequently to rub the aching muscles in his neck and shoulders now that the itching tension had left him. He pondered the words of the agent on the subject of a sixth sense. Was that what he was feeling? Did he have something that other people didn't, or was he just imagining the presence in the forest?
"Are you listening?" A voice spoke at Eirik's elbow and he looked round to see Ruefin holding out a fresh canteen.
"Sorry, miles away. What were you saying?" Eirik took a quick drink and hung the canteen on his belt.
"Holgrim's after volunteers for second watch tonight. Thought you and I could take it. If shit's going to kick off in the middle of the night, I'd much rather be awake when it happens."
"I'll go along with that," Eirik replied. He finished fixing his tent and craned his neck to find Holgrim. As expected, he was circling the perimeter with Greenwood, pointing at the road north and redirecting the men who had stationed themselves at the sentry points on the east side. Eirik broke into a jog and caught the captain at the northern barricade. He gave both Holgrim and Greenwood a nod in lieu of saluting.
"Sir, Ruefin and I want to take the middle watch tonight," he said, indication the sentry posts closest to the road.
"Good - I had you in mind anyway. Eat well and get some sleep, both of you."
Midnight came and Eirik's eyes snapped open, immediately alert. After shaking his boots out and pulling them on, he gave Ruefin a nudge before stepping out into the clear night air. A muffled fart reached his ears and he smiled to himself as he wandered across the campsite between the tents to relieve the tired sentries.
"All quiet here," Dane said, slapping Eirik's shoulder and passing him a small earthenware bottle as she walked back to her tent. Eirik tasted the contents and screwed his face up. Cheap local hooch. Hope Ruefin's got some plum brandy left.
As if summoned by the thought, Ruefin appeared with flask in hand and claymore strapped to his back. He swapped flasks with Eirik, took one sniff of the small earthenware vessel and hastily passed it back in exchange for his own.
"That stuff's disgusting. Save it for lighting fires,"
The first couple of hours of their shift passed quietly, the only sounds coming from the campsite itself and a handful of nocturnal insects. Presently, Eirik heard footsteps and turned around to see Haarlan Greenwood approaching, a calm smile on his face despite a hint of tiredness around his eyes.
"Nothing so far?" he asked, his voice low.
"Nothing to shout about," Ruefin replied.
Eirik gazed into the looming darkness of the forest without speaking. A general sense of unease settled upon him and his right hand drifted down to one of the axes at his side. Tension began to build and the familiar tingling itch returned to his scalp and began to spread down his neck. No matter how hard he strained his senses he could see and hear nothing, but the discomfort continued to increase. He turned to Greenwood and cleared his throat.
"Something's going to happen," he whispered. "Can we get everyone up and ready without making too much noise?"
The smile vanished from Greenwood's face and he nodded and vanished into the gloom. Eirik heard faint sounds of muted discussion followed by the rustle and occasional clank of the other soldiers now being roused from their beds. He kept his attention focused outward, feeling rather than hearing Ruefin unstrap his claymore and rest its tip on his boot.
"What can you hear?" Ruefin whispered.
"Nothing," Eirik replied, "but they're out there and they're getting closer." In the dark he couldn't read his friend's expression, but suspected he thought he was mad. Around him he heard the rest of the soldiers take up positions along the wooden barricade that surrounded the camp. The planks stopped at chest height except at the sentry post where they were only waist high. Swords were drawn and the mere dozen carrying bows had arrows nocked, even though the darkness made them virtually irrelevant.
A faint hiss caught Eirik's ear and he barely had time to shout "Incoming!" before an arrow embedded itself in the woodwork. Both he and Ruefin ducked down behind the barricade as a fusillade of missiles came out of the darkness. He watched his comrades follow suit, aware that their own archers couldn't return fire.
Inspiration struck and he pulled out his kerchief and began tearing a strip from the edge, twisting it into a cord. As the arrows kept coming, he pulled the earthenware bottle from his pouch and stuffed the cord into the neck, shaking the vessel until the fabric was wet.
"Got a light?" he asked Ruefin.
Ruefin grinned, took out his tinderbox and struck a couple of fat, white sparks. The cloth ignited with a sudden rush of light and heat.
Eirik took a deep breath, poked his head over the barricade and launched the bottle into the dark, hoping it would hit something solid.
A bluish-orange fireball exploded on the far side of the road and a scream rent the air. As the archers behind the wall opened fire, Eirik peeked out again to see three crackling shapes writhing on the ground and a dozen more backing away. Two of them fell, bristling with arrows, and the incoming barrage suddenly ceased. A moment of unnatural quiet came before an ululating shriek raised the hackles of every soldier huddled around the campsite.
All hell broke loose.
The first attackers leaped the barricade, their spears thrusting and knives stabbing. Screams filled the air and Eirik seized both axes as an enraged warrior came at him, teeth bared in rage. One axe sliced the spear in two, the other took the man in the chest. Without pause, Eirik tugged free and faced down two more. Right and left, hack and slash, the movements came so easily that he didn't need to think. Knives flashed through the air but failed to find his flesh as he twisted, turned and lunged. He didn't hear the melee around him as he moved to and fro, attacking those engaging his comrades until the unit came together to face down the remains of the enemy.
Over the barricade, from out of the darkness, sprang a screaming warrior. Clutched in his hand instead of a spear was a sword clearly stolen from a soldier. Leaping at Eirik while he was engaged elsewhere, the sword struck heavily against the back of his cuirass, pushing him into his opponent. Cursing aloud, Eirik stomped a boot down on the throat of the man who'd fallen and twisted around, swinging and missing his new attacker. A shower of sand hit him in the face and he cried out, blinking frantically to clear the sharp grains now blinding him. Two blows caught him, one in the leg and one in the arm, and blood began to flow. Through streaming eyes, Eirik could see nothing but light and dark, shapes and shadows. He began to back away, both axes raised in defence as he tried to make sense of the chaos around him. Desperate to focus, he closed his eyes.
Immediately, Eirik's scalp lit up with a hot, prickling sensation that began to pour down his neck and into his back. Even though he couldn't see, he heard rapid breathing and footsteps approaching. The axe in his left hand whipped through the air and ended with a thick thud and a scream. A whistling sound made him jerk away and he felt the swish of a blade past his face. Eyes still closed, Eirik swung a punch, felt it hit, and followed it up with the second axe. The impact elicited a deep, heavy groan and Eirik sensed a weight slowly pulling him forward. A flick of his wrist released the axe and he heard the lifeless body drop to the ground. Hurriedly reaching for his canteen, Eirik squatted down and started flushing the sand and grit from his eyes. Although still blurry, his vision returned and he looked back at the continuing conflict.
The tribesmen clearly had no thought of flight and fought on to the last man. Held at bay by the heavily armed and angry soldiers and bleeding from a chest wound, the final enemy screamed in defiance until an arrow struck him in the throat and reduced the scream to a fading gurgle. Silence fell and the soldiers stood motionless, breathing hard. Holgrim approached the corpse and poked it with his boot. No movement. He glanced across at Eirik and gave him a quick nod.
"Any more out there?"
"No."
He hadn't needed to look. The tension had gone from his body and the itch had vanished completely. While Holgrim and Greenwood checked for casualties, Eirik walked slowly to the corpse of the tribesman who had blinded him.
The man on the ground was young, maybe Eirik's age. Slender and dressed in woven fabrics and hide, his sun-browned skin was smeared with blood and darkened with bruises. The long dark hair sported braids at the front and was free-flowing at the rear where it lay tangled in the dirt. Eirik couldn't take his eyes from the man's face. Barely a man yet. What a shitty way to die. Then he saw himself lying there instead. Cold spread through his chest and he shivered in the warm night air.
A hand clapped down on his shoulder and he jerked away, spinning quickly with an axe half-raised.
"Easy now. It's over."
Eirik lowered the axe and slid it into his belt, letting out a long, shaking breath. Greenwood removed his hand and offered Eirik a flask.
"We did very well," Greenwood remarked, watching Eirik take a good swallow of a very fine brandy, "they meant to slaughter us all. Now you see why I was so reluctant to travel this road alone."
Eirik nodded and returned the flask with a nod of thanks. "I wouldn't want to come this way alone either."
Greenwood looked at him askance, the corner of his mouth turning up. "I've a feeling you'd be fine,"
Eirik glanced at the agent and saw signs of genuine respect on his face. "What do you mean by that?"
"We have some very good men on the Silent Isle. Men who've trained and honed their skills for years. I can honestly say I've never encountered anyone with a sixth sense as sharp as yours, or one who could kill a man while blind." Greenwood raised the flask in salute and Eirik lowered his head, blushing deeply.
"Don't ask me to explain," he whispered, "because I can't."
"You don't need to explain. Just keep doing what you're doing, because you're saving lives every time you do it. In a place like this, a skill like that is worth more than gold."
"Do the Mantea hate the townsfolk enough to want to wipe them out?" Eirik watched as the young tribesman was dragged away.
"Until recently there was peace on the island. The tribes stayed in the forest, occasionally visiting the towns to trade but essentially keeping to themselves. The townspeople kept to the coastal regions and went about their business unmolested. I'm trying to discover why the situation changed so rapidly but until I get to my contact in Canthia, your guess is as good as mine."
Eirik walked back to the embers of the campfire and threw another scrap of driftwood on. Ruefin joined him, cursing under his breath and wiping blood from his fingers. On inspection, Eirik saw a bloody gouge across the back of his friend's hand. Messy but trivial, the wound had clearly irritated Ruefin.
"Loincloth-wearing bastard," he mumbled, winding a strip of cloth around his hand and tying it tightly.
"Where are your gauntlets?" Eirik said, mimicking the stern voice of the captain, "Serves you right!"
"Fuck off you little turd, it's too hot for gauntlets here."
Laughter poured from Eirik like ale from a jug. He dropped to the ground, tears rolling down his cheeks and his shoulders shaking until his stomach ached in protest. Rocking back on his heels with a big grin on his face, the laughter died in his throat as he saw the trail of blood leading to the heap of dead bodies. A cold hand gripped him once more, and this time he shook with fear.