Chapter 7
The Forest of Shade
The three-wagon caravan pulled out of Dunabar relatively on schedule. All things considered; they were making good time with their planned journey. The sun shone brightly, and the songs of birds filled the sweet air. A gentle breeze greeted their faces. This was a good day. The wagon train, after having its roster slightly adjusted, headed for the trail leading through the forest. The trail would eventually carry them on to their ultimate destination in the city of Sabline on the other side of the forest after just a few more days of travel. Martin and Luna were less enthusiastic about passing through the dark forest after the events of these last days. They prayed for no more trouble. Word of a death among their passengers would surely reach other ears and tarnish their reputation. For a small business like theirs, reputation meant everything. The best they could hope for now was to complete this journey with as smooth a run as possible. They focused all their efforts towards that end. The couple studied their maps of the area and the network of trails leading through the dark forest in particular. They passed through this way before, but it had been several years. The savannah was supposed to be the safe, easy part of the trip. They were expecting the woods to be the cautious portion. Now they would need to be especially cautious. Two incidents within one week could ruin them permanently. At Martin’s instruction, Bronwick rode ahead of the wagons to clear the path and make certain no danger awaited. He might not have been the brightest of men, but the muscular half-orc was definitely one of the strongest the teamster had ever met, ever seen for that matter. He literally boasted muscles on top of muscles with arms as big as the man’s legs. He also handled his massive sword skillfully. That seemed an impressive feat all in itself. The sword, which he called Maggie, stood taller than Martin. The mountain of a man was a literal killing machine when he flew into one of his rages. Plus, he had a good soul. Luna often reminded Martin of that detail. She genuinely liked the gentle giant. Finding mercenaries was easy enough but finding one you trusted while you slept was trickier. Many of the same people that offered up their blades as a sell-sword were less than savory in honor or intent. They were as likely to be bandits that robbed you in the night as helpful. The other mercenary, Gregory, was but a youth seeking a new life of adventure. Barely old enough to be called a man, he was nothing if not eager. They hesitated on hiring him because of his age and inexperience, but when no other options presented themselves, he became their new caravan guard. They did not have any time to spare searching. The incident with the lady already set them back half a day at the minimum. They had to arrange for her burial and notification to her next of kin. The entire morbid process was both time-consuming and emotionally draining for the couple. Young or not, they needed at least two mercenaries to protect their wagons, their horses and most importantly their passengers. They had contemplated hiring two additional guards but when only Gregory applied for the job that point became moot. If nothing else, he could be an extra set of eyes on the lookout for danger. They couldn’t expect too much from a small border town like Dunabar. Martin and Luna reminded themselves how lucky they were to have the orc-blooded barbarian. Bronwick was equal to five men in a fight if not more. Everyone agreed on that much.
Martin’s caravan was organized and functional like the man himself. The first wagon consisted of just Martin and Luna for most of the ride. Occasionally, one of the mercenaries would take a quick nap in the back, but otherwise this was their little private home on the road. It was a spacious, covered wagon with more than enough room for the happy couple. They enjoyed their time together. It was their life of choice, and they were good at it. The couple complemented each other well. They took up the teamster path later in their years and planned to end their days doing so. The second wagon was driven by an old teamster and friend of Martin’s named Yulan. Yulan was an aged and balding man from the distant continent of Ta-Chuul with a long history of useful teamster skills and strange superstitious customs. They met years ago on the road while working for other teamsters. Though his eyesight and hearing were fading, he was still a solid driver and went to great lengths to call good luck to their path. The man was much older than he looked, which was already pretty old, and knew of several ancient traditions from his homeland that were meant to call good tidings and dispel negativity. Martin and Luna figured they could use anything the man had to offer at this point. The traveling merchant, Hans, and the leatherworker, Karl, riding in that wagon both seemed friendly enough and shared a good working relationship with one another and the driver. Stan drove the third and last wagon. He was an older man with a background as a tavern owner. Once a gregarious personality he maintained a somber presence these days. His hair and beard were now tinged with gray. He added some padding around his midsection. He sold his business and took up a life on the road in hopes of finding that special place where he wanted to eventually settle down alongside that special person. He hoped to find the person first. He let go of his tavern after a raiding party of bandits killed his partner and looted the place. He was a sad man now plagued by memories of his dearly departed. He did not want to die fat and alone. He and Luna had known each other for decades and were old friends from her early days as a barmaid. The man could rarely be found without his pipe in hand, a mug of ale at his side, and a sarcastic quip on his lips. His wagon, the last wagon, held the most interesting passengers. Derris the traveling minstrel claimed the spot as the outstanding member of the caravan. The slender blond man was both colorful and exuberant. Primped and perfumed, he went to great lengths to maintain his ideal appearance. That appearance might not have always been something the others would choose but they weren’t Derris. Always the center of attention, he constantly spouted poems, songs and jokes galore. The man rarely stopped talking. The bard recently purchased a second seat in his wagon for a scrawny young street urchin of a girl named Reena. She was to become his assistant or some such nonsense. What would he need of an assistant? Luna suspected he only brought the young orphan girl along from Dunabar because the other man that shared his wagon was so standoffish and he could not bear to sit quietly. Tamaran, the last occupant of the third wagon was a polite enough youth, handsome and well-mannered with clothes that suggested wealth. He kept to himself and seemed more interested in his studies than socializing. Luna guessed that he was a mage. Villinsk was the home of many mages. He spoke little and offered no insights either way. That alone seemed to drive Derris insane. Martin and Luna left him to his own devices. They were suspicious of magic and did not want to bother the young man. He paid up front and kept to himself. He was the perfect passenger. All in all, the colorful group meshed well together which made the teamster couple happy. Not all caravans ran so smoothly. After dealing with arrangements for the lady that died at the hands of the sun cats, they desperately needed things to run smoothly. Having passengers that could coexist made their lives a hundred times easier.
They pulled to a stop on their first evening in The Forest of Shade. The wagons filed off the main trail into a small clearing designated by previous travelers as a resting spot. The trek thus far was slow but uneventful. Uneventful was good. Uneventful was preferred. Martin was pleasantly surprised to find the stories of the mystical forest to be exaggerated. He vaguely recalled the same feelings last time he passed through here. Yes, it was dark with a lushly thick canopy overhead and winding trails where one could easily get off course, but the sounds and sights were nothing out of the ordinary. This was exactly what he had come to expect from a forest in Villinsk. Bronwick rode along on his husky stallion at the lead of the procession. He liked this forest. It reminded him of the wildlands where he grew up. There was something old and powerful about it. He heard Martin calling the wagons to a halt and joined up with the new guard, Gregory, to form a plan for scouting the area to make sure it was safe. Gregory seemed a bit apprehensive of Bronwick but he was eager to prove himself and followed directions without question. The young mercenary could not stop staring at the half-orc’s tusks, though. The stares made Bronwick slightly self-conscious. Gregory was a non-descript youth with a slender build, dark hair and dark eyes alongside a rather average face. Nothing about him stood out. Her wore the familiar garb of the Dunabar city guard suggesting he had abandoned that title for caravan guard. How could they know he only held that position for two months before growing bored of it?
The various passengers went about their respective business at each campsite. Derris spent his time thus far creating a random smattering of poems, songs and jokes, for his self-proclaimed “epic one man show” when he reached Sabline in preparation for his ultimate goal of Peccadillo, City of Entertainment. Derris held grand plans of fame and fortune. He would create then run said creations by his new assistant, Reena, at every opportunity. Those that landed the best were then shared with the caravan over the evening meal. If they held true there, they were then added to his roster for the developing show. The flamboyant man even boasted a touch of songster training. His tunes could sway the mood of a man in the most basic ways. The innocent-looking little girl sat attentively despite the lack of quality from most of his efforts. She laughed at his bad jokes, admired his simple lyrics and verse and gave basic yet pleasant feedback. All the while hugging her large backpack like an overstuffed pillow. She secretly hoped he would remove the comedy portion of his performance. He wasn’t bad at the singing and performing parts, but his jokes were terrible. Tamaran found the girl’s presence to be a refreshing relief. She made no efforts to bother him. When their eyes happened to meet, she offered nothing more than a pleasantly timid smile. And he no longer felt that pressure to engage the incessantly jabbering minstrel. He had time to focus on his studies even if meditation still eluded him in the bumpy wagon with the minstrel’s noisy antics. If he was going to secure a place in the magic school, he would need to be at his best game. He wanted time to enjoy and possibly explore the forest but figured that could come once the campfire preparations began. Hearing the familiar calls and feeling the wagon rolling to a stop meant he would soon get his wishes. He packed his book and began stretching in anticipation of his exploration and daily workout. Just like the others, he formed his own routines.
With the wagons parked and the horses watered and fed, the campfire was set, and the evening meal preparations began. Tamaran wandered off to find his evening exercise sight and to take in the beauty of the old forest. Reena spotted the mysterious and exotically handsome man slipping away. He was a curious character, reading all day and keeping to himself. He intrigued her. The girl made a concerted effort to focus on the silly bard’s performances to keep from staring at the handsome desert lander. She briefly considered following the violet-eyed man but decided to stick around and watch the magic unfold. She found this experience to be a delightful change from her last caravan ride. That asshole Fandingo kept her so busy the entire time while setting camp she rarely found an opportunity to speak with the others or watch the process in action. Daddy Po often said not to let life pass you by while watching your feet. Thinking of Daddy Po, she couldn’t help but compare him to the Looms. Martin and Luna Loom seemed like the perfect couple to the young orphan girl. She watched them smiling and working together as they arranged everything in a practiced and orderly fashion. They never missed a chance to hug one another or hold hands. The pair were excessively attentive to their passengers, always offering a helping hand or a kind word. She wondered why they didn’t have any children. They would make great parents, way better than Daddy Po.
“We definitely upgraded our position here, Stench,” she whispered to her backpack as she crept to the edge of the forest and watched everyone bustling about like busy worker bees. “I think we might just get the chance to relax a bit. I mean, my cheeks hurt from all the fake smiling and laughing and shit, but this is easy work. And that stew smells so good.” Her stomach rumbled. As she took a huge whiff of the air a horrid smell filled her nostrils. She heard the squeak of passing gas from inside her pack. “Uggg…. Stench! You did that on purpose you nasty little turd!”
A giggle sounded from inside the backpack. “Yep! Yep!” She banged the pack against the side of a tree eliciting a yelp. They both laughed.
Reena gasped when she turned to see a massive figure standing over her. Bronwick posed with his bulging arms folded across his thick chest. The giant man stared down at the girl in confusion. Why was she talking to her pack and laughing? Maybe she was a dumb little orphan girl? Or she might have damaged her head as a baby. People mentioned that making you dumb, too. They asked him if he had his head banged as a baby a lot. He always told them no. Never mind, he vowed not to treat the dumb little girl any differently. That would not be fair. Maybe her baby head was banged. If she was a baby, then she couldn’t control that. He grunted and forced a smile that revealed his tusks jutting up from his slight underbite. Reena looked worried. Why was he looking at her like that? Had the big guard heard Stench? Did he suspect something?
“Little girl stays in camp. We don’t want to lose anyone else on the way… umm… lose anyone I mean.” He forced another smile and shifted uncomfortably. His tusks jutted out and the smile remained strained. That was close. Martin wanted him to keep the lady’s death quiet and he almost gave it away. “Smart thinking, Bronwick,” he mumbled. The big man patted himself on the back for covering that up so smoothly.
Reena nodded while processing his words and his odd behavior of patting his own back. At least he did not seem to catch on to Stench. She had to keep her friend hidden since most people wanted nothing to do with gremkin, especially not common gremlins. They’d toss her off the wagon in a heartbeat. She tried to explain before, but it never went well. He didn’t break things for fun. Stench wasn’t like most normal gremlins. No one wanted to hear that. She learned that fact the hard way. Who croaked, she wondered? It better not have been that idiot minstrel’s last assistant. Now she needed to do some digging. She did not want any more surprises like secret slave-obsessed assholes that hit you in the face with dried rice. No wonder Derris was so eager to pay her way. She thought that weirdo smiled and laughed too much. Nobody was that happy. There had to be something wrong with him. Once you learned that life did not come easily and nothing was free, things got better. It was another pearl of wisdom from Daddy Po. The girl slung her pack over her shoulder and returned the large man’s smile. The girl looked so innocent. She paused as she started to head to the campsite.
“Thank you so much, sir. You might want to tell the book guy from my wagon, too. I saw him wander off over there.” Reena smiled politely and pointed towards the forest. She didn’t want the pretty man with the purple eyes and the dimpled chin to get hurt. Reena then made her way back to join in setting the campfire. She actually looked forward to it.
Bronwick’s forehead creased as he looked around. He grunted in frustration. “Thanks,” he grumbled to her as she walked away.
This was vexing. The girl was right. The pretty little brown boy with the weird eyes and the scimitar was nowhere to be found. The massive mercenary scratched his head and surveyed the area. Bronwick started to go searching for him when he realized something. He was the senior mercenary now. This was a task for the junior mercenary. He learned the ranking system from Tarvick. The red-bearded southerner always sent him on the errands since he was junior. Junior meant they hired you second and you had to do everything. That definition stuck with him. He remembered Tarvick met with the Looms after he did so that part confused him at first, but then Tarvick explained that they asked him to be a mercenary before they asked Bronwick so that made Bronwick second and the junior mercenary. He was so unlucky like that. Not anymore though. Gregory was junior now. Also, Martin asked him to keep close watch over the camp in case of danger from the forest. He could not just wander off. This was a job for the new guard, the junior guard.
“Gregory!” He called out waving to get the youth’s attention. Gregory was busy holding his position by the trail with his spear in hand. He looked as if he should be standing outside a city gate. In truth he appeared a little lost. “We need to find the one that reads a lot, from the last wagon. He isn’t here. Scimitar boy.” Bronwick often remembered people by the weapons they carried.
Gregory looked around as if searching for him and then nodded. He took up walking back down the trail in the direction they came from. He walked about twenty paces then stopped. He turned and walked up the trail about forty paces right past the campsite. He stopped again and spun in a circle. The youth then jogged over to Bronwick with a nervous grin. He shifted his spear from hand to hand.
“Where should I look for him exactly?” He could not help but to stare at the big man’s tusks as he replied.
“The little girl with the pack said he went that way.” Bronwick pointed just as Reena had. “Go find him and bring him back here. Martin doesn’t want them leaving the campsite or going into the forest alone. It isn’t safe because of the lady… umm… because of… monsters.” Bronwick patted himself on the back again for that second smooth coverup. “Good job!” he whispered to himself.
Gregory started to head in the direction indicated and paused. He ignored the odd sight of the big man patting his own back. Maybe that was an orc thing? He turned back to Bronwick and fidgeted a second before speaking. “If it’s dangerous, with monsters… then should I be going after him alone?” He looked worried.
Bronwick chuckled and slapped the young man on the back, shoving him off in the desired direction. He often misjudged his own strength and almost pushed the youth into a tree. “We are here to keep them safe. It’s also our job to keep ourselves safe, too. That’s why you have that spear, dummy. Now go do your junior mercenary duties.” The half-orc grinned, and Gregory nodded while staring at his tusks.
Gregory didn’t exactly understand the terms of junior mercenary duties, but he took it in stride. If he was to become a successful caravan guard, then he needed to learn the way of things. He headed off into the woods to find Tamaran though he clutched his spear tightly to his chest as if he expected to die any minute. Bronwick watched him depart and shook his head sadly. Guarding of the caravan just got a lot harder. He could see that Gregory was not going to be much help. He was nothing like his good friend Tarvick. He missed his best friend already.
* * * * * * * * * *
Tamaran carefully picked his way through the dense underbrush and trees. He marveled over how thick the vegetation was here and how the sun’s fading rays of light barely penetrated the canopy overhead. The name made sense now, The Forest of Shade. So many unfamiliar plants filled his vision. He doubted he had ever seen so many variations of the color green. The way the moss draped from the branches like a curtain and the crystal-coated vines tangled through everything with their white blossoms fascinated him. It was all very beautiful in a primal way and so radically different from his homelands. Even the smells of this forest were different in a pleasing way. The sounds of the birds and small critters scampering by overhead added to the atmosphere. He quickly realized that finding a clearing to exercise in was a hopeless cause. Forfeiting that idea, he began to explore instead. He enjoyed sightseeing and what could be more interesting than a mystical forest in the land of magic? He hoped he might be lucky enough to see a fairy or maybe some other fey creature. Fey beings were rare in the deserts. Tamaran loved to read. He had read many stories about how such creatures flourished in this type of environment. He could see why. Most experts thought this reminded them of their own dimension or otherworldly planes of existence designated as the fey realms. In fact, this scene could have easily leapt from the pages of some of his favorite tales. The sights and sounds made him giddy. He almost felt lightheaded. The chirps of the birds and insects grew to fill the air as dusk crept over the forest. He studied the moss, the mushrooms, the vines and the trees. Some of the mushrooms were like transparent jelly and held a faint glow he suspected would increase as the darkness set upon them. Even the flowers and insects here were so different from those of his homeland. Watching the birds, squirrels and pon-prons hop about overhead fascinated him. There were so many insects, too. The tufts of white down that drifted through the air constantly only added to the splendor. Spotting a small creek filtering through the trees, he made his way there for a drink of fresh water. Coming from the desert lands, it amazed him how readily water was available to everyone here. Walk a ways and you were sure to find some.
Tamaran was careful to keep a mental note of the direction he came from. The last thing he needed was to get lost out here. He knew his limitations and was not particularly skilled at wilderness navigation. At the bend in the brook sat an incredibly large willow tree. It was so beautiful and different from all the other trees with its billowing structure and bright green leaves dangling down to dip into the water. Tamaran could not resist a closer inspection. He leapt across the brook and proceeded to the willow, crawling beneath its archway of cascading limbs to find its thick trunk. He gazed up through its branches and felt as if he were viewing a different world, a world of wonder with all its layers. A flicker caught his eye followed by another. Fireflies began to reveal themselves as the light faded. He felt an urge to try something. The idea sparked from reading one of his texts from the school. His gifts were not fully developed yet. He wanted to practice. He knelt before the tree and placed one hand on the bark. He closed his eyes tightly and concentrated. He was a reader, he could sometimes read people, objects or locations. What would happen if he tried to read a tree? The text inferred he could read the emanations of energy from all living things or even home or hone in on energies in distant locations. That should include a tree then.
At first, he felt nothing but stupid. He was glad no one could see him right now. What would they think? He shook away those thoughts and tried to concentrate harder. Mind magic was internal not external. He felt a hint of a tingle run down his neck and then through his arm to his fingertips. Suddenly, he felt life. He could feel the tree somehow, or at least its life force. This willow stood here for a very long time and had witnessed a great many things. Its root system connected it to many more things. He pictured a magnificent pulsing purple glowstone. It sat in a clearing of unnatural beauty the likes of which he had never seen. The image seemed so real. The experience was mind expanding. Images and words popped into his head. This was amazing. He had never gotten such a clear reading before. Maybe all his studies were paying off after all. He pictured plants growing and thriving, a huge grapevine, a massive white tree stump with that glowing purple crystal on it. The word balance jumped forth. He saw a majestic creature of the purest white with a spiral horn jutting from its brow that could only be a unicorn. He had read about such magical creatures in the tales of lore. They were said to be wise and goodly guardians of the natural world. The image left him in awe, stealing his breath away. He protected this forest for a century. The name Starmane leapt to his thoughts. How did he know these things? It was incredible to behold. This was beyond anything he had read before. His power flowed so easily, so purely. Peace filled his mind and body. His vision became choppy and erratic. That serene feeling faded and was replaced by fear. He saw claws, massive claws unlike any he had ever seen and blood spraying into the air. The word danger filled his mind and sent shivers running up his spine, leaving his skin covered in gooseflesh. Tamaran jerked his hand from the tree to make the vision stop. He had to let his head clear. Sometimes using his gifts made him dizzy but this was another level of disorientation. He crawled to his feet as he backed away from the willow and hopped back across the brook. The vision spooked him. He did not feel safe out here anymore. The excitement of the exploration was gone, replaced by trepidation. He did not want to be alone out here. Tamaran began to head back towards the campsite. The sunlight faded and he became very aware of the sounds in the night. The fireflies grew more and more abundant, making him increasingly aware of the loss of light. He suddenly wished he had the foresight to bring a lantern or even a torch with him. He retraced his steps careful not to become lost. He rounded a tree, and something stepped into his path. Tamaran gasped and his voice caught in his throat. He nearly punched Gregory in the face. The youth looked just as surprised and just as relieved to see him.
“I’m Gregory, one of the mercenaries riding with the caravan. We met earlier.” Tamaran nodded. He knew who he was. “Bronwick said you shouldn’t be wandering. He’s the other really big mercenary with the tusks. He said there could be danger out here alone,” Gregory looked around for any signs of that danger. He appeared scared. “I’m here to protect you and guide you back safely.” He stood tall and puffed out his skinny chest. The man was maybe an inch taller than Tamaran. Neither of them was a particularly tall man. The young mercenary raised his spear and waved it about at the dark forest like a warning.
Tamaran had to contain a laugh. If anything did happen it would likely be him protecting Gregory not the other way around. The man was slightly taller but much thinner. Upon closer inspection he decided he was older than the guard. At but barely nineteen summers himself, that was not especially encouraging. Darkness descended quickly over them as they picked their way back together. The faint sounds of music carried on the breeze. It proved a welcome jingle. Tamaran knew that sound well. It had to be Derris picking at his lute. They were close. The men increased their pace. They did not want to miss dinner. Tamaran looked forward to Luna’s nightly stew. He spotted the glow of light in the distance that could only be the campfire when a raspy scream rang out. The men exchanged worried glances and hurried in the direction of the fire. Gregory gripped his spear and Tamaran his scimitar. Both prepared for a fight but were afraid to look behind them in case some monster materialized from that darkness. Tamaran could not shake the image of the blood spraying and the word danger filling his mind earlier. He did not know exactly what it meant but it could not be good. He kept thinking of the sun cat attack in the valley. That began the same way. He prayed this was not a repeat of that experience. He got lucky last time.
* * * * * * * * * *
Sunlight faded and night claimed the forest campsite at a rapid pace. The Forest of Shade earned its name. When the light faded here it truly vanished. The large fire was suddenly the only source of illumination aside from the sparkles of fireflies drifting about in the darkness and the occasional bioluminescent mushroom or glowing crystal nestled among the vines. Everyone gathered around the fire laughing and talking as Luna passed out bowls of her tasty stew with a smile. Derris decided to regale them all with one of his latest songs that he penned on the road with the caravan. This was one that Reena approved earlier. The young minstrel strummed his lute and sang as he danced about the fire enthusiastically.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Ode to the road,
From golden fields to wagon wheels,
My travels carry me onward,
With nighttime bats and wildcats,
My travels carry me onward,
The young minstrel’s song continued with an energetic pace and a spritely tune. Derris spoke of journeys and new sights plus new people. The gathered crowd clapped and ate and thoroughly enjoyed the performance. Maybe there was a spark of talent in the annoying man after all. Reena scarfed down her own bowl of stew picking out a few of the chunkier bits to toss inside her pack for Stench as she bounced in her seat to the music. This time she didn’t mind listing to the man. That song was one of his better works. It had a catchy tune. The gremlin devoured every morsel she threw his way. Reena was just happy there was no sign of rice in there. It was as Derris finished his first verse in the song and paused for dramatic effect that they heard the raspy screams for help, like a forced cry from an impossibly dry throat. The call sounded painful.
Reena spotted what looked like someone carrying a lantern and staggering from the darkness down the trail towards them. “Over there!” She cried as she pointed. “There’s someone over there!” Her pack cracked open; a pair of beady eyes peered out for a look. She forced the lid closed before anyone noticed.
Bronwick drew his massive two-handed sword immediately. Nothing was getting past him. He moved cautiously towards the floating lantern and called out a warning, “Hold your ground, stranger!”
As he drew nearer, he could see the lantern dangled in the hands of a strikingly beautiful woman. She appeared as if she were ready to collapse. Her golden eyes met his gaze pleadingly and she begged for help. The girl then swooned. Losing her balance, her legs buckled and down she went, tumbling to the trail. The half-orc raced to check on her. She was barely conscious, so he sheathed his sword across his back and hauled the beautiful young woman into his arms, carrying her and her lantern back to the gathered crowd at the campfire as if she weighed no more than a bag of feathers. Luna was already pulling out damp rags to tend to the girl as everyone made a space with one of the horse blankets to set her down. The former innkeeper, Stan, drew forth a water skin as he moved to have a look. The thick man had the most experience with the healing arts among them. He puffed on his pipe nervously. He wanted a drink. Stan did not like trouble.
“I don’t see any wounds…” Luna whispered as she checked the girl’s face, neck and torso over carefully. “Drowning in sweat, but no wounds.”
Stan gave the same evaluation from her lower half. He also checked her heart rate and breathing. The woman wore a thin blouse and vest, an intricate satchel, loosely flowing breeches synched by a thick belt. She wore high, soft leather boots. All her clothes were a golden brown or cream color like that of a buckskin. The outfit appeared to be the clothes of a village artisan or healer. This was not the gear of an experienced traveler. “Give her some water, Luna. She might be dehydrated. The poor girl is drenched in sweat. It looks like she was running?” Stan handed the water skin to the woman who began lifting her head and gently pouring the liquid down her throat as she brushed her long golden hair from her face.
Hearing that she was running from something put Bronwick on guard. It took a second for him to process those words, but they struck a fire in the brawny warrior. He drew his massive sword again. Just then Tamaran and Gregory raced into the camp. The young men gathered around to take in the sight of the beauty laid out on the horse blanket. Bronwick looked to the men and grunted his disapproval. They shouldn’t be wandering the woods at night. When Tamaran laid eyes upon the woman he was instantly smitten. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his entire life. Even the way she lay in Luna’s arms reminded him of a painting he once saw of a princess with her long golden tresses tangled around her perfect face.
Martin was more vocal with the young men than Bronwick was. “I know you just joined us, Gregory, but the goal is to keep everyone together for safety. This forest holds a reputation.” His gaze shifted to the desert land youth. “I would have thought that you’d know better, Lord Tamaran.” The teamster shot him a glare. “You see now that this girl came from the direction we head. Until we find out what sent her our way in this condition, I want everyone to stay close to if not in your respective wagons. Let the mercenaries do what they get paid to do.” Tamaran started to respond but thought better of it and simply nodded. He had trouble pulling his eyes away from the golden beauty. Who was she and where did she come from? He needed to know.
Gregory jumped to his feet and raised his spear. He looked at Bronwick. “I can keep a watch on this side of the trail, if you want to watch that side?” He indicated that he would take the direction of the trail moving back towards Dunabar. He thought to leave the dangerous direction to the seasoned mercenary. The youth was trying to be brave though his trembling hands suggested otherwise.
Bronwick considered his words and grunted. “Nope. You get that side.” He pointed to the left with the jerk of a thumb in the direction the mysterious girl had appeared from. “I’m not falling for that again.” Gregory had no idea what he was talking about, but he agreed and moved to watch the trail leading deeper into the forest. As the people prepared to return to their wagons for the night, the girl seemed to come around. Her golden eyes fluttered open, reflecting the light of the campfire with brilliance. She moved with a start at first but calmed down when she spotted Luna’s smiling face and heard her soothing voice asking her to drink. Fresh water helped.
“It’s alright, child. You are safe now. Please, tell us your name and what happened. We found you all but collapsed on the trail. You were dehydrated and exhausted. Did you run here?” As the white-haired woman spoke, the girl took a few calming breaths and another sip of water to cool her parched throat.
“Thank you, thank you all for helping me. I am Farrah, Farrah Faizan. I’m a healer from Hinny Hill.” She paused to drink another gulp of water. The screaming left her throat sore and raw.
“Hinny Hill is a village not too far from here down the trail and to the right,” the traveling merchant, Hans, clarified. The man seemed anxious to be of help. “It’s not very big but it is welcoming. I’ve visited a few times passing this way.”
Farrah nodded and continued as she sat upright. The young woman appeared to regain her strength as she spoke. “I came here on the footsteps of a pair of mercenaries that passed through my village.” She quickly realized that this story would not make any sense, so she changed direction. “A group of spider creatures chased me. They were as big as a large man with gray furry bodies and hands at the ends of their eight legs. They were hideous monsters! They… they…” She began to sob as she recalled them.
Luna sat next to her and wrapped her in a motherly hug. Reena watched the gesture and wished it were her getting the hug. Luna was such a nice lady. Look at the way she tended this woman she just met. She would be the best mother ever. The young girl hugged her pack instead and heard the soft sounds of gas passing inside. A foul smell filled the air. She punched the side of the bag. Then grimaced at the muffled giggle inside. Luckily, no one else noticed.
Those hideous things would haunt her nightmares for a long time to come. Farrah steeled herself and attempted to continue. She had to force away the image of the creatures from her mind’s eye. These people needed to know what was coming their way. They were all in danger. “They chased me, but the mercenaries confronted them. I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do so I ran. Whatever they are…”
“Arachnidia…” a deep voice supplied the answer from afar cutting through the night air and causing a start.
Everyone’s heads jerked in that direction. Gregory was supposed to be watching that part of the trail, but he was lost in the beautiful woman’s story. He liked the way the firelight reflected from her golden tresses and golden eyes. He raised his spear quickly, pointing it at the figure that stepped from the shadows. The figure had his hands raised. It was a tall, handsome man, with a prominent square jaw covered by a neatly trimmed beard, ebon hair and deep blue eyes. He was carrying a decorative walking staff and draped in an expensive deep green cloak. He wore leather armor, dark breeches and high boots all fine craftsmanship. The man appeared important, almost regal.
“Please, I mean no harm. My name is Vallen Manique. I live just to the other side of these trees. My family holds land there. We serve as wardens of this area. I’m a trained woodsman. I come here out of concern. I followed the trail of this girl to make sure she was well.” He raised the staff as an offering. “I believe this is yours, my lady?” Farrah nodded as more tears flowed. It was all she brought to remind her of her grandmother. Thank the heavens it wasn’t lost as she fled. “I also wanted to let you know that my companion Zane and I dealt with the remaining arachnidia. You have nothing further to fear from them. Those two mercenaries you followed handled the bulk of them, but I’m afraid…” Vallen paused as he chose how to phrase his statement. He met the frightened young woman’s gaze with uncertainty. He still did not know how close this woman was to those men. “I’m afraid those men did not survive the encounter. They fought well, slaying four of the creatures. I made sure to give them proper words before leaving though I had no time for a burial. I’m sorry for your loss, my lady.” He dipped his gaze respectfully.
His news brought mixed reactions from the crowd of people. Bronwick moved to the man and reclaimed the staff, delivering it to Farrah. He made it a point to pause and evaluate this woodsman first. He looked capable, expensive leather armor, nicely crafted sword and bow. And he had definitely been in a scuffle. There was a covered injury at his gut that he favored. The large half-orc clapped a hand on his shoulder and grunted before returning to deliver the girl’s staff then moved to take up watch again. That clap very nearly knocked Vallen from his feet. Martin stood to welcome the man to the campfire as did the other teamsters. Gregory kept searching for the man’s companion as did the merchant and tradesman. They found no sign of Zane. Reena was studying the newcomer alongside Derris. He was very handsome and poised. He looked wealthy and important. Tamaran was still busy watching Farrah. Vallen slowly realized some of them were waiting for Zane to arrive.
“Don’t bother looking for Zane, he’s not very social and tends to vanish in situations like this. He wasn’t interested in joining the camp.” Vallen shrugged apologetically. “He’s an odd man, but he’s a good friend and trusted ally. I wouldn’t have made it here tonight without him.”
“It sounds to me like we owe you both a debt, Lord Manique.” Luna hurried to grab the man and Farrah a bowl of her stew. “Come, sit and join us for a meal and fresh water. You must be famished. Our friend Derris here was just entertaining us with his lute and a song he wrote himself.” The old woman smiled and motioned Vallen to have a seat. The woman knew the name Manique. The Manique estate was not far from here. If her memory served her right, the Lord of the estate was a council member in the city of Lapolin. She and Martin had passed through this region before. The Manique name was a respected one. She felt privileged to be in his presence.
Derris dipped into a deep bow with a bright smile and a twinkle in his eye. His gaze remained locked on the dashing nobleman. With the imminent threat dissolved, most everyone returned to the campfire for more stew. Gregory and Bronwick took up their designated watch positions. Yulan headed to bed. The old teamster was too tired from the day to stay up any longer. He made a gesture for good luck and sprinkled a bit of salt from a small container that hung about his neck to ward away evil spirits. Everyone else remained for news of the road, tales of travels, more descriptions of the horrid arachnidia and to enjoy each other’s company. Farrah and Vallen were welcomed additions to the campfire, and both were glad for the company, food and the warmth.
During their discussion, Vallen made it a point to bring up his findings. “I know I told you the threat was dealt with earlier, and the threat of the arachnidia is in fact ended. I did however spot tracks of something I could not identify, something that is not native to this area. It is big and has nasty claws and…” The handsome nobleman struggled with how to describe it. Quite a bit of this would be pure speculation. He could just imagine Zane calling him a crazy bastard and laughing at him for trying.
“State what you know, young man,” Martin coaxed. He felt like anything this man told them could be important. He refused to suffer another sun cat incident.
Derris claimed a seat next to Vallen. “Yes, please, share everything with us. We are already in your debt, my lord.” He placed one hand over Vallen’s hand and squeezed gently.
Reena giggled. The bard was pouring it on a little thick. He was obviously interested in the handsome nobleman. Who wouldn’t be. He practically stepped from a storybook romance. Lord Vallen did not appear to share his interest. The man’s eyes kept wandering to Farrah. Reena thought it must be nice to be drop dead gorgeous. She sighed.
Vallen moved his hand from beneath Derris’ with a polite nod then continued. “The beast was headed in this direction, stalking the forest just off the trail. And it seemed almost as if it were herding those spiders, chasing them along. It must be at least the size of a very large grizzly, probably bigger judging by the depth of those prints. I’m not familiar with its tracks but I fear it might be intelligent and dangerous. Be sure to keep a vigilant watch if you continue this path. The forest might not be safe.” He heard his last sentence and wished he could take those words back. Zane would have roasted him for that absurd statement. Of course, it wasn’t safe. Two men had already died - idiot.
“Yellow eyes with pupils like a serpent,” Tamaran whispered under his breath absently. Vallen looked to him in question, unsure of what he said. Tamaran shook his head to dismiss the mumbled statement. It was but a vision. He had no proof whatsoever that it was tied to this beast or anything else they discussed. Somehow while looking at the nobleman that thought resurfaced again.
“Thank you so very much for the warning, Lord Vallen,” Derris beamed. “You are far too brave. Chasing off one danger then making your way here to warn us of another. Just like a hero from one of the tales of yore and you cut that same dashing image. Your trim, muscular physique and stalwart poise sure help me feel safer.” The prissy minstrel practically swooned. Tamaran rolled his eyes. Not so long ago the man was treating him the same way. He hoped to the Gods that it did not look so ridiculous as this. He felt embarrassed for Lord Vallen.
“And thank you for following after me and for reclaiming my staff. This was my grandmother’s. It holds great sentimental value.” Farrah added genuinely. “I’m afraid I did not know those mercenaries very well, but you did an honorable thing by saying prayer over them.” The golden-eyed woman smiled a perfect smile.
He noticed her eyes drifting to his hand. When Vallen followed her gaze, he spotted the silver and red jasper ring. How did that get there? Zane must have slipped it onto his finger before slinking away, that jerk. The girl probably recognized the stolen jewelry. How would that make him appear? He nervously slipped that hand from sight beneath the folds of his cloak as if adjusting his seating.
“You are very welcome, my lady. If I’m being honest, I did not expect you to survive those things. Arachnidia are mercilessly skilled hunters and fast. I’m pleasantly surprised you were able to escape.” He smiled warmly.
“I fear I have no amazing feat of skill or cunning to share,” Farrah laughed. “I simply ran for my life. I suppose adrenalin saved me.” The girl shrugged and a wave of her long golden locks fell across one eye. She was just naturally alluring.
Tamaran smiled, too. It was an awkward, goofy smile. He sighed internally. He felt as if he could watch her all day. Just hearing Farrah speak made him addled. The way her thick, wavy golden locks fell across just one eye left him weak in the knees. And that perfect smile melted his heart. “It is a good thing that you are fast then. Speed is an admired trait among the desert people.” He added with a toast of his drink. “To Farrah!” The young foreigner spoke more over this campfire than any the entire trip Luna noted with a knowing grin. Ah, the power of a beautiful young girl, she grinned.
“And very lucky, those mercenaries must have been skilled warriors. They kept those spiders from chasing you. Once arachnidia fall into a feeding frenzy they usually won’t stop.” Vallen toasted her, too. Stan, Hans, Martin and Karl all raised a drink in her direction. “To Farrah! Our lucky charm!”
Farrah smiled at the men, raising her drink to them in turn. “I have been called lucky once or twice before.”
Derris sat quietly fuming. He did not like the way everyone was so invested in this stray vixen that wandered into camp. He was the one that performed. All she did was smile and bat her long eyelashes. Suddenly, Farrah was the center of attention. Reena enjoyed watching her employer squirm. The man could be a bit of a braggart. She liked both late arrivals. They were nice to look at and friendly. Luna was busy cleaning up after the meal in hopes of retiring for the night. She appreciated watching the younger folk enjoying themselves. The entire lot of them shared drink and food and laughed for hours. It was almost as if the horrible events of the last few days never existed for any of them. Everyone just wanted to escape for a time and relax. As the night began to wind down, one by one people filtered off to bed. First Martin and Luna said their goodnights. The couple offered their wagon to Farrah when she decided she was ready to sleep. They kept extra bedding in the back for the mercenaries to use. Gregory headed for a nap. He would be taking over the later watch while Bronwick covered the early shift. The half-orc called it the senior shift. Next Hans and Karl turned in for the night. Both peddlers had seen enough excitement for one day. Reena slipped away after that with Stan not too far behind her. She could hear Stench snoring lightly already and her eyelids were heavy. The girl offered up her wagon to Vallen. Derris seconded the offer. The bard could not stay awake and reluctantly retired as well, but not before he shot Vallen a suggestive wink. He slipped away claiming he needed his beauty sleep. Then there were three sitting around the low-burning fire. Farrah, Tamaran and Vallen shared lighthearted stories of their pasts and enjoyed each other’s company. The two men found they had a surprising amount in common. Both came from wealthy backgrounds and received expensive training. Both were very close with their mothers but not so much with their fathers. They both loved sword fighting and both were big fans of exercise and nice things, like fine clothing. They also shared a staunch sense of honor. The topic of Vallen’s companion, Zane, came up but the man only shrugged calling him odd again. Vallen expected the man to stay out there prowling through the dark trees all night. Farrah was the one that did not fit in during the talks. She had little in the way of wealth and had basically no training besides the healing arts and loosely in reading fortunes. That skill was more for fun from her perspective. She did not hold the innate gifts of her grandmother. Hers was a very mundane life as opposed to the worldly and well-versed men. Despite her lack of contributions to the discussion, Farrah held the rapt attention of both young men. They all shared one thing in common. Each of them had lost a parent if not both parents. It was a sad and morbid bonding thread to be sure. That discussion is when the mood took a serious dip. That topic brought their little lovefest to a screeching halt. Tamaran was still raw over his father’s disappearance and his mother being in danger, while Farrah had lost her grandmother only a day ago. Vallen’s mother apparently died when he was very young, about six, but it had been so traumatic as to scar the man for life. He could barely discuss the incident. He only told them that his mother died in a gruesome attack.
Farrah had been trading glances with both men. She could tell Tamaran and Vallen liked her or at least held a passing interest. And she liked both of them. They were handsome, wealthy, and skilled. What was there not to like? One held the exotic background of her heritage from the desert lands while the other was a lord of her homeland. They were both quite impressive men. Tamaran could see their time together was about done so he volunteered a little game. In truth he did not want this night to end. It had been some time since he shared the company of peers. He wanted to spend as much time as he could in the presence of the beautiful woman especially. His natural reader gifts allowed him to get a sense of people and they were both good honest folks. Since his departure from his mother’s home this was the first instance where he felt relaxed and actually enjoyed himself. He let them know that he had a trick he could do. He called it a desert lands trick and related it to Farrah’s tea leaf readings. That caught the girl’s attention which in turn held Vallen’s.
“We can all holds hands at once and I will tell you something about yourselves.” The violet-eyed youth seemed desperate to keep Farrah around. He had not found any woman so interesting in a very long time, maybe ever. For some reason he did not want her to leave his sight. “We will hold hands and each of you concentrate on something with your eyes closed. Afterwards I will see if I can guess what you were thinking about.” The man’s accent and proper diction were strangely disarming. Tamaran only half expected this to work. He thought of it as fun, nothing more.
Farrah grew excited and Vallen was game. They all held hands with Farrah and Vallen squeezing their eyes shut tightly and concentrating. The two were giggling. Tamaran concentrated, too, only his eyes were wide and shifted to rainbow hues. He could feel that tingle running from his neck through his arms and into his fingers. The energy flowed better than ever. The image of the beautiful young healer and her perfect smile filled his thoughts. His Idosian gift of sight took control. He saw a flash of a pregnant woman fleeing a temple then the same woman in a wagon with an explosion that turned the wagon over. The word fate took hold. He saw a pretty young lady in a fine gown. She looked like a princess from some fairy tale. Her face grew fearful. She screamed as a wild-eyed man in tattered clothes raced for her with a large hatchet in hand. Tragedy filled his mind. He saw a child, a young boy with raven hair crying, blood splattered across his face. Trauma was the word that remained. He saw golden eyes glowing as they stared into a huge fire of a burning building. He knew those eyes. The word devastation gripped him. Then he saw the raven-haired boy again. He was older and his father looked upon him in annoyance. The word shame filled his thoughts. This was all terrible, nothing good came of his visions from either of them. It did not make any sense. Then he saw large yellow eyes with pupils like a snake. Claws at least six inches long and coated in blood. A large silhouette that matched nothing he had ever seen shifted in the darkness. The word danger flashed into his mind and stayed there. Instantly, there were multiple eyes similar but red not yellow staring from darkness, all five of them remained trained on him. His head began to hurt as that word burrowed into his mind like a stabbing pain. DANGER! Tamaran could take no more of this. He jerked his hands free of the others with an audible gasp and sat back to clear his head as his eyes shifted to violet. He shook off the stabbing pain and realized his two new friends were staring at him, confused. Their former mirth completely faded. They held looks of concern.
“What happened, Tamaran? You cried out in pain…” Vallen seemed worried.
“And your eyes, they were shifting colors. I felt a tingle from your touch. Was that some sort of magic? What did you see? What startled you?” Farrah asked as she rubbed her hands together. Something about this did not feel right to the woman.
Tamaran was at a loss as he tried to place the images and feelings from his reading. He shook his head and struggled to speak. “It was not like ever before. It was so much more intense. Forgive me for the outburst. I saw a pregnant woman in a wagon accident after an explosion, after she fled a temple and a young noblewoman attacked by a man with a large hatchet… the images were… unpleasant… and so vivid.” The man rubbed his eyes as if trying to forget those pictures.
“You saw my mother, pregnant with me.” Farrah sounded amazed. “That was what happened just weeks before I was born. I heard the story many times though the temple detail is new. There was an explosion during my parents’ journey to this land.”
“And that was my mother… being attacked…” Vallen seemed in a trance as if reliving that horrible assault that stole her from him.
Tamaran felt terrible. The last thing he meant to do was bring back difficult memories. He could see how this affected them both, how traumatic this was for Vallen and now he knew why. The vision was horrible. “I am so very sorry. It is usually just a trick that lets me see a glimpse of a happy time or a favorite color. I do not know what happened. But I did see something else, and it was horrifying. It was not the first time either. There was an image of a beast, or at least part of a beast. Huge claws and a yellow, snake-like eye. It feels so malicious, so dangerous.” The man rubbed his eyes harder in an effort to forget. He left off the red eyes in the darkness. That felt like an afterthought.
“That sounds awful,” Farrah mumbled as she rested a gentle hand on his shoulder for comfort.
“It sounds like it could be the beast I tracked here. That’s a bad omen. I don’t like it.” Vallen was disturbed by all of this. “I think it’s best we turn in for the night, get some rest. It’s been a long day. I can guide the caravan towards Sabline safely tomorrow, make sure there’s nothing skulking about. I had hoped to send a warning to Dunabar but I think it best the caravan is protected for now.”
“Sounds good to me,” a deeper voice added with a grunt, startling them all. Bronwick was there listening quietly. His giant silhouette caused everyone to jump. “I’m about to turn in, too. I’ll be sure to fill Gregory in on this talk about beasts tracking us from the forest.” The half-orc appeared as if he might be slightly spooked. “Come Farrah, I’ll walk you to our wagon.” The young lady accepted his big arm graciously and waved goodnight to the two handsome men. She lit her lantern and let Bronwick lead the way. Evidently, the girl was spooked as well since she did not want to walk the short distance in the darkness. Vallen and Tamaran exchanged arm clasps and pats on the back pulling each other to a stance then headed to their wagon together.
“You are aware Derris has taken a liking to you, right?” Tamaran chuckled. “You might want to sleep with one eye open. That bard is persistent to say the least.”
Vallen nodded solemnly. “I am aware. I was hoping to slip away from the wagon early enough to avoid that awkward incident. I’m not sure how to tell him that he seems nice enough, but I’m just not interested. He is not my type.” The handsome nobleman looked to be seriously milling over that thought. “Do you suppose he would take it well if I was honest?”
Tamaran only laughed and shook his head. “I do not think there is any easy way out of this for you, my friend. That bard is relentless. Trust me, I speak from experience. I can say with all honesty that I am glad for your arrival, though, since you stole his focus away.” He patted Vallen’s shoulder as he fought back another laugh. Tamaran paused to stare out into the darkness for a second. His violet eyes locked onto nothing, but he tried to focus anyway to no effect.
“What is it? What do you see?” Vallen let his hand fall to his sword.
Tamaran shook his head dismissively. “I did not actually see anything. I felt as if someone or something was watching us. It was probably because of all that talk about dangerous beasts and spider monsters. Or maybe it was your friend hiding out there. My nerves appear to be getting the better of me as well. The forest is far too alive for my comfort. The desert feels more… manageable.” He chuckled. “Now I am jumping at shadows. I will let you walk me to my wagon, my lord,” he grinned. “I need some sleep.”
Vallen laughed this time. He whispered out to the darkness. “Zane, if you are hiding out there, be careful. I’m turning in for the night. And I wouldn’t mind some help with this minstrel come morning.” Tamaran chuckled again. He did not envy the nobleman in his plight with Derris the relentless. Vallen extended his arm to Tamaran the same as the big man had to Farrah. Tamaran accepted graciously. He made a joke about the nobleman needing practice for the morning. They both shared a laugh before making their way to bed.
* * * * * * * * * *
Just beyond their vision in the darkness at least one pair of eyes was indeed watching them very closely. When the desert lander paused to stare straight out it caused a moment of tension, but that passed. He stared straight at her. Every movement and every step of these two remained under surveillance. Part of that was for safety, another part was because the pair were quite handsome. She did not realize some humans were so attractive. Her eyes were much keener than the humans’ eyes. Daffonil perched in the lower branches of a tree not fifty paces away. The elf had been surveying the camp and listening to their conversations. She enjoyed the interaction and laughter between the group. She envied the young healer and all the attention she was receiving. She did not like mention of the man skulking about and she kept an eye out for this Zane character, but mostly she kept a lookout for the beast. The fact that these people were aware of it gave her some comfort. If it did decide to attack this caravan it could cause a lot of destruction and take a lot of lives. As a guardian of the forest, she was not about to let that happen on her watch. One thing she had begun to worry about was why had no other guardians joined her yet. And where was Peaches? That skunk better not have paused for supper! She tried not to dwell on that thought. Instead, she traced the swirling edges of Starmane’s horn and prayed for guidance. She could feel the magic within. She wanted desperately to put that magic to use on his sadistic murderer.