Tales from Palania

[sleepingdragon]

Wow, first post in this section in 10 years!

As mentioned at last session, working on improving my habits and getting accustomed to writing at least a bit every day instead of in fits and starts. I also wanted to work on all my writing skills from conception and planning, editing, and of course the actual narrative.

With longer projects this doesn't tend to happen as much and it's easy to hit a bottleneck and get discouraged, so I decided I would instead write short stories. Intention is to write a complete story about 2-3k words in length from start to finish every week. I start on the Saturday and end on the Friday, and whatever I have at that point is done and I move on to the next one. Doesn't matter that they're not publishable or even if they're crap, it's all good practice.

To save myself the bother of creating a new secondary world I'm setting them in Palania about four or five years before the start of Reclamation, with a bit of a gap between each story. I've got a rough arc planned out for the two main characters, it'll probably go for 8-12 stories (although maybe it goes longer, which is usually how my projects go). I'll put up one each week, usually on Saturday (posting first one up today because we're out tomorrow night so I won't be able to do more work on it anyway).

Reserving next post so I can compile links to each story, feel free to post comments or whatever in the thread

[sleepingdragon]

A Kind of Strength
Exchange Value
Your First Time
A Choice Companion

[sleepingdragon]

A Kind of Strength

Sax's feet were beginning to blister and his clothes were almost entirely soaked through, but his companions seemed able to bear the discomfort. Their bodies were damp enough without Sax dampening their spirits with grumbles. He would be on his own soon, and unexpectedly he thought he might actually miss them.

Theowyn was suddenly at his shoulder. In the first days, when Sax had still been expecting his uncle Alden to appear and drag him back home, the man's quiet movements had made him jump more than once, but Sax was sharp-eared and now he had heard the scuffing of pebbles behind him a moment before his companion spoke. “Will you still be leaving us at Wihthrycg, Saxebald?” the friar asked him.

“Yes,” Sax replied. “Perhaps before, even. You said you'll be preaching here...”

“The Certainty of Ministry demands it, and it is our calling,” said Theowyn. “Although perhaps God's abandoned us, as we've yet to win your soul from the false gods, and we've had ten days with which to work.”

Sax smiled wanly. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, but the Virian Way isn't my way. If you're going to move more slowly, then I'll need to continue on without you.”

“These are dangerous lands, Saxebald,” said Theowyn. “Yonder hills are infested with cyclopes and dragonspawn. No one should be travelling alone around here. You're very young, and still think you're immortal, but you aren't. I've known too many young men unwilling to ask for help because they're afraid of looking weak. The desire to be strong causes more deaths than weakness.”

“I'm not afraid of looking for help, I'll seek out companions in Wihthrycg who are heading west,” said Saxebald, brushing slick wet hair out of his eyes. “But I'm not a Virian and I can't help you preach. And it'll do you no good anyway if my uncle catches you up and I'm there. He'll accuse you of kidnapping, and some fool will believe him.”

“You should have been honest about this from the start,” Theowyn reproached him. “The Prophet warned against the poison of lies. We were willing to help regardless. There's no dishonour in refusing a loveless marriage, but since you didn't tell us, the others no longer trust you.”

If lies were poison, then Sax continued to pour out venom for the priest. He doubted the man would be so sanguine if he found the antidote. It was true enough Sax didn't want to enter a loveless marriage, or any marriage, but despite what he'd told Theowyn, his uncle had not got so far as to actually find a woman for him.

“You should tell them the Prophet called on Virians to show mercy on those who commit sins out of weakness and necessity. 'Seldom does one with an empty stomach think of righteousness,’” Sax quoted. The rain continued to beat down on them, and the stones were slick underfoot. He put his hand out to the high cliff on their left, steadying himself.

The rocky perch ahead of them narrowed so that they could only walk one abreast, and for some fifty feet the sparse bushes to their right thinned out, leaving a long drop down to another escarpment below. Sax was the youngest and surest-footed of their party, so, against the grumbles of the other half-dozen pilgrims, Theowyn asked him to go ahead.

Sax had been a great disappointment to his uncle. He'd demonstrated no aptitude with the spear or the bow, and between his fondness for music and the soft features Alden had endlessly derided as being those of a girl, his uncle had presumed him a coward. Sax's sudden flight would have caught him by surprise, and he would have been equally startled to see his sister's son confidently striding forward, barely bothering to slow himself despite the wet stones and the sheer fall only inches away.

Sax stopped only once, when he felt a snag on his leg from a long, prickly stem protruding out from the shrubbery growing up the side of the cliff. Sax carefully disentangled it, earning a jab in his thumb for the trouble. The plant was too tough for him to hope to break it without making a mess of his hand, so he called back to the others to warn them. From there he moved on ahead until the path widened out again.

The next man advanced far more slowly along the perilous ledge. When Sax looked back at him at one point, the pilgrim stood transfixed, gaze drawn down to the stones twenty-five feet below. Sax thought he might scream in frustration if he needed to watch this scene another six times, so once the man had crossed he took the opportunity to look down the path.

After about thirty feet down a muddy path he came to a perch, and there the path curled off to the left around a great stone outcropping. To Sax's great relief, as he approached the stones he sniffed wood smoke on the air, and looking north he spotted a small village through the haze. He looked out towards it as he waited for the others. They'd known there was a village ahead – Beoringas – but during an especially heavy spell of rain earlier they'd been forced to take shelter in a rocky alcove, delaying them by an hour or more. The idea of a night on the road didn't bear thinking about, even without the dragonspawn. They had only one tent, and, as the Virian party hadn't set out with the intention of picking up a stray so soon, Sax could only fit by squeezing tightly between two pilgrims. The one night they'd actually slept in the tent had been a nightmare of inadvertent –he hoped – elbows to the face or gut, and the choking stench of eight men who'd marched all day in the sun, confined in a tight space.

The path sloped down along a sparse line of trees for about a hundred feet, narrowing before eventually curving to the right by an elm. He heard horses approaching ten seconds before one emerged.

Sax melted back behind the rock and held up a hand to the others, though truthfully this was useless. There was nowhere to hide once the newcomers came up the slope, and no chance the pilgrims would be able to scramble back along the slick defile if there was any pursuit. Sax indicated to the others that it was safe and stepped out hailing the newcomers.

There were eight or nine altogether, all of whom were mounted, and about half of whom wore ring mail or long leather coats sewn with metal plates. These had round shields set with the unfamiliar symbol of a white owl with blood-red eyes, and carried broadswords, axes, spears or javelins, the weaponry of the Palanian nobility.

At the head of the party were two men. One was only a little older than Sax, the hood of his fine cloak drawn up to cover his sodden dark hair. The man to his side was about twenty years his senior, but there was a roundness to his face suggesting Fryderi ancestry. Certainly the two weren't related, which was confirmed by the fact that the elder man's shield bore a different device, a rearing black wolfhound on a grey field. Sax guessed him a thegn in service to the young lordling.

“Hail milords!” Sax called down to them. “The path ahead is narrow and there's no shelter for many miles. Unless your errand's urgent, you may wish to turn back for the night.”

Sax heard the older of the two men mutter a curse, while the young lordling spoke to a shaggy-haired man behind them. The lordling turned back to Sax. “I don't suppose you're making for Haronham? You could probably find the way better than us!” he laughed.

The older man squinted at Sax. “Are you travelling alone, boy? There are monsters in the Cambers and any one of them would make light work of you. You should follow us.”

“Not alone, no,” Sax replied, “But we’re bound elsewhere.” He had no idea where Haronham was – presumably it was some other village. He felt suddenly uncertain, thinking that the village he had spotted perhaps wasn't Beoringas. He nearly asked, but the older man spoke again and something in his tone warned Sax against it.

“Well if you're coming this way and we're turning around then you may as well accompany us for a ways, it'll be safer. Damn that woman, she told me the path to Haronham clove right and up past the white tree, not down.”

“No matter Leomund, we're a day ahead of ourselves and this gives us a chance to do the gods' work,” the lordling said. “I'm Freawic, of the Aesching clan of Wihthrycg, and this is my thegn, Leomund of the Perling clan. What's your name my friend?”

“Saxebald,” he called back. He wanted to lie, but if they were going to travel with these people then Theowyn and the others would doubtlessly call him by name. “Of Middlemere,” he added. He was about to walk down towards the lordling's party when he heard the pilgrims approaching, and he turned to see Theowyn and two others.

“These good lords are going to accompany us for a way back down the road,” Saxebald explained. “This is the party of Freawic of the Aeshing clan. And these are...” he turned back towards the lordling as Leomund’s voice broke in.

“Virians,” the thegn spat, face dark with wrath. “You were right, my lord. This is a chance to do the gods' work.”

Theowyn spoke quickly. “The Council has invited us into Palania and granted us the right to proselytise without molestation,” he said sternly. “Is this the kind of hospitality we should expect?”

“Fuck the Council!” Leomund shouted back. “In Ethelhelm's Gap we make our own laws.” The thegn glared venom at Saxebald. “See, my lord, it's as we were saying yestereve. The brown rats will come crawling over here and sink their stinking teeth into anyone they can. This boy's a Palanian, but he’s turned his back on Osoltan.”

“Milords, we don't want a fight!” Sax called back, interjecting quickly before Theowyn said something unhelpful. “You have gear of war and we have only staves, slings and knives. But I'm not a Virian, only someone travelling with them. They've been my companions for ten days and they've made no attempt to make me turn from the gods.” This was true insofar as the Virians had not tried to force him to convert, though they had certainly tried to persuade him. He hoped the bulge in his pack where he’d put the Theophany they’d given him wasn’t apparent from below.

“It would bring dishonour for us to kill travellers,” said Freawic, sounding uncertain.

“By Osoltan, boy, if I meant us to kill them I'd have already drawn my sword,” Leomund said disgustedly. He took off his glove and wiped rain away from his face. The thegn had a silver ring on one finger. “This little worm told us there's no shelter behind for miles, and this must be the only route down or he wouldn’t have said we ought to turn around. All we need to do is sit here and block the path and these rats can scurry off elsewhere. It’s as we were saying, my lord. We need to keep the Virians out to stop them from infecting our people with their filth.”

Freawic nodded slowly. “Yes, you’re right.” He turned to Saxebald and Theowyn. “In the name of Waldric, Ealdorman of Wihthrycg, I forbid you to enter Ethelhelm’s Gap. Begone.”

Saxebald knew that, in fact, they had already entered Ethelhelm’s Gap, and their destination wasn’t even in Wihthrycg Weapontake. Theowyn began to speak, most likely to say this very thing, but that would only inflame matters so Sax quickly interjected. “Milords, as you said there are monsters in the Cambers. If we can’t reach shelter then we’ll be at the mercy of the elements and the dragonspawn.”

“You ought to have considered that before coming where you aren’t wanted,” Leomund called back, dismounting. “Ulhere, with me.”

Sax felt Theowyn surge forward. “How dare you!” he shouted, bursting past Saxebald, fists balling up at his side. “The Mother Church is not here to be abused and humiliated by pagans!”

Leomund laughed uproariously. “Please, waste your breath and your time, fool. The longer you wait, the more likely you’ll blunder into some dragonspawn in the dark. Come and settle this like a man, or else begone.”

Theowyn looked as if he might take the thegn up on his offer – he was not always as peaceable as his kingly namesake. Before he could step forward, Sax grabbed him firmly by the arms and spun him around. “Don’t be stupid,” he said quietly.

“The Council have given us the right to preach in this country!” Theowyn said indignantly. From the corner of his eye, Sax saw Freawic approach Leomund hesitantly and they began to speak. “These…bandits,” he spat, “are flouting the laws of man and God alike.”

“Anyone can break any law at all unless somebody’s there to stop them,” Sax replied, “and there isn’t such a person here. Think. Look. They have swords and mail, horses, and they’re better provisioned. We can’t fight our way past, we can’t sneak down, and we can’t outwait them. We need to use words, but they need to be the right words, to the right person, from the right person. These people hate Virians, anything you say is going to make things worse.”

One of the other Virians heard this and pushed forward. “You mean yourself,” he said contemptuously. “He already plans to leave us, this will just push his plans forward. He’ll persuade them to let him past and leave us in the dust. This is the time to show the strength of God.”

Freawic, below, moved away from Leomund with a frown, while Theowyn brooded. Sax spoke quickly. “You said that you trust me,” he told the friar. “So trust me. I won’t betray you. Let me go down and speak to them.”

Theowyn nodded slowly after a long moment. “If your words fail,” he said, “then we move to arms. I’m no longer a soldier, but I’m still a man.”

Sax nodded. “I won’t fail. Don’t get involved, whatever happens.”

He turned, and began to walk down the slope. A gust of wind sent a spray of rain lashing towards him and he nearly slipped. That’s how to start this, flat on my arse. In truth, that might not hurt his plan.

When he was about halfway down the slope Leomund drew his blade. As Sax continued on, the thegn traced a line in the earth. “If you cross this, boy,” Leomund warned. “Then you are dead.”

Sax ignored him and instead locked his gaze on Freawic. “My lord, you seem a more reasonable man than your liege lord. I beg of you, take him aside and ask that he shows mercy on us.”

Freawic looked puzzled. “My father is many leagues away, as is Ealdorman Waldric. How do you mean for me to speak to them?”

Sax spread his hands. “Apologies, my lord,” he said with a smile. “When you introduced yourself, I thought you said that Leomund was your thegn. But as it’s clear that he gives commands and you obey, I obviously misheard you.”

Fury flashed in the young lordling’s eyes as he swept his blade free of its scabbard. “You impudent little bastard!” he shouted. “I should kill you where you stand!”

“You should,” Sax replied. “Or at least, you should kill us with your own hands instead of simply letting us die and pretending there’s some kind of difference. So do it. I’m unarmed.” Sax walked over the line.

Freawic’s eyes widened. Sax had just a moment to enjoy the sight before Leomund’s fist came crashing into his face with explosive force. The thegn followed up with a hard kick in the stomach and Sax toppled over, biting out a chunk from his lip as he fell.

“My lord,” Leomund said formally, “by your command. The Council has ordered us to allow Virian preachers, but this boy says he’s not a Virian.”

Sax gave a sob and wiped blood from his face. “P…please milord, have mercy,” he begged. “I’m sorry. Mercy.” Sax knelt at Freawic’s feet.

The lordling’s lip curled with disgust. “So much for your brave talk,” he said contemptuously. Sax bit down on his lip to stop himself from smiling. “Even with your face broken open, you’re still prettier than half the girls I’ve bedded, and weaker than all of them.” He sighed. “Leomund, what on earth are you worried about? The only Palanians likely to pay these Virians any mind are girl-men like this, and are they any loss?”

“My lord,” Leomund said, nostrils flaring. “We…”

“Enough!” Freawic snapped. “We’ve wasted enough time on this. Help the idiot up. We’re leaving. Maybe if you don’t send us down the wrong path again we might reach a bed tonight.”

Freawic slung himself back up into the saddle and whirled about, kicking clumps of mud over Sax. Leomund shut his eyes and muttered obscenities under his breath as Sax gingerly reached a hand out towards him.

With great reluctance, the thegn sheathed his sword, took off his glove, and reached out to Sax. “If I ever set eyes on you again, boy,” he said quietly, “I’ll just kill you before my lord sees you. Get out of my sight.”

Sax let out a strangled sob. “I will, milord,” he said, scrabbling wildly at Leomund’s hand. “I’m sorry, milord. I’ll never say anything like…”

“Be quiet!” Leomund snarled. As soon as Sax had regained his feet he’d withdrawn it as though he were infected. The thegn put his glove back on. “Go back up to your brown rats. Wait an hour, then you can pass.”

Sax nodded tremulously. He took a shaky step forward and nearly slipped on the stones, then righted himself.

He could see the Virians watching him with a mixture of pity and relief as he slowly made his way up the slope. Leomund and the rest of his party rode away, hooves beating in the night. Before Theowyn could embrace him, Sax reached into his pack for a cloth to wipe the blood from his nose. He let the ring he’d slipped from Leomund’s finger drop from his palm.[/p]

[sleepingdragon]

Exchange Value

Travelling alone wasn't the safest option, and Saxebald knew it, but there'd been little hope for it when Heregrim had fallen ill. In the last day Sax had spent on the road with the handsome scrivener, they'd covered so little ground that a peddler they'd passed previously overtook them as he returned to his village. The man had been kind enough to allow Heregrim to stay with his family while he recuperated. Sax, unwilling to wait, had asked around after anyone else who might have been heading to Styrnes, but, finding none, he decided to risk continuing on alone.

Although it was spring, this far north there was inevitably a chill in the air. Saxebald would have liked to make himself a fire, but by all accounts there were other things than just insects in the Peadawash to the south.

When he had been younger he had imagined the wandering life as one heroic and filled with extraordinary scenes of battle and conflict. He hadn't considered the more commonplace aspects, the fatigue of constant walking, the long hours with nothing but the wind and stray birds for company, and the worry. He certainly hadn't envisaged himself sleeping in a wet, mossy hollow beneath a tree.

The damp had soaked through the blanket he'd laid down, into his bedroll and his clothes, and the smell of moss and earth was thick in his nostrils. Still, it was the safest way to sleep on your own in the open country, and with luck, tomorrow he would reach Oxenbrycg and be able to sleep in a bed. Perhaps he would even be fortunate enough to find another temporary companion travelling west.

He rolled about fitfully, allowing his mind to drift. He was unable to determine if he was indeed dropping in and out of sleep, or whether he had in fact remained awake all night. He thought the former, for the Prophet's Star overhead seemed to be in different parts of the sky each time he looked, but this might simply indicate he wasn't paying much attention.

A chill rose in the air and Sax felt a sneeze coming on. He pinched his nose shut to muffle the sound, and, lacking any better option, wiped his hand clean on the tree bark before pouring a small amount from his waterskin out over his hands. He patted them as dry as he could on his bedroll and lay staring up at the sky.

He began to drift again, and ghostly memories danced at the edges of consciousness. The half-remembered faces of his parents, and the much more clear phantom of Alden's scowl. Then came a more pleasant recollection, the feeling of his cousin's lips on his.

He tried to fixate on this, masturbating half-heartedly. That had proved a damnably difficult thing to do when he had been travelling with seven Virians, who had virtually never left him alone for any length of time. But the thought of his uncle's disapproving face killed any desire he felt, so he lay still again.

Alden had approved of him for a very brief time, he recalled, after Sax came to live with him when his father died. He had only been eight then, and he'd been big for his age, but he didn't hve the temperament ot match what Alden wanted. Once his son Alhelm was born, and the other boys of an age with him out grew Sax, Alden had come to treat him with harsh disapproval. Sax had responded with disdain, continuing to pursue his interest in music, until he returned home one evening in time to see Alden smash his flute in half over his knee. Following the subsequent beating, Sax learned to step more carefully around the man.

A soft sound shook Sax from his reverie. He was passing through the narrow strip of land that lay between the southernmost reaches of the Great Forest to the north, and the Peadawash to the south. The land was dotted with sagging trees, and the earth was damp and soft underfoot, clinging to boots with each step. Very low, he heard the squish-squish sound that had been his primary companion through the lonely day of travel.

It didn't sound especially close, so Sax kept his head low and listened, heart beating. There were few honest reasons a person might be travelling in the middle of the night. He'd heard few tales of bandits in this region, though they were always a possibility. The sound continued, but Sax didn't think it was getting closer, so he decided he would risk sticking his head out to look.

The noise was coming from the west, which was also where the tree was relative to the hollow where he'd concealed himself. He took hold of a root and carefully pulled himself up, making sure to keep the base of the tree between himself and the damp fields to the west at all times. He shivered and felt another sneeze begin to build, but this one dissipated. He took a moment to gather his nerves, then he very carefully peeked around to his right, hiding his face as best as he could behind a clump of leaves.

Perhaps three hundred yards to the west, he saw a half-dozen or so shapes heading south, towards the marsh. They were moving rather slowly, he thought. After a time, Sax realised they were carrying something slung between them. An abrupt gust of wind blew, making Sax shudder, but as he watched the shapes he noticed there was not even the slightest flutter of a cloak in the air.

There was only one sort of creature in this region who would be striding towards the marsh, at night, without cloaks or indeed any kind of clothing that Saxebald could see. Sax looked down at his pack, still in the hollow, thinking that the only sane thing to do was to get back down there and wait until the lizardmen had passed, but instead he stayed knelt by the tree trunk and continued to watch.

They weren't coming much closer, striding directly south as they were, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark he could see that they were tall, about seven feet in height on average, and they had short-hafted flint spears, stone axes, and hide shields. Metal rarely survived the corrosion of the Peadawash for long. Their weapons were not ready to hand, however. Indeed, four of the creatures were carrying two long burdens between them, over their shoulders, wrapped in cloth, bound in places with rope. As Sax watched, one of the bundles twitched, and he caught a faint glimpse of a young girl’s face.

Sax continued to watch. A primal part of him wanted to spring immediately to action to free the two captives, but Sax had only a few throwing knives for weaponry. He doubted he could best even a single lizardman in a fight, let alone half a dozen of them.

The lizardmen, tired from their burdens, stopped by a small copse of trees and laid the two captives down for a moment. They were, Sax guessed, about thirteen or fourteen, a boy and a girl. They were of a height, or if anything the girl was slightly taller – perhaps she was a bit older, though Sax couldn’t get a close look at them in the darkness. The boy wriggled as he was set down. His arms and legs were both bound, but he was quite flexible, and indeed when the lizardmen were tending to the girl Sax saw he was able to bend his legs behind him and bring his feet up to the level of his hands. Sax’s heart began to beat very fast.

The lizardmen began to pick the girl up, ready to set off again. She squirmed in their scaly hands, and was able to land an awkward kick in the eye of the creature picking her up. The creature stumbled backwards, probably more stunned than actually injured. The girl uselessly tried to crawl away, but soon four lizardmen pounced on her, while the fifth rubbed its injured eye. Sax could hear the girl's shouted obscenities even at this distance.

In this space of time, Sax saw the boy kick his legs back again, clawing furiously at the bindings around his feet. In a moment he was free, and he rose. The lizardman that had been meant to watch over him had joined the others in subduing the girl, and this left the boy an opening. He looked at the girl for only an instant, weighing up his chances of heroism, before taking the wiser decision.

He had sprinted some fifteen or twenty yards before the creatures realised what had happened. The injured lizardman and two others went after him, while the others remained behind, holding the girl down beneath scaled feet. The boy was a strong runner, and although he had been taken, he hadn't been carrying a captive for much of the evening. He bolted straight towards where Sax was hidden.

Sax had only a moment to decide as the boy came into the trees, passing three or four before streaking past where Sax was hidden. He reached out and wrapped a hand around the boy's mouth, then flung himself and the boy down into the hollow.

“Qui...” Sax had to stifle a hiss as the boy instinctively bit him. Sax rolled, pulling the boy around so they were face to face and he could see that he was also human.

“Be quiet. Trust me.”

Earlier that evening, Sax had found several large patches of moss that he’d been able to pull up intact and brought down with him into the hollow. He prayed they were large enough as he quickly spread them over them like blankets.

“Stay very still,” Sax told the boy. He could hear footsteps and shouting above, though the lizardmen spoke in their own, somewhat croaking language, which he couldn’t comprehend. He heard the sound of footfalls come nearer.

He dreaded the possibility that they would stop near the hollow and examine it closely, but fortune was with him. There were many trees in the area, far too many for the lizardmen to stop and check around each one – if the boy had still been running he would have easily escaped had they done so.

They heard the lizardmen go past them, and then, after a few moments, the sound of their running stopped and they began to speak. There came some loud rustling noises – Sax guessed they were searching the trees above, thinking the boy may have climbed one to escape them. For an agonising moment they lay in silence as Sax’s mind raced, then he spoke.

“I’m Saxebald,” he told the boy quietly. “What’s your name?”

“Osric,” the boy whispered.

“The lizards must know by now that you’re not still running” There was a rustling noise from above. “Checking the trees above in case you hid in them, most likely. Eventually they’re going to look here. I have a plan, but you’ll need to move quickly and quietly. Can you do that Osric?”

Osric nodded tremulously. He was perhaps twelve, with straight, sharp, clean features and short-cut dark hair. His brown eyes were full of fear.

“I’m going to just take a look. Stay still.” Sax very carefully crawled out from under the moss, resisting the urge to shake the dirt from his hair. He took hold of a root and slowly, cautiously pulled his head up until he could peer out of the hollow.

The trio of lizardmen were moving from tree to tree. As he’d thought, they were first prodding their spears up into the branches, trying to flush the boy out, before then examining below. Sax saw one lizardman climb down into another hollow, thrash around, then clamber back out again. The creature scraped his stone axe across the trunk of the tree to mark it.

Sax located the other two lizardmen, who were searching trees further away. When the first creature moved on, he very carefully pulled himself up, staying low to the ground. After glancing around the tree trunk to check that the other three lizards were with the girl, he reached out to Osric.

“Follow me. Quickly!”

The boy scurried up out of the hollow. When he was by Sax's side he too looked around the base of the tree.

“Magna...we should...”

“Not now. If you go for her, you're on your own,” Sax said harshly. He was lying, of course, but a sharp lie was the best way to focus Osric on not doing something stupid. Before the boy had time to think, Sax began to creep towards the next tree. After a moment, he heard the boy following him.

They ghosted from tree to tree, keeping a close eye on the lizardmen. Now Sax could see them more closely. Some thought the lizardmen of the Peadawash were related to the dragonspawn. Sax had never seen a live dragonspawn before, but he had seen one's severed head near Middlemere once, and the lizardmen, with their nearly horizontal heads and long tongues, looked only vaguely like them. Their skin was moss green and their blinking eyes were pale.

Sax and Osric reached the tree where the first lizardman he had spotted had been searching, and stayed carefully behind the trunk of the tree until the creatures had all turned away. Osric went down into the hollow first, and Sax followed him just as one of the lizardmen began to search at the base of the tree where they had been hidden only moments before.

They stayed low and waited, muscles taut with worry and anticipation, until they heard one of the creatures give a shout of frustration. Soon the lizardmen began to speak to each other animatedly, before, with what Sax was certain were curses, they turned away. Sax poked his head up to see them striding back to where the other lizardmen still held the girl, and watched them continue on the road south.

When the lizardmen had passed on a safe distance, Sax and Osric pulled themselves out of the hollow.

“We should have gone after them!” Osric said as Sax cut the bindings on the boy's wrists. “They'll kill Magna.”

“If they'd meant to kill you, they could have already done it,” Sax pointed out. “What happened? How did the lizardmen get you?”

Osric shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Magna and I, we were on our own. We were...” He blushed.

“I can imagine.” He felt the ghost of his cousin's lips again. “Where are you from?”

“I'm from Swinham, Magna is from Oxenbrycg.” From what Sax had learned from the peddler who'd helped to nurse Heregrim, those were two villages about five miles apart. “The lizardmen have been raiding us.”

Sax thought for a moment. “So what have your villages been doing to make the lizardmen raid you?”

Osric looked startled. “What? They're vile monsters! You think this is our fault?”

“The vile monsters didn't kill you when they had every chance,” Sax pointed out. “They didn't even do the sensible thing and threaten Magna when you ran off. If they wanted blood they'd already have it. That means they meant to hold you hostage.”

“Is that somehow not bad?” Osric said angrily.

“No,” Sax said coolly, “but lizardmen don't use coins, and your villages aren't especially rich to begin with. I don't know what lizardmen eat but I doubt they'd hold you to ransom for that. The most obvious answer is that there's something they want your villages to do, or stop doing, and were going to use you to force them to do that.”

Osric thought. “An alchemist came through recently and spoke with Beonor, and after that he and Siglan and some others have been going into the marsh. There's some plants there that can be used for poison...”

“I imagine Beonor is from Swinham like you, yes?”

“Yes, he's one of my father's cousins,” Osric responded.

Sax thought for a while, and stood up. “It's probably not safe to stay here, and I wouldn't be able to sleep again tonight anyway.”

“We have to go after Magna!” Osric cried. “Will you come with me?”

“What are you intending to do against an entire marsh full of lizardmen?” Sax asked the boy. “I just helped you escape, if I'd known you were going to go and ask to be a captive again I wouldn't have bothered.”

Osric looked wounded. “You can't expect me to just leave her!” He said angrily. A flush crept up his cheeks, anger fading to embarassment. “It...it was my first time. I was the one who suggested meeting at...”

Sax cut in. “Yes, it usually is a boy who makes that kind of suggestion.” In Sax's case, it had been his cousin's idea. Sax paused. “I have an idea to get Magna back...” he said at length. “But there's something you need to agree to.”

“I agree,” Osric said immediately.

Sax smiled. “You don't even know what it is. Come with me, and I'll tell you on the way...”

*******************************************************************************

Sax's legs and eyes were heavy by mid-day, when they saw the farms of Oxenbrycg ahead of them. He had had only a few hours of sleep, but this was better than Osric, whose only rest had been while slung over a lizardman's shoulder and who was flagging badly.

“Which of these belongs to Magna's family?” Sax asked, and Osric indicated a set of fields on the southwestern edge of the village, bounded by large hedges.

“Her father doesn't like me,” he said cautiously.

“All the better,” Sax replied. “Lead on, and keep an eye out. If you see anyone from Swinham, we need to avoid them.”

Sax followed Osric through the damp fields and down towards the farm Magna's family owned. Despite the name of the village, they seemed mostly to raise chickens, Sax noted.

As they came to the southern hedge and wound their way towards a gate, they heard a great commotion in the fields. There were voices raised in anger, but from the few snatches of words he managed to catch, it wasn't the kind of anger directed at one who was present.

Osric looked very nervous. “Stand behind me,” Sax instructed, “and don't say anything unless I ask you to.” Osric was more than glad to agree. Sax walked up to the gate with the boy trailing behind, eyes downcast, like a dog denied a bone.

They heard a boy shout when they entered the gate, and Sax could see the farm was awhirl with activity. A group of about half a dozen boys were tearing through a shed, pulling out tools – mostly axes, with a few hoes or rakes. At least one of these had had its head cut off and a large number of flat, sharp stones laid next to it.

One of the boys was facing them, and he was the one who had shouted. “Da! DA! There's someone here,” he cried. The boy was broad-shouldered and thick-set, about eleven, with a round face. He peered suspiciously over at Sax. “Who're you?” he asked.

The boy looked like he was about to say more, but was interrupted by the appearance of a burly man a little over six feet in height, with a thick neck and impressive mustache. He was clearly the boy's father, and the stamp of Fryderi parentage was clear on his face. “You from Swinham?” he asked. “I already told one of your lot, I'm going after my daughter...” The man stopped as he spotted Osric behind Sax. “You!”

“You're Magna's father, aren't...” Sax had time to say no more than this before the big man came bulling forward, shoving Sax aside.

“I told you to stay away from my daughter!” the huge man roared with the fury of a frustrated man given a sudden target for his animosity. He lunged forward at Osric, but Sax was back on his feet quickly and thrust the boy behind him.

“I have an idea to get your daughter back that's more likely to work than mounting a rescue alongside a gaggle of boys armed with farming implements,” Sax told him sharply, “but it requires you to not attack me or my companion.”

Magna's father glared at him venomously. “Who the fuck are you anyway? You sound like a southerner.”

“I am one,” Sax said agreeably. “I saw the lizardmen who took Osric here and your daughter. Osric managed to escape – because of what looked to me like a deliberate distraction arranged by your daughter, I should add – but the lizardmen still have Magna.”

“I already bloody knew that! My daughter is a monster's prisoner, get to the point or stop wasting my time!” Magna's father snapped, leaning in over Saxebald.

“Did you know why the lizardmen are taking captives?” Sax asked. “Because I do, and I know how you can use that to get your daughter back.”

The big man sniffed. “They do things like this every now and again. We'll kill a few and the rest will behave themselves again.”

“Do you know Beonor from Swinham?” Sax asked.

“Aye,” the man replied. “He was here about two hours ago, looking for this little shit,” he jabbed an accusatory finger at Osric.

“He's been scrounging for poisons in the Peadawash, intruding on the lizardmen's territory,” Sax said. “He's why your daughter's been taken captive, not Osric.”

“Does it fucking matter? Are the lizardmen going to give my daughter back if I go and give him a kicking? Get out of my way.” The man grabbed Sax's shoulder.

Sax chopped the man's hand away, or at least tried to. It was about as much use as hacking at the base of a tree with a scroll. He winced. “They might give her back if you offer something in return.”

“Does it look like I have something lizardmen would want?” the man gave Sax a shove, sending him stumbling backwards.

“You have me,” Osric broke in, before things could escalate.

Sax had not asked him to speak, but was grateful the boy had spared him. “The lizardmen want Beonor to stop intruding on their swamp, you want your daughter back, and Beonor wants Osric back,” Sax said, steadying himself. “Go and find Beonor and tell him he can either stay out of the marsh, or you'll give the lizardmen Osric to get Magna back.”

A glimmer of hope came into Magna's father's eyes, then dimmed immediately. “Beonor will say I'm holding the boy hostage,” he said.

“And? I can't help but notice that you and Beonor both seem to be preparing to dash off into the Peadawash on your own instead of petitioning the Ealdorman,” Sax said.

“Ealdorman and Thegns don't care about one peasant girl,” the man said harshly.

“No, and I doubt Beonor wants them to find out he's been helping poisoners either. So you can make him agree, or I'll go and tell the Ealdorman a tale about the creatures harassing travellers in his Weapontake,” said Sax.

The big man was silent. “This might work. You,” he pointed at Osric, “go into the farm. Boys, keep watch on him and make sure he doesn't do a runner.”

Sax clapped Osric on the shoulder. “If you're willing, I'll come and help deal with Beonor,” he said to Magna's father. “But once that's done, might I stay with you for a few nights? I'm rather short of coin at the moment.”

“If you help me get Magna back you can stay for a few years for all you want,” the man said.

“I doubt I'll need that long,” Sax said. “I don't suppose you happen to know if anyone in Oxenbrycg is heading to Styrnes soon, do you?”

[sleepingdragon]

Your First Time


The coat looked like it was slightly too big for him, but the tailor had not had much time to make it. At any rate, Sax was far less interested in the garment than in its contents.

The tailor was a big, hirsute man who smiled often and coughed even more. “Young master, this'll keep you warm and dry through the worst the sea can throw at you,” he said. Even drier than Sax in the hypothetical storm were the racking coughs the man emitted every few words. “We only need to arrange the payment and it's all yours.” The tailor carefully put the coat over his arm and moved towards the counter.

“Fifty silvers, was it, master Brunhelm?” Sax asked him, and the tailor who'd been a sailor nodded. Sax pulled out a small purse and handed it over to him.

The tailor opened the purse and thumbed through it carefully. Sax had not bothered to count out fifty coins exactly, and thought there were probably fewer than that in there. Brunhelm, however, cared as little about the coins as Sax did about the coat.

The man coughed, then stopped when his finger passed over something that wasn't a coin. He looked at it carefully, twisting it around, then nodded. Stuffing the purse in his pocket, he handed the coat over to Sax, who put it on immediately.

“Young master, it's been a pleasure. If you have business in Styrnes again, make sure you look me up.” He spat in his palm and held out a brown and grimy hand to Sax.

Sax winced, and, after a moment of indecision, spat in his own palm and shook with the man. The moment their flesh made contact Sax wished he could shed his skin, but, not having that option, he turned and headed out. The powerful smell of fish, which had been slightly dampened by the various dyes and fabrics within Brunhelm's shop, immediately assailed his nostrils.

Most days since Sax had arrived in Styrnes it had been raining, but now that he could use some cleansing water, none came. Fortunately, there was a waterside tavern with a horse trough just across from the shop, and a well stood there to feed the trough. A few men sat by a moored sloop, repairing fishing nets. The youngest of them, a boy of Sax's age with yellow hair, looked up and watched him as he went towards the well. There was a wooden bucket there, and, seeing that there was still some water left along its base, he plunged his soiled hand inside and washed off Brunhelm's phlegm.

It was far from a thorough wash, but it would have to do. Sax emptied the bucket onto the cobblestones and turned to go back to his inn, patting himself dry on his new coat. As he wiped his hands, he felt his fingers run over several small, hard, disc-like objects sewn within the fabric. With a smile, he picked up his stride. The boy's eyes followed him all the way down the lane.

---

Sax's head still ached when he woke up in his room the next day. He remembered very little of the previous night's revelry, but he felt several pleasant aches and there was still a damp patch in his bedclothes, so he supposed he must have found a companion at some point.

Immediately worried, he leapt up, heedless of his nakedness, and checked on his new coat, feeling relief flooding over him when he found that everything was still in place. He lay back down on his bed and groaned, allowing himself a half hour or so for his head to stop throbbing. Outside it seemed to have started raining heavily again, and the clouds were so thick and dark that Sax had no idea of the time. For all he knew, he had slept into the evening.

It seemed there was little point in setting out today. He didn't know where he was bound for anyway, and now that he had some coin he could afford to spend a few days in comfort while he pondered. He would need a flute for certain, but he didn't know if Styrnes was the best place to find it. Probably. The nearest settlements of substance were several weeks journey to the east or the south over land, and each had their own problems. He would want to stay away from Wihthrycg for a while yet, and to reach Swithdun would require a long detour around the Peadawash. Or a shortcut through, which, considering it had only been three weeks ago that he had managed to help persuade the lizardmen that there would be no further encroachments on their territory, was all but certainly a bad idea.

Of course there were also Madumflod and Wuffingas to the north to consider, or maybe even Fryddenland further afield. He had long wanted to go to Fryddenland, but that would require a ship. Sax didn't know if he would do well on a long sea voyage, and he was particularly hesitant about taking a ship from Styrnes. The captains of this town had a poor reputation, and Sax preferred not to be forcibly conscripted onto a pirate ship if other options were open to him.

He felt his stomach give a lurch, and he worried for a moment that he would be sick. Fortunately it settled itself, though Sax felt a foul, acrid taste creep up his throat. He contemplated for a moment whether it was wisest to keep his stomach empty, or if he should risk food, before deciding on the latter. If he was going to vomit, he would at least prefer if there was something there for him to expel. Dry retching was not something he wanted to face again for a long time.

Sax hastily threw on some clothes, went to the door, then decided to bring his coat with him. It was rather too hot to wear indoors, but he'd been foolish to let it out of his sight the night before, particularly while drunk, and especially while someone else was in his room. He walked down into the common room of the Anchor. From the number of patrons, and how many of them wore leather aprons or other garb indicating a craftsman's trade, he guessed that it was about mid-day.

Sax sat himself at a table on his own in the corner, nursing a weak ale while waiting for his food. After about fifteen minutes, the cook's assistant, a tall young man of Fryderi blood with dark hir, brought him a bowl of vegetable broth. It was served with rye bread that had been fried in the juices that had run from the morning's fish.

The assistant gave him a sly smile as he laid the food down. Sax was confused for a moment, thinking he had only even seen the man once or twice before in his stay at the Anchor, but then a hazy memory came to him. Oh. By the time Sax had worked it out, however, the man had already set off, casting one quick glance back at Sax.

Sax tore off a chunk of bread and dunked it in the broth, faintly hearing the door open and feeling a momentary blast of wind. A tall, red-haired man with a wide face, and a nose that had obviously been broken at least once before, stepped in stamping mud from his boots and looking around. Sax tore off another chunk of bread and, just as he looked away, noticed the man's eyes alight on him.

Sax dunked another piece of bread as the man strode over to him. The man flashed him a smile, which revealed several missing teeth. “D'you mind if I sit here, boy?”

Sax searched for the polite way to say he preferred to keep his own company, but the man sat down without bothering to wait for his answer and called for two ales. “That pisswater won't put any hair on ya, lad,” he said, glancing scornfully at Sax's weak drink.

“I had a hard night,” Sax said apologetically. “Better to work my way back up something proper."

The man waved his hand airily. “Best advice is to never let yourself get sober, ha!” he flashed his missing teeth. “That's a fine coat you've got lad,” he added.

“I'll need it for when I leave, the road north can be harsh. Or so I've heard,” Sax said. He had no idea when he'd decided to head towards Madumflod, or, or that matter, why he'd told this man, who he liked and trusted about as far as he could throw a galleon.

“Leaving gorgeous Styrnes so soon are ya? A shame,” the man shook his head. A server came bringing the two ales. The red-haired man handed one to Sax and took a long drink from the other. “The names Malwyn,” he introduced himself, “and before you go leaving us, there's a friend of mine as wants to talk to ya.”

Sax gave the man a long look. “My name is Saxebald, though I think you already knew that.” The man laughed as he finished his ale, and promptly picked up the mug he'd given Sax. “Why do I want to speak to your friend?”

“He has a job to offer you,” the man said with a shrug. “Few lads he knows are heading out of town and you could help out. Would be good for you to have company on the road, and a wandering young man always needs some way to put coin in his pocket.”

Sax didn't think he'd want to spend long in the company of anyone who associated with Malwyn, but he supposed there wasn't much harm in meeting whoever the man's friend was. If he did, they knew where he was staying, and as he wasn't about to leave today they would all but certainly come to him if he refused. “Alright, I'm not going to promise anything. Go and get your friend and we'll talk here.”

“Not here,” Malwyn shook his head. “Too many ears. Come to the stables in an hour.” Without waiting for Sax's reply, he drained his second mug and stood up.

“If your friend is much like you I'll tell him no,” Sax told Malwyn, who only laughed as he walked out of the tavern. Sax angrily tore himself a chunk of bread as he watched him go.

---

He had thought for a while about whether or not he should wear his coat to the stables. Considering the attention Malwyn had given it, he suspected the man knew who he'd had it from, and as it hadn't been that hard for Sax to learn that Brunhelm was a fence, it was most likely well known in Styrnes. Sax decided that the risk of wearing it was less than the risk that the whole meeting was simply a ploy to distract him while they robbed his room, so he wore it to keep him dry as he darted across the yard to the Anchor's stable.

The powerful scent of damp horse hung heavy in the air. Sax wanted to stay as close to the entrance as he could – he didn't think they would try to rob or attack him, but there was no point leaving that to chance. When he entered, however, he saw no sign of anyone, just a single groom who was feeding the inn's own steeds.

There were quite a few stalls which were empty, and eventually, in one of these, he noticed Malwyn stand up and wave him over. Sax pretended not to have seen him and stayed leaning against the wall next to the door. The groom gave him a curious look, then headed out through the servant's entrance.

“We can speak out here,” Sax told Malwyn when he started waving to him again. “Is your friend here? I had enough of you earlier.”

Malwyn gave an irritated sound and opened the stall, but before he could answer Sax was struck by a blast of cold wind and rain as the door opened and two people entered.

One was a man of about thirty, with sharp, angular features and a small beard. Entering behind him, and looking startled to see Sax standing there, was the young fisherman who'd been watching him when he'd left Brunhelm's shop.

The first man didn't look like he was surprised by much, and didn't even raise an eyebrow at Sax standing right there. “Ah, my young friend!” he said. “Ragnvald, at your service.”

A Fryderi name, but if the man had any Fryderi blood it wasn't apparent. Sax doubted it was his real name. Ignoring Ragnvald, he held his hand out to the fisherman. “Pleased to renew our acquaintance. I assume you work for Ragnvald? Keeping an eye on who's visited the local fence?”

The young man blinked, but Ragnvald laughed. “Just so,” he said. “You've never fenced something in Styrnes before, obviously. Or anywhere else, I'd guess.”

Sax didn't answer him, but Ragnvald laughed again. “You never forget your first time, do you, Mal? Rather like fucking a girl, once you steal something you get a taste for it. D'you know what I mean?” Ragnvald gave Sax a light prod on the shoulder.

“You want me to steal something else.”

“Well perhaps,” Ragnvald replied. “But it's not always needing to be as dramatic as all that. You can accompany some friends of mine north, and you can call around in a few places and help gather some debts. Malwyn and I usually handle that hereabouts in person, but I don't want to have to go too far afield.”

“What sort of debts do people owe you?”

“Oh, this and that,” Ragnvald said vaguely. “Last debt we collected was from a woman whose husband lost us a hundred silvers at dice and then was thoughtless enough to die before he'd paid us back. Malwyn let her taste his hand and that was that.”

“Thank you for the offer, and no.” Sax pushed himself away from the wall and took a step towards the door, but Ragnvald put a hand on his shoulder.

“Now, don't be so quick to decide, my young friend,” he said with a smile. “You obviously have some talent, and some guts. It was a very pretty ring that. Not bad, for a first score. Most wouldn't aim that high to start.”

Sax gave Ragnvald a hard glare. “Is Brunhelm one of your friends who I'm supposed to go north with?”

“Oh no, he just owed me a favour,” said Ragnvald. “Now listen here, young Saxebald. You obviously have a promising career ahead of you, but you need someone to guide you and set you on your path. I can do that for you, but there's a risk for you. It was a very interesting thing on that ring, the wolfhound. I don't know much about nobles, but I can hear you're not one. I also know about killers, and I can hear you're not one of those neither. Put that together, and it seems to me the score is there'll be some angry aristocrat around trying to find out who stole his ring. You won't have any career if he finds you.”

Sax wormed free of Ragnvald's grip, though he backed straight into Malwyn. “Do you think I'm stupid? Even if I work for you, you'll still sell the information if it becomes profitable to you. Assuming you don't deliberately make me do something worse so you can hold that over me. Get out of my way.” He gave Ragnvald an ineffectual shove, then felt a sharp pain in the back of his leg as Malwyn kicked him hard in the back of the knee. Sax fell to the ground with a groan. A horse looked over placidly, then turned away.

Ragnvald glared down at him in annoyance. “You want your independence I see. Fine, I can respect that, I suppose,” he said. Sax started to stand, but Ragnvald put a foot on his chest. “Still, independence has costs. I understand you have twelve gold coins sewn in that coat. Give them to me.”

The fence had in fact only paid him ten gold, but there was little good telling the man that. “Malwyn, take the coat off and find my coins. Lad, if you scream then we'll have to involve the law, and then you lose the gold anyway.”

Sax tried to scream – if he was to lose his money then at least these bastards would get none of it! - but with Ragnvald's foot on his chest he could only let out a wheeze. Malwyn bent and started to yank the coat off his arms. Sax could, at least, muster up enough energy to spit in his face. Malwyn swore and stomped angrily on Sax's head, sending the world spinning.

Sax felt the man start to pull his coat off again, and the blond boy holding his legs down. Then suddenly he was aware of a faint sound, and realised the weight of Ragnvald's foot and the boy's hands had disappeared. As his head cleared, he looked up in a daze and saw that a new person had entered the stable.

She had not come in by the same way as Sax, but, rather, through the servant's entrance. She was, however, clearly not any kind of servant. Sax's view of her was upside down, but he could see that she was, by female standards, quite tall, standing a couple of inches below six feet and overtopping Sax easily. Her chestnut hair was cut very short, and her eyes were grey and hard. Just below her left eye was a puckered scar.

“Collecting more debts, Ragnvald?” she asked. She moved lightly on her feet, and was in what looked like one of the fighter's stances Sax had always utterly failed to grasp. “I believe the last time I saw you I warned you to stay very far away from Leofgifu.”

“So? Are you her new husband then? Maybe you ought to have paid his gambling debts,” Ragnvald said. “Get out, before you get hurt.”

“You might have been able to scare Leofgifu while I was away, but I'm not a fifty year old widow,” the woman replied. “You stole a hundred silvers from her. You'll give them to me now, and another hundred for hitting her.”

In reply, Malwyn and Ragnvald pulled out concealed knives – so, with considerably more reluctance, did the blond boy. The woman wasn't armed, but she gave them a wild grin. “Good. You want to do things that way then.” She turned her body side on, hands up and ready.

Ragnvald put his foot back on Sax's chest to stop him from fleeing. “Malwyn, no bodies if you can help it.” Ragnvald said. The thug nodded and arrowed towards the woman, with the blond boy following after him.

Malwyn advanced, slashing down at the woman's leg, but she spun and quickly grabbed at his hand. Taking hold of one finger, she pivoted and pulled back on it hard. There was a loud pop and a scream of pain from Malwyn as he dropped his dagger.

Several horses reared and whinnied at the shocking noise, and the woman followed up with a hard punch that sent Malwyn toppling backwards. He nearly went bowling straight into the blond boy, who managed to leap over his fallen companion awkwardly. He landed off balance, right in the woman's path. She leapt forward and delivered a thunderous kick to the head that sent the boy reeling to the side of the stable.

“There'll be one body at least,” the woman said to Ragnvald, smiling broadly. Sax feared the man would try to use him as a hostage, but before he could think to do so, the woman was on him with a flurry of punches, and Ragnvald was forced to back away, leaving Sax free.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, head ringing. The smart thing to do would be to get up and run, but he wasn't sure he could even walk straight, and if Malwyn or the boy recovered they'd probably knife him for his gold while his back was turned. The boy was utterly insensate, but the big man was already starting to stir.

Ragnvald had won himself some space and held his dagger out in front of him in warning. “He's got twelve gold in his coat,” he said to the woman, waving his dagger at Sax. “I'll split it with you.”

“I'd sooner split you,” the woman responded. “I lost my battle-axe in a shipwreck, but my hands will be good enough for the likes of you.”

Ragnvald continued to back away, then suddenly the woman darted forward and swept out with a wide kick. The man dodged away, but in the process he backed himself into the empty stall where Malwyn had been waiting earlier. The woman punched at him, forcing him back again, and positioned herself to block his escape. Malwyn was struggling uneasily to his feet.

“I...” Ragnvald tried to speak, but the woman rushed towards him, forcing him into the corner of the stall. The horses were now wild with panic and it seemed like it would be only a matter of time before someone noticed the commotion.

Ragnvald took a blow to the head, staggered, and stabbed out wildly. He managed a slash that cut nothing but the woman's clothing, as she took hold of his hand and bent it around. With a cruel twist she snapped three of his fingers and tore the knife from his hand. Sax saw Malwyn, still dazed, pick up his dagger and move towards the stall, ignoring him. Sax crawled towards the door, coming up next to the blond boy before his head spun again.

“Pl...” Ragnvald's plea turned suddenly to gurgles as the woman drove his own knife hard into his heart. She grabbed his twitching body and twisted the dagger with a wild smile as Malwyn came up towards the stall.

Sax rose to his feet. He kept a few throwing daggers on him while travelling, but he had left these in his room. He snatched up the blond boy's knife and, with a wild surge of energy, threw himself at Malwyn's back. The big man half turned before Sax's dagger plunged into the soft flesh of his throat.

The sudden smell that hit him was the foulest stink Sax had ever known. His fingers were sticky with blood and he could feel Malwyn's life pulse away at the end of his dagger, throbbing with the intensity of orgasm. Fear and hate went searing across the thug's face, then he fell with blank eyes. Sax stumbled away, slammed into a stall where a horse bucked and screamed wildly, and his stomach heaved.

What little lunch he had eaten came up, tearing his throat like consuming fire. Spent, Sax tried to stand, and instead fell over, landing one knee in his own vomit. The woman had stood and, seeing the blond boy was moving, rushed over towards him, bloody dagger in hand.

“D...don't!” Sax managed to say as she hauled the dazed boy up and slammed him into the wall.

The woman glanced over at him. “I don't remember asking you,” she said. She gave the blond boy a leer and he screamed, pissing himself.

The woman flung him away from her in disgust. “Oh go, you mewling tit! Quickly.” She directed a kick at his backside and he crawled away, staggered to his feet, and went running out into the pouring rain.

“Never done that before, have you?” the woman asked Sax, pointing at Malwyn's body. Sax shook his head weakly.

“I'd say it was him or you, but that's not really true,” she said. “It was him or me, and that's a heavy choice to burden you with.” As the groom suddenly burst in through the rear entrance and gawped at the carnage, the woman reached out to Sax and pulled him to his feet. “My name's Frewaru.”

[sleepingdragon]

A Choice Companion


There were six of them, altogether, travelling on the northern road, but most were the kind of transient companions Frewaru had spent many long hours with. You came together, not because of any friendship or affinity, but simply because the roads were safer for a group than a lone person. By the time you'd had yet another discussion about their agonisingly detailed prognostications regarding the weather, you'd already tired of them, and your mind cast itself ahead to the next major settlement, where you could leave them and stop pretending to know their names.

The boy she'd rescued in Styrnes, however, had bought her a new axe. Not only that, but he'd not even once suggested that, as a woman, she shouldn't have or want a weapon, and if for no other reason than that she could see that he might be worth travelling with over a longer time than just the journey to Madumflod.

They had left Styrnes the day after they met, after the boy had skilfully managed to persuade the Ealdorman's soldiers that they had been defending themselves from an unprovoked attack and there was nothing more that needed to looking into. Frewaru still didn't know how he'd managed to get his hands on ten gold, though given Saxebald's demeanour, she doubted it had been anything more terrible than theft, a crime she'd committed too many times for her to recall.

Once he'd bought her an axe and himself a flute, there'd been no reason to stay in Styrnes. The boy had accompanied her to return Leofgifu's stolen money, and confirm to the kindly woman who had nursed her through her recovery that she no longer risked attack and would be safe even if Frewaru headed north.

Tonight, now that they'd stopped for the evening and made their fires, Saxebald was sitting with his back to a tree, pulling a book out of his pack, while Erenfeld had pulled out his pans and prepared the fish. The lanky man was very silent and had joined the group on his own, with no connections to the other travellers, but what he lacked in conversational ability he more than made up for in culinary talent.

Frewaru walked over to Sax, crunching a twig beneath a boot. “It's no normal thing for a common boy to be able to read,” she said. “Where did you learn?” She'd wondered before, when she'd noticed the book in his pack, but hadn't had the chance to ask.

“People keep assuming I must be a common boy because of how I sound,” Sax mused, “without thinking that I might be putting on an accent.”

Frewaru snorted. “So what, are you saying you're actually a noble?”

“No, but it's possible to come to the right conclusion for the wrong reasons, and that can still mislead you in the end,” Sax responded. “My mother taught me to read. She'd spent some time learning to sing old stories, and her teacher thought it was worth showing her how to read those stories for herself so he wouldn't need to get her to memorise them all.”

“You said she died when you were young.”

“I was eight when her and father died, they went out on the Well and their boat capsized.”

Frewaru remembered a rending crack and shivered. Eager not to think of sinking ships, she noticed the symbol on the cover and said, “Isn't that the Virians' Star?” She pointed up to it in the sky.

“Yes, this is the Theophany. I travelled with a group of Virians about a month ago.”

“I'd have thought they'd try to convert you.”

“They certainly did try. Their God is quite strange to me, though, he hasn't even got a name.”

“I thought Virians liked folk without names. 'The Prophet' and such.”

“Oh, he had a name. Wulfric of Barthenfold, though he seemed to stop using it after the Virian God appeared to him.”

Frewaru sniffed. “In Fryddenland, there are cities ruled by sorcerers who've lived a long time. The king of Ashtasul calls himself 'the Golden One' and puts to death anyone who uses his old name. Common conceit amongst folk who go mad and think they're chosen by a higher power.”

“This book was written by the Virian Prophet and he doesn't seem mad to me. This chapter is particularly interesting, I've read it a few times,” said Sax. “He's talking about what's needed to be a good person.”

“Worshipping his God?”

“He does say that, but it comes later. First of all he says, 'Seldom does one think of righteousness with an empty stomach.'”

She glanced back to where Erenfeld was just finishing the fish. “We'll be better placed to think about righteousness, then,” she said with a laugh, striding towards the fire.

Soon, their stomachs were no longer empty, and they sat contentedly near the fire, which they kept smothered. Normally, Sax would play his flute in the evening, but in the last village they'd heard rumours of bandits, and they didn't want to draw attention to themselves. Saxebald, therefore, sat speaking to Burwyn, the most agreeable of the trio who'd joined them in Hardingas. She had long red braids and was very crafty in the woods – she had caught the fish while scouting ahead, and while they'd been on the road she'd brought down several rabbits, and once a deer, with her bow.

Her two compatriots, Snelli and Walga, had been travelling together for years. Like Frewaru, they had sold their swords to every wandering merchant or petty lord on the Bay of Brego. The two men -Walga stout and strong, Snelli lean and hard - sat with long knives and were sharpening the numerous three foot lengths of wood Burwyn had collected, at both ends. It was more likely that one of them would stumble over the makeshift caltrops while having a piss in the night than that any bandit would, but that was by the by. You could campaign for a hundred days without ever encountering the enemy, Ingelmar had told her, but a wise soldier still took their precautions. As much as actually deterring attack, defences were for making men feel safe enough to sleep.

When they'd piled plenty of spikes together, the two sellswords picked up their spades and called Frewaru and Burwyn over. They strode over to the eastern edge of the little hillock where they were camped, and Snelli and Burwyn held the logs steady while Frewaru and Walga drove them down into the earth. A mallet would have done the job better, but they made do with spades.

“Are you intending to keep travelling with that boy come Madumflod?” Walga asked her at one point while they were having a brief rest.

“I haven't decided,” Frewaru replied, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Probably. I owe him.”

Burwyn raised an eyebrow. “He told me that you saved him from a beating or worse,” she pointed out. “Seems to me an axe is a fair price for that.”

“I'm not talking about the axe,” Frewaru said. “One of the ones who was about to beat him would have knifed me from behind, but Sax got to him first.”

“So you saved each other, and you're square,” Walga said. “Why don't you come with us instead? No one's going to hire that boy as a guard, but the four of us?” He rubbed thumb and forefinger together.

Frewaru picked up her spade again. “I'll think about it. Let's get this over with.”

---

By the time Sax woke her for her watch, the only light came from the stars. The last embers of their fire appeared to have burned out some hours ago.

When there were six of you, the third or fourth watches were ones you loathed. Unless you got to sleep very quickly you didn't get a single stretch more than four hours long, and you woke to watch in the darkest, coldest part of the night. Frewaru had long since grown accustomed to snatching a few hours of sleep where she could, but Sax, who had only just left home, seemed every bit as adaptable.

“No sign of anything,” he told her.

Frewaru stretched. “I don't suppose we'd ever be so lucky,” she said, yawning.

Sax looked at her. “Why, do you want to meet bandits?”

“Folk in the last village said there was a bounty on them. One gold for a bandit head and their broken weapon,” Frewaru said, shrugging.

“How do they tell which head belongs to a bandit and which to anyone you've just happened to kill?” Sax wondered.

“If you kill someone who isn't a bandit, their family tends to object.”

Sax raised an eyebrow. “So if someone killed you, or me, who'd be the ones objecting?”

“Probably whichever of this lot had to take an extra watch,” she said. “Oh, don't look at me like that. I like a good fight and a good coin, and you can swing an axe at a bandit with as clear a heart as you're going to get.”

Sax didn't look especially comforted by that, but Walga rolled over in his sleep and flung a pebble in their direction. Taking the hint, Sax pulled his blankets over himself and put his head down. Frewaru glanced over at him, then sat herself down by the tree where Sax had been reading earlier, rubbing her hands together for warmth.

Some of her old strength was returning after the long convalesence. By the time the fishermen had found her, she'd been clinging to the narrow strip of rock for a month or more, surviving on rainwater and tiny bits of flesh sucked from the shells of crabs that washed up on her islet. Her weapons, money, and friends had all gone down to the bottom of the Bay when the Hawthorne broke apart on the rocks. Ingelmar and most of the others she'd fought with had fallen fighting the Golden One. Eleven of them had remained, too few to form a company in their own right, and they'd debated long on whether to make for Styrnes and a fresh start, or whether to stay in Fryddenland and join a larger group. It had been Frewaru who'd cast the deciding vote for home.

Two of the dissenters had simply left them, but the rest had come back on the Hawthorne. She'd learned that two others had survived too, but she'd never liked either of them, and both had departed long before she'd risen from her sickbed in Mistress Leofgifu's cottage.

She suddenly noticed Sax's eyes were open, and she glanced over at him inquiringly. He lightly brought a finger up to his lips, then flicked his eyes over towards the undergrowth beyond their line of spikes.

Frewaru froze and instinctively fought to keep her face neutral while her eyes slid slowly over to where Sax had indicated. About a hundred paces beyond the line of spikes, there was a figure, silhouetted in the starlight. Frewaru immediately checked if he had any ranged weapons, and saw that he had a long-handled axe hanging at one side. It would be impossible for the man to throw it far enough to matter, so Frewaru forced herself not to react, blowing into her hands as if nothing was happening. From the corner of her eye she saw Sax carefully lean over in his sleep and reach out for Walga.

“Let me sleep, idiot!” the mercenary shouted, flailing an arm out at Sax's head. Frewaru immediately sprang to her feet, but the man they'd spotted had a head start and dashed off at great speed. Frewaru skidded to a halt, remembering the spikes just in time to stop herself from stepping on them.

Frewaru turned and gave Walga a venomous look. “Did you never learn to wake up just yourself and not the dead?” she growled.

Although those who had departed this world still slept deeply, her companions did not. Sax spoke up quickly.

“I was trying to sleep when I spotted something moving in the undergrowth there,” he said, waving towards where the man had been. “My eyes focussed and then I didn't see anything for a while. I'd just about convinced myself I'd imagined it when the branches moved again and he stepped out.”

“A bandit scout,” Walga declared. “Sizing up whether to try to rob us, most likely.”

Sax shook his head. “When he stepped back out of the undergrowth, he took four or five steps at a pretty normal pace and then suddenly stopped. Honestly I don't think he'd seen us until then. We're all low to the ground, the fire's out, and Frewaru was up against the tree...”

Burwyn and Erenfeld, once they'd awoken, had gone to check where Sax had spotted the man, stepping carefully around the caltrops. “He was having a piss,” Burwyn said, heading back towards the camp.

Snelli gave a laugh like the ground opening up. “He'll have one more shortly, when we gut him,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Let's make some money.”

“We don't even know he's a bandit!” Sax cried.

Walga snorted. “Use your head, if you've even got one. What'd he be doing sneaking around like that at night, then running off soon as we saw him?”

“He might have assumed we were bandits,” Sax snapped back. “Outlaws don't tend to announce themselves.”

“He had an axe,” Frewaru said. “I couldn't tell if it was well made. About so large,” she indicated with her hands, “too big to throw, and nothing else on him.”

“Good, we need to take a weapon along with his head to claim the reward,” Walga said with a smile.

“I'm not helping you kill someone just because they took a piss near the camp,” Sax said hotly.

“Then you shouldn't have woken me up,” Walga shrugged. “If you don't want a share of the reward, then fine.”

Before Sax could reply, Erenfeld broke in. “One gold isn't worth risking our necks for,” said the cook. “That axe can take one of us down even if the bandit dies. The Ealdorman has soldiers, let them deal with the brigands and we move on.”

“You coward,” Walga started. Frewaru clapped her hands together loudly and spoke quickly to stop the situation from deteriorating.

“If we're travelling as a group, let's decide as a group,” she said. “Whatever we decide, we all stick by. Have a vote on whether we go after the man or not. No, you don't need to put your hands up,” she said in exasperation to Snelli and Walga. “I already know what you want to do.”

Burwyn was less enthusiastic than the two men she had been travelling with. “There's very rarely only one bandit,” she said. “If there's a big pack of them then they'll kill some or all of us into the bargain.”

Frewaru nodded. “If the numbers are small enough, say five or less, then I think we should take them. Otherwise, we move on.”

Walga grunted. “If there's more than that, then the one that got away is running back to warn them and say where we are,” he said. “We can't stay here.” He fixed his piggish eyes on Frewaru. “The boy is the one who woke me up, but it was your watch. As you weren't much use as a watcher, you can maybe prove that you know how to scout instead.”

Frewaru felt a sting of anger, but it was a fair rebuke – Ingelmar would have found some similar form of punishment, though he would have chosen one more embarassing and less dangerous. She therefore unclenched her fist at her side and gave a taut nod.

As Burwyn, Snelli and Walga conferred, Sax slunk over to her. “Take me with you,” he asked.

Frewaru shook her head. “One pair of eyes is enough for this,” she said. “And two pairs of feet make far too much noise.”

Sax took her arm lightly and pulled her nearer. “This is stupid. We don't know if the man was a bandit, and what if he was? Bandits take things that aren't theirs – well I stole a ring and that's how I had money when we met.”

Frewaru raised an eyebrow as Sax suddenly confided this. “Bandits do more than just that,” she said mildly. “They're happy to hurt or kill for money.”

“So are Snelli and Walga,” Sax retorted, “unless you think they're acting out of some noble instinct.” He glanced over to where the two mercenaries were conversing with Burwyn, looking somewhat annoyed with her.

“True,” Frewaru granted. “So you think we should just leave him alone? Even if we do, the local nobles have put bounties on their heads. Someone will come for them. And in the mean time, they might hurt other travellers, who aren't as well armed as we are. Isn't it right that we should risk ourselves so they don't have to?”

“No!” It was the loudest noise she'd heard Sax make since the last time he'd begged her not to kill someone, in the stables of the Anchor. Walga threw him an angry look while Snelli squinted at them suspiciously.

Sax shook his head angrily as Burwyn strode over towards them. “Do whatever you want,” he sighed, “but listen – people don't just become bandits or thieves or anything because they feel like it. There's a reason, and the good thing to do would be to find out why and risk ourselves dealing with that.”

She had no idea exactly how the boy meant to do that, but she hardly had time to ask him. “Everything alright?” Burwyn asked her mildly.

“Oh, he just wanted to come and watch my back,” Frewaru said quickly. “Didn't take my refusal well. What's the plan?”

“We're going to head off west by about a mile or two, towards the cove we saw earlier,” the ranger told her. “I'll find somewhere we can wait for you there. Make this signal when you come back – an owl call, count to five, another call, count to ten, then a third call.”

Frewaru tried not to smile. She'd once travelled with a soldier who had the softest feet she'd ever known. He'd been almost impossible to hear coming, but no matter how many times they'd tried to train him, he'd never been able to mimic even the simplest animal sounds, which made his scouting somewhat adventurous. Ultimately the company's fletcher had given him round tipped arrows so he could shoot them at sentries to announce his return.

“Alright. See you shortly.” Frewaru began to carefully follow the man who'd fled, stepping over the line of spikes. She glanced back at the others as they joined Erenfeld in hastily packing up the camp, then she turned and pushed on into the wood.

They had been travelling north along the Bay of Brego for days, hugging the coastline. Once you got more than a mile or so inland, you came upon the westermost edges of the Great Forest, which stretched like a cinch across the girth of Palania, from the Bay to the Long Shore. This region was poorly inhabited. There were many elves, though these rarely ever strayed outside of the forest. There were a few scattered hamlets throughout the wood, and then there were the outlaw bands, preying upon the coastal settlements of the Bay to their west, the villages of Mollenmere to their east, and on travellers like them, who mistrusted the ships of Styrnes and chose instead to head north by foot.

Frewaru had followed the man's trail for only about ten minutes before the trees and undergrowth thickened significantly. She drew her axe and held it tight to her body, less out of fear of attack than concern that if she left it hanging at her hip, the haft might swing and scrape a trailing branch or bush to give her away. Not, at the moment, that there appeared to be anyone who actually could notice her.

She crossed a small, crisp stream, which was up to its banks from the recent snowmelt, and began to climb up a gradual, mossy incline. The surface was springy underfoot, and the few leaves and needles that lay on the forest floor were sodden. The damp ground made it an easy task to follow her target. His footprints were widely spaced, suggesting that he had run and covered a great distance with each stride. At the top of the hillock she knelt and saw two deep prints, embedded down into the moss, and nearby was a bumpy stone where she saw a faint trace of spittle. She pictured the man, hands on hips, panting, catching his breath here. From this point, the man's footfalls were closer together.

After about five more minutes of chase up and down several gentle slopes, she noticed the gleam of a still pond about three quarters of a mile away, and the prints, which had until now been easy to follow, became more faded. Seemingly, the man had begun to take more care where he stepped, which Frewaru took as a sign he was near to somewhere he would want to stop and hide. After scanning the area to be sure he wasn't poised behind a tree waiting to strike at her as she passed, she picked out the tallest oak in the area, hung her axe at her hip, and clambered up into the branches.

It wasn't easy work, but she hauled herself up three progressively larger branches before coming upon one, about halfway up the tree and twenty feet or so above the forest floor, that was wide enough for her to sit on comfortably. She'd scratched her hands several times in the climb and the cool northern air stung her exposed skin, but she bore this and waited, looking towards the pond.

On one side of the lake, she noticed a little elevated patch of land. There was a great boulder on its northern edge, covered in lichen, and its eastern side abutted the lip of a barren dell. You could only reach the hollow by crossing a small stream trickling out from the pond. Looking for a few minutes, she noticed a faint movement near the boulder, and she lowered herself back down and headed towards the pond. Glancing up at the stars, she thought she had parted from the others perhaps three-quarters of an hour past, and had still a few hours before sunrise.

She crept silently towards the hollow. When she came towards the little stream, she stopped and positioned herself about ten feet away at the base of a tree, watching carefully. The water was no more than three feet deep at its widest and she could have forded it easily, but after about a half a minute of looking she noticed that on the far bank, there was a long, thin iron spike wedged carefully between two stones, poking up just past the surface of the water. It was rusting rapidly, but it was clearly placed deliberately to catch anyone who might cross unawares.

She crouched and looked towards the boulder. After about ten minutes, she glimpsed a slight movement, and she gripped her axe-haft tight in both hands. There was a little fold in the edge of the hillock, and out from this stepped two figures, one of whom was the man who'd disrupted their camp earlier. He was slightly older than the other man, and she guessed, from the shapes of their lean, pinched faces, that they were somehow related.

The two men were about fifty paces away, too far to hope to be able to hear what they were saying. Fortunately the trees were thinner here, around the pool, and there was starlight enough for her to see their features. The man Sax had spotted was facing her, arms folded across his chest. When they began to speak, the other man turned his back to her, but she could see his tension from how he planted his feet hard onto the ground, and the gesticulations with which he punctuated his speech.

Frewaru knew an argument when she saw one. Every now and again, the men would gesture into their little lair hidden within the hillock, and while she could not hear them, she could focus on the older man's lips. At first she was confused, but eventually realised they were speaking Low Fryderi, a tongue she had a smattering of from Ingelmar. She noticed the older man form the words he and move several times, and, once, the word knee.

So there were two of them, with a third companion in their lair, most likely wounded. She guessed neither man had seen a proper fight before, and their only weapons were axes, which were, she thought, quite poorly forged. She doubted she would even need help to take them.

Frewaru watched their argument for several minutes, thinking hard. After a particularly animated gesture from the younger man, the one Sax had spotted stomped back into their lair.

“Get...” the younger man raised his voice enough for her to catch one Fryderi word, then he gave up. Taking a few angry steps in her direction, the younger of the pair then stopped and knelt by the pool, cupping his hands in the water and splashing it over his face.

She made up her mind. Now that the two were separated, she wouldn't get a better opportunity. She stood up and made her move.

---

About an hour later, Frewaru strode out of the western edge of the Forest, stowing her axe and rubbing her sore hands together. Her mind was troubled, and she felt Ingelmar's ghostly presence at her shoulder. Although she thought she'd done the right thing, she couldn't help but feel that his ghost must be frowning in disapproval.

Once she'd passed the remnants of their campsite and come within sight of the shore, she gave her first set of owl calls. Getting no response, she continued on. The stars were fading in the sky, but she could still see the Star there. It usually faded last. There hadn't been a single Virian in Ingelmar's company, but they, like everyone who'd ever taken a ship, looked to it nonetheless. The Virian God might not be holy to them, but a star fixed in the skywas.

The first rays of the sun were beginning to spread across the sky when she gave the owl calls for the eighth time, and she heard a rustling noise behind her. She turned, instinctively drawing her axe, before seeing Burwyn step out from behind a stone.

“Welcome back,” the ranger said quietly. “What news?”

Frewaru shook her head and blew into her cupped hands. “Was easy to follow him. Far too easy. He must have meant us to see him. Fortunately they didn't see me – there's a dozen of them back there. Get the others. I'm not risking my neck for this.”