Whisper of the Wilding Woods: Chapter 2
In which we meet Kaeleth.
Chapter 2
Kaeleth knelt in the soft loam, dampness soaking through the knee of his pant leg. There was something not quite right about the patch of underbrush in front of him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The ground was unmarked and completely devoid of footprints. No bent leaves or branches indicated hasty passage through the area. Contrary to all evidence—or rather, lack thereof—Kaeleth’s intuition told him his father had gone this way. He scanned the nearby tree trunks, searching for some sign that they’d been climbed recently. Most were too slender to hold a man of his father’s weight, and those with branches stout enough to accommodate a grown man were sheathed in shards of ragged bark that flaked away at the lightest of touches. Kaeleth knew only too well enough how effortlessly his father could traverse the forest without leaving a trace of his passing. It was possible the man had strolled directly through the area without leaving any evidence for Kaeleth to detect. But that would defeat the purpose of the game. Kaeleth’s father always made it difficult enough to be a challenge while ensuring he left at least one clue for his son to follow. Over the years, the clues had become less and less obvious; a far cry from the broken branches and snatches of cloth Kaeleth had worked so hard to spot as a child. Even the most light-footed of animals left behind fur and spoor that marked their trails. Grasping at feathers from a flying bird now, Kaeleth sniffed the air in case his father had left a scent for him to follow. It was a long shot, but he wouldn’t have put it past the old man to consider it a reasonable clue.
Kaeleth was about to give up and turn around when he realized what was wrong with the maidenhair fern he’d been eyeing. The smallest remnants of morning dew clung to the underside of every leafy branch but one. Recreating his father’s possible movements in his head, he scoured the ground for rocks and fallen branches. Sure enough, there beneath the fern was a rock that had been pushed ever so slightly into the soil. It had rotated only a sliver of an inch, but it was more than enough to serve as evidence that someone had used it as a stepping stone to avoid making indents in the soft ground.
“Figured it out, did ya?” his father asked from behind him.
Even after years of his father materializing as if out of thin air when they were out hunting, Kaeleth still jumped in surprise. For all his groaning and grumbling about sore joints and aching muscles when they were back at the cabin, the man moved like a ghost out here in the forest. It was an undisputed fact that Kaeleth’s father was the finest huntsmen in all of Daurendale, if not beyond. Kaeleth had heard many a fireside tale about his father’s exploits with a bow, including a few stories that would have sounded farfetched had Kaeleth not seen even more unbelievable acts of stealth and prowess with his own eyes. Kaeleth’s father regularly took down stags with a single bolt directly through both eyes, killing the animals cleanly and perfectly preserving the hide unlike the mess made by a shot to the heart or a wounding stick in the flank that would then require tracking the animal to put it out of its misery. No matter how many times he experienced it, Kaeleth could never shake the eerie sensation of being hunted like prey when his father snuck up on him. It would have been embarrassing had it been anyone else making him startle like a game bird. In this case, it elicited a heady blend of awe and fear that only made Kaeleth want to improve until he was the one doing the surprising.
“Aye, da’,” Kaeleth said. His gaze flicked to the almost imperceptible damp streak on his father’s lower pant leg where he’d brushed past the dewy leaves. “I spotted it fair and square.”
The old woodsman pursed his mouth in what passed for a gruff smile of approval. “That you did. Fairly done, even if did take you an owl’s age to suss it out.”
Kaeleth suppressed a groan, waiting until his father had turned and stalked back toward the main trail before rolling his eyes. There were maybe two or three other people in Daurendale who could have spotted the signs at all, let alone as quickly as Kaeleth had. And they were all experienced trackers with at least twice Kaeleth’s fifteen summers behind them. Not one of the other village or farm kids could come even close to matching his knowledge of woodlore. Mostly because none of them cared enough to try. Few of the village youth wanted to go hunting or tramp through the woods in search of edible mushrooms or berries. Most of the other boys Kaeleth knew were keener on crafting swords from scrap they’d filched from the wood lot, spending their free hours banging those stupid sticks together as if they were soldiers in the king’s army. If any of them had ever even laid eyes on a proper soldier or even a real steel sword in their lives, he’d eat a bowl of boar droppings for supper. Kaeleth didn’t understand their fascination with fighting and thirst for adventure. He had more than enough to keep him occupied in the forest. Besides, the idea of marching side by side with so many people, sleeping crammed next to each other in drafty tents or in open fields was enough to make him ill. What he wanted was to be a master hunter like his father. A man of silent grace. The kind of person who spoke little, but whose words carried the weight of experience and authority. A man who—
“I left a white-tailed brocket hung in a tree back that way,” his father called over his shoulder, already walking off in the opposite direction. “Should have bled out by now. Fetch it and bring it to the lookout. There’ll be a hot cup of tea waiting if you don’t take all day with it.”
A man who could suck an egg, Kaeleth thought. Was there anything worse than apprenticing to one’s own father? It wasn’t too late to reconsider and ask around the village to see if anyone else would take him on. Maybe Miss Clayre would have him on to help with the baking. Rolling dough and snacking on hot buttered bread fresh out of the oven suddenly seemed a lot more appealing than lugging around an animal that would likely weigh forty or fifty pounds. Not to mention the blood. Kaeleth had outgrown his tattered old cloak and was still enamored of the new one he’d received as a midsummer gift from his father. It was the nicest thing he owned, and since the days had only recently become cool enough to warrant wearing it, it was still blessedly free of blood and grime. Kaeleth didn’t mind the grunt work of carrying big game when he was the one to track and kill it. On days like this, he felt no better than a pack mule.
The trail wasn’t any easier to follow once Kaeleth continued on past the fern that had given away his father’s passage. Only the subtlest of intentional clues indicated the way. After crossing a swiftly moving, rain-swollen river by way of a fallen log marked with the faint scuff marks where his father’s soft-soled boots had scraped the crumbling bark away in places, it became easier to follow the brocket’s trail than anything else. Eventually, Kaeleth climbed a small rise and caught the familiar scent of blood and guts on the wind. A short hike along the ridgeline brought him to a tree where the brocket had been hung, sliced open from belly to neck, and bled thoroughly to prevent poisoning of the meat. The entrails had been cut free and dumped into a freshly dug shallow pit beneath the hanging branch. Not only had his father had time to stalk and hunt one of the notoriously skittish brocket, but he’d also taken his time in preparing the site for a proper field dressing.
Kaeleth set to work filling in the pit to cover the worst of the guts and blood-soaked soil. He found the wide flat stone his father had used to dig the pit and scooped loose dirt over the entrails until they were mostly covered. Some other animal would likely come to dig them up for dinner, but Kaeleth’s father had always insisted they do their best to preserve the sanctity of the forest. Their livelihood depended on the game they caught in these woods, and though not a highly superstitious man by nature, Kaeleth’s father believed fouling the land disrespected the hidden fae folk that inhabited it. Kaeleth himself had never seen any of the fae, but it was better to play it safe with such things than to end up on the wrong side of an angry forest spirit. Whatever the reason behind his father’s desire to minimize the mess from a kill, Kaeleth disliked the notion of leaving piles of guts lying about the forest and was therefore happy to bury them until no trace remained. Once finished, he set the rock atop the loose dirt pile to serve as a crude gravestone.
That done, he set about lowering the brocket from the tree, binding its fore and hind legs together, and slinging the bloody and stinking carcass over his shoulders. It was big for a brocket, and Kaeleth struggled to adjust it in order to balance the weight evenly. Even so, it was tricky to navigate the descent to the log bridge. His legs protested the burden of so much extra weight that had to be supported on each downward step, and Kaeleth only barely managed the trip without falling on his ass. The log crossing was even more difficult. Going over the first time had been a simple matter of strolling across the rounded section of tree trunk that was as big across as Kaeleth’s waist was wide. But with the brocket hanging around his neck, his center of gravity was all wrong. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, Kaeleth avoided staring at his feet, instead focusing on a spot several paces down the log as he’d been taught. He was doing just fine until three-quarters of the way across when he placed his right foot a little too far across the centerline of the log. Overcompensating with his next step, he felt himself begin to tilt sideways, the weight of the animal pulling him toward the water.
Kaeleth threw out his arms and leaned hard to the side. Spine bent awkwardly, he kicked one foot out to act as a counterbalance, swinging his arms back and forth like a crazed dancer. The dead weight of the brocket slid first to the left, then to the right, pulling Kaeleth more and more off balance with each flailing effort to recover his equilibrium. When it was clear the issue had gone well beyond if to become a question of when he was going in the water, Kaeleth lunged forward, clutching the log with both arms as his hips rolled over the side, taking his feet with them. His boots skimmed the water and the brocket’s legs were jammed between him and the log, but he managed to maintain his grip. Pieces of bark crumbled beneath his fingertips, threatening to dislodge him and send him tumbling into the icy cold water below. Kaeleth could swim, but fighting the churning and frothing current would be challenging enough on its own, let alone managing it with a dead animal tied around his shoulders.
Kaeleth swung his legs to the side, just missing the raised edge of the river embankment with his heel. He tried again, this time managing to catch it and hold on long enough to pull first his knee, then the rest of his leg and waist up onto the log. Facing backwards now, he inched himself toward the far shore, trying desperately to keep the brocket from dragging him sideways again. Once clear of the log, he wriggled free of the brocket and rolled onto his back, lying in the grass and panting until he’d recovered his breath. Only the thought of his father latching onto the misadventure as a story to be dragged out at any and every opportunity made Kaeleth rise to his feet and gather the animal up once more. Feeling at least temporarily invigorated by such a near miss with disaster, Kaeleth trudged quickly through the forest.
The overlook wasn’t far from where he and his father had last spoken, and he didn’t have to walk far before he caught the scent of wood smoke from a lunch fire wafting through the trees. As promised, his father sat, tending a small pot at the edge of the coals. The overlook was a regular resting point for them, and Kaeleth sometimes wondered if he’d spent more nights out here beneath the stars than in his own bed. His father had created a small stone cache for items like the iron cook pot, a skillet, and a bedroll and tinder wrapped in waxed cloth to keep them dry. While Kaeleth hoisted the brocket from his shoulders to lay it on a large stone several paces from the fire, his father poured hot water into a tin cup filled with what smelled like mint. Kaeleth accepted the cup and sipped without waiting for it to cool. The hot metal scalded his lips a little, but the tea was vibrant and sweet.
“Honey?” he asked, surprised to taste what was a rare luxury when out in the woods.
Kaeleth’s father smiled. “I brought a small packet to celebrate your progression.”
He held out a waxed cloth on which sat a palm-sized chunk of honeycomb. Kaeleth grinned and tore away a piece with his fingers, popping it into his mouth immediately. He felt momentarily childish for the eagerness with which he devoured the sticky treat, but the embarrassment was forgotten when his father did the same. For a moment, the two simply sat and stared at the small fire, savoring the sweet morsels. Then Kaeleth’s father produced a cloth bundle, unwrapping it to reveal a slab of light brown bread. Cut two thick slices with his belt knife, then handed a slice to his son. They then speared the bread with forked greenwood sticks, the tips of which Kaeleth’s father had sharpened while waiting for his son to arrive. Working in companionable silence, they toasted their bread over the open fire, keeping the slices away from overly hot areas in order to crisp them to a perfect golden brown. Once toasted, they each scraped half the remaining honeycomb from the waxed cloth, smearing it onto the hot bread. Comb and honey melted into a thick paste, then became runny and dripped onto their fingers and chins while they hastened to wolf down every last crumb.
“Another year or so, and you’ll be able to draw my bow,” Kaeleth’s father said, licking a drop of honey from his thumb. “I don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of the man you’re becoming. Keep at it, and you’ll be the foremost huntsman in all Aerdun before long.”
Grinning broadly, Kaeleth basked in the light of his father’s praise. The man was never one to say two words when one would do, and what few words he did utter were more often than not used to point out Kaeleth’s mistakes. Kaeleth eyed the tip of the yew longbow peeking out from its protective wrapping. Though finally tall enough to hold the bow without sticking the bottom end into the dirt, Kaeleth had yet to develop the arm strength required to draw it properly. His own bow was a child’s bow, fine for small game, but lacking the power required to take down the larger beasts that earned a huntsman his reputation. Pleased as he was to hear it, the favorable assessment of his abilities made Kaeleth a little uncomfortable in its newness. Not knowing what to say, he sipped his tea and stared out over the edge of the overlook.
Situated on a rocky spur, the overlook offered a view over the densely forested East Weald all the way to the jagged peaks of the Cragganmorain mountains in the distance. Some fifty feet below them, a cart track served as the main road linking the outlying highland villages to towns like Stowefield. Daurendale lay behind them and to the west— half day’s walk for Kaeleth and his father, and longer still for anyone unfamiliar with the territory. Kaeleth and his father lived a little closer, an hour’s walk from Daurendale in a small cabin on a plot of land they shared with a goat, two hens, and a cat that was only friendly when they returned with freshly caught fish or game. Few travelers came to Daurendale. The odd tinker and trader, mainly. Families from Daurendale occasionally brought their produce or other goods to the market in nearby Kilkinnikin, but it wasn’t market day, which made the clatter of horse and cart down below all the more unusual.
Kaeleth set down his cup and walked to the edge of the overlook. He peered down into the trees just in time to see two sturdy horses and a carriage emerge. The roof of the carriage was stacked with bundles and chests, and the carriage was flanked by six guards with swords on their hips. Kaeleth had never seen such a fanciful thing, and he was just about to remark so when his father’s hand on his shoulder urged him to duck low and hide himself from sight. Kaeleth knew when to stay quiet, and he looked to his father for some sign of what the man was thinking. Brow furrowed in thought, lips pressed tightly together, Kaeleth’s father came to some inner conclusion before sweeping back from the edge to stamp out the small cookfire. He lifted his head to gauge the wind and the direction of the blowing smoke, then hurried into the forest to scoop up a large handful of dry dirt that he then scattered over the lingering coals. The fire smoldered a little, but none of the firewood had been large enough to survive the quick dousing.
“What do you see?” Kaeleth’s father asked, snatching up his bow and unwrapping it from its protective cloth in order to string it.
“Just a carriage and some men on horses,” Kaeleth said. “The carriage looks quite fine and the horses better bred than any I’ve seen in Daurendale or Kilkinnikin.”
His father reappeared by his side, peering cautiously over the edge. “What about the men on horses?”
Kaeleth thought about what he was seeing down below. The men rode easily, as though well-accustomed to life in the saddle. They wore no livery or armor, but each seemed to have excessive bulk beneath their shirts and cloaks. And the way they each scanned their surroundings reminded him of his father stalking prey. No, that wasn’t it. More like a brocket that had caught the scent of danger in the air.
“They’re wearing mail,” Kaeleth said. “Soldiers?”
“Or mercenaries,” his father added.
A new rider appeared, this one arriving from the other direction and clearly dressed as a soldier. Kaeleth didn’t recognize the man’s livery, but that wasn’t saying much. The only soldiers he’d seen were the ragtag guard belonging to Kilkinnikin’s baron. This man was too composed to be one of them. And besides, the colors weren’t right. Kilkinnikin’s town guard wore drab brown, while this soldier’s tabard was a deep burgund with a stark white insignia on the chest. The soldier slowed as he approached, and the carriage and accompanying riders came to a halt. Kaeleth watched as the soldier and the lead carriage guard conversed briefly. Then the guard turned to address his men, scarcely opening his mouth to speak before the soldier produced a stiletto dagger from a sheath at his side and swiftly thrust it into the guard’s throat.
As if by unspoken command, arrows were loosed by hidden archers tucked away in the surrounding forest. The carriage guards rallied as best they could, but three were quickly taken down by multiple arrows which pierced even the hidden mail beneath the men’s shirts. Frozen in fear, Kaeleth could only stare as the soldier in burgundy dismounted and stalked toward the carriage. He attempted to yank the door open, then thrust his arm into the open window. He must have gotten hold of something, or someone, but there was a flash of steel and the man leaped back with a howl of pain before clutching his blood-soaked side.
Kaeleth didn’t get to see what happened next, because his father grabbed him by the cloak and hauled him bodily backwards. The huntsman’s eyes had gone cold and grey, as they did when he was primed to take the life of an animal while on a hunt.
“They’ve left their southern flank exposed,” his father explained coldly. “Get down there quick as you can. Skirt the road wide in case they’ve left men in the trees. I’m going further up the ridge to give you cover. If someone comes running from that carriage, you hide them and keep them safe, understand? We’ll not let bloody murder happen on our land.”
He waited for Kaeleth to nod in assent before cupping his son’s head in a brief show of affection. Then he turned and ran along the ridge, an arrow already nocked in his bow. Too worried about to disappointing his father to remember to be afraid, Kaeleth sprinted toward the nearest trail leading from the overlook to the road below. It was steep and treacherous at the best of times, and Kaeleth slipped and fell twice during the descent. Blood dripped from where he’d somehow managed to cut the edge of his palm on a rock, but his heart was beating so wildly in his chest, he didn’t even feel it. Level with the road now, he raced away from the carriage and sounds of fighting, slipping through the underbrush as quietly as a wild hare until he came to a bend that would hide his crossing. There was a steep embankment on this side of the road, and Kaeleth used it to provide cover as he crept toward the point in the tree line closest to the carriage. Unwilling to risk exposing himself by poking his head out, he heard a scream followed by what sounded like someone shouting the name Pell. He was close enough now to hear the softer sounds of someone speaking in a low voice, but not yet close enough to make out what was being said.
When he’d crept as close as he dared, Kaeleth risked a look. Every one of the men accompanying the carriage appeared to have been cut down, but he only realized that after catching sight of a girl in a lavish dress lying on her back, the soldier in burgundy standing over her. The girl had the longest hair Kaeleth had ever seen. It had been plaited in a braid that must have fallen well past her back before the soldier had grabbed it and wrapped it around his hand. The pair were still too far away for Kaeleth to make out what was being said, but he heard the shouted instructions for the soldier to leave her unharmed. Wondering who this mysterious Magus was that he would have his men ambush and slaughter a group of travelers in order to kidnap a girl, Kaeleth drew his hunting knife and made sure to stay hidden in the cover of the tall trees that creaked noisily, as if agitated over having to bear witness to such brutality. Hunting and killing for food was one thing—animals ate other animals all the time—but this was cold-blooded murder. The soldier and his men would hang if they were ever caught. Not that there was anyone within fifty miles with the authority and strength of arms to do anything about it. Well-armed and evidently skilled at evading notice as these soldiers were, the slipshod Kilkinnikin guard wouldn’t stand a chance of tracking them, let alone subduing them without a significant advantage of numbers. The most dangerous thing the Kilkinnikin guard ever faced was the surly drunks and petty criminals they rounded up from within the town walls. The men Kaeleth now observed were moving like battle-seasoned soldiers, efficiently looting bodies before dragging them into the woods where it might take months for them to be discovered had Kaeleth and his father not been watching from the shadows.
Kaeleth winced when the soldier in burgundy backhanded his captive, and he clutched his knife harder. Muscles tensing, he considered leaping from his hiding spot and rushing to her aid. It would perhaps twenty good strides to make it to the soldier, and if he could make it unnoticed, he might just have a chance at driving his knife into the man’s unprotected neck. It would be risky beyond measure, especially once the other soldiers saw him, but despite what had been said about the girl being taken alive, the soldier in burgundy swung again, a splatter of blood accompanying the backhanded smack across her temple. Kaeleth itched to do something, wondering frantically where his father was and when exactly he was going to act. He didn’t have to wonder long. As if Kaeleth’s thoughts had conjured it from thin air, an arrow took the soldier in burgundy through the neck. The girl crawled backwards, pushing herself with her heels as much as lifting herself with her palms, just in time to avoid the man’s weight toppling down on top of her. Another soldier was taken in the eye as though he were a brocket on the wrong end of his father’s bow.
Staying inside the tree line was becoming more and more difficult. Kaeleth nearly broke and ran when he saw the girl scramble to her feet and sprint for the trees. Another soldier screamed as he was taken by an arrow somewhere on the far side of the carriage, but one of his companions had spotted the girl’s attempted escape and was frantically trying to close the distance. Unladen by the heavy chainmail or armor his fellow soldiers wore, this bandit moved with enough swiftness he was sure to catch the girl before she made it safely into cover. An arrow came whizzing down from above, but the man had an uncanny sense of self-preservation and jerked himself to the side just in time for the arrow to pass cleanly through the fabric of his cloak embedding itself into the dirt. Without looking up to track the source of the arrow that had nearly killed him, the bandit surged forward in a series of erratic movements designed to make him much harder to track and hit with another arrow.
Unfortunately for Kaeleth, the girl ran away from his hiding spot, giving her pursuer even more time to catch up to her before she could escape into the thick underbrush which would make tracking her more difficult. Or perhaps not, Kaeleth thought as he watched her brightly-colored dress billow out behind her. In that outfit, she’d stand out like a ruby-throated kresh in a silver birch tree.
The soldier was within a few steps of catching up to the girl, but Kaeleth was too far away to do anything. Then he realized that he didn’t have to do anything, he only had to confuse the man enough for him to pause and give Kaeleth’s father a chance to land an arrow. Raking his hands along the ground, Kaeleth came up with a stout tree branch that was too long for his purposes. Rather than try to break it off, he looked around and snatched up a hefty rock. Aiming hastily, he let fly with the rock, aiming for the man’s face. As with the arrow, the man seemed to know it was coming an instant after it left Kaeleth’s hand. He dodged it by stopping suddenly in place and allowing the rock to fly harmlessly by a hair’s breadth away from his nose. Confusion flickered in his face as his head turned to follow the dull gray hunk of stone along its arc, and that moment of hesitation was all his father needed to sink an arrow into the man’s ear. The man let out a moan like that of a bereaved widow, eyes going soft and unfocused before he fell first to his knees, then onto his side. The soldier’s body convulsed several times, thrashing among the leaves near the edge of the tree line into which the girl had disappeared.
The girl! Kaeleth pried his gaze away from the still-twitching bandit, lurching into the underbrush to try to catch up with the girl. He was worried she might tumble down the steep embankment, running so wildly, and his fears were proven well-founded when he heard a startled cry and saw a swirl of colorful fabric tumble down the slope, kicking up leaves and small branches from the underbrush as it went.
Doing his best to aim for the most likely place in which the girl would eventually lose momentum and slow to a halt, Kaeleth found a slightly less steep section of the embankment, using tree trunks to halt his momentum before skittering down the next patch of loose earth and rotten dead matter that made up the forest floor. Every time he latched onto one of the trees in order to stop himself from losing his balance and pitching forward down the slope, he glanced back up to see if any of the other bandits had survived long enough to follow the girl into the trees. Sure enough, when Kaeleth was nearly level with where he had last seen the girl moving, he heard the snap of a twig high above him. The silhouette of a man appeared at the top of the embankment, the light at his back making it difficult to make out his features in the darkness of the forest. One thing was certain, it wasn’t Kaeleth’s father. And since all the carriage guards were supposedly dead, that could only mean it was one of the soldiers who’d ambushed and killed them.
Kaeleth dropped low, taking deliberate and careful steps while maintaining the cover of wide tree trunks and thick patches of wide-fanned ferns or dense black alder shrubs. The girl must have been hidden from the bandit’s view as well, because when Kaeleth risked a peek, the man had hardly moved down the embankment and was standing stock still scanning the area for any sign of movement.
Luckily Kaeleth had made it to only a few feet away from where the girl was moaning softly and attempting to stand up again. Risking exposure, he found a chunk of dead wood and hurled it into the bushes away from both himself and the girl. Not willing to waste time checking to see if his ruse had worked, he ducked his head low and crossed the remaining distance quickly. Sliding into the bush behind the girl, he was about to whisper for her to be quiet until they could escape when he heard a shout and the crashing of bodies moving through the underbrush toward them. It was too risky to try to convince the girl he was there to protect her, so he did the only thing he could think of. Clamping his hand over her mouth to silence her, he threw his dark green cloak over as much of her brightly-colored dress as he could manage, then held her immobile on the ground. The silly twit bit his finger, or rather she tried to, but Kaeleth was able to reposition his hand so she couldn’t try the same trick again. Why couldn’t she just realize he was trying to help her? If he’d been one of the bandits, he’d have called for help and then dragged her from the thicket.
The girl thrashed beneath him, and realizing he’d have to do something or risk being caught, Kaeleth placed his mouth next to her ear and whispered. “Calm yourself. I’m trying to help you. Will you please stop thrashing about before you give us away?”
