Chapter V
Angharad hadn’t met many elves before, and had certainly never carried one. This one seemed pleasant enough. He panicked a bit sometimes on rough terrain, and held onto her mane a little too hard, but he was very light and that made a welcome change.
All things considered, Arrian wasn’t feeling as bad as he might have done. He tried consciously not to dwell on the absence of his parents, because whenever he did it felt like an anvil was being pushed onto his chest. Out here in the wild though, on the back of a horse, heading towards Fennering with purpose and a friendly human at his side, he felt exhilarated. If it’d been under any other circumstance he might even have said he was happy.
Lorcan was a funny creature. He seemed genuine in his kindness, but altogether out of touch with common thinking, had no concept of the age-old hierarchy that governed the coexistence of humans and elves. He had explained that he had been brought up in relative isolation, on an estate far out into the reaches of rural Eastwick, where he lived with his parents as an only child. They had had elven servants but his mother and father had always maintained a polite and formal relationship with them. Never had he really come into contact with the lesser regarded city elves, the smiths and masons that made up Arrian’s own people, as their food and goods had always been transported in from more populated areas. Upon coming of age and joining the order of the Knights Hospitaller, he had trained with them in seclusion as was traditional, and so again had had no meetings with anyone other than his contemporaries. Since then – well, it had really been very little time since his training completed, so his experience of the world was still limited. Arrian hoped it could remain that way, that the views of the world would not warp his own. He had never known a human to be so kind. He didn’t even know they could have a sense of humour.
‘Have you been to Fennering before?’ Lorcan asked, guiding Angharad around a pothole with one hand on the reins.
‘Never left Mandeville before today. My brother and sister are up in Woodston though, just beyond it.’
Lorcan nodded. ‘I know Woodston. Nice place.’ Then he shrugged. ‘If things were so bad in Mandeville, why didn’t you leave before this?’
‘I don’t know.’ Arrian shrugged back but he did know, really, even if right now it felt like they’d have been better off never having left in the first place. ‘It’s got worse, recently, a lot worse than it had been. And it’s a risk, isn’t it?’
‘A risk?’
‘Yeah. It’s hard getting messages from Mandeville to Woodston. We didn’t know if there’d be any work for us there, if Woodston could even cope with more of us arriving. A lot have gone before us. And we couldn’t just rely on my brother and sister to help us out, that wouldn’t be fair.’
‘I see.’ Lorcan nodded but his expression said he didn’t really see at all. ‘What are they called? Your brother and sister.’
‘My brother’s called Amyas, and my sister’s Iona.’
Lorcan laughed a little and Arrian shot him a glare. ‘What are you laughing at?’ he said, and there was sharpness to his tone but Lorcan only chuckled again and threw him an apologetic smile.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve just never heard names like that before. Look, I’m not making fun. They’re nice. Iona’s a pretty name.’
Arrian half-thought he should still be insulted, but the good-humoured honesty of the knight made it impossible to stay annoyed. Lorcan didn’t say anything else though, and Arrian feared he’d put him off, so he went to engage him in a new conversation.
‘So, you’re a… Hospitaller?’ he tried, gripping a little harder onto Angharad’s mane as they crossed a rocky patch of ground. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Well the Hospitallers are an order of knights,’ Lorcan answered, simultaneously flipping the top of his pack open and rifling about inside. ‘The difference between us and other orders though, is that we ascribe to the Founder’s principle that while war is a necessary evil, we can rectify some of the damage done through instruction of healing.’ He pulled something from the pack and began polishing it on his sleeve. ‘So basically, we’re trained in combat, but also in… nursing, essentially.’
‘You’re like a war-nurse?’
‘Yes, I suppose I am like a… war-nurse. Do you want an apple?’ He held out the polished item.
‘An apple?’ Arrian repeated, staring at it in surprise.
‘Have you never seen an apple before?’
‘Of course I’ve seen an apple before.’ In truth he was just taken aback by the gesture; the whole thing was quite new to him. ‘I’m ok though. Thanks.’
‘Well just wait ‘til you see this,’ Lorcan said, reaching back into his pack, his face suddenly lighting up with excitement. ‘I bought one of these exotic fruits, from across the sea. It’s wonderful, all long and yellow, like nothing you’ve ever seen. I believe it’s called a bananana.’
‘A bananana?’
‘I think that’s what he said. Let me just find it…’ He delved deeper, and when he was up to his elbow his face suddenly changed, first to surprise, then to confusion, and then to disgust. ‘Oh, no. Founder’s eyes, I think it’s exploded. Maybe it was softer than I thought.’ And then he drew his hand up and out of the pack, clutching a sorry-looking limp skin of yellow and black, fingers coated in an unsavoury goo the colour of old potato. ‘Urgh. Forget the bananana…’
Arrian snorted with laughter, surprised that he could be so cheered on such a day, as Lorcan attempted to flick the ooze from his hand, and then wiped the remains on his tunic. Arrian shook his head and, still smiling, turned ahead to see a solitary crow swooping across their path.
The track had become winding as the fields had grown sparse and the trees more frequent. Now oaks and birches towered high above their heads, their leafy, massing canopies obscuring the mantling evening sky, the low sun to the west almost lost from view entirely. Lorcan had assured Arrian that they could reach Fennering by evening tomorrow at a steady pace with a few hours rest, but now, surrounded by shadows and twisted branches, he glanced warily about himself and urged Angharad on.
‘We don’t want to be caught in the forest at nightfall,’ he said, one hand still on the reins and the other instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. ‘There’s more than crows inhabit these trees.’
‘Like what?’ Arrian asked, furtively casting his eyes between the branches. ‘Wolves?’
‘Wolves. And worse.’
‘What do you mean, worse?’
‘I mean…’ Lorcan gave a last look to the rear and then seemed to shrug the anxiety off. ‘Just keep your eyes open. Tell me if you see anything unusual.’
They continued down the road in silence for a time, the quiet only broken by the occasional cry of a bird or the rustling of leaves in the light breeze. Arrian thought of his parents, of his friends, of Morna. Every time they rounded a corner he feared seeing another body on the track, thought of them going to it, turning it over, recognising the face, and he couldn’t help wondering how he would react. It was true what Lorcan said; if their bodies hadn’t been with the others then it followed that they were still alive. The thought settled his mind somewhat, but then if they were alive, what had become of them? Captured by those dark horsemen who rode under a banner – Founder knew what kind of atrocities they would be forced to suffer. He had heard the tales, knew there were those who were not above buying and selling elves as slaves. They could be moved anywhere, even across the water. The thought weighed heavy on his mind, but he sought to banish it. There was nothing he could do until they arrived at Fennering, and at least he knew that with Lorcan here too, his chances of finding them were far better than they were alone.
Perhaps Lorcan sensed his train of thought because, as they moved deeper into the woods, he said softly, ‘I will help you look for your family, you know. Once we’re in Fennering. I have some work I need to attend to, but… I will help. If you want me to.’
Arrian looked down at him, met his eye, and smiled. ‘Thank you,’ he said, nodding. ‘I’d like that.’
There was a sudden rustling from a little way ahead, and they instinctively turned to locate the source of the noise. For a moment all was still, until a dark figure stepped lightly from the shadows to the path. Immediately Lorcan gripped Angharad’s reins to bring her to a halting standstill, and Arrian held her mane as though it might afford him some protection.
‘Who goes there?’ Lorcan called, shielding his eyes in an effort to adjust them to the gloom, to bring the figure into focus. ‘Are you friend? Or foe?’
The person moved to the centre of the track and stayed silent for a short while, watching. It was a man, judging by his height and the width of his shoulders, but his face was enrobed in a black shroud, leaving only his eyes visible. At his side hung a short but wicked-looking blade.
‘Friend or foe?’ the form repeated, his deep, rasping voice confirming that it was indeed a man. ‘That depends. Friends we can be, if you give up your goods quietly, without a fight. If you don’t…’ He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. ‘You do not want us as foes, sir.’
‘Us?’ Lorcan said, though no sooner had the word left his lips than familiar rustling sounded behind them, and they turned to see two more black-clad faceless figures step out onto the road at the rear, one armed with a sword, the other a dagger, long and cruelly sharp.
‘Aye. Us,’ the front figure said, drawing his blade before him. ‘Lay your packs down quietly and no harm will come to you. Your weapons too. What say you?’
‘Arrian,’ Lorcan said, still facing ahead and speaking so quietly his voice was barely audible above the breeze. ‘Pull on Angharad’s left rein, turn her round. We charge the two behind. Get rid of the weaker pair and take the big one on together.’
‘But I don’t have anything, I don’t know how to –’
‘No time to argue, Arrian, just do as I say. I can’t afford to lose the contents of this pack. On three. One.’
‘Wait, Lorcan –’
‘Two.’
‘I don’t know what to do –’
‘Three!’
And with a shout, Lorcan drew his sword and turned, began racing towards the pair behind them. Without stopping to think, Arrian followed suit, dragging on the left rein so that the horse beneath him turned, knocking his heels against her flanks as she set off at a gallop towards them. He saw the figures brace their stance, prepare their weapons, and heard the man at the front call to his comrades.
‘Kill them!’
With his sword above his head Lorcan met the rogue on the left, and there was a metallic cry as their weapons clashed. Arrian moved the horse in the direction of the right figure, and saw his eyes widen in shock as they rode towards him, before he fell hard onto the dirt and scrabbled backwards. Arrian thought for a moment they might trample him, but just before they did, Angharad bucked and whinnied and, unused to such motions, Arrian found himself flung from the saddle, landing on the track opposite the foe.
Lorcan had forced his enemy down to the floor and now he brought the hilt of his sword smashing down upon their head, and the dark-clad form went limp, and collapsed. Not a moment too soon Lorcan turned to meet the leader of the trio, parrying the man’s blade with his own, the sharp point knocked from on course to his heart and instead glancing harmlessly into the air.
Arrian scrambled to his feet in unison with the man across from him. The foe had dropped his weapon and now turned to look about for it. Seizing the opportunity, Arrian ran at him, reached him as the man took a loose grip of his blade and turned back. Acting on instinct, Arrian kicked at him, aiming his foot so that it came into hard contact with his crotch. The dagger was dropped and there was a pained grunt, but the man didn’t reel away in agony as Arrian had expected, and for an instant he stood, surprised, giving the rogue a chance to retaliate. He seized Arrian by the shoulders and pushed him roughly to the ground, and his eyes were fiery and his grip vicious.
‘That won’t work on me, elf,’ they said, and the voice, through gruff, was feminine, and the hands on his shoulders small. There wasn’t time to dwell on it though – he hauled himself backwards, clutching handfuls of dirt as he went. The bandit, female or no, was strong and now she was reaching for her weapon again, and Arrian knew he would have to act fast if he were to survive. All he had was a fistful of dust so he threw it, catching her in the eyes and she fell back, yelling, her hands going to her face.
‘Lorcan!’ he cried, turning to see the knight finishing off his own fight. The enemy was winded but still held his blade ready, and now Lorcan plunged his own through the man’s chest. He drove it home, and with a hideous screech it slid between the ribs and out of the back. The man gurgled, bloody drips beginning to seep through the shroud on his face, and as Lorcan prized the blade free he bent double, lifeblood leaking onto the floor at his feet. Without pause, Lorcan turned to answer Arrian’s shout, saw the woman rubbing dirt from her vision and charged her, slamming the sword-hilt into the side of her head. Her eyes widened for a moment, red with dirt and anger, and then they dulled, and closed, and she toppled sideway onto the path, unconscious. They heard a final gasp, turned to see the ringleader collapse dead at their feet, a small red puddle growing beneath his chest, and sinking into the ground.
Arrian fell back onto the road, panting hard. Lorcan dropped his sword, drained, but unharmed. The three motionless bodies lay about them, still dark, still obscured, but for now at least, no danger.
‘Are they… dead?’ Arrian gasped, adrenaline flowing through his veins, still on edge, ready to spring up again if necessary.
‘This one is,’ Lorcan answered, leaning forwards to catch his breath. ‘As for these two… I don’t think so.’ His shoulders were heaving. ‘Maybe… Maybe it would be best to kill them, but… I can’t, not when they’re defenceless. Leave them.’ He raised himself up with his hands on his hips and drew in a deep, long breath of air. ‘Are you alright?’
‘I think so. Just…’ Arrian shook himself off and tried to gather his thoughts. ‘I can’t believe that happened.’
Lorcan held out a hand and Arrian took hold of it, was helped to his feet.
‘You did well,’ the knight panted, inspecting the limp figure of the female. ‘Good call, going for the crotch. Shame it was a woman.’
They looked at each other and, still in shock, scarcely able to believe he was alive, Arrian laughed, and Lorcan returned it, a relieved, exhausted laugh made of pure happiness to be alive.
‘Does that happen to you a lot?’ Arrian said, legs shaking beneath him.
‘Not at all,’ Lorcan grinned, and moved to retrieve Angharad from the side of the road where she had taken refuge. ‘Baptism by fire, I’m afraid. Sorry.’
They mastered their breathing and Lorcan helped Arrian back onto the horse, took a hold of the reins and went to lead her on.
‘I know we could do with a rest,’ Lorcan said, voice full of apology. ‘But these might not be the only bandits in the forest.’ He gestured to the narrow, open path before them. ‘If we go fast we can be out of the woodlands soon. Travel through the night. I don’t think we should stop here, not when we could reach Fennering by noon tomorrow. What do you say?’
The adrenaline was still pumping but Arrian knew it would soon wear, and all he’d want to do was sleep. The day had been long, longer than any other, not just physically, but emotionally too. He was tired with travel, fearful for his parents, and the shock of loss and danger took its toll on the body. But he trusted Lorcan, knew that the knight was more accustomed to this than he, and if going all night was their best option than that’s what they would do.
‘Alright,’ he said, nodding and gathering himself together. ‘Let’s go on. Better we get there sooner, isn’t it?’
Lorcan smiled and inclined his head. ‘My thoughts exactly.’ He went to guide Angharad onwards, but just before he did, he paused, went back to the body of the woman, picked up her dagger, and brought it back. ‘Here,’ he said, holding it out. ‘You might need this. I hope you won’t, but you never know.’
Arrian took it and tucked it into his belt, shifting the blade so that it faced away from his body. ‘With you,’ he said, gripping the reins in front of him, ‘I think I might need it a lot more than I’d like.’
And Lorcan laughed, and spurred Angharad on, and they took up their journey to Fennering once more, beneath the setting sun and the shadows of the dark, towering trees.