Legacy, page 8
Then, one day, people got sick. A group of traders had come to the village and brought a disease with them, and it ran through Bywater like wildfire. Amos and my father were struck down, both of them bedridden for weeks. My mother used to go down to the village and tend to people. She had a marvellous knowledge of herbs and medicines, and she was able to bring many village folk back from the brink.’
He drew a long, desolate breath. ‘It was the children that got hit hardest; every family lost at least one child, apart from us. For one reason or another, I escaped. Talk began to go round the village that my mother was a witch who saved her own son from the plague, but didn’t care for the children of others … indeed, she propagated the disease in other children. Seems a ridiculous way to think, given that she saved so many lives, but people become incredibly narrow-minded in situations like that.’
Gwilym murmured agreement.
‘In any case, her work caught up with her. Despite all her medicines and poultices, she couldn’t save herself. The sickness took her, and without her help and wisdom, my father succumbed as well. That didn’t satisfy the villagers though. They were baying for my blood as well, thinking that my parents had gotten what they deserved for cursing the village, and that my death would be the last piece of justice they needed. Thankfully, Amos managed to dissuade them from their course.
‘Given that my mother had saved his life, he claimed responsibility for me, and began to treat me as a son … but his wife hated every fibre of my being. She lost her whole family to the sickness and she blamed me for it, and constantly berated the old man for taking me in … and near broke both our spirits. As for the rest of the villagers, they treated me with suspicion ever since. I was allowed to take part in village life, attend council meetings when I turned sixteen and the like, but I was never truly one of them, and they made sure I knew it.’
Torben spat into the darkness, trying to dispel the bile and anger that telling the story had created. ‘But I guess we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead now, should we?’ He bowed his head. ‘And now, I never have to go back.’
‘If it’s any conciliation, I found leaving home one of the most thrilling and liberating experiences I ever had, ever will have,’ Gwilym affirmed. ‘Once you leave, that weight of having to fall in line with the status quo, live up to peoples’ expectations, all falls away. You can carve your own life rather than fit into a niche that someone, or some community, has made for you.’
‘So what made you leave and set off on your liberating new life?’ Torben’s tone displayed bitterness.
‘Ah, no particular reason, I guess. Just got tired of the boring farming life—like you. I decided that if I had to plant another row of wheat, I’d probably go insane. So I picked up my pack, strode down the road, and haven’t looked back for, hell, nearly twenty years.’
Torben was disappointed by Gwilym’s response. He’d morbidly hoped that they’d both been forced into a wandering life. It would have given Torben a small crumb of comfort to know that Gwilym knew what he was going through. Instead, it appeared that Gwilym existed in a charmed universe, where he could do whatever he wanted, without consequences.
‘We should think about getting rest; it’ll be another long day tomorrow.’ As he spoke, Gwilym settled himself into a more comfortable position at the base of the oak.
‘How far are we from Gallenford?’ Torben still wasn’t ready to sleep yet, his head filled with many rogue thoughts.
‘No idea. It’ll take us a good few hours to get our bearings while we travel, and only then will we be able to tell. We could have been running in completely the wrong direction for all we know.’
Gwilym rolled away from Torben, the implication being that he wanted to sleep, not answer questions.
Torben tried to settle into the thick grass, which made a reasonably comfortable sleeping mat, but thoughts, questions and doubts continued to dance around his head.
He inclined his head towards Gwilym, about to ask another question when he heard a snore from the sleeping figure. He turned and peered upwards, trying to spot stars through the thick covering of the foliage.
Gwilym’s snoring continued, growing in strength with every breath, and Torben was alone with his thoughts.
When he awoke the next morning, Torben lay still, his eyes shut, listening to sounds. He could hear the wind caressing leaves above his head and chirps and tweets from birds. Everything seemed safe.
Opening his eyes, he sat up. The surrounding area was densely forested, except for the twenty-plus feet around them. The massive size of the tree they’d slept under only allowed for bushes and small plants to grow beneath its boughs.
It took him a few moments to process the fact that Gwilym wasn’t there and when he realised it, he stood and searched for signs as to where the dwarf may have gone. Gwilym’s pack and jacket lay near the depression that his body had made in the long grass, so he couldn’t have gone far. Like as not, he’d gone in search of water or perhaps a more secluded place to relieve himself.
Torben sat back down, his back against the tree, and fished around his coat pockets, taking stock of what his worldly possessions had boiled down to. Apart from the knife that hung from his belt, the clothes on his back, and the arm ring he still wore, all he could find in the pockets was twine, the odd grain seed, and the chunk of bread he’d taken from the tavern the morning before. He sighed loudly. People surely must have started out with less?
At the sight of the bread, his stomach churned and complained. Given he’d not eaten since the previous morning, he was starving. The bread had grown harder with age, but he didn’t care; he just wanted to eat. After a few small cautious mouthfuls, he felt better, though a little unsatisfied with his lot. He’d just about finished eating the sad little meal when he heard Gwilym’s voice coming from nearby woods.
‘Now look, there’s no need to do anything too hasty!’
Torben peered around, but couldn’t see the dwarf. Then another voice replied, much quieter than Gwilym’s, so quiet in fact that he couldn’t make out any words.
‘I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but why don’t we sit down and discuss this in a sensible, rational manner?’ Gwilym was speaking in a much more nervous tone than Torben had heard before. And the volume was very loud, which wasn’t wise, considering that Lupines might still be roving around the forest looking for them. The only explanation: Gwilym was in trouble and hoped that Torben would hear and help.
Trying to make as little noise as possible, Torben hopped upright and crept in the direction of Gwilym’s voice. The thick undergrowth made it hard to be completely silent but, after a few feet, the brush began to thin out and a small clearing came into view.
As he started to see more clearly, Torben tracked around the edge of the clearing. He saw Gwilym through the tall grass, though he still couldn’t clearly see the person that he was talking to. A hooded and cloaked figure was slightly visible, but he didn’t dare poke his head too far past the cover to get a good look until he knew that he’d not be in their line of sight. He could, however, hear more clearly what the figure was saying, and he listened intently as he moved around the clearing.
‘There’s no use trying to make a run for it—that is, unless you want a bolt in your back.’
‘I’m sure we both know that would get us nowhere.’ Gwilym was still speaking very loudly, and his voice echoed. ‘Having said that, with all the Lupines around here, perhaps it would be best if we continued this conversation at a later date.’
‘Don’t worry,’ the hooded figure declared, ‘you’ll be much safer with me. The boss made it clear to get you alive and I’ll do everything to make sure that happens.’
‘I don’t know how much your boss is paying you, but let me assure you that if we can come to a reasonable agreement, I could—’
‘Shut it, dwarf! You can’t pay me off and you can’t trick me into letting you go, either. You might as well stop the plotting and the scheming. The game’s up!’
By now Torben had made his way around the clearing and was directly behind where he thought the voice of the hooded stranger was coming from. He darted behind a tree and peeked out, assessing the situation. From his perspective, Gwilym stood at the far end of the small clearing and the figure was only feet from where Torben was watching. It was tall and wore a long green cloak that almost touched the ground; a large voluminous hood covered the head and masked the face. The figure held a crossbow in slender brown-skinned hands; it was aimed directly at Gwilym, who had his hands raised above his head.
Gwilym’s eyes flashed for a moment in Torben’s direction when he saw the man’s face poking out from behind the tree, and then quickly made eye contact with the figure again. The dwarf shuffled and edged, almost imperceptibly, away from Torben, and the figure adjusted slightly, tracking Gwilym’s movements with the crossbow, and in the process, turning away from Torben.
He readied himself and burst from his hiding place, leaping onto the hooded figure. There was a sharp snap and a high-pitched whistle as the figure pulled the crossbow trigger; they fell under Torben’s weight and the bolt flew into the trees above Gwilym’s head.
In an attempt to subdue the stranger, Torben repeatedly aimed several punches down into the swirling mass of cloak but, every time he brought his fist down, the figure seemed to slide out of the way and avoid the blows. A heavy boot emerged from the folds of the cloak and struck Torben squarely in the face. He reeled back, clutching his jaw. He could taste blood in his mouth and a tooth felt decidedly loose. The force of the blow completely unbalanced him and he threw out his free hand to break the fall.
Now the figure seemed to be everywhere at once and lashed out again at Torben’s face, striking him in the nose and forcing his head back. Before he had time to recover, the figure had grabbed his hair and, standing behind him, held a long curved dagger to Torben’s throat. ‘Drop the weapon, dwarf!’
In the short time that Torben and the hooded figure had been tussling, Gwilym had made it halfway across the clearing. He had his seax drawn and ready, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he realized the gravity of the situation.
‘Drop the weapon now! Or your friend here won’t thank you for what’ll happen to him.’
‘Oh, bollocks!’ Gwilym threw the seax onto the ground and stepped back for good measure.
‘Now on your knees, and if I see any movement from you, this one dies!’ To emphasize the point, the figure yanked Torben’s hair, making him inhale sharply. Deftly, the figure pulled Torben’s hands behind his back and tied them with rope produced from the folds of the cloak. The attacker then kicked Torben face-first into the ground and bound his feet.
Torben heard footsteps as the figure strode past, the knee-high boots nearly hitting his face. As he looked up, he could see Gwilym being bound in similar fashion.
‘Where’s your pack?’ The figure stared down from within the folds of their cloak as they spoke. ‘I was told to bring all your possessions as well as you, dwarf. We can do this the easy way or the hard way,’ came the chilling threat as the figure lifted Gwilym’s chin with the back of the dagger.
Gwilym didn’t say anything, but thrust his head in the direction of the oak tree and his pack. The cloak gathered snugly around them as the figure disappeared into the woods, blending in with the surrounding trees.
‘Bugger it all,’ Gwilym exclaimed.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Torben tried, unsuccessfully, to worm his way across the ground towards his colleague.
‘It looks like we’re being arrested. An old acquaintance of mine seems to have got it into his head that I wronged him and has sent a lackey to bring me to him.’
‘Wronged him? Are you wanted for something?’
Gwilym searched for the right words. ‘It all depends on your definition of wronged, doesn’t it? I mean, in some senses, maybe I did wrong him, yes.’
‘Great. Just bloody great! I escape certain death only to be trussed up like a hog, and probably killed for no reason, just because you may have wronged someone!’ He rolled onto his front, fighting with the bonds on his wrists, trying to find a weakness in the rope, but with no luck. The cord might as well have been woven from iron.
‘Stop struggling or I’ll give you something to squirm about!’ The figure had returned, holding Gwilym’s pack and woollen jacket. ‘Is this everything you had with you?’
‘Aye, that’s all of it. Hardly worth robbing us, really.’
The figure threw the pack at Gwilym’s feet and swept back the hood to reveal the face of a young and slim, athletic-looking woman, the brown skin on her forehead glistening from the tussle with Torben. She was obviously no stranger to the wilds or a dangerous lifestyle, as exemplified by a discernible scar that ran across her right eye onto her cheek and the hardy nature of the leather jerkin beneath the cloak. Her black hair was arranged into a single plait that curled around her slender neck and dangled over a shoulder; her ears terminated in blunt points rather than being curved like those of Torben or Gwilym.
She sheathed the dagger and retrieved the crossbow from where it had been knocked out of her hands. Turning, she surveyed her two captives, amber-coloured eyes darting across the bonds binding their hands and feet. ‘This is how it’s going to be; the two of you are going to get up and walk until I tell you to stop, and if you don’t do exactly what I say, people are going to get hurt. Understand?’
Torben and Gwilym muttered acceptance and didn’t make eye contact with their new captor. The woman took a bolt from a pouch by her side, threaded a foot though the stirrup of the crossbow and drew back the string with one swift movement. As she straightened, she slotted the bolt into place, her cloak billowing around her as she did so. As the folds of the fabric settled back into place, Torben caught a glimpse of a longsword, as well as a curved dagger hanging from her belt. Whoever this woman was, she meant business. ‘On your feet, let’s go!’
The two struggled to their feet and shuffled in the direction that the young woman steered them. She had linked their feet together in a way that allowed them to move, but with no way of escaping without cutting the rope.
‘This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,’ Torben hissed as they waddled through the woods.
‘Aye … well, if nothing else, I feel a lot safer with her at my back than the Lupines.’
‘Shut up, both of you, and keep walking!’
6
As Gwilym and Torben made their slow way through the woods, the woman walked on one side, watching them intently and keeping her crossbow trained on one or the other of them at all times. The trio travelled in silence, except for the odd occasion when Gwilym or Torben, restricted by the binding ropes around their feet, fell and grunted or groaned when they hit the ground.
Torben had no idea where they were going. The thick canopy of leaves above heavily restricted a view of the sky, which meant there was no sun by which he could tell where they were heading. He guessed that they were going south, but that was because the only way out of Burndale lay that way.
After a few hours of walking, they heard running water grow louder and louder. This could only mean that the woman was leading them to the river, known to the residents of Bywater simply as ‘the Burn’.
It wasn’t known whether the dale had been named after the river, or the river after the dale, but no one really cared. The people of Bywater had taken very little heed of the river, save as a place to draw water from after the well dried up. A few older folks used to fish along the Burn, or from the lakeside but, generally, people largely ignored the water.
Given that the road ran alongside the river, Torben assumed the woman meant to continue leading them wherever the eventual destination was. The thought of taking the road and being in open view of any Lupines that might still be lurking about made Torben nervous. It was surely only a matter of time before the Lupines extracted all the loot they could carry and looked to leave the dale—of which the fastest and most direct route was the road.
As they walked, Torben wondered whether he should say something to her. Surely though, she’d have taken all variables into account? Was she taking a calculated risk that the Lupines had already left Burndale … or weren’t going to leave for some time?
Every time Torben mustered enough courage to say something, he’d somehow make eye contact with her. Her severe scowl made him think twice about speaking and he quickly faced forwards again, continuing to struggle along.
By what must have been midday, they came upon the river and the road. As the undergrowth cover became sparser the closer that they got to the road, the three of them instinctively reduced sounds of their movements, and stuck to the thickest areas of cover.
‘Stop!’ The woman spoke briskly and quietly. ‘The two of you are going to wait here. If either of you try to escape, you’ll have me to answer to.’ With that, she crept closer to the road, with the obvious intention of seeing whether the coast was clear.
Torben and Gwilym sat down without speaking and watched her go; they couldn’t have escaped if they’d wanted to. They were exhausted from the strain and exertion of walking with bound feet through thick undergrowth and over uneven ground, and constantly scrambling to their feet without the use of arms, which were still tied behind their backs. Despite this, Torben scanned their surroundings, determining the best line of escape. There must be a way that they could slip into the trees, lie low until nightfall, and then make good their escape. If only they could get far enough away from their captor …
‘It’s no use,’ Gwilym muttered, cutting through Torben’s train of thought. ‘We can’t escape. She’s good, this one. I’ve come across her before and I know what she’s capable of.’
