The
Silveroak Woods stood tall and dark around the four city dwellers. Looking back
now towards the Hematite Gate, they couldn’t see neither the guards nor the
carriage. Everything was quiet, if there were woodland animals or birds close
by, they were hiding, only the rustling of leaves could be heard over their
breaths and pounding silence in their ears. A pale full moon shone down on
them, its light broken by the branches of the tall trees. The play of light and
shadows and the stillness lent a ghostly air to the woods. They stood in that
stillness, looking at each other for a moment. Then Adomorn broke the silence.
“So, what
now”, he asked. “Which way do we go?”
“Nowhere,
for tonight”, suggested Elril. “It’s almost midnight, and it’s damn cold.
Aylonna has the tools we need for a fire. Let’s find something to make a fire
from.”
The others agreed.
They spread out, searching for fallen branches and dead underbrush, and soon,
they had collected a pile enough for a fire to last them 'til morning. Aylonna
passed out food and passed her water skin around, despite the other’s protests.
“So”, she
said, staring into the fire. “Barring you lot being dead in the morning,
Adomorn did raise a good question before. Which way do we go? South is barred from us, but that still leaves east, west
and north.”
Zanedithas, sitting
opposite her with his arms around his knees, nodded.
“Well, we
have woods to the north. And to the east, and to the west. So our options are
into the woods, into the woods or into the woods.”
“The
directions won’t matter much”, said Adomorn. “You, I and Elril will die of
cold, thirst or hunger, and Aylonna will die of thirst or hunger. Or cold, if
she’s lucky enough to live until winter comes in Winmath. By rights, we
shouldn’t be here”, he locked eyes with Elril. “If you could only have kept
your mouth shut.”
“I know”,
said Elril miserably, hanging his head. “I know this is my fault. I should be
here alone, you should be home in your comfortable, warm beds.”
“Yes, we
should”, Adomorn shot back at him. “You should be alone, with no friends in the
world to die a miserable, cold death, and the crows should be picking over your
bones once you’re dead. I should take Aylonna’s knife and kill you right here
and now. At least that would give us more food and water.”
Aylonna stared at
him, shocked at the hostility in Adomorn’s voice. She had pictured the three of
them as being friends. Elril didn’t look up, he felt more than deserving of the
berating he got. Zanedithas wouldn’t stand for it, though. He jumped to his
best friend’s defense.
“You could
have walked away, if it didn’t suit you”, he said. “You knew the penalty. You knew
the risks. You also know that the law is totally unfair and wrong. You even
said it yourself.”
“I
shouldn’t be punished for sitting next to someone committing a crime. And you”,
he rounded on Elril. “You shouldn’t have committed that crime in the first
place! You’re so damn stubborn and such an idiot!”
Elril cowered in
his long shirt, but made no motion and spoke no word to defend himself.
“Guys”,
said Aylonna quietly. “This is not helping. Let’s just get some sleep. It’ll be
easier in the morning.”
“Aylonna is
right”, said Zanedithas. “Let’s just sleep.”
Adomorn turned his
back to the fire and lay down to sleep, Zanedithas turned so he could see
Adomorn. Right now, he didn’t trust his friend one bit. Sighing, Aylonna turned
to Elril.
“Aren’t you
going to lie down, to?”
Elril shook his
head without looking up. Aylonna shrugged and lay down. For a while they
twisted a bit, trying to find some comfort. Slowly they each fell into uneasy
sleep, all but Elril, who sat watching the moon set in the west and the stars
wheel toward home. The constellation called Nimris’ eye looked down at him,
reminding him of the thing his father had once said. “They may not like our
history or fairy tales, but still, they won’t change the names of the stars or
the days or the months. They can’t deny all history.”
Adomorn was
the first to wake next morning. He sat up and looked around. Aylonna and
Zanedithas were sleeping, the fire had gone out. Elril sat huddled up staring
into the ashes. Adomorn felt guilty for his outburst last night. After all,
Zanedithas was right, he could have walked away. He hadn’t because he knew
Elril and his father were right. No one had ever been harmed by their fairy
tales, not until they were found out, sentenced and sent here. And right now,
the worst that had come out of this crime was the chill he felt in his long
shirt after the fire had gone out.
“Elril, I’m
sorry”, he said. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”
Elril looked up,
taking a ragged breath.
“You were
right”, he said. “I should have been more careful. I should have kept my mouth
shut.”
“No. Your
fairy tales were a good thing. Everyone in our neighborhood think so. So can
you forgive me?”
Elril smiled
slightly.
“Of course.
Friends for ever, right?”
“Yes.
Friends forever. Even with that lazy dandy over there,” he flicked his thumb
towards Zanedithas. “Poor bastard, he must miss his duvet and his breakfast
served on his bedside by now.”
Elril grinned,
misery chased away for now.
“And his
warm bath and his silk slippers”, he laughed.
“And his
doeskin breeches and emerald ring.”
“And his
marble and obsidian chess set”, snickered Elril.
“And his
leather boots and his sword and his privy”, Zanedithas voice came from across
the fireplace. “Especially his privy.”
Adomorn made a grimace.
“I so don’t
want to know.”
“Well, at
least you seem to have made nice”, Zanedithas rose and stretched. “I’m hungry,
thirsty and cold. I’ll take a little walk to warm myself. Call me when you got
the fire going again.”
He walked off.
Elril looked after him. Zanedithas was always so cheerful, so carefree. He was
also handsome with that long, dark hair tumbling over his shoulders, his hazel
eyes, sharp facial features, his lean, strong body. Being born a noble and
raised a swordsman he had a graceful stance and assured movements, and lately,
his mere presence made Elril go a little tingly. Guiltily, Elril turned back to
the newly awakened fire.
Irestor
woke from being buffeted in the face by a squirrel. Irritated with himself, he
smoothed a strand of his long, golden hair out of his face, He shouldn’t have
fallen asleep, he never had before while keeping vigil. And now one of the
younglings had wandered off. Torn between keeping an eye on the group and
finding the wanderer, he groaned, fished up his bow and quiver from a lower
branch and cast about for the man he had lost sight of. Irestor didn’t see him,
so he closed his eyes and reached out with his other senses. He became one with
the tree that had lent its branches for him to rest in, felt its roots reach
the rich soil and all its living beings. He could feel the other three, their
anxieties and their hopes. Reaching farther he could feel the trees and the
bushes around him, and the ants and the adders and the rabbits in their holes
and the foxes in their dens. And there he was, the wandering city boy of human
decent. Opening his eyes again, Irestor followed him, navigating the canopy as
though he was born there. He hadn’t gone far before the youngling came back, at
a dead run, screaming in terror at the top of his lungs. He had all right to
scream, as well. After him tore a forest bear. The large, strong animal raced
straight through the little encampment, scattering the friends and burning its
paws on the fire. It howled. Irestor quickly climbed down from the trees and
reached out to the bear with his mind. He felt another’s mind trying to do the
same. The girl had magic. The bear, maddened with pain and something else that
Irestor knew all too well, turned and charged the girl. Having little choice,
Irestor raised his bow, sent a silent prayer to Skai, the god of the hunt, and
released his grouse-fletched arrow. He hit true, the arrow embedded more than
half its shaft in the bear, felling it mid-stride. He strode up to it, pulling
a long dagger from his belt, and slit its throat for good measure, and to help
drain the blood. Then he rounded on the four others. Locking eyes with the one
the bear had chased, he said:
“You are
far too reckless.” Turning to the others, he added: “And you are far too careless.
You will never survive in these woods.”
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