Wren hesitated. Then, with her walking stick upraised like a club, she slowly made her way into the trees.
Someone lay there, on the leaves … a man dressed in rags. His short black hair was matted and filthy, and he smelled of something indescribably foul.
“Who are you?” she demanded, nose wrinkling.
He turned his face toward her. His lips were thick and purplish. Blood and bruises marred his features, but she thought he might have been handsome once.
“Help me …” he gasped.
“Who are you?” she demanded again.
“Captain … Parniel… Bowspear …”
That seemed to be too much for him. He collapsed, eyes rolling back in his head. She could see that he was still breathing, though.
Wren hesitated, wondering what to do. Finally she took off her cloak and spread it over the stranger. He needed it more than she did right now. Then, whistling to the goats, she herded them back together and began the long trek down to her family’s farm. Her father would know what to do, she thought.
“Phew, he stinks!” said a young man’s voice.
“Don’t he!” said another.
“Quiet there,” a deeper voice said. “Get him up.”
Bowspear felt strong hands lifting him. It hadn’t been a dream or an hallucination, he realized. He really had seen that young woman. She really had gone for help.
He could barely breathe, barely move, but he managed to open his eyes. Farmers … four of them, a man and three boys who looked enough like him that they had to be his sons. Together they carried him to an ox-drawn cart and put him in the back. He closed his eyes as they covered him with blankets that smelled of horse sweat. Bowspear didn’t mind. He just wanted to be warm again.
The rocking, jarring passage to their farm seemed to take forever. At last, though, they drove into a low barn and shut the doors. It was warmer in here, full of the smells of hay and animals.
With effort, Bowspear managed to sit up. They brought an oil lamp and held it over him, looking him over as though he were a prize calf.
“Where you from?” the farmer said. “Wren said your name was Bowspear.”
“Water …” he gasped.
One of the boys ran and fetched a small clay cup. He took it and drank deeply. Strengthened, he took a deep breath.
“I’ve been on a mission for King Graben,” he said.
“The king, huh,” the farmer scoffed. “The king’s locked up in Müden. Don’t you know that?”
Bowspear forced a laugh. “Of course I know it. We were supposed to free him …”
He launched into the tale of how he’d gone to help Captain Evann capture Orin Hawk from the Hag. It was half truth more than outright lie, and as he wove the tale, he saw their skepticism change to grudging belief to open admiration.
Yes, he thought, everyone would believe that tale when he got back to Alber. He’d have it well rehearsed by then, and with his men dead, no one could deny it. They probably thought him dead now. The mission had cost him a lot … but not everything. It would set his plans back. But one way or another he’d have Grabentod.
As he finished, Bowspear said, “It’s winter. You won’t have need of all your sons or your horses…. Lend me a horse and one of your boys to guide me back to Alber. I’ll see that he returns safely with rewards aplenty for you and yours.”
“Agreed,” the farmer said quickly. “Jerron, Guntre, get a bath ready for Captain Bowspear. We’ll get him cleaned up for his trip home.”
Yes, Bowspear thought, sitting up. He’d be back in Alber in two days.
At least Evann had failed in his plan to kidnap Orin Hawk. He smiled faintly. Hawk had been with the Hag up until the moment she’d tired of Bowspear and kicked him from her bed. And without Hawk, King Graben wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon….
Or ever, if Bowspear had his way.
Appendix A
To His Excellency Lord Oluvar Hawk,
Greetings and Salutations!
I am dispatching this report with one of my trusted assistants, Jospar, in the hopes of his reaching you before first snowfall. The skies are gray and the air holds the promise of storms soon to come, so he will leave this very day. As I warned you, the mountain passes of the Hag’s Domain may prove sufficient impediment to my travels that I may be forced to winter here. Luckily I foresaw this possibility, and our pack animals carry sufficient provisions to last until spring. My guards will, of course, supplement these rations with whatever game they can capture or kill. Do not worry, Lord Hawk, your investment in this expedition is safe. I have taken every precaution.
As yet, I have seen no sign of your son, or of the forty men under his command. As I advised you before I accepted your commission to find him and return him to Drachenward, I fear he may well be dead. There are sufficient dangers here, between the Hag, goblins, trolls, orogs, and even dragons. No communication of any kind from him probably means he has been set upon by one or more such dangers. At the very least, however, I will return his body to you for proper burial.
Most fortuitously, I have made contact with a few humans who live close by my present camp. They report that the Hag has not been seen in some years by them. I find this news encouraging. Since their village of Merkstadt appears prosperous and healthy, and their lands appear rich and fertile, I can only assume they have lived here in relative safety for some years. It seems the Hag’s reputation may well be exaggerated in Drachenward, if indeed she still exists.
Allow me to begin, however, with our journey. My course through the Drachenaur Mountains was uneventful. We sighted one dragon in the distance—a small creature, really, as such things are reckoned—but it paid us no heed. We also came upon the bones of a large troll, but the monster had been dead for some years, probably killed by brave adventurers from Drachenward, perhaps even your own relatives. I know the Hawk family has a well-deserved reputation for such noble deeds. Here is another that can surely be ascribed to them.
Upon gaining access to the plain at the center of the Hag’s Domain, I followed a series of streams until I came to a settlement of perhaps fifty small stone houses. Clearly, I realized, this settlement had been in place for some time. The cottages looked well tended. Fields for many acres around the village had been cleared, and although the crops had all been harvested, everything spoke of a small happy little community.
(One parenthetical note: should Drachenward choose to exert its rightful claim over Merkstadt and its inhabitants, force may be necessary. I estimate their potential military strength at approximately sixty-five men of military age. Although I have seen no swords, I suspect the villagers are well armed and may fight fiercely to protect their perceived freedom. Their houses certainly seem strong and well fortified.)
I have made subtle inquiries about their origins. It seems they are descended of refugees from barbaric Grabentod—people of the court who fled when the pirate-king, Ulrich Graben, seized the throne some years ago. They fled here and founded Merkstadt, which has prospered ever since.
Despite their rough origins and the history of enmity between Drachenward and Grabentod, these people seem friendly enough to me and my companions. I plan to use Merkstadt as the base for all expeditions deeper into the Hag’s Domain over the coming months, as weather permits. I will attempt to send communications through to you as often as I have information.
If you could send an additional five fighting men with Jospar, it would prove helpful. Five of my men were lost when part of the pass upon which they walked fell away into a deep abyss. Although I can doubtless accomplish my task with the eighteen men I have left, reinforcements would speed the matter.