Chapter 32 Torn
Birth of a Hunter
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The district of Ashran is famous for its wine, ale and olives, the generally rocky territory considered of little use to any other form of crop or animal husbandry. Of course there were rare areas of flat, which had been painstakingly scanned for rocks until the top layer of earth had an even ratio of grass to rock, where some meagre herds were raised. There was the occasional fresh water spring and a few streams, but mostly the sparse areas, deemed unsuitable even for grapes
Dirt roads criss-crossed the land, flanked by thick bush and trees or by isolated plains and were barely used, bar the occasional rabbit or fox. The thud of shod hooves slamming onto hard ground disturbed some birds in the trees and they took flight, squawking their displeasure. A horse, as black as ink, was moving fluidly down the road, small clumps of dirt rising from the earth where its hooves struck the ground.
A young boy sat rigid in front of the saddle, eyes moving from side to side as he took in the view from up high. Behind him, was a hooded figure, with drapes of black cloak pooling over his horses haunches as he guided the stallion forward with gloved hands. "Where we going?" Asked the boy curiously as the duo rode down the road, the hood turning to view the tree lines with interest.
"The Great King's Road, or Great Road, connects all nine districts, and is the main means of travel throughout Kurvalic. The Warden's very rarely use any other method route in and out of each district and as such can be depended upon to come down this length of wood."
"Why we here?" The boy asked as he glanced to the road, noting the leaves being blown across the track in front of them, and the ridges in the road where wagons had rolled in times past.
"Are," said the warrior behind him absently as eyes swept the road ahead and the tree line.
"What?"
"Why are we here," said the man as he halted the horse, "Speak properly, or hold your tongue."
The boy scowled, but in the end curiosity won out and he asked, "Why are we here?"
The warrior lifted his hood, revealing vibrant red hair swept back from his forehead and down the back of his head in a braid. Purple eyes were glinting fiercely as she, for it was a woman, dismounted, her cloak billowing about her impressively.
"In warfare it is essential to know your terrain intimately," she said as she removed one of her gloves and knelt and ran her fingers along the dirt. Standing she appraised it before flicking her wrist and replacing her glove, dirt falling from her fingers.
There was silence as the woman appraised her surroundings a few moments more, before the boy spoke, "I'm hungry."
"That is not my problem," the woman said coldly, her purple eyes glancing to the boy before she moved forward and swung herself into the saddle.
The horse stomped a hoof but turned at her direction and they began to canter back down the track.
"But…. You leeme come wit you," the boy said.
"Ashnidanté let you, I am just along for the ride," the woman answered as she lowered one of her hands to her side.
The boy frowned, "I seen you," he said suddenly, "I can tell the others that you a girl."
"Betray me and I will kill you before you even take a step towards them."
The boy stiffened, his eyes widening as he fought back tears, "Are ya, ya gonna kill me?"
"Not if you keep your mouth shut," said the woman as they made their way from the forest and out onto the plains.
Suddenly her arm snapped up, a black blade flying through the air and a rabbit, which had been sunning itself, was pierced through the side. The woman waited until they were close before dismounting and retrieving the rabbit, the boy still paralysed in fear at the front of her saddle, terrified that if he made a run for it she would kill him.
She mounted smoothly and handed the rabbit to the boy, "Hold on to this," she ordered as she sheathed the now clean blade and pulled her hood to cover her face.
They rode until they reached the outskirts of the city, turning down one of the lesser known paths and making their way back to the clearing. She removed the tack from the stallion before brushing him down and fetching him some water from the well. Then the red-head removed her cloak, lay it over a fallen tree, and set about cleaning and preparing the rabbit for consumption. The boy hovered nearby, ravenous, but too scared to intrude further.
As she worked she kept her head cocked towards the stallion, often shaking her head or nodding, murmuring softly in another language to him. Eventually when the scents of cooked rabbit had filled the clearing, did she relax and summon the boy closer.
"Come here," she ordered as she sat on the grass, cross legged by the fire.
The boy crept forward but stayed out of reach, and her eyes narrowed, "I said, come here." Her tone said disobedience wouldn't be tolerated and the boy edged forward.
"What is your name?" The woman asked as she offered him some of the food in the afternoon sun.
"Stannislavonides," the boy answered, his brown eyes closing at the first taste of the rabbit.
"I'll not ask again, what is your name, and don't lie to me," the red-head snarled and the boy felt shivers go down his spine.
"It's mah name, I name myself," he said defiantly, "Stann…i...sla...vo...ni...des."
Purple eyes closed before opening and when they did, the boy was pinned in a fierce stare. "Very well, Stannislavonides," she said, emphasising his name as though she doubted the truth of his statement. "Where is your family?"
"Don't have none," said Stannis as he took another hungry bite.
"Let me make this very clear to you," said the red-head, the air in the clearing cooling, "You will speak correctly when you are with me, do you understand?"
Stannislavonides gulped and nodded hurriedly, "Yes ma'am," he said swiftly and she twitched, but let the title pass.
There was several moments silence between the two, before the red-head stirred, "What do you want from me?"
The boy blinked, "Whatya…," he cleared his throat and tried again, "what do you mean?"
"Why haven't you run away? Why did you seek me out? Why are you still here?"
Brown eyes looked confused, "You said you'd kill me."
Red hair shook as she gestured no, "I said I would kill you if you told anyone what you knew about me."
Stannis scratched his dirty blonde hair, "Dunno, you have food and you scare baddies."
The warrior sighed, "Very well, I will offer you this. I will feed you, clothe you, protect you, teach and train you and provide all of your equipment and for your needs. In exchange you will serve me until you become of age. Once you reach eighteen, you may choose to continue to serve me until your death or until I free you, or take a different path than I."
Brown eyes widened and he nodded eagerly as he finished the rabbit.
A gloved hand halted his acceptance, "You will do everything I say and if you betray me; disobey an order or talk to my enemies, or tell anyone anything about me, I will kill you. Are we clear?"
Stannis nodded sombrely, the red-head inclined her head, presenting him with a dagger, and he wiped his now empty hands on his trousers before accepting the gift.
It was sheathed in glittering silver and had an imprint of a black bird on the pommel.
Stannis took it gently, feeling its reassuring weight and turned it over to draw the blade. The dagger slid from its sheath with a metallic hiss and he could see his reflection in the steel.
"Thank you," he said in awe as he sheathed the blade and cradled it lovingly on his lap.
The red-head inclined her head slightly.
"Tell me, "she commanded softly, "What do you know how to do? Can you read and write? Do you have any particular skill set? What are your interests? Tell me everything there is to know about you."
Stannis gulped, "Ah, well meh ma taught me some letters, an I like plants."
"Your mother?" The red-head asked
"She's dead," replied the boy shortly.
Purple eyes narrowed on him, and the warrior appeared to be in deep thought. "First things first, then," she said as she got to her feet.
"Ash," she said softly, her voice warming as she looked over to the stallion, who trotted over to meet her.
"Stannislavonides, come."
The boy scrambled to his feet, leaning heavily on his one good leg, tucking the dagger into the band of his pants and hesitantly approached the pair.
"This is Ashnidanté," the warrior spoke, fondly patting the horses neck, "He is my mount for combat, travel and pleasure."
"Hullo," said the boy meekly, for the stallion towered above him and even though he knew nothing about horse flesh, he could tell this one was as deadly as his rider.
"Put your palm out and let him sniff you," instructed the red-head as she moved over to her saddlebags and removed her grooming kit.
Stannis did as he was told, and the soft warm skin of the horse tickled his hand, "'t's soft," smiling he gently stroked the horses nose.
"Ok, I will teach you how to groom him, then tomorrow I'll have you do it yourself, so pay attention."
Stannis stood back and looked to the grooming gear his teacher had set out to show him. There were several brushes, a weird shaped hook, a few cloths, and some containers.
"Everyone has their own system for grooming their mounts, and when you get your own pony you can groom him however you like."
The red-head picked up one of the brushes; it was quite thick and had quite strong looking bristles in sparse spaces along the bottom. "This brush brings dirt and dust to the surface of the coat and loosens mud. You brush the way of the hair," she instructed, showing Stannis how to use the brush.
Stannis nodded and limped closer, eager to learn everything so she wouldn't kill him, or worse, leave him behind when she left. The afternoon continued with the red-head explaining various points of the horse, brushes and then taking him through the movements of grooming. She then explained what was in each of the containers and when they would be used, like for strengthening the hooves or salve on a cut or bite and others to keep away worms, flea's and lice. Throughout it all Ashnidanté stood calmly in the sun, appearing to enjoy the attention and grooming, even though it was basic.
Then she left him too it, picking up her bow and quiver before vanishing into the woods, calling over her shoulder, "Okay, groom him. He'll let you know if you're doing something he doesn't like."
It was nearing dark when she returned, and Stannis had achingly groomed each part of the horse until he was gleaming like polished leather. There had been several mishaps, where the stallion had danced out of reach of the brush until he had the correct one, but otherwise the horse was very patient with him, even going down onto his knees so that Stannis could reach his back. Tired Stannis had flopped down onto the grass next to the horse and left him to return to grazing, his muscles feeling like jelly, his stomach grumbling and his leg pulsing in agony.
Ashnidanté snorted a greeting and then resumed eating as she moved into the clearing and lowered her bow and arrow onto the ground, next to the tree where she had laid her cloak. A large sack swung from her belt and he could see the blood stains in the fabric.
Watching her Stannis had a question, "Where's ya armour?" For she wasn't wearing the black and silver armour she had worn when he first saw her and it hadn't occurred to him until he saw her approaching.
"I only wear it when I need to," she said calmly, " right now it isn't necessary, we are the only people in the wood."
Stannis nodded and looked at her as though to ask another question, but thought better of it and stared at the ground.
She ignored him for a moment as she tugged the sack from her belt and opened it, revealing more meat than Stannis had ever seen in his life. There were bones sticking out of some of it and there were other strips with the paleness of fat on the outside. His stomach chose that moment to loudly announce itself and he flushed before averting his eyes when she glanced over to him in what he hoped was amusement, it was hard for him to tell, her face was like a blank marble carving.
She disappeared into the small cabin and returned moments later with a saddlebag, made of black leather and embroidered with silver. She then removed a large pot, a bowl, a small board and two leather bundles. She opened the smaller bundle first, he saw a set of cutlery, neatly encased within their pouches, and there was a small hole cut into the leather where a container was fastened. She selected a sharp looking knife, more delicate than her dagger, and began to cut a few strips of the meat into small chunks. "Is there a supply store or tavern that will be willing to trade that?" She asked him after a few moments, nodding in the direction of the reminding meat.
Stannis thought for a moment, "Not round 'ere, but Granny Bo's got everythin'".
The warrior nodded in reply before looking to him fully, "Can you light a fire?"
The boy shook his head and moved forward as she beckoned, "First you need to collect dry twigs and sticks, then you add the bigger branches and logs later, once the fire is hungry."
"Fortunately for you, I already collected enough wood and kindling for tonight yesterday, but the job will be yours tomorrow." Stannis nodded as she removed a small container from her kit, the lid had scratches in it, as though it was struck frequently. She opened it and tilted the lid towards him, the container held a cloudy looking substance it in, yellow like aged wax, and she dipped a finger in and spread it onto the top of the lid. Then she closed it and whipped a dagger up from her boot, Stannis nearly fell back in surprise, then she angled the container and the blade and struck down. A series of sparks burst along the top of the lid and into the air. "The sparks need fuel that they can ignite, it should be light, or condense so that there is a lot of fuel to light."
She showed him a small bundle of sundried material; it looked like it contained some sort of flax and even some moss. She then placed it on the ground and struck the blade on the lid, towards the earth. Tiny flames sparked from the lid and rained down onto the fuel, flickering slightly and smoking. She leant forward and blew gently on the embers, softly giving them air and they burnt away at the moss, little ripples of orange eating away at the material. Abruptly through the smoke it burst into flames, and the red-head tucked it beneath the small twigs in the fire, watching it intently as they began to burn. She replaced the container into her kit and then moved to her other leather bundle.
"Go and get some water from the well," she instructed as she opened the leather. It was about as long as her arm, and maybe half as thick. She opened the clasps and spread it out onto the ground and he saw that they were spices and herbs, ingredients for cooking. Stannis limped over to the well and lowered the bucket into the hole, the rope disappearing into the darkness of the earth. He lifted the water and detached the bucket before hauling it over to the woman near the fire.
She had taken a long branch and places it across two "y" shaped branches which she had dug into the ground, the pot was hanging in the middle, swaying slightly above the flames. Pointing to the pot, the warrior-woman instructed Stannis to pour the water in and return the bucket to the well.
Meat and herbs all fell into the pot shortly afterwards and Stannis took a seat next to the fire, watching the flames.
As night fell the red-head spooned some meat into a bowl and handed it Stannis, who snatched forward to grab it. She jerked it backwards away from his grasping hands, "You will not eat like a savage," she ordered him sternly, offering the bowl back to him. Slowly Stannis took the bowl, sank back onto the grass, and began to eat, breathing on the broth. "I don't have any supplies right now so it won't taste as good, we will get some tomorrow."
After his hard day Stannis thought the hot food tasted amazing and said so. The woman barked a laugh, the first he had ever heard from her, and he nearly choked on his last mouthful in surprise, he hadn't even thought she could smile, let alone laugh.
"What you did today isn't even work, let alone hard," she said coolly, lifting purple eyes to meet his, "but I will accept nothing short of perfect health before that starts." Stannis gulped and handed the bowl back to her. She took the spoon and helped herself to some broth before eating it calmly and with deliberation, watching him all the while. When she had finished, and the pot was empty, she finally spoke.
"When you are ready, clean these," she nodded to the bowl, utensils, board, and pot, "then we begin our first lesson."
Eager to start Stannis clambered to his feet, ignoring how his leg twitched beneath his weight and nearly gave way. He hurried to do his chores, wondering what she was going to teach him, fingering the blade at his side, hoping she would teach him how to use it. He got clean water from the well and rinsed the used utensils and bowls, accepting a cloth to wipe them down. His movements were sluggish, exhaustion being kept at bay by only his excitement. She watched him work, purple eyes appraising his every grimace and wince of pain before she finally stood as he approached her with the clean cooking equipment.
"I want you to circle around the clearing until I tell you to stop," she ordered, and Stannis felt the blood run from his face, "at a jog." She turned and made her way into the cabin and left the boy standing in shock looking after her. Feeling torn Stannis remained where he was, next to the warmth of the fire, wondering whether he make a run for it, or not do as she ordered. But the weight of the blade at his side halted those thoughts, she had agreed to teach him, and he had agreed to obey her every order.
Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders he turned and walked to the edge of the clearing, marking his starting point at a large tree and forced his weary body into a jog. His leg flared with every footfall and he was almost dizzy with exhaustion, he didn't think he would last very long, but he would try to do as his Mistress had asked.
The stars and moon guided his path, but he still managed to find rocks and tree roots and he fell several times, somehow finding the energy and courage to get back to his feet. Eventually he fell and couldn't get to his feet, panting and trembling in exhaustion and pain he began to sob into the grass, the harsh, earthy scent of the earth filling his burning lungs as he wept.
He didn't hear her approach, but felt her nudge to his ribs with her boot and heard her order him to face her. Slowly he turned and did as she asked, forcing himself to at least sit at her feet as he kept his watery eyes on her gleaming boots.
"Look at me," she ordered. Stannis flinched at her cold tone, fearful for his life but unable to muster the energy to move. Hesitantly his eyes rose to meet hers and to his surprise she sank down onto her haunches, peering intently at him.
"You have disappointed me," she said softly and clearly after moments of appraisal, and Stannis felt tears gathering once more at the corner of his eyes.
"Do you know why?"
The young boy had a feeling she was wanting an answer but she continued, "Do you remember what you vowed to earlier when you accepted my dagger?"
Stannis nodded, keeping fearful eyes on hers, wondering if he would die now. "I failed. I didn't do as you ordered."
The red-head nodded sharply, "Yes, you did fail." Tears began to leak from his eyes once more and he lowered his head in submission.
"But do you remember what I vowed to you in return?" Stannis' head snapped up and he looked at her with wide eyes.
"As your teacher if is my responsibility to take care of your wellbeing until you become of age, or have the means to do so yourself." Purple eyes drifted down to his leg, where the bite was weeping through his pant leg. "I cannot do that if you do not ask or tell me when you need something."
Stannis' eyes widened further and he stared at her in disbelief, "W-what?" he asked again.
"Let me make something very clear. I will not always know when there is something bothering you, so never be afraid to tell me something you think I need to know, or to ask any questions." Amethyst eyes drilled into his own, pinning him in place as she spoke softly but fiercely. "Short of my personal life, I will answer every question you have, within reason, and I will assist you in an endeavour you desire, while you are my student, again within reason."
Stannis couldn't believe his ears, and it was with great trepidation that he asked, "Can-can you f-fix my l-leg?"
She stood abruptly, and nodded, beckoning with one hand she strode over to the fire. "Come."
Stannis slowly pulled his aching body upright and stumbled over to where she was now sitting, next to the fire. The pot was once again boiling over the fire and there was a second bucket next to it, as well as another small leather case. Next to it there was a large container, but he couldn't see what was inside it. It occurred to him, as he sat, that she had known all along about his leg, and was merely waiting for him to approach her and ask her to heal him.
He flopped down next to her and at her instruction, pulled back his worn and threadbare pant leg, rolling the dirty fabric up to his knee, exposing the bite in the middle of his calf. His wound wept and oozed a mixture of blood and pus and smelt something awful. The surrounding flesh was raw and swollen and there were vines of red stretching up and down his leg as infection spread.
Purple eyes scanned the leg in consideration, "Do you want me to do it, or do you want to?" she asked as she held out a dripping cloth. Stannis blanched as he glanced between the cloth and the steaming bucket of water next to her. "The surrounding area needs to be clean before it can be fixed."
Stannis grit his teeth, "You do it," he said and she nodded, "This will hurt, but if you struggle it will only make this worse."
His Mistress dipped the cloth into the bucket once more and grabbed his leg in a very strong grip with her other hand. Stannis howled as she firmly pressed down on the area around his wound, and reflectively jerked in her grip, or he tried to. The pressure she was exerting on his leg tightened in warning and he obediently stilled, panting in fear of the pain. She proceeded to systematically clean the wound, washing the cloth in the bucket every so often, an earthy smell of herbs wafting on the air as she did so. When she was satisfied the area was clean, she placed the cloth into the boiling water and let it simmer over the fire, and she took the leather case and flung the clasps open.
"How do you want it fixed," she asked, peering at him intently, "naturally, or would you like some help with magic." Stannis blinked at her, and then looked at his wound, "Naturally," he said, nodding sharply. Red hair glittered in the fire-light as she tilted her head to examine him, "Why? Magic would be far less painful and you would heal much faster.
"Magic's bad," Stannis said sternly, eyeing the warrior as though she had done something socially unacceptable, like relieving herself in a public place. He conveniently forgot that the woman before him was a Mage, it hadn't occurred to him since she had only threatened him with physical harm.
Purple eyes drilled into him, "Explain, why is Magic bad?"
Stannis drew himself up, "'Cause they can hurt people, they cause all the bad things to happen, they're evil! An' they worship pagan God's and-"
He was halted by a gloved hand rising, "I have heard enough. Your dagger," she said, holding out her hand. Stannis deflated slightly, "What?"
"Give me your dagger," she ordered, eyeing him sharply and when he hesitated her eyes narrowed dangerously, "Now."
The boy hurriedly handed the blade over and she examined it, sliding it from its sheath. "Tell me, Stannis." She said softly, and the boy stiffened, for he could sense something uncurling in the air around him. "Is this dagger "good" or is it "bad?"
Brown eyes blinked in confusion, "Ah, good?"
"Why is it good?"
"'cause its mine and it protects me?" Stannis edged, wondering where this conversation was going.
Purple eyes looked up from the blade, " What if you were to kill or injure someone with it? If someone attacked you and you had no choice but to use it, would it still be good?"
Stannis paused before nodding, "Yeah, because it protected me." The red-head nodded, "And if it were to be stolen and used to kill and rob someone, would it still be good?"
Stannis shook his head sharply, and his fingers itched to take his weapon back.
"What is the difference then, between the two examples I just asked of you?" Stannis blinked, he didn't understand the question, so she repeated herself.
"What is the difference between you killing someone with it to protect yourself, and someone else killing with it to steal?"
"Because I was using it ta keep me safe, an' he was usin' it to do somethin' bad?"
The warrior returned the blade to him, "So the blade itself is neither good nor bad?"
Stannis cradled the blade possessively and returned it to his hip, "Yeah, guess. 'tis how ya use it an' why."
The red-head nodded, and Stannis thought that if she were capable of it, she would have smiled at him, "Very good, Stannis." The boy beamed, feeling as though sunlight were warming him from the inside out.
"That blade is a weapon; it can be used for good, to protect yourself, and for bad, to hurt someone else. The dagger is neither good nor bad; it merely depends on how it is used."
She glanced at him as she removed on of her gloves, "Magic is the exact same as your dagger," she instructed, as a ball of fire appeared in her upturned palm. Stannis gave a yelp and scrambled backwards, she tracked his movements calmly. "I will certainly not deny that those with magic can do bad things, but so could a robber with a blade. Magic is like any tool, it is the wielder that holds the power, the wielder who decides what it gets used for."
She flung the ball of fire at a nearby tree, the branches instantly alighting and casting a fiery glow over that side of the clearing. Stannis was petrified as the flames hungrily lapped at the sky. "I can use it to harm," she said, flicking a second ball of fire at the tree next to it, "Or I can use it to heal." She flicked her wrist and a purple glow settled over the trees, extinguishing the flame. The bark was charred and the branches drooped as though laden with black ink. As Stannis watched, the magic settled over the entire tree and then dissolved inside of it, a few moments later the trees seemed to straighten, leaves burst into life along twigs and branches stretched forth into the sky. The two trees were as healthy as they were before she set them ablaze, if not even more lush and vibrant.
She replaced her glove as Stannis glanced between her and the trees, "Bad people with power will always cause destruction and death, whether it is by armies, laws or by magic."
Stannis slowly rose to his feet as he thought over what she had said and what he had seen.
"Now, would you like to be healed magically or naturally, or a mixture of both?" The red-head asked him as she nodded to his leg.
Hesitantly he returned to her side at the fire, "What is both?" He was still suspicious of the Gift, but he couldn't deny that her words had made him consider his thoughts on the subject.
"I'll use some healing salve and also stitch the wound closed if it needs it," she replied as she returned her attention to the leather case.
The young boy nodded, "'kay."
She held out a small container to him, it had some form of sluggish liquid in it, like the sap from a tree. "Rub this over the wound, even inside if you can bare the pain, but wash your hands first."
Stannis hastened to obey and dug his fingers along the top of the salve; it was surprisingly cool to touch. He ran his fingers along the length of the dog bite and shivered, the gel felt wonderful on his inflamed skin and instantly the ache began to fade to a dull throbbing. Tucking the container back into the case the red-head examined the bite, "It should heal well enough on its own, provided you keep it clean and use the salve twice a day." She unfolded a piece of cloth from the case and held it out, "I'll wrap it today, and then you will do it from now on." She instructed as she moved the cloth around his leg. "You want to keep it tight, tight enough to stay there and apply pressure, but not enough to constrict movement and blood flow." She proceeded to wrap his wound, taking time to show him how to position the bandage.
"You will change the bandage it in the morning and before you go to bed, as well as washing it and applying the salve." She looked up at him, "You should be fully healed in a week or so."
She rose fluidly to her feet and walked from the fire, taking the case and the buckets with her as she made her way to the edge of the forest. She emptied them and returned them to the well where she rinsed them and then gathered water for Ashnidanté. Stroking the horse fondly she walked to her saddlebags and tossed the boy a bed-mat, "Goodnight, Stannislavonides," she said as she vanished into the small cabin.
"G'night," the boy called after her as he unrolled the bedroll and found a blanket inside. Curling up next to the fire he pulled the blanket over himself, "G'night Ash..." he fell asleep before he could get the stallions full name out. In the darkness the stallion snorted and moved closer to the boy, prepared to stand guard over him for the night.
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Light crept over the silent city as a black blur moved through the street, the thud of shod hooves on cobblestones oddly distorted by the fog that seemed to cling to the earth. The boy at the front of the saddle yawned and huddled back into the warmth radiating from the figure behind him, before jerking upright as though remembering where he was and whom he was leaning against. The rider made no movement in response to this action but merely guided the horse forward, one gloved hand holding the reins and the other fingering a sword hilt. Slung across the horse's back was a cloth bag, stained red with blood and there was an animal hide bound to the saddle.
The horse snorted as they moved down the street and tossed his head, as the taller of the two riders spoke from beneath a hood, "Where is this Granny Bo to be found?"
"Opposite the tavern, but she helps there sometime," said the boy. "She's been 'ere for eva 'parently, and when I first came here, she fed me."
The pair was silent for a few more moments and their stillness was broken by the boys fidgeting and shivering. After a moment the rider spoke, "I will get you some more clothes shortly."
The boy shook his head, "That's not it," he said, even as a second shiver ran down his spine.
"Then why are you fidgeting?"
There was a moment pause before the boy burst out, "What am I to call you?"
There was a splash as the horse moved through a puddle and then the boy spoke again, "I mean, you don't want people to know you?"
"Hunter," said the rider shortly, "you can call me Hunter. And it might be best if you don't use pro-nouns when talking of me."
The boy blinked in the saddle and opened his mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it.
"A pronoun is a means of address, like what you call someone or something, it is identification, like she, he, they, we, and I. So if you are talking about me, just use my name, Hunter."
"Is that your real name?" Stannis asked shrewdly as Hunter swung him forward off the saddle and onto the ground outside the store.
Hunter slid gracefully from the saddle in a swish of black silk, "No, but that's all you will get, for now."
She took the reins and slung them over the saddle, "I'll call you," she instructed the stallion as she stroked his neck. The horse snorted but allowed her to remove the bag of meat before trotting off, and Hunter strode up the steps to the store, and swung the door open, the boy hot on her heels.
Inside the store was dimly lit, the morning light doing little to combat the oppressive darkness of neglect and despair. There were nets hanging from the beams that held the roof, and there were apparel in disorder around the room. The surfaces showed evidence of dusting, but it was clear that the proprietor had little time or willingness to combat the dirt and grime of the store. There were barrels of what looked like clothing and mismatched tables with household items on them. A few rusty weapons and tools hung from poorly built brackets on the wall and in the corner there appeared to be fishing gear. In all the store was rundown and had a mixture of everything and nothing to sell, there was even what looked like an old saddle holding up a corner of a table.
Hunter lowered the bag of meat onto the counter and nodded over at the barrel, "Pick something, kid. Get several pairs of trousers and shirts, and more loincloths," she paused, "and some socks. Socks are good." Stannis blinked at her odd choice of wording but made his way to the barrel and began to pick through the sizes.
The door opened behind them and they both turned to see an elderly lady framed in the sunlight, she had her mouth open and eyes narrowed, as though she were about to burst into an angry tirade. Stannis immediately stepped back from the barrel, dropping his clothing choices, and gulping.
"Just what do you-." She abruptly deflated as she caught site of the figure beyond the boy. Unlike the black and silver armour she had worn on her appearance to the town, today Hunter was dressed in fine black cloth and wore high quality but well-worn leather boots. Her shape and face were hidden by the layers of silk and her hood, and she had a sword at her side. The fabric on her legs and forearms was strangely loose, clearly comfort clothing, though she had strapped a set of vambraces to arms, and wore leather gloves.
Granny Bo cleared her throat, "H-how many I help you?"
The hooded head turned over to look at the bench, where the sack of meat still sat, "The kid will have whatever clothes he wants, and we'll trade for the meat."
Granny Bo turned from the two and walked over to the meat, eyes greedily roving the sack. Fresh meat was rare in these parts, few people had the skill, and weapons necessary to catch the sparse game there was. After several minutes of searching, Stannis had two new trousers, three new shirts, some loincloths, a large fur-lined jacket, and a pile of socks.
Hunter moved from the wall and approached the boy, "Do you have boots or foot-ware?" This was directed at the woman behind the counter, who had taken out the meat and had placed it into piles.
She nodded to a small box beneath a wonky table and continued to weigh and measure the cuts of meat, making notes on a dusty piece of parchment.
"Pick some shoes," Hunter instructed to the boy as she made her way over to the counter with a bundle of leather in her hand.
She placed the bundle on the counter and lent against it calmly as the woman and boy went about their chores, choosing to eye the elderly woman curiously.
Grey hair was pulled back in a messy bun at the nape of her neck and she wore a well-worn and patched dress, a mixture of repairs evident of its age. Still, she was clean and her hands were very efficient as they manipulated the meat and wrote down some figures.
After a moment she lowered her quill and looked at Hunter. "I can give you seventy-four silver nobles for the meat." There was a moment silence, disrupted only by the sound of Stannislavonides discarding a pair of large and worn boots. "Surely you jest," said Hunter calmly, for an entire deer- skinned and gutted- was worth at least three times that amount. Granny Bo began to sweat, "I'm afraid that's all I can offer you."
Stannis stood from where he sat surrounded by piles of clothing and boots, "I got some," he said as he clambered over the piles towards the counter. A gloved hand rose and flicked in his direction and the clothes and shoes he didn't want folded themselves back into their boxes and barrels. A bead of sweat ran down Granny Bo's head and wobbled on the corner of her jaw as the items Stannis wanted came to fold themselves on the counter top, next to the leather bundle.
"Even with your purchases," she nodded shakily to the clothing, leather, and boots, "I don't have enough- I can't afford…" She trailed off as Hunter swept her cloak back from her side, gloved hand falling to the sword hilt and wrapped around it. Bringing out a bag of coins the elderly woman paled and began to stammer, "I-is there a-anything e-else you w-would like?"
A cold silence was met from Hunter, but Stannis, feeling the rising tension, spoke to Granny Bo. "Thanks for feeding me."
Kind elderly eyes looked down at the boy, eager to have an excuse not to look at the warrior in front of her, "You are welcome, son," she smiled.
Hunter sighed, but removed her hand from the blade and swept the bundle of clothes into her arms, snatching the bundle of leather before pivoting and striding from the store. Stannis blinked and trotted after her, snatching the coin pouch and waving at Granny as he left.
Out in the sunshine Carson and Theon were waiting against the hitching post, evidently someone had spread the word they were in town. Hunter ignored their presence and whistled sharply for Ashnidanté as Stannis stumbled down the steps and made his way to his mistress, handing her the coin bag.
"Stranger, we need to speak with you," said the dark-skinned one as he moved around Carson to stand next to Hunter.
There was a clattering of hooves as the stallion approached, charging forward in a mass of black muscle. Theon gulped and shifted on his feet as the horse showed no notion of halting. He took a step back as the horse slid to a stop in front of Hunter, snorting in excitement of his brief sprint. Hunter took a saddle bad off the saddle and began to put clothes inside it, tossing a pair of socks and the boots at Stannis.
"What do you want?"
Carson cleared his throat, "We would like ta invite ya to Castle Ashran for a meetin' 'bout the reinforcements."
Hunter proceeded to buckle the full bag back onto the saddle.
"It's at three after noon," said Theon, pointing to a series of buildings in the distance, " And is that way, ya can't miss it."
Hunter grunted in acknowledgement as she swung up into the saddle and reached down to help Stannis up. Theon and Carson watched the duo ride off, "Reckon he'll show?"
Carson shrugged and turned from his friend, "Dunno, come on. We have to spread the word. You talk to Granny and I'll go see Spike."
Theon nodded as Carson walked towards the beach, and turned to watch the rider and child get smaller and smaller. He didn't think Clayton's plan would work without the aid of the strange but skilled fighter.
xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx
The afternoon sun filtered through several arched windows and across the tables in the Great Hall. There were about a hundred men and women, various ages, gathered in the hall. These people were the leaders and known-figures of the community as well as other townsfolk that were interested in how the Lord and his family were going to get them out of the mess they found themselves in.
Clayton stood next to his father, a balding black-haired man that carried himself as though the weight of the world were on his shoulders, a posture his eldest son was beginning to mimic. Clayton's sister, a slender girl with a rounded face was sitting at a windowsill, playing a game with one of her dolls. Men and women were scattered around the room, talking in groups or just watching the proceedings. His father's few remaining guards were positioned around the room, mingling with the town's people, and his ill mother's ladies-in-waiting were sitting demurely in the corner, whispering to each other and his mother as the meeting was called to order.
"All right," called Fredrick Ashran, Lord Ashran, "If you can all take a seat, we can get started."
He nodded to the doorway, where two guards hastened to close the great doors. They were pushed back with a harsh shove of the doors, both swinging open to reveal a tall figure in black, with a small boy at his side.
The warrior moved into the room and casually leaned against one of the walls, the boy sticking to his side like a bur.
Fredrick cleared his throat, "Thank you for coming." The warrior inclined his hooded head in an obvious movement, clearly exaggerated to allow the audience to see his reply.
The Lord Ashran clasped his callused hands together, "Thank you all for coming. Now, we need to decide what we are to do. I have no doubt that all of you are aware of the situation that has befallen us. We have very little here, we are dying, and our children," the Lord faltered and glanced over to his young daughter, "have even bleaker prospects than we do."
Carson and Theon moved to stand next to Clayton as his father continued. "We have reports which tell us that two squadrons are on their way because the Wardens sent for backup."
A voice called from the crowd, "Yeah, only 'cause you killed 'em all!" There was an agreed murmuring from some of the crowd, with others admitting it needed to be done.
Clayton stepped forward and cut across the noise. "I was not alone in my actions," he declared strongly, his voice ringing out, "I am only sorry for the hurt that it caused." He paused and waited for all eyes and ears to turn to him, "But we have been dying for years, slowly wasting away like rocks on the shore. We have to decide what to do, do we leave or do we stay?"
A second voice called out, "The Warden's will kill us if Bucaic doesn't meet them, which he can't because you killed him!" The speaker was a middle-aged man with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes. He was prematurely aged through harsh conditions and he was shaking with rage as he pointed a finger at the young boy. Around him people were agreeing, and there were murmurs of giving Clayton up and hoping the Wardens left them alone.
"The Warden's have been killing us for years!" Shouted Carson, defending his friend. Clayton nodded in thanks and turned to an elderly lady sitting near him, "Granny Bo, how did your son die?"
Granny Bo looked at him sharply, "You know how he died."
"Yes," said Clayton, "but tell us all again."
The elderly woman straightened, and all eyes were on her as she began to speak, he voice never wavering as it had earlier in fear. "He defended me when I didn't have enough money to give to the Warden's. Instead of hanging me, they beat him to death and left him to die in my arms."
Clayton nodded, "Exactly, we have all known someone who has been killed for less."
"Who are you to make decisions for us, boy?!" Yelled the man once again, and Clayton visibly took a deep breath and Fredrick had to halt his guards from moving on the speaker.
"The reason we have called this meeting is for us all to decide," said Fredrick harshly, sweeping forward and demanding attention. "We may be Ashran's," he gestured to his family, "but you are our people and our responsibility. We cannot make your decisions for you, we have nothing left to give."
The crowd fell silent and there was a shuffling of movement until Clayton spoke again. "The Wardens are coming, and they won't let us go without punishment. So we stay and hope they are merciful, or we leave. Either way we have two days to decide. The first squadron gets here on the fourth, and the second one gets here on the sixth." The audience began to speak to their neighbours and there were several moments of undiscernible chatter before a voice spoke.
"Or, we could hand your family over to be punished instead of us!" The guards had barely moved on the middle-aged man before he gave a yelp. The warrior had snatched some knives off the bench in front of him and had sent them sailing through the air. The speaker was now pinned to the bench with blades through his sleeves. He gulped and opened his mouth to unleash his fear-turned-anger on the warrior when his tirade died in his throat. The warrior was leaning against the wall, flicking a much bigger blade between his gloved fingers. After a moment he sun it around and sent it spiralling towards the roof, snatching it by the hilt as it came down. The hood shifted and turned to face the speaker, a gloved hand rising and placing a finger to invisible lips. The dirty-blonde haired man gulped and tried to make himself as small as possible, the threat to his life very clear.
"You missed," said Stannis, turning to look up into the hood. A cold chuckle echoed throughout the hall, "I don't miss."
The warrior straightened and began a slow and calculated walk down the room towards the Ashran's, guards hesitantly jumping to place themselves between the threat he possessed and their Lord's. "Stay or go," mused the warrior coldly, "You will die if you stay here, and yet if you leave there is nowhere to go." A hundred people watched him stalk up the centre of the room, cloak billowing out behind him.
"It's simple really," said the warrior. "When the Warden's get here most of you," he looked around the room as he turned his back on the guards, dismissing them as a threat, "will die immediately. Those who don't will have to watch as their wives, sisters and daughters are raped and their children sold into slavery. Those that remain will slowly die until this place becomes a ghost town. Those that leave will have to wander, until they find a home, but who would take you in?"
The crowd was silently watching as the warrior wove a spell with his words for they knew them to be true. "If you hand over your Lord's, he inclined his head in the direction of the Ashran's, "there is no guarantee that the Wardens still won't do what they always do." Members of the crowd were nodding in agreement.
"You only have one choice," finished the warrior as he turned to face the Ashran's, a powerful gaze pinning them in place from beneath a hood.
"What would you have us do?" This voice was weak but clear and the warrior turned to see Lady Ashran on her feet, her ladies assisting her with standing.
"Mother," Clayton said as he made to approach her, but she halted him by lifting a pale and skeletal hand. "I do not want to see my son and daughter," she paused and looked to the townspeople, "any of our sons and daughters, go through what we have gone through. Our children are our life, but they have no hope for theirs, nor for their children. So tell me, Warrior, what would you have us do?" She repeated and stared at the warrior, glassy eyes peering out from a sunken face.
The warriors reply sent the hall into an uproar, with some calling out in outrage and others screaming at their neighbour that they were wrong. "I would have them dead. Dead before they can kill your children. Kill them before they can kill you."
Author's Note:
Hey all (no personal replies today, sorry), reaching the last month of University and am swamped with assignments, revision and soon (shudder) exams. So hope you enjoy this filler (yes- I admit that it is a filler (which is why I made it so long)) chapter. Wishing you well,
CDL