= Chapter 26 =
Comment on Chapter 26 Chapter-Pov. The sea... an endless expanse of blue appeared before him. How long had they been sailing for? Lately, he had begun to judge time by wasted supplies - and by his calculations it had been a full three weeks since the encounter with the monsters. Provisions were still plentiful, but in his heart of hearts Harlow dreaded the factor of their end.
Some of the sailors had tried fishing, with plenty of tackle and rods, but they had not had much success. Torgon the Rifleman, being a sturdy and not superstitious man (and certain sailors were even afraid to go outside after encountering a sea serpent), was the only one who was lucky enough to catch a fat meal, similar to the usual perch from the Riverlands.
Many had already wished to taste the caught perch purely out of interest, but the ship's experienced cook, Kwelly, warned that the fish might be poisoned and asked Harlow for a silver stag to test it while cooking. The coin was blackened by the poison and the unknown fish had to be discarded.
- Fish are not infrequently poisonous in the great seas, M'lord Erich,' said Quelly, 'I remember when I was on the ship of a Lordsport merchant and we were sailing through the South Sea, and some fools wanted to fish in the sea, and in a few days half the crew went sick and died of it.
Erich, though an experienced sailor, had only heard by ear why it was wrong to fish in the big seas. But now he was convinced of the reason.
The Sunset Sea was too big. Even bigger than the Southern Great Sea.
The Maesters called them oceans, but the Ironborn had a long tradition of calling them by the familiar name: 'Great Seas.'
The days passed slowly and uneventfully. A few sailors fell ill with scurvy, but the men were cured with lemon juice. Sometimes storms raged, but their strength could not compare to that cherished sea storm when they faced sea monsters.
True, and the Stubborn no longer looked as beautiful and lovely as it used to. The sea, storms, and ocean creatures had taken their toll on the ship.
His thoughts were occupied not only with the constant control of discipline on the ship. He thought of his father, of his mentor, who had fallen ill, and of Kuora. He thought of his brothers and his place in the world. What had happened to Lord Theon?
Was he able to cope with the serious illness or did he die? The latter was not something he wanted to think about. Despite the quarrel, Erich could not imagine a world without the Warlock King. The image of Pike's lord was too fixed in his mind. Harlow leaned tiredly against the wall of the captain's quarters.
Drowned God, how long had he been sailing? But the desire to reach something, at least the edge of the world was stronger.
Maybe they would end up at the end of the world, and fall into the abyss by swimming across it?
'Our world is round and has no edge,' his mentor had told him, to which Erich had twisted his face incredulously then, being still small and foolish. This was confirmed by the old maester in his father's fiefdom.
- Captain! M'lord! - Frantically the youngster Upland burst in. Without knocking or permission, which caused Erich's reflexive anger at the foolish boy, but the next words immediately cooled the rage:
- Earth! We've seen land!
He looked at him uncertainly, and Erich, holding back the disbelief in his voice, asked:
-Earth? An island?
- It's definitely not an island, M'Lord Harlow! And if it is, it's too big!
As he stepped out of the cabin and onto the deck, Erich looked ahead. The Myrian glass was immediately in front of his eye, but the strip of land on the horizon was visible to the naked eye. The sailors came out and crowded round the bow of the ship, looking at the streak in the distance.
Looking closely, Erich had the impression that he was looking at the shores of the Expanse or the West. The scenery was too similar. But certain details introduced doubt and the realisation that this was not Westeros. The foolish thought that they had sailed back flashed and never entered his mind again.
- Mind your own business,' Harlow bellowed, echoed by the XO. The sailors scattered like rats, carefully pretending to be very busy,' he said, 'course ashore. Prepare two boats.
In thirty minutes two small boats of four men each were on their way to land. Harlow stayed on the Stubborn, sending Jama, and appointed Euron Ostrolytsego as commander of the party, an experienced sailor with a reputation for confidence but a cautious shirt.
An hour later the men returned with surprising news.
The scouts sent out had learnt little, but rather suggestive information. Unusual flowering trees with pink petals, which Erich touched personally, huge shells the size of half a man, or strange pigs met near the shore. They were as tall as sailors and had a spotted appearance, reminiscent of the pigs of the Summer Isles.
And these were not all the unusual things told by Euron Ostrolitz or Craghorn. Harlow lit up with an irresistible desire to see everything in person and ordered all three boats, the maximum number having on the great galley, to be prepared.
'We may be able to replenish provisions and patch up Stubborn a bit.'
Harlow was soon able to take in the local vistas - summer reigned supreme in this land, hot and even arid. A sandy shore, occasional stony flecks of small stones and those very shells.
Huge, ugly, of the most varied shapes, they were impressive in their size. Hard to the touch, people poked with sticks inside, through wide openings, but the shells were empty.
- What a noise from the shells! - marvelled the faithful Jama, a black-skinned summer man, 'if the priestesses of Love had heard that song, they would have marvelled!
Harlow ignored the servant-slave's words, continuing to look around. Beyond the shore was a dense forest of pines and oaks, with thick foliage and the unfamiliar song of the local birds. The only thing that seemed familiar was the clatter of woodpeckers and the trill of sparrows.
- It's even warmer here than it was in Sprawl,' Erich muttered as he approached the forest. A brief look around yielded nothing.
He ordered the men to form a certain formation and they entered the dense forest. We must survey the terrain. The bag contained sheets of parchment and a worked drawing stone. It's worth roughly sketching out a map.
- Where do you think we are? - Harlow heard Torgon Scribe's words from behind him. The man had decided to join him after a long journey across northern Essos. He didn't mind a literate man on his ship. Torgon was not a good warrior, but being educated as well as the maesters of the Citadel overpowered that disadvantage.
Quelli scrutinised each bush for edible and non-poisonous berries. He sighed in surprise when he found strange bright red berries that looked something like a 'love apple,' an unusual red vegetable that came from as far away as I-Ti.
- Don't eat them. They're probably poisonous,' Quelly whispered fiercely to one of the sailors who yanked his hand towards the berries, 'see, the colour of blood? Poisonous, then!
They continued to survey the local forest. Erich saw the very trees with pink petals, with thick protruding roots and thick foliage.
The tree was so beautiful that all the ironborn gathered around it, gazing at such an exotic beauty.
- Could an ordinary tree be so beautiful?
- This is no ordinary tree,' Quelli said confidently, 'Drowned God, I wonder if these petals sharpen the flavour like oriental spices. We should gather a bag of those!
The ship's cook collected a whole small bag of these unusual petals. They continued to inspect and collect the unusual things.
Harlow saw strange spotted pigs, several of which the ironborn had managed to capture. The pigs were of a docile nature, despite living in the forest, and were not frightened of humans. They slaughtered one in the future on the shore and cooked it, lighting a fire beforehand.
'The local land does not appear to be inhabited, from which there is no fear of attracting attention.'
-Tasty! - said Upland, who was the first to taste the roast pork. The men began to watch the foolish young man closely, not realising that he had been used for testing purposes. Euron tried to hide a chuckle, and Jama stared at the reckless teenager uncomprehendingly. The rest of the sailors were silent.
For another half an hour the men hesitated to taste the meat, and only after that time had elapsed did they gorge themselves on the soft roasted flesh. And even without spices and seasonings it was quite tasty - Erich made sure of that when he tasted the pig last.
They returned to the ship and brought it closer to the shore. They needed to set up camp, replenish the provisions and make the Stubborn fit for use.
The men continued to explore the local land, catching unusually docile wild pigs, gathering edible berries and mending the galleys.
Quelli ground the rose petals into a fine crumble and tried adding them to the soup. The result was disgusting and the sailors scolded the cook privately for a long time. The leaves were very ordinary and contained no flavour mystery, which upset the ship's cook.
The Ironborn found another unusual tree, this time with red petals. Not tall, no more than two metres, their flowers resembled the tulips growing in Essos. The tree was named Bloody for the colour of its leaves.
The tree with pink petals was called the Noble Tree. Erich personally named this tree, the colour was too unusual and exotic.
On the second day of their stay, one of the warriors accidentally came across a new creature that lived in groves or forest glades. With a round head, almost two metres long, with diamond-shaped patterns on an anthracite background all over its body, it clung to the unlucky man's leg when he had the folly of stepping on it without noticing.
The snake is probably poisonous, so said Quelly, examining the woodland creeper chopped up with his sword. With horror and fear, the ironborn killed the creature immediately, but it had time to take its bite. An hour later, the man lay on the ground with a terrible fever - Erich personally put his palm to his forehead and was greatly surprised by the heat. It was too strong.
The ship's doctor patted the warrior with poultices and gave him a strange mixture. It did not help - by the next morning the warrior died foaming at the mouth. From then on the warriors walked carefully through the grass, examining almost every bush. The strange land was not as safe as it had seemed.
A few more people were poisoned by what appeared to be edible berries. It all turned out to be a mild illness and a long stay in the bushes.
On the fourth day they broke camp, having gathered a considerable supply of berries and short-dried meat, as well as bringing a couple of live pigs aboard. The repaired 'Stubborn' continued, as Erich had ordered, along the shore.
Harlow decided to explore the area a bit first, making the Scribe sketch a rough map of the shore. Could it be a large island? At one point they came upon the mouth of a wide river entering the sea.
Not thinking long, Erich equipped two boats with full crews and sent them towards the river, giving them two days to explore it.
The captain stayed on board, not wanting to take any risks. The fire of desire to be one of the first to see something new was still raging in his heart, but Erich held back. For some reason he remembered his teacher and his cautious nature.
They camped near the mouth of the river, where Harlow's men continued their exploration of the surrounding land. Torgon the Scribe was not around, having been sent out in the boats, so he wrote everything down himself.
A rather bulky, hard-shelled turtle, a quite familiar-looking sparrow or woodpecker with colourful feathers on its tips. The Ironborn had seen quite a few new animals or old ones over the two days, which surprised them even more.
Once again they encountered lowly pigs, a couple of poisonous snakes and many strange trees with brightly coloured leaves.
- We found no one, m'lord captain,' Torgon Scribe told him as the small band of ironborn returned, 'nothing special, just an ordinary but wide enough river, no man-eaters like the Summer Isles or huge snakes. No people either.
- Current?
- Strong, but we got through it,' Craghorn smiled, 'but it was too long, we didn't make it to the end. We had to turn back.
After examining the roughly drawn length of the river and the approximate terrain, Harlow ordered them to prepare to leave. They would continue their exploration of the unknown shore. The men looked excited and watched all of Erich's actions with great pleasure. One of the sailors even said:
-So the Lonely Light men were not lying and the Land of Eternal Summer really exists?
- Could it be the other side of Essos? - someone muttered. 'Of the lands beyond Asshai?'.
'The Stubborn continued its course close to the sandy shore. There were either no reefs or small islets, or they were in such a minority that they posed little danger with good steering.
Looking at the sandy shore, coastal forests, or blue sky floating by, he could only sigh. Too... beautiful? Compared to these lands, the Iron Islands were dull grey rocks in the middle of the sea.
Even the beauty of Braavos or Pentos paled in comparison to the natural beauty that thrived there.
Are these lands inhabited or empty? Is it an island or an entire continent, or perhaps the opposite shore of Essos? A multitude of questions filled Erich's thoughts.
'A few more days and it's time to return home. Supplies aren't too plentiful as it is, and the ship has suffered through storms and tempests.'
They stopped near a thick, coniferous forest. The three boats went ashore to gather supplies and explore the local land. This time Erich decided to be one of the first to go.
- Catch him, catch him! - laughed one of the ironborn, Urgent, as he chased after an unexpectedly perky pig that had run ashore. Several men immediately blocked its path, and the animal slammed into one of them with a shriek.
The prey was swaddled and neutralised. The pig squealed too loudly and had to be slaughtered, roasted and cooked immediately. Erich grinned as his crew merrily skirted the uninhabited shore, touching everything that seemed new and unusual.
But the mood was spoilt by the three men Erich had sent forward to scout. Without armour, in light shirts and trousers with deck long boots, they reported an unusual place found not far from the shore. Only four kilometres away.
- What kind of place? - Erich didn't understand the sailor's rambling explanation. With a crooked nose, the man frowned and looked around fearfully. What he saw threw him into consternation.
- A grove, m'lord captain. A dense one, where all the trees are either Noble or Bloody.
- The trees frightened you? - Euron Sharp-faced grinned, at which the sailor, whose name was Mack, could barely contain himself.
- Not the trees,' Mac replied grimly, 'but what was on them.
Harlow chewed his lip in frustration and ordered the men to prepare. Two crossbows cocked, and Erich's own lock steel flashed. Some of the thickets would have to be cut through, Mac said.
Twelve ironborn went into the forest, leaving a few to guard the boats. The scouts led them forward through the thicket. The men looked around warily and avoided particularly dense bushes, for fear of encountering snakes or other fearsome creatures.
There was the sound of birds trilling or insects chirping. Now, at noon, the nature in the forest lived its own life, paying no attention to strangers and uninvited guests. But the closer they got to the grove, the quieter the birds became.
The small beetles were silent, and they met no more animals like pigs or fat hares with spotted ears.
It took less than an hour to reach their desired destination. The scouts were nervous and answered vaguely, annoying their commander.
- Oh, Drowned God, what an absolute horror this is,' Scribe sighed, gripping the axe hilt tightly.
The Ironborn tensed, and Erich stared in shock at the sight before him.
The grove breathed antiquity. Tall Noble trees towered above them all, covering the sky with their thick foliage and cutting through the ground with thick roots. They were accompanied by their smaller counterparts, the Blood Trees, which could not boast of height, but were nevertheless four metres tall.
But that was not what frightened the seasoned pirates and travellers. The faces. Bloody faces on every tree, smiling, squirming in agony or grinning mouths. The feeling that each of them was looking at them made his heart clench in a cold grip. Among the frequent bare branches were bodies, naked, bloody and disembowelled. Human bodies.
Someone had brutally murdered these unfortunates and hung their entrails in the trees. Whoever it was, it was doubtful that they would be friendly to uninvited guests.
Some of the victims were pinned lower with ropes over their bloody faces. How many did Erich count?
'Nine.'
One of the bodies caught his eye. Through the vile stench of stench and decomposition, he walked to the centre of the grove, and then to one of the trees. Several ironborn reflexively followed him, guarding their commander.
Scaly skin, a long, bulging, dog-like head, noseless and with a large mouth. The creature before them could not be called human - too alien in build and appearance, too... frightening? Grimacing and disgusting? But even it was powerless before the unknown tormentors. Someone had cut open the creature like a ripe fruit and it smelled even more disgusting than dead people.
- What is this thing?! - Euron Sharp-faced muttered angrily. Harlow caught a glimpse of the young man who had moved too far away from Upland. He was about to call out to the young man, but the crackle and voices made them jerk and draw all their weapons.
The bolts of crossbows and the iron points of spears gleamed predatorily. The Ironborn tensed like springy strings.
Erich drew his blade and prepared to fight, looking round. But through the foliage and thick tree trunks, nothing could be seen accurately. It was dark enough here to require a torch or oil lamp. The two crossbowmen, without their customary pavements, strained to see, and suddenly one of them let loose a bolt. There was a 'strenk' sound and the bolt disappeared into the bushes, having been aimlessly wasted.
- What are you doing, you idiot! - quietly bellowed the second gunner at the nervous ironborn. Erich had already turned his head, wrinkling his face unhappily, as the latter, pouring cold sweat, reported:
- I saw it! Someone's head appeared from there, shaggy and creepy!
The captain was about to scold his negligent subordinate when he heard a howl that made him freeze and sigh noisily.
Blood boiled, demanding action to drown out the fear. The bushes rustled, the howl was repeated, and Erich shouted:
-Shoot! - A second bolt flew. There was a human cry of pain.
- Hold formation! Let's get out of here! - Harlow ordered through his rapidly pounding heart and noisy sighs.
What had happened had frightened Erich, despite his past experience. The whole situation seemed unbelievable and impossible. Clenching his sword to the point of pain, Harlow retreated from the grove, organised and fast. The howls were somewhere close, but those who emitted them dared not approach them.
They were able to leave the grove quietly, without a fight, but when the ironborn's feet were in the forest, the men broke formation and chose to scatter to the boats.
It was foolishness, but Harlow realised that he could do nothing - the warriors were frightened and didn't understand what was happening. They ran towards the boats. The wolf howls became polyphonic and intensified.
Through the thickets and the beaten path, a squad of ten fighters ran towards the shore, hearing someone's footsteps and voices behind them. Human speech, unknown and alien.
There was a clatter, and he caught a glimpse of an arrow embedded in the wood. The sound of stomping cut into his ears - a huge crowd, larger than themselves by an order of magnitude, was running after them.
Turning round for a moment, Erich was stunned. Bronze and spears gleamed in the light of the bright sun. Unidentified figures in no small number were chasing them, swift as predators. Harlow increased his speed, feeling tired. Had they worn armour, they would have fallen in the first kilometre, but fear and adrenaline drove them on.
No one shouted, no one spoke. Everyone kept their breath and tried not to look back. The wolf howls of the enemies drove them on as well as the whip.
The two ironborn who were standing by the boats understood everything without words - the boats were already untied and the people who came running, frightened to the point of primal terror, quickly began to push them away from the shore, actively working with oars.
They were a couple of dozen metres from the shore when a crowd of 'wolf men', as Erich had dubbed them in his mind, dressed in anything they could find, appeared on the shore. There was another howl of many voices and dozens of savages screamed in an unbelievable, terrifying ecstasy, shouting after the ironborn who had sailed away.
In bronze armour (Harlow had no more doubts about that), in skins, with bows and spears, they did not make the same savage, terrible impression as before. Not until the people of the Iron Islands had seen them.
- Where is Upland? - someone asked. He looked around worriedly, searching with his eyes for the teenager, and didn't find him.
- 'I saw him standing by one of the Blood Trees,' said Jama, 'he didn't come with us.
- No, I saw him run after us,' Craghorn said, 'but maybe the boy fell behind and got lost.
All questions were put to rest when they saw a strange man on the shore, tall, dressed in a wolf's skin, black and large. The bastard was dragging a short and puny body. Upland.
He could see everything from the boat, with his naked eye - they were only fifty metres from the shore. Upland was thrown to the ground, and the boy began to toss restlessly on his four limbs. The savages jeered, kicked and kicked, laughed and laughed. And the man in the black wolf-skin looked at them.
It seemed to Erich that the bastard was looking straight at him, instinctively recognising the chief among the ironborn.
It was hard and unpleasant to watch the youngster being bullied. But they could not return, for to return meant certain death.
- Those kraken bastards, what are they up to? - whispered Erich, seeing Upland finally caught and held by the two savages. Pulling out a Myrian glass, Harlow watched with all the detail he wanted to avoid as the tall wolf man approached the teenager.
A knife flashed and a childish shriek, loud enough to reach the departing boats. Sharp bronze pierced the bare chest and a strong hand reached for the fluttering heart.
The Myrian glass was violently thrown down. There was a satisfied, hooting voice and a semblance of a wolf's howl. The savages began to leap in ecstasy and shout menacingly at the ironborn.
They were being intimidated, Harlow realised, clenching his fists. His face contorted into a grimace, his eyes fixed in anger and glaring fiercely at the sneering man in black wolfskin. The torn heart still fluttered in his bloody hand, but Upland was already dead and cast into the sea.
- Torgon,' Harlow said quietly to one of the crossbowmen, 'if you hit him, I'll give you a golden dragon.
Torgon the Rifleman, the most experienced and accurate of the crossbowmen, thoughtfully assessed the distance and his crossbow.
They were already almost half a hundred metres away. Hitting from such a distance was not an easy task. If he had a bow made of goldilocks, the ironborn would have agreed.
Still, he nodded and took out a bolt. Before loading it, the warrior dipped it in a small jar pulled from a pouch on his belt. Erich said nothing, continuing to look at the dead body of the yunga and the bastard in wolfskin. The rowers stopped.
Coming to the very bow of the boat, Torgon took aim, pointing his crossbow at the bastard who had ripped out Upland's heart. A 'strenk' sounded, a moment and the savage shuddered, falling to the ground.
The bolt had driven straight into his unprotected thigh.
- He won't survive,' Shooter told the captain confidently. Harlow nodded, guessing what Torgon had greased the bolt with, but not judging. Upland had been avenged and that was what mattered.
- Consider the gold yours, Gunslinger. They compare you to Lord Pyke in marksmanship for a reason,' he said grimly.
- I'm no match for Pike's Gunslinger, m'lord,' Torgon said without embarrassment, 'are we going on?
- No. We're going back to the Islands.
The savages began to try to get them with arrows from their bows, but the rowers stepped up and several men covered them with large pavement shields. A fierce hooting came to them.
They had a long journey home ahead of them.
Nestled behind the shoots of a chartreuse tree, amidst the withered leaves and dirt-strewn ground, Rainford stared pensively at the half-erased face on the guard-tree. Sitting there on sullen and bleak evenings, it always seemed to him that the face was smiling, as if in mockery, at the former Tully footman and all his hardships.
As a staunch admirer of the Seven, he had always been suspicious of all Old Gods. That suspicion subsided, in the War of the Five Kings, when he fought side by side with the Northmen and even the Ironborn. Several times, whether it was a wild Highlander from the Northern Mountains or a Dreadfort warrior, saved Rainford's life.
Once again, the Old Gods were the salvation for him and those fleeing the village. The warrior smiled sadly at the wicked irony. The seven he had faithfully honoured had apparently not deemed to help him, while other people's deities had become a point of reference and indirect help on more than one occasion.
Hollow Hill, overgrown with chardrews and hidden by their thick foliage became a haven for many destitute and dispossessed. The sullen inhabitants from the Harrenhal domains, fishermen from Darry or Solevaren, or farmers from Atranta, all were one. Over them stood no power of lords or their bailiffs.
There is no distinction between people in Paul Hill. Everyone worked to the best of their ability to ensure the survival of children and women, of which there were plenty in this place.
'Maybe Hale Septon is right. The Seven are dead and the dark time of demons and magic has arrived?'.
Faith in the Seven still smouldered in Rainford's heart, but the mad speeches of the exiled Septon, who had come from nowhere, touched even the former lutnik, who was indifferent to such things. Hale, nicknamed Septon, was thin, short and weak, but the fierce look in his grey eyes convinced everyone of the man's willpower... and his madness.
He said strange things about the dead Seven, the fire demon from the East, the horror at the bottom of the Great Seas. His speeches often mentioned the Other, who wished for the decline of the age of men, and the rebirth of half-forgotten creatures and peoples.
Hale spoke loudly, confidently and fervently. At first no one listened to the mad septon, but weeks later, in the evenings he would gather dozens and hundreds of people before him. Rainford himself often attended them and listened.
How long had they been hiding in the Hollow Hills from Tully's men and their vassals? A year, two? Rainford could count until he ran out of fingers and toes. And he didn't want to count his time here. His face had grown a beard, thick and not yet grey.
His hair had grown longer, but otherwise he was the same rugged face, brown eyes, and strong build that had not left Rainford even in the hardest years.
Sometimes he thought of his late brother and his son. Father and mother. But with each passing month, their features were forgotten and became vague, hazy. Perhaps it was for the best. His nephew's death still pained the old warrior's heart.
- Have you checked everything? - Rainford suddenly spoke up. His thoughts and relaxation made it impossible for him not to notice the young man sneaking up on him. The boy had just turned seventeen, if his words were to be believed, but he was unrivalled in trap-making and disguise in Paul Hill. The son of a hunter and a boy with a burning hatred for all men with the Bracken crest.
But the young man's excellent skills prevented him from approaching him stealthily.
- All the traps were practically in place. Only a couple had been hit by animals.
Eyes that were deceptively indifferent stared back at him. Rainford glanced back. Jack the Silent was expecting a response from the leader of the Hollow Hills. Completely loyal to the old Latvian, he was in charge of security for the close confines from the Hill.
The gods had played a cruel joke on him when they had sent him here. Rainford had commanded a couple of dozen veteran warriors in his time and that had been his maximum in Tully's service. Here in Paul's Hill he was commanding hundreds of men crammed into a limited space.
Rainford had no desire to become anything more in the asylum than a mere aide or one of the defenders. But fate and a certain amount of luck had allowed him to rise to the position of leader of Hollow Hill.
-What about Merna Lesnick's gang from the Redwoods? Have you seen them?
- Saw a few of them hanging around near Hollow Hill. Probably trying to pinpoint our position,' Jack said in a quiet voice, 'and I saw a few mounted troopers, Lord Vance's men.
Rainford nodded, accepting the answer. There are many gangs of destitute peasants or angry deserters and veterans in the Riverlands now.
Many of my lords have gone broke buying grain in Essos and have had to send back a good number of loyal knights or lancers. Some of them lacked the dignity to do so gently or decently.
Merna the Woodsman's gang was one of these, more numerous but mostly made up of the wilder inhabitants of the forest settlements or the urban poor from Stone Mill or the Salt Mills. And lately relations between the people of Hollow Hill and Merna Lesnick had become much strained.
'There's no secret where they're hiding, but we don't have a chance to strike first yet,' Rainford pondered, as he let Jack Quietfoot go for a well-deserved rest and a hot bowl of vegetable soup.
He stood up, pulling himself away from looking at the withered grass and the thick roots of the chard trees. It was time to walk the length of the Hill to see the teeming life in this strange place.
Children and young girls were soaking and washing in wooden tubs filled with cold water the clothes of the arriving hunters who had brought today's glorious prey. Older women were engaged in other business - gathering or looking after very small infants. A few old men helped each group to the best of their ability.
The burden of labour fell on the adult men, who had to either hunt or constantly build or enlarge Hollow Hill for new refugees. It was not uncommon for Rainford himself to work alongside the other men, earning respect and authority.
Thinking back on the past winter, he shuddered at the memory. Too harsh, it had taken many lives, making no distinction between women or men, adults or children. How long had this 'Long Winter,' as the people called it, lasted?
Septon Hale said nearly ten years, blacksmith Mark Thumb muttered about eight years, and some said even a whole generation past. Children as young as seven or nine, who had never seen summer, looked in wonder at the green grass or the thick foliage on the trees. For them, summer was something alien and unfamiliar.
Winter children, harsh and deprived of sure warmth since birth.
There were fires burning, fenced off from the thick hardwoods and their roots by stones. People gathered around them, and a lean and ungainly half-mad septon told unusual stories and strange things.
- Fear those who bear the mark of the eight-rayed star, children and men, fear and be afraid, for they are the faithful followers of the Bloody Jasper! - the septon spoke softly, gesticulating vigorously,' cursed by a stone from the sky and covering the sun, that's who the Blood Jasper is!
The people were silent, not daring to interrupt the man.
- Fear those who believe in him who sleeps beneath the seas. They bear the emblems of kraken and leviathan and honour the water. Fear them and shun them, for madness and terror follow them on their heels. Believers in the Sea Terror love the sea with all their hearts, and hate the sky with all their hearts.
Someone swallowed noisily. Everyone stared mesmerised at Hale, on whose face the shadows were playing a mad dance from the flickering fire.
-Kill all who worship a god from the east, fiery and light-bearing, a demon in the guise of a saviour. They cry trouble, speak of the Long Night, and fear the Creatures of Cold. Liars and mothers of shadows, fire worshippers hate everything to do with the Seven! Kill them!
Rainford settled down not far away, watching septon Hale's speech intently. He spoke and spoke, heatedly, with fire in his speech. There was madness in his words, the old warrior heard it clearly.
More than once or twice he had seen half-mad preachers on the roads or in ruined settlements, but there was something subtly different about Septon Hale. An unknown detail that made him look closely at him and listen carefully to anything the priest's lips would utter.
- They have lied to you, to please lords and kings, all those who wear white robes and segranite crowns on their heads. So that you live like rats in a cellar before fat and glossy cats. Seven is a lie!
Everyone shuddered. No one had expected such words from the septon. Before the crowd had time to recover, Hale continued, adding a new note of madness:
-Seven is a lie, there is only Eight! The one whose name has been consigned to oblivion! He is the true patron of all the destitute, the weak and the poor, all those who work in the fields and labour honestly! Not the Blacksmith, no, he is only the patron of the artisans, not the Father or the Warrior! His name is Peasant!
'Peasant,' the people whispered. 'Peasant!' - exclaimed someone in disbelief or incomprehension.
The septon said many things, refuted truths and erected new ones on their ruins. People frowned, wrinkled their foreheads, and looked in wonder at this small, uninspiring man who now turned the world over in their minds.
Not everyone believed Hale's words, but there were plenty who took everything at face value. Rainford didn't care.
He had long ago stopped believing in gods, and he didn't care how many of them existed. Even Ten, as long as it did not interfere with the common cause and survival, the old warrior would turn a blind eye to such things.
Towards late evening everyone dispersed. Septon fell asleep right by the fire, and no one dared disturb the sleep of the mad Hale. Before leaving for his usual abode, Rainford noticed a couple of offerings at his feet. The usual bread, water or brogue, which the priest whipped up like water.
- Is it true what Hale said? - asked the leader of Hollow Hill one of the children, Feni, a merry and mischievous boy who had not lost his spark of kindness in this harsh and cruel world. Often the nine-year-old boy with the dark hair and naive eyes would address him without fear or respect, which bribed Rainford.
Sometimes, instead of a face with thin cheeks, he saw another, more familiar and half-forgotten face. It was only a veil of illusion, but the veteran could not help it. Feni reminded him too much of his late nephew.
- You're free to choose for yourself whether it's true or not,' the man replied, 'use your head, Fenny.
- But still, if Hale is right, then the lords have deceived us!
- Oh, young winter child,' Rainford smiled sadly, 'this whole world is built on lies.
Feni pouted like a red-bellied sparrow, grimacing. That was the end of their conversation and the boy went to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a difficult and unpleasant day.
- What is it? - asked Rainford in amazement as he examined the unusual construction the next day. Mark Thumb, the blacksmith, had shut himself away for several days in a place set aside for his work and had been making something out of wood and iron. And now the result of this work came before him.
A strange wagon with wheels attached and covered on one side by boards with small openings. Why the blacksmith had to build such a thing, and even by himself, hiding this unusual construction, was a secret to the leader of the Hollow Hills.
- A camping house! - Mark said proudly, 'I invented it myself! - he added with importance.
Rainford walked round the camping house from all sides. It could easily hold several men with spears or bows and defend. Only, why?
- And what was it for?
- For defence, of course! If you put this around Hollow Hill, no one will take it! Just put it round the hill and that's it! No scum will get through.
The old lad looked at the camping house with doubt, and then at the blacksmith who had decided to try his hand at carpentry. He grinned and thought for a moment.
The wagon looked impressive, but it lacked something. Mark's idea was sensible, but also foolish. What would prevent the stormers from throwing torches at them when the dense forest was in full bloom? Hollow Hill would become a trap for its own defenders.
Rainford hurriedly explained this to the blacksmith, who was growing sad.
- You've wasted your time and energy,' Mark grumbled, 'I'll have to dismantle it for something else.
- Wait a minute,' Rainford stopped the man, still assessing the design.
'What if we made a couple of dozen of these wagons and built a circular defence on the field? Dig ditches around them, stockpile arrows, cover ourselves with shields and long spears? Would the cavalry be able to break through such a wooden fortress?'
The old veteran liked this idea so much that he began to think it over from all sides. But his thoughts had to be put aside - he had enough duties and business to attend to at Half Hill. Asking Mark not to dismantle the camping house and put it aside, Rainford headed for the entrance of the Hill where the hunters were waiting for him.
It was time for a change - the thought had been on his mind for a long time, back in the late winter. The hollow Hill would not be able to accommodate the increasing numbers of people coming in, and food would soon be scarce. They'd either need a new place... or the other.
'Mern Lesnick is hiding in the Redwoods, a place supposedly known to my men. Lure the old man out and kill all his men in a favourable location. All that remains is to find him.'
They must move on, or they would be finished - the mounted patrols were growing in number every year, and come the time, the lordlings' men would find them. And Rainford, like many in Half Hill, faces death when he meets them without question. The current Lord of Atranta is quite harsh, as indeed are many of the my lords of the Riverlands.
'To save ourselves, we'll have to become something more than a bunch of bandits hiding in the middle of a grove of chardrevs. A force that lords and kings will reckon with.'