11

The Forestals found them in the afternoon.

Cahan had known it was coming since they entered the second eight of the day; there had been a quietening around them that had nothing to do with nature. The noose was closing.

His hand tightened on his staff.

You need me.

But he did not need the cowl to find them. He did not need to draw upon a power he had forsaken long ago and neither did he intend to. The faintly mocking voice in the back of his mind could stay there. Cahan walked closer to the traders. They had brought spears of hardened wood. Not great workmanship, but good enough for defence and to trade. A whole pile of them on the raft they pulled. He hoped they would not need them. Traders with spears stood little chance against Forestals with bows.

“Is something wrong?” said Gart.

“Maybe,” said Cahan. “Be on your guard.” Ont stopped and as the raft neared him he reached for a spear.

“No,” said Cahan softly, watching the gentle movement of the wood around them, taking deep breaths of the fresh forest air. “Keep walking and act as if nothing has changed.”

“If we are to be robbed I want my weapon, I will stop this…”

“The Leoric said they had bows,” said Cahan, “you will not have time to draw back your spear arm before they drop you if that is true.”

“Cowards,” he spat, “with cowards’ weapons.”

“They kill you no less for it.” Cahan walked away, leaving the traders pulling the raft while he listened to the forest telling tales of people hidden within its soft green folds in a language few understood.

The Forestals sprung the trap as the light was fading and the thoughts of the traders were turning towards making camp. It was not a dramatic trap, there was no hail of arrows, no screams, no demands to give up or die. Only a figure waiting on the path before them. Their woollen clothes dyed green and brown better to hide within the vegetation, thin branches and fern leaves woven through them, their face hidden beneath a hood. In one hand a bow nearly as tall as they were.

“Good evening, traders of Harn,” said the figure before them. “May the Forest Nobles look away from you.”

The raft stopped. The traders stiffened. The guards began to lift their spears but Cahan stepped between them, gently pushing the spears down.

“And Iftal’s blessings to you, stranger,” he said. Stepped a little closer and stopped, leaning on his staff. “Do you come from Harn-Larger?”

“I am simply from around,” they said.

“And do you have a name?” The figure laughed. Cahan stepped a little nearer.

“Never wise to give your name out to strangers you meet in the forest,” they said. Now he was closer Cahan was sure the speaker was a woman. “Close enough, friend,” she told him and took an arrow from the quiver on her hip. She did not nock it, only held is loosely in her free hand. “You have probably not seen one of these before.” She lifted the bowstaff. He said nothing: give no information to your enemy that they do not already have. Something they taught him in the monastery of Zorir. “This is a forestbow. It can put an arrow through you, and through the big man behind you and carry right on along the path as if you had never existed.” Cahan turned. Ont stood behind him, between the guards. Gart and Sengui stood on the other side of the raft, frozen. Behind them a flash of grey, a figure vanishing into the wood. “It would go through another behind him, if there was one,” added the Forestal.

“Impressive,” said Cahan. She gave him a nod, tipping her head to the side. Then she nocked the arrow, drawing the bow a little but not fully tensioning it.

“Of course, bloodshed and violence are ever unpleasant,” she said, “and who knows what corpses may attract, even in Woodedge.” A smile under the hood. “So it would be better for all if you simply gave over your goods to me and then you can return whence you came.”

“We are five,” shouted Ont, “and you are only one.” Again, that tip of her head.

“It does seem a little unfair,” she said, and then let out a high-low whistle. From the bushes around them more Forestals appeared, bows at the ready. Cahan counted eight. Saw the shock pass across Ont’s face, and wondered if he thought they had sprung magically from the bushes. “Now,” said the woman, and he could hear the smile in her voice, “things are a little fairer. I suggest you take off those harnesses you pull the raft with and hand it over.” Cahan wanted to curse Ont for interfering. The woman had been talking and now she had moved on to simply robbing them.

“Wait,” said Cahan, taking a step forward. Stopping when she drew her bow and aimed it at him. He raised his hands. Holding his staff loosely so that it did not appear to be a weapon. “How good are you with that bow?”

A moment of silence, apart from the chirp of creatures in the trees, the tiny ones you barely saw and the larger ones that you only saw as fleeting movements in the corner of your eye.

“I am better than most,” she said.

“Do you care for a wager?”

A cry, a howl, a whirr of wings.

“I have shot enough targets to find such wagers tedious, stranger. I shoot only living targets now.”

“Do you think you could hit me?” he said.

A whirr of wings. A chirp. A howl. A laugh. The last from the woman before him and she pushed her hood back. Beneath it her curling hair was a deep brown, almost black.

“With my eyes shut.”

“I wager you could not,” he told her. “In fact, I would wager my life on it and all of our goods.” Ont began to protest but one of the others stopped him. “If you kill me, we will not stop you taking them. If you do not, then we will pay sacrifice of ten per cent of our goods to you, and you will allow us safe passage to Harn-Larger and then back to Harn.” She was staring intently at him, probably trying to work out if he was afflicted by some disease of the mind.

“And those with you, they will agree to that? To your death?”

Cahan nodded. “You heard the big man there, ‘the five of us’,” he said, “when there are plainly six.” He glanced back at the traders and the guards. “They do not count me as one of them, I have no clan mark on my face. I am employed to get these goods to Harn-Larger. If I fail I am dead anyway.”

“You should join us,” she said, a twist upon her lips that Cahan thought might pass for a real smile. “We put no value on birth, only on who you are.” He heard an intake of breath behind him and for a second he was tempted to take the freedom of the forest. But that was to put himself into the Forestal’s trust, and he did not trust them any more than he trusted the people of Harn.

“I have never been much of a joiner,” he said, “and, besides, I have given my word.” She blinked, then nodded and without preamble, talk or pause, drew and loosed her bow.

It was an excellent shot.

A well-practised archer was a thing of beauty to him. The people of Crua told tales of archers as wicked outlaws and cowards who used a weapon of the weak and honourless. But Cahan knew that was not true. A bow took years of constant repetition and practice to master, not only to aim well but to build the upper body strength to draw it properly.

This woman had put in the years.

She drew the bow back until the string was taut. The blink of an eye as she paused. The wooden ends of the arching bow quivering as she checked her aim, even at such a close distance. She was no fool about to miss because of overconfidence. Then she let the arrow fly. So quick it could not be seen.

An arrow like that was only ever felt.

The impact harder than any punch, the wood streaking through flesh, ripping it apart, sending shock waves through the target that caused damage far out of proportion to the thin and fire-hardened shaft.

Over in a moment.

It was over in a moment.

The arrow flew. Cahan brought his staff across. The sound of wood on wood. The dull thud of an arrow hitting a tree. He did not look to see where the shaft had gone. It was enough that he had deflected it. She looked at him. Her eyes widened in surprise. Then slit in malice and she pulled another arrow, began to nock it.

“Ania!” A voice shouted from the undergrowth and the archer stopped mid-draw. “You took the bet. We stand by our word.”

“I would have hit him,” said Ania. She let the tension out of her bow as the speaker came to join her. His cloak a mixture of greens and greys. “He cheated.”

“The bet was his death, and he is alive. Unstring your bow, sister.” The new Forestal pushed back their hood, revealing a lean-faced man with long, dark hair. “We will take a measure of dried meat,” he said, “and two crownhead fleeces, one is in lieu of gasmaws,” he pointed at the net. “We have no use for them.”

“But that is not fair on me,” said Gart.

“Sort that out among yourselves,” he said as the Forestals came to take their due, “it is not our concern.” He studied Cahan. Staring at his staff then grinning. “That was a good trick, I have never seen the like.” He looked friendly, then all levity fled from his face. “But it will not work again. You have safe passage to Harn-Larger and back this one time.” He came closer. Cahan could feel the warmth of his breath as the man whispered into his ear. “You give the Leoric a message from me. Say that Tall Sera says she knows what we want. That she will give it to us if she does not want her village strangled.”

Cahan wondered what it was he wanted, and if he should tell the Forestal that he had no intention of returning to Harn to deliver the message, but he did not think it would go down well and was not willing to push his luck further. Once the Forestals were gone and the raft restowed to balance properly they set off once more.

“Fine guard you are,” said Ont as he pulled the raft past while Cahan scoured the woods, looking once more for hints of grey figures dogging his steps.

“We have our lives, Ont,” said Sengui, “and most of our goods.”

“And the Forestals still live,” said Ont, “to trouble us the next time. A real guard would have ended the threat.” Cahan said nothing as the butcher must have known that what he said was foolish even as the words left his mouth. There were very few alive in Crua who could have taken on all those Forestals and won.

Cahan kept to himself that, of those very few people in Crua, he was one.