46

It took longer than he had imagined to leave Harn.

His instructions were not enough for the Leoric and her people. Where he had a clear idea of what he meant, about stakes and ditches, they did not. Fortifications, tactics, these were alien to them, they were farmers, and traders and artisans, not fighters. He should have known that. Instead Udinny had to stop him before he walked away and get him to explain his plans in more detail. Then he had to walk them through the placement of ditches and stakes. Exactly where to dig the rings around the village, how deep, how wide. Where to put the stakes, what wood was best to use, how far apart they should be. How high to make the wooden wall, how to build a platform running around the insides. In a way he should have been heartened. That when they realised what needed to be done the villagers committed wholeheartedly to it. He thought, in a way, that building was understandable to them, and the strengthening of their village made sense. The idea they would have to fight their own Rai was still an abstract one, something Cahan felt sure they did not really believe.

But treefall? They understood that. It was treefall the Leoric used to convince them to build, telling them that if it brought riches it would bring the Forestals. She barely even mentioned the Rai. At first he had wondered why she spoke of Forestals so much but eventually understood; they were a known threat.

In an effort to leave he tried to convince the villagers that they should let the reborn guide them in their building, but they were suspicious and frightened of the grey warriors. The reborn in turn had little patience with the villagers, at least one did not, the other never spoke. Neither was pleased that he was leaving them behind.

“We should come, to kill your enemies,” she said.

“I hope not to meet any.”

“But if you do,” she said, “we must be there to kill them.” He stared at the reborn, her grey face blank. What he intended would require diplomacy, and he was sure the reborn were not in the least diplomatic.

“The best way to keep me alive is to help fortify this place.” He pointed at the walls but she did not look, only stared back at him.

“Do you order it?”

“Yes.” With that she nodded and walked away.

The light had dipped below the horizon before the villagers were finished with him, the beginnings of the first pit were being dug and there were plans to construct a way of running the tanning pits into it. The clearing of Woodedge had started; there were many things he could accuse the villagers of Harn of, but being scared of hard work was not one of them.

Despite the coming darkness, Cahan, Venn and Udinny set off to catch up with Dyon and his small group. Soon they were joined by Segur, who bounded along with them. As they moved from the clearing into Woodedge, he had the oddest sensation, as if the world paused, as if something touched his mind.

A soaring figure, its head topped by branches.

Then it was gone.

“Why do you want to catch Dyon?” said Venn. “Do you intend to stop them? Because if you are going to kill—”

“Cahan is not going to kill them, trion,” said Udinny with a laugh. Then she became more serious. Looking up at him in the dim light. “You are not going to kill them, are you?”

“Of course I am not, monk, what do you think I am?”

“Pragmatic,” she said, “surly and—”

“Enough, Udinny.” She shrugged and turned to pet Segur who had come to sit at her feet.

“Why are we going after them then?” said Venn. “I do not understand.”

“Because if we do not they will never leave Woodedge.”

“They are hardly in danger here,” said Udinny. “Even I could make it through Woodedge, and they have lived here all their lives.” She looked across at him. He continued to walk, using his bow as a staff and trying to ignore the monk’s chatter as he followed the waysticks that set out the path. “Though I suppose there have been orits reported in the forest.”

“What are orits?” said Venn.

“Strange creatures, of many colours that forage and build,” said Udinny, who sounded like quite the expert, despite only having recently seen them herself.

“They are dangerous?” said Venn.

“Well,” said Udinny, “not if you do not disturb them, the workers anyway…” She left her words hanging. Segur whined. Venn looked across at Udinny and the monk smiled. “But the protectors,” she said, “oh, they are fierce, and they will follow you for great distances if you—”

“It is not orits,” said Cahan.

“What about swarden?” said Udinny.

“What are swarden?” said Venn.

“It is the Forestals,” Cahan said before Udinny could once more show their questionable expertise. The monk nodded sagely, as if they had known this all along.

“But Dyon has taken nothing to trade with him,” said Venn. “Why would the forest bandits be interested?”

“The Forestals want something from Harn, and Dyon carries it but does not know it.” Udinny looked at him, a cloud of puzzlement on her painted face.

“Is this a riddle, Cahan?”

“No,” he tried not to sound too surly. “The Forestals want treefall to be known, they cannot send someone to the Rai, they would be killed out of hand. They want Harn to send the message.”

“Why not just start a rumour in the towns?” said Venn.

“There are always rumours,” said Cahan. “No one would listen.”

“So if Dyon is doing what they wish,” said Venn, “why does he need protecting?”

“Because he does not know he is doing what they wish. And relations between the village and the Forestals have never been good. There is a gulf between them, and in that gulf is space for much misunderstanding.”

“I can see how that could be,” said Udinny.

“And I wish to speak to the Forestals also,” Cahan said. Once more the monk looked confused. “Now save your breath for walking, I want to catch Dyon and his group before they talk themselves into an arrow.” They walked through the night, occasionally catching glimpses of the bright Cowl Star through the canopy. By the time the Star was starting its curving journey down towards the horizon Venn and Udinny were beginning to falter. They camped in among the bushes and Udinny showed Venn how to make a necklace of mintwort to keep away the tiny biting creatures. As they worked on their necklaces Cahan placed a hand against a tree trunk, feeling the power beneath. A ripple of excitement ran through him. The strength of his cowl would be a comfort when they came across the Forestals. If he reached in just a little further…

But when he tried to tap the power of the tree, it squirmed away from him. Shame flushed through him. Was he not good enough now? A deep breath. Another. Calming himself. The boughry had lent him the power of the forest when he needed it, and now, in this moment, maybe he did not. Who was he to expect another to lend him their life just so he felt a little more secure? He was more than most people even without giving his cowl power. He would have to be content with that.

Besides, he was sure it was the boughry he had felt as he entered Woodedge. Touching his mind, checking his intentions. Or maybe as a reminder that they watched? Uncomfortable thoughts, and as if sensing his disquiet Segur came to lie by him. He buried a hand in the garaur’s thick fur and the garaur let out a satisfied growl.

The next morning they walked on, it was pleasant, the light moving through the eighths of the sky and spearing through the new growth of Woodedge trees as Harsh loosened its grip.

“We are followed,” whispered Udinny after a while. Cahan did not stop walking. If they were being followed he did not want to alert those who did it. Though Venn rather spoiled it by immediately looking about them. Segur growled, picking up the sudden change in atmosphere.

“You are sure, Udinny?” he said. The monk nodded. “You have seen them?” She shook her head.

“No, but I know they are there,” she said. “Rootlings, all around us.”

“Rootlings?” Udinny looked confused for a moment, as if what she had said was obvious.

“Yes.” The monk shrugged and they continued to walk. But now Udinny had spoken of being followed Cahan knew she was right. A shuffle of bushes, an out-of-place noise. A shining eye, a furred elbow or leg vanishing into the undergrowth.

“Rootlings,” he said to himself. He felt no threat from the forest’s creatures. “We need not worry about them.” Udinny nodded and smiled, though Venn did not look as sure. He saw them crouch and touch a hand to the forest floor when they did not think he was looking. When they stood they looked less worried about the rootlings that followed, calmer. They walked on, the light passed further across the sky.

“Do you hear that?” said Venn. Cahan stopped. Udinny stopped. They listened, but apart from the usual noise of the forest heard nothing.

“What do you hear, trion?” said Udinny.

“Voices,” they said. “Some raised in anger.” Cahan took off his helmet, the better to hear but still there was nothing. He placed it back on and turned to Venn.

“You reached into the forest, Venn, when Udinny heard the rootlings?” They looked away, then nodded.

“I touched Ranya’s web,” they said, and he wondered at that, they had never used those words before. He glanced at Udinny, who was finding a nearby tree very interesting. “Only lightly,” added Venn.

“You should not,” he told them, “not without letting me know what you attempt. It is dangerous.” The trion would not look at him. “Could that be how you heard the voices?” He stood a little nearer and Venn shrugged. “Touch the ground again, Venn, see if you can tell me how near they are.” After his experience with the tree he was strangely reticent to try himself. The trion nodded, crouching and placing a hand in the leaf mulch. He watched as they closed their eyes, fingers digging into the dirt. “Along this path, not far. But I feel…”

“What?” said Udinny.

“Anger, I think, hard, black emotion. And…”

“We must hurry,” Cahan said. And pulled Venn up. “Come, we run.”

Running, down the overgrown forest track, ferns whipping past. No voices, no feeling of anyone before them. They burst into a clearing.

“Stop!” Cahan shouted it. Venn and Udinny slid to a stop. Around the clearing were trampled plants and broken branches. “There has been a struggle here.”

“How do you know?” said Venn.

“Cahan,” said Udinny, “can read the wood the way you or I would read a parchment, Venn. Though perhaps he would struggle to read a pa—”

“I can read, monk,” Cahan said. He ignored Udinny’s further prattling and moved into the clearing, searching around it, stopping where he found offcuts of vines. Segur sniffed at a patch of ground nearby and Cahan crouched, a smear of red on the grass. “There is blood here, but not much. I think the Forestals took them prisoner.” He stood and pointed. “They went that way, south.”

“Why,” said Udinny. “The Forestal’s base is in Wyrdwood, to the north.”

“Maybe they have a camp, come, and try to be quiet.” They moved on, following the signs of passage through the wood. The fight and capture of Dyon and his party had not happened too long before they came upon it. And it was always slower for a larger party to move, especially one with prisoners, than a smaller one. They found the Forestals quickly enough, or rather they found Dyon and the three with him. Bound and gagged, lying on their sides in another small wooded clearing. The moment Cahan saw them he cursed himself for a fool.

“Dyon!” shouted Udinny and ran towards him, quickly followed by Venn.

“No!” Cahan shouted after them, but too late. He felt the tickle of an arrow behind his ear. Forestals rose from the scrub on either side of the bound men. Segur vanished into the bushes.

“It is a long time,” said a voice from behind him, “since I have had some Rai to play with.”

“I am not Rai,” Cahan said, “if I was you would already be burning.”

“Can you rip the life from me and set a fire faster than I can let go of a string, Rai?” That voice, he knew it.

“As I said, I am not Rai. I rip the life from no one.”

“You certainly look like Rai.”

“But I am not, Ania,” he said, the Forestal’s name coming back to him. He felt the arrow tip dig in harder behind his ear, hissed in pain.

“How do you know my name?”

“We met before, you lost a bet to me.”

Wind blew, branches rattled. Creatures called to one another.

“Well,” she said, “the forester returns. You seem to have moved up in the world, and you have some rather nice axes. I bet they would fetch quite the price.”

“Let these villagers go, Ania,” he said. “They take the message to Harn-Larger that you want delivered. Of treefall.”

“Tell your friends to sit with them,” she hissed. He nodded at Venn and Udinny and they joined the bound villagers. “Gerint,” she said, “take the gag off the leader.” One of the Forestals put down their bow and pulled Dyon up, taking the gag from his mouth. “Is this true? About treefall?” asked Ania, her arrow still digging painfully into Cahan’s skin. Dyon nodded, terrified beyond speaking. “Why did he not say?”

“They are frightened of you.” Cahan heard her click to herself, a satisfied sound, as if that was the way things should be.

“Let them go.” Her people cut the villagers loose and they stood, rubbing their wrists and looking confused. “Well,” she said, “get on, the sooner you deliver the message the sooner I will have someone decent to rob. Go!” She shouted the last word and Dyon and the villagers turned and ran into the forest.

She did not let Cahan, Udinny or Venn go. The pressure of the arrow tip on his skin never lessened. Cahan marvelled at how strong she must be. “Now they are gone,” she said, “you can tell me what is going on up at that village. We saw the soldiers. I wanted the Rai that fled but she escaped me. Now it looks like they prepare Harn for a siege. I am curious.”

“You did not rob the soldiers on their way here then?” he said.

“Thought they came for treefall. Tall Sera said to leave them alone. Let them become complacent until they had something worth taking.”

“Can we not do this at arrowpoint?”

“I find,” she said softly, the arrow digging in a little further, “that people are often more truthful at arrowpoint, Forester.”

“I have no intention of lying to you,” he said. “I came to find you, I have a favour to ask.”

“A favour?” she laughed. “You are a strange one, Forester.” The arrow went away, he felt her step back. “Go join your friends over there, then ask your favour. But remember, you and I have history, and there is no Tall Sera to step in and save you today.” Stepping slowly and carefully through the leaf mulch, he joined Udinny and Venn, keeping his hands away from his axes, holding his staff light between finger and thumb. Ania stood at the edge of the clearing, her clothing threaded with leaves and vines so that even this close she was hard to make out. Most of her face covered by a hood and only her mouth showed. She held her bow at half draw. He had experienced how quickly she could let loose an arrow, and would take no risks.

“The Rai want the trion,” he nodded at Venn. He thought it better not to mention they wanted him as well, it could lead to questions he did not want to answer. “That was why they sent the soldiers, and I gave them a bloody nose for it. They cannot stand for that, we both know it. They will come back to wipe Harn off the map. Dyon thinks he can bargain knowledge of treefall for Harn’s survival.” The Forestal laughed.

“Soon as try and bargain with the circle wind to stop blowing.”

“They are desperate, but they have decided to defend their village no matter what. I will help them.”

“If the Rai want the trion,” she said. “We should kill them.” She lifted her bow. Cahan stepped in front of Venn before the trion even had time to look alarmed. He lifted his hands.

“No.”

“I can loose through you, Forester. All you do is save me an arrow.”

“It will inconvenience the Rai more if we live. I think they are afraid of Venn.” She stared at him. “And Venn is a child.” At that she let out a breath, lowered her bow a little.

“How will it inconvenience them?”

“They want the trion alive.” She watched, her bow at the ready. “They will have to get close to do that. No sending fire from a distance.” Wind blew through the clearing and he hoped it blew away the dislike this woman had for him. As if sensing some change Segur trotted into the clearing to sit by him. Then growled at the Forestal.

“The animal likes you,” she said. He nodded.

“And Segur is very choosy.” He could not see her face for the hood, but felt she was amused.

“What is your favour?” she said.

“You watch the forest paths, you will know the Rai approach long before we do. If you would tell me of their numbers that would help. How many soldiers, how many Rai come with them.”

“You are not asking me to kill them for you?” she said, a crooked smile on her face.

“It is not your fight,” he told her. “But knowing their numbers, it will help.” She stared at him.

“You are all going to die if they send more than fifty, you know that.”

“I am hard to kill.” The quiet of the forest settled between them.

“Numbers, and who they bring.” She let the rest of the tension fall from the bow. “I can do that. Make sure your villagers know to expect a message from us, I do not want to lose one of mine to a spear.”

“They will be safe.”

“And we may kill a few Rai for you as they approach. I’ve got a soft spot for lost causes.” With that she whistled, turned and vanished into the forest, followed by the rest of her Forestals. Within moments it was as if they had never been.

“She was not very friendly,” said Udinny.

“It’s a hard life, being an outlaw,” he said. “It breeds hard people.” Venn stepped forward; the trion looked worried.

“Why do you think the Rai are frightened of me, Cahan?” they said softly.

“I do not, Venn,” he said, “I was only looking for a way to stop her putting an arrow in you.” Udinny chuckled to herself, and they began to make their way back to Harn.