Shadows

In the forests far north-west of the wagon train, a man was crawling through the undergrowth. He was called Quentiforth Averymire Twaddlesbrook III, and almost certainly didn’t deserve it. True, he was a member of a notorious group of highwaymen and bandits, but it might just be possible that no-one could do anything bad enough to deserve a name like his. Quentiforth had been born into a noble family where his every whim had been catered for, save perhaps for the love and attention of his parents. He’d been able to do whatever he wanted as long as he attended fancy soirees now and again, but it had all been so boring. The danger and thrill Quentiforth had discovered in a life of highway robbery had been quite refreshing – whilst before everyone he had come across had tiresomely bowed and scraped in his presence, now a fair number actively tried to run him through with their swords.

To the rest of the group of bandits he was known as Arrow, as his skill with a bow was most impressive and if people were to address him by his full name a simple greeting would take all morning to say.

He grinned as he remembered a time he had pinned some merchant’s guards by their clothing to the side of a caravan with a few well timed shots, allowing the rest of the group to loot the spice shipment unmolested. And what was he doing now? Hunting rabbits, he scoffed.

They should have been feasting like kings these past few weeks. It had been a point of contention amongst the group that their leader, Duvet Verc-Lean,[21] had not made the most of the volume of merchants and traders that had been toing and froing from Velayne for the Summer Festival. Their coffers and the larder were running dry, and the groups tempers were wearing thin. The last convoy they had stopped had been let go with over half their goods remaining, as Duvet had taken a liking to the merchant’s wife and been put in a generous and kindly mood when she had agreed to dance with him.[22] The group had watched dismayed as Duvet had waved the merchant and his wife on their way, and since then had been seriously considering a change in leadership. The only reason Duvet remained in charge was because the group could not agree on a successor; reason being they all wanted a taste at leadership. No-one wanted to be the first to show their hand so Duvet remained the leader, blissfully unaware of the many daggers waiting for the right moment.

At least he’d made them set up a roadblock earlier, considered Arrow. Yesterday they’d spent a good hour felling a tree and dragging it down to the bottom of the hill leading up to Clifftop. It was a treacherous enough climb as it was without having to navigate around the tree trunk they’d rolled across the middle of the road, and so it was now a perfect place to ambush any halted wagons. Arrow sorely wished he could be there with the rest of the group, lying in wait, but instead he’d drawn the short straw and had to go out and gather food for their supper in case any travellers failed to fall into their trap. So far the forest had seemed quite bereft of rabbits or any similarly edible animal, but as Arrow crept up over a ridge and looked across a small clearing, he spotted a small furry bundle hopping between tufts of grass. Perfect, he thought, knocking an arrow and lining up his shot, subconsciously accounting for wind and distance.

As he drew back his bowstring and prepared to loose his shot, a thin silvery arrow hummed across the clearing from the other side and pierced the rabbit, which twitched once and keeled over dead. Frozen in shock, Arrow gradually relaxed his bow arm, but kept it ready in case this second hunter showed themselves and were hostile.

To his further surprise, he watched as a naked young woman crept out from the trees to the right of the clearing. Moving in a child-like fashion of exaggerated tip-toeing, the girl sped lithely across towards her fallen prey, her long raven hair gliding behind her. Arrow tried not to watch too closely as she leant over the rabbit and picked it up – he had had encounters with ladies of negotiable affection in the past, but there had always been, well, negotiation beforehand. There had been none of that here, and whilst he was only watching the girl out of curiosity, the fact she was naked added an unnervingly voyeuristic aspect to the scene. Arrow was many things, but he did not consider himself a voyeur. There was a name for that sort of person.

A gentle summer breeze rustled through the trees. The girl looked up, kill in hand, and scanned around. Arrow darted low to the ground, dropping out of sight, and kept as quiet as possible to avoid detection. He lay there, barely breathing, listening intently. The clearing was silent, but Arrow waited a few moments more. There! Was that the rustle of footsteps through leaves? He breathed slowly, his ears strained to their limits, but there was no further sound. Emerging from his hiding spot in the grassy hollow, Arrow surveyed his surroundings but found no trace of the mysterious young woman.

If he’d looked up, he might have seen a slender figure pressed close to the branches of a tree, watching him carefully. But Arrow was too busy thinking: Where did her arrow come from?

Keliashyrr watched the strange man wander off further into the woods, and waited until he was long out of sight before descending from the tree in a graceful leap. As she neared the ground the fallen leaves almost seemed to rise to meet her, cushioning her landing.

“Do you think he saw us?” she whispered.

“I’m afraid he may have done,” came the concerned voice of her father from within her head. “But at least he didn’t see you perform any magic.”

“But the arrow-” began Keliashyrr.

“Would just have looked like a normal arrow to him,” reassured Ambriel. “A lot more inconspicuous than those fireballs you were trying to let off earlier.”

“I don’t have a bow, though. Where’s he going to think the arrow came from?”

“Hmm, you may have a point,” mused Ambriel. Hearing another voice hum inside your own head was like having your ears tickled with a pipe cleaner – from the inside.

“Should I follow after him and make sure he doesn’t tell anyone what he saw?”

“No, that would be more dangerous if anything. Your best bet for survival is to keep moving, and get away from here. You’ll need more rabbit pelts before you can make any substantial clothing as well. Stick to the plan, and if he returns either alone or with back-up, then we’ll have to see how strong your magic can be…”

Keliashyrr moved gingerly across the forest floor, avoiding a pinecone and jumping over some tree roots with a playful leap.

“So he was a human, then?” she mused to herself, her feet moving at a determined pace but her head cocked back, gazing dreamily up at the sun-dappled leaves overhead. “He didn’t look too different to us.”

“Concentrate on where you’re going,” reprimanded Ambriel gently, but then continued: “Well, you have to remember that our race were once very similar to humans too. We share a common ancestry. It wasn’t until that first tribe discovered the Orb and found a way to harness its energies that we steadily began to evolve down the ages into the potent magic users we are today – I mean, that we were. Until our hubris and disdain for other life led to our downfall.”

“Were we and humans always enemies?”

“Certainly not. As I said, we shared a common ancestry – we were once one and the same. I had hoped we could be once again. Marrying your mother, I hoped, would provide a good example for both races. I dreamed you would become the first of a new, peaceful civilisation – the future of the Olossa and the humans, but alas…” Ambriel trailed off.

“It’s not too late, father,” soothed Keliashyrr. “I’m still here.”

“I know you are, my child, and I am forever grateful for that. But our race is gone, and that, I suppose, is right. Everything has its time and everything dies. One day the humans will be gone too, and everything shall return to the dust it came from. What little do the hopes of men mean in the grand design of it all?”

“Maybe our hopes are all there is,” countered Keliashyrr. “Our hopes and dreams make life worthwhile.”

“That is your mother talking,” the voice of Ambriel seemed to grin. “I am glad that though you had hardly any time with her at all, you have still inherited her spirit.” Keliashyrr smiled wistfully. “But enough philosophising – I am becoming my grandfather! I shall tell you about him another time,” Ambriel sighed, “though now we must turn your attention back to rabbits.”

“What do you mean there’s a tree in the road?” Angie gasped exasperatedly as she hobbled down towards Godfrey. The rest of the wagon drivers were staring at the felled tree blocking the road but as Angie appeared they, like all men when faced with a girl they want to impress, started to try and look more active. Dan put his hands on his hips and rested a foot against it, Edgar knelt down to examine a bit of bark, Ben pressed both hands against it as if preparing to push it out the way, and Tom – well, Tom kept staring at it, but with purpose.

“Sorry Miss Angie, this wasn’t here when we came over the other week. Must’ve fallen over at some point.”

“It’s n-not as if there’s any woods nearby for it to come from,” pointed out Robert, appearing from behind Angie like a shadow.

“Yeah, that’s a fair point,” nodded Godfrey, looking around suspiciously. “Bandit activity has been quite quiet in the area lately which has been a blessing, but it never hurts to be too cautious. Good call, Mr…?”

“Hickson. Robert Hickson.”

“You’re an astute lad, Mr Hickson. Don’t get too worried though you two, we’ll soon have this trunk out the way and we can continue on with our journey.”

“Can’t we just go around?” asked Angie, acutely aware that every second passed not moving would shorten the gap between them and the Skadirr. It was already late afternoon. True, Robert had pointed out earlier that at the moment days were longer than nights, which gave them the advantage, but who knew how fast that thing could move? However fast or slow it was, it had to be quicker than the immobile wagons.

“Take a look at the hill in front of us, miss,” gestured Godfrey. Angie’s eyes followed the road along, and then up. And then up some more. “Getting up and over this ridge is always the most difficult part of the trip, whichever way you come at it from. I’d wager Clifftop was only built to give people somewhere to rest once the climb was done. Now if we don’t stick to the road, take a look at what we run into. Around to the left is the sand dunes, not somewhere we want to try and take our wagons through. We’ll get stuck and then we’re worse off than we started. Off to the right are rather steep cliffs and I don’t think I need to tell you we can’t take our wagons vertically up it.”

Angie looked to her left. There were, as Godfrey stated, sand dunes leading down to the rocky beach and beyond that the ocean. To their right was a steep, rocky cliff face. Behind them was the road leading back to Shepsmoot and Velayne, and in front of them, the climb to Clifftop and the damnable tree trunk.

“Why doesn’t the road go atop these cliffs next to us, instead of curving down and then up again?” Angie accused.

“I don’t make the roads, I just travel on them. I imagine they thought people might like a more scenic route. Besides, you wouldn’t want to be on top of those cliffs, they’re blighters for landslides – be thankful our path is just blocked by this tree and not ten tonnes of loose chalk.”

Godfrey, Angie and Robert all looked up at the cliffs beside them.

“So, we’d best get moving this tree then, hadn’t we?” Godfrey asked with renewed vigour, clapping his hands together. “Come on, lads!” he shouted, turning back to the wagon drivers. They’d ceased their attempts at productivity whilst they’d been listening to Godfrey and Angie talk, but now launched into new and impressively inventive ways of not actually doing anything.

It was as they all turned their attention to the tree trunk that the bandits appeared.

Robert noticed them first, tapping on Angie’s arm to alert her to the camouflaged men slipping out from their hiding spots behind sand dunes and fallen boulders. In a matter of seconds the group found themselves surrounded by a ring of blades and bows held ready to strike, waiting on some unseen command. Godfrey and the other wagon drivers cursed under their breath. Angie held her crook defensively, ready to swing it at anyone who dared come near. As she heard a bowstring being drawn taut, she became acutely aware that these bandits didn’t actually have to come anywhere near her to do her harm.

I can’t have escaped the Skadirr to die at the hands of bandits, Angie groaned to herself.

“Good day mesdames et messieurs! I hope I find you all well and rich with coin?”

The group turned and stared as an elaborately dressed man stepped forth from the ring of weaponry. His boots squeaked with each step he took, his jodhpurs billowing out at his thighs before curving back to be held tight by a thick leather belt clasped securely by a glistening gold buckle. His right hand rested on the ornate metalwork of his sword’s jewel-encrusted handle, emeralds and rubies glittering as the sun caught them. A white ruffled shirt was restrained by a rich black waistcoat adorned with a golden brocade, and a long black coat of a similar material cascaded down from his shoulders. To complete his ensemble he wore a black tricorn hat with golden trim and luxurious blue and green feathers bursting forth like a peacock’s plumage.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Angie, and Godfrey tried to hush her. He’d been at the mercy of many groups of bandits before and knew common niceties were a good first step in leaving the encounter with all your limbs attached.

“Oh, zut alors! How could I be so rude to such a dazzling lady? To not introduce myself properly is most aggrieving!” The man stooped low in an extravagant bow, doffing his hat and holding it against his chest. “I beg your humble pardon, mademoiselle – my name is Duvet Verc-Lean, and I am the leader of this humble band of misfits and rascals!” There was a half-hearted cheer from the assembled bandits around them, and Duvet straightened up again, placing his hat back upon his curly brown locks.

“I’ve read about you.” Stated Robert. Duvet smiled widely and threw his arms back.

“Ah, my reputation precedes me! You are a man of reading then, monsieur? I fancy myself a man of words, too. I have, in fact, been working on chronicling my life story – from the son of humble laundry owners in Cardiga, to the greatest outlaw and highwayman the Empire has ever seen!”

“Actually, the book I read said you were one of the worst-” Robert began to reply, but two things happened at the same time to stop him. One of Duvet’s men coughed loudly to get their leader back on track, and Angie stepped smartly onto Robert’s foot.

“My apologies, everyone! I did start to get a little side-tracked just then, but my good friend Hatchet here has reminded me we are here for a purpose after all! I do not mean to be rude here people, but we require you to hand over – your money or your life!”

There was a pause, during which Ben stuck up his hand.

“Begging your pardon, but how precisely does a man hand over his life? Because if we’re talking about handing over my teenage years I’d be all for that, they were rather awkward and I’d sooner say goodbye to them than keep them if you know what I mean?”

All faces turned to display Ben their best attempt at bafflement.

“Alright, there’s no need for that. I was only making a joke…” He trailed off, staring at his boots.

“Aha,” Duvet laughed weakly. “Forgive me. I originally hail from the Isle of Cardiga; your language has little nuances I struggle with sometimes.”

“It’s alright,” chimed in Tom, “It wasn’t that funny a joke anyway.”

“But, err, back to the matter at hand, eh?” continued Duvet, thrown off his rhythm. “Am I to believe you wish to surrender your life, monsieur? Just I do not take pleasure in that side of the business half as much, and I have only recently finished getting the bloodstains out of my last waistcoat…”

“Oh no, not to worry!” Replied Ben quickly. “I was only joking, I am of course, more than happy to hand over my money.”

“What little there is of it that you didn’t give to the ladies by the docks…” whispered Tom.

“Lads!” hissed Godfrey. “Do be quiet, you’re showing us all up here!”

“What was that I heard?” asked Duvet. “Am I to believe you gentlemen are a tad financially embarrassed at the present moment?”

“Well,” shrugged Godfrey diplomatically, “It’s true we took in a good share of coin at the festival,”

“Ah!” beamed Duvet happily.

“But it is also true that most of that coin is, well, no longer with us.”

“Ah,” sunk Duvet. Angie would almost swear she could see the swords and bows of Duvet’s gang shifting angle slightly to aim more towards their leader. “It is no matter, though!” smiled Duvet manically, a bead of sweat dripping down from his forelock. “We shall simply take what you have with you, then let you be on your way swiftly so we may ambush the next lot of merchants burdened with coin for us to relieve them of!”

He gulped and waited as his gang seemed to come to a decision. Angie watched as the bandits looked between one another, then sighed, shrugged, and finally cheered. Duvet allowed himself to breathe again, grinning the terrified grimace of a man walking a tightrope on fire over shark infested waters.

“Form a line, form a line!” he gesticulated, puffy sleeves flailing in the sea breeze. “Wrencher, Hamish, if you could bring forth the sacks please?”

The wagon crew stepped into a rudimentary line, and Angie and Robert attached themselves to the end of it as two large men, one hefting a mace in one hand and the other with a couple of notched axes on his belt, stepped forwards holding large hessian sacks.

“If you messieurs and you, ma chère mademoiselle, could empty your valuables into the sacks tout suite, then we can all leave happily and have no cause for dismay or violence! And be honest,” Duvet cheekily wagged a finger, “because we shall know if you are holding out on us!”

Angie began to panic. She had nothing of value on her save for a single silver hussar and… the Orb. She couldn’t give that away to the bandits, but if she only dropped one coin into the sack would they think she was holding out on them? Would they take it as an insult and harm any of the wagon drivers, or Robert? Would they search her and find the Orb, and take it anyway? Angie hastily searched through her belt to see if she could fake value in any of her other possessions, but she doubted if they’d have any interest in her suturing kit or spare handkerchiefs. Maybe Duvet could sew them onto his outfit, she thought, as the muscled duo of Wrencher and Hamish worked their way down the line.

I wonder which one is Wrencher and which is Hamish? pondered Angie, then snapped herself out of it. No time for silly questions.

Dan had just finished disgruntledly emptying a small bag of coins into the sack, and was trying to make a case to allow him to keep his lute. From the looks of things, he was not winning.

Come on, think, Angie urged herself, desperately trying to think of a way to hide the Orb from the bandits, but it was too late. Wrencher – or was it Hamish? – was now in front of her, bag outstretched. Angie tentatively reached into a pouch on her belt and dug out the silver hussar and some handkerchiefs.

“Sorry,” she smiled weakly, trying her best at seeming embarrassed to be able to offer so little, “I’m only travelling light.”

“What about that hunting dagger of yours?” asked Wrencher/Hamish. “That looks decent, and I need a new blade.”

“It’s, um, a friend’s,” gulped Angie, hand flying to her belt. She’d forgotten about the dagger, and whilst there was no doubt handing over the dagger would ease tensions she did not want to lose what Mrs Gambol had so generously lent her. The man growled slightly, revealing two incomplete rows of yellowed teeth. One of his hands moved to an axe on his belt. “But, err, you can have it of course.” Angie sighed dejectedly, unhooking the dagger and its scabbard from her belt and dropping them into the bag.

“What about that pouch?” the man snarled, gesturing to the pouch on Angie’s belt that unmistakably held a large, square item – the box with the Orb in. Angie’s throat grew dry and her tongue froze in her mouth.

“That’s nothing,” she rasped.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” sniffed the man, reaching forward. Angie took a step back, misbalanced on her bad leg and fell to the ground with a pained grunt, kicking up dirt and sand around her.

“Hamish, please!” tutted Duvet, appearing by the man’s shoulder in an exaggerated flounce. “Do treat our guests with greater care, will you not? My apologies mademoiselle. Some of my men, whilst truly wonderful with a blade, lack, shall we say, delicacy in other matters. It is most rude.” Angie tried to pick herself up but found the slender tip of Duvet’s rapier pointed down towards her. “But ma chérie, so is lying.”

Robert and Godfrey, who stood either side of the fallen Angie, tensed and looked anxiously between Angie and Duvet. Neither of them had even seen him draw his sword, and all of a sudden the apparently harmless dandy seemed a much greater threat. His once warm and friendly eyes were now cold and hard as flint, his smile drawn tight and unmoving. Angie gulped and cursed herself for underestimating him – after all, how could such a foppish man, with a name like Duvet Verc-Lean for crying out loud, become the leader of a group of fearsome bandits without having a darker side?

“Now hold on sir,” began Godfrey, but Duvet silenced him by raising one of his fingers. Robert’s stutter faltered in his mouth.

“I do not wish to harm you, mademoiselle, and I swear on my honour as a Cardigan I shall not, just as long as you- what is so amusing?” Duvet broke off as Ben began to chuckle to himself.

“It’s nothing, really – nervous laugh, I get it at the worst times.” Ben wheezed, stifling a further giggle.

“You are a strange man, sir. I shall not be sad if we did not cross paths again. Where was I? Oh yes – I swear on my honour as a Cardigan,” Duvet continued, ignoring Ben’s wheezing guffaws in the background, “I shall not harm you if you tell me honestly – what is in that pouch?”

Angie didn’t breathe. Her lips quivered as she opened them to speak, but it was not her voice she heard.

“I-it’s a m-music box, sir.” Stuttered Robert, his whole body seeming to shake as he spoke. “F-from her f-father.” Duvet’s eyes didn’t leave Angie’s.

“Indeed? I am a fan of music. I would love to hear it play.”

“It’s locked I’m afraid,” said Angie breathlessly. “That’s why I’m heading to Alderbay, to have a locksmith take a look at it.”

“There are no locksmiths in Velayne?”

There was a tense silence, during which neither Angie nor Duvet blinked. Even the steady wash of the sea seemed to pause for the two.

“There are, of course. But they’re all a bit too expensive for my tastes, as you can probably tell from the measly one hussar I had to offer. The locksmith in Alderbay said he’d do the job for less.”

“Indeed?” Duvet said in hushed tones, and leaned forward. “I think you are both terrible liars. Tell me the truth now. You will not get a third chance.” Angie gulped, and shared a brief panicked look with Robert.

“I’m being hunted. What is in this box is valuable, there’s no doubt – but it won’t bring you any riches. It won’t bring you any luck. It’ll bring pain, and destruction, and death. Please. I’m begging you, let us go. Help us move the tree so we can be on our way quickly and get away from my pursuers.”

Duvet seemed to ponder this for a moment, and gave Robert an inquisitive look.

“That, at least, seems to be the truth.” He said, sheathing his blade and offering Angie a hand up. “I cannot say I believe what you say is true, but you believe it is true and that is good enough for me.” Angie got to her feet and rested again on the crook.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“A burden like that box,” Duvet said, nodding towards it, “Seems to me to be one that any sane person would want to pass on as soon as they could. If it truly does bring pain, destruction and death to its owners, why not let me take it?” He extended an open palm, and Angie found her hand hovering over the pouch on her belt.

It could all be over now, her brain hissed at her. Let him and his band of miscreants take it, then it’s their problem. Angie felt her fingers gently caress the button of the pouch, and for a moment she hesitated.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I’m sorry, Mr Verc-Lean, but I can’t. A dear friend of mine died for this, and I have to know it wasn’t in vain. I appreciate the offer, but I’m the only one I trust carrying this burden.”

“I see.” Said Duvet calmly. “You are strong. Determined. And you have a friend willing to lie for you,” Duvet smiled softly as he looked at Robert. “We should all be so lucky.” Duvet turned back to his men.

“Alright everyone, we have what we came for! I know this has not been our greatest treasure haul, but these are only the first few wagons back from the festival; more will come! Hamish, give the girl back her dagger. Everyone else, let us move the tree out of the way for our friends here!”

“But we spent half a chuffing day getting it there in the first place!” one of the bandits muttered. “I got splinters in places a man ought not get splinters!” Hamish huffed angrily and chucked Angie’s dagger back to her. The rest of the group of bandits alternated between growling, sighing or sulking, but they all quietly decided now was not the time for violent revolution and reluctantly set about rolling the tree to the side of the track.

Godfrey and the rest of the wagon drivers looked somewhat dumbstruck. This was not what they were used to from bandit attacks, but – and this was an important but – they were very much not complaining.

“I wish you all the luck in the world, ma chérie,” Duvet smiled, doffing his hat and bowing low again. “I hope if we meet again I shall hear you have found closure for your dear departed friend.”

“Thank you,” nodded Angie, not wanting to risk a bow or curtsy with her leg. “I have to say from everything I’ve heard about bandits and the like, you are definitely not what I was expecting. I mean that as a compliment, of course!” she hastened.

“I took it as one.” Duvet grinned and waggled an eyebrow. “If a man went round taking offence to everything he’d never manage to accomplish anything in his day! Now go, be on your way! If death does nip at your heels then your flight must be a speedy one, as I would hate for him to catch such a beauty as yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr Verc-Lean,” replied Angie awkwardly, and limped over to the wagon where Godfrey was beckoning. She allowed Robert to help her up into the back of the wagon, then gave him a hand up too. Within an instant they were trundling off again, as if Godfrey wanted to put as much distance between them and the retreating bandits as possible in case they changed their minds. He had seen the looks on the bandits’ faces as well as Angie had, and did not wish to be in Duvet Verc-Lean’s boots later on. Angie and Robert stared out the back of the wagon as the bandits began to drag the tree trunk back across the road. Duvet was waving.

“W-what an interesting man,” stated Robert. Angie nodded in agreement, waving vaguely back at Duvet. Robert began to pull a book out of his bag, and settled back to read.

“Thank you,” said Angie after a pause, as if she was aware she had said it a lot recently and didn’t want to wear the words out or have them lose meaning. Robert looked up at her.

“What for?”

“For lying to Duvet for me. For helping. That was brave of you.”

“That’s okay. I know you’d do the same for me.”

“I wish I had your confidence in me,” sighed Angie, wondering what she would have done if their situation had been reversed, and hoping she would have done the right thing.

[21] Another unfortunately named man, though nobility was not to blame this time. His parents had just been very proud launderette owners.

[22] It had all been a bit too similiar to the soirees for Arrow’s liking.