M. Mathias - Through the Wildwood

Gallarael was laid by the stream, instead of carried out into it. “We can’t just dunk her,” Vanx explained. “The shock of hot to cold could do more harm than good. Use the rags and the extra blankets to cool her off slowly.” He stood and looked up at the sky. The moon was behind the clouds, but he could tell that it was already sinking below the mountains. Dawn would be upon them soon.

Darbon watched helplessly, still clutching the cupful of water he’d come to fetch. Vanx saw him and was suddenly struck with an idea.

“Come on, Darby,” he said with a trace of hope in his voice. “And bring the cup with you.”

“Where are we going? How will we see?” the young apprentice asked as Vanx stalked upstream into the night. “It’s dark as pitch out here.”

“We’re going to fetch a wizard. Just follow me closely,” Vanx ordered. Then back over his shoulder he added, “And don’t spill the water from that cup.”

“They went into the Wildwood,” Kavin Karcher, a mountain of a man who was also known as Bear Fang, said with no emotion showing on his overly hairy face. He was a head taller than most men and smelled wild, like a boar or an ox. His hair and beard were unkempt and his dark eyes were as hard as iron. He wore clothes made of elk hide and shin-high lace-up boots. Beside the long dagger at his hip hung a one-handed crossbow, and his thick walking stick looked like it could easily be used as a club.

“No need to follow them in there,” Commander Aldean said with a sigh of regret. “No one has ever survived the Wildwood and lived to tell of it.”

“We’re talking about my daughter,” Duke Martin barked. “I don’t care if they walked into a dragon’s mouth. We will follow them until we find her.”

Since Duke Martin learned that Gallarael was among the caravan members he’d insisted on personally conducting the search for her.

“Duke Martin, I understand and respect your persistence, but it’s more likely that Gallarael is in the group the others are tracking.” Aldean let out a sigh to cover his unease. “Why would she travel away from civilization?” He looked to Coll, the duke’s dark-haired, black-clad advisor for support. The strange man seemed to be somewhere else in his mind and was no help.

“If your blood is too yellow to come with us, Commander, then you can return to the ambush site and wait on the others.” The duke glared at his one-time most trusted friend with contempt in his eyes. “Master Coll, Commander Karcher and I can continue just fine without you.”

The placing of his title before the treacherous trapper’s name wasn’t lost on Aldean, and what Coll was the master of, he had no idea.

Aldean was no coward, but to traipse off into the Wildwood following a trail that was probably made by escaped slaves or wounded haulers was suicidal.

“The two of them’s got boots on that were issued from your armory. Soldiers’ boots.” Bear Fang gave a chuckling grin toward Commander Aldean. “Three groups, like I said before. They’re all following each other at a distance. One set of boots in the first lot, the other with the horse. That’s probably the one that killed that fat dice cheat Gregon back yonder. The last group is the one I can’t figure. I can’t think of no reason for anyone to follow a lone soldier out into the Wildwood, but they done it.”

Duke Martin looked to Coll, who only shrugged. “How many do you think are in the first group?”

“That slave you’re after, I figure. He tried to bust his shackles on them rocks I showed you. Them other slaves you described, they couldn’t have made it this far. It’s hard to say, but either he took them boots off of a dead soldier, or there’s a soldier with him. Either way, there are three sets of footprints, and three places where bedrolls was laid out back at that campsite in the cut. One of them sets of prints be dainty. Them’s your girl’s, maybe.” Bear Fang hacked up and spat a thick wad of phlegm into the dirt. Then he took out a plug of tobacco and with jagged yellow-brown teeth bit off a chunk of it.

“See, Commander,” Duke Martin sneered at Aldean, “that adulterous bastard and maybe one of those bandits took Gallarael as hostage. I’d wager your month’s worth of coin that it’s Moyle on that horse following them. If he found out that Gallarael was traveling with the caravan then he is trying to keep her alive. He knows that is his first priority.”

The duke reached for Bear Fang’s tobacco plug and unceremoniously bit off his own cheekful of the stuff. “Maybe I’ll make Moyle my next commander,” he said around the brown wad of chew.

Commander Aldean had heard about the duke’s early days as a frontiersman and kingdom explorer, but he’d never seen the man actually in the field. They’d hunted elk and troll in the crags around Highlake Valley together, but the gumption Humbrick Martin was showing now was a stark contrast to his lazy lording lifestyle. The duke was being called out, Aldean knew. The man had no choice but to rise to the challenge. Though he detested Duke Martin’s ways, Aldean coveted his position as Commander of Highlake. He wouldn’t let that go to the likes of Bear Fang Karcher, or even Captain Moyle. Besides that, he had watched Gallarael grow from a curious girl into a beautiful young woman. As slim as the chances of her surviving this ordeal, his sense of chivalry was nagging at him to at least make the attempt to find her.

Trying to mask his uncertainty, he spurred his horse ahead of the other three men. “What are you waiting for then?” he called back. “If they’ve got Gallarael, then we have no time to waste gabbing.”

Bear Fang laughed aloud, and Duke Martin spoke around his mouthful of tobacco. “Yat’s da spirit.” After he spat the juice from his mouth he added, “You craven bastard.”

This got a laugh out of Coll, but his mirth vanished when Bear Fang spoke up.

“Only a fool isn’t afraid of the Wildwood.”

Duke Martin wasn’t worried. He had been in the Wildwood before and survived. In his youth, he and a small group of hunters, including Prince Paliver Oakarm, King Oakarm’s deceased brother, had been tracking wyvern in the foothills. Of course there was a hundred-man mounted escort following only a half-mile behind the party, but they didn’t arrive in time to save the prince from his fate. It was a shame, too, Duke Martin reflected. He and Paliver had a plan to kill Prince Ravier so that when King Maliver Oakarm died, Paliver would take the throne instead. Humbrick Martin was to be the High Lord of Parydon Isle and King Paliver Oakarm was to rule from the mainland city of Andwyn. Duke Martin would have lived better than the king himself had the wyvern not gotten hold of Prince Paliver. The day hadn’t been a total loss, though. By saving the prince’s body and slaying the beast that had killed him in a fantastic manner, Humbrick Martin guaranteed himself an eventual place among the nobility. A few years later, when Maliver Oakarm died, King Ravier took the throne and granted him the title Duke of Highlake.

To call it a gift was inaccurate. More like a curse. A punishment full of perks was what it turned out to be. A puny castle way up in the wild Highlake Valley, with barely a route for supplies to come and go, was what he was granted. He’d fortified the stronghold, built an easily defendable wall around most of the valley, which allowed protected access to the lake. He rid the passage up from Waterdon of legitimate bandits and replaced them with men who were more or less under his thumb. All in all, he’d put himself and his family in a position to rise even higher in the ranks of Parydon nobility. The problem now, though, was that Gallarael was the key to that ascension.