S. Turney - Ironroot

Salonius took the opportunity to cast a glance behind him but saw no sign of their pursuers. In fact they’d not seen them for several hours now, and the young soldier was beginning to worry they’d gone ahead through the village already.

There were few signs of life as they approached the outermost buildings. These were farms, the continual sound of roaring water now joined with the bleating of sheep and the squawking of chickens in their enclosure. The two men rode slowly across the narrow stone bridge and squinted ahead. Darkness had descended swiftly since the sun set and the grey stone and dark oak constructions loomed as deeper shadows within the gloom. A few houses showed signs of flickering lights within. Tallow candles, Salonius thought. Oil was expensive this far north and a poor hill-farming village would be unlikely to have a regular supply.

The inn stood overlooking the central space of the village, a green with a constantly flowing spring from a boulder pile that fed a small stone trough before trickling down a runnel and into the river. Salonius smiled appreciatively as he took in the welcoming sight of a large, well lit double storey building. The door was of the stable variety, separated into upper and lower panels. The lower was latched shut; the upper standing open and casting a welcoming yellow glow onto the dark ground outside.

Wordlessly the two men dismounted and led their horses to the door. Varro handed the reins to his companion and went inside, disappearing from view for a couple of minutes as he approached the bar. Salonius stood quietly holding the reins, taking the opportunity to look around in a bored fashion and observe his surroundings. The bridge was narrow and of stone. There was little hope of any rider crossing it quietly, so Varro was right. Unless their pursuers had taken the chance to get ahead this afternoon, they would have to stay in the valley for the night, presumably close enough to be able to keep an eye on the village and their quarry. So long as he and Varro alternated sleep they could watch the bridge easily from the inn. He smiled.

“Over here!” Varro’s voice called from around the side of the building.

Salonius led the horses at a walk around the building and to the stables where Varro waited with a boy in an apron. The stable hand reached up and took the reins, while the two guests collected their various bags and important belongings from the saddles, after which he led the horses to their accommodation for the night. Varro and Salonius watched him disappear, noting where their mounts would be stabled, and then strode in through the side door, into the inn. Varro stopped by the entrance and spoke to his companion in a hushed voice.

“I’ve arranged a room at the other side of the inn; the direction we entered the village. I’ll explain when we’re up there.”

The two swiftly passed through the warm, welcoming bar and trotted lightly up the stairs to the rear. At the end of the corridor, Varro stopped and fumbled with a key until the lock released with a click and the door swung open. Salonius crossed the room and dropped the bag on the floor before approaching the window and peering around the side of the frame into the darkness beyond.

The window looked out over the bridge and into the distance down the valley. The advantages of the view were clear. Varro joined him and pointed at an angle down the alley at the inn’s side. Salonius peered into the shadowy space and noted the low wooden roof of an outhouse only a few feet away: an easy exit without alerting any of the inn’s patrons. He smiled.

“For an unnoticed start in the morning?”

Varro nodded and dropped his kit next to the other bag.

“That and more. As soon as we’re settled, we’re going out to find our friends and see what they’re up to.”

The moon was high but partially obscured by scudding clouds as Varro and Salonius slid the table bearing their dirtied dinner plates away from the window and the captain climbed through, surprisingly nimbly, Salonius thought, given both his age and his current state of health. As the younger man approached the window ready to follow suit, he saw Varro swing from the sill and land with a soft thud on the gently-sloping insulated wooden roof of the outhouse.

Salonius climbed through and swung across to the roof quietly and dextrously, landing in a crouch. He glanced down into the alley to see that Varro had dropped lightly to the dirt floor. Following, the young soldier joined him in the shadowy street. Quickly, the pair dusted themselves off and unwrapped the linen scarves they’d bound around the hilts of their swords to prevent unnecessary noise during the descent.

“Are we taking the horses?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“No,” Varro replied squaring his shoulders. “Too noisy. And they’ll be near enough to see the inn, so they can’t be far beyond that farm. Follow me.”

Salonius nodded and the two moved softly to the rear of the inn. Ducking around the back of the next house they could see a short alleyway that led to a patch of darkness from which came the sounds of rushing water. Taking a deep breath, Varro jogged quietly down the alley and to the bank of the river. Clearly too far to jump and too fast to wade or swim, the only crossing point would still be the bridge. Turning the corner once more, they made their way along the river bank towards the bridge.

“Do you think they’ll be watching it?” Salonius whispered as they came to a halt a few yards away in the shadow of the last building.

“Definitely. Certainly one of them will be awake.”

“So what’s the plan?” the young man queried.

“We’ve a choice. Least visible route is to climb along the outside.” He pointed to a very narrow lip where the tile bonding layer jutted out of the grey stone. “It’ll be dangerous, ‘coz there’s not much of a lip and it’s bound to be slippery. The alternative is we take the chance and run across.”

“And hope they’re looking away at that point? Bit risky.”

“The side it is, then” agreed Varro.

Another deep breath in preparation and the captain darted across the small space to the bridge, ducking below the parapet and grasping the capstones tightly. With a last glance back at Salonius, Varro began to shuffle slowly along the side of the bridge with gently scraping noises that were almost completely drowned out by the rushing water.

The young man watched with some trepidation, his breath held and his heart pounding in his chest. He almost jumped out into the open as he saw Varro’s foot slip on the narrow lip and for a heart-stopping moment the man hung above the torrent by his fingertips before regaining his hold and shuffling along to the safety of the far bank. As he dropped silently into the long grass and climbed up the bank, he waved across to Salonius.

The young soldier ducked across the gap and dropped down the bank, grasping the top of the wall. With a grunt, he began to pull himself across, relying mostly on the strength of his arms and using the tips of his toes on the ledge mainly for balance. In what felt like hours, yet was really only moments, he reached the far bank and dropped gratefully to the grass next to Varro. The older man slapped him quietly and encouragingly on the shoulder and paused long enough for the pair of them to get their breath back.

With a deep breath, he gestured to Salonius to follow and moved along the outer wall of the farm.

“We’ll head round the back and out of the village that way. They’ll be concentrating on the inn, the bridge and the road, so we should be safe.”

Salonius nodded and joined the captain, slowly creeping along the wall. Somewhere nearby a dog barked and both men stopped for a tense moment before moving on as quietly as possible. A few minutes later they had rounded the back of the farm and were picking their way between a hen run and a rickety wooden shed with slats missing. Passing the last of the net fencing, they reached a gooseberry bush that provided the last cover before open ground.