Kellanved's Reach

They lay in a half-fallen-down old barn, close by the rutted road north to Balstro, along the River Nye. It was early morning and soldiers were tramping about outside; he could glimpse them through the slats. They wore the sky-blue livery of Gris.

Gregar held himself as still and quiet as possible.

After an agonizing wait, a gruff woman’s voice called out: ‘We know you’re in there! C’mon out.’

Gregar shot an angry glare to Haraj, hissed, ‘You said they wouldn’t bother!’

‘I got us this far!’ he hissed back.

‘I had to carry you half the way!’

Haraj flapped his hands, dismissive. ‘I’m not used to all this walking – who knew it’d be so fucking far?’

‘You coming?’ the woman barked. ‘Hurry up! Haven’t got all day.’

Gregar shot Haraj another glare.

‘Maybe they don’t know we’re here,’ the lad whispered. ‘Maybe they’ll just go—’

He shut up as thrown brands came arcing through the open doorway to land amid the scattered straw and rushes. A tossed splash of oil followed and immediately burst into flames.

Gregar shook the fellow. ‘Magic us out of here!’

The lad hugged himself. ‘I’m not that kind of mage … but I have an idea.’

Gregar released him, coughed into a fist as the smoke thickened. ‘Fine! What? What is it?’

Haraj ran for the entrance and jumped the flames, his hands held high, shouting, ‘I surrender! Don’t kill me!’

Gregar threw wide his arms. ‘That’s it? That’s the plan?’ He shook his head then picked up a harvesting scythe – the only decent weapon he’d come across – and followed.

Clearing the smoke, he paused, blinking, then threw down the scythe; the soldiers held crossbows trained upon him. In front of him, Haraj was kneeling on the ground, arms out.

The fat female sergeant swaggered forward and tied their hands together behind their backs with leather thongs. ‘All this fuss just to get caught again,’ she growled, and clouted Gregar across the head. ‘That’s for all the trouble you caused me, y’damned wretch of a stonemason. And you,’ she shook Haraj like a rat. ‘Your master bent my ear warning me how tricky you are, so I’m gonna keep a close eye on you!’

The soldiers yanked them to their feet and marched them down to the road, where a caged prison wagon waited. Gregar growled to Haraj, ‘Some plan.’ Yet his companion didn’t appear the least bit troubled by what was happening; he was even smiling as they were thrown in, and he offered Gregar a broad wink.

The sergeant slammed and locked the cage door then returned to her troop. There she bellowed orders for them to set to work to contain the fire; it seemed she was having second thoughts about burning Grisian property so carelessly.

Gregar threw himself down on the dirty straw. The quarries for him. Or just plain execution for escaping.

The wagon rocked beneath him and he raised his head, complaining, ‘What in the name of Hood are you doing?’

But the fellow wasn’t in the cage. In fact, the door now hung open and Haraj was on the roof, clambering like a human-sized spider for the front, and the driver’s plank seat.

‘Grab the reins!’ Gregar urged, coming to the front bars.

‘What’re they?’

‘The reins! The leads!’

The lad thumped down into the driver’s seat. ‘These strappy things?’

‘Yes! Snap them. Snap them and yell!’

Haraj gave the reins a pathetic shake. The two horses, sad old beaten-down animals, merely turned their heads to give him an amused look.

‘Mean it, dammit!’ Gregar snarled.

A bellow of alarm sounded from the direction of the burning barn.

Haraj snapped the leads as hard as he could and he may also have yelled something, but it was swallowed by the curdling scream Gregar let loose. The horses reared, startled, and took off up the rutted mud way – northward, fortunately.

Once the horses were spent, which didn’t take very long at all, they came to a slow stall amid deep woods and Haraj and Gregar jumped from the wagon. With a mere flick of his wrist the strange lad loosed Gregar’s bonds. Then he peered up at him and asked, ‘Now what?’

For an instant Gregar was tempted to free the horses of their tack and try riding them, but being a mere commoner and apprentice stonemason he’d never even been on one before, and so he eyed the surrounding woods instead. ‘We should take off through the forest.’

Haraj winced. ‘Really? I mean, the road would be easier going …’

‘They’ll send riders after us – or you, really. It’s you they want, isn’t it? They don’t give a damn about me.’

The lad hunched from him as if expecting a beating, and the sight of this brought a wringing pain to Gregar’s chest. He looked away, blinking, and muttered, ‘We should get moving.’ He headed into the trees. ‘Follow me.’

They walked through the forest for a time, or rather Gregar walked and Haraj crashed, tripped, cursed, broke branches, and shook brush as he fell. Gregar just sighed and waited for him to catch up. As the evening darkened into night Haraj cleared his throat to offer, tentatively, ‘Ah … we have no food …’

‘Noticed that, did you?’

‘Or water.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So … what’ve you got in mind?’

‘Can you hunt?’

‘Ah … no. Can you?’