Road and Forest Read online

Road and Forest

  The Legends of Quone-Loc-Sie #4

  By John Stevenson

  Copyright 2010 John Stevenson

  When the daylight began to fail, Nicholas rose and made his way down to the road. Once sure it was clear, he stepped from the trees and walked toward the village; trying as much as he could to look like a worker returning from the fields. He pulled the hood of the cloak up around his face as the onset of night had brought a chill, and for that reason it would not arouse suspicion. It seemed Reigel was right, time had passed; the season of ice was closing in on the land.

  Within a short time he was approaching the gate to his home, or what had been his home. Even dark and full of sorrow the sight of the building raised his pulse. He stood still for a moment, his hand on the gate not wanting to enter. It contained too much heartache, but it was also the last and now only contact he had with the memories of happier times. It suddenly occurred to him that standing where he was he was making himself too obvious. He quickly glanced around; he could see no one and was hopeful that no one had seen him. Quickly he walked over the gravel straight up to the door as if he was a traveler asking for directions.

  But now he stopped again facing the door. As Reigel had warned him, two pieces of timber barred his entry, and where they crossed was nailed the great seal of Quone-Loc-Sie. He reached for the planking closet to the handle, and tried to move it enough to pass, but without showing to the road that it had been disturbed.

  “What is your business?” a voice boomed in his ear, and a hand was clamped firmly upon his shoulder.

  Nicholas went rigid with shock. He turned; as much as the grip allowed, to see one of the guard stood close behind him.

  He had not expected this, and his mind raced. This was the house of the provider, and the grain storage for the village. One half of all the grain and the lands were now the Marshal's. He had miscalculated; of course there would be a guard. It was a disastrous start and he silently cursed himself for being so careless. There was only one consolation; this soldier would be looking for a thief, and not a dead man.

  “I asked you, what is your business touching the great seal?”

  “Forgive me; I am but a poor man, with an ailing wife, and a hungry child. I seek only to let them live for another day.” The lie seemed to roll off his tongue like butter from a hot knife.

  The guard took his hand from him, and stood back. His other hand held the handle of his half-drawn sword. The soldier looked at him pleased that his watch should produce a scavenger. He was not much, barely more than a boy, but extra pay was extra pay no matter the wretch who provided it. Then his look changed. “For one who is so poor that his family starves, your clothes are fine enough?”

  “Officer it is the least my wife can do. All she can earn is from what cleaning in the village she can find; but her trade; her greatest quality is in her mending, as you may well see.” The lie seemed so easy to utter.

  “Aye I do, and if she is that good a seamstress how come she does not work as such?”

  “If only she could officer; but those who would want her work can pay her nothing.”

  “That may be so, times are hard for all.” He seemed satisfied at the excuse, and convinced that he had caught a thief. “The matter still is that you were about to break the great seal; that you will explain to the Alderman.”

  The guard stepped forward to take hold of him again; as he did Nicholas clenched left fist sank into his stomach. Any cry the man would have made was driven out of his lungs with all the air they contained. He bent forward gasping only to meet Nick's right fist coming up under his jaw. There was a sharp crack, and the guard fell backwards onto the stones of the path.

  Nicholas stared at the man stunned at his own actions. Only once before had he hit anyone; and that was defending his brother. He couldn’t believe what he had done. Still shocked he looked around; there was no one to be seen, and hopefully in the closing mist no one had witnessed his assault from a window. He turned back to the door and tore off the seal: it was too late for caution now. Once the door was open he pulled the guard inside and closed it shut.

  There was always a lantern by the rack, which held outside clothing. He found and lit it before kneeling beside the guard. Nicholas couldn't see him breathing, and didn't dare check if he was.

  He looked around. The room had not been touched, other than the timber floor had been washed, and only a dim outline marked where his father’s blood had stained the boards.

  Forcing his anguish aside he went straight to his mother's room. He opened the door, but could not enter the room. A great sadness came over him knowing that he would never hear her soft voice or see her smiling face again. The room had always seemed so full and busy, but now every piece of the simple furniture took on a cold and hard look.

  Everything seemed so strange, yet so familiar. It was cold and lifeless, not how he remembered the laughter and noise. Again he had to force his thoughts back to what he had to do, but it was some time before he could step over and open her private cupboards.

  There were few places to hide any object, even one as small as a ring. Each shelf, each drawer held the crisp clean clothes that he knew. His fingers felt like lead as he pushed the materials aside: now he did feel like a thief. A cedar chest stood at the bottom of the bed. Halfway down he found an elaborate gown. He remembered her once saying that she had married in a wedding dress fit for a princess, and that one day; if she chose, his bride could wear it to take his hand. Tears ran over his cheeks, and dropped onto the lacework turning tiny pieces of it damp. Then thankfully his fingers found a small ornately carved box tucked inside the gowns bodice.

  Opening it he realized why there was no memory of his mother wearing the trinket. By its design it was not a woman's but a man’s ring. Of its beauty there was no doubt: simple in design, but even he could see that the craftsmanship was superb. He had never seen such an object, and to think of this as his mothers. Why had she not told of it before?

  There was a noise outside. He quickly slipped the ring into the flap of his cloak, doused the light, and crept to the heavy curtain over the window. Pulling it slightly aside he stared out. It was dark outside and he watched intently until he saw a shadow moving; then he heard a snort, and the sound of a hoof scraping the ground. A horse was in the animal enclosure. He relaxed. It would be the guards. It was becoming restless, that could mean it had been there some time, and that could also mean that a change of guard was due.

  He had to work quickly now. In his own room he packed a few mementos into a woven pack. It had thick leather shoulder straps, and had been a gift to him from his mother.

  Without looking at the table in the kitchen he went to the pantry, filling his pack with, flour, salt, dried meat, preserved fruit, and other items he thought he would need.

  He went back to the door. The guard lay still. The man was barely taller than him, but considerably broader; still it would have to do. He stripped the man of his uniform and put it on. The straps of the leather boots had become wet from the grass outside, and were difficult to untie, so Nicholas sat heavily back on the floor, holding the boots close to the lamp. From this position he could see under the plate dresser. Something was laid against the back wall: it was the knife. He had almost forgotten it.

  Once the boots were on his feet, he took a kitchen cloth and pulled the knife out. It still bore the dried blood of his father. For a second it all came vividly back.

  Nicholas walked back to the kitchen, and drew some water into a bowl from a cask, placing the blade into it. Taking care not to touch the handle he cleaned it, turning the water pink. More tears ran down his cheeks, as the blood stained water dripped from his fingers. He dried his hands; wrapped the knife; picked up his p
ack and left the building without another look back.

  The horse raised its head as he came out, but made no movement. He saw it was hobbled as he walked up to it. The guard's uniform was of a cavalryman, so he surmised the animal would be one of the stable horses, used by any that had cause. Hopefully it would accept him as just another burden.

  He was reassured to see the guard had little knowledge or care for the animal, and had not bothered removing the saddle, of that he was thankful, for now all he wanted to do was leave as quickly as he could.

  Taking the harness, he led the horse to the gate and opened it. Nicholas patted the animal talking softly as he pulled himself up on its back. It moved a little from him but no more than any animal would shy from a new rider. It let him mount, and pulling gently on the reins he turned it and rode out of the yard. Now his