CHAPTER 1.34 - OVERNIGHT INTERLUDE I - RIAN
Rian is hanging off the narrow bed, seemingly in every direction. He feels a contentment he hasn’t experienced in decades. Or, if he’s honest with himself, he’s never really felt this... The villagers, their easy acceptance the minute they saw that he knew what he was doing, felt like a warm embrace. More especially the harmony of their purpose and…the simple community of their efforts was like a spring of fresh water into a part of him that had been parched his whole life. He thinks of Oakbridge, of the one place that felt like a home, any kind of community to him. He feels the pang of anxiety that’s been growing since their situation made the town their target.
He sighs, his thoughts skittering away from painful memories, landing on a more imminent threat instead. And a threat to the precious, tenuous community he feels growing between the people sharing the room with him. Friends, he hopes. He realises he’s already fallen into considering them that way. Stupid of him, since they were thrown together, held that way only by circumstance. And by their accidental proximity to him, they’re hunted.
He feels like his brain’s racing, but the sleep he’s been denying himself takes Rian and suddenly…
-x-
…he’s returning to his stockade after a good day. He’s exhausted, carrying a full deer on his back, but suddenly perks up. The place has been finished for less than a season. Or rather, he corrects, the basic plan of the place is completed. There’s much he can still do, but he can now survive here indefinitely, shy of some supplies he couldn’t hope to reliably source himself. He has no intention of becoming a miner full-time, and iron sadly doesn’t grow on trees. Still, he knows his home well, having built it from the ground up. And it doesn’t feel right today.
He secretes the hind away from the narrow no-man’s-land he cleared of trees surrounding the fence, standing still for long minutes until he satisfies himself there’s no movement inside the small compound. Then he moves from space to space like a shadow primed for violence until he confirms he’s alone. Someone was here, though, it’s undeniable. Little was disturbed of any value; however, his intruders fell afoul of both of his external traps.
Rian feels a surge of pride that his simple tripwires injured and annoyed a pair of intruders. Assuming his read is accurate. Probably men, judging by their weights. Particular satisfaction that, having been hurt and cautioned by the first wire, they still hadn’t spotted the second. Neither would have been fatal but, given the landing zones were into patches of thorny brambles, they were intended to punish intruders for their trespass. As a bonus, the plants’ fruits were delicious, assuming you were very careful picking them.
Unlike his would-be robbers, Rian didn’t need to take care entering his homestead. He did, however, have to push back the supple branch through which he had hammered multiple hardwood stakes. Those confirmed that whoever had intended to take his stuff had traded some of their blood.
-x-
Nevin came for him the next day. Rian had a lot of work on his hands processing the hide, meat and other treasures from the previous day’s hunt, but ensured that his attention was not fully absorbed and that a weapon was always within reach. He was prepared, if necessary, to alter where he slept, having settled on a sizeable tree with good sight lines on the gate. And swore next winter to expand the killing space around the stockade fence.
He was aware of the man’s approach before he had passed the artificial treeline, Rian focusing intently on his sense of hearing. Unbelievably, the visitor seemed to have come alone. When the man he would come to know as Nevin did emerge, Rian was shocked that he appeared for all intents and purposes to be out for a stroll. His signature pair of blades were sheathed at his side. And, seeing that he was detected, he threw up a hand in greeting. “Hello the little house! Might I occupy a bit of your time?”
The man’s voice sounded cheery, but his eyes were anything but. And for every single thought Rian had had about killers over the preceding few years, about how their crimes must manifest, be visible somehow, this man confirmed the lot. He was uncannily still at rest, tightly measured in his movements. He made a little show of requesting permission to enter, of complimenting Rian’s labour, his homestead, his catch. But he made no attempt to fake ignorance of the stockade’s layout. Aside from some interest in his tannery. Rian had fallen into frozen watchfulness and silence unless directly questioned by the obvious murderer before him.
More importantly, Rian felt scared. He disliked that, having encountered little to date that triggered such a response. Moreso, he felt surprised that a man he outweighed by a significant factor could be that trigger. But Nevin was confidence incarnate. Not a cocky, loud version; rather, it felt for all the world that Nevin was weighing you, casually assessing you. And behind those dark eyes, precisely calculating how he would kill you.
He had no idea how to respond when the man announced, “I’ll have to ask you to come with me.” The shorter man watched his eyes betray him, flicking to the handaxe within grabbing range. And calmly, like a teacher answering a mundane question for the hundredth time, stated: “You won’t need your weapons, but don’t let me stop you.” And Nevin smiled a humourless smile, dead eyes watching, arms casually crossed.
-x-
This was insanity. For the first hour that they trudged through the forest, Rian was certain they were going to ‘stumble’ across a hole dug large and deep enough to serve as his grave. That his surprise, then his flesh, would be punctured by his silent companion. But nothing dramatic happened. Instead, Nevin graciously, if cooly, offered him water, appeared nonplussed when Rian dug his pike into the forest floor to retrieve his own waterskin from his pack. The man’s pace, his entire demeanour was of someone doing a job; a thankless task that was going to burn time. A couple of hours away from the stockade, Nevin gave him a look close to guilt and apologised. “I’m taking your day, but I’ll have you back by sundown.” As if that answered anything. Then again, at least he seemed alive in the man’s prediction.
-x-
Hours later, deep in the forest, they arrive at the closest thing to a fortress that Rian’s ever seen. An expansive, boxy, three storey wooden building sitting behind a high stockade wall with evenly distributed wooden watchtowers. The place speaks to power, particularly manpower as the killing ground around it is vast. Rian was certain he and Nevin were spotted half a mile from the walls, following as they were one of the roads connecting the heavily used trails visible an hour or so out from this hub.
His guide continues in silence, Rian’s discomfort growing as the man’s status becomes apparent. Nevin gives no wave nor identifying gesture towards the walls. Rian spotted a runner hot-footing it to a tower, presumably to announce their approach. The gates were opened in plenty of time for them to stride through. They are expected. The largest man Rian has ever seen stands some distance behind the gates, leaning on a huge battleaxe like it was a walking stick. Heavily bearded, a breastplate over leathers, giant bearskin cloak covering his shoulders, the man stands casually, appraising Rian as they approach.
Nevin, succinct as ever, bade Rian wait about 15 feet shy of the great man, with whom he fell into a brief but murmured exchange. The big man’s brow beetling, he nodded in silence before approaching their unwilling guest. Now confirmed as the giant man’s lieutenant, Nevin ambled away towards the main doors of the keep, circling a large well en route.
“Rian, I’m told.” The big man’s voice is more cultured, lighter than his bulk had suggested to Rian. “I’m Dolf. Thank you for coming today.” He sounds as though he’s greeting a guest. “I’m certain you must be hungry, please come this way.”
He’s led into a huge hall full of tables, passing firepits sized to roast entire animals. The central table has two settings across from one another, proper silver plates and cutlery. This refinement stands in contrast to the people sparring and shooting targets in the courtyard, guarding the walls, the couple of men quickly bringing silver platters with meat, vegetables and potatoes gleaming with butter towards them. Dolf’s chair is richly padded, not far removed from a throne to Rian’s eye.
As they eat, Dolf surprisingly politely despite his barbarous look, the man makes small talk. Or, at least, something plausibly close to it. He understands that he’s being quizzed, albeit pleasantly, about his leatherworking, the man satisfying himself that Rian made his own armour. This confuses him, but not nearly as much as when Nevin returns with another pair of bandits. One of them has angry welts covering his neck and face. The other’s walking stiffly, unable or unwilling to flex his torso. As they approach, he feels himself stiffen, recognising the map of their wounds. He can see Dolf silently observing his reaction. He’s baffled by the meal, the playfulness of it assuming he was brought here to die. Wonders how many of these bastards he might be able to take with him.
Suddenly, Nevin’s between the men and him, frowning. The slim man, as though reading Rian’s mind, shakes his head subtly. His hand’s on the pommel of one of his scimitars. Across the table, Dolf begins speaking. Instead of announcing Rian’s death sentence, the huge man begins quizzing the bandits at Nevin’s back. How did they say they sustained their injuries? The men, possibly never having seen Rian, take a while to catch on. They don’t seem terribly sharp as their story’s examined by Dolf and found seriously wanting. He picks out inconsistencies, but gently, allowing their incomprehension and panic to pull the lies apart. After all, as Dolf points out pleasantly, no animal did that to Beni, did they?
The man holding his torso jumps, having wavered away from the conversation, recognition dawning over him as to the mystery guest’s identity at the Iron Ram’s table. Immediately, he retracts the story of the animal attack. Rian thinks something about thieves and honour as ‘not-Beni’ appears to think he’s being rolled on, begins to blame his erstwhile friend. “Blame?” Asks Dolf, radiating gentle confusion, “What is there here worthy of blame?”
The huge man turns to Rian, mock surprise on his face. Rian holds the man’s gaze, confused by this game, wary of showing any threat to this bandit chief. Or, worse: to appear as a threat to his man. Nevin, he notices, is no longer standing over him. He’s back towards the pair being interrogated. He must move like a snake, Rian thinks. And exclusively in the instants when my attention was focused elsewhere.
Dolf turns back to the frightened bandits, spreads his hands. “Do you mean ‘blame’ for upsetting our neighbour here?” Not-Beni, obviously not the brains of the outfit, looks baffled. Whimpers as Dolf’s voice finally channels the anger already showing in his eyes. “Or guilt that if you had managed to steal from this man, you intended to hide it from me?” The last phrase winds up as a roar, and Beni, the wiser of the pair, slumps to his knees with his head dropped.
With a whisper, Nevin’s blades are out, into Not-Beni’s guts. The only thing flashy about the move is the speed. As Not-Beni looks dumbly down his torso, chest convulsing, Nevin wheels. His left blade uses the momentum to twist inside Not-Beni, sliding out of him as his body is propelled to the floor. Nevin’s right blade is a flat disc of steel, seeming to be in front of, inside, and through Beni’s neck in the same instant. Beni sighs. Or, rather, the air escaping his dead frame does. His head falls to the floor; his eyes are already closed in supplication.
Dolf sucks his teeth, stands. Looks down to where Rian sits frozen, still waiting for another shoe to drop. The Iron Ram says clearly, evenly “I do hope you don’t think the worse of us for this.” Before nodding to Nevin and walking towards the back of the room. Rian sits puzzled, reckoning the huge man was referring to the robbery, rather than the cold-blooded murder he just witnessed. The men who served Dolf and Rian their meal confirm this notion, clearing away the bodies as though they’re dirty dishes.
Nevin is equally unperturbed by the turn of events. “I’ll see you home, Rian.” If anything, the man is more relaxed, chattier. He’d made a good impression on Dolf, Nevin opined. He’d have no more trouble from their organisation, Nevin promised.
-x-
As Rian wakes in the dead of night, he hears again the muted sounds of Nevin’s blades snuffing two lives. That was how he wound up making armour for a bunch of murderers and brigands. They always paid him adequately, but Dolf, Nevin and he all knew that he wouldn’t charge the Iron Rams the full worth of the goods. The bandit chief wasn’t one to waste coin, and by his reckoning Rian had already cost him a couple of men.
He attempts to rearrange his limbs; to grasp the opportunity of the softest bed he’s had in days. He keeps returning to the lesson he learned on that day. About how the unspoken ‘you don’t mess with me, I don’t mess with you’ protected him for a dozen years. And about how many times he has broken that pact over the last week.
