The King's Foresters
by Michael Gallant
Chapter II
If you are interested in receiving additional chapters, e-mail me at editors@quantummuse.comCorill and Tauriel raced down the forest road at a furious gallop. He was happy to note that the Lady was a skilled horsewoman, as he fully expected pursuit. He decided to further test her abilities.
"My Lady," he called over the pounding of hooves, "have you ever ridden in a steeple chase?"
"Many times!" she shouted back.
"Good. Around the next bend, there's a bank and a fallen log to the left of the trail. Jump it. There's a game trail beyond. If A'Maserk's men don't know it, we may throw them off."
They soon rounded the turn and spied the log. The trail was invisible from the road, screened by lowhanging evergreen boughs. Corill urged Morlinte at the obstacle, crouching low over the animal's neck. He crashed through, then turned in the saddle to see Tauriel's mount burst through in a spray of snow. They slowed to a walk as they proceeded down the narrow track.
Corill leaned close to Tauriel and whispered, "If we didn't leave any tracks over the bank, we should be safe. This trail's not well known, and the main road is too heavily traveled to show that our prints disappeared."
"Where are we headed?" she whispered back, shivering.
Corill was feeling the cold as well. His cloak was still dangling out a window in A'Maserk's keep and the heat of exertion was deserting him.
"We'd best make for my company's headquarters," he replied, "we can stay off the main roads, and it's closer than your father's castle. We can get warm clothes, food, and a rest by the fire. We'll get you home later."
As they spoke, the sound of pursuing hoofbeats thundered down the main road, bypassing their escape route. Corill smiled and shook his head sadly, displaying a Forester's contempt for the observational capacity of regular troops.
"Buggers couldn't find their own arses in the dark with both hands." Corill immediately regretted the comment, having forgotten whom he was addressing.
Tauriel however, was not shocked, having been raised largely by her father, whose concept of etiquette was limited to military propriety. She stifled a laugh. The Forester reddened and mumbled an apology.
After an hour's ride, they came upon the Foresters' outpost. It consisted of a stone stable, a cleared yard for weapons drill, and a large barracks house, field stone on the ground floor and timber above. The wind tore wisps of smoke from the chimney and carried the tang of burning wood to Corill's nostrils. The thought of warmth by the hearth after the long cold journey brought a smile to his numbed lips.
The Captain noted with approval the way the Forester on watch in the turret atop the barracks snapped a salute upon recognizing him and returned to scanning the horizon. The man's careful visual scrutiny of the Lady was clearly to check for concealed weapons with which she could be compelling the officer to lead her to the base, Corill told himself he would have to commend the boy.
Dismounting before the door, he graciously extended a hand to Tauriel. She took it, though she needed no assistance. The sentry at the door saluted and held it open, running a practiced eye over Tauriel. Excellent, thought Corill, if we're ever attacked by attractive young women with torn gowns, my lads won't miss a thing.
"This is the Lady Tauriel A'Konnel," he informed the guard stiffly, "She is in our charge. See that she is given food and drink and a warm cloak, and anything else she may request. I'll be along shortly, after I see to the horses. Who's the duty officer?" Corill knew the answer quite well, but wanted to test the sentry's reaction.
"Uh..." the young man wrested his gaze from the Lady and locked his eyes forward in a perfect parade ground position of attention, "Sar'nt Stalmir, Sir!" he barked.
"Very good. Tell the sergeant I'll be in shortly to explain all."
"Aye, Sir!" the young Forester followed Tauriel inside, his back straight as an arrow.
Corill chuckled as he led the mounts to the stable. As Captain, he could delegate this duty, but made it his practice not to lose touch with the day to day tasks that made up a soldier's life. If he had a vital decision to make, he would pass minor responsibilities on to others, but preferred to remain as much as possible a common Forester.
The stable was delightfully warm as he entered, rubbing his hands before forcing numb fingers to struggle with the buckles of Morlinte's tack.
"Afternoon, Cap'," said a small, dark haired woman, replacing a wooden bucket on a peg in the wall.
"‘Noon, Sergeant," he returned pleasantly, blowing on his knuckles, "Care to give me a hand with this other beast?"
Doria examined Tauriel's mount, "Delighted," she said after a brief pause which shouted sergeants aren't stablehands.
Corill caught the hesitation and smiled, "Bit of extra work'll be good for you. Builds character."
She smirked back, reaching for the saddle girth. "Nice of you not to hog all that benefit yourself."
"A good officer puts his troops' needs ahead of his own," he assumed a martyred expression, "Ours is a sad lot."
The sergeant snorted and shook her head as she lifted the saddle form the horse's back.
* * *
Baron A'Maserk's officers stood rigidly at attention, watching their Lord pace before them, his jaw working with silent rage. They awaited his outburst as condemned men await the fall of the axe, each moment of delay only prolonging the torment, but unwilling to rush forward.
For his part, the Baron did not yet trust himself to speak, unsure that he could even form recognizable words. He had never felt so deep a hatred as he now did for that accursed woodsman. That common lout, that low born peasant bastard, had strutted in to the seat of Baronial power thinking that he had authority. That his office as head squirrel counter to the King made him superior to a scion of a noble line. Together with that teasing bitch, that man had made a mockery of the Baron's title and station. That cried out for punishment.
The nobleman considered his next action. First, he need to vent his wrath and restore his power over his men. He selected as his target Captain Ambar of his guard, who was responsible for the security of the castle. The man was a veteran left over from his father's reign, but, while he was formally respectful, the Baron did not feel that the captain gave him the full loyalty he had given his father. Very well, he would serve as an example to those who would withhold full allegiance.
"You lost them?" he asked through clenched teeth, "One man and a girl and you let them escape?"
As he expected, Captain Ambar answered for the group, "My Lord, the man was an experienced woodsman. The King's Foresters are trained for evasion and knowledge of the countryside. He could have left the road at any on of a dozen places."
"That does not excuse failure!" his master bellowed, "That man should never have been allowed to enter, let alone escape. The security of this keep is your responsibility, Captain. You have failed to faithfully discharge that responsibility, and you have compounded that failure by allowing this marauder to evade capture."
The Baron paced watching the effect of his charges on the officer. He was still furious, but having the captain as his target helped channel the rage, allowing him to use it as a weapon rather than be paralyzed by it. Ambar's pride was a necessary sacrifice to maintain control of his minions and make them fear the wrath his disappointment would bring.
For his part, the captain was stung by the accusation. He was a decorated soldier, a combat veteran. The "intruder" in question was a Royal officer, a man who should have been trustworthy. Anyone would admit such a man. As to finding a Forester in the woods with a head start, one may as well bet on a blind archer to win the gold at the Midsummer games. On another level, however, he felt responsible for the failure. An attack and escape had taken place on his watch. That was undeniable. Shame and indignation struggled within him. To stand and listen to this young untried whelp snap and snarl at him, who had stood by the old Baron at the Kulric, was almost too much to bear. He went red with the effort required to hold his tongue.
"If," the Baron continued, "you had been attending to the security of this keep, rather than squandering your time on idle pursuits--"
Something snapped within the captain at that last accusation. As if the keystone had been pulled from a dam, all restraint fell away and his outrage came forth in a torrent.
"Those ‘idle pursuits' were the planning for the King's campaign!" Ambar roared, "For months I've been drilling the men, ordering provisions and transport and doing your bloody work! Tor's Balls! How many writs are awaiting your seal at this moment?"
The Baron stepped back a pace at the outburst, seeing the veins protruding from the captain's temples as the older man thundered at him.
"You dare take that tone with me because your dalliance was interrupted? By Tor, if you weren't your father's son--"
"Enough!" bellowed the Baron, "Still that tongue before I have it torn out! Get out of my Barony, you whoreson! If ever I clap eyes on you again, I'll have you drawn and quartered!"
Captain Ambar drew his dignity about him like a cloak, his face expressionless as stone. Reaching to his left shoulder, he tore loose the ornate clasp which served as his badge of office and flung it at the Baron's feet. He then spun on his heel and strode from the chamber as though on parade. Baron A'Maserk ground his teeth and struggled to control his breathing. His plan had misfired badly, he must knew he must minimize the damage. What was done was done, he must appear untroubled by it.
"Captain Danir," he addressed a young officer when he trusted himself to speak.
"My Lord?"
"You are now in command."
"Yes, my Lord."
The Baron chose Danir for his loyalty. The man was not one to question orders. Ability was less important to A'Maserk than obedience at this point. He could not afford to be defied in front of his men again.
He ran his fingers through his carefully trimmed beard as he pondered what to do next. Clearly this Forester had to be caught before he spread his tale, and the girl must be...silenced. Perhaps she could be frightened into keeping the secret, or blackmailed. No, he decided, she didn't seem to be one to take fright easily. Accidents did occur though, and any blame could be pinned on that woodsman. Pity about the lass, but that seemed the surest plan. And who could tell, he might yet have a last chance to sample the young lady's charms. A feral smile crossed the nobleman's face.
* * *
Having finished with the horses, Corill dashed across the windswept yard to the main building. As he entered, he felt the warm, heavy air enfold him like a blanket.
Using a corner of his cloak to shield his hand from the heat, Corill lifted the iron pot from its hook over the coals of the cooking fire and poured himself a cup of coffee. The Captain welcomed the heat which seeped through the earthenware mug to his cold fingers, savoring the aroma for a moment before drinking deeply, feeling the warmth spread throughout his body.
"Ah," he sighed, "nectar of the Gods."
He looked to Tauriel, and saw that she was seated in the most comfortable chair in the room and had a mug and a bowl set before her on a small table. The fare was simple, stew and bread. Soldiers' food. Filling and hard to screw up. The Lady was eating it with a delicacy which almost made the Forester laugh, holding her spoon with the poise one would associate with a royal banquet and making sure not to get meat and potatoes in the same bite.
"Bet you a year's pay she don't mop up the broth with the bread, Cap," Sergeant Stalmir whispered in his ear.
Corill managed not to laugh. He turned face Tauriel, his back to the fire's soothing warmth.
"Is there any way I can make your stay more comfortable, my Lady?" he inquired courteously.
The young lady smiled graciously, "Thank you no, good sir. Everything is quite satisfactory."
She was being diplomatic. She felt somewhat slighted, having been passed off to underlings while the Captain saw to so menial a task as horses. At length, she convinced herself that the discourtesy was a simple byproduct of the lack of servants. As militarized as her father's castle was, it was still the holding of an Earl, and a host of cooks, grooms, maids, and valets saw to the mundane tasks of running the household. It stood to reason that a military outpost would demand more attention from its commander. But this was one of the few times that she had not been the center of attention, and she found it annoying, necessary or no.
"When you have finished your repast," the Forester continued, "I would humbly request that you join my officers and me as we discuss our current predicament."
Tauriel noted that while the Captain observed the formalities of speech due a woman of noble birth, he looked her in the eye and stood at his ease. She found this intriguing. Her father's soldiers always been very deferential, conscious of her station. Years of campaigning had established a familiarity between the Earl himself and his men, but his daughter was clearly on a pedestal. Corill spoke to her as to an equal, seeming to follow the conventions of speech merely out of politeness. The man was certainly a mystery, but one she looked forward to exploring.
"I would be delighted, Captain."
They adjourned to a private chamber. Tauriel was impressed to see a small shelf filled with books. She knew that the time required to copy such things made them quite expensive, and wondered how a troop of common soldiers came to possess them. Apart from the bookcase, the room's only furniture consisted of a half dozen simple chairs and a large table on which a map was spread. A large black and white cat was curled in slumber on the center of the map.
"Arise, o conqueror of rodents!"
Corill reached out to scratch the animal on the head. The cat leaned into the caress.
"Go on, do your duty defending the stores from mice." In response, the cat stretched luxuriously, opened his eyes to mere slits and rolled over to have his stomach scratched.
"A truly fearsome predator," Tauriel smiled, permitting him to sniff her hand before scratching him under the chin.
He had the long hair and muscular build of a forest cat, but his coloring showed extensive breeding with domestic felines.
"This malingerer's name is Fraep, ‘fearless' in the old tongue," the Captain explained, "This is a shocking example of poor discipline, you furry menace,." he chided.
Fraep yawned to show his deep contrition.
"Hopeless," Corill shook his head.
Presently, the company's three sergeants entered. After hasty introductions, the Captain briefly related the day's events, observing his troops for their reactions. Miren frowned, indicating strong emotion. Corill interpreted this as he would another man's tearing at his hair and pounding the table. The tall sergeant scratched his chin, but withheld further comment. He would speak when he had fully considered his reply and its ramifications. Stalmir ran to the opposite extreme. Tall and broad shouldered, his full beard and heavy brows bristling with ire, he launched into a diatribe.
"Damn that pockmarked whoreson to Deloth's lowest pit! And his title with him. If he wants to act like a drunken mercenary in a tavern, let's treat him like one. Haul the bastard to the Royal court by his ankles."
He slammed a hamlike fist onto the table, making the scarred wooden surface shudder. Fraep shot him a reproachful glare. Stalmir was one who seldom troubled to weigh his thoughts before giving voice. His size and prowess with a battleaxe were generally sufficient to prevent his being challenged on points of etiquette.
"While I heartily endorse the spirit of your argument," Corill replied, "let's remember we have one company. That's fifty Foresters. A'Maserk has a few hundred soldiers, all told, plus a castle and all the rights and privileges before the law that his nobility gives him," he shrugged, "Just a consideration."
Doria's expression was hard and cold. She was a small but surprisingly strong young woman, the first female sergeant of Foresters. She was a precise and efficient organizer, something Corill was not, and possessed a deep empathy with the troops. Corill considered her the ideal executive officer. At that very moment she was fuming at the Baron's disregard for the law and , more particularly, his indecent assault upon Tauriel. The only reason she was not joining Stalmir in cursing the Baron, was that she didn't want to waste energy better spent planning their next move. Corill waited a moment to allow his news to sink in. He walked the length of the room, stopping to lean back against a wall, arms folded.
"Suggestions? Miren."
"He'll try to hit us," the sergeant stated laconically, "or ambush the Lady on her way home. He can't let this get out."
The Captain considered this and nodded grimly. He didn't want this to get out of hand, but didn't see how to avoid it at this point. The charges were serious enough that A'Maserk wouldn't likely surrender himself to the custody of Royal officials, and his forces made arresting him a tricky proposition.
"You know my feelings, Cap," growled Stalmir, "How we do it is your call, but we should nail the bugger."
Doria scowled, "As much as I'd love to cut the bastard's throat, you're right about his resources. We should secure this base, then get her Ladyship home safe, quick as possible. Miren's right, the Baron won't want this out in the open. The sooner we can notify the King's magistrate or the Earl, the better."
Corill turned to Tauriel, who had remained silent during the discussion. She had learned from her father to let advisors speak their mind before passing judgement.
"My Lady," the Captain addressed her, "my sergeants are correct. The Baron will try to bury this story if he can. Your life is in danger. If we can return you to your father's castle, will you be safe?"
Her father's stronghold had always seemed the most secure place in the world, so she answered quickly, "I'm sure I will be. The Baron would be a fool to try to defy my father."
"Let's hope he's a quick learner," Corill heaved himself forward off the wall and announced, "I'll take Miren and Loriel and escort the Lady to her home. Doria, you're in command. Stalmir will assist you until we return. Keep up the regular patrols, but double the guard here."
"Aye, sir!" Doria answered quickly, eager to have her first chance at independent command of the company.
"If A'Maserk attacks," the Captain continued, "don't fight against heavy odds. We can't afford to trade losses. Use your woodcraft. Withdraw and ambush. Keep ‘em guessing and run ‘em ragged."
"I know the drill, sir," she replied testily.
"I know you do, Sergeant," Corill returned, or I wouldn't leave you in charge."
"Sorry," she muttered, realizing that when it comes from a superior officer, nagging is not considered nagging, "Thank you for your confidence, Sir"
"Don't thank me," he smiled, "you earned it."
He turned to Miren, "Tell Loriel to get ready to ride and you do the same, let's try to do this before dark. My Lady, would you be prepared to accept our escort in one hour's time?"
"Quite," Tauriel replied formally, "I reiterate my deep thanks to you and your Company." She favored them with a regal smile.
"Your humble servant, my Lady," the Captain bowed.
Maybe some day, she thought, maybe some day you will be.
All writings here are copyrighted ©1996 by Michael Gallant
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All writings here are copyrighted ©2001 by Michael Gallant
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