Chapter 5 - The Hallowed Hunt.
Aren stood in the front row of the crowd and gripped the edge of a wooden barrier, while beside him Leo had gone still, his breath coming quick and ragged.
Right in front of them, a woman in a plain gray dress fussed anxiously, her hands trembling as she adjusted the straps on the leather cuirass of a young man standing beside his horse.
The blue-eyed, fair-haired youth she called Elen gripped the hilt of the sword at his hip, his face pale, his jaw set tight.
His mother wept, tugging at his shoulder and begging him to come home, but the young man only adjusted his belt in silence, paying no mind to the fear in her eyes.
A sharp, solemn blast of horns silenced the square in an instant as figures appeared on the wide stone balcony above the Southern Gate.
Ulrich Thorne, Hand of the Queen, stepped out first, dressed in emerald aristocratic robes, a steel pauldron on his right shoulder wrought in the shape of a silver stag's head, and beside him came Sir Alistair Sterling, head of the Green Order, his steel cuirass gleaming under the light of the setting sun.
Then two representatives of Aisengard stepped onto the balcony in black uniforms, their hands clasped behind straight backs, surveying the people with cold eyes.
After them came a woman in a long emerald gown with gold embroidery, cinched at the waist by a stiff leather corset, her fair hair arranged into a severe, heavy crown of braids.
It was the Queen of Waldruhm herself, Edith Valdrich, who set her palms on the stone parapet and looked down at the warriors assembled below.
"Warriors of Waldruhm. Every one of you standing before me today continues a chain that stretches back to this kingdom's very origins. Your fathers walked out through these gates. Your grandfathers, and the grandfathers of your fathers, walked out through these gates... Every generation has proven its right to this land in steel and blood. The Great Forest remembers all who came to it with a steady hand, and today it is your turn to write your name into that memory. The Code of Earth and Blood guides you. The Mother Goddess watches each of you... Let your trophies be a worthy answer to everything your ancestors poured into this land, and into you yourselves!"
The square erupted, hundreds of voices merging into a single deafening roar that rolled across Ockhaven's white walls and struck the sky.
Then an officer of the Forest Watch stepped out onto the square before the warriors, his cloak coated in gray road dust.
"Brave warriors! Listen closely! You are given exactly four days to complete the mission. Anyone who does not return to Ockhaven by sunset on the fourth day will be counted among the fallen. Remember the boundaries. In the forest you will see trees with steel plates driven into them. These mark the forbidden zone. Do not cross that line! Camps may be pitched no closer than five hundred paces from these boundaries. Break these rules, and you risk certain death at the hands of those who live beyond that border!"
When the Watch officer finished, Edith paused a moment, then made a gesture with her hand, and the massive oak gates groaned open, while a horn sounded the signal to march out.
The Green Order knights, mounted on heavy warhorses and clad head to foot in plate steel, surged forward first, their green cloaks streaming in the wind, as dozens of volunteers in leather and steel armor rode after them, gripping their spears and swords.
Dust thrown up by hundreds of riders swallowed the square.
Aren watched Elen merge into the stream and vanish into the gray cloud of dust, while his mother stayed at the barrier, pressing her hands to her chest.
The rumble of hooves faded into the distance and gave way to the muffled murmur of the crowd, and Aren looked back at the barrier, where Elen's mother still stood motionless, her shoulders trembling faintly, her hands clenched hard on the rough wood.
Erik spat into the haze still hanging in the air, then adjusted the strap of his bag.
"Same thing every year. Young blood thinks steel and ambition are stronger than the Great Forest's fangs."
Aren looked up at the balcony and saw the Queen turn to leave, her green cloak flaring for a moment before she disappeared into the shadow of the inner chambers.
One of the Aisengard representatives, however, lingered at the parapet and took the whole square in slowly, and it seemed to Aren that the visitor's cold stare paused on his face for a second.
Erik nodded and pointed toward a narrow passage between the houses leading toward the apothecary rows of the inner city, and they set off away from the gates.
Aren kept an eye out for reagent shops along the way, until they came out onto a small square full of stalls selling reagents from a region called Fen-Crest.
They slowed their pace, taking in the colorful rows of bottles, while Aren tried to spot a man matching Magister Kyle's description.
Finally Aren picked out a stately man in dark robes, standing at one of the stalls with two guards.
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He glanced at Erik and Leo, waited until they got distracted by the neighboring stalls, then slipped quickly into the crowd, easing his way toward the man.
Aren moved through the dense rows of stalls, one hand on his pouch, feeling the weight of Ingrid's parcel.
The man stood in the shadow of a stone outcropping, his hands folded behind his back, and the guards at his sides turned their heads in unison as Aren emerged from the crowd.
The guard on the right swung the haft of his halberd to block his path; Magister Kyle slowly turned his head.
"M-Magister Kyle?" Aren asked, glancing at the guards.
"Depends who's asking," the Magister replied.
Swallowing, Aren eased his hand into the pouch.
"Ingrid sent me, to ask that I give y—"
Before he could finish, one of the guards snapped into a combat stance, and Aren froze.
Magister Kyle tilted his head slightly and gave the guard a signal, and the man reluctantly lowered the halberd, clearing Aren's path.
Letting out a heavy breath, Aren drew the parcel carefully from the pouch and held it out to the guard, who took it with open suspicion.
The guard looked the parcel over briefly, then handed it to the Magister, who took it in long, thin fingers, weighed it in his palm, and gave a satisfied grunt.
"Ingrid never disappoints. Though..." Kyle said, and measured Aren from boots to face.
"Her people give me pause sometimes..."
He tucked the parcel into a deep fold of his dark robes and cast a glance toward the crowd, then drew a small leather purse from his belt, silver clinking dully inside it.
"Tell her I'm in her debt."
Kyle turned sharply and headed down the alley leading toward the Intendants' residential quarter, while his bodyguards fell in step behind him, boots striking the stones in a measured cadence.
Aren stood there in the shadow of the outcropping, gripping the purse, his heart beating faster than usual, as Waldruhm's setting sun stained the city's white walls blood-red and thickened the air around the reagent stalls even further.
"Aren!"
The sharp shout snapped him out of his daze.
Aren turned and saw Leo and Erik anxiously scanning the crowd for him.
He came up on them quietly from the side, and startled Erik without meaning to.
"I'm here."
"Oh gods!" the fisherman yelped.
"Where the hell were you?! Gods, Elara asked you not to leave my side!"
"Sorry, I got a little distracted, thought I'd found the reagent we needed, but unfortunately they don't have what we're after here."
Erik sighed, hands on his hips, then snorted and led Aren and Leo back toward Elara's stall.
Erik walked fast, brushing shoulders with passersby without a look behind him, while Leo could barely keep up, glancing back at Aren again and again.
By the time they reached the Eastern Market square, Elara was already finishing packing the remaining tinctures into wooden crates.
She looked up at their approach and wiped a streak of wood dust from her forehead with the back of her hand; Bernard sat on the edge of the cart, cinching the leather straps around a stack of cargo.
Elara stepped forward, quickly scanning their faces.
"Finally. I was starting to think Erik had dragged you off to some dockside tavern."
The fisherman snorted, irritated, and set his fists on his hips.
"Why's it always me?"
Aren came up to the cart and rested a hand on its side.
"There are so many people here... it's hard to get used to."
Elara sighed with a faint smile and turned back to the crate, tucking the last bottle into the straw with care.
Bernard jumped down onto the cobblestones, the ground answering with a dull thud under his weight, and came over to Aren, setting a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Tomorrow will be even louder. Once they bring in the first trophies, real chaos is going to break loose. We need to claim our spot at the market early."
Aren nodded, then discreetly dropped the little coin pouch into the larger bag with the rest of the money.
The sun finally sank below the horizon, and gas lamps and oil lanterns flickered to life along Ockhaven's streets, as the city slipped into a festival night full of drunken shouts and folk music.
They headed for the Merry Ploughman, a tavern two blocks from the Southern Gate. It was a massive two-story building of white stone, with a spacious timber stable attached to it.
Bernard drove the cart into the inner courtyard, where several trade wagons already stood, as the local stable hand took the reins.
Aren stepped into the common room behind Leo, where the air was thick with the heat of the hearth and the smell of fried onions, while dozens of townsfolk and warriors who hadn't gone on the Hunt sat at long oak tables, loudly debating the knights' chances at trophies.
Behind the counter, Aren spotted the very woman who had tried to talk her son out of going, back at the gates.
Her gray dress was dusted with flour, and her face looked even more drawn in the light of the oil lamps, as she set mugs on a tray with mechanical motions, her eyes drifting again and again to the dark window facing south.
Elara went up to the counter and spoke to the woman gently, but the woman didn't respond, lost in her own thoughts.
Elara spoke to her again, and the woman flinched, turning to face her.
"Oh gods, Elara, sorry, I... didn't hear you right away..." the woman answered, flustered.
"Hello, Selma. Good to see you in good health. We're staying a couple of nights. Two rooms upstairs, same as always," Elara said quietly.
Selma nodded and wiped her hands on her apron; Bernard dropped his weight onto a bench against the wall and turned to her next.
"And I'll have something hot, and a beer."
Aren sat down beside Leo, taking in the common room of the noisy tavern as he did.
"Where's Elen? I thought he was still helping you here," Elara asked, her eyes going deliberately over the room in search of the boy.
Selma went still, her fingers clenching hard on the edge of the wooden counter.
She slowly raised her eyes to Elara, her lips trembling before she could get out a single word.
"He left... for the Hunt," the woman's voice broke into a whisper, barely audible over the noise of the room.
"Said he wasn't going to carry trays anymore while other men win glory. Left with the Order's first company, and... didn't even look back at the door."
Her hand at her mouth, Elara stared at Selma with wide eyes, while Bernard let out a low growl.
"Damn young fool," the blacksmith boomed.
"The forest doesn't forgive boys who mistake bravado for valor. Did he at least take proper armor, or did he go off propped up in his rags?"
Selma only shook her head and covered her face with her hands.
Aren pressed his lips together and dropped his eyes to the tabletop, while Selma picked up her tray again and tried to return to her work.
Selma brought over a heavy cast-iron pot of stew and set it in the center of the table, steam off the hot fat and vegetables striking their faces, but Aren had no appetite.
The woman withdrew quickly, avoiding Elara's eyes, as Bernard tore a chunk of bread off the shared loaf and ate in silence, glaring at the flames dancing in the hearth.
Elara sat motionless, her spoon untouched on the table, and watched Selma scrubbing the already-clean counter behind the bar with unnecessary force.
They finished eating in silence, the noise of the room around them nothing but meaningless background.
When Bernard finished his portion, he stood and nodded toward the stairs.
"Let's go. Tomorrow we're up before dawn. We need to claim good spots before all the noise starts."
Aren followed the others up and along the narrow second-floor corridor, where the air smelled more of dry wood and noticeably less of food and ale.
The room he shared with Bernard was at the very end, directly across from Elara and Leo's.
Aren lay down on the hard bed and stared at the ceiling, replaying the Queen's speech, the Aisengarder's stare, Magister Kyle's face, and the moment Selma had tried to talk her son out of going, then slowly closed his eyes and let his mind sink into sleep, wiping away the images of stone walls and the sounds of the noisy tavern.