Nzarel: The Horned Forest: Chapter 2

Chapter ~ 2 ~ (4033)

Morning had come, and was on its way to leaving again. A chorus of birds trilled and warbled in the branches, twittering through the twigs. Somewhere nearby, a vixen nosed through the brush, looking for game and following the smell of blood. Even with the sun already high in the sky, her russet coat disappeared in the browning leaves, and she moved without a sound.

Her ears pricked up as the smell and sound of running water met her senses. With her tail wagging, she trotted forward. A human girl was fast asleep, sprawled ungracefully on the bank with the embers of a fire beside her. The smell of cooked meat permeated the air, several hours old, but there was raw flesh nearby. The fox, unperturbed by the human's presence, let her nose lead her to the source of the delicious smell. It was somewhere beneath layers of cloth, all smelling strongly of the human girl. Disappointed, she began trying to push her way in to the strange bundle, whimpering softly. Food was so close, if she could just dig her way to it.

Chase wedged her eyes open to find the source of the sound that had woken her up. She blindly pushed the vixen away from her carrier, earning a sharp yelp as her hands hit fur. She pushed herself up, regarding the animal. She returned the look with big, brown eyes, a soft whine coming from her throat. A clearer display of begging she couldn't have imagined if the thing sat up on its hind legs with a tin cup before her.

“Oh, g'wan, you. It's not like your ribs are showing. Go get your own food. This is mine.” She could have sworn the fox's eyes grew in size. “I mean it, now. Get going!” She threw a handful of pebbles at her, and she skittered off nervously.

Chase watched her go, a blur of thick red fur diving off in to the brush upriver. She admired the creature's pluck, sneaking up on a human, sleeping or otherwise. Most animals had the good sense to be afraid. Probably she had a litter full of hungry kits, tucked away in a den somewhere making a racket. Ah, well. It's not as though there isn't food for her, this time of year.

Then again, Nzarel were, in more ways than one, just other animals. They gave themselves back to nature, after all. A fox had no more to fear from a human, at least a sleeping one, than she did from a sleeping bear. It was something Nzarel almost prided themselves on, returning to nature, where they belonged. They were the ones who crossed the border.

The border was an invisible line drawn around the massive perimeter of the Nzera, where the trees became thicker, the undergrowth thick and full of thorns, the canopy denser, with less light coming through. For centuries, Outsiders had been doing their best to build in to the forest, where they didn't belong. The border was the place where the Nzera simple became too thick, too inhospitable to civilization, for them to continue on. Chase had always thought of it as the forest's way of putting up a wall, fending off the people who wished to destroy it. The Nzera, in and of itself, was in truth a very clever thing.

Then she looked around her camp. Even though she'd started building a nest in the willow tree behind her, she'd ended up sleeping on the ground beside Kisa. Kisa, who was no longer nearby. All the better. She set about washing the sleep from her face with cold, clear water, taking in deep drinks from her hands. Her mind cleared with a shock from the icy stream.

Even in her sleep, the conversation about Nzarel and Outsiders had gone through her mind, and she felt uneasy. She wasn't hurt by the idiotic slur Kisa had made, but it had got her thinking on how Outsiders seemed to be stretching their reach in to the Nzera more than they should be. Even before what had happened to Redge, they had made her nervous, and ever since that night, she was outright terrified. It was a nagging fear, like an ache as opposed to a sharp pain, but it was there, all the same.

She chewed idly on her lip, an old habit of hers for helping her think. This had been one of the reasons she continued her periodic jaunts across the border. If something big was about to happen, it was likely that she would catch word of it, so long as she didn't seclude herself entirely from the rest of the world. Let the rest of the Nzarel go on thinking that they were in a bubble of safety. She would stay on her toes, and be prepared.

Now that her mind was on the subject, she realized that she hadn't left the forest all summer. This seemed to happen every year; she'd lose herself in the beauty of the season, and forget what she was supposed to be doing every once and a while. She'd rather stay safe in the Nzera like a sane person, especially when it was warm and green, and game was plentiful. And Nzarel would. But she had things to do which couldn't center around where she was comfortable and content.

Perhaps it was about time to head across again. She dumped water on the remnants of the fire, scattering the ashes around so the wind would carry them away, then picked up her carrier and, with a last nod at the stream, turned off in to the trees, disappearing.

* * * * * * * * *

When Jame dragged himself out of sleep, he was hit with a tremendous pain in the back of his head. And between his eyes. In fact, his whole skull was smoldering. For that matter, his entire body was sore, but mostly it was his head, and a nagging ache in his belly. He opened his eyes, and felt completely lost.

He was in a wooden room, painted a creamy shade of white. There was a fireplace, empty, and a window, with the shades drawn, a ring of soft, blue light coming around the curtain. He also realized that he was sleeping on the floor, along with several other men, none of whom smelled too good. He groaned, dragging himself on to his feet as carefully as possible so he wouldn't wake anyone else, though doing so without stumbling over right off would be difficult enough. With some effort, he managed to get his feet under him and, with some wobbling, got to the door without stepping on anyone. The door swung open with what seemed like a deafening creak, and at first he was afraid he would have woken someone, but all he got was a loud snore. Relieved, he backed out of the room, softly closing the door behind him.

Now he was in a hallway, lined on both sides with identical wooden doors, each with a bronze number plate hanging at eye level. He noticed vaguely that his door had a number twelve on it. Room 12, he'd have to remember that. The corridor was narrow and dark, with only some torchlight from sconces between the doors lighting the way, and some illumination at one end of the hall. He stumbled in that direction, doing his best to keep his groans to a minimal, should he still manage to wake someone.

The hall went two directions at its end. One just had a dead end illuminated by a window looking out on to the shadowed side of whatever building this was. The other opened up to become a balcony, with some larger room below. He went that way, hearing deep, guttural voices coming from down there.

As he moved out on to the balcony, a wave of recognition came over him, and he remembered the night before. He must have gotten drunker than he expected, for his memory certainly had some gaping holes in it. He hadn't the slightest clue in the world how he'd gotten in that room, whether he'd collapsed there of his own accord, or had been lugged up there by a more sober man.

Jame grimaced, wondering what else he might have done that he'd forgotten. He'd seen drunk men before, really, truly wasted drinkers who would slowly but surely destroy their own livers. What if he'd done what his old buddy had down once, standing up on a table to declaim a poem in slurred words, then maybe singing and dancing a little, and laughing so hard he had to be caught before he fell straight on to the floor. Ears burning, he went down to meet the other men who had made it awake.

The large, grizzly man who had been sitting next to him the night before waved him over, a cheerful, crooked grin on his face. He looked no less like a bear in full daylight. “'Ey, the lad's up to join us. Sleep well, beauty?” A couple of men chuckled, but the rest were staring with single-minded determination in to mugs of corda. He patted a chair across the table from him. “Come take a seat with us, boy.” Jame grunted in thanks, keeping himself from collapsing outright in to the offered chair only with a great deal of effort. “Have something to drink,” he offered, sliding a steaming serving of corda in front of him. Again, he grunted, and gratefully took a swig. The liquid was thick and hot, with a taste somewhere between sweet and bitter. A few sips later, he already felt more awake.

“I don't think we got to get properly introduced last night, in the midst of all that craziness Lord Pig-face had going on. I'm Borden Hashellu, from around the Treiat area.” He stuck out one hairy hand, grinning broadly.

He sighed, taking the offered hand and gesturing at shaking it. It dwarfed his own. “Jame,” he croaked, clearing his throat a few times to get the word out.

“Jame, huh? There a last name that comes with that?”

“Yep.”

Borden looked at him expectantly. When he didn't answer, the man just laughed, not taking offense form his reluctance. “Aw, I see how it is, then. Very well, Jame. You come from around here?”

“Yeah,” he muttered between sips. He'd never known corda to taste so good. “I grew up in a town a couple of days to the north of here, right near Lyon.”

“Oh did ya, now? I've been up there before.” He took a long draught of something, licking the remnants off his lips, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nice place, real nice place. Pretty interesting people.”

Jame looked up with a cocked eyebrow, trying to see if this Borden cove was messing with him, or if he was just denser than he looked.

The manor where his father had lived had certainly been nice, but it had also been about as dull as he could imagine without going through and dying the entire landscape gray. His father was a merchant up there, and practically despised all things interesting. Jame sometimes wondered if he was trying to kill himself by being bored to death. He'd decided a long time ago to get out as far as possible from that suffocating, lackluster place.

Of course, it was possible that Lyon, a much larger city than the place he'd actually lived as a boy, could have some entertaining characters that Borden had bumped in to, but he hadn't seen them when he came through.

Borden didn't seem to catch his funny look, but instead turned to the man beside him, the red - headed rake who had spoken up during the meeting. As they conversed, Jame kept his nose over the steam coming off of his drink. It was taking effect on him, dragging him from his hang over and waking him up. He suddenly realized that the smell of food was all over the room, and his stomach gave a mighty groan.

He looked around for one of the serving maids, catching the attention of the one who'd been serving Arcados through most of the night. He remembered that much at least. Through means unbeknownst to him, she was wide awake and alert, nearly brimming with good cheer. And somehow not surprisingly, she was a bit more covered than she had been while serving His Lordship.

“You took it a little hard last night, good sir. Figure you're up for some sustenance, or is your poor ale-ridden gut not ready for that yet?” There was a gentle laugh in her voice. She seemed like a kind woman, no longer young but with plenty of spirit all the same. Her hair was pulled back in a twisted bundle at the nape of her neck, with several stray wisps coming out around her face and ears. There was something very kind and homely about her, and Jame couldn't help but like her.

“Whatever's easy on a stomach, if you can, madam.”

The woman hooted, clearly amused. “No, sir. I'm no madam. Just call me Neile. And I'll be right out with something for you.” She strode off busily. He had to wonder how she managed to stay up all night with their lot, and be so merry in the morning. He settled on the solution that either she had a twin sister, or that it was harder than he'd thought to keep a track of all the maids handing out mead.

Oh, the mead. Even with the corda working its way through his system, his head still throbbed like he'd tried to run his head through a door. For the forty-something time, he vowed never to touch spirits again, except in extreme moderation. If only there was a line for that somewhere, drawn out nice and neat for him. He glanced at Borden, wondering how he didn't seem to feel the effects quite as much. He certainly didn't look like he'd tried to run his head through an oak door, but then, he looked like the sort to be used to doing such things with his own skull.

He hadn't had a chance to really look at the tavern the night before, and he took the chance as he waited for food. The whole building was made from wood, old by the looks of it. The fireplace at his end of the table the night before was stone, large enough to sit in with a base the size of a large bench. Many of the torches from before had been put out, and light spilled through thin canvas shades pulled over the windows, many of which looked as though they'd been eaten through by moths.

His original account of the place, before mead was coursing through his system, had been more to the fact. The chinking in the walls was coming apart, and no one had bothered to sweep away the cobwebs forming in the niches and corners of the place. The floor was stained from spilled drinks, what looked like blood, and some other things of dubious colors he didn't want to identify. What hadn't been stained by various guests was darkly and streaked, like it had been rotting out in the open air. The tables, also stained, had initials carved in to them, and different symbols. Most of them seemed to be the result of someone sticking his knife straight in to the table instead of bothering to set it down.

Clearly, the Rat's Grin had seen its better days, though those days probably had been decades ago. For all he knew, it could have been a perfectly respectable establishment back then. Indeed, the only reason it seemed decent now was because of Arcados's reservation of the entire building for their meeting. Otherwise, who knew the sort of lowborn scoundrels that would be his breakfast mates that morning?

Neile came back as soon as she'd promised, hands laden with dishes. There was a small plate with two slices of hot bread, with butter off to the side some, should he find his stomach find it was prepared for it. There was also a deep wooden bowl full of warm, mashed oats mixed with honey for flavoring. It was simple and hot, and exactly what he needed.

“There you go, Sir,” she grinned, pouring more corda in to his mug. “Is there anything else you'll be needing right now?”

“Oh, no thank you, madam. This is perfect.” She gave that hooting laugh of hers again, shaking her head.

“As I told you, Sir, it's Neile. Nothing more.”

“Very well, Neile. Then you must call me Jame.” Neile seemed taken aback by this, but he didn't change his mind. If she insisted that he couldn't be formal with her, and the same would go the other way. There was something about her that he truly liked, instinctively. Something almost motherly.

“Alright then, Jame.” She had decided it wasn't worth it to argue with him, and her brown eyes crinkled in amusement. “Just holler if you decide you're up to anything else.” She walked off again, still shaking her head at some internal joke.

Jame started in to his food, almost melting with relief as it met his tongue. There had always been something about good, solid, simple food that he'd always enjoyed. It went completely against the fine foods his father had tried to keep stocked, which may be the reason he loved it so much.

He had scarfed one bread slice and was deep in to his oatmeal before Borden looked back from the red-haired fellow. “So! He can talk after all! And has a good appetite, too,” he laughed loudly, and Jame flinched. Neile must have been talking very quietly that whole time, because he found his poor head couldn't handle a regular amount of noise.

“I don't suppose you could keep it down?” he inquired, trying his best not to be rude, an effort which wasn't going well through a mouthful of wonderfully warm oats.

“Oh, yeah. I forget how well ya lads handle your ale.” Jame risked a look at some of the others in the room, twice his age and just as hung over. “So, you thought any of the offer Lord Whatshisnose gave us?”

That was right; going in to the Horned Forest. Hunting dangerous madmen. He hadn't had a chance to think of it, which really should have been obvious, but thinking back, it seemed like a ridiculously risky campaign, especially for the payment offered. Maybe it was the aftereffects of the mead working on him, the daggers in his skull, but he was still thrilled at the prospect.

It was an investment, really. He would take low pay for a job that would gain him respect and deference, and start his mercenary career off in the right direction. After that, who knew? In the meantime anyways, he would be able to see and explore a land that few men, men with their heads fully attached, at least, had the opportunity to see.

His thoughts must have leaked on to his face, because Borden was chuckling, a deep sound in his chest that sounded like a friendly growl, if such a thing was possible. “You've decided you're taking the chance, then?” He nodded, swallowing another spoon full of oatmeal. There were diced pieces of apple in there, too… “Good, good! Because, you see, the Lord wanted us in groups of two or three,” Jame remembered something along those lines, “and my friend Lokir here and I,” he pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the redhead beside him, with whom he'd just been talking, “are thinking that we'd like to sign up together as one of those groups, and we're thinking of including you as our third.”

Somehow, Jame had sat through that entire conversation, and now picked up on that fact that Borden might be thinking. Why else be so kindly to a “lad” when he didn't have to? The truth was that he hadn't expected anyone to think of him as a partner in this. What he had expected was to go it alone. With Borden and his friend, though, he would be protected and have a greater chance of getting a catch. Even if he had to deal with even less pay than he would have received going it on his own, what he got in return between the two, more experienced men would benefit him for sure, possibly more than he could guess at that point.

“I see how that arrangement would help me out, but what do you two get out of it?” Instead of looking put off, Borden looked pleased.

“You see, Lokir? He doesn't miss a beat, this one.” Lokir nodded, reserving judgment. “The truth is, lad, well, you're young and inexperienced. That much is clear. You're probably just starting out.” Now Jame was annoyed; he already knew this for himself. “But despite that, you're smart. You actually got Arcados's question right, when he wasn't even expecting an answer from our lot. I certainly wouldn't have thought of that, right off. You're bright, and when it comes to hunting, you need that. You need to be able to outthink your prey. Get two steps ahead of them.

“Now, that's not so hard if you're hunting wolves or other beasts. But we're hunting other humans. And don't give me that look, greenie, that's what we're doing, and a good thing too, in this case. The most dangerous game is the one as smart as you. So we need someone who will be able to outthink somethin' smarter than an animal. That would be you. We need you because we've got plenty in the means of brawn between us, but we'll be needing more. In that area, you're the pick of the litter.”

Jame wasn't sure if he understood, but he nodded. So, he was a greenie, but they still needed him. Desperately, judging by that piece or oratory Borden had given him. He could use this to his advantage.

“I'm willing to help you gentlemen out, but it's going to cost both of you. I want forth percent of the bounty.” Again, Borden just chuckled.

“You see, you see? Lets nothing get past him. I commend you on your effort lad, but I'm afraid that's more than we can accept. We're just as valuable to you as you are to us. So the pay goes even, all around.” He took a drink, the matter settled as far as he was concerned, but Jame wasn't contented.

“This is true, but you see, I was all ready and willing to go on my own, and get the bounty all for myself. Your help would be valuable, true, but not invaluable. So it's forty percent, or I'll just go it alone, and get a hundred.” Borden looked over the top of his glass as though he'd been punched in the gut. Clearly, that had gained his attention. He struggled for words, flapping his jaw open and closed like a gaping fish. Lokir looked like his face was about to explode with the laugh he was trying to conceal.

Jame kept his eyes locked on Borden, staring him down with a passive but waiting expression. That was one useful skill his father had taught him, at least. At last, Borden looked at Lokir for support, but he just nodded his head, keeping his words to himself for the moment. Borden let out a mighty sigh that nearly put out a couple of tall candles on their table, then sat back, putting his mug down. “Fine, fine. You'll get your forty. But you'd better do your best to earn it lad,” he growled, finally looking disheartened.

Strangely, this fact cheered Jame greatly, and he finished his breakfast with an incredibly smug look on his face. Lokir did the same, with a much warmer attitude towards him. Apparently, he had passed the warrior's judgment with flying colors.