Chapter 2

I spent a large amount of the time travelling up river covertly admiring the armour and weapons of Travis and Rippen. This is no easy task on a small boat and eventually Travis beckoned me over to where he was sitting. Normally we had to stay seated when my Da was punting, so that we didn’t rock the boat, but I looked at him and he nodded, so I gleefully scrambled past my Ma and Sourface towards Travis.

Travis was a hulking man, tanned, with a shaven head. I liked him; he had been the one to applaud the little show that my Ma and Da put on whenever Sourface wanted something. That said, he was still undeniably scary. Inked into his shaven head was a mass of patterns and weaves. They were dark and gruesome images, weapons, gore and severed limbs were a few of the things I could make out. As I approached I began to see what he was holding. Three cloth satchels filled with sand.

I looked at them curiously, having never seen anything like them before. He smiled and threw one up into the air, and without looking at it, or moving, it landed in his second hand. This only served to puzzle me further, what was he doing? He then tossed the same pouch back into his other hand whilst simultaneously throwing a second pouch into the air. He gradually sped up and brought in a third and fourth pouch that I had not seen before. I gawped in amazement as he kept the little pouches flying through the air. His hands seemed so fast and sure, to my young eyes it was a blur of dexterity. But soon enough he stopped, catching the pouches in his right hand one after the other. Now he was openly grinning at what I can only imagine to be my gawping face. He handed me one of the pouches.

“Go on, give it a try,” he said, miming throwing a ball into the air. I did so, and caught it in my left hand with barely a movement. “And again,” he coaxed. I did so again, but this time I threw it too far forward and had to snatch it back. I threw it again, determined to mimic my first attempt. Unfortunately this proved harder than I would have liked. Beginners luck, it would seem, was real.

That afternoon he showed me how to throw and catch. I nodded mutely to his explanations before attempting it again. I wanted to try with all four but he refused and insisted I start with the one. He was probably right. I must have rocked the boat a great deal in my attempts to throw and catch the pouch but my Da made no comment.

By the afternoon he allowed me to practise with two. If you have never juggled before I ought to mention that juggling with two pouches is a significant step up from juggling with one. At least it was for my young self. When we stopped for the evening we did so at one of our regular camps. It was one of my favourite campsites, the trees weren’t too thick and there was a nice wooded glade attached to the sandbank that led up from the river. Sourface didn’t look too happy, and I considered it a minor miracle that he held his peace and didn’t complain, even when it was made clear that we would be sleeping in the open. Disbelieving as I was, there was definitely something about the forest that upset anyone we were traveling with. Even Travis and Rippen, in copious amounts of armour, looked slightly on edge. When I asked if I could practise with the pouches he shook his head,

“Tomorrow, when we’re on the boat again, get some sleep.”

We had one large tent, made out of thick cloth, and made waterproof by one of the Menra tribes, that could sleep six people comfortably. We also had a second, smaller tent that my Da and Ma would use if we needed to, and sometimes when we didn’t. Today we set up the large tent, and as soon as the last tent peg was in place Sourface went inside.

My Ma looked up at the sky, “Rain tonight George,” she called to my father. I looked up too, and indeed the thick, heavy clouds tumbled across the sky half obscuring the full moon. We had been lucky to get a full day out of the rain, but I was still upset that we wouldn’t be able to set up a fire and sing into the night. I wanted to show Travis, Rippen and Sourface that the Greorg Mountains and the forest wouldn’t hurt them. I expressed this to my Da just before we went in.

“I don’t think they would care for it anyway son,” he said, and ruffled my hair before continuing inside.

The rain came as expected and thunder soon followed. Everyone kept mostly to themselves, it seemed the kind of night that was always destined to be dark and lonely.

###

The rain continued into the next day. I sat next to Travis in the hope that if the rain dried up he would let me juggle again. But it never did and the morning was muted by a miserable silence and hunched over independence. It eased to a drizzle in the afternoon, but nobody’s mood lightened. In fact Sourface looked more miserable and dejected as the hours passed. I asked Travis why Sourface was so sour but received a silent shake of the head and no more was said on the matter. I had so many questions I wanted to ask. I had never been to Ridden before, and had only been to Por-Lowai a handful of times. I wanted to hear all about them.

My Da’s Da had told me stories of his time in the Shieldbarers, they were always full of action and excitement, never the mundane task of escorting an irritable man up the Greorg river. Da warned me that they were mostly hokum, but I could never shake the sense of wonder they instilled in me.

It wasn’t until later that evening when we were setting up camp for the night that I got my opportunity. The area was densely wooded now, but there was an old stone hut that kept out most of the weather so we didn’t need to set up the tent.

The rain eased and my Da asked me to go and grab some firewood. Some people think that it’s just a matter of picking up sticks, but they’d be wrong. Picking out firewood is a quasi-art form, especially after torrential rain. You don’t want it to be too green and fresh, nor do you want it to have been lying on the floor where it’s likely still wet. The best pieces of firewood are the pieces that have died and fallen from the tree but got caught on other branches before they managed to hit the floor.

Unfortunately after the torrential rain there was very few such pieces lying around, and what I did manage to bring back was not enough to make a fire. Looking back my Da probably knew there wouldn’t be enough dry wood around, and I can’t help but feel he was making a point to our guests in the politest, subtlest way he could. But men are both proud and fearful. If you tell them there is nothing to fear, they lose their pride, better then, not to believe you and retain their pride and fear.

So that night we remained inside the hut, once more shut away from the forest. But as I said, it gave me an opportunity to talk to Travis and Rippen and attempt to sate my endless curiosity.

“What’s Ridden like?” I asked.

Rippen shrugged non-committedly, “Like any other city really.”

I waited for more, but it seemed none was forthcoming.

“Pay no mind to him boy, he was borne surly and couldn’t appreciate its majesty if he tried. Over five a million people live there. From Lord Graun’s manor there are houses as far as the eye can see in every direction.”

“Don’t you mean squalor huts?” Rippen interjected.

Travis gave a half nod in acknowledgement, “There are some poorer people in Ridden, that’s for sure. But when you walk down Market Street or through Times Square you can’t help but feel alive. There’s so much life there.”

“For better or worse,” interjected Rippen again. This time Travis gave him a sour look.

“I’m answering his question because you have all the conversational skills of a dead trout, so unless you want to take over, shut it.”

He then turned back to me, “He’s right, there is poverty in Ridden, but there’s poverty in every city.”

“Why are you leaving then, if you like it so much?” I asked.

“We,” he gestured to himself and Rippen, “are not. However he,” this time he gestured to Sourface, “Is. We’ll be returning by ourselves in a few weeks after we’ve escorted him to...” I never got hear where as Sourface chose that time to break his sulky silence.

“That’s right, tell him everything why don’t you. Let everyone from here to the isles of Irthi know.”

“Oh come on, who’s he going to tell,” demanded Travis, “the fish?”

“I don’t care, he’s not going to tell anyone because you’re going to keep your gob shut else I’ll write to my sister and demand that your badge is ripped.” Travis looked like he was going to say more but in then end settled for an apologetic shrug in my direction. Rippen started talking again,

“Truth be told kid, Ridden’s just like anywhere else in the world. If you want to see a majestic city, you ought to go to Por-Lowai. It’s closer and doesn’t stink of rats. The Caverns in Ridden control more of the city than the Lord Mayor.” I had seen Por-Lowai, my Ma had an aunt there or something, and we visited occasionally. But I was more curious about The Caverns.

“Who are The Caverns?” I asked. Travis laughed but Rippen just sighed.

“The Caverns are cults of criminals. Ridden’s a poor city and the Lord Mayor can only afford to patrol about a quarter of it. The rest is under the dominion of various Caverns. Slaters’ Cavern controls most of the south, whilst Rhode controls most the east. There are a dozen other’s but those are the largest.” Travis shook his head, interrupting,

“Rhode’s been having some trouble from a few of the northern ones, he’ll soon be out if Slater keeps up the pressure from the south. There’s going to be blood in the next few months” Both guards paused and bowed their heads for a moment. My Da pretended to be cleaning the bowls and my Ma pretended to be sorting tomorrow’s rations from the supply, but they both held the carefully controlled faces of someone listening.

“What about the shieldbarers? Can’t they stop it?” in my mind the shieldbarers were the most majestic fighters anyone could wish to join. They were both my favourite stories and favourite past time. I would play with sticks, swiping at nettles in the forest, pretending to be one, whilst my parents set up camp. It was always a tough battle, as any good story is, one that I would struggle though. But I would always succeed; I would always be victorious and famous by the end. Falric Stoneheart. It had a nice ring to it. Except I wasn’t Falric Stoneheart the shieldbarer, I was Falric Whister, punter’s son.

“There must be only half a dozen shieldbarers in the entirety of Ridden, maybe two dozen more in Por-Lowai. The Emperor doesn’t part with them easily, what with how much all that armour and training must cost,” replied Travis.

“At any rate, they’re more like glorified bodyguards than actual soldiers. I doubt any of them would stoop so low as to adopt normal guard duty,” Rippen sneered.

“Bunch of jumped up sword swingers, better suited to the theatre than the battlefield,” said Sourface. It was clear from his tone exactly what he thought of the Shieldbarers and what he thought of the theatre. I was about to ask more questions when my Da placed a warning hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t heard him approach, he had a talent for that, appearing where you least expected him to. My Ma said he must have been borne half wraith. My Da just chuckled and smiled, saying that when you married a woman as dangerous as my Ma you learned to tread quietly, or not at all.

I bit back my question and yawned instead. I had four more days to ask questions if I wanted to, I only had a few hours when I could sleep.

###

Sourface’s demure continued to worsen, my Ma and Da kept up their simpleton charade but Travis and Rippen no longer smiled at the act. I got the feeling that they would have dropped it, except then Sourface would know they had been making a fool of him the whole time. So there was nothing for it, but to keep the act up. Sourface’s stony silence had given way to hostile glares and sour sneers. Over the course of the years we had never had such a hostile relationship with our travellers as we did with Sourface. Tense silences filled the majority of our days and hostile nights cooled our campsite. If it wasn’t for the grim reputation of the Greorg Mountains then perhaps we would have gone our separate ways. But the fear of the trees kept Sourface with us. Were it not for them, I doubt he would have stayed with us, money paid or not. But he did stay; for better or worse, richer or poorer, till death did we part.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3