The Maiden of Moonfane Forge

Gone from the stables was the familiar air of warmth and welcomeness the place had always held for Vetch. The long building lay partially in blackened ruins now, with the remaining section appearing like the stump of a recently amputated limb. The smells of horses and their manure, of fresh straw, feed, and oiled leather tack were dulled or missing, replaced by the ever-present miasma of burned wood and ashes. The stench was made even worse by being damp from the sporadic rain of the previous days. Even the undamaged half of the stables that had not been touched by the fires had not escaped being infused with the odor of smoke and char. These smells were becoming all too familiar to Vetch. Seeing so much of his town, the only town he’d ever known, reduced to empty plots of blackened sticks was traumatizing enough as it was. The fact that he couldn’t even capture the familiar aromas of his home as he walked through it now caused an even deeper, instinctual kind of disquiet within him. It was as if his senses were telling him that Moonfane Forge did not exist anymore, or never had. That scared him. As he stood there beneath the eaves of the stables, it suddenly became extremely important to him to remember all the smells he associated with Lily—dairy-fresh milk, the sweet grasses she fed to the goats, and in recent years the flowery perfume she sometimes wore, and the herbal tea her teacher Marigold was always brewing in their home. Vetch was fearful he would forget these things about her; forget the sound of her voice, or the hue of her lips when the sunlight fell across her face.

Nearby, a horse nickered uneasily, causing Vetch to return to himself. Horses could sense when a person was anxious, and became anxious themselves. With an effort, Vetch forced himself into a calmer posture and went to stroke the white blaze on the horse’s nose soothingly. The lone stable girl Vetch had found feeding the remaining beasts when he’d arrived had sullenly told him to just take whichever horse he wanted, as ‘all the other soldiers had.’ Many of the garrison’s horses had perished in the fire, or had been turned loose and run off who knew how far. Well, it couldn’t be helped. For all he knew, the owners of these animals were dead, and it didn’t seem there were many people left who had been visiting the stables to care for them. The animals Vetch’s small band took would be fed and looked after at the very least, so he felt no reservations about taking them. He would do what he must to track down Marigold. He hoped desperately that she was still alive. He hoped also to soon face down this mysterious Lady, the one responsible for the deaths of his friends and the destruction of his town.

The horse before him nosed at his hand. Vetch considered her. She was a sturdy brown mare with white splotches across her flanks. He could take this one. She appeared to have a calm demeanor, and looked strong and fit. But upon closer inspection, Vetch ruled her out. She was heavy with foal. No, he would need a mount that would be fast on open stretches and sure-footed enough to navigate whatever other terrain he and his fellow soldiers might encounter, for east they meant to ride, and many were the topographical obstacles in that direction.

Vetch strolled down the open run between the stalls, bootsteps muffled by wet straw and un-swept dirt, looking in at each animal he came across. Someone had housed all these horses in whichever spaces were available. Not all were horses meant for riding, and scattered amongst them were other animals, too. Some Moonfane yaks occupied the least damaged stalls. Another held a couple small cart mules. Yet another housed a few chickens. How had his fellow soldiers found decent mounts amongst these slim pickings?

Something told Vetch that the horse he found in the final stall would be his choice. Lately, it seemed as if life had been making his decisions for him by running him out of options before he’d even known he’d had his pick. Like with the raid. Like with the enemy fighters who had looked down on him and chosen not to even waste their energy in killing him. He’d had no say in either, and he wondered now if anything he could have chosen to do beforehand would have given him one. Yet, when he came to the end of the hall and looked into the final stall, he found it empty.

“Not a great portent to begin a quest on,” he mumbled to himself. He turned and went back up the run and this time his eyes settled on a horse he’d made no note of before. It was a slim and angular gelding, dark gray with a dusting of lighter gray at shoulders and flanks. “Looks like you’re it,” he said. The gelding watched alertly as Vetch opened the stall door. It was wary at first when he introduced the bridle. Wary, but not defiant. Vetch could understand the sentiment. Some soothing words and strokes calmed the gelding enough for Vetch to get the bridle and reins on him and then lead him out. The stable girl he’d met before was using a pitchfork to muck out a stall. Vetch stopped before her. “I’m taking this one. Don’t suppose you know his name?”

The girl ran her sleeve across her nose and regarded the horse. She shook her head. “Uh-uh. No one’s come for that one.”

“Do any other people come around here to help you with the animals?” Vetch asked.

“Mora was, but she’s leaving with you, huh?”

Vetch nodded, to a look of disappointment on the girl’s face. “Find others if you can,” he offered. “You’ll all be paid, when things are rebuilt and people have picked up the pieces of their trades. I promise you that.”

The girl stared at him, and in her eyes, Vetch saw some of the street-tough children he used to run into in the dingier parts of town when he was a boy. “Sure, we will,” she said, and turned her back on him to resume her work, effectively dismissing him.

Vetch led his horse outside to where he had left his saddle and packed supplies. On a whim, he draped his horse’s reins over the nearest stall door latch and walked down through the remnants of the burned side of the building. The very end of the structure was all that was left standing, just a partially charred nook where once there had been a couple larger stalls and a room that the stable hands used for storing feed. Vetch looked at the blackened walls of the stall that had belonged to Lily’s panthegrunn, Fae. It was empty. That was fortunate. What was more, he could see that the entire stall door and been wrenched out of its frame in a way that no fire would have caused. So, Fae had broken out of her stall and escaped the flames. That was no surprise to Vetch. The beast was easily both strong enough and willful enough to have made easy work of doing so. He hoped that wherever the panthegrunn had gotten to that she was faring well. From what little Vetch understood of them, charge-beasts could readapt to living wild with an alacrity that no normal domesticated animals could boast.

He patted the stall wall with his hand and returned to the gray gelding. Once his new mount was saddled, and his travel supplies stowed in its saddlebags, Vetch had only a couple things left to see to before he met up with his fellow soldiers and set out in search of Marigold. His first order of business came into view out on the south road as he led the gelding back around toward the town’s South Gate. Vetch and his horse’s shadows stretched out across the grass before them in the morning sun. In the road before town was gathered a ragtag assembly of people, carts, horses, yaks, and other beasts of burden. Tradespeople loaded carts or made secure packs on their animals, while others milled about, eager to be on their way. The retinue that would go to the King’s Capital City and petition the king for aid. Viewing them all, Vetch wondered if a significant number of the people making the trek would simply settle in any number of other towns or cities they visited along the way. How many would complete the journey to the capital and deem whatever aid they won worthy of a return trip to Moonfane Forge and the inevitably long and difficult work of rebuilding it?

Worries, Vetch reminded himself. Worries and concerns about things he had no control over and hadn’t occurred yet. He had left the mission in capable hands and so he would trust that it would be carried out in a way that would help them all. He spotted the man he’d put in charge of the retinue, in short order. Ennric’s stout form could be seen standing in one of the carts, his shouts carrying as he directed the stowing of the last supplies. Vetch hurried over to the man just as he was taking his seat in the cart and taking up the reins.

“Come to wish me luck and see me off?” said Ennric.

“I know you don’t need luck,” replied Vetch. “But to see you off, yes. And for one other thing.” Vetch went to the bedroll stashed behind his horse’s saddle and pulled from it a sword in its scabbard. This, he held out to Ennric. “You forgot this up at your house.”

Ennric lowered his chin and looked at Vetch from under heavy brows. He turned in the cart seat to spit in the dirt. “No, boy. I told you, my sword-swinging days are done.”

But Vetch was determined to out-stubborn the old veteran for once. He held the sword out in a defiant gesture. “Take it. You might need it.”

They eyed one another. At last, Ennric made an annoyed sound in his throat and took the sword. He set it behind the cart seat and took up the reins again. “Happy now? Already letting your new rank go to your head,” he grumbled.

“Take care of these people, old man,” Vetch said. “And yourself.”

“And you, Captain. Stick a few of those raider bastards for me when you find ‘em.” Ennric cleared his throat and turned in his seat to raise his hand to the waiting retinue. “We move!” he bellowed over their heads. With a flinty nod to Vetch, Ennric clicked his tongue at his horse and set off. Vetch stood aside with his gelding and watched the train of townsfolk and animals follow the old veteran down the road.

Vetch patted his horse’s neck. “One more person to visit,” he told it.

It was a strange thing leading the horse beneath the South Gate arch and into town. Vetch half expected the horse’s nose to bump into the Barrier as they walked through the gate. That it didn’t was another reminder of how changed everything was. The bodies of townspeople and animals had been removed from the streets, and much of the detritus from burned buildings had been cleared away to allow normal passage, but it couldn’t disguise the injury done to Moonfane Forge. Few people were about where normally there would be throngs, and those who were acted wary and subdued. Nobody stopped to speak with acquaintances or browse shop wares; all seemed in a hurry to accomplish whatever task they’d ventured out for, the sooner to be away from the devastation.

The gelding’s hooves clicked on the cobbles as Vetch led the way up the central thoroughfare of town and then turned right onto a wide road that led away from where most of the taverns and inns had been. Eventually, he stopped at another crossroad. Normally, this is where he would turn left, were he walking up the winding, hilly streets that led up through the markets and into the Residential District. Today, however, his destination was the squat stone building that stood sentinel on the corner. The guardhouse’s jail. It was dark inside when he entered. The old man who’d been acting as the lone guard had abandoned his post. The space was drafty, and the lanterns had gone out.

“Hello?” came a meek voice from the only occupied cell. The horse thief’s sharp face peered out through the barred window in his cell door, eyes squinted against the light pouring in from outside. He blinked a few times and then, “You! All spirits and demons damn you, let me out! You promised you’d let me out! Lying soldier bastard!” Slouk kicked at the door’s heavy timbers so hard Vetch was surprised the man didn’t break his toes. Yet, he continued to do so, alternately berating Vetch and pleading with him at the top of his lungs.

When it seemed at last that the prisoner had exhausted himself, Vetch held up the cell key. “I am letting you out. As I promised.” He stepped up to the door and turned the key in the lock, all the while keeping his eyes on the man in the cell. He opened the door and stepped back.

Slouk stood in place and watched him, then gestured with open hands. “That’s it, then? I’m free to go?”

“Not free.” Vetch shook his head. “I never said you’d be set free. I said I’d let you out. You’re coming with us.”

“Us? Us?” Slouk turned and looked about the jailhouse. “What ‘us’?”

The dejected expression that had come over the wretched man’s face upon hearing he wasn’t to be let free yet was almost enough for Vetch to rethink his plan and turn the man loose. Then, he remembered the man’s lies from before, and how he was the last one to see Marigold and the mage who had taken her, and hardened himself. This horse thief was the key to finding them. Not to mention Vetch was certain he still knew more about the raid than he let on.

“Myself and my remaining soldiers,” Vetch stated. He turned and left the jailhouse, allowing the man to follow him. He was almost daring him to attempt an escape or even to attack him. Vetch would’ve welcomed the excuse to take his anger out on the man. He could tell himself that he wouldn’t take pleasure in it, but that’d be a lie. Outside, he retrieved his horse’s reins from the post he’d draped them over and looked back. Slouk hadn’t moved from his cell.

“Why?” he asked. “Why do I need to go with you? To where?”

Vetch motioned with his hand. “Come on. Out.”

“Not until you tell me what’s happening. Just let me leave this stinking place.”

Early morning was past. The other soldiers were waiting on Vetch, and the sooner they all got on the move, the better. He sighed. “To track down this Lady you described.”

The surprise on Slouk’s face appeared genuine as he stated, “I described for you her hold. I don’t know how to get there.”

“But you’ve seen her. You know her face and the faces of her guards. And did you not say they have your sister? I’m guessing you want to find her, which means we’re seeking the same people.”

Slouk hesitated, face screwed up with inner turmoil. “Do I have a choice in this?” he asked.

Vetch raised his brows sardonically.

Slouk scowled. “No. Of course not.” Finally, the man shuffled out of his rank cell and into the sunlight, shielding his eyes.

“And don’t even think of running,” Vetch said, swinging up into the saddle. The gray gelding sidestepped and tossed his head, causing Vetch to have to guide the skittering beast to calm. Too late, he realized he should have tried riding him before he dealt with Slouk. Well, he’d look a fool, but he wouldn’t be taken for one. “Or we’ll charge you down.”

“Tch, what do you take me for?” Slouk scoffed. “Y’think I’d be any good at thieving horses if I didn’t know anything about them? This one looks as likely to throw you as run where you point ‘im.”

“Then we’ll test my accuracy with my bow, instead, hm? Now, shut up and move. Up this street.” Vetch could see the war within the man’s mind, gauging his chances at making an escape. But the thief’s next question told Vetch that he at least thought further than making a mad dash for it and hoping things worked out.

“Will there be food?”

There it was. That would be the leverage Vetch needed to keep the man in line. For how long, he didn’t know. “Yes,” he said. “You help us find The Lady and don’t make trouble, and you’ll be treated fairly, and eat the same as the rest of us. It’ll be a hell of a lot better than you would find for yourself out there alone. So?”

Grudgingly, Slouk nodded and began walking. Vetch clicked his tongue and he and his horse followed.

Waiting outside the town’s East Gate was the small band of soldiers who would be Vetch’s constant companions for however long it took for them to find Marigold. They stood as soldiers do while waiting for their captain to tell them to move, all in uniform, arms and mounts readied, faces grim and stoic. Seven total, including Vetch. When Slouk saw them all, his face blanched.

“Remember what I said about not running,” Vetch told him. “Mora?”

Mora came forward with the reins of the extra horse procured for the prisoner. Slouk looked at the offered reins as if they were a snake ready to bite him.

“We don’t have all day,” she said. “Take ‘em.”

Averting his eyes, Slouk did as he was bade. At a nod from Vetch, all the other soldiers mounted and turned their horses down the road. Slouk followed suit, and if the man looked as if he would rather be in the grave than a party to this foreboding mission, he still displayed a natural ease in handling his horse. So, there was another thing he had been truthful about. Vetch was keeping tally. This lone, deceptive thief was the one tenuous thread remaining that could lead what was left of Moonfane Forge’s garrison to Marigold; to redemption, and perhaps, to revenge.

East down the road, they passed the rain-washed remains of Lily’s family’s dairy and came to the tangled, looming shade of Bannerman’s Wood. The signs of carriages having entered the wood were apparent. It was probably via this seldomly-traveled forest they had arrived, too, Vetch reflected. One by one, the mounted soldiers and their reluctant guide ducked beneath branches and crunched into the undergrowth. Vetch found he had not even the sentimentality to take a last look back at Moonfane Forge. There was nothing behind now, only what he hoped to find ahead, his aim narrow as the road they followed. Shadows and foliage closed in around him.