Chapter 8

That went well — NOT!

I was back on my island hillock, sitting against a pine tree, with my cape intertwined in the boughs above me shedding the persistent drizzle, while the wood fire past my feet sputtered.

My Brunton Optimus backpacker's cook stove was next to me under the canopy, heating my MRE and boiling the water for my tea, while the uncovered light crystal was on my opposite side. I'm an indifferent cook, but enough Tabasco seems to make almost anything better. I mixed together the Beef Ravioli and Spaghetti with meat sauce rations in my one pot, and it was steaming hot. My tin cup held boiling hot tea, with a generous slug of honey. Eating by myself on top of this darkened hillside provided the opportunity to review recent events

My plan had been to disappear into the north woods and spend my time alone. I needed that solitary time to get over the disaster that was our sham marriage and my betrayal by Bill and Natalie (The Bitch). The disappear thing seemed to have been successful, but the hermit act was a dismal failure.

I was in the company of more people than ever before, sexually involved with two slaves at Luther's Inn, had killed two natives, and now the lovely Nadia and I were a 'something' and by way of her ruby ring I was up to my ass in a circumstance that looked, paddled, and quacked like some sort of a palace intrigue.

A cold drop of water ran down the back of my neck, while I sat turning Nadia's ruby ring over and over in my fingers. How the fuck did she know that left to my own devices I'd have 'blown off' those gold coins and gone back to my reclusive existence in the cabin?

I still could! I could toss this ring in the swamp, go back and turn the key, and just forget it ALL!

Fucking Robert!

Right now he was sitting somewhere laughing his ass off. He KNEW I'd never be able to turn that fucking key back once I got here.

I sat staring at the fire: What key did Robert choose?

Where did HE end up? Once I was safely bundled off to the north woods cabin, I was betting that Robert had disappeared, through another convenient portal, to his chosen place of magic where he could lose that hated green oxygen bottle.

Would I ever see my best friend again?

Covering the light crystal, I settled in with my space blanket around my shoulders, staring at the fire until it or I went out.

My eyes snapped open to a foggy landscape, the rain now reduced to a mist. One disadvantage to my campsite in that swamp was that the fog always settled in the lowlands. My makeshift shelter held up overnight, so I was dry, if not warm. I boiled water for tea, quickly solving the warm part. I crawled out to take care of my urgent morning business, then got the wood fire going.

Standing next to the roaring fire, still wearing my space blanket cape, sipping my tea, I stared anew into Nadia's ruby ring, trying to discern my next move.

Nadia's cavalry column was on their way to King Holm -- wherever the fuck that was. Radcliff (The Blowhard) was likely stopping at every hamlet and crossing to show off those bodies. He'd be eager to prove to the inhabitants that they were being well protected.

Now I looked off into the fog. Yeah, but then what...

Word would have to get back to the gang that the giant and bowman were dead. They might or might not believe it. How would they confirm it? I stood in thought; one way for them might be to check the ambush site. And that meant I needed to be somewhere, watching it.

Jesus, deeper and deeper into the quagmire. I guess I'm not going back to my cabin anytime soon.

Camp was struck speedily after that. The fire was quenched (not too tough in the rain) as I loaded the packsack. Nadia's ruby ring was tucked into the small medicine bag around my neck. I slipped on my leather boots and threw on my rain cape.

I must have looked quite hump backed with my pack under that cape, moving through the fog and mist. Even with the lousy weather I was quickly back at the ambush site. Radcliff's troops had taken the rope hawser along when they left with the two bodies.

Standing on the road verge I was looking all around, finally searching up into the trees for a needed vantage to observe this spot. I spotted a tall oak tree, well back from the clearing that seemed to have an open sightline. I moved under it as I shrugged out of my pack. The crossbow was tied to the pack, as the rain cape came off, while the ghilley suit went on.

The rain slicked tree trunk was not going to be a treat to climb, and falling would lead to very bad things. I dug into the pack for my Ashiko and Shuko, my hand and foot claws. Tying off a line to my pack on my belt took only a few seconds, and, finally out of excuses, I started up the greasy bark. Fear lent me strength and speed; it took only moments for me to reach the lofty tree limb that I selected.

While there were ample leaves and branches to break up my silhouette and camouflage me, they did not seem to interfere with my seeing the ambush clearing and the road in front of it. My soaring aerie allowed observation of an extended stretch of the forest road.

I tied a makeshift flip line around the tree trunk, then dragged my pack up out of sight. Sitting on my bough with my brass telescope, I carefully glassed the target area, then I sat quietly (not necessarily patiently) to observe the traffic on the road. I was depending on the foliage, my ghilley suit and (mostly) the natural tendency not to look up to keep me unobserved and unpunctured.

As I sat sipping my water and chewing on an energy bar, I saw several groups of armed horsemen pound by. They did not slow, pause, or so much as look at the site as they trotted past. I continued to sit and wait unmoving. I dislike still hunting but I can do it, if necessary. With much bitching, complaining and whining, I can do it. I did mention it was still raining? Thought so.

It was soon dusk and I was beginning to think that I had misjudged my quarry when a wagon heaped with straw and pulled by a yoke of oxen slowly moved up the road. An old man in a long tattered robe limped along next to it tapping the ox with his staff. For lack of anything better to do, I focused my telescope on him at full magnification, as he moved in and out of my sightline among the trees. Imagine my surprise when I discovered he was wearing a broadsword under his robe. Then I noticed that he'd occasionally forget to limp as I followed his slow progress.

Finally he was in front of me, right at the ambush site. He stopped the wagon right by the clearing, making a great show of adjusting the yokes and harness of his oxen.

A movement from the wagon drew my eye. There was a hiding place under the straw as two men crawled out from underneath the wagon. I focused my spyglass on them, looking at them, carefully finally studying their faces. Both were well armed but unkempt, with skulking demeanors as if always up to something illicit. They seemed even less comfortable in these woods than others I'd seen. Their words back and forth removed any doubt that I was observing a part of the band of highwaymen.

I Listened to them swearing and talking. They were exhibiting no skills of the woodsmen or trackers as they tried to figure out what happened to their comrades. The rain had obliterated the obvious signs of my encounter, and they were having no luck at all with deciphering the rest. Walking back and forth, tossing cigarette butts on the ground, was not helping their efforts

Finally the drover became impatient to know 'when they could get moving.' He clearly did not want to give an explanation of what he was doing out here in the big woods after dark. Maybe he just did not want to be out here in the big woods after dark.

I saw little likelihood of his having to explain. Even smart as Nolan or Trevor, they'd ride right past this slow moving straw wagon without a second glance.

The red headed one they called Tor told Jeremy the drover to turn the wagon around. Then he asked Harold if he'd seen enough. Harold pitched an absolute bitch, yelling and swearing. Finally he calmed enough to ask Tor what the fuck could have happened to his brother Henry. Now I began to see Harold's strong resemblance to the greasy man I'd killed, right down to the bronze short sword and scraggly teeth.

I could hear them plainly as Tor said, "That fucking Radcliff had Big Hammer on display at the crossroads. They say there was one more fucking body, likely your brother. Who knows how they got'em, maybe it was that fucking Logan, the king's assassin. Somebody got a fucking look, said they was shackled behind. Fuck knows who belongs to those chains. Maybe some fucking answers at The Raising. Until we know more, we just make god damn sure we have more of us at the traps from now on. Now lets get the fuck out of here."