Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (17 page)

The flame-haired man lapsed into thoughtful silence, and Raven turned to Cole. “Harri is Yaegar’s son. A man now and as fiery as his father is. Or was.”

“The only time they aren’t fighting or arguing is when one of them is off in the wilds. Too similar, and that’s the truth of it.” Bjorn chuckled. “But the mountains will fall into the sea before either will admit it.”

Cole picked at the food as Bjorn and Raven made small talk, the big man’s laughter occasionally booming across the tavern. He let their voices wash over him. Away from the crowds, Cole found he was able to relax – and after more than a week in the wilds simply sitting at a table, indoors, and eating hot food felt like a luxury. The ale was watery, but even so he began to feel pleasantly light-headed. Smiling amiably, he looked around the room at the other patrons, but none were paying them any attention.

“So, Cole, Raven tells me that you’re looking for someone to take you into the mountains,” Bjorn said, addressing him.

Cole nodded. “Do you know of anyone who might be willing? I have some coin. Not much, but hopefully enough.”

“Most of the hunters here will know the right paths to take,” said Bjorn, stroking his beard. “But as to who would be willing, it’s not for me to say. You must ask them yourself.”

Cole looked around the near-empty room again. “There doesn’t seem to be a great deal of choice at the moment.”

“Bah, it’s early yet.” Bjorn waved a hand dismissively. “Those that came in with the caravan are likely still resting up. It will be busier tonight.” He eyed Cole thoughtfully. “Why do you want to make such a journey, anyway?”

“I made a promise to a friend,” Cole replied. “I cannot say more.”

Raven was watching him with interest. “You’re wise to be guarded, Cole.” She smiled. “I think you may be learning after all.”

“Huh? What’s this?” asked Bjorn, puzzled. Cole noticed that he had acquired another tankard from somewhere, and had already quaffed half of the ale within.

“Let’s just say that the last guide didn’t work out too well,” she explained.

“Hm? Oh, well. There’s all kinds of bad sorts on the road now since the patrols stopped. I wouldn’t worry lad, there isn’t a hunter in the whole of the Watch I wouldn’t trust with my life, if it came to it.”

They finished the rest of the food, and Cole felt in good spirits. His stomach was full for the first time in days and it seemed as though an experienced guide would not be hard to find. As they stood up to leave, he attempted to leave a few coins in payment, but Bjorn batted his hand away. “What sort of host would I be if I let my guests pay for their own breakfast?” he grumbled, slamming a fistful of coppers onto the table.

“Host?” Raven arched an eyebrow.

“Aye, lass, I insist,” said Bjorn, with a grin. “I can make up a pallet in the forge for young Cole here, and you and I can catch up on old times into the early hours. It’ll be quieter and cheaper than here.”

“I’ll think about it,” Raven replied, with an odd half-smile. “I did want to come back to your workshop, though. The hidden knife you crafted for my boot broke off again.”

“Aye, if it’s just the blade it will be easy enough.” He gave Cole a friendly pat on the back, that nearly sent him crashing into the next table. “I’ll head back now and fire up the furnace.”

“It looks like there’s a bit of time to kill before you can speak to the hunters about passage into the mountains,” said Raven after Bjorn had left. “I’ve got a few things to take care of. Why don’t you have a look around the town? There’s no danger as long as you stay within the walls.”

“Yes, I think I will.” He shuffled his feet distractedly. “Listen, I just wanted to thank you for... well, for everything really.”

“You do know we’ll be meeting up later?”

“I know,” he said, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “I wanted to say it now, just in case.”

She smiled at him. “I can’t say I wouldn’t have made it here a lot faster without you, but you’re welcome. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant to have company on the road, for a time.”

They left the tavern together, then with a nod of farewell Raven strode off back towards the teeming marketplace. He stood watching until her black cloak melted into the crowd. For perhaps the first time in his life, Cole had time to spare and had no idea what to do with it. On the Crag, their days were strictly regimented – chores, lessons and training broken up by meals and sleep. In the days since leaving, all his focus had been on the journey east. Standing idly outside the tavern with no clear purpose was a strange, unfamiliar sensation.

He thought about visiting the marketplace, but the idea of fighting his way through the bustle again held little appeal. Instead, he turned in the opposite direction, and sauntered towards the town’s outskirts.

It was a pleasant walk. In stark contrast to Westcove, which lurked beneath an ever-present veneer of grime and sea salt, the streets and houses of Hunter’s Watch were spotless. The town may have fallen on leaner times, but the same civic pride that went into its construction lived on. As well as the carved eaves, many of the houses had window boxes and hanging baskets that overflowed with flowers of every colour. He passed several workshops, each of which was accompanied by an ornate sign. Some were painted wood, some carved and some wrought iron, but each depicted the nature of the craft taking place within. Outside a small bakery, the window of which was filled with breads and pastries of all different shapes and sizes, the wooden sign had been carved into the shape of a knotted loaf, and painted in such a way that it looked as delicious as anything on display. Above a fletcher’s shop, meanwhile, three metal arrows were hung, welded together. From the busy sounds emanating from within, Cole guessed that his skills were in particular demand.

Eventually, he found himself walking alongside the town’s perimeter. Perhaps it was because he was used to the thick stone of the keep where he had been brought up, but he was surprised that it was not sturdier. Rather than a stone wall, the town was encircled by a palisade of thick, eight-foot high stakes driven into the ground, the tops of which were sharpened to points. It served as a barrier between the town and the outside world, but he didn’t believe it could stand for more than a few minutes against a determined invader.

From where he stood, he could see a wooden guard tower above one of the roofs. A lone sentry stood at its top, looking out across the plain to the east. Cole was gazing up at the tower thoughtfully, when an arrow struck him in the chest.

“You’re
dead
!” shrieked a shrill voice.

Cole looked down and saw two young boys scampering towards him. One was carrying a small bow and wore an expression of gleeful triumph. The other’s face was only partly visible beneath a motley collection of small pelts of various kinds, which had been inexpertly stitched together. Behind them trotted a small girl, no more than four years old.

“I shot you,” the first boy yelled excitedly. “Right through the heart! You have to lie down now, ‘cos you’re all deaded.”

Cole clutched his chest, let out a strangled cry, and pitched backwards with as much grace as he could muster. The children cheered.

When it seemed that his audience was satisfied with his impromptu performance, Cole sat up. He saw the arrow lying nearby, and picked it up. It was just a short shaft with a few feathers glued to one end. A toy. “That was a good shot,” he said, offering it back to the boy with the bow.

“Thanks,” said the child. “My da’s been teaching me.”

“So, what game are you playing?”

“The Hunter and the Beast.
I’m
the hunter.”

Cole grinned. “And let me guess,” he pointed at the girl, who was staring at him with eyes and mouth wide open. “You’re the beast.”

“No,” said the young archer, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of grown ups. “That’s just my sister.
He’s
the beast.”

The other boy waved shyly from beneath his cloak of furs.

“Sounds like a fun game,” said Cole. “Can I play?”

“No, because you’re dead.” The children fell silent and stared at the ground for a few moments, as if searching for a way past such an impasse. Evidently, none was to be found. “Bye then,” the boy said cheerfully. The three of them trotted back the way they had come and disappeared behind one of the nearby houses.

Cole was picking himself up off the ground when a long, low note sounded through the air. A horn! He looked up at the guard tower, in time to see the sentry blow another long note. The tower was not far, and he hurried over to see what was happening.

At its foot, the town gates stood open – Cole later learned that they were shut and bolted each night, but generally kept open to traffic during daylight – and by the time he reached them a group of onlookers had already gathered.

He jostled his way to near the front of the crowd. Past the gates he could see a lone rider atop a pale grey horse trotting along the road towards them. There was a ripple of excitement and somebody called out “Harri’s back.”

In the distance, Cole could see a man sitting straight-backed in the saddle, reins held lightly in one hand. His clothes were a mixture of dark greens and browns, while a long cloak the colour of earth was draped around his neck. Long, straw-blonde hair tumbled past broad shoulders. As he drew closer, Cole saw that he was young. Or, at least, his features were youthful. Stern grey eyes and a grim expression made him seem far older than his years.

When he reached the gate, the rider looked up at the guard tower. “Hail Patrek,” he called out. “Where is my father?”

“In the langhus, awaiting your return,” the sentry replied.

“Good.” The rider nodded curtly.

He spurred his horse on again, and the crowd parted to allow him through. As he passed, he did not so much as glance in Cole’s direction.

Intrigued, Cole followed. He was not the only one. Many of the crowd that had gathered at the gate also fell into step behind the rider and his horse. As the procession made its way towards the marketplace, faces large and small came to the windows to watch.

When they reached the crowded town square, further progress was impossible. Little by little, the hubbub of the market quieted, until silence reigned. Cole looked around, and saw Raven emerge from an open doorway to one side of the square. She surveyed the scene with interest, arms folded.

There was a loud crash, as the door of the long wooden building on the hill flew open. A large man in his middle years emerged. His hair was greying and his granite face deeply lined and care-worn. A large wolfskin, as dark as smoke, covered his back, fastened at his neck with a large golden clasp. He was not as tall as Bjorn – few men of the Watch were, from what Cole had seen so far – but he was obviously as fit as any man half his age, his stomach still as flat as a slab of rock. He strolled forward to where the path led down to the market, then stood, arms crossed against his chest. “You’re back,” he barked. His voice carried easily across the now-silent square.

“Yes father,” Harri called back, still seated atop his horse. “I’m sorry for my late return, but I had urgent business in the forest.”

Yaegar, for it was he, grunted noncommittally. “A late return is better than none at all, I suppose. You will come to the langhus tonight. We will feast to celebrate your arrival.”

“I will come,” Harri agreed. “But there should be no feasting. There is much we need to discuss, and clear heads are needed.”

The older man’s face darkened. “Come, or don’t,” he growled. “By Valdyr’s beard, we will toast your return regardless. Already half a dozen good hunters have had to wait for you to show your face before we could honour their safe return. Anything you have to say can wait until after the old ways have been observed.”

For several moments the two men, father and son, held each other’s gaze across the square. Even Cole, to whom both men were strangers, could feel the tension between them. Finally, the young rider nodded his head almost imperceptibly. “As you wish, father. I have no wish to dishonour our traditions.”

Yaegar grunted again, apparently satisfied with the outcome of the reunion. He turned and stalked back to the langhus, slamming the door shut behind him.

The rider turned to one of the men standing nearby. “Farhang, summon all the hunters, including those in the wilds if they can return in time. Tell them it is time for a
krigsmoot.
It seems we must feast, but there will be important decisions to be made after.”

“Aye, Harri, I’ll put out the word and light the signal fires. Any that see the smoke will hasten back to the Watch.”

As the man hurried off to carry out his orders, the rider turned his horse around, and left the square. Sensing that the spectacle was over, half the crowd began to disperse, while the remainder resumed their trading.

Cole sauntered over to where Raven stood. “Father and son back together,” he said with a wry smile. “I was almost overcome by the raw emotion of it.”

“It didn’t take long for you to see what Bear was talking about over lunch,” she said. “Yaegar sees too much of himself in his son, while Harri is caught between trying to live up to his father’s legend and wanting to carve out his own. It frustrates them both.”

“Will you go to the feast tonight?”