Rowan Crimsonmane's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Rowan ran hard through the deep woods. Broken twigs and crushed moss marked the trappers' path. He slowed his hooves and kept low. Fresh wagon ruts cut the mud ahead. He smelled iron cages and sweat on the wind. He heard men speaking near a clearing. He circled wide, staying downwind, and watched them from behind a wall of ferns. He counted the trappers. There were more than he expected. Two dozen men, maybe more, pushed wagons stacked with empty cages. They were close to his hall now. One man carried rope and a heavy net. Rowan could not fight them all alone. A spear against a dozen guns would end fast. He needed help, and he needed it before they reached his door. Rowan crept back the way he came. He knew this forest better than any man. Near a bend in the stream stood a round tavern, its curved walls glowing with warm light. His clan gathered there when the day's work was done. He heard voices and laughter through the door. He did not go inside. Instead he stopped in the trees and raised two fingers to his lips. He blew a sharp whistle. Then a second note, lower. It was the old call, the one his clan used for danger. The laughter inside the tavern died. The warm light dimmed as bodies moved to the windows. Rowan waited. For a long moment the woods held still. Then the ferns shifted. A centaur stepped from the shadows to his left, spear in hand. Another rose from the stream bank. More came, silent, from behind trees and rocks and the tavern's back door. They did not speak. They looked to Rowan and waited. Hundreds gathered around him. Their hooves made no sound on the soft ground. He had called, and his whole clan had answered. Rowan felt the weight lift from his chest. He was not one spear now. He was an army. "Trappers," Rowan said low. "Two dozen men with cages. They move on my hall." He pointed through the trees toward the clearing. "They mean to empty our forest." The centaurs' faces hardened. One old warrior with a gray beard gripped his bow. He did not ask why they should fight for Rowan's rescued creatures. He only nodded and strung an arrow. The others followed. In moments the whole clan stood ready, weapons raised, eyes turned toward the trappers' camp. Rowan had his army. But the sight of hundreds gave him no easy road. Guns still waited in that clearing. His clan had bows and spears and nothing more. If the fight went wrong, the trappers would learn his hall's exact place. He had traded one danger for a harder choice. Now he had to lead these hundreds against armed men without losing a single one. Rowan raised his spear. "Follow me," he said. "Stay silent. We take them before they know we are here."