Verecleeve's Arc

Chapter 6 of 8

Verecleeve rode east and left the road behind. The Magus kept a crew, and that crew watched the roads. So he cut into the ancient forest of Chronchara and moved under its trees. The tower waited three days out. He meant to reach it unseen and approach the last stretch from cover. On the second night he made a cold camp between two pines and slept with the rifle across his chest. He woke to a shape standing over him. It had not made a sound. A huge figure in armor that looked like grey stone, a black-green cape hanging off its arms. A long braided beard spilled from under a tight hood. A broadsword rode its back, and its hand stayed far from the hilt. Verecleeve grabbed his rifle and rolled clear. The figure did not move. "Keeper of this forest," the figure said. "Grenwook. Lower it." Verecleeve kept the barrel up. "You crept on a sleeping man." "I creep on everything. It is my wood." The old eyes held no threat, only weight. "You go to the tower." "That's my business." "The wood is dying," Grenwook said. "From the inside. I do not know why." He went quiet, and each word came slower. "The rot spreads from the east. From where you walk." Verecleeve lowered the rifle an inch. "Then we want the same man dead." Grenwook did not answer that. He reached into his cape and drew out a stone. It was green and smooth, the size of an egg. He held it out on a flat palm. "Take it," he said. "What does it do?" "I do not know." The keeper's voice dropped near to nothing. "It came from the heart of the wood before the rot. It is meant for you. That is all I have." Verecleeve studied the stone. He trusted nothing he could not aim. But the giant had stood over him with a blade on his back and left it there. That meant something. He reached out and took the stone. It was warm, warmer than a stone should be. The warmth sat in his palm and did not fade. "A warning too," Grenwook said. "The man in the tower is not alone. His crew hunts the wood tonight. They caught your track a mile back." Verecleeve's gut went tight. "How many?" "Enough." Grenwook turned toward the dark trees. "Move now. Off my straight paths. They watch those." He walked three steps and the greyness of him faded into the trunks until nothing marked where he had stood. Verecleeve pocketed the warm stone and kicked dirt over his cold ashes. His hidden route was blown. The crew was already in the trees behind him, closing. He slung the rifle, drew the short scattergun for the tight ground ahead, and ran east through the pines. Reaching the tower unseen was finished. Now it was a race, and the hunters had his trail.