“Our village sits on the northern foothills of the Ebrius Ridge. This is the most direct route, and the sooner we reach Tomar’s court the sooner my village will have relief. As for our clothing, we live in a hard land and must defend ourselves. And it is true that the woman knows some magic, but she is only young and still learning.”
While Kumul spoke, Belara had been studying his companions. “What’s wrong with your bent friend?” she asked, pointing at Ager with the knife.
“My friend’s injury is an old one, inflicted when he fought for Queen Usharna during the Slaver War.”
“And why is your arm in a sling?”
“We were beset by bandits. I was stabbed in the arm, and the woman is recovering from a blow to the head.”
“Did the bandits get much?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“A shallow grave each,” Kumul said gruffly.
The woman laughed suddenly and lowered the point of her knife. At that, all the other women lowered their blades as well. The children came forward then, milling around the companions, but especially Ager, pointing at and touching his crookback. Many, too, were fascinated with Kumul; they had probably never seen anyone so large. Kumul introduced himself and his friends, using only first names.
“You look like you could do with some food and rest,” Belara said. “Take what water you need from the well, and then come to my home,” she pointed to a hut not twenty paces away, “and I’ll see what food I can scrounge up for you. We may even be able to do something for your arm.”
“We do not need much,” Kumul lied. “We have no wish to be a burden.”
“We never refuse hospitality to travelers.” She paused, losing her smile, then said, “We get so few. At least stay the night.”
Belara’s home was larger inside than any of the abandoned huts the companions had rested in so far on their journey through the forest. A bleached woolen rug separated sleeping quarters from space set aside for housework and cooking. Planks made from summer trees and sanded back to a fine finish made the floor, and rougher planks were used for the walls and caulked with dried mud. Two small children, neither older than three, were sleeping in a large wooden cradle near a slow-burning fire in the middle of the living area, the smoke rising to a hole in the branch and twining roof. Furniture was sparse but comfortable and practical, comprising a long table and an assortment of hand-made chairs and stools, all beautifully carved.
While Belara tended Kumul’s wound, she asked many questions about the outside world. Ager now did most of the talking, careful not to admit to any knowledge someone from a small village would not have.
“These are your children?” Lynan asked Belara during a lull in the conversation, pointing to the two in the cradle.
“The oldest, Mira, is mine. The other belongs to Seabe. She’s out gathering food with some of the other women.”
“Where are your men?” he asked. “Out farming?”
Belara looked at Lynan strangely. “You would have little success fanning in this forest. The men are out cutting timber. Every half year we hire oxen from those farmsteads surrounding the forest and use them to haul the timber to the Orym River, where merchants buy it and float it down to Sparro. We use the money to buy what we can’t supply ourselves. We get fish from the streams, and trap rabbits when we can, and the forest supplies all the berries and roots we need.”
“I’m surprised no one’s cleared parts of the forest for cultivation.”
“Some have tried,” Belara said fatalistically. “But clearings don’t stay cleared for long. The forest always grows back before any crop can be harvested.”
“I don’t know that I like the sound of trees growing faster than wheat,” Jenrosa said.
“This is an old part of the world,” Belara told her. “The forest was here long before the kingdom, or even Chandra, existed. It never seems to change. It doesn’t grow, it doesn’t shrink. But it provides well enough for those who take out of it only what they need. Most of the time, anyway.” She was now applying some lotion to Kumul’s wound, making him wince.
“Most of the time?” Kumul asked.
Belara stared at her guests, then shook her head. “There’s no need for you to know. It’s our problem.”
“Why is this the only inhabited hamlet we’ve come across so far?” Kumul persisted.
Belara was wrapping a clean bandage around Kumul’s wound. “There used to be a dozen or more. There are only three or four left now, though I would have to ask my husband, Roheth, to tell you for sure. He travels through the forest all the time, finding the right trees for us to take.”
“Is this problem you mentioned behind people leaving their hamlets?” Ager asked.
Belara’s hands stopped their work. “Perhaps,” she said in a subdued voice. “But that, too, is something better asked of Roheth.” She finished dressing the wound and moved over to the fire to place a gridiron over it, then packed the gridiron with round lumps of seed dough she quickly kneaded between her hands.
“There are many people in your hamlet,” Grapnel said innocently. “Far more than I would have guessed from the number of huts.”
“We are two hamlets,” Belara said in a small voice.
“Seabe and her child come from the other hamlet,” Ager guessed aloud.
“Yes. She is staying with us until a new hut can be built for her.” She turned to face them, her face suddenly light and smiling. “Do you think King Tomar will listen to your appeal for reducing your taxes?”
Caught off guard, Ager parried the question valiantly. Lynan could only admire his skill, and was relieved the question had not been directed toward him.
Having successfully deflected any more questions about the forest, Belara made sure the topic was not raised again. When Seabe, a large, quiet woman with sad eyes, came home carrying a wooden basket filled with hard nuts, Belara set her guests the task of breaking open their shells and cleaning the fruit.
An hour before nightfall, Roheth and Seabe’s husband, Wente, returned. Children in the village had told them of the arrival of the four strangers, so they were not surprised to see them when they entered the hut. They were tall, gangly men with long, wiry arms, and their hair and full beards were black and shaggy. Soft brown eyes stared out of long, angular faces, the contrast startling. After introductions, Roheth studied his guests carefully before saying: “You say you’re from Ebrius Ridge?” He didn’t sound convinced.
“A small village just north of the Ridge,” Ager replied. “Novalo, it’s called. About ten days from here.”
“How small a village?”
Ager shrugged, wishing Roheth would change the subject. Eventually, he knew, he would be caught out by such persistent questioning. “Around eighty or so.”
“You don’t know exactly?”
“There were three women pregnant and near their time when we left,” Jenrosa said quickly. “The village could have eighty-three souls by now.”
Roheth faced Lynan. “Where did you say you bumped into these bandits?”
“We didn’t,” Kumul replied for the prince. “But it was two days out from the edge of this forest.”
Roheth nodded knowingly. “Aye, well, you don’t get bandits inside of the forest. Except for us woodcutters and our families, you don’t get much of anyone here. You lot are a bit of a surprise. Haven’t had any strangers come this way for… now what would it be, Belara?… Three years, maybe four?… A long time, anyway. Certainly no one just passing through.” The companions said nothing, content to let Roheth enjoy his fishing. “Did you see anyone else in the forest on your way here?”
“Anyone else?” Jenrosa asked.
“A woman,” he said, and his throat tightened. Lynan immediately recalled the pair of green eyes he had seen staring at him from the darkness, but he said nothing. He was still ashamed of the reaction from Kumul and Ager when his cry of surprise had woken them.