Though it has been nearly a decade since I lived beyond the protection of a town, the lessons learned during my innumerable years surviving in the wilderness all across the continent are not far from my mind. My journeys have taken me farther from my homeland, far to the east, every few years until I reached Nodkis. A small village at the time, I saw that it was growing, and making a living would be easy. My time here has been comfortable, if not welcoming. Really it was not unlike living alone in the wilderness except that when I was hungry I pay the butcher or the farmer instead of hunting or gathering it myself. An unburdened life suits me.
Waiting for the wolf-riders to pass by and for the winds to change leaves me crouching in the brush near the wall for some time. Remaining stationary for so long, it’s no wonder I am spotted. A pack of goblins upon the rampart make their presence known by shooting crossbows at me and throwing rocks. I duck back under the wall to the inside of town. The goblins hoot and holler and scramble to the other side of the rampart after me. Goblins are not the smartest creatures but they can be fierce in numbers. In my travels I have picked up their language—a hodgepodge of borrowed vocabulary and grammar that is hacked together with the body language cues of pack predators. I take a calculated risk and stand confidently on the bank of the canal. Before they can take aim again, I point aggressively at them and shout in the goblin tongue, “Stop you this! Go you to other end. Other end of water. South!” I point back down along the canal.
The goblins stop and look at one another, startled. After a brief discussion, one calls back, “Why not you there south?”
“Hunt me here,” I puff up and accompany it with a territorial stomp that sends the goblins scattering to the south along the top of the rampart. Goblins are easy to fool if one makes a good show of strength. It is probably their worst feature and the reason that they are looked down upon in every country I have ever traveled through. A pervasive species, however, goblins live in practically every city, in addition to warrens and encampments beyond the reach of civilization. While most civilized men would never think to learn their tongue, I saw the utility in it. Once again, it has come in handy. When the goblins get to the other end of the canal they will find some of those other survivors, which will keep them busy. With luck, none of them will mention the man hunting the northern canal.
It isn’t until the sun begins to touch the canopy of the western forests that I can safely move from the cover of the wall. I am not spotted again in my wait. I follow the wall as it circles southward and make a run for it when the forest is at its closest. The forest is dark and my journey is slow-going, but I press on as long as I am able. Orcs can see much better in the dark and their wolves are excellent trackers. As I am on foot, I am vulnerable and I would prefer not to be harassed by orc hunters during the week-long trek to Buknar Vull.
I walk all night. My owl circles nearby and perches occasionally to watch me pick through the darkness. More companion than pet, it can do as it pleases. I’ve not even named it. I get the feeling we stay together from a tacit comfort more than necessity.
When the dawn begins to filter through the tree tops, I stop briefly to take an inventory: my old bedroll, a worn leather sack, three belt pouches of varying size, my tradebook, a scroll case, a dagger, my winter robes—a lot of good they will do me at the onset of summer—, a flint and tinder, one softwax candle with no holder, fish hook but no line, ink and quill, parchment, sewing needle but no thread, yesterday’s bread, dried mutton, two apricots, a handful of cherries, a flask of milk, twenty-five gold pieces, fourteen silver marks, and the robes and shoes I was wearing.
The woman’s blood that splattered my torso has dried, I notice, so I ration a capful of milk to clean it off. Luckily I am in the habit of wearing my robes only from the waist down, cinched with wide leather straps in the style of my homeland, and further rolled and tucked partially under the straps in my own style. Not only does it show off my physique, which helps with my imposing presence, but it’s practical as it hides two of my belt pouches. Were there a thief bold enough to try to pickpocket me, they would be the proud owner of my loose change. Yet enough that it would not arouse suspicion.
That is a matter for another time, however. Now, taking stock of my half-irrelevant supplies I begin to calculate what I will need to continue. It will be easy to forage what I need as I make my way south but I hesitate to stay too long in any one spot in case I am being tracked.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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