The Secrets of the Wild Wood

  The men talked among themselves in hushed tones. Now and then they glanced over at the prisoners, as if they were discussing them.

  Then one of the men leapt to his feet and cried out, “What’s that noise?”

  “It’s just the owls,” said another.

  “Really?” said the startled Red Rider, eyeing Tiuri as if he suspected him of having made those strange, fluttering sounds.

  “Are you scared of a few owls?” his companions jeered.

  “Maybe he’s right to be afraid,” Tiuri called over to them. “Who says it’s just owls? Have you never heard of spirits that linger in places they once lived… tortured souls, unable to accept their fate?”

  The Fool beside him made the sign of the cross. The Red Riders all looked at Tiuri. By the flickering firelight he could see their faces were threatening, but also fearful. The one who had first mentioned the owls drew his dagger and walked over to Tiuri.

  Undaunted, the young knight looked at him. “You’ve no need to fear them,” he said, “as long as there’s no blood on your hands.”

  The Red Rider cursed, but turned around and sat back down with his fellow soldiers.

  Tiuri had a brief feeling of satisfaction; he had paid back one of his enemies just a little. Not long after that, though, the Red Riders tied up Tiuri and the Fool, and they spent a miserable night together.

  The Red Riders did not sleep much either. Occasionally one of them headed outside, and towards morning there came the sound of horses’ hoofs moving away. Soon the prisoners were untied and pulled roughly to their feet.

  “Time to go,” said the captain. “Come on.”

  In the cold and misty light of morning, the horses were ready and waiting. Ardanwen, too, was with them.

  “That beast is dangerous,” the captain said to Tiuri.

  “Not for his master,” Tiuri replied calmly.

  “Then you will ride him,” said the captain. “But be sure you don’t get up to any tricks on the way.”

  Tiuri climbed up onto Ardanwen, and a Red Rider tied his hands behind his back. The same happened to the Fool, who quietly protested.

  “Get going!” ordered the captain, and the procession moved off. Tiuri looked around; all he could see was Red Riders. He counted eight of them. There was no sign of the men who had ambushed them.

  They rode along the path to the west. The water of the Black River was covered by a white haze, and pale patches of mist hung between the trees.

  Could I maybe escape now? Tiuri wondered. If he could just get away, they wouldn’t find it easy to track him down in the wild, tangled wood on either side of the path. He looked at the Fool, who was riding behind him, with an expression of mute misery. The captain was riding beside Tiuri, and he leant over to him and said, “Abandon any thought of escape, sir knight! Your horse is fast and fiery, as I’ve seen. But before you could disappear from sight, your squire would be dead, felled by our swords.”

  Tiuri gave him a look of disgust. Those words brought home to him what kind of enemy he was facing. But he already knew that he was bound to them more because of his friend than because of the ropes around his wrists.

  “There’s a reason why we’re going to the trouble of escorting you,” the captain continued. “We tolerate no one else’s presence on our roads, but we are taking you with us because of your white shield.”

  “My white shield?” Tiuri repeated

  “Yes. Our master gave us an order: ‘You must keep everyone away from our roads, but if you encounter a knight with a white shield, do not kill him, but bring him to me.’”

  “Why’s that?” asked Tiuri. “Who is your master?”

  “I will not answer your questions,” said the Red Rider. “And only my master himself can tell you who he is.” He turned his eyes to the road again and did not speak another word.

  A knight with a white shield… But I am not the only knight with a white shield, thought Tiuri. And all the others are knights of King Unauwen… The Red Riders of Eviellan were enemies of everyone in the Kingdom of Unauwen. Did they take him, too, for a knight from the west? What lay at the end of this road, and what fate awaited him there?

  The path continued to follow the river and was so wide that they could ride two abreast. None of the Red Riders spoke to the prisoners, but they didn’t treat them badly. They allowed them to share their food, and even untied their hands so that they could eat. But they did not let down their guard for a moment. Tiuri and the Fool said barely a word to each other. They wouldn’t have been free to say what they wanted, anyway.

  In the afternoon they saw other people: men who were cutting down trees. A Man in Green with a black cap was with them, giving instructions. The Red Riders stopped their horses and had a quick word with him.

  A Man in Green, thought Tiuri. But he doesn’t look like the man we saw a few days ago.

  They rode on. But suddenly there was a disturbance among the horses and riders at the front. They stopped again. Tiuri peered ahead to see what had happened.

  A number of men had appeared on the path, Men in Green. And these ones looked exactly like the man he had seen sitting in a tree. Then Tiuri realized with a shock that they were sitting up in the trees here as well. There were Men in Green all around – in the trees and on the road! They all looked the same, dressed entirely in green, tight-fitting clothes, with beards and tanned faces. They were armed; most of them with long spears, some with bows and arrows. Tiuri gazed at them in surprise. There was something magical about the way these men could appear so unexpectedly. They looked back at him, more curious than threatening. No one said a word.

  The captain of the Red Riders dismounted and walked up to the men on the path ahead. He spoke quietly to them, and then turned, got back onto his horse and gave the command to ride on.

  As they did so, a Man in Green stepped forward and took hold of Ardanwen’s bridle. To Tiuri’s amazement, his horse immediately stood still, without any sign of protest. The Man in Green looked up at him. His features reminded Tiuri of the face of a wooden statue he had once seen: angular, weathered, and with no expression at all. The man looked at him for a long time, and appeared to be scrutinizing him, but his deep-set eyes revealed nothing. Tiuri had never met anyone who seemed so impenetrable, and that made him feel uneasy.

  The Man in Green released Ardanwen and motioned with his spear.

  “Ride on!” said the captain of the Red Riders for the second time. Tiuri thought he heard a trace of fear in his voice.

  The Man in Green walked into the wood and, in a moment, he was gone. Then the others melted away into the undergrowth.

  They rode onwards, but soon stopped again. There was no one else in sight. But the Men in Green could still be watching them…

  They are such strange creatures, thought Tiuri. I can understand the Fool being scared of them. Even the Red Riders seemed to fear them. That one man in particular had been an impressive figure. Ardanwen had thought so, too…

  The Red Riders were conferring in whispers. Then the captain spoke out loud, “We’ll take a different route,” he said, “and it must remain secret. Blindfold the prisoners!”

  Blindfolded, too?! thought Tiuri.

  But, even with the blindfold, he could still tell that they crossed the river soon afterwards. He thought they were riding south. That meant they should be leaving the river behind, but after a while he thought he could hear the sound of water again. A tributary? he wondered. Or has the Black River looped around? Are we still following it?

  They didn’t ride for long, but after they’d made him dismount and taken the blindfold from his eyes, he couldn’t see any clues to work out where they were. It was dark by then and they were surrounded by black trees. There was no sign of a river, although he could still hear the rush of water.

  Tiuri and Marius spent the night surrounded and watched by the Red Riders, their hands and feet tightly bound.

  The next day brought nothing new. They rode on. The prisoners, blindfol
ded once again, saw nothing and heard very little. Tiuri was aware that they sometimes passed other people, and he suspected they were still riding south, but he was not certain. He tried not to give in to his feelings of fear and gloom as he was taken helplessly in the hands of the enemy to an unknown destination.

  In the evening, their blindfolds were removed again. This time they slept in a small wooden hut and any thought of escape was pointless. And even if I saw an opportunity, thought Tiuri. I couldn’t use it. I can’t abandon Marius, can I?

  The next morning, no preparations were made for departure. They were simply blindfolded and led out of the hut.

  “Sit down here,” came the voice of the captain. “And don’t touch that blindfold, or you’ll never see daylight again.”

  2 THE MASTER OF THE RED RIDERS

  “I know where we are,” whispered the Fool. “I hear it, I smell it, I feel it, Friend! I don’t need to see it. If you could see with your eyes, you would see what I know.”

  “And what’s that?” asked Tiuri.

  “The river is in front of us,” said the Fool. “The dark river – do you hear the water? There is a bridge over it, a low bridge made of wood. On the opposite bank you would see a tower, a stone tower, an old tower, a wicked tower in the woods. And there’s the road to the castle, to the castle by the mountains, the house that belongs to him, to the Master of the Wild Wood.”

  His voice grew quieter and quieter and Tiuri had to lean in close to hear what he was saying. All around them were other sounds: hoofs, footsteps, the voices of the Red Riders. But suddenly, silence fell.

  Then someone spoke: “You may remove their blindfolds,” said a rather muffled voice, one that Tiuri had never heard before. “We might as well let them see everything,” it continued in a mocking tone. “One of them is clearly looking through his blindfold and neither of them will ever be able to tell anyone else about this place.”

  Rough hands tugged off his blindfold and then Tiuri was blinking up at the man who had spoken.

  He was standing just a few steps away – a knight, clad from head to toe in black armour, but the shield on his arm was as red as blood.

  Tiuri rose to his feet. The view in front of him was just as the Fool had said: a river, a bridge and, on the opposite bank, a tall tower and a dark wood. But he paid little attention to the view. He was looking at the knight – a Black Knight with a red shield! His face was hidden behind the closed visor of his helmet. Around him stood the Red Riders, silent and submissive, servants of a feared master.

  Tiuri felt a hand slide into his own; it was the Fool’s. He, too, had been released from his blindfold and was standing right beside him.

  “So this…” said the Black Knight, “is Sir Tiuri with the White Shield.”

  “Indeed it is, my lord,” said Tiuri in a firm voice.

  “And who is this other man?” asked the Black Knight.

  Tiuri gave his friend’s hand a comforting squeeze.

  “Marius,” he replied, “my squire.”

  One of the Red Riders said, “That one’s been here before.”

  “I see,” said the Black Knight. “Careless of you, foolish of him. That’s all I have to say.”

  Tiuri knew for sure that he was facing a dangerous enemy. Who was this Black Knight? He did not recognize his voice and yet there was something familiar about it – but it was not Kraton of Indigo or Melas of Darokítam, he was certain of that, and he knew no other knights with red shields.

  The Black Knight gestured towards the Fool and his next words felt like a fist in Tiuri’s face: “There are plenty of trees around. Hang him!”

  The Fool let out a cry and clung to his friend. Two Red Riders strode towards them.

  Tiuri said loudly, “I forbid it!”

  The two riders were so astounded that they stopped.

  The Black Knight took a step closer and said, almost laughing, “You, young man, are really in no position to forbid anything.”

  “I most certainly am,” said Tiuri, putting one protective arm around the Fool. “This man is my squire and I am responsible for him. That is still true, even though I am your prisoner. And, as long as I am here, I forbid anyone from harming even a hair on his head.” He spoke confidently, but inside he was terrified. Would he really be able to prevent anything happening to the Fool?

  The Red Riders had still not moved, but he knew it was not his words that had stopped them. They were waiting for a sign from their master.

  He turned back to the Black Knight. “My lord,” he said, “Marius has done nothing to you – and neither have I, for that matter – and he has acted only on my orders. If that means he has done something wrong, then the responsibility is my own.”

  “You who come as a friend, tread this path in peace…” said the Black Knight. “Well, the wood has not devoured you and so I may assume you are a friend – are you not?”

  That voice! It was terrifying and yet somehow captivating. People would listen when this knight spoke.

  “I make friends only with people I know, sir knight,” said Tiuri as haughtily as he could, but at the same time he wondered if such an attitude might further endanger the Fool.

  “Ah, but do you really know them?” asked the Black Knight, in a whisper. “How fortunate to feel so certain; that’s only possible for one as young as you. But your friends will disappoint you one day, young man. Tell me, what was your name again?”

  “Sir Tiuri,” he said abruptly.

  “Sir Tiuri with the White Shield,” said the Black Knight. “Please forgive my discourtesy. But I am many years older than you and even if I were to open my visor, you still would not know me.”

  His voice, which had sounded soft and almost friendly in spite of his mockery, now changed. “What good is this squire to you, Sir Tiuri?” he said. “He trembles and shakes and does not even dare to look at me! He must surely have been a burden on your travels rather than a boon.”

  The Fool let go of Tiuri.

  “A faithful friend…” Tiuri began.

  “Ah, a guide perhaps?” said the Black Knight, interrupting him. “Then he should know, this Marius, that the paths in the Wild Wood may be travelled only in one direction. There is no return, Sir Tiuri with the White Shield. And if you do not wish to go back on your word, then you must place your life in service to his. Let your deeds support your words!”

  Tiuri raised his hands, palms up. “Just tell me how,” he said.

  The Black Knight gave him a penetrating stare. “Ah, Sir Tiuri, the champion of oppressed innocence!” he said. “Give him a sword and let him fight. Who will stand against him? A duel, with the life of this pathetic fool as the stake!”

  A murmur went up among the Red Riders and one of them asked, “His own sword?”

  “Of course,” said the Black Knight.

  “No, don’t!” the Fool cried. “Don’t fight, don’t fight!”

  “Hush, Marius,” said Tiuri. “This will be a fair duel.”

  “Do you think I don’t understand why you want to fight, Friend?” said the Fool. “For me, for me! No one has ever fought for me, and no one will ever fight for me. Not you either, certainly not you!”

  A Red Rider handed Tiuri his sword.

  “Marius,” said Tiuri, “be brave. Come, give me my shield.”

  “N… no,” whispered the Fool.

  More men came running. “To the tourney field!” they cried.

  Tiuri paid no attention to them. “Do as I ask you, my friend,” he said to the Fool. “Do you not remember what I promised you and what you promised me?”

  Tears welled up in the Fool’s eyes.

  One of the Red Riders called out, “Here is the shield!”

  The Fool walked over to him and took it from his hands.

  “To the tourney field,” said the Black Knight. “And as my champion I choose someone who needs to make amends to me… Jaro.” He raised his voice: “Bring Jaro here!”

  Tiuri, who was just taking the shield
from the Fool, was surprised to hear that name again. Jaro! But it had to be a coincidence; lots of people must share the same name.

  Surrounded by Red Riders, he walked with the Fool to the tourney field, which was south of the river. Behind him came the Black Knight with the Red Shield, who was riding a large grey horse. Tiuri held on firmly to his sword and offered up a silent prayer. He had to win; heaven would surely be on his side – Marius must not die!

  They soon came to a large open field in the forest. “Behold the arena!” said the Black Knight.

  It flashed through Tiuri’s mind that this could be the place where Red Quibo had watched his ghostly tournament.

  “Jaro!” called the Knight with the Red Shield.

  A man dressed in green with a black cap on his head pushed his way through the crowd. He bowed and said, “At your service, my lord.”

  Tiuri froze. He knew this man.

  3 THE DUEL

  Yes, it was him, Jaro, with his menacing glare and his piercing pale-grey eyes. Tiuri had met him in the mountains when he was travelling with the letter for King Unauwen. Jaro, who was a spy and belonged to the Red Riders, had been sent to kill him. But Tiuri had saved his life and, out of gratitude, Jaro had helped him.

  Now the young knight stared at his opponent, with mixed feelings of surprise, anger and disappointment. He would never have expected to meet Jaro here. He was sure the man had said farewell to his life of wickedness.

  Jaro calmly answered his gaze. If he was surprised, he didn’t let it show.

  The Black Knight had climbed down from his horse.

  “You know each other,” he said slowly. “Isn’t that right? Good. Jaro, I have chosen you for the duel with Sir Tiuri, so that you can finish what you failed to achieve last year.”

  “My lord,” said Jaro humbly, “that was not my fault.”

  “But still you failed,” said the Black Knight coldly.

  Something flickered in Jaro’s eyes. “My lord,” he said with a slight tremble in his voice, “I thank you! If I defeat him, may I once again wear the armour and symbols of your Red Riders?”