Through the Wildwood by M. R. Mathias

embarrassment than he already had. His whore of a wife had all but ruined him. He couldn’t wait to come up with a way to rid himself of her without drawing suspicion or breaking his daughter’s heart.
    Turning to Coll, who stood behind his chair, dressed in a black robe trimmed in scarlet, Duke Martin spoke a quiet command. Coll nodded and began urging the hunters out of the room with the promise of a hot meal and cool ale to keep them occupied. High Commander Aldine looked at the duke askance, awaiting a command.
    Duke Martin saw this and let loose a sigh of contempt. Obviously the commander hadn’t gotten the hint for his need of privacy. “Commander, I want supplies ready for the— ah—.” He glanced at Orphas. “Ah— for the undertaking we were just speaking of. Round up animals, gear, and provender.” He paused to let the man nod his understanding, and then continued. “See to it personally. I will come down and inspect your work with the mountain man after I dine. Oh, and if you don’t mind, Commander, would you have one of your men place the head of that bandit who wandered in yesterday up on the gate.”
    “As you command,” Commander Aldine said, letting a bit of contempt reflect in his own voice. The tone was lost on the duke, but Orphas heard it plainly.
    As soon as the door closed behind the commander the duke let out a long, hissing breath of air. “What has my troll of a wife done now?”
    “Your perception is to be admired, my lord,” Orphas said, somewhat mockingly. “She confessed to me just hours ago before seeking the safety of the temple’s inner sanctum.” Orphas scratched his chin and looked at the vaulted ceiling. He did this to make himself seem hesitant and unsure. “It seems she—uh—she—”
    “Out with it, man. Speak,” the duke snapped. His face was reddening as Orphas went on.
    “My lord, a woman’s confession is sacred to the discretion of her priests, but since you’ve ordered me to tell you, I cannot disobey.”
    Orphas met the red-faced duke’s eyes and held them. “In secret, your wife sent your daughter away with the caravan that left this week past. Gallarael was to make sure a certain slave was purchased and freed once they arrived at the market.”
    “You’re telling me Gallarael was on that caravan?”
    “That’s what your wife told me.”
    The duke let out a howl so loud and full of hatred that it chilled Orphas to the bone.



Old Master Wiggins
    danced a fancy jig.
    He tossed his hat out to the crowd
    but found he’d lost his wig.
    – a Parydon street ditty

A fter seeing the strange wolf rider, the traveling grew tense. Vanx, Trevin, and Darbon kept arrows to their bow strings, leaving Matty to keep Gallarael in the haulkatten’s saddle. Vanx rode the horse at the lead. Trevin and Darbon shared the younger of the haulkattens at the rear. Trevin rode backward. It was awkward but served to keep him from having to crane his neck around trying to see what was behind them.
    They went as quickly as they could travel through the forested terrain without wearing down the animals. Not quite relentless, the pace was constant, and the few breaks they took were quick and purposeful. They rested longer in the afternoon so that Matty could tend Gallarael’s personal needs. While they waited, Vanx scaled a tall red fur and scouted the way ahead and behind them.
    There wasn’t much to see either way, save for the otherworldly scape of the treetops. A rolling sea of green peaked occasionally by a towering pine spread out endlessly around them, except for the dark, jagged peaks that still loomed up behind them to the northwest. There were a dozen birds wheeling and circling over a dark cut in the trees that might be a river basin up ahead. A thin grey cloud of fire smoke clung to the treetops a dozen miles behind, letting him know that they were most likely still being watched.
    Vanx wondered why no move had been made to attack them. They were outnumbered. The