On The Road Again

The so-called dark forest was surprisingly green. We traveled along the King’s road, well Queen’s road now, I suppose. The loss of Good King Johan had been quite unexpected, a man of scarcely fifty winters. His eldest daughter had ascended the throne, and those loyal to her father now raced to send tribute and vows of fealty to his successor.

And that’s why we were traveling through a dangerous wood, with wagon loads of the finest silks, exotic spices and beautiful metalworks headed to the capital. I tagged along because merchants tip better than day laborers and aren’t nearly as handsy. There was good work for a bard in the capital.

I had never seen the Forest before today, though I have heard of it many times. It is said that the trees are so twisted by magic they grow into twisted beings. They are often described as being like twisted men or women who have lost their way. Hogwash. Now that I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. But some say that if you follow the path of the Darkwood you can find the city of the dead, where the undead wander forever. Also hogwash.

We were riding slowly, following the river that cuts through the middle of this part of the country. The road itself was wide enough for three wagons abreast.

As the sun rose over the horizon we saw movement out on the road ahead. A small group of riders was approaching us from the south. The leader looked like a knight in shining armor, with a black cloak and a sword at his hip. He rode a magnificent horse, but as he drew near we could see that his armor was splattered with mud- and bloodstains.

An arrow pierced the chest of the driver of my cart.