He had run like a coward.
Well, maybe not quite run, but he had let Birch pull him into the trees, leaving the rest to fend for themselves. He had not even looked back until Birch had said the others were safe, calling his eye to their plight as they fled to the trees.
Ralph gripped his bow loosely, staring out at the rear of Gilbert’s castle. From his perch in a tree, he could see men on the walls standing ready to defend them. He understood Gil fighting to win back his castle. He was the rightful owner, and his uncle would not be satisfied with merely taking the place. He had already proven he would send men after his nephew until the boy was killed.
The boy. Gil was scarcely younger. Ralph dropped his eyes from the walls, trying to keep his face expressionless despite there being no one to see. Did experience make one older, or did it only seem so?
But Ansel—he was young. The youngest of them. Birch had taken him aside nearly as soon as the men were alerted to begin their vigil over the castle, and Ralph had not seen him since. Had Ansel been with Aleric, he would not have worried overmuch, for the worst he could imagine was the lad being goaded to thievery, and he was too conscientious to cave to that. But with Birch . . . he had no guess what the man might task the lad with.
Birch was a strange one. Ralph had met him a few times before, never knowing what to make of him. He seemed to change with every meeting, and no one seemed to know much about him. Ralph understood secrecy, but there was an uncanny quality to Birch that made one uneasy around him. He had no alliance within the forest, and he could read, as though he did not belong to the forest. He had not betrayed any of those seeking refuge among the trees, but neither did he strike one as trustworthy. He was a man alone; the kind of man Ralph had thought he would be before meeting Tiffany.
He had invited himself to the group, a fact Ralph and Aleric’s son, Gawain, had agreed to keep from the rest. They had found Birch in their cave hideout when they had returned to retrieve their things. He had already known of their troubles.
It had taken one bone-crushing handshake to mute Ralph’s protests with mind-numbing pain.
He had no reason to trust Birch, but he had no choice either.
“Something on your mind, Shaft?”
He startled as Birch swung from another tree into his, lighting next to him on the broad branch he balanced on.
“I—n-no.” He swallowed his confusion, loosening his suddenly tight grip on his bow as his hand spasmed. The branch bobbed under their shared weight, and he reached out to steady himself against the tree trunk. “Yes, but nothing that pertains to what we’re doing. Have you heard from the others?”
“I stopped and told them what you and Aleric were doing. They were arguing again. I fancy they will be making their way this direction soon.”
Arguing again? They had not argued since before Birch joined them. Birch’s hand shot out and flicked Ralph’s hood back. Green eyes that seemed to swallow the light clashed with Ralph’s blue.
“What were you thinking of, Ralph?” His tone was musing, probing even. “The boy Ansel is safe enough. I’ve given him an errand. Best we keep what it is to ourselves, though. Your friends would worry too much.”
“If he is safe, I am happy,” Ralph said with gruff nonchalance. A lie. The first outright lie he had told since childhood. He turned his eyes back to the castle, working to keep his bow loose in his hand. “How long do you expect this standoff to last?”
“Long enough. This is a siege, not a standoff. We have the upper hand. They do not know that yet, but they will.”
Ralph absorbed that in silence, then turned with another question. He stopped. Birch was gone. A rustle of leaves and branches that could as easily have been the wind was his only trace. Ralph listened, peering around the foliage carefully to be sure he was gone, then slowly drew his hood back over his head, concealing his face. Only then did a shudder run through him. He looked down at the yew in his tingling hands, felt the weight of his quiver at his back, and closed his eyes.
‘I'm stuck, Lord,’ he prayed silently. ‘I'm in over my head . . . and I’m afraid.’
He opened his eyes again and looked out at the walls, wishing he could unsay that prayer. But it was true.
He feared Birch.
~~~
“You are sure he is okay?” Gilbert asked.
Ralph nodded again. “I told you already. Ansel is running an errand.
They were together, at least—minus Ansel. Walter leaned back against a tree, crossing his arms and studying the group. The undercurrents between them all were hard to miss now. Gilbert had a quarrel with him, and Tiffany was angry with both of them. The tension of a war he didn’t want with his uncle ran through every word Gil said. Beyond that was their worry for Ansel, who still hadn’t made an appearance, and . . . fear.
Ralph had seemed strangely shaken when they found him. His hood had fallen free when he dropped from the tree he had been in, leaving his face clear for an instant, and he had looked up and met Walter’s gaze with a pale face and fear in his usually so confident eyes. Then he had pulled the hood back on, far over his face.
Walter did not like the idea of cornering him on the matter before the others, but he was acting strangely. He held his hands away from his sides, open, and he guessed they were in pain. But pain and fear were not the same. His face heated with anger, and he looked away from the group. Whoever could make Ralph fear deserved as harsh a punishment as the man who had hurt him.
“Walt.” Ralph’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Have we said something amiss? You’re angry.”
Walter stared at him. “And you’re afraid.”
Ralph recoiled slightly at the blunt words. “I’m not—”
“You are.” Walter straightened. “What are you afraid of?”
Tiffany moved closer to Ralph. “What are you talking about, Walt?”
“Something’s wrong and he’s hiding it.”
“It’s nothing.” Ralph gripped his hands behind his back. “I’m glad we have . . . Birch . . . to help us. None of us was prepared for a siege.”
That wasn’t it. He wasn’t afraid of the fight to come, nor the watch before that. It was something deeper, and he wasn’t hiding it well no matter what the others may think. Seeing Ralph afraid, when he was intimidating himself, was the most unsettling part of this mess yet.
Ralph shifted his weight backwards, not quite taking a full step back, but creating distance.
“Are you wounded, Shaft?” Gil asked, paying close attention to the conversation now.
“No.”
“Then what is it? Walt’s right; there’s something off with you. You cannot convince me it is this mess of mine alone that troubles you.”
“Then what can I convince you of?” Ralph’s voice hardened to a sharp, clipped tone. “I can barely use my hands today, and I’m ashamed to admit that. Does that satisfy you? I ought at least to have shot a man or two from the walls when they fired on you, but I-I’m useless.”
“You’re not useless, Shaft,” Walter argued. “We would not have made it this far without you.”
“Maybe not, but without Birch at the head now, we would have no chance. Aleric is the only other I would trust, and he also cannot lead the archers.”
“You trust Birch to lead?” Tiffany asked, voicing the question they were all thinking. “He has only been with us a day.”
“He is a better archer than I.”
That was still evasive, but as everyone else seemed willing to accept it, Walter decided to let it go for now.
“Where is Birch?” Gilbert asked. “He spoke to us a little while ago, but we have not seen him since. Does he have a plan, or do we simply idle here in the woods for the rest of the day?”
“Birch always has a plan.” Ralph looked up into the trees, as though expecting the elusive archer to appear suddenly among them. “Wherever he is, you can trust he has a plan.”
“Should we go find him?” Tiffany bobbed side to side impatiently. “I hate this waiting game.”
Ralph’s posture stiffened more. Thanks to the angle of his head as he scanned the trees, Walter could see the tension on his face despite the hood.
“No,” Ralph answered a mite too quickly. “No, he’ll find us when he’s ready.”
Right . . . Ralph definitely wasn’t afraid of anything. He just couldn’t say his archer friend’s name without flinching, as though he were the one being held at arrowpoint, not Gil’s uncle.
A Note from the Author
I bring ye . . . a new chapter, with new story twists that I just invented. 😁 I mean, the twists were already there, but I’m fleshing them out more than planned. Heheheheeeeee….
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Blessings!
~Lexi