They crested the first slope and met a fleeting taste of cool air off the high mountain. Holdric could just see the peak of Greatwatch over the high branches, and his heart jumped at the sight. Whatever else was to come, he stood now among those men who’d crossed the Mearcwater. Uncle Eikhram could not say that. He turned to share a grin with Eahstann. Eahstann’s answering smile was weak, but it came. Together they found their place on the wing and took up again their work.
Holdric hefted his short woodsman’s spear. He felt the weight of the fyrdknife upon his hip, the heavy leather on his body and the shrouding cloak upon his shoulders. He felt himself a ranger true.
Woldgast would not come full upon him as they walked, but traces of it drifted through his mind. A single woodmouse perched on a fallen ash froze and watched as they passed by. Further out, a small finch left its branch in a tight flurry of wings.
Nothing else moved. The air under the trees was still. Far ahead, Holdric could just see his Ollda Kenndric through the trees. Sometimes the Huntslaed was near, sometimes he would range far out of sight far ahead, then wait for the band to catch up and sign back his will.
The dull sameness of it all sat odd in Holdric’s belly. All his life Holdric had known that one day he would join these men. Some days he had ached for the wanting of it, others he couldn’t sleep for the dread. But now that he was here, he found the ease of it strange. These woods were little different from the wilds past Heortlea. The ways and signs of the ranging were those his Ollda had taught him as a boy, far past even his first waking memory. He was with the rangers now, and even with his burdens he kept their pace, and he knew their work—his work now. It felt good.
Ahead was a tall green ash, leaves pale and faded in the late summer sun… it seemed familiar. Holdric looked back, looking again over the ground they had walked. Yes, they had been here earlier in the morning. Kenndric had looped them across their own trail. Already the Huntslaed was wary of a chase. The old ranger held them there long, peering back the way they had come.
As Eahstann watched the far trees, Holdric searched the ground for sign. There was his cousin Aschbroc’s careful step, there the thaneling Hwaetearn’s too-heavy tread. Looking farther Holdric found his own faint sign, and Eahstann’s also. Kenndric’s broad-footed stride he found only by seeking Wymud’s step first.
There was no other sign to be found. For all Holdric could see they were alone. He looked up. The Huntslaed looked also content, and soon they moved on again. Their path wandered wide over the wild shore, and Kenndric crossed over their trail twice more over the morning. Holdric had thought they would reach the foot of Greatwatch by midmorning, but it was past noon before they began at last the climb.
The land rose slowly at first, Holdric scarcely noted the slope. Still it was not long before he was panting under the weight of his load. He knew he should not lean on his spear. Too often Wymud had cursed him for the deep scars in the earth he’d left on their muster walks, sign any child could follow. But even so, time and again Holdric caught himself just before taking his heavy weight on the ashen shaft, and time and again he cursed and heaved himself up on his burning legs.
As they climbed Holdric began to see sign of men. At first he saw only tracks. The footfalls were as well placed as his own, and showed care not to over-wear any one way. Often it looked that the men of the mountain took the harder path, the better to hide their steps from careful eyes. Still these men had no easier time on these slopes than Holdric himself. Here he saw a slide, there a deep gouge in the earth where a heavy-laden man had stopped a fall.
Holdric smiled to see the sign. So often had he made the same, stumbling up the wooded hills past the timberlands. As a boy he’d asked his Ollda teach him the art of sign-following. Kenndric had only laughed and told Holdric that the art was already his.
“Watch your own feet, Feorson,” his Ollda had said. “Know your own feet and you know another’s.” The seeing had not always come so easily as the words, but it had come sure.
In time the signs became surer yet. There was bare ground where deadwood should be, and highbriar bare of foraged fruit. They drew near the common haunts of the Greatwatch men. Kenndric began to slow, and Holdric looked up just as his Ollda raised a hand. How long they waited he was not sure, it seemed an age… then a flash of moving shadow caught his eye.
Holdric forced himself to remain still. Another rush of grey moved quick through the trees, then was gone. His neck prickled under the watching eye. They waited long in silence...
