Alwyn scratched at his chin as his party nudged their mounts across the small cobblestone crossing that bridged over a narrow brook. Each scratch, no matter how minute, caused his flexing joints beneath his armor to tap the metal fittings together with an irritating clacking sound. He forced himself to stop. A few days past, Alwyn had made the decision to don all armor save their helms as they grew closer to Duchy Creagsten, and habitations grew farther and fewer between. When the winds began to pick up and the temperatures began to drop, their heavy furs quickly followed.
Gradually, the grasslands that had formerly occupied their field of view were replaced by rolling and rocky hills. With each step further north they rode, more and more of the sparse scrubgrass was replaced by harsh stone that jutted violently from the ground. As Alwyn observed these changing surroundings for maybe the dozenth time that day and hundredth that nock, he absentmindedly reached for his beard, only noticing he had done so when the clacking of his own armor broke him from his train of thought. He snapped his arm back down towards Vuster's reins with irritation at the forming habit. It was a habit that had grown in frequency partially due to his personal choice of growing out the facial hair for the moons of frostfall, and partially for the fear that said choice would attract unwanted guests.
As the recurrent unease crept into his mind, Alwyn hazarded a glance over his shoulder at Sir Nathaniel, who was bald, scowling, and a good ten paces behind the rest of the knights. His scowl deepened as he met Alwyn's eye.
"You'd think I had plague, the way you lot scorn me. I've shaved and smoked and plucked the bastards out myself, more like than not I've been clean for days now."
"Better safe than sorry," Sir Harris declared cheerfully, "high chance the lice have got to your horse and garments, they're quite obstinate."
Sir Zachariah grunted his agreement.
"He's right, Nat," Alwyn said apologetically, before the dour knight could reignite his earlier protests, "It'll be worse on all of us if everything gets infested."
Sir Nathaniel sighed begrudgingly, what remained of his jaggedly shewn hair seemed emphasized by his sulking.
"Can we not hire an herbalist to scour these ash-blasted mites?" He whined.
"Worry not, Sir Nathaniel," Croaked Sir Heinrich, "Plenty of tansy and mugwort along the northern roads to soothe such ails not three nocts ride."
"When I get nabbed by ruffians back here, it'll be your asses!" Nathaniel half-shouted before succumbing once more to his gloom, "Where's a damned squire when you need one …"
Since the latter comment was spoken in a more self-reflective grumbling, Alwyn knew that the worst of his companion's foul mood had been kept at bay for the time being. Knowing though, that such outbursts had been growing in frequency the last number of days, Alwyn hoped that Sir Heinrich was true in his assessment of the local flora. He looked ahead at the elder knight, who had taken point of the line earlier that morning at Alwyn's permission. Alwyn had been surprised at the request, though hardly opposed. With the company drawing closer to the borders of Sir Heinrich's duchy of charge, his senior had seemed anxious to take the lead, should any dangers befall them.
He'd hardly seen any problem with the request, happily granting it to Sir Heinrich, who'd visibly relaxed at the approval. Alwyn would have never suspected the underlying tension held by the elder by the way he carried on throughout the morning. Most of which he spent humming a merry melody with Sir Nemian in tow, and the rest of the party (save Sir Nathaniel) trailing closely behind. Since he had been looking for it, however, Alwyn noticed the changes. At around noon, the humming stopped.
Not an hour later than that, Sir Heinrich straightened in his saddle and had remained so, scanning their surroundings with the attention of a seasoned professional. Though Alwyn could not yet discern the cause of these behavioral shifts, the tension was contagious. At least, it was so to Alwyn; Sir Heinrich's minute actions seemed to hold no effect on the other knights. Whether this was because they did not notice themselves or simply did not care, Alwyn could not tell. It was not until the approach of evening that they passed the first of the pines.
Saplings sprouted up like weeds against the will of the rocky soil. First they came in ones and twos, shorter than the knees of their mounts. Within what seemed like minutes, the conifers stretched upwards until they were above the heads of the horses, then above the heads of the riders. Alwyn had hardly noticed the change when the party came to a sudden stop. They had been halted by Sir Heinrich, who Alwyn noticed now seemed to stand at the border of a massive wood; a barrier that divided the natural landscape as far into the horizon that Alwyn could see with a turn of his head.
"Welcome to the Forest of Anskeld," Sir Heinrich announced, swiveling his mount in order to face the rest of the knights, "Everything past where we now stand lies within the realm of Creagsten."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Sir Heinrich," Sir Harris drawled in a manner that was almost a yawn, "but I'd always learned in lessons that the border of Duchy Creagsten lies at the foot of the Greyscape Mountains, not at a copse of trees."
He emphasized his words with an offhanded wave at the woods before them. Sir Heinrich turned his head slowly towards the source of the insolence, his mouth stretching into a wire-thin smile as he silently appraised the knight.
"According to map and manual, you are correct, Sir Harris. We still lie within the land of Drugård Feiranais, and will for nearly a nock longer by horse. But the last farmsteads were passed nigh on an hour ago, and any that live north of here hail from the mountains."
Sir Heinrich paused, as if in anticipation of further comment or correction. When none came, he cleared his throat and carried on.
"From here onward is treacherous country, the Forest of Anskeld especially so. Inside there's greater threat of bandit and brigand, risk of inclement weather, and all manner of beast looking to hunt their fill before the worst chill of frostfall. These are just some of many dangers, both known and unknown - and some more natural than others - that reside within. And so, with permission," Here, Sir Heinrich cast a glance at Alwyn, only continuing after his captain's nod of approval, "I would like to take a few precautions."
"What, like, setting a watch while we camp?" Sir Nathaniel queried, "We knew we would have to start on that sooner or later."
Sir Heinrich nodded, "Something of the sort, though we will not be bedding in Anskeld if it can be helped. This road leads through the narrowest stretch of the wood, which we should be through by noctfall if we make haste."
Alwyn nudged Vuster a few steps ahead of the rest in show of solidarity.
"Whatever you advise we will follow, Sir Heinrich, so long as it is within our ability. What would you have of us?"
Sir Heinrich took a shaky breath; it surprised Alwyn to realize that the knight had been steeling his nerves.
"First, the path through the forest is well trodden but old. It gets dark more quickly with the dense tree cover, and the road can be easily lost. You mustn't wander off the route under any circumstances until we have made it through."
Sir Heinrich paused briefly to ensure he was understood, continuing on when he found every eye was on him. He reminded Alwyn of the instructors he'd had as a boy.
"Second," Sir Heinrich's voice cracked like a whip through the air, a deeper authority to his words than had been there before, "if something grabs your attention from beyond the woodline, you are to pay no heed to it."
"Such as … what, exactly?" Sir Harris questioned incredulously.
Alwyn fought down a twinge of annoyance at Sir Harris' continued lack of respect, but had to admit his own curiosity had been piqued at the bizarre criterion.
"Should a glimmer of light catch your eye, or a voice call out to you from just beyond your line of sight, you keep your head forward and give it no mind."
Sir Harris scoffed but said no more; awaiting the next regulation, Alwyn watched him shift nervously in his saddle.
"Lastly, should we come upon any traveller along the road friendly enough to offer conversation, you are not to offer your hand nor give them your name."
"Well that seems a might bit rude, doesn't it?" Sir Nathaniel laughed a little too forcefully.
"It's a good way to protect yourself." Sir Heinrich explained, void of humor and somber as the grave.
"Seems like a good way to make enemies." Sir Zachariah rumbled in skeptical disapproval, "Makes us seem … unfriendly."
Normally, Alwyn would have found amusement in the irony of that combination of statement and speaker, but the weight of Sir Heinrich's words and the solemnity in which they were spoken unnerved Alwyn in a way he could not explain. He was about to add his own voice to the discussion, but something in the way the elder gripped his reins made him falter. Sir Harris did not seem to notice the tremors that had overtaken Sir Heinrich's form, for he opened his mouth before Alwyn could silence him.
"Really, Sir Heinrich, I knew from my time along the coast that the north is full of such fictions, but I'd have thought that would be past all the campfire stories once we were elected to-"
"You'll DO AS YOU'RE TOLD!" Sir Heinrich erupted in an apoplectic fury that caused all but Sir Nemian to start. Uncomfortable silence fell over the warriors like a blanket whilst Sir Heinrich collected himself with several deep breaths, attempting to steady his wrinkled hands. Alwyn switched his gaze from Sir Heinrich to Vuster and back again, unsure of how to proceed and patting his startled horse. As he stroked the neck of his mount, Sir Heinrich saved him the trouble of finding the right words.
"Apologies, Captain, Sir Nemian, but there are ways things are done in the north to which few outsiders are privy. I've been a Warden to Duchy Creagsten nigh on forty cades now, and spent my roasts before that in a small village at the foot of Ryddrum's Horn. I would not lead my fellow countrymen further without prudence."
Sir Nemian further shocked the company by advancing his mount until it was nearly snout to snout with Sir Heinrich's. Though he had rested his voice for a number of days, his voice still rasped as harshly as Alwyn had recalled it in the ruins of Hollowhearth.
"You would show such disrespect … to your brethren … to your assigned superiors … ?" Each wheezing phrase hung in the air with a stab of accusation that caused Alwyn to wince.
Sir Heinrich's eyes widened, but he did not balk. Instead, he squared his shoulders and met what could be seen of the guide's eyes.
"I would."
"Over tradition …?"
Now, the elder knight shook his head, long and slow, "In the south, it is tradition. In the north, it is law."
"And would you refuse to act … as both guard and guide … should we think your laws foolish ..?"
"I would follow until my death, though I would curse your decisions as folly until my last breath."
Not once in the exchange did either man waver in gaze or manner. It seemed as if the pair were locked into a stalemate that lasted an eternity until, at last, Sir Nemian nudged his horse forward with a grunt. Shaded and hunched in the manner that had become so familiar to Alwyn, Sir Nemian paused but once before continuing forth.
"We'd all do well to take heed of your warnings, it seems."
Before Alwyn or any other could decipher the meaning behind this interchange, they had already taken the first steps into the Anskeld Wood.