Chapter 2 - Chapter I

The thunder of horse hooves rang through the village, mingled with the curses and shouts of the Armsmen, and the laughter and taunts of the (by her attire) Gypsy, Meg, whom was the object of the chase.
The villagers had long retreated into their houses or shops, preferring not to take their chances on the street, for fear of getting trampled underfoot by the riders. They did, however, jeer and mock Meg from the safety of their windows, their shutters thrown wide open to let their voices carry around the streets.
They were somewhat angered that the cloaked Meg did not even flinch.
The Armsmen, half of them dressed in the green and silver of the Gathering, the other half in the red and gold of the People, struggled to keep up with her and her midnight black stallion. They were now racing flat out against a cool autumn wind that had picked up, to reach to village gates, and were not far from them and the open plains that lead to Anakoe Forest. Bows twanged, and arrows thudded into objects around her, always missing their target.
Meg and her pursuers burst through the village gate and out onto the grassy plains, kicking up a storm of dust which agitated the Armsmens’ mounts, making the horses twitch and shake their heads, slowing the riding groups down. Their captain, out of pure frustration, began whipping his horse, driving his spurs deep into the chestnut mare’s flanks, drawing a trickle of blood.
-I am sorry/grieving LittleMare for your pain,- Meg sent through Mind-Speech to the captain’s horse, feeling what the mare felt. It was like blunt knives on her hips, stabbing over and over again.
-This is not the time/place for apologies mistress,- the mare sent back, rearing up and trying to unseat her rider, but to no avail.
-Littlemare is right Meg/FlameSoul; we must keep riding/running/fleeing. Can you not hide/illusion/magic us?- her horse asked, panting with the effort to keep his pace, but putting on an extra surge of speed, pulling away from the pursuing armsmen.
-I cannot weave an illusion/magic while we are riding/running/fleeing. I already tried, and I failed,- Meg sent quietly, wiping her teary cheeks with her cloak then staring blankly at the forest ahead, doing her best to ignore the stabbing pains that continued in her legs. Both captain and mare were putting up a good fight against each other.
Finally, Meg and her stallion came to the Anakoe forest, and disappeared into the dense green, gold, red, orange and brown foliage of the autumn trees.
The captain, after an eventful moment of holding on to his rearing horse, drew the others to a stop outside the forest.
“Sir, we can’t go in there, the centaurs and naga will get us and rip us to shreds!” one of the Armsmen said as he stopped his horse.
“Hopefully they’ll get the Gypsy as well!” someone shouted, earning a few weak laughs.
The captain regarded the speakers coldly after shooting the joker an ugly look. “I very well know that we can’t go in after him, Jessins,” the captain said icily, turning his horse around to face the other Armsmen. “I want half of each group to go back to the village and continue what we were doing before the Gypsy turned up,” he ordered, and they obeyed, half of the group riding back to the village with Jessins and another man in the lead, both muttering darkly. “Now, the rest of you, come with me, we’re going Gypsy Hunting.”
There was a cheer and they started off around the forest, all senses on maximum alert.

***

After a while of riding through the forest, Meg slowed to a trot as the trees began to thin out and they came to the other side, and rode idly towards a village not far beyond.
-Well done Stealth/MoonRider,- she sent to her horse, patting his sweaty neck fondly.
-Thank you. I know/feel/sense that you are sad for Littlemare,- the black stallion replied, blinking his charcoal eyes and turning his head to give his mistress’s hand a comforting lick.
Meg smiled. -Yes, I thought/knew you would. You know, I think they thought/saw me to be a man/male! Now, shall we ride faster/quicker?- she asked, and the horse obliged, switching to a comfortable canter. Meg’s cloak fanned out behind her, creating a sort of mysterious effect as she pulled the hood farther over her head and face. Good riddance to those mad Armsmen, she thought.
Spotting another forest up ahead, not quite as large as Anakoe, but still big, she began to doze, closing her already heavy eyelids and letting the reigns, which were only finely twisted silks, loose, balancing on Stealth’s back.
Something niggling the edge of the horse’s mind made him uneasy, and he quickened his pace as the forest loomed nearer, careful not to tip Meg off.
Meg, despite the change of pace, slept on, sitting up straight as if she still rode Stealth, though the reigns were now totally out of her hands and hanging around the Stealth’s neck.
She did not see or hear the remaining group of Armsmen, led by an angry captain, riding out from the side of the forest, or the archer among them pull his string taught, or the arrow he let loose until it thudded into her shoulder, making her fall forward onto Stealth’s neck.
It all happened so fast, Meg’s mind was blank to what had just happened. Then it was on fast-forward, and the pain started.
“Get us… to… the forest!” she gasped, abandoning Mind-Speech, biting her lip until it bled against the pain spreading though her body.
Stealth gathered his remaining strength and ran full speed into the forest, careful not to loose his rider as they entered, the bramble patch in which he had come through scratching his flanks and body , not stopping until he was sure they where somewhere near the middle of the forest.
Groaning, Meg felt for the arrow -which was wedged between her shoulder blade and spine- and, ignoring the intense pain, pulled at it, easing the arrowhead out along with the body. Looking at the arrow with pure hatred, she threw it, watching as it landed a little way off, bloodstained head wedged by the base of a tree.
“Holy Tansin,” she said aloud, watching the blood blossom on her cloak and, after regaining her breath began stroking Stealth’s neck. “I feel like lead Stealth,” she said thickly, and with that, she slipped from his back, making Stealth rear in fright, and fell in heap by his hooves, unconscious.

***

Hawk sat by the deer mother, patting her chestnut head and watching her fawn wobble around in the fallen leaves, having sat by her mother for most of the day. He had visited the pair since his brother had killed the father, and the rest of the herd had left the pregnant doe behind. He had cared for her, and now he cared for the baby as well, teaching it to forage with its mother, and occasionally bringing a treat of mint leaves or apples, which were hard to come by in the forest.
Having not heard a name for the forest yet, he had named it Gypsies Forest, after the Caravan of Gypsies that now dwelt each spring in the forest, he with them, safe and elusive from the Armsmen of the Council, who would have loved to prosecute them for thievery, and murders, which, when put to the test, were not true. Not many, at least.
Hawk was a man of nineteen, but he felt, and most of the time he acted, like he was years younger, for which he envied the other boys in the Caravan, still in their boyhood…
The sound of horses’ and shouting attracted his attention from his current activity of petting the deer, and he moved out to watch as a group of People and Gathering Armsmen chasing what looked like a Gypsy, out of a village and into Anakoe Forest. He watched as the Gypsy exited the forest and began to snooze. He watched as the Armsmen spring into action, going around the forest and fire arrows, one finding the Gypsy’s shoulder and making him slump forward.
Hawk thought it strange, yet lucky, that the horse automatically sped up and rode straight into the Gypsies Forest, not far from where Hawk was hidden, though the horse must have taken his rider straight through the bramble patch on the way. He could even here the horse as it galloped deeper into the forest. Well, the lad will be safer once this lot move off, Hawk thought to himself.
“Hey! You there!” Hawk called, walking out, trying to look impressive and formidable with his chest puffed out, and dagger gripped casually in his hand, that happened to be behind his back; obviously he was born actor, headstrong at that.
The captain leered unpleasantly at Hawk, taking in his colourful woven clothing, long black hair, honey coloured skin and twinkling hazel eyes, spitting on the ground in disgust.
“We know your hiding the boy, Gypsy! You devil spawn always look out for your own!” he yelled, black eyes glinting like cold splinters of onyx stone. “Give him up here to us and we’ll be on our way –“
“And leave me here alive to relay what happened? Come on, I’m not as stupid as I may look.”
The captain continued as if he hadn’t heard. “-you refuse, and we take you instead. No doubt the People will have its uses for you in the Slavery. Come on, he aint worth protecting.”
Hawk raised an eyebrow. “Now, let us get this straight gentleman; you shoot a gypsy boy and accuse me for hiding him when I don’t know where his horse took him in the first place. Now you threaten me that if I don’t give the boy up you shall attempt to capture me and hand me over to the Council where I will be used or sold as a slave. Am I correct so far?” A few Armsmen nodded uncertainly, “So, how will you attempt to take me if I refuse you the boy?” he asked lightly, tightening his grip on the dagger behind his back, ready.
“Never you mind that Gypsy, just give us the boy,” the captain said, his voice so dangerously low that the Armsmen shifted in their saddles nervously.
“Right, well, you have no manners so let me teach you some of my philosophy,” and as Hawk said this, he hurled the dagger at the captain, his accuracy spot on as it pierced the captain’s chest with a dull thud. The captain gave a cry of alarm, slid of his horse and lay still. The Armsmen were frozen with fear as Hawk bent over and dislodged the dagger from the dead man’s chest.
“Now where was I? Ah yes, my philosophy; if a pack of hungry wolves are after you, and you kill off their pack leader, the rest will flee, and not stay to fight. Without a leader, they are merely frightened pups,” Hawk said, then lowering his voice in a mock whisper, said “Let’s put that into practice shall we?”
The Armsmen fled, gibbering nonsense about a man of the devil and such of the likes. “And take your captain with you! I will not be threatened by the Council or the Hoarders!” Hawk yelled after them, and after slinging the dead captain across his own chestnut steed, sent the beast after the others, laughing.
That should teach them, he thought to himself. Pity about using the horse as a body carrier though, beautiful beast that one. Now, where did that lad get to?

***

Hawk had a hard time trying to find what he believed to be a Gypsy boy, according to the, now deceased, Armsmen. He set out of foot, talking out loud to remove the silence that lay within the forest. From what he had seen and heard, the boy should be somewhere near the middle of the forest. “Smart horse to run away like that,” he repeated to himself. “Now, let’s try and find the damn boy so I can go back to the Caravan and eat. Holy Keltir defend me!” he yelled, swearing colourfully as he tripped over a tree root. Already in a bad mood for having to be out here, he went to kick the tree, but stopped; there was an arrow in it, and the arrowhead was layered with dried blood.
He walked in silence, eyes and ears straining for any sign of the boy. Moving forward, he swept some low branches away, and came face to face with the horse. It blinked at him, seemingly narrowing its eyes.
-What do you want/seek man?- a voice echoed in his head. Hawk took a step backwards.
“Nice horsy, umm, do you happen to know where I could find a wounded Gypsy?” he asked nervously.
This is what I have sunk to - communing with horses, he thought privately. Have I gone slightly insane already?
The horse seemed to look him up and down, sizing him up. -You are a Gypsy. Good, come/follow me,- the voice said again and the horse stepped back into the branches.
Giving himself a shake, Hawk followed, cutting the branches back, then gaped at what he saw; a clearing, and a thick one at that, and in the centre, where the horse now stood, the cloaked body of what must be the Gypsy.
Hawk knelt by the body and examined the wound. An arrow to the shoulder, though it hadn’t gone in very far, but the boy still had lost quite a lot of blood. He turned the body over, looking it up and down before blushing furiously, uttering a small groan. This was no boy, but a girl, no older than sixteen at least. He brushed the dirt from the girl’s honey coloured cheek, then stared at his hands. They were now covered in a type of chalky dust. Brushing the girl’s whole face, he discovered that she was no Gypsy, and her skin was not honey coloured, like his own, but a pale tan colour. All in all, with her hair tangled and coated with a mixture of dirt and blood, and her clothes in the same mixture, she was quite attractive.
-Can you help/heal/fix her?- the voice asked sharply, cutting into his daze.
Hawk had completely forgotten about the horse until then. “I suppose you’re the one who’s talking then horse?” he asked, sitting back on his heels, loosing some of his nervousness and becoming slightly business like.
-I am Stealth/MoonRider, not ‘horse’, and in answer to your query/question, yes, I am the one talking/speaking. It is a gift/talent we call Mind-Speech. Now, answer my query/question- the horse said, his voice somewhat irritated.
“Alright! Alright! For a horse you do demand quite a bit. Yes, I can help her, but I need to take her back to my Caravan. My Gypsy Caravan,” Hawk said, answering the horse’s last unasked question. “Come on, just follow me,” he said, lifting the girl gently onto the horse and setting her long ways. “Make sure she doesn’t fall off, because without a saddle, she’ll slip if you move to fast,” he warned as he started to walk deeper into the forest.

***

Shouts of welcome and surprise echoed through the Caravan as Hawk walked into the centre of the forest, the black stallion tailing behind him with the girl slung across his back.
“Bought ye’self home a lass have ye’ Hawk? A nice Gypsy lass too!” someone yelled and the others around him hooted with laughter.
“Yes, yes, laugh if you want Alec, she took an arrow in the shoulder from some certain Armsmen just outside the forest, near Anakoe and Seinsya,” Hawk said, opening the flap of a tent pitched near an ornately carved wagon, so that the horse could walk in. Following the horse he helped lay the girl on a pallet, and then both left the tent.
“Mari! Marietta! Sister!” Hawk called out, his voice carrying over those in the Caravan. “Mari! Hey! OI!”
“What?” A girl emerged from a wagon, green fire playing at her fingertips. “Don’t tell me you need me to heal you again brother!” she laughed, coming down and embracing Hawk.
“No, not this time, though I wouldn’t say no to a soothing massage.”
For a reply, the girl thwacked Hawk over the head. “No? Fine then. I have a patient who took an arrow in the shoulder.”
Mari frowned. “Show me then,” she said, and followed her brother into his tent. She inspected the wound while Hawk told her what he had seen.
“Tansin damn all Armsmen!” Mari hissed viscously, pressing her fingertips to the wound. Green fire threaded and spiralled around it, before the broken skin closed up, leaving a triangle shaped scar in its place. “Well, that should be good enough. Nothing I can do about the blood loss, better let her sleep it off.” She turned the body over, and examined her face. Like Hawk had first done, Mari stared at her hands then at the face. “She’s not a Gypsy,” she whispered, then glared at Hawk, her own hazel eyes seeming to spark.
Hawk met her gaze levelly, and then looked away. “Well, no, not exactly, but you could swear she was one, what with the disguise and everything,” he mumbled, twisting his hands.
“You say both People and Gathering armsmen were chasing her?” Mari asked, looking back at the unconscious girl.
“You can’t mistake their uniforms,” Hawk replied, his voice firm.
“I can understand the People chasing her, looking like a Gypsy and all, but why the Gathering? They’ve never concerned themselves with out kind before, why start now?”
Hawk shrugged. “Your guess is a good as mine. Shall we let Hasim have a look-see?”
Mari scowled. “Go get him then, and be quick about it. Don’t say anything to anyone else yet though, not even Hasim. Wait until he’s in here. You got that?”
Hawk nodded and left without a word.
Outside, a ring had gathered, consisting of most of the children of the Caravan. “Be off with you! Go on!” Hawk waved his hands at them and the children scattered, back to their discarded activities.
He found the old man in his wagon, mouldy looking herbs lining the walls and creating an awful stink. Coughing at the sudden blast of smell, Hawk delivered the message.
“Mari wants to see you in my tent.”
Hasim raised a white eyebrow, but didn’t ask anything, following Hawk back into the tent.
“What is it?” he asked Mari in his creaking but deep voice, kneeling beside the girl and looking at the dust on her fingers, then at the unconscious body.
“Oh dear,” he said, bending over prodding the girls powdered skin with a wrinkled finger.
“Oh no, don’t worry about me! Just ignore the fact that I found and rescued her! Go ahead!” Hawk said from his corner in the tent, arms and legs crossed.
Mari silenced him with a look. “Stop acting like a sulking brat.”
Hashin straightened up and looked thoughtful. Using his index finger, he gently began pressing it on the girl’s forehead, frowning. As he pressed, a mark suddenly flared where he had touched, bathing them in faint, very faint, silver light.
A few minutes passed before he spoke again. “Go on Hawk, touch it,” he said.
Hawk looked startled, but moved forward and pressed his own finger to the mark. He could feel it pulsating slightly.
“What does this mean Hashin?” Mari asked, touching the mark after Hawk, redrawing her finger quickly as the mark faded into the girl’s skin, though spots of silver light remained in Hawk and Mari’s vision.
“It means, Marietta, that a powerful sorceress has joined our little jolly Gypsy Caravan.”

***

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