Mud, trees and stale air was all Edward of Greenvale had known for the past three weeks. His boots were never dry, his mail was growing heavy and he could swear there was a whole family reunion of lice having a ball in his thick brown hair. He looked over his shoulder, peering down his long pointed nose. Everyday all he could think about was what kind of life the chest the men behind him carried could buy him. It would be simple too, taking the coin. The sword at his hip would see to that. He wondered if it'd even come to that.
Ed looked over at his companion Marcus Bromley, a stout young man eager to please. If he commanded him to turn his back and press his nose against a tree he'd ask how long. Then there would be dealing with the men leading the donkey with the chest strapped to its back. He could just intimidate them, scare them off. I'm sure they'd love any excuse to go home. And if things didn't go quite as planned well . . . Ed tapped the hilt of his sword with his fingers, strumming along the pommel. He smiled a wolfish grin and kept walking, hoping the pay for this awful task would be worth it.
"They couldn't have given us horses?" Ed groaned, letting his shoulders fall. "I mean, they send us halfway across the bloody kingdom and can't be arsed to give us horses?"
"The King is fighting a war ser," Marcus replied, not even moving his eyes from the road ahead.
"So? Just because we're just 'Men o' the Watch' means we can't get horses? All we get is a bloody mule?"
"It's a donkey ser. And I quite like the walking. The forest is so peaceful, and there aren't any wretched thugs and their ilk to deal with. And no rioting hordes of hungry peasants."
"I'd rather feed them my blade if you ask me," Ed laughed. "Let them chew on some nice cold steel."
"Of course ser. I'm sure that's all they deserve," the coldness in Marcus's voice threw Ed off a little. It was unlike him to be so openly sarcastic. Ed wondered if he'd struck a nerve.
They continued on in silence, though the same could not be said for the rest of the world. To Ed's dismay, the gods had deemed it fitting for a thunder storm, and heavy rain began to pelt upon the company. Ed discovered it truly was possible for his clothing to reach a new level of damp, and he trudged on in frustration, trying to ignore the fungus that was setting his feet aflame.
How does bloody Bromley stay so goddamned chipper all the time? Does he know something I don't? And those two others barely even speak. What were their names again?
"Oi, you two back there, how's the parcel?" Ed called back, desperate to break the tedium. Maybe the two couriers were more entertaining than Marcus.
"A little damp," one of them replied. Ed didn't bother to look.
"Tell me something I don't know."
"Bugger off would ya? We're cold and wet, and your yammering isn't helping," the other piped up.
Ed stopped in his tracks and spun. "What did you say?" he said, stalking over to the man. He planted his feet firmly before the courier, his nose inches away from the other man's.
"I said, bugger o--" the man was interrupted by Ed's mailed fist. The courier fell into the muck, his overcoat receiving a fresh smattering of mud to go with the rain that had already seeped into the fabric.
Ed pulled the man back up to his feet by the scruff of his neck, putting his ears just next to his mouth.
"Now you'd best be keeping your mouth shut."
The two men shared a glare before Ed released him, letting him stagger back in the mud.
"Now that wasn't very nice," a strange voice called out from above. Ed turned, his anger replaced by alarm.
"Who goes there? Show yourself!" Ed cried, drawing his blade.
"Right up here friend," Ed looked up to see a man in a tree, his legs dangling down. His cloth was poor, yet he bore a jewelled pendant around his neck, a silver leaf inlaid with emeralds. Shaggy grey locks covered his head with matching stubble upon his jaw. He held a lute in his arms and strummed it softly after every sentence.
"No need to show your steel, I'm just an old bard," the man chuckled, strumming his lute lightly. “Here, let me prove it.”
There was once was a guardsman, Ed was his name.
He had a great temper, though it would only bring him shame.
For weeks he suffered through rain and muck,
Only to find out he was about to get fucked.
The man smirked down at Ed, his pearly teeth bared. He bore a striking resemblance to a fox and the whiskers on his lip only made it stronger. Ed was both surprised and puzzled, and it took him a few moments to form words in his mouth.
“Wh-who are you? H-how do you know my name?” Ed stammered. He couldn’t remember the last time he was truly afraid. Why hadn’t Marcus stepped in yet? What were the two couriers doing? The guardsman held his blade in the air, poised to strike the bard even though he was hopelessly out of reach up in the trees.
“You haven’t heard of me? Why, I’m the Grey Fox. No bells eh? No matter, you’ve heard of me now, and I trust you won’t be able to forget me,”
“How do you know my name?”
“I know when you spit and when you shit and I know how many times you’ve eyed that chest back there. I’m a man of the forest ser, the wind and the leaves are my eyes and ears,”
“You’re a madman you are. Come Marcus, we don’t have time for his ramblings,” Ed made move to keep going however his companion stood his ground. “Come along boy!”
Ed’s world went dark as Marcus’s pommel clapped against his face. There was a throbbing in Ed’s head and he tasted blood dripping into his mouth as he lay on the ground. He opened his eyes to see the two couriers become pin cushions and collapse, some of the arrows snapping under the weight. Ed couldn’t see where the quarrels had come from, but he suspected archers in the trees.
Oh the forest grew dark and gloomy as Ed saw his fate.
It is really quite a wonder, I can’t believe he took the bait.
Soon, soon he will be done and dead,
One less bitter man and a richer one instead.
“That is the King’s gold,” Ed croaked, trying to stand. The world spun and he found himself with Marcus’s boot upon his neck, a sword point between his eyes.
“And I am also a man of the King. Not this king mind you,” The Grey Fox chirped as he dropped from the tree, spattering mud and water as he landed. “Our new Lord is a liar, a murderer and a thief with no claim to the throne,“
“So what would you call yourself then?” Ed spat.
“An opportunist.”
“Do you think yourself Robin Hood?”
“No. I do not steal from the rich and give to the poor. That would be silly, ser. I take what is mine by rights, and fuel the fires of revolution,”
“You’re an outlaw.”
“For now,” the Fox replied, strumming his lute again.
Ed turned his gaze to his former companion. “Marcus, what are you doing?”
The young man didn’t reply, his face stone and mean. His innocent green eyes now burned with an anger and hate Ed had never seen before.
“You truly know neither of us, do you?” the young man finally spoke, disgust dripping off the words. “You can’t recognize King Robert’s son?”
“Don’t be too hard on him lad. You were only a small boy and I was not so grey. Let us be done with this.”
There was hardly a sound as Marcus’s blade tore through Ed’s throat. The man did not cry or groan. He fell to the sword like culled mutton. The rain began to clear as Marcus and the Fox grabbed the donkey’s reigns, leading him down the path anew. The old man strummed his lute all the while.
In the rain and the mud Ed met his end.
Done in by a blade he once thought his friend.
Here ends his tale, one without dashing nor praise.
And now begins another, of the king we shall raise.