Boots Chapter 1

Boots drew the bowstring back with controlled precision. He didn’t move a muscle more than he had to. As he sighted along the arrow’s shaft, little beads of sweat gathered at the roots of his shaggy hair, but his arm held steady. Crouched next to Boots, his friend, Colin, leaned in. 

“You’ll never make that hit,” he murmured. 

An absent smile wandered across Boots’ face; he didn’t dignify the comment with any more reaction than that. His focus was on the round, wooden target dangling from a tree branch twenty-five paces away. He could just see it from their concealed spot in the denser part of the woods. The target was suspended from a large branch at the tree line that bordered a large clearing. Gathered in that clearing, shielded from Colin’s and Boots’ sight by the trees, were the crowds from the village, and the affluent visitors taking part in the competition.  

The competition was hosted by some lord – lord Narsha? Narhosh? From what Boots overheard discussed in the village, the visit was not entirely welcome by all, which was not the usual case. 

Typically, a visiting lord with a small party of retainers and soldiers was quite commonplace at the turn of the season or near festivals, and was often accompanied by competitions, feasting and celebrations. The lord may be coming through on travels, have business with the magister, or be on an errand from the king. The soldiers were there to tend to any problems and sweep the area for brigands along the way. 

Being a lowly farmer with no large amount of land, Boots never looked beyond the mug of ale and slab of meat these visits brought. But there was something different this time. There were mutterings and outright complaints about the new king and his “new ways”, about land, lords, tithes and ownership. Boots did not have a full understanding of the changes the new king wanted to instill, but the reactions in the village were not favourable. It made what he and Colin were up to that much more satisfactory. 

The main event of this particular visit was an archery competition, with an entry fee that was used to contribute towards the prize monies. A fee Boots was nowhere near able to afford; Colin could, but he had not the skill. They had briefly considered Boots entering with Colin’s fee, a simple enough solution, but as was the way with the two friends, simplicity would never outweigh mischief. There was, of course, another reason for Boots in particular to avoid the public competition. 

Yesterday, Colin had paused in his splitting of a long shovel handle to ask in an uncharacteristic moment of doubt: “Do you think your mother would – “ 

“I can’t see how she could,” Boots said, cutting him off quickly, “no one is going to see me, I won’t even see them.” 

“Alright, it’s just it isn’t too late to back out. I know how much your mother disapproves of -” 

Again, Boots quickly cut off his friend’s concern, “She does disapprove, she always has. And I am not actually going to compete or be seen, right? Only you and I will know and I’m not going to tell her. Are you going to tell her?” 

Colin held up his hands to ward off even the thought of Meranin’s disapproval in this matter, “Absolutely not. I know better.” 

“Good, then let’s keep working. Honestly, since when are you the one who needs convincing,” Boots had said with a funny smile and gone back to the task of balancing an arrow just for the purposes of the difficult shot he planned to make. 

They had both bent their minds back to their work to better ignore the prickle of guilt that arose. As their plans fell into place, the doubt and guilt were blunted by the rising anticipation. And now, with success dangling before him through the tree branches, there was nothing in his mind but to measure the wind as it brushed his cheek and the cutting tension of the bowstring along his fingers. 

Boots had been listening to the villagers talk, and watching when he could, and he knew that those in the competition were very good, but he was better. And on this final day he intended to prove it, if to no one but himself, his good friend and one person he could only hope would be watching. Crouched in the bushes, Boots would miss the satisfaction of seeing the reactions, but he would hold the feeling of triumph dear forever. All he had to do was wait. 

The dangling target that he could glimpse through the trees was as still as it was likely to get. In this competition, all arrows shot at the one target on the call of “draw”. Only the fastest release and best aim would hit the round ahead of the other arrows. The arrow closest to the middle would be pronounced the winner. From this angle, crouched in the trees, Boots had no hope of hitting the centre of the target; but that wasn’t his goal. Boots adjusted his aim; not at the target, but at the rope that held it. 

Beside him Colin seemed to hold his breath. It would be any moment. 

“Ready!” Came the cry from the clearing, muffled by distance. Boots’ shoulder adjusted slightly, “Set! Draw!” 

To Colin, the call and the hum of the string being released were simultaneous; there was no reaction time to be registered. Boots’ carefully made arrow flew with unbelievable speed and power, whistling through the tree branches and severing the rope that held the target. The target plummeted downwards leaving nothing but empty air for the volley of arrows coming from the competitors in the clearing. A wide grin split Colin’s face, and he punched the air in silent celebration as shouts of shock bubbled over the edge of the clearing as the remaining arrows flew past the spot where the target had been and into the woods beyond. 

The only person who was not reacting to the downed target was Boots, who had readied another arrow immediately after the first had flown. His eyes had traced the path of the falling target until it disappeared from his view, and they were fixed at that point. He leaned to the left, raised slightly from his crouched position and sighted through the leaves and branches. He let the second arrow fly up in a high arc to plummet downwards through the treetops in the distance. Only then did he permit himself a satisfied grin. Colin looked at him quizzically but there was no time to explain. They both hopped to their feet and ran full speed through the woods to avoid the search that was possibly headed their way. 

They ran along a deer path that would leave as little evidence of their passing as possible. The woods they were in stretched out along a section of a creek then petered out closer to the farmers’ fields at either end. Anyone who wanted to get from the clearing to where they were would either have to forge through the trees or take the path that looped all the way around the wooded area. Boots and Colin broke from the trees, bolted across road and hopped the low border wall.  

Lying along the base of the wall were two, rough farm tools. One of them had a handle that had been split and hollowed out along each length by Colin. Boots rammed his bow and string into the hollow and fit the pieces together. Colin held the pieces of the handle together while Boots bound them with strips of cloth. 

“Tighter,” Colin muttered, glancing up and down the path. 

 “I’m trying!” Boots gasped, he was feeling jumpy all over after the shot and the run, and his hands were sweaty and clumsy. He rubbed the sweat off his forehead and tied off the last strip of cloth. The seam was indistinguishable in the old handle, looking just like another crack that had been hastily repaired by a few rags.  

A handcart was sitting in the field. Boots tossed the tool to Colin who placed it in the cart alongside a few others. Then Colin grabbed a cloth from the cart that held some cheese, red-root and bread with one hand and a jug of water with the other. He and Boots perched on the wall, catching their breath and trading swigs from the jug. Colin spat some water onto his thumb and daubed it on each shoulder, muttering an invocation to hide guilt before asking Boots, 

“What was the second arrow for?” 

Boots took a drink from the jug, also dabbed at his shoulders with a half-hearted plea to the gods, and passed the water back to Colin before offering his explanation with a cocky grin. 

“You’re only the winner if you hit the target, right?” Colin coughed on his drink. 

“But you couldn’t see the target, it was on the ground,” he said, wiping a dribble of water from his chin with the back of his hand. 

Boots shrugged and plucked a piece of red-root from the cloth, taking a big bite of the stem. It was a little bitter, but it was always refreshing. Colin nudged his shoulder and gestured ahead of them. 

“That was quick,” Colin said. 

Boots looked up and followed Colin’s gaze to where five riders were coming into view from behind the trees. They were still far away, but even from this distance, he was certain the horses and riders were not from his village. 

His heart was just starting to calm from their scramble to the field to hide the bow and now it gave a little stutter as he watched the riders pause where the road split. They seemed to be talking, Boots watched, clutching the red-root tightly in his hand. Realizing his tense posture, he breathed and tried to relax his shoulders, trying to copy the relaxed laziness that Colin adopted so easily. 

A few of the riders up ahead looked to be kitted out as soldiers, with weapons strapped to their backs or sides. One rider cut out across the meadow, two more riders left the path and made for the forest Boots and Colin had just abandoned, and the remaining two riders continued down the path that would pass right by Colin and Boots. 

Colin gestured towards the riders who had now reached the forest and were dismounting to look around. 

“See, aren’t you happy now that we didn’t stay hiding in there?” He asked, not sounding half as nervous as Boots felt. 

Then he waved at the soldiers and riders. 

“Colin!” Boots hissed, “Don’t signal at them!” 

Colin rolled his eyes, “It’s exactly what two country farm-boys would be expected to do. We look more innocent here than we would have crouching in the bushes, that’s for sure.” 

They had debated staying hidden in the bushes. Relying on the thick, messy underbrush to hide them while they made an escape. But though the patch of trees was large, it was surrounded on all sides by open fields and meadow. Even if Boots was as fast as Colin, there was a good chance they would have been seen fleeing by someone. Whereas this field gave them an easy exit and an excuse. 

Boots glanced at the handcart to assure himself that the bow’s hiding place was not visible. At one point they had considered leaving the bow in the woods, but had decided against it since it was immediately recognizable by every villager as belonging to Boots. And, if Boots was being honest, he really liked that bow. He liked it even more now. 

Bolstered by the reminder of his victory he settled his shoulders and gave Colin a half smile that his friend returned in full. Then they adopted similar slack-jawed expressions as the two riders slowed to approach them. Colin had taken another bite of red-root and was chewing with his mouth open as he watched the riders steer their mounts off the path and walk the horses forward. He clicked his jaw shut and swallowed as the horses came to a stop. 

The one horseman had dark hair and was dressed in rich fabrics and colours trimmed in gold braid, including little gold caps on the shoulders of his coat that were fringed in little gold braids that rippled when he moved. He looked very angry. His eyes skimmed Boots’ and Colin’s dirty clothes and gormless faces and seemed to dismiss them. He stayed loftily on his saddle; his long face turned to glare at the trees to his right. 

The other man had a trim reddish beard and short-cropped light hair. He was dressed in dark grey and black and more black with a short sword at his hip and a larger one in a scabbard on his saddle. He had some gold and silver braid as well, but it was in bars of rank on his chest and sleeves. There was something quick about him, even though he was not moving, his eyes were watchful. He looked them over carefully as he addressed them. 

“We are looking for a man, or men, with bows. Have you seen any?” 

Colin picked at his teeth and let his country accent run thick through his answer. 

“Yes sir.” 

“Where?” The second rider demanded, head swinging back to look at them. 

“That way,” Colin said, pointing towards the horses waiting at the edge of the woods just recently left by the soldiers, “I thought two of those riders had bows.” 

Boots had to fix an honest look on his face, and nod stupidly in response to the suspicious look the rider in black gave him. 

“Idiots, are you mocking me?” the dark-haired rider demanded, his horse cantering forward a few steps, the man’s face was reddened in fury. “After the insult I have borne today, the threat to my safety! It is not to be tolerated.” 

He seemed ready to say more. The way he was leaning out of his saddle Boots thought he might be ready to jump off his horse. He felt a trickle of nervousness, he hoped Colin would be cautious. 

The orange haired rider moved his horse to angle the other one back and inclined his head. 

“My lord, please allow me,” he said. 

 The dark-haired man, the lord, Boots realized with a shock, looked like he might refuse for a moment, then stiffly nodded and sidled his horse out of the way. Genuinely impressed at the side-step the man achieved with his mount, Boots let himself gawk a little at the horse and fancy saddle. 

“Arrows were fired into the competition just now, beyond that stand of trees,” the orange haired man said. His voice was mild, but his eyes were sharp. “Did either of you see anything? Any men fleeing the woods? Someone approaching them earlier?” 

“No sir,” Colin said with careful politeness. Not trusting his voice Boots shook his head. In the distance a new group of riders were gathering on the path, Boots saw them divide up again in much the same directions as before. The lord looked over his shoulder, but the orange bearded man in black kept his gaze trained on Colin and Boots. 

“How long have you been here?” Was the next question. 

Boots felt a flush of sweat break out along the back of his neck. They had not thought anyone would ask that. They were just supposed to see two farm boys and move along. His tongue would not move and his brain was in a panic as it tried to scramble for a plausible lie. He needn’t have worried, Colin was there. 

“Well, let’s see,” Colin began in a thoughtful tone that gave Boots some relief. Colin surveyed the field, as if thinking very hard. 

“We started in the south-west corner,” Colin paused and checked the sun to be sure, “but we needed to check the sprouts over by the fence, but I forgot my pickaxe on account of my sister’s, husband’s brother,” he paused and said in an aside to Boots who nodded stupidly in response, “you know, what a goat’s arse he can be? Anyway, he borrowed it in the winter to chip ice and he warped the eye,” he stopped his musing and fixed the orange haired soldier with a knowing look, “because he was heating it up, see, to try and chip the ice faster. But you don’t chip ice faster that way, you just weaken the metal and get yourself a warped pickaxe eye. Anyway, I didn’t have the pickaxe because I told my sister to tell her husband’s brother that he better fix…” 

Colin’s voice droned on and Boots tried to keep his face plain and simple as he listened to Colin’s ridiculous story. He did not think he was succeeding, maybe his guilt was seeping out around the edges, but Boots felt the fair-haired rider in black kept looking at him more so than at Colin. Boots felt a bubble of panic well up inside him and he let it burst out. 

“Don’t tell my mother!” Boots cried out suddenly. 

Colin’s story halted and everyone stared at Boots. 

“Don’t tell my mother we have so little done. We should have done more, we just got distracted is all. We’ll have to stay ‘till dinner to make up the lost time, we mayn’t even go to the festival if we don’t finish. But we will. Wodan’s honour. Sir!” 

Boots finished with a tense, awkward salute. Colin followed suite, bolting upright and lifting his arm; the large, leafy end of the red-root still clenched in his hand flapped against his face causing him to sneeze. 

The lord made a sound between irritation and disgust, the orange haired man thinned his lips in thought. He was about to speak when a rider from the group in the distance broke and guided her horse towards them. The pounding of the approaching hooves caught everyone’s attention and Boots deflated with relief when the lord and soldier turned to greet the new rider. 

“Captain,” the approaching rider hailed. 

The soldier in black responded to the woman, riding out to meet her. Though she addressed the man as ‘captain’ she was not dressed in any formal soldier’s attire. Her horse was strong and broad, she did not even have saddle, just a thick blanket rolled at each end in the manner of the far North West. Two sword pommels stuck out from the rolled blankets at the back. 

She and the captain spoke quietly a little distance away. Boots, the dark haired noble and Colin all stood about in silence, until Colin broke it by deciding to take a loud bite of his red-root and chew with unnecessary force to fill the silence with his crunching. 

The captain and the woman walked their horses back over. Boots no longer had to worry about covering his guilt with false innocence, because he was now watching with genuine curiosity. 

“I have to ride out,” the captain said, addressing the man with the dark hair, “I should be back this evening or in the morning.” 

“That is unacceptable in these circumstances,” the man replied, his voice raised. “A crime has been committed against me! When my father hears of this, he will raze this village to the -”  

“You will do no such thing,” the captain cut in with an authority that seemed to diminish the lord’s outburst, “that is an order. And I suggest, following our conversation here, we return to your lodgings and discuss strategies for further action.” 

The moment was not far from a parent dressing down a child in public, and there was no doubt the “discussion” would be one-sided. Boots and Colin were taken in by the drama, no longer feigning their wide-eyed looks. Colin went to take another lout bite of his red-root but Boots reached out a hand stopped him. 

“Now, I must depart. Bridda will be here to speak in my place, as usual, I trust her judgement implicitly,” the captain said with emphasis. 

“My lord, I am pleased to serve you,” the woman, who must be Bridda, said with perfect neutrality and a studied salute towards the dark-haired lord. 

The noble’s face was pinched with anger, his hands were sharp on his reigns as he turned the horse to fully address the captain and Bridda. Maybe the man could not trust himself to speak, or could not say what he wanted, because he turned his face sharply to Colin and Boots instead. 

“Filth,” he spat at them. 

Then turned and rode stiffly away. 

The unexpected venom of the insult took Boots by surprise. He heard Colin take in a sharp breath and Boots prayed that Colin would hold his impulsive tongue. 

“And you are certain that you cannot delay for even a day?” Bridda asked as she and the captain watched the noble ride away in the distance. 

“I will be as quick as I can. I assure you,” he responded. 

“And these two?” she asked, her gaze slid over to Boots and Colin, who, at this point, were leaning against the fence less to look casual and more to stay standing. It did not help to have the captain focus his attention fully on them once more. Again, Boots felt that the captain watched him more closely than Colin. 

“I think these two probably have more questions than answers at this point,” he said. That was, when Boots thought about it, possibly true. 

“Make note of their names and where they live for now. Then report to me before I go.” 

Again, Boots felt the panic of something they had not prepared for. He was trying to remember if Colin had lied about their names in his ridiculous story about the pick axe. He hoped Colin had an idea. 

“You know I could just as easily go as you, right? It’s almost as though you don’t want to be here,” Bridda said mildly to the captain. 

“I believe my skills could be better applied to the awaiting task,” he replied in an even tone. 

“Mine too,” she said, drily. 

The two sketched salutes to each other and the captain rode away, leaving Boots and Colin with Bridda, who fixed them both with a shrewd look they immediately understood. 

The captain had an intense, unnerving look, but this woman’s look clearly showed she had younger brothers – or something of the like. Boots had no siblings, but he knew the look from the village women who had been scolding him since they were just girls and he a boy. It was a look that harboured a completely justifiable mistrust and well-placed suspicion. Boots folded his lips together tight. 

Colin cleared his throat and Boots tensed. 

“My name is Colin,” he said, somewhat hoarsely, “Boots and I were supposed to be going to check on the field but we decided to take a rest here.” 

Half-truth’s, that would work. 

“Yes. And my name is Boots,” Boots said. “Like you wear on your feet,” he added. 

She looked from one to the other, then to the hand-cart in the field. She leaned forward in her saddle. 

“Look. Did either of you shoot arrows at the crowd gathered in the woods today? Are you trying to assassinate a lord because you don’t like what the new king is doing?” She asked. 

Boots and Colin’s eyes both widened. 

“Absolutely not,” Colin said faintly. 

“No,” was all Boots managed with a stiff shake of his head. 

“Good, because if that was the case, things would go very, very, badly for the two of you and possibly your families.” 

She stared them down a little longer. Boots felt like his guilt was a squirrel hiding behind a bush; one wrong move and she would see, she would know. She shifted her eyes to Colin, then back to Boots, as if sensing he was the easier target. It was not difficult for Boots to keep the look of surprise on his face. The words ‘assassinate a lord’, echoed in his head. 

Finally, she straightened up.  

“My name is Bridda, if you think of anything or learn anything that you think I should know I want you to find me or send word right away. Understood?” 

“Yes ma’am,” they both murmured, no silly salutes this time. 

“Good.” She paused then added, “stay out of trouble.” 

It sounded like a warning. 

Boots and Colin watched her ride away, and with each step Boots felt his heart unwind a little bit more. He took a drink of water from the jug then passed it to Colin. Colin rinsed a mouthful around then swallowed. 

“Do you think they know?” Colin asked. 

“If they do, it doesn’t seem like they want to give us up to that dark-haired dandy,” Boots said. “Do you think that noble is the one hosting the event?” He asked. 

“Don’t know,” Colin said. “But now that I’ve met him, I’m even happier that we did it.” 

Both friends grinned. 

“So, we got away with it then? We did it.” Colin said, the eagerness overtaking the uncertainty in his voice. Boots, whose fingers and face had gone a little numb with panic, began to tingle with renewed excitement. 

“Looks like we did,” Boots said. 

Their smiles widened, then Colin let out a chuckle. Then Boots did too, although he couldn’t be sure why, the laughter just seemed to bubble out of them until they were holding their sides. They laughed and gasped out the excitement, the panic and the fear until tears streamed down their faces and they were sitting on the ground to catch their breath. 

“Your face when you saluted…” Colin said. 

“That story about the pick-axe…” Boots said. 

“The way you gawped at the horses. Those were some fine-looking beasts. Great teeth on them.” Colin said. 

“Yeah. And the horses were pretty good too,” Boots responded in kind. They shared another laugh while they leaned up against the fence and then settled down as much as they could. Boots scrubbed the tears off his cheeks and welcomed excitement of having gotten away with everything humming through his veins once more. They finally sat in silence for a bit, enjoying the open sky and the fine weather. 

As though the laughter had emptied the tangle of emotions, Boots was able to look back over the past moments with more clarity and focus. 

“When that lord said he’d raze the village, you don’t think -” Boots began, unsure of how to finish. Colin thought this over. 

“Maybe he wants to, but how could he. There are laws and stuff,” Colin said vaguely. “Besides, this competition had people visiting from all the surrounding villages too; could have been someone from another village just as well as someone from this village. He can’t burn all of them to the ground.” 

Boots nodded; it seemed unlikely something that drastic would come of what they had done. 

“You really think you hit that target with the second shot?” Colin asked, changing the subject. 

Boots shrugged, “It was worth the try. I suppose we’ll find out later.” He did not want to overstate his confidence in case it had missed, but he had felt a familiar surety in the second shot. 

“Do you think Fauna was watching?” Colin asked with a teasing grin. 

“I suppose we’ll find out later,” Boots repeated with another shrug, trying to sound disinterested; but his smile showed he wondered the same thing.