The Barghest Knight 1: The Dullahan's Head

Prologue

"Good sir! I'd keep clear of teh forest path if I were you, best stay on teh main road, aye?" Brayce stopped, letting his foot hang in the air. Liquid mud and fresh animal dung dripped down from the sole and onto a pile of wet red and yellow leaves on the ground. He looked to the right, where an old man had made camp in the shadow of a grand, yet long dead, oak. His first reaction was to pull his mantle closer to himself, to keep the dagger at his side hidden. He gave the old man his best smile and took a step in his direction, carefully sweeping his gaze over the treeline as he approached. One could never be too careful in this stretch of Tenenbri after all.

"A strange sight. What are you doing so far out here, elder? Do you have no fear of treants or hags?" He asked, taking pains to make sure his voice was friendly and curious. The old man laughed and waved his hand dismissively. As he did so Brayce glanced over his meagre camp. An old, rotted box with bandages and eyebite to rub in wounds, some chipped earthenware cups and tin utensils, a dirty bedroll, and a struggling flame with a loose ring of stones encircling it. His eyes were drawn to the pot dangling above the fire, banded with silver and bronze. His smile grew wider.

The old man somehow sensed where his gaze was. He leant forwards and flashed his rotted brown teeth. Brayce hadn't noticed before, but a heavy, grey hood was pulled halfway down his face. "No need to keep your hunger hidden kind sir, take it! Take as much as you need, just leave a few scraps behind for me." Brayce was confused until the old man began stirring the contents of the pot with a rusted spoon. He forced himself to smile, even as the foul aroma hit his nose.

"It has a unique smell. You truly wouldn't mind sharing?" He tilted his head to the side. Brayce had finally managed to recognise his accent. Meavrian, if he was right. He resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose. Charlatans and whoresons all. He'd sooner eat with a mortuus. But that pot could buy him a steaming hot meal or cosy room in a tavern. So, he hid his disgust behind a look of concern.

"A portion of my meal for a companion to talk to. A fitting trade, it seems to me." The old man reasoned, filling one of the cups with the brownish stew. Brayce thought he detected hints of fish in it but couldn't be sure. The cup was offered to him by a wrinkled and hairy hand. He made sure to glance around his surroundings one more time before accepting the cup. The ground was moist and loose, so he was grateful for a bit of cloth to sit on. Before he knew it a spoon was thrust into his hand and the old man had his head bowed over his own cup. Brayce peered into the stew, trying to ignore the black chunks floating on the surface. He followed his host's example and ate, though not with nearly as much vigour.

There was far too much salt, and most of the meat was stringy and chewy. Brayce forced it down all the same, his distaste outweighed by his stomachs yearning for sustenance. In an attempt to distract himself from the nauseating taste, and to put off taking another bite, he tried to catch a glimpse of what was underneath the old man's hood. A task that proved much harder than he first thought. His curved, beak-like nose was difficult to see past and he had to lower his head almost to the ground, as the elder was hunched and seemed to sink into the curve of the twisted tree trunk. He pursed his lips and set his cup aside.

"I must ask, elder, how did you see me just then? I thought myself fairly hidden, and that hood obscures your vision." It had been weighing on his mind since he had first been spotted. Brayce had been careful, especially so close to the main road. He covered his tracks and followed lesser-known dirt paths when possible. He even crossed rivers in case any hounds were chasing his heels.

The old man lowered his cup and finished chewing his mouthful. He sunk deeper into the crook of the trees gnarled trunk, lowering his head down to his breast. For a moment it seemed as though he wouldn't answer. Brayce almost reached out to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep. Then he stirred and treated his companion to a knowing smile. "I've been blessed with keen ears, sweet sir. Your footfalls were loud as thunder to me." He said, worming a hand under his hood and tapping against his left ear. "And it's a good thing I did. Honourable sir, do you know teh danger you were about to step into?"