Adventure of Anothan 1

The forest opens into a concealed clearing. Several townsfolk sit bound against the roots of an ancient oak, watched by armed villagers in patched wool and leather, their spears held ready.

The prisoners are alive, dusty, and frightened. The villagers keep a wary ring around them, while a cold fire pit and scattered hunting gear suggest someone left in haste.

One guard shifts his grip on a wood-hafted spear. None of the villagers look toward the forest path, yet all keep listening for footsteps beyond the trees.

A bound woman silently shakes her head toward the nearest guard, then glances at the hunting gear. Somewhere deeper in the forest, a branch snaps.

Anothan draws his ceremonial dagger and moves to the nearest bound townsfolk. Before the armed villagers can close in, he drops to one knee and sets the blade against the rope.

The rope parts cleanly beneath the dagger. He works down the line, cutting each restraint until all four prisoners are free, their stiff limbs trembling as they pull away from the oak.

The freed townsfolk gather behind Anothan, rubbing their wrists. The armed villagers raise their spears, but uncertainty breaks their tight formation.

No spear strikes. The cold fire pit smolders between the groups, while the forest beyond the clearing falls silent again, listening for the missing hunter’s return.

The nearest armed villager, a sturdy middle-aged man with close-cropped graying hair in patched brown wool and a worn leather vest lowers his spear a fraction. His weathered face remains guarded, but his answer comes without the hesitation of a rehearsed lie.

A murmur passes among the armed villagers. Two glance toward the forest path, while the freed townsfolk look at one another, their fear sharpening into angry recognition.

Anothan enters the eastern trees, following the faint trail away from the clearing. Fallen leaves conceal most of the impressions, and the undergrowth offers no clean line to follow.

The marks lead him to a shallow stream, where several crossings overlap. On the far bank, one set of prints turns toward the charcoal pits, another returns toward the clearing, and the rest dissolve among stones.

Behind Anothan, the villagers remain clustered around the freed captives. Ahead, the broken tracks offer no certain direction, forcing him to choose between the charcoal pits and the route back toward the clearing.

The stream carries away the last readable sign of John’s passage, leaving the search stalled at its first true decision.

The question reaches the clearing only as Anothan’s voice carries between the trees. The villagers exchange guarded looks, each waiting for another to risk an answer.

The answer makes the accusation broader rather than clearer. Several villagers tighten their grips on their spears, while the freed captives begin speaking over one another.

Anothan follows the eastern path to the old charcoal pits. Blackened earth lies in a shallow hollow, ringed by birch and heaps of weathered timber.

The ash has been disturbed recently. Beneath a crust of gray dust, he finds boot marks crossing the pit, one heel cut at an angle and leaving a distinct crescent.

Near the coldest mound, a fresh scrape exposes a splintered handspike and a strip of coarse blue cloth caught beneath it. The cloth bears a dark, dried stain.

A shallow groove leads from the mound toward the northern trees, as though something heavy was dragged away. It ends beside a flat stone marked with three deliberate cuts.

Under the stone, Anothan finds a scrap of waxed parchment: a list of village surnames, with one line violently crossed out. The charcoal pits hold proof that John came here and concealed something, though no body remains.

Anothan searches the charcoal pit methodically, tracing the disturbed ash, the drag groove, and the ground around the flat stone. The marks form a concealed route toward the northern trees.

He turns the waxed parchment toward the thin daylight. The crossed-out surname is not erased completely; beneath the charcoal smear, the first letters remain legible: Harrow.

At the edge of the pit, he finds a second impression beside the damaged heel: a narrow boot turned sharply toward the trees. Its sole carries a small triangular notch.

The blue cloth is coarse village work, but a loose thread clings to the splintered handspike. The dark stain is old blood, and the tool’s broken shaft shows it was used with force.

Beyond the northern trees, the groove resumes in softer soil and joins a narrow footpath toward the village. Whatever John dragged from the pit, he carried it away rather than leaving it here.

Anothan follows the groove beneath the northern trees, testing each patch of soft earth before committing his weight. The drag marks remain clear, leading toward the village.

The path emerges behind a neglected charcoal-burner's hut. A torn strip of blue cloth hangs from its thorn fence, and fresh ash stains the threshold.

Inside the open shed, a middle-aged man crouches beside a wrapped bundle. He has a narrow, weathered face, thinning brown hair, and a mud-darkened wool coat; his right boot bears the triangular notch.

John rises slowly, his lean frame unfolding from the crouch, leaving the bundle where it lies. Beneath the coarse wrapping, a human hand is visible, pale with dust but otherwise undisturbed.

John’s gaze drops to the wrapped body. The visible hand lies still, while a darkened fold near the shoulder shows where the cloth has been pressed against an old wound.

John kneels beside the bundle and pulls back more of the coarse wrapping. The dead man’s face is visible now, gray with dust, his jaw slack and his throat marked by no wound.

Outside, ash sifts from the hut’s damaged roof. John keeps one hand on the wrapping, waiting beneath the accusation, while the path behind him remains open toward the village.

John’s answer comes too quickly, then falters. He looks toward the village path instead of meeting Anothan’s eyes, one hand tightening around the coarse wrapping.

He pulls a folded scrap from inside his coat and places it on the bundle. The parchment bears the same village surnames Anothan saw beneath the charcoal pit, with Harrow crossed out.

Anothan studies the folded list against the hut’s few scraps of charcoal notes and the names he remembers from the clearing. The marks do not form village records; they are only John’s private annotations, uneven and unexplained.

He opens the parchment beside the wrapped body, tracing the crossed-out Harrow entry and the small strokes beside other surnames. Without the village register, he cannot tell whether they mark kinship, suspicion, or dates.

The comparison fails for a plain reason: the authoritative register is elsewhere, while John’s list remains evidence of his suspicions rather than proof of any family’s guilt.

John’s hand closes over the annotated parchment before Anothan can reach it. He steps between the bundle and the open doorway, refusing the quiet command without raising his voice.

He backs through the doorway, keeping the parchment against his chest. The attempt to take him fails, but his retreat exposes fresh writing on the list’s reverse side.

The explanation gives Anothan a usable path: the village register may test the dates, while John’s refusal leaves the questioning unresolved and the evidence still in his keeping.

Anothan brings up his short bow and reaches for an arrow, but the empty place at his back offers none. The hut holds no quiver within reach.

John turns sharply and runs through the trees. Anothan’s drawn bow cannot stop him, and the chase would leave the injured man unattended in the hut.

The abandoned doorway reveals the parchment’s reverse side fully. Beneath the dates, a narrow column lists three initials, with one beside the day the dead man was found.

John’s footsteps fade toward the village, but the annotated list remains exposed on the bundle. The initials offer a precise lead, while the dead man’s condition demands attention before pursuit.

Anothan draws his ceremonial dagger and leaves the hut at a run. The blade stays low in his hand as he follows John’s fading footfalls through the trees.

John cuts between two ash-streaked birches, but the narrow ground forces him toward a fallen trunk. Anothan closes the distance before the path reaches the village.

John stumbles over the trunk and turns. Anothan reaches him beside the roots, dagger ready, blocking the direction of the village without striking.

John raises both hands, breathing hard, while the village roofs show through the branches ahead. The chase has brought him within Anothan’s custody, and the hut remains behind them.

John freezes beside the fallen trunk. Anothan’s dagger remains leveled between them, and the village roofs wait beyond the branches, close enough for witnesses.

John slowly lowers himself to his knees and places both hands atop his head. His breath steadies, but his eyes remain fixed on the dagger.

The path is clear now. John has surrendered, leaving Anothan in control of the prisoner and free to decide how the hut and its witness will be secured.