Under the Oak Tree - Chapter 197
Chapter 197: Side Story Chapter 3
Riftan shook off the guard’s hand and made to stride past him.
“Did you not hear me?” said the guard, grabbing Riftan by the nape. “You can’t go in there!”
Riftan glared back at the man. These were the same people who had allowed a defenseless child to wander the forest with nothing but a hound for protection. What right did they have to stop him? He was the one who had rescued her, therefore should be allowed to see her recovery.
He was about to lash out when he noticed the guard giving him a strange look. Not only that, but a knight had arrived upon hearing the commotion.
After a brief exchange with the guard, the knight turned to Riftan and asked in an interrogating tone, “You say there was a monster? Where is it now?”
Riftan immediately stiffened as he picked up on their suspicion. To them, he was merely a soot-covered servant boy who had appeared with the half-dead young lady in his arms while claiming a monster attack.
“You should find it if you go that way,” Riftan said, defiantly lifting his chin and pointing in the direction he had come from. “I was on my way to fetch more lime for the smithy.”
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“I see. I want you to lead me to it.”
“I’m not lying! It was a black lizard that attacked her ladyship. It was spewing venom. If I hadn’t been there, she would’ve-”
“That’s why I’m asking you to take me to it,” the knight interjected irritably.
The knight was a placid-looking man in his mid-thirties. His demeanor suddenly took on a sternness as he continued.
“If a monster really has appeared within the castle grounds as you claim, we must deal with it immediately. Don’t make me repeat myself. Go on, lead the way!”
Riftan was about to snap back that he already had but thought better of it. He had a feeling that would only deepen their suspicion. Flicking a final glance at the castle entrance, he reluctantly turned away.
As they set off retracing his steps, all Riftan could think about was the feeling of that tiny body growing increasingly stiff in his arms. He kept his feet moving despite his agitation, and he rubbed his chest in an effort to calm his pounding heart.
I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s with the cleric now. There’s nothing to worry about.
He was repeating these thoughts in an attempt to calm his anxiousness when the knight clamped a hand on his shoulder. Riftan swiveled around. The knight’s wary gaze was fixed on something in the bushes.
Realizing that it was the limp corpses of the lizard and the hound, Riftan pushed the knight’s hand away. “Don’t worry. It’s already dead.”
To prove his point, Riftan stalked over and yanked the branch from the lizard’s carcass.
The knight narrowed his eyes at him. After a long pause, he said, “Did you kill it?”
Riftan nodded in reply, and the knight responded with a soft laugh. The knight then unsheathed a knife from his waist, cut off the monster’s head with a single stroke, and hoisted the lizard’s body up by its sinewy tail.
Riftan leaped back to avoid the blood gushing from the monster’s severed neck. The knight seemed to be inspecting the lizard closely as he held it up with one gloved hand.
He shouted to the soldiers trailing them, “It’s a juvenile black lizard! Inspect the area near the ramparts. If it got in by digging a tunnel, the nest can’t be too far.”
“Yes, sir!”
The soldiers who had accompanied them promptly left for the ramparts. After making sure the monster’s corpse was no longer spraying blood, the knight tossed it at Riftan’s feet.
“You killed it, so that is yours. Specimens of the dragon subspecies sell for quite a sum. Even low-grade monsters like this can fetch around two derham if you sell the skin and magic stone.”
With that, the knight seemed to lose all interest in him. While Riftan stared vacantly down at the carcass, the knight turned his attention to the black hunting dog lying motionless a few steps away.
“I suppose I should bury the beast,” the knight said, clicking his tongue.
Riftan snapped back to his senses.
“Since it was a low-grade monster,” Riftan said hurriedly, “does that mean it wasn’t dangerous? Will her ladyship be all right?”
A slight furrow appeared on the knight’s brow. Riftan grew nervous as he realized the impertinence of a servant boy brazenly questioning a knight. Fortunately, this particular knight seemed to be fairly lenient. Though he made his displeasure clear, he still obliged Riftan’s question.
“Lizard venom is easily cured with purification magic. Her ladyship should be fine.”
Riftan’s shoulders sagged with relief. He dropped his head and rubbed his aching neck. Barely thirty minutes had passed since he had witnessed the little girl charging at the monster, but he felt as though he had aged at least three years.
The knight had been observing him. “You said you work at the smithy?” he abruptly asked.
Riftan nodded, looking wary. “I’ve been apprenticing for a few months. I worked at the stables before that.”
The knight stroked his chin before pulling something out of his pocket. “You probably won’t have time to skin this thing if you have to get back to work. I shall buy it from you.”
Riftan stared dazedly down at the four glinting silver coins the knight held out.
“Two coins for killing the monster, and two for saving her ladyship’s life,” the knight added. “Had she been seriously harmed, the guards on duty would have been reprimanded. Take these as a reward for your good deed.”
Riftan’s face grew still. Was the knight trying to keep this matter under wraps? It was likely that the man was not too pleased about having to admit that the duke’s daughter could have died had it not been for a lowborn passerby.
Riftan was no stranger to animosity; he had been a target since he was a young boy. Therefore, he was acutely aware of the warning in the knight’s eyes. The man wanted him to take the money and keep his mouth shut. Clenching his jaw, Riftan took the coins.
Refusing was not an option, and the knight probably considered himself generous. After all, he was graciously offering a large sum for a peasant’s silence when he could simply resort to threats. Riftan shoved the coins in his pocket and trudged toward the dead dog.
“Thank you for your generosity, sir. Allow me to bury this for you.”
The knight smiled and nodded, not suspecting for a second that a lowly servant would dare mock him.
After dragging over the handcart he had abandoned earlier, Riftan hauled the dead hound onto the cart and left the forest. He finally came upon a secluded area that rarely saw passersby and set to work digging a grave.
The only equipment he had was a sturdy branch. Though he wanted to get a shovel, he knew that if he returned to the smithy, he would not be able to slip out again until he finished all his tasks. The branch snapped while he was digging, so he continued with bare hands. When the grave was sufficiently deep, he carried the dog’s cold corpse over and laid it in the ground. Its tongue protruded from its muzzle. Riftan reached out to stroke its neck and noted the unusual stiffness of its fur.
The sniffling little girl flashed through his mind. This creature might have been the only friend she had in her lonely world. Riftan gazed sadly down at the hound before he buried it.
***
When Riftan returned to the workshop, he was punished for slacking off. He offered no excuses as he received blow after blow to the head.
There was no telling what might happen if he opened his mouth. The knight appeared to be in charge of the castle’s security. Though he had not seemed like a cruel man, Riftan knew that it was always wise to be careful.
He began shoveling charcoal and working the bellows once more as the blacksmith’s barrage of curses carried on in the background. Curiously, he felt himself growing colder despite the sweltering heat. He clenched and unfurled his frozen hand as he tried to focus his blurred vision. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and his breathing grew ragged.
In a flash, he remembered that he had sucked the venom from the little girl’s wound. Though he had immediately spat it out, it was possible that he had ingested some. Soon, it felt as though a rock was pressing on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. When he stopped to pound his chest and ease his airways, a gruff bellow blasted his ears.
“You damned oaf! If you don’t want to work, then get the hell out of here!”
Riftan gazed wearily back at the blacksmith’s enraged face before mechanically moving his arms again. He had no idea how he managed to complete all his tasks. By the time he laboriously finished tidying up, the sun was already setting.
It did not even occur to him to wash his soot-covered face and hands before he staggered home. When he managed to reach the shack, all that greeted him was a cold silence.
He sagged against the door for support as he swept his eyes over the makeshift bed – nothing more than stacked wooden planks piled with hay – the unlit brazier, the slightly slanted table, and the bucket of drinking water.
There was no indication that anyone had arrived before him. Riftan was certain that his stepfather had gone drinking as soon as the day’s work was over, and that his mother was likely watching the sunset from the hill.
He collapsed onto the hay. For a moment, he considered seeing a healer with the silver coins in his pocket, but his limbs refused to budge. He felt too drained to even light the brazier, let alone seek help.
His teeth chattering, he pulled the blanket over his head. The thought that he might end up dying in such misery made him feel utterly alone.
Why did I do something so stupid?
The little girl would be receiving the best treatments under the devoted care of her servants, while Riftan could not even hope for his own family to look after him. It was ludicrous that he, a lowborn, should be concerned about the welfare of a duke’s daughter.
He directed a flood of curses at himself for his foolishness. A moment later, the thought of her skinny arms on his neck and her round face wet with tears caused all of his turmoil to drain away.
Would it really be so terrible to die like this? After all, a life of drudgery was all that lay before him. It would be quite a heroic death for a mongrel like him, sacrificing himself for a noble’s daughter. Not that anyone would acknowledge the deed.
He rubbed the edges of his stinging eyes before squeezing them shut. At some point, he must have lost consciousness, for he was jolted awake by something cold touching his cheek. A woman’s face swam in his hazy vision.
Am I dreaming?
It was his mother, who usually avoided eye contact as though it caused her physical pain to look at him. She appeared to be anxiously assessing his current state. As she wiped his soot-darkened face with a wet towel, she mumbled something that he could not hear past the ringing in his ears.
He blinked rapidly. It felt as though his eyeballs had been replaced with lumps of burning coal. Most of his body was ice-cold, yet his head felt ablaze with heat. Another stream of curses raged through his mind.
A goddamn low-grade monster? As if…
“I got this from the apothecary. You must drink, even just a little.”
Riftan could barely comprehend what his mother was saying. It took immense effort for him to lift his head and take a few sips of the lukewarm tonic she held out. Right after, a coughing fit caused him to hack it back up. His mother hastily wiped his mouth with a scrap of cloth.
Such attentive care left Riftan stunned. He could not remember the last time she had touched him. It used to be that if they so much as made eye contact, she would look as pained as if someone had stabbed her with an iron skewer. Riftan could not stand it, and so he had grown up shunning her.
“Just wait. The gruel is almost ready.”
She lowered his head back onto the bed and hurried over to the brazier. Seeing her so anxious made him feel a little better.
So she’s not completely indifferent.
That was his last thought before he closed his eyes.
***
The illness lasted two whole days. The bone-chilling cold miraculously subsided, and his whole body felt much lighter.
Seeing Riftan get out of bed to wash his face, his stepfather said flatly, “I guess I won’t be digging any graves today.”
With that, he opened the lid of the flask he always carried with him and took a swig of cheap ale.
Riftan pretended not to hear as he dried his face. He then proceeded to eat a whole bowl of watery porridge. It was clear that his appetite was back, a sure sign that he was through the worst of it and would not be needing any sort of grave. Riftan was scoffing at himself when his stepfather spoke again.
“If you’re feeling better, you should return to the smithy today. The blacksmith said he had no need for feeble apprentices when I told him you were sick.”
After staring fixedly at the floor, his stepfather looked up at him with weary eyes.
“You’ve never been ill, even as an infant. The work must be grueling. I know they’re not very welcoming of newcomers, but you must stick it out until you’ve learned the trade. Unless you want to end up like me.”
Riftan turned his head to avoid meeting his stepfather’s gaze. All traces of the venom had disappeared, and yet, seeing the old man so defeated and struggling under life’s burdens made Riftan’s heart feel heavy. He sprang to his feet and pulled a worn tunic over his bare torso.
“I was just about to head there now,” Riftan said.
His mother did not utter a word. Even as Riftan strode to the door, she only seemed concerned with poking at the brazier. She carried on stoking the flames even as he stepped out of the shack. Riftan gave her one last glance over his shoulder before he sprinted up the hill.
It astonished him that he had the energy for it after being bedridden for two days. In a single burst of speed, he crested one hill after another and reached the castle grounds.
