Axelhead was no longer an option.
So Yenia stayed in the water, swimming, paddling, and towing the boat southward, down streams and rivers, and sometimes muddy creeks, constantly hiding from the Iatan, trying to find a way past Axelhead without being spotted. She’d come so far. She had even farther to go.
But first, she needed to keep both herself and her brother hidden from the Iatan who were only feet above her head. Listening to the hooves of the oxen and the creaking of the wagon wheels, she knew she was going to be in this hiding place for a long time.
That was when Yenia noticed her brother was bleeding again. As gently as she could, she propped herself up against the side of the boat so she could take a better look. She poked gently with her fingers around the makeshift bandages on Theel’s chest, then peeled them off to expose the wound and the pink skin around it.
“It is by God’s grace we are together, and alive, brother,” she mumbled. “I don’t know how you continue to draw breath. We’ve endured the Witchfinder’s soldiers, the Trader’s Cave, the waterfall, the graygoyles, and now the Iatan. And through it all you’ve clung to life beyond the point where men would have relented and accepted their end. Do you fight for survival from dedication to your quest? Do you wish to live now so that you may die later?”
Yenia answered her own question.
“No,” she said. “You fight because you want to live now and beyond the completion of this quest. You want to bring justice to Father’s killer and in doing so, earn your Warrior Baptism. I believe this to be true, despite what you claim. I believe you can forgive yourself, redeem yourself, and win your knighthood. And I will do all I can to support you in that quest. I will lend you all my effort, and all the strength I have to give. I will give my life if need be.”
Yenia removed her gloves and rolled her shirt sleeves, baring forearms colored by tattoos of all shapes and sizes, pictures and words and symbols. No one but Yenia knew what every tattoo meant. Some of them signified her faith, her love for her father, or her purpose in life. Some of these symbols were ancient. Others were holy. All of them were beautiful.
But some were magical.
Yenia placed her hands on her brother’s chest, palms down, one on each side of the bleeding red circle. Then she closed her eyes, concentrated, and whispered to herself.
“Please heal, dear brother. Please come back to me.”
Yenia’s flesh tingled. Then she felt a familiar moment of pain in her chest. As this happened, she saw Theel’s skin stretch and mend itself, closing around the wound ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, but Yenia could feel her brother’s heart beating stronger beneath her palms. Best of all, the bleeding stopped.
Yenia was gasping for air as she sank back into the water. Healing always sapped her strength. It took her a moment to focus, to regain her senses, but once she did, she noticed the bridge above her had quieted. She could still hear the animals and wagons rattling along, but the sound was fading in the distance. It seemed the Iatan had successfully crossed the bridge, leaving the siblings alone in the water beneath. Perhaps it was finally time to go.
But perhaps it wasn’t. The quiet Yenia longed for was broken by the sound of more footsteps. Heavy boots walked slowly across the bridge, followed by clopping hooves, as if a man was leading an animal. Yenia couldn’t know who this was, whether or not they were friendly so she didn’t move and remained in the water, listening.
The newcomer made his way to the side of the bridge, then walked off the road. Yenia could no longer hear the footsteps, but the heavy thudding of the horse’s hooves in the grass was unmistakable. A soldier was leading his mount down to the creek bank. He was walking down to the place where Yenia was hiding.
The boat was as concealed as it could be, covered in the branches and twigs and long blades of green grass Yenia had piled around her brother. But the camouflage wasn’t perfect. If anyone cared to look under the bridge with any amount of scrutiny, they were certain to see Theel asleep inside.
Yenia’s head was already covered with dried mud, but she grabbed another clump and rubbed it on as quickly as she could. Then she sank down until only her eyes were above the surface and glided to a brushy spot, concealing herself behind the tall grass of the creek bank.
She saw the man almost immediately, an Iatan soldier leading his horse down to the water. Yenia had never seen one of the invaders this close before, but the man matched every description she’d heard. There were many races that made up the Iatan Empire. The primary people who ruled the empire, who held the positions of leadership in the army, and also made up the elite shock units of the infantry, were a green-skinned, black-haired race called fyral. Yenia had heard the fyral had complexions the color of olives. This man’s face reminded her of pea soup.
The soldier’s features weren’t angry or cruel. He didn’t appear to be searching for victims to hurt or kill. He looked like any other soldier who’d done plenty of marching and fighting and it was taking its toll on him. He looked exhausted. And thirsty.
The soldier pushed the tall grass aside and knelt down. He cupped his hands into the water, splashing it against his face. While he did this, his horse walked to his side and bowed its head, putting its nose into the creek. The soldier was so close, Yenia could have reached out and touched the toe of the man’s boot. But she didn’t move. She didn’t breathe.
The man was armored in leather and plate, iron-forged, dented and scratched, and bloodstained. He’d seen battle recently, but now was covered with the dust of the road. Yenia knew nothing of the Iatan symbols of rank, but saw ornamental medallions hanging from the man’s breastplate, and had suspicions these marked him as an officer.
Yenia felt the strong urge to attack the man. This was an opportunity to kill the commander of one of the infantry units who were marching against House Alister in a larger attempt to encircle Fal Daran. Better still, this was an opportunity to seize a horse. It was a fine animal, a muscular painted charger who could carry Yenia and Theel across the valley floor with swiftness.
But the urge to attack was something Yenia needed to resist. This was a large, thick man who could overpower her with ease. Besides, she was in close to the most vulnerable position anyone could be, up to her neck in water with her enemy standing above her on dry ground. If this man possessed even the most basic level of competency with his sword, Yenia’s head would be split open before she got out of the water.
But the urge to attack remained. Plate armor was heavy. It did not float in water. In fact, it sank very rapidly. If she could get this man off his feet and into the creek…
Yenia never made the decision to attack. The decision was made for her.
The man pulled the cork on a water skin, poured it over his head, then began to refill it. As the air bubbled out of the water skin, he glanced nonchalantly under the bridge. Something there caught his eye. A look of curiosity crossed his green face and he squinted, looking harder.
He was looking at Theel.
Yenia sprang out of the creek like a pepperfinch taking to flight. The spray hit the soldier in the face, and Yenia saw him wearing an expression of complete shock. Before the man knew what was happening, Yenia grabbed his breastplate by the medallions and pulled down with all her weight. The officer was in a crouch, with no hope of maintaining his balance. He fell forward, shouting out his surprise. But the man’s voice was immediately drowned as the weight of his armor dragged him beneath the surface of the creek. Yenia looked up at the horse, saw it rearing, whinnying in frustration, then stamping its feet. She felt a moment of elation. This horse would be hers. It would carry her and her brother to safety.
But then she felt strong arms wrap around her waist.
And instant later, she was jerked down from the world of sunlight, air, and life, down into the realm of darkness, drowning, and death. The armor of the Iatan soldier pulled him down, but he was determined to take her with him. They quickly settled at the muddy bottom, with several feet of water
above Yenia’s head. The Iatan officer was trapped and dying, but so was Yenia. Everything was blackness and the feeling of bubbles rushing past her face.
The man held Yenia firmly, squeezing her stomach painfully. Long after it seemed he should have lost his strength, his consciousness, or even his life, he held onto her. Yenia couldn’t break his grip with strength, so she attempted to break it with steel. She wrapped her left arm around the man’s neck. With her right hand, she drew Theel’s knife and jammed the blade into the top of the man’s head. She did this repeatedly, jamming steel into the man’s brain over and over. But the Iatan soldier still didn’t let go, as if he’d commanded his arms to hold on even after death, and they held on, heeding their master’s desire.
Yenia couldn’t hold her breath much longer and she knew it. She began to work the knife against one of the man’s hands, slicing at his fingers. That finally did it. The man’s grip on her loosened, and Yenia kicked her way free. She didn’t stop kicking, and swam her way to the surface, bursting into sunlight, gulping in fresh air.
She swam to the side and threw her arms up on the creek bank. She wanted to rest, and breathe, to give oxygen to her pounding heart, but there wasn’t time.
Please, God, she prayed. We need a horse. Let us have this one.
She grabbed handfuls of grass, the coarse blades irritating her fingers as she pulled herself out of the water. She quickly found her feet, scrambled up the bank of the creek, then ran out onto the road. It was a foolish thing to do. It would have exposed her to the eyes of any enemy soldiers who were nearby. But she felt it was worth the risk. She wanted that horse.
She looked to the south, seeing nothing but trees and grass and rolling hills, with the Dividers Mountains looming in the distance. There was campfire smoke to the north, and a cloud of dust kicked up by the Iatan wagon train to the west. Yenia turned eastward and saw more Iatan soldiers marching up the road directly toward her. The vanguard was in a dip between two grassy ridges, but as she watched, the blue and gold colors of the Imperial Army of the Iatan slowly came into view. She could even hear their drums.
There was so much to look at, but no horse to be found. And she had no time to look further.
Yenia didn’t bother to climb back down to the bank of the creek. Instead, she just ran to the edge of the bridge and jumped off. When she came back up for air, she made her way back to the boat and pulled the mooring line out. It was a routine she was becoming accustomed to. Just as she had to many times before, she slipped the rope over her head and swam for her life, praying she wasn’t seen by the enemy.
She swam southward, towing the boat, and her brother, behind her.
Something Utterly Foolish
Yenia was forced to abandon Uncle Guarn’s peanut-shaped boat shortly after her encounter with the Iatan officer. She didn’t know the Toden River Valley well, but all westward-flowing waterways seemed to join with the Toden and flow through Axelhead, which was occupied by the enemy. With no other choice, she left the boat to drift, took Theel over her shoulder, and traveled by foot in a long, circuitous route around the city.
It was a long walk, made longer by the added weight of her brother’s body. Theel was nearly twice has heavy as Yenia, and while she began her trip with confidence, only a few hours over uneven ground had her knees shaking and her feet screaming for mercy. She began to take rests, hiding her brother, usually in tall grass under trees or next to dumped rock walls, then using his thigh as a pillow while she gasped for breath. Every time she picked him up again, her brother seemed to be a little heavier. Each time, her steps became a little slower. Then her rests started to last longer, and longer. Night fell. She continued on by starlight, taking periodic breaks, but only long enough to keep her legs moving. The sun rose, and she continued on. She did this for two more days and nights before exhaustion took her.
Yenia laid her brother down beneath fence rail. She didn’t remember what happened next. She only remembered waking up at her brother’s side hours later. She cursed her own weakness, put Theel over her shoulder, and set out again.
She knew she was making unreasonable demands of her body, days of heavy labor without proper food or sleep. But she was the daughter of a Knight of the King’s Cross. Her father demanded much of her, but she demanded even more of herself. Would her father nearly kill himself carrying twice his own weight for days to save a life? Yes, he would. He would walk until his body gave out, until he died of exhaustion.
It was a simple question with an easy answer. Yes, she would do it. She would do anything to save Theel, not just because she had a duty, but also because she was loyal to her brother and loved him dearly. Staying where she was meant death. Walking meant salvation.
And so she walked.
Every day brought more close calls. It was nearly impossible to remain undetected in a countryside ravaged by war. Sometimes she found herself in occupied lands. Sometimes she was caught between the armies. It was by God’s grace and Yenia’s will to survive that she was able to continue moving westward without getting killed or captured. She witnessed many sides of the conflict as she worked her way toward Korsiren. She saw men marching toward battles. She saw the lines rushing toward each other. And she saw fields of bodies when the fighting was over.
Four days after Yenia encountered the Iatan officer by the bridge, she saw Iatan cavalry heading westward at a full gallop. Soon after, they crashed into a column of Alister lancers riding eastward.
Yenia just kept walking, carrying her brother toward her destination. She used a series of ridges to keep out of sight, but she could hear the fighting rage on throughout the day. The opposing sides charged each other repeatedly, their rumbling hoofbeats and the crashes of lances and shields sounding like peels of thunder.
She just kept moving, knowing each step carried her and her brother closer to safety. She clung to the hope that if she pushed herself and continued forward both day and night, she would soon be able to walk on ground not ravaged by the war, not soaked in the blood of her countrymen. But as the sun rose on each new day, the dawn shone on more death and devastation.
Before the Iatan came, the valley was home to lush farmlands, hills and valleys covered with fields of grain or orchards of peaches and apples. But now, all she saw was wagon ruts and blackened firepits, fruit trees picked bare by hungry soldiers and fields of trampled grain, blood-soaked and piled high with the bodies of horses and men.
Yenia would never forget the sinking feeling in her stomach when, on the morning of her seventh day since leaving the Trader’s Cave, she crested a hill and saw the Iatan camp for the first time. She’d swam, or paddled, or floated her way down the rivers and creeks of the valley, then carried her brother over her shoulder for a full week, all without proper food or rest, with the hope she could reach the Alister stronghold of Korsiren before the Iatan did. But they had beaten her. Once again, her way was blocked by thousands of enemy soldiers. It was a crushing realization. All the work she’d done had purchased her nothing.
She had made speed her priority and nearly killed herself in doing so. But she couldn’t do it. She wasn’t fast enough. Her best wasn’t good enough.
Even worse, from her vantage point on the hilltop, she was able to see what the Iatan were doing. They were attempting to bottle up the Alister armies by beating them to the western valleymouth, and trapping them in the Fortress at Korsiren. It was working. The Alisters were pulling their men back, retreating within the walls of their great mountain fastness, and the Iatan were moving quickly to surround them. Once the Iatan controlled the lands around Korsiren, they would be in a position to lay siege to the fortress. But they would also block the western valleymouth like a cork plugging up a bottle, with Yenia trapped inside.
For Yenia, watching this happen was like watching the door to her own jail cell closing, inch by inch. If the Iatan succeeded in surrounding Korsiren and blocking the western end of the valley, there was no telling how long she would be trapped. There was a good ch
ance the siege of Korsiren was going to last months, or even years. Yenia’s chances of escape were vanishing with each passing hour.
She couldn’t outrun the war. She couldn’t outrun the Iatan. And she knew if she stayed in this valley another day, she and her brother would die. She was so desperate, she was willing to try something utterly foolish. There wasn’t time for her to carry her brother around the enemy camp. This left her with only one option.
She would go straight through it.
River of Death
Nighttime was approaching in the western end of the Toden River Valley. The sun was low in the sky, bouncing light off the snowy peaks of the Dividers Mountains and spreading across the river lands below. It illuminated the fields and forests, the hills and farmsteads, with glaring light that made the colors vibrant and the shadows long. It also reflected off the armor and helmets, sword blades and spear points of the Iatan soldiers squatting at the bottom of the valley. The number of invaders was incalculable, with tens of thousands of tents pitched in rows as if a farmer had planted them there. They reached all the way from Axelhead to Korsiren, their sides painted orange by the retreating sun. The army encampment was so vast Yenia guessed it might take her an entire day to travel from one end to the other. She had no hope of doing it unseen. And she had only a few hours to spare.
This was why she now found herself traveling down the center of the enemy camp, past their thousands of tents and their thousands of guards in the glaring light of day, in the most daring escape attempt possible. Yenia moved beneath the gaze of countless enemy eyes as she traveled westward toward freedom. But even though the soldiers saw her, they didn’t take notice. This was because they thought she was dead. She had concealed herself within a slow-moving graveyard.
Yenia heard many terrible stories about the way the Iatan conducted themselves as masters of their newly conquered lands. Many knights and soldiers who battled the invaders in the east voiced their fears that the Iatan did not intend to rule the Seven Kingdoms, but to destroy them. They cared nothing for the land, destroying all the resources they seized, killing the animals, burning the fields, defiling sources of fresh water.
Warrior Baptism Chapter 2 Page 5