Nena

by Ann Boelter

  “Hang on,” Nena whispered to the girl as she sat up and threw one leg forward over the mare’s neck and slid to the ground. She reached for the nearest post, pulled it swiftly, and laid it down on top of the rope line. Leading the mare behind her, she hastily pulled four more posts and did the same, leaving a large section of the rope fence flat on the ground. Shimmying back up in front of the girl, Nena carefully guided the mare over the rope and resumed their southward travel. When the other horses found this hole and escaped, as she was sure they would, it should cover their tracks and create an extra diversion for the remaining guards.

  She would not be missed until Jarl returned.

  Jarl. His tender smile as he’d left that morning came unbidden to her mind. Nena felt the sharp pang again in her stomach, but quelled it. There was no going back now. She was doing the right thing. She must put this behind her. Raising her chin, Nena pointed the mare toward the distant ridge.

  Jarl entered and felt the emptiness of the tent before his eyes verified it. Nena’s presence was a warmth that spread to everything around her, and he did not feel it now. The tent was cold. He was beyond disappointed. Her unexpected tenderness that morning had dangerously filled his thoughts all day with distraction, and he needed her now. She must be bathing. He unbuckled his armor, shrugged it off, and piled it in the corner. He paced the tent for a few moments, waiting for her to return, then went to find her in the baths.

  Women shrieked and hurried to cover themselves as he barged in. Nena was not among them. Jarl felt the first fingers of unease begin to tighten around his gut. He returned quickly to his tent and sent for Altene. She arrived in a flash, wearing a low cut pale green dress of soft swirling silk.

  “Where is Nena?” he asked.

  “I have not seen her, my lord. Would you like me to pleasure you?” Altene offered with a sensual smile, her lips remaining parted.

  “No. I want to find Nena. What do you mean you haven’t seen her? Where is she?”

  “I truly do not know, my lord.” Altene bowed her head and waited while Jarl threw open the tent flap and stepped outside to question the guard. She couldn’t make out the words, but heard the fear in the guard’s voice as he relayed something to Jarl.

  “And how long ago was that?” Jarl asked, his words very clear and very loud.

  The guard mumbled something in reply, and Altene heard Jarl swear. She waited for him to reenter but after a few minutes realized he was gone. She settled down to wait for him with a smile on her lips, her fingers caressing the soft furs. He’d be back soon enough.

  Jarl strode through the camp toward the prisoner compound. He fought the urge to run. The first of the new prisoners were just arriving and being processed. No one noticed Jarl in the midst of the hubbub. He made his way directly to the child’s tent. The child who he had ordered guarded for so long—until Nena had chosen him and there no longer appeared to be a need.

  The mother sat staring at the remains of a dead fire. She did not look up, even as he approached. Jarl swept open the tent flap and searched inside for the girl, but there was no sign of her, as deep down he had feared and known there wouldn’t be. “Where is she?” he demanded. Only then did the broken woman raise her eyes to meet his. The grief he saw there was all the answer he needed.

  Jarl did run now. An injured guard sauntering along the row of empty pens, snapped to attention on his arrival. “Sir,” he said.

  Jarl’s eyes scanned the mare’s empty pen. “Where is the gray mare?” he asked.

  “The mare?” The guard looked at the empty pen. “Well…uh…I don’t know. She was just there. I mean, before the other horses got out, and I had to go help round them up, she was there.”

  “Was Nena,” Jarl began, then stopped. “Was a Dor woman here?”

  “Yes,” the guard stuttered. “She came with a girl to brush the horse earlier today.” Seeing the rage on Jarl’s face he added, “but they left well before the other horses got loose. The mare was still there then; I’m sure of it.”

  Jarl’s quick perusal of the guard led him to the same conclusion Nena had reached earlier; the man would have been no match for her. If she could take Tryggr’s knife from him and cut off part of his ear, this man would have offered her little challenge. But none of that mattered to him. Better that he had found him dead and known that he had at least made an attempt to stop her, than to find him here now. He grabbed the man by his throat, furious with him for lying, and for letting her escape—wanting nothing more than to kill him himself. The man gurgled and thrashed in his grip. After a moment Jarl released him and shoved him away. The guard cowered on the ground, holding his throat and gasping for air.

  Jarl reined in his fury. “Find both Tryggr and Gunnar and send them to my tent. Make that the fastest thing you have ever done,” he commanded. The guard sprang to his feet and ran, showing no evidence of the injury that had kept him from being able to fight earlier that day.

  “You knew this was going to happen,” Jarl accused Altene as he reentered the tent.

  “What has happened, my lord?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “Don’t play stupid with me.” Jarl grabbed her by both arms and shook her. “Nena is gone and you knew this would happen.”

  “No, my lord,” she denied. “I thought being bloodsworn to the child would keep her here, and it did.”

  “The child is gone, too, but I’m sure you already knew that as well. Now, tell me what you know,” he threatened, his voice low and his grip still painfully tight on her arm.

  “You’re hurting me,” Altene whined.

  “It is nothing compared to what I will do to you if I’m unsatisfied with your answers. Do you understand me? Where is she?”

  “I know nothing,” Altene repeated. “She begged me many times to release her—from the first day you brought her, but I would never cross you. Then when she filled in her circle, she quit asking and I did not worry.”

  Jarl continued to stare at her unsatisfied. “You know something. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Altene was desperate. She had expected him to be upset about Nena’s absence, but had never expected his reaction to be this violent, or to have his temper directed at her. She had planned all day on how best to console him. Perhaps it was the battle fever. Whatever it was, it had Altene scrambling for something to tell him that would diffuse his rage. She latched onto the first idea that came to her frantic mind.

  “She came to me yesterday and mentioned her moon blood was late. She was worried she was pregnant.” It wasn’t a complete lie. They had at least discussed Nena becoming pregnant.

  Jarl’s expression was one of such shock, Altene proceeded in a rush, eager and sure that she was on the right path. He had been clear about how he felt about children. How had he worded it when she herself had suggested giving him a son—a crying babe was the last thing he wanted?

  “She asked me if there was an herb to shed the baby,” Altene lied. “There is, but I did not give it to her.”

  “Why did you not tell me this yesterday?”

  “You were going to battle. I did not wish for you to be upset or distracted. I could not bear for an enemy’s sword to find you because of my careless words. And I assumed she would tell you. If she did not, I would have, of course, told you once it was safe. As I am, now.”

  Thoughts exploded inside Jarl’s skull, each so huge it barely left room for the next. Was she truly pregnant? Carrying his son? With her strong blood it would have to be a son. Their son. But why had she run? She seemed happy.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Gunnar and Tryggr. Both men still wore their bloody armor.

  “Nena is gone.” Jarl explained their sudden summons. “Tryggr, find our best tracker and have him locate her trail. Have him begin his search to the south, where apparently the spare horses got out earlier today. Then ready a small contingent of men. We’re going after her. Gunnar, you are in charge until we return.”

  “How long will we b
e gone, so I know what supplies to take?” Tryggr asked, surprisingly without any argument.

  “As long as it takes. But we travel light,” Jarl said, then turned to Altene. “Change into whatever garb you can ride in. You’re coming with us and it will not be an easy pace.” He turned on his heel and went to re-saddle his stallion.

  Jarl stood next to his horse, on the south side of the rope picket fence, with a small group of men and Altene, waiting for the tracker’s results. He boiled with impatience and had to school himself repeatedly to remain still. He watched his stallion tearing off large mouthfuls of grass with his teeth, barely seeming to chew, before he took another bite. He knew the horse was hungry after the long day, and normally would have removed the stallion’s bridle so the bit would not interfere with his eating, but he wanted no delay when the tracker finally gave the signal—not even the few seconds it would take to put the horse’s bridle back on.

  Even now he wanted to mount up and ride—to be making some progress toward finding her, rather than sitting still. He knew Nena would ride south. That was home to her, and that was where his men had reported the horses had escaped. He was sure it was not a coincidence. Still he waited for the tracker’s confirmation. He could ill afford a mistake now. She already had a significant head start, and if he charged off in the wrong direction on a hunch, he might never find her.

  He glanced around with approval at the men Tryggr had assembled. They were his best fighters, though many were already clearly exhausted from the day’s battle. It could not be helped. The tracker whistled and motioned for them to follow. He had picked up Nena’s trail heading south.

  “Finally.” Jarl released an agitated breath. He remounted and rode after the tracker, holding his stallion to half a dozen lengths behind the other man’s horse so as not to interfere with his scrutiny. The tracker maintained the lead at a long trot, his eyes remaining fixed on the ground.

  They followed Nena’s trail southward for an hour at the same pace when suddenly the tracker slowed and held up his hand for them to stop. Jarl watched as the man followed tracks in a new direction for several hundred yards, then rode in large circles, before returning to give his report.

  “She’s turned due west,” the tracker said. “I don’t know why. There’s no change in the terrain ahead that she would have to go around, but she’s definitely heading west now, and her tracks don’t double back.”

  “That can’t be right. She’ll go south, like she has been,” Jarl disagreed.

  “I’m not mistaken, Jarl. The mare has a unique hoof print and an odd stride. Her back hooves are longer and narrower than a normal horse. And where most horses’ back feet step into the same tracks made by their front, her back feet fully overstep her front tracks by several inches. These are her tracks heading west,” the tracker reaffirmed. “And there are no human tracks splitting off, like they let the horse go to throw us off the trail.”

  Jarl did not doubt the last part. He knew Nena would never give up the mare.

  “Maybe she’s lost,” Tryggr suggested. “Got turned around. She is a woman after all.”

  Jarl shook his head. “She’s Teclan. She won’t be lost.” But where was she going?

  THE ESCAPE HAD been easier than Nena imagined possible. Other than the brief scare with the guard at the mare’s pen, everything had gone according to plan. The men left behind to guard the camp had been so preoccupied with the battle they were missing, and spread so thin, no one had noticed them. She and the girl had ridden south for an hour when Nena drew in rein. She could safely change directions here. Feeling the strong pull of her home to the south, she hesitated a long moment before turning the mare west. She knew what she had to do.

  She had known it from the moment she had seen the last X on Jarl’s map.

  For three days they had followed her rambling trail. First south, then west, then north. It made no sense to him, and that worried Jarl as much as anything. Where was she going? Was she lost as Tryggr had suggested? He couldn’t believe that, but her erratic direction changes were clear. Was she injured? None of his men, other than the pathetic excuse for a guard had reported even seeing her, and Jarl doubted that man could have injured her if he’d wanted to. And there had been no blood trail. But what else could explain it? Was she sick? Delirious? That would make him feel better about the why, but he knew it wasn’t true. She’d been perfectly lucid that morning, and there was no way she could have pulled off such an escape without her full faculties and planning. After riding hard all morning, the tracker stopped to deliver his latest report.

  “Jarl, we’ll soon be approaching the village on the Great Sea. It’s the last village we were to attack before port. If we proceed any further, we are likely to warn them of our presence before we move on them later with our full force.”

  “If she’s gone there, I think it’s too late for that already,” Jarl conceded.

  Tryggr drew in a deep exaggerated breath and stroked his red beard. “Hmm. What was it Gunnar said when we were making plans in front of her? Who can she tell?”

  “You were right, my friend. It appears this village is lost.” But Jarl was elated. He cared not a whit for the bounty Nena’s warning to this village would cost them. There were plenty of other villages. Now he knew where she was going and why. Now her path made sense. Most importantly, he also knew that once her mission there was complete, she would resume going south, back to her home in the Teclan stronghold.

  Jarl knew from the tracker, that even though he was pushing them hard, Nena was making better time and had increased her initial lead. But now that he could predict her next move, that changed everything. He thought back over his maps of the area. The village should be another half day’s ride to the northwest. If he headed straight west now, he would save that time, plus whatever time it took her to deliver her message and ride south. And from the village she would ride straight south, of that he was certain. Even with her head start, he had a chance now to cut her lead significantly—maybe even cut her off.

  Jarl ordered the two men with the slowest horses to continue following her trail to the northwest, so as not to lose her in case he was mistaken. Keeping the rest of the men, the tracker, Tryggr and Altene, Jarl spurred his stallion due west.

  It was late when he finally ordered them to stop. In his excitement and anticipation he would have ridden all night, but he knew the tracker could not perform in the dark. Starting with first light, Jarl would relinquish the lead back to the man. Following her trail was one thing—even a less experienced tracker could do that in most circumstances. If a few tracks were missed here or there, the trail was still easy to find. But to pick up a trail they were crossing over was a different story. If a few tracks were missed then, the entire trail could very well be passed over and lost. Jarl did not trust his own eyes with that responsibility.

  He shook out his furs under the stars, as all the men had done since they left the main camp. The weather was fair so tents were unnecessary, and the time it took to set them up and tear them down was precious time to sleep. Jarl heard light footsteps approaching from behind him and turned to find Altene. She smiled at him, though he could see she was weary.

  “Good evening, my lord.” She stepped closer to him, stopping just shy of touching him. The light pleasant scent of her floral fragrance filled the small space between them. The breeze lifted the soft material of her dress and Jarl felt it brush against his hand at his side. She tipped her face up to look at him and whispered. “Shall I pleasure you tonight?”

  Jarl looked at her thick braided hair and dark almond-shaped eyes in the moonlight and pictured Nena. How could he have ever thought they looked alike? Other than basic coloring, he could see virtually no similarities in them now at all. Jarl reached up and gripped both of Altene’s arms firmly above her elbows. Gently he pushed her back half a step and held her there.

  “Do not offer yourself to me again. You will not be returning to my furs. Whether I find Nena or not. There will be
nothing more between us. You need to look to your future and it is not with me.”

  Altene just stared at him.

  “Do you understand?” Jarl asked.

  She nodded.

  “Very well. Go get some rest. Tomorrow will be another long day.”

  Nena halted the mare in the middle of a clearing. Someone had been pacing them in the bushes for the past half mile, but had yet to reveal themselves. She knew by the lush vegetation that they were close to the Great Sea. She hoped it was someone from her aunt’s tribe, but in case it was not, she wanted to meet them in the open, where she had room to maneuver. She sat and waited.

  Within minutes a short heavyset warrior with a spear stepped from the bushes in front of her. He was too far away for her to see if he bore the wave tattoo of the Sea Tribe on his arm.

  “What is your business, woman?” he demanded.

  “Are you of the Sea Tribe?” she asked.

  “I am.”

  “I need to speak with your chief.”

  “Give me your message; I will relay it to him.”

  Nena was already irritable from lack of sleep, and she chafed at the delay. She didn’t have time for this. She pushed the mare forward. Using the height of being mounted to her advantage, she spoke in her most imperious tone. “Tell him the daughter of Meln has an important message for him. Yet you felt he did not need to hear it, so she is being detained outside the village and he will have to wait.”

  Another warrior with a horizontal scar across his forehead appeared from the bushes on her left in time to hear her last words. He glanced uneasily at the shorter man, and Nena knew she would not be kept waiting after all.

  “Come closer,” the short stocky one instructed.