A March of Woe (Overthrown Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  “Hello, good sir. My name is Aida, and this is my kindly uncle Hobart. We own a small farm where we raise sheep for wool and mutton. We’re traveling south for a reunion of kin in Daneshall, and need to acquire seats on a carriage.” The young woman threw him a crooked smile and a wink.

  “Sheep?” Brother Dalman nodded, amused and impressed with the girl’s quick mind and creativity.

  Aida nodded. “First things first, uncle. I believe we need to find you some different clothes.”

  Brother Dalman led the young woman down the lane. King’s Fall was a small town, no more than three dozen buildings, but with all traffic coming in and out of the capitol, its road stayed busy all through the seasons.

  “Did you know that this town was called King’s Rise before Djaron, the king…” he paused, unable to finish the thought. Djaron wasn’t dead. He was very much alive. The councilmen were dead, and many more would follow. How many more depended on how quickly he could get someone to believe him.

  “Yan, well, he was my…yeah, you kind of beat him up in the street. He was from the next town south of here. He’d always tell me that King’s Fall was where the Council’s forces routed the last of the king’s loyal supporters. They fell there, so the king’s fall. He also said that nothing good ever happened there. How’d he put it? ‘It’s the Capitol’s bunger, spewing the worst man has to offer into the southern lands’.”

  Brother Dalman couldn’t help but chuckle, and didn’t have the heart to argue. After all, she wasn’t exactly wrong.

  “Do you always speak your mind so readily?” he asked with a smile.

  She nodded, her pale, brown eyes youthful and defiant.

  “Well then, Aida the fierce, might I have my sack of coins?”

  Aida’s brow wrinkled, but she fished the small coin purse out of her dress, tossed it up in the air once, and dropped it into his hand. Brother Dalman untied it, and fished a few shiny silvers out.

  “First thing’s first. I need you to purchase me a change of clothes. Trousers, a shirt, and something warm for the road. Fur if they have it. I cannot handle the cold as well as I used to. I’ll wait here. Then, we’ll go look into meals and a room, and hopefully, tomorrow we will be on a carriage headed to the lakes,” he said.

  Aida reached up and wiggled her finger around in her ear, before pulling it out and wiping it off on her dress.

  “Child, that is disg…” he started, but thought better of it.

  Aida nodded, giggling, before running off down the lane and towards the shops of King’s Fall. Brother Dalman stepped back off the road and doubled back behind a small copse of scraggly bushes to wait, before favoring another spot nearby. It had a better view of the road coming in and out of town.

  Before he knew it, he was pacing back and forth, wearing a narrow track in the powdery snow. He troubled over what had happened prior to his leaving the capitol, taking advantage of the only quiet time he’d had since.

  He considered Aida. She was a marvel, really. Not only was she more intelligent and savvy than any of the other girls her age, but her time under the flesh monger’s thumb hadn’t seemed to permanently sour or taint her. Plus, she’d saved his life. Brother Dalman understood that he owed her a debt that would be very difficult to repay.

  His thoughts moved from the young woman to Kida. He constantly pictured his understudy alone on the road, and yet, his worry always turned dark. He imagined him stuck in Ban Turin, huddled behind the massive walls with no way to get out. After watching Djaron break the councilmen, he could only imagine what he had in store for everyone else. A horse’s whinny tore him from his meditations, followed quickly by the snow-muffled clomping of hooves.

  Brother Dalman pushed into the small copse of trees, willing his body to become one with the snowy branches. He pulled his heavy robe up over his mouth and nose, to mask his foggy breath.

  A single rider appeared over the small hillock, passing between the swaying, glowing lanterns. They were the first travelers he’d seen coming south. It was likely they too had come from Ban Turin.

  His eyes dropped to the snowy road, but more specifically, their meandering but solitary tracks. His heart raced as the rider approached the spot where he’d parted with Aida, and the obvious tracks leading right to him.

  “You old fool,” he whispered, but breathed a sigh of relief a moment later when the riders charged past without slowing and disappeared into town.

  He could tell very little about them in the darkness. Only that they rode a strong, black horse, and were heavily bundled in a traveling cloak and furs. They didn’t look overly suspicious. Doubt instantly crept in. Would he be able to tell just by looking at them?

  He stepped back out of the copse of trees, turned, and stifled a curse. Aida stood next to a fir tree, a bundle of clothes tucked under one arm.

  “You almost startled the life out of me. Announce yourself, girl, before you make a man soil his britches,” he groused.

  “Apologies, Hobart, but you didn’t say you were to be hiding in the trees. Besides, how would it look if I were to be walking out into the trees, hollering yer name. ‘Hobart? Oh, Hobart?’” Aida’s face scrunched up into an uncharacteristic scowl, her eyes narrowing to slits as she pretended to call his name.

  Brother Dalman reached up and scratched the stubble covering his chin. He was overly gruff with her, and instantly felt the old fool.

  “I…I, thought it best if no one else saw me, until after I changed, so I doubled back here. My apologies, I shouldn’t have spoken out of anger.”

  Aida eyed him, her expression still hard.

  “There was a rider on the road. They came from the north. Did you see them?”

  “I did,” Aida said with a nod.

  “Did they see you?”

  The young woman glanced back towards the small town, before tossing the bundle into his arms. “Of course they didn’t see me. Lighten up, Brother,” she said, her scowl lifting into a comical smirk.

  Brother Dalman caught the clothes, but didn’t move.

  “Best be changing. I know you seen me in the bare, but for a bit of modesty I’ll leave ya’ here and wait by the sign just up the way,” Aida said, kicking the snow and turning to leave.

  The monk pulled the bundle apart, his hands shaking, his normally solid constitution crumbling a bit. He wanted to remain strong for Aida, to be the unflappable presence he’d been for so long, but the strain, cold, and lack of sleep were starting to take a toll. Changing clothes behind a copse of trees, in the dark and cold, was something he would have found great fun in his earlier thaws. Now, the idea felt as ludicrous as wearing a dress.

  “Wait,” he said, catching Aida just as she was rounding the trees. “These boots. They are fur lined and of a fine make. How did you manage them with just a few silver?”

  “Oh, piss, Brother. You think a girl raised on the streets and sold to a flesh monger doesn’t know how to get things? You’ve walked all this way in those…those slippers. The way you’re walking now, I’m guessing I’ll be carrying you before too long. You needed the boots, sir, so I got ‘em.”

  He fumbled with words for a moment, torn between his staunch and typically unyielding ideology, and the realization that had he given her the money to buy them, they likely wouldn’t have been able to afford a room, or the carriage to Silma beyond that. He kneaded the supple leather and soft fur between his fingers, a small but guilty smile playing at his lips. Aida nodded and tromped out of sight.

  Once she was gone, Brother Dalman pulled on the trousers and shirt, before slipping out of his worn slippers, into the wool stockings and finally the plush boots. He felt a thrill course through him as he changed clothes in the wooded clearing, as if he were a much younger man.

  Brother Dahlman tied his shirt, donned the fur vest, and pulled on the knitted cap. He bent low and scooped his robes out of the snow, his legs protesting and aged knees popping. He started folding the garments, so easily falling back into the routine he used to end
every day, but paused.

  “You old fool,” he grunted, before stuffing the bundle into the nearest pine tree, “they are only robes. Anyone that knows is likely looking for a monk. Carrying around a monk’s robes is just plain foolish.”

  Aida stood, her back to him, her hips swaying in a smooth, dancelike motion as she waited. She turned as he approached, his boots crunching in the snow. His toes were already tingling. Somehow, he’d become accustom to the dull, throbbing of the cold.

  “Throttle the fish! Now you look proper and warm, Hobart!”

  Brother Dalman grunted, falling into step beside the young woman, amused but slightly uncomfortable with her lewd comment.

  “Aida, you need not talk like that anymore. You are free from that life,” he said, clearing his throat.

  Aida cocked her head to the side, swishing her dress from side to side, before barking out a loud laugh. “Piss, Hobart! Fish throttlin’ ain’t pleasurin’ talk. It’s something the fisherman folk say…means taming an unruly catch. You know? Pull in a line with a wriggling fish on it, and ‘pop’,” she said suddenly, smacking her palms together.

  Brother Dalman’s face flushed and he instantly felt the old fool. Aida playfully punched him in the arm and danced forward. He followed her across the road and onto the raised, plank walkway spanning the ditch. She was rather pretty, he realized, now that he stopped to notice. With kinked, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and fair, lightly freckled complexion, she was the kind of girl that would have won his attention when he was younger. She was a far cry from the dirty, ratty-haired, mostly naked creature he first saw in the capitol.

  He eyed her sideways, but dropped his gaze to the ground as soon as she noticed. Brother Dalman tried to take stock in his situation.

  “Be mindful of who you speak to,” he said, quietly. “We must consider that not everyone here is friendly.

  Aida nodded, but did not respond. She was savvy, and clever. Attributes learned and honed from a childhood spent amongst flesh mongers, pickpockets, and vagrants, no doubt.

  They walked past several shops, the windows casting warm lantern light onto the street. A group on horseback passed by, heading north. He turned his head as they neared, pulling Aida to his side as they pretended to peruse the shop’s wares through the window. They continued on once the riders had passed.

  They passed several buildings before coming to an alleyway. A creaking sign swung in the breeze a short distance up the shadowy thoroughfare, promising soft beds and hot food. The door opened smoothly, basking his cold face with warm air, a complicated mix of candlewax, wood fire, and food greeting him.

  Aida tromped inside, and he closed the door behind them. They walked into a common room. A small desk sat to their left, a large, leather bound ledger covering it. An ancient, twisted coat tree sat to their right, the aged wood bending under the weight of heavy, fur-lined garments. A sizable hearth sat straight ahead, a mismatched collection of chairs and other seats clustered around it. All but a few of the chairs were in use, their occupants sleeping, talking quietly, or puffing on pipes.

  “Did I hear the door?” an elderly lady asked, appearing through a small door behind the desk.

  Brother Dalman smiled, his face cold and stiff. “Yes, madam, my niece and I are in need of soft beds and a roof over our heads for the night. Some hot food and mulled wine would go leagues towards warming our bones, to be sure,” he said, trying his best to play a part.

  “There’s lots of you folk on the road right now, so I’m fit to burst. I’ve got one room available, but there’s a leak in the roof. Ice and snow all over one of the beds. You can have the room at half price, but one of ya’s is gonna have to take to the floor. Otherwise, there’s a tavern just south ‘o town a bit. They have rooms to rent,” the elderly woman said.

  “No worries, Uncle Hobart. You need the rest. A bedroll will serve me just fine. It’ll be worthy of the coin just to get out of that damnable wind!” Aida said, hooking a hand under his arm and cutting in.

  The old woman smiled, a strand of hair falling out of her bun and into her face. “That’ll be five copper for the night then. Another copper for a hot meal and a glass of wine each.”

  “Very reasonable,” Brother Dalman said as he fished out his coin purse and dropped the money into the woman’s hand. She turned and pulled a large, iron key off a series of hooks behind her.

  “There’s still a bit of sweepin’ to do, and I’ll make up a roll on the floor. You two warm yourselves by the fire for a bit. I’ll come and fetch you when the room is presentable for you,” she said, shaking the key as she spoke, and then shuffled up the stairwell.

  * * * *

  Once she was out of earshot, the silver-haired monk turned, moved in closer to Aida, and whispered, “I will go and acquire passage to Silma. Stay here. I will be back promptly.” Before she could argue, he turned and swept out the door.

  Aida turned back to the common room, rubbing her thin hands together. She fought down a stab of panic, the idea of being alone at the moment a frightening prospect. Truth be told, she hadn’t really been alone since her family sold her to the flesh monger. There was always someone there, guiding, controlling, or using her. As much as she yearned to be on her own, it terrified her at the same time.

  The stories the old monk shared with her on the road sounded like children’s fanciful tales. Not unlike some of the men she’d been forced to entertain. They were all heroes, besting magnificent beasts, saving entire towns, or stumbling across treasures unlike any other. She never understood why men paying to be with someone they viewed as beneath them needed to boast.

  Unfortunately, Aida knew the monk wasn’t like those men. He wasn’t trying to impress her. But she didn’t believe him because he was honest, or a convincing storyteller. She believed him because she’d seen it with her own eyes – the riots, the soldiers slaughtering people at the gate, and the woman with the piercing, green eyes. Something truly horrible was happening in Ban Turin, and according to the monk, it would follow them. So they needed to get to the lakes, where his understudy would be waiting for him, and get help.

  She walked over to the fire, settling before the hearth to warm herself, but a moment later a blast of cold air rushed in as the door opened again. That was fast, she thought, turning. She took several steps back towards the door before she realized that it wasn’t the monk that had entered, but a single cloaked figure. They looked oddly similar to the rider she’d seen entering town from the north, but then again most people bundled up in the cold season looked alike. How could she truly know?

  Caught out in the open between the fireplace and the desk, Aida turned on her heels, before hastily dropping into one of the open seats. Fighting back a stab of panic, Aida pulled the kerchief from around her neck, gathered up her hair and tied the garment in place, covering her head. She turned back to the fire, just as someone spoke.

  “You’re blocking all the heat.”

  “Piss! Apologies,” Aida said in a start and hopped up, not realizing that she’d almost settled down on top of the young man.

  “You’re funny, please, take no worries! With that cold wind and snow out there, I can imagine you need some warmth right about now. Fresh off the road?” he asked.

  Aida nodded, half-turning, watching the old innkeeper make her way down the stairs to greet the cloaked figure. She turned back to the young man, his unfocused gaze still lingering on the fire. He was tall and thin, with strong shoulders and large hands. His eyes were a dark blue-green, reminiscent of the ocean waves that used to wash up shells by her childhood home. The thought of home brought a host of other, more unpleasant memories bubbling to the surface – her mother red with fever just before passing, the Earl’s men throwing her father in shackles, and the flesh mongers bidding on her and her sister like livestock at auction. She reached up and fingered the shell necklace hanging around her neck. Her last little piece of home.

  “Hobart, he’s my uncle that is, him and I work a small farm
, raising sheep for mutton and wool. We’re making our way from the capitol, south to Daneshall, to a gathering of our kin,” she said, absently trying to shake away those troubling thoughts.

  “Father and I are traveling south as well. We’ll spend a time in the lakes, and then hopefully, head west towards the Reach. Or, that’s his plan at least. It’s funny how this blasted winter snow can change those for you,” the young man offered, still not making eye contact.

  Aida forced a smile, waiting for the young man to look her way, but he never seemed to take his eyes off the fire. She found it a bit unsettling, and suddenly wondered if she looked or smelled off. She flinched, pulling her clothes in tighter to her body, struggling to keep her thoughts from wandering. Where was her sister now? Was she still alive? Did they beat and starve her, until she begged to please men for coin, too?

  “Are you both originally from Ban Turin, or is your farm elsewhere?” he asked, breaking the lull in their conversation.

  Aida silently cursed her loose tongue. Why did she tell him they were traveling from the capitol? Damn her. Piss, piss, piss. She’d let thoughts of home and her sister muddle her mind. But it was too late now. She wouldn’t be able to lie her way out of that blunder.

  “From there, uh? No…my family’s from far west, Tidesburg. Fisher-folk and crabbers, mostly. My uncle Hobart, he’s a traveler by trade and regulars the capitol.”

  “A merchant and farmer?” the young man said, nodding, his eyes dropping from the fire, before flitting over to her. “Your uncle sounds like a busy man, Miss.”

  Aida smiled, but again he refused to meet her gaze. Or, he couldn’t. The realization struck her hard, just as a floorboard creaked behind them.

  “Please call me Aida,” she said, leaning in closer, before whispering, “Can you see?”