by Tony Roberts
The officer threw his gauntlets down onto a cushion, took off his helmet to reveal thinning brown hair, and unfastened his cloak, rolling it up roughly and throwing it into a cushioned armchair in one corner. He flopped into another chair and planted his long booted feet on a small table in front of him. “I’m Captain Wrekin, 1st Regiment of the Blue Division. I have a problem with you two.”
“Which is, sir?”
“Which is, young lady, that I don’t want to have to look after any prisoner, especially now. We’re about to besiege Portris, and probably engage the Royal Army that is, apparently, marching up the river from Gorradan in a few days. I want to be in the action, leading my men in a glorious battle that’ll determine the future of this kingdom, yet here I am playing keeper to two children. So what do I do?”
Faer looked at Markus who glanced back at her.
Wrekin drew in a deep breath. “I can keep you prisoner, but that means I’ll have to interrogate you, feed you, report you to my superiors, paperwork, wasting time, making sure you don’t escape to wreak havoc amongst the army here; you know the rigmarole, or maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re too young to understand these things. There again I could let you go, and collect an almighty telling off from my superiors. I’d probably get demoted or arrested and I don’t want that.”
He sighed deeply. “Then there’s a third option. I could kill you.”
Markus sucked in his breath. “Sir! No, please don’t do that!”
“Be quiet,” Wrekin said, pointing at him. “You are prisoners and mine to do with as I see fit.”
Faer looked at Markus, then stood straighter. Wrekin looked at her, his head to one side. “You want to say something, Faerowyn?”
“Yes sir. Let Markus go. He’s no danger to anyone; he has a family in the village back home. He’s an innocent villager who agreed to accompany me on my quest to find Kaltinar. It would be wrong to kill him.”
She was aware Markus was staring at her, his mouth open.
Wrekin sat up straighter. “A noble gesture, young lady. What about you? Do you face death so calmly?”
“I don’t wish to die, sir, but I have no family. I am responsible for Markus being here, so I must accept the punishment for the two of us. I will willingly be your slave if you allow Markus to go. He is no spy; he is no agent of the king. He’s a simple fishing villager.”
“Faer, no!” Markus shouted, then cried out as a guard cuffed him round the head.
Wrekin steeped his fingers and pushed them against his lips. He got up and walked round to face Faer, looking down at her. She held his gaze. He stroked her hair. “Would you really be my slave? Willingly?”
“Y-Yes, sir.”
Wrekin stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, looking at the way the skin flexed and returned after his fingers had passed. She closed her eyes, heart beating rapidly. He stepped to one side, his fingers stroking her throat, then neck as he went around the back of her. He saw her clench her fists as he continued round, his fingertips lightly tracing the jawline on the other side of her face, then ended touching her chin. He stepped away, thinking deeply. “You will make some man very happy, Faerowyn. Not only are you incredibly attractive, but you have a noble self-sacrificing manner. This is something so rare that it surprises me, especially in one so young.”
Faer opened her eyes, trembling slightly.
“You are no spy, neither of you. To think the king has fallen to such desperate means by employing a couple of blundering youths is laughable. Yet to possess a sword such as this means you must be special in some way. It is not a commoner’s sword. I know swords, and this was made carefully, specially, expertly. No ordinary smith crafted this one. Even elf steel blades don’t come as good as this. The two I’ve seen before were good, very good, but not as good as this. There’s something special about you, young lady. I will have to think on your fate further. Take them to the holding pen.”
Faer and Markus were grabbed and marched swiftly to a wooden fenced-off pen where a few other prisoners sat morosely. They looked up as the two new captives were brought to the pen and thrust in, stumbling until they regained their balance.
They sat down together, their backs against the fence, and brought their knees up to their chests. “We’re in a lot of trouble,” Faer said calmly. “I hope he doesn’t decide to kill us.”
“Faer – you didn’t have to say that in there.”
She looked up at him. “Yes I did. You’re here because of me. You’ve faithfully followed me, right into this mess. It’s my fault. I couldn’t endure it if you died because of me. I’d willingly become his if it meant you could go free.”
“Faer…” Markus shook his head, not knowing what to say.
“Hold me,” she said, putting her head against his arm. “I’m scared.”
“Yeah, know what you mean,” he replied, and put his arms round her, holding her tight, her hair against his face. They stayed like that until deep in the afternoon. Then a group of soldiers came with orders to take them back to Captain Wrekin. Wearily they got up and stoically put up with the rough manhandling, the enforced marching to the tent and the violent method of pushing them inside.
Wrekin turned, his shirt unbuttoned down to his lower chest. “Ah there you are. I’ve done a great deal of thinking and I’ve come to a decision. I don’t want my betters asking too many questions, and from what I have heard today a battle is not far off. So in many ways my decision has been made.
“I’m going to have the pair of you executed. Easiest way out, really.”
Both said nothing; there was nothing to say. Faer felt numb. What could she do? A whole army to battle? No, it was ludicrous to think they could battle their way free of this. They were turned about by the guards and marched off through the camp. She saw Markus’ stricken face and blurted out she was sorry, then got a whack on the head.
The rest of the journey through the camp was a blur to her, but they came to a halt by the river and made to kneel, leaning over the bank. One of the guards pushed their heads forward, explaining it would be best that way as their heads would then fall into the river, making it a clean execution. Their bodies would be stripped and then thrown in after.
Behind them the army was packing up, making ready for the last of their night marches to their final positions. Captain Wrekin came up, Faer’s sword in his hand, dismissing most of his unit. He walked behind them. “Fitting really, using your sword to finish this. No hard feelings, of course; it’s not personal.”
There came a long pause, and Faer shut her eyes, shaking. Was this how it was all to come to an end, like this? Would she now be with her mother and father? What happened when you died? Her hand snaked out and caught Markus’ hand and they held on together. She thought she heard him muttering a prayer to the sea god but she couldn’t be sure. Please do it now, I don’t want to be kept waiting like this, she thought.
The sound of marching men faded behind them. Probably waiting until its clear to dispose of us – it sounds messy. Will it hurt? I hope not. Please hurry up – it’s torture waiting like this! Nothing.
Panting, fighting to prevent herself from throwing up, she opened her eyes. The river flowed on unconcerned. Just upriver their boat rested, tied to the tree, their packs visible in it. Packs? They had been taken out when they had been taken captive. She frowned, glanced at Markus who was still praying, his eyes shut, and she turned her head slowly, expecting the sharp bite of her blade any moment.
Her sword was resting against the trunk of a tree five feet away. There was nobody else there.
She turned wildly, swallowing. No, they were alone. Markus opened his eyes, wondering why she had turned round. “Markus,” she gasped, disbelief in her voice. Faer got up and looked in the direction of the marching army. They had been let go. She caught her breath, turned to face Markus who was shaking his head trying to make sense of it all. Flinging her arms round him she burst into tears of relief. “Oh, we’re not going to die!”
&nb
sp; “Yeah,” he grunted, holding onto her in confusion. “Why?”
She pulled away, wiping her eyes. “Don’t know; maybe he had to make it look like he was going to kill us. Maybe he told his superiors that to clear the situation.” She laughed through her tears. “Oh I can’t believe it! Markus!”
They embraced again, then she picked up her sword, placed it on her back and led her friend to the waiting boat. Everything was there. They got in and sat there for a short while, looking at one another. They laughed, cried and tried to come to terms that they would, after all, live.
Finally the rope was untied from the tree and the boat drifted out into the river. Markus drew in a deep breath and began pulling on the oars. “Port a touch,” he instructed Faer. She went the wrong way initially then remembered to turn left – port – she had to push the tiller to the right. Luckily she saw that before she sent them crashing into the far bank.
“I’m surprised he didn’t take my sword,” she said after a while. “He looked as if he really liked it.”
“Me too. I suppose he felt he wouldn’t be able to keep it; it’s not standard army is it? I’m willing to bet his superiors would have taken it eventually.”
“Ah, yes, you’re probably right,” she said, looking at the sword in its sheath across her lap. One of the best blades ever made? Wrekin had more or less stated that. Her father had been of royal elfin blood. Maybe it was a royal elfin steel sword? What did that make its value in that case? What made it so special though? What picked it out from all other swords, what exactly did it do to make it noteworthy? She looked ahead at the rising land before them, the tree-covered hills that stood ahead. If and when they got to Kaltinar, maybe she would learn.
TEN
Five days they battled upriver, five days of Markus straining and sweating, enduring blisters and sores, aching shoulders and straining back. Finally he collapsed and panted that he could not go on any further.
Faer guided them into the bank, now a boulder-strewn undefinable line. Some places the river was there, in others it was not. The watercourse was shallow and at times they’d had to drag the boat up rocky rapids, straining almost to the point of exhaustion. Faer felt as if her shoulder joints had separated, but she bit back the pain and soldiered on. It wasn’t as if she’d done any rowing; Markus had flatly refused to let her.
The boat wasn’t going anywhere; it was wedged in between two large angular black rocks, so they crawled out of the vessel they now saw as a torture chamber and made it on all fours to the narrow grassy area before the cliffs that the river ran through.
They lay panting and groaning for some time on their backs, before Faer sat up, resting her back against a rock and peering across the scenery. It was spectacular, no doubt about it, but wild and hazardous.
The river, for one, snaked this way and that, sometimes a foot deep, sometimes ten. It was sometimes no wider than the length of the boat, then suddenly it would widen to thirty feet or more. It was hemmed in by mountains, sheer rising towers and pinnacles, slabs and folds, all covered in a dense forest. Birds circled above them, catching the thermals, circling lazily high in the sky. It had rained on two days, been cloudy on another two, but today it was warm and clear.
There were fish in the river; she’d seen them leaping on occasions. Freshwater fish she didn’t know the names of, or whether they were edible or not. Birds… they were carrion feeders, she was sure of that. They had that certain look to them the world over. Big sweeping wings, stretched out straight, frilled edges, lazily circling looking for prey. There had been no settlements for two days now. She looked at Markus. “You alright?”
“No,” he said wearily. “I’m exhausted. Don’t think I can go on another step.”
She knelt by his side and looked at his hands. They were a mess. Blistered, bleeding, peeling. She sucked in her breath. “Oh Markus, you should have stopped before!”
He groaned, unable to open his eyes. His whole body felt as if it was on fire. He’d never felt so tired in his life before. He obediently sat up when she asked him to. He felt his shirt being unbuttoned and removed, and he felt the breeze against his skin.
“We need to clean up, wash and change these clothes,” she said. “We also need to get your hands looked at. Don’t go away.”
“Where would I go?” he asked, trying to make light of it.
Faer took his shirt which was smelling terribly of sweat and dunked it in the river. She soaked it thoroughly and then returned. “Sit still.” She wiped his sweat-soaked body, using the shirt, and repeated it a few times. Finally she soaked it again and draped it flat over a stone in the sun.
She then peeled off her own jacket and chainmail, and her undergarments. Dressed only in her loin piece, she washed her clothes, washing her own body. Markus looked away. He was too tired to react to the sight of her naked breasts but he felt it best not to gape all the same. Faer kept her back to him while she did this, not caring really about showing him her back. She was unsure about her breasts – some women she’d seen had large ones, others small. Hers were on the small side. Was that normal for a half elf? The air was warm against her skin but it felt fresher, better.
She rummaged around the boat and found a spare chemise for herself and put it on. It hid her modesty which was fine. Her legs were bare but she felt that fine in the circumstances. She brought both packs, straining under the weight, and placed them at his feet. “Let me see if I can bind your palms. They look bad.”
She looked for a small amount of cloth and tore a few strips when she finally unearthed one. Markus looked over at her and realised he could see straight down her chemise. He gulped and looked away again. Faer caught the sound, looked up, looked down and pursed her lips. She shook her head and soaked the strips in water. Then she came up to him, sat down and took one hand in hers. “No rowing for you for three days at least.”
“So what do we do? We can’t stay here!”
She ignored that for a moment, wrapping his palms in the bindings, trying to be as careful as possible. He hissed in pain. She bit her lip when he did. Eventually it was done and she split the strip into two, looped one end round his hand and then tied the two ends together. She repeated it with his other hand. “Right, now let’s see your shoulders and back. Turn around.”
Markus groaned some more and rolled over onto his elbows. At least they didn’t hurt too much. He found though that the blood forced up to his hands caused them more pain so he slumped onto his chest with a sigh of relief. Faer examined his back. Muscles showed where a few days back they may not have; the rowing seemed to have toned his body up a little. She found another piece of cloth, wet it in the river, then knelt again by his side and began rubbing his shoulders, using the cloth. Markus sighed and shut his eyes. “Oh, that’s good, Faer.”
She smiled and continued, kneading his taut shoulders. Her mother had taught her how to relieve pain and tension, for many had been the days she had ended up in such a state thanks to the cruelty of the villagers, and her mother had shown how to ease the tension by massaging the muscles.
Faer now gently probed his muscles. It was the first male body she had ever touched so she went a little hesitantly. The back was very tight so she straddled his lower back, settled, and then ran her thumbs up his spine, working to the neck. Markus groaned loudly. “Oh by the gods – that’s wonderful! How did you learn to do this?”
“Mother.” She concentrated, watching how his back flexed, and feeling how his muscles reacted. Then she began to work out from the spine, running her thumbs over his shoulder blades. The sounds of muffled pleasure told her she was doing things right. Another hard press of the thumbs and a roll up the spine was accompanied by a rising groan. She grinned. “Don’t like this much, then, Markus.”
“Oh no,” his voice came, strained. “Hideous.”
A little while later she slipped down over his buttocks and rubbed his lumbar region. “Mmmm,” he moaned. “Don’t stop!”
She chuckled. “You’r
e just soft clay in my hands.”
“Oh yes – can’t you feel me fighting it?”
“Making a valiant task of it, Markus.” She then ran her hands down his thighs and calves which were equally tense. Pushing for five days whilst rowing would make them rock hard and she had to work for some time to soften them. Finally the arms. She knelt again and laid one arm across her upper legs and began to rub and squeeze the forearms and then above the elbow. She reckoned that much more of this and he’d be lying there with an inane grin on his face, dribbling down his chin.
Her hands were aching by the time she finished and she sat down with a sigh. “A reward for being a hero for five days, you madman.”
“Oh my life,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Tell me I’ve died and am lying in the arms of a goddess.”
“Not quite,” Faer chuckled. “You’re lying in pain on the riverbank somewhere in the mountains south of Gorradan somewhere near the Blade Mountain, with a tired and hungry half-elf for company.”
“Does this tired half-elf want me to do anything for her?”
“No.”
Markus looked up sharply at the tone in her voice.
She smiled. “Sorry, I meant that no, you’d undo just what I’ve worked hard at. You relax, lie there and let me get you dinner.”
“And you – you must be in pain. I don’t want you to exhaust yourself on my part.”
Faer put a finger to his lips. “Hush. You’ve worked enough for the two of us. Rest, you deserve it.”
She stood up. Markus was disappointed it hadn’t been her lips rather than her finger. He watched as she stepped carefully over or onto rocks, another piece of cloth in her hands. She stood on top of two rocks, her legs straight, her head scanning the water. Markus’ gaze was drawn to those legs and he puffed out his cheeks. What part of her wasn’t attractive?
She placed a stone into the cloth and began twirling it over her head. A dark shape was lazily making its way just under the surface of the river. She waited, twirling faster and faster. Her experience of hunting shallow pool marine life back in Selanic made her aware of the refracting properties of water. Things were not where they appeared to be. Also water stopped the force of any projectile within a hand’s length so it had to be right at the surface for her shot to work.