by Emmet Moss
“That leaves the packs and maps. We currently have proper hiding spots,” Leoric stated. “It seems that we have little excuse not to attempt this escape. I say we go the first night after the new moon; its light will guide us and the weather should be slightly warmer.”
“Soon then?” Cara nodded.
“We have some extra time to prepare. Let’s finish planning the route we’ll take with these newest maps,” Auric suggested. “With luck, we’ll not need to risk meeting another time.”
It was early morning before they slipped back across the fields and returned to the camp. As Leoric pulled the thin blankets over his shivering body, he knew that the gods had nothing to do with their escape plan. If it was to succeed, it would be due to their effort and careful preparation and not because of any supernatural favour.
Two days later, Leoric witnessed the arrival of a new group of ragged prisoners. He had been working in a light rain for the better part of the morning when he spied a goblin patrol off in the distance. The field workers in the compound had often seen small chains of disheveled prisoners trudging off in the distance, but had received no new captives since Leoric and his band had staggered into the camp.
There were eight new arrivals, six men and two women. The men wore unkempt beards and moved with the subtle confidence of trained soldiers. Although they had inevitably endured hardships during their march to captivity, their bodies maintained the obvious strength and endurance that came with skilled training and combat.
The women had fared far worse. One of the two, an elderly woman with greyish white hair, was on the verge of collapse. Leoric nodded in approval as he watched two of the men gently carried her along the dirt path towards the camp’s old farmhouse. The newest captives were ushered into the house, the goblin guards obviously impatient to put an end to their escort mission. With loud curses and a few heavy blows from the guards, the eight prisoners disappeared from view.
Leoric fought a rising red haze of rage, the very same feeling that always rose within him when witnessing such wanton cruelty towards others. Benoit’s light touch to his elbow helped to dissipate the boiling anger that coursed through his veins.
As evening fell, the men and women of the camp returned home for supper and rest. The goblins had increased their working hours, as the days had lengthened with the arrival of spring and warmer weather.
The large common room was louder than usual as many spoke with the newest prisoners and sought news from the lands to the southwest. Leoric was pleased to see Angvald and Cara speaking quietly with one of the recent arrivals.
Their companion was tall and lean, standing almost shoulder to shoulder with Angvald. His arms bore the scars of war, and there was a smattering of aged grey hair sprinkled throughout his dark beard. The man’s bright blue eyes scanned the crowd as he spoke with Angvald, and kept watch over all the activity in the room.
Leoric interrupted the conversation and reached across the table, taking the man’s proffered hand in his own firm grip. “Well met, friend. My name is Leoric D’Athgaran,” he said in a welcoming tone.
“Captain Finn Callum, Fortress Kelamyre,” the man responded with a nod. “I understand you were stationed at Darkenedge?” he added.
“Aye, Angvald and I both,” Leoric answered. “As far as I have seen, we are the only captive soldiers hailing from that border fort.”
“Excluding Drake of course,” Angvald grumbled.
“Drake?” Finn inquired with a raised eyebrow.
“He was a friend of ours, and a good man at that,” Cara replied, her hand subconsciously moving to her stomach and gently rubbing the area. “He was murdered at winter’s end by the bastards who keep us here and by one of our own,” she finished with contempt.
“That Joram fellow you were mentioning, Angvald?” Finn asked, a dark flush briefly crossing his features.
“You would be well warned to keep any of your men from following suit with that spawn of evil,” the big man replied with a frown.
“Are you all from the same company then?” Leoric asked.
“Aye,” the soldier nodded. “I was just telling your friends that our scouting party was ambushed a little over two days out from the keep. Our Marshal had a feeling something wasn’t right when dispatches were cut off between Darkenedge and our own fort.”
“Sounds somewhat familiar to our own gaffe.” Leoric mused. “Marshal Aram took offense to the new brashness the goblins were displaying. He sent our party out as a reminder that we still ruled the wilderness.”
Finn shook his head dejectedly. “And it seems on both occasions it was the goblins who asserted their authority.”
“How fare your men, Captain?” Cara asked.
“All things considered, they have held up rather well. There is a high level of trust between us,” the borderman replied. “We lost four of our own on the journey, but our spirits are still high. Our goal was to survive, and now that we have, I aim to start planning our next move.”
“Physically though, how are your soldiers?” Cara clarified.
“We’re a good ways from any escape attempt, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he replied hesitantly. “We’re malnourished and beaten down. We won’t be fully recovered before spring’s end, at least not all of us.”
No one said anything and an uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Leoric looked at both Angvald and Cara, the same unspoken question was on their minds. Could they trust a man they had just met? Granted, Finn Callum had said all the right things and had acted honourably, but a wrong move at this critical juncture and they could jeopardize their entire escape. He’s a stranger! Leoric thought. Everything rested upon this one decision. Were he to gravitate towards Joram, regardless of his current apprehension towards the man, they would be killed.
As the silence lengthened, Leoric realized that Cara and Angvald were looking to him for guidance. How had he become the leader of their small band of rebels? Well, gods be damned… let’s try it, he decided.
“Are you a light sleeper, Finn?” Leoric finally asked. Catching the confused expression on the new captive’s face, he chuckled. “If not, you’ll need one of us to come wake you this evening. We have much to speak about, and although I’m reluctant to sneak out once more, it might be our only chance.”
The Kelamyre soldier responded with a beaming smile. “I sleep like a soldier, D’Athgaran, just tell me the time and place.”
Having been caught unawares once since his arrival at the prisoner camp, Leoric had learned to sleep lightly. Even with Angvald’s protection, he was determined to never be put in such a defenseless position again. His close brush with death at Joram’s hands had initiated a now constant threat to his life.
Now, a dark figure loomed over him as he lay unmoving in his bed. He had detected the intruder’s presence the moment they had crept into the room. It was the middle of the night and he had only just returned from his short meeting with Finn Callum. Tensing his muscles, he bolted upwards just as a hand was coming down across his mouth. A sharp gasp of surprise escaped from the intruder as he wrapped his arms tightly around the attacker’s neck.
Shocked, Leoric realized immediately that he was holding a woman’s slight frame in his rigid arms. Dropping the assailant to the floor, he caught a glimpse of Kieri’s face peeking from beneath a dark hood. Casting about to see if anyone had been disturbed by the brief struggle, he grabbed her by the hand and quickly led her out of the dormitory and into the empty common room. Once safely away from the others, he turned to her with a bewildered expression.
“I’m sorry, Leoric,” she stammered. “I… I… just needed to talk. I didn’t mean to startle you, I swear.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Kieri! You know what could happen should you be caught,” he whispered fiercely.
She clasped his hand and pulled him towards the outer door. Leoric fought to
control his mounting suspicion that this was some sort of trap. If this was indeed a sick ploy by Joram to ambush him, with Kieri being nothing more than a pawn, then Leoric was determined to kill the man that very night with his bare hands.
Preparing himself for the worst, Leoric stepped outside and into the brisk, fresh air of the spring night. Glancing across the compound, he breathed a sigh of relief as it appeared to be empty. Smiling at Kieri, he continued to follow her into the nearest barn.
Tears glistened down her face as she stopped a few feet inside the barn. As Leoric reached to comfort her, he was startled; the woman’s whole body shook uncontrollably. Pulling her into his strong arms, he held her tight.
“Kieri… shh… it’s alright. I’m here,” he murmured.
“I’m so scared, Leoric. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. He threatens me daily and I don’t know if I can take it any longer. I’m so scared!” she sobbed into his shoulder.
Her body continued to tremble violently and Leoric worried about her state of mind as she began to sob incoherently. Placing a steady hand under her soft chin, he guided her head up to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, Kieri, you need to focus. You’re safe here in my arms, safe for the moment, so stay with me.” The look of pure terror and pain that stared back at him shook him to the core. Such terror… he thought. Her behaviour set his teeth on edge and fueled the very same rage that he had, on more than one occasion, barely contained. Somehow, in some fashion, Joram would pay for what he had done to this woman.
“Kieri, stay with me,” he pleaded as another series of tremors swept through her tiny frame.
“I’m so alone… I need help,” she stammered as her body collapsed into his embrace.
Help.
The word reverberated in his tired mind. Angvald had voiced the opinion that a person could only be saved if they truly wanted to be. To ask for help, the big man had said, was a crucial moment of defiance; and Kieri had now pleaded with him for help.
“I’m here. I’ll help you, Kieri,” he said with a conviction that would not be deterred.
He lost track of time as he held her, but it didn’t matter to him. She was the first woman in such a long time that had found a way to captivate his wounded heart. His battered soul yearned for a connection. Leoric held Kieri tightly, whispering to her soothingly and calling her by name.
Finally the trembling subsided, and an exhausted calm settled over her body. Placing her gently in a patch of hay, he lay down quietly beside her. They breathed deeply in rhythm with eyes closed, and for a moment Leoric was sure she had fallen asleep. As he forced open his eyes in order to stave off a wave of fatigue, he found himself staring directly into her bright green eyes.
“How do you deal with your pain, Leoric?” she asked.
“I’m not so sure I know how to live without it,” he replied.
“I was watching you, memorizing each line on that grizzled face of yours. And do you know what I think?”
“I know you’ll tell me, so out with it,” he smiled softly.
“I think you’re a better man than I deserve, Leoric D’Athgaran. A far better man than a damaged soul like mine deserves,” Kieri answered quietly and turned away from him.
“Kieri, there is no more battered a soul in this world than the one I carry. It’s only when I am with you that I forget that fact. That’s how I knew that there was something special in every look you sent, every glance you stole.”
She wiped her hand across her eyes and defiantly shook her head. “How could you ever want someone who can’t fight her own battles? Cara falls to her knees for no man, neither do others in the camp, and yet I do what that bastard tells me to do… because I can’t help myself.”
“If you are here to help soothe a man’s aching soul then why can’t I be here to fight your battles?” Leoric asked.
“You aren’t just a handsome man, but one gifted with words,” she said, and for a moment her voice was free of sorrow.
“I don’t think this mug of mine has ever been called handsome, but you Kieri, are beautiful,” he answered.
Blushing at the comment she ran her hand along the contour of his face and into his hair. “Well to me, you are fine-looking,” she said, and for a long moment they stared at one another in peace.
“Joram will kill you,” Kieri finally said.
Leoric nodded. “He’ll not be happy. We have new friends that have arrived, and with Angvald at my side, he’ll do nothing hasty.”
“Then he’ll kill me instead.”
Sitting up quickly, Leoric took a deep breath. “No. From this moment onward if he so much as lays a hand on you, I will kill him, goblins be damned. You came to me for help, did you not?”
“Yes,” Kieri whispered.
“I need to know right now whether you are willing to be with me. I can’t protect you from afar.” he said, taking her hands in his own, “I need to know if this is real…”
“Is it real to you?” she asked, looking deep into his eyes.
“Yes… yes it is,” he answered.
“To me as well, Leoric, to me as well,” she replied with a longing that conveyed far more than any number of words.
Catching the woman in a strong embrace he kissed her carefully on the lips. She kissed him back passionately.
Breathless, Leoric broke the kiss and remained solemn. “Then the first thing you’ll do is never set foot in that bastard’s house again.”
“Where will I go?” Kieri asked.
“You’ll take a bed in the woman’s dorm. I’ll arrange it with Cara.” Leoric leaned forward and began to rise.
“No, tonight I will sleep beside you,” Kieri said, determination in her voice.
“Kieri, we should be going,” he answered, but he could barely hide the flush that had crept over his features. For the first time since Alanna’s death, he was intensely aware of the contact of another woman’s body, the soft curve of Kieri’s hips and the delicate contour of her breasts. Without realizing it, their two bodies pressed together. His hands, gnarled and calloused from working the fields, slid along the length of her shapely legs.
In response, her arms curled lazily around his neck and pulled him downward into her embrace. They kissed slowly at first, both hesitant and self-conscious. But within minutes their actions grew more intense and a wave of passion rushed through Leoric’s entire body. Shuddering with desire, he pulled back in an attempt to curb his sudden urges.
“I should be going… the risk is too great.” he whispered in the darkness. He could do nothing to hide the desire that flowed within his body, and as he began to rise, Kieri’s sudden grip stopped him in mid-motion.
“I need you Leoric. Please don’t leave me, not yet,” she whispered, her words barely audible over the pounding of his heart. In that moment the hardened borderman knew that this was no game. Too much emotion betrayed her feelings and he now knew that she yearned for him as he did for her. Leaning back towards her upturned face, Leoric kissed her fiercely.
“I won’t ever leave you, Kieri, I promise,” he declared. Sinking back into her arms, Leoric knew that he meant every word.
“Freelancers, by trade, are men without honour. They are not beholden to familial bonds and care for none but themselves. They are, in fact, the perfect killers.”
—Captain Gerald Armsmater
Chapter XXX
Ca’lenbam, Protectorate
Duke Furnael Berry had arrived at the Ca’lenbam in style and with all the trappings of his wealth and power on display. As Gavin, Ethan and Caolte approached the leader of Garchester’s large pavilions, the Fey’Derin captain realized that it was the first time he had seen the personable duke acting so much like a member of the gentry. Being that the yearly Gatherings were of such significance politically, Gavin wasn’t surprised by the duke’s motivations. Not only were hundreds of
mercenary companies in attendance, but prospective employers as well.
With a brief nod to the final post of guards standing smartly at the doorway of the largest of the duke’s tents, the three men were waved inside. Gavin was amazed by the sheer opulence of the place. Comfortable high-backed chairs surrounded an immense table with several scribes paging through stacks of documents. Several more clerks sat at smaller side tables, each working through their own piles of writing parchment. In the middle of the administrative chaos stood Duke Berry, his brow furrowed as he reviewed the contents of a manuscript held in his hand. Turning briefly to acknowledge the newest arrivals, his eyes opened wide at the sight of the Fey’Derin officers.
“By the gods, if it isn’t Gavin Silveron,” the duke announced heartily and immediately discarded his work. He grabbed Gavin’s forearm in greeting with his powerful grip. “You look well, Captain. Caolte, Ethan, welcome to you both.”
Motioning towards an inner partition, the nobleman led the way into the rear of the large tent, his loud voice already requesting that food and drink be brought in for the guests.
Graciously accepting seats on soft cushioned chairs, Gavin spoke first. “It is good to see you, my lord. I trust you are enjoying this year’s Ca’lenbam?”
“There’s posturing like I’ve never seen,” Furnael grimaced. “I’ve not seen the likes of it since I last attended council in Imlaris. There’s enough money being thrown about to support all the refugees from last summer’s warfare. And yet here we waste it on pompous displays of power.”
“One’s reputation is important at such an event, is it not?” Ethan offered, sipping at a glass of spiced wine handed to him by one of the servants.