by Diana Flame
Having an overprotective father and an equally paranoid uncle, made for a dull life, she thought. Catrain could not understand their paranoia. They often told her that she leaving the village was unsafe for her. Yet, the other girls often visited the marketplace inside the city. Anyway, now that the war had begun, thanks to those darn rebels, she had to agree that no one was safe. Thinking of the Gerdanians caused her blood to boil.
During the day, the battle cries could be heard from a distance. Now, the clanging of swords had ceased for the day. Even with the silence, Catrain’s father had warned her to stay away from the section of the river nearest to the battlefield.
However, since he was gone to another township to peddle his produce, she was free for three days until his return. She hated the section nearest to her village. Upstream was where she liked most, because it was better for swimming.
Most days, she waited until the evening lull to make her rounds with the water. Today was one of those days. She stopped to listen and heard no sounds. The usual screams of the men in agony had paused for the day, therefore, she deemed it safe to venture out.
The village and surrounding areas were fortified, but she knew that the rebels might find a way into the forest. She was not afraid, yet it paid to be careful. Her uncle Brogue told her that his brother perished in a previous war. He refused to say which war it was. She believed it was with the rebels when they stormed their king’s palace and forced him from the throne. From what little she knew of the Gerdan war, Cronada had sent reinforcements to assist the true Gerdan king.
Enraged that the rebels might have been responsible for her uncle’s demise, Catrain paused and stomped her foot. The straw sandal she wore came loose.
“Augh!” she moaned. “Bloody rebels.”
The war was unravelling not only her shoe but her mind as well. Now that there was a new war, the young men were drafted into battle, and men like her uncle and father remained behind as reserves. So far, her village had faced no problems as soldiers often patrolled. The men of the township took turns watching by night, even though the borders were secured with the king’s army.
Many of the women knew how to fight as well, which was more than Catrain could say for the noblite women in the palace. As far as she heard, all they were good for was attiring themselves in fine clothing and painting their faces.
Anger at the Gerdanians rose like bile to her throat. If she ever got her hands on one of those rebels, she would tear them to pieces with her bare hands. Picking up her sandal, she moved off again.
“Argh,” she grounded her teeth as she stomped forward on the narrow path.
A soldier on horseback cantered toward her and she veered off the path, not wanting him to detect her destination. He would certainly disprove of her going upstream by herself. Dodging behind a tree, she waited until he was out of sight before getting back on the track.
When she reached her destination, she paused, deeply inhaling the fresh evening air. The rays of the setting sun gleamed off the water surface as tiny ripples made for a prismed effect. Being cautious and remembering her father’s warnings, she took a moment to peruse her surroundings. When she was certain she was alone, she pulled her dirty frock over her head, then removed her flimsy knickers, throwing them on a wild binjou bush.
Her fingers brushed the fire aranitite hanging from a leather cord around her neck. She’d never removed this jewel. Her father told her that this was her protection and she’d worn it since she was a baby. He’d warned her that she must keep it hidden lest anyone should see it.
As she made to head into the water, Catrain’s tiny ears twitched, the points erect. Did she hear a sound? When she cocked her ears to listen, there were only the chirping crickets along with the sound of toads. Absently, her hand came up to touch the pendant. The evening sun gleamed off the surface, igniting the stone like an ember. Catrain smiled as always whenever she witnessed its beauty.
Satisfied that she was alone, she waded into the river. The cool water refreshed her, relaxing her from a day of tedious chores. For a moment, she wished she were one of the noblite maidens in the castle – if only to use a perfumed soap.
With her vivid imagination, it was easy for her to picture the women with their scented oils and soaps. This was her one wish, that one day, she would be able to acquire one such scented soap and bask in its wonderful odor. Having only ever smelled such a soup once, she never forgot the sweetness. Omedipe, a girl from the village, had brought a small piece from the market place and had showed it to all her friends.
Closing her eyes, she imagined she was one of them. Running her hands over her body, she used her cheap homemade soap to wash herself. All the while, she pictured that she was lathering with perfumed soap.
Slowly, she ran her hands over her breasts, feeling the nipples hardened beneath her touch. It was always amusing to her how her body responded to her administration. She floated on her back on the water’s surface, her eyes still closed while her hands continued to cleanse her naked body. Her golden hair splayed like a large fan around her as she basked in the glow of the evening sun. Tentatively, her hands travelled towards the V between her thighs. About to wash her secret place she was certain she heard the whinny of a horse. The points on her ears stood up like an antennae, trying to detect where the sound came from.
There it was again. Startled, she jumped. Water splashed all around sending her sinking to the bottom of the pool. With the skill of a good swimmer, she quickly regained her balance and surfaced. Not stopping for anything, Catrain waded to the bank of the river and ran to the binjou bush. Grabbing her garments, she dashed behind a tree. With heart pounding, she donned her clothing.
Peering from her hiding place, Catrain watched as a horse and rider emerged from the trees a few meters away. Her mouth gaped, recognizing the tunic of the horseman. It was evident by the special insignia on his shoulder that he was the king’s most valuable weapon.
There he sat astride his steed, as arrogant as she’d heard of him. Her heart deafened her as curiosity and some amount of dread washed over her. Her fear wasn’t of the man himself, it was the eyes of his mount that made her stare in awe. Those eyes reminded her of the gemstone she wore. The fire aranitite resembled that of a glowing coal and so were the eyes of this beast. She had heard of the dragon-horse as a child. A horse that was not quite ‘ordinary’, but one with magical powers.
The one known as the Fire Knight, the fiercest warrior of the king sat upon such an animal. She often wondered why he was titled the Fire Knight. Now she knew why. The fact that the knight’s and her gem bore a similar name, did not escape her. Catrain smiled.
“Netherbred, be gone from these parts. This is the king’s private property.” The knight spoke, his voice deep and rich.
Catrain cringed as her chest tightened. She thought she’d hidden well, but apparently she’d been discovered. Her heart was beating at an unsteady pace as her knees became gelatinous.
Seemingly, she’d ventured beyond the public designation and into the forestry kept for the king’s pleasure. Before the war, she would often watch from a distance whenever the royalites and noblites went hunting. This forest was where the husky-bear pig and the tiger nose chicken was commonly hunted. Bravely stepping from her hiding place, she straightened her back.
“Yes, my lord,” she replied, bowing slightly. “Pray pardon my insolence. I only came to take a wash and fetch me some water.”
“Isn’t the river the same downstream?”
Catrain was about to turn away, but the harshness of his tone stopped her. “Not so my lord, it is not,” she replied, keeping her eyes on the ground.
“You dare argue with me, nether?” he admonished, obviously agitated with her. “Do you have any idea to whom you speak?”
This knight was certainly as arrogant as they came. His attitude further irritated her that she could not hold her tongue. Her fiery spirit made her a good warrior as well. She could hold her own against any man. For the
first time since the encounter, she lifted her head and looked directly at the man. He was the king’s most loved knight and he was the warrior everyone talked about and feared. However, as she looked at him, her mouth fell open.
She had always thought he was older. Now, looking at him revealed otherwise. Yes, he was about ten years her senior, but he was still youthful for all the stories she’d heard about him. So many victories he’d won since his formative years. Her uncle Brogue told her many such stories, especially of the war many years ago, the one in which she believed her other uncle perished.
“The name is Catrain sire, not nether,” she boldly stated, her earlier fear dissipating. “I may be lowly born, but I am still Kisalese.” The shocked look on the knight’s face made her giggle.
“You mock me? How dare you!”
She grinned, amused to see she had riled the mighty Fire Knight. She took the opportunity to examine him. His angular jaw tightened as his hazel eyes blazed with obvious ire. A soft breeze rustled his long shiny brown hair. Quite a strapping fellow … what broad shoulders he had.
“Sir, that would be loutish of me to mock you,” she dared to smile. “Your disdain toward me is quite notable, yet we are the same flesh and blood. We may be from different loins, but is it not the same color liquid that runs through our veins?”
“You dare to compare yourself to the king’s knight?” his voice dripped with a note of incredulity.
“I said no such thing, Sir Knight,” she refuted. “I said we are same flesh of flesh and blood of blood. If we both bleed will the blood differ?”
* * *
The knight was surprised at the lesser born’s intellect and her boldness to even make eye contact. Who was this damsel? Her argument was that of a learned noblite, yet, she appeared to be a lesser. Was he mistaken?
There was something about her that made him take note. Never since being knighted that anyone outside the palace dared argued with him, let alone boldly staring him in the eye. A spark of intrigue excited him. This further infuriated him.
He could never be intrigued by such a female. There were dozens of women within the castle who would be happy to please him. Yet, here he sat on his steed being argued at by a mere farmer’s daughter - a lesser.
“I am Rulf, the Fire Knight - a half-royalite,” he muttered under his breath. “Men fear me, yet she does not?”
In one smooth movement, Rulf slid from his stallion Osorus and strode over to where she stood. As he advanced, he expected her to cower. She stood steadfast, her eyes never leaving his face. This strange occurrence threw him off guard. Clenching his jaw, he set his face and proceeded. A thrilling feeling ran up his spine as he menacingly stepped in her direction, his face darkening.
He came within inches of her that he could smell the common soap she used to wash herself. Her faint female scent was also pleasing to his nostrils so that he stepped back to avoid the distraction.
Her wide eyes stared up at him as he faced her. The color of them was unusual. Never had he seen eyes as these. Purple … violet … what are they? He pondered. Violet, he decided.
Apparently, she was not daunted by his stature, even though he towered her greatly. Many men had trembled at his mere presence, not this girl. He hated to admit it, but he was indeed intrigued by her. For the first time, Rulf felt vulnerable as he stared into violet-like eyes.
“You dare argue with the king’s knight? Do you not fear for your life?” he growled, trying to get a grip of himself.
Another unusual phenomenon shocked and then incensed him. The skipped beat of his heart before it began an erratic ticking, was utterly new to Rulf. The sensation that rushed through him alarmed him as well. It wasn’t the fear of when he met an opponent in battle, it was something new and utterly sensational.
“I meant no disrespect my lord, I only stated the facts,” she replied, her voice like honey.
“Tell me your name again so I will not forget this day - the day a netherbred dared argue with me.”
“The name is Catrain, my lord.” She curtsied.
Catrain.
He made a mental note of her name as his eyes traveled over her heart shaped face, pouting lips and those eyes again. When he thought he’d had enough of her face he caught sight of the hair. The evening sun glinting off golden tresses was a vision in itself. Giving himself a mental kick, he silently repeated her name.
Catrain.
The name was unusual for a farmer’s daughter. His eyes cruised her frame, wondering if perhaps he had been mistaken about her. No, she was a netherbred all right. The worn smock and rough fingernails told it all. She was definitely not of noblite or hala birth. With his mind settled, he turned, striding back to Osorus. As he mounted and guided the beast into a canter, her shout made him pull up short.
“And your name sire, so I will not forget the day the Fire Knight watched me while I washed!”
His back stiffened. The animal stood still, perhaps sensing his embarrassment. Slowly he turned, his eyes blazing.
“What said you?” he hissed.
“I knew you watched this netherbred, while she bathed in the river, my lord,” she retorted, holding his gaze.
Rulf dismounted. Straightaway a manservant took Osorus’ reins. The knight’s stride was purposeful and strong as he made his way to his living quarters – his residence located north of the city.
Kingdom City was rightly an expansive castle, fortified and built to protect its residents from invasion. Five hundred years ago, after the wedlock and mating laws came into effect, the noblites slowly moved in, creating a city for noblites and royalites, leaving the netherbreds in the outlands.
The king’s palace sat almost in the center, surrounded by the knights and ministers’ residences. On the outer sections near the forts, were the soldiers’ barracks and servants’ houses.
The city square consisted of a marketplace where merchants were allowed to trade. Also in the marketplace was the produce market, a smith shop, cobbler and of course a theatre.
Rulf clenched and unclenched his jaw. The muscles in his thighs moved beneath his chainmail pants as he hurried to his chambers. This gold and black knight’s fittings he wore only while on special mission. His regular tunic was black and silver while knights of a lower rank wore blue and black. Whereas the other knights’ crest was of a crescent moon, star and sword - his was of fire and sword.
It was while returning from Prasia of the east, when he stopped to water Osorus. The last thing he expected to see was a female bathing in the river. Never in his wildest dreams would he imagine that he would be treated with such indifference by a mere nether. Yet the image of her firm breasts and long legs were imprinted in his memory. As the late evening sun kissed her brown skin, it glowed like fire rock under the full moon. He was surprised to see a naked woman and had not wished to alarm her, but Osorus had sensed his unease at watching her. The memory of her hands as they ran themselves over her body was branded in his mind.
Ulrich, his personal manservant, took his sword and tunic and told him his bath would be ready in a moment. While he undressed, he pictured Catrain undressing him the way she had perhaps undressed herself. This made him angry and he swore under his breath.
“Is everything alright, my lord?” Ulrich inquired.
He nodded, waving away his servant while sinking into the warm water. The bath was relaxing but his mind was still seared with the memory of her feistiness and beautiful face. Never had he seen a beauty as hers, not even at court. She wore no rouge on her lips and cheeks, but her naturally glowing skin, luscious lips and violet eyes were simply delectable.
The women in the castle, both noblites and halas, were indeed beautiful and he could bed anyone he wanted. In fact, he had bedded quite a few eager ones. Nevertheless, there was something about this damsel, Catrain, that stirred him - and this was what upset him the most.
“She is but a netherbred, a lesser!” he said aloud.
The hierarchy of women in the kingdom ma
de for where they lived or served. The royalites were at the highest rank – living in the palace. Then there were the noblites who were the distant relatives of the royalites. Chambermaids and servants in the castle were mostly illegitimate children of royalites and noblites.
Netherbreds were not fit to work in the palace and no knight, which was of noble blood, would look upon such a one as a potential mate. It was possible to marry one if the knight was born a lesser and moved up the ranks. Even more so, it was against the law for those of royal birth to have children with a netherbred. Children born to noblites via netherbred were deemed outcasts and treated with contempt.
The marriage law could be changed by the king, but he would need the vote of two council members to do so. In that event, no Cronadian king or noblite ever married a netherbred, although other kingdoms had since outlawed such a decree.
Cronada was one of the few kingdoms which upheld the ancient laws of wedlock. If any royalite was caught impregnating a netherbred or vice versa there could be dire consequences. Some thought this was unfair since most knights and soldiers took the women in the villages as lovers. There were even rare cases of noblite women with netherbred male lovers.
Rulf was a knight of the highest order – a fifth generation knight. Rulf’s mother was the Princess of Tyrebia, one of the kingdoms of the West. His father was a noble knight of Cronada. This made Rulf a half-royalite.
One could be lesser born and become a soldier. In order for that one to become a knight, he would need to move up the ranks and be recommended for knighthood by a high ranking knight or royalite. After knighthood, he would no longer be deemed a netherbred, but he could never marry a royalite.
“Sire?” Ulrich interrupted his thoughts. “What troubles my lord?”