“I can manage,” Rosamund said as she watched the soldier’s body hang limp, his arms dangling against the side of the horse. She led her horse away from the ravine and hid within the crevice of two large boulders. The hiding place offered a good view of the canyon, but Rosamund would be able to hide behind the rocks or even ride beyond them if someone came looking for her.
As she watched Hardwin travel back down the canyon, she couldn’t help but think she was the most selfish woman in the world. How did she convince herself that she could run away without people getting hurt? When she fantasized about it, she’d naively assumed that because she wanted to escape from an evil man that the effort would go flawlessly, that she could walk away from it with a clean conscience. They’d put all their effort into sparing the lives of Hardwin, his family, and Lady Alimaida. It was the right thing to do, making sure that they were safe from Colestus. Rosamund had not counted on being so bothered by the shedding of the soldier’s blood, innocent or not. She held her hands up and stared at them with a sort of terror. She’d been innocent until this, but now she had blood on her hands. The realization hit her harder than she anticipated, like the stubborn, unforgiving rock walls on each side of her.
Chapter 4
An expert tracker and hunter, Hardwin had no trouble finding Rosamund in the canyon when he returned from delivering the dead soldier back to the meadow. After that, they spent several days traveling in almost complete silence. Once they arrived at his brother’s forest cottage, a short distance from the village of Chillden, Hardwin became a small semblance of himself, cracking a smile here and there, and playing with his nieces and nephews when they insisted upon it. Mostly, Rosamund watched Hardwin and his brother, Herrick, talk quietly away from everyone else, stealing glances at her when they thought she wasn’t looking.
When it was time for Rosamund to leave, Hardwin made all the preparations and gave her the peasant clothing, food, and coin she’d sneaked out of the castle with the help of Lady Alimaida before her escape. He tried to put on a brave face and encourage her, but the goodbye was stilted. Maybe someday she could make it up to him, find a way to thank him for what was already was a great sacrifice.
Making their way on their own, Merry Lightning was anything but cheerful or swift. Rosamund had let the horse eat and drink whenever it wanted, but the animal couldn’t seem to gain its strength. They climbed a steep forested canyon to reach a meadow. Merry was once again out of breath and sluggish. While the horse rested, munching on soft meadow grass, Rosamund sat in the saddle studying the map Herrick had drawn. It showed she had to pass three more meadows before she reached her destination, a large, high-mountain basin. He said it would be recognizable by the tall, jagged, and icy mountains surrounding it. Coldfield was built on the northern end and would be easy to find, since it was the only village within sight on the far-reaching basin. Small wonder the horse was exhausted.
Herrick had a boyhood friend, Kieran Houser, who had moved to Coldfield when they were teens, but they saw each other a few times a year for trade and harvest festivals. He would integrate the queen into his household and keep her secret, but she would have to work. Rosamund thought that if she didn’t die trying to find the accursed village, she’d be happy to do any kind of work, no matter how hard. Although she was afraid to ride through the countryside alone, Rosamund mustered her courage when she left Herrick’s cottage. She had no choice. It was a given; Hardwin would be suspected, but he’d already moved his family, and he and Lady Alimaida would join them. Herrick simply could not be implicated in the scheme, so she rode alone.
Finally getting her fill, Merry waited. Rosamund clucked her command and was soon standing atop the ridge of another canyon. She could see fog in the distance, crawling up the hillside, as if a vaporous ghost were spinning mist with a magic spell. The fog crept through the forest, roiling, swirling, expanding at a sinister pace, and covering everything with a thick layer of dew. When the fog engulfed her, Rosamund couldn’t see much of anything except her horse’s head. She held the reins tight with her right hand, but clung to the mane with her left. Merry was nervous and took tentative steps, the hooves padding softly on the ground.
The dullness of the colors and shapes around Rosamund began to sabotage her weary mind. Every little thing haunted her; the shadow behind a boulder was a large cat, knots in a tree were the eyes of a wolf, and the breathing of her horse was a bear tracking her. Rosamund suddenly caught sight of a hand hanging from a branch, a hand scraped of its flesh. But it couldn’t be! Panicked, she tried to duck, but it scraped her cheek and clung to her cloak. Rosamund screamed and fought to get away. Merry splayed her front legs and snorted in irritation, ears swiveling in all directions, ready to bolt.
For a moment, she thought the dreadful bones would pull her off her horse, but then she heard fabric tear and became abruptly free. Still shuddering with fear, Rosamund looked behind her wondering if what she saw was real. She sighed with relief, but felt like a fool. Just a bare black branch with prongs that looked like fingers. She could not be this alarmed and survive. Hardwin had told her that fear was the enemy. “Don’t let anything frighten you,” he’d said, creasing his brows and nodding with determination. “Be strong, be smart, and you’ll survive.”
To make matters worse, Merry Lightning was antsy, perhaps sensing Rosamund’s anxiety. The horse’s steps became tentative, even halting. She had to jab the horse’s ribs hard to get the animal to move forward even a few more steps. Then, Merry stopped and no amount of kicking or whipping could prod her farther.
“Come on, Merry,” Rosamund pleaded, reaching over to pat the horse’s jaw and rub behind her ears. “I think we’re lost. We’ve got to keep moving if we’re going to get out of this abominable fog.” She urged the animal forward, using every trick she’d learned from Hardwin to coax a reluctant horse.
Finally, the horse grunted and shook its head in an irritated way, but took a step forward and. . .
They fell.
The ground collapsed from under them, and they slid down a rocky hillside. The horse lurched back and whinnied in fear as it tried to gain balance and scramble back up the slope. Unable to gain traction, Merry slammed into the hillside and screeched pitifully, tumbling deeper into the hole. Thrown from the horse, Rosamund twisted in midair, spiraling like a funnel cloud, and rolled onto a ledge of rock and dirt. Upon landing, she felt pain in her cheek, knees, hands and back, and her teeth felt like they would fall out of her mouth. She tried using her tongue to check the damage, but dirt and gritty sand prevented it moving at all. She stood up slowly, every ache wracking her body, and tried to find Merry, but there was no sign of her poor horse. And it wasn’t just the fog that prevented her from seeing deeper into the hole.
They had stumbled into a bramble.
Rosamund squinted and strained her eyes to see deeper into the pit. Could there really be a monster hiding in the fog? she thought, stepping away from the ledge. Giant with a gelatinous white hide and arms flailing, it had evil patterns etched into its skin and thorns growing all over its body. When it opened its mouth, a smoky vapor emanated from within, smelling of foul intestines. A fat tongue flicked joyously, licking the suffering on the air. Tears pricked her eyes; there had been too much suffering today. Blinking several times, Rosamund fought to be free of her determined imagination, weary of the frightening images. Though not a monster, the plants were monstrous, larger than she could ever imagine. Several arms spawned more arms, thick, woody, and spiked with thorns, sprawling and stretching to fill the huge hole. From her vantage above, Rosamund could not see where Merry had landed but knew that her horse was grievously wounded. The animal still huffed labored breath and snorted with pain.
“Merry!” Rosamund screamed, falling to her hands and knees, staring into the void. Tears streamed down her face and she began to sob. “Mother Earth!” she wailed, rolling onto her back. “What have I done?”
After crying uncontrollably for far too long, Rosamund found s
ome semblance of awareness with the thinning fog. She would accomplish nothing by feeling sorry for herself or for poor Merry. With a new bout of courage, she stood up and dusted the dirt and debris off her clothing and wiped the tears away with the palms of her hands, which probably smeared mud all over her face.
Rosamund walked along the brink of the ledge that she’d fallen on and could now see the bottom of the pit. Merry lay at the very bottom, under a morass of briar, bright white bone protruding from a broken leg, its hide bleeding in several places, and still moaning in pain. She could not get to her, which broke her heart. Merry deserved a quick, painless death. Looking up, she thought she might find jutting rocks and cracks to climb out of the hole, but the sides of the pit were unstable. Every time she clawed into the dirt or tried to find purchase with her foot, it fell away.
“Hello?” Rosamund cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled. Maybe it was useless, but she could think of nothing else to do. She could not get out of this hole without help.
“Hello, hello, hello,” her voice echoed deep into the forest. She could hear the sound carrying farther and farther away each time she hollered. The fog was beginning to thin and hopefully someone, anyone, would hear her cries for help. Somebody had to live nearby. According to the map, she had to pass one more meadow and then she’d be in the basin. Coldfield couldn’t be the only town. There had to be other villages dotting the forest.
“This is taking too long,” Rosamund said to herself as she sunk back into despair. With her back against the wall of the pit, her legs collapsed from under her, tracks of tears staining her very dirty face.
Chapter 5
Merry Lightning stood in her stall nosing inside Rosamund’s cloak for an apple. Delighted by the gesture, she smiled and moved closer to her horse. She rubbed its jaw and ran her hands along its neck, allowing the horse to nuzzle her face and shoulders, the soft muzzle comforting. The horse puffed warm breath and even nickered playfully.
The horse nickered again, but the sound came from somewhere distant, and the image of Merry dissolved into darkness. Rosamund’s eyelids fluttered, but she squeezed them tight, her eyebrows clashing together in confusion. The horse snorted, but it didn’t sound like Merry. The metallic clinking of its hooves hit rock, a slight tinkling like a delicate wind chime, and a deep voice calming the animal.
A deep voice?
Rosamund opened her eyes slowly. The fog had lifted and shafts of sunlight burst into the forest through breaks in the trees. A man on horseback stood in the middle of the light, staring down at her. She closed her eyes and opened them, focusing, trying to make sure her mind was not playing tricks on her again. He was tall and muscular with long, reddish-blond hair that had turned more flaxen from exposure to the sun. Braids decorated with jewelry and trinkets from the forest dangled behind his ears and over his shoulders as he moved his head. Perhaps that’s what she’d heard earlier? He wore a sleeveless leather jerkin that had clasps in front, although the ones near his throat were loosened, and some kind of iron band with a swirling design clasped his biceps. With breeches, long boots, and weapons tucked into his belt, he looked like a warrior. The blanket under his saddle was sheepskin; he’d lashed saddlebags, bedroll, crossbow, and rope to his saddle. Perhaps the most striking thing about this man was his very impressive coppery beard.
“Are you all right, miss?” he called to her.
Guided by pure instinct, Rosamund started pushing her legs into the dirt to try and back away, but she’d forgotten she was already leaning against the wall of the pit. She stood up and turned away from him, eyeing the dirt wall, looking again for way up and out.
“I don’t think you’ll find a way out on your own,” he said matter-of-factly and clucked to his horse to walk toward her. He dismounted and tethered his horse to a nearby branch, untied a rope from its lashing, and lowered it down to her. “Tie it around your waist, hold on, and try and walk up the side. I’ll pull you up.”
Rosamund did as he instructed and when he pulled her from the pit, she fell against him, collapsing from relief and exhaustion. Panic quickly took over and she jumped out of his grasp, scrambling backward and tripped on a root protruding from the ground. Her eyes, wide with fear, darted in almost every direction. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. As she sat trembling and wondering what to do, her gaze settled on him.
“Hey, now, it’s all right.” He held his hands up in surrender, motioning calmly, his voice almost a whisper as he walked closer to the ledge of the pit. “I assume that’s your horse?” he asked, gesturing with his head to the bottom of the pit as he coiled the rope.
She nodded. Tears began to well, but she fiercely wiped them away, trying to stave off the anguish she felt over Merry.
“Poor thing looks like it suffered,” he consoled. “I’m sorry.”
“She did,” Rosamund said, swallowed hard and frowned, trying to keep her emotions in check. She’d done enough crying.
“Do you feel well enough to tell me what happened?” He eyed her dubiously as he lashed the rope back to his saddle. “How did you fall in?”
Rosamund looked around despondently and sighed. “Fog.”
“I see,” he nodded his head in grim acknowledgement. “The mountains are so close to the sky, the clouds just roll in. Some say it’s the devil breathing foul vapors on the land to cause mayhem and misery. Others think it’s a good sign of rain ahead. For me, it’s a pain in the arse.” He chuckled a bit. “You’ve always got to watch your step in thick fog.”
Walking toward her, he crouched, and gave her a biscuit and a bladder full of water. He cocked his head inquisitively as she ate and drank, clearly wondering about her, but his eyes exuded something she’d never seen before. Was it sympathy?
“My name is Gabriel. What’s yours?”
Still feeling numb over losing Merry, Rosamund gave him a half-shrug and blurted her name, but stopped short of saying it completely, knowing that she mustn’t give him too much information about herself, despite how nice he was.
“Rosa? Is that what you’re called?”
“Just call me Rose.”
“Well,” Gabriel said, standing up and scratching his head. “That’s one hell of name for a girl who landed into the most overgrown, prickly beast this side of the mountains. This is a briar rose patch, Rose.” He nodded and lifted a brow as one side of his mouth curled up. “It’s dead now, was once quite lovely, but that was a long time ago, when my grand dad was still alive. Everyone knows to stay away from it.”
“I’m not from around here,” Rosamund bristled.
“I noticed,” he said, grinning.
Caught off guard by his smile, Rosamund was flustered, but continued her story. “I couldn’t see it in the fog and I had no idea that there was a rather large hole in the middle of the forest. I’ve never seen a hole this big . . . anywhere,” she moaned in frustration.
“Where are you from, Rose?” Gabriel asked and held out his hand to help her up. Rosamund hesitated before taking his hand, but decided he seemed genuinely concerned for her safety and let him pull her up. She scowled as she thought about what to say. There are hundreds of villages in Edmira and not one of them came to mind.
“If you have to think about it for so long, I suppose it’s a secret, but I was going to offer to take you back,” he shrugged as he walked over to his horse, preparing to mount. “I assume you’ll want to go home.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Good question and a bad guess on my part,” Gabriel replied good-naturedly. “If I can’t help you get back home, then why don’t you tell me where you’re going? I would be happy to take you there. I can’t leave a lady in distress.”
Rosamund took a good, long time before she answered. She didn’t know if she could trust him or if she dared ask, but her circumstances had become desperate.
“If you could just shelter me for a couple of days, then I will be in a position to find the person I came looking for.”
“Who are you looking for? I might know him.”
“My twin sister.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting. You’re looking for your twin sister?”
“I’ve had word that she could be in these parts,” Rosamund added, trying to add validity to what now seemed a superbly far-fetched story. She cursed Hardwin for encouraging her to lie.
“Well, Rose, I can tell you for certain. There is not another woman within a hundred leagues of here who looks like you.”
He mounted his horse and held his hand out to pull her onto the front of the animal.
“I’ll take you to my mother’s,” Gabriel said casually as the horse began to walk, but Rosamund froze, her whole body tensing with the news. “No need to worry.” He chuckled. “She’s alone since my father died and my sisters have married, but I will check in on you from time to time.”
Oh, Great Goddess, no! Rosamund thought. His mother? Why couldn’t he take her to his camp or his hut or where ever men like him lived? Of course, that might be trouble in the making. Gabriel seemed to be worried about her, not necessarily interested in . . . Wait, what had he said? There was not another woman within a hundred leagues who looked like her. That was a compliment, wasn’t it? Well, maybe he was interested in her that way. It’s not what she needed or wanted in her life right now, but not another man had been this gentle and understanding of her, and she felt safe with him. It was a budding awareness that she liked very much.
But . . . This really is getting out of hand, she thought worriedly. Someone would’ve told Colestus about the dead guards in the meadow by now. He would undoubtedly suspect an escape attempt and send out search parties, even if it was just to kill her and get his revenge. She couldn’t bring trouble down on these people. And how was she ever going to find her destination, the woodland estate of Kieran Houser?
The Runaway Queen, A Fire and Fury Prequel Novella Page 3