Held For Ransom

by Rose, Renee

  The emptiness she had felt standing upon the destroyed tower returned in full force.

  Never. Her parents and the priestesses had raised her to serve, not to act for herself.

  “But...my duty?” she asked, confused.

  “You cannot fulfill your duty if you are not fulfilled.”

  She peered back into the well, still seeing nothing.

  “It is blank so you may conjure your dreams upon it.”

  She blinked at the glassy water. What did she wish to see upon it?

  Crow.

  But she could not have him.

  “Release your resistance,” Lilian murmured. She wondered if the old woman saw what she did.

  She looked at Crow’s serious face, the kind eyes. Their son appeared by his side, a boy of eight, mayhap, Crow’s hand on his shoulder. Gooseflesh raised every surface of her skin.

  She wanted Crow to raise their child. And what of her? She appeared beside Crow, lifting her lips for his kiss. She had a toddler on her hip–a girl child with the strawberry-blonde curls and Gorran’s blue eyes.

  She stumbled back from the well, her eyes smarting with tears. She wanted a family. A traditional family. How had she missed knowing her own heart? And now she had sent Crow away, forcing him to go into hiding from Broderick.

  She turned to Lilian. “I beg your leave.”

  The priestess nodded.

  “I mean, of Avalon.”

  She nodded again, as if she had known all along Ariana would go.

  She picked up her hands and kissed them both. “Thank you for helping me see.”

  “I did not help you to see,” the woman corrected, as she knew she would. “You allowed the vision to come through.”

  She crossed her hands over her heart in the symbol of a blessing from the Goddess and went to pack a small satchel for travel. She took the barge to the mainland and asked for a druid escort.

  She and a young man named Thomas rode on horseback, passing Stonecroft without stopping, until they reached the area of the cottage where Crow had held her. The Saxon settlement could not be far from it, as Elric had come and gone from it, bringing supplies. It took a bit of hunting, but she found the hut and a small footpath behind it. She dared not look inside, the memories of her time there too raw.

  They walked their horses along the path behind and soon enough she spied the curl of smoke in the distance. Her heart picked up speed. They entered the settlement, dismounting and hobbling the horses as the people came out to stare.

  She cleared her throat, wishing she spoke their language. “Greetings. I am searching for a man named─”

  One of the children jumped up, looking excited, jabbering something and running away. He returned with Elric trotting behind him.

  “Elric!” she cried joyfully, as if he were a long lost friend.

  Elric froze in his tracks, his face turning to stone.

  She held out her hands. “We come in peace. Thomas is a druid priest, he carries no sword.”

  Elric eyed Thomas doubtfully. Thomas held up his hands, showing the absence of heavy weapons.

  “I am looking for Crow─”

  “I have not seen him, your highness.”

  “Elric, I assure you I mean no harm. I have spent the last months with him at Avalon, but he left and now I need to speak with him.” She walked closer to the nervous boy. She touched her womb. “I carry his child and he does not know.”

  Something changed in the boy’s wooden expression, but after a moment, he shook his head. “I will give him your message if I see him.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, the pregnancy amplifying her emotions. She nodded, stepping back.

  “Wait–” Elric caught her hand. She whirled, hope fluttering in her chest. “It is truth I have not seen him, but mayhap Kendra has. I will take you to her.”

  ****

  “The duke rides!” the young squire Brom exclaimed, running into their camp breathless. He had been on watch-duty, spying on Wellridge Castle for any sign of movement. “A full troop–over one hundred men, all dressed for battle!”

  “Take mount!” he shouted. His men rushed to action, packing their bedrolls and stowing gear. Even after weeks camped in the woods waiting, they were quick to mobilize, their warrior hearts eager for action. They swung into their saddles, leather armor in place, shields and swords at the ready. He led them through the woods, hoping to head them off by taking a shortcut. He had the advantage of knowing the land well, due to its proximity to the Saxon settlement he had grown up in, but they would have to be swift.

  He still had no proof of the duke’s wrongdoing–riding out in battle garb was not a crime in itself, but he doubted there would be time to make inquiries when the two parties met. It offended his chivalrous sensibilities to strike without cause. Even as a mercenary he had always required justification from his patrons for riding to war. This time he did not have it, and it would be his own skin if the king were mistaken.

  The shortcut worked: When he reached the road, he saw the duke’s troop approaching. He gave a cry and led his men on a sprint to cut off the other troop’s path. As he feared, the duke’s troop did not slow their pace. Seeing his approach, the duke gave his own battle cry, and charged, swords glinting in the sunlight.

  His men met them in a clash of steel. What they lacked in numbers they made up for in ferocity, never flinching as they maneuvered their destriers into the melee. He went for the duke, pausing to fight men as he came upon them, but working his way through the fracas to their leader.

  He took a slash to the shoulder that unhorsed him and fell into the field, rolling and springing to his feet before the horses trampled him. He managed to unseat another warrior and took his mount, riding for the duke.

  “Who are you?” their leader shouted, when their swords clashed.

  “I am Gorran,” he said, swinging again to meet his foe’s steel.

  “You. You murdered my brother in his bed.”

  “He raped my sister.”

  “And you still bear a grudge?”

  “Nay,” he said, managing to slash the reins to the duke’s destrier. “This is just business. Did you not tell the king you could not leave your castle to ride north with him?”

  The duke’s face darkened as he gripped his stallion’s mane and tried to direct it with his knees. “If you are the best the king can send, he will be sorely disappointed when he returns to find I wear the crown.”

  Satisfied with his proof, he took advantage of his foe’s concentration on the horse, catching him under the armpit. His blade entered true, missing rib and spearing straight into his heart. The duke toppled from his horse.

  “The duke is dead!” he bellowed. “Surrender now and keep your own head. Surrender now, your duke is dead!”

  The enemy soldiers ignored him, continuing their fight until their numbers dwindled and some began to flee. He tried again. “Surrender now and you will be granted amnesty!”

  His men gave chase to the deserters, not appreciating cowards, but the remaining men thrust their swords in the ground and dropped to one knee. He walked the field, lifting the chin of each man and looking into his eyes.

  “Name?”

  “Bedry, sir.”

  “You left Wellridge intent on treason against our king, did you not?”

  The young man swallowed. “I obeyed the orders of my lord and master–I was not privy to his plans at Stonecroft.”

  He clipped the man on the head with the hilt of his sword. “I cannot abide liars. If you wish to live to serve another master you will answer me well.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “The duke planned to take Stonecroft, did he not?”

  The young man looked troubled, as if his conscience could not wrestle out his allegiances. “Answer me well and you will return to Wellridge.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  He moved on, quizzing each of the men, getting a sense for their mettle. These men would become his when he took Wellridge, and while
it might be more prudent to dispatch with all their heads, he guessed a great many had wives and children at the castle for whom he would be responsible.

  They made a funeral pyre for the dead of both troops and lit it before marching the prisoners back to Wellridge.

  “Who guards the castle?” he demanded of one of the prisoners.

  “Sir Borin, sir.”

  The castle guards had seen them coming, and he heard the sound of horses and men at the ready behind the portcullis. “Sir Borin!” he called out. “In the name of King Broderick, the duke has been slain for treason. Surrender the castle to my keeping or we kill your remaining men.”

  He heard movement from within, but no reply. He hoped Borin was reasonable, though if he employed logic rather than emotion, he would know their prisoners would be the ones who would die defending the castle, anyway.

  “If you do not open the gates and lay down your swords, you will be considered traitors to the king and all within will pay the consequences. Surrender now and you will be treated gently.”

  Still he heard nothing from within.

  “Make your decision now or I slit the first throat! What is your name?” he asked the first prisoner, holding his dagger under his chin.

  “F-Fendrel, sir!”

  “I am going to kill Fendrel first. You have to the count of five: one...two...three…”

  The portcullis clanged and the gate swung open, the guards inside dropping their swords onto the dirt.

  “Well-chosen,” he said, releasing poor Fendrel and leading the troop inside. He signaled his men to remain alert as they took possession of the castle and began the difficult process of establishing a new rule.

  ****

  She shared her mount with the boy, allowing him to guide the horse, noting his considerable skill with the animal despite the fact she had seen few horses at the settlement. It must be from Crow’s influence. He took them to another settlement which appeared much like the one they had just left, a cluster of makeshift huts around one longhouse.

  Once again the inhabitants gathered, staring, but this time they had Elric to explain for them. Kendra appeared, wiping her hands on her skirt. Her eyes widened in recognition and she dropped into a low curtsy. “Your highness.”

  A man who must be her husband pushed her behind him and growled something at Elric.

  She held up her hands. “We come in peace. I only wish to speak to Kendra.”

  “Come, my lady,” the woman spoke from behind her protector. “Come in.”

  The man followed them, throwing dark, suspicious looks, but allowing them to enter.

  “Forgive me, we are not fit to serve a princess.”

  “We live humbly at Avalon,” she said. “Your hospitality is appreciated.”

  Kendra served them ale and offered a half-loaf of bread.

  “I am looking for Gorran,” she said after they had eaten.

  Kendra looked surprised. “I heard he went to Avalon.”

  Disappointment nearly made her sick, the ale already not sitting well in her queasy stomach.

  “You have not seen him? He left over a fortnight ago.”

  “Why are you worried? Is he overdue returning?”

  She shook her head, the silly tears pressing behind her eyes again. “I bid him leave, but now I wish to see him…”

  “She carries his child,” Elric interjected.

  Kendra’s eyes rounded and her face split into a smile. She grasped both her hands. “That is wonderful, sister. I am so happy to hear your news.”

  “Aye, but Gorran knows not and I now I wish I had not bade him leave.”

  “Can you not use your Sight to find him?”

  “My Sight fails me where he is concerned,” she muttered, but closed her eyes and tried to see, just the same.

  She saw him not in present time, but the day he left Avalon, his despondency palpable. She followed him down the hill, the bread in her belly turning to stone when she realized his destination.

  She stumbled to her feet. “He went to Stonecroft.”

  She pushed her rising panic back down. Broderick would not kill him. Or if he had, surely she would have sensed it? “Thank you for your hospitality,” she said, backing toward the door. “If I find him, I will send word.”

  “I will do the same,” Kendra promised, her brow wrinkled in concern.

  “I am sure all is well,” she said, more to assure herself than Gorran’s sister. “I will ride there now to inquire.”

  She moved the horses as quickly as her legs carried her, forgetting Elric as she mounted. The boy stood beside her, his face grave. “Do you think he is in danger?”

  She blinked. “I know not.” She gave her head a shake. “No...no. He will be safe. Do you need a ride back to your village?”

  “I will walk. Farewell, your highness.”

  She and Thomas galloped off to Stonecroft, her heart surging with her mount. When they arrived, she found Sir Jeffrey in charge of the castle. “Where is my brother?” she asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her tone.

  “Off to war, to fight the Picts, as you foresaw, your highness.”

  “Sir Jeffrey...did Gorran come to Stonecroft?”

  “Aye, my lady. After you sent him away, he came here.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I cannot tell you, your highness.”

  “Why not?” she demanded, her face growing hot.

  Sir Jeffrey looked flustered. “The king bade me to not speak of it.”

  She grabbed fistfuls of Sir Jeffrey’s tabard and attempted to shake him. “Where is he?”

  “I cannot say, my lady. Verily, I would tell you if I could.”

  “Is he safe? Is he alive?”

  “He left here safe and alive. I cannot vouch for his condition now, my lady.”

  She released her grip on his clothing and eased back. He left Stonecroft alive and well. Her worst fears had not been realized.

  “If he returns, or when my brother returns, please leave the message that I must see Gorran as soon as possible.”

  Sir Jeffrey nodded.

  “You will tell them?”

  “Yes, my lady, I will tell them as soon as I see either one.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  She and Thomas spent the night at the castle, returning up the hill to Avalon the following day where she rushed to the well to look for Gorran, but all she saw was the jumbled clash of bloodied swords in battle. She looked for Broderick or Gorran in the undulating scene, but could pick out no man.

  Sighing, she returned to her hut, consigned to waiting, like the ladies in castles, for the men to return from war.

  Chapter Nine

  He walked through the dank dungeon at Wellridge. “Carac and Brom,” he said stopping before two of the duke’s soldiers. “Do you wish to spend the rest of your lives down here or will you swear allegiance to the king and me as his delegate?”

  He had made a point of learning the names of every inhabitant of the castle, trying to establish his rule, though he must wait to see if the king would keep his word and grant him Wellridge.

  “Go hump your mother,” the man named Brom sneered.

  “I swear allegiance!” Carac interrupted, jumping to his feet.

  “What?” Brom demanded.

  “I am not going to rot in here with you. I swear allegiance to the king, and to you. I swear it, my lord.”

  He motioned to the guard. “Release him.”

  “I swear allegiance, too!” the man on the other side called out.

  “What is your name?”

  “Barry, sir.”

  “Why are you down here?”

  “For drinking, sir. I drank the duke’s ale.”

  He looked at the guard. “He speaks truth?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “How long has he been down here?”

  “Since the winter solstice.”

  “One more sennight, friend, and I will release you, if you swear allegiance and pr
omise not to touch the ale.”

  “I swear it, my lord.”

  He walked on, inquiring about the other prisoners, having mercy on some based on his impression of their character and guilt.

  He had taken possession of the castle over a month ago, sending word to Stonecroft of their victory. Now he waited for the king to arrive and make his decree about who would rule Wellridge.

  “Sir Gorran!” One of his men jogged down the steps. “The king has come!”

  He followed his soldier out of the dungeon, going out to the bailey as the portcullis swung open. His men lined up beside him in Roman military fashion with their hands by their sides and their chests high to greet the king.

  King Broderick rode in, his face hard and war-weary. He dismounted without comment, handing his reins to the squire Gorran nudged forward to serve him.

  “Sir Gorran,” he said, offering his arm. “Well met.”

  He clasped forearms with the king, noting the respect and familiarity of the public gesture. “My lord, welcome to Wellridge, held in custody for you.” All the Wellridge inhabitants had emerged to take in the scene and greet the king. He gave the group a theatrical sweep of his gaze. “Swear allegiance anew to the king!”

  “To the king!” the inhabitants shouted.

  Broderick looked around with an appraising eye. “You have managed things well, I see.”

  “I made progress,” he said. “Shall I send for refreshment?”

  The king nodded, still scanning the faces in a way that reminded him of Ariana, as if he sensed them, more than saw with his eyes.

  He gestured to the steward to send for ale, walking into the castle beside the king.

  “Tell me,” the king said in a low voice.

  “They rode out two weeks after you departed north. We headed them off and were in battle before I verified their destination, but I did verify it when I met the duke.”

  “And his intent was to take Stonecroft?”

  “Aye, as you suspected.”

  “You killed him?”

  “Aye.”

  “How was the sacking of Wellridge?”

  “Unnecessary. We brought captives and threatened to slit their throats if they did not surrender.”