by Mark Smylie
Captain Wynram and the other Herla man, Captain Lolfyr, were already down at the end of the docks negotiating with the dock officers on the unloading fees. She looked behind her. Gilgwyr was groggily stumbling over the gangway, trying to shake the five hours or so of sleep that he’d managed to catch on the River King’s Crown. He spotted her standing still amongst the stevedores and rivermen working the docks, and grunted with a wave and a nod. He pulled a plain dark coat around his clothes, and made his way down the stone docks to where she waited.
“Ah, young Erim,” he said with a smile that couldn’t help but look halfway to a leer. “A bright good afternoon to you. Did you get any sleep? I had the most marvelous dreams on our river voyage, must be the fresh river air.”
“I am sufficiently rested, Master Gilgwyr,” she said with a curt smile.
“Excellent,” said Gilgwyr, rubbing his hands together with zest. “It’s been some time since I was in Vesslos but I gather you were just here with Stjepan. Are you ready for our appointed mission?”
“Aye,” she said, then started repeating from memory: “‘Two wagons and a coach for the wounded and injured, for those on their way to Araswell; one coach capable of overland travel, for the Lady on our own trip, all to be held until the horses are disembarked and delivered. Provisions for two weeks journey off the roads, including water and wine, and plain clothing suitable for a well-off merchant’s wife to help disguise the Lady and her handmaiden. And plain surcoats to disguise the knights, and make them look like mercenaries.’” Stjepan had been most clear on that last point; Arduin’s men all bore the sigil of the Orwain family on their doublets, surcoats, and pourpoints. She looked at Gilgwyr. “You got the coin?”
He hefted a big fat leather coin purse that hung from his belt under his cloak. The bag was so packed with coin there wasn’t even a jingle as he lightly shook it. “Your Treasurer is at your service, Lord Quartermaster,” he said. “Let us proceed to the markets!”
They turned and started making their way toward the dock gate into the city. A couple of the rivermen from the River King’s Crown blew her a kiss as she and Gilgwyr walked past them on their way off the docks. She blushed and hoped Gilgwyr didn’t notice.
“And you’re sure it’s the Bale Mole?” Arduin asked again. He stood on the deck of the small forecastle, leaning his elbow against the foremast, and peering past it to survey the battlements of the city of Vesslos. He still had on his cuisses and half-greaves, but had shed his upper armor in favor of a thick, quilted arming doublet. He had barely slept on the journey upriver, and not just because of fear of the river itself, but because every time he had closed his eyes he had seen the dead face of the squire Herefort. The White Lady walks amongst us now, and has ever since Harvald’s funeral, he thought. She has come to claim her fill, and I fear she is ravenous.
“Yes,” said Stjepan, standing behind Arduin with Sir Helgi. “All the legends say he was buried somewhere in the dark hills of his sorcerous kingdom, and what has appeared of the map would seem to confirm it.” From inside his coat he produced his notebook and undid the twine that kept it closed. He flipped through the pages. “It was hard to piece it together, but I believe the words I’ve translated so far are meant to say: ‘To the Barrow of our Fallen Lord, Azharad, King of Kings, first west upon the High Road from Garner Lais, into his Kingdom’s Heart.’ There are symbols for Garner Lais, which was always represented on their old maps as a tower with a sword through it, and for Lost Tir’gaile: a crowned silver eagle.”
“These names mean nothing to me,” Arduin said dully, trying to clear the fog in his head.
“Garner Lais is one of the citadels of the Uthed Wold, the dark forest that was once the eastern reaches of the Kingdom of Azharad,” said Stjepan. “It’s a dark ruin, as are all the citadels of that wood, but assuming the map was intended for someone amongst the Azharites or their hidden cult brethren in the east, then it makes sense the mapmaker would think they were starting through the Wold and Garner Lais. The Azharites still use those ruins today, by most accounts. There’s an old road, hardly better than a hunter’s path, that runs out of the wood and up into the Bale Mole, to the ancient hill town of Tir’gaile, which was blighted when the curse of the Sun Court fell upon Lost Uthedmael.”
“So we have to go through the Uthed Wold?” Arduin asked, rubbing his face with both hands. That name he knew, though his rational mind refused to believe the stories he’d heard about the wood.
“No,” said Stjepan, shaking his head. “It’s possible to also get to Tir’gaile from the Wall, from the Watchtower of Mizer. We should head there. It’ll be safer and easier for us. That’s not a path that would be open to most Azharites or Nameless Cultists. But it’s open for us.”
“A small relief, then,” Arduin grimaced. He looked out at the city walls. If only we could make a stand somewhere; here, or at Araswell, with high walls to defend us . . . but a stand against whom, and to what end? The Grand Duke? The Inquisition? The High King himself? He had seen the Grand Duke’s companies at work when he rode with them once; they were efficient in battle and ruthless in sieges, and unafraid of killing the High King’s own subjects in his name.
He looked down. Wagons had started to arrive in front of the two ships, and stevedores and his householders were starting to load them with their meager possessions. If I’m going to change my mind, I should do it now. He had brooded long and hard in the river-tossed hold, and he knew he had precious few options.
“Helgi, send Sir Clodin on our fastest horse to my brother,” he said, finally. “Have Clodin appraise Albrecht of the situation, and let him know to expect the arrival of our household. Tell him to raise the levy at once. If Albrecht can send knights and sergeants in force to help escort the household home, all the better.”
“Forgive me, my Lord, but . . . well, me and the others have discussed it, and our place is by your side, and your sister’s,” said Sir Helgi. “Send the two young squires, Elbray and Enan. They’re both good riders, and the road between here and Araswell is safe enough. They’re too young for the path we are about to take, anyway. Wilhem and my nephew Brayden are older, they’re ready for this.”
Arduin turned and studied the knight for a moment. “Are you disobeying my command, Sir Helgi?” he asked. A small smile played on his lips, but his eyes were cold.
“Merely suggesting an alternative, my Lord,” said Sir Helgi with a straight face and a slight bow. Arduin stared at him a moment longer.
“Thank you, Sir Helgi,” he said curtly. “Send the two squires, then, with my personal banner. Tell them I’m proud of them, and that they bear the honor of my family and line, in case I do not have a chance to do so myself.” Helgi nodded and departed. Arduin turned and looked back at the city walls.
“I must inform my sister of our intentions, if we are not going to Araswell,” he said finally, and turned away.
“The King’s Fortune favor you, my Lord,” said Stjepan with a bow, and he followed Arduin off the forecastle.
“This is your last chance to say your farewells,” Arduin said stiffly. He supposed that she was taking the news better than he would have expected. He had expected . . . what? Tears, he supposed. Crying, weeping, pleading. Something. But after he had told her that to rid her of the map that they would have to travel deep into the dangerous, dark and cursed west, she had simply sat in the hold, a numb and blank expression on her face. “One of your handmaidens can come with us to provide what comforts that she can,” he said. “But we will be trying to move quickly and lightly, so everyone else in the household will be sent on to Araswell. They will carry my banner there, so that anyone watching thinks that we have indeed taken refuge there, while we ride by different roads into the west. Choose who you wish to bring with us, and then say your farewells to the rest.”
She took a deep breath and stood up. Arduin had ordered her handmaidens out of the rear hold, where she had remained as the expedition had reorganized itself on the docks for the la
st several hours. She stepped over to the partition and looked beyond it, to where her handmaidens waited. “Malia, can you come here?” she asked quietly.
Malia Morwin stepped in to the rear hold, her face expressionless. Arduin nodded, and stepped out, leaving the two women alone. Malia looked at the floor.
“Master Stjepan’s young squire was correct,” Annwyn said in a low voice that was not quite a whisper. “The rest of the household is to head to Araswell and take refuge with my brother Albrecht, but Arduin intends to take me far into the west, where he and Master Stjepan believe the enchantment upon me can be lifted.”
“How far into the west?” Malia asked after a long moment of silence.
“We are to cross the Wall of Fortias and enter the Bale Mole,” Annwyn said. Malia said nothing. “Would you accompany me there as my lady-in-waiting?”
Malia lifted her gaze until they were looking into each other’s eyes. Annwyn could see the hints of tears lining Malia’s lashes. Malia blinked once, then twice, and took a deep breath in, her reserve cracking with a look that flickered between fear and a peculiar joy, and the handmaiden had to look away.
“Of course, my Lady,” she finally said, when she had composed herself and was able to look at Annwyn again.
I can do this, Annwyn thought. I am a daughter of Leonas, the Baron of Araswell, and a direct descendant of Wain Far-Strider, shield-thane of King Orfeydda. Ours is a storied lineage, and my ancestors watch over me with pride from the Heavens. I have known the servants of our household since I was born, and they have known me. I have spent almost every waking hour with them for a decade, in a web partially of my own making. They will know what I mean to say, even if I cannot find the words.
Several of her handmaidens wept openly as she left the rear hold of the ship and joined them in the main hold. She spoke quietly to each of them in turn, whispering a farewell, patting the baby Elisabeta and young Odwen on their tousled, blond heads. Henriette, Silbeta, and Ilona knelt and kissed her hands, though several of the older women—Frallas, and Helga, and Elisa—held back a bit; she had been touched by a curse, after all, and they’d all seen the map on her skin. She could not begrudge them for that, given how loyal they’d been to her and her family for so long. She could only imagine what they thought of what was happening to her.
Malia placed a great cloak over Annwyn, and she drew the hood up around her mistress’ head to hide her face. Annwyn ascended to the main deck of the ship, followed by her handmaidens, and slowly crossed the gangway off the boat and onto the dock through a protective gauntlet of the rest of the household. Many of them wept as well, with some of them stepping forward to kiss her hand as she passed them, or kneeling or bowing deeply, doffing their hats if they were wearing them. She said nothing; she was afraid to speak, afraid she might say the wrong thing or forget someone’s name, afraid that her voice might crack and betray the fear that gnawed at her stomach and heart, and so she simply smiled and nodded as she could when they were willing to look her in the eyes. The rivermen of the two Helga ships and the stevedores and wharf rats of the docks slowly stopped what they were doing and fell silent, watching the strange proceedings, and some of them found themselves doffing their hats and caps by instinct, though they were not sure why.
She walked down the dock through the seven dismounted knights of her brother’s entourage, holding their destriers and coursers still. Some wore new plain surcoats or tabards, others wore their traditional livery but with the badges of her family’s arms hidden or removed, in some cases ripped away with seeming roughness to leave holes and stray thread. They bowed to her in turn. At the end of the dock, an enclosed four-poster coach of dark lacquered wood with strap and chain suspension awaited her; two pairs of their horses were tied to the yoke, and two pairs of pack horses and spares laden with saddle bags and supplies were tied to its rear. Large sacks and chests were fastened to the top of the coach. The squire Brayden sat up on the driver’s seat, holding the reins, next to a Danian man that looked vaguely familiar. He wore an extravagant doublet beneath his plain coat, and his air immediately struck her as that of a city dandy; he watched her with a keen, overly familiar interest that she found unwholesome and did not appreciate. Her brother was mounted on his favorite horse, and even though he wore only a partial harness and covered it beneath a long sweeping cloak, his bearing would not be mistaken as anything other than that of an Aurian knight. Stjepan and Erim were also mounted, watching her progress—Stjepan with brooding apprehension, and Erim with curiosity. The squire Wilhem Price held the door of the coach open for her. A wild-eyed, wild-haired Danian man dressed in dark blue robes sat behind the coach box in one of two rumble seats. He also looked vaguely familiar, and terribly unhappy, and seemed to be talking to himself, and she puzzled at where she might have seen him before. Was it back in their city house? But then Wilhem was helping her ascend into the coach, and Malia was following after her.
The interior of the coach was covered in a padded cloth, a deep orange color that was not entirely unpleasant. There were baskets and sacks filled with provisions on the seats, and she carefully sat down on one seat amongst the gear there, and Malia sat across from her. The door closed, and the two women looked at each other, and then around the small cabin.
“Well, my Lady,” said Malia finally. “I guess this shall be our home for the coming days. Pleasant enough, I suppose. They were lucky to find so excellently made a travel coach.”
“Yes, pleasant enough,” said Annwyn. “But a prison cell is still a prison cell.”
“I can see why she was once the talk of the Court,” said Erim to Stjepan in a low voice as Arduin’s knights started to mount their horses. “Even after all that’s happened to her, she still walks like bloody fucking royalty.”
“She has borne the approbation of the Court for many years, and borne their whispers and their envenomed glances upright with her head held high, despite it all,” said Stjepan. He squinted up at the sky. There was a dark cast to the clouds coming in from the southeast, and ravens circling in the air with the river terns. “But too much weight and even the strongest back will bend, and then break.”
He urged his horse forward, and Erim followed, and they took the lead off the docks and through the dock gates. The carriage finally started moving, and the knightly escort fell in before and after it. From the dock gates a street ran between the high inner city wall and the outer river wall to the gatehouse that led into the city itself and the barbican that opened onto the bridge that would take them west. Stjepan reached the barbican and leaned low on his horse to talk to the gate guards there, slipping them a small bag of coins as the column of knights and coach rode past into the through passage. And then they were out on the bridge, crossing the Vessbrae and driving west toward the setting sun.
The coach and its escorts first headed due west from Vesslos, as though they were headed toward Araswell. They waited until they had passed beyond the sight of anyone watching from the walls and towers of the city and they were fast approaching the lands of the Lord of Kielwell before they turned southwest along dirt roads that wound through the farming lands on the west bank of the Vessbrae. Stjepan led them around the river village of Mallis, held by a vassal of Baron Conor of Vesslos, and then west-southwest along the southern edge of the lands held by Arduin’s father from his baronial seat at Araswell and his vassals. They skirted the lands of his father’s tenants, Lord Bjorne Urwed of Riverguard, father to Sirs Lars and Colin, and Lord Swen Clowain of Araslawn. If the knights in Arduin’s service occasionally let their gaze wander off their path, to seek a familiar silhouette against the darkening sky, he did not blame them; but as for Arduin, he kept his eyes focused on their scouts, Stjepan and Erim, riding in the fore and tracking the way ahead. These side roads made for a good initial test of the coach, as Arduin and his knights were reasonably well familiar with them, and Arduin checked several times with his squires and with Malia about how well the coach was handling the road until he was sat
isfied that the choice of carriage had been well made.
Eventually it became too dangerous to continue on in the dark, even with torches and lanterns, and they pulled in for the night at a small stone-walled, thatch-roofed hunting lodge that the men of Araswell used on occasion. It took a short while to make it presentable as it hadn’t been used since the previous fall, but at least they were able to spend the first night of their journey with some small amount of comfort, and in familiar surroundings for many of them. They set a fire in the hearth, and hung some sheets and blankets as curtains for Annwyn and Malia. They ate some of the food that Erim and Gilgwyr had secured in Vesslos: several varieties of bread with olive oil, dried figs and dates and plums, the last of the winter pears and apples in the market brought up from cold storage, sliced pork liver pâté from a terrine, and eggs that they cooked in a skillet with some strong cheese and slices of dried pork sausage.
“Do you think they’ve reached Araswell by now?” asked Sir Clodin as they sat about the hearth.
“They won’t be moving as fast as us, but yes, I would expect that they’ve reached the castle,” Sir Helgi said with a gruff smile. “Don’t worry, your lady Frallas is ensconced behind stout walls by now, and under Lord Albrecht’s protection. He’ll be summoning up the levy of sergeants overnight, and by morning the castle will be sealed up pretty tight.”
Until the Grand Duke arrives, thought Erim; that part was left unsaid, but still Sir Helgi’s words seemed to satisfy the knights and squires, and soon they were busy setting the watch rotation for the night.