by MJ Blehart
“And where is home, dear?” she asked.
“Not here,” was the girl’s answer.
“Put down the knife, dear, I won’t harm you,” she said gently. “It’s alright, you are safe here.”
The girl nodded, and returned the dagger to wherever she had it hidden.
“Is someone trying to hurt you, lass?” she asked her.
The girl shook her head. “Not exactly. It’s just really important that I get home. I have…I have things that my…family needs to be made aware of.”
Clearly the girl was not telling her the whole truth. But she looked somewhat like her own daughter, and she found she felt nothing but sympathy for her. “I won’t keep you. I was just a bit concerned when I saw the barn door was open more than I had left it. But tell me, when was the last time you ate?”
The girl sighed. “Day before yesterday.”
She shook her head. “Tsk. Come, let me fix you something to eat. No offence, dear girl, but you look like you need it.”
The girl grinned at that. “My momma would not like to see me this thin, I don’t doubt.”
“Come with me, then. Help me catch one of the chickens, and then I will prepare you something to eat. Then you can be on your way. Sound good?”
The girl began to bob her head. “Surely. And thank you.”
She smiled at her. “I’m glad for the company. I haven’t spoken with another since the end of Harvest.”
“I will be glad to share a meal with you, then,” the girl said, with obvious sincerity in her tone. “Again, I thank you.”
She went and propped the pitchfork back where she had taken it from. The girl had climbed off the hay pile, and was standing near.
“What should I call you, dear?”
“My name is Dariana.”
Chapter 28
Dak paused at the edge of the wood, peeking out at the road.
There was no mistaking this. A whole company of soldiers, Sharron Army, marching to the East. He quietly slipped back into the woods.
Dak tread slowly. He wore muted brown breetches, a dark green tunic, and a brown cloak. He watched the ground for twigs and roots, making no excess noise, avoiding tripping himself.
He was near. Three times he gave the call of a local bird. Three similar answered. He moved on.
They were hard to see, but scattered all around were nearly a hundred and twelve Falcon Raiders. They hid among the trees, several paying special attention to horses, working to keep them calm and quiet. Dak admitted to himself he almost envied the horses.
Acting as his second for the time being, Delann approached him. Another, Torra, was at his side.
Delann was about the same age as Dak. Thin and muscular, short of stature and bald, Delann was a tough man. His prowess with the sword was remarkable, as he’d been a farmer when he’d joined the Falcon Raiders. Torra was in her late twenties, the widow of a Sharron Army soldier. A waif like build, but she was unmatched with a crossbow, her auburn hair was cut short, and her eyes were brown and hard. A deceptively tough woman.
“There’s a company on the road,” Dak told them quietly.
“Looking for us?” questioned Delann.
Dak shook his head. “I think not. They’re marching east.”
“Maybe those rumors are true,” remarked Torra.
“Maybe,” Dak agreed.
They waited quietly. Three more bird calls, three more in response. A moment later, another Falcon Raider, Mikar, joined them.
Mikar was a very big man. Over six feet tall, and more than three-hundred pounds. His hair was thin, but dark, his beard thick. He was deceptively agile, though, and impressive with the quarterstaff. He was breathing a bit hard.
“They’re gone, Lord Dak,” he said, catching his breath. “But I couldn’t find a path of any sort through the woods. We gonna have to stick to the road.”
Dak found himself nodding his head. “Let’s get Mikar, here, some water. We need a plan.”
Another raider presented a water skin to Mikar, who drank noisily of it.
“We need to make Tarmollo no later than tomorrow, preferably by morning,” stated Dak. “We’re being slowed by all this military movement. Suggestions?”
“We could split up,” breathed Mikar. “If we make ourselves smaller groups, we might arouse less suspicion.”
“The trouble with that, though, is we’re well armed, and we have no wagons,” remarked Delann.
“That does present a problem,” commented Dak.
“I might have an idea,” Torra offered. “I grew up not far from here, in the Town of Shartu. It might not be of any importance, but it’s near enough the border to be in danger from invasion. We could get away with at least a quarter of us moving west. Scared, armed townspeople, getting clear of any potential fighting. Even if they didn’t pass through Shartu, they’ve passed near enough to be noticed.”
“We could do this somewhat better,” said Mikar, breathing more easily now. “All our horse, circled around another quarter of the group on foot. On guard. The rest of the foot slinks along at our sides, in the trees.”
“That’s not bad,” agreed Dak. “Torra, you know Shartu. You’ll speak for us if anyone stops us.”
Torra gestured her ascent.
“Let’s do it. Unless there’s another suggestion?” No one said a word, as Dak eyed them. “Torra, Delann, split ‘em up. Find who’s going to do alright with the underbrush and such. Delann, the woods group is yours.”
The former farmer bobbed his head.
“Let’s move out!” Dak ordered.
They were soon on the go again, continuing on their way to Tarmollo.
*****
Nadav and Torman, along with Neva Alcarra, rode ahead of their band of Falcon Raiders.
They looked, to all appearances, like a wealthy and large merchant caravan. Torman, by agreement, would do all the talking. They were now approaching a platoon of soldiers. It was unavoidable.
Torman, nose in the air, looking haughty, raised a hand, and Nadav and Neva halted. He rode a bit ahead, and the leader of the platoon, a sergeant, stepped forward.
Nadav observed the other four men of the platoon. They were nervous, glancing back and forth at one another, Torman and company, and the wagons of the Raiders behind them. Nadav was certain these were Sharron Army reserves, not regulars.
“Sergeant!” called Torman, sounding regal. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I’m sorry, m’lord,” said the sergeant uneasily. “We’re patrolling for Falcon Raiders and other bandits. Reports have indicated the presence of some in this area over the last couple months. State your business.”
“State my business?” questioned Torman, becoming haughty again. He turned to Nadav and Neva. “He wants me to ‘state my business.’”
Feigning good humor, Neva and Nadav laughed.
“My business, Sergeant, is with the honorable Lord Mayor of Natarn, Bran Il-Sharron.”
“I need more than that from you, m’lord,” stated the Sergeant, crossing his arms, feeling his authority.
Torman made a dismissive gesture, blowing out his lips. “Ah, such is the mind of the military type. Very well, then, Sergeant. I am Torman An-Farrat, Lord Merchant of the Staple and Spice, from Anzarna.” He did as much of a flourish and bow as was possible while mounted. “I travel with my nephew, there, Nordav, and my lady, Neva. And this,” he made a grand gesture of the wagons behind him, “is my caravan.”
The Sergeant was clearly unimpressed. “Papers?”
“You are a bore, aren’t you?” questioned Torman with a hint of amusement. He snapped his fingers, and Nadav rode forth. He presented a scroll to Torman, who handed it to the Sergeant. They’d planned ahead for this contingency.
The soldier unrolled the scroll, looked it over. He looked up, and it was obvious he counted the wagons. He nodded his head to himself.
“Would it be too much trouble if I have some of your wagons searched, Lord Torman?”
There were many advantages to having ex-soldiers among the Falcon Raiders. Two had served as border guards in the Sharron Army, and had forged the necessary papers.
“It does all seem in order, then,” the sergeant conceded. “Be wary, Lord Torman. Bandits are plaguing this region of late. Be on your way.”
Torman tossed the man a couple silver coins. “Thank you, Sergeant,” he turned. “Nordav?”
“Move out!” Nadav called.
“Sergeant,” Torman bowed his head as they rode off, the wagons coming behind them.
They rounded a bend, and heard the sergeant and his platoon gallop off in the direction they had come.
Neva practically giggled. “That worked far better than we’d thought.”
Nadav grinned. “Yes. ‘Lord Torman’ put on a good show.”
Torman smirked. “My mother always wanted me to be an actor.”
They shared a laugh, and continued along the way to Tarmollo.
Chapter 29
Not long after nightfall, with the moon Aelunae nearly full and I’lunae nearly eclipsed with the approaching solstice, the remaining forces of the Falcon Raiders and their new allies, group by group, began arriving at Tarmollo.
The three Barons had brought nearly three-hundred soldiers, in addition to Lyrra-Sharron’s force of nearly five-hundred. A formidable group to be certain.
The Barons met privately for a time. Lyrra-Sharron, though still suspicious of them, allowed this. It was obvious that Baron Tilroan was the primary instigator among them. In the interest of good faith, she allowed the three nobles to hold a conference.
Each of their contingents of guards were camped slightly apart from the Falcon Raiders, and there was little or no conversation or interaction between them all.
During the course of the day, weapons were made ready, cleaned and prepared. Falcon Raiders trained and exercised while the Barons’ Guardsmen watched, clearly showing their astonishment with the proficiencies they found among the Raiders. Horses were re-shod. Travel food was prepared. Strategies were laid out, evaluated and changed by Lyrra-Sharron, Dak, Nadav, Torman, Barons Foltupp, Dovan and Tilroan, Andim and Kallan. Fighting was anticipated. Dak was convinced there was some sort of trap laid out, waiting for the Falcon Raiders to spring it.
Dak found time to speak to Lyrra-Sharron alone. He expressed his concern over the troops he and his people had observed marching.
“I think we move too abruptly,” stated Dak without preamble. “There were a lot of troops moving to the border. Something major is afoot here.”
“How does this affect our plans?” questioned Lyrra-Sharron, unable to hide the irritation in her voice.
Dak remained firm. “If Sharron and Medaelia are headed for a major conflict of some sort, now might not be the time for us to move against your Father.”
“That may actually make now the perfect time to move against him,” replied Lyrra-Sharron adamantly.
“I don’t agree. The last thing the army needs is a change of command during a conflict.”
“I would not change command of the army in the middle of a fight,” argued Lyrra-Sharron. “I am not ignorant of military strategy, Dak Amviir.”
“I’m aware, Lyrra-Sharron,” remarked Dak. “But look at the bigger picture here. Your father, as King, is the actual commander-in-chief of the Sharron Army. Altering that could be disastrous.”
“You do not think I am as good a strategist and military commander as my father?” asked Lyrra-Sharron, unable to hide a trace of anger brewing in her voice.
Dak shook his head. “I’m saying it might not be good for the morale of the Sharron Army to have a change in the heat of conflict. The turmoil that could ensue might be more harm than good.”
He paused, took a breath, and continued. “I think we need to re-evaluate our situation. We need to send scouts to the border, query your sources in the Common. Prudence suggests we pause, and see what we can make of the situation.”
Lyrra-Sharron walked away haughtily. This was the last person she expected to stand against her plan. She stopped, got hold of herself, and turned, shaking her head. “We cannot turn away from this now, Dak Amviir. I have my full strength gathered here, along with three impatient Barons and their men. I will not deny that you make several good points, and I would take them under consideration.”
She stepped up to him now, gazed thoughtfully into his eyes. “But I cannot stop this now, Dak. I am too close. I can handle whatever conflict is brewing on the border. I will not chance losing the Barons. I do not want to risk this entire operation by remaining immobile here. The time is now. The Crown is nearly mine! It is time to finish this!”
Dak bowed his head, not willing to return Lyrra-Sharron’s gaze. “I follow where you lead, Lyrra-Sharron. I trust you.”
She reached up, touched his cheek. He reacted with alarm. He jerked back, stepped away.
“I have things to see to,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “We’ll speak again, your Highness.” He bowed and swiftly left the tent before Lyrra-Sharron could say more.
In the afternoon, Nadav and Torman approached Lyrra-Sharron together. Their argument was surprisingly similar to Dak’s. The Princess heard them out, but her annoyance at their impertinence reached the point where she finally cut them off.
“My decision is made,” she concluded ominously. “I shall hear no more dissent from my officers. We stay together on this, or you leave right now! Are you with me?”
Torman and Nadav exchanged a look, and each replied, “I am with you, Lyrra-Sharron.”
“Good. You have duties to attend to. You are both dismissed.”
The bowed slightly, and departed quickly.
By nightfall, all was ready. They would strike the encampment and move before dawn. Lyrra-Sharron demanded that they prepare early to rest. She planned to reach the outskirts of Mintarn tomorrow night, and move on the town the following morning.
An hour after sunset, Lyrra-Sharron gathered her leadership in the main pavilion. Present were Dak, Torman, Nadav, Andim, Kallan, Barons Dovan, Foltupp and Tilroan, Neva Alcarra, Darak, Varnon, Torra, Delann and Mikar. The central table had a large map of the region laid out, and many lanterns hung down, illuminating the pavilion. They were going over final plans.
“Lastly, Torman will lead the rearguard. Darak, Neva, you are his lieutenants. Baron Foltupp, you and your soldiers are with the rearguard.”
“As you say, Princess,” replied the Baron.
“You have your assignments. We meet again tomorrow night. We will meet at my encampment. Questions?”
“Opposition?” asked Dak.
“Take them out, but quietly,” replied Lyrra-Sharron. “The camps are close to one another, so if one is attacked, the other can respond. I know, Dak, that you believe there to be a trap in place for us. I am taking precautions to be ready for such.”
“Is there no way to put more of your Falcon Raiders on horseback?” questioned Baron Tilroan, a pipe in his mouth. “So many on foot are slowing this down.”
“We have what we have, Baron,” remarked Lyrra-Sharron sharply. “We make do with what we have got. Alright. We are ready.”
A young raider came into the tent, and bowed to everyone present. Lyrra-Sharron was loathe to recognize him, as he was a new recruit of Torman’s, just arrived. He’d been on duty outside the pavilion.
“Princess, my lords, ladies,” he continued to bow, clearly taken aback by those here. He rambled quickly. “The road guards have brought someone to you, that is, this man came to us, and he had all these things to say, and he claimed that you would know and understand, and…”
“Who is it, Gallgon?” interrupted Torman.
Gallgon froze a moment, realizing he’d not said. “A friend.”
“Who?” asked Lyrra-Sharron, not showing any tolerance for the interruption.
The young man bowed again, almost fitfully. He pulled back the entrance flap, and in walked Cam Murtallan, followed by a tall, cloaked man, a hood obscuring his features.
“Cam,” Lyrra-Sharron breathed.
“Hello, Lyrra-Sharron.”
*****
“That will be all, Gallgon,” ordered Lyrra-Sharron, not taking her eyes off of Cam or the man behind him.
The young raider bowed, and hurriedly left the pavilion.
“Welcome back, Cam Murtallan,” said Lyrra-Sharron plainly. “I had hoped we might see you once again. We have made a lot of plans in your absence. Your departure was rather abrupt, and you bid farewell to no one. Where have you been?”
“I had some thinking to do,” replied Cam, crossing his arms. “I had a few...revelations. I had to go. I wanted to return to you sooner, but things took longer than I expected.”
“Why have you come back?” asked Dak, stepping behind Lyrra-Sharron.
“Who is this?” queried Baron Tilroan with obvious irritation.
“He is one of my lieutenants,” Lyrra-Sharron responded, glancing towards the Baron briefly, then returning her gaze to the Sorcerer. “Answer the question, Cam Murtallan. Why have you come back?”
“I have come back to help you,” replied Cam.
“To finish what we started? You come with us to Mintarn?” pressed Lyrra-Sharron.
Cam shook his head. “No. I’m here to stop you from making a terrible mistake, and to save Sharron.”
Lyrra-Sharron barked a short, mirthless laugh. “You want to save Sharron? So do I. My plan is in motion. You know nothing of our laws or customs, save what I have told you, and you think I am about to make a mistake? I gather your ‘revelation’ involved a return of your previous arrogance, then. Just how would you think to stop me? ”
“I’d hoped to simply talk you out of this,” said Cam calmly.
“You know what is at stake here. Do not waste your breath, Cam Murtallan. There is no more time. My mind is made up,” replied Lyrra-Sharron angrily.