by Gail Gernat
When the sun had declined behind the trees, she woke him and gave him his portion of stew.
“Ummm, I didn’t know you could make this kind of meal from bark and leaves. Hey, my ribs hardly hurt anymore.”
He jumped to his feet. Illera grabbed his pants and tugged him down again.
“You need to stay still until tomorrow morning. You could re-injure yourself if you’re not careful.”
Lark backed her up, pointing to the blankets again. Raven reluctantly complied. They finished supper and washed up, then spent the rest of the evening contemplating the fire with their thoughts burning in their heads.
The sun rode the shorter trees surrounding them when they broke camp and headed east. The scrubby forest continued until midday becoming smaller and shrubbier, making their way hard going through brambles. Illera remarked how much more pleasant it was to ride rather than push through the clingy vegetation on her own two legs. Around them, the song sparrows sang, and the insects buzzed, assuring them that their enemies were somewhere else. So, they plodded without pushing the horses as the woods diminished and gradually gave way to short grassland. The birdsong changed as new species took over, but the hum of the insects was constant, making the horses kick and snap.
They moved more easily now that the hindering brush was gone, alternating between a gentle canter and a swift walk. The forest was a smudge on the horizon when they made camp for the night.
When they had eaten and settled for the night, Illera removed the bark and checked Raven’s ribs.
“They seem to be healing very well.”
“It doesn’t hurt unless I move the wrong way.” He hissed between his teeth as he did just that.
“Good. Two more days in the bark and you should be perfect,”
“Oh, so you think my brother’s perfect,” interjected Lark.
“Lark!” Raven protested, “If the Lady thinks I am perfect, that’s good.”
Illera smiled as they laughed. “I said he should be perfect, not that he is.”
With good cheer, they retired for the night. The next days were repeats, the prairie flowing beneath their mount's hooves. Only the wild things inhabited the wide prairie: birds, deer, lions, wolves, and bugs. The wind was their constant companion. Illera felt the greatest sense of freedom she had known since her father told her she must come to Frain, although her ache for Madean never left her. They skirted the edges of the Swamp of Ghosts, keeping miles distant from its deadly edges. From there they swung north again.
The character of the land began to change. The grasslands continued, the blades becoming ever shorter and wirier. The land shelved upward here, with long flat stretches of prairie then hills and another stretch of prairie. The further north they traveled, the rockier the land became.
As the horses surged over a shale-covered slope, Lark gave a whoop and spurred Appolon forward. Illera paused on the crest beside Raven. The land ahead stretched wide and green, dotted over most of its surface with horses. In the distance, a ragged skin tent waved in the persistent breeze; a blue pennant with a white galloping horse fluttering a welcome over it. Appolon was galloping flat out for a tiny figure in front of the structure. Illera looked at Raven. A wide smile plastered on his face, she could tell he wanted to be after Lark.
“My mother,” he explained. “That’s my mother’s herd and her tent.”
Illera smiled. “Go, greet your mother. She’ll wonder where you are.”
He looked at her grinning. Abbadon moved forward a few paces; then he reined him aside.
“My place is with you. We are supposed to be your squires, and we shouldn’t both take off.”
Illera kicked Copper to a gallop, and they raced after Lark, scattering mares and foals from their headlong charge. Abbadon pulled up snorting in front of a brown raisin of a woman, thrusting his soft dark nose into her cupped hands. The woman laughed, stroking his massive forehead. Raven leapt from the animal’s back and grabbed his mother swinging her around and around while hugging her.
“Enough, you unmannerly lout, put me down,” she demanded while laughing hard.
“But mother, I never get to see you,” Raven cried.
“You can see me all the better on my feet. And you haven’t introduced me to your princess yet. I taught you better courtesy than that,” she scolded.
Raven placed his mother carefully on her feet and stepped back grinning. He lifted Illera down from Copper’s back. His mother was of a height with Illera, having warm, kind eyes the color of clear tea. She had a broad nose with an interesting bobble on the end and a tiny rosebud of a mouth. Her body, though no longer young, was tough, lean and hard.
“My Lady, Illera, princess of Madean, betrothed of Torul and soon to be Queen of Frain, may I present Elisa, horsewoman for King Korul of Frain, and my mother.”
Illera curtseyed as she would to another royal woman. Elisa blushed and waved away the greeting.
“You are most welcome to my humble abode your majesty. I have little to offer, but what I possess is at your service.”
“Thank you kindly, Elisa. Your sons have told me much about you.”
“Ah now, you great louts, what sort of stories have you been tellin’ the lady to embarrass me,” Elisa scolded.
Lark emerged from the tent munching on biscuits. Both hands were full of more of the flaky bread.
“You great hog,” cried Raven lunging into the opening, “I hope you left some for me.”
Elisa looked at Illera with a sigh of long-suffering. “I suppose I will be baking on the morrow. Boys! But come, my Lady, refresh yourself. If you wish to bathe and wash clothes, you are welcome. The castle is an easy day’s ride from here.”
“That would be most pleasant.” Illera inclined her head.
Inside, the tent was large and comfortable. It had a screened off section at the back. Elisa gave Illera the only chair, a short, folding, backless affair and seated her at the rickety table, serving more of the flaky biscuit, fresh butter, a berry jam, and milk. Illera gratefully partook, understanding the brothers’ greed at the tasty food.
After the repast, Elisa led Illera outside to a rocky outcrop. On the far side, a small stream issued from the rock, falling six feet and forming a shallow pool at the base of the rock before trickling off into the stubby grass. Elisa brought towels and soap, and Illera stripped with less embarrassment than she had ever had. Elisa scrubbed her grubby clothes as she scrubbed her grubby self.
“Have my boys acquitted themselves well?” Elisa focused on the clothing beating it against the rocks.
“Most well. I would have been killed several times if not for them. They are brave and noble squires, and I know they will be outstanding knights when Korul rewards them for this journey.”
Elisa sighed with pleasure, a gentle smile on her face. “One tries so hard, but never knows how things will turn out. I always feared…”
She cut her words off.
Illera wrapped herself in the thick towel and sat beside the older woman, enjoying the warmth in the rocks.
“Elisa, tell me what you feared,” she requested in her kindest voice.
Elisa ducked her head, pounding the cloth with zeal. “I always feared they would become like their father.”
Illera nodded. “I can understand that. They must look like their father, so you would naturally think…”
Elisa shook her head and looked into Illera’s eyes. “No, they resembled their father, not at all.”
Taken aback, Illera paused, not knowing what to say.
Elisa laughed. “I don’t know why I am telling you, of all people this. I’ve not told a single soul a word about the boys’ father.”
Illera just looked at the older woman, wanting to know more but afraid to push.
“Do you…do you care about my sons?”
“Yes, very much,” Illera returned softly, placing her hand over the other woman’s where it rested on the rock.
Elisa looked up, looked deep into Illera’s ey
es, searching. “The boys aren’t even mine,” she said choking on the word. “They are royal bastards, orphans, abandoned by their father and mothers. You…you could not find a better bloodline to merge yours with in all of the world.”
Her head hung down now, and she stared at the rock, speaking to the hard surface. Illera could barely hear her words. “They are cousins and half-brothers, although they don’t know that. They had different mothers, sisters, but the same father. I have tried to the best of my ability to make sure that they grew up nothing like their father. He is evil incarnate.”
“Who is their father,” asked Illera quietly.
“Korul, King of Frain,” Elisa choked out.
“Why are you telling me this Elisa?”
“You must marry a prince of Frain and unite the two kingdoms. I wanted you to know there is more than one prince of Frain. When you are faced with Torul, you need to remember that.”
Elisa whirled; stuffing the wet clothes into a hamper and ran back to the tent. Illera, clothed only in the towel followed her; her feet bruised by the wind-rounded rocks and slashed by the sharp grass. As she hobbled into the tent, Elisa grabbed her arm and drew her aside.
“I’m sorry, my Lady. I should not have deposited my burden on your shoulders, but you must, you absolutely must promise not to breathe a word of what I have told you. Please my Lady?”
Illera smiled. “I promise, unless the situation is life or death, they shall know nothing of their father from my lips.”
She watched the relief course through Elisa. “Thank you, my Lady. Now if it is not too demeaning to your position, I offer you some of my clothes for the night while yours dry. We are much of a size.”
At Illera’s nod, she gave her a skirt and leather jerkin with a soft cream shirt. The skirt was snug over the hips and baggy at the waist, and she could not fasten the buttons of the shirt over her breasts, but the jerkin was roomy and covered her decently. As she was dressing, she heard Elisa scolding her sons to the bathing pool so they could be clean for their appearance at court the next day.
After a wondrous supper and more flaky bread, Illera was shown to a string bed. If felt like heaven after many days of sleeping on the ground and she collapsed into it, grateful that no matter what lay ahead, at least the traveling was done with tomorrow. She drifted to sleep lulled by the happy voices on the other side of the partition, cheered by their laughter.
They rode out under a fiery dawn, the blood-colored rising of the sun making the horses skittish. As the day wore on, the gloom increased, darkening the prairie with heavy cloud cover, until the land could bear it no more. The downpour was sudden and heavy, drenching the travelers before they could pull their cloaks around them. They trotted on through the storm, bedraggled and mud-spattered.
Well after midday, the castle loomed out of the dark and driving rain. Crouched on a high hill, the pile of black stone resembled a stalking dragon, in Illera’s mind. It was half again larger than Seven Spires, and its approach was steep and curving. The outer crenelated walls towered over a sheer drop of more than one hundred and fifty feet to a rock and mud-filled moat far below. Tops of the barbican towers disappeared into the downpour. Lark pounded on the tall, dark, sealed doors behind the portcullis. With a shriek like a dying dragon, one of the doors crept open. A tall, bearded man peered out at them through the bars of the barrier. Lark yelled at him, but his voice was whipped away by the wind.
The man turned and bellowed to other knights inside. With the loudest shriek, Illera had ever heard, the metal teeth began to rise. Lark and Raven ducked under when the gate was horse high, and she followed; dread soaking her as surely as the rain. The outer bailey was short, spotted with tents under which cowered starving people and listless children who stared with hollow eyes. The inner gateway was solidly locked, and Raven had to pound for long minutes to attract the attention of the gatekeeper. He was a wizened man, holding an uncured cowhide over his head and cursing at them as they passed.
They dismounted at the stables and slopped through the flooded inner bailey to the keep. The doors opened as they approached, flanked by red and black liveried attendants. Illera entered Korul’s castle and stood dripping on the flagstones. No one appeared to escort them, so they moved down the dark corridor towards the great room. The torches were widely spaced, leaving pools of deep shadow. Weapons decorated both walls, interspersed with unusual devices and pennants. Illera could not decipher where most of them were from. The sound of a commotion rolled towards them, the squires clapped hands to the pommels of their swords, as they strode into a scene of confusion.
A massive fireplace dwarfed a fire that burned fitfully on the back wall. A large empty throne of gold sat near it, upholstered in plush red fabric. On the far side, a massive stone staircase ascended up and up into a gloom of darkness. The four walls of the gigantic room were plastered, hung with animal heads of every creature in the known world, their sightless glass eyes staring down at the fight occurring in the middle of the room, in front of the throne. The tables and chairs were shoved back against the outside walls and all but obscured by the bodies of men milling around the contest, yelling and shouting encouragement for their favorite. The smack and thud of fist striking flesh brought renewed cheers and jeers. Illera stood in front of the door as though invisible, Lark and Raven on either side.
One fighter flipped and pinned the other, bringing the noise to a crescendo. The onlookers exchanged gibes and money. One of the men raised his head and stared at them for long moments. He was one of the shortest men in the bunch, but thick with a bull-like build and heavily muscled shoulders and neck. What could be seen of his face under wiry salt and pepper beard and mustache, was flushed and dominating all was the red, jutting protuberance of his nose. He smiled, revealing small teeth and moved cautiously towards them, balanced on the balls of his feet.
“Lark, Raven, and I presume this is the princess?” he remarked in a deep baritone as he stopped in front of them.
Illera pushed the hood of her cloak to her shoulders and regarded the man, staring straight into his colorless eyes. Lark and Raven bowed, going down to one knee.
“My Lord,” they chorused.
“And you, little wench from Madean, do you not bow before your king?” One lip curled into a sneer.
Trembling inwardly, Illera curtsied, replying, “I do if I am aware of who he is. Having not been introduced, I find it hard to guess which of these many men is king.”
Korul laughed; an unhappy sound. “I should think it would be obvious who is king among this crowd of louts.”
“Certainly your majesty,” Illera answered lowering her eyes.
“So, you finally show up and with just these two attendants,” Korul remarked, his eyes sliding over her in a way that made her flesh crawl.
“We have had numerous difficulties, Sire. Shul and others have waylaid us. I regret that my maid and bodyguard was left at Dragon’s Lair with Lord Darnovam who was less than hospitable.”
“Really? I’m, afraid I’ve had a different story from Lord Darnovam. What’s yours?”
“Your majesty, we have had a long wet ride. Could we discuss this by the fire?” Illera inquired.
The smile on the king’s face made her blood run cold.
“It suits me to discuss this here and now.”
Drawing a deep breath, she answered, “My bodyguard, your squires and I were drugged. I overheard our guards talking that Lord Darnovam had arranged to sell us all to pirates. It was necessary for us to escape from there. Without your squires it would not have been possible, and I know, I could not be here to unite Frain and Madean. I would respectfully request, Sire, that you send a messenger and bring my maid and bodyguard back to me.”
Korul snorted. “Rise squires and tell me the truth.”
Raven and Lark rose and looked at each other. Lark began, “Your majesty, it is as the Princess states. Lord Darnovam had plans to keep us from reaching you. We think he might have even employed a witch
to prevent our escape.”
Raven took up the tale. “We tried to rescue Ashera, the Lady’s maid, and bodyguard, but it was not possible, so we had to proceed to bring Princess Illera here by ourselves.”
Korul’s hand struck quicker than a snake, smashing Raven across the mouth and sending blood spattering against the walls.
“How dare you, a lowly squire, use the given name of royalty. You befoul it in your stinking mouth,” he roared.
Raven backed away and bowed his head. “Apologies your Majesty, my Lady.”
Korul stomped to the throne. Uncertainly Illera followed, trailed by Lark and Raven. Sir Kyle moved to the King’s right hand.
“Ah, yes, Illera, at last, we meet,” he remarked as he stared her up and down, making her flesh squirm on her bones.
At the king’s lack of action, she spoke, “Your majesty, pardon my asking, but why do you punish Raven for speaking my name but not Sir Kyle?”
Seated, the king grinned at her. “Sir Kyle is a knight in good standing in my army and head over many things in this house. Raven is stable sweepings.”
“But it was my understanding that Lark and Raven were to be knighted as reward for their escorting me to this castle?”
Korul roared with laughter, laughing so long he had to hold his sides as the tears streamed down his face. The men gathered around the throne joined him.
“Ah, my dear, dear naive Princess, one says what one must to get the job done. I knew if I sent any of the others you would not make it here unsoiled, but Lark and Raven…” He had to stop for his bellows of mirth.
“Excuse me, your majesty, you mean…” enquired Lark timidly.
Korul rose from his seat, towering over the squire from the tall throne. “I mean you and your brother are fools and will remain as squires until you have absorbed enough of life to no longer be fools. If you wanted knighthood, you should have demanded it before the mission was accomplished. You have nothing to bargain with now.”