by Raven Bouray
“Mor’ tha’ ye ken.” His tone was dark and what she could see of his frame beneath the cloak was tense.
His response surprised her and she let it show, despite knowing better. “Why would you say that?”
“Do wha’ oi say. Wha’ a fool’d name Emmaline.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Ye get rest. Long go ahea’ o’ us.” With that, he leapt back up into the tree and settled down against the trunk.
Emmaline sat for a few more minutes on the ground before getting up and walking over to where Arya was lying on the ground with her head tucked into her side. Her mare opened an eye and watched her approach before closing it once more as the mentally exhausted girl settled against her belly and let the warmth seep into cold bones. She shivered as gooseflesh erupted on her arms but felt better than she had before. Her hands were still tied up but she was able to lean and collect some comfort before she attempted sleep which was quite a long time to come. As thoughts drained from her weary mind she wondered why her father hadn’t come looking for her yet here. But she would find him on the road, she was certain of it. They would see each other soon. They had to.
Chapter 12
Bright sunlight woke Emmaline from her uncomfortable rest. She blinked rapidly and lifted her hand to shield her sensitive vision from further damage by the radiant light and found her muscles cramped and sore as she tried to move around. Her headrest and pillow snorted and shifted as she moved away slowly. Arya pushed off the ground and stretched out a hoof, as if she were sore as well. The sounds of her mare pawing the earth and shaking her head back and forth brought forth from her a small chuckle.
Emmaline stretched out while moving slowly and letting out a few whines of discomfort and tiredness. The sounds of shifting leaves and the crack of branches heralded the coming of her captor as he touched down upon the earth lightly, making as little noise as ever. “Food fer ye.” He presented another small pouch which he threw to her, and she was tired enough that she managed to catch it and open it with little reply. Inside the pouch were more of those berries from last night and some mushrooms. She lifted her gaze from the pouch and eyed the hooded figure in the light of day.
“Do you even know if these mushrooms are safe?”
She heard him scoff, “O’ curse. Oi no’ a fool. Ye thin’ oi ‘urt ye?”
“Well, maybe not, but you aren’t from around here. I can at least tell that much. So you wouldn’t know what is safe in the woods.” She knew that she sounded a bit tetchy but she was tired and still did not care.
“Ye ken abou’ thin’s wit smell, look, taste. Eet.” Once again he climbed, or rather jumped, into the tree and straddled a low branch. The opening of his hood was in her direction and she found the dark hole where his face should be unnerving.
Aside from that, she decided if he wanted her dead or injured, he could have easily done it in the hours that they’ve been alone together. Emmaline realized that she would be worth quite the ransom. The king’s granddaughter, albeit of the scorned firstborn son, but still, royal blood counts for something. So she ate her meager breakfast in peace as well as she could with limited movement and after she was finished, her stomach still rumbled. Since it didn’t look as if she were getting any more food, it was something that had to be ignored. A few moments later she looked up at her captor with arms still bound in front of her.
She gave a squeak as he dropped down and marched toward her. Stumbling backward in her haste to retreat, he managed to wrap a hand around her upper arm and haul her back upright. Then in a quick and precise movement he put his hands around her hips and lifted her with surprisingly little effort onto the back of Arya. And the traitor allowed it. So now she was seated side saddle atop the horse, and her hands were still bound. Not that it was difficult to sit this way, especially with her hands the way they were, but she still would have preferred the normal way to ride, even if her dress wouldn’t allow it for decency’s sake.
Without another word, he began to walk forward and Arya followed closely and obediently behind without so much as a second thought. Emmaline glared forward silently, nailing her gaze to her captors back. If looks might kill, then hers would have at least maimed him a little bit.
So instead of making pointless small talk or wasting her voice and energy on trying to get answers, as that had been a unfruitful quest, she just looked at her surroundings.
Forests and green things still calmed her, even now, or perhaps especially now with the coming of daylight it still served that role. The sounds of the animals were loud in her ears, especially the squirrels and rodents on the ground or in the trees making burrows or finding food. She used to watch the little brown and red creatures scurry across the ground or leap from branch to branch as if they were really flying. At seven years old, she wished she could do the same but when she had tried it herself, she had ended up with a broken arm and a severe scolding by her foster mother. Not to mention the teasing and poking that she had endured from one Jacen Calgen.
Emmaline had spent her time in her own musing for so long that she didn’t notice the trees spacing out and brush thinning ahead of them. So that when they stepped into the full light of day, she blinked and looked around. She was confused at the environment around them, mostly as it was entirely unfamiliar to her even aside from the lack of trees. There were no roads or signs as far as she could see. Just an open field of knee high grass and some small hills.
With barely a speck of time to acclimate, her captor continued forward into this new place, and Emmaline knew that she was getting further and further away from home every step. How would she find her way back now? Surely there would be something soon. A village or hamlet or even a road or sign that she could take off down. He was making it very difficult for her to plan out anything.
A look up at the sky told her that it was past midday but not by much. So they had been walking for some time, and her belly gave a rumble in abject complaint. She was used to three well proportioned meals a day and a few tidbits in between. The diet of berries and mushrooms would not do for long at all. Another rumble had her captor stopping in his tracks and his hood turned halfway back to look at her. “Yes?” She asked scathingly.
“Ye nee’ food?” Was the curt reply.
“Obviously. I’m sorry if the berries and mushrooms I had hours ago isn’t enough to keep my stomach quiet.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” Her reply lost some of its rancor in confusion.
“Why ye nee’ food? Goot meal.”
“For a squirrel, maybe. And perhaps if you weren’t aware you have abducted the fifth person in line for the throne. I’m not used to the scraps and bits that you are trying to feed me. I need a real meal. Several of them. But if that’s too much for you, then you can just let me go. Otherwise you need to take proper care of a hostage.”
She heard him growl under his breath. “Milte leaste.”
“What did you call me?” She half screeched.
“Tús! Diabt.” He turned forward once more and ignored her while starting his trek once more.
Emmaline seethed silently. Whatever he had called her it must have been an insult of some kind. And he was an idiot. He seemed, now that she thought about it, rather new at this sort of thing. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with her aside from feeding her.
“I’m cold too, you know. Were you planning on letting me freeze to death as well?”
She thought she could hear the grinding of his teeth, but with the sounds of Arya’s hooves on the soft ground, she couldn’t be absolutely sure. But if he was, she reveled in the fact that she could so easily get under his skin.
However, as they continued on, she noticed the scenery changing and a bit of fencing up that they were walking along and the sounds of cattle or maybe sheep flitted along the edge of her hearing.
She almost didn’t notice the road they were walking upon after a time. It was barely a road to begin with but the dirt beneath them was well used and had the footprints of
many travellers pressed down deeply along with the ruts from wagon wheels even deeper down.
Arya stumbled a few times on the uneven path and her captor moved them just off the road to avoid more of such things.
A small travelers wagon started as a small form in the distance and as it drew closer the jangling of metal wares and worthless jewelry echoed in her ears. The driver was a grizzled man with colorful clothing and a straw hat to keep cool in the sun. The horse that drew it was little more than a nag, poor and weathered, and the wheels made another set of ruts in the soft earth. She tried to get his attention without making too much noise, but he barely looked up from the path in front of him to grunt and pass them by.
And as they drew further away from the travelling tinker, her sense of helplessness grew. Could he really have not noticed or cared to even look up to see her bound hands? He could have been going to her home if that was the way. She couldn’t even tell. If there was even the hint of a sign pointing her in any direction, it would have been better. Maybe she should have tried harder to get his attention, yelled, tried to run again but instead, she sits like some sort of helpless maiden.
To be fair, she is a little helpless, but not like the simpering nobility that she constantly jested about. All screams and fainting and quivering like a leaf in the wind.
No. She wasn’t helpless. She was waiting, watching, and her opportunity would come hopefully sooner rather than later.
Arya continued to plod along, and she spotted buildings against the horizon and the familiar sounds of civilization coming from them. As they neared what began to look more like a small village, her captor pulled up to a stop and faced her. “Oi give ye a warnin’. If ye loo’ fer ‘elp, oi kill. Do ye ken?” His tone was cold, factual, and quite honestly, chilled her a little bit.
Any hope that had been building as they neared the village was snuffed out like a candle in the wind. He could be lying about that. Could be trying to scare her into submission. But what if he was true and honest about his intentions? She knew that he was skilled enough, fast enough, but she knew next to nothing of his soul, what he was capable of, and so if she were wrong about this and did tell someone… They could be killed and it would be all her fault.
And so she nodded in agreement, and he turned back around to continue their trek down the road. Perhaps she would have luck on her side and someone would recognize her. Even if she didn’t recognize them. Her appearance was an oddity enough with her eyes and sunset colored hair. Not to mention the fact that she was still in a shift. Odd enough that people might talk.
She smiled as they entered the outskirts of the city. Small children chased dogs and cats, chickens and goats, and some of them were even chased by the animals. And when they passed by, the children stared up at her inquisitively and at her keeper with a touch of apprehension. If her cloaked guide noticed, he gave no indication of doing so.
No, he moved as if he had a specific goal in mind, and it didn’t become apparent to her until she noticed a sign hanging above a door. It was an inn. Small, shabby, and poor, but an inn nonetheless. She knew that the people in her city went to one of the two inns on a regular basis for gambling or alcohol or companionship. It was a gathering place, and this one was no different from the sounds of patrons within.
Her hooded keeper moved to Arya’s side right next to her and uttered quietly, “Oi ge’ rope off ye. No yell.” His earlier threat refreshed itself.
Emmaline nodded and lifted her bound hands, which surprisingly were unscathed from their long confinement. The rope, not that she had noticed or wanted to before, was made from a soft material that was quite strong, and she felt his gloved hands on her wrists. The knot against them was deftly untied, and the rope was quickly and discreetly placed around Arya’s neck. He lifted hands to help her down, and she ignored him while rubbing her wrists a bit. She pushed off of Arya’s back, and her bare feet hit the hard earth with a quiet thud. Finding herself quite close to her captor, he nearly flew backwards in his haste to be away from her, but recovered quickly and beckoned her forward. He tied the other end of the rope to what looked like an unfinished fence next to the inn and grasped her wrist as he walked around the building.
Emmaline had no choice but to follow him. He opened the door to the inn and for a few moments all chatter ceased as they stepped forward. She had the unsettled feeling of being watched but kept her head down and eyes averted. People in places such as these were sometimes unsavory, especially from the way this place smelled. Her father had told her often to hope for the best in every soul but expect the worst.
But her captor didn’t miss a step as he made his way up to the counter where an older portly man tended the bar. He looked up at them and raised an eyebrow in confusion or maybe surprise. “Can I help ya?”
“Any room?” Her captor could barely hide his accent and the barkeep narrowed his eyes a bit at the strange words.
“Could. Up top. Not many rooms here. Mainly drinking.”
“‘Ow much?”
“Ten coppers. More for drink and food.” He gave a look past her hooded captor to her and his brow creased in...perhaps worry or maybe concern, but she kept her eyes averted, at least for now.
“Fine.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out the coin. After it was placed on the bar the innkeeper picked up a few coins and bit them, then nodding in satisfaction he waved them up.
“Lock on the door. Enjoy yer stay.”
Her captor pulled her forward and up the stairs. As they retreated the chatter in the room below began again. Mostly gossip, musings, boasting. It was nothing she cared to listen to. They climbed up and reached the top door. He pulled open the rickety wood and they walked into near darkness. He pulled her further into the small room and darted behind her to shut and lock the door.
It was only then that he released her wrist and stood between her and freedom once more. “It’s dark.”
“Open there. Still sun ‘ere.” He rumbled out and gestured to the back wall.
She looked to where he had gestured and found that there was indeed something back there. A thick curtain or blanket maybe. So she crossed the room and grasped the rough cloth and pulled it back from the window. The dust that rose from it sent her into a coughing fit. While she panted and wheezed, her captor stood there, just watching, and once she recovered enough, she sent him a glare. “Let me cough to death, will you?”
“Hmmph.”
“Not much here. No one’s stayed in this room for a while.” She looked at the meager furnishings, which consisted of a single bed, table, chair, bedside table and two lamps. And in the slowly fading sunlight, everything was coated with a fine sheen of dust. Emmaline turned from the poor room back to the window and searched for a latch to open it and bring in some fresh air.
After some searching, she found the latch near the bottom side and flipped it. But the old window was so settled into its rest she couldn’t budge it more than a finger width. She was so busy trying to lift it that she didn’t hear footsteps approach, not that she would have even if she had listened. The man was a ghost when he wanted to be.
It didn’t stop the squeak of surprise at the hand on her shoulder nor the way that she spun around as her own hand lashed out at the person touching her.
Her lips parted in a gasp of surprise as her eyes widened in both fear and amazement. Even though she had lashed out in instinct her wrist, had been caught at least a handwidth from his hooded face. The gloved hand tightened on her wrist as he pulled it down and away until he dropped it at her side.
After which, he lifted his other hand to her shoulder and nudged her away from the window. Emmaline moved to the side as he put his hands along the window frame under the handle. He gave one, two, three tugs, and the old wooden window came up with a loud groan of effort and with it, a gust of air. It was not necessarily the freshness that she was used to but better than the stale dusty air of the room.
He moved away once more. “Stay ‘ere. Need eat, go dow
n. Do no’ go from ‘ere.” His tone remained gruff.
“Where are you going?” She felt a momentary flash of fear. It wasn’t as if she knew him, not really, but at least the wicked you know is better than the one you do not. She was nearly defenseless, save her fists, but even those wouldn’t get her far if someone were determined. He didn’t turn around and so he didn’t see her extend her hand toward him and immediately retract it once she realized what she had done.
“No’ far. If need me, I hear ye.” And with that, her captor unlocked the door and disappeared behind it, shutting it with a firm hand before she heard his boots faintly thud down the wooden stairs.
And for the first time since she could remember, she was utterly alone.
Chapter 13
Emmaline juggled her options and weighed each of them carefully. She could stay here and wait for him to return from whatever task he had made for himself. Which was very unlike her. Or she could go downstairs and do some investigating and also perhaps get a decent meal. Her captor seemed to have enough coins for whatever he wished and he would be inconsiderate to deny her food.