“Oh, of course. Come on, follow me.” John walked ahead of Ashley, took half a dozen steps and froze. “Ummm...did you use the bathroom yet?”
Ashley blushed. “No. With all this drama I forgot. Wait here.” She jogged to one of the large bushes along the river's edge, squatted down behind them, did her business and returned to John a few moments later. “Okay, lead the way.”
Retracing his steps, John led Ashley to the clearing where he had left Jason to go in search of her. Stepping out of the woods, John saw Jason standing there talking to a man.
The man was short and stout, with night black hair and fine clothing. He was gesturing animatedly at Jason. “Do you know when your friends will be back, young man?” John heard him ask as they approached. He had an accent that sounded strange to John's ears. It reminded him of how Italians spoke English. Behind the stout man was a hulking beast of a man, rippling with muscles, his bare chest covered with tattoos and his head shaved. He carried a large wooden club in his hand.
“No, I have no idea. In fact, I don't even know...” he trailed off as John cleared his throat. “Oh, you found me.” He sounded strange. It sounded like he was unhappy that they had found him.
“What's going on here?” John heard himself asking, as he put voice to his inner thoughts. He moved to place himself between the stout man and Ashley, keeping his eyes locked on the stranger.
“Ah, there are your companions!” The stout man exclaimed, clapping his hands and stepping around Jason. He studied John, and Ashley behind him, for a moment, his eyes flickering between them, before settling his gaze on Ashley. “My, what a beautiful creature you are, my darling. Such exotic clothing! Where do you come from?”
John cleared his throat and tried to step further into the line of sight between the stout man and Ashley. Something didn't seem right about the man. Jason was acting strange, the hulking man seemed ominous and the stout man seemed to be oozing charm in an effort to put them at ease. The man reminded John of salesmen, in particular car and furniture salesmen. “We're from...very far away. You wouldn't know of it.”
The man's eyes flashed for a moment and the grin dropped for a second, though it may have been John's imagination, before returning even larger as a smirk. Yes, this man was dangerous. “Oh, well I have traveled much of the world, young man. There is a good chance I have heard of your homeland.”
“No, I doubt you have,” John insisted. “It's named Earth.”
“Earth? Like the ground we walk upon?” the man asked. He laughed. “What a silly name for a land.” He held up his hand, forestalling any reply from John. “It doesn't matter. What matters is that between your fair skin and exotic clothing, among other assets,” he stepped sideways and his eyes drank in Ashley, “you will be very valuable - to the right buyer.”
“Buyer? What are you talking about?” This time Ashley stepped out from behind John and stepped forward. John took hold of her arm, urging her to go no further, but she shook him off and continued toward the man. “We are free citizens of the United States of America, and we will not be sold.”
“Ah, so now you are from some...united states,” the stout man asked. “Your man lies to Horacio?”
“Not exactly,” Ashley began.
“I don't care!” Horacio shouted. “You will be made slaves, regardless of where you come from. Perhaps the exotic name of your homeland will even fetch a higher price for you. Guards, take them!”
Around the clearing, several hulking guards in leather armor complete with iron helmets appeared. A few had crossbows, while others had their swords drawn. One of the men held iron cuffs in his hands, while others dangled from his belt. Trundling forward was a large cart with an iron cage atop it.
“Wait,” Jason screeched. “Surely we can talk like civilized people and work this out. We have money – we can pay.”
“Let me see this money,” Horacio said, turning back to Jason.
Jason reached into his back pocket and pulled out his money clip. In it was several green dollar bills. He held out the wad toward Horacio. In the background, he could see John hanging his head and shaking it.
Horacio grabbed the paper and looked at it. “What is this? Some trickery? You think that paper will buy your freedom?” He threw back his head and roared with laughter. His men joined in as he held the paper aloft. Letting the paper fall to the ground, he stepped on it with his boots. “You are more stupid than you appear – perhaps I will not fetch as much as I thought for you.”
“Wait, please, there must be...” Jason was cut off as Horacio raised a hand and the hulking bald man behind Jason slammed his heavy club into the side of Jason's head. Jason's eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled to the ground.
“Jason!” Ashley exclaimed and tried to run forward. She was halted, however, as John grabbed her around the waist and held her back.
“We have to run,” John whispered in her ear. “Come on.” Taking Ashley's hand, he turned, and was faced with several guards pointing swords in his direction. There was no escape.
“Oh, I will thoroughly enjoy your company this evening, my dear,” Horacio said as he turned his attention back to Ashley and John, his eyes locked on Ashley. “Before tonight is through you will have known a real man...and perhaps some of my guards as well. Clap them in irons and load them into the cage.”
Ashley, her face bloodless in response to the lewd actions the man had alluded to, stood in shock as a guard came along and placed iron cuffs on her wrists.
John struggled as the cuffs were placed on him as well, but ceased his struggling after one of the guards threatened to beat him unconscious if he didn't stop squirming.
Chapter 3 - Homecoming
Boris walked down the dirt road toward the small village of Vergingrad, his black boots throwing up small clouds of dust in the dry summer air. Thin puffs of smoke from cooking fires drifted from the chimneys of the thatch roofed homes in the town of his birth. He stopped and stared for a moment. It's been too long, he thought. Will anyone remember me? He continued down the road toward the village limits.
The village looked much like it had when Boris had left years before – like an island among a sea of farms. The people of Vergingrad were a strong, hardy people, well-accustomed to cold, bitter winters and bouts of famine during dry spells. This particular summer looked to be one such period. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out his canteen and took a long swig.
Coming into town, Boris caught the gaze of many townsfolk eyeing him with suspicion. Strangers seldom traveled so far north away from the Imperial highway. As a boy, his father used to say the road only brought tax men, slavers or Imperial guards to town. That hadn't been strictly true, for some merchants or peddlers would visit from time-to-time, but more often than not undesirable visitors came down the road toward their sleepy town.
Like most small towns in the Imperial highlands, Vergingrad had only one small inn, nestled on the east side of town with its back against the Vergin river. As Boris approached the ragged front door to the Winter Hare, he noted that the sign, creaking in the slight north breeze, was half rotted away. It seemed that hard times had indeed come to town.
He cast a shadow as he entered the tavern. Looking around, he noted only a handful of patrons sitting scattered throughout the room. A single scrawny woman with disheveled hair the color of mud sulked toward the table of one such patron, setting down a trencher of a gray slop of some sort, and a chipped wooden mug of a liquid Boris couldn't identify, with a loud plunk.
As she straightened from delivering the food, the white-haired man looked down at the trencher, looked up at her face and sighed. “More stew, Ingrid,” he asked gruffly. “Don't you have any bread, or anything else?”
The woman, Ingrid, was expecting the question, for she had folded her arms before he even began to speak. “Don't you start with me, Vladimir, unless you want to go eat slop with the pigs.” Without waiting for a reply, Ingrid turned and stalked toward the back of the inn. She did n
ot spare a glance for Boris.
“Pig slop might taste better,” the man grumbled, but he dug his wooden spoon into the bowl and began to eat.
Boris approached the bar, watching Ingrid retreat into the kitchen. Taking a seat, Boris settled in to wait.
She returned a few moments later, carrying yet another plate of food and a cup, which looked much like the previous order. “I'll be with you in a moment,” she said, her voice curt, as she passed the bar. The second man did not complain about the food.
Returning to the bar, Ingrid glanced at Boris and spoke as she used her towel to wipe at the counter. “What will it be? We've got beef stew or lentil soup. Beef stew is five coppers, lentil is three. Beer is three as well.”
Boris looked at her for a moment. “Sister, don't you remember me? Have I changed so much?”
Her hand stopped. She looked up, furrowing her brows, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him, searching. “Boris? Is that really you?”
Boris smiled. “It's me, Ingrid. I've come home.”
“I...we...we thought you were...”
“I know what you thought. But I didn't die, and I'm back.”
Ingrid averted her eyes, studying the grains in the wood of the counter she had likely scrubbed hundreds of times. “Why did you come back now of all times, Boris?”
“I don't have anywhere else to go. Besides, I think it's been long enough, don't you? How have Pa and Ma been? Little Tobias?”
She returned her gaze to meet his. “The world is a big place. You would have been better off staying away. But to answer your question, Pa died from the bloody cough some eight winters ago. Ma is still alive, but she was driven half mad with grief at the death of Sophie and the...disappearance of you. Tobias went off and joined the Imperial army as soon as he was of age – we haven't heard from him since.”
Boris stared at his sister for a moment. He should have realized things would not be as he left them. “I'm sorry for the deceit, sister, but it was necessary. Dangerous people were after me. But I've grown up now. Where is Ma now?”
Ingrid tipped her head to the right. “She's up at the manor house, working for the Lord and Lady Morozov in the kitchens. Not much use to them, but it keeps her mind and body occupied. Where have you been, Boris?”
Boris thought carefully for a moment before he replied. “I've been across the sea, near Tar Ebon. I worked, uh, as an assassin, for a while. I'm not proud of it, but after what happened...I did what I had to do to survive.”
“An assassin? You? What happened to my little brother who preferred reading books to wrestling with the other boys? I can't believe you'd kill anyone.”
Boris shrugged and averted his eyes. “It wasn't an easy life. Recently I realized if I didn't leave that life I'd end up dead. I decided it was better to come back home.” He looked into her eyes and reached for her hands. “Ingrid, please believe me. I would never have left my family if there had been any other choice. I never wanted to leave.”
“I believe you, Boris, but it's hard to forgive you nonetheless.” Ingrid slid her hands from Boris' grasp and turned. “Let me get you some food – on the house. You're welcome to stay here at the inn as long as you like, we have plenty of open rooms, but you should see mother first.”
“I will,” Boris agreed. “I'll have some of the lentil soup if you please.”
After eating, Boris left the inn and headed to the north end of town, where the manor house of the Lord of Vergingrad sat. It was the largest building in the small town, a four-story broad stone building with a low wooden palisade surrounding it. Passing through the gates of the palisade unchallenged, Boris entered through the servants’ quarters and found himself in the sweltering kitchens.
The kitchens of a manor house were a constant center of activity from early morning until late night. Cooks toiled over pots of soup or prepared breads to be baked in the cast iron ovens which sat along one wall. Scullery maids worked to clean up after the cooks, while servant boys carried the food off to various areas within the manor.
Boris scanned the kitchen for a moment, searching faces for the person he had known all of his life. There, he thought as his eyes fell upon an elderly woman with dark gray hair that was seated in one corner scrubbing a pot on the table before her. Despite the haggard look and bags under her eyes, and the way her back slouched, Boris knew his mother.
Maneuvering through the bustling cluster of kitchen workers, Boris approached her. “Ma,” he said as he stood in front of her. “It's me, Ma, Boris.” He cracked a smile.
His mother looked up and scrutinized him. “What? Am I seeing a ghost? Or is this some cruel trick, young man?”
“It is no trick. I've come home.”
Tears welled up in his mother's eyes. “Boris! Oh, Boris, thank the Founders,” she exclaimed. Rushing around the table, she gave him a mighty hug that took his breath away. Boris patted her on the back tenderly. The hug lasted for several seconds before his mother detached herself from him. “Where have you been? We all thought you were dead, my son.”
Boris looked around the kitchen. There were several people in earshot, but expecting privacy in such a place was foolish. “It is a tale better saved for another time - a more private time.”
His mother nodded. “Of course, I understand.” Suddenly her eyes grew wide and her hand rose to cover her mouth as she gasped. “Oh, Boris, you must follow me. There is someone you must see. Come, follow me.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, his mother grabbed his hand and led him to the servants’ stairs. They climbed to the very top of the stairs before exiting into a hallway. “This hallway runs behind the rooms of the residents here,” his mother explained as they walked. “The room we want is right...here.” With a click, a door along the right wall opened and together they entered a chamber.
The room was lavish, with thick red carpet, elaborate patterned rugs and a plush sitting couch and two high-backed chairs. Boris stood still for a moment, taking in everything. He had seldom been in places of such opulence.
“M'lady,” Boris' mother began as she dropped a crude curtsy. “My apologies for the interruption, but I have brought someone I thought you should want to see again.”
Boris was confused at who his mother was speaking to, and a moment later was surprised when a woman stood up from the chair with its back to him. It was a woman, her long black hair running down to her mid back, a blue silk dress leaving her shoulders exposed. The woman turned, and Boris took a step back in surprise as the green eyes of Alexandra fell upon him.
Memories of the past assailed Boris in that moment. Memories of walking through the fields of daisies, holding hands with Alexandra, of kissing her on the lips for the first time and talking as they lay away at night about the children they would have together. Before him stood the woman that he had been set to marry all those years before. Until that moment though, he had seemingly forgotten her.
“It's alright, Galina,” Alexandra said, briefly glancing at Boris' mother before returning her piercing eyes to him. She opened her mouth to ask who she had brought to her, but then her eyes opened wide as recognition dawned. “Boris,” she whispered.
Boris, speechless, performed a hasty bow. What should I say, he thought. Taking a deep breath and gulping, he returned his gaze to hers. “Hello, Alexandra. It has been too long. How have you been?”
Alexandra's face grew red and she clenched her fists as she stepped around the chair to face him. Boris noticed as he saw her full body that the years had been kind to her. The dress she wore was modest, with very little cleavage showing, while small white slippers peeped out from beneath her dress. “How have I been? You just come into my life after all this time and that's all you can ask? Boris, where did you go? I thought you were dead for certain.”
Boris sighed. He hadn't been expecting to run into the woman to whom he had been betrothed. “I had to leave, Alexandra. It was safer for everyone if I was believed dead. I'm sorry to have deceived you, but I couldn't risk telling you
I was alive.”
“Where have you been all this time, then?”
“I traveled across the sea, to Tar Ebon. I did some odd jobs as a mercenary’s guard and then got involved with some darker characters.”
“He’s back,” his mother interrupted. “My son, can you believe it?”
“It seems hard to believe,” Alexandra said, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Why did you come back?”
“I recently had an experience that made me appreciate the life I have. That and I had to flee from the authorities.” Memories of fleeing in the night toward the docks, Veronica’s blood still beneath his fingernails, came unbidden, causing him to close his eyes against them for a moment. “Vergingrad was the only place I could think of. Besides, I missed my home.”
“Well, I am glad you are back.” She turned to his mother. “Galina, would you mind leaving Boris and I to talk? I imagine you have many duties to attend to, and I would not keep you from them.”
His mother performed yet another curtsy. “Of course, m'lady.” She turned to Boris. “I'll meet you downstairs afterward, son.” With that, she withdrew from the chamber.
As the door closed, Alexandra rushed forward - and slapped Boris. He had not been expecting it, and was sent reeling backward. “What was that...,” he began, but was cut off as she followed his backward trajectory, reached up, took his head in her hands and arched his head down. Her smooth, moist lips met his dry lips and she kissed him with great fervor, as if he were her lover and they were in bed.
For a moment Boris did not return the passionate kiss, confused by first the slap and then the kiss, but at last he wrapped one arm around her waist and placed another hand behind her head, pressing her closer.
“Oh...Boris,” she gasped in between fervent barrages of kisses. “How...how I missed you.” The flurry of kisses bestowed upon him continued for a few more moments, before she simply laid her head on his chest. “It's been a nightmare, Boris. After you left,” she started to sob, “my father shopped me around, looking for a man to sell me off to. At last father approached the lord of the manor, Sergei, and asked him. He took one look at me and paid my father three times the dowry he was asking. He had just lost his wife to the plague, and was in need of a new one. Within the fortnight we were married.
The Shadow Trilogy Complete Box Set Page 19