Within

by Aaron Bunce

  The young woman laughed, and slide smoothly from the chair. She quietly walked to Gladeus and lifted his wine goblet out of his hand.

  “No doubt, my lord, you took your liberties of the wine, among other things last night,” she said, lifting her eyebrow towards him before lifting the goblet to drink.

  “We…you…um,” Gladeus started. His eyes twitched back and forth as he fought the pervasive thoughts. The young woman let the wine goblet fall, its contents splashing over the floor. She draped both of her arms around his neck and pulled closer to him.

  Gladeus couldn’t tolerate filth of any kind, not in his home. He would have likely sacked, or had beaten, any servant that did what the girl had just done. Strange, it didn’t seem to anger him at all.

  She hung around his shoulders, her weight hardly noticeable. She felt soft and warm against him. She raised her hands and cupped his cheeks. Gladeus could not help but breathe her in. She smelled like blossoming, spicy wildflowers.

  The girl’s touch, her presence, did something to him. He didn’t know what it was, but he liked it.

  “What is your name?” Gladeus asked.

  “I am Nephera,” she said, rising on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

  “Nephera,” Gladeus said slowly, sounding it out. “That’s a strange name.”

  She continued to whisper in his ear, although what she said he couldn’t immediately register. The room spun around him as he became lost in the hurricane of emotions raging through him. Possibilities and dreams, they all swirled together, around one thing, Nephera.

  “Ah, my lord is a powerful man,” she said, and Gladeus felt a flush cover his body.

  “But you flatter me,” he managed to say amidst the chaos of his thoughts. Gladeus had never been around such a creature. He simply had to have her near to him all the time.

  “Would you keep me here, my Lord? Keep me safe from the brutes and predators roaming the city? Keep me here, so I can be with you…and only you,” she said.

  Gladeus’ heart leapt and he nodded exuberantly. He didn’t know how he lived all this time without her, but he was sure he would keep her close from now on. No matter the price.

  He would share his manor, his wealth and power with her. All of this ran through Gladeus’ mind as he stared, hypnotized into the swirling depths of her emerald eyes, for nothing else mattered, now that he had her.

  Chapter 17

  When in need

  Light crept into the room, piercing the dark like blades through the heavy curtains. Roman pulled the heavy blanket over his head to shield his eyes. He had no idea long he had been sleeping but wasn’t entirely ready to wake up yet.

  Roman trapped himself under the blanket and smelled dried herbs and salves, but also his body’s musk. He pulled down the blanket with a groan and escaped to fresher air.

  Horse’s hooves clattered against the dry ground outside. He also heard people talking and shouting to one another. Roman kicked off the blanket and rolled over. The movement pulled painfully on his injured side.

  “Tusk,” he called out, trying not to move. But there was no response.

  Roman stirred, trying again to sit up, but paused when his side stretched again. He held his breath until the pain faded. Then gingerly, inch by inch, he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

  He slowly swung his legs out. First his right then followed gingerly by his left. He dropped his feet to the floor as the front door opened. A column of brilliant sunshine fell over him. Roman shielded his eyes as a shadowy figure walked in and closed the door.

  Roman recognized Frenin’s stooped figure before he even pulled open the blinds. He covered his eyes again until they had a chance to adjust to the light.

  “Ah Roman, it is good to see you up and about, well awake at least,” Frenin said in his usual soft, if not overly rushed tone.

  Frenin walked over and settled down on the small table in front of him, concern drawing deep lines on his face.

  “You slept through the night and most of the morning,” the old man said, answering Roman’s unanswered questions.

  “I don’t remember much, after Lucilla came,” Roman admitted.

  “Lucilla’s herbal tea worked its wonder. You were snoring before she had started her work. From what I saw, you are better for it,” Frenin said.

  “Alina, where is she…is she okay?” Roman remembered the girl and tried to stand. Frenin lunged forward, catching Roman under the arms as his legs gave out.

  “Easy, my boy. She is fine, or as fine as we can expect, of one so young. The ladies were with her through the night. Her rest was fitful, and when she wakes she still won’t speak,” Frenin said with a scowl.

  “What you found at Garon’s farm, Roman…I should never have. It was wrong of me to ask you to go. I am sorry,” the old man said hesitantly.

  Roman took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, solidifying his thoughts before he spoke.

  “They’re dead, she is dead,” Roman croaked. Hearing it again made it real. The last thing he wanted to do at the moment was to relive it all over again, but he could think of nothing else.

  Frenin nodded darkly, lost in thought. “Berg led the town guard and some from the caravan out to check the farm. They found Greta, just like you said, and the livestock. Mercy, even Berg couldn’t say what had happened to them. He said it was…unnatural. They refused to stay long, even the soldiers. They could find no sign of Garon and the boys.”

  “Garon did this,” Roman said bitterly. Frenin’s eyes flashed, but remained silent.

  “Do they think it was Garon?” he asked when Frenin did not immediately reply.

  Frenin rubbed his weary eyes and shook his head, “I don’t rightly know. I can’t imagine…I mean he has always been…I guess, I just don’t know. Garon never treated people kindly. You of all people know that. But there was something else, too. Some of the livestock were mangled, well how did he put it, ‘chewed on’, I think is how he worded it.”

  Roman nodded, trying to digest the news. He hated Garon for all of his cruelties, his temper and abusive tirades, but he never believed him capable of killing anyone, let alone Greta. She was the one person in the world he seemed to care about.

  “The bodies, what could do that to something?” he murmured.

  “I wish that I knew, Roman, but I think once word gets out, it will be something on everyone’s mind. They are a superstitious lot. The caravan will likely not move on quickly now. With Greta’s death and Garon’s disappearance, they are likely to pillage anything of value from the house in their attempt to collect the tax. I fear they will linger, bent on claiming Garon’s crop and anything of value from their home for the Earl’s vault,” Frenin said.

  “What of Greta,” Roman asked.

  “They brought her back for a proper burial. It’s not natural, whatever was done to her. She was such a lovely person. She deserved better.”

  Roman stood, his knees and ankles protesting under his weight. He limped over and stared out the window. Frenin mumbled something Roman couldn’t hear, and when he asked him to repeat it, he just shook his head.

  “For your own good, I think it best if you stay in town. It might not be safe otherwise. You can stay here, get some rest, heal up a bit,” he said his head.

  Roman shook his head and moved to gather his things. “I’ll be okay. I have taken advantage of your hospitality too long already,” Roman said wincing.

  “Roman I must insist. You’re in no condition to walk across this room, let alone clear out there. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Frenin, I’ll be fine. Plus, I’m not alone, I have Tusk,” Roman said between gasps. Roman wavered, looking about the room, suddenly aware that his dog was still unaccounted for.

  “Tusk is safe,” Frenin said, watching Roman carefully. “He has been all around town since last night. Perhaps Marna has fattened him up with scraps at the tavern by now,” Frenin said.

  “He is a free spirit,” Roman said
grinning.

  Roman followed Frenin out the front door, struggling into his jacket. People flooded the streets. Wagons rumbled by while men on horseback wove their way through the crowds.

  “Council’s men are setting up shop in the White Crow,” Frenin said, pointing to the small inn at the end of the lane.

  Roman felt a nervous pang shoot through him. Roman hoped that what little coin he had been able to earn would be enough to pay his way in tribute.

  He shifted his small leather bag on his shoulder and bid Frenin a good day. Roman had a long walk home, and the first steps were painful, but he tried to make a good show of it.

  Frenin grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. “I don’t mean you to walk, dear boy, but if I cannot convince you to stay, then please take one of my horses. You can return it whenever you feel up to it.”

  Roman agreed but insisted that he could walk around and retrieve the animal himself. Frenin fussed, but Roman finally managed to shoo him away. He watched the hobbled old man shuffle off down the lane.

  The air outside was pleasantly cool. Golden sunlight cascaded down as Cicada song echoed from the trees. The strange buzzing song rose to a deafening crescendo and then faded once again in its seemingly endless cycle. The insects were heralds of change, but in all of Roman’s thaws, he could not remember a time when they greeted a day with their song.

  Roman limped around the house and back to the stables. It was a simple structure constructed of heavy beams, with a tall thatched roof. The buzz of the cicadas grew louder as he ambled forward until he felt like the chattering insects were crowding in around him.

  Roman unlatched the half-door and slid inside, slamming it shut behind him. He leaned back against the cool wood and closed his eyes, forcing away the stress and anxiety that had so quickly flooded in. He focused on the gentle murmuring of the horses.

  Roman held his arm protectively over his side and stepped forward past the first stall. It was empty. Frenin’s bay mare stood in the adjacent stall. The young horse was an attractive rich brown and had large, gentle eyes.

  Roman rubbed his hand over the young horse’s snout as it sniffed him curiously. In the next stall was Frenin’s old quarter horse. The light brown stallion hung its head over the door, hoping for an apple or hand full of oats, but nickered appreciatively when Roman smoothed the soft hair on its head.

  “Hey General, hey boy,” he said, greeting the large black horse in the last stall.

  General perked his ears and turned his head, puckering his lips comically. Roman reached into his pocket and removed an apple he had taken from the bowl on Frenin’s table. He took a bite of the crisp fruit before holding it out to the horse. General took the treat and crunched it up.

  General had been his father’s horse. Had Roman been a few thaws older when he passed, he would have inherited the household, the horse included. But before his father’s body was put to rest, the magistrate’s men arrived in town.

  The men claimed to hold his father’s debts from unpaid taxes and seized the house and estate. In an unexpected move, Frenin had purchased General, allowing a small piece of his home, and his father to stay close.

  Garon forbade Roman from riding the horse while he lived on his farm. He would never explain his reasons, but his hatred left a lasting mark. It was not until Roman struck out on his own that he had been able to ride the horse again. General wasn’t the galloping monster he had once been, but he was still strong. More importantly for Roman, he was a small semblance of a life lost.

  It took both hands, and a great deal of effort but Roman managed to lift the leather saddle from its hook on the back wall. The saddle smelled of conditioning soap and horse sweat. The smell instantly transported him back to when his father first taught him how to ride. He remembered how he taught him how to care for the horse and his riding gear.

  He tried to ignore the stinging pains in his side as he unlatched the door, but with every movement, it felt like he would tear apart. General snorted and pawed at the ground as he stepped into the stall. He nuzzled Roman’s head with his nose before rooting around in his jacket for treats.

  The saddle felt like a pile of rocks in his arms, but somehow he managed to swing it into place on the horse’s back. Roman leaned heavily against the horse once he managed to tighten down the belly strap.

  He scooped up a hand full of oats and led General out the door and into the sunshine. Roman gripped the horn of the saddle and tried to pull himself onto the horse, but pain erupted in his side, and he slumped back to the ground. The shiny black horse swished his tail patiently as Roman tried once again, but the task proved excruciating.

  Roman tried over and over again, but each attempt ended in painful failure. Roman resigned himself to walking home and even started leading General back into the stable

  “You look like you could use a hand,” someone said behind him.

  Roman turned, still clutching to his throbbing side. “That’s alright, I think I can manage.”

  “I’m not sure I would call that managing,” the young guard said with a snicker. Roman felt his face flush, embarrassed that someone had witnessed his embarrassing failures mounting his horse.

  “No, I’m fine…no trouble, I was just…” he tried to lie, recognizing the leather armor and emblazoned tunic of Lord Thatcher.

  Roman heaved himself up in on last desperate attempt, but like before, the pain flared, and he slumped back to the ground with a curse. He cradled his side as he tried to stay upright, but even that simple effort proved painful.

  “Oh, wow. You don’t look so good. Here, let me help you,” the guard offered, and before Roman could decline they lifted him up straight.

  “Thank you,” Roman grumbled. The guard removed their helm and brushed a few loose strands of brown hair aside.

  “You’re a girl!” Roman said in surprise. She couldn’t have been more than a winter’s thaw or two older than him. She had long, curly brown hair, soft, hazel eyes, and a smattering of freckles just over her nose.

  “I wouldn’t call myself a girl, per se. I haven’t run through fields chasing butterflies for a long time! But yes, I am not a man. I am Dennah,” she said.

  “Roman,” he replied with a grimace, feeling a bit awkward for his comment.

  Without waiting for his reply, Dennah walked behind him and heaved him up and into the saddle. Roman clutched at his side as she stepped away.

  “That won’t do,” she said, prying his hand away and motioning to the blood seeping through his clothes.

  “Damn!” Roman cursed, pulling his jacket down to cover his side.

  “I hope you don’t have far to ride,” Dennah said. Her gaze lingered on his side even after he covered it up protectively.

  “It’s a short ride, just a bit through the hills and past the river fork. I should be fine,” Roman said with a forced smile.

  The sun struck her face as the tree shifted above them. Her eyes sparkled, shifting blues, greens, and browns in the sudden sunlight. He looked away quickly, so she wouldn’t think he was staring.

  “Well, do you have someone to help you…where ever you’re going?” Dennah asked, petting the soft hairs on General’s face.

  Roman couldn’t lie. “No, but I think I will be okay.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I will ride with you…just to help you tend to your horse,” she said quickly, the reins of her horse already in hand. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “You don’t have to do that!” Roman said, but then tried to back pedal. “You’re probably busy. I think I can probably manage on my own.”

  Dennah pulled up next to him atop an attractive speckled mare. She did not bounce, but stayed tight and moved well with the trotting horse. “I’d love to lend a hand. Besides, I’m on liberty until tomorrow. Not busy at all.”

  General’s neck seemed to swell, and he flared his nostrils before aggressively pawing the ground. Roman knew the horse well enough. He was showing off for the smaller female.

&nbs
p; Dennah smiled, and her hands wrapped firmly on the reigns. He realized there would be no changing her mind. He returned her smile and spurred General forward.

  They bypassed the streets and avenues filled with people, passing beneath towering evergreen trees, and the soft pine needle-covered hills overlooking the town.

  General’s longer gait forced the smaller mare to work harder to keep up. Roman snuck several sidelong glances and noticed that Dennah was more than a capable rider. She was graceful yet strong. Her movements were efficient, and unlike Roman, she seemed at one with her mount.

  For Roman, the ride was excruciating. He bounced ungainly in the saddle and couldn’t get comfortable with General’s movements. Every bump and jolt aggravated his throbbing side. It took great effort just to keep his face calm.

  “It is quite beautiful here,” Dennah said.

  “So…where are you from?” Roman asked.

  “I grew up in Yarborough.”

  “Ah, the Booted hills, rugged wilderness,” Roman said.

  “I haven’t heard anyone outside the boroughs call them that. Have you ever been?” Dennah asked, her face brightening.

  “My father traveled a lot and told me stories. Someday I would love to travel north and see the mountains myself.”

  “You should. It’s beautiful country,” Dennah said excitedly.

  Once the town was to their backs, they slowed to a comfortable trot. He could tell that she was homesick before she even opened her mouth to speak. She told him about her family, which turned out to be quite large.

  She went on about her older brothers, who were numerous, and had all enlisted into the Earl’s service. Dennah beamed with pride as she told him about her parents. She painted Roman an image of a tidy house, tucked away from the bustle of town, embraced by the woods of the northern hills.

  Roman listened and became envious of her family, and the close bonds that held them together. The fond recollections and memories that sustained her so far from home affected Roman. He was nothing, if not a bit nostalgic.