by Aaron Bunce
He heard Lucilla talking when she thought he was sleeping. Something had happened. Something with a cleric, but Roman couldn’t remember what. It was all too confusing.
The pain in his wrists bit sharply, snapping from his dreams, tearing him from his submersion deep in the lake of fire. He pulled his eyes open, but they were and so caked with dried sleep and tears that he couldn’t immediately see.
“Ow…my hands,” he moaned, feeling his stomach rumble dramatically. But it wasn’t the usual pain, but hunger.
“Easy….easy, I will have you out of these in a moment,” he heard someone say.
The blurred form of a person moved above him, and something cold poked his leg, followed by something wet and warm. Roman’s mind moved slowly. He didn’t know what it was.
His hand came free, so he pulled it in close, cringing from the sting of angry, broken flesh on his forearm. He moved his arms and legs, one by one until he was finally able to curl up into a ball.
He never felt so weak, just the thought of moving exhausted him. He felt his thoughts slipping back towards the fire when he closed his eyes until someone grasped him firmly by the arms and lifted him into a sitting position.
“Roman, look at me. Open your eyes, Roman. There you go,” someone said.
Roman opened his eyes once again. Their face was blurry, but Roman would know Frenin’s voice anywhere. He knew his smell, too, tanned leather and sage candles.
Frenin wiped his crusted eyes with a damp cloth. Roman blinked over and over again until everything finally came into focus.
“Can you sit, Roman?” Frenin asked.
“I…think so,” Roman said, but felt muddled. The question seemed strange to him, his mind struggling to catch up.
Roman couldn’t immediately connect an action to the word, but managed to hold himself up as the old man let go. Tusk leapt up onto the bed next to him. He braced himself and almost fell over as the dog licked his face excitedly.
“Listen… Lucilla was feeding you a sleeping tonic. She was trying to keep your fever from consuming you. Like it did to your mother,” Frenin said quietly.
Roman froze while trying to wrestle Tusk down out of his face.
“Wait, what do you mean? You’ve never…” Roman choked.
“I know, my boy. I should have told you about her a long time ago. I didn’t think it was my place. And it will have to wait just a bit longer,” Frenin said, looking back to the door.
Roman’s arms shook as he held the excited dog in his lap. He turned his head from side to side, trying to digest exactly what the old man was telling him.
Frenin watched expectantly, but when Roman didn’t respond he ducked in close and started to whisper quickly. “It has to wait because the soldiers, they think you killed all those people, Roman. They think you killed Greta.”
“Wha?” Roman asked, Greta’s name sobering him a bit.
“Wait…Kill? I didn’t kill anyone. I found them…in the orchard,” he continued, the horrible memories from the apple orchard coming back to him. Even the smell of the bodies drifted back.
“I know you didn’t, but they think you did. They’re sure of it in fact. I have to get back to Alina. The girl hasn’t spoken since you found her, Roman. We need her to speak for you…she is our only witness. We need her to tell them that it was not you, or they are going to…” Frenin stopped suddenly.
Roman knew what he meant. He understood what the punishment for murder was, and he wasn’t ready to accept that finality. His body started to shake, and not from the fever this time. Frenin moved to grab the blanket to wrap around his shoulders, but Roman caught his arm and stopped him.
“What do I do? What do you need me to do?”
“I think your friend Dennah is in trouble, Roman,” Frenin said darkly.
“Wait…where is she? What kind of trouble?” Roman asked, his head already becoming very heavy.
“I think men attacked her…took her, someplace. They mean to…” Frenin stopped, struggling to continue. But Roman didn’t need to hear any more.
Memories flooded back to him from their nights around the campfire. He remembered Tadd telling him about another guard that was harassing her.
“Is it Banus? Did you see him?” Roman asked weakly, remembering the name.
“I found blood on the floor. I think she may be hurt, and I found this. She had it with her when I saw her last,” Frenin said, showing Roman a blanket.
“We will find her,” Roman said, and with a low whistle, Tusk jumped down and sat at the bedside.
“Can I?” he asked, motioning weakly for the blanket.
Frenin paused for a moment, a strange look rumpling his face, but then he handed it over.
Tusk quickly worked his nose over the blanket, snuffling several times as he processed the odors carefully. When Tusk finished, he immediately went to the ground and started tracking. When he got to the door, he sat, and wagged his tail, waiting patiently.
Roman braced himself and took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long while, he stood. Frenin held him by the arm, his knees shaking beneath him, and for a moment, he thought he would topple forward onto his face, but the old man was there. The act of standing was taxing, and Roman felt the heat inside him increase.
“J’ohaven, you are burning,” Frenin said, clutching tightly to Roman’s arm. “Maybe this is a mistake. Perhaps you should stay in bed.”
“No! I’ll be fine.”
Roman pushed away from Frenin and stood on his own, his jaw set. His legs wobbled for a moment, before taking a step towards the door. He leaned heavily against the wall, exhausted from the few steps, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
“Are you sure you are strong enough?” Frenin asked warily.
Roman nodded determinedly, although he wondered if he even had the strength to climb the stairs, let alone come to anyone’s aid.
“At least I’m not shackled to a bed anymore,” he mumbled, laughing quietly before reaching down for the door handle.
“Hold on Roman.” For a moment, the elder looked around the room, worrying the wolf head of his cane with a knobby finger. And then he reached up and untied the thick cord around his neck, letting the heavy fur-lined cloak fall from around his shoulders. “Here put this on.”
Roman took the heavy cloak and awkwardly pulled it over his shoulders. He tied a clumsy knot in the cord to hold it in place. Frenin stepped before him and pulled the cloak together so that it covered his clothes, and then pulled the large hood up over his head.
“Best to keep your head down…hmm,” Frenin said grimly.
Roman nodded his appreciation and turned the handle. Tusk stuck his nose through once the door opened and forced his way out into the hallway.
“Take this,” Frenin said, holding out his cane.
“I can’t take your cane. You need it,” Roman argued, but the elder forced it into his hand and backed away.
“Go!” Frenin said, and pushed him out the door. “You must look the part. I have but a short walk, I think I can manage that much.”
Frenin quietly closed the door without another word, leaving Roman alone in the hallway, wondering what he was supposed to do. He felt the sweat beading up on his back beneath the cloak’s heavy fur, and he remembered the cold rain from the orchard. He wondered why the elder would need such a heavy traveling garment.
Roman took a step forward, the muscles in his leg quivering and threatening to give out, but he used the cane to brace his weight. His stomach rumbled again, and he had to wonder how long it had been since his last meal.
How long was I in bed? What else has happened?
Tusk waited for Roman to move before taking off down the stairs. Roman descended step by step, feeling every bit like the old man he pretended to be. He didn’t need to fake a limp. The unsteadiness in his legs was genuine. His palm grew sweaty against the smooth carved edges of the wolf’s head by the time he approached the tavern.
Turmoil greeted him as he s
tepped off the stairs, overwhelming him for a moment. He tried to make sense of his surroundings, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing so many people in the White Crowe, or quite so boisterous.
He held his head low, keeping his face as deep in the shadow of the hood as he could. Tusk was somewhere ahead of him, but he couldn’t see where.
Roman tried to play off his indifference to the crowd as he knew Frenin would, walking heavily upon the cane between the drunken patrons towards the front door. He didn’t immediately recognize any of the faces in the crowd, but from their attire he could guess well enough they were mostly caravan workers. His foot caught a board, and he stumbled a bit, bumping into a man and causing him to spill his large mug of beer.
“Hey, watch it!” he cursed, turning angrily, but when he saw the cane and Roman’s stooped form he quickly apologized and returned to his conversation.
Roman weaved his way through the crowd. He recognized several familiar faces and intentionally altered his course to avoid them. Several women jumped around, flailing their arms when a new tune rang out. Roman knew them well enough, and, unfortunately, they knew him. But when he tried to squirm away the crowd pressed in, forcing him closer and closer to the rowdy farmer’s daughters.
“Frenin…Frenin, stay and dance with us. Please stay,” one of the girls cried out.
Roman let the cowl of his hood droop even lower in front of his face, but he still felt exposed. The girls reached for him, trying to grasp his cloak to pull him closer, but Roman withdrew.
“I am ill, I need to go,” he croaked, shaking his head. He sounded raspy and weak, like a stranger, even to his ears.
The girl’s disappointment lasted only a moment before they turned back to the crowd and resumed dancing. Roman, with sweat dripping from the tip of his nose, grew desperate for fresh air, and to leave the chaos of the room behind.
He fumbled through the crowd, pushing his way through with the cane, and in the process, stepping on people’s toes. He reached the door finally, and he threw his weight against it.
He felt the muscles in his legs quiver and the beat of his heart increase as he pushed. The wind whistling through the cracks felt cold and refreshing on his face, and he became desperate to be free. Finally, with a groan and the howling of a bitter wind in his face, the door swung free.
Tusk flashed between his legs, reappearing from the crowd and disappeared out into the darkness. With one final push, Roman eased the door open fully and slid into the darkness outside.
Chapter 36
Bad places
Pain filled her head. It was so intense that she believed it would split her skull down the middle if she dared move. She could feel it pulsing with every beat of her heart, seeping down her neck and pooling behind her eyes.
She couldn’t remember why her head hurt, or where she was. It was dark, she knew that much, but when she tried to open her eyes a swirling tide rose up in her stomach and she nearly became sick.
Dennah couldn’t move her hands or feet but didn’t understand why. She did understand that the ground was hard beneath her, hard, and very cold. The storm rage against the building around her, keening a mournful song as it whistled, rumbled, and shook loose shingles and planks.
Finally, ignoring the waves of pain and nausea, Dennah opened her eyes. Her vision crossed, and bile washed up in the back of her throat, but after a few steadying breaths it subsided.
What happened? Where am I? She wondered groggily as something tickled the top of her head.
She felt it trickle down her neck, and then another on her forehead. She so desperately wanted to reach up and wipe, scratch, or rub whatever it was running down her face, but she couldn’t move.
She lay on her stomach, and tried to roll over to her side but couldn’t gain any leverage. Her jaw ached from the awkward pressure against the ground, but she could only turn her head so far. She drew a breath in through her nose and smelled mold, hay, and manure. She instantly started to paint a picture of the building in her head.
Dennah wrestled against her bindings, pulling and twisting her arms, trying to slip one of her hands free. But after several twists and pulls her wrists started to sting as the ropes bit deeper into her flesh.
“Hello…is someone there?” she called out, her voice trembling and horribly small. Only the storm responded.
Dennah worked through her memory, seeking some clue to her current condition but the throbbing in her head made focusing difficult, so she thought about her mother and father, and the comforts of home. She concentrated on those things she longed for at that particular moment, but they couldn’t have felt farther away.
Something rattled in the darkness. It sounded like a handle or a latch. She couldn’t be positive. Everything seemed to make noise in the storm. A gust of wind surged in, carrying a cloud of snow. A moment later a door slammed shut, the latch rattling back into place.
Torchlight filled the room, breaking the cold gloom with a promise of warmth. She heard voices, but they were at her back, and Dennah couldn’t turn her head far enough to see.
She continued to lay still and silent as heavy boots crunched the fibrous hay all around her. Dennah could feel them. They were standing over her, staring, and whispering. She tried to remain motionless and calm, to pretend she was still sleeping, but she couldn’t block out the fear.
Dennah wanted to be brave, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The panic made her heart beat faster until she gasped in a deep breath, taking dirt and hay into her mouth and nose.
“Roll her over,” someone said.
Rough, cold hands latched on to her arms and roughly pulled her onto her back. She cried as her body contorted, her weight smashing her arms, which were still bound behind her. A man’s boot pressed down painfully on her ankles.
“Ah, look, she doesn’t look so tough now, do she?” a man said, his nose squeaking loudly.
Dennah went cold at the sound of Banus’ voice, instantly picturing his face in her mind. What scared her most was the absence of his usual wine induced drawl. He sounded sharp, sober.
All three men knelt down, holding their torches so she could see their faces. The flickering light danced horribly in Banus’ dark, beady eyes. There wasn’t even a flicker of empathy or mercy in his gaze. Dennah felt small.
Banus leaned in, letting his torch tilt until several dribbles of molten pitch and embers slipped out onto Dennah’s armor.
“Oops,” he laughed, tilting his head, watching for her reaction.
“What are you doing? Let me go, you’ve made your point,” Dennah demanded.
She tried to show that she wasn’t over her head, but she was drowning in fear. Banus held his hand up and chuckled. One of the large men above him dropped something into his open palm. He watched her face carefully as he pulled it in close, running his hand over it intimately.
“Didn’t want no one to find this, did ye?” Banus asked, slipping his fingers under the gilded edge of the decorative box. “Hiding your fancy things from everyone, afraid are ye?”
Dennah instantly started to fight. Banus’ smile widened.
“Found this, after you…you know, took ill in the hallway and collapsed,” he said, reaching out and running a dirty finger across her lips. Dennah jerked her head away in disgust.
Banus slowly set his torch down next to her and then smacked her hard across the face with the back of his hand. She felt a flush rush over her cheeks as warm blood trickled down her chin.
“Bitch,” Banus cursed, spittle catching in his stubble. “I told you. I told you that you would regret turning your nose up at me.”
He picked up the torch and held it over her, waving it closer to her face and laughing as she turned her head to escape the fire. Banus bit his tongue as he slid his hand up under her unbuckled armor, groping her breast crudely.
“Get your filthy hands off of me!” Dennah cried out, overwhelmed by the sudden and foul invasion of her body.
He pulled away, but qui
ckly waved his torch over her again, and proceeded to let its burning debris dribble all over her. Dennah could feel it burning through her shirt. She tried to stay impassive, but the pain was too much.
Pleased with her pain and discomfort, Banus suddenly tilted the box open and rummaged around in its contents. He pulled out the decorative hair comb, its glittering jewels and flakes of gold shimmering in the dancing light.
He held the comb out before him, “Here I was…thinking you was a poor commoner, like the rest of us. You ain't got nice things, though, your boots is ragged just like mine and your saddle is old and worn. Where would a girl like you get such fancy things?” Banus asked mockingly and proceeded to hold the hair piece up to his head and dance around.
“I bet she stole em, Banus, she’s a regular little pickpocket,” Blain said stupidly.
“Just like yer little boyfriend, a couple of bandits you are. The thief and the murderer, what a pair indeed,” Banus added, chuckling.
“I didn’t steal them,” Dennah spat back defiantly, but Banus was already shaking his head. She knew her words would never do her any good.
“See, you still owe me, I figure. You owe me for this,” Banus said, pointing at the sad, disfigured lump that was now his nose. He reached down into his shirt and pulled out a charm tied to a worn piece of string. Dennah thought it a locket at first, but then it bounced around within the firelight, free of his shirt.
Banus lifted the object to his face and ran it lovingly against his cheek, and then under his nose, where he sniffed it. It was hair, human hair, and it was tied into a thick lock. In the burning light of his torch, she could see that it was made up of many different colored tufts.
“You see this?” he asked, bouncing the token off of her face. “Do you?” This time, he smashed it down against her cheek.
“I took these. They all thought they was better than me too, thought they were smart, and pretty, and fancy,” Banus continued and as he stared at the lock, a bitter, resentful look came over him. “Too good for Banus, they turned their nose up at me…just like you did.” Any warmth left in Dennah’s body abruptly drained away.