‘Let’s move. They’re getting closer,’ Marrok insisted.
Draken led the way, his horse unfaltering on the recently ploughed field and within five minutes they had reached the overshoot of rock and continued along its length.
‘Ahh! I’m trapped, release me,’ Marisa yelled, followed by a terrified scream.
Marrok looked back and saw that the direction of pursuers had changed. They knew where they were and would quickly reach them. ‘Draken, stop,’ he decided.
‘Stop, but why?’ Draken demanded.
‘Just stop. I need your horse. Take mine and Marisa to safety. I will slow the guard down.’
‘Marrok, no. Coinin needs you.’ Draken halted the horse.
‘The world needs Marisa more.’ Marrok jumped down from his steed. ‘Get down, Uncle. This makes the most sense.’
Draken cast a glance at the pursuing guard and noted how near they were. He hopped down from his ride, and each rider swapped reins. Marrok was just about to climb onto the horse when Draken grabbed his arm and pulled the young man into an embrace.
Marrok was lost and confused for several moments and tensed uneasily. Then, the small part of him that still loved Draken relented, and he likewise embraced his uncle.
Brief as it was, though, it felt good and helped to strengthen him. They parted, and both looked embarrassed for a few seconds.
‘Go,’ Marrok ordered, snapping back to the reality of the situation.
Without a second word, Draken climbed the horse. ‘Good fortune, nephew.’
Marrok watched as Draken, Marisa and the horse melted into the night and positioned himself upon the saddle of his nag. He turned to a forty-five-degree angle to dissect Draken and the guard’s path. He urged the horse into a full trot across the field. The horse found it harder to traverse the terrain by cutting a diagonal line across the field and slipped every few steps on the wet mud. ‘Come on, my beauty, let’s get their attention.’ As if understanding him, the horse let out a whinny, and Marrok saw immediately that it had worked. He distinctly heard the guards now.
‘Oover yar. Heered un hos.’
Marrok halted the horse and waited for the guards to come to him. The moon had temporarily vanished behind dark clouds, and a minute later the flickering of torchlight picked him and the horse out against the black of the night.
‘Thar yar,’ a cry went up.
Marrok wasted no time and trotted away out of the light and waited until he was again exposed. After fifteen minutes of the painfully slow cat and mouse game, the field was at an end and blocked by a high, thick hedge, impenetrable by him and the horse. Hoping he had given Draken enough time to escape, he slid from the horse and took off his cloak, freeing himself from any restrictions.
He shivered at the cold and saw that the morning dawn was beginning. He took a position with his back to the hedge and withdrew his sword. He closed his eyes and offered the quickest of prayers. Lord Rindor, bless me this day as I perform your works. Keep Marisa and Draken safe. If you see Coinin or Talina, tell them I loved them. So be it. He was satisfied at the prayer, probably the longest he had performed to date, and waited for death.
Within a minute, he found himself encircled by four men and Lord Bothwick. Five against one were not good odds, even for Marrok
“The Giant Killer”, as Coinin had once joked. Nevertheless, he mentally prepared and assessed each man individually as taught to him by Jericho, the finest general the temple could have. He had learned so much on the voyage home... daily bouts with Jericho and Len’i had taught him how to fight and fight well, and now this was the moment all that training would be put to the test.
Marrok ducked left as a sword sliced through the air. To his right, a tall, thickset shape had ventured forward confidently. Another slice and Marrok brought his sword to bear, which clashed with the other. Sparks flew, and the ding of steel punctured the quiet of the night.
Voices joined in now, excited cries and encouragement.
Marrok pushed against the incoming sword with his, and the attacker stepped back and stumbled slightly on a furrow. Marrok seized the opportunity and pulled back his steel before bringing it forward at speed. Seconds later, the man lay bleeding upon the ground, his head separated from his body.
Blood dripped down Marrok’s face and partially blinded him, so much so that he nearly missed a strike coming in. Thankfully, his ears heard the whistle of wind to his left. He instinctively raised his sword in defence and luckily deflected an incoming weapon. He quickly wiped his face and took a step back for safety.
Two men had joined the fray this time, and they appeared angry at the loss of their friend. Marrok jumped to avoid a low blow and swiped the attacker’s weapon away. He landed and kicked at the man who had partially swung around. He impacted with the backside, causing the guard to topple over and into the muddy field. He would recover quickly, though, and Marrok knew this and was prepared. He turned to face the other attacker now, who spat upon the floor.
‘Give up, you can’t win,’ Bothwick cried.
Marrok kept a careful eye on the advancing guard, smaller than the rest, wiry and likely to be fast, he concluded. Don’t underestimate this one.
A dodge right to avoid an incoming thrust, followed by a deflection, and immediately Marrok sensed something was wrong. Someone had sneaked up behind him and now held him in a bear hug. He wrestled at the dirty, thick hands holding him, and as his opponent moved in for the kill, he raised his feet and kicked the incoming guard full in the stomach. The attacker doubled up in pain and sank to one knee upon the floor.
‘Stop playing, and kill the swine,’ Bothwick yelled from upon his horse.
‘We’re tryin’ ain’t we?’ the guard holding Marrok huffed.
‘Well, stop trying and get it done.’
‘Yessir.’
Marrok thanked his stars that they were communicating in his tongue and took this moment of distraction to not only drive the heel of his boot into the foot of his attacker but also to headbutt the man in the nose. It hurt both, but the guard came off worse and howled at both attacks and let Marrok go, who turned quickly and ran the man through with his sword, ignoring the crunch of bone and hot, wet blood that splashed his hand.
He withdrew his sword and stood fast, turning to face the enemy while his victim sagged to the floor, wailing in agony.
Bothwick cursed and brought up a crossbow to bear. He pointed it directly at Marrok’s heart.
Marrok stood stock still. He could not defeat a crossbow, and he knew it. He was about to die.
‘Any last words, General?’ Bothwick smirked happily.
‘Never turn your back on the enemy?’
Bothwick laughed, only this faltered after a moment and transformed into a look of pain. He dropped the crossbow and looked down. He jumped in shock at the sudden realisation that he had been struck through the heart with an arrow. The very same plan he’d had for Marrok. Within seconds he died, still sat upright in his saddle.
Bothwick had not heard the zing of the arrow at it had sailed into the air and struck him. A second pierced the skull of the fourth man, exiting through his eye socket. He fell dead instantly.
The remaining guard now grovelled and begged mercy in the Arrom tongue. ‘Please, masters. I was only doin’ what I was told. Don’t kill me.’
Marrok kicked the sword from the man’s hand and gripped him by his throat, standing him upright. ‘I have a message to pass to the castle residents. They best vacate immediately. The Brotherhood, now Order of The Wulf, will be back to claim possession and install a new lord forthwith.’
‘Oh, yes, of course, I will do that. No trouble,’ the guard babbled.
Marrok was satisfied and pushed the guard away. ‘Begone before I change my mind about killing you.’
‘Yessir,’ the terrified man cried, and began to run, looking back now and then as if expecting an arrow in the back.
Marrok watched him leave and then turned to the darkness. ‘I thou
ght I told you to leave.’
‘If I had, you would be dead by now.’ Draken appeared in the light of the torches.
‘As grateful as I am, you endangered yourself and Marisa,’ Marrok growled.
Draken stood over the guard dying from a chest wound and withdrew his sword. He mercifully brought it down and into the heart of the man. He watched the life drain away and then wiped his sword with the bottom of his cloak. He turned to face Marrok. ‘Marisa is safe.’
Marrok cocked his head. Draken, indeed, had changed his spots. He did not know what to make of that revelation, except he was feeling quite sick to the stomach. ‘I feel quite unwell.’
‘That’ll be the heat of the battle. It’ll wear off,’ Draken reassured.
Despite feeling sick, Marrok puzzled over something. ‘Where did you get the bow?’
Draken smiled. ‘I did leave, as you requested, and happened upon a small house within the forest. Outside, a woodsman sat upon a rocking chair smoking a pipe. I questioned his loyalty to Lord Bothwick. Turns out he hates the man. So, I made a bargain with him, lodge my sister and loan me his hunting bow and I will return with gold this very morning.’
‘I take it he agreed.’ Marrok placed a friendly arm on his uncle’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for coming back.’
‘I hope one day that you will return the favour.’
‘Let’s hope it never gets to that stage.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘Maybe later. We need to collect Marisa and be on our way. I’m certain the guard will be back with more men before long, and it’s already getting light,’ Marrok advised.
‘I couldn’t agree more. Meet you in a minute.’ Draken hurried away to fetch his horse and Marrok did the same.
AWAKENING
Shorty thereafter, the pair were entering the tree line of the forest and Draken led them true. Within a matter of minutes they spied the woodsman’s house.
The dwelling belched white smoke from its chimney atop a slate-tiled roof. Outside, among a variety of tools, crates and furs hung to dry, and the woodsman sat rocking his chair, an axe placed across his knee.
‘I told him to protect Marisa, though not to reveal her presence to anyone.’ Draken indicated the woodsman.
Marrok nodded approvingly. ‘You did well.’
Both he and Draken alighted their rides and tied them to an iron loop secured to a post of a short fence that surrounded the home.
‘Greetings, Herkl,’ Draken hailed.
The lanky woodsman stood and swung his axe idly by his side. His bushy red beard and moustache twitched as he assessed the newcomer. Steam, from his bald pate, combined with a light morning mist. He wore a sleeveless leather tunic with a simple linen shirt, and brown leather boots above leather leggings. ‘Who’s this fella then?’
Draken smiled. ‘This is my nephew, Marrok.’
‘Why’s he covered in blood?’ Herkl asked suspiciously.
Marrok was surprised to learn that he could understand the man. ‘Well met, kind sir. Perhaps if we took a moment within your home, I could explain all.’
‘I have your gold,’ Draken added.
‘The gold first.’ The woodsman held out his spare hand.
Draken moved a step closer, dug inside his cloak and found a bag of gold tied to his belt. He unfastened it and passed the velvet bag to the woodsman by the string.
Herkl took it and felt the weight. He undid the string and delved inside for a gold coin, which he then examined and bit. Satisfied it was gold, he replaced the coin and hid the bag inside his tunic. ‘Come inside and clean up. Your sister is safe, as promised.’
‘Thank you, Herkl. Lead on.’
Herkl led the pair into a spacious kitchen, built with rough hewn timbers cut by his own hand. ‘Built this place myself.’
‘It’s lovely.’ Marrok stared open mouthed at the sheer amount of furs, hand tools and pots and pans hanging from the walls on hooks.
The rest of the room was quite clean considering its location and a handmade table and four chairs sat empty at its centre. To the left of the room, a hand basin sat on a pedestal and in the middle of the far wall to the right, a blackened stove held bread that was nearly cooked. The smell was divine.
‘Would you gentlemen care for a drink or some vitals?’ Herkl asked.
‘Somewhere to wash before I greet my aunt,’ Marrok replied.
‘Use the basin yonder,’ Herkl said. ‘There’s water in a pitcher beside it.’
Marrok thanked the man with a smile and a nod and headed to the basin.
‘So, then, Draken, was it? Why all the blood?’ Herkl asked.
Draken looked to Marrok and then back to Herkl. ‘Marrok and I have made your day that much brighter. We have battled with Lord Bothwick, and he is now dead. His guards attacked and they fought bravely before their deaths. Bothwick was about to fire his crossbow at Marrok. Let’s just say that your bow came in very handy.’
‘They will send men to investigate his disappearance,’ Herkl declared.
‘I guarantee it, though, I would trust that you will keep our passing through as a secret.’
‘On my life. When you leave, I shall clear any sign that you ever passed through,’ Herkl said. ‘I don’t wish them to track you to my home.’
‘That is reasonable. I’d say we have an hour before the sun gives us proper light to travel by, and by then men from the castle would perhaps begin their search,’ Draken mused.
‘One hour then,’ Marrok agreed. ‘Herkl, may we now see your charge?’
Herkl looked puzzled for a second and then nodded. ‘Yes, of course, this way.’
Draken and Marrok followed the woodsman through the kitchen and waited as he unlocked a door at the far end. He opened it and ushered the pair inside.
A small bedroom was littered with neatly folded piles of clothing upon several stacked shelves, bedding, and an iron framed bed which dominated the room. A crooked oil canvas of a family hung above the bed, and as one of the individuals resembled Herkl, Marrok deduced it must be their host’s family.
On the bed, under a patchwork blanket, Marisa slept, seemingly peacefully.
‘Come, Marrok, we have one hour before we must leave,’ Draken urged.
‘What do we do?’
‘First thing,’ Draken began, and looked to Herkl, ‘may we have a little privacy?’
Herkl nodded. ‘I’ll just be in the other room should you have need of me.’
Draken raised a hand. ‘In fact, it might be prudent if you wait outside and warn us of any castle guard presence.’
‘Of course,’ Herkl said as he backed out of the room and gently closed the door.
Happy that he was gone, Marrok and Draken took seats either side of the bed and looked at the sleeping woman for a minute or more.
Draken took and held Marisa’s hand gently and found it to be warm. ‘Marisa,’ he called gently. ‘Marisa, it’s Draken, your brother.’ To his disappointment she remained sleeping, her breathing soft and steady.
‘Let me.’ Marrok took the other hand. ‘Marisa, you don’t know me. I’m your nephew, Marrok, son to your brother, Ædelmær. Please wake up.’
Draken looked on wide-eyed, half expecting Marisa to scream. Thankfully she did not, although her breathing changed and her eyes fluttered left and right. After watching this for several moments, they both received a shock as Marisa suddenly sat upright and inhaled a deep breath. Her eyes flashed open, and she panted. ‘Ædelmær!’ she cried, her eyes unfocused.
Draken looked worried. ‘Is she well?’
‘I have no idea. Marisa. Focus on my voice. Draken is here, and so am I, Ædelmær’s son, Marrok. Come back to us,’ Marrok pleaded.
Marisa’s panting stopped suddenly and then she screamed, before beginning to wail.
Draken and Marrok looked to one another, panicked that Marisa was in no fit state to perform her destiny. Her grip tightened on both of their hands and Draken winced in pain.
‘Mar
isa, stop.’
Marrok bore the pain and instead raised his other hand and slapped his aunt across the face. ‘Snap out of it, Marisa.’
With plenty of fluttering of eyelids, awareness seemed to descend on the woman and she released her grasp and looked at both Draken and Marrok in turn. Fear set in. She was in a strange bed, surrounded by two equally strange men. ‘Who are you? Let me go,’ she cried, her panicked tone evident.
‘We’re not here to hurt you. I am Draken, your brother. This is Marrok, son of Ædelmær.’ He smiled.
Marisa looked confused and frowned, looking from one to the other, seeking truth in those words.
‘Look into my eyes, you know it to be true.’
Marisa studied Draken carefully, retracting her hands from the pair. ‘I do not see it. My brother, Draken, left when I was –’
‘Four, yes, I did. Father banished Ædelmær and me from Wulf Hall. I never got to say goodbye, my biggest regret.’
Marisa looked incredulous. ‘Tell me something only you would know.’
Draken wracked his brain and then remembered something Marisa herself had said. ‘You used to call me Drakey. You would sing a song. Wakey, wakey little Drakey –’
‘I remember!’ Marisa exclaimed, and pulled Draken into a long embrace.
‘How did I come to be here?’
‘We rescued you from your husband. Lord Bothwick,’ Marrok replied.
Upon hearing the name, Marisa pulled away, her eyes widened, and she let out a yelp, a hand crossing to her mouth. ‘Please, no, he must not find me.’
‘Easy now, Marisa. Bothwick is dead,’ Draken declared.
Marisa looked at him, disbelieving.
‘It’s true, Aunt Marisa,’ Marrok assured.
Marisa experienced a mixture of emotion, grief, loss and intense relief. ‘He trapped me and … and now I’m free?’
‘Yes, he held you in a room in a castle,’ Draken confirmed.
‘No. He trapped my mind. I was bewitched. I was held against my will in a nightmarish place.’
‘He trapped you, how?’ Marrok puzzled.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 129