by Diana Flame
Three days after the king sent away the young noblite women from the palace, he called for a meeting with the council and invited Rulf to attend. The soldiers from the east were about a thousand. Although the king was grateful, he expressed concern that Kingdom City was unable to cater all their needs. There weren’t enough servants in the city. Only one solution came to mind.
After discussing the matter with the ministers, they all agreed that employing netherbred woman for this purpose was the only way. The king entrusted Rulf with the duty.
Rulf knew that the gathering of such netherbred women were not just to clean house, but to serve the soldiers most carnal needs. This didn’t feel right, but it was a long standing tradition to use the women to boost the soldiers’ morale.
The task he’d been given was below his station. However, he would perform it well doing. When the meeting ended, he sent out a small contingent of his underlings along with a small contingent of soldiers. There was no need for him to accompany the men, as this was a simple task of offering gold coins and raiment to the netherbred women. He was confident that those he’d chosen to take care of it would complete it accordingly.
While the troop left for the townships, he went into a meeting with the captain of the guard and the king about the battle strategy for the next few days. A tenth of their soldiers were wounded in battle and they discussed using some of the township women to tend to the wounded.
At evening when the meeting was over, he returned to his private hall. As he entered, one of his men was speaking about the day’s event. Having nothing better to do, he listened to the animated discussion as though it was a report.
“She outright refused, even when told it was by order of the King!”
Rulf chuckled and placed a hand on the young soldier’s shoulder. “Refused? Are you sure this was a nether and not some noblite?”
A few of the others laughed while some shook their heads adamantly. One of his own deputies stepped forward.
“No, my lord, she was a lesser,” he said. “Her attire was old and worn and she carried a pail with water.”
“A pail you say?” Rulf asked, his heart skipping a few beats.
“Yes my lord, a pail,” he laughed.
He hadn’t thought of Catrain all day due to being busy with consultations. Now that the men mentioned a feisty lesser, he was almost certain it was she. He just needed to make certain as his interested was now piqued.
“Where, may I ask, did you happen to see this feisty maiden?” he asked.
His heart had started beating erratically that he was completely annoyed with himself. He tried to still it but to no avail. As he waited for an answer he realized how impatient he’d become because of this girl. He was of two minds to tell the young knight not to bother telling him, but the need to know was too great.
“She fetched water from up the river on the other side of the forest. I believe the village is called Frogsgrave, my liege.”
“She would have made a good drabbelier, she is beautiful!” another soldier exclaimed.
“Enough!” Rulf shouted.
All eyes widened at his outburst. He himself was surprised as well. Their eyes trained on him as he sought to make sense of his own reaction.
He softened his voice. “These women are not drabbeliers - they are here to motivate the soldiers from the east and to assist in serving them. They don’t have to bed them if they don’t want.”
“But sire…,” the one who had spoken begun, but in two strides Rulf was facing him. He snapped his mouth shut.
“Have you no respect for women? Were you not born a nether until I found you?”
“Y-y-y-yes, my liege.”
This was Frederick, one of the more promising young soldiers who wished to become a knight. Rulf had taken him under his wings. He’d found the boy when he was but twelve years old wandering the kingdom. Both parents had died of the serpent’s plague and he was all alone. This illness was where blue blotches appeared on the skin where there were marks akin to snakebite. The skin of the person skin became scaly like a serpent’s.
Rulf had convinced the council to allow him to train Frederick to become a knight. But the soldier must move up another rank before he could be knighted. This was the process for a netherbred. Those who knew nothing of his background thought Frederick was of noble birth.
Rulf stepped back, eyed each of the men and grunted in disgust. With a sharp turn, he strode from the room. As he returned to his dwelling, he wondered what befell him earlier. Tomorrow he faced the Gerdanian rebels and he needed his wits about him. Since he met that lesser, he’d been acting quite imprudent.
This last outburst was proof that she was a she-devil and he would not allow her to control his emotions. He must shut her out of his mind if he was to stand up against the enemy in battle. After all, the Gerdanians possessed the Jewel of Power.
Before the battle, he needed to relieve his tension and Lady Guinevere was away courting King Christoffle’s son. That left the chambermaids. The blond maid who served the second minister would have to do.
Pivoting, his sword came slashing, leaving a trail of orange glow in its wake, followed by a stream of red fluid. Blade met flesh as blood gushed like a spring bursting from the earth. Rulf closed his eyes as the Gerdanian rebel thumped to the ground.
Before the rebel completely hit the soil, another rushed him from behind. Jamming the sword backward, he felt the weight of the body as the blade sank into innards. Yells and groans filled the afternoon air as Rulf twisted the sword before pulling it out. The fallen rebel caused the earth to tremble.
Left and right, more rebels advanced. Twirling like a whirlwind, his blade sliced through flesh, making a clean cut as heads thudded to the ground.
A white horse charged in from the distance. Astride was a Gerdanian bearing a red and white flag – the halting flag for the day. Rulf had expected a white flag only which would have signified they had surrendered.
A horn also sounded from afar. Weapons continued their clanging as metal met metal. The muffled sound of metal to flesh was like a musical undertone. The cries of agony and the final groans of the dying added to the harmony.
“Retreat!” The Gerdanian riding the horse bellowed as the horn sounded once more. “Retreat!”
The opponents were calling it off for the night. Their soldiers were diminishing rapidly and they knew they would lose the battle. Rulf straightened as the enemy began to depart. Before stepping away, he wiped his bloody blade on the clothes of one of his victims.
Someone patted him on the shoulder. He turned to look into the eyes of a commander.
“Excellent skills Sir Knight,” the commander praised him. “Never have I seen such magnificent swordsmanship.”
Rulf nodded and walked away. He wasn’t too keen of getting praised standing in the middle of blood and dead flesh. All around were wounded and dead - Gerdanians and Cronadian soldiers alike.
A few more soldiers praised him as he moved away from the center of the field. He was thirsty and needed to get the blood off him. The river being nearby, he head there to take a wash before summoning Osorus.
Before he realized what he was doing, he had gone into the forest on the path that led to where he saw Catrain. Pulling up short, he hesitated as to whether he should continue. Casting his eyes up to the sky, he determined it was early and she perhaps she hadn’t come yet. If he should judge her by the time he’d seen her, it was early for her.
He’d just moved off again when he heard a zinging sound. Upon turning to the sound, he saw it coming but was too late. The arrow pierced his flesh before he had a chance to slip out of the way.
Something was wrong. This was no ordinary arrow, he concluded as he felt the energy began to drain from him. Osorus, where are you?
* * *
Meanwhile at the riverbank, Osorus supped from the cool clear water. Thinking he heard a sound, the horse pricked his ears up. He loved this part of the river, it was the place his maste
r saw the beautiful nether.
As far as Osorus was concerned, Kisalese were stupid. They could not tell the difference between individuals. They separated people based on royal lines. Animals differentiated between evil and good. As for the people in the palace, they were mostly evil, but the people in the townships were pure.
Taking his last mouthful, the horse turned to go back to the battlefield to fetch Rulf. The master hadn’t whistled, but he heard the call to halt for he the day and knew Rulf must be needing him. As he turned to head toward the battleground, a weird sensation gripped him.
“My master,” he whinnied.
The heart of the horse thundered, as he knew something happened to Rulf. He was the knight’s protector and he should never have wandered too far. Now, one of the kingdom’s guardians was hurt because of him.
Osorus picked up Rulf’s scent immediately and realized he was in the forest not far away. Ears back and tail in the air, he galloped through the trees, only stopping when he sensed where Rulf was. His master was leaning against a tree and Osorus cantered up to him.
Rulf smiled – more of a grimace - when he saw the horse. Osorus rubbed his nose on Rulf’s shoulder and let out a small sound. He was apologizing - his master would know that.
The stallion went down on all fours, allowing Rulf to mount easily. When the knight was safely astride, he stood. In that moment, his nostrils twitched at the scent of someone by the river. His master would need help and there he headed, hoping that a good soldier would save one of the kingdom’s most prized possessions.
The river ran from the Black Eagle Mountains. Across the river was the forest, which also led into the same cloud-capped mountains. Beyond the forest was Kingdom city. At the base of the mountains was the Dark Serpent Valley. This was the designated battleground.
If she went too far up the river, Catrain was certain she would enter the combat zone. The cries of the men, the clanging of swords and zinging of arrows were loud enough for her to hear from her home.
The east side of the mountains was closest to Frogsgrave and that was where the battle seemed hottest. It was earlier than usual when the cries faded and battle paused for the day. It was a welcomed sound of silence across the hills, valleys and plains of Cronada.
“Now I can fetch my last pail of water and take my wash.”
Changing her route, she took a path not often used to avoid coming into contact with any soldiers. After remaining hidden for some time, she returned to the track that led to her favorite place. The place was tranquil, allowing her a peaceful bath.
She was just about done when she heard a soft padding and then a loud thud. Startled, she quickly dressed and was about to fetch her pail when a gray stallion wearily trotted to the water’s edge. The horse she knew well. Those fiery eyes she could never forget.
As she stared at the beast, she remembered her father and uncle Brogue telling her stories. The dragon stallion was the most special horse in the entire land of the Veiled Territories. A charmed horse it was, given as a special gift to exceptional people. By special, her uncle had explained that the one who received such an animal possessed superior abilities.
The mount’s fiery orange-red eyes seemed to pierce her soul, that she was certain they would set her ablaze. Casting a glance by the trees, she thought that the Fire Knight would be standing there glaring at her. She did not see him. The horse stared at her while moving its head from side to side.
“Where is your master?” she asked.
It was as though the beast understood her. He lifted his head and shook it, then levelled his gaze once more with hers. Catrain narrowed her eyes and made a step toward the animal and he too made a step in her direction.
“Where is the Fire Knight?” she asked once more.
The stallion let out a soft whinny and twisted his head. Was something wrong? A strange feeling settled over her. What it was, she could not fathom. Her mind worked to figure out the answer and then it occurred to her that this might be a trap. She had refused the kings request to enter the city to tend to the new soldiers.
“Nice try, Fire Knight!” she bellowed.
The darkness was quickly descending and she needed to get home before long. With her teeth gritted at the idea that he was trying to use his steed to trick her, she brushed passed the stallion. As she passed him, he nudged her back. Catrain twirled to face the mighty beast.
He trotted away toward the band of trees near the riverbank. She was about to head on her path when she heard a soft moan. Stopping to listen, she also peered in the direction of the horse. In the dimness of the dusk, she made out a figure lying on the ground.
With heart pounding heavily, she stiffened. Was that someone’s groan? Then again, the horse belonged to the Fire Knight. No one else was allowed to ride that stallion… or rather no one else could, according to fables.
Dredging up some courage, she dropped her pail and hurried to where the animal was. It was the knight. There he lay with blood on his fittings with an arrow sticking out from his left shoulder.
“Oh no,” she breathed, falling to her knees.
While she fought to figure out what to do, the horse quenched its thirst at the water’s edge. She knew the arrow had to stay put until the wound could be bandaged. It appeared he already lost a great deal of blood and removing the arrow would result in him bleeding to death.
“Can you hear me, Sir Knight?” she asked. “My lord, can you hear me?”
He was sweating profusely and a few locks of hair curled at the moistness. A stray wisp fell on his forehead and Catrain instinctively brushed it away. The Fire Knight groaned and opened his eyes. For a second they stared up at her before they slammed shut.
The darkness was covering the forest like a blanket. It was dangerous for anyone to be out at this hour, as the rebels may just find a way to enter. It was important to get him away from there. He needed medical care or he would surely die.
Catrain had to think fast. He was much too heavy for her to carry or even lift unto the horse. In addition, it appeared he’d fallen unconscious. She could go back to the village to fetch her father Merek, but that would take a while. Leaving him for long would certainly invite ravenous beasts sniffing for food. She couldn’t bear the thought of that happening.
It annoyed her that she had great concern for the rude knight who ordered her off the king’s land. Her irritation fueled her strength and she propped him against the nearest tree, taking care not to dislodge the arrow. Fetching her father was the only option she had. She prayed that no beast would smell the blood and decide to have dinner, as he was unable to defend himself.
She was about to head on the path to the village when hot breath fanned her neck. When she turned, the stallion rested his nuzzled on her shoulder.
“What are you trying to tell me?” she asked. “Now, would you allow me to ride you?”
Would he allow it? As far as the fable went, no one could ride the dragon-horse except for its owner… and in rare cases, a royal. This was an emergency, so perhaps this was an exception.
Reaching out her hand, she caressed its neck. He seemed happy with her touch. Again, he rested his nuzzle on her shoulder and she hugged him, whispering soothing words to him.
“Don’t worry about your master, he will be fine. I promise to help him if you will help me.”
Holding on to his reins, she swung her legs up, swiftly sitting astride him. Expecting him to rail, she was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t. She patted him gently as she realized he started moving in the direction of her village without her having to guide him. As he moved on the trodden path, he picked up speed that she had to hold tightly to the reins.
He was as fast as she’d imagined, moving almost at lightning speed. In no time, she was pulling up outside the homestead. Her father was standing in the yard, his disapproval evident.
“Catrain, you disobeyed me again … what have we…?” Merek’s words trailed off while fingering his chin. “Where did you find suc
h an animal?”
“Pa, this the steed of the Fire Knight. He’s been hurt. Come with me pa, we need to fetch him now.”
Merek hesitated for a second while he stared at the horse Catrain was riding. He looked from the animal to his daughter, an undecipherable look crossing his face. Catrain didn’t know what to make of it.
“Pa, now!”
Her voice seemed to bring him out of a trance and he ran to fetch his vegetable cart, which he hooked to the horse’s reins. Now that it was dark, they had to bring a torch along. The stallion galloped quickly through the dark as though he could see without the light. The knight was lying on his side, as it seemed he was unable to hold himself into sitting position.
Catrain admired how strong her father was as he lifted the injured man unto the cart, taking care not to dislodge the arrow. Once he was carefully lying in the cart, they set off to Catrain’s cottage.
* * *
Merek made a poultice to dress the knight. He then brought out a vial that he placed under the knight’s nose. The injured man twisted his head and opened his eyes with a groan. Merek told her it was important that he was conscious when they removed the arrow.
“Daughter, fetch your uncle Brogue,” Merek instructed. “We must get this arrow out.”
Merek’s brother lived a short distance away. From her yard, Catrain could make out the lights in her uncle’s house down the dirt path. In little time, she was running up to the small porch.
“Uncle Brogue!” she yelled, banging on the door. “Uncle Brogue.”
“I ain’t hard of hearing you know,” he returned as he yanked the door open. “What troubles you?”
“It’s the king’s knight. He’s been injured by an arrow.”
Brogue’s eyes opened wide. “A knight? What is he doing in the Frogsgrave?”
“I found him upstream,” she replied impatiently. “Come quickly, we must save him.”
Brogue stepped on the small porch of his house and closed the door, but not without scolding her. “What were you doing upstream? You know you’re not supposed to go there by yourself!”