by M. C. Elam
The greeting bore his father’s formal title. He noted the flourish of a signature and wax seal at the closing that identified the sender as Robert Merrill. The remainder was in Merrill’s own hand.
I speak to you as one who has long held a grudge of old. Not because of any wrong done to me by your person, but because my father said it should be so as did your father call you to the same field. Blindly, we followed that path instead of choosing more stable footing. For too many years, both of us stood at odds instead of joining forces for the good of Glynmora and Ascalla. Let us abandon the ways of old men and seek wisdom through our children. Today, I dissolve the betrothal of my daughter and your son. Instead, I propose an alliance between Glynmora and Ascalla. Our borders touch. Let our people grow as one. Let our friendship forge the way.
Hawk read slowly, once, twice and a third time. He raised his head from the missive his eyes caught in the sad gaze of the Glynmora king.
“Sorrow not, Rob. He knows.”
***
Shortly past twelfth hour, Terill knelt beside the pallet where Hawk slept and shook him awake.
“Riders coming, brother!”
Still thickheaded with the remnants of troubled dreams, Hawk kicked free of the damp blanket tangled around his legs. “Who are they?” He struggled to concentrate on the voice of the man standing over him. “Marcus?”
“Nay, not Marcus. They approach from the wrong direction.”
“Who then?”
“Still too far away too tell. Father sent me to wake you.”
Hawk pulled on his boots, laced a pair of greaves around his legs and reached for a mail tunic. “Where’s Andrew?” He meant the squire who had attended his father and now served him.
“I sent him to fetch Peruseus. Here, allow me brother.” Terill held the metal ring garment aloft while Hawk slid his arms and head through the appropriate openings. “Breastplate?”
“Nay, mail suits me well enough.”
“I glean you’ll want this.” Terill hefted Hawk’s sword.
“Aye, belonged to my father.” He slipped a leather baldric over his head and let the flat side rest across his chest while the empty scabbard settled over his shoulder blade. The heavy sword found home inside its familiar interior. “Here’s Peruseus, now.”
Squire Andrew stood nose on with the horse, breathing with the animal to calm its agitation. Peruseus sidestepped attempting to disengage, but the boy followed him, humming a monotone of nonsense syllables until the horse quieted. Noting Hawks presence, he passed him the reins, bent and laced his fingers together.
“Leg up, Majesty?”
***
Flanked by Robert Merrill, Griffin and Terill, Hawk twisted in the saddle and strained to see a group of riders barreling toward them. Just shy of the hillock, all but one of them stopped.
“Owlmen,” Hawk shouted. “They’re Owlman.” He kneed Peruseus, but Griffin turned across his path, and the horse reared unseating him.
“Ease off, Hawk. What is it you mean to do? If Owlmen they be, rushing head long into them will only see you bloody and dead. Look, a single rider approaches.”
Huge mud clods exploded from the horse’s hooves as the rider neared their position.
“News, I bring news.”
That dry rasp and the ragged billowing robe left little doubt as to the identity of the lone rider. Melendarius reined in the horse. It slipped in the soft mud, jostled for footing and halted inches from Hawk.
Agitated and totally baffled by the lack of action against the intruder, Merrill wheeled on the old man and drew his sword. “What is your meaning, sir? You bring Owlmen among us?”
Melendarius nodded in his directions. The sword flew from Rob’s grasp and plunged to the hilt in the earth at his feet.
“My pardon, King Robert, but the news I bring bears hearing, and those men,” his eyes followed the crest of the hill that concealed the Owlmen riders, “speak no ill of those men, milord.”
“My sword,” Rob stammered. “How did you do that?” He reached for the weapon, but it shot into the air, hovering well above his head.
“Teachings of the Mother, lad,” Melendarius answered. “Now, Hawk, if you’d be so kind, I find the distance from saddle to ground fairly arduous these days, and since you stand firmly upon the Mother’s good earth, I require a bit of an assist.” He groaned and swung one leg across the saddle. “I’d not turn down a stout pint to warm my bones.”
***
They gathered around a peat fire under the same lean-to where Rob had revealed the positions of the escape tunnels. Merrill still eyed the old man with distrust. “Of what news do you speak old man? All I see is a traitorous villain.” His hand rested firmly on the hilt of his dirk.
“Melendarius is no villain, Rob. If Owlmen follow him, there is good reason,” said Hawk.
“Right you are, lad. Right you are.” He took a long pull from the tankard and let the strong ale slide into his belly. “I bring fifty Owlmen, to be precise, armed and ready for battle. Hard on the road from Baline these last days. At their head, rides Edward Barclay, Captain of the very forces that hold Heathgard.”
Rob drew the dirk, but as quickly as it came from the sheath, Melendarius waved his arm. An invisible hand gripped Merrill’s wrist. Strong fingers pressed against the tendons twisting his hand until the blade touched his throat.
“I’ll have none of that,” the old man roared. Irritation had put a sharp edge on his temper. “Leave off or bleed.”
Hawk stepped between them, his back to Melendarius. “Rob, I trust this man. We’ll hear him out.”
Rob felt the pressure that gripped his wrist ease, and contrary to his desire, he placed the dirk in its former position at his waist.
“That’s better.” Melendarius eyed Rob and then continued. “Edward has saved more lives in his years of command than the population inside your city walls. Brenan sent him to crush Baline. Yet I stand before you.”
“Baline!”
“Aye, Hawk. He means to begin his assault on Ascalla and eat away at her as he did Glynmora. But fear not. The village is safe. The stone warriors and friend Roland stood with Captain Barclay. They captured the real threat before they reached the village. Truth told, I think Jenny and Annabelle Runderly could have done the job. Scurvy lot they were.”
“What of them?” Merrill nodded toward the Owlmen waiting in the distance.
“Those brutish curs, my Lord King, those men clad in Brenan’s ominous chicken feathers be Ascalla country folk. Farmers and cart makers, wheel rights and stonemasons, smiths and thatchers, called to Baline at my bidding. They come to fight, to die if they must.” He leveled Merrill with a cold eye. “If you turn Captain Barclay away, he will go. The man has no wish to question your authority. But if you do, the blood of the Glynmora citizenry held inside the walls of Heathgard lies atop your head.”
***
Edward Barclay didn’t like the way the Glynmora king watched him. Looking down that long nose of his as if he thought he could measure him with that arrogant stare. Why he’d just give it right back to him, and if his royal arse didn’t like…
“Explain your plan, lad. They’ll see the sense of it,” said Melendarius. He put a hand on Barclays shoulder. An image of Brinny watching him off that last morning, her soft hair tinged with gray, he could almost feel the warmth of her lips brushing his. He supposed it was the faith her saw in her eyes that washed away his anger despite an uncertain future. He cocked his head toward Melendarius and nodded.
Hawk caught the exchange between them, but no one else seemed to notice. “Aye, Captain Barclay. Tell us the plan.”
“Securing the city be simple enough. They’ll open the gates to me and the Owlmen I lead. I’ll need time, two hours, maybe three, no more than that. Got to jawbone the attack plan. I rush, it’ll look suspicious. I’ll give an order to replace the Owlmen along the wall.”
Barclay took a breath and clamped a pipe between his teeth. His palms felt sweaty,
and he wiped them on his leather jerkin. Merrill still stared at him as if he was a bog monster come to gorge on human flesh. He came eye to eye with him, as if that might shatter the scrutiny that sent the mean pricklies up the back of his neck. “When time comes ripe, I’ll be leading the rest through the gate and order it closed behind us. Once we clear the gates, nary a one of Brenan’s army will be inside.”
“The men atop the ramparts?” Hawk asked.
Barclay grinned for the first time since Melendarius bade him come into camp. His determined jaw relaxed, and the deep lines that etched his cheeks softened a bit. “Ascalla born and bred to the last one.”
“And when Heathgard is safe?” Merrill took a step back and noted Barclay’s obvious gratitude.
“Well, Majesty, when the gates close and the city be secure, I’ll stage the attack?”
“Attack? Then you plan to attack us after all?”
“Aye. What you be thinking? Men like them, bully men my wife calls them and she’d know. Group of the bastids wagered on how long she’d struggle when they chipped in and bought her out of the pens. Bully men be wild for a fight. Mean devils. They’ll no throw down their weapons. That’s the lot needs killing. No way out of it save taking them in battle. Besides, if I don’t order an attack, they’ll turn on Heathgard, batter the gate until it falls. You’ll be worse off than now.”
Hawk nodded slowly. “I see the truth in it.”
“Sorry I am for the way of it. Good men be dying at their hands,” Edward said.
“Best show us your plan, Captain Barclay,” Griffin said. “We’ll need to make ready.”
“Aye, times a wasting.”
“Hold up a minute there, Captain.” “Merrill said. “Sounds a bit too convenient to come across the very man in command of Brennan’s Owlman army offering to fight on the side of people he should consider enemies of his king. How came you by the command, Captain Barclay if you so abhor the Owlmen?”
Edward stared at him. Clenched his fists and then thought better of it. “You be steppin’ on my private space, Majesty, but truth be I guess you got a right seeing the folk inside the walls be your countrymen. My Brinny’s buried most of it in her memory, but I know it be there. Nights when she tosses in her sleep tells me so.”
“I’ll hear the tale, Barclay. You, leading those men?” He shook his head. “I fear the word of a turncoat.”
Barclay clenched his teeth, and the little muscles along his jaw line rippled the way throwing a stone into a quiet pool sets ever widening circles from its point of impact. “It’s not a tale, Majesty.” He spat the words in obvious anger. “Turncoat? Well mayhap. I be biding my time nigh on fifteen year for a chance to turncoat against Brenan. If licking his boots be part of the journey, then I be his dog for every day of that time.
“I remember it clear. The day be crisp, just past fall harvest. In those times, I worked with my pa as a thatcher. When work be needed down to the slave pens, they’d call for Pa. Pa was a free man so calling him be unusual because that meant Brenan had to take on the cost. Pa though, he be the best thatcher I ever did know and charged a fair rate. Any way that day, Pa be down with the ague, so he sent me in his place. Just a clean and tighten job so the roof on the tavern wouldn’t leak. I’d never been in the pens. Pa didn’t want me there, but I be curious as anything about the auctions and saw my chance. I’d collected pay for two other jobs Pa had finished plus the tavern roof and headed on over to where a batch of fresh be waiting to be auctioned.”
“Fresh?” Rob asked.
“Aye, fresh they called them. Name for the women cause none had been used and returned. They put a couple of the ripe ones up first. Mama’s I guessed they were since a couple had little ones hangin’ to their skirts. The auctioneer started the bidding and tried to sell the little ones off with their mama’s. But no one was interested in buying them. Too young they were to be of much good working. Least that be what I figured. Now they be many a brothel in the city and the brothel owners don’t mind taking a woman still feeding her wee one, if you gather my meaning. Certain kind of gent gets really happy bedding a woman full of milk, and if the women be comely, why that be the places what bought them. So, one by one they went. Finally, out come this one little miss. Prettiest thing I ever saw. Her hair be the color of chestnuts, with glints of red when the sun caught it just right. She had huge eyes, green—not that light green the way the grass looks. No, they be such a deep green I couldn’t think of nothing but the dark pines what grows at the base of the mountains. A sprinkly mess of freckles covered her nose. God’s she be the fairest thing I ever saw.
“Then that bastid auctioneer started dressing her out. Talked down those freckles like they be scars. Said as how she’d already been plucked but her wee boy died before she come into the pens. Talked on and on about since she weren’t too much past seventeen or so, she had good tits and a plump little whore’s ass. I hated the things he be saying about her, but the worst ever was when one of the brothel owners wanted to see what he was buying. They stripped her right there. Ripped her cotton chemise down the front and made her turn around 'til he be satisfied he’d caught every angle. I tried looking down to my feet, so I wouldn’t see her shamed that way, but I be drawn to those green eyes. Locked straight on mine they be, and we just stared like that. Well, that brothel man passed over her on account she had a few baby stretches on her belly.
“Man name of Clay Willis tried hard to get her for the whore’s barracks in the pens. Tried and failed he did. Looked right down in the mouth about it, but the auctioneer ignored him like he wasn’t even there even though he bid a right good price for her. I met old Clay later. Found out he be a slave himself. Come to know he be good man what tried to buy all the Ascalla slave women. But that day he was just another bastid to me.
“Next thing what happened was the auction man lowered the bidding. That was when six maybe seven, I don’t rightly remember how many, commenced guffawing and nodding to one another. They jumped in on the bid. Like I said, I had me a smart bit of coin on me that day, and I thought mayhap Pa be understanding when I told him how it come about. So when they bid and the auction man asked for more, I bid. Went on that way for a bit but my coin didn’t go near as far as theirs did. Bought her right out from under me, laughing all the while. I felt real bad I couldn’t save her. The biggest one walked on up to the platform and pulled her off to the side. Her hands be tied in front of her and that chemise still kind of hangin’ off her arms. He just ripped it clean off and then marched her through the crowd to his mates.
“Guess it all might have ended there, except she looked straight at me when they passed, and I had to follow them on down to the tavern. All the time they be telling her what they were going to do and how it was a night she wouldn’t forget. Now, they be Owlmen. Feared, you know, so not a single bloke took her part. She just stood there still as death except for those eyes, locked fast on mine.
“Was when they went to laughing at her and drawing straws as to who be the one to go first that I went off, crazy mad. I dove on them. Guess they might have killed me ‘cept my anger turned me wild. I hit and kicked and punched. They came at me from every side, but I didn’t feel the lickin’ I took. Had nothing on me but a big mallet I’d been usin’ for my work, but I commenced swinging it hard as I could. Took three of them down with it and knocked another one punchy. Swung wide and smashed one in the elbow. He went to screamin’ I’d busted it. The big one pushed Brinny straight at me. Said as how she weren’t worth getting into a sluggin’ match with a stupid thatcher. He offered to sell her for what they paid. I said I didn’t have that much, and he said he’d take what I had.
“Week later the King’s Guard come for me. Took me smack in front of Brenan. I thought I be a dead man sure. But that slug-faced whoreson went to clapping his hands so close up to my face I could feel their wind whoosh past my nose. Stunk sickly sweet of roses they did. Funny, I guess, how a thing like that smell sticks in a fella’s head. Anyest way, he s
aid as how I’d make a good Owlman and gave me a commission. Made-up my mind right then, the good Lord willing, I’d get everyone of them evil bastids. And Brenan, he gave me the way to do it? So I been biding my time for fifteen years and climbing the chain of command.”
“Anymore you want to know, Majesty?” He stood tall, belligerent. Merrill had challenged his integrity, and he had met the challenge. There was no time that morning to wait for his temper to cool. He had understood Merrill’s doubt, but the story was Brinny’s, too, and telling it in front of these men felt like he had betrayed her.
“I’m sorry Captain Barclay, truly. I am sorry for making you relive that,” Rob told him. “When all this is over, I pray you will let me meet your wife. She is an extraordinary soul. Her bravery and pride show in the way you describe that day.” He made a slight bow and extended his hand. “My service to you, Captain, and to your lady.”
Barclay hesitated then clasped Rob’s hand. “To the honor of my Brinny,” he said.
“Aye lad, for your lady. Now, if all are in agreement, please tell us your plan.”
***
Hawk stood tall in the stirrups. His standard bearer steadied a long pole against his thigh that bore the purple and gold colors of Ascalla. It caught a windy blast and billowed against the leaden sky. In the distance, at the head of the second side column, Robert Merrill's man raised the green and red colors of Glynmora.
“Hold, brother,” Terill called. “Wait until they reach the flatland short of the plateau.”
Sour spittle, danced across Hawk’s tongue. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasted blood and wondered when he last thought about breathing? Not until today when that simple instinctive action stopped momentarily, stopped and held until the wind exploded from lungs hungry for the next bite. If this was fear, then let it carry him forward. He thought of Evan, imprisoned within the walls of Brenan’s stronghold. He thought of the slaves, citizens of Glynmora, of Ascalla, some from as far away as Shadall. Finally, he thought of the Rabbit Girl and wondered where among his forces her husband took up arms.