“By the way, I was not trained by clowns.” Masolon lunged forward with a mighty blow.
Gerviny limped backward, blocking Masolon's deadly strike with his war axe. Masolon found an opening and whacked Gerviny's right knee with the edge of his steel shield. The massive hit forced the prince to bend his leg and take one step back.
Masolon swung his shield once more toward the face of his opponent, who did not know how to dodge that metallic slap. Taking advantage of Gerviny's confusion, Masolon plunged his sword into the prince's belly. Gerviny roared, bent his back, and dropped his axe.
“I told you, milord,” Masolon scoffed, “one day you will not be hiding behind your title.”
Gerviny stared at the blade stuck to his abdomen. Another blow by the shield made him fall on his back. “I thought you owed me a punch,” Masolon taunted. “But you know what? I have just realized I owe you something.”
Gerviny's eyes betrayed his anticipation; a faint hope of a dying man. That fool had no idea. If there was something Masolon owed him, it would be proving the ridiculousness of his grandfather's tales about the fairness of destiny. A scum became a noble only because his father was so, nothing glorious about it. A worthless bastard had the right to marry whoever he wanted to marry, jail whoever he wanted to jail, and kill whoever he wanted to kill only because of the damned noble blood running through his lordly veins. But what about the likes of Masolon? Those who fought and bled for the people of these cursed lands? They might earn a meaningless title or a stupid medallion, but nothing more, because of their filthy “common” blood.
Gerviny gasped, his chest rising and falling.
Masolon grabbed the war axe from the ground and laid its cold blade on Gerviny's neck. “You do not deserve the honor of my sword.” With both hands, Masolon swung the axe and severed Gerviny's head. The rascal was dead, but that didn't make Masolon feel any better. Nothing would change. Masolon was still a commoner who would live and die in oblivion. On the other hand, Gerviny's corpse would be buried in an honorable funeral that would befit a lord.
“Halt!” a harsh voice called from a distance.
Masolon was not able to estimate the number of those soldiers at the end of his sight. He pulled his sword from Gerviny's corpse, strapped his shield to his back, and ran into the nearest alley he found. It was time to flee this cursed city.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
MASOLON
A troop of thirty Rusakian spearmen blocked the way to the gate of Durberg, making it impossible for Masolon to go past them peacefully and leave the city. He hid himself behind one of the houses in the dark alley and watched his angry pursuers look for him. He knew he had to move from his spot. Rusakian soldiers were searching the whole alley and they would find him at any moment.
The Frozen Lake.
Masolon recalled he had once heard from Darov that it lay west. But first he had to get out of that alley. And soon. He could hear the crunching boots of the Rusakian guards approaching his hideout, which was a house surrounded by nothing but snowdrifts.
He gazed at the frosty white mass in front of him when a crazy idea came to his mind. He had to act at once since Rusakian guards were going to reach his spot in seconds.
He quickly dug with both arms into the snow. The numbness in his fingers started immediately, but there was no time to deal with it. He burrowed his lower half into the groove he made, and brushed snow over himself to cover the rest of his body. Before burying his head, he took the deepest breath ever in his life from the freezing air. It felt like being stabbed by a cold dagger in his heart, but it was surely better than getting struck by a real blade.
A couple of seconds later, he could hardly hear the soldiers' boots, just in front of the drift he buried himself inside. A severe chill shocked his body, making him shiver like a wobbling tree branch on a windy day. Air in his lungs was consumed rapidly. Any moment of panic would cost him his life.
When would those soldiers leave? The frost had numbed his limbs at the beginning. Now he could not feel them anymore.
“The roofs!”
A faint Rusakian voice reached his ears through the snow barrier. The soldier sounded as if he was miles away.
Masolon was not sure if the soldiers had gone or not, but his natural survival instinct urged him to get himself out. The deprivation of air was tearing his chest apart. He tried to move his arms to remove the snow, but they barely responded. Frightened by the notion of freezing to death, he pushed forward desperately with his head and kicked the snow behind his numbed legs. The air in his lungs was running out. He probably only had a few seconds before he collapsed.
And finally, his head was out.
He crawled, gasping for air, but he could not even fully open his mouth. His chest wheezed like a creaking door. His eyelids were too heavy to force them open to check his surroundings, yet there were no soldiers' boots visible in his limited field of vision.
'The roofs' was the last thing he had heard. Maybe those Rusakians thought that he was hiding atop one of the buildings in the dark alley.
Away from the soldiers' torches, hidden by darkness, trembling with chill, he crept out of the alley. The way was clear now to crawl to the other side of the street to head to the western side of the sleeping city. He still had a chance to reach that Frozen Lake, but not after sunrise. It would be easier to find him when the city woke up.
He needed to push blood to his limbs, and crawling wasn't helping. Walking on his feet was now a wish. If he remained on the snow all night long, he would die before anyone found him. Pushing himself up with his arms, Masolon raised his body and moved like a four-legged animal. Every few blocks his arms failed him. As he reached the end of the neighborhood, his hands couldn't touch the snow anymore. If the sense of touch was even still there…
He didn't know how much time had passed, but night in Rusakia was longer than in Murase. On his elbows and knees, he crawled. A neighborhood ended, another one started, and yet no sign of the damned Frozen Lake.
“Keep looking!”
It had been a while since he’d heard the guards' voices. They were not far. For a moment he thought of yielding, or even surrendering for them to take him back to the dungeon. Now he realized how warm his cell was. Most probably his coming night in the dungeon would be the last, but that would be another problem he would worry about later.
Masolon used his hands again. Four legs were better than none. A lion was faster than a snake. A dog was faster than a snake. He would become any animal now to survive. With his four legs he walked, the soldiers' thudding boots getting closer. Abandoning the idea of surrendering to them, he trotted, or he tried to, but it wasn't as easy as his horse made it seem.
There were no more buildings on either side when he reached the copse of oak trees. He leaned on one of them and rose to his feet, his legs shaking so badly he would fall if he didn't embrace the huge trunk. Looking behind, he could see torches, though wasn’t sure where those soldiers were going. Soon they would come here. Blood was returning to his legs as he stood, and now he might be able to walk, but where should he go? Ahead was only a vast plain without a single tree to hide behind. He had seen green plains in Bermania and yellow plains in Murase, but here the plains were white, and at some points, they had no color, like glass. It even felt like glass, hard beneath his feet.
Wait. This is ice.
He must be standing on the Frozen Lake right now, and only one house lay at the other side of that lake. Doing his best not to be spotted by the guards, Masolon lowered his head and walked across the ice.
A woman came out of the house and dragged a barrel from the doorstep to a four-wheeled cart. Masolon wasn't sure what she said, but she seemed to be calling someone inside the house. A younger girl stood by the doorstep, talking to the old woman.
“Mom!” the girl yelled, pointing at him.
“The bow! The bow!” the woman urged her daughter, who hurried inside and returned in a few moments with a bow and a quiver.
The last thing Masolon needed in such a quiet place was their noise. He waved his hands to them, hoping the woman wouldn't shoot him. While her daughter was holding the quiver for her, the woman snatched an arrow and nocked it onto the bowstring. “Don't come closer!” she warned, pulling the bowstring, aiming at him.
“Do not shoot.” Masolon stopped, his teeth clicking.
“Oh Lord! He is almost frozen!” The young girl looked alarmed. Like her mother, her eyes were blue, but her hair was darker.
“Shut up now!” the mother rebuked the young girl. “You!” she addressed him. “What are you doing here?”
“Anna?” Masolon asked.
The mother looked surprised. “How do you know me while I don't know you?” she asked warily, still aiming at him.
“Blanich.”
“Blanich?” Astonished, the daughter grabbed her mother's arm. “Mom, lower this bow. Please!”
“Get off me!” Anna snapped at her daughter, and to Masolon she said, “Who sent you? Tell me, or I swear I will shoot you at once.”
“Blanich sent me.” Masolon tried to recall Blanich's words. “He says he will be back when he is ready.”
“It's him!” the girl told her mother. “Blanich must have sent him!”
Anna looked skeptical as she lowered her bow. “What do you want?” she asked.
Every part of Masolon's body shivered. “A warm place.”
“Mom, he is freezing!” The young girl scurried to him, pulling him by the arm.
“Jubi! What are you doing, foolish girl?” Anna was infuriated by her daughter's move.
“Can't you see his pale face? We must take him inside the house before the cold kills him,” said Jubi. Masolon allowed her to take him wherever she wanted, as long as it was walled and roofed, and without soldiers looking for him.
“Sit until I get you something warm to drink.” Jubi dragged out a chair when they entered their small house.
Anna followed them inside. “Do I need to remind you of the four remaining barrels? We need to reach Maksow before sunset, young lady.” She laid her palm on Masolon’s numbed hand. “Blast! You're freezing indeed! Jubi, get two blankets, now!” She pulled him by the arm and took him to the fireplace. Masolon extended his hands to the flames, resisting the temptation to drive his frozen fingers into it. Gradually, he was feeling the heat on his palms.
“Careful,” Anna warned him. “Your hands are too close.” Anna left him when Jubi returned with the blankets and covered him with it.
“Better now?” Jubi asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“You met him in person?” A smile crept over Jubi's pretty face. “How is he?”
She must be asking about Blanich. He couldn't mistake that glow in her eyes. A glow he had never seen in Sania's eyes. Lucky Blanich. I would die for a look like this.
Anna returned with a bowl in her hands. “Can you do something useful instead of asking about your sweetheart?”
“Mom!” Jubi's snow white face blushed, her blue eyes glaring at Anna.
“Go and boil some lemon for him,” Anna said. Mumbling, Jubi went outside and Anna handed Masolon the bowl. “Drink this honey.”
“Drink?” He took the bowl from her.
“This is Rusakian honey. The only honey in Gorania that is never thickened by the frost. What is your name?”
“Masolon.”
“Tell me, Masolon. How did you meet Blanich?”
Masolon told her about the Contest, Blanich's injury that finally ended him in the Murasen lands, the nomads' raid on Kahora, and their battle in which they had defeated those nomads.
“He told you he would return when he was ready, huh?” Anna asked.
“He did not say more and I did not ask.” Masolon shrugged. “I presumed the receiver would understand.”
Anna glanced at her pretty daughter who entered holding a copper pot, steam coming out from it with the scent of boiled lemon. He was better now already, the numbness gone, his limbs not shaking anymore.
“I understand indeed.” Anna chuckled in a tone of self-mocking. Jubi pouring the boiled lemon in a jug. “Bring it before it cools, Jubi.”
Anna took the honey from him and gave him the jug. The lemon was too sour, but Masolon felt the warmth spreading in his blood. “How are your limbs now?” she asked.
“Much better.” Masolon took another gulp. “I can feel them, yet they are still weak.”
“You were nearly frozen when we brought you inside,” said Anna. “Although it seems that you are not used to our weather, you choose the coldest hour of the day to be outside.”
“Bad luck, I guess.”
“This is what my late husband used to say when he fell into trouble because of his folly.”
“How do you know I am in trouble?”
Anna scanned his face. “You are not from here, I'm quite sure. I wonder why a stranger might deliberately come to our frozen city.”
“Until recently, coming to Durberg was not one of my plans.” Masolon smiled. “Apparently destiny has its own plans for me.”
“A good excuse to feel more comfortable about it, huh?” Anna chided. “Throwing the blame on destiny as if you don't have the free will to make your own decisions. Do you think this makes you pious?”
Masolon didn't dare to utter a word in his own defense.
“You won't change your destiny if you leave yourself to his plans.” Anna took the empty jug from Masolon, giving him the honey for one more round. “Destiny chooses those who choose him.”
Masolon could sense her kindness despite her apparent harshness. Besides, who would ask a widow with a daughter to be nice in these cold lands?
“I wonder if you can help me with the barrels outside,” said Anna. “We should have left Durberg before sunrise, but thanks to your appearance, we are late.”
“My apologies. I will make it up to you.” Masolon removed the blankets and rose to his feet.
“Fine. You can come with us if you are leaving the city today.”
Nothing he wanted now like leaving the City of Ice. “I am afraid I cannot come with you,” he said.
“Why not?” Anna asked. “Where are you heading?”
“My destination is not the problem.” It would be ungrateful if he returned their favor by putting them in danger. He had to tell them everything about his visit to their city. Everything, including the feast in the palace of Durberg, his brief chattering with Halin, his quarrel with Gerviny, Halin's false maiden, his frozen dungeon, and his last duel with Gerviny. Hopefully, he wouldn't regret it.
“Oh, Lord!” Jubi covered her mouth when Masolon reached the part when he decapitated Gerviny. “All the guards of Durberg must be looking for you now!”
He nodded to Jubi, looking at her silent mother, trying to get any clue about her stance.
“Killing a lord is a grave act, young man,” Anna mused. “Lord Larovic will not rest until he finds you. And he will if you stay here. If we don't take you with us, your head will end up resting on a pike.”
“But how will we take him, Mom?” Jubi shook her head. “The guards at the gate will arrest him on sight.”
“We’ve passed the gates hundreds of times,” said Anna. “They never searched our cargo.”
“Today is different, Anna,” said Masolon. “A‘murderer’ is on the loose.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
MASOLON
It was dark inside, but warm. Even warmer than Anna's house. Through the only hole in the barrel, Masolon watched the houses passing by. Since he couldn't see a trotting horse or a turning cartwheel, it was the houses that moved, not him.
They were approaching the gate. He knew it when the cart slowed down and then stopped.
“Sweet Anna! You are a bit late today.” Probably a guard.
“I am getting old, it seems,” Anna replied, sounding natural.
“More honey?” the same soldier asked.
“Sure. Mine is the best you know.”
“I will not.”
Masolon let out a sigh of relief. Now he knew why Anna wasn't worried about sneaking him out of the city.
“You don't look good today, Anna.” Another guard sounded suspicious. She looks fine, you bastard. Now let her pass, Masolon thought as he listened to the approaching thudding boots. Two boots of one soldier. From that hole in the barrel, Masolon couldn't see what the soldier was doing outside until he heard the knocks on the other barrels. The other full barrels. Blast! If he had half Blanich's luck, that guard would be too deaf to notice the different knock on the hollow barrel.
I should not have involved them.
He bit his lower lip. The guards would arrest Anna and her daughter with him, and maybe Larovic would execute them as well. Yesterday he ran away, but today he wouldn't. Today he must fight to save those poor ladies.
Now it was the turn of his barrel, and it received more knocks than the rest. The guard had found something, Masolon believed. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he was ready for the inevitable encounter.
“I know you are here,” Masolon heard the soldier whispering. “We are even now.”
Masolon didn't respond to the soldier's attempt to distract him, his hand still tight on the hilt.
“What is the matter?” another soldier asked. “Something wrong, Androvsky?”
Could it be him? The same desperate spearman? Masolon wasn't sure whether it was good or bad news.
“Everything is fine,” Androvsky replied, Masolon now sure it was his voice. “Let the honey lady pass. She has a long day ahead.”
The cart moved at last, and Masolon let out a deep breath. The games of destiny treated him well this time. Should he restore his faith in them? Perhaps, but not before he made sure he was safe.
The cart started moving again and the guards' voices faded away. Now he could only hear the horses' clopping hooves. After Anna had traveled some distance from Durberg, she let him out of his barrel.
The Warrior's Path (Tales of Gorania Book 1) Page 26