by Joseph Lallo
“We should be getting back,” Alvin said, checking the position of the sun. “It’s nearly time for the noon meal.”
She nodded and they made their way back.
The walk was quite long, but still pleasant. The day was cooler than previous days, just as she had predicted that morning. Maybe she had a future as a meteorologist. She invoked her mage-sight, and checked the sky for anything interesting. The swirling energy patterns were up there as they were everywhere in the realms. Alvin’s aura blazed and roiled at her side, but the fortress wasn’t visible, and neither was the town. Nothing but auras and energy currents were ever visible in the realms. For the first time, she wondered what the free energy was. Could it be the wind? She didn’t know the answer—she didn’t know the answer to most of the questions in her head. Maybe it was unattached magic floating about. She tried to grab some of it, but she felt nothing as it floated by. It wasn’t magic, she decided. It acted like the current in a river. Maybe it really was only air. She let her vision return to normal to find they were approaching the gates.
“Ho the gate!” Alvin called.
“Who comes?”
“Alvin, guardsman escorting the Lady Julia.”
Eeeeeek! The creaking of the gate made Julia jump, and Alvin laughed.
“I hope you find your punishment funny, guardsman,” Keverin said, his face as unyielding as stone. The look he gave Julia burned into her. “Report to Marcus for punishment.”
Alvin’s face fell. He saluted and jogged away without a word.
Julia noted the gatekeeper was a new man. It looked as if she’d been naughty again. She’d dropped Galen into hot water as well.
“Was that really necessary lord Keverin?” she said coldly furious at Alvin’s mistreatment.
Booom... clunk! The gate slammed shut and the locking bars drove home sealing the fortress again.
Keverin waited for quiet before he spoke. “Alvin will be punished for leaving the fortress without permission as well as being absent from his post, because you failed to ask my leave to visit the town. Don’t think for a moment that I blame the boy for what I know is your fault. Alvin isn’t the first man to be swayed in the wrong direction by a pretty face.”
“I’m not one of your guardsmen, Lord Keverin. If I want to visit a market, I will!”
“You will not!” Keverin shouted, and glared when the guardsmen stopped to stare. “Back to your duties!”
They hurried away.
“How will you stop me? Will you clap me in irons?” she hissed, ignoring, his confused expression, “Chain me to a wall will you? Bring me out like a sword to do your killing for you?” Before he could answer, she overrode him with a voice getting louder with anger by the minute. “You’ve had your say, now you’ll hear me! I forced Galen to open the gate after he told me your orders, and I dragged Alvin along to show me his home town. If you want to flex your muscles and punish someone—try me!”
Keverin turned coldly calm. “You’re acting like the child I know you to be. I don’t punish wilful children—I teach them the lesson.”
She didn’t know what he meant, and was worried though she tried not to show it. He nodded to a nearby guardsman who ran off toward the citadel. A moment later, Moriz and Halbert appeared, and reported to their lord.
Keverin received their salutes, before turning back to her with a satisfied smile upon his lips. “Lady, meet your new keepers. This is Moriz, and this—”
“I know who they are; they’re friends of mine. If you think I’m letting them into my rooms, friends or not, you can think again!”
“They’ll stand guard at your door, day and night,” Keverin said stiffly. “None of you have permission to leave the fortress without seeing me first. At no time will you attempt to leave them behind. If you do, I’ll assign the entire guard!”
He would do it too.
Keverin was more than merely angry. She could see it in his clenching fists. If she was any judge, Moriz and Halbert were embarrassed at the conditions he was imposing, and they were a major imposition. Women were protected in Deva, but more than that, they were respected. There was precious little respect in holding any woman a prisoner, and she was his guest. He was being doubly disrespectful.
“Have you quite finished Lord Keverin?” she said sweetly.
“They’ll follow you everywhere you go—everywhere!”
She clamped her mouth shut as he spun on his heel and stalked away. She barely stopped herself from yelling at his retreating back.
* * *
28 ~ Freedom
Jihan stood in the clearing, watching the stars fade, and fantasised about leaving Malcor forever. He could probably escape his father’s men undetected, and if not, he was an excellent fighter. They wouldn’t bring him back easily. He could leave this very morning. The guardsmen knew his routine and wouldn’t expect him back for candlemarks. He wouldn’t have to see his traitorous father, or his black-robed ally, ever again.
He shaded his eyes as the sun rose above the horizon, and sighed. It wasn’t that he lacked the skills necessary to get away. What he lacked was a destination. The capital was out of the question—Athlone owned the chancellor. He would ship him back to his father in chains the moment he arrived in Devarr. No, he needed somewhere that his father’s influence couldn’t reach. There were few places like that in Deva; Athlone had allies all over the kingdom. Japura would be far enough he supposed, or maybe Tanjung. Both countries had few ties within Deva, but he’d be even more of an outcast living there than he already was.
He could just ride away, become an adventurer, and not settle anywhere. He could wander the roads, hunt for food when he was hungry, maybe work as a labourer now and then for a few coppers to buy ale. He wasn’t afraid of hard work. He had his horse and his weapons here, what else did he need? He frowned thoughtfully, patting Jezy’s muscled neck, and seriously considered it.
Movement caught his eye. He turned to watch the riders approach. His father had sent some of his cronies to find him. Why couldn’t they leave him alone?
“Your father needs you,” Luther said as he rode into the clearing and dismounted.
He watched the loathsome man approach, and his doubts evaporated. He was leaving. “I’ll ride back in a while.”
“You’re coming now, boy. Get on your horse.”
“You forget yourself,” he said coldly.
“I ain’t forgot nothin’,” Luther growled, making a grab for his arm.
Jihan slipped aside
Luther stumbled, and snarling angrily, he pulled a dagger. “I’m gonna make you eat this.”
Jihan smiled and drew his sword. “Drop the knife or draw your sword. You’re not taking me back.”
All three men drew their swords and moved to surround him. Luther attacked first. Jihan parried and hooked the man’s leg out from under him with a foot. Luther crashed onto his back, and Jihan lunged toward the man on his right, taking him by surprise. His sword punched through cheap armour, and the guardsman fell dead without uttering a sound. The third man, realising that the fun and games were over, panicked and tried to run. Jihan gave chase.
“Malcor!” he roared as he closed the distance.
The guardsman turned to defend himself, and managed to parry twice before making a mistake. Jihan bound the man’s blade, stepped in close, and punched him in the face. Bone crunched, and the guardsman staggered. Jihan switched his sword to his other hand, and struck. The guardsman dropped to his knees, eyes wide in shock, and clutching his ruined throat.
Jihan felt rather than saw Luther’s attack. He fell flat and rolled away from the blow. On one knee, he parried another attack meant to take his head, before getting back to his feet. Going back on the offensive, he struck to take Luther in the thigh, but the guardsman parried and retaliated skilfully. Pain seared his own thigh, as Luther’s blade sliced it open. He gasped, more in surprise than pain; he hadn’t seen the blow coming. Luther grinned
and pressed home his advantage, forcing him back, and back again. He retreated, desperately trying to protect his bad leg, but Luther went for it again. He tried to pull it back to safety, and stumbled. Lucky he did, as Luther missed the sudden unplanned move, and left himself open. Jihan took the chance and lunged awkwardly from his prone position. His blade skewered Luther just under the edge of his armour, and disembowelled him.
Luther screamed and fell to his knees, clutching himself.
Jihan pushed himself painfully back to his feet and drew his dagger. “Do you want the grace?”
Luther couldn’t answer—the pain was too much, but he nodded jerkily. Jihan’s single dagger thrust to the back of his neck ended his pain.
“May the God watch over and comfort you at journey’s end,” he said. He limped over to the other guardsmen to give them the grace as well, but both men were already dead.
He cut the sleeve from one of their shirts, and used it to bind the wound in his thigh. The cut was deep, and it had bled a lot, but he could still use the leg. He thanked the God for that, because he couldn’t go back to Malcor now. His decision to leave had turned from a choice he’d made into a necessity.
He cleaned his blades quickly, mounted Jezy, and collected Luther’s horse before riding out of the clearing. It would do for a remount.
He rode hard for the first few candlemarks, determined to get a good head start. He stopped only briefly to rest Jezy and switch to Luther’s horse. He knew that his father would send men after him, but what would their instructions be? If their orders were to bring him back unharmed, he could escape using threats, but that wasn’t very likely. He knew all about his father’s dealings with Mortain; he couldn’t let him spread that information and would order him stopped. That was trickier. A good bowman could drop a man at a hundred and fifty yards, sometimes more if the wind was right. The trees around him weren’t numerous, but they did provide some cover.
Candlemarks into his journey, he stopped again, this time at the edge of the forest to look for tracks on the highroad. The only ones he found were days old, and that worried him. He would much prefer enemies ahead of him than behind him. He hesitated, but using the road seemed foolish. It was too open. Making a decision, he crossed to the other side, and started riding cross-country. Athione was a long ride from Malcor by road. It would take him even longer cross-country, but he couldn’t take the chance of being caught in the open.
He rode all that day and saw no one, not even a sheep or goat herder. The land was poor for any kind of farming; it was mostly dry stony hills. He was alone except for the horses, but he took no chances. He kept his eyes scanning for movement, often checking his back-trail for pursuit. As the day eased into evening, he looked for a place to stop. It was a risk to be sure, but he couldn’t afford to lame the horses. He chose a rocky hill in the distance, and reached it just as true night fell.
He unsaddled Jezy and his remount at his chosen campsite. Both horses were happy enough munching on the scrub they found there. They would need water tomorrow at the latest, but they could manage for now on the little he gave them. He shook his water bag. It was three quarters full. He didn’t drink.
Settling down to watch for pursuit, he tried not to dwell on the men he’d killed, but it was hard. He’d ridden against brigands twice before in his life. The first time, the fight was over before he could even draw his sword. The second time, he’d wounded a man, but he hadn’t killed him. His opponent was just a boy, and disarming him had been ridiculously easy. Athlone had been furious, and had made him watch the hanging. He could still see the look of horror on the boy’s face as they brought out the rope. Hanging was a dishonourable way to die.
He never let himself forget that boy’s face, and the dishonour of his death at the end of a rope. He shouldn’t have held back that day; his father was right about that at least. He should have given the boy an honourable death in battle.
He shifted and glanced at the night sky from where he lay prone. There was only a sliver of moon tonight, but his eyes were very keen and already accustomed to the dark. The hill let him to see for leagues in all directions, but everything was still. He yawned, wanting to sleep, but he didn’t dare take the chance. There was no sign of pursuit yet, but his father’s men would be on their way. He had to be ready to react when they showed up. He forced himself to stay awake by changing his focus, and keeping his head moving, looking for movement and threat.
It didn’t work.
He awoke the next morning when Jezy snuffed his face, wanting his attention. “Fugghh! Your breath stinks!” he said, pushing her face away from his.
He rubbed his eyes and stiffened, remembering the day before, and where he was. It was after dawn! He guessed the sun had been up at least a candlemark. He rolled to his feet in a blind panic, expecting to be jumped by his father’s hunters any moment.
He hurriedly saddled the horses, and rode for two or three candlemarks before stopping to give the horses their water ration. They weren’t happy with the amount, but it would take him the rest of the day to reach Brai and its well. He had to make his water last until then. Taking only a single mouthful to tide himself over, he mounted Luther’s horse and continued on.
As the light faded toward evening, Brai came into view, and he decided to approach on foot the rest of the way. It was full dark when he reached the outskirts of the village. He navigated the streets, ready to fight if need be, but everything seemed quiet—too quiet. He paused, feeling suddenly uneasy with the stillness. He cocked his head, listening intently, and relaxed when he heard faint singing. He smiled when he recognised the bawdy song. It didn’t mean he was out of danger, but it was a good sign.
He reached the village square and stopped among the shadows to study the situation. The horses had scented the water, and were eager to drink, but he held them back to scan the open space. To reach the well and the horse trough, he had to walk a hundred yards out in the open. The well was in the exact centre of the square. He scanned the rooftops, feeling uneasy. There was nothing to suggest the hunters were here, and yet…
He retrieved his bow from behind Jezy’s saddle and hung his quiver over his shoulder. He felt like a fool, but better that than dead. He stepped out of the shadows and crossed the square with an itch between his shoulder blades, but he reached the well without incident. The horses eagerly dipped their heads to drink from the trough while he drew fresh water from the well to fill the water bag.
As the horses drank their fill, he glanced around the square at the lighted windows trying to imagine the families sitting down to dinner. He shook the thought away. He was hungry enough without tormenting himself. The inn was to his left. He could tell that the villagers were still enjoying the drunken sot’s bawdy song. He drank away his thirst and refilled the water bag, wishing he had two of them. If he survived this journey, he would never ride anywhere with only one again.
Thock!
He fell flat behind the trough, staring at the arrow quivering from the well handle. He tried not to imagine what could have just happened.
“That was just a warning! I don’t want to kill ye, lad, but I will if ye make me! Drop the bow and come out where I can see ye!”
The voice came from the darkened house opposite. “Are you going to kill me in the middle of the village? I don’t think the folk here will approve!”
The singer and his audience fell silent. Crawling to the other end of the water trough, he peered around the corner, looking for a target.
Thock!
He ducked back, but the arrow hadn’t been intended to hit him. He frowned at the shaft where it had hit the edge of the trough; it had come from a different direction. Sighting along it, he found an alley. He couldn’t see anyone, but the bowman had to be standing in the shadows there. The alley was well within his range, but his longbow couldn’t be used from a kneeling position. He needed a clan bow for that kind of shot. Clansmen used a different design, one meant to be used fr
om horseback or from a prone position. They were expert archers.
He knocked an arrow to his string, rose, and fired in one movement.
“Ughh!”
Diving flat to avoid any return, he was grimly satisfied to hear the cry of pain. That was one less to deal with.
“Pssst!”
Jihan found the source of the noise after a brief search of the shadows. Lying upon the ground against the wall of the inn, he could make out a boy’s face. The rest of him was hidden in the darkness.
“Look to your left... no, your other left dimwit! See him, on the roof?”
Yes, dimwit your other left, he thought sarcastically.
He looked up and to his right. He could just make out a man’s silhouette crouched partly obscured by a chimney. It would be an awkward shot. He knocked another arrow, and waited for him to move a little more into the open. When the opportunity arrived, he popped up and fired.
“Gah!” the arrow struck true, and the hunter slumped, clutching his chest. His bow clattered upon the roof tiles. A moment later, its owner rolled off the roof, and hit the ground already dead.
“Oomph!” Jihan grunted and fell onto his back, wide-eyed and cursing his stupidity. He’d let himself be distracted watching his target fall.
Panting in time with the throbbing pain in his side, he snapped the arrow off short. It had hit him between two ribs, about a hand-span above his sash. His armour had saved him from a killing blow, but the arrow had still penetrated about an inch. It hurt like a hot poker in his side. Drawing his bow would be agony.
He looked for the boy, hoping he knew where the rest of the hunters were, but he’d gone back inside. That was very wise of him. He crawled toward the other end of the water trough, hoping to see something more than shadows. He couldn’t let them pin him in place all night.
Thock! Thock! Thock!
The arrows slammed into the water trough near his head, striking mere moments apart. The timing suggested three archers were shooting, not one. Before they could fire again, he took a chance. He jumped to his feet and went for the horses, hoping to get between them before they could fire again.