“The strangest part of the whole thing,” Enreigh said, speaking for the first time, “they left a gold ryal on the table ‘fore they left. That more ‘n anything made us believe they was more than just runaways.”
Oraeyn frowned. That kind of money could only have come from someone noble, but how could Kamarie and Yole have changed their appearances so drastically? They finished their soup, Marghita prattling on the entire time about this or that crop and this or that neighbor who had done something or other. Oraeyn really did not pay that much attention to her words. He was relieved when Brant stood up.
“Thank you ma’am,” Brant said, “for the bit of rest and the warm food.” He pushed his chair back under the table and placed something unnoticed by his glass.
“And welcome ye be.” Marghita smiled brilliantly.
“Come again,” Enreigh said, finally getting a word in edgewise.
Oraeyn smiled and followed Brant out the door. He was very relieved to get away from the odd woman and her endless talk of things that did not concern or interest him.
As they walked through the village, Oraeyn asked, “Why were you so interested in the two people who stayed at that house?”
Brant glanced at him and continued walking, “Because it was Kamarie and Yole, and I wanted to find out if they were still traveling to the Harshlands. I also wanted to make sure that they were safe and unharmed.”
“Kamarie and Yole!” Oraeyn exclaimed, “The descriptions that Marghita gave were nothing like Kamarie and Yole!”
Brant allowed a small smile to pass across his face. “Skorch root and dragon-berries can be mixed in hot water to make a brown dye. That explains the tanned skin color and the young boy’s brown hair. The dye would not have worked in Kamarie’s hair though, it is too dark, and that is why she hid her hair under a hood. She said it was raining, so Kamarie’s dye must have gotten washed off. Besides, who else could afford to pay a gold ryal for a stew dinner and two blankets on the floor? You should learn to pay closer attention to details, lad. I am surprised you didn’t pick up on the biggest clue.”
Oraeyn looked at him quizzically, “What clue?”
“Their names,” Brant said simply. “Ian is a root form of the word ‘dragon’ in some country dialects, and Leota means…”
“Woman of the people,” Oraeyn finished irritably, trying to prove that he did, at least, know some things; then he let out a low whistle and looked up at Brant in admiration. “How did you figure all that out, and why would they flee in the night when they heard that they had been mistaken for runaways?”
“First of all, they were not fleeing from fear. Kamarie is not the type of girl who would want to spend precious time explaining that she is not a runaway when she could be traveling further towards her destination. And as to how I figured all of this out, well… when you have been solving riddles for as long as I have, you will understand how to search for clues in every word you hear.”
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of Brant’s mouth, but he kept silent, causing Oraeyn to pause mid-step and wonder.
“How old are you?” Oraeyn asked.
“Old enough,” was all that Brant would say.
chapter
THIRTEEN
Oraeyn woke in a cold sweat, his heart racing and his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He had dreamed that there were dark shadows creeping up all around him, silhouetted by the dying embers of the small campfire. He took a deep breath to calm himself and sat up, the dream still clinging to him. He looked around warily, and then he went very still, motionless with horror. The dark shadows had been no dream. They were there, slinking towards him from behind the tall trees. Like smoke, the figures seemed to rise out of the ground. The pale glow of the dying campfire made them appear as ghosts.
Terror gripped his heart. His ability to cry out a warning was choked from his throat by fear. Oraeyn looked wildly towards the spot where Brant had been sleeping and an icy finger of dread snaked through him. Brant was gone. He was alone, surrounded and outnumbered by the fell force of menacing figures that approached him with silent, slow footsteps, drawing closer with every breath he took. He groped frantically for his sword, but whether in his terror or his haste, he could not find it. With almost impossible speed and agility, one of the dark figures leaped at him and wrapped strong, supple fingers around his throat choking the breath out of him. Oraeyn screamed, his voice hoarse and rasping. He thrashed about, but the enemy’s grip was like a band of iron about his neck. Then the shadow spoke; words came from the faceless terror that seized him by the throat.
“Oraeyn, Oraeyn!”
“No!” He tried to scream, tried to lash out, but his efforts were futile.
“Oraeyn! Wake up!” The voice was Brant’s.
Oraeyn felt himself being shaken by the shoulders, and he opened his eyes with a gasp, squinting in the sudden brightness of the rising Dragon’s Eye. Brant was kneeling next to him with a concerned look on his face.
“Are you all right?”
Oraeyn stared at the man in confusion. The light was so bright compared to the darkness that he had been engulfed in, and for a moment he could not comprehend what was real. Then he began to shake, a great shudder coursed through him.
“A dream, it was nothing but a dream.”
Brant looked at him in concern. “Dreams can be powerful.”
Oraeyn nodded silently.
“We need to get going,” Brant said, “would you like to tell me about your dream?”
Oraeyn stood up and shook his head, and then he changed his mind and nodded. “There - there were dark shadows all around me, tall and strong like the Dark Warriors. And you weren’t there. I tried to call out to you, but you were gone, and I couldn’t find my sword. Then one of the shadows jumped at me and wrapped its fingers around my neck, choking me. I could not breathe or cry out for help…” Oraeyn trailed off.
He began rolling up his blanket and organizing his pack. He kept his head bent, ashamed of his fear. He was suddenly embarrassed that the dream had terrified him so badly, and he was even more ashamed that Brant had seen his terror. Oraeyn knew that the man would think him a coward now, unfit to ever be a knight of the realm. His shoulders slumped as he stuffed his blanket into his pack.
“Oraeyn.” There was none of the reproach or disappointment that Oraeyn feared to hear in Brant’s voice.
Oraeyn dared to lift his eyes and look at Brant.
“There is no shame in being afraid, the shame is found in not being willing to face that fear.”
“But I thought that courage was the absence of fear,” Oraeyn protested. “Brave men are described as such because they are not afraid of anything. You are the most courageous person I know. You’re courageous because you’re not afraid. Dark Warriors fear you, not the other way around!”
Brant shook his head. “I do not lack fear. Don’t you understand? Courage is not found in lacking fear, courage is found in not allowing your fear to rule you. Think, young knight, would there be any courage required to face that which you do not fear?”
“Well... I suppose not...no…I guess you’re right.” Oraeyn bit his lip as Brant’s words sank in. “Huh, I never thought about it that way before. I… I guess then that courage is really… just facing fear.”
Brant slapped him on the back. “He can be taught!” A grin spread across his face. Oraeyn was startled, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Brant really smile before. “Now we really must get moving, or it will be night again before we have even taken a step from our campsite.”
Oraeyn laughed in spite of himself, for the Dragon’s Eye had only just risen fully above the horizon, and it was what most people would consider very early in the morning. It felt good to laugh, the sound of it dispersed the rest of the shadows of his dream.
❖ ❖ ❖
Kamarie did not allow herself or Yole to rest again until they were many miles from the small village. Although they were b
oth tired, much time would be lost if they were not careful. Finally, much to Yole’s relief, she stopped.
“We are safe now,” she said.
“What were we running from anyway?”
“The people we were staying with thought that we were runaway laborers,” Kamarie explained.
“So?” Yole was outraged, “We weren’t! We could have stayed there and proven that we weren’t! We could have done it easily. We ran all night because of that?”
“You’re right, we could have proven that we were not who they thought we were, but it would have taken up precious time, and we need to get to the Harshlands as quickly as possible. We must travel with the swiftness that Brant expected of us or we will miss the others and never get home.”
Yole calmed down a bit at her words and tone, but it was clear that he was still upset.
“We can rest now, I promise there will be no more running tonight.”
Yole sighed. “Now that tonight is almost over.”
“Well, we can rest for a few hours at least.”
Yole sighed again, sounding like one who has long suffered many injustices. His sigh caused Kamarie to grin, though she was careful not to let the boy see it. Although quite mature for his age, Yole sometimes acted very young.
“Get some sleep now,” Kamarie said. “You will need it. And from here on out there will be no more villages for us. Not even if it snows!”
Yole groaned but said nothing as he stretched out on the ground and fell asleep. Kamarie smiled down at the sleeping form, feeling a fondness for the boy. For the first time in her life, she wondered what it might have been like to have a younger brother or sister. Then she curled up in her own bedroll and slept peacefully.
“Kamarie.”
Kamarie woke to an insistent whisper and someone tapping on her shoulder. Yole was kneeling next to her, and the look in his eyes told her that something was wrong. She stood up and drew her sword with the practiced grace that had impressed even Brant.
“What is it?” she asked in a hushed voice, crouching down next to the boy, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow straining to see what the threat was.
“Someone is watching us.”
Kamarie glanced around, but she could see no one. She could, however, feel the watching eyes on them, and it was enough to convince her that they were in danger. With skillful, swift movements, Kamarie set about striking their camp. She rolled up her blankets and shouldered her pack within seconds. She saw that Yole had already done so, and she nodded in approval. She turned and set out in the direction that they had been traveling; she did not run or hurry, but there was stealthy speed in every step she took. There was nothing else that she could do but wait for the enemy to make the first move. She could not attack what she could not see, and yet, the hidden eyes watching her made the skin on the back of her neck prickle with nervous anticipation.
Yole tried to match every step that Kamarie took, keeping his movements through the trees silent. He was glad that they were not out in the open; at least here in the forest there were places to hide. He tried to ignore the presence of the unseen eyes on his back, but he could not. He wondered if he was just being paranoid and glanced over his shoulder. He could see nothing; if something was watching or following them, it was keeping itself well hidden.
They continued traveling in this manner throughout the day. Neither of them spoke, hoping that they had lost their pursuer and fearing that any extra noise would attract more attention if they had not. They neither stopped nor slowed their pace; the feeling of being hunted would not allow them to rest. However, as the day drew to a close, despair began to well up within Kamarie. She did not know how much longer she and Yole could keep up this pace, for they had not stopped to rest or eat all day and they would be at a disadvantage when night fell. She was weak with hunger, despite managing to eat a few trail rations that she kept in her pockets. Instinct told her that the attack would come when darkness enclosed them. She felt helpless: knowing when the enemy would make his move, yet powerless to do anything to prevent it.
Kamarie glanced around, her sharp eyes taking note of their surroundings. The underbrush had become very thick immediately to their left; she could see no end to the bushes and small plants. There was a narrow space under the bushes where it was conceivable that a small child could crawl through them. It would be fairly easy for someone to vanish into that thicket if that someone was small enough. To their right the trees had thinned, and through the trees Kamarie could see more wide-open plains. Directly in front of them was more of the thick, dark forest that would grow even darker in the quickly approaching twilight. Kamarie took a deep breath, a plan forming in her mind.
She drew closer to Yole. “Listen carefully,” she whispered.
He nodded wordlessly.
“Do you think that you could fit through that small opening under those bushes and crawl unseen through the thicket deeper into the forest?”
Yole stiffened a little, knowing that she was suggesting that he go that way on his own, but he nodded again.
“Do you think that you could find a good place to hide where no one would be able to find you?” Kamarie asked, hoping that her plan would work.
“Yes,” Yole whispered, so quietly that Kamarie almost missed it.
“Good,” she said. “When I give the word, you crawl under there and go as quickly and as quietly as you can. Find a good place to hide and then wait. If morning comes and you have not heard the shrill whistle of a shadow-lark, then you must travel on to the Harshlands without me. But, if you hear the whistle of a shadow-lark, then you will know that it is safe to come out.”
Yole twisted his neck so that he was looking up at her, he had a puzzled frown on his face. “How will the shadow-lark know if he should whistle or not?” the boy asked seriously.
Kamarie almost laughed at Yole’s naïve question, but the danger of the situation held her to a small smile. She whispered quietly, “I’ll be the one making the signal. Do you know what it sounds like?”
Yole’s eyes widened as he understood. He nodded. “I do.”
Twilight fell, and the forest grew dark even as the presence of the unseen eyes weighed upon them more heavily. At length, Kamarie realized that they had reached a spot that felt defensible. She reached out and touched Yole’s shoulder.
“Go, now!” She pushed him towards the dense thicket.
He broke away and ran towards the bushes. He dropped onto his stomach and rolled quickly into the underbrush that lined the path. Kamarie heard him wriggle through the branches, and she heard the rustle of dead leaves, and then the forest went silent again. She inwardly congratulated the boy on his stealth, and then she whirled to face the silent watchers, sword drawn.
For a moment, she wondered if she had been wrong or if the watching eyes had been nothing more than her imagination. There was no one behind her, no movement in the trees, no sound of footsteps through the forest, no sound at all except the slight, chill breeze that softly whispered around her. She crouched, anticipating an attack. Her instincts told her that she was not wrong, that the enemy was coming. She waited, her sword drawn, her heart beating fast and her fear mounting. She backed up to the large oak tree she had seen as a defensible position. It would offer at least a little bit of suitable protection for her back. Her eyes darted everywhere, and she backed into the tree until she could feel its rough bark pressing against her. Kamarie relaxed a little in the minute amount of protection that the tree offered, but her muscles stayed tense.
She was beginning to think that she was going crazy and had only imagined that there was someone following them when she saw some movement off to her left, following the exact way that she and Yole had come. Her heart sank when they came more fully into view. It was another band of Dark Warriors, three of them this time.
Kamarie was suddenly assuaged by doubt and fear. She had learned well how to use her sword, she could hold her own among the other squires
and had even beaten Garen once or twice. She still believed that he had let her win, no matter what he said otherwise. But she had never fought against anything real; none of her opponents had ever been trying to hurt or kill her. The Dark Warriors were altogether different. These were soldiers who were trained to hunt, fight, and kill, and she knew for certain this was no game.
In that singular instant, she was frozen with self-doubt and fear, but in the next moment she had gotten a hold of herself. This stand she was taking was hopeless; she acknowledged that. She knew very well that there was no hope of rescue or survival; this first real battle would also be her last. But she had to give Yole time to get away. He was under her royal protection, and there was nobody else standing between him and the enemy. Kamarie held up her sword to face the enemy and readied herself to die.
❖ ❖ ❖
Brant and Oraeyn had found the spot where Kamarie and Yole had spent the night, and now they were following their trail at a near run. It was obvious that they were gaining on their friends with great speed, for the trail was warm.
Darkness was gathering, but Brant said not a word about stopping and Oraeyn did not ask. Urgency drove them, and they hurried on through the woods even as the Dragon’s Eye sank below the horizon. Oraeyn sensed that they were very close to rejoining Kamarie and Yole, as if they would turn a corner any minute now and see their friends, and he did not want to stop until he knew they were safe.
Brant continued to push on well after dark. There was something menacing in the woods, and danger and anger fueled his pursuit while caution and concern guided his thoughts.
❖ ❖ ❖
One of the Dark Warriors approached, the other two hanging back to see what would happen. Kamarie marveled at the grace of her foe. His fluid movement reminded her of a cat or a predator bird.
“Jaret,” one of the two spoke, his voice uncertain.
“Quiet, Kyan,” the warrior who was approaching Kamarie snapped.
“But... it’s just a girl,” Kyan persisted.
King's Warrior (The Minstrel's Song Book 1) Page 26