by Damien Black
Worse still, after all that he’d returned empty handed. The Eorl had lost his temper and rebuked him in front of everyone who mattered, calling him a blockhead and a damned incompetent.
The look on Sir Urist’s face had made it twice as bad – the Marshal had loved every minute of it.
And then the strange message had arrived: Two runaway damsels I am keeping at my homestead in the wilderness, one is sick and cannot move. A foreign freesword protects them. If this interests you, meet me by the broken well seven leagues south of the Meerborg road to the Argael. I shall wait there for one hour from noon every day.
The castle perfect Tobias had said the handwriting was ungainly, not in a fine hand. The odd commoner did learn how to write, but they were usually city-dwellers. That had prompted much speculation, but Balthor had heard all he needed to hear on the matter. Commoner. To go through all that wasted effort only to be trumped by some peasant living in the middle of nowhere – insufferable!
When the Eorl had despatched him a second time, warning him not to return empty handed again, Sir Urist had actually dared to smile. Balthor couldn’t wait for this summer’s tournament – he’d see to it that he unhorsed the Marshal a second time, maybe break a few more bones. That would wipe the smile off his face! But the Graufluss Bridge Tourney felt a long way away – if indeed it would go ahead at all now. No, he corrected himself quickly, it would – because this time Sir Balthor Lautstimme would not fail. He would bring back the Eorl’s headstrong daughter, if he had to tie her to his blasted saddle.
Just what on earth was Her Ladyship playing at anyway? Over-indulged by the Stonefist, that was the problem. His Lordship had never got over his wife’s death, everyone about the castle knew that. Spoiled – read far too much, who knew what black arts she had learned in those books of hers? Must have used some kind of magic to escape in the dead of night like that. And what business did one of noble birth have reading anyway? Leave that to the perfects and the loremasters. Balthor couldn’t read a word, and he was fiercely proud of that.
Sir Wilhelm and Sir Rufus pushed their way through the undergrowth to join them in the clearing. The three knights were the same ones assigned to him on his first pursuit of Lady Markward. They were all young, inexperienced, beneath his dignity: he deserved better company. Had the Eorl done it deliberately, he wondered, just to irk him? He was sick of the sight of their faces. They had better show some respect.
‘Where are the horses?’ he barked. For the sake of speed they weren’t travelling with squires, so they had no one to see to things like tethering their steeds. He hated travelling without a squire – that was beneath his dignity too. The greatest knight in Dulsinor, bereft of a squire? He would never live it down!
‘I’ve tethered them, they aren’t going anywhere,’ said Sir Wilhelm. He was the oldest of the three but still Balthor’s junior by some ten winters. Balthor didn’t care for his tone. It had been Wilhelm’s suggestion to travel cross country, rather than take the long route by road through Meerborg. As if he hadn’t known to do that himself, unpleasant as it was.
‘See to it that they don’t,’ replied Balthor sternly. ‘Bad enough we’ve had to dismount for half the journey since we left the road, I’ll be right wroth if we have to walk back all the way!’
The young knight nodded wordlessly, but Balthor could tell by the look in his eyes that he was thinking something all right. Shared the same name as the Eorl, that was the trouble with Sir Wilhelm – gave him ideas above his station. But he knew the man’s family, oh yes: as the younger son of a minor vassal he would never be more than an ordinary bachelor.
Needed bringing in line, this one.
‘Well, I’m hungry,’ he said. ‘This ride has left me famished. Go and fetch us some victuals, we’ll not meet this peasant on empty stomachs.’
Wilhelm’s gaze hardened and he seemed about to say something when Sir Rufus spoke up.
‘I’m only knighted recently,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind seeing to our victuals. Not so long since I was doing it anyway.’
That kind of remark made Balthor sick. At twenty summers Rufus was the youngest, but that gave him no excuse to act like a squire. What had possessed the Eorl to give this weakling spurs?
‘Yes well, why don’t you get to it then,’ he sneered. ‘You obviously miss your squirehood.’
Rufus gawped at that but turned to comply. Wilhelm’s face did not lighten though Redrich laughed at the jibe. Yes, right attitude that one. Perhaps he’d make something of himself, if he deferred to his betters. As for Rufus, he had no sympathy. Since when were knights supposed to conduct themselves like meek maids? He blamed that Code of Chivalry that had come out of Pangonia, during the time of King Vasir-whatever-his-name-was. A knight should stand proud and boast of his deeds – what was the point in doing them otherwise?
Presently Rufus returned and the four of them sat down to eat. Cured meats and hard cheeses washed down with weak wine – hardly the groaning boards of Graukolos, but it would have to do. The sun climbed steadily to its zenith and Balthor began to feel drowsy. Abruptly he stood up. Couldn’t be seen nodding on the job. Had a reputation to maintain, dammit. Where was that wretched peasant?
An hour passed. Balthor felt the tension growing in him like the Wasting Sickness. Another wild goose chase – he could not return to the keep like this, he was finished if he did.
‘Perhaps we should check the lands that lie about here,’ suggested Wilhelm, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Surely this commoner would not have picked a meeting place too far from home?’
‘Yes, yes, I was just going to say that,’ snapped Balthor. ‘Let’s start by checking the edges of the clearing, perhaps there’s another trail.’
There was. It was hidden behind more undergrowth, heading roughly in a south-westerly direction. It was too narrow for their horses, so they left Sir Rufus tending them and made their way in single file.
Balthor felt his confidence rise as they pushed their way into an overgrown dell another hour later. A cave mouth gaped from a rock face opposite, above which a thicket of trees grew raggedly, their branches blocking out the sunlight. That made it all the easier to see the faint blue-green light spilling from the entrance.
‘Better draw swords,’ muttered Balthor. ‘I like not the look of yon cave.’
The whisper of steel reassured him instantly; he always felt better with a sword or spear in his hand. With that and iron links about his body, he would gladly take on the Known World.
The mouth was low and they had to crouch to enter. The cave they were in led straight into another one, piled with an assortment of rubbish. The strange light was coming from a glass globe hanging from the ceiling of the second cave. Balthor felt sure he didn’t like it. A glance at the others’ faces told him they were thinking much the same.
Lying beneath the globe was something he could understand – a dead body.
‘She’s been burned badly,’ said Redrich after they had inspected the corpse. ‘But she was stabbed – in the back by the looks of things.’
‘Do you think I’m blind?’ said Balthor. ‘There are two more caves, we had better search them and now!’
They soon had enough to piece things together. In the rear cave they found a filthy cot and a rude wooden desk with scraps of parchment and a quill and ink on it. Strange-looking paraphernalia too – flasks and phials, with curious instruments fashioned from silver. And finally, in a worn old chest beneath the desk, two tomes covered in strange symbols that made Balthor queasy when he tried to look at them.
The side cave had proved just as illuminating: what looked like used poultices of some sort and traces of dried herbs. Signs of a healer. And a shawl, finely embroidered, though stained by the road. Not something most commoners could afford.
They hauled their findings out into the dell and gathered about them.
‘Signs of our runaway damsels, the work of a freesword, and a dead witch, by the looks of things,’ said Sir Wilhelm.
‘Yes, I was going to say that,’ said Balthor. ‘Well it looks as though the witch was our informant – that’s how she was able to command a crow to send message to the castle. And the freesword has killed her in retaliation, by the looks of things.’
The expression on the other knights’ faces suggested they already knew that. Best to take the lead, show his authority.
‘Search the dell. Let’s see if there are any clues as to which direction they took.’
Another trail besides the one they had entered by struck out east, back towards the main road. The dell itself was clustered with horse dung – the damsels and their bodyguard had stayed here a while.
They followed the trail for half an hour before finding more evidence.
‘More horse dung,’ muttered Balthor. ‘They’re headed for the main road – let’s get back to Rufus and our horses, quick sharp!’
He felt a sense of relief as he gave the order. He hated travelling on foot like a common serjeant – that was beneath his dignity too.
In fact, what didn’t he hate about this wretched detail? He was supposed to be hunting and feasting and tourneying – not running around the wilderness searching for damned horse dung! Was this his reward for proving himself Dulsinor’s greatest knight? Perhaps he should seek service elsewhere.
The sun was low in the sky by the time the four of them reached the main road. Sir Balthor was wheeling his horse around towards Meerborg when Sir Wilhelm grasped his reins. Balthor shot him a fierce look and he quickly let go.
‘What is it now?’ he roared. He had a mind to knock the young knight from the saddle. He knew who he’d be challenging to a duel of honour come the Graufluss Bridge Tourney.
‘I don’t think she’s going to Meerborg,’ said Wilhelm, meeting Balthor’s furious stare with difficulty.
‘Whatever do you mean? Isn’t it obvious what the Lady Markward intends – she wants to take ship from the port! She means to get out of Vorstlund altogether, though Reus knows why!’
‘With all due respect,’ replied Wilhelm, licking his lips. ‘I think the Lady Markward is too shrewd for such an obvious move.’
‘Obvious! Are you calling me – ’
‘She must realise His Lordship will have sent men to warn the merchant houses of the Free City by now,’ pressed the knight.
Balthor was reaching for the hilt of his sword when Sir Redrich spoke up.
‘Sir Balthor, I believe there is sense in what Sir Wilhelm says – the Lady Markward has ever been known for her wits and learning. Given her delay, it is far more likely that she plans to escape the country by fleeing through the Argael, to Northalde.’
‘To Northalde! Have you lost your wits?! There’s a bloody civil war going on in Northalde!’
‘Aye, and last time I checked, Vorstlendings weren’t on either side,’ put in Wilhelm, his courage returning.
‘If her plan be to escape the realm, she has a much better chance of doing it by fleeing north – even if that means entering a country at war,’ said Redrich.
‘I think Redrich and Wilhelm have the right of it, sire,’ stammered Rufus. The weakling even talked like a squire.
Balthor bit his lip and stared up the highway towards the north. The Argael lay a day’s hard ride away from them. Like any forest, it was said to be peopled by strange things – Woses and witches and Reus knew what else. Going in that direction meant leaving Vorstlund behind and heading into foreign territory. The comforts of the keep suddenly seemed very far away.
But what choice did he have? Much as he hated to admit it, the other three were probably right – Adhelina of Dulsinor was far too clever and headstrong to head tamely back into the simple trap he’d baited for her in Meerborg. Damn the cunning of women, if only the Eorl had been blessed with a living son!
Twice he had returned to Graukolos a beaten man, outfoxed. There wouldn’t be a third time. He was the greatest knight in Dulsinor, and he had a reputation to live up to.
Wheeling his courser around again he barked another order. ‘We ride northwards – should be able to reach the town of Bergen by nightfall, we’ll requisition fresh steeds there.’
The four knights set off up the road at a gallop. As they left a spray of dust in their wake, Sir Balthor resigned himself to the hand the Unseen had dealt him: now he was Dulsinor’s greatest knight errant.
He’d better have something good to boast about when this miserable business was done.
CHAPTER VII
Into the Forest
Hettie tried to pay attention as they rode along the highway. She felt sick and tired, but all the same she wanted to remember the land she was leaving forever. They had left the wilderness behind some two leagues before reaching the main road; on either side of it stretched well-tended fields, ears of corn and wheat waving gently in the late afternoon breeze. Homesteads dotted about the countryside sent willowing spires of smoke into the summer skies, as peasant wives began cooking the evening meal for their husbands working the fields. Sheep and cows were being herded back to their pens; off in the distance she could make out a party of riders returning to a high-beamed hall, a manor belonging to a vassal of the Eorl.
Dulsinor in bloom. The thought of it made her feel sicker still. Why oh why had her dearest friend driven her to this? Hettie felt sure she was not made for a life of wandering; hearth and home and loyal service were the things that moved her. And yet it was precisely the last of these that had set her on this sorrowful path.
Adhelina was riding next to her, the road being broad enough for two. She glanced at Hettie and pursed her lips.
‘Anupe,’ she called to the freesword riding a few paces ahead of them. ‘We must seek a proper bed for the night, at Bergen. Hettie needs rest if she is to complete her recovery.’
The Harijan did not slow as she replied. ‘As I have already said, we do not know how far this Balthor has spread news of your escape. If we stay the night at the town, there is no telling who we may find there.’
‘And as I said before, I sincerely doubt Balthor will have ventured so far. He would have headed straight to Meerborg, it’s the obvious choice. Bergen lies on the borders of the realm.’
‘Yes, he may not have been there himself, but perhaps he sent word… These fields are well-tended, the ground soft. The weather is warm, and you have enough clothing – less the shawl you foolishly left behind.’
Hettie felt a twinge. ‘I’m sorry… we were in a rush, and it’s hard to think straight when you’re not well.’ She didn’t know what else to say.
‘Don’t apologise Hettie,’ said Adhelina firmly, before addressing the Harijan again. ‘This is exactly why we need to get her a bed for the night. Her fever may have broken but she’s still fragile and needs proper rest!’
‘She will get all the rest she needs,’ replied Anupe. ‘I will find us some trees to camp under – I have seen plenty of… what was the word you taught me?’
‘Copses,’ supplied Adhelina, looking impatient.
‘Yes, copses,’ rejoined the outlander. ‘You should be happy – this is the last you will see of your homeland, you should enjoy it while you can.’
‘She is impossible,’ hissed Adhelina, seething. ‘I’ve a good mind to release her from service.’
‘Don’t do anything on my account,’ croaked Hettie. Her throat felt as though it had been scoured by a whetstone. ‘I’ll be all right. And Anupe has a point – we’ve come this far and we don’t want to risk being caught now.’
They rode on in silence, passing only a couple of mendicant perfects and a few itinerant labourers. The sun lowered in the sky and with the onset of dusk a chill returned to the air. Hettie began coughing and spluttering. Her limbs felt as though they were made of lead. She clutched the reins tightly, hoping she wouldn’t slide off her horse.
‘That’s enough!’ cried Adhelina after half an hour. ‘We’re stopping at Bergen, that’s a command, Anupe. While you are in my service you will do as I say.’
&nb
sp; The Harijan wheeled her courser around to face them. Her eyes glinted dangerously beneath her hood. ‘Very well, but in the event of your capture I want something now, for my pains. If you will not listen to me – ’
‘Yes, here…’ Adhelina reached into the folds of her cloak and tossed over a jingling purse. ‘It’s not much – as I told you my treasures are in a strongbox at Meerborg. But if it will allay your fears of not getting paid, so be it.’
The freesword hefted the purse thoughtfully. ‘Very well,’ she replied. ‘If you will not be moved on this, we will do as you say. But do not say – ’
‘ – you didn’t warn us,’ Adhelina finished for her wearily. ‘Yes, I understand. In any case, I’ve thought of a way to do this and minimise our risk.’
‘Oh yes? I am all ears, as you say…’
‘If Balthor sent word as far as Bergen he would have done it from Meerborg – that was before the witch sent her message to Graukolos, so he would only have included Hettie and me in his description. A foreign freesword stopping at an inn for the night won’t attract any suspicion – so you scout the place first. If there are no knights or other people in service to my father staying there, we’ll know it’s safe. In that case you secure us a room for the night and come and fetch us – you’ll have to do that now anyway, seeing as you have all my money.’
The outlander gave one of her short barks that Hettie supposed was laughter. ‘So the heiress of Dulsinor has thought of everything, as usual! Yes then, it shall be as you say. But if I think it is unsafe – ’