by Millie Burns
He kicked a rock, watching it skitter down the road. The next little village was a few more miles. The trees lining the road grew thick together, their leaves blocking out the sky making it dark for mid-day. No birds were singing. No crickets chirped. No critters rustled amongst the leaves.
Men burst from the trees surrounding him. Crashing, clanging sounds filled the air. Connor stopped short. A sharp blade pricked his throat; a drop of blood slid down his neck.
“Ah, it’s the minstrel we’ve been hearing so much about. Care to sing us a tune?” a big hairy man sneered.
Connor cleared his throat, the dagger’s sharp edge resting on his Adam’s apple. “And what tune would suit you? I’m not sure I know one with words simple enough for you to understand.”
“A lullaby would do, huh, Brest,” chortled a skinny pimply youth.
“Shut up, Criggit,” Brest roared. His huge meaty hand slammed into Criggit’s stomach doubling him over.
“I only meant,” coughed Criggit, “he could sing his self to sleep. I t’weren’t sayin’ you cain’t understand nuttin’ but baby songs.” He stayed on his hands and knees, catching his breath.
The man named Brest glared at Connor. “Well, he’ll sing a pretty tune for Zelera. She’s keen to hear the songs he’s been singing. Mighty interested she is.”
Connor centered himself, focusing on the well of magic within. Arrows came whizzing from the trees. One glanced off Brest’s cheek, leaving an angry gash. The man holding the knife to Connor’s throat cried out in pain and dropped the dagger.
A group of young men dropped down from the trees, like cats landing on their feet. Their bows were raised, arrows drawn, and targeting the bandits’ fear-filled hearts. Brest glared at a young man emerging from the trees.
“I would encourage you to drop your weapons, Brest. You are outmanned.”
Brest tossed his dagger to the ground. The rest of his gang followed his lead.
The young man walked to Connor and bowed. “I am Kevlin. My father owns The Boar’s Rest, where you last played. As you left this morning, I saw these men following you. I talked to a few of my friends, and we decided you needed to be able to go about your business unhindered. Nay, go about our business unhindered. So, here we are.” A boyish grin split his face.
Connor bowed low, “Kevlin, my deepest gratitude to you and your friends. Do what you like with all these men except one. Let him return to Zelera. Let him tell her we are coming, with Princess Ravyn leading the charge. We do not fear her. Her rule is at an end.”
“You, Criggit, did you hear what the honorable bard said?”
Criggit shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Yeah, I heard. You gonna set me free?”
“Free to go back to that witch you call master. Tell her we are coming.” He shoved Criggit backwards. “The crown will return,” Kevlin roared, sword arm reaching to the sky in triumph.
Backing into the trees, Criggit stumbled and then turned, running for dear life.
Connor listened to the young man crashing away through the trees and turned to Kevlin, “I don’t think he has any intention of returning to Veris. When these men don’t return, Zelera may retaliate for this stand you are taking. Be wary in the coming days.” Connor studied the young man in front of him. Kevlin was really just a boy, but life was forcing him to be a man. “Now, I must be off. Many a mile to tread.”
Kevlin stepped in front of Connor, “Sir, is it true that old Connor is still alive, helping General Joff and the resistance?”
Connor grinned, “Thanks to you, Connor is very much alive and able to continue the work of the resistance.” Connor let the magic dissipate, and his real features returned.
Kevlin stepped back, eyes wide with wonder. He brushed a tawny lock of hair out of his eyes. “Well I’ll be,” he gasped.
Connor chuckled. “The General is heading this way. When you see him please let him know that you need a regiment under your command. We need young men with quick minds out there leading.”
Kevlin beamed, “Thank you, Connor. I am honored. But sir, one more thing before I let you go, how long till we go to war?”
A sad smile crept into Connor’s grey eyes. “Don’t be so anxious, Kevlin. Before Autumn Equinox, but an exact date, I do not know.”
Giving a sharp salute Kevlin turned on his heel, returning his attention to his men and the prisoners. The resistance fighters had bound the thugs’ hands and were marching them back down the road, arrows at the ready.
Connor began walking down the road, pondering a host of new disguises as he went.
Medina noticed a peregrine falcon circling the forest. She nudged Mavyn, pointing out the bird, “That falcon is not from here. It’s searching for something. See what it wants.”
Mavyn lifted into the air, and with a few smooth and steady wing beats, she intercepted the circling falcon. The falcon descended with Mavyn, alighting on a branch across from Medina.
“It carries a message for the harpies tied to its foot,” Mavyn cried.
“I do not read. Do any of our kin possess this skill?”
“No, Medina, not one of us reads. But, the unicorns are said to be educated. Perhaps they can read it to you?”
“Wonderful idea, Mavyn. You are a good choice for second in command. You are very wise.”
Mavyn blushed, color pinking her coppery cheeks. Her freshly combed hair cascaded down her back. Things had changed since Medina returned from her encounter with the Princess.
“I will take the falcon to see Giallag. If any unicorn can read, he can. Peace be with the clan.” Launching herself from the branch, Medina took to the sky, the falcon trailing behind. Soaring over the trees, she spotted the unicorn herd in a grassy plain. Medina dove down, aiming for the white stallion standing off to the side. Medina landed on the ground, the falcon following suit.
“Giallag, I need your help. This falcon carries a message, but I can’t read,” she wailed.
The stallion pawed the ground and pointed his horn at the falcon.
Medina untied the note from the falcon’s leg. She unrolled it, holding it out for Giallag to read.
Giallag read the note aloud, the words becoming soft brassy notes. “I am Grayvern, the elf, asking the harpies and unicorns to join us at Brightling River at least two nights before the Autumn Equinox. All good creatures must join Princess Ravyn in the fight against the Darkness. The future of Aigerach rests with us all. Come with the blessing of the Light.”
Medina stared at Giallag. He’d read the note, but she didn’t understand a word of unicorn? She hopped up and down, flapping her wings. “What does it say?” she screeched.
The unicorn herd shifted nervously, horns emitting uneasy melodies. Trumpeting for silence, Giallag stamped the ground in frustration. The peregrine, usually somber and sedate, began hopping about and fluttering her wings. She understood unicorn and chittered the message to Medina. Medina crowed in delight. “Falcon, tell the unicorn we harpy will go, and ask if the unicorn will go as well.”
The peregrine’s screeching cry became a song, the notes soaring and plummeting. Giallag appeared to understand. Medina saw his proud head nodding, his horn glinting in the sun.
“Tell Giallag we will see him at the front lines.” She smiled, beating her glistening wings and hovering above the unicorn. “We will fight together for once instead of amongst ourselves.”
The peregrine relayed the information as Medina lifted up into the sky, impatient to reach the clan and start the preparations for the coming days.
Stumbling along the trail after Kialgyn, Ravyn’s bleary eyes could barely follow the grey shape before her. Each step threatened to be her last. The large wolf broke into a trot as he headed down the South slope. Ravyn’s feet were slipping and sliding across the steep icy ground, her arms wind milling wildly. A chorus of howls filled the air. Several wolves approached Kialgyn lowering their heads. The ground leveled, and Ravyn skidded to a stop. Her hot gasps of air created little clouds before her f
ace. A large cave opened in the rock wall before her.
“Help this woman to the den before she falls over. She will tell us her story, then as a pack, we will decide if she stays or goes. Oakley and Filliu claim she is of the Light and should be protected.”
Two wolf pups darted out of the cave, bounding around Ravyn’s feet. They tugged at the hem of her pants, nearly knocking her over.
“Scamp and Sprit, stop!” a large female barked at the puppies as she sidled up to Ravyn. “Lumus,” she growled, “you and I will help her.”
“Rest your hands on us for support.” She bumped her nose against Ravyn’s palm. Lumus walked to Ravyn’s other side. Snuffling against her leg, the large female softly growled, “I am Shera; I too detect the Light all about you. Come, it is dry inside.”
Oakley and Filliu dragged Blade over the rough rock into the cave. A small moan escaped his lips as he bumped across the rough ground. Ravyn collapsed in a heap next to him, brushing a hand across his sweaty brow.
“Rest, we will watch over him. Rest.” Shera nuzzled Ravyn’s hand.
Blue eyes glimpsed grey walls and grey fur. It dimmed to darkness as sleep swept over her.
Oakley sniffed at the bandage around Blade’s head. “His wound needs cleaning.”
Tugging at the bandage, Shera nodded toward the cave’s entrance, “I will clean his wounds. You gather a hunting party; we need fresh meat.” Gently licking Blade’s face, her rough tongue cleansed the wound.
Sitting in her council room, Zelera stared down at General Zilge. He nervously scratched the sides of his legs, clearing his throat repeatedly.
“You’re incompetent, Zilge. Why do I not have Connor’s head? And how is it you were unable to collect the taxes that are due? I have no time to chase after you, cleaning up your messes. Where is the bard who has been stirring things up? Alive or dead, I want him,” she seethed. The muscle in her jaw bulged as she ground her teeth in anger.
“I sent ten men after the bard, your highness, days ago. They never returned,” he paused, eyeing the exit. “The people are refusing to pay taxes, even when we torch their villages. They laugh, telling us to go ahead, that your days are…,” he stopped, unsure if he should finish.
“My days are what?” she managed through gritted teeth.
“They say your days are numbered, that Ravyn is returning to take back the crown.”
Zelera tittered, bringing her bony hand to her crimson lips. “Oh, how little they know. I killed her yesterday,” she giggled. I crushed her with an avalanche. She’s an issue no more. Let them have their revolt. Let them come. I will crush them all beneath my heels, like the insignificant bugs they are.”
Zilge sighed. She was in a good humor. He cleared his throat, “Concerning Connor, Your Highness, he’s evaded us again. Would you scry out a new coordinate? I’m sure we‘ll get him soon. We are closing in on him; he’s running out of tricks.”
Eyeing him, Zelera drawled, “Zilge, you just fouled a perfectly good humor. You had better come up with him this time, or I will have no further use for you. I will return in an hour with his latest coordinates. You had better be ready.”
She stormed out of the chambers, doors slamming into the walls, robes whipping behind her.
Chapter 14
Ravyn heard a snuffling sound and felt a wet tongue scraping across her cheek. Opening one eye she spied a furry little wolf pup, tongue lolling, “Hello, you little rascal. Thanks for the wakeup call.” Ruffling his soft tawny fur, she yawned.
Shera raised her head, growling, “Scamp, come here.” Turning to Ravyn, she said, “Your man the Blade is starting to stir.”
Ravyn scooted to Blade’s side. His wound was clean, but his forehead felt hot to her touch.
Spying the waterskin and Blade’s pack, she scrabbled across the cold floor to retrieve them. Mixing the healing herbs in a cup with water, she then spooned them into Blade’s mouth. He swallowed.
Dunking the discarded bandage in the water, she then dabbed his brow. Thrashing weakly from side to side, he cried, “Ravyn, no, Ravyn.”
“Shh, Blade, it’s alright. I’m here. We’re safe. The wolves have taken us in. Shh, just rest.” Kissing his closed eyelids, she whispered reassurances. He relaxed, settling back to sleep.
Oakley dragged a hunk of deer over to Ravyn. “Eat. You must be hungry. Then tell us your tale.”
Ravyn chuckled. “Oakley, do you have any firewood? I don’t eat raw meat. I cook it over a fire first.”
Wrinkling his nose, Oakley growled, “Char the flesh? That’s terrible.” He padded softly towards the cave entrance, “I will get you some, but it will take time. The trees are a ways below us.”
“Never mind, I’ll try something else. Just a moment.” Focusing on the magic within, Ravyn smiled, feeling it pooling within her. Each time she used it, it came more freely. She pictured the wood littering the ground where they’d last camped with Giallag. She collected small branches, pinecones, and needles for kindling. Pulling the imagined pile from the forest, she placed it stacked and ready before her. The Light coursed through her, making her feel giddy. Directing it to the woodpile, a branch burst into flames, and a fire was soon crackling before her.
Oakley sat on his haunches cocking his head. “She’s not surrounded by the Light,” he breathed in awe, “she’s filled with it.”
Placing the pot on the fire with some water, deer meat, and herbs for flavoring, Ravyn then settled back. She rested against the cave wall. “I will tell my story now.”
All eyes focused on her as she began to weave her tale, starting with the day on the ship. She kept the story concise, but when she finally finished, the stew was bubbling, waiting for consumption.
Kialgyn rose to his feet, all eyes turning to him. “I had called for a vote, once her story was told. Now, I think, that is not necessary. We must care for Ravyn and the Blade, until he is well. Then we must get them off this mountain so they may fight the evil in Aigerach. Do all agree?”
A chorus of howls and bays affirmed Kialgyn’s decision.
Smiling at all the furry bodies surrounding her, Ravyn laughed, “I’ve made many wonderful friends on this journey. It is my honor to call you friends as well.”
Her stomach rumbling, Ravyn reached for two cups. She filled one with all the stew, the other with broth. After eating her stew with a stale biscuit from their provisions, her hunger was satisfied. Moving to Blade, she spooned broth in his mouth, a sip at a time, till she was satisfied he’d had enough.
Shera touched her nose to Blade’s brow. “His fever is down. He will recover. You should get more rest; it has been a long day.”
Scamp and Sprit bounded across the floor, pouncing on each other, crashing into Ravyn’s legs. She reached down, scratching Sprit behind the ears while Scamp pushed his head under her other hand, his little tail wagging and swishing across the floor.
“Scamp, Sprit, you scalawags, let the princess rest,” growled Shera. The two pups stood, tucking their tails, and turned to walk away.
“No, Shera, that’s ok, I find them comforting. Their playfulness cheers me.” Ravyn said, pulling the pups on to her lap.
“When you tire of them, do not be afraid to shoo them away.” Shera growled softly at her pups, then walked away.
Ravyn caressed the pups’ soft fur, and they licked at her hands. She rubbed their bellies, scratched their ears, and soon all three lay sleeping in a tangled heap against the den wall.
Connor arrived in Shadow Glen at noon. His appearance, now altered with a little help from the Light, was that of a middle-aged woman. She was plump, with mousey brown hair streaked with silver. Looking about, he noticed only quiet empty shops and deserted streets. Not so much as a dog barked.
Making his way through town, he came to the village’s only inn, Shadowkeep. A great crowd stood in the courtyard; their excitement dimmed as Connor ambled into the courtyard.
“What’s all the commotion?” Connor chirped in his high falsetto.
“We’ve heard news of a traveling bard bringing news and songs. We thought he would come today. We’re hoping to hear his news. Did you pass him along the road?” a big husky man asked.
Connor thought a moment, “I saw a man a day’s journey back. He had a lute across his back. Might’ve been the man you seek, but Zelera’s men surrounded him.”
A great cry of anguish rose from the villagers.
“But,” Connor chirped, “brave men from Havenrest rescued him. He is free!”
A cheer rose to the sky. “Did he come down this road ma’am? Did you see where he went?” The husky man cried.
“I shared a meal with him, but our roads split after that. He said he’d be hiding now, with Zelera wanting him dead and all.”
“What way did he go? Where did you part? We must find him,” the husky man shouted frantically. He stood directly in front of Connor, his breath smelling of stale ale and his body reeking of sweat. Connor took a step back.
Feigning nervousness, Connor mumbled, “He said something about Land’s End. Said he’d get as far from Zelera as he could. That’s all I know, sir. Now, if you’ll let me by, I’ll get a meal and a room. I’ve traveled far, and I’m very tired.”
Stepping aside the husky man called several men to him. “We must find this bard; our lives depend on it.” He turned to an older woman wearing a food-stained apron. “Get us supplies for several days journey; we must be off at once.”
“But, sir, I’ve only enough supplies to keep the inn afloat. I’ve customers to feed. There are inns aplenty along the road; you can get provisions as you ride.”
He raised his hand as if to strike her; then he paused, pulling it back. He cleared his throat, “Madam Innkeep, I’m sure if you look in your larders, you will find provisions to aid the cause. We’ll return and share the news of the bard.” He smiled, baring yellow-stained teeth.