“Are you prepared for this?” Tristan was teasing him, trying to prompt the humor they once shared a lifetime ago. He knew of Bowen’s past, had been there to see the house ablaze with Bowen’s family still inside and partially blamed himself for not being able to save them. “Cannot have you choking.”
Bowen looked him dead in the eye.
“The only thing I will be choking are the necks of those ffwciwrs until they snap like twigs.”
He secured everything onto his person and once the garrison was done collecting its weaponry, they moved to the stables to ready the horses.
XI.
Bowen
The journey to Llanybri cost them half the day, their travels unnoticed by the stream of townsfolk going about their day. In the thick of it, they passed house upon house, their doors shining bright with the bloody X—a warning that the Brotherhood had swept through there and a memorial to those who died.
By the time the company arrived at the tavern it was night, the freezing Welsh air numbing their faces.
Tristan dismounted. “Remember men, we are here to collect information on the Brotherhood’s plans. We need to capture at least one of them,” he looked to Bowen, “alive.”
There were a few mumbles throughout the group. Many of the men’s families had been killed or experimented on by the Brotherhood. Tristan brought them back in line. “Got it?”
The company let out a chorused yet unenthusiastic grunt.
“Burne, Dawson. You two stay here, guard the front. Garrick, Leland. Take the rear.”
They nodded their agreement and left to take their positions. That left Tristan and Bowen to take on the Brotherhood head first, the two best fighters. They had all changed into civilian clothes before entering the town, unwanting of the attention their uniforms would have brought and made their way up to the tavern’s barmaid.
The woman behind the bar was plump, her smile lighting the room as she poured ale and mead for those at the counter. Her clothes were of a simple cut and shape, both her skirts and apron too long for her short stature, a sign they might not have been her’s to begin with, and her Welsh voice sang throughout the room.
“Hiya! What can I get you boys?”
Bowen looked at her, his cold stare wiping the smile from her face. “We have received information that the Brotherhood has taken housing in your establishment.”
The barmaid went from confused to terrified in two seconds. She knew the price for harboring terrorists. If they were lenient, it would be prison. If they weren’t, then the hangman’s noose. And what would happen in between… The stories of torture that perforated the whispered conversations of those who idly chatted in the tavern were horrifying.
Bowen held a finger to his lips, seeing the hysteric tears that were about to spring to her eyes. “If you do not help us we have no choice but to take you in.”
“Bowen,” Tristan hissed with caution.
The terrified barmaid was barely keeping her emotions together, tears starting down her cheeks. Years before, the patrons of the bar would have intervened, but now… No one wanted to interfere when the Brotherhood was mentioned.
“I am sorry, Miss, this fool has no idea how to speak to a working lady.”
Bowen stood there with a brutish expression. He had no time to waste with pleasantries.
“We just heard that there might be some Brotherhood men residing here–”
“I did not know! I swear! A couple travelers came along like they always do!” Her hysterics made it hard to hear the rest of her ramblings. Tristan, now trying to calm her down, did nothing but make the situation worse. At some point the woman had given up and thrown the house keys at him, rushing into the back of the tavern to find refuge from her would-be punishment.
“Well… I suggest we make our way upstairs, then,” Tristan said, a warning glare passing to Bowen.
They headed up the stairs, each taking a door and pressing their ears against the wood, listening in for any indications. After the third try, Bowen finally found the right room. There was no noise coming out, not even the scurrying of rats against the worn floors, but Bowen knew they were in there as a soft blue glow emanated from a small crack in the door.
He motioned to Tristan for the keys and as silently as he could, put them into the lock and turned.
They didn’t even have the chance to breathe as they banged through the threshold. The room was cloaked with a dampening spell, leaving its occupants free to practice their spells and incantations without interruption. The spell was usually used for those types of recreations, but what Bowen saw inside left him in a blind rage. In the center of the room there were four men draped in black robes so long that it looked as if they were hovering. Next to them they spotted what had been emanating the blue glow. It was an orb, floating in between the men. Two of them reacted quickly, moving to protect it and hold up a barrier. Another of their men collected the crystal glass, but not before Bowen caught a glimpse of why they were trying to hide it so zealously. It was a face. A woman’s face. She was beautiful, with flowing black hair and startlingly sea-green eyes.
The fourth went on the offense against Bowen. They were evenly matched in size as Bowen pulled out his sword and swung it at his head. The man didn’t even have to utter a spell to counter the blow, an indication of just how strong he was, his magic spanning out from his hand like a tidal wave.
Their dance continued in the same fashion as the three men made a break for the window, Tristan was able to kill one of them as the others jumped out to float in midair.
Bowen regained his stance, his fight was not over yet. The man in front of him raced towards the window, his back turned—a mistake that cost him greatly. Bowen moved like a viper and with his sword, slit the man’s back, causing him to fall tail end into the room.
Both men stood over the ones on the floor.
Tristan checked his, the man already dead from a poison the captain hadn’t seen him ingest, while Bowen checked on the other. The man’s back wasn’t bad, a medium slit their healers would be able to take care of in a couple days time, but when he unhooded him, shock encompassed both Tristan and Bowen’s faces.
“Finch?” Bowen looked down at his younger brother. His hair was still the same short length, brown and tinged with blonde. He grew no beard, a trait Bowen had mocked him for up until a few years ago when he had fallen out of contact with him. And his eyes… They were the spitting image of his, their brown and honey pigment holding a fierce stare.
Finch raised them to his brother, a sadistic smile on his face. “Hello, brother.”
Bowen stood there stunned, but it took no time for Tristan to slam his elbow into the back of Finch’s head, leaving him unconscious on the floor.
“We need to bring him back with us,” Tristan said softly.
Sympathy filled the captain’s eyes while Bowen looked on with clouded ones, all the emotions inside of him too much to handle. He nodded and proceeded out of the room, his legs feeling like gelatin.
Tristan picked up Finch and carried him out of the tavern and into the rain that now flooded the packed, dirt road. He placed him over the top of one of the men’s horses and strapped him down so he would not fall during the journey.
The others ran towards them, out of breath.
“One got away,” Leland panted, his clothes torn and splattered with blood.
Bowen silently mounted his own steed, not even uttering a reprimand for letting one of them escape.
Tristan was stone faced. “Leave him. We got two tonight and one alive,” he motioned to Finch. “Home!” The captain called to his men, the rest mounting their own steads.
They all rode off, ready for the grueling ride ahead.
Light broke as they made another stop to water the horses and give their backs a break from the night’s hard ride. The rain had finally let up, leaving the world to
smell of wet moss and horsehair.
Bowen still sat in his saddle. He was over the shock of finding his brother in league with the Black Plague Brotherhood and had moved on to wrath, disgusted that they had found Finch cavorting with the enemy. No one had said a word to him throughout the night. Tristan was the first to try.
“Did you know he was…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
Ignoring him, Bowen replied, “I’ll ride ahead and make sure the path is clear.”
Before the captain could stop him, he trotted off.
He gained a lead on the company, giving him enough space to think. His thoughts were focused on his brother, his whole sense of being crumbling with every stride his horse took.
It can’t be right. He would never… Catherine.
It was only when a shot of lightning hit the ground that Bowen came back to his senses, not realizing a storm had rolled in. He looked to the sky expecting there to be an overcast, but found it clear, dawn just barely peeking over the horizon. He pulled out his long sword.
Cachu! Is it the Brotherhood?
He could faintly hear the clomping of hoofs, Tristan and the others not far behind. Bowen focused his attention back and finally saw that someone was lying in the road in front of him. Cautiously he dismounted and made his way over, seeing that the boy’s clothes were dirty and lightly singed. He nudged him, but before he could form any thought for his poor condition, the boy suddenly shot up to face him.
Bowen backed away and raised his sword, surprised by the movement, but his adrenaline swiftly subsided when he saw that it was not a boy as he had previously concluded, but a woman. Her black, almost raven-colored hair was tied back in a ponytail on her head. Her complexion was sun-kissed yet pale, most likely due to being struck by lightning, yet it held a softness to it. In contrast to everything else her green eyes shone as bright as sea grass.
He raked in her form. She was wearing blue trousers of an unknown fabric that formed perfectly to her legs, a satchel at her side half open. Her shirt was cut low, though that wasn’t what kept his attention. It was the way she sat, the way she moved. It all felt familiar. A longing to hold her overcame him, his shoulders relaxing with the realization. He had a niggling feeling that he had seen her before.
Bowen sheathed his sword and unclasped his cloak, moving cautiously towards her. She skittered back slightly, fear prominent in her features.
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”
She still made no attempt to stand. Bowen could hear the rough stomps of horses swiftly coming up behind.
“What is the problem?” Tristan shouted.
“There is a lady here who seems to have been injured.” Bowen slowly inched closer so as not to scare her even more.
Tristan dismounted and came up beside him.
“She could be one of the Brotherhoods’–” When he saw the girl, he too stopped in awe. Tristan tried to get closer, only for her to move farther away. With the addition of the captain, she had finally found her strength and made it to her feet, her face filled with terror and confusion.
“She could be a spy for the Brotherhood,” Tristan stated defensively, as if he were trying to convince himself more than Bowen.
Bowen was not stupid, it could be possible, but that familiar feeling was outweighing reason. He took an intake of breath and finally figured out where he had seen her before. It was not hours ago in the tavern…
The face in the orb.
His body went rigid as he reclasped his cloak to his shoulders, no longer concerned with the woman’s health. As he did, the trees around them rustled violently, their branches cracking. His body went tense, the shifting in the woods getting louder and louder until he saw a glint of metal bounce off the sun.
“Arm yourselves!” Bowen yelled, pulling his sword from his scabbard.
A small hoard of black cloaked men emerged from their hiding place, magic and weapons on display, ready to fight.
“Does that answer your question?” Tristan yelled, drawing his sword in readiness. “Take her, she might be useful!” The noise of clanging swords and battle cries almost drained out his voice.
Bowen returned his gaze to the woman, only to find the path empty. She had made a break for it and run towards the trees. Her long legs powered her steps, but Bowen was faster and caught up, grabbing her by the hair to pull her to a halt. Her screams protested the action and he pinned her around the waist. He could feel the soft muscles of her torso and arms, a surprising form for such a small woman. Her resistance was strong as her cries pierced Bowen’s ears, alerting the Brotherhood of what was happening. She clawed and scratched at him, a futile action as she tore only fragments of skin away.
Bowen looked up, expecting the enemy to come to her rescue, but instead, found three hooded figures converged ten feet away to where his still unconscious brother was. Tristan got there a second later, swiping down every enemy in his path, then ran back to him, defending Bowen against others wanting a fight.
“We need to shut her up and get her out of here!” Tristan yelled as he blocked an attack from his left.
Bowen swiftly turned her towards him and in a second, his elbow connected with her face, knocking her unconscious. She fell limp in Bowen’s arms.
“Take care of Finch!” he spat at the last second.
He found his horse grazing by the edge and slung her onto the saddle and mounted behind her, riding ahead of the others.
XII.
I woke to find the hard ground beneath my face and the smell of mud, moss, and singed hair. As my eyes opened they were temporarily blinded by the unexpected dawn and when finally focused, on each side of me were rows of trees, their length stretching so far I was unable to determine their end. I heard a noise behind me as something touched my leg and in an instant I sat up, turning towards the threat.
There stood a stranger holding a cloak out for me. He was, to say the least, handsome with sharp features and brown eyes that held a fierce stare. His skin was dirty, but I could see the pale creaminess under the grime imbedded in the fine lines of his face. His thick, tousled brown hair and substantial beard harmonized well together, leaving me wanting to feel the roughness with my own hands. If I had seen him in a bar he would have been the type that could choose any girl he wanted and I would have wanted him to choose me.
Come on Jade, get it together. You probably had an anxiety attack and passed out on the pitch or something and now some LARPr is offering you his cloak for some reason. Just… a normal day in Lampeter.
My internal argument wasn’t convincing enough. One, because the man in front of me was nowhere near the standards of the men in Lampeter. And two, because not only did he have a horse right behind him, but another man galloped up in full chainmail, complete with a bow and large sword at his side.
The man dismounted and joined his comrade. Both tried to make a move towards me and the closer they got, the farther I moved away. It wasn’t just the fact that they had weapons, it was that they were just plain weird. Who wears chainmail in the twenty-first century?
The second man who had arrived was just as tall as the first. I could see the bulge of his muscles under his armor, his dirty-blonde hair swept back into half a ponytail. He looked more like the knight in shining armor than the first man, his blue eyes piercing like ice, their intense gaze never leaving me for a second.
I finally stood up.
As an argument picked up between them I could see the rest of their friends join behind. The two were at each other’s throats, their words a broken mixture of sounds and syllables I could barely decipher. When I focused on those still horsed, none moved to get off. They only sat there, waiting for something.
I’m just asleep and having one of those extremely vivid dreams.
I felt my bag at my side and pulled out my phone.
No signal?
&nbs
p; As slowly as I could, I tried to inch my way to the tree line. The idea itself would have worked perfectly if not for the sudden deafening cries that rose up around us. I could tell the men in front of me were caught off guard. The blonde man shouted at the men behind them and they all dismounted their horses, swords and arrows ready in their hands. I thought they might help me from whomever was attacking, so imagine my shock when I picked out a stray word from the blonde man: take her.
In that moment, I knew all too well what they wanted.
I ran.
More of their men joined the fight. Their chainmail a shiny contrast against the black hooded figures they fought. As I zigzagged my way towards the trees, blood splattered me from all directions. I almost threw up as I felt the wetness of the liquid hit my face but fought through it.
An electric tingle and a shooting pain rocked through me as someone grabbed my hair. I screamed with gusto, the electric sensation bringing me back to my senses. I had felt the same sensation just minutes ago in the library, but this time it was different, more intense. The unbearable agony of its accuracy moved through my body and pinpointed every bone and muscle.
In that instance I tried to fight it, to fight him, but all I could come up with was that stupid ‘S.I.N.G.’ slogan from the Miss Congeniality movie and even then my body wouldn’t execute the motions correctly. The man’s muscled arms constricted around me. My fingers raked up them with enough force to draw blood. None of this helped. All of a sudden, an elbow was coming right at me and the lights went out.
Bowen and Tristan proceeded through the gates of Llansteffan, two men short from when they left that morning, but with two additions, the girl and Bowen’s brother.
To Those Who Never Knew (A Monksblood Bible Novel Book 1) Page 8