One of the horses whinnied and Guyon stopped mid-thought. He recognized that particular sound. Glancing over at the horses, he squinted to get a better look at them in the firelight. Could it be…
One of the horses turned slightly so one eye caught the light of the fire as it stared at him. It was a gray gelding that Guyon would recognize anywhere.
“That’s my horse!” he exclaimed. “Fairstep.”
The woman followed his gaze. “The gray one?”
“Yes. These bandits must have been the ones who stole it from me months ago.”
But the woman was shaking her head. “That horse was mine before the bandits caught me. But I took it off a pair of fools who claimed to have stolen it. I guess they took it from you.”
Guyon stared at her, then back at his horse in amazement. Had he been able to stand, he would have leapt to his feet and hugged his old horse. Never had he been so happy to see any animal in his life.
“There you have your answer,” said the woman. “The Faerie Queen sent you to save me and recover your horse in the process.”
He looked back at her. She was hiding something. He could tell from the way she wanted to brush off the subject of the Faerie Queen. “Tell me,” he said. “Why else am I here?”
At first, she did not answer. Instead she brought forth a dry bandage and began to re-wrap his leg. He almost winced but the pain had significantly lessened. Whatever this woman had placed in that sweet-smelling mixture had completely soothed his wound.
“I am…” she appeared to be choosing her words carefully. “Looking for my sister. She was taken from her home recently. I assume whoever took her wanted me as well, for these bandits began following me soon after.”
“They didn’t just see a pretty face pass by?”
She hesitated before shaking her head. “I do not think so. I believe they were sent after me by someone.”
“Who?”
“I do not know. But whoever they are, they have my sister, and I cannot rest until I find her again.”
She finished wrapping his leg tight, and he tested it slightly, grunting as he did so. “Alright…” he winced. “Does your sister have a name? I can probably help you find her and keep any other bandits like this off your tail.”
“You will need at least a day’s rest before you are recovered enough from your last encounter. I don’t suggest you pick any more fights.” Guyon wasn’t sure, but he almost thought he caught the hint of a smile among her wild features.
Guyon slowly bent his knee, bringing his injured leg closer to his chest before stretching it out again. Though the motion still brought on stabbing pain, it wasn’t nearly as acute as before. He could move it at least. Glancing at the woman, he couldn’t hide the astonishment in his eyes. “It looks like we need each other. I would have died without you, and who knows where those thieves were taking you before I arrived.”
She glanced away. “I suppose…”
“The Faerie Queen sent me, she must have done so to help me find your sister.”
She did not look convinced. “The Faerie Queen’s purposes are not always so straightforward.”
“Please…” he pleaded. “I want to help.”
She considered him for a moment before a genuine smile broke across her face. “You really do, don’t you? Very well. After you rest for one day. I cannot afford to be slowed down by you after that.”
He nodded, surprised at how good it felt to have more than a vague mission from the Faerie Queen. “I’m a fast healer.”
“You’d better be.”
“You know, you still haven’t told me your name yet. If we are to travel together, I should at least know the identity of my companion.”
This time she did not hesitate. “My name is Belphoebe.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Belphoebe.”
“And my sister’s name is Amoret. I welcome your help in recovering her.”
“Amoret,” Guyon tested the name on his tongue. “Well we have a little time while I recover. You’ll have to fill me in on everything.”
“As should you,” remarked Belphoebe. “I’d like to know more about you, Knight of the Faerie Queen.”
Guyon settled himself back to the ground with his face to the sky, as the two of them began to share stories.
Brit woke with a start, lurching to her feet and swinging her sword at whatever lay in front of her. But her blade hit nothing but air.
It was night, and all was dark around her. Yet apart from the ocean waves, it was quiet. The high tide had moved in, and she realized as water dripped from her hair that the rising ocean levels grazing her head must have been what woke her.
But where was that horrible beast that had attacked them earlier. Clearly hours had passed since she’d last had a waking thought, but the creature had not devoured her. Which meant either it had run off, or it was dead.
“Una,” Brit whispered into the darkness. She didn’t speak loudly in case the monster was still somewhere nearby. “Una?”
But Una was nowhere to be found. For the next hour, Brit searched up and down the immediate coastline, but all she found was a small shred of her companion’s girdle. Though she couldn’t entirely tell in the starlight, she thought she saw a dark stain on the cloth. The coppery scent of the stain confirmed what Brit feared, it was blood.
“Oh Una,” she said aloud. “I am so sorry.”
She should have been there for the girl. She should have been better, fought better. Perhaps then she could have saved Una from an awful fate. But she had to assume the girl was dead, or carried off by that beast, which was not any better. Brit had never laid eyes on such a creature before, and for the first time in her life, she had experienced terror.
No, she could have done nothing. Her sword had been useless against such a beast. Even Una’s magic had failed. What was this Annwyn and these Seven Deadly Sins that they could command such terrible creatures? For that must have been where this creature spawned. Annwyn, the Otherworld. Despite herself, a shiver ran down Brit’s spine.
Well, without Una, they were in trouble. Brit did not like trouble, especially where she could not control it. She had come to this country, the land of her fathers, to rid herself of trouble. She would not be enslaved to a Saxon pig no matter what any magic mirrors dictated, even if the man was a handsome specimen.
No, she couldn’t think in that way. She had to find the man and eliminate him from her life. Perhaps she wouldn’t kill him as she had previously planned. Una and that Faerie Knight, Sir George, had seemed rather opposed to the idea even if they went along with it for now. Brit was reasonably sure they would have tried to stop her had they actually found Artegall by now. Instead of killing, perhaps she could just wound or permanently disable him somehow. Or better yet, ensure he could never have children with Brit or any other woman. Yes, surely Una wouldn’t begrudge her that.
The thought of Una brought back the seriousness of her situation. Una was likely gone, lost to her. She had failed her instructions from that beautiful Faerie Queen from her dreams. She was left with nothing now, nothing but her own personal quest to find Artegall and eliminate him as a threat. Though perhaps without lethal force. She would honor Una with that much.
Yes, there was nothing for it but to continue onward. If Una was alive, she was long gone by now and in the enemy’s hands. Brit knew not where such an enemy would take Una. Perhaps there was this Wrath person who could tell her, but Brit and Una had already searched for that cave of his and found nothing. Besides, she would be foolish to challenge the Sin alone. She would need help from someone. Perhaps the Faerie Queen would send aid, or she could find someone in a nearby town who could help. Though being surrounded by Saxon dogs did not make that likely. But there were still those loyal to the Britons who remained in some of the larger towns. The Saxons hadn’t destroyed all the inhabitants of this place.
Sensing the beginnings of a plan for what she would do next, Brit girded herself and made ready to march
on foot to the nearest town. She was reasonably sure from her study of the geography of this region that she was near an old Roman fortress, one likely overtaken by the Saxons. But even then, it would mean more civilization than she had here. She would likely find some farms, or an inn friendly to both Britons and Saxons. With any luck, she would find someone to either bring with her to kill Wrath, or someone who knew of Artegall. Either way, she had a purpose.
18
Once she had recovered her weapons, Brit continued past the cliffs and climbed the hills until she arrived back at the Roman road. She made sure her helmet was securely fastened as she traveled. Her disguise had been her primary form of protection in these barbaric lands. If she came across any lone Saxon warriors, they would need to pray to whatever heathen gods they worshiped to survive the encounter.
She continued on the road until the sun rose high into the sky and began descending in the west. This was utterly ridiculous without her horse. Walking in the sun with all her armor was excruciating. Blisters had begun to form on her feet and in areas where the armor rubbed her the wrong way. Eventually she had to take her helmet off again, as the heat had slowly become unbearable, even in the fall winds. She could put it back on if she ever caught sight of someone else on the road.
She encountered very few that day, and it wasn’t until the following afternoon that she drew close enough to Lindum Colonia that she had to put her helmet back on again. Most would not question someone who bore Saxon armor and clearly commanded a presence. Still, she would need to be wary around any traveling groups of Saxon warriors.
Soon enough, as her second afternoon without Una waned, she spotted smoke coming from a large cottage ahead, probably converted to an inn judging by all the horses tied to posts outside. The cottage didn’t look new enough to have been built by the Saxons, so perhaps they would be friendly to her, assuming Saxons hadn’t taken over the place.
She walked to the doorway and watched as a drunk couple stumbled out the door, laughing and swaying as though the ground itself was tilting one way then another beneath them. They wore common garb, making it difficult to understand their loyalty, but if she had to guess, the fair-haired man was a Saxon and the woman wasn’t.
It was lucky that the woman could not see Brit’s eyebrows furrow beneath her helmet. Despicable girl, consorting with Saxons like that. She was likely a traitor to her people if she willingly lived here under their rule and fooled around with their men.
Brit tried to control her temper as her blood boiled. Now was not the time for anger, something that came a little too quickly for Brit these days, as it had the day that Malecasta had come into her chambers. Never had she experienced such rage, and though she had no doubt that Malecasta deserved no pity, that moment concerned Brit. It stressed her. The problem with stress was that it usually made Brit even more angry.
Pushing past the contemptible couple who regarded her with surprised looks, she opened the door inward and proceeded into the inn.
It was dark inside, dark enough that she was tempted to take off her helmet straight away. But she couldn’t do that until she had read the room.
The bar stood straight ahead of her, a gruff-looking man in the later years of middle age stood polishing a mug, merely glancing in her direction as she entered. His gaze lingered, but only briefly before he went back to his work. Setting the mug down he began pouring a dark liquid in it before handing it to one of his guests who leaned against the bar table with something resembling a swagger. That one continued to stare at Brit a little longer before taking the drink and proceeding to the back of the common room.
The inn was larger than she expected from the outside. From the look of things, the entire bottom floor was given to the bar and enough tables to house three dozen persons. At least two dozen were there now, crowding up the tables, playing games of dice, and slapping the behinds of two serving women who were clearly overworked by their haggard appearance as they brought trays of drinks and food to the guests.
Other than a few curious glances, no one openly acknowledged Brit’s entrance, most too focused on their drinks. Though one man in the corner seemed to sit a little straighter as Brit entered. He was a big man, probably enormous when he stood straight, and he wore a helmet that partially obscured his features. He was watching her now with narrowed eyes. She would have to keep an eye on that one.
Still, there didn’t appear to be any pressing threats here. There were no Saxon soldiers, which meant she could probably breathe easy for the time being.
She approached the barkeep, who glanced her way. “What’ll it be?” he asked, pulling another mug from underneath the counter.
His accent was hard to place. Perhaps Briton but touched with something else as well. It was hard for Brit to tell given her own origin. All accents in this place sounded alike to her.
“Information,” she replied in a soft, low tone.
The bar man furrowed his brow, clearly taken aback by her higher-pitched voice. He glared at her suspiciously. “That’s a more expensive commodity these days.”
He waited expectantly, and Brit rolled her eyes, hoping he would not see through her helmet’s eye slits in the dim light. Then, pulling a single gold coin from her pouch, she slid it across the table. She didn’t have much, but she needed information badly. She could round up some coin later if necessary.
The man took the coin and held it close to his face. “Briton money isn’t worth much here.”
“Gold is still gold, is it not?” Brit shot back, almost forgetting to keep her voice low.
He grunted and pocketed the piece. “What is it you want to know?”
“I’m looking for a man, a Saxon.”
“A lot of them here.”
“Yes, I’m looking for one in particular. His name is Artegall.”
The bar man put a hand to his chin. “I may have heard that before. I believe someone by that name stopped here some time ago, spent two nights in one of the beds upstairs. Big fellow? Blonde hair? Covered in weapons?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, remembering the image from the mirror. Her eagerness rose. This was already the most she’d heard of the man other than what Sir George had told her. “How long ago was this?”
“Some time, I’m afraid,” replied the bar man. “More than a fortnight ago.”
A fortnight. Well that wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t too long ago either. Chances were he was still in the area at least.
“Where did he go after his stay here?”
“Now that will cost you extra.” The man’s lip twitched into the hint of a smile and he held out his hand.
Brit scowled beneath her helmet, feeling the heat in her face rise. “What you’ve told me so far was hardly worth a gold coin.”
“And you’re hardly a knight either,” said the man, grinning at some of the men nearby who had apparently taken an interest in the conversation. “What say you take that helmet off, give me one more coin, and I’ll tell you what you want to know, girl.”
Brit’s anger flared at being called “girl” in such a derogatory tone, but she dug in her pouch for another coin, one of her last of the gold, and handed it over. The man took it without pause.
“The helmet, pretty. We all know you aren’t what you look? Or are you not so pretty after all? Perhaps you’d rather not curse us with your hideous…”
Brit wrenched the helmet off her head, and her long dark hair flowed around her shoulders. The bar man stopped speaking, temporarily taken aback by her bold beauty, clearly not expecting it. That part of the common room also fell quiet as all those within earshot of the conversation turned to stare. Even the serving maids had paused in their work.
“Tell me what I want to know,” Brit said in a dangerous tone. “Where did Artegall go?”
The man took a moment to close his mouth before answering. “I don’t actually know for myself, but you see that man sitting in the corner? He knows more, I’m sure of it.”
Brit spun her head to lo
ok at the enormous giant of a man she had first spotted upon entering. “Him?”
“That’s the one. Been hanging out here a lot lately and wears similar armor at times. Not Saxon, but something more...exotic.”
Brit’s eyes narrowed. Though the man didn’t have any such armor on at the moment, she did notice several odd trinkets and weaving designs in the fabric he wore. And there was no mistaking it now, the large man was definitely staring at her, not bothering to hide it. There was a knowing look in his eyes.
“Thank you,” said Brit, curtly. Leaving her helmet on the counter, she strode straight towards the man in the far corner, never taking her eyes off him.
Until a hand slapped her right buttock so forcefully that she had to bring one foot hastily in front of her to catch her balance.
Instant, white-hot fury blazed in her eyes, and she spun. Behind her were several men, all leering up at her with grins on their faces. It was impossible to make out which had slapped her.
“Which of you dared…”
“Come along, darling,” said one of the men. “You must be tired, trudging about in all that armor. Why don’t you take it off and relax for a spell?”
“I...you…” Brit’s face grew red as her blood boiled. “You will tell me who laid a hand on me or I will gut you all here and now.” She pulled out her sword for emphasis, its length glittering in the light of the nearby hearth.
Their smiles faded as the men suddenly realized she was serious. Had they simply ignored the fact that she was carrying a weapon, or assumed she was not bold enough to use it on them?
“Now calm down, little lady, I’m sure none of them meant any harm,” said the bar man. Outwardly he remained calm, though Brit spied a tension in the way he leaned against the bar. He might be reaching for a weapon.
“Stay back, all of you!” she said, her voice coming out much louder than she intended. Her vision seemed to throb in time with her pulse. “I will kill you all!”
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