“Is there some other lord you can contact during my absence?” Louis asked.
Faremanne pointed at a dot named Mighthorn on the map. “There. Down south. These are the lands of Count Elye. He may help us.” His finger circled a large band of territory in the west.
“Down south? Is he not allied with Agroln?” Selen inquired.
“Elye is powerful and cunning enough to do what pleases him. He may want to get rid of Agroln. I will send him a message,” Bertrant said.
“I’ll prepare myself and leave tomorrow.” Louis sighed. “Selen, I want you to come with me.”
“Of course,” Selen answered.
Folc waited and realized that they all had forgotten about him. “And what will I do?”
“You can help me in my tasks,” Faremanne said, as if addressing a child. “I can show you how things work for a squire inside a camp.”
Well, that could be interesting, Folc thought. As long as it did not include too much cleaning.
CHAPTER 19
Lissandro had walked for four days now. He was starving. The leaves and roots he foraged barely gave him the strength to stand up. His stomach was so twisted with cramps that all he could vomit was mucus. Fortunately, he headed in the right direction. The forest was less dense. He had been able to spot animals again, and rays of the sun shone above his head. He halted near a brook to drink. The water was refreshing. He heard a noise from the bushes on the other side. He gazed. Nothing. He lay down on the grass and closed his eyes, but he could not sleep. Lissandro had the queer impression that something watched him. He rose and kept on walking. His progression was laborious. The grass was thick, and the ground was uneven. Boulders and thickets stood in his way. The large oaks had left space for hornbeams and ashes. Green saplings grew among their roots. The wind whispered in the leaves.
Lissandro still felt like he was being watched. He heard the crowing of a crow and saw the bird take off into the air a few steps away from him. Something shone where it had stood. He advanced cautiously with a hand on his dagger. A silvery object lay among the leaves. As he went to pick it up, he felt pressure on his ankle.
“Ow!” His right foot flew into the air, dragging his body behind. Blood rushed to his head as he lost his balance. He now hung from a rope six feet over the ground. His mail flipped over, covering his face. He pushed it up. Lissandro swung and reached for his dagger. The sheath was empty. The blade lay on the dead leaves under his head.
“What a nice catch,” a voice said, approaching.
A man came from behind him and picked up the dagger. With a nonchalant hand, he pushed Lissandro on the shoulders, sending him swinging. The man laughed. There was something perturbing in his voice. The rope was cut loose. Lissandro crashed onto the ground with a thud, landing on his twisted mail around his ribs. His chest hurt. He coughed and blew his hair and the leaves out of his dirty face.
“Now. Don’t move,” he heard.
“As you wish, my lady,” Lissandro answered with a grin.
With a firm grip, she tied his hands behind his back and dragged him against a tree. “It’s quite unusual to have folk go for a walk in this part of the woods,” she said. “Who are you?”
Lissandro was not tall for a man, but she was huge. Her dark hair had been cut short, probably with a dagger, and gave her a shaggy look. Though she had a scar on her left cheek, running from her almond, black eyes to her thin lips, her features retained some charm.
“What are you looking at?” she snapped.
“It’s quite unusual to meet a woman clad in heavy armour.” Lissandro guessed he probably wasn’t the first to make that remark. Because it must have been the worst introduction sentence he could have found, he added, “But it suits you well.” He knew he was clumsy with women.
“At least, you don’t seem disgusted,” she grunted. “I asked you a question. Who are you?”
“My name is Lissandro, and I’m no one.” Sad but true, he thought.
“Everyone has a price,” she said. She had untied the rope from the tree and rolled it around her arm.
“Oh, bandits. It’s my lucky day,” Lissandro mumbled to himself. “And where will you sell me?”
“I won’t, but I know people who will. For now, you’re coming with me.” She grabbed him like a potato bag and dragged him behind her. She strode fast, forcing Lissandro to jog. After a few hundred yards, he collapsed. “Come on,” she exclaimed, irritated. “Can’t you even hold the pace?”
Lissandro felt dizzy in the head. “I’m starving,” he muttered. “Please, I can’t hold on.”
She grabbed him and threw him over her shoulders. “You don’t weight much, I grant you that.” Like an angler after a good catch, she brought him back to her base camp.
Lissandro was thrown to the side of a dead fire. She tossed him a piece of brown bread.
“Eat,” she commanded him.
He picked up the bread and chewed on it. It was hard with a moldy taste. Still, it felt good. She sat near the fire, trying to put it ablaze again. “What’s your name?” he asked.
She stayed silent, her back turned. “Kilda,” she finally said. The shadows of the trees stretched long. Twilight crept around them.
“Why are you a bandit?” Lissandro asked. He waited, but she never answered.
They spent the rest of the evening in silence. Lissandro regretted he had no blanket. He crept a bit closer to the fire. When he found a soft spot, he dug a hole in the leaves and buried himself. Not better than a wild boar in its nest, he thought.
“Good night, Kilda,” he whispered as he fell asleep. She could hold the watch. He was her prisoner after all.
Lissandro felt a boot tramp on his shoulder. “Get up.”
“Good morning to you too,” he mumbled. “I had a fantastic sleep.” He grinned at her, but she did not seem to notice. She packed her bags and rolled her blankets. Lissandro spotted his dagger attached to her belt.
“I’m afraid you will have to free me,” he called out.
“And why would I do that?” she sighed.
“I need to pee.”
She turned around and looked at him. “You wouldn’t be the most disgusting thing I have held in my life.”
Lissandro did not know how to take that. “Maybe, but I’m not sure I could manage.”
“Too long in the wild, I guess.” She came forward, a grumpy look on her face. “Turn around.” She untied his ropes. Lissandro massaged his burning wrists and relieved himself.
“All right, now, you’re coming with me,” she said, stretching the rope again.
In an instant, Lissandro pushed her with his elbow and tried to grasp his dagger. The blow he got on his face threw him onto the ground. He put his hand on his aching jaw.
“Sorry for your pretty face,” she said, “but that’s what you get for being a fool.”
“Just trying,” Lissandro coughed. His hands were tied again, and her grip raised him off the ground. He knew he would be blue on the cheek for some days. They left the cold ashes of the fire behind them and walked south.
“Do you know where we are going?” Lissandro inquired. To him, it seemed as if they went in circles in the woods, always passing over the same stones, the same roots, and the same creeks.
“We head south to Embermire. Our camp is in the southwest of the city.” Kilda strode, her back straight. Lissandro trotted behind, like a dog on a leash.
“A camp of bandits,” Lissandro grunted. He was worried. Only the worst could happen there.
“No. A camp of people fighting against those treacherous lords. We sack and ransom because they can pay for it. And they will pay.” Kilda’s voice had a nasty tone.
“Really?” he exclaimed. “Of all the enemies you could turn your strength against, you chose the lords? Don’t you think the orcs are a slight bit more important?” Such ridiculous reactions exasperated him. Some people would lose their energy in petty social class quarrels until the giant foot of a dragon crushed them like ins
ects.
“It’s personal,” she snapped.
There we are, he thought. “Is it because of the lords that you took up arms?”
“This is none of your business.” This time, she sounded melancholic. “Get down!” She pulled down on the rope. Lissandro stumbled and fell headfirst on the muddy leaves.
Down the slope, a road wound in a glade. It ran from east to southwest. Further away, a wagon had pulled over. They could hear shouts of children. “Should we have a look?” Lissandro asked.
“This is none of our business,” Kilda answered.
Lissandro felt that she hesitated. “Come on. There are children,” he insisted.
She stared at him. “If you try anything, I will kill you.”
Lissandro nodded. She untied him, and they progressed towards the wagon. Two children, a boy and a girl, cried over a woman.
“What happened here?” Kilda asked.
The children jumped under the vehicle and hid behind the wheels.
Lissandro grabbed the woman by the shoulders and turned her slowly on her back. She was unconscious but alive. He put his hand on her head. She had a fever. She was probably sick and had fallen from her seat. Why would a woman travel alone in a wagon with two children?
“Where is your father?” he asked the children.
“He is dead,” answered the boy with a sad look on his face. “Killed by the bandits.”
Lissandro looked reproachfully at Kilda. She noticed it. He could discern shame on her face. So much for attacking the lords, he thought.
“We have no food,” the child carried on. “Mama is sick. We are going to Embermire.” He and his sister crept from under the wagon, blotted on each other.
Lissandro felt pity for these people. He rose and talked to Kilda. “We could drive them there. It’s on our way.”
Kilda pulled him on the side. Her grip was strong on his arm. “Are you mad? Do you think I will let you drive among people, let alone enter a city? You are still my prisoner,” she hissed.
“Are you ready to let them stay here? A woman and her children? With bandits around?” He had insisted on the thorny word.
She looked furious, but the choice was clear. “Get in the wagon, all of you.”
Lissandro picked up the mother and laid her down in the wagon. Kilda sat on the bench and took the reins. The wheels spun and rasped on the stones. They departed in a heavy silence.
A few hours later, Embermire stood in front of them.
CHAPTER 20
Louis and Selen rode side by side at the head of the hundred men. Louis had insisted that most soldiers be mounted. The men at the camp didn’t need to move anywhere, and riders always gave a better impression. They had departed early, leaving Folc under the protection of Faremanne. Their cortege was all but discreet. The throbbing sound of the horses on the ground made the earth shake, and the clanking of the armours could probably be heard miles away. The day was hot, especially for men in mails. Louis’s armour was sweltering.
“Thank you for letting me come with you,” Selen told him with his soft voice. He looked at him sidelong. Sweat shone on his brow.
“I could not be away four days and leave you behind. Besides, it’s always good I have someone wise like you at my side.” Louis smiled at Selen. In the camp, Selen was silent most of the time, but his interventions were always pertinent. However, his competence was only an excuse to have him by his side.
“I will help you find the right words,” Selen teased him. His eyes gleamed. Louis realized how much he had missed his friend these last days.
“Embermire is just south of the Ebony Forest. Maybe we could send villagers to search for Lilo if we put a high reward.”
“That’s an excellent idea!” Selen exclaimed. “If only we had time to search for him ourselves.”
The city appeared in front of them. Embermire was in a valley, the slopes of which were covered with forests. On the north side, the Ebony Forest looked deep and dark, like an impassable border. Its trees were old and gnarled. Brown spotted leaves covered the branches, forming a heavy canopy. While the south side was colorful and resounded of birds songs, the north was silent. Louis could understand that Lissandro had considered it evil. There was something cursed emanating from these trees. Maybe it explained why the city had such strong ramparts. The only thing he saw above the white walls were the last floors of the count’s castle.
The road was broad, but their retinue was even larger. Carts coming from the other side were forced to pull over and watch them pass. They heard a horn blow in a distance. Louis liked to think that they had come unannounced. He hoped that, caught off his guard, the count would show his true self. Whatever the issue of this meeting, he was resolute to get to the bottom of things. He only regretted that he was bearing Bertrant’s colors. The Rebellion needed its own symbol. It was important to rally the men on something material as well, something that would represent their ideal, their land. He would need to talk with Faremanne about it. He thought that he had already asked too much from the old commander. And it was his colors he meant to change. It would not please him. Louis looked at the main gate. At least, they had not raised the bridge.
“Let me do the talking,” Louis said to Selen. “If things go wrong, you can still save our skins with your kind words.” He grinned. “The most important is that we agree on what to say. Who knows what Bertrant has told the count until now?”
A man in mail and silver tabard rode towards them. He reined a few yards from their horses. “Welcome to Embermire, my lords. I am Captain Raolin. Lord Pembroke has been waiting for you. I will lead you to him.”
So much for the element of surprise, Louis thought. He made a sign to the man that they were ready to follow him.
They passed under the gate. The stench filled Louis’s nose at once. The streets were jam-packed and narrow, the houses high. The captain had to shout and threaten to remove the wagons from their path. There were too many people, far too many. Though the life in the city did not look flourishing, they still had some merchandise to sell in the stalls, but the prices the merchants shouted were abusive. Surrounded by the crowd, the troop of riders advanced laboriously. Louis thought that he had acted like a fool. If the count wanted them dead, they would be dead already. This time, he would be careful with his words. He did not want to be responsible for the death of a hundred men under his command, not that way. They followed the captain to the castle gate.
They dismounted in the inner courtyard. On the high walls around them, narrow, unglazed windows gaped open from the second floor to the machicolation. A wooden staircase in the wall under a wooden shingle roof led to the first floor. The riders pressed inside the yard around the stone well. Half of their hundred mounts could barely fit in the place. The horses trumpeted and piaffed. Inwardly, Louis cursed himself.
“Your men will have to wait here. They will be taken care of and will receive food. We have stables outside the castle for the horses. You can follow me to his Lordship.” The captain walked in front of them, showing the way.
“I hope you know what you are doing,” Louis heard Selen whisper. “We are trapped.”
Louis knew it too well. He would have liked to say something reassuring to his friend, but he did not feel much comfortable himself. He climbed the stairs with a lump in his throat. He needed to stay focused. He tried to remember the poor excuses the man had written. Anger often helped him to be brave. Or foolish. They entered the castle and went up flights of stairs.
The great hall’s doors opened in front of them. The hall had two fireplaces with elaborate overmantels. The walls were richly decorated with heavy beams, trophies, and moldings. The lower part was painted orange with blue arabesques. At the end of the hall, the count sat on his chair. He was a robust man, bald with a black beard with white strands. His dark eyes gazed at them with gravity.
“Leave us!” he shouted at his captain. The heavy doors closed slowly behind them. “I thought I had been clear,” the count
grunted with a sigh. He scratched a spot on the armrest, before laying his chin on his hand.
Louis approached him. “Do you like pheasants, my lord?” he asked. “Juicy, roasted pheasants?” Louis did not wait for an answer. “I’m sure you do. Everyone likes to eat. Orcs too. Juicy, roasted men. Yet, men are scarce now in the east, no one to cultivate the fields. Soon, the orcs will take the center of Trevalden and crush the Rebellion. But who cares, it’s just scum anyway. Juicy scum. Maybe the orcs won’t come here in the west. You have been left in peace for long. Yet, I have never heard of an orc using a plow. The lands in the east will turn barren. Besides, there are others who like to eat. Like the outlaws in your woods. I guess they don’t mind robbing you of the harvests from your fields. That’s why your streets are jammed with starving villagers. Soon there won’t be any provisions to feed them with. No bread from the east, no apples from your orchards, no pheasants from the woods. No food for the children. There will be riots. And what does a hungry mob always do? They turn on their juicy lord, especially when this one can’t feed his soldiers. And what will Agroln do to reward you for your heroic neutrality? Nothing. Because to Agroln, you, me, your people, we are just juicy orc shit.”
“I know we are condemned,” Pembroke said sullenly.
“If you stay here, yes. It will happen soon. Maybe not this year, but soon.” The last thing Louis wanted to do was to nag on the man as a dog on a bone. He was conscious that, because of his insignificance due to his lack of title, he was tiptoeing on a thin thread.
“They have a dragon. I was there four years ago. I saw the flames. I saw the men roast in front of my eyes. No one can beat that!” Pembroke exclaimed. He rose from his chair and paced, his black velvet robes swirling around his legs, and stared through a mullioned window.
“Don’t underestimate the fury of dead children’s mothers, my lord. You would regret your dragon. Besides, dragons can die. We can find a way.”
Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Page 14