Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  Within minutes, Vincent noted his men filing into the village stores around every other street corner and saw his cavalry break off into smaller groups. The Ottomans' banners were becoming visible as their ranks rolled forward at a steady gait. Knowing full and well that they would ultimately fail, Vincent thought they could perhaps at least succeed in crippling their enemies' numbers enough to force them into retreating.

  Taking a moment to gather his thoughts for the bold and futile stand they were all about to make, he signaled for his archers to draw arrows. Sliding their poisoned tips into the air, awaiting his command to release their bowstring, Vincent bitterly recalled his last visit with the Ottoman Army. Radu crossed his mind as well, but deducing from the numbers of this battle, it was not his division. Radu was blessed with the privilege of a titanic force that was probably being used elsewhere closer to their heartland. They were definitely waiting to use Radu for a strategic purpose.

  Swiftly lowering his arm, the archers released their retaliation at Vincent's command. While another volley hit their mark, Vincent climbed up the stairs of one store to the rooftop that overlooked the large river valley. To the south of the village lay the Ottoman forces and the archers firing at them; to the east lay a thick tree line ripe for the retreat; to the west lay untouched farmland. If it weren't for the circumstances, Vincent thought it would be a very attractive place to lead a quiet life.

  It wasn't until he heard a rally cry coming from behind that Vincent felt his heart stop for a few beats. What little color was left in his face from the chill morning drained instantly as a wave of nearly three hundred Ottoman cavalry galloped toward their position from the north, where his men had their backs turned.

  The north? Vincent asked himself. How could they come in from the north? We ARE the north.

  The oncoming onslaught of the mounted men now charging them from the north was too much for Vincent's forces to take with the archers to the south. Whistling and shouting to get his men's attention, Vincent knew it was far too late, and they did not even remotely have the numbers to fight on two fronts: the south and north end. The Ottomans would easily smash them from the sides and chew the rest out that remained trapped within the village for shelter.

  A wave of nausea hit him as he tried to steady his shaking body, realizing he had played into their trap like a cornered rat.

  A strong hand from behind suddenly grabbed his shoulders and forced him to the ground. Barely glancing up in time before drawing his shield in reflex, Vincent saw a volley of arrows from the southern archers with their damned longbows. Something was different this time, though.

  Squinting for a split second before raising his protection, Vincent recognized their hellacious means for ousting them out of hiding: flaming arrows. They were creating an inferno. In one grim moment, he felt admiration for his opponent's tactics before their deadly report whistled in his ears once more, this time inducing a deafening din accompanied by an angry whirl of flame against wind.

  That was the last thing he remembered as darkness engulfed him like a friend's embrace.

  Furious and promising to herself she would exact revenge on Lord Vincentislaus II if any harm had come to Vincent, Richard kicked her horse faster and out of the last of a tree line. Unsure of where Schrödinger was, she continued onward passed the overgrown vegetation and out into the open field where she knew the village would be. It seemed strange to her that Schrödinger simply told her of Vincent's whereabouts and led her out of the stronghold, unseen. Worse still, he handed her a horse and pointed her in the direction of the village but offered no assistance, as if this was some sort of test to measure her resolve. All he told her was that it was paramount to have Vincent found and retrieved.

  Pushing aside the rest of her muddled thoughts of the whole situation, Richard's eyes strained to see out across the ripped and torn terrain, desperately searching for a glimpse of that crimson cape she ached to see. But all that was visible were the billowing, smoky clouds of a leveled village and the maimed bodies to surround it. Frantically eyeing any shape that moved, her spirits fell as she continued to see nothing but the grass sway in the silent wind. The ground was streaked with red and peppered in opposing uniforms. The scene was fresh- no reinforcements to collect the dead and cart what could be left of the wounded. A horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach was choking the last of the hope out of her.

  Dismounting her horse in the middle of the field and bewildered where to even begin her search, Richard began to claw at bodies in the assortment of piles they were in, wildly looking for any scrap of evidence of where Vincent could be. Jumping from pile to pile, she upturned bodies in a furious rush, quelling the urge to gag at the smell and stopping herself short of succumbing to her morbid fascination of the dead. She gasped when her hand pulled out from underneath a body a large maroon cape with golden tassels and a thick rope connecting the shoulders.

  Falling to her knees, she gingerly placed it in her lap and felt her knuckles tighten. Her eyes unfocussed on the sunrise at the horizon as her body became unresponsive and numb.

  She had caused this entire catastrpohe.

  She had to open her smart mouth to Lord Vincentislaus II, she had to provoke him into striking her -which would have only made Vincent draw his sword- and she had to get them both in trouble because of it. She had her pride for all of a matter of seconds before Lord Vincentislaus II punished her, and for what? Vincent got the brunt of the punishment, and he was ordered to leave to Calarasi on a mission with a suspiciously small amount of men. If she had not opened her big mouth to begin with, he would not have marched into imminent danger and would have lived.

  "He ist either alive or dead," Schrödinger appeared out of the ashen smoke and plaintively bowed his head before surprising her with a devious smile, "Preferably un-living."

  Richard jumped, alarmed and angered, "Where did you— why are you— how could you say that? I thought you wanted us both alive and safe! Not dead!"

  "Did I say 'dead'?" he suggestively asked with a hinting manner.

  Richard grunted, frustrated with his tongue twisters. Even if he was leaving her bread crumbs to follow just what was up ahead, it didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was that she had Vincent's cape curled into her hands, and a humbling amount of blood pooled and stained into it.

  She stood up solemnly, refusing to relinquish power over to her womanly desire to scream outright. Vincent had performed his duty loyally and without question. He was intemperate, insufferable, arrogant, pompous, egotistical, opportunistic, and above all, ruthless.

  Every vice she admired and was proud to attribute to herself as well.

  Forcing herself to turn away from the battlefield and gaze down at the only reminder she had, she began folding it in silent remorse. Richard was tucking in the corners and focusing on blinking away the blur in her eyes when she heard Schrödinger chuckle and turn to face a spot in the distance with theatrical poise. A moment later, she found her head snapping to attention and fixating on that same spot, hearing a defining roar and rumble against the crumbling rubble of the field.

  Meters away, Vincent felt his body shake as he attempted to free himself of the wreckage one last time. His muscles screamed in protestation as his body emerged from the debris—not from angst or anticipation, but from the rage of battle; from the rush of energy; from the unstoppable surge of endurance. It was the driving force of a great and determined soldier, and no more than in that moment did he look legendary to Richard.

  Boards of wood that had toppled over him slid off as well as limbs of bodies and upturned earth in a random assortment of rubble. Heaving a tremendous sigh, Vincent brushed off his shoulders and kicked off the remaining debris, freeing himself from the wreckage and taking a few steps out of it. Aware there was sudden movement in his periphery, Vincent drew up short, concluding he had no strength to fight whatever it was. And it was coming fast.

  Richard exhaled in relief as she gazed upon his battered form, rea
lizing a few moments later that she was racing towards him at a dead sprint.

  Acrid smoke filled her lungs as she gasped for air, making her last few strides to his side as she leaped over another pile of bodies. She suppressed the urge to cough and cry out at the same time, rolling to a stop before him gracefully. Taking a few more breaths in, she let out one final exhalation through her nose to calm her racing heart.

  Standing there, his sword arm limp and his shield arm bruised and bloodied, hair matted to one side as the wet trickle of blood down his forehead beaded to a halt at his jaw line, shoulders sagging against the weight of his armor, boots sinking into the red mud, Vincent all but collapsed right there from exhaustion. He might have, if it had not been for a familiar angelic face that presented itself to him.

  Hmm, what a beautiful hallucination.

  He looked up at her with a blank stare, as if not truly believing the sight before him.

  "Am I dead?" he asked, reaching out to her face, "God knows, you were the last thing I thought."

  She sucked in a raw breath at the comment, retreating from his touch, but Richard did place her hand over his, catching it as it was about to fall back to his side, "No, Sir Vincent. You are not dead. I am not dead. Everyone and everything is very much alive," pausing to glance him over, "Can you walk? Can you ride?"

  Vincent smiled, "You are so beautiful. The moon pales in jealously at your fair skin."

  Taking a few steps back from him, she frowned and turned to Schrödinger. "What ails him?"

  The feline-boy strolled up and snorted, "He's alright. My master has told me much of this ailment. Just a bit of shock. You have never seen soldiers come down from the rush of battle. It ist thrilling, puts your mind und everything around in a beautiful haze as your body und instincts to survive kick in. Problem ist…some men have a harder time snapping back to reality. His mind vill return, but for now ve must get you und him out of this open field."

  Agreeing, she swung one arm around Vincent's back to steady his balance and began to walk slowly to her mount. The soft rumple of grass stepped on and the teasing breeze were all that made sound. In that quiet moment, she smiled, remembering how he once held her up to steady her balance upon receiving bad news.

  But that was a lifetime ago, hearing of that engagement to a man she'd never met and subsequently keeling over the castle wall to eject breakfast and lunch. How strong his hands were then, holding her steady as she made herself indecent leaning over the wall. Looking at them now as she paused in front of her horse, she saw they were a sickly purple color and slightly trembling.

  "Sir Vincent," she addressed softly. His head turned, noticing her again.

  "My Lady?"

  She took a hold of his face in her hands, grabbing his full attention and locked eyes, "I need you to get on this horse. Can you do that?"

  He nodded slowly, processing her information and realizing there was a massive animal next to him with hooves ready to gallop off. Without question, he mechanically placed his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up in the saddle. Lowering his hand for her, she hopped on as well, sliding in behind him and wrapping her arms about his waist to hang on.

  Looking around, she growled angrily. Schrödinger had disappeared again. Fortunately, she remembered the little town's name they were supposed to meet him at. If it wasn't for Schrödinger's convincing argument a couple of days ago, she never would have agreed to this. Or perhaps her ego wanted her to prove that she could do this —some tempting desire to prove him wrong, and by extension, any man who had challenged her. But before anyone's questions were answered, they had to get to safety before they were spotted.

  Whispering the town's name into Vincent's ear, he nodded in recognition and kicked the horse to set off in its direction.

  "Please, I have already apologized profusely. I beg your forgiveness. I was blind to the enemy at my side," the Regent bowed his head in defeat.

  What dim light the dungeon did allow only provided Lord George more ammunition against the leader.

  "No, no! Forgive me! Formalities and pleasantries escape us. Pardon my manners, but my son and I have been down in this cesspit for God knows how long, eating God knows what, waiting until God knows when for you laggards to realize that we were NEVER a part of some plot to overthrow the rightful King or your Lordship!" Lord George howled in pain as Victor hoisted him up by the waist. His sarcasm only bit further into the Regent as he upturned his palms as a sign of acceptance.

  Pip handed both men fine clothes in exchange for the rags they were put in. Victor politely took them and thanked the knight.

  "Do not thank the likes of them. They are not men," Lord George stated flatly and glared at his son, "Gather your things. We leave at once."

  Victor nodded and passed the Regent, but the elder caught the younger's arm.

  Turning, Victor saw a panic-stricken father before the expression concealed itself, "My boy, it is wholly beneath you to even consider doing what I beg you do, but since Richard never gave up her insistence that you were innocent, I am only asking this of you because of her."

  "Is something amiss?" he offered, trying to stay level headed with his captor.

  The Regent closed his eyes as his voice lowered to a whisper, "Richard, she is in grave danger I fear. The man who was responsible was barely taken into custody before he—" the leader paused, exchanging a sudden and agreed look with Pip, "before we killed him. But the perpetrator did gloat at his knowledge of Richard's compromised safety."

  Victor held up a hand, "And you want me to race out to save my rightfully betrothed after you have already imprisoned me here in the hopes that…what? I will find her, return with her, marry her, and everything will be put back into order?"

  The Regent tried to carry himself with dignity, but Victor's dissection of his plan weighed heavy, like an anchor chained to the old man's heart. "You would be accompanied by Pip, my most trusted and newly appointed knight. I would never expect you to do this alone."

  "PREPOSTEROUS!" Lord George spat, grabbing Victor by the collar of his ragged shirt, "We are headed straight back to Bohemia. How could you stoop so low as to ask my son to risk his life for some tart who has a knack for trouble?"

  "I'll do it."

  Lord George choked, tripping on a stone, "W-what?!"

  Victor stood his ground against his father's pull, "Unhand me, father. This woman is to be my wife. Have you forgotten all that she has done for us?" Victor silently pointed out not only her insistence that they were innocent, but how she had also used secret passageways to enter the dungeon and bring them fresh food and water.

  This gave Lord George pause as he slowly loosened his grip, until he let go completely. "There...is no persuading you otherwise, is there."

  Victor shook his head, then brushed his grit covered blonde hair out of his eyes, "I owe her. You owe her. But I love her."

  The Regent clapped his hands together, "If there is but one boon I would ask of you, it would be to seek out Richard and bring her back to me. If you succeed, I will be forever in your debt. I will always answer to your distress. I will always be available for your counsel, benefit, use, or any other needs for which I will be called."

  "You have a knack for making friends out of enemies, Hunyadi," Lord George snarled, clearly referring to the fragile alliance made with that young rebel-rousing Dracul named Vincent, "But do not expect us to answer your call."

  Victor fired a hot glance at his father, then smiled as comfortably as he could through cracked lips. "Then let the quest begin. Where is my mount?"

  "Excellent!" the Regent praised, showing both men to the door and watched as they began the long walk up floors of stairs to reach level ground outside.

  Pip drew up beside the Regent, exhaling in relief, "That was close, my Lord."

  "Too close," he said in a low tone, then turned to his knight, "I doubt Lord Victor or Lord George would believe us if we informed them of what really happened."

  Pip chuckled agai
nst his toothpick, "Indeed. We would be branded heretics and burned at the stake," Pip opened up one hand, "A man who whispered passages of the Bible and Holy Scripture that enveloped him in protection as he vanished into thin air right before our eyes? Un-believable," Pip then opened up the other to reveal the other option, "We killed him for his treachery? Believable."

  Rain bore down on the village as Richard and Vincent approached the only inn. Clutching the edge of her hooded cowl, Richard drew it close to her face, letting go of Vincent's waist as they halted their mount to a hitching post. Grey smoke belched out of a stone chimney planted aside the tavern as shuttered windows creaked loudly against the wind. Sliding off, she gazed up at the dripping sign that banged over the door.

  "Nightgate Inn," she breathed, turning around to face Vincent.

  He had grabbed her coin purse and stuffed it in his pocket. Walking alongside her against the stinging rain, he grabbed her arm, suddenly alert.

  "My Lady, once we are inside, you must follow my lead. Taverns are rife with derelicts, deviants, and no place for the nobility," he nodded to the small hovel.

  Agreeing, she took his arm as they walked up the steps. The warm, whistling gale that blew in their faces as they entered nearly melted Richard where she stood. The smoky scent of a fire being stoked and cooked meats assailed her nose as her stomach groaned. Feeling Vincent's arm tighten, she looked up to see a crowded inn with a great number of heads raised from their cups. Men's eyes hungrily perused her features as they ventured further in.

  Brazenly staring straight back at them, Richard opened up her cape wide enough to display not only the trousers Richard was wearing but also her sheathed sword tied into her belt, a clear statement to anyone that she was well armed and possibly capable.