by Alex Aguilar
“And lastly,” Viktor said with something like shame in his voice. “This is, uh…”
“No need for that, old mate. I can introduce myself,” a voice interjected, hopping off a brown steed and walking closer, caressing the animal’s neck along the way. He removed his black hat and, with a grin, gave a casual bow. “Hudson Blackwood of Raven’s Keep, at your service.”
John had been far too overwhelmed to notice the thief among the group, and he found himself at a loss for words. At the same time, young Robyn’s interest became instantly peaked at the sound of the thief’s name, and she couldn’t help herself; she observed from above, careful not to make any sudden noises.
“How do you do, darling?” Hudson kissed Adelina’s hand as well, in a way that was meant to mock Viktor’s greeting. And after shaking hands with Mister Beckwit, the thief turned to John Huxley, who was still staring at him perplexed and bewildered.
“It’s you…” John said, his voice dry from the disbelief.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Hudson asked sneeringly and gave the farmer a tap on the arm.
Feeling the need to explain, Viktor Crowley stepped forward and said, “Mister Blackwood and his companion Syrena of Morganna agreed to assist us in this expedition. Not to worry, we will assure the safety of the company remains a priority.”
From above, the black crow screeched loudly all of a sudden, causing Robyn to fretfully back away from the window just in time to avoid being seen. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed at the crow.
The interruption was brief, but Viktor Crowley knew there was someone above listening.
“I do apologize,” Adelina broke the sudden silence. “Our farm may be large, but I’m not sure our cottage has enough space to lodge all of you.”
“Not a problem, Missus Huxley, so long as you will allow us to make camp here before we leave tomorrow at dawn.”
“My land is yours, Sir Crowley.”
Viktor smiled, and at the same time felt a tug at his chest upon hearing the word ‘Sir’ in front of his name again.
* * *
The moon arrived quickly that evening, possibly hinting at an early sunrise.
The majority of the company was huddled around a fire in front of the Huxleys’ barn. Four tents had been set up around it, all of them made of leather dyed with a dark shade of blue, but the golden crest of King Rowan was missing. Viktor explained that the reason behind it was to appear inconspicuous to the common traveler. In truth, however, he knew the loyalty of the company would shatter if they knew he was no longer a knight of the king’s court.
A much smaller fire burned some ten yards away, where Syrena of Morganna sat biting at an ear of corn gifted to her by a young man with wheat-colored hair unknown to her. Having been locked in the palace dungeons, she hadn’t heard of the farmer that confronted Hudson Blackwood, but the young man’s warm hospitality gave her no reason to have any aversion towards him. The thief, on the other hand, was like a wild coyote stalking its prey, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.
John Huxley was inside the barn, sharpening the cleanest knives he owned, or at least those with the least rust. He sat on a small wooden stool, a shiny steel blade resting between his boots. It had been given to him by Viktor Crowley himself, and looked like much too elegant a weapon for a farmer to wield. In fact, it was the first blade he owned that didn’t look like it had been bought from a beggar. The blade had a hilt made of whale bone, smooth and white and polished, and the blade was sharp and thin like a saber, which made for a much faster swing.
“Every good swordsman needs a proper sword,” Viktor had said back at the palace, and he picked out the blade from the same weapon stand where his was displayed, which made John wonder if the blade was previously Viktor’s before he was knighted.
It was an honor, to say the least. And he’d kept it at close proximity since receiving it.
He threw the freshly sharpened knife inside his father’s old rucksack and pulled out the next, when suddenly he heard wood creaking behind him. He had forgotten that Robyn was still sitting above the stables. She leapt off the ladder irately and headed for the doors, brushing past John along the way.
“Are you still angry with me?” he asked her.
Robyn chose to say nothing and instead shoved the door open.
But when she took one step out of the barn, a dark figure suddenly blocked her path. She froze, nearly yelping from the shock…
She wanted to say something, but no words would come to her. She felt even more flustered than if she had met a knight of the king’s court. And instantly her mind recalled the portraits nailed to the walls of every other corner in Val Havyn. Yet, somehow, his eyes looked rather different in person. They looked more human, more conflicted.
“Go inside, Robyn,” John said suddenly.
And the girl felt an even bigger impulse to stay. Slowly, she walked around the thief, unable to look away from his devious eyes. And then she scurried away towards the cottage, wishing suddenly that she stayed in her hideout just a few minutes longer.
John Huxley and Hudson Blackwood stared at each other in silence, each one unwilling to yield first.
The thief took a step forward and leaned on the doorframe, nonchalantly as if he was in his own home.
“Well… Doesn’t this make for an unusual reunion?” he asked, looking at the farmer with that half-grin and half-scowl that only he could convey.
John tried to remain calm, though his chest was pounding infuriatingly. He sunk slowly back to a seat, realizing Viktor’s company was close enough to intervene in the case of a skirmish.
“Don’t mind me, mate. Just looking for a place to piss,” Hudson said as he welcomed himself inside.
“Certainly not in here,” John muttered, as he went back to sharpening his knives. His ears, however, remained attentive for any sudden moves on the thief’s behalf.
Hudson began to pace around uninvitingly, examining the stables, noticing the splintering of the wood in certain areas where he presumed the young farmer had been training. “I see you’ve wasted no time in making new friends,” he said scornfully.
“You should try it some time,” John tried to match the thief’s scathing tone. “It proves more useful than making enemies.”
“Couldn’t disagree more,” Hudson replied. “An enemy’s far more predictable. Furthermore, an enemy is, by definition, incapable of betraying you.” He brushed past John, his boot grazing the leather rucksack on the dirt. And at that very moment, John rubbed the stone a bit too roughly, cutting his thumb on the knife’s edge.
Annoyingly, he set both the knife and stone down. “What are you doing here exactly?” he asked the thief.
“What do you think?” Hudson replied. “Same thing every one of those poor bastards is doing. Finding trouble and making a bit of coin while at it. I could ask the same of you, mate. This isn’t exactly a job for a sheep farmer.”
“I’m a simple man, Hudson… And a man can earn coin in many ways, whether he has or lacks certain skills. That’s the whole point of earning the coin,” John said, with an added emphasis on the word to spite the thief.
“Well that’s what I’m doing, mate. Earning my share.”
The two men shared a look, each one unsure whether it was safe to trust the other. For one, Hudson was looking into the eyes of the man that had been responsible for his capture, and such a treat was rare for him. But, under the circumstances they were in, he wasn’t sure if holding a grudge was the proper approach.
John, on the other hand, had deemed the man unworthy of being trusted to begin with, and he hadn’t for one moment considered what a man of such skill could bring to the company whose mission was essentially to steal someone away. “We’ll have to see about that,” was all he could bear to say, to which the thief scoffed and continued to pace.
“Nice farm, you have here,” Hudson said contemptuously. “It’d be a shame if you never saw it again.”
“You know,
” John chuckled bravely, his attention shifting back to his knives. “I never have been fond of words. If you wish to threaten me, use your blade and not your mouth.”
“Words are my only weapon, I’m afraid,” Hudson said. “Sir Viktor Crowley has taken it upon himself to strip me of all the rest. Security purposes, he called it.”
John scoffed. “Good to know. If you had a weapon, I might be more nervous. Without it, you’re just a simple man who talks too much.”
“You seem quite confident to know all about me for someone who met me for less than an hour.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Quite so,” Hudson spit on the dirt. “Well… except for one little thing.”
John stopped sharpening his knife, his eyes looking up once more, almost unwillingly.
“You’re right to feel nervous,” Hudson said, his voice hardened. “Considering I will kill you someday… Not tonight, perhaps. Not tomorrow. But someday…”
Though Hudson remained at ease, his eyes spoke otherwise.
He glared down at John, as if making a threat through a stare.
“In the meantime, I look forward to becoming more acquainted, mate,” he said as he lifted his right hand to his lips and bit into a green apple that hadn’t been there before.
John suddenly looked down at his rucksack, noticeably emptier than it was before. He then glanced back up at the thief’s grin and scowled. “How did y-”
Suddenly, an unexpected voice interrupted from outside the barn.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Viktor Crowley said. “May I have a word in private with Mister Blackwood?”
“Certainly,” John said, beginning to stand.
But the thief placed a hand on the John’s shoulder and pushed him back down to a seating position. “Oh, no need for that,” he said. “The farmer and I are old friends. Anything you wish to say to me, you can say in front of him.” Something in the thief’s tone didn’t fully convince John that he actually meant what he said. More so, it seemed as if the thief was on the prowl for ways to spite or annoy the golden knight for sheer amusement.
“All right,” Viktor shrugged. “It’s about your companion, Blackwood.”
“Lovely, isn’t she? Quite an actress, too.”
“Be that as it may,” Viktor sighed. “It seems the company has come to a joint decision. The majority of them do not trust her.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Hudson mumbled softly to John.
“I’m afraid they’ve asked that she remain in chains until we’ve reached Drahkmere.”
Hudson’s expression changed. His grin turned into a grimace as he stepped towards the knight.
“Have you gone daft?” he asked.
“It was a majority vote, Blackwood.”
“And? What if we voted right now that you journey through the Woodlands stripped naked, would you bloody do it?” the thief’s voice was beginning to rise. But the three men heard laughs outside; the sharp laughs of men that were certainly under the influence of liquor. And they instantly rushed out of the barn.
“Evening, poppet,” said Martyn Davenport, chugging from a winesack and passing it to his brother. They walked towards Syrena with two of the king’s soldiers, dragging with them a set of cuffs and chains.
“Think she’ll resist?” Wyll asked, spitting into the fire and giving the witch a grimace.
“If she does, we’ll break her wrists.”
Syrena rose to her feet impulsively. But then a voice stopped her from attacking.
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” Hudson said as he walked closer, John and Viktor at his side.
“Shut it, Blackwood!” Martyn said, his unkempt chin beard swaying up and down as he spoke. “Here to protect your pet witch, eh?”
“Don’t have to, mate,” the thief replied. “You have to be the biggest moron alive to believe she needs my protection. But, please, by all means go right ahead and cuff her. It’ll be most entertaining to watch you try.”
Anxiety began to manifest in the brothers’ chests as they noticed Syrena’s palms exuding trails of grey smoke as she held them open at the ready, waiting for the drunken brutes to make the wrong choice. Out of fear and distress, she had been too slow to resist the previous time she was chained. And she looked prepared to fight before she let it happen again, especially by the same two men.
“Mister Davenport, I ordered you to wait until I spoke with Blackwood,” Viktor Crowley said, his hand gripping the handle on his blade. The rest of the company was fast asleep in their tents, but the commotion outside was beginning to wake a few of them.
“She’s a freak, Sir Crowley,” Martyn said. “She can’t be trusted among us.”
Hudson had stepped in front of Syrena by then. He had no weapon to protect himself, only his words and defiant demeanor. “You call her a freak, mate?” he taunted the man. “I’d say that chin beard of yours is more terrifying.”
“That’s it!” Martyn pulled out a sharp knife.
“Oh good, you brought a shaver.”
Martyn growled and raised the knife.
But then Viktor Crowley stepped between the two men, his sword drawn and determined.
“Enough!” he shouted. “If we’re going to get through this, we will learn to work together. Believe me, there will be plenty of bloodshed soon enough, so save what little energy and sanity you’ve got for the real threat. That’s an order! Is that understood?”
The silence, again, spoke for itself.
“Just bring the chains,” Syrena suddenly said.
The stunned thief turned to her in disbelief, his eyes even showing a hint of sorrow. “What…?”
“It’s all right,” she said to him. “If it’ll stop their fucking crying…”
She spit and stared at them with a glare that gave them both chills and shame.
And then they wrapped her hands in ogreskin and locked the cuffs around them.
* * *
Hudson Blackwood refused to share a tent with anyone. He slept outdoors, sharing the fire with the young witch as the rest of the company rested comfortably under their leather roofs. At some point during the evening, Adelina Huxley had approached Syrena with a change of clothes; a white blouse, a pair of brown trousers, and a black cape made of wool.
“Come, my dear,” she’d said to the witch. “That dress looks like it must itch something awful. Let’s get you changed. Come…”
The witch was stunned by the woman’s kindness; it was as rare to her as having friends. Adelina had to take her into the barn and help her change, and John had stood guard by the barn entrance like a proper soldier. Adelina was gentle with Syrena, treated her like a sister or daughter, and even looked sad to see her in chains. She even left them additional blankets to help keep warm, and Syrena allowed the thief to take them, arguing that her gift allowed for her to remain warm and withstand the cold at night.
The thief lay, staring up at the night sky, his beloved hat resting on the dirt beside his head.
Syrena, freshly dressed and cleaned, sat cross-legged by the fire looking down at the cuffs she hated so dearly and the fresh layer of ogreskin over her palms.
“I hate knights,” Hudson said.
“You hate everyone.”
“We took a vote,” he mocked them, and then scoffed. “The nerve of the lot. They ought to be thankful you didn’t fry them when you had the chance. Bloody morons.”
“It’s just a stall. You’ve picked the cuffs before, you can pick them again.”
“Not with that hog keeping watch on us all night.”
Syrena didn’t notice Jossiah Biggs lurking nearby. The man was pacing by the barn drowsily, smoking from a pipe of tobacco. “Can we get rid of him?” she mumbled.
“We can,” the thief said. “But we should wait until we’ve reached the forest. Easier to lose them there.” He paused for a moment and sighed. He moved his head at an angle and looked at Syrena’s wrists, hidden under the thick moldy skin. “Will you be all right?” he
asked.
“Not the first time I’ve been held down by chains,” she made her best attempt at a smile. And then they nestled themselves close together, finding comfort among the grass, and closed their eyes for a good night’s rest.
* * *
The Huxley twins lay side by side on the pair of bedspreads, both of them wide-eyed and enthusiastic as they always were. In the corner of the room was a wooden bedframe with two layers of cloth over it, where young Robyn lay pretending to be asleep.
“Tell us a story, mum!” Melvyn said, lying in the bedspread closest to the wall.
“It’s a bit late for that, dear. Go to sleep,” Adelina settled a soft, warm blanket over him.
“Please?” Margot asked, feigning a frown.
“Would you tell us the one about Prince Carlyle and his bride?” Melvyn asked eagerly.
“That story’s boring,” said Margot.
“It’s better than your favorites!”
“It’s a love story, Melvyn. No one likes love stories.”
“I like it. It’s fun.”
“There, there now,” Adelina said, sitting on a wooden chair between the two bedspreads. “Perhaps tomorrow, my dears. Now it’s time to sleep.” She kissed them both on the forehead and caressed their cheeks. And then she blew on the candle by the nightstand and headed for the door to the common room.
“Mum?” Margot called out.
“Yes, dear?”
“Will John be all right?”
She had no answer, at least not a truthful one. She walked slowly back towards her children and leaned in, the only light coming from the moonlight through the windows. “Your brother’s a brave man,” she said to them. “He’s doing this for all of us.”
“He’s doing it for himself,” a voice said abruptly. Robyn Huxley wiped the angry tears from her cheeks.
And Adelina could say nothing other than, “Goodnight, darlings. I love you all.”