by Jasmine Walt
“Riann!” Manara cried, rushing out of the house. She wore a simple muslin dress with patches at the elbows and in the skirt, and had no adornments, but even so she was beautiful, with thick, shining blonde hair and pretty features that had caught the eye of many a man. Riann often feared for her safety, a woman living alone, but she knew how to wield the blade he had given her, and his status as a knight offered her protection from the locals. But now that he was leaving…
He shook off the dark thought and went to greet her. “I’ve missed you,” he said, enveloping her in a gentle hug. Her son clung to her skirts, and he crouched down to meet him as well. “How is my favorite nephew?”
The boy gave him a shy smile. “Come on, Brac,” Manara said, gently pulling him out from behind her skirts. “Say hello to your uncle.”
“Hi,” he said, his voice childlike and filled with innocence. “Are you going off to war?” he asked, his big blue eyes latching onto Riann’s sword.
“No, lad,” Riann said, ruffling the boy’s mop of fine blond hair. “We are not at war with anyone right now. But a knight must always carry a sword to protect his lord, his neighbors, and himself. Just as your mother has a sword to protect you.”
“I want a sword someday,” Brac declared stoutly. “But mama’s is too big, and she won’t get me a small one.”
Manara laughed, swinging him up into her arms. “If I gave you a sword you would destroy the house in a single day,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Come, let’s get out of the sun.”
Riann followed his sister into the house. The cottage was nothing special—there was a separate room toward the back where Manara and her son slept, but other than that it was an open space, with an outhouse in the woods a short distance behind the house. He sat at the rough-hewn wooden table as his sister poured tea and brought out a bit of bread and butter.
“It is wonderful to see you,” Manara said. They ate while her son played on the floor with some wooden figures Riann had carved for him. “But I must say your presence is unexpected. You usually send word before you come to visit.”
“I’m afraid there wasn’t time for that,” Riann said apologetically. “I came to tell you that I am leaving Fjordland tonight, and I may never return.”
Her eyes grew wide. “L-leaving?” she stammered. “But where will you go?” And what will become of us? she did not ask, but the unspoken words hung plainly in the air between them.
Riann reached into his travel pouch and pulled out the purse. “This will keep you and Brac comfortable for many years—perhaps even the rest of your life if you spend it wisely,” he said. “I am embarking on a dangerous journey to save the woman I love. Our path will take us to the Maroyan Empire, and I do not know if I will be able to come back. I have come to say goodbye.”
Tears filled Manara’s eyes, and Riann’s heart twisted with guilt. He hated having to leave his family behind, but there was nothing for it—he was bound to Tariel. Even now, the bond they had forged last night tugged him back to Castle Tyrook, and if he really focused, he could sense Tariel’s emotions. It was a strange, wondrous thing, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking Manara into his arms. “I wish things were different, and that I could take you with me. But Brac…”
“No, don’t worry about me.” Manara shook her head and gave him a watery smile. “Talrick, the cabbage farmer who’s been sweet on me, has asked me to marry him. He’s good to Brac, and kind to me, so I think I will marry him. You will have no reason to fear for my safety.”
“Can he be trusted not to tell everyone about the gold?” Riann asked. He had met the farmer Manara had spoken of once or twice, but he didn’t really know the man.
“Yes.” Manara bit her lip as she looked at the purse, a worried frown on her face. “Will someone come looking for this? You haven’t stolen it, have you?” She shot him an accusing look.
“I assure you I came by it legally,” he said, though that wasn’t entirely true. If the Tyrooks had found the gold they would have claimed it as theirs, since it had come from a family member. “No one knows about it but the woman I am leaving with, and no one will come looking for it.”
Manara nodded. “This woman…is she worth all of this? Leaving Fjordland behind, giving up your knighthood?”
“Absolutely.” He spoke with conviction, not a thread of doubt in his voice or heart. He was devoted to Tariel now, and could hardly wait to leave Castle Tyrook behind and see the great, wide world beyond Fjordland’s borders.
“Good.” Manara smiled, then hugged him again. “Thank you for this generous gift, Brother. The gold will make a good dowry, and perhaps Talrick may be able to plant some more profitable crops. We will spend it wisely.”
Her words made Riann feel a bit better, and a weight slid off his shoulders. He visited with his sister for a while longer, taking time to play with his nephew, and then took his leave. Since he left his horse to her, he had to walk back to the castle on foot, but luckily, he caught a ride with a farmer delivering sacks of grain for the estate.
“The great Sir Riann, returning without his horse?” one of the guards at the gate mocked. “Did you lose it in a bet?”
Riann refrained from rolling his eyes as the guards laughed. “Namacca was lamed, and I was forced to leave her behind,” he said without inflection. “I’ll have to go back and get her when she is well again.”
“Might as well buy another horse,” the guard said as he waved the farmer through. “Can’t have a great knight like you hobbling around on a hag!”
The farmer snapped the reins, and the cart lurched forward, saving Riann from a response. He got along well enough with most of the men around here, but there were a few jealous types who liked to needle him. Between them and Lord Tyrook’s stingy pay, he was glad to soon be rid of this place. As far as he was concerned, his sword skills were worth the same in any country—there was always someone hiring mercenaries to do their dirty work. Hopefully the bit of coin Riann had saved from the purse would last them until they got to the border, but he and Calrain would have to find work at some point, and perhaps even Tariel herself. He imagined witches hired out their services for coin, though he did not know if it would be safe to do that until they reached the Empire.
As the evening approached, he went to the guardhouse to check in with the men. Most of them were there, splayed out in chairs or on the floor with mugs of brew in their hands, and their slurred words and flushed faces told Riann they were well into their cups.
“Come, lad, drink with us!” one of them roared, grabbing Riann by the elbow and pulling him farther into the room. A mug was shoved into his hand. “We are in mourning together.”
“Over what?” he asked, though he had a feeling that he well knew.
“Over losing the prettiest girl in the castle to that fat sow, o’course!” another roared, and the others shouted their agreement. Riann hid a smile behind his mug as he drank—if only he could tell them that it was he that they were losing Tariel to.
“’Tis a shame that we work so hard, yet the spoils go to lazy sods like that,” another man said. “If I had a lass like that, I would damn well appreciate her.”
“As would I,” another one said, a lascivious grin on his face. “All. Night. Long.”
The other men laughed and toasted him, then drank again. Riann did his best to keep up the pretense that he was of the same mind, though he did not drink nearly so much. This was a blessing in disguise, as the guards would likely be too drunk to notice them sneaking away tonight.
When everyone was too far gone to notice his departure, Riann stumbled out of the guardhouse, pretending to be dead drunk and in need of the privy. Quickly, he went to his room to grab the bag he’d packed the night before, then met Calrain and Tariel in the old gallery, as they’d agreed.
“There you are,” Tariel said, relieved to see him. She wore a dark cloak and dress that would help her blend into the night, as well as
sturdy boots, and carried a simple pack over her shoulder that he assumed held the abacus and whatever belongings she’d decided to take. Calrain was also dressed for a journey, and Riann smiled when he saw the hilt of his dagger tucked into his boot.
“Did anyone see you come down here?” Riann asked. He knew that Tariel’s watch had been increased—she’d told him this morning in the hall during the brief moment when they’d passed each other during breakfast.
Tariel shook her head. “I used my magic to make the maid fall asleep,” she explained. “I also snuck out and bespelled the horses so that they will be slow and tired for the next couple of hours. They will have a very hard time chasing after us.”
“If they notice us at all,” Calrain pointed out. “I passed by the guardhouse earlier, and they were all roaring drunk.” He fixed Riann with his silver gaze. “I hope you did not imbibe too much.”
“Of course not,” he scoffed, turning back to Tariel. “Do you know how long your maid will remain asleep? I am surprised you have managed to do so much in such a short time.”
Tariel grinned. “My magic is much easier to manipulate now that it has been properly unleashed,” she said. “Admittedly, it took me quite a while to figure out how to spell the horses, but after the fourth one it became much easier. Practice is the key, I think.”
Calrain shook his head. “I am glad you are on our side,” he said, a hint of awe in his voice. Riann privately felt the same, though he would never admit it aloud. “I am both eager and frightened to see what else you can do with that power of yours.”
Tariel smiled at Calrain. “You have nothing to fear from me,” she said, pressing her hand against his cheek. “Now let’s go, while we still have the advantage.”
Tariel used her magic to disguise them as simple townsfolk, and they made their way to the west wall of the castle. Her powers muffled their footfalls, making it easy for them to sneak around in the shadows even though Calrain had a plank of wood strapped to his back. As Riann had anticipated, the guards they passed were blurry-eyed and stank of brew. He doubted they would have noticed if he danced naked past them. One of them was leaning against the wall, snoring, and he shook his head, feeling a twinge of pity for the man. He would be in for a world of hurt if the captain found him—he was off tonight, or he never would have let the men engage in such heavy drinking right before their shift.
Unfortunately, not all the guards were as drunk as others. The one by the door leading outside was alert, and his eyes narrowed.
“What are the three of you doing, skulking about at this hour?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “And what business do you have in the palace?”
Riann put a hand on the hilt of his sword, prepared to incapacitate the guard, but Tariel moved swiftly. Before the guard could so much as blink, she had her hand on his arm, fingers glowing. The guard’s eyes rolled back into his head, and Calrain and Riann sprang into action, catching him before he could hit the ground and make a ruckus.
“Amazing,” Riann breathed after they’d stashed the guard in an alcove nearby. No one would see him in the dark, not unless they were looking. “You make it look so effortless.”
Tariel smiled. “He was already tired, so it didn’t take very much to convince his mind to go to sleep.”
They slipped out the door and made their way to the wall. Riann pulled a rope ladder from his pack that Tariel had asked him to grab earlier, and the three of them used it to scale the wall. Riann went first, dropping silently on top of the guard on the other side. The two went down in a heap, and Riann tightened his arm around the man’s windpipe until he went slack.
“Come on,” Calrain whispered, waving Riann forward. He and Tariel had climbed over while Riann was preoccupied, and he’d untied the plank from his back and set it across the moat. Calrain hurried across, then helped Tariel over, with Riann bringing up the rear. They stashed the rope ladder in Riann’s pack for later, then hid the plank behind some bushes to cover their tracks.
“And so it begins,” Tariel said softly, her eyes glowing in the dark despite the lack of moonlight. The three of them looked back one last time at the castle they’d called home since they were children. Riann’s heart pounded with fear and elation as they took off on the dirt road. They were far from out of danger, but he could already see the end in sight.
Soon, they would be free.
15
Once they were beyond the castle walls, Tariel did away with their disguises. Calrain would have been a bit more comfortable if she’d kept it, but he imagined it was draining on her magic, and besides, it was such a dark night that they didn’t really need it. So dark, in fact, they constantly stumbled over roots and potholes as they bumbled along the road.
“Have we decided which route we’re taking?” he asked, keeping his voice down in case someone else was skulking about in the dark. “There is more than one way to get to the Empire.”
“I admit that I feel very unprepared to start a new life in a place that worships magic so heavily,” Riann said. “How do the Maroyans feel about people who do not have magic? I do not even speak the language.”
“There are many Maroyans who do not have any magical powers,” Tariel said. “In fact, I would say that most don’t. It is just that magic is revered there, not feared. Zolotais told me that most men do not have magic at all, which is why they prize their mages so highly. They rely on those born with magic to wield it, while the mages rely on their men for strength and protection.”
“Sounds like a true partnership,” Calrain said admiringly. The idea of men relying on women sounded strange, but then again, did they not rely on them anyway? Women were the only ones who could bear children, after all, and they did many things in the household men took for granted. To have one who could wield magic on top of those things…the possibilities would be endless. If he were a farmer, they would have bountiful crops that would never be stricken by locusts or diseases. If he were a blacksmith, he could create weapons and armor that would never rust. Magic could greatly enhance almost any profession. It was no wonder the Maroyan Empire was a land of plenty.
“In any case, Zolotais will teach us the basics on our journey,” Tariel went on. “She taught me a bit of the language and about the culture already, so I can help her instruct both of you as we travel. Maroyan is not an easy language, but it is a long journey, and we have enough time to grasp the fundamentals, at least.”
“I hope so,” Riann said. “I have never attempted to learn another language before, so I have no idea if I’ll be a quick study or not.”
“We’ll be fine,” Calrain assured him. As a scribe, he’d had to learn the old Fjordland dialect, so he had some experience—though since Maroyan was a completely different language, it would likely be harder. Still, as someone who could already read and write and had an advanced grasp of his own language, he gathered learning Maroyan would be easier for him than it would be for Riann.
Who knew that his bookish tendencies would grow to be an advantage?
“I did hear something troubling today,” Calrain told the others as his thoughts went back to his last morning in the clerk’s office. “Brother Tersen told the Captain of the Guard that Sir Jerrold the Relentless will be arriving at Castle Tyrook soon. They suspect he is coming to denounce and burn you, Tariel, on Marilla’s word. She is still jealous and bitter about her husband coveting you.”
Tariel let out a sigh of disgust. “Marilla should focus less on me and more on making her own husband happy,” she said. “I would wager that if she spent less time worrying about me, and more time learning what her husband likes and how to please him, he would quickly forget about me.”
“I assume you mean in the bedroom?” Riann asked, sounding amused. “Most women in our country do not have a desert spirit encouraging them to embrace their sexual instincts, Tariel.”
Calrain was certain Tariel shrugged, even though he could barely see her in the darkness. “If they did, perhaps the men would be less concerne
d with burning them.”
The three of them fell silent at that. After the wonderful experience Calrain had with Tariel last night, he couldn’t imagine wanting to hurt her or see her burned at the stake. He had a feeling she was right—if more men treated their wives like the precious treasures they were, and made the effort to find real pleasure between them rather than the fleeting satisfaction of a quick coupling, the divide between men and women would lessen considerably.
“Anyway,” Calrain went on, “learning of Sir Jerrold’s arrival was what decided me on accompanying you, Tariel. I spoke to Brother Tersen about the witch hunts after the captain left, and he told me that witch hunts were mostly a sham meant to keep the Order rich and the women oppressed and fearful.” His stomach twisted as he remembered the glee in his master’s words as he’d talked of blackmailing families into paying for the safety of their daughters, and looting the belongings of the innocent victims who did get burned. “I could not abide the idea that we knowingly kill innocent women, so I decided that I will never take my vows to Roisen. The storm god must condone such behavior, or the Order would not thrive as it does.”
“If Sir Jerrold is after Tariel specifically, we will need to redouble our efforts to be quick and stealthy,” Riann said, a troubled note in his voice. “By all accounts, Sir Jerrold is a fierce and clever man, and quite fanatical in his efforts to seek out and burn witches.”
“I agree,” Calrain said quietly. This was not just about Tariel’s safety—if they were caught, he and Riann would also burn for aiding and abetting a witch.
“I am sorry to bring you into so much trouble,” Tariel said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “I wish that there had been another way, so that I did not have to drag you into so much danger. But I am a selfish woman, and aside from the ritual being a necessity, it brings me great comfort and joy to have you both at my side.”