Child of the Knight

by Matt Heppe

  “I implore you,” Grax had said before leaving. “Think of what you are giving up. You won’t have another chance to change your mind.”

  “Why not?” Maret had asked.

  “Because you are out of time.”

  She had not liked the way he had said it. The note of finality to his words.

  How long until she dressed like a Landomeri? Would she someday wear a breechcloth and leggings like Hadde?

  She glanced across the table at Enna and Arno. They knew she struggled with her decision. Behind them, dimly visible, Orlos and little Enna slept in a crib together.

  Enna called both little Enna and Orlos her grandchildren. Arno did as well. She loved that about Hadde’s parents. Arno and Enna had adopted Maret into their family the moment she arrived. Salador might be unrivalled in wealth and power, but they could not match the Landomeri when it came to kindness and generosity.

  That was why she chose to stay.

  Grax had not taken it well. He and his man-at-arms had departed as soon as he realized she was not going to change her mind. Maret held the letter close to the candle; so close the flames singed it. But then she pulled it back and placed it flat on the table.

  “You know,” she said as she stared down at the paper, “there are some who would say that little Enna is a princess.”

  Arno laughed. “The way you dote on her, I’d say you think it already.”

  Maret looked up at him and smiled. “I’m serious. Not only that, they’d even say she is heir to the throne of Salador. Her father, Prince Morin, was the older brother and should have been king.” Maret’s smile faded at the thought.

  “You could take her back to Salador and make her the queen.” Arno chuckled. “Little Enna the great and powerful queen!”

  “There is more to life than power,” Maret said. “There is love.”

  Enna reached across the table and took Maret’s hand. “There is plenty of that here.”

  “And firewine as well,” Arno said. “And we are missing all of it mooning around with you.”

  Enna punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be such a bear.”

  Arno laughed. “But it’s true. Johas only brought so much wine on those pack horses of his.”

  “You are incapable of being serious.”

  Arno’s laughing eyes met Maret’s. “I am entirely serious when I say that we love you, Maret. And that we want you to stay in Landomere with us. It does not matter to us one whit that your son is the son of Orlos. We’d love you the same.”

  Maret blinked back her tears. “I love you too.”

  “Good, let’s go get drunk.”

  “Bah, what will I do with you, Arno?” Enna said.

  “Maybe when you’re drunk enough you’ll drag me—”

  “Enough! Let’s get you out of here before you embarrass Maret any more.”

  “Come along, Maret,” Arno said. “Join us for a drink. The kids will be fine for a few heartbeats.”

  Maret shook her head. “I’m not one for strong drink. I’ll sit here for a bit with the children and then take them back to our cottage.”

  Arno stood from the table. “Very well. Your loss. I’ll drink your share for you.”

  “Go right ahead, Arno.”

  “That’s my girl!” He gave her a grin. “Come along, Enna, I’ll need your help when we stagger home.”

  Enna shook her head as she stood and limped to the door. “You can drag your own sorry self back here.”

  “Hrmpf.”

  “Should I leave the door open so you can catch a breeze?” Enna asked. “Or is the party too loud?”

  “Leave it open just a bit. Thank you.”

  “Goodnight,” Enna said. Arno gave Maret a wave and they were gone into the darkness.

  Maret read the letter one last time and then blew out the candle. Darkness engulfed the room. Only dim moonlight and the faintest light from the raging bonfire in the village center gave her any light to see by. Still she could make out the sleeping babies.

  Maret tapped the letter lying on the table in front of her. She could change her mind, couldn’t she? If things did not work out living as a Landomeri, could she take Grax up on his offer?

  Only as long as the duke still lives. Once a new duke takes the Seat, Orlos would have to fight for it. Nobody gives up power without a fight.

  She glanced at the fireplace. The fire was just dim embers. Still hot enough to burn a letter. She drummed her fingers on the letter, and then carefully folded it and placed it in her belt pouch.

  Maret sighed and stood and then walked to the door. Laughter and music rolled through the village. They were drinking the firewine to good effect. She glanced back at the children. Maybe just for a few moments. A little celebration would be fun.

  She heard footsteps and the clink of metal on metal and turned her glance back outside. Figures moved in the darkness. Men with crossbows and swords that glinted in the moonlight. They looked like shadow spirits as they crept toward the festivities.

  Icy fear gripped her heart in its talons. “No,” she whispered.

  And then a shadow appeared around the corner of the cottage. Maret stood paralyzed and then, just before he reached the door, she pulled herself back and hid herself amongst the cloaks that hung there.

  Close the door! Her hand wouldn’t move and then she heard the door swing open. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her eyes went to the children in their crib, but she couldn’t see them, obscured by Enna’s loom.

  There were shouts outside. Cries of fear and anger. A booming voice yelled out commands. Commands in a foreign tongue. Idorians. There was a scrape and a bump as something struck the door and then footsteps pounded away.

  Maret took a few deep breaths and peeked out from behind the cloaks. The doorway was clear. From beyond she heard shouts of anger and bellowed commands. But no shrill screams of pain or death.

  Her heart pounding a drumbeat of fear, Maret stepped to the door. She needed to look out and see what was happening, but feared the Idorian was there waiting to spring at her. No, I heard him run away.

  Steeling herself, she glanced out the door toward the commotion at the village center. The Landomeri were gathered there, surrounded by men in armor. The bonfire backlit the scene, making it impossible for Maret to see what was really going on. For the moment it appeared that no blood was being shed.

  Idorians? Why them?

  Maret turned at a sound. Up the path a half dozen men stood in front of her cottage. There was a bright light inside. As she watched a man holding a torch exited. He shook his head and said something to a companion. Grax. Baron Grax is here for Orlos. He’s hired Idorian mercenaries.

  She had to flee. There were only two cottages between Hadde’s family cottage and Maret’s own. The men would find her in no time if she didn’t escape.

  Maret ran across the room and looked down at the sleeping children. She needed supplies if she was going to flee with them. But where will I go? Fallingbrook is near. Forsvar help me, what if they already departed for Belavil? She glanced around the room, panic rising. What could she take? How would she carry it?

  Through the window she saw a torch move. There was no time. Maret bent down to the children, and as gently as she could with shaking hands, she rearranged them side-by-side. She had done this many times, scooping up both children at once. But never when they were sleeping. And it had never been more important that they remain asleep.

  As quickly and as gently as she could, Maret slid her hands under the babies and lifted them into her arms. Slowly, she raised them to her shoulders. Orlos didn’t stir, he never did. Enna’s head bobbed and Maret let out a whimpered no as Enna’s eyes blinked.

  Please, Forsvar protect us, don’t let Enna wake. “Sleep now, baby. Sleep. Sleep.” Enna never, ever woke lightly and just one outburst would doom them all. But then Enna settled her head to Maret’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

  Maret stood shaking with fear. But she had to move. The men
would arrive in moments. She walked to the door and peered out into the darkness. The cottage next to hers was lit from within. The men were searching it. Three more men strode to the cottage across the lane from where she stood. Maret froze, hoping against hope that the darkness of the doorway would hide her. And then the men disappeared into the cottage.

  For the moment the lane was clear. She realized she was barefoot, and paused for just an instant. She didn’t dare feel around with her feet for her moccasins, she might never have another chance. She stepped from the doorway just as Grax exited the lit cottage just forty strides from her. In the moment it took for him to look back at something a companion said, she dashed for the corner of Hadde’s cottage.

  Fear crawled down her spine. They’ll see me. They’ll take Orlos. She clenched her teeth against the expected shout as she ducked around the corner. But none came.

  She pressed herself against the wall as soon as she made the turn. There was no alarm and now Grax and the men up the lane were hidden from view. She could still see the village center. And men were coming from that direction now.

  She heard a man call, Maret. But he pronounced it Marae, like an Idorian would. Marae, come out. We bring no harm. It was one of the men walking back from the village center. There were six of them.

  There was no choice but to head into the forest. She had to go to Fallingbrook. It was a long walk, she knew. North of Long Meadow. But there was no choice.

  Before the men could get any closer, she strode into the darkness of the forest of Landomere. She walked as quickly as she dared on her bare feet, holding the sleeping children close to her. Never had she been so happy for all the time she had spent gathering every stick and twig that fell within two hundred strides of her cottage to feed her fire.

  The forest floor was clear under the canopy of large Landomeri oak and hickory trees. But there were few young trees and no bushes to conceal her. She had to get deeper into the forest. She stepped on a fallen hickory nut and bit back a yelp as she stumbled. She jostled the children, but they didn’t rouse.

  Her arms burned with the effort at carrying the babies. She paused and looked back to the village. It was quiet now. She thought she saw a faint glow from the bonfire, but couldn’t be certain.

  I have to keep going. They’ll search the cottages first. I have to get away. It would do no good to hide. The babies would wake and cry. And she had no food or supplies. She had to get far away.

  She shifted the children on her shoulders and pressed on, deeper into the forest. She stepped on more twigs now, and rocks as well. Her feet would be cut and torn before long. If only she had paused those few moments to slip her moccasins on.

  The night was warm, and sweat fell from her brow into her eyes, stinging them. But with no hands free she could do nothing but blink the sweat away. She marched deeper into the forest. Her breath became labored, but she was still too close to the village to rest.

  Soon there would be a stream, and beyond that the going became much rougher. A day’s long hike to Fallingbrook, she had heard others say. For them, maybe, but what about her? Bearing two children? Would it take her two days?

  She heard the creek before she saw it. Cautiously making her way forward, she paused at the bank. She had to stop. The children were too heavy to carry any further. And before she attempted the bank, she had to find a way down.

  She sat down on the leaf-littered ground and gently as she could, placed the children on her lap. Enna stirred and Maret shushed her. “Quiet now, little one. Just sleep a little longer.” She tried to keep the fear from her voice, but the words themselves sounded false in the deep forest. Just a little longer. Longer until what?

  Even if the attackers didn’t pursue her, did she have any hope at all of reaching Fallingbrook? Gods, what if they have departed for Belavil and the village is empty?

  Wind blew through the tree tops. Behind her something rustled in the leaf litter. Maret’s heart pounded as she peered into the darkness back toward the village. Were Grax’s men creeping up on her as she rested?

  Hadde is nearby. The thought brought sudden hope. She and Calen were expected back in Long Meadow tomorrow. Back from the Kiremi plains to the west. Maret wouldn’t need to make it to Fallingbrook. She could head west toward Hadde. She and Calen had horses and supplies.

  Maret saw Enna’s open eyes in the starlight that made it through the canopy. The baby let out a whimper and Maret knew they would be in for a good cry. For a moment Enna fidgeted and stared at Maret. Then she started to fuss. Maret picked her up and put her on a shoulder.

  Noise. Shouts in the distance. She looked up and saw torches moving through the forest in the direction of Long Meadow.

  No! She needed more time. She needed to be further away. Maret lifted Orlos to her free shoulder. “We have to go, little ones,” she said, as much to herself as to the children.

  A short way downstream Maret found a shallower part of the bank. She looked back to her pursuers. She could see their torches clearly now. They were coming too fast. She had no choice, but to cross and then head toward the plains. Gingerly, she made her way down the bank. It was soft, but held. Part way down her foot slipped but she caught herself. She paused to catch her breath.

  Behind her a horn sounded and in her moment of distraction her foot went out from under her. Maret fell to her left and desperately twisted herself to keep from landing on Orlos. Her hip hit the ground and she slid, right foot first down the bank. Water splashed and pain shot up her leg as her foot struck the stony creek bed. Maret’s leg buckled and Enna fell from her grasp into the stream.

  “No!” Maret shouted as she lunged for the child and swept her back into her arm. Enna wailed in fear and surprise. Maret clutched both children close as she sat, muddy and soaked in the streambed. Her leg throbbed and she feared it might be broken.

  Enna cried. Dear Forsvar let her be unharmed. I cannot bear this. Orlos started crying as well, although his wailing did not match Enna’s.

  Maret struggled to her feet and slowly put pressure on her right leg. It held, but her ankle burned with pain. She stumbled across the slippery rocks to the far bank. She looked for an easier place to climb, but saw no better. Another horn sounded. Closer.

  Maret dug her toes into the soft bank and pushed up. She made it two steps before her foot slid out and she ended up on her knees. But she didn’t fall and she didn’t lose the children. Again she pushed forward, but the weight of the children and the soft earth conspired against her.

  She couldn’t manage the children and the bank and her bad ankle. But then she heard something crash in the forest behind her and she drove herself forward. Grax’s men were close. She couldn’t fight them. She had to get away. They couldn’t take Orlos.

  Maret clambered up the bank and then fell to her knees at the top, her breath coming in ragged gulps. Still Enna wailed. Maret couldn’t stop. She limped up a nearby slope. Again a horn blared. They don’t care how much noise they make. They know I can’t get away.

  She blinked away the tears that came to her eyes with each step. It was hopeless. She couldn’t outrun them. They would have to hide. She glanced around, but saw no place hidden enough. There were bushes here. She thought of hiding under one but there was not one big or dense enough.

  Maret climbed the steepest, most difficult part of the slope she could find. A Wasting-felled tree had toppled across a nearby boulder. It would have to do. She got down on her knees and crawled under the dead tree into the dark grotto it formed. The air was thick with the smell of dirt and rotten wood.

  They will take Orlos from me. And what of Enna? What will they do to her?

  She sat as best she could, holding the two children close. The hiding place would muffle their cries, but not enough. She shushed them to no effect. But she knew how she might silence them. Maret unbuttoned the front of her dress and put the children to her breasts.

  As she nestled the children close, she let her tears fall.

  Chapter
Five

  A horn sounded in the distance.

  At first Hadde’s heart rose, but then she frowned. Something wasn’t right. Another horn sounded.

  They aren’t Landomeri.

  “Did you hear that?” Calen asked beside her.

  She pointed ahead. “In the direction of Long Meadow.”

  “I don’t recognize the calls.”

  She put her heels to Quickstep. “The Kiremi don’t use horns. It’s someone else.”

  Hadde slipped on her thumb ring and drew her bow, Talon, from its bowcase. She nocked an arrow as they cantered through the forest. Calen had his bow out as well.

  The horn calls continued, one closer than the others.

  And then Hadde smelled smoke. Her thoughts flashed to the Landomeri village she and Belor had discovered on their journey to Salador almost two years ago. The village had been raided by silver-eyed varcolac and burned to the ground.

  They can’t have returned. Akinos’s army was defeated. But there were other dangers in the world. She had to get home. Enna was there.

  “Wait! Hadde!” Calen called from behind her.

  Something in the tone of his voice broke through and she pulled Quickstep up short.

  “What? What is it?” she demanded as he caught up.

  “What will we do? What’s our plan?”

  “Long Meadow burns, we hear strange horn calls, and you ask what we should do?” She turned and put her heels to Quickstep’s flanks. “We fight them!” she called over her shoulder. And save my child.

  They had only ridden fifty strides before Calen rode ahead of her. He turned in his saddle and hunter-signed stop!

  Hadde reigned in but before she could open her mouth to rebuke her apprentice he said, “Stop, Hadde. Think! We don’t know who is up there.”

  She took a deep breath. He was right. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t just charge into Long Meadow.

  “You’re right, Calen. Good thinking.” She slipped three arrows under the fingers of her bow hand. “We’ll approach from the northwest and ride the gully that breaks off from the stream. If we make it to the end undetected I’ll dismount to approach closer.”