by Matt Heppe
The current brought him around full circle and with a burst of effort Nidon drove for the Vara’s strong current. He kicked with all his strength. His heart nearly burst with the effort, and he was certain he had failed, but then the Vara caught him and he shot free, swept south into the Treteren.
For a time it was all he could do to hang onto his board. He glanced up at the city behind him, but the storm shrouded it in the early dawn light. And only vaguely could he make out the shadowy outline of a river galley. Every moment the danger lessened, though. Nidon kicked again, turning himself toward the south shore. It was only partially his choice; the current drove him to the South Teren of its own accord.
When the storm did weaken, he was well clear—just another piece of jetsam on the river. Or maybe a corpse from the massacre in the Queen’s Gardens. Still he pushed on, spent by his efforts, but with no choice but to reach land. Finally his feet found purchase on the muddy riverbed. Letting go of the board, he struggled through the muck until he finally collapsed on the bank.
He may have slept. He must have. All he knew for certain was that the storm had cleared and the summer sun was beating down upon him. Nidon rolled to his back and sat up. Mud covered his legs and he was still soaked. He hadn’t slept long.
Only one galley remained near the Queen’s Gardens. It was too far to see if anyone remained on the tower. It was over. His men were dead. Nearly three hundred good men.
And Rayne?
The boy had been smart enough to flee the chaos on the tower, but had he gotten free of the keep? Smart lad, getting the king.
Rayne had gold—a good bit of it. But did he have it on him? If he was free of the keep he would be safe. Nobody would spare him a moment. He wasn’t even a squire. If he keeps his head, he’ll go east. Duke Welan will take him in.
There was nothing Nidon could do for him. Or any of his men who might have survived the battle. There was no way he could get into the city. And even if he could, he had no money and no arms. He could head east as well. But if he took up with Earl Welan the queen would eventually become aware of it.
He could go to Idoria and make a life as a mercenary. Any Idorian city would hire him in a moment. It felt strange to have to make such a choice. His life had only ever had one path. Or was there another choice?
He could go south. To Hadde. And her child. Morin’s child.
Dromost take me for an idiot. All my stupid dreams.
He could see her perfectly, just as he had seen her the night before the battle at King’s Crossing. She had been so beautiful, sitting alone by her campfire when hardly anyone else could get one lit.
And in the distance they had heard the varcolac hounding the army, their howls piercing the night’s calm. Varcolac. They will kill her. They’re hunting her now. That’s why they weren’t on the tower. She sent her precious varcolac to hunt down Hadde and her child.
And despite what he had learned of her relationship with Morin, and of her child, Nidon still loved her.
He got to his feet and climbed up the steep riverbank, pushing through the brush until he reached the open forest above. She was south.
He started running.
Before the Wasting the land south of the Treteren had been rich farmland. Stone walls and tree lines had separated large, open fields. Each year the Wasting had caused more and more people to abandon the land and much of it had lain fallow for almost two decades. But because of the Wasting, no trees had grown up in the empty fields, and many of the fields looked as if they had only been abandoned recently.
Nidon forced himself to conserve his strength as he crossed fields and jumped stone walls. He had miles to go with no food, money, or even shoes. A fool’s errand. Not the stuff knight’s quests are made of.
Just up the Treteren rested the town of Morera. It stood at the end of the ancient highway to Del-Oras and provided ferry service to Mor-Oras. But he couldn’t go there for help. The queen’s men would be there.
Instead he would run south, cross-country until he found a road that would take him south west toward Landomere. Then he would find a town and help. He was still Champion of Salador. And news of what had happened in Mor-Oras wouldn’t have reached them yet. Or so he hoped.
Nidon ran through open woods and abandoned fields. He gave thanks to the farmers who had tended the fields so well years ago. But still stones and sticks bruised and bloodied his feet. He drove on, pushing back at the pain.
A tiny abandoned village stood as a monument to the Wasting. It would be generations before the population grew enough to reclaim all that had been lost. His own demesne in the East Teren was surely a ruin.
When he could run no longer, Nidon slowed to a walk, limping now on a cut on the soft sole of his right foot. He drank from small brooks and ate the occasional late summer berry, but hunger and fatigue gnawed at him. He needed sleep and real food, but neither was in the offering.
His face still pounded with pain, his right eye partially swollen shut. He just gritted his teeth and shuffled back into a run. If not for Morin’s healing, Nidon was certain he would have collapsed long ago.
The sun climbed high in the sky. It was another brutally hot day, and the sweat poured from Nidon.
What good fortune that I only have the shirt on my back.
Chapter Thirty
Cynna handed Enna to Maret, who wrapped the wet baby up in a soft, linen towel. “And that makes two,” Maret said.
“I will clean up, lady,” Cynna said, glancing at the water-soaked stone floor around the tub.
“I will feed the children,” Maret said, tugging at the ties on the front of her dress. “Remember to bring up some mashed peas in the morning.”
“I will, lady. And I’ll have your dinner up as soon as I am finished with this.” She filled a large ceramic jug with water, but as she turned it slipped from her hand and fell crashing to the floor.
The door opened and one of the keep’s guards stepped into the room. “What’s happening?” he asked.
“I broke a jug, Gren. And what are you doing coming into a lady’s room without permission?”
“I’m guarding the room and thought something was amiss,” he said as he stepped into the room. Another soldier lingered in the doorway.
Gren’s gaze went to Maret and the unlaced front of her dress. He grinned back at the maid. “Perhaps you need a little help here?”
“Everything is in hand,” Maret said. Holding her dress closed with one hand while holding Enna in the other. Orlos gurgled on the bed behind her.
“Maybe I should help.” Gren gave his pole-axe to his friend and strode over to where Cynna bent over picking up shards of pottery. He slapped her on the behind. She jumped up and went to slap him, but he caught her hand in his own.
“Gren, you behave yourself and be off,” she said.
He grinned and let her hand go. “You know, the lady nurses her own whelps,” he said to his friend in the hall. “Never heard of a lady doing that.”
“Don’t know that she’s really a lady,” the other solider said.
“Still, wouldn’t mind seeing it. Maybe if she wore a veil.”
Both men laughed.
“Get out,” Maret said, blood rushing to her face. “Both of you.” Her heart beat heavily in her chest. She didn’t like the way they glanced at one another, each egging the other on.
“Or what? You’re going to tell on us?” Gren said.
“Who’s going to save you?” his friend said.
A chill went down Maret’s spine. Who’s going to save you? An image of Waltas’s leering face suddenly appeared in her mind. He said the same words. She had to take a step back to keep from falling.
“Don’t look so upset,” Gren said. He took a step toward her and Maret took an involuntary step back, her legs bumping against the side of her bed.
It won’t happen again. She had Arno’s knife hidden under the pillow. But she knew she couldn’t fight him off. He was too big—too strong. Just like Waltas.
Maret felt panic welling up in her, but pushed back at it. She was not the girl she had been a year and a half ago. She was stronger than that.
She forced herself to step towards Gren. “Who do you think you are?” she asked. She was still holding Enna, but with her free hand she pointed a finger at the soldier. “Who do you think you are?” she said, louder this time.
“Don’t get all—”
“Shut your filthy mouth!” Maret said, her voice cold and hard. “I am the daughter of Earl Seremar and mother of the future Duke of the South Teren. And do you know who you are?”
Gren took a step back, shaking his head. He raised his hands as if to appease her. “I—”
“Shut your filthy mouth,” Maret said again, stepping closer. “I’ll have you flogged, you filthy, disrespectful ass.” Still she marched towards him. He stumbled on a chair as he backed towards the door. “I’ll have you placed in stocks and give every woman you’ve ever touched a cudgel to beat you with. I’ll—”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Gren said as his back struck the partially open door. He turned and tried to open the door, but someone else was trying to come in at the same time.
“Out of my way!” Gren said, but he was pushed back into the room. Kael stood, blocking the door, glaring at Gren.
“Is anything amiss, Lady Maret?” Kael asked.
“This man and his friend forgot their station,” Maret replied, taking a deep breath to calm herself.
“Did they threaten you?” Kael’s hands clenched into fists.
Maret glanced at Cynna. “They were getting… aggressive.”
“I was just having a little fun,” Gren said, making his voice light.
“Let him out, Kael. He knows what will happen should he cross me again,” Maret said.
Kael moved aside, but still blocked the doorway enough that Gren was forced to scrape past him. Kael whispered something to the man as he escaped and got a dark look in reply.
“Gren is just stupid,” Cynna said. “He wouldn’t have done nothing. Nothing really bad, my lady.”
“Ever been in a siege before?” Kael asked, closing the door. “Sieges make stupid men stupider.”
“What are you, then?” Cynna asked. “Some kind of smart man?”
“No, I’ve done my share of stupid,” Kael said. “I’ll send those men off. And I’ll take watch in the hall.”
As he turned for the door, Maret asked, “Have you eaten dinner?”
“Not yet.”
“Cynna, when you bring my dinner, bring something for Kael as well. He’s done us a kindness.”
“I will, my lady,” Cynna said as she mopped up more of the spill.
“Thank you, Lady Maret,” Kael gave her a short bow and retreated to the hall. Cynna finished cleaning up and followed shortly after.
Maret propped herself up in bed and put both children to her breasts. The window was open and a breeze blew into the room. A hot breeze on a hot day, but at least it was a breeze. The sun was low in the cloudless sky. Outside men hammered on something.
I have to be strong. Whatever happens, I cannot be the victim again.
Maret dozed, in and out of sleep. From time to time a child would move or tug and she would wake, but only for a moment. She had fleeting dreams of Landomere. Good dreams.
By the time Cynna finally returned, both children had fallen asleep. Maret gently placed them in a large bassinet. They were tired enough that they hardly stirred.
Cynna set food upon the room’s small table. “I am sorry that it is not very much, but we are surrounded.” She made it sound like it was her fault for the siege.
Maret glanced out the window as she passed. It hardly seemed like a siege, but she knew enough about war to know how bad it could become.
“And did you bring food for Kael?” Maret glanced down at her own tray. Stew of some sort, dark bread, and a hard cheese.
“Yes, my lady. I gave it to him in the hall.”
“Bring him in. Set him a place.” Maret motioned to the chair across from her.
“Yes, my lady.” Cynna went to the door and came back with a second tray of food. Kael followed her.
“Please join me, Kael,” Maret said.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said and placed his poleaxe against the wall. He rested his crossbow next to it as well. “Not our usual dinner.”
He walked over to the table. Maret motioned for him to sit. “You mean sitting by a campfire eating pea soup?” she asked.
“Exactly. Now we’re sitting at a table eating pea soup.”
Maret laughed.
Cynna poured them both some wine. “Shall I stay and watch the children?” she asked.
“No, they are sound asleep. You may leave for the evening.”
“But, ah….” She glanced at Kael with brows raised. “You are certain I shouldn’t stay and watch… the children.”
“Cynna, Kael watched over me and the children the entire journey here. I am safe in his hands.” Her eyes met his for just a moment.
“Very well, if you insist.”
“Watch out for those guards,” Kael said. “I don’t like them.”
“I’ve dodged them two for ages,” she said. “I’ll manage. I’ll light a few candles for you and then I’ll be off.”
After Cynna left and they had had a few bites to eat, Maret said, “How is your back? Does it still hurt?’
He shrugged. “It hurts.”
“Oh, just an arrow in my back,” Maret said in a light, singsong voice. “Just a tickle.”
Kael smiled. “It is part of the trade. As long as the wound does not go bad, that is.”
“Kael, what am I to make of you?” The words were honest. What did she think of him? He was as strong and noble as a man should be. He cared for the children with more compassion than she had ever seen from a man. But he was one of them.
“What do you mean by that?” His chair creaked as he leaned back.
“You have shown me nothing but kindness, but you are also one of the men who took me from my home.”
He took a swig of wine. “I’m caught in a trap, Lady Maret. I—”
“You can call me Maret.”
“You are a lady and I am a common man. The maid was right. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“I have no more title. I gave it up when I became Landomeri.”
“Not something that can be given up. It is in your blood.”
“My father is an eternal who went over to Akinos. I was raped and mutilated and gave birth to a bastard son.” She stared out the window into the gathering darkness. “There is nothing special about my blood.”
“You do yourself wrong. There is an army of Landomeri out there come to rescue you.”
“They are here to rescue Enna and Orlos.”
“And you.”
Maret shrugged. “You didn’t finish what you were saying. Why aren’t you like the others?”
“I was just like them, when I was younger. Maybe had more discipline being in the ambassador’s guard. And then I had a wife and child and grew up some.”
“Will you marry again?”
His eyes widened at the question. “Are you asking me?” he said with a smile.
“Don’t joke,” Maret said. “Nobody will marry me. Not for love.”
“I don’t see why not,” Kael said. “The way you fight for those children. You are a wonderful woman.”
Maret’s face flushed. “Why do you taunt me? Look at my face.”
“What of it? My wife only had one eye and one arm.”
Maret’s jaw dropped and she covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m so sorry. How?”
“She was putting an anvil up on a shelf and dropped it.”
“What? No!”
Kael gave a solemn nod. “Forsvar bless her, she could lift a wagon by herself before the accident.”
“But who could lift an anvil up… and why?” And then she saw the gleam in his eye. “You! You made that up!”
/> And then he was roaring with laughter. And so was she.
***
Hadde crept through the darkness toward the breach in the keep’s walls. The Saladorans had worked on the palisade, sealing it throughout the day, making less and less effort to conceal what they were up to. And their work continued into the night.
Close by, more Landomeri advanced towards the moat. Half, like her, carried bundles of dry twigs; the rest held pots of lamp oil and pitch they had looted from the town.
The Saladorans had learned a hard lesson the first night of the siege and none appeared on the walls, although she was certain some peered carefully from behind the crenellations. And maybe one has a crossbow aimed at me right now.
But the Saladorans had terrible night vision, and their work crew had the palisade well lit from behind as they did their work. We should be safe for a bit longer at least. Until we hit the moat.
Sweat dripped down Hadde’s brow, mixing with the charcoal she had used to blacken her face, and dripping into her eyes. She wiped it away with her arm. They’ll shoot that nice clean spot now.
But they had to take the risk. They had to make the keep’s defenders fear for their lives or they would just hold out until help arrived.
She eased her bundle a few strides forward, down into the muddy bank of the moat. Starlight glimmered off the water. Her hopes for a cloudy night had not come off. It was moonless, at least.
Hadde nodded to Calen, just to her right, and they slipped into the water. Someone nearby splashed. She caught her breath, waiting for the snap of crossbows and the hiss of bolts in the darkness.
The Saladorans continued their hammering. If the Landomeri were spotted, they were to rush the palisade and throw down their burdens. Forty archers hid in the darkness behind them, waiting to fill the air with arrows that would sweep the walls clear of defenders.
The moat water felt good, even if it wasn’t the freshest stream she had ever been in. Better than the sewers of Sal-Oras, but not by much. And she had never swum in the sewers, although climbing the privy-shaft had been close enough.