The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  Bethany slid off the horse’s back, doing her best to ignore the jarring her numb feet took as she landed on solid ground. She untied the bundles of burlap and tossed one of the bags to the knight. Both of them knelt and rubbed the Éimhin’s legs until they were dry.

  “Push the snow away from the center,” ordered the knight as he pointed to the middle of the tiny clearing amongst a group of enormous fir trees.

  Bethany did so, finding needles and packed earth beneath the shallow snow. While she did this, the knight busied himself digging through the dead bushes and tossing twigs and stick at her. She quickly learned the value of ducking after three consecutive blows to the head.

  A few minutes later, Sir Caldry had coaxed a tiny blaze from the proceeds of his search, using a piece of flint and steel that he pulled from the small pouch on his belt. Evidently the guards had not searched him very thoroughly when they put them in the dungeon, or maybe they didn’t see flint and steel as a weapon.

  “I want you to go search for some large, flat stones,” ordered the knight as he worked to keep the tiny fire going.

  “Excuse me?” she said. Helping to keep the horse healthy was one thing, but I’m not a slave anymore. He can get his own stones, she told herself angrily.

  “Search for stones or freeze to death,” he said, his jaw tight with unexpressed rage.

  Bethany felt herself swallow in fear, and before she could will herself to argue, her body moved on its own accord. She crawled through the snow and needles, her hands hurting with each prick, to look for stones. She found a few right away, but the knight dismissed them as too round or too small.

  What was he wanting? she wondered.

  Finally, she found a few large, flat stones that looked much like old, warn paving stones. She dragged them back to the camp site one at a time. By the time she had the last one back, her knees were scraped and bruised and her palms bled slightly. Much to her chagrin, she found herself crying as she dropped the last stone near the fire.

  The knight didn’t look up as he continued to arrange the stones as he saw fit. He was positioning them upright, one end secured in the ground, around the fire. The effect was a small wall that guarded half the fire from wind. It also meant she didn’t feel any of the warmth from the fire as she sat on the opposite side. Bethany shivered and tried to rub her hands together, but the scrapes she had received while rock hunting hurt too badly.

  “Come to this side,” he ordered.

  Bethany hesitated, but as she saw the fire glow upon his face, she realized his side—the side of the fire without stones—would be warmer. She obeyed and sat beside him, as far as she could without leaving the warmth.

  “Here, put this on over your cloths,” he ordered, tossing her the mended dress.

  Without thinking about what it might look like, Bethany scrambled into the dress, wrapping the skirting around her legs as tightly as she could. Just as she had expected, the knight’s side of the fire was much warmer; in fact, it seemed as though the stones pushed the heat toward them.

  She held out her hands toward the fire and sighed. Much to her surprise, the knight climbed to his feet with a grunt and began lopping low hanging branches off the fir trees. After a few minutes, he turned back to her as though had just noticed her inactivity.

  “Unsaddle the horse,” he ordered. “That’ll be your first task every night.”

  “I don’t know how,” she said primly, turning her gaze back on the small fire.

  Before she knew what was happening, the knight had grabbed her by the collar of the dress and hoisted her to her feet. “Then learn,” he growled.

  He dragged her over to where Éimhin stood patiently under the horse blanket, his nose sniffling around the snow in search of something edible. It took only a few minutes for her to learn how to handle the tack, but no amount of explaining could make her strong enough to pull the enormous saddle off the horse’s tall back without damaging it in some sort of fall. Sir Caldry agreed to handle the saddle until she was stronger. Secretly, Bethany doubted she would ever be strong enough to pull that monstrosity off the horse’s back, much less lift it up again in the morning.

  After they finished with the horse, he told her to search for more dry wood. Bethany nearly burst into tears, and flat out refused to do any more work, but one quick slap from the knight had her scurrying for the underbrush. She suddenly realized that he would not be treating her like a princess in the days ahead, but like the slave she had once been. The journey—of some unknown distance—stretched out before her.

  It would be worth it, she told herself over and over again as she rummaged for dry timber. She finally found a dead stump under a thick bush, from which she was able to coax a large pile of decent size chunks. She piled these into the skirting of her dress and clambered back to the campsite.

  When she returned, she found that the knight had not been idle either. With the fir branches he had chopped off, he had created a squishy padding for them to sit on and half a shelter. It wasn’t large enough for both of them to sit under comfortably, but if any snow escaped the thick trees, it would be stopped by his efforts. The knight was impressed with her haul, and sent her back with the driest of the burlap sacks, saying dry wood would be hard to find and that they could take some with them in the morning.

  Bethany was going to try refusing again when she saw the knight raise his hand in warning. She crawled back to the distant stump and worked to fill the bag. Tears of exhaustion and hunger streamed down her face as she pried the crumbling wood away from the stump, ignoring the slivers that jammed into her flesh. As she worked and cried, she grew numb, forgetting about time.

  Fill the bag. Fill the bag. Fill the bag, she chanted to herself in time with her work.

  A long time later, she heard a voice calling her name. She glanced around, realizing it had grown dark and the burlap sack large enough to hold the saddle, was nearly full of what had once been the rotting stump. The stump was now barely visible over the snow line. Before she could do or say anything, the knight appeared.

  “What have you been…” he stopped what he was saying, his eyes going round.

  Bethany didn’t know what she looked like, but she knew it wasn’t good. Her hair had been pulled out of its muddy plaits by the low hanging branches and tears had cleared streaks down her dirty face. The knight knelt down beside her and took her bleeding hands in his. A shiver ran up her spine.

  “Come back to camp,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice as he took hold of the heavy sack and threw it over his shoulders with ease.

  She followed, more tears working their way down her face, as each step on the needles cause yet more pain in her feet.

  “Sit by the fire.”

  Bethany obeyed, but strangely enough, the fire felt too hot, painful even. She tried to scoot away, but Sir Caldry was already there with the horse blanket. He sat down next to her, wrapping it and his arm around her. He pulled her to his side, keeping her from moving away from the awful heat. She stiffened and nearly burst into tears yet again when he flipped up her skirt and began rubbing her bright red feet. The thin slippers she had been wearing when she set the fire in the arms depot were nearly unrecognizable. Between the snow and mud, they had changed colors and now barely stayed on her feet. Therefore, they were doing nothing to protect her feet from the frozen ground and wet snow.

  “I’ll find you boots tomorrow,” he said as he rubbed her feet until they hurt.

  She whimpered as the feeling returned and he rubbed harder.

  Bethany felt overwhelmed with emotion. If the knight would simply act one way toward her she might be able to handle it. But one minute he was kind and the next mean. She never knew how he was going to respond, and the strain of “walking on egg shells” as her mom called it, was sapping the last of her strength.

  “I’ll also find us food,” added the knight before he wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her even closer. “I know this makes you uncomfortable, but it’s going to
be a cold night.”

  Bethany couldn’t speak. She just nodded and tried to relax into his arms.

  To her great astonishment, before she could even attempt to relax, Éimhin stomped up to where they were sitting and carefully lowered himself to the ground right behind them.

  Sir Caldry chuckled. “Ol’ man’s cold too,” he said before pulling her back against the horse’s side.

  After a few minutes like this, the knight urged her back into a sitting position.

  What now? she wondered.

  Her exhaustion was making even the slightest change feel overwhelming and frightening. Sir Caldry pulled the blanket out from behind them and carefully draped it over them, nearly getting it in the fire. They leaned back against the warm belly of the horse as Sir Caldry wrapped his arm around her again.

  “Go to sleep, Princess,” he murmured as he leaned his head back against Éimhin’s stomach.

  Chapter Eight

  Lyolf jerked as his body nearly fell off the stool. He looked around, trying to remember why he was asleep in the city’s main gatehouse. In the two days since Bethany and Sir Caldry had escaped, Lyolf had been working to find them with only the shortest pauses to rest. He glanced around, wondering why they had let him fall asleep. As he slowly climbed to his feet, he realized a thick blanket had been draped over his body.

  “You’re awake, my lord,” said one of the guards as he emerged from the small quarters used by the guards, a cup of steaming mulled wine in his hands.

  He handed the cup over and Lyolf took a long pull of the strong drink. The prince sighed as he felt the liquid warm his unsettled stomach.

  “How long have I been out?”

  “’Bout four hours. Cap’n said not to wake you, on pain o’ death.”

  The guard winked at the prince, surprisingly relaxed around him. Lyolf had to remind himself that most of the guards didn’t treat him as they did his brothers. Lyolf drank a little more as he gazed out upon the small farms dotting the hillside, divided by clumps of forest. His gaze drifted up to the sky, which was growing lighter with the morning sun. A thick blanket of clouds obscured the sun. If they didn’t hurry, another snow storm would be on them and they’d lose all trace of the escapees.

  Lyolf couldn’t decide if he liked that idea or not. His mind wandered back to the moment yesterday morning when he had seen Bethany leading Cal’s unusually large horse through the gatehouse. Lyolf had barely recognized her or the horse. Both looked as though they had rolled through the rubbish pile. She looked even dirtier than she had when she worked as a slave in the castle. Lyolf had lifted his hand and opened his mouth to bring attention to her presence, but suddenly, and without thinking about it, he had lowered his hand and returned to searching the other travelers.

  The prince had spent every free second wondering why he had done that. The logical reason had been that Sir Caldry had not been anywhere in sight, and it would be better to capture them together, but Lyolf knew, in his heart, that that had been an excuse. He didn’t want to see them caught. He liked Cal, and he even thought he might like Bethany too.

  Lyolf rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. What had he gotten himself into? More importantly, what should he do about? Should he try to divert the search away from them, or should he admit he was wrong and do everything in his power to find them?

  Before he could come to any sort of resolution, Pelor, the man charged with finding them beyond the castle, appeared. He sat astride a little Chestnut mare with a cream mane and tail. The sword-for-hire pulled his mare to a stop within the shelter of the gatehouse and dismounted.

  Lyolf didn’t like the man, but he couldn’t say exactly why. There was just something about him that rubbed Lyolf the wrong way.

  Pelor smiled at him, looking fully refreshed. “Ready to dig in the snow again?”

  Lyolf forced a smile to his face as he nodded. The city guards had a good handle on the search within the city, and their leaders were able to keep it organized, meaning Lyolf got to spend his days with Pelor searching for their trail. Lyolf turned to the guard and gave him a nod.

  A few minutes later, the guard returned with Lyolf’s horse, followed by the men who would be working with them today. Lyolf’s horse was a sturdy animal with dark cream hide and mane. Not waiting for any more discourse, Lyolf handed his mug over to the guard and mounted his horse. Pelor copied Lyolf, mounting his own horse.

  Their small troop left the shelter of the gatehouse and headed out into the surrounding area. They had discussed their plans the night before, when it finally grew too dark to search in the forest, so there was no need for discussion now.

  Each group broke off, heading in their assigned direction, multiple cages with carrier pigeons for sending messages strapped to the rumps of their horses.

  Carrier pigeons were mated with another bird, and when released would fly to its mate. The four groups of searchers had created a sort of network with the pigeons, keeping certain ones with them and having others for sending off.

  Much to Lyolf’s frustration, Pelor insisted that the two of them stay in the same group. Personally, Lyolf thought it would be better if they split up, but he decided not to fight the issue. After all, this was Pelor’s domain as per the king’s orders. If he screwed up it would be his head.

  Besides, Lyolf hadn’t even decided if he hoped for the fugitive’s discovery or their escape.

  After a long trek down the hillside, they stumbled upon a trail leading toward a burned out building. The group dismounted and looked around.

  “Think it’s worth a look?” asked Pelor.

  “Would seem stupid to ignore it,” murmured Lyolf, feeling a new sense of annoyance boil up inside him. “Mark it,” he added to the guards.

  The two guards who were in their small group, pulled out a flag and marked the beginning of the trail. Without asking, Lyolf dismounted and started to trek down the path. It wasn’t the normal sort of tracking. It took a lot less skill. With many feet of snow, they didn’t have to look for broken twigs or muddy footprints. They just had to find a place where someone had battled their way through the snow beyond the shoveled paths.

  Within minutes, Lyolf felt sweat trickle down his back under his heavy winter clothing and armor. It was hard going despite the slight trench created by the previous travelers. On the other side of the burned-out barn they found a space where the snow had been packed down by feet and hooves. Lyolf even spotted the indentation of a rather large horse hoof. From one side of the little clearing was a smaller trail, likely made by a man without a horse. At the northern end of the clear was a larger trail. Lyolf stopped looking around, waiting for Pelor to verbalize his findings. He didn’t feel like helping the sellsword.

  To his disgust, Pelor came up with the same conclusions as Lyolf.

  “They split up at some point. One of them came with the horse through that trail.” He pointed back toward the road. “The other, likely the knight with the scar, came through the woods.” Pelor pointed at the smaller trail. “And they went off together that way.” Finally, he pointed at the northern trail.

  Lyolf nodded his agreement, his stomach turning. If Pelor was right, then they couldn’t be far behind them. Would they find the runaways today? Lyolf needed to decide what he was going to do. Was he really committed to saving Cal and the princess? Would he risk his standing with the royal family for them? Did he even have a standing with the royal family or was that a figment of his imagination?

  “Bring the horses,” yelled Pelor.

  A moment later the guards joined them, pulling the horses along. In the little clearing, Pelor and Lyolf remounted.

  “Mark this spot and stay here until we call for you,” said Pelor.

  Clearly, he didn’t want the extra horse hooves mucking things up. Lyolf was frustrated to find the other man really did know what he was doing. The two of them followed the path for a number of yards down the mountain side before realizing the trail continued to wind its way a long dis
tance. When they came to this conclusion, they called for the other men to join them. Once they were collected again, they sent a pigeon to one of the other groups to inform they had found a promising lead. With this done, they continued on for many cold miles.

  Snow was just beginning to fall in great flurries when the trail stopped beside a wide stream. Lyolf instantly realized the rest of the trail was beyond them and was disgusted to find Pelor had quickly come to the same conclusion.

  “They’ll have used the stream to hide their trail.”

  Lyolf nodded.

  Pelor grinned at him. “Guess it’s time for me to go hunting. I’ll go back with you to the castle to collect some supplies and head out tonight before this storm covers the trail entirely.”

  Lyolf heaved a sigh of relief. Whatever their fate, it was beyond his involvement. It was easier to have the choice taken from him. Still, a twinge of guilt made his stomach turn. Such indecision could not only result in his own death, but very likely might get Cal and Bethany caught and beheaded.

  The prince cringed.

  I have to do something, he told himself as he turned his horse around within the tiny space of the trail and headed back toward the burned-out barn. He had to get himself out of this castle, where he found himself debating what was right and wrong. He was growing too much like the king.

  The minute he was free from this awful search, he would leave to join the army.

  Maybe I’ll even renounce my crown, he thought as his horse plunged forward over a lumpy pile of snow. A dark chuckle tried to escape his lips as he thought of Wolfric’s response.

  Chapter Nine

  Bethany woke with a start, her body stiff and cold despite the blanket, the horse, and the man. She wondered what had woken her so suddenly when Éimhin twitched again, his enormous hoof bashing into her exposed leg. Without meaning to, she let out a loud wail of pain and jerked her legs up to her chest. Before she could do or say anything, the knight was awake and had a rough hand clamped over her mouth.