“Are you crazy?” growled the knight.
Once again, tears streamed down Bethany’s cheeks. She pulled her dress up, followed by the leg of her worn pant. An impressive bruise was already turning black on her thigh. Unlike the night before, Sir Caldry showed no sympathy. He climbed to his feet and began pilling snow onto the glowing embers of their fire. Once he had entirely covered the embers, he took a stick and stirred the mess until what remained was a wet, gray blob. Over the top of this he piled fresh snow. When he stopped working, she couldn’t even tell there had once been a fire there.
By this time Éimhin had clambered to his feet, barely missing Bethany, who was also trying to stand up. The horse shook out its mane, which was still clumped with mud, and nuzzled her as though to apologize for clobbering her with his hoof.
Bethany glanced over at the knight. He was glowering at her and the horse. Had she done something else wrong already?
“Let’s get him saddled.”
They worked together, Sir Caldry doing the saddle because she couldn’t lift it, while she worked the bridle over Éimhin’s face. The knight had been a good instructor and, with little difficulty, she managed to get the bridle on shortly after he had finished with the saddle. Bethany moved around to the side of the horse, her feet hurting in the cold snow, and took hold of the saddle. She wanted to mount herself.
Sir Caldry stepped back, evidently knowing what she wanted. She tried three times to get her foot high enough to reach the stirrup before falling face first in the snow. Sir Caldry stepped forward to lift her out of the snow. She felt a deep sense of shame as he hoisted her up onto the saddle.
Can’t I just do one thing right? she wondered as the knight took hold of the reins and began to lead them into the thicket.
He had to stop often to cut away at branches with his dagger. The going was slow, and Bethany found herself glancing over her shoulder every few minutes. The knight was doing the same thing, though he was looking at her rather than any tracker. He glowered up at her, wrapped snuggling in the horse blanket, and slowly Bethany realized what was bothering him.
“You could just ask,” she said when he glanced up at her yet again.
“What, and bother the princess up on her high horse?”
Rage boiled up inside her, heating her frozen cheeks. From a desire to show him just how wrong he was about her, rather than a desire to help, she slipped off the horse, flinging the blanket over Éimhin’s back, and began breaking off branches with her bare hands.
“What about your feet?” he asked in a voice tinged with surprise.
Evidently, he hadn’t expected her to actually help. Bethany tried to keep her lips from pulling up into a smug smile. She would show him!
“I’ll be fine,” she grumbled as she snapped off another twig.
In truth, she wasn’t fine. Within minutes her feet were numb with cold and her fingers weren’t much warmer. The thicket was so dense that they often found themselves unable to cut through and were forced to retrace their steps until they found a clearer path.
“Why can’t we just stay in the stream?” she finally asked, her arms aching with the effort and her raw hands hurting any time she touched a branch.
She wasn’t sure how much longer she could last. As it was, sheer willpower was keeping her on her feet. Despite the cold, pain, and hunger, she refused to stop while he continued to work.
“About a mile downstream from where we camped, the stream turns and heads south for a long ways.”
She stared at him, unsure why heading south was a bad thing.
“Dothan is north of Tolad.”
“Oh.” Bethany hesitated, unsure how to word her question without sounding as uneducated as she felt. “How long will it take us to get to Dothan?”
“Your father never showed you maps of the Peninsula?”
“He did, but I only ever traveled around his land. It doesn’t give one much perspective of how large it all really is,” she explained. The knight didn’t speak so she repeated her question.
“Months, Princess, months. If we get there at all.”
“IF!” shouted Bethany before she remembered their need for secrecy.
Sir Caldry glared at her for a second before answering. “It’s a long way there. We have nearly no money, no food, and you’re on the point of hypothermia. If we’re not careful, we won’t even make it down this mountain.”
Bethany lowered her eyes, the realization of his words making her shoulders feel heavy. She didn’t know what he was talking about as far as hypothermia; she didn’t even feel cold anymore. Bethany turned back to her work and continued to break off the smaller branches, leaving the bigger ones for Sir Caldry and his knife.
Before she had broken off more than a couple twigs, the knight came to her side and lifted up her skirts.
“Hey!” she exclaimed.
But the movement had brought attention to her feet and legs; they were a shocking shade of red. They didn’t hurt. In fact, she couldn’t feel them at all.
“Up into the saddle, now!” ordered the knight.
She was going to argue, but one look on the knight’s scarred face and she thought better of it.
“No point getting you home if you have no feet,” he mumbled. “Doubt they’d give me a reward then.”
Bethany pulled the blanket over her shoulders while the knight pulled her flimsy slippers off and rubbed her feet until they hurt. He then took the scraps of burlap and wound them around her feet. With the burlap, her slippers wouldn’t fit, but they were so wet they weren’t worth anything.
“Not much use, eh?” he said as he handed them up to her.
“Why not just leave them?”
“For some tracker to find?”
“You think they’re still after us?” she asked.
“Wolfric doesn’t give up.”
With that chilling statement, Sir Caldry turned back to the impeding branches.
Thankfully, it wasn’t much farther before they broke free of the thicket to gaze upon a sloping valley, dotted with farm houses, animals sturdy enough to handle the cold, and the occasional grove. On this northern side of the forest the snow wasn’t nearly as deep. Sir Caldry swung himself up into the saddle, rearranged the blanket so that it covered them both, and urged Éimhin on.
They made it down the slope with only a few nervous moments where Éimhin slid more than walked. Once they made it into the wide valley, they slowed down and tried their best to stay within the fruit-tree groves. In one particularly overgrown grove, Sir Caldry pulled the horse to a stop.
“Stay here with Einhim. I’m going to sneak in and see what supplies I can find.”
Cal ignored the look of shock and fear spreading across the princess’ face as he turned and jogged to the edge of the grove. Being the dead of winter, there wasn’t even any rotting fruit for them to eat. His stomach rumbled at him and he felt the weakness of hunger. He hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before yesterday. No doubt, the princess was feeling it more than he was. She hadn’t even regained her former strength after living as a slave. She had no extra fat to live on. He needed to find her food, and quickly.
This all would have been a lot easier without her. Without her, he would have made it to Domhain, or maybe even Bumi, and started a new life for himself, but now he had to travel from one end of the enormous Peninsula all the way to the other end, on the hopes that they would grant him some sort of reward. More likely they would just behead him and be done with it. That’s what Wolfric would do.
No, the Dothan’s were different, he told himself as he reached the edge of the grove.
Cal glanced around, making sure no one was out and about. The sun was starting its downward slope toward dusk. Most farmers would be inside with their women, enjoying a well-earned meal.
He darted across a large field as fast as he could in six-inch-deep snow. At the other end of the field he ducked behind a small shed. One quick glance inside showed that it held nothing but tools.
From there he zig-zaged his way up to the barn. He peeked his head in, gave it the barest examinations, and slipped inside, shutting the great doors as quickly as he could. The horses and cows voiced their surprise at his sudden appearance, but quickly settled down, returning to their evening meal.
Inside, he found exactly what he had hoped to see: The wife had been using the high ceiling of the barn to hang her washing during the winter months. From long lines hung clothing items of all sorts from knitted sweaters to market-day dresses. Before worrying about the clothing, Cal dug around the barn for other provisions. He found an enormous barrel full of oats and pilfered a generous helping, scooping the proceeds into a small sack he found in their tack room.
Cal also found a room filled with winter provision, everything from smoked meat to jars of preserved vegetables. In a second sac, Cal piled meat, jars, and a wheel of hard cheese. Finally, he took a few garments down the line. They were still damp, but they could get them dry eventually. He wanted to search for boots, but worried about how long he had spent in there. Besides, the light was fading and soon he wouldn’t be able to see to search.
He flung the garments over his shoulder, scooped up the two bags, and slipped out of the storeroom. Just as he neared the main door he heard the sound of male voices.
“Just let me check on that mare,” said a deep voice.
Cal glanced around, noticing for the first time a mare in the early stages of labor. He swallowed his fear and darted into a stall housing a small pony, clearly the property of one of the farmer’s younger children. The little animal trotted up to him and nuzzled his arm. In an effort to direct the pony’s attention away from him, he tossed a handful of oats to the other end of the stall and pressed himself into the corner just as the farmer entered.
A large, burly man, entered with a young man of barely eighteen or nineteen years—most likely the farmer’s eldest son and heir.
“I’m tellin’ you, Dad, she was barely startin’,” said the younger man as they slipped into the barn and headed toward the mare’s stall, on the far side of the barn from where Cal huddled.
“Just barely starting, eh?” asked the father as he peered into the stall.
From where he hid, Cal couldn’t see anything, but the sounds of the foaling mare were enough to give him a clue. She was far enough along to need watching, but he doubted far enough to deliver anytime soon. As silently as he could, Cal slipped down into the straw, pulled his legs up against his chest, and hunkered down for a long wait. He just hoped the princess wouldn’t leave him behind.
Some hours later, Cal woke from a light doze. The barn was darker now, with nothing but one well-guarded lamp hanging above the stall of the foaling mare. Cal peeked through the slats of his stall. The men were now in the stall with the mare, so it couldn’t be much longer. The older man was speaking soothing words to the mare, while the younger man appeared to be working at the business end of things. A few minutes later, the mare let out a sigh and scrambled to her feet.
Cal didn’t expect it to be much longer, but he wasn’t sure if these were the type of farmers to watch over the mare and her foal for the rest of the night. To his disgust, the men exited the stall and found themselves a comfortable seat on bales of hay. The father leaned back, and within minutes, produced a respectable snore.
The son glared at his father before closing his own eyes. Cal waited and waited, but the son kept repositioning himself, checking on the foal, and occasionally even pacing the length of the barn.
Why won’t he go to sleep? Cal wondered as he tried to stay silent, despite his cramping legs.
He needed to get out of there. Who knew what Bethany was thinking. Could she even survive the freezing night by herself, with no fire to keep away the cold? At least Éimhin hadn’t shown any of his usual aggression toward her. Hopefully she wouldn’t be missing a chunk from her shoulder when he finally got back.
Finally, when Cal was about to nestle back down for more sleep, the young man settled on a pile of loose hay and began to snore. Cal forced himself to continue to wait. It wouldn’t do him any good to rush now, before the young man was fully asleep.
Half an hour later, Cal climbed to his feet, picked up his pilfered items, and slipped out of the stall. He tiptoed to the main door as silently and as quickly as he could and slipped out. The large door shut with a gentle thud, and from outside the barn, he heard the son wake with a start.
“What…” began the son, no doubt looking around.
“Shit,” whispered Cal as he bolted toward the nearest form of cover: the tool shed. There he stopped and waited. The next leg of the journey was a long one, and he wouldn’t cross the field if the son chose to come outside and investigate. No one emerged and so Cal took off across the field. He had just stumbled into the overgrown grove when he heard the men exit the barn.
“You’re imagining things, Jak,” said the farmer.
“No, Da, I heard something, like the barn door closing. And didn’t Ma have more washin’ dryin’ in there?”
“She must have already come to fetch ‘em,” grumbled the father.
Cal didn’t wait to hear the rest of the conversation. He forced his tired, shaky legs back into a run. Moments later, he stumbled through a particularly thick swath of undergrowth and nearly stepped on the princess. She lay on the ground, huddled under the one blanket. From the markings in the snow, Cal guessed Éimhin had been lying down next to her, but at some point in the night had risen and began to forage for food. He stood a few feet away munching on some winter grasses he had unearthed.
The knight dropped his ill-gotten swag and pulled the princess out of the snow. Even to his cold fingers, her skin felt chilled. Her lips were losing color and she appeared nearly lifeless—her eyelids fluttered once before she dropped further into unconsciousness.
He couldn’t start a fire here, not on the farm of the man he had just robbed. So Cal tied the bags to Éimhin’s saddle, scooped Bethany up, and, with a lot of effort and luck, managed to get them both into the saddle. He kicked Éimhin into a fast trot and headed for the opposite end of the grove.
They emerged from the grove near the road, which was mostly clear of snow due to its unusual traffic. Cal urged Éimhin into an easy canter. Though he had intended to avoid the road at all costs, Cal decided that now seemed the time to break his resolution. He needed to get to a place where he could build a fire as quickly as possible, and the road would do that better than trudging through the underbrush and trying to cross fields unseen. Besides, this late at night, he didn’t expect to meet anyone, even on the road.
As he rode, he rubbed Bethany’s arms, and even ventured to pull the blanket aside and to rub her chest and back. He gave Éimhin his head and the horse loped on. They had just begun to climb out of the valley and into the surrounding woods when Cal spotted something off to the side of the road.
He pulled Éimhin to a stop and turned back to see.
Perfect! he thought as he turned the horse around and urged him off the road.
One end of the shack had collapsed under the weight of previous snow falls, but the end with the door was still intact. He even saw the chimney of a fire place. While staying on the horse, he managed to swing the tall door open. If he ducked, they would be able to get inside before he climbed off. It was awkward, but the sturdy knight managed it in the end. He lay Bethany on the ground and draped the stolen clothing over her.
Within the enclosure of the shack, he found an ample supply of dry wood, and a quick glance at the snow accumulation in the fireplace told him that the chimney wasn’t blocked. Cal brushed the snow out of the grate and piled it with pieces of wood of all shapes and sizes. In minutes, Cal had a cheery fire going.
Now for the awkward bit, he thought as he moved back to Bethany’s side.
He took the clothing and draped them over the mantle of the fire place. With nervous fingers, he undid her dress and pulled it off her body. Cal tried to keep her covered with the blanket as he pulled of
f the rest of her clothing, but it wasn’t always possible. He then removed his own shirt and climbed under the blanket with her.
Cal flinched as her icy skin touched his, but forced himself not to pull away. Her best hope was taking some of his body heat. He rubbed her stomach and chest, trying his best to be a gentleman.
Knowing my luck, this is when she’ll wake up, he thought to himself as he used her dress to cover her head.
Chapter Ten
Lyolf released a gusty sigh of relief as he watched Pelor ride away. His leaving had been delayed by the snowstorm. How he would track them now, Lyolf didn’t know. Nor did he care. He was happy to see Pelor fail, not only because he had taken a sudden and unexplained dislike for the man, but because he wanted to know that Cal was alive somewhere in the world.
Wolfric had let it slip that Sir Caldry would likely be heading toward Dothan. Perhaps the tracker intended to head north and hope to stumble upon a clue, but even Wolfric seemed to have no illusions about the likelihood of Pelor’s success. Nevertheless, to help him with the locals, they had dressed Pelor in the uniform of a high-ranking guard.
Lyolf turned away from the sight, nodded to the guards on duty, and trudged back to the keep. The recent snow fall meant the crews were out in full force, re-clearing the essential paths. The one leading from the keep’s main entrance to the gatehouse was the first to be cleared. The enormous piles of snow often acted as funnels, driving the harsh winds down their paths until it was difficult to even walk. Thankfully, today the habitual wind was little more than a breeze.
The prince entered the keep and turned toward the staircase that was the quickest route to his room. After three days with little to no sleep, he was ready to collapse on his bed and not wake until the snow melted. He had nearly made it to the seclusion of his small room when a slave came rushing to his side.
“King… wants…you… Prince Féderic’s…room,” panted the slave.
Lyolf sighed as he motioned the salve to return to his duties. The slave nodded and trotted away, his hand pressed against his side. Lyolf turned back and started off for his brother’s room. He knocked gently on the door before being admitted.
The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy Page 36