by Aldrea Alien
Her gaze dropped to the road winding towards the towers as their horses high-stepped across the grass. Despite the trail leading out of the kingdom and into that of their lord’s enemy, people still populated the way in an endless ribbon of carts, riders and pedestrians. Both in and out. “Is it safe?”
Grinning, he nodded. “Perfectly. The Pillars are well manned, as are the scout towers atop the ridge. Our enemies know this. No one has dared to march through the gorge in decades, it’d be too perilous and no sane leader would lead his men to certain death.”
That didn’t say much for those who were considered less sane. She could well imagine a person like Lucias’ mother driving men to their deaths in order to see her son slain. Clara tore her gaze from the gleaming stone of the Pillars to scan the mountain, half expecting to find danger rearing its head from every bush and tree.
The land either side of the passage stood bare, its stony surface dotted with lesser towers roosting on ledges like chickens. No places to hide. Still, she couldn’t shake the skin-itching sensation that they tempted fate just sitting here. “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go back to the city.” Whilst she saw no logical way for anyone to attack them where they were, being behind Endlight’s walls would soothe her nerves.
Lucias frowned. His mouth opened as if he was about to object, before twisting into a rueful smile. “It seems I can’t even escape being the Great Lord out here with you. If it’ll make you feel better, then we will return to the castle.” He turned his mount and led the way back, joining the road to plod alongside a pair of carriages.
The hitched horses of one slowed, clearly an order from the driver than the animals for the beasts issued some objection to the command, before the other on her right sped up. A strange choice to make with the gate just cresting over the brow of the hill, for surely a traveller would want to reach their destination swiftly.
Still, Clara dismissed it. Her imagination must’ve been running off with her common sense again, seeing danger in every minor act.
Although the way the driver on her right looked at Lucias…
She doubted the man recognised his Great Lord. Whilst Lucias put off the air of a noble or wealthy merchant’s son, there was no definitive sign that he was different to any other man. Nor were they the only people upon horseback.
The driver finally seemed to realise his less-than-pleasant stare had been noticed. He returned to glaring at the road ahead and went for his whip, tapping something fierce on the roof with the butt of the handle.
Clara couldn’t tear her gaze from the driver’s actions. There was something about him. The whip appeared to be unstuck, yet the man kept up the rhythmic banging, and he seemed to haul on the reins every so often rather than trying to encourage the horses onwards. She risked a glance towards Lucias, seeking answers.
He, too, eyed the driver. His customary grasp on his sword hilt had become tight enough for his knuckles to go white. Even his destrier seemed agitated, high-stepping its way up the road. “Clara,” he whispered, indicating she closed the distance between them with a twitch of his head. When she managed to aim Sable in that direction, Lucias continued, “I want you to go on ahead. Alert the guards at the gate.”
Dread settled in her stomach like a brick. Nodding, Clara urged the pony to increase its ambling pace. Sable’s ears swung back and the pony offered a few shambling steps before returning to the lazy strides. She urged him harder, feeling the hollow thump as her booted heels connected with his side. “I’m really sorry about this, boy.” Another kick and Sable leapt into a bone-shaking trot.
Both carriage drivers seemed to ignore her as she bounced by. The one on her right gave a final bang on the footwell of his seat, echoed by the other on her left. There was the click of a door latch, faint enough over the crunch of hooves and wheels on gravel that she almost missed it.
“Die, devil!” a man roared. The cry was met with more bellows.
In one swift movement, Clara wheeled her pony around.
Men poured from the carriages, so many that they must’ve packed themselves like a well-stuffed pie. They surrounded Lucias’ horse, harrying it with swords and daggers.
Lucias slashed at the men, whirling the great black destrier so that its hooves were always flying.
Howls of pain joined the grunts and cries whenever the horse let loose. The beast screamed alongside the men, sounding more like an enraged boar than a horse. His head thrashed from one side to the other, biting whatever he could.
Clara scrabbled for her dagger, her trembling fingers finding only an empty scabbard. The gate guards. Lucias might hold his own for now, but it would only take one blow, one lucky grab to haul him from the saddle. Turning back towards the gate, Clara urged Sable on.
The pony paid little mind to her attempts to move him. Giving a neigh that belied his small size, he skittered sideways towards the fight.
A scream slashed through the air. Man or beast, she couldn’t be sure.
Beneath her, Sable snorted. His rump dropped and a dreadful fluttering started up in her stomach. “S-steady, boy,” Clara murmured. She hauled on the pony’s mouth, hoping to stall the terrible image of him galloping across the plains with her clinging to his back like a flea. At least he was now aimed in the right direction.
“Get to the gate!” Lucias roared, swiping in her direction with his free hand. The air between them rippled.
There was an almighty thwack against Sable’s rump. The pony squealed and bolted.
Screaming, Clara grabbed great fistfuls of the thick mane and prayed she’d the strength to hold on. They dove through the crowd on the road, the surrounding people little more than blurs, their cries all but blocked by the racket of the pony’s hooves upon the gravel and her heart pounding furiously in her ears.
She blinked, trying to see her way through the tears. The wind of their passage stung her face. The gate couldn’t be far. As fast as they were travelling, they’d have to be close.
Her gaze fastened on the sight of them bearing down upon a laden cart. She hauled on the reins.
Sable swung to one side, stumbling and sliding. Clara bounced in the saddle, a shriek slithering through her clenched teeth. Unbalanced, she slammed into the pony’s neck and felt herself tipping. She adjusted her grip, abandoning the reins altogether to snatch new fistfuls of mane.
It didn’t help.
Clara hit the cobblestones and rolled until her back slammed up against something as equally unforgiving. Her breath rushed out her lips, leaving her chest burning. Through the ringing in her ears, she caught the muddied chatter of a gossiping crowd.
“My lady!”
Lucias? No, he wasn’t nearby and he’d only ever spoken her name with such concern.
She rolled her eyes, searching for the source of the sound. All she could see was the shimmering grey of the clouds and buildings. Moving anything else seemed impossible. Everything ached. Her mouth silently opened and closed, the fire in her chest desperate for air. Tears blurred her vision, their passage down her cheeks turning icy in the chill breeze.
Finally, in one massive gasp, she could breathe again. Clara raised an arm, stiff from the tumble, to dash her tears across her sleeve. More took their place. She sniffed in an effort to halt their flow to no avail. Sitting up proved a far harder task, her back stiff. Something wet hit her neck. She patted her hair, cringing as her fingers came into contact with something slimy.
People suddenly filled her vision. Concerned faces floating above the uniform of the Endlight guard. One helped her to her feet. “Are you badly injured, my lady?” he asked her before shouting over his shoulder. “Someone get a doctor!”
“No,” she croaked. The stiffness in her right hip suggested it had taken the majority of the impact, but she could deal with that later. She clutched at the man who still supported her. “The Great Lord!” she blurted, pointing the way Sable had come. There was no sign of the battle, hidden by the press of the crowd and the land. “Over the hill. Ban
dits. You’ve got to help him!”
“Easy, my lady,” the man said. “You hit the ground pretty hard. We can’t all just… leave our post at your word. Why don’t you rest and tell us what happened?”
Clara stared at the guard, her mouth dropping open. The bandits could have Lucias knocked to the ground by now, barely warding off blows and they wanted her to chat like she was describing some back-city thief? “A fine lot you are.” She shoved the man, although it was herself who took a few staggering paces back.
“My lady,” the man protested. “We can’t help if you don’t—”
“If you won’t help, then I’ll do it myself. Where’s my pony!” She searched the immediate area for the animal, finding him in the possession of another guard. Snatching up the reins, she attempted to mount him. Her skirts tugged at her legs, hindering any chance of lifting them high enough without exposing herself to all and sundry.
Clara dropped back to the cobblestones. There was only one thing for it. She whirled on the nearest guard. “You!” Her ankle twinged with each step and had her silently lamenting how the Citadel, with the training ground’s healing magic, was so far away. “Your dagger,” she demanded.
The guard objected in a stream of incoherent babbles.
Snarling, Clara plucked the dagger from his belt. She sawed through the hem of her dress. After that, tearing a long enough slit through the skirts was a swift matter. Unhindered, she clambered aboard the pony and aimed it the way she’d come. Her body protested. She wiggled, searching in vain for the same comfortable position she’d used for half the day. It only seemed to increase the ache in her legs.
Higher up, she spied the man Lucias had spoken to during their departure. “You there!” The crowd parted around the man as she singled him out with a wave of her hand. “Lieutenant…” Did Lucias ever mention the man’s name? “You! You saw me leave through this gate with the Great Lord, correct?”
The lieutenant nodded as he halted at Sable’s shoulder. “Yes, my lady.” He looked around them, puzzled at first, then panic took over his face as he seemed to realise Lucias was not with her. He twisted to eye the road leading to the Pillars with sick dismay. “Is he still—?”
“Out there.” She levelled her pilfered dagger at the road. “An ambush.” How many men had swarmed out of those carriages? Eight? Ten? Even with the destrier’s might at his control, she’d no idea how Lucias could fight off so many.
The man’s ruddy, olive face grew pale. “To arms, men!” the lieutenant bellowed. He scrambled towards a horse tied up at the guard post and leapt into the saddle.
“But sir,” one of the guards protested whilst, all around him, other guards were procuring horses from shop fronts and riders.
“No buts, man,” the lieutenant snapped back, drawing his sword as he turned the horse. “Our Great Lord needs us!” He drew his mount alongside Sable. “Show us,” he demanded of Clara.
Her pony leapt forward with barely a twitch of her heels. They thundered along the road, leaving the crowd at their back and seemingly going nowhere at once. Her heart pounded in time to the hoofbeats. The wind stung her eyes, but she didn’t dare close them. Don’t be dead. Please, Goddess, don’t let him be dead.
They crested the hill to find Lucias dismounted and standing over the bodies of his attackers. A blue glow rose from one of the men, gone before Clara had a chance to dash the tears from her eyes. If this were the Citadel, she would’ve said Lucias was in the process of taking one of the men’s souls, but she’d never seen him do so beyond the glyph-covered room of the Citadel dungeons.
Sable came to a shambling halt beside the black destrier. The animal seemed no worse off for having been in the midst of battle. Sweaty perhaps, but whole. That boded well for his rider.
Lucias turned as guards caught up and, one by one, dismounted. He regarded them suspiciously, silvery-blue flecks dancing across the surface of his eyes, before recognition lit his face. “Lieutenant,” he said, greeting the man with a nod of his head. “It seems I was wrong about needing the escort.”
Clara half-dismounted, half-tumbled out of her saddle. Relief sapped what energy remained in her legs, dropping her onto the road at Lucias’ feet. “You’re alive!” She clung to him, barely believing the truth. She’d been so certain that he couldn’t possibly hold off so many men on his own.
“Of course I am, they weren’t prepared to face—” He crouched at her side. “You look— What happened? Did you fall?” He twisted her this way and that before she could answer, searching for injuries. “Are you all right? Is anything broken?”
“Am I all right?” she echoed. No. Her legs sharply objected to any movement. Even stiff as she was, she didn’t think anything was broken. But she was sore in more places than the impact could account for. How long had they been riding through the city? Clara blinked up at the sky. Through her unshed tears, the world was little more than a blur of colours and light. It’d been midday, hadn’t it? “What about you?”
“They didn’t get a chance to touch me. I should’ve realised it’d been too quiet.” Sighing, he gently wrapped her arm around his neck. “Come on. I’m rather done tempting fate today. Let’s get you back to the castle.” The soft pressure of Lucias’ magic helped her to regain her footing and then lifted her back into the saddle. He stared up at her once she was settled aboard Sable, his brow creased with worry. “You are all right, aren’t you?”
She nodded, not convinced she could trust her voice beyond more than a few words.
The concern in his eyes deepened, taking over his whole face. “But… you’re crying.”
“I am not.” Clara waved him away, waiting until he was about to remount before hurriedly wiping the dampness from her cheeks. She shuffled in the saddle, desperately trying to ignore the ache in her hip. What she needed was a little liniment like her father used to apply to his joints every morning and night.
“My lord,” the lieutenant called. “A word, if I may.”
“Certainly.” Lucias dropped back onto the worn cobbles with liquid grace. “I didn’t manage to garner much information from them, but I’m willing to bet they came at Ne’ermore’s insistence.” He circled one of the carriages with the lieutenant following close on his heels, even peeking into the open door. “I don’t see anything unusual. No identifiers.” He turned back to Clara, one brow raised querulously. “What do you think, dear?”
Clara nudged her pony closer, wincing at a particularly jarring step. “I think they were looking to sneak into the city.” There was no chance the group knew Lucias would be outside the city walls at this time and with nothing in the way of an escort. “The way the driver thumped on the roof? That was a definite signal to those inside.”
The lieutenant eyed the slain men, frowning and idly rubbing his chin in thought. “Could be a mercenary company,” he mumbled. “She’s getting reckless. They’ll likely have orders waiting for them elsewhere. It will be harder to track.” He grinned, the expression lacking the usual cheeriness. “A shame you didn’t leave one alive, my lord.”
With a hearty thump, Lucias laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m certain you’re up to the job regardless, Lieutenant. I’ll leave this mess in your capable hands and see to my lady’s injuries.”
The lieutenant straightened. “Yes, my lord. I’ll be sure to have every inch of the carriages and the men searched. If they’ve left anything of note, I’ll see to it that Lord Thad gets word to you.” Giving Lucias a sharp salute, he turned to his men. “I want this filth removed from the road and into the stables as quickly as possible.”
Lucias left the man’s side to climb aboard his destrier and join Clara. “We should return to the city.”
“Without an escort?” The protest was out before she could think how to voice her concerns. All the lieutenant’s men seemed occupied in their task, but surely if their Great Lord requested it of them, they’d see them safely through the gates.
“I doubt there are any more dangers lur
king between here and the city walls. My concern for the moment is your wellbeing. If you’re stiff may I suggest making use of the local bathhouse? If anything, it’ll bring about less talk if we wash the dirt off you before returning to the castle.”
“A bathhouse?” Everdark didn’t possess any. Not that she was aware of. She had heard of such places and they mostly sounded like a different class of brothel. Now, she wasn’t so sure. She doubted he would suggest visiting such a place if they truly were as she believed. “Why would I ever want to set foot in one of those?”
“Because I’m betting that your legs were hurting even before your fall and a good soak in hot water would do them some good. I remember what it was like when I first started riding. The unfamiliar effort of keeping your thighs apart for long periods of time does eventually take its toll. You’ll get used to it, I’m sure.”
She leant over to swat at his side, her cheeks burning. She was certain his lips had taken on a suggestive twist at that last sentence. That her action was rewarded with a laugh did little to soothe her irritation. “Are you going to be like this all day?”
“All day? No.” His grin widened. “I plan to be like this all week.” He took up the pony’s reins, slowly leading her up the road.
Now the waves of concern and panic were no longer driving her onwards, her body objected to every one of Sable’s steps. “Couldn’t you just… make the injuries go away?” she asked, wriggling her fingers in the air.
He shook his head. “It’s not simple. Such magic would require me to ring an area in glyphs and they are not ones that can be so easily removed.” His grip on the reins tightened as Sable stumbled, drawing her closer. “It would fast become a drain on my power.”
An entirely different concern had her stomach bubbling away like an over-boiled broth. “Aren’t bathhouses a little…” She scrunched deeper into the saddle. “…public?”
The heat of Lucias’ chuckle dug into her gut. “Most of them are, but I know of one where I can procure a private room for you, so don’t worry about that. We can’t have you still complaining about aching legs at tonight’s ball. People might get the wrong idea even when the rumours of your tumble reach them. And they will hear about it.”