Chapter Four (old)

Wren

I led Arthus straight into the brush along a narrow deer trail that wound back in the direction of the Leaping Hart. We followed it for about a mile before encountering exactly what I was hoping for, a stream. The banks were steep. The horses had to be coaxed to step down into the swift water, but I was thrilled to note the rocky streambed. I led Brone off in the direction of the village where Tourth supposedly had lived before taking service.

“Where are we going?” Arthus demanded from behind as his horse plunked along behind Brone.

I shifted in my seat to get a look at him as Brone continued his placid walk.

“At the moment we are trying to lose Roark.”

“Walking in stream is the oldest trick in the book. All he has to do is send someone in each direction until he finds where we exit the water.”

I didn’t bother explaining my plan to him. He would see soon enough what my plan was. “Just stay in the stream until I tell you.”

We traveled in silence for about a mile until I spotted what I was seeking. I signaled for Arthus to stop. “Stay here and watch closely because I am going to ask you to do the same.”

“I don’t understand,” he protested.

“Watch and you will.”

I led Brone out of the stream and up the muddy bank. His hooves sank into the soft dirt and then came up with a satisfying squelch. In moments, he crossed the short distance to there the dirt grew hard, baked by the sun, and then into the chaos of scattered debris that commonly covered the forest floor. I cautiously guided him away from the tender young trees. Once we were about twenty feet into the woods, I turned him. Choosing a different path, I guided him back into the stream, this time over the gravel only a few yards down stream.

“Now you go,” I instructed. “Follow my course exactly and be careful not to break any twigs or branches.” I glanced over to see if he had any questions and found him staring at me in appreciation.

“You mean for them to think we have left the stream here.”

I nodded. “I do intend that, but if you do not get moving, they will reach us before we can put some distance between us and the ruse.”

Nodding, he moved to obey. However, as he returned, safely on the gravel, he stopped and faced me. “Can you teach me what you know about hunting?”

I simply stared at him a moment. A grown man at least five years my senior was asking me for tips on tracking. It wasn’t exactly something that happened every day. Usually men discounted my skill with sly remarks or derogatory comments. The open admiration in his gaze made me uncomfortable. I was quickly coming to the decision that I preferred the usual to the unusual.

“Does a magician explain his work?” I was referring to the players and sensationalists that traveled the roads.

He looked puzzled for a moment. I didn’t wait for him to figure it out. Turning Brone southeast, I heeled him into a steady walk. Soon I heard the splashing steps of Arthus’ mount following my lead. He didn’t mention it again. In fact, he didn’t speak until the stream broadened into a small river and Brone began the climb up a shallow rocky bank.

“Now are you going to tell me where we are headed?” he asked.

“The village where Tourth lived before he enlisted with Lord Forgtrey.”

He was silent for a moment, but I knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Why? It is doubtful that he is hiding there.”

“Everyone comes from somewhere and had parents,” I pointed out.

I could feel his frown. “You are looking for family connections?”

“No, I am looking for any connections. Runners run with a purpose. Tourth will have a purpose.”

“And once you discover that, you will know where he is running. Makes sense.”

I bit back a sarcastic reply. Someone was coming down the trail ahead making a great deal of noise.

Arthus heard it too. His head tilted to the side as he listened, dark eyes peering into the late afternoon shadows. “What is it? A boar?”

“A boar wouldn’t follow the trail. It is too open.”

My hand hovered above my dagger, but I hesitated. Angry shouts filled the woods carried on the wind from farther up the trail. I reached for my sword instead. It slipped free of its sheath as a bedraggled figure stumbled into view.

Her steps were hurried, but random. Wavering with each footfall, she looked about to collapse. “Help me.” Crumpling onto her hands and knees, she crawled forward breathing heavily. Each labored gasp contorted her bony shoulders. Lifting a haunted face with dark-rimed eyes, she looked up at me, gasping. “They will kill me.” She drew a shallow breath that shook her whole being. “I cannot run anymore.”

Arthus dismounted and crossed to her side. “Why are they chasing you?” he asked. His sword was drawn.

Leaving him to find out what the story was, I moved to confront whoever was pursuing her.

We didn’t have to wait long. A brawny man tore through the last of the bushes with a cry of “Witch.” With fire in his eyes and a club in his hand, he clearly meant harm. The others, appearing behind him, looked no less intent.

“There is no witch here,” I informed him.

“She is a witch.” His face contorted with rage and his voice shook. Spitting in the woman’s direction, he glared at her with glassy eyes.

“She hexed my cow and now she won’t give me milk,” a woman to the right cried.

“She gave my daughter the evil eye and now she is deathly ill,” called a farmer off to the left.

The crowd, now thirty strong and armed with pitchforks and sickles, began shouting offenses at random. I caught snatches of accusations about everything from warts to infertility. Glancing back at the trembling young woman now standing behind Arthus’ protective sword, I doubted she could be to blame for even half of what they were yelling. Superstition had a way of latching on to the unfortunate or the unusual. I had gathered enough of it myself over the years to know.

I raised my sword arm and shouted for silence. The skill of being heard over my siblings’ arguments came in handy occasionally. The leader and many of the front group lowered their voices and looked at me.

“What is it ya business anyway,” the leader sneered. “We is free land farmers and tradesmen. What are you, a road gypsy?”

Ignoring his question, I scanned the crowd as they turned their attention to me. They were eager for blood and they didn’t care whose. I was more likely to hold my own than the girl; so, I shifted their attention to me. “Are you of the village Lornwyn?”

A farmer to the left of the leader spat in the dirt. “What’s it to ya?” Rustling in the back of the mob signaled the ascent of someone up one of the trees. I prayed it wasn’t an archer and continued.

“We come looking for someone who knows the swordsman Tourth Mynth.”

My words caused an instant disturbance. “What are ya looking for?” The blacksmith eyed me suspiciously.

“Information.”

He eyed me with a shrewd look. Greed glinted in his eyes. The spitting farmer moved forward to speak, but the blacksmith lifted his cudgel to stop him. With a swift look down my body, he said, “I am sure we can come to an arrangement. What do you offer in return?”

“Don’t listen to him,” a female voice called out from the left. “The witch is who you want. She is the only one who has seen Tourth since the murder.”

I tried to spot the source of the voice in the crowd, but whoever it was disappeared out of sight.

“The woman speaks only the half truth,” the farmer said. “The witch-child is touched in the head; being the sister of the hexed Mynth family done it to her.”

“Shut yur yap, Tac.” The blacksmith shoved his club against the farmer’s stomach.

As Tac struggled to gain his breath, I intervened with a proposition. “I will take her then. It will solve both of our problems at once.”

“Only if you pay for her,” the blacksmith responded.

A new murmur rose in the group behind him. He had crossed a line. I couldn’t understand it, but I knew it when I saw it. These people only moments ago had been pursuing the woman with murder in their eyes and hands eager for blood because of a whole list of false misdemeanors. Now, they shied at the thought of selling the object of their hatred to me and ridding themselves of the problem for a profit.

“You can have her,” a new arrival spoke. He stepped forward from behind Tac, who was still rubbing his bruised middle. The effect on the crowd was instantaneous. They shuffled in confusion like a child caught with his hand in the jam. Beneath a mop of snow white hair, the stranger’s roughhewn face spoke of wisdom and age. He met my measuring gaze with an equally discerning one. “She will be safer with you. She is Tourth’s sister and only living relation. Take care of her.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the blacksmith leader beat me to it.

“But…” The blacksmith silenced himself as the old man turned his steely gaze on him.

“Bratch, you should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed.” The crowd disbursed before our eyes, slinking off into the shadows of the rapidly setting sun.

The stranger frowned up at the bulky man half his age. “Return to your forge, Bratch, and be thankful I am not throwing you out on your ear for this.” Bratch slunk off without a word. If he owned a tail, it would have been between his legs.

“I am sorry about this.” My gaze met the old man’s. “Katraina, are you alright?”

The young woman rose to her feet with a definite wobble. Arthus reached out a hand to steady her. “I shall live, Drothiarn” she replied.

“Am I to understand correctly that you two seek Tourth?” Drothiarn asked Arthus.

“We do.”

“Fine,” he replied with a nod before addressing Katraina. “They will take you to Tourth. Tell him that he was foolish to leave you behind and that you can never return. Bratch is an idiot, but an idiot with a give for persuasion. You come this way again and your life will be worth nothing. Do you understand?”

The girl nodded and before I could find my tongue again, Brothiarn was gone. I turned to look at the new addition to the party and hoped that she was stronger than she presented to the eye.
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Arthus

Katraina was beautiful. Don’t misunderstand; Wren was beautiful too, but in a wild, confident, strong way. She wasn’t afraid and all she needed from me was a strong sword arm to cover her back. Katraina needed more.

I supported her as Wren looked her over. Despite the difference in their heights, Katraina had at least four inches more than Wren, the bounty huntress was in control.

“Katraina Mynth, I am Wren Romany.”

Katraina’s pale, blue eyes widened. “Tourth has spoken of you.”

For the first time since I had met her, Wren looked surprised. It didn’t stop her though. “This is Arthus Heaton, my…” She paused and turned to raise an eyebrow at me as the corner of her mouth twitched. “He is my bodyguard. It is a long story, which we will tell you later. Right now we need to find a place to make camp for the night. Once we are settled, I will see what I can do about getting you clothing and a hair cut. What would you like for dinner hare or squirrel?”

I looked at her a little stunned. It was the longest speech I had heard come from Wren’s lips. Katraina looked surprised as well, but she recovered quickly.

“Hare, please. I have eaten more squirrel than I care to ever eat again.”

“Can you ride?”

“Yes, my brother taught me.”

“Good.” Wren whistled to Brone, who had taken the opportunity to graze nearby. He came at a trot and stopped before her with a toss of his head. “This is Brone. You will ride with me.”

Mounting quickly, Wren waited as I handed our new companion up to her. The young woman’s ribs poked from beneath her skin. I could feel every one as I lifted her up. She settled behind Wren with her arms about Wren’s waist. A sudden flare of anger ripped through me. How could the villagers done something so horrendous to helpless young woman. If it was the last thing I would do, I was going to fatten her up.

Wren led the way, but instead of heading back toward the stream, she headed north, making her own trail through the woods until we stumbled upon a small clearing haunted by the sound of running water.

“We will camp here tonight. Arthus, you are in charge of dinner. Katraina and I will set up camp. Leave your gear.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but when I met Wren’s eyes I realized her plan. She wanted to give Katraina the privacy she needed to clean up. Being the only male in the party, I would make that awkward, especially since Wren had made it clear that she knew how to handle Katraina. Confident in the fact that Wren could defend them in case of danger, I dropped the camping gear to the ground and unpacked my bow and arrow. We were going to have a feast tonight, as many hare as I could kill in two hours. I rode off into the forest.

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Wren

“You needn’t fear Arthus,” I said suddenly into the silence.

A roaring blaze kept back the growing chill to the air and the fingers of darkness slowly encroaching our small clearing. All of the gear was unpacked. I had packed my extra blanket and found Arthus’ among his things. Between them and the fire, Kat would be warm tonight. My shirts were too small, but one of Arthus’ extra shirts and my leggings covered her lithe frame better than the ragged think she called a dress. So, clean, dry, warm and chewing on some of my dried venison, she was much better off than when we found her. I couldn’t help smiling when she looked over at me with much the same expression Aquila always used when I was stating the obvious.

“I don’t fear him.” Her voice was soft and feminine, much like Daelia’s with a lilting quality that always lingered under Ilara’s. I would bet my best hunting knife she was a singer too.

“Good because he is harmless.” I shifted the logs with a long stick and looked over at her. “You needn’t fear me either. I won’t hurt you. You remind me too much of my sisters.”

She brightened slightly at that. “You have sisters?”

“Yes, four.”

“I always wanted sisters, but Mother never had any more children after me. Then she died…” Her voice faded into the spark laden night with the smoke. “I am sorry,” she said, hiding her face in her tattered hair. It hung if limp hunks around her shoulders as though someone had taken a knife to it. “Their death always seems so fresh at night. Now with Tourth gone, it all seems so quiet and lonely without them and him.”

Leaning back on my heels, I watched her face. Despite the hunger hollows and her deep set eyes so like her brothers, her face was well formed and even what many would consider pretty. The only life in it at the moment was the glitter of her eyes as the firelight danced across her features.

There was little I could do to comfort her. I had grown up in silence. Yes, I had fond memories of my siblings and our loose companionships, but silence had been the one to soothe my soul and calm my spirit. In the solitude I sought Deus and His presence. I possessed no clear memories of my parents, only impressions. I remember thinking that my mother was beautiful and my father strong. Beyond that, I had only the tales my older siblings had told me in the deep shadows outside of Duard’s presence. What did I have to offer to scarred young woman with her thoughts full of the parents he had known well enough to love? I didn’t know; so, I offered the only thing I could think of.

“If you come over here, I can cut your hair properly.”

She looked up, peering through a dark ragged fall of brown almost the same shade of her brother’s. “I would like that.”

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Wren Romany - © 2006 Rachel Rossano