Chapter Three (old)

Arthus

She bolted her door. I followed her up the stairs and waited to hear at least that. With the silence she had given me in return for my warning, I worried that she wouldn’t take the basic precautions just to spite me. Satisfied that she was safe as she could be for tonight, I retreated to my own room across the hall.

The small room was the cheapest in the inn. The moment I stepped inside, I knew why. With barely enough standing room to undress without knocking one’s elbows on the walls, the room held only a cot and a rickety looking wash table. The chipped pitcher and dented tin basin had seen better days, but they served their purpose. Removing my belt, I wrapped it around my sword, kicked off my boots, and lay down on the cot. I pulled the heavy blankets over my legs and tucked the blade at my side so I could draw it without hindrance. Then I lay my head on the pillow and let myself sleep with half an ear listening for anything happening beyond my door.

The night passed relatively uneventfully. A drunken patron was escorted past by one of the innkeeper’s heavies and later a sneak thief tried doors up and down both sides of the hallway. I was tempted to scare him straight by greeting him with a drawn blade, but thought better of it with Wren Romany sleeping across the way. I didn’t want her knowing that I was watching her until the right time. If she as good as her reputation, it was certain she would disappear if she knew I was following her. Without care, I would find her tracking me rather than the reverse.

She rose before dawn the next morning. I woke to the sound of her shutting her door behind her. Whipping back the covers, I grabbed my boots. Pausing only to splash some freezing water on my face and gird on my belt, I crept from my room, boots in hand and followed her.

I caught up with her at the stables. Apparently, she had made previous arrangements for her chestnut stallion was tacked and waiting outside the doors. The stable hand came out to greet her as she checked the saddlebags. I settled on the doorstep to put on my boots.

“I half expected to see you last night, lady,” the boy drawled. His speech was slow and languid as though there was nothing in the world that needed rushing. “A whole host of bounty hunters left a few hours after sundown. I figure they were hunting a bounty and you would want your horse.”

“You should know by now, Jac, I rarely change my plans for that kind of thing.”

“Yah, I reckoned that eventually.”

“Did you saddle Brone up before you reckoned that?” she asked as she tightened the girth.

“Naw,” Jac grinned. “Those hunters kept me busy until I reckoned it all out. I didn’t disturb him.”

I assumed that Brone was the stallion watching Romany check the stirrups. A hearty, healthy animal, his coat shone glossy with care and he seemed quiet tempered like his mistress. With wise eyes he turned to regard the stable boy and huffed at him for attention. The boy willingly complied. Stepping to stand beside him, he rubbed his nose. “Ya be good for yar mistress now. Keep her well.” Brone nickered in response.

“Take care of yourself, Jac.” Romany wrapped the reins around her gloved hand and then mounted in one flawless movement. Sitting the horse with the ease of one born to the saddle, she urged the beast forward and out of the yard and onto the road heading west.

I waited until she was out of sight before approaching the stable boy for my own horse. Trader, a Caerdennian stallion, wasn’t much to look at, but I would trust him with my life. Our partnership went back to my soldiering days. He had saved my skin more times than I could count. When Jac brought him out, he whinnied at the sight of me and stamped his feet, eager for adventure.

“Thanks, lad,” I said as I claimed Trader’s reins. “I would tip you, but I don’t have any money on me.”

“That is fine.” He favored me with a grin. “Good journey to you.”

I nodded my thanks and trotted out of the inn’s yard in the same direction as the elusive Romany woman. Something in my gut told me that she was heading for trouble and I wanted to get to her before it.

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Wren

As soon as we cleared the outlying farms of the town, Shea, Gavin, and Elsu began circling above me. They cried for me to stop, but the distance from town wasn’t great enough. Falcons were common enough in these parts, but three of them circling and then landing in the same place would be enough to catch the attention of almost every hunter within a mile or so radius.

Ignoring their calls, I trained my thoughts on the trail. According to the information, Tourth Mynth was last located in Itrany in the south. Then, his trail disappeared. The bumbling horde of trackers most likely also hurried off toward Itrany to pick up the trail there. However, that would not be where I began. Mynth wouldn’t run without purpose and direction. He was a thinking man.

I had met him once, two months ago outside Lord Forgtrey’s stables. He had admired Brone, something most men did not do. My horse wasn’t a remarkable color, size, or distinctive in any of the flashy ways that young lordlings liked. However he was a solid, well-trained war horse. Mynth approached him with appreciation and affection. Brone invited his touch, something that was exceedingly rare, and Mynth commented on his lines.

“He is handsome.” He stroked Brone’s neck. “He is built for endurance, the perfect horse for a traveler.” The lordling stood tall and well muscled next to the horse. Something about him reminded me of Taerith. Maybe it was his quiet manner. That was where the resemblance stopped. Mynth had an athletic grace about his movements. He didn’t train so that he could hold a sword like the Lord’s son, Kale, and the other young men. Instead, he trained to a warrior. It was a role that I could never envision Taerith filling, my oldest brother, Aiden, maybe, but not thoughtful Taerith.

I nodded, but he didn’t see it. My stallion completely engrossed his attention. “His name is Brone,” I offered.

Then he turned to look at me for the first time. Dark, shaggy hair fell into his grey eyes as he assessed me with an ironic half smile. “How imaginative, tagging him with his color.”

“It fit him and he liked it.”

He lifted a brow. “You liked it, did you?” he asked the horse. Brone tossed his head and eyed him. “And your name?” He looked over at me again.

“Wren.”

This time he smiled. “Again a name that fits. Nice to meet you, Wren, rider of Brone.” He offered me a calloused hand. “Tourth Mynth.”

Accepting his handshake, my own hand was engulfed in a firm grip up to the wrist. His hands were made for holding a sword.

Just then, someone called his name and he left with a bow.

As I reviewed my memories, I was certain that he was going to be a worthy opponent. Though, I wasn’t sure he should be my opponent. Perhaps it was the way he bonded with Brone. My horse didn’t give his trust to just anyone. Or maybe it was the honesty in his eyes and manner. Something wasn’t right when I envisioned him killing the lordling, Kale.

Brone sidestepped nervously bringing me out of my thoughts with the sudden cry of Elsu from above. Brone whinnied and then huffed noisily. He was trying to tell me something. My senses instantly sharpened and I looked around.

The early morning forest was unusually still. It could have been my own passage through its depths that caused the uncharacteristic stillness, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the cause. Drawing Brone to a halt, I listened.

After three minutes, the falcons descended around me with a flutter of wings. Elsu landed on my shoulder, Shea disappeared into the top of a nearby tree, and Gavin glided down into a hopping landing in the middle of the trail. I could feel them all watching me as I continued to hold Brone motionless and listened. The forest sounds returned, rustling and scampering. A boar passed by on the left with a grunt. Brone twitched impatiently, taking a step before I hushed him again with a hand on his neck. That was when I heard it. The silence behind was interrupted with a distant whinny. Brone’s ears perked at the sound.

I was being followed, but who could it be. Arthus Heaton’s warning from the night before slipped though my thoughts. Regardless of whether or not it was Roark or Heaton on my trail, I wasn’t about to let them follow me all the way to Mynth.

Dismounting, I retrieved my bow and quiver from among the gear on Brone’s back. A large clump of hawthorne bushes provided the perfect blind for hiding him from the trail. Then, I retreated to a sturdy oak that overlooked the small clearing and offered a limb at a perfect angle and distance from the path. I had just reached my perch when the rustle of the horse’s hooves stirring the underbrush became audible.

Shea and Elsu took the clue from my unusual behavior and joined me silently. They perched side by side on the branch over my head. Meanwhile, Gavin settled himself in the exact center of the worn rut of brown against the green mossy forest floor and began to preen. I whistled to him, but he ignored me and continued his hygiene routine. His ruffled white feathers stood out sharply against the backdrop of rich green and earthy brown.

So much for surprise. I tightened the bow string, slipped a shaft from my quiver, and steadied myself against the trunk of the tree. The arrow was notched to the string, but I didn't have time to draw it back before a scruffy-looking black and gray stallion emerged from the trees. On its back, a roughly dressed man with a familiar face regarded Gavin with curiosity.

“And who are you?” Arthus asked.

Gavin continued to straighten his feathers. Above my head, Elsu croaked out a conversational cry and Arthus whipped his head in our direction. Before he found my face, I had the bow drawn and the arrow pointed at his chest.

“What are you going to do? Shoot me?” he asked curiously. There was no fear in his eyes as he surveyed my features. “I assume that he is yours,” he said, pointing to Gavin.

Mentally noting with surprise that he knew that the falcon on the ground was a male, I frowned down at him. “Why are you following me?”

“For your protection.”

“I already told you that I don’t need protection.”

“I am not the only one on your trail. Roark’s men have been on my tail all morning. I am easier to track than you, but you were traceable.”

My stomach tightened at the mention of Roark. “I haven’t been trying to be invisible,” I pointed out.

“I figured as much since I have had no problem keeping up.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to lower that?” He jutted a chin toward the bow. “I don’t mind trusting your tracking skills, but your ability to hold that taut much longer is another thing.”

I lowered the bow and replaced the arrow in my quiver. I could hold a taut bowstring for much longer than that, but I wasn’t about to brag to this man. Looking him over, something nagged me.

“Why are you so set on coming with me?”

“You need me.”

I stared at him. He didn’t strike me as pompous, confident, perhaps overly confident, but not pompous. “I am not really a damsel in distress,” I pointed out as I sat down on the branch and regarded him seriously

“You are now on Roark’s hate list and he will stop at nothing to bring down those he hates. You are going to need someone to watch your back while you do your work.”

“So you are going to protect me all by yourself?” Then a memory of our meeting with Roark sparked a thought. “I got the impression that you and Roark were already on shaky ground.”

He shrugged. “Right now I am just an annoyance. Of course, if I show up with you again and prevent his getting to you, I might move up a notch to irritant.”

“Then why am I already at hate level?”

“You publicly defied and humiliated him and your gender makes the slight unforgivable.”

It made sense. “I concede that Roark is most likely after my skin. That leaves the question of you. What skill do you have to offer that I do not already have?” I crossed my arms.

“I bring a second sword, another pair of eyes to watch for attack, a male presence to discourage questions, and my skills as an ex-soldier.”

“Mercenary?”

“No, native. I had more of an aptitude for the sword than the plow.”

I watched his face. “And what would you get in return?”

“Food and what you feel is fitting wages for my services when you get the bounty.”

Fair enough. He wasn’t asking for much. He seemed like a decent enough man and from what I knew of Roark, I was going to need any help I could get whether I wanted it or not. Deus had put me in this situation. It was my place to do the best I could with what He had given me.

“Here are the rules. You sleep on the other side of the campfire. You make a move that I find offensive and I will not be held responsible for the consequences. We share all camping duties fifty-fifty and you treat me with the respect you would treat a male employer.” I hooked the slackened bow over my left shoulder and Elsu fluttered over and landed on my other. His claws dug into the leather of my jerkin. “Also, don’t bother the falcons. They can take off your finger if they wanted.”

His dark gaze turned to Gavin, who was still sitting in the middle of the trail. “The rules sound reasonable. Do we have a contract?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthus

She drove a hard bargain. I watched her climb down from the tree silently and swiftly. The black falcon with the golden eyes regarded me curiously from its perch on the branch she had left.

“What are their names?” I asked as she led her horse out into the open again.

“Elsu is the black. The brown in the tree over there is Shea and the thickskulled white is Gavin.” She then frowned at the white and said, “You know better than to do that.”

Gavin cocked his head and looked back at her placidly.

“And your horse?” I asked as she turned her attention to it.

“Brone.” Trader took a step or two forward at my urging. Wren was occupied with the task of adjusting the load on Brone’s back. Watching her work with the flaps, I noted her quick movements and her size. Up until now I had only seen her at a distance, or while sitting at a table. But as she stood next to Brone’s saddle, I suddenly realized that she was perhaps only slightly over five feet tall. Either through the force of her personality or her confident handling of masculine matters, I had been thinking of her as taller.

“Where are we going?” I asked as she swung up into the saddle and brought Brone around to face west.

“First, we are going to lose Roark’s men. How far back are they?” Brone began following the trail again.

“About a half hour behind now.”

“How good are you at barrel riding?”

I looked at the back of her head. What did the training exercise for young riders have to do with losing a tail? “I handled it well,” I replied, which was true. “Why?”

“That is exactly the skill you are going to need over the next few hours. Now follow me and try to have your horse stay in Brone’s tracks as exactly as you can manage. Do you understand?” She regarded me with golden eyes flecked with brown and a hidden smile on her lips. It looked like whatever she had planned was going to be fun.

I nodded.

“Good. Then we are off.” She took the lead and then suddenly in the middle of a straight away, she turned to the left and she and Brone dove into the brush at the side of the road. Wondering at her sanity, Trader and I followed.

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Wren Romany - © 2006 Rachel Rossano