Chapter Six (old)

Arthus

The village appeared like any other village I had encountered on my ramblings. A scattering of farms around the outskirts filled with men hard at work, a cluster of hovels at the village center, the ringing sound of the blacksmith working at his forge and women gossiping by the village well in the cool morning air all supported the impression. However, one glance in Katraina’s direction changed my assessment.

The young woman hunched behind Wren. From their perch on Brone, there was little chance that she was going to make herself less conspicuous and Wren, being smaller, made a difficult hiding place, but Katraina was trying. Wren on the other hand was sitting in the saddle as though she was preparing to face a legion of men.

“What is wrong with you two?” I demanded. “Is there something I should know?”

I was addressing Wren, but Katraina answered. “I am…”

“Outcast!”

A tall, lean woman in her mid-forties stood in the road, blocking Brone’s path. The stallion huffed in protest, but stopped. With strong brown hands planted on her narrow hips, the woman glared up at my traveling partners. “You do not belong here.” She pointed a long crooked finger at Katraina. “You bring a hex upon all who speak with you. Be gone.”

“We come to purchase supplies. Once we have done that we will leave.” Wren’s voice carried in the morning air, calm and clear. Villagers, curious about the disturbance, began to gather at a safe distance.

“And you.” The woman’s dark eyes glittered as she turned her attention to Wren. “Why have you returned? We want none of your kind around here, man-woman.” She spat the words.

“We wouldn’t have come unless we needed supplies, only bedding and shoes.”

The woman’s gaze took in Katraina’s roughly shod feet and Wren’s sturdy boots. A sneer pulled at her lip.

“We will pay for our purchases with gold.”

That caught the woman’s attention. She peered at Wren’s face through narrowed eyes. “And then you leave and never come back?”

Wren nodded. “You shall not see us here again.”

The woman finally stepped aside, but not before she spat in the dirt. The spittle missed Brone’s hooves by an inch.

Wren flinched, but otherwise didn’t react. Brone moved forward and I urged Trader to follow. She waited until we were out of the woman’s hearing before she turned to me.

“The weaver’s house is on the outskirts of the village to the north. If you go there and Katraina and I will visit the cobbler.”

“Are you sure splitting up is wise?” I asked. The hostility emanating from the emerging villagers made me reluctant to let her out of my sight. “You don’t seem to be accepted here.”

“The blacksmith’s wife objected to my clothing and occupation when I stopped to have Brone shoed about a month ago. I hired you to protect me from Roark, but not a handful of villagers.”

“I don’t like it.”

She turned and pinned me with dark green-brown gaze. “Are you proposing that Katraina goes on her own?”

Katraina’s blue eyes met mine over Wren’s solid shoulder. The fear in them spoke to my heart. I couldn’t send her back into the embrace of the monster without an ally. “No.”

Wren nodded. “I expected as much. We will meet by the well in an hour. The cobbler might not have anything in Katraina’s size, but we will make do with what we can get.”

“Be careful,” I admonished as they rode off to the right. In reply, Wren slipped the leather catch off the throwing knife at her waist, the only visible weapon on her person.

I frowned after them for a moment, but finally turned away, asking Deus to protect them.

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Wren

The cobbler’s cottage was more of a hovel than a building. It sat near the center of the village, but unlike the buildings around it, the front faced the opposite direction from the rest of the row. The low, wide doorway faced the deep green of the forest only ten feet away. I drew Brone to a stop and swung Katraina down and then dismounted.

“You have been here before?” Katraina asked as she surveyed the lumpy roof.

“Not here specifically. Brone threw a shoe about a month ago. I knew of this village and I came into town looking for a blacksmith. He took exception to my leggings and my questions about my bounty. I never got as far as the cobblers though I would have appreciated new soles on my boots before I walked to the next village.”

“He didn’t shoe Brone for you?”

I shook my head. “Come. We have been spotted.” I waved to the emerging form of a hunched man. “We should greet him before he can escape our presence.”

“Who be ye?” the old man asked as he approached. Despite his hunched form, he moved smoothly, each step firm and confident. “I haven’t seen ya about the town. Of course, I don’t get out much these days; so, I am not saying much by saying that.”

“We come seeking the cobbler. My companion here needs a new pair of shoes.”

The cobbler’s sharp blue eyes went to the shabby remains on Katraina’s feet. “I should say so. Come, child. I had an order from the blacksmith’s wife that should fit you. You look to have the same size feet.” He started walking back toward his house.

Katraina glanced my way before following.

“Won’t the blacksmith’s wife be missing them if you sold them to us?” I asked, taking up the rear.

“Nonsense.” The man waved a gnarled hand. “She ordered them, and when I made them, she refused to buy them. She says they rubbed her heel the wrong way. As if I, a master craftsman, could make shoes that rub the wrong way. Do you know why?” He turned and peered up at Katraina intently.

“Why what?”

“Do you know why she did it?”

“No.”

“My daughter turned down her son’s offer of marriage.” He swung around and entered the house. “As if my beautiful daughter would even consider her warty son. He doesn’t even earn his own living.” He called this over his shoulder.

I stepped into the dimness of the single-roomed hovel. In the far corner, a mat and bedding huddled against the wall. A cobbler’s workbench stood beneath the single window so the cobbler could work and enjoy the sunlight at the same time. The smell of leather and cabbage filled the air. I was thankful for the cabbage. It held the memories of Father at bay. I didn’t remember much of my Father. I had been so young when he died. Only vague memories of smells, leather and wood dust, remained.

“Ah, here they are.” The cobbler produced a pair of leather boots worked in soft leather with thick soles. Simple and practical, they were exactly what we sought, if they fit. “Have a seat, child.” Katraina perched on the bench, the only place to sit in the whole house. Surprisingly the cobbler had been right. The boots fit perfectly. “An’ no heel rubbing to be found,” the man proclaimed with pride.

“How much?” I asked.

“Three silvers and they are yours.”

I paid the man willingly. The boots were worth far more. But from the glee on the man’s face, I could see that spiting the previous customer was worth more to him than the silver. I thanked him for the shoes and offered Katraina’s old shoes to him. The leather was very worn in places, making them unusable as they were, but he might make something of them. He accepted them and continued to fill our ears with gossip. It took us twice as long as it should have to get away. Finally we managed to mount and return to the village center.

“Thank you for the boots,” Katraina said as I swung her down next the well. “I don’t think I have even owned something so beautiful before.” She sat of the edge of the well wall and admired her new footwear.

“I couldn’t have you hobbling along in what you had. You would have been crippled with blisters in less than a mile.”

“Is this how it always is?” Katraina asked.

An uneasy feeling settled between my shoulder blades like a shiver. Something wasn’t right. I scanned the square around the well while I answered her question. “I usually am received with more friendliness than this in spite of my unusual attire and occupation.” All the houses around us were closed up, doors shut and shutters bolted, strange for this time of day when housewives should be preparing and the children and husband returning from the field to eat.

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Katraina protested. “I meant the importance of having good equipment. Your shoes for instance, I noticed that they are well made as well as worn. How long have you had them?”

I glanced at the dusty leather boots that covered my feet and shrugged. This pair had last me longer than any before. I had been planning on purchasing another pair with my last bounty, but it seemed unlikely now. The cobbler lived twenty miles out of our way to the south. “I have had them about seven months. The soles needed replacing twice already, but otherwise they are in good condition.”

Katraina’s blue eyes widened. “Only seven months? Even when Papar and Mater were alive, we only got one new pair every other year.”

“I walk a lot.” It was true, but the real reason that I wore through my boots so quickly is because I put them through every weather and terrain imaginable.

The silence in the square was eating at my comfort. Glancing at the sun, I estimated that Arthus would be appearing soon. The moment I saw him, I planned on mounting and leaving this nasty village.

“What is wrong?”

I turned to find Katraina watching my face worriedly. “There should be children,” I pointed out. The doorways were empty, abandoned toys lying in the dirt.

“There were children when we passed on the way to the cobbler’s.”

“I know and now there are none. It makes me wonder if their parents know something that I don’t.”

“What are we going to do?” Katraina rose to her feet and edged toward me.

“Wait.” I gestured toward the sun. “Arthus will be back any minute and then we can leave.”

“What if…” She swallowed as though afraid to speak the words aloud. “I am endangering you. I knew it. I am hexed.” She said the words with shaky calm. I half expected panic to follow, but she straightened her shoulders and faced me. “You must leave now. Go and leave me behind. I am a hex on all who know me.”

“Nonsense.”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I killed my father and mother as though I had sliced their throats myself.”

“How?” She stared at me in shock. Obviously she hadn’t expected me to ask questions.

After stuttering for a moment she managed to speak. “Our farm was on the outskirts of town. The bandits were raiding a nearby farm. Mater had sent me to ask the farmer’s wife for flour. When I saw what was happening, I ran home and told Mater. She hid me in the cellar and told me to stay while she went to warn Papar. She never came back.” A shiver shook her. “Tourth found me hours later and told me that Papar and Mater were gone to heaven. It was only after he left that I found out the truth. Mater was….” Her voice drifted off.

“That wasn’t your fault.” I said the words that I had told Aiden many times during our childhood. They would do nothing to heal the wounds, but they needed to be said because they were the truth.

“No!” She shook her head and wiped harshly at the gathering tears. “You don’t understand. I am the reason Tourth is in trouble. He was helping me. If he didn’t have to support me, he wouldn’t have been in Lord Forgtrey’s service and he would have never gotten messed up in all this.”

I frowned, but before I could collect my thoughts to refute this last point, movement to the right drew my attention. My hand went to my waist sheath, but it was a futile movement. I turned only to look down the shaft of a crossbow bolt.

“Ah, what a charming little moment,” a lazy male voice simpered.

My eyes followed the shaft to the prop nestled into the archer’s shoulder and then up to the bloodshot eyes of Malron Roark.

“It seems that you have fallen in with disreputable company, Romany.” He grinned, showing off a nice row of yellow teeth. A wave of ale scented breath assaulted my face as he chuckled. “First a horse thief, then a coward, and now this outcast, what interesting company you keep, wench?”

A struggle ensued to my left. It ended abruptly with a yelp of pain from Katraina. I couldn’t risk dropping Roark’s gaze, at least not until I was sure that my life wouldn’t be forfeit. I met his glare without flinching.

“What do you want, Roark?”

“The same thing you do, the bounty on Tourth Mynth.”

“Aren’t you a bit far from the prey? Last I heard, he was north of here.” Cautiously I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows at him. Under the cover of the movement, I pushed my wrist sheath farther up my arm and hoped that he would forget about its existence should they decide to bind me.

“I am not going to do it, fool. You are going to track him for me. Everyone knows you are half hound. Now, you shall be on a tether and obey my command.” He nodded to someone.

A large hand grasped my shoulder in a vice grip obviously meant to make me cringe. Jabbing an elbow backwards, I buried it in my assailant’s stomach. After that, it only took me a moment to bring him down to my level with a well-placed kick to the back of his knee. He landed with a heavy thud. In one movement, I drew my throwing knife from my waist and brought it to his throat. His beefy hands encircled the arm I had at his throat, but he promptly stopped struggling the moment the tip of my blade pricked his flesh.

“That was foolish.”

Roark’s voice drew my attention from my captive. Roark’s crossbow was now pressed against Katraina’s neck right below her ear and angled up. If he pulled the trigger, the arrow would pass through her head. “If he dies, so does your young friend.” He leaned over to smell her hair. “I had hoped to keep her. The locals say that she is the sister of Mynth. However, if I must…” Grabbing Katraina’s upper arm, he pressed the tip deeper into her skin. Blood trickled down the curve of her neck, crimson against the whiteness of her throat. Terror flickered in her eyes a moment before she closed them without making a sound.

“No.” I dropped the knife into the dust. “There is no need to do that.”

“Bind her,” Roark ordered one of his minions. My hands were roughly bound behind me and the knife removed from my boot. “Don’t forget to check for hidden weapons.” As they roughly searched me for more, Roark finally lowered his crossbow. Katraina sank to the ground in relief. She was promptly bound, but without a thorough search.

“Throw them over a horse and let us ride.” Roark’s orders caused immediate obedience. Within moments, I was getting a faceful of dirt as we galloped out of town. I lost track of Katraina. Silently, I prayed that Arthus would figure out what happened and follow. Years of experience had taught me to never underestimate the wisdom of God and His plans.

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Wren Romany - © 2006 Rachel Rossano