Chapter Eight (old)

*** Important note from author - Due to feedback from friends and fellow authors, I have decided to try writing Wren's tale from the third person perspective instead of the first person of the previous chapters. I am not sure how this transition will come across and I welcome your feedback on which you think works the best for this story. Either way, I hope you enjoy the new chapter. Now, back to you regularly scheduled chapter. ***

Chapter Eight

Arthus led the way across the short distance to the trees. Once he reached the brush, he slipped behind the nearest bush and held the branches back for Katraina and Wren. He was startled when only Katraina passed him into the safety of the cover.

“Where is Wren?” he asked in a harsh whisper. The men that had been guarding the women were dead and the others were too far away to hear, but he didn’t see a good reason to be reckless.

“She said something about Brone.”

“Her horse?” He was going to give that woman a piece of his mind when he found her. They needed to get as far as possible before the bandits realized that they were gone. Waltzing back into the camp to steal back a horse would be a sure way of causing alarm. The horses were bound to be guarded. “Stay here,” he whispered to Katraina and then ducked back out into the clearing without waiting for a response.

No sooner did he step beyond the last of the cover than he was confronted with a shadow moving silently across the clearing toward him. It was too tall to be Wren. Only when he heard a soft huff of horse breath did he recognize who it must be. “Wren?”

A hand covered his mouth as she shoved him backwards. She was only a black shadow against the murky night, but a strong and substantial one. With a quick pull at his shoulder, she swung him around to face the trees and pushed him forward. Arthus didn’t wait for a second order. He headed for the foliage.

In a matter of moments, Wren managed to slip Brone into the brush without a sound. Arthus caught a whispered conversation between Wren and Katraina, but he couldn’t get close enough to hear it before Wren was hoisting Katraina up onto the horse’s back.

Then Wren was at his side.

“When did this become your operation instead of mine?” he hissed in her ear.

“When you cut the ropes,” she replied. “Now take the reins and lead Brone to where you stashed Trader.” She pressed the leather leads into his palm and then disappeared again. Only the creak of the saddle signaled to him that she had mounted behind Katraina.

I guess I could do worse, he mused. At least I know she has a plan. Wrapping the leather around his left hand, he started picking the best way through the dense brush. If Wren was insisting on riding on the horse, she would have to worry about staying on the beast and avoiding the low hanging branches.

After thirty minutes of Brone breathing in his ear, Arthus recognized the trail. Their pace increased in the clear places and within another ten minutes, he spotted Trader. The stallion lifted his head and nickered a greeting. Arthus winced at the sound. “Hush.”

Instantly Wren was taking the reins from his fist.

“What now?” he asked half-sarcastically.

Wren ignored his tone. “Roark will expect us to go north. We head west until day break, find a decent river flowing north or south, and follow it for a time. I think, by then, Katraina will be willing to help us find Tourth.”

“Are you sure she knows where he is?”

“I am completely positive.” After throwing the reins over Brone’s head, she paused and turned to face him in the dark. “Thank you for coming for us.”

The sincerity in her voice made him suddenly uncomfortable. “What else was I going to do? You have the money bags and the provisions. All I have is extra bedding.”

“Still, I…we appreciate it.” She melted into the shadows at Brone’s side and mounted.

Shaking off his unease, Arthus crossed to Trader and untied his lead. Mounting, he allowed Wren, Katraina, and Brone to take the lead. He marveled at Wren’s confidence as she chose her direction and urged her stallion forward. It was almost as though she were part wild, knowing where to go and how to get there with the confidence of a migrating elk.

Settling into the saddle, he and Trader fell into an easy pace that would keep them moving for the rest of the night. Once satisfied that Trader understood the rules, Arthus set to considering the women on the horse before him and the strange way they pulled at his latent chivalry. He needed to figure this out soon before one or the other managed to get into a fix again.

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Morning dawned overcast and forbidding. Wren watched the sky with a frown. By midday, they would be drenched and cold, by the sound of the wind. Katraina’s heavy, sleep-relaxed body pressed against her back. Brone continued on in his steady plodding despite the lightening of the skies. Wren hadn’t risked looking back to check on Arthus, but the sounds of someone following were consistent.

As she watched the woodland pass her, slowly changing into marshland, Wren couldn’t help the feeling of concern. The success of their escape depended on Roark’s arrogance. If he didn’t think that they had headed north and searched for their trail, then there was nothing stopping him from reaching them. They couldn’t spend all day in the saddle. The wear of the previous sleepless night was already tugging at her senses. Arthus wouldn’t be much better and only Katraina of all of them had rested at all.

It was possible that Katraina could ride Brone and lead Trader, but sleeping on a horse was almost as wearying as not sleeping at all. She closed her eyes and admitted that they did indeed need to stop.

“What is the plan?”

Startling slightly, Wren looked over to find Trader and Arthus keeping pace.

“I was just thinking that we need to stop and sleep for a few hours.”

“Good luck finding some dry ground.” The marshy waste filled with vine-draped trees and dense fog lingering over stale water didn’t offer much in the way of firm dry ground. “We could turn north now,” he suggested. “I doubt the waste extends very far in that direction and Roark isn’t going to be able to track us in this. The mud slides back into place as we pass.”

Wren nodded. It seemed to make sense. “Do you want to lead the way?” she asked.

His eyes took in her uncomfortable position with Katraina against her back and nodded. “You could always wake her,” he commented.

“This way at least one of us will be rested.”

Nodding silently, he urged Trader forward into the muck, turning to the right so that the sun lightened the clouds on their right side. With a silent prayer to Deus, Wren turned Brone to follow.

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The rain began just as Arthus spotted a possible place to camp. An ancient tree succumbed to the elements not very long ago, falling on its side and baring its tangled roots to the world. The space between the great trunk and the ground was at least five feet at its highest point and the earthen packed roots would block the icy wind.

Upon dismounting, Wren immediately began working on starting a fire. She gathered wood and brush quickly. Clearing a place out of the wind, she arranged her load. She was just about to begin working the flint when Arthus appeared.

“I have some oiled canvas under Brone’s saddlebag,” Wren informed him as he dumped his saddlebags next to the fire. “If we drape it from the trunk and anchor it with stones, I believe with will help keep the rain out.”

Arthus grunted, but didn’t move off toward Brone. The kindling began to smolder. Wren nursed the flame to a flickering of red and yellow.

Leaning back on her heels, she looked up at him. He didn’t meet her gaze, watching the flickering light instead. “What is wrong?”

“I don’t like how you are giving orders. I am not your slave just because I am employed by you.”

“I didn’t mean it as an order.” She frowned. “I was just suggesting that it might work. What do you think?”

His dark green eyes were shadowed, but she noted the easing in the tension around his mouth.

“We are all bound to be feeling a bit on edge,” she offered.

“What is going on?” Katraina asked as she approached. “I brought Brone’s saddlebags. He seemed eager to be free of his saddle as well, but I couldn’t manage it too.” Pausing to glance from Arthus to Wren and back, she frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Arthus shook his head as though to shaking off a heavy cloak. “No, I am just a bit tense. You said the canvas was under Brone’s saddlebags, Wren?”

“Do you mean this?” Katraina held up a folded tarp of deep brown.

Wren smiled wearily. “That is exactly it.”

“I will go unsaddle the horses,” Arthus offered. He strode back out into the rain.

Katraina watched him go. “What is happening between you two?”

“We are two independent people used to making decisions on our own.” Wren added another branch to the fire. “I shouldn’t have been so abrupt.” She sighed and frowned. “I didn’t realize I was so out of practice.”

“What do you mean?” Katraina asked as she dropped the Wren’s saddle bags next Arthus’.

“I haven’t traveled with anyone or spent much time around one person who was not a bounty for over a year. Believe it or not, you lose the ability to peacefully share company with others after a while.”

“I don’t think you have. We get along just fine.”

“Ah, but you are used to living with others. I am not. You compensate for my short comings. Arthus, on the other hand, is a lot like me. You put the two of us together and there is bound to be friction.”

Katraina studied Wren carefully for a few moments. “You haven’t always lived like this. Don’t you have family?”

Memories of her siblings flooded her mind unbidden. Aiden and Zoe sparring in the yard, while Arnan watched with a jealous eye. Aquila, dainty Aquila, played in the river while Ilara watched from her perch in a nearby tree. She saw Daelia as she would always remember her with her sleeves rolled up above flour covered forearms and dough covered hands. Just the memory of Sam brought warmth to her chest. Hours spent in the garden discussing all manner of things. Occasionally Taerith would join them. Oh, Taerith! A flood of homesickness threatened to bring tears to her eyes. Taerith had been the one to teach her to understand why Aiden and Arnan fought. He could see clearly with his quiet strength. Taking a deep, slow breath, Wren pulled her thoughts back into submission. Deus, protect and keep them.

“Yes, I had a family.” She looked up to find Katraina studying her face worriedly.

“What happened to them?”

“We had to part ways.”

“But you still love them?”

“Yes, I will always love them.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, Wren added yet another piece to the fire. “What about you and Tourth? Were you close?”

Katraina immediately turned away and touched the canvas. “What did you need want this for anyway?”

Wren let her change the topic. The last thing they needed was all three of them on edge. “I was thinking we could attach it to them trunk and drape it down to block the rain.” She looked up at the rough bark of the trunk above them. “I think I have some metal stakes and a mallet in my bags. They might help.”

“Then I will get them and work on that,” Katraina declared.

Wren watched her move away and wondered if she had been premature in her prediction of when Katraina would open up to them. Her stomach growled fiercely, interrupting her thoughts. Food first and worry later, she decided. Besides it was all in Deus’ hands anyway. He hadn’t failed her yet and He wasn’t about to start. She pulled the provisions bag over and began assessing their provisions.

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Wren rose out of the oblivion of sleep to the staccato of rain on the canvas a few inches from her face. As the chorus of her weary muscles began their clamor, she slowly became aware of voices.

“I think that was the great white female that she used to frighten off Roark,” Arthus commented in hushed tones.

“I remember seeing them that first night, but I didn’t realize there were so many. Do you think they will let us wake her?”

After a brief silence, there was a shriek and violent flapping of wings. The sound of someone scrambling backwards with a curse made Wren turn her head. She just managed to catch sight of Arthus retreating before Volante’s beak. Instantly, Wren tightened her lips into a piercing whistle. Volante stopped mid lunge with an awkward hop and looked back of Wren. There was a flicker of regret within the bird’s sharp eyes, but she obediently turned back to Wren with a warning cry in Arthus’ direction. Half hopping half gliding, Volante came to Wren’s side, perching on her boot.

“Is it safe now?” Arthus asked. He was standing beyond the shelter of the great tree. Rain pounded down on his head and soaked his tunic.

Wren laughed. “Come in out of the rain. No one will attack you; I will make sure.”

Arthus cautiously returned and chose a place on the far side of the fire, looking like a drowned pup. He didn’t look too pleased with Wren or the birds that crowded around her in a flurry of feathers and noise.

“There are so many,” Katraina commented as she joined Arthus on the far side of the fire. Her pale eyes were wide with appreciation as she watched the falcons.

“There should be only seven,” Wren commented as she tried to pull her leather gloves from the saddlebag she had been using as a pillow. Myrddin was perched on it and disinclined to move. She had just pulled one glove free when Gavin decided to get her attention. With a hop, he landed on Wren’s leg. His sharp claws latched on, cutting through the woolen blanket and two layers of clothing beneath, causing Wren to catch her breath in her throat.

“Gavin off,” she ordered. The white male simply cocked his head and studied her with one eye. She knew that if she tried to shake him off, his talons would only tear the skin more. Quickly pulling on her single glove, she thrust her fist before his legs and nudged them. As trained, he hopped onto her leather protected fist. “Annoying bird,” she muttered at him. A thick roll of vellum was attached to his leg, indicating another long epistle from Aquila. “At least you have redeemed yourself with this.” Untying the letter, Wren glanced over at her traveling companions to find them both watching her with curiosity.

“What is it?” Katraina asked.

“Most likely a letter from my sister.”

“Nothing from your fugitive brother, then?” Arthus asked.

Having long given up on keeping Arnan a secret from Arthus, Wren glanced at Shea. The grayish-brown female was preening her feathers. As she lifted an obviously naked leg, Wren couldn’t help frowning. It had been less than a week since she sent him off with a letter. The bird had obviously lost his burden again. Wren sighed.

“I guess not, then,” Arthus observed.

“Where have they been?” Katraina asked. “I haven’t seen any of them since that first night after I joined you.”

Wren smiled as she shooed Gavin off and reached for Volante. “Most of them were probably not around yet. They only all congregate once in a long while. With the rain, they decided to take shelter with us.”

“Will they attack again?” Arthus asked. He watched warily as she soothed Volante.

“I won’t let them.” Wren smiled reassuringly. Arthus visibly relaxed and lifted his hands toward the fire. “Do you have a dry change of clothes? I wouldn’t recommend starting out the trip soaking.”

“We are traveling today?” Katraina asked. Her hand hovered over the kettle handle as she looked at Wren in surprise. “But it is freezing and pouring.”

“You don’t want Roark catching up with us do you?” Sending Volante off to the far end of the shelter with the other birds, Wren pulled her feet out from beneath the blanket and began working them into her boots. “If we sit still, we will be sitting targets. It will only take Roark a matter of hours to find our trail. At least if we are moving, we can keep him behind us and begin gaining ground.”

“Have you decided which direction?” Arthus asked as he crawled over to his saddle bags. After stripping off his shirt, he began rummaging through the bag for a replacement. Wren watched as Katraina immediately lowered her eyes and began studying the kettle intensely.

“That all depends on Katraina,” Wren commented casually.

The blanching of the young woman’s face did not escape Wren’s scrutiny. “But…” Katraina’s protest died in her throat.

“I think I have proven my honesty, Katraina. My intentions toward your brother are purely helpful. I believe he is wrongly accused and I want to help him.” Wren met the woman’s eyes with a steady, clear gaze.

“And Arthus?” she asked.

Wren glanced over at Arthus. His shirt was half over his head. Pulling it swiftly down, he promptly declared, “I already told you, Kat. I am a failed bounty hunter and my only hope of making a living now is protecting Wren. She is the boss. I will follow her orders when it comes to your brother.”

Katraina colored softly under Arthus’ fierce gaze. “Then we are heading toward Rowanlan. Our mother’s family comes from there and Tourth hoped to find refuge for a time among them.”

Wren nodded as she knotted off her boot lacings. “Then let us eat and break camp. We have a long way to go. Rowanlan is at least three days travel north east.”

Katraina nodded and lifted the steaming kettle from the fire. Wren reached for her cloak as Arthus began rolling his bedding. It was promising to be a long hard day, but at least now they had a destination.

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Wren Romany - © 2006 Rachel Rossano