Chapter XVI

Wren Hawthorne loomed over me and grinned. Trying to keep the unease growing between my shoulders, I met the challenge in his gaze with one of my own. "Keilvey mentioned a bounty on a blonder from the west." I fingered my first knife as though I wished to bury it in the back of all westerners, but Hawthorne's back came to mind. Easy, Wren. My conscience whispered. Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord. Hawthorne pursed his lips and waved my statement away. "We have a trace on the man. Word is he is hiding in the valley. Only a matter of days before we know where." "You are not pursuing him yourself?" I asked. "I have moved up in the world." He gestured toward the heavy gold collar around his neck. Red rubies winked at me as he threw his chest out with pride. "I am the Enforcer over the whole valley." "Impressive." I watched a bird take flight from the most distant guard tower. Please don't let it be one of mine, I prayed. "Never thought I would amount to much did you?" I didn't answer and he didn't seem to expect one since he continued. "I have my own rookery now and my own birds. How are your falcons, by the way? Are they still coming at your beck and call?" I was saved from telling him it was none of his business when a man in a guard uniform approached from the prison. He informed Hawthorne that the prisoner brought in the night before was dead. "Dead?" A red flush crept up his face from his neck and his eyes glinted in anger. His hand went to his dagger, the ill-balanced one I recalled from last time we had met. The young guard stepped cautiously back, out of reach. I didn't move, but my muscles tightened in readiness. "He could have given us more information. Tell me he was at least interrogated last night." The guard's face drained of color. "No, your eminence, he was not because he was obviously ill. He was scheduled for a session with Vicron this morning before the execution." "Bring me Vicron," Hawthorne ordered through clenched teeth. The young man ran on his way before he had fully spoken the name. "I do hope you still plan on remaining with us," Hawthorne said to me as though he had been discussing the weather. "If you wait long enough, you might be allowed in on the capture of the Westerner. Besides, there are plenty of other bounties at large in the area. The old lord of the valley had a son. The prisoner," he indicated the jail with his thumb, "was supposedly a comrade in arms with the whelp. I was hoping to find out a bit more about him before the rat died." My heart stuttered. "Is there a price on his head?" I asked calmly. "No, but there should be." Hawthorne smiled a slow creepy smile. "I plan on having the whelp and the Westerner in my goal or mounted above my gates before the celebration." He indicated a series of iron spikes adoring the archway to the main gate. "Speaking of the celebration, you must stay for that at least. Surely you can remain with us for a month until the end. King Orac himself is due to arrive within a fortnight." A man who resembled a brick wall on legs approached in the wake of the young guard. "I will need to leave on business shortly, but I will be certain to return for such a festive occasion." I timed the last words so that Hawthorne only managed to open his mouth to protest before the guard interrupted. "See Keilvey about rooming in my name," Hawthorne said before turning away to deal with Vicron. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tourth The steady rhythm of the mallet striking the wedge, the pull and release of my muscles, and the smooth shifting of balance from one side to the other was just mindless enough to ease my crazed mind. I could use no other word to describe my state beside obsessed. No matter how I tried to distract it from the memories of the battle of Catorna, they lurked on the fringes of my consciousness. "Shouldn't you place a new wedge before that one is completely imbedded?" Hiller commented. I paused to eye the log. The wedge was almost flush with the wood. I should have placed the second wedge strokes ago. Now my work was going to be twice as hard. You deserve it. I grimaced. "Place the wedge and I will start it," I replied, turning toward Hiller only to pause. Dardon and Svhen stood behind him, looking like they wanted to be anywhere else. Dardon glowered as though someone crossed stolen a win in the practice field. Svhen frowned, which for him meant trouble. "These two say you need some help." Hiller waved in the direction of my comrades. "Then grab a mallet and a wedge." I knew that wasn't what he was saying, but I intended to make them work for it. "Not that way," Dardon barked. "You haven't been this intense since…" His voice dropped to nothing, leaving the sentence hanging. We all knew he was thinking of the journey home from the war. I jumped at every snapping twig, rustle of the wind, or thickening shadow. Arthus startled me one night and I nearly took off his head. Only his swift reflexes had saved his life. "Iscarus mentioned your conversation last night." Hiller placed the wedge, holding it in position, but both Dardon and Svhen stepped back. "He had no right." I drove the mallet at the wedge with all my might. Metal bit deep into the wood and the muscles in my shoulders protested. Ignoring them, I lifted the tool again. "No one has a right to discuss my thoughts but me." The slab on metal whizzed past Hiller's head and missed his hand by a breath. The crack of the impact echoed through my head. "Unless you won't let them rest and it is endangering you and those around you." Svhen stepped forward to stay me from lifting the hammer again. He spoke as though I had done nothing more than tripped over a pail of milk. Something of his tone reminded me of Wren's eerie calm in the face of my rage. Hiller looked up at me. "Right after I came home from the war, I almost cracked Warwick's head open on a brick wall. Do you know what his offense was?" I shook my head, trying to envision mild Hiller enraged. "He told me my hair was standing on end." "The point is," Dardon said, "we were all there." Not Catorna. "Maybe not Catorna, but some just as horrible." He answered my thoughts. "I led a scouting party into a trap." "Failed to defend my swordmate's blind spot," Hiller admitted. "Attacked an unarmed man," Svhen offered. We all stared at him in horror. Not that we all hadn't do the same in the heat of battle when the adrenaline high burned in our veins, the blood rushed in our ears, and our opponent dropped his sword. However, just the idea of him, honor bound, cool-blooded Svhen, losing control to that degree shook me. If even Svhen can be shaken… No! "Three hundred seven lives gone." The pain jammed itself into the back of my throat, making me gag on my own spit. I wanted to heave, scream, and cry simultaneously. The conflict tore at my gut, bringing tears to my eyes. Tears? I lifted a hand to touch the foreign wetness. When was the last time I had cried? "Iscarus told us." Hiller's hands gripped my shoulders. "Aron." The name ripped past the knot in my throat despite my best effort to keep it inside. The sound of his name was enough to bring his face to my sight. Burned in my memory were the look of horror, fear, and confusion as he looked down at the arrow in his chest and the slow melting of his features into the slack contortion of death. "Your father would have understood," Hiller informed me. Suddenly my parents joined the ranks of dead encroaching on my defenses. The walls I had erected around my soul over the past years trembled. Crumbling from the inside out, what I feared loomed. I lowered my head. Svhen lifted the handle from my slack fingers. The lump in my throat threatened to choke me. I couldn't breathe against the pressure in my chest. A voice murmured in my ears. At first I thought it was one of the spirits haunting me, but I gradually realized it was Hiller praying for me. I was a fool. Conviction struck my shoulders like a load of stones. I staggered. Then lowered myself to sit on the log. Hiller joined me. "All our righteousnesses are as filthy rags." Hiller continued to quote and pray, but the sentence burned itself into my brain. Without the grace of God, I was lost. I couldn't even save myself, let alone the ones I cared about. It wasn't my place to carry this weight. Deus had already taken it from me, I just refused to let go and it was poisoning me slowly. All those months that I thought I was winning with my own strength, He was working beneath the surface. Wren had seen the struggle and poked it, opening the festering sore to the air. Like any disease, The poison fought back against the remedy, but now it was losing its hold. Deus was prying my fingers loose despite my protests and stubborn tenacity. He would win. He always did. It was simply a matter of whether I would give in with the threads of dignity I had remaining or continue to throw a tantrum. "I surrender." My words slipped out as a breath, but I knew the Lord heard them and would hold me to them. Tears followed. I wept for my parents, Aron, and the men who had died at Catorna. The knot at the back of my throat washed away and with it swept the grief that I had hoarded for two years. When I finally lifted my head, hours later, Hiller sat beside me, silent and peaceful. Svhen and Dardon were not in sight. "At peace?" he asked. I nodded wearily. I ached physically, but I knew to the depths of my soul that I was finally at peace before God again. "Welcome home." I looked up. Iselyn rose before me, a majestic shadow of its former glory in the fading light. Then I noticed a figure climbing the trail toward us. He spotted us and waved, yelling something. "Something is wrong." Hiller rose to his feet and started down the trail to meet the man. "What is the news, Troj?" I dragged myself upright and picked up the mallet. Regardless of the news, I was not up to splitting anymore logs tonight. When I finally joined the two men, Hiller's face looked fierce. "Arthus returned. He never reached the border because he was picked up by a press gang." "Is he alright?" I asked Troj. His face answered for him. I plowed past him and started toward the castle. "He will live," Hiller yell after me. "He better," I hollered back, "for Kat's sake." He caught up with me as I strode across the courtyard toward the barracks. Men moved about as though they were productively occupied, but I intercepted worried looks every way I turned. "What do you mean 'for Kat's sake'?" Hiller grabbed my arm before I reached the door. "He loves her." That caused him to pause long enough for me to pull away and push through the gathered men outside the kitchen door. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2011 Rachel Rossano

Chapter XV

Wren The Enforcer's stronghold squatted across the lower slopes of Mount Striden. Embedded in the center of a scar of raw limestone torn in the side of the mountain, it festered black and sickly. I didn't see too much of the overall layout as we approached, but what I did see made me question the skills of the planner. Sprawling walls and poorly placed guard posts made defending impractical. On cue, the impressive but shoddily hung gates opened under the brute force of fifteen men. As we passed through, the gatekeeper's swears were clearly heard over the rain and the sloshing efforts of pulling them closed again. A slight, drenched figure lifting a lantern so large it looked like it would topple her beckoned us to follow her across the mud pit of a courtyard. A wooden pavilion stood halfway between the gate and the keep. She stopped and waited for us to join her beneath it. "Welcome, Master Gnart," the girl yelled over the staccato of the rain on the roof. She eyed me warily. "The master says you are to come in to dinner as soon as you arrive. They have been eating for barely a quarter hour in the great hall." "Fine, Sash, fine," my companion grunted as he wrung out his hat and sluiced water from his cloak ends. "This here is Mistress Romany." The girl frowned at me. "Pleased I am sure, miss. There should be room in the stables for your horse and the kitchen is bound to have scraps and leavings." "Now here, Sash, you can't go feeding the Romany table scraps. The Master is certain to want of her services." I blinked to hide my surprise. This was the first I had heard of a possible bounty. Of course, I have been out of the usually way of hearing such things. Sash eyed me suspiciously. "The Romany?" "The bounty hunter," Gnart offered as though speaking to one who was slow of mind. "The bounty on the western murderer, Svhen Bejork…?" My breath caught, but I forced it back into rhythm. "Ah, that." Sash flapped her hand as though it was a little thing. "They already know where he is." My chest constricted. Gnart's exclamation of disbelief covered my involuntary gasp. I was just trying to regain my composure when a yell drew our attention to a small boy running through the rain toward us. Gnart promptly turned back to Sash and began pestering her about someone they both knew. Upon reaching the shelter, the boy shook himself like a dog. "Stable master said to take your horse, miss," the boy informed me. I gestured for the boy to wait and turned back to the couple arguing in hushed tones. "I am going to bed down my horse. Which way is it to the main hall?" "Right through those doors, miss," Sash volunteered before Gnart recovered from his surprise that I was going to personally settle my horse. I nodded my understanding and turned to the boy. "Lead on." He obeyed. I pulled up my hood again and strode after him. Behind me I caught Gnart muttering "strange female" before the rain on my head drowned out the sound of his voice. Let him think what he wished. Strange female was the milder of the descriptions I had gained over the past year and half. The stables were warm, dry, and well maintained, the sign of a man who valued his horseflesh. Whether that was the Enforcer or the stable master was yet to be seen. The boy offered to groom Brone, but I convinced him to simply show me where the brushes were. "Are you really a bounty hunter?" he asked as he hung from the stall wall by his armpits. "Yes." I set to brushing Brone immediately, resisting the urge to linger over the task as I had the past weeks. Brone complained slightly at my pace. "You don't looking a bounty hunter," the boy pointed out. "Bounty hunters are big, stinky, and carry lots of weapons." "What makes you think I don't carry lots of weapons?" I asked calmly. I hid the smile that pulled at my lips. His description covered a majority of the others I encountered in my line of work. The child tilted his head to one side and studied me. I pulled the brush across Brone's side for the last time when he finally spoke again. "I guess you are right. I don't know about the weapons because you have more than I thought you did, but you still are mighty nice smelling for a bounty hunter." "I doubt many would agree with you." I replaced the brushes and threw a blanket over Brone's back. "I do," a new voice offered. I swung around and whipped my first knife out of its sheath and into throwing position, my left hand on the second, before my brain caught up with my instinct. "Whoa!" The man raised empty hands to frame his face. Medium height, brown hair and nondescript face, he would have faded into any crowd, except to my eyes. "Keilvey? What are you doing here?" I didn't lower my hand. "Where is your master? Where is Hawthorne?" Just the taste of his name on my tongue made my stomach tense. "He goes by a different name now, but that isn't why I am here. One of the prisoners sent a message." Arthus? I studied Keilvey's face. The man had betrayed his master once. Could I count on him doing so again? "The message?" I asked. "No contact." It was obvious Keilvey didn't know what it meant, but I knew all too well. I needed a plan and fast. Arthus' message confirmed my fear that he hadn't made it very far beyond the valley. "Where is he?" "Who?" "The prisoner." My hand went to my money pouch. "He is safe for now, but come morrow he won't be." "Why?" "One of the other pressed workers identified him for the Enforcer as one of the rebel criminals from the war. He has been sentenced to death at noon." My throat closed over a lump. Please, Deus, have mercy. I studied the man before me. "What will it cost me to have him released and escorted outside the gates?" I lifted my money pouch. Keilvey's eyes didn't even stray from my face. "Money is not going to cover this one, Romany. Want my freedom this time. My freedom and Hawthorne's head is my price for the prisoner's life. I cannot have one without the other." Icy liquid shot through my veins and my heart thudded hard against my ribs as my mind raced. I needed a plan and fast. Father, give me wisdom, I pleaded. Seconds passed as my thoughts moved like molasses in winter. Then a sudden revelation dawned. It was a risk. No bigger than others I had taken before. The only problem was the risk was not all mine. Those I loved would also be involved. It all balanced on the character of a man I didn't know. I was going to have to… "I will get you your freedom, but I cannot promise you Hawthorne's head." Keilvey studied my face. His dark eyes weighed my honor. Our past gave him a solid sampling. Confident that he would settle in my favor, I sheathed my dagger. "Deal?" I asked. "Deal," he agreed and offered his hand in promise, which I accepted. "Now where is Arthus and how are we going to get him out?" I asked. "Follow me." Keilvey nodded to the boy still watching us with rapt attention. "Get the foreman, Datar. I have business with him." ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tourth "You need to speak to the Lord about what is consuming you before the poison is all that remains." Wren's words wouldn't leave me alone. If Iscarus' presence at my side wasn't bringing back memories of my childhood, our recent conversation and my partial confession had broken the floodgates of war memories, and I could not staunch the deluge. Then Wren's words, direct, honest, and sharp in their accuracy, would break through the cracks between the memories. For four hours, I sat in agony, battling demons. Fortunately, Iscarus remained with me the whole time for I was in no condition to demand an account of any flesh and bone adversary that might have come to the gate during my watch. Finally my replacement arrived, still yawning away the last of his slumber, and took my place on the ledge. Wordlessly, Iscarus followed me to the courtyard. I hoped he would let me go to my bed the same way, but it wasn't his way. "She is coming back." "What?" I asked, stopping to turn toward him. "Wren, she said she is coming back." "I know." I was confused about why he was bringing this up now. It wasn't as though I had been sharing the madness in my head. He had no reason to know I had been thinking about her. Iscarus studied my face. His own was a glistening mask in the rain and torchlight of the passing watch men. He waited until we were alone, standing in the center of the courtyard like two idiots without the sense to find shelter from the rain. "She has gotten to you. I can see it. I think it is a good thing. From what Dardon and Svhen say, you have been too much within yourself. She is digging at the source of your pain, getting close. Your anger proves it. Just…" He paused as though afraid of saying too much. "Just don't drive her away because her words hurt." "What is it with everyone having an opinion about what is going on in my head?" I demanded. "First Wren and now you." I threw the words at him. "Just because I confessed a little about my experience in the wars doesn't make you an expert. No more than Wren is an expert when it comes to my relationship with God or my men. I do not need any of your help. I have lived quite happily in my own head without interference for all of my life. I don't need anyone's help dealing with any of this. Now leave me alone." I turned and stalked off toward the barracks. I wasn't going to be able to sleep, but I refused to show Iscarus that. I burst into the main room, whipping the door closed behind me. Denied the satisfaction of a loud noise thanks to Iscarus catching it behind me, I almost roared my frustration in his face. With great effort, I managed to restrain myself and stalk off to my bedroom. Iscarus followed me as far of the doorway. He stood there silently as I violently went through the motions of ridding myself of my soaked clothes. He waited until after I pulled a fresh tunic over my head before speaking. "A festering sore infects the whole. You are part of this, a crucial part. For the sake of the rest of us, you need to find peace. If you do not it will not just consume you, it will consume all of us." Without waiting for a response, he left. I extinguished the lantern, threw myself into bed, and covered my head with my blanket. Distantly I heard someone snoring. More closely at hand, a murmur of voices came through the walls. With the way things were happening, they were probably discussing me. Don't be childish, my inner voice chided. I grimaced and concentrated on sleep. When it came, I wished I could wake as I relived the horrors of Catorna. Then Aron rose from my memories to lecture me on the condition of my soul in Wren's voice before setting me on fire. I woke as the dawn lightened the sky to a gloomy gray. Sweat soaked my clothing and bedding as my thoughts and emotions reeled. Reflections of the horrors of only two years before lingered on the fringes of my mind, ready to leap to the forefront the moment I closed my eyes. Despite a perfectly cooked breakfast, the stench of burning flesh remained in my nostrils for hours. I purposefully forgot to spend time with Deus before devoting myself into the morning tasks. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wren Morning dawned overcast and murky. The rain held off, but it threatened in the air, thick and sluggish. Immediately after breaking our fast, Keilvey led me into the depths of the prison building. The darkness closed in on us, smothering in the stench of bodily fluids and rot. I resisted the impulse to cover my nose and attempted to breathe through my mouth instead. My stomach rolled in response. "Here." Keilvey stopped outside a heavy wooden door hung on iron hinges. A stooped man leaned against the wall next to the door. He didn't respond when we approached and Keilvey didn't acknowledge his presence. Instead my companion produced a key and opened the door. I obeyed his gesture to precede him into the room, kicking aside a wooden bowl of rancid stew in the process. "Arthus?" I asked the darkness. My eyes were still adjusting to the dimly tinged blackness of the cell. "Wren?" Arthus stirred, a weak upheaval in the dense shadows at the back of the cell. "Is that you?" The rasp of his voice was painful to my ears and most likely twice as painful in his throat. "Yes, come toward my voice." "You received my message…" He broke off to cough violently. I moved toward the sound, ignoring the scuffling behind me. My instincts demanded I pay some attention to Keilvey, but the intensity of Arthus' fit demanded my response first. Then my hand closed around Arthus' and the heat of it drove all other thoughts from my mind. Oh, Father, spare him, please. Keilvey grunted loudly as he shoved something through the door into the room. The form fell to the cell floor with an all too solid thump. A hand fell from the blanket wrapped around the body and came to rest next to my boot. My eyes were adjusting more quickly than I wanted. "If you want to get out, now would be the time," Keilvey declared. "Who?" Arthus gasped the very question pressing at my lips. "A poor wretch who died last night." "Surely…" Arthus protested, resisting as I urged him toward the door. "Do you want to die here?" Keilvey asked. "No." "Then move." His tone clearly indicated that he thought I was a fool for rescuing Arthus, but I ignored him. Shoving a shoulder under Arthus' arm, I half dragged him toward the cell door. Keilvey threw a ragged cloak over Arthus' shoulders and head before we cleared the door. We waited in the hall while he locked the cell behind us. Then he preceded us past the guards into the overcast morning. Unchallenged, we crossed the muddy courtyard and stepped into the shadow of the outer wall. At Keilvey's signal a supply wagon lumbered past and stopped about ten feet in front of us. "Your ride through the gates," Keilvey informed Arthus. "Climb in, keep your head down, and it will stop at the first crossroads to let you out." Then he pinned me with a steady gaze. "I will expect payment in a timely manner." He turned on his heel and marched off toward the brick making ovens on the far side of the yard. "What have you done, Wren?" Arthus demanded before coughing again. "Get in the wagon." I practically dragged him over to it. I would have shoved him over the side too, but he stopped me by catching my arm. The driver ignored us with a studied concentration. "What bargain?" I avoided his eyes. "Tell Tourth that Svhen is a wanted man and to keep his head down." "I will not go without knowing," he replied. The driver started to grow nervous and the horses restlessly shifted their weight. "The price was his freedom for yours. I promised to free him from Hawthorne in exchange for your rescue. Now go or we will both be caught this time." I shoved him forward and this time he allowed me to push him up over the side. The wagon was in motion before he completely settled. I watched him pull the canvas over himself as the wagon joined the queue to exit the main gate. True to Keilvey's promise, the wagon with Arthus on board passed through without inspection. I heaved a great sigh of relief and turned to seek Keilvey only to come face to face with Hawthorne. "Mistress Romany," he exclaimed with false glee. "What could possibly have brought you to this insignificant part of the world?" My chest constricted as every muscle in my back tensed. It took all of my control to not let my unease show on my face. "I heard you were offering some bounties, my lord." I was going to make Keilvey suffer. He didn't tell me that my old enemy was the Enforcer. Lord, help, I prayed. I was going to need all the help I could get. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wren Romany - (c) 2011 Rachel Rossano