Chapter XIV

Tourth

“He did what?” Iscarus bellowed. Feet apart, hands on hips, eyes blazing, he filled the great hall with his anger. The ten men from his hunting party had been murmuring among themselves, but Iscarus’ outburst brought all the attention to himself. I couldn’t help seeing some of each of his older brothers in him at that moment.

“Keilvey took Hiller, Svhen, and the thirty men captive. They are practically to the enforcer’s fortress by now.” Wren pointed to the sliver of waning daylight beyond the windows.

“He followed you?” He rounded on her. And she didn’t even flinch.

“He didn’t. The increased activity on this end of the valley drew their attention. He sent a spy to scout it out. A man named Aexlem.”

Iscarus’ face lost all color while Arthus broke into a violent fit of coughing. “Not that traitor. That…” A string of insults not fit for anyone’s ears fell out of his mouth.

“Cool it, Iscarus.” I cut him off. “You have obviously been hanging out with Warwick too long. That is not the way to speak in front of a woman. Calm down and tell us why that name is significant.”

“He sold the knowledge of King Sigmon’s battle plans to Orac’s commander. He is the reason we lost the war.”

“One of the reasons,” I pointed out. “So, what is he doing here?”

“Selling secrets?” Iscarus suggested.

“Hawthorne would be an easy target.” Wren pressed a flask of water into Arthus’ hand. “He has always been willing to try a quick plan for riches and glory. If Aexlem offers the right bits of information, he would be an eager buyer.”

“Regardless, Enforcer Hawthorne has just declared war on my brother. Capture and restraint of a noble’s brother as well as a company of his enlisted men bearing his crest is an act of war between neighboring lands. Philon isn’t going to take this timidly.”

“He will claim they were inciting rebellion,” Wren pointed out.

“Regardless he has no grounds. We are on Tourth’s land. Even if Tourth doesn’t officially hold the title, he still owns the land. We are here with his permission for peaceful purposes repairing his property. The law will uphold my brother’s right to use force should the enforcer not release Hiller and the men immediately.”

I jumped in. “Wren guesses that the enforcer will wait until King Orac shows to execute Svhen. If we come with you to speak with Philon, do you think we can get back with an army before they arrive?”

Arthus opened his mouth and began hacking again.

“You will accept the help?” Iscarus stared at me in surprise.

“Yes. Svhen’s life is at risk. I can’t let him die if there is something I can do about it.”

“Won’t…work!” Arthus’ chest heaved as he wheezed for a moment. “Orac a day’s march away. The soldiers mentioned it while they were…” He broke into coughing again.

“While they searched for you?” Wren rubbed his back.

He nodded and nursed his flask.

“I suggest an alternate plan.” Iscarus began pacing. “I leave for Sidle Valley seeking reinforcements. I will take Arthus with me. You see if you can find Orac before he reaches the enforcer’s fortress. You mentioned that he is reasonable. Speak to him and convince him to accept your bid for the title. Lord willing, he will listen and remove the enforcer’s power.”

“I said I only thought he would be reasonable.”

He shrugged. “Bring up the law and the enforcer’s infractions against it. Even if he doesn’t honor your request for your family title, he will still remove the enforcer.”

A sullen lump hardened in my gut. “I don’t like it.”

“What choice do you have? Can you think of another plan?”

“I don’t even know what direction Orac is coming from.” The words sounded whiny in my ears, but it was true.

“Take Wren. She can help you.”

Wren opened her mouth. I assumed it was to protest, but she never got a chance.

“I know where King Orac is. I will take you to him.”

Half the men reached for their swords, Iscarus included. A strange man stood in the open doorway wearing the livery of the enforcer’s paroling force. His dark eyes sought out Arthus and then Wren among the men before turning to me.

“Lord Myth, I presume.” He stepped forward, knelt on the crushed rushes, and offered the back of his neck in the time honored gesture of loyalty.

“I don’t think…  Iscarus stepped forward to comment, but Wren stopped him by cutting in front of him.

“Pardon, Lord Iscarus.” She met my eyes as she laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Lord Mynth, I present Tyron. He is a friend of Svhen. He is the one who warned us of the press gangs.”

“I beg to be allowed to help you now.” Tyron lifted his head to meet my gaze.

He remained kneeling. A strange tightening in my chest came with the words I needed to speak. They had been the last words my father had spoken to me. “Rise, Tyron, I accept your request and your service.”

Tyron rose. “King Orac is approaching from the south, my lord. This valley is the second to final stop on his four month long progress inspecting his lands. The enforcer intends to hang Svhen for crimes against the crown the day after the king arrives.”

“Then we don’t have much time,” Iscarus pointed out. “You have to make a decision, Tourth. I recommend the plan I outlined. It seems the best possibility. We cannot attack with our small force.” His sweeping arm included his ten remaining men, Wren, and Arthus, who began coughing again. Tyron glanced over at Arthus while Iscarus continued.

“Even if King Orac will not settle in your favor, at least your attempt will stall him long enough so that Philon can arrive to register his own complaint against the enforcer. Orac will have to answer Philon, and there is a chance we can save Svhen.”

My brain wouldn’t think. Exhaustion from too little sleep and extra exercise pulled at my joints. With the emotional drain from worrying about Wren, reliving memories, and facing the fact I was stepping into my father’s shoes without the benefit of his guidance, I couldn’t process another thing. “Wren?”

She looked up at me. Calm golden eyes flecked with brown studied my face.

“Can you think of another plan?”

“Iscarus’ sounds best as far as I can see.”

I turned to Iscarus. “Ready yourselves to leave. Give my love to my sister. Wren, Tyron and I will ride South immediately.”

Organized chaos erupted. Wren turned to Tyron and asked, “Do you have a horse?” One of the men led Arthus off toward the barracks, and Iscarus began issuing orders. I walked among them as though in a dream. My cot knocked at my shins without memory of the steps between the great hall and the barracks. I gathered my journey bag and necessities in a fog.

“Are you alright?” Wren’s voice cut through the haze. She stood in the doorway of my room dressed for travel, saddlebags slung over one shoulder. Worry pulled at her eyebrows.

“I am taking my father’s place.” I sat on the edge of my cot. “It feels wrong and right at the same time. I am not sure which way to turn. If my father had lived, I planned on returning from the war and learning more of the statecraft I was going to take up. His murder changed that. Everything changed. He isn’t here to coach me, and my knowledge is incomplete. What if I make a mistake?”

Her hand on my shoulder stopped my worried wanderings. “You are a great leader, Tourth. The evidence is overwhelming. Dardon, Svhen, and Arthus follow you and have thrown their lots in with yours. Philon, Hiller, Warwick, and Iscarus speak highly of you and were willing to offer support immediately before knowing the situation. None of them impress me as men easily led into things.”

“You weren’t around when we were growing up,” I muttered.

She smiled slightly, but she didn’t stop. “Finally, and most telling, your people are following you. At risk of their lives, they protect you and are willing to die rather than reveal your presence in the valley.”

My chest constricted. “The enforcer is torturing them?”

She squatted down so that we were almost nose to nose, her saddlebags on the floor. Strange changeable eyes focused intently on mine, she demanded my complete attention. “These people need you, Tourth. Deus has chosen you. His wisdom is perfect and He never makes a mistake. Keep your eyes on Him and your feet on His path; He will never lead you astray.”

“Are you two finished drooling over each other?” Iscarus asked from the doorway. Wren flushed an appealing shade of rose before scooping up her bags. “Poor Tyron is waiting out in the courtyard with his horse wondering when you are heading out.”

“We are coming,” Wren replied.

Iscarus grunted and strode off yell orders again.

Wren met my gaze steadily for a long breath as though measuring something before turning away. “Meet you in the courtyard,” she called back as she disappeared in the direction of the outer door.

I was left to my packing and sorting out this strange feeling growing in me regarding the unusual stranger weaving herself into our lives. I had some serious internal examining to do.

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

Wren

The crisp night air spoke of more snow before morning. I adjusted the lantern on its hook so the light fell more clearly on the path ahead. Behind me Tyrone’s mount, a heavy-footed plodder, snuffed, shaking its head. I quite agreed with the sentiment. Night was a poor choice to travel, if we had a choice, but we didn’t.

“The next crossroads should offer markings for a trail due south,” Tyron offered. “We can take that, but I cannot promise we won’t run into a scout from the enforcer or King Orac.”

“It is worth a risk,” I assured him. “We should be running into Orac’s outlying scouts any moment now if your information is correct.” I glanced farther back through the night to where Tourth’s stallion, Trader, was trailing with his silent master on his back. “Are you ready with what you need to say, Tourth?”

“Ready as I will be,” he replied.

I couldn’t really see either of them in the blackness, but I could hear them. Turning my attention back to the trail, I lapsed back into prayer.

Father. I took a deep breath. You understand this new element so much better than I.

I had never felt this way about a man before Tourth. True, I sensed attraction for other men, but it had been nothing more than admiration of one aspect of them. With Tourth it was different, stronger and deeper.

I first saw him as an opportunity for a solid roof over my head. Then, he became a project. I knew that I was beginning to see these people as family similar to my own and wanting to be a part of that, but I never saw this new… Attraction didn’t seem like the right word, though there was definitely that. Respect, affection, similar interests, and family all seemed to be intertwined with it, but at the root, it seemed to be a connection.

Something rooted us together in a way different from my relationships with Svhen, Arthus, and Dardon. More primal and exclusive, it resembled... My breath caught as the realization dawned. It was romantic love. It wasn’t mature enough to be considered worthy of an outward action like a kiss. However, it remained, rooted in mutual affection and respect and promised a lot more than the barely visible attraction that peeked out at us now.

The question, Father, is do I encourage this and see where it goes or root it out now?

I didn’t get the chance to listen for His answer. The sounds of a horse on the trail ahead drove all musings from my thoughts as I reached for one of my throwing knives with my free hand.

“Who goes there?” the new arrival queried, drawing his horse to a halt. He also carried a lantern. It swung wildly, illuminating trees and the gold, brown, and orange crest adoring the saddle blanket of the horse. A flashing glint of light on metal indicated he was also armed.

“Travelers seeking to meet the King’s party,” I replied.

“Then you found it.” Another horse formed out of the night and pawed the edge of the lit path. The man riding it wore a heavily crested helmet. “What business do you have with the King, woman?”

“The business is mine.” Tourth urged Trader forward between Brone and Tyron’s mount. “I beg audience with King Orac on an urgent matter regarding the state of his realm.”

“Speak to me, then. I am the King’s Uluimere, I handle all the business of the king.”

“I respectfully decline, Lord Portan.” Tourth inclined his head. “This matter must be primarily for the king’s ears.”

An uneasy silence fell. The horses shuffled and snuffled, but none of the riders spoke. Lord Portan’s face was hidden in the shadowed recesses of his helm, unreadable. Tourth’s features, barren in the glow from the lanterns, formed an indiscernible mask. Unseen by the man across the circle, Tourth’s hand nearest me shook so that he had to rest it on his thigh to steady it.

“Very well, stranger. I will wake King Orac, but what you have to say better be worthy of the inconvenience. His Majesty does not suffer fools or exaggerators who wish to waste his time.”

“Thank you, Lord Portan.” Tourth bowed his head again.

Lord Portan gave a signal. An armed company formed around our group. He turned his steed and started back the way he had come. We followed at a slower pace huddled together in the midst of a dozen man escort.

Out of the night, a harsh screech made my heart leap. My falcons had been absent for so long, I was relieved to hear one of their calls. Our escorts as a group swiveled their heads seeking the sound. I scanned them, as best I could to see if any of them carried bows.

At my side, Tourth tensed. “Is one incoming?”

“Could be. If they think I am being threatened, they might attack.”

A crease appeared between his eyes brows. “Who is the leader here?” he asked the nearest guard.

“Captain?” The guard turned to the man to his right. “The man wishes to speak to you.”

“Yes?” The men switched places with minimal maneuvering indicative of habit and skill.

“A falcon is going to drop out of the sky and land on this woman’s shoulder within a few minutes. May we request that it be allowed to do so without anyone drawing a weapon?”

The captain’s eyebrows rose. “Will it attack?”

“Only if it feels I am being threatened,” I responded although the question was directed to Tourth.

“And if no one acts threatening, it will refrain?”

“I am reasonably sure it will.”

“Isn’t it trained?”

“No, it is wild. It just chooses to associate with me.” It was the easiest way to describe my relationship with my birds in a situation such as this. He needed to understand I didn’t control the birds. They were free to come and go. They were kind enough to honor the training and fulfill my requests.

The captain turned away to issue the order just as a distant flapping indicated the bird’s approach. It called again. This time I answered with a shrill whistle. Tourth winced at my right elbow.

The answering call clarified which bird only a moment before Keaton swept out of the darkness like a piece of the night detaching itself from the curtain enclosing us. Claws caught my shoulder, but his weight shifted sloppily. He almost fell, catching my head with his wing in his effort to right himself. He gave a pained squawk. I dropped Brone’s reins and reached up to calm him.

It was only when he had settled on my right arm, setting his feathers to rights that I realized the whole company watched us with mixed expressions of curiosity and uncertainty.

“He is injured,” I explained.

“We can see that, lady,” one of the men replied. His young face watched me stroke Keaton’s black-brown breast with awe. “Will he be alright?”

I smiled at him. Not everyone could tell the genders apart. “Keaton will be fine. He chiefly needs rest. Do you mind if he stays with me?”

“As long as he doesn’t attack anyone, we don’t mind. You aren’t prisoners.” The captain signaled for us to move out.

I urged Keaton to perch on my left shoulder. He willingly obeyed, stroking my ear with his beak upon perching. Then, he went to sleep.

I glanced at Tourth to find him stifling a smile.

“What is so amusing?”

“Keaton’s arrival raised our party’s prestige tenfold. Only a high ranking lord keeps falcons in these parts.”

I nodded. I had gathered that from my travels.

“A bird that answers your call, is trained to the point of coming willingly, and behaves like that around a human is unheard of. I wouldn’t be surprised if you will be esteemed as a miracle worker or a witch among these men by the morrow.”

“Sooner, if I have any say.” The captain urged his horse closer to Brone on my left. “How long have you kept that bird?”

“I raised him from a hatchling. We are blessed. He is the most stranger friendly among my birds.”

“You have more, lady?”

“I do; six more, but I no longer ‘have’ them. They come and go as they please. Sometimes, as a favor, to me, they carry messages between my siblings and myself.” I glanced at him only to encounter an awed stare.

“Seven falcons?”

“She is not from around here,” Tourth commented from my other side.

“Obviously. King Orac will most likely wish to speak with you. He is attempting to gather a number of birds himself, but has not been very successful finding a keeper for them who demonstrates skill enough to please him. He might wish for a lady bird keeper upon meeting you.”

Thinking of Tourth, Kat, and the whole situation at hand, I frowned. “I am not interested in a position at this time; however, I would be more than willing to discuss birds with him.”

We approached the outer edges of a camp. I estimated a company 2,000 strong surrounded us as we rode sedately to the center of the encampment.

Lord Portan himself awaited our arrival before a simple tent just like all the others surrounding it. The sole marking that it was the king’s was the gold, brown, and orange crested banner hanging over the opening. We dismounted in front of Portan. His eyes widened upon seeing Keaton, but he didn’t comment before escorting us inside.

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

© 2011 Rachel Rossano

Chapter XVIII

Tourth

I knew she would follow me. The sympathy in her eyes could only be born of similar circumstances. She had family, siblings, but she hardly ever mentioned them. However, before Kat left, I caught her watching us as though remembering something lost.

Snow turned the courtyard into a mess of slosh and muck. The space didn’t welcome the kind of activity I intended. My hands itched to grasp a weapon and everything in my being screamed that I destroy something. Not a safe state of mind for plotting logically or sitting still. I strode through the slush to the heavy keep door. The great hall would work perfectly for my short term plans, open area and shelter from the elements.

I turned back before opening the door. Wren was close on my heels.

“Care for a round of sparring?”

Her strange eyes cleared from worried brown to an amused amber. “Do you have an extra sword?”

I shook my head as I shoved the door. “I was thinking along the lines of staffs or cudgels, something that won’t kill you if I miscalculate.”

“Miscalculate? You should be a bit more concerned about me hurting you.” The wooden door closed behind her with a muffled thump. “Do you want to be disturbed?”

She indicated the repaired bolting system. “Lock it. Let them wonder if we are killing each other.”

The worn stone floor, spread with rushes, lay empty. An old trestle table dug out of storage rested against the far wall and the newly beaten tapestries adorned the walls. I ignored them. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. I needed to drive history from my mind, far from my mind. Exercising until I was too exhausted to think would numb the pain. Distance the ache enough so I might progress beyond the inclination to kill the enforcer slowly with my bare hands. He killed my parents!

“Weapons?” Wren’s voice cut through my thoughts at just the right moment.

“Take your choice.” I indicated the rack of various implements next to the trestle table. Walking to the far end, I shed layers of clothing down to tunic and britches. “Are you sure you are up for this?” Discarding the last overtunic on the heap, I shivered in the frigid air. I welcomed the discomfort.

“Of course,” she said from right behind me. “On guard.”

A wooden club whizzed past my head. Striking the wall inches past my shoulder, it clattered to the floor. I stared for a second. Gone was the quiet, withdrawn woman I thought I knew. Hair wrapped around her head, stripped to her leather jerkin, shirtsleeves, and leggings, she moved like a sleek cat, feminine, yet deadly. Confidence radiated from her as she whipped another cudgel into her dominate hand.

“Remember what I do for a living.”

She advanced and I retreated to the fallen weapon. Scooping it into my hand, I swung it up into a defensive stance seconds before she struck at my shoulder.

I retaliated with a series of strokes that should have reduced her to begging for leniency. Instead, she met my hit for hit, backing away into the center of the room. Although she was giving ground, I grew wary. She was holding back. Fury boiled in my belly.

I changed my attack. After faking to the left, I jabbed at her right. She took advantage of a small defensive weakness and landed the first blow, a hard jar to the ribs. I renewed my onslaught, taking a risk. She saw the move and sidestepped at the last moment, dancing out of my reach. Breathing hard, we faced each other.

“The point of this was for me to work out some frustration.”

“I know.”

“This is hardly satisfying.”

She laughed, a clear sound that echoed in the rafters. “I am not about to submit to a beating just to help your frustration level. I will help you wear yourself out though.” She leapt forward and attacked again.

Round two ended with my upper arm developing a bruise and her nursing a sore finger. My muscles, weak from lack of training, ached satisfyingly. Balanced on the balls of her feet, she still looked ready for much more.

“You are holding back,” she accused.

“You forget what I have done in the past.”

Her eyes darkened slightly. “I haven’t forgotten. It was a long time ago now. You are a different man.”

“True, but instincts rear their head at inopportune times.”

I attacked this time. Pushing my size advantage, I pressed her backwards toward the opposite wall. She was difficult to pin down. Slight and quick, she darted back and forth, trying to escape my advance or at least turn me. Former training settled over me and my muscles remembered old moves. Then she tripped on the uneven stone. She went down, weapon skittering across the floor and out of her reach. Before she managed more than rolling to the side, I pinned her on the floor, wooden club against her throat. Old instinct flared demanding the kill.

“I concede.” Face flushed with exertion, sleek braid no longer smooth, eyes bright, for a moment I had an incredible urge to kiss her.

Where had that come from?

I blinked.

“Surrender. May I rise?”

“Of course,” I responded, climbing to my feet and offering her a hand up. Her slender, but capable, hand in mine did things to my chest. I struggled to regulate my breathing, suspicious the lack of oxygen was unrelated with the activity of the past hour. As soon as she gained her feet, I moved away. Distance would help.

She examined the spot where she had tripped. “The floor is uneven here.” She knelt to clear away the rushes. I knew what she would find. A stone shifted in its bed so one corner rose barely and inch above those around it. My hand fingered a divot in my scalp. The same stone gave me the scar. When I was ten and tearing through the hall, my toe caught the lip. I fell and cracked my head on a bench.

“Home advantage,” Wren said ruefully. She rubbed the shoulder she had landed on and reached to collect her weapon. I waved her off as she assumed a defensive stance.

Grief gripped the handhold. I closed my eyes as memories of my mother’s scent, apple blossoms, and the soft touch of her hands on my forehead as she calmed my shuddering sobs. The murmur of her voice as she assured me all would be fine brought fresh tears. I sank to the floor, resting my face in my hands. The ache of homesickness settled in my chest as raw and powerful as the first day after I left for war. One memory led to another. I followed helplessly. Cold seeped into my bones from the stone below, but I didn’t care.

“This belt was my mother’s.” Wren’s voice pulled at my attention. I blearily attempted to focus on the object in her hands as she knelt beside me. Worn leather, old, but just as clearly well cared for, the strap looked like an ordinary belt. Until now she wore it constantly. “A gift before she died, she said I would grow into it one day. It is all I have of her.”

“How old were you when she passed?” I grasped at the distraction.

“Young enough to not remember her well.” Tears glistened on her cheeks. “You at least have your memories.”

“Do you have family?”

Bittersweet sadness slipped over her features. “Eight siblings.”

“No father?”

“Died with my mother, murdered.”

The word hit too close to home. I couldn’t ask the question that came next. Instead I asked, “So who taught you to fight someone larger than you?”

She smiled. “Aiden and Arnan made certain I gave my all every time. I am thankful they never handed me a win.”

Yelling came from the direction of the courtyard. My chest constricted as panic grabbed hold. Anger and alarm tinged the sound. I gained my feet and started toward the swords hanging along the rack. Wren moved even faster. Grabbing two from their slots, she tossed one to me and pulled the second soundlessly from its scabbard.

I reached the door first. Tilting my head, I listened. My hand rested on the bolt, body tensing to face the nameless foe.

“I will check in here!”

Someone tried the latch and then pounded on the outer door. Wren and I both jumped back. My heart hammered at my ribs.

“It’s locked. Find another entrance.”

Silence.

“Other doors?” Wren asked quietly as she moved toward her discarded gear.

“One, Kitchen,” I answered. “Unlocked.” I scooped my own clothing off the floor, suddenly shivering despite the sweat of before. No time to add layers. They would be upon us in moments. My body hummed with the familiar rush of adrenaline.

“We won’t beat them. Stand and fight?” She retrieved the clubs from the floor and turned to me.

“We hide. Follow me.” I trotted over to the stairs to the turret and started up.

“Do you think that wise?” She kept on my heels as we took the first turn.

“We take the tower, bar the door, and unless they are persistent, breaking a door down will not be worth the effort if they don’t know we are beyond.”

“It is a risk.” Her tone clearly indicated her uneasiness. I understood. This fought against my instinct too. However, I needed to live. I had too many people counting on me. Although every fiber of me wanted to charge down and confront the invaders, the logic held.

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

Wren

He bolted the door behind us. We stood in a small room with barely room for the two of us. The roof partially opened to the sky above where the rickety wooden stairs climbed to the rooftop.

I studied the thick wood slabs held together by bands of iron and tried to swallow the panic at the back of my throat. No way out. Please, Deus, don’t let this end in a final stand. Request made, I shoved at the fear, attempting to stuff the anxiety away and let the Lord handle what I could not.

“Keilvay must have followed me.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. I laid a false trail, waited before returning, and the snow covered my tracks. How…”

He stopped me mid word with a cool finger pressed against my lips. Footfalls came up the stairs. My breath caught and a reaction unrelated to the approaching danger. This is not the time.

The latch rattled and then the thumping receded.

He leaned down and breathed into my ear. “You should move to the roof. See if you can spot anything.”

My mouth passed inches from his ear. “And you?” I withdrew until I could study his face. His eyes were blue. Unlike Kat’s clear hue, his were dark, bottomless, and flecked with green.

“I will stay at the door if they should make it through.” His expression changed. Worry and fear flashed past before resolve settled around his mouth. “Be careful. They might have brought archers.”

I turned away. He caught my hand. “No heroics.”

“You either. Warn me if they start on the door.”

He nodded. I took the stairs at a stealth run.

Reaching the top, I paused to catch some deep breaths. Where did that come from, Father? I didn’t expect it. The sudden heat of his gaze during the sparring disturbed enough, but the response in my gut was unexpected. I had never envisioned myself in this situation. I am too… I couldn’t even describe it to Deus. I was too masculine, too aloof--what had Daelia said all those years ago--too detached. “A man would have to reconnect your heart before he was able to woo you.” Of course, she exploded in a moment of anger when I relentlessly pestered her about some detail.

“Seems to be the last of them.” I started. The voice wafted from below and I recognized him. Creeping to the edge, I poked my head over. “We searched the buildings and found no more stragglers. I told you there was too much activity this end of the valley for just farmers.” The voice tugged at my memory, but I couldn’t grasp his name.

“Yes, you did. I shall mention you when we bring this bunch of ruffians back to the enforcer.” The sound of Kielvey’s voice soured my stomach. “Too bad we didn’t find the Romany woman among them. Hawthorne was hoping to get his claws into her before King Orac showed up.”

“Perhaps the Westerner will soften his mood. I’ll bet he will reward me for the capture.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath, Aexlem. Enforcer Hawthorne is still put out about the other outlaw’s escape. Contrary to your report, the man isn’t here. You have much to account for already.”

Aexlem? I rolled the name around on my tongue. It didn’t taste familiar.

“Shall we move out?”

Keilvey looked up and I pulled my head back. For what seemed like hours, I held my breath and waited for him to raise the alarm and send someone up to secure the battlements.

“Yes, might as well. Seems a shame to leave this fortress empty though. The rebels did a pretty good job repairing things.”

“You should mention it to the Enforcer,” Aexlem suggested.

“Be sure I shall.”

The men moved away. Keilvey called for the company to move out.

I found Tourth crouched at the base of the stairs, sword across his knees, back to the curved outer wall, and head bent so the nape of his neck showed. The slump of his shoulders pulled at my heart. The poor man had been through a horrendous eight hours.

“They have Svhen, but Arthus eluded them. They didn’t mention the rest.”

He lifted his head and rested it back against the wall as he met my gaze. Emotional exhaustion haunted his eyes. “Dardon and Iscarus are out hunting. I don’t know how many they took with them.”

“That means…”

He nodded wearily. “Hiller is among the captured.”

“I can go up and count the hostages as they leave.”

“Sounds good. If you were to wager a guess, will the enforcer execute Svhen immediately or wait for King Orac to arrive for the spectacle?”

I considered a moment. “He will wait.”

“I hope so. I don’t think I could handle another death on my conscience.”

A retort jumped to the tip of my tongue, but I bit it off. Now was not the time. I quietly climbed to the roof and settled in to watch, my thoughts full of Tourth and his trials.

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

© 2011 Rachel Rossano

Chapter XVII

Tourth

Before my eyes fell on Arthus’ dark head, I heard the cough. Ripping from chest to throat, it sounded as though his lungs were going to emerge from his mouth. He straightened into sight above the small gathering of men in the kitchen doorway, face white and thin.

“Clear a way,” I ordered.

“Now I told you all already.” The cook raised a wooden spoon. “Leave off. He needs air, not you bunch gawking at him like he is a prize hare.”


A murmur rippled through the men, but no one left.


“Move,” Hiller boomed from behind me. “Now.”


The room went from overflowing to empty except the four of us in a matter of seconds. Once the stampede retreated, I crossed to Arthus’ side. The cook immediately fed the fire another log and moved a second large kettle over the leaping flames muttering about needing more steam.


“What happened?” I asked, pulling the table’s bench close to Arthus’ chair.


“Saw Wren.” He paused to hack. “She rescued me. Svhen in danger.” Another spasm of hoarse barks followed. “Price on his head dead or…” He struggled to catch his breath.


The cook unceremoniously grabbed his shoulders and swung his head around to face the fire. Lifting the first already boiling kettle from the fire, he placed it at Arthus’ feet. Arthus meekly pulled the towel draping his shoulders so it covered his head and captured the steam misting out of the kettle.


“He shouldn’t talk,” the cook stated flatly.


I nodded. We had all struggled through last winter battling a particularly nasty sickness. Steam treatments, hot honey laced tea, and cough syrup became staples.


“Kat keeps the cough syrup behind the flour in the larder,” I informed him.


“Svhen went with the lumbering party headed up the mountain.” Hiller lowered himself onto the other end of my bench. “He should be safe enough until they return. We are all avoiding the press gangs as it is.”


“There is paper and ink in the top drawer over there.” I gestured toward the heavy chest along the far wall. “We need to know more.”


“My first question is, why Svhen?” Hiller laid the necessary items on the table behind me while Arthus continued to inhale moist air. “He did no more or less than the rest of us in the wars.”


“Speak for yourself,” the cook muttered.


“Why not me or Tourth?”


Arthus shrugged.


“I bet it is connected to that unarmed man he cut down,” Hiller mused. “Some noble’s son or something.”


Arthus lifted his head to speak, but I stopped him with a glare. Gesturing to the paper, quill, and ink, I said, “Write it.”


A few scribbles later, he handed the scrap to me. “Don’t know reason for ransom. Wren in danger. She made deal with Keilvey for my life.”


I passed the note to Hiller. “What kind of deal?”


Arthus shrugged.


“She promised to return in a week at the latest. She has been gone three days now. Did she indicate anything when you spoke with her?”


Arthus wrote for a moment while Hiller and I watched. I was surprised at Hiller’s silence. He usually asked more questions.


Arthus’ scrawl took up the whole page. “Keilvey produced a dead body to take my place and arranged for me to be smuggled out. When I asked about the deal with Keilvey, she said she had traded my freedom for his. Keilvey intends to collect.”


“You mean he might not let her leave?”


“Out for blood,” Arthus croaked and broke into a coughing fit.


“Bed.” The cook heaved Arthus to his feet, and shot Hiller a loaded look. “Bring the kettle.” To my surprise, Hiller obeyed. They disappeared through the door into the front room.


“Be back in a moment,” he called right before the door closed behind them.


I sat among my thoughts, attempting to not focus on the dark worries looming on the edges. The outside door into the front room opened with a crash, voices erupted, and a moment later Dardon burst into the kitchen. A waft of freezing air slipped past in his wake, cutting through the heavy moist air.


“Where is Arthus? Is he well?”


“He is here and just went to bed. He needs his rest.”


Taking in the roaring fire, madly boiling kettle and implements on the table, he stepped over the bench across from me and sat down. “Sick, is he?”


“Nasty cough.”


“Wren?”


“Traded his life for Keilvey’s freedom.”


Dardon’s eyes rose. “That…” He mumbled something explicit. “Does she know what a slimy sneak he is?”


I didn’t know, but I wondered. Wren had given every indication that she knew how to protect herself. However, Keilvey wasn’t exactly your common menace. He didn’t have an honorable fingernail, let alone a bone. Even Steward Farley learned to avoid dealing with Keilvey. It was easier to deal with the enforcer himself if you could.


“I pray that she does.”


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


Wren


Keilvey watched me eat my breakfast like a dog hoping for droppings. “Where are you going to go?”


“You don’t need to know.” I sopped up the last of the pottage with a crust of black bread. The enforcer’s cook needed cooking lessons, but even this rough fare was an improvement on the meals at Iselyn. Maybe things improved now that Hiller’s cook ran the kitchen. I planned on finding out by that night.


“I could have you followed.”


I made a show of restraining a laugh while my stomach sank. Make that breakfast tomorrow. Losing a tail would take a couple hours travel in the opposite direction and laying a false trail, doable but time consuming. “You are welcome to waste your man’s time.”


“How do I know you won’t skip out on the deal?”


I met his gaze. “You don’t know. You have to trust me, just like I trusted you.” His eyes slid away from mine. The man couldn’t even act trustworthy. I was thankful Arthus’ life was no longer in his control. All he had to do now was keep his mouth shut. I could trust him to do that because it because his own best interest depended on it. Once benefit shifted, I would have no guarantee. “Besides, I need to gather some resources before maneuvering your freedom.”


“Resources?” His eyes glittered. “My slave price is high.”


“Not money.” I punctured that idea.


“But Stewart Farley said he paid you 100 gold for a bounty only a month or so ago.”


“He lies.”


Keilvey shook his head. “Farley swears…”


“He lies. He paid me 20 and complained about every coin.” I set down my empty bowl. “He was hoping you would arrest me for extortion, am I right?” Again, he wouldn’t meet my scrutiny. “Twenty was the price he set and the price I demanded upon delivery. Ask the innkeeper.”


His reaction said he had, probably seeking a catch to influence me with. Always the manipulator, I knew his usual technique well.


“I will not let you walk out those gates without fulfilling our bargain first.”


“Then I will inform Hawthorne of your role in the charade yesterday.” His face blanched a satisfying shade.


“You wouldn’t.”


I lifted an eyebrow. He studied me a moment and then beat a hasty retreat.


Returning to my quarters to gather my saddlebags, I kept my eyes open. He most likely wouldn’t have me followed with that threat over his head, but just to be sure I would spend an extra hour or two lying false trail. With Keilvey’s breed, one could never be completely sure.


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


Snow muted the valley in hazy white. Large lazy lumps of lace drifted to earth in a net of silence. Thank you, Deus. The heavy fall, the size and concentration of the flakes, promised thick ground cover in a matter of hours. Even if a possible tail did manage to follow my trail, he would lose it shortly after he found it.


I lifted my face and closed my eyes, drawing Brone to a stop. I drank in the hush. Breath brushes of cold bristles feathered my upturned face. I loved the pause of snowfall, especially this kind. The world held its breath in anticipation of splendor. Dawn would reveal a world bathed in white, clean with newfound beauty, like a soul after the touch of Christ’s blood.


Brone snuffed and shook his head free of white stuff. He didn’t share my wonder. I suspected his thoughts were of a warm stable and mush. Leaning forward to rub his shoulder, I loosened my grip on the reins and let him ease into a walk. He knew the way. His heart was leading him to Iselyn.


The pressing question on my mind was whether or not my heart anchored there also. Being away for a hand’s span of days, I discovered that I longed for the company of Dardon, Svhen, Kat, and Arthus. Tourth haunted my consciousness in a different way. Though I yearned for the others as friends, Tourth drew a different reaction from my center, a strange, strong new emotion, barely born. A sensation that begged consideration, I intended to observe him and study how we interacted before coming to any conclusions.


Brone’s ears rotated, flicking forward and back. I smiled as his pace picked up. Through the white fall of flakes, the ruined crossroads sign marking the turn off to Iselyn emerged. It leaned precariously beneath the growing blanket; the signs barely managing to mark the proper directions. Out of habit, I pulled Brone to a stop and listened. Only the muted flutter of falling snow greeted my ears. I barely moved the reins and turned eagerly onto the overgrown track. Within a half hour the outer wall of Iselyn rose out of the gray, the mismatched gates closed firmly, young wood golden yellow contrast with the weathered gray of the older door.


“Greetings,” I called, peering up at the wall.


A dark blob appeared briefly above. “Who goes there?” a weary voice asked.


I was sorely tempted to answer “the enemy” but that would have just been foolish. I knew for a fact there were over forty armed and skilled men just yards away.


“Wren Romany.”


“Sorry, Miz Romany, I didn’t recognize you in the snow.” The head disappeared while I frowned. Hiller wouldn’t keep an incompetent soldier sitting watch at the gate.


The gate swung open and Dardon appeared. “Welcome home, Wren.”


“What was all that about?” I jutted upward with my chin.


“We are trying to keep a low presence if someone happens along.”


“In the early morning hours midst a snowstorm?”


“There is always a chance. We are simply acting on your warning. The rounds were doubled, the gates kept locked, and Svhen doesn’t show his face beyond the walls. He isn’t happy about it, but we all do what we must.”


I nodded. Swinging down from Brone, I asked, “So, is everyone still abed?”


“Tourth hasn’t been sleeping well for a while. I would suspect he is haunting the main room or staring at the ceiling above his bed. Should we wake him?”


I passed through the gate, leading Brone. Four men greeted me on the other side, arms at ready should I prove to be the enemy.


“At ease,” Dardon ordered. “Make fast the gate and cover my watch. I will escort Wren.”


One of the men nodded and then they all hastened to obey, the sounds of their movements dampened by the snow.


“Yes, Tourth needs to hear my news. Hiller and Iscarus should be there as well.”


“We need a change in plan?”


“Definitely.”


I led Brone toward the stables. Dardon disappeared in the direction of the barracks. Please give us all wisdom, especially me. I didn’t know if Tourth had taken my advice and bared his soul to the Lord. If he hadn’t and he was still losing sleep, I was on shaky ground. He might not listen to what I had to say. We hadn’t exactly left on peaceful terms. Make him listen, I pleaded. Open his ears, Lord, please, for all of our sakes, but especially for his.


After settling Brone, I returned to the barracks. A tense silence greeted me as I stepped into the main room. Hiller, bleary eyed from just waking, sat at the long table holding his head. Icarus sat across from him downing a steaming bowl of porridge. The smell of food made my mouth water. I hadn’t eaten since yester morn and my stomach bored a hole of emptiness in my middle.


“Come and sit,” Iscarus admonished around his mouthful. “Tourth is bringing out more food.”


On cue, the kitchen door swung open. Tourth backed through with hands laden. The aroma of honey, cinnamon, and oats filled my senses. My mouth watered in response.

“Welcome back.” Tourth’s tousled brown hair, obviously just finger straightened moments before, and wrinkled clothes indicated also he rose from bed moments before. “Cook rose earlier. It is an hour before the watch change. The men will want their breakfast and the news of your arrival will be traveling the ranks.” He slid a wooden bowl across the table in my direction. “Eat up and speak up.”


I caught the dish and sat down. My spoon paused midair as a barking cough announced Arthus’ arrival. “Sorry,” he rasped. “Ran out of tea.” He shuffled through to the kitchen with a large mug in hand and a small smile of greeting for me.


I waited until he was out of sight before speaking.


“He sounds worse than when I saw him last.”


“He is improving.” Hiller rubbed his face. “Give him time.”


Turning my attention to my food, I shoveled in three spoonfuls before Iscarus spoke up.


“Dardon said something about needing a change in plan.”


I swallowed. Pleasantly warm pottage slid down my throat and filled the void beneath my ribs. The honey sweetness lingered in the crevices of my mouth, counteracting the bitterness of the words that must come. “Marching openly through the gates is no longer an option.”


“Why?” Iscarus demanded. Arthus shambled in and settled on the bench next to him nursing a steaming mug.


“Hawthorne has a force at least 5,000 strong.”


Arthus explained further. “Besides, he will simply arrest the lot of us and present our disembodied heads to Orac as an anniversary present. That would certainly make Orac inclined to give him a title.”


Hiller’s sharp eyes flicked from Arthus’ face to mine. His tongue leapt to life. “Where did he get so many men? I didn’t know there were so many able bodied men in the valley. Besides most of the men are working on his monstrosity of a castle. He certainly didn’t bring them with him. Our sources only spotted a force 1000 strong when he arrived to take office. It isn’t as though he plucked them out of the air.”


“Foreign mercenaries.” I filled my spoon. “I counted at least 2000 Tarins. There could have been others, but the Tarins were definitely a presence.”


Tourth leaned back and almost smiled. “Oh, Orac isn’t going to like that. I suppose Hawthorne is going to hide the Tarins among his original troops. He isn’t going to want Orac getting wind of them.”


“Why?” He knew something I didn’t.


Iscarus explained. “Feudal law prohibits the gathering a foreign mercenary force by any lord or vassal. It is the sole prerogative of the King.”


Tourth rubbed his head. His brown hair stood up at crazy angles. “If Hawthorne doesn’t even know the basics of feudal law, how does he expect to gain a noble title?”


Hiller smacked his palms on the tabletop making all the bowls jump. “The same way he managed to become Enforcer: murder. In the midst of the war, he handed Orac this valley on a platter with an heirless noble seat on the side. Now he is after Svhen and Arthus, famed war criminals.”


“Hiller!” Iscarus protested too late.


My stomach clenched. My eyes flew to Tourth’s face. Father, is this the time? I scanned his features for signs of anger. A deathly silence settled over the company. All the men avoided looking at Tourth. I alone studied his palid face as the truth dawned on him.


“He murdered my parents?” He didn’t look up.


Iscarus shifted. “It isn’t completely clear.”


Hiller’s harsh, bitter laugh made Arthus jump. “I would say eye witnesses are proof enough.”


“But not conclusive. They didn’t see him commit the act,” his brother protested.


“Just crawling back under his rock after the deed was done.”


The brothers continued to bicker as the argument descended into cheap shots.


I weighed the wisdom of breaking it up when Tourth met my gaze. “Wren, is Hawthorne capable of such a thing, killing with his own hand?”


Memories of his brutal actions our previous encounter came to mind. I closed my eyes to shut them away from Tourth’s scrutiny. Bile churned in my stomach. “Without a doubt.”


“Then we have him,” Arthus rasped.


Hiller abruptly broke off his argument with Iscarus mid-sentence. “It all depends on Orac and his relationship with his enforcer.”


“You are right,” Iscarus agreed. “Orac might know about the enforcer’s plans and condone them.”


“I doubt that.” Despite his tight lipped horror stricken countenance, Tourth’s voice came across calm and certain. “Orac, whatever else he is, is a man of the law.”


“What?” Hiller exclaimed. “You support the man?”


Tourth shook his head. “I am alive because the man believes in the rule of law. I killed one of his sons at Catorna and he satisfied himself with parading me through the capital in rags and chains before releasing me. That was the extent that the law allowed.”


“And you expect this man to honor your claim on Iselyn?” Hiller asked.


“I hope he will. I don’t have much choice do I?” Tourth met Hiller’s shocked gaze. “So, we can’t march in through the gates. Arthus never made it to the capital so Orac doesn’t even know that I am making a claim. Our force is 45 men strong. The enforcer claims the loyalty of over 5,000. What is the new plan?”

Iscarus said,“Philon can send…”

“I have to stand on my own feet, Iscarus. I can’t run to your brother for help. This valley needs a resourceful leader who can lead no matter the situation.”

Voices came from the direction of the barrack bunks signaling the coming crowd. Tourth sighed.

“I will entertain possible plans at the noon meal. For now, I need to think.” He swung his legs over the bench and left by the outer door.

“Who’s going to keep an eye on him?” Iscarus asked.

I shoved my empty bowl across the table to him. “I will go.” The door swung closed behind me before anyone else managed to speak. Tourth and I needed speak.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
© 2011 Rachel Rossano