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