Chapter XXI

Wren

Retrieving Brone proved simple. Trader raised such a ruckus among the horses, picking a fight with another stallion as I approached the hitching stakes. I slipped Brone’s reins from the farther ring and led him off without a challenge.

Leaving camp was harder. The outlying sentries rotated on circuits three deep. I waited for three passes from each before being reasonable sure of my path. Then one of them changed up his route and I barely made it around him without gaining his notice.

From there, we were free to keep to the paths. Keaton, revived from his rest, followed from above as Brone and I traveled as fast as possible along the well-trod routes down the slopes of the mountain. By the first haze of dawn, when the sky lightened and the moist fog lifted off the slopes behind us, we gained our first views of Hawthorne’s folly. I left Brone at the tree line. Slipping him free of his bridle, I sent him off. He would find his way back to our new “home” without my help.

To prove my earlier assessment of Hawthorne’s fortess, I found a blind spot on the wall within a half hour. Climbing the unevenly bricked wall took even less time.

I slipped between the merlons and behind a pacing sentry. Before he noticed my presence, I bolted for the tower door, making it before the man turned to march back. Whispering a prayer of thanks for the empty stairwell, I sidled out the door at the base and into a mix of stable hands observing a wrestling match. Swearing, yelling, and completely focused on cheering their favorite contender, they barely noticed my appearance among them. I was jostled among the pack, swallowed from sight among a sea of naked chests and waving arms. The stench of body odor, sweat, and manure overwhelmed. I held my breath and scanned the courtyard for either Hawthorne or Keilvey. I couldn’t risk being spotted.

“Mistress.”

A hand caught my left elbow and my heart jumped into my throat. With a flick of my wrist, a dagger jumped into my right hand from the trick sheath beneath my sleeve. I twisted and the point pressed against my accoster’s middle.

“Roulf, Wren. It is I, Roulf the shopkeeper.”

My brain caught up with instinct. My heartbeat thundered in my ears for a different reason. I had almost drawn blood. I sucked in a steadying breath and lowered my blade.

“Sorry.”

“Understandable under the circumstances. You do know that the enforcer has issued a warrant for your arrest, right?”

“No. All the more reason to stay out of sight.” My eyes continued to scan the courtyard.

“Agreed.” He tightened his grip on my arm. “This way.”

He pulled me in the direction of the stables behind us. Once inside, he guided me to the back, past the mostly empty stalls, and up a narrow, twisting stair in the back corner.

“We should be safe here.”

He released my arm to cross to the windows looking out on the courtyard. The room was a large area spanning the length of the stables, rows of beds and trunks marked off each stablehand’s personal space. Roulf plunged the room into half-light by closing part the shutters along outer wall.

“Why are you here?” he asked, suddenly turning to study me. Weary lines bracketed his mouth and dark circles ringed his eyes. “I hope you aren’t foolish enough to believe you are capable of rescuing Tourth all by yourself.”

I frowned at him. “Tourth isn’t here. At least not yet.”

“He isn’t?” Confusion clouded his piercing regard. “Then who is the man they keep in their deepest dungeon?”

“Most likely Hiller.”

A sharp hiss of drawn breath brought my gaze to his face. He frowned. “Lord Eryant is going to draw blood over this.”

“Aye. When is he slated for execution?”

“They are to prepare him upon sighting of Orac’s company. The plan, as far as we have found out, is to present him and Svhen to Orac within an hour of his arrival. Then, death by hanging. You can see the scaffold from here.”

My stomach turned. I had seen it. I lowered myself to sit on the edge of the nearest bed. “The guard rotation on Hiller?”

“Every three hours. We were planning on a rescue tonight.”

“Too late. Orac will reach here by afternoon. How many men are loyal to Tourth?”

He studied my face. “Maybe we had better tell each other everything we know. Then make a plan.”

I agreed. Relaying the pertinent events of the past two days took a matter of minutes. Roulf’s only reaction was a widening of the eyes as I described our introduction to King Orac.

His words woke a stronger response in me, hope.

“Within the walls, we almost have enough men to stage a rebellion against the enforcer. Even the mildest of the farmers are receptive to the murmurings of discontent spreading among the laborers. They are farmers at heart, content cultivating fields, but take their land away from them and they get mighty testy.”

“Judging from Tyron, I would suspect that you might be able to raise support among some of Hawthorne’s men as well.”

Roulf nodded eagerly. “Three of the guards on the duty roster at the prison are willing to allow visitors to Svhen’s cell. However, only one of them has expressed anything remotely treasonous against the enforcer.”

“That is the man I need to speak to.”

Outside the open windows, the background noise changed. A voice I immediately recognized as Keilvey broke up the wrestling match. Pounding feet on the stairs sparked instinct. I leapt to my feet, intent on slipping out the farthermost window and onto the stable roof before the new arrival, but Roulf’s hand stayed me.

“It is just the stable hands. They hate Keilvey. None of them will give him anything.”

A two strapping youths burst into the room. I recognized them from the cheering crowd below. Scents of sweat and dry earth came with the breeze in their wake. The boys, for they were barely in their mid-teens, halted upon spotting me.

“Roulf?” The taller asked.

“Wren, this is Parkin and Jadet. Boys, meet the Romany.”

“The one Keilvey wants?” The shorter lad sized me up. Despite the fact he lacked a few inches to reach his companion’s height, he still towered over me. “She doesn’t look like much.”

Roulf winked at me. “Looks are deceiving, Jadet. Now play nice or she might introduce herself with a knife in your ribs.”

“Are those your falcons circling the far tower?” Parkin asked. He ran his hands through his sweaty hair as he eyed me.

“Most likely,” I replied.

He grunted. “They are causing a skirmish in the guard house. Hawthorne promised a half barrel of ale to the first man to bag one.”

My chest constricted. Surely Keaton and any new arrivals would take cover if the archers appeared. They knew what an arrow can do to a bird.

“Don’t go faint on us, Miss. Our boys figured from the rumors that they were yours. They are already working out a way to keep them from harm.” Parkin frowned down at me. “I hate to see a living creature maimed just out of spite.”

Roulf crossed to the shuttered windows. “We best get a move on, boys. Keilvey himself is on his way over to straighten out the mounts for the parade. You need to be ready to hop to it. I don’t fancy receiving another dock in food rations if you are not up to his standards.”

The youths sprang into motion, grabbing clean tunics from their trunks. Roulf turned to me.

“Stay here. You will be safe.” He left, trotting down the stairs as though he were half his age.

Parkin left with a polite nod of his head, but Jadet shot me a smirk. “Keep away from the windows,” he said before disappearing through the doorway.

I crossed to the windows and peered through the cracks in the shutters. The courtyard was suddenly clear, everyone most likely about their work. Below, echoes of Keilvey’s grating voice rose and fell as he lectured the hands. I eyed the distance to the prison building. If I could reach it undetected, I could speak to Svhen and assess things for myself. I trusted Roulf, but I would be hard pressed to wait until Orac arrived. Lord, give me wisdom.

The habitual prayer sparked a thought. I perched on the chest beneath the window and adjusted so I could see the largest swath of courtyard. Then quieting myself, I sought my heavenly guide and protector. An hour in His presence would prepare me for the challenge ahead.

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

Tourth

“On your feet.” Portan burst into our tent with two thugs in his wake.

Tyron, a recent veteran of military service, jumped to his feet before his mind was fully awake. Dardon grumped and mumbled as he rolled over. I rose, not inclined to rush after a sleepless night worrying about Wren’s overconfident streak and the inevitable battle ahead.

“Where is the woman?” Portan demanded. He scanned the space as though he had simply missed her presence the first time. Not likely with no furniture to hide behind.

“Wren left shortly after we retired last night.” I adjusted my sword belt, the buckle was bent. I couldn’t think of how or when it happened. “She said if she stayed with us, she would give away our plans before we had a chance to try them. So, she traveled ahead.”

“You let her?”

Dardon barked out a laugh.

Portan glared at him.

“No one controls Wren, my lord,” I explained.

“Wasn’t she under your protection?”

“She is more of a swordmaiden than a lady.”

“We should move, my lord,” one of the soldiers pointed out.

Portan nodded. “Yes. Escort these men to their horses. We will be marching within the hour. See they are fed.” He turned and left us. The soldiers looked mildly surprised.

“Why did he come to wake us?” Dardon asked as he scratched his head and then stretched.

The two men looked at each other and then the older one shrugged. “I don’t know.”

The younger grinned. “I wager it was the lady.”

“Where are we to get food?” I asked before the conversation went places I didn’t want. It was bad enough Wren’s safety cost me sleep. I didn’t need her unusualness costing me potential friendships as well.

“This way.” The older soldier swept aside the canvas and preceded us out into the bright morning light. “See the red banner over yonder?” He pointed toward an open-sided tent marked by a crimson banner on a pole.

“Aye.”

“That is the kitchen tent. If you head that way, we will be right behind you.”

I eyed the man in surprise. “No escort?”

He met my gaze evenly. “You are not prisoners, my lord.”

“Thank you…”

“Masoner, my lord, the name is Masoner.”

I nodded. “A good name. Thank you, Masoner. I will meet you and the others there.”

King Orac’s company set up an orderly camp. The horsemaster’s tent, marked with a blue banner of a russet horse and the smell of animals, lay far from the food area. Rows of square two-point tents flanked a main avenue lined with the various services the men would need. I passed the leathermaster’s tent. The leather worker was attempting to pack up his gear while a soldier harangued him about something. The clang of the blacksmith echoed across the hillside from farther down the row. However, the smell of pork and porridge beckoned from the kitchen tent.

Dardon joined me moments after I took a seat at the plank table beneath the awning. “Supposedly we aren’t prisoners,” he commented. “I am surprised he let us keep our swords.”

“The King is a fair man.” I shoveled warm pottage into my mouth.

Tyron joined us. “Not the reception I expected. Where did Wren disappear to?”

“Didn’t you hear Tourth?” Dardon asked around a mouthful of bacon. “It isn’t as though he had a reason to lie.”

Tyron met my gaze.

“Yes, he is usually this ornery in the morning.” I pointed to his still full bowl with my bread. “Best eat fast. We still need to prep our horses and gear.”

As Tyron turned his attention to his food, Dardon banged his empty trencher on the table. “I hope Wren knows what she is doing.”

“I hope we all do.” I closed my eyes and pleaded with Deus to give me wisdom for the conflict ahead.

Within the hour the company was itching to move. Following the directions of Masoner, we joined the 75th mounted company. Apparently they owned a reputation for intense loyalty to Orac. Just listening to the conversations around me made me realize how out of place we were. Many of the men were veterans of the civil war, Orac’s side. I most likely killed someone each soldier knew. If not my sword, Dardon’s had brought a comrade down. Regret and guilt settled at the base of my neck, knotting my shoulders.

“Where were you during Catrona?” Masoner asked. The conversation topic was greatest battles and he claimed to be a survivor of the last wave of defenders of Catrona.

Dardon stiffened at my side.

Fear edged a sharp blade into my chest.

Honesty always honors Deus. “I was part of the second wave, the Mounted Cougars.” I waited for the words. I could almost quote them before they reached his lips.

“You were part of the Butcher’s company?” The incredulous expression on his face was just the most recent of a long array since that day.

I took a deep breath. “I am the Butcher.” I waited for the next line, but it never came.

“I am sorry.”

My head snapped up. I scrutinized his face. No disgust or condemnation, only sympathy. He was a rare man.

“My nightmares are horrible; yours must be…” He let the next words die. The two of us fell into silence. Dardon’s relief almost tangible, but nothing compared to the lightheadedness of my own.

Thank you, Deus, for the freedom of forgiveness.

“Move out!” The call echoed over the meadow, followed by a flurry of movement as every man gained his horse and adjusted his gear.

What followed was hours of tramping. Plenty of time for running through the coming confrontation in my head and seek out the Lord. By His grace, my equilibrium restored by the time we approached Hawthorne’s fortress.

Three thousand strong by my estimation, Orac’s mounted warriors moved across the rough terrain with the skill of experience. They circumvented trees and brush, reforming ranks between obstacles. This veteran company knew how to work as a whole. Despite the disadvantage of numbers, I felt confident Orac’s men would overcome Hawthorne’s in a fair fight. This level of precision came with years and battles together. Something Hawthorne couldn’t replicate in a few months with his reinforcements.

“There she lies.” Masoner commented.

Dark gray walls contrasted sharply against the white limestone around them. The poor design of the walls stood out from even that distance.

Dardon insisted on riding on my left side. Masoner rode to my left and Tyron brought up the tail as we transitioned into a field. I flinched at the damage we were doing to the poor farmer’s turnip crop, but there was little choice.

The orders to halt and form up ranks moved back to us and we promptly obeyed. Arraying ourselves in a wall, five men deep, beginning in the meadow bordering the turnip field, we were well within sight of the castle’s main gates.

Before the last man guided his horse into place, a delegation appeared on the road. Festive flags and bright armor, the huddle quick marched toward us.

As they approached, King Orac, with Lord Portan at his side and an honor guard of four surrounding them, slipped out from the company. Comparatively less festive and bright, King Orac’s appearance was all business. Mounted and armed, they waited in silent readiness. It was hard to judge whether they were an envoy of peace or war. The approaching convoy from the fortress responded to the mood by slowing and approaching with cautious reverence.

We were not close enough to hear any of the exchange, but Orac’s tactic was immediately clear when the convoy retraced their steps, clearly bringing less than enthusiastic news.

“I wager King Orac refuses to enter Hawthorne’s fortress,” Dardon commented. “I don’t blame him.”

“I am with you.” Masoner adjusted his grip on the reins. His mount shifted in response. “Orac hates enclosed spaces.”

I nodded. I could relate. It took me a while to adjust to sleeping inside again after the war.

“It is easier to see the enemy coming out here. And it forces Hawthorne to expose his hand or handicap himself. Either is to Orac’s advantage and not Hawthorne’s”

“What do you know that we don’t?” Masoner asked.

The necessity of answering passed as the massive gates of the fortress opened and ranks of foot soldiers appeared.

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

© 2011 Rachel Rossano

Question1: Does this chapter slow down too much in the second half? Why
Question2: Should I keep Tourth and Masoner's exchange about Catorna? Why?

I am looking forward to your feedback.

Thank you again for your patience. I hope it was worth the wait. :)

- Rachel Rossano