Wren

Yet Another Adventure in Wren's World

2011-11-04T17:37:00.000-04:00

Wren Romany fans, can you guess the name of the nameless stranger in this short story?

Tragedy

If you missed the first part of the story...

Blond Stranger

Hopefully there will be more to come. :)

- Rachel Rossano
(Author of Wren Romany)

Another adventure in Wren's world

2011-10-21T11:21:00.000-04:00

I write a bit of flash fiction (a story under 1,000 words) for another website. For this week's challenge, I ventured into Wren Romany's world again. You are welcome to visit and see if you can spot the character from Wren's novel.

http://www.cleverfiction.com/4/post/2011/10/blond-stranger.html

Hopefully there will be more where that one came from. :)

- Rachel Rossano

An Official Facebook Page

2011-09-24T12:28:00.001-04:00

You can now connect to the Romany Epistles on Facebook. Talk to the writers (some of them) and see what they have been doing over the years. You can encourage those who are still finishing their stories. Also, you can discuss your favorite characters or fun bits from different siblings' stories. Come, stop by, and join in.

Chapter XXV

2011-05-24T23:05:00.000-04:00

Wren

I reluctantly released my hold on oblivion as pain laced through the haze. Gradually my surroundings filled my senses, hearing first. The awareness of someone caressing my hand followed on its heels.

“What do you mean ‘it is probably the pain’?” Kat’s whispered harshly. “You mean you actually let her fight in a battle?”

The hand holding mine tightened and the stroking stopped. “I didn’t have much choice, Kat. We arrived separately. I was surprised as anyone else when she turned up between the battle lines unprepared for a skirmish.”

“Still, you should have done something.”

“I did. As soon as I could, I sought her out.”

“Hardly soon enough.”

A racking cough close by filled the awkward silence.

“How is Arthus? Is his cough improved?” Tourth’s voice was softer than normal as though he didn’t want someone nearby to hear.

“He will recover.” Kat shifted with a rustle of fabric. “The healer gave him this mixture to drink twice every day. It smells awful, but it seems to be helping.”

Another silence.

Tourth cleared his throat. “He loves you, you know.”

“What?”

“Arthus…he loves you.”

“Says who?” Kat demanded.

“Wren. She shared her observations right before you left for Philon’s.”

Kat laughed softly. “Figures she would see it first.”

“You know?”

“Of course, I might be slow, but I am not an idiot. He asked for me when we met up with him and Isacrus on the road. Burning up with fever and half out of his mind and the fool asks for me instead of a healer.”

“And you knew then?”

“Well, that and the kiss.”

His fingers tightened around my hand. “Kat.” His voice took on the tension of a drawn bowstring. “You are baiting me.”

“I will tell you how it works out.”

“No, you will tell me now. He kissed you?”

“I am a grown woman.”

“I am your older brother.” Tourth’s grip on my hand turned painful. “Kat, if you don’t…”

“Tourth,” I protested. “You are hurting my hand. Leave off pestering Kat.”

“I will get the healer,” Kat said, rising to her feet so quickly I heard her joins pop.

Tourth dropped my hand like it had turned into a live scorpion. “Wren, I can’t just let…”

I opened my eyes to find him frowning fiercely at me. Not the best of first sights, but I was simply thankful he was alive. “Think for a minute. You know Arthus. You know Kat. Leave them be.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the healer arrived without Kat. It was the same young man from the battlefield.

“Mistress Romany, we meet again. I was hoping you would follow my instructions.”

I closed my eyes too weary to keep them open. “I did.”

“Standing for a tribunal is not resting.” He removed the dressing and began prodding. I was soon too busy enduring the resulting pain to point out that he had said nothing about resting.

“How does it look?” Tourth sounded really worried. I opened my eyes to find him watching the healer work. Worry lines that hadn’t been there a moment ago bracketed his mouth and pulled at his brows. Before thought, I reached up to touch his cheek. He looked down at me, surprise widening his dark eyes. I let my hand fall, too exhausted to keep it raised.

“I will be fine, Tourth. None of the stitches are pulled.”

“She is right.” The healer began reapplying the bandage. “A few days of complete rest and she will be back on her feet.”

Tourth claimed my hand again. “She will rest.”

The healer retied the last knot with a grunt that clearly indicated his skepticism. “Let me know if she develops a fever and let her rest.” He rose to his feet. “That means no talking. Now close your eyes.” I obeyed. “Sleep. I don’t want to see them open for at least eight hours. And you, Lord Mynth, I suggest the same for you. Lord Portan ordered your allotted cot and bedroll sent over. I had them set up in the corner over there. Now shoo.”

I missed the gratifying sight of the young healer herding Tourth off. I didn’t miss the soft brush of Tourth’s fingertips on my cheek before he moved away. Thank you for sparing us all, Redeemer. Your grace amazes me. Sleep claimed me a few breaths later.

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

Tourth

Wren slept. I did not. I wish I could have blamed it on Arthus’ ragged breathing, but I have slept through worse in the past. My worried thoughts kept me alert and staring at the taut canvas roof of the invalid tent only a foot or so above my head.

Low lantern light threw grotesque shadows. It burned for the sake of the healer passing between cots to check on patients. For such a young man, the healer was a vigilant caretaker. He made rounds frequently on silent feet with a glare for me because my eyes were still open.

Rolling on my side, I watched Wren sleep across the tent and struggled with my heart. I loved her. An admission easy enough to make, it would be torturous to carry through to completion. She was a wanderer. True, her stories of her family, the few I could remember, indicated she had not always been one. The fact remained that come spring she intended to move on. Did she endlessly seek something or was she running from something? I never asked. Suddenly wishing I had pushed for more answers, I rolled over to face the canvas wall.

Arthus coughed in his sleep and shifted. One of the other patients moaned. The healer moved to him with a whisper of reassurance and soothing noises.

I closed my eyes.

Offering one’s heart always came with risk. Simple rejection seemed small compared to the myriad other possibilities my suddenly pessimistic mind brought forth. The worst being she felt early, ripping the remaining days away from me. She entwined my life and I didn’t want her to rip away.

Father, help me.

I offered so little, a valley on the brink of destitution and a people worn to the bone facing a long winter with little in the stores. King Orac would most likely claim most of Hawthorne’s stores as spoils. Her skills would mean survival for more than just our household. Perhaps for the valley’s sake I would wait to offer her my heart. Time would offer a chance to probe her heart and see where she stood, how I could entice her to accept.

My personal failings marched through my thoughts as I jammed my flat pillow into a better position and closed my eyes again.

I needed sleep. Even more, I needed know what to say to make Wren stay.

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

Wren

I woke to a throbbing ache in my thigh. My hand moved instinctively to the source only to brush the linen bandage. Memories of the battle marched into place.

“Ready for food?” Dardon sat on the ground next to my cot cleaning his boots. Sunlight backlit the canvas around us.

“How long have you been there?”

He shrugged. “I came to check on you and Arthus. Tourth demanded I sit watch on you until he got back. Apparently you aren’t allowed out of bed yet.”

I attempted to move my leg. Pain subdued the impulse before my toes had risen an inch.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you. Your healer threatened to tie you to the bed if you tried anything. I think he means it.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Shifting my upper body instead, I adjusted my pillow. “How is Arthus?”

“See for yourself.” Dardon jutted his chin at the bed halfway across the tent. Arthus and Kat sat shoulders meeting, heads bent in conversation. “I would say he is doing fine. Does Tourth know?”

I nodded. “He is still struggling with his role.”

Dardon’s eyebrows rose. “What role?”

“Exactly.”

He considered that for a moment, devoting intense attention to the instep of his left boot. “Nope. That wasn’t the bee in his britches this morning. It was something else.”

“What?” I tried to prop my head up, but it wasn’t comfortable.

“He was mighty agitated. Muttered something I didn’t catch before he headed off to speak with King Orac.”

“Hmm…” My stomach rumbled loudly. “You mentioned food?”

He smiled. “Aye. Coming right up.” Leaping up, he strode off toward the far end of the tent. I watched his movements with envy. It would be quite a while before I would be able to move like that without a twinge of discomfort.

While he was busy, I attempted to prop myself up again and look around. Besides Arthus, three other cots filled the room. I guessed one of the two empty cots was Tourth’s. The last was occupied by a stranger, unconscious, his middle bound from sternum to hip with a dark red blossom spread along his left side.

“It looks like pottage for you.” Dardon sat back down on the ground. Steam rose in wisps from the large wooden bowl in his hands. He promptly filled the spoon. “Healer allowed milk, but not berries. Apparently he is concerned you will lose your stomach.”

“Where is Hiller?” He planted the hot pottage in my mouth with so little ceremony I almost coughed it out in his face.

“Recovering in a different tent. Not a broken bone in him. Amazing considering the way he was worked over.”

I swallowed. Warmth coated my throat, soothing the dryness. “And his eye?” I gulped again as the memory of his face made my stomach turn. Dardon shoveled in another bite before I caught my breath. I choked on it before swallowing.

“They thought he might have lost it, but as the swelling receded, they changed their mind.”

“Good.” Another ill-timed bite. I coughed my way clear and protested. “Are you trying to kill me? Slower.”

“Fine.” He scooped the next bit with exaggerated care.

“Stop torturing the invalid, Dardon.” Iscarus stood over us, frowning at Dardon.

“Are you trying to finish her off with that spoon?” Warrick asked as he appeared behind his brother.

“Fine, complain about it. I never claimed to be a nurse and I doubt you could do much better.”

“In fact, I am certain I can.” Warrick held out a hand for the bowl. Dardon gave it over with a smirk. “Now get out of the way while I show you how it is done.” He scooped out a reasonably sized spoonful and dropped it in my mouth.

“Now how did you learn that?” Dardon demanded. “Spend much time nursing?”

“No, just in the nursery with my daughter. This is about the consistency of her mash.” He gave me another before I could do more than smile at the incongruous picture his words brought to mind.

“You should spend more time practicing. With the way things are going, Arthus and Tourth will both be setting up nurseries soon.” Iscarus nodded his head toward the couple leaving the tent.

I choked on my pottage, barely containing it.

Dardon thumped me on the back so hard it hurt.

“Tourth is going to what?” I asked the moment I could.

“He is going to ask you to marry him,” Iscarus replied.

Warrick smacked his shin.

“What? It isn’t like he asked me to keep my mouth shut.”

“How do you know?” My thoughts disseminated like scattered chaff, isolated and fruitless.

“He asked me how I got my wife to marry me.” Warrick met my gaze. “He set his mind on convincing you to stay. He is stuck on this idea that you want to go.”

“Do you?” Dardon frowned at me.

“No.”

“Then put the idiot out of his misery,” Warrick advised.

All three dropped into uncomfortable silence. Warrick continued spooning food into my mouth without meeting my eyes. Dardon broke away first.

“If you are going to handle this, I am going to go talk to Tourth about moving everyone back home. This camping stuff reminds me too much of the war.” He gathered his boots. “Glad to see you are better.” He tramped out without waiting for my reply.

Iscarus muttered. “Got to go check…”

“Get out of here, wuss.” Warrick waved at him.

“I am glad you are going to stay, Wren. They need you here.” He left.

“Big mouthed…” He focused intently on scraping the last bite from the bowl. Upon putting it in my mouth, he rose to his feet.

I eased back onto my side, seeking a comfortable position for my now aching arm. I was surprised to find him still standing there when I finally settled.

“Tourth needs you more than the valley does.” Then he walked away.

I lay in silence, stunned at what had just transpired. Fitful sleep came like a haze.

When I woke, the sun had set. My stomach bit hungrily at my gut and my mouth tasted of old cloth. The healer moved like one of the shadows among the cots. I looked for Tourth. The familiar outline of his shoulders against the pale canvas of the tent was all I could see of him. He slept with his back to the room.

“Are you in pain?” The healer touched my shoulder.

“Reasonable. The ache in my bones from not moving is almost worse at the moment.”

He nodded. “A common complaint under the circumstances. I will let you up, with assistance and no walking, tomorrow morning.”

“May I have something to eat and drink?”

“Certainly. I will wake your nurse and have him bring you something. Now no sitting up, understand?”

“Yes.”

He went directly to Tourth’s cot and shook him awake. He rolled over, alert and ready for combat. He followed the healer out and returned bearing a cup of mulled ale and bread and cheese wrapped in cloth.

“Which do you want first?” he asked, showing me the food.

“Drink.”

He set the bundle on the ground and knelt next to my cot. Propping me up with an arm around my shoulders, he offered me the cup. I relished the warmth of his presence as I sipped the warm liquid and breathed deeply of the spices.

Memories of home and gathering around the central fire on long winter nights blossom from the scents. Taerith devours a tome. Aiden and Arnan argue in low tones about something trivial, reveling in the competition more than the topic. Should the heat of the conversation grow overwhelming, they would cool it with a wrestle in the snow. Zoe watches them, eager for a chance to contribute. Her handiwork lays forgotten in her lap. I listen to them, but only to the rise and fall of the voices. My attention is on teaching Aquila to handle a knife. Ilara and Daelia bend over mending on the opposite sides of a lantern, hands and heads almost meeting in the glow. Sam sits at my knee, head heavy with coming sleep and the dreams constantly lingering in his eyes.

Memory pressed against my breastbone, aching and raw. Despite the longing, I knew the image was lost to time. We would never be so again.

Tourth shifted behind me. I took a deep draught of the ale.

Hope welled in the warmth of the liquid’s path. True, I would never be a part of siblings’ circle like I once had, but I cherished the possibility of new family circle. Arthus, Kat, Dardon, and Svhen were almost like brothers. Philon, Hiller, Warrick, and Iscarus acted like cousins, a new relationship for me. Tourth…

I swallowed all but the dregs.

No, Tourth was different.

Without a word, Tourth claimed the cup and eased me back to the cot. I watched him sleepily. He bent over the bundle of food, rumpled hair a black mass in the dimness. He offered me a bite-sized crust.

“My hands work fine.”

“Just take it, Wren. It is the least I can do.”

I took the bread. “Wallowing in guilt again?”

His head snapped up and dark eyes glinted in the light. “I am not wallowing.”

“Hmm…”

He handed me another minute piece and avoided my gaze. Three more bits of bread passed between us before he finally groaned. “Fine, I will stop.”

“Wise move.”

“But it is my fault you are injured. I should have never let you leave King Orac’s camp.”

“What would you have done to stop me?”

“Tied you up or…” His voice dropped off. We both knew I would have found a way to leave. With them I would have been a fatal liability.

“Dardon said I should ask you to stay.”

“I told him I would.”

“No…” His fingers crumbled the cheese.

“I would like to eat that,” I commented.

“Sorry.” He offered the chunk to me. I reached for it. Instead of letting me have it, he claimed my hand. “Wren, would you stay? I mean beyond the winter, for always. I can promise that you will always have a roof over your head and a fire in the hearth. I can’t offer much else at the moment. In a year or so, Lord willing, I will have more. The valley is full of rich soil and the people willing to work. Given time, we will reclaim the old security, but it is going to take work.”

“I like to work.”

“I know, but…”

“Stop trying to talk me out of it and give me the real reason you want me to stay.”

He met my gaze and truly looked at me for the first time in a long time. His eyes searched mine for the answer before he asked the question. I met his study with one of my own.

Dark blue eyes, black in the shadows of his face, hid so much. I could read his history on his face now that I knew where to look and how to interpret the lines and shadows. I wondered if he could do the same for me. Despite this knowledge, I saw more to learn.

When did it happen, Lord? When did he become so precious to my heart and necessary for my happiness? The thought of leaving had disappeared the first night. They needed me; he needed me; that was clear from the beginning. However, the roots of my own needs intertwining among his stole upon me until it was too late. All he had to do was ask the question.

He touched my face. Fingertips grazed the line of my jaw. “Wren, marry me.”

I smiled slowly. “Why?”

“Because God brought us together and I love you.”

“I cannot argue with that.”

His fingers laced through my hair near my ear, callused palm spanning my cheek. “So, is that a yes?”

“Yes, Tourth. I love you.”

He laughed and then kissed me.

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

© 2011 Rachel Rossano

Feedback Questions:

1) Did I miss anything crucial? If so, what?
2) Was it satisfying? If not, why?
3) Did their exchange come across as realistic? If not, what bugged you?
4) Any other comments you would like to make considering this was the last chapter.

Chapter XXIV

2011-05-20T16:26:00.000-04:00

Wren

My hip throbbed. The cold numbness of shock began to dissipate and pain settled in its place. I attempted to ignore the healer’s touch and movements. Despite my general lack of queasiness, I hated knowing what he was doing to me. I preferred refusing to consider it and focusing on something else.

Tourth and Svhen stood only a few feet away discussing the situation. Keilvey had disappeared. I wasn’t surprised. Tourth’s frustration at the news translated into pacing.

“He has to be somewhere nearby. He couldn’t have gotten very far.”

“He required a fast horse and a head start. Look around. Horses aplenty.”

“But…”

The sensation of fire seared through my hip. I screamed. My focus snapped back to my leg. Liquid pain cut deep into my flesh radiating agony like a poison. Someone grabbed my free arm, enfolding my hand and lifting my upper body off the ground. Before I gasped for air to replace the wind knocked out of me, I was leaning against Tourth’s kneeling legs.

“Breathe through it, Wren,” Tourth’s voice burrowed through the haze. I latched on to it, focusing with all my might. “It will pass.” Someone brushed back my hair. I forced my lungs to do what they were design to do despite their momentary lapse in memory.

“What did you do to her?” he demanded of the healer.

“Alcohol, sir, I just pour it over to cleanse the…”

“Did you warn her?” Tourth’s grip on my fingers tightened.

“No, I don’t usually…”

“Lesson one in dealing with women: always tell them what you are going to do before you do it. Prepare them.” Although the words were kind, Tourth’s tone made it clear that the man better never forget the advice, or else.

“Men, too,” Svhen added.

“What?” Tourth barked.

“Warn men also. That is painful. It is better to be able to prepare for it first.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Give the man a break, he just surprised me. It isn’t as though this were the best of circumstances.”

I could barely see in the falling shadows. The healer worked by the light of a heavy lantern, but its halo of light didn’t reach my head. I couldn’t see Tourth’s face, but I felt him tense.

“I still have to stitch it.” The poor healer’s voice quavered uncertainly. “That is going to hurt as well.”

“Go ahead,” I said quickly before Tourth or Svhen could make it worse.

“Are you sure?” Tourth asked.

“Let the man do his job.” Thankfully that seemed to convince the healer. He resumed working. “Tell me about your confrontation with Hawthorne. It will distract me.”

Tourth complied. As he finished, Dardon arrived.

“That Lord Portan is grumping because you two are late to the tribunal. You better get over there quickly.”

“Can she be moved yet?” Tourth asked.

“One more stitch should do it. Then only the dressing remains.”

“What happened to you?” Dardon squatted down to my level. The lantern light threw his face into relief.

“Opponent took a bit out of my hip.”

“And the other guy?”

I refrained from speaking as the healer finished off the last stitch. Tourth answered for me. Dardon whistled in appreciation.

“Done, my lady,” the healer pronounced a few moments later, pulling my under tunic down to cover the bandage. “Change the dressing daily; keep it clean, and no walking on it for at least four days.”

I opened my mouth to protest the last, but Tourth cut me off by promptly shifting me to the ground. Climbing to his feet, he yelled for Svhen to bring a lantern. “Up you go,” was the only warning I received before I was scooped up in his arms. By the time I had recovered my bearings and swung an arm around his shoulders, he was striding across the night blackened battlefield with Dardon and Svhen scrambling to catch up, lantern swinging wildly.

“You should listen to some of your own advice, Tourth. I would have liked a warning.”

Svhen reached his side at that moment, light raised above his head. I gained a close view of Tourth’s tightly clenched jaw. I was tempted to touch his face to get his attention. I pushed the thought aside. Not now.

He grunted, hefting me higher. “We have a lot to talk about once this is over. First we need to deal with Hawthorne. Then we need to discuss the future.”

We reached the King’s camp before I could think of what to say.

Dardon pointed at the center tent displaying the King’s crest. “They are meeting in the main tent. Lord Portan…” Tourth didn’t wait for him to finish. He strode up to the men standing guard at the entrance.

“Mynth and Romany for the tribunal.”

The guards bowed us inside without a word.

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

Tourth

King Orac sat in state. Gone were the trappings of simplicity. From opulent robes to ornate crown he looked every inch a king. However, his disquiet as he sat on the small throne communicated clearly that he hadn’t been born to the position. Portan, standing at his right hand, offered a sharp contrast. Ease born of life-long privilege flowed from his shoulders like the heavy brocade of his mantle. Even the tilt of his head, chin slightly elevated even in repose, clearly indicated his heritage. I suddenly realized I had more in common with Orac than I realized.

“Put me down.” Wren pushed gently at my shoulder.

I complied, carefully, but keeping an arm around her waist once her feet were planted on the grass. She made one attempt to step away from me. I felt her reflexive reaction to the pain of the movement. Thankfully she didn’t try again.

“My liege.” I bowed from the waist without releasing my grip on her.

“I understand you are one of the wounded, my lady,” Orac observed.

“I, my lord,” she replied. “I would bow, but…”

“Understood.” Orac nodded toward a heavily padded chair. “I took the liberty of preparing for your arrival. You have my permission to sit in my presence for this tribunal only.”

“Thank you, your majesty, but I prefer to stand because of the nature of the injury.”

King Orac nodded and turned to Portan as I half-carried her over to rest beside Philon and two of his brothers, waiting off to the right side. A handful of other men stood along the opposite side of the tent. I didn’t know all of them, but a few of the faces chilled me. They were men I had met in battle or known of by reputation during the war.

“How is Hiller?” Wren asked as soon as she had composed herself. Pain and exhaustion etched shadows in her pale face. I was conflicted whether or not she belonged there considering the loss of blood and my doubts that she had eaten or slept much in the past two days.

“Bruised, but he will live without any physical scars,” Iscarus replied.

Warrick leaned over to whisper. “This bastard has a lot to answer for.”

Philon silenced him with a frown as Hawthorne was led in, hands chained, broken fingers swathed in linen.

Lord Portan greeted him. “Step forward and face your fate, prisoner.” Turning to a man kneeling at a wooden table to the left of the throne, he held out his hand. “Read the charges prepared by the king’s council brought against this man.”

The man rose, vellum in hand, and read out the contents in a steady monotone.

“Twyford Hawthorne, former enforcer of Iselyn Valley, you are charged with the following crimes: violation of feudal law by pressing the residents of the domain under your safekeeping into unpaid labor and by committing an act of war against a noble of the crown in the King’s name by invading his borders and performing raids on his lands. You are accused of treason against the crown on two counts. The first was by enlisting mercenaries, a sovereign right of the King alone. The second was a physical assault upon the King himself.

“You have been found guilty of these crimes based on the evidence of a great host of witnesses. However, based on the articles of feudal agreement set down at the foundation of the Kilanore Mountains, you have been granted opportunity to speak to the charges.” The scribe peered over his document at the prisoner.

Hawthorne stood silent. His mouth drawn in a pale line against his teeth and his shoulders hunched, he glared at Wren. The hatred in his eyes made my skin crawl. I inched forward, blocking her from his vision. She must have been more weary than I guessed because she leaned her head against the back of my shoulder.

“The accused refrains.” The scribe nodded to his assistant. “So note.” The young man complied. “Now the floor opens to the tribunal. If my lord king grants, others are allowed to speak to the charges.”

“I allow,” King Orac immediately replied.

Philon stepped forward. “Wish to add to the charges, my liege.” His shoulders squared, face solemn, and noble seal hanging across his chest, he looked like his father. A wave of grief for my own father swept through me.

“Do you have the evidence to support you claim?” Lord Portan asked.

“Aye.”

Orac nodded.

“I submit that Hawthorne did murder a noble of the realm and his wife willfully and without remorse while they were unarmed and reposing within the safety of their bedchamber.”

Orac leaned forward. “Have you evidence of this beyond the battlefield conversation we both witnessed?”

“Aye, my liege, the victims’ daughter, Katerina Mynth.”

“Bring her forth.”

One of the guards at the door pulled back the canvas and motioned to someone outside. Katerina entered. She took my breath away. Dress in a heavy blue and silver embroidered brocade, she glided smoothly into the center of the gathering, chin held high and confidence in every graceful motion. She looked like our mother, all golden hair and dignity. Homesickness turned my gut. Adding to my unease, I noted Orac’s marked attention. He had a reputation for liking women.

“Your name?” Lord Portan asked.

“Katerina Mynth, daughter of the late Lord Mynth.”

“You have evidence?”

“Yes. I saw that man descend the stars from my parents’ bedchamber bloodied knife in hand the night of their death.” She pointed at Hawthorne’s bent head.

“But you told me you weren’t there that night.” The words escaped my lips before I could catch them. Once committed, I felt I had to finish. “You told me you were visiting a friend.”

Kat turned anguished eyes on me. “I spread the story because I was afraid. Tourth, he murdered our parents and laughed about it. He…” She swallowed, forcing the reluctant words out. “He said Father plead for Mother’s life, offered his own in her place. Father died thinking she would live, but he…” A sob tore through her. She struggled to regain her composure, but obviously losing the battle.

Wren shoved me hard in the back. I stumbled the first step, but continued under my own volition. Wrapping my arms around my sister I held her close as years of isolated grief finally found release. Oh, Father, how could I have been so blind. So wrapped up in my own pain that I failed to see hers. Please help me to make it up to her.

“I think we have heard enough.” I looked up to find Orac had risen to his feet. He lifted his staff of office, which resembled a club more than a staff. “I, King Justus Orac, pronounce you, Twyford Hawthorne, guilty of treason and murder. As the law requires, you shall be taken from this place and punished to the full extent allowed, death by hanging, followed by decapitation. Upon declaration of death, your body will be…”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Hawthorne uttered a barbaric howl, raised his chained hands before him, and charged Wren.

I released Kat, reached for my sword, and lunged to intersect him, but Warrick was faster. The villain’s crazed attack ended on the edge of Warrick’s blade. The howl stuttered into a choking gurgle in the shocked silence of the room. The body fell to the ground.

“It is done,” Warrick pronounced without emotion.

Lord Portan knelt to check the body, but I turned away, looking for Wren.

I found her gripping Iscarus’ shoulder in an effort to stay upright. Her features had taken on a bit of a greenish hue.

"I have her, Iscarus.” I slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her good hip against my leg. If she fainted, she would go nowhere. “Could you see to Kat?”

“I will take her back to Arthus, if the king allows.”

He stepped away.

“I never pegged you for someone with a weak stomach.”

Her face was hidden by the fall of her loose hair so I couldn’t read her reaction. “It hasn’t been the typical day and I am not my usual self.” She took a steadying gulp of air. “To be completely honest, the pain is making my stomach rebellious.”

“Warn me if you need to heave. I don’t relish having to clean my gear again.”

She lifted her face enough for me to glimpse her weak smile, but she avoided my eyes.

“Your attention!” Lord Portan stood in the center of the tent. “The King has one other item of business to conduct before releasing you to your duties.”

Orac once again sat on his throne. The door duty guards were dragging away the body. Orac nodded to Portan.

“In recognition of actions proving his loyalty to the throne, crown, and person of His Majesty Justus Orac, King of the Kilanore Mountains and the valleys between, Tourth Mynth, son of the late Lord Tourth Mynth, is hearby awarded the title of his father and family previously declared obsolete by this crown, thus assigning him all the duties and privileges entailed by such a personage. Here witnessed by the Lord Avery, Lord Nornham, Lord Ryhmin, and myself, Lord Portan. Good luck, Lord Mynth, you have a hard task before you.”

Shock hit me in the chest. My thoughts froze. I would have stood there like an idiot if Wren didn’t save me yet again. She fainted.

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

© 2011 Rachel Rossano

Feedback questions:

1) Is there still enough tension to hold your attention?
2) Does the interaction between Wren and Tourth strike you as believable and true to their characters?
3) How do you feel about Hawthorne's fate and how it was handled?

Thank you for reading. The next chapter will probably be the last.

Chapter XXIII

2011-05-18T16:16:00.002-04:00

*This post has been revised from the original*
Wren

My birds still circled above, but they hadn’t attempted an attack since Iolani’s dive at Hawthorne’s head. Below them, chaos swelled through the crowd and ranks. When Hawthorne drew his sword, his troops reacted. The sounds of metal blades scraping from sheathes deafened. Orac’s force didn’t hesitate to follow. Within moments Svhen, myself and our eleven companions were standing between two forces intent on battle. Only the lack of a signal held their fervor at bay.

“Back to back,” Svhen ordered.

The mock prisoners dropped their chains and gripped their swords.

I drew my borrowed weapon and paired up with Jadet, my closest match height wise. Glancing around, I tried to assess the situation.

I faced a wall of men, sunlight glinting across breastplates, shields, and swords. Suddenly feeling woefully unprepared in my leather and cloth, I struggled to swallow and adjusted my grip on the steel in my hand, testing the weight with a few swings. I drew one of my knives with my left hand for backup.

I might be seeing you, Deus, sooner than I planned. Have mercy on my soul, my Lord and God. Please allow me to fight with honor and bravery for Your glory, my King. If it be Your will, spare Tourth. He has so much left to do.

The tension snapped. I didn’t see or hear the signal, but Hawthorne’s waiting army did. Cries echoed up and down the ranks. The first wave of men rushed forward, swords drawn, yelling a battle cry I couldn’t make out. The answering yells of Orac’s mounted warriors at my back drowned all other sound.

My stomach knotted itself into a rock and my lungs refused to take in air. Plowing through the panic growing in my chest, I forced air into my lungs. I am ready to die, I reminded myself. My God-given faith rose to the challenge, peace flooding in its wake. I was here for a purpose. I intended to fulfill His destiny by His strength and grace.

A throaty bellow brought my full concentration to the heavily bearded young warrior bearing down on me. His eyes intent on mine, sword raised to take a swipe at my head and shield guarding his middle. His technique left no weak point for a knife. Despite the fact he weighed almost two of me, I saw no option but to engage him. Instinct and memory from matches with my brothers brought up my arm. I would defend myself as best I knew how and pray for mercy.

My sword barely deflected his swing at my head. I attempted to puncture his leather jerkin with my knife as he rounded for another attempt. The point encountered the mail beneath. Not a surprise. Still my heart burned in defeat.

We sprang apart. I planted my feet and waited for his next attack. He turned leisurely as though certain in his superior might and armor. I could use that against him.

His next charge was easy to sidestep with a brief touch of metal and fancy footwork. Despite the glancing blow, I felt the force of his swing travel up my arm with enough force to cause discomfort. I would lose my sword with the first encounter might to might. He would come to the same conclusion soon. I needed an alternative, now.

His slow turn gave me an instant to think. That was when I saw my hope. One more exchange and I would have him.

I glanced at his face. Cold hatred and purpose met me in his eyes. He knew. My chest constricted. Lord, please make it quick.

He lunged.

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

Tourth

Hawthorne was not a warrior, despite his pretense. My response to his first assault lost him his horse. It galloped off.

I dismounted as required to continue the confrontation. He attacked before my last foot left the stirrup, gaining him the first blood, a small gash on my left arm. Its lack of depth indicated his lack of strength.

I retaliated. Within three swipes I knocked his sword from his hands.

He produced a knife. His handling of the smaller weapon revealed experience with it, but I still easily disarmed him with a bone-crushing blow to the back of his hand with the flat of my sword. The knife joined the sword in the mud, only a few feet away, but well out of reach.

He fell to his knees cradling broken fingers. One point in his favor, small though it was, he didn’t cower. Instead he attacked with his words. First he used profanity that should have burned his lips. Finally he gave up on the foul language and attempted a more personal assault.

“You look just like your father, standing there all self-righteous and pompous. He refused to strike an unarmed man too. Idiot! You realize I will probably never hold a sword again!” He spat at me.

How could he know? When had he met up with my father? Anger followed on the heels of my momentary confusion as I remembered he was possibly the man who had killed my parents.

“I have a feeling that being able to wield a sword again is going to be the least of your worries.”

“He was a coward you know.”

I didn’t need to ask who he spoke of. My anger blazed into hatred. “Why do you say that?”

“He begged for your mother’s life. Fool even offered his life in her place. Little did he know she died a breath after him.” A manic laugh broke forth from his garishly twisted mouth ending in a ragged cough.

Fighting the instinct to cut him down where he crouched. My fingers flexed on the hilt of my sword. It would be so simple. The madness rose, urging me to raise my arm. One simple stroke and it would be over. He couldn’t hurt another person and my parent’s death would be avenged. Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord.

The verse doused my rage like a bucket of ice water leaving only grief in its wake. It was not for me to take this man’s life. A lump of unshed tears blocked my throat. If only…

Someone moved at my side, just out of sight.

“So, you are confessing to the murder? That makes things so much easier.” Philon’s voice cut through my concentration.

What was he doing here?

Philon laid his hand on my shoulder. Probably to restraint any foolish inclinations I might have. Little could he know Deus already doused that fire.

“Would you be willing to confess to treason as well?” Lord Portan approached from the left. Behind him, King Orac watched in silence behind an impressive looking honor guard. “You appear so eager to die. I believe the attempted assassination of your king is a hanging offense.”

“King, ha!” Hawthorne spat in the mud at Portan’s feet. His eyes glittered strangely. “He is nothing but a pretender to a false crown. Everyone knows the valley nobles hold the real power.”

Portan ignored Hawthorne. “My Lord Eyrant.” He inclined his head respectfully. “You wish to bring a charge against this man?”

“If my Lord King pleases, I wish to call for a battlefield tribunal to try this man right here. I have little patience in regards to bring this...”

“Traitor?” Iscarus offered as he stepped to his brother’s side.

Warrick approached and offered another alternative which earned him both of his brothers’ glares.

“…traitor to justice.” Philon finished.

Lord Portan turned to King Orac. “My Liege?”

“It pleases me, Portan. Summon a scribe.”

One of the armed honor guards turned, claimed a horse and trotted back toward the king’s caravan already making camp along the edge of the last field.

Only then did I realize the battle was already over. Except for a small skirmish playing out down the way, the field was filled with men in Philon’s colors or the king’s herding groups of Hawthorne’s men away from a growing pile of weapons.

My first thought was Wren. I scanned the crowds of burly men for her dark head and slender form. I had to warn her about Keilvey.

A screech pierced the air. The small brown body of a falcon plummeted from the sky swooping above the only remaining fray and scattering men in its wake.

“Wren!” I whistled for Trader. The horse pulled away from the man holding the mounts of the king and his party. I swung up into the saddle while he was still in motion and urged him into a gallop.

As I approached the heaving mass of men, I spotted Svhen’s blond head in the midst. Wren wasn’t visible. Fear reared its head. Please, Lord, protect her. I jumped to the ground running, unsheathing my sword mid sprint.

A second falcon, this one the white female, dove and attacked, carrying away a leather helmet and effectively clearing men from the central battle. I spotted Wren’s dark head for the first time.

She went down on one knee, clutching her side.

Her opponent lifted his sword.

I pushed my leaden legs to press forward as I shoved men out of the way. I had to reach her. The need pressed against my chest wall, crushing my lungs.

The sword descended.

A man lunged across my path momentarily blocking my view as a dark object hurled through the air over our heads.

A male scream tore at my ears as I struggled to shove aside the buffoon in my path. I barely restrained the instinct to simply attack him instead. Finally free, I stumbled through the suddenly subdued mob and out into the open space cleared by the bird only to encounter Svhen arriving from the opposite direction.

Wren lay on the ground at my feet, remains of her braid twisted about her body and stray hair obscuring her face. The growing puddle of blood beneath her ripped my heart down the center.

Svhen grunted. “You check her. I will deal with him.”

I dropped to the ground next to her. “Get a healer,” I ordered the closest man. I vaguely recognized him as one of Hiller’s men.

“Already on the way,” he replied.

“We need to stop the bleeding. Anyone have clean cloth.” It was a ludicrous thing to request on the battlefield, but I wasn’t thinking about that.

I brushed her hair away from her face and worked at finding a pulse.

“Here.” A wad of brown cloth was shoved in my face.

I took it and began looking for the wound. When I found it, I breathed more easily. A gash in her hip, clean, but deep, it cut through muscle, but nothing vital. Cauterization and stitches and she would heal. Easing her clothing away from the wound, I pulled the skin together and applied pressure. She groaned and tried to move away.

“Easy,” I whispered.

“How is she?” Svhen hunkered down on her other side, blocking out the fading light.

“You are blocking the light.”

“Sorry.” He moved around to my right shoulder. “How is she?”

“If this is the worst of it, she will live.”

“Good. She deserves it after that fight.”

“The bastard that attacked her?” I asked.

“She hamstringed him before her birds got to his face. One of the other men put him out of his misery after that brown falcon took him down. You don’t want to look.”

“I will trust you on that.”

Wren’s face contorted in pain, her hand moving toward her hip. The touch of her fingertips on the back of my hand made my gut tighten. Thank you for sparing her, Lord. She opened her eyes and looked up at me.

“What were you thinking taking on a man twice your size?” I asked.

She grimaced. “He didn’t give me a choice.”

“Hmm…” I adjusted the pressure. Suddenly remembering Keilvey, I looked up at Svhen. “Hawthorne ordered Keilvey to kill Wren. We need to make sure he doesn’t get a chance to finish what this guy started.”

“Understood.” He rose and immediately started rounding up the curious onlookers and organizing a search.

“Hawthorne?”

I looked down to find Wren studying my face, worry clouding her brown eyes. I was looking forward to observing all the colors her eyes were capable of. So far I had noticed a golden hue when she wasn’t particularly emotive, the worried brown, and the amused amber. I wondered what color they would change if I kissed her.

“Tourth, what happened with Hawthorne?”

“In custody.” I mentally shook myself. These were not appropriate thoughts for the battlefield. However, I had every intention in following them up, thoroughly. “Lord Eyrant petitioned King Orac for a battlefield tribunal and it was granted. The scribe should be arriving just about now.”

As though summoned by my words, a soldier in Orac’s colors arrived with an agitated young healer in tow. Upon seeing Wren, the healer’s face flushed bright red. “I have never treated a woman before,” he haltingly admitted.

“It they aren’t that much different than us,” I reassured him as I relinquished the now bloodied cloth. “I will be right here if you need me, Wren.”

Her eyes laughed when she seriously described her injuries to the young man. The soldier pulled me aside.

“King Orac wishes you to attend the tribunal.”

I nodded. “I will come once I can move her.”

“But…”

“The tribunal and Hawthorne’s fate is just as much her business as mine. Please request that they delay for a half hour.”

“By then it will be dark.”

I shrugged. “I think the king will be inclined to grant my request for her sake. Just be sure to mention that it is for Lady Romany’s comfort.”

The soldier obeyed, but made no effort to disguise his skepticism.

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

© 2011 Rachel Rossano

It would help me a great deal if you could answer these feedback questions:

1) How do you feel about Wren's battle?
2) What did you think of Tourth's reactions during and after his exchange with Hawthorne and especially his reaction to Wren?

Plus any additional comments or reflections are welcome. One more chapter to go, I think. :)

Chapter XXII

2011-05-10T15:26:00.000-04:00

Wren

I hid among the crowd and prayed that my falcons didn’t decide to greet me. A falcon swooping out of the sky to land on my shoulder would certainly cause a stir among the closely packed people and draw Hawthorne or Keilvey’s attention. Head bent, cloak drawn close, I shuffled along, trying to regain my inner peace.

Something was wrong, though. I felt it in my gut. I wasn’t much of an instinctive decision maker, but I knew that something about the whole situation irked me. I needed to figure out what.

A glance around gained me nothing. I was too short to see over the people jostling me. Being brief of stature came with disadvantages.

Another was the encroaching claustrophobia of the crowd enhanced by the narrow field of vision of my hood. Roulf with the assistance of his staff shouldered his way through the crowd, working our way toward the front fringe behind the foot soldiers. Jadet and Parkin flanked me, ensuring I wasn’t bowled over by the pressing bodies. They were only semi successful.

“I see Svhen,” Jadet announced at my left. “He is that way.” He flailed an arm to our left.

Parkin nodded and grabbed Roulf’s shoulder to get his attention. We tried to stop, but the momentum of the crowd refused to part around us and we were carried along instead.

All four of us clustered together, me at the center, and made a stand. Finally the people parted, passing at each side.

“It is thinning out,” Roulf yelled in my ear above the cacophony of voices cheering and talking as they passed. As he predicted, a few seconds later the number of people decreased.

“This way.” Jadet bounded off, dodging stragglers.

The rest of us followed. Leaving the crowd behind, we struck out through the brush. Jadet headed for a stand of tall pines clogged with underbrush. It was only when we caught up with him that I realized his plan. The prisoners were apparently being led to the meeting by another path, passing on the opposite side of the trees.

“How did you know?” Parkin demanded, as soon as we caught up.

“Hush!” Roulf hissed.

Just beyond the last of the trees, a man dressed in leather with a black cowl about his neck and an oversized sword strapped to his back led a line of prisoners along the footpath. Their hands were bound before them and looped together. Two of the soldiers escorting them carried a thick block of wood between them, the chopping block for beheadings.

Svhen’s blond head and massive shoulders appeared second in line, but most visible of the lot. Hiller, recognizable only by his clothing, tramped in the lead. His steps faltered. Falling to his knees, he brought Svhen down with him.

The prisoners stopped. Familiar faces turned toward the head of the line. One of the seven guards called out to the executioner to halt while two others closed in on Hiller and Svhen, reaching for the cudgels attached to their belts.

“Now is our chance.” Jadet produced a knife from beneath his cloak and brandished it like a complete novice. I could have disarmed him in one move, but it wasn’t profitable to point that out.

“There are eight of them and three of us,” Parkin protested.

“Your accounting of our allies is off,” Roulf replied. “I count fourteen: ten prisoners and the four of us.”

“But they are bound.” Parkin gestured just as the first blow landed across Svhen’s shoulders.

I didn’t know why they were picking on him and not Hiller, but I suspected the reason. Regardless, I couldn’t bear to watch more without action.

“Get out your sword, boy. A soldier worth his keep can utilize more than just his hands to take down an assailant. They just need a chance.” I unsheathed my first and second knives. “Ready, Roulf?”

He adjusted his grip on the heavy staff in his hands. “Aye, Wren, just give the word.”

I eyed the situation. The executioner had retraced his steps and was approaching Hiller and Svhen, yelling words that made my ears burn. I waited until Parkin drew his sword, thankfully with more skill than Jadet and his knife.

“Now.”

My first knife sank into the kicker’s shoulder, most likely breaking his shoulder blade. The second lodged in the executioner’s dominate left hand. He would not be executing anyone with that sword today. Before the first man reached the ground, Roulf dealt him a blow to the head that would keep him unsteady for a while.

The lads moved to attack the man who had stuck Svhen. Before they could do much damage, though, Svhen took the man down with a shoulder to the back followed by a crushing two-fisted blow to the man’s chest. I heard his ribs crack.

Roulf confronted the wounded executioner as the second guard sized me up with an incredulous look on his face. Third blade in hand, I adjusted it into fighting grip and prepared for him to lunge. My eyes watched his weight distribution, alert for a tell that would warn of his intended move. He never made it. One of the prisoners slung the lead rope around his neck from behind and hissed something in his ear. The soldier’s sword dropped to the dirt.

I glanced along the trail. The remaining soldiers were all incapacitated.

“Here are the keys,” Roulf said as he appeared at my shoulder. He tossed them to the nearest man. “Hurry, the enforcer is going to miss you soon.”

“What is the plan?” Svhen asked.

“Get close as possible to the enforcer before he realizes something is wrong and immobilize him.” Roulf rubbed his shoulder ruefully. “If we have some of you pose as prisoners and the rest as guards, we should be able to get away with it. I have hoods for the ones playing guards.”

In the midst of the following flurry of activity, I knelt by Hiller’s still form. Svhen’s large hand came to rest on my shoulder.

“How is he?”

His face a muddy mixture of red, black, and blue, I could barely recognize the identifying features I would expect. His one discernable eye was closed. My chest constricted, the familiar bondage of grief.

“We need the keys.”

Svhen turned away, his voice distantly demanded the keys as I checked Hiller’s vitals. He breathed and his heart beat steadily. I eased him over onto his back. A groan shuddered through him. The pressure in my chest moved to my throat.

As I struggle to regain my control, Svhen returned. He worked the keys into the lock. “There.” The manacles fell away, leaving raw remnants on Hiller’s wrists.

“He will live.”

“Can he be moved?” Roulf asked from above us.

I nodded.

The men lifted him as gently as possible and carried him off to the shelter of the trees where someone had cleared a space for him. The moment he was settled, two of the enemies’ cloaks wrapped around him for warmth, the men returned to assist with the prisoners. I remained by Hiller’s side.

One of his men approached. “Your weapons, my lady.” He offered my knives, clean of the blood I expected. “They were well used.”

“Thank you…”

“The name is Fronk.”

“Thank you, Fronk.”

“Who is going to stay with him?” Svhen asked as he approached.

I shook my head. I couldn’t. I had to reach Tourth. He would need me.

“I will,” Roulf offered. “I doubt I will be much use with this shoulder.”

The matter settled we formed up the line. Five men taking the guards’ roles, hoods raised to hide their faces. One man, the second largest to Svhen, took the role of executioner. With the borrowed black cowl about his neck, his scarred face, and the huge sword strapped to his back, Fronk looked the part.

Each prisoner held the iron manacles in place around their wrists, giving the appearance of being bound. The leg irons were gone, used to bind the captured enemy. The remaining men escorted them, hiding their faces as best they could with hoods, helmets, and such. I joined Jadet at the end of the line. We lugged the execution block between us.

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

Tourth

Enforcer Hawthorne approached King Orac’s party on horseback and clothed in silk. “My Lord King,” he murmured as he bowed, offering the bared wrist of his right hand.

“Enforcer,” Orac replied. “Quite the spectacle for my arrival.” His nod encompassed 1,000 foot soldiers in full regalia, a crowd of excited peasants, and Hawthorne’s own overblown attire. The king, dressed in simple armor with only a crest and a battle crowned helmet to mark his authority, presented a solemn contrast to his underling.

“We seek only to please, my liege. The morrow being the one year anniversary of your ascension to the throne, we wished to celebrate the glory of your reign.”

Orac’s light eyes did not meet Hawthorne’s. Instead they roamed over the ranks behind him. No doubt noticing what I had marked some time ago, there were no Tarins among Hawthorne’s troops, a count against my case.

“We have some entertainments planned, my liege.” Hawthorne’s arm wave indicated the small band of prisoners approaching. Svhen’s bright hair attracted the eye in the glow of late afternoon sunlight. I scanned the group for Hiller only to notice a very familiar face among the escorting soldiers. What was Wren doing there? I dragged my gaze back to Hawthorne in time to see confusion followed by anger cross his features before the mask of jolly stagemaster returned.

“A recent raid on a rebellion hideout produced unexpected fruits. My men captured a number of known criminals. I am sure you have heard of Svhen Bjon the madman mercenary. Also, a surprising treat, the Butcher of Catorna himself, Tourth Mynth appeared among prisoners. I understand he killed your step-son on the field. A fitting tribute to the fallen hero to execute his murderer upon the anniversary, wouldn’t you say?”

“Do not assume anything, Hawthorne.” Orac’s voice froze Hawthorne with his mouth open and hand upraised to signal something. “My son died in battle, in a skirmish with Tourth Mynth, but that does not justify further bloodshed to mark the anniversary. However, I am curious about this Svhen Bjon. Why does he have a price on his head? Who is the funder?”

Hawthorne’s face flushed. “I am the funder, sire. Bjon is well-known as a war criminal and rebel.”

“Mynth?” Orac turned to me.

I struggled to keep my surprise from my features. “Aye, my liege?”

His silver gaze pinned me. Blank and emotionless, it gave me no clue as to his intentions.

“I am curious. Have you or your men participated in any illegal or criminal “rebel” behavior since the peace declaration?”

“Nay, my liege.”

“Is Bjon one of your men?”

“Aye, my king.”

He frowned. “Would you be willing to vouch for his life with yours?”

My stomach clenched, but I answered without a pause. “Aye, I would, Sire.”

He studied me for a moment longer. Something within me knew this was a test. I met his gaze steadily and prayed that the Lord would allow me to live.

Abruptly Orac turned back to Hawthorne, catching him in the act of whispering instructions to Keilvey. “What troops do you speak of, Hawthorne? I only commissioned you the thousand you have here.”

“Recruits from the locals, my king.”

Orac frowned. “Not allowed, Hawthorne. You have overstepped your commission. Lord Portan…”

Lord Portan guided his horse closer to Orac’s right hand. Meanwhile Hawthorne attempted to regain some control. “Perhaps we could speak of this later after the celebrations, my liege. I planned some lovely pageantry within the walls.”

“No, Hawthorne, I do not think I shall enter your gates until my men have searched the interior. Portan, have the prisoners approach. I want to speak to the one they considered Mynth.”

A screech ripped through the air, drowning out Orac’s words. A second answered from closer at hand. As though pulled by a puppeteer’s string all heads turned toward the second sound as a dark body plummeted through the air. Wings cupped to slow his approach, a falcon descended with claws outstretched toward Wren. The lad assisting her with the execution block dropped his load, threw his hands over his head, and ducked down. Wren also dropped the wooden block, but she turned to locate the first cry. I followed her gaze and spotted a larger female, white and silver in the sunlight approaching like a vengeful angel of fury. However, she was not headed toward Wren, but a more immediate goal, Hawthorne. The falcon missed his head by a foot, screaming her anger as she beat the air to gain altitude.

“The Romany.” Hawthorne’s gaze was only for Wren’s upturned face. Hatred, pure and potent, permeated every syllable. “Kill her,” he hissed to Keilvey.

Hawthorne’s hand went to his belt. Orac’s eyes were still on Wren and her falcon, oblivious of the malice gathering in the enforcer’s eyes. Winding the reins around my left hand, I heeled Trader and threw my body weight, directing the horse toward toward Orac. My hand already sought my own sword hilt.

A glint of metal heralded Hawthorne’s intent as he raised his fisted hand, a blade protruding. Orac reacted to the movement, turning in time to see the weapon. He reached for his own sword, but he moved too late.

“Long live the King,” Hawthorne announced as Trader’s shoulder impacted the king’s mount, jarring rider and horse aside. Hawthorne’s blade struck the animal’s neck at an odd angle, knocking the blade from his hand. The horse screamed. Trader head butted the stallion and nipped his shoulder. Prancing away, the horse carried Orac from harm and placed us firmly in his stead.

Sword drawn, I faced the enemy.

“Mynth.” He spat my name. “I should have known he wasn’t you. He didn’t have half the arrogance I expected of the Butcher of Catrona and none of the strengths of a traitor.” Reaching down, he pulled a short sword from its hiding place beneath his horse’s trappings.

“The man you harmed was my friend, Lord Hiller. A noble.”

He and his mount circled us. Trader followed their movements without my instruction.

“Lord Hiller should have stayed home, keeping to his brother’s leading strings. This valley is none of his concern.”

Beyond Hawthorne, I caught a glimpse of Wren. No falcons were with her, which meant they were airborne and could attack any moment. I couldn’t risk a glance upwards. Please don’t let them mistake me for an enemy, Lord.

Seeing my distraction, Hawthorne charged.

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

© 2011 Rachel Rossano

Feedback Question:

1) Was the action clear and easy to follow? Were there any spots where you were confused?

Thank you for reading and commenting.

- Rachel Rossano

Chapter XXI

2011-04-28T10:22:00.001-04:00

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

Chapter XX

2011-04-05T12:31:00.001-04:00

Author's note - I forgot to write in Dardon in the last chapter. *hides face in shame* I went back and added him in the previous chapter, but I haven't updated the blog. So, don't be surprised if he shows up here out of the blue. In truth, he has been with them all along. :)

- Rachel Rossano

Tourth

A chair, a table, and bare ground were austere surroundings for a king. The scent of trampled grass filled my senses. Heavy canvas separated a small area from the rest of the tent leaving barely room for five men to stand abreast, shoulders almost rubbing. Wren paused at my left, Keaton’s dark body perched on her far shoulder. Tyron flanked her other side. Together we looked like an honor guard for her and her bird. Dardon chose a spot at my right, closer to the men guarding the exit.

“Budget problems?” Dardon regarded the rough-hewn wood of the table legs and the unpadded seat of the chair with raise eyebrows.

Lord Portan frowned pointedly at him. “Wait here.” He disappeared into the larger area of the tent.

I caught Wren eyeing her surroundings, no doubt marking the exits and the two men flanking the opening to the outside. Tyron edged about uneasily while Dardon slid his sword a few inches out of the scabbard. As I tried to catch Dardon’s gaze to signal him to behave, the canvas parted and Orac stepped into the room.

He looked the same as when I saw him last. A short man, he barely surpassed Wren by an inch or two. He moved with the grace of a boar, but the power of each movement commanded its own form of appreciation. His cool silver eyes scanned us, beginning with Wren.

“My lady.” He inclined his head slightly to her and Keaton. “We are honored by your presence and your noble bird.”

“I am not of noble birth, your majesty.”

Orac tilted his head to one side. “An honest admission, lady. That alone is worthy of the regard.”

I continued to study his face. He assessed Dardon with a glance, deciding not to comment on the glint of metal at his hip. Avoiding my gaze, he frowned at Tyron’s livery instead.

“Do you bring greetings from Enforcer Hawthorne?”

“Hardly,” Dardon muttered.

“No, my liege,” I said over him. Stepping forward from the group so he couldn’t ignore me any longer, I knelt before him, right arm extended wrist up before me. “I come to make a claim on my family’s title and swear allegiance to you.”

The following silence rang in my ears as no one moved. I doubted Wren was even breathing, she was so still.

Finally he broke it. “That must have tasted bitter in your mouth, Mynth.” He reached down and tapped my head. “Rise. I can’t bear groveling.”

He waited until I gained my feet before demanding, “You know what stands between us, Mynth. What makes you risk my wrath a second time?”

“Your sense of justice and love of country gave me hope.”

His eyebrows rose. “Enough that I would honor my son’s killer? Did you bring this man to voice Hawthorne’s support of this plan?” He jutted his chin toward Tyron.

“Nay, my king,” Tyron protested. “I am here to do the opposite. I bring news of Enforcer Hawthorne’s deception and treason.”

“One of yours, Mynth?”

I shook my head. Lord, speak for me, for I have no words to change his mind.

He frowned up at Tyron. “Very well, lad, speak!”

“Enforcer Hawthorne has hired a company of Tarins 4,000 strong. He intends to force you to give him title and valley should his other means not persuade you.”

“Other means?”

“He plans a celebration of your ascent to the throne culminating in the death of the foreigner Svhen, the traitor Mynth and his rebels upon your arrival.”

“Yet Mynth stands before me and I assume at least one of his rebels.” Orac eyed Dardon with amusement. “Who is standing in the mighty Mynth’s stead?”

“The brother of Earl Philon Eryant, Lord of Sidle Valley, Lord Hiller.”

I closed my eyes. Foolish, Hiller, oh, so foolish. When I opened my eyes I found Orac peering up at me.

“Does he speak truth, Mynth?”

Wren answered in my stead. “He speaks truth, sire. Hawthorne plans all this and more.”

“How would you know, lady?”

Calm golden eyes meeting his piercing silver, Wren rose in my estimation even more. Orac’s presence overwhelmed me, and I towered over the man. He had inches on Wren as well as twice her body weight in muscle, yet she didn’t even flinch when he confronted her.

“I am Wren Romany, your majesty. Perhaps you have heard of me.”

He nodded slightly. “There was news of a bounty hunter of that name. According to Hawthorne, he knows you well.”

“Nay, he knows me not at all. However, I can attest to Tyron’s testimony. Hawthorne intends to attain his goal no matter the means.”

“Surely he wouldn’t attack the crown giving him power.”

“Hawthorne knows no limits when lusting for power,” she retorted. “I saw him kill men for less cause.”

“Is he so foolish?”

“No, but he is not wise, Sire.”

“Hmm… And you, man?” Orac turned to address Dardon. “Have you nothing to add?”

Dardon met the king’s gaze without reservation. “I am Mynth’s man, Sire.”

“Bodyguard?”

“Swordmate, but I can be a bodyguard should it be necessary. Will it, Sire?”
Instead of answering, Orac turned away. Striding to the chair, he lowered himself onto the seat. Lord Portan stepped to his side.

“You are a brazen bunch, I will give you credit for that.” His gaze fell on me, studying me as though of two minds about whether to kill me or not. For Kat’s sake, please spare me, Deus, I prayed.

Then abruptly, he snapped his fingers and tapped the table top before him. Portan disappeared behind the canvas.

“This is what I shall do. Mynth, you have proven yourself trustworthy to a point. I admire your real or assumed unwillingness to speak against Hawthorn. You produced witnesses to plead your case for you. A wise move.

“Lady Romany, you are right. Hawthorne did not speak truthfully of you. He has lied to me, which counts against him. I suspected him of lies before, but your appearance has been the first proof.

“Dardon, loyal swordmate of Mynth, keep at his side. He will need you before this matter is settled.

“Portan, hurry!”

Portan appeared parchment, ink, and pen in his hands. Within moments only the sound of Orac’s pen scratching along the surface of a scrap of parchment filled the space. Dardon slid the first inches of his sword in and out of the scabbard under the watchful eyes of the guards. Portan shot an irritated glance his way, but Dardon ignored it.

Keaton woke. Wren lifted a hand to signal he stay. He eyed the situation with one bright eye and then another, tensing on her shoulder like a hunter ready to strike. His restlessness a strange contrast to the cool profile Wren presented. She didn’t meet my curious glance. She stared straight ahead; hands relaxed where they lay, one on Keaton and one at her waist. Despite the casual stance, I was willing to bet she would attack at a word if necessary. Her focus surpassed most of the warriors I had ever encountered.

“Done,” Orac declared, pressing his signet ring into the last wax seal. “Now, Portan, see they are carried out.”

“What about the visitors?” Lord Portan hesitated over his choice of words.

Orac leaned back in his chair and regarded me over steepled fingers. The expression in his eyes caused my gut to tense. Instinct demanded I protect Wren, I almost opened my mouth to speak.

“They can share a tent. Let them catch a few hours rest before we march.” Orac thrust up to his feet and plowed back through the canvas into the depths of the tent.

We all stood there, slightly stunned.

“You heard the king,” Lord Portan said to the guards behind us. “Take them to a tent to sleep. Keep an honor guard on them for their own safety.” Then he departed too.

“This way,” one of the guards instructed, heading out into the night. We followed silently.

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

Wren

Tourth was wound like a spring. The muscles in his forearms corded as his fists clenched. He paced the constrained interior of our designated tent. Tyron watched his movements with obvious concern, but Dardon dedicated more attention to sharpening his sword than his friend’s agitation.

“Ignore him,” he advised Tyron. “He does this before every battle since Catrona. He fears the coming battle.”

I had seen that in some warriors, a fear of dying. However, Tourth didn’t strike me as one of them. More likely he feared losing control. In light of his recent struggles, he probably feared the moment of the kill. I could relate to both fears.

Tyron lay down on the grass, saddle bags under his head, and rolled to face the canvas.

“We need to sleep,” Dardon pointed out as he sheathed his sword.

Tourth acknowledged the statement with a blunt nod and threw himself down on the grass, back to the center support and the two men desiring sleep. He remained tense and in motion, though. Forearm muscles cording and relaxing as he clenched and released his hands.

Dardon snuffed out the lantern, plunging us all into darkness.

I remained where I was, sitting cross legged, Keaton on my shoulder, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the night. Gradually moonlight crept under the edges of the canvas, glowing where the opening flaps parted. Tourth’s features were still in shadow, but I made out his form, a black shadow among the gloom.

I slipped across the distance between us, so I could speak without anyone overhearing.

“I need to leave.”

He jumped slightly, instinct summoning hand to sword hilt. I stopped him from drawing it with a touch.

“If Hawthorne sees me arrive with King Orac’s company, he will be on the alert for betrayal. He knows I will thwart his plans if I discover them.”

“I doubt Orac will allow you to leave.” He leaned forward, resting elbows on knees, hands still moving.

“I don’t intend to ask him.”

“What do I tell him when he asks?” Amusement tinged his voice. I could almost see his raised eyebrows in the darkness.

“Tell him I left.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know what he will do? He might blame me?”

“I don’t, but I am certain he won’t kill you.”

“I doubt he would pass up the opportunity.”

“Trust me. He doesn’t want to like you, but he respects your integrity. The death of a son is a hard thing to get past.”

Tourth’s head lowered to his hands. I instantly regretted the reference.

“I don’t remember his son.” Tourth’s words hung heavy in the air between us. “That is the worst of it. The madness took hold, blocking out everything. I could have killed my own sister if she had been there. I was lost to anger and bloodlust such that I cannot even recall his son’s face.” His voice quavered and died.

I reached across and laid a hand on his arm. “It was war. You were fighting for your king, and he for his. It doesn’t make it right or good. But, it was a matter of his life or yours and I am thankful that Deus spared yours.”

“Wren.” He whispered my name as though seeking reassurance. “I don’t want the madness to return. The darkness waits, hungry for my anger, and I fear I will slip into it again. This time my actions might stand between me and God forever.”

My hand found his bent head, fingers slipping through his hair. “Deus is greater than the madness. He can master your anger.”

He sighed, a labored effort as though something pressed against his chest. “Pray for me, Wren.”

“I will.” Although it was the perfect opportunity to leave, something held me back.

He lifted his head, catching my falling hand with his own. Instead of letting go, he held it.

“Take care, Wren.” He turned it over, stroking the palm with a calloused thumb. A pleasant shiver climbed my spine before settling in my belly. “I will pray for your safety.”

“And I yours.” I savored his touch a moment more before finally murmuring, “I must go.”

“Aye, and I must sleep.” He released my hand.

I rose before I had a chance to change my mind and strode soundlessly toward the opening. After listening long enough to place the position of the guards, I slipped between the flaps and into the moonlit night.

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

© 2011 Rachel Rossano

A question: What is your assessment of Orac?

Wren gets a Facebook page!

2011-04-03T14:34:00.000-04:00

A new chapter is coming soon. It is half written. The end of the book grows complicated, and I want to spend some extra time on it, when I can find the moments.

In other news, Wren has her own Facebook page. Come and visit. Wren is enjoying the ability to express herself beyond the story.

- Rachel Rossano

Chapter XIV

2011-02-28T23:44:00.000-05:00

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.

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

Chapter XVIII

2011-02-13T23:52:00.000-05:00

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

2011-02-07T16:45:00.000-05:00

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

Chapter XVI

2011-01-21T17:35:00.001-05:00

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.

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

Chapter XV

2011-01-10T16:38:00.004-05:00

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

A Temporary Hiatus

2009-12-10T15:21:00.001-05:00

I realize that I have been out of touch with Wren and Tourth followers. I want to apologize for leaving you patiently waiting in the dark for so long. I can offer some light now, but I am sorry to say that I am going to have to ask you to wait even longer for more of Wren and Tourth's story.

There have been some big life changes happening on this side of the Internet divide. The biggest is that my hubby and I are expecting twins May 2010. We are very happy and excited about this blessing. However, it has become very clear that I am going to have to put my writing on hold for a while. I am about four months along, and the pregnancy has already had a few complications. Between that and some other family issues going on, I am not about to give Wren and Tourth the time and attention they deserve.

Don't despair, however. I am going to be back. I have fought so long for this story and it has come so far that I refuse to let it die. I will pick up the story again where I left off and finish it, Lord willing, after I have recovered from childbirth and adjusted to the expansion of our family. Meanwhile, I want to thank you for your patience and support. It has meant a great deal to me.

- Rachel Rossano

Chapter XIV

2009-09-08T16:56:00.000-04:00

Wren

Even before the village into sight, the air began to change. Heavy with silence, the tingle of a coming storm prickled across my skin. I pulled Brone to a leisurely stop beside the road and looked over my shoulder to watch the dark clouds rolling over Iselyn. Brone shifted uneasily beneath me, eager to keep moving away from the storm. I listened to his signals and kneed him forward once again.

The village came into view as we crowned the fifth rise. Iselyn out of sight behind us, the rain arrived in a sudden onslaught of cold water that took my breath away. As much as I would have liked to stop and seek out shelter in Roulf's shop or even one of the inns, I resisted. We had a ways to go, and I didn't want to attract attention.

We passed through the village without incident. Almost all the buildings closed tight against the storm offered blank faces of wooden shutters and dripping stone. Even Roulf's store looked closed. Only the thin streams of smoke coming from the chimneys and occasional movements behind curtains revealed the life behind the dead façade. Unable to bear looking at the evidence of fear, I urged Brone onward toward the far side of town.

The rain caught up with us a half mile beyond the last house. Announcing itself without warning, the weather went from foreboding to deluge in seconds. Brone protested with a snort and a small prance of nerves. I pulled my hood down over my already sopping head and tugged the brim down to shelter my eyes.

I expected the roads to be empty, especially considering the pressing gangs, so I was surprised when a half-hour later I heard the sound of voices. Male shouts, distorted by the roar of the rain around me, came from the crossroads ahead. As I rounded the bend in the road and the weather-bent silhouette of the wooden marker came into view, I involuntarily reached for my first knife.

A crew of five men, bent dark shapes in the rain drove a train of eight chained men along the center of the road from the capital city. Punctuating their yells with cracking whips, they turned the line of captives onto the road I was following, the way to the Enforcer’s fortress. None of the men noticed me as I pulled Brone to a stop and watched them.

What do I do, Father? I hadn’t even considered the role I was going to play before the Enforcer and his men. A female bounty hunter would probably be accepted, especially if my fame preceded me, which was a possibility since I had a public run-in with Steward Farley not so long ago over my last catch. Because of that, my best bet would be to be myself, or at least a version of myself that the men would expect. I replayed the incident with Steward Farley in my head, refreshing my memory and forming my role.

“Hey you!”

One of the men separated himself from the rest and started back toward me with whip in hand. I drew back my hood with one hand while the other closed about the hilt of my knife.

“Where are you headed, sir?” I asked politely, drawing out my braid of hair from beneath my cloak. The man’s pace and body language changed with it and my face’s appearance.

“The local Enforcer’s fortress, miss.” He came to a stop next to Brone’s head and squinted up at my through the rain. “What brings you out and about in such weather?” He scanned the road behind me. “And without an escort.”

Reasonably sure he was not an immediate threat I used both of my hands to wring out my braid and begin winding it around my head. “Between bounties. You don’t happen to know of anyone would need my assistance, would you?”

“Bounty hunter?” He drew in his chin in disbelief and grunted.

“Perhaps you have heard of me,” I suggested, raising my hood once again. “The Romany.”

He lowered his face to hide his reaction, but his body language changed again.

“The Enforcer might have a task for you,” he finally offered. “Those men are some criminals for his building crew.” He turned to glance at the group slowly moving down the road behind him. “If you want, you can travel with us.”

“I appreciate it.” I nodded down at him.

With a grunt, he turned back to catch up with his prisoners. I followed far enough back to not crowd them, but close enough to scan the captives. My presence caused a mild sensation among the captors, but the captives continued to trudge forward with heads bowed.

Thus we traveled for an hour. The rain kept up a steady beat on our heads, turning the road to a mess of mud that lapped at Brone’s ankles with every step. The pedestrians had it much worse. Caked in brown, wet slop to their knees, the drivers endeavored to keep the captives moving at a quick pace despite the conditions and the upward slope of the road. However, their expectations were unrealistic. One man would stumble and the whole line went down on their knees, drawn down with their comrade by the chain binding them together. After the fifth incident of this kind, I approached the leader of the gang.

“Why don’t we stop and wait for the rain to let up?” I asked.

“Promised the Enforcer that I would have a new supply by noon.”

I frowned. Noon was at least four hours gone. The sky was darkening, and I judged that we would be in complete darkness within another hour.

“We only have another mile to go,” the leader added. “Just after that turn in the road,” he pointed where I could dimly see the road disappearing behind a copse of trees, “we usually catch our first glimpse of the castle. With this…” He swore profusely as one of the captives went down on one knee. Turning away toward the stumbler, he raised his whip to strike. I nudged Brone’s side sharply and he leapt forward, startling the leader so he scrambled to get out the way. I drew Brone to a stop a few feet in front of the slowly moving column, turning just in time to see the leader struggling to find purchase in the slippery muck. I couldn’t hide the smile that came to my face when I saw he had lost his whip in the mud.

“Sorry about that,” I called back to him above the roar of the rain. “My horse is skittish around whips.”

I couldn’t make out the words of the man’s response, but he was saying something loudly and in a tone that indicated his displeasure. His associates moved to assist him and I scanned the column of men taking advantage of the disruption to rest. One of the men had raised his head when I had called out my apology. He had been looking at the master, but now, he looked up at me, recognition in his eyes. My gut hardened with dread.

“Arthus.”

The name slipped from my lips in a whisper as my thoughts raced. He never made it to the king. He couldn’t have. Not in the amount of time that he has been gone. This meant that Tourth’s petition for recognition from the King was never delivered. I grimaced. Tourth needed to know immediately so that he could send out another petition.

The master was on his feet again and the group moved forward, giving Brone and myself wide birth. The satisfaction of the master’s empty hands was lost in my frenzied struggle to come up with a plan.

I hadn’t planned on staying long at the Enforcer’s fortress. If it weren’t for Arthus’ danger, I would have already spurred Brone back toward home. However, Arthus was here, a captive doomed to hard labor, something I couldn’t allow. I shut out the stories of the Enforcer’s treatment of his forced labor crew and forced my thoughts to organize. Following the column at a distance, I continued to scheme.

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

Tourth

Forty-five men in cramped quarters was hardly conducive to inner reflection. I reveled in the distraction and used the excuse of a chess game and a round of darts to keep my mind off of the future. The past was a bit harder to avoid considering Hiller and Iscarus were right there in the room, and every time I noticed them, a memory from childhood would explode in my thoughts. It seemed to take an eternity, but finally it was my turn to take watch. I stepped out into the drizzle with a sigh of relief.

“Not used to the company?” Iscarus stepped out the door behind me, shutting out the noise of the kitchen with a click of the latch.

“It is definitely more crowded.”

“The cost of safety,” he pointed out as he raised his hood.

“Where are you headed?” I asked, hoping to hear that it was far from my own post.

“Where ever you are. I am not on watch until tomorrow morning.” He met my gaze evenly. “I thought you might need someone to listen.”

I shook my head and peered into the darkness. My eyes gradually adjusted to the light change. “I am not in a talking mood, Iscarus.”

“In that case, I will just sit with you.”

I grimaced and strode out into the dark courtyard. I ignored the sound of him sloshing through the puddles behind me and concentrated on finding the gatehouse stairs. I was scheduled to watch from above the newly repaired gate. A task I would have preferred to accomplish alone.

I found the poor man I was replacing perched in the center of the arch over the gate. He looked up at our approach and then slowly unfolded himself beneath his cloak. Lifting a lantern so that he could see my face, he asked, “Password?”

“Very funny, Troj,” Iscarus replied.

“One can never be too careful,” the young man replied.

“I will vouch for his identity.”

“How do I know you aren’t a changeling?” Troj asked as he offered the lantern to me. I took it and lifted it so peer at the wet-shiny surface of his features.

“What about you?” I asked. “How do I know that you aren’t a changeling?”

He laughed. “You don’t.”

“Enough with the mind games, Troj.” Iscarus motioned for the man to leave.

“Is he always like that?" I asked as Troj disappeared down the stairwell.

"Usually. He likes to keep us on our toes."

I frowned. I didn't feel nearly as tolerant. I settled on the wet ledge, wincing as my cloak thirstily sucked up the freezing water. I leaned forward so that I could see out into the darkness as far as possible and grimaced as the rain dripped from the edge of my cloak onto my bare hands. I had forgotten my gloves, not that they would have helped much in these conditions.

"Reminds me of the night before the battle of Yornth," Iscarus commented as he settled in beside me.

"I wasn't there." Hoping that Iscarus would take the hint from my tone, I shoved my hands in my armpits and tried to keep the cold tendrils of memory at bay. Neither attempt worked. Iscarus continued to speak and my thoughts plodded helplessly to retrace the most painful memories of my life.

"It rained that night too." Iscarus' voice lowered, slowed by emotion. "My battalion was charged with defending Tanion Hill below Lord Orthan's castle. Out of the hundred men with me, only twenty had every seen a fight before. Even my sword mate, Honoiun, had yet to kill his first man."

My stomach turned as the familiar smells of the battlefield in my thoughts mingled with the essences of damp earth and wet stone. "None of us knew what we were getting into when we signed up." I closed my eyes, but it only intensified the images. Aron standing over a fallen spearman, hands and armor covered in the man's blood and the look of horror on his childish features. He had been too young. Only three years my junior, eager for his first battle, but he had not been prepared for the massacre of war. None of us had. I shook my head to rid myself of the ghost, but it would not leave.

"You should have seen their faces, Tourth." Iscarus' voice cracked.

"We didn't belong there." I looked down at my clenched fists. I held them out in rain, opening the fingers slowly. In my mind's eye, they still dripped red. I blinked. "Iscarus, none of us belonged there. If I had just put my foot down… If I had just said no and taken them the other way…" My hands shook.

"The battle of Catorna wasn't your fault."

He laid a comforting hand on my shoulder and I shrugged it off.

It was. Nothing had changed. Catorna was my fault. It had been in my power to change our course. I had seen the signs of ambush, and I had warned our commander. He had ignored me and called me a foolish country boy. My heart clenched and I gritted my teeth. If only I had said more, refused to continue, or done something, anything to avoid the ambush. Instead I had withdrawn, shamed into silence.

"I could have stopped it." I spat the words out with all the conviction I felt. "You are wrong, Iscarus. I could have saved all those men. I saw the signs and did nothing."

"Did you report them?"

"Of course, but that idiot of a commander ignored them. He kept marching us forward. He made Aron move to the front when I protested. Then Aron took the first arrow to the chest." I struggled to block out the sight, but I couldn't avoid it. The smell of shock and fear, the strange sensation of time standing still, and then the madness came, a fire burning within my chest, clouding my mind with anger, and then the blind obsession of revenge coursing through my limbs. "Do you know how many men I killed that day?" I asked as I pressed my slick palms to my eyes.

"No." Iscarus' voice was quiet and calm amidst the chaos in my head.

"Three hundred and seven." I forced myself to breathe, drawing air into my aching chest. I had to. I had no choice. "What is worse is that I wanted to do it. I looked into each of those men's eyes and exulted as the light of life faded." A sob broke from my throat, tearing away the scab that I had protected so jealously. "I wanted them to pay. Pay for killing Aron and the other boys, lads who would never know a future. Pay for being greedy and wanting more than their share. Pay for destroying so many lives." I laughed bitterly through my tears. "The irony is that I destroyed more futures in those hours than they."

"Did Svhen, Arthus, and Dardon know Aron?"

I shook my head, struggling to get my heart under control. "They were north of Catorna at the time of the massacre, loaned out to train with a different battalion the month before. In God's mercy, they missed Catorna."

"So you haven't talked to them about it?"

I laughed harshly. "I haven't spoken of it ever to anyone."

"Until now."

I nodded. Until now. "I will never understand why God let our commander live," I muttered. "Of all of us, he should have died."

"God had His reasons," Iscarus replied.

My heart rebelled slightly at the statement despite the fact I knew it was true. God always had a purpose, even for Catorna. That I could believe. That I was forgiven for those 307 lives that I took was another issue entirely. I was never going to be able to atone for them. "No one is beyond redemption, Tourth." Wren's words rang through my head. I didn't agree. I was beyond it, so far gone that there was no hope.

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

Chapter XIII

2009-07-23T17:57:00.001-04:00

Wren

When I returned to the castle yard after the noon meal, I caught some of our visitors in the midst of raising the repaired gate. Four men strained to hoist the solid wooden panel with a pulley system while three others guided it into place. Another man prepared to slide the hinge bolts home. I scanned the yard, looking for Tourth, but he was nowhere in sight. Lord Hiller stood near the smoke house, deep in conversation with his captain. I had passed Iscarus instructing the lumbering crew on which trees to fell on my way back.

"Better watch your back," Dardon said from behind me, announcing his arrival by dropping a large stone at my feet. Pushing sweat damp hair from his forehead, he grimaced at me. "Tourth still hasn't cooled down about last night."

I studied his face. "What makes you think that?"

"He asks after you every half hour like clockwork. Even Svhen is beginning to look nervous around him. What did you say to him?"

I shrugged. "Nothing that didn't need saying. Where is he now?" A line of ten men wound through the back gate. Each was burdened with a stone the same size as one at my feet. They looked like just the right size to repair the gap in the wall behind the stables.

Dardon ignored my question. Glancing quickly around the yard as he said, "The cook saved you some lunch in the kitchen. Where did you go all morning? There were bets among the men that you had disappeared because you were too afraid of Tourth to face him."

"Are they afraid of him?"

"Nah, he has just been a regular bear since he woke this morning. I think they aren't used to the idea of a woman standing up to a man."

I nodded. It was a concept that most men didn't understand. "So, where is he?"

"He is cleaning out the keep," Svhen offered, appearing at my elbow, smelling of smoke.

"Thank you, Svhen." I smiled up at him gratefully.

"He is in a rare mood," Svhen warned before continuing over toward Hiller and the captain.

"Not rare enough," Dardon pointed out as he lifted his load again. "Watch your back," he cautioned. Then, with a grunt, he started after the end of the line of men disappearing around the back corner of the stable.

I watched the new front gate settle on its hinges for the first time. Deus give me strength. Then I approached the main door of the keep.

Within the walls, the sunlight filtered through the burned out ceiling two stories above me. The crates of the night before had all been removed, revealing the smooth stones of a great hall. I paused inside the door to admire the newly recovered space. In my mind, I could now envision what it had looked like in all of its glory. The heavy timbered ceiling, seasoned with age, spanning the room easily seven times the size of the great room in my childhood home. The stone floor, worn into hollows with age, covered with a layer of sweet smelling rushes where Tourth, Kat, Philon, Hiller, Iscarus, and Warwick had played as children. The image of Tourth, lanky and carefree with youth abruptly faded from my thoughts when the Tourth of today approached me from the far end of the hall.

"Where were you all morning?" he demanded before he had even reached me. Dirt covered his face and dust tinted his clothing with gray highlights. "You invited these men into my home, gave them instructions to tear it apart, and then disappeared. The least you could have done was stayed and helped me sort them out this morning."

"I could hardly do that since I didn't know what order you wanted things done." I crossed my arms in front of me and studied his features. The anger of the night before, carefully controlled once again, lingered behind his mask. Only the fire in his eyes hinted at its presence. "Besides, I didn't instruct them to do anything. All of these projects were their own idea."

"I suppose they carry building tools and craftsmen everywhere they go while on the road." He stopped barely a foot in front of me, forcing me to look up at him as he glared down at me. "You told them we needed them."

"I mentioned that the keep needed work. Kat filled in the details."

"Still you mentioned it."

I met his glare with icy calm. He hadn't forgiven me. I was sorry to see it, but I cared too much for him and his family to back down now.

"I am leaving."

He blinked and looked aside, momentarily puzzled at my statement. However, he recovered quickly. "Running away?"

"No, studying the enemy. I am going to go assess the Enforcer and his position."

"You can't." His voice was flat, but his hands tensed into fists.

"I can and will. I am the best one for the job."

The anger flared, his gaze biting. "Because only you have the skills?"

"No." I calmly replied. "Because I am the only woman. If you or any of the men went, you would be pressed into labor. I can at least avoid that danger without effort."

"And what if he presses you into a different form of forced labor?" Worry edged his voice despite his efforts to hide it. I took hope in the crack in his façade. He cared despite his current feelings toward my actions. I grabbed onto that worry and reminded myself that he was hurting deeply, more deeply than even I could fully understand. Like a wounded animal afraid of hurting again, he was lashing out.

"I know how to take care of myself, Tourth," I said softly. "Don't worry about me."

Our gazes locked, and he knew that I was reading his face. His expression closed and he turned away.

"When will you be back?" he asked finally.

"Soon, a week at the latest." I studied the line of his stance. "Remember what I said last night. You need to speak to the Lord about what is consuming you before the poison is all that remains."

He stiffened. "Close the door on your way out."

I nodded. It was nothing less than what I expected, yet the coldness in his voice hurt a bit. Father, make him see. Break his pride and draw him to you. I turned away. Crossing the distance to the door, I continued to pray. I stole one last glimpse of his straight form among the patches of shadow and light in the center of the ruined hall. By the time I returned the roof would be repaired and the space useful again. I hoped desperately that the same would be true of Tourth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tourth

She was so infuriating sure of herself. Certain that her assessment was correct. The overwhelming urge to throw something flooded through me again. I thought I had finally quenched it in moving all of the debris and crates out of the great hall, but one brief conversation with her had brought it back. I wanted yell with frustration. However, not even that release was open to me. One holler and forty plus men would come running. I ran my hands through my hair and groaned.

"Did Wren find you?" Hiller asked as he approached from direction of the stairs to the solar.

I grimaced at him. "Yes, she found me. She is leaving to check out the Enforcer."

He nodded. "Know the enemy. A wise move. So, what is the problem?"

I closed my eyes and ignored the question. "Are the new beams going to be long enough to reach across the roof?" I asked instead. I risked glancing at Hiller as he squinted up at the roof.

"Shouldn't be an issue. Svhen says that they should have enough wood prepared to start work on this in two days."

"Your men work fast."

"I should hope so. We have been re-beaming and thatching houses for months now." Catching my puzzled expression, he grimaced. "Raiders along the border take great delight in razing farm houses and barns. As fast as we rebuild them, they demolish them. Scouts say the men wear red and mustard paint on their faces."

"The colors of the Enforcer."

He nodded. "You aren't the only one who wants the man gone. So far we haven’t been able to connect the raiders to the Enforcer beyond their color choices, but it is only a matter of time. If we could get you reinstated as Lord Mynth, overseer of this valley, the Enforcer would have no reason to continue to support the raiders. Then we can remove their presence from our borders."

"And here I thought you were helping me purely on the basis of our fostering together."

Hiller laughed, a loud, uninhibited sound that bounced about the newly cleared hall. "Hardly. You gave me plenty of trouble during those years. I can hardly remember a time when you weren't planning some kind of mischief to get us involved in. I, also, seemed to recall more than a handful of scrapes where I got the rougher portion of the effort and not the reward."

"I can't help it that you were a strong lad," I protested. Memories of those lighter days slipped through and whittled a bit at my dark mood.

"Aye, but you were faster," he muttered with a smile.

"I had to be. If I had let you catch me, I would have never survived your wrath."

He laughed again. I managed a weak smile.

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

Wren

Brone shifted his weight beneath the full saddlebags. He sensed that we were leaving again, and he wasn't happy with the prospect. After a year and a half of wandering, staying less than a week in any one village, he and I had covered a great deal of ground. Now that we had lingered here for a few weeks, he seemed inclined to think that this was now our home.

I tightened the cinch on the saddle and frowned. I was beginning to think of it as home too. True my siblings weren't here. However, it felt right to be here. Even if I didn't truly belong to this group, I did believe I needed to defend what they had. Family was precious. I didn't have the opportunity to defend my own family, but I could do something to help this one stay together and safe.

"Going somewhere?"

I looked up to find Iscarus watching me. He stood at Brone's head, stroking the stallion's nose. With his hair awry and his clothing spattered with stone laying compound, he looked more like his brother Warwick than he probably would like to know. I fed the cinch strap through the loops that would keep it from dangling below Brone's belly and turned my attention to the stirrups.

"I am going to investigate the Enforcer's resources and activities on the other end of the valley."

Iscarus grunted. "Are you sure you aren't running away from Tourth?"

I snapped my face around to study his. "Why would I run away from him?"

He shrugged, a movement too precise to be unstudied.

Something was up. I dropped the stirrup and turned to face him. "Everyone seems to be very concerned about how Tourth and I are doing."

"You are the first girl I have known to stand up to him."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

He smiled. "Tourth has always had a way of scaring off the women. I think it is the intense way he internalizes things. I just want to make sure he doesn't scare you off with all of his emoting."

I thought of Aiden and Arnan and laughed. "There is no chance of that." I claimed the reins and mounted. "Don't let him do anything foolish while I am gone."

He nodded. Stepping back to allow Brone space to move, he lifted a hand in salute. "Safe journey." Brone snorted a response and headed toward the newly hung gate.

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

Wren Romany - © 2009 Rachel Rossano

Chapter XII

2009-06-15T14:34:00.002-04:00

Tourth

I strode after Wren. I was practically on her heels when she stepped out the door into the courtyard. I grabbed her shoulder. She was not going to walk away from this so easily. Not after a comment like that. She didn’t know what I had done, what I had witnessed, why I truly left for war. I had to set her straight.

“Tourth!” A familiar voice from hazy years past stopped me mid-motion, my hand resting on Wren’s slender shoulder. Suddenly I was encased in a bear hug. I released her as I was lifted from my feet with my assailant’s enthusiasm. “Where have you been hiding all of these years?” Hiller demanded as he pounded on my back.

Then before I could respond, he had stepped back to examine me at arm-length. “You look thin.” In the dim light of the torches, I could just make out the familiar planes and angles of Hiller Pendraco’s handsome face. “We last heard of you before the battle of Catorna in the south. When we didn’t hear of you afterwards, we gave up hope that you had survived that massacre. Philon even sent out a few scouts a year back to see if they could find you, but they returned with nothing. Where have you been keeping yourself?”

“Right here,” I rushed to say. Hiller had always been the talkative one of the Pendraco clan. If I didn’t speak up soon, he would continue his narrative without any assistance from me, especially if he was excited. From the sparkle in his eyes, I could see that he was just that. “I returned home and settled back here.”

Hiller frowned. “And you didn’t send word to us?”

“There was no need. We were safe and well enough.”

“This is hardly well enough,” Iscarus pointed out as he appeared at his brother’s side. The years had been kind to him also. His lean frame showed no signs of abuse or malady. “I saw Kat, Tourth. She has been without adequate food recently.”

“Last winter was rough,” I admitted. “This year will be better.”

“Aye, it will,” Hiller said. “We will see to that.”

“Wren told us of your troubles with Orac’s local Enforcer, and Philon sent us to straighten you out.”

“You don’t need to…”

“Nonsense,” Hiller thumped me on the back. “What are family friends for? If your father, may he rest in peace, hadn’t supported father in the Turantian conflict, we would have lost half of our holdings. We are just returning the favor.”

“My Lord.” A strange soldier approached us. Suddenly realizing that he was speaking to three nobles, the man immediately clarified. “My Lord Hiller, the horses are being moved out to the temporary corral. The men need to know where they are to set up camp.”

Hiller turned to me. “Where do you want us, Tourth?”

“If they bunk three to a room, they should be able to fit into the old barracks,” Dardon suggested, joining the conversation. “Wren has already offered her room. She says she will bunk in the old keep.”

“She shouldn’t need to do that,” Iscarus protested. “There has got to be a way that she can still keep her room and bunk us all.”

I watched the exchange wondering when I had lost control of the situation. Only hours before it had been Dardon, Svhen, and me, completely in control and certain of who we were and what we were doing. Now, looking at the chaos around me, I had no clue how many men were here. I was afraid to think of how we were going to feed them all during their stay. Didn’t Wren realize the consequences of her request for help?

As though answering my question, Wren joined us. She avoided my eyes, meeting Hiller’s instead. “The provisions are stored, the horses bedded down for the night, and your cook is rearranging the kitchen to suit his needs. Svhen says he has organized a watch rotation from the volunteers. If there is nothing else, I am going to head to bed. There is a lot to be done tomorrow.”

“Indeed there is,” Iscarus agreed. He grinned my way. “We have a strategy to plan.”

“You should be able to keep your current sleeping arrangements,” Hiller told her. “I will speak to my men. If I remember the barracks well enough, those rooms are plenty big enough for sleeping four men apiece.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I will not see four men squeezed into one of those rooms just so I can have one to myself. I will be more comfortable out in the open. I have missed sleeping outdoors.”

“And if it rains?” Hiller asked, looking doubtful.

She smiled. “I wouldn’t be much of a bounty hunter if a little rain hurt me. If you would excuse me gentlemen,” she said with a bow. “I need to sleep.”

Hiller and Iscarus bowed in return. I nodded although she didn’t bother looking my way. Dardon walked back toward the barracks saying he needed to make sure no one stole any of his gear, and the soldier followed him.

“Where did you find her?” Iscarus asked. The awe in his voice did strange things to my stomach. If I didn’t know better I would have identified the feeling as jealousy. Even stranger since all I wished at that moment was to shake some sense into her head.

“She appeared one day a few weeks back, and asked for a roof over her head in exchange for her services.”

Hiller frowned at me. “Is there a man you need to find?”

“Not as a bounty hunter as a huntress.”

“A blessing for you, Tourth,” Iscarus muttered. “Well, I am off to find my bed. See you on the morrow.” He turned toward the barracks, but Hiller remained.

“What is wrong with you, Tourth?” he asked. “You have changed.”

I refused to look at him, turning to stare at the broken castle gate instead. “War changes men, Hiller. Some men grow into heroes, other monsters. I thought I was of the former and found I was the latter.”

Uncharacteristically silent, Hiller stood motionless beside me. “You are not alone in finding that Tourth.” Another span of quiet fell between us. A wolf howl far outside the walls only interrupted it for a moment. I hoped that Hiller would leave me, but he didn’t.

“What did she say to you?” he asked suddenly. “When you came out of the keep, there was anger in your eyes and it was directed at her.”

I took a deep breath. “Wren says I should speak of what I am hiding to someone.”

Hiller moved, shifting his weight. “She is right.” Then without a farewell, he lumbered off into the night, leaving me standing alone in the darkness.

My anger was gone. His words had drained it away. That didn’t mean I was ready to take Wren’s advice. She didn’t fully understand the depth of my sin and I had every intention of keeping it that way. I took a deep breath of cold night air and held it before releasing it again. Then I walked toward the barracks, ignoring the dull ache in the center of my chest.

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

Wren

I woke the next morning and left the castle by way of the back door. Passing the sentry with only a nod, I headed toward the clearing that I had discovered Tourth pacing only days before. I needed to think and that was as good a place with the grounds and walls soon to be crawling with guests.

On the journey the day before, I had spoken in length to Iscarus and Hiller about the state of the defenses of Iselyn Castle. They had grabbed onto the idea of rebuilding the defenses. Apparently Hiller’s men had been doing just that at the outposts along the shared border between the two valleys. I fully expected to find a flurry of activity when I returned, and I felt I needed time alone with Deus before I confronted Tourth again.

The morning was cool, crisp, and sunny. The strange combination of bright warmth of the sun on my head and the slight bite in the air was invigorating. I raised my face toward the sun and breathed out praise to the Creator. High above me on the breeze, I spotted one of my falcons. It looked like Elsu, the black male, bringing a message from Ilara. I smiled. Even more to praise the Lord about.

I waited for Elsu to join me before stepping into the shadow of the trees. Following the path Tourth and I had covered on our way out from where I had discovered him. Without the sun kissing my head and shoulders, the air grew almost cold. I laced up the front of my leather jerkin while Elsu shifted uneasily on my shoulder, wings partially spread. Once I stopped adjusting my clothing, he stroked my ear in thanks and settled back onto his perch.

“Sorry, Elsu,” I whispered, not willing to break the quiet around me. I reached up to stroke his chest in return.

The branches were low. I held a few of the aside so that we could pass, mindful of the falcon’s head rising above my own. Within minutes, we stepped from the crush of foliage into the clearing. Deep green shadows broken by speckles of morning sunlight filtering through the canopy above our heads greeted us, inviting us to explore their hidden depths.

I circled the area, careful not to disturb the ground cover more than necessary. If Tourth returned to this place in the near future, I didn’t want it to be too evident that I had been here. Spotting a perfect perch halfway up one of the trees, I decided that would be where I would spend my morning devotional. I signaled Elsu to leave my shoulder. He did with a flurry of wings and a slight rebuke at being shooed away so soon.

After a quick climb, I settled on the branch. Pressing my back against the rough bark of the tree, I balanced there. Elsu settled two branches above me and began preening as I drew out my worn copy of the word of Deus. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and began to prepare my heart.

“Almighty God, thank You for Your grace. Its depth and width are unbounded. Without it, we would all be lost. Please, Father, open Tourth’s eyes to the overwhelming abundance of Your love and mercy. Show him that You can heal the deep pain within him. Meet him and show him Your face. You are not just a God who guides his children, chastising them when they need correction, but You are also a God of forgiveness, a gift that we need more than any other because we are a fallen race.

“Have I pushed him too hard?” Remembering his anger from the night before, I frowned. “Please guide me, Father. I am not infallible. I am sinner like all others. Put the words in my mouth that will penetrate his defenses and bring him to you. Use my actions to speak for you. I am your vessel. Please use me.”

I turned my thoughts to the preparations going on back at the castle, the work and the plans to reclaim Tourth’s title and authority. I prayed for success. I asked for wisdom, and I pleaded for the souls of the men and women of the valley. After spending time petitioning on behalf of each of my siblings, I asked for a blessing on my time in the word before closing my prayer.

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

Tourth

I woke to voices out in the courtyard. Rolling from my bed, I grabbed my sword and was halfway to the door before I realized that the voices were raised in teasing banter, not alarm. I suddenly remembered the events of the night before and closed my eyes against the memory.

Returning to my bed, I sank back down on it, returning my sword to its sheath. Running my hands through my hair, I tried to turn my mind to my morning prayers, but the door burst open before I could focus. Dardon strode in and crossed to stand over me.

“Lord Hiller wants to know if they can cut down the grove north of the upper meadow to use for a new front gate.”

“There is wood enough stacked behind the smoke house,” I reminded him without really looking up. “What does Hiller care about the gate?”

“They already used that in the repairs to the gatehouse.” Dardon ignored my question and sat down next to me on the bed. “He also wants to know where he can get thatch to re-thatch the roof of the stable.”

“What?” I pushed myself to my feet, reaching for a clean tunic. “The stable roof is the least of our worries. If he is so eager to give his men work, they should work on the outer wall.”

“That is what he said you would say. They are already working on that. He was wondering where would be the best place to get more stone.”

I pulled my tunic over my head and grimaced at Dardon. “It seems he still knows me well.”

Dardon just grinned. “He and Lord Iscarus asked me to request that you join them at the front gate. They have some plans that they want to run by you before they commit to them.”

“I wonder why they are bothering to ask.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could catch them. I looked over at Dardon to find him frowning at me. Shame quickly filled my chest. “That was wrong of me, Dardon. Pray don’t tell them what I said.”

Dardon nodded. “I can understand how you feel threatened, Tourth. Just remember that they are only here to help.”

I nodded. “Have you seen Wren yet this morning?” I asked as I reached for my sword and belt.

“She left past the rear sentry an hour or two ago. I suspect she will return when she is ready.”

“When she does, could you let me know. I wish to speak with her.” I buckled the leather straps of my belt and reached for my leather jerkin.

Dardon studied me for a minute as I laced the front. “Don’t go scaring her off, Tourth. We need her.”

“I doubt anything would frighten her off, Dardon, unless she wanted to go.”

He frowned at me as though disagreeing.

“Come. Show me where Hiller and Iscarus are waiting. The sooner we can get to work the better.”

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

Wren Romany - © 2009 Rachel Rossano

Chapter XI

2009-06-01T15:23:00.001-04:00

Tourth

Svhen’s cooking lay heavy in my belly. With Arthus on the road to the capital, not to return for two weeks, Svhen had taken over the cooking. Although I had only been eating mashed turnips and ground lion, I was counting the hours to Wren’s return. Anything was better than a turnip boiled until it fell apart and then mashed beyond recognition. I had nothing against turnips, but I liked to be able to identify the vegetable on my plate before I tasted it. At least the lion meat had been well cooked and seasoned, though a bit burnt. Dardon had side tracked Svhen with knife target practice. Wren had taught them a trick and they were determined to master it before her return.

I shifted my position, glancing hopefully down at the road winding past our gate. The stone beneath me was cooling from the heat of the day, seeping away into the coming night. The eerie shade of the light right after sunset but before complete night always played tricks with my sight. With my gaze I traced the track to where it disappeared beneath a grove of trees.

Wren was due back today and I had been watching the road since first light. It hadn’t been an intentional action. It was strange actually. Whenever I paused to think or breathe, I found my eyes and thoughts wandering in her direction. I had to struggle to focus on my tasks.

“Any sight of her?” Dardon asked. He capered up the crumbling stairs and joined me on my perch on the wall directly over the gate.

I shook my head. “She could have been delayed.”

He nodded.

We sat in silence for a while. “If she doesn’t show, I am cooking tomorrow night.”

I shot him a glance before smiling slightly. “What would you make instead, practically raw carrots and red mutton?” Dardon’s usual fare was barely cooked.

“I can’t stand seeing food being tortured the way Svhen does it.”

“And not cooking it properly isn’t torture to your captive consumers?”

“Why don’t you take a turn?”

A movement in the trees near where the road emerged from the copse caught my eye. “I thought you wanted to live. Did you see that?”

“What?” Dardon leaned forward and squinted into the night.

Darkness had fallen completely now. There was hardly any starlight from the partially cloudy sky and the moon was hiding behind a particularly thick cloud. Something moved again. It was too far to hear anything, but something was definitely emerging from the trees and it was larger than a single woman on a horse.

“The Enforcer?” Dardon asked.

I peered. “No, they are moving too openly.”

“Should I warn Svhen?”

“Yes, but don’t do anything until you know who it is. Someone might be with Wren.”

“Who could it possibly be traveling with Wren unless…” The thought must have occurred to him at the same time it blossomed in my own mind. “She wouldn’t betray us,” he protested.

“Unless she had no choice.”

“No.” Dardon’s voice was hard with conviction. “No, Tourth, she would never betray us even if it meant her life.”

I wanted to believe the same, but I couldn’t. I ignored the gut feeling that concurred with Dardon, and reached for my sword hilt. “Go warn Svhen.”

Dardon disappeared into the night creeping silently down the stairs in the direction of the kitchen. I stalked off in the other direction. I wasn’t about to let someone enter our gates unchallenged. I took the longer route, stopping at the stable to gather my bow and quiver from the stable wall, before reaching the ruined gate. One of the doors was propped closed, blocking half the entrance. The other, however, was long gone, sacrificed to kindling last winter because it had been beyond repair. I swore to myself that I would start building the replacement tomorrow if we survived that long.

I took up position in the gap, spreading my feet solidly into an archer’s stance. Whipping an arrow from the quiver, I slipped it into place as the sounds of horses approached. Svhen, sword in one hand and torch in the other arrived at my side a moment later. Voices came out of the darkness, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying above the roar of the burning torch beside me.

Almighty, Father, protect us. My brief petition was all I could manage before the first horse came into the light.

“Who goes there?” Dardon demanded from somewhere above us. He must have taken a position on the wall above the gate.

“Hiller and Iscarus Pendraco request lodging for the night.”

“Who?” Dardon demanded.

A cold fury rose in my chest. That meddling woman. I half wanted to demand she present herself so that I could strangle her.

“Where is Wren Romany?” I demanded, lowering my bow and letting the string fall slack.

“Pardon?” The soldier, armed in full gear, looked down at me in confusion.

“Where is Mistress Romany? I know she is with your party and I demand that you tell me where she is.”

“Tourth?” Svhen’s questioning voice came from behind me, but I ignored it.

“Fine.” I glared up at the new arrival. “See that you tell her that I want to speak to her in the keep.”

The soldier looked a bit taken aback at the force of my demand, but he saluted me. I turned on my heel, threw my bow at Svhen and stalked past him into the courtyard.

“Are we to allow them shelter?” Svhen asked.

“What is going on down there?” Dardon’s voice demanded from a distance. “Oh, I wouldn’t recommend you take another step until I know what Tourth wants us to do with you.” He was clearly speaking to the soldier I had just left. I didn’t care. She had done just what I had told her I didn’t want done. I had expressly informed her I was not asking for Lord Eyrant’s help and she had ignored my order. I was going to…

Svhen’s large hand on my upper arm brought me up short. “I get that you are angry, but what are we to do with those men?” he asked.

“Let them in,” I growled. “And see that Wren finds me immediately.” I shook myself free of his grasp, strode across the courtyard, and entered the ruined keep, slamming the door behind me. As soon as it had latched, I swung around and smashed my fist into the side of the nearest crate. It fell over and something broke in its wake with a satisfying tinkle of glass. My fist throbbed, but I wasn’t finished. Kicking the next closest thing, I rolled up carpet, I swore at the empty space. Why couldn’t people just follow my instructions and stop meddling. I shoved another crate over on its side and perched on it to wait for Wren.

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

Wren

“He wants to see you immediately.” Svhen looked worried, an expression stronger than any I had seen cross his face before. “He is really angry at you.”

I nodded. “I expected as much.” I slipped the tack from Brone’s back and placed it in its place. I walked around where Svhen was leaning on the stall door to fetch the brush.

“You knew he would be angry?”

I nodded. “I did something that he explicitly told me he wasn’t going to do himself.” The rhythmic act of working the brush over Brone’s coat was soothing. I had missed this in the two days I had spent in Sedlyn Castle. Brone seemed to agree.

“Why did you do it then?”

“Someone had to.” I glanced at Svhen before turning my attention to Brone’s hooves. “If I let him, he would fall on his sword and take you all with him.”

“He wouldn’t deliberately harm us.”

I pinned him with a look over Brone’s glossy back. “What about himself?” I came around to the gate and looked up at him. “I know he fiercely protects Arthus, Dardon, and you, but does Tourth make an effort to protect himself?”

Svhen’s light colored eyes held my gaze for a few moments before he looked away.

“He wasn’t always like this,” I observed, “obsessive in his pursuit of helping others without consideration for himself.”

Svhen shook his head. “That isn’t a completely bad thing.”

“No it isn’t.” I turned and stroked Brone’s silky nose. He lipped my hand and snuffed my wrist before nosing my shoulder affectionately. I rubbed the side of his neck and then turned back to Svhen. “I am not concerned about the actions as much as I am concerned about the underlying mentality.”

He nodded. “Guilt.” We held each other’s gaze for a moment before he stepped back, holding the stall door open for me. “He is in the keep.”

“Thank you.” I moved past him, pausing after he closed the stall behind me. “If I haven’t come out in an hour, come and fetch me.” If I hadn’t gotten Tourth calmed down by then we would both need a breather. I usually could calm anyone down by then, but Tourth was an unknown.

“Will do,” Svhen replied and then preceded me out into the noisy courtyard.

The Pendraco brothers and their cohort of forty men were working out the details of their accommodations with Dardon. At my suggestion, they had brought their full gear straight from their camp on the eastern border of the Sedlyn lands. A heavy wagon, now parked in the center of the courtyard, laden with four month’s supply of provisions for forty-five men came also. Thankfully Dardon had taken over the organizing of them and their gear because Tourth was going to be keeping me busy for a while.

I crossed the courtyard, dodging horses and weaving through provisions to reach the door to the keep. The heavy oak, though beaten and weathered was still stout enough to require a good shove to get it open. Without hesitating I stepped over the sill and into the darkened space beyond.

I let the door fall closed behind me while my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light and quiet. One lantern sat high on a stack of crates, covering the area in grotesque shadows. As the heavy door eased into its place and the latch slide home, my eyes fell on the ruined remains of a splintered crate only a few feet inside the room. The light caught at the ragged edges of the splintered wood, casting them in sharp relief.

“You are late.”

I didn’t look at him. By the sound of his voice I placed his location to the left of the door, but I didn’t turn to face him. Instead, I picked up a fallen book, lying open among the dirt and splinters.

“Arthus isn’t going to appreciate the destruction of his property.”

“You had no right.” His low tone burned at my ears as it rippled over me, seething with fury. I had hoped that a bit of time to himself would have cooled his temper. Apparently it hadn’t. It had only simmered down to lava. “I allow you to dwell under my roof, trust you with my confidence, and you return the generosity by disobeying my orders.”

“Orders?” I kept my eyes on the book as I straightened to my full height, stroking the leather of the binding.

“Yes, orders. I clearly told you my intentions and you cannot claim that you did not understand them.”

“Yet, they were not orders,” I pointed out. “You simply outlined your plans and reasons. I have plans and reasons of my own.”

“To undermine my authority?” He moved closer, keeping to the shadows and moving between me and the door.

I had to clamp down on the instinct that I had honed over the years. With a deliberate step I moved away from the door, giving him room to block my exit. The move made me nervous, but it was necessary. I had to make it clear that I trusted him.

“No. I seek only to protect you and the others.”

“I don’t need your protection. We did well enough on our own before you came.”

I frowned as I set the book on top of nearby crate. “You and I both know that isn’t true,” I replied softly. “You were starving. You told me as much yourself.”

“We would have found a way.” The confidence was forced, shaky and crumbling. He stepped closer. “I don’t know how but we would have found a way. We did not need to ask for help.”

I turned to face him at last. “Why is the thought of asking for help so unwelcome, Tourth? It isn’t as though you had no friends to ask.”

He turned away before I managed more than a brief impression of his features. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

I took a deep breath. “You must.”

“Why?” He turned and stalked up to me. Fire burned in his eyes as he towered over me.

If he thought that would intimidate me, he was very wrong. My brother Aiden had always been the master at intimidation but he had never been able to make me flinch. The key was to see beyond the fire and posture and look at the heart. Aiden hurt in ways I could not help. Tourth, however, knew the healer and cure but he could not see the way. For some reason he blinded his own eyes, wallowed in his pain, and punished himself up for something that he needed to let go of. “It will eat at you until you do.”

“I do not need a confessor, Wren. I am beyond that.” Anger lingered in his voice, but it was no longer directed toward me. He turned and retreated into the shadows, away from the door.

“No one is beyond redemption, Tourth,” I replied. Then without waiting for his reply, I slipped out the door.

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

Chapter X

2009-05-26T10:39:00.001-04:00

Wren

Sedlyn’s keep was impressive on its own; however, in contrast to the ruined keep of Iselyn it was clear that Iselyn had been the greater fortress in its glory. To enter, we passed under a great archway, twice the height of a grown man, supported by stone walls twice my width. The great hall, the center of all keep activity opened up before us. Heavy wooden beams, black with soot and age, crisscrossed above us while fresh rushes sweetened with herbs crunched beneath our feet. I scanned the empty tables shoved against the walls and tried to estimate the number of men and women that usual sat at them. I had counted seven tables that could easily seat twenty when loud male voices interrupted me and drew my attention to the dais where the high table still stood and three men and two women were gathered.

“I tell you that I saw eight points,” a well-dressed, slender man declared loudly.

“It was hardly four. You must be seeing double,” a gruff man built like a bear replied. His shaggy beard and worn clothing would have normally indicated a woodsman of serf status, but the casual manner in which he punched the slender man’s shoulder signaled something more.

“Just because you can claim the best prize, the twelve pointer, doesn’t mean that the rest of us were less impressive, Warwick. That eight pointed buck led me on a merry chase, and I feel quite accomplished in bringing in the meat.”

The burly man whom I assumed was Warwick Pendraco opened his mouth to speak, but was stalled by the wispy woman at his side. She pulled hard on his arm. “Leave him be. You have your prize. Let him enjoy his.”

The man sighed. “But if I let him, he will be saying he brought down a ten pointer by nightfall and challenging my dozen by morning. With each telling his buck’s rack grows.”

“It is his last excursion of the fall, Warwick. You will have plenty of opportunities this winter to prove your prowess.” The speaker rose to his feet, his face coming into view for the first time. His square face was partially covered with a thick brown beard, trimmed and well-kept. “We all know Hiller will not challenge you and I know of no other hunter in our midst that is your equal.”

“Ah, but there you are wrong, My lord,” our escort responded. “May I present Mistress Wren Romany of Braedoch, a huntress of men.”

I felt Kat stiffen beside me. She hadn’t known I was a bounty hunter. All eyes turned to look at us. I could hardly explain my past to her now.

“Eron, you have forgotten to introduce her companion.” The man I had tentatively identified as Lord Eryant stepped forward from between his brothers. “Lady Mynth, we are honored to have you visit us after so many years.” Taking Kat’s hand, he bowed deeply over it.

“Kat?” Warwick exclaimed, suddenly intent on examining Kat’s face. “Not the same girl who used to tag along behind us with skinned knees, frizzy pig tails, and black fingernails.” He looked her up and down. “I can’t believe it.”

Kat blushed to the roots of her hair. “Yes, that sounds about right.”

“You forgot to mention the bare feet,” the third man, the one bragging about bringing down an eight point buck, added. “I distinctly remember some very filthy bare feet.

“I have left those habits behind me,” Kat replied. “Though I dwell on those days as distant happy memories I shall cherish always.”

“We cherish them too,” the third man replied.

“Where is our manners?” Lord Eyrant exclaimed. “We have been sadly remiss. I believe introductions are needed all around. Mistress Romany, I am Philo Pendraco, Lord Eyrant and theses knaves are my brothers: Warwick,” he gestured to the rugged looking one in hunting clothes, “and Iscarus.” The slender, well-dressed man bowed slightly. “The woman attempting to keep Warwick from teasing Iscarus too much is his wife, Lorena. And, this vision,” he turned to extend a hand to the other woman, “is my wife, Annalyse.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Mynth,” Annalyse added immediately. “All of my husband’s brothers and Philo have told me stories of their fostering years with your family. I have longed to meet you and your brother.”

“How is old Tourth these days?” Warwick asked. “Surely he has returned to Iselyn by now.”

Kat’s features lost the glow of joy as she turned to glance at me. I could see her hesitancy to speak. Despite the fact she was among old friends, they were friends of childhood. She did not know these grown men as she had known them as boys. I stepped in to her rescue.

“That is why we have come.”

Lord Eyrant immediately regarded me with a measuring look. He glanced toward Kat and then focused all of his attention on me.

I answered his scrutiny. “I do not know how aware you are of the events that have occurred in Iselyn, but Lord Mynth’s position is precarious at best at the moment. He and…” I stumbled over Kat’s title, and Lord Eryant raised a hand to stop me.

“Tourth and Kat are old friends of ours. If they have taken you into their confidence to the point that you are on a given name basis, then consider us the same. May we call you Wren?”

I nodded.

“Continue.”

“Tourth and Kat have been living in hiding along with some of Tourth’s sword-mates from his time spent fighting. They have been living thus since his return a bit over a year ago.” I looked to Kat for confirmation. She nodded without meeting my gaze. “During this time an enforcer has been ruling the valley.”

“A regular…” Warwick swore colorfully. His wife tugged on his arm with a reproachful look.

“Though I don’t agree with my brother’s choice of words,” Lord Eryant shot Warwick a look, “I completely concur with the sentiment. You will find no friends of that Enforcer here, Wren.”

“He poaches our game,” Warwick explained.

“His men frequently harass my patrols.” Iscarus frowned.

Annalyse put a hand through her husband’s arm. “They also come into the border villages and homesteads to assault our women.”

“As I said,” Lord Eryant concluded, “he is a terrible neighbor.”

“That is not actually what you said, Philo,” Iscarus interjected.

“This is hardly the time,” Warwick told Iscarus.

I saw that this could easily get off course so I interrupted. “Kat and I are requesting help for Tourth as he makes a claim on his title. It sounds as though helping him would be in your best interest.”

Lord Eyrant studied me for a moment. “Is this request from Tourth himself?”

Kat answered him before I could, pulling his attention to her. “He refuses to ask for help, but we desperately need it. The Enforcer has been demanding labor from the people Five days out of every seven they are required to work on constructing his castle on the opposite end of the valley from us.”

Lord Eyrant nodded. “I know of it.”

Kat continued to explain. “Because of these restrictions, many of the households in the valley are going to starve this winter. There have not been enough men or women to work the fields. The crops have not been harvested or were never planted. We have tried to help where we can, but there is too much need.”

“And you? How do you stand for supplies?”

Kat glanced my way. “We will be well. Wren has promised to assist in exchange for bed and board.”

“Then you should be in plenty of game,” Warwick commented.

“It is not just that,” Kat said, ignoring Warwick’s comment. “Now the Enforcer is instituting press gangs to pick up any male they encounter and put them to work. Tourth, Arthus, Dardon, and Svhen are all endanger of discovery. And should they be discovered, the Enforcer would have no reason to not murder them.”

“He has killed before?”

Kat nodded as my gut tightened. “He killed my parents. He was seen descending the stairs from their solar with a bloody knife.” Her hands were clenched so that the knuckles shown white against her skin. Suddenly she turned to me. “Please don’t tell Tourth, Wren. If he knew…” Her voice trailed off.

I had a feeling that I knew what would happen should Tourth find out. Beneath the calm exterior and the precisely logical decisions raged and anger that had not been confronted. Its existence was what kept all of his friends at bay. Despite their apparent willingness to confront Tourth over his plans, his fellow warriors were not willing to press to the point of breaching that fury. Yet someone must. If it remained as it was, buried deep beneath the surface, burning low and hot, it would consume him. I fully intended to chip away at that anger, but I wasn’t foolhardy enough to tell him this tragic news and confront it head on.

“I won’t tell him until he is ready to hear it,” I assured her.

“But…” She opened her mouth to try to explain further, but Iscarus interrupted her.

“I think we have reason enough to help them, don’t you Philo?”

Kat and I both looked to Lord Eryant, his sharp gaze flickered over all our faces, lingering for a moment on Kat’s tear stained countenance. “Aye, Iscarus, I do think we have reason.” He turned to his brothers. “Where are Hiller and the troops at the moment?”

“The eastern border,” Iscarus replied.

Annalyse stepped forward, collecting Kat’s hand from the folds of her skirt. “Come. Let us leave them to their planning. We should see to your accommodations and organize the supplies their will need.”

Lorena stepped to Kat’s other side as they walked away. “Please tell me more about Warwick as a boy. Unlike Philo, he is very reluctant to talk about those times.”

“If you tell her anything about you know what,” Warwick called after them, “I’ll…”

“Ignore him,” Lorena told Kat loud enough for her husband to here. “He is all bluster and no bite.”

Kat replied, but her voice was lost to the distance.

“Warwick, please focus on the task at hand,” Iscarus prodded. “It isn’t like anything Kat would say would change Lorena’s opinion of you.”

Lord Eyrant’s face brightened with amusement. “Ah, but you are forgetting about that time…”

“Okay, how many men do you think we should send?” Warwick asked loudly over riding his brother’s voice as he turned back to us. Lord Eyrant and Iscarus shared a smile when their brother wasn’t looking and the discussion began in earnest.

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

Wren Romany - © 2009 Rachel Rossano

Chapter IX

2009-05-08T13:29:00.002-04:00

Tourth

“We are leaving.” Wren’s voice interrupted my thoughts, drawing my attention away from my task of repairing the tack. She stood in the doorway, an unfamiliar outline against the early morning light outside the stable. Stooped shoulders, overwhelming wimple, and a voluminous dress of homespun green wool seemed to swallow up her slight form.

“So, you are traveling as old women?” I asked.

“Yes, and your sister wishes to say goodbye.”

I nodded and set down the harness in my hands. “We are going to miss you both.”

“I will be returning.”

“Still, we shall miss you. Arthus has volunteered for kitchen duty, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he poisons us all.”

She smiled. It moved across her face in the twitch of her lips and was gone. “I am certain you shall all be fine.” She stepped out of the doorway to let me pass. “I will return in three days and save you from his experiments.”

“That will be much appreciated. Why three days? It will only take you a day either way.”

“I have business of my own with Lord Eryant.”

Before I could ask her what business she spoke of, Kat spotted me.

“Tourth, what do you think of our disguises?” She spread the skirt of an identical dress to Wren’s except instead on a non-descript green, hers was rust brown. Padding changed her shape, giving her more generous curves and the well padded hips of a matron. The wimple concealed her hair. “Do you think we will be accosted?”

I shook my head, suddenly realizing what I was doing. I didn’t know when I would see her again, if ever should this plan fail. “You will be safe in Wren’s hands. I trust her.” Even as I said the words, I found that I believed them. I did trust her to protect Kat. She liked Kat. The two of them had bonded on a level that I had never seen Kat bond with another woman before. Wren would let nothing happen to her.

“I am going to miss you, Tourth.” Kat wrapped me in a fierce hug with her head to my chest, face buried in the front of my tunic like she had as a child. “Promise me you will be careful.” They were the exact words she had used the day I went off to war. I tightened my arms around her, squeezing her back.

“I will. I promise.”

“You better. You are all the family I have left.”

“And what are we?”Arthus asked from a short ways away. “Strangers?”

“Is she crying yet?” Dardon asked.

“I don’t cry,” Kat protested with a suspicious swipe at her face as she whirled around to face him.

“Well, if you are done breaking your brother’s ribs, can I get a squeeze before you go?” Dardon opened his arms to her.

She hugged him before looking around. “Where is Svhen?”

Arthus shrugged. “Who knows. You know how he is about partings.”

“I am here.” Svhen stepped out from behind the smoke house and crossed to Kat, offering an uncharacteristic hug, which Kat willingly accepted.

“Hey!” Arthus protested. “It is my turn.”

Kat smiled and plowed into his waiting arms. Something was different about their exchange, though. It took me a moment to realize what it was. It actually was a couple things: the way he stroked her hair, pressed his cheek to the top of her head, and closed his eyes as though drinking her in. Something more than just brotherly affection appeared in his expression. I tore my gaze away, unnerved by the possibility, only to find Wren studying me as though waiting for me to react.

“It was about time you saw it,” she commented under her breath.

“How long has it been going on?”

She shrugged. “Since before I came.”

“It is reciprocated?”

She looked back at the couple, now separated and bantering like best pals. “It is definitely not communicated. I have yet to determine if she is aware of it.”

“Yet, you are?”

“I suspect that Arthus has loved your sister for a very long time. He has all the signs of a young man resolved to never admit it.”

I groaned. All I needed was a love sick man on my hands along with all my other problems.

“I would recommend leaving them alone to work out their issues. Kat is not completely apposed to Arthus. If he ever gets around to courting her, he will probably find her welcoming.” She glanced over at me. “We should be going.”

I nodded.

“Three days,” she reminded me and then went off to gather Kat from her conversation with Arthus. Within moments they were both mounted and riding out the gates. I couldn’t help praying that we would still be here when she returned.

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

Wren

Our journey passed more quickly than I expected it to. Fall sunshine warmed out backs and heads. The roads, still slightly muddy from the rain the day before, were passable with very little inconvenience. I found it very pleasant traveling with a companion. Even when we lapsed into silence, it was nice having someone there.

We arrived at the border of Lord Eryant’s land as the sun was beginning to approach the horizon to our right. The transition was marked by a well kept stone wall, stretching off into the forest perpendicular to the trail to the east and west. A sign post, solidly placed, declared that we were entering the domain of Earl Eryant, Lord of Sidle Valley and its citizens.

Passing that marker was like stepping into a completely different world. Well tended fields spread out from the road, bordered by hedges, stone walls, and long rows of trees. The road changed as well, it was well maintained, clear of the holes, deep ruts, and other hazards of the roads on the other side of the mountain. Men, on their way home from the fields, joined us as we continued toward the castle gleaming in the setting sunlight. I was impressed with the number of respectful salutes we received as we passed the men.

As we neared the castle, I began to look for a place to shed our disguises. Spotting a cluster of trees a short ways back from the main road, I turned off toward them.

“Where are we going?” Kat asked as she followed.

“To take off our disguises. You don’t want to ride through Lord Eryant’s gates dressed as you are.”

“You have a point.”

“I was thinking those trees up ahead would work.” I glanced back at her. “How long have you known Lord Eryant?”

“Since childhood. Our parents would visit each other at least once a year. I was good friends with his younger brother growing up. Father fostered Lord Eryant and his brothers when he was still only Philon Pendraco and a nuisance.”

“Brothers?” I asked, thinking of my own. I was thankful that we had not been part of the nobility. The thought of losing a moment of my childhood time with my brothers was painful. We had such a short time as it was.

“Three. Hiller, Iscarus, and Warwick were always getting into trouble.”

“And Lord Eryant didn’t get into trouble?” I asked.

She laughed. “He was usually starting it.”

“Where was Tourth at the time?” I asked as we entered the grove. I dismounted. “Did he foster with the brother’s father?”

“No.” Kat dismounted smoothly despite her cumbersome outfit and padding. “Father needed him to remain at home. The fostering of Lord Eryant’s sons brought companionship for Tourth. He was into mischief right along with them. Father constantly had to punish all five of them because he wasn’t able to find out which was actually at fault.”

Unwrapping the wimple from around my head, I frowned. It didn’t make sense. If Tourth had been so close to Lord Eryant and his brothers during their youth, why was he not willing to seek their help now? I puzzled over this as I continued to strip to my usual clothing beneath the padding and dress.

“Did they have a falling out about anything after they grew up?” I asked.

Kat paused, hair pin in hand, in the midst of letting down her hair from the wimple. Her brows furrowed slightly. “No, I don’t think they did. Why?”

“I was trying to figure out why Tourth has not asked for help from them. Based on what you have told me so far, Lord Eryant would be the perfect one to offer assistance.”

“Oh, that. Tourth is just being stubborn. Ever since he returned from the war, he has acted like he is no longer what he was. He cut his ties to everyone except those who need him.” She frowned. “It is as though he wishes to do penance for his part in the war. It is only recently that he has been opening up to Arthus, Dardon, and Svhen.”

“So, Dardon and the others were not invited to return to Iselyn?” I frowned. That was not the impression that Dardon had given me.

“Tourth did invite them.” She tucked the final strand behind her left ear. “He knew if he didn’t they would have no place to go.”

“They were the first of his good deeds with which he attempted to atone.” I nodded. It made sense. The problem was that it was very wrong. I was thankful that he had done what he had, taking these men in and giving them purpose, but his motives, if Kat was correct, revealed a deeper problem than I realized before. He didn’t see that he was already forgiven. Deus had atoned for his sin long ago.

I smoothed my tunic, settled my belt around my hips, and checked my throwing knives. I would have to pray about this. I had no ideas on how to address the new problem, but I did have ideas about dealing with the issue of needing support. Just because Tourth wasn’t willing to ask for help from the Earl of Sidle, he couldn’t prevent me from calling in a favor.

“Are you ready?” I asked Kat.

“As ready I am going to be,” she replied.

We mounted again and returned to the road. The sun was kissing the horizon now, coloring the sky in a blush of pink. There were still men on the road traveling home. I was astonished when they extended the same greeting as they had when we were old women. I tried to recall back to the last time I had traveled in the valley of Sidle. As far as I could recall it had been the same, a friendly courtesy.

Our approach to the castle was noted despite our lack of entourage or banner. I watched the activity with amusement. Two women traveling alone were unusual enough to cause a stir. When one dressed as I did, it was bound to excite action. As I expected, we were greeted at the gate by an armed man in uniform.

“Welcome to Sedlyn Castle, Mistress Romany. We are delighted to see you again so soon.” He bowed deeply. My astonishment must have shown on my face because the man hurried on to explain. “You were recognized by the sentry on duty. Lord Eryant has been notified of your arrival and asks that you accompany me to the great hall.”

I glanced at Kat. She was preoccupied with getting to the ground. I wondered what she thought of this. I wasn’t even sure I knew what to think about this twist. I had not met the Earl. However, I had done him a great service.

A month ago, he had been on the trail of a band of marauders. They were raiding his outlying homesteads, trampling fields, and harassing his peasants. I happened upon his men on the far southern border of his lands. They needed a tracker to find the marauders’ camp. I located them within two days, in time for them to prevent the planned raid on the Earl’s granary.

“How do they know you?” she asked softly as we walked across the inner courtyard toward the keep.

“I did his men a favor a little while ago. I had hoped he would be grateful enough to consider helping Tourth. However, this is more than I expected.” I looked up at the heavy doors at the front entrance of the keep. “At least I can use it to your brother’s advantage.”

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

Wren Romany - © 2009 Rachel Rossano

Chapter VIII

2009-04-28T15:23:00.001-04:00

Tourth

I had to do something. There were no more harvests to give me an excuse to stall. I still had no idea what to decide, though. I had mulled and prayed the past two weeks almost constantly. My mind retraced the familiar arguments. I counted the options as the water coursed down my face.

I could leave, pack up everyone and leave. We had little to live on and even less to take with us, but we could seek our fortune in another valley. However, something within me couldn’t bare the thought of leaving. Despite the fact it was a fraction of what my childhood home had been, it was still my home. The place I had envisioned coming home to every night and where I wanted to be.

Another possibility was what my comrades at arms had suggested. I could stand up and fight. Claiming my inheritance and all that was due me was as risky as leaving was heart wrenching. There was no hope that in my and my men’s strength alone we could withstand Orac’s Enforcer long enough to stake and validate my claim. There had to be a third option.

“Tourth.”

A familiar voice broke through my thoughts. I looked up to find myself standing at the door to the old guard quarters where we lived. I was home. As I thought back I had no recollection of walking the three miles between the farm and there.

“You really need to pay more attention to your surroundings,” Roulf cautioned as he appeared at my side. “I have been trailing you for a mile now, and you didn’t so much as look around. If I had known that you were being this careless I would have come sooner.”

I frowned at him. That sounded bad. “Why?” I opened the door and stepped inside, dripping rainwater all over the fresh rushes Kat had laid down the day before. The smell of slightly burnt meat filled my nose almost instantly.

“The Enforcer has started using press gangs to pick up every available male in the valley. He intends to have his mansion finished for the anticipated arrival of King Orac.”

“When is this to happen?” I asked, sinking to the bench next to the door to remove my boots.

“A day you should know well,” the shopkeeper replied solemnly. “He is coming for the celebration marking the anniversary of his ascension to the throne.”

My hands froze, laces dropped from suddenly unresponsive fingers as my head filled with the memories of that terrible day. Marching through the city streets with my hands bound behind me, the jeering crowds pressing us on all sides, I closed my eyes, but the images were not easily closed out.

“Press gangs?” I struggled to get my brain to think.

“Oh, it is you.” Kat entered the room. “Hello, Roulf, what brings you here?”

“Bad news, I fear,” he informed her, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Are you going to be alright, Tourth?”

I nodded. “Just give me a minute. Some memories are harder to banish than others.” I carefully gathered up my laces and retied my boots. I needed to think, and being shut in doors was not going to help me do that. I thought better when I was in motion, I always had. “I am going to take a walk.”

“But it is raining outside,” Kat protested.

“The press gangs…” Roulf didn’t stop in time to check his words. Kat’s face drained of color.

“What press gangs?” she asked.

I sighed heavily. “I will stay close to the keep and out of sight,” I assured Roulf before leaning over to kiss the top of my sister’s head. “Give Roulf some food and something warm to drink. He can fill you in and the others when they arrive. I need to think on my own for a bit before we decide what to do.”

Kat searched my face for a moment before nodded. “Be safe,” she cautioned before turning to Roulf. “I am sorry to say I have only burnt venison to offer you and some mulled cider.”

“That sounds filling Miss Mynth,” Roulf was saying as I closed the door behind me. He would explain things better than I could and soothe her worry a bit in the process.

I stepped out into the ever increasing down pour and headed out to the east, up the valley toward the tree line. There were no roads in that direction, only wilderness, trees, and wild animals. In this downpour I doubted any animals would be moving about to bother me and the shelter of the thick wood would be perfect for thinking. I turned my face toward my destination and started praying.

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

Wren

He wasn’t a total idiot. I had to admit that. As I stood in the shelter of a rather large pine with more character than its neighbors, I watched Tourth.

Kat was right. He obviously needed to move to think. He paced back and forth along the top of a fallen tree. He struck the side at regular intervals with a stick in his right hand. I couldn’t hear his voice, but his lips moved as though he were speaking to himself or perhaps praying. A fall of sopping brown hair was plastered to his forehead. I was debating whether or not I should interrupt his thoughts when he turned and jumped off the log with a squelch. Frowning down at his soaked feet, he grew still amid the constant uneven tempo of rain dripping from leaf to leaf over our heads.

I stepped from my shelter and approached him. “Have you decided?”

His head snapped up in surprise. “How did you find me?” he demanded. “I didn’t leave a trail.”

I debated letting on that he had. His trail, though fainter than the one an inexperienced man might have left, had been pretty easy to follow. Settling on a more elusive response, I shrugged. “Kat asked us to look for you. She is getting worried.”

“She sent all of them out to look for me? And only you found me.”

“I figured you would choose somewhere out of the way to think. I had come bearing news, but Roulf said he had already informed you about the press gangs. He didn’t say anything about the Enforcer having an eye for attractive women, but I am guessing that is old news.”

He nodded, retreating again behind a contemplative mask. “That is why Kat rarely leaves the keep.”

Silence settled between us. The shadows, deepened by the setting sun weighed upon us as we stood.

“So, have you made a decision?”

“Part of one.” I raised my eyebrows and regarded him patiently. Finally he glanced my way and interpreted the expression. “Kat needs to go to Lord Eryant.”

“She isn’t going to go willingly.”

“Well, she doesn’t have a choice,” he replied more forcefully as he studied the branch still in his hand. “I can’t protect her anymore, and I am going to need all of my attention and concentration for what lies ahead. Worrying about her safety would be a distraction I cannot allow myself. She has to go.”

I watched the play of emotion in his features: fear, resolve, determination, and uncertainty in almost equal parts. “You are going to stake a claim on your title.”

He pinned me with a dark gaze scanned my face briefly. “Yes. I have no other choice.”

Although a number of alternatives jumped to my mind, I didn’t open my mouth. If all the prayer and thought had culminated in this decision, I was willing to wager that it was Deus’ will.

“How far is it?”

“To Lord Eryant’s stronghold?” I nodded. He shrugged. “A day’s ride.”

“I will take her,” I volunteered. He looked surprised so I explained. “I am the best choice. If you are making a stand, you will need to lay low and keep the other men with you for protection. The press gangs will be roaming the roads. They won’t be interested in two women should they spot us.”

“They might be interested in you for other reasons.”

I shook my head. “I know how to keep them at bay. Trust me. There are a couple options, and I need to speak with Kat to choose which to use. So, how are you planning to make your claim?”

“I was thinking of sending word to King Orac,” he grimaced at the name, “stating that I wish to lay claim to lands. I will say that I have just returned to my home, found it in disrepair and my people being treated like vassals of his Enforcer. I will state that I wish to swear allegiance to his throne and take my rightful place.”

“Then what?”

“Then we wait. I am hoping that when he arrives at the celebration, I will be able to present myself as a mighty leader willing to join forces with the king. To do this I will have to organize the farmers as best I can, gather my father’s former troops, the ones I can, and parade into town.”

“With Lord Eryant’s backing.”

He shook his head. “All I can ask of Lord Eryant is that he protect Kat. This move is imprudent at best and down right foolish at worst. I will not ask him to back my claim at the detriment of his own prestige. He is a good man. I do not want to make trouble between him and the king.”

I watched him throw away his branch. I had no qualms about asking Lord Eryant for his assistance. I would try to speak to him while I was there delivering Kat.

“Kat is not going to go willingly,” he muttered to himself.

“Let me speak to her. I think I can explain it so that she will understand.”

He smiled over at me in relief. “Thank you. I am still not too happy about facing Svhen, Dardon, and Arthus when I return.”

“I thought they were for you taking a stand and claiming your title and lands.”

“Just watch. When I tell them, they will change sides.” He brushed his hands off on his shirt and then stared at it as though just realizing how soaked he really was. “How long have I been gone?”

“Kat said you left two hours before I returned and it has been at least an hour since then.”

“We should go.” He started off in the direction he had come, tramping through the underbrush and pushing aside branches as he fought his way out into the open. I followed at a distance, planning my own strategy on how to help my new found family.

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

“How can I do it?” Kat demanded later that evening in the dinky kitchen. Her blue eyes flashed fire at me. “I have never left my brother before and I am not going to leave him now. I have only just begun to see glimmers of the man he used to be. I am not willing to leave. I don’t want him to retreat to the shell that came home from the war.”

There was barely enough room for two. I was thankful for that fact because it had kept the others from follow us in there.

“Kat, listen to me for a minute. I understand your anguish. I too have lost brothers that I sometimes doubt that I will ever see again. I have seen the shattered souls that remain within the eyes of the battle-scarred. I am telling you that this is the only way you can help your brother.”

“How?” Kat flung the word at me. Anger flushed her cheeks and brightened her eyes, but I identified the emotion behind them, fear.

“Get me an audience with Lord Eryant.”

“What? How will that help my brother?”

“He is not willing to ask Lord Eryant for help in his claim, but I have no such restraints. I intend to speak with the man and ask for the support that Tourth so desperately needs.”

She considered this. “If you ask in the right way, he will listen. I cannot guarantee he will do it though.”

“We won’t know until we try,” I pointed out. “We can’t try unless you go, and go willingly.”

“If Tourth figures out your plan, he will stop you.”

“Then don’t tell him.” I held out my hand to her. “I want to help you, Kat. Will you help me?”

She regarded me for a moment. “You truly are an unusual woman.” She smiled and took my hand. “Now how are we getting over the mountain?”

“Ah, I have a few ideas.” I smiled mischievously. “Shall we be old women, young men, or lepers?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Don’t worry. This will be fun.”

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

Wren Romany - © 2009 Rachel Rossano

Chapter VII

2009-04-22T14:50:00.002-04:00

Tourth

While I waited for Wren’s return, I retreated to the ruins of the lookout tower. At least none of the others would dare bother me there. It was my haven, the one place that I made it clear I wanted to never be interrupted. Perched high among the ragged, scared stone parapet points still standing, I almost felt as free as one of Wren’s falcons. On some nights the wind would blow, gusting and filling my ears with a roar that blocked out all other sounds. Up there I could look out over my little plot of ground, the only place I still could call mine, and pretend that my parents still lived.

Looking out on the darkness, I asked Deus the question that I had been asking since I returned to find my parents gone beyond my reach and my sister grieving and needing from me more than I could give. Deus, what should I do? I leaned my forehead against the cold stone. I breathed deeply of the ancient smells of earth and damp.

The desire to follow Deus’ will burned in my soul. That same desire had led me to leave years ago to fight for my king. When the battle took all that I had, I returned home to even more destruction and devastation. Despite the evidence to the contrary, I knew that Deus was merciful and loving. The training engrained into my memory, actions, and thoughts from youth reassured me that He was, but I often struggled with that fact in the harsh reality of the right now. It was hard to see the big picture and overarching plan when the details hurt so much. Just when I think that I had found peace, the past would intrude into the present and the future would demand change. I concentrated on the cold seeping into my body, cooling my anger-fevered skin.

Please show me the way, Father. For right now I am blind and liable to walk into a ditch and kill us all.

A small whirlwind of flapping wings brought my attention to the wooden framing next to me just in time to see a rather large bird alight. Straightening her feathers, the dark-pigmented female falcon coldly fixed an eye on me. Even in the darkness and dim moonlight, I could catch the intelligent glint in its gaze. I remained completely still. After switching eyes and shifting its weight a few times, it appeared to deem me harmless and began preening its feathers.

“She likes you.” Wren’s words slipped through the night as though they belonged there. I turned my head to find her sitting cross-legged on top of the parapet across from me. The bird’s head turned and she regarded with Wren with first one eye and then the other. She made a sound in greeting and returned to her preening.

“She does?”

She nodded. “Volante doesn’t take to people she doesn’t know very often. The fact she was comfortable enough to let you out of her sight to preen is a sign of trust.”

I peered into the darkness at Wren. Her head was angled so she could see both me and the bird, the moonlight at her back, caressing her shoulders, outlining the angle of her cheek and hiding her expression. She had all the habits of a woman who knew how to hide in plain sight.

“How is Roulf?”

“Well as far as I could assess. I helped him with some unwelcome company and in return he wishes to immortalize me as the Ghost of Davron Alley.”

I smiled. “That sounds like Roulf.”

“He also told me to give this back,” she said as she held out the small bag of coins I had given her before. Once I had focused on them, she tossed them to me. “He also sent a warning. There are rumors that you are in the valley. He predicts that is it only a matter of time before the Enforcer comes to search this ruin to disprove the rumors.”

My chest tightened as I lowered my head, hiding my face from her view.

Volante made a noise and moved across the short distance to Wren’s position. With a swift bat of her wings, she was airborne, flinging her small body at the woman, claws first. Wren raised her arm, sheathed in a leather sleeve. Sharp claws caught the material and the bird came to perch, sharp beak inches from the smooth moonlit outline of Wren’s face. The bird then shifted her weight, lifting a leg up, offering the small message tube.

“Impatient to deliver her message,” Wren commented as she accepted the gift and the bird retreated to the edge. Then with a final head bob my way, Volante was gone.

“Oh, that life was as simple as hers,” I whispered.

“It isn’t simple. Hers is a complicated journey everyday, seeking out my siblings, and returning. Falcons are not as welcome other places as they are here. In many lands, they are considered prizes to capture or kill.”

“How many siblings?”

“Eight other than myself.” She tucked the message deep into a pocket.

“Who was that from?”

“An elder brother, most likely. So, what do you plan to do about the Enforcer?”

I lowered my head and shrugged. “Pray and hope the Lord will reveal a way for us to take.”

When I finally did look up, she studied my face. Although I couldn’t see her eyes on me, I could feel their steady scrutiny. “I will pray as well,” she replied. Then in one fluid motion she rose to her feet. Unaffected by the sheer drop three stories to the cobbled courtyard below, she stepped from stone to stone to the rickety stairs and disappeared down them.

How does she figure in all of this Deus? She has come out of nowhere like an answer to prayer, but which prayer? I lowered my head again, rubbing my scalp with my fingertips. Please give us a clear indication soon.

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

Wren

Two weeks passed without event. Then the rain came. It started with a few drops, catching the nose and cheeks, speckling the dust with dark splotches. We raced to get the last of the grain from the fields as we prayed that the Lord would hold it off a few hours longer. In His grace, He did.

With the last of the grain under a tarp in the wagon behind us, we stood just inside Farmer Hanor’s barn and watched the overburdened skies unleash their load in a torrent.

“Praise the Lord, we made it,” Arthus murmured, his voice only slightly louder than the pounding of the rain.

“Aye,” Svhen agreed.

“We are still going to have to walk home in it,” Dardon pointed out with a grimace. “I wasn’t planning on a drenching or I would have brought my cloak.” None of us had brought our cloaks. The walk home promised to be wet and cold.

“So, what is next?” I asked Tourth, who leaned against the door jam at my left and stared moodily into the downpour. Even as the words fell from my lips, a lone rider appeared on the lane to the homestead.

“Who is it?” Dardon asked.

Svhen answered, “He wears the livery of the Enforcer.”

Within moments, the four men disappeared without a sound. Svhen melted into the shadows beyond one of the stall walls; Arthus slipped into the wagon, beneath the grain; Dardon swung up into the overhead loft; and Tourth slipped out the back exit that opened into the paddock. I was left standing, hay fork in hand, in the overly wide doorway when the stranger approached and dismounted to bring his horse out of the weather.

“Pardon miss, where might I…” He paused upon looking on my face. “You were the maid wearing trousers.”

I lowered my head and curtseyed clumsily. “Aye, sir. How might I help you?”

“You are a pretty one,” he commented studying my lowered head. There was no malice in his tone. “Your brother shouldn’t let you roam out alone. You might catch the Enforcer’s eye.”

I curtseyed again. “I will tell him, sir. Do you seek anyone in particular?”

“I do. Is this the land of Farmer Loer? I need to speak to him on a matter of great urgency.”

“Farmer Loer is not at hand, but his wife is within the house.” I pointed to the building across the yard. “Do you wish for me to seek her?”

“No, I will.” He threw his horse’s reins around the nearest post and knotted them. “Thank you for your help.”

I nodded, not meeting his eyes and busied myself with unloading the last of the hay from the wagon while he walked away. When I thought he was far enough to no hear, I gently poked Arthus’ hiding place. “You should leave before he returns.”

He rolled out of the hay, whisps clinging to his hair, to frown up at me. “Are you sure you will be fine?”

“Of course she will,” Dardon commented, jumping down from the loft. “Have you seen what she can do with a knife?” I had demonstrated a small sampling of my skills for him the week before.

“No. But regardless, she shouldn’t be left alone.”

Svhen hurtled the stall wall with surprising ease for a man as large as he. “Tyron is a good man,” he commented with a nod toward where the man had disappeared. “He won’t molest her. Besides it will look suspicious if she isn’t here when he returns.”

Arthus frowned at Svhen. “That was Tyron?”

Dardon looked from one to the other. “You know him?”

Svhen shrugged. “Have to get news somehow. He doesn’t like his master.”

“Svhen encountered him on the edge of Ruther’s property a few days ago. They struck up a mutual appreciation,” Arthus explained.

“A possible ally?” Dardon asked.

Svhen shrugged again.

“You should tell Tourth about him.”

“Already did,” Svhen replied and sauntered toward the paddock door.

As he disappeared outside, Dardon grimaced after him. “Sometimes I cannot comprehend that man.”

“Not everyone tells you everything, Dardon,” Arthus pointed out before turning to me and studying my face. “Are you sure you will be alright?”

I smiled at his concern. “I have been taking care of myself for years. I am certain I can deal with Tyron should he try anything inappropriate. I will see you later.”

“Hurry up, Arthus,” Dardon complained. “He is going to come back any minute.”

The two of them followed Svhen and I turned back to the hay. Roughly an hour and a half later, the man that Svhen had called Tyron returned walking through the rain as though it wasn’t even there. He shook off his heavy cloak upon reaching the shelter of the barn.

“Mistress Loer says I should speak to you.”

I stopped my work, and turned to him with raised eyebrows. He was an quiet-looking man about the age I placed Tourth at. “Why did she say that?”

“I have news that she believes you should know.”

He met my gaze evenly with dark hazel eyes. There was no cruelty in their expression or in the lines of his face, only a weary honesty tested by circumstances beyond his control. I turned back to my work, heaving the pitching fork under another load of hay. “And that would be?”

Accepting that I was not going to volunteer anything, he spoke his piece. “The Enforcer is planning on hosting a celebration, an anniversary celebration of the rise of King Orac to the throne. He has hopes that the King himself will attend. In preparation, he is demanding his mansion be completed before the festivities. To do so, he is pressing every able bodied man his men can find into work. Every able-bodied man,” he said, accenting the last words heavily. “Mistress Loer said your brother needed to know this.”

I didn’t immediately reply. My thoughts were with the men who had just left me. “How soon is this new order effective?”

“Immediately.”

I nodded as I hurled another load of hay upward into the lift that would bring it into the loft. “I will see that my brother hears of it, sir. Thank you.”

“Wish your brother well for me,” Tyron said as he untied his horse. “And don’t forget what I said about you being about on your own. The Enforcer is always looking out for pretty maids to share his bed. I wouldn’t want you to end up there.”

I glanced his way as he mounted, but he wasn’t watching me anymore. I was grateful for the warning. I hadn’t known the Enforcer was so carnally inclined. It was something I might be able to use to my advantage in the future, should I need to get into the mansion. However for now, I had more pressing things to work on. I lay my fork in the corner as the horse and rider rounded the bend in the lane. Now I needed to get home and find Tourth. He was going to have to decide on a course of action soon.

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

Wren Romany - © 2009 Rachel Rossano

Chapter VI

2009-04-14T13:34:00.000-04:00

Wren

Dinner was a tense affair. I began to wonder if I had stumbled across a gopher hole mine. It began with Tourth informing the others about my discovery.

Dardon’s reaction was to lower his leg of mutton. “What will be our response?”

“The same as it has always been,” Tourth replied.

Arthus leaned back uncomfortably and focused intently on his meal. Kat’s blue eyes darted warily from Dardon to Tourth and back again. Svhen continued eating without pause or raising his eyes, but I sensed a sudden tension in him despite the lack of physical signs. I had long learned to trust my instincts. This was a long standing argument that even put Svhen on edge.

“We sit back, watch them suffer, and do nothing.” Dardon shoved his dish across the uneven surface of the table almost spilling it into Tourth’s lap. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest boring a hole in Tourth’s head with his dark eyes.

“Dardon, we have been over this many times.” Tourth calmly moved the plate and mutton a safer distance from the edge. “We are doing something.”

“Putting food on their tables isn’t enough when the Enforcer is killing off their men. You know Simon lost his leg a month ago and only last week the Gibonson boy was hit in the head and died. The working conditions at the mansion are inhumane. All you would have to do is declare your identity and claim your birthright and you could spare these people from that monster. It is only a matter of time before he discovers us anyway and puts us to work there as well.”

Tourth’s knuckles grew white where he gripped his plate. The movement of the meat to his mouth was slow and deliberate. Tension grew thicker with every silent moment.

“You know it isn’t as simple as that, Dardon,” Kat said, showing more courage than I had given her credit for. “Father and Mother died simply for taking a stand.”

“He is only protecting his own hide and he knows it,” Dardon replied. Surging to his feet, he crashed out the door into the darkness, cursing under his breath.

Tourth didn’t move. His breathing was slow and painfully regular, his dark head bowed so that his face was hidden from my sight, but the muscles in the forearm resting on the table were tight with tension. I watched him warily as he struggled to regain his temper. Kat quietly removed Dardon’s portion from the table, being careful to give Tourth a wide berth.

“I will go see he doesn’t do himself harm,” Arthus finally volunteered, breaking the heavy weight of restrained words and actions, before disappearing out the door.

“Bed,” Svhen muttered. He followed practically on Arthus’ heels. I doubted that was truly where he was headed since his usual sleeping place was inside the house in the opposite direction.

I continued to eat. It would take more than an argument to stop me from eating. It was a habit born of years of not knowing where my next meal would come from. I pulled off a piece of the roasted mutton with my teeth and chewed slowly. The meat was tender and well prepared. Kat was a pretty decent cook most of the time. While I worked on my bite, I continued to watch Tourth.

He didn’t move, but as Kat continued cleaning up and I eating, the muscles in his arms slowly relaxed, his knuckles returned to a more normal color, and his breathing eased into a natural rhythm. Once I was certain that he had calmed to the point that he wouldn’t lunge at me, I spoke.

“I haven’t been around long enough to hear the reasons why you are choosing to do nothing, and I would prefer hearing from you rather than someone else.”

His head snapped up, and his eyes glared at me for a moment before softening. “Sorry about that.” Sighing deeply, he reached around to catch Kat’s arm as she moved past him. “I am sorry, Kat, but I seem to have lost my appetite.”

She grimaced. “You know you should have let me know that everyone was going to fight and lose their appetite tonight.”

“Sorry.”

She waved off his apology and claimed his portion as well.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned his elbows on the table, ran his hands through his hair as though to clear his mind, and finally met my gaze again. “It all comes down to the past. My father and mother died because my father refused to comply with Orac. If I stand up and declare my rights, I will simply be dealt with in the same manner and this time, he will probably kill Kat too. What will that gain the people?”

“Was your father aware that Orac wanted him dead?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Then you have an advantage that your father didn’t have,” I pointed out.

“I also have no troops or walls to defend myself. I have no money to build an army or even a simple castle keep. If I stood up and proclaimed my rights only to demand that my people build my fortress instead of the Enforcer’s how would that be better?”

Katherine sat down next to him. “At least they would know that your fortress would be used to protect them and not to oppress them. You have to admit that Dardon has some good points.”

“He does,” Tourth agreed. “But I cannot see how it will work out any way expect for in disaster.”

“Surely your father wasn’t the only lord to speak out against Orac,” I commented.

Kat answered, suddenly eager. “Father’s friend, Lord Eryant in the next valley used to back up father when he was alive. He even sent me a letter offering help should I ever need it. Lydia had already offered me shelter and I wanted to stay close to home should you return so I wrote back thanking him for his offer and explaining that I wished to stay with my old nurse.”

“Perhaps he would assist you,” I suggested.

Tourth sighed heavily. “I will consider it. But for now, I am going to prepare for a trip into the village tonight.”

As he rose from the table, Kat caught his arm. “Please don’t go. Send someone else.”

“I will go,” I volunteered. “I have great deal of experience moving without detection. I could move in and out without even the storekeeper knowing if you wished.”

Tourth scrutinized me for a moment before agreeing. “Kat has the list of what we need. Come find me in the stable for the money when you are ready to leave.” He then turned and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

“He doesn’t really know what to do,” Kat commented, looking after her brother in concern. “I don’t know how to help him and neither do the others.”

Crossing to a slate on the wall, she took it down and set it before me. It was a short list of items, bare essentials that we couldn’t produce on our own or trade from the farmers around the area. I memorized it easily and rose to follow the others. Kat stopped me. “Please go easy on him. He is trying his best.”

I nodded. “I only want to help.” Then I pulled my heavy woolen cloak from the hook by the door stepped out into the chilly night.

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

The village was silent and dark, not even a glimmer of light shone in any of the windows. It was easy to spot and avoid the Enforcer’s men. They tramped along alleys and streets in groups of two, holding lanterns aloft to light their way. Every time they came near my position, I shrank into the shadows, huddled down in my cape behind an object, and waited in silent stillness for them to pass.

Tourth’s clear instructions led me straight to the shopkeeper’s back door, a rough hewn slab of wood, thick and sturdy, left slightly ajar in preparation for my arrival. Just as I was about to dash across the open alley to enter it, a sudden noise made me pause. Two of the Enforcer’s men came shambling around the corner, slightly drunk as they wove back and forth along the narrow way.

“Well looky here,” the elder one muttered, tapping the door open with his sword.

A middle-aged man, slightly gray at the temples appeared in the doorway and looked at the soldiers in alarm.

“Expecting someone old man?” the young, skinny one asked, shoving the shop owner back against the now open door.

“I was only inventorying my stock,” the man Tourth had called Roulf protested.

My fingers crept to the throwing knife at my waist. I had made sure to strap all five on before I left just for such an emergency. Now as my palm weighed the hilt’s reassuring smoothness, I debated how it would be best to use it.

“Hardly a job to do so late at night,” the older, more flabby soldier drawled. He drew his eating knife and began picking his teeth with it. My stomach rolled. It was a nasty habit that so many men did. It always left a dirty knife. I hope he slipped. “Who knows who would come along and try your door and perhaps murder you at your work? It is fortunate for you that we happened along when we did.”

“Yeah, you might have been assaulted or something.” The skinny man shoved the Roulf’s head back against his door, banging the wood next to it with the hilt of his drawn sword. “Good thing we were walking by. Seems you are in our debt.”

“Worth a cask of ale or something…”

I couldn’t stand it any more. I let my first dagger fly. It whizzed past the flabby one, nicking his ear and buried itself in the door two inches from the skinny one’s hand. The second was on its way before they could even react. It flew pass the other side of Flabby’s face and embedded in the doorframe inches from his nose.

Flabby yelped, dropped his eating knife, and grabbed his ear while Skinny jumped away from my first knife as though it was a snake rearing up to strike. Both of them let loose a stream of profanities that made my skin crawl. I wanted to release another blade, but I restrained myself to watch how my first assault was received.

Flabby was attempting to regain control of the situation. He peered into the darkness of the alley in the wrong direction. Skinny grabbed a lantern and strode off in search of me among the shadows on the side of the alley opposite them. Swiftly melting into the shadows of a doorway, I waited. As I guessed, Skinny swept past my huddled form without a second glance. He probably supposed I was a bundle of laundry waiting for the wash or something else of little consequence. However, when they turned back to question Roulf, they discovered something even stranger.

“Where are the knives?” Skinny squeaked.

“What knives, sir?” Roulf inquired. He had apparently removed them from the door frame and door when their attention was elsewhere.

Flabby lunged forward, grabbing Roulf by the back of his tunic and shoving his face into the wood of the door. “The knife that made that mark you imbecile,” he demanded.

Roulf played the innocent. “That has been there since before I owned the shop, sir. I don’t know where the knife is that made that.”

Skinny’s face, ashen in the lantern light, stared at the spot on the door as though he were losing his mind. Flabby wasn’t giving up easily though. “And this?” He shoved his blood covered hand in Roulf’s face. “Where did this come from if not from a knife nicking my ear?”

“What knife, sir?” Roulf cowered. “I saw a dragonfly bite you, sir. I saw no knife.”

Flabby swore, slapping Roulf’s face and leaving a smear of blood across it before returning his hand to his ear. “Come,” he ordered Skinny. “I am tired of this idiot. Let us check the tavern next.”

The two of them shuffled off into the darkness. Skinny whimpering that there was a knife, and Flabby swearing a blue streak at him to keep quiet. I waited until they turned the corner before slipping from my hiding place, across the street, and into the open door of Roulf’s shop. I closed the door firmly behind me, sliding the bolt home before turning to survey the interior.

“Welcome mistress,” Roulf said. He stood among the box lined shelves with a towel to his face, cleaning off the blood. “I have to admit I am a bit surprised to see you, but it makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly suspicious. I had purposefully kept a low profile since joining Tourth and his band.

“This is a small town, Mistress Romany. It isn’t every day that a female bounty hunter forces Steward Farley to pay the full bounty on a wanted horse thief. Also, you are pretty well known among the farmers. I think the only people who do not know of you via gossip are the Enforcer and his men.” He lowered the cloth from his face and smiled at me. “Don’t worry, we protect our own. He will not hear of you from one of us.”

I inclined my head. “Thank you for the quick thinking of removing my knives.”

He shrugged. “It is better for them to think they are going mad than to stage an outright rebellion. It keeps the simpletons from bothering us more than once. Those two were new to the area and thought I would be an easy score. I doubt they will be returning anytime soon.” He crossed to the herb garden along the window sill. Reaching behind the pots, he drew out my knives. “I am grateful for your quick thinking. I can ill afford to give away ale by the cask.”

“I have come to purchase some supplies.”

He nodded. “What does Kat need?” Pulling a slate toward him, he picked up a stub of chalk. I recited my list.

“I think I have it all. Let me go see.” He disappeared behind the first row of goods. “Help yourself to some of my wife’s cider while you wait,” he called over his shoulder. “It is the best in the valley.”

I complied. The cider was delicious, tart and sweet simultaneously, and blessedly cool as it slid down my throat. Within moments he had reappeared with a small sack full of what we needed. He set it on his work table and began double checking the contents against my list.

“I am actually very glad that you made this trip.” He moved aside the portion of gray cloth to fit in a bottle of cider. “It is getting too dangerous for Tourth to be seen about. If you were stopped, it wouldn’t go well with you, but,” he motioned to the knife hilt now back at my waist, “You can obviously take care of yourself. There are murmurings among those who have allegiance to Orac that the Lord of Mynth has returned. It is only a matter of time before the Enforcer turns his attention to looking for Tourth. If he doesn’t take measures to protect himself, you might all be in danger.”

I nodded. “What would you suggest?”

“If Tourth openly makes his claim, he will find more support among the residents of this valley than the Enforcer. Besides, if he takes his father’s title, the Enforcer’s presence will be redundant since his place is to keep order in this valley in absence of a governing lord.”

I mulled this new information as Roulf tied the mouth of the bag. He handed me the strings with a warning. “If Tourth does declare himself, he is going to need more than just his current band to keep him alive. You can be sure the Enforcer will try everything in his power to see that Tourth dies before his claim can be legalized by Orac.”

“I will tell him. Thank you for the provisions.” I held out the money Tourth had given me.

“I will not take it.” Roulf pushed my hand away gently. “All of that is worth far less than the cask of ale you saved me tonight and the peace I will most likely have to the next two weeks.” He smiled. “I will encourage the mystery of the ghost of Davron Alley and perhaps I shall have peace even longer.”

“I wish you well.” I bowed and exited, waiting until I heard the bolt sliding home before I slipped off into the darkness. My arms were heavy with goods and my mind heavy with information.

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

Wren Romany - © 2009 Rachel Rossano

Chapter V

2009-04-11T15:32:00.002-04:00

Wren

Of all the days to resume wearing a dress, this was the worst. I looked up into the spreading branches of an apple tree and grimaced. If I still wore my trousers, climbing up to fetch the unblemished fruit from the branches would be easy work. However, I wasn’t able to do that decently in a skirt. Even if I tucked up the skirt, I would show off a lot of bare leg to anyone who happened to walk under my tree. I looked down at my empty bushel basket and debated doing just that.

“Need some help?” Arthus called as he strode down the row toward me. Under one arm, his good one, he carried a ladder. “Tourth sent me to assist you. He said I might find you up the tree already with your skirt about your knees.”

“It is a tempting thought,” I agreed. “However, I do have some sense of decorum.”

Arthus laughed as he lowered the ladder awkwardly to the ground. “I am sorry I have to say this, but it needs to be said. I can’t lift the ladder for you.” He pointed with his chin to his still bandaged shoulder. “I might have over done it with that demonstration of strength this morning.”

He had fetched the water for breakfast to prove that he was well enough to come with us on our next harvesting trip. It was the only way he was going to get out from under Kat’s watchful eye.

“I think I can manage it for you,” I offered. “Are you going to attempt to climb and pick as well?”

“Oh, no, the ladder is for you. I am here for the ladder, to make sure it doesn’t shift beneath you.”

“The others are not using ladders?”

“They are. They just don’t get a ladder assistant.”

I couldn’t hold back the smile that wanted out. “I thank you then.”

Together, we leaned the ladder up against the nearest tree. Arthus held it steady as I climbed. Once I reached the bottom branch and the first batch of apples, I gathered my apron end, looping it into the apron ties to make a temporary sack to carry my harvest. Arthus watched all of this with great interest.

“You have done this before?”

“Yes, many times.” I reached for the first fruit. As my fingers closed around the firm red orb, I smiled. “And you?”

“First time.” He shifted his hold on the ladder, securing it in the curve of his good shoulder and glanced down the way toward the caretaker’s cottage. “If you had told me five years ago that I would be playing the farmer, I would have called you a fool. I was convinced I was destined for greater things.”

“What kinds of things?”

“I would have told you that by thirty, I would have attended university, graduated with honors, and published at least one book of poetry.”

I almost dropped the apple in my hand. “Poetry?” I shifted on the ladder in order to look down at his tousled head.

“Aye. I thought I had a gift.”

“What stopped you?”

He sighed and replied, “The harsh truth that I have no talent for poetry. Although, I can analyze, savor, explain, and completely adore a beautifully formed verse of the stuff, I cannot write any worth selling if my life depended on it. And, at the time it did. I was literally starving for lack of decent words.”

“Coming down,” I warned and began to descend the ladder with my laden apron.

“So,” he continued, “I did what any starving man who has just realized his life dream is unattainable. I joined the army.”

I straightened from unloading my apples to scrutinize him seriously. Although he had the soulful look of a poet, standing there with his rumbled shirt, tussled hair, roughly shaven cheek, and languishing attitude, I found myself pretty convinced that he was playing a joke on me.

“You don’t believe me. See, I told Dardon that it wouldn’t work. He didn’t believe me.”

“So, how much of what you just told me is false?”

He looked genuinely ashamed. “About half. I do love the written word, I can’t turn a phrase, and I was starving before I enlisted.”

“You were doing pretty well just now,” I pointed out as I moved back up the ladder.

“Ah, but you haven’t seen it on paper. All I have to do is try to write the words onto the page and they turn wooden, clumsy, and awkward. I am much more skillful with the sword.”

“So I would guess considering you are still alive.” I reached for a particularly farfetched prize and asked the question that I had been mulling for a while. “How did you, Svhen, and Dardon get involved with living here?”

Arthus laughed a mirthless bark. “It was all the doing of Orac, if you must know. Not just the war, but Orac himself.” I shot him a look under my arm. “Although I enlisted in the army because I needed food, clothing and a way to earn my keep, Dardon and Svhen were two different stories. Dardon was a silversmith before the war, and a…” Arthus bit off the swear word before it left his tongue. “Pardon. He was quite a master. That is, he was until Orac’s men came through his village, killed his partner, and burned down his forge. That was why he joined up, to get even. Then when we lost, he had nothing.”

I brought down another load and remounted the ladder before he finally got to Svhen’s tale. “Old Svhen is an old master at war. Do you know how many wars he has fought in? Seven. Mercenary by trade, he decided that this war was going to be his last. Informed Tourth that he intended to go out fighting, and then our side surrendered. It took a pretty bit of fast and persuasive work on Tourth’s part, but he convinced him that life in the Mynth family’s employ was better than charging Orac’s castle.

“Of course, that all changed when we got here. The keep gone, the lord and his wife murdered, and Kat living on the charity of friends, it nearly broke Tourth. I had no where to go, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have left him like that.” Arthus cleared his throat uncomfortably and coughed. After an uncomfortable silence, he asked, “So, what brings you here?”

“Winter,” I replied as I descended with another load. “I didn’t fancy the thought of spending it out in the open this year. I wanted a roof over my head on snowy nights.”

I could sense Arthus’ unspoken questions as he sorted through them to decide which to ask next. I also suspected that Tourth had supplied some of them himself. My ladder-holder was just getting up the courage to try another one on me when a voice made us both pause.

“Ho, there, man.” A large armed man appeared strolling through the trees, his chain mail glinting in the sun speckled shadows. “I am looking for a man named Joanor, the man who works this orchard. Orac’s Enforcer wishes to speak with him.”

“I believe he is up at the cottage at the far end of the field,” Arthus offered quickly.

The soldier strode off in the direction Arthus had indicated with barely a glance in my direction. I watched him through the tree branches until he was out of sight.

“I don’t know about you,” Arthus said, “but this looks mighty suspicious. Isn’t this the second time that the Enforcer’s men stopped while we were working in for a farmer?”

I nodded. “Perhaps we should speak with Tourth.”

“I think we should.”

I descended the ladder and picked up the bushel of apples I had already picked. Arthus managed to lower and carry the ladder. Switching rows, we started off toward where Arthus said he had last seen Tourth.

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

Tourth

I was working on my second bushel when I heard someone approach the tree. I looked down to find both Arthus and Wren looking up at me. I half expected Arthus to announce that Wren had miraculously finished her assignment.

“Orac’s Enforcer and his men have showed up again,” he announced. “We are wondering if we should make ourselves scarce. Do you think Joanor will give us away?”

I scrambled down, jumping to the ground, and deposited my current load in the bushel bin. “I would prefer speaking to Joanor or his son first.”

“You can’t be thinking to walk right up to the house and asking,” Arthus protested. “What if the Enforcer is there? What if he sees you?”

He had a point. I was about to suggest that Arthus go and investigate when Wren spoke up.

“Let me go,” she volunteered. “I am not known around here.”

“But the Enforcer’s deputy spoke with you yesterday.”

She shrugged. “Then he won’t think anything amiss in seeing me again today. I am a common laborer, hardly worth his notice.”

“You don’t look like a common laborer,” Arthus pointed out. “You walk like a woman accustomed to a different life. And,” he indicated her squared shoulders, “You don’t carry yourself like a woman.”

“Let me deal with that,” she retorted, and then turned to me. “So, shall I investigate for you?”

I nodded. There was no harm in it. She had a good point about her anonymity. She had nothing to fear from the Enforcer and his men except the usual things women feared about a man’s attention. Wren of all the women I had met was the most equipped to handle that kind of interest. Unlike Arthus, I had witnessed her performance yesterday.

“What do you need to know?”

“Just what the men wanted with Joanor.”

She nodded, propped her bushel on her hip, and started to walk toward the orchard keeper’s cottage. With each step, her gait and manner changed, slowly fading into the image one would expect to see in any field laborer or farmer’s daughter. Arthus watched in amazement until she disappeared from view.

“You knew that she could do that,” he accused. “You let me make a fool of myself pointing out how she didn’t fit the role.”

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my mouth. “Of course I knew. You should have seen the act she put on for the enforcer’s men yesterday when they called her over for wearing trousers.”

“So, that is why she has the dress today.”

I nodded. “If any of us can do it, I am quite confident she will.”

When she returned, two hours later, the humble manner of a servant was gone. She strode down the lane between the trees, her skirt whipping her legs, and planted her feet at the foot of my tree. Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited in silence while I climbed down to meet her.

“The Enforcer is raising the tax due at the end of the quarter and demanding another day’s work from every man this winter. The Joanor’s wife is beside herself with hysterics. It took me a good hour to calm her down before it was safe to leave her alone.”

“What do you mean, leave her alone. Where is Joanor?”

The Enforcer’s demand begins today. His deputy came to escort him to the work site and informed Joanor’s wife that he won’t return until tomorrow morning. He mentioned something about a curfew and Joanor being released too late to make it home before it.”

A curfew. I frowned. It wasn’t as though we went about much after dark anyway, but when we did, we were going to have to be more cautious than ever. It was also going to make shopping in the village riskier. I was used to slipping in under the cover of darkness to visit the storekeeper. But now, I wasn’t sure exactly how I was going to manage it. Kat would still need flour and oil for her bread and there were other basics we would need.

“I thought these people were your tenants?”

I nodded absently. “They were my father’s tenants, and thus mine. I have been trying to help them anyway I can.”

“So, if you were to claim your rightful place as Lord Mynth, Orac’s Enforcer would have no authority to tax and demand work from these men?” She was frowning up at me, every inch of her small frame held in check and anger glinting in her eyes.

“That is not an option. It is too complicated to explain why, but it is.”

Her strange changing eyes, now more gold than anything else, studied me carefully. I actually felt a little uncomfortable under their concentrated gaze. “If you don’t mind, I would love to understand. Could you explain it to me sometime?” Her voice was calm and sounded almost friendly despite the obvious anger of a moment before.

I blinked and nodded. “I have no problem explain it for you. We just don’t have the time now.”

She nodded. “Did you see where Arthus went with the ladder?”

I pointed in the direction I had last seen him, and she strode off that way. I watched her go. She was a strange puzzled of control and spirit. But the question that burned in my mind was whether or not I could trust her.

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

Wren Romany - © 2009 Rachel Rossano

Chapter IV

2009-04-06T14:20:00.001-04:00

Tourth

I was growing ever thankful to Deus for the strange new addition to our family. She had been modestly accurate about her hunting skills, obvious from yesterday’s adventures. However, she had been negligent in mentioning her experience working a field. Upon arrival at our first stop, she accepted the basket from the very pregnant farmer’s wife with a smile and a slight bow. Then, politely waving away woman’s attempts to explain what she needed to do to harvest beans, she asked where she was supposed to start. I pointed out her row, and without a word, she set off.

“Keep an eye on her,” I ordered Svhen. “It isn’t like we have beans to spare if she doesn’t do her job well.”

“If she says she knows how to harvest beans, I trust her,” Dardon commented, basket in hand.

“Not all of us are as enamored with her as you,” Svhen growled. He picked up his basket and stalked after her. This was his least liked job. For the entire harvest season, he acted like a bear with a hernia. I could only hope that he wouldn’t scare her off.

Taking my own basket, I turned and wove my way to the end of my designated row of green leafy plants.

Three hours later, something suddenly cast a dark shadow over the plant I was working on.

“Wren wants to know where she should work next?” Svhen informed me.

Welcoming the chance to straighten my aching back, I stood to find Wren standing just beyond Svhen in the next row over. Her dark plait of hair was wrapped around her head, pinned up off her neck with one of her sheathed throwing daggers. Sweat glistened on her face, but that was the only sign she had been working at all.

“Then work with Dardon.”

Svhen shook his head. “Dardon doesn’t want us to do any more. Something about not feeling like he has done his share if we do.”

I blinked and looked from one to the other. “Well, then you can help me. Start over there and meet me in the middle.” Wren nodded and headed off in the direction I had pointed. Svhen remained, casting a long shadow on my work.

“Dardon was right.” He looked particularly pleased about it, too. “She works fast and well.”

I glanced off after her willowy form as it stepped with fleet, sure footing over the rows of plants. By the time I looked back at Svhen, he was gone, moving after Wren in a more lumbering, but no less certain manner. I couldn’t help being appreciative. In less than a day, this woman had earned the respect of two of my closest friends and was on friendly terms with my sister. It was at the very least an encouraging beginning.

I peered over to where Wren was working swiftly down the bean row and realized why Dardon requested they move on from helping him. If I didn’t get to work, I was going to be left behind. I bent my protesting back and attended to the nearest plant.

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

Wren

My back complained, but it was a familiar ache that brought back memories, happy memories from home that I hadn’t dwelt on in years. As my hands and arms repeated the motions of pulling up turnips and placing them in the wooden buckets that had been provided by the limping farmer and his painfully thin wife, I reveled in the clean smell of rich earth and they way it crumbled between my fingers. If I concentrated very hard, I could hear Ilara’s humming as she worked and Sam’s syncopated thuds as he bumped the side of his barrel, knocking the dirt off the turnip heads. Somewhere over head, a falcon cried and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted on the breeze coming from the kitchen. My mouth watered at the thought.

“Ho, here comes trouble,” Dardon’s rich bass brought me out of my daydream. I straightened under the guise of easing my back muscles and peered into the setting western sun. We had only an hour of sunlight left and two rows a piece to finish before completing the turnip patch.

“Who is it?” I asked, shading my eyes to focus on a trotting cluster of horses coming over the rise from the direction of town.

“Orac’s Enforcer, by the looks of the crest on the livery,” Dardon offered. “Best keep your head down. And you should probably hide this.” He plucked my throwing knife from my head. My heavy braid fell down my back with a soft thump as he offered the knife back to me hilt first. “He will have his men confiscate it if he sees it.”

I nodded. Stowing the knife, one of the three I brought with me, in my boot, I pulled my trousers over the hilt, hiding it from sight. Then I returned my attention to the task, all the while listening to the creak and groan of the leather horse tack as the small party approached. When they came parallel with the edge of the field, I cautiously stole a look at them out of the corner of my eye.

“You, woman,” a voice called out. I looked up to find that they had stopped on the road and a tall, lanky man was beckoning to me.

“Yes, sir?” I set down my bin and proceeded to cautiously cross to the road. I purposefully made my movements slow and weary. It wasn’t difficult to do considering that was how I felt. Finally reaching the side of the road, I looked up at the man’s knee. A lowly serf of the land wouldn’t look her master in the eye though Wren, the bounty hunter, would have no problem doing so. I had to play the part. Tourth and the rest of the men’s survival depended on it.

“Why do you not wear a skirt, woman? Do you not know that trousers are indecent?” The red satin of the man’s own trousers was so fine its price would have paid for seven of the rough practical kind I found useful.

“I am sorry, sir.” I bowed my head lower. “I haven’t had time to patch my skirt with the harvest coming in, sir.” I thickened my accent, mimicking Old Alec from the tavern. “I’s had to wearn my brother’s trousers, sir. It won happen agin, your lordship.”

“You see that it doesn’t.” He was apparently mollified by my groveling, but I still held my breath as he surveyed the field behind me. “I don’t see Farmer Ruther out there in the field. Why isn’t he there? He has a half day’s rest today.”

I swallowed my anger. The only reason Ruther had been given a half day’s rest is because he had been unable to stand due to the injury of his leg. An injury that had occurred while he toiled building the Enforcer’s great hall. “We’s friends of his, sir. We’s helping bring in the crops, Milord. I thinks he is up at his house, taking a slight rest.”

“Very well,” he replied. Then he kneed his mount forward, knocking me out of the way. I landed a safe distance away as his cohort followed in his wake, kicking up a cloud of dust that clogged my mouth and nose and stung my eyes.

“Are you alright?” Dardon asked, rushing to my side as soon as it was safe to do so. “You didn’t…?”

I spat in the dust at my feet and swiped at my face with my sleeve, not that it was much cleaner. “He is bound for Ruther’s house. I don’t think he is particularly suspicious, but I would recommend that we leave for the night before he makes a return trip.” I beat my pants with my hands. Clouds of pale dirt billowed from them.

“What did he say to you?”

I grimaced. “He wondered why I was wearing trousers instead of a skirt.”

Dardon’s eyebrows rose. “What did you tell him?”

“That my brother let me borrow his because I had ruined my only skirt. He said I should make sure I have a skirt for tomorrow.” We walked companionably back toward the field where Tourth and Svhen were waiting worriedly.

“Do you even own a skirt?” Dardon asked. His tone hinted that he suspected I didn’t. As much as I wished I could shock him by saying I did, I honestly didn’t. He must have read it in my face because he laughed. “Don’t worry. I am sure Kat will lend you one until you can purchase the fabric for one of your own.”

I grimaced. I didn’t have anything against the idea of skirts. I had worn them for many years. However, I had tossed them aside when I left home. They were woefully impractical for a bounty hunter who is constantly climbing trees, running though dense woods, and hunting for food. “I hardly think it will be necessary. It isn’t as though I am going to be wearing it everyday.”

However, it turned out, I would probably be doing just that for the next few weeks at least. Tourth pointed out, once everything was explained to him, that I would attract more unwanted attention if I continued to work in the fields in trousers. I reluctantly admitted he was right, much to Dardon’s amusement. So, when we returned home, Dardon announced it loudly to Arthus and Kat that I would be requiring more feminine attire.

“Of course, you may have one of mine,” Kat immediately offered. “I have plenty of frocks left from when times were better. They aren’t all appropriate for working in the fields, but I am sure we can find something. We can go looking after supper.”

“Just don’t get her too gussied up,” Dardon said, “We might forget that she can kill us as easily as she can curtsey. Perhaps more easily.”

I was sorely tempted to stick my tongue out at him, a childish gesture I hadn’t used since I was seven and Arnan had teased me about my braids. I refrained, but I smiled instead. Kat brought the large stew pot to the table, and the organized chaos of dinner began. I leaned in to claim my portion when I caught Tourth studying me. His dark eyes openly scrutinized my face for a moment before Arthus bumped my elbow and jarred me out of their power. I turned my attention to receiving my meal, but the back of my mind rubbed awkwardly over his attention. It is just that I am the newcomer, the unknown element, I theorized. However, when I looked in his direction as I crossed to a quiet corner to eat, he was still watching me. His gaze wasn’t particularly intense, just mildly observant. I lowered my attention to my stew and bread and tried to follow the quick banter going back and forth between Dardon and Arthus.

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

Tourth

She was a mystery, a complex puzzle that nagged me. An appealing woman, though very unconventional with the skills of a huntsman, a scout, and a farmer, she hardly fit any mould I had ever known. As she pointedly consumed her meal with measured bites, watching and listening to the animated conversations around her, I was certain she was also quite aware of my scrutiny. Occasionally, with practiced nonchalance, she would lift her head and run her gaze over my location, never pausing to show that she was checking to see if I still was watching, and then focus on Kat, sitting beside me and smile at her in a friendly way. It was the tactic of a woman who knew how to spot a tailing undesirable.

“Why are you staring at Wren?” Kat laid a hand on my knee to ensure I had heard her. “If you keep it up, you are going to make her uncomfortable.”

I smiled down at my sister. Her fair hair curled around her face, drawing my attention to her features, delicate and lovely, just like our mother’s. “I was just wondering where she came from and what she had to go through to get here.”

“Well you should wonder that with your eyes on your food. It is getting cold.” She patted my knee in a motherly fashion. “I don’t want you getting sick. The farmers need our help. Besides, Svhen says she is the fastest field worker he has ever seen. You don’t want to drive her away when we need her most.”

I glanced over at Svhen in surprise. Even unapproachable, unflappable Svhen was falling under Wren’s spell. If I didn’t figure out something quickly, I might lose any authority I had to the woman. At least Arthus was untouched. For the moment.

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

Wren

After dinner, Kat and I left the current makeshift quarters in search of clothing for me. I was surprised when Kat, lantern held aloft, led me in the direction of the ruined keep.

“I thought it was useless,” I commented.

Kat shrugged. “It is ruined as a place to live. However, it is a good place to store things that we don’t need or use. I keep all my extra clothing here. Rovern has a chest full of things he brought back from the wars. Arthus stores a crate or two of books. He doesn’t have time to read except in the winter months. With the first snows he brings the crates into the living quarters and reads out loud to us on the days we are all trapped inside.”

Memories of Taerith’s low soothing voice filling my ears was enough to make tears press against my eyes and tickle my nose. With the sensations of Aquila’s thin, small form pressed against my side and the steady rasp of Zoe’s fretful pacing across the rushes on the floor I was suddenly remembering the winter that Aiden and Arnan were missing for three days during a winter storm. The younger one’s fear, sharp and keen had filled the air for those three days. Even Taerith’s outer calm wore thin.

“Here they are,” Kat announced pulling my thoughts forcefully back to the present. She had perched the lantern on the top of a stack of boxes so that she could wrestle open the top of a crate at their base. I stepped forward to assist her, but I was too late, the lid creaked open. “Just like I thought,” she said, beckoning me to look with her. “There are plenty here. Surely we can find one that will fit you.”

I quickly found myself disagreeing with her. The lavish fabrics of the dresses she pulled from the trunk made my breath catch. The reality of how far she and Tourth had fallen in their circumstances caught me anew. Silk, fine wool, muslin, and lace slid from the contents with sighs of delicacy. I was hesitant to touch the cloth for fear that the calluses on my hands and the dirt beneath my nails would accidentally mar their beauty. None of us girls growing up had even dreamed that such luxury existed or that we should even desire it. I tried to envision my sisters in the gauzy lace bedecked dress that Kat now held up to my shoulders.

“You are a bit shorter than me,” Kat observed. “That is an easy thing to fix though.” She draped the dress over the pile on a nearby crate. “I can always hem it for you.”

“I am supposed to be working in the fields,” I reminded her, eyeing the rejects skeptically.

“There should be more casual ones at the bottom. I just like to take these out sometimes and remember the past.” She paused. “So much has happened since then.”

“How long has it been since…” I let my voice fade away when I saw the grief in her clear blue eyes.

“Two years.” She brushed a hand over the grey wool dress coat and looked up at the ruined skeleton of the floor that had once hung above us. “I was away that night. Mother and Father never even felt the pain. One moment asleep here, the next with Deus in heaven, they never felt the heat of the flames or the fear of watching them consume our life. In some ways God was gracious.” She lowered her gaze to the cloth beneath her fingers. “At least, that is what Tourth says.”

“You don’t agree?” I asked.

She shrugged and tilted her head to one side. “I think he is right about them never knowing the pain of death. I do hope to see them again in glory. However, I cannot help missing them and missing how things were before.” She lifted her gaze to my face, studying the features. “Not just before they died. I mean before Tourth left to fight for the king. He was different then, less cautious and more carefree. I suppose it is as Arthus says, the price of growing up, but I cannot help wishing to see more of his lighter side again.”

I nodded. “At least you have him near you,” I pointed out.

Her eyes suddenly narrowed. “Do you have a brother?”

I smiled weakly. “Four brothers and four sisters.” When I looked up to find her eyes round with surprise, I laughed.

“Where are they now?”

“I am not sure,” I admitted. The hollow place in my gut that manifested every time I thought of them made my dinner suddenly feel like a rock in my stomach. “We were separated about a year and a half ago. It is a long story.”

Realizing she was staring at me, Kat quickly resumed picking through the clothing. “Are you in contact with them?”

“My falcons bring me news sometimes.”

“Oh!” She straightened, a brown woolen dress hanging from her arm. “Tourth told me about your falcons. I would love to meet them someday.”

“Are you sure? Tourth seemed quite in awe of the one he met and all together they can be quite overwhelming.”

She tilted her head. “Meeting one would be nice. The thought of more does seem daunting.” She smiled. “I think I have found a dress that will do.” She held up the brown dress. A simple shift with a semi-full skirt, the brown woolen material was functional despite it being of finer quality than anything I had ever worn before. “If we hem it to a functional length and rub dirt into the weave, I think we can pass it off as a peasant’s frock. What do you think?”

I nodded. Considering the other garments scattered about us, it was going to have to do. I helped her repack the trunk and followed her back out into the courtyard. Once back in the kitchen, Kat instructed me to change while she found her sewing basket. I retreated into my room. It had once been the quarters of Lord Mynth’s captain at arms.

When I returned, swimming in a dress a size too big and a skirt that swept the floor around my bare feet, all four men looked up from their evening tasks to inspect me.

“A little big, isn’t it, Kat?” Tourth observed.

“I can make it fit better,” she protested. “Besides, it is better than too small.”

“You look halfway decent in a dress, Wren,” Dardon teased. “I can see how you could resemble a lady with a few more frills.”

“Leave her alone, Dardon,” Arthus said. “She might sic one of her falcons on you.”

I glanced his way in surprise. Then I checked the reaction. I should be surprised. Falcons were not common birds in this part of the country and a trained falcons were only common among the landed gentry. A female of obvious meager income with a trained falcon would be unusual. One with seven was unheard of. Besides, I should be glad that Tourth told them about my birds. I could rest assured that one of my companions wouldn’t shoot one down when they did appear.

“Please stand on the stool,” Kat prompted me. “I need to see where to put your hem.”

I obediently stepped up. Kat set to work and I watched her, constantly aware of Tourth’s thoughtful gaze following my every move. I wondered what he was watching for.

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

Wren Romany - © 2009 Rachel Rossano

Chapter III

2009-03-23T14:40:00.003-04:00

Wren

The sun was low in the west by the time we finally herded the last of the sheep into the rickety pen with the others. They were greeted with a chorus of bleats like victorious heroes. “So, who is going back to skin those lions?” I asked as Dardon slid the peg into the hole securing the gate. I was leaning over Brone’s shoulder with the sun to my back, but I saw the man’s hand pause for a slight second before he turned to squint up at me.

“I am not sure we will want to eat it. Have you ever eaten mountain lion before?”

I shrugged. “It is a tad on the tough side, but cooked right, it is passable to an empty stomach.”

Now Dardon was frowning. “I find it hard to believe you have eaten mountain lion.”

“I have eaten almost every kind of wild animal you could imagine.”

“I can imagine quite a few.”

Ah, here came the testing. “Try me,” I replied.

“Possum.”

“Roasted on a spit two springs back. I wouldn’t recommend trying to eat the tail, though. It had a nasty aftertaste.”

“Fox.”

I nodded. “Stringy, but I was desperate.”

He studied me for a few moments. I returned the favor, measuring him with my eyes. He would be a challenging opponent, with all that height, but I could use it against him if this took the form of typical male bonding, a face off. Since I left home, I found that men accepted me more quickly if they perceived me to be one of them, rough, physical, and direct. And in this situation, the sooner I was accepted into the group, the better. Dardon was as good a candidate as any of them and vastly superior to Svhen, who would most likely skin me alive. So, I began plotting out my strategy for the possible coming tussle.

“I don’t believe you. You might be an accurate shot, you had to be to make that first kill, but I don’t believe you have skinned, cooked, and eaten mountain lion before.”

I nodded, jutting my chin out slightly as I did. “Fine.” Turning Brone back toward the upper fields, I glanced over my shoulder. Dardon still stood next to the sheep fold watching me with confusion. “So, are you coming?”

“Coming where?”

I sighed. “To watch me skin our kills? If this coming winter is going to be as bad as I have heard predicted, we are going to need all the meat we can preserve.” I then turned and heeled Brone forward. As we trotted back up the trail, I listened without glancing back. Within moments, the sound of Dardon on Fireus rushing to catch up reached my ears. Thank you, Deus, I whispered.

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

Tourth

Night dominated the night sky before Dardon and the newcomer appeared. I tried to watch for them without noticeably doing so. However, when Kat declared dinner was ready, I announced that I would go look for them. I prided myself on being a reasonable judge of character, but this Romany woman was not the typical character that I was used to. In fact, she defied any classification I had previously known.

Dardon was a grown man, a skilled warrior, and capable of handling himself against any man, let alone a woman half his size no matter what her skills were. I reminded myself again of this fact as I stepped out into the courtyard with my cloak in hand. That was as far as I got.

The silver glow of moonlight filled the courtyard showing the reason why the two of them had taken so long in returning. Four lioness pelts hung from the meat hooks imbedded in the outer walls of the smoke house. Dardon, loaded down with slabs of meat, ducked through the smokehouse doorway and disappeared. A moment later he appeared; Wren on his heels.

He spotted me across the courtyard. “Is dinner ready?” he called. “I am starved.”

I stepped aside. “Kat has stew simmering and yesterday’s bread on the table. If we don’t get in there soon, she is going to start threatening to start without us.”

“Kat’s stew changes quality from day to day,” he informed Wren companionably while gesturing that she should precede him through the door. “Her bread, however, is almost worth dying for.”

Wren smiled warmly back at him and shook her head, hanging back. “I am just going to finish settling Brone.”

“I can do that,” I offered. “Kat will be disappointed if she doesn’t see you two soon. She enjoys having new subjects to test things out on.”

She shook her head again. “Brone and I have a routine. If I don’t tend to him, he will keep your mounts up all night in revenge.”

“Then tell Kat that we will be right in,” I instructed Dardon. He shot me a searching look, but nodded his head.

“Any time increment I should mention?”

I looked over at Wren. “Minutes,” she answered.

Dardon nodded, and ducked past me and through the door. In silence, Wren and I turned toward the stable. We were halfway across the courtyard when I finally said, “You didn’t have to bring in the lion meat. I am not even sure I am going to be able to convince Kat that it is acceptable to eat.”

“A human can eat anything if they are hungry enough.”

“Do you speak from experience?”

“Unfortunately, yes, but that was long ago.”

The animals greeted us as we stepped into the darkness of the stable. I reached for the lantern I kept near the door, but she didn’t wait for light. By the time the wick caught, she was in Brone’s stall, brushing him down, whispering something in a strange tongue. Trader nickered from his stall, clearly jealous that I wasn’t paying attention to him. I crossed to rub his nose, giving Wren some space to complete her routine. Leaning over to lay my cheek against his, I drank in the horsey smell of his hide. He huffed and nuzzled my shoulder. Just as I was about to suggest that we finish and move toward dinner, a furious fluttering of wings startled me.

I raised my eyes from soothing Trader, to find myself being watched by a single golden eye. The bird perched on the half wall of the stall an arm length away as though he belonged there. His white feathers glowed with an unworldly hue in the golden light of the lantern. We examined each other. He kept switching from one eye to the other while I took in his hard, curved beak, perfect for tearing through the flesh of prey or foe. His talons, long, powerful, and deadly-looking bit into the soft wood beneath him. I was just beginning to wonder if I could risk moving when Wren spoke.

“I think she likes you.”

I didn’t dare drop the bird’s gaze. “How can you tell?”

“She hasn’t spoken yet.” Wren made a small kissing or clicking sound with her mouth and the white falcon’s head swiveled around to regard her. Then with a sudden rush of flapping, the falcon flew at the woman. My breath caught in my chest when for a moment I thought the falcon was attacking her. Then, the white falcon was perched on her shoulder regarding me regally, as though warning me not to come closer.

“I hope she doesn’t bother you,” she said, calmly reaching up to detach something from the bird’s leg. “I know I should have mentioned Iolani and the others to you before, but I didn’t know how their presence would be received.” She stroked Iolani’s white chest with the back of her finger. The bird curled her head and neck at an impossible angle to stroke her beak down Wren’s cheek. “I can make sure that they never come while I am within the walls if you would prefer.”

I shook my head. “No, I see no reason to ban them. As long as they don’t attack the horses or us, they can come and go as they please.”

Wren stoked the bird’s chest again, almost absentmindedly. “Thank you.” She smiled at me in a way that made her face blossom into something strangely wonderful. Then, as suddenly as it was there, it was gone. “Go on, Iolani.” She whispered something softly and then made a sound in the back of her throat. The bird bobbed its head, hopped from her shoulder to the half wall and then flew out the open door.

“I guess I should ask how many of those do you keep?”

“I don’t keep them actually, but if they are all in one place, they number seven.” She tucked away the small cylinder that she had taken from the bird’s leg and looked to me expectantly. “You said something about dinner.”

I nodded, mentally noting to warn Dardon and Svhen to not harass her. Any woman who was on such friendly terms with seven falcons was a woman treat with great respect or one might find oneself missing an eye or two. I ushered her back toward our sleeping quarters, wondering what kind of person I had just allowed into our midst.

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

Wren

Dinner was good. The slightly undercooked vegetables in the stew ruined the texture, but the bread, as Dardon predicted melted in your mouth. Thankfully, I was hungry enough to finish my portion with speed, earning me a pleasant smile from the lady of the house. For a lady was what Katherine was.

Despite her humble clothing and familiar regard for the men and her brother, Tourth and the men made it clear from their behavior that she was someone to be coddled, protected, and tolerated. Arthus, though obviously uncomfortable with the treatment, obediently lounged close to the fire and drank copious amounts of an herbal tea Katherine insisted would help him heal. Though he frequently only replied to some of Tourth’s queries with a barely civilized grunt, Svhen always answered Katherine’s questions. Dardon, however, did not show as much deference to her. He teased, prodded, and cajoled her with the obvious intent of getting her to laugh.

As I watched, I wondered what it would be like to be in her position. My brothers had been wonderful brothers, but once I stepped beyond my family, I had never once had anyone treat me as these men treated her. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t exactly what they would think of as a lady. I wore leggings, could skin a mountain lion, and had seven falcons at my command. They were hardly ladylike accomplishments. I shifted in my seat. However, as I considered her position, I realized I was content in mine. I wouldn’t trade any of my skills for hers, despite the usefulness of being able to bake such delicious bread. Deus had made me this way. He had given me the skills I needed to survive knowing that I would need them. I set down my mug on the nearby table and turned my attention to the rest of the room as Katherine laughed at Dardon’s comment.

“So, what are the tasks for tomorrow,” Arthus asked.

Tourth leaned back in his chair and frowned. “We can’t take the sheep back to that pasture tomorrow, they will be too disturbed.”

“How about the western fields?” Arthus looked eager to be moving even tonight. “I could take them that way in the morning.”

“You will do no such thing,” Katherine protested. “You need to rest and heal.”

“It was only a scratch, Kat.” Arthus sat up and threw off the blankets over his legs to demonstrate. “It isn’t as though the cat crippled me. Let me take shepherding duty tomorrow, Tourth. I will make sure that they eat well.”

“What about the eastern fields by the traders’ road?” I asked.

Katherine, Arthus, and Dardon turned to look at me. Svhen continued witling away at the block of wood in his hand without pause. “If we pastured the animals there, the Orac’s enforcer would see them,” Tourth replied.

“Orac doesn’t know that Tourth and I are still alive,” Katherine offered.

“And if he did, he would either force Tourth to attend court or have him killed.” Arthus gestured to Dardon, Svhen, and himself. “We are the only reason he is alive right now as it is.”

“Why would he want him killed?” I scanned their faces.

“Because I will not attend him at court as my father’s title would require and I refuse to tax my tenants when Orac’s enforcer is already demanding five days work every fortnight from every able bodied male over fifteen. They are building his monstrosity of a castle. You might have seen it at the other end of the valley.”

I shook my head. I had missed it, but I was certainly going to go looking for it later.

“The people are already starving,” Katherine added. She shook her apron out violently. “This winter is going to be even harder than last because the harvest has been meager.”

Tourth nodded. “I should have been clearer about our bargain, but between now and the next rain, we will be completely concerned with working our neighbors’ fields. Many of the women and children have been working all year to have a crop at all. However, they will not be able to get the crop in without our assistance.”

I nodded. “I will earn my keep as you wish me to.”

“I would say you have already earned yourself a month’s worth of keep with that meat.”

“What meat?” Katherine asked, pausing in her folding of Arthus’ quilts.

“Not to mention the mutton,” Dardon pointed out with a sly glance at Katherine and a wink to me.

“What meat?” Katherine’s voice rose.

“It should keep us for a few weeks at the least this winter. And you,” Tourth gestured toward Arthus, “should need to hunt as much.”

“Tourth, what meat are you talking about?”

Turning an innocent face to Katherine, Dardon finally answered her. “Why the lion meat in the smoke house. I would start looking through your recipe books for a couple of ways to fix it because we are going to be eating a lot of it this winter. Four lions worth is quite enough.”

“Lion meat?” Katherine’s face blanched.

“How would you recommend it be served, Miz Romany?”

I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at my mouth. “I prefer it rubbed in garlic, oil, and onion and roasted over an open fire outdoors. The fresh air adds something to the taste.”

“Tourth, I am not going to prepare lion meat. I wouldn’t know how. And, I refuse to eat it. It sounds disgusting.”

“Then Miz Romany can prepare it,” Tourth replied. “She seems to know how.”

Taking pity on Katherine, I smiled. “I would be happy to show you how, My Lady.”

“Call me Kat,” Katherine replied out of habit.

“Then I am Wren,” I replied.

She sighed. “Have you really eaten mountain lion before?”

I nodded. “It isn’t too bad. It is wilder than venison, but it is filling enough.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she smiled anyway. “Then I would be happy to learn how to prepare it.”

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Wren Romany - © 2009 Rachel Rossano