The Last Prophecy

by Russell Loyola Sullivan

  “I should tell you your death won’t be easy, Captain.”

  The captain regained what composure he could. “It would seem you are also a student of Lord Wallace. But you are still nothing more than a cow-milker, as was your friend.”

  Devyn smirked. “I judge the guilty. Wallace judges the innocent.”

  “We have orders to kill anyone that gets in the way of finding you and the cup. I should have killed you and your wife when I had the chance. She’s a pretty one; maybe we’ll meet again.”

  Devyn could not figure out if the captain was plain stupid or if he was attempting one of Devyn’s tricks—to put him off his guard. “A little man like you would only make my wife laugh as she slit your throat.” He could see the anger rise as he looked into the captain’s eyes. “Come on, how could you ever take a woman? You can’t even kill a man who fights you without a sword.”

  The captain charged, his sword meant to impale Devyn. Devyn dropped to the ground and rolled, the impact of his fist lifting the captain from the ground, and as the he landed back down he dropped his sword, his hands going to protect what was too late to protect.

  Devyn drew his dagger and sliced the captain’s left arm at the elbow; his forearm and hand just dangled. The captain reached for another of his daggers, doing his best to stand upright. Blood streamed down the useless arm.

  “I don’t suppose you know anything about the cup.”

  “I know you stole it,” the captain answered.

  “Then I guess you are of little further use to me.”

  Even before the captain could blink, Devyn sliced the dagger from the man’s one good hand, his fingers convulsing in pain and covered with blood.

  “Kill me, cow-milker. You’ll be dead soon enough.”

  “I didn’t say I’d kill you. I said your death wouldn’t be an easy one.” He sliced the captain’s other arm at the elbow. “Perhaps you will live a little longer, perhaps you might make it back to Wallace and tell him of your success at killing sheep but your inability to kill anything else. Either way, in the end you’ll want death more than I want to give it to you.”

  The captain stumbled toward the field, falling every few steps.

  Devyn took a moment and listened for any other sounds. He inspected the barn: some spots of blood but no bodies. He entered the house. There…

  He went back outside to where the captain had fallen. If the captain was still alive after he’d done what he had to, Devyn would end his miserable life. He found what clothes he could to dress the women in something better than the bloodied strips of clothing he had found them in.

  He sat on the steps, deflated by the reality of this brutal ending for his friend and his friend’s family. Solick had been a soldier of sorts himself, and he’d understood that blood was necessary where men drew their swords. But defenseless people? Solick’s wife and child? He could not begin to understand the kind of evil that would carry out such an atrocity. But was it any different when he had killed the clerics?

  Tears ran down his face, and his big hands shook. The old dog, whose name he did not know, came and lay down at his feet. He could not greet the dog by its name; it was a name he had never learned. It filled him with shame. What kind of man could have his friends killed because of what he’d done and not know the name of their dog?

  Another change of plans was necessary, not one he relished.

  He dragged the guards into the house, went and found the captain, who was by now also dead, and dragged him to where the other guards lay. It made no sense to bring three dead relatives to Solick’s brother, nor did it make sense to leave the dead soldiers’ bodies to be discovered. It would only enrage Wallace and impel him to find more of Solick’s family and have them killed.

  He emptied the barn animals into the pasture, gave them hay and water for a day or more. He left seed for the hens and ducks.

  Fury was relieved to be away from the guards and made his dislike of the situation clear by nudging any part of Devyn he could reach, a hint that they should leave.

  Devyn readied a wagon; he lifted the old dog inside and moved the wagon, Fury, and the old dog out to where what he had to do next would not affect them. He searched the homestead, found what coin and valuables he could uncover, and added that to the old dog’s final belongings of what had been his family.

  The fire he set in each of the rooms. He even added a few bales of hay to ensure the fire took everything. The barn was a simple torch to the center, and in moments the fire had engulfed everything.

  Returning to the wagon, he watched for some time; the barn was gone before the house. Before he turned and rode away, he felt confident the ashes that remained after the fires died out would not tell a story of guards, friends, and violence. With a good rain, all the blood would disappear from the grounds, and it would appear a family had died in most unfortunate circumstances.

  The old dog came up behind him as he guided the horse and wagon away from the burning farm.

  This world was not a compassionate one, not a just one, when the very men who took their orders from the leader of the lands would allow this slaughter. There was much more wrong here than the loss of a cup, the loss of a few caretakers, and the loss of prophecy.

  Living with his tribe, he had been at the bottom of its hierarchy, even if the steps between leader and bottom rung held very few rungs. He, at least, believed his life was not in danger from other tribe members. They knew enough to protect each other against all else.

  In this world of Wallace, all others were at risk of his judgment, which was arbitrary, brutal, and final. Wallace was nothing more than a rat in a water barrel of mice; the rat would push each one under as he tried to climb out of the barrel.

  He made his way to Solick’s brother.

  He could not deal with the enormity of it all.

  Chapter 11

  On the Road

  The Weary Traveler Inn.

  Weary was not the appropriate word to describe Brenna’s state of mind. She had done as Devyn had bidden her, not without remorse, not without doubt; she had left him there—a decision that resulted in a foreboding she could not shake away.

  The chalice had swayed her thinking. In the fever of the situation, she had permitted herself to believe the safety of the cup was somehow her responsibility. She knew now that Devyn had done that to guarantee her attempt at escape. She felt dirty and betrayed by herself. She should not have allowed him to dictate all the moves. When she met up with him again, she would settle this notion of his that she was some fragile thing that needed saving.

  Damn, he had to find her, or she him, if only so she could make his ears ring with some well-earned admonishments.

  The tears streamed down her face; her real concern had nothing to do with admonishments.

  What was she doing? This was no place to release her emotions. It appeared safer than some off-road camp, but it was not a place to cry. She needed to make certain her horse would be well attended before she went inside. She untied the packs from the saddle and let Starmaid nuzzle her as she went around to the other side to undo the girth strap.

  The young stable hand took the saddle.

  “My horse has had a long day, and I think she would appreciate a good brush down.” She passed a coin to the young lad. He refused it, explaining it was his duty and pleasure to take care of her horse, and that it was all in the package his father gave to guests. He went on to explain how his father and mother had been so proud to operate this inn, and how his mom had died. She listened to his story, and when he finished she expressed how his mom would be proud of how her son took care of guests. She pressed the coin into his hand and explained that Starmaid expected nothing less than to pay a little extra for a little extra in return.

  She left the stable, giving one last pat to Starmaid.

  There was no going back to look for Devyn just yet. Her escape and the stolen cup had sealed her fate for at least the short term. And Devyn…

  Thankfully, th
e innkeeper asked no questions as he handed her the key to the room. The bath was inviting and warm; once finished, she washed the few clothes she had purchased along the way.

  Downstairs, a fire burned brightly in the small eating room; the innkeeper was quick to offer her a seat by the fire. The food was a welcome change from what she’d had to eat on the road. It was a tad overcooked, not uncommon for an isolated inn that was perhaps infrequently visited.

  Two goblets of wine later did much to gloss over the quality of the cooking and, more importantly, the wine and the warmth of the hearth gave some rest to her weary bones. The dread of not knowing Devyn’s situation would not bring comfort from the wine, nor would she allow it to.

  She had been careful to count out what coins she deemed necessary and had placed them in her pocket before entering the inn. The coin purse Devyn had given her she kept tied around her neck and inside her shift. A small dagger hung at her belt, covered by her leather tunic. She looked like a weary traveler, nothing more.

  Devyn had thought of everything.

  He could wage battle with a certitude that bettered the accuracy of any prayer she had, all her life, offered to Ogmia. Her farmer had skills well honed, and without a doubt he was as comfortable in battle as was a queen bee in a beehive.

  Aside from what had brought her here, the inn was a welcome if unexpected rest. She had explained to the landlord that she was in a hurry to reach her ailing father; she harbored a little guilt when the innkeeper presented a second goblet of wine as a gift, with the hope that her journey to her father would be a success.

  The fire was kept well fed, and the dessert made up for the overcooked food. She was now the lone patron; the silence was restful, so much so that she even gave thought to a third glass.

  She finished the last sips of the second as two men entered the inn, her solitary presence immediately attracting their attention.

  She should have stopped after one and settled for a good night’s sleep in a real bed. Too late for that, these were clearly men of the road, thieves, no doubt.

  There were plenty of tables empty, but the two made their way to hers and sat down, even before introducing themselves.

  “Hey, me lady, could you do with some company? I’m Eddie, and this is me mate, Matey.” They both looked at each other and laughed, a joke they’d clearly shared a few times before.

  “Well, Eddie… and Matey, I appreciate the offer, but it’s time for me to bed down.”

  Eddie put a hand on her arm. “Now, now, me fine lady, no need to go running off. These roads are lonely, and it’s seldom we find a lady like you abouts.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, gents, but an early rise calls to me.” She pushed her chair back and stood.

  Eddie was on his feet in an instant, and Matey bounced up, knocking over his chair as he did. “I don’t believe you proper understood our request. It be best you sit down,” Eddie said. He extended his arm to help her complete his request.

  Brenna grabbed his wrist and shot a bolt of energy up his arm. His face contorted as his knees buckled and his eyes rolled into his head.

  She looked at the other man, who was about to draw his sword. “By the time you get that sword halfway out of its scabbard, I’ll do the same to you as I’m doing to your friend here. The difference is you’ll not live to heal from the pain it will cause.” She pressed a little harder on Eddie’s wrist. “I’m allowing this one to stay on his knees until we all agree I should be left alone.”

  The man let the sword drop back into the scabbard. “We don’t mean no harm.”

  “Really, two thugs taking advantage of a traveler. I can only wonder what else you lads do for amusement.”

  The landlord arrived on the scene. “Are these men bothering you, my lady?”

  She should make the innkeeper a part of this little exercise in how to not bother the helpless. Then again, maybe he had seen too much for the small coin he earned from his occupation. It was not her right to judge. “Not anymore. But I’m afraid the hospitality your inn has offered me has run its course.”

  “I’m so sorry.” He rubbed his hands together.

  She let the arm go, and Eddie fell to the floor. She kept her eyes on Matey. “I’m going to leave here now. I would like you to take a seat. Your friend will awaken in a few hours… understood?”

  Matey nodded.

  “I’ll need my horse.” She moved to the stairs, the innkeeper on her heels.

  “Are you a caretaker?”

  “You saw?”

  He lowered his head. “I saw what you wish me to see. I’ll send my son to saddle your horse.” He shouted out the order as she went to her room to retrieve what was hers.

  She returned and pulled a few more coins from her pocket. He waved them aside. “That’s not necessary. I’m sorry you were so disturbed.”

  Brenna bowed. “Perhaps I can ask you one more favor.”

  “Anything… anything, my lady.”

  “Should anyone come looking for me, I would prefer you forget I ever existed.”

  “The least I can do for a caretaker.”

  “Oh, one more thing: unless that someone is alone, a mercenary man, one who owns the space he walks in.”

  The landlord nodded and gestured with his head. “I’ll see neither of these two follow you into the night.”

  She nodded and went outside to where her horse was being held in waiting by the innkeeper’s son. She tied her knapsack to the side of the saddle and tied her new bedroll with the chalice inside to the back of her saddle. She swung up and tossed a few coin, including her payment for the meal, to the young man.

  “Thank you.”

  The innkeeper approached her, offering a sack of some sort. “This will get you through the night and maybe add to an inviting morning snack.”

  “Thank you, Faren.”

  “You know my name?”

  “Your son is your most loyal supporter.” She took the sack of food.

  The young man smiled as he let go of the reins.

  Starmaid trotted off into the night. Brenna was thankful to find that the road was not in total darkness.

  Once she had revealed who she was, she’d known it was time to leave. Even if she could trust the innkeeper, it was certain she could not trust that Eddie and his friend would allow her a good night’s sleep without setting off some alarm.

  She hoped with all her heart that Devyn had escaped, and that he would find her. She dared not think about what might have happened to her friends and family.

  Her goal now was to get some distance from the inn and find a place to get some much-needed sleep. The meager light cast by the half-waxing moons was barely enough to find her way along the road. She guessed it was some ways past midnight, so she trusted she would not find any soldiers on the road or any travelers whose attention might be on something other than traveling. She would take her chances with the night and catch some sleep when more light gave her a better view of the land.

  She rode along thinking of that last kiss from Devyn. She had never been so afraid for him since she had first found him. Then he was merely someone she’d needed to mend; now he was someone whose death would surely end her life as well.

  Still, she would kill him when she found him.

  The only sounds as she rode were the hoof-falls of her horse. Once or twice she saw a ghostly shadow cross the road ahead, maybe a fox out late at night, more likely a wolf. Where the road opened up, she would bring Starmaid to a walk, but she kept the mare at a trot or a gallop wherever the trees were close.

  Her weariness was creeping in, deeper and deeper. She knew Starmaid was experiencing the same, so she walked her at every opportunity. She gave some consideration to dismounting but realized that should danger strike it would be her wits and her being on horseback that would provide the best chance to save them both; she patted Starmaid’s neck and promised her a good rubdown.

  There was no other reasonable option but to continue onward.

  A scre
eching owl sounded somewhere far away, the stars twinkled in and out, as thin clouds were crossing the moons; branches kept rustling in the light breeze or from whatever else might be about, and as her eyes refused to stay open any longer, the first light of morning slowly blinked in on the eastern horizon as they approached a small river where a bridge awaited their crossing.

  She took a left along the river, before the bridge, and followed the riverbank a ways. She finally found what she was looking for: a small outcropping of rocks to protect her back and a couple of means to retreat should a hasty escape be necessary.

  Starmaid took a drink from the river. Brenna made a corral of sorts where a few trees offered up a small patch of grass. The water from the river was cool and refreshing; she filled one of her empty knapsacks and placed it where Starmaid could drink again if need be. As promised, she gave Starmaid a long and thorough rubdown.