Stepping out onto the wide porch, Feray was struck with the memory of Asher showing her magic for the first time. It was a bittersweet memory, and one that resonated in her as she looked out across the clearing to the evergreen trees. She could see the appeal of such a place. It was quiet and peaceful. She could imagine snow falling softly all around, a fire burning in the hearth just inside the cabin, a feeling of safety and security making her feel at home. Stepping off the porch broke the illusion and she realized it was just a cabin in the woods. Perhaps she felt more from the old homestead because she had found Asher’s cabin at her lowest point. Sick, exhausted, and on the run from the earl’s men, the old potionist had taken her in, healed her, and given her hope. That hope, like the golden magic radiating around the cabin, wasn’t exclusive to the place, it merely reflected the character of the cabin’s inhabitant who had lived there so many years.
Orin had saddled one of Feray’s horses. The other was loaded with their supplies. They left the cabin in the woods not long after arriving, and not with a little bit of sadness on Feray’s part. She wished the old potionist could have lived longer. Guilt seemed to plague every good memory in her life. She felt responsible for Asher’s death, even if she had been far away when it happened. The men who killed her first mentor had come looking for her, and despite the fact that she had dealt with Earl Uthar in Glory Keep, a small part of her longed to pursue the men who had murdered Asher. They deserved to be held to account for their crimes, but there was no time for justice. She would have to settle for knowing that the earl, and the knight who had kidnapped her son, were both dead.
“Can I ride by myself, mama?” Luc asked. “Oh, please, oh please, oh please!”
“No, little man, not yet,” Orin replied. “Your mother and I will teach you soon, but not in the forest.”
“I can do it!” Luc insisted.
“Of that I have no doubt,” Orin said with a smile. “You will be a great horseman. But first you must learn to care for your mount. Then you may learn to ride.”
They made their way through the forest and reached the pass just before nightfall. They made camp, and built a fire. Feray was just considering what to cook for their dinner when a familiar sound came rumbling out of the forest. The horses neighed nervously and Orin stepped between Feray and the trees where the noise had come from.
“Don’t worry,” Feray said, laying a hand gently on the big warrior’s arm. “It’s a friendly bear.”
Orin looked at her with disbelief, but when the black bear appeared at the edge of the camp, carrying a large salmon in its mouth, it sat back on its haunches and nodded its head.
“See,” Feray said.
“I wouldn’t,” Orin warned her, but Feray was already moving toward the big animal.
“For us?” she asked holding out her hands.
Food, the bear grunted as it dropped the salmon into Feray’s hands. Stay.
“Of course you can stay,” she said. “Just don’t scare the horses.”
The bear snuffled, the noise sounded like laughter and Luc moved to his mother’s side, looking at the bear with big eyes.
“I’m Luc,” he declared in a loud voice. “What have you seen in the forest today?”
Fish, the bear responded, snuffling again. Berries.
They cleaned the salmon and cooked the filets over a bed of coals. The head, tail, and entrails were given back to the bear, who scarfed them down and then took a position at the edge of the camp, keeping watch. Feray could tell that Orin and the horses were nervous having the big predator so close. They didn’t even notice the number of birds roosting in the trees around them, or the fox that patrolled outside the camp. There was even a mountain lion perched atop a huge boulder not far away. Feray could see every animal, despite the darkness in the forest. She could even feel their intent. Most were like children, excited to see her the way common folk are eager to see royalty, but a few had shed their natural instincts to guard over the sorceress and her family.
“We should get some sleep,” Feray said, after staring into the fire in silence for a long time.
“I don’t see that happening with our visitor,” Orin replied, talking about the bear that sat with his back to the fire, staring out into the darkness.
“He’s guarding the campsite,” Feray said. “There’s no danger here.”
“Even if I could believe that,” Orin said, “I don’t think that bear will be much defense against those flying creatures.”
“Perhaps, but we can’t continue on without rest,” Feray said. “You’ve done more than your share, Orin. Tonight, we can sleep in safety. The guardians of the forest will alert us to any danger.”
Chapter 10
The nightmare had come in the night, not a dream, but a heinous reality. Death dropped out of the darkness overhead, their fire doing little to illuminate the demons that came for the men. Gustave wasn’t noble born, nor a knight, just a loyal fighter, more than a mercenary, but willing to fight for money just the same. Few things frightened Gustave, being at sea during a storm, the helplessness of standing before the Raven King with bad news to report, and most of all the man with no hands, but he wasn’t a coward. He had fought for his life many times, and been wounded more than once. He could take a punch, and never backed down from a fight, but the creatures that came for them in the night were horrifying.
He could still hear the screams of his companions long after they had been snatched away. Gustave wouldn’t call the men friends, they were brothers in arms, fellow soldiers serving their king, but not friends. Still, he didn’t wish ill on any of them, and the other five men had been carried away by the awful demons. Gustave wasn’t sure what the creatures were. They had feathers and wings, yet they also had scaly, sinuous bodies that could lift a fully grown man easily from the ground.
It had all happened so fast. Gustave had been tending the fire. There was a shout and Pedro, a tall man with scars on his face and a curving mustache, had been snatched away. Gustave saw Pedro leave the ground, his feet thrashing in the air, and then he disappeared in the darkness. The sky overhead was full of stars, but the creatures were mere shadows in the night, wraiths that came to carry them away.
Most of the group had heard a loud splash in the river. They knew the man with no hands was watching them from the far side of the sluggish Kinsey River. While Gustave stoked their own fire, the rest of the group had moved beyond the camp, trying to see what had happened. Then a scream echoed from across the water. Two of the soldiers turned back to the fire, but the third was caught up into the air just like Pedro. The horses neighed in fright, kicking hard to snap the thin ropes they had been hobbled with and bolting away. Another of their group was snatched up just as he got near the fire and Gustave saw the sleek, reptilian limbs coiling around the soldier’s neck. He was jerked off his feet with a gurgling wail that was cut short by the weight of his body pulling on his own neck.
Gustave had snatched a limb from the fire, the heat blistering his hand though he hardly noticed. He lifted the firebrand over his head just as one of the creatures swooped down for him. There was a chilling screech, and sparks erupted from the flames on the end of the burning branch. Gustave saw the serpentine limbs that were reaching for him suddenly jerk away and burned feathers dropped around him like ashes from a bonfire.
A fourth man had covered his head with his long, skinny arms. He was the best horseman of the group, not all that strong, but talented with animals. The demon wrapped its coils around his arms and lifted him away, his frail legs kicking frantically as he wailed in fear. The creature carried the man straight over Gustave’s head.
Finally the pain from the hot branch he held registered and Gustave tossed the branch away, doubling over in pain. He felt the tip of one reptilian appendage sweep across his back, and then they were gone. Gustave dove to the ground, rolling onto his back and staring up into the darkness, expecting death to come for him but it didn’t. He never saw what became of the fifth man but i
t wasn't hard to guess when he was left all alone on the river bank. That night, he was more afraid than he had ever been in his entire life.
He didn’t sleep, not even when the fire burned low and lost what little light it gave him. He laid in the darkness, staring up into the sky, waiting for more of the creatures. There was no doubt in his mind that he was in a bad situation. Failing at any task ordered by the Raven King was dangerous. Returning without knowing where the widow had crossed into the Mountain Veil meant risking his life at the hands of a merciless king. But the horses had fled in panic, his companions had all been carried away, and death seemed to be waiting for him in the darkness.
When the sun finally rose, Gustave hardened his resolve and collected as much of their supplies as he could carry. There were several long, blackened limbs that had survived the night’s fire. Gustave’s right hand was burned, the pain was agonizing, but he was used to dealing with pain, so he ignored it as he set the blackened tree limbs into a pattern. It was nothing more than an arrow pointing across the river and into the Evergreen Forest. Being a gambling man who was seasoned in calculating the odds of any situation, he set forth with grim determination knowing it was likely he would never return from the forest to report the progress of the widow. When the king’s knights and warriors followed, which Gustave was sure they would do, the arrow would show them where he had crossed the river.
He felt a little foolish in the light of day. It seemed impossible that demons had come in the night. The sky overhead was bright blue, the sun was warm, and there didn’t seem to be anything to fear, yet the memories of the attack lingered like a bad smell. He couldn’t escape the fear, which nagged at his mind, even more troublesome than his aching hand.
Crossing the river wasn’t all that difficult. He used a thick timber beam from a burnt out ship on the bank as a floatation device. He waded out into the slow-moving water, holding onto the beam with his burned hand, trying to keep the blisters out of the water. His other hand held his rations in a canvas satchel over his head in the hopes of keeping the food dry. When his feet could no longer feel the river bed, he kicked hard, the current carrying him downstream several hundred feet before he managed to reach solid footing again. He climbed out of the water and then returned up the bank until he found the remains of the man with no hands’ fire from the night before. Slinging the satchel over his shoulder and cradling his burned hand to his chest, he followed the big man’s trail into the Evergreen Forest, not really sure he wanted anything to do with the widow or the people traveling with her. He was certain the demons had come for her, and he wanted nothing more than to lose her among the trees and never see or hear anything more about the witch. Unfortunately, he had been given a task, and he was not the kind of man to shirk his duties, not when the Raven King looked unfavorably upon failure. He kept his head down, his eyes fixed on the trail, and trudged forward into the trees, leaving the sun and the certainty that he was safe behind.
***
The war band from the Darnish Counties numbered nearly eighty men. A third of that number were squires, most still in their teens, but all armed with weapons and most riding sturdy horses. A few of the wealthier knights rode in polished armor, but Horace knew the foolishness of their pride would come at a heavy price. By noon day those knights were trembling and weak from the heat pounding down from the sun overhead. Not every knight had a squire, and some had more than one, but there were also men-at-arms, trained soldiers who were more than just well-armed guards. They traveled with the supply train, mostly on foot, following the mounted knights and their squires.
They were two days from Glory Keep, and Horace guessed they were still two days from reaching the Evergreen Forrest. At sunset they had stopped for the night, finding themselves at Greenhaven, where many of the wealthy noblemen took rooms in one of the inns. Horace had no one to look out for but himself. He had been a knight in his youth, but for almost two decades he had served Earl Uthar as his chief servant, after a cutlass wound to his groin had left him a cripple. The sorceress Feray had healed him, a feat that Horace would not have believed possible if he hadn’t witnessed it for himself. His wound was healed, he could ride, fight, make love, and perhaps most importantly, feel the pride of being an able-bodied man again.
After the earl’s demise, Horace had returned to Glory Keep, retrieving a small stash of money he had saved over the years and quickly outfitting himself as a knight once more. He was Sir Horace after all, and his lord was dead, which meant he had no obligations. With a horse, a sword, and a coat of mail rings he was once more a nobleman and until they reached Greenhaven no one had challenged him. That all changed as he sat in the common room of the inn where not long before he had served Earl Uthar and seen to the needs of King Olmas. He was drinking ale near the fire when two knights approached. One was a dull-looking man with a wispy mustache and matted hair from wearing a helmet all day. The other was a man Horace recognized. Generally a quiet man, but regarded with more than a little fear by most of the nobles in the Darnish Counties, Sir Leon had been Sir Rowan’s closest ally.
“What are you doing here, servant?” the younger knight said.
“Watch your tongue, boy,” Horace growled. “I am Sir Horace.”
“You were Earl Uthar’s lackey,” Leon growled. “A cripple as I recall.”
“Do I look crippled,” Horace said.
His back was to the wall, and his feet were stretched out toward the fire. He hoped he could discourage the men with a sour attitude, but Sir Leon would not be deterred.
“When the earl was killed, you were in the keep,” Leon continued, leaning his considerable weight onto the table that separated the men, his braided beard brushing the tabletop. “That means you were there when Sir Rowan was killed.”
“You mean when Sir Rowan went insane and burned the keep down around his ears?” Horace replied. “I wouldn’t be here now if I had been.”
“Rowan wasn’t mad,” Leon insisted.
“And yet he’s dead,” Horace growled. “He failed to bring back the widow, and died trying to hold her son captive. It doesn’t take a genius to connect those two events.”
“What are you saying?” the younger man asked, fear showing plainly on his face. “That the witch did something?”
“Of course she did, are you daft? She must have bewitched Sir Rowan, it’s the only reasonable explanation.”
“People say they saw you leading the man with no hands out of the city on a draft horse,” Leon persisted. “I’ve looked into it. And then you show up no longer a cripple. It’s no great leap to put that puzzle together.”
“Is that so,” Horace said, doing his best to sound threatening.
“That’s right. I think you killed Sir Rowan. Then you freed the man with no hands and the boy, set the keep on fire, and helped them out of the city.”
“You’re insane,” Horace said. “I would never disobey the earl.”
“Liar!” Leon shouted, his voice so loud the rest of the knights and squires in the common room fell silent. “You are a traitor and a murderer. I accuse you and I will judge you in combat.”
Horace hadn’t moved. His hand was on the hilt of his dagger, but he remained calm despite the larger man shouting at him.
“I am ready,” Horace said, standing up in one fluid motion.
He still couldn’t believe how strong he felt after years of pain and weakness. It was inevitable that he would be questioned in the destruction of Glory Keep. He had in fact helped the man with no hands, but he hadn’t killed Sir Rowan or burned the keep. And he was surprised that no one had challenged him sooner. The other knights surely recognized him, yet they had ignored him long enough that Horace had begun to hope he wouldn’t be called to account for the things he had done to help the king’s son.
“A duel at dawn,” Sir Leon proposed. “To the death.”
“I accept your challenge,” Horace said. “Swords and daggers, no shields.”
“I will meet you at th
e edge of town,” Leon said, spitting at Horace’s feet.
There was commotion among the knights and squires that filled the inn’s common room. A duel wasn’t uncommon, but a fight to the death was. Most duels were in full armor, with shields, and were mainly a test of endurance, and the winner generally did little harm to the other combatant, since someone usually dropped from exhaustion. Swords and daggers would make the duel deadly, and whoever lost would be slain. Horace didn’t want to fight Sir Leon, but if he could defeat the fearsome knight, no one would question him again. And if he failed, he wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again.
“Do you have a second, Sir Horace?” asked a young, eager-looking knight named Tolliver. The man was barely out of his teens, yet eager for glory and renown. He was not the type of man Horace would trust, and they certainly didn’t know one another well enough to call the other friend, but Horace needed a second. The thought of showing up to a duel all alone was frightening. Tolliver saw an opportunity and was taking it. Horace had no illusions of the man’s motives, yet he felt a little better with a partner at his side.
“I do not,” Horace said.
“I would offer my services, if I might be so bold.”
“Boldness wins the day,” Horace replied. “I would be honored, Sir Tolliver.”
“It would be my honor, sir. That oaf Leon needs to be put down. If you would like to retire for the night I’ll wake you an hour before dawn.”
“Thank you,” Horace said. “I’ll be in my room.”
Walking through the crowd of people who stared at him with pity in their eyes was difficult. It made Horace doubt himself and his abilities. The truth was he hadn’t been in a fight in nearly twenty years. He felt young and strong, but he was fighting one of the most feared men in the entire county. There would be no rest, no peace despite the righteousness he felt in having helped the king’s son in Glory Keep.
The Man With No Hands Page 7
