by N M Zoltack
Tatum lifted her head and grimaced. “No. You don’t either.” She eyed the vial she had gotten out for herself and then tucked it away without draining it first. “Enough about me. You listen and tell me what they’re saying.”
Edmund wished he could help her in some way, but for now, all he could do was the same as her—do everything for Tenoch Proper.
Even if all he wanted to do was to comfort his brother’s wife.
13
Bjorn Ivano
If there was one thing to say about the long-lost Li Princess, it was that she was swift and determined. Bjorn Ivano could hardly believe she had left him in the middle of the night last week, even though she had threatened on several occasions that she would continue onward with or without him. Worse, she had taken her horse and freed his or perhaps had taken his along with her as he had not been able to locate his mount anywhere.
Yes, he knew she did not trust him, and likewise, he did not trust her, even though he did believe her claim. She had every right to want the throne, but without an army, he just did not see how that would be possible.
The champion from Maloyan had mentioned this point to Olympia Li many times, but she ignored him repeatedly. While he sought to find her, he couldn’t say. She was liable to get herself killed, him too perhaps. Worse, he was banished from Atlan Castle, so returning was not in his best interests.
All through the night, he continued onward. Normally, he would stop to rest, but the trail was growing older. She was increasing the distance between them.
As soon as the faint pinkness of the sunrise shone in the sky, he stumbled upon a form on horseback beneath the rolling hill he stood on. The build was right, and the figure was certainly feminine. After a moment, he spotted some strands of straight, long raven-colored hair despite the raised cloak.
She had to be Olympia.
Rejuvenated now that he had finally located his target, he raced down the hill and caught up to her despite her horse, his tied to trot beside her mount. The terrain here was rocky and would prove dangerous if the horses traveled too swiftly.
“I thought you would’ve headed back north to your frozen tundra of a home,” she said bitterly, glancing over to see him but not slowing her pace or offering to return his horse.
“Clearly not.”
“I want nothing to do with you,” she said, her tone still harsh.
“I do not understand. You begged for me to come, and—”
“And circumstances change,” she said coolly.
Ah. She was still irate over the matter of his knowledge about the Vincanans coming to attack the castle, information he had not imparted to her, but she had uncovered regardless. It seemed that more than not trusting him, she even hated him.
So be it. They were not friends nor allies, nor did they need to be.
“Circumstances do change,” he admitted, “but the fact remains that you need me.”
“I do not—”
“I know the layout of the castle. I know how to work those in the marketplace, and whether you wish to believe it or not, but I can be a true ally.”
“You know all of the words to say, but actions make the man, and you are not a gentleman or a nobleman. You are nothing more than a rake, a scoundrel, concerned only with yourself.”
“You forget that I am a champion,” he reminded her.
“And how many Vincanans partook in the tournament?” she asked.
His legs were growing tired. The terrain wasn't the best for his ankles, either.
Abruptly, she halted the horses and stared down at him. “You are not a knight, and it is not because you lack the necessary training and learning to become one. A knight has honor and decency, and—”
“If I had no honor, I would have returned to Maloyan,” he said bitterly. “Yes, the Vincanans are formidable, but that does not mean I would have certainly lost.”
“Do you honestly believe you would have won regardless? If so, you are a bigger fool than I thought.”
He scowled. “You need me,” he insisted.
“Or is it you who needs me so that you can trade me in for one of the queens?”
He gaped at her. Yes, the thought had crossed his mind more than once, and he might have intended to do just that as soon as they had left Maloyan.
Did he still intend to do so? Rosalynne, sweet Rosalynne, she had been the one to banish him from the castle because he had killed a man in her name, a man who had stolen in order to feed his family. Bjorn hadn’t known why the man had resorted to thievery when he had struck him down, and now, he truly did regret his hastiness. Before that act, he thought he might have a chance at winning Rosalynne’s heart, but now that seemed impossible.
Yet, if he handed over the Li Princess…
Olympia's expression changed, twisting with anger. "Your face gave you away. That's exactly what you mean to do. Which queen do you prefer? The older one who didn't mean marrying a grotesque, obese man just to become queen? Or the younger one who I hear is rather beautiful with her dark hair and eyes."
“Actually, you are beautiful too with dark—”
“Stop following me,” Olympia snapped.
She flicked the reins, and the horses darted forward. So desperately did she wish to leave him behind that she was risking both horses. They could throw a shoe or far worse.
Bjorn just watched her leave and then headed more to the east rather than south. If he was going to return to Maloyan or if he were going to continue after Olympia… Either way, he would need a horse.
14
Ulric Cooper
The band of peasants Ulric had united to help fight the Vincanans was still under his command even though there hadn't been any organized battles in weeks. Small skirmish here and there, all easily managed, just a few Vincanans here and there. Although it pained Ulric to admit that each Vincanan was worth at least five or even more of the peasants, they were able to handle the smaller parties without too much loss of life.
However, of late, the main skirmish was better the peasants themselves.
“If we don’t have some food soon,” Armel Foreman started, as always whistling slightly as he spoke due to his missing teeth. He curled back his thin lips and flared the nostrils of his wide nose.
“You were the one to miss that hare,” grumbled Gomes Wright. He was one of the youngest peasants in the crew, despite their numbers growing a little day by day.
“How did you get that scar, Gomes?” Aloys Carter asked, grinning broadly. Out of all of the peasants, Ulric could see himself befriending Aloys. Even though they were fighting for their lives and their kingdom, Aloys was the best at keeping his and most everyone’s spirits up.
"Don't you know?" Gomes traced his fingers along the small scar on his neck. "A Vincanan tried to come at me while I was sleeping one night. He had his blade to my neck but wanted to give me a sportin' chance, so he woke me, and I stabbed him clear in the eye with my dagger. Sleep with one always, I always say."
Ulric just shook his head and grinned at Aloys. If they could stop Armel from his whining about food, perhaps the others wouldn’t chime in.
“Don’t lie,” Armel said crossly. “You were supposed to get that hare, and no one believes that falsehood. You nicked your own skin shaving when you have no hair to be shaved!”
“Why would I lie?” Gomes demanded.
“Because you’re—”
“Gentlemen, enough,” Ulric said smoothly, sliding to stand between them. The two had been approaching each other, and Ulric wished to prevent them from coming to blows.
“We aren’t gentlemen,” Gomes whined. “Gentlemen have food to eat.”
“That they do,” Armel agreed. “That they do, but us? We have nothing, while the nobles feast in their manors and mansions. Why are we fighting again?”
“For us,” Ulric said firmly. “For our families. For—”
“You don’t have a family, do you, Ulric?” someone called out from the circle surrounding the quarter.
“I’m fighting for the future, for the family I want to have,” Ulric said through gritted teeth.
No, he hadn’t a family. His parents had died of the pox, but thankfully, he had been ten at the time and employed at the castle as a servant just as his parents had been. He hadn’t any siblings, and he also had no prospect for a wife or much of a future at all.
At one time, his goal had been to become one of Queen Rosalynne’s guards. He had even gotten to know both Noll and Vivian. Despite being falsely accused and locked up for Noll’s murder, Rosalynne spoke with him, and he still spoke with her, communicating through letters. Or, rather, he had previously. Now, he was mostly on his own, on the run, fighting for survival but also the chance to once day live the life he wished and not merely be a servant. Couldn’t he long to become something more, to better his life?
But that would only be feasible once the war was over, and for that, they had to do their part. The knights and guards weren’t enough.
But his band of peasants wasn't liable to stick around much longer if he did not find a way to feed them.
“I will go and find us something to eat,” Ulric promised.
Without waiting for a response, he pivoted about and marched away. The group had grown so large that any woodland creatures would be frightened away, so he did not even bother to look for any until he could no longer hear the peasants’ talking, arguing, and fighting.
A quail wandered out from the underbrush. Ulric put his dagger away and reached for his bow and arrow. Before he could loose the arrow, footsteps sounded, and he shifted to the right, his arrow now pointing at a Vincanan.
The enemy stared hard at Ulric, who struggled to keep his breathing under control so he could listen and determine better if any others were coming. When he heard nothing else, he pulled back on the string even more.
“Drop your dagger,” Ulric said coldly, “or else I’ll drop you.”
The Vincanan hesitated.
Ulric lined up a shot.
The foe dropped his dagger.
“Kick it toward me,” Ulric demanded.
Gritting his teeth, the Vincanan complied.
"Tie yourself." Ulric held the bow and arrow in one hand, no longer usable for attack or defense, but the Vincanan caught the rope Ulric threw to him from his belt.
The Vincanan did as bid, and Ulric put his arrow and bow away before tightening the knots.
“You aren’t going to just kill me?” the Vincanan asked. “Hurry up and be done with it.”
“No.” Ulric forced the man in front of him and directed him back to the peasants. “Look what I found.”
The peasants clustered around, shouting and cursing at the Vincanan. They even spat at him and shoved him. Throughout it all, the Vincana accepted the abuse without complaint, and the peasants would not listen to Ulric a whit as he commanded them to cease.
Ulric gripped the man by his elbow and tried to pry him away. “Come,” he hissed. “They’re liable to kill you.”
“I’m as good as dead anyhow,” the Vincanan said as if he did not care if he lived or died.
Someone grabbed Ulric’s shoulder and forced him back. Somehow, he was quickly separated from the captive, and Ulric had to fight his way back through the crowd, literally shoving and pushing, using his hands and even elbows to barrel through.
But he was nearly too late. A terrible stench filled Ulric’s nose, one that he was quickly becoming accustomed to.
Blood.
In that short minute or two that he had been forced aside, the peasants had already taken it upon themselves to torture their captive, to cut him, wound him, but at least they had not killed him, although if given enough time… Ulric wouldn't put it past the peasants to do just that, and then what? Eat his flesh? All day and night long, they complained about the lack of food, and with winter coming, their hunger would only be prolonged.
Furious, beyond incensed, Ulric re-secured the Vincanan and glowered at everyone surrounding him. They did not back off until Ulric whipped out his dagger once more. He hated to have to point it at his own men, but they had forced his hand.
Without a word, he marched the prisoner outside of the circle of peasants and back toward where Ulric had first seen the man, far enough away that they could have some semblance of privacy… or, more importantly for the captive, safety. Relative safety.
"I will let you go," Ulric muttered. "You will live, but only if you talk. Tell me something true but also vital or else…"
He let the threat hang there, and the Vincanan swallowed hard before glancing away.
Ah, perhaps the man did care if he survived after all.
“Well?” Ulric snapped, doing his best to sound hard and angry.
Which was the case. He was furious about a great many things, including what his men had just done as well as the war in and of itself. But to kill an unarmed man… Ulric had to act and convince the man he would do exactly that, but Ulric knew he never could. During a fight, most certainly. There, it was either kill or be killed, but this was not the battlefield.
“More ships are coming,” the Vincanan mumbled.
“How many more?”
"I don't know," the man snapped. "I am not on the decks of one of them. How could I know the numbers?"
“Do you know how many are in your fleet?” Ulric asked.
The Vincanan hesitated and then shook his head.
“How can you not—”
“They are constantly building more,” the man explained. “I tell you truly. More ships are coming. They will all hold more warriors. You all are doomed.”
“I said not to lie,” Ulric said sharply, but he sliced the binding with his dagger.
“I am not lying, and this is not hubris, but you all are doomed. You all will die, and King Antonius Gallus will rule over all of Dragoona.”
“Not while we still have breath to fight,” Ulric said.
“And your hubris will be your downfall,” the Vincanan claimed as the last of the rope fell away from his wrists. “May I leave now?”
Ulric turned away from the prisoner, and his ears prickled at the soft whisper of grass as the Vincana made his escape. The peasants would not be happy with him, but for once, Ulric didn’t care. They could think what they wanted about him, but he knew the prisoner would be dead soon if he remained in their custody. Was it possible he could pretend to have not been captured and avoid the anger of his own people?
Well, the Vincanan was not his concern, and his people remained hungry. It would be best for Ulric if he actually killed an animal this time, and he slipped away to resume his hunt.
Food first, but the fighting would most likely commence sooner rather than later, and his group needed their stomachs full before that was to happen.
15
Garsea
The mountainous terrain proved agonizing for Garsea, but he pressed onward as best as he could. At least the mountains had plenty of caves for him to rest in or even sleep, and he did appreciate being able to feel the sun’s warmth without the moisture of the jungle.
He did not, however, welcome the variety of strange creatures about him. Garsea appreciated life in all of its forms, or so he had always thought, but some of these creatures he was seeing… The Keeper had never seen their ilk before, had not even read about them. How could it be that no one seemed to know about them?
One night, he had seen the longest shadow ever, but shadows could at times not accurately reflect one’s size. When Garsea caught a glimpse of just what had cast that shadow, though, the shadow was actually smaller than the being. Some kind of monstrous giant that thankfully paid Garsea no mind. The giant took one step and went from one mountain to the other. The ground of the other mountain trembled from the force of his weight and nearly resulted in a small avalanche of rocks.
Then, there had been the man-monkey. At first, Garsea had seen a man’s back as he sat on a rock, and the Keeper had approached, hoping to perhaps barter for some food as the mo
untains were proving to be mostly barren. Given that winter was approaching, the lack of food did not come as a surprise.
But when he walked around to see the man’s face, Garsea was shocked to realize the man was a hybrid with many monkey features including a tail and fur covering the exposed parts of his body.
Garsea had gasped and uttered a few words. He couldn’t quite recall what precisely he had said, but the man-monkey screeched and screamed, not saying any true words, perhaps not capable of them, and Garsea had rushed away, almost more fearful of this entity than the giant.
As he finally reached the second mountain, the one he would descend and be able to reach Olac from, Garsea stepped and came down hard. His ankle twisted, and he fell. His hands scraped against the harsh ground, his one elbow too, the skin rubbing away, bleeding profusely. His skin was thin, too thin, and he had no additional clothes to press against the wound. The nights were far too cold for him to use his current attire, and he crawled along until he found a tree with wide leaves. Unfortunately, the leaves were not thick, and the blood soaked through many of them. Eventually, he got the bleeding under control, and he pressed a few more leaves to the wound so it would not be exposed to the air.
His ankle throbbed, and he sank down, leaning against the tree’s surprisingly smooth bark. His eyes closed, but the moment he had the familiar clop of a horse’s hooves, he opened his eyes and leaned forward.
But the creature in front of him was not a horse after all but rather a tall humanoid type figure all bones and muscles, massively long limbs, a horse’s head and hooves in lieu of feet.
“Traveler, you appear worn out and tired.”
Garsea did his best to not appear surprised by the creature’s perfect speech. How strange to hear human words come from a horse’s mouth.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“If you head down this path, you will reach your destination that much sooner.”
“What path?” Garsea asked.
