Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  “My dearest Goddess,” the man said. “Thanks for delivering Hoffnung into my grasp.”

  Nessa drifted closer. The man raised his head. An evil grin spread upon his face.

  Waxxon.

  He cupped his hands together and lowered them into the pool of blood. Lifting the thick blood to his lips, he sipped and drank the blood.

  When he finished, he said, “I pray for one other thing. Lady Dawn is still alive. Show me where to find her. She, too, must die.”

  Angered, Nessa flew at him with full force. She had blinded the one thief in the sewers. She sought to do far worse to Waxxon.

  A voice rose from Una’s statue, but it wasn’t feminine. It was dark, evil, and low like a man.

  Nessa didn’t pause in flight. She kept her attention focused on Waxxon. She wanted vengeance for his hand in Queen Taube’s death. Before she reached Waxxon, a dark force from Una’s statue flung itself upon her, ripping into her astral form. She shrieked in agony and vanished into nothingness.

  She was gone and silent forevermore.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Since she could find no way to escape, Dawn scraped the manure pile in the stall with the tiny scoop. Frustrated, she kept trying to remove the matted dung, but she knew the task Balo had purposely given her was impossible to complete with such a little tool.

  Her hands stunk and were caked with dried manure. Instead of tears, her anger rose. She dug harder and dragged the manure toward her. She had a large pile collected on the floor before her, but looking around, she was far from making a dent in the nasty chore.

  The stable door creaked open and bright light shone across the stable hall. Balo had returned.

  She thought of the whip’s sting, the growing bruise on her shoulder, and she was nowhere near finished cleaning the stall. The tiny trowel was hardly a weapon that could help her against the obese man. The whip gave him a greater advantage because he could hit her from a good six feet away, which prevented her from rushing him without getting struck.

  She took the trowel scoop with both hands and extended her arms out ahead of her, dug into the thick manure, and raked it toward her knees. She hoped, if anything, he might see that she had been working and be satisfied with that.

  Balo stood in the open stall door. His right hand held the whip tightly. His pudgy jaw tightened and his brow grew firm.

  “What have you been doing in here? You’re not near finished.”

  Dawn leaned back on her knees and wiped her grimy face with the sleeve of her long shirt. She said, “As you can see, I’m working on it!”

  The whip lashed forward, snapped her on the back with a cracking thwack! She gasped and rolled, trying to get further away from him. He brought the whip back again and snapped it forward, just missing her.

  “Stop!” she demanded.

  SNAP!

  She winced and yelped in pain. She ran to the corner.

  Again, he flung the whip, striking her dead center in the back. The pain riveted down her spine. She couldn’t imagine how much worse it would have felt had she not been wearing the wrappings.

  Dawn bit her lower lip when he swung back. The pop of the whip zapped her. Pain shot through her like lightning. She growled. She so wanted to kill this man. She prepared to rise to her feet, but he snapped the whip again. His strike proved accurate, dead center in her back. This time, she felt warm liquid trickle down her back. She didn’t have to look to know that she was bleeding.

  She looked at him; fire danced in her eyes. He drew back the whip again, but his hand froze behind his head. His face paled as he was pulled outside the stall door.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Balo asked.

  “That’s the very question I was about to ask of you,” the man replied.

  Dawn rose to her feet and cautiously made her way to the door. Her back burned with fierce biting pain. Almost timidly, she peered outside the stall. A blonde haired man in dark leather armor had Balo’s arm twisted up behind his back. The whip lay on the floor.

  “What do you need?” Balo asked.

  “I came for a horse,” Caen said. He glanced toward Dawn. “And I’m in need of a squire. That young lad there will do just fine.”

  Dawn was taken back when she noticed his finger was pointing directly at her. A squire? She wondered and almost smiled through the burning pain of her lashes. If nothing else, she thought, she had a way out of Hoffnung. But bringing together an army was another matter altogether.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Part II: The Building of an Army

  Lehrling lay on the small bed in Icevale. The room was much too small for most human adults. Sweat beaded off of him, soaking the thick blankets beneath him. He was unable to discern if the sweat was due to the heat of the room since the Icevale forge ran constantly, or if he was sweating from a fever due to his internal injuries. In the matter of minutes, he concluded that it was probably the combination of the two.

  He attempted to sit up, but the slightest movement caused such severe pain that it felt like the left side of his rib cage and lung were being squeezed tightly together in an iron vise. He took a deep breath and held it, dreading to exhale because of the sharp pain that followed.

  Bausch had already dressed and stepped into the room. He looked down at his feeble trainer. The seriousness in the young man’s gaze indicated his worry for Lehrling. He said, “You okay, Lehrling?” he asked with genuine concern.

  “Give me a few minutes to situate. I’m getting old.”

  Bausch smiled slyly. “We all are.”

  “But I’m not too old to fight in honor and memory of our late Queen Taube. Here,” Lehrling said, holding out his hand. “Help me sit up.”

  Bausch gently took Lehrling’s hand and eased him up so he could sit at the edge of the bed. Lehrling placed his hands on his knees and braced himself. He tried to take a deep breath but the pain stopped him. Instead, he took shorter, shallow breaths. The muscles in his back and around his ribs constricted in involuntary spasms. He placed his right hand against the bruised area. It was hot to the touch.

  A gentle clanging came at the iron door.

  “Yes?” Lehrling asked, barely above a whisper.

  The heavy door swung inward. The old medic studied Lehrling with a furrowed brow. “How you be feeling this fine morning?”

  “Not any better than last night,” Lehrling replied.

  “You look much worse.”

  “All the same, we still need to make our way to Glacier Ridge,” Lehrling said softly.

  “Ah, now laddie, that’s not the best thing for you to be doing.”

  Lehrling chuckled and quickly regretted it. He winced and clutched his side. “Laddie?”

  “Compared to me, aye, ye are. So don’t be ignoring me wisdom. I’m telling ya to rest here for at least a week. Get your strength back. Otherwise, the outcome might become more severe.”

  “How about more of that potion that you gave me yesterday?”

  The medic shook his head. “No, now. That’s a temporary healing. Won’t last you long enough to get to Glacier Ridge. And in your present condition, you’ll have to travel much slower.”

  Lehrling nodded. “I know.”

  “Then see? Either way, your travels will not be quick. Might as well stay here with us until you’re at your best. What’s your hurry anyways?”

  “To find more of the Dragon Skull Order.”

  The dwarf medic chewed his bottom lip for a moment, thinking. Finally, he shook his head and said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this.”

  “What?”

  “One of our trading caravans is heading out to Glacier Ridge this morning. Some of our traders returned late last night and one mentioned seeing others of your Order in Glacier Ridge.”

  “How many?” Bausch asked.

  “Two.”

  “Generally, we travel in pairs,” Lehrling said, trying to stand.

  “Easy now,” the medic said. “I can tell that you’re to
o stubborn to follow me advice. I do have one potion that might mend you until you reach Glacier Ridge, but there’s no guarantee that it will last that long. Are you willing to take that chance?”

  Lehrling nodded. “Yes. Anything that will lessen this pain. Breathing is pure torture.”

  The medic took a small bottle from the pocket of his purple robe. He handed the potion to Lehrling.

  “I hope it tastes better than that other one.”

  The dwarf laughed. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s no better.”

  “You should probably work more on the flavors next time.”

  The medic howled with laughter and slapped his knee. “The benefit of these elixirs with the nasty taste is that you have to be really sick to be willing to swig it down in the first place.”

  “Now that I believe,” Lehrling replied, forcing a smile.

  Lehrling downed the elixir, trying hard not to let the liquid touch his tongue. He failed and made a hideous face.

  “Good, eh?” the medic asked.

  Lehrling gagged and held his breath. The taste was worse than the other potion, but if this ridded him the agony in his chest and side, he’d drink a full mug of the stuff and smile happily afterwards.

  The medic turned to walk away, but then he stopped at the door. He turned, pulled a small bottle from his pocket, and said, “Here. Take this extra one, too. Weather’s been rough in the mountains lately, but worse will settle in soon. That amongst other things, you never know what might slow you down.”

  Lehrling took the bottle, smiled, and gently clasped the dwarf’s arm. “Thanks, my friend.”

  “Ah, you’ve lost your queen. I’d fight to the end of the realms if something happened to King Staggnuns. Gods be with the two of you and may you find your brothers-in-arms soon.”

  “Thanks,” Lehrling said.

  Bausch gave a nod of appreciation.

  “Best hurry, so the caravan doesn’t leave without you. I’ll send word to have your horses ready.”

  “I greatly appreciate it.”

  The medic exited the door and headed down the corridor.

  Lehrling slowly put his leather armor on with Bausch’s help. By the time he was fully dressed, the pain in his side had faded.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dawn stepped out of the stall. Her hands reeked of manure. The nastiness clung to her fingers and beneath her chipped and cracked fingernails.

  “What a way for a future queen to look,” she thought.

  Caen stood in the hallway and stared down at Balo. Balo whimpered like a beaten pup. His right arm was mangled where Caen had grabbed him and pried the whip from his hand while bending the stable master’s arm behind his back.

  She flung her hands to get the loose bits of hay and manure off her fingers. Then she wiped them against a rough board, trying to get the rest off. The back of her gray tunic was wet and red with warm blood.

  Caen stepped closer and said, “Let me look at that.”

  Dawn frowned, backed away from him warily, and shook her head vigorously. “No.”

  “Easy. I won’t hurt you.”

  “No,” she said, showing her teeth like an injured animal.

  “Very well,” Caen said. “But he did this to you?”

  Dawn nodded.

  “What is your name?”

  “Donne,” she said with a low tone.

  “Come with me and be my squire. He won’t hurt ever you again.”

  Dawn nodded. “Thanks. But one thing first.”

  She snatched the whip off the floor, walked to the other side of Balo where he could see her, and then she snapped the whip in the air. It popped loudly over his head. He shut his eyes tightly. Tears spilled, even though she never attempted to actually strike him.

  She paused for a moment as her eyes met the Dragon Knight’s.

  Caen shrugged. “You’re entitled. Show him how it feels.”

  Balo opened worried eyes at the suggestion. They widened with fright as a devilish smile crossed Dawn’s face. The fear in his eyes made her think of Mousy more than herself. The terror in that young boy’s eyes brought up a renewed boldness within her. Her injuries were a price she’d willingly pay to exact the proper justice to take back the throne. But Mousy, he was innocent of it all. He had no one to stand up for him. Until now. Although not the official queen in title yet, she planned to decree her first act to correct abusive power and protect the innocent.

  Anger surged through her. Her mother had enacted justice in the royal courts, but this justice was different. She didn’t rightly know how to define it, but she didn’t think it violated any humanity laws. And since she was the rightful queen, her actions were law. All who favored Waxxon were traitors and in time, their due punishment would follow as well.

  Dawn flipped the whip back behind her head and brought the stinging tip down firm and fast. It snapped hard, cutting into Balo’s oversized stomach. He cursed and cried out. Before his scream slowed, she struck again and again, not showing any mercy and not letting up.

  Balo tried to roll over, but each time he turned, she struck. The stable master pleaded, wailed, and cried out in unrecognizable words. She didn’t stop until he rolled over facedown. His body convulsed. He was crying and sobbing, begging, “Please, please, please.”

  The threatening bully had become a pathetic blubbering wimp.

  Dawn lowered the whip, walked over to him, and knelt near his ear. She whispered, “If this whip ever strikes Mousy or any of the others by your hand again, I will come back and choke you to death with it.”

  Balo put his left hand over his face and cried. He never dared a peek between his fingers.

  As she stood, she feared what she was becoming. Such coldness had flowed in her words. What frightened her most was that she meant what she had told him and enjoyed whispering the threat. But the oath truly wasn’t revenge for herself. Mousy couldn’t have been more than nine years old, and this abusive brute had taken pleasure in hurting him. Never again.

  She looked down at Balo. “Do you understand?” she asked.

  Balo refused to uncover his face, but he nodded and whined, “Yes.”

  She tossed the whip into an empty stall and headed toward Caen.

  “Do you know your horses?” Caen asked.

  Dawn shrugged slightly.

  Caen walked toward the open door. Several horses grazed. “Which one should I take?”

  “Don’t you own one?”

  “I did. Let’s just say the Vyking invasion did not favor my horse’s fate as well as my own.”

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Caen.”

  She remembered the name from the list on her father’s table. He had been some apparent importance to her father, and if so, this was no accident that their paths had crossed. Fate had arranged it. Or quite possibly, her ancestor’s spirits played a role in the current events at hand. She would not fail them, nor would she fail Hoffnung.

  Dawn felt warmth from the pouch on her belt where she had stored the gem and the Dragon Skull pendant. She believed that was a sign that Caen would help her regain the throne.

  From the open stable door, Dawn pointed at her father’s horse. “Take that one.”

  “That horse was King Erik’s.”

  She shrugged. “He has no need of it anymore. I’m certain he’d have wanted one of his knights to put him to good use.”

  Caen nodded. “True. If I recall, its name is Baymont.”

  “It is. I’ll go fetch him for you.”

  Before she walked away, he frowned curiously and said, “And how did you know I was a knight of King Erik?”

  “Aren’t you? You requested me as a squire, and that armor is much more different than any of the Royal Guard.”

  “Yes, but there are knights from different orders that serve different duties. You were more specific by connecting me directly to our King.”

  Dawn blushed, trying to change the subject because she realized she had said far more th
an she had intended. A mere peasant boy wouldn’t have known the information, either.

  “Sorry, Lord,” she said, bowing slightly. “I did make the assumption far too quickly. It’s just that pendant you wear.”

  Caen’s hand immediately went to the silver dragon skull. “And what does a peasant know of this pendant?”

  “More an observation based upon my curiosity. That’s all. What does that represent?”

  “It’s best that I don’t tell you,” he replied.

  “As your squire, do you not think it important that I know who I serve?”

  “Perhaps at another time.”

  Dawn stared into Caen’s beautiful eyes, nodded, and quickly looked away, realizing how attractive he was to her. Uneasy, she cleared her throat and said, “I’ll retrieve Baymont for you, Lord.”

  “Thanks, but please refrain from calling me a lord. Caen is just fine.”

  Caen glanced around the stables. Balo had pulled himself to his feet and hobbled, bent over in pain and hugging his mangled arm against his chest as he made his way to the far door that led to the palace garden. When Caen turned his gaze back toward Dawn, she looked to the floor and exited through the stable door.

  Dawn walked across the pasture, gave a slight whistle, and Baymont raised his head. Keela did as well. Both headed toward her. She patted Keela’s nose, gently kissed it, and said, “Sorry, my dear. But not today. I will come back for you. For now, my duty to save our kingdom calls.”

  She took Baymont’s bridle and led him back to Caen. The knight had possibly saved her life, and such a noble deed needed a great reward. Besides, she wasn’t certain what her horse’s fate would be in the hands of ruthless Vykings. Keela was too small for them to ride, but large enough for them to use for a feast if they so desired.

  “Are you trained to fight with a sword?” Caen asked.

  “No.”

  “A bow?”

  Dawn shrugged. “I have, at times, used one.”

  “Accurate?”

  “Good,” she said, nodding.

  Caen smiled. “That’s better than others, I suppose.”