“You fancy another one, then?” Drucis asked with a bold grin and a quick wink.
Bausch grunted and his face contorted with a soured expression.
“Well, the torches are dimming down,” Nordun said. “We’ve almost reached the halfway point through this ridge tunnel.”
Bausch watched the rolling, flickering flames lick for whatever bit of pitch they could consume. He became uneasy. The fires dimmed, and they were in the narrowest part of the tunnel. He didn’t want to be surrounded by total darkness. He feared Lez’minx would appear to pronounce his curse or worse, strike Bausch dead.
The air stank of mildew and decay. Death. In what remained of the light, Bausch was certain he saw the white gleam of a human skull at the edge of the tunnel wall. Several ribcages also littered the floor.
“Something’s not right,” Nordun said.
“What do you mean?” Lehrling asked.
“Aye,” Drucis said, tightening his hand on his battleax. “I smell them, too.”
Bausch frowned and drew his sword. “Smell what?”
“Ratkin,” Nordun whispered. “With how powerful the stench is, there must be lots of them.”
The torches went dark.
Chapter Twenty-five
Esgrove was a modest hamlet. Most of the buildings were constructed from crude lumber with a layer of clay plastered between them. Rock chimneys towered above the houses. Small gardens filled with flowering vines and herbs brought the only color to the otherwise drab rows of brown buildings.
Sheep were fenced inside sporadic grazing lots within view of the houses. Chickens scratched at the ground, digging for insects and worms. An old woman beat a thick rug with a metal rod. Puffs of little dust clouds carried in the gentle breeze.
Caen and Dawn passed a smoke house. The smell made her hunger increase. Hunger pangs cramped her stomach. She was thankful when they finally reached the tavern, and she tied Baymont to the post.
Metal clanged and angered voices shouted on the other side of the tavern.
Although hungry, Dawn and Caen’s curiosity got the best of them, so they walked behind the tavern to see what caused the ruckus. Instead of an alley, there was a large square of dark soil and mud. Wooden spikes formed a square wall around what appeared to be a crude sparing arena. Spectators stood outside the wall, shouting and cheering at the young men wrestling inside. While some cheered rigorously, others smiled at this form of crude entertainment.
In another divided section, two lads fought with wooden swords and shields while their trainers stood nearby instructing them. Further out, in a separate lot, were round targets with a painted bulls-eye in each one. Young archers fired arrows in a competitive contest.
“As you can see,” Sarey said, stepping up beside them, “we are not completely helpless in our hamlet. We have many that are experienced with bows and swords. Others like to scuffle for sport.”
Caen’s eyes went from each arena and he nodded. “This is good.”
“More than you know,” Dawn said.
Sarey’s eyes narrowed, somewhat resentful that the squire spoke so freely and candidly. “What do you mean by that?” she asked in an even cold tone.
Dawn shrugged. “Your hamlet is the closest to the walls of Hoffnung, which means you have the first lines of offense should armies be assembled to attack.”
Sarey’s frown lightened and a slight smile curled on her lips. “Never thought of it that way. That’s an honorable way to consider it.”
“Just my observation.”
“So squire,” Sarey said. “Care to go against some of the other trainees here?”
“On an empty stomach?” Caen asked.
Sarey playfully cocked a brow at him. “What? Afraid that you squire will embarrass you? In real battle there’s never a guarantee of when one eats or not before they must fight.”
“That’s true,” Dawn said. “Which lot first?”
“I’ve seen how you fancy my bow. Let’s see how well you do there,” Sarey said.
Dawn suppressed her smile. That was one event she held some confidence about.
Sarey and Caen followed Dawn to the target range. Sarey took a bow off a crude wooden table and handed it to Dawn. Dawn took an arrow from the table and eyed it for straightness. Content with its craftsmanship, she put the arrow into place, pulled back the string, and closed her left eye while zeroing in on the center of the bulls-eye.
Pulling back the string tightly placed stress on scabbed wound between her shoulder blades, which prevented her from maintaining a steady tension. She released the string. The arrow zipped through the air and struck the target just outside the center mark.
Sarey’s eyes widened. “That’s not bad!”
“Thanks.” Dawn focused hard to keep from wincing in pain. The sore burned. She took another arrow, lined it up, and fired. This one struck almost dead center in the target.
Sarey stared at Caen and smiled. Her mouth gaped. “I say that you know how to pick a squire with a great eye for archery.”
Caen said, “He told me that he was good with a bow.”
“Almost as good as I am,” Sarey replied.
Sarey took an arrow, put it on her bow, and pulled back the string. She released the string and her arrow sliced the air with a whispered fury, striking the target just an inch from Dawn’s arrow. Sarey’s hit true center.
Dawn simply shook her head in amazement.
“Now, let’s see how well you hold your own against one of our peasant fighters,” Sarey said.
Caen said, “It’s pressing toward the afternoon, Sarey. Maybe we should eat first. Neither of us has eaten today.”
Sarey frowned. “You seem a bit apprehensive about proving your squire’s talents. Did you not train him well enough?”
“New recruit,” Caen replied with slight agitation. “If you must know.”
Sarey smiled. “Best experience is often learned through trial and error, is it not?”
“Sometimes.”
“And in this case?” Sarey asked in a taunting tone.
“Come, Donne,” Caen said. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
“No,” Dawn said. “I accept the challenge.”
Dawn frowned while looking at Sarey. She didn’t like the way Sarey was trying to insultingly manipulate Caen into pitting her into various challenges, and if he refused, she basically was insinuating him to be a coward. And Dawn, as well.
Caen leaned close to Dawn and said, “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. She will not dishonor you or your place amongst the queen’s knights.”
Dawn pushed past him and headed to the pit where the young men were wrestling. Sarey stood beside her.
“Choose one,” Dawn said.
Sarey looked the crowd of shirtless young men over. Finally, she pointed at one. “He’s about equal to your size and weight.”
Dawn gave a firm nod. “Very well.”
Sarey motioned to the young man to come to them. He did without hesitation. “Your name?” Sarey asked.
“Thomas.”
“This squire challenges you to a match.”
Thomas grinned. Although about Dawn’s size, he was muscular and appeared to be quite strong. Dawn’s stomach tensed as nervous energy washed through her.
She could use a bow, but she’d never scuffled with anyone and had no idea how exactly to defend herself.
Thomas stood on one side of the dirt pit facing Dawn, who stood across from him. He crouched down with his arms held outward in a wide hugging-like stance. Not knowing what to do, she mimicked his movements. When he stepped toward the right, still in the crouched position, she did the same. They walked facing one another while sizing each other up.
She had only watched the others wrestling for a few moments earlier. She didn’t pay a lot of attention to how these young men were fighting because she never considered that she’d have to face any of them.
Thomas growled and rushed at Dawn. Anger flash
ed in his eyes. Her first instinct was to run, so she stepped back right as he plowed into her. He lifted her off the ground and dropped her into the loose dark soil.
The breath was knocked from her lungs. She gasped as pain rattled through her ribcage. The center of her back burned with fierce pain. Warmth oozed from the wound as the scab ripped open.
Thomas fell atop her, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable and more threatened than ever before. He pinned her shoulders back against the ground, which increased the pain in the center of her back. She disliked having the young man straddled atop her. The glare in his eyes was unsettling, and she felt like the attack was something other than wrestling, although it really wasn’t anything else.
Adrenaline shot through her, and she gnashed her teeth. A slight growl rumbled in her throat like an injured animal. Unable to move her arms to fight Thomas off, she wedged a knee to his groin and pushed. His hold on her shoulders lessened and pain reflected in his eyes. She pressed harder with her knee, not knowing exactly how she was hurting him.
He adjusted himself slightly and brought one hand to her throat. Anger creased Thomas’ brow. He started to squeeze tightly around her neck. Caen stepped forward, but Sarey shook her head and placed her arm across his chest.
“You need to know Donne’s strength as much as he needs to prove himself.”
Caen glared at Sarey.
The tight grip around Dawn’s throat blocked her airflow. Her face reddened, and she tried to call out for help, but no words came. In a panic, she flung her hands toward his face, but he held himself outside of her reach. A grin spread across the young man’s face.
Once more, she flung her hand for his face and missed. She could see the capillaries throbbing at the edges of her eyes. Darkness closed in. She didn’t know if she was about to die.
“This needs to stop!” Caen said.
“No!” Sarey replied. “See what your squire can do.”
Caen acquiesced but fury tightened his face.
Dawn looked at her hand, saw her manure coated hands and chipped nails, and suddenly Balo’s face came to mind, which ignited her inner anger. Pure hatred flowed through her, and no longer did she see Thomas. She saw the stable master.
Dawn placed her right foot between Thomas’ knees and kicked outward with enough force that he lost balance and his hold. He fell beside her.
She coughed and choked, but pushed herself quickly to her feet. Thomas looked surprised. Dawn rushed him, still gasping for air, and plunged her knee into his gut. A strange sound came from Thomas as the air was forced from his lungs.
After she rolled to the side, he clutched his stomach and bent into the fetal position. Dawn gulped in air until she finally steadied her breathing. Blood trickled down her back. She stood and towered over Thomas. His frightened eyes widened. His face was pale white. Her anger waned and she saw the boy clutching his stomach. Seconds later, he vomited. Regret filled her for a moment, but then she thought of how he had choked her and seemed happy about doing so. What’s fair for one . . ?
Caen glared at Sarey and said, “Are you satisfied?”
“Surprisingly, yes.”
Dawn stood. Her bleeding wound throbbed, but enough anger boiled inside her that she ignored the pain.
Caen glanced at Dawn and said, “Come on, let’s go.”
Dawn turned to follow him.
“Look,” Sarey said, running to catch up to them. “You’re a knight. Shouldn’t your squire be tested?”
“I’m still training him.”
“I see,” Sarey said.
“We’ll eat and drink,” Caen said. “Then we’re leaving this place.”
“Wait,” Sarey said in a softer tone.
Caen turned.
“The back of your squire’s tunic is soaked with blood. I can take him to the bathhouse so it can be washed and properly tended.”
“He didn’t get the injury from fighting the peasant. He already had it.”
True sorrow filled Sarey’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, not that his injury would’ve swayed your interest in his proving himself,” Caen said.
“Really . . .”
“I’ll take care of him myself,” Caen said.
“I insist,” Sarey said. Her voice hinted of hurt and regret. “I never would have allowed it to continue had I known. Honest. I get a little passionate watching these young peasants train.”
“A little?” Caen asked.
Sarey shook her head and looked to Caen’s feet. “Okay. Sometimes, too much.”
Caen turned to leave.
“Please, Donne. I’m sorry. Let me take you to get this cleaned and tended to.”
Dawn looked at Caen with a questioning expression.
“Go if you wish,” Caen said. “I’m going to eat and drink.”
Sarey smiled meekly. “I’ll bring him to the tavern as soon as he’s cleaned up and the wound is tended to.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Sarey led Dawn down a crude dirt path toward the bathhouse. The path was hard soil packed down due to heavy foot traffic over the years.
Black birds chirped atop the thatched roofs. Two gray field mice scampered into hiding beneath a loose bale of hay. Owls hooted from across the field in the dense trees that surrounded Esgrove.
The fiery pain between Dawn’s shoulders still had not lessened. Warm blood seeped and dripped down her back. In spite of the pain, she tried to keep a stern face, showing no hurt in her expressions. However, she couldn’t erase the building anger inside her, not at the boy she had fought in the dirt, but at Balo for his whippings.
“Our hamlet has a medic and a few elderly healers,” Sarey said. Her lofty tone held an air of self-importance but she never made eye contact. “I can send for one if you wish, or I can tend the wound myself.”
Dawn shook her head. “I will soak it in water and clean it myself.”
Sarey grabbed the iron handle on the heavy wooden door to the bathhouse. Smooth dried clay filled the gaps between the boards, forming a tight seal to prevent the heat from escaping. When she pulled open the door, steam exited and rose like white smoke.
They stepped inside and the door closed behind them.
Sarey shook her head and said, “Where that gash is, there’s no way that you can possibly reach it.”
“I’ll manage.”
“For a squire, you certainly hold an arrogant, overbearing tone. I am only trying to help you,” Sarey said.
“You’ve done enough, haven’t you? I don’t need your help.”
Resentment narrowed the barmaid’s eyes. Her jaw tightened as she faced Dawn. Through tight lips and an angered low voice, she replied, “A boy of your nature should consider himself fortunate that you were even picked to be a squire.”
Dawn ground her teeth instead of firing back a remark that might have revealed who she really was and made the female archer feel more than inadequate to scrub Dawn’s feet.
Dawn was in pain, coated with grime and filth, and all she wanted was enough privacy to undress and sink into one of the tubs filled with hot steaming water. Her increasing frustration stemmed from various adjustments she found herself subjected to, and she hoped that the bath washed away her mental aggravation as well as the dried dirt and blood on her body. The most difficult part of pretending to be a young squire in training was having others dictate orders and make condescending remarks. She had never experienced taking orders, except from her parents, but she did know one thing. She didn’t like it at all. In fact, she hated it.
She didn’t want to direct her anger toward Sarey because, after all, the woman didn’t know Dawn’s true identity, so Sarey was simply reacting to someone with a squire’s rank, and not toward someone who was the queen to be.
Dawn sighed, closed her eyes, and politely replied, “Perhaps you’re right.”
Sarey moved closer, examined the tunic, and the wet coagulating blood. As she came nearer, the look of a frightened, injured anim
al narrowed Dawn’s gaze. Dawn turned and stepped away.
“How did you get this injury?” Sarey asked. “Caen said that this didn’t happen in the ring.”
“No, it didn’t,” Dawn said. “Before Caen picked me to be his squire, the Royal Stable Master struck me several times with his whip.”
Sarey winced.
Dawn explained how Caen had stopped the whipping and how she had gotten her revenge before they left Hoffnung.
“After seeing you fight the other lad, it doesn’t surprise me that you’d get even.”
Sarey reached upon a shelf and handed Dawn a rough piece of cloth. “Here. Dry off with this when you’re finished. I’ll go get some salve from one of the healers.”
Dawn waited until Sarey left and closed the door. Sheepishly she peered around the tubs filled with heated water and listened for any sounds that might indicate someone else was inside the bathhouse. She didn’t hear anything that led her to believe she wasn’t alone.
Steam misted the room, making breathing difficult for a few minutes. The thick air stuck to her skin. In spite of how she had to adjust her breathing, she found the warmth nice and soothing.
Content that no one was in the bathhouse, she undressed. Pulling the tunic over her shoulders was painful because she had to peel the wool away from the fresh bleeding wound as well as the hardened scar that had meshed into the fabric. Even gentle tugs to pull the cloth from her skin brought new rips in her flesh.
By the time she had unwound the long strip of cloth binding her breasts, the wound had become larger. She released a long sigh of relief as the warm air hugged her aching body and the tightness around her breasts was released. She dropped the cloth and massaged her small breasts gently for a few moments. She couldn’t imagine how a woman with larger breasts would have managed such tight pain.
Dried and fresh blood soaked the long cloth. She didn’t know what to do. The cloth was too nasty to wear again after she bathed. Without something to tightly press her breasts flat, it would become nearly impossible to conceal her gender.
The deep tub of water looked inviting. She placed her hand into the warm water and waved it back and forth beneath the surface. Excitement ran through her at the thought of washing away all the grime and for the heat to ease her aches and bruises. She placed one foot into the tub when the door reopened. Before she had a chance to cover herself, Dawn turned and saw Sarey standing with a small bottle of salve. Sarey’s mouth gaped.
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