Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  “Then why does he torment you?” Taniesse asked. “You have no riches or anything that he should want. Why doesn’t he loot those with more?”

  “Oh, he does. He’s a bandit that robs innocent travelers.”

  Boldair shook his head. “But he just robbed you. Why?”

  Wylard nodded. “To punish me.”

  “For what?”

  “I never gave him everything he asked for when he was young and lived with me. He was an evil, vile, and overbearing child. Sadly, I let him have control.”

  “When he was so young?” Taniesse asked.

  Wylard nodded. “Yes. I’m ashamed to say it, but yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was afraid of him. The one time that I had punished him, and he was barely five years old, he stabbed me. He swore that he’d slit my throat during the night if ever I forbade or disciplined him again.”

  Boldair cocked a brow and gave Taniesse a side-glance. “Have you ever thought about taking a stand against him now?”

  Fear widened Wylard’s eyes. “Not since he possesses the Dark Orb of Misthalls.”

  Taniesse took a deep breath.

  Boldair glanced at her with uncertainty. “I take it that’s not good?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why?” Boldair asked. “What’s it do?”

  Taniesse leaned close and whispered into his ear. “The one who possesses the orb can control and summon a dragon.”

  Worry claimed Boldair’s brow.

  She nodded. “Let’s help Wylard inside his home. It’s best that we catch up to Sissrow sooner than later.”

  “Aye,” Boldair replied. “If Waxxon ever got hold of that . . .”

  Taniesse pointed a stern finger at him and shook her head.

  “No,” she whispered. “Speak no more of it.”

  “Aye.”

  They helped Wylard to a wooden chair near the fire pit. She covered him with a woolly blanket before she and Boldair exited the small shack. Outside, she glanced around the forest. Whatever had been watching them was still nearby, but for some reason, it had yet to make its appearance. Perhaps it was only curious, but she believed it might have other intentions. And since night was settling in, she expected whatever it was to take advantage of the darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Crukas had remained hidden in the sewers beneath Hoffnung’s towers. After seeing Echtrose blinded by a ghost, he was afraid to creep out of the shadows. What fate was this that Echtrose would no longer hold authority amongst the thieves of Hoffnung?

  “Ah, tis better for me,” Crukas whispered, finally braving a step from the broken wooden crates at the edge of the green sewer water.

  Jak and Thorn stood near their father outside the wide door that led to the guild chamber. Jak applied salve to Echtrose’s blistered face. Thorn peered into his father’s blind eyes.

  Water sloshed beneath Crukas’ boot.

  “Who goes there?” Thorn said, turning with a dagger drawn.

  “Tis I,” Crukas replied.

  “I thought you’d be long gone from here since Agretor’s death and his guild dispersed throughout Hoffnung. What brought you back?” Thorn asked with a sneer upon his face.

  Crukas shrugged. “I’m just passing through the shadows of the sewers with no intent of staying.”

  “Then you know,” Jak said, “that Hoffnung has now fallen?”

  Crukas nodded.

  “I expect that you want to join with us now, eh?” Thorn asked.

  “No. I have no desire to partake with any thieving guild.”

  Thorn was insulted by the immediate reply. His eyes narrowed. “And why not?”

  “I work best alone. Besides, a lone thief divides his spoils with no one.”

  “A dead thief robs no one, either,” Thorn said, charging forward with his dagger.

  “Easy, now,” Crukas said, lifting a finger. “I just wanted to offer my condolences.”

  Thorn paused with widened eyes, apparently remembering that Crukas was more than just a simple thief. He held some magical abilities, and that made other thieves more cautious whenever they came into his presence.

  “Your father,” Crukas said. “How is he?”

  Thorn lowered the dagger and sheathed it. He shook his head. “Can’t really say. He’s not said anything at all. And he’s also blind.”

  Crukas slung a pack over his shoulder. “I saw what happened to your father. Jak knows as well.”

  Surprised, Thorn turned toward Jak. “You know?”

  Jak swallowed hard, nodding.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Crukas said, “Because he’s afraid the ghost will do the same to him.”

  “What are you talking about?” Thorn asked.

  “A ghost attacked your father. She went into his eyes and when she came back out, Echtrose was blind.”

  “Is this true?” Thorn asked Jak.

  Jak nodded. His face paled as he looked around the sewers, but he offered no words.

  “I understand Jak’s fear. I’ve hidden for nearly a day myself,” Crukas said. “But now I think I’ll go to the surface, perhaps to another town altogether.”

  Thorn wiped his brow with the sleeve of his robe. “I think that’s best for all of us, if what you say is true.”

  “Jak and I are both witnesses. Besides, I don’t think your father will be able to continue leading your guild.”

  “You’re right about that. But I don’t know that he will ever recover from whatever else is wrong with him. I heard his screams when I returned from looting the dead on the streets above, but when I finally reached him he had grown silent. He’s not made a sound since. To which city will you venture?”

  Crukas shook his head. “I never flaunt such information.”

  “Another time, then. Be well, rogue,” Thorn said with a tone of mutual respect. “Night has fallen.”

  “Thieves travel best in the shadows of night.”

  Crukas waved his hand and vanished, leaving the two brothers to tend to their blind father. Crukas reappeared on the outskirts of Hoffnung where he dashed into a wooded area to wait for the next wagon or caravan to join. To teleport such a distance from the sewers had drained him. He needed food and sleep. He hoped that by using his charm upon the first travelers he happened upon, he might persuade them to borrow a spare horse or seat on a wagon.

  Glacier Ridge was where he needed to be, but few ever made a journey to that harsh winter terrain. At worst, he might have to tag along with other thieves or bandits. At best, he might steal a horse from a sleeping traveler who had set up camp in the edge of the forest for the night. He opted for the latter because he preferred travelling alone. Being alone allowed for quicker escapes, or for the better possibility of not being seen to begin with.

  He leaned against a massive tree trunk and slid down to escape the cold evening breeze. Somewhere deeper in the forest a wolf cried. Owls hooted. He closed his eyes, burrowing himself into the warmth of his hooded robe. The dark color he wore blended perfectly against the trees around him, making him almost invisible to any unwary traveler.

  As a thief he had learned to sleep lightly. At the slightest sound of horse hooves, he’d awaken. Even another thief that had mastered the ability to walk stealthily quiet could never sneak upon him. Some had tried and died, thinking they could easily rob the master of all thieves.

  He hoped that he found a quicker way to reach Glacier Ridge. On foot he’d freeze to death. Not a glorious way for a renowned thief to die.

  He dozed off. Maybe he’d have visions during his sleep of greater wealth to come.

  ***

  Sarey showed Caen and Dawn to the upstairs room above the bar. Sarey smiled as she opened the door and motioned them inside. She struck a match against the rough-grained wooden wall to light an oil lamp. As the fire on the wick grew, the light in the room increased. She took a large pitcher of water and set it next to a washbasin. Some rough towels were stacked
next to basin.

  The room held two cots with feather-stuffed mattresses and pillows. Wool blankets were folded at the bottom corner of the beds.

  Dawn’s nervous eyes fixed upon Sarey’s gaze. Sarey smiled reassuringly and gave a slight curtsey.

  “Have a good night,” Sarey said. “Training begins as the sun rises. Should I awaken you?”

  Caen nodded. “Yes.”

  “Very well.” Sarey beamed a wide smile and closed the door.

  Caen stepped to the center of the room.

  Dawn bit her lower lip and approached him. Even though she didn’t know all of a squire’s duties, Sarey had indicated that she was to help dress and undress her knight. Something she wouldn’t have otherwise known; and at the present moment, she was quite uncomfortable with the entire situation. But she knew she must play the dutiful part. “Let me help you get that Vyking armor off. I say that we burn it tomorrow.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head.

  She was surprised by his reply. “Why not? You should be wearing your Dragon Knight armor.”

  “I will while we remain guests in Esgrove. But once your injury has healed enough for us to travel out of this hamlet, I believe the guise of wearing the Vyking armor will prove most useful. Don’t you?”

  “I suppose. It’s just that those insinuations the two knights from Legelarid made . . .”

  Caen shrugged. “Don’t allow the words of others to determine who we are. Bravery is proven on the battlefields. Honor comes from the heart. It is the actions that one displays that become the badge everyone else notices. Rumors and false accusations fade away over time, or die with the wagging lying tongue of their originators.”

  Dawn smiled at his words. Although she wasn’t certain how her father had decided upon each knight he had chosen, she understood why Caen was one of his chosen. With each passing hour, she noticed more and more reason that he was a great extension of her father’s guard and more notable than other guards inside and around the castle. Dragon Skull Knights traveled throughout Aetheaon and were representative of Hoffnung, so she understood why so few were chosen.

  She helped him slip off the boots, and then she began working on unbuckling his chest piece. After unfastening all of the straps, she slipped the armor over his head, leaving him in his sweat-soaked undershirt. Removing his undershirt brought a rush of redness to her cheeks, and she was thankful the lighting was dim and he stood, facing the other direction.

  His muscled back was nearly smooth of hair. He was lean without any fat pockets hanging on his sides. Each muscle was visible, which meant he trained hard to keep himself in top shape.

  “I should have headed to the bathhouse,” he said, running his hand across his chest. “I’m too filthy for what little water is in the basin.”

  Dawn shrugged. “It will get rid of some of the sweat and grime. Not to mention . . . some of the smell. You can get to the bathhouse early, before the training starts.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Don’t tell me that you fancy the odor?”

  “You get used to it after awhile.”

  “No one gets used to that.” Dawn grimaced, dipped a towel into the water, and slipped up behind him. She placed the towel against his back.

  He jerked and took in a sharp breath. “Damn, that’s cold.”

  “Sorry.” She rubbed the cloth over his muscled shoulders and as she did so, she noticed several long and thin, faded scars. “What happened here?”

  “The battle at Snowloch. It comes with the duty of being a knight. I’m sure more scars will come once we fight to take back Hoffnung.”

  “What type of blade leaves these?”

  “No blade. Demon claws.”

  Dawn winced, carefully running the cloth over the marks. By the time she finished washing his back, the cloth had turned dark brown. She dunked the cloth into the water and rinsed out as much of the dirt as she could.

  When she finished washing his back, he turned toward her. She swallowed hard, seeing his muscled chest and tight abdominals. A strange sense of excitement rushed through her, making her uneasy. She promptly handed him the wet cloth and turned away. “I think you can manage the front.”

  Caen vigorously rubbed the cloth over his chest and muscled stomach while Dawn spread a wool blanket across his bed and then went to hers to do the same.

  The air in the room felt thicker. Sweat dampened her armpits.

  When she turned back around, she almost screamed. Caen had already eased out of his leggings and stood wearing a modest loincloth. She took a quick breath and turned back toward her bed. In a sense she was glad he had chosen to take them off, as she wasn’t certain how her reaction would have been if she had helped him out of them.

  Placing her hands over her chest, she felt her heart racing. She climbed under the blanket, faced the wall, and pulled the blanket over her head. She had never been more uncomfortable in her life.

  Dawn was embarrassed but also immediately found herself curious about why these sudden urges flowed through her. Her mother had explained such things to her, several years earlier, but actually feeling the tingling in her stomach and the fluttering of emotions rising up inside her . . . no words could ever fully describe those feelings. Nothing had prepared her for this, either.

  She already found Caen attractive. Without his knowledge, he was her knight and fighting to liberate her kingdom. When they regained Hoffnung’s throne, could she wed a knight? Did that matter? She didn’t know. Of course, she didn’t know that he’d even want to be wedded to her, given her current deception and all.

  But a king should be a man of great valor. Caen had proven he was that and even more.

  Her parents had never predestined her to be betrothed to any prince within Aetheaon or its neighboring continents. They had never really spoken about what type of man she’d wed. She assumed most parents avoided the subject altogether. Hers certainly had. Of course, after her father’s death, her eventual marriage wasn’t something her mother had time to concern herself with since she had to rule the kingdom and oversaw six failed campaigns to find King Erik or his remains, should he be dead.

  Dawn remembered the stress her mother had endured, even though she attempted not to let Dawn see her anguish.

  “Already asleep, squire?” Caen asked. The other bedframe creaked as he sat on the side of the cot.

  “No.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “Of what?” she asked.

  “Your new life as a squire?”

  Dawn smiled as she wondered what his expression would be should she roll over and reveal who she actually was. That she was his queen. But the secret must remain secret. For now.

  “It’s much better than the stables,” she replied.

  “I imagine so.”

  “Definitely better than me being a whipping post.”

  “His whipping days are over, Donne.”

  She thought of how badly Caen had mangled Balo’s arm to prevent the stable master from striking her with the whip again.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “For?”

  “For stopping that monster from hurting me any more.”

  Caen was silent for a few moments. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad I came along in time.”

  Me, too.

  Tears burned in her eyes. Not from sorrow, which she did possess. Her new tears were from knowing Caen had stepped forward and protected her, even though he believed her to be a peasant. She knew that others might not have.

  “But,” Caen said, “I cannot imagine the pain you and the other peasants endured under his hand. I regret that I hadn’t come along sooner.”

  “Fate allows the unpleasant as well as the pleasant. All is meant to make us grow stronger. If not, we otherwise wilt and die.”

  The bedframe creaked again, so she assumed Caen was turning to lie back on the mattress.

  “Your wisdom, Donne, is far greater than any peasant’s could ever be. There’s
something . . . different about you. Perhaps, in time, you’ll explain it to me.”

  Dawn wanted to reveal everything to him right then. She struggled to keep her restraint. She never really thought that keeping such a secret was an enormous weight, but she didn’t have any other choice. As she had told Sarey, telling Caen who she really was put him into even greater danger. She knew his loyalty to the crown. He was a true knight. He’d preoccupy himself trying to keep her safe rather than keeping his focus on finding others of the Dragon Knight Order. He already was overprotective of her, even though in his view, Donne was a boy peasant dubbed with the honor of being a squire. His goal to find the rest of the Dragon Knight Order took priority. Aetheaon needed him alive, as did she.

  “Do you believe that Donavan is dead?” she asked.

  Caen was silent. After a few moments, he released a long sigh. “My guess is that he is. There was so much chaos when the Vykings stormed into Hoffnung. But Donavan wasn’t one that would have died easily. I’m certain he killed several Vykings and city traitors before he was separated from this realm in death.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “It’s what we were chosen to do. Good night, squire.”

  “Good night.”

  Caen reached over and turned down the wick. The room grew dark. Each breath they took or slight turn they made on their beds seemed magnified. The mattress was nowhere as comfortable as hers in the palace, but it beat sleeping on the ground in a forest somewhere, which eventually she expected she’d to have to do.

  The darkness of the room brought sorrow. Thinking of her mother, her frightened scream when she fell from the tower window, made Dawn ache inside. It was a deep hurt where she wished someone held her close and comforted her. Carefully, trying not to rip open her wound, she rolled over on the bed to face Caen in the dark. He was already snoring.

  They were only several feet apart. It was an odd thought to be sleeping so close to a man; a man she had feelings and possible affection for. She liked being near him. She felt safer. For some unexplained reason, she wished she could climb onto the bed beside him and have him hold her while they slept.