Confused, Boldair frowned. “Really?”
“Yes. Sissrow was the real danger. He was somehow connected to the orb. His intent was darker than you can imagine. It’s time that we move on. We should find a place to set up camp for the night.”
Boldair nodded. “Gladly. What about these two?”
“No time for a burial,” she replied. “But let’s get their bodies into the old shack. There’s always fire.”
“Aye. Again . . .”
She waved a hand at him as a motion to remain silent. “Now that the threat of the orb has been destroyed, we speak of this no more. Understood?”
“Aye,” Boldair said with a humble nod.
After Sissrow’s and Wylard’s corpses were set inside the shack, Taniesse flung a ball of fire onto the thatched roof. The flames rose quickly, flickering high into the night. Before the roof caved in, Boldair brought out a large boar ham and set it on a rock slab.
“At least we can eat without having to travel farther into the night,” he said with a broad smile.
Taniesse nodded. “We can set up camp here. On the morrow, we begin our journey to the Boneyard where you’ve hidden my treasure.”
“With pleasure!”
“Tell me, though, did you sample the brew?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“It was like licking and swallowing a fireball.”
Taniesse laughed.
“But,” Boldair said, pointing a stern finger. “It did pack quite a punch!”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Caen sat across the table from Dawn in Pig-Sty Tavern. He had been at the bathhouse much longer than she expected. She was thankful that he had bathed and the stench of his aged sweat and ground in dirt no longer permeated the air around them. As his squire, she intended to keep him on a regular bathing schedule.
Another thing she was proud to see was that he was wearing his Dragon Skull Knight armor. His countenance seemed more confident than when he wore the dead Vyking’s armor the night before.
“Our blades are sharpened,” she said.
Caen nodded his appreciation.
Sarey came to the table with two plates of food. She set Dawn’s down first, and then she placed Caen’s before him. Caen’s brow narrowed. He glanced toward Dawn and then to Sarey.
Sarey’s eyes widened, realizing her mistake. “I’ll have your drinks in a moment.”
Caen cocked a brow, watching Sarey hurry back toward the bar. He remained silent, but somewhat suspicious, glancing back at Dawn.
Dawn stared at her plate, refusing to look into his eyes, but she felt the heat and weight of his gaze upon her. In a lot of ways, she wished Sarey had never discovered who she really was. She knew Sarey had served her first because she was Lady Dawn, when instead Sarey should have treated her like a squire; who is secondary to the knight, especially in service, if given any recognition at all. However, had Sarey not found out that she was the destined queen, Dawn’s injury would have festered and possibly killed her.
Sarey returned to the table with two tankards of fresh milk. Without hesitation, she placed Caen’s tankard down first, smiled broadly and apologetically, and then she served Dawn.
Dawn nibbled at the chunk of ham, peeling it apart with her fingers, even though a fork rested beside her platter. That wasn’t the proper way to eat, at least not like she had been taught. But since Caen was eating his ham in that manner, she mimicked his behavior. She assumed that was how a squire acted.
“Are you more confident in sharpening blades?” Caen asked.
Dawn nodded modestly. “Sarey showed me how.”
Caen’s eyebrows rose. “She didn’t send you to the smith?”
“No. She had knives in the kitchen that needed sharpened, so she showed me how. They have a whetstone in the kitchen.”
“I see. It seems her attitude toward you has changed remarkably.”
Dawn placed a handful of scrambled eggs into her mouth, hoping that by chewing, he’d not start questioning her.
Caen saw her bulging cheeks and shook his head. “I didn’t think you’d be this hungry after all the stew you ate last night.”
She shrugged.
Caen grinned. “When you finish up, let’s head to the pit and watch them train.” He stood and walked to the door.
Dawn chewed the mouthful quickly and washed down the contents with a big gulp of warm milk. She grabbed her short sword and awkwardly hurried toward the door. Her healing wound ached with each step she took.
Outside she sheathed the blade. The morning air was brisk and much cooler than the day before. Frosty puffs of air escaped her mouth as she tried to catch up to Caen.
“Donne!” Sarey said in a harsh whisper. She slung her bow over her shoulder and held her quiver in hand.
Dawn turned but kept walking.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, hurrying along beside her.
“You must stop treating me favorably in front of Caen. He suspects something between us, and I don’t think it’s my royalty.”
Sarey laughed softly. “He thinks I have a thing for his squire?”
Dawn tried to hold a serious face but failed. A slight grin curled her lips. “Could be.”
“That’s rich! Can you imagine his reaction once he discovers the truth?”
“I think about it constantly. But you must remember not to show me favoritism, especially in front of him. He mustn’t find out who I am before the time is right.”
“I know.” Sarey watched the path where they walked. “My apologies.”
Metal scraped metal. Cheers echoed, not nearly as loudly as the previous evening, but the sun was still low on the morning horizon. As noon pressed on and then the evening, the tired crowds would eventually spill in for a bit of entertainment.
When Dawn and Sarey reached the fighting pits, they found Caen seated on a bench overlooking the pit. Dawn sat beside him. Sarey didn’t glance in his direction or acknowledge him. She slung her quiver over her shoulder and walked to the target area. She held her bow and chose an arrow.
Dawn watched two young men with wooden swords and round shields face one another in the pit. Both were no more than twelve or thirteen years old. One was squat and heavy while the other was thin and tall. The larger boy appeared to be the one with the greater advantage.
Each sized the other up, pacing in a circle while facing one another. The tall thin one moved forward with an overhand swing. His sword was partially blocked by his opponent’s shield, but the heavier boy toppled backwards and fell on the loose dirt. The thin boy placed the tip of his wooden blade to the heavy kid’s throat.
“Impressive,” Dawn said. “I thought surely the bigger one would be stronger.”
“It’s not always about strength, Donne. Technique and skill are what keep you alive. That’s the first point. But it takes three points to win the sparring match.”
“What could the other one have done differently?”
“Watch their feet.”
The two boys faced one another again. The larger lad was more wary of his opponent now, more from the embarrassment of losing to a smaller challenger than anything else. The heavy boy stood solid with both feet together, holding his shield close and extending his sword outward. He failed to hide his nervousness and uncertainty.
The thin boy charged again, smacked his opponent’s sword to the side, and then he slammed his shield against the other’s shield. Again the larger boy lost balance and fell down.
“Point two.”
Dawn frowned. “What’s he doing wrong?”
“He’s keeping his feet too close together. You should set one foot back to keep a solid balance against an oncoming attack. With your feet together, it’s much easier for an opponent to set your ass on the ground. You have no way to brace and parry a blow. When you’re dressed in full armor and go down in the midst of battle, you’re probably going to die.”
“Dragon Knight! It’s good to see that you’re wearing your
rightful armor this morning,” Kaleb said, standing near the side of the fight pit. “Care to spar against this old knight?”
Caen shook his head. “Giving my squire some fighting pointers.”
“Why not show him yourself? Only we don’t fight with children’s play swords. We use the real thing. Come now, don’t tell me you’re afraid of a knight with only one eye.”
The watching crowd and the pit judges glanced toward Caen to see if he’d turn down the open challenge. Kaleb’s brother, Eegrubb, stared at Caen with a broad grin.
“Are you going to fight him?” Dawn whispered.
Caen shrugged. “Quite hard to turn it down.”
Kaleb bowed toward Caen. “Dragon Knight, there has to be a reason for why you were chosen to bear such a remarkable honor. Entertain us. Show us why you are worthy for us to follow you into battle.”
Caen stood. Gasps came from some of the onlookers. A few of the older men rallied cheers.
“You don’t have anything to prove,” Dawn whispered. Even though she had spoken the words, she knew he had everything to prove. A Dragon Knight was held in higher regard than any other knight in Hoffnung and throughout Aetheaon as well. He could never walk away from the challenge.
“Watch and learn, squire. One thing I will teach you is how to shut an opponent’s mouth.” He faced Kaleb. “For the honor and memory of Queen Taube!”
Some of the peasants cheered.
Caen stared into Kaleb’s one good eye. Kaleb didn’t show fear, but he seemed surprised that Caen had accepted the challenge.
Kaleb reluctantly turned and walked alongside Caen. Together, they marched into the fight pit.
Dawn held her breath. Although she favored her knight to be the victor, worry gnawed at the back of her mind. She didn’t like Caen putting himself at risk over such a trivial matter. As the two knights faced one another, her stomach tightened and twisted. She almost wanted to close her eyes and wait for the bout to be over, but she needed to learn what it meant to be a squire.
A Lady Squire.
***
Bausch was relieved when they emerged from the mountain pass. Although the sun was hidden behind a massively overcast sky and pellets of sleet and snowflakes swirled around them, he lost the sense of claustrophobia that had clamped around him like a vise inside the long underground tunnel.
They now had light, but a snowstorm hung over the trees, which meant they had to find another place for shelter. Bausch believed he’d rather den with houses of thieves than chase after lit torches through another mountain pass tunnel. At least he held a better chance of seeing what approached him.
Lehrling immediately hugged himself from the harsh cold winds, as did Drucis, Draken, and Sorgen.
“Blast it!” Drucis said. “No matter how much ye try to prepare yourself for the bitter cold of Glacier Ridge Pass, it bites into you every time.”
Sorgen cackled. “That it does! Nothing a tankard or two of stout ale won’t thaw out though.”
“Now, you’re talking me language,” Drucis said with a hearty chuckle and a shrewd grin.
Lehrling huddled against the bitter cold. Even though the old man wore his leather gloves, Lehrling rubbed his hands together and blew into them. Bausch rode up beside him and handed a wool blanket to Lehrling.
“Thanks,” Lehrling said. He unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around him like a hooded cloak.
Bausch looked at Drucis. “How much farther?”
“Not too long. An hour more, maybe?”
“Good. Are there any healers or medics in Glacier Ridge?” Bausch asked.
Drucis frowned and offered a slight shrug. “Perhaps a traveling one. Other than the stables, the inn, and Hobskin’s Tavern, no one sets up shop in Glacier Ridge. Too much risk in getting robbed by the visiting thieves. Is Lehrling getting worse?”
“He’s not getting any better.”
Drucis looked back at Lehrling. His eyes grew grim as he studied the rotund man. Pain showed in the tight creases on Lehrling’s face. “Ask the stable master once you check your horses in. He’ll know.”
Sorgen glanced back over his shoulder at his brethren, Lehrling, and Bausch. “Let’s keep the horses at a fast pace. This extreme cold will freeze the sweat to their bodies. They might die in their tracks. We’ll all die if we have to finish the journey to Glacier Ridge on foot.”
Sorgen tapped his horse’s flanks and galloped off. Drucis and Draken did the same.
“Are you up to this?” Bausch asked. “Trying to keep up with them will be painful for you.”
Lehrling gave a feeble nod. “We don’t have any other choice. We can’t stand out here. With any heavy snow coming, we might lose their tracks if we don’t stay up with them.”
“Very well. You ride ahead of me, so I can keep a watchful eye out for you. If it becomes too painful to ride, stop and let me know.”
Lehrling nodded and tapped Bleys’ flanks. The horse trotted ahead. Lehrling immediately clutched his ribs but didn’t make the horse stop.
Bausch followed. He gazed into the strange dark leafless trees. Ice ravens stared menacingly at him. Their eyes immediately reminded him of the swamps where he had gotten his armor. Even though his armor protected him from the cold, a chill shot through him. He visibly shivered.
Death waited for him. In this forest. He sensed its presence, and no matter how quickly he rode, he’d never escape the touch of death.
Regrets filled his heart and mind. The biggest of which was that he had never paid homage to Lez’minx. It was too late and too far to make that journey now. All he could hope for at the moment was to get Lehrling safely to Glacier Ridge before Bausch breathed his last. He fought tears. He also hoped that Lez’minx was a god of mercy. He doubted that he was.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Near the midnight hour, Crukas had happened upon a man asleep by a soft glowing fire. Whenever a light ghostly breeze drifted through the forest and brushed across the coals, the embers of the fire burned brighter, making the man curl inside his thin blanket even tighter. Not only was Crukas able to take the sleeping man’s horse, but he also looted a handful of gold coins with the image of Oculoth’s king, a silver dagger, and a small pouch of herbs. Rummaging through another sack, he found a medium bag of rare walnuts from Oculoth, a delicacy Crukas would enjoy once he was closer to his destination. With a slight grin, he tied the bag to his leather belt.
His victim wasn’t a rich traveler, but he did have decent taste. Crukas wanted to take the man’s corked flask of whatever strong liquor it held inside, but the weary, probably drunken, traveler hugged the flask tighter than an affectionate lover. For a moment, he was tempted to see if he could take the flask without awakening the man, but he let the temptation pass. Not knowing the man’s disposition, he didn’t want to be placed into the position of having to kill a man over something frivolous should the man suddenly rouse. No man should have to die for a meager amount of liquor.
The horse didn’t protest Crukas untying it from a low hanging branch and sneaking it quietly to the main road. A handful of wild carrots were encouragement enough. As a master thief, Crukas had learned how to charm the trust from strangers and even horses. To rise to the level of a master thief meant he needed the ability to immediately beguile his unsuspecting victims and vanish before they became wise to his deceit. A true thief had no friends and trusted no one, especially not other thieves. Doing so meant getting double-crossed or finding an early death.
One reason Agetor had hated Crukas was because the student outshone the guild master. Even the other members in Agetor’s guild resented Crukas. Many sought to kill him after he took the ruby and diamond necklace from the guild vault. But, he had been the one who had originally stolen it from the wife of a Hoffnung magistrate, and he reasoned that it was rightfully his all along since he alone had taken all of the risks in stealing it.
The necklace belonged to no one else. It was his and rightly so.
One by one, the meanest
of his rival thieves had sought him out with the intent of killing him and claiming the magistrate’s necklace as his own. Each time one of them had found him; he was drinking at Hobskin’s Tavern in the heart of Glacier Ridge.
Crukas never showed fear when confronted, but instead he offered hospitality by buying them a tankard for their hard journey in hunting him, treating them like long-lost friends and not lifelong enemies. His charming smile and soothing voice made him an exquisite host. After several tankards of ale or goblets of wine, he spun his tale of the great treasures he could steal in Ironwood if only he had the proper thieving partner. Of course, greed and drunkenness readily enabled his would be killer into offering his services to help in the great heist. But, once they arrived together at Ironwood, Crukas readily handed his accomplice over to the city officials and took the posted reward for his own.
Thieves were hanged quickly in Ironwood. On occasion, Crukas stayed to watch the hangings, hoping to be the last person they saw before the noose tightened and snapped their necks. Crukas never experienced any remorse for their deaths. After all, each had come to rob and kill him. In a sense, all Crukas was doing was mere self-preservation by thinning out his competition. Another part was taking his revenge against the guild members who had forced him to join the guild when he had never wanted to be any part of it. After he was freed from the guild, he never secretly intended to hunt them, but he knew they would come seeking him. The necklace was the grandest prize ever taken by a thief in Hoffnung.
While most thieves never murdered to obtain loot, killing Crukas to acquire the necklace was an additional trophy, at least in the minds of his enemies. A dead master thief placed the others up a notch in hierarchy and notoriety. The higher the posted reward was on the prominent city placards, the better the thief was believed to be. Being the most wanted was an honor all to itself since hundreds of people saw the thief’s facial profile.
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