Mathias snorted as he turned away to stare out the window facing the harbor. “Very funny, Father. No matter the battle, I have a feeling she will not be easily won over.”
He returned to the armchair but perched on the front edge so he could face his father. “There is another reason I wished to speak with you.”
“I suspected as much. What is bothering you, Mathias?”
Unable to sit, Mathias stood up and paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, marshaling his thoughts. “I don’t know if I am jumping at shadows or just suspicious of change, but I have a bad feeling. Something is not right in the world, Father. Why this sudden change of heart by the Queen of Dahlian?”
“I imagine she is just as tired of this senseless war as I am,” the King replied.
“It’s not only that. What of the rumors being spread by the Elders? What if they are true? Even with our combined armies, we have no chance against the power of the Scarred Mage.”
“If the Scarred Mage is truly still alive, then his brother will be also. The Ancient One defeated his brother once before, and will do so again.”
“But at what cost in human lives?” Mathias whispered.
Their thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the King’s door. After a command to enter, one of the new servants came in bearing a tray of refreshments, including another bottle of chilled wine. With the barest hint of a bow, the servant turned and left.
Uncomfortable with their present discussion, Mathias took the opportunity to change the subject. “Have you noticed the increasing number of un-familiar faces among the guards and staff, Father?”
“Oh yes. It was brought up in council several weeks ago by Duke d’Lorange. He felt it would be to our advantage to rotate the guards and some of the staff with some of the outlying keeps. They will gain experience dealing with different situations and locations. The Council agreed. In another month we should see some familiar faces returning.”
“Wherever these new guards are coming from, they are not being taught proper respect. I caught one of them making obscene gestures behind the Queen’s back. I ordered two other guards to escort him to the holding cells for punishment, but he never arrived. All three have since disappeared.”
“That is disturbing news, and I will have Marcus look into it right away. Surely, it was just a misunderstanding.”
Mathias bowed to the King and turned towards the door. “I hope you are right, Father. About everything.”
***
The promise of a glorious new day hung in the air, heralded by a faint glow on the eastern horizon. The rain overnight scoured all lingering odors from the air in preparation for the fragrance of morning flowers. Sofia filled her lungs as they rode out of the barn and felt some of the misgivings from the night before dissipate in the crisp air.
Ronald’s continued grumbling brought a smile to her face as the memory of this morning’s confrontation replayed in her mind. He had readily agreed that a clean shaven face would not help their persona of mercenaries, but when she ordered him to put dirt on his polished boots and actually scuff them, the look on his face was priceless.
“Now who’s being surly, Ronald?”
He wisely kept any comments to himself as he carefully latched the barn door and mounted his horse. They had decided that mercenaries with re-mounts would stand out, so all the horses were released into the pasture behind the barn. Ronald reassured the Princess he would get a message to the guard in Whitecliff informing them of the farmer’s fate.
Soon they were back on the main road to Whitecliff. The rain had washed away any sign of wagon tracks, but Sofia still felt the connection to Floanne pulling her toward the town. True dawn was fast approaching, and the air began to hum with the sound of insects and the call of the birds eager for breakfast. Squirrels scolded the pair as they passed by.
They traveled the first hour in silence until Ronald turned to the Princess and confided in her what had been on his mind all morning. “I have come to the unpleasant realization that my uniform and rank in the Queen’s Guard determined my self-worth. Now that I have been stripped of all the fancy packaging, what sort of man remains? It pains me to think I may not be the right man to stand at your side.”
This time, Sofia kept her comments to herself. She felt the same way, not about Ronald, but about herself. With the outer shell of a princess discarded, what sort of woman remained?
One thought had plagued her since they found the abandoned coach, and it had nothing to do with them. “Ronald? Not that I would have it any other way, but why have they kept Floanne alive and brought her along?”
Ronald glanced at her and then continued to stare straight ahead as he answered, “Despite the Guard’s best efforts, the slave trade is alive and well in Whitecliff.”
Sofia shuddered and urged her horse into another burst of speed.
The sun shone down on them from directly above when the outskirts of town finally came into view. Ronald reined in and stared at the town a moment before turning to Sofia. “I may not know a lot about mercenaries, but what I do know is that we should stop at the first inn we come to, order a meal and ask the innkeeper if he knows of anyone hiring caravan guards.”
“I have no intention of hiring on as a lowly caravan guard, Ronald. Why bother? This close, I can probably lead us right to them.”
A smile flashed across Ronald’s face as he imagined Sofia as a caravan guard. “Appearances, Sofia. If we ride in looking like mercenaries, and then don’t act the part, word will spread like wildfire through the underground. Someone would then watch our every step. Come, we are probably being watched already.”
The first buildings they passed belonged to the local woodcutters with stacks of building materials outside waiting to be delivered. Several butcher yards filled with sheep, pigs and cattle were scattered to either side of the road. They continued on past a number of small cottages with children playing in the yard, and dogs that barked a warning before they finally arrived at an inn.
Sofia hid a smile behind her hand as Ronald put on what he assumed was the attitude of a mercenary. The innkeeper gave no indication one way or the other whether he accepted their story, but disappeared into the kitchen to fetch them a pair of platters. After setting the food on their table, he hurried behind the counter, filled a pair of mugs with ale from the cask there, and set them on the table also.
When the innkeeper returned to polishing his mugs, Sofia leaned forward. “I don’t know how convincing your story was, but I think the tavern accent you took on set him at ease. Where on earth did you learn to speak that way?”
Ronald smiled at her around a piece of meat and took his time chewing before he answered her. “I too have learned things you would be surprised to know. My father loved to frequent the local tavern, and mix it up with the locals. Once I was old enough, my mother made him take me along. She hoped it would keep him out of trouble.”
“Did it?”
“Yes and no. No one wanted to fight a man who had his young son along, but I attracted all the ladies to his table. Some of the, shall we say, less discreet women used me as an excuse to get close to my father. Too close.”
Sofia smiled to herself as she pictured the scene he described. They finished their meal in silence, and then stood up to leave since Ronald had already paid. They found the door blocked by a large bearded man, heavier than Ronald, and armed with a massive club at his side instead of a sword.
“You cannot leave. The guild here in Whitecliff will not allow women to carry a sword. She must be taught a lesson,” he began, and then froze as a single drop of blood ran down from the tip of Sofia’s sword where it rested against his throat.
Ronald folded his arms and leaned forward with a smile. “You are lucky, my friend. She has just completed her meal and no longer feels surly. If you had come any earlier, there would be more than one drop of blood. I suggest you and your brothers find other business while my partner and I complete ours and move on. If however, th
ey decide to be stupid, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve left a trail of bodies behind. Now step aside or die.”
The tip of her sword never left the man’s throat until he stood pressed up against the far wall. She slowly wiped the blood off of her blade on his jerkin then let the tip drop until it pointed at his groin. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead when he looked into her eyes and saw the glow of her barely contained anger.
“You are not the first man to feel the edge of my blade, but you are the first one to survive.”
Sofia sheathed the sword in one fluid motion, then spun on her heel and left through the door Ronald held open. Once outside, they quickly mounted and headed into town at a trot.
“Lead the way, Sofia. I think we’d better find Floanne and leave this town as soon as possible.”
She led them unerringly to the south side of town where they stopped in front of an abandoned livery stable. The faded sign over the padlocked door hung from a single hook, and the windows were boarded up. The large gate to the holding area lay broken on the ground inside the fence.
Ronald pointed to the gate where fresh wagon tracks could be seen entering the yard and ended at the closed door of the old livery. Quietly they dismounted, led the horses inside the fence to be tied off, and approached the smaller door of the stable where they heard arguing inside.
The moment the old livery came into view, the glowing embers of Sofia’s anger burst into flames. She sensed Floanne’s fear as a ghost hovering at the edge of her mind, and when that ghost began a silent scream of terror, the flames became a raging inferno, burning away all reason and caution.
Without waiting for Ronald, the Princess opened the door, completely ignoring the two men who stood there, her eyes locked on the man opposite them. The aura of power, laced with the echoes of the ancient evil that surrounded him, awakened the power buried deep within her soul. Here was an agent of her true enemy.
When Harlo first saw the Princess enter the livery, he smiled and thought how great his reward would be when he presented not only the amulet, but the Princess also to his master. The smile quickly froze, and his eyes narrowed in a vain attempt to dim the blinding light of her power, visible to his sorcerer’s eyes.
“Don’t come any closer, Princess, or I will be forced to kill your maid servant.”
Her steps never slowed.
He conjured the largest fire ball he was capable of and sent it directly at her. It simply disappeared as if absorbed.
The Princess stopped just a few feet away, pulled her sword and held it pointed down and slightly to the side.
Harlo’s smile returned, and he almost laughed out loud. So this little slip of a girl wants to play with swords. She will soon learn swords are a man’s weapon. He pulled his own and advanced, prepared to teach her a lesson.
The sorcerer’s first swing was intended to force her back and into a defensive position. She stood like a statue and never flinched. The tip of his blade left a slight trace of blood on her chin. His backswing was met with the base of her sword, and he watched in stunned amazement as the end of his weapon sheared off and clattered to the floor.
Sofia spun her blade and brought it down, severing his arm just above the wrist, and before his sword could fall to the ground, aimed a thrust just below his sternum. In the instant before his death, she became aware of the life thread to his master, and added a message of fire to the thread as it detached and sped away. Deliberately wiping the blood from her sword on the sorcerer’s shirt, she turned and opened the large livery door.
Trembling with fear, Eric and Bron quickly mounted their horses, their dash for the open door shortlived. The horses snorted and pranced, unable to pass the Princess.
“Before I let you go, Eric, I have a message for my sister. Her life is now forfeit. I will return and see it done.”
Long after their hoof beats had faded into the distance, and Ronald had freed a quietly sobbing Floanne from the back of the wagon, Sofia remained standing at the open door. Never before had she been this helpless in the face of her anger. The anger faded, only to be replaced by an equal fear of the path it had forced upon her.
Chapter Nine ~ So It Begins
Emma held Silver Star in a tight embrace, sad, knowing they would soon be parted again. The wolf quickly shared images of their youth, and the adventures they had experienced together. The love and respect they felt for each other engulfed those memories as he gently pulled away and led his pack into the trees.
She stared into the forest long after the wolves had disappeared until Sebastian softly placed his hand on her shoulder. Scrubbing the tears from her face with one hand, she squeezed his hand with the other, and then turned to gaze up at his hairy face.
“I wish I could go with them.”
“I know. Come, little one, work we have.”
A quick inventory of the wagons revealed that one was filled with items intended for trade. The sorcerer must have planned to use that as his excuse for traveling. They decided to use the wagon for the same reason. The coach and other wagon were pushed into the forest as far as possible, two of the horses were hitched to the trade wagon, and the rest set free.
With Sebastian in the driver’s seat and Emma resting in the back, he pulled the team out on the road to Brighton Ferry where they would turn to the west and continue on to the Capital.
“You are just full of surprises,” Emma observed. “When did you learn how to drive a wagon?”
“It easy be,” he replied. “I shake reins, say go, they go. I pull back reins, say whoa, they whoa. Simple.”
Emma just shook her head at the ogre and secretly hoped the horses didn’t develop any ideas of their own. Her thoughts soon turned back to Navon, and she couldn’t help but worry. The Shadhuin Nomads were not known for their hospitality and shunned outsiders. She also worried about Moonlight since the nomads were extremely protective of their horses, and the young wolf could easily be mistaken for a threat.
Sebastian interrupted her thoughts when he leaned back and patted the seat next to him. She glanced up and down the road, but other than vast stretches of knee high grass and an occasional grove of small trees, the area was clear. The look on his face was all seriousness as she sat down beside him.
“Talk to me, Em. I need to practice my speech. The King must believe what I tell him, and he will not take me seriously if I sound like a talking animal,” he said carefully.
She looked up at him and smiled. “You know, I like it when you call me Em.” Matching her tone to his, she continued. “You’re right, you must be able to speak clearly so there are no misunderstandings. What would you like to talk about?”
“Humans. I be…” he started, then growled and shook his head. “I have not spent as much time around them as you. How should I act? How will I be treated?”
“Just be yourself, Sebastian. You are a poor actor, and that is why humans will trust you. There is a saying among them, ‘Honest as an ogre’. They will probably be respectful, yet a little afraid.” She just couldn’t help herself when she added, “You are a big, hairy, ugly beast, ya know.”
He smiled down at her and let his fangs show. “Thanks, little one.”
She wanted to punch him in the arm, but knew he probably wouldn’t feel it.
They continued to talk until the outer wall of Brighton Ferry came into view, and Emma quickly jumped in the back to hide. As in all major towns, two of the King’s guard stood watch at the gate. Sebastian pulled up to talk to one of them.
“Hello, friend ogre,” the guard called out as he approached the wagon. “What brings you down from the mountains?”
“A desire to visit the Capital, friend human. I have read the histories, and would like to see those places for myself,” Sebastian replied. “If you would be so kind, I require directions to the West Gate.”
“It would be easier for me to show you the way. Wait a moment while I get someone to take my place and I’ll ride with you.”
The gua
rd disappeared inside a small building next to the gate, and returned shortly, followed by a young man in uniform. The new guard stopped to stare at the ogre before taking his post. The stare was not friendly.
Climbing the side of the wagon, the first man held out his hand. “Sergeant Fredrik Tuttle.”
Sebastian’s hand engulfed the sergeant’s as they shook. “I’m known as Sebastian.”
They rode along the first street in awkward silence while the ogre returned waves of greeting from friendly townsfolk, and tried to ignore the stares of those who were not.
After they turned down a street not as crowded, he faced the sergeant and asked quietly, “Is it not unusual for the guard to escort someone through town?”
Fredrik’s eyes continued to travel up and down the street as he replied, “Is it not unusual for an ogre not to tell the truth?”
Sebastian slumped back on the bench, crestfallen. “Obvious be?”
“No. I’ve also read the histories, Sebastian. I would not have risen in rank without the ability to determine whether someone was telling the truth.”
He was interrupted by a group of children of all ages that came alongside and began to pepper the ogre with questions. One of the youngest, in his innocence, asked if Sebastian had come to burn down the town like people were saying. He assured the little boy the ogres were too busy hunting & fishing and playing with their little ones to bother with burning towns.
He reached under the seat and pulled out a small bag of hard candy Emma had found in the supplies. He tossed it to the oldest boy who had been quietly observing the whole time. “By the Eyes, I charge you with the duty of seeing that everyone receives one of those, even the littlest among you.”
Leaving the children gathered excitedly around the older boy, they continued on their way. Sebastian fixed his gaze on the sergeant, a questioning look in his eyes.
Fredrik glanced once at the ogre’s face and sighed. “There you have the answer to your question, Sebastian. I’m escorting you personally because someone has been spreading stories that not only ogres, but all the Elder Races are going to attack the towns of the east, killing and burning. Fortunately, most townsfolk pay them no mind, but there are enough who listen, and that concerns me.”
The Pain of Compassion Page 9
