Oath of the Outcast

by C M Banschbach

  “We got some supplies for you.” He beckoned Damon closer. “There’s enough for you as well.”

  Sean’s gaze lingered on Bryn’s gloved hands, then flicked up to his face. He had a look that Rhys remembered. The look that meant that he’d Seen more than what was in front of him.

  “Thanks,” he finally said. “I’m Sean.” He offered a hand.

  A slight smile touched Bryn’s mouth. “Bryn. That’s Rorie, and Jes.” He pointed to the men in turn. Rorie darted an openly curious glance between Rhys and Sean, comparing the similarities in their features.

  Bryn flicked a look to Rhys, assessing as well, but only to gauge his reactions since he hadn’t said a word to Sean, or Damon, since they’d left the Raven’s Tooth. Rhys turned away, digging some waybread from his packs. Technically, Clan law forbad him from having any more contact with Sean. The same uncertainty lingered about Sean, as he had yet to make a move towards Rhys. But it wasn’t like Alan was going to enforce the law out there.

  Damon sat across from Alan, gaze darting between Rhys and Sean, back to Alan and lingering on the rest of the men. Assessing, putting the pieces together. He’d always been smarter than he gave himself credit for.

  But when he turned again to Rhys, he jerked to his feet and went over to the horses. He fed Draco parts of the waybread as he ran his hand slowly down the horse’s neck, attempting to let the rhythm calm him.

  Bryn appeared at his elbow. Rhys turned to meet his level gaze. He’d been expecting it to happen at their last stop.

  “Baron. Who is that, and what does Alan know?”

  Rhys huffed a sigh. Bryn’s keen grey eyes never missed a thing. But he didn’t feel safe enough yet to shout Damon’s identity to the world. Not until they were safely out of Adam’s reach.

  “He’s someone Adam shouldn’t have left alive.” A bit of anger chipped away at the swirling mess of emotions, anchoring him back to the world. “His freedom will cost Adam dearly.”

  Bryn crossed his arms, turning to consider Damon. “Then we’ll be content with that for now.”

  Sean rose and made his way over, determination in his eyes. Bryn stepped aside after a slight reassuring nod from Rhys.

  The Seer waited until Bryn returned to his seat before speaking. “So, what do I need to call you then?”

  Rhys glanced over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what. Alan and your men call you nothing but Baron, so how am I to correctly address my brother so I don’t ruin his reputation?” Sean’s voice held a hint of a smile.

  “Sean, don’t—don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  “Then can I at least say thank you?”

  Rhys’s men studiously looked away, and Alan turned his back to them. Rhys held out a hand. Sean clasped it, surprising Rhys by pulling him into an embrace.

  Rhys slowly folded his arms around Sean, gripping his worn shirt tight, trying not to remember all the times as a small child that Sean had come running to him after bad dreams. Trying not to remember the last time that Sean had hugged him like that, begging him not to go to war.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Rhys murmured.

  Sean’s hold tightened for a moment. “Aye, you too.” His voice muffled against Rhys’s shoulder.

  Rhys pulled away first. “You all right? What did those druids do to you?” He automatically checked Sean for hurts again. It seemed some habits were hard to kill. Sean rolled his eyes a little as if they were still brothers.

  “I’m fine. A little weak, but I’ll survive.”

  Rhys wanted to argue. The look on Sean’s face outside the druids’ room had been anything but fine.

  “What are you doing down here anyway?”

  “A MacLarrah showed up on my doorstep to tell me that you’d been taken. Did you want me to ignore him?” Something almost like a smile tugged at the corner of Rhys’s mouth.

  Sean chuckled. “I didn’t think they’d send for you.”

  “I’m not doing it for them, Sean.”

  “I know, Rhys.”

  “Don’t start. Don’t call me that. That part of me is dead.” Rhys warned. Seeing Sean again was cracking the walls he’d built over the years. He wouldn’t be staying after they made it to the Carraig. He couldn’t let either of them get attached to the other again.

  “I wish there was something I could have done.” Sean sagged his shoulders, but Rhys stopped him with a shake of his head.

  “It’s too far in the past, Sean. What’s done can’t be undone.”

  “I don’t ever tell anyone this, but sometimes I can choose what to see. I’ve always tried to look back and see what happened at the end of the war. But I can’t.”

  “I’m glad. I don’t want you to see that.” Rhys meant it with every fiber of his being.

  Sean stepped closer, his blue eyes painfully earnest. “I never stopped praying for you.”

  “Your god won’t help me,” Rhys said. “He never did before.”

  “Rhys—” Sean touched his arm.

  “It’s nothing but superstitions to me now, Sean. Nothing you say can change that.”

  He hated the regret in Sean’s face, but Sean took the hint and changed the subject. “What’s the plan then?”

  “We’re going to the Carraig. Sarksten can keep you safe until Laird Brogan gets there and takes you home.”

  “What about you?”

  “The rest of us will go back to the mountains.” Rhys nodded toward his men, who’d shifted to guard positions as they finished their meal. “I’ve no part in any of Brogan’s plans.” Rhys couldn’t keep the cast of hatred from his voice.

  “I wish you could come back home.”

  “I don’t have a home anymore, or didn’t Brogan tell you?” Rhys snapped.

  “Rhys.” Sean’s voice softened in almost pleading.

  “I’m sorry.” Rhys glanced down. It was unfair of him to force his anger at Brogan on Sean. “How are you feeling?”

  “Grateful to be free of that hell-hole and those green-robed devilspawn.” Sean nudged Draco’s nose away as the horse nosed his side.

  Rhys raised an eyebrow. “What did those druids want with you?”

  “They wanted my power to serve their god,” Sean said. “I told them they could go meet their demon in person.”

  A smile almost cracked Rhys’s face. Vehemence had always been a strange sound in Sean’s voice. “You’ve changed a bit.”

  Sean’s smile had little in the way of mirth. “I had to when you went off to war.”

  Rhys picked at the straps of his saddlebags, focusing on the tooled leather. “I meant to come back.” He hated the near-pleading in his voice.

  “I know.”

  He met Sean’s eyes again. They held no accusation, no anger, just trust that Rhys hadn’t committed murder, hadn’t deserved his punishment.

  Rhys turned away. “We need to keep moving.”

  At his command the others packed away the last remnants of food and checked girths. Rorie pulled out a coin from his pouch, turning to Jes to bet on who would take the rearguard again.

  Bryn grabbed the coin out of midair. “Rorie, go.”

  Rorie sulkily mounted his horse and cantered off down the path. Bryn pocketed the coin. Jes chuckled as he strung his bow, the action cementing the anxiety in Rhys. They needed to make it to the border before any of them had to use their weapons.

  Damon pulled Alan aside into a hurried conversation. Alan nodded once in agreement, and beckoned Sean over to his horse. Damon took the spare horse and pushed up beside Rhys once they turned back onto the road.

  “What happened, Rhys?” He cut straight to the point.

  Rhys glanced over at him. Damon had never taken no for an answer.

  “I was accused of attacking you,” Rhys said. “The council of lords declared you dead of your wounds a few days later. Obviously, they were wrong.”

  “And then?”

  “Dishonorable discharge.”

  D
amon winced. His father had been the one to institute the practice. “Then what?”

  “Branded a traitor and banished from Clan MacDuffy.”

  “No!” A stricken look crossed Damon’s face. “I’m sorry.”

  Rhys gave a slight nod. He and Damon had considered each other friends despite the difference in their stations. Damon was about Sean’s age, so it hadn’t taken much for Rhys to take him under his protection. Back then, he couldn’t fathom the thought of losing a brother like Damon had, and he’d tried anything to drive the look of near permanent grief from Damon’s eyes.

  “How did you survive?” Rhys cast a sideways glance at him. Damon still kept the slight hunch to his shoulders as if trying to avoid being seen.

  “I don’t really know.” Damon dragged a hand through his tousled dark hair. “I remember waking up in the physician’s room after the attack. Someone came in and gave me something to drink. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a room on a stone table about to be prepared for burial. I don’t know who was more surprised—me or the embalmer.”

  “Poison?”

  “Had to be.” Damon ducked under a low hanging branch and spurred forward to match Rhys’s pace again. “One of Adam’s lieutenants was there within seconds. He dragged me to the deepest dungeon in Castle Bright and left me there. Days later, Adam came to see me. He practically admitted to trying to kill me twice. I expected him to finish the job then and there, but he just said that I’d be useful later, and has left me alone ever since.”

  “What do you remember about that night?” Rhys asked hesitantly.

  “Someone attacking me.” He looked over to Rhys. “You coming in to help.”

  Rhys’s shoulders bowed in a rush of relief. He knows it wasn’t me.

  “Obviously they never found the assassin, or they wouldn’t have blamed you.”

  Rhys shook his head. “I tried to tell them, but there were no witnesses, no evidence that anyone else had been in the room with us, and you—you were dead.”

  “Almost dead. Poisoned and unconscious.”

  “Aye, but the Clans didn’t know that. Adam called me a murderer, and the council and the Clans bought it. And Brogan didn’t lift a finger.”

  “Baron.” Alan interrupted, urging his horse up alongside Rhys. “We can’t stay on these smaller roads forever. We’re going to start running into some towns or at least some checkpoints.”

  Rhys acknowledged it with a short nod. “We can’t afford to run too many scouting trips in both directions. There’s still several miles to the Bear River according to the last sign post.”

  “Then let me take a few runs. Fintan still has a little left in him.” Alan rubbed his stallion’s neck.

  Draco hop-skipped over a fallen branch on the path. Rhys settled back into the saddle, adjusting once again to Draco’s ground-eating trot.

  “All right. No more than a half a mile ahead at a time. Sean, with Damon.”

  Sean changed horses without a word, accepting Damon’s help up behind the saddle.

  Alan flicked two fingers in a salute and spurred away, Fintan lunging to a canter with a snort.

  “Anything I can do?” Sean spoke up.

  Rhys half-turned in the saddle. If Sean’s gift was still anything like he remembered, he could still sense trouble ahead like one of Clan MacDuffy’s prize warhounds.

  “Just let me know if anything’s coming.”

  Sean gave a grim smile and Rhys turned his attention back to the path and the rustling forest around them. Another half hour passed with reports of all clear ahead and behind. But their luck wasn’t to last much longer.

  The frantic thunder of hooves brought anxious nickers from the horses. Rorie drove his shaggy mountain horse toward them, sweat and foam streaking its neck and withers.

  “They’re coming!” Rorie shouted.

  “Go!” Rhys ordered and brought up the rear with Rorie. “How far?”

  “Not far enough!” the Highlander replied.

  Rhys glanced back, but the path was still clear. He whistled and the mountain horses pricked their ears and picked up their pace. Damon’s horse shot forward, but signs of fatigue had also begun to streak its withers, and sweat marked darker stains under its bridle. Jes fell out and galloped back down the path to check their pursuit.

  Alan waited for them around a curve in the road. “Checkpoint ahead. Five guards and a pole as a barricade across the path.”

  Rhys pulled Draco to a halt and the stallion wheezed gratefully. “Can we jump it?”

  “Shouldn’t be too much trouble at all. I smelled their lunch.” Alan grinned.

  “All right. Keep riding and don’t stop,” Rhys ordered.

  Rorie whooped and galloped off down the path as if Rhys had ordered him to steal the soldiers’ lunch instead. Alan followed behind him, then Bryn with Damon and Sean.

  Draco shifted his hooves, snorting and whipping his tail, as Rhys waited for Jes re-emerge on the forest trail. Seconds crept by with no sign. Rhys waited, comforted only by the thought that Jes had never been brought down by any enemy. But there was a first time for everything, and if the Gedrinian didn’t show himself soon, Rhys would go after him. He didn’t leave his men behind.

  He curled his fists tighter around the reins, dirt and sweat flaking off the leather into his palms as he prepared to ride after Jes. In a blur of movement, Jes bolted from the tree line, bow in one hand with an arrow already nocked.

  Rhys slashed his hand through the air, then pointed straight ahead as he kicked Draco forward. Jes caught up in moments.

  Shouts echoed ahead of them, and Rhys caught a glimpse of the barricade with the guardhouse and messenger stables through the trees. Two guards stood in the middle of the path, backs turned to Rhys as they shouted and gestured at something up the path.

  Jes half-stood in his stirrups and drew back on the bowstring as his horse plowed ahead. He released and one of the guards fell with a cry, the arrow protruding from his leg. The remaining guard half-turned and dove out of Jes’s way.

  Rhys followed as Jes’s horse neatly cleared the barricade. A third soldier slumped against the log with one of Bryn’s knives in his chest.

  Draco gathered himself to jump. The world went silent for a blissful moment before his hooves re-connected with the ground, and they pounded after the others.

  Two more miles passed under their feet and they slowed again. Damon’s horse gasped for breath like a suffocating old man, but the sturdy mountain horses still kept their rhythmic stride.

  Rhys looped the reins over the saddle horn and pulled a map out of his saddlebags. Draco kept cantering obediently as Rhys scanned the paper.

  “How long?” Bryn asked.

  The Bear River wound through Alsaya from the northern mountains down to the sea. It marked the unofficial border between Adam’s lands and the territories that Sarksten controlled. The only crossing point in this region of the Ruthin Forest lay ahead, the Belling Bridge.

  If we can make it across, we’ll be as safe as we can be.

  “One mile,” Rhys estimated. He folded the map as best he could without regard for the neatly creased lines and shoved it back in the bags.

  Rhys glanced at the spare horse. It labored with every step. Alan’s stallion had begun to foam around the bit, and sweat streaked the other horses' hides. He bit back a curse. They only needed to make it one more mile to a narrow bridge where their pursuers could be held. But they couldn’t push the horses any harder without breaking them. And they would need those horses later.

  Every ear strained behind as they forced themselves to maintain the current pace. Tight smiles broke out as the stone bridge appeared ahead.

  “Rhys!” Sean’s urgent cry startled Rhys into turning in the saddle. He saw what Sean had only seconds before. Six mounted soldiers spurred their mounts toward them.

  Stormagh!

  Rhys drew his sword and pulled Draco around. “Get behind me!”

  Jes’s bow twanged and one soldier crumpled fr
om the saddle. Bryn threw a knife as he whirled his horse, taking down another man.

  Alan’s sword rang free, and he charged with Rhys. A soldier parried Rhys’s blade with a shuddering jolt. Rhys leaned into it, pressing Draco forward past the other horse and knocking the man off balance. Once his sword scraped free, he followed up with a backhanded strike, taking the soldier across the back, sending him pitching to the ground with a groan.

  Draco pivoted on hind legs, ready to spring forward again. All but one soldier lay either dead or wounded, and the survivor had spurred his horse back down the path. Jes stood in his stirrups, drawing back on his bow. He paused for an agonizingly long moment before releasing. But the arrow flew just wide as the soldier ducked in time.

  Jes’s tanned face twisted in disgust and he dropped a curse in Gedrinian. Bryn nursed a cut on his arm, wincing as Rorie leaned over from his horse to wrap a rough bandage around it. Alan waited near Damon and Sean, who slumped in his seat.

  Their horse stood with forelegs braced wide, sucking in deep breaths. It wasn’t going much further at anything faster than a walk. Rhys nudged Draco forward to the bridge, shaking his head. Across it lay freedom, if they could make it far enough.

  Nothing stirred the path behind them, yet. The river rushed beneath the stone bridge, shoving at the boulders in its path in futile rage.

  There’s more coming. We won’t make it.

  “What are you doing?” Alan asked as Rhys dismounted.

  “The rest will be here any second. I’ll hold them off so you can get deep enough into Sarksten’s lands where they wouldn’t dare follow,” Rhys replied. “Sean, get on Draco.”

  Sean slid from the horse and grabbed Rhys’s arm. “You can’t!”

  “I’m the Baron. I can.” Rhys pulled away. “Those soldiers will have gotten fresh mounts at the outpost. They’ll catch up with us before we can get safely into Sarksten’s lands.”

  Alan looked to the others who sat silently on their restless horses, faces set in grim acceptance. “This is madness!”

  “Aye, but that’s the first rule of the mountains; the Baron makes the laws,” Rorie said.

  Alan sheathed his sword with a snap. “Then what’s the second?”

  “Obey the Baron.”