Whisper of Blood

by James Dale

  The barbarian shrugged his broad shoulders as far as his restraints would allow. "Who can say?"

  "If there was truly justice, a man would be allowed to sleep late on a day like this."

  "So you would think," Tarsus agreed solemnly.

  Braedan could think of nothing more to say, no brave words of encouragement or words of hope, and the group made the remainder of the descent in silence. When they exited the tower, they found the grounds covered in a heavy blanket of fog.

  "What a miserable day to die," Jack observed grimly. "This late in the year? It'll probably be hotter than hell later."

  "That was not very funny my friend," Tarsus remarked, but this time the Amarian did manage a smile.

  "Sorry," Jack grinned. "I wasn't think..." but his remark was cut short by what appeared out of the fog.

  Their executioners had arrived.

  There were five of them, dressed from head to toe in black. One drove the wagon that would carry them to their crucifixion, and the other four rode solid black stallions, two on each side of the cart. When they stopped before the group, the four horsemen drew their swords and laid the bare blades across the pommel of their saddles. One rode forward and looked down at them, Braedan saw that even his eyes were black.

  "A bit early, aren't you?" one of the knights asked.

  "Kiathan awaits," the executioner replied in a voice so devoid of emotion even the guard holding Braedan shuddered.

  They were led around to the back of the wagon and two of the executioners dismounted to help them in. One lowered the back gate of the cart and lying inside on the bed was a large wooden mallet and six iron spikes, at least a foot long and brown with rust.

  "Judas Bloody Hell," Braedan whispered. The two executioners loaded them roughly into the wagon, remounted their black steeds without a word, and the driver turned the cart around and drove straightway out of the tower grounds.

  The ride through Dorshev was like a waking nightmare. Death drove his hearse through a mist shrouded hell and the four horsemen of the apocalypse were his escort. The iron shod hooves of the black horses pounded out a dreadful funeral dirge on the cobblestone streets and the iron spikes in the wagon rattled like dry bones at every imperfection in the road. The few citizens up and about this early in the morning scattered in fright as the terrible procession appeared out of the fog and rode them by, unsure if what they were seeing was real or some dire, ghostly manifestation.

  When they passed out of the city it became more surreal. The sound of the horse’s hooves was deadened on the soft dirt road and what little noise they did make was quickly absorbed by the fog. Only the creaking of the wagon wheels and breathing of the five black stallions disturbed the eerie silence. About a mile out of the city they turned off the road and pulled into a small grove of trees. Where were the crowds? Surely after putting them on display in the streets of Dorshev after their capture and a showy trial in the throne room, their execution was not going to be done in private? One of the executioners reigned his mount close to the wagon and looked down at Braedan and Tarsus.

  "They certainly are a solemn pair?" he remarked to the driver of the cart. The man's voice was surprising light spirited for an executioner and had a familiar ring. "Especially for men who have just been rescued," he aded as he removed his hood.

  It was Duke Morgan!

  The driver of the cart drew back his hood and shook loose long auburn hair. "Quite solemn indeed uncle," Annawyn agreed, turning to smile at the two pirates.

  Braedan was stunned, unable to believe this incredible turn of events, but Tarsus threw back his head in heartily laughter.

  "Don't just sit there, lads," said another of the executioners riding up. He took off his hood and before them rode Ambassador Thongril of Brydium. "Climb down so I can take off those chains."

  "And be quick about it," Duke Morgan added. "The real executioners will be arriving at the Tower in a few minutes. When they find out you're already gone, the entire countryside will to be swarming with very angry knights."

  They did not have to ask twice. Despite their chains, both Braedan and Tarsus were out of the cart almost before Duke Morgan had finished speaking. Ambassador Thongril and the duke dismounted and began removing the ropes and chains from the pair, while Annawyn climbed down and disappeared into the fog with another of the executioners.

  "I'm surprised to see you here Morgan," Tarsus smiled, rubbing his wrists after his manacles were removed. "You never struck me as the type who would be a party to something this... lawless."

  "On the contrary," Ambassador Thongril laughed, answering for the duke. "This is the most fun two old men like us have had in years! Kiathan awaits," he said in the emotionless voice the executioner had used at the tower.

  “Please don’t do that again, sir.” Jack shuddered.

  “Sorry,” Thongril said, slapping him on the shoulder. “But we had to make it look authentic.”

  “Believe me,” Braedan replied, glancing sidelong into the wagon at the wooden mallet and iron spikes. “You were horrifingly convincing.”

  “Why did you do this?” Tarsus asked their rescuers. “Not that we are ungrateful. But you have taken a great risk saving two pirates. Won’t Kiathan suspect you had a hand in our escape?”

  “Kiathan be damned,” Duke Morgan cursed. “He has gone too far. I could not stand by idle while he soiled the honor of Doridan with crucifixions. I suspect…suspect mind you, that he is some-how responsible for my brother’s recent turn of ill health. If I find it to be true, he will be the one standing trial before the Lord Minister.”

  “You need not worry for our safety,” Ambassador Thongril added. “After that farce of a trial yesterday, we began spreading rumors in some of the more, shall we say, less respectable taverns in Dorshev that members of your Brotherhood were planning to rescue their imprisoned comrades.”

  “We learned the hour you were to be picked up at the Tower,” Duke Morgan informed them, “then it was painfully easy to don these somber disguises and arrive thirty minutes before the real executioners. It is was all very sobering to me really. I shall vehemently insist on a full review of our justice system once your escape is revealed.”

  “But why?” Tarsus asked again. “Not that I am complaining,” He reiterated, “but I am still somewhat confused.”

  “My brother’s judgement has become…clouded…of late,” Duke Morgan explained. “His mind is confused and Kiathan alone has his ear. The Duke of Rashaan has virtually taken control of the kingdom. It began when he managed to have the Council exile Dorad. The boy was indeed reckless and wild… spirited, but no more so than many other noble youths. Then last spring he managed to secure Annawyn’s hand in betrothal. He has not made a move against me yet. I am not easy prey. But I fear it will come soon. If…that happens, he will be a heartbeat away from the Ivory Throne. I will do anything short of civil war, to weaken his grip on the throat of Doridan. Fortunately for you two, when word of your escape becomes known, it will weaken that grip somewhat.”

  “And you both have done Brydium a great service.” Thongril added. “Thessa is a jewel of my kingdom, more valuable than any rare stone. As I said, returning her literally stopped a war with Kadin. We were but days away from invading over the Whesguard when word reached us of her rescue.”

  “A bold plan,” Tarsus nodded. “You have our thanks. For whatever reason prompted your action.”

  “Your gratitude lies elsewhere,” Duke Morgan replied. “Ian and I were but an extra pair of swords, muscle if you will and not the brains.”

  “Who shall we thank then?” asked Tarsus.

  “I think I know,” Braedan replied, as Princess Annawyn appeared out of the fog, mounted on a cream-colored stallion and leading two others by their reigns. With her was the other executioner, leading another pair of stallions. His hood was removed now revealing a young man with dark hair and blue eyes. He was a young version of Ambassador Thongril down to the cleft in his strong chin.

 
; “Allow me to introduce my son Therion,” Ambassador Thongril smiled. “Therion had the dubious pleasure of rumormonger last night in those taverns I spoke of.”

  “An experience from which I am still recovering,” the young man said, dismounting carefully from his stallion. “Prince Thonicil and I have been best friends since we were babes. This hangover is a small price to pay to help the man responsible for the rescue of his betrothed. We are both in your debt,” he said, shaking Braedan’s hand, then Tarsus.

  “I am in your debt,” Braedan smiled, shaking his hand again. “Perhaps one day soon I will be able to buy you a drink in a more respectable tavern in Brydium.”

  “I shall look forward to it,” Therion nodded. Then grimaced. His head was pounding.

  Braedan released the young man’s hand and looked up at Annawyn. Around her neck he saw the silver crucifix he had given Sir Gain last evening. Noticing his gaze, she fingered the necklace and smiled. “If you are through giving explanations uncle, we really should move this along.”

  “Right you are, my dear,” he nodded, tossing his executioners clothing into the back of the wagon. “Our ruse will be discovered any moment now, when the real executioners arrive at the Tower. We wouldn’t want to get caught red handed by the Tower knights with these escaped criminals. Good luck to you Jack Braedan,” he said, mounting one of the stallions Therion was leading. “Tarsus Aernin, you will understand when I say it would be best if you never showed your face in Dorshev again?”

  “Completely, your grace,” Tarsus grinned. “Should my path lead me here again, look behind me, because I am being chased by the Sa’tan himself.”

  “Good luck then,” Morgan nodded.

  “I look forward to seeing you both in Brydium,” Thongril said, adding his black clothing to the back of the wagon before mounting. “The debt Brythond owes you has not been paid in full.”

  “Let’s be off then,” Morgan said. “I want to be there to see Kiathan’s face when he hears what has happened. We will follow you to the cross roads as we agreed Stephen,” the duke said, revealing the last of the conspirators. “Don’t stay overlong Annawyn. We must arrive at the execution sight before word of this dastardly escape spreads.”

  “I will only be a moment, Uncle,” she promised as the wagon moved off into the fog, leaving the liberated pirates alone with the Princess of Doridan.

  “There are boots and a change of clothes, plus four day’s water and rations in the saddle bags,” Annawyn said handing each of them reigns to one of the stallions. “I would not stop to change or eat until I was a half day’s ride from here at least.”

  Braedan’s mount was a great roan with a white star on his forehead. Jack could literally feel the strength and nobility emanating from the mighty stallion. The roan turned his large head and regarded Braedan quizzically as he mounted. There was unmistakable intelligence in his dark eyes. Hanging from the pommel of the roan’s saddle was a sheathed broadsword and behind the saddle were the bulging saddle bags. Tarsus mount was also similarly outfitted.

  “Take the Great South Road to Isinar Ford and the Pass of Galhir through the Ruwe Mountains,” Annawyn instructed them. “It will lead you all the way to Brydium.”

  “I know the way, highness,” Tarsus grinned, mounting his steed with easy grace.

  “Take care of the horses,” she said, finally turning to Jack. “They are Val’anna from my own stable.” The princess rode close and stroked his roan’s mane affectionately. “Eaudreuil I raised from an awkward colt. Gilasha is almost his equal but not quite as spirited.”

  “Eaudreuil?” Jack said. “It means…Stout Heart?”

  “It does indeed,” she smiled, surprised a pirate knew the tongue of the Ailfar. “Farwell, Jack Braedan. I shall pray for you. For you both. As I do for Dorad nightly. Have Thessa send word to me when you have arrived safely in Brythond, so I may know my debt for your friendship with Dorad has been paid.”

  She offered her gloved hand to Braedan. He took it in his own and their eyes met. He could not be sure what he saw in those brilliant emerald pools flecked with gold, but it wasn’t someone who had paid a debt on account of her brother.

  “What the hell,” Jack grinned. He’d just been spared a crucifixion. He leaned across to the auburn haired beauty and kissed her. She started in surprise, but amazingly did not pull away. As their lips touched, Kiathan, White Horse Knights, ancient prophecies and long dead ancestors were driven from his mind. The focus of his entire being was on the contact with that one small, tender area of flesh.

  “Let’s go!” Tarsus laughed, breaking the spell.

  Reluctantly, Jack ended the kiss. “I’ll see you again, Anna Ellgereth,” Jack promised. He pulled sharply on Eaudreuil’s reigns, and the great stallion reared in surprise. With a flick of the reigns, the roan leapt forward with a bound.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The Hills of Amar

  They headed northeast along the Great South Road, riding through the fog at full gallop. For almost three hours they raced northward away from Dorshev, until the fog was completely burned away. When they looked behind them across the rolling plains and saw no pursuit, they stopped briefly to let their mounts rest and drink from a small brook beside the road.

  “That was a mistake,” Jack moaned, trying to work the stiffness from his back and legs. “I haven’t been on a horse since…God, Afghanistan?”

  “I have never ridden a Val’anna,” the Amarian laughed. “I think they could keep up this pace all day!”

  “Eaudreuil has an easy gait, though,” Jack said, patting the stallion’s neck as he drank.

  “They are Val’anna,” Tarsus said. As if that explained everything. When he saw the look Braedan gave him he continued. “They are the finest breed of horses in Aralon. Perhaps in all the earthe. In Doridan they say that Yh created them first of all creatures. If one consents to have you on its back, you will not fall no matter how inexperienced a rider you are. Let’s see what your Anna packed away for us, shall we?”

  In their saddle bags both men found sturdy, but comfortable trousers, a soft cotton shirt, a leather vest and a pair of black, knee high riding boots. Everything fit tailor perfect, even the boots. How the princess had gotten their measurements so closely obviously meant help from inside the Tower. Even Sir Gain perhaps? They dressed quickly, then strapped on their new swords. Tarsus drew his and examined the blade.

  "Good steel," he nodded appreciatively. "The princess certainly knows how to outfit men on the run. She's quite a woman. Eh? Perhaps even Kaiddra's equal? A man could certainly do much worse."

  "A man could," Jack agreed, looking back in the direction of Dorshev.

  "Don't worry," the Amarian smiled. "I think she can handle Kiathan now that she knows his true nature. She is a Horsemaiden after all. They are almost as fierce as Amarian women."

  "Kiathan!" Braedan snarled. "I'm not going to let him get away with he did to our crew!"

  "Nor am I," Tarsus agreed. "But for now, let's concentrate on keeping our freedom. We will deal with Kiathan another day. Like a day when all the Knights of the White Horse aren’t likely on our tail."

  Braedan continued to stare in the direction of Dorshev. The Duke of Raashan was a dangerous man. Someone who ordered executions with a wave of his hand would not take their escape lightly. If he wasn't stopped, more people would suffer the fate of the Seawolf's crew.

  "Agreed?" Tarsus asked again, remounting Gilasha. "We repay Kiathan another day?”

  "Another day," Jack sighed. "But soon." He remounted Eaudreuil and the two were off once more.

  They ate as they rode, pushing ahead steadily for the remainder of the day, constantly on the watch for pursuit. Sometime after midday they began to pass a forest on their right, stretching on endlessly before them. The trees of the great wood were tall and straight, with dark green leaves and bark the color of unpolished silver. When sundown approached and no sign of pursuit had materialized, they decided it was safe to stop for the d
ay and left the road, leading the horses about one hundred yards into the forest.

  Braedan removed their saddles and began to rub the mounts down with dried leaves, while Tarsus searched for deadfall to build a small fire. After the horses had been cared for he tied their bridles to a fallen tree and joined his friend by the fire where they ate a light meal of dried beef, bread and cheese.

  "Do you know where we are?" Jack asked when they had finished eating.

  "Much farther than I expected to be," Tarsus replied. "Annawyn's gift of the Val'anna was a great boon. We have ridden over twenty leagues at least.”

  "Does this forest have a name?"

  "It is called the Silverwood," answered the Amarian. "When fall comes the leaves will turn the same color as the bark, turning the entire forest silver. Dorad once said a small group of Ailfar lived here. I do not wish to learn if they still reside in this forest."

  "Why not?" Jack asked curiously. "Alnordel was a good friend. I'd like to meet more of his people."

  "You must remember Alnordel, is only half Ailfar," Tarsus replied. "The elves are a strange race. They keep to themselves for the most part and do not look kindly on trespassers. We will keep to the road and come into the forest only a short distance to eat and sleep. Use only dead wood for your cook fires also. To the Ailfar, living trees are sacred."

  Braedan shrugged his shoulders and stretched out contentedly beside the fire. His body ached from the hard day in the saddle and he was glad for this bit of rest. "Should we keep watch tonight?" he asked.

  The Amarian yawned and joined him on the ground. "I think we will be safe enough this close to the road, and we left no trail as we entered the forest. Good night my friend."

  But Braedan was already asleep.

  Sometime later they were awakened by the sound of thundering hooves, so many that the ground shook with their passing. Tarsus leapt up to calm the horses and Braedan quickly kicked dirt on the remaining coals of their fire. When the noise of the troop had faded into the distance, Tarsus returned to sit by the dead fire.