by LeRoy Clary
“You want to fight me for them?” another said, half standing, his fingers curled into fists. “Because I’m the oldest, I should get two.”
Hannah had lowered her foot to the ground and eased slowly back, as slow as a cat approaching a mouse, while at the same time bending low to hide behind the brambles. She lifted her other foot and put it behind her and started to move further back when a twig underneath her toe snapped. She froze, moving only her eyes.
At the small sound, all three men spotted her. Instead of running, she made her voice husky, to sound like a boy and said, “I was just passing by.”
“Get over here,” one said.
Hannah debated her chances of running far and fast enough to escape. She might make it. But if she didn’t, they’d be angry at having to chase her. If they were three steps further away, I’d run. She moved a full step closer, acting confident, “What do you want?”
“I said get over here.”
Hannah took one last assessment of the situation and decided she had no option but obey. She went closer and said, “I was just walking down the trail and heard you talking.”
“So you decided to stop and sneak up on us, did you?” The shorter one asked. He stood shorter, wider, and older than the others. His two front teeth were missing, but he didn’t lisp when he talked. Perhaps they had been missing for so long he had gotten used to it.
The other two deferred to him, letting him do the talking for all three. Hannah paused, a few steps from him. “No, I said I was just following the trail, and I was. I didn’t hear anything.” Her fear turned to anger slowly. If she had been innocent, which she was, her actions would have been the same.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“The better question is who are you and your friends.”
“What’s that matter to you, boy?”
Good. He believed she was a boy. Her disguise had fooled him, so far. “It matters because my father and two older brothers get paid by the King to keep this part of the King’s road clear of people like you. They get a reward for each highwayman they turn over to the Knights.”
The story sounded good to her ears. She’d taken parts of what she knew and woven it into a convincing tale. Hannah used a limp smile that generated confidence and one she hoped they would believe.
“Oh my,” the short one said in mock horror, holding his hand to his mouth pretending to be afraid. “And they are so good at catching the ‘Highwaymen’ that they dress you in rags?”
The other two burst into gales of laughter. Hannah knew they didn’t believe her childish claim, and now that they’d taken her captive lying would make the encounter worse. But she didn’t wish to face what came next, and in desperation, she shouted while pointing. “Look! There they are.”
Three heads turned to where she pointed. As they turned, she spun and darted down the path, taking three solid steps before the first shouted warning sounded. Instead of slowing, she put her chin on her chest and pumped her fists, lengthening her stride. She heard footsteps pounding after her, at least two men, but looking would slow her.
Her breath already came harder and faster. The path was wide enough for one and reasonably clear of large rocks or roots that might trip her. She flew down it hearing the footsteps behind grow closer and closer, then they abruptly ceased. A quick glance assured her that the two men chasing her had both quit. The third must have stayed with the copper coins spread on the ground. They had been good for a few dozen steps chasing her, but quickly tired, as she hoped. If they knew of the small fortune she carried inside her pants they might still be running, but probably not. They didn’t look like men who could run very far or fast.
Her steps came slower, and her legs ached, but she kept blundering ahead, paying no attention to where she ran. As long as it was away from them, who cared? Later, she learned to regret that decision when she found herself lost in the forest. She had turned to her left at a path that went in the direction where she expected to find the road, and then she could use it for directions. But she only found an endless forest, and the sun kept peeking through the trees to her left when it should be ahead.
She turned to the left again, and still found no road. While crossing a stream, she remembered the words of Sir James. All streams either join others or flow into rivers. Along streams or rivers are farms or bridges. Hannah turned left for the third time and followed the stream.
Several paths and trails later, she still followed the stream but had not yet found the road or bridge. She kept her eyes and ears open, often pausing to observe what lay ahead. Before crossing any meadow, she either skirted around the edges or made sure there were not people waiting for her. The last mistake had almost cost her to be in the hands of the three men who stole five pennies for a living. Who knows what they would have done if they’d caught her? Especially, if they had figured out, she was a girl.
As the Knight predicted, she eventually came to the road, the same one she had been on when she had ridden in the back of the wagon. She immediately recognized a gnarled tree and a cabin set off the road in a clearing, looking like a house from a fairy tale. She had been under the no-see-me spell at the time. She wished for it again, but glanced both ways on the road and decided to chance using it. There were travelers going in her direction behind and in front of her, but they were a family with children, one of them a blonde girl about nine or ten.
Highwaymen will attack them and never look twice at me. She told herself that over and over. A hay wagon traveled in her direction. She increased her pace to move closer to it. At another stream crossing, the wagon halted, and the mule dipped its snout into the cold water and snorted, spraying water into the air like it was a game. The farmer leaped from the seat and scooped water into a metal cup. As he tilted the cup to drink, his eyes found her.
He said, “You’re getting out of there, too?”
“What?”
“The Palace. Are you getting away, too?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Royals back there are killing each other. They say they’re trying to kill the King and set a new one on the throne.”
“Who is?”
“Nobody knows who’s behind it, but I thought I’d get away before being forced to take sides.”
“How many are dead?” Hannah asked, refusing the use of his tin cup.
“Three or four Royals, they say. Some guards fighting other guards, and the Knights are fighting, too.”
Hannah said, “Can you remember anything about those who died?”
“Just a little. Lemme see. A Lady Marlstone who was a favorite of the King got herself poisoned last night. The Old Mage died a few days ago, and the head Knight, Sir James, and his servant.”
The last seized her as if a hand wrapped around her neck. She felt the blood drain from her face, and she felt dizzy.
“You alright?”
“The servant. Did you hear his name?”
“You don’t look so good. Lemme think. He was Sir James’ manservant, and he was stabbed in his bed in the middle of the night, they say.”
“William? Was it William?” Hannah gasped.
“That’s the name. William.”
Hannah slipped to her knees, the tears streaming down her cheeks, the wails of pain loud enough for the small group of people following to slow and finally wait instead of passing by them. The driver also waited, his compassion and curiosity keeping him at her side.
He finally said, “You knew him?”
Knew him? He had been alive when he helped her escape. In a handful of days, she had a father, a pseudo-uncle, and a mentor who, all father figures, all willing to help her improve her miserable life. Now all were dead.
If she had not shown that stupid flame to the Old Mage, all would still be alive. It was her fault. Three deaths were on her head, three good men. The crying had almost ended, but with the thought of the three deaths, she started again.
When she almost controlled herself
, and the farmer was helping her up, she realized that three bodyguards had also died, as well as others who attacked her. She had no way of knowing the total number of people who had died in the last few days because of her. She’d never even heard of Lady Marlstone, or how and why she was involved. It sounded like an attempt to overthrow the rule of the King.
Then, as if a mist falling from above, Hannah began to grow angry. Not the kind of anger that consumed a person over time, but the complete cold anger that turns other men’s knees weak. The anger of a person who has seldom felt anger, but now it filled them as certainly as a sack was filled to overflowing with grain. The sack cannot hold one more grain, yet another is forced inside, and one spills out.
The sobbing quit and she stood, looking at the farmer and his tear-filled eyes. He probably believed he had brought her the pain in some manner, and blamed himself. She wiped her nose and said, “None of this is your fault. I thank you for telling me what’s happening at the Palace.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you, son.”
“You didn’t. It’s my problem.”
“Would you like to ride on my wagon? I’ll be on this road for some time.”
She shook her head. “The road. It goes straight down this valley and into another?”
“That it does.”
She glanced at the small group patiently waiting behind on the road and gave them a half-wave of thanks before saying, “There are some things I have to do on my own.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hannah turned her back to the wagon and walked to the edge of the forest without looking back. When she was deep into the trees, and certain nobody could observe her, she let the tears for William flow, slowly and gently. Somebody had stabbed him while he slept.
Nobody had stabbed him in all his years, but the night she escaped someone had gone into his bedroom and put a knife in him. The timing could not be a coincidence. Somebody knew he helped her, and gave her his support. While there had been no mention of torture, she had no doubt that the killer had used the knife and demanded information about Hannah, and when William refused to provide it, the assassin killed him.
No, it could not be a coincidence. Those intent on killing her had closed in, and if she had stayed in the palace another night, it would have been her last. The cold anger had not ceased. If anything, it turned from cold to a revengeful flaming rage.
She now had priorities in her life. First, she would learn all that Sir James had spoken of, reading, writing, history, and court etiquette. But she would also learn the art of being a mage from her father and his writings and library, but that would come later. Before that, she would learn from the sorceress; the woman called Evelyn.
No, there was one other subject she needed to learn. Sir James had promised to teach her to fight. She had gold in her purse, along with a few silver coins. But one gold coin could buy a large building or a small farm with all the animals. She had five or six gold coins, at least. A single silver bought two good horses and was more than most men ever owned in their lifetimes. Her purse overflowed with them and hung heavy.
The day was growing late. She climbed a steep hill and found a small perch where she could watch the entire valley for anybody approaching. She had run out of tears long ago. She pulled the drawstrings on her purse and spilled coins onto her blanket. There were more than she thought.
She placed the smallest two silver coins into the bag she carried her food. If stopped by robbers or highwaymen, she decided to clutch the bag to her chest so hard they would have to rip her fingers loose, while she screamed there was nothing in the bag. If she screamed and wailed long enough, and fought hard enough, they would take the bag and find the silver and think that was all she had.
Or maybe not. She still needed a safe place to carry the larger silver coins and the gold. Instead of at her waist, as was the usual place to carry a purse, she moved it to the front of her baggy pants and let it hang inside there. She made a small hole in the front of the waistband to tie the purse to her pants and stood. It felt odd bouncing and swinging in front, but Hannah smiled at the thought that no highwayman was going to search a boy there.
She would give up a gold coin for a proper teacher, one who would teach her to not only defend herself, but also how to do damage to anyone attempting to harm her. When she returned to the King’s Palace, she needed to protect herself with confidence.
She slept on a little shelf on the hillside wrapped in a blanket without a fire. In the damp of the morning before the sun came up, she was walking parallel to the road again. She kept her eyes ahead but also listened. A flutter of birds would send her running, but she heard the songs they sang, and crickets chirped. The leaves rustled.
Later, in the distance, she heard the clang, clang, clang of a blacksmith hammering out a rhythm on his anvil. She remembered the knife Sir James gave her, and that she left in his apartment because it was not decent for a lady to wear such a knife with a dress.
The sounds of the blacksmith grew. She paused at the edge of a tiny village, no more than six buildings, two of them being barns for animals. At the rear of one barn had been built a second roof, that extended beyond the first. It was open on three sides. She had expected a huge, muscular man but found a short, squat man with thin arms. But he hammered the iron in a steady beat that displayed his strength more than flashy upper arms.
His body was streaked with soot, as were his clothes. She couldn’t tell if his hair was naturally black or just looked like it. His bare upper body glistened in the heat of the forge. The road went through the center of the hamlet, on the other side of the barn with the blacksmith. If Hannah approached him, she’d be protected from sight from others traveling on the road.
Before she could make up her mind, his head lifted, and he looked directly at her. Hannah stood still, but intuition told her he had seen her. Then, as if he’d made his mind up, he made a small gesture with his hand that told her to come closer.
She moved into the open but remained ready to spin and rush back into the forest. The short, strong man probably couldn’t begin to keep up with her, and that gave her the confidence to speak. “The road is dangerous. Do you have a small knife that will fit my hand?”
He turned and opened a cabinet. From inside, he lifted a tray and tilted it to show her it held knives. “You can’t see them from over there, but I have a few that may satisfy you.”
She took a few steps closer, careful to keep the large work table between them. “Let me see them.”
He held one up for display, but kept it in his hand instead of offering it to her. “Do you have a coin or something to trade? Or are you just wishing to look at a good knife?”
Hannah had already pulled the two silver coins from her bag and had them concealed in her palm. She fingered the smallest and held it up.
His eyes grew wary. “Are you planning on buying all the knives I have?”
“This is my only coin,” she lied as she slipped the other back into her bag.
He rubbed his beard and shrugged. “If you will trust me to hold your silver, I can cut it into slivers with my chisel if we make a deal.”
“And you will trust me to look at your knives while you do it.”
He selected three weapons, all of smaller size, and laid them on the table, two beside each other and one apart. “If I cut your coin into four equal pieces, you can own any two of these for one piece of silver.”
The two knives he had placed together were small, undecorated, yet looked utilitarian and of good quality. The blades curved slightly, especially near the tip, and the handles were wrapped with shrunk leather. The third knife clearly was different by more than its location. It was flat, the blade straight and sharp on both edges, and pointed at the tip. The bare handle appeared no thicker than the blade with no leather or decoration, a single continuous piece of blackened metal, a thing of beauty in its simplicity. “You placed two of them together. Why?”
“They are much the same knife, a favori
te design that sells well. Your choice, as either will serve you for regular fare. But you mentioned the road being dangerous, and it is. Wear the last blade in a scabbard on your back, where you can reach it with either hand. It has one use only. Defense.”
“I like that. Do you have a scabbard?”
“It’s included in the price, but I will warn you. If your father or another come my way demanding the piece of silver back, he will find me determined to keep it. I do not perform business with children as a rule, but I think you may need a knife—and perhaps basic instruction in how to use it.”
Hannah considered his words and set aside his sharp, angry tone. The man treated her as a customer, not a child, and for that, she needed to respect his gruff manner. “All for the same price?”
“A fourth of your silver is too much to charge, but cutting it smaller isn’t practical. I will allow you to choose which of the four pieces to pay me.” He waited for her to nod her agreement, then continued, “Normally I’d melt the silver and only take from you the true value of the knives, but with the roads crawling with men searching for a girl about your age, and the rumor she is Royalty. I risk the ire of people searching for her if they find I helped her in any way.”
Hannah heard him stress the word, girl. “How did you know?”
“The stains on your skin around your hairline tell me you dyed your hair, and the cut is poor. I suggest you gather soot from the base of my forge and powder it around your hairline to hide the dye.”
“You are not interested in the reward?” Hannah asked, ready to sprint away if she didn’t like his answer. Moving closer to the blacksmith was not possible until he answered the question.
He shrugged. “Am I interested in a reward that would set me up with a larger house and prettier wife? The answer is, yes. But I am not interested in helping power-hungry people to kill a child.”
She placed the coin on the work table and selected the first of the curved knives. The workmanship was acceptable, if not the best. It did not compare to the knife Sir James had given her, but one that had been crafted by a master. She tested the edge with her thumb. While sharp, the knife lacked the balance and feel of the other. Still, it would do for cutting meat, whittling tinder, and other jobs.
