“Do you have all your things, because I’d like to have my breakfast before we—”
A long shriek coming from the courtyard interrupted Lissandro. Folc ran to the window.
“I can’t see anything from here.”
Grabbing their bags, they hurried out of the room and across the tavern. A small group of people already gathered outside around the well. Two strong men hauled the chain holding the bucket that clanked against the stones. One of them let go of the handle and plunged his arms in the well. Selen put his hand on his mouth and stifled a scream as the man pulled out the corpse of the gypsy girl tied to the chain. Everyone around the well backed away with horror. Recognizing the girl, the man tossed the body to the ground.
“Did the woman drown?” Ahanu asked at his side.
Louis took Selen by the arm. “I said everyone on his horse, now. You too, Ahanu.”
His companions had already saddled their horses and led them out of the stable. Selen saddled his horse. He couldn’t help but wonder if Askjell had murdered the girl. He could not tell it to the others, not without proof. Once they were in the street, Folc hastened back towards Louis. Selen drew near them.
“Did you do this?” Folc whispered.
“Are you crazy?” Louis hissed, offended. “Why would I?”
“I know you were mad a few days ago. Louis, did you kill the lad in the first tavern we stopped in?”
“You’re out of your mind. What are you talking about?” Louis said.
Folc looked at Louis then at Selen with wide eyes. “We have a problem. But not now. Now, we need to run.”
24
Once Briarthorpe had disappeared behind the hill and they were sure no one had jumped on a horse to pursue them, Lissandro and his companions drew rein. Eliot moved his horse to the front and blocked their way.
“Now, I want to know which one of you killed the girl,” the monk said.
They all glanced at each other, pulling on the reins of their mounts which piaffed with nervousness.
“Does it matter?” Folc asked.
Eliot stared at him, indignant. “If we travel with a murderer, I’d like to know it.”
“We all have killed someone once, except Ahanu, perhaps,” Selen interjected.
Lissandro was surprised by his friend’s reaction. That Folc would minimize the gravity of the act to concentrate on their mission was one thing. That Selen would use sarcasm about someone’s life was unexpected. Unless both of his friends were trying to cover up for someone. Lissandro looked at Louis, who, for once, stayed silent. Why are they protecting you?
“Who cares? It’s just a whore anyway,” Askjell exclaimed.
Lissandro didn’t miss the vehement look Selen threw at the boy. Something was afoot here. Did Selen know or suspect anything?
“Maybe it’s the savage. Those pagans don’t know how to behave in our world,” Eliot said.
“Or a frustrated monk who couldn’t control his urge,” Louis sneered.
“His Majesty has issues,” Eliot replied.
“Oh, stop!” Kilda shouted. “I agree with Folc. We have better to do than to jump at each other’s throats for such little things. What’s done is done. Let’s move on.”
Little things? Unless his companions had turned into monsters, Lissandro had the feeling he had missed something. Yet, Kilda had marked a point. On this consensus, everyone swallowed his pride and rode forward in silence, brooding and with a black glance at his neighbor for most of them.
The melancholic landscape of fields and copses stretched from a vale to the other. Here and there, bound to the sky by their columns of smoke, homesteads curled in the shade of a forest. Brown, hunched figures hustled around like ants on an anthill. A door closed, a lowing responded. By a hedge near the road, a young boy in a red cape picked thrushes from under a wooden trap. Lissandro waved at him, but the boy scampered away like a hare, his meager dinner tucked into his belt.
Something cold grazed Lissandro’s cheek. He removed his glove and put his hand to his skin. The tip of his finger turned wet. Lissandro looked up. From the sky, swirling and dancing, waves of snowflakes were falling down. The cold drops melted on his face. He gazed at Selen at his side. His friend’s green eyes shone. Selen tilted his head backwards, and a smile formed on his lips. His long, lilac hair was sprinkled with white flakes.
“Should we search for a shelter?” Lissandro asked.
Still smiling, Selen looked at him. “We can’t pass winter somewhere. We have to move on.” Selen kicked his horse and rode past him.
At the crossroad leading to the nearby village, Lissandro hailed a scarfed woman carrying a basket of beechnuts. She looked at him askance as he drew nearer with his horse. Her eyes were red and rheumy.
“Excuse me, madam,” Lissandro said. “Is this the right way to Linfarne?”
“It is, milord,” the villager responded. “You should be there in three days.” She snapped her mouth with a dry clack, and her gaze wandered around.
“Three days,” Lissandro exclaimed. He gazed around at the Brueghelian landscape. The falling snow didn’t seem to melt. “Could there be a shortcut?”
“For sure, milord. That way,” she pointed at a narrow mud road leading to a forest. “To Swanbrook and beyond.”
Lissandro stared at the broad main road then at the forest. Three days in such weather seemed an eternity. Yet, he was no local. “And what if we need to ask our way again?”
The woman grimaced. “Ask at The Magpies. But stay on blessed lands. Or the ganipote will jump on your back.” She spat three times. She turned her heels and resumed her walk to the village.
Reassured by the existence of a locality on their way—less by the local folklore—Lissandro waved to his companions to follow him. They trotted towards the edge.
The road wound its way through uninterrupted woods. Traces of civilization disappeared. At the corner of boulders, a herd of wild boars crossed their path and vanished behind bushes. The woods opened on confined clearings; swamps drowned by springs where overgrown rushes glittering with frost battled with birch saplings.
After a line of duckboards, they passed in front of shanties. Lissandro figured out it must be The Magpies. No one stood outside, but frogs dried, hanged under porches and, somewhere, a dog barked. The yards were a mix of dirt and abandoned vegetation. A cow would have broken a leg between the several brooks and the stones. Cut off from the world, these people lived in a state of utter destitution. Cutthroats or mushroom sellers, Lissandro didn’t want to know. Too wimpy to ask the way to those dropouts, he pushed his mount deeper into the forest. He didn’t leave the path, though. Who knew where the ganipote might hide?
The presence of swamps decreased, the spruces spaced out, and the landscape opened. However, the more they progressed, the more it snowed. After a while, the ground was but a white coat. Though it was now possible to see long and to ride at a normal pace, the road under them had disappeared. They had progressed along what had seemed to be the right way, but Lissandro grew unsure. Despite that he knew approximately the direction they should take, he did not dare to take out the map to confirm it. Water could damage the inks on the skin. He reined in and dismounted. With his feet, Lissandro kicked the snow off the ground. The clear spot was pale yellow. He knelt and brushed the snow frantically with his hands on a larger surface. Hooves stopped near his head.
“Will you plough to the next village?” Louis asked.
“It’s grass,” Lissandro snarled and pushed himself up. “Grass, grass, and fucking grass!”
“And?” Folc said. His horse neighed as he reined left towards them.
“It means we are not on the road,” Lissandro responded. “We are lost.” His eyes scanned the valley to the ridge of a hillock in search of bearings, but no border stone contrasted on the white plain or any roof jutted out above the treetops.
“You have no idea where we are?” Louis asked, worried but with a hint of irritation.
“How would
I? I grew up in Massachusetts. Why do you think I need a map?”
“But you must have an idea of the directions to take,” Louis said.
“Southeast. But,” Lissandro said, throwing up his hands towards the white sky.
“Ahanu,” Louis called the Child at their side.
The warrior kicked his horse and approached them. Lissandro was impressed to see how the Child had mastered the riding skills in such a short time. From the start, Ahanu had talked to his horse as if he had a natural bond with the animal.
“Ahanu, could you help us find our way?” Louis asked.
“I’ve never been here,” Ahanu answered from under his round raccoon hat, the animal’s legs falling loose on the sides like earmuffs. “I only know the way through the mountains.”
“Do you know where north is?” Lissandro asked.
The Child looked around him and observed the sky. He pointed towards the woods on their left. “This way.”
Lissandro calculated and pointed in the other direction. “So this should be southeast.” He searched for a mark in the landscape. Something conical he hadn’t noticed before stuck out. “We could push to that kind of tower over there.” They all agreed. Lissandro got back on his mount, and they kept on riding.
Once they drew closer, Lissandro noticed that the tower was a windmill. Despite the weather, its vanes still rotated. Intrigued, Lissandro pushed his horse to the top of the small hill. The door stood ajar. He dismounted and stepped closer, up the outside stairs to the first floor. A sharp, metallic sound behind him indicated that one of his companions had unsheathed his sword. In the middle of the circular room, the huge stones in their wooden case ground the seeds. The noisy gears made the building slightly vibrate. Bags were packed along the walls, and it smelled of dry dust of corn. Lissandro found the miller crouched under the stairs. The man had a wound on his brow. Kilda was the first one at the man’s side.
“He lives. Someone has wine?” Kilda asked loud.
Askjell came to her with a snowball in his hand and placed it on the miller’s brow. As the man regained consciousness, he raised his arms in front of him.
“Please, stop hurting me! I said I didn’t know,” the man exclaimed.
“We just arrived,” Askjell said.
The miller lowered his arms and stared at them. “Are you the king?”
“Is it that obvious?” Louis asked.
“The men who attacked me, Your Majesty, they were searching for you,” the miller said.
“Which men?” Lissandro asked.
“I have never seen them before. They were five and asked me if I had seen a group of rich travelers pass by. They mentioned the king’s name when they talked with each other.”
“Do you remember when they came? Were they bandits?” Louis asked.
“It was this morning. I don’t know what time it is by now. They could have been bandits. They had nasty faces. I am glad to be alive. Your Majesty, it is an honor for me—”
“Should the fan still work in such weather?” Askjell asked the man.
“My sails!” The miller rose in a hurry and took the stairs two by two.
“Should we take shelter here?” Askjell asked.
Lissandro turned to his companions. “We can’t fit eight horses here. We have to move on. Besides, those bandits may still be around.”
“Could those men be related to our quest?” Louis asked.
“How could the Nuharinni know of our coming?” Lissandro said. “To me, it sounds more like the news of the king travelling with a small party spread around, and some bandits fancy a juicy ransom.” Above him, Lissandro heard the squealing of the brake on the gears.
“Five men. It shouldn’t be that complicated to face.” Askjell shrugged.
“A reconnaissance party of five men, you mean,” Kilda said. They shared worried looks.
“We need to go,” Louis said. “Now.”
They hurried for the door. Outside, their companions faced the wind wrapped up in their cloaks.
“Can’t we stay here?” Selen shouted against the wind.
“No! Further!” Lissandro answered. He took his reins from Folc’s hand, got on his horse, and faced the weather again.
The snow hadn’t stopped falling. Though it wasn’t a storm, the layer of snow on the ground made it always more tiresome for the horses to progress. They needed to halt somewhere. Lissandro gestured towards the forest and reined right. Once under the trees, the wind was less intense. He halted his mount next to a group of boulders. As he dismounted, Ahanu came to him.
“I can’t help you with directions anymore. It’s getting too dark,” the warrior said. “No sun. No stars.”
“Can’t you find directions by the moss of the tree trunks?” Lissandro asked.
The Child looked at him as if he had said the stupidest thing in the world. “No help anymore.” Ahanu walked away, passing by Louis, who came in his direction.
“Are we lost again?” Folc exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you didn’t ask the miller for the road!”
“No, we didn’t,” Lissandro grumbled into his collar while unstrapping his satchel.
“Do you think you can find the windmill on the map?” Louis asked, tucking his gloved hands under his armpits to keep himself warm. Somehow, his friend probably realized that his blue woolen coat wasn’t equal to their furs.
Lissandro pulled the map out of the satchel and unfolded it. A few snowflakes fell on the skin. He concentrated on the area where they should be, southeast of Briarthorpe.
“That mill there,” Louis said, pointing at the map, “it could be ours.”
“It could be… Or that one,” Lissandro said, pointing at another mill. “We don’t know how far we rode. We could as well be here,” Lissandro said, pointing at a third mill further south. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around.
“Look discreetly,” Selen said to them. In his hand, his friend held one of their wineskins. It was crumpled. “They were filled when I packed them this morning…and intact.” Selen drew their attention to a clean cut in the skin. Lissandro gazed at his friends. They didn’t need to share words to understand that only one of them could have sabotaged their wine supply.
“Can’t we still drink snow?” Lissandro said.
“Not without a fire, and we have bandits after us,” Louis said. “Can’t the horses hold a little longer?”
Lissandro looked at the map again. “Supposing we are here, there are no villages around. If we had followed the road, we would have found that place,” he said, pointing at a dot named Linfarne, “but we may have strayed away for miles.”
“No one will rest by staying here. We are only losing time, and soon night will fall,” Selen said. “Let’s go.”
As they went back to their horses, Folc shouted at them. “We can’t leave. Kilda didn’t come back!”
“Which way did she go?” Lissandro asked. Folc pointed towards bushes.
Careful not to surprise his friend in her privacy, Lissandro walked in her direction, following her footsteps in the snow. As he heard struggling groans, he hurried his steps. Kilda knelt on the ground, her dagger in one hand. With her other hand, she grabbed her hair firmly. Handfuls of hair already lay on the snow around her. Though she struggled, the blade wasn’t the best tool for a haircut. Lissandro drew closer.
“Why such hurry to cut your beautiful hair?” he asked.
Kilda stopped and looked at him. “I needed to. Those bandits. If they see I’m a woman…”
Lissandro knelt next to her. “You have seven men ready to protect you.”
“You can be seven. It won’t make any difference if they are twenty or more. I know how bandits are,” she sighed.
“With or without hair, you will still be a woman. Yet, you never know, maybe if you are too scruffy, they will prefer Selen and me.” He winked.
She chuckled. “Did you mean it? That I had beautiful hair.”
Gently, Lissandro cupped the side of her face and s
miled. “You are beautiful.” Her black, doe eyes softened, and she gave a faint smile. “Come. We need to leave.”
He rose and stretched out his hand to help her up. She took it and gazed at him with gratitude as she rose. Despite her manlike build, Kilda’s touch was soft and graceful. If there were bandits around, Lissandro would never let one of them touch her. They returned to their companions and got on their horses. Following Ahanu, they returned to the edge of the forest and resumed their journey southwards.
The blue shades of dusk colored the valley when they heard the first howling. Lissandro rode closer to Ahanu.
“We should hurry,” Lissandro said.
“Wolves are no threat. They don’t attack humans,” Ahanu said.
“Usually, no. But war raged for years. Those wolves have scavenged bodies. They may have a taste for human flesh. And they will definitely run for the horses,” Lissandro said.
Ahanu looked at him and nodded. The Child kicked his horse and hastened the pace.
At the risk of exhausting the horses, the eight riders pushed their mounts to a gallop, raising clouds of powdery snow in their wake. Lissandro glanced back. Black dots came running from the woods’ edge. They drew behind them and on their sides. Wolves were no match for the horses’ speed. However, they would still run when their mounts died of exhaustion, and it was not impossible that a part of the pack was waiting for them further on their way. His horse snorted. Lather pearled on its fur. Lissandro gave rein and spurred. Night fell around them. They needed to find a shelter. A ravine and a copse blocked their way. Lissandro drew reins and followed Ahanu’s mount down in a slalom between bumps and birches. At the bottom, his mount’s hooves squelched in running water. Lissandro prayed that the stream’s bed wasn’t uneven and that no snag hid in a pool. By luck, he made it to the other side. They were climbing the opposite slope when Lissandro heard a whinny and a scream behind him. He swiveled his horse. His companions were joining them, trotting around Selen’s horse, which lay on its side and jerked its legs in the air. Crouched next to it, Selen pushed desperately at his mount to have it up again.
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 21
