“One roasted partridge.” The mercenary said, softly as he took the other seat.
“And its eggs poached.” The hooded man completed the coded message to confirm they were not making any errors of judgment.
“What’s the job?” The mercenary got right to the point, not comfortable sitting with his back exposed.
The hooded man slipped a hand into his cloak and brought out a small painted portrait, fitted in a gilded frame. It was the likeness of a young woman, breathtakingly beautiful, with fiery red hair, emerald green eyes and skin as lush as fresh cream. The mercenary recognized her immediately. There were very few who did not. The Princess Shania was not one to be hiding behind the palace walls, though she seldom ventured outside alone; she was well known and feared all through the Western Kingdom and beyond.
“Three days afore.” The hooded man said in hushed tones. “Towards the Dark Keep to the east.”
“I know the place.” The highland warrior nodded, glancing over his shoulder as some drunk singing a ribald tune. “What is the purse?”
“Twenty gold pieces, sovereign stamped.” The other replied, placing a small pouch before the mercenary. The thick golden ring on his middle finger gleamed in the flickering light before he swiftly pulled his hand away. “Five now, the rest when you have returned with her alive and unharmed.”
“I need a manner of proof to convince her of my intentions.” The mercenary nodded, quickly palming the pouch. “So she may not fear me more than her captors.”
“I understand.” The slouched man shook his head under the deep hood and fished out a small leather wrapped package from under his cloak, placing it on the table.
The large muscular highlander picked it up, unwrapping the tight binding. His eyes gleamed at the ornate, jewel encrusted dagger within it. That alone could pay for a few years of his way of life. He wrapped it back up and slipped it inside his leather jerkin.
“Why do you trust me with this, and with your precious cargo?” He abruptly asked the hooded man.
“You were highly recommended, Cullen, and your reputation precedes you in such matters.”
“You know my name,” Cullen replied gruffly, rising to his feet. “And I am yet to see your face. But no matter, your manner of speech and the signet ring on your finger that you have forgotten to conceal has already told me who you are.”
“That’s why you are the man for this job.” The other nodded as the mercenary turned and walked away. “I can trust none other. And Cullen, be warned, for your patience is to be tested… as my precious cargo is not accustomed to ways below her exalted station.”
***
Cullen stood in the light rain outside the high walls of the imposing structure. The Dark Keep was all it as called looked every bit of its foreboding nomenclature. It was well entrenched within the mountains of the Eastern Kingdom, three days ride away from the borders of the Western Kingdom. It was the fourth day since his meeting with the hooded man in the unsavory tavern, whom Cullen knew was the king himself, and he had ridden his warhorse hard through the vast forested landscape. The rain refreshed him and the horse. He had it tethered to a pole beside a few pitched tents outside the walls, of merchants and other men seeking to make money for their wares inside the walls of the Keep.
He had found their company welcoming. Being traders and merchants they had travelled the lands and a sight like him was nothing out of the ordinary for such men. He had to wait until dark to make his move, a few hours wait also did well to get him some rest and prepare for his rescue attempt. Mostly as a mercenary, Cullen had been hired to slay, to fight against others like him, and even assassinate a powerful rival to some king, noble or chieftain. This was his first attempt at a rescue and that too of a woman, and a princess no less.
Being part of a race of natural born warriors, Cullen was well versed in the art of warfare and hardship, owing to a life in the highlands, where surviving every day was a battle won. He glanced at the merchants around him, soft and compliant men for whom silver tongues were of more value than sharp steel. They had their uses too, especially when it came to a good meal and gambling.
“And what are you here for, my large friend.” The short squat man standing beside him asked. “You are no trader or merchant, unless it is slaves you wish to buy or sell.”
“I am here on a diplomatic mission.” Cullen smiled at the man, though it did not reach his steel blue eyes. “One that will ensure future trade.”
“And whom do you represent, where are you from?” The tradesman pressed.
“My people are from the cold highland hills of the North.” Cullen scanned the walls of the Keep, noting the guards on patrol.
“The North?” The fat man laughed. “What do the people of the North have worth trading with the opulent Eastern Kingdom… animal pelts and dried meat.”
“Our skills with the sword, Jessop.” Cullen adjusted the leather strap on his helm.
“Why, is there a war brewing?” Jessop looked suddenly wary.
“There’s always a war going on, my friend.” Cullen strode off toward the walls as the first few bright stars became visible in the darkening skies above. “Thanks for the fine lamb stew and for taking care of my horse. I will be back shortly.”
“Fare you well, my large friend.” Jessop sighed. “In whatever diplomatic adventure you’re undertaking.”
***
“Halt, who goes there, answer or die.” The harsh words yelled outside the wooden door to her cell drifted to her sharp ears as she stretched herself on the wooden cot, the only piece of furnishing there.
Some fool had caught the guards’ attention outside making them raise a ruckus and now her sleep had been shattered. Seven days ago she had been kidnapped from the royal guardians of her father, King Gawain’s summer palace and brought here to this foreboding keep across the borders of their kingdom. She didn’t know what for, but being a princess was good enough reason to be kidnapped. She knew her father would pay any ransom for her, but she was not abducted for the wealth of the kingdom. Instead it was an attempt to stop her from marrying the prince of another kingdom to the south, thus making their nation even more powerful and a possible threat to this one in the east. She had never met this southern Prince before, never even heard of him and couldn’t really care.
Princess Shania couldn’t give a hoot for such matters of state and politics. Though she was terrified at the abduction, she was so far not treated badly by her captors. Perhaps they knew better than to spoil their only means of leverage, whoever they were. She had been blindfolded and brought to the Keep to be locked up in the little cell, about two days ago. They had given her proper food and drink, proper for a commoner, but acceptable enough to quench her thirst and hunger for the moment. And now when she finally laid her head down to rest, someone was raising hell outside.
She sat upright when a loud crash sounded right above her cell. Voices were raised in anger and the sound of scuffling ensued. Metal rang on metal, screams of men maimed or dying echoed inside. Then there was a sudden deathly silence as if nothing had ever happened. Whoever the fool trying to escape was must have been dealt with by the guards.
Suddenly the door to her cell exploded in a rush of splinters as a large man wearing the helm and armor of the Dark Keep guardsmen came hurtling in headfirst, hit the hard floor and lay there very still, his glassy stare looking up at the ceiling of the cell. She stifled a scream, not knowing what to expect, but her heart was beating furiously. A huge shadow blotted out the torch light coming in through the shattered door, and then it ducked low to step into the little cell.
Shania screamed this time as the largest man she had ever seen stepped into her little cell, a huge broadsword in his massive fist, dripping with fresh blood. He wore some leather and metal armor and his immensely muscular arms and shoulders bore the marks of many scars and ceremonial tribal tattoos. The large iron helm on his head had a visor covering his eyes, his grim lips were a thin line and his powerful jaw bo
re a few days’ worth of dark stubble. She pressed herself back toward the cold wall of her cell, her green eyes wide in terror.
“Her hair be as brilliant as the sunset, and her dazzling eyes as green as the evening sea, she has the face to stay the gods and the body to make men kneel before her, ever ready to die.” He said, in a low guttural rumble that seemed to emanate from his deep chest. “You are the Princess Shania, of the Western Kingdom… heir to the crown of Gawain, the King.”
She eyed him warily as he stood there, not willing to acknowledge him without knowing who he was. He stood there silently awaiting her response, throwing a furtive glance over his massive shoulder every now and then. Realizing that she was not certain about his intentions, he took off his helm. His long dark hair tumbled in sweat slick curls around his handsomely rugged face and she stared at the steel blue eyes that looked back at her intensely.
“Princess, I am Cullen of the Northern Highland Clans, hired by your sire to return you to him.” He said urgently. “Come, we have to leave before they rouse the main army.”
“Why should I believe you… you’re just a barbarian of low birth.” Shania composed herself and gave him a contemptuous look.
His jaw clenched and the thick vein on his muscular neck bulged. “My manner of birth doesn’t matter, I am a mercenary and my job this day is to take you safely back to your father.”
“Show me some proof.” She demanded, unsure if she was going to be safer in her cell or with this unknown mercenary.
Anticipating her exact request, he fished out a dagger with a jewel encrusted hilt and royal insignia of her kingdom, and tossed it to her. She grabbed it with both hands and studied it closely. It was her late mother’s ornamental dagger. She glanced up at him as he peered out of the cell crouching low.
“The alarm has been raised.” He said in low tones, “I see the guards with their torches approaching from the south gate.”
“Why should I believe you were given this by my father…?” She looked at him defiantly. “You may have stolen it from the regal knights who would have been entrusted with this family treasure.”
“Had I stolen it then why should I be the fool to come after you? That piece could fetch me more gold than I can carry in a year. We have little time, Princess.” He hissed. “We must go now.”
“I refuse to…” She began, but his huge hand clamped over her startled mouth and he was off and running with her cradled in his arms like a little sack of meal.
As he rounded a narrow corridor, a few of the Dark Keep guards blocked their way. Cullen callously dropped her to the dirt packed floor and whipped out his massive flat bladed broadsword with his right hand and a foot long wickedly gleaming dagger with his left. Shania temporarily forgot her misgivings and of the filthy floor as she watched her muscle-bound rescuer in action. The man was a blur of savage ferocity. Either he was natural born killer, or trained well in the art of killing by some master of the craft. One of the guards, the largest of the lot, swung his spiked ball and chain at him. Cullen caught the massive chain on his thick left forearm, wrapping it around twice. He yanked it hard and the guardsman came hurtling toward Cullen. A ruthless blow from the flat side of the broadsword smashed the big man’s nose and sent him sprawling to the ground.
The two remaining guardsmen approached with caution, but Cullen didn’t wait for them. He dived right into them, smashing the hilt of his dagger into the side of one man’s head and his heavy right fist into the other’s jaw. Both men crumpled to the ground. There was a fourth, smaller man crouching behind the three, but he just turned tail and ran. Cullen didn’t chase him; instead he scooped up the princess as if she was a sack of dry oats and slung her over his shoulder. Shania noticed that even if he had the outer appearance of a savage, remorseless killer, he hadn’t actually killed those guardsmen, but knocked him senseless instead. Why he did that, she wondered, for surely these men would not do the same for him. She didn’t get the time to think on that as her massive rescuer sprinted through the narrow passageway until he came upon a set of steep stairs.
He bolted up the stairs, seemingly knowing his way around the Keep and ran at breakneck speed, leaping and hurdling his way through startled guardsmen and other inhabitants of the place. Within moments he was racing with her in his arms over the length of the western wall. The southern gate was heavily guarded, and he knew that even before he planned this rescue. With a wild reckless yell he leapt right off the wall and landed feet first into some tents pitched around the wall. Screams and yells ensued from those inside at the sudden intrusion. Not waiting around to assess the damage he caused, Cullen leapt onto a large dark stallion tethered on a pole beside a tent. With Shania slung over his broad shoulder, he kicked the horse into a fast gallop, away and into the dark night. A cohort of six horsemen came after them, curved swords and spear tips gleaming in the moonlight.
“You callous brute.” Shania screeched as they thundered into the forest that rolled out for miles before them, the Keep getting smaller and smaller in the horizon behind them. “I have never in my life been man-handled in this manner. I will have your head on a spike for this, you … you… lowly barbarian.”
Cullen didn’t answer the arrogant young woman; he kept riding silently with her still slung over his shoulder, stretching the distance between their pursuers, using all his expertise at horsemanship. After a while there was no sign of pursuit and Cullen decided to let his horse slow down to a trot. A few hours of easy riding later with him silently enduring her rants and wails until she grew tired, he slowed the horse down to a halt. It was a good place to camp, with a stream running by and trees that bore fruit all around them. Three more days of hard riding lay before them, to get to the border of the Western Kingdom, and another day to reach the castle of King Gawain, and he wanted the horse to gather as much strength as it could.
He dismounted and unceremoniously dumped his burden onto a soft patch of moss. Shania fell hard, but the soft moss broke her fall. Nevertheless, she had the breath taken out of her and was livid with rage. He ignored her and sat down to clean the blood off his broadsword. She watched his sullen expression. His cool, care free demeanor infuriated her. Never had a man felt so intimidating to her. She was used to perfumed nobles and prancing princes bowing before her and offering their slender arms for her to hold as they walked in obeisance beside her. This man was nothing like that at all, and it made her blood boil to not have her superior station acknowledged.
“Savage!’ She cried out. “Ill-mannered brute! Haven’t you been taught in the ways to treating a woman of high birth, a regal princess?”
He eyed her silently, running the whetstone across the length of his blade with almost mechanical precision, blue sparks spraying with each stroke. The huge warhorse happily munched away at the grass behind him.
“Well, what have you to say?” She screamed. “I am Princess Shania; men bow before me or lose their heads.”
“You’re not my princess, woman.” Cullen said, anger pricking at the back of his neck. “To me you are a burden I need deliver for a few coins, no more.”
“How dare you insult me, lowborn?” She wrung her hands in frustration. “I will have your head on a spike for this… once we get home, my father will have you drawn and quartered.”
“Save your strength, lass.” He said quietly, placing his broadsword down and flicking out a sharp dagger. “We have four days to ride, you will need it. Now be quiet while I hunt us some meat.”
“How dare you order me to be quiet?” She gritted her teeth. “And I will not eat some gruesomely hunted and barbaric repast that the likes of you can find.”
“You have the choice to starve.” He said, rising up and slipping away toward the undergrowth. “Or try the fruit in these trees.”
“No one to pluck them... oh, alas, must a princess be so deprived?” She groaned, but Cullen was out of earshot.
When he returned with three freshly skinned rabbits ready for the pit, Shania was asleep on
the moss bed he had thrown her upon. He shook his head, remembering that the king telling him that she was a bit spoilt; the old man couldn’t have made a greater understatement. Never in his life so far had he come across someone with so much expected entitlement.
The crackling of roasting rabbit over a hot fire roused the young woman. She looked around, her hungry stomach rumbled at the scent of roasting meat. Cullen watched her as he turned the rabbits on the spit. She couldn’t have been much older than him; he was entering his twenty third summer; that would mark a full decade of him becoming a warrior of his clan. He smiled as she stumbled about, clearly not used to being outdoors much, if at all. She walked on unsteady feet to the stream and washed her face, drinking deeply. Her soft white skin glowed in the pale moonlight and her fiery hair took on a silver sheen. She was a sight to behold, almost a goddess, if only she didn’t have that rude arrogance, he mused.
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