Arnulf grunted. “Then we’d best make haste and return before anything untoward befalls him.”
A sudden commotion outside startled them. A half-dozen guards poured into the room, swords drawn.
Arnulf raised a brawny arm to halt them. “We are unharmed.” He gestured to the advisor on the floor, intestines spilling from the gaping wound in his abdomen. “He tried to take out the prisoners—told them King Hamend was dying, and that he was his successor. I suspect he was behind the attempt on the king’s life. Dispose of the body and inform the king of what happened.” Arnulf grabbed Samten by the elbow and passed him over to one of the guards. “Take the lad to the tower and keep him under heavy guard until we return. If he is harmed in any way, you will answer to me.”
The guard saluted and disappeared out the door with a struggling Samten in tow.
“Follow me,” Arnulf said, jerking his chin at Orlla.
She tore her eyes away from Samten’s retreating back and stepped around the advisor’s body. Her brother’s fate was inextricably bound up with her oath to King Hamend to retrieve the Opal of Light. For better or worse, she would be forced to work together with Arnulf if she wanted to see Samten again.
Arnulf led her through several stone corridors, up and down multiple flights of stairs, through a squat, round tower room and out an arched, wooden door at the back of the castle. As they crossed a muddy courtyard to the stables, Orlla took note of the heavy presence of archers strolling the ramparts. Her stomach tightened. It was inevitable Brufus would attack the castle if he invaded Macobin. All the more reason to get Samten out of there as soon as possible.
Inside the stables, Kingsmen dressed in hooded jerkins mounted up, gauntlets gripping the reins of their snorting stallions, eager to ride. Orlla grimaced. There would be no escaping such a heavy guard.
Arnulf gestured to her mare pawing the ground impatiently. Orlla’s eyes widened when she saw her bow and arrows neatly stowed in the saddlebags. She ran her hand slowly over the smooth, familiar wood of her carved bow and let out a soft sigh of relief as she swung herself up into the saddle. King Hamend had kept his vow to return her weapons, and even ordered the guards to free Elspeth and clear her debts in front of a court of witnesses. It remained to be seen if he would deliver on his pledge to allow Samten to go free when she returned.
She pulled on her mare’s reins and steered the horse over to the stable door, thankful that Arnulf had elected not to bind her hands this time. It would have served no purpose—she had little hope of escaping with twenty Kingsmen surrounding her. With her hands free, they could ride hard and make good time to the Angladior mountains.
If Akolom was still at the outpost, she would enlist him to speak to the Keepers on their behalf. If anyone could sway the Conservatory, it was him. After everything Orlla had learned about the mainlanders’ plight, she had little doubt he would be as eager as she was to right the wrongs Efyllsseum had perpetrated on the mainland.
The Kingsmen rode out from the castle just as the gathering storm clouds opened and torrential rain began to fall. It wasn’t long before the horses were trudging through mud up to their knees and they were forced to slow their pace. Raindrops slid down Orlla’s face, but her heart was so heavy she couldn’t tell where her tears began and the rain ended. The weight of everything at stake pressed heavy as a millstone on her shoulders. She hadn’t planned on becoming separated from Samten, and until she returned with the Opal of Light, his life hung in the balance. To make matters worse, she missed Erdhan, and she hadn’t planned on that either.
Visibility on the road worsened until Orlla could barely see the rump of the horse in front of her. She cast a cautious glance behind her to see how closely she was being followed. Perhaps the Kingsmen were too cold and miserable to keep their eyes on her in this abominable weather and she might attempt an escape. To her disappointment, Arnulf rode directly behind her, not trusting any of the other Kingsmen to guard her as well as he could.
A shout went up from the front of the line, and the horses ahead of Orlla halted, skittish in the buffeting wind.
“Storm’s getting worse,” the lead rider shouted back to the others. “Let’s find shelter and make camp for the night.”
Orlla angled her horse off the road, flanked by Arnulf, and followed the other Kingsmen deeper into the woods. Most of the trees were too thin and spindly to offer much shelter on their own, but they could serve as a framework for makeshift tents if nothing else. They walked for a few hundred feet until they came to a copse bordering a large granite boulder that offered some degree of respite from the inclement weather.
The Kingsmen dismounted and quickly went to work draping animal skins over the interlocking branches next to the overhang to create a slipshod shelter and prevent the worst of the downpour from seeping through. When Arnulf gestured to Orlla to crawl inside, she slid gratefully off her horse and ducked beneath the skins. Shivering with cold, she sank to the ground in her soggy woolen cloak and hugged her arms around her knees. The Kingsmen hobbled the horses nearby and retrieved the saddlebags. Several of the men headed off to gather wood for a fire while Arnulf and the others joined Orlla inside the makeshift shelter.
“This storm could force us to hole up here until tomorrow,” Arnulf said gruffly.
“Aye, but it will prevent Brufus’s army from advancing over the marshes,” a large-boned Kingsman said.
“They may have already crossed them,” Arnulf pointed out. “I’ll wager those men who took out Horace were Brufus’s soldiers.”
The large-boned Kingsman grimaced. “Then we’d best hope they’re not waiting for us once we reach the Angladior mountains.”
Arnulf pinched his dark brows into a scowl. “I fear that is exactly where we will find them gathering their troops.”
Orlla looked up at the rustle of footsteps through the damp foliage. Several sopping Kingsmen appeared with armfuls of sticks. “Not much dry tinder around, but we found a few sheltered spots,” one of them said, ducking under the skins and tossing the wood beneath the rock overhang. He pulled out a piece of flint and a fire-steel, then carefully arranged some bark, crumpled leaves and twigs between the larger sticks before getting to work creating a spark. After a few minutes, he coaxed a flame to life and struggled to fan it into a fire that would hold. Orlla held her breath until the flames finally began to crackle with enough substance to sustain them.
“No sense trying to hunt in this weather,” Arnulf said, his eyes glistening in the light of the flames. “But I can get a broth going and throw in any jerky you have to spare.”
Several voices murmured their approval, teeth chattering as they huddled closer to the fire. No one had any desire to go back outside, for any reason.
Arnulf retrieved a pot from his saddlebags and set it out to catch some water. When it was almost full, he brought it over to the fire and tossed in an assortment of jerky and dried herbs. Before long, the water was bubbling, and a tantalizing smell wafted up from the pot.
“Rain’s beginning to ease off,” Arnulf remarked as he passed the ladle around. Orlla supped eagerly when her turn came, with no expectations of anything more than something warm to fill her belly. To her surprise, the flavors of the herbs had blended together to make a delicious broth that was as fine as anything she had ever partaken of on Efyllsseum.
“We’ll need to post watchmen tonight,” one of the Kingsmen said. “If Brufus’s soldiers are in the area, our tracks will be easy to follow in this mud.”
Arnulf slurped noisily on his ladleful of broth. “I’m not expecting trouble from Brufus’s army, yet. A few spies we can handle.”
The large-boned Kingsman directed a meaningful look at Orlla. “If you’re leading us into a trap in the Angladior mountains, make no mistake about it, your brother will pay with his life.”
Orlla’s throat bobbed. “I assure you my intention is only to take you to the pass through the mountains. I have set no trap, and know nothing of Brufus’s movements.”
“Once we are through the pass, then what?” another Kingsman asked. “How do we get to the island?”
“We must wait for a boat,” Orlla said. “They come every week or so bringing fresh supplies to our outpost.”
Arnulf rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Can the boatsmen be trusted?”
Orlla hesitated. “I believe I can persuade them to help us.”
The Kingsmen traded dark looks with Arnulf. Orlla averted her eyes, not wishing to be pressed on the issue. The boatsmen would have to be coerced into ferrying mainlanders—Kingsmen no less—across to the island. She would have to find a way to keep the boatsmen from coming to any harm in the process.
“Get some rest,” Arnulf said to her after the last of the broth had been eaten. “We leave at first light.”
Orlla curled up in her damp clothes next to the fire and shivered until she fell into a troubled sleep. In her dreams she was fleeing from a three-headed serpent that writhed toward the Opal of Light she sought desperately to hide beneath her cloak. The more the serpent lusted after the stone’s power, the heavier the stone grew in her arms, and the more jewel-laden courtiers pressed in to witness the spectacle—cackling and scoffing each time she stumbled under her burden.
She woke with a start to find Arnulf shaking her by the shoulder. “Wake up! The storm has broken. Time to head for the mountains.”
Bone-weary from the previous day, Orlla swayed to and fro in the saddle as they sloughed through the brush and back out onto the muddy road. The morning air was damp and rife with fog, obscuring the path ahead.
“Make haste!” Arnulf barked at her. “The sooner we are off the road, the safer we will be.”
Orlla reluctantly kicked her horse into a canter, and Arnulf followed.
Lost in thought, she scarcely grasped what was happening when the Kingsman in front of her slumped sideways and fell from his horse.
Chapter 18
Orlla yanked hard on her reins, trying desperately to avoid trampling the man to death. All around her shouts filled the air as the other Kingsmen drew their swords and readied their bows. Seconds later, a bloodcurdling yell rang out. Armed men burst out from the brush on either side of the road, their faces smeared with dirt. They leapt on the Kingsmen, just as another group on horseback came galloping down the road toward them, trapping them on three sides. Brufus’s army, no doubt.
Orlla reached into her saddlebag for her bow and arrow. They were outnumbered and would be forced to fight on several fronts. She could choose to fight or flee, but with her weapon already in hand, she knew what her decision would be. She nocked an arrow, took aim, and let it fly, taking down one of Brufus’s soldiers who had pinned a Kingsman beneath him. The Kingsman rolled over, jumped to his feet and dove back into the fray hacking down a soldier with a deadly swing of his sword.
Orlla nocked another arrow, but before she could release it, she was pulled from her horse and hauled into the brush. She struggled valiantly, screaming for help, as one man held her down while another bound her arms and legs. They dragged her deeper into the forest, before drawing their swords and running back out to rejoin the fighting.
Goosebumps pricked Orlla’s arms. What did Brufus’s soldiers want with her? For some reason, they hadn’t killed her, but the only obvious one that came to mind was that she was a woman, and a spoil of war. She suddenly longed for the protection of the Kingsmen, despite what that protection required of her.
She called out for help again, but she knew no one could hear her over the fray of horses whinnying, and metal clanging, as the fighting grew fiercer. They couldn’t help her now anyway, in the midst of fighting for their own lives. From this deep in the brush, she couldn’t tell who had the upper hand. The Kingsmen were outnumbered and had been taken by surprise, but they were formidable fighters and wouldn’t go down easily. Slowly, she rolled and wriggled through the thick brush, ducking her head as best she could to avoid the brambles scratching at her face, until she reached a vantage point from where she could see what was happening on the road.
Her heart sank. Only three Kingsmen remained on their feet—Arnulf and two others. All three were wounded and struggling to parry the blows raining down on them. Orlla flinched as one of Brufus’s soldiers brought his sword down on an injured Kingsman, the impact knocking him off his feet. Seconds later, his dying scream pierced the air. Orlla’s gaze slid to Arnulf, soaked in blood but still fighting as gallantly as his injuries allowed. Briny tears pricked at her eyes. Despite the role Arnulf had played in her arrest, he didn’t deserve to die like this. Suppressing a sob, she lay back down in the brush.
Minutes passed, and one of the soldiers who had bound her reappeared at her side. Wordlessly, he undid the rope around her ankles and hauled her to her feet. Looking out at the road, she realized with a rush of despair that the fighting had ended. Two of Brufus’s soldiers held a badly bleeding Arnulf between them. She watched, numbly, as they tied him to the back of a horse and whipped it on the rump. The steed whinnied and plunged forward, galloping back down the road in the direction of Lichtenburg. Orlla’s stomach clenched. Arnulf would be lucky to survive more than a furlong or two before he bled out.
The soldier gripping her arm let out a snort. “That’ll send Hamend a message he won’t take lightly.”
“Who are you?” Orlla asked, quelling her panic as she waited for him to confirm what she feared.
A mocking smile formed on the soldier’s lips. “We are the cavalry who rescued you from that crazed monarch, Hamend. You have new allies now.”
“What makes you think I needed rescuing?” Orlla asked sharply.
The soldier yanked her forward by the rope at her wrists. “You yak too much. We have ground to cover before nightfall.”
“What do you want with me?”
The soldier laughed. “What I want with you is one thing.” He gave a lewd wink. “But what the Earl Marshall wants with you is another thing entirely.”
He jerked the rope again and marched her out to the road where the other soldiers had finished picking through the fallen Kingsmen’s weapons. Orlla grimaced when she noticed her bow and quiver at the bottom of the pile. Several of Brufus’s soldiers mounted the surviving horses and trotted off down the road. The foot soldiers fell in behind, marching at a grueling pace even for seasoned soldiers. Orlla stumbled several times, but the soldiers showed her no mercy and didn’t offer to put her on horseback. They broke once at noon and watered the horses while they passed around some stale biscuits. Orlla gnawed hungrily on a hunk one of the soldiers threw in her direction.
They ogled her unabashedly as she ate but left her untouched as they lazed among the rye-grass. She puzzled over why they had let her live at all. Surely if she were only a spoil of war, they would have defiled her by now and left her for dead. As preposterous as it was, it almost seemed that they had fought the Kingsmen to retrieve her. But why was she of importance to them? And how did they know she was on the road?
All too soon, Orlla was forced back on the trail, wincing as her blistered feet rubbed raw in her still-damp doeskin boots. After a while, she fell into a plodding trance, tuning out the coarse chatter of the soldiers as they called to each other. Her thoughts drifted to Erdhan. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had enlisted, and if they might encounter him somewhere along the way with Hamend’s soldiers.
They reached the Angladior mountains just as dusk was settling like silt over the trees, blurring the tree line into a charcoal smudge along the horizon. Several of Brufus’s soldiers emerged from the forest and guided them along a trail to a large, well-stocked camp. Foot soldiers milled around fires, eating, drinking and rolling sheep vertebrae on tree stumps, placing bets on which side of the bone would land up.
One of the soldiers accompanied Orlla to the far side of the camp where a tall helmed man with his back to them leaned over a well-creased parchment, running his finger over it as he muttered to himself.
“Begging your pardon, Earl Marshall,�
�� the soldier said. “I have the prisoner you requested.”
The Earl Marshall looked up abruptly and fastened a keen gaze on Orlla. “Excellent. Leave her with me. And fetch Lord Davian at once.”
“He has not yet arrived at the camp, sire,” the soldier replied.
“Very well. Bring him to me as soon as he gets here.”
The soldier saluted and hurried off.
The Earl Marshall turned his attention back to Orlla and curled his puffy lips into a sardonic smile. “I trust my men have not harassed you in any way.”
“They tied me up like an animal and killed my companions.”
“Ah yes, an unfortunate, but necessary precaution.”
“Necessary for what?” Orlla fumed. “What do you want with me?”
The Earl Marshall raised a brow. “To avail of your remarkable powers, of course. Our sovereign, Brufus, has need of your unusual skills.”
Orlla’s chest tightened. Did he know she was a Keeper? How could he have found that out? “Which powers are you alluding to?” she asked haughtily. “My knife skills are sadly lacking, although I am somewhat proficient when it comes to a bow. I would have been happy to demonstrate my accuracy but, regretfully, your soldiers took my weapon.”
The Earl Marshall sighed. “I find jesting tedious at the best of times. In case you have forgotten, we are at war, and must employ whatever means at our disposal to secure victory, however repugnant that might be to you.”
He carefully rolled up the parchment he had been studying and leaned it against a tree trunk. “Are you or are you not a fabricator of runes?”
Orlla narrowed her eyes at him and tried to strike a nonchalant tone. “Pray where did you hear such a notion?”
The Earl Marshall waved a hand impatiently. “It is of no consequence from whence I obtained the information. Brufus has spies everywhere. What is important is whether or not you will cooperate with us.” He tented his fingers in front of him and studied her reaction. “I am willing to offer something of value to you in return.”
Opal of Light: An epic dragon fantasy (The Keeper Chronicles Book 1) Page 16
