Hilda's Inn for Retired Heroes
Page 15
She didn't want to think of Lord Barton, but she had no doubt that the retirees would warn their friends and family of the man. She needed to warn the Mercenary Guild of his intentions towards anyone who ran afoul of him.
Hilda was wearing her mercenary gear. It had been a long time since she had dressed in light leather armor, strapped on her short sword, and small knives. Her long sword and scabbard would be strapped to the horse. The flamethrower in a soft case was strapped to her back.
Her gear felt heavy and restrictive since she had been wearing light cotton clothing for a few years. She tied her hair up and then turned. Davi gasped. He had been watching her don her battle gear.
"You look" he said "fierce."
Hilda, if she had been able to look into a metal surface, would have seen the same battle-hardened soldier she had always seen except for the wrinkles that had accumulated around her eyes and the gray streaks in her hair.
She had not wanted to take up the sword again, but her need was great. She would have plenty of days in the future as they traveled to Koenigsstadt to mourn her losses and celebrate her gains. Plus she would spent a few hours each night to work with the sword and magic. Davi needed training too.
"Ready?" she asked Davi. He just nodded his head.
She held the horse's reins in her fist, the packhorse reins tied to the saddle. She followed Davi towards the gate. She swore under her breath that Lord Barton would pay dearly. She watched Davi walk through the gate with the fire bucket swinging by his side.
When the guard stopped him, she could hear Davi's whine, "But sir, my master told me to gather wood in the forest. He'll beat me." Davi cringed. A merchant yelled at the guard. The guard slapped the back of Davi's head, and turned his attention to the merchant. Davi walked calmly out the gate and towards the forest.
Now it was her turn. She rode up to the same gate. The guard looked at her as he was arguing with the merchant, saw her eyes, and ignored her as she rode through the gate. Once she reached the other side, she heard the gate close.
No one yelled for her to come back. No mounted guards cantered after her. The road stretched before her. When she reached the edge of the forest Davi was waiting for her. Hilda dismounted and tied the horse. Her legs were already aching and she had only been riding a quarter hour.
Sassy came out of the bucket and jumped into her arms. Hilda felt peace.
The journey had begun.
About the Author
Cyn Bagley is a traveler.
When she was in the US Navy, she worked and lived in Japan and Panama. As a contractor with her husband, they spent six years in Germany repairing computers. She was diagnosed with Wegener’s Granulomatosis, a Vasculitis disease, in 2003. She lost her husband in 2014 to cancer and is now living near Las Vegas. When she is not writing, she is walking her mixed Chihuahua-terrier mix.
Other titles by Cyn Bagley
Novels and Novellas
Conjure Man
Erika T. Red
Perchance to Dream
Shira: Hero of Corsindor
EJ Hunter
Urban Werewolf
She Called It, Wolf
Billy the Kid
Short Stories and Collections
The Case of the Golden Seed
Ghostly Glimmers
The Green Knight Terraforming Company
Hidden in the Sierras: a were-bear story
I'm a Flasher and Too
Norn's Judgment
Land of Gehenna
Living in the Desert: short story collection
Smoke and Mirrors
Excerpt from "Shira: Hero of Corsindor"
Rain struck the lead-glass window in staccato bursts. It struck with such force that it drowned out all living sound, even the clanking of solders walking the passageways on their daily rounds. Grayness seeped through the stones of the castle along with the cold wet damp. Darkness, brought by the rain, chilled the bones of adults and children alike.
In the midst of this war of elements, a newborn babe, lay in a small rocking cradle. His mother had just died in a last major effort to birth him. A nurse rocked the cradle, crooning.
″You, poor sweet thing.″ she said. She had promised the mother during this hard birth that she would save the baby. The mother insisted over and over that this baby was in danger.
Everyone knew that the woman who had married the king aspired to be a real queen, not a consort. It would be hard for a new woman to realize that she would always be unloved. Married, but unloved. But the mistress was dead. It was time to look after the child.
The nurse looked behind her, and then picked up the baby. Glancing to the right and left, she looked hard into the shadows. You never knew what or who could be listening. She shuddered. This child was the key to power.
Gently she wrapped him tightly in a soft warm blanket, and placed him in a crude wicker basket. She tucked a small quilt over the basket.
Walking slowly through the castle, she prayed that the child wouldn't cry. But, he was silent. She wanted to reassure him, but he needed to stay hidden. No one must know that where he had gone. Her lips moved in a silent prayer as she walked through the hidden world of servants. She prayed that her arm would not give out.
The baby was heavy. The basket pressed against her forearm. No one must know what was in the basket. If she used her hand to steady the basket, some spy would be able to tell that she was not carrying bread. It must look effortless.
The nurse made it to the kitchen. In another moment, she would be gone. The tradesmen were at the door unloading the castle's daily supplies. She slipped through them like a dark shadow, headed through the open gate, and stepped into the city.
She walked through the maze of the city, looking for a certain alley. It was just off the market square. It was long before she found the little shop. Beads and brocade covered the entrance. Incense burned, inviting the shopper to step inside and sample the exotic goods.
She walked in and said, "Kinsman, may I speak with you?" The man behind the counter went to the front door and locked it. He took her into the backroom.
An hour later the nurse was on her way back to the castle. The basket was gone.
***
The messenger found the newly wedded Queen standing by the window, gazing at the city. Her crimson dress draped across her tall slight frame. It emphasized her dark brooding eyes. Dark hair piled on top of her head completed this picture of stark beauty.
"The nurse is dead," he said.
"And the baby?" She waited for his answer.
"The nurse hid him before we found her."
"Find the baby," she ordered. The death of the child was important for her plans.
The messenger’s eyes glowed red for an instant. Then, he faded into the shadows.