by Kim Bowman
“No, I do not.”
“Then you must realize the strain of travel on a child is of great excess. He’s tired and hungry, and he doesn’t understand what is happening. He’s scared.” Brynn was scared. She couldn’t make excuses much longer.
“There is an Engel stronghold only a few hours distance away. We’ll be stopping there. Just keep him quiet.” Michael returned to his position at the head of the traveling party.
~~~~
“This is your Engel stronghold?” Brynn stifled a laugh. The fortifications before her were nothing but a ransacked Archaean fortress long ago abandoned by its inhabitants. The outer walls crumbled from age. Thick vines threatened to constrict the inner beams keeping the ceiling intact.
“It’s more of an outpost.”
“I would hardly call it that. I would call it desperate.”
“Since when did your tongue become so bold, sister? You best hold your tongue and do as you’re told, or you will find yourself in confinement.”
“Like you?” She followed her guards through the front double doors and into the dim entry hall, seemingly empty of life. Talon clung to her leg, his face buried in her skirts.
“Someone will take you to your chamber. Father will want to know you’re here.” Michael disappeared into the shadows, leaving Brynn to ponder his last words alone.
Father? She and Talon were shoved into a back room and left for what seemed like hours. Guards were posted outside. There were no windows, no hidden doors, no escape routes. Michael returned for her soon after she sung Talon to sleep. “Brynn, come.” When she went to stir Talon from his restless slumber, Michael stopped her. “Leave him.” When Brynn showed signs of protest, he explained, “He will be safer here. Father has a temper.”
They walked through a damp hallway and down a set of jagged stairs. The moisture clung to her skin, dampening her gown. It clung to her lower back and legs as she walked. “What has Father gotten you into, Michael?”
Michael didn’t have time to reply. He opened the door to the study, an argument already in commencement when they entered. Her father, Bertram, the Earl of Galhaven, sat at a solid desk strewn with parchment and towering books ready to topple to the floor. Engels, tall and thin, surrounded him, pointing to various fixtures on a large map. The voices silenced — all heads turned in her direction.
Brynn stepped back a few paces, but Michael took her arm, pulling her to his side.
“What is the meaning of this?” Bertram staggered to his feet. Age had ravaged his body. He was no longer the fat, greasy man she remembered. His body was frail, his skin yellowed, and his once brown hair had turned white as winter’s snow.
“I have found her, Father.” Michael pushed her forward, as if presenting the man with a prize.
“Why is not she dead?” The venomous words spit from the old man’s mouth like poison.
“I told you he wouldn’t be able to do it.” The voice, calm and familiar, echoed from the corner of the room. The man continued to peer out the window he stood near.
“She belongs to Lord Westmore. She bears his mark, and by law, we must return her to him.” Michael clasped Brynn’s palm and uncovered the symbol on her wrist to show his proof.
Brynn slapped his hand away and tugged at her sleeve. “Don’t touch me.”
“I do not care who she belongs to… she is a traitor to her country and she must die for it!” Bertram pounded his fist, nearly knocking himself over in his rage. He lowered to the chair, swiping the desk clean with his arm during his descent.
“I’m not a traitor, you stupid old fool! I would have been married to an Engel and you would have had the land you wanted if it hadn’t been for your ignorance!”
“Indeed, you would have.” The smooth voice slipped from the shadows like ripples on water. “Just as beautiful as the day you were taken from me.” Julian, once her betrothed, was suddenly next to her. “Michael is right, Bertram. We must return her to Westmore. The bounty we will receive will fill the coffers of our cause. Well done, Michael.” Julian gave Michael’s shoulder a pat before returning to his perch near the window.
Bertram paused for thought. “Send out a dispatch. Inquire as to the amount of silver we can procure for her return. Until we receive word, keep her out of sight.”
“And what of the boy?” Michael inquired.
Brynn shot him a look of pure hatred.
“What… boy?” Bertram articulated the words with a click of his tongue, rising from his seat. He leaned over the space of the desk, awaiting the answer.
“She has a son, Father. He is here with her.”
“You have a child?” Bertram rounded the desk, hobbling closer to the center of the room where Brynn stood.
“Aye, I do.”
“And who sired this boy?”
Brynn rolled her eyes. “His father, of course.”
“Do not play games with me, girl. Who is the boy’s father?”
“My husband is his father.” Brynn took delight in watching the feeble man squirm.
“Oh, you are married now, are you?”
Brynn thought she could see Bertram’s blood begin to boil beneath the paper-like skin hanging loose around his features. She nodded with a mocking enthusiasm. “To an Archaean, even. The same Archaean who rescued me from you all those years ago. I expect him to do the same this time, as soon as he finds me. I have a suspicion he will not be so generous with your life this time… Father.”
“Get her out of my sight.” The command was followed by a sputtering spasm of coughing and a deep inhale.
Brynn was escorted from the room before she could diagnose the sickness eating at his insides. She would let it kill him for all she cared.
The passing of days left her in utter turmoil. Brynn was kept in confinement. A servant brought her food and emptied her chamber pot, and she was given an ill-fitting Engel gown to wear. It was a silky blue and matched her eyes but would soon be stained red with blood — she had seen it. She filled her time going over every passage she had written in her books, making sure all of the instructions for Marek were legible and clear. She checked her herbs and concoctions twice over and lined them up just so at the bottom of her satchel.
The most torturous part of her captivity — they had taken Talon from her. She hadn’t seen him in days. She would ask of him whenever anyone would enter her chamber, but no one would give her information. She hadn’t the slightest idea if he even lived. She had made the right decision by bringing him with her — her dreams had shown her so, and she dared not alter the course of the foreseen. She couldn’t trust Talon’s life in the hands of another, nor leave him with Marek, as he had his own life to fret over. But still, the unsurety ate at her insides like a festering wound. She paced the floor like a caged animal, testing her boundaries for weaknesses — she found none. She slept only when exhaustion overtook her, and ate only when she thought she would wretch from the pains of hunger. Planning an escape seemed futile. She would have to wait on word of Lord Westmore. From what she knew of him, he would bite at the bait. He wasn’t a man that took being outsmarted by a woman lightly.
A slight rapping on the door interrupted her thoughts. Julian entered, carrying a plate of food.
“Julian. Where is Michael?”
“He has been called to his duties. I will be overseeing your stay now.” Julian closed the door behind him and crossed the small room to the desk, setting down the plate. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” Brynn clasped her arms around her waist and returned to her pacing, trying to focus her thoughts on the task at hand.
“You need your strength… we leave in the morning.”
Her pacing stopped. “Where are we going?” She didn’t dare face him again, for fear he would see the panic in her eyes.
“Lord Westmore has requested you be returned. We ride for Braemir at dawn.”
“And what of my son? Where is he? Why has he been taken from me?” Brynn approached him then, falling to her knees at his feet. If hi
s absence was to break her defenses, it had worked. “Please, Julian. Tell me he is well.”
“The boy is fine. He plays with the hounds in the courtyard. Michael was looking after him.” Julian helped her stand.
Perhaps her brother still had some semblance of a soul. “He is unharmed?”
“He will travel with us, and upon your return, will also become the property of Westmore.”
Brynn clasped her palm over her mouth to keep a sob from slipping out. “No.”
“It is law. All nobles shall claim ownership of all property and possessions acquired or belonging to said property. Talon is your son, and therefore, belongs to Lord Westmore to do with as he pleases.”
“I would love to hear what his father has to say about that.” Brynn chuckled, knowing Marek would have killed Julian for even speaking the words.
Julian plopped in the desk chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. “We could have had a family, you know. If that heathen hadn’t ruined everything.”
“You could have defended me, Julian. You chose not to. That ‘heathen’ is twice the man you will ever be.”
“And where is that man now?” Julian placed his hands behind his head, relaxing against the wall. “I haven’t seen anyone fighting their way in to rescue you.”
“He will come for me.”
“Are you so sure?” Julian rose from his chair, meandering closer to her with every slow step. His boots scuffed across the stone floor, sending fine dust particles into the stagnant air.
“He loves me. He will come.” Her chin tilted up — just a little — in defiance.
“And just what is it that he loves so much about you? Perhaps you will easily spread your legs for him? Or perhaps your womanhood is so tight that he comes upon entry? Hmm?” Julian was nearly on her, so close she could smell the wine on his breath.
“If you touch me, Julian, you will seal your fate. Marek will kill you for it.” She held her ground. She would play the mouse no longer.
“Your husband is surprisingly absent. Who would stop me from taking my pleasure — something I should have done all those years ago. I was foolish to think marriage was the only way to have you.” His fingers wrapped around a lock of her hair, and he rubbed it between his thumb and finger. A sinister grin contorted his once handsome face. “I should have just taken you as my whore, with you being Archaean and all.”
“Did you marry, Julian?”
“I did, years ago.” His breathing came in quick pants and his hands rose to her shoulders, pushing her flat to the bed.
Brynn’s fingers crept ever closer to the small dagger strapped to the inside of her thigh. “And you would dishonor her so now?”
“My wife was a bitch.” His mood pitched sharply, and he brought a clenched fist to his forehead, as if trying to beat out the memory. Then, in an emotional turn, he dropped his hand and soothed the side of her cheek. “She told me what she did to you, how she destroyed our happy engagement. I couldn’t forgive her for that.”
Brynn gasped. “Meredith?” She thought back on Julian’s words. Was. My wife was a bitch. “Julian, what happened to Meredith?”
“She died.”
“How did she die, Julian?” Terror was quickly overtaking her, and Brynn began to quiver beneath his grasp.
Julian leaned in close, so close his lips touched her ear when he whispered to her. “I pushed her down the stairs.”
“Guards!” Brynn’s scream released Julian from whatever trance he was in. The door opened, and two Engel soldiers appeared with swords drawn. “Remove him from my chamber!”
Chapter Twenty-six
Death Becomes Us All
Marek tucked the parchment away after reading it for what seemed the hundredth time. He still couldn’t decipher its cryptic code. Frustrated, he tossed the remains of the wild hare he gnawed on into the coals of the campfire. He buried his hands in his hair and hung his head between his knees. He needed to think.
Mindless chatter clouded his thoughts. He had somehow persuaded a handful of men to join his cause — most simply anxious for battle. His brother, Ronan, had insisted he accompany him, even though Marek had screamed and yelled that Ronan must stay with his own family.
They made camp not far from the bordering wagon road, a popular traveling route to the deepest Archaean territories. Marek hadn’t received word from his wife, and the worry pained him. He would do as her note instructed — wait for her in the White Forest — and hope she was still alive to carry out whatever plan she had forthcoming.
“What troubles you this night, my friend?” asked Gavin. With a groan, his childhood friend settled next to him.
“’Tis nothing, really.” Marek stared into the fire, watching the flames lick at a fresh piece of kindling.
“We are here to help, aye? So out with it. How am I supposed to utilize my greatness if you won’t talk to me?” Gavin cocked an eyebrow, flashing a grin.
Marek sighed. Gavin was right. He couldn’t do it alone. The only way he was going to get his family back alive was if they all worked together. He retrieved the wrinkled piece of parchment and handed it to Gavin. “Brynn gave this to me just before she was taken. It’s her plan, but I don’t know what to make of it.”
“Let me have a go at it.” Gavin carefully unfolded the crumpled paper and read the first line aloud. “My love,” he spouted in his best effort at a female voice. “Well, I believe you should take that part meaning she loves you. ’Tis obvious, aye?”
Marek rolled his eyes. “If you think this is a joke, Gavin, give it back.”
“No, no, I said I would help, now let me read it.” He turned from Marek, continuing to read the letter by the light of the flames. “I have foreseen the coming events… what does that mean?” Gavin stroked the blond whiskers on his chin.
“Brynn has foreseeing dreams. I can only assume she knew this was going to happen.”
“Do not follow me. Gather your brothers in arms — that’s us—” Gavin pointed a finger to his chest. “You will find us in the White Forest.” Gavin stopped reading, but his eyes were still fixed on the words. “She doesn’t mean that White Forest?”
“Aye, she does, but I don’t think she understands what peril she’s leading us into.” Marek released a long, slow breath and took the paper from Gavin.
“The White Forest will be certain death. Only evil lives there. Wraiths — the death walkers, they will kill us all.”
“The death walkers are a legend. Who is to say they even exist?”
Gavin rose to his feet. “I do! I say they exist, and I say we are not going! No, not happening, Marek!” His outburst caught the attention of the others. “Fighting for a cause is one thing, but walking into the White Forest with my arms raised high shouting, ‘Kill me!’ is not high on my list of priorities!”
“They say the White Forest is blanketed in snow, even during the summer seasons — that Death himself resides there,” spoke another.
Ronan approached, snatching the parchment from his brother. He glanced over the words, his lips moving in silence as he read. “What is this about?”
“He intends to send us into the White Forest,” Gavin blurted.
“Then that is where we will go.” Ronan’s firm tone put a stop to Gavin’s outburst. “Where is this book she mentions? Perhaps the key lies within.”
“She didn’t give me a book, only the parchment.” Marek replied.
“And who are you to kill?”
“I know not.”
“Well, at least we get to kill somebody.” Ronan handed the letter to his brother and addressed the men before fear overcame them. “Listen, lads. Tomorrow we face a great challenge. We fight together or die together. Marek needs us. Our brother… needs us. We will do as he commands, and if that means we face the death walkers, then so be it.”
“Where are my scouts?” Marek called to his men. Two stepped forward. “Which road do they travel?”
“They travel the high road to Braemir.”
Marek’s face contorted into a deep scowl. “That will take them completely around the forest.” Pressing his fingers to his temple, he pictured the road in his mind. In his younger years, he once fulfilled a bounty near there. A deep ravine curved alongside the wagon road. There was also a bridge. Destroying the bridge would leave Brynn’s captors no choice but to turn around, or detour through the forest.
Marek picked up a nearby stick and drew a map in the dirt. “At first light, we will take out the bridge, here.” He placed a rock where the bridge was located on his map and filled in a few other key elements of the surroundings. “The White Forest is here,” he pointed out, “and we will intercept them here.” Marek stabbed the soil with the stick to mark the spot where the battle would take place, deep inside the forest.
“Why not wait until they clear the forest?” someone questioned.
“Who is to say they will even make it out?” Marek looked at his men, at their expectant faces. “I won’t lie to you, it will be dangerous. I won’t hold it against any man who does not wish to continue. This is my family, my fight.”
Two men withdrew, and Marek wished them safe travels back to their homeland. Their departure left him with a mere fifteen men. They spent the night gathering supplies by torchlight and preparing to meet the Engels. Weapons were sharpened, armor double-checked, and arrows well stocked.
~~~~
Sunlight warmed Marek’s cheeks as he knotted a length of rope then tied it securely to the saddle on his mount. The morning held the promise of a beautiful day — not one cloud disrupted the clear summer sky. The Engels would make good time… he must hurry. His attention turned to several more of his men who were diligently securing the other ends of the lengths of rope to the support beams of the wooden bridge. “You lads almost done down there?”
The men dangled precariously over the edge of the bridge, trusting completely in the grip of their comrades to keep them from plummeting to the ravine below.
“Nearly finished!” one called back as he swayed slightly in the breeze.
