Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  “Up you get,” I said briskly. I got his arm around my neck, lifted him to his feet and felt him scramble up over Wolf’s back. Then he groaned and went limp again.

  “Okay, Wolf. Get us out of here.” I held onto Ware and with the horse leading the way out, we half ran, half walked out of there.

  Ware had done a proper job of setting the place alight. The barracks, stables and armoury were in ashes, the keep was beginning to collapse, and even the walls were glowing.

  The wooden gate, reinforced oak four feet thick, was in actual flames, and only desperation and a very swift run got us over and out of there safely. I have never been so scared in my life. Never. I’m telling you: if there’s an afterlife, the gods will send those they wish to punish to an eternity of fire.

  But we got across, our feet and hooves hitting cool green grass beyond the burning hell. The flames lit the sky for miles around. If it hadn’t been for the moat, the forest would’ve gone up, too. As it was, the smoke drifted through the trees like a thick fog. Luckily Wolf has a good sense of direction; he took us straight to the cart.

  Rose and Daisy were alert and worried. So was I. A lot of Ranulf’s men were dead, but there were wounded as well as survivors. If they found us, we’d be toast.

  “We should get away from here,” I said to Wolf, “and we should stay off the path.”

  Ware was trying to keep it together, able to help by taking a wobbly step with me supporting him and mumbling, “Run, Lind. Run.” but not much else.

  I got him into the cart and then we were moving. “It doesn’t matter where we go,” I said to Wolf. “We just need to get away.” The horse picked his way between the trees, and we followed.

  I will never forget that night, not ever. We went at a decent clip, speed being of the essence, but as it was dark, I was in a constant panic in case we ended up in a bog or hit a ridge. The cart held our supplies, and without it I wouldn’t be able to move Ware. I was awfully aware that if we lost a wheel, we’d be dead. So my heart was in my mouth as we fled deep into the woods.

  Gradually we left the glare in the sky behind. It became darker and more silent, and finally the trees crowded over us, pinning and confining the air in an all-enveloping, cool mantle.

  We stumbled along, ending up in a little clearing. There was a little brook, bubbling up from deep inside the earth. Lush grass and long leaves surrounded it. It was remote, peaceful.

  Wolf stopped and went for a drink, so I pulled up the girls and went to check on Ware. His hose were ripped but repairable. His tunic was trashed. As I stripped him, I bumped into his quiver. It looked empty, but as it moved, I got a glimpse of something that glittered. When I shook it, Duggard’s lost statue rolled out. A Freyja with emerald eyes.

  There was only one way Ranulf could’ve gotten his hands on that. I didn’t want to go there. Instead, I focused on examining Ware. He was going to have two black eyes, but the cut on his face had stopped bleeding, and the graze at the back looked messy, but it was more bruised than deep. He’d have a headache for a few days, but he’d live.

  I made sure the blankets were tucked in tight and went to look at Wolf. “Show me your hooves, love.” We examined them by lamplight, and to my relief his feet were undamaged. His tail and mane were singed, and he had a bruised shoulder from where those fuckers had hit him, but for the rest he was fine—if exhausted.

  I took off his saddle and tack and gave him an apple. “Have a roll, gorge on grass and sleep,” I told him. “We’ll stay for a day. Maybe two.”

  Rose and Daisy are sweet but not as bright as Wolf. Left by themselves, they’d get lost in the forest and be eaten by wolves, so I put them on a long rope, gave them each an apple each and let them graze.

  Finally I checked myself over. I was perfectly okay. My hands were scraped, I had a gash on my ribs and another on my arm, but the rest was just bruises. The cuts bled sluggishly. A wash in that cold brook cleaned and numbed everything nicely.

  I considered everything again. We were safe, there was water, and we had a cart stuffed with supplies. We’d stay a while. Eventually, though, we’d have to go back. Freyja’s statue would go with us. Then everyone would ask questions, and someone was bound to figure out that Ranulf might have come by some of his treasures by highway robbery, but the bulk of his business came from thralls, eager to cross their owners by making sure thieves knew how to access their treasures. There would be a bloodbath.

  I went into the cart, got the gold statue and went for a walk. There was a nice bush about a mile back. I put her under it, and in case the goddess was listening, I petitioned her. “It’s your own fault,” I told her. “You’re supposed to be one of us, but I don’t see you looking after girls. At least, not poor ones like Violet.”

  The little statue sat there, the green eyes just looking at me.

  “You wouldn’t have liked the rubble that was Raven’s Keep,” I told Freyja. “You can sit here in the beauty and majesty of the forest.”

  Then I went back to camp, filled a brass with water and went to tend to Ware.

  Climbing into the cart, my hair fell over my eyes. Well, part of it. Most annoyingly, I’d lost a chunk of it running over the burning bridge. A look in Ware’s mirror confirmed it. “I look like a witch,” I grumbled.

  “More like an angel.” Ware’s voice, weak but just as cool as always, drifted over. “What happened?”

  “Ware! Are you okay?” I was next to him, gazing down into his eyes. Apart from the blood all over his face, he looked perfectly all right. Well, white as chalk and a bit blue-lipped, but alive, breathing and totally in his senses.

  “I thought I told you to run.” Yes, he was definitely back to his normal self.

  I sponged away some of the dried blood. He was certainly getting two beautiful black eyes, and I’d have to shave his head so those bashes could heal. Poor Ware had been hit hard twice. No wonder he’d been knocked out.

  “You should obey orders.” Yes, definitely my Ware, grumbling about obedience.

  “I did, and then I came back.”

  He was moving restlessly. “They attacked you. Lind, are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course I am.”

  “Wolf. How’s Wolf?”

  “Rolling in mud and stuffing his face with grass.”

  Ware sighed with relief. “Thank the gods!” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “Someone got me good.”

  “Yeah. Twice.”

  He was gripping my wrist. “Lind, my will is in the lockbox.”

  “You’re not dying.”

  “Everything goes to you.”

  “What?” I just stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I wrote my will in Tanweld. The second I’m gone, you’re free. And you inherit everything I own. The lockbox, Lind.”

  Okay, that had me gaping. “Wow. If only I’d known.” I sponged a bit more. Apart from the massive bumps and bruises, he’d been gashed by a sword. The cut was narrow but just over his eye, and those bleed like mad. I set about tidying it up. “I could have split the inheritance with Wolf and lived happily ever after.”

  Ware closed his eyes. “You don’t care, do you?”

  “Not really.” Looking at him, safe and sound except for a couple of scrapes, all I felt was relief. We’d come through, and my love was alive. It was a miracle. “But you were a damn fool, Ware. What were you thinking, challenging bloody Ranulf?”

  “I get no respect.” Incredibly, he was grinning. “I won!”

  “Right, but you almost got yourself killed.”

  He pulled me down to lie beside him. The cut in my side hurt, but having his arm around me made it better. “Lind, I had to. This whole thing? It was all my fault.” Then he told me everything.

  “So this all started in Caern? Seven years ago when you destroyed the Guild House?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ranulf got fired and went rogue?”

  “Yes.” Ware spoke quietly but I saw the pain in his eyes. “He sent his men to t
he shrine. It was on our property. They destroyed it and everything around it.”

  “And Apollo’s Arrow was one of yours? A Thunderclap?”

  “Yes.”

  What can you say? My poor Ware was suffering, and there was nothing I could say that would bring his family back.

  So I did what I could, which was to look after him. “I’ll make us some tea and then we sleep.”

  He held on to me. “Lind, thank you for coming back for me.”

  His arm curled me into his chest. His scent floated over me: wood with hints of smoke. His stomach was turning black. He’d be stiff and sore for days.

  While I was thankful, Ware was peeling back my sleeve and wincing at the cut on my arm. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  But he was frantic, touching me all over. “Your side! What’s wrong with your side?”

  “Nothing. Stop fussing, Ware.” But actually I was loving it.

  “You fought? Ohmigod, yes. Now I remember. There were two of them!” Ware was worrying after the fact. “What happened?”

  “I got one, and Wolf got the other.”

  He was bloody difficult about that, too. “You could’ve been killed! It’s all my fault!”

  “Yes, it is. You owe me big-time.” I cuddled up to him, relieved he was getting his mind off his family. “I’d like a lot of chocolate, and Wolf has his heart set on his own mud pool.”

  “We’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Sounds fantastic. We’ll start with some tea. You’ve lost a lot of fluids and sadly, we’ve no wine.”

  Ware insisted on struggling up to see Wolf, and after the two hugged and reassured each other that they were okay, we had a midnight supper. We snuffed out the lamp, lay down and snuggled together very carefully.

  Battle triumphs are celebrated with a party, but Ware’s victory tasted of ashes.

  “It’s over, Lind.” His whisper floated through the dark, its agonising sadness lodging in my heart. “It’s all over.”

  I held him in the dark. “Talk to me, love.”

  “Everything’s gone. My family, my home. All destroyed. And it’s all my fault. I destroyed my house.”

  Oh my poor Ware. “Hold onto me. I’m here.”

  “I’d go mad if it weren’t for you.”

  I held him while he wept for his family, the tears cleansing him of all the horror, loss, shame and guilt. He lay still afterwards, weak as a kitten. I cradled him carefully, gentling him. “Close your eyes now.”

  He fell asleep in my arms. As I hugged him closely, something was nagging me. I was missing something.

  I thought of the little gold Freyja. If ever there were a symbol of pain and suffering, that was it. It angered me, or it would have if I weren’t so tired. I fell asleep, still wondering what I’d missed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Ware

  Lind saved my life by coming back for me. If she hadn’t, I would’ve been trapped in the keep and burned to death. She saved my life again by getting us out of there, away from Ranulf’s vengeful survivors, and into a little dell, complete with fresh water and lush grass.

  I rewarded her efforts by falling apart. I blabbed like a child, whining about my loss, and when I got up the next day, I had the shakes.

  As if she hadn’t done enough, Lind put me together again. “What you have is a clear case of battle fatigue.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve been in plenty of battles, some of which lasted all day and all night. This lasted less than an hour. It was nothing.” But I was aware of tears burning behind my eyes, and it wasn’t the headache causing them.

  “You may be fine, but the girls and Wolf vote with me,” Lind said calmly. “We’re resting for a few days. You’re going to teach me a better way to attach my feathers.”

  “You want to fletch? Here? Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Lind is stubborn and determined, so pretty soon I was sitting by a small fire, making glue and helping her improve her technique.

  At first my hands shook. “Tyr’s balls. I’m shakier than the town drunk.”

  “That’s okay. If it sucks, we scrape it off and try again.”

  Her gentleness brought those tears perilously close to the surface. “I’m supposed to be the master craftsman.”

  “You are. You’re just a bit tense.” She ran a careful finger down my cheek and smiled. “Patience, Ware. Just go from one moment to the next. Before you know it they’ll be adding up.”

  Sweet, sensible, sane Lind! Without her, I would’ve lost my mind. But she kept me grounded, and then she worked me steadily, gluing two and three feathers onto a dozen arrows, having me critique the work, and then melting the glue and doing it all over again.

  “You’re doing well, Lind.”

  “Good. Let’s go for perfect.”

  We sat in the dell, peaceful and busy, and slowly my nerves began to settle. After a day or two, my headache went, too.

  When the grass ran low, we moved a couple of miles downstream, where Lind promptly set me to helping with chores. I groomed Wolf, shelled some wild peas that Lind found, and helped her gather firewood.

  After a fortnight of super slow travel, Lind’s feather work was excellent and I’d healed.

  “You’re going to have a scar over that eye,” Lind observed. “You’ll have one on the back of your head, too, but your hair will cover it.”

  “I don’t care about that, but I’m worried about that gash on your arm, Lind. You’ve got to keep it covered and out of the sun or you’ll scar.”

  She just laughed at me. “Right. As if one more matters.”

  That’s typical of my girl. She bears the marks from years of abuse, from cane stripes to those hideous burns on her hips, yet it hasn’t touched her. She’s indomitable, brave and she never gives up. I’ve always thought of myself as strong, but I’m nothing compared to Lind.

  As soon as her wounds closed, Lind began working out. She stretched, warming up with bends and lunges, and then, to my delight, she began walking on her hands, turning cartwheels and somersaulting.

  “Throw me some apples!” She danced and juggled, laughing as she went through her old routines. She was gorgeous, and I was rock hard.

  Of course, she knew straightaway. “Whoohoo! Watch this!” She launched into a slow-moving, sensuous dance that teased and titillated. She saw me rise and hooted with delight, “Better than dog-faced Raqs Sharqi?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  I had her in the grass, in a pool of sunshine, surrounded by the fresh scent of herbs and bird calls.

  “Hmmm, yes, you’re better again.” Lind was rubbing herself against me, yawning luxuriously. “Vigorous yet tender. Very nice.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” I brushed her hair away from her face, noting the burned locks were growing back again. “You’re beautiful. Irresistible.”

  And that’s when I knew I’d fallen in love with her. It hit me like a lightning bolt. One second I was myself; the next I was filled with sweetness. I looked into those grey eyes, half closed with sleek satisfaction, and knew that my life had changed.

  I loved Lind. Difficult, rude, infuriating, sweetly delicious, brave, gentle, clever Lind. She’d opened my eyes to the truth, saved my life and changed me forever.

  Now she was grinning. “Ha! Irresistible, that’s me!”

  “Yes.” I kissed her on the lips, savouring her scent, clean fresh herbs with that toasty girlish perfume that was uniquely hers.

  “The master falls for the thrall.” Lind was mocking. “Sure that knock on the head didn’t do permanent damage, Ware?”

  I spoke lightly, protecting myself out of instinct. “Tender beauty. Is it so awful to love?”

  “It’s every thrall’s fantasy, I guess,” Lind shrugged.

  My heart sank as I remembered how she’d railed at me in the past. She was a thrall and I’d exploited her. She’d forgiven me, but she’d never trust me. I had to face facts. This was going to be difficult. Maybe impossible.
/>   For a moment I contemplated telling her how I felt.

  “Going to declare your love?” Lind mocked. She put her hands together, cooing, “The second I saw your collar, I knew you were the girl for me.”

  No, there was no point in going there. Still, I wasn’t going to give up. We had time, lots of it, so maybe I could persuade her to look at me differently. In the meantime, I hid my feelings. Luckily I’m good at that.

  I stroked a stray lock off her cheek. Her skin was soft, her hair shining, and the warm muscles were rippling sleekly. She’d filled out, too. “Being on the road suits you.”

  “Yeah, I’m stuffing my face all day long.” Lind lay back, arms behind her head, enjoying the sunshine. “We’ve got a week’s worth of oats left and about the same in salt pork and beans.”

  It was time to go back to civilisation. It was a pity; I was loving my time with my girl. But duty demanded it. Eward would want my report.

  “We’ve been heading south,” Lind mused. “If we keep going, we should hit the road somewhere near Torre’s Halt.”

  “We have to go back to Caern. I need to talk to the constable, and I have to return the little Freyja.”

  Lind sighed. “That might be difficult.”

  “It has to be done.” But I shuddered at the consequences. “It belongs to Duggard.”

  “Violet did it,” Lind said calmly. “She told one of Ranulf’s men about it. She probably left a door or window open, too, just to help them.”

  “Yes.” I thought of the little thrall. The theft would be punished with a death sentence, and pregnancy wouldn’t save her. “She must really hate him.”

  “Sure, but most of us stick to peeing in the soup.”

  I almost died on the spot. “What?”

  Lind grinned at me. “Oh come on. Surely you’ve heard stories? We thralls are cunning, lazy, no-good gossips, always out to make trouble, preferably by sabotaging our kind, honest, long-suffering owners.”

  “Lind!” I hated her talking that way. It was too close for comfort.

  “Feeling guilty?” There’s no fooling Lind.

  “Yes.”