by Ross Kitson
***
Emelia jolted awake and scrabbled for a handhold on Hunor’s back. He grunted in surprise and cursed. “By Tindor’s meaty wand, Emelia, keep still! You almost had me washing my hair three months before bath day.”
Hunor was waist deep in a river that buffeted against him as he waded through, Emelia over his shoulder and a rope tied around his waist. On the far shore she could see Jem with the other end of the rope.
Step by faltering step Hunor forced his way across. Only his remarkable balance averted a plunge into the waters. In time they achieved the far shore and Jem helped lift Emelia onto the bank. Hunor hooted a signal to the ghostly figure of Lady Orla on the far side. Jem snorted at the signal and Hunor shrugged.
If Hunor’s progress was difficult then Orla’s—in breastplate, gauntlets, vambraces, cuisse and greaves—was a living nightmare. Hunor braced himself against a tree stump. Emelia rested near Jem as they watched Orla crossing. The silhouette of Blackstone Castle loomed behind her on the river’s south bank.
“Jem, I’m afraid. I need some help. My dreams…”
“We can’t talk about it now, Emelia. You need to rest. The wound is severe and…”
“Damn it, Jem. Take me seriously for once. Something horrible is happening. My mind, I’m losing my mind.”
“I do take you seriously. I do. Your wound’s deep and filthy. It’s poisoning you, making you delirious. Try and rest. I’ll care for you, I promise.”
“I care for you so much…” Emelia mumbled, and then closed her eyes again.
“Jem, some help?” Hunor called. His feet were slipping and suddenly Orla stumbled. In an instant she had plunged under the water.
Jem scuttled forwards but rather than grabbing the rope he waved his arm towards the submerged knight and spoke words of power.
Orla broke the surface with a small splash, spitting water and clutching the rope for dear life. She floated for a few seconds, suspended by Jem’s spell, and then Hunor began pulling the wet rope. Within thirty seconds she was on the riverbank.
“Damn it, why didn’t you just do that to start with?” Orla’s hair was sodden into thick tendrils of silver over her face.
“After two weeks of tying us up and making us sleep with numb wrists, you’d begrudge us some fun, m’lady?” Hunor said.
“I am trying to conserve my magical energy, Lady Farvous, that is all. We are still uncertain how much it will be required tonight. My apologies for your discomforts.”
Lady Orla nodded at Jem and glared at Hunor, before approaching Emelia. “How are you managing? Have you the strength to walk?”
Emelia squinted at the knight. “I can try. The bleeding seems to have stopped. I’d be little use in a fight, though.”
Orla stood, turning to Jem and Hunor. “With luck, we may avoid any more conflict this evening. It is a mystery why Robert and Unhert did not respond to the whistle’s call. I concur that this more cautious approach on the north shore may have been a sensible, if rather cold, idea. I have yet to see any signs of activity on the road on the other bank.”
Hunor looped the wet rope into a coil. “The tree line obscures a fair amount of it, though, and the main gate was on the south east side of the curtain wall. Let’s not get too cocky at this stage.”
“Still it would appear our escape in this direction was the last thing to expect. Perhaps they still search the castle interior for us.”
Jem helped Emelia stand. She slipped her good arm over his shoulder. A rush of dizziness came over her. For a terrible moment she feared she would pass out again, but a fierce stubbornness at Orla’s words had bolstered her and she fought against it. This knight would come to respect her as an equal and not an escaped servant.
Hunor looked at her out of the corner of his eye and seeing her set jaw nodded subtly.
“Well we’re not helping our chances standing out of cover in view of the walls. As they say in Kirit’s eye, half a house is a house not worth having. Let’s get to the bridge. It’s a good mile off yet.”
The four moved through the small thicket and then along the rudimentary trail east towards the bridge.
