by Jocelyn Fox
Each night, they split the watches into three shifts. Ramel always stood one, and the two Guards and Knight Finnead rotated through the remaining two slots. It was difficult not to slightly begrudge them their full nights’ sleep, but Ramel again reminded himself of his good fortune, and the fact that late nights of studying would have been waiting for him at Darkhill if he hadn’t been allowed to travel. And so he stared into the darkness, watching and listening for any sign of a monstrous creature slinking through the forest to attack their camp.
Every morning, the Guards and Knight Finnead rose in the gray twilight before dawn. Ramel silently mirrored them as they stretched and ran through a few calisthenics, a series of body-weight exercises such as push-ups and lunges, designed to keep their bodies limber and strong while traveling. Then Ramel would retrieve his training blade and run through his drills, watching the Knight and Guards during his breaks. During the latter half of their morning training, one of them would spar with him. Halin and Elias proved capable opponents, though he privately thought that neither of them could hold a candle to Knight Finnead’s skill with a blade.
Every morning as they finished their training session and dawn painted the sky brilliant colors, the Princess and her ladies emerged from the enchanted tent, fully dressed and hair braided, and they all went about the business of preparing for the day’s travel. They saddled their faehal, repacked whatever they had used for the night, and again started on the trail as the sun rose over the eastern horizon. Every few hours, Knight Finnead signaled the Guards for a rest. If they had been traveling as part of a patrol, or to relieve another unit at the White City, Ramel knew they would have traveled all day without pause. But the comfort of the Princess was a priority, and despite her extensive rides around Darkhill, she’d never embarked on a journey of this length.
“You should hear the complaints in the tent at night,” said Rye on the sixth day, riding in her now-customary position alongside Ramel as the rearguard. She grinned. “All in the most polite language, of course, but those poor girls had no idea what was awaiting them. They all love to think of the adventure of a lifetime, but they don’t think about the day-to-day pain it will involve.”
“Sounds like the first few weeks of training for the pages,” Ramel replied with an answering grin. “It all sounds well and good to be a Knight or a Guard, to carry a sword and sweep ladies off their feet, but when you realize that you’ll have to go through a few decades of training and sacrifice…” He shrugged. “That’s the first test. Being able to gut through that once you realize that your life is going to be hard for the foreseeable future.”
“Sweep ladies off their feet, eh?” Rye said.
“Or gaze at them longingly from afar. Whichever applies at the moment,” modified Ramel.
Rye chuckled. “Haven’t seen a deer yet, but I think tonight may be a good night for some hunting.”
“Now is this deer for the courtship purposes or roasting and eating purposes?” he asked. His mouth watered at the thought of fresh meat, though they were barely a week into the journey.
“Who says they can’t be one and the same?”
“And is there anything that says the hunter’s object of affection cannot join in the hunt?”
“On the contrary, it’s encouraged.” Rye smiled wolfishly. “Nothing bonds two people to each other like killing.”
“That sounds rather grim,” said Ramel with a wary look.
“On the contrary, there’s nothing that makes you feel more alive than the thrill of the hunt,” said Rye. She considered. “Other than actual battle, of course.”
“But you haven’t seen actual battle.”
“Who says I haven’t?” She raised her eyebrows. “The North is a wild and dangerous place. There are still trolls and ogres and all manner of other beasts in the mountains.”
“Have you seen the creatures that the patrols have been hunting?” ventured Ramel. “The…garrelnost?”
“Not up close, no, though I heard some stories. The wolves of the ulfdrengr defend their territory fiercely. It may be that the garrelnost favor these woods and those of the Seelie lands because there are no native creatures large enough to defend against them.”
“I’ve heard of pards in the most remote parts of the forest,” Ramel said, “huge black cats that can kill a faehal and eat it in one sitting.”
“Pards would probably slink away and let the garrelnost crash about,” replied Rye speculatively.
“Well, let’s hope we see only deer and neither garrelnost nor pard on our hunting expedition this evening,” said Ramel.
“Only deer,” agreed Rye with a smile.
They stopped at noon to eat their lunch and stretch their legs. Ramel ate his food quickly and slid the leather tube containing their maps from its place with his training blade behind his saddle. He brought the maps to Knight Finnead, who stood along with the two Guards and their Walker. They found a flat patch of ground and Ramel spread his cloak on the forest floor. He unrolled the map covering their current position, and the Knight and Guards crouched around it.
“We will have at least another fortnight of travel before we emerge from the forest,” said Finnead.
“If we cut slightly to the west, we could perhaps shorten that time by two or three days,” said Halin, tracing an alternate route with his finger. “And then on the plains we will be able to cover more ground each day.”
“We’ve been making good time, hitting at least our estimates every day,” said Finnead. “Would it be worth leaving the well-marked path for a few days’ gain?”
“Fair point,” conceded Halin.
“I think for the ladies it is easier to stick to the cleared path,” said Elias.
Halin nodded. “We’ll stick to our route. Orin, any news from Darkhill?”
“I Walked last night to the guild and there was no news to pass,” said Orin, but he shifted uneasily.
“No news, but something else?” asked Finnead, his sharp gaze fixed on Orin.
“There were a few more of the wolf-creatures spotted closer to Darkhill,” said Orin. “But the guild had not had confirmation from the Knights that they were a matter of concern.” He paused and glanced at Ramel.
“Anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of my squire as well,” said Finnead. “He is trustworthy.”
“Not implying he wasn’t,” replied Orin. “It’s just a bit disconcerting.”
“He is also not easily shaken,” said Ramel, the spark of pride in Finnead’s words replaced by a buzz of irritation at the Walker’s implication.
“The rumors of a rebellion have been growing,” said Orin in a low voice. “And with the Princess on her journey, some say that it is an opportune time to rise against the Queen.”
Ramel blinked as he felt a strange swell of recognition and familiarity at the subject, as though there were something important he should be remembering, some conversation or interaction that he should add to the conversation. But his mind remained stubbornly blank.
“I am sure the Queen’s Three and the Captain of her Guard have it well in hand,” said Finnead with a confidence that Ramel wished he could feel as well. He just couldn’t shake that strange feeling that he knew something, that he’d heard something that should be offered to the Walker to take back to the Court. But he silently listened to the rest of the discussion about their route and then rolled up the maps when directed, sliding them back into their tube and securing them to his pack.
“You look like you’ve forgotten something important and you’re making your head hurt trying to remember,” said Rye as they took up their places at the rear of the column again.
Ramel frowned. “I think I did forget something, but I don’t think it was by choice.” He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just last night’s watch finally catching up to me.”
“Probably,” agreed Rye, but he thought he saw her frown as she looked away.
As the shadows lengthened, th
e Guards chose their stopping point for the night, and Rye helped the other ladies set up the tent. Ramel saw to his mount, unpacked his bow and quiver, and then sought out Knight Finnead.
“Sir, with your permission, I’m going to go hunt with Lady Rye,” he said.
“If you come back without at least a brace of rabbits, I’ll disown you,” replied Finnead.
“Sir?” Ramel said in alarm.
Finnead chuckled. “Have we changed places? Am I the sharp-tongued one now and you the one who doesn’t understand a joke?”
“Sir, I understand jokes,” Ramel replied, slightly affronted. “I’m just not used to you making them.”
“That’s entirely fair,” allowed Finnead. “But all the same, don’t tempt us with the thought of fresh meat and then fail to deliver.”
“We’ll do our best, sir,” replied Ramel with a grin. He circled back to the center of camp and helped Orin build the fire until Rye appeared from within the tent. She unashamedly wore trousers tucked into high boots and a plain shirt, an axe through the loop in her belt and her bow over her shoulder. She still braided her dark hair in the style of the ulfdrengr, a braid down the center of her head standing up like the crest of a fantastic beast, the sides braided sleekly and the bulk of her hair gathered high at the back of her skull. She’d even returned to placing feathers in her braids occasionally once they’d journeyed a bit from Darkhill. The Guards and other ladies looked at her as though she were a foreigner sometimes, but Ramel thought that he’d never seen a more beautiful woman.
“Ready to go hunt a deer?” she asked.
“Always,” he replied, following her into the shadows of the surrounding forest. She moved quickly, making little noise, and Ramel had to push himself to keep up with her as she slipped between the trees. She headed unerringly in one direction, pausing every so often to listen or to touch the moss on a tree or a print on the forest floor. Finally, Ramel heard what she’d been listening to as her guide, the silvery sound of running water. His appreciation for her skills as a hunter increased as he realized that she was headed toward a small river and the game trail that would most likely be near such a water source.
He knew better than to speak as he followed her carefully, watching every movement she made as she observed the forest around them. Her nostrils flared as she smelled the wind, and her eyes darted from one tree to another, investigating every sight from the forest floor up into the canopy. Ramel found that he liked just watching her as she read all the signs of life in the forest around them. Finally, they reached a small break in the underbrush and she held up a hand before they stepped onto the little path. She glanced at him and then motioned toward the ground where the leaves and dirt gave way to softer mud, imprinted with fresh hoof-tracks. He glimpsed the sparkle of water through the trees ahead. They’d found their game trail.
Rye silently examined the trees until she found one with a low branch thick enough to support substantial weight. She signaled Ramel to climb up into the tree and then disappeared, leaving him staring at the spot where she’d been standing only a heartbeat before. He dutifully heaved himself up into the tree, the bark rough against his palms as he pulled himself onto the low branch and then climbed to a higher vantage point. From his perch in the tree, he could see the bank of the river, and he noted that there were a few branches that he’d have to avoid when making a shot. He took two arrows out of his quiver and laid them on his lap, leaning back against the bole of the tree as he watched for their quarry.
Nearly an hour had passed, silver twilight quickly falling over the forest. Ramel didn’t relish the thought of traveling back to their campsite in full dark, but he stubbornly kept his post. A twig snapped in the direction of the game trail. He straightened and winced as his legs protested. A deer stepped delicately to the riverbank, a young buck with nubs of antlers between his swiveling ears. Ramel slowly brought his bow up and nocked his arrow, barely daring to breathe. The young buck looked up sharply and Ramel froze until the deer flicked an ear and lowered his head to drink. Ramel wondered if Rye was watching too. He drew back his arrow, careful to take the branches of the tree into account when aiming the weapon. The deer shifted slightly, giving him a better view of his side, and Ramel released the arrow even as he realized that he was going to lose his balance when he let the arrow fly. He grabbed for anything to keep his balance, but his hand merely slapped uselessly against the broad truck and branch. He heard a crashing on the riverbank and managed to glimpse the deer on its side, his arrow between its ribs, before he fell out of the tree. He tossed his bow clear as he hurtled down onto the lower branches – explaining a snapped bow or worse, a snapped bow embedded in his flesh, didn’t appeal to him at all. He winced as he hit his ribs solidly on the last branch and thudded resoundingly onto the ground, the springy layer of leaves on the forest floor adding at least some cushioning. The sound of his arrows pattering through the branches and landing on the ground around him only added insult to his injury.
Ramel breathed slowly and steadily through the starburst of pain until he could finally see clearly again. A low groan of dismay escaped him as he saw Rye’s boots in front of him.
“Well, you got the deer at least,” she said, crouching and grinning at him. “Anything broken?”
“I don’t think so,” he said, though it still hurt to breathe. He rolled painfully to his back and moved to push himself onto his elbows, but she put a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Perhaps I’d better check,” she said, kneeling beside him.
He winced as she ran her hands over his ribs, but then held carefully still as she checked the rest of his body, a strange heat gathering in his belly, counterpoint to the sting of the fall.
“Doesn’t feel like you’ve broken anything,” she said, leaning over him.
“Nothing hurt but my pride,” he managed.
“No, I think that would be the case if you’d missed the shot,” she said with a smile.
“So, does that count as killing a deer for you?” he asked, painfully aware of her closeness.
“I’ll count it,” she replied in a low voice. “And I reply with this.”
She leaned over him and lowered her mouth to his, kissing him with disarming gentleness. Ramel was glad he was already on his back, because a rush of dizziness overtook him. Rye sat back and brushed his hair away from his forehead.
“See? Killing deer and pushing boundaries, it’s all well and good,” she said with a glint in her pale eyes. She offered him her hand and he took it, staggering to his feet. “Come on then,” Rye continued, as though their kiss was nothing out of the ordinary, “let’s collect your arrows and go rig a pole for that deer. I’m sure everyone will be quite impressed when we bring it back to camp.”
“I’d hope so,” managed Ramel finally. He glanced at her surreptitiously as they picked up his scattered arrows and was gratified to see a small, private smile on her lips. She stepped close to slide her handful of arrows back into his quiver, and during their second kiss he slid a hand around the back of her head, reveling in the feel of her silken braids. He backed her against the trunk of the nearest tree, and she gave a little growl of appreciation at the feel of his body pressing against hers. The sound only heightened the rush of desire that rapidly overwhelmed his conscious thought. Rye matched him in ardor as he explored her mouth with his tongue. Far too soon, she slid away from him with a grin.
“You’re very good at that, for a squire,” she said in a low voice, licking her swollen lips.
“I’m a fast learner, and you’re a good teacher,” he replied hoarsely.
“Let’s get this deer dressed and carried back to camp,” she said. She glanced at his breeches and smiled. “You’ll need the time to calm down before we make our way back, I think.”
Ramel grinned and shrugged. “Can you blame me?”
“Not at all,” she said, walking toward the riverbank. “In fact, I take it as a compliment.”
They reached the deer. Rye
had already slit its throat and cut out the parts that could foul the meat.
“Has there ever been a more perfect woman?” breathed Ramel as he watched Rye make cuts that would help them skin the deer later.
Rye grinned up at him. “Stop mooning and find a good sturdy branch for us to tie the carcass to.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Ramel with a teasing salute. In the gathering darkness, he searched for a branch to carry the deer back to camp, and thought that his luck on this journey just kept multiplying.
Chapter 28
“I’ll be glad when we can see the sun again,” said Lady Rose, the youngest of the ladies that the Princess had chosen to accompany her to the White City. Finn thought when they set out that Lady Rose was the least suited to the journey, but she’d surprised him with her stubborn resilience. He hadn’t ever heard her complain as they traveled.
