by Jeff Wheeler
The other soldiers were all mounted now, and the beasts snorted and groaned, anxious to be on their way. One of the horses was in the act of plopping a steaming pile of manure on the street when they emerged, and the soldiers guffawed and booed at the horse’s sense of timing.
Sir Thomas wrinkled his nose. There were just enough horses for the number of soldiers. There wasn’t one for her, and she stood in the street, confused and astonished by this sudden reversal in her fortune. Her companion, exuding confidence, sauntered up to his horse and dug his boot into the stirrup before hoisting himself up onto the back of the broad mount. The horse nickered and stamped and he led it around in a short circle as Ankarette stared up at him. What next?
He reached his hand down to her. “You’ll be riding with me, lass.” He smiled in a comforting way, as if realizing that she was unsure of herself.
She reached up to grip his hand, but he caught her by the forearm instead and, leaning out of the saddle, pulled her up behind him. The horse’s rump was so big it felt like straddling an over-large barrel. She had never ridden horseback before and instantly felt like she was going to fall off.
“Hold on to me tightly, lass,” he said over his shoulder. “It’ll get a bit bouncy, but you’ll get the feeling of it soon enough. Lady Isybelle loves to ride. She enjoys falconry too. You will do things you’ve never done before and bless the Fountain for the good fortune. Now, be of good courage, Angarad.”
She felt strange wrapping her arms around his waist. He was a soldier, as hard as stone. “My name is Ankarette,” she corrected softly, deferentially.
“Aye, but if this were Atabyrion, it would be pronounced the proper way. It’s your family stock. Tryneowy isn’t a name you find in Kingfountain. But whatever suits you. I’ll not object. My name is Sir Thomas, as I told you. Sir Thomas Mortimer.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Earl’s Second Son
It was midday when Sir Thomas finally called a halt so they could rest and feed their mounts. Ankarette was so saddle sore she could hardly stand. Her arms felt like stretched-out ropes from clutching the soldier for so long. She hadn’t slackened her grip once, fearful that she would tumble out of the saddle and get trampled by the other riders.
She had never traveled so far before, and the vastness of the land around them was astounding. The mountains were capped in snow and the air was brisk and chill. She stumbled around, wincing from the pain in her legs, and listened to the rough language of the soldiers. One of whom was relieving himself noisily against a tree.
“Oy!” Sir Thomas snapped as he secured a bag of provender to the bridle of their shared steed. “Go in the trees over yonder. You’re making the poor lass blush. Seethin’ idiot, mind the company.”
The soldier, chagrined, obeyed, and the others snorted and chuckled and tamed their rough language. Sir Thomas shook his head in disbelief, then stroked his horse’s neck and coddled it with clucks. “Good old Pent. You’ve ridden well so far. She’s barely a burden, eh? Good beast.” He quickly patted down the horse’s withers, followed by the legs, and then inspected the horseshoes for pebbles and stones. Finding one, he produced his dagger, which earned him a grumbling snort from the horse. “Oh, shush . . . I’ll not prick ya.”
Ankarette needed to relieve herself, but she wouldn’t dare mention it now, after seeing how the other man had been shamed. She certainly didn’t wish to say anything in front of all the soldiers. Her hair had tugged loose from its braid during the windy ride and she debated trying to tame it again. Her dress smelled awful, which embarrassed her, but Sir Thomas had not commented on it.
“Lass,” he said with a grunt, after loosing the stone from his horse’s shoe. “I have some bread and cheese in the saddlebag.” He nodded with his head.
“Any ale, my lord?” one of the soldiers asked.
“Just river water,” he countered. “You’ll not be addling your wits on this journey. But I’ll buy you each a flagon if we make good time.”
There was a chorus of assent. The soldiers were all expert animal handlers and Ankarette watched them care for their horses first before meeting their own needs. She went to the saddlebag and opened it. On top was a letter, sealed with red wax, and it tumbled out when she tried to reach for the loaf. Guiltily, she reached down to snatch it and put it back, but Sir Thomas seized it first. Their hands touched, and she flinched and drew back, frightened.
“Don’t be skittish,” he said with a chuckle. “You have nothing to fear from any of us, lass. The duke of the North is a fair master and doesn’t punish his underlings for trifles. You can judge a man by the way he treats those beneath him.” He tapped his nose with the folded letter. “Ask any servant in Dundrennan. Now, where is that loaf? My stomach is complaining.”
She reached into the saddlebag, pulled out the loaf, and handed it to him. He took it and wrenched it in half with a quick motion. She saw he was about to offer the larger portion to her, but she reached for the smaller. “I’m not that hungry, but thank you.”
He shrugged and took a big mouthful, walking around the horse once again and continuing his inspection. “Old Pent isn’t the fastest or the meanest, but he’s seen me through my troubles well enough. A gift from my father, may the Fountain bless him.”
“Your father,” Ankarette said, teasing a bit of bread loose with her fingers. “The Earl of Sur?”
“Aye, he was the Earl of Sur.” He checked the girth straps next. “He died at the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross.”
Ankarette flinched, biting her lip. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.” She had also lost her father after that battle, just six months previously. Her father had advocated for young Eredur’s right to be their king—and he’d died for it.
The knight shrugged, his countenance altering slightly, but his tone remained easygoing. “Many died at that battle. He fought bravely; that’s what matters. My brother was made earl to take his place, and I was knighted and sent to serve the duke of the North. There are worse posts, I can assure you. Keep walking around while you eat, lass. Else your legs will freeze up and you won’t be able to move for days. You will be an expert rider in a fortnight.” He patted old Pent one more time and chewed on his bread.
Ankarette took his advice and kept walking, looking covertly at the other soldiers, who were mumbling amongst themselves.
“My lord!” one of them called. Another tried to shush him, but the man shoved the other fellow back. “Is it true the mad king wears his wife’s dresses?” Some snickers and guffaws broke out at the question, and she saw that Sir Thomas’s eyes turned as gray as steel. His face hardened with anger at the impertinence. She watched him chew on a piece of bread, slowly, deliberately, calming himself down.
“No, Bradford,” he said at last, his kindly smile belying the cooling anger in his eyes. “You can’t believe all the rumors you hear, man.”
“Yates was the one that said it,” the man chuffed.
“Yates believes that pigs can fly,” Sir Thomas quipped. “Speak no ill of the mad king. Let him alone.”
Interesting . . . he had fought for King Eredur, but he was not without sympathy for the other side. Ankarette listened to their talk and nibbled on the bread the knight had given her. Since her father’s death, there hadn’t been anyone to explain the politics to her anymore. It occurred to her that she was traveling with an earl’s son to a duke’s castle. Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry for the bread, but for information.
Sir Thomas paced around with restless energy, examining the crooked roots of the nearby trees, checking the saddlebags again. She watched him slip the note back into the bag before fetching the cheese. With his dagger, which he wiped quickly on his leg, he sliced it in half evenly and gave her a portion.
“Thank you,” she said as she took it, feeling self-conscious.
“You’ve been ill fed in Yuork,” he said with a half smile. “You’re nothing but sticks and skin, lass. There is plenty to eat in the duke’s household. Mind his butler, Berwick. He h
as a nasty temper when he’s feeling the gout.”
“What can you tell me about Lady Isybelle?” Ankarette asked, feeling shy, but determined to overcome it.
Sir Thomas tore off a hunk of bread with his teeth and walked around the road, kicking some dry grass. “She has a pleasant disposition. All the virtues that a nobleman’s daughter should possess.” He frowned. “She has an . . . instinct to please, you could say.”
Though it seemed there was more he was not saying, she didn’t press.
Sir Thomas whistled through his teeth—a loud, surprisingly harsh sound that roused the other soldiers. “Mount up. We don’t want to arrive at Dundrennan in the dark.” His command brought the other soldiers to their feet with a bit of grumbling.
Turning back to Ankarette, the knight gave her an arch look. “The king has secured our borders from threats these last two years. He’s managed to keep his enemy confined in a powerless kingdom that can only bark at us but not bite. Do you know the game of Wizr? Can you play?”
“M-my father taught me,” she stuttered, feeling her cheeks flush.
“There is still a queen piece on the board,” he said, his voice serious. “Even though the game has ended, she’s still playing. The former queen has a son, you see. Why, he’s only a little younger than you, lass. The mother and her cub are skulking in Occitania presently, looking for a way to rejoin her husband in Edonburick. Lewis claims they are prisoners, so as not to default on the treaty he signed with Eredur.” He clucked his tongue. “So the game isn’t over yet after all. What does our king need? A queen. And who has he commissioned to secure one for him? Your new master, Duke Warrewik.”
There was some hidden knowledge behind his words. Some secret that he didn’t plan to share.
Ankarette wanted to know what it was.
Shadows had begun to shroud them by the time they reached the mountain valley where Dundrennan lay. Sir Thomas reined in and turned the horse so that Ankarette faced the breathtaking view. The giant stone cliffs were dotted with bright splotches of snow that looked purple in the fading light, and the woods beneath them bristled with ancient pines. She could see the castle nestled in the valley and the town gathered without it, the small cottages as bright as a swarm of fireflies. An enormous waterfall tumbled from the cliffs behind the castle, and even from a distance, she could hear the distant rumble of it, which awakened a strange, giddy murmuring in her heart. She’d never seen anything quite so splendid.
“It’s quite a view, lass,” Sir Thomas said. “We’ll be down there ere long. Hold on tighter. The road can be bumpy.”
She’d relaxed her death grip, she realized, and pressed her palms against his muscular chest. Cheeks flushed, she gripped her wrists again, joints aching, as the company rode down into the valley. The chill air was sweetened with the fragrant scent of the pines, but the glorious view became dark as the sun disappeared. It would be a while yet before the moon made its presence known, and she found her cheek bumping on the knight’s shoulder blades as she blinked and tried, unsuccessfully, to stave off sleep.
When Ankarette awoke, they were already inside the castle bailey. Bright torches flared against her tender eyes and she felt herself falling from the saddle. In a panic, she gripped Sir Thomas’s cloak.
“It’s all right, lass,” he said. “Let go. They’ve got you.”
She realized that some of the grooms had been trying to pull her down from the saddle. Disoriented, she hearkened to his voice and released her white-knuckled grip. Soon she was on her feet, swaying as the soldiers—Sir Thomas, included—dismounted around her. Dogs from the interior of the castle snuffled around her shoes and skirts.
“Go on, get away,” Sir Thomas said, gripping her arm with one hand and waving the dogs away with the other. He marched her to the massive doors of the fortress and she craned her neck to look at the tower that seemed high enough to conquer the sky. She could see a few stars glimmering amidst the haze of chimney smoke. Her legs felt like they belonged to a puppet with broken strings, but she forced herself to walk against the pain, digging her nails into her palms.
A man stood in the open doorway of the castle. He was an older fellow with silver in his hair and a goatee. He wore the badge of the Bear and Ragged Staff as well and looked stern and somber, almost like the cliffs outside the castle. Was this the duke?
“Here she is, Lord Horwath,” Sir Thomas said. “Lady Isybelle’s maid.”
“You’re late,” the man responded in a stiff brogue. “Did you drag her here behind the horse? Look at all that blood.”
Sir Thomas scowled. “She needs a bath and a lady’s gown. This one’s fit to be burned. Can you see to it? I’ve a message for the duke.”
Horwath frowned. “The duke wanted to see her right away. He must away to Occitania tomorrow.”
Not like this, Ankarette thought in a panic.
Sir Thomas uttered a curse. “Already? Did an answer come from King Lewis’s court?”
“How should I know?” Horwath answered. “I’m not Espion like you.”
“Shut it!” Sir Thomas said angrily, glaring at the older man. Ankarette had no idea what the word meant—Espion—but the knight was obviously furious if he would speak thus to an earl. His cheek twitched and she could see he wished to give Lord Horwath another rebuke.
Instead, Sir Thomas ground his jaw, waited a moment, and then turned to Ankarette. “You were not supposed to hear that part, lass,” he said with seething patience. “I beg you to keep that knowledge to yourself.”
She blinked up at him. “I will,” she said sincerely, looking into his steely eyes. She’d keep his secret, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to find out what it meant.
Her promise mollified him. “Good, lass. My lord, the lass was up all night helping with the birthing of a babe and then in the saddle all day from Yuork. That’s why she is as you see her. I promised her a change in gowns when we got here. Can you see that she is brought to the duke when she is suitable?”
“Aye, lad,” the earl said with a grunt. “My daughter will help her get ready.”
“Thank you,” Sir Thomas said, suddenly agitated. “How is . . . never mind. It seems I may be going to Occitania with the duke. Have a care with the lass, my lord.” He turned to Ankarette and bowed stiffly.
But as he straightened and she curtsied, she saw a flash in his eyes. They looked very green in that moment, in the wavering light from the wall torches. “You notice things. People.” He paused, hesitating. “That will serve you well here. Watch and learn, Angarad Tryneowy.”
CHAPTER THREE
Warrewik
The castellan’s daughter, Lady Elysabeth Horwath, was Ankarette’s elder by several years. Her long dark hair was arranged in an elegant Northern style, partially held up in braids, something that made Ankarette feel more conscious of her own hair’s disarray. She took Ankarette in with civility, but not warmth, and looked too tired to be performing the duties of hospitality. She asked no questions about where Ankarette had come from and offered no sympathy.
“Do you fancy the red or the silver?” Elysabeth asked with an air of boredom, holding up two different silk gowns. Both had a damask pattern and were trimmed with beads, and they were finer than anything she had ever worn. “The coloring of both would suit you, I should think.”
Ankarette had already dried off from her bath and was wearing a clean white shift. “The silver one, if you please. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s Occitanian,” Elysabeth said, stifling a yawn. “The duke always orders the latest fashions for his two daughters. The court of King Lewis is exceptionally fine. Or so I am told.” That last bit was uttered with a tone of longing and a little resentment. “I think it should fit you. It can be altered in the morning. The duke has several maids for such work usually . . . but they are all abed.”
Ankarette could easily sense that Elysabeth wished she were there herself. She didn’t want to be a nuisance, so she kept quiet and hurriedly changed into t
he silver gown. It was tight, meant for a younger girl, but she didn’t complain. After Elysabeth helped her with the long row of buttons on the back, Ankarette hurried to the brazier and knelt by it, running her fingers through her hair to try to dry it faster.
“No time for that,” Elysabeth said with a cough. “Duke Warrewik will be waiting for you. Here, let me braid it for you. Quickly now.”
A few moments later, Ankarette was declared ready. She squeezed her feet into a set of shoes that pinched and followed the older girl into the depths of the vast castle of Dundrennan. Ankarette’s eyes lingered on the tapestries and pennants showing the standard of the Bear and Ragged Staff, which were displayed prominently throughout the halls. There were not many servants around, but the shadows within the corridors were shoved back by flaming torches. They turned a sharp corner, and Elysabeth nearly collided with a tall man with a fringe of gray hair around his balding top.
“Watch yerself, lass!” the man grumbled with an ornery air. “Why ye be skulking in the halls at night? I thought I heard footsteps and came rickon to see who was ’bout.”
“This is Lady Isybelle’s new maid,” Elysabeth said, gesturing toward Ankarette. “The duke wanted to see her when she arrived, Berwick.”
The man hocked but didn’t spit. “Indeed.” He gave Ankarette a baleful look before shifting his attention to the older girl. “The duke and his daughter are in the solar with your father and Sir Thomas. Off with ye both, then.”
“Sir Thomas is with them?” Elysabeth said with an interested air that had been previously uncharacteristic of her. Her blue eyes lit up with a secret smile.
“Aye, lass. Now go. We’d all like to be abed. Your young charge looks like she’ll fall asleep standin’.”
Elysabeth curtsied and then swept forward with more vim in her stride than before. When they reached the solar, the older girl knocked, and her father, Lord Horwath, opened the door. He looked Ankarette over by way of inspection and nodded curtly without saying a word before letting them in.
