by Kal Spriggs
The others had pulled up in a clearing and Aerion's horse followed them. He wearily peered at the trees around them. He tried to fight through the exhaustion and to find some energy to do something, but he couldn't even loosen the death-grip he had on the saddle's pommel.
“If you're bandits, you'd find safer targets elsewhere,” Gerlin said, his voice light. “If you aren't, well, you'd best be explaining yourselves. It's a rude host indeed who confronts guests in the dark without a greeting.”
“Guests, are you? Uninvited ones, I'd say,” The speaker gave a dry chuckle. “You wouldn't be out here if you weren't hiding from someone,” The thready voice said. The speaker sounded like Old Tomas, Aerion realized, the same world-weary tone, though Old Tomas had died four cycles ago. Aerion shook his head against the random thought. “And that boy is just about dead in the saddle. Anyone without a fear for Hector's men would already have him with a healer, not dying in the saddle in the woods.”
Gerlin spun his horse around in a tight circle and Aerion could see that he peered at the surrounding forest with sharp eyes, “Quite the perceptive individual. Why don't you and the other... fifteen show yourselves?”
“Ah, a halfblood... Semat tribe, I'd guess. Though you learned your field craft here in the Duchy, trained up north, near the coast?” The old man's voice continued.
“Old man, you're beginning to tire me.” Bulmor said. He drew his sword and spun his horse to face in the direction of the voice. “Show yourself.”
“No need for violence. I just wanted to take measure of our new guests.” Aerion peered into the gloom as an old man emerged from the undergrowth. His patchwork cloak and battered wooden staff made him seem far less threatening. “Especially since I recognize your blade. You were a member of the Ducal guard. I'd thought the last of them died with Duke Peter... but perhaps not.”
“How do you know that?” Bulmor snapped.
The old man shrugged. “I'm an old man with a good memory... and I know some things. He looked over at Katarina, “If you are what I think, then your female companion can only be one person.” He gave a deep and elaborate bow. “My Lady, it is an honor to meet you, and may say that you look in remarkable health for someone so recently declared dead. I welcome Duke Peter's rightful heir, Lady Katarina to our humble abode.”
Aerion looked over at his traveling companions. His head spun, the latest shock too much. He felt his hands finally lose their grip and the world turned sideways as he fell into darkness.
***
Lady Katarina
Katarina felt icy shock as the old man named her, and she looked around. Was this some trap of Hector's? She turned just in time to see the boy, Aerion, finally sag out of the saddle. She saw Bulmor reach for him, but the boy was just out of reach. The old, man moved more quickly than she could have expected, and caught the boy with a grunt. “Heavy boy. Give me a hand, lads.”
Other men emerged from the brush. They wore a motley assortment of clothing, much of it dark or stained. Most of them had their weapons sheathed, all but a pair of archers who maintained their distance, bows strung and arrows in hand. It took three men to lower Aerion to the ground.
The old man looked up at Bulmor and Gerlin, “Well? We could fight it out, but that would be rather pointless.”
Bulmor grimaced and sheathed his sword. “Who are you, old man?”
“I am Arren Smith. I'm the leader, of sorts, of these men.” He looked down at Aerion. “The boy here could use some care. If you're willing, I can see to him.”
“You're a healer?” Bulmor asked. Katarina noted a sharper edge to his voice. Something about the man bothered him.
“I know some things.” The old man shrugged. “I can give it a try if you'll trust me. I may need some help, though. Any supplies you have would be welcome.”
“And payment?” Bulmor asked. By the set of his jaw, Katarina judged he found the old man threatening somehow. She couldn't say she disagreed, not with how helpful these bandits seemed to be all of the sudden.
The old man laughed, “I won't turn down payment and, from your looks, you all have jumped to the obvious conclusion. We're a band of armed fellows living in the woods, we must therefore be bandits.” He shrugged and despite his ragged appearance, he managed an eloquent shrug and gave an artful wave at his companions. “I assure you that, though we are on the shady side of the law, we are anything but bandits. We are, you might say, your most loyal subjects, Lady Katarina.”
“You're rebels?” Bulmor asked. The set of his shoulders and the tone of his voice made it unclear as to what he thought about that.
The old man sighed, “Look, I can go into all this, but your friend here is in bad shape. I promise I'll tell you our story when there's time. For now, I give you my word, we'll not harm you and I welcome you as my personal guests. We need to get the boy back to our camp, and I need some tools to work on him.”
Katarina looked over at Gerlin. The scout gave a shrug, “They're a band of outlaws living in the forest, it's not like they could turn us over to the Usurper's men without getting strung up for their troubles.”
Katarina looked over at Bulmor. Her bodyguard cocked his head, and stared at the old man for a long moment. He seemed confused, almost as if he recognized the man, yet that seemed to make him even more uncertain and suspicious. Finally, he shrugged and nodded at Katarina.
Katarina took a deep breath, “Very well, Arren Smith, we accept your invitation.”
***
Katarina watched as the rebels carried Aerion through the brush to a narrow ravine. Set into the walls of the ravine were several shallow caves and they put the boy into the largest. At second glance, she saw that most of the caves had been dug out and many had stacked rock walls to provide additional shelter and privacy. The old man arrived a few moments later, a heavy bag over one shoulder. She noticed as he knelt down, that he had a sword sheathed under his patchwork cloak.
“Do you have any medical supplies, any potions or poultices?”
Gerlin shook his head, “No, we didn't expect any kind of fighting, Hector invited us under a state of truce.”
The old man snorted, “Always travel prepared. Well, I don't have much, but luckily, I know some things.”
He placed his hand on Aerion's forehead, “Tough kid, he's in worse shape than I thought, I'm surprised he's not already dead.”
“ Can you save him?” Katarina asked. It seemed such a waste if the boy had survived all he had only to die after they reached safety.
“He's running a bad fever and I think his welts and cuts are infected.” The old man sighed and sat back. “He's very weak, like I said.” He frowned, “Very interesting... He's got mageblood.”
“You know blood magic?” Bulmor asked. His eyes had gone narrow. Katarina shivered a bit. Mages practiced blood magic, but so did sorcerers. The former could be a great boon... but the latter were true horrors. Practice of sorcery was a death sentence throughout Eoriel. Even the savage Armen and Norics feared and reviled sorcerers.
“I know few things,” The old man said absently. Arren stared at the boy for a moment. “In any case, that will make things easier. I'll do what I can.”
Arren closed his eyes and put his hand to Aerion's chest. A moment later, he let out a grunt. Katarina saw sweat bead Aerion's face. The boy's chest heaved, and his body trembled, and then relaxed.
The old man let out an explosive breath. “Well... that should help. Nothing I can do about the eye.” He leaned heavily on his wooden staff as he rose. “He'll be weak, but I think he'll be alright now.”
“That wasn't spirit magic,” Gerlin said. Some other healers, such as those who dealt with spirits or godlings could also heal, Katarina knew. But they did their work second-hand, often through the efforts of healing or protective spirits. “What are you, old man?”
Arren sighed, “I'm a tired old man who just expended a lot of effort to save one of your companions. Now, be a nice, respectful young man and let me get some food
and rest. You're welcome to make yourselves comfortable.”
Katarina watched the man walk off. “He seems helpful.”
“He knows too much,” Bulmor said. His gaze bored into the old man's back, as if he sought to read his mind. “I don't trust him, he's too helpful.”
Gerlin grunted, “You just don't like him because he hasn't tried to kill us yet, unlike everyone else in this spirits-damned Duchy.” He stretched his arms. “But I think he knows far too much for a bandit chieftain too. There's more happening here than meets the eye.” He glanced over at Katarina, “He may vouch for your safety, but there's always turncoats who could be a threat to you, stay close.”
Katarina nodded, “Well, he mentioned food.” In reminder, her stomach rumbled. She'd eaten what Bulmor and Gerlin cooked for the past few weeks. While there wasn't much the two of them could do to totally ruin trail rations... well, she wanted real food.
The three turned and headed towards the cook fire. A pair of the woodsmen sat on rocks nearby and one of them pointed at the stew kettle and some tin plates.
Katarina had just taken some of the stew and seated herself when one of the two men spoke. “My Lady, are you really Duke Peter's daughter?” The man who spoke was tall, dark haired, and gangly in appearance. Some streaks of gray stood out in his hair.
Katarina nodded, “Yes.”
He smiled shyly, “I met him, once. When I was in the army. He visited our camp. Told me my squad looked good.”
“You were a squad leader?” Bulmor asked He reached out a hand a clasped Jasen's hand, “Bulmor.”.
“Yes, sir. My name's Jasen, I was a Sergeant, but I got out just before Hector... before the Duke died. Had a small farm up by Lower Debica.” The man's face fell. “Lost the farm to taxes last cycle, my wife and boy to sickness not long after.”
“I'm sorry, Jasen.” Katarina said. “How did you end up out here?”
He shook his head, “Such is the way of things, milady.” He cleared his throat, “Master Arren found me in a bar, told me there were things worth living for, maybe worth dying for. He learned I was a soldier, got my whole story, asked me to come out here. I've been training the boys with weapons and tactics. Most of them are pretty good with one weapon or another, and the rest, well... they help us keep camp and do the chores around here, like Agram, here.” His shorter companion had a hunched frame and disheveled appearance. He also had a fool's grin. Katarina wondered at the presence of the simpleton.
“Are they well trained?” Bulmor asked, if he had any unease at the simpleton's presence, he hid it behind his normal iron mask.
Jasen shrugged, “They're good boys. Would have liked to have them in my squad, most of them. Totally dedicated, the lot of them, we've all lost someone to Hector.” He sighed, “Haven't got much for weapons or equipment though. Master Arren has a bit of chain armor. I've got some leather armor we got off of one of Hector's couriers.”
“You've attacked his men?” Gerlin asked.
“Bit of skirmishing, mostly. Nothing serious, just attacks where we had a clear advantage. Haven't lost anyone yet, killed a few of the mercenary bastards,” Jasen said.
Bulmor nodded, “Good to hear it.”
Gerlin spoke up, “I hadn't expected any of that kind of organization here.”
Jasen straightened, “We may not be much to look at, but we're fighting men, sir.”
Katarina gave him a smile, “That's good to hear, Jasen, that's very good to hear.”
***
Unknown
Tucola Forest, Zielona Gora Barony, Duchy of Masov
The spy slunk through the dark trees. He felt tired, but elated at the events of the evening. He flitted from shadow to shadow through the dense brush with ease built by cycles of training and an excellent knowledge of the forest. Surely this new arrival must be a sign from the spirits. Before, the small band proved little danger to Hector and his mercenary troops. With her arrival and that of her... interesting companions, everything changed.
He slipped out of disguise out of sight of the camp in a small, secluded hollow he chose just after they first made camp in the ravine. The others would have felt shock to see his powerfully muscled frame and swordsman's wrists and hands. They'd have felt more than shock at the uniform he put on, complete with Hector's black hawk emblazoned on the yellow surcoat that went over his chain mail hauberk.
Not that they would have guessed his destination, though if any had managed to follow him through the dark forest, they would have met a quick and unfortunate end. He spent too much effort over the past months towards ingratiating himself and too much hinged on his accepted nature in the camp. Questions over his late night actions would put his entire mission at risk.
The spy would kill to keep his secret, though he felt some sadness at the necessity, he wouldn't hesitate. He had taken lives before and he valued none of his companions as much as he did his mission.
He glanced up at the stars. He had sufficient time to pass on his message. With luck, his contacts would pass it to Kerrel Flamehair directly. He wondered what she would make of the news that Lady Katarina still lived. More importantly, he wondered how she would relay that knowledge to Lord Hector.
***
Lady Katarina
Later that night, Katarina and her two companions spoke in low tones. “I don't like this. Rebellion... A lot of people will die.” Katarina bit off the words, remembering the burned village they found as they came down out of the pass.
Gerlin grunted, “A little late for second thoughts, milady. And in any case, people will die, regardless. Hector had his chance at reconciliation and we all know how that turned out.”
“These men, they're out here in the woods playing at being rebels,” Katarina said. “Rebellion is not what the Duchy needs. Hector's actions continue to tear the land apart. Why can he not see what will happen?”
“He knows,” Gerlin said. “He just doesn't care. He's always been a soldier, focused on the next target. He thinks that his troops will crush any rebellion and that the threat of violence will keep the countryside in line.”
“He'll see a lot more rebellion if he tries to terrorize the populace,” Bulmor said, his voice sad. “It didn't work for Emperor Dalton in Boir five centuries ago, it won't work in the Duchy of Masov now. But it will get a lot of people killed.”
Gerlin nodded, “I agree. And worse, with the Armen raider threat so high, and the Norics in the mountains, it'll leave our borders defenseless.”
Katarina shook her head, “What can I do? If we fight him, we start a rebellion that tears the Duchy apart. If we don't... in a few cycles there will be a civil war anyway. And...” She looked over towards the cave where Aerion lay. “I can't leave these people, especially not the ones who bear me loyalty. That feels too much like treason.”
Bulmor spoke slowly. “We do have one option.”
Katarina looked at him. His somber face showed his unease. He clearly didn't like the plan he intended to offer. She knew, without really thinking about it, the plan would therefore involve direct and significant danger to her. “Let's hear it, Bulmor. I trust you.”
He shook his head, “I don't trust me, not with this plan... but it's all I can think to help.” He drew his sword and held it across his knees. He seemed to draw strength from holding the blade, almost as if he trusted it more than he trusted himself. “Hector controls the Duchy like he conducts a campaign. He operates by a plan and he'll continue to operate that way until something hurts him bad enough that he realizes the plan is flawed. If he gets hurt badly enough, he may come to realize that things would be better off with a bit of compromise. Maybe enough compromise that we can head off that full out civil war.”
“And that something would be?” Gerlin asked.
“Us.” Bulmor said. “Lady Katarina as a symbol of resistance and an uprising here in the south. Enough trouble that he will have no choice but to draw troops away from his campaign against the Armen in the North or parley with us.”<
br />
Gerlin frowned, “We'd have to do something pretty significant for that.”
“Yeah, that's the part that I really don't like.” Bulmor responded. His dark eyes met Katarina's gaze without hesitation. “This is the only way I see to get what you want. It will force Hector to bargain in good faith. It will prevent all out civil war and it won't weaken the borders, not unless Hector's a complete moron and pulls his troops away to fight us.”
“So that's your suggestion, then?” Katarina asked.
Bulmor grunted, “My suggestion is that Gerlin and I put you on a horse and get you back to Marovingia. I hate this plan, I hate the risks it'll require you to take, and I'd only give it one chance in five of working. If that's what you chose to do, I'll follow your commands, my Lady. Even so, I'd be happier with you safe than if the High King himself rode into battle with us.”
Katarina nodded, “I understand, Bulmor. I know that you want to protect me, but protecting the Duchy is my duty. I can't stand by and watch it fall apart. And if the High Kings do return, they will need the Duchy of Masov intact.” She closed her eyes, “I have the feeling that people will be dying for my choices soon, but this is the only path I can see that preserves the Duchy.”
Gerlin raised his cup, “Well, then... to rebellion and down with Hector the Usurper!”
***
Lord Hector the Usurper
Longhaven, Longhaven Barony, Duchy of Masov
Twentieth of Silnak, Cycle 999 Post Sundering
Duke Hector the Usurper, looked up from his breakfast as the flap of his tent flew back. The red headed woman stormed past his bodyguards and moved to stand over him. “Why did you let that sick bastard Grel off his leash?” From the mud-spattered state of her leather trousers, chain hauberk, and breastplate, she'd only just arrived at the camp. Knowing Captain Flamehair, she had probably rode through the night, which meant her temper would be even shorter than usual. So much for a quiet morning, he thought somewhat wistfully.
