by Susan Faw
“Yes, I believe they would be happy to avail themselves of your fine inn.”
“Until then,” she curtsied lightly, “gentlemen and lady.” She marched off to the kitchens.
They left the inn and were surprised to find a small crowd had gathered around the band in the short time they were inside. Most were young men, but some were old gents, all speaking with the band and asking questions. As Ryder strode up, he heard one of the band say in a loud voice, “Yes, we have been travelling with a young prince. You would believe it too if you saw him. We got separated, but he is of princely seed. You know it to look at him. We are going to recover his throne for him. You’ll see.” Murmurs greeted these words as the crowd repeated the conversation to others too far away to hear.
Ryder mounted his horse again and motioned for the men to follow him. He glanced at Darius, who shrugged as if to say don’t look at me. “They came to that conclusion all on their own.”
A short ride brought them to the farm and an even shorter negotiation had them setting up camp in an empty hayfield with access to the farmer’s well for watering their horses. The rain had let up and a watery sun poked through on the western horizon.
Darius set a few men to guarding the camp while the rest of the men found wash buckets and clean clothes. Then they walked back into town in threes and fours, hot food and cold ale on their minds.
Ryder, Darius, and Laurista strolled back to town also, drawn to the comforts of the village and also keen to hear some of the local gossip. Ryder knew their presence was being noted and he felt this would be the first true test of the band’s acceptance or rejection by those they hoped to recruit in time.
They entered the inn and the band quickly filled the available tables, mixing in with the local men and beginning conversations. Ryder, Darius, and Laurista settled in at a table close to the door, so as to watch the people who entered.
A serving girl stopped at their table to place a basket of hot bread on the table. A barmaid stopped by next and took their drink order, retrieving three mugs of mulled wine for their table. Ryder spied the innkeeper who doubled as the town mayor and waved her over to their table.
“Simona, I was wondering if you would point out the local merchants. I find I am in need of a good tailor.”
Simona peered around and then pointed to a pinched-faced, balding man sitting at a small table by the window. “He travels between villages and into the capital once a month to purchase supplies.”
“That’s great. Thank you.” Ryder stood up and walked over to the man. He was absorbed in his plate of thinly sliced lamb and potatoes as Ryder paused by his table.
“Good evening. May I join you?”
The man shrugged and gestured to the chair opposite him. Ryder sat.
“My name is Ryder. I need to have some sashes made for me and my men. I am trying to locate someone who sews.”
The man studied him. He did not give his name. “What kind of sashes?”
“They would be made to sit at the hip, solid colour with braiding along the edges, and a little embroidery on the front.”
“The queen has forbidden the creation of any garment for armed men who have not received her seal sanctioning its making in advance.” He squinted at Ryder, taking in his sword at his hip. “What you ask me to do might be viewed as treason.”
Ryder frowned at the man. “I apologize. We are not from the area and we were unaware this law. Please forgive my impertinent request.” Ryder stood, bowed stiffly to the man and withdrew back to his table.
He relayed the conversation to Darius and Laurista. She also frowned at the information. “If that is the case, there is a ban on selling materials that might be made into uniforms as well. It may be that this cloth is as strictly controlled as the sale of weapons. You might commission one sword, but you are sure to attract attention if you commissioned for, say, two hundred of them.”
“Fortunately, we have a good number of those already courtesy of the legion. We will need to find a way to buy the proper cloth. Perhaps we can purchase some in several different villages, not enough in any one village to raise suspicions?”
“Why this sudden interest in uniforms?” asked Laurista.
“It occurred to me that in a battle, unless it is with the queen’s forces, we would not be able to tell friend from foe. We need some way of identifying ourselves to one another, especially if our numbers grow.”
“Good point.” Darius picked up his fork, his stomach growling as the spicy meal arrived. They had taken no more than three bites when a large thud occurred, instantly followed by a flash of bright light and a shuddering crash. The windows of the inn blew in, glass shattering and spinning through the air. Screams of pain filled the room as those closest to the windows were impaled with the airborne shards.
Ryder leapt to his feet and drew his sword. The other band members, who had not been cut by the flying glass, also drew theirs. The windows filled with a howling rush of sound and then all went still.
Ryder ran out the door, followed by Darius and Laurista, who had a small sharp dagger in her hand.
The village square was strewn with debris. Trees had been snapped in two. The central fountain had been toppled, the basin cracked and water was flowing out onto the ground. Several people were getting slowly to their feet, while others did not move. In the center of the square, where their band had originally stopped, was a large blackened crater. Smoke curled from the edges of the depression and a flickering flame rose from the center.
Ryder strode up to the edge of the hole and looked down. A large glowing rock sat in the center of the depression, pulsing with the dull red of a horseshoe freshly out of the forge. The roughly shaped metal ball was about the size of a church bell. Ryder examined the hole, trying to gauge the direction the iron ball had come from. To launch a ball that large, it would take something larger than any catapult siege engine he had ever heard of. It would not have that long of a range, however. Puzzled, he found nothing in the area to suggest where the iron ball had come from.
Ryder bent to a nearby man and felt for a pulse. When none could be found, he moved on to a young child who was partially buried under the body of his mother. The woman’s body was twisted in a grotesque form only possible if her back was broken. The child was stirring and crying, unable to push his mother’s body off of him. Ryder rolled the woman over and picked up the child, ducking his head against his shoulder to shield his view of his mother’s broken, bleeding body.
He sprinted toward the inn with the child clutched to his chest, meeting Laurista halfway. He pushed the boy into her arms without speaking. The child wailed for his mother. Laurista ran back toward the inn, the child’s cries mingling with the moans of the injured.
Ryder saw the men of the band spread out, searching the carnage for survivors. Other people from the town were gathering on the square. Ryder followed Laurista back into the inn, where he found the mayor directing the serving girls to push the wooden tables off to the sides of the rooms, creating a triage area in the middle of the empty floor.
The cook appeared from the kitchen area with a virtual army of young men hauling buckets of water and what appeared to be the entire stock of towels and linens. They placed them on the tables at the side of the room.
Ryder walked over to the window where the glass had blown in. The merchant he’d been speaking to a few moments ago was slumped over his table, a chunk of glass from the window imbedded in his temple. Ryder turned him over. He was clearly dead. Ryder hoisted him onto his shoulder and his torso flopped over his back. He carried the dead man outside to the fountain area and laid him beside the other ten people who had been deposited there by the band in a makeshift morgue beside the fountain. As Ryder knelt to lay the man down, an object rolled out of the man’s waistcoat pocket and dropped to the ground.
Ryder bent down and picked it up. It was a curiously shaped coin, octagonal in shape, and made of a strange silvery metal that seemed hot to the touch. On one sid
e was a picture of the sun and on the other side what resembled a bear. Ryder pocketed the coin, not because it was valuable but because it seemed out of place. He quickly searched the man for identification but found nothing to tell him who the man had been.
Ryder straightened and walked back to the remains of the fountain. Something strange was happening and he itched to know what it was. He sent prayerful thoughts in the direction he hoped Cayden was riding.
Ride, Cayden, ride! I am not sure how long we can hold them from your back, whoever they are.
Chapter 34
THE FURTHER SOUTH CAYDEN AND ZIONA RODE, the more populated the area became. Grasslands gave way to rolling hills dotted with willowy branched trees that bent back to the earth. A fuzzy grey seemed to coat them. On closer inspection, Cayden realized moss was hanging from the branches, swaying in the breeze. Colourful birds flashed through the treetops, calling to each other as they passed.
As heat grew so did the humidity. The soil churned into ruddy clay that clung to their boots and to the hooves of the horses. Even though it was spring, the muggy air felt like midsummer at home.
They came to fields cultivated with a twiggy plant set in straight rows. They marched off in parallel green rows over the rise of the hill. Cayden examined them as he rode past. He had no idea what they were and his puzzlement must have shown because Ziona spoke up. “Those are cotton plants. They are native to this area, and it appears the local farmers are cultivating them rather than gathering and harvesting from the wild.”
“If they are growing cotton in this quantity, then they must have a place to sell it. Who do you think is able to buy all this?”
“Likely local merchants buy it and ship it to the weavers on the southern coast. There is a large guild of wool and cotton weavers on the coast, and the most famous looms for these fabrics are to be found in the town of Seaside.”
As they crested the hill, they came upon a small village. A weathered wooden sign hanging from a post announced the hamlet of Cottonham. The tidy fields were cultivated right up to the low stone wall. Past the wall, buildings sprung up and an assortment of people wandered about inside the town going about their daily routines.
“Should we go into the town?” Cayden enquired of Ziona.
She frowned, thinking. “It should be safe enough, but I think we should pose as a married couple. That way we can stay together without suspicion.”
“We should be able to blend in fine, two simple travellers passing through.”
Sheba shadowed them from the woods. She never entered the villages. She did not like large groups of humans. Ziona nudged her horse, encouraging a slow walk. They rode side by side and were soon entering the town.
Cayden sat tall, back straight and alert in his saddle. Ziona observed him from the corner of her eye. He sat like a monarch, even though he was simply dressed in his woolen cloak, tan pants, and boots. He did not realize his bearing screamed royalty. She saw his chin firm as his eyes surveyed the scene before him. A woman paused in the midst of pinning a blouse to a clothesline to watch him pass. Ziona hid her smile. It was not every day you saw a king being molded and formed right before your eyes, she mused.
Several men, gathered around what looked to be the local smithy’s shop, watched them pass. They slowly followed after them, drawn to Cayden.
Cayden, completely oblivious to the attention he was attracting, dismounted in front of the inn, looping the reins over the railing. Ziona mirrored his actions and then stepped up onto the boardwalk beside him.
Cayden glanced down at her, wondering at his luck to have her beside him. He offered her his arm and she lightly placed her left hand on it. Together, they entered the tavern beneath a weathered sign announcing it to be the Cotton Gin Inn.
Inside the brightly lit interior, large quilts of cotton were proudly displayed on the walls and ruffled curtains of a similar fabric draped the windows. A round woman with grey hair secured in a tight bun on the top of her head greeted them as they entered. She took one look at the pair of them and dropped a deep curtsey.
“How may I be of service to my lord and lady?”
“We require lodgings and a hot meal served to our room. We would also ask the horses be given an extra measure of grain this evening.”
“It shall be as you ask, my lord. Will your manservant be bringing your things?”
“We are travelling light. We will bring our own things up.”
“Certainly, please follow me.” She headed up the stairs to the right of the door. She led them to a room at the far end of the hall and around a corner. It was obviously the only room in this section, situated over storage rooms below.
She opened the door with a large iron key and then stepped back to allow them to view the room. A small suite was revealed, a large four-poster bed centered in the room with tall curtained windows flanking it. A tall boy dresser in a rich oak adorned one wall, while the opposite side held a petite ladies table with a wash bowl and pitcher. Fresh flowers sweetened the air with their perfume. “Our quietest and most private suite,” she announced as they stepped across the threshold.
Ziona perused the room and dismissed the woman with “These rooms are suitable. Thank you.” The plump proprietress curtsied roughly and then pulled the door closed behind her.
Cayden groaned and closed his eyes. “There is only one bed.” The beginnings of a flush violently rose through the collar of his shirt. Ziona grinned at him, clearly enjoying his discomfort.
“Well, I suppose we do not have to worry about being cold tonight.” She laughed as the colour climbed up into his cheeks. “Come, let us retrieve our gear and get a bite to eat.”
They descended the stairs together to find a crowd gathered at the base of them. The villagers, including the women and men Ziona had noticed earlier, quieted as they spied Cayden and Ziona at the top of the stairs. Cayden instinctively placed his hand on his sword, eyes measuring the men and women in front of him. No weapons were visible, but it did not mean they were friendly.
They, in turn, doffed hats and made bows to him as he drew eye level with them.
“My lord,” a man spoke up, drawing Cayden’s attention. The man stared at Cayden with one wild eye that wandered when he tried to focus. A long scar ran from the corner of the wandering eye and disappeared into his rapidly receding hairline. “We could not help but notice your arrival. May we ask your name, sir?”
“My name is Cayden Tiernan.” Cayden gazed at the men. There were a good twenty of them and about half as many women assembled. The innkeeper peeked from the door of the kitchen, listening with all her might. Cayden found it odd she would feel the need to sneak inside her own inn.
“And where are you from, my lord?” This came from a redheaded man not much older than Cayden.
“I am from the village of Sanctuary-by-the-Sea. Do you know it?” Cayden glanced around. The men shook their heads at the name. “Why do you ask?”
A middle-aged woman spoke up for the first time. Her blond hair liberally sprinkled with grey fell straight to her waist and her blue eyes were framed by thick eyelashes. She spread her skirts in a deep curtsey. “I’m Catriona, my lord.” Peeking at him from under her lashes, she said, “You look like the king.” Her voice trembled. “You are the spitting image of the king, may he rest in peace.” She made a symbol with her fingers as she breathed a blessing, the crook of her fingers like an eagle’s beak.
Ziona glanced sharply at the woman. “How would you know what the king looked like? He has been dead for over seventeen years. Where did you learn that sign? ”
The woman cowered back as Ziona’s gaze pinned her.
“Please, my lady. I worked as a maid in the castle when I was young. I was a maidservant to the royal family. Although I did not personally attend the king and queen, I had opportunity to see them in the halls. I was a servant to the prince and princess consort. Please, my lord, you have the same colouring and bearing as the king except for the eyes. They are different.” T
he men around her nodded their heads in agreement. “These men, they also served in the castle. They served with the Kingsmen. All except Jakob; he was born here in the village. We beg you to tell us who you really are.”
Cayden and Ziona gazed around at them all, stunned.
He had not expected to find people who would seem to recognize him, maybe even be able to identify him. These people appeared friendly, but what of his enemies? Would they be able to recognize him as well? What am I saying? I am no king. This is foolishness!
Ziona took control of the crowd by shouldering her way through them, dragging Cayden behind her by his sleeve. Gaining the open air outside the inn, they found an even larger group of people assembled. It appeared half the town was gathered; a good hundred people had congregated out front of the inn in less than ten minutes. Cayden and Ziona’s horses had been swallowed up by the crowd but appeared untouched.
Cayden stopped cold, frozen in shock.
The crowd bowed and curtsied as he stepped onto the boardwalk outside the inn. The front row of men melted before him.
“My lord. My prince.” A gnarled man in a worn and patched Kingsman uniform rose from the dirt and, with head lowered, spoke. “I pledge my life to your service. We have waited, watched, and prepared for this day as we were instructed to do.” He bowed at the waist, his sword extended, grip toward Cayden. “My sword is yours. My life is yours to do with as you please.”
The rest of the crowd kneeled behind the first row and repeated the pledge, man and woman alike.
Cayden found his tongue at last. “Stop!” he said, aghast. “What do you think you are doing? You have no idea who I am or where we are going.”
Ziona placed a hand on his arm again and stopped his automatic rejection. She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “You are prophesied to save these people. Do you not think it is possible they have prophesies that speak of this day? Hear them out and ask them for their faith and knowledge.”
