Out of Mischief: World of Change Book 1

by Gordon A. Long

  * * *

  By the time she reached the next small village she was ready to forget her precautions and talk to anyone. She was far enough along now that here was no point in continuing to hide her trail, and if there was a revolution coming she wanted people to know where she was.

  She went straight to the only inn on the main street, ordered food and ate ravenously. She sized up the woman who served her: older, better dressed, confident; she must be the innkeeper’s wife. She mentioned avoiding mercenaries on the trail and having overheard something about a revolution.

  The woman was immediately concerned. The moment Aleria was finished eating, she found herself rushed over to the mayor’s cottage to repeat her story. She was unable to give them much detail, but they were appreciative.

  “You must go on to Furane. There is a military post there. They will know what to do.”

  “How far is that?”

  “It is only three hours walk. If you will go and take the news, we can keep all our people here. We will need them, if there are rebels around.”

  She could hear the basic selfishness behind their words, but understood it. She agreed, took their gifts of food and water, and headed out, leaving them preparing for the worst.

  Once again the forest seemed frightening, but she found that it helped to have something to do, a sense of purpose. She must get to Furane to warn the commandant there. She hoped he would believe her. The people at the last little town certainly had. She upped her pace, although her sides were heaving and her heart thudded.

  She had no need to worry. The moment she mentioned the name of Slathe, the commandant, an older lieutenant, was all ears. “Slathe? Are you sure you heard that right?”

  “I’m sure. ‘Hiring out to Slathe for his rebellion,’ were the exact words.”

  “And these mercenaries were coming in from Layesse?”

  “I assumed they were. We took a shortcut over the mountain, and we hit the main road just where it crosses a creek. They were coming from that direction.” She cursed herself for saying ‘we’, but the commandant seemed to miss her slip, and continued his interrogation.

  “How many of them?”

  “I have no idea. I just heard a lot of marching feet, and I thought it was no place for a girl.”

  “You’re right there, young lady. So as far as you know, there is a band of mercenaries half a day’s march back along the road to Layesse, who are meeting up with a revolutionary called Slathe?”

  “That’s all, sir, I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to risk staying around for more.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. Now, I have a problem. What to do with you.”

  “With me?”

  “Yes. If there’s a revolt going on, this is no place for you. This is the first spot they’ll attack. But wandering alone is no place, either. Can you ride a horse?”

  She bit back the indignant response. “Yes. I can ride.”

  “Good. I’m going to send a messenger to Piche-Frenne to warn them. You can go with him. You’ll be safer, there. There’s far less chance of an attack and it’s a much bigger town. If they’re warned they’ll be harder to overcome.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Fine.” His attention left her as a problem solved, and she could see him begin to think of a thousand other things.

  Soon she was on the road again, this time on a fast horse. The messenger, a slim young soldier with dark hair, galloped beside her.

  “You ride well.”

  She glanced over at his grinning face. “I’d better.”

  He nodded and turned his attention to the road.

  It was, fortunately, not too long a ride, as she found that she was hardened to walking but not to the saddle. However, it was mid-afternoon when they rounded a corner in the road and thundered into a town, very small in her eyes. It was not completely walled, but the houses were built together so that they could be easily defended. Once inside, she saw that the streets were narrow and the windows small and high, the houses joined together there as well. Each house could be defended against invaders inside the gates as well. She had never looked at architecture from a military point of view before, but this town seemed much safer than the little village where the garrison was stationed.

  The soldier swung from his blowing horse in front of a three-story half-timbered building, shouting for the mayor. Soon a crowd had formed and some official-looking men gathered around him. Aleria decided that this was her opportunity, dismounted and faded back out through the crowd. There were several larger buildings on this central square, including one that looked like a prosperous inn. She hitched her pack to her shoulder and strode over, stumbling a bit as the blood rushed back into her legs. If there was ever a time to spend her money well, this was it.

  There was no one around, so she rang the small bronze bell that sat on the bar. It was a long time before there was a response. Then a stooped older woman shuffled through the door.

  “What’s going on? Where’s that dratted girl who’s supposed to answer the bell?”

  Aleria couldn’t help but grin. “Out listening to the hubbub in the square, I would guess.”

  Dark eyes peered up at her. “And what’s going on in the square, since you seem to know so much?”

  That sobered her. “There is a report of a rebellion in the area. The messenger just came in from the military post at Furane, warning everyone.”

  “Another dratted rebellion. Why can’t they settle that lot? Why do they keep on making trouble?”

  “I don’t know. Who is making the trouble?”

  “Ah, it’s always the same bunch. A lot of no-goods and lay-abouts, too lazy to find a trade and nothing better to do than cause trouble. Oh, they say wonderful things about freedom and their rights, but when it comes down to it, all they want is a free ride so they don’t have to work. It all comes over the mountains from Ferboden, you know. Bunch of anarchists over there. Got no government at all, so I hear.”

  “How do their ideas get here?”

  “Agitators. They send ‘em in, tryin’ to mess up our government, so they can come and take over. All those awful ideas.

  Aleria felt her interest rise. “You have heard what they say?”

  “Oh, sure. There was a young fellow through here a few months back, speaking to anybody who would listen.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I didn’t pay much attention. Just the usual stuff about oppression by the Ranking classes and freedom to work. Hah! Freedom to work. I looked at his hands. Not a callous to be seen. He’s never worked for his bread, I’ll tell you that.”

  Aleria dropped her hands from the counter.

  The sharp eyes turned to her. “And what about you, young lady? What brings you to our town in the middle of a rebellion?”

  “I didn’t plan the rebellion part, Ma’am. I’m looking for a safe place to stay the night.”

  “Ah. A room, then. We’ve got plenty of rooms. More than usual. Might have known.”

  She caught Aleria’s puzzled look. “The pedlars have a sense for trouble and stay clear when they feel it coming. Usually we have three or four here, any normal night. Only one last night, none today. So we have rooms.” She shot Aleria a calculating look. “Three-quarters.”

  Aleria stared her down. “You just raised the price because you know I’m worried about safety. There are other inns.”

  “All right. A half-crown, and two extra pennies for food.”

  Aleria considered that; if they were attacked her money would be worth nothing to her anyway. “Done. Will you show me the room?”

  The old woman looked around. “Doesn’t seem to be anyone else to do it, does there?”

  Aleria followed the woman upstairs, accepted a room much better than most she had been using, and was soon unpacked. She rested until suppertime, ate early, and in spite of the rushing around on the street, was asleep before it got dark.

  16. Captured

 
She was startled from restless dreams by a crash that seemed to shake the whole building. As her befuddled senses straightened, she heard loud yells, seeming from the common room beneath her. She was blasted by wrenching scream, cut off in a gurgle, followed by a thump, as of a body hitting the floor.

  A hoarse voice laughed. “This is it. We’ll set down here for the moment, have a drink or two. But we’re not gonna get much service, you lot keep killin’ the servants.”

  Aleria crouched, shaking, on her bed, the blankets clutched around her. How could they be already inside? There was no sound of attack. They must have had someone to let them in. A red flickering brought her attention to the window. A fire had started somewhere, and now the screams were coming from farther away. Several loud bangs told her that someone had guns.

  Only the army was supposed to have guns. Was it a rescue? The gunshots were not repeated, and her hopes fell.

  There were footsteps on the stairway.

  Realizing her position, she crammed her feet into her shoes, wrapped her cloak around herself, and scrabbled for her pack. She could hear boots coming down the hallway, and she rushed to be sure the door was locked. Then she darted to the window. By the light of the fires, she could see a mass of men in the courtyard. No escape there. Maybe she could get out on the roof, hide behind a chimney…

  She stifled a scream as the door behind her splintered inward. A tall man with a big moustache and a fierce snarl strode into the room, glanced around. Seeing her, he cursed and reached for her. There was nowhere to hide. He yanked her over to the window, held her face to the light, and cursed again. Sheathing his bloody sword, he jerked her pack off, tossed through it, shaking his head. Then he looked at her again, reached out and tore her cloak away, stuffed it in her pack, and threw it under the bed. Once again he hauled her into the light from the burning town beyond the window. Then he shoved her onto the bed, yanked her shoes off, pulled her pack out, jammed the shoes in, and hid the whole lot under the bed again.

  Then he reached out and roughed up her hair, grabbed her by the arm, and hauled her out of the room.

  Her mind could make no sense of his actions, and she could hardly keep her feet under her as he dragged her down the stairs. Just outside the common room door, he stopped and hauled her face up to his. She could smell his rotten breath in the darkness. “When we get out there, you say nothing. Got it? Nothing!”

  Her lips tried to form a sound.

  “Say it. Nothing.”

  “N…nothing.”

  “Good girl. Just don’t say anything. Keep your face down.”

  Then she was propelled, not gently, through the door and into the common room. Arms windmilling, she regained her balance and stood, head down, breath coming in gasps.

  “Hey, Slathe. Look what I found in the attic. Can I keep it?”

  A roar of laughter greeted this. “Whattaya want it for? It don’t look big enough to be worth messin’ with.” A stocky man, his belly held in by a wide leather belt, strolled over, grabbed her hair, and lifted her head up. “Not a bad face, for a slut. Maybe I do her a favour and make her myself, the first time.”

  “I tell ya, Slathe. I sorta took a likin’ to this one. Reminds me of my first one, back when I was a kid. I tell ya what…” Here her captor leaned over and whispered in the leader’s dirty ear.

  The fat man burst out laughing. “Why, Raif, you sentimental old lecher. If the skinny slut means that much to you, have her. I like ‘em a bit more padded, myself.” He waved a huge, filthy hand in her direction, and she ducked, stumbled, and fell on the floor. Her gorge rose as she came face to face with the body of one of the serving men, his throat a torn mass of blood.

  The man with the moustache was suddenly standing astride her, his face close to the leader’s. “And she’s all mine, right? That’s the deal?”

  The leader’s laugh cut off. He looked at his subordinate with cold appraisal. “That’s the deal, unless I decide to change it. No one else.”

  Her captor grinned, slapped the other man on the shoulder. “That’s good enough for me Slathe, any day.” He reached down, hauled her to her feet. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think the fightin’s done for a while. I may just go and enjoy the rewards of the day. I suspect there might be some nice, comfy beds upstairs. Come on, Sweetheart and just see what a surprise I have for you!” To the claps and jeers of the other men in the room, he dragged her up the stairs. Too numb to resist, she followed him. He kicked a few doors open, glanced inside each, then continued down the hall. When he reached the door to her room, he thrust it open, exclaiming loudly.

  “Just the right spot. Come to papa, dearie!” He shoved her in, slammed the door, and spun her across the room to the bed. She lay where she had fallen, a strange lassitude creeping through her limbs. It was as if she was leaving her body, ignoring this huge, dark, man leaning over her, his fist lashing out. The pain in her lip where he had struck seemed amazingly faint, somehow dull.

  His face loomed into her line of vision, and his voice grated in her ears. “This is going to hurt, but a whole lot less than it might have.” He looked at her a moment, shook her shoulders. “Listen to me, and listen well. You are about to be raped, and it’s going to be noisy and violent. Got it?” He shook her again, and she felt her head flop.

  “Dammit, girl, don’t pass out on me now. You’ve got to pay attention. You’ve got to put on a show. They’re all listening down there, and if they don’t hear the right stuff, we’re both done for. Do you understand?”

  She shook her head.

  “Oh, lord, don’t tell me I picked a dumb one. Put on a show. Scream a bit. Can you scream?”

  She nodded.

  “Then scream, dammit. Scream like I just twisted your arm.”

  She tried to scream, and a weak sound dribbled from her lips.

  “I mean scream!” Her arm was on fire, the shoulder socket strained past endurance. There was no numbness, no distance. She was right here, and it was real. The pain tore from her lips, her voice rising until his hard, dirty hand crushed down across her lips.

  Above her, his rough laugh rang. “Oh, my. Isn’t she frightened!”

  Then his face was close again. “You’ve got to show some spunk, girl. Scratch my face.”

  “What?”

  “If you don’t show some spunk, every lout in this army is going to have a go at you. Now scratch my face. At least two nails, a nice, long, scratch.”

  In a daze, she reached up. As she saw her nails dig into the flesh of his cheek, a sudden surge of anger threaded up from inside her, and she dug in, watching the blood trail behind her fingers.

  His shout of anger rang in her ear, followed by a slap that she thought would break her neck. He raised a hand to his cheek, considered his bloody fingers. “Well, well, well! So she has some spirit after all.” He grinned. “I didn’t mean you to scar me for life. Sorry if I over-reacted.”

  He reached out to take her chin, tilt her head from side to side while he considered it. “Not too bad, though. The lip is swelling already, and that slap will show up for days. Now it’s acting time. Can you moan a bit?”

  “What?”

  His huge hands were on her arms, and he jerked her upright, his face so close that she could feel the spittle on her cheeks. “I will explain this one more time. Do you know what is happening out there? All over this town?” They listened a moment, and a scream echoed up from the streets. A sudden flare of fire outside lit the room. He nodded. “That’s right. Put on a good act up here, or I really will rape you. I will rape you down there on the floor in front of all of them if I have to. At least that would be better than having them all take their turn. You are in a tough situation here and you have got to rally around. Can you do that?”

  She didn’t know whether he could see her nodding, he was shaking her so. “Stop shaking me so much, and maybe I could think.”

  He grinned again, yellow teeth behind the drooping moustache. “That’s better. You’re catching
on. Now moan in fear. It shouldn’t be too hard; you’re scared to death anyway, and you know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

  He was right. It wasn’t hard at all. He dropped her on the bed, reached down to tear at her clothes. Then his weight was on her, crushing her, the rough cloth of his coat blocking her mouth, and she could hear the bed banging against the wall. Just when she thought she was going to pass out, he shouted, a long cry of triumph, and the weight was gone.

  She opened her eyes, moaned again, when she saw him standing over her, doing up his pants, grinning from ear to ear.

  He leaned down to whisper to her. “There you are, girl. That’s the easiest rape you’ll ever have, I guarantee it. Now keep moaning a bit, while I fix things up. Whatever you do, don’t leave that bed.”

  Whistling, he stomped out of the room, and she could hear him banging doors open down the hall. Once he stopped for a loud jest with someone who had come out of another room. Then her door opened. There was a moment of silence.

  She raised her head. A huge, fat man, slobber running down one side of his face and blood smearing the other, was standing in the doorway regarding her. With no counterfeit, she moaned again and burrowed back under the quilt. Then loud footsteps marched closer, and she heard a familiar voice.

  “Hey, Balek. Not in there. That one’s mine. You go find yerself a sweetheart of yer own. Go on, now. Why don’t ya try the street down by th’ gate where we come in? Good luck, there, friend.”

  She peeked again, to see her captor slap the huge man on the shoulder and steer him away. Then he turned back, coming in and closing the door. He was carrying a bundle of cloth in his hand. He reached under the bed, pulled out her pack.

  “Now get your boots on, and let’s get packed. Ditch the fancy shoes and jacket. We’ll be pulling out immediately, and I don’t dare leave you behind. You think this army’s bad. If the king’s soldiers don’t get here by tomorrow, the sewer rats who follow this poor excuse for an army would change your mind.”

  He stopped, then sat down beside her on the bed, looking into her eyes. Then he spoke, very softly. “Look, young lady, I know I haven’t handled this too well, but you have to understand I was in the middle of a battle when I found you. I could tell by your clothes and the cut of your hair that you didn’t belong here, so I did the best I could on the spur of the moment. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m your only chance to get out of this town in one piece. I’m sorry I had to hit you, but you can’t fake the kind of bruises you’ll need to make them believe I really worked you over. Now, I paid a great deal to get you to myself, and I’m going to have to play it very carefully to make sure Slathe has no reason to change his mind. Don’t mess this up for me, and you’ll be all right. Do you understand?”

  As he talked, certain things began to filter through the fog that was enveloping her brain. His accent is different. He didn’t rape me, just pretended. He’s…in as much danger as I am, and… I have to go along.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Act like I just raped you. Act like you’re afraid that I’ll do it again, at any moment. I’m the master. Completely. If I say lick my boot, you do it.”

  He leaned close. “But if anyone else touches you, crosses you, even looks at you wrong, you fly at him. You tear a strip off him as wide as you can. And do a good job of it, because if you can’t scare him off, I’ll have to come and kill him. Understand?”

  She understood. “What about the big one, Slathe?”

  His face looked grim. “Stay out of his way. I can’t do much about him if he takes a liking to you. Oh, yes, and Balek. The fat one. Don’t yell at him. Just say my name, over and over again. He likes me, but it might take him a while to remember.”

  A shout rang out below.

  “There we are. We’re leaving. Put on a good show; our lives depend on it.” His voice rose. “Come on Sweetheart. Pick up yer pack, and let’s go downstairs and meet yer new family!” His hoarse laugh preceded him as he strolled down the stairway, his scabbard thumping on the steps behind him. Ducking her head, she followed him down.

  It occurred to her that he hadn’t told her his name, but there was no time to ask. She simply followed, hoping Balek was otherwise occupied. And all the others like him.

  Fortunately, the rebel camp was only a half-hour’s stumble along the dark, crowded road. The army swaggered through, some of them already drunk on the proceeds of their night’s work. They reeled into her, clutched at her, stepped on her feet. Her protector did his best to shield her without seeming to, shouting equally at her and at anyone who touched her.

  When they reached the camp, he dragged her to a little tent set at the end of a row of shelters of varying sizes and shapes. He twitched open the flap and made a mock-gracious bow. “Home, sweet home, Sweetheart.”

  She stood, uncertain what to do, which gave him an excuse to shove her down and through the low doorway. It was pitch dark in the tent, and it smelled of sweat and dirt. She crouched to one side while he struck a match and lit a tiny oil lamp. The only furnishings were a canvas cot and a folding stool. He hung the lamp from the ridgepole and smiled at her. “It’s not much, but it’s home.” He gestured to her, and she sat on the cot, staring up at him.

  “What happens now?”

  “Well, Sweetheart, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve had a rough day, what with the battle an all, so I’m not going to entertain you as you might have expected. We’ll be moving early in the morning, so I suggest you get whatever sleep you can. Not on the bed.”

  She looked up at him, puzzled.

  He moved to the bed beside her, spoke softly in her ear. “If someone was to stick his head in, and find me on the floor and you on the bed, they’d be suspicious. You’re going to have to sleep on the floor. I saw some blankets in your pack.”

  “Yes, I have two, plus my cloak.”

  “You can lie on those. Cover yourself with my coat. It isn’t cold.”

  “I’m warm enough, thank you.”

  “This isn’t time for pride, little girl. Take the coat. It’s not too clean, but it’s good wool. Once the excitement dies down, you’ll be cold.”

  “Excitement!”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t gone into shock already. It’s been a pretty rough night for you.”

  “Kind of you to notice.”

  “Look, my name is Raif. What’s yours?”

  “Aleria.”

  “Aleria. Ranking class. What’s a girl like you doing out here alone?” He continued without waiting for her answer. “I won’t be using your name when anyone can hear me. I’ll call you ‘Sweetheart,’ since I started it already. Maybe you should think up a name for the other women to call you. The other men shouldn’t be talking to you. If they do, let me know, and I’ll deal with them. Keep yourself small and inconspicuous as you can. Cringe and keep your head forward, so your hair covers your face. Don’t look at anybody. You’re way prettier than is safe.”

  “Was that a compliment?”

  He grinned, fingered the two scratches on his cheek. “You do have a bit of spunk, don’t you?”

  “A lot of good that’s done me so far.”

  “Don’t fool yourself, Aleria. If you hadn’t been able to keep up your part of the act tonight, either I would have lost you, or I’d have ditched you in the dark to make your own way home. I’m on too important a mission to risk it on someone who can’t hold up her end.”

  “Mission? What kind of a mission?”

  “Keep your voice down. Don’t worry about my mission. You think I’m hanging around with this bunch of scum so I can rescue any young ladies I come across?”

  “I hadn’t given it a thought.”

  “I’m sure that when you do, you’ll realize how lucky you were it was me that kicked your door in and not one of the others.”

  She shuddered, but refused to let him see. “I can’t say I’m terribly impressed at your chivalry, so far.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry
about the first slap. You already paid for the second one.” He fingered the scratches again, checking his fingertips for blood. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s their kind of humour. They love to see anybody brought down to their level. Given the chance, they’d be joking about it for months. I’ll try to see they don’t get the chance.”

  He turned to his pack, propped against one end of the tent. “Here, I’ve got a spare blanket. With three folded under you, and my coat on top, you’ll be comfortable enough.” As he spoke, he was arranging a bed for her right beside his. “I was serious about leaving early. Get some sleep if you can, just rest at least.”

  She lay down, and he stepped over her and stretched out on the cot. Then his head came up, and he stared down at her. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to escape, would you? Slathe is very careful about sentries, and there are always people moving about in the camp.”

  She shook her head. He regarded her a moment, then nodded, leaned over and blew out the light.

  She lay back on the hard ground in the smothering darkness, the rank scent of an unwashed man in her nostrils. She felt a shudder start, deep in her chest, but she suppressed it. She would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry. Clenching her fists, she lay in the blackness until her fatigue overtook her, and, half-dreaming and half-waking, she slept.

  A scream, sharply cut off, awakened her, and she started up, gazing around the little tent as if coming out of a nightmare. A stab of pain shot through her as she realized that the nightmare would continue with the coming day.