by Louis Emery
Malcolm nodded solemnly. “I hear some of you speak the Gulls’ tongue …”
“I know a bit, as do my sergeants—that’s why they are my sergeants. They’ve been through the ’Vine a few turns. Listen, Ser Malcolm,” his face grew serious and his voice deep, “this is no leisurely meadow or tranquil forest. These are haunted woods, filled not only with hostile tribes.” Here he paused a moment and put his hand to his chin as he thought. “I’d like to speak to all your party if I might. To lay down a few ground rules.”
“Certainly.” Malcolm turned to the party finishing their dessert back at the tables. He coughed and hesitated. “Captain Halarn wants to fill us in before we depart tomorrow for the Thornvine. He’s been through it before and knows the language of the peoples there. Please pay heed.”
“Captain Halarn, well met sir,” Ser Balliol blurted out. “What’re our chances of filtering through? Does a motley lot such as us have a chance?”
Malcolm gave the knight a look, but Captain Halarn was unfazed. “You’ll have more than a chance,” he began, “if you listen to me, sir. I know your party’s mission, and I can say the Backlanders of Farmington support you fully. However, this journey isn’t going to be easy. That’s why you need to listen to what I say, how I say it, and when I say it. The ’Vine is unforgiving. As soon as you stray from the group, you’re liable to lose your head.”
Malcolm saw Ethlin swallow hard.
Halarn continued. “We take a route we know the Gulls don’t frequent, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be close. And there are runes—in plain sight and hidden—that you’ll want to be aware of. They house the magic of witches and druids, which means it’s of a deathly sort.” The captain took a moment for his words to sink in as he regarded the party. “Rest well tonight, for the wilderness is rugged. And remember, you obey my orders at all times.” Here he raised his voice for effect.
“If you don’t, you not only jeopardize our lives but the lives of my guards. They’ve been given leeway to slap any one of you for speaking too loud, straying too far, or not doing any of the things I tell you. And if anyone of you continues to risk our lives with insubordinate behavior, I’ll have you bound and gagged for the duration. Is that understood?”
Malcolm noticed the captain could don a gruesome look when he wanted to, for he peered at all of them with a commanding glare. Everyone nodded, with the exception of Ser Balliol who slurped the remainder of his ale and voiced his comprehension by setting his mug down with a clunk.
“Good,” Halarn said. “We leave after breakfast, preferably while the dew still sits.”
The captain gave a curt nod, and walked back to Malcolm, who said, “We’ll be ready.”
“So will my men,” Halarn replied, bowing and exiting the hall.
32
They rode all day, merely stopping for a short lunch, passing countless towns and villages surrounding the farm fields on the outskirts of Farmington. Samson Castle grew small in the distance, and the incline of land a few miles before them grew with its expanse of rocky, wooded terrain.
Halarn and his guards looked well outfitted for the trip. Unlike Malcolm and Artemis, who wore the half hauberk that protected their head and neck, the Farmington guards donned full hauberk, gauntlets, greaves, and half helms. These white doves are amply armored, Malcolm thought, glancing at the fowl sigil centered on their tunics. Halarn and his sergeants dressed similar to Malcolm’s Prestonpan companions, wearing gorget and plate over their mail, offering more protection, as if expecting a heavier assault. Daubed with oils to diminish the shine, their metal wouldn’t garner added attention when hit with sunrays. Halarn knew what he was doing.
The party settled at an inn at the last town just before nightfall. From here, they would dismount and proceed on foot the following day. The Thornvine did not readily accommodate horses, and with their surreptitious intent, the last thing they needed was to be seen on large whickering beasts. Malcolm and his companions bade farewell to their mounts at the stable at the opposite end of town to the inn. Guards of the town’s outpost would use their horses for message delivery or return them to the castle ostler to serve the duchy.
Malcolm could not wait to have a fine meal back at the inn, for his stomach rumbled, and for a man his size, it was a rather loud one. He had no doubt his companions all heard it.
Ethlin sat on the bed in her room at the inn, which was their last stop before the Thornvine. She gazed out the window at the wilderness beyond. She sighed and rubbed her face. Her door was cracked, and she heard a gentle knock.
“Come in,” she said.
Ser Royce entered, his armor clanking as he walked. “Is something the matter, Ethlin?”
“Not really. Why?”
“I heard a sigh emanate through your door.”
“Oh, that.” She felt nervous under the knight’s gaze. For his young age, he was handsome and strong, and also kind. It created a different kind of fear, one she was not entirely used to. “I guess I really am a bit worried.”
“May I sit, milady?” Ser Royce gestured to a chair.
“Please.”
“You’re worried about the types of things we may encounter out there,” Ser Royce pointed to the window.
“You see right through me,” Ethlin smiled.
Ser Royce smiled back, a clean and healthy smile. “Not to worry. I’ve some experience with wild creatures—both manlike and not.”
“Oh, really? Do they have many unusual beasts in the Fells?”
Ser Royce nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Werewolves have been known to stalk the moors. I’ve cut one myself.”
Ethlin raised her brows. “Did it attack you?”
“More like attacked us, to be honest. It all happened during Lord Staverly’s monthly Hart Hunt. We were heading back after the hunt was over, carting the prized deer, when all of a sudden the beast emerged from the shadows and lashed out at us. He moved faster than any creature I’d seen and clawed at a few of us.”
“Did any die or get hurt?”
“No. Fortunately, we all wore armor, so none of its claws tore flesh, and none were cursed with the beast’s infectious disease. When the werewolf emerged a second time from the shadows, I stepped forward. It moved so swiftly, I was only able to cut it across the back, but that’s all it took. The beast yelped and ran away akin to a frightened dog.”
“Were you scared?’
“More tired than scared. It was a long day. Besides, I don’t think the beast was trying to get us—more like the large hart we were carting. It would’ve been an easier meal. But I find it ironic. In a way, that night the hunters became the hunted.” Ser Royce laughed.
Ethlin laughed too. “You knights surprise me with your wit.”
“And you surprise me with your courage,” Ser Royce said, meeting her eyes. “I never had a chance to thank you personally. You had a part to play in saving my lord’s life. Without your abilities, I fear he’d be dead.”
“I’m just glad I was able to use my gift to save a life. Growing up, so many saw me as a deviant, an outsider. I’ve been called a freak more times than I can count.”
“I hope you don’t believe them. I haven’t known you very long, but I know you’re anything but a freak. As I’ve said, you’re courageous for taking this journey. Besides that, you’re kind-hearted, and you’re pretty.” He looked at her in all seriousness, and Ethlin felt a heaviness in her chest—a crushing weight that surprisingly felt good.
“You are far too kind,” she said, looking into his hazel eyes.
“As for what’s out there,” he stood and gestured to the window, “I think you’re strong enough to deal with whatever comes our way.”
Ethlin smiled and was certain she was blushing.
Ser Royce headed to the door. “It’s almost time for dinner. You coming along?”
“In a bit. Just going to wash my face first.”
“See you down there.” Ser Royce exited the room.
As Eth
lin leaned over the washbasin, she was careful not to look out the window again.
After a dinner of raisin seasoned fish, Malcolm bought an ale for Artemis, Ser Royce, and—in the hopes of easing tensions—Ser Balliol. The knight seemed lax in recent protestations, having struck up a rapport with Captain Halarn, and eagerly accepted the proffered drink. Malcolm would’ve bought one for Orbist, but the old man declined saying it’d make him too sleepy and unfit for evening conversation. Malcolm finished his ale hastily and decided to say one last goodbye to the horses who had effectively performed their duties this leg of the journey.
He stepped into the crisp night air and walked amongst the quaint buildings of the street. From thatched roofs, chimneys puffed small clouds of smoke, filling the air with the nostalgic fume of home and hearth. The moon shone full next to the stars, and a hazy glow filled his walk to the livery.
His mind drifted to Lady Leora and her own tribulations. She’d been betrayed by blood close to her, and now attempted to salvage her kingdom lest Varick and his Westers overtake East Ballardia while her father lay impotent. She, like Malcolm, had many obstacles yet to come—and a long road ahead. It was odd, but in a way, Malcolm found himself missing the company of this enemy princess, despite her abrasiveness and tenacity.
For a time, the stillness of night along with the patter of his footsteps calmed the worries of his own responsibility. That is until he heard someone approaching from behind. He turned around and discerned a silhouette twenty feet behind him. He knew the outline of robes and delicate figure to be Ethlin, set to accompany him to the horses. Her shadowy hood-covered frame drew near when suddenly Malcolm saw another follow behind her.
“Ethlin, look out!” he shouted, just as the figure grabbed her from behind.
He heard her shriek and ran after her, gaining on them. “Hold on!” Passing one of the street shops, someone loomed and struck at his side. He felt the impact of a large man colliding with him. Malcolm pushed back with all his strength. The thug bulged a thick chest and arms. The man was also tall, but Malcolm still had more height advantage. He pulled back and threw a punch at his attacker. The man swung his head away, and the blow merely brushed the side of his cheek and ear. His attacker threw his own punch to Malcolm’s midriff, and he barely braced himself for the impact. Malcolm wheezed, part of the breath knocked out of him. He shoved the thug back to prevent a second blow while he choked on air.
Malcolm was startled when the man pulled a hidden dagger and launched a lightning-quick attack. Malcolm dodged, the blade just missing his throat and catching the fabric and mail on his shoulder. He grabbed the man’s arm as the blade’s razor point heaved closer to his exposed belly. He held back the man’s forceful attack and shifted his weight to one side while launching an elbow to the man’s face. There was a loud crack, and the man shrieked in pain.
Blood streamed from his nose. Having dropped the knife, the thug glared at him over the dark blood spots on his face. The thug drew the sword he wore at his side, and Malcolm pulled his own, glancing over at Ethlin who struggled as her attacker began dragging her away.
Before Malcolm could launch an attack, he caught a shadow fly from the shop roof, landing on his back before he could react. He rolled away before the second attacker could use his sword successfully. It was now two blades against one. The second attacker was much smaller, which made him less powerful but nimbler. They attacked as one and Malcolm parried both slashes, left then right. He whirled about in full circle, slicing the back of the second attacker, who cried out and fell to his knees.
The thickset thug thrust his blade at Malcolm, who blocked it with his and drove his shoulder into him, forcing him back. Malcolm spun swiftly and plunged the blade through the second attacker before he could reenter the melee. Muscleman charged at Malcolm, but he battered the attacks aside. With deft counters, Malcolm sliced against the man’s exposed arms and rapidly surged his blade, piercing leather armor and flesh. The man fell back, gazing up blankly at the stars.
Malcolm raced after Ethlin, following her muffled cries. If only the others at the inn had heard her, but they were too far down the street. He saw them go between an old barn and thatched store. His long strides allowed him headway, and as he passed between the buildings, he noticed Ethlin and her captor mere feet away. The man was dressed in all black. He grabbed Ethlin and shoved her back. Realizing he was caught, he turned to meet Malcolm, pulling a wickedly curved sword from his sheath.
He lurched angrily at Malcolm, and Malcolm met him with equal wrath. Two clangs resounded, and he sliced the man’s hand from his forearm. Before the man’s screeches elevated, the whoosh of Malcolm’s heave was heard, followed by dead silence.
Malcolm wiped the blood off his longsword on the dead man’s leg and once clean, sheathed his weapon. Ethlin stood a few paces away, eyes wide and lower lip trembling.
“Come, girl,” Malcolm said, extending his hand. “No one will hurt you now.”
Shaking, she strode over to the body, lifting the man’s arm sleeve, inches away from the blood.
“It’s as I feared.”
Malcolm looked down and saw the tattoo of a small flame below the man’s bicep.
33
Orbist placed a blanket around Ethlin as she sat sipping tea by the inn’s fireplace. Halarn’s men had been sent to search for any remaining thugs and to remove the bodies from the street and nearby barn. “Don’t need the residents waking up to a bloodbath,” the captain told one of his sergeants.
“The Sect must’ve followed us from Em Regis,” Orbist said, shaking his head. “Foolish of me.” He rubbed his brows nervously, sighing. “I was a damned fool for thinking you’d be safe out there alone. You should’ve been guarded. I apologize, my dear.” He touched her arm. “I should’ve seen this coming. I didn’t put my foot down.”
“Seen what coming?” Malcolm asked. By the looks of it, the rest of his party, Captain Halarn included, didn’t know what the mage referred to. Malcolm wanted them to be informed.
Orbist faced him, the fire-glow casting dancing shadows on his face. “You recall, Ser Malcolm, when Ethlin and Patrycias were attacked near the temple? Their attackers were members of the Darien Sect, and most of them are marked by the dragon flame tattoo on their arms. Rivaling peaceful ideologies of the Dragonmother temple, the Sect takes a more extreme stance when it comes to the use of dragons and power. A certain group within the Sect knows about Ethlin’s special abilities, and wants to take her away, where they may interrogate her and take liberties with the knowledge of her visions.”
“I’d heard some were after her, but I didn’t think they’d come all this way—that they were so bent on possessing her.”
“They’re bent on more than taking possession of her. Members of the Sect practice dark arts, and there’s those with the bravura to cast spells and trances where they could use her abilities and nascent power for vicious means—to manipulate those who would stand in their way.”
Ser Balliol spoke, rising from one of the tables. “This Darien Sect—there’s a few of their temples in the Fells. It seems Varick’s use of the dragons is in line with their dogma.”
“In a way it is,” Orbist said, “though the Sect would rather their temple have control of the dragons, rather than wizards, or a Ballardian lord. In their tenets, they’re to rule the dragons, overshadowing the influence of mage fraternity and feudal government.”
“It’ll be a cold day in Hell,” Ser Royce chimed in, “when I let this Sect interfere with this young woman again,” he looked over at Ethlin. “I’m sorry milady. I wasn’t there to lend my sword. Good man, Ser Malcolm,” Royce turned in his direction, “for dispatching those scoundrels.”
Malcolm bowed to the knight.
“I, too, am sorry I wasn’t there.” Artemis looked up from his seat. “It’s my job to protect you and the girl.”
“You didn’t know of the threat.”
“Tell me, Mage Orbist,” Ser Royce said, “do we have to f
ear this Sect in the Thornvine?”
“I know not. There may be more Sect stalkers about. It appears they’re hiring sellswords to aid their abduction. If they hire local guides, they may be able to follow us into the ’Vine.”
Balliol cleared his throat. “Just another thorn in our side. Let’s hope we don’t run into any cave bears either.” He chuckled at his ill-timed quip.
“I don’t think they’d be able to find guides that easily,” Captain Halarn said. “Not many in Farmington or the neighboring towns, besides soldiers such as myself and my guards, know how to deal with the ’Vine. If any of this Sect hires, they’re likely to not get very far.”
“Well, we best get some sleep,” Malcolm said, “For tomorrow we’ll need it. One of us should stand watch outside Ethlin’s and Mage Orbist’s room.”
“I’ll take first watch,” Artemis volunteered.
“And I second,” Ser Royce added.
Malcolm and the rest went to their rooms. His bed was a welcome luxury, after the gut punch and back slam from Sect hirelings. Before shutting his eyes, he leaned his longsword close to the bedpost.
34
Days following her talk with Orlute, Sho woke up to Abera rapping at her bedroom door. Lady Hoskins had let her up the stairs for urgent reasons. Thungerd, the man they’d planned to question that day, was found murdered in an alley, his throat cut. He’d been out on errands, and ambushed. Sho got dressed and they raced to the scene. Nothing around the body or alley indicated sorcery this time—just an ordinary cold-blooded killing.
“I’m curious why no sorcery was involved,” Abera said, as they left the crime scene. “You’d think a caster like Thungerd could fight off a normal individual.”
“Not if he’s taken by surprise,” Sho said. “And with his age, and the fact he wasn’t practicing, it could have weakened his defenses and ability to cast effectively.”
