Angie Arms - Flame Series 03

by The Darkest Flame

  Garrick entered the hall, his stride came to an abrupt halt seeing Daley alone with Stroud. The boy stood over him, dagger in hand, with a look of raw hate on his face.

  “You don’t want to end it like this,” Garrick said, moving closer.

  “You were such a sweet little bitch,” Stroud whispered.

  Garrick was sure the boy could not hear the desperation in the dying man’s voice over his own emotions. “This is the way he wants it to end Daley.” The boy glared at Garrick, then back at Stroud. The injured man began to speak, but his words were cut off by coughs. That’s when Daley decided he did not want Stroud to die mercifully, and moved away. Taking up his vigil once again.

  “Fenton,” the voice was barely audible, the effort evidently cost Stroud a great deal of energy.

  Garrick stopped his pacing and walked to stand over the man. Day four, and the smell made him nearly gag as he stood over him. He was a corpse already rotting, yet the man still lived.

  “You bastard,” he grated out. “Kill me.”

  Garrick crouched down before him. “No, this is your pain you have coming to you, from all the pain and fear you caused.”

  “Then you…,” the man faded into weak coughs that made blood spurt from his mouth. “Worse.”

  Garrick thought for a moment. “Most likely. But I’m not the one dying now.”

  “Go to…,” again the coughing and blood interrupted his tirade.

  “Hell?” Garrick guessed. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you there, since you’ll get there first. Let me ask you something, was taking my wife’s innocence worth it.” Garrick’s mouth screwed up, and he waived his hand as if he just remembered something. “That’s right you preferred Daley‘s innocence. Wow, they’re holding the boat for you.” Garrick reached forward and patted Stroud reassuringly on his hip, the slight jostle sent jolts of pain through the man that had him gritting his teeth and moaning. “You’ll get there.”

  “I hear your wife liked what she got,” Stroud rushed out, before the coughing could interrupt him.

  Once he recovered, Garrick straightened. “You know Stroud, I think you’re right. I think you can get up, walk to a horse, and ride home.”

  Panic was written plainly on the man’s face. “Men come help get this man on his feet and to a horse,” Garrick ordered the two nearest men. They came forward, grasped Stroud by his arm pits and lifted him upward. If the man were not so far gone in his death he would have screamed at the pain, but as it was only an agonized moan escaped as he was moved, and his head rolled about as if he fought consciousness. More blood and putrid bile was discharged from the man’s mouth, as his legs refused to work for him.

  He was dragged outside into the bright light of day. “Wait,” Garrick ordered, once they neared a group of tied horses. He walked around so he stood before Stroud, and crouched down in front of him, so he could see his bent face. “I am tired of your death and grow weary of this game. We ride for home. Lucky for you I have a horse to spare so you will not be dragged the entire way. He’s not the smoothest ride, but he’ll get you there.” Garrick straightened, “Tie him to Ox’s saddle.”

  Lord Stroud died later that same day, after surviving several hours being jostled at Ox’s bumpiest stride. Stroud thought Garrick would end his misery if he brought insult upon his wife. What the man had not counted on, was the fact he was dying, to kill him would only be a reward for his words. So Garrick decided to move him, and they could be on their way. When he heard the final rasping breaths of Stroud’s life escape, he stopped, untied the man from Ox, and let his body fall. He left him there alongside the road for the wildlife to survive on, and felt no remorse.

  Chapter 20

  Ryann sat on the parapet, her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She shivered uncontrollably, though she gave little notice, for Christopher’s death kept replaying in her mind. She kept her face tucked behind her knees, as the tears rolled from her eyes, and she tried to block out everything but the grief debilitating her. Christopher had been at her side for so long, he became a part of her life, a constant she depended, on and now he was dead, and she was the one who sent him out there. Just like that he was gone from her, and she felt more afraid than at any other time in her life. Garrick was gone and Christopher was killed by the same people who killed the children, and she still did not know what they wanted.

  “We’re under attack!” the call came from the wall near her. Raising her head she saw an arrow in the courtyard, but the chaos of a siege did not ensue. She huddled upon the parapet, shaking, frozen as she stared at that arrow, a parchment fluttered in the light breeze. One of the men advanced cautiously, as if hell would rain down on that very spot. He safely retrieved the note, and others began to gather around.

  “Manal.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “What else?”

  “That is all it says. Manal.”

  The voices traveled up to her, as quakes continued to keep her rooted where she sat.

  “Manal?”

  Ryann’s eyes raked the crowd that gathered, and beyond, their images blurry from the tears, the grief. Her eyes came to land on Alena, standing alone upon the steps. Her eyes were riveted to the small crowd. Ryann sat up, letting loose of her knees. She swiped a hand across her eyes to clear them. Refocusing on Alena, she saw, even from her distance, that the woman was pale, and her hands were shaking. She knew what Manal meant. Of everyone gathered in the courtyard, Alena was the only one.

  Quickly Ryann climbed to her feet and hurried down the steps, but found Alena was no longer where she had stood.

  Ryann found her in the solar. She stood in the center of the room, and whirled when Ryann entered. A panicked look crossed her features. The paleness of her face against her black hair and stark green eyes, made an eerie contrast on a usually glowing face. Her paleness faded the scars that helped to make the woman only beautiful. Now she got a glimpse of the unearthly angel that was Alena. The dark glow of her hair, the tilt of her vibrant green eyes, her height and graceful curves Ryann envied, without the scars detracting from the beauty, the woman was stunning.

  Alena began to speak as she wrung her hands, but she stopped before any words came out. She turned away, took a couple steps before swinging back around. “What is Manal?” Ryann asked, after quietly closing the door behind her.

  Suddenly Alena looked close to tears. Great puddles welled up in her eyes, as the two women stared at one another.

  “They’ve come for me,” Alena squeaked out, barely more than a whisper.

  “For you?” Ryann asked advancing. She put a hand upon the taller woman’s shoulder. A true warrior, that was how Ryann saw her friend, and to see her in such a state made Ryann feel close to panic.

  “That is what Ghalib called me. Manal, he called me his prize.”

  “I thought he was dead,” Ryann said, the floor seemed to sway beneath them both. Hadn’t one of the children said they did not speak like them? She hadn’t known what that meant

  “Damien went to kill Ghalib after escaping the prison, and we returned. Damien thought he killed him, he said he killed him.”

  “What do we do?” Ryann asked, unsure why she would ask this woman who had been with them from the beginning. If she had had an idea, she would have volunteered it earlier.

  “I must go. You must order the gates opened so I can go to them.

  “No!” Ryann said quickly, the horror of Christopher’s death slammed back into her, and the guilt.

  “You must. How many more children will die because of me?”

  Ryann did not know what to say to her.

  “He will kill them all. All of them Ryann. Now that he has told us what he wants, he will start to torture them.”

  Ryann felt the fabric she twisted in her hands. “No, Alena, I will not open the gates again.”

  “The end will be the same. He has come for me, and there is nothing anyone here can do.”

  “There mu
st be something we can do,” Ryann said, close to panic. Her mind raced, but only images of death came to her. No solutions. No escape. Her fingers worked across the folds of fabric, as she curled and twisted it around her fingers.

  Alena stepped forward, took Ryann’s hands in her own, and squeezed for a moment, holding them still. “There is nothing to be done.” Alena’s voice sounded of a person whose death was imminent. “You must let me leave.”

  “What does he want with you? Has he come all this way to make you a concubine again?”

  A sad smile crossed Alena’s lips, and she shook her head slowly. “He has come for revenge. That is the only reason he would come this far in search of me.”

  “Revenge?”

  “I released the English men. I know Ghalib well, and he is not a forgiving man.”

  “He will kill you?” the words escaped Ryann in a strangled whisper.

  “Eventually, he will.”

  “Do not ask this of me,” Ryann said, shaking her head violently.

  “I do not ask. I tell you to open the gates, and let me go.”

  If Alena had not been holding on to her, Ryann felt as if her knees would no longer support her. She felt the tears well into her eyes and fall down her cheeks, but Alena stood bravely before her, determination written upon her face. “I’m sorry Alena,” Ryann whispered.

  “Do not be sorry. I tried to avoid my fate, but it seems it is tied to Ghalib.”

  Ryann lost herself in her sobs, and it was Alena who comforted her. The brave warrior woman allowed her to shed her tears for a moment, until they began to dry. “That is enough Lady Ryann,” Alena said gently. “It is the only thing you can do. We have to end this now, and this is the only way.”

  “You are so brave,” Ryann said, as Alena released her hands, Ryann wiped her eyes with the end of her sleeve, and struggled to control herself. She smoothed her palms down the front of her pelvis and thighs, to the end of her reach.

  “I will leave soon, but first I will eat and bathe.”

  Ryann had to admonish herself to keep from crying again. If she thought about it, eating and bathing would be a good task to undertake, before turning one’s self over to being a prisoner. “I will see to it,” Ryann assured her, as Alena released her.

  “I will take my food in my chamber. Would you do me a favor and not let anyone know until I am gone?”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll be there shortly. Will you wait in my chamber, and stay with me?” Alena asked suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to her she may not want to be alone.

  “Of course.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The next stretch of time in Ryann’s life she would forever remember. She stayed with Alena, helping her bathe, listening to her stories of her past lives, her childhood, and then her life as a concubine. She told Ryann of her hope when the Englishmen had arrived, and how she had drugged Ghalib to help them escape.

  As they sat together and talked while Alena ate her meal, Ryann wanted to ask her if she was afraid, but knew it was a ridiculous question. Of course the woman was afraid, despite giving no outward sign. She was going to face a man she knew wanted her dead. A man who extinguished innocent lives, as part of his game of power.

  “It’s time,” Alena said, standing to her full height. She wore a pair of hose and a tunic belted at the waist. Her black hair was pulled back from her face, and she looked much like she did when she was dressed to spar with the men. But now she would wear no sword, for she was surrendering, and it hit Ryann suddenly as they moved down the corridor. This woman’s trepidation was less about facing her death, and more about submitting to this man once again. She grabbed Alena’s arm, halting her before entering the courtyard.

  “You don’t have to do this. We will take whatever they send to us, and fight to the end for you.”

  Alena’s smile was soft as she removed Ryann’s hand. “I do have to do this. We talked about this.”

  Ryann stared at her for a moment, and finally nodded, knowing they had, and an ache ripped through her because Christopher would know what they had to do. Ryann plastered her hands at her sides, her fingers itching to twist themselves nervously in her clothes. She turned, and again they moved toward the gate. Ryann felt she had to force her legs to keep up with Alena’s, whose stride was sure and steady. In no time they stood at the gate, staring at it, saying not a word for several breaths.

  “I want you to tell Marcus something for me,” Alena said in a rush, without turning her way.

  “Okay,” Ryann said, turning to face the woman who continued to stare at the gate.

  Alena seemed to ponder her words for a moment before speaking. “Tell him he has shown me the best days of my life.”

  When Alena finally looked at her, it was with tears in her eyes. “Open the gate.”

  Ryann shook her head no, the sorrow for what was about to take place getting the better of her and cutting off her words, constricting her throat, choking her with tears.

  Alena nodded to the gate keeper. Slowly the portcullis rose, and Alena stepped through before it started to slowly close behind her. She walked to the hill where Christopher’s body still lay, and two of the men met her there. Alena feared she would watch another friend’s head cut from her neck, but the men only turned and Alena followed immediately behind them. Soon there were shouts from the wall that riders were moving away, and a dust cloud was rising from the vicinity of the road, indicating an army was on the move.

  Ryann stood on the spot where she stood when she had her last words with Alena. The enormity of her decision weighed her down, and she felt like collapsing onto the ground she stood upon.

  They were there, three more children, just on the other side of the gate, staring at her. She had not heard their approach, nor had she heard the call that they neared. She staggered under the enormity of her next decision. Were Ghalib and his men still playing their sick game? Why were more children being sent? The fact they gave up Alena should have saved the rest of the survivors from the village. She wanted to rage at someone, to hit and beat upon someone for the uselessness that was drumming itself through her head. How could one human being in her position be powerless? How could she stop this nightmare she found herself in?

  “My lady?” one of the guards questioned at her shoulder.

  Ryann turned suddenly to stare at him. He had spoken, but his words were as lost to her as the buzzing of an insect at her ear.

  “Wh-what?” she stammered.

  “The children say there are other survivors of the village. The enemy has released them, but many are in need of care.”

  Ryan stared at the guard stupidly. She expected the voices of Alena and Christopher to be heard with their opinions, but she stood alone, staring at the children on the other side of the gate, as they waited. Did they know what one woman had given up for them? They are only peasants, rang through her head in her father’s voice. How many times had he lectured her about playing with them, or aiding them, they were only peasants and beneath her. She gave up Alena for these children, and she had the urge to run after them and tell them they made a mistake, she changed her mind. Yet, as she stepped forward, she saw their eyes, such haunted eyes in such young faces. They would never forget their ordeal over the last several days. Ryann watched the end result, but she had not witnessed the destruction, or whatever else the barbarians had done, but these children had.

  “Open the gates,” she said quietly to the guard still hovering nearby.

  “But my lady,” he began.

  “Open the gates,” she snapped, turning her gaze upon him.

  “Yes my lady,” he said quickly, then turned and motioned for the gates to be opened again.

  The gates to Fenton stood open for the rest of the day, as the villagers were seen to and the bodies of the fallen were buried. Ryann stood by Christopher’s grave side mourning him, and feeling selfish for not mourning all the others. By dusk the gates were lowered once again, and Ryann felt as
if the door had been closed on a cold prison. She felt alone now. The children were still about, but there was no one around to question her decisions, or to help her make them. Everyone looked to her, and she feared she would fail them.

  She spent a great deal of the day in the chapel upon her knees, praying for Alena. Her mind raced with the possibilities of the misery her friend was experiencing. She prayed for Christopher’s soul, he had always been a strong, kind man, and she prayed God allow an angel such as him a place next to him. She prayed for the villagers who had lost so much, most had lost everything. She prayed for the souls of the children she had watched die, and for his vengeance to strike down those men who had a part in the destruction.

  As she climbed into her bed she thought of her husband, and what had become of him. He knew Stroud’s location, he had plenty of time to get there, and return, yet still no news came. Surely he would have sent word with his continued absence. Perhaps he would not. She still had little faith she was anything more to her husband than a convenient wife, a woman to bare his children, and satiate his sexual needs upon, so why should he send her word. She would have to get used to such, she admonished herself, as she pulled the blankets up to her chin. She was definitely not betrothed due to a love match, and Garrick surely did not kill Lenox because he had a burning desire for her. No, she reminded herself to be grateful she had a husband she herself cared for, that was far more than she ever believed she would have. Then the fear lodged in her chest again, that Garrick was gone and would never return. She pushed it forcefully from her mind, because that line of thinking led her down the path of many more fears.