by Chris Ward
‘I have heard some good lies in my time woman, but this is the best by some leagues to be sure. Well your majesty, we will see that you receive the deference a good liar deserves.’ He suddenly turned quietly angry.
‘Woman you are our captive now. Drifa has been with us three years, and has served us well...’
‘Especially since we took out her tongue,’ Mord cut in quickly as though desperate to be included in this opening speech. ‘It worked well on the nagging wench.’ The manner in which he stood and wrung his hands as he spoke unnerved Sylvion greatly.
‘Quiet Mord,’ Ljotr hissed, ‘for we do not want her terrified, at least not so soon. We must give her time to adjust.’ He suddenly put his face in Sylvion’s and spoke with a deep and threatening manner. ‘He is right though woman, so do not test us beyond a point, for else you will likely live the rest of your life not just in slavery but without the sound of your lovely voice.’ With a sudden movement the two men left her alone, and she found herself trembling violently for the thought of having her tongue cut out was beyond her darkest imaginings.
The day passed slowly although she had no sense of time. The two thieves came and went and only Drifa paid her any attention, and this was small enough, for it seemed she had other tasks to do, although just what Sylvion could not be sure. The cave was dry and warm and after a time she found herself almost back to full strength although her head continued to pound remorselessly. Her chain was replaced with a longer one which allowed her to move about more freely, and when the evening meal was served she was commanded by Mord to enter the main chamber and sit on the cave floor by the fire with Drifa, whilst the two thieves sat at a wonderfully polished oak table all set with silver and many chairs, and which Sylvion knew had never been used for their lair was not the place to which any was invited.
‘Woman, bring me the broth.’ Ljotr commanded and Sylvion felt immediately sorry for the rough order which Drifa received, until she realised that it was directed at her. She bristled angrily.
‘I am not your slave nor ever will be you oaf. Do you think that mere chains are enough to cow me to your every whim? I’ll be damned before I do your bidding.’ The words were out before she thought on them, and in an instant knew that she had overstepped herself, for Drifa immediately burst into a quiet keening and commenced to wring her simple apron through her calloused fingers, whist rocking back and forward in misery.
‘See what I told you Mord.’ Ljotr spoke with quiet and evil intent. ‘These creatures might well look so comely as to slay the strongest heart, but let them speak freely and they will cut you to ribbons with their tongue. I think we need not suffer much at her bequest. We were too patient with Drifa. Why not set things right from the outset Mord? Do you agree?’
Mord nodded in excitement for he seemed to understand what would happen next. Sylvion felt a cold dread creep upon her.
‘Please no, I was hasty. I will speak no more. I will do your bidding in silence.’ She was desperate to avoid Drifa’s fate, and wondered how any could survive it. She thought fleetingly of Rema and the shock he would suffer, and was sure he would reject her thereafter, but there was no sense to her thinking, for it was driven by a fear deeper than any she had ever experienced. Even death seemed a better outcome than to be so handicapped in life, for simple conversation was one of the greatest of all gifts.
The two men were upon her in an instant and before she knew it, she was bound and immoveable upon the polished oak table, the beautiful silver and polished goblets thrust aside in the madness of the assault.
‘Drifa, you get the knife for you know where it lies.’ Ljotr hissed. Drifa did not move and only upon the violent intervention of Mord’s boot did she disappear and return shortly after with a long and gleaming blade which shone evilly in the firelight.
‘You can’t do this,’ Sylvion pleaded, ‘Do you have no soul. I have not done you any harm.’ But she knew in that moment that these men were lost to reason and lived for power and control, in a world where others were no more important than the silverware brushed aside to place her bound upon the table.
Ljotr held the knife. He ran a finger lightly along its blade and showed Sylvion the bright red line of blood which marked its passing. She clamped her mouth tightly shut determined to fight with all her strength. To this end in quick succession Mord received a painful blow from her foot which dislodged an infected tooth, and Ljotr suffered a painful bite to his left wrist. Sylvion felt a madness come upon her as though she had become a wild animal reacting by instinct to each and every new threat, cornered and yet unwilling to submit.
Mord and Ljotr gathered themselves once more, confident in their power and superior strength.
‘She is a fighter this one,’ said the ugly one, and Mord squealed in excitement.
Suddenly a voice rang out like a thunder clap, it echoed around the cavern.
‘You lay a finger on that woman, either of you, and you will lose more than your tongues, for men will cease to call you men after what I will do to you evil creatures.’
The two thieves froze; amazed that another had entered without their knowing. Sylvion lifted her head and a great wave of relief washed over her, for there was Reigin, standing tall against the dark, and bearing his sword like only a Wolver could, for his training was part of his very being. His eyes seemed to burn holes in whatever they gazed upon. Drifa’s eyes were open wide in shock and her hand went to her mouth which could not utter the sound she wanted, for it was beyond her.
‘Ljotr and Mord recovered quickly and in a moment were armed with two swords apiece, and they were fearful weapons, for each bore the mark of the king’s steel. Sylvion noticed than that Reigin’s left arm was cut and bruised and hung awkwardly by his side; in fact the great soldier had used his belt and strapped it to his body so that it would not hamper his action. A jagged cut ran from his chin to his left ear and it wept blood, for it had not yet finally clotted over. But despite all this Sylvion realised that in all Revelyn there was none other she would rather have standing there, than this man, except perhaps for Rema and his marvellous bow.
‘You intrude into our home, stranger.’ Ljotr seemed full of indignation and took the lead as usual whilst Mord swung his blades back and forth in eager anticipation of the violent fight which must follow. ‘We are two, and you are injured. What can you possibly hope to achieve?’
‘And I am a Wolver’, said Reigin, ‘and your life is measured in heartbeats only. I suggest you count them, for that is all that remains for you to see out your miserable lives.’
Sylvion detected in Reigin a deep and violent intent which could not be diverted no matter what might be said, and she was suddenly torn, for she saw her captors now as almost unarmed and helpless before this great soldier.
‘Reigin,’ she called in great earnestness, ‘do not kill them, we can deal with them another way.’ But no sooner had her words echoed off the walls than it was over. Ljotr and Mord knew only of the Wolvers from stories and legends, and thought this stranger was using bluff to set them back. They charged in a frenzy of wild lunges and sweeps, and Sylvion could not take account of the blades for so swift did they cut the air that it seemed for a moment that nothing could survive such an onslaught. But Reigin was a blur despite his impairment, for his body ducked and swayed beyond all reach. He seemed to leap and dive with a fluidity which was both beautiful and deadly in equal measure, and he had no need to parry a thrust or deadly blow for so swift did he move that he could not be touched. Then suddenly Mord was run through, and with his own sword, which bemused him for before he fell he whimpered...
‘How did that happen...’ and he was dead.
Ljotr never saw Reigin’s blade for he was briefly distracted by Mord’s demise and a cold chill of realisation of his own doom which ran the full length of his spine. He was cut deeply three times in such quick succession that it seemed an invisible marker had drawn in red across his torso. He fell quickly and lay dying on the sandy floor of the ca
ve as Reigin stooped low over him. Sylvion watched as the Wolver in the great soldier lived out the training which could not be denied in such a moment. He held his eyes before his fallen foe and watched him die.
Then suddenly it was over, and Reigin suddenly shook his head as though set free from some deeper force which held him. He stood and took a deep breath.
‘I am sorry my lady, for I was not myself there for a moment.’
‘You did well Reigin,’ said Sylvion in a quiet whisper. ‘I cannot say how glad I am to see you, for it is clear that I was in a desperate plight.’
Reigin cut her free and then sat wearily on a bench. He smiled politely and nodded at Drifa who had not yet moved. ‘I am sorry if I distressed you,’ he said quietly to her, ‘but they gave me no choice.’
Drifa suddenly started to cry, and would not be consoled for some time despite Sylvion taking her in her arms and holding her close, for the poor abused woman knew her long ordeal was over, and she had no words to give except this deep release of all emotion.
The three sat there in the firelight; Reigin exhausted and injured with his limp arm hanging painfully by his side and Sylvion in shock at what might have been, still holding a quietening Drifa, who was amazed and bewildered beyond all of them at what that had come to pass to end her living hell.
When Drifa had recovered sufficiently to move about, she quickly directed Sylvion to where the keys used to chain them might be found, although it was Reigin who had to retrieve them for they were hidden beyond the limit of their restraints. Drifa seemed to come alive then for she had worn her dreadful shackles for three long years. She danced and ran about and felt her calloused ankle now free at last. She took a parchment and began to write earnestly as they ate the meal which she had prepared for the two thieves, and who were now lying under a canvas in the side chamber Sylvion had first occupied.
‘I thought you were dead Reigin,’ said Sylvion as they sat together after the meal had been finished; she thought of her their last desperate farewell out over the cold sea.
‘And I thought I was for a while,’ he replied quietly, ‘but Sylvion I did not leave you to die, but to give you the chance to live. I fought with all my might to keep afloat although the cold was beyond anything I imagined, and the waves tossed me and sucked me under so that I was barely able to swim. In the end I just held my breath and let the sea do what it would. I think that saved me, for I floated well enough and did not tire. I almost let my sword go, but I could not do it for it is a part of me I cannot yet let go.’
‘And how did you reach the shore Reigin for we were the best part of two leagues off when you dropped?’ Sylvion could not believe he had made it without some miraculous intervention, for she had seen the raging waters and they were beyond the strength of any.
‘I cannot tell you how I endured, but the waves took me closer in until at last I felt sand beneath my feet but that is when it became harder still, for as I struggled to escape the waters, they sucked me back over and over, until I was without strength. And then a wave picked me up and threw me down and my shoulder came apart. But it threw me far enough so that I was at last beyond the reach of the waves and I crawled up the beach until I could not go further.’ Reigin felt his limp arm with his good arm and continued. ‘Even now it is not in place although I have tried to set it right.’
‘We will look at it soon, but I fear it will be painful,’ said Sylvion gently, for she saw that the arm was lower than it should be, and knew that it was dislocated and possibly worse. Reigin nodded in agreement as though it was something to be endured as a matter of course.
‘How did you find me?’Sylvion asked
‘It was not hard, for I came ashore to the north where there were many rocks. I lay for a long time before I had the strength to move but when I did I saw two men rolling the cauldron along the beach. I followed them by moving along through the trees above the beach.’ He smiled to himself. ‘I have some skills in this.’
Sylvion smiled at him. ‘I’m sure you have Reigin.’
‘Anyhow,’ he continued ‘they left it below the cliffs and I had little problem in seeing where they went or how they entered into this place. I waited until dark to gather my strength and fix my arm.’ He took a deep and painful breath before continuing. ‘I fear with both I have had little success.’ He winced then for his shoulder was causing him increasing discomfort and Sylvion realised they must fix it or else it might do permanent damage. ‘You know the rest Sylvion, it was over quick enough.’ He spoke without remorse for he had killed better men many times before.
‘We will fix your arm now Reigin,’ she said gently and he sat quietly knowing that it needed her attention. She investigated it for a time, lifting and twisting it as gently as she dared whilst he reported the pain and level of movement. Finally she pronounced it dislocated as she had suspected and planned how to get the bone repositioned once more.
‘You have done this before Sylvion?’ he inquired with a wry smile.
‘No,’ she replied honestly, ‘but then neither had I ever flown until very recently, and I did quite well I believe.’ He nodded in acknowledgement and even gave a small chuckle for her humour was well spoken.
In the end Sylvion had to run a rope through an iron hook in the ceiling and use his body weight to stretch the injured arm away from his body so that she could click it back into place. It took some time and quite some pain, but Reigin bore it well, and with great faith for he knew what she was capable of.
When it was over she strapped his arm firmly to his body with some torn up lengths of cloth and instructed him that it would require rest for several days, and then any permanent damage would be revealed, for it should heal well in that time.
‘I am in your debt once more Sylvion,’ he said quietly once it had all been achieved. She would not hear of it however.
‘No, Reigin I am in your debt for ever. You willing gave your life for me, and then saved it once more by preventing those evil men from doing me great harm. Drifa too owes you all, for without you we were lost. Don’t ever say to me again that you are in my debt, for I cannot see how it can be anything but the other way. I will not hear it.’
She turned away with tears in her eyes for the emotion of the moment was too hard to bear. Reigin said nothing but was deeply moved by her gentle words. Drifa in the meantime had spent most of the time writing and Sylvion read her tragic story.
She was nineteen at the time of her capture when travelling on the road north to Fisher from Waterman where she lived. Her favourite aunt had moved there and she had promised to visit once she had settled in. Her party had been set upon by Ljotr and Mord who were masked and treated them very badly, although only she was taken captive. The others were relieved of all valuables and escaped with little but what they wore, and not a few broken bones. Since then she had been forced to serve in slavery in ways and means which she did not give much detail, but Sylvion knew that it was a nightmare from which she expected never to be released. She wrote a special thanks to Reigin and wished him a speedy recovery.
They rested for three days in the cave whilst making plans for the future. They spent some time exploring the caverns which proved to be a veritable store of many treasures, and an equal measure of worthless trinkets. Sylvion realised that the two dead men were devious thieves who were driven to steal and horde, and then forget what they had so that only what was new could satisfy their lust to gather things around them. Drifa showed them that the cave ran inland for almost a league and ended in a deep valley which had been fenced to provide cover for their horses, and other animals. She informed them that the marvellous steeds were only recently stolen from a wealthy merchant‘s carriage. The man had not survived the encounter, although his servants had all escaped into the forest. She did not know what had become of them.
Reigin’s arm recovered well and by the time they were ready to leave he could use it almost normally, and Sylvion predicted a full recovery. They had talked for a long time abou
t what should be done next and settled finally on a plan which seemed to advance Sylvion’s cause as best they could, for she was now firmly resolved to claim the throne and free Revelyn from the evil into which it had fallen. She had insisted on travelling alone back to Wildwood to her family home where she would give her mother a proper burial, and if possible by some miracle, enlist the help of the Equin.
Reigin would travel south quite visibly, for a Wolver travelling on the road with another woman would draw away any pursuit, for he was to take the poor Drifa home. He was to keep a lookout for news of Rema Bowman, and by the next full moon, if he had heard nothing he had agreed to meet Sylvion in Wildwood, for she felt that once news was spread that she had escaped The Vault, Rema, if he was alive, would make his way to her there.
They stored the cauldron and canopy deep within the cave for Sylvion had a hope that in better times it would grace The Vault once more, for the history and tradition of the mighty Iridin was part of her story, and needed to be preserved.
Drifa was given a small fortune in gold from the treasures in the cave and the most graceful of all the horses, a wonderful black gelding with a gentle nature whom she had befriended, for part of her service to the thieves was to look after the livestock and she had found this of all her tasks to be the most bearable. There were several pigs and many chickens which were set free in the forest for they could not be taken with them. The single milking cow was to be led out through the forest to the common road which led to Fisher, a dozen leagues to the north and south to the many coastal towns including Waterman which was Drifa’s home since childhood. The plan was to let the cow lose along the roadside, and hope that a passing farmer would take it home. Reigin sealed up the cave mouth deep in the valley, and together they rode away.
Their parting at the common road was sombre for the future was uncertain and a darkness seemed to grip the land.
