“What do you want?” she said.
“You made a deal with me, woman,” Grudge said, entering the room. He dropped his gear to the ground, his weapons clanking, and kicked the door shut with his heel. “I was born in Ruthenia, a mountain village in the far west corner of Fregia. The people from my village are hunters. I learned at a young age how to hunt and how to fight. One day I was out pursuing a boar, and I met a knight on the road who convinced me to come with him. He knew a little about magic and was good enough in tournaments that I learned my trade as his squire. We traveled from place to place; he jousted and I groomed his horse. After he died, I made my living as a sword for hire.”
“Not a knight?”
“No, a sword for hire,” he replied.
Grudge stood at the foot of the bed, kicked off his boots, and unfastened his sword belt. He laid his sword beside the two axes sticking out of his large bag, and pulled off his socks while she watched, not saying a word.
“But how I came to be in service to the king, now that is an interesting story. You see, I was fighting for coin in the town of Gregge when I saw King Frederick and his wife, Queen Henrietta, among the spectators. They’d stopped for the night and saw me win a particularly bloody contest.”
“How fortunate for you,” Taliesin said.
“Not fortunate at all,” he said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, “for I fought under the guise of the knight whom I’d served, a crime in this realm, and when it was discovered I was but a squire, the king ordered my immediate arrest. Being rather fond of my head, I escaped and went into hiding. Fortunately, Master Osprey took me in and gave me a name and his protection on the condition I do him one favor.”
He pulled his jacket off, then his undershirt, damp with sweat. His back was hairier than she’d expected, and she pulled the blanket to her chin.
“Shall I tell you what that favor was?”
“Go on, you hairy wolf,” she said, catching her breath as he yanked his belt free.
Grudge’s brown eyes fastened on hers as he started to unfasten his pants. “On the night John Mandrake was slain,” he said, in a husky voice, “Osprey arrived in Padama to find the swordsmith’s only daughter and returned with her to Raven’s Nest. A girl with superior knowledge of swordsmiths and legendary weapons, and an uncanny ability to identify those weapons on the battlefield. A beautiful girl with flaming hair and eyes the color of moss. Osprey adopted this girl and ordered the Captain of the Black Wings to keep her from harm. ‘Rosamond’ was the name of Mandrake’s daughter; your real name, Taliesin. Osprey asked that I protect you, and that is what I have done since I joined the Raven Clan.”
His pants fell to the floor, rendering Taliesin speechless and unable to ask questions that needed to be asked. Every inch of his body was muscular; a warrior’s physique, and like a warrior, he had a number of scars. His arms were dark brown but the rest of his body, due to lack of exposure to the sun, looked pale in comparison. He was a hairy beast; dark hair covered his body, thick and black, though he didn’t have the slightest fuzz on his flanks or buttocks.
Taliesin sat up, excited, and let the blanket fall away. His eyes narrowed, and his breathing quickened, until he was almost panting, as was she. “You swear you are telling me the truth,” she said, barely holding on to any sense of reason. She wanted him, but refused to swallow his lies. “I want the truth, Grudge, or you can find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”
“Oh, I swear it.” Grudge climbed onto the bed. “You can go anywhere you want, do anything you want, and I shall defend you with my last breath.”
“Whatever I want…” she repeated after him, unable to look away.
There was no rest for her during the night, for afterwards, in her dreams, she saw Grudge, in the woods, transform into a glorious white stag. He bowed his head to her three times before bolting. She awoke, expecting to be cold and shivering, and found Grudge spooning her with his muscular arms wrapped tightly around her. Snuggling against his body, she realized she’d never felt safer. She’d awoken him. At the touch of his lips against her shoulder, she shivered, remembering how he’d touched her, and felt her desire return with a vengeance. She rolled over, and his lips brushed across hers.
“‘Roland’ is my true name,” he said, kissing her.
* * * * *
Chapter Eleven
Morning sunlight streamed through the window and warmed Taliesin’s face. With a yawn, she reached out for Grudge. No, not Grudge, she remembered; his name was Roland. Her fingers reached into empty space. Sitting up in alarm, she gazed around the room, worry replacing her yearning. Throwing aside the covers, she climbed out of bed. Roland was not in the room, and his gear was gone. The fear he might have left her behind sent her scurrying. She pulled a clean pair of riding leathers from her saddlebags, although her cleaned clothes were folded and placed on a table, presumably by the innkeeper’s wife. Her boots had been polished and placed at the door. Once dressed, she belted on her sword, fastened on the spare black cloak she’d brought, packed the rest of her gear, and used a twig to clean her teeth. Gazing around the room one last time, she tossed the twig aside, grabbed her gear, and bolted out of the door, slamming into Hawk.
“Watch out,” Hawk said, nearly dropping a bag he carried over his shoulder.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t see you.”
A frown appeared on his face. “I guess you didn’t get much sleep last night,” he said, his tone angry. “My room was right next to yours. Ask me how I slept?”
“Excuse me?” Taliesin gave him a hard look. “I don’t recall promising you anything, Hawk, other than helping you find Ringerike. I’ve made my choice. Accept it.”
Wren’s laughter spun Taliesin around. Rook and Wren came out of a room, holding hands, and grew silent as Hawk hurried off. With a kiss to Wren’s cheek, Rook dashed after Hawk, leaving the two girls to walk together.
“Your brother is angry with me,” Taliesin said.
“With me, as well,” Wren replied. A wave of red crept up her neck and spread across her cheeks. “I’m sure he thinks you set a bad example. Rook and I...well...we spent the night together. It was wonderful. I was scared at first, but he was gentle. It was his first time, too.”
“Then I’m happy for both of us.”
Wren laughed and placed her hand on Taliesin’s arm. “I never should have said I didn’t like you. It’s not true. I do.” The morning was full of surprises. “Minerva didn’t like me, so I took out my frustration on you. That wasn’t fair. When Rook and I are ready, we’ll wed.” She lowered her hand. “I am tired of my brother telling me what to do. You’ve inspired me to become a healer, like my mother, and one day Rook and I will have an apothecary shop.”
“I can’t say I’m ready to get married. Perhaps one day,” Taliesin said. As they descended the stairs, the big yellow dog ran past them, barking loudly. She turned around, expecting to see Viktor, but he was nowhere to be seen.
After eating a quick breakfast served by the innkeeper’s wife, Taliesin placed a gold coin on the table and followed Wren outside. The innkeeper and his son were in the yard, tossing grain to the chickens, as the yellow dog ran barking around them. The horses were saddled, the gear packed on the mule, and the men already mounted and waiting.
Peeking from behind a layer of dark clouds, the bright yellow sun was fighting a losing battle against a storm front moving in from the east. The far horizon was swathed in dark purple and gray, with huge rain-filled clouds moving at a steady pace and bringing shadows across the grasslands. A flock of chirping sparrows flew overhead, moving away from the clouds. Taliesin tied on her saddlebag as Wren loaded her bag onto the mule and hurried to her horse. Taliesin climbed into the saddle, glanced toward the red-haired boy, and waved. He waved back.
“Good morning,” Roland said, riding up to Taliesin. “We ride due west, toward the Hills of Riddick. Hopefully, we can take shelter in the Ruins of Pelekus before nightfall.” He gazed at the clouds. �
�I doubt we’ll reach the ruins before it rains, but that’s the least of our worries.”
“We can handle a few Wolfmen,” Taliesin said, grinning.
“I hope to stay ahead of them,” Roland replied. “Move out!”
Wasting no time, Roland kicked Kordive in the flanks, and the horse broke into a gallop. Standing twenty hands tall, the Morgenstern was the preferred breed ridden by knights of the realm. Thalagar could have easily out-raced the big tan horse; Andorrans came from the finest bloodline of racing horses. The horses ridden by Taliesin’s companions were a sturdy, sure-footed breed called Brennens, used mainly for herding cattle and not built for speed or endurance like Thalagar and Kordive. The Brennens were soon lagging behind as the two powerful horses pulled ahead. It was to be a race then, thought Taliesin, catching Roland’s grin.
The two horses ran another five miles before Thalagar drew several yards ahead of the larger horse. Laughing and feeling quite satisfied, Taliesin reined in her horse, stroked his black neck slick with sweat, and glanced back at Roland. A few droplets of water fell onto her hands and face, and Thalagar snorted as a light rain started to fall. Chuckling, Roland reined in beside her, wiped a hand across his bald head and leaned to the side of his saddle to catch her hand. With a yank, he pulled her closer for a quick kiss. When he drew back, his smile was bright, and his honey-brown eyes danced.
“I think you enjoy life on the run,” Roland said, laughing.
Taliesin scratched Thalagar behind his ear. “This is the first time I’ve ever felt like I’m free to do what I want,” she said. “Is it so wrong to be happy?”
“Not at all,” he said. “I’d like to think I have something to do with your good mood.”
Both turned to watch their friends galloping toward them. Taliesin saw black smoke rising in the sky behind the riders. It was coming from the Black Rock Inn. No one said a word, but Taliesin had the terrible feeling the innkeeper and his family were dead. Roland set the pace again, keeping the horses at a brisk pace, and hours passed along the road toward the hills, with only a few breaks to rest the horses.
When the rain ended, the sky turned from dark gray to purple, and tall grass turned into rocky landscape. Only then did Taliesin allow herself a moment to think about the boy and his parents, and what might have happened to them. Pushing the grim thoughts aside, she studied the enormous white boulders sticking out of the ground and noticed their size grew the further west they rode. Pine trees and bramble bushes with yellow flowers grew around the huge stones. She spotted a covey of quail moving through the thick bushes, searching for berries, and lost sight of them when it started to rain again. The birds took cover, and she wished they could do the same as the temperature dipped, causing her to shiver beneath her hooded, wool cloak.
“It’s not much further to the ruins,” Roland said, breaking the silence. “Make certain you can get to your weapons, if needed. We’re in Ghajaran territory. If we run into the gypsies, let me do the talking. Shan Octavio is their leader. Let’s hope we find him in a good mood, and he may let us pass through without requiring a tribute.”
“How can you be sure the Shan will let us pass?” Hawk asked. “We’ve heard all sorts of stories about gypsies.” He eyed his sister. “They are very fond of fair-haired girls.”
“I don’t,” Roland said, “but we have no other choice. We need shelter for the night. When we reach the pass, stay in tight formation and don’t dawdle.”
As darkness fell, Taliesin spotted the ruins of Pelekus on the highest hill, surrounded by rocks and a thicket of gnarled pine trees. The once-great castle had only a tower that remained intact. Soaked to the skin, cold, and hungry, they rode through the remains of a stone gate and into a courtyard overgrown with tall weeds. Green moss grew on the rocks and covered the north side of the tower. Trees grew between the large blocks of stones lying on the ground, and a few wren nests were built at the top of the tower. The wooden door was still attached, but the tower looked abandoned and in sad disrepair.
“Wait here,” Roland said. “I’ll make sure it’s safe to go inside.”
Dismounting, Roland dropped the reins and drew his double-edged battle-axe. Kordive bowed his head and nibbled at the moss as his master broke through the door’s rotted wood with a swift kick and ducked inside to investigate. Taliesin grew concerned when Roland didn’t soon reappear. The moment she slid off Thalagar, Roland appeared in the doorway and waved.
“Bring the horses inside,” he shouted. “There’s plenty of room!”
Taliesin grabbed Kordive’s reins and brought both horses inside, followed by her younger friends and their mounts. Roland had lit a small candle in a broken clay dish that provided enough light to reveal a chamber sizeable enough to hold a large number of horses. Rook and Hawk set up a tether line while Taliesin and Wren unsaddled the horses. By the time the two women had removed the supplies from the back of the mule, Rook had feedbags ready to slide over the horses’ heads. Hawk barricaded the door after crudely patching the damage caused by Roland’s entry.
“I found more candles,” Roland said. “Get these lit, Rook, and spread them around. I’ll get a fire going. Looks like the fireplace has recently been used.” He handed several candles to Rook. “Probably sheepherders, by the look of it. I haven’t checked the upper level yet. Taliesin, finish up and let’s go see if anything is hiding up there.”
She smiled, for it seemed like a ruse to get her alone.
The faint light from the candles illuminated the lower level of the tower as Roland used a stack of wood to get a fire going. Taliesin noticed a small table and several wooden chairs. A vase of freshly-cut yellow flowers was placed on the table, and she hardly thought sheepherders responsible. Pots and pans lined a mantel above the fireplace. The wooden beams of the ceiling showed no signs of cobwebs, and the floor was clear. Someone had even filled the gaps in the stone walls with bits of cloth held in place by small stones.
“It’s cozy enough,” Wren said as she gave the mare a green apple. “Merryweather is quite content. She’s a fine mare and sure-footed. I wonder who has been here before us.”
“You heard Roland,” Hawk said. “Sheepherders.”
“I don’t think so,” his sister replied.
Taliesin shook out her wet cloak and hung it to dry. Wren walked to a tall set of shelves made of pine and painted a bright green. Taliesin joined her. There were jars and bottles labeled ‘A’ through ‘Z’ on all twelve shelves. The glassware came in different shapes, colors, and sizes, and each had a belt of cloth with the name of the contents written in black ink. In several slender crystal bottles were liquids that radiated a pink, yellow, or blue light. There were carved figures of dragons, unicorns, and birds. Taliesin was able to identify a collection of gems, from bloodstones, coral, and quartz crystal to hematite on the top shelf. Inside an orange bowl were sprigs of holly, jewelweed, and elderberry cuttings with the tiny berries still clinging to the branches. Wren found a human skull, a dead rat, and a frog floating in a glass jar filled with yellow liquid. Both women watched Rook as he picked up torches of the type frequently used by fire-breathers performing in traveling circuses.
“Whoever collected this menagerie is eccentric,” Taliesin said.
“Someone lives here,” Wren said. “Smells like bacon. Burned bacon. It must have been cooked earlier today.”
Hawk sat at the table and wiped his face dry with a kerchief kept tucked up his sleeve. “I smell sheep dung,” he said, grumpily. “Has to be a sheepherder.”
“Butterbur extract, valerian root, wolf bane, sage, master wart, snake weed, and lizard eyes,” Wren said, setting jars on the shelves. “There’s mustard seed, parsley, and thyme, which you use for cooking, but snake weed is a poison. Who would put a poisonous weed beside black pepper? They look the same and you could easily make a mistake, if you’re not careful.”
“The jars are marked,” Taliesin said. “Whoever lives here may be a healer.”
“I feel like a ki
d again in my parent’s apothecary shop,” Wren said, grinning as she looked over her shoulder. “In fact, that’s what this is. Have a headache, fine; I’ll fix you a cup of peppermint tea….” she paused, processing what she knew to what was displayed on the shelves, “otherwise you could exhume a relative’s body, preferably an old woman, remove any roots growing in the skull, bury it at midnight, and eliminate pain for any living female relative. That’s what angel’s breath is for. Anyone who knows about potions can tell you sometimes it’s about the ritual, not the contents you mix and use.”
“Be careful, Wren.” Taliesin watched the girl place a twig of holly behind her ear. “You shouldn’t go about touching everything you see. And stay away from the pickled pig’s feet. I saw a jar of them on the fourth row. I’d rather eat a bowl of worms than one of those horrid little pink hooves. They’re ghastly.”
Wren laughed. “You’re so funny, Taliesin. How bad can baby pig feet taste?” She took the very jar Taliesin was referring to and unscrewed the lid. One sniff and she wrinkled her nose, grimaced, and set the jar aside. “Oh, that is horrible.”
“I warned you,” Taliesin said. She walked to Roland who waited at the foot of the stairs. “Shall we go on up?”
“It’s too quiet. Sometimes silence is a sure giveaway you are not alone.” Roland picked up his axe. “Stay close behind me. Hawk, you’re in charge here. If you see anything moving outside, let us know. We won’t be long.”
Roland ascended the stairs. He held a long finger to his lips and took each step slowly and steadily. The stairs creaked with each step they took. The wood was solid, not rotted, and not a step was missing. A draft coming down the stairs smelled of lavender incense, parchment, mildew, and pipe smoke. When they reached a closed door at the top of the stairs, Roland opened it as Taliesin placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. A single candle lit the room. She pressed against Roland’s back as they entered a tidy bedroom, complete with a bed topped by a red velvet coverlet that appeared ragged, not dusty, a small writing table, and an open wardrobe that contained a pink robe and fuzzy yellow slippers.
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