by Jane Shoup
“What’s wrong?” Jansen asked.
“My ankle. It’s better.” She put her full weight on it and felt no pain. She lifted and rotated her foot and felt stiffness, but no pain. She looked around at the others with an amazed smile, and they all smiled back. They were all still reeling from the experience and a good deal more shaken than any cared to admit. “And we’re only half a day from the forge.”
“I was right,” Lott reveled. “I was right.”
Jansen slapped his back. “You were. You were right.”
~~~
The next day, Ammey felt the thrill of recognition at every hill, tree and stream they came across, but she had no idea how it showed on her face. Each of the men silently observed her, noting her reactions. She’d been quiet and withdrawn upon leaving Daleog, disinclined to share more of her experiences. She’d eased from her reticence, but now she looked lit from within. She was not fearful of the reception she would receive, nor had she budged from her claim of who she was, which meant that either she was Ammey McKeaf or she had convinced herself that she was.
Fin, by contrast, had grown sullen. He had hoped that she would trust and accept him by now and that she would back away from her claim of being the daughter of the McKeaf. All his life, women had lavished attention on him, but this one that he finally wanted remained distant. After Daleog, he’d convinced himself that she felt trapped in the story she’d created and that was the reason for her melancholy, but he couldn’t deny the glow of excitement she exuded now.
“When we top this hill,” Ammey spoke up, “you’ll see a creek and a stone wall that runs all the way to our home.”
Fin felt a tightening in his stomach. He hoped there was nothing of the kind, but his gut told him otherwise. They crested the hill and stopped abruptly, alarmed by the sight before them. The grounds were littered with the remnants of old campfires and personal effects, but eerily devoid of people. There was a creek in the distance and long stone wall. She’d been right about that.
Garid looked over and saw the shock on Ammey’s face. “Let’s go find out what’s happened,” he said calmly.
Nothing had ever felt as strange to Ammey as approaching her own home and not recognizing any of the men who stood guard. The heart of her home was missing. Her family was missing.
“Do you know them?” Peter John asked quietly.
“No,” she replied flatly.
“Hello,” Garid called to the guards as they approached.
Two of the guards started toward them, their hands on the hilt of their swords. “Identify yourselves,” they ordered.
“We’re from the village of Keved,” Garid returned. “We were told to come.”
The guards relaxed their posture as they looked over the group, lingering the longest on the woman among them.
“I’m Garid Lourd and these are my kinsmen. What’s happened here?”
“The camp cleared out when we got word that Corin’s army attacked the camp at Shilbridge.”
Peter John saw the color drain from Ammey’s face. He reached over to steady her.
“When was this?” Fin asked.
“Six days ago.”
“We should go then,” Garid said.
The guard gave a curt nod. “Yes. Everyone is to report to Lere. They need reinforcements, but there’s no women allowed,” he said, glancing sideways at Ammey.
“No,” Garid quickly agreed. She’s going on to—”
“Thender,” Ammey supplied.
“So where exactly do we go?” Garid asked. “You said Lere?”
“I’ll show you on a map.” The soldiers led the way back toward the house followed by Garid, Fin and Darius.
“Are you alright?” Peter John asked Ammey.
“All the time we were coming here,” she said under her breath. But there was no sense in thinking about what might have been, only what had to be now. They needed to move quickly and get to Lere. They needed horses. “Follow me,” she said.
The others balked as she walked off, moving perpendicular to the hall while slowly drawing closer. They looked back at the soldiers gathered around a map laid out on a table. Fortunately, they were paying no attention to her. Samuel, Lott and Peter John exchanged nervous glances before they followed her.
“I’m going in to change clothes,” she said when they’d caught up with her around the side of the house. “The stables are that way, so go there. We need horses.”
Peter John blinked at the change that had come over her.
“Can you all ride?” she asked worriedly.
“They won’t just let us ride from here,” Lott spoke up sharply. “And, personally speaking, I have no desire to become a horse thief. Especially a horse thief that stole from the McKeaf.”
“Do you believe who I am or not?”
“Yes,” he replied miserably.
“Then it’s not stealing. I am granting the use. They are our horses.” She glanced at the others and saw they all looked worried. “I’ll be back. My horse is a chestnut mare named Lady Madilyn. If you’d ready her?”
“And if there are stable hands that throw up a hue and cry?” Peter John asked.
“Then I will deal with them.”
Again, the men merely glanced at one another, none of them knowing how to respond. Ammey looked around to make sure no one had come around the side of the home and then she dashed inside through a side entrance.
Jansen caught up. “What does she think she’s doing?”
“She thinks she’s going into her house to change her clothes,” Samuel said slowly. “And she thinks we’re readying horses to ride out on.”
It utter incredulity, Jansen looked from Samuel to each of the others who nodded.
“It’s true,” Peter John confirmed. “That’s what she thinks.”
In the front of the home, the guards noticed the absence of the group. “Where did they go?” one asked suspiciously.
“Probably saying their goodbyes,” Fin spoke up. “My sister is going on to Thender,” he added.
“Which is that way,” Darius said pointing eastward, “correct?”
“Yes. And you’re going—” he pointed northward. “I suggest you get to it.”
“So we will,” Garid replied, turning and starting off in search of the others.
After a hundred or so yards, Darius took a backwards glance and saw the guards were still watching them. He waved. Turning back around, he said, “they’re still watching,” under his breath.
Ammey walked the halls of her home, thinking it had never felt so hollow. Or was it her who was hollow? She slipped up the stairs, down the hall and into her room. She shut the door and leaned against it. It was all so familiar and yet it no longer felt like hers. It seemed like the oft visited room of a relative, a younger and more innocent sister perhaps. She had come all this way and she was nowhere. She bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn’t hide from the fact that Marko’s army had attacked her people, her family.
Why?
Because she’d left. More accurately, she’d been taken. Stolen from him and it had changed him. Or was she being self important to think so? She opened her eyes and went to change her clothing as quickly as she could. She had to get to her family. She had to get to Marko.
Fin’s jaw went slack at the sight of Ammey as she strode into the stables and looked over the few horses that were left. She was wearing leggings, a long tunic, a different coat and an impressive sword. Her hair had been brushed and pulled back. She looked different. She looked as if she belonged here. She smiled to see her horse. “Hello, old friend,” she said, rubbing the mare. She hugged its neck and then mounted. “Let’s go,” she urged.
“Ammey,” Garid fretted. “If—”
“If you force me to, I’ll tell those guards who I am,” she interrupted. “Of course, they’ll resist and argue and insist on proof. So, we’ll find the servants of the house who will vouch for me. But the guards still might not believe it. Or they mig
ht object to our taking the horses. Which we need! More time will be wasted when I have to get to my father!”
“If she’s not really Ammey McKeaf,” Jansen said to Garid in a warning tone.
“I’m going,” Ammey exclaimed, out of patience. “Go or stay, as you please.” She spurred her horse onward and rode out.
One by one, the men followed, each of them looking around nervously. Jansen rode out last, still shaking his head.
~~~
Lucas McKeaf made his way through one of the tents that housed the wounded. Corin’s army had wiped out two divisions of his men and wounded a great many more. The army of the free people of Azulland had begun a retreat when reinforcements arrived and helped drive the enemy back, but the damage was significant. Nearly all of his sons had been wounded. Dane’s broken arm was not life threatening, nor were Anthony’s or David’s injuries, but Richard’s head injury was. Lucas stopped at Richard’s bedside and sat. He took his son’s cool, lifeless hand in his own. No man was supposed to outlive his child.
“General,” someone said behind him. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Rehan Isolde has returned. He’s asking for you.”
Lucas gave a terse nod to acknowledge that he’d heard. Isolde had approached Corin in hopes of negotiating a truce, and he needed to learn the outcome. “Where is he?”
“His tent.”
Lucas squeezed Richard’s hand and then set it down and stood.
A dozen men were waiting on him in Isolde’s ridiculously lavish tent, including Anthony and David. Both of Anthony’s eyes had been blackened, and David had sustained a deep cut on one side of his face, which had swollen and turned an angry looking red. The wounds inflicted on his sons hurt more than any he had ever personally suffered.
“Corin has given us three days to surrender,” Isolde announced when the McKeaf entered.
“It’s unlike him not to attack again while we’re weakened,” Bloodworth commented.
Isolde shrugged. “Perhaps he sees that victory is certain and now casts an eye to his image.”
“I don’t give a damn what he thinks,” Anthony spoke up. “We can have reinforcements here in three or four days.”
“Not enough reinforcements,” Lucas replied grimly.
“His conditions,” Isolde continued, “are that we accept his rule as the one true king of Azulland. We pay homage, taxes and, of course, and we owe him our loyalty.”
Anthony barely restrained himself from lashing out. He would never pay homage to the man.
Lucas McKeaf nodded and turned to go.
“General, wait,” Rehan Isolde called, frustrated that he had yet to get a reaction from the stoic man. “What do you think?”
“I need time to consider,” Lucas McKeaf replied without turning around.
David and Anthony exchanged a look. “I’ll talk to him,” David said quietly.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It took two days of hard riding to reach camp. Tents were pitched for as far as the eye could see and hundreds of horses were corralled at the rear. The smell of horse dung was strong as they approached. Ammey had led the way, but she fell back as they closed in on a heavily manned point of entry. She searched for a familiar face, but did not see one.
“No women allowed,” a guard stated the instant they stopped. “She’ll have to go.”
“I think an exception will be made,” Garid stated calmly.
“Why is that?”
“Identify yourselves,” another man ordered.
Ammey realized she was receiving hostile looks, as if they already knew her culpability in what had happened.
“I’m Garid Lourd of Keved, these are my kinsmen. And this is Ammey McKeaf, daughter of the general.”
The guards snickered. “I hope you were told there’s ten lashes in it for you if you’re not,” a guard threatened. He had a squatty build and a hard expression on his face.
“I was told,” she replied in as steady a voice as she could manage. “Where is my father?”
“I don’t know,” he came back at her. “Who’s your father?”
Additional men were gravitating toward them as if anticipating trouble or entertainment.
“Dismount,” the first guard ordered. “All except for you,” he said, singling out Ammey. “You can still ride away. If you do dismount, then you live with the consequences.”
She held his gaze as she dismounted. All the others also came off their horses.
“Alright then,” the guard said with a dispassionate shrug. He waved in stable hands who took charge of the horses.
“How do we know we’ll get them back?” Lott asked Garid under his breath.
The oldest of the stable hands, a man of at least fifty, gave him a hard look. “I never forget a horse or its owner. Live long enough and you’ll get them back.”
“So,” Garid said. “If we could get an audience with—”
“She’s ready,” a voice called from a short distance away.
“That would be another Ammey McKeaf,” the squatty guard informed them with a smug grin. He forced his tongue against his cheek, making it bulge.
“Looks like we’re going to have two whippings in a row,” another said.
“You’ll whip her over my dead body,” Fin seethed, taking a half step forward.
“Or perhaps, three,” a guard threatened, glaring at Fin. “Anyone who speaks for her gets it, too.”
“I speak for her,” Garid stated.
“We all speak for her,” Peter John declared angrily. “You scurvy son of a whore!”
The tension became nearly unbearable.
Garid raised his hand. “This is easily resolved. Get someone here who knows her.”
“We don’t do that,” a guard replied hotly. “She answers questions. Questions only the real daughter of the McKeaf would know.”
“Then ask,” Lott pleaded.
“I don’t ask,” he fired back. “You’ll speak to the man that does, after we see the last girl who claimed to be Ammey McKeaf whipped.”
“Yeah, and we’ll take her weapon, too,” another guard said, nodding to her sword. “What’s she got a sword like that for, anyway?”
Ammey unsheathed her sword and handed it over without hesitation, hopeful that they would not notice the dagger sheathed in her boot. “We have come a long way and we are not the enemy,” she said.
“No. What you are is a waste of our time.”
“Please, if you will just get any member of my fam—”
“Come this way,” the squatty guard interrupted as he turned and stalked off.
Ammey glanced at Garid and then followed, as did the others. They were surrounded by more than a dozen guards as if they were the enemy, which was as frustrating as it was foolish. As she walked, she searched the crowd looking for someone, anyone, that she recognized, but there was no one. Not only that, but her gaze was consistently met with either lecherous desire or blanket hostility. How had it come to this? And now they were to witness some young woman being whipped for claiming a falsehood? For the crime of claiming to be her? What kind of desperation led a person to claim to be someone else, especially given the penalty for lying? How was this happening? Her father would have never condoned it. Was he still in control? Her stomach knotted with tension and she pressed a hand to it.
They arrived at a clearing and saw a young woman strapped to a whipping post, whimpering. She’d been stripped of her shirt which made Ammey cringe with embarrassment for her. She had long, light brown hair, which had been pulled around and over her shoulder. A man with a whip in hand was waiting for the go-ahead, which the squatty guard gave.
“No, stop,” Ammey cried.
But it was too late. The man drew back his powerful arm, sending the whip through the air with a terrible sound that made her stomach clutch. The lash ripped skin open and the woman’s pain-filled scream split the air. The man drew his arm back in a smooth motion to deliver another blow, but froze when he felt a dagger at his throat.
“I said, stop,” Ammey repeated.
“Miss, that is a mistake,” a different voice said. It had come from a man who was pushing his way through the crowd. “I don’t care for the penalty myself, but—”
“Drop it,” Ammey warned the man with the whip. “Now!”
“You are surrounded by an army,” the stranger continued. He was obviously in command.
“By an army my father commands!” Ammey pushed the blade against the executioner’s skin, cutting it slightly. A line of blood ran from it.
“Ammey,” Garid warned softly. “Don’t do this.”
“Tell him to drop the whip,” she demanded stubbornly.
“Drop it,” the commander echoed, his voice calm and forceful.
The executioner lowered his hand and dropped the whip, but glared malevolently at the fair haired intruder. “When I get my hands on you,” he threatened.
Ammey lowered her dagger. “Have them cut that girl down,” she said shakily.
“Get her down,” the new man called without hesitation.
“But, sir,” a guard complained.
“Do as I say,” he ordered flatly.
Ammey took a step back and turned to the man. He was looking at her with strange, gray-eyed intensity. Gray eyes that looked familiar.
“Then that should be twenty stripes for her,” a guard said from behind her. “Plus even more for pulling a dag—”
“Stop talking,” the commander snapped, raising his hand. “I’m Jan Meade,” he said to Ammey. “We met once.”
She felt a rush of dizziness and relief as the recollection dawned on her. “The day of the meeting. Yes!”
He nodded. “Your brother introduced us.”
“David,” she said, nodding fervently. “Is he here? Are they all here? Is my father alright?”
A clamor erupted as men began talking amongst themselves. Garid experienced a moment of lightheadedness. A tremendous weight felt lifted from his shoulders. She was truly Ammey McKeaf. He’d hoped it, even suspected it, but this was proof.
“Yes, your father and brothers are here,” the man replied. “I’ll take you to them. They’re in the inner camp.”
