The Noble Prisoner (Empire of the North Book 2)

by Brendan DuBois

  “Armand,” her voice a whisper, shaky, “I’m so very sorry….”

  “I’m sure,” he said, rolling over, and not sleeping again for the rest of the night.

  In the morning, after a breakfast of bread and cold meat --– Armand thankfully recognized the lump as buffalo --– he sat and watched the goings-on in the camp. Karr and Jimmy sat by themselves, staring at the ground, still in mourning for what had happened to their companion. Melinda was quiet as well, and the only sounds came from the Ayans, talking and laughing as they prowled around. Four of them went out on horseback. Armand saw who was left, and one of them was Joe, the one that had taken Melinda away the day before, the one who had urinated all over his head the night after Armand was captured.

  For long hours he just watched and waited, and for once, Armand had no chores to do. He remembered what he had said earlier to Melinda, that as a noble, he felt responsible for her safety. True, a burden he readily accepted, but a burden that was infinitely heavier compared to running barracks nineteen. And he thought, too, of her earlier observation, that he didn’t belong here. He should be back in his pampered life, worrying about polo games, or his grades, or Academy, all the concerns of a teenage boy.

  But that was no longer. He was here. He had a duty to perform. There was nothing else to do. Armand folded the filthy blanket about him. As dusk approached he called out, “Melinda.”

  She didn’t answer him, so Armand had to say it again, twice. “Melinda!”

  “Yes, what is it?” she replied, her voice tired, like she had been dragged across the prairie for hundreds of klicks.

  “I need for you to do something,” he said. “I need you to translate.”

  “Translate what?”

  “What needs to be said,” Armand replied, tossing off the blanket. “Later tonight, after the Ayan have eaten, I need to you to translate something for me, to one of the Ayans. I can make out some of their language, but not every word. I’ll need your assistance.”

  “Armand, please, you don’t know what you’re doing, they are –--“

  “I know what they are,” Armand said, trying to keep his voice strong and low. “I’ve learned quite enough, from my own eyes and from you. When the time comes, you will translate what I have to say, word for word.”

  “Armand –--“

  “Word for word,” he interrupted. “On your word, as a loyal subject of the Empire. Do you understand, Melinda?”

  Armand didn’t know if it was possible, but it looked like he had gotten her attention, for her voice was meek. “I understand, Armand. Word for word.”

  “Good,” Armand said. “I’ll tell you when and where.”

  Later during the night, the horsemen hadn’t returned, which made him think they were out hunting for some more innocents, out there on the plains. The two Sioux had stayed quiet during the day, and as it got darker, Melinda scooted over closer. “What are you planning, Armand?”

  “You’ll find out,” he said, “but a question first.”

  “Yes?”

  The fires were bright and leaping up, and there was singing and shouting. Armand said, “This Joe. Did he hurt you?”

  She started to talk and then she sobbed. “Not in the way you think. But he used me as an object, a plaything, something to be tormented and exposed. What do you think of that, young noble?”

  Armand’s hands and chest felt heavy and cold. “I think you’re a brave woman, of a tribe up north, where the cold lights dance at night, where the polar bear still roam, and that you did what you had to do, to stay alive. And that you did this, despite it all, to remain alive for your family.”

  The sobbing grew louder. “Me, a student, a learned woman, a woman from a northern tribe, a northern tribe that has a permanent seat in the Parliament. Now, I’m nothing more than a plaything, that’s all. On display and exposed and cooperating for an extra portion of buffalo meat, or a piece of dried fruit, or --–“

  “Hush, m’lady,” Armand said. “You’re a brave woman. You’re a heroine. Some days in the future, your tales will be sung around fires, up among the snows and the trees. But now, when the times comes, you will translate for me, do you agree?”

  “Yes, but Armand, I’m scared.”

  “So am I.”

  Later some Ayans came into view, stumbling, drunk, singing, and Armand said, “Melinda. Call out to them. Ask for your Joe. Do it.”

  She hesitated, and Armand said firmly, “Now, m’lady. Do it now.”

  Melinda went to the chained door, rattled it, and called out, “Joe! Oh, Joe!” She asked him to come over, and Armand could now understand some of what she was saying, though it was tough, making sense of the fast patois. The Ayans came over, laughing, talking loudly, a couple carrying torches. The Ayan called Joe ambled over and said something obscene to Melinda, which made the other four men laugh out loud.

  Melinda whispered to him, “Say what you want, Armand, and be quick.”

  Armand said, “Tell him this. Tell him that he and his comrades are cowards.”

  Melinda said fearfully, “Armand…”

  “Do it.”

  Melinda said, “Last chance. Are you sure?”

  God no, he thought, suddenly terrified for what he was about to do with these huge and dangerous men, he barely sixteen years old. “Yes,” he said.

  Melinda spoke up, chattering away, Joe’s face turned into a scowl, and the other men laughed and laughed. Armand said, “Tell him I thought the Ayan were a noble race, one who fought well, but all I’ve seen are cowards, abusing women, killing a defenseless Sioux, fighting like sloppy drunks.”

  Melinda spoke quickly, as Joe talked back, and she said, “Joe says that you’re a mere boy. A coddled boy from the weak ones of the north… and why shouldn’t he drag you out now and… abuse you and slit your throat?”

  “Tell him that he could do that, and all it would prove is how weak the Ayan are. Nothing more than weak men who amuse each other when their womenfolk leave.”

  Armand’s response caused an outburst of growling and yelling, and Joe was at the cage door, fumbling to unlock it, and Armand called out, “Up north, real men fight each other in duels. Are you man enough to face me, Joe? Face me with a sword?’

  Joe paused, breathing hard, his face scarlet, and Armand could sense Melinda trembling next to him. The other Ayan men pressed up against Joe, laughing and pushing him. Joe spat something out, and the Ayan turned to Melinda and she said, “What you wish, north boy. We will fight, and I will kill you, and I will eat your liver for breakfast.”

  Armand tried to sound brave. “You’ll spit it out, I guarantee it,” but Melinda didn’t translate that bit.

  The door was unlocked and Armand walked out, and he pointed to Melinda, and after a few moments of discussion, she was brought out as well. They were taken to a flat spot in front of their cages. Fires were built up and even Karr and Jimmy, the surviving Sioux, had come close to their cage door, to see what was going on. One of the Ayan took a thick stick and drew a large circle, and stamped his left foot, and said something to Melinda.

  Melinda, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, said, “The rule is, Armand, that you and Joe will fight within the circle. If you step out, or are forced out, then the rest of the Ayan will kill you.”

  Armand said, “And what happens if Joe is pushed out of the circle?”

  Melinda repeated that to the Ayan in his own language, and the Ayan laughed and grabbed at his crotch. “If Joe was fighting a true Ayan, then he would be killed… but you’re a mere child, who couldn’t force a puppy out… so don’t worry, dead boy.”

  Armand looked at Melinda. “Fair enough,” and the shakes came on.

  More torches were lit and it looked like the entire Ayan encampment were here, six men and two boys, approaching the time when they could start growing a beard. They were drunk and were laughing, passing clay bottles back and forth, sitting on logs that they had dragged over. Joe stood next to two of his mates, who sla
pped his shoulders and laughed with him, and Joe stripped to his waist, dumped his shirt and blouse and carbine in a pile, clapped his hands together. With two swords in his hands, he strode forcefully into the dirt circle, where Armand stood alone. His arms and chest were well-muscled, covered with scars and tattoos of eagles, wolves and skulls. Thick gold rings hung from his pierced nipples, and his eyes were dark and fierce, his shaven head shiny in the firelight, his beard as dark as his eyes. As he came closer, Armand couldn’t help myself, and his legs shook and he wet himself.

  One of the Ayans saw the stain appear in Armand’s pants, and nudged a companion, and more laughter. Joe grinned and he shouted something to his friends, who shouted back. Melinda was there, just outside of the circle, and Armand turned to her. “What did he just say?”

  Melinda pulled the blanket tight about her. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes,” Armand said, his voice sharp. “It matters a lot. Tell me what he just said.”

  Melinda paused. “The one on the log, he said the boy must like pee, for he just wet himself, and Joe said in about one minute, I’ll be watering his dead mouth….”

  Armand’s mouth was dry, but he forced out the words. “Tell Joe when I’m done with him, his water will be filled with his own blood.”

  Melinda called out in their language, and oh, how the men laughed, and so did Joe, who tossed a sword down at his feet. Armand gingerly picked it up. It was a short saber, and faded along the handle was the mark of an Imperial cavalry unit. From his own homeland, though it was quite old. He ran his thumb along the edge. Old it was, but it was still sharp.

  Armand looked up at Joe, about two meters away. “So. Are there rules or a ceremony to be followed?”

  Joe grinned and he was able to make out what he said. “No rules. No quarter. Prepare to be gutted, boy.”

  He came right at Armand, sword raised high, screaming, and his Ayan friends screamed encouragement as his massive shape came right at Armand as fast and as deadly as a rock avalanche.

  Joe started swinging, still yelling, and then Armand ran towards him, ducked, rolled, and God, he could practically hear the whisper of the sword blade, whizzing past his head. Armand got up, sweating, legs shaking, as Joe skidded to a halt, looking back. Armand stood there, holding out the sword with two unsteady hands, the blade wavering, and an Ayan called out, and Melinda translated: “Hey, Joe, looks like the kid knows how to dance!”

  Joe said in return, “He’ll be dancing with his guts spilled, just you watch.”

  Armand kept the blade out, shaking, trembling. Another yell, as Joe came charging at him, his own sword held above his head. Armand danced and ducked, and felt a slight sting as the blade came against his shoulder, and again, here he was, on the opposite side of the circle, still standing. Joe spun around, breathing hard, frustrated and angry.

  Melinda translated again, as Joe called out, “Damn you, are you afraid to fight? Are you?”

  Armand called out in return, “Ah, yes, it must be so brave, to pass water over a bound prisoner. I’m sure your womenfolk chant songs of honor about that around the fires, when they’re not gossiping at how small your manhood is.”

  Some more jeers from his companions, and another furious charge, and this time, one of his strong hands grabbed Armand as he slammed the hilt of his sword against his head. But Armand blinked hard, spun away, and there he stood, sword out, wavering, legs shaking harder, and Joe opposite him, breathing hard, eyes flashing anger and frustration.

  After about six or seven repeats of this little dance, Armand’s head ached, his thigh was bleeding some, and his shoulder ached as well. Joe was getting angrier and angrier, and his friends were getting drunker and drunker, and his massive chest was moving hard, breathing in and out, practically panting. He raced at Armand one more time, and Armand dove to his knees, held up his sword, and called out, “Oh, sir, I’m so very scared. Will you show me mercy sir? Will you?”

  Melinda translated those words quickly as Joe halted, panting, grinning. He called out, and Melinda translated again: “Like hell I will, you little piece of gristle. Like hell I will.”

  Joe rose up and up, his sword held high in his hands, and Armand snapped up quick, holding his sword in the approved fashion, taught to him over long months of training, and he easily parried Joe’s downward thrust. Joe looked shocked when Armand’s sword ran through his thick throat, causing a quick gurgle and then a choking cough, his bearded mouth spouting blood.

  His mates looked on, equally shocked.

  Armand let go of the sword, ran to Joe’s pile of clothes, picked up his rifle, worked the action, and shot the closest Ayan right through his head.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The report was loud and the top of the Ayan’s head blew off, spraying blood and bone over his comrades. Armand worked the action, shot again, worked the action, shot again, and the Ayans were scrambling, diving, rolling, and he shot them and shot them and shot them, until the rifle’s action was stuck on empty. Bodies were on the ground, rolling around, loud moans and screams, one or two managing to race out into the shadows. Armand raced to the dead or dying Ayan, grabbed another rifle and three bandoliers of ammunition, and Melinda was there, stunned. Armand shouted, “Move! Get what you need from your cage, but move!”

  Armand went to the nearest fire, picked up a couple of burning lengths of wood, and tossed them onto the closest tent. The canvas and skins burst into satisfying flame, and then he went to the cage where the Sioux were being held, motioned them back, and shot off the lock. Armand popped open the door and Karr dove out, and the two of them ran to the paddock. From the light of the burning tents, they worked fast, going into a shed where saddles were kept --– and he was so happy to see his own stored there –- and then they were among the horses. Jasper trotted over and Armand started weeping as he saddled him. Karr moved quickly as well, handing another saddled horse to him, one for Melinda. Karr grinned and slapped Armand on the back, and he tossed Karr the spare rifle and one of the bandoliers. They mounted up and they went back to the cages and Karr leapt off, grabbed Johnny, dragged him out, and tossed him on the rear of his mount.

  “Melinda!” Armand called out, spinning Jasper about, hands firm on the reins. “Melinda! Where the hell are you?”

  No answer. She wasn’t to be seen, either on the dirt area, or in her own cage.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  A shot rang out, and Armand ducked, and then another shot. He whirled around, rifle up, saw Karr shooting at somebody in the glare of the flames. Karr yelled and whooped, and moved over to the Ayans on the ground, the ones Armand had killed or wounded. More gunshots rang out, as Karr made sure they were all dead, firing point-blank into their shaved heads, sprays of blood rising up like little fountains.

  Something grabbed his leg.

  “Sweet God,” Armand yelped. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Busy,” she snapped. “Let’s go!”

  She jumped up on her horse, a large cloth bag in one hand. Karr rode ahead, Johnny clasping his waist, his leg stumps barely holding him upright. Armand followed Karr down the wide path to the palisade gate, which was barred shut by a length of dressed wood, which Karr threw off easily enough. They all passed through the gate, the light from the spreading fires lighting up the sky behind them. The three of them rode hard for a few minutes, and then Karr stopped, whooping again, He loudly said a long sentence, and Armand said, “Melinda? What did he say?”

  “He called you a noble warrior, a brave man, a trickster, and that he and his kin and all of the Sioux of the Far Black Hills are in your debt, and how in God’s name did you do that?”

  Armand raised his rifle in salute. “Tell him, m’lady, that three years of the finest fencing school in the Empire finally paid off for me.”

  She said that in their language. Karr and even Jimmy laughed, and they galloped off, to the east, while Armand whirled around, and gauging by the stars, headed south, heading to freedom, Melinda following
close behind.

  # # #

  Coming soon in the Fall of 2012, the sequel to “The Noble Prisoner,” “ The Noble Prince”. The first chapter in Book Three of the Empire of the North series follows….

  The Noble Prince

  Empire of the North: Book Three

  By

  Brendan DuBois

  Chapter One

  They took a rest when they could no longer see the glow of the burning camp in the distance. Melinda pulled her mount up to Armand, looking about, and she said, nervously, “The Ayan will be after us. They will ride and ride for weeks, chasing us, chasing Karr… you understand that, don’t you Armand?”

  He said, “Absolutely. But right now, you and I are free, many of them are dead, and I’m one happy boy… and for all that’s holy, what in hell took you so long?”

  She rummaged around in the bag. “For all that’s holy, Armand, I wanted to get out with more than a blanket roll and whatever rags were on my back.”

  Melinda held out a pair of his field glasses, which he took, and a compass. “There’s some food in there, water, and other things… and please, can we get going now, can we?”

  Armand put the compass in his pocket, hung the binoculars around his neck. “Yes, of course.”

  They rode hard until the light came up in the eastern sky, and they rested for a while, sitting in a copse of birch trees on a rise of land. They drank some of the bottled water and ate dried apples and hunks of bread. As their horses grazed, Armand kept watch on the horizon, moving the binoculars, back and forth, back and forth. Melinda was next to him “Searching for Ayans, am I right?”

  “That you are, m’lady,” he said. “Perhaps I’m being paranoid, perhaps not, but I like looking out there and not seeing a thing.”