by Lisa Shea
Shrugging, Elizabeth climbed onto the saddle. In a moment they were off, Michael leading the way out into the pitch dark night.
Elizabeth found she was thankful to have a guide. There was no moon, and the thundering rain made it nearly impossible to see the road ahead. Michael knew the way with sure attention, leading the horse around potholes and crevasses in the road. Elizabeth had several questions for him but the noise of the rain hammering against the road drowned out all conversation. She bided her time until they made their way out of the village, across several farm areas, and into the outskirts of the next rough collection of buildings, where a small stable stood aside a quiet inn.
Michael’s face was dark as he helped her get the roan settled into a stall. “I would have not chosen this place willingly,” he commented in a low voice. “Except for the storm, I would have suggested you go on several miles to the next outpost.” He glanced toward the door, then dropped his voice even further. “The owner here is a pig.”
Elizabeth shrugged, hanging the bridle on a peg, shaking a circle of water out of her cloak. “Most men are pigs,” she responded evenly. “I will deal with him. All I need is some food and a dry place to sleep.”
Michael’s stomach rumbled audibly at that, but he looked around the stables, nodding in resolution. “I will stay here for the night.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You have been a help to me, and I appreciate it,” she commented. “Come and stay with me; I will get you some food as payment for your assistance.”
Michael patted the pouch at his waist. “Those coins were more than payment,” he pointed out.
“That was a gift,” corrected Elizabeth. “If you come in you can keep me company while I eat.”
Michael glanced again at the door. “I would rather the innkeep not see me,” he admitted, his voice tight.
Elizabeth’s interest piqued. Just what had the lad done? “Fair enough,” she responded. “I will let you in the window once I get the food set up in the room. Give me about ten minutes.”
With that, she turned and strode through the waterfall to the main door, slipping within. Richard had spoken truly. The main room here was better cared for, although only a lone, elderly man sat in a chair by the fire, his eyes half closed. The innkeep was a portly, pink faced, middle-aged man with wisps of grey amongst his dark brown hair. His eyes lit up with greedy delight as he saw her, and instantly he was trundling to her side, his eyes sliding unctuously down her form, sizing her up.
“Shall you be staying with us, miss?” he wheedled in delight.
“Yes,” she agreed shortly. “A private room. Bring me two pints of ale and two servings of stew. I am very hungry and have no desire to come in and out tonight.”
“Of course, of course,” he agreed, rubbing his hands together with glee. “The last door on the right, and here is the key.” He fumbled at a pouch at his waist, withdrew the small, iron item, and deposited it in her hand. “I will bring the food down in just a minute.”
She nodded, turned, and made her way down the hall. A quick twist of the key opened a small but serviceable room with a low bed in one corner, a stool and table, and a small window looking out over the stables. A candle glowed on the table, giving faint light.
She stood there for a long moment, the tumult sounding through the window, the steady drip-drip-drip coming from the edges of her cloak. Then there were footsteps in the hall and the innkeep bundled in through the still open door, placing the two bowls of stew and two mugs of ale down onto the table with clinks and clunks. He looked at the spread, and then back at her.
“I would be more than glad to sit and keep you company,” he offered in a reedy voice. “You must be in need of companionship after your long ride.”
“I am fine,” she responded shortly. “Please leave me.”
“If you need anything – anything at all – you have but to call for me,” he offered. “Hyde is my name. I am here to serve you.”
“I am sure you are,” offered Elizabeth, her eyes sharp.
The man seemed caught between truculence and eager anticipation, but finally he was in the hallway and she closed the door firmly in his face. She slid the bar across the channel, then sighed, shrugging the sodden cloak from her shoulders. She hung it on the peg by the door before moving to give a wave at the window.
Michael had slid his way through it before she could finish stepping back, and she pulled the shutters closed over the opening. He ran a thin hand through his sandy hair, then his eyes lit up with delight as he spotted the food. In a moment he was sitting on the stool, shoveling the stew into his mouth, barely pausing for moments to drink.
Elizabeth smiled at his enthusiasm. The poor lad had probably not eaten properly in weeks. She took her own bowl to sit on the edge of the bed, and after the first bite her pace was nearly as quick as Michael’s. She was starving. It had been a long ride today, but her journey was finally coming to an end. By tomorrow – or perhaps the day after – she would be with Claire at the nunnery. Her trip would at last be over. She could finally rest and give some thought to her future.
She laid her hand on the hilt of her scabbard, and, as she did every night, she offered a heartfelt prayer to Kay and Reese who had gifted her with this sword, Andetnes. Its very name meant honor and mercy. That sword, the horse, and other gear had made her journey possible.
Elizabeth had not fully understood the story behind the sword’s origin, but she accepted Kay’s request. Elizabeth could use the sword as long as she needed it. And then, at some point in her life, when she had found true contentment, her sword would be passed to another whose life hung in the balance.
Elizabeth’s mouth quirked. If true contentment was what it took to part her from the sword, she might be its owner for a very, very long time.
Michael had finished scraping the last bits of stew from his bowl. The waif was now licking every remnant with focused attention, getting the last tiny drips out of the cracks in the wood.
“I can get another bowl,” offered Elizabeth with a smile. The emaciated thing must have been starving.
He shook his head. “I am full,” he commented steadily. “Just making sure nothing is wasted.”
Suddenly he froze, cocked his head at an angle, then swiveled to look at the shuttered window.
“That is Richard’s horse,” he stated firmly.
Elizabeth could not hear anything through the pounding rain, but she did not doubt the lad. She put a finger to her lips, then moved to the door, sliding it open a crack, looking down the hallway. It was dark, and ahead the main hall was now lit only by the flickering light of the fire. The innkeep was putting out the candles in preparation for night.
She could not see the main door from her angle. She worked her way down the hall, leant against its right hand wall, and crouched down to peer around into the central room. There was the sound of quick footsteps from outside, and then the front door was swinging open. Richard stepped through and shook the rain off his cloak, creating a growing puddle.
Elizabeth almost laughed at the instant change in Hyde’s demeanor. Gone was the delighted, ingratiating innkeep. In his place was a surly, taciturn face lit by two glowering eyes.
“What do you want,” he growled. “We are full up for the night.”
“Of course you are,” answered Richard evenly, his eyes scanning the nearly empty room with sharp focus. “For I am not female and comely. Speaking of which, did a young woman just come in and ask for a room and board?”
“No,” snapped Hyde without a moment’s hesitation.
Richard’s eyes swiveled around to hold his steadily. “And would you tell me if one had?”
“No,” repeated Hyde, his eyes shrinking even smaller.
Richard pursed his lips. “Hoping to press your client for a favor, as a token of her gratitude?” he asked with displeasure.
“You have no business here,” snapped Hyde, “and your family’s influence stops two miles hence. This is my inn, a
nd I can run it any way I please.”
“Some day you will slip up,” reminded Richard coolly, “and when you do, I will be pleased to help haul you in.”
“It will be a cold day in Hell before I let a bastard teach me about morals,” snarled Hyde, his pink face darkening into crimson.
Richard went still at that, and Elizabeth could feel the ice sliding down his spine, sense the control that kept his hand still, prevented it from dropping to the hilt of his sword. Then he gave one last sweep to the room, turned, and headed out into the pounding inkiness beyond the door.
Hyde’s eyes lit up in triumph, his face beamed with pleasure, and he turned toward the hall where Elizabeth still crouched. She stood at once, taking a step forward into the half-light, her left hand dropping easily to the hilt of the sword on her hip.
Hyde staggered to a stop when he saw her there, as he took in the sword and her stance in one long sweep. A surly frown moved across his features, but he pushed it away.
“As you can see, I protected your privacy,” he offered ingratiatingly. “I took care of you.”
“Yes, you did,” she agreed coldly. “I think it is quite clear why.”
His eyes sharpened slightly. “It is not unfair for me to ask for some measure of thanks for my protection,” he snapped. “Richard is an exceptional swordsman. I stood up to him in order to keep you safe. I risked my life for you. Is it that much to ask that -”
She wrapped her fingers around the hilt, gave it a slight tug to ease it an inch out of the sheath, her eyes focused on his. “I have been itching for a fight all night,” she warned him. “You try to lay one hand on me, or get anywhere near my room, and I may just get my wish.”
He pressed his lips together in displeasure, and when his voice came, it was low and guttural. “Ungrateful wench,” he spit out, then his shoulders sagged and he turned, making his way back toward the other side of the room.
Elizabeth waited until he had closed the door with a sharp click. She turned, and stopped. A pair of bright, glowing eyes was peering at her from the crack of her bedroom door. She smiled slightly, then moved forward, stepping in past Michael, pulling the door shut behind them. The bar was slid home with a solid thud.
Michael’s face was wreathed in smiles. “You were amazing!” he crowed. “You stood up to Hyde! I want to learn how to do that.”
“To stand up to a bully? That is certainly a good skill to learn,” agreed Elizabeth, settling herself down onto her bed. She unstrapped the belt, laying the sword and then her dagger alongside her. “But right now, I am exhausted and need to get some sleep.” She glanced around the room. “What will you do?”
He immediately settled into a corner, pulling his knees up tightly against his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “I am perfectly fine,” he stated, dropping his head, laying it atop his knees. And, indeed, it seemed that within a few minutes he had fallen sound asleep.
Elizabeth chuckled, then lay back, hearing the steady pounding of rain outside the window. She was beyond worn out. It seemed only a moment had passed before she, too, was lost to the darkness of night.
Chapter 3
Elizabeth blinked her eyes open, getting her bearings. She was in a small, barely furnished room. The faintest hint of pre-dawn light was edging in past the corners of closed shutters. The occasional sounds of drips and patters came from the eaves of the building, but it seemed that the main part of the storm had passed.
She started. Two bright, round eyes were staring at her from the corner of the room, encapsulated by the thin, wiry frame of a child. The previous day’s events returned to her.
“Good morning, Michael,” she offered wearily, giving a long stretch.
“We should be out soon, if we want to stay ahead of Richard,” he offered evenly.
She arched an eyebrow as she drew herself into a seated position. “Oh? And should we be worried about doing that?”
Michael shrugged, tugging his knees in more closely to his chest. “I do not trust anyone,” he offered.
Elizabeth smiled at that. “You seem to trust me,” she pointed out.
Michael’s face relaxed slightly. “You are different,” he stated firmly. “You stood up to Hyde.”
Elizabeth pushed herself up to standing. She moved to the window, eased the shutters open with a creak, and gazed out over the rolls of mist which wafted between the inn and the stables. “It sounds like someone should have done that years ago,” she commented dryly.
“That is for sure,” affirmed Michael in a growl.
Elizabeth reached down, drew on her belt, and strapped it into place. “Well, then, let us be off.”
A short while later they were making their way down the mist-shrouded lane, Michael still in place by the horse’s head, picking out the path, leading the way without hesitation. Slowly the sun rose and began to burn off the swirling mists, revealing a landscape of rolling hills and clumps of elm. Elizabeth could sense a slight tang of salt in the air the further east they moved, and a shiver danced through her. She had grown up in a bandit-ravaged land, knew what to expect from their attacks, had become well versed in the ebb and flow of their activities. But pirates and slavers who could vanish on the ocean would be an entirely new breed of monster.
“So, how far are we going today?” asked Michael with idle curiosity. She chuckled softly. The poor lad had no idea where he was going or what dangers he was getting himself into. He was simply happy to be on the move and have the potential of food waiting for him at the end of the day.
“Not too far,” she responded. “My friend, Claire, has been stationed at the nunnery at Kilnsea. I am visiting to lend her a hand.”
Michael smiled with pleasure. “I hear they have fantastic gardens at Kilnsea,” he mused. “And that is but ten miles ahead. Even with this sodden ground we should easily make it there by nightfall.”
The tension began to ease out of Elizabeth’s tight shoulders. That was good news. She had been on the road for two weeks, and the dismal reception at each town had only compounded the dreary weather. It would be a relief to settle somewhere welcoming and warm.
“Just so you know,” added Michael. “We are in fact moving closer to Richard’s lands … or, more properly, his father’s lands.”
“The innkeep mentioned that Richard was a bastard,” responded Elizabeth, pondering. “So he was being literal with that charge?”
Michael nodded, his eyes on the road ahead. “Yes, indeed. Everyone knows the story. It’s almost a legend around here. Richard’s father was Lord Corwin, and as a young man the Lord fell in love with a local farm-girl named Bliss. He had two children with her – two boys – but his outraged family refused to recognize their union. No priest would agree to marry them for fear of upsetting the family.”
He glanced off toward the right, and Elizabeth wondered if that was the direction of the family estate. The lad continued after a moment. “Eventually Lord Corwin gave in to the pressure and married a “proper” lady. Lady Lauda took over control of his keep and gave him twin boys. They are only seventeen, but they now run the keep and lands.”
“I assume that means the parents have passed on? Do the twins rule as a pair?”
Michael nodded. “Technically John is the elder, by a few minutes, but they are rarely seen apart.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “So Richard is acting as an advisor?”
Michael shrugged. “Richard seems more of a bodyguard, to keep them out of serious trouble. I hear they have priests and other functionaries to do the work of managing the keep.” He gave a snort. “From what I see at the local inns, the boys seem to spend most of their time drinking and wenching.”
They came over a rise and Elizabeth smiled with delight. A grey-green river lay before them, bending just in front of them. It gurgled with the heavy flow from the rain, running fast before diving to tumble over a series of rapids. A grassy patch lay immediately alongside the bend, and a pair of weathered logs facing a fire pit indicated that
other travelers had found this an ideal place to rest.
“Here we go, the perfect place for a late breakfast,” offered Elizabeth. “I imagine you must be hungry.”
“Am I ever!” agreed Michael with delight. In a moment they had hobbled the roan near the patch of grass. Elizabeth spread her still-damp cloak out on a bush to dry, and she and Michael sat down on the two logs. She pulled open a leather pouch and dug through it, drawing out a hunk of cheese. She deftly carved a piece off for herself, then handed the remaining wad over to Michael.
He looked at it for a long moment, almost seeming as if he would simply stuff the entire thing into his mouth, before exhaling slightly and looking up at her. “I do not have a dagger,” he admitted quietly.
Pity eased through Elizabeth. A dagger was critical for so many things – for eating, for dealing with snags in leather, for fending off wild dogs. How had this poor child lasted as long as he had? She handed over her own dagger, holding her tongue as he adjusted the grip in his smaller hand, as he carefully wriggled the blade against the cheese and worked off a piece. His proud smile when he accomplished the task was worth the wait.
He held both back toward her, but she waved him off. “You go ahead,” she offered. “I will just enjoy our rest for a little while.”
Michael did not need a second prodding, He was working on the cheese again, his skill with the knife improving with every new attempt, and after ten minutes he was cutting his way through each piece with ease, his eyes glowing with joy.
Elizabeth watched the icy waters race down alongside them, wondering what type of fish she might find in this river. Its steady tumbling gave her a sense of peace, one she had not felt in a long while.
“Wow, I am stuffed,” offered Michael with a groan. Elizabeth looked over, then chuckled. The lad had eaten nearly two thirds of the hunk and his stomach was visibly distended. She took the offered items back, cutting a last chunk off for herself before tucking the rest into the leather bag.
“I think I need to wash my hands,” Michael commented, trying to wipe the many bits of yellow cheese from his fingers. He turned and made his way toward the water’s edge.
