The Unforgiven

by A. Katie Rose

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Shut up.”

  I nudged Bayonne into line behind him while Rade, leading the blue roan stallion, and Buck-Eye paired themselves at my back. The others followed in single file as my man Boden, my clever navigator with the map, hollered instructions from the rear.

  Princess Yummy, I thought. Here I come.

  The storm delivered all its menacing promise.

  We rode along the top of the rocky cliffs, the massive Khai River thundering below with another league yet to ride before we reached the cave and the princess. The footing, treacherous without the added howling winds, slashing rain and lightning cracking right over our heads, grew a starkly evil attitude. Blaez’s black horse stumbled and tripped his way downward, half blinded by icy sleet. The rocks, large, rounded and in the best conditions tricky, were now slicked with clinging ice. Sure-footed Bayonne slipped and slid down the narrow trail with me clinging desperately to his mane.

  I hugged my cloak more tightly around my neck, my hood up for added protection. I was wet through, and shivered uncontrollably. Peering through the half-light and rain, squinting against the stabbing lightning, I watched for every potential step before Bayonne put his hoof there. His quarters slung low, fighting against gravity and the screaming winds, Bayonne remained calm, and used every good sense in his quiet head.

  “This is madness!” Blaez shouted above the wind and barking thunder. “We’ll ride right over the edge!”

  “My prince!” Rade called. “We must stop! We should wait this out, it’s too dangerous!”

  I reined Bayonne in long enough to swivel in my saddle. “We keep going,” I snarled, taking my hand from my cloak long enough to point upward.

  A black raven swooped, blowing past, its wings wide as it permitted the wind to carry it along. Buck-Eye and Rade followed my gesture, tracking the bird until it vanished into the heavy trees above the cliff.

  “Those devil-spawned Shifters are watching us,” I bellowed, my throat sore from yelling. “We must get to the caves before the Atan. Or none of us will see home again.”

  Rade nodded and turned to wave the others forward. As I nudged Bayonne into his careful walk down the slippery, treacherous slope, Blaez called over his shoulder again. “We’ll go over the bloody edge, you stupid fool.”

  “When I see you go over,” I called back. “I’ll know not to go that way.”

  Had Blaez actually fallen into the dark depths of the Khai as he feared, I might have cheered. He didn’t, the lucky bastard. I rode several rods behind his black, guiding Bayonne to follow in his exact hoof prints. The storm pounded away at us, making me curse and shiver, my saddle as wet and slippery as the rocks. Time and again, the bright lightning lit the sky with a light that rivaled high noon, revealing the terrain ahead for brief seconds. I saw no more evidence our enemies watched us, but I felt no comfort. Those hell-cat Griffins might watch us even now, stalking us from above.

  A nerve-wracking hour later, the nasty weather blew past and into the east. It left behind a cold wind and sullen sky, but at least the rain no longer blinded us. Thunder growled in the dim distance, and I gauged the time as mid-afternoon. Wet and cold, the wind still cut through to my very bones. Had anyone suggested a stop for a fire and hot wine, I’d be the first to jump from my saddle. No one did. I cursed my luck, and stuck to Blaez’s back like a burr.

  The terrain eased as well, the high cliff slowly vanishing behind as the slope gentled. The churning river, swelled with rainwater, rushed swiftly past a mere rod or so below. Marshy earth, dotted with pockets of twisted oak and pine trees offered decent footing. Bayonne tried to nibble the tall grass as we trotted amid thickets of bramble and wild flowers.

  “We are on the correct side of the river?” Blaez asked, half turning in his saddle. “Right?”

  “If we’re not,” I replied, eyeing the swift, deep Khai, “we’re screwed. There’s no swimming that bugger.”

  “Yes, my prince,” replied Boden, my henchman who I’d appointed as our guide. I’d given him the map and the messenger’s report to compare, as he was not just bright and able, but owned an uncanny sixth sense for direction and terrain I’d swear only the gods owned.

  He urged his horse into a rolling canter up beside Bayonne, pointing. The youngest of my band, he was also one I wished I could trust. Close to my own age, his open, pleasant expression, curly brown hair and smiling grey eyes made me wonder if he could be ever be a friend. I reined Bayonne in as Rade, Buck-Eye and the others gathered around us.

  “See those tall rocks, there?”

  I followed his finger, nodding. “Yes.”

  “If the message is accurate,” he said, his tone eager. “The caves are just below them.”

  “Well away from the water,” Blaez added, walking his stallion toward us, “yet sheltered from the weather.”

  “Did the message say what the terrain around the caves was like?” I asked.

  “No, my prince. It only gave instructions to follow the river from the cliffs until we saw columns of tall rock towers.”

  Blaez, no fool, frowned. “We could walk into a trap and never see it.”

  “Exactly.”

  I glanced around, uneasy. As though eavesdropping on our conversation, from several rods away a doe stepped daintily from the twisted knot of trees toward the river, her white tail flipping back and forth. Broad ears twitching, she found an eddying pool and dropped her head to drink. Blaez, Boden, and Rade all followed my stare.

  “You don’t think –” Buck-Eye began.

  Though she clearly heard his voice, knew we stood there watching, the doe finished her drink and lifted her head. Her huge liquid eyes regarded us solemnly, before she, tripping lightly, ambled back into the forest. A deer, unafraid of our presence, in daylight – how could there be any doubt? A bleeding Shifter.

  “They want us to know they’re watching,” I gritted, my fear rising.

  Above, a hawk screamed from on high, its chirk-chirk-chirk call rising over the rushing of the huge river. I glanced up, only to see it vanish over the rock towers. Another one circled lazily over the river, soaring on the cold breeze, before drifting away until the trees behind us blotted it out.

  “What do we do?” Blaez asked, his voice tight. His hand gripped his sword hilt, yet his muddy eyes ever watched the river, the trees, the sky, waiting for the attack to come.

  “We’ve no choice,” I said, nocking an arrow to my bowstring. “We have to go in and get her.”

  “But –”

  “There are eleven of us,” I said, making my tone as confident as possible. “Plus the spies in the cave. The Atan haven’t had time to get here. A few Shifters – we can eliminate them if we have to.”

  “Of course we can,” Rade said, following my lead and readying his own bow. “Grab her and get out. Right, Your Highness?”

  His respectful tone and form of address caught my attention and interest. Glancing around at their faces, I observed little of the contempt I was used to seeing and instead recognized an eagerness to ride at my side. Might I actually trust these men to fight for me and truly guard my back? Could Sims’s death have not been in vain, in truth?

  “Time to find out, I reckon.”

  Nudging Bayonne into a swift trot and trying not to watch every way at once, I estimated the distance to the rock formation. Though thickets of bramble and knots of trees stood in the way, I guessed the caves were a hundred rods from us. The closer we rode, the more open the country became. The grass grew thicker, yet the thick pockets of pine, birch, oak and bramble thinned out. I breathed easier when I sighted the caves, for the lack of cover and no bristling Atani troops waiting to take my head meant we’d gotten there before them.

  I raised my fist, calling a swift halt. “Blaez, you, Buck-Eye and Torass, you flank right. Rade, Boden and Lyall, you flank left. Stay on your horses and watch. Yell if you see or hear anything. Kalan and Todaro, and you, Kadal, come with me.”

  As Blaez
and Rade led their men to the left and right, I nudged Bayonne forward at a quick trot. Kadal and Todaro flanked Bayonne while Kalan placed his mount directly behind Bayonne’s tail. As Rade had handed over the reins to the blue roan to Kadal, I had an extra horse. A mount fit for the princess, I half-thought, my instincts on high alert. Rather than unsheathe my sword, I kept my arrow nocked and guided Bayonne with my knees.

  I tried looking everywhere at once, suspecting a trap. This was too easy, I thought. No way we should get this far without a fight. Yet, I found nothing out of the ordinary. No bizarre deer drinking water, no raptors screaming from on high. I tried to relax, but my shoulders refused to unwind and my fingers incessantly drew down on every moving shadow.

  All seemed peaceful and tranquil, outside the rushing river, that was. The breeze blew dank and chilly, but the sun rolled out from behind the grey clouds. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I heard muted voices coming from inside the cave, the tones of casual conversation. Not panic or alarm. If the kidnappers had horses, I saw none in evidence. How did they get her this far without horses?

  Approaching within ten rods of the cave, I stopped. Blaez, Rade and their men halted to either side of the towers, bunched together like sheep before a storm. Though armed and mounted, they kept their backs to the forest. I didn’t like that. Their stances, their postures screamed like an irate fishwife: We’re scared and we’re idiots.

  There was nothing I could do about it, however. I had to get Princess Iyumi out, on a horse and galloping as hard as I could for the border with no time for stops. If the Shifters watched, they’d soon report my presence and the direction we travelled. The ruthless Atan would dog my heels every mile.

  “Ho, in the cave!” I yelled. “This is Prince Flynn. Come out with the princess.”

  Exclamations and curses abounded, and I listened to the mad scrambling as men got to their feet. The caverns echoed, resounding and drifting out and upward on the light wind. I cursed under my breath. What were they doing in there? Playing dice around a fire and drinking ale? Why didn’t they have a guard posted?

  A dirty man in leather breeches, faded green tunic and a floppy hat emerged from the cave’s mouth, a sword in his hand. Several days growth of beard covered his face, and his eyes rolled around as he tried to see every which way at once. Instantly, I knew he knew he felt out of his element, that this errand to fetch a girl brought him to the brink of his limited ability. This time, I cursed my father for sending an idiot to do a competent’s job.

  Those orbs fastened upon me, and his tired face lit like the rising sun. “Your Highness,” he gasped. “Thank all the gods you’re here, she’s inside, we can’t move her, she –”

  “Shut up, you moron,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Bring her out. Now.”

  He stuttered and stammered, his pallor beneath the dirt paling to the color of old wax. “We can’t, Your Highness. She’s out cold. If we move her, we might –”

  I waved my hand and he shut his teeth on his rapid tongue. Hell and damnation, I thought, swinging down from Bayonne. My men dismounted with me, leaving their reins on the ground. Well-trained, our horses remained where they were as I led my crew of three toward the moron with the sword and floppy hat.

  “Put that thing up,” I snapped, striding forward, pointing my nocked arrow at the ground.

  I glanced around, seeking trouble before it landed on me with both feet as the stupid spy hastily sheathed his blade in my presence. As I stood fairly tall and he didn’t, I loomed over him, witnessing, with no small satisfaction, him blanche. His skin paled into the same shade as a dirty sheepskin. His fear only made me angrier.

  “Where is she?”

  “In h–here, Your Hi – Highness,” he stammered. “N–next to the f–fire.”

  I jerked my head at Kalan, ordering him to mind the floppy hatted spy. I certainly didn’t need him to create mischief while my back was turned. Who knew where his true loyalties lay?

  Hesitating a rod or so from the cave’s mouth, I glanced around, my bow and arrow at the ready. Some small bird fluttered in the trees to my left and I swung sharply around and raised my bow, expecting an immediate attack. When none came, I took a firm grip on my runaway fears and stalked forward, one slow step at a time.

  I entered cautiously, glancing around, taking in as much information as I could on short notice. The cavern was huge, many rods tall and twice as many deep. Sand covered the floor, and the bones of some predator’s victims poked through here and there. Sparrow and barn swallow nests erupted like crusty pimples across the pillars of salted rock formations. A fire burned merrily amid a rock ring, collected firewood piled against the cave wall. Three spies stood up as I, and my escort entered. They dropped to their knees as they recognized me, shivering with panic. I paid them no mind.

  She lay on a pallet of pine branches and blankets near the blazing fire, on her side, her back to me. Her Royal Highness, Princess Iyumi of Bryn’Cairdha. My future wife. I paused, taking in the sight of her. For a moment, my heart hesitated, paused in its rhythmic beat. It began again, pounding in my chest in long, heavy strokes. My lungs ached, for I hadn’t drawn breath since entering the cavern. Have mercy, I thought, my brain short-circuiting.

  I’d imagined her hair blonde like mine, but the long tresses that burst over the woolen blanket owned a silvery sheen that set my blood afire. Never before had I seen it’s like. Damn, but it appeared, in the firelight, the same color as the chasings on Bayonne’s bridle. Molten silver poured across the dark blanket in a river, glimmering with a light of its own.

  Pale, alabaster cheeks met my inspection, but as her eyes were closed, I guessed they matched the blue of a summer sky. Under the blanket, her small, trim body lay outlined and forced me to guess that while standing her head might reach my chest. A full, rounded breast slowly rose and fell with her deep, even breathing. I almost forgot my business, and the Atani threat, as I gazed at this exquisite creature. Next to her, Sofia’s regal beauty paled as the full moon eclipsed the stars.

  “She fainted, Your Highness,” the floppy hate spy whined, wringing his hands. “She’s sick, I tell you. Something’s wrong. She hasn’t moved since we put her there.”

  “The only thing wrong is your presence,” I murmured, stepping lightly on the balls of my feet. “Get lost.”

  I glanced behind, out of habit, and found my men urging the other wretched spies to their feet and shooing them out the cave mouth. Like chickens seeking shelter to roost in, they fled, scrambling to escape. Even my floppy friend vanished, leaving me alone with the legendary She Who Hears. My boys hovered near the entrance, watching both inside and outside the cave, never relaxing for a moment.

  “Hail and well met, Princess,” I said, my tone conversational. “My name is Flynn, but you already knew that.”

  She didn’t move nor did her breathing change. I tipped my head sideways, considering. Did I see her eyelids flicker or was it the firelight? “Get up now, honey, it’s time to go home.”

  Iyumi didn’t move. Though I knew in my head she faked it, my heart wondered. How could one person have such strict control? Perhaps she was as sick as the spies thought.

  “Up you go,” I said, seizing her by the arm and dragging her upright. The blanket slid to the sandy cave floor, exposing a slender waist and lovely legs beneath a short blue tunic, skin-hugging black leather breeches and a dark grey cloak lined with scarlet. Her body limp, hung from my left hand –

  My quick perception captured the flash of steel illuminated red by the firelight.

  My right hand rose from instinct and a sharp need for self-preservation. Many years of arms-masters beating competence into me gave me a reflexive speed similar to that of a striking snake. I seized her wrist, and twisted sharply.

  She cried out once, a brief exclamation of pain as the deadly knife dropped to the sand, killing its light. Still she fought on, raising her left hand to smack, hard, against my cheek. Her blow rattled my teeth and burned my skin, but hadn’
t enough weight to actually force me to let go. I didn’t, and raised my left fist. Her tiny, frail body hung from my hand as though dead, gutted and ready for butchering. She weighed as much as newborn fawn, and dangled from my grip with her toes barely touching the sand. I held her there, mildly amused as she cursed invectives, dancing on tip-toe, and swiped at me again with a knife in her hand.

  “Princess Yummy.”

  She yowled like a feral cat at the name, and lunged toward me. Only my grip on her right arm kept her both in place and my guts inside my belly. The second dagger followed the first, and I half-wondered how many she kept hidden in so few hiding places. Regaining my sense of humor, I half shook her, gazing up and down her luscious length.

  “Are you through?” I asked mildly. “Cuz, you know, I can do this all day.”

  “Animal,” she grated, twisting and struggling, trying to break my hold. “Put me down, you’re hurting me.”

  “If I do, will you behave?”

  For answer, she shot a rapid foot toward my crotch. Like the knife, I saw the blow’s arrival and reacted, instantly. Her toes caught my thigh and hurt her more than it did me. I tsked in annoyance.

  “Oh, cease with the drama already,” I snapped. “You’re caught and I’m an evil bastard, so let’s just move on shall we?”

  “Pig.” Her spittle struck my cheek below my right eye and oozed south.

  Now that was uncalled for. Reddish haze crossed my vision as my rage grew out of proportion, rising high and fast. Oh, you stupid bitch.

  I answered her insult with my knuckles. My right fist exploded across her left cheekbone, my heavy signet ring cutting deep. Her head snapped to the side, droplets of blood slinging wide and far. Iyumi half-screamed in pain and anger, her silver-gilt hair cloaking her, half-hiding her face. Her hands reached for my tunic and fell away. Limp and boneless for a moment, she almost blacked out, yet her clenched hands still sought to strike at my face, my throat. Never did she instinctively cover her injury to protect it.