A Stag in the Shadows

by S E Turner

  'I went there to get my family back. But a farmhand told me that the General had taken my daughter Lace, for his muse, his dalliance, his plaything. But somehow she had escaped. My wife, my son and my wife's parents were put into a wagon. A torch was ignited and the whole thing went up in flames. The image of their suffering lives inside of me.'

  Moira raised her apron to her open mouth in shock. Coben wiped the tears with the back of his hand. 'My daughter was fourteen years old. My son was only ten.'

  'Coben. What a dreadful thing to happen.'

  'I couldn't do anything. I was on my own. I was useless. But then I heard of the clans uprising, and how they had killed the General and The Emperor in retaliation for their sickening crimes.'

  'And your daughter?'

  He shrugged his shoulders. 'I started to go out on crusades. To see if I could find her.' He shook his head. 'But I never did.'

  'She must be alive somewhere.' Moira comforted the grieving man.

  'My brother eventually took me in.'

  'The king is your brother?'

  'He is. He gave me a purpose to live and a job to do. He made me into a soldier, and promised me that he would never be like the General and the Emperor. He gave me his word that he would provide work and decent accommodation for the people we brought back.'

  'But he didn't did he?' Moira breathed deeply.

  Coben shook his head. 'No he didn't, he became just like them, and is getting worse.'

  'What changed him?'

  'I don't know. It was gradual at first and only a few of us noticed it initially. But after a while I couldn't fail to see what was happening. Segan's drive and ambition for power was growing into a ruthless desire for supremacy. He began to focus on ripping apart communities; putting the lords in the mines, and their workers in the fields. All the while his methods of control, and punishments for those who seem to disobey him, have gotten worse.' He shook his head in shame. 'Maybe it's the power he has now; I think it has corrupted him. But he is a changed person and a shadow of the fine man he used to be.'

  'Ah yes, power is always dangerous. It attracts the worst and corrupts the best.' She shook her head in despair. 'But why us Coben? Why save us?'

  'Because Saskia reminds me of my daughter, with that grit and determination. I feel for her father, locked in a dark cell, not knowing anything, not being able to help anyone. I know what that feels like.' He sighed. 'So under the cover of darkness, I steal down into the bowels of the mine, and I pass him messages as I continue to find my nemesis.'

  'Your nemesis?'

  'I am digging for fire, to bring the mountain down forever. And when it is ready. You will be moved.'

  'You are taking on a lot here—and you are going against your brother.' Her voice was strained.

  'I know I am, but it has to happen soon; because in the month of June, when Saskia has been here for two years and will be sixteen years old, my brother will take her for his wife.'

  'What? He can't do that, she is a child, she needs a younger man; someone who she will love in return.' Moira wept into her hands.

  'I know. I have told him. But he is adamant. So, I have six months to find the fire that will bring down the mine—and to get everyone out of here.' He touched her shoulder. 'Are you with me Moira?'

  She looked into his soft brown eyes and reached for his hand.

  'Of course I am.'

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She looked at her naked body in the mirror, in eighteen months she had changed so much; not just mentally, but physically as well. She ran the flat of her hand over her rising chest and over muscular, well developed shoulders. Her arms were toned and strong. She felt the softness of a developing breast and the corrugation of her ribs protecting a flat abdomen of superior strength. Her hips were nicely rounded with the curves of womanhood, and her legs were well defined. A trickle of blood ran down her inner thigh, she looked at it against the milky white of her thigh. She wasn't scared. She had heard the girls talk about this on the farm, in fact she wondered why it hadn't happened sooner. Perhaps it was the stress of confinement, or the constant training; but it had started now. She ran a finger up to stop its path, she felt it warm and sticky on her skin. She held it up and marvelled at the bright red liquid. 'I am a woman now, I really am a woman.'

  She moved in closer to the mirror, the reflection smiled back. She saw the shape of adulthood; her eyes looked larger, her lips were fuller. It was a face of learning and determination, for the image did not just reflect appearance. It reflected her movement and attitude. For in that eighteen months of imprisonment she had peeled away the years of subdued female movement and expanded it into glorious freedom. But most importantly she had learned not to be watched.

  In that time she had learned to leap around the room, holding her sword high and honing a figure of eight as she did so. Within three months she could scale the walls of the room and do a back flip in the air; by four months she could do it while holding a metal sword, within six months she could do it with two swords. By a year she could disarm Coben and position a knife to his throat. At fourteen months they were practising their sword fights on upturned decanters, on bottles, on pails—anything that would unsettle or unbalance the scholar. Sharpened blades sang out a piercing recital as they split the air into chaotic particles, dancing from edge to corner, springing from a table to a narrow ledge, tumbling on to the sleigh of a bed and leaping towards the pillars. Practised feet made expert athletes— engaged senses created power.

  She learned that by fixing the wooden sword into the grooves of two tall pillars, she could create a pull up device, and use it to heave herself up. Doing this on a regular basis she had built up the muscles in her arms and upper body. On the floor, she would do press ups on one arm, skip for hours on end, and do five hundred sit ups in between. On occasions she would wear a full length dress for practice, to be prepared for any eventuality .

  She heard the sound of the door unlocking, so she quickly wrapped a sheet around her changing body.

  'Good morning mistress Saskia, how are you today?'

  'I am very well thank you; but tell me, have these sheets been heated?' She pulled the edges closer round her shoulders and felt the warmth on her skin.

  'Of course they have. It's very cold out there Mistress Saskia. And we don't want you getting a chill. The indicators tell us it's going to be a harsh winter.'

  Meredith always came in every morning before she rose. Every day at the same time for the past eighteen months; as silent as a moth, as quick as an owl, and Saskia never awoke. Meredith tipped the contents of the tub down the grill hole in the floor, and dried it out ready for a fresher bath. Saskia could have done it herself, but she liked to bathe after her training sessions during the day, so left it in her room till dawn.

  'Yes, there are a lot of berries on the trees this year, my father always used to say that was an indication of a severe winter.'

  'To be sure ma'am, to be sure.'

  Meredith was followed by half a dozen hand maidens who each carried an urn of hot or cold water, the last one brought in her breakfast.

  'Is there anything else you need my lady?'

  She didn't know whether to reveal the bleeding to Meredith. She had half a notion that she might tell the king, and if he knew she was a woman now, he would bring the wedding forward. She didn't want that. She still needed a bit of time to perfect everything, particularly a crucial element of her plan, and the next few months would give her that time. For now, she would make a garment to collect the menstrual blood; she had seen the girls make such things on the farm, so she could do the same, and use the bath water to rinse the garment out. With a courteous smile, she waved aside the request.

  'Thank you Meredith, but I have everything I need.'

  'As you wish ma'am.'

  The door was closed and the lock clicked into place.

  Meredith had prepared the bath and left Saskia to wash herself as requested. She sank into the water and breathed in
the dewy fragrance of orange blossom, bergamot and spruce. It was divine. The oils didn't take long to permeate her skin, and she gently massaged the muscles on her arms and legs and shoulders. She pressed the back of her neck with firm fingers. The movement breathed fire into her limbs, the warmth awakened her soul. She slid back with her head on the edge of the bath, her hands loosely curled round the bevelled lips. She was totally relaxed. She felt good.

  As it was her first day of bleeding, she would rest today by reading and pouring over the maps Coben had left for her. It was good therapy for the body to rest on days like this. There was always another time for training in Saskia's solitary world.

  That evening when Coben came in, she could see that he was concerned about something.

  'What's wrong Coben?'

  He took a deep breath and prepared himself to explain the events .

  'It's one of your farm workers.'

  'What? Who?'

  'It's Tiller.' His voice was low.

  What's happened to him?'

  'He has taken a couple of beatings from one of the guards.'

  'Is he okay?'

  'No, not really.'

  Coben went and sat down on the chair by the desk and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  'Yurg has had it in for him from the start.'

  Saskia frowned. 'Why?'

  'I don't know, there's just something about him that he doesn't like.'

  'So what's he done to him?'

  'You don't want to know Saskia.'

  'I do, please tell me.'

  'He's been beaten, he's been whipped, he's been put into solitary confinement. The confinement was probably a respite; at least Yurg left him alone in there.'

  'Couldn't you have helped?' The tears were running down her face now.

  'Oh believe me I have tried—but even I carry little influence now. Yurg just thinks he is untouchable.'

  'Has this been happening often?'

  'Once a month, sometimes more.'

  Saskia could feel her blood boiling and her power surging.

  'Are you okay Saskia?'

  'I will be.'

  'But I do have a plan though,' he said .

  'Tell me your plan.'

  'Not yet, I will tell you when it's done. Hopefully tomorrow I will have good news.'

  'I need to know.'

  'Saskia, listen to me. You have to trust me. If all goes well, then Tiller will be on his way out of here by tomorrow morning.'

  'And if it doesn't?'

  Coben shrugged his shoulders. 'He will be no worse off.'

  'Then you have to fight me right now Coben, for I fear what I will do with this anger rising in me.'

  'And anger weighs heavier than swords, right?'

  'Right!'

  'You are not dressed for combat though.'

  'Exactly.'

  Two metal swords were leaning against the wall. The glistening body exuded strength and majesty. Both hand guards were decorated with lapis lazuli and obsidian.

  'Warrior stones,' he said watching her brush a thumb over the gems.

  She curled a smile and nodded. Then quickly, without warning, snatched her weapon, threw him his and sprang towards him like an unleashed coil. But Coben had disappeared when she landed and was ready with a strike from behind the pillar. The sounds of blades sang out in harmony against the acoustics of the tower. There was a flurry of exchanges as feet danced and arms curved. Saskia ran up the pillar, did a back flip, and as she straightened herself, held the tip of the sword to the back of his neck. He ducked down quickly and span around in a squat. She blocked the strikes to her thighs and calves, and leapt over him again.

  She caught his strike on the broad side of the blade and leapt backwards as the metal sang out. He came back with a counter attack, but her arms were strong and she held the lock tight. She disengaged and parried, her sword ablaze with quick movements. Then she span around and brushed her blade against his torso. Any other man would be dead by now. She threw her weapon in the air, caught it with the left hand and aimed it at his neck. He guided it to the floor with a gloved hand and smiled proudly at his student.

  'You are good Saskia, a formidable warrior.'

  She swung round, and beneath her opponents long arm, raised her knee. He sprang back just in time.

  'Naughty move,' he said and waved his finger. 'You don't need to do that.'

  She cocked her head and curved a half smile.

  'Shut your eyes,' he instructed. 'Sense my movements.'

  She switched on her senses and the choreography became more graceful, poetic even, certainly more masterful. The contest became more unhurried, each step carefully thought out. She could taste his sweat, she could hear his beating heart, she could feel her strength. The sword was weightless in her hand. She ran a finger along the sharp edge and drew blood. She licked her finger, the taste was thick and metallic. She savoured it as it slid down the back of her throat and back into her core.

  She tingled with the thought of her weapon's capability, of its strength, of the power it could command. She still had her eyes closed. She could sense that he was close. He danced around her with light shuffling feet and cut the air around her. She heard him breathing through his nose as he held his sword within an inch of her skin. She could smell the metal on the back of her neck. Her weapon was like a blade of grass now. The silence was even softer. She threw her blade into the air, span all the way around him, and caught it on the down turn as she knelt at his feet. Only then did she open her eyes.

  'Now, that's real fighting,' he said at last. 'That's instinct and courage. That's power and intelligence. That's what I'm talking about. Channel that fire into your battles, and that will keep you alive in any duel of combat.'

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Coben strode through the towering doors of the king's apartment. He was sweating a little after his exertion in the forest. Creating tracks as a diversion was harder work than he had anticipated. He wiped his brow and composed himself as he entered.

  'Good afternoon brother, and how are you this fine day?'

  'I am cold Coben, it's far too cold.'

  'Here, let me stoke the fire for you.'

  He nudged a sleeping log into life again and the yellow flames began to tug hungrily at the peeling bark.

  'How come I am freezing and you are not?'

  'I don't know brother. Maybe it's because you sit around all day.' He turned around and smiled.

  His brother frowned.

  'You need more meat, that will put more muscle on you.'

  'Yes, I do. I look quite thin and old next to you.' Hezekiah looked at his fitter, stronger brother .

  'Boy come here.'

  The boy servant came scurrying over immediately.

  'Tell the kitchen staff that I want a haunch of deer tonight, with lots of dark gravy and meat juices.'

  'Yes sire, straight away sire.'

  He was stopped in his tracks.

  'Oh and boy.'

  'Yes sire.'

  'I'm running out of wine. Get the porters to bring a crate for me.'

  'Yes sire.'

  Coben smiled.

  'What are you smirking at brother.

  'Nothing. Come, let's play cards. Perhaps I can beat you today.'

  The king's frown disappeared as his mouth curved into a grin. 'I don't think so brother, you never beat me.'

  'Now that is true.'

  Coben sat opposite the king and took out a deck of cards.

  'How is my wife to be?' Hezekiah's eyes never even flickered as Coben shuffled the pack. Distrustful and suspicious of everything, he watched his brother's every move, ready to spot a flick of the finger or a quickness of the hand.

  'She is well, and asks after you often.' Coben lied.

  'Really?'

  'Yes, she is eager to escape her cell.' Coben looked for the expression in his brother's face. He was well versed to spotting suspicion. This time there was none .

  'Well she will be free in six mont
hs, then she will enjoy all the comforts of being my wife and my queen.'

  'A very lucky woman indeed,' Coben looked up as he split the pack.

  'Mind you, I dare say a young woman such as she might find things a little stifling here.'

  Coben dealt the cards. 'And why do you say that brother?.

  The king looked at his hand and nodded in pleasure. 'Because there isn't much to do here.'

  Coben took another card from the deck in place of the one he had discarded. 'On the contrary, there is plenty for her to do; she reads a lot and plays board games, she is very good at cards now.' He was trying to spot his brother's bluff while he spoke.

  The king took another two cards from the deck and eliminated two. 'I know, she should be as happy as I am. But then again, she will be with child as soon as I marry her, so she will be very busy then.'

  Coben's stomach churned at the thought of his brother's desires, but his smile camouflaged the outrage. 'And many more to follow I trust.'

  Hezekiah took one more card. 'That's the one I needed.' He eliminated one and lay down his hand.

  Coben threw down his hand, face down. 'Every time you beat me. Every time. How do you do it?'

  'It's just a knack I have. I'm used to winning. You should know that.'

  'That you are brother, that you are.'

  A knock at the door prompted the duty guard to open it. Yurg and Bryn entered and bowed low .

  'This had better be important, I don't like to be interrupted when I am spending time with my brother, as well you know.'

  'This is very important sire, most important.'

  'Well then, what is it?' Hezekiah pushed himself up out of his chair and walked round the table to face them.

  Coben turned his winning hand the right way up and neatly slotted the cards together into the rest of the pack.

  'One of the workers has escaped sire!' said Yurg.

  'Which one has escaped?' questioned Coben with his back to them..

  'That snivelling little wretch called Tiller.'

  Coben breathed deeply to act shocked, he slammed his fists onto the table and pulled himself up even taller than his brother.