by Aaron Pogue
The baron nodded. "Yes but there would be some shelter there. And no one enters those lands. No one would find you."
I took a step back. "You really mean it?"
The baron nodded solemnly.
Isabelle gave me an excited smile. "It's half a day's ride, I understand." She threw her father an acid look, but he ignored her.
She went on, sliding closer to me again. "We should go scout it out. Make sure you know the way, in case you have to go in a hurry."
The baron's eyes snapped to Isabelle, and I saw them narrow. After a moment he sighed. "That is a good idea. And if I were to go—or worse, send an escort—it would draw too much notice. But the two of you going out for a ride...."
He trailed off, and Isabelle beamed. She caught my hand again and bounced a shoulder against my arm. When I looked down she grinned. "We're going to Palmagnes."
Despite everything hanging over us, I smiled. I couldn't help it. I leaned closer to her. "That's exciting, is it?"
She bobbed her head and answered in a whisper. "Father has never let me go."
He cut through our quiet conference with the heavy boom of his voice. "That's right. Because it is dangerous."
Isabelle rolled her eyes. "They say restless spirits and soulless ghouls wander among the ruins."
The baron grunted. "I'm far more concerned with biting asps and feral dogs." He leveled a threatening finger at me. "You watch out for her, wizard. Return her to me whole."
"Of course," I said. "With all my care."
He nodded. "Well enough. Go. Send for the horses and some food. Might as well take some gear now too, so you can travel light when the time comes."
I nodded. "Will there be water?"
"Last I checked the well still ran clean, but that's been most of a decade now. You'll have to check on that while you're there."
I tried to think what else to take, what other preparations I could make, but there were too many unknowns. Still, if there was clean water, I could get by.
Isabelle was anxious to go. She darted out to arm's length and tugged on my arm, but I lingered to consider the plan one more time, trying to think of anything else I needed to ask of the baron. I found nothing. But I saw him frowning, clearly calculating, and he looked up to see his daughter trying to drag me from the room.
He opened his mouth. A moment later he said, "Go. Make your preparations. But before you leave, come find me again. We have another matter of business yet to settle."
Then he dismissed me with a wave, and I followed Isabelle into the wide stone corridors of the sprawling house. We went a dozen paces before she led me around a corner and down another long hall. I had to hurry to keep on her heels, and I felt my smile creeping back. "You really can't wait to see these ruins."
She stopped, startling me, and turned on me with more anger than joy in her eyes. "How could you keep this from me?"
Her voice was a hiss, and she stepped very close to me. It was not a tender gesture.
I licked my lips. "I was afraid. I did not want you to know that part of my past."
"I could have done so much to protect you, Daven. I could have made this go away. And now instead we must run and hide."
"I'm sorry, Isabelle."
"You should be!" she snapped, but then her face softened. "Come on." She nodded down the hall, then started walking again. "Palmagnes is not a friendly place, and we must make our preparations. It will not be easy to convince my father to let me stay there with you."
My heart faltered. "Stay with me? No. Resolving this mess will take some time—"
"And I would not be without you for so long." She never turned, never slowed. "But Father will not understand. We'll save that fight for later."
I followed after her in a daze. She wanted to be with me. She was prepared to face the discomfort and dangers of a harsh wilderness with me. She was prepared to fight her father, and with her father to fight the king for me. She was prepared to marry me. She'd asked, hadn't she?
While I was thinking, she was searching for a steward she could trust. Now she found him and rattled off her orders with a brisk authority. I watched him nodding quickly, trying to memorize all the many things she wanted. Then she sent him scurrying off and dragged me down another hall.
It was too soon to talk of marriage. Of course it was. But I wasn't at all surprised by her initiative. She was the bravest soul I'd ever met. Injured but unscarred, informed but unafraid. I wanted that. I wanted her, and far more for the spirit, for the perspective, than for the comfort and the kindness she could offer.
She led me to the stables and requested two riding horses and two pack animals to lead. The stable master sent boys scurrying to fetch the horses even as servants began arriving in ones and twos with gear for our journey. Isabelle watched it all with an air of satisfaction, and I just stood watching her. A man could build a life around a woman like that.
But first there was the king. And then the dragons, too. Six weeks in Teelevon, and we must have heard sixty new rumors from the north. Mighty serpents swarmed the quiet seas, they said, and ships weren't safe to sail. Dragons flew the skies at night, they said, and whole cities were burned to ash by dawn. We heard a hundred different versions of Tirah's burning or the capitol's. Of the King's Guard defeated or the wizards at the Academy. Of the world overwhelmed by dragon hordes.
They sounded nothing like truth, but I knew there was some core to it. I'd met a dragon firsthand, and I'd seen half a dozen more with my own eyes. Tirah had been attacked, and the King's Guard with it. And those who knew of such things had assured me worse was coming. The dragons were waking.
I swallowed hard and kept my eyes fixed on the woman before me. It would be no easy task to build a life we two could share. But she turned to say, "That should do quite well. We'll be on the road within the hour." When she caught me staring, she gave me a curious little smile, and I knew I had to try. I would find a way.
It started with keeping her safe. If the baron was right, that meant keeping her away from the ruins of Palmagnes. As she led me back to her father's study, I fought not to think how much gentler my exile would be with her at my side.
We stepped into the study, and it all fled my mind at the sight of the sword in her father's hands. Cold steel, burnished with age but carrying an edge that shone from constant care. The baron stood in the center of the room, sword's tip grounded between him and us, hands crossed easily on its pommel. His stance was relaxed, but I recognized danger in it. Readiness. His expression was grave.
Three men stood behind him, all just as serious. One was the chief steward of the baron's household. Another was Thomas Wheelwright, a friend of the Eliades and an esteemed name in the community. And there on the end was the barony's Kind Father, dressed in the rich formal robes of the Benevolent Priests. All among them met my gaze with level, measuring looks. None among them gave me any confidence.
For one long, dreadful moment I stood staring at the blade and remembering my every crime. Then Isabelle squeezed my hand and whispered in my ear, "Step forward, Sir Knight."
2. Fort Palmagnes
I knelt before the baron. The three witnesses shifted closer behind him, but I fixed my eyes on the point of the sword where it scarred the polished wood of the study's floor. The edge looked flawless.
"Daven of Terrailles, son of Carrick," the baron began in ceremonious tones, "do you come here with greed or malice in your heart?"
My mouth was dry, my throat tight, but I managed to find my voice enough to ask, "Here, my lord?"
"To the Eliade Barony," he said. "To the land and people under my care." He maintained the formal tone. "Do you mean them any harm?"
My answer came clear and easy at that. "No, my lord. Never."
He gave a grunt in response, then asked, "Daven of Terrailles, son of Carrick, do you come here under loyalty to any man save the king or his appointments?"
I swallowed hard at that. I thought of the rebels, and of their wizard leader who had
offered me a place of power among his ranks. He'd asked only that I kill the king.
And I'd had the power to do it. The king struck me as capricious and some of his most faithful enforcers little better than rabid dogs. But he was king. I blinked once and answered honestly again, "I do not. I have remained loyal to the king."
"Daven of Terrailles, son of Carrick, do you come before us the master of any lands or peoples within His Majesty's realms?"
The question caught me off guard. I forgot myself, and looked up into the baron's eyes. "What?"
A frown touched the corner of his mouth, and I dropped my eyes again. He asked, "Have you any titles? Any properties? Any people of your own?"
I couldn't guess at the significance of the question, but I shook my head. "No, my lord. I have nothing."
"Very well," the baron said, pronouncing his judgment. "By the law of this land and of its people, and by the law of God set forth by the king, I pronounce you here and now a Knight of the People." My eyes followed the blade of the sword as he raised it to touch me lightly on each shoulder. "You knelt Daven of Terrailles, son of Carrick, but I command you to rise, Sir Daven of Teelevon, Knight of the People."
I almost disobeyed his order. I knelt still, eyes wide in disbelief as I stared up into his. Then the three men behind him stepped forward with smiles. Thomas gestured me to my feet and I rose in time for him to shake my hand heartily.
And then Isabelle was at my side. I saw tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, and turned back to the baron to find him smiling now, too. It was restrained, but I saw again the kindness he had shown me before. I bowed my head to him. "Thank you, my lord."
He shook his head. "For the service you have done my people, you deserve no less." Thomas and the Kind Father both chimed agreement to that, but the baron ignored them.
His gaze was still solemn. "This ceremony would have better been done before a crowd at the first day of a public festival, but we do not have such luxuries. Great trouble comes with the winter, and we all have dire work to do if we are to survive at all. You have given us a chance."
I nodded. He had given me a chance, too. It wasn't an answer—the title of Knight would not shield me from the king's justice—but if I could weather that storm, the title would make an engagement to Isabelle far less complicated. I held his gaze for a moment, then bowed my head once more. "I thank you again. I am honored and humbled by the appointment."
The baron glanced over his shoulder toward the witnesses, then said to me, "There are rights and responsibilities to go with the title. Among them, you are due a plot of land within my personal holdings. You have not had time enough to see much of them yet—"
Isabelle spoke up right on cue. "I will take him, Father. You have pressing matters. I can be his guide."
Thomas frowned and the Kind Father's eyes opened wide in shock, but both looked to the baron for a response. He sighed and shrugged and nodded with a show of frustrated reluctance. "Very well. I trust him to your hands." He turned to me. "And her to yours. These are dangerous times."
"Then it is well that I have a knight to protect me," Isabelle said. A footfall drew her attention to the corridor behind us, and I turned to spot a stableboy waiting with hat in hand. Our horses were ready.
Isabelle met my eyes, then turned back to the men. "Please excuse us." She dipped her head, turned away, and left. I cast an apologetic glance behind and followed her from the room.
At the stables I found a tall chestnut waiting for me. Isabelle climbed ably into the saddle of her roan and took the leads for both the laden packhorses. Then she caught my eye as I tried to find a comfortable position in my own saddle. When I finally turned her way she gave a little laugh.
"Is everything well with you, Sir Knight?"
I couldn't manage more than an injured grunt. Her laughter died and concern showed in her eyes. "You can ride?"
"I can ride," I said. "Not well, but I can ride."
She nodded slowly, then turned and clucked to her horse. She started across the courtyard at an easy walk, and I managed to fall in beside her.
"We'll take it slow," she said. She glanced around, then reached across to squeeze my hand where it gripped the reins too tightly. "We'll make a pleasant ride of it. You'll do fine."
I smiled back, lips pressed tight, then held my tongue while we picked our way out of the little town. It was a laborious journey, my horse dancing erratically to the tension that thrummed through my arms and legs. Isabelle divided her attention between answering cheerful greetings from the townsfolk and whispering advice to me.
When we finally slipped past the last line of houses and out into the wide, empty land outside the town, I took an easier breath. Three paces later I was riding more easily in the saddle, and my horse was keeping a more natural gait. I felt Isabelle's eyes on me and turned to her.
"I never noticed before," she said. "Do city streets really trouble you so much?"
I glanced back over my shoulder toward the town, then shook my head. "Not at all. I grew up in the City. But the little riding I've done has all been in open land."
I turned forward again and looked down the long road at the wide, flat plains stretching all the way to the horizon. "It's easier out here," I said. "There's nobody to hurt with a moment of carelessness."
"Nobody but yourself," she said. "Or me."
Her voice turned soft toward the end, and when I looked I saw her biting her lip and watching me. I couldn't hold her gaze. We rode in silence for a while after that, putting the town far behind us.
I remembered what she had said in the halls of her father's house. I remembered what she'd asked me in the garden, too. Three times I opened my mouth to break the silence. Three times I shut it again without saying a word.
At last she moved her horse half a pace closer to mine. "I didn't know you'd lived in the City."
I looked her way. I shrugged. "I mentioned it the first time we met. At the palace."
She thought for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "You said you were a beggar."
"I was a beggar," I said. "And a carriage driver. And then I left the City to become a shepherd."
She sighed. Her eyes were unfocused, and I saw the hint of tears in them. I reached across to squeeze her hand, as she had done earlier.
"I know so little about you," she said. Her voice shook. "Six weeks we've been together, and I barely know anything." She caught her breath, and a blush touched her cheek. "I asked you to marry me. You must have thought me so stupid."
I shook my head. "I think you're courageous. And impulsive. And I admire you for both. I think you've found a lot of success by deciding what you want or need and pursuing it aggressively. "
She didn't answer that. This time I broke the silence. "I'm sorry I've kept secrets. I didn't want—"
"I know," she said. Her voice was a little raw. "You already said you didn't want me to see you for what you were. I'm just realizing now...."
She trailed off. I gave her time, but she didn't complete the thought. At last I asked her, "What?"
"I'm just now realizing how much you kept hidden."
"I didn't," I tried, then had to swallow hard and start again. "I wasn't trying to hide anything. I just saw no opportunity to bring it up."
"I thought you were joking," she said. "About being a beggar in the City. About being a shepherd, too, no matter how you insisted."
"But—"
"No." She shook her head. "That's not all my fault. You act nothing like a beggar. You act nothing like a shepherd or a fugitive. You may dress the part of a stable hand, but you walk like a soldier and speak like a wizard."
I looked down at the shirt I wore. It was not the finery Isabelle had given me as a gift, but it was far nicer than anything I'd worn for most of my life. The rest...I shook my head. "I never meant to deceive you."
"The worst part," she said, not hearing me, "is how much I loved you."
"Loved?" I asked, hearing too clearly the past tense.
She looked over as though she expected an answer, but I had none. "That was foolish," she said. "But sometimes little girls are foolish. Father told me how much you had angered the king. He told me how you left in a burst of fire and smoke, defiant of the crown. It all seemed terribly romantic."
"The king hated me already then," I said. "That was the first step toward my crime. It was on the road from there to the Academy that I killed a man."
She nodded. "I understand that now." She cast a long gaze out over the parched land before us. "I didn't know it then. I knew someone mysteriously turned up on the Academy's doorstep about a week later, bloodied and bruised by the King's Guard, and this dashing hero quickly befriended my scrawny little brother."
I dropped my eyes. "It really worked the other way around."
"Father never made the connection. But I knew it had to be you. I read every letter. I told myself stories about you. I fell more and more in love with this fantasy...."
I couldn't bring myself to look, but I could hear the tears in her voice. I said, "I'm sorry I disappointed you."
"That's just the problem," she said. "I had all these fantasies about you, but I never truly loved you until the day you showed up here. My town was doomed, and my family with it. I was captured. All hope was lost. And then you stepped into my tent, every bit the hero I'd imagined you to be."
She caught her breath. I risked a glance, and she was looking right at me. Her smile was bent in kindness; her eyes were drawn in sadness. "And then you stayed. You stayed, and you were real. I made a fantasy out of you, Daven, and then I loved you for making that fantasy real."
She dropped her eyes. She knotted the reins of the pack horses in her hands. "That's all I wanted from you," she said. "That's all I want from you now. I don't want any more apologies. I don't want any more fantasies. I want what's real."
I licked my lips. "And if it's not as good?"
