The Brotherhood (The Eirensgarth Chronicles Book 1)

by Philip Smith

  “Paige, here!”

  Paige looked up from the rope coils to see her father toss an old pair of gardening gloves. Paige snatched them up and shoved her hands into the stiff weathered deerskin. She in turn tossed her papa his own rope and then jumped up on the railing of the balcony.

  “Ready?” he asked, pulling on his own set of gloves. She nodded. Alaire leapt up onto the rail beside her. He glanced down at the void below them, letting out a low whistle. “Never took the time to notice how far down that is. Try not to let go!”

  The sound of shattering glass startled Paige. Men were smashing the windows on either side of the door. Paige’s papa looked at her and nodded. Paige gripped her rope tightly as she pushed herself over the edge of the rail. She felt her hands cramping as she gripped the weathered rope for dear life. She let herself down, hand over hand, as sliding would surely be far too much to control. She glanced up at her father, who was in the process of lowering himself over the railing. She could hear the men shouting and the sound of the door splintering with every blow.

  “Papa, hurry!” she shouted. Her father must not have heard her clearly, because he glanced down at her, confused.

  In that split second he looked down, Paige heard a hard thud as an arrow was driven into his shoulder. Alaire shouted in pain as he lost his balance.

  “Papa, NO!” Paige screamed as her father began to fall into the abyss below them. She tried to reach out and catch his glove. Her heart stopped as she missed his hand, their leather-clad fingertips barely brushing as he plummeted towards the ground below.

  Somehow, in a split second, Alaire managed to grab the rope with his right hand. He jerked hard and she heard him cry out in anguish. The speed at which he’d fallen caused him to swing back and forth dangerously several stories above the forest floor, which was now littered with patrols bearing torches.

  “Hang on, Papa!” Paige shouted. “I’m coming!”

  “Ala, get down the floor. Now!”

  A tingling in the base of Paige’s spine erupted. Everything suddenly seemed to slow down to half speed. Paige heard the distinct sound of fibers ripping and popping. The old rope she’d grabbed was fraying between them, about three feet above Alaire’s head. One of the three cords had just snapped, leaving two more twisting about as her father swung dangerously back and forth.

  She looked back down at her father, who was looking up at the rope, then his eyes met hers. He opened his mouth to say something, when another cord snapped, dropping him down a few more inches as the rope weaved back and forth like a pendulum. Paige screamed, but the only sound she seemed to hear was the final pop as the last twine of the rope crackled, creaked, and then snapped.

  “PAPA!” Paige cried out as her father plummeted towards the ground. The rope had swung him far to the right, and as he fell he smashed into several railings. He landed on his back on a small housing platform some thirty or so feet below. Papa’s head dangled limply over the edge of the deck.

  The chief didn’t move. He made no sounds. The only thing Paige could hear through the pounding in her ears was the roar of thunder overhead that clapped as if the sky itself screamed out in anguish.

  The princess began pushing herself back and forth, trying to swing over to the platform where her father lay motionless. The rope she clung to creaked and whined in protest as she began to arc in an oval pattern several stories above the burning forest.

  “He’s on the deck below, sire!” she heard one a man above her shout. The sounds of clunking boots began to drum in her head as she heard the men stomping out of the house. She watched them make their way from her home to the nearest staircase leading to the lower tier of decks. Paige looked frantically back at her father. She could see his chest heaving, gasping for the wind that had been ripped from him.

  “Papa! Papa, you have to get up!” she screamed. Her father rolled onto his side slowly, and Paige could guess by the expression on his face he’d broken something. He looked over at her, his hair hanging in strings around his face. Raindrops began splashing about him on the deck. Paige threw all her weight into her swing as the group of cloaked soldiers sloshed their way down the staircase. She strained hard against the old rope, shoving her weight forward. Only ten more feet.

  Her hands cramped and burned beneath the now-soaked leather gloves.

  Eight feet. Three more and she could probably make the jump down.

  Six feet.

  Suddenly, the muscles in her hand spasmed, and she lost her grip on the slick, wet rope. She began to spiral down the length of the twisted cord, sliding uncontrollably. She summoned all the energy she had left and clutched her lifeline for all she was worth. She skidded to a stop and felt the slack snap as her weight caught up with her fall. She cried out in pain as the rope slowed.

  The princess glanced up, shaking the water form her face. She had slid to an even plane as the deck her papa now lay on. He was lying on his side, his eyes filled with tears of agony as he stared at her, face white as a snowcap.

  “Pa—” she tried to croak, but her father shook his head.

  “Go,” he mouthed, although no sound came from his lips. The soldiers were pouring onto the platform now, with the one called Feridar marching towards Alaire with long, furious strides. Paige shook her head and reached her arm out, trying to will the rope to swing closer to the edge of the deck. The look of grief on her proud father’s face rent her heart a new tear as he shook his head once more.

  “No, NO, PAPA PLEASE! PLEASE, PAPA!” she choked through the sobs as the officer marched towards her helpless father.

  “Run! Ala, Run!” he urged through gritted teeth. The officer was upon him now, his gilded scimitar drawn. He reached the crumpled heap that was Alaire and placed a heavily embroidered boot with a pointed, curled toe on the chief’s back. Alaire groaned in agony as the officer pushed him back down onto his belly and lay the sword’s tip on his back, right behind his heart.

  “Leave him alone!” Paige shouted.

  The soldier looked up and squinted at her in the darkness, the lightning casting a shadow on every line of his sneering face. His posture changed as he recognized something about her, and he jabbed a gloved finger towards the dangling princess. “You!”

  Paige glared at the man through a veil of wet, stringy blonde hair. His eyes were locked onto her waist, where the roll of leather from her father’s study sat stuffed into her belt. Alarm filled her father’s face as he wildly shook his head.

  “Paige, get out of here!”

  “Paige, is it?” The man sneered down at the chief. “Seren Wahadi! A pike, if you please!”

  Another soldier with insignias adorning his scarlet turban snatched a pike from another soldier and marched forward. For a moment, Paige thought the man was going to throw it at her, but when he reached the edge of the deck he extended the shaft out towards her.

  “If you want your father to live, you will bring that scroll to me,” the officer demanded. Paige looked from the pike to the officer and then back to her father.

  “No, Paige, run!” her papa wheezed. Paige gripped the rope, not knowing what to do. She knew there was no way she could trust the officer, and yet she couldn’t just leave her father lying there to be dispatched, knowing there was the slightest chance he might spare her father. Paige hesitated for a moment, and then reached out one arm timidly.

  “No!” Alaire shouted. He struggled to sit, but the soldier pressed the scimitar harder into his back.

  “Be still, you wretched bastard,” the man spat, “or I swear to the gods, I’ll run you through.”

  “Papa, please!” Paige pleaded. “I can’t leave you!”

  Her father looked her in the eyes, and for a moment she thought she could see a smile on his lips.

  “You can do it. I know you can.” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “Shut up!” the man spat. “Listen here, you crossbred little urchin, time is running out. Give me the scroll! I’ll skewer him, I swear it!”
>
  “Paige?”

  Paige looked back at her father. He had a defiant glint in his eye now, and she could feel his gaze boring into her. He pulled one of his hands up to his lips, tapped two fingers to them, then saluted her, mouthing the words “Yeigh me threighan.”

  I love you.

  Before Paige could scream, cry, or make any kind of protest, Alaire, the chief of the Alatarian people, braced his palms flat against the slick wood of the battered deck and shoved his body upwards, driving the officer's saber directly into his own heart. With a gasp, the chieftain’s body quivered, then sank back down onto the deck. The water splashing around him stained with the color of his blood as the wind howled lamentations for the fallen warrior.

  For a moment the officer looked shocked, then he whipped his head up and glared at the sobbing orphan.

  “Kill her! Get that scroll!” he bellowed, and the man who had been holding the pike out to her hurled the weapon at her with blind rage. Paige had no time to cry, scream, or process what had just happened. She loosened her grip on the rope and fell, clutching to the worn hemp just tight enough to slow her plunge. Steam rose from the wet leather as the rope burned through the old calfskin and began to rub against her bare palm, causing her to cry out.

  The drop down only took half a minute or so, but the soldiers had already begun blowing horns and trying to communicate to the other troops on the ground. Once she was about ten feet from the ground, she released her grip and fell the rest of the way to the slick, leaf-covered mud. She slapped the saturated ground with a hard thump and rolled to her feet, her hands aching and burning as she ripped the tattered gloves off and cast them into the bushes. Soldiers ran towards the north end of Kapernaum, chasing villagers in every direction. She heard the soldiers above shouting and soldiers below changing course for her. Bolting into the forest, she rushed south as fast as her tired and battered legs could carry her.

  The chase lasted for hours. On and on she ran, strengthened by fear and pure adrenaline. She moved to the rhythm of her pounding heart, knowing that if they caught up to her, there was no chance of her survival. She began to lose sense of direction, but her knowledge of the terrain gave her an advantage and allowed her to stay just ahead of the troops. These men were no amateurs at hunting and killing things, it seemed. Just when she thought she had lost them and could collapse in a heap, she would hear their shouts or see their ugly yellow torches casting light across the darkness of the forest. Paige soon learned that even fear runs out eventually, and adrenaline only moved her body so quickly.

  Arrows flew through the rain, narrowly missing Paige as she frantically tripped over what must have been her hundredth large stone since she’d set off. Her reasoning and directional senses were quickly departing, leaving only one instinct coursing through her splitting headache. Run!

  She was vaguely aware of a tall boulder standing upright at the edge of the gully and decided she had to make it over to it and risk collapsing beneath its shadow, hoping the men would pass by her. She staggered forth, grasping the rough lichen-covered surface and ducking behind the stone, straight into something soft that jumped in astonishment.

  “Ah!” she screamed.

  “AHH!” an equally surprised voice squealed, a pair of bright blue eyes gazing at her in shock before she felt someone’s fist connecting with her left eye. Sparks of light filled her vision, and the pain registered when she was thrown backwards into the muddy ferns. She heard two voices talking angrily back and forth in hushed tones for a moment before she felt her world spin and envelop her in a darkness as deep and black as an unopened tomb.

  Chapter 4

  Busted Pottery

  A thick haze surrounded Paige like mountain fog in the early summer. Her head pounded as if she’d been smashed in the face by a piece of cordwood. She blinked hard, trying to wash away warm, stinging tears. Her eye felt painful enough to be the color of an overripe plum. She shivered, curling up into a small ball beneath some sort of soft, warm blanket.

  She was in nothing more than a man’s thin nightshift several sizes too big for her. Puzzlement took hold of her as she tried to sit up to gather her bearings. The princess squinted, looking hard until the shapes began to swirl into solid forms.

  Paige lay on a hanging box cot strung between huge tree roots, opposite the hearth. The dome-shaped hut she was in appeared to be made of a deep brown cob, sculpted by hand and smoothed to a flawless surface. Despite being on edge, she felt warm and cozy in the interior, save for the occasional breeze whispering through the open door. The cottage sat on many large tree roots jutting out in ornate contortions up the wall.

  “Well, you certainly slept long enough.”

  The rough tone was definitely male, and though laced with sarcasm, did not seem unfriendly or threatening. She had been so caught up trying to get her bearings that she’d completely glanced over the figure standing near the fireplace. He sounded young—much younger than she would have guessed upon seeing his patched robes. His broad back was turned to her as he quietly attended.

  Paige looked about for something to defend herself with, seeing her effects stacked on one of the rough chairs at the table between them. Her mother’s hairpin sat neatly atop her jerkin, in plain sight. She bit her lip in frustration.

  “If you’re thinking about snatching that, I would seriously reconsider that decision in your condition,” he said with a chuckle. “Not that you need it. I wouldn’t have patched you up just to turn around and off ye.”

  He moved slightly, revealing a massive spear, at least six feet long, leaning alongside the hearth. The tip of the spear shone as brilliant as polished diamond with dragons, unicorns, and other magical beasts forgotten by time elegantly etched into the head.

  Paige started to sit up again in the swaying box cot, but shrank back into the blankets when she remembered all she was wearing was a night shift. She pulled the rabbit-fur cover up to her chin, cheeks burning.

  “Your breeches are at the foot of the trunk next to the cot. Your shirt was ripped to ribbons, so there is a new one with the pants,” the man said, never turning to face her. “I’ll step out a moment to allow you some privacy.” He stepped outside, shutting the wooden door behind him.

  Paige slowly eased out of the cot, gasping as bolts of pain blasted up the back of her leg. She sank to her knees, holding back fresh tears. Her legs felt like they were being seared from the inside with hot irons.

  She suddenly felt a kick of panic and she clutched her chest. The chain and key were still there, but she saw no sign of the leather scroll. Had she lost it running? She wasn’t sure, but the ache in her heart only grew as doubt flooded her mind.

  “Papa,” she choked, sobs clawing their way out of her tight throat. She felt every shard of her broken heart threaten to puncture her lungs and keep her from breathing at all. She had failed to protect the one thing her father had sacrificed himself to keep safe.

  “Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry!” she wailed, bending over and touching her forehead to the earthen floor, her body convulsing with sobs. What was she to do? She now had no home, no family, and she was currently under the roof of some stranger. She cried out as many tears as she could, the sickening feeling of dread numbing her with every gasp. Remembering the stranger, and knowing he would surely return, she rose and dried her nose on the back of her sleeve. Turning to the chest to get her garments, Paige took a deep breath and pulled the shirt over her head.

  Once dressed, Paige quickly braided her hair and inserted her mother’s hairpin into the top. She felt yet another pang in her chest as her fingers touched the cool silver, her mind flashing back to her poor mother lying lifeless on the deck of a burning village. The paleness of her cold, beautiful face. The unblinking, lifeless eyes that had once held so much love. The blood saturating the dress she had made for her daughter as Paige had clutched her in her arms.

  Paige sucked in a deep breath and clenched her fists. The scroll was still missing. Did the stranger outside have
it? Had she lost it in the night? She needed time to think. First and foremost, she needed to get some answers, and right now the man was her only lead. After checking over her gear and attire one last time, Paige hobbled out of the open doorway, blinking in the sunlight.

  The dwelling was a mound at the edge of a valley, vividly green in the sunshine. On top of the hill, a large pine tree grew, its branches spread wide to hug the warm rays of light cascading from the sky above. Along the edge of the valley’s ridge, surrounding pines stood lush and flourishing. Pines were not very common in the deciduous forests near Kapernaum, so she guessed she had to be a great deal farther south in the Wild. The trees covered the valley edge and crept up the foothills of the mountains. A clean, crystal creek trickled down the gully in a natural mosaic of reds, browns, greens and greys.

  Walking to the creek, Paige pulled out Klaíomh and shook her hastily braided locks free. She looked down into the running water that rippled like a moving looking glass as she stared at her own reflection. It was no wonder her eye hurt; whoever or whatever had hit her popped a blood vessel. She shook her hair out with her fingers, rolled her sleeves up, and dunked her head in the stream. She scrubbed it until her whole head felt raw and numb from the cold. As she combed her fingers through her hair, she caught movement in the corner of her eye and clutched the hairpin tightly.