The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  “Thank you, Sir Caldry, for your assistance in escaping the city and saving me from…” Here her bottom lips started to quiver, but she got control of herself and continued. “And from Prince Féderic. If there is ever any way I can repay you, you can find me in Dothan. I wish you the best of luck.”

  With this final statement, she turned and began to trudge back toward the road, using the “path” she had created to get behind the barn. Cal jumped forward and grabbed her arm, turning her back to look at him.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “I’m going home?”

  “By yourself?”

  “Of course,” she said as though the answer should be obvious.

  Cal wanted to give her a good shake, but forced himself to keep calm.

  “Do you know the way? Or how far it is to Dothan. Or what nations you will cross? Or how to travel the Central Wastelands without dying of thirst? Or the customs of the people you will meet? Or…”

  “I will ask for directions and help along the way,” she said, interjecting before he could continue.

  Cal burst out laughing. “You think Fed’s treatment of you was bad, what do you think men will do to you with no protection?”

  Cal saw her flinch at his reference to her recent trauma. He felt a tremor of regret, but she needed to understand just how dangerous the journey before her actually was. She had no idea what she was about to try.

  “The peninsula is dangerous. These nations are angry. There is no kindness left in this world for those with nothing to offer them,” he continued, trying to paint a clear picture of the world he knew to exist.

  “Then what are you suggesting? I give up? I stay here and starve?”

  “Whether we like it or not, our road lies together.”

  “I am going home!” she snapped, her head thrown back, though her eyes began to water.

  “And I will take you there.”

  This statement took all the obstinacy from her body. Her brows furrowed in affront and her shoulders drooped from their proud, dignified stance.

  “You will?” she asked, sounding very much like a lost little girl.

  “Yes. Surely your family can afford some sort of reward. Besides, I have nowhere else to be right now.”

  In an instance, her look of haughty disdain returned. Evidently, she didn’t like to hear that he was only taking her home for the sake of riches.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, before she could say anything to make him angry.

  Pelor lay on the bed of Tethys’s guest room. It had barely been three days since he returned, claiming to have found the runaway slave. In reality, he had let the slave go and brought back the branded piece of skin from the slave’s leg. It hadn’t been fun cutting off that small portion of skin, but it had been necessary to convince Tethys that his slave had died while running away.

  Now Pelor was bored. He had never had time on his hands. Since he was a small lad he had either been training with the knight who had been like a father to him or running errands and doing chores. As an adult he had worked as a guard to King Middin’s family, the royal family of Dothan. When he was banished—due to an attack on Princess Bethany’s caravan that had cost her her life—he had spent his time traveling and looking for work.

  Lying in bed and waiting for his boss to remember that he wasn’t working was not his idea of time well spent. He was about to go in search of Tethys when a loud knock interrupted his musings.

  “Come,” he said.

  One of Tethys’ servants poked her head in. “Tethys wants you downstairs.”

  Pelor groaned as he climbed out of the luxurious bed. Though he was bored with inactivity, he could easily get used to living as he had before his exile. He missed the fine food and ample portions; the fluffy pillows and the warm blankets. Still, it was time to get back to work.

  The ex-knight followed the slave girl down to the main level where he found Tethys waiting by the large main doors of his enormous estate. To his surprise, he spotted his horse already saddled next to another.

  “We’ve been summoned to the castle,” announced his boss.

  “We?”

  “Yes. I told the king about your tracking skills. I am guessing they have decided to use them, but I can say no more. They will tell you what you need to know. C’mon.”

  Pelor didn’t argue as he mounted his horse. He had learned at an early age to obey orders. Despite his silent obedience, many questions sifted through his mind.

  What did the king want with him? Surely the king had better trackers than himself that he could call upon.

  Like a good soldier, Pelor silenced his fears and doubts to keep his focus on the here and now.

  Tethys’ home was just about as close to the castle walls as you could get. Moments later they were inside the castle walls, their horses being taken to the stables, while they were led into the great hall.

  Pelor tried to calm his nerves and keep his eyes from darting around, but this was the very man who had started a war that had killed hundreds, if not thousands of people. Pelor himself had fought against Wolfric’s armies on a number of occasions. Pelor clamped down on the rage and pride boiling up inside of him. All his years of hatred and distrust told him to take this opportunity to kill Wolfric, but that would just get himself killed.

  Hardly helpful, he told himself.

  He didn’t have time to debate with himself further. A moment after they entered the great hall and seated themselves on benches near the fire, a door swung opened and King Wolfric appeared.

  Pelor didn’t know what he had expected, or if he had even thought about what Wolfric might look like, but he hadn’t been prepared for the old, yet vigorous, man who entered. He was tall, with extremely wide shoulders, and a body built upon years of riding, hunting, and warring. His hair and neatly-trimmed beard were white with age. His mouth was pulled down into a habitual frown while his stern green eyes were surrounded by deep wrinkles.

  Without meaning to, Pelor felt his shoulders tense and his throat swallow.

  “This the man?” asked the king.

  This was the man who had conquered nearly the entire peninsula through sheer military brilliance, thought Pelor.

  Pelor felt a smidgen of begrudging respect grow for the man, despite his upbringing. This man had done what no one thought to be possible. Not only had he conquered these nations, but he had kept them and kept them mostly through diplomatic means. True, much of that peace was a result of immense fear, but it was still peaceful.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “You found his slave?” asked the king.

  Pelor swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  Wolfric seemed to contemplate his options for a moment, his eyes flickering between Pelor and Tethys.

  “Very well. I have someone I need you to find as quickly as possible. We do not know if they are still in the city or if they made it through the gates. We opened them again in the hopes of catching them trying to escape, but never found them. The guards are still looking.”

  While speaking, Wolfric took Pelor by the arm and led him out of the great hall and into a small, private office.

  “This situation is rather delicate, and we cannot have anyone know about their escape.”

  “Who are they?” asked Pelor.

  “One of my knights and a woman… a… a lady-in-waiting to my wife. The woman looks much like any woman, though rather thin, with light brown hair. The man, however, has a long scar running down the left side of his face and onto his chest. He’s hard to miss.”

  Pelor had a sneaking suspicion he had seen the man leaving Tethys’ property the day he had returned from his last hunt. He glanced at the lord, wondering if Tethys was involved in the scheme in any way.

  “Well, considering the amount of snow currently on the ground, I can’t fathom them leaving the city. How would they even make it a few miles down the mountain, much less all the way down into the Domhain lands?”

  “When there
’s a will, there’s a way,” said Tethys.

  Very helpful, thought Pelor.

  “Do you just want me to hunt for them outside of the city, or organize the city search as well?” asked Pelor.

  “I think I’ll have you work with Prince Lyolf who has been heading up the search thus far.” Before saying more, Wolfric returned to the door, beckoned a slave, and sent them off for Lyolf. Returning to his seat behind the desk, he continued. “Now, you need to know that this knight, Sir Erin Caldry, attacked Prince Féderic. The prince is alive, but badly hurt. This man is dangerous.”

  Pelor stared at the king. Was it a warning?

  “So am I,” stated Pelor.

  Wolfric stared back for a few moments before nodding.

  An exhausted looking man entered, dark circles standing out under his black eyes. Pelor hadn’t seen any of the other offspring of Wolfric, but, for some reason, he immediately wondered if this man could really be a prince. Subtle things about the younger man suggested he was not Wolfric’s child. His nose was different, vastly so.

  “Prince Lyolf, this is Pelor.”

  Pelor grimaced. It felt odd to not have his title attached, but if they knew he was a knight, they would have to know he hailed from Dothan. If they knew that, he would likely find himself strung up in the dungeon and interrogated for the wealth of information he had about their enemies.

  “He’s a proven tracker,” continued Wolfric. “He’ll be working on the search for Cal and the girl beyond the walls, while you continue the search in the city.”

  Lyolf nodded as he bit down on his lower lip. Pelor tried to ignore a sense of mistrust. His instincts told him Lyolf was hiding something, but he refused to believe it. This was a golden opportunity to rise within the Tolad community. After all, he was currently sitting with the king and one of the princes. It would be difficult to rise in rank if he started accusing the prince of hiding something or lying.

  “May I request, my lord, to have the use of a few guards. I want to do a systematic search around the outer walls. I want to look for signs of people traveling beyond the shoveled-out paths.”

  Wolfric nodded and motioned toward Lyolf.

  “Come with me, sir,” said Lyolf.

  Pelor followed the prince out into the bailey to begin his work.

  Chapter Seven

  Bethany flinched as the knight took her by the waist and hoisted her onto the enormous horse. Since returning, they had worked to rub the worst of the gunk off the mighty beast. Bethany argued the necessity, but Sir Caldry had insisted, explaining that the dirt and grime between saddle and hide could cause soars. Begrudgingly, she worked as hard as the knight to scrape the dirt off, using numb fingers and the burlap that had once carried the animal’s tack. Finally, when Bethany thought her fingers would break off from the cold, Sir Caldry began to saddle the horse.

  Now she straddled the horse, still garbed in her smelly pants and tunic, pulling herself as far forward in the saddle as she could, while the knight mounted. He settled in the saddle behind her before pulling the horse blanket up over his shoulders and around them both. In the meantime, she arranged the dress over their legs. They were both shivering.

  The cold that seeped into the bones was the only motivation she could imagine strong enough to get her to sit in the saddle with the knight. His very touch made her skin crawl.

  The ride was hard and painful. Though they were technically traveling down the mountain, but the snow was so deep that Éimhin often spent his time climbing through deep drifts. Many times Sir Caldry was forced to dismount and wade ahead of the horse to give the poor beast a rest.

  Bethany had nothing to do but to hold on for dear life and try not to think about what the knight had said. He was wrong. She didn’t need him. She needed his horse. She would bide her time and escape when she could. Bethany was sure she could travel faster without him.

  And when she was home she would be herself again, loved and cherished by all her family, adored by all her nation, and maybe pampered by a husband…

  No, that couldn’t happen, she reminded herself as a particularly jarring lung by Éimhin reminded her of the recent attack. She was soiled now. Bethany suddenly felt her cheeks grow extra cold. She lifted her hand to her face and found it wet. She was crying again, and the chill wind was freezing the tears to her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away to keep any more liquid from freezing to her skin.

  It felt like an eternity, a very cold, wet eternity, before the knight stopped. They were beside a wide, low flowing river with a smooth, sandy bottom. Bits of ice clung to the edge of the stream and floated away as they broke off. Some of the trees grew right up to the edge, their roots growing halfway across the river.

  Bethany felt exhausted, mentally and physically. It had been a trying day filled with fear and anxiety. Her body ached from the cold and the jarring motion of the horse. She was hungry, wet, and feeling utterly alone, despite the knight’s presence. And yet, she didn’t want to stop.

  From the small clearing by the stream, she could see the mountainous city through the trees and thought she even spotted one of the taller towers of the castle. They were still far too close to feel safe.

  “Are we stopping?” Bethany asked, while unconsciously glancing over her shoulder at the tall mountain they had just descended.

  “Just for a bit. Climb down. I want to check Éimhin’s feet before we make him walk in the icy water.”

  Bethany obeyed, cringing has her bare legs were enveloped in snow. Despite the shallow slope leading into the stream, the ground was still covered in deep snow. She climbed over a snow drift to give Sir Caldry space in the small clearing made by the horse’s giant hooves.

  The knight checked the horse’s hooves with expert care, talking gently to the agitated animal. Evidently, Éimhin didn’t like the silent forest any more than Bethany did, or maybe the horse was picking up on her own fears. Bethany began to shiver long before Sir Caldry finished his examination. When he turned back to her, he frowned.

  “We’re going to need to get you warmer clothing. Getting out of these mountains is going to take us a few days at least, being unable to use the roads. C’mon. We’ll stop at the next village.”

  “W-w-we c-c-can’t,” she said through clattering teeth. “Y-y-you.” Giving up on talking, Bethany pointed at his face to indicate his scar.

  “I’ll find a way. Come!”

  Bethany climbed out of her snow pile and slipped down to where the knight stood. He hoisted her back into the saddle and climbed on behind her. This time, he took a firm grasp on her waist and pulled her up against his chest before wrapping the horse blanket around their shoulders. It wasn’t precisely comfortable. His chainmail felt as though she was leaning against a large bag of pebbles, but the pebbles did put off a little bit of heat, so she didn’t complain.

  Sir Caldry urged Éimhin into the slow, shallow water. The horse sputtered and shook out his mane before side stepping angrily. The knight pushed him forward again with a firm hand and the warhorse marched forward, its legs plunging into the icy water. Bethany looked down to see the animal’s hooves sink into the sandy bottom with each step, Éimhin gave a mighty heave and pulled his hoof loose.

  “He’s sinking,” she said without thinking about it. “We need to go faster.”

  Her desire to speed up wasn’t only because of the sandy river bottom, but because with each passing minute, she felt more and more uneasy. Should she tell the knight about her brief encounter with Lyolf? She wasn’t sure if the prince seeing her, and not stopping her, meant that he would keep others from chasing after them, or if it meant that he knew where their trail began and would soon be after them.

  “We go too fast and we run the risk of him stepping on a stone or tripping over one of those tree roots. A lame horse is worse than useless in this situation.”

  Though he spoke about Éimhin in a detached, clinical voice, Bethany could hear the underlying affection for the animal. Much to her disgust, Bethany felt
an inclination to know more about the knight. He seemed so cold and harsh, and yet, in unguarded moments, he showed a deep tenderness she could not understand.

  Nearly a half an hour after Sir Caldry urged the horse into the water, Bethany found the nerve to speak. “Um, I think there’s something you need to know,” she began.

  He didn’t say anything, so she powered forward.

  “Lyolf saw me when I was going through the gatehouse.”

  Another long silence.

  “He recognized me, but he didn’t do anything about it.”

  Again, Bethany waited for him to respond, but he didn’t.

  “He was going to call out, I think, but then he suddenly changed his mind.”

  Bethany ran out of things to say and chose to remain silent.

  Finally, when she was beginning to squirm, he spoke: “And you’re just now telling me this?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “I didn’t know if it was important. He didn’t do anything.”

  “That means he knows what gate we left through; it will be that much easier for him to find us. They can look for the head of our trail near that gate, knowing we wouldn’t dare stay on the road for very long.”

  Even though he had cautioned against increasing their speed, Sir Caldry nudged the horse onward. It wasn’t a great increase in speed, but it was enough for Bethany to feel the knight was bothered by what she had related. They didn’t know where Lyolf’s sympathies stood. Did he feel some compassion for them, mixed with his own disgust for his family, causing him to work in their favor? Or had he simply had a moment of ill-judgment, which he would later repent for. Or maybe Sir Caldry had the right idea, and he chose to follow their trail in order to capture both of them. After all, Sir Caldry had not been with her while she walked through the gatehouse.

  He kept them in the stream for another hour or so before leading the horse out into a dense clump of trees that had kept the ground from more than the lightest dusting of snow.

  “Quick, get the burlap. We need to dry his legs before the water freezes.”