The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

It was many long, grueling miles before the knight called them to a halt. By this time, Bethany had a plan and was ready to enact it the first chance she got. To her surprise, it came sooner than she expected.

  “Now that we’re off the mountain, we need to start taking watches during the night. I’ll take the first.”

  Bethany nodded before tending to the animals. By now, she knew her tasks and didn’t try to skirt around it or trick the knight by doing a half-hearted job. While she worked on his horse, he trudged into the woods to set traps. So far the traps had been just shy of useless. He had only caught one thin squirrel, but those few bites of fresh meat had been succulent.

  When the sun finished setting and they had eaten their scant rations, Bethany curled up against his leg, under the communal blanket and went to sleep. When she woke for her turn at keeping watch she would enact her plan.

  Bethany could have sworn she had barely closed her eyes when she was roughly awaken by the knight. She blinked the sleep away from her eyes as she sat up. The night was cold, but nothing like it had been up in the snow-covered mountains.

  “My turn?” she asked, her voice hoarse from sleep.

  The knight nodded before nestling down under the blanket with her. In a second, Bethany was out from under the blanket and a few paces away from where the knight lay.

  “Aren’t you gonna get cold?” he asked.

  “The cold will keep me awake,” she lied.

  He didn’t respond, but rolled over and drifted off. After about thirty minutes, when the knight began to snore in a deeper sleep, she snuck to the donkey’s side, removed her make-shift shoes, and began to tie the fabric around the donkey’s hooves, praying the ornery animal didn’t choose this second to bray. Thankfully, it was too tired to make such effort and allowed her to complete her task in secrecy. Then, when the knight’s snores were particularly loud, she led the donkey into the darkness, ignoring Éimhin’s sputter of quiet protest. The fabric didn’t silence all of the animal’s clomping noises, but it did muffle them enough for her to make a slow retreat.

  After she felt they were at least half a mile away from the campsite, she tied the loose end of the lead to the animal’s rope halter and clambered onto its back. She rode through the rest of the night and into the morning, occasionally dismounting to give the animal a break. On the first instance of her dismounting, she was quickly reminded that her feet were bare. She removed the cloth from the donkey’s hooves and reattached them to her own feet. It was difficult to do herself and, for a brief moment, she questioned her choice to leave the knight behind, but only for a moment.

  Bethany blinked furiously, trying her best to stay awake as she rode the donkey, its jarring gate causing her whole body to throb. The animal’s back bone kept pinching her in painful ways, often times forcing her to get down and walk alongside it.

  “You’re doing this on purpose aren’t you?” she growled after a particularly painful pinch when the donkey stumbled over a large branch.

  The donkey, much to her surprise and annoyance, answered back.

  “Sssshhh,” she hissed, as she glanced around.

  She was certain the knight would be awake by now, and maybe even pursuing her. Then again, he might just decide to leave to her own devices and go his own way. Out of habit, Bethany glanced back the way she had come, the morning sunlight shinning down on the trail she was leaving. The donkey dragged his hooves, leaving a clear trail in the dead leaves and twigs, rarely interrupted by a patch of melting snow.

  Bethany pulled on the halter until the old beast came to a grateful stop. It immediately lowered its head and began nuzzling through the dead foliage, looking for something to eat. Bethany’s owns stomach began to growl, but she ignored it as she climbed off the donkey and patted its scruffy neck.

  “You need a name,” she said as she walked to the nearest evergreen tree.

  With her bare hands, she broke of a low hanging branch, ignoring the sticky sap coating her fingers, and returned to the donkey’s side. She remounted and urged the animal forward, one hand on the make-shift reins, the other holding the long branch over the donkey’s rump, thereby dragging it across their trail. It wasn’t perfect, but it did make the trail less obvious.

  Feeling a little bit more relaxed, Bethany continued on until she heard the snap of a branch to her left. She looked, but unable to spot anything, she kicked the donkey to keep up its slacking pace. It was an indolent animal, prone to slow to a crawl, or even stop if she allowed it.

  Another snapped branch sent Bethany’s heart into her throat. She dropped her evergreen branch and kicked the little donkey until her heels hurt. The skinny animal brayed loudly before dragging itself into a jarring trot. She squeezed her legs around the animal’s distended belly and clung to its stubby mane.

  The poor little beast had barely made it a few yards before its gate began to slow again. Bethany glanced over her shoulder, her eyes going large as she spotted three men running after her. As much as she might have wanted to let the donkey rest, she slammed her heels into its gut. Instead of producing a sudden burst of speed, the frightened animal jerked its head back and rose up on its hind legs.

  Bethany let out a cry of surprise as she tumbled backwards, landing on a pile of dense pine needles. She hadn’t even made it to her knees before the men were on her, frightening the donkey into a run.

  Now why couldn’t it run like that with me on it? the back of her mind wondered as she struggled against the men.

  The princess tried to let out a scream, but her dry throat produced no more than a pitiful croak.

  “What’s this, boys?” said the man not holding onto her arms. “Seems a pretty little wench.”

  “Me first,” snapped the man on her left.

  Bethany felt her heart begin to race, certain she knew what they were talking about. She tried to jerk her arms out of their grasp, but only managed to hurt her shoulders. They were simply too strong.

  “Let me go,” she ordered in a tone of voice she had learned from her mother.

  All three men burst out laughing. The two holding her arms began dragging her into a thicket. She kicked her legs out determined, despite the fear that drove her heart into her throat, to not go without a fight. The men continued to drag her as she kicked and screamed. One kick landed between the third man’s legs.

  He groaned, clutching at his groin.

  At that moment, the other two men dropped her to the ground, one of them sending a swift kick into her stomach. She let out a grunt as she curled up, trying to protect her softer flesh. Another kick followed, landing on her shoulder. Bethany waited for the third blow, knowing from her slave days that kicks often came in threes, but it never happened.

  “Watch out,” shouted one of the men.

  Bethany peeked out from behind her protective knees just in time to see the knight, astride his warhorse and sword drawn, charging down upon them. She didn’t wait to see who he attacked first, but scrambled to her hands and knees, and began to crawl away. At the edge of the thicket, she dropped to her stomach and wiggled her way under a thick bush where she huddled, willing herself to stay quiet.

  If somehow those three men overpowered the knight, they couldn’t find her.

  If they did… Bethany closed her eyes, refusing to let her mind wander to that dark place. Stay quiet.

  Cal woke as the glowing morning sun began to shine in his face. He glanced around the campfire, immediately noting the remains of the fire, the climbing sun, and the donkey’s absence. In a second he was on his feet and looking around for more details. Without even trying, he spotted the trail where Bethany had led the donkey away.

  Damn that girl, he thought as he gathered up the blanket and began saddling his horse.

  Cal flung himself up into the saddle, draping the blanket over his legs. He urged Éimhin on as he leaned over the side of the horse to keep his eyes on the trail. It ran on far longer than he expected.

  She must have left right after I went to sleep,
he thought.

  It didn’t take him long to reach a change. Suddenly, the trail transformed from the clear line of dragging donkey hooves to something new. Cal was contemplating what she had done to mask her trail, feeling a tinge of pride in her efforts, when he heard the donkey bray, followed closely by the princess’ scream.

  Cal never knew if he kicked Éimhin, or if the animal charged on its own accord. Either way, they were quickly on the move. Cal pulled his stolen sword from its sheath, once again wishing he had his own weapon.

  The trees cleared and Cal spotted the princess dangling from two men while another crouched over his battered groin. The other two men dropped her in the dirt, one of them delivering a mighty blow to her stomach. The knight squeezed his heels into Éimhin’s sides, the horse giving him an extra spurt of speed.

  Cal used Éimhin’s momentum to plow into the man still holding his crotch, while at the same time bringing his sword down on one of the other men. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the princess crawling into the thicket.

  The knight pulled his horse around, directing his attention back at the enemy. To his disgust, the man who had been bowled over by Éimhin’s charge was climbing back to his feet and drawing his sword. Without giving Éimhin any command, the animal charged forward. Once again, Cal brought his sword down on his enemy, but the battered man managed to block it. At the same time, he felt Éimhin reach around to bite at the second man who was trying to flank him.

  He pulled Éimhin around, allowing the animal’s rump to collide with the second man while he continued to grapple with the first. Cal felt the kiss of steel on his leg from the first man. Evidently Éimhin’s rump hadn’t done the job. He ignored the pain, focusing on the problem at hand and leaving his horse to worry about their other enemy.

  Sure enough, Cal heard the first man cry out as Éimhin sunk his teeth into his flesh, just as Cal dodged an attack from the man he fought. The dodge acted as a feint, giving him a chance to slip his sword in, cutting the man across the chest. The man shrieked as he toppled over.

  Right on cue, Éimhin spun around, bringing the last man still on his feet into the range of Cal’s sword. They exchanged blows, their swords sparking. Cal felt the drain of little food, less sleep, and a loss of blood. He wanted to glance at his leg to see how bad the damage was, but now was not the time. To his disgust, the last man continued to deflect his attacks.

  This man has training, he thought as he pressed the horse’s left side, urging the animal to shift. Éimhin complied, lining himself up with their enemy. At just the right moment, Éimhin reared on his hind legs, falling down upon their enemy and giving Cal’s blow an increase of force. His sword slid down the length of his enemy’s blade and crashed into the man’s shoulder, nearly severing the man’s limb.

  His enemy grunted with the impact before collapsing to the ground. It would be only minutes before he bled out, if the shock of the blow didn’t kill him first.

  Cal slid from his seat, bracing himself against the pain of the landing. Sure enough, it hurt. He limped forward, hoping Bethany hadn’t gone far to hide.

  "Bethany?” he called in a forced whisper. He didn’t know if there were others about. “Bethany?”

  He spotted an awkward shaped footprint in the mud, then another, and followed the trail. It wasn’t far before the trail turned into a new shape and disappeared under a thick bush. Cal cringed as he knelt to peer under the bush. Sure enough, Bethany cowered within its branches, her knees pulled up to her chest, her eyes wide as empty pails, and tears streaming down her dirt-smudged face.

  “Bethany,” he whispered.

  She didn’t stir, didn’t flinch, didn’t even notice his presence.

  “Bethany,” he repeated a little louder.

  Still, nothing.

  Cal reached under the branches and touched her knee. She jerked and tried to scuttle away until her frantic eyes fell on him and she recognized him.

  “Sir Caldry?” she asked in the barest whisper, her voice sounding hoarse with swallowed panic.

  “It’s me… Ready to come out?” he added when she continue to stare at him, half unknowing.

  “What?”

  “You need to come out.” Cal slipped off his knees and onto his rump, realizing it would take more time and persuasion than his aching leg could handle in the thick mud.

  She lapsed back into silence, her wide eyes staring at something he couldn’t see.

  Cal stretched out his injured leg and pressed his hand against the cut, slowing the flow of blood. His movement drew her vacant gaze.

  “You’re hurt.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I was hoping you could bandage it for me,” he explained, hoping his wound would draw her attention away from the memories that poisoned her thoughts. He knew her mind would be wandering to Féderic and the original attack, but he didn’t know how to help.

  He had never had a chance to help his sister heal from her own similar experience. And now she chose the life of a lord’s mistress, rather than leave this forsaken country with her own brother.

  Cal shuddered as he remembered the shocking conversation with his sister and her new lover.

  If Bethany couldn’t heal from this, couldn’t put it behind her, would she turn out like his sister?

  “I can bandage it,” she said in an absent voice, her eyes still on the blood leaking through his fingers.

  “You’ll need to come out from under the bush.”

  A faint glint of a smile pulled on her lips. After another short wait, she pulled herself to her knees and began to crawl out. Cal moved out of her way and climbed to his feet. He reached down and helped her out of the mud, releasing his grip on her arm the second she was stable. He had no doubt his touch was the last thing she wanted.

  “Let me see the wound,” she said reflexively.

  “Not here. We need to put some distance between us the bodies. C’mon.”

  Cal limped back to where Éimhin waited, the princess a step behind him.

  “I’m going to search the bodies. Can you mount by yourself?”

  She nodded, taking hold of Éimhin’s reins and leading him to a downed tree. The princess used the tree to climb onto the warhorse’s tall back. While she did this, Cal searched the dead, finding four silver coins and a leather pouch of barley gruel. Cal also checked their feet, picking the smallest ones and pulling their boots off. Lastly, he took their weapons, tying them to the back of Éimhin’s saddle.

  “Let me see your feet,” he said to the princess, who was once again staring off into space.

  The princess didn’t notice as he removed the muddiest layer of her make-shift shoes. He left the rest on to help keep her feet warm, and to add some girth to them, before slipping the dead man’s boots over her battered and sore feet.

  Finally, he dragged himself up into the saddle behind her and urged Éimhin in the direction the donkey had run off, hoping they could find the little beast. As they rode, he pulled a scrap of the destroyed dress out of the saddle bags and stuffed it into the tear in his leather trousers. With this, the cut would hold until they were somewhere safer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pelor huddled under his thick cloak, annoyance and frustration growing. Why had he taken this job?

  Oh right, the king asked me to, he thought as he urged his little mare onward. And you don’t say no to a king.

  He had found the broken-down shack, just like the villager had described it, but he had found it empty. The fireplace was still warm to the touch, and so he pushed forward as fast as the snowy road would allow. He even found tracks, leading off the road a mile or so away from the shack. He followed it cautiously as it led down a long and steep embankment, finally leveling off on a narrow ledge. He nearly went over the edge, cursing the king and this Caldry person. But he didn’t go over the edge. He did, though, have to spend a dreadful night on it, waiting for the sun to rise to light his path. He spent it awake, keeping his horse calm and stationary. The
path was barely wide enough for the horse to stand, much less stomp around in agitation.

  Pelor had never felt so relieved as when he saw the distant darkness begin to turn to gray and the horizon resolve into a soft pink color. He let out a breath of relief, patted the horse on neck, and began his wary way down the mountain. Despite a dusting of snow, he could still see the trail his prey had left.

  Now, days later, he continued to follow trail, hoping with all his might that this was the right trail. He didn’t think Wolfric was the forgiving type. Thankfully, the snow was beginning to clear. This was both good and bad. It meant his fingers and toes didn’t hurt with the cold, but it also meant the trail was harder to follow. At times, it seemed to disappear altogether.

  Eventually the trail changed to show two sets of hooves where before there had only been one. Pelor began to doubt. Was this even the right tail? The large hoof prints appear to be the same, but where did these little ones come from?

  He continued on, following the tracks, because if they were the wrong ones, there was no hope of finding the right trail.

  Finally, when he was about to give up and head back toward Tolad, the trail took an interesting turn. He found three dead bodies, all their gold and weapons missing, along with one pair of boots. He studied the marks and divots in the ground, the tattered remains of the forest floor, and the wounds on the deceased. This knight, Sir Caldry, was a skilled warrior and his animal a battle-hardened warhorse.

  Pelor suddenly began to wonder what he had gotten himself into. How could he, by himself, drag this man and some woman all the way back to Tolad, assuming he found them?

  The light faded and he was forced to sleep no more than a stone’s throw away from the pile of dead bodies.

  I’ll burn them in the morning, he told himself as he tried to sleep under a thick pine tree.

  “We need to see to your wound, Sir Caldry,” Bethany whispered an hour or so after they left the dead.