The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  Don’t piss off the horse, she thought as she reached for her sword, drawing it from its sheath just in time to block a blow.

  “Take the woman alive,” barked one of the men.

  Bethany, still on her knees, used her free hand to grab a handful of dirt and sticks and flung it in her enemy’s eyes. She did as Erin had said: She pictured Féderic’s face as she grappled with the bandit. He was stronger than her, as she would have expected, and she found herself spending most of her time jumping backwards and dodging his attacks. Finally, she brought her sword up to block a swing that would have taken her ear off, and felt the painful jarring as his sword crashed into hers. Many more blows like that and she’d drop her sword.

  The princess, desperate to keep out of his range, moved into the trees, hoping to trip him up. It was a mistake, she quickly realized, as she nearly tumbled over a hidden root. She regained her footing just in time to block another blow, the impact running all the way up her arm and into her aching shoulder.

  She couldn’t last much longer. Just as she began to feel desperate, fresh sweat budding on her forehead, she felt a thick arm grab her by the waist and another slip around her neck. The new attacker jerked her off her feet just as the man she had been fighting brought his sword down on her sword hard enough to whip it out of her sweaty fingers.

  “I gotcher girl,” yelled the man holding her.

  Before either of her assailants could do anything more, Éimhin charged forward, taking her first attacker off his feet. The one holding her pulled her out of the way of the charging horse and into the thicker woods. A second later Erin dispatched his latest attacker and ran to where Bethany was being held. He didn’t hesitate to slice the man on the floor from hip to shoulder, leaving only the man holding her still alive.

  “Let her go and I won’t kill you,” said Erin.

  “Ha,” barked the man, his rank breath caressing Bethany’s cheek. “I let her go ‘n I have no defense. ‘Sides, I think she’ll fetch a pretty penny.”

  “She’s mine?” growled the knight.

  “Not no more.”

  Bethany let the men talk, trying to ignore the bite of the man’s dagger. She took a deep breath as she moved her hand to the sheath strapped to her hip. Carefully, so as not to draw attention to her efforts, she pulled the dagger free. Bethany saw Erin’s eyes flicker to her hand and back to the man’s face. He wouldn’t give her away if he could help it.

  Now she just had to find the courage to do what was necessary. It seemed different to stick a man with a dagger than to cut a man down in the heat of battle. Bethany closed her eyes, felt the dagger graze her neck again, and found her anger. She pictured Féderic as she drew her arms across her stomach and drove the dagger into the man’s gut. To be certain, she gave the dagger a quick twist.

  The attacker grunted and Bethany jerked out his loosened grasp. She stumbled forward, one hand instinctively going for the cuts on her neck. The knight lunged forward and in seconds the whole thing was over. Erin knelt beside her.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She nodded as she checked the blood on her fingers. It wasn’t enough to worry about. The cuts would scab over in a few minutes.

  “And you?” she asked her eyes running over his body but not seeing any blood.

  “Unscathed, this time.”

  “I’m getting tired of this,” she groaned as she climbed to her feet, her over-taxed legs shaking.

  “It won’t be the last time we’re attacked.”

  “They’re desperate,” she said by way of agreement.

  “Yes. Wolfric’s taxes are high. They do what they have to to survive.”

  “As do we,” she said as she checked on her various cuts. They were already clotting.

  Erin nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They saddled up, leaving the bodies where they fell. Bethany climbed back onto the little donkey, trying her best to not think about what had just happened, and failing miserably.

  She had taken a life. The moment she had dreaded since the first time she took hold of the small dagger had happened.

  You’ve killed before, she told herself, thinking back to the pigeon keeper who had been beheaded due to her machinations. But this was different. This man had died from her own movement, her own weapon. His blood still stained her skin.

  The moon was high and full, and from it she could see the dark stain on her hand and in splotches on her tunic, where her jerkin didn’t protect it.

  “You all right?” asked the knight.

  Bethany glanced up at him from her perch on the donkey. “I go home scarred,” she said.

  “We all carry scars, Bethany. What matters is what we do with them.”

  She nodded mutely.

  Cal glanced back at Bethany riding silently on the ridiculous little donkey. Every time he saw her on it, her shoulders sloshing back and forth with his jostling gate, the knight fought the urge to laugh. And yet, she rode with a dignity he could never understand or imitate.

  Dignity or not, though, something was wrong. It had been four days since the last attack, where she had taken a life, and since then she had barely said a word. She rode in silence, climbed her tree in silence, and practiced her swordplay with as few spoken words as possible. Twice she woke with a start and offered to take the watch for the rest of the night, unable to get back to sleep.

  Now she sat with dark circles lining her eyes. She needed sleep.

  Was it the recent attack or remembering Féderic that kept her awake?

  With a resolution that frightened him, he turned them off their path and headed toward Mirartock, the main city of Domhain. He hadn’t been in it since his childhood. Twenty years, and one fall to the enemy, changed a city. He didn’t know what to expect.

  An hour or so after he changed directions, Bethany noticed. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Mirartock. Thought we could use a night out of the mud.”

  “Can we afford it?” she asked.

  “I might be able to pull a purse or two. We’ll manage.”

  “And your armor?”

  Cal sighed. “Mind playing my servant?”

  “No worse than your sister,” she sighed.

  He was pretty sure she was teasing, in her own way, even if she did sound more resigned than playful, and so he ignored her.

  By the time they reached the sprawling city, the rain had soaked them through, and Cal realized his choice to pay for a room was not just for her. He was tired, and tired of being wet.

  In his day, the walls of Mirartock had been dirt and wood, cut to a point at the top. Since Wolfric conquered it, the wooden walls had been replaced with stone walls and three gatehouses. The city sat on the edge of a long river that fed the Bumi Inlet many miles to the east.

  Mirartock was much like Tolad, or any large city for that matter. It had its shops, houses, brothels, businesses, and inns. They would find what they needed here. If only he knew what they needed.

  As they entered the city, he pulled the hood of his cloak up. He saw many eyes looking at him, but he suspected it was as much to do with him being a knight as him being a wanted man. They may not even know about the disappearance of Princess Bethany. Wolfric would want to keep her escape a secret. He most definitely would not want the public to know his own knight had helped her escape.

  He wound passed the reputable inns and found a rank hovel tucked behind a noisy blacksmith. Bethany didn’t even complain as they dismounted and took the burlap sacks off the donkey. Cal slung them over his shoulder and led the way into small brothel, his “slave girl” following.

  “Room and a meal.” He paused and glared down at Bethany. “For two.”

  Bethany kept her eyes on the floor and shuffled her feet.

  “Two silver. Three iffen you be wantin’ a bath.”

  Cal hesitated. He could almost feel Bethany’s excitement. “After dinner, then,” he said, plunking three silver coins onto the counter. They were the las
t they had, but it would be worth it.

  “I’ll have it prepared for you. Dinner’s ‘vailable now.” The inn keeper nodded toward the nearly full table.

  “My thanks,” grumbled the knight. “C’mon girl.” Cal grabbed Bethany by the shoulder and propelled her forward.

  They took seats at a table against the wall, their bags wedged between them and the wall for safe keeping. A busty woman approached them with a plate with a mutton leg and a few baked roots. A moment later she returned with two large mugs of ale.

  Bethany pushed her mug back to him.

  “Princess,” he said in a quiet voice, knowing the title would annoy her as he pushed it back toward her. “It will help you sleep.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I sleep just fine.”

  “That’s a lie and you know it.”

  The princess gave a great sigh before pulling the mug to her lips and giving an experimental sniff. She cringed.

  “Drink it.”

  Finally she did so. He could see the effect on her face as it warmed her stomach.

  “Now eat,” he said as he tore bits of the meat off the leg and gave them to her.

  She obeyed, taking the occasional sip of her drink. They were halfway through their meal when she looked into her mug, surprised to find it empty. Cal smiled down at her as he pushed his own full mug into her hand. She smiled sheepishly and took a long pull.

  By the time they had finished picking the meat off the bone of their leg of mutton and hiding the roots in their pouch, Bethany had finished both mugs of ale and was leaning against their bags. Cal climbed to his feet, slung the sacks over his shoulder, and grabbed her by the shoulder, dragging her to her feet. He used her drunkenly gate to make it look like he was drawing her toward their room.

  The innkeeper nodded toward the stairs as he passed. “Third door on the right.”

  Cal nodded back, dragging Bethany behind him. They trudged up the stairs, Cal’s hand the only thing keeping Bethany on her feet. He hadn’t intended on getting her quite this drunk. He found the door cracked open, and a large tub of steaming water waiting for them.

  This was going to get awkward.

  “A wath,” she said excitedly, running to the tub and half falling into it.

  Cal grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and pulled her up. She gasped.

  Great job, Cal, he thought to himself as he pushed her toward the only chair. He didn’t want her wet clothing to soil the bed. The bed. What were they going to do about that? Let’s burn one bridge at a time.

  Bethany fell onto the chair and began unlacing her leather jerkin. The next thing Cal knew, she was doing the same to her leather trousers. Slowly, of course. Her awkward fingers couldn’t do the task very quickly.

  “Umm,” murmured Cal. “I’ll uh… I’ll just sit over here.”

  He plopped onto the bed, his back to her, and tossed the packs onto the floor. A few minutes later he heard the plop-splash of Bethany climbing into the deep tub. He glanced over his shoulder, just to be certain her head was still above water. It was, and he noticed the mirky water protected her dignity. Not that he hadn’t seen it all before.

  Cal blushed, hoping she was too drunk to notice.

  The princess smiled at him, pleasant numbness apparent on her face.

  “You know…” she paused. “Wa’ers warm.”

  Cal chuckled. “I’m sure it is,” he said when he realized she was waiting for a response.

  She scrubbed idly at her face, missing half the dirt. Cal rolled his eyes. She was going to need help, but he couldn’t do it in his chainmail. It took him a number of minutes to get his chainmail off by himself, but he managed it in the end. Once it and his thick gambeson were off and in a pile on floor, he rolled up his sleeves and knelt by the large tub.

  He took up the stained rag, dipped it into the water, and began scrubbing at her dirt.

  “You know… you’re pretty… wa’s the word…”

  “Ornery?”

  “Nooo. Ha’some.”

  Cal laughed as he ducked away from her wet attempt at caressing his scarred cheek.

  “Wha’ happe’ed to you?” she asked, looking at his scar as though it was the first time she had seen his old battle wound.

  “Nothing.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret, if you tell me…”

  “No deal.”

  “You no fun.” She pouted.

  “You already know that about me.”

  She continued to pout.

  “All right, tell me your secret.”

  “The pigeons. The carrier pigeons. Them let me out.”

  “Them let you out?”

  She nodded solemnly.

  “Do you mean, you released the pigeons?”

  “That’s wha’ I said.”

  “Ah.”

  “He dead, cause me.”

  Cal sighed. This conversation was taking a very serious, if convoluted, turn.

  “That may be true. But think of all the men who are alive because Wolfric couldn’t attack without communication with the front. Remember, when you kill someone, you may be saving someone else.”

  The princess pulled her lips down in a pout again, causing Cal to smile. He couldn’t help it. She was the best drunken princess he had ever met. Mirabelle just got mean when she drank too much. Well, meaner than normal.

  “C’mon, time to get out. I want to bathe too, you know.”

  “Get in!” she announced, spreading her arms wide and splashing him across the face.

  “Uh… no. Get out,” he repeated, holding the drying cloth up so that he wouldn’t see anything as she stepped out.

  The princess rose out of the tub and stepped into the cloth. He wrapped it around her and left her to hold it up. Before he could stop her, she had collapsed on the bed, still wet. Seconds later she was snoring quietly. Cal rolled his eyes as he tossed the blanket over her and carefully pulled the drying cloth out from under the blanket. Cal bathed, washed their tunics, and hung them to dry over the chair. He pulled his leather trousers back on before pushing his way onto the narrow bed, careful to keep the princess covered up. She murmured in her sleep and wiggled to his side, using his shoulder as a pillow.

  Well, this got awkward, he thought as he tried to relax and fall asleep. It took a while.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cal woke with a start. He froze, taking in the warmth that surrounded him and the soft surface upon which he lay. He shifted his head to look down at the mass of dirty blonde hair resting on his shoulder. Lifting his head he saw that she was mostly covered by the blanket, but one bare leg had draped itself over his knees.

  Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up, Cal chanted to himself as he slipped out from under her weight. He rearranged the blanket so that it covered everything.

  Their tunics had dried overnight, and he slipped his on. With his cloak and belt—dagger included—he slipped out of the room, breathing freely for the first time since he had woken. What would she think when she woke up alone and naked? Cal pushed those thoughts from his mind as he emerged from the little inn and lost himself in the crowd.

  He had just slipped a purse full of coins when he noticed a poster plastered to the wall of a shop. Cal hid the purse in the folds of his tunic and pulled his hood over his head as he approached the poster. Sure enough, it was a crudely drawn picture of himself with a reward posted. It was a large reward. Cal felt his heartbeat quicken as he turned away, being sure to keep his head down.

  As he disappeared into the crowd, he noticed a man staring at him.

  The man was garbed in the uniform of a high ranking soldier, his black hair getting in his eyes every time the wind picked up. Cal turned away, trying to keep his movement casual. As he walked, he weaved through the crowd, occasionally stopping to admire the wares of this or that vendor. He stopped at one selling cloths of rich colors. He fingered the cloth as he passed, moving on to the next thatch-roofed building where barrels of fish sat, ready for sale
. The smell was unpleasant, but he stopped to look into a nearly-empty barrel. As he bent to peer into it, he turned his gaze. It didn’t take him long to notice the soldier a few stalls behind him.

  Cal smiled at the vendor, waved off the fish currently dangling from the man’s callused fingers and walked on. He wandered past a few more vendors before stopping at a stand selling dried and preserved fruit. As casually as he could, he glanced back to see the strange soldier even closer than before.

  Not good, thought Cal as he noticed a large wagon of a traveling tradesman trundling through the crowd, its tall walls of canvas swaying from side to side over the lumpy road.

  Keeping his pace calm, he slipped behind the wagon and walked alongside it until he could duck into a dark, narrow alley. The alley was lined with vendors and whores alike. Children too young to earn a wage wandered the street with bare feet, ducking under the vendor’s tables and snatching what food they could without being caught.

  Cal hid himself in the dark shadow of a stack of molding crates and watched the main road. A few seconds later the soldier appeared in the intersection, glancing this way and that.

  The knight ground his teeth together as he realized the truth—he had picked up a tail.

  “You there!” shouted a man from the other side of the alley.

  Cal glanced at him, stunned to find the dingy man was talking to him.

  “Yeah, you in them shadows. Come see me girls. They clean. They nice.”

  Cal tried to wave him off, but the more he did the louder the ugly pimp grew.

  “You be needin’ a little attention, ol’ man!”

  Cal glanced back at the intersection, his tail watching the pimp. It wasn’t hard to see the moment of recognition as his tail’s eyes flickered to where he stood in the shadows.

  “Shit,” Cal murmured he rushed into the depths of the alley.

  As he ran he grabbed a little boy mingling through the crowd.

  “Want to make a silver piece?” he asked as he pushed and shoved, the small child perched on his hip.