Daughter of Two Worlds: Book Three of the Aun Series

by Lee Bezotte

  “And what about the wall?” Faymia asked.

  “We would need to scale the side furthest from the road,” Tcharron answered. “He is obsessed with every bit of activity that happens along it. If he is awake at that time, his focus will be there.”

  The woman was comforted that the slaver included himself when talking about scaling the wall. She asked, “And what kind of defenses lie along the wall at night?”

  “Four or five swordsmen,” he answered. “Mostly locals working off debts. The real metal is inside.”

  “Fine,” Dulnear said, returning to a crouching position. “We shall go back to the village to buy hooks, ropes, and any other supplies we need. Then, we will return tomorrow to see if Ocmallum is willing to speak to you.”

  Faymia turned to survey the estate one last time. Her mouth was dry and her pulse pounded loudly in her ears. She thought about the man whom she had just extended forgiveness to and prayed a silent prayer that she and her friends were not being betrayed.

  “Faymia and I will visit the blacksmith,” the man from the north said. “Son, you and Tcharron will purchase some rope.”

  Son nodded in agreement but did not like the idea of being alone with the slaver. He set the boy on edge and brought upon him a feeling that could only be described as contaminated. “I saw a shop right over there,” he said, pointing across the town square.

  “Lead the way,” Tcharron murmured, and the four of them parted for their particular tasks.

  Walking over to the shop, Son noticed that the man was lagging behind, but he did not slow his pace. He entered the store and immediately began searching for a suitable length of rope.

  Finding some, he grabbed it and turned to walk toward the counter. As he did, he nearly ran into Tcharron, who had silently caught up and was standing over him.

  “Are you sure that’s enough?” the slaver asked.

  “I’m sure,” Son answered with a start.

  “Well, I’m going to grab another coil of rope.”

  “As you please,” Son answered as he continued toward the counter.

  “Hey, boy,” Tcharron rasped.

  “What?”

  There was a pause, and the slaver continued, “You don’t like me, do you?”

  The young man turned around. He tried to measure his words carefully. He couldn’t stand the man, but he knew that he was needed to find Maren. However, he could not lie. “I suppose I don’t,” he answered with an expression that was as friendly as he could muster.

  “And why is that?”

  Son knew about Faymia’s past. He seethed at the thought of Tcharron using her to make money pleasing other men. He could feel sweat forming under his arms, and it was becoming an effort to keep a solid demeanor. “You behave as if you own everyplace, and everyone,” he answered.

  The slaver smirked and breathed out a chuckle. “I suppose I do,” he said. “But if the alternative is to walk around with my head down, depending on others to defend me, then I’ll take your accusation as a compliment.”

  The man’s words hit Son in the chest. There was truth to them, but he didn’t want to believe it. Digging for a retort, he said, “Well, you put far too much faith in your oily charisma.”

  “And you put too much in your war-happy friend,” the man snapped back.

  Son’s face turned red and he could no longer keep his eyes from frowning or his teeth from clenching. “How do I know you’re not going to betray us?” he asked sternly.

  The smirk returned to Tcharron’s face as he answered, “I’m still here, aren’t I?” he began. “I could have run when you got ahead of me in the square.”

  The boy swallowed. He knew it was true.

  “What’s keeping me from beating you now and taking off?”

  “My sword,” Son answered.

  “I could take it from you.”

  “I doubt that,” he said as he reached one hand under his coat.

  Tcharron took a deep breath. His face relaxed, and he continued. “Look, why don’t we just buy this rope and meet back up with Dulnear and Faymia?”

  Son’s shoulders relaxed at the thought of being with his friends again. “All right,” he said, and he let the slaver lead the way to the counter.

  “All I’m saying is that your friend from the north may not be the best wagon you could have hitched yourself to,” the slaver said as he paid for their rope. “You think I’m a bad person, but he probably has a kill list the length of Aun.”

  The boy was only half-listening. Instead, his focus was on the shopkeeper as they made their exchange. He was a lanky, balding man who eyed Tcharron in a disquieting manner. Trying not to be caught staring, he answered, “You’re just lucky that you’re not on that list.” He then grabbed some rope and made for the door.

  Tcharron took the other coil and followed him, replying, “Touché. And what happens when you rouse his anger? Will you be safe?”

  “He’s not like that,” Son countered.

  “As far as you know. Northerners are born and bred for only one thing. Sooner or later, you’re going to see that sword of his turn on you.”

  The boy pursed his lips and stared straight forward as they walked across the square. He could see Dulnear and Faymia waiting for them. He tried not to think about what the man had just said, but a small seed of doubt was attempting to embed itself in his mind.

  “Well then,” the man from the north said. “I see you were successful, as were we.” He then held up the two hooks he purchased from the blacksmith.

  “Are you hungry?” Faymia asked.

  “Indeed, we are,” Dulnear answered for the group. “I suggest we return to the inn, have our fill, then turn in for the night. Tomorrow, we will execute our plan and move to retrieve Maren with expediency.”

  Happy to no longer be alone with the slaver, Son chimed in, “I second that.”

  “Fine,” the northerner said. “After dinner, we will hire two rooms. Faymia and I will stay together, and Son, you will stay with Tcharron. I trust that the two of you will do your best to get along.”

  “I’ll do my best,” the boy said dutifully. He eyed the slaver, hoping that the man was trustworthy enough to sleep in the same room with.

  As Maren stood outside the city gates, she could see a great distance to both the north and south. The northern road stretched out until it became hidden by jagged hills and forest. The southern road seemed to snake around rolling farmland, punctuated by villages and ruins left behind by once-prominent monasteries and castles. She could feel an excitement growing in her chest as she envisioned herself far away from Ahmcathare and closer to her friend Micah.

  A hunger nagged at the girl’s stomach, so she fetched some bread out of the supplies she had grabbed from Kugun’s apartment. She nibbled on it and walked toward the southern road with her eyes down, intending to avoid eye contact with any of the other travelers. “Don’t look at me,” she whispered quietly to herself. “I’m on a mission and can’t be troubled by your bothersome questions.”

  As she walked further away from the city, her shoulders relaxed and her only concern became getting back to the slaver camp. She walked slowly but consistently along the winding road, spinning stories to herself about the great adventurer who freed the enslaved prince. Eventually, she stopped and reached into her bindle for another bite to eat. When she did, she noticed that it was getting more difficult to see. She looked up and saw the gray blanket of sky dimming and the surrounding landscape fading to darker greens and deep blacks.

  She walked until the darkness kept her from seeing the road very well and a mist settled in her hair. She began to grope around for a shelter that she could spend the night in and came across a cluster of trees that sat less than a stone’s throw from the road.

  Maren huddled under the branches of a hawthorn tree, pulling her knees up close and wrapping her arms around them. The night was dark and cool. Even though the ground was hard and it was difficult to discern her surroundings, it was far bet
ter than sleeping in a cage behind Kugun’s shop. The air was damp and fresh, and she noticed the sweet smell of the branches above her as she closed her eyes. The faces of her friends appeared in her mind and she wondered about them. It wasn’t long, though, before her head drooped forward and she was sound asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Betrayal

  “Who are you?” a voice asked curiously.

  Maren opened her eyes to see a young girl standing in front of her. Yawning, she answered, “I’m Maren.”

  “I’m Athas,” the girl said. “How did you get here?” She was fair-haired and blue-eyed, and seemed to display a constant expression of surprise. She wore a simple dress and apron that were not yet soiled from the day’s chores.

  “I walked,” Maren answered, stretching out her stiff legs in front of her.

  “Well, my mother told me that I have work to do but I saw you sleeping here.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re on our farm,” the girl answered. “I have to go pull weeds.”

  Maren looked around and saw that she was not quite as hidden from the road as she previously thought. On either side of the cluster of hawthorn trees were rows of parsnips and radishes. She always hated pulling weeds at Gale Hill Farm, but today the idea appealed to her. “Can I help?” she asked.

  Athas shrugged her shoulders and answered, “Okay,” before giggling and extending her hand to help the trespasser to her feet.

  Standing face-to-face, Maren noticed how nicely combed the girl’s hair was and that her clothes were appropriate for outside work. She glanced down at her own dress and, for the first time, felt that maybe it wasn’t the best-suited outfit for garden work. Smoothing her own hair down, she asked, “Where should we start?”

  The girl held onto Maren’s hand and led her to the eastern edge of the parsnip patch. From there, a small house came into view, and they could see her mother inspecting another field in the distance. “I like to whistle a song and see how many I can pull before it’s over,” she said, and began whistling.

  Maren liked the tune and started pulling weeds out of the ground between the parsnip rows. As she did, she counted, hoping to reach a high number. When the song was over, she shouted, “Nineteen!”

  “Thirty-two!” Athas claimed with a broad smile.

  Maren suppressed a grin and gave a playful, Grrrrr. “Hey,” she said, then hesitated for a moment. “What should I do to be your friend?”

  Athas paused and tilted her head. She took a quick but deep breath, then answered, “That’s a funny question.”

  Maren felt embarrassed and reached up to begin massaging her ear. “I—” she began.

  “You are already my friend,” the smiling girl interrupted.

  “Oh…oh yeah,” Maren said, as if she had merely made a slight mistake when asking about friendship requirements. Wanting to have her faux pas forgotten as quickly as possible, she suggested, “How about if you whistle again and we’ll see how many weeds we can pull?”

  “Okay,” Athas agreed, and she began whistling the same lovely tune as before.

  The two of them spent most of the morning tending the parsnip and radish patches, stopping occasionally to point out an exceptionally large weed or to determine who was more productive during the span of a song. Eventually, Maren’s empty stomach got the best of her and she asked if her new friend had anything to eat.

  “Sure,” the fair-haired girl answered. “I was thinking that it was a good time for a snack. Walk to my house with me.”

  Maren was excited to see the inside of her new friend’s house and she skipped lightly alongside of her, whistling the tune they had been working to all morning. When they walked through the door, she noticed how nice the cottage smelled. “Smells like bluebell and butterfly-bush,” she commented.

  Athas laughed, “That’s exactly what my mother set out this morning!”

  Maren smiled but did not understand why the girl was laughing, so she simply nodded her head, hoping it was an appropriate response. “Uh huh,” was all she could say.

  The home was well-furnished and had a large living area just inside the door. There was a hallway to the left, and just beyond the living area was a kitchen with a sturdy-looking table and chairs. Athas led Maren there and set out several slices of bread, some butter, and a bowl of jam. “I hope you like raspberry,” she said.

  Maren didn’t say anything. She just reached for a slice of bread, spread a heaping dollop of jam on it, and ate it with large bites and little chewing. Her new friend also enjoyed the food, but with greater restraint.

  Suddenly, a voice from the living area asked, “Who’s this?”

  Athas sat up straight when she saw that her mother there. She quickly swallowed her food and answered, “This is my friend Maren.”

  “I thought I told you to pull weeds this morning,” the woman said sternly.

  The young girl’s eyebrows shot up, and she beamed, “She’s been helping me. We’ve been having lots of fun!”

  Athas’s mother looked intently at the unusual girl from the kitchen doorway. After a short pause, she asked, “Where are you from?”

  Maren felt uncomfortable and tried to make herself small by drawing her shoulders in. “Blackcloth,” she answered.

  “Blackcloth?” the woman said as her head leaned back in surprise. “What are you doing on the eastern side of Aun?”

  “Traveling,” she answered. She wanted to be honest, but didn’t want to let on that she was a slave.

  “And where are your parents?” the woman continued to press.

  “Not with me right now.”

  Athas’s mother closed her eyes briefly and sighed. “Well, Maren, thank you for your help,” she began. “But when you’re finished with your bread and jam, you’re going to have to be on your way. My daughter has lots of chores to do today and she can’t be distracted.”

  “But, Mother!” Athas protested.

  Raising her voice to drown out her daughter’s, the woman interrupted, “You heard what I said. Finish your treat and say goodbye.” She then turned around and headed outside to continue her inspection of the fields.

  Maren took another bite of her food. This time, a much smaller one, and she slowly chewed what was in her mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” her new friend said.

  “Okay.”

  Athas sat for a moment in thought. Then, the surprised look returned to her face and she bubbled, “Stay right here. I’ll be right back!” She then ran out of the room and down the hallway.

  Maren waited at the table, letting her bread sit in front of her for a while before taking another bite. She slowly massaged her ear and thought about the things she would have liked to say to the woman who just told her that she had to leave. She was just about to rehearse her words out loud when she was startled by her friend’s enthusiastic return.

  “I have something for you!” Athas proclaimed, running around the table to where she was seated.

  “What is it?” Maren asked, swiveling her body around so she could see.

  “I want you to have my old apron,” the girl said. “It’s still very nice, and will protect your dress.”

  Maren tilted her head forward and let Athas slide the bib’s ribbon over her head. Looking down, she noticed that there were flowers embroidered on the steel-blue fabric. She reached down and gently touched them. “Squill,” she observed. “I like squill.”

  “I want to fix your hair,” her friend said, producing a brush.

  Maren didn’t know what to say. After all, her hair wasn’t broken. “Okay,” she said, deciding to let the girl have her way.

  Athas waited for a moment, then finally instructed, “Well, turn around.”

  “Oh, right,” she said, swinging herself around so her friend could reach all of her hair.

  As Athas ran her hairbrush through the tangled nest of thick, dark hair, Maren winced. Each stroke felt as if the girl was pulling handfuls of hair out at the root. She wanted
to yell and get away from the instrument of torture, but she sat as still as she could, clenching her jaw until her face turned red and her eyes began to water. To make matters worse, the sound of the brush combing through her hair was akin to what she imagined seals vomiting to be like. Finally, mercifully, it was over.

  “Thank you,” Maren said through pursed lips, and she began to get down from her chair.

  “Wait, I’m not done,” Athas pleaded.

  Maren swallowed and slowly inched back to where she was on her chair, taking another bite of her bread along the way.

  The young girl then took a section of hair above Maren’s temple and gently started to weave it. Unexpectedly, Maren enjoyed it and felt a sense of calm as the strands overlapped each other until they were one continuous braid. Athas then did the same on the opposite side of Maren’s head until the two braids were brought together. When she was done, she brought out a damp cloth and gently wiped Maren’s face clean. “There,” she said. “Would you like to have a look?”

  “Uh huh,” Maren answered, moving her head back and forth. It felt strange to not feel hair on the sides of her neck, and there was a part of her that wondered if it felt this way to be bald.

  “Here you go,” the girl said as she produced a hand mirror.

  Maren held the ornate mirror’s handle and looked at her reflection with wonder. Still turning her head from side to side, she admired her friend’s work and thought she looked quite like a princess. “Retrieve my carriage,” she said, lifting her chin and experimenting with various courtly facial expressions.

  Athas giggled and replied, “As you wish, your highness.”

  Suddenly, there was a knock at the kitchen window and a very stern mother was standing there.

  Maren quickly put the mirror down on the table and slowly put the remainder of her snack in her mouth.