Fates
Goddess of Fate v. 1
Brenda Cothern
Fates
Brenda Cothern
Copyright 2010 by Brenda Cothern
Smashwords Edition
No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, altered, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, in any way, without prior, written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages within the review for publication in a newspaper, magazine, journal, or on a website.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and situations are the products of the author’s imagination and intended to be fictional. Any resemblances to actual events, situations, or persons, alive or dead, are entirely coincidental.
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Cover Art “The Path I Choose”
© Mark Coulson
mark.coulson6@btinternet.com
http://www.rogue-art.co.uk
Other Titles
Shadows Series:
Soul Stealer
When Beats Bite
Barely Restrained
Shadows Anthology
The Sapphire Tower:
New Beginnings
Dedication
My husband, Jeff, for insisting I finsh the book!
My father, Steve, for being the first to correct my homophones.
My mother, Val, who without the cabin would have been smoked!
Acknowledgement
I am grateful to fellow authors William Hatfield and Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc for all their help and advice on becoming a self published author. You guys are the best!
I also would like to send my heartfelt thanks to my editor, Cathy Stokes, who took the time to successfully slay the comma slice demon that attacked this story!
Chapter 1
The storm continued to rage, as howling winds and sheets of icy rain fell in torrents, beating the cloaked figure crouched behind the fallen deadwood. Bones aching, sides cramping, and chest silently heaving, the figure was as still as deadwood itself while listening for the sounds of pursuit through the storm. At home in the woods, the traveler could easily distinguish which sounds belonged from those that did not, over the cacophony of the raging storm. The figure was only slightly satisfied that the pursuers had given up the chase. Lightning flashed and the cloaked figure began to count again, one…two…three…four…stopping only when the crash of thunder sounded. The storm was finally moving away.
Playing another round of lightning flash and count before turning, the traveler inspected the remote inn down the steep hill below. The two story high inn was white washed in paint that appeared a dull gray in the storm. The solid front porch held several rocking chairs. The windows at the front of the inn shone with a warm, pale glow through the curtains but shutters on the second floor were closed to the storm. Next to the inn, the general store, also two stories high, was closed up tight at this late hour. The traveler knew that behind the inn and store, stood a solid barn that was shared by both.
After several more flashes of lightning revealed nothing that shouldn’t be, the drenched and exhausted figure began the slow decent down the forested hillside. Leaving no trace was not easy in the rain, but only a trained eye would know a tired traveler descended the leafy slope. Whatever trail was left behind, the storm would soon cover anyway. The field behind the inn was muddy and riddled with the remains of the fall corn harvest and navigating through the soaked earth took the last of the traveler’s strength. However, the thought of a hot meal and a few hours of desperately needed dry rest drove the weary figure on.
As the traveler entered the inn, a matronly innkeeper called out cheerily to someone in the kitchen, “We’ve company! Bring some hot stew and some mint tea ‘cause our friend here looks worse than a drowned river rat!”
Had the traveler not been so wet and worn out from the weather and flight from relentless pursuers, she may have smiled at old Marad’s humor. The wind howled against the sturdy walls of the Shiny Mug Inn, as though attempting to blow down the inn as it was blowing the autumn leaves around outside. Rain lashed at the roof and glass panes seeking to gain access. The hearth blazed with a cozy fire and the common room was well heated by it. Atop the hearth sat an old water clock, frozen in time, the only reminder of the drought and fires of the Dread Age. Its corners were charred from when the Inn burned along with the few other buildings in what was once a village. Marad and Sam the store owner were the only ones to rebuild. The Shiny Mug was all Marad had, while others decided that living so far from the cities was not for them. Only merchants passed through the Shiny Mug now, along with a scattering of woodsmen.
The inn appeared just as the traveler remembered. The old wooden floors were clean and seemed to have been waxed recently. The rough hewn walls were painted a pale blue and decorated with a few old but well cared for tapestries and a few charcoal drawings. Five handcrafted tables, along with matching chairs, sat around the common room with plenty of room to move between them. In one corner of the room was a small raised platform, with a single stool upon it, where traveling bards and tale-tellers could ply their trade. The smell of lavender laced oak wafted from the hearth and mingled with the smells of rabbit stew and mulberry loaves emanating from beyond the kitchen’s swinging doors. The traveler noticed a new rug gracing the foot of the stairs ascending to the second floor.
Sitting alone at a corner table, the traveler, still wearing her cloak and placing her pack at her feet, sipped her cooling mint tea that Marad had brought her. Thankfully, Marad was not a nosy, chatty sort of innkeeper. The matronly innkeeper knew just by looking at her customers who wanted to be left in peace and who she could chat up. Beads of water along the travler’s hooded head reflected the fire and danced every time she sipped from her ceramic mug. Warmth slowly seeped into her cold travel weary bones as she decided if it was safe to get a room for the night. Listening to the raging storm outside had her torn. Storms were best for covering tracks, but she didn’t look forward to sleeping on the wet ground another night with still two days travel to the home place. Her lead was sufficient on her pursuers, but if she didn’t keep it they may yet catch her. Without rest, they surely would. For the umpteenth time, her mind replayed the events that were the cause of her mad flight.
The contract from the Merchants Guild was a normal one: Guide five merchants through the Broken Arrow Mountains safely from Nomel to Clovir. She had done similar contracts for the Guild before and was actually one of their most used guides due to her reasonable fee and reliability. She knew the Broken Arrow range like the back of her hand; from its ‘arrowhead’ to the north where it met with the Chill Wind Sea, down along its ‘shaft’ to the break at Twin Sisters Peaks, all the way to the ‘fletching’ that made up the southeast and southwest of the range. On a map the range looked exactly like a broken arrow running from the north to the south. There were three passes through the range and all were treacherous even in the best of weather. The range was continually snow peaked from just south of the Sisters to the Chill Wind. Only the fletchings bared their backs for part of the year.
The quickest route from Nomel to Clovir was through the Sisters, which was perfect for the guide as it was time for her annual trip to the home place. The merchants were friendly enough and they followed her directions and took her warnings seriously. The Guild provided two guards for this trip which was normal for the size of the party. She had worked with Doogan before and liked the grizzled old guard, but Rekah was new to her. He was about her age and aside from catching him eyeing her up along the trip, he seemed like any other guard that worked for the Guild. How wrong she was.
They were one day through the Sisters on the Clovir side of the range when the attack occured. Attacks along the passes of the Broken Arrow are all but unheard of as it is difficult enough just to cross them, let alone try to waylay travelers. The party was caught by surprise as they were making camp for the eve at one of the guide’s regular stopping points. The guide had just finished building the fire when she heard the unmistakable twang of a crossbow. She hit the ground near her pack and grabbed her bow while yelling “Down” to the merchants. From the corner of her eye, she registered them ducking to the ground but not before one of them took a bolt to the chest. She was up and running for the cover of the few trees before the next twang cut through the air. Another merchant went down. Ogres, hobgoblins, and dwarves were known to live in the Arrow but she never had any problems with them before. From the sparse cover of the trees, she now knew why. Men were her problem, not the natives. Five men to be exact. Six, she corrected herself, thinking of Rekah’s betrayal.
She watched as Rekah engaged Doogan much to his surprise. Two armed men flanked the old guard and the guide didn’t hesitate to put an arrow in each of them before trying to locate the crossbowman. He was the threat and old Doogan seemed to have Rekah well in hand. She scanned the tree line waiting to catch a glimpse of metal. It didn’t reveal itself. Another merchant took a bolt, this time in the neck… there.
The guide brought up her bow, pulled the cord to her cheek, and breathed in deeply. As her vision seemed to tunnel to her target, she visualized her arrow cutting through the air to strike true. At the end of her exhale, she released the cord and seconds later heard the satisfying grunt as her arrow struck home while taking the bandit just below his adam’s apple. As she turned her attention back to Doogan and the merchants, she was horrified to see that another merchant was down and slowly bleeding into the frozen ground. Doogan had taken out another bandit and was furiously trying to keep Rekah and what she hoped was the last bandit, at bay. In his panicked state, the last merchant started to rise and flee. It was his undoing as the bandit pivoted from Doogan’s flank and cut him down.
Before the guide could raise her bow to assist the old guard, the fatal blow was struck. Rekah’s blade protruded out of Doogan’s back just below his right shoulder blade. As Rekah thrust his blade into Doogan one final time, she heard him order the bandit, “Find her, we need her alive.” Four more armored bandits broke from the cover of the trees and spread out to begin their search. Too many she thought with a sad sigh and silent prayer to speed along the souls of the party. The guide turned and fled.
No matter how many times she replayed the events, she could not see what she could have done differently to save the merchants and Guild guard; there were just too many against them. The more she thought about it the more she was convinced that the attackers were not just bandits, but instead hired sell-swords. Their armor and weapons were too well kept.
Why had Rekah ordered the men to take her alive? Her mind was spinning and she was getting nowhere in her exhausted state. Slowly, she rose and approached Marad, knowing that her cloak would be no protection when she requested a room for the evening.
“A room if you please,” the cloaked woman requested already knowing what Maude’s reply would be. How many times had she heard the motherly innkeeper give it to travelers while she was growing up?
“Happy to oblige ye, I would be, but I no do business with those I nay can see. Your troubles are ye own, but I will know who sleeps under me own roof,” Marad said in her cheery motherly demeanor.
Bracing herself for what she knew would be coming; the cloaked traveler slowly and reluctantly raised her hands to the sides of her hood and lowered it. Before her hood even settled to rest upon her back, the innkeeper gave a loud delighted squeal.
“Zarki? Zarki girl, is that you child? …It is!? You’re a moon cycle early! We be expecting ye next cycle but oh how ye be a sight for these tired ol’eyes!
Marad was chuckling as she made her way around the counter and before Zarkina could react, she found herself enveloped in a motherly embrace. Returning the embrace, Zarkina remembered all of the trips she and Calthar had made to the inn over the years. Cal would bring her to listen to the rare traveling bards or mistrels. But mostly they would come to visit with Marad and Jed. Many days and nights had been spent with the old innkeepers. She still had doubts to whether she should chance endangering those whom were like family instead of continuing home. Marad was the closest thing to a mother Zarkina had known and she would never forgive herself if her troubles brought her and Jed ill fortune. It still pained Zarkina thinking of Cal, she still missed him so. It has been seven seasons since she placed her adopted father, mentor, and friend in the ground but every year she returned to the cabin of her youth to pay homage. Zarkina smiled as she pulled away from Marad and leaned wearily against the counter that also served as the inn’s standing bar.
“No contracts were scheduled for next moon so I took one early. I had some trouble up at the Sisters, Marad…a story for another time, so I will only be staying till dawn. I promise to come back and visit after seeing Cal.”
Marad frowned when Zarkina mentioned trouble but didn’t press for more information. “Well, you’re here now, m’girl, let’s get ye some warm stew and a hot bath to warm dem bones. Where is Jed?” Marad said to herself. "Jed, where’s that stew?" Marad yelled toward the kitchen then turned back to Zarkina, “His hearing t’aint what it used to be lass, I better go see what’s keeping him, and your room is ready. Get yeself a good hot soak and I’ll bring along the stew. Go on now.”
As Marad approached the kitchen, Zarkina called out, “I think I’ll just head up to bed; the food can wait till morning.”
“Ye sure m‘girl? “ Marad asked as she turned back.
“Aye Marad, sleep is what I need more.”
“Alright then, ye know where everything is, holler if ye dona,” Marad turned and went through the kitchen doors.
As Zarkina ascended the stairs, she was smiling to herself as she automatically stepped over the third step from the top. No sooner had her foot landed on the second step down; she lifted it and placed it on the third. Applying normal pressure, the step made the expected squeal as the rusted nails ground against the wood. Satisfied that Jed hadn’t fixed the squeaking stair, she continued on.
Finding her room was not at all hard, for the inn only had four rooms on the upper floor. As she entered ‘her’ room, she looked around. A small straw filled mattress on a pallet, a wash basin, a mirror, a single chair, a small table, and a long window with faded curtains that were once a shade of blue, but now seemed grey. Everything was as clean as if Marad knew she would be arriving early and would have a guest, even at this time of year when most travelers stayed home and merchants did the same. Tossing her bag to the floor under the window, she looked out. This was the back of the inn, above the kitchen and her favorite guest room. Below the window, she knew, was the roof that covered the back porch and in the distance she could make out the barn through the swirling of rain, leaves and twigs. A slight push on the window opened it a crack and let in the cool cold air. Zarkina smiled as memories of lying on that back roof as a child to star gaze filtered through her head. The rain was slowing but the wind continued to rage. Satisfied that the window could still be opened, she turned and walked to the chair. Removing her cloak and spreading it out to dry almost seemed a useless thing to attempt but she did it anyway. She began to remove her weapons, two daggers, a bow, quiver, and Cal’s sword which she never went anywhere without.
With practiced ease, she removed her knee-high leather boots. As she moved to the looking glass she began to undress, dropping her leather breast plate, under-tunic, and pants to the floor as she went. She had not seen her own reflection in a long time. What it showed her was of little surprise. She had acquired several new bruises and welts in her flight from Rekah and his lackeys. Shrugging off these, she remembered Cal’s saying, “Yer body will heal girl and be stronger for it, remember that pain jest means yer alive,” and she smiled. Several old scars covered her lithe muscular form, some healed from stitching, those she could reach, and others not healed so prettily. With a tired sigh, she began to unbind her not so tightly braided auburn hair. Removing a comb from her pack, she began the laborious task of detangling. Zarkina rarely wore her hair loose for hair to the waist only got in the way of drawing a sword or bow, not to mention getting caught on everything she passed by in the wood. Several times she considered cutting her deep red tresses but then she would remember how much Cal had loved them. He never said why but she was sure it was because her mother had the same long red hair. After re-braiding her hair, she took the cloth from the basin and began to wash the dirt of the road and flight from her.
As she bathed, her mind once again returned to the Sisters and the attack from Rekah and his men. She had no enemies, aside from the occasional goblin, hobgoblin or gnoll tribe that she may have crossed paths with in the wood. She was a reliable and resourceful guide and until this attack, had never lost a patron. Suddenly, she froze in mid-swipe down her lean leg. Cal. His death was no accident and she never found the reason he was killed. The day Cal died remained a vivid memory for her. She was outside cleaning the three small hares she had trapped earlier in the day, waiting for Cal to return home. When he staggered into the clearing in front of their cabin, Zarkina was shocked to see the quickly spreading red stain along his chest. She leapt up and ran to him just as his sword dropped from his hand and he to his knees.
“Cal! Cal!” she screamed as she caught him by the shoulders and laid him to the ground. Blood was already beginning to leak in a small line from the corner of his mouth. The wound was fatal and somewhere deep in her mind she realized this but she still tried desperately to stop the flow from his chest. Within seconds she had her tunic off and was pressing the homespun weave to his gapping chest wound. Cal’s own tunic was slashed in several places and not in the way of a natural beast. No bear or wolf had caused these wounds, but clearly a blade or possibly an axe. Cal gripped her fourteen summer’s old hand with surprising strength as he pressed his ring into it. His eyes bored deeply into hers and spoke of both love and fear. “Run” was all he managed to say through the bubbling of blood in his mouth before his gaze became fixed on her tear stained face. Instinct overruled shock as she grabbed the sword by Cal’s side and fled into the woods surrounding their cabin. For two ten-days she lived in those woods, never staying in one hiding place for long and checking on the home place at least once a day.
Never before in her young life had she felt such pain. The hurt in her chest was almost unbearable and just when she thought it would overwhelm her, she would hear her father’s voice saying, “Pain means you’re alive.” She didn’t want to live without Cal but as the days passed and she continued to scout the cabin and surrounding area for Cal’s attackers, the pain turned into something more. Anger. As Zarkina channeled her hurt into a more useful emotion, she resolved not to waste Cal’s warning. When the cabin remained unvisited and no sign of intruders graced the surrounding wood after two ten-days, Zarkina returned and buried her beloved father. She laid him to rest behind the cabin under the lone redwood where he liked to smoke his pipe in the evenings. She left no marker as the redwood itself would be enough. With a tear stained face, Zarkina gathered some things from the cabin, locked it up tight, and made her way to the Shiny Mug. Marad and Jed were as shocked and as heartbroken as Zarkina when she shared the news. They wanted her to stay with them and said fourteen was too young to be alone in the world. She knew that life in an Inn was not for her and still needed to heed Cal’s warning to run. So run she did, to the ‘fletchings’ to live off the mountain range and hire herself out as a guide. It was only her promise to Marad and her love for Cal that had her returning to the home place annually.
Could the same person responsible for Cal’s murder be behind the attack on her now? Her mind swirled and she couldn’t think straight. She needed rest and would puzzle out this mystery in the morning.
Feeling clean for the first time in weeks, she redressed in her soggy garments and began to rearm herself to get what little rest she could. With a dagger in her boot and one at her waist, where one would expect to find a dagger, she was still one dagger short for her wrist sheath, but that could be replaced once she got to the cabin. Having lost the blade during her flight, it was of no great concern to her. Cal’s sword, her sword now as she silently corrected herself, lay next to her upon the pallet and her bow and quiver lay upon her pack.
Lying upon the straw filled pallet, she got as comfortable as she could and began to drift into a light sleep. She didn’t have any of the strange dreams that had been plaguing her recently, but something woke her. As she lay in the dark trying to decide what it was, she realized it was the quiet of the night. Arising from the pallet and moving silently, she went to the window she had left open and pushed the shutters wide to allow the cool winter air to come in. The storm had subsided and she could see the barn clearly now. Yes, there were additional horses that hadn’t been present when she opened the window earlier. Quietly, she put on her damp cloak, and shouldered her bag and quiver before grabbing her bow and strapping the sword to her back. As she moved to the window and fully opened it, she heard the tread of booted foot on the squeaky stair and silently thanked the gods, again, that Jed hadn’t fixed it.
They had found her, but how she did not know. Dragon’s breath! So much for a few hours of dry rest. She was sure she had lost them in her flight through the wood. Moving silently through the open window, the cloaked woman descended onto the rain soaked planks of the inn’s roof. Hoping that the old inn roof would support her light frame and make no noise to give her away, she lowered herself over the darkest edge, and dropped into a quiet crouch. Listening for signs that she was detected and hearing none, Zarkina rose and turned to flee into the cloud filled night.
Starlted, she saw a man standing directly in front of her as she turned. He was large, very large, and from what she could see from the barn’s dim light, well armored beneath his hooded travel cloak. Ah hells, the leader of the sell-swords it seems. She had to suppress her urge to smile. As she turned away to flee, the man reached out a grabbed her right wrist. This was his first mistake although he didn’t know it yet. Like many of her opponents in the past, he assumed her right hand was her primary weapon hand, a mistake that generally turned out to be fatal for her opponents. Although right handed in every other aspect, she had been trained by Cal to be left handed with the sword and most opponents wouldn’t notice which way the sword lay upon her back.
“Don’t,” the stranger said, in a very quiet deep voice.
Don’t what? Run? Zarkina thought. I wouldn’t dream of it. She would end this chase once and for all, right here, right now. Zarkina stood without a sound, showing him fear laced eyes and looked from the man’s hooded face to his hand upon her wrist then back to his face again. Zarkina could not see his eyes under the deep cowl of his hood but as she made no move to resist his grip or flee, the stranger loosened his hold. This had been what she was waiting for and she couldn’t suppress a smile at the hooded stranger.
Lightning fast, Zarkina spun toward the stranger so that she had his right arm wrapped behind her back and was so close he could not reach the dagger or sword at his waist. Her left had gripped the dagger from her waist, blade pointed toward her elbow and came to rest directly at the stranger’s throat while her right hand was now holding the stranger’s as he had held hers. To any onlooker they would appear to be in a lover’s embrace which is exactly what the move was called. As expected, it happened so fast, the hooded man had no time to react to the surprise attack.
“Now you will stop chasing me,” she whispered just inches from the hooded man’s face before making the killing blow.
However, the blow never reached its mark. The next thing she knew she was on her back in the mud looking up at the strangely calm man who was looking down at her through his shadowed hood. He stood statue still as if her attack had never happened. Her surprise and shock not only at the counter attack, which she had never experienced before, but at the stranger’s calm stance, kept her lying there in the mud just looking back into the hooded gaze.
“Don’t”, he repeated to the stunned and silent woman as he offered her a hand to help her rise.
What manner of man is this, who so casually offers his hand to one who would have just as seen him dead? Seems the sell-sword leader had the manners of a noble…strange.
Seeing that the women would not take the gloved hand offered to her, the man returned it to his side. Slowly, she rose, while keeping a wary eye upon the man who should be lying in a pool of his own blood and muddy water. Hearing a sound behind her, she glanced over her shoulder to see two more men, equally equipped and dressed as the man in front of her. No escape now, she sighed and turned back to face the dark stranger who reached down to pick up her backpack and bow.
“Come,” he said to her before turning away, with no regard for his own safety by exposing his back to her while making his way toward the dimly lit barn. Zarkina could only stare in disbelief and numbly sheath her dagger.
Sensing that she was not following him, he turned back to her, “Follow,” he said, as if talking to an imbecile before turning and resuming his way to the barn. Resigned that she had no other choice, the wet, and mud covered woman did just that as the two men fell in behind her.
Inside the dimly lit barn, the woman could see two more men dressed in the same attire as the hooded stranger and the two that followed behind her. As Zarkina was trying to figure out the best plan of action to escape her latest predicament, one of the two men stepped forward.
“Your mounts are ready, sir” he stated plainly as he handed over the reins to a tall black stallion.
The hooded stranger began to check over his mount, adjusting the bridle and saddlebags to his liking before mounting up. Zarkina stood with a neutral expression upon her angular face as she watched the three other men mount up. The last handed her reins to a beautiful chocolate color mare. He offered her a small smile as he cupped his hands for her to mount, “M’Lady?”
Zarkina stood dumbfounded as she could not understand why they would offer her a mount that she could easily use to escape them and what made them think she was a lady? She studied the men in the torch lit barn and what she saw only confounded her more. These were well armored men all dressed in the same type of armor with well cared for weapons. Matching travel cloaks draped their backs and the only thing to differentiate them seemed to be the helms that hung from their saddle horns. There was no crest or other adornment to indicate service or rank amongst them but clearly the largest of the men, the man who thwarted her embrace, was their leader. The mounts were of the finest quality and even the saddle bags and travel gear appeared to be above par.
Her contemplation was broken by the hooded leader, “Mount.”
Glancing from the man before her to the stranger upon his midnight black stallion then back again, Zarkina continue to stand beside the mare.
“I am Dwitt, M’Lady. Please let me assist you in mounting,” he said as he continued to smile at her. He was a short man, compared to the leader, and only stood about an inch taller than her. Dwitt was stocky and had dark brown eyes that held a hint of mirth in them. She instantly got the impression he was one who enjoyed smiling.
Seeing no escape, but knowing that her chances would increase upon the mount, she let Dwitt assist her to mount. Zarkina knew not where they were going, nor who these men were. They did not seem to be the sell-swords from the pass, but if not them, then who? What she did know was that they were intent on taking her somewhere and she doubted it was to the home place. She also knew, however, that she had no intentions of finding out where that other place may be.
Without a word, the party began to move out into the cloud covered twilight of morning, two men in front, two men behind, and the hooded stranger riding silently next to her. Already thinking of a plan to escape, the red-headed woman could do nothing but go along…for now.
Chapter 2
From the cover of his hooded cloak, Indearn took the opportunity to look the woman over. She was not what he expected to find when his Queen sent him to retrieve her. Though, what he did expect, he wasn’t sure. Zarkina was taller than most women but her height was deceiving in those woodsman leathers she wore. Her deep red hair, the same color as her mother’s, hung braided down her back and she had deep green eyes. He wasn’t expecting to find a beauty when he was sent on this errand but it appears that this ward of Cal’s inherited more of her mother’s looks than her father’s.
Indearn knew she was armed and if he had to guess, she had at least one, maybe two daggers concealed upon her and of course she had Cal’s sword and the bow. Very little surprises him and he would deny it if asked, but her attack with the Lover’s Embrace was impressive and caught him off guard. He should have known that Cal would not have left her defenseless and if Cal taught her the Embrace then it was safe to assume he taught her the rest. Indearn would have to test this theory as they made their way home. It was prudent to know if she could hold her own and just the thought of this brought a smile to his hooded face.
The first day found them riding silently through the farmlands giving Zarkina time to study her captors before attempting her escape. Aside from Dwitt, who always seemed to offer her a friendly smile, she had learned the names of everyone except her hooded companion. These were well trained men who went about the daily task of travel imposed upon them as if they were used to being on the road. They did so in virtual silence, communicating more by glances then with words. It was clear these men had been together a long time and the bond between them was evident. They took their lead from their hooded leader and followed his direction even though he never uttered a word to direct them.
As they rode, she studied the armored man who rode beside her. If he felt her glances upon him, he never showed any sign. He was armored with a leather breastplate over a chain mail shirt and wore worn leather riding gloves. In the daylight she found it odd that his armor, as well as the others, had no markings upon them. Most legitimate adventuring or mercenary bands were vain beyond tolerance when it came to displaying their crest. The leader wore a long black, hooded cloak over his armor and aside from the dagger she had seen at his waist, the only other weapon he seemed to carry was his sword. Currently, the weapon resided in its saddle sheath and occasionally the sun would glitter off its metal hilt. Her companion never lowered his hood, and the woman found this to be curious. What features will be revealed when the hood is removed? She mused to herself, a painfully handsome man or a scarred and deformed veteran of many battles? As the horses hooves beat along the road, she paused in her musings and for the millionth time glanced at her surroundings. Winter wheat fields and fields of harvested winter wheat, she was growing more tired of wheat. She missed the comfort of the woods, the feel of the shadows cast by the trees, even on the birth of winter. The air was crisp with chill that announced that winter was swiftly arriving. Depending on where these men were taking her, they would more than likely feel snow before they arrived.
The hooded stranger had only uttered three words to her since they left the Shiny Mug, the same three words: “Eat, rest, mount.” Zarkina felt herself growing increasingly angry at the silence, but she stifled the emotion as it would do her no good and likely cloud her judgment. She knew not where she was being led or for what purpose. Even worse, trying to learn her enemy had been impossible when they did not even talk to one another.
“Rest,” the man next to her said again and the men began to move off the road to dismount.
“You do speak, right?” Zarkina stared at the leader.
“Correct,” he said making her seethe in frustration.
As he always did, he remained mounted until she dismounted and handed her reins to Dwitt. Stubbornly, the woman remained in her saddle and angrily glared at her captor.
“Rest,” he repeated.
“Rest? No.” Zarkina said as she stubbornly crossed her arms. “I don’t think so. I am not a dog to be ordered around by one word commands!”
The leader remained saddled and continued to look at her as if waiting for an impatient child to finish their tantrum. Behind the mounted man, Zarkina could see Dwitt and the other men suppressing grins as if they had been waiting for this moment. Why they would expect her outburst was beyond her but seeing their amusement annoyed her even more. She resigned herself not to give the men the pleasure of seeing her frustration. In the blink of an eye the woman’s neutral expression was firmly back upon her beautifully angular face, but she still refused to dismount. Slowly, the leader dismounted from his mount and approached Zarkina as she continued to stare. Quick for a man so large, he plucked her from her saddle as if she were but a child, and had she not been quick enough on her feet, he would have deposited her on her ass.
“Rest,” he repeated and turned to tend his own mount.
If looks could kill, the glare she shot at the leader would have dropped him dead. She had to get free soon or work off some of this pent up frustration. Zarkina seethed and tried to do what she was told while still contemplating her escape.
It wasn’t long before the camp was set up for the evening and Zarkina decided to work off the frustration and stiffness in her body. She was not accustomed to riding as most of her travels have been on foot. The men did not disarm her, which confused her even more, but she decided that if they weren’t going to disarm her then she wasn’t going to remind them.
Indearn watched as Zarkina moved to a clear patch in the wheat field. He gave a slight nod to two of his men and they moved to flank her in case she tried to bolt. As he pulled out some trail rations from his saddlebags, Zarkina slid her sword from the sheath upon her back. His men rested their hands upon their own swords at their hips but did not draw them. Slowly, Zarkina took her stance, Dancing Crane. From there she moved into Weeping Woman, than flowed smoothly into Blowing Leaf. As she continued her stances, Indearn could not help but be impressed, Cal had trained her well.
Dwitt came up to him with a hot cup of tea and as he looked out to the field, he whistled low. “M’Lady’s sum’in else, eh Sir?”
“Let’s see how much Dwitt.” Indearn nodded toward Zarkina.
“Aye Sir,” Dwitt replied before heading out to the field with his own sword drawn.
Crucia grinned, not the grin of menace or one of pure pleasure. He just grinned, more an expression of discovery than anything else while the glint of determination settled into his dark eyes. For the last few days he had been trailing the armed group along the Traveler’s Highway. The men were all dressed the same, except for the one that appeared to be their leader, even if he rode in the middle of the line next to the woman. All of the men sat astride their mounts with the posture of experienced soldiers and he knew just what kind of soldiers they were too. It was the woman next to the cloaked figure that he needed.
Following this group of armed men could be a fool’s choice but he was sure he would not end up the fool; he had a job to do. The woman was beautiful, that he could see even from this distance. Her deep red hair could easily be seen hanging in a long braid down her back. Crucia was not given to lusts, however and his focus on her beauty did not last long, merely long enough to take note of it and identify her as his quarry.
What caught his eye and sparked his interest even more was the sword she wore upon her back, with its hilt showing through the top side of her cloak. Others may not have taken note of the weapon as it was not something incredibly unusual to the naked eye. The hilt was crafted elegantly but there were many elegant weapons. What struck him was the way the sword seemed to cause no burden to the woman at all. The woman seemed to not even notice the presence of the weapon upon her back. Watching her move, riding her mount, and even after she dismounted, he could tell that the blade was not encumbering. He watched the woman raise a hand to the hilt of her weapon and draw it from its hidden sheath. At that moment his desire to have it for himself became almost overwhelming. For as she drew out the weapon and began to move through practice stances, he spied the thinnest, lightest, and absolutely most deadly looking weapon he had ever seen in his life. Crucia continued to grin.
Zarkina was in the zone, flowing smoothly through stance after stance but she was not so focused that she didn’t see Dwitt’s approach with his own sword. Lugh and Pallas had also drawn their swords now. Ah, so the boys want to play, how cute, she suppressed a chuckle. This was just what she needed.
Pallas was the first to enter her stance circle. He moved in smoothly and began hesitantly giving Zarkina the counter stances to her rotation. Yawn, Boring! She thought. He probably thought she was some fragile little flower and was afraid that he might accidently pluck her.
“Really… Really?” She sighed and simply switched the practice rotation up a bit. Before poor Pallas knew what hit him, he was flat on his back, sword at his throat.
“I expected more from you Pallas.” Zarkina grinned down at the prone man and trailed her sword from his throat down his chest to his groin before winking at him. “Never underestimate. Even a well armored lackey should know that much.”
All he could manage was a blush and a sheepish grin though she did catch a brief look of confusion cross his face. She tucked that look away for contemplation later. It was the slight sound from behind her that warned her that Lugh decided to join the party. On instinct, she pushed off with her legs and sprung backwards, easily landing on her hands than back to her feet avoiding the attack that would have swept out her legs and landed her on her back. Bringing her sword to bear, Zarkina gave Lugh a grin and a wink.
“Bring it big boy, or maybe I should just say boy?” she taunted. Make him angry and he will make mistakes. Cal’s advice always worked and the best way to make a man angry was to insult his manhood. Ah, and look here, it seems as if Lugh has taken the bait.
Lugh wasted no time in advancing or allowing Zarkina to set the pace. He wasn’t being gentle with her, he was determined to give her the work out she was craving, or so he thought. After several stance attacks and counter attacks, it was clear that Lugh was going to be on the loosing end of this little work out, only he didn’t know it yet. Zarkina was smaller and faster, which was wearing Lugh down. He was turning to face her almost as much as he was initiating attacks. Time to put the poor boy out of his misery, she thought. He lunged; she sidestepped and closed the distance. Before he could react and jump back, she had his sword arm under her own and pressed close to her body. Her sword was flipped point down so the tip was toward his trapped hand. As he went to raise his free hand, Zarkina, whose face was so close they could have kissed, quietly “tsked.” Lugh froze when he felt the flat (he hoped it was the flat edge) of her dagger pressed against his groin.
She would give Dwitt credit where it was due. If Lugh hadn’t looked over her shoulder, she would not have known the attack was coming. Pulling Lugh’s arm down and spinning him to the left, she ducked around him and was rewarded by the solid thunk of the flat of Dwitt’s blade smacking into Lugh’s back. Looking around Lugh, Zarkina again “tsked” but this time it was in Dwitt’s direction before giving Lugh a solid shove back toward Dwitt while jumping further back herself.
Dwitt was fast enough for an old man not to get entangled by Lugh. Lugh righted himself and moved out of the line of combat for Dwitt and Zarkina. Zarkina stood looking relaxed as she waited Dwitt to make his first move. Instead he just stood there appraising her. Not hiding the fact that he was nodding to himself, he mumbled something beneath his breath as he sheathed his sword. Zarkina couldn’t help but grin as she raised Cal’s sword, correction her sword, to the front of her chest, tip down and bowed slightly to Dwitt. Cockiness was fine when fighting, but no need to bring it off the field.
He nodded back to her and watched as Pallas and Lugh started back to camp, toward Indearn and Silvin. “M’Lady, after ye.” Zarkina just nodded and followed them back to camp, Dwitt close to her heals.
Indearn watched from the camp as Pallas treated Zarkina with kid gloves. He knew this was a mistake but thought Pallas could use a refresher in underestimating his opponent. And it wasn’t long before she had him on the ground with her sword at his throat. As if she was giving him a lesson of her own, Indearn watched as she dragged that sword down Pallas’s chest to his groin before making a comment he couldn’t quite hear. It must have been some comment as he watched Pallas’s face grow red and a grin spread on his lips. Indearn expected Zarkina’s little taunt to Pallas to be the distraction that would have put her in her place as he watched Lugh come in to take out her legs with the flat of his sword. Something gave Lugh away though as she easily did a back hand stand to avoid the swipe before landing back on her feet in a ready stance.
Impressive, acrobatics. Wonder what else she had tucked up her sleeve? Indearn had to give his nod of approval when Lugh didn’t hesitate in his advance on Zarkina. They danced through the stances, each taking turns to initiate the attack while the other defended and reset the stance. Indearn could see the moment that Lugh made his mistake and he also saw that Lugh was unaware of it. As Zarkina came face to face with Lugh, Indearn couldn’t help but be impressed yet again as her dagger was perfectly placed over Lugh’s groin artery. Indearn watched as Dwitt’s sneak attack failed and Lugh was shoved toward Dwitt. He didn’t think his squad inferior to her, but he would give them hell about it later just the same. At Indearn’s signal, Dwitt sheathed his own sword and the four of them began walking back to the camp.
Zarkina had finally had enough. After her work out the day before, she was confident that she may take out one or two of the armed men but would in no way take out enough to escape. Plus, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should know who these men were somehow, especially since they were trained almost, if not, as well as she was. They knew the stance dance so they were trained and their discipline was obvious. At least she knew what she was up against if it came to blows, even if she didn’t spar with Dwitt or his leader. It still was somewhat surprising that they allowed her to keep her weapons and on top of that, spar with her. Well, she didn’t plan on being around long enough to figure out that particular puzzle. She still didn’t know who these men were or what they wanted from her but she had a date to keep with Cal that they would not keep her from.
She had seen her chance on the fifth day when they stopped to water the mounts at a passing stream. Three of her guards, Pallas, Lugh, and Silvin, had dismounted to water their mounts. Their commander, the leader who never removed his hood and who somehow escaped her Lover’s Embrace, remained mounted with Dwitt. Zarkina edged her mount in the direction of the stream as if she would allow the mount to drink without dismounting. She pulled the reins sharply to the left and dug her heels in to her mares’ flanks without warning. The mare reacted, as she knew it would, and bolted to the left along the stream. All Zarkina heard before racing out of range was a startled “M’Lady!” which could have only come from Dwitt but before long she heard the sound of a pair of pounding hoofs not far behind her in pursuit.
Forgetting her pursuers for the moment she scanned the surrounding area. Farmland was everywhere with no wood to hide in. She could only hope the mare had the endurance to outlast her pursuers and cringed at the though of running the beautiful horse lame. The sounds of the hoofs behind her were closer and she still could see no way to hide or out distance them. She refused to give up. Chances were that all the mounts were trained the same so unless she could gain distance or find a place to shake them, her attempt would be for naught.
Suddenly, she heard the now familiar leader’s voice shout, “Blue”.
Her only thought before feeling herself flying through the air was, “Did he say blue?” Then her instincts to roll with the fall were taking over. That minor distraction of thought cost her dearly as the wind was knocked from her chest. Zarkina lay amongst the winter field blinking dazedly at the cloud filled blue sky above. She willed her air starved lungs to breath and thought Blue? At the sound of approaching hoofs she raised herself gingerly upon one elbow and stared angrily at her chocolate mount that was halted several feet from her as if that is where she left the damn mare.
“Not dead” was all her hooded captor said, almost sounding relieved, as he dismounted from his own stallion and approached her. Oh two words this time! She thought to herself. Thinking he was going to offer his hand to assist her to her feet as he had done the first night, Zarkina raised her left arm toward him. He reached out and grabbed her forearm and Zarkina only had time for a small yelp to escape her lips as he pulled her, not to her feet, but up and over his wide shoulders. He was carrying her like a farmer would carry a sack of grain to market! Rump in the air over his armored shoulder and her long braid dragging the ground behind him, Zarkina began to squirm to get free. Indearn couldn’t help but scowl from within his hood at the thought of her attempted flight. Damn good thing she didn’t end up dead from that fall but he would not run the mounts lame chasing her.
“Put me down! Put me down you bastard!” Zarkina growled as she beat on his back. Her beating didn’t last long however, as he was armored and she was sure she was doing more harm to herself then to him. Her captor’s only response was a muffled grunt at her request but before she knew it she was being put down. Only not as she had expected. Zarkina soon found herself draped over the chocolate mare’s saddle, belly down, with her hands tied securely to her ankles under the mare’s belly.
“You can’t leave me like this! Untie me!” Zarkina growled again but her demands fell on deaf ears. The only concession the hooded man made was to tuck her long braid into the back of her leather tunic so it would not drag upon the ground. Indearn was saddling up as Dwitt spoke.
“Act like a ruffian M’Lady, be treated like one,” Dwitt leaned down from his saddle and offered, as he chuckled before straightening and moving his mount back into place behind her own.
Zarkina resigned to speak no more and focused her efforts on untying her bonds. Sweat soon coated her face even though the day was cold. Finally, giving up on them as the hangman himself couldn’t have secured her better; she focused on what she could see. As they rode, Zarkina could see the stallion’s hoofs walking neatly next to her chocolate mares as they continued down the road. Under the bellies of both horses she could see winter wheat, and more wheat, in the surrounding farmers’ fields and try as she might, she could not see much more without straining her neck. Her body ached from her mounts’ attempt to teach her flight and now from being carted like a side of beef headed to market. Her last thought before exhaustion finally claimed her was that she hoped they were enjoying the view. When she opened her eyes again and looked under the bellies of their mounts, dusk was settling on the surrounding fields. Suddenly, her view began to change as she could see the fences that are found closer to the farms then after a brief halt, the inside of a barn.
Sore from being in the same bent over position all day, Zarkina did not even want to move when she felt hands loosening her bonds. Dwitt appeared next to her head and was lifting her from the mare as gently as if she were a fine piece of blown glass and might break. What a strange bunch these armored men were. Dwitt didn’t even attempt to place her on her own feet for which she was grateful. Had he done so she would have surely collapsed like a wet rag doll, instead he sat her gently on one of a hay bales before returning to retrieve something from his saddlebags. Another guard attended her mare, removing the saddle and giving her a good rub down with hay from the barn before placing her into one of the three empty stalls. As the feeling, the painful tingling that was the result of being in one position too long without the proper blood flow began to return to Zarkina’s arms and legs, Dwitt handed her a flask
“Drink this, it will help” he said and extended the flask to her. As she raised the flask to her mouth the smell of the contents whiffed up and made her gag. The closest thing she could think of to compare the odor to was wet, worn leather boots that were better off being destroyed then dried out. Dwitt only chuckled at her reaction before saying “Suit yerself” and reached for the flask. Zarkina took one long pull and the face she made was something akin to eating berries that are not yet ripe. This made Dwitt truly laugh as he retrieved his flask and went to sit across the barn.
The hooded leader approached and handed her a water flask and some dried meat. Zarkina gave him the angriest glare she could muster and all he said was, “Eat.” She roughly took the flask and meat from him and he gave a slight nod before settling himself against a bale of hay across from her. Zarkina ate not just because she realized she was famished but also because she knew she had to keep up her strength if she was going to find a way to escape these men.
While eating the tasteless meal, Zarkina studied their lodgings for the night. It was a typical farmer’s barn with various tools piled here and there and a few stalls for the animals in the winter. There were two horses per stall now, her mare sharing with the leader’s black stallion. She was still unsure how the mare could throw her so easily in response to a voice command. Never before had she met a mercenary band who trained their mounts in the military fashion. The leader, whose name she still hadn’t learned, had one guard at the entrance to the barn and he and Dwitt sat not exactly next to each other but close enough across from her in the barn. That left two captors still unaccounted for but they were probably outside keeping watch. Watch for what though she had no clue. It was not as if the farmer and his wife were going to attack them or anything. As uneventful as the food was, it settled in her stomach and she realized she was more tired then she first assumed. Zarkina wrapped her cloak more tightly around her to fight off the evening cold she knew would soon be coming and her last throught before she drifted to sleep was to wonder, again, why they had let her keep her weapons.