Chapter 41: Ambush

Liala held up a fist, reined in her horse and deftly dismounted at a crossroad. Her troopers came to a stop behind her and even Morane followed her lead. The soldiers formed a loose perimeter and drew their weapons instantly.

The weather had been miserable for the previous two days and nights. The rain that had drenched the capital had continued southward along the coast and the roads were sodden and muddy. The nights had been worse. The heavy rain had soaked the cloth tents and prevented a warm camp. Everyone was on edge and Liala had promised a short day of riding, despite the fact that the weather had slowed them considerably already.

“A struggle here,” the duchess said. Morane started to walk forward but a soldier captured his arm and held him at bay. Liala walked around the scene, carefully inspecting the ground and the footprints that had dried in the hard clay now that the rain had stopped and warm weather had returned.

“Six from this direction,” she said, pointing toward the southwest. “Five men and one woman or child came this way. A woman, I think. Four were quite large or heavily laden. The fifth man carried little and wore nicer boots. The woman is small and also wore expensive shoes.”

“How could she know that?” Morane whispered.

“The quality of boots is evident from the prints,” the soldier answered. “The depth they sank in the mud tells her how large or small they are. The size of the prints tells her if they were male or females. She can tell it is a woman and not a child because of the length of the gait. A child’s feet might be the same size as a woman’s but his legs are shorter, too. The distance between the steps tells her it is a woman.”

“Amazing,” Morane said, truly impressed. In fact, everything he’d seen from Liala and her Troyvettian soldiers had impressed him.

“Blood!” Liala shouted. “Spread out and be aware. The prints are at least two days old but that means little.”

The soldiers fanned out, leaving Morane standing in the middle of the road looking around. He felt incredibly vulnerable and slipped the ceremonial dagger out of his belt.

“Bodies!” a soldier yelled from across the road. High weeds had grown and the man had parted them and was staring at the ground. “Four large men, well clad but unshod. I see no armaments but each has an empty scabbard.”

“Drag marks in this direction, too,” another shouted. “The smaller male, I think from the depth of his heels.”

Liala nodded grimly and turned to the priest.

“How long until Court opens?” she asked Morane.

“I ... I don’t know,” the priest admitted. “Days have become lost in my head, I fear. Perhaps it has already begun.”

“I don’t think so,” Liala answered. “It is at least a week away, maybe two. I have lost the days, as well.”

“It is more,” a soldier said. He reached into his tunic and pulled out a piece of wood with scratch marks across it. “We left 66 days prior, correct?”

“Yes,” Morane answered.

“We have travelled 41 days – or perhaps 42,” the soldier told them. “I believe I missed a day early on.”

“So we are about three weeks from its start,” Liala replied thoughtfully. “How far are we from Tyrell?”

“I would guess we are no more than four days way,” the man said. “Three if we ride hard.”

“And walking?” Liala inquired.

“Ten days or two weeks,” the soldier answered. “The land rises soon and that would add time to the walk.”

“You suspect someone headed to Tyrell?” Morane asked, gesturing to the dead men in the weeds.

“Evidence points that way,” Liala said. “We have seen very few with expensive boots. In our land, only those in high positions can afford such things. Life is a bit different in Tyrell but I would still say that well-crafted boots is an indication of wealth.”

“Yes,” Morane agreed, still peering toward the tall grass beside the road.

“What of the woman?” another soldier asked. He was the oldest in the group by many years.

Liala shook her head.

“May I, Duchess Liala?” the man asked.

“Of course,” Liala answered.

The older man began walking around the scene and stopped in several places. He turned and looked thoughtfully toward the coast and then down the road the travelers had intended to take.

“Duchess?” he called. He gestured for Liala to come to him and she complied. Morane followed eagerly.

“See?” he said, gesturing to several prints in the now-hard dirt.

“No,” Liala admitted.

“The travelling party had already turned to toward Tyrell,” the man said, reverting to a language that he was more comfortable. Morane could follow along only through the man’s gestures. “They were attacked from behind. Perhaps they expected an ambush because it appears they doubled back to meet it. They set up a wall here – the four large men and the smaller one.”

Liala nodded. Now that it had been explained, she saw it clearly in the prints.

“They pushed the attackers backward but... , “ he said, sighing.

“They were set upon by others in hiding,” Liala answered in her native tongue.

The man gestured to the weeds where the bodies lay and nodded sadly.

“I fear it was a double ambush,” the soldier said. “The original group allowed themselves to be pressed then their comrades attacked from the rear. At least that is what I see.”

“It is what the wounds suggest,” a fresh voice added. “The men were stabbed in the back or clubbed on the back of the head. There are no wounds to the front.”

“Are they Joseph’s men?” Liala asked.

“I do not think so,” the second soldier announced. “They do not wear the uniforms I have seen before and ... I do not believe Joseph’s men would have fallen for the trickery.”

“I concur,” the older man said. He was the soldier that had sparred with Joseph on any number of occasions and he had grown to respect the young king. “Joseph’s men would have left bandits for the vultures to feast upon.”

“They do not have vultures here,” Liala said.

“Liala!” Morane said, anxious about not knowing what was being said.

“They were ambushed from hiding,” Liala said, shortening the explanation. “They fought bravely but fell. It appears that the wealthy male has been abducted. His body is not among the fallen.”

“And the woman?” Morane asked, his eyes wide.

“She fled toward Tyrell,” the older soldier announced. “Her boots disappear off the trail but I suspect we can track her if we try.”

“Are the others tracking her?” Morane inquired.

“Very likely not,” a third soldier said. “I believe the man was their prize. The woman would be sport for them. I estimate from the blood that many were wounded in the attack. I see six distinct trails of blood along with the drag marks. Some were no doubt dead before they reached their destination if it was very far.”

“I saw no prints heading in the woman’s direction,” the older soldier agreed.

“But she is alone out here!” Morane protested. “She is not safe by any means.”

Liala nodded her agreement and turned toward the third soldier.

“Take half the group and follow the drag marks until you find their destination,” she commanded. “I will take half and track the woman. She is alone and on foot. She will not be far. We will catch up to you quickly, I believe.”

“Yes, Duchess,” the soldier replied instantly. He pointed toward the older soldier but Liala shook her head. “I will need Merritt with me. He is the best tracker in the group and I believe your trail will be clearly marked. They made no attempt at stealth.”

The soldier nodded his agreement and collected his group. He set off at a walk through the trees that lead to the coastal region of Azkoval.

“The spare horses will slow us but we cannot leave them,” Liala said with a frown.

“I will stay with them,” Morane offered. “I fear that I, too, will slow you.”

“I wish you with me,” Liala said. “You are an excellent horseman and a steadying force. You will be of great value when we find the woman.”

Morane nodded and mounted beside the others. Each had a horse tied to their saddle but that couldn’t be helped. The horses were not familiar with the terrain and might wander. They were too valuable to the returning party to left behind.

Merritt led the group, the man leaning off his horse until his face almost touched the ground. The horse did not appear to notice the change in his rider’s posture.

“Here,” Merritt said, sitting up and stopping the horse. “She hid here. I have located her travel pack.”

He dismounted and found a small pack that affixed over the shoulders. It bore a crest that no one in the group recognized.

“A lord’s house,” Liala proposed with certainty.

“Yes,” Morane added, although, like the duchess, he had no idea if he was correct.

Merritt opened the pack and inspected the contents. He realized he had no idea what a young woman would carry with her so he offered it to Liala. The duchess pulled out a muddy pair of leggings and some toiletry items.

“It is hers,” she announced. “She changed into fresh clothing.”

“Yes,” Merritt agreed, returning to the roadway with a stained and worn cloth dress. “Or she is travelling without clothing.”

“They do not do that here, Merritt,” Liala said. “She had something in her pack to wear while she washed her other clothing. Morane, which districts lie in that direction?”

“Burbridge,” he said.

“No, Elizabeth is already at the castle,” Liala answered.

“Halversham,” Morane said. “That is all I know. I have heard Lady Elena speak of the Halversham family.”

“Does the lord have a young daughter?” Liala asked.

Morane shook his head.

“I know not,” he confessed. “I fear I did not pay as close attention as I should have. I studied a map for our journey but I do not know whose lands we crossed.”

“Nor do I,” Liala admitted. “We have a king’s writ so it mattered little.”

The group started off again, the tracker in front again. He abruptly stopped and rolled from the horse. The sounds of swords coming from scabbards hit Morane’s ears and he fumbled at his belt for his dagger. The scout continued his roll and came to his feet.

“It is fine, young miss,” he said in a soft voice. “Do not fear us. We are King Joseph’s soldiers. You are safe.”

Liala urged her horse forward and came to a stop beside her soldier. She saw a young, blonde woman clutching a small dagger and shielding her body with a tree. Liala understood her scout’s actions now. He had caught the glint of metal as he passed and feared a crossbow attack.

The girl’s face was streaked with mud so Liala couldn’t guess her age. She was tall and slender and wore a gray dress that hid her form but did little to help her blend in to the green and brown foliage that she was using for concealment.

“We are from King Joseph,” Liala tried but the young woman didn’t come forward or lower her weapon.

“Are you from Halversham?” Morane asked in gentle tones.

The girl’s eyes shifted to him but she didn’t move.

“Do you know Elizabeth Burbridge?” Morane tried. He had gotten off of his horse and was standing far enough away that he didn’t fear her dagger but close enough that she could clearly see his face. “She is at the castle. She has told us about the Halversham family. Are you a member?”

The girl stayed silent so Morane lifted his tunic front.

“Do you recognize King Joseph’s crest?” he asked.

The girl looked down at the man’s chest. She recognized the symbol from when King Joseph had visited the manor three years earlier. But that wasn’t the first time she’d seen it. She had drawn a picture of the crest months before – as Joseph tracked the men that had taken her and her mother and killed her father.

“The king,” she said, gesturing with her dagger toward Morane’s chest.

“Yes, we are from our king,” Morane said. “We saw what happened at the crossroads. We split up. Half of our group is looking for your father. He was captured.”

“My grandfather,” the girl said. “Martis killed my father as a lesson to my grandfather. The king and his army saved me. They killed Martis and Renati.”

“Yes,” Liala said. She had heard the story from Genrico. “You were among the captives?”

The girl nodded.

“I fought as hard as I could but there were too many of them,” she said.

“The king has said that your struggle is what slowed them down enough for him to find them,” Morane told her. “Are you a Halversham?”

The girl nodded but her eyes stayed on the crest on Morane’s tunic.

“What is your name, girl?” he asked.

“I am Bianca,” she answered.

“I am Morane, Bianca,” the priest said. “This is Liala, Duchess of Troyvet. They are our friends. You are safe now. But we need you to come out. We must rescue your grandfather and get you both to Tyrell to see King Joseph. Will you join us?”

The girl considered her options. She was outnumbered 26-to-1. She had a small gold dagger and they had swords and bows. They also rode animals – which scared her more than their numbers or their weapons. She had heard them coming long before she’d seen them. It sounded as though a fresh summer storm was on the way and she saw the dust in the far distance as they followed her.

“These are horses,” Morane said when he noticed her gaze had shifted to the animals. “They let us ride them so we may move faster. You will enjoy them. I have never met a young woman that didn’t love a horse. Come. If you are frightened, you and I will wait for the group to rescue your grandfather. But we must hurry.”

Bianca nodded gravely and exhaled noisily. The thought of her grandfather in peril was enough to force her feet forward. She had considered doubling back any number of times but she had always recalled Lord Halversham’s parting words to her: Find help and then get safely to Tyrell. She had found help in the form of King Joseph’s armed party. They had promised her safe passage to the capital.

She lowered her dagger and came out of the woods.

“I will go with you to find my grandfather,” she declared.

“He thought I was capable of such things?” Julia asked angrily.

“He didn’t know about you,” Joseph explained. “But he thought I was capable of such things.”

“You are a man,” Octavia said with a laugh. “You are capable of all manner of uncouth behavior.”

Joseph turned to glare but the princess only laughed harder. The quintet had consumed two flasks of hard cider Catherine had found in the kitchens. It had struck Octavia the hardest. The pale skin around her cheeks had taken on a rosy glow and her eyes had glazed over slightly.

“We kid,” Catherine said. “We have all heard the rumors. In fact, before we came to know you, it was easy to believe them – particularly given Octavia’s penchant for displaying her bosom and Julia’s proclivity for displaying her rear.”