Chapter 12

It was very early on the morning of Fifthday, Mephae 6 when the carriage finally entered the village of Hasp. The path to the village was not made for a carriage; it was little more than a dirt trail. It had only been a few hours after leaving the King’s Southern Road that a tree root spanning across the path had put a dangerous crack in the right front wheel of the carriage. It had taken them more than an hour to bring the wheel together, making the pieces of the outer edge even so they could tie the cracked rim tightly.

Gillen had no illusions that the wheel would hold overly long; she only hoped it would last until they made it to the small village. To ensure they didn’t break the wheel completely, they drove at a far slower pace and stopped every hour to check on the leather strap and make sure it was still holding; they had no choice – the saddles for the two horses pulling the carriage were long gone and six people would never fit on two horses anyway. The only alternative was to walk but riding, even at this pace, was ever so slightly faster than walking. This was especially true for knights in full armor. What should have taken less than two days took more than three – and they’d continued through the last night when fires far behind them worried Gillen that the Red Guard might have found them despite their subterfuge.

Gillen winced with every bump. Syl sat beside her still, but her head lay back and she slept. Sleep had been a scarce commodity for the three remaining knights in the past few days. They’d stopped for seven hours the first night – far longer than Gillen wanted but the horses, too, needed their rest. They’d stopped for six the night before and for the past day had only stopped for a few minutes every hour to check the carriage wheel. Gillen had explained the situation to the Princess but the haunted look in the young woman’s eyes told the knight the princess understood far better than she could explain.

The Princess had slept in the carriage with her ladies-in-waiting. She’d taken meals there, as well. About the only times she emerged from her carriage were bathroom breaks and so she could distribute some dried jerky during their inspection breaks; jerky that had become their only sustenance. Gillen had stopped her when she’d started off to gather water the first time. The First of the Third had made it quite clear that Ataya was not to move more than a few feet from the carriage except when she needed to relieve herself – and then Gillen had gone with her; Syl did the same for her ladies. Uud became responsible for getting water from nearby streams.

It had been many seasons since Gillen had been in Hasp but she still remembered the way to her old Master’s domen. She turned on a track to the left just before the first building. She followed it back, urging the horses to move faster but she knew they couldn’t – they were almost played out. Besides, any faster and the wheel would come apart – and that was something they didn’t need this close to their goal.

The gray sky turned brighter at the dawn. It was overcast and Gillen could almost smell the coming rain by the time they made the domen. Gillen shook Syl awake as she brought the horses to a halt. “We’re here.”

She handed the reins over to her fellow knight and attempted to ease herself off the carriage. It was easier said than done. Her body had stiffened in many places and her muscles were weary and tight. The past few days had taken their toll on them all. An almost overpowering fear had gripped the hearts of all three knights and what little sleep they had managed was wracked with nightmares of balls of blue flame.

Wearily, Gillen walked up to the door at the front of the domen. She knew the front was her old Master’s home with the circle of the domen and ancillary buildings in back. She expected he and his household would just be rising; Sir Givens had always risen with the sun. She took a deep breath and looked around – the structure hadn’t changed much in ten seasons. Unlike the wooden buildings they’d passed on their way in, the home was made of quarried stone.

There was a newer building just to the north with which Gillen was unfamiliar. Larger than the home, it was likewise made of rock and mortar with a wooden roof and large wooden doors. Gillen speculated it was a barn; Sir Givens had often spoken of building a secure place to house horses and such. At the time, she had wondered about using such expensive materials – rock, mortar and brick were far more expensive than wood - but after six long seasons in the north and watching countless villages burned by the Tylnanari bandits, she understood. Watching people burn to death had convinced her it was one of the most painful ways to die. She had always thought she’d make her own home – her permanent home, not the small cabin she currently called home a week or so out of the year – of rock and brick and stone – but now she knew that even a house built of such things could burn. If ghost-steel could burn, then so could rock.

Turning back to the door, she clenched her fist to steady herself – there would be time for fear and misery and pain later; right now she had a job to do – and then raised it and knocked on the door several times. She waited, listening intently but she could hear nothing from within. She knew she wouldn’t; Sir Givens was a careful, suspicious man – it was why he’d been able to retire relatively whole. She waited for a moment and then pounded on the door once more.

“Sir Givens; please,” she hated the sound of her own voice, the way it trembled and pled but she had nothing left. She knew her mentor would help; he had to. “I am Gillen Hawksley, your old student and now First of the Third Platoon of Royal Knights. I need your help.”

The door flung open and the man she’d not seen in ten seasons looked back at her suspiciously, a long, thick sword at the ready position in his hands. The man was older, his hair thinning and what hair was left more gray than the dark brown it’d been. Wrinkles and scars criss-crossed his face, making him seem even older than he was. He still stood upright, though, and his arms were still strong and steady. Even aged, he was still not a man to be trifled with.

Slowly, the sword tip dropped as Sir Tergin Givens recognized his old apprentice. “Gillen? What’s happened?”

Gillen was a hard woman; becoming a knight had been her fondest dream since as long as she could remember. She’d never wavered in that goal and she’d been rewarded; an audition with the Earl, brokered by her miller father, had brought her to Sir Givens when she was but eight years old. She’d studied with the man – studied the usual swords and shields and maces and hammers and spears and bows but also tactics and positioning – for eight years; eight of the happiest years of her life. She’d often thought when her time came, she’d retire and open a domen just like this one.

“The Third...,” her voice broke and all the pain and fear of the past few days broke with it. Gillen couldn’t stop the flow of tears and she didn’t want to. Everything she’d encountered in the past few days came rushing back and she let it flow over her. “The Third Platoon is no more.”

“And you’re certain it was the Red Guard?” Tergin asked after Gillen had relayed their encounters with the red sashed figures. He had pulled the knights and their charges into his home, setting his youngest daughter, Andwynn, to stable the horses and carriage in the nearby barn.

His older daughter, Bremer, meanwhile, had hunted some fresh aloe plants and helped the knights spread the plant’s juice over their burns. She’d also found some echinacea in the garden and presented them with an echinacea tea. “I’ve heard of them, of course. Even here, far removed from the Knights and the court, news of the outside world makes it to my ears.”

Andwynn’s scream brought the three knights to their feet, swords sliding out of scabbards. They rushed out of the Givens’ home grimly, their eyes alert and searching the surrounding tree line. Finding nothing, they advanced towards the young girl, eyes constantly flickering back to the trees in both fear and anticipation. When they reached Andwynn they realized she’d found the tied remains of Alina Couce. All three rushed forward to untie the fallen knight but Uud reached her first. Gently, he untied his friend, doing everything he could not to gag from the stench of her decaying body. Sir Givens said nothing, merely set Andwynn back to stabling the horses and carriage. He helped the three knights to remove the woman’s armor, then wrapped her in a blanket and buried her just inside the tree line. All the while, Princess Ataya and her two ladies in waiting, who’d come out unbidden to see what had caused the commotion, watched the proceedings silently.

As the three knights and one former knight said prayers over the fallen woman, Tergin had directed Bremer to stir up some breakfast of thick porridge and bacon; since his wife had died of consumption some four seasons ago, Bremer had left her woodcraft apprenticeship and taken on the task of upkeep on his home. He’d never asked it of her but he was grateful.

It took an hour to bury the fallen knight, her three companions taking turns digging a deep hole so vermin could not easily foul her body. It was done in near silence, each of the three knights thinking dour thoughts. Exhaustion had set in but they worked through it; it was the very least they could do for Alina.

Shortly after finishing the grim work, Gillen, Syl and Uud were seated at Tergin’s dining table. Gillen had wanted the princess and her ladies to sit at the table instead, but Ataya had demurred. Instead, the three ladies sat on a bench against the wall. Ataya’s eyes were haunted and she looked at nothing. Every so often, a silent sob wracked the young woman’s body. Her ladies-in-waiting were likewise restless but they had thankfully succumbed to sleep, bowls of porridge held tightly on their laps.

“Ree Houder was certain,” Syl replied when Tergin re-asked his earlier question. “He was the one who identified them. Ree came from Midtown – a little port city on the southwest coast. He said he’d heard stories of them – and they fit his description.”

Tergin turned from Syl to Gillen. “How about the balls of fire? Are you sure it was Wizard’s Fire?”

“Tergin, I’m sure of nothing,” Gillen sighed tiredly. “They were thick balls – maybe a few feet in diameter – of blue flame. They changed direction in the air to reach their prey and they burned hot enough to melt flesh and ghost-steel alike. If it wasn’t Wizard’s Flame then I’d hate to see the real thing.”

“But Wizardry is forbidden in Wenland,” Tergin stated, confused. “It has been since Arch-Bishop Glassen laid charges of treason on Heg Selka five or six seasons ago. The Arch-Bishop convinced Queen Synel the Mage Council was attempting to over-throw him. The Mage Academy was shuttered and the Queen sent troops through to deport the rest.”

“Kidnapping is also forbidden in Wenland,” Gillen remarked dryly. “Chaos! Fighting with Royal Knights is forbidden in Wenland. All things they’ve done or are attempting to do. Given their general lawlessness, I doubt the prohibition of magic in Wenland was high on their list of things to avoid.”

Tergin rubbed his eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve grown old and complacent and I don’t want the world to be what I don’t want it to be.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “How can I help?”

“I need soldiers,” Gillen replied wearily, thanking her former mentor with her eyes. “Potential knights preferably but I’m not picky. I need men and women I can rely on to help get the Princess back to safety. I figured I got here in late summer so you’d have nearly a full class to take.”