Updated 7/14/24

Chapter 13

Parynna

Parynna’s eyes fluttered, but would not open. She winced at the pain. A drip crept down her cheek. She shivered.

Was she bleeding?

A wrenching abdominal cramp blotted out everything else. She heard herself scream.

Light flickered, something warm covered her. She was being carried by… she didn’t care.  “Will she live?”

“Shh, always assume they can hear you.”

“My lady, you’re safe now.”

“We will care for you.”

Women walked beside her, continuously whispering soothing words. It required too much effort to make them out. Just as it required too much effort to open her eyes. Unconsciousness claimed her again.

But her sleep was not dreamless.

She floated.

Inside the carriage, just as she should be, she held court, speaking of the wonderful changes they would bring to Caswell once they returned. The orphans roaming the streets today would have food, clothing, and be taught a useful profession. They would improve the young lives that would otherwise end in despair.

The coach drivers roared, cursing at the horses to stop. Thrown from her seat with a lurch, the conveyance stopped far too abruptly. Muddled amid a pile of femininity, one under her, one atop, she pushed at them clambering out. The carriage door flung open.

A man with a crossbow was framed by it. “Out! Geyt-out!”

Frozen, she did not move. No one moved. Time stood still.

A thick red drop splattered on the pristine white upholstery.

Another.

A third.

The other two women screamed, jerking her to awareness.

The man carrying the crossbow snapped, “Geyt-out.”

Horses nibbled on the leaves of a downed tree that lay across the road. A second man, younger, perhaps still a stripling lad, stood on the carriage roof. His dripping sword pointed at the assistant. The driver’s tunic and trousers were drenched in blood that ran down the side of the coach.

Where is the luggage wagon, the servants?

“Let’s see ’em nekid, all ov ’em,” the younger one atop the carriage barked.

“Shet et. We wuntz thar biden and jewls. Thet’z all.”

“You drecksa! We want the fancy clothes too.” The younger man’s language changed, becoming clear.

That was the moment. Right then, it had come to her that these were not uneducated men. They merely pretended. They could be reasoned with. She’d known it for a fact, so she had stepped forward, facing the older of the assailants. She said something, but he slammed the crossbow into her belly.

She could not remember what had happened next. Just flashes—a weight upon her, foul breath, and grunting. She was naked. Pain robbed her of breath. She’d clutched at her unborn child, fear lancing through her.

Parynna groaned. Someone forced a cup to her lips.

Finally, her eyes opened. She was in the infirmary in Caswell. All three healers from the town turned towards her. Behind them, Drake’s face was long,  his sunken eyes pleading. His rumpled clothes testified of his lack of care for himself, exhaustion cried out. Unsteady on his feet, he leaned on another man.

Drake moved to her and squeezed her tight.

She cringed and pushed him away, hiding her face. “No!” she croaked.

“It might be easier…” Drake’s friend began, forcing him out the door, leading her husband away as if he had no will of his own.

If Parynna heard the rest of what was said, it was lost. She clutched the blanket tightly and hid her face as the three healers approached, each with a solemn expression. “What is it? What happened?” she demanded.

“My lady, you have been unconscious for over a week,” the most respected began, as the other two edged away. “On your way back from Lorness, highwaymen waylaid your carriage. Your driver and his assistant were killed. The servants’ wagon following you was delayed by a wheel caught in a hole. The luggage boy went for help. If he had not done so, we would not have found you in time to save… your life.”

“What are you saying? Tell me what happened.”

“Although the accounts vary, once they forced you from the carriage, you bravely stood up to them. Sadly, these were rough dangerous men who beat you unconscious. They—”

“My face!” Parynna’s hands leapt up to check for scars, wounds or disfigurements. Her hair was matted, , but except for some swelling everything was as it should be.

The healer took a half-step closer. “There will be no permanent marks. Your beauty is untouched.”

Parynna grit her teeth.

Beauty? I have always been plain.

“Continue. What did they do?”

“They required each of the women with you to remove their clothes. And all of yours. They bound each of you.”

“Are any of the ladies dead?”

“No, they are physically unharmed. Messages were sent out urgently, once your servants returned with you. A reward has been offered. A lad is being questioned and may, or may not, have anything to do with your assault. He was found walking on the road to the castle.”

“What are you talking about?” Parynna demanded.

The doors pushed open and Caileagh Melazera strode in. “I came as soon as I heard. My dear, you must be distraught. You’re sweating.” She placed a soft hand on Parynna’s forehead. “You’re burning up!”

The Countess of Lorness sent every man and servant scurrying out of the room with only a glance. One of Caileagh’s ladies-in-waiting closed the door from the outside. “Did they tell you what happened?”

“That I was stripped of my clothes, so were my companions, that the luggage boy went for help, and there is a lad in custody. I can feel that I lost the child.” She placed her hand on her belly and cried.

Caileagh sat, smoothing out her gown. “Dear Drake is a wreck, blaming himself for not sending an appropriate armed escort.”

Parynna looked away. “I’ve been defiled.”

“Yes, my dear. It will take time before Drake can look at you the same way again.”

Parynna sobbed louder.

Caileagh took her hand. “He is willing to do anything to see you recover, so you must return to Lorness with me. Everyone knows the skill of the healers in Lorness. I will take care of you. I have wisdom in these things.”

Parynna nodded, tears in her eyes And with a choppy voice, said, “I think that would be best.”

She understands. Only Caileagh understands.

“You will both need time.”

He was so happy when I told him I was—with child.  

Drake would never forgive her for losing their child. He would never love her again. “Will you tell Drake that I want to go with you.” Parynna wailed, thinking of her ruined marriage.

She looked up as Drake forced the door open. Caileagh hissed at him, “She’s devastated.  She is pale and weak, any shock could kill her.”

Parynna was relieved that Caileagh interceded for her. She couldn’t look him at him. The healers had poked and questioned her without pity ever since she opened her eyes. What had they done before she was awake?

Caileagh had such compassionate eyes. “It will take time,” she said reassuringly to Parynna. Then turning to Drake she ordered, “A guard must be posted preventing any man from entering until I tell you it is safe to do so. Send me your best female healer.”

“We have none. They are all men.” Drake looked down.

“That will not do. There are trained women in Lorness. Sending for one will take too long. If only I had thought to bring one with me.”

Drake stepped closer. “Take her to Lorness. I insist. I want whatever is best for her. I…” He gazed into Parynna’s fear-filled eyes, but took only one step toward her, then strode out the door.

Caileagh gently closed it behind him.

Parynna’s head rose cautiously. “Drake…?”

“He wants the best for you, so insists I take you to Lorness. Do not try to get out of bed, or even sit up. Your wounds are serious and, it is true, it would not take much to bring about your death. Therefore, as your dear friend, allow me to coordinate everything.”

Chapter 14

Blackhawk

Blackhawk rubbed the only coin he had left between his fingers as he walked slowly back to camp. His friends had won all his money again. His lips quirked. He’d been careful that his only losing streak was not on the night of the fire. Still, he’d won more than he lost. Life at High Keep was peaceful.

The day had been quiet, uneventful. His evening meal had been hot. He’d had drinks with friends. It had been a good night for recently promoted Captain Steven Blackhawk.

In the moons since Karl Fortuch’s demotion, things had been quiet. There had been no random acts attempting to disturb him. There had been no reprisals from Fortuch’s allies or followers. It seemed as if the former-lieutenant’s demotion had also cost him his connections and influence.

Blackhawk’s training of his men was making good progress.

Perhaps it was too peaceful.

He had become complacent and let down his guard. Otherwise, the men who ambushed him just now would never have caught him by surprise. Not after the upbringing he’d had due to Gaelib Melazera, who periodically had him ambushed and beaten.

Forced to his knees with a man holding each of his arms out horizontally as they pushed down on his shoulders, Blackhawk struggled against them. But it was mostly for show. This was not a mugging or a robbery. Neither would have put him in such a predicament. No, either they would have surrounded him with their swords drawn or simply knocked him out with a blow to the back of the head.

Therefore, this was something else.

The question was, what?

While the two men held him, the third strutted back and forth, toying with a dagger, supposedly to make himself seem more dangerous. Dressed in a dark-colored hooded cloak, he looked more like a bookkeeping Black Robe than a highwayman.

Blackhawk replayed what had happened. Two men reeled out of a tavern in front of him. Both stank of drink and other less wholesome substances. He’d changed direction, turning right to walk around them. Something slammed into the back of his left knee, dropping him to the ground, and rolling him towards the two ‘drunks’ who’d dived onto him. Dazed, he’d been dragged a short distance into a side alley, then into a dead end, hidden from prying eyes. Then he’d been forced up onto his knees.

No, there were no clues as to who his attackers were, other than they were too well trained to be random street thieves.

After yet another bout of pacing back and forth, the third man spoke. “You think yourself so clever, but you aren’t. You are a fool, Captain Blackhawk. Was it a coincidence that your endless winning streak broke on the night of the fire? I don’t think so.”

“More like you don’t think,” Blackhawk wisecracked.

@@@ double check The man stepped close and slapped the major across the face.

It was a weak blow, further weakened by Blackhawk relaxing and letting his head move with the open hand that struck him.

“You speak when I tell you. Only when I tell you.”

Blackhawk moved his jaw from side to side, but did not respond. Nor did he glare back at the man. He showed no outward defiance. He let his head loll just a little lower, as if the blow had affected him. It had not. Caileagh hit harder, much harder.

“What you fail to understand is that actions have consequences. You embarrassed and disgraced a friend of ours. Worse, you ruined a beautiful deal we had going so that not only did he lose money, we did too.”

Blackhawk worked his jaw again and spat out a gob of bloody phlegm.

“Answer me! Don’t you have anything to say?” the third man demanded.

Raising his head slightly, Blackhawk responded, “Make your mind up. Do you want me to speak or stay silent?”

“Hurt him.”

Both men gripping his shoulders pushed down. But the man – lad – on the left was not strong enough to do so with any force. Thus, Blackhawk’s only problem was the man to his right.

The boy holding his left arm was not good at this. Blackhawk’s hand should have been well clear of his attacker’s body. It was not. Twisting his left hand, Steven got hold of the lad’s tunic, let his left knee slide out from under him, causing the youngster and himself to lurch toward the ground.

The boy let go, as expected.

Blackhawk twisted his body clockwise. His now-freed hand lashed out, slamming into the throat  of the man holding his other arm.

That man let go. Both of his hands clutching at his throat as he struggled to breathe.

Blackhawk snatched the knife from the man’s belt – his captor’s had been sensible enough to disarm him – and stabbed him in the belly, twisting upwards until…

The man collapsed. He would soon be dead.

Blackhawk lunged after the boy, who was just standing up, having fallen face-first into the dirt. A single blow to his jaw knocked the lad unconscious.

Rising to his feet, Blackhawk stalked toward the third man, whose eyes were wide as he backed away.

“My sword, dagger, money and anything else you took off me,” Steven demanded.

“I… how did you…?” The man turned, moving toward the corner, to get back onto the street. He was not fast enough. As he began to run, his cloak trailed out behind him.

Blackhawk grabbed its hem and pulled, hard.

The cheap cloth ripped, but not before choking the escaping man, and landing him on his backside.

The would-be thief was a big man, but not in good shape. He flailed ineffectually as Blackhawk broke one of his collarbones with a single strike.

“My things, or I leave you without use of both arms.”

The man fumbled at the belt around his waist to which Blackhawk’s weapon and coin purse were attached. “Take them.”

“One more thing,” Blackhawk leaned in close. “Who is your friend?”

“I can’t. He’ll kill me.”

“What makes you think I won’t? You saw me take down both your men without effort. Neither will ever bother me again.”

“I can’t! You might kill me. He will.”

“Tell Karl Fortuch I said ‘hello’ and while you’re doing that, let him know that if there is ever another attempt on my life, I will keep just enough of them alive to prove it in court.” Blackhawk released the man. “Get out of here.”

The man ran off.

Blackhawk picked up his belongings. The thief’s belt was fancy. Custom made. And he knew who made those belt buckles. Therefore, it should be easy to identify his attacker, then deal with Fortuch once and for all.

Of course, there was also the boy. He wondered just how quickly the lad would sing before Commander Taelor. However, as he turned back into the dead end, Blackhawk saw the youth’s boots disappear across the rooftop.

That still left the dead man, and a ruined evening.

Grabbing the man’s ankle, Blackhawk dragged him back to the road. Flagging down someone on duty required no effort. But the hours consumed dealing with the body, informing Commander Taelor, and the questions that followed, took up many hours.

Nor did the investigations over the following days lead anywhere conclusive. The dead thug was known as low-end muscle-for-hire. The belt and the buckle were custom made, but they were part of an order of thirteen identical belts made for members of the Black Robe who had been assigned locally. At least four of which had been reported stolen.

Yet, Blackhawk did find one clue that he did not report. The likeness of the third man posted in the herald station. His name was Quorin, and he was known to run with a youngster not yet fully grown.

As unfounded allegations would hurt everyone’s reputations, even Blackhawk’s, he kept the matter to himself. But he kept an eye out for that pair, and twice thought he’d spotted them, but too far away to do anything.

More importantly, he went back to being alert at all times. Letting down his guard had been a mistake that he vowed not to repeat.

Commander Taelor asked about his injuries at there next briefing. Ever since the fire, Taelor’s interest in him had increased. Blackhawk wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Now, when they passed at the castle, the commander would give a nod and he’d watched several of Blackhawk’s training sessions with an observable smile.

This can only complicate my life.

And it did.

The tapping of the hammer caused soldiers from every corner to walk to the assignment list.

It wasn’t the new moon. What has changed? Please, Little Soldier’s God, don’t make me go to Lorness.

The first announcement was that the king wanted every well-traveled road secured by traveling soldiers, not just the three highways. This would mean riding a circuit down a major road and then returning to High Keep the long way following well used tracks and trails through the fields and woods nearby every noble’s domain.

He grimaced, as he heard some men groan. “This will take twice as long.” He steeled his expression and placed a clammy hand upon the pockmarked message board.

This will interfere with my training sessions.

He took in a sharp breath. Will I have to pass Lorness?

Then a smile quirked.

This might actually be fun.

Chapter 15

David

Finally after a moon, David was preparing for his escape. His fellow knights, Kanden, and Martok, would meet him at the Border Inn before returning to the school. This was the last clan meeting he would facilitate. David threw back the thick fur with a huff. The bear hide covering the doorway kept in the warmth of the council hut. The Mestel Chief, Draven Bjorn, and the seven other chieftains had talked on and on for a moon, each one proclaiming their complaints and solutions for the attacks from Freislicht. He wasn’t sure if he’d convinced them to heed the letter from Daikon Crispus.

They’d been arguing for hours. Some urged for war. Others offered alternative ways to answer each offense from David’s countrymen. The young knight considered all their words as their hard eyes studied him. He must give a full report to Daikon Crispus when he returned to Shining Mountain.

My first mission. Words and more words, the same words, and so much sitting. Complete torture.

***

After many weeks of travel and drawn-out councils like this all along the border, David was finally back in the western hills of Freislicht. His heart ached as he descended the hill, approaching a cluster of hastily built lean-tos. Underdressed children played with rocks. Old women carried bundles of roots and herbs to a boiling kettle. In the midst of a crowd of gray and disheveled refugees, settlers of the western-most borderlands, one woman stood in a bright green shawl, handing out thick blankets.

Now close enough to see her better, he watched, nudging his horse into a trot. She brushed away hair from an old woman’s face and pointed to another dishing out soup into tin cups. The long ragged line snaked through the hovels.

To answer the rumors of Mestel raids some nobles had sent soldiers. But the Mestels, a resilient and migratory people, merely withdrew into the woods and moved up into the forest of their highlands. But when some of their clans did retaliate, it was the common folk of Freislicht that were attacked, not the high-minded nobles.

A large troop, at least fifty soldiers, came down from the northern ridges, most likely from Mestelina. Their Captain arrived ahead of them. He dismounted and pushed through the disheveled women and children. David sensed this would bring trouble. He dropped lightly to the ground and led his horse, determined to remain non-threatening.

“Feed my men, woman,” the captain demanded. “We’ve had a hard ride and fought more than one battle.”

“Yes, sir, J’shua will provide, have your men join the queue.”

The soldiers dismounted, grumbling and shouting as they hobbled horses, and adjusted their weapons.

“No, my men will eat now.”

With hands on her hips, this fascinating girl – for David could now see that she was young – stood face to face with the squat captain as she pointed to the unfortunates behind her. “Some of these have had no food for weeks. Please sir, your soldiers are well-dressed and, it seems, well-fed. Perhaps they could help dispense—”

The soldier pulled his sword, pointing it at her. Every refugee distanced themselves from the threat, creating a circle around her like an opening flower. She went down on her knees, then touched the blade with her praying hands.

David walked briskly toward her, praying in the spirit. With no thought of what he’d do or say, he began, “Good day, Captain. Welcome back to Freislicht. We’d gladly offer this vegetable pottage, but it is very thin and not the sort of fare you’re used to.” He forced a smile to his face, continuing cheerily, “I passed the Border Inn only a mile south of here. The aroma of hearty mutton and sweet potatoes made my stomach growl. If I had not been in such a hurry, I would have certainly eaten there.”

The officer retracted the sword and studied David, who continued, “They have adequate staff to meet your needs quickly. I have at times seen soldiers encamped near it, with their officers housed in its ample rooms upstairs.”

“Thank you, young man, for the recommendation. We were forced to return to resupply.”

“They also have a store. Perhaps they’ll have what you need.”

Eying his navy-blue cloak and the sword on his hip, the officer asked as he scanned the surroundings, probably for more potential combatants.

“You are a Knight of J’shua?”

David bowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you with them?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve just arrived to help.” David remained still, seeking to avoid violence.

The captain scowled, his eyes glancing at David’s sheathed sword, then muttered, “Good day to you.” Replacing his blade, the captain turned, then signaled his lieutenant. “We ride south to where there’s food fit for us.” With more grumbling and complaints, the men remounted and rode away.

The maid looked up, tears in her eyes. “The God of Truth bless you, sir.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “My name is Cynthia Gardonet.”

His gaze lingered on her light brown hair and eyes that sparked with apprehension and curiosity. “My name is David.” He almost never added his last name because mentioning it brought his notorious father to mind along with a variety of reactions, much to the consternation of both. “I seek refuge for the night. Would I be welcome?”

The others in her group drew closer. An older man with a weathered face and a solemn demeanor, stepped forward, having returned from the forest with an armful of firewood. “Hail, traveler,” he called out, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “Thank you for interceding for my daughter.” The man smiled fondly at the maiden. “What brings a young Knight of J’shua here?”

“I am returning from my first mission into Mestelina.”

Cynthia gasped. “Your first mission was into Mestelina. Alone?” Her eyes went wide and then she looked down. “Forgive me sir. I overstep.”

David chuckled. “Not at all. It would be crazy if the rumors were true. But the knights have long traveled in Mestelina. For some of us, it is safer than Freislicht.” He thought of his father.

“Oh. According to that officer, there is much fighting.” She glanced at her father.

“I heard him as I came out of the woods,” he assured her.

“Only if they had attacked a Mestel clan. The clans will defend themselves.”

Her father smirked, showing his agreement with the sentiment.

David twisted his foot in the dirt, looking for his next words. “I heard that refugees were gathered nearby. I thought it prudent to pay my respects and seek respite from the road.”

The older man nodded. “You are welcome to share our camp,” he said, gesturing toward those  warming their hands before a dancing fire. “I am Gregan Gardonet, and these are my companions.” He pointed to the two men that had just dropped more wood near the fire. “And this is my daughter, Cynthia.” He pointed to the young woman, who blushed and looked up at David from under her lashes as her father gave her a stern look.

David bowed. “I am David Otual.” He wasn’t sure why he told him his surname but the man did not react.

“Thank you for interceding with the soldiers. You handled that skillfully. My daughter can be a bit dramatic at times. But J’shua has always blessed her actions. Join us for supper. We have provisions enough.”

“I would be honored,” David replied, his voice carrying relief for he was weary. As he followed Gregan towards the campfire, his eyes briefly met Cynthia’s once more. His breath caught. In that fleeting moment, a warmth passed between them.

Gregan cleared his throat. “We were sent by our lord, the Duke of Lexandria to bring provisions to the refugees. And if I find any of his nieces, I am to bring them home if they wish it.”

“His nieces?”

“Young people.” Gregan shrugged. “Three of his sister’s daughters have married and settled in the borderlands. Their husbands are untitled, so they sought the deeds the king has offered for settling here. But since so many have been uprooted from their homes, we don’t know where they to find them.”

Chapter 16

Sarah

The giant twisted oak marked the last turn in the road leading to their cottage. “Beat you, Benj!” she yelled as she spurred the mare.

“No you won’t!” Her nine-year-old foster brother, Benjamin, kicked his horse but shot into the forest. He was bound to win, taking the shortcut. Benjamin had been here only three moons ago, because he always traveled back and forth with Ma between Locke Castle and Carington. The village was their home ever since they had escaped the debt collections, but Sarah lived in Lexandria now, being schooled in the ways of nobles as part of the agreement Ma made with the Lockes.

An old woman, Ned’s mother, rushed beside a tree as Sarah raced past. “Hallo, Mother Garvey. It’s good to see you,” she said with a wave.

Benjamin was sitting on the stoop grinning when she rode up.

“I suppose you won.” Sarah sat next to him waiting for Ma who drove the wagon with all their baggage. As it clattered into the yard, she asked him, “Would you help me unload?”

Benjamin grabbed a box as soon as Ma stopped. Together they finished in an hour, everything stowed in precisely the right places. He seemed very grown up, as he elbowed the door, carrying the last sack of lentils over his shoulder.

After the midday meal, Ma handed her a bundle of spring tonic herbs. “Take these to Mother Garvey and say hallo to Ned.”

“Thank you Ma!” She grabbed her wooden practice sword as she ran out the door.

It had been five years since she saw Ned last. Her fingers twisted the sleeve of her simple pale green dress. She hadn’t worn breeches in Lexandria—very unladylike—and none of her old clothes she’d left at home fit her. Her excitement grew as memories flooded back while she walked the familiar path.

In the distance, she spotted a tall boy chopping wood in the yard.

Who would Mother Garvey have hired to help her? Why wasn’t Ned doing it?

She sucked in a breath as she realized and her eyes took in the sight of him. Ned had changed. He was a man now. A lock of his long brown hair hid his face, having fallen out of the tail he wore it in. When he brushed it behind his ear, she saw his features were sharper, but still soft. He took another swing with the axe and the split logs hit the ground. He bent to toss them in his pile.

“Ned?”

He turned, a slight nervousness and a question formed in his eyes as he saw her. Then his expression lit up with recognition, but uncertainty flickered.

“Sarah—Is it really you?”

“Yes, it’s me. I’ve returned.” She glanced at her fingers, rubbing the fabric of her sleeve.

An awkward silence grew as they stared at each other taking in all the changes.

“It’s been—five years, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, it has.” Ned cocked his head a bit. “You look—different.”

“So do you. You’re taller, taller than I and—grown-up.”

Ned lowered his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks. You look—beautiful.”

Sarah’s cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment. “Th-thank you, Ned.”

Another awkward pause fell between them, sounds of village life warbled in the distance.

“So—how was Lexandria? I bet you saw amazing things.”

“I did. One time a man brought a monkey that did tricks.”

“That sounds—exciting.”

They exchanged shy glances, the tension easing slightly.

“It was. But I missed this place. Missed home.”

Ned nodded, his lips quirked.

“We missed you too. I mean, I missed you.”

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat at his admission, her eyes crinkled at the corners. “I missed you too, Ned.”

Their gazes lingered, unsure how to bridge the space between them.

“My ma sent this bundle for your mother…and I brought my sword.” Her lips upturned as she lifted the small wooden blade. “Have you been practicing while I was away?”

“Of course. Have you?”

“I did not have a good sparring partner in Locke Castle. And they kept me in dresses. You may best me yet.”

He struck the axe into the waiting log and ran into the cottage. When he returned he carried his practice sword, but also a metal sword in a leather sheath. “My da gave this too me after you left. Isn’t it fine?” He drew the blade out.

Sarah ran up to touch it. “It is wonderful. May I hold it?”

“Sure.” Ned handed her the sword.

“It’s heavy.” Sarah swung it in a figure eight. I would need a moon to gain the strength to wield this. Would you show me your practice routine?

“It is my pleasure.”

Sarah beamed with pride as Ned danced with the sword, crouching and lunging just as she had taught him years ago, when they first met. Just as her real da had taught her.

When he came to the end, he bowed. She clapped her hands. “That was beautiful. I hope to have a real sword as well someday.”

“You will.” Ned laid down the sheathed sword and picked up the wooden one, tapping it against his palm. “Now, let’s see who wins this time.”

Sarah smiled, swirling her sword in the air. After a few test lunges, she rushed in, attacking like a hornet. Ned blocked every strike, returning very ably with clever blows. Though she parried each, she felt them jounce up her arms. He had grown very strong. She circled around him, squeezing the sword tighter.

He charged. His barrage was terrifying and fast. With the last strike, her sword flung to the ground.

Her chest heaved with each breath as she picked it up. Ned was barely sweating. With a bow she said, “Clearly, you are the better swordsman now. I best find a real sword soon and practice to regain my lost ground.” She sat on a log.

“Sarah, you taught me all I know.” Ned sat on another.

“Yes, well, we must find a better teacher. Have you seen Lyster, the manager of the hunting lodge, much?”

“Every so often. But we haven’t really spoken more than to say hallo. He has been here for a moon now.”

She nodded. “I’ve seen him often at Locke Castle when I go riding. He seems a friend. I’ll ask him if any of his men know the sword and would enjoy sparring with us.”

Ned’s eyes lit up. “That would be great!” He moved to hug her, but hesitated, putting a hand on her shoulder instead. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” Sarah rubbed her palms together. She didn’t understand why it had grown uncomfortable again. “Well, I must get back.”

“Oh, already?” Ned glanced down. “Well, I should finish the woodpile too.”

She turned to go.

“Sarah…will you be at the community dinner at weeks end?”

Sarah grinned. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Ned smiled back. “Good. I’ll look for you.”

***

Sarah’s eyes popped open. Horse hooves. Tonight was the night.

She had come home with Ma this trip, because there was a Locke baby coming at the hunting lodge.

Bradley Locke, the duke’s brother, rode up so fast and loud that Ma was at the door before he could dismount. Everyone knew what a night visit meant.

Sarah ran to her horse, secured her Ma’s pouch of remedies with the other things they took to every birth, and mounted. She was finally tall enough. She sat relaxed in the saddle, waiting for him to lead.

Though Ma returned to Carington regularly, Sarah joined her this time, only because one of the duke’s daughters, Lorena, who lived in the western borderlands, was staying at the hunting lodge, at her father’s insistence, until the birth. Gregory Locke expressed worry that Kennah wouldn’t make it in time. It was a two- or three-day ride to his daughter’s home in the wilderness. So he’d begged Lorena to move into the lodge, which was only a few miles from the Decker shanty. That way Ma would be close enough to assist at her birth.

Sarah attended every Locke birth. They all trusted her after many years of helping the midwives. Ma had taught her herbs and roots and explained all the maneuvers to help when a birth was impeded. Although she never called her New Ma anymore, she made herself think it to remember she had a real ma and da out there somewhere. They were on a quest and would find her someday. She trusted J’shua that they would.

“Don’t worry, Bradley,” Ma said, sitting tall in the saddle, eyeing the nervous uncle beside her. “We’ll make it. First babies always take longer, and your niece is a strong girl.”

“I know, Mother Decker. But you know how Gregory gets with anything involving his daughters,” Bradley said.

“I’ve seen your brother fret.” Ma turned to Sarah. “Do we have skullcap and jasmine oil?”

“Yes, Ma. We have everything we need.” She was eager to be going to another birth. The earthy smells, the red wriggly babies, and the way each momma nursed their new little one. She could stay awake forever. Best of all, everyone admired Ma. They even showed Sarah a bit of respect since she was Ma’s assistant.

After an hour’s ride, the big house appeared, the biggest for miles around. She remembered seeing it for the first-time years ago. Compared to anything in her humble village, or almost anywhere else, it was a grand estate.

As they approached, the duke was pacing on the porch.

“All’s well, Your Grace,” Kennah said. “We’re here.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He waved them inside. “Don’t waste time soothing me.”

Sarah gave a curtsey, and the duke chuckled as Sarah hurried to follow her ma.

The deep moans of advanced labor met them when they entered. The birth was close. Lyrena swayed in her husband’s arms from the power of the surge.

Sarah closed the door quietly, gave her ma one bag, and then set out the herbs and oils from the other.

A few hours later, The sounds of Lyrena’s travail stopped. The cry of a newborn child pierced the air.

They sent riders to announce the joy far and wide, for it was a boy. Gregory’s other daughters had only borne girls. Sarah hurried about to stoke the fire and bring the new momma a plate of food.

Hours later, Duke Gregory gave her a nod of thanks as they were leaving.

As the horizon glowed softly with the rising sun, Sarah smiled sleepily all the way home.

***

The sun hung low in the sky, casting its golden glow over the rolling hills. A vibrant tapestry of wildflowers bloomed at the edge of the village commons. The ladies’ favorite dishes overflowed the familiar long table. The other villagers milled about from one group to another, enjoying the peace and fellowship. Laughter mingled with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Sarah wore the plainest shift she had, not wanting to stand out. She wasn’t trying to hide her good fortune, but she didn’t want to feel the distance that she’d felt earlier, talking with Ned. She hadn’t thought she had changed, but clearly, they both had. Tonight, she wanted to just be home. Be normal.

Ned was standing with two other boys talking. One pointed at her and gave Ned a shove. They all laughed.

A rush of embarrassment ran through her and she glanced down, but kept walking toward him.

Ned turned, a grin spreading across his face as he strode toward her. His piercing brown eyes must see right through her. “You came.”

Her heart, pounding with excitement, Sarah probed all the changes in his face looking for the old friend she was so comfortable with. Then she hugged him tightly and sighed with relief. It wasn’t awkward. “Of course.”

She spread a blanket beneath the shade of a small tree and sat gazing up at him. His eyes flitted over her until he blinked suddenly. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted meats filled the air as the women took off all the lids. “I will make us plates. Wait here.” He dashed off.

He returned shortly with two plates brimming with all her favorites.

“This is wonderful, Ned. I don’t know if I can eat all this.” she said with a laugh. “Thank you.”

He handed one to her and they both set to the task of eating. They spoke of people and events during the time that passed while she was away. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, memories of their shared childhood flooding back as they reminisced together. The sun was setting when Kennah approached them, Benjamin trotting behind her.

“Hello Ned. It’s good to see you.”

He stood and gave a bow. “It is good to see you too, Mother Decker.”

Kennah smiled and continued walking. “We need to be getting home, Sarah. Say your goodnights.”

“I’ll be along right away, Ma.”

Ned gave her his hand to help her up. When they folded the blanket, their hands touched.

“There’s something I’ve been making for you. I prayed I would see you again.

Sarah tilted her head in curiosity as Ned retrieved a small, finely crafted wooden box from his pocket and placed it in her hands, his cheeks blushed. “Open it.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the lid of the box, revealing a delicate wooden flower, intricately carved with astonishing detail. Its petals capturing the essence of nature’s beauty. “Ned, it’s breathtaking. How did you—?”

“Do you like it? I carved it while guarding the sheep. I wanted it to be perfect, like you.”

Sarah’s heart overflowed as she gazed at the gift, a lump forming in her throat.

“Thank you, Ned. This means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

“Let me walk you home.” He took her hand in his and they slowly made their way to the Decker cottage.

Chapter 17

Jonathan

Jonathan scanned the crowd as he walked through another small village eighteen miles west of Fairness Crossing. It was market day. Farmers and those living on the outskirts came to buy, sell, or both. Tinkers, clothiers, saddle makers, and others had their carts of wares open, attracting people with shouts and clever melodies. The smell of freshly baked bread, lamb braising on a spit, and sweet delicacies laced the air.

It all made him homesick.

A blonde girl ran past. Her similarly colored mother gave chase, calling her name and threatening a paddling if she didn’t behave.

The youngster was the about same age as Sarah, fifteen.

It had been nine years since he’d lost his daughter. No, since they took her. She’d have grown up without him, without her mother. Would he even recognize her?

He’d know her bright eyes, her dimple, and her laugh. But…

Sarah’s grandmother was a Locke, with fine-boned frame, full lips, and high, rosy cheekbones. Sarah favored her. Yet here in the south, close to Lexandria to the west, there were many blondes. He counted six on the street and another two hanging out of windows, yelling down to friends, any of whom could be Sarah.

A carriage drawn by four horses approached, surrounded by well-armed men. Jonathan backed into a shaded alley. As it passed, he recognized the Locke’s crest on its side, a white wolf on a purple field.

“Make way!” The carriage driver yelled, clearly angry at being delayed. “Make way for the Duchess of Lexandria and the midwife who delivered a Locke boy!”

He could see several women and a blonde girl through the window. Straining to get a better look—“oof”.

Something smashed into the back of Jon’s knees, dropping him to the ground.

He reached for his sword. But another drew it as hands dragged him deeper into the alley. He thrashed to free himself, pulling a hidden dagger from his boot. About to swipe at the closest neck, he glimpsed familiar red hair bending over him. “Eikhan? You couldn’t just tap me on the shoulder?”

Magistrate Gorum’s son shrugged. The three men accompanying him released the knight but stood ready.

“Apologies, Sir Otual. I warned them.” Eikhan grinned sheepishly, nodding toward his men. “But they were worried you might react rashly. Your notorious legend of being a wild man is well known in Esthlanis.” Eikhan offered his hand.

Jonathan took it and stood, shaking his head. “Wild man—another falsehood. There are safer ways to get my attention.”

Eikhan shot a glare at his men. “Father sent me to find you. A suspicious man came to the estate seeking you. He’s not the first, but this one…”

“What?”

“The man was loitering about town for some moons. An untrustworthy type who knew too much about too many, had too many baden, and spent too many hours watching people he shouldn’t know. He knew who David was.

“Is David safe?”

Eikhan gave Jonathan’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Yes, he never got close. Some of the other estate owners wanted to run the spy off. Father insisted on surveillance. A good thing too.”

“Why?”

“When your wife came to take David to the Knights’ School, the man attempted to follow them. Our men intercepted him. Rather forcefully, I’m told. Before being allowed to—eventually—go on his way, he became most forthcoming. There’s a private bounty on your head. Not merely the false charges made against you in Freislicht—this is prize money for any who can capture you, dead or alive. Five hundred baden dead, One thousand, alive.”

Jonathan slumped. “That is disturbing. I had hoped to keep searching for Sarah. Did the man say who was behind it?”

Eikhan shook his head. “He said his contact was a man named Rosewud.”

Jonathan scowled. “I have met him. I do not know who he is working for.”

“You must take the most extreme care. Father offers you sanctuary should you ever need it. However, for everyone’s sake, he said not to come directly to the estate. Instead, go to the abandoned mine-works southeast of town.”

Jonathan frowned. He knew the place, a deep cave containing dozens of manmade tunnels. It was many miles from the Gorum Estate but closer to the Freislicht border and the sea. “How would you know I was there?”

“The mine is being put to…new uses. Storing weapons and materials for when the Esthlani come to your country’s aid. A group called Licht Gegen oversees it, although Father refuses to discuss it with me.”

“All are interesting developments, yet I do not understand how you found me. If you can do so, others might as well.”

“Father sent me because, of all his sons, I hear J’shua’s voice most clearly. The path took more than a moon.” Eikhan lifted an overstuffed saddlebag. “He’s sent you provisions, some baden, as he was sure you’d lack for funds, and two horses.” He nodded toward two horses tied to a post.

“That is far too generous—”

“Do not refuse these minor gifts. He’s given twenty-five horses to your fellowship. David brought us good fortune. And great prosperity. This is the merest token of the blessings granted to us since your son’s arrival. And…” Eikhan glanced down at his feet.

“And what?”

“I want to ride with you, but Father forbids it. He said that you do not need a bodyguard, but when you need an army, we’ll be there.”

Jonathan held Eikhan’s arm firmly. and accepted Agon’s package, “He is right. Having someone with me will just make traveling unnoticed more difficult.” He was overwhelmed by the risks his friend and his friend’s son were willing to take for him. “Thank your father. And thank you too.”

Chapter 18

Sarah

Sarah emerged from the woods carrying a woven reed basket full of purple coneflowers, goldenseal roots, and birch bark. She missed this. Gathering herbs, keeping house, preparing for the next birth. In Lexandria there were merchants that sold herbs, seeds, and roots that her ma used to make her remedies.

She was fifteen, but still the wooden training sword rocked back and forth on her hip. It was a reminder of her childhood that was lost. It wasn’t her original practice sword. But it felt the same. Her dagger nestled on the other. She kept it sharp so she could harvest medicinal herbs without damaging the rest of the plant.

Last night, she had a dream. Such a silly dream, but it gave her a good feeling. She had a bright, glowing sword and whoever she touched with it was healed. Not what they normally do.

In five days, she would return to Lexandria. She did not know for how long. The thought of it made her queasy. She had learned all the things they could teach her. She’d become a lady. And eventually men would ask the duke to court her. If she married a man of means, she might find her real parents. She could send out messengers to look for them. But she also wanted to stay in the village and see Ned every day. She had missed him whenever she left.

The large basket made her wobble as she trudged up the hill toward Ma’s workshop.

She barely remembered her first ma and da.

First Da smelled wild, like a long hunt or a wrestling match. His massive sword hung high on a hook by the door. That meant he was home. His hair was as blond as a pale moon.

First Ma was slim and graceful. She wore an apron that day. Whenever she tried to picture her…

The tears in Ma’s eyes as she dropped me out the window. Running, running, running through the tall grass as it slapped my face. My heart was pounding as I prayed, hidden under leaves in the woods, just like Da showed me. J’shua told me I would be safe and whispered the passage.

[Let the peace of God rule in your heart.]

She’d never forget them. But she had. Details had slipped away without notice as each day lapsed. All she knew now was the empty place in her heart.

They never found me.

She prayed.

***

The sun dipped low, casting an orange glow over the yard. Ned appeared, when she came out of the house with the last bundle of her things. Placing them on the wagon, she turned toward him. She yelled into the cottage, “Ma, I’m going for a walk with Ned. I won’t be long.”

“That’s fine dear.”

Ned’s head hung low, looking at his feet.

She took his hand and pulled. “Let’s walk to the tree.”

They walked toward the village, the tall grass brushing against their legs. The air carried a hint of smoke from distant evening fires. The path they followed led to a small hill overlooking the village where their favorite climbing tree stood. It was a place where they had shared countless hours, secrets, and dreams.

Sarah's usually bright eyes were clouded with worry as she glanced at Ned. He walked beside her, his hand warm in hers, his thumb rhythmically brushing her skin, his face set in a grim expression.

"Ned, say something," Sarah pleaded, breaking the silence that had stretched between them since they left the yard.

Ned stopped and turned to face her, his brown eyes locking onto hers. "What do you want me to say, Sarah? That I'm happy you're leaving again? That I won't miss you every single day?"

She reached out and took his hand, her grip firm but trembling. "You know I don't want to go. But this is my chance, Ned. A chance to become something more than just a girl from a small village. A chance to find my real parents."

"I know," he replied, his voice softening. "I know it's what's best for you. I want that for you. But that doesn't make it any easier."

They continued up the hill in silence. At the top, they sat down on the grass, at the foot of their tree. The sky above was a canvas of pinks and purples, the first stars beginning to shine.

"Do you remember the first time we came up here?" Sarah asked, her voice filled with nostalgia.

Ned smiled faintly. "Yeah. You insisted we climb up here to see the 'castle.' All we found was this old tree."

Sarah laughed, the sound a mix of joy and sadness. "But we had adventures, saving the kingdom and fighting off the attacking hordes."

Ned's smile faded as he turned serious. "What if the man the duke and duchess give you to isn't kind to you? What if you don't like him?"

Sarah squeezed his hand tighter. "I'll be fine, Ned. They're good people. I will have a say. I promise to only marry someone as good as you. And it's not forever. I'll come back to visit."

Ned looked away, staring at the horizon. "It's just—you're my best friend, Sarah. I don't know what I'll do without you."

Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes, but she blinked them away. "You'll be fine. You're strong and smart. And you'll always have a place in my heart, no matter where I am." She lifted the wooden flower he'd carved for her it lay on a necklace with her seashell buttons from long ago. "I'll always have this with me."

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Finally, Ned broke the silence.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," Sarah whispered. "At dawn."

Ned nodded, his jaw clenched. "Then we should make this night count."

They stayed on the hill until the stars filled the sky, sharing stories and memories, laughing and crying together. When the moon was high, they made their way back to the cottage, walking slowly as if trying to stretch out every moment.

At Sarah's doorstep, they paused, neither wanting to say the final goodbye.

"Ned, promise me something," Sarah said, her voice trembling.

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll follow your dreams, just like I'm following mine. Don't let anything hold you back."

Ned nodded, tears glistening in his eyes. "I promise."

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, a gesture filled with love and sorrow. "Goodbye, Ned."

"Goodbye, Sarah," he replied, his voice barely a whisper. "Until we meet again, Sarah."

She turned and walked into her house, the door closing softly behind her. She cried.

Owakar

Owakar strolled through the field deep in the wilderness, waiting for Alocrin, who trailed behind inspecting each wild flower.

The density is amazing.

The brush of Alocrin’s steps approached. "Remember when the God of Truth created the earth? Long before the Serpent destroyed it, making it without form and void?"

"Uh-huh."

He could hear that his friend had stopped again and turned to observe him bending down over an anthill.

Owakar shook his head and looking at the ground, he noticed all the tiny insects and the even smaller microbes all working working working to perfect the whole, never knowing their purpose, instinctually obedient to the will of God.

"I'm so glad he remade it, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh."

"It was magnificent, is magnificent." Owakar spun in a slow circle arms wide. "The air carries a million fragrances from plants of all shapes and sizes. The animals multiply to keep it full of life. The rain rises from oceans and falls to water it all. Just magnificent."

"Uh-huh."

"Is that all you have to say, Alocrin."

"Uh-huh."

Owakar stared at him.

Noticing the quiet, Alocrin said, "What? Why'd you stop?"

"Because you're not contributing."

"Why can't we hear it groaning, like Father said.”

[For we know that the whole creation groans and travails in pain together until now.]

"We're all groaning Owakar, waiting for this cold war to end. Waiting for the revealing of the sons of God."

"Isn't that us?"

"It can't be. We are already a known entity. It must be the humans he made this world for. And the work that J'shua did—"Both their luach’s chirruped.

[Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is.]

Owakar sighed, “Why weren’t we enough?”

His friend smiled. “Why are we standing here in this field, Owakar?”

“Well, I guess it’s because God made it to be enjoyed.” Alocrin remained silent. “And I like to see it.” He moved his head to cast his eyes in a wide arc. He inhaled a deep breath. “And smell it.” He picked a blackberry and popped it in his mouth. “And taste it.”

Finally, Alocrin asked, “And what does our Father enjoy?”

“Well, he enjoys this, too. He says he is well pleased with us, when we do good. And them, as well, I suppose.” Owakar furrowed his brow. “He made them so he could enjoy more sons. Sons that chose him.”

Chapter 19

Gaelib Melazera

Another military officer bowed and left his hall. Earl Gaelib Melazera glowered, leaning against the cushioned armrest. He signaled a boy to fill his cup. Receiving these messengers one at a time whenever they appeared was tedious. However, he couldn’t meet with them as a group. None could know the true reach of his black-robes within the military. And he did not want them to know each other. The Order of the Black Robe was pervasive now, at least one acolyte in every moneymaking enterprise and government office. Novices were even more prevalent, but they were not aware that they served him. An acolyte took an oath to him and to the Warrior, and each shed blood in order to gain that status in the Order.

Commandant Greysun entered, bowed low, and handed him a document. He stood and gave his report, like all the other officers Gaelib had suborned in the military. As he walked out, Gaelib thought of Steven Blackhawk. He owned them all, but Steven was so much more impressive. His spies at High Keep sent him detailed accounts of his doings.

He missed the boy, a captain now, a man. When Caileagh went to her chamber to sleep at night, she left him alone. That hadn’t always been true. in the past, there’d been others to keep him warm and entertain him. There often still were. But they lacked Steven’s innocent touch. All the others he’d trained lost that quality after only a few sessions, so he gave them back to Caileagh and yearned for Steven.

He’d sent the boy to the army fourteen years ago and only seen him once when he finished his training five years later. Still his big, beautiful smile appeared in his thoughts. Steven always reverently sought to please him. But Gaelib had chosen to sacrifice the joy of keeping him close for the ultimate victory when Steven would command the army. No one knew of their relationship for he’d only called him ‘boy’ in front of others and forbad him to associate with other children. When I become king, Steven will again be by my side.

Steven Blackhawk has risen so swiftly, perhaps he will lead my army sooner than expected. Even as a captain, he will be useful to my schemes.

He ran his finger along the coarse edge of Steven’s weekly report. How he missed him. He sighed, shut his eyes, and recalled twenty-one years earlier…

Gaelib was fourteen, a man by right. His mother had died only the year before. It had been freezing last night so Gaelib came early to start the fire in the dank chamber. Then he paced, rubbing his palms together in anticipation. Caileagh, his stepsister, had found and decorated it for them to meet in secret. The little graveyard was no longer suitable for their encounters.

That morning, she entered and held the door open as six small children shuffled in. All were about four years old and jumped about as she opened a package. Gaelib covered his nose while surveying the stained rags they wore. Had she found them in a pig wallow?

She thrust her hand at them. “Be still,” she said sternly, as she extracted one sweet from her parcel, presented it to the first, and watched the imp gobble it up gleefully while the others huddled around him, licking their lips, watching the lad chew and swallow. She made them wait, watching the next child receive the treat. She took her time delivering each one.

“You may come any morning for more…but only if no one sees you. If you are seen, I will have to send you far away. Do you understand?”

Next, Caileagh stoked the fire. Soon everyone dripped sweat. She removed her clothes leisurely, dropping them on the stone floor, her eyes fixed on Gaelib. He did the same, his eyes on her. They always made the room as warm as a sweltering summer day.

Caileagh stepped into a tub of cool water in a corner and encouraged a small dark-haired boy to join her. As she removed his clothes, she told him they would all receive fresh shirts after she bathed them. The other children hesitated, looking down at their soiled, tattered clothes. But once she had coaxed the first, the others began undressing as well.

Gaelib enjoyed watching them as he tossed their pungent, discarded rags, one after the other, into the fire. He lifted each child out of the water when she’d finished washing away the smell and handed them a piece of bread. Beneath all the filth, was healthy, soft flesh.

After they were all clean, they played “pinch-or-kiss,” Gaelib watched as Caileagh chased them around, pinching their cheek, or kissing it. Everyone giggled and laughed, as naked children climbed over one another. It reminded him of the scorching summer days he, Sagen, and the other boys had retreated to the royal baths.

They let the fire abate and the chamber grew cold. Gaelib and Caileagh dressed the children in plain linen shirts and breeches. They hugged each child, telling them that there would always be a safe place here, sending them to sneak away, one by one.

Each time they appeared in the room, Caileagh gave the children food and a sweetened potion to make them happy and compliant. She and Gaelib played games with them for many weeks, with many variations, grooming the children to do anything.

Each day the Warrior encouraged him, said, “Please yourself. You need not serve anyone.”

One of those first six waifs was Steven Blackhawk. Whenever a child could not tell them their surname, they’d let them pick one. He’d piped up with, “Blackhawk.” He was a bold lad and would do anything without hesitation. They gave him many tests. He’d snuck into the Farr Castle kitchens and returned with the cook’s rolling pin. Another time he’d been sent to steal the signet ring of the local herald. He’d come in with it in under an hour. And he replaced them as well without getting caught.

When Blackhawk was seven, Gaelib made the boy his page. He jealously guarded him against Caileagh’s interest. This boy was his alone. She could do what she liked with the others, but not Steven. He taught Steven to ride and use weapons, gave him lessons in warfare and tactics. Every day, he encouraged Steven that he’d be a great warrior if he obeyed and protected his lord. Every night, they played.

Gaelib wondered what Steven Blackhawk was like now.

Would he still worship and seek to please me?

He shut his eyes and imagined their next meeting. Would Steven resist at the touch of my hand or comply as he always had before? He fretted about the eventual betrayal. Could he kill Steven as he did others that displeased him? He turned to the window pushing away that thought. Seeking a word from his patron, the Warrior. He saw vultures circling in the distance.

Everything must die.