Updated 8/25/24

Part 7

Chapter 13

Parynna

The trees blurred and faded as Parynna swayed on the canvas litter, her vision dipping in and out of focus. She squeezed her eyes shut, pain throbbing through her body with every jolt, as rough hands gripped the edges of the carrier. A fresh wave of agony rent her abdomen, where some wound pulsed angrily. Her breath hitched, sharp and shallow, and she could not distinguish the murmurs of the men carrying her from the pounding in her ears. Blood leaked out, pooling below her. The sky above, a patchwork of shifting gray clouds, tilted, as she slipped deeper into the haze of agony and exhaustion. She clutched at a cloak that had hastily concealed her damp underclothes.

An abrupt halt sent a sharp pang through her. She whimpered, feeling the earth strike her again as the men lay the litter on stony ground.

Voices blurred together; their words lost to her as the sounds washed over her like a rising tide. Some low like thunder, some like the twittering of birds. She felt firm hands beneath her shoulders and knees. They lifted her with a care that belied their strength, but even their caution couldn't prevent the searing pain that speared her as they moved her to the wagon.

The hard wooden planks of the wagon bed greeted her with the unyielding touch of a coffin. She gasped, her vision narrowing to a pinpoint, pulling her under. The world around her dimmed, sounds becoming muffled, distant echoes. She blinked slowly, fighting the darkness that crept toward her.

Someone covered her with a blanket, tucking it around her trembling body. The coarse wool scratched against her skin, but the warmth it offered was a small comfort against the cold seeping into her bones. She tried to stay conscious, to hold on to the scraps of awareness that flickered like a dying flame, but the effort was too great.

“Will she live?”

“Shh, always assume they can hear you.”

“My lady, you’re safe now.”

“We will care for you.”

Men’s voices on either side, continual whispers in soothing tones. It required too much effort to make them out. Just as it required too much effort to open her eyes. The last thing she felt was the gentle rocking of the wagon as it began to move, lulling her into a fitful sleep where agony and exhaustion mingled with fractured dreams.

She floated inside the carriage.

Parynna smiled, her ladies murmuring, giggling with excitement.

The coach drivers roared, cursing. A lurch, throwing her to the floor. Muddled amid a pile, she pushed and shoved to be free.

Shouting. The carriage door flung open.

A beggar brandishing a crossbow.

Time stood still.

A thick red drop splat on the pristine white upholstery of the door.

Another.

A third.

Women screaming.

A younger man, a stripling lad, on the carriage rooftop, his dripping sword pointing.

The driver’s body hung over the carriage roof, tunic and trousers drenched in blood that ran down the side.

A bird landed on a branch above her, singing. Horses snorted. The absurd pastoral scene confused her.

Where is the luggage wagon, the servants?

“You drecksa! The fancy clothes too.” The younger man’s language changed.

These were not uneducated men, but merely pretending.

She said something, but she couldn’t remember what. Then the crossbow struck her head. A foot kicked her abdomen. She’d clutched at her unborn child, fear lancing through her. She writhed on the ground, a sudden cold breeze, as something ruffled her chemise—a weight upon her, foul breath, grunting.

After some disjointed flashes of time, Parynna’s eyes fluttered, but would not open. Something warm covered her. Her hands grasped at the soft linens on the narrow bed and she scraped her gritty eyes open. Parynna groaned against the light. Pain robbed her of breath.

Someone forced a cup to her lips.

Blinking to focus, candles flickered, faces of concern came near, too near as the three healers from the town pummeled her with questions. Her lips would not move. Her shallow breaths roared in her ears.

She winced, shivering. Someone wiped a drip creeping down her cheek with a soft cloth.

My baby!

She searched for Drake. His face was long, exhaustion crying out from his sunken eyes, pleading. His rumpled clothes testified of his lack of care for himself. Unsteady on his feet, he leaned on another.

He rushed to her side and  embraced her, and squeezed her tight.

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

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

If she heard the rest of what was said, it was lost. Parynna clutched the blanket tightly 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 fallen tree prevented the provision wagon from bringing you home. The luggage boy rode for help. If he had not done so, we would not have found you in time to save… your life.”

“What are you saying?”

“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 wounds or disfigurements. Her hair was matted, but except for some swelling on one side, her face was as it should be. But if she moved at all, a searing pain rolled over her body.

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

Parynna grit her teeth.

Beauty? I have never been beautiful.

“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 my ladies dead?”

“No, they are unharmed. Messages were sent out urgently. A reward has been offered. A lad was found walking on the road to the castle. He is being questioned.”

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. “What happened?”

Parynna turned her head toward the wall. “I was stripped of my clothes, my companions too, that the luggage boy rode for help. The child is gone.” She placed her hand on her belly and cried. “I was…”

Caileagh placed a hand on hers. “I know.” She sat, smoothing out her gown. “Dear Drake is a wreck, blaming himself for not sending an appropriate armed escort.”

Parynna buried her face in the blanket. “I’m defiled.”

“Yes, 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 wise women in Lorness. I will take care of you. I have wisdom in these things.”

Parynna nodded, tears in her eyes, voice choppy. “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. He would never love her again. “Will you tell Drake that I want to go with you.” Parynna wailed, her marriage ruined.

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 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 anyone from disturbing her. Send me your best wise woman.”

“We have none. These men are the only healers at Caswell.” Drake gestured to them.

“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 she looked down at her hands, worrying the blanket. He took only one step toward her, then turned away and strode out the door.

Caileagh gently closed it behind him.

Parynna’s head rose. “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 would not take much to bring about your death. Therefore, as your dear friend, allow me to take care of everything.”

Chapter 14

Blackhawk

Blackhawk, pleasantly drunk, rubbed the only coin he had left between his fingers as he ambled back to the garrison. His friends had won all his money again and they stayed to celebrate. His lips quirked. He’d been careful that his losing streak on the night of the fire was not the only one. Even so, he’d won more games than he lost. The deserted road was still, all the shops closed up tight. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he gave it a scratch.

Life at High Keep was peaceful since Fortuch moved to the Militet section of the garrison. The day had been 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.

Two men reeled out of a tavern in front of him. Both stank of drink and other less wholesome substances. He changed direction, 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 dived onto him and struck him many times. Dazed, they dragged him a short distance into a side alley, then into a shadowy dead end, and forced him up onto his knees.

A man held each of his arms out horizontally as they pushed down on his shoulders, Blackhawk struggled against them—mostly for show. This was not a robbery, or 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, dressed in a dark hooded cloak strutted back and forth, toying with a dagger. He looked more like a bookkeeping black-robe than a highwayman.

Blackhawk replayed what had happened.

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.

The man stepped in and backhanded him across the face.

It was a weak blow, further weakened by Blackhawk relaxing and letting his head move with the 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 arrangement we had 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?”

The man on his right struck his temple.

“Tie him,” Their leader said. “Arrow wants him alive.”

Both men gripping his shoulders pushed down, attempting to pull his hands behind his back. But the man – lad – on the left was not strong enough to do so.

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

The boy let go, as expected.

Blackhawk twisted his body. 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 knocked the lad unconscious.

Rising to his feet, Blackhawk stalked toward the third man, who backed away, eyes wide.

“My sword, dagger, money and anything else you took off me. Now,” 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 behind him.

Blackhawk grabbed the hem, pulling hard.

The escaping man choked, clutching at his neck, as the cheap cloth ripped, but not before landing him on his backside. A big man, but not in good shape. He flailed ineffectually as Blackhawk broke one of his collarbones with a single strike.

He cried out in pain, clutching his limp arm as he lay on the ground, gasping for breath. Blackhawk loomed over him, his expression dark and unyielding.

“I’ll ask again,” Blackhawk said, his voice calm but edged with menace. “My sword, dagger, and anything else you took off me.”

The man, grimacing in pain, fumbled at his belt with his uninjured hand. He tossed a small pouch toward Blackhawk, the weapons clattered to the ground. “Th-there! That’s all I have! Please, don’t—”

“Shut it,” Blackhawk cut him off, kneeling to inspect the pouch. His head throbbed. Satisfied that it was indeed his, he pocketed it and then grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it until he heard a satisfying crack. The man howled, his voice echoing down the alley.

With a final glance at the two other attackers—one dead, the other unconscious—Blackhawk retrieved his sword and dagger. He sheathed them with practiced ease and turned to leave the alley.

Then he thought to check on the boy. He wondered just how quickly the lad might sing before Commander Taelor. However, as he turned back into the dead end, Blackhawk saw the youth’s boots disappear across the rooftop.

No matter, I’d rather ferret this out myself.

Blackhawk scoured through the dead man’s things. The belt was fancy. Custom made. And he recognized the buckle. Therefore, he would start there, then deal with Fortuch once and for all.

That still left the body, and a ruined evening. No sleep tonight.

Grabbing the dead man’s ankle, Blackhawk dragged him back to the road. The night air cooled the lingering adrenaline coursing through his veins. He glanced up and down the road, ensuring no more surprises awaited him. The city slept on, oblivious to the violence that had just unfolded.

Blackhawk took a deep breath, steadying himself. The garrison wasn’t far, and he could already feel the pull of his cot, the desire to lie down and forget this night. But as he walked tugging the corpse behind him, his mind was already working, piecing together what had happened.

Those men were no random thugs. Someone had sent them, someone who worked with Fortuch—no, employed him. Blackhawk had ruined a deal, they’d said. What had he inadvertently stumbled into? Who was Arrow?

The attack had been sloppy, but that didn’t mean the next one would be. Whoever was behind this would likely try again, and next time, they might not make the same mistakes.

As he reached the garrison gates, the night watchman nodded to him in recognition, then raised an eyebrow as he glimpsed the remains. Blackhawk returned the nod, his expression neutral. “This fool tried to rob me.”

The hours consumed dealing with the body, informing Commander Taelor, and the questions that followed, took up half the night.

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

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. At least four of which had been reported stolen. They’s been made for members of the Order of the Black Robe who were assigned locally.

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.

Blackhawk kept an eye out for that pair, and twice thought he’d spotted them, but too far away to do anything. One way or another, he’d get to the bottom of it. And when he did, there would be a reckoning.

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

Commander Taelor asked about his injuries at their 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.