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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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 Posted: Sat May 10, 2008 4:49 pm
Caitlin sat up, yawning. She rubbed her eyes drowsily. Pushing the blankets back, she stood up. Her clothes were now dry and she pulled them on. They were stiff and the smell of rain still lingered in their folds. Caitlin tottered to the door. It swung open and she stared out. Caitlin gasped. Smoke drifted up into the morning sky. The village lay smoldering. A goodly portion of it had burned down in the night. Caitlin ran down the hill. She almost slipped in the mud. But she made it to the bottom. She stood there gasping for a moment. Then she caught up her skirts in her hands and raced towards the village.
When she got there, the whole place was in uproar. One building was still in flames and the inhabitants were throwing buckets of water over it.
“You would think it would be impossible with all this rain,” one villager shook his head dolefully.
“It is unnatural that’s what,” cried another.
Caitlin walked down another street. It too had been touched by the fire. Several buildings were charred though still standing. A small crowd had gathered and they stood in the street and surveyed the damage.
“What happened here last night?” Caitlin asked one of the bystanders.
“We had a little trouble with fire can’t you see?” He glared.
“Do you know who is responsible for this?”
“It was an accident,” said a woman with a child hanging on the end of her apron.
“Nonsense. Do you know how hard it is for wet wood to catch on fire?” Yelled a man.
“Who would set fire to my home?” Wailed an elderly woman.
“Some stranger jealous of our village, no doubt,” muttered the first.
Caitlin continued along the next street on her way to the square. In the square was a large crowd all staring at a man standing on a crate. Caitlin joined the crowd.
“What I say is the truth, so hear me out,” yelled the man.
“Tell us,” shouted a bunch of the people.
“Last night I heard people shouting ‘fire! fire!’ and running about, so I got up and being always ready for war, I took my bow and arrows with me. I went up and down my street, and guess what I saw.”
“You saw yourself reflected in the glass,” jeered one.
“Nope,” the man continued, “I saw a man with a lantern attempting to set the Silver Griffin tavern on fire!”
“No,” shouted one.
“What did you do?” called someone near the front.
“Well, I had my bow handy with me, and I took aim and shot him.”
“Is he dead?”
“Well, I felt sort of badly, so I dragged him into the tavern and left him on the floor.”
“Barnabas!” A hefty woman elbowed her way to the front of the crowd. “Stop telling tales! These people need to help put out the rest of the fires.”
“My good fellow villagers.” It was the mayor that now stood on the stand. His eyes were surrounded by deep pockets, and his face was haggard. “You cannot believe all the wild tales that are bound to circulate as a result of this disaster. You and I know, however, that this was an accident. Now, let’s return to dowsing fires so more houses do not burn down.”
The crowd drifted away, including Barnabas and his wife. The mayor, too, and his associates left the square. Caitlin now stood alone.
“What if his story was true?” She murmured to herself. She stood still for a moment, then ran out of the square. She raced down the streets until the Silver Griffin stood before her. She rested a moment, panting, before pushing the door open. Caitlin peered inside. On the floor was a puddle, that shone darkly. A shadowy form lay in it. Caitlin entered. She knelt by the puddle and the form. It smelled of blood in the tavern. Caitlin realized that the dark puddle was blood and the form was the man who had been shot by the man in the square.
“Hallo,” she whispered. Her voice sounded loud to her ears.
“Caitlin?” Came a strained, hoarse voice.
“Who are you?”
“Reynard.”
“What have you done?”
“Just what I was told, like a good little boy.” Sir Reynard bent his torso and coughed up a little more blood.
“What?”
“I was told to burn the village if you did not.”
Caitlin gulped air. She felt nauseous.
“I knew better,” Reynard gasped, “I knew the liege was cruel and wicked. But I would not let myself know. That is why I was so angry the first time I saw you and you called me and the kind I belonged to cruel. Because I knew it was true.”
“You should not be talking.”
“I was angry too, yesterday. You said you no longer served the liege. I always partly scorned you for being weak, and yet then you did something that I could never work up the courage to do.”
“Shall I fetch your aunt?”
Sir Reynard shook his head. “It is too late for me. I know I am dying.”
“There is yet a little time.”
“Time for what?” He caught his breath.
“There is still time to renounce the liege as your master.”
He shook his head, “I have served him too long for that.”
Caitlin was silent.
“Caitlin?”
“Yes?”
He paused. “Good bye, Caitlin.” He drew in one long breath, then gave a ragged sigh. His hand fell limp. Caitlin knew he was dead. She stood up slowly and walked out. She blinked in the sunlight. Then she turned and shut the tavern door carefully.
It was noon before she made it back to the house on the hill. As she approached the hut, she saw Aunt Elspeth sweeping the doorstep. Elspeth halted when she saw her coming up the hill.
“There you are. Have you news of the village?” She called.
Caitlin quickened her pace until she stood before her. “Yes. There was an accidental fire that spread in one section.”
“Oh, my word,” she said looking over Caitlin’s shoulder at Winterburrow. Then her gaze fell on Caitlin. “What else is wrong, my dear?”
“Your nephew, he is dead.”
“Dead?” The broom fell out of her hand and clattered on the ground.
Caitlin nodded.
“When?”
“Earlier this morning.”
“How?” Elspeth was close to tears.
Caitlin shrugged.
“Why?” She shook her head in denial as she asked.
Caitlin lowered her head and shrugged again.
“Where is he?”
“Down in the village. During all the uproar of the night, someone found him lying in the street, and pulled him into a building.”
“How could this have happened?” The aunt dabbed at her teary eyes and wet cheeks with a handkerchief. She did not expect an answer from Caitlin. And Caitlin did not offer one. “Would you take me to him?” Elspeth sniffed. Caitlin nodded and took her by the sleeve. She lead her down the hill.
In the afternoon the village was much calmer and the crowds had gone home. Caitlin led Elspeth through the maze of streets to the Silver Griffin. Elspeth did not hesitate, but pushed the door wide open. Light flooded the dim interior. She gasped at what she saw.
“Oh, my poor sister’s son,” she cried and Caitlin, who remained outside, heard her run to him. “If only you were still alive,” she wept. “To think that, that—,” her voice broke.
Caitlin called softly, “Do you want help?”
“No, I will just stay here for a while. If I could not be with him as he died, then I will stay with his dead body for a bit.”
“Very well.”
“Caitlin?” Elspeth came to the door.
“Yes?”
“Was he alive when you found him?”
Caitlin hesitated, “Barely.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He was having trouble breathing, so he did not say much.”
“What were his last words?”
“I think they were ‘good bye’.”
“Did he ask after me or his mother or anyone?”
“Well, I did ask him if he wanted me to fetch you, but he said it was too late, that he knew he was dying.”
“Oh!”
“I’m sorry for you.”
“Caitlin, what shall I do?”
“I do not know. We must all go on living I suppose.”
“You sound very heartless to me in my grief.”
“I do not really share it. He did not mean much to me.”
“He used to say that I was his second mother.”
“Mm.”
“And I would look after him when he was younger.”
“Yes.”
“And now he is dead.”
Caitlin said nothing.
“Oh, I wish I never knew!”
“Knew what?”
“That he was a, was a…”
“A werewolf?”
“Yes,” Elspeth broke into tears again.
“I am sorry. I should have held my tongue. I did not know.”
“Caitlin, will you be a niece for me and stay with me this winter, for Reynard’s sake?”
“I will stay with you, not for his sake, but for yours.”
“Thank you, Caitlin. I need someone to live for.”
“I know. I suppose you should have been a mother.”
“Yes, yes. I think I really should have been,” she laughed through her tears.
“Let me help you bring him out of there and bury him somewhere.”
“Oh, Caitlin, I am glad you are with me today.”
“So am I.”
“Thank you.”
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2008 4:59 pm
Later that afternoon they buried him beneath a tree in the forest. Caitlin did most of the digging, Elspeth did most of the weeping. They did not talk to each other. Caitlin went back to their cottage on the hill with Elspeth. They were silent the whole evening.
Elspeth sat knitting. Her needles clinked as she worked. Now and then tears would roll down her ruddy cheeks, and she would drop a stitch. Finally she threw the knitting aside with a long sigh.
Caitlin sat in the corner doing nothing with her hands. She thought some, though. But she did not share her thoughts. Instead she wondered in silence at Sir Reynard’s dying words. When Elspeth sighed, Caitlin thought for a moment that she would say something. She met her eyes. Elspeth was looking at her expectantly, but Caitlin could not speak when she saw the tears on the woman’s face. And Elspeth was past words.
Then Elspeth stood up and went into the hut’s tiny kitchen. She came back with two hunks of bread. Caitlin bit into hers hungrily, remembering how soft and delicious it was earlier. But in her mouth it was dry and tasteless. She wondered what was wrong with herself. She could not be mourning for someone she detested, could she?
She swallowed the rest of the bread. She smiled a thank you at Elspeth, then curled up by the fire to sleep. She lay awake for awhile, listening to clink of Elspeth’s knitting needles.
When she awoke, the room was dark. Her new aunt was sleeping peacefully. Her breath was slow and heavy and she did not stir. Caitlin moved to the window and looked out. The night sky was starless, covered by a thick fog. Caitlin settled back down. The sound of Elspeth’s breathing and the feeling of soft, engulfing quilts made her drowsy. Her eyelids slowly drooped. She succumbed to sleep.
Orange light fell across Caitlin’s nest. She stirred out of sleep. Raising herself up on one elbow, she stared out the window. The sun was rising. The clouds were tinged with yellow, orange, and rose. Caitlin rolled over and pushed away her bedding. Elspeth was already up and about, rummaging in the kitchen. Caitlin stood up and joined her.
“Good morning, Auntie.”
“Good morning. So you have finally broken the silence.”
“I can hear the echo of the smash,” Caitlin laughed. “But I was quiet because you were.”
“I wouldn’t have minded you talking.”
Caitlin shrugged, “I did not know what to say.”
“That’s all right,” Elspeth assured her.
“How are you?”
“Tried of crying. It’s hard,” she made a face.
“Mm,” Caitlin slowly nodded.
“Now run along and tend to the garden.”
“Very well,” Caitlin ran out the door and down the winding stone path a ways down the hill to the garden. The plants all had yellowed leaves and had been flattened by the torrents of rain. Caitlin propped them up using twigs from the apple tree. She tied plants to their stakes with long grass blades. But the leaves still drooped, and the entirety of the plants sagged. She sighed. Then she headed back along the pathway farther down to the chicken pen. The pen was as she had expected to find it—empty. The chickens had not put in for weeks. But there was a probability that they were still alive. Caitlin headed still farther down the hill. One scrawny chicken was scratching around in the dust. She went to capture it, but it fled, squawking, up the rise. Caitlin continued to the base of the hill. More chickens were pecking around. She shooed them up, and continued. She found her best laying hen on the outskirts of the forest. She chased after it. It ran into the forest. She followed. It led her, as Caitlin had had a sneaking suspicion it would, past Reynard’s fresh grave. Caitlin halted, not because she wanted to stop at his grave, perish the thought, but because her former liege stood in the clearing.
“Hello, Caitlin.”
“Greetings,” Caitlin let her hate fill her voice.
“I see that your revenge is only partly complete. The village is not burned to the ground.”
“What revenge?”
“Your revenge on the villagers of Winterburrow, who killed your parents.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You were the one responsible for their deaths.”
“A lie manufactured by the villagers no doubt.”
“You are no longer my liege. I renounce my fealty.”
“You burned part of the village,” the specter continued.
“No.”
“Then who did?” He already knew, Caitlin could tell.
“Sir Reynard.”
“Then why did he not finish the work?”
“He is dead. This is his grave right here.”
“Hmm. Pity. He was an obedient vassal.”
“You do not even care!”
“You do?”
Caitlin shrugged, “He was not my servant.”
“So you think.”
“Yes,” Caitlin was stung.
“As you prefer.”
“I will go now,” Caitlin said with finality, “Know then that I no longer serve you.”
“It is not so easy renouncing fealty.”
“You would like me to think that, but I am not bound to you. I am going,” the last words Caitlin pronounced individually. She turned and took three steps.
“Stop,” the specter roared.
“I go,” Caitlin shouted and ran blindly out of the forest, up the hill, and to the door of her house.
Elspeth was standing just outside, staring at her.
“Well where have you been? I looked all over for you.”
“I was down the hill, looking for the chickens.”
“Did you find them?”
“A few.”
“Well I was looking for you to tell you that it is time for breakfast.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you come in now, and we will eat.”
Caitlin followed her in and sat down at the rickety, wooden table. From the kitchen Elspeth brought two steaming bowls of porridge. She set on in front of Caitlin and the other at an empty place by which she sat down. Caitlin began to lift her spoon, but Elspeth signaled her to wait. Then she uttered a blessing, before beginning to eat. Caitlin stared at her.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because the Prince commanded us to.”
“The Prince of Silvengarde?”
“That’s right.”
“Are you his vassal?”
“In a way; I am part of his kingdom here.”
“He said something like that!”
“Yes?”
“He said that his kingdom was made of people who serve him.”
“That’s right.”
“You are part of his kingdom?”
“Yes, I am.”
“But not Reynard?”
“No,” Elspeth lowered her head.
“Why not?”
“I do not know.”
“Oh,” Caitlin returned her attention to her bowl.
There was a loud knocking on their door. Elspeth opened it. Standing outside was Sarah. Her bronze hair was wild and her eyes red-rimmed.
“Caitlin, can we talk?”
Caitlin stood up and walked over to the door. Elspeth went back into the house, leaving them to talk as they tread the path to the garden.
“Caitlin, the liege said that you were not his vassal anymore, and that Sir Reynard was dead. Is that true?”
“Yes. I suppose that the latter saddened you, while the former you care nothing about.”
“I do seem to be self-centered, do I not?”
“You are.”
“Well, I was wondering if you could show me his grave, and tell me what happened.”
Caitlin shrugged, “This way.”
“How did he die?” Said Sarah from behind her.
Caitlin half looked back. “Bled to death.”
“How?”
“His lung was pierced by an arrow.”
“Was he dead when you first saw him?”
“Almost.”
“Were you the one to find him?”
“Well, excepting the person who dragged him into a building, yes.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Yes.”
“Well…”
Caitlin sighed, “He said that he knew the liege was cruel and wicked, and he said good bye. That’s really about all he said.”
“That’s all?”
“Well I asked if he wanted me to fetch his aunt, and he said there was no time.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“I wish I had been there.”
“I am sure you do.”
“He said that the liege was cruel and wicked?”
“He did.”
“Is that his grave?”
“Yes.”
“Who put the flowers on it? Surely not you.”
“His aunt did.”
“I am going to put some more on it.”
Sarah walked out to the meadow and gathered wild grasses and whatever flowers she could find. Caitlin watched her. She did not offer to help. Sarah would have found the offer intruding. The red-haired girl returned with a large bouquet. Somehow in her clasp, it looked not like dying meadow weeds, but like fall-tinted leaves and flowers. She lay them reverently by the freshly turned earth. They smelled of rain and wet land. Neither girl said anything.
Then Sarah burst out, “Oh why must life be such a tragedy!”
“Would you like to return to the house?”
Sarah nodded fiercely. She followed Caitlin back. As they approached Caitlin gave a small cry. The door to the cottage was splintered and sagged open the wrong way. She rushed inside. On the floor lay Elspeth. Caitlin knelt beside her and took her hand. It was cold. Caitlin felt for pulse, but found none. Then she saw her own dagger protruding from the woman’s side. Her hand went to her sheath buckled to her belt. Her dagger was indeed gone. Caitlin looked up.
“Sarah,” she said chokingly.
Sarah hovered by the door. “I saw.”
A figure emerged from the shadows. “I killed her, I could kill you too.” It was the liege.
“You, fiend!” Caitlin threw the dagger at him. It clattered uselessly to the floor. The specter disappeared with a mocking laugh.
“Oh, Caitlin,” Sarah gasped.
Caitlin looked at her with tortured eyes, “Would you help me bury her?”
“Yes, of course.”
Caitlin fashioned a pallet from long poles and a quilt. Together they carried the body down the hill. They buried her next to her nephew. When they returned to the hut, they found the dagger still lying on the floor.
“What should we do with it?” Sarah picked it up.
“I will have it no more,” Caitlin took it from Sarah and flung it as far as she could into the heather. Then she turned to Sarah, “Friends?”
“Yes.”
“Will you still serve the liege?”
“No, no,” she shuddered.
“We must leave here.”
“Yes. I will go with you.” Sarah answered the unasked question.
Caitlin nodded down the road, “Well, let’s go then.”
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 1:03 pm
The two walked down the hill, away from the tiny house on the hill, away from the garden, and away from the two freshly dug graves. They made their way slowly through the meadow. Caitlin aimed unprovoked kicks at the tall clumps of weeds, as Sarah slowed their pace. Both hung their heads and sighed now and then. It was mid-afternoon when they passed through Winterburrow. In the village it was business as usual, though there were carpenters sawing and hammering on various buildings. Sarah looked around curiously, but Caitlin did not divulge who set fire to the buildings. Winterburrow was a smallish town, though a large village, and they passed through it quickly enough. Then they were on its opposite side looking out across the stretching moors. It was then late afternoon, almost evening.
They stopped there for the night. They would have a fresh start the next day to travel across the moors. Sarah set out a circle of stones for a fire pit, while Caitlin scrounged about in the heather for some dry brush and moss for kindling. Sarah took out her tinderbox.
“I will save the tinder in case we go somewhere where there is no kindling handy,” she explained. She removed her flint and steel and struck a fire. She bent forward and blew gently on the sparks until the fire burned brightly. Caitlin squatted down on the opposite side. Sarah straightened, her shoulders relaxed, and stared over the flames at Caitlin. Caitlin noticed her stare, and returned her gaze with a half smile.
“I thought that you were afraid of fire.”
“I was until I learned that it was the liege of Endgarde who was responsible for my parents’ death. The pictures I would see in the flames no longer haunt me.”
“The liege ordered your parents’ death? Why?”
“I do not know. It is my quest to find out.”
“Good luck.”
“Thank you. Good night, Sarah. The first watch is mine.”
“Good night.”
Sarah shook Caitlin awake. Over the moors, the sun was rising, large and crimson. Sarah stamped out their dying fire. Caitlin reached into her pack and brought out two round, small loaves of bread. They ate them as they walked along the narrow little used track that led through the heather. Crumbs from the meal fell behind them for the birds. A gust of wind blew across the moor. It stung the girls’ faces and tugged at the cloaks. They rippled like dull green flags. Her dark curls whipped about Caitlin’s face. She turned half backwards so the harsh wind would not penetrate her dress and so her hair would not blow about her face. Sarah strode on almost primly. Her red gold hair was braided and wound about her head. Her arms wrapped her cloak about her against the chill, but she squinted her eyes from the cold and the glare. Then she half skipped around, so she was walking backwards as well.
“Where are we going?”
“To Silvengarde. We are taking the long way round to avoid Endgarde.”
Sarah was silent a moment. “Why?”
“I have to return to the Prince.”
Then the wind whipped up again and discouraged any further conversation. They both turned forward, lowered their heads, and quickened their pace. The wind carried rain clouds from the east. At noon it began to drizzle. The rain went pitter patter on the bare track and on the leaves and stems of the moor heather. At first Caitlin let the droplets nestle in her hair. She even lifted her face and let the cloud water sprinkle her face and trickle down her chin. But as the rain gathered force, she put her hood over her head as Sarah had done. Caitlin tramped along regardless of the puddles. Sarah daintily stepped over them, trying to save her soft green dress from the inevitable mud.
It stopped raining by evening. After it stopped, Caitlin gathered two bundles of springy heather for them to sit on and not get to wet and muddy. Sarah tried to light a fire, but soon gave up.
“Everything is too wet,” she complained.
Behind them, the town of Winterburrow was small, and half out of sight in its sloping valley. Beyond it rose the forest, dark and hazy green. But on all other sides the heather spread all the way to the horizon. Sarah stared gloomily.
“How long is this path?”
“Ten days worth of traveling.”
“And it is just the moor the whole way?”
“No, there is Heathermoore, the village, and Moorgarde, a small castle, en route.”
“How far?”
“I do not know. And they are the only ones that I know of.”
“I watch first tonight, all right?”
“Fine.”
The next morning was clear and cold. Their breath rose like mist into the air before them. They rubbed their arms briskly for warmth and stretched their stiff limbs. Then they began their march. A fog rolled over them from the sea. As they walked, Caitlin saw a grouse, red speckled brown, hesitantly moving in the heather. She pulled an arrow to her bow and released it like Sir Reynard had taught her. Her shot went wild. The arrow buried itself in the dirt by the path. Caitlin reached and yanked it out. The mud covered a finger length of the shaft. The grouse disappeared. Caitlin said nothing. They kept their pace. Caitlin, used to the exertion, strode untiringly. Sarah limped a little. Then Sarah stopped and fumbled at the straps on her boot. Caitlin halted as well. Sarah pulled her boot off. She winced as she ran a finger over a blister on her heel. Caitlin snapped a barb off a thornbramble, and returned to where Sarah stood balanced on her other foot. Sarah stared wide-eyed as Caitlin popped the blister with the thorn. Sarah flinched. Caitlin pulled out a long strip of un-dyed cloth and wrapped it around her foot. Sarah put her foot back in to her boot, and hobbled forward. She grimaced and shook her head.
“I will not be able to walk very far.”
“Look,” Caitlin pointed to a looming grey shape in the fog, “Will you be able to make it to there?”
“Possibly.”
“You will be able to rest there, and perhaps someone will examine your foot.”
“I will try.”
“Here take my hand,” Caitlin grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. Sarah almost tripped.
“I do not think I can walk,” Sarah cringed.
Caitlin pressed her lips together so that they turned pale. Then she bent, one arm low, the other high, and lifted Sarah off the ground. She staggered a couple of steps.
“Perhaps I could walk after all.”
“No,” Caitlin groaned. She took three more steps. She tottered. Sarah slipped down. Caitlin rested a moment before hoisting Sarah again. This time she walked farther. The castle loomed even closer. Caitlin had to let Sarah down again. She splashed ankle-deep in a frigid puddle. Sarah’s teeth chattered. Caitlin carried Sarah again all the way to the castle which took shape as they approached.
“Who goes there?” Yelled a form atop the wall.
Caitlin licked her dry, chapped lips. “We are but two travelers seeking shelter.”
“What are your names?”
The girls exchanged glances. “Our names are Sarah and Caitlin of Winterburrow,” Caitlin shouted back.
“Wait a moment,” the sentry disappeared, “Commander! There are two people wanting entrance to the castle.”
“Who are they?”
“They say they are two travelers by the name of Sarah and Caitlin of Winterburrow.”
“Well, let them in. It would be cruel to leave them out in the wind and cold.”
“Very well, commander,” the sentry’s form reappeared, “You are permitted to enter.” The gate opened and Caitlin, with Sarah leaning on her and limping, entered. The commander greeted them on the other side.
“You certainly look weather worn,” he remarked, “How long how you been on the road?”
“Two days, sir,” Sarah answered.
“Well the master always appreciates travelers who stop by. I will show you to your rooms where you can wash, and then you must join the master and his wife for dinner.”
“Thank you.”
They followed him through the maze of corridors to two adjacent rooms. Caitlin went in one and Sarah in the other. Caitlin stared at the grandeur about her. In the room stood a large four-poster bed with dark green velvet hangings. On the walls were large tapestries depicting dragons and castles and battles of days gone by. Caitlin took off her muddy leather and fur boots. She stepped from the cold stone floor onto one of the soft thick rugs. She buried her toes in it. Then, recalling herself. She pulled off her damp cape and clingingly wet dress and threw them on the floor by the boots. She dressed herself in the blue violet dress. She tied the silver sash and put her feet into the tiny silver slippers. Her hair she threw behind her shoulders, and tied it back as best she could. When she felt she could face the master of this castle, she opened the door and stood in the hallway.
“Milady?” Gasped the commander bowing on seeing her.
But then Sarah’s door opened, and she stepped out. Her green silk skirt draped to the floor. The copper embroidered flowers peeped out from the folds. She wore her hair as a crown, as usual, but she wore a band of little emerald flowers across her forehead. “Miladies, please allow me to escort you to the dining hall.”
Sarah nodded regally. They fell in step behind. He led them through another maze of corridors to reach their destination. Then he threw open the double doors to the dining hall. Inside was a large table. A man sat at one end, and a lady at the other.
“Go in,” whispered the commander of the guards. They entered. They seated themselves in the middle of the table side by side.
“Well,” said the graying man who sat at the head of the table, “I suppose you will tell us your names.”
“Yes; my name is Sarah.”
“What a lovely name,” said the lady at the foot.
“And what is your friend’s name.”
“I am called Caitlin.”
“Merely called?” The master of the castle raised one eyebrow.
“Well, I mean that is my name,” Caitlin colored and looked down at her hands in her lap.
“Never mind about that,” said the lady, “I once knew a little girl by your name.”
Caitlin looked at her. The lady’s brown hair was caught back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her rosy face was slightly smiling.
“Ah, dinner,” their host said as the servants carried in covered trays and dishes.
“Ah,” said the lady in a pleased voice as she lifted the covers. The servants bowed and left.
“What are your names?” Caitlin cocked her head slightly.
“I am known as Sir Reginald of Moorgarde.”
“My name is Lady Helaine,” the lady lifted another cover, then leaned slightly forward. “Will you carve the meat, my dear?” She addressed Sir Reginald.
“Very well,” he answered, then turning to the girls, he said, “Now if my son were here, I would let him do all the carving.”
“What is your son’s name?” Sarah smiled politly.
“His name is Reynard.”
“Not Sir Reynard!” Caitlin almost choked.
“Yes, he was knighted a while back,” Lady Helaine nodded.
“Have you met him before?” Sir Reginald dropped the carving knife. It clattered on the table.
“Well,” Caitlin hesitated. She exchanged tortured looks with Sarah. She drew a deep breath. “I am afraid he is dead,” She said slowly, staring down.
“No,” shouted their host, “impossible.”
“Are you quite sure?” Faltered Lady Helaine.
“I helped to bury his body.”
“How did he die?”
“He was shot by a random arrow.”
“Was he in battle?”
“Not…really,” Caitlin swallowed hard, “And there is something else I have to tell you.”
Both were silent.
“Lady Helaine, your sister Elspeth is dead as well.”
The lady lowered her head to the table and wept.
“Another random arrow?” Reynard’s father half rose from his chair.
“No, the liege of Endgarde himself murdered her.”
“Impossible. My son served him. He would not kill one of our family.”
“I am afraid that it is very possible; he killed her because she served the Prince of Silvengarde. He almost killed us too.”
“No!” Sir Reginald roared.
Caitlin flinched. “It is a good thing that it is not full moon,” she whispered to Sarah.
But Lady Helaine caught her words. “What happens at—,” she began, then stopped her eyes wide. “How is it that you know?”
“Sir Reynard told me at our first meeting.”
“Why?”
“He was trying to convince me to join with his master.”
“But why would he tell you?”
“To show that I would not be the only one.”
“The only—oh!” She stared at Caitlin, “You mean that you too are a werewolf?”
Caitlin bit her lip and nodded.
“You are a werewolf and your name is Caitlin?” She asked in meaningful tones.
Sir Reginald raised his head and looked at Caitlin. “What are your parents’ names?” He asked turning his head a little.
“Lowell and Eleanor,” she faltered.
Lady Helaine gasped and met her husband’s eyes. “We knew your parents, my dear,” she said to Caitlin.
“I should rather think we did. Sir Lowell was my partner. We practiced together,” Sir Reginald said.
“Eleanor was my companion during the days we both spent at Endgarde, waiting for the return of our husbands from tournaments and battles.”
“But what happened to stop this?” Caitlin stared at their faces.
“They disagreed with the liege. One day they were here and the next they were gone. How are they?”
“They have been dead for twelve years.”
“Eleanor dead? How did they die?”
“They were killed—burned at the stake,” Caitlin tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
“How awful!” Lady Helaine covered her mouth with her hand.
“Who was responsible?” Sir Reginald’s hand went unconsciously to the hilt of his sword.
“The liege of Endgarde. The same who murdered Elspeth.”
Sir Reginald plunked back down in his seat. “No,” he said half to himself.
“It is true. The liege of Endgarde incited the villagers of Winterburrow to kill them.”
Lady Helaine lowered her head, “Ele,” her face contorted.
“I am sorry to be the messenger of such sorrowful news.”
“I think,” said Sir Reginald, “that we should at least give Elspeth and Reynard a proper funeral.”
“Yes indeed,” agreed Lady Helaine. Then she laughed through her tears, “This conversation has certainly driven away all thoughts of eating.”
Sir Reginald looked at the carving knife still lying where it had fallen and he too chuckled.
Sarah smiled slightly.
“Well,” said Helaine, “we must be off at first light to recover the bodies of Reynard and Elspeth.”
“Excuse me,” said Sarah in a small voice, “could I come too? Even though I am not a relation or an old family friend.”
“Yes of course. I suppose you knew him well enough as well as being Caitlin’s friend to accompany us,” Lady Helaine smiled at her.
Caitlin nodded, “Yes, I suppose I can spare the time for something as important as this.”
“Spare the time?” Sir Reginald raised an eyebrow.
“I am attempting to travel as fast as I can to Silvengarde.”
“Well I am very glad you will come with us,” Helaine smiled again.
“And of course Norman, the captain of the guard will come with us.”
“Yes, Master?” The commander stepped into the room.
“You are to accompany the four of us to Wintergarde.”
“Yes, sire.”
“Choose three other guards to come as well. Oh, and pick a replacement to lead the men in your absence.”
“As you command.”
Sir Reginald gave a short nod.
The commander bowed and left.
“Well,” said their host, “that is settled at least. Remind me to have the horses readied and a cart prepared.”
Sarah half rose, “With your permission?”
Lady Helaine nodded.
Caitlin rose too and followed Sarah out of the room. The commander was waiting for them, and he led them back. He bowed, and left them standing by their doors.
“Caitlin?”
“Mm?”
“Did you know that about your parents?”
“The liege said something about my father leaving his patronage.”
“The liege tells the truth only if he can put his own spin on it. That is why some call him the father of lies.”
“Was he lying when he said he would kill us?”
“Did he need to?”
“Was he lying when he told Reynard that the Prince of Silvengarde was to die?”
“Oh, Caitlin, you do not think—.”
“I do not know.”
“That is why you were in such a hurry.”
“Yes. I am afraid.”
Sarah was silent for a moment. “Good night, Caitlin.”
“Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“I meant to ask you this for a while.”
“Yes?”
“Some weeks ago I overheard a conversation between you and Reynard. You were talking, I think, about me. You seemed, well, jealous, and said, ‘What about me?’ and Reynard replied, ‘What about my liege?’. What did he mean?”
“Please, no. Just bury the past.”
“Oh, I am sorry if I offended you. Good night, Sarah.”
“Good night.”
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 1:07 pm
Caitlin opened her door and closed it behind her. It banged slightly. Caitlin stood in the dark. She moved forward and tripped on a slightly soggy pile, and landed on something flat, but soft. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The wet pile she had tripped on was her other clothes, and she was lying on the rug. She stood up. She pulled of her outer garments, shivering slightly, then dived for the bed. She bounced once before she came to rest on the silky bedcovers. Caitlin sighed and slipped between the sheets. Here it was warm and cozy. Far off, Caitlin could hear a storm rage against the castle. Rain pounded on the thick stone walls and thunder rumbled. She snuggled farther down into the bed and closed her eyes.
That night she dreamed. She saw her mother and her father and Elspeth as well standing behind the Prince of Silvengarde, looking toward her. And the Prince as well. He was extending his hand out to her, saying, “Caitlin, you must come regardless of your friends if you want to partake in my kingdom.” The others behind him reached out for her.
Then a loud knock sounded. Caitlin opened her eyes and sat up. She whispered, “I will come.” The door opened.
“Caitlin?”
“Sarah?” Caitlin blinked.
“I wanted to answer your question. The liege had told me soon after I came to Endgarde that I was destined for a life of battle unaccompanied. That lie hurt.”
“I am sorry. I ought not to have asked.”
“No. I am glad I told you.”
Caitlin was silent.
“We will be setting off soon.”
“Indeed?” Caitlin slide out of her bed.
“Yes, hurry,” Sarah left and shut the door behind her.
Caitlin pulled on her red woolen dress. It was dry, but very wrinkly. Caitlin combed through her hair with her fingers and tied it back. She slung her quiver and bow on her back over her cloak. Satisfied that she was prepared for the long, wet road, she opened her door into the empty corridor.
Caitlin peered down both ways. She was almost sure that the castle courtyard was one way. But dare she try and risk getting hopelessly lost? Caitlin cocked her head with indecision. She scowled to herself. Then she walked to the corner. Around the corner was another corridor. Walking down it away from her were Sarah and Norman, the captain. Sarah was still limping a little. Caitlin’s footfalls echoed in the stone passage way as she ran to catch up with them.
“Good morning, Lady Caitlin,” said the commander.
“Good morn to you, but please do not call me a lady.”
“As you would have it, milady, err miss.”
“Thank you. Good morning, Sarah.”
“We have to hurry if we are to be on the road by first light,” Sarah quickened her step. Caitlin followed. In the courtyard, the three guards were saddling all the horses. Two of the horses were harnessed to a cart. Sir Reginald and Lady Helaine also waited nearby.
“Oh, good. There are Caitlin and Sarah and the captain,” Lady Helaine clapped her gloved hands.
“Are we ready to proceed?” Sir Reginald asked of one of the soldiers.
“Indeed, sire.”
Lady Helaine rushed forward to meet Caitlin and Sarah. She held Sarah’s arm and pointed to a horse, “You can ride the sorrel,” then she grasped Caitlin’s shoulder, “and why don’t you ride the bay.” She pointed to a different steed. They nodded. Lady Helaine mounted her own white horse. She sat on it sidesaddle, her flowing grey skirt hung down the animal’s flank. Caitlin stepped forward and swung onto bay horse, one leg on either side, the slit in her dress accommodating the mount’s wide back. Sarah climbed onto her horse sidesaddle like Lady Helaine, wincing with pain as she did so. Finally Sir Reginald mounted his charger, and the guards seated themselves on the other horses, with one guard driving the cart. The remaining soldiers lifted the portcullis, and the group cantered through the gate.
The sun was just rising and it tinted the moor fog rosy hues. The path ahead was all but shrouded in the mist. The damp muted all noise. About them was silence except for the muffled sound of the horses’ hooves. The fog turned orangish, then gold. A bird chirped. Caitlin breathed in the fresh air. This journey was very different thus far. The fog turned white as it blew away. The sky was clear and blue and the sun warmed their backs as they rode and cast the shadows of horse and rider before them. The cart rumbled in the rear. The horses’ hooves thudded on the soft earth. The air smelled of wet heather. The reins Caitlin held chaffed her skin. The movement of her mount jolted her up and down. Dull pain shot through her back and legs. The heat of the sun on her back began to be uncomfortable. Her palms became sweaty and beats of perspiration trickled down her back. It was with relief that she noted that a cloud had arisen behind them and blocked the sun’s rays. She felt its shadow shade her. When she glanced back, it looked large and thick, though flat. Its underside was grey. Soon the cloud rolled over them. A raindrop fell on Caitlin’s face. She stared upward. The whole sky was slate grey with a bright spot directly above that was the sun. Another raindrop fell. It felt cool and refreshing. It began to drizzle. The raindrops went tink as they landed in the moor grasses. Caitlin lowered her head and pulled her hood over her hair. The reins were slippery in her hands. The horses’ hooves splashed rather than thudded on the path. The other riders had pulled their hoods over their heads as well. Rising ahead was Winterburrow.
“Horrible rain,” grumbled someone.
Sir Reginald stood up in the stirrups and turned his body partly around. “We will go around the village,” he shouted over the sound of the rain. Raindrops glistened on his face and water dripped from the ends of his wet hair. Then he turned back and urged his horse forward past Sarah and Lady Helaine to regain the lead. He found a side path even smaller than the one they traversed. It seemed to lead into the valley itself and not the village. Sir Reginald took it and the others followed.
The valley was greener than ever from the late autumn rain. The sun was now in front of them and a little to the left. Behind them the horses left indentations in the grass. The village of Winterburrow moved farther to the left as the procession neared the border of the forest. Finally it slipped behind them. No one noted it, they were to keen to reach their goal. Caitlin’s hill rose before them.
“To the right,” shouted Sarah. They veered in that direction. They reached the first trees of the forest. They all dismounted. Caitlin slide off her horse and collapsed on the wet ground. Sir Reginald helped down Lady Helaine and Sarah. Caitlin stood. Her legs ached from riding so long and she tottered a bit. But she managed to walk to the others, still holding her horse’s reins. Sarah handed one of the guards the leads to her mount. “This way,” she favored one leg as she walked into the forest. Caitlin gave her horse over to the same guard, and followed Sarah and Sir Reginald and Lady Helaine. Their feet crunched in the damp pine needles. “Here,” Sarah pointed to two mounds of freshly turned dirt.
Sir Reginald clenched his jaw. “Tell the guards to bring the shovels.” Lady Helaine moved closer to him. Caitlin turned and walked back out into the valley.
“Sir Reginald wants you to bring the shovels,” she told the guards.
The soldiers exchanged glances, then nodded. Two of them picked up a shovel each, the one in charge of the cart brought it closer, while their commander tethered the horses. Caitlin led the two with shovels back to the forest clearing. Sarah turned pale as the guards buried the shovels in the dirt. As they scooped away the earth, Caitlin kept swallowing hard. Finally she turned her face to the valley. Her eye fell upon the cart. She swallowed again. The guards dropped their shovels. They clattered to the ground. Caitlin turned her head back. The guards knelt by the hole. They lifted out a bloody form in a pale blue dress.
“Elspeth!” Lady Helaine sobbed. Her voice became muffled as she buried her face in her husband’s chest. Sarah’s face was white. Caitlin turned her head. She swallowed harder than ever than and took deep gulps of air. The guards pushed past her as they carried Elspeth’s body to the cart. Caitlin closed her eyes tightly. She did not want to see them pass. The guards returned. They raised their shovels over the second grave. The shovels sliced into the damp earth. Caitlin still did not look. She heard the sound of clumps of dirt being thrown to the side. She grimaced. The sound of falling dirt stopped.
“Reynard!” Sarah shrieked. Caitlin shuddered. She could not help herself. She looked. One guard’s arms were about his middle and the other held his legs, so his body faced up and was parallel to the ground. His head fell back. His mouth hung open and dried blood ran across his chin. His eyes were open and glazed over. The sickly smell of death hung about the glade. Caitlin turned her head and screwed her eyes shut, but the image remained.
“I am going to be sick,” she muttered through her teeth. She swallowed. She turned and ran into the surrounding forest. Behind her she heard the others.
“Oh, my son, what have they done to you?” Lady Helaine wailed.
“Do not look,” Sir Reginald said. Lady Helaine’s sobs became muffled.
Caitlin kept running until the voices of the others were distant and unintelligible. Panting, she halted. Sharp pains shot through her side. She drew in large breaths of clean air. The far off sounds from the others stopped. Caitlin turned and tramped back, stepping over the ivy creepers that ran out across the path and ducking under the low tree branches. She walked at a slow pace. When she arrived the clearing was empty. But there were two holes in the ground with piles of dirt on the side. Caitlin tried not to look at them. Instead she walked out of the forest and into the valley. Sarah, Lady Helaine, and Sir Reginald, all much calmer, stood in a circle discussing what to do next.
“If you please,” said Norman, the captain, “the horses are spent and nightfall is approaching. We must stop here for the night.”
Caitlin looked around. The rain had stopped and it was indeed approaching night. The clouds in the west had retreated. The sun was large and vermillion as it rested over the forest, which by contrast seemed almost black. The sky in that region was golden, and the undersides of the straggling clouds were orange and the tops were violet. Caitlin turned her gaze back to the valley.
“Hmm, yes. It will be dark very soon. Very well, we will set up camp here.”
“As you command, sire. But—.”
“But?” Sir Reginald raised a thick black eyebrow that discouraged further discussion.
Captain Norman nodded, “Very well.” He turned to the other guards and told them the order. A dismayed murmur ran through all of them.
“Excuse my interruption,” Caitlin addressed Sir Reginald, “but there is an empty house on the top of yonder hill.”
“We will camp down here for tonight,” he repeated.
Caitlin returned to the forest in search of brush and dry moss and twigs to serve as kindling. The gloom here had deepened. Caitlin looked around at any unfamiliar noise. She went further in. On some rocks in the shade of a clump of leafless birch trees were mats of yellowed moss. She peeled them off with her fingernails. The skin on the last joints of her fingers scraped on the rough rock. She pulled the end of her cape around to carry them. A branch cracked. Caitlin turned and ran. She tripped on the fallen branch and went sprawling. The pine needles that covered the ground jabbed her face. Bits of moss spilled onto the forest floor. Caitlin rolled over and stood up. The branch was dead, leafless with peeling bark. It was jagged where it had broken. The forest glade was silent. Caitlin scooped the moss that she had gathered back into her cape. She tucked the far end of her cape into her belt so it formed a sling for the moss while Caitlin’s hands were free. She knelt by the dead branch and snapped twigs off it. At last she stood up. She walked back to the camp through the darkening forest.
“Oh, Caitlin, there you are. Ah, you have brought kindling,” Sarah looked up from her circle of stones. “Thanks, the rain seeped into my tinderbox and wet all mine.”
“Glad to be of service,” Caitlin emptied her cape into the fire pit Sarah had made. Sarah lit the kindling and the fire burned brightly. Caitlin stood. “I shall go fetch more wood, then.” Sarah nodded. Caitlin went back to the edge of the forest.
The sun had almost set. The forest looked black in the fading light. The little sunlight that was left brushed the very tops of the trees with ruddy tints. The interior of the forest was shadowy and dark. Caitlin entered warily. She walked a ways deeper in. Then again a branch fell overhead. It crashed down through the other branches. Caitlin moved quickly to the side. The branch landed where she had been standing. Caitlin was shaking. Her hands felt weak and quivery. Crows, disturbed by the noise, flew off cawing. Caitlin reached down and grabbed the fallen branch. She took two steps backward, tugging the branch after her. The strength had left her arms. She lost her grip on the branch. She slipped and tumbled backwards, landing on the hard ground. Above she heard the warning sound of twigs bending and breaking under weight. Caitlin rolled to the side. A branch thumped the ground next to her, sending a tremor through her body. She stood. Her hands grasped the branch. Sheer desperation and terror enabled her to drag it after her. Caitlin’s heart beat so loud in her ears that she almost did not hear the creak. When she heard it, she turned and ran, leaving the branch behind. Behind her the tree tottered. It fell with an enormous crash. Caitlin’s legs crumpled under her. She fell in a little heap. She lay there gasping for a moment, but she shakily stood and ran two steps. Broken twigs and pine needles drifted down to the ground. Then the broken branch came tearing through the boughs overhead. Caitlin ran again. She darted through the dense trees and into another clearing. She tripped over a pile of dirt. She landed sprawling. She looked to the side and saw the two open graves. She screamed. Her voice was soft and weak in her pounding ears. Her arms pulled herself off the ground. She stood. She heard a snap. She stepped back. The branch landed right in front of her.
“Do you not think this is too obvious,” her voice cracked, “You might have been able to get away with once or twice, but this?” She gestured to the fourth branch on the ground. “This is ridiculous!” Caitlin paused. “I know that you are the one causing this. You are the only person I know of who wants to kill me.” She kicked the branch. Then she turned and saw in the twilight, the valley sloping outward and the glow that was the camp fire. Caitlin grabbed the fourth branch and dragged it. She walked toward the light that was their fire. As she stepped into the valley, there was one more crash in the forest and one more fallen branch, but Caitlin was out of the forest.
“You are back. You dragged that branch all the way here from where you found it?” Sarah eyed it.
“That’s right. There are fallen branches all over in that forest,” Caitlin smiled as calmly as possible.
“Well thank you for bringing it,” Sarah broke off a smaller limb from it. She tossed it onto the fire. The flames became brighter.
“I was almost afraid we had lost you,” the captain rose. “My guards are afraid of staying outside in the near vicinity of corpses.”
“Ah,” Caitlin squatted by the fire. She put out her palms to its warmth.
“The captain is afraid that the men will desert on account of them,” Sarah said.
“Hmm,” Caitlin turned the backs of her cold hands to the fire.
“But Sir Reginald will not listen,” Sarah continued.
“Then maybe he will have to drive the cart on the way back.”
“I doubt he would,” Sarah yawned.
Caitlin shrugged and yawned too. She blinked away the moisture that gathered in her eyes. Sarah stood and wrapped a blanket around herself. The captain walked away to the others. Sarah lay down. Caitlin took her cue. She wrapped a spare blanket in fold about her, and lay down with her back to Sarah.
“Sarah?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you any better. You sounded pretty disturbed back in the clearing.”
“A little. And you were just as bad. Worse actually. You deserted us.”
“I felt I was going to be ill if I stayed much longer.”
“Yes.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Caitlin closed her eyes. She saw Sir Reynard as he had been at the clearing. Dried blood was on his chin, his dark eyes open with a misty film over them. Caitlin opened her eyes to block the picture. The flames of the fire reached high then fell, then reached up again. Her eyelids drooped. She heard Lady Helaine and Sir Reginald and the captain murmuring on the other side of the fire. It was a soothing sound. Her eyes closed all the way.
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 1:33 pm
She dreamed that night that the liege was sitting in trees in the forest dropping limbs of trees on Sarah and Norman, the captain, Sir Reginald, Lady Helaine, Elspeth, and Sir Reynard while she lay in one of the holes crying, “Stop, stop.” All around her was mocking laughter and a voice saying, “I could kill you too.” Then the three guards were digging on top of her and the shovels made everything vibrate.
Caitlin awoke to Sarah shaking her.
“It is daybreak,” Sarah was saying, “And the guards have deserted us.”
Caitlin sat up and rubbed her bleary eyes.
“We need all the help we can get.”
Caitlin nodded and brushed the blankets away. Yawning, she stood up and staggered over to the others.
The captain of the guard sighed, “Very well; I will drive the cart.”
“Excellent. We will set off immediately,” Sir Reginald swung onto his horse.
Caitlin looked at the two extra horses. “I will volunteer to tie one behind my horse, if Sarah will take care of the other.”
“Oh, good,” the captain of the guard pinched his nose while he attempted to hitch two horses to the cart with one hand. Caitlin turned and tied the halter of the extra horse to the saddle horn of the bay horse. She mounted it and booted it into a trot after Sir Reginald. Lady Helaine followed closely. Sarah was just mounting the sorrel.
Caitlin’s fingers entwined in the horse’s coarse mane. She leaned forward a little. The horse’s hooves pounded on the grass. The cart rumbled behind them. She urged her horse onward. They were past Winterburrow now. The grassy valley was merging with the moors. A dry wind swept over them from the east. Caitlin was glad that the cart would be downwind from her. Today they traveled faster. Everyone was eager to return to the castle as soon as possible. Ahead, Sir Reginald’s horse was no longer trotting; he had booted it into a canter. Caitlin dug her heels in a little. Her horse broke into a short lived gallop. The horse tied behind looked alarmed. Her horse settled back into a trot. The sky overhead was filled with clouds, and today the sun did not shine hotly. Caitlin’s cloak flapped in the dry, cold wind. She shivered. Moorgarde was on the horizon. Winterburrow was far behind them. Lady Helaine galloped past her to join Sir Reginald. Caitlin urged her horse a little faster. She felt her cape blow out behind her with a sudden blast of wind. The horse behind her neighed, frightened by the shadow. Caitlin held the reins with one hand as she wrapped the cloak around her with the other. Caitlin squinted in the glare of the sun that was now dead ahead. Moorgarde appeared a little closer. But there were still many miles left to go and Caitlin was sore already. Sir Reginald and Lady Helaine were far ahead, and the cart seemed to rumble closer. Sarah caught up to Caitlin.
“At this rate, we will reach Moorgarde by noon,” Sarah slowed her horses.
“I hope so.”
“Oh,” Sarah yawned, “I am very tired. You kept me awake during the night. You were tossing and turning.”
“I was?”
“Indeed.”
“I did have a horrible dream.”
“Care to share?”
“No.”
“What do you say to after the funeral, Sir Reginald, Lady Helaine, and I accompanying you to Silvengarde.”
“Really, they would?”
“Indeed.”
“Very well then.”
“Excellent, I will tell them your answer,” Sarah booted her horse into a gallop and chased after the distant figures.
“Wait for me!” Caitlin called after her, but her voice was lost in the wind. Caitlin frowned. She dug in her heels. The horse broke into a canter. The distant figures did not recede, but nor did they grow any closer. Caitlin sighed. “If the cart passes me,” she muttered. She made a face at the thought. She urged her horse on faster.
The sun was almost overhead and Sir Reginald and Lady Helaine and Sarah were almost to the castle. Even for Caitlin it was approaching rapidly.
“Open the gate.” The wind carried the sentry’s cry.
Caitlin bit her lip. “Faster,” she told the horses. The castle loomed ahead. Then she was going through the gate and into the castle courtyard. Sarah and Lady Helaine were talking as Sir Reginald called to a guard to lead away the horses. Caitlin swung off her mount and walked toward them. One guard took away the horses she rode. Caitlin met up with the other three.
“Where is that Norman. He is lagging behind I dare say. He cannot even keep his men under control,” Sir Reginald’s face was red.
“Calm down,” Lady Helaine put her hand on his shoulder.
“When he arrives with the cart, we will wish he had not,” Sarah half laughed.
The cart’s rumble approached. Caitlin took her last breaths of clean air. But Lady Helaine and Sarah pulled her away off to make the preparations for the funeral. Lady Helaine hurried them to the castle gardens. She frowned at the sight of so few plants.
“Pick every flower you can,” she ordered, then turned and continued walking along the path that skirted the castle walls.
“Where is she going?” Caitlin whispered.
“To tell the servants to ready the barrows.”
“Barrows?”
“Burial mounds. It is a custom of the nobility to be buried under mounds.”
“What does she want the flowers for?”
“To cover the corpses. Again another custom.”
“Ah,” Caitlin snapped a stem. She threw the faded clump of petals into the basket with the others. “How long will the burial take?”
“Not so very long, but the obsequy will take up the rest of the day.”
“The rest of the day? I will not be able to leave until tomorrow?”
“You assume correctly.”
Caitlin slumped. But her fingers never stopped breaking the stems and tossing the blooms into the basket. The garden was looking even barer. Caitlin raised one flower to her nose. “These dried out flowers do not even have a scent.”
“Lady Helaine will in all likelihood spray them with perfume,” Sarah too sniffed the basket.
“How ironic. Using perfume that came from flowers to spray flowers.”
“I suppose. There that is the last of them. And here is Lady Helaine now.”
Caitlin looked up. Lady Helaine was hurrying along the path towards them.
Sarah stood up and called out, “You are just in time; we picked the last flower mere moments ago.”
“Excellent,” she panted, “but we must hurry; there is much left to do.” She plucked up the basket and whisked them off to another room. “Here. We must give these flowers some scent. Sarah, will you do that?”
“Oh, yes,” Sarah took the phial from Lady Helaine, her fingernails clinking on the tinted glass. She set it on the floor as she laid out the dried flowers.
“And Caitlin, would you shake out these sheets, then lay them out?”
“All right,” she took the billowing white spreads from the lady. She shook years of dust off. Sarah was sprinkling the contents of the bottle over the flowers. The smell of roses and lilies filled the room. Caitlin let the sheets float to the floor. Then she knelt beside them and spread out the wrinkles.
“Here,” said Sarah. She scattered drops of the perfume over the sheets.
“Phew,” Caitlin said as she jerked back, “You almost sprinkled me.”
“Are you girls done?” Lady Helaine pocked her head around the doorframe
“Yes,” Sarah replied.
“Excellent. And the litters are ready as well. We are just about ready then. Sarah, please put the flowers back into the basket, then could you help Caitlin fold up the cloths,” she disappeared again.
“Very well,” Sarah swept up the fragrant blooms with both of her hands. She laid them gently into their basket. Then she turned and picked up two corners of the first sheet. Caitlin took the opposite two. They went through the folding maneuver. Sarah ended up with the fabric as she did the last three folds. She patted the fine linen as she put it on the floor. She did the same with the other. Lady Helaine reappeared at the door.
“Are you girls ready?”
“Yes, let me carry the flowers,” Sarah picked up the basket and joined the mistress of the household in the corridor.
“One moment,” cried Caitlin as she stooped to take the sheets. She held them in her arms against herself as she walked carefully to the door.
“We must hurry now,” Lady Helaine pushed the two girls ahead of her. They rushed back out past the Moorgarde castle gardens along the stone path. The path led them right out to the edge of the moor. Here it was rocky with little stones and rocks that seemed to wriggle their way into Caitlin’s boots. Beyond them the northern moor stretched. Standing on the path, awaiting them, was Sir Reginald. When the group of woman caught up with him they halted and stepped off the path. Servants carrying two litters emerged from a side path and stopped on the path between them. On the litters lay the bodies of Sir Reynard and Elspeth. Sarah stepped forward with her basket. All four of them sprinkled the flowers over the dead. The overpowering smell of the perfume filled the air. Then the procession began. The servants carried the litters first. Sir Reginald, Lady Helaine, Sarah, and Caitlin followed. Lady Helaine and Sarah sang a funeral dirge. Sir Reginald was silent with emotion. Caitlin did not sing because she felt she had little right to, and she was unfamiliar with the words.
They buried Sir Reynard first. Each of them took a corner of the sheet and laid it over him. His father stepped away first.
“Farewell, my first born son, my only son and child,” his voice quavered. He lowered his head and was silent. Lady Helaine stepped away. She let her end hang down.
“My son, my only child, it pains me to part with you so soon,” tears filled her eyes and she dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. Sarah stepped away.
“How can it be that you are dead and I am left alive to mourn you?” Sarah’s reserve melted and she burst into tears. Lady Helaine produced another handkerchief and gave it to her. Sarah sobbed into it. Caitlin stood still a moment. What could she say? She gripped the hem of the sheet fiercely, then stepped back hesitantly. She released her corner.
“Good bye, Sir Reynard,” her voice was steady.
The servants stepped forward and picked up the litter and pushed it into an empty barrow. They filled the low entrance with dirt. The next group of servants came forward, bearing the litter of Elspeth. Sir Reginald, Lady Helaine, Sarah, and Caitlin again took the four corners and lowered the sheet over the flower covered corpse.
“Good bye, Elspeth,” Sir Reginald stepped back, “You deserve a long and peaceful rest.”
“My sister,” Lady Helaine sobbed even more into her handkerchief, “I will love thee dead as I loved thee when thou was yet alive.” In her sorrow she fell back on the old traditional funeral speech.
“I am truly sorry that I knew you not,” Sarah released the corner.
Caitlin stared at the white sheet. “You were to be my aunt, my family through the winter. I was to be your niece. But it is too late, and it is not yet winter. Good bye and fare thee well, Aunt Elspeth,” Caitlin spoke in a low voice. She dropped her corner slowly. The servants pushed this litter into the next empty mound. They blocked up this entrance as well. Then the servants turned and walked back to the castle. Sir Reginald, Lady Helaine, Sarah, and Caitlin remained standing. Sir Reginald raised his voice and said the requiescat.
“May you,” he said, meaning both, “rest peacefully and undisturbed for as long as this world is yet here.” Then Lady Helaine sang the requiem. Sarah joined in the harmony. Caitlin was feeling foreign to all of this. She had never properly buried anyone before, nor had she been to a funeral. As they walked back along the path to the castle, Sarah began to keen. Sir Reginald and Lady Helaine stopped open mouthed, staring at her. Caitlin halted too, staring at both Sarah as well as Sir Reginald and Lady Helaine staring at Sarah.
“Well,” said Lady Helaine, “That certainly explains a little.”
Sarah’s tear stained cheeks looked rosy in the late afternoon light. “I-I,” she faltered.
“No need to defend yourself; I understand,” Lady Helaine patted Sarah’s shoulder. They continued walking. But Caitlin remained still, staring after them.
“What was that about,” she wondered audibly.
“Caitlin, what are you doing back there?” Sarah shouted back.
Caitlin shook herself. “Nothing,” she shouted. She ran to catch up.
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 1:42 pm
“I still do not understand why we could not have left today for Silvengarde,” Caitlin grumbled. She was squatting on her rug in her nightgown.
“Sir Reginald wanted to leave tomorrow,” Sarah yawned from her perch on Caitlin’s bed. The two were silent for a moment.
“Sarah?”
“Mm?”
“Why did Lady Helaine and Sir Reginald look at you strangely went you keened?”
Sarah turned red and buried her face in Caitlin’s pillow. “Keening is reserved for the widows of fallen warriors,” her voice was muffled.
“Oh,” Caitlin paused, “Sarah!”
“Yes?” Her face was still among the cushions.
“Why, Sarah?” Caitlin reproached her.
“I did not think.”
“They do not have that custom where you come from?”
“It’s not that,” Sarah almost squirmed.
“You are wrinkling up the bed covers.”
“Sorry,” Sarah slide off the bed taking half the blankets with her. “Is that better?” She asked mock innocently.
Caitlin glowered at her.
“I just cannot explain, that is all,” Sarah was suddenly serious. She no longer smiled. Her hands were limp in her lap.
“But, why not?”
“You are so, so blind almost.”
“Blind?”
“You spent weeks in my vicinity, and you never noticed. You did not even realized that it was you that—.”
“That?”
“Never mind. It is all in the past now.”
“Oh. All right. You do not wish to discuss it. But I wonder if it might explain Sir Reynard’s strange dying words to me.” Caitlin mock pouted, but her eyes had a mysterious glint.
“Wait, what did he say?”
“Well I thought it was strange.”
“Caitlin!”
“What?”
“I want to know what he said that you thought was strange.”
“But that is just it, he did not say anything that was really strange. What I meant was that it seemed like he wanted to say something, but he never did.”
“Oh, all for the best I suppose,” Sarah smiled and her shoulders relaxed.
“Sarah!”
“Time for bed. We can talk about Sir Reynard later,” Sarah rose and went to the door.
“But I do not want to talk about him at all,” Caitlin cried. She grabbed the pillow and flung it at Sarah. It hit the wall.
“Then we shan’t. But remember that you were the one to bring up the subject.”
“I did not!”
“Well I was not the one to say his name first,” Sarah raised her nose and sniffed.
“But you are always mentioning him. You sound like Lissa,” Caitlin snorted.
“Like who?” Sarah was diverted.
“Oh, a girl I meet at the tournament.”
“What tournament?”
“It was a while ago when the person whose name I am refusing to mention tied champion with Sir Pierce.”
“Hmm. Why do you compare me to Lissa?”
“Well, she would mention him every now and then. That is why she was so very surprised at the festival following the tournament when the person whom I refuse to name approached me.”
“Hold on, what?”
“Lissa would mention—.”
“Not that.”
“I do not understand.”
“Sir Reynard approached you at the festival?”
“See, you are just like Lissa. Go, I’m sick of talking about him.”
“Answer me first, please.”
“He threatened me with a knife, will you leave now?”
“Fine,” Sarah slammed the door behind her.
“Sarah?”
“What?” the door opened slowly.
“I am sorry for getting angry.”
“That’s all right.”
“I just do not like talking about him, that’s all.”
“Oh. You never liked him, did you?”
“No, never ever,” Caitlin said truthfully.
“We can talk later.”
“Good night.”
“One more thing, Caitlin?”
“Yes?”
“Even though you still argue with me, I think you are nicer than you were when we stayed at Endguard.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Sarah softy closed the door. Caitlin pulled the blankets back up onto her bed. She smoothed them out before crawling under them. She lay there warm and comfortable for a moment when she realized that her pillow was over by the door. She groaned. Rolling out of bed, she pulled all the bedcovers with her and trailed them across the floor as she fetched her pillow. She turned and sighed at the destruction she had caused. But she pulled them with her and laid them up on her bed along with her pillow. She smoothed them out again, then blew her candle out. No sooner had crept under them, then she fell asleep.
The next morning she woke to sunlight streaming into the room through the window. She flung the blankets aside and looked out over the moors. She would be traveling those very paths today. She moved away from the window and slipped out of her nightgown and into her red woolen dress. Sarah knocked on her door. Caitlin, now fully dressed and ready for traveling, swung it open.
“Good. You are ready,” Sarah smiled. “We are leaving this moment,” she grasped Caitlin’s arm and propelled her forward.
“We are leaving now?”
“Indeed; we must hurry.”
Caitlin rushed behind Sarah out again to the courtyard. They would be traveling again, but not to the west, to the east. Caitlin grinned. Finally she would be going to Silvengarde after three days delay.
“Hurry, Caitlin,” Sarah called from up on her horse.
“I’m coming,” Caitlin ran towards the others. She swung onto the only rider-less horse. Sir Reginald wheeled his horse around. He galloped through the gate. Lady Helaine, Sarah, and Caitlin followed. As soon as they were a short distance away from Moorgarde castle, they turned and headed due east, towards the rising sun. Caitlin lost the reins. She clung to the horse’s mane and pressed her knees harder into its side so she could regain her balance, but her horse only galloped faster. Caitlin screamed silently. She threw her arms forward around her horse’s neck and released the pressure of her knees from her mount’s sides. It slowed. It was trotting now. Then it was only walking. Caitlin tumbled off its back.
The others were no where in sight. Caitlin sighed. She took the horse by its reins and led it up a hilly rise in the moor. She found herself looking down a steep incline into a forested valley. Caitlin hesitated for one moment, then turned to her horse.
“What do you think,” she murmured, “Would you like to get out of the moors for a little bit even though it would mean going not directly east?” She patted its nose. It whinnied softy. “I thought so,” Caitlin smiled. She took the horse’s reins in one hand and walked along side of it. She led it down the incline. They wove down the slope almost horizontally, each time ending up lower, Until they were into the valley. Caitlin stood by the sparse trees near the forest, and looked back. All around them, the moors steep slopes rose. It was as if the ground the forest grew on had sunk. She turned to face the forest.
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 1:51 pm
Her free hand rested on the smooth bark of a deciduous tree. Its bare branches spread above her, casting small patterns of sunlight on the crinkly leaves at her feet. Caitlin walked forward. Dead leaves and pine needles crunched under her steps and the horse’s steps behind her. The tree were denser the farther she went. She pushed aside the pine tree branches that brushed her face. Up ahead it was lighter, and Caitlin saw a path.
She led the horse up the little rise to it. The path seemed to be slightly higher than the rest of the forest ground. Caitlin walked along the road. Her feet made little noise on the pine needle and dirt path, but the horse clopped along. Hawks above the moors cried shrilly. There were no other noises. Caitlin’s hand ached from gripping the reins for so long. She rested a moment, and switched hands on her grip on the horse’s lead. It was then that she heard a rustling in the bushes and undergrowth that grew near the road. It could not be the wind. The trees were not moving, and besides, breezes rarely touched the sunken forest; it was lower than the moors that the wind swept. Caitlin paused. The rustling meant life; either human or forest creatures.
“Who is there?” She shouted.
“Who is there,” Her voice echoed.
Caitlin swung her bow off her back and readied an arrow. “Make yourself known,” she yelled.
“Yourself known.”
Caitlin released her arrow. It flew through the bushes and Caitlin heard the thump as it hit the tree. Everything was silent except for a lone hawk crying. Caitlin shrugged. She continued trudging. After she had passed the bushes, they rustled again. Caitlin halted. As she whirled around she shouted, “Come out!”
“We have,” three men stood on the path behind her.
“Come out,” her voice faintly reverberated.
“Who are you, and why did you not make yourselves known earlier?”
“We prefer to reveal ourselves on our own terms,” their leader stepped forward.
“You are bandits.”
Their leader struck a pose, resting one hand on his forest green jerkin, “I prefer brigand. It sounds more heroic.”
“What is the difference?”
“Nothing really. We still rob and kill people.”
“Well, don’t rob and kill me now. I have already been delayed for two days,” Caitlin snapped.
“Ah, we have a demanding one here,” the bandit laughed to his comrades.
“Believe me when I say that you will want to leave me alone,” Caitlin tightened her jaw.
“And why is that?” He continued his laugh, “Are you friends with a powerful person?”
“It is almost full moon,” Caitlin’s eyes glinted.
The bandit shrugged.
“When it is full moon I am especially dangerous.”
“You are threatening us?” The leader’s disbelief showed in his voice.
“And I have not been very happy lately ever since I discovered that it was the liege of Endgarde who murdered my parents. I may just feel like taking my anger out on something or someone.”
The bandits edged away slightly. “You? Take revenge?”
“I almost burned down an entire village.”
“What stopped you?”
“I found out that my parents’ death was really the liege of Endgarde’s fault. That and Sir Reynard set it on fire first.”
“Sir Reynard?” The leader faltered.
“Yes. But he is dead now.”
“Dead? Did you kill him?”
“No, but I did threaten to.”
The bandits backed away. “If you can scare Sir Reynard with threats, then…”
“Are you quite all right? You look as white as a ghost.”
“And I have no intension of becoming one,” he turned and ran, his comrades close on his heels.
Caitlin looked at their fleeing forms and doubled over in amusement. Then she straightened, cleared her throat and continued. But there was a buoyancy in her stride where there had been none before.
Caitlin raised her face to the sky. The sun was now overhead. Caitlin stopped on the path. She tied the horse’s reins to a nearby spreading branch. It began to eat leaves off the evergreen bushes that grew near the tree. Caitlin sat down near the path and holding a flat, round loaf of bread from her travel bag on the horse’s saddle. As she bit into it, she felt a p***k on her back. It was a dagger.
“As I said before; I prefer to reveal myself on my own terms.”
“I thought we settled this before.”
“By no means. We only let you go your own way, satisfied that there would be no more bandit attacks from my band, while we followed at a distance, waiting for you to drop your guard.”
“That is clever,” Caitlin said almost begrudgingly.
The leader smiled smugly.
Caitlin ripped the dagger from his grasp. She turned its point on him. “You should have tried it on someone else.” He stepped back. His feet crunched in the leaves. Caitlin stood, still holding the knife to him. “I see I cannot trust you not to follow me.” She nodded towards the path, “Come on. Your presence may guaranty safety from other such surprises.” Still watching him, she loosed her horse. He narrowed his eyes at her. She tightened her grip on the knife. He bent his head and walked past her. She followed, holding the dagger to his back with one hand, leading the horse with the other.
They walked all day and the sky began to darken. Caitlin’s steps became slower and slower. The bandit was more alert and edgy than ever. The sunlight pouring down into the forest turned rust colored. Her grip on the dagger was not as tight, but there was little force left in her weary limbs. The sky was dark, night fell on the forest. The bandit turned.
“Are we going to walk all night?”
“If need be. I must get back to the moor.”
Caitlin thrust the dagger closer to him. He turned back, sighing, and kept on walking. The path twisted and turned among the trees. It seemed endless. The moon rose. It cast silver light over the forest. The shade it left were black and ominous. Caitlin’s steps grew longer. Then the shadowy evergreen trees thinned, and through the trunks and branches they saw the silver lined fields of heather. Caitlin sighed with relief and picked up pace. One more twist and she would be back in the heather and grass and out of the trees. The brigand turned once again.
“I have gone far enough, let me go free.”
Caitlin thought a moment, “Fine. I will leave your dagger near the edge of the wood. Only, why do you refuse to go nearer to the moor?”
“It is said that the moors beyond this forest are haunted.”
“Haunted!” Caitlin laughed.
“I seen strange figures out on the moor on moonlit nights such as this.”
“You are only trying to frighten me into staying the night in the forest,” she scoffed.
“Have it your way if you must, but never say that I did not warn you.”
“Haunted by what?” She stared at him impassively.
“What else are moors haunted by?” He hinted.
“You jest.”
“Indeed no,” he turned and hurried away.
Caitlin stood, looking after him. Then she turned and shrugged and continued the final part of her journey out of the forest and back into moorland. She rounded the bend and the sea of heathery waves lay before her. Before joyously running out into it, she turned and set down the bandit leader’s dagger.
Caitlin stopped for the night some ways out into the moor away from the forest. She tethered her horse. She lay down among the moor grasses. Her eyelids drooped and shut. She pulled her cloak over herself. Her breathing was slow and regular. Then she heard a noise. Her eyes open wide. Her fingernails gouged into her palms. Her mouth opened to scream. No noise came from her throat.
Across the moor a pale figure drifted. As it came closer, Caitlin saw that it was clothed all in tattered white as a dread bride. Its silver hair flowed about it. Its skin was pure white and its eyes had no irises nor pupils. The apparition glided closer. It had out a long slender arm to touch Caitlin. Caitlin found to her horror that she could not move. Her mouth opened to scream again, but her lungs would not obey her. The creature touched her on her hand, and its touch burned like fire.
“Caitlin,” it said. Its voice was not like a ghost’s voice. It sounded like someone she knew. Caitlin opened her eyes. Sarah stood there silhouetted by the sunrise. “Caitlin,” she repeated.
“Sarah?”
“Yes, it is I.”
“How did you find me?”
“We were looking all over.”
“Where are Sir Reginald and Lady Helaine?”
“Sir Reginald decided he had no time for hide and seek. Lady Helaine is waiting for us at Heathermoore.”
“Oh, all right, we had best be going then,” Caitlin stood up.
“What is that on your hand?”
“On my hand?” Caitlin looked at her palm.
“On the other side.”
Caitlin turned her hand over. She saw a silver mark in the shape of a skull. It was where the apparition had touched her in her dream. “Sarah?” Her voice was weak.
“Are you quite fine?”
“We have to get out of here. In my dream last night, if it was indeed a dream, I saw the dread bride. It touched me on my hand. Its touch burned. It must have left this mark, the silver mark of promised death,” Caitlin’s eyes met her friend’s.
“Do not panic. Calm yourself,” Sarah pulled up the stake that had tethered Caitlin’s horse. “Climb onto it, hurry.” Sarah bent with one knee out to help Caitlin mount. Caitlin put her right foot on it and swung her other over the horse’s back. Sarah stood up and raced to her horse. She jumped onto her horse. “Make haste,” she yelled, digging her heels into the horse’s sides. It neighed, and Sarah galloped off. Caitlin followed, gripping the reins for all she was worth. Sarah checked her horse and wheeled it around the face Caitlin. She waited for Caitlin to close the distance between them, then resumed her pace. They galloped side by side. There were no noises but the sound of hooves on the ground and the swish of heather as the horses galloped. Caitlin’s heart pounded in her ears. They raced over the heath. The silver mark glimmered on Caitlin’s hand as she clutched the reins. Her dark curls flowed out over her shoulders and rippled in the wind. The green cloak spread out behind her. Her breath came quickly. Her palms were sweaty. The horse beneath her sensed her urgency and galloped faster. They galloped over a rise in the moor. Before them lay Heathermoore. Smoke from the chimneys of the wattle and dab houses rose into the sky, a blue tinted mist. Then they were down the rise and charging towards the tiny village. The horses were tiring. Their breath was labored and sweat ran down their sides. Caitlin slowed the pace a little. The horses were now galloping not through the heather but on a pebble road. Stones crunched and scattered behind them. Then they were cantering on cobblestone. Sarah and Caitlin slowed their horses and halted. Sarah dismounted first and led her horse to a stable by the Merry Moor Inn. She turned and motioned Caitlin to follow. Caitlin swung off her horse and hurried after her.
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 1:56 pm
“How came you by that mark, Caitlin?” Lady Helaine turned over the girl’s hand and patted it.
“The dread bride of the moor touched me in a dream,” Caitlin rode her horse ahead. They had stayed two days at the Merry Moor Inn to rest the horses, now they had been riding since early morning. Caitlin could sense Lady Helaine’s gaze on her back.
“Don’t go too far ahead, my dear; I do not want to lose you again,” she called after her.
Caitlin wheeled around, “Do not worry.” She galloped back to Sarah and Lady Helaine.
“What does the mark mean?”
“Mark?”
“On your hand; the one the dread bride gave you.”
“It means I will die soon,” Caitlin sighed.
“How horrible!” Lady Helaine stared at her in dismay.
“Caitlin,” Sarah rode up to join them. “What is that up ahead?”
Caitlin looked up. In the distance was a single spreading tree. The tree had not yet lost its leaves. They hung, orange and yellow, from its reaching branches. In its shade was something lying in the grass. It sparkled dark red. Caitlin rode closer. It was a dragon that slept there. Its crested head tucked under one great folded wing. The scales along its spine ridge glittered silver were the sun caught them. Its long spiny tail curved around and wrapped over its claws. It was a young one. Dragons when they are born are black. As they grow older, they become redder. After they are really red, their scales turn orange and gold. On much older dragons, the gold becomes silver. The oldest dragon still alive was pure white. It was the last of the first dragon breed.
Caitlin rode her horse back to Sarah and Lady Helaine. “It is a dragon,” she called softly, “young but dangerous.”
“A dragon?” Lady Helaine stared at the glittering mass lying under the tree.
“Fortunately for us it is asleep,” Caitlin wheeled about again and rode along side of Sarah.
Lady Helaine shuddered.
They rode past the dragon under the tree. They held their tongues until they were past it. But Lady Helaine looked back nervously. Sarah laid a hand on her shoulder to calm her.
“It is all right, see? It is still sleeping soundly.”
“I would not want you to think me a coward. I see I will have to tell you the story,” Lady Helaine lowered her head for a moment, then she raised it and looked Sarah and Caitlin in their faces. “Reynard was not my only child. I had a little daughter. One day when she was three, I was tending her, and a dragon smashed through the nursery window and tore her from my arms. Ever since then, I have a greater fear and hatred for those creatures.”
“I’m sorry,” Caitlin bit her lip.
“I as well. What was her name?”
“Her name was Elena.”
“It is a pretty name,” Sarah said.
“I wanted to name her for my sister Elspeth or my friend Eleanor. My husband wanted her to be named for me, as Reynard was named for him. He wanted her called Helen. So I suggested Elena. It sounded similar to my name, yet it began with ‘el’ like Elspeth and Eleanor.”
“How clever.”
“But I suppose it does not matter as she was carried off.”
“Of course it matters. It matters to those who carry her memory in their hearts,” Sarah insisted.
“Perhaps you are right.”
Caitlin was silent. She had no words of comfort or assurance to give Lady Helaine. Then Sarah and Lady Helaine were silent as well. The clank and clang of metal striking metal filled the air. The moor sloped beneath them. On the heath two knights were fighting, hacking and hewing at each other’s armor. As they fought they hurled insults in gasping voices. Sarah rode forward.
“Stop!” She shouted at them, “Perhaps your argument could be settled peaceably.” They halted, sheathed their swords, and turned to face her. “Why are you fighting?”
“The village yonder is under attack by a family of wyverns. We are fighting to resolve which of us will have the honor to defend the village and exterminate the wyverns.”
“Are there so few adventures and quests to be had that you must quarrel over them? As we traveled we saw a dragon under a single spreading tree. This dragon was old enough to cause much harm to nearby towns. One of you may rid the village of the wyvern pests, while the other might slay the dragon.”
“Excellent notion. I will set out at once to kill this dragon you speak of,” one knight stepped forward.
“You kill the dragon?” His rival laid a gauntleted hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. “You lack the strength and prowess for such a feat.”
“Nay, I was merely thinking you might prefer to kill an weaker foe,” he turned and faced the other.
“So now you claim I am a coward!” He roared in anger, his blue plumes quivered on his helm.
“Indeed I do!” The knight with the red plumes and crimson shield drew his sword.
“There can be only one way to settle this,” the blue knight drew his sword as well.
Sarah shook her head, her eyes wide. She motioned to Lady Helaine and Caitlin to follow her. They made a wide circle around the fighting pair and continued their eastern journey.
At noon they saw from their vantage point on a rise, a castle on a large flat topped hill. When they were closer, they saw that the valley was filled with an army. Lady Helaine turned to her two companions.
“I am truly sorry, but I have had enough danger and excitement. I will return home to Moorgarde. I am so sorry to desert you like this.”
“No need; we quite understand,” Caitlin smiled at her.
“Yes, indeed. You cannot for long be away from Moorgarde and Sir Reginald. It is clearly your duty to return,” Sarah said.
“Very well, good bye, dear girls,” Lady Helaine turned and rode off. She turned a waved one last farewell to them, then she was gone. That was the last time Caitlin ever saw her. Sarah and Caitlin turned to face the valley.
“Maybe they will not notice us and let us go on our way,” Sarah said in a small voice.
Caitlin bit her lip.
“Really we ought to pass unnoticed—we are only humble travelers.”
“Sarah, look at the battle flags, the symbol on them.”
“A rampant lion on a red field.”
“Exactly.”
“I do not understand.”
“How could you have forgotten? That is the flag of Endgarde.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes; I remember it distinctly.”
“But why would an army from Endgarde be here?”
“I think its destination is Silvengarde.”
“But if that were true then what are they doing so far north?”
“With such an army as this, it would not be easy to pass through the dense forests.”
“But why would they be marching on Silvengarde?”
“Perhaps this is what Sir Reynard warned me of. He said that the Prince of Silvengarde was to die. But he did not say how.”
“Can we ride around them?”
“It would have to be long ways away. Two horses with riders are too easily seen out here in flat moorland.”
“We could do that, could we not?”
“We would be days behind them, and arrive too late to be of any use.”
“Then what can we do?”
“We will have to risk it.” Caitlin looked out over the soldiers below. Sarah stared at Caitlin then slowly nodded. Caitlin gripped the reins in her sweaty palms. “In this case the cliché is true; now or never. And never is not one of my options.”
“Right,” Sarah edged her horse forward. She set the pace at a nonchalant trot, going around, though not an obvious detour, the army. Caitlin followed directly behind and to the side.
“You there, halt!” An sentry called. Sarah and Caitlin exchanged glances. Once they were stopped, they had no hope of reaching Silvengarde before the army. They would be suspicious if they continually saw the same two horses with the same two riders. Both girls dug their heels into their mounts. They raced off down the valley. “Oy! After them; they may be spies,” the guard yelled.
“Faster, Sarah,” Caitlin gasped.
Horsemen from the army encampment were giving chase. They were gaining ground. Caitlin urged her horse on faster. It was already tired from a morning of traveling. The horses that gave chase were rested and fresh. Soon the two girls were hemmed in by the cavalry.
“Surrender or die!” Their leader shouted.
“We are only poor, frightened travelers, sir. I say this truly,” Sarah called back.
“You say this yet you do not use roads, if you are travelers, then what do tell is your destination?”
“We are heading to Silvengarde.”
“Aha! To what purpose?”
Sarah hesitated. Caitlin spoke for her, “We seek refuge from the dread bride of the moor,” she raised her silver-marked hand. “Silvengarde is the closest castle that is not surrounded by moorland.”
“If you speak truthfully, then I pity you. We march on Silvengarde to besiege it. However we may bring you with us away from the moor you fear if you consent to be our prisoners, else you will have to try another direction.”
Sarah and Caitlin again looked at each other. “Then we will travel with you as your prisoners in order to escape from the dread bride,” Sarah spoke for them both.
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 2:01 pm
“We haven’t made a bad choice, have we?” Sarah whispered to Caitlin as they were being led away, their horses left behind them.
“We knew this could have been a consequence of our action.”
“Yes, but you do not think we might have been a little rash?”
“Are you regretting that you even came with me in the first place?”
“Well.”
“You are, aren’t you.”
“Into this tent, miss,” the soldier pushed Sarah into a small tent. “And you,” he addressed Caitlin, “will not. We have decided that it will be best if we separate you.”
Caitlin looked back at Sarah’s tent, memorizing its position.
“Come on,” ordered the soldier pushing her faster. Caitlin found herself being hustled into another tent two tents down from the corner which in turn was five tents away from Sarah.
“Wait,” she cried as they closed the tent behind her. “My friend.” But they did not heed her. Caitlin threw herself on the tent floor. “What a mess of things I have made,” she mourned. She wept softly for a while. Then she rolled over and stared at the sides of the tent. The light that permeated the fabric was orange. Caitlin guessed it was sunset now. The light became eventually dimmer and dimmer. Caitlin shivered. The thin-woven cloth of the tent did not protect her from the cold moor winds. Then it was all dark in the tent. Caitlin squatted on the floor, her hands idle in her lap. Her head was bowed. A silver gleam shone into the tent through the flimsy cloth. The full moon was rising. Caitlin lifted her head and trembled. Her heart beat faster. She felt the change come over her, trading one form for another. Silver fur grew over her. Her ears stretched. Her nose extended. She was once again a wolf.
Caitlin the wolf looked around at her surroundings. The pale, lit tent hemmed her in. A feeling of desperation pumped through her blood. Caitlin the wolf looked now anxiously for a way out. The white cage surrounded her on all sides. The wolf snarled in anger. She hurled herself at the tent sides clawing and tearing. It gave way and Caitlin the wolf bounded off to the hillside. She flopped down, her red tongue hanging out, panting. Caitlin raised her head to howl at the moon to give back her human form, but a feeling that silence was to be preserved stopped her. Instead the wolf lay down and licked herself all over. Then she curled up and fell asleep.
Caitlin found herself lying on her back staring up at a full moon. “This cannot be possible,” the thought ran through her mind. She was human again. Then she saw the dread bride of the moor drifting toward her with outstretched arms. As the apparition advanced, it drew its arms back to its waist and unsheathed a long silver sword. It held it gently, as if it were made of cobwebs, in both hands and did not halt its approach. The mark on Caitlin’s hand glowed brightly. The silver sword was raised over Caitlin. Her tongue was loosed and she knew she could scream just one thing.
“Prince of Silvengarde!” The cry echoed in the distance. The dread bride of the moor collapsed into a heap of torn white cloth. Caitlin gasped. Her eyes opened. In the east, the sun was rising. It was morning. Caitlin sat up. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, then stared at her hand. The silver mark was gone.
A horn sounded down in the valley. Caitlin watched the army stir. When she judged the bustle to pack up the tents and supplies into the wagons was at a frenzy by the shouts and jostling, she ran through the heather down the hill into the camp. She arrived panting. She ducked under a wagon and ran to one side as a troop of soldiers carrying tent poles and white cloth marched by.
“Watch where you’re going, missy,” a plump, young woman lugging a copper kettle of steaming stew pushed past her. She set it down with a gasp. Then she turned and faced Caitlin. She wore a loose white blouse, rolled up at the elbows. An un-dyed hanky covered her hair—all but the little, greasy tendrils that escaped. Her face was red from the heat and beads of sweat shone on her forehead. She wiped her face with the back of her pudgy hand. “Say, maybe you could help me.”
“With what?” Caitlin looked around for some sign of Sarah.
“I have to carry all the kettles,” she grimaced.
“Where to?”
“Just to the middle. I was supposed to have done it earlier, but did you ever try to work your way through the camp when it’s like this? It is impossible.”
“Yes,” Caitlin laughed nervously. She did not recognize this part of the camp. Where was Sarah?
“Well, wait a moment. I’ll bring another pot of stew, and we can carry them together, that way you won’t get lost.”
“All right. I will wait for your return.”
“I sure do appreciate this,” she called as her figure disappeared in jostle. Caitlin used this opportunity to scan the area for any signs of familiarity. But in the daylight and the bustle, everything looked foreign. She saw the kettle girl returning. She shoved aside anyone who stood in her path with her scalding kettle. She smiled as she approached Caitlin. She set the pot of stew on the ground heavily and it sloshed boiling water on her blue apron. She looked down in dismay. “I suppose that’s why I wear an apron.” But when she lifted it, she saw that the water had soaked through to her flowered skirt. Caitlin bit her lip.
“I am terribly sorry.”
The girl shrugged. “Bound to happen, I suppose.” She heaved up the kettle again. “This way, follow me,” she panted. Caitlin lifted the other kettle. She swung it in the girl’s direction and followed it. She toddled in the kettle girl’s wake. They set down their burdens in the middle of the camp. “Oh, I forgot,” the girl pushed past Caitlin.
“What did you forget?” Caitlin followed her.
“Oh, the ladles. I should get them,” the girl walked back to the kitchen’s tent. She ducked under the tent flap. When she reemerged, she had an apron and a hanky draped on her arm as well as the ladles clutched in her hands. “Here,” she threw the apron and handkerchief at Caitlin, “You’ll need these.” As they walked back, Caitlin tied the apron strings about her waist and the hanky on her head so it overshadowed her face. They were back at the steaming kettles and there was a line of soldiers waiting for them. “Oh, I’m so sorry to make you all wait for your breakfast,” the girl cried. She plunged the ladle into the stew and slashed it into the first bowl. Caitlin followed her example, though she tried not to spill.
It was midmorning when they finally began to march. Caitlin traveled with the supply wagons. She fell in next to the girl she had assisted earlier.
“Well,” the girl addressed her, “I was very glad of your help I can tell you that. I’m glad we’re traveling with the same wagon.”
“No problem,” Caitlin smiled. She hoped that in the apron and handkerchief, talking with a kitchen assistant, she looked like she belonged. Once the moon had set and the sun was rising and the camp was not yet awake, she would look for Sarah. The girl again intruded on her thoughts.
“My name is Matty by the way,” she swung out her hand to grab at a tall bush. “What is yours?” She scattered the leaves on the path.
“Caitlin.” Tonight would be the last night of full moon. And unless it was cloudy, the moon would shine all night. No, there was only time just after sunrise to rescue Sarah.
“Where are you from?”
“From?”
“Well, me, for example, I was born in Heathermoore.”
“Were you indeed? I spent most of my life in Winterburrow.”
“Where were you born?”
“I am not sure really.”
“Oh,” Matty looked at her, but Caitlin said no more. The girl fell silent as well. Caitlin kept close to the wagon as it jolted on the rough road. Matty walked ahead to chat with the driver. The noonday sun shone brightly overhead. Caitlin pulled off the handkerchief on her head. She ran her fingers through her hair. It was warm from the sun. She put her hair up off her neck, and retied the hanky so the hair would stay that way. With the back of her hand, she wiped away the sweat that trickled down her forehead. She sighed. It was going to be a long day.
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 2:05 pm
When they stopped for the day, the sun was red and low on the western horizon behind them. Caitlin’s wagon creaked to a halt. Around them, all the others were stopping too. Then men came and unloaded them; it was like the bustle of the morning only reversed. Caitlin walked away to the side. She saw with satisfaction that clouds covered the eastern sky. Caitlin slipped away through the camp. From the soldiers’ part of the encampment, she heard angry voices. She ducked in the tall grass. It was Sarah talking with a commander and the leader of the cavalry who had captured them.
“I will not spend another night here,” she cried.
“But you agreed,” the commander leveled his gaze at her.
“I did for my friend and I, but she has disappeared, and as I have no mark, there is no reason for me to stay.”
“But you do not understand the gravity of the situation. Since your companion has escaped, you have been labeled as spies. We cannot allow one we consider a spy to go free. You are lucky we have not run you through with a sword,” the commander crossed his arms. In the grass, Caitlin flinched. “You there,” the commander nodded at a group of soldiers walking past, “take this spy to her prison tent. And watch for her friend.” Caitlin sank even farther down in the grass. Through the stalks, she saw the soldiers straighten and salute their commander. They marched off with Sarah. Caitlin followed, slinking in the heather. They brought Sarah to a tiny white tent. Caitlin recognized it from yesterday. They pushed Sarah into it and tied all the closure strings on the outside. They posted one of them to stand guard, and the rest wandered off. Caitlin looked to the east. The sky was dark and cloudy. There was time to rescue Sarah. Caitlin looked around. On a table lay several swords and knives, not three tents away. She crept to it. She grabbed a small dagger and unsheathed it. It gleamed in the dying sunlight. She gently rubbed her finger across its edge. It was sharp enough. She moved behind the tents until she reached the especially small one. She pushed the tent side with her palm. No one was leaning on it. Caitlin ran her tongue over her cracked lips. She stepped forward and stabbed her dagger into the cloth. Then she pulled down on it. The knife ripped through the fabric quickly and easily. Caitlin poked her head through the slash she had made. Sarah lay in a huddled heap, sobbing.
“Sarah,” Caitlin whispered. Sarah did not raise her head. Caitlin stepped into the tent. She rested a hand on the weeping girl’s shoulder. Sarah looked up with wide eyes. Caitlin put a finger to her lips and motioned behind her. Sarah stood and followed her out the slit in the tent side. Sarah ran and threw herself down amid the heather. Caitlin looked around, her eyes big in her pale face. Her heart pounded in her ears. The commander was walking toward the tent she had ripped. He paused outside the flap. Caitlin heard his voice as he exchanged words with the guard. She turned to flee. But where to go? She could not run to the heather where Sarah hid without attracting attention to both of them. She turned and blindly ran east to the furthest reaches of the camp. She tripped over a tent peg and went sprawling on the ground.
“Oy! There’s one of them spies over there!” A guard shouted. Caitlin flinched. She lifted herself with her arms and ran. Heads were poking out of the tents. Caitlin looked desperately to the east. The moon was still shrouded with clouds. Pain shot through Caitlin’s side. She gasped.
“Halt!” Someone shouted, “Halt or I shoot.” Caitlin looked over her shoulder as she ran. An archer was aiming an arrow at her. Caitlin turned. She flung herself down and rolled into the heather. An arrow embedded itself into the dust where Caitlin had landed a moment ago. Caitlin rolled farther into the moor grass. Another arrow landed by her among the plants. Caitlin clenched her teeth. Her arm felt as if tongues of flame were licking it. Caitlin looked down. The sleeve of her dress was wet and dark with blood. The arrow had grazed it. She stood up in the heather.
“Do not shoot! I surrender,” she yelled. Her legs felt weak under her. Her arm throbbed.
“Come over here, then!” The commander shouted back. Caitlin obeyed. She stood before her twice captors unsteadily. “Sit,” the commander ordered, eying her bloody arm. Caitlin collapsed on the ground. “Where is the other, your friend?”
“I am not sure,” Caitlin gasped.
“You must know something; you are the one who freed her,” the commander guessed.
“She could be anywhere by now,” Caitlin avoided eye-contact.
“Where would she go?”
Caitlin shrugged, then winced, “She may return to her home, wherever that is, or she may go back to Moorgarde.”
“Back to Moorgarde? You have been there already?”
“Yes. Twice.”
“Then are you friends of Sir Reginald and Lady Helaine?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you not say so earlier?”
Caitlin spread one hand, “Would it have made a difference?”
“Why being friends with them is almost like being friends with the liege of Endgarde.”
“No.”
“No?”
“The liege had my parents killed.”
“Indeed?” The commander stared at her.
“Yes.”
“Who were your parents,” he narrowed his eyes.
“Sir Lowell and Eleanor.”
“You jest.”
“Why do you say this?”
“The liege would not have his servants killed, especially one so skilled as Sir Lowell. He was used as an example to us when we trained.”
“You knew my father?”
“Alas, no. He had been away for several years when I was at Endgarde.”
“The liege also killed the sister of Lady Helaine and was indirectly responsible for the death of her son, Sir Reynard.”
“You are a liar. Neither of those people are dead.”
“I helped bury them myself.”
“Mere words prove nothing. You are a lying spy who seeks to sway my loyalties. Guards, take her to a prison tent, not the one with the slash.”
Caitlin paced in her tent all night. The sides of the tent remained dark. Caitlin only gave up hope that the moon would shine through the clouds when rosy light lit the tent. She sat down in the middle, her feet tucked under her, glaring at the white floor-sheet. Outside the morning chaos reigned. Wagons wheels creaked and tent poles and pegs clattered as they were dumped. Yells penetrated Caitlin’s tent. She sighed. Yesterday morning, she had mingled with those very people, she had been free. Caitlin lifted her head. Just outside her tent, there were voices. Then the commander poked his head into the tent.
“It is time to continue the journey. Either I have to shackle you or you will have to give your solemn promise you will not attempt to escape will we march. Which do you prefer?”
“I think I would rather be freed. But as you will not have that, I would rather give my word and walk freely among you than be bound.”
“And you give your word of honor as a human not to even try to escape?”
Caitlin looked at him slyly. “Yes.”
“Vastly interesting. All the prisoners I have captured take that choice. They seem to prefer it. I would rather have them prefer being shackled. It gives me ease of mind.”
Caitlin laughed in spite of herself.
“Yes, well, you had best be quitting this tent. We march now,” the commander’s head disappeared back outside.
Caitlin got to her feet and moved to the flap. She held it slightly open with one hand as she slipped through the gap. The sunlight out in the open was harsh and un-muted by the tent fabric. Caitlin blinked. The commander had turned and seen her exit.
“Hmm. I think you will worry me especially,” he narrowed his eyes, then whirled away. Caitlin stared after him. He had a right to worry; she had given her word as a human when she was a werewolf. But then she would be in human form for a month, so her promise was good after all. She glowered at the commander’s receding back. Then she followed him eastward to the route to Silvengarde.
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 2:09 pm
At noonday, Silvengarde was in sight. The last bit of moor before it was flat, but the castle itself rose on a rocky hill. Caitlin ran her eyes over its smooth walls and its towers that reached into the blue sky. Its stones shone white in the sunlight. It was just as she remembered it.
“Halt!” Shouted the commander. There was no need for the trumpeters to repeat his order. “We encamp here!” The commander paced on the level ground. “Today is the day when we assault Silvengarde and its prince!” The soldiers cheered. Caitlin looked down and kicked a rock. As the commander stood there before them, before the men reacted to his order, a black-robed figure on a black steed galloped toward him, then wheeled to a halt. It was the liege of Endgarde who sat loftily on his horse. Caitlin’s skin crawled. Her former liege swung off his horse, his great black cloak fluttering in the breeze. He turned to the commander and spoke with him. Then he faced the army.
“Today we will besiege Silvengarde until the prince is handed over to us. We will execute him. He thought he could own this world. It is mine! I will not have it taken from me.” Even from where she stood, Caitlin could see the liege’s eyes blazing in his pale face under the black hood. All around her the soldiers were roaring “hurrah” and Caitlin was overwhelmed by the sound. She felt faint and held her hands to her ringing ears.
The liege mounted his horse and galloped to the beginning of the hill on which Silvengarde stood. The liege stood in his stirrups and called up to the sentry on the wall.
“Where is thy master? I charge him to come out and met with us.”
“I am here. I have been waiting for thee,” the Prince stood next to the guard.
“Come down to us, you who would steal my servants from me.”
“Can a man steal something that is rightfully his?”
The liege gnashed his teeth. “Come down and face us.”
The Prince disappeared from atop the wall. The gate raised, and the Prince, alone, unarmed, strode over the drawbridge towards them. Finally he stood before them, calm and fearless.
“Seize him!” Ordered the liege. A group of soldiers from the front row ran forward and grabbed the Prince. The liege walked to the edge of the northern forest. The soldiers followed, dragging the Prince with them. They thrust him against a yellow-leafed tree, and tied his arms around the trunk. One of the men tore off his tunic and threw in into a crumpled heap. Another man stepped forward. He brandished a whip.
“No!” Caitlin silently screamed.
There was a sickening smack as the whip lashed across bare flesh. Caitlin winced. The soldier raised the whip again. Caitlin could not stay still. She slipped through the crowd of now silent soldiers and ran to the southern arm of the forest. She hid behind a tree, flinching every time she heard the sound of lash on skin. But the Prince did not even cry out. Then there was a long silence. Caitlin peered around the tree trunk. Straight across from where she stood was the tree where the Prince was tied. Blood trickled down his torn back. Caitlin swallowed. The liege approached him. He held a knife in one hand. Caitlin shuddered. There was only one way to die that required these circumstances—the most horrible and gruesome punishment ever conceived by the peoples of this land. So horrible that no one except the vilest criminal ever was killed in this way. Caitlin buried her face in the rough tree bark. The long silence continued. Caitlin peeked through her fingers. The liege was in the process of pulling the Prince’s lowest rib to one side. Caitlin shut her eyes and leaned into her tree. The picture of bloody, pulpy mess of the Prince’s back remained.
“Do not look again,” Caitlin whispered to herself, tears running down her cheeks and dripping from her chin, “It will only get worse.” She paused, imagining the rest of the excruciating death the Prince would experience. All the ribs of the Prince’s back would be cut free of the flesh and pulled to the side. The Prince would die of shock, bleeding, and pain. The name of the punishment was spread-eagling.
Caitlin sank in a heap on the moor grass that extended into the forest. She covered her face with her hands and wept. Now she would never belong with any people. The Prince was the only she would serve, and now the liege of Endgarde was killing him, and it would be suicide to try to stop him. This was what Sir Reynard had tried to warn her of.
“There, it is done,” the dark voice came. “Why do you not use your wings to fly away?” The liege jeered. Caitlin huddled on the hard ground. She heard a long drawn out gasp. The Prince was dead. “Victory!” The liege shouted and his army shouted it back.
“Victory yes, but not yours,” Caitlin whispered.
“Let no man bury him. He must be left for the vultures,” the liege ordered.
“Why? Why?” Caitlin’s voice faltered, “This is a nightmare come real.” She surrendered herself to tears of hopelessness.
“Caitlin.” She raised her head. In the darkness she saw Ty standing above her. “You must not stay here,” his face was drawn into a worried, fearful frown. He held out his hand. Caitlin took it and stood with his help. She looked backward over her shoulder. Little fires dotted the plan before Silvengarde. She turned back to Ty. The distant firelight flickered on his tearstained face.
“Ty,” her eyes were wide, her lip quivered. “They, they killed him.”
“Yes. You must not stay here; they will find you.”
“There is nothing left,” her despair echoed in her voice.
“Come. We must go back to Silvengarde.”
“Why?”
“It is all we can do. Come,” Ty took her arm and led her away. Caitlin tripped on a plant runner and fell to the ground. Caitlin quickly got up, but the sound was heard.
“Oy! Spies—in the forest!” A sentry yelled.
“After them!” shouted another voice.
Caitlin and Ty glanced at each other. They dashed off through the forest. Dodging tree trunks, evading notice, they arrived at a small clearing. Ty knelt in the middle, fumbling through the fallen pine needles. Caitlin looked around desperately.
“What are you doing? They will be on top of us in a moment.”
“Found it,” Ty whispered in triumph. He lifted a trapdoor in the ground. “You first.” Caitlin wasted half of a moment staring. Then she turned around and let her feet slide until they landed on a ladder rung. She climbed down to the bottom. Looking up, she saw Ty swing down after her. He closed the trapdoor and they were in darkness. She heard his feet scuffle on the rungs, then his feet land on the floor. All was silent except for their breathing. Then above them, the feet of soldiers pounded into the clearing.
“Where did they run to?” The soldier’s voice sounded slightly muffled.
“I didn’t see.”
“Oh, perfect. The commander will have our hides if we let them escape.”
“We could try this way, towards the castle—that’s where they’re aiming for, no doubt.” The soldiers’ footsteps thumped away. Caitlin waited until their footfalls had died away in the distance before sighing with relief. Then she paused and stared around them.
“Does this lead anywhere?”
“It leads right to the castle. Come on,” Ty knelt and picked up something in the dark. Caitlin heard the swish of cloth being lifted and the passage way was filled with light. Ty held the lantern high. The little fireflies within raced around in their glass cage. Ty went first along the subterranean corridor. The sound of their feet on the dusty, dirt floor echoed. The light from Ty’s lantern bounced off the stone walls. The passage way was sloping down. Then it sloped up and the corridor stopped in a dead-end. But there was a ladder leaning against the wall. Ty climbed up and pushed open other trapdoor in the ceiling. He disappeared. Caitlin climbed up as well. Ty held out a hand to help her up the last, unbalanced steps. Finally she stood in Silvengarde. Ty closed the trap door after her, then turned and opened a door that led into the great hall of the castle. Sitting on the hard marble floor in the gloom were Alan, Pierce, and Robin.
“Where have you been, Ty?” Pierce asked tonelessly.
“To the forest.”
“Has your grief driven you mad?” Pierce half stood.
“Who is that with you?” Robin bounced up.
“Caitlin,” she answered for Ty.
“Caitlin?” Pierce stood up all the way.
“That’s right,” she moved out from being half behind Ty.
“Why are you here?”
“I was coming back, but the liege’s army captured me. They brought me with them.”
“Then you saw what happened to the Prince.”
“Yes, well partly. I hid behind a tree.”
Pierce was silent for a moment. “Why did you leave us?”
“I thought I had to. I thought I did not belong with all of you.”
“Where did you go?”
“Endgarde first, next Winterburrow, then across the moors.”
“Endgarde? You went to Endgarde?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because its liege told me that my parents had been his servants and that I belonged there.”
“He is the one who killed the Prince.”
“Indeed.”
“You betrayed us. You led them here to kill him, and now you are going to betray the rest of us,” in the darkness Caitlin heard the sound of metal scraping. Sir Pierce was drawing his sword.
Caitlin flinched, “No.”
“Put the sword away,” Alan spoke for the first time, “You do not wish to do anything rash that you will regret later.” There was a moment of silence, then Pierce sheathed his sword.
“The liege of Endgarde is no longer my master.”
“How can we believe you?”
“He sent me to Winterburrow,” Caitlin continued her story, hoping she would not have to answer Pierces’ question, “where I learned that it was he who was responsible for my parents death. It was then that I renounced my position as his vassal. Later, he murdered the lady I stayed with and threatened to kill me. That very day I left to come here.”
“Do you have proof that your story is true?”
“You would have to travel a ways and talk to a lot of people.”
“I see.”
“Please, you must believe me.”
“Then answer my one question: why did your parents serve him, were they simply evil?”
“No, my parents at first served him, because they believed the lie that all werewolves belong from birth to him, the liege of Endgarde.”
“Werewolf?”
Caitlin looked down, “Yes, my parents were werewolves, as am I.”
“Well,” the four others stared at her.
“But my parents left Endgarde because they realized that even if they were so cursed, they still had a choice of liege.”
“Why did you not tell us before?”
“People treat me differently once they know—even though I am human during the day and most nights as well. But I suppose those twenty-four days out of the entire year must be very important if they separate a werewolf from a human.”
“I am sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“We can talk later I suppose. Robin here just on the verge of slumber,” Pierce sat back down, jovial again.
“I am not,” protested Robin.
“The sun has gone down and the moon is already up.”
“The moon?” Robin gave Caitlin a nervous glance, “It was full last night.”
“It is no longer full; it is waning now. And of course it is up. It was already up when the sun set.”
“You know a lot about the moon’s cycles,” laughed Pierce.
“I have to.” The gravity in what she hinted at sobered the others.
“Well, good night, all,” Ty flopped down carefully.
“Good night, brother,” Robin lay back down, “Good night, cousin. Good night, Alan and Caitlin.
“Good night,” Caitlin walked a little farther on to find a place to sleep for the night.
“Do not leave this room, please,” Pierce called after her. “We decided to all stay here so we would not lose each other and so we would be protected here in the heart of the castle.”
“So I gathered,” Caitlin sat down. She drew in her breath sharply. She had forgotten about the arrow graze on her arm.
“Are you quite all right?”
“It is merely my arm. One of the liege’s men shot at me yesterday and grazed it. I think it just reopened it.”
“Ouch.”
“Indeed. I will be fine though.”
“Good night.”
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 2:15 pm
The next morning they spent quietly, each mourning the Prince. But at noon they rose and busied themselves by moving food from the farther cellars to the nearest. They also brought more bedding. With all these tasks they had the help of the other two castle guards. The one whom Caitlin had seen on the wall yesterday was Neal. The other guard’s name was Bryce. Finally the job was done, and they had time for conversation and play.
“So Bryce and Neal, why do you insist on staying at the castle guardhouse?” Sir Pierce began.
“Because we are guards,” Bryce answered.
“That is where guards usually stay,” Neal yawned, then turned to Bryce, “By the way, you get the first watch tonight.”
“These are hardly normal circumstances,” Pierce pursued, “You should stay with the rest of us. And forget about the watches, we know the army has us surrounded, and we will sneak out of here one night I suppose, only we mustn’t lose our nerve so early.”
“Well…” Bryce hesitated.
“Well.” Pierce prompted him.
“But the job has to be done.”
“Would you not agree that I act as leader now?”
“I suppose,” Neal and Bryce shrugged. Ty and Robin flopped themselves down on the pile of blankets to watch.
“Please, listen to me. There is no possibility that we can hold the castle ourselves, right?”
“Never surrender,” muttered Neal.
“But surely the Prince would have us protect his castle!” Bryce argued.
“The Prince once told me,” Caitlin spoke up, “that his kingdom was not made of bricks and mortar, but of those people who serve him.”
“That’s right,” Pierce picked up on her thought, “The Prince would rather have us alive than the castle intact.”
“Is that what he meant?” Neal narrowed his eyes in doubt.
“Neal,” said Pierce, “If we do not work together, we will surely all die.”
“What are you suggesting we do then?”
“The same as I have been trying to tell you—stay with the rest of us.”
“All right,” Neal sighed, “We’ll give it a try.”
“Thank you.”
After this conversation, they all stayed together in the Great Hall. They rarely ventured beyond the nearby rooms. Occasionally Ty would go through the underground passageway to the forest. He would come back breathless and flushed and give the rest of them the news of the army encamped around them.
On the third day he came back unusually excited. Caitlin heard his animated speech through the wall. She was in the adjacent cellar slicing bread for their end day meal. She heard Neal and Robin who had met Ty as he emerged from the tunnel ask him questions as they walked to the Great Hall. Robin’s voice was high and eager, and Neal’s was slower and thoughtful. Caitlin paused and cocked her head. She could tell that whatever it was Ty and Robin were enthused and Neal was pensive. Caitlin shrugged and went back to work. She frowned at the round loaf of bread. The knife was dull and the bread hardened. She set one hand on the bread and cut down on it with the knife. She sawed at it back and forth, until she had a slice and a lot of crumbs. She sighed again and threw down her knife.
Then the door burst open and Robin stood there. His eyes were gleaming with sparkles of green, and huge in his round face.
“Caitlin! Come quickly!” He whirled with excited energy, “Quick, quick!”
“Robin?”
“Hurry,” he raced out into the corridor. Caitlin followed him. He paused before the open door to the Great Hall. “In there,” he pointed. Caitlin stepped softly to the door. Inside the Great Hall stood a familiar, yet different, figure.
“Come in,” he commanded her. Caitlin’s heart jumped within her. She recognized that calm, powerful voice. It was the Prince of Silvengarde. Caitlin entered the room.
The Prince was the same, but different. His fair hair had turned white, but somehow from the way the light glinted in it, it made one think of gold or flame. His eyes glowed gold and amber and flame in his face. It was his eyes that Caitlin noticed the most. She looked at them as she walked further into the room and knelt by the dais where he stood on the first step.
“My lord,” she whispered. Then she looked up and saw him smiling down at her, his eyes crinkling at their corners. A great joy filled her heart. He knew all her secrets and her sins and where her search had led her yet he still accepted her.
“You are my servant now. Rise,” he held out a hand to her. She took it. It was warm and solid, not like a ghost’s. She stood before him. As he turned to say something to Pierce, Caitlin saw that the lashes from the whip shone gold through his white robe. Also his ribs protruded from sides of the robe and curved around in the back. But it did not look painful or bloody as it had to Caitlin as she had peered around the tree. Rather it looked almost natural on him, yet it remained a reminder of what he had suffered.
For the first time since the Prince came, Caitlin looked about the Great Hall. Because it was in the inner castle, it had no windows. The past few days, it was filled with gloom, but now the room was filled with aureate light. The very air itself was pure and thick and shimmered gold. Caitlin drew in gulps of it. Her dazzled eyes noted that the marble floor was covered in a blanket of golden leaves. Caitlin caught Robin’s eyes. They reflected the same joy Caitlin felt. She heard a flapping of wings and looked up. Birds, white doves, flew down to the dais, spiraling around the Prince as they descended. The whole was filled with life that radiated from the Prince. The Prince stepped down from the dais.
“Let us now eat.”
Caitlin hurried to the kitchens to bring some bread. The corridors and room seemed dark after the Great Hall. She went to the room where Robin had found her. The knife still lay by the mutilated hunk of bread. Caitlin glanced around. They had only one small loaf left. She took it and carried it back with her. She brought it to the Prince. He said nothing of its hardness nor of its small size. He spoke a blessing over it, then broke it and handed a hunk of it to each of them. Caitlin bit into her hunk. To her surprise, the bread was warm, dense, and sweet. Each of them ate till they were full and the doves got the crumbs and bits that fell.
“Now then,” said the Prince rising from where he had sat. He walked to the door of the Great Hall. He turned to them, “Come.” They stood up and followed him. He led them into a cellar and down into the underground passage that led to the forest. They needed no lantern for the Prince was with them and light came from him. He led them up the ladder and out of the tunnel. They stood in the forest glade. Caitlin would have thought that it was night from the passing of time, but on the horizon the sun was rising. But the air was warm rather than cold.
Pierce, Alan, Ty, Robin, Neal, Bryce, and Caitlin formed a circle around the Prince. He walked among them and stopped before each of them. He had a special message for each, and he spoke it softly so only the one it was meant for could hear what he said. He paused in front of Caitlin. For a moment he did not speak.
“Caitlin, soon you will go to the home I will prepare for you. In my father’s house there are many mansions. And Caitlin, you need not be afraid again. For in that place there is no night, and no moon, nor sun either.” He smiled at her, then he passed on to Robin. He halted there and spoke to him before returning to the middle. He looked at all of them. The only sound was of the leaves fluttering down around them and landing on the forest floor. “Farewell. I will return soon; look to my coming.” He stood among them one moment and the next he was gone. They stared at empty spot. The rising sun glinted on the falling leaves swirling around them.
“Well,” Pierce said. “We had better return to the castle before the liege of Endgarde’s men find us here.” The others nodded their agreement. He followed him back down the ladder into the dimly lit tunnel. When Ty closed the trapdoor behind them, they stood in darkness. Caitlin touched the wall. It was rough and cold. She ran her fingers across it so she would not become disoriented. Ahead Pierce threw open the other trapdoor. Dim light fell in through the hole. Caitlin saw Pierce clamber up. As he crawled through the hole, it was dark in the tunnel again. Caitlin stood by the ladder as Alan slowly stepped on each rung. Robin stared at him impatiently. As soon as Alan too disappeared into the cellar, Robin swung up and reached the top in a bound. Caitlin climbed up after them. She joined the others in the cellar. When Ty closed the trapdoor after Neal, Bryce, and himself, Pierce looked around at their group.
“We should leave tomorrow.”
“Where would we go?” Bryce lifted his empty palms.
“Wintergarde?” Suggested Alan, “That is where I used to stay. Duke Carlyle is a friend of the Prince.”
“Hmm,” Pierce looked around, “That is certainly an idea. What do you think, Neal, Bryce?”
“I suppose,” Neal sounded unconvinced.
“When do you think we ought to leave?” Bryce asked.
“Tonight. We haven’t much food left. We will starve if we stay or leave much later.”
“All right,” Ty said.
“Caitlin, Robin, do you have anything to say or add?” Alan turned to them.
“Where my brother goes, I go,” Robin affirmed.
“It does not matter to me whether we stay or leave,” there was a funny catch in Caitlin’s voice. The others looked at her.
“Very well, then. We leave tonight,” Pierce looked away. The group walked into the Great Hall. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor through the darkness. The glory that had rested there earlier had departed.
“Pardon me, Sir Pierce, I will go to the ramparts just to check on the position of the enemy,” Neal whispered.
“Very well. And call me Pierce, not Sir Pierce, please.”
Neal nodded as he headed off down the corridor. Bryce looked after him. Then the rest of the group sat down on the floor in silence, each pondering his own message. Then Bryce stood and walked to the door.
“I am going to see how Neal is getting on.” He turned and walked away. The rest remained in silence. Then they heard footsteps pounding towards them from the corridor. Bryce appeared in the doorway, panting, with his face pale. “Neal is dead! Shot down by an archer. The army is attacking the castle. We will not be able to hold out to nightfall.” At his words the others rose.
“Are you sure of this?” Pierce strode to the doorway.
“Yes.”
“Then we must attempt to flee in the daylight. We’ll use the tunnel. No time to find anything to take. We will have to leave now.” Robin raced ahead to the cellar.
“Hurry!” He cried at the others. Ty threw open the trap door and swung down to the bottom. Robin followed. Caitlin who stood right there clambered down after them. At the bottom she stood next to Ty under the opening. Robin was prancing ahead in his impatience.
“Quickly,” Ty shouted up to the others. Bryce jumped down. He got up and brushed the dirt from his knees and headed off towards Robin. Alan cautiously placed his first two steps, but his foot slipped and he fell the rest of the way. He looked jarred, but otherwise fine. Pierce was last and he closed the trapdoor behind them.
“Hurry, we must leave now,” Pierce whispered in the dark. Caitlin brushed the jagged rock wall with her fingers as she ran. The other’s footstep pounded around her. Then Robin was lifting the trapdoor and Ty was right behind him on the ladder. After the brothers clambered up, Bryce too disappeared through the hole. Caitlin’s hands gripped the wooden ladder as she climbed so hard that she got a sliver. She blinked in the sunlight. She turned to face the hole.
“Hurry,” she whispered under her breath. Pierce jumped up after her. As soon as he was out, he turned and reached down to help Alan. The trapdoor closed with a dull thud. Then all their hearts leaped into their throats.
“Oy! There they are!” It was a enemy guard. The group froze for half a moment. Then they ran for the forest. They ducked under a branch and into a thicket.
“Where’s Bryce?” Pierce whispered.
Ty shrugged, his eyes wide. Caitlin stared at their faces.
“I will go see,” she whispered back.
“No, stay.”
Caitlin ducked back under tree limb. She scrambled through the undergrowth. Back near the clearing she saw Bryce lying dead, an arrow through his chest. Blood trickled from his mouth. Caitlin gave him one desperate glance, then turned. Soldiers were back behind her in the forest—between her and the others. She could hear their shouts. She bit her lip, then turned and ran. She skirted the path. Bushes blocked the way into the thicket. Caitlin paused. She steeled herself and pushed through them.
“Quickly, they are upon us,” her wide, frightened eyes stared at her friends. An arrow whizzed through the shrub and hit Ty in the leg. He stumbled and fell.
“Go, go,” he hissed at the rest. He clutched the arrow and gasped in pain. Caitlin grabbed at his arms to drag him into the bushes where the soldiers might not find him. But he pushed her away. “Go, go with the others,” he ordered her. Caitlin turned and looked after the fleeing figures. Ty sucked in his breath sharply. Caitlin turned back. They were not alone; the soldiers had found them. One soldier raised his drawn sword over Ty’s prone form.
“No!” Caitlin cried and grabbed at the man’s arm. The archer with them fired his arrow. It grazed her upper arm, sending searing pain along the wound. Caitlin clenched her teeth; she would not quietly surrender this time. But as she recoiled from the wound, the swordsman pushed her away and brought down his sword on Ty. It stabbed him in the torso. Caitlin heard his dying gasp as she fell on the forest floor. She screamed then, in fury and in desperation. The soldiers advanced on her. Caitlin shut her eyes and rolled to the side. The sword stabbed the ground. She struggled to her feet. The soldier pulled his sword up. She ran to the other side of the clearing. Turning, she faced as she prepared to dash off into the forest. The archer’s arrow struck her in middle, just under her ribs. Caitlin fell against the tree trunk behind her. Her hands gripped the shaft.
“Let’s go find the others, that one is finished,” the swordsman nodded at Caitlin.
Caitlin slid to the ground. Through her blurred vision she saw the guards leave. Her wounds throbbed dully. Caitlin found her eyelids heavy. They drooped over her eyes. She blinked slowly. Under her eyelids she saw the Prince smiling at her with his eyes crinkling at the corners. That was far more comforting than the misty forest glade. Caitlin closed her eyes for the last time.
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Britomartis-the-Valiant Vice Captain
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