Rise Of Empire (21 page)

“This here is that Princess of Melengar, the one they say is a witch.”

“How do you know?”

“I recognize her. I was in Medford the year she was on trial for killing her father.”

“What’s she doing here, ya think?”

“Don’t know … What are you doing here?”

She said nothing, her eyes locked on the massive bolt heads. Made of heavy iron, the points looked sharp. Knight killers, Sir Ecton called them.

What will they do to me?

“The captain will find out,” the soldier said. “I recognize these two as well.” He motioned to Wally and Etcher. “I seen them around the city afore.”

“Course you have.” Wally spoke up. “I’ve piloted this river for years. We weren’t doing nothin’ wrong.”

“If you’ve been on this river afore, then you knows we don’t allow transports at night.”

Wally did not say anything.

“I don’t know that one, though. What’s yer name?”

“Hadrian,” he said, taking the opportunity to step forward as if to shake hands.

“Back! Back!” the guard shouted, bringing his bow to bear at Hadrian’s chest. Hadrian immediately stopped. “Take one more step and I’ll punch a hole clear through you!”

“So what’s your plan?” Hadrian asked.

“You and your pals just sit tight. We sent a runner to fetch a patrol. We’ll take you over to see the captain. He’ll know what to do with the likes of you.”

“I hope we don’t have to wait long,” Hadrian told them. “This damp night air isn’t good. You could catch a cold. Looks like you have already. What do you think, Arista?”

“I ain’t got no cold.”

“Are you sure? Your eyes and nose look red. Arista, you agree with me, don’t you?”

“What?” Arista said, still captivated by the crossbows. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest and barely heard Hadrian addressing her.

“I bet you two been coughing and sneezing all night, haven’t you?” Hadrian continued. “Nothing worse than a summer cold. Right, Arista?”

Arista was dumbfounded by Hadrian’s blathering and his obsession with the health of the two soldiers. She felt obligated to say something. “I—I suppose.”

“Sneezing, that’s the worst. I hate to
sneeze.”

Arista gasped.

“Just shut up,” the soldier ordered. Without taking his eyes off Hadrian, he called to Jus behind him. “See anyone coming yet?”

“Not yet,” Jus replied. “All of them off dealing with that fire, I ’spect.”

Arista had never tried this under pressure before. Closing her eyes, she fought to remember the concentration technique Esrahaddon had taught her. She took deep breaths, cleared her mind, and tried to calm herself. Arista focused on the sounds around her—the river lapping against the boat, the wind blowing through the trees, and the chirping of the frogs and crickets. Then slowly she blocked each out, one by one. Opening her eyes, she stared at the soldiers. She saw them in detail now, the three-day-old whiskers on their faces, their rumpled tabards, even the rusted links in their hauberks. Their eyes showed their nervous excitement and Arista thought she even caught the musky odor of their bodies. Breathing rhythmically, she focused on their noses as she began to hum, then mutter. Her voice slowly rose as if in song.

“I said no—” The soldier stopped suddenly, wrinkling his nose. His eyes began to water and he shook his head in irritation. “I said no—” he began again, and stopped once more, gasping for air.

At the same time, Jus was having similar problems, and the louder Arista’s voice rose, the greater their struggle. Raising her hand, she moved her fingers as if writing in the air.

“I—said—I—I—”

Arista made a sharp clipping motion with her hand and both of them abruptly sneezed in unison.

In that instant, Hadrian lunged forward and broke the closest guard’s leg with a single kick to his knee. He pulled the screaming guard in front of him just as the other fired. The crossbow bolt caught the soldier square in the chest, piercing the metal ringlets of his hauberk and staggering both of them backward. Letting the dead man fall, Hadrian picked up his bow as the other guard turned to flee.
Snap!
The bow launched
the bolt. The impact made a deep resonating
thwack!
and drove the remaining guard to the ground, where he lay dead.

Hadrian dropped the bow. “Let’s move!”

They jumped back in the skiff just as the wherry approached.

It came out of the darkness, its long pointed shape no longer slicing through the water. Instead, it drifted aimlessly, helpless to the whims of the current. As it approached, it became apparent why. The wherry was empty. Even the oars were gone. As the boat passed by, a dark figure crawled out of the water.

“Why have you stopped?” Royce admonished, wiping his wet hair away from his face. “I would have caught up.” Spotting the bodies halted his need for explanation.

Hadrian pushed the boat into the river, leaping in at the last instant. From above, they could hear men’s voices. They finished cutting loose the net and, once free, slipped clear of the bridge. The current, combined with Wally’s and Hadrian’s pulling hard on the oars, sent them flying downriver in the dark of night, leaving the city of Colnora behind them.

A
rista woke feeling disoriented and confused. She had been dreaming about riding in her carriage. She sat across from both Sauly and Esrahaddon. Only, in her dream, Esrahaddon had hands and Sauly was wearing his bishop’s robes. They were trying to pour brandy from a flask into a cup and were discussing something—a heated argument, but she could not recall it.

A bright light hurt her eyes, and her back ached from sleeping on something hard. She blinked, squinted, and looked around. Her memory returned as she realized she was still in the skiff coasting down the Bernum River. Her left foot was asleep, and dragging it from under a bag started the sensation of pins and needles. The morning sun shone brightly. The limestone cliffs were gone, replaced by sloping farmlands. On either side of the river, lovely green fields swayed gently in the soft breeze. The tall spiked grass might have been wheat, although it could just as easily have been barley. Here the river was wider and moved slower. There was hardly any current, and Wally was back to rowing.

“Morning, milady,” he greeted her.

“Morning,” Hadrian said from his seat at the tiller.

“I guess I dozed off,” she replied, pulling herself up and adjusting her gown. “Did anyone else get any sleep?”

“I’ll sleep when I get downriver,” Wally replied, hauling on the oars, rocking back, then sitting up again. The paddle blades dripped and plunged. “After I drop you fine folks off, I’ll head down to Evlin, catch a nap and a meal, then try to pick up some travelers or freight to take back up. No sense fighting this current for nothing.”

Arista looked toward Hadrian.

“Some,” he told her. “Royce and I took turns.”

Her hair was loose and falling in her face. Her blue satin ribbon had been lost somewhere during the night’s ride from Sheridan. Since then, she had been using a bit of rawhide provided by Hadrian. Even that was missing now, and she poked about her hair and found the rawhide caught in a tangle. While she worked to free it, she said, “You should have woken me. I would have taken a shift at the tiller.”

“We actually considered it when you started to snore.”

“I don’t snore!”

“I beg to differ,” Hadrian chided while chewing.

She looked around the skiff as each of them, even Etcher, nodded. Her face flushed.

Hadrian chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. You can’t be held accountable for what you do in your sleep.”

“Still,” she said, “it’s not very ladylike.”

“Well, if that’s all you’re worried about, you can forget it,” Hadrian informed her with a wicked smirk. “We lost all illusions of you being prissy back in Sheridan.”

How much better it was when they were silent.

“That’s a compliment,” he added hastily.

“You don’t have much luck with the ladies, do you, sir?” Wally asked, pausing briefly and letting the paddles hang out like wings, leaving a tiny trail of droplets on the smooth
surface of the river. “I mean, with compliments like that, and all.”

Hadrian frowned at him, then turned back to her with a concerned expression. “I really did mean it as a compliment. I’ve never met a lady who would—well, without complaining you’ve been—” He paused in frustration, then added, “That little trick you managed back there was really great.”

Arista knew Hadrian only brought up the sneezing spell to try to smooth things over, but she had to admit a sense of pride that she had finally contributed something of value to their trip. “That was the first practical application of hand magic I’ve ever performed.”

“I really wasn’t sure you could do it,” Hadrian said.

“Who would have thought such a silly thing would come in handy?”

“Travel with us long enough and you’ll see we can find a use for just about anything.” Hadrian extended his hand. “Cheese?” he asked. “It’s really quite good.”

Arista took the cheese and offered him a smile but was disappointed he did not see it. His eyes had moved to the river-bank, and her smile faded as she ate self-consciously.

Wally continued to paddle in even strokes and the world passed slowly by. They rounded bend after bend, skirting a fallen tree, then a sandy point. It took Arista nearly an hour with her brush to finally work all the knots out of her hair. She retied its length with the rawhide into a respectable ponytail. Eventually a gap opened in the river reeds to reveal a small sandy bank that showed signs of previous boat landings.

“Put in here,” Etcher ordered, and Wally deftly spun the boat to land beneath the shadow of a massive willow tree. Etcher leapt out and tied the bowline. “This is our stop. Let’s get the gear off.”

“Not yet,” Royce said. “You want to check the mill sails first?”

“Oh yeah.” Etcher nodded, looking a little embarrassed and a tad irritated. “Wait here,” he said before trotting up the grassy slope.

“Sails?” Hadrian asked.

“Just over this rise is the millwright Ethan Finlin’s windmill,” Royce explained. “Finlin is a member of the Diamond. His windmill is used to store smuggled goods and also serves as a signal that can be seen from the far hills. If the mill’s sails are spinning, then all is clear. If furled, then there’s trouble. The position of the locked sails indicates different things. If straight up and down, like a ship’s mast, it means he needs help. If the sails are cockeyed, it means stay away. There are other signals as well, but I’m sure they’ve changed since I was a member.”

“All clear,” Etcher notified them as he strode back down the hill.

They each took a pack, waved goodbye to Wally, and climbed up the slope.

Finlin’s mill was a tall weathered tower that sat high on the crest of a grassy knoll. The windmill’s cap rotated and currently faced into the wind, which blew steadily from the northeast. Its giant sails of cloth-covered wooden frames rotated slowly, creaking as they turned the great mill’s shaft. Around the windmill were several smaller buildings, storage sheds, and wagons. The place was quiet and absent of customers.

They found their horses, as well as an extra one for Etcher, along with their gear in a nearby barn. Finlin briefly stuck his nose out of the mill and waved. They waved back, and Royce had a short talk with Etcher as Hadrian saddled their animals and loaded the supplies. Arista threw her own saddle on her mare, which garnered a smile from Hadrian.

“Saddle your own horse often, do you?” he asked as she reached under the horse’s belly for the cinch. The metal ring at the end of the wide band swung back and forth, making catching it a challenge without crawling under the animal.

“I’m a princess, not an invalid.”

She caught the cinch and looped the leather strap through it, tying what she thought was a fine knot, exactly like the one she used to tie her hair.

“Can I make one minor suggestion?”

She looked up. “Of course.”