Royal Outlaw: (Royal Outlaw, Book 1) (8 page)

As promised, Darren waited for Mariel at the edge of Parloipae. Wearing breeches and a loose shirt with her braided hair coiled under a hat, she did not dare try to even force a smile, let alone speak, and her papa said nothing either. The gap of silence grew thicker as the weeks progressed on their journey north to Fintel.

Darren felt betrayed by his daughter. Mariel could understand why, since he had raised her to loathe the upper class, but she knew she could not tell him her real reasons for accepting the crown. She hated lying to him, pretending that this was what she really wanted. However, she was well aware of what her papa would do if he learned exactly why she was willingly being bound in shackles and tossed into a cage filled with merciless ogres.

With that thought an image of an ogre waltzing around in a noblewoman’s dress with another ogre dressed like a nobleman brought the first smile to Mariel’s lips since before Dreyfuss had discovered her. She pictured the buttons on the male ogre’s doublet popping out because of his rounded belly and he quickly let go of the female in an attempt to catch the buttons. The female fell backward and landed on her rear. Her massive dress flew up over her head, revealing her undergarments. She growled just like a real ogre . . .

Mariel’s body went rigid. Darren had heard it too, and turned his horse around on the forest trail, sword in hand. Like the good friend she was, Iyela turned without any sort of command from Mariel. Aracklin’s familiar weight felt good in the girl’s hand as she took in the sight of their attackers.

Large, muscular creatures blocked the road the way they had come. They were at least seven feet tall, with skin the color and texture of pine tree bark. A growling sound issued from their throats in threat as they tightly gripped large clubs.

Darren and Mariel generally believed in the fight technique, but in this particular case with only the two of them against seven full grown, angry ogres, Mariel thought flight would be more appropriate.

“Run!” she cried and Iyela spun back around toward the direction they had been going.

The option for flight disappeared as two more growling ogres stepped out of the forest and onto the trail. The biggest ogre had a red stripe down his left arm to mark him as the leader. Mariel’s ever-observant mind noted that the leader had a strange growl, one that was broken. She realized with growing horror that he was laughing.

Mariel gripped her sword tighter and repositioned herself in the saddle so that she had the best possible balance. Darren backed his horse up until he was level with his daughter, even though they were facing opposite directions.

“Our goal is to make an opening,” he said softly, never taking his eyes off of the ogres. “The moment you see an opening, take advantage of it, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Or in front of me,” she hissed.

Darren did not respond, but braced himself in the saddle and cried, “Charge!”

Iyela jumped toward the two ogres blocking the trail. The unicorn reared up on her hind legs and repeatedly kicked one of the ogres. Mariel held onto the saddle with her free hand, while she wielded Aracklin with the other. The ogre-leader blocked with his club, but the sword took a chunk out of the wood. Mariel’s next swing hacked out another piece of club. The ogre-leader shifted his weight and tried to attack her, but being on a rearing unicorn put Mariel at the same height as the creature.

Iyela continued to pound the other ogre with her powerful, flailing front hooves. Mariel used her sword like an axe, chopping into the wood, as the ogre-leader swung or tried to block her. Each time she struck with her sharp weapon, a large chunk of wood flew off the club.

Behind her, Mariel heard a sharp, pained whinny followed by a loud thud and a cry of anger from Darren, but she could not look over her shoulder to see what had happened. Iyela sent an image of her hooves breaking the other ogre’s thick skull. Mariel shifted her balance and gripped Aracklin with both her hands. As the unicorn came down onto her front legs, Mariel took advantage of the movement and slammed her sword into the ogre-leader’s club with all the force she could muster.

The weakened club snapped in half as Aracklin struck it. The top half spun off and slammed into the ogre-leader’s face. He roared. While the ogre-leader was distracted with the club striking his face, Mariel brought back the sword and struck again.

The sharp edge of the blade drove halfway into the ogre’s thick neck before sticking fast. The ogre howled just before Throvim, the death god, pulled him into his realm. The body tipped backward with Aracklin lodged in the neck. Mariel was thrown off balance and by the time she released the sword it was too late.

As she fell from the saddle, she tucked her chin to her chest and ducked into a rolling position. The moment her body hit the ground she used inertia to keep rolling until her feet were beneath her and she jumped into a standing position. Mariel was not upright for long, as a large fist smashed into her face. She heard the cartilage snap in her nose and felt the pain around her eyes that foreshadowed bruising.

She tumbled off of the trail and into a thorny bush, which tore her clothes and skin. A female ogre towered above Mariel with her club held above her head. Mariel rolled sideways just as the large club of wood smashed the thorny bush to bits.

Although she doubted they would do much good, Mariel pulled two knives from their sheaths. The first one flew wide of its mark, burying deep into a tree just behind the creature. The ogre lunged at her, just as she released her second knife. The knife stuck fast in her attacker’s arm, but it just made the ogre angrier.

Mariel tried to move out of the way of the charging ogre, but its sharp fingernails scraped across her lower left arm. She gritted her teeth against the pain and looked around for other options as the ogre turned toward her again. Spotting a large, dead branch, she picked it up and slammed her make-shift weapon into the ogre’s large head.

The creature stumbled, dazed like a drunk, but Mariel knew she needed Aracklin to finish her off. She sprinted the short distance to the road where Iyela and Darren battled the other four ogres. Two ogres lay dead, not including the leader and the one Iyela had killed while Mariel was still on her back.

Mariel ran around Darren’s dead horse to the body of the ogre-leader where Aracklin was embedded in his neck. She tugged on the weapon, but it did not budge. Losing her balance, she fell forward, her upper body landing in the wet, blood soaked soil next to the dead leader. Rolling to her feet she tugged at the sword again. She braced herself against the body and pulled with all her strength. Her sword slid free unexpectedly and she staggered backward. Aracklin flew from her grip as she tripped over the body of the ogre Iyela had first killed.

Pain shot through Mariel’s head as it made contact with the hard ground. The sunlight was suddenly blotted out by a massive shape and she looked up to see the ogre she had dazed standing over her with her club raised. Aracklin was out of reach and Darren and Iyela were too preoccupied with the other ogres to notice, or come to her help. 

At least
, Mariel thought as the ogre’s club swung toward her head,
I’ll never have to be a real princess.

The club stopped abruptly as a sword crossed its path. The sword was not Mariel’s nor was it Darren’s. It belonged to a burly man wearing brown leggings and a shirt. The ogre was caught off guard by the interruption of her execution. The ogre was made even more surprised when another, younger man took off her head—or at least half of it.

Mariel watched in astonishment as the burly man and twelve young men about her age, all wearing the same brown leggings and shirt, made quick work of the four ogres that Darren and Iyela engaged. The girl scrambled to her feet, but made no effort to rejoin the fray, since the forest trail was narrow.

Their rescuers had come seemingly out of nowhere, but Mariel knew who they were without anyone telling her. They were members of the Versati Corps, or at least trainees. She came to this conclusion because the job of a member of the Corps was generally a lonely one and the twelve boys looked too young to be full members of the prestigious corps—unless they had run away at home and lied about their age to be initiated early like her papa had. The burly man who had stepped in and caught the ogre’s blow that was meant for Mariel’s head wore triple horizontal black lines on each of his arms marking him as a sergeant and undoubtedly an instructor.     

It was called the Versati Corps because the soldiers involved were trained to be versatile. They had to learn to be as cunning as thieves, good trackers, clever thinkers, and skilled warriors, which was what made Darren so dangerous when he defected. The Versati Corps could be used for almost anything from spies to warriors, especially since the soldiers were trained for stealth and had strict, regimented, sometimes painful training in all manner of weapons. Despite its many uses, it was a military branch falling out of favor with King Vincent and although noble boys had once been members, it had been well over a hundred years since anyone of noble blood had been a part of it. Yet, despite the Versati Corps’ fall from former glory, common boys and men were still eager to join because it provided them with a certain status, low as it was, and opened up many opportunities for them, plus the privilege to learn their letters and arithmetic, which was normally only reserved for the wealthy.

Mariel retrieved Aracklin from the ground. She wiped the blood off the sword and slid it home into its scabbard.

With the help of reinforcements the last ogre fell. Darren spun around as soon as it was down and hurried over to his daughter. His brown eyes were filled with concern and Mariel did not blame him. She must look a mess covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. She could feel the tender bruising growing around her eyes and her nose was tweaked in an unnatural position with a thin stream of blood trickling out. Sweat and the ogre-leader’s blood matted her tangled hair to her head. She braced herself for the coming pain and gritted her teeth while she carefully shifted her broken nose back into its normal position so it would heal correctly.

“I’m fine,” she reassured her papa, as Iyela nipped at her sleeve. “Just a few scrapes and bruises, nothing life threatening.”

Her papa did not get the opportunity to reply, for the burly man Mariel assumed to be a Versati Corps instructor stared at him in shock and surprise. “
Sergeant Haroldsson?
”

Darren stiffened and turned to face their rescuers.

“In the name of Valmir,” the man continued, “It
is
you . . . But it’s Brightsword now, isn’t it?” A huge smile lit up the instructor’s face and the trainees exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“Hello, Art. It’s been a while,” Darren said in a perfectly calm voice, as though they were not standing on a forest trail surrounded by the bodies of nine dead ogres and a horse.

“I’ll say! Eleven years! You were one of the best and brightest in the Versati Corps. Became sergeant after only three years of service. And the way you wielded a blade,” Art whistled in appreciation, “incredible. You loved being part of our corps, most loyal man I’ve ever seen . . . or at least I thought, then one day you threw it all away, killed four of the king’s personal guards, knocked out his archmagician, and threatened the king. You fled the palace and the capital, only to become the leader of an underground insurgency and the most dangerous man in all of Natric. Never made any sense to me, why you gave up everything you’d built for yourself and turned from loyal soldier to dangerous traitor.”

Mariel watched her papa’s expression, which revealed no emotion, just the way he had been taught. She felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as guilt flooded in. Darren had surrendered everything for her, and she was throwing it back in his face as she agreed to become princess for the very people who had left her to die.

“I finally saw the king for what he was: corrupted, self-centered, and too concerned about how people viewed him,” Darren told Art. “I didn’t want to serve a man like that.”

“Still doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I don’t expect it to.”

One of the trainees spoke up, “But now you’re being fully pardoned! You’ve even been given an offer to come back to the Versati Corps.”

“Which I won’t accept. But the capital is where my daughter and I are headed now.”

“That’s a girl?” A large trainee blurted out in astonishment.

Mariel smiled brightly. “Last I checked I was.”

“Manners, boy,” Art growled at the solid trainee. “You may have been born with common blood, but if you ever want to become a member of the Versati Corps, you have to forget it.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Art turned back to Mariel and Darren. “We can travel together if you like. We left our horses about a quarter mile up the trail and were in the middle of a lesson in tracking when we heard the commotion up here. We’re only about an hour away from Fintel—”

“An hour?” Mariel cried in alarm, she had not realized they were so close, but as she mentally added up the days she realized that it was the last day of April, the deadline for her arrival at the capital. She was not ready to meet the king and queen and take up the mantle of princess. She wanted more time yet.

“You can get cleaned up first, if you like,” Darren told her.

A sudden thought struck Mariel, a thin strand of hope. “No, I’m fine.”