Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (2 page)

 CHAPTER TWO

By the time Jenevra approached a small town in the late afternoon, she decided she was ready to be warmer; although a change of clothes could accomplish most of that. But this was where her biggest change would come. Here, she would cease to be one of the Nimhin, for all practical purposes, and would take up once again the role of Imperial Princess.

Jenevra knew she wasn’t ready to rejoin her old life – in fact, the closer she came to it, the more certain she was that, if she had any choice, she would just go away somewhere on her own and live her life out as a normal woman. But, obedience was one thing Dai-Nimh had finally instilled in her. For the Order she would submit to being trapped back in the chains – albeit gilded and bejeweled – of the Empire.

Boots crunching in the frozen ruts of snow, Jenevra passed swiftly through the town, headed for the Inn she had been given the name of. The people there had a son in training on the Island, and had given a pledge of secret haven to any of the Order who passed through. Knocking at the rear entrance, Jenevra passed a small token to the Innkeeper’s wife. The woman’s eyes widened at the sight of it, and she ushered the slight figure in with a bustle usually reserved for their busiest nights.

Jenevra smiled her thanks and introduced herself briefly, trying to deflect the woman’s surprise that Jenevra was female. “Please don’t worry about it,” Jenevra assured her. “I’m the only one. You don’t need to do anything different for me than you would for anyone else from the Order.” But the woman proceeded to fuss, until Jenevra agreed to have a bath drawn up in a room they set aside for her, and to have a warm meal and drink while she waited. As she sipped warm milk, spiced lightly with nutmeg, and felt slightly guilty at the amount of work that had gone into bringing the bathtub and water up into her room, Jenevra nevertheless sank into the hot water gratefully; feeling the heat seep into her; relaxing cold, tired muscles. By the time she was done there was little energy left in the young girl for anything other than to wrap warmly in a heavy blanket and crawl under the bedclothes of a proper bed. Strange though the thin feather mattress felt, it was only a matter of moments before sleep claimed her.

A little embarrassed at waking later than she expected Jenevra realized that her sodden clothes and boots had been taken down to the kitchen to dry by the large fire there the night before. In their place, she had been provided with warm woolen pants and tunic. They were a little big on her but, cheerfully unbothered by this, Jenevra pulled a jacket over them, her thick braid of hair tucked inside. Stuffing her feet, now warmly encased in woolen socks too, into a pair of boots, she headed downstairs to the taproom.

The Innkeeper came beaming across to greet her, having been filled in on all he needed to know by his wife. Pleasantly surprised, as his wife had been, by the quiet affability of their honored guest, he suggested that a table in one of the bay windows might be suitable – near enough to one of the huge hearths to keep warm, but also slightly out of view of the main room, and with a view of the street too. When Jenevra would have helped them with setting up for the day, she was roundly chided by the couple to stay where she was, warm by the fire, with a plate of fruit and cheese to hand. Inwardly appreciating the chance to rejoin normal society gently, Jenevra sat with her chin resting on the heel of her hand, watching the snow beginning to swirl ever faster in the gray light of the day.

The First Flight of the Imperial Army – Eagle Flight (or Border Patrol as they were more commonly known) – rode into Frann amid another chilly swirl of sleet. The few townsfolk out in the icy weather scrambled to get out of their way as the troop of mounted men trotted proudly down the main street, blithely sure of their warm reception. Their Captain, mounted on a prancing palomino, came to a showy halt outside the tavern, signaling his men to dismount also.

Watching from her window seat, Jenevra’s eyes gleamed amusement as the Captain pulled off large gauntlets and began dusting himself down. Adjusting his uniform as best he could and giving a final swat at the feather in his hat to remove the worst of the wet, clinging snow, he flung open the doors of the tavern, calling loudly for the innkeeper.

“Good Morning, Sir. Welcome to the Partridge. What can we do for you gentlemen today? Ale? Dinner? We have a fine roast coming on nicely in the back—”

The Captain waved him to silence, shrugged his heavy cloak off into the hands of one of his men and settled himself into a large carver chair. Leaning forward to warm his hands by the fire blazing merrily in the large hearth, he glanced up at the innkeeper. “All of that,” he said lightly. “And rooms too. We may be staying for a day or so.”

As the thirty or so men of the Flight filed into the large taproom and took seats at various tables, the Captain looked up again as the innkeeper didn’t move. “Is there some problem?” he inquired, a twitch of his eyebrow defying the man to admit it.

“Well, yes, sir. That there is.” The innkeeper replied. “I don’t have enough rooms for all your men, sir, and that’s just the honest truth. There is another tavern on the edge of town, but they only have two or three rooms. I’m afraid the only other thing I could be offering you would be a barn… ” He hesitated and swallowed as he saw the Captain’s face harden. “But it’s as clean and cozy a barn as you could wish to find, sir.”

The Captain pulled thoughtfully at his neatly manicured moustache, and nodded. “Sort it out as best you can,” he ordered. “Make sure they’re all settled somewhere warm and dry.” Waving one of his own men across, he pulled out a large money bag. ‘Sergeant,” he said. “Go along and make sure everyone is recompensed adequately for their lodgings. It looks as though we’ll be here at least for the night. I expect you and Lieutenant Crevaux to be here. Divide the others up as you see fit.” Apparently satisfied that all would be dealt with as he expected, the man turned his attention back to the innkeeper, ordering hot ale for all of the men staying at the Partridge with him, and whatever food was ready.

From the window seat, Jenevra had a good view of most of the room. The men were all in the regular brown uniform of the Imperial Army, but the Eagle emblazoned on each man’s arm in gold thread, left the observer in no doubt that this was the Empire’s elite. And who, Jenevra wondered to herself, did the High Commander of the Imperial War Host, Raik Rabenaldt, feel was good enough to lead this troop? The current possibility for that role appeared to be the self-absorbed man sitting by the central hearth, smoothing out the flaws caused by the sleet to the ridiculous feather in his hat.

It was in the details, she decided as she watched him. His uniform was fitted to perfection. That wasn’t particularly unusual for an officer; especially one of such high rank. But this was his everyday, working uniform, not the Imperial Blue ceremonial regalia, which she would expect to be pristine in every way. Even as he sat there, he seemed to be constantly straightening his jacket, rubbing one or other of his buttons, or twitching a piece of braid into attention. Two of his men were already working on cleaning his boots. The narrow moustache and beard gave nothing away— apart from vanity Jenevra thought— noting with slight contempt the careful trimming that shaped the stubble along his jaw perfectly. Jenevra pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she contemplated the man. She reminded herself that Raik Rabenaldt was not stupid, and would not have appointed anyone he thought unworthy to that position. Whatever this man appeared to be, it remained a distinct possibility that he might be a whole lot more.

She had a fair idea that this arrival was no coincidence. Why would the Empire’s most senior Patrol be out in mid-winter in a tiny town like Frann unless there was a compelling reason … like escorting an Imperial princess? A slight smile shaded her lips as she considered the impression she would make on the soldier across the room. A courtier to the tips of his fingers, he couldn’t fail to note the untidy hair falling around the face, shadowing the angles. With the sloppy clothing, and chipped fingernails clasped around the mug she was holding, there was no way he could suspect her of being the woman he had been sent to meet. Even as she thought it, a surge of hope twitched inside her. There was still time to get away from here. She could at least make it to Salanova without being surrounded by the empire’s finest. As was usually the case with Jenevra, thought and action were almost simultaneous, and she slid out from her place in the window seat, heading for the main door.

What she hadn’t noticed, locked in her own thoughts, was that the officer she was so dismissive of had been watching her equally carefully; wondering what a young lad, of apparently few means, was doing lounging around in an inn. As she reached the door, the officer called out to her.

“You, lad!”

Jenevra stopped, her hand turning the handle ready for a quick escape. Turning her head only slightly, she glared at him from under her bangs. “Are you talking to me?”

Rather surprised by the lack of respect in the youth’s voice, the soldier’s brows drew together, and he pointed directly at her. “Yes, you. And that’s ‘sir’ to you. You know, a stint in the army would do you good. Smarten you up, teach you some respect.”

Flashing a dismissive look at him, Jenevra made no reply, but hurried out through the door, leaving a wide-eyed and almost speechless man behind her. Head down against the biting cold, she walked into the solid bulk of the sergeant, returning from distributing the men for the night. “Oh, sorry,” she muttered, glancing briefly up in apology, and hastening her step out onto the street.

The sergeant rumbled a response as he tried to get through into the warmth of the inn. Halfway through the door, he stopped dead, to a chorus of complaints as the icy wind blew into the room. Even as the officer called out to him, the sergeant turned and left the inn, looking for the figure he’d just passed. Just catching a glimpse of Jenevra heading for the back of the inn, the sergeant picked up his pace to follow, knowing of old that if he didn’t get there quickly, she’d be gone.

The large barn the innkeeper had spoken of seemed to house the majority of the Imperial Flight’s horses. Making an assumption that there was probably at least one extra horse, for her, Jenevra moved softly amongst them until she found one that seemed slightly smaller, and quieter. Stroking his nose, she turned to find a bridle and saddle, only two find two large men blocking her way, slamming her full tilt back into her childhood. The sergeant she recognized. Not just from the inn; she’d known him all of her life. The same was true for his companion. Taller, than most, with a bush of dark hair sticking up from his head, dark beard, and merry blue eyes, he stood with his arms tightly folded, reprimand in his glance.

“Bernardo!” Jenevra gave him a hugely genuine smile.