Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella) (12 page)

Because scouts, often heading into enemy territory and forced to fight for their lives, were some of the fiercest among knights. And they were on two of the most beautiful, strongest horses I’d seen in a while.
Can’t outrun them
.

I touched my bow again, searching my heart.
Surely now
...

But I couldn’t. Couldn’t take another life. Rob another mother of her son. A wife of her husband. A child of his father…

The “Survivor” mantra came back to me. Outwit. Outplay. Outlast.
Outwit, outplay, outlast, outwit, outplay, outlast
…

Panic washed through me as the scouts dug their heels into the flanks of their mounts, charging toward me. I immediately wheeled my own horse to the left and trotted down a trail, into the brush and trees. I had no idea where it led. I only hoped to God that it would provide an escape rather than trap me in.

I didn’t look back, forcing myself to concentrate on the path ahead. Soon it was weaving beside a hill that became a cliff. Maybe an old goat trail, I thought. The forest was thick to my left, and the cliff rose steeply to my right. With limited options, all I could think was
hurry, Lia, hurry
. Terror at the thought of a scout’s arrow piercing my back surged through me. I had trouble concentrating, I was so scared.

But even that thought couldn’t make me take my bow from my back, nock an arrow, shoot another man. I was so done with that. So done.
I can’t, Lord. I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t. Help me
.

I pulled up, sure now that I couldn’t outrun them.
Outwit
… I glanced back down the path behind me. Any sec, the scouts would appear. How could I escape them?

Quickly, I slid to the ground and slapped my gelding’s flank, setting it off running, farther along our path. Then I carefully lifted the thickly leaved branch of a scrub oak and moved into the forest, forcing myself to be careful, slow.

Scouts were good trackers. They themselves had to avoid upsetting rocks, breaking branches, betraying their presence. But the soil was sandy, and my slippers sank so deeply that the dirt came over the edges. There was nothing to do but hurry and hope the branches would cover my tracks. I could hear them now, speaking in low voices. Studying my trail as they rounded the corner. Confident in tracking their prey.

 I crouched, pretty well hidden by the scrub oak, closing my eyes and listening, praying the scouts would see nothing but the continued evidence of my mount’s progress forward.
Away. Please, think I went on. Go. Follow the tracks of the horse. Get scared I’m getting away
.

But they were pausing right where I had. I heard the metallic slide of a sword leaving its sheath and slowly lifted my head to peer through the leaves. I was terrified, because I still couldn’t seem to force myself to slip the bow from my shoulder. A year ago I could’ve taken care of these two in seconds. But that was then.

Flashbacks from Castello Paratore cascaded through my mind, blinding me, deafening me in memory. So many cries of pain, of anger. So much blood. So many dead. Dad, pierced by the sword. Gabi, going over the edge. Mom and me, fighting our way forward, too late, too late. Then the assassins, bent on taking the brotherhood down, one castello at a time. The murdered women and children. Luca and me narrowly escaping a similar fate—

I ducked, just in time, as the knight’s sword came ramming into the scrub oak and stuck in the trunk above my head. Acting on impulse, I shoved against him, as hard as I could, and surprised, his foot caught, and he fell over an exposed root to his back. We both heard the sickening crack of a breaking bone and he screamed.

With him temporarily down, I ran back the way I’d come, as fast as I could, the branches whipping my face, scratching me, until I reached several boulders. I kept running, aware I had about a minute’s lead, the other maybe checking on his buddy. When I was through the boulders, making sure I’d left some clear clues of my passing, I circled around, slipping between them. Hearing him come now, I slid the dagger from my waistband.

I held my breath, knowing he was just a foot away. I saw a pebble skitter past, kicked from his boot. Any second…

As soon as he was past, I leaped onto his back, pulling the dagger to his neck. “Do you know who I am?” I said in the lowest, most menacing voice I could muster.

“I am fairly certain,” he said, deadly still, hands up.

“Then you know I shall not hesitate to use this,” I grit out. “Drop your sword.” He didn’t know I was struggling with some sort of weird PTSD. And I figured it was sorta vital for me to keep him from finding out.

The sword clattered to the ground and I smiled a little.
Outwit
.

“Why not kill me now, She-Wolf?” he asked, half-afraid, half-infuriated.

“Because I intend to take you back to Lord Forelli and he shall find out why you are scouting on Sienese land. That is not a part of our treaty agreement.”

“The treaty is dead,” he spat. “When you kidnapped Signorina Donatelli—”

“That’s utter nonsense,” I growled and slid off of him, my dagger still at his throat. “Lie down on your belly.”

Reluctantly, he did as I asked and I pulled his wrists together behind him, casting a worried glance down the path behind us. His companion was silent, which scared me. If I was lucky, he’d passed out from the pain. If I wasn’t…

I was tying his hands when he twisted, trying to buck me off his back. I went flying, but I was up in a flash, the dagger to his throat. “Do
not
attempt that again,” I spat, willing him to see the fury in my eyes. “Now lie
down
.”

His lip curling, he did as I asked and I completed my task, looking down the path and around the woods again, freaked his partner was sneaking up on me.

“I shall track you down and slice your pretty head from your body,” said the scout, as I wound the rope around his ankles, hoping to really leave him stuck. I tied him up so tight, his fingers were turning blue. “Then I shall take your head to Firenze and we shall celebrate for days.”

“That sounds unpleasant,” I muttered benignly, already leaving him behind, my dagger out. I bent and grabbed hold of a grapefruit size rock in my left hand, and crept down the path, eyes open wide, ears pounding with my own pulse. Maybe the dude was waiting for me around a tree, a rock, as I had awaited his companion…

But then I saw him, pretty close to where I’d left him. The bone had pierced through his leggings, white and splintered among blood. I winced in spite of myself as he moaned, gripping a sword.

“Let go of that, and I will assist you,” I said, gesturing toward the sword.

“You’re mad,” he spat.

“Agreed. No woman with her wits about her would offer to aid you. Now do as I say.”

His chest heaved, and his face paled. He had clearly lost a lot of blood. Maybe the bone had pierced an artery or something.

“Trust me. I shall not kill you. I seek only to be on my way, unhindered. Truly, I could walk around you and be away from you, could I not?”

“You would allow me, a Fiorentini, to live?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I allowed your companion the same,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.

He let his head drop back to the earth, panting, sweating now. Then with a cry of frustration, he dropped his sword and watched me approach with wary eyes.

I paused, just out of his reach, and crouched at his side, studying his wound. I looked to his eyes. “You shall bleed to death if I do nothing. This will hurt you more than I,” I said, then I whacked him upside the head with my rock. I felt for a pulse, hoping I hadn’t killed him. He was out, but not gone.
Outlast
.

I took my dagger and ripped open his legging. It was bad, really bad. The best I could do for him, and still have a chance at finding Alessandra, was to stop the bleeding. He’d likely lose his leg, in time. But he’d have a better chance of living. I cut a strip from his tunic and then tied it tight around his upper thigh, using a stick, as Mom had taught me, to tighten the tourniquet.

Then I ran up the rest of the path, to the one that edged the cliff above me. I looked one way and then the other. Now what? I had no horse. I didn’t know for certain where I was. So I began climbing. If I could get high enough, I could determine where I was. Maybe spot Alessandra. And any other enemy scouts.

I scrambled upward, choosing my handholds and nooks for my toes, while struggling with my skirts. None of the Nike ads ever showed climbers in medieval gowns. For good reason.

Ten minutes later, I reached the top, crouched and moved through the brush and scrubby trees that spread across the ridge. And froze.

Below, across the babbling creek, were a ton of Fiorentini knights. Some of them sparring. Others gathering to talk and laugh. Still more, shooting targets. It looked like a scene at Castello Forelli. Except five-times that many men.
Five-times that many
…

I gotta warn the guys
. They were here! Ready to attack. Tomorrow,
tomorrow
if I didn’t get Alessandra back to them.

But then I knew our own scouts would’ve seen them by now. Warned Marcello and Luca.

“So they’re coming,” I whispered, half-ecstatic at the thought and half-freaked. Because when our guys found me here, so nearly stumbling into the enemy’s hands, they’d be mad. So. Mad.

I edged backward, further into the protective shrubs again. On the other side, I set off, hunched over, down the ridge, back toward the road. Now that I knew where I was, I knew there was a scouting path, down at the end. Maybe that’s what the other scouts had been intent on doing—taking down anyone who might spot their assembling forces.

A minute later, I heard a woman’s cry. I paused, cocked my head, listening, and then crept through the brush again. I’d rounded a bend, the Fiorentini troops completely hidden from view here, but I dropped down and army-crawled forward, wincing as I felt the fine embroidery of my gown snag and tear.
There goes another dress
…

Cautiously, I peered over the edge of the cliff. Four knights were surrounding Alessandra, who limped over to them. She seemed to collapse, and one lifted her in his arms. The other three immediately took a protective stance around them, swords drawn, warily watching the length of the creek as they edged back.

Oh no. I’m too late! Too late! Outplayed
…

Two nobles emerged from the forest, striding toward them. It was then I saw the flash of color deep between the trees—a tent.

Why were they so far away from the rest of their knights? Was it not foolish, dangerous even?

But then I saw him. Barbato.

The little, evil lord who’d tried to marry Gabi off to Greco, effectively making her Fiorentini. Using her. If he was here…

Then something really sneaky was about to go down.

I watched as the noblemen greeted Alessandra, smiles wide. But as soon as the knight carrying her was past them, their smiles faded and they joined the others in watching the opposite bank of the creek, as well as down the creek, where their men were. They scurried backward, heading toward the tent.

“Something’s off,” I whispered to myself. They were acting weird. Why hide her?

Then it happened. When the others were hidden by the forest canopy, and I could barely see them, the knight in the center turned on his comrades. Swiftly, he rammed his sword through the neck of the man at his side, yanked it out and turned to chop the head off the other. I stared, stunned, and choked, vomit rising in the back of my throat.

I gasped, as panic flooded my chest. Why?
Why, why, why?

Because they want no witnesses
, I realized. Alessandra had walked into a trap. They intended to steal her away. And use her disappearance, undoubtedly, to incite war again. If Marcello couldn’t deliver the promised prize…

I stumbled to my feet, seeing the man’s head fall to the ground and roll, over and over in my mind, half-blinding me. The other Fiorentini…they’d find the dead knights.

And claim our men have stolen across the border and murdered them.

I laid a hand on my belly. A knot was there, growing, making me feel nauseated all over again.

Oh, God. God! God! Help me! I need to get past this, Lord. This barrier. I need to be able to rise! Use my bow! For Mom. Dad. Gabi. Everyone I love
…

But inside my brain, it was as if synapses were firing left and right, creating tiny explosions of light, fireworks in my head, and I ran then, as if I was five years old again, tearing out of a dark and scary room, afraid of the monsters beneath my bed.

Alessandra heard the cry of a man behind her, and twisted in the knight’s arms to see. But his hold tightened, and he bent then, to duck through the folds of the tent’s opening. The noblemen followed, looking like they’d heard nothing, their faces only masks of concern for her.

“I am Lord Barbato,” said a small man with a closely trimmed beard, as the knight set her down on a lounge covered in a rich tapestry. “And this is another of the Grandi, Lord Foraboschi.” The other was taller than Barbato, more gray, regal in his stance.

Lord Barbato took her hand in a fatherly way. “You have no idea how glad we are to find you, my dear.”

“And I you, m’lord. All I want is to get home to my father. He’ll be worried.”

“Of course,” he said soothingly. “Of course. We shall move in haste.” He motioned to a servant in the corner and the man brought a tray with bread and cheese, as well as a pitcher of water. Lord Foraboshi poured her a cup and Alessandra sat up to drink greedily from it. Her nose wrinkled. It wasn’t the freshest water, despite being so close to the creek, and tasted vaguely of something odd. But she was so thirsty that, when her host poured again, she quickly drank it down too.

She leaned back against the settee, so happy to feel the relative safety of her Fiorentini overlords and be off her aching ankle. A wave of relief went through her, and she fought off a dizzying sensation of weariness. Her run over the last miles must have robbed her of more strength than she realized.