I am so excited! I actually had a request for more of my fiction. So, here it is . . . Chapter 3. You can read chapters one
here and two
here.
I left early one morning, making my way across the fields of wheat stubble in the half-light just before dawn. I traveled lightly, knowing I had a good month before the weather turned really cold. By then, I planned to be far in the south, possibly even out of K’Attor, across the sea. My light pack contained very little, only my cloak, a piece of cheese, and half a loaf of bread. I felt that was all that I could honestly impose upon my hosts for, even though I had left a couple of coins on the kitchen table in exchange for what I had taken. My dagger was in my belt, and my staff in my hand. The pouch dangling inside my shirt from the cord around my neck contained flint and some tinder, as well as the remaining coins I owned. I was prepared for anything, at least anything my farm boy mind of sixteen could think of, preoccupied as it was with the thoughts of guilt that still plagued my conscience.
I traveled well that first day, staying close to the stream that meandered through what had once been my father’s farm, and following its progress toward the river. As evening darkened the sky, I found a copse of bushes in which to camp for the night. I lay wrapped in my cloak, staring at the stars above me for hours. For once, I was not plagued by the guilt that ruled my life at that point. Instead, a single question ran through my mind. Did I have my freedom, or had I enslaved myself? I didn’t answer the question that night, nor have I in the many years since.
At some point, I did drift off to sleep, because I woke while the sun had not yet warmed the dew off the grass and leaves which scattered the ground near my resting place. I rose, drank from the stream, and set off again, still following its course. By midmorning, I reached the juncture of what I considered my father’s stream and the river. I began following the river, knowing that eventually it would reach the coast, and somewhere along the coast would be a port where I could find a ship on which to leave the land of my birth, the land I had come to curse.
As I walked, my thoughts again returned to that fateful night, and once more I withdrew into my guilt, so that I no longer noticed the scenery around me. I traveled on for some days, alternating periods of self-deprecation with times in which I was almost happy, watching as the leaves began to turn, waking some mornings to find the dew almost frozen on my cloak. My bread and cheese were supplemented with fish I caught in the river and berries I picked from thickets along the river’s edge.
After nearly a week of traveling, I began to smell the salt in the air and knew I was close to the sea. I camped that night, eager to reach the sea, and be gone from this land of heartache. I rose with the sun the next morning, and continued on my way. In the early afternoon, I approached the seashore and a town simultaneously. I don’t recall the name of the town, but perhaps I never learned it. It wasn’t much, just some docks where farmers could ship their wheat, along with the associated houses and buildings that would be found near any port, great or small. I had never been to this town before, as my father had always taken his wheat to the market to sell, perhaps believing the port too far away to be reached safely in an age when highwaymen abounded.
As I entered the town, I was somewhat surprised to see no one on the docks. There was a barge, a few fishing boats and dories tied up to the docks, but not a living soul stirred within the vicinity of the river’s mouth. A single tavern and a half-built church were the only buildings displaying any kinds of life. A lone man was struggling to lift large blocks of chuar wood into place on the wall of the church, sweating profusely in his brown cassock. The rest of the town, it seemed, was gathered in front of the tavern. I went to the tavern, not because of the company, but because I was eager to find work on a ship, and figured that this was the mostly likely place to find employment with the docks being deserted.
I slowly shouldered my way through the crowd, listening to the murmurings, catching snatches of conversations and wondering what was so momentous as to disrupt an entire town during the peak season in which most earned their livelihood. When I reached the door of the tavern, I found by way blocked by two men guarding the entrance. I wasn’t eager to cross any man, but I had slept poorly the previous night, in fact, had slept poorly for an entire year, and was in no mood for any kind of tomfoolery.
“I’d like inside, please.” I stated, addressing the older of the two guards.
“No one is allowed inside while the princess dines.” The younger one growled, shoving me back towards the crowd.
My usual state of self-pity and self-blame vanished when his hands touched my chest, but I held my temper in check. You’ll admit that’s no easy feat for a redheaded K’Attorsman, and one just lately showing the beginnings of a beard. I again addressed the older guard, “Can you tell me how long it will be?”
Again the younger, and in my opinion, more foolish guard shoved me. “That’s none of your concern, boy.”
I bristled, both at his tone of voice and his use of the term “boy.” He was hardly any older than I, with no signs of a beard on his face, only a cruel sneer that lifted one corner of his mouth.
“Friend,” I said, looking him directly in the eye, “I asked a simple question. If you don’t know the answer, simply say so, and don’t let your delusions of authority cause problems where there need be none.” Now I felt more alive than I had since I woke to the news that my family was dead. I could feel the blood pulsing in my temples.
The younger guard started to reply to my statement, but was cut off by his companion, “The lad’s right, Rupert. Now leave him be.”
Rupert was either hard of hearing, or didn’t know good advice when he heard it. He reached for the cudgel leaning against the wall next to him. “Get out of here, boy.”
The cudgel wasn’t there when he closed his hand over where he thought it should be, probably because I had toed it out of the way when he opened his mouth.
Again the older man spoke, “Rupert, leave it alone. You don’t want to risk the wrath of who’s inside over some imagined slight to your honor.”
“No, this stripling needs to learn a lesson.”
“Aye, perhaps I do.” I admitted. “But I’ll not learn it from the likes of you.” By this time, my anger had seethed through to the surface.
Rupert charged me and I tripped him neatly with my staff, stepping out of his way as he stumbled into the dust. He got up, spitting and pulling a dagger from the sheath hanging off his belt. I glanced at the old man, but he was gazing out into the crowd, ignoring the drama unfolding between Rupert and I. He seemed to feel Rupert deserved whatever I could give him, or that I deserved any punishment I received for not leaving well enough alone.
A lad of sixteen I might be, but no stranger to the rough and tumble ways of most any child’s education, especially if that child had brothers, as I had. I might have wandered around in a daze for a year, but I was still a farm boy, and probably stronger than this city boy was used to dealing with.
“I wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of a crowd.” I taunted. “Answer my questions and we can settle this dispute later, in a more gentlemanly fashion.”
“You may use big words, boy, but you’re no gentleman.” was Rupert’s reply. You’re the one who’s going to be embarrassed.”
I shrugged my shoulders and gripped my staff more comfortably. “If that’s the way you want it, then.”
By now, the crowd had drawn back a few paces, leaving and open area in front of the tavern for my opponent and I to do battle. Rupert paused for a moment and stared, as if seeing something he hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps it was my scar, which runs down my forehead from above the hairline, then crosses my left eyebrow before fading out on my cheekbone. I don’t know and never found out what gave him pause. In any case, he advanced slowly towards me rather than charging as he had the first time, prompting the thought, “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he can be taught.” While part of my mind made light of it, another part of me realized that this was a man not likely to make the same mistake twice, and a man used to getting his way.
We began to circle, waiting for the other to make the first move, trying to get an estimate of how the other would fight. I have never been the patient kind, especially in my youth, so it was I who began our melee. My right foot slid forward over the hard packed dirt and my staff fell towards Rupert’s head as I advanced. He jumped back, and tossed his dagger back and forth between his hands. I noticed it only peripherally, watching his eyes for a sign of his coming attack.
I almost missed it, because he attacked with his feet rather than the dagger I had expected him to use. As it was, I managed to knock his kick away with my staff, and then had to twist out of the way as his dagger darted for my belly. I realized then that he meant to kill me, not simply defeat me.
What happened in the next few moments I remember little of. I do know that when it ended, Rupert lay dead at my feet, the handle of his dagger protruding from his chest. My staff was broken into two pieces, and I had so much blood on my hands I remember thinking I must have slit his throat, rather than merely buried his dagger in his heart.
The older guard approached me with his sword drawn. “I’ll have to arrest you lad. You’ve killed the Princesses personal bodyguard.”
“What princess?” I cried out. “What kind of royalty allows her personal guard to provoke and attack one of her subjects, then arrest him for defending himself?”
“I’m sorry, lad. I . . .”
This time it was he who was interrupted by a soft, melodious voice speaking from shadows of the now open door. “My name is Arianne, and I do not allow my personal guard to provoke attacks by my citizenry, nor do I punish those who defend themselves. I believe everyone has a right to protect their life and the lives of those they love.”
I turned toward the author of those words. “That’s a very pretty speech, miss, but even a poor farm boy from the country knows better than to trust royalty.” I couldn’t help letting the disgust I felt at how I was being treated creep into my voice.
The guard advanced at my imprudent words, emotion finally displaying itself on his face like thunderheads on the horizon. “I’ll not allow anyone to impugn the word of Princess Arianne and live!”
As his sword swung back in what was probably the beginning of an attempt to separate my head from my shoulders, an amazing thing happened. A slight figure, dressed in silks and furs, interposed itself between me and the man who would have been my executor.
“Gavin, stop!” she cried. “He may have reason to doubt my words. I’ll not have you disprove them.”
The guard, whom I now connected with the threat of death, and the name Gavin, lowered his sword only partially, muttering, “Stand out of my way, Highness. He deserves to die. He killed Rupert, and he spoke against the crown. Now let me do my job in protecting you and the crown you are heir to.”
“Nonsense, Gavin.” Arianne responded. “He may have killed Rupert, but I doubt it was in cold blood, or you would have stopped him yourself, or died trying. He is obviously not a ruffian intent on destroying me. I’ve stood here nearly a minute and he has made no move to harm me.” That was indeed true. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but had it; I doubt I would have been able to act upon it. I was too much in shock at the twin realizations that I had actually killed someone and that I was being protected by a mere wisp of a girl from a man nearly twice as large as her, and larger even than my two plus meter height and fifty stone weight.
I finally spoke. “If you give me your word I’ll be fairly tried, I’ll give over peacefully.” Now I thought about threatening to abduct the Princess if she didn’t give her word, but discovered that several other guards, these in armor, had moved through the door and had me surrounded. “I have no wish to die a dishonorable death.”
She turned and faced me then. It was as if the entire world stopped in that moment. I was so transfixed by her beauty that my mind did not comprehend the words she directed at me. When I realized she was speaking, I had to back up in my mind to catch all she had said.
“You shall stand trial for the unreasonable death of the Princesses personal body guard, Rupert, son of Murdoch. If you are found guilty of his slaying, you will receive the maximum penalty allowed by law. In this instance, the penalty is death by beheading. If, however, you are found to have been unjustly provoked, and that his death was the result of you defending yourself from an unwarranted attack, as is your right, you will be freed. Do you understand these terms?”
In response, I merely nodded. I was amazed that any member of royalty would bother to speak so politely to a commoner, especially one that had only moments earlier called her a liar.
She continued, “I trust then, that you will surrender your weapons to Gavin.” It wasn’t a question, but a royal edict. I obeyed, drawing my dagger from my belt and turning it hilt first towards the man who came around the princess.
He glowered at me, and spoke in a tone too low for the princess to hear, though she was merely two steps beyond him. “You’re lucky the royal daughter is so forgiving. I would have seen you had a fair trial for killing Rupert, but I’d not have let you survive after calling her Highness a liar.” He took my dagger, glanced at it, and whistled in appreciation before tucking it into his own waistband. “I almost hope they find you guilty. This is a nicer knife than any farm boy deserves.”
“It was my father’s, a spoil of the last war which put her Highnesses father on the throne. He is dead, so it is rightfully mine. I expect it back.” Inside I was seething, and vowed that once the blade was back in my possession, as I had every reason to believe it would be, no one else would ever have it, even temporarily. I have kept that vow to this day.
