Akira Rises (14 page)

“Well Suraj, welcome to our camp. I’m Marquis Dimitri Markham, champion of the Order of the White Rose, servant of King Peter.” He grinned. “In other words, titles aside, I’m the big boss around here. You can avail yourself to our protection for the night. You messengers seem to be getting smaller and younger all the time. Picket your horse with the others and pull up to the campfire.” He turned his back and attended to his horse.

Following suit, dismounting, Akira wondered where she could relieve herself out of sight. Her bladder was more than full and very uncomfortable. She walked Pegasus to the creek that edged the meadow. She picketed him quickly after he had his fill of water. The sound of running water made her need to pee more urgent. She noticed one of the riders heading for the trees and brush, and did likewise in the opposite direction. It was a good thing men liked a little more privacy when emptying their bowels. If anyone noticed her squatting to pee her, disguise would be discovered. She pictured herself trying to stand and pee and shook her head. It would be a mess she decided. She pictured her waters soaking her boots. It was another injustice that men could relieve themselves so easily and women had to shuck off more clothing, squat, and wipe. Men did not appreciate their ability to aim their water. Akira smiled as she imagined pissing her name in white snow. She wondered if men did that.

With her immediate body needs taken care of, Akira washed her hands in the near freezing water of the creek the camp was beside. Pegasus looked content to nibble the dried grasses he was picketed by. It was time to pull up to the campfire and join the men. Either that or mount up and be on her way. She decided it would be ungracious and suspicious to leave now. A boy, a young man, would not be nervous joining these men after riding together for hours. Therefore, she decided she would not, should not act nervous. She swallowed and straightened her shoulders.
Nothing ventured nothing gained
she thought as her stomach growled again.

The mouth-watering aroma of the simmering venison stew was tantalizing. She stood in line with the few men still waiting for the cook to hand them wooden bowls of steaming stew and a hunk of bread. The men around her had wasted little time gathering near the food.

After thanking the cook as he handed her a bowl of stew and a chunk of bread to sop up the broth she sat cross legged on the ground near the campfire. She took her knife out of her waistband and stabbed a tender piece of venison. She ate from the knife. Darkness had now fully descended and with her hood still covering her head, Akira ate quietly trying to remain unnoticeable. The meat was delicious and the warm broth warmed her insides. To her discomfort the man named Crow made it impossible to remain unnoticeable.

“Where you from boy? He asked between a mouthful of bread and noisy slurp of broth.

“Nunya,” Akira answered.

“Strange name never heard of it before.”

“Small village.” Akira answered while thinking
nun-ya business
.”

Crow was distracted by the passing of a wine jug. His leader however, was listening. ‘Nunya?” he echoed quietly from his observation advantage. Suddenly the man named Dimitri laughed out loud. His sharp mind picked up what Akira meant. Nunya damn business. Akira's eyes met those of the man named Dimitri. No sooner had she said “nunya”, then she was wishing she could take the comment back.

Akira reminded herself again to watch her tongue. To everyone else it appeared Dimitri was laughing at a joke Crow had just told. Of course the joke had to do with big voluptuous wenches and soft skulled fools. However, she knew why the man Dimitri laughed. She thanked the spirits he had a sense of humor. She thought him very perceptive, but then laughed inside her head, for the handsome man was not perceptive enough to see she was not a young man.

Crow offered Suraj of Nunya a swig of wine. Akira took the jug and faked a gulp, wiping her mouth for effect before passing the jug. She could not afford to have her wits addled by wine. She forced a burp up for effect.

For a man in a position of authority Dimitri did not seem too bad. He cared for his horse, cared for his men. He had a sense of humor. She watched him as unobtrusively as she could. His orders all day had not been laced with threats or cursing as Akira was accustomed to listening to. His men seemed not to fear him. He seemed too nice. It would not be long before his shortcomings would surface. Just a matter of time, she told herself. She listened. Her ears burned a few times as they talked of robust wenches they hoped to meet with in the village ahead of them. She listened to the men talk, and sensed they respected Dimitri. When he ordered a fellow named Cronus to take the second watch because he had been napping as they rode, Cronus laughed and replied, “yes sir,” freely admitting to sleeping while riding. “A smooth gaited horse is as comfortable as riding a comfortable wench, puts me to sleep like a babe!” Cronus's response brought another wave of good natured laughter. Akira smiled as she thought,
I hope the women you ride are as large as your horse, for you are one big load!”

Dimitri stretched out before the blazing fire. He sharpened his dagger, looking deep in thought. Had Akira been privy to his thoughts she would have learned he had hoped the lone rider they caught up with was the young girl he had been sent to rescue in secrecy. She would have learned days before, he and his men had ridden long and hard to kidnap a young girl for her own safety and return her to her mother. The girl already taken off and gone into hiding. Even with the promise of gold for information of her whereabouts, no information or leads came forth. She had vanished. Lucky for her he hoped. For hunters had been sent to find her and return her to her father. Confidential and credible sources reported the hunters came up empty handed. Dimitri did not want to bring news to the girl’s mother that he had failed to secure her daughter’s safety, that he too came up empty handed.

It would not comfort the worried mother that he had been able to purchase the freedom of an indentured young man about to be mutilated for the crime of running for his freedom while her daughter remained missing. It seemed the young man was overly distraught that the baron of the land he lived under was practicing the frowned upon practice of first rights. His promised had been deflowered by the unscrupulous baron. Dimitri scowled. The infamous baron was not unknown to Dimitri. If that heinous act was already not enough to tear the young man apart, the baron refused to return the young man’s betrothed. Urged by his family to flee rather than challenge the baron and bring the fury of the baron upon his village the young man reluctantly fled, only to be hunted and caught. Dimitri I’d have liked to have had time to cause some havoc for the baron, but it would have only endangered the underground efforts to discredit the baron with his own king, King Hanfred of Stagland, without causing a war. Fortunately for indentured young man, the Order of the White Rose had allies and supporters among the lands of King Hanfred. It was an uncle of the young prisoner, a secret supporter of the Order of the White Rose that begged for Marquis Markham to intercede and save the young man.

Dimitri paid handsomely for the young man’s freedom, and put out word for all allies to look for and protect the baron’s runaway daughter. Money crossed palms for the girl’s protection. The word went out, and the word came back that the common people would shelter her and send word when she was located. It appeared the girl had friends among the villagers. Word would be sent to the monastery so a detail of men could be sent to retrieve her.

Dimitri rubbed his forehead. He looked across the flames and stared at the young boy. He frowned. His closest companion asked, “What is making you frown? You are watching our young guest.”

“My plans did not work out as I had hoped. It was a long shot we could rescue the daughter of Lady Shy.” Dimitri smiled at his companion. “You are about to remind me of my inability to swallow failure.”

His companion chuckled. “You know me too well, old friend. Plans did not work out as you hoped, but you enlisted the goodwill of a people willing to work against a ruthless baron who would support and urge his king going to war over any perceived transgression. Rebellion is in the air. Lady Shy was wise to try extract her daughter from a simmering hotbed of betrayals and dangerous intrigues.”

Dimitri looked at his blade, tuning it in the flickering firelight.

“I know that look,” his companion stated.

“And what look would that be? You hawk eyed old friend.”

“You want to use that blade.”

“You are very perceptive. I envisioned slitting the belly of the baron. If war does break out, the tail of the snake needs to be gutted. The head of the snake is a dark grand mage, a much more dangerous enemy.”

His companion nodded. “To defeat the Dark One, we will need more than warriors. We will need every mage we can find to join our cause. We will need to unite all the wizards, witches, and magicians to oppose the Dark One.”

“It will be difficult, for there are bitter feelings among them. Being forced north to keep the peace did not sit well. The lands to the north are harsh, even for those with extra abilities and powers. The land is not as tillable, as fruitful.”

“The ogres have been too good of hunters. The game in the north is getting scarce. The Dark One is gaining support to war against the human realms. Hunger is a great motivator for change.”

“It is. Go to sleep my friend. We will solve the world’s problems tomorrow.” Dimitri closed his eyes.

His companion grunted. He rolled on his side and had the last word. “You must have a magic wand stuffed up your arse that I can’t see.”

As the men settled around the campfire to sleep, Akira did the same, smoothing the rocks from around her space that caught some of the warmth from the fire. The fire had been fed more wood to hold its burn longer through the night. With her fur robe wrapped around her she felt comfortable as one could get without a bed and a roof on a cold night. She wondered how many bandits were behind them. She wondered if they would dare attack the riders she was camped with. One of the men let off a noisy round of gas.

“Eh Nels? Did ye soil yourself again?” A gruff raspy voice questioned, then laughed.

The few men not snoring yet laughed. The raspy voice added “you'll be needing the wenches to wash your riding breeches instead of cleaning your long rod.” More snickers followed by a, “shut your face I'll be getting both cleaned you burping boar!”

Akira sighed. The men were relaxed and not worried. They were typical men alright, thinking with the rigging between their legs. She turned her back to the fire and stared towards the dark skyline against the even darker forest line. Did Ann get to her kin unscathed? She silently prayed that that her father’s hunters had followed her own trail instead of Ann’s. Akira thought about her own situation. Would Baron Rolfe follow her this far if he knew which direction she had taken? His pride would be affronted, and it was a given that he would be infuriated. She rubbed her fingers over the tattoo on the underside of her wrist. It was a small measure of comfort. The symbol would be her pass into the sanctuary of the Order of the White Rose. If she was not mistaken the village she sought supplies from, the same village her companions were going to, was only a few hours ahead. If she could make her way up the mountain in the company of the mystery riders she shared camp with, she would do so. Exhausted emotionally and physically, she fell asleep quickly.

Breaking camp in the morning was a quick and efficient process. Mules carrying the cook's supplies were loaded within minutes of cold biscuits being passed out to break the night's fast. Akira again politely thanked the cook who then remarked loudly upon the young gent's good manners.

“Eh boy, don't thank him just yet. Ye might break a tooth on them hard biscuits.” Crow gave the warning with a smile on his face. His comment was intended to get a rise out of the cook. It worked. A well-aimed biscuit flew at Crow’s head. He caught it and smiled.

“I’ll be breaking your ungrateful face, Crow, are ye complaining?” The cook looked hopeful as he spoke.

“Hell no, Erastus, I love broken teeth. “Crow smiled and sure enough, a front tooth was broken.

The marquise who looked more like a warrior than a nobleman to Akira noticed the concerned look on her face. “Not to worry, Suraj. The last man who complained about the food got the job cooking.” Erastus was hoping Crow was going to complain.

Akira smiled sympathetically at the man named Erastus. Akira noticed again in the daylight that Dimitri Markham was handsome in a rugged way, handsomer than any man had a right to be. Therein will be his faults, she thought. He did not look or dress like any marquise she had ever met. He looked like a warrior. Tall, assured, his every move suggested hidden strength. He had scraped off his beard sometime that morning. His chin was strong. When he smiled, his teeth were even and white. His skin was tanned. His thick brown hair, sun bleached around his face waved to his shoulders. It was neither long nor short. It looked unruly. He would have no problem with attracting women. He probably had a wife, and if he was like the other married men she knew, a few mistresses on the side. She tightened Pegasus's cinch one more time and then swung up on his back. She bit into her biscuit and smiled. Even if the biscuit had been as hard as a rock she would not have said a word other than what she did in the most masculine voice she could project. “Delicious.”

The cook, Erastus, smiled. He liked the baby faced young man. Who would send such a young man not old enough to grow a beard or peach fuzz under his nose on such a dangerous journey? He asked that question of Dimitri when Akira was out of earshot. Dimitri answered, “only a fool or someone desperate.” Being a messenger afforded one only a certain amount of protection if those who came across the messenger had any fear of repercussions from the Order of the White Rose. Dimitri's eyes had searched for evidence that the boy, almost tall enough to be a man, actually was a legitimate messenger. As the boy reached for the biscuit Erastus had offered Dimitri saw a tattoo. The boy was marked. He had a dove tattoo. Dimitri’s eyes narrowed. The tattoo needed no explanation. Dimitri would protect the messenger marked with the dove tattoo. Duty bound him to do so. He looked at the young man. What was it about the young man that bothered him? Perhaps the way the young stranger had looked at him. He had caught him staring.
Perhaps I’m fiercer looking in the morning,
he thought, rubbing his shaven cheeks, then thought no more of the young stranger.