Runaway (11 page)

“Evening Spencer, how’s the watch?” I asked as politely as I could, but didn’t bother to keep the yawn that followed at bay. Spencer’s main job was to oversee the watch towers in the trees; he maintained them and made sure people took their shifts when it was their turn.

“It’s running as smooth as always, thanks to me,” he flashed me a pearly white grin.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, truth be known he was great at keeping the towers running and they were vital to the safety of the camp, but I thought he didn’t have to sound so smug about it. Spencer was a favorite bit of eye candy for most of the women in camp. He was tall and lean with sandy-blonde hair and deep brown eyes. He kept his hair short and even sported a small hoop earring in one ear, like a pirate from an old story. I personally had never been interested in his romantic advances but he insisted on trying anyways. “That’s wonderful Spencer. So how can I help you this evening? It’s been a rather long day and I was just heading to bed...”

“Let me know if that bed gets too cold” he said without skipping a beat. I couldn’t help but laugh and this time I did roll my eyes.

“I’ve got a fireplace for that, but I’ll add that favor to my ever growing list of offers I won’t be taking from you.” After all the years together in the rebel camp we had formed an easy friendship of playful banter. Spencer would flirt even though he knew I really wasn’t interested and I would tease him for it.

“One of these days you’ll be glad to cash in on that list. But on to the real business my darling… have you heard about Betty Miller?” the smile faded from his young face.

“Yeah it’s terrible. I feel for Henry, he really loves her, it’s a great loss to all of us.” My own smile faded away.

“Agreed, I know you’ve been gone the day hunting, I wasn’t sure if the news had reached you yet.” He dug the toe of one of his boots into the ground kicking up a small ant hill.

“I met Trent just on the other side of the river, well I was attacked by that deranged chicken of his, but he told me.” My small joke made Spencer smile a bit. While mostly everyone loved and respected Sir, only I got away with teasing the bird. But it was all in good fun, as even I admitted respect for the loyal animal; well sometimes.

I was just getting ready to try and excuse myself from the conversation again, when there was loud shout from the other side of the central clearing. Spencer and I turned and gazed in the same direction. One of the young Hanson boys came running from around the side of a cabin. His eyes were huge and he was running as fast as his short legs could take him. He spotted us and nearly collided with my legs in his attempt to stop.

“Justin, what’s the matter?” I reached out and put my hands on his shoulders to help steady him. He was breathing heavily and couldn’t speak yet as he tried to catch his breath. Spencer came closer and peered down at the boy.

“It.. they.. caught…” the boy stopped and took a deep steadying breath, determination etched his dirty face, “Jacob and Erin were heading out to gather your hunt… and they found a spy from the castle!” I felt every fiber of my being turn to stone, this was not good news, Spencer swore under his breath.

“Marleah, you know what this means…” Spencer said.

I turned to him, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, if he was alone.. and hadn’t said anything then we might get lucky.” My mind was racing, full of my own swearing which leaked out under my breath at the same time. 

A group of men were moving into the clearing now. Voices were raised while women and children started to peek out from cabin doors and windows as the crowd moved into the center. Word had spread quickly. I couldn’t see Trent, but Sir was circling the crowd so I knew he was there. Spencer moved to join the group of men and I followed closely behind after dropping my pack with instructions for Justin to take it into my cabin. Making our way pass the shouting people, we were able to see what the mob had surrounded. The wooden cart that had been meant to carry back my deer, instead had a man tied and slung into it. He had a mess of black hair and it was matted down on one side with what I could tell was blood. He was pale but wide eyed.

“Enough!” it was Trent’s voice that rang out over the people; they all quieted down as he moved towards the man. Trent was in full leader mode now, he seemed to tower over the crowd and his voice full of command. “Tell me what happened?” he directed the question to Jacob who had ahold of one of the wagon’s braces while Erin held the other.

“We were making our way out towards the honeydew grove when Erin, spotted a fire off into the woods not far from here. We tied up the horse and used the branches to make our way over to the light. We found this guy there alone, huddled near it, so we dropped a stone down on his head and knocked him right out,” Jacob was speaking quickly fueled by the excitement at having caught an enemy. Erin beamed; he gave a gruff laugh and mumbled something. Erin had a rugged scar across his throat; he had been attacked as a child during the demon invasion and couldn’t speak well.

“Yeah it had been Erin’s idea to drop the rock,” Jacob had been friends with Erin a long time and was pretty much the only one who understood what he said.

Trent gave them a weak smile, “Good work men.”

Jacob and Erin beamed even more at each other and Trent moved to stand beside the wagon. He frowned as he stared down at the man. The man looked ill, he stared at the ground and wouldn’t look up to meet Trent’s eye. I moved to stand just behind Trent so I could study the man for myself. He was wearing the uniform of a castle solider, which had been changed to fit the new army, not the uniform of the Priestess. It was a thick tunic trimmed in dark black and green. On his chest was the symbol of a snake twisted around a dagger with a wide open mouth. It normally would have gleamed in silver but this man was dirty, his hands and feet were bound tightly with rope and he was on his side. Blood had run onto his face and his mouth was stuffed with a bit of fabric.

Trent turned his back on the man, “Take him to the shed near the horse barn, tie him to the pole inside and give him water, but don’t untie his hands or feet. Spencer go and setup a guard for the night.”

Spencer locked eyes with Trent and nodded once then moved to lead Jacob and Erin towards the shed, wagon and prisoner in tow.

Trent turned his attention to the rest of the men, “We will stand together in this and I promise to find out what threat this has posed to us…” he surveyed the crowd, everyone had eyes on their leader, whose voice softened as he made perhaps an even grimmer announcement. “As for now, we have lost one of our own this evening. We won’t be distracted from the memory of Betty Miller, who shall be commended to heaven, as a new Angel that deserves our respect.”

My heart had been racing since the crowd had first appeared, now, I felt myself deflate all over again. Trent turned towards me, back turned in dismissal of the others who had started to move away to pass the word on to those who might not have heard clearly. Each rebel family would follow the old tradition; making a cross of wood and placing it outside of their home with a flower laid before it from each member in the household. The flowers would then be laid on Betty’s coffin the next morning when they laid her to rest on the mountain side grave yard. Trent motioned for me to follow him into his cabin; I walked beside him while Sir came and landed on his shoulder. He ruffled his feathers once as we passed over the threshold.

As a Master of the Castle, I really should have been out of bed by now. Lord Harwell, my father, would be swearing at my tardiness to breakfast. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn closed against the cold of the single high window, but that didn’t keep the faint glow of the rising sun from breaking through the crack in the middle where the two didn’t quite meet. The beam of light split the room in half, dividing the opposite wall and door in a perfect line from top to bottom. It wasn’t the largest room in Crystal Castle, but it was the closest to the library, which appeared to have been drug into the room and stacked in heaps on the over filled shelves. Even the top of the hand craved, elegant armoire that held his clothes, was littered with books, papers, and a couple of scrolls.

The fireplace had died out hours ago, having not been tended to through the night. The mantel was covered in a few small trinkets, being too close to the heat for the comfort of the more valuable books. The smaller glow of my candle is all that I needed in the dark room. The grand, four poster bed was a tangle of blankets and furs, from tossing and turning in the night. I had given up on sleeping and stretched out, still in my nightclothes, with a book propped up by a goose feather pillow, accompanied by a well-used, little candle.

… the boy, knowing that his treasure was not a rock, or fascinating bobble, but instead that of an egg laid by the last of the great dragons, took it into his mind that it must kept safe. The boy, while not yet the age of man, took what little provisions he had and left home, determined to raise the egg in the safety of the faraway lands. There, he knew he would find the hot spring, fed by the Volcano Emperor; there the egg could be kept warm until it hatched.

So the boy made his journey and by the time he had reached the hot spring, he had hair on his face and his balls, and so knew that he had become a man. Although he couldn’t recall just when it had happened, or how long he had been gone. He stopped at a small farm to beg a drink of water and ask for directions to the hot spring. However, the old farmer he found in the field of corn couldn’t understand his words; having no ears to hear with. Instead, the old farmer led him inside the house and gestured for him to talk with his beautiful daughter. And so the boy, now man, asked for some water and was given a pitcher. After drinking the whole of it down, he asked the daughter where the hot spring could be found.

‘I can show you the way, if you are determined to go, but I should like to know what to call you first,” the beautiful daughter asked. Thinking, the boy, turned man, couldn’t remember.

‘It’s been so long since asked for my name… What would you like to call me?’ he asked of the girl.

‘Well I can see by the hair on your face that you must be older than I… I think I shall call you Elder,’ and so the daughter had named him hers. The name touched Elder’s heart so much he began to cry. She dried his tears and found him a place to sleep in her bed. The old farmer’s beautiful daughter and Elder were married that spring. The dragons egg was long since forgotten, as Elder took to man’s work in the fields and barn of the farm. And so the journey the boy had started was forgotten by the man.

I carefully placed a feather between the pages of the book and while closing the cover lay back, shutting my eyes. I could still see the man and his wife in the story, the forgotten dragon egg behind them. Old tales with morals were a favor of mine; the wisdom one could find in them was timeless. In this case, the moral had been quite clear in the last line, the things that seem so important as a child, are forgotten when one takes on the responsibilities of adulthood.

My pondering was interrupted by a knock the door. I tried to bury my head farther into the soft mattress, but it was no use. There was no second knock, there never was. The door flung open wide and with the window’s slip of light glowed on the tiny maid’s face. She was a very short woman, with fading yellow hair and everything about her was in perfect order. Her hair was piled up under the stark white of her cap, brown homespun dress was free of any stains or wrinkles, even though she spent her days cleaning up muck. Her white apron matched her cap perfectly and was ironed so flat it was almost as straight as a board. The click of her polished wooden shoes came closer and she made her way to the bed. I pulled a blanket over my head, already knowing what to expect next from my intruder.

“Heaven have mercy Lord Drake! You shall catch a deathly cold one of these nights! No fire in yer room and not but a small candle! And look, ye have burned another hole in yer bed! Candles are for tables, not soft things that catch sparks!” how that voice boomed from such a small thing never ceased to amaze me. No use stalling anymore, time to try begging forgiveness instead.

“Yes, Mother Lucy. I’m sorry Mother Lucy.” I peeked up from beneath my hiding place, her forehead was still wrinkled in a frown, but a small smile had crept across her lips making her look younger. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the close the door behind her.

Click, click, click, her wooden shoes echoed all around as she seemed to be in every inch of the room all at once. The heavy curtains were thrown open and the morning light flooded the room. The fire was stoked back to life, as if by magic, while books and clothes were finding their way back to their proper places.

“Up! Up! Up, Lord Drake! Yer father is in an uproar over ye being late to breakfast hall!” she clicked her tongue in disapproval as she spoke. It was hard not to feel commanded by the small woman when she used her authoritative matriarchal tones. I grumbled, but rose out of bed. Which I imminently regretted; I was pulled to the small desk beside the armoire by a strong, bony hand. Here, I was faced with a mirror, a steaming bowl of water, a razor and even a jar of fresh shaving cream. I wondered at Mother Lucy’s amazing abilities of foresight.

“Now ye sit there and take care of them whiskers, I’ll be back in a flash!” and she dashed from the room, after the heavens only knew what. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The room was flooded with light now and I could see myself clearly. The sun must be higher than I first thought, no doubt the reason for my father’s complaining over breakfast. He is always insisting that we start the day together, so he can yell and cuss, while making demands for our plans for the day. There wasn’t much stubble on my face, just barely a shadow. But that would never pass Mother Lucy’s inspection and so, I sighed and took a handful of cream to my face.

The razor was quite sharp and I was able to make short work of shaving. I thought of the man in the story I had just read and wondered if I kept the hair from my face, I could retain some of the wonder children seemed to have. My father and brother didn’t shave; they had full thick, bushy, black beards. They were manly men, always bothering with soldiering and talk of defeating the rebels; the last hold outs of the old ways. I was more of my mother’s son; with light brown hair instead of black, and the gray-blue eyes peering back at me in the mirror were hers. No, I couldn’t find any trace of my father in the reflection, all those traits had, thankfully, gone to my older brother Cyril. They were both largely built with thick arms and necks of muscle, with powerful legs as thick as some tree trucks. They were the kind of men built for war. I was built in no such way; I was tall and lean and stood as straight as a tree. I had a long reach which was said to be good for a sword, but I never carried one, preferring books.
Let them keep the bronze, I’ll keep my books,
I thought to myself as the door flung open again and I jumped to my feet. 

“Thank ye my Lord,” she drew in a deep breath of relief. I took the bundle Mother Lucy had filling her arms, which threaten to topple the old woman over. “It’s all been freshly washed and the boots been shined up too!” she beamed in satisfaction over the clothes like she had found a buried treasure.

“They are wonderful Mother Lucy!” I beamed at her in thanks, making the old woman blush. She took great pride in the smooth running of the castle maids and making sure everything was cleaned and cooked to perfection.

“Off ye go, get dressed before yer father has an apoplexy!” a screen was pulled from its place in the armoire for decency, so that I could dress without her having to leave the room. I rolled my eyes so she couldn’t see and stepped behind the screen, feeling not at all secured in its minimal privacy. She started in on arranging the bed back into order while I pulled on my breek’s and tunic.

The old colors of Crystal Castle had been beautiful hues of greens and blues and such. My father, in an attempt to do away with the past had them all taken away, replaced with dark colors and the crest of a snake, wrapped upon a dagger, his own design. I didn’t care for the dark colors or the crest he insisted upon stamping on everything. I wore the dark breek’s but kept a lighter, creamed-colored, simple tunic instead. A brown belt at my waist kept it all pulled together and the polished up boots, that I could almost make my face out in. Feeling decent, I stepped back out into the room, greeted by a perfectly made bed and the clapping of Mother Lucy. I felt myself blush and she beckoned me forward for inspection.

“Tisk!” she clicked in disapproval and as fast as lightening she had ahold of one my ears, using it to pull my head down to her level while using the other to work a comb through my hair. My hair, while kept short, did curl just slightly at the ends and she was working with mad resolve trying to make them lay down flat. The fight was short lived, with a splash of water that dripped off my nose, she had the curls well-behaved. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it wouldn’t last, but for the moment, she was satisfied, which meant I could escape her comb at last.

“Am I presentable now Mother Lucy?” I asked, laughing at the sight of the small woman, tapping one shoe on the floor in the serious business of looking me over.

“Oh, aye. I believe ye’ll do Lord Drake, maybe we’ll find ye a wife today! Ye have the handsome looks of ye mother! Mistress Alexandra was truly a sight to behold!” she beamed in motherly pride and I couldn’t help but return her infectious grin. “Now off to yer breakfast my Lord!” with that I was given a swift pat on the bum and swept from the room.  

*****

I was not paying attention to my father. Instead, I was staring out the high castle window towards the snowy mountain range. There was an enormous breakfast laid out on the long table, and a full plate laid out in front of me, but I barely picked at it. A pile of biscuits toppled over, making me look up to meet the sight of my father pounding his fist down on the table. It was obvious my father was in a rage about something, again. He had been cussing almost non-stop since I had entered the great hall. I had tuned out almost at once.

“Get your head out of the damn clouds Drake!” he growled in my direction.

“Yes father, sorry father,” it was an automatic reply. I rolled my eyes away from
Lord
Clayton Harwell, as my father called himself these days. He was glaring down at me with pure disdain. I just stared right back until he broke off and went back to yelling about something. Cyril was sitting close to father’s right side.
Right where he belongs,
I thought to myself.

I watched as bits of bread flew from my father’s non-stopping mouth as he yelled, they stuck in his thick bread like flecks of snow. He was shaking his head around so much his self-fashioned crown was slipping down off his oily hair. It was an ugly thing and I was glad Cyril would inherit it instead of me. It was made in the same shape of a snake, in the case the tail came just behind the head which was complete with a real, tiny dagger shoved through its head. His father had insisted it have ruby, red eyes, meant to look menacing, but I felt it rather made the snake look mad that it had a knife in its head. He was not at all like the Kings I read about in my books. They were always handsome, wise, and not always yelling at everyone. Cyril sat by, like a younger copy of our father, with his own scruffy un-kept bread along his jaw, complete with food crumbs and dull brown eyes. The only difference being our father’s eyes were always full of rage and Cyril’s looked more slow, like the lights weren’t on behind them.

“Damn it Drake are you listening to me,” father eyed me over a large hard-boiled egg that he popped into his mouth. “You need to have more of a presence among the soldiers, so I am sending you with a few men to look for that damn guardsman that went missing.”

I narrowed my eyes at this, “I have other things to attend to, I don’t have time to be playing solider.”

“Like hell you do! Those damn rebel bastards probably took him for ransom! I’d see the man hanged before I pay a copper to those heathens!” spittle and egg flew from his mouth as he yelled and landed on the biscuit I had been considering whether to eat. I lost my appetite completely.

I watched the familiar sight as my father turned red, but couldn’t speak clearly; more bits of egg flew out of his silent mouth as he tried to form words. I didn’t bother reminding him that the rebels had never once kidnapped someone nor asked for a ransom.

Cyril was too busy to take any notice of what was going on; being much too preoccupied whispering to the maid that had just walked over to refill his glass. She was blushing nearly the same color as the Lord of the castle, my brother being a notorious flirt with women. If this one fell for his tricks too, then she would just end up another heartbroken girl who would be cast out of the castle’s service.

I took the moment to flee the room before my father could regain his voice. I knew that I had just tested father’s temper, but was too tired of being ordered around. I had never been as good a son as Cyril, who was more than happy to be groomed into the next ruler. I knew my father wanted me to take the position as Guard Caption, the same role that had landed him as Locklynn’s new ruler when the Dashiell family had been killed. But I had no desire to do any more than tend to my books and plan my own adventure. Not that I had any idea what to adventure about. The last excitement that had really happened around here had been the demon attack when I just a child, and I didn’t have any memories of it. I just knew I had been asleep in my bed, we had had a large cabin near the other soldier’s families, and when I woke up, I was in the castle room I still have.