On the seventh night they made camp in a clearing just outside of a village whose name Aeolwyn didn’t know. General Alaric made it quite clear that no one was to go into the village. Not because there was anything inherently dangerous about it, but because he knew the irresistible temptation a village with a tavern offered.
There was a small delegation that would be heading into the village to purchase supplies and secure permission to camp outside its borders. Aeolwyn was not among them. He wished he was. The town was certain to have a healer, and his saddle sores had become extremely painful. So painful that he had taken to walking his horse as often as he was on its back.
He was tempted to ask Egnever for a healing, but he had resisted so far for two reasons: first, Egnever didn’t particularly like him and might decide to make him worse instead of healing him. Secondly, if he told someone, including Egnever, he was certain to be on the receiving end of unending mockery. Soldiers loved a good mocking, and they especially loved ensuring that someone who used to be elevated over them knew their new place.
So, he endured them, despite the pain they offered. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the pain when they rubbed against the saddle, or the stinging he felt when he washed them. Both were equally painful, but pains of a different sort. Such was the life of a soldier. They would get better. He hoped.
The sun had gone down and the delegation hadn’t yet returned. That wasn’t a problem for Aeolwyn; he had all he needed. His horse was fed, watered, and stood tethered nearby. He still didn’t trust his Sefalus to the picket line just yet. He was a good horse, and Aeolwyn wanted him nearby.
He was getting better at setting up his small tent on his own. It was easier when he had Galafar to help, who insisted on helping at every turn. He even offered to put a salve on Aeolwyn’s saddle sores. Aeolwyn politely declined that. The man was a soldier, not a servant!
Aeolwyn tried, to the best of his ability, to decline Galafar’s help when offered. Sometimes the soldier would insist on helping, or more often, he would just say “Yes, sir,” and continue to help. When Aeolwyn made a big deal out of wanting to do things on his own and sent Galafar away, he would stalk off and sulk nearby, looking hurt.
This was one of those times. He had to send Galafar away so he could set up his tent on his own. Truthfully Aeolwyn struggled with it and had been working on it late into the night, long after the other soldiers had their meals and were drinking, smoking, or maintaining their equipment. Galafar had come offering aid again, but Aeolwyn continued to send him away. It was close to midnight when he finally was able to get his bedroll inside the tent and close his eyes.
The tent had a peculiar smell. It was old and musty and had belonged to someone else in the past. He didn’t bring one of his own, so Alaric’s quartermaster issued him one. Its previous occupant’s odor had seeped into the tent’s fibers and was slowly venting them off into Aeolwyn’s nose. Most prominently was pipe smoke, but old body odor ran a close second.
There was some rustling outside. From the sounds of it, Sefalus was trying to get free from his tether again. Probably to find something to chew on. He swore that horse had a bottomless stomach. Something they both shared.
“Sefalus, stop it!” he shouted.
The rustling died down. At least he and the horse were bonding. By all accounts, he was a good animal. Strong, smart, and unafraid. Exactly the kind of horse a soldier would want. His mother had chosen well.
Sometimes, a smart horse also was a stubborn horse, but Sefalus exhibited none of those traits. He would sometimes get feisty, but still obeyed Aeolwyn when told to calm down. All in all, he was a pleasant animal.
Rustling again. He couldn’t still be hungry. Aeolwyn had fed the creature twice! “Sefalus!” he shouted. He would have to go out there and settle him down. The soldiers would complain if he kept this up all night, and that was the last thing he needed.
More rustling and a hoof stamp. That did it. Aeolwyn threw off his blankets and climbed out of the tent. The fires had mostly died down as all the soldiers retired to their blankets. The only ones that were still up were the ones on guard duty at various posts around the camp. Guard duty was the worst. It would be Aeolwyn’s turn tomorrow night.
Sefalus was agitated about something. He wouldn’t take the oats Aeolwyn offered him; he would turn his snout away from the feed bag. He continued to dance around nervously, stamp his hoof, and nudge Aeolwyn.
What was wrong with the horse?
He ran his hand along Sefalus’ side and scratched his neck. Normally the horse would nuzzle his shoulder when he did so, but not this time. He shied away from the affection. At least he didn’t bite. Aeolwyn stepped closer.
Just as he stepped forward, the horse reared up. Aeolwyn jumped backwards to avoid being hit. What was wrong with Sefalus? Aeolwyn couldn’t believe he would attack.
Just as he turned away from the animal, a new threat emerged. Out of the darkness came a shape, dark as night. He only saw it because of the silhouette it made against the light of the fire two tents down. A pair of daggers glinted as they slashed down towards Aeolwyn.
He ducked and twisted out of the way, but not before one of the blades sliced across his forearm. Pain lanced up his body and he instinctively cradled the injury. The assassin stumbled but rolled gracefully to their feet.
If only he had his sword! He couldn’t face this attack unarmed. The assassin would cut him down in an instant. He stumbled and tripped over one of the guy lines of his tent. The assassin pressed their advantage, knives blazing.
Just then, Galafar appeared, seemingly from nowhere, sword and buckler in hand. His buckler deflected the attack, most likely saving Aeolwyn’s life. Galafar put his body between Aeolwyn and the assassin, allowing him to get to his feet.
“Alarm!” Galafar shouted. “Assassin in the camp!”
Aeolwyn dove back into the tent and fetched his sword. As quickly as he could, he threw the chainmail armor over his head before running back out of the tent to join the battle. The mail felt heavy on his shoulders; he still hadn’t gotten used to its weight, despite wearing it as often as he could.
He was just glad he didn’t strip his clothes off! There would be no end to his shame if he had faced the assassin naked. He would have rather been killed.
“Alarm!” one of the guards shouted. “We are under attack!”
The alarm bells began to sound all over the camp. It exploded into a frenzy of motion as soldiers emerged from their tents, in various states of dress, swords bared. At least he wouldn’t have been the only one fighting naked.
“Alarm!” Another guard echoed.
The sounds of battle permeated the camp. War cries came from beyond the trees and were countered by war cries from inside the camp. The clanging sound of steel meeting steel sounded again and again. Screams came from the dying as blades found their targets.
Just as Aeolwyn emerged from the tent, he ducked an incoming slash. The Assassin had escaped from Galafar and was coming after him again. This time, with his armor on, the assassin’s second blade sliced harmlessly across his chest.
Even if he wasn’t stabbed, the blow still staggered him. His armor may protect him from getting cut, but it didn’t stop the force of the blow. He felt like he had been punched hard in the chest.
He swung his blade at the assassin, and they cartwheeled nimbly out of the way. He pressed his attack, but they just jumped and flipped away from his sword. Aeolwyn didn’t realize he was going to be fighting an acrobat from a traveling sideshow!
The muscles in his arms started to ache. He wasn’t used to this much effort. The assassin, sensing weakness charged. Aeolwyn retreated under the rapid cuts. Many of the attacks found their targets, but his armor protected him. There was only so much a longsword could do against a pair of blades.
Wait. He had a dagger! He had forgotten about it! He reached under the sleeve of his mail and drew the weapon his brother had hidden there. The blade was light and the sheath so comfortable, it was easy to forget he was wearing it.
Now the odds were even! He probably couldn’t strike with the off-hand blade, but he could use it to deflect attacks, much as Galafar had done with his buckler.
“Aeolwyn!” A deeper voice shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Egnever, wearing only a nightshirt, carrying a makeshift staff. He appeared to have pulled it straight out of the fire, as it was still burning at one end. Was he going to have to defend himself against two targets now?
Galafar stepped up beside him. “I have your back, friend,” the young Shielder said.
Three large bandits were rushing towards the two of them. They were about to be significantly outnumbered. Aeolwyn shoved the rising fear back down. He had trained with Sir Jom against multiple opponents. This would be no different.
Suddenly a blue glow surrounded Egnever. Was this his attack? Sir Jom hadn’t trained him to fight magic users! He grabbed Galafar and pulled him away from the presumed path of whatever spell Egnever was about to unleash, but it was too late.
Reality bent and warped, making Aeolwyn’s stomach lurch. He felt stretched and pulled in all directions as he tried to keep himself together. He suddenly was assaulted by a great wind and was pulled hard from his feet. He held tight to Galafar.
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The two landed hard on the ground. Aeolwyn’s sword went flying as he tried to brace his fall. Thankfully the knife in his other hand stayed out of Galafar’s ribs. Likewise, Galafar’s blade stopped only inches from Aeolwyn’s throat.
The buckler had other plans. It had slammed hard into Aeolwyn’s face. He could already feel a lump starting to form where it had hit. He shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he was just dizzy from the blow, or if all the noise from the battle had just suddenly vanished.
“Aeolwyn!” Egnever shouted.
Aeolwyn rolled to his feet, dagger bared. “Stay away from me!”
“Form up!” Galafar shouted.
Aeolwyn turned to see the three bandits racing at them in the dark, lit only by the moon. Where had the assassin gone? Egnever had to be ignored. He would do what he would do. The more pressing threat was the bandits.
He longed for the sword, but that had gone flying. Galafar held tight to him, trying to use his buckler to shield them both. Not that it could, the thing was barely larger than a dinner plate.
Someone made contact with his other shoulder. The assassin looked back at him as he turned. Behind the hood was a face as dark as night. The only thing discernable in the face was the whites of the eyes looking back at him.
“No one kills you but me,” they said in a light, delicate voice.
The assassin was a woman. If he weren’t under attack by a trio of bandits, the shock would have knocked him to the ground. He didn’t know why that should surprise him; women were capable of all sorts of things. He just didn’t expect murder to be one of them.
It was over in an instant, and Aeolwyn didn’t do anything. When the bandits got close enough, the woman assassin leapt up, did a flip, landed behind two of them, and stabbed each of them in the back with her knives. The third was left to Galafar who quickly disembowled him with his sword.
As soon as the bandits were killed, Galafar shoved Aeolwyn out of the way and stood between him and the assassin, who stood ready for another fight. She tried to move but was held fast by some hidden methods.
Aeolwyn stepped beside Galafar and looked at her. She was no taller than he, and just as thin. The cloak she wore billowed out and gave her the impression of being larger. Underneath the cloak she wore a black tunic under a leather bodice, and black trousers.
“Who are you?” Egnever asked.
In the heat of the battle, he’d forgotten about Egnever. He turned towards the mage, dagger ready, but his brother’s former friend seemed to be uninterested in him. His eyes were focused solely on the assassin.
Egnever stole a glance at Aeolwyn, then stepped back, arms raised. “What are you….” He started before trailing off. “Did you think I was going to hurt you? I may not like you, Aeolwyn, but I don’t want you dead. I’ll get my revenge on you for this,” he gestured around him, “but whatever form that revenge will take, I’m not going to kill you.”
Aeolwyn relaxed, hearing the truth in his words. He realized that, since they’d left, Egnever had shown him no reason to fear an attack. If anything, it had been the opposite. He had healed Galafar, after all.
Aeolwyn finally allowed himself the time to look around. They were no longer in the clearing where the army had made its camp. Not only was the camp and the clearing gone, but so was the road, the village, and all the soldiers.
Instead, they were in a dark forest lit only by the moon. “What happened?” he asked. “Where are we?”
“Not important right now,” Egnever said. He gestured at the assassin. “She is what matters. Galafar, can you secure her? I can’t hold her like this forever.”
Galafar sheathed his weapons and pulled out a small pair of manacles. Where he had got them, or why he happened to be carrying them at a time when the rest of the soldiers had gone to bed, Aeolwyn didn’t know. All he knew was he was glad his friend had them now.
The Shielder took her weapons and searched her for more, finding nearly a dozen other blades hidden in various parts of her body. She had come prepared. When he was satisfied that she had been completely disarmed, he fastened the manacles behind her back.
Egnever released whatever spell held her, and she collapsed to the ground, face first. She made no attempt to right herself, though she could have sat up if she wanted to. Instead, she kept her face buried in the dirt. Aeolwyn thought he could hear her softly sobbing.
He turned back to Egnever. “Is this your doing?” he asked, gesturing around them. “Did we get teleported?”
Egnever shifted uncomfortably. “Yes. When I saw that you were in trouble, I cast a spell to teleport us all to a safe place, only I don’t recognize where we are. It’s not my safe haven.”
“I don’t understand,” Aeolwyn said.
“It’s called the Recall spell,” Egnever said. “You’re meant to tag a place you find safe, and when you cast the spell, you are recalled to the place that you tagged. Only this isn’t it.”
“It sure doesn’t look like a brothel to me,” Aeolwyn said.
He heard the assassin snort and Galafar chuckled. He was afraid that he might upset Egnever with the dig, but the mage laughed out loud. It was the first time Aeolwyn had seen a smile cross his lips since they had left.
“So where are we?” he asked.
Egnever shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“It’s too dark to really guess,” Galafar said, “but I would venture that we are somewhere near the edge of the Darkwood Forest, somewhere outside of Wardenshire.”
“In Wickshire?” Aeolwyn asked in a panic. Wickshire was the land of the elves, and they were the mortal enemies of his father. They had been fighting and skirmishing across the borders for years, ever since his grandfather had stolen the Daal’s arrowhead.
“We need to get out of here,” Aeolwyn said. He looked around, and realized Sefalus wasn’t there. “Where’s my horse?”
“Outside the range of the spell,” Egnever answered.
“We have to go back! Sefalus saved my life!” Aeolwyn said, and he meant it. If it weren’t for that horse, the assassin would have killed him. Sefalus must have smelled her lurking about and was trying to warn him that he was in danger.
Not to mention that he reared just as she was about to strike. If he hadn’t, again, Aeolwyn would be dead. Sefalus was one smart horse, and Aeolwyn needed to take care of him.
“I can’t get us back,” Egnever said. The spell doesn’t work that way. I would have needed to set another anchor at the campsite. I saw no need, so I didn’t. We will have to walk.”
“Our best bet is to make our own way to Fort Camulan,” Galafar said. “If we go chasing after the column, we will never reach them and will just double our journey.”
Reluctantly, Aeolwyn agreed. He would have to just trust that the rest of the soldiers would take care of his horse. If not, there would be hell to pay.
“What about her?” Galafar asked.
Aeolwyn sat down next to her and gently stroked her hair. She pulled away from his touch, and finally sat up. She looked at him with hateful eyes. If she had been crying, he saw no evidence of it.
“We won’t hurt you,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Who sent you?” Egnever demanded.
Aeolwyn glared at him and shook his head. Egnever raised his hands up and backed away. He headed over to the dead bandits and picked through their things. Galafar joined him. Neither seemed to be interested in finding any gold or jewelry, and their weapons were poorly made. No match for the equipment they already had.
“Were you with them?” he asked softly.
“No,” she answered. “I don’t know who they are.”
“How are you called?”
“My name is Reiva,” she said. “I was sent to kill you.”
He recognized her accent almost immediately. There had been many messengers and ambassadors from down south who spoke in much the same fashion as she did.
“You’re Tambrynese?” he asked, ignoring the obvious question for now. She would be traveling with them; he had already decided that. There would be plenty of time to find out who had sent her to kill him. If he were to guess, it would be the Star Children.
She nodded. It was unusual to have a Tambrynese so far north, but not unheard of. What was unusual was a woman of her color. As he understood it from her father, among the Tambrynese, dark skin was the sign of nobility. What would a dark skinned Tambrynese noble be doing playing assassin?
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Are you of noble blood?”
She shook her head. “I was born on Gavinholm Isle.”
That was more sensible. While darker skin was uncommon in Camulan and Tambryne, it was not uncommon elsewhere. Maybe she fled from Gavinholm and expected better treatment in Tambryne because of the association of nobility her darker skin would provide her.
“Things didn’t work out for you there?”
“No.”
He nodded. “Are you thirsty? I think Galafar has a water flask.”
“No,” she said.
“Alright.” He wanted to keep prodding, but he thought it was better to try to build some trust between them first. He didn’t think a full interrogation would be beneficial to them right now. There was plenty of time to find out more. It would do them no good to know who had hired her. They couldn’t do anything about it now anyway, who else besides the Star Children wanted him dead?
Just as he stood, the other two returned. Galafar was empty handed save for a few cloaks and a satchel of food. The cloaks were only slightly stained with blood.
Egnever had a small piece of paper which he handed to Aeolwyn. He unfolded it to a shock. Inside there were no words, just a single picture: A crude, hand drawn sketch of him. There was no mistaking the likeness, despite the poor drawing.
“Each of them had one,” Egnever said.
“I don’t understand,” Aeolwyn said. “I’m saying that a lot, and I don’t like it. Reiva said she didn’t know these men. If the Star Children sent her, who sent them?” He gestured at the three corpses.
“Reiva?”
He nodded at the assassin, who was trying to make herself comfortable despite the manacles. “Her,” he said.
“The Star Children sent her?” Egnever asked.
“They must have,” he answered. “You saw her in action. Who else but the Star Children would be able to afford someone with such skill?”
Egnever shook his head. He didn’t say anything, but the thoughtful look in his eyes made Aeolwyn think he might have a suspicion. In his mind, there was probably a long list of people who would want a prince dead. He wasn’t wrong, but how many of them would have the money?
Galafar handed each of them a cloak. “It’s not much, but it’s something. We need to rest. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.”
Aeolwyn agreed, though he didn’t think he’d sleep much tonight. “You two rest. I’ll take first watch.”
As much as he dreaded guard duty, someone had to do it.
***
Fraius helped carry the bodies of the dead bandits away from the camp. He recognized one of them as the intermediary that he had paid to conduct this raid. As clever as would be expected for a bandit of low intelligence, he had the bag of gold Fraius had paid him in his pocket. Fraius took the opportunity to reimburse himself after making sure the intermediary was dead. Being disguised as a soldier had its benefits.
He had seen everything. Every night they camped, he made sure to set up his tent in a location where he could keep a close eye on the young prince, and tonight was no exception. He had seen that dark-skinned woman sneaking around Aeolwyn’s tent before trying to stab him when the boy went out to attend to his horse. It would have worked if not for the horse alerting him.
He knew that girl was going to be trouble. The fact that they had the same goal in mind was immaterial. If she managed to assassinate him before Fraius got his chance, Lord Longinus would not be pleased. If whoever had sent the woman stood up and took credit for the assassination, that would weaken the Order’s position.
He would have to keep an eye on her if he could find her again. It seemed ridiculous that he would have to protect the prince from her, only to kill the boy himself, but that was what Longinus expected, and he would obey.
The bandits chose to attack when the boy was in the middle of fighting the assassin. Poor timing on their part. He would have preferred it if they had waited until later to storm the camp when everyone would be asleep. Then Fraius could have snuck into the boy’s tent while appearing to fight the bandits and run him through. Sadly, that wasn’t the case.
Instead, someone had shown up and teleported Aeolwyn, that Shielder friend of his, the assassin, and three bandits off to who knew where. That was going to complicate things. Longinus wouldn’t accept this failure.
They had already sent search parties out for the prince. They weren’t going to find him. If Fraius were any judge of magic, and he was, despite his lack of ability in it, the prince was many miles away. Possibly even leagues away.
Fraius on the other hand had other options. Since he apparently was the only one that had actually seen what happened to the prince, he knew where to look. Even if he had no skill in magic, one of his disguised associates did, and had been sent over to the tent to examine it. His associate, Child Nimbulus said that as long as the spell’s Essence hadn’t faded, he was certain he could find out where they went.
It was time to rethink his strategy. He and Nimbulus would be leaving the camp, though he would give orders for the rest to remain. They would be more useful among the soldiers than they would be on Fraius’ quest to find Aeolwyn. The boy might think himself safe, but he would soon find out how wrong he was.