Reiva spent the night on his floor. No one made any comment that she had not reported back to her cell. He supposed that now that he had recruited her on this mission, she was his responsibility. She made no complaint about the coldness of his room, nor about the hardness of his floor.
She had already gotten up and left, chipper as though she had been walking through fields of dandelions all night, or maybe in her case, fields of the bodies of people who tried to kill her. The latter would be what would make her happy.
Aeolwyn on the other hand…was sick. Sicker than he’d ever been. He spent half the morning vomiting, and the other half wishing he was dead. His head pounded like it was being trampled by a hundred horses, and his stomach lurched every time he moved. This wasn’t good. They had a mission to go on today. All he could do was make a feeble attempt to sleep and pray he felt better by dusk—their planned departure time.
Reiva, for her part, was exceptional. She behaved more like a servant than she did a bodyguard. She brought him food and water, and made sure that he ate and drank them, even when his body tried to regurgitate everything. She sat there and made him force his food down. He hated every minute of it. She told him he would thank her later.
By the time the afternoon came around, Aeolwyn was feeling much better. The nausea had mostly passed, and he was able to get out of bed and move around without much trouble. He still had a slight headache, but it was manageable.
They grabbed their last hot dinner in the Snickleway. His stomach lurched as they entered. The tavern smelled like stale beer and piss. Something his nose failed to notice the previous night. Its vile and penetrating stench that threatened to not only upend his dinner, but also never leave his nostrils.
“Does this place always smell like this?” he asked.
Egne and Galafar shot looks at each other. “You didn’t notice it before?” Galafar asked.
“Hangover nose,” Revia explained. They all smiled and nodded knowingly.
Egne patted Aeolwyn on the arm and ruffled his hair. Aeolwyn pulled his head away and frowned.
“The first of many, I’m sure,” Egne said. “You were really putting them down last night.”
“One more for the road?” Galafar asked, smiling.
His stomach encouraged him not to relive the events from the night before. Just the thought of beer made him nauseous enough to spill his dinner right there on the table. It took some effort to fight back the urge, and if he was honest, it would serve the rest of them right for teasing him about it.
“Let’s get a move on,” he said when he finally was able to speak.
They slowly made their way out of Westgate and, when out of the view of the town, turned to head north. They chose to take the circuitous route to the banks of the Tyr to avoid any suspicion of what they were doing. Sure, they left through Northgate many times on their patrols, but they never did so at night. General Alaric was certain that there were Fennish spies among the dwellers outside the fort who would be reporting back anything that looked suspicious. Four soldiers leaving on a patrol at sunset was already suspicious. If they had left anywhere near the river, that would have been enough to make a report on.
They chose to make their crossing of the Tyr at the same spot where the Fenns had made theirs. Aeolwyn figured that since the ground had already been trampled up from their incursion into Camulan, Fennish scouts would be less likely to notice a counter-incursion in a place where the ground was already a muddy mess.
By the time they had reached the bank, it was getting near midnight. Because of the darkness, it had been a long, slow walk. Reiva insisted that they carry no lights as the same light that would guide them would make their approach apparent to anyone keeping an eye out for such things. Aeolwyn agreed, though it made the trip difficult and dangerous.
Egne and Galafar had snuck ahead and stashed a small rowboat in a cleft behind some rocks while they were still staggeringly drunk. They had even thought to stow some packs with provisions and dark cloaks for all of them. They had come up with the plan while Reiva was carrying Aeolwyn back, and even then, he was amazed at their drunken ingenuity.
They managed to get the small dingy in the water without much issue. As soon as the noise settled down, they waited, but saw no indication that they had been noticed, or even that anyone was on the opposite bank keeping watch at all.
They could only fit two people in the boat, so they had to take turns going one at a time. Galafar, being the strongest of the group, offered to pilot the small vessel back and forth as each member of the group was ferried across.
Reiva insisted on being the first to cross. Egne protested, worrying that she would flee the moment she landed, but she stayed true to her word. She did disappear for a moment, alarming Galafar, but she quickly returned giving him the all clear signal to let them know there was no ambush waiting for them.
As soon as all of them were across, they lifted the boat out of the water and hid it nearby under some brush. It wasn’t the best cover, but they hoped to be back before daybreak, so Aeolwyn wasn’t particularly concerned that anyone would find it before they got back.
He wished he had the rest of his men; he would feel much safer with them surrounding him. They now in enemy territory and there was no question that if caught, they wouldn’t be killed—they would be put to the question.
It was precisely that reason his men were not pleased when he told them they wouldn’t be coming along. Particularly Brakus who had begun treating Aeolwyn as a little brother and insisted on looking out for him. Not that he did that where the other men could hear; at those times he ensured everyone knew who was in charge.
He put Brakus in command, and the gold he left with them to finance their trips to Foregate helped alleviate their aggravation. Nothing like bribing the men with liquor to keep them happy. It was a time-honored tradition among soldiers.
The walk to the outpost was even slower than the one to the riverbank. Reiva insisted they take every precaution not to be seen, even on this moonless night. They had to be sure that no twig was snapped, and no branch was moved out of its way.
Reiva didn’t explain how she knew the way to the outpost. There was a lot of mystery about her background, and she still kept her past close to her chest. Besides telling him about Aylonzo, she had not given him any significant information on how she had become such a skilled assassin at such a young age. Though she hadn’t told him how old she was, he judged that she couldn’t be more than 5 or 6 years older than him.
As they got closer, Reiva got even more cautious. Aeolwyn didn’t know how that was possible. They walked even slower and would stop for a few moments while she went and scouted ahead. It took two excruciatingly slow hours before they reached the outside of the outpost.
It was a wooden tower only about four stories high, with a lookout platform on the top. Though it was in the middle of the woods, they had clear-cut the trees for about 30 years in each direction. There was no wall or moat surrounding it, but large braziers burned brightly, and guards were patrolling it regularly. Like the keep at Fort Camulan, there was no doorway on the ground floor. Instead, a small stairway led to the only entrance. It was guarded at the top and bottom by two pairs of soldiers. A road ran alongside the outpost heading further east into Fennland.
“Look at all the guards,” Aeolwyn whispered. “How are we going to get in?”
“I could try a sleep spell,” Egne suggested.
Reiva grinned. “I wouldn’t bring you all this way without a plan.” She reached out and squeezed Aeolwyn’s shoulder. Her touch felt electric. “This is what you hired me for.”
She led them back into the woods, just as slowly as before. She took them around the outpost to the eastern side and led them deeper into the woods. After another 15 minutes of careful walking, she stopped in front of what looked like an old collapsed well. It was set in a triangular depression with a tree growing from the base. The roots of the tree snaked down from the exposed dirt and made their way into the well.
“You want us to climb down the well?” Galafar asked skeptically. Aeolwyn was inclined to agree. He was as capable of climbing a tree as anyone, but climbing down a well didn’t sound particularly appetizing, especially with his armor weighing him down and Woebringer likely to get in the way.
“If you’re thirsty,” she said. She walked down into the depression, stepping around the well, and lifting the roots aside revealed a passageway. She gestured inside with her free arm. “After you, your highness.” She gave him a wink.
He followed her down into the passageway and waited near the entrance until the rest of the group followed. Reiva took his hand and led them deeper until the entrance was out of sight. Turning to Egne she said, “A light, if you please.”
Egne’s hand started glowing and a ball of blue light appeared just over his upturned palm. It cast a soft glow on the bare stone and earthen walls. More tree roots hung listlessly from the ceiling creating the feeling of arms reaching out to grab them. The hallway led further into the deep until the light faded into darkness.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“What is this place?” Galafar asked.
“A secret exit,” Reiva replied. “I think it’s meant to protect the soldiers from starving during a siege, but I don’t think anyone knows it exists anymore.”
“How do you know all this?” Egne asked.
“I was held prisoner here once.”
“One of these days, I am going to get you staggeringly drunk and you’re going to tell me your life story,” Aeolwyn said.
Reiva chuckled and led them into the dark. She was not going to give up the information on her life easily. He respected her right to keep it to herself, but as her employer, he felt that it was important to know what had brought her to where she was. Besides that, he had a right to know where her loyalties truly lay. She assured him she would be loyal to him, but without knowing her history, he had no way of knowing if that was really true.
She led them down through the tunnel for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only about ten minutes. It ended in what appeared to be a wooden wall built straight into the dirt. It consisted of a few vertical posts dug deep into the earth, and it was covered over with horizontal boards from edge to edge.
“What now?” Galafar asked. “This looks like a dead end.”
“It’s meant to,” Reiva answered. She leaned forward and put her ear up against the wall and listened carefully. Aeolwyn wondered what she was listening for, he couldn’t hear anything. No voices, no footsteps, nothing.
Satisfied, she reached around one of the beams and found a latch, which she lifted. The whole wall between the beams swung open on some unseen hinges. Whoever had built this secret door had done a masterful job.
The basement room it opened into was as dark as the passageway they had just come through. It was filled with barrels and crates and other unidentified supplies, all covered with dust. A set of posts lined the middle of the room. A door hung listlessly open on the far side of the room; behind it a narrow stairwell led up.
She turned to Aeolwyn and tied his black cloak tightly around his waist. “Don’t want that chainmail of yours giving us away.”
The stairs led into an open mess hall that was completely empty. A series of long tables were set up along the length of the room. An alcove to one side housed a dark fireplace and a set of thick, stout tables with a variety of knives and pots on it.
The sounds of multiple men snoring came from a set of doors on the wall opposite the alcove. Another open doorway was along the wall furthest from them.
Reiva walked silently along the wall until she made it to the double doors. She pressed her ear to one of the doors again. Satisfied that no one was awake, she motioned for the others to make their way to the far doorway.
“Strange to put the barracks next to the mess,” Galafar said softly. Reiva shot him an angry glance and put an index finger up to her lip. The implication was clear. Keep that mouth shut.
She led them down more hallways, up several flights of stairs, past the armory and into a few storage closets when she heard a patrol coming through. He wasn’t sure how long she had spent here, but she knew the place well. Much better than a simple prisoner should have. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen any dungeon or cells or a place where a prisoner would have been kept.
Finally, when they reached the top floor, she stopped in front of a non-descript door in the middle of a similarly non-descript hallway. After listening against the door and content there was no sign of an occupant, she opened the door and whisked the group inside, before closing the door behind them.
The room could have been a mirror for General Alaric’s office, but smaller. It was spartan in its decoration, only housing a desk with a simple chair, a cabinet beside the desk, and a small rack upon which was a sword and a stout shield.
Atop the desk were several neat stacks of paper, which looked to be orders both received and to be given. An inkwell and quill stood neatly off to one side. In the middle of the desk was a single unfolded paper that appeared as of yet to be unfiled.
Aeolwyn read the paper:
Commander,
The invasion is proceeding as planned and you will have all the support you need. I am told our king has secured a significant resource to ensure our victory. Please proceed according to the plan when the signal is given.
Yours,
General Fisborne
He handed the note over to his companions. They were planning an invasion, and it sounded like they had gained the support of someone, but who? Another nation? An alliance with the elves of Wickshire would be devastating to Camulan. There was no way they would have the resources to fight a war against both their neighbors. Not without allies, and he doubted either Tambryne or Fortru would be interested in getting involved with the conflict.
“What kind of idiot commander leaves a message this important laying on his desk? Even if we hadn’t come, there could be spies everywhere,” Egne said, glancing at Reiva.
“Indeed,” she agreed, but said nothing about Egne’s implication.
“Aeolwyn?” Galafar said, holding out another message. He had been thumbing through the piles of paper and had pulled one out. It was a long but narrow sheet of paper that curled up around itself, suggesting that it had been brought to the outpost by a messenger pigeon.
He took the note.
Prince Aeolwyn reached Fort Camulan in safety. Fear not. We will ensure he will be delivered to you to do with what you will.
Aylonzo
Aylonzo again. Whoever he was, he was a spy, and apparently, an agent for the enemy. Who was he? Aeolwyn decided he would have to double his efforts in finding out their identity. He needed to make contact with someone he could trust in the palace who could look out for him. A man who had hired Reiva to kill him and was clearly doing so on behalf of Camulan’s enemies was trouble. They needed to be rooted out and killed.
He handed the message over to Reiva, who read it, face wide in shock. She handed the note over to Egne, who read it with nonchalance. He handed it back to Aeolwyn, who stuffed the note in his pocket. He was not going to leave this behind.
“Aeolwyn, I need to tell you something,” she said, and paused for a long time. She looked carefully at each of them in turn before looking back to Aeolwyn. Her mouth opened and closed a number of times before she finally continued.
“I told you that Aylonzo hired me to kill you. He also hired the man who was sent to kill me,” she stopped again and looked at her shoes.
“You know who he is,” he said. “You’ve always known.”
“Aeolwyn, Aylonzo is your brother. The crown prince!” She said. Tears began spilling from her cheeks. Her hand went to her face and stayed there, covering any expression she might have had. She slumped down in the sole chair, face buried in her hands.
“Alfyn?” he said softly.
He couldn’t believe it. Why would his brother want him dead. He wouldn’t! They were family. His brother loved him, even if he had a strange way of showing it. He needed to leave. He had to go to the capital and clear this all up.
But, deep down, he knew that was futile. As the pieces began to fall into place in his mind, he could no longer hide from the truth: his brother truly did want him dead. Alfyn was the one who planned the attack on the Star Children’s fort. He was the one who alerted the guards and then immediately vanished. When that backfired and Aeolwyn was exiled, he sent an assassin after him. That failed so now he was planning to deliver him to the Fenns.
“You knew,” he said softly. “You knew and didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, face still hidden by her hand.
“How can I trust you now? You’ve hidden the most important bit of information that I’ve ever had the misfortune to hear. I’m sorry, Reiva, but after this, you’re on your own.”
She dropped her hand and raced over to him, grabbing him by his shoulders. He reached instinctively for his sword and saw Galafar do the same.
“Aeolwyn, no, please! I have nowhere else to go. If you banish me, you are sentencing me to death! I’m sorry. I know I should have told you the full truth, but it’s your brother. You’re so young. I didn’t want to hurt you like that. Knowing that your brother wanted you dead is a far worse blow to the heart than any blade of mine could ever do.”
“You’ve lost my trust, Reiva,” he said.
She turned to Egne, “Cast a Binder on me,” she said. “Please!”
“Binder?” Egne asked, surprised. “Are you sure? What are you planning on doing?”
Aeolwyn didn’t know what a binder was, but it must have been pretty serious judging from Egne’s reaction.
“Reiva, if you’re planning to hurt yourself…” Aeolwyn trailed off.
“Please Egne,” she said.
Egne shrugged as a blue glow surrounded his hands. He mumbled an incantation under his breath and held out his hands towards Reiva. The blue glow turned red as it slowly left his hands and enveloped Reiva.
She fell to her knees and stifled a scream as she collapsed forward onto her hands. Her body seized up and she writhed in agony.
“Egne stop!” Aeolwyn cried.
Reiva shook her head, fighting her way to her knees. She held up her right hand and placed the other across her chest. She looked up at Aeolwyn, clearly in great pain. Somehow, under Egne’s spell, she was going to take the Laryn Oath!
“Your highness, Prince Aeolwyn, Son of Llarwyn, King of Camulan. I beg your forgiveness,” she said. Her mouth contorted in pain as she forced the words out.
“I swear on the gods of Laryn and the hope for my soul and rebirth that I will never betray you. I swear fealty to you above all others. I am your vassal, and you are my lord, and may Laryn damn me and consign my soul to eternal torment if I should break this oath.”
She looked at Egne and nodded. The red glow around her winked out and she collapsed on the floor, struggling to breathe. No one spoke. The weight of what had just happened seemed too important—too great, to break the silence so soon.
“A Binding spell,” Egne said quietly after a time, “commits an oath to the very core of a person. She could no more break that oath to you than a fish could walk on land.”
Aeolwyn had no words. No one had sworn fealty to him before, much less on the Laryn oath. He had seen it many times in his father’s throne room, but that was always lords swearing to obey his father, and they were never under any kind of magic to ensure their compliance. Forcing someone to do that seemed dirty. Aeolwyn would have never asked it of her, or anyone. Now that she had undertook it willingly, he couldn’t do anything else but trust her.
Nobles were free to break their oaths should they choose to. There was nothing binding them to it except for the promise of eternal torment in the afterlife should they abandon their promise to their lord. This though, this was something else.
He helped her to her feet. She was unsteady at first but grew stronger on her feet. She pushed herself away from him, and stood silently, her head bowed. She was waiting expectantly for something. Aeolwyn didn’t understand.
“Aeolwyn,” Galafar said, nudging him in the ribs.
“What?” Aeolwyn asked.
“She swore the oath. You’re her lord, now.”
He stared at Galafar, not understanding. He played back the memories of nobles swearing oaths of fealty to his father. They would kneel before the king, one hand up and the other on their chest and swear the oath. Then, the king would take their hands, accept the oath and make his own promises.
Of course! He took her hands. “Reiva of the Spires, I forgive you and accept your oath. I promise to be fair and just to you, asking nothing of you that I wouldn’t ask of myself. You are my vassal, and I am your lord, an honor I cherish now and to the end of my days.”
She finally smiled and hugged him tightly. “Thank you,” she said.
She handed the note about the invasion to Aeolwyn. He folded it and tucked it into his pocket. He gathered up some other papers that he thought might be useful and tucked them away as well.
“Come on,” she said. Let’s get out of here.”
Though the Laryn Oath was ubiquitous around the whole of Laryndor, oaths of fealty were only sworn by nobility. Galafar and Egnever hadn’t sworn such an oath, to him or anyone. Aeolwyn had heard many of them. Reiva’s was different. It was unfamiliarly formal and flowery in its speech. Was she a noble of some far-off land?