Mikel walked slowly back and forth across his field.

His sack was already half full of weeds. The work was easy today. He felt lighter on his feet than he had in years, just knowing his daughter was free. He didn’t know if she would ever be safe to return to the farm she grew up on, but for now, he’d tend it and hope.

A soldier dressed in the livery of Earl Kaspar stopped at the edge of the field and called out to him;

‘Hey! Did you see an elf on a white horse pass by last night?’

‘I don’t know if I saw that, but I saw something. Stay there, I’ll come over.’

Mikel put down the bag of weeds and crossed over to the road. Bernard had coached him on exactly what to say if he were questioned. The man belonged to Kaspar, so Mikel didn’t plan on sticking too closely to the script.

‘What did you see?’

‘Yesterday, past noon, I saw a young Prince, or maybe a King - he wore a crown like a King. Anyway, he was riding a horse speckled with yellow-brown, sort of like gold. I suppose you could call it just white, but it was more than white. He went that way,’ Mikel pointed toward Ailbern’s manor, ‘I thought I must have been seeing things. No King rides alone. It might make more sense if he was an elf, but he didn’t look much like one. He wasn’t wearing elf colours, and his hair was wrong.’

‘You saw him yesterday, in the day? Nothing last night.’

‘I was inside at night. Didn’t see anything. I did hear a horse gallop past, going back that way, but I didn’t look. Never know when Death might go riding by.’

‘Were there any voices when the horse went past? Women shouting?’

‘No, no shouting. I think I might have heard a girl laugh, but it could have been a fox.’

‘Alright. Thank you.’

The soldier straightened in his saddle, readying himself to ride off. Mikel asked;

‘You said women were shouting. Can you tell me what happened? My daughter’s been working up at the Knight’s house. Is she all right?’

‘You daughter? She didn’t come home last night?’

‘No, she don’t ever come home at night. She’s not allowed to leave. I’m not allowed to visit her either. I haven’t seen her for four years.’

The soldier frowned. That didn’t sound normal.

‘What kind of work does she do?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her. She was indentured for three years there, four years ago.’

‘Her contract was extended?’

‘Not to my knowledge. He just kept her.’

‘How old is she?’

‘She’d be turning sixteen this year.’

The soldier was perplexed. Indentured servants had every right to see their families, and girls that age couldn’t sign their own contracts. Something was very wrong with the farmer’s story. Mikel said;

‘If it helps you, I can tell you where to find the fathers of the other girls who worked in the Knight’s house.’

‘Could you get them all together? I’ll have a cart sent to collect you. The Earl is going to want to hear what you have to say.’

‘Of course. Won’t take me too long. I’ll have them meet your cart here.’

The soldier wheeled his horse and rode quickly back toward Dunswald. Mikel carefully stepped over the drainage ditch and up onto the road. Bernard wanted to take all the blame for the incident himself. He told Mikel to take no risks, only mentioning a rider going to and from the manor if directly questioned. He said Ailbern would retaliate if he knew Mikel was the one who sent Bernard to save the servants. He was already at enough risk because he’d been to see Ailbern about releasing Lise the morning before she disappeared, and people might be able to identify him as the one leading Bernard to the manor.

Mikel thought it was sweet that Bernard wanted to protect him, but unbearably naive that he thought it was possible. Ailbern wouldn’t need a reason to retaliate. He’d round up all the families he’d stolen from, under the assumption they were guilty of retrieving what was theirs. No amount of evidence to the contrary would protect any of them. Their only hope for safety was making someone a scapegoat. Mikel was the best candidate. His wife was gone - he had no other children. They all had more to lose than he did, and he was the one who was most easily linked to the break-in.

Bernard was young - young enough that even his magic horse spoke to him like a child. Still, he got Lise to safety. Mikel was willing to take whatever punishment he was sentenced to. He just wanted the chance to point his finger at Ailbern before he lost his hands, or his head.

Bernard remained unaware he was the topic of the day.

Agatha tramped through the trees, far away from the road. It was slower, but they would be safer. They didn’t know how many allies Ailbern had in the area. Even the quiet roads could prove to be risky. They couldn’t hope for Kaspar’s protection to extend this far outside his lands.

Bernard took the opportunity provided by the privacy of the trees to chatter incessantly.

‘I don’t think we’ll get into the city without help. I don’t know anyone who would help us get in, though. If we ride at the gate as fast as we can, they’ll see us and shut it long before we get there. I could stand around in front of the gates and wait until the guards run out of arrows, but that won’t make them open the gate.’

He’d been talking himself in circles since dawn. She tried to offer suggestions at first, but it only fuelled his growing anxiety. She flicked her ears in irritation, but kept her mouth shut.

‘If I bribe a merchant to let me hide in their wagon, there’s too big a risk that they’ll be searched. Then, at best, they’ll be punished for harbouring a fugitive. More likely, it’ll be treason. Nobody would risk that. Not for the little bit of money I’ll be able to save between here and there. If the purse refilled more than once a day, maybe. Or if we had a lot more time and a safe place to hide…’

Agatha knew the next part of the monologue was self-flagellation for failing to spend more time making friends in court. She considered making a small detour to pass under a conveniently low-hanging branch. It was the right height to knock Bernard off her back.

‘…could have tried harder to befriend cousin Ingram, and then maybe - hey, Agatha! Hey! Stop!’

Bernard barely had time to fling his lance away in the opposite direction and swing his leg up over the saddle before the branch hit him. He fell in a tangle of stirrups and limbs. Agatha stopped, the branch directly over the saddle. She said;

‘You really need to pay more attention to your surroundings. You should have seen that coming.’

‘What? You were the one who-‘

‘You weren’t paying attention. You haven’t been for hours. You shouldn’t rely on me to see and hear everything. My eyes aren’t up as high as yours.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s okay. Get up. We’ll work out how we’re getting in when we’re closer. There’s no point worrying now.’

After brushing the dirt and leaves off himself, Bernard took a moment to check the map again.

‘We shouldn’t be too far from the road that leads to Nemeduro now. Once we cross it, we should veer more to the south so we can stay out of sight.’

‘Wait, shush. Do you hear that?’

Bernard heard nothing, until he held his breath.

‘It sounds like a voice?’

‘I think so. I’m going to go for a closer look. We might have trouble getting past the road if there’s people out this far.’

Despite her size, Agatha had a knack for moving quietly. Shrinking made it that much easier.

Bernard following behind her made all her efforts fruitless. He wasn’t trying to be noisy, he just seemed to lack the basic common sense necessary to avoid stepping on piles of dried leaves and twigs. She glared back at him after an especially loud crunch. He looked sheepish. She whispered;

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

‘Stay there. I’ll come back when I’ve had a look.’

He nodded, and she left him behind.

She reached a clearing. A young human lay on the ground, dragging themself towards the road. Based on the abnormal swelling of one of their legs, Agatha assumed they were injured. Despite the injury, they hadn’t abandoned their basket of hazelnuts. Every few feet they advanced, they shouted;

‘Help! Somebody! Help!’

Agatha knew that Barnard would want to interfere if she told him what she saw. He’d likely want to take the human all the way to town. They wouldn’t be able to avoid being seen. He’d be in danger. She sighed inwardly, then called out as loud as her small lungs would allow;

‘Hey! Stop there! I’ll bring help!’

Growing large, she trotted back as fast as the underbrush would allow her. Bernard looked up at her when she returned, eyes full of his unspoken apology.

‘It’s a child. It’s fallen and hurt itself, but it’s alone and can’t get help.’

Bernard stood, filled with determination.

Jorrit wasn’t sure if he’d heard someone call out to him.

He was more likely to be delirious from pain. Minutes passed, but the promised help didn’t arrive. He gave up on waiting and resumed dragging himself along the ground, until he heard something crashing through the trees. A Prince on a white horse emerged, rushing over to him. The Prince dismounted and knelt beside him, and said;

‘This looks pretty badly broken. Is there a healer in town I can fetch for you?’

Jorrit couldn’t bring himself to speak, in case the vision vanished. The Prince patted his shoulder gently.

‘If you can’t tell me… I’m really not good at medicine, but I’ll do what I can.’

He stood and walked to a nearby tree, unsheathed his sword and cut down two straight, green branches. Fussing around in his saddle bags, he withdrew a pair of roughspun trousers. He cut them into long strips, then returned.

‘I’m going to try to splint your leg. I’ve never done this before. I’ve only been told how it was done. It’s probably going to hurt like hell. Bite down on this.’

Jorrit took the offered stick and held it between his teeth. The Prince lined up the branches he cut on either side of the injured leg, then, as gently as he could, lifted it.

Bernard saw the boy’s eyes roll back into his head, and threw his hand out to catch him before his head hit the ground. He’d probably already hit his head when he fell. Extra head trauma wouldn’t help. He lay the boy down gently. Now that he was unconscious, Bernard worked as quickly as he could. He wished the boy was wearing trousers, not shorts. The bare branches against his skin would probably chafe. He’d just have to be careful. Bernard tied the branches firmly, winding the strips of cloth around and around, from thigh to ankle. He didn’t know how many loops he needed to keep the shin properly straight. Too many wouldn’t hurt, they’d just be tedious to untie. To few wouldn’t provide enough support. It was ugly work, but he didn’t know how to do any better. Once he ran out of fabric, he stood, carefully lifting the boy up onto Agatha’s back. She said;

‘Don’t forget his basket. He seemed pretty adamant about bringing it with him.’

Bernard picked it up. It was full of hazelnuts. He looped the handle over the saddle’s horn. He frowned at the lance he’d been stubbornly carrying through the trees, despite how frequently it caught in branches. He wouldn’t be able to carry it and keep ahold of the boy. He tapped it to his lips, causing it to vanish. He mounted, careful not to knock the boy. Once he was up, he lifted the boy and cradled him in his arms.

‘Okay, ready to go.’

‘Straight to Nemeduro, by the road?’

‘Seems unavoidable now.’

‘Alright.’

The air above the town rippled like it was on fire.

It wasn’t. The day was pleasantly warm, definitely not hot enough to make air do that. Bernard didn’t understand what he was seeing. He wanted to lift the crown to test if the effect was visible without the enchantment, but his arms were occupied.

He couldn’t identify the source of the strangeness. Whatever it was, it didn’t look like any of the shrouds he’d seen before. He wondered if towns could have shrouds.

Most of the buildings in Nemeduro looked ancient. Some of the pockmarked and weather-beaten walls were patched up with assorted rocks and pieces of slate jammed into the spaces where the original stones had crumbled away.

People were in the streets, but they disappeared the moment they saw Bernard approaching on the road. He called out;

‘Hello? This child is hurt. He needs a doctor!’

Nobody responded. Bernard kept calling.

‘If you’re not going to help, at least someone find his parents!’

Still, no response. Agatha was uneasy. She felt exposed walking down the empty street. She said softly;

‘Let’s leave him on the doorstep of one of these houses. They might be happier to come help him if we’re not here.’

Bernard looked down at the face of the boy. He was still unconscious. Or, he was still pretending to be unconscious. Shaking him to awaken him seemed like a very bad idea. Bernard said;

‘I’d feel better if he woke up first. He could tell us which doorstep to leave him on. I might be able to negotiate payment with the healer by shouting through their door.’

‘You got him to town safely. That’s more than he’d have managed on his own. I don’t want to get caught here.’

‘Okay. Let’s leave him in front of that big building over there.’

Agatha stopped. Bernard dismounted and carefully lifted the boy down. A crash and flurry of movement from across the street made him turn.

‘Don’t you dare leave my baby there! Not there! Give him to me!’

The thin woman held out her twig-like arms, tears running down her cheeks, her shroud fluttering wildly without wind. Bernard didn’t think she would be able to carry the child by herself.

‘It’s okay. I’ll carry him. Where do you want me to bring him?’

The woman tried to take the boy from Bernard’s arms. He could barely keep the boy from falling.

‘No, no, careful. You’ll drop him. He’s heavy, and he’s injured. Please, just let me… Stop it! You’re going to hurt him worse!’

The woman gave up, weeping. Agatha flicked her tail at Bernard. He glanced back at her, and said;

‘That’s his basket. Take that. I won’t be able to carry both. Lead me to wherever you want him. I don’t intend to stay.’

Wordlessly, the woman took the basket and trudged away. Bernard followed a few steps behind her, Agatha, a few steps behind him. Now that he was on foot, he could see people peering out at him through cracks in shutters. He didn’t have to endure it long, the house the woman led him to was close by. She knocked, and the door opened. An older man with a cloud of white hair stood at the threshold.

‘Who’s this?’

Bernard replied;

‘I’m Bernard. This boy needs help.’

The old man nodded and waved the group inside. Bernard entered. The table in the middle of the room was clear, so he approached and laid the boy on it.

‘Alright. I’m off. I can tell I’m not much welcome in town, so I won’t bother you further.’

The older man held up a hand.

‘Wait, lad. My apprentice is out. I might need your help setting the bone.’

‘I’ve got no medical training.’

‘It doesn’t matter. You just need to hold him steady.’

Bernard hesitated at the door. The boy’s mother wouldn’t be much use. She knelt by him, cradling his face in her hands while she wept. She didn’t seem to hear anything they were saying.

‘Alright. I’ll do it.’

‘You tied the splint, didn’t you?’

‘I did.’

‘A fine job for an amateur.’

‘Thank you.’

The mug was empty by the time Bernard’s nausea subsided.

He knew he wouldn’t make a good healer, of any kind. There was too great a difference between hearing about injuries and how they’re treated, and actually seeing those injuries and treating them. His brothers were right. He wouldn’t make a good knight either. How could he inflict wounds like that on others, deliberately? How could anyone? It was one thing for a doctor to make an incision so he could relieve pressure and set a bone properly, and another thing entirely to hack and slash for the sole purpose of causing pain.

Another wave of nausea hit him. He shouldn’t have thought about the incision. It was fortunate he hadn’t eaten much that morning.

He returned to his seat, rested his head against the cool stone wall, and waited for his stomach to settle.

‘I’m sorry for earlier, your Highness.’

He hadn’t heard her approach. He was too preoccupied with the sensation in his gut to pay attention to his other senses. He was exhausted. He said;

‘Nothing to be sorry for.’

‘I was rude… because I was scared. I couldn’t bear to lose my little Jorrit.’

‘Jorrit? So that’s his name. Don’t worry. I understand. Any good parent would be scared if they saw their child wounded, in the arms of a stranger.’

Not that he had experienced that much himself. When he was younger, he’d been carried in by servants more times than he wanted to admit. King Luis didn’t care. He’d scowl and wave the servants away, telling them to ‘deal with it yourself.’ He probably would have been glad if Bernard disappeared.

When Queen Judith had been around, Bernard’s injuries were kept secret from her. She was always ‘too sick to cope with the stress.’ He’d been warned by one of her doctors that his ‘troublemaking’ would send her to an early grave. He behaved himself after that. He didn’t want to be the reason his mother died. It hadn’t helped much. She slowly but surely disappeared from the castle. When her letters stopped coming, he was sure she was dead. Nobody had the decency to tell him. That was the way things were in King Luis’ castle, though.

‘Can I get you some more water?’

Bernard looked up. He hadn’t realised the woman was still there.

‘Yes, please.’

She took the mug and walked away. When she returned, he was feeling a little more lucid.

‘Why didn’t you want me to leave him on that doorstep?’

The woman looked fearful for a moment.

‘I suppose you wouldn’t know. You’re an outsider. That’s the mausoleum. It’s where the town’s guardian lives.’

‘They wouldn’t look after your boy?’

‘It might’ve eaten him.’

Bernard’s mind fought against the cloudiness that came with sickness. He didn’t understand. The woman saw the expression on his face, and said in a low whisper;

‘It does us no harm, but in return for protecting us from raiders and bandits, it asks the bodies of our dead be left there for it. It eats them.’

Guardian spirits weren’t uncommon in rural areas. They kept wells clean, or helped prevent outbreaks of disease. Many of them asked for offerings in return for their services. A saucer of milk once a week. A dozen apples during harvest time. An annual feast held in their name. Bernard had never heard of a guardian spirit that ate corpses. It seemed like an excessive price for avoiding the sniffles.

‘I probably upset it by taking Jorrit back.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe? Nobody’s ever done that before, far as I know.’

‘What kind of creature is it?’

‘Nobody knows. It only comes out at night. Sometimes people catch sight of its big yellow eyes in the dark, but that’s not enough to go on. Lots of things have yellow eyes.’

Bernard tried to think. There were too many types of flesh-eating monsters to count. Plenty of them had a taste for humans. Intelligent, flesh-eating monsters that were willing to work with humans in exchange for corpses… perhaps some sort of dragon? They usually wanted livestock or treasure, but he’d heard of foreign dragons that demanded an annual human sacrifice. That would be fresh meat, though. Asking for the bodies of people who’d died through normal means didn’t make sense. He said;

‘I should go apologise to it. It was my mistake. If it’s angry and does something bad… that’s my fault.’

The healer stepped into the room, drying his hands on a clean towel. He said;

‘Chances are good that the guardian didn’t notice. It sleeps through the day. I was planning to visit it this evening, just in case. It doesn’t take the living, so I’d only need to tell it that Jorrit survived.’

‘Let me do it then.’

‘If you insist, you’re welcome to take my place. You should rest here until dusk, though. It doesn’t respond to people at its door until after sunset.’