Ascent of the Unwanted (The Chronicle of Unfortunate Heroes Book 1) (12 page)

Miranda sat chained in the corner of the wagon crying when the morning sun’s beams finally caressed her face. Uriss slept next to the campfire, snoring loudly, oblivious of her pain. He slept without the slightest trace of guilt.

To Miranda last night reoccurred every time she dozed off. She did not need the chains to remember the man had violated her. Every time she felt things could not get any worse she found out what horrors the world truly could bestow.

She pulled against the chain again. The bolt had to give. The wagon looked like a good bump would shake it to pieces. She pulled hard but the rusted steel ring stood fast in the wood.

“Wouldn’t want you to scuff up your wrists lassie.” Uriss said over her shoulder.

Miranda jumped trying to get as far into the corner as she could. “Stay away!”

Uriss had stuffed a dirty rag into the hole that once held his right eye, blood still caked on his cheek. “Don’t worry, girlie. By tonight you will be warming someone else’s bed. I have a friend or two in Padin Tier and you will put some gold in my pocket before the day is through.”

Uriss fastened an oil cloth over the exposed wagon bed. Miranda had no idea the wagon could be covered in this way. It would have been useful to know during the journey. On the nights it had rained she had slept underneath the wagon next to Uriss. She retched at the memory of it.

The journey in to the city took tedious hours. The darkness enclosing her now pressed against her. Eventually the wagon stopped and she could hear voices mumbling in the distance. She hated the thought of what other misery Uriss had concocted for her but she needed fresh air.

The top was pulled back from the wagon. She was in a stabling area, away from public view. Uriss stared down at her with a smile and a small silver stream of drool glistened on his beard. Another man stood next to him.

He had a dark round face under a balding head. He looked at her critically like a soldier would look at her father’s inventory. His fat thumb and forefinger framed his chin while his finger tapped his cheek. He took a deep breath that expanded his already large belly, and rubbed his other hand on his dirty red shirt. “Twenty gold is too much, Uriss. She is untrained and it will take me at least two weeks to get just five silver from her work.”

“Oh come off it, Rollo,” Uriss countered. “You can get twenty silver tonight by offering her as untainted wares.”

“No one will believe that, look at the bruises on her! Really, you should be more careful.” Rollo said, a look of disgust crossing his face.

“Please, help me, sir.” Miranda reached for her last chance.

“Quiet girl!” Rollo snapped. “Sorry Uriss, I can’t do twenty. Five gold is all I am willing to pay.”

“I need fifteen just to recoup the food she ate! She took my eye! I brought her all the way from Wynnarche.”

Miranda could not believe this. She was being bartered over like cattle.

“Your eye is not my problem, and are you telling me you actually fed this girl? She could not have eaten much. Tell you what, I’ll give you ten and free food, drink, and bedding for tonight.”

“What about some company?” Uriss asked.

“You want that, you pay for it just like any other man,” Rollo said, a smile crossing his face. He knew he was close to landing the deal.

“All right, you always run a hard bargain.” Uriss spit into his hand. Rollo performed the same ritual and their palms met in a handshake.

Rollo yelled into the building, “Unchain her and put her in my room.”

The large room had fine tapestries hanging on the walls with a brown fur laying underneath the mountainous bed. Pillows completely covered the mattress and thick soft blankets made the bed look even more inviting.

“You need a bath.” The voice behind her was Rollo’s.

“What do you want with me?” Miranda cried, tears starting to flow again. It seemed she would never have a day without them anymore.

“I want you to help my business girl. I paid good money for you.”

“How can I help your business?”

“Girl, don’t be so naïve! Men will pay good money to sleep with a girl as pretty as you.” Rollo said.

“I’ll never!” Miranda screamed.

“Oh you will,” Rollo said with a smile. “You remember what Uriss did to you last night?”

“How did you know?”

“He does it to every girl he sends to me. Men also will pay me for the opportunity to do that as well. I will keep you chained in the basement until you die. Every hour a new man will come down and perform the same service as Uriss.” The smile almost cut his face in half.

Miranda’s chest heaved anew as the tears doubled. It seemed that she was about to become exactly what Gordon had accused her of being.

“It’s not all doom and gloom,” Rollo said, a look of pity crossing his face. “You can earn your freedom from me. Each man you sleep with pockets me five silver. Of that one is yours. When you have earned twenty-thousand silver you can buy your freedom.”

Miranda looked into the next room. Steam rose from a large steel tub. She swallowed hard. She would have to find a way out later.

The next few months took some adjustment. When the flow of patrons died down for the night Miranda would cry herself to sleep. Some of the women that worked in the brothel seemed eager to fulfill the jobs given to them. Miranda knew she never would. They may use her body but she would make it obvious that it was only her body.

“What’s the problem today, Fiona?” Portia asked her.

“Why do you do it?” Miranda asked. Here, she was Fiona. She had not bothered to correct Rollo when he called her that name the first time.

“Do what?” Portia asked. The woman was older than most of the other girls. Her blues eyes had sunken in and wrinkles began to mar the once smooth skin, but Miranda could still see why the men found her attractive. The red hair only helped add to the woman’s charms.

“Act the way you do around these men. Aren’t you in the same position I am in?” Miranda asked.

“I am, but haven’t you ever heard of a tip?” Portia asked her eyebrows arching.

“A tip? I can’t say I have,” Miranda said.

“Rollo credits you the silver for each John you have right? Well a John will give you more if he really enjoys the time he spent with you. You can buy your freedom years sooner if you’re good enough.”

“How close are you?”

“Close, but I don’t think much will change afterwards. I can’t do much else and I am getting older,” Portia said with a little smile. “You would be surprised what a little smile can do honey, or a little moan.” A bigger smile followed.

Miranda tried to think about what Portia had told her but a fight broke out amongst the patrons. This happened regularly and this one happened to occur between one of the brothel’s regulars, a real bruiser, and a small man.

Miranda called him small. Most would call him petite. She was short for a woman and he was shorter than her. If he were built like a wall he could still be impressive but he was the opposite. Skin stretched over thin arms and legs gave the man’s gaunt frame a skeletal appearance. He was not going to feel well tomorrow morning.

“Come on, Yori! Give Shortstack what’s coming to him!” someone in the crowd cheered.

“Yeah, Yori. Show this little guy what you got,” the little man said with a slow smile.

Yori swung, his large fist flying at the small man’s head. With a flash Shortstack darted out of the way and grabbed Yori’s arm. Before Yori could pull it back he had braced one bony arm against Yori’s elbow and pulled. Miranda could hear the pop from across the room and Yori bellowed in pain.

Yori swung at his tormenter with his good arm. Again the small man moved out of the way. Yori held his broken right arm across his body but fought on. Drunkenness and fear of humiliation kept him in the fight. He swung again with his good hand. The little man darted under the swing, again grabbing Yori’s arm. With a heave the little man had Yori off the ground and flying through the air. Yori hit the ground hard, his unconscious frame still gingerly holding his broken arm.

The brothel was silent.

Miranda took this opportunity to make her move. She sauntered across the room toward the small man. He was sitting down looking over his shoulders making sure no one wanted to avenge their friend’s demise.

“That was breathtaking,” Miranda said in the tone of voice she had heard Portia use.

“Not much really. Name’s Michael,” the small man said.

“Fiona. Are you just here to fight or would you like some company?” Miranda could not believe she was the one making the offer.

“Always like some company,” Michael said, his smile getting wider.

Miranda slipped her hand into his and led him to her room, closing the door. When they were alone she turned on Michael, the excitement of what she was asking evident on her face. “How did you learn to do that?”

“Oh, it’s not that hard, really. Picked some stuff up here and there. When you’re a small guy like me on the streets you need to learn to protect yourself.” Michael drew closer. The man closed his eyes, puckering his lips ready for a kiss.

Miranda held her finger to his lips. “I would like to offer you a proposition.”

Michael’s eyes popped open.

“Whaf kibe of bobzishun?” he said, his lips pressed against her finger.

“My services for your training. You teach me to do what you do and the five silver you pay Rollo will become four. I will pay you the other silver when we are alone from my tips.”

Michael looked at her warily. “No deal. I will be spending all my time teaching you to fight. I won’t get anything in return. It will cost me ten silver because I will need another session with you to get what I want.”

“There are perks for you, sir.” Miranda leaned into him letting her lips brush against his ears as she whispered. “You know how much I want to learn so you know I will make time for you whenever you are here. You will never have to wait long for me. Also, as I will no doubt be the only lady you will be seeing, I will learn exactly how to make your time worth it.”

Miranda’s lips nibbled at his ear before she pulled away. She knew she needed to make him feel like something he wanted was being taken away. She turned her back to him and started to head toward the door.

“Lady, you have yourself a deal,” Michael said spitting into his palm. For the first time Miranda could remember a smile spread across her lips. She slowly turned to face Michael. If she found enough men like Michael willing to teach her she would not need to pay her way out from Rollo. Eventually she would walk out over his dead body. Miranda would also make Uriss pay for what he had done to her and see Gordon swinging from a tree. Miranda spit into her hand with all the grace of a longshoreman.

Months of mental agony passed for Lawt. He was not a half-wit, but his mannerisms kept people from treating him like an idiot. Arlif did not go out of his way to help Lawt in his studies and training but the student Herdmaster no longer attempted to make life any harder, after Patrician.

His language instructor was not very understanding. The teacher insisted that Lawt’s tendency to speak as a separate person would hamper him in classes which required a finer degree of distinction. The occasional slip up cost him time, but could not be helped. The instructor continued to teach him but he was weeks behind.

The class progressed through the first year with Lawt finishing his writing and reading, although he never considered himself a master of the subject. Lawt began to surpass most of the class in Heraldry and Courtly Customs, which was not difficult as most of the students thought these classes were pointless. They felt they were being trained to be warriors, not courtesans. Swordplay and Weapons came easy to Erik while Lawt seemed hesitant to learn anything that would be used to harm anyone. All the while Rovan stood in the background, quietly observing his group.

              The training with their brothers taxed them more than the other classes. Training done with mental commands and impulses where followed with standard courses of riding and with physical direction and guidance. The horses were taught to come when beckoned, to move where directed in different cadences, to freeze and remain motionless on command. The overwhelming pride in a task done well, or the great disappointment when a task failed, moved along the link between men and horse having a profound effect on the performance of both. The hardest thing to teach was silence. A student was never sure if a horse was being quiet because it was told or if it just did not want to react.

Rovan was right about the strength of the class and the training went faster than normal.

In the beginning of what would normally be considered their second year the students moved to more difficult classes. Heraldry and Courtly Customs became The Religious Role in Political Affairs. Lawt, who had excelled in the previous year, came crashing down to the rest of the class. John however, helped the entire class study in the off hours. John had spent some time apprenticing for the priesthood of Beshra before changing his desired calling and coming to train as a Cavalier.

              Swordplay and Weapons moved to more advanced techniques. Erik pulled away from his peers in this class. While the others were still struggling to master the standard long sword Erik had moved on to the mace, and then beyond the mace to the war axe.

              The work with the horses became more advanced as well. A suitable horse had to learn directions and distance. Counting was the first and easiest of the lessons during this time. The horses were ignorant of distance and direction. Days were spent marching the horses over measured courses, ingraining into their minds a continuous simple concept containing the significance of both distance and direction. Ghost had no problem assimilating the concept of direction but the distances seemed beyond his comprehension. Lawt had the opposite problem with Titan.

              The second year also introduced Wilderness Movement and Tracking. Lawt was in his element. From the first day Lawt went beyond the expectations of his instructors. Soon the class developed a training game. Lawt would be sent out ahead of them and if anyone successfully approached him Lawt would perform their common chores in the morning. Likewise, should Lawt be able to approach any of the others, they would clean Lawt’s area. Lawt suddenly had much more free time in the morning to study his Religious Role in Politics lessons.

The sun rose brilliantly on a clear spring morning. The breeze would have been uncomfortably cool were it not for the intensity of the sun’s warmth. Lawt sat in the high boughs of a great larch looking down at his pursuers. The class was searching for him and, as usual, their efforts had been in vain. He still chuckled thinking about the time he had hidden himself under a deadfall behind the rotting carcass of a deer.

              Watching Erik, Lawt could see the pale color in his face. Ghost had not been feeling well this morning when Erik had come to visit. The horse did not eat or drink and his normal playful disposition was not apparent. Ghost’s illness was definitely affecting his brother. He would recommend Erik get a student surgeon to check his brother upon their return. This seemed to be a little more serious than indigestion.

Lawt studied the small group in front of him. The class had decided to break into two groups for this hunting expedition and Erik had been unlucky enough to get matched with Geoff and Arlif. Arlif set a mean silent pace but the noise Geoff created in his wake allowed every animal in a three-mile radius to know the group was coming.

              Having become proficient with the sword, Erik was allowed to carry his. He had become used to the weight but was still not used to walking with it, especially through the underbrush. Lawt guessed Erik would rather leave it in his wardrobe, but the class gave him more standing as he was the only one who had earned the right. He watched Erik push an impeding branch out of the way and ran as fast as he could to close the gap.

Lawt enjoyed these training games. It was nice to be on his own away from people always staring at him as if he were a freak. The time alone in the forest gave him a chance to breathe and calm himself. Here he was the master, the monsters were the ones thrashing around in the underbrush trying to find him.

Geoff needed serious help. There was no way that man was going to make it through this section in his training. Lawt smiled. He had, after all, offered to help the small man. Lawt was not a bitter or vengeful man, but he always enjoyed watching people get what they deserved. Geoff would not be a Cavalier. He would be tasked maybe as a quartermaster or custodian, both honorable professions in the Roh‘Darharim, but not Roh’Darharim. His horse Dervish could pull the quartermaster’s tackle.

Arlif was good. If the man was not in such a hurry, or being followed by a walking noise maker, he would pass. Lawt wondered to himself if he should tell his student Herdmaster how to improve his stalking.

Erik had the opposite problem. He moved too slow and timidly. In his effort to place each foot so as not to interrupt the dry brush on the ground he actually created noise. The key was to find your body’s pace. Some people could move quickly while making a whisper through a pile of fallen leaves. With practice these people could sprint without making any extra noise.

A shifting in the underbrush ahead of them drew Lawt’s focus. Whatever caused that movement was big, and the small party had gotten its attention. Too bulky and moving with too little care to be a mountain lion only meant it had to be a bear. A mother bear protecting her cubs, perhaps. Erik’s group did not see the brown mass of fur charging toward them, and Geoff’s flailing effort through surely prevented them from hearing its charge. The aggression of the bear spoke more than the white cake around its muzzle. This was no momma bear, the bear was rabid. He had to move. They needed help fast.

*****

The bear’s charge took the training Cavaliers by surprise. Erik was rounding a large boulder when the bear burst through a thick briar bush next to Geoff. It was small for a bear, about the size of two men. The bear’s eyes were bloodshot and the thick dripping saliva around the beast’s mouth moved the situation from dangerous to catastrophic.

A massive paw crashed down on Geoff’s head before the man could move. Blood sprayed the surroundings as the arteries on Geoff’s neck were opened. The man crashed into the ground, stunned from the power of the blow. Arlif bolted behind Erik running into a large pine, and stumbled. The panic prevented Arlif from getting his footing and the fool scrambled on all fours trying to get away.

Fear shook Erik and his sword would not pull from its scabbard. The bear’s mouth opened wide, then crunched down on Geoff’s head. The man did not even raise his hands to defend himself. He was probably already dead before the bear opened its mouth.

The bear stood on its hind legs looking for anything else to maim. Erik managed to get his sword free and moved between the rabid beast and Arlif. Out from behind the bushes in front of them came Lawt, sprinting. He threw himself at the animal’s back, arms outstretched. He landed on the bear, wrapping his arms around, pinning the bear’s arms to its torso. The impact hurled man and beast to the ground. The bear’s rabid teeth snapped at the air and ground with its head whipping back and forth trying to get at its attacker. Erik stood stunned at the spectacle before him. He knew Lawt was strong but to see him pin a bear was inhuman.

The bear flailed on the ground and Lawt was losing his grip. Erik needed to act or the bear would soon be free. Erik ran toward the struggling pair when a blinding pain wracked his skull. Something had attacked Ghost.

Erik dropped his sword, panic engulfing him. What should he do? His brother was in trouble and needed help. Lawt was in desperate need a mere ten feet away and wrestling for his life, but Ghost’s pain beckoned.

Despite the chaos surrounding him Erik took a deep calming breath, and dampened Ghost’s link. He could help Lawt now but he could not help his brother, no matter how much it broke his heart. Erik picked up his sword and advanced again on Lawt and the bear. While Erik had been occupied with his own internal struggle the bear had managed to twist its body around to face Lawt. Lawt jammed his hand against the underside of the bears muzzle pushing the bear’s head back and used his body to pin one of the bear’s limbs. His other arm still held the bears remaining paw, pinning it to its chest. The bears back legs writhed and scratched against him and Lawt’s blood began to mix into the dirt.

Erik raised the sword calmly and jabbed the point sharply down into the bears exposed throat. Warm blood shot up into Erik’s face coating him with the sticky red fluid. As the bear’s life essence quickly emptied, the thrashing mass on the forest floor began to calm. After the bear stopped moving Lawt slowly released his grip on the bear’s muzzle.

“`Bout time you helped.” Lawt panted, a large smile crept along his pale face. Erik began to move, to run to the stables to help Ghost. Then he saw the blood, and froze.

Arlif slowly approached the two. “That was amazing!”

Lawt eased himself up. A look of pain flashed across his face causing him to look at his legs. Large tears of flesh hung from his thighs and blood flowed in rivers down his legs.

“Lawt is hurt…. I mean, that could be a problem,” Lawt said, then fell unconscious.

Erik removed his cloak and tied it tightly around the worst of Lawt’s injured legs while Arlif did the same to the other. A horse came galloping toward them. A mounted man with a blue tunic and black cloak was coming to help
.
Their trainers hurried behind to bring them all back to the barracks.

The incident on the mountain was bad enough with Lawt in the infirmary unconscious and possibly dying. The day turned into a nightmare with the news Erik received when he returned to the training grounds. After Geoff had been killed Dervish had gone berserk. The colt broke from his stall and ended up in Ghost’s. The pain Erik had felt was Ghost being kicked in the head. Luckily, a Roh’Darharim had been in the stables and had been able to bring Dervish down quickly or it could have been worse. Because of Dervish’s sudden reaction the Roh’Darharim had known something had happened on the mountainside, sending every available Cavalier and Surgeon out to help. In one afternoon Erik’s brother and best friend both were on the brink of death.

*****

Ramona sat in the infirmary watching over the gorak. The camp knew the gorak had saved the lives of two of the Cavalier trainees by wrestling a rabid bear, or depending on who you believed, the gorak went wild and attacked two of the other Cavalier trainees. Ramona knew the truth by inspecting the wounds on the man’s legs. The wounds were obviously caused by the flesh rending claws of a wild animal. The rumors of the gorak attacking two innocent trainees were the fascinations of idiots. Some people hated to see nobility come from something they feared or, in their ignorance, hated what was different from them.

Ramona did not understand that kind of attitude. She felt the same kind of resentment directed at her. She was a woman trying to do a man’s job. She had completed her surgeon’s training three years ago but was still considered a student because she had not been paired with Cavaliers yet. Her efforts and training seemed like they had been a complete waste of time because now she sat useless to anyone. It wasn’t fair.

This could not have been what her father had meant about great things. Ramona still recalled the day he had finally left her. He had raised her alone on the pig farm after her mother had passed in labor with her stillborn brother. The consumption disease he had been fighting over the summer had taken a death grip on his lungs the following winter. She recalled the last words spoken to her by the gentlest of men. “Sell the farm…by yourself you will only…be…be needlessly molested.” He had said, racked with a coughing fit. “Not that I do…do not think…you can’t handle it, but…you are meant…for a greater purpose. You are too…too smart to be…a pig farmer…or the wife…of a pig farmer. On the mantle…is a…a father’s final gift…to his daughter.” His body seized with one final agonizingly long coughing spell, then finally the consumption took him.