Ascent of the Unwanted (The Chronicle of Unfortunate Heroes Book 1) (17 page)

They were summoned shortly after Lawt’s recovery back to the Hall of the White Charger. The anticipation in receiving their first assignment was paled by the fear of failure. Erik could not help but worry whether or not they were prepared to be out on their own.

Lawt looked resplendent in his uniform. With the shield that Ramona had prescribed from the smith his missing hand was hidden behind an ever ready wall of protection. The bone spike ending on his left arm extended past the wall of the shield but was encased in a metal spike of its own, forged to the back of the shield riggings.

The trio rode fast up the mountain to the Hall and saw the White Charger chopping wood to add to his already large pile.

“Get over there and get that ax from him,” Ramona ordered Erik.

Erik dismounted Ghost and approached the old man first. “Sir, I would be more than happy to chop any wood that you need to last until the end of this upcoming winter.”

“Of course you would.” The White Charger grunted, splitting another log. “I am not doing it for need. I think that pile over there will last me until the end of next winter. I am doing it because I like to work while I think.”

“Lawt, Ramona and I are here as requested, sir.”

“I would like for your three to go to the Earldom of Wynarche. I have heard some grumblings about something unearthly. Mind you I don’t know anything firsthand and that Earldom has been extremely quiet after some recent agitations a few years back. Rumors are spreading and I would like to know where the root of this conjecture is.”

“Wynarche?” Lawt asked. “Isn’t that the new Earldom that came about because of the land dispute between two Baronies and a cult?”

“Your studies in recent history serve you well, Roh’Darharim,” the White Charger said. “I also need you to look into something a little more sensitive.” He motioned the trio to step into the house. The darkness in the small house added to the ominous silence as they all entered. “No other person may know of this matter. It seems someone has made a forgery of my insignia. The only people who know what my signet looks like are the Roh’Darharim, which implies a traitor. I need you three to ferret them out. I ask you because you’re the newest and least likely to be involved. Roh’Darharim are being given false missives leading to catastrophic circumstances. We have lost a few over the past five or six years before I was able to put the pieces together and I can’t stomach the thought of losing another.”

“Sir, we are not trained for counter espionage,” Erik said.

“I am asking you to keep your eyes open, Roh’Darharim. We need not scare this cur off before we can bring him to justice. Just let me know what other correspondence you receive from me.”

“How are we to know which missions are factual and which are not?” Lawt asked.

The White Charger held open his hand uncovering a blue stick of wax and red flanged seed. “Your correspondence from me will be sealed with this blue wax. Embedded in the left with my signet will be this red pine seed. The first sentence will always be addressing purity or anguish. I must know what orders you receive from anyone else and when you receive them. This is your true first assignment. The mission in Wynarche is legitimate but rumors happen all the time. I need you three in the field so that I can find this traitor. I have one final gift for you, your signets. I like to design my new Roh’Darharim’s seals, it lets me feel clever, and because I designed them it’s easier for me to remember who sent me what.”

He handed each a ring. Erik’s was simple. Instead of a round signet his was bent into a droplet with a barbed hook in the center. When pressed into wax it appeared as a drop of blood with a thorn inside. Lawt’s presented as a star with a candle in the center, and Ramona’s was a bear in profile.

“I do not know when your first mission will start but I will ask that you follow those misguided orders. I want the perpetrator to feel comfortable. When the time comes we will set the trap.

Miranda shivered in the cold dawn air. What had she been thinking running away? She did not regret killing Rollo, it was long overdue, but she could have at least taken more money. Portia had the Wastings. There was no cure and it was not contagious, people just wasted away and died. It had forced Rollo into showing he didn’t keep a tab on what the women paid to earn their freedom. The man was a slaver and a liar. There were also personal reasons for her vengeance.

She was eager to get away from that part of her life. No longer having to sell her body to men, each with more depraved fetishes than the last, gave her solace. She had not wasted those long years. After she found Michael she recruited more regulars. She was very selective about her tutors. They could neither be big nor muscular allowing her to learn skills her frame and strength could use. That fight was the first real proof her plan had worked.

She could hold her head high later. The personal hell of the past five years pushed her legs with new energy. Right now she needed food and shelter. Miranda had no idea where she was. She had been walking for days from Padin Tier but she had lost track of how many. Passing a few nameless villages she moved through them quickly spending the little money she had on food.

Perhaps the sun would peak its way through the gray clouds of the morning. The days were unseasonably warm this late in the Autumn of Tredale. A small blessing for her but the nights were still bitterly cold. Occasionally the bushes next to the road presented her with small berries which she pounced on. But berries were poor sustenance and she hoped for the fortune of a farm not being harvested yet.

Miranda heard the familiar but terrifying sound of a traveler behind her. She may still be in range of Padin Tier bounty hunters. The travelers passing her were all farmers and merchants, but she would not let her guard down. She stepped off the road into the trees. An inconvenient curve behind her prevented her from seeing who followed. The trees hid them as well as they hid her. She crouched in the underbrush to minimize any outlines a passing eye might catch.

Minutes passed and nobody came into view. Her legs burned and her knees ached from crouching in the foliage but she dared not move. A simple shift in her weight would cause the dead leaves to rustle.

A large dog moved down the road in front of her. She had been scared of this poor mongrel? Miranda stood and sighed, letting the blood rush back into her legs. When she stepped back into the road the large dog looked at her, his tongue lolling out of his mouth while he panted. The wave of stench hit her. This dog was a rancid beast.

“What are you staring at?” she asked the mangy creature.

              The dog strolled up to her happily and sat in front waiting, as if asking to be petted. Miranda reached out her hand giving in to the unspoken request in spite of the smell.

“I would not do that if I were you. Sampson gets attached easily and I would hate to have to find a new dog.”

The voice was old and coming from behind her. Miranda turned to look at the man who had mastered this subterfuge. He sat relaxing against a tree on the side of the road. How had she not heard him before now? He was small, obviously a dwarf of a man with thick knotted arms.

“Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? Was the dog just to bait me out onto the road?” Miranda accused.

“I figured you wouldn’t show yourself if you saw me first. My name is Oswald. I would like to help you if I can,” the old man said.

“I don’t care who you are. You leave me alone before I make you leave me alone.”

A look of sadness came over Oswald’s face. Not pity, though. The look was too sincere for pity. “I am sorry for what the world has done to you, my lady.”

Miranda laughed. “I am far from a lady. I don’t need your help and I don’t want your sympathy. I
want
to be left alone.”

“I am afraid it may be too late for that. I fear we are drawn toward each other, and if that is the case I won’t be the only one.”

“You’ve been sent to bring me back!”

“No. Like I said before, I just want to help you. I understand your paranoia, young lady, and it may be justified. But we won’t get anywhere if you question every motive of mine.”

“We won’t get anywhere at all. You are going to leave me alone while I continue walking. If you follow me I will kill you,” Miranda said.

She regretted the words the moment they came out. Sampson understood her tone and growled. A growl from a dog this large would scare a hardened soldier. She quelled the shiver of fear shooting up her spine and backed away from the old man and the dog.

“I won’t follow you. I pray you stay safe, and I sincerely hope not to see you for a long while,” Oswald said. “It would be better for everyone but I doubt that will happen.”

Miranda picked up her pace as she followed the road. She knew where she wanted to go. She wanted to reach Wynarche, she was just not sure how much further she had to go. She had taken the wrong road out of Padin Tier. She was heading south but did not recognize any of the countryside. There could be miles of distance between slightly southeast and slightly southwest. The old man was good to his word. She didn’t see him following her.

As the evening wound down she saw a farmhouse silhouetted in the sunset. The fields were harvested but the barn looked sound. A lowering sun in autumn meant quickly lowering temperatures. The barn would be good shelter and if it housed animals. It meant warmth without fire.

It was dark before she reached her planned shelter. She opened the door and the welcoming smell of fresh bedding greeted her. A cow mooed in greeting and she scurried in before anyone would notice an open door. She found a loft with fresh hay and fell asleep ignoring her hunger pains.

She was awoken the next morning by a boot nudging her shoulder. Miranda opened her eyes preparing to leap at whoever it was. She halted before her head moved an inch. She stared down the length of a pitchfork, a middle aged woman attached to the other end. Her face would have been kind if it were not for the stern expression. Miranda could see the crow’s feet left by years of smiles.

“Wouldn’t move if I were you,” the lady said.

“Thank you for the use of your barn, ma’am,” Miranda said, trying to act innocent. “I did not want to disturb your household and needed some warm shelter.”

“Grisby has gone to fetch the warden. You can explain your trespassing to him. You one of those tree folk making a mess in the town?”

“Tree folk? No, ma’am. I am just traveling to Wynarche.”

“You’re from Wynarche?” the lady said, the stern expression never leaving her face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You expect me to believe you’re from Wynarche and not one of them tree folk scouts? You be quiet until the warden comes. You won’t learn nothing from me to accuse me of witchcraft.”

“Ma’am, I am not here to…”

The pitchfork inched closer to Miranda and she quieted herself. Time went by and soon a man passed his prime with graying hair and a mustache arrived. He wore the livery of nobility but did not carry the airs of someone who thought himself above anyone. Soon after a man of hardy stock with a sun-browned face walked in.

“I hear you caught one of them spies, Mabel,” The warden said.

“It has to be, doesn’t it?” Mabel said, still pointing the pitchfork at Miranda. She gave a stern eye to the other man. “Took you long enough to get back here, Grisby.”

“Let’s get her back to town and into the stockade. At the very least she is a trespasser,” the warden said.

Miranda allowed her hands to be tied and she was led out of the barn. The warden took the other end of the rope and mounted his horse. “I’ll let you know how this turns, Mabel. You have yourself a good day now.”

The warden moved his horse to a slow walk and Miranda felt the rope tighten around her wrists. She either moved with the horse or she would be dragged. She walked behind the Warden until the farm was out of sight then moved beside the horse to look at the warden. He was old but not the oldest man she had been familiar with. He had a pronounced mustache and humble eyes. He rode like a man who knew his duty and wore the crest of the house he represented proudly.

“I am sure you and I can come to some arrangement,” Miranda said with the sultry voice Portia had helped her master. “Maybe I can ease some of the tediousness of your day?”

“Darling,” The warden said, “As pretty as you are, the missus is prettier, if a little wiser. I guarantee she is a sight scarier than you as well. If she even caught me entertaining an idea her wrath wouldn’t stop with me.”

What were the odds she would be arrested by an honorable man? Miranda could not fault this man for his actions. She was the one stupid enough to get caught. They arrived at a small town and stopped at the warden’s plain building. The stockade’s bars framed every window and entrance.

“I reckon if you’re desperate for your day to get more exciting you can keep company with the cripple,” the warden said. He didn’t say it as a joke, just as a statement. He pushed Miranda into her cell and closed the door behind her.

“What cripple?” Miranda called out to the Warden as he left the building. It did no good. He did not acknowledge the question.

“He would be talking about me.” There was that voice again.

“Why are you following me, old man?”

“This is your fault you know, and my name is Oswald,” the old man said. Out of the shadows of the cell Oswald came lumbering out on his arms. No wonder his arms were huge. The man did not move on his legs, his arms moved him about. He dragged his legs behind, their usefulness questionable.

“My fault? How can this be my fault?”             

“I told you that it would not do any good to try and avoid me. You had to go and be all strong and lonery!”

“Lonery?” Miranda said with a smile.

“It’s a word!” Oswald said. “Now, Sampson is in the back. We could get out of here but I kind of need your help.”

“What makes you think I need your help, old man?”

“Girl, I told you my name is Oswlad, not old man. What is yours?” Oswald asked the question while moving one hand in an odd manner.

“Miranda” She did not mean to say that. Her name came out of her mouth as if it were pulled.

“Nice to meet you, Miranda. We have to get out of here. This town is in trouble and we are going to be the ones that pay for it. The people are being infiltrated and their minds are being turned.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“Nothing, but whoever is doing this wants fear and mistrust. I was arrested while I sat in the bar minding my own business. They pointed at my legs and accused me of witchcraft,” Oswald said. “I know a thing or two about that business and my legs have nothing to do with it!”

“So you are a witch!” Miranda, the picture of the little man sitting on a stool stirring a cauldron made her smirk.

“Do I look like a woman? I am a sorcerer…of sorts.”

“They pegged you right! So, why would I help you?”

“They don’t care whether they are right or not. And you being in this cell with me means they will eventually accuse you of witchcraft. You’re an outsider and they have nothing to lose if they kill you.”

“They?”

“The Father Oak. They infiltrate, then begin sowing discord. They prey on people’s misery and accuse those that are well off of withholding from the unfortunate. They also slander against the unknown with bigotry. Outsiders and anyone who stand in their way are accused and it is near impossible to prove innocence.”

“We have to get out of here!” Miranda said shaking the cell door trying to jar it loose.

“I will take care of that. I need you to find my riggings. I can’t leave without them and then we need to get Sampson. I think he is in a cage behind this building.” Oswald waved his left hand and the cell door swung open.

“You could have done this anytime?” Miranda asked.

“Yes, but the warden took my riggings. I can’t move fast enough or see high enough to look in everyplace. I have to see what I want to move. I was out here when he went to collect you, and my riggings are nowhere I can reach. They have to be someplace high like in those boxes. But if I pulled them down and he came back then I would have more explaining to do than I would like.”

Miranda could see three shelves with boxes on them out of Oswald’s reach. She rummaged through the boxes as fast as she could.

“Are these them?” She asked holding a handful of leather straps.

“That’s it! Let’s go.” Oswald waved his left hand again and the door opened.

Miranda crept out into the morning sun. She expected to draw some attention but no one was paying any credence to anyone at the warden’s building. Oswald followed her closely. He moved well despite his impediment, and they made their way around towards the back. Sampson was crammed into a small cage inside a covered stabling area. As soon as he saw Oswald he jumped up, hitting his head. The poor dog let out a yelp of pain but his tail was still wagging, beating against the bars of his prison.

“Come on, buddy,” Oswald said, motioning with his hand. The cage door swung open and Sampson bounded out knocking Oswald over in his attempt to lick him. Miranda stood guard while Oswald fiddled with the leather straps. It was one thing moving out of the building and behind it. It would be another moving out of town without being seen.