Griffin's Daughter (17 page)

Jelena pulled the leather cap from her head and raked her fingers through her cropped curls. She then arranged her pack to serve as a pillow and lay down on the hard ground. The blankets of her bedroll offered scant padding, and despite her best efforts to clear the area beforehand, many acorns and small rocks remained. Fatigue was enough to overcome discomfort, however, and very quickly, Jelena dropped off to sleep.

The sound of her name spoken in her ear woke her. She opened her eyes to see Magnes’s face hovering close to hers. His expression was grim.

“
Wha…what is it?” she asked blearily. She had been in the midst of a dream—a confused jumble of images and sounds—and wasn’t quite sure if she was truly awake yet.

“
We’ve got to go now, Cousin,” Magnes whispered urgently. Jelena sat up, fully awake now and jittery with alarm. Magnes pointed back toward the gently rolling terrain they had crossed last night. “I spotted them a few moments ago…a group of horsemen, riding this way. I’m not sure they’re from Amsara, but I don’t want to wait around to find out.”

Jelena imagined the thwarted and angry Duke Sebastianus leading the search for the concubine who had dared to defy him by running away. She shivered as she helped Magnes gather their things and obliterate the evidence of their camp.

“
How close are they,” Jelena asked tensely. Several crows began screaming raucously overhead, startling her so that she nearly dropped her long knife as she was trying to secure it at her waist.

“
We’ll have at least a half hour’s lead on them…more once they reach the trees. It’ll be slow going for them, riding through these woods.” Magnes had already smothered the fire with dirt and was busily spreading around the forest litter. “Any decent tracker will be able to tell we’ve been here if he looks closely enough, but let’s hope that they’re just searching and not actually following our trail.” He wiped his hands on his thighs and hoisted his pack onto his back. “Ready?” Jelena nodded eagerly, anxious to get moving.

As they traveled further into the perpetual twilight of the deep woods, it became difficult to judge the sun’s position in the sky, and Jelena soon lost all track of time. They marched along wrapped in a cool, dim bubble, with only the sounds of their footfalls and an occasional birdcall to break the stillness. Once, they startled some small creature that went wildly plunging off into the dense undergrowth.

The trees were getting larger the further into the woods they traveled. The undergrowth steadily diminished, which made for easier going. Jelena was awestruck by the majesty of the deep woods giants. It seemed to her that these trees must have been standing here since the very beginning of the world, when the gods had brought forth order out of the chaos of the Void.

They stopped briefly to rest and drink a little water. Jelena asked Magnes how he knew which direction was the correct one without using the sun. He explained that, as long as they kept the mossy side of the trees behind him, then he knew they were heading north. “Once we reach the river, I’ll be able to see the sky again, and when the stars are out, I’ll know whether we need to go up or downstream to reach the fords.” Jelena fervently hoped that the river was close. She kept imagining that she could hear the sounds of pursuit behind them, drawing ever closer.

They walked in silence for a time. The rhythm of her footsteps lulled Jelena into a trance, so she was unprepared for Magnes’s abrupt halt. “Ow!” she cried as she fetched hard up against her cousin’s back, knocking her forehead on his pack with a painful thump.

“
Shhhh!” he hissed, holding up one hand towards her face. He peered ahead intently, the other hand cupped to his ear. Then, Jelena heard, as well.

Voices.

Magnes signaled that they should change course, away from the still-hidden speakers, and attempt to circle around without being detected. Jelena’s heart slammed against her chest wall and her mouth grew dry with fear. She had no desire to find out whether the owners of those voices were friend or enemy.

Slowly, carefully, they moved forward and around, keeping the faint buzz of conversation always to their left side. Jelena had to focus all of her concentration on moving as quietly as she could, and soon, the underarms of her shirt were soggy with sweat. The sound of her breath roared in her ears, and each tiny crackle of leaf or twig under her boots seemed as loud as a thunderclap. Gradually, a growing awareness of a new sound insinuated itself into her consciousness—a smooth murmur, like wind sighing in the treetops. At the same instant, she realized that she could no longer hear the voices.

Magnes stopped and drew her close against him, setting his lips to her ear. “Can you hear it? The river,” he breathed. She nodded in assent.

A heartbeat later, the forest erupted around them. Jelena barely had time to register what was happening before she was slammed face down into the ground. A grinning, hairy face pressed itself against hers, and she gagged on the putrid odor of rotten teeth and onions. She heard Magnes shout her name, and desperately she struggled to break free, but the body that pinned her to the earth was too heavy. Her efforts seemed to amuse her assailant, who uttered a low, throaty laugh. She felt a hard tug on her shoulders as her attacker pulled at the backpack. She heard the
snick
of metal cutting through leather straps; then the pressure released as the pack was ripped away from her body and tossed aside. In that instant, Jelena’s arms were free, and instinct took over.

In a single motion, she pulled her knife and stabbed upward and back. She heard a bark of pain, followed by a string of profanities, and suddenly, the cruel weight that had been crushing her into the forest floor vanished. She rolled over and scrambled to her feet, crouched, knife blade at the ready. She assessed the scene quickly.

Magnes was standing, but she could see a bright ribbon of blood snaking its way down from above his left eye. “Are you hurt?” he asked in a low voice. She shook her head and moved to press her back to his.

There were six of them, lean and vicious as starving wolves. A seventh lay writhing and moaning at Magnes’s feet, clutching at his belly. Blood seeped steadily through his fingers. The youngest, Jelena could see, was a boy of no more than thirteen summers; the oldest, a balding man well into his middle years. They all shared the same cold, hard, desperate look of men with nothing to lose. Each one had a weapon of some sort—knives, a rusty shortsword, a club.

“
I guess we weren’t quiet enough,” Magnes whispered out of the corner of his mouth. He shifted his stance slightly and raised his blood-stained sword a little higher. “We don’t have anything of value, except our food,” he said in a calm, steady voice, addressing the bandits collectively. “We want no trouble, but as you can see,” he gestured to the fallen man, who now lay still and silent, “we are capable of defending ourselves. Please, just take what you want and leave.”

Jelena tightened her grip on the hilt of her knife and fiercely willed her hand to remain steady. Her eyes darted from one dirty face to another, seeking in vain for the tiniest flicker of compassion, but there was none, only feral, predatory interest.

The older, balding man spoke. “Give us the girl and we’ll let you go,” he said, speaking to Magnes but looking directly at Jelena. His eyes glittered like dirty ice chips in his grimy face.

“
Impossible. She is my kinswoman and not mine to give. Sorry.” Magnes’s voice dripped sarcasm. He scowled, then said, “Let me rephrase. You will leave now, with nothing, or I’ll kill the lot of you.”

“
Magnes!” Jelena gasped. Up until that moment, a blanket of numbness and a sense of unreality had been keeping her fear in check; now, with Magnes’s brash words, the numbness abruptly evaporated. The perilousness of their situation became abundantly clear. The balding man threw back his head and guffawed, and the others joined in, laughing and nudging each other as if Magnes had just told them the funniest joke that they had ever heard.

“
Get ready to run,” Magnes whispered. Suddenly, Jelena felt him lunge forward, and abruptly, the bandits all stopped laughing. She turned in time to see their leader falling backwards in a spray of blood, the hilt of Magnes’s boot knife protruding from his throat. For an instant, everyone froze.

“
Run, Jelena!” Magnes shouted.

Jelena sprinted towards the sound of flowing water. She could hear Magnes pounding along right behind her, and further off, the sound of pursuit. Panic gave her feet wings as she dodged tree trunks and low branches. She could see the trees thinning out ahead amid a haze of sunlight.

She emerged from the shadows of the forest into the soft light of late afternoon, skidding and almost falling on the loose soil and pebbles of the riverbank. Magnes grabbed her arm to steady her and started running eastward, pulling her along. The bandits burst from the woods a few moments later and, shouting in murderous fury, charged after them.

Never had Jelena had to run for her life before. Now, panting with exertion, she feared she would falter soon if she had to run much farther. Magnes seemed to sense her distress, and she could see the gleam of desperation in his eyes. She risked a glance over her shoulder. The bandits were gaining on them. She and Magnes were going to have to turn and fight.

“
Magnes!” she cried, “I can’t…we’ll have to fight.” They slid to a stop, the swiftly flowing river to their right, the forest to their left. The bandits tumbled to a halt a few yards off, panting and blowing like spent horses. Nevertheless, they seemed determined to avenge their slain leader. Slowly, they began to advance. Jelena raised her knife. Bitterly, she wondered why it had to end this way, before she had even gotten started. She prayed for it to be over quickly.

The tingling started like pins and needles in her hands and forearms. Suddenly, blue tongues of flame erupted from her fingers, burning so brightly that Jelena could not look directly at them. So startled was she that she dropped her knife.

“
Gods!” Magnes exclaimed in astonishment. Slowly, Jelena raised her hands up and held them before her, a blazing shield of light. She could hear rough cries of amazement and fear, followed by confused chatter as the bandits debated whether the blue fire was real or some kind of trick. All the while, they continued to sidle forward.

Suddenly, the bandits froze in their tracks, staring out beyond their prey further along the riverbank. The ground began to vibrate. Magnes turned and barked a curse.

A group of horsemen were galloping straight toward them, weapons raised. 

The Dream Made Real

The company camped overnight at Saihama Village. The sheriff, an amiable woman named Taura, hosted Ashinji in her own home. She cooked him dinner and offered to give up the bed that she and her husband shared so that Ashinji might have a comfortable place to sleep. Ashinji graciously accepted the meal but declined the bed, explaining that he couldn’t sleep indoors while his company slept outside. “It’s a pleasant night, the grass is soft on your village green…I’ll be fine,” he said. “Believe me, I’ve had to make do with a lot less.”

Sheriff Taura laughed heartily. She was a robust, plain-featured woman, well into middle age, with six grown children. Her husband was the village blacksmith. From the look of her ears and eyes, Ashinji suspected that she had some human blood in her ancestry. More frontier people did than liked to admit it. There had been a time, many years ago, when humans and elves had mingled a little more freely, at least out in the border country.

“
You’re a good man, Lord Ashinji, thinking about your troops first and wanting to share their hardships with them,” Taura’s husband, Mareo, said.

“
It’s really no hardship,” Ashinji replied.

“
I’ve seen to it that your company all got fed a nice, hot meal with plenty of our good local beer. My husband checked all the horses’ shoes as well,” Taura said.

“
I thank you. Your hospitality has been exceptional.”

“
You asked me earlier, m’lord,” Taura continued, “if anyone in the area had fallen ill with any unknown sickness, and I told you I wasn’t sure. Well, I heard later this afternoon that a man out on one of the farms that’d been attacked by the bandits has gotten sick, and it doesn’t look like anything anyone has seen before.”

Ashinji frowned. “Does the man have strange swellings under his jaw and in his armpits and groin?” he asked.

“
Why, yes, I do believe that was what his wife said. So far, he’s the only one I know about, but there could be others.”

Ashinji finished his dinner and thanked Taura and Mareo for their help.

A sliver of moon winked coyly from behind a cloud, so the stars had the sky nearly to themselves tonight. A short walk brought Ashinji to where his company camped at the center of the village. Gendan and the others greeted him as he arrived. A couple of trestle tables had been set up, and the remains of a substantial meal littered plates and platters. Several oil lamps on poles illuminated the area.

“
Looks like you’ve all had just as good a dinner as I did,” Ashinji commented, glancing around at the members of the company sitting or lounging on the grass.

“
We’ve got some beer left, my lord, if you’re still thirsty,” said Gendan.

“
Oh, I think I could manage one more mug,” Ashinji responded, laughing. Gendan handed him an earthenware tankard filled to the brim, and Ashinji drained it in several swallows. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and put the empty tankard down on the table.