The Gypsy Queen (2 page)

  “Yahhh!” screamed the man holding his sword to the leader’s throat, as he stooped down to clutch the arrow she had drilled into his calf. Before anyone could even turn to see what had happened, she stroked another arrow into the next closest man, the one who had an arrow aimed at the riders. His arrow went careening off and his bow dropped, as he shouted at the arrow lodged halfway into his hand.
Yana
ducked out
of sight, and
hoped she
had been so quick that
perhap
s no one had even seen her. T
he
light was still poor
in the shadows of the gulley.

  The leader of the black riders had not wasted the opportunity, and they clashed into full battle again. He took up the sword of the one with the arrow in his calf, and ended that man promptly.
His two accomplices were engaged as well, as the remaining Moldavian men rushed in.

 
Yana
gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to get further involved. Maybe what she had done would be enough. Maybe she could still escape without attracting trouble. She looked out from the rock again, knowing she shouldn’t.

  He looked her right in the eye.

 
Still battling, slashing and clashing with the last two men, just for a split second, he looked her right in the eyes. She cursed her luck again,
pulled her hood down further over her face,
ducked out of sight, and fled. Back up the winding trench, across the rocks,
leaping over the little stream-
nearly stumbling into it, she ran frantically
, full of panic and speed
. She got back to her horse in what seemed like no time, yet
still
took
an eternity. She could not go fast enough to flee this place. She hesitated for a moment
, looking back
,
before she leapt back onto her horse. No amount of running was going to help her now. He would be coming to find her.

  She tore off anyway, her horse seeming to sense her urgency, as she prodded Kuta to her highest speed.
She flew across the meadows, headed back to the caravan. Her thoughts flew even faster. She would have to break camp. Everyone would have to break camp- or maybe she could go into hiding alone. She didn’t want anyone to be in danger for what she had done.
Her thoughts raced- ha
d the black riders prevailed? Had she saved him?
Why was he
on an assassin’s mission? For all her fury at herself, her spee
d and desperation to get away
, she also realized... she
still
wanted to see
him
again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The black riders did battle with their ambushing enemies, and finally defeated them.
The leader took off his mask, and addressed his men. “Is that all of them?” he asked, trying to catch his breath.

 
“I believe it is,” the one closest to him replied.

 
“Stand guard,” the leader ordered, as he we
nt to check on his companions. He found t
he two men on the g
round
slain, and his face showed the sad
ness of it. These were good men;
they had
all
trained together a
t length
. It
was a terrible loss, as they were in
tending to be the ones doing an
ambush. He stood up, surveying the scene. These
Moldavians
were the
very
men they were hunting, so his
missi
on was otherwise a success, except for their
loss.

 
The third survivor approached him with a grimace, as his arm had been cut in the fight. 
They quickly tended each other, and prepared for what they must do. The leader directed them. “Get these men
hidden,” he instructed
, pointing to their slain enemies
. They were n
ot where they intended to be, since
the whole mission had gone awry, but it did lend them some privacy. They had to preserve the greater operation. They found a gash in the dirt wall that had been washed out from flooding, and dragged the Moldavian attackers into
it. They were heavy, and the man
with the slashed arm was not much help
. Once they were finished,
they stripped down the horses of the enemies, that they had found no
t too far away. The enemy
had set a pretty good little trap
, the leader realized
. For all their skill
and stealth
, they woul
d have failed and met their end
right
t
here, had it not been for her.

  He looked closely at the arrows he had retrieved from two of the
dead
men. There was no doubt they were gypsy arrows, but he was all the more certain of
whose
they were. She was the last person in the world he wou
ld have guessed to have seen, since
he had not seen her in years, and this was not her affair. Unmistakably, however, he had looked into the eyes that once haunted him, and sometimes still did, when he dreamt. He could
feel an echo of the power
that had almost killed him.

 
No question. He had seen
Yana
.

 
He
tucked her arrows into the sling
on his horse, as they finished up.
The
y removed their black
clothing,
exchanging it for
ordinary brown burlap clothing
from their packs
- the kind peasants would wear. This mess would take so
me care to cover up. Their team was best known as a myth;
they could not just walk around in broad daylight
or leave such a mess
.
Once they had settled the scene and cleaned up everything they could,
kicking dirt on the blood and moving loose brush, t
hey made arrangements to get back. They found an excellent spot to hide. One
man
was to take the extra horses from their enemies and travel west, as far away from
Moldavia
as they could get, and set them free. They couldn’t just turn them loose in this region, or someone
would piece together the facts. Th
e man with the injured arm
would wait until nightfall and take a roundabout rout
e through the dark
,
back to the great c
ity, bringing along the
ir
horses and the bodies of
their fallen warriors. The enemies
they had defeated deserved an inglorious fate, but not their own.

  “We must not fail,” the leader told his men. They nodded agreement. “Travel two days west, and get them across the Sardica river, before you free them,” he instructed. He address
ed
the other, “
Get back to the city through the King’s passage, once you have
the
cover of dark.
I’m
going to track the spy.”

 
He prompted his horse and departed, in the direction he knew that she must have gone.
It was well into the morning
now, since
they had tak
en a good bit of time to conceal
the evidence of the skirmish. He already knew what direction to head, as he was well aware of the general vicinity
of the gypsy camps. T
hey were ever-changing
, of course
, but they did have their tendencies and trails.
He wondered how she found them
-
they must have passed by too closely.
He chewed on a piece of flatbread
from his pack, as he traveled east.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 
Yana
pulled up to her wagon quickly, and began gathering her things. “
Yana
!” she heard the voice of a child. “I caught one!” It was
her young friend
Luba, an orphan that had joined them two summers ago. “Come to the fire and see!” Luba called.
Yana
smiled, forgetting her hurry for a mom
ent.

  “You did? What did you use?
”
Yana
asked.

 
“I set the trap with the herbs you gave me!”
Luba exclaimed, running up to her. Then she paused.

 
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Yana
’s face was giving away her preoccupation.

 
“We have to break camp,”
Yana
said, no mirth in her voice. 

 
“Why?”
Luba
asked. “We were going to wait two
more days,” she protested.
     

 
“We just have to,”
Yana
said. No way was she
going to explain herself.
  

“Well,” Luba hesitated. “Can you come see the rabbit I caught first?”

 
Yana
smiled. “
Yes, of course,” she said.

  “Come on then,” Luba shouted, already bounding toward the rest of the caravan, where the people were stirring, and the smoky smell of campfires and hot tea graced the morning air.
Yana
figu
red she had some time. It seemed unlikely
she would be immediately pursued, or immediately found..
. but
she could
not
stick around either.
She walked into the camp to Lyubov’s wagon.

  Lyubov was a kind old lady, and
Yana
loved to hear her speak. Luba, while very young, had taken to her as well, and the two of them traveled together. The wisdom of little Luba seemed far beyond her years, as thou
gh she had come from the stars...
though she was still just a
little
girl trying
to survive. She fit
well with Lyubov, the brilliant and wise lady who
Yana
herself loved to sit next to, and hear her tales. They were so alike, Luba and Lyubov,
they almost seemed like the same person, but for their great age difference.
They were truly family, to
Yana
.
Yana
had been teaching Luba
what she could-
how to trap rabbits, and her favorite gypsy dances.

  Lyubov had already cleaned the rabbit and had the fire going. It was unusual to cook this way in the morning, but Lyubov
wanted to do something special,
so excited was Luba for her accomplishment.

  “Here,” Luba said, handing her stick to
Yana
, with some meat on the end.
Yana
obliged and took a bit
e. She didn’t eat meat too much. S
he
liked
to be light on her feet, though she always enjoyed a good pastry when
she could. The rabbit, however
, was tasty, and
Yana
nodded in approval. 

  “Well done,”
Yana
said.
There wasn’t that much meat;
it was a scrawny little animal. “Will you save the hide?”

  “
I already salted it!” Luba answered enthusiastically.

  “What troubles you,
Yana
?” Lyubov asked her. Bosh,
Yana
thought. How did she always know? No one knew
Yana
as well as she did.
Yana
leaned in close.

 
“We need to break camp, right away, this morning,”
Yana
said. Lyubov nodded.

 
“Da. We will break. I
saw it
in the leaves this morn.” Lyubov was good with the tea leaves, better than any that
Yana
had seen.

 
“What else did you see?”
Ya
na
asked, ever curious
.

 
“Bastion,” she said.

 
Yana
was speechless.

  Lyu
bov looked over to Luba, and instructed her. “Tell the people we break now,” she said. Luba nodded, and went off to tell the people.
Yana
looked behind her, and saw that one of the young
boys had ventured up to them
.