The Prisoner of Carronne - 14. Chapter 14

-- Chapter Fourteen --

As they rode away from that place where they had been ambushed, none of the three looked back. Behind them the ruined shepherd’s hut in which they had been held captive, now burned brightly, with the bodies of their attackers inside. It was the only thing they could do.

For each of the three, what had transpired weighed heavily upon them all, yet they knew that what they had done was exactly what had needed to be done. In this age, those who lived by the sword, often died by the sword. And as for those who preyed on others . . . they would usually receive their just desserts. Such was the way of their world.

They rode through the night in silence, with only a wan moon guiding them. Around them, sounds came from the forests and fields they passed, dogs barked at them from distant cottages sitting in darkness, yet not a single living soul was seen. But as the skies began to grow brighter, something strange came over them, as these three striplings – one barely of age, and two who were yet to reach that milestone – entered the new day not as boys, but as men. Though their bodies ached, and their hearts felt older, each of them had changed. They rode taller than before, and with more purpose. These lads knew they were the future of the Order, and the faith placed upon them was going to be repaid a thousandfold.

For Jamal, he now understood something no lesson had yet taught him: that duty was not a clean thing, and that protecting others sometimes meant carrying what they could not. He knew then that whatever lay ahead – knights, battles, or failure – he would meet it as a changed man. Not hardened, perhaps, but sharpened. The boy who had grown up on the streets still may live inside him, but, so too did the warrior he was destined to become.

When sunrise came, they stopped by a stream and rested, allowing their horses to drink, while also finding an apple tree, fully laden, near the stream and taking their fill as well. A short time later, they rode on, and while they did meet a few other travellers there were no issues. By the early afternoon they found themselves entering the birch country; an almost magical place with pale trunks and trembling leaves, beneath a clear blue sky.

Mid-afternoon they stopped at an inn that was surrounded by a few cottages, where they watered their horses once more, while also drinking deeply themselves.

‘And what have we here?’ they heard a woman’s voice ask from somewhere behind them, and turning to see who it was who had spoken to them, they found a kind-looking, but formidable woman standing on the steps of the inn, her unruly hair filled with streaks of grey. It was difficult to put an age to her, but with her arms crossed in front of her ample bosom, below which hung a grubby apron, and a bemused expression on her face, this gave her the appearance of a generous soul, but also one who should not be trifled with.

‘My lady?’ Jamal said. ‘We are just travellers wishing to water our horses.’

‘And what is the purpose of your journey? The three of you look as if you haven’t eaten in days.’

‘We have eaten this morning,’ Jamal replied. ‘And we are seeking an old friend who we have been told lives in the birch country.’

‘And who might that be?’ the woman asked.

‘Sir Ansel, my Lady. He walks with a limp . . .’

‘And he eats like a horse, and snores like a banshee,’ the woman replied, with a laugh. ‘What do you want that old scoundrel for? He won’t be of much use to you in a fight these days.’

‘A fight? What makes you say that?’

‘Just something in the air, my lad. Something has changed. We can all sense it. Now come . . . tie your horses to the rail and come inside. If you are on a mission, we can’t have you dying of starvation before you meet your friend,’ the woman said, before turning her back on them and walking back through the door.

The three lads looked at each other, unsure as to what they should do, but when Jamal eventually shrugged his shoulders, the decision was made. They tied their horses to the rail and climbed the few steps to the door of the inn, then entered cautiously.

‘Come, lads. Don’t be shy,’ they heard the woman call from somewhere in the shadows. ‘There is stew and bread here for you, if you’re game.’

As their eyes adjusted to the dim room they found there was a wooden bench standing a small distance off one wall, a wall upon which there were shelves with jugs and bottles, while along the other wall there were several tables. At the far end of the room there was another bench, with a fireplace nearby, where a low fire still burned, warming a metal pot that hung above it.

‘Sit!’ the woman commanded, as she stirred the pot, and then picked up a rough-hewn plate and began ladling out some of her stew, the aroma of which had already set empty stomachs grumbling. After setting it down in front of Whip, the nearest of the three, she did the same twice more, before then slicing hunks of bread from a large loaf and passing these slices to the lads as well.

She then filled three mugs with a murky liquid and set them on the table also; a liquid which proved to be surprisingly sweet, and most welcome.

‘We don’t know your name, my lady, to thank you for your generosity,’ Jamal asked between mouthfuls, as he sopped up the remnants of his stew with the thick bread.

‘You may call me Maisie,’ the woman replied. ‘And it is my pleasure to offer you sustenance for your mission.’

‘Mission?’

‘The amulet,’ Maisie replied, while nodding at the metal object hanging around Jamal’s neck, which could be seen through his partly open shirt. ‘I have seen that item before, so I figure you are either thieves and robbers, or you have been given a task to perform . . .’

Instinctively, Jamal placed a hand over the sacred object.

‘And you appear to be far too polite and innocent to be highwaymen . . . along with the fact you are asking after Sir Ansel, so I’m guessing you must have a message to deliver. Am I right?’

Beside him, Deven bumped shoulders with his companion and gave a stifled laugh. ‘It appears that the lady has you pegged, brother.’

‘Indeed, it does,’ Jamal replied dryly. ‘So, where might we find our friend? Is he close by?’

‘He has a camp in the forest, but you have still quite a ride,’ Maisie replied.

‘And can you tell us how we get there?’

‘Of course, my dear,’ Maisie answered as she stepped in close, directly in front of Jamal and waving her ample bosom in front of him. Before she could do anything further, however, Jamal quickly slipped sideways from his seat and stood, while the other two lads chuckled.

‘We thank you for your hospitality, dear lady, but truly, we must keep moving if we are to find our friend. Can you point us in the right direction?’ Jamal asked.

‘Of course I can, my sweet . . . but for a small price.’

‘A price? But we have no coin,’ Jamal pleaded, quite shocked.

‘You need no coin, my angel. Just lips that can kiss,’ the woman demurred.

‘A kiss? But I’ve never kissed a woman before . . .’

‘But that is a price I would gladly pay, my lady,’ Whip interjected, while quickly stepping forward.

Maisie switched her attention to the scrawny lad now standing before her, and looked him up and down. She had been so taken by the brown skinned lad that she had paid scant attention to the other two lads, but when she looked closely at the lad who was offering himself, she smiled.

‘I’ll even make it two kisses, if that’s what you want, my lady,’ Whip continued.

‘Then it appears we have a deal, my young friend,’ Maisie replied, before taking hold of his shirt and pulling him towards her.

Jamal and Deven could barely control their mirth as the woman smothered their friend, and they slowly backed away, before turning and heading out the door to their horses.

‘I was thankful for the meal,’ Jamal said to his friend, ‘but the lady scares me.’

‘I hear you, brother. But apparently, our friend Whip has no such qualms,’ Deven said with a chuckle.

No sooner had he said that, than the sound of footsteps could be heard, and the two lads turned to see their friend emerge from the darkness of the inn, his clothes slightly askew and a suspicious enhancement in his pants, but apparently none the worse for his experience.

‘So, did you get directions to our knight?’ Jamal asked.

‘We ride until we find a river with a bridge,’ Whip replied. ‘Then we take the road on the far side of the bridge that heads for the mountains. The journey will take a day, so it will be tomorrow before we reach our destination.’

*   *   *

Following their directions, the lads found the river and the bridge late in the afternoon, then followed the road that headed for the mountains. Sunset saw them find a cleared spot by a stream, which they decided would be a suitable place to make camp, and so they dismounted and set about setting up for the night.

‘We need to take turns at standing guard,’ Deven suggested.

‘I agree,’ Jamal replied, as he searched his saddlebags for some rations to share.

Soon they had a low fire burning, and they finally began to talk of what had transpired over the last day.

‘They were dangerous men,’ Jamal said to his companions, in a moment of contemplation. ‘What we did last night . . . that was what had to be done. It was us or them.’

‘So very true,’ replied Deven, as he reached across and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘It is like Whip said . . . you did only what any knight would do, and it is only because of that we are here to tell the tale.’

‘I know.’

‘And it is just like the task our friend Whip had to perform this very day,’ he added, while casting a mischievous eye in his direction.

‘And I would do it again tomorrow, if it was needed,’ the lad replied, while grinning. ‘Now, you both should get some sleep. I’ll take first watch. We’ll need you to have your wits about you tomorrow when we meet this curious knight.’

‘Indeed,’ Jamal replied.

With his saddle leaning against a tree, Jamal settled back and closed his eyes a short while later, with Deven doing the same, almost beside him. Their travel had been tiresome, and it wasn’t long before both were sleeping, while Whip sat off to one side by the fire, watching them, and listening for sounds in the night.

Everything was peaceful, with Whip watching his friends, between time spent stretching his legs, or whittling away at a carefully selected branch of yew he had found at the edge of the forest, gradually shaping its ends with a view to turning it into a longbow. At one point he heard Jamal muttering something in his sleep, and as he glanced towards his friend, he noticed the dark-skinned lad tossing and turning, before eventually crying out.

Stopping what he was doing, Whip studied Jamal for a time, to see if he woke, or if there was a repeat of his disturbance, but when none came, he turned his attention back to his whittling. Just a few moments later he noticed some movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see Jamal sitting up and looking around, before getting to his feet.

‘Everything alright, brother?’ he asked of Jamal.

‘I . . . errr . . . yes, I think so,’ Jamal answered, as he first looked around, before then crossing to the fire. ‘And with you? What do you have there?’

‘It has been a quiet night, although I did sense some disturbance a short while ago, from where you were sleeping.’

‘Just a dream . . . I think.’

‘I have decided I need a bow,’ Whip continued, as he held up the branch briefly. ‘And this branch of yew shall make a fine weapon, I am sure.’

‘Let us hope so. And it surely may come in handy in the days or months ahead,’ Jamal replied. ‘I will take the watch now, if you like. You should get some sleep.’

‘Thank you. And I think I shall dream of a buxom wench, or some winsome lad . . . or perhaps both . . . I have no qualms about engaging with either,’ Whip responded, with a haughty laugh.

‘Then may your dreams be pleasant,’ Jamal replied, offering his friend a smile.

For a while he sat, and simply stared into the fire, but shortly afterwards he decided to walk to the edge of the nearby stream. Here he found a spot on the ground where he could lean back against a log, and watched the slow-moving, dark water before him, thinking only about the images that had disturbed his night.

In a short space of time, he had seen much, but there was still so much he hadn’t seen. He was still pondering this thought a few moments later when he heard a noise behind him and turned to see a thoughtful-looking Deven coming towards him.

‘Did I hear you cry out in the night?’ the lad asked, as he sat himself down beside Jamal.

‘Possibly,’ Jamal replied. ‘It was a dream . . . or perhaps a vision . . . I am not sure which.’

‘And just what was it that transpired in this dream?’

‘I have seen Luther and the Prince. They are together again, though they are still in great danger,’ Jamal answered. ‘It has begun, and so tomorrow we must find the knights we have been charged with bringing back into the fold. We will all be needed.’

‘How can you be so sure of this vision?’

‘I can’t be, and that is my dilemma. Do I trust this dream, or whatever it was, or should I be sceptical?’

‘It is impossible to be certain, either way,’ Deven answered. ‘At least, not until we meet Luther again, and hopefully with our Prince by his side. Only then can we truly know.’

‘I . . . I guess you are right.’

‘We have your back, Jamal. We three are brothers now, and the two of us will follow wherever you lead. When the answer finally comes to you, rest assured we will be with you, to share your success or your burdens,’ said Deven as he twisted slightly to face the other, before then reaching out and gently placing a hand on Jamal’s cheek. ‘You have our devotion,’ Deven whispered, before gently leaning forward and placing his lips over those of Jamal.

Unlike earlier, when the advances of the lady of the inn had scared him, this time Jamal didn’t flinch. His feelings for Deven, and Whip also, had been quietly building in the time they had been together. It was evident to him that they were becoming a team, not just in arms, but also in spirit. He allowed the kiss of the younger lad, and indeed, he also returned it.

When finally they parted, Jamal leaned back slightly and gazed into the eyes of the other lad. ‘My sweet, sweet, Deven. Are you sure this is the path you wish to lead?’

‘It is the path we have both chosen,’ came a voice from behind them, as Jamal looked up to find Whip approaching, before stepping over the log against which the others leant. ‘You are our captain, Jamal. We shall follow you, and serve you, and we submit to you, in any way you desire. Please let us show you.’

*   *   *

At this same time, on the approach to the city of Carronne, a group of horsemen were racing through the night, pushing their horses to the limit. The men had no way of knowing what might have transpired in the city while they were absent, but they feared the worst.

The men feared also, the two riders at the head of their column, urging them on with calls of, ‘Faster, you dogs!’

These two riders were the Dark Lord himself, and his traitorous servant, Judayah, and defiance of their orders would mean only one thing. No more evil a pair than these two, loathed by soldiers and citizens alike, had ever ridden these roads.

It was almost midnight when the riders clattered across the drawbridge and reached the inner courtyard of the castle, quickly jumping from their horses, as lads ran out to take their reins and care for the animals.

‘Bring me the Warlock!’ Septimus screamed, his voice bouncing off the stone walls. ‘Now!’

‘We are looking for him, Sire,’ one man dared to say. ‘But he can’t be found.’

‘What?’ the Dark Lord screamed back at the unfortunate guardsman, his cry echoing all around them.

‘He is not in the tower, Sire. We had already checked.’

‘And what made you want to check on him in the first place?’ the Dark Lord growled, as he stepped in close to the guardsman.

‘Bec-c-ause . . .’ the man stammered.

‘Bec-c-ause why?’

‘Because there was an incident, Sire.’

‘Oh, I am sure this will be good,’ Septimus spat.

‘The . . . the prisoner, Sire. We found his guards . . . one dead, one out to it, and locked in a dungeon.’

‘And what of the prisoner? Where is he, exactly?’ his voice cold and deliberate, while at the same time he withdrew his sword from its scabbard.

‘He is . . .’

Gulp.

‘Yes?’ urged Septimus, his voice dripping with malice.

‘G-gone, Sire,’ the unfortunate guard replied; with these being the last words he would ever speak.

As the guard’s body fell to the cobblestones, Septimus screamed, then swung his blood-covered sword around at his men.

‘Find them! Tear this place apart if you must, but find them! And by God's bones, I mean now! Or you shall be next!’

To be continued . . .