Into Exile_Teutevar Saga Page 2

  “See what you did?” he said. “You made me kill one of your subjects, milady. Now, why don’t you come down and be reasonable? No one else needs to die.”

  Guinevere ground her jaw and forced herself not to look at the old woman’s body. “I will ask you once more: release your prisoners. Athel does not recognize Arund the White Knight as High King or anything but the star-cursed traitor he is.”

  Fitch studied her for a moment before giving a slow nod. “So be it.”

  Behind him, the fat man moved down the line of prisoners and thrust his knife into the heart of a middle-aged man. Guinevere roared and reached for another shaft. Before she could loose, however, Regg dove forward and yanked her to the ground. Seconds later, a flight of arrows whisked by them, clattering harmlessly against the rock above.

  On the beach, Fitch spun around to face his archers, drawing his sword. “I gave no order to fire! The next one of you that looses an arrow without my command dies. Understood?”

  The scouts nodded, passing sullen looks to one another. Fitch pointed at the screaming man with the arrow in his stomach. “Shut him up.”

  While the scouts put their comrade out of his misery, Regg struggled to hold Guinevere down on the cliff ledge. Grappling with one another, the spearmaiden finally managed to pin Guinevere down.

  “Listen to me!” Regg yelled. Behind them, Revan started to cry. Guinevere continued to struggle and Regg slapped her across the face. Surprised by the blow, Guinevere stopped resisting and stared, incredulous at her friend. “Why are we out here, Guinevere?” Regg asked.

  When she didn’t reply, Regg asked again. “Lady Guinevere, I asked you, why are we out here?”

  “To get Revan to safety,” she said at last, chest heaving.

  “And how are we supposed to do that trapped on a cliff, surrounded by Arund’s —”

  Screams and wails rose from the Atheling prisoners below and Captain Fitch’s sneering voice cut through their conversation.

  “My patience wears thin, milady,” he shouted up. “Your poor manners have forced me to kill another prisoner.”

  Guinevere scowled and started to resist, but Regg pushed her back down again. “Go tend to your son, I’ll handle this.”

  Guinevere took a deep breath and nodded. When Regg appeared at the edge of the cliff, Fitch’s face split into a grin, revealing a long snaggletooth.

  “Is the lady now indisposed?” he asked the spearmaiden. “We can wait here as long as you like. Either you come down, or we’ll kill a prisoner at every mark of the sun until they’re all dead. Then we’ll come up to you. What will it be?”

  “Don’t you listen to them, Lady Guinevere!” one of the prisoners, a white-haired old man shouted. “Don’t give in!”

  The other prisoners took up similar cries until the fat soldier struck the old man across the back with the flat of his sword and the elder collapsed to the sand.

  Regg frowned and spat down at the fat man then glanced back at Guinevere. “Give my lady time to consider your offer. In the meantime, tell that fat coward to treat our people with respect.”

  Fitch shrugged and pointed a hand at the rising sun. “Take as long as you want, but at the next hour another Atheling dies.”

  Chapter 3

  When Regg returned, Guinevere handed Revan to her and sighed, pulling her knees into her chest. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. I never really thought he’d…that I wouldn’t be there when…” She fell silent and lowered her head. Face hidden, she gritted her teeth and did her best to stop the hot tears from falling. Be strong. Be strong, Revan needs you, Mathyew’s voice echoed in her head and she stifled a sob, drawing a deep, shuddering breath.

  “What’s your plan?” Regg asked in a softer voice, rocking Revan. The boy sniffed and whimpered, but quieted down.

  Guinevere blinked away her tears and banished her emotions, becoming the Lady of Athel once more. “I don’t know.”

  Much to the despair of the two Valkyries, the sun continued across the autumn sky, sapping away their time and resolve. Guinevere’s stomach knotted with anger and frustration. As far as she could tell, they had two choices: captivity or death.

  Regg glanced up at the sky and paced back and forth. Their time almost up, she sat down next to Guinevere, who was running her hands through Revan’s golden hair and humming an old Valkyrie war hymn.

  “What is your decision?”

  Guinevere continued to hum and then looked up, expression calm. “If they want us, they will have to come take us. There’s nothing we can do for the prisoners.”

  A wave of sickness swelled in Guinevere’s stomach as she thought of the Athelings down on the beach. Seeing Regg’s face, she knew her friend was thinking of them too. “My first duty is to my son, Regg,” Guinevere said. “I won’t save him or the prisoners on the beach by going down there. They’ll kill them anyway.”

  Regg nodded, her mouth dry. “We’d better get our weapons ready, then.”

  Holding back out of sight of Fitch and his scouts, Guinevere and Regg tightened down the straps on their leather armor and armed themselves. With one last squeeze, Guinevere leaned the spear she’d been holding against the cliff. It was a good weapon, of Valkyrish make, just like the swords, axes and bows they carried. When she and Regg had left, it was the only dowry Guinevere’s mother had given her.

  “For when your infatuation with that Atheling boy dies and you have enough sense to return to your own people, where you belong.” She could still hear her mother’s words years later, the last spoken between them. When news reached them that Arund marched for the Athelon Valley, Guinevere surrendered her pride and sent a plea for help to the Valkyries. She wasn’t surprised when the request went ignored, but it stung nonetheless.

  “Time is up, Lady Guinevere!” Captain Fitch’s voice carried over the cliff ledge and set a chill of dread in the Valkyries’ hearts. “What will it be?”

  Guinevere looked at Regg, who nodded and squeezed her shoulder before taking Revan. Mustering as much dignity as she could manage, Guinevere walked to the edge of the cliff. Below, Fitch and his scouts watched her, hands on their weapons. Behind them, the prisoners gazed at their liege lady, a mixture of blank, fierce and hopeful faces.

  “Your answer, lady,” Fitch said after several long moments passed. “I’ll have it now or the killing starts.”

  Guinevere looked back at Regg holding Revan in her arms and then across to Athel, its mountainside still smoldering in the red dawn. At last her eyes fell on the prisoners — a ragged collection of old and young alike, the last remnant of Athelings and refugees from the White Knight’s bloody civil war. The sight of them tugged at her broken heart.

  “If I surrender myself to you, will you let my handmaiden and these prisoners go free?” she said at last.

  “Guinevere, no!”

  The Lady of Athel held up a hand at Regg’s cry of dismay and stood as stoic as she could manage, waiting for Fitch’s reply. The scout captain looked up in surprise, his snaggletooth drawn in a ratlike grin. “You’ve got yourself a deal, milady.”

  Guinevere sighed and turned to say goodbye to her friend and son. Hearing the cries of outrage ring out from the prisoners, she paused.

  “Don’t do it, Lady Guinevere!”

  “We’ll never bow to the White Knight!”

  “For Lord Mathyew!” One of the prisoners, a burly man long past his prime, roared and leapt to his feet, charging Fitch. Following his lead, the rest of the prisoners — old, young, sick and wounded — rose like a wave and threw themselves at the scouts.

  “No!” Guinevere screamed. “Stand down! Stop! Stop, I command you!”

  But the Athelings fought on, deaf to her pleas as they shouted broken battle cries. It was over almost as fast as it had begun, bare hands and reckless abandon no match for the steel blades of Fitch and his scouts. Guinevere fell to her knees above the massacre and balled her hands into shaking fists.

  Fitch wiped his blade on the corpse of the old man who’d rushed him and sheathed it. Looking around, he wiped the back of his hand across a broken lip and spat on the corpse at his feet. Around him, his scouts picked through the carnage, bending over to finish off any Athelings still living. Amongst the dead were four from his patrol.

  “Star-cursed fools,” Guinevere heard Fitch mutter before he turned his attention back to her. “A brave but hopeless stand, milady. And now, I’m afraid the terms have changed. Surrender yourself, or we’ll come up there and do with your son and handmaiden what we did to this bunch. You have until nightfall to decide.”

  An ever-present gloom hung over the remainder of the day, growing with the shadows as the sun began its descent over the mountains. Fitch posted two scouts to serve as lookouts to watch the Valkyries while the rest of his band threw the dead — scout and Atheling alike — into the tide.

  Guinevere watched the bodies float into the lake. Holding Revan in her lap, she chanted out a Valkyrie death song and the soldiers below shuddered at the strange, hair-raising dirge. When the last forlorn note died in her throat, she bowed her head. “Fates watch over you,” she whispered.

  Regg combed the cliff as best she could out of sight from the watchmen, searching for a route to the top while Guinevere occupied Revan. Oblivious to the danger they were in, Revan played with twigs and pebbles, happy for his mother’s attention. Guinevere stared out over the lake and wondered what Mathyew would do, were he in her place.

  The setting sun dipped beyond the western rim of the caldera that was the Valley of Athel. Smoke and haze shrouded over the dying light, giving the late autumn evening a bloody sheen. Just as the last rays of the sun dipped behind the Purple Mountains, Regg rejoined Guinevere, who was holding a sleeping Revan in her arms.

  “I
think I’ve found a way up,” she said, her whispers quick with excitement. “We’ll have to empty one of the packs so one of us can carry Revan in it, but the climb shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Careful not to disturb her son, Guinevere slid away from Revan and looked where Regg pointed.

  In the twilight, Guinevere saw the path Regg indicated. We might make it. Whether they could climb without the scouts spotting them would be a different story.

  Rushing back to the packs, Guinevere began throwing out anything they could spare. As she finished, Fitch’s voice rose up from the beach.

  “Time’s up, Lady Guinevere. Will you come down?”

  Ignoring the captain, Guinevere slashed two holes in the bottom of the pack and struggled to fit a half-asleep Revan inside while Regg added everything that would fit into their other pack.

  “I don’t want in there,” Revan said, kicking against Guinevere.

  “Sshh, darling, please climb inside,” Guinevere said in a low voice, struggling to be patient.

  “This is your last chance, Lady Guinevere!” Fitch shouted. “Give yourself up now, or the woman and the boy die!”

  “Hurry!” Regg hissed, shouldering her pack.

  Lifting the pack up so Revan’s legs passed through the holes, Guinevere tied the drawstrings so only Revan’s head stuck out and pulled the pack onto her back.

  “I want out, it hurts,” Revan said, fidgeting against her.

  “You’ve got to hold still,” Guinevere said, following Regg toward the spot the handmaiden had picked out. “It’s a game, you’ve got to be really quiet and not move. Can you do that for me?” Revan still didn’t seem convinced, but his struggling somewhat ceased for the moment.

  “So be it!” Fitch’s voice rose in anger. “You chose your fate, milady. Say goodbye to that Valkyrie witch and your brat!”

  Thick clouds passed over the moon as Guinevere and Regg began to climb the ebony cliff face. Their going proved perilous right away — the volcanic rock a mass of jagged edges that cut the climbers’ hands with every grip. The growing cold of the night stole into their fingers, weakening their hold and willing them to slip.

  “Up there!” Guinevere heard the fat soldier shout. “They’re getting away!”

  Ignoring her burning muscles, Guinevere gritted her teeth and continued to climb. Revan started kicking again, oblivious to the fact he’d fall to his death if he fought loose of the pack. Guinevere could only spare an odd breath every few feet to calm him. Three quarters of the way to the top, she risked a look down and saw Fitch’s men cresting the ledge below them.

  Guinevere and Regg pushed harder, climbing as fast as their flagging limbs and deadened hands allowed. An arrow rattled off of the cliff a couple of feet from Guinevere’s head followed by a curse from Fitch.

  “WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT FIRING?” Fitch bellowed. “The White Knight wants Lady Guinevere alive! Get after them!”

  A shrill cry shattered the night above them, followed by a dozen more shrieks atop the cliffs. Lungs burning, Guinevere could only utter a silent curse as arrows and javelins erupted overhead, aimed at the scouts on the ledge and beach. Her blood ran cold. Every Atheling knew those screams: Sylvads.

  Cries of pain proved the projectiles found their mark and the scouts returned fire, some of the arrows striking the cliff face just feet away from Guinevere and Regg. They were taking fire from both sides. Revan’s terrified screams blended in with the war cries of the Sylvads and the panicked shouts from Fitch and his scouts.

  Helpless to protect her son, Guinevere looked up to see Regg hauling herself onto a narrow ledge. With sweat coursing through her hair and down her face, Guinevere mustered enough strength to join her friend. Reaching the ledge, she hugged the rock wall, twisting so Regg could comfort Revan.

  “I wanna go home,” Revan sobbed as arrows and javelins continued to rain overhead.

  “I know, Revan, we do too,” Regg said, doing her best to soothe the child. “But you’ve got to be brave for us, okay? Be brave and quiet as a mouse. Can you do that?”

  Guinevere felt Revan nod in the pack and craned her head around to examine their situation. Pinned down by Sylvad fire, the scouts had temporarily abandoned their climb as they sought cover and tried to return a volley of their own from the ledge and beach below. Apparently unaware of the two women and little boy only yards below them, the Sylvads picked the scouts off one by one. Fitch, realizing it was impossible to reach the women while under attack, glared up at them and signaled a retreat from the ledge.

  “Any ideas?” Guinevere asked Regg. Her arms and legs were growing heavy — they wouldn’t be able to stand on the narrow ledge much longer, but as long as the Sylvads remained, there was no way for the Valkyries to reach the top.

  “Nope,” Regg replied. “I think I’ve found a way up if they ever leave, though. On the bright side, our friend Fitch is in a real bad way down there.”

  As she finished speaking, an arrow struck the rock just above their heads and splintered, showering them with broken bits of wood. Below, Guinevere saw the fat man strike the careless archer, who fell with a Sylvad arrow in his chest the next moment. Close to half the scouts were dead or wounded.

  The survivors backed toward the Lake of Mirrors, arrows and javelins still raining down on them. Unable to withstand the onslaught any longer, they broke and ran eastward along the beach. In the growing darkness, Guinevere thought she saw Fitch in the back, looking in their direction before he too turned tail and fled.

  Above them, the Sylvads let loose another chorus of war cries and raced along the edge of the cliffs after the fleeing scouts. As their shrieks and screams faded, Guinevere breathed a sigh of relief. Minutes later, all was calm.

  Hoping the coast was clear above, the Valkyrie women summoned the last of their strength and dragged their exhausted bodies over the final stretch of rock. When they reached the top at last, they shrugged off their packs and Guinevere pulled Revan free, panting.

  Summoning a hidden reserve of willpower, Guinevere sat up and offered Revan some of their dried meat and fruit. Watching him eat, Guinevere thanked the stars they’d made it. After a short respite, she rose on shaky legs. Seeing her stand, Regg groaned and followed suit.

  “We’ve got to keep moving,” Guinevere said, offering a hand to help her handmaiden up.

  With one last look at Athelon, the three exiles turned northward, into the forest.

  Chapter 4

  “The Mountain Road is our only chance,” Guinevere said, struggling through the thick undergrowth. In the three days since leaving the cliffs, even the last tendrils of smoke had disappeared, removing all trace of Athelon from sight. Only forward, Guinevere told herself with every step. There is nothing behind.

  So far, they’d managed to avoid any Sylvads, but Guinevere’s grip on her spear tightened with each snapping twig and swaying shadow. Although she’d grown up under the eaves of the Ironwood, a forest far darker and more dangerous than any in Athel, Guinevere wasn’t fool enough to believe they could hide from the tree people forever, especially crossing through the heart of their homeland. Sooner or later, the Sylvads would find them. If captured, she and Regg faced a slow death, skinned an inch at a time while dangling from a tree. She didn’t want to think what they’d do to Revan.

  “The Mountain Road hasn’t been safe for years,” Regg said, swatting a branch away from her face. “It belongs as much to the Sylvads as these cursed trees do.”

  “I’d rather fight a hundred Sylvads in the open than a dozen in the forest,” Guinevere said, quoting an old Atheling saying. “We’ll travel faster on the Mountain Road. Our only hope is to pass out of Athel as fast as we can without their notice.”

  Even if they avoided the Sylvads, the Valkyries still faced a wide array of dangerous beasts lurking in the wilds of Athel. Aside from the shadow lynxes, cave lions, bearcats and packs of mountain wolves, the silver moose, golden elk or giant mule deer were just as dangerous if spooked. Right now, the bulls and bucks were in the rut and eager to fight anything that moved. They wouldn’t think twice about trampling two women and a child into the ground. Thinking of the dangers, Guinevere dismissed a wish for a pack of Ulfsarkas, the Valkyrie warriors who rode and fought on the giant Amarok wolves of her homeland.