The Wanderer Pt. 03

A wave of panic washed over her. Where am I? She blinked, tried to shut out the light burning her eyes. A rough chafing against the side of her face made her recoil; cheek stung by the sharp stab of wood. She opened her eyes again and saw clouds peeking through the wagon's awning. CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP- the sound of horse hoofs reached her ears, followed by a loud neighing snort. "Where are we?" Abruptly, the wagon came to a halt, its wooden clapboard digging into her back.

His face turned, eyes shining at her with concern. He climbed into the back of the wagon, gently cradling her head as he put a water skin to her lips. "Are you alright?"

Magdalena gulped and gulped. HMMMM! How sweet the water tasted; finer than any wine that had ever passed her lips. As she drank, her eyes roamed his face. A smooth brow atop sharp cheekbones, their sides thinner than the edge of a blade. A slim nose slightly off kilter; having never met a fist it didn't like. Silky lips almost too soft; verging on indulgent, and just below, a solid chin. Overall, an impression of decadence; a life led in comfort, until one reached the eyes. Then the impression changed, those storm swept grays now cloudy, their hidden depths telling of pain long past... yet still too easily remembered. Old man's eyes in a young man's face... what had caused them to age so, she wondered. This youth-who, without thought, without the chance of any reward whatsoever, had risked his life for hers. Why? "Yes, where are we?"

"On the road." He fussed again, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

"WHAT?! NO! We must return! Only the guilty flee justice." Weak but desperate, her fingers scrabbled at his tunic then thudded down, the simple effort taking the wind out of her.

"Wetting the executioner's blade with your neck isn't justice. Besides, it's too late. By now the king's soldiers would've returned to the village; searching for their comrade."

"Are you a man of honor?"

"Why?"

"ARE YOU?" The fire in her eyes blazed at him, even as the rest of her face dimmed, the sickness leeching away all color, leaving naught but stretched parchment over sharp jutting bones.

"Aye."

"Then honor your oath and return me to the king's court."

"But it's naught but your word-"

"Yes and it's all I possess. More precious to me than any which coin can buy. None would take it from me once given."

"-and the dead body of one of the king's own. Would you be buried along side of him?"

She looked at him, those fervent eyes, the hard steel line of her jaw, silently telling him all he needed to know.

He shook his head and finally gave a sigh. "As you will. We should be at the king's castle in a fortnight."

"Where did you get the wagon?"

"From the blacksmith's widow. She'll have little use of it, now that he's gone."

"Ohh..." she stretched, her hand trying to ease the soreness in her lower back.

"My apologies, the wagon makes for a sturdy, if uncomfortable bed." His knuckles rapped hollowly against the wagon's side.

"Doesn't matter-uuhhh-" she made as if to sit up then lay back with a deep groan. After catching her breath, she said, "-as long as we get there."

"We will. But first a detour."

"Detour? Where to? Why?"

"The forest. Mayhap I'll find some herbs."

"Herbs? What for?"

"To soothe your pain." Gently, his hand stroked her forehead, brushing aside the damp curls.

She pulled back, her eyes suddenly like those of a cornered animal. Still unaccustomed to his touch, she shivered. Never had the hand of another caressed her so; and him being a stranger!

"Your belly? Does it hurt still?" He quickly withdrew his hand. The fingertips were still warm, heat lingering from where he had touched her.

She shook her head but her lips squeezed tight; a sheen of sweat visible just above her mouth.

"Alright, lie still as you can and I'll go slowly." So saying, he hopped back onto the wagon and flicked the reins. The horse whinnied then made forth at a canter.

Magdalena watched the progress of the sun across the sky. The horizon turned from blue to yellow, then yellow to orange as day turned to dusk. The clip clopping of horse hoofs, the fresh summer breeze, the slow steady swaying of the wagon; all blended into a soothing rhythm which soon caused her eyes to droop.

***

"HALT!"

She woke with a start and listened. The voice was harsh, guttural, a note of arrogance clearly defined as the speaker made his demand.

"No one passes through here without paying the toll," the speaker continued.

"Toll? What toll? Only the king's men can collect such."

The stranger, she thought, his voice remaining calm even as the other's grew more menacing with each word.

"We work for the king."

"Oh, where are your uniforms? Your shields, bearing the king's insignia?"

"At the laundry... and as for our shields... they're with the smithy, being shined anew for discriminating connoisseurs such as yourself."

A bout of raucous laughter greeted this remark.

Magdalena stiffened, her heart suddenly pounding as she froze. The sounds of booted feet stomping earth, callused hands slapping thighs, could be heard. The wagon awning hid her for now, but how long before the men discovered her prostate in the back, fear clutching the blanket to her chin?

"Good then, you can escort me back to the castle. I have important news for the king."

The laughter died, the men sharing confused glances as one looked to the other. They were a bedraggled bunch, clothes so stiffened with dirt they'd taken on the texture of old parchment. Their faces were not much better; gaunt cheeks and desperate eyes belying their empty bellies. Whoever they were, it was clear some time had passed since meat had crossed their plates.

"Are you joking or what? GET OFF THAT WAGON! NOW!"

Magdalena bit her lip to keep from crying out in panic. There was a rasping sound, then a metallic rattle as swords left scabbards.

Instead of replying, the stranger stood up in the wagon and threw back his cloak. She heard a wooden creak as he shifted his weight.

A collective gasp from the men as they stared at the stranger. Chain mail glinted; the king's standard clear for all to see as the stranger hefted his shield.

"I'm glad you're all here," the stranger said, his eyes travelling the group then settling back on their leader. "You'll be greatly rewarded for protecting one of the king's own from bandits. I fear there's many about this time of year when the game becomes scarce."

"Bandits? You don't say?" The leader looked to his men, eyes raised sardonically.

They stared back, confusion writ clear on their faces as they slowly lowered their swords.

"How great a reward?" the leader asked, turning back to face the stranger.

"Enough to fill your belly for a week. You and the men who stand so bravely by your side, ready to defend the king's interests." The stranger's eyes found each man's in turn, nodding his assent, and they began nodding in return, hungrily licking their lips at the imagined feast to come.

"And when the week hath gone, our bellies empty once again?"

"But Renfir, a week's nourishment!" said one man in red. The other men bobbed their heads, gnawing bellies sweeping away any caution they might've had.

"Yes Renfir, think of it, a week's worth-" another began to chime in.

"Think?! THINK?! I DO THE THINKING AROUND HERE!" Renfir, clearly the leader, eyed the man coldly, his hand noticeably tightening on his sword hilt.

For a moment, the other man stared back, fear and hunger warring in his face. Then his eyes dropped to his feet as his shoulders slumped.

Renfir's gaze swept the group, checking, nay daring, any foolhardy enough to challenge him. Finding none, he turned back to the stranger. "Your message must be one of import..."

"Aye," the stranger agreed.

"Important enough to risk my men's lives..."

The stranger nodded.

"Their lives don't come cheap. Uncouth as they are..." Renfir's gaze swept over the motley group with a tolerant expression; a long suffering father forced to endure wayward sons, "they're still good men, ready for battle at a moment's notice."

"Name your terms," the stranger said.

"Two weeks food and the right to hunt the king's forest."

"For how long?"

"Long as we want."

"Nay, not even the nobles are granted such."

"Then your journey ends here!" shouted he in red, quickly joined by others as his hand withdrew his sword.

"Two weeks food and I'll talk-"

"NO MORE TALK!" chorused the group as they surged forward, baying like a pack of wild dogs suddenly on the scent.

"Two week's worth and I'll talk to the king, that's all-"

Renfir held up his hand and his men instantly came to a stop, as if yanked back at the last minute by unseen chains. "Agreed."

The stranger shook the reins and the wagon moved forward once again.

Renfir's men formed a tight circle as they walked along with the wagon.

A sharp whistle made the stranger turn his head.

Renfir's fingers were poised at his lips and a piercing tweet was heard as he whistled again. A whistle responded in kind. Leaves rustled and tree branches parted as the point of an arrow pushed out, soon followed by a man holding a bow.

The stranger's eyes narrowed. So... bowmen had been hiding in the trees, their arrows pointed at the wagon all along... well, this bunch wasn't as motley as they first appeared... at least their leader wasn't.

All told, ten men surrounded the wagon as it made its way along the dirt path. Trees grew more numerous as they went on, the foliage becoming so thick the sun's dying rays barely bled through.

to be continued