“That was the thing they fought over?”
“That is what he said. But the Old Mage also held privacy as an issue of honor. In our years together, he never pried into my life and left many parts of his unspoken. While he refused to discuss the issue that separated him and your mother, he often spoke of his love and devotion to her. And how much he missed her.”
Hannah found herself crying softly. She tried to wipe away the tears in such a way that he wouldn’t see. The sway of the horse, the warmth of the air, and the excitement of her second day outside the walls of the castle worked magic in her soul. Not only did she know more about her father than ever before, but the Knight also told her of her mother. She had never thought of her mother as a dancer in a ballroom, probably wearing a beautiful dress made by the Royal seamstresses.
She forced down the desire to return to the kitchen and gloat. The cooks would listen, of course. Then the tales would spread. Rumors would fly between the kitchens, and people would talk about the tall tales Hannah mouthed. Each telling would increase slightly until those hearing about her near the end would listen to fanciful stories holding little truth.
But overall, she found she missed knowing her father more than anything. She’d come so close. Sir James remained quiet and allowed her to sort out her thoughts. He too was a good man.
The man who stepped out into the path and reached for the bridle of her horse was not a good man. He was missing two front teeth, and his filthy clothing and body hadn’t touched water in months. One hand held the bridle, the other a short, ugly knife as he looked at her, licking his lips and allowed a smile to form.
Hannah said, sliding back in the saddle as far as possible, “What do you want?”
His eyes slid past her, to center on Sir James. He said, his eyes never leaving the knight, “Your money and the girl. I’ll be a rich and satisfied man tomorrow.”
Sir James said in a voice as cold as the highest mountain stream, “Release her bridle, step away and you will live to see a sunset today.”
“I have this,” he sliced the air with the little knife.
Hannah heard a soft whoosh of a sound pass beside her ear, followed by a solid thwack. She saw a knife handle protruding from the thief’s chest. The whoosh had been Sir James throwing it, and the thwack, the sound as it struck the man’s chest. The entire blade sank into the man, just a little to the left of center on his chest. The thief still stood, an expression of disbelief on his face as he looked down at the handle. Then he wilted like a flower left out of water on a hot day, only faster.
Hannah turned to look at the knight. He held another knife in his fingers, ready to throw it if needed. He said, “Hannah, move on ahead. I’ll catch up.”
She touched her heels to the horse and went ahead twenty paces before waiting, never once looking back to see what Sir James did. When she heard the other horse approaching, she clucked to her horse and continued on the path, never once looking behind.
The sun sat low in the cloudless sky. When they came to a stream, she finally turned to him and asked her question of which way to go and make their camp by raising her eyebrows. She didn’t yet trust her voice. He pointed upstream. A path along the bank wound downstream, but he wanted to go the other way. Her horse pushed through the tangle of brush growing at the edge of the stream and in a few minutes, emerged into a small clearing only a dozen steps from the water.
“Build a small fire. I’m going scouting.”
She watched him depart on foot, loosening leg muscles with stretching movements as he silently retraced their steps along the stream and disappeared into the green wall. She gathered dead wood and realized she had no flint or iron to spark a fire to life. She looked for dry leaves and twigs, then spotted an old bird’s nest on a branch low enough to reach. The bird had gathered the important supplies for tinder. She took the nest back to the small pile of wood and placed the nest under it, placing the wood like a tent, so it stood to a point. Fire burns upward, so you start it at the bottom. That was a lesson learned from the boy who was the fire starter she had replaced in the kitchen.
After a careful look around to be sure she was alone, her finger generated the flame. The nest caught and the fire spread. The crackle and the welcome scent of smoke relaxed her as she massaged her cold finger. For the first time since the thief held a knife to threaten her, she took a deep breath and felt at ease with the world.
She went to the horses and loosened the saddle cinch straps, but didn’t remove them or the bridles. Sir James had done the same the night before. She assumed he’d left them on in case they needed to flee and couldn’t take the time to saddle them properly. She took them to the water and let them drink their fill, then slipped on the hobbles and let them eat while she kept a close eye on them. Without horses, the remaining trip might take far longer.
When she had the bedrolls spread, she sat near the fire and nibbled a handful of nuts while worrying at what was taking the knight so long. Impatient, she wanted to follow after him but diverted that energy to gathering enough wood to last the night and half the next day. It seemed her whole life revolved around making fires.
Darkness fell, and she slipped off to sleep. She woke twice to feed the fire. Each time she determined to stay awake until Sir James returned, but each time she lost the battle. The third time she woke, she felt his hand placed on her shoulder. She leaped up and hugged him, feeling him stiffen, at the unfamiliar action, then relenting and placing his long arms around her.
“It’s all right,” he said.
“You were gone so long.”
“There were three of them. I had killed one before the others knew I was close, then I attacked the remaining pair together. They were not great fighters, but I wanted information so delayed killing them.”
“You killed three men?” Hannah drew back in horror.
“They were confederates of that one who stopped us on the path. He was too stupid to work alone, so there had to be more.”
“You could have died.”
“If I faced real danger I would have used my bow and put three arrows into them before they stood to defend themselves.”
“That does not sound fair.” Hannah held her hands on her hips, torn between the idea of him facing danger and doing it with honor. The conflict tore at her. Killing is killing, with or without honor, but there is a difference.
He sat and tossed wood on the fire. “I will raise you as my own, per my promise to your father. However, you and I will come to an understanding tonight. You are old enough to have some say in most things, but when it comes to warfare, I make the rules. There is no fight I plan to enter unless it is unfair—in my favor.”
She nodded meekly and sat beside him. “You said you wanted information?”
“How did word of you and the reward reach this far, this fast? You and I traveled all night and all day with hardly a break. How did those men know to watch the road for you? I expected to learn the answer, and I did. The Young Mage working for the Earl accepted gold from someone in the Royal family.”
“That does not explain how these men knew.”
“No, it does not. It seems there is at least one more mage who works against our King. They can communicate across great distances. It is a spell some of them practice, I guess, but no matter. The second mage, one living near here, spread the tale of us and offered the reward for our heads.”
Hannah watched the fire, waiting for him to continue, and when he did not, she grew sleepy again, but managed to ask, “Is our King. . . is he a good man?”