‘I know you’re hungry,’ he told her. ‘So am I. Soon we’ll have a warm fire and we’ll eat.’
The spark for the fire came from the flint he’d had the foresight to pack for himself, and soon he had a fragile flame brewing. He nurtured it, blowing on it gently, allowing it to spread through the twigs and dried leaves. It was work that needed patience, a virtue the king had never possessed in abundance. Driven by hunger, he blew too hard and extinguished the flames.
‘Damn it!’
His voice carried with amazing clarity through the forest. He lifted his head, cursing his stupidity. Thankfully, only the normal sounds of the forest replied to his shout. He set to work again, more carefully this time, and in a few minutes had a satisfactory fire. Any highwayman that wanted to find him could simply look for their light, so he kept it contained to the small hole he had dug.
Next came food. Hella the innkeeper had kindly given them milk, and he began by feeding Poppy from a waterskin filled with the stuff. The infant was grateful for the food, but even more grateful to be free of her constrictive harness. As Lorn leaned against a tree near the fire, Poppy nestled comfortably in his arms, sucking from the waterskin with an expression of pure contentment. Lorn’s empty stomach rumbled at the thought of food. He was patient with his daughter, though, and took his time feeding her.
Night fell quietly. The crackling of the fire put them both at ease. Lorn soon forgot about the caped figure and turned his thoughts toward Koth. He was eager to see the city, though he knew it was ruined now
‘A shame,’ he whispered.
The mad King Akeela had made Koth envied and feared, stretching its influence across boundaries and endless miles. While Norvor wallowed in civil war, Liiria and its capital had grown strong and fat. But that, too, had ended and it saddened Lorn. Why did the world have to fall into chaos, he wondered? Why did the old order change?
‘Because men are ambitious,’ he told himself. He chuckled darkly. ‘Women, too.’
Poppy continued drinking, ignoring her father. Lorn looked at her and smiled. He had been profoundly lonely since leaving Carlion, unable to speak to anyone for fear of divulging his identity. He missed Uralak and the others back home, and knowing they were dead — and that he had abandoned them — haunted him.
‘Indeed I am King Lorn the Wicked,’ he said. ‘But my cause is just.’
When his daughter had finished her meal she remained nestled in his lap. For some reason, Lorn had lost his own appetite and didn’t bother disturbing her. Instead he let her sleep and occupied himself by staring into the fire. Occasionally he moved to throw another stick or strip of bark into the flames, but mostly he was still, lost in his own lonely musings. Exhausted, he soon fell into a fitful sleep against the tree.
As always, Lorn dreamed while he slept. They were troubling, guilt-ridden dreams, so realistic he could not distinguish them from the waking world. Nor could he hear the footfalls of those approaching his camp. He did not open his eyes until the blade was at his throat.
His eyes snapped open, staring straight into a wild face. A mouth of broken teeth smiled at him menacingly. The tip of a sword poked at his windpipe. Startled, he moved back and bumped his head into the forgotten tree. Thankfully, Poppy was still in his lap.
‘Wake up now,’ said the man with the sword. ‘Be a good fellow and no one gets hurt. Especially not the little one, hmm?’
‘What is this?’ growled Lorn. He held Poppy close, but he couldn’t move to his feet. There were two of them; he saw the other one now by his horse, rummaging through his saddlebags. ‘God-cursed brigands!’
The man with the sword pushed lightly on the pommel, pushing the point a little harder against Lorn’s throat. Even at that length Lorn could smell the stink on him. Both men were bearded and covered in filth, their clothes ragged. ‘Be nice to us,’ warned the sword-bearer, ‘or be a dead man.’
Tempted to spit, Lorn said, ‘You’d kill the child too, then. Is that what you are? Baby killers?’
The insult stung the man. ‘We’re not murderers unless you make us murderers. So keep your mouth shut.’
‘If you rob me I’ll be dead just the same,’ said Lorn. He knew he needed time, enough to think of a plan. ‘If it’s food you want I’ve got some to share. But if you’re looking for gold I’m as poor as any man.’
‘You’ve got good boots and a good coat. That’s enough to be starting with.’ The sword slackened a bit as the man inspected Lorn. He was young, despite his broken teeth, but he wasn’t the man Lorn had seen earlier. As the other thief picked through the saddlebags, an awful thought seized Lorn. He had only one lump of gold in the world now — his ring of kingship. In his saddlebags.
The man with the sword looked over his shoulder. Calling to his companion, he asked, ‘Well?’
Lorn slipped his hand to his belt. He felt the round hilt of his dagger and pulled it free.
‘Nothing,’ replied the other. ‘Just food.’
‘Take it.’ The first man looked back at Lorn. ‘You’d better have something more than meat, old man. .’
‘You’re Norvan,’ said Lorn. ‘I can tell — your speech. Why are you in Liiria?’
‘What’s in Norvor to keep us, eh?’ The man glared at Lorn. ‘And why so many questions? If you don’t shut that mouth of yours that little brat will be without a grandfather.’
‘Grandfather? I’m her father, you dolt!’
‘Stay down!’ hissed the brigand. His rapid breathing told Lorn he was afraid. A dangerous man to be sure, but vulnerable. He was losing time, though, and needed the blade away from his throat. If they found the ring. .
‘Hey now, what’s this?’
The other thief stepped away from the horse, toward his friend by the fire. He held an object up to the dancing light.
‘What?’ barked the first man, still not lowering his sword.
‘It’s a ring.’ The older thief stepped closer, his eyes leaping with joy. ‘With jewels!’
Finally, the first man lowered his sword. ‘Let me see that.’ He took two steps away from Lorn, who quickly placed Poppy on the ground beside him. Blood and anger surged through his veins, waiting to propel him forward.
Not yet, he told himself. Wait. .
The man with the sword took the ring from his companion and studied it. ‘Looks valuable,’ he mused. His eyes darted toward Lorn. ‘Where’d you get this?’
‘It’s a family thing,’ said Lorn. His crest was clearly imprinted on the precious metal.
The first man studied the ring some more. ‘This a ruby?’
His companion pointed at the bauble. ‘Nolas, that’s the House of Lorn. This is a royal ring.’ He looked at Lorn suspiciously. ‘You steal this off a royal?’
Lorn nodded. ‘Yes,’ he whipered. ‘Right before I slit his throat.’
He sprang like a lion out of the bush, barrelling forward with his outstretched dagger. The man with the sword — Nolas — leaped back. Lorn screamed, falling upon him and knocking his sword aside, sending it tumbling from his grasp. So too went the ring, spinning through the darkness. The second man was drawing his sword. Lorn kicked at Nolas, catching him in the groin, then turned to the new swordsman. .