He glanced back at Nathaniel and decided he already knew the reason.
“Mark?” he heard Arthur call out. “Is that you in there, Mark?”
“Just keeping warm,” Mark shouted back. “What’d your men do to deserve this?”
“Deserve? Nothing. They died in my service, as all men should for their masters. Where is the child? I don’t want him to witness your execution.”
Mark clutched his sword tighter. Behind him, he heard Nathaniel whimper.
“You’d protect him?” Mark asked.
“As if he were my own son.”
Or at least until you have a son of your own, thought Mark. At least until you’ve consummated your marriage to Alyssa, you heartless bastard.
“Listen to me,” he whispered to Nathaniel. “He’s lying, I know it. You need to run, you understand? I know you don’t want to, but you have to try. He’s cruel. I’ve always known it, now just…”
“Mark!” Arthur shouted. “Come out and face this with honor!”
“That way,” Mark said, pointing to the opposite exit beside the driver’s seat.
Nathaniel nodded. Despite his fear, he was holding together. Though they lacked any blood connection, Mark felt proud of the boy. A child worthy to raise, to claim the Gemcroft wealth. A child who’d probably freeze to death in the next twelve hours. He almost thought to change his mind, to carry Nathaniel out and see what Arthur would do. But he couldn’t. If Nathaniel was somehow part of his plans, Mark wanted to ruin them. It was petty, perhaps, but by the gods, he had to do something to avenge his death.
He stepped out from the wagon, his sword still drawn.
5
H aern kept his cloaks wrapped tight about him as he trudged along the road. He felt foolish not preparing for such weather. His feet were numb from the cold, and he’d have givenanything for a thick coat. He’d dressed for stealth when he should have dressed like a bear.
He lacked tools to build a fire, especially given how heavy the snow came down. Movement kept him warm, so that’s what he did. It’d been two days since he saw houses in the distance, farms both large and small. Before that, he’d stayed a night in the comforts of Felwood Castle, stocking up on food and, like a fool, refusing to steal anything warmer to wear. That was before the snow, before he realized just how pathetic he was compared to nature’s forces. His hood pulled low, he stared at the white ground and kept his feet moving. Night was approaching, and he pondered what he’d do. Surely he could find a tree for shelter, and should probably start looking. But he didn’t want to just yet. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him feared the moment he stopped moving he would curl up, fall asleep, and never wake again.
The first time he heard the noise he thought it a hallucination. Then it struck again, and many times after. It was the sound of steel hitting steel, coupled with the neighs of horses. He felt some of his drowsiness leave him. He’d headed north in hopes of discovering the source of the Serpents’ gold. Could they be raiding the caravans?
He urged himself on, and despite the snow that blew in his face, he forced himself to stare straight ahead. The snow was thick, and it seemed as if a white fog had enclosed the land so many yards away from where he stood. When he saw the first rider, it was if he had emerged from another world. Haern dove for the cover of trees, then glanced back to see if he’d been spotted. He hadn’t. The rider turned back and charged into the unseen combat.
Not willing to risk such foolishness again, Haern weaved through the trees, making sure to stay close to the road. If the weather remained foul, it might be days before he found the path. He was no woodsman. The city streets were his home. Out among the trees, in the snow, he felt like a bumbling idiot.
The sound of combat faded. After a few moments of silence, he heard someone yelling. His numb ears at first refused to make words out of the noise. As he followed the sound, he started to understand.
“Where is the child?” he heard a man ask. “I don’t want him to witness your execution.”
Haern surveyed the area from his position amid the trees. Two wagons were pulled close together, the oxen tethered behind them. Eight men on horses mingled about, all with swords or crossbows. The speaker seemed older than the rest, and he wore no armor, just a thick coat of bear skin that Haern felt ready to kill for. All around them lay bodies, their warm blood melting the snow beneath them.
It didn’t make sense. All of the horsed ambushers wore the same insignia, a sickle held before a mountain. This wasn’t the Serpent Guild. They didn’t wear green cloaks. What then? Should he interfere?
Meanwhile the older man continued talking, evidently with someone inside a wagon given how muffled his voice sounded.
“Mark!” cried the older man. “Come out and face this with honor.”
And then it seemed Mark obeyed, stepping from the back of the wagon. He looked young, his armor dark and expensive. The riders circled about him as the older man smiled.
“Hiding during a battle,” he said. “Such shameful behavior.”
“Perhaps,” Mark said. He lunged at the nearest rider. He never got close enough to swing. Two crossbow bolts pierced his back, and he stumbled, his weapon falling from his hand. Haern winced. At least the man died bravely, even if he hadn’t accomplished…
But then he saw the child leap out the wagon’s front and bolt for the forest. Haern’s eyes flared wide. The kid was heading straight for him.
“Get him!” the riders shouted. One took off, dismounted at the forest’s edge, and then rushed on, his sword drawn. Haern flung his back against a tree. Should he interfere? Would they kill him, or merely keep him captive? Was this for ransom? Too much he didn’t know. Too much!
The boy rushed by, followed by the soldier. Haern stared, paralyzed by indecision. If he acted now, he’d reveal himself. Eight riders…what chance would he have? He’d be throwing his life away, and why? For all he knew, the boy belonged to the ambushers.
The soldier quickly gained ground, for he could make longer strides in the snow. He kept his sword drawn, and Haern recognized the way he held the blade in preparation for a thrust. This was no capture. This was no ransom. He ran, feeling slow and clumsy in the snow. The boy glanced behind, saw his pursuer, and then stumbled. Haern wanted to cry out but didn’t dare reveal his location. The soldier thrust. Blood spilled across the snow.
Haern slammed into the soldier with his shoulder, flinging him back. Before he could stand, he drew a sword, slapped aside a weak defense, and buried it in the soldier’s throat. The man gargled blood, quivered, and then lay still.
“You get him?” a man shouted from the road.
Haern ignored him and instead looked to the boy. He lay on his back, his whole body shaking. The thrust had cut deep into his arm, right to the bone. The blade had continued on, piercing his chest. He still breathed, and it didn’t sound wet. The tip hadn’t gone deep enough to pierce a lung. With proper care he might live, but at the moment he was wide-eyed with shock. He’d need time, which at the moment Haern sorely lacked. He sliced off a strip of his cloak and tied it around the boy’s arm, then took the boy’s hands and pressed them firmly against the wound on his chest.
“Stay still and quiet,” Haern whispered, propping him against the nearest tree. “I’ll come back for you, I promise. No matter what you do, don’t let go.”
He stood, drew his swords and looked to the road. Through the snow and trees he saw the thinnest glimpse of the riders. Amid the forest, the horses would be useless. There, he had his advantage, and he’d need every single one. So long as they didn’t know he was there, he had a chance.
He stepped gingerly across the snow, crouched low and hidden behind the trunks. The forest was quiet, and he heard their discussions with ease as they grew steadily heated.
“Terrance!” one shouted. “Where are you? Did the brat lose you somehow?”
“Jerek, Thomas, go look for him, and hurry. I don’t want to be out in this weather any longer than I have to.”
Haern smiled at the lucky break. He stayed to the side and watched two more men walk right past him. He
