Chapter 6, took a lot longer than I thought it would. I didn't really work on it as much as I usually do, I had a whole lot of work in school recently, but we're in the last few weeks now and I should get back to updating regularly. =)
Please read and review! It's a big help in motivating me to update quickly. ;)
Dane woke in a way very similar to the way he'd fallen asleep the past few nights, with the coverlet wrapped tightly around him, smothering out any light. He stretched and drew himself up onto his elbows and poked his head out of the blanket. After several fits of rapid blinking he guesstimated that it was well after sunrise. The weary thief staggered out of bed, still feeling the dulling ache of fatigue rooted in his bones. He cursed violently as he pulled on clothes, stopping to run a hand through his sleep tousled hair as he slipped from his room.
Dane had been on the move for at least three days now, riding all day and well into the night before stopping off at any Inn he came by, or discreetly sleeping in the barns of farm houses. He bemoaned his exhaustion, but he pushed himself on despite it. He was only a day or so ride from Murdock's tower, where Marwick awaited him.
The Innkeeper called him a greeting as he hastened towards the door, slinging a pack over one shoulder. The portly man was many years older than Dane, with brown hair streaked with gray and a beard to match. His nose was curved and lengthy, almost like a birds.
"No time for breakfast?" The Innkeeper asked, and Dane slowed his pace. He wouldn't be able to travel if he was starved, and the prospect of food made his stomach twinge with a weakening hollowness. It was the pungent scent of fresh baked bread that truly caused him to gravitate to the counter where the Innkeeper was.
"Sweet rolls?" Dane asked, mesmerized by the drifting whiffs of food.
"Sweet, sourdough or rye, whatever you like." The Innkeeper smiled encouragingly and Dane fished into his pocket for a handful of coins. He stayed long enough to down a cup of coffee and two sweet rolls drizzled with cinnamon. Dane took two more with him as he headed out to the stable to saddle Shadowmere. The horse tossed its head in greeting to his master and Dane gave the familiar black and white neck a comforting pat.
"No time to waste, Shade," he murmured as he led the horse from the stall. He swung astride with a yawn and nudged Shadowmere forward into a trot. Once they cleared the small settlement and the cobbled streets Dane sent Shadowmere into a swift lope.
Once more his surroundings passed Dane in a swirl of twisted scenery.
Halt left the castle of Araluen only a day and a half after Dane made his escape. The route he took was similar to Dane's, and he followed in the thief's trail for the first day. The trail that Dane had left was easy enough to follow, and the night of his escape Halt had spent mapping the pathway. Now as he rode Abelard past hilly undergrowth and the sprawling plains of Uthal he tried to guess where Dane could be heading.
What awaited the thief in the Southern most part of the fief? Halt wondered, if that indeed was where Dane intended to go. So far Halt had found it to be likely the thief had been heading distinctively South for a reason, his path never wavering. Halt hadn't yet decided if it was some ruse of Dane's or not yet. Halt had stopped at several small towns and simple settlements along the way, asking about an auburn haired, gray eyed man riding a distinct piebald stallion. So far Halt's search and questions had been resourceful, he estimated that he was only a day or so behind Dane. Somewhere along the way Dane would slip up, and Halt would catch him. He intended to bring the thief back to Araluen, dead or alive.
It was almost midday when Halt reached the town of Wheatstone. It was little more than a village with an old mill and a vast stretch of a wheat field. The stone mill overlooked the sprawling field, giving the little town it's name. The little town was one of the southern most towns of Araluen, and wherever Dane was heading couldn't be long off now. Wheatstone only had one Inn, making it a simple affair for Halt to inquire about Dane. The Innkeeper had seen the thief, that was for sure. The recognition that dawned on the elder man's face confirmed that.
"Stayed a night here last night, quite a young fellow, with an air of urgency about him too." The Innkeeper chuckled heartily, "I got the fellow to stay for a quick breakfast anyways. No one can resist a sweet roll."
Halt hid his impatience, "When was he last here?"
The Innkeeper frowned and tugged at his dark beard in thought, "Just about mid morning, I'd say."
"Did he say where he was heading to?"
"Nope, didn't have much to say at all," the portly man looked past Halt at a stable hand that had slipped into the Inn for midday meal. "Thomas ought to know where the young fellow got to."
Thomas, the young and stubborn stable hand took a bit more coaxing before he would tell Halt any of Dane's whereabouts. Only after Halt had bought the youth a bite to eat and something hot to drink he consent to tell Halt a word about Dane's whereabouts.
"He left mid morning in a bit of a hurry, wouldn't let me saddle his mount but gave me a coin for the offer anyways. He headed off to the South, towards the cliffs."
Halt watched the stable hand with disguised intent. "Is there anywhere he might be heading along those cliffs?"
The stable hand shook his head and stayed silent for the longest of moments. "There's an old deserted watchtower up in the cliffs, but that's about it. As far as any sane man is concerned there's nothing up there worth the hike."
Halt cocked an eyebrow, "What kind of hike are you speaking of?"
Thomas rubbed his stubble specked chin, "There's a patch of rocky forest that flanks the watchtower. It's the perfect place for someone to hide out at, a place as desolate as that. Not exactly a good place for a picnic, unless you like dining with bandits."
It took Halt the rest of the day to reach the boulder strewn clearing that marked the beginning of the rock littered forest. It was little more than a thin band of green and gray as he rode towards it, and in the distance he could see the distinct blue washed stone of the watchtower. It was at least a days ride away, at the most, but Halt rode on as he picked up the fresh marks of hoof prints in the Earth.
Dane wasn't far off. But neither was Marwick.
Dane's plan was put into action that very day as night began to settle over the land. From the forests rocky edge he could see the tower, a tall mass of dark blue stone that rose into the sky, blending into the falling light neatly. Overhead clouds were gathering, smothering out the stars and the moon that glittered in the abyss of the dark night. As the last bit of light was blotted out Dane nudged his mount forward, a stolen sword scabbard hanging from his waist.
At a closer distance to the tower Dane could see that it was much larger than he had thought. It was wide and thick, covering a hefty distance of twisted and rubble strewn earth. A small line of battlements had been constructed around the tower itself, and along the ten foot high ramparts walked guards, most of which had drawn crossbows and aimed them at Dane.
As he neared the tower he swung down from the saddle, a hand moving to touch the sword hilt at his hip for confidence. He called a greeting to the guards, and with the hood back on his shoulders they recognized him easily. From the startled and confused looks on their faces he guessed word must have gotten to them that the King's killer had been dealt with, and they probably assumed that Dane was six feet under.
"What do you want?" The captain of the guard called to the thief. Dane met the eyes of the guard, a man in his late thirties with a trim beard and a fierce gaze.
"Is this all you'll need?"
Peronel looked up from straightening her borrowed tunic. She smiled with gratitude at Martha, the Captain of the Guard's beloved wife. Peronel had so much to thank Martha for, especially now.
The young woman stood across from an elderly woman in a large room that was Martha's bedchamber. With light wood walls and a stone floor the room was a bit dowdy, lit by a small crackling hearth on one side of the room. A broad bed and a chest stood at the other side of the room behind Martha.
"Yes, thank you, so much, Martha, I owe you my life."
"None sense, girl," Martha told her. The older woman was tall and slim, with a bird like elegance. She had a beak like nose to match, a pointed chin, and bright blue eyes. Her hair was fading to a gray streaked blonde, but her kindness was unperturbed with age. Her husband's lord and his avaricious cravings had made Martha a defiant woman indeed. For years she'd defied the Lord Marwick with outright hatred and disgust, and now she furthered her audacity by helping the young, and still very much alive Peronel.
The maidenly woman stood before Martha in the distinct attire of a Lordly messenger, from the brilliant blue tunic down to the soft leather boots. Martha had even found an old shattered sword that belonged to her husband that was worthy of decorative use. Standing back to admire her handy work, Martha had to admit, she'd done well with this one.
Peronel was of average womanly height, short for a man and a bit weedy, too. Though some young men were that way, and Peronel would pass for one of these uncommonly thin messengers without a second thought. With her chest bound tightly and her tunic a bit loose, Peronel squared her shoulders. She put a hand to the hilt of her broken sword, the recently polished pommel gleaming and rust free for the occasion.
"Do I look convincing?"
Martha smiled, and her eyes crinkled at the edges and reminded Peronel that Martha could be a humorous woman at times. It accented her friendly and warm persona that made her such a dear friend to Peronel even for the short time they'd been acquainted.
"You'll do just fine deary, the guards won't think twice about you once we tie up your hair and get a cloak on you."
Peronel nodded, feeling a bit queasy about what they we're doing. If they were caught there was no telling would happen to both of them. Lord Marwick was known for being rash and impulsive, and he would be angry for their defiance. What he might do in his rage would surely spell the end for Peronel.
With Martha's help Peronel was able to bundle back her mess of blonde hair and tuck it deep into a cowl of an ashen gray cloak that Martha provided. The final touch was a worn satchel of a common messenger, and underneath the rolls of thick parchment was a small bundle of provisions and a cask of drinking water.
"Well, that's it deary." Martha said, a bit sorrowfully. Peronel embraced her friend tightly, promising herself that she was going to keep Martha in her prayers for a while yet.
"I really wish you'd come with me, it would make running away a little easier to bear with someone else," Peronel told her friend.
Martha nodded and felt a pang of sympathy for the young maid. "You'll be fine, deary. They won't know you're gone until your too far for them to go after. You'll get away from here, even if I won't."
Peronel sighed, she knew that Martha would never leave without her husband. The elderly woman swore that she loved him with all her heart, no matter who he served or what he did.
And Peronel of all people knew what it was like to love someone so imperfect, for Dane was no better in what he did. How wrong it was to love someone who went against everything she had ever been taught. It was simply wrong for her to feel this way for someone who walked the thievish ways of a rogue.
But then why did her heart ache with such a dire agony at his loss?
Well that's it for this Chapter. Shouldn't be long for the next one. I know I had some grammar and spelling mistakes in this chapter, and I'll probably go back and revise this when I have the time.
I'm excited that we finally get to meet the famed Peronel, and I'm pretty frantic about the next installment.
Please read and review! It's greatly appreciated!