Dappled sunlight cast patterns on the forest floor as Aubrey, Lord Hugh and a guard rode East toward the village of Drellbridge and the surrounding lands. They still had the foothills and mountains to cross before they came to the river which divided Tortall and Tusaine; Aubrey had spent most of the time in deep thought, reflecting upon his exile from Corus. He had only begun to regret not telling Duke Gareth where he had gone; at the very least, he supposed he could have at least said his farewells to the only man who had protected him in the palace, and who had championed him at every turn. He did not doubt that his sudden flight from the city would be taken by the courtiers as a sure sign of his unworthiness and guilt; they would say to themselves, "So, Leander of Wellam was right after all!"
Aubrey supposed he had taken a coward's way out—the Code of Chivalry he'd been taught as a page demanded that he stay and fight for his reputation. But he just hadn't had the heart to stay in Corus, to live among people who watched every move he made with intense suspicion, waiting for him to repeat his father's treason. He had often wondered what his knight-master had seen in him, why the Duke had fought so hard to defend his squire—had Duke Gareth known Alexander of Tirragen in his youth? Perhaps even been a friend? Aubrey had never had the courage to ask; it was too personal a question, on both sides.
Lord Hugh shifted slightly in his saddle, discomfited by his grandson's unnerving silence. "A copper for your thoughts?" the older man asked after a moment.
Aubrey looked at him sharply. "I don't really have much on my mind," the dark boy lied. "I'm just watching the passing countryside."
The Lord of Tirragen clearly did not believe a word of it, but did not press his grandson further on the subject. They continued in uneasy silence, until Lord Hugh announced that they would stop at the mountain top to rest the horses for a short while. Aubrey welcomed the chance to dismount—Magli was a fairly easy mount, as horses went, but even a seasoned rider like Aubrey was glad to get out of the saddle after half a day's ride. When they stopped, he removed the gray mare's bridle and let her drink from a spring that flowed from a rocky outcrop. While she drank deeply of the cold, clear water, Aubrey took a moment to survey the river valley below. The Drell gleamed faintly green in the noontide sun, and beyond the ribbon of water, the flat expanse of central Tusaine stretched out to the horizon. The swarthy youth smiled faintly—now he saw another of Lord Hugh's reasons for wanting someone trustworthy at Drellbridge. The Tusaine War had ended some four years before Aubrey's birth, and the small country to the east had remained placid every since—but as Duke Gareth was fond of saying, "the leopard does not change his spots." The Lord of Tirragen knew, if the King and his companions did not, that Aubrey would keep a watchful eye on any unusual activity on the other side of the river.
"Am I ready for it?" Aubrey wondered to himself. Successfully maintaining Drellbridge and its environs would prove beyond any doubt that he was a true member of the House of Tirragen, and worthy of his shield—but he could not afford to fail. "Of course," he reminded himself, "all of this is contingent on Luach and Martin not having anything that say on the matter." Lord Hugh made fine promises now, but Aubrey knew better than anybody that the Lord of Tirragen's two living sons had the final word these days.
"Aubrey? Is your mare refreshed and ready to go again?" came Lord Hugh's voice.
The youth called out that he was coming, and gently slid the bridle back over Magli's gray nose.
"I didn't mean to sound churlish before," he told his grandfather as they made their way down the mountain pass, "I have a lot on my mind, but I wanted to thank you for offering me a place at Drellbridge."
The old lord smiled crookedly. "It was the least I could do, I suppose," he sighed. "After what Alex—well, you deserved it more than anyone."
Aubrey smiled shyly in return, caught off guard by this unusual display of affection. "You have been the best of fathers, Sir," he said quietly. He thought he saw something shining in the corner of the older man's eye as the Lord of Tirragen replied, "And you have been the best of sons."
*****
Aubrey was so contented in this new-found peace with Lord Hugh that it took him a moment to react when their guard dropped from his horse without a sound. He reined Magli to a halt, and gasped when he saw the arrow that stuck out of the man's chest at a jarring angle.
"Bandits!" he shouted to his grandfather as he spurred his mare forward and whipped his own arrow and longbow up to "ready" position. There must have been some manner of magic at work, for Aubrey's senses tingled once, and then two arrows, fletched with rare griffin feathers, flicked out from the trees. One buried itself in Aubrey's shoulder, lodging itself with a surety and bite that no ordinary arrow should have possessed. The dark youth resisted the urge to slump forward onto Magli's neck in pain, and instead wheeled the mare around to search for his grandfather. Lord Hugh too had tumbled from his saddle, and lay on the path, chest heaving and face contorted with agony.
Two men were approaching from the trees on the side of the road. Aubrey loosed his arrow at one of them, but the man snaked quickly to the side. The young knight readied another shaft, but that arrow lodged in his shoulder had begun to exact its price; his arm crumpled, and the bowstring went slack, useless. The man had had shot at—a heavy-set, blond giant—reach up and easily unseated him.
"Easy with him, Cullen!" came a clear, male voice. Through his haze of pain and fear, Aubrey could discern a strange accent. "Take the arrow out, I want the boy alive," the voice came again. "The other two you may leave, it's only him I'm concerned about." Aubrey felt the big man, Cullen, wrap his beefy fingers around the arrow's shaft—as he pulled it, the world went dark.
Aubrey supposed he had taken a coward's way out—the Code of Chivalry he'd been taught as a page demanded that he stay and fight for his reputation. But he just hadn't had the heart to stay in Corus, to live among people who watched every move he made with intense suspicion, waiting for him to repeat his father's treason. He had often wondered what his knight-master had seen in him, why the Duke had fought so hard to defend his squire—had Duke Gareth known Alexander of Tirragen in his youth? Perhaps even been a friend? Aubrey had never had the courage to ask; it was too personal a question, on both sides.
Lord Hugh shifted slightly in his saddle, discomfited by his grandson's unnerving silence. "A copper for your thoughts?" the older man asked after a moment.
Aubrey looked at him sharply. "I don't really have much on my mind," the dark boy lied. "I'm just watching the passing countryside."
The Lord of Tirragen clearly did not believe a word of it, but did not press his grandson further on the subject. They continued in uneasy silence, until Lord Hugh announced that they would stop at the mountain top to rest the horses for a short while. Aubrey welcomed the chance to dismount—Magli was a fairly easy mount, as horses went, but even a seasoned rider like Aubrey was glad to get out of the saddle after half a day's ride. When they stopped, he removed the gray mare's bridle and let her drink from a spring that flowed from a rocky outcrop. While she drank deeply of the cold, clear water, Aubrey took a moment to survey the river valley below. The Drell gleamed faintly green in the noontide sun, and beyond the ribbon of water, the flat expanse of central Tusaine stretched out to the horizon. The swarthy youth smiled faintly—now he saw another of Lord Hugh's reasons for wanting someone trustworthy at Drellbridge. The Tusaine War had ended some four years before Aubrey's birth, and the small country to the east had remained placid every since—but as Duke Gareth was fond of saying, "the leopard does not change his spots." The Lord of Tirragen knew, if the King and his companions did not, that Aubrey would keep a watchful eye on any unusual activity on the other side of the river.
"Am I ready for it?" Aubrey wondered to himself. Successfully maintaining Drellbridge and its environs would prove beyond any doubt that he was a true member of the House of Tirragen, and worthy of his shield—but he could not afford to fail. "Of course," he reminded himself, "all of this is contingent on Luach and Martin not having anything that say on the matter." Lord Hugh made fine promises now, but Aubrey knew better than anybody that the Lord of Tirragen's two living sons had the final word these days.
"Aubrey? Is your mare refreshed and ready to go again?" came Lord Hugh's voice.
The youth called out that he was coming, and gently slid the bridle back over Magli's gray nose.
"I didn't mean to sound churlish before," he told his grandfather as they made their way down the mountain pass, "I have a lot on my mind, but I wanted to thank you for offering me a place at Drellbridge."
The old lord smiled crookedly. "It was the least I could do, I suppose," he sighed. "After what Alex—well, you deserved it more than anyone."
Aubrey smiled shyly in return, caught off guard by this unusual display of affection. "You have been the best of fathers, Sir," he said quietly. He thought he saw something shining in the corner of the older man's eye as the Lord of Tirragen replied, "And you have been the best of sons."
*****
Aubrey was so contented in this new-found peace with Lord Hugh that it took him a moment to react when their guard dropped from his horse without a sound. He reined Magli to a halt, and gasped when he saw the arrow that stuck out of the man's chest at a jarring angle.
"Bandits!" he shouted to his grandfather as he spurred his mare forward and whipped his own arrow and longbow up to "ready" position. There must have been some manner of magic at work, for Aubrey's senses tingled once, and then two arrows, fletched with rare griffin feathers, flicked out from the trees. One buried itself in Aubrey's shoulder, lodging itself with a surety and bite that no ordinary arrow should have possessed. The dark youth resisted the urge to slump forward onto Magli's neck in pain, and instead wheeled the mare around to search for his grandfather. Lord Hugh too had tumbled from his saddle, and lay on the path, chest heaving and face contorted with agony.
Two men were approaching from the trees on the side of the road. Aubrey loosed his arrow at one of them, but the man snaked quickly to the side. The young knight readied another shaft, but that arrow lodged in his shoulder had begun to exact its price; his arm crumpled, and the bowstring went slack, useless. The man had had shot at—a heavy-set, blond giant—reach up and easily unseated him.
"Easy with him, Cullen!" came a clear, male voice. Through his haze of pain and fear, Aubrey could discern a strange accent. "Take the arrow out, I want the boy alive," the voice came again. "The other two you may leave, it's only him I'm concerned about." Aubrey felt the big man, Cullen, wrap his beefy fingers around the arrow's shaft—as he pulled it, the world went dark.