Margaret Foss, called Maggie, was not what anyone would call beautiful. She had a large, blunt nose, red from the cold, and huge, brown eyes, a hard little face, stubborn round chin, and a tangle of riotously curly hair the color of dead grass. Two years of hardship and vagrant living had made their mark upon her, weathering her nut-brown skin, making her sharp-tongued and short-tempered. And yet, beneath all the dirt and quarrelsomeness and cunning, there was a sort of elusive prettiness. Although she would never have admitted it to Cullen or any of the band, she had often daydreamed in her early days with the outlaws that a knight would come charging through the trees to carry her away to a great white castle, or that she was really a great lord's daughter, instead of a runaway farmer's girl. Those dreams had died during her first night with Eryth, Cullen and their men--none of them were either gentle or skilled with women, and the truth of her situation had hit her like a blow to the face--but some inkling of them had survived, unbeknownst to her.
So, it was with wonder and a touch of bitter nostalgia that Maggie observed the pretty, fine-featured boy that Cullen, Eryth and the Sorcerer brought back to the camp, unconscious and bound with stout rope. He was dressed in plain clothing, but she was not fooled. His dark, young face held some of the groomed beauty of the nobility, and his hair and nails were clean and neatly trimmed.
"What are ye doin'?" she spat at the three men, directing an acid look at Cullen. The huge, fair-haired man looked uneasy under her glance.
"Followin' orders," he answered jerking his head at the other two. "I know 'tain't usual to bring 'em back to the camp, but the Sorcerer here, he was most insistent."
Maggie turned her gaze upon the tall, golden-skinned man who stood aloof from the other two outlaws. He looked like a Carthaki or perhaps a K'mir, coldly handsome with a proud hawk nose, and icy, hooded eyes. Those eyes were flat gray, like silver coins, clear and sharp and shrewd; they sent shivers up her back. There were few people who cowed Maggie, but the Sorcerer was one of them. She had watched him with deep misgiving since he had first associated himself with their band. He nodded slightly at her, almost challenging her to question his wishes.
"Ye've gone to a lot o' trouble to get yuir hands on that boy, I see," she snapped after a moment, crouching down by the fire with her back to them. "D'ye plan to just drop him there, and leave him in the snow all night?"
"Warm him up by the fire," the Sorcerer said curtly. "Maggie, I want that arrow from his shoulder."
Maggie felt her lip curl into a snarl as Cullen and Eryth carried the boy's limp body over and slung it down near her. "What does he want with this one?" she wondered to herself, pulling her ragged and dirt-streaked cloak from her shoulders and covering the dark youth with it. She knew that the Sorcerer had employed Cullen, Eryth and their men to capture a boy named Aubrey of Tirragen, and that he had lain in wait for this moment for nearly two months. "He'll be hounded from Corus soon, I've made sure of it," the Sorcerer had promised the men, when they complained that they waited in vain. "He'll come—I haven't watched him for eighteen years just to misjudge him now."
She rubbed her hands once to warm them, then turned down the edge of the cloak to see to the arrow. The arrowhead was buried deep in his left shoulder; sawing away with her paring knife, Maggie cut the shaft of the arrow away, leaving just enough for her to grip. Her hands trembled as she worked—she had seen her father do this once, years ago, but she'd never done it herself. A quick glance at the Sorcerer's fierce, raptorial face told her that if she failed to save the boy, her own life would be forfeit. She fit her hand around the shaft, closed her eyes and pulled.
*****
A sudden, tearing pain in his shoulder quickly wrenched Aubrey to his senses, bringing him up out of the darkness. He gasped, involuntarily lashing out, only to find himself securely bound. His feet connected with something, and he heard a muffled grunt as someone fell backward.
"Get him up!" a man called—it was the same, accented voice Aubrey remember from before. "Put him by that oak over there—I wish to speak to him privately." The young knight felt himself being lifted by his legs and elbows, but was in too much pain to put up much of a struggle. His two captors dumped him unceremoniously beneath a tree some distance away.
"Go," rang out that strange voice again; the sound of boots in the snow faded into the distance. When they had departed, Aubrey wriggled a bit in his bonds, trying to find a weakness or a way to loosen the ropes. But these men knew their craft well. He sighed in defeat, and relaxed against the oak, trying to make himself comfortable at least.
"Knowing Eryth as I do," came a voice from the shadows, "you'll find no release from those ropes on your own." A tall man who made Aubrey shiver stepped out from between the trees. A self-assured smile crossed the handsome, angular face as the man stooped down to be eye-level with Aubrey. "I know who you are, Aubrey of Tirragen. I know whose son you are. I have come to make a bargain with you."
Oh Gods, Aubrey thought, panic rising within him. "Explain yourself," he demanded, in as imperious a voice as he could summon, calling upon all of the honor of his tentative connection with the House of Tirragen. The man smiled, and gave Aubrey a deceptively friendly pat on the cheek. "Your line was so useful to my old Teacher…perhaps you have heard of him?"
There was no doubt in Aubrey's mind as to who the man was referring to. "Roger," he said flatly, feeling nausea in the pit of his stomach. The man nodded. "Yes…but that is beside the point. I have waited a long time for you, Aubrey. I have watched you. I know what you are searching for. You search for a prince, a king among men. You always have, just as your father did. Alex found his king in Duke Roger: he fell in love with Roger, in a way. The Duke seemed to him to be the very semblance of honor, compared to Jonathan, a man he could serve and devote himself to for all of his days. You search for the same thing, a great man among all of the people of this world, and you have not found him yet. You sought your king in your uncles Luach and Martin, and did not find him. You sought him in King Jonathan, and in Duke Gareth, and did not find him…"
Aubrey huddled against the trunk of the oak tree, frightened and miserable. How did this man, this stranger, know his inmost thoughts? "You think I will see this king among men in you?" he managed, voice cracking. The man gave him a hard look, but could not come up with an answer to that. Aubrey shook his head, gaining courage from the man's silence. "You are not the one I have been looking for," he said quietly.
A nasty, cruel smile crossed the man's face. "Do you know why you have not found him?" he asked. "Because he does not exist. Wake up, child. Wake up, and make what you can of this world. Do not make your father's mistake!"
Aubrey hung his head in despair. The man was right. He had seen enough of the world and of men's cruelty to know that such a man as he sought could not possibly exist. "What bargain would you make, then?"
Again, that cruel smile. "Serve me, even though I am not the great king that you seek. Serve me, and I shall release you now and make you a great man. I will make you Lord of Tirragen, and you establish yourself as a great man, and clear the name of Tirragen from your father's treachery."
Aubrey looked at the man solemnly. "It is true that I wish to restore my family's honor, and my own honor. But what would the cost be? My rise to Lordship would mean the deaths of my grandfather and uncles. I would not have their blood on my head."
"Your Grandfather is wounded, and old, and is not long for this world. And Luach and Martin bear you no love, Martin especially. What are their deaths to you? Alex found his king, and served him well. Are you so much weaker than him?"
The young knight recoiled, and shrank against the tree. "No, I will make no bargain with you," he said. "Even to fulfill my own desires, I would not do such a thing. I am not my father!"
The man frowned, and rose to his feet, brushing the leaf mold off of his trousers. "Well, then. If you will make no bargain with me, then I will leave you to the tender mercies of Eryth and his band."
So, it was with wonder and a touch of bitter nostalgia that Maggie observed the pretty, fine-featured boy that Cullen, Eryth and the Sorcerer brought back to the camp, unconscious and bound with stout rope. He was dressed in plain clothing, but she was not fooled. His dark, young face held some of the groomed beauty of the nobility, and his hair and nails were clean and neatly trimmed.
"What are ye doin'?" she spat at the three men, directing an acid look at Cullen. The huge, fair-haired man looked uneasy under her glance.
"Followin' orders," he answered jerking his head at the other two. "I know 'tain't usual to bring 'em back to the camp, but the Sorcerer here, he was most insistent."
Maggie turned her gaze upon the tall, golden-skinned man who stood aloof from the other two outlaws. He looked like a Carthaki or perhaps a K'mir, coldly handsome with a proud hawk nose, and icy, hooded eyes. Those eyes were flat gray, like silver coins, clear and sharp and shrewd; they sent shivers up her back. There were few people who cowed Maggie, but the Sorcerer was one of them. She had watched him with deep misgiving since he had first associated himself with their band. He nodded slightly at her, almost challenging her to question his wishes.
"Ye've gone to a lot o' trouble to get yuir hands on that boy, I see," she snapped after a moment, crouching down by the fire with her back to them. "D'ye plan to just drop him there, and leave him in the snow all night?"
"Warm him up by the fire," the Sorcerer said curtly. "Maggie, I want that arrow from his shoulder."
Maggie felt her lip curl into a snarl as Cullen and Eryth carried the boy's limp body over and slung it down near her. "What does he want with this one?" she wondered to herself, pulling her ragged and dirt-streaked cloak from her shoulders and covering the dark youth with it. She knew that the Sorcerer had employed Cullen, Eryth and their men to capture a boy named Aubrey of Tirragen, and that he had lain in wait for this moment for nearly two months. "He'll be hounded from Corus soon, I've made sure of it," the Sorcerer had promised the men, when they complained that they waited in vain. "He'll come—I haven't watched him for eighteen years just to misjudge him now."
She rubbed her hands once to warm them, then turned down the edge of the cloak to see to the arrow. The arrowhead was buried deep in his left shoulder; sawing away with her paring knife, Maggie cut the shaft of the arrow away, leaving just enough for her to grip. Her hands trembled as she worked—she had seen her father do this once, years ago, but she'd never done it herself. A quick glance at the Sorcerer's fierce, raptorial face told her that if she failed to save the boy, her own life would be forfeit. She fit her hand around the shaft, closed her eyes and pulled.
*****
A sudden, tearing pain in his shoulder quickly wrenched Aubrey to his senses, bringing him up out of the darkness. He gasped, involuntarily lashing out, only to find himself securely bound. His feet connected with something, and he heard a muffled grunt as someone fell backward.
"Get him up!" a man called—it was the same, accented voice Aubrey remember from before. "Put him by that oak over there—I wish to speak to him privately." The young knight felt himself being lifted by his legs and elbows, but was in too much pain to put up much of a struggle. His two captors dumped him unceremoniously beneath a tree some distance away.
"Go," rang out that strange voice again; the sound of boots in the snow faded into the distance. When they had departed, Aubrey wriggled a bit in his bonds, trying to find a weakness or a way to loosen the ropes. But these men knew their craft well. He sighed in defeat, and relaxed against the oak, trying to make himself comfortable at least.
"Knowing Eryth as I do," came a voice from the shadows, "you'll find no release from those ropes on your own." A tall man who made Aubrey shiver stepped out from between the trees. A self-assured smile crossed the handsome, angular face as the man stooped down to be eye-level with Aubrey. "I know who you are, Aubrey of Tirragen. I know whose son you are. I have come to make a bargain with you."
Oh Gods, Aubrey thought, panic rising within him. "Explain yourself," he demanded, in as imperious a voice as he could summon, calling upon all of the honor of his tentative connection with the House of Tirragen. The man smiled, and gave Aubrey a deceptively friendly pat on the cheek. "Your line was so useful to my old Teacher…perhaps you have heard of him?"
There was no doubt in Aubrey's mind as to who the man was referring to. "Roger," he said flatly, feeling nausea in the pit of his stomach. The man nodded. "Yes…but that is beside the point. I have waited a long time for you, Aubrey. I have watched you. I know what you are searching for. You search for a prince, a king among men. You always have, just as your father did. Alex found his king in Duke Roger: he fell in love with Roger, in a way. The Duke seemed to him to be the very semblance of honor, compared to Jonathan, a man he could serve and devote himself to for all of his days. You search for the same thing, a great man among all of the people of this world, and you have not found him yet. You sought your king in your uncles Luach and Martin, and did not find him. You sought him in King Jonathan, and in Duke Gareth, and did not find him…"
Aubrey huddled against the trunk of the oak tree, frightened and miserable. How did this man, this stranger, know his inmost thoughts? "You think I will see this king among men in you?" he managed, voice cracking. The man gave him a hard look, but could not come up with an answer to that. Aubrey shook his head, gaining courage from the man's silence. "You are not the one I have been looking for," he said quietly.
A nasty, cruel smile crossed the man's face. "Do you know why you have not found him?" he asked. "Because he does not exist. Wake up, child. Wake up, and make what you can of this world. Do not make your father's mistake!"
Aubrey hung his head in despair. The man was right. He had seen enough of the world and of men's cruelty to know that such a man as he sought could not possibly exist. "What bargain would you make, then?"
Again, that cruel smile. "Serve me, even though I am not the great king that you seek. Serve me, and I shall release you now and make you a great man. I will make you Lord of Tirragen, and you establish yourself as a great man, and clear the name of Tirragen from your father's treachery."
Aubrey looked at the man solemnly. "It is true that I wish to restore my family's honor, and my own honor. But what would the cost be? My rise to Lordship would mean the deaths of my grandfather and uncles. I would not have their blood on my head."
"Your Grandfather is wounded, and old, and is not long for this world. And Luach and Martin bear you no love, Martin especially. What are their deaths to you? Alex found his king, and served him well. Are you so much weaker than him?"
The young knight recoiled, and shrank against the tree. "No, I will make no bargain with you," he said. "Even to fulfill my own desires, I would not do such a thing. I am not my father!"
The man frowned, and rose to his feet, brushing the leaf mold off of his trousers. "Well, then. If you will make no bargain with me, then I will leave you to the tender mercies of Eryth and his band."