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Trial By Fire Chapter 4
By Teach
Cirena burst through the dense forest and into a wide clearing, her feet flashing beneath her as she sprinted through the dappled sunlight toward the copse of woods on the opposite side. She panted as she ran, holding her hand as best she could against her side, where a stitch had formed. Behind her, she could hear the dogs baying and barking and occasionally growling. Perhaps it was a trick of the wind, but her pursuers seemed to be growing much nearer.
She ran on, driven by a low, gnawing fear of what lay in store if the dogs overtook her. She wished that she would only go on the block; a swift and sudden detachment of the head and an instant end to her life would be a blessing compared to life in chains below Gerald’s keep.
But she would be spared the block; no one of noble or royal birth had been beheaded in the kingdom since time out of mind, and her bloodline included two Lords and a Baron. To her way of thinking, there was no kindness in sparing nobility from death in favor of a life languishing in chains. She would not surrender to the Royal Guard and their baying dogs; she would leave them no choice but to put arrows into her or to run her through with steel. She would not, could not, be a prisoner for the rest of her days.
She left the clearing and re-entered the woods, still sprinting with every ounce of strength left in her—which was precious little. Her speed and endurance were the source of both envy and admiration among the boys (and no small measure of disdain among the girls), but for all her ability she was, after all, only mortal. Eventually she would tire. She had decided beforehand that when that time came, she would fall to her knees, draw her small, keen dagger from its place at her waist, and draw as much of the Royal Guard’s blood as she could before they gave her a taste of their steel. She would go out in glory.
She plunged through the copse of woods and onto a beaten track-—not quite a road, but better traveled than a mere path—and dashed directly in front of a cavalry detachment, their mounts thundering along the track at a strong, steady gallop.
The cavalry drew up short, their horses rearing as they came to a halt. Cirena stood there, struck numb, thinking quickly.
“Robbers!” she shouted at last.
Several of the cavalrymen exchanged glances, then looked back at her, nonplused.
“Vandals! Thieves!” She persisted, but still they made no move.
“They intend to raid the storehouses and take all of the ale in the kingdom!” she shrieked.
In almost perfect unison, the twenty horsemen turned their mounts and spurred them forward, rushing to the edge of the woods to meet their foes. Cirena turned in the opposite direction and forced herself to run on, despite the growing pain in her side. As she ran, she could hear the cavalry leader calling for someone to halt. In a moment, she knew, the cavalry would discover that they were face to face with the King’s own guard, and the pursuit would begin anew—-with twenty mounted soldiers added to the mix.
Then, ahead and to her right, she heard the steady beat of hooves on the earth, approaching quickly. She changed course, veering to the left, but was soon overtaken by a lone horseman.
Horseboy, more like. The lone cavalryman she had expected turned out to be a stripling of no more than ten or twelve years.
“What business has a boy like you riding with the King’s Cavalry?”
The boy looked shocked and a little afraid. “I’m not with any cavalry,” he replied, shaking his head insistently.
Cirena looked around. “Then why are you here?”
“I ride in search of Rowan the Brave, to join him on his journey north and help him slay the great dragon Fireblood.”
Despite the pain in her side and the gravity of her situation, Cirena lost all control. The thought of this skinny lad in hand-me-down clothes dueling with a dragon was too much for her beleaguered mind to bear, and she suddenly burst with laughter.
“What’s funny? Fighting a dragon is grave business!” the boy protested.
But she could not answer. She fell to her knees, her body wracked by the laughter that seemed to come from some deep wellspring and refused to abate.
“See here, woman!” the boy demanded, “That will be quite enough!”
This made her laugh all the harder, and she might have grown old and died right there in the forest, unable to stop laughing for all her days, if she hadn’t heard the cavalry trumpet and the baying dogs behind her.
She stood quickly. “A thousand apologies, brave one,” she said sweetly. “I should like to accompany you, to see to it that you have all the female companionship a brave knight could need on such a lonely quest.”
The boy wrinkled his nose in disgust. Perhaps he was too young to be interested in her feminine wiles, she guessed, so she tried a different tack. “I can cook for you.”
“I can cook for myself.”
“You can make candy from potatoes?” she challenged.
The boy looked at her uncertainly. “No,” he admitted.
“Then bring me along, and I shall make sure that your belly is always full.”
He hesitated for another maddening moment, mulling over the situation as the sound of dogs and hoofbeats grew to a great crescendo. At last, he nodded. She dashed to the horse and threw herself on behind the boy’s back, surprising him more than just a little. “Go!” she demanded. “Ride this horse as if you stole it!”
He turned around to look at her uncertainly.
“GO!” she demanded again, and the boy spurred the horse on.
Grimbley slowed his mount to a gallop, then a trot, and at last to a fast walk. They had outdistanced the cavalry on sheer good fortune; the horsemen were riding in a searching pattern, after all, and only trying to keep pace with a lone woman on foot. He had been able to run his horse as fast as she could go—-which was plenty fast—-and now they could afford the luxury of a simple ride in the countryside.
“Why are you running from the King’s men?” Grimbley demanded.
“They would have their way with a young girl like me, outside the King’s sight where there is no justice or mercy.”
Grimbley had no idea what ‘having their way’ might entail, but he assumed it would be something awful, like making her wash their stinking socks and boots and rub their calloused, corny feet. He took sympathy; he would have run from them, too. “And if they caught us both, would they have their way with me, as well?”
The girl stifled a laugh. “Perhaps so,” she answered simply. “Thank you for sparing me of those wicked men.”
Grimbley blushed. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he was rescuing her, and now that she brought it to his attention, he found it a trifle embarrassing.
“What are you called, brave sir knight?”
His face turned a deeper shade of red. “Grimbley Goode,” he answered.
“It is my deepest pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said primly, and offered her hand. Grimbley released one of the reins and clumsily took her hand in his own. He bowed his head slightly, awkwardly, and kissed the back of her hand, grimacing all the while.
“I am Cirena Coven,” she said.
“Of the family of Baron Coven?” Grimbley asked, awed.
“The very same. Baron Coven is my uncle.”
“Then you are rich,” he assumed.
Cirena laughed. “No, my uncle is rich. I am only the child of his sister, after all, not a baron myself.”
Now it was Grimbley’s turn to laugh. “A lady baron,” he said. “Imagine!”
“There are Baronesses all over the kingdom,” Cirena spat indignantly.
“But only because they’re married to Barons,” Grimbley pointed out.
“In time,” Cirena vowed, “I shall become the first true Baroness in all of the Five Rivers. Perhaps I’ll even become Queen.”
“Gerald’s sons are all spoken for,” Grimbley argued.
“I don’t mean I’ll become Queen by marrying one of those drunkard swine,” she said with disgust. “I mean that someday I may seize the throne and become the first Queen ever to rule by a means other than the King’s death.”
“Nonsense,” Grimbley argued, laughing. “You would seize the throne? From Gerald? Now I understand, you’re having sport of me.”
“Think what you will,” she said, and then changed the subject. “What business has a skinny lad like yourself going off to hunt a dragon?”
“I caused Rowan to have to go,” he explained. “Now I am responsible for him.”
“Pish,” she retorted. “He’s a great and decorated warrior. What could you possibly do to be of any service to someone like Rowan?”
Grimbley ruminated on this point for a long, quiet moment. “I could carry his sword,” he offered weakly.
Cirena laughed again. “And what a grand, important duty that would be. You might earn yourself a place in the historians’ scrolls. It shall read, ‘Grimbley the Sword-bearer, faithful assistant to Rowan the Brave. Came very near a dragon and only made water in his pants once.’”
“Stop that!” He insisted. “Stop that at once. Make no more sport of me, or you can go on your own way, potato candy or none.”
Cirena became still, and for a long moment, silence unraveled between them. “Accept my apology,” she said at last, with a soft sincerity so different from her keen-edged sarcasm that Grimbley felt the impulse to turn and see that she was indeed the same girl.
“Very well then,” he said, tilting his chin up just a bit. “And when might I expect some of that candy?”
“I must confess, I cannot remember exactly how it is prepared. But I am most proficient at roast rabbit.”
“Pish! Any idiot with a fire and a hungry belly can roast a rabbit. What else can you do?”
“A cobbler’s pie from fresh berries,” she offered.
“Now you have my interest,” he said enthusiastically.
Maybe, he thought, it wouldn’t be so bad to have this girl along.
Questions and comments appreciated!
©2004 James Clark
8/25/2004 5:56:05 PM
(Updated: 9/10/2004 4:04:30 PM)
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