Through the Wildwood (4 page)

“You’re—a fargin—bastard—” Matty grunted between the horses bouncing steps. “This—fargin—hurts.”

“Hush woman,” Gregon said. “We’re not out of harm’s way yet. I’ll break your chains as soon as I can.”

A few moments later a low, rumbling growl confirmed his assessment. The sound came from not far behind them and served to give Matty the will to bite her tongue no matter how uncomfortable she was. It also served to hasten Gregon’s pace as they twisted and turned out into uncharted territory.

Vanx hissed to quiet the argument going on between Trevin and Gallarael. It turned out that the two of them were secret lovers. Vanx had the urge to tell the young guard an old saying that kept repeating in his mind:
Like mother like daughter,
but he held his tongue.

He heard something not far ahead of them: voices. Thinking that it might be more of Duke Martin’s bandits, he left the trail, heading north toward Andwyn. This seemed to lift the spirits of his two passengers. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that it was only a false trail he was creating. In a few minutes they were going to backtrack south into the Wilds.

I picked a special flower

to make my Molly purr

but right after she kissed me

she said two coppers sir.

– Parydon Cobbles

G
allarael jerked awake. The moon was low in the sky and the sounds of the night—the chirps, hisses and resounding croaks, wafted on the cool, late-spring breeze. The smooth, rolling gait of the haulkatten rocked her body gently back against Trevin. Reflexively, he tightened his arms around her waist in a reassuring hug. This caused her to smile and she leaned into him as the memory of her situation came to her.

“I feel like I’ve slept the night away and yet the moon has barely risen,” she observed in a whisper.

“It’s almost dawn, my lady,” Trevin replied hesitantly. “The slave switched us back the other direction several hours ago.”

“What?”

“Shhh!” Vanx hissed from his place in front of her in the hauler’s saddle. “You’ll wake the night beasts.”

“It’s night, fool,” Gallarael snapped back at Vanx. “They should already be awake.” The realization of the truth of her own statement caused her to lower her voice as she continued. “Are we in the Wilds then?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Yup,” Vanx answered. “And heading directly for Dyntalla so we can catch a ship to Parydon Isle.”

“Parydon?” She scrunched up her face trying to figure out why. Trevin started in with the answer after putting her hood back over her head.

“We have to hide your hair, my lady, for it shines like gold in the moonlight.”

Vanx snorted at the smitten guard’s words.

“Those men that attacked, they were your father’s men,” said Trevin. “Vanx says that they were sent to kill him for what he and your — your mother did to the duke’s honor.”

“Those were trolls that attacked,” Gallarael said defensively. She knew she’d seen a troll. “My father doesn’t command mountain creatures.”

“Trolls don’t use bows, girl,” Vanx chuckled over his shoulder. “The bandits sent to murder me were careless. They were followed right into our camp by the bloodthirsty fiends.” The emphasis he put on the word murder wasn’t lost on her. “The bandits killed Amden and the rest of the slaves before the trolls descended on the mess.”

“Oh, the poor captain, and Sterven Trent,” Gallarael leaned deeper into Trevin. “He was a good man, one of mother’s favorites.”

Trevin resisted saying the first thing that came to his mind, as did Vanx. Trevin saw that it was a struggle for the slave to hold his tongue. Then Vanx turned and spoke to Gallarael kindly.

“Your father meant to have them all murdered, and poor Captain Moyle was part of the plot.” Vanx lifted his fierce, sea-green eyes to meet Trevin’s, and then he met hers again. “When we get to Parydon you will set this all straight, Gallarael. I’ll not spend the rest of my life avoiding kingdom lands or hiding like a thief. I did nothing wrong but fall prey to the wrong woman’s advances.”

“How can you ask me to speak against my own father?” Gallarael looked back to Trevin for help. He winced, and for the first time began to see Vanx’s side of it. He too had once been in the duchess’s sights, but was saved by Gallarael’s affections. Had Gallarael not told her mother of her feelings, he would have become another notch in the duchess’s bedpost.

“He’s not your real father,” Trevin reminded. “Monster was the word you used, if my memory serves.”

Gallarael slumped in the saddle. Duke Martin wasn’t her true father, but he didn’t know it. Her mother claimed that her real father was someone far more important than the power-drunk Duke of Highlake. Still, Humbrick Martin loved her, and thought she was a child of his own loins. He treated her with more love and affection than any princess of the kingdom could have asked for, but he was a hard and vile monster to those beneath him. Her heart and mind were spinning, knowing that she might have to accuse him of trying to murder the caravan folk just to kill Vanx. To add to the confusion, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her trollop of a mother would be delighted by it all. She didn’t understand why her mother despised the duke so openly. It was clear that she felt no love for him.

A thought occurred to her and she voiced her concern.

“How do you know that Captain Moyle was involved in all of this?” She was asking Vanx, but Trevin answered.

“I’m not so sure as our friend here.”

Vanx then explained how Captain Moyle had called the halt just an hour or so away from patrolled territory. He then gave his opinion of the caravan guards and of the choice of slaves the duke had gifted to Amden Gore, not to mention the unexpectedness of his generosity.

“If that is so, about where we made camp, then why didn’t Amden or any of the other haulers object when we stopped?” Gallarael asked.

Vanx chuckled. “They were too busy worrying about getting a turn with Matty.”

It was dawn by the time Vanx finished explaining. The young haulkatten was exhausted, as were he and Trevin. After the animal was fed a generous issue of fish meal, and unloaded, a bit of dried meat was shared amongst them. Gallarael offered to keep watch while the two men napped. Vanx was leery of Trevin, afraid that he and the girl might subdue him while he was disadvantaged. To Vanx’s surprise, Trevin sensed his unease. The man gave his solemn word that he would do his best to help clear Vanx’s name. It was enough to ease his concerns and he fell into a deep sleep as soon as he lay back and closed his eyes.

As the sun crept into the sky, burning the morning mist away, Gregon ruined his dagger busting apart Matty’s leg chains. He refused to even attempt to get her shackles off. Matty knew that their presence marked her as property. Now that she had the chance to make a run at full freedom, she wasn’t about to let some lust-craved oaf ruin it. At the moment, she was trying to talk him into going back to the camp to see if they could find the slaver’s corpse and pilfer the key.

“While we’re there we can loot the corpses, or I could just kill you now and move on.”

“But, Gregon, if we get these things off of my ankles it won’t be so hard for me to do that thing you like so much.” She purred and licked her slightly parted lips with half-lidded eyes. Her heavy breasts were on full display and she squeezed her arms at her sides, making them swell.

The oaf cursed under his breath, but she knew she had him.

“We’ll go back and pilfer the lot of them bodies, wench,” Gregon snarled. “But I’m keeping the coin. I’ll use that slaver’s tools to get them shackles off your legs if we don’t find the key.” Gregon smiled a broken yellow grin. “After that, your pretty mouth better be keepin’ the promises that came out of it. If’n it don’t, I’ll bust it up.”

Captain Moyle didn’t wait for the mist to clear before sending Darbon out to search for a horse. The boy did as he was told, but only until he was out of the captain’s sight and lost in the foggy dawn. After that, Darbon ran blindly away from the camp and the mean old captain who meant him harm. Around a cut of rocky crags, and down a lush green, gently sloping hill, he ran. Through a thicket of thorny growth and past a gurgling brook, never seeing more than a dozen feet in front of him, he ran, and ran, and ran. Then he heard a noise behind him. Turning in mid-stride to see what it was, he found himself being pursued by one of the giant haulkattens. It pounced just as Darbon stumbled. The boy screamed, and then hot breath and clawed paws engulfed him as if he were no more than a baby rat to a castle mouser.