Yhalen touched fingertips to his face, half smiling. It seemed far too long a time since he’d had the attentions of a girl, even if she was not Ydregi.
She had a point. There was much confusion now, with the arrival of Lord Tangery. It mattered little that he had nothing but the clothes on his back, as they were borrowed after all. Besides, he was capable of living off the forest, if he could but reach it. Down the road and past the men outside, if they would simply ignore him. And why not? He looked like nothing so much as a peasant and the peasants were returning home, as Meliah had said.
So he simply slipped out the gates, past guards too busy to notice amidst a great many equine bodies and tired men. Down the road leading from the keep, past men setting up tents and building fires and picketing horses. No one paid him any heed. It was a long walk to the woods. He could practically feel the shade on his skin and the smell of fresh pine and mulch and he was a good distance from it yet. He didn’t notice the sound of hoof beats, blended as they were with so many other noises.
He sensed the approach of the horses though, when they were a hundred feet off, and tensed, moving to the side of the road to let them pass safely by. They didn’t pass him by, though, cantering up instead to circle him, blocking his route towards the welcoming forest.
“Where are you going?”
A grim faced guard looked down at him. He thought he might recognize the face as one of the men who’d accompanied him down into the dungeons. It wasn’t a face he was particularly fond of.
“Home,” he said simply, not bothering with a lie.
“No, you’re not. Not until our lordship says.”
Yhalen’s mouth tightened. His fists did. He wondered if they’d do him bodily harm if he ignored them and walked around their horses, continuing towards the wood. “He’s not
my
lord. I’m trying to return to my own. Let me pass.”
“Insolent little shit,” one of them snarled and might have raised a fist, but the first one lifted a hand and said grimly, “You owe him your life. If not for him, you’d still be a slave amongst the ogres, no?”
Which was, Yhalen had to admit, only the truth.
“You’re to stay in the keep until he says otherwise. No argument, understand, boy?” They shifted in their saddles, just waiting for disagreement.
He supposed they were prepared to cause bodily harm after all. He narrowed his eyes, glaring up at the soldier and wishing in his frustration that one of them would come down and try to manhandle him, but knowing that if it happened it wouldn’t just be the one and he’d end up with more bruises than the simple relief of frustration would be worth. He turned on his heel, pushed past the rump of a horse and started back towards the keep. With a creaking of leather and the jangle of harness they followed. This time past, he got more notice from the men afield, many curious gazes following the
‘simple peasant’
who’d been chased down and now herded back by three of the keep’s own men.
They seemed satisfied enough once he’d entered the gates, dismounting and seeing to their horses.
Yhalen still felt eyes upon him, though, and knew without doubt that he’d be watched from now on by someone or another. For all intents and purposes, he was a prisoner again, only this time without the collar or the rape.
His initial anger faded, turning more towards gloom. He began wondering if they’d begun the rites of prayer to the Goddess to take him into the whole of herself. With no body to bury under the roots of 72
the Great Tree, they would be worried for the state of his soul, so would go to great lengths to please the Goddess on his behalf. His mother and grandmother would sing chants all night long. The men of his bloodline would stand silent vigil, guarding against spirits from a realm far below the stars where the Goddess resided, evil spirits that surged up to try and claim an unbound soul for their own purposes. At least that was what he supposed would happen, only having heard of the rituals for sending a soul on its way when there was no body to anchor it to the sacred earth of the forest.
He retreated to the bunk at the far end of the servants’ barracks and sat with his back to the cool stone of the wall, alone in the large dormitory with only his melancholy to keep him company. He didn’t want to be the cause of their pain, but one way or another, he would be. Dead or alive, they’d have reason to mourn for him. Alive, they’d see the mark of slavery and perhaps guess all that it entailed, whether he told them the details or not. Alive, they’d know he’d had delved into the realm of darker magicks and used them to take life. Such a betrayal, that breaking of sacred law, would be the same as his dying to them. Hadn’t the Ydregi cast out the last shaman among them that had called upon the earth magic for destruction?
People came and went from the dormitory. Busy servants with more work than they quite knew what to do with, what with the new arrivals. Yhalen ignored them, content to wallow in his own misery, until Meliah finally found him and approached.
Her hair was up and she wore a well-used apron. There were a few smudges of flour on her face, as if she’d come straight from the kitchens.
“There you are,” she said. “I looked in the bailey—there’s dinner to be had in the kitchen yard for the soldiers and common folk. I saved you a fresh piece of bread and stew.”
“I’m not hungry. Later, perhaps.”
“They’ll be none later,” she said reasonably. “Not with this many mouths to feed. Come get your share.”
He looked away from her, wishing she’d leave him be and go away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She stood there a moment silently, than shook her head, frowning. “You’re a terrible liar, Yhalen.
What happened?”
“I tried to go home,” he said disconsolately. “They wouldn’t let me. Your lord, it seems, has further use for me, though what it might be, I can’t imagine.”
“Oh, Yhalen. I’m sorry.” She sat down close enough to him at the head of the bunk that her warmth spread across his side. She smelled of flour and kitchen spices.
“Perhaps someone can send a message to your family?” she suggested.
“Perhaps,” he agreed, mirroring her words but not believing them for a second. No envoy would know the way to the Ydregi forests.
She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, her soft breasts pressed against him and the female scent of her finding its way out even past the kitchen spices. She wasn’t Ydregi, but she was pretty, regardless. Soft, and she wanted him in the gentle way that a woman wanted a man and he’d had little enough of gentleness in his physical contact of late.
He slid a hand to the small of her back, feeling the slight dampness of her hard labor in the kitchens through the thin material of her dress. She pressed closer, encouraged, and whispered, “I’d have missed you if you’d gone today.”
“Mmmm.”
The curve of her hip was soft and generous. She made an appreciative sound and grasped for his other hand, guiding it up to the bounty of her breast. He moved his other hand up to her neck and pulled her down for a kiss. Ydregi or not, a woman was a woman and it had been too long since he’d been in the embrace of one. His body was eager to renew the acquaintance. Their lips met and her hand slid down to discover just how eager he was—then stopped, pulling back as the clatter of footsteps outside the dormitory door startled them both into sense.
A pair of serving girls entered the dormitory with baskets of fresh linens. They looked down the hall towards Yhalen and Meliah and one of them giggled, guessing, perhaps, exactly what they’d been about.
“I think,” Meliah ran a hand through her hair, smiling tentatively as she spoke, “there are better 73
places for this. I should be back to work. We’ll find each other later, all right?”
Yhalen nodded, heart pounding in his chest, as the ache between his legs had not been extinguished quite so simply. He pulled his knees up to hide the evidence should the two serving girls venture closer.
But as afternoon progressed into evening and the dinner in the main hall spilled out into the bailey, Meliah didn’t return. Most likely pressed into more service due to the amiable mixture of Lord Tangery’s men with the men of Keis Keep, Yhalen supposed. He rather wished someone would find something for him to do to save him useless moping. But no one asked and he soon tired of sulking in the servant’s dormitory. He left, and took to walking about the ground level of the keep instead, warily observing the none too sober activities of the soldiers who came and went from the dining hall. The dining hall was crowded and noisy, so Yhalen avoided that.
He found himself in vaguely familiar territory and paused, staring somberly at the thick door leading down to the lower levels of the castle. There were guards standing at either side of the door, which he hadn’t recalled being there before. Their coming to attention suddenly was the only warning Yhalen had of the approach of higher powers. He stepped back into the shadow of an archway as a group of men approached. It was Lord Dunval and the Protector of the Northern provinces, Lord Tangery himself, along with their aides, guards and other nobles. The door was opened and they took to the stairs, disappearing with the bobbing accompaniment of lamplight. The guards outside the door closed it and returned to their positions.
He shivered as a feeling of unease crept over him. Of its cause, he was uncertain, though the most comfortable explanation was simply that seeing that door, reminded him of Bloodraven in his cell far below. Certainly, there was no anxiety over what they might be going to do to the halfling. Certainly, Yhalen felt no guilt over attempting to leave his former captor in the hands of his enemy while he fled home. He owed Bloodraven nothing, after all, save a dance of elation after his demise.
He hurriedly retreated from the area, suddenly wishing for some of the watered wine or beer that the soldiering men had been partaking of. He wouldn’t venture into the dining hall to seek it, but there was likely a supply in the kitchens and he might also find Meliah thereabouts.
He found the former but not the latter, and went out into the bailey yard with a mug of cool beer, the end of a loaf of crusty bread and a slab of cheese. The air was cool, but smelled of too many men and horses and livestock. He longed for the fresher air of the wood and wondered if he ought not put stealth to play and find a way out of this keep regardless of its lord’s decree that he stay. It should be no difficult task, as many men that now milled around it.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d think about it, after perhaps begging a moment of the lady of the keep’s time to explain his dilemma. She might understand more than her brother and put in a word in Yhalen’s behalf. At least then he could leave with honor, not fleeing in the night like a thief. Since the lord of Tangery had parlayed with his grandfather, Yhalen hesitated to bring dishonor to his bloodline with reckless action.
He went to sleep, content with his planned course of action for the morning, and woke as usual with the stir of the servants readying themselves for the day’s work. It was barely dawn and had he been at home, he’d have gladly risen and been off to start his own day. Here there was little for him to do and he doubted the lady Duvera would be up and ready to receive visitors for several hours yet, so he lay abed and drifted in and out of dreams that vanished like smoke whenever he roused enough to question them.
When he could stand it no longer, he rose and washed in the servant’s yard. He sought out breakfast afterwards and ate a bowl of porridge and honey drizzled bread in the early morning sun outside the kitchen. He saw no sign of Meliah this morning, but she’d had a busy day yesterday and was very likely soundly asleep. He didn’t long for her company so much now as he had yesterday, when he’d been overwhelmed by the melancholy of denied freedom. He supposed, in the light of a new day, that bedding her might not be so good an idea if she truly wished to find a husband in this keep. The Ydregi forgave the occasional dalliance of their unbonded youth, but the people outside the Sacred Forest not so much so, and a man might not wish to take a wife with a sullied reputation, even if she were just a kitchen girl.
After he’d eaten breakfast and wasted another hour of time in the bailey doing nothing more industrious than letting the sun dry his hair, he set out to find the lady of the keep. He was instead found by one of the men at arms who regularly dogged Lord Dunval’s heels and told the lord wished his presence. Yhalen grimaced, figuring he was about to be reprimanded for his unannounced attempt at departure yesterday and not eager for it. If only he’d found the lady first, he might have avoided the 74
brunt of this.
He dutifully followed the man at arms to Lord Dunval’s private study behind the main hall, noting at he did that the guards outside it wore both Keis livery and that of Tangery. Unease began to seep over him, balling at the bottom of his gut. There was no faltering in his step though, with the man at arms behind him, as well as the eyes of half a dozen guards outside the door. He was ushered through without introduction and the door closed behind him. There were not so many men inside the room as without. A second, upholstered chair had been brought in and sat kitty-corner at the back of the room.
The impressive bulk of the Lord of Tangery occupied it while Lord Dunval sat behind his own desk.
There were only two guards in the room and they seemed more aides to the lords than men at arms.
“Have you forgotten your manners?” one of the aides snapped when Yhalen made no move to bow in the presence of his betters.