Scanning the room she found her spare winter clothes, leggings, a shirt and cloak and pulled them roughly on before, on a sudden impulse, grabbing the book she had stolen from the library. And suddenly she was ready; in a few minutes she had murdered a man, exiled herself from Woodstone and prepared herself to run from it all. Wynn held her head in her hands as the room suddenly spun. She was still injured she reminded herself and coupled with what she had done it was hard to stay awake and coherent. Taking a deep breath she took one last glance around the room that had been hers for seventeen summers and flung open the door and ran up the stairs. She waited when she was outside the kitchen and pressed her ear against the door. The faint sound of people talking and milling around the kitchen reached her ears and she wondered what she should do.
She scanned the emotions she felt, they pressed themselves upon her like the cloak she wore, and found Cook and Braelyn were not in the kitchen. A stroke of luck; Wynn prayed it would last. Gently she pushed the door open and stepped into the kitchen, the smack of the heat startled her and she had to remind herself to keep her eyes lowered and head down. The servants glanced up from their work as she entered; she felt their curiosity as they eyed her cloak.
“
Another errand for Cook, some are born lucky
,” one thought with irritation. Wynn with all her might forced herself not to scoff. They knew about her wound, it was clear by their thoughts; none were shocked and most were pleased. Wynn scowled at the ground that they could find pleasure in her pain. Had they not seen Lord Oprend make his way through the kitchen? Wynn quelled the urge to gag as they wondered after their Master, where was he?
“
He is probably sleeping
,” another reasoned and Wynn saw the lurid images that accompanied the thought. Did they think so little of her? That she would give herself to Lord Oprend so willingly? At least it kept their attentions on their tasks, instead of wondering what had happened to him. She pushed her way through the kitchen and out the back door, making her way to the stables. She had set one foot inside them when the
alarm was raised. It was not a sound she had ever heard before – a breach in security had never occurred in all of her years at Oprend Manor – but she knew instantly it signalled danger; the peal of the bell was shrill and cutting. She stood still for a moment, frozen with fear, unsure what to do. One of the kitchen staff had clearly let their curiosity get the better of them and entered Wynn’s room, to find Lord Oprend dead. Wynn’s breathing was shallow and fast as she considered the treacherous maid that had sentenced her to death. The crisp morning air was cold on her teeth.
It took all of her strength not to curl in a ball on the ground. She felt so vulnerable. It was so cold that the hair on her arms stood on end and goose bumps prickled on her skin but she felt nothing. The world seemed black and white, tingled with scarlet in the form of the Master’s blood. There was a dullness that was hard to break free from, she felt damaged on a deeper level than her scarred face. It was easy, for a moment as the bell tolled and the cold air stroked her skin, to see that escape was futile. The Master had always told her that if she ran she would be caught and brought straight back. What was any different now? The Master’s death? That would only make running all that much more dangerous, and what did she have to live for anyway? She felt herself trembling in confusion. All the urgency had left her and she was left battling herself, trying to find the right path. If she stayed she would die, there was no question of that, but if she ran there was a chance of happiness, and a chance to be Free.
It was as though time had slowed, allowing her to concentrate on what had happened and what it meant, because although running would mean freedom from the Manor, the army, and Woodstone, she could not run from the fact she was a murderer. The word knocked the breath from her lungs and she gulped at the air as though she was drowning, ignoring the stabs in her throat and chest as the icy air swirled inside her. A murderer. The word tasted wrong on her tongue and yet it was inescapable, one word to define everything about her, one word to take away her future and condemn her. How could she run, and how could she stay?
Wynn felt her knees buckle and realised she was teetering on the edge of hysteria. She gripped her head to stop the world spinning and opened her eyes. Wynn did not know what she expected to see when she reopened her eyes, but nothing had changed when she did. She was still standing in the stables, the smell of hay and manure potent in the crisp air. The stables had always represented a kind of freedom, an escape from the oppressive sadness and loneliness that the Manor induced on her, so it seemed fitting that they now offered the truest and most permanent escape, the chance to run – with the aid of one of the horses – far from here. She walked automatically to Ebony’s stall, stroking the horse’s mane absently; the urgency of the situation had evaporated as she contemplated if she should run. Whilst she thought, her mind swirling confusingly, she felt the coarse hair under her fingers. It brought her firmly back to the present for the thick black hair was replacing a dull but urgent throbbing in her right hand, the exact shape of the cold knife’s hilt.
The memory of the Master’s cold, dead eyes bored into Wynn’s memory, bored into her conscious. She could not decide if she felt guilty at taking his life; for who was she to decide who lived or died? It was a decision she should never have had to make, but one that was forced upon her and it left a dirty mark upon her integrity. One thing she was sure of was that she did not feel guilty that
he
was dead; her only regret was that she had been the one to take his life.
Taking a deep breath Wynn opened the box door, leading Ebony out. Ebony shuffled on the hay strewn cobbles, her muscles twitching expectantly. Wynn cast her eyes around for a saddle, but could not find any near. In that moment she decided dying would prove nothing, she was a murderer but she would redeem herself and that meant she had to be far from here. She would come back for Braelyn and Cook, and save them from this life. Nodding to herself, her plan cemented in her mind she prepared to mount Ebony, but was interrupted by angry shouts in the distance, igniting her urgency. In a panic she pushed herself up onto Ebony, deciding she would have to ride bare back. She felt her legs fall into the grooves of muscle on Ebony’s back and she clenched the horse’s mane gently.
As the voices got closer she could feel their anger, so many advanced upon her that for a moment everything became blurry and unnatural. She had not felt so many emotions at once before and her head ached with the stress and she felt like she might break with the strain. Her balance wobbled atop of Ebony and the horse walked forward at the motion, confused. Somewhere, in the back of Wynn’s mind, a voice screamed at her to concentrate, she had decided to run and now she had the chance she could not let it go to waste. With a will she did not know she possessed she focused slowly on Ebony, feeling the rise and fall of her lungs and the nervous shuffle as she waited once more to be coaxed forward. Agonisingly slowly the haze lifted and Wynn dug her heels into Ebony’s flank. Ebony trotted forward, preparing to canter when a voice sounded behind her, closer than the others.
“Wait!”
Wynn turned, prepared to defend herself, through with what she had no idea, and saw Braelyn running towards her from the back entrance of the stables, her face flushed.
“What are you doing here?” Wynn hissed; if the army saw Braelyn with her then they both would die.
“Take me with you,” Braelyn begged.
“Do you not know why they sound the alarm? Why I am escaping?”
“Yes, Lord Oprend is dead.”
Wynn frowned, could she take Braelyn with her? She would be killed too if they were caught, could Wynn have that on her conscious? Wynn allowed the feelings of undeniable love and trust which emanated from Braelyn to surround her, concentrating solely on them and not the confusion of other emotions from the approaching army. Yes, she would take Braelyn with her because she knew Braelyn would rather die Free than die in servitude. She would offer Braelyn that chance; she reached out a hand and pulled Braelyn onto Ebony’s back with her. Shouts sounded from behind them, closer. Wynn dug her heels into Ebony’s flank once more and Ebony galloped into the forest that surrounded Oprend Manor.
It was a few moments after they had gone that Byron removed himself from the shadows, brushed himself down and moved away from his hiding place in one of the stalls, and walked slowly into the Manor.
4
Wynn watched the forest fly past them, a haze of green and brown as she sat atop Ebony. The horse ran fast and true, calm where any normal horse would be startled at the sight of the dense forest. Wynn felt Braelyn's awe at the speed at which they travelled, she had never ridden a horse, her thoughts clarified, but she trusted Wynn to keep them safe. Wynn wondered at the trust, born from nothing and hoped she could live up to the expectations. Braelyn did not think anything about Lord Oprend’s demise, other than she was glad he was gone. She did not link Wynn to it and even if she did she certainly did not blame Wynn.
They had been travelling for more than an hour and in that time Wynn had heard the ring of the bell echo around the air and heard the yells of the soldiers as they found their Master dead. Wynn had no idea where they headed but as long as it was far from the Manor she cared not. She felt nothing as she sat upon Ebony; she refused to let herself think anything. It had taken a will just to calm herself down after escaping the Manor and she was not about to break down in front of Braelyn who had just unwittingly admitted her trust in her.
It was four hours later that Wynn began to sense the emotions and presence of people. Night had begun to fall over Woodstone and she could hardly see ahead of her, she called Ebony to a walk and concentrated. A group of people and the more she listened and felt the more sure she was that they were not soldiers. She turned to Braelyn.
“Can you hear voices?”
Braelyn considered, “Yes I think so, faintly up ahead.”
Wynn breathed a sigh of relief, she did not need to give Braelyn anymore reason to suspect her of illegal activities. They both agreed to investigate and cautiously they edged forward, wary to startle the group. Wynn concentrated fiercely, hoping to use her new skill consciously for once. They were male, Wynn swallowed uncomfortably, she did not like men. Their voices echoed around the forest and she caught parts of their conversation. Wynn was so intent on finding out who the people where that she completely missed the person watching them from a branch above. Wynn urged Ebony forwards and shrieked when a person landed before them hand outreached. It was a woman and despite herself Wynn was relieved.
She was tall this woman, and tanned. Long dark hair cascaded down her back, framing her face. She watched Wynn and Braelyn with deep brown eyes, but they were cold and fierce and Wynn unconsciously cowed from the gaze. She was clothed in a red dress, the bodice held together with leather ties that crisscrossed across her breast. The sleeves were long, covering the entire arm save the hands. The skirt flowed in pleats down to the floor, showing the woman’s brown shoes. She was the most beautiful woman Wynn had ever seen and it took her a moment to close her mouth and retain some dignity.
“Off of your horse,” the strange woman hissed and Braelyn slid off obediently, fear radiating from her. Wynn obeyed slowly but got off the horse all the same, her eyes locked on the woman. She was exotic this stranger and reminded Wynn suddenly of a Gypsy, she could not say why she thought it, but this woman was mysterious and Wynn had no doubt she could kill them both easily. The woman's eyes twitched at Wynn and Wynn felt confusion faintly from her. Faintly as though she was trying very hard to show nothing at all, Wynn's confusion mirrored the woman's.
“Follow me and leave the horse,” the woman commanded. Wynn glanced back at Braelyn then took Ebony's reign and secured it to a tree by wrapping it around the trunk. The woman nodded and signalled for them to follow, for a wild moment Wynn considered running but the woman ahead of them looked stern and she did not want to provoke such a person, so they followed quietly. The woman led them a short way until they came to a small glade. A camp fire blazed in the centre and around it sat four figures, their features hard to distinguish in the haze of the fire and darkness of the evening. The ocherous flames writhed like dancers and for a moment they were all that could be heard. The night was cold, and an icy breeze blew past them, fluttering the flames. They glanced up when the woman sauntered into the glade and instantly were defensive. They unsheathed their swords at Wynn and Braelyn and Wynn had to stifle a laugh. Did she look dangerous to them?
“Who are they Arabella?” One asked, he was tall and muscular and a mop of blonde hair covered his head. Wynn glanced at him, he was cautious and did not trust them; Wynn felt it clearly and felt her face frown in response to the emotion.
“The ones I heard, maids of the Master if I am not mistaken, though what they are doing so far away from home I cannot say,” the woman, Arabella replied, tossing her thick, black hair, over her shoulder.
The man who had spoken walked over to Wynn and placed a sword to her throat, whilst another, a black haired male placed his weapon to Braelyn's.
“Who are you? Why were you so near to our camp?” The blonde man demanded. Wynn swallowed and shook her head. She was not afraid of these people, she was afraid of nothing anymore, the only certainty she had was that if she was to die she would die Free and that meant leaving Woodstone. Arabella took out her dagger and ran her finger along the blade. Her eyes glistened in the firelight and Wynn did not have to sense the fierceness of this woman to know she was dangerous.
“Who are you?” The man with dark hair asked.
Wynn turned her head away and stared up at the canopy, her eyes cold and indifferent. Wynn was
apathetic
and she knew it angered Arabella that she was not feared the way all others she met were. Wynn could sense Arabella's rage and so when Arabella
grabbed her chin and turned it so they were face to face Wynn could not help the anger that suddenly built.
“If you do not take your hand away from my face I will kill you,” Wynn hissed at Arabella, she was tired of people forcing her will. All her life she had had to follow orders, but she was free of the Manor and this Arabella could not force her to do anything. Arabella smirked suddenly and threw Wynn's face away.
“They’re not spies Griffin,” she said to the blonde haired man. He nodded trustingly and lowered his sword.
“There’s a river over there, you can bathe and wash your clothes if you desire, we have none to spare so you will have to make do with the clothes on your back,” Griffin smiled tentatively, embarrassed now it was clear they were not spies. Wynn glanced around the camp, unsure how to feel. Relieved certainly, but these people were strange and definitely dangerous, she could not decided if for it was for ill or good staying.
Arabella snapped her head towards Griffin in shock, “They’re staying with us?”
“They are running from something, which means they are outcasts, and we welcome anyone who is in our position,” he hissed, as though he had had this argument many times before. Wynn and Braelyn glanced at each other and Wynn felt Braelyn's relief strongly, she was thinking nothing else because she was so grateful that they had not been killed.
“Before we leave pray tell who you are,” Wynn said to the group, disguising at mere interest but her motives were somewhat more survivalist. She had no idea who these people were, for all she could gather they might be worse than Lord Oprend.
The story came out haltingly because Arabella was loathed to say anything about their pasts. Griffin ignored her pleas because he had decided to trust the two newcomers, a fact that Wynn was surprised at, he had gone from suspicious to accepting, it was either a very good lie or he really was a good person. Wynn found out that they were travellers, orphans and objectors to Lord Oprend’s rule, they journeyed together, following their leader, Griffin. Griffin sat facing the fire, his face hard. His mop of blonde hair brushed his eyebrows and the amber glow highlighted the stubble on his jaw. Next to him his was his second in command, and closest ally, Jareth, the dark haired man who had threatened Braelyn.
They were silent, the travellers, now the threat was over, because they were exhausted. They had spent the day running from the army and only recently had managed to evade them. The travellers were completely outlawed throughout the whole of Inlo, Lord Oprend had seen to that, and their days consisted of fighting and running for their freedom. They had travelled throughout the land and towns for months, but had eventually found themselves here. Woodstone was not their first choice, in fact it was the one place they had tried to avoid, but circumstances had forced them here, right under the nose of the very man and army that hunted them, and for now they were stuck. Griffin shouldered the blame for putting the travellers at risk, Wynn found out that he had not spoken for hours, though of course that had been rectified by Wynn and Braelyn’s arrival.
Griffin raised his eyes to look at who spoke now to the group. Theodore. Looking at Theodore made Griffin remember what he used to be like, before the army increased the men who searched for them. He used to be confident and lead them fairly and firmly, they followed because he made them believe that one day they would live freely. No more running, no more hiding, no more fighting, just happiness. Now they were completely hounded by the army, spies sent to search for them, assassins sent to kill them. The only reason they were alive, Theodore and the rest believed this reverently, was Arabella.
Arabella sat next to Theodore and opposite Jareth, the fire blazing between them. Her brown eyes glistened in the light of the fire and her tanned skin was as soft as velvet, her black hair cascaded down her back and she ran her fingers through it absently. She was completely breathtaking, and the most experienced and deadly fighter any of them had ever seen. She was their protector and their offence, and Griffin could not help but claim her as his weapon in their fight for freedom.
It was a tangled past that brought the travellers together. Their story was a sad one, similar in one aspect, the wrong the army had done to them. Griffin felt the pain of the army’s betrayal most potently and guiltily because he had been a soldier, felt the rule of the General and held his whip. He had apprenticed and worked his way up through the army and hoped to change some of the practices, the beating of those too weak or old to work, the treatment of women, the thieving; but he soon found it was useless and abandoned his life as a soldier. The day he left was the day he was sentenced. The General did not tolerate disobedience and Griffin’s death was ordered, it was only his inside knowledge of the army and a lifetime of training that saved him. He ran, he hid and resigned himself to a hard future. He evaded the army through countless towns, disguising himself as soon as he could, until he came to small town to the south of Inlo. It had only a few hundred inhabitants and the Lord’s Manor was small in comparison to Lord Oprend’s. Griffin had hoped to hide out in the remote town, and avoid the army while he thought of a plan.
What he had not counted on was the town’s Lord. He was a fierce objector to Oprend’s rule and had secretly been plotting against him for years. The army was not unaware and on the second day of Griffin’s arrival they marched into the town to join up with the spies they had stationed there. Griffin was caught between the fighting, he watched from the window of the inn he was staying at. Saw the Lord and his son fight for their freedom, saw the Lord fall and his son cry out in agony at his father’s death. Griffin made a choice; he wrenched the bow from his back, and pulled arrow after arrow from his quiver as he picked off the closest soldiers. They could not find him, could not see him in the confusion. Griffin had given the son a chance to live; that boy was Jareth and after the fighting was over they had joined together, both with a hate of the army so strong it bonded them forever.
They had moved on, neither with a home to go to, wandering around Inlo and avoiding the army, as well as their spies and assassins. Jareth proved himself quickly; his agility and strength with a sword, coupled with Griffin’s accuracy and speed with a bow and arrow meant they were safe for a time. Yet danger was always near and it was in the third month of their exile that they found Theodore, his home burnt, and his town taken over by the army. He was young, only thirteen summers old, and he jumped at the chance to escape the future that lay ahead of him under the army’s rule. He had been a blacksmith’s apprentice, his family long since dead, and when his town had been taken over he had nowhere else to go. He joined the group and they thrived as a trio, now they had a member who could repair and make weapons. They moved from town to town, staying in inns and always changing their names and appearances.