Darkest before Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 2) (22 page)

The hunt had begun.

***

Dusk spread out across the beech-wood in a soft blanket,
ending a hot, windless day. The band of Northumbrian and Mercian warriors, led
by Wada, for Alfwald had remained behind to keep an eye on Prince Aethelred, rested
for a while, before continuing their hunt.

Elfhere loosened his horse’s girth and left it cropping
grass. Then, he went to find Osulf. The warrior sat apart from the others,
brooding as he sharpened his sword with a whetstone.

Elfhere strode over to him, ignoring the pain in his
thigh, which had cramped after an afternoon in the saddle. He took a seat on a
tree-stump opposite Osulf and fixed him in a cold gaze.

“You’re behind this, aren’t you?”

Osulf glanced up, surprised. They had grown up together,
and Elfhere had long looked to Osulf like an elder brother. Yet, of late, he
had grown secretive, consumed by bitterness after their defeat at Winwaed. Elfhere
found himself disliking the man his friend had turned into.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not the fool you think I am,” Elfhere growled.
“You’ve been plotting something for weeks – only I didn’t think you would be
such a
nithing
as to kill a man in his bed and blame his wife for it.”

Osulf’s face reddened. Elfhere had just named him the
worst sort of coward.

“Keep your voice down,” he growled.

“No one can hear us,” Elfhere replied, not shifting his
gaze from Osulf’s face. “Tell me the truth, Osulf.”

His friend’s face reddened further, and Elfhere saw the
resentment in his one good eye; his anger at Elfhere for cornering him.
However, he could not risk anyone knowing that he was to blame.

“Glaedwine helped me,” he admitted sullenly. “He added
dried foxglove leaves to the sloe wine – not enough to kill, just enough to
bring on nausea, blurred vision and a deep slumber.”

“Foxglove,” Elfhere hissed. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

Osulf’s mouth twisted. “I knew you’d drink only mead.” He
paused then, gathering his thoughts, before continuing with his tale. “Paeda
was easy to kill. He lay unconscious upon his bed, his wife sleeping soundly
beside him.”

Elfhere spat on the ground between them.

“That was a coward’s act,”

“Why should a betrayer like Paeda die with honor,” Osulf
snarled. “What better way to end his life, and lay the blame upon Oswiu. Now
everyone thinks that northern slut he married slit his throat.”

“No…,” Elfhere ground out. “Everyone thinks that Maric
plotted to kill him before running away with his wife.”

“I tried to protect him, as I did you,” Osulf replied
sourly. “It is not my fault if he involved himself.”

The warrior’s gaze dropped to the blade he was
sharpening.

“Things did not go as I’d planned,” he admitted. “The
foxglove should have drugged Alchflaed till mid-morning, but when I spoke to the
monk, I realized that Glaedwine had not added enough poison to the wine.
Seaxwulf drank two cups, as Alchflaed did, but still managed to awake at dawn.”

Osulf stared down at the blade, his heavy-featured face
twisted in a scowl. Elfhere realized that he was not remotely sorry for what he
had done; or that Maric was likely to die because of his treachery.

“The bitch must have woken early and escaped while the
rest of us were sleeping,” he concluded.

Elfhere stared at him, at a loss for words. He thought then
of how Osulf had rescued him from numerous scraps when they were children, and
the times when they had fought shoulder to shoulder in a shield wall. Elfhere’s
father had died in battle when his son was just three winters old, and a fever
carried his mother off the following winter. Elfhere’s friends, the men he
risked his life for, were his family but today he had just lost one. Osulf had
taken a path he would never follow.

Without speaking another word, Elfhere rose to his feet
and left Osulf to sharpen his sword in peace.

“We will not be able to rest here for long. They will be
tracking us now,” Maric announced, his voice rough with exhaustion.

Alchflaed sat up, still struggling to recover her breath.
She looked up at the darkening sky, where the last streaks of gold had faded
and the heavens were turning the color of a bruise. Her throat was raw, her
lungs ached and her legs felt like jelly. She looked across at where Maric sat
opposite, his back propped up against a tree, and saw fatigue etched upon his
face.

“Surely, we must be well ahead of them now?” she asked,
despair rising in her breast.

“They will have horses… and dogs,” Maric reminded her.
“We won’t outrun them.”

Alchflaed stared at him, despair turning to panic. “What
will we do then?”

“We need to find somewhere to hide, somewhere they can’t
track us. Farther east, there is a town called Laegrecastrescir. It has a
river, and if we can get a boat there, we could escape the hounds.”

Alchflaed nodded, her panic ebbing. “How far is it?”

“If we push hard, we can make it by noon tomorrow.”

Alchflaed climbed to her feet, stifling a groan as her
legs protested, and brushed off her skirts.

“Will we make it before they catch up with us?”

Maric rose to his feet and stepped close to her. Their
gazes met and Alchflaed felt the familiar pull toward him. The sensation only
intensified when he smiled.

“It depends,” he said, “on how fast you can run.”

They struck out east through a gently rolling landscape
interspersed with beech wood and coppicing oak, ash and hazel. Night fell in a
long shadow over the world, before a full moon lit their way through the trees.
The ragged sound of their breathing, and the crunch and snap of twigs
underfoot, echoed through the stillness.

Alchflaed followed Maric, around four paces behind. He
jogged slowly, pacing himself, and Alchflaed did her best to keep up. However,
he was far fitter than she was and they had to make frequent stops so that she
could catch her breath.

They passed a few streams on their journey east, and
slaked their thirst before splashing cold water over their heated faces. Maric
warned her from drinking too deeply though.

“It is difficult to run with a bellyful of water,” he
told her.

By the time the first rays of dawn lightened the sky
behind them, Alchflaed was stumbling with exhaustion. Eventually, she tripped
and fell, landing face down on the leaf-strewn earth.

“I cannot go any farther,” she panted. “I just cannot…”

Maric approached Alchflaed and sat down next to her, before
flopping onto his back.

“Very well,” he gasped. “We will rest awhile.”

When her breathing no longer came in painful gasps, and
when the world had stopped whirling about her, Alchflaed propped herself upon
her elbows and looked at him. Maric was still breathing heavily, his arm flung
across his eyes, his clothing plastered to his body with sweat.

“I haven’t thanked you,” she said finally. “You’ve risked
your life for me.”

Maric lifted his arm from his eyes, his silver-blue gaze
meeting hers. Then he gave her a rueful smile.

“I owed you a debt, remember?”

Alchflaed sat up and removed her cloak to sit on. Maric
sat up and faced her, his face serious.

“Every man has his faults,” he began quietly, “but mine
is that I suffer from blind loyalty. Once I swear allegiance, I will not go
back on my word, not for anything.”

Alchflaed blinked. “Some would say that is not a fault.”

Maric’s face twisted. “It is when I choose to follow a man
with no scruples. I knew who Paeda was. I knew whom I was delivering you to,
but I took you to him anyway. Alchflaed, I am so sorry I did not take you away,
as you asked.”

Alchflaed saw the naked pain in his eyes. Without
thinking, she reached out and stroked his cheek. It was rough with stubble, and
warm.

“I too know all about blind loyalty,” she murmured, “and
the damage it can cause. I should have had the strength to defy my father. If
you had not intervened, I would have done his bidding.”

Silence fell between them, and Alchflaed watched Maric
close his eyes. He had long, dark lashes.

“We are alike, you and I,” she continued softly. “I knew
it the first time I locked eyes with you in Bebbanburg. I knew then, I’d found
the only man who would ever understand me.”

Maric’s eyes opened, his gaze seizing hers. Alchflaed
leaned toward him, drawn like a moth to a naked flame.

The baying of hounds echoed through the woods.

The moment shattered and Alchflaed pulled back, heart
pounding. The sound was far off, but in the stillness of the dawn, it sent
terror racing through her veins.

Maric leaped to his feet and reached down to help her up.
Alchflaed swung her cloak around her shoulders and saw the determination in Maric’s
face. He did not intend to let their pursuers catch them up.

Wordlessly, he took Alchflaed’s hand. Then, they turned
and fled east through the trees.

***

The sun rose into a clear sky, bringing with it another
day of brilliant sunshine. Yet, Alchflaed did not notice the weather, only the
heat of the sun on her face as she ran.

The rest had revived her, although she knew she would not
be able to sprint much farther. After a day, with barely any rest, her body was
spent. As it was, it was only pure determination that forced her onward. Maric
had risked his life for her; she would not disappoint him by collapsing and
wailing like a coward. She would make it as hard as possible for her pursuers
to catch her.

The dogs’ howling gradually drew closer, as their hunters
narrowed the gap. She and Maric were running across a clearing now, shadowed by
ancient oaks. A vixen darted in front of them, her furry russet tail flying out
behind her.

Hope rose within Alchflaed. Perhaps the fox would throw
the hounds off the scent just long enough for them to get away. The dogs were
less than a furlong behind them now, and Alchflaed could hear the thundering of
hooves.

She and Maric dove into the trees and scrambled up a low
bank. The undergrowth was thick here, matted bramble and ferns. Maric grabbed
Alchflaed by the hand and dragged her into the heart of it. The brambles
clutched and grabbed at her skirt and cloak, and snagged painfully in her hair,
but she pressed on.

Behind them, Alchflaed heard the snapping of tree
branches and the squeal of a horse, as their pursuers tried forcing their way
into the dense undergrowth.

Maric pulled Alchflaed into the center of the densest
growth of bramble he could find and yanked her to the ground. The thorns raked
at her face and she bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. Flattened on
their bellies, and trying to quiet their breathing, the two fugitives listened
to the men continue their search.

Alchflaed lay there, feeling the dampness of the earth
seep through her clothing, and waited for someone to find them. She could hear
men crashing about the undergrowth, although the barking and yelping of the
dogs was now moving away. The warriors who had entered the trees were on foot,
forced to dismount in order to wade through the dense undergrowth.

Alchflaed and Maric waited, not speaking and hardly
daring to breathe until silence returned once more to the forest. Then, they
waited a little longer, just to be sure.

Eventually, Maric took hold of Alchflaed’s hand and,
giving it a reassuring squeeze, rose to his feet, drawing her with him.
Unspeaking, Alchflaed followed his lead – although when she stood up, she realized
that Maric had suddenly gone very still.

He was staring behind them.

Slowly, Alchflaed turned to follow his gaze, the fragile
hope that they could escape shattering.

A warrior stood a few feet away, staring at them. Dressed
in a leather vest, his arm rings glinting in the morning sun, he was tall,
blond and handsome, with sea-blue eyes. Alchflaed recognized him; she had seen
the warrior drinking in the king’s hall with Maric a few times. He had seemed a
good-natured man then, although his face now was grim.

“Elfhere,” Maric broke the silence between them. “You
have found us.”

“Aye,” Elfhere replied, his gaze narrowing, “I was sure
you had hidden yourselves in here. I knew all I had to do was wait.”

Maric smiled, although there was no humor in the expression.

“I didn’t kill the king.”

“I know – Osulf did.”

Maric’s gaze narrowed. “But you’re hunting me anyway?”

“I had no choice. The northerners rule Tamworth now.”

Maric cocked his head to one side. “So, what will you
do?”

Elfhere held his gaze for a moment before a slow smile
spread over his face.

“Do you even have to ask?”

He moved toward them, leading his horse through the
brambles.

“The hounds have picked up another scent that’s led them
north. However, they will retrace their steps soon enough. You don’t have much
time.”

Elfhere turned to Alchflaed. “Milady, please give me your
cloak.”

When she did not move to obey him, Elfhere gave a sigh of
exasperation. “I will use it to draw the hounds south.”

Beside Alchflaed, Maric spoke. “They will kill you, if
they discover you’ve tricked them.”

Elfhere gave him a grin in response. “Then they won’t discover
it.” His face turned serious. “Please, Milady. Time grows short.”

Alchflaed nodded, unfastening her cloak from around her
neck and handing it to Elfhere.

“Thank you,” she said quietly and received a smile in
response. Elfhere then turned to Maric.

“Continue east and you’ll reach Laegrecastrescir soon
enough. I will make sure they track me south for at least two days before I
drop the cloak. That should give you a good head-start.”

Maric stepped forward and clasped his friend in a bear
hug.

“I will never forget this, Elfhere.”

The blond warrior released Maric and stepped backward,
and Alchflaed saw there were tears in his eyes.

“Run,” he said, smiling, “and keep the Lady Alchflaed
safe.”