King Callie: Callie's Saga, Book One (30 page)

“Yes,” Caliandra said. “Eife can send it through the kitchen staff. It won’t draw attention that way.”

“Clever girl,” Sophine said, pleased. “Now, tomorrow, you must wait for my signal to emerge from your hiding place, and assemble it in front of the Ministers. There must be no doubt of your legitimacy.”

Caliandra folded the velvet up around the axe, but could still hear the voice. “Yes,” she said, absent-mindedly - her thoughts still with the axe. She looked up at her mother with a giddy look. “I can’t believe Royth was right about -”

“Not now,” Sophine snapped. Caliandra could see a sliver of weakness - of doubt - in her mother’s eyes. “Please. Not now...” her words trailed off; Caliandra moved to Sophine’s side, and took her arm.

“I’m sorry,” Caliandra said. “I did not mean it that way.”

“I know you didn’t,” Sophine said, “But the wounds he made are still fresh.” She brought her hand to Caliandra’s cheek, and held it. “This is a great risk we take,” she said. “Who knows if they are even ready for a woman to be king, but I could not be more proud that it should be you.”

Caliandra was quieted by her mother’s loving words; they warmed her heart, and made her feel greater than she was. “Thank you,” she said.

“All I ask is that you never think yourself above asking for help. Only a fool thinks they can do everything alone,” she said, with a faint smile.

Caliandra almost protested, but thought against it. She would not be a fool - but she’d not be a beggar, either.
Kings never make for good beggars,
she thought. And Barra’s kings have never been such. “Of course,” she said, politely.

“Good.” Sophine let go of Caliandra, and made for the door. She raised the volume of her voice as she did. “I’ll have the servants bring the materials next door,” she said, as she opened the door. “Go in for your fitting after lunch.”

“Yes, Mother,” Caliandra said. “I understand.”

The door closed. Caliandra walked back to the pieces of the axe, and ran her fingers over them.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Tomorrow, we’ll be whole again.”

CHAPTER
FIFTY-FIVE

It was with the first pangs of hunger that Eliya realized how fragile their plan truly was - and how escape did not necessarily mean freedom.

She, Mas, and his three men had ridden carefully for a week’s time, avoiding main roads wherever they could. Their travels wove and wound around any official paths, and avoided soldiers of the Barrish army wherever they could. Mas’s men had sold the more identifiable parts of their armor piecemeal to smiths along the way, and traded their uniforms for ragged clothes that better fit the appearance of mercenaries. Eliya sold or traded her clothing as well, and so did Mas. It was a concerted effort to reduce the attention paid to them. By the time they reached the small town of Bram, on the edge of the Rebonn Forest, their party was passable as a wealthy merchant, his wife, and a small gang of mercenaries to offer them protection. Nothing more regal than that.

Bram was a small logging town, full of people who lived simply, and their houses reflected that. The small thatched-roof buildings were farther apart than in Alton, but that was a proper city, where the houses clustered together. By comparison, Bram was a patchwork village, carved out of the forest in bits and pieces, held together by a tenuous dirt road and common humanity. The houses popped up like square, thatched-roof mushrooms, haphazardly hidden under the shade of large trees. It was a village, in the sense that there were people, and houses, and a well-trod dirt path running through the middle, but what struck her first was a sense of isolation - that even though these people lived near each other, they still wanted their distance.

Eliya, Mas, and their men took the worn dirt path through the center of the village; Eliya smiled warmly at the children who ran past them, chasing a handful of chickens, and nodded politely to the women and men who stared at her and Mas from the comfort of their houses. She did not expect them to overflow with kindness, but the lingering distrust surprised her.
Perhaps
, she thought,
someone else has caused it.

It would be some time yet before the party set out; they needed supplies. Food was paramount among them. What they had brought with them at the castle, and bought along the way had gotten them only so far as Bram; Eliya was hungrier than she had ever been, with the rationed food, but did her best to keep her complaints to herself. Mas’s men did not complain in the least, but she knew they were hungry. She could see it in their weary eyes. A good meal would do their spirits wonders, and one assumed that if the village of Bram were well traveled, there would be coats and furs to purchase that would keep them warm through the Kersikki terrain - as well as food.

Eliya, Mas, and the guards - who only addressed her as Madam, to ward off suspicion, much as it offended her - wound their way through the town, past the well-shaded houses, to a large, long house near the middle of Bram, where Eliya had assumed the town square would be. The house was not only longer than the others, but also wider from side to side, almost stretched to capacity. It seemed to be of poorer shape than the others, being built almost exclusively of mud and wood instead of the stone and mud that the other small houses used. Eliya figured that to make a house of that size, it would have been prohibitively expensive. She stayed close to Mas, and the guards, as they approached it; there were several men loitering outside the building, in groups, and they eyed her with knowing smirks.

She assumed them to be woodcutters, or trappers, by the look of them; they all looked dirty and disheveled. There was no distinguishing the two in her eyes. It was only when she drew closer that she could tell the difference. The woodcutters, who stood to the left of the door, smelled of pine and sweat; the hunters, to the right, smelled of piss and dead animals. She wrinkled her nose around both. They only laughed. Mas glared at them, thinking it would silence them; it was hardly effective.

The party walked inside the dank-smelling building, and found several tables set up, with wares on them - dried meat, soft furs, berries, mushrooms, all the bounty of the forest laid out for them to peruse. The man that waited inside was middle-aged - gaunt, by most measures, and his hair was a long pale yellow that faded into white. His eyes were a pale, unfriendly green, which seemed disinterested in customers. He reluctantly turned from the window to glance at them.

“What do you want?” he asked, gruff. Eliya stayed off to Mas’s side, nestled on the other by a guard. She looked around, and then back at the man. Mas spoke with an even, friendly tone.

“We wish to buy supplies,” Mas said. “We travel back north, to Kersik. We will need pelts, and dried meat for the journey. Enough to keep us fed, and warm.”

“Kersik?” the man asked. “What brought you down in th’ first place?” His tone was not curious, or welcoming. It was hostile.

“A family matter,” Mas said, adding nothing else.

The man rubbed his naked chin, back and forth, like the shuttle of a loom. “Five people. That’ll be twenty silver for what you need.”

“I will pay twelve, and an extra three if you tell us the best way through the paths ahead,” Mas said.

“Fifteen, and five,” the shopkeeper responded. “You’ll not find another shop around. Do you accept?”

Mas grumbled. “Yes,” he said, as he reluctantly fished coins from his purse, and handed them to the merchant.

“You’re lucky, I think,” the man said, holding the coins in his hand with bemusement. “Wouldn’t have had much left if the Erimeni that came by yesterday had bought anything. Three of ‘em. But Fin and Shann over there gave them a little fright, sayin’ the Prince were a good friend of our village, and we didn’t smile on Erimeni after they killed him. Fin was just playin’ the fool, but with Valric bein’ dead by their hand, I believe they weren’t takin’ no chances.” He pointed to the men outside as he spoke, with a certain satisfaction on his face. The trappers and woodcutters of Bram took pride in being prickly, it seemed. Eliya was flattered by his words; she was glad that other people held Valric in such high regard.

“That was very loyal of you,” she said, breaking her silence. It was as much as she was willing to say, without revealing who she truly was.

“Ah, wasn’t much,” the shopkeep said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “They steal our game from time t’ time. They move on. But with the King’s death and all, I’d wager it wasn’t a wise decision, giving them grief.” He shook his head with no uncertain regret. “They’ll come for us first, I think. Wish the damn Council would realize what problems we have, bein’ near the borders. First to know, first to fall, I say.”

“You could always run,” Mas said. “The woods are plentiful, and deep.”

Mas’s words sparked derisive laughter from the merchant. “We’re not the runnin’ kind,” the man said. “Born in the woods, die in the woods. Doesn’t matter who comes our way. But it’d be a sight better if they knew what trouble all of them prancin’ around in Castle Claine was causing us. We’ve been sendin’ more of our lumber south for spears and smithing, and not enough for us to sell. The taxes have gone up, and then those fools went and lost the axe. Yom above, have you ever heard such a thing? Eighty-five kings we’ve had with that axe, who’ve guided us through good days and bad, and it’s
this
Council that loses it. No wonder the Silenians have their eyes on us,” the man said. “Mark my words. They’re a bunch of corrupt, ignorant pricks, and if I ever met one, I’d give him a drummin’ like he’s never known…”

“It’s lost?” Eliya asked.
No,
she thought.
That can’t be right. It was stolen.

“Aye,” the man said. “Peacebringer went missing weeks ago. I told Fin out there, ‘No, mark me, it’s been stolen,’ but he says his cousin’s a guard, and were some fool taking it out for a shine who dropped it in the river.” The man cackled. “In the river, he says! I’ve never known Fin to tell me tall tales, no, he’s straight as a good blade and twice as sharp, he is. So you’ve the right mind, miss,” he said, pointing at Eliya, with a grin, “The Kersikkis never would’ve let that mess happen.”

“Excuse me?” Eliya said. She caught his meaning. She only wanted him to admit it.

“Marrying your way out,” he said, with a sly smile. “That’s good thinking. Walls on walls upon walls in the deep north, that’s what Kersikki has to offer you. Only a damn fool would march north to that. But Barra, oh, she’s a pretty sight to Silenia, believe me. Our quarries are richer, our fields are greener, and our wood’s sturdier. They’ve got the better fighters, they’ve got the Odrygi on their side, and I’ve heard tell of their war machines - taller than three horses stacked on end, and tougher than a Barrish oak. The moment they see weakness, they’ll be marchin’ north.”

“Surely, you do not worry,” Mas said. “You are the last place they will concern themselves with.”

“Nobody wants to be th’ last of anythin’ like that,” the man replied, sour. “Th’ last gets it the worst.”

Mas nodded. “Of course,” Mas said, somberly. “Now, you had mentioned the paths we should take?”

The man called in Shann, the hunter, with a shout. He was at first surly, until plied with coin; then, he was far more cooperative. The paths he explained were more complex than Eliya had expected, and she nudged Mas, asking him to consider hiring the man as a guide. It was something he was all too happy to do; it was not enough to be warm, and well-fed in the Rebonn Forest. Not getting lost was paramount.

Their party left the village of Bram quietly, and Eliya was glad to be gone from it, at first; but as she looked back behind her, riding deeper into the woods, she felt a pang of loss - for this was the last inch of Barra she would see for some time. How long, she didn’t know; months? Years, perhaps? If things continued as they were - if Marrol held on to the crown - she might never feel safe, returning to her homeland. Tears came unbidden from her eyes, and she began to cry in the woods. The riders stopped; Mas rode up alongside her, and put a calming hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.

“I - I don’t know if I’ll ever return,” she said, She could feel the worry, anxiety, and trepidation overtaking her. “I know we must leave, but… I don’t know if I can.”

“We have to,” Mas said, gently. “Eliya, we must. Breathe deeply, my dear. This will pass. You are brave, you are strong,”

“I’m not,” Eliya said, hesitant. “I’m scared. I don’t want to be brave, Mas… I just want to be anywhere else.”

“As do I,” Mas replied. Eliya felt his hand caress her chin, lightly; her hand met his, and folded over it. She wanted to keep his hand there, for the warmth it brought to her heart “But we must keep going. I cannot make this journey without you. You are not the only one who is scared. I need you to give me the strength, for without you, I am lost.”

“I know,” Eliya said. She stifled a sniffle; if the men could do it without a single tear, so could she.

“We must be strong. For each other,” Mas said, reassuring her. “Can you do that?”

Eliya hesitated, at first, but then, nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I can try.”

Mas smiled, and leaned in, kissing her on the lips. “Thank you,” he said. His hand fell gently from her face, but clutched her own hand - and they rode alongside each other into the woods, behind the guards, behind the hunter, away from Barra for what could be the rest of her life. She squeezed Mas’s hand tightly; it was the only familiar thing she could hold on to.