Renegade Heart (8 page)

So many soldiers coming at them from all sides. The renegades were outnumbered and fighting for their lives. Wolf pulled his sword from the soft belly of the man he had just killed and watched dispassionately as the body fell lifeless to the ground.

With no time to wipe the sweat from his brow, he swung around to face his next opponent. An unlucky soldier ran straight onto Wolf’s sword, his eyes widening with shock as the blade pierced his chest. Wolf pushed him away and rushed headlong into the fray. A soldier, tall and heavily muscled stepped into his path. They parried, sizing each other up. The soldier’s sword and uniform were smeared with blood and Wolf marked him as a formidable foe. He knew the soldier would have assessed him in turn. If he was lucky, the man would underestimate him, mistaking his youth for inexperience.

The soldier lunged and Wolf blocked him easily, stepping back with sure footedness and thrusting his own weapon forward. His blow was knocked aside effortlessly and the two men circled each other warily. All around them renegades and soldiers were engaged in bloody battle, men falling on either side. Wolf kept his attention on the enemy in front of him. There would be time enough later to worry who among his band had fallen. Assuming he survived himself. He leapt forward, swinging his sword in a wild arc which narrowly missed slicing open the soldier’s throat.

Quickly he regained his balance and swung again. His sword clashed with that of the soldier and for a moment they wrestled for the upper hand. They separated again, both breathing heavily. Wolf stepped back and stumbled. Without looking down he knew he was standing on one of the many dead or injured. He did not want to know if the man was a renegade or soldier. Exhausted, Wolf staggered as he tried to regain his balance. He had to keep his wits about him or he would find himself lying in the mud alongside so many of his comrades.

Sensing the advantage was his, the soldier came at him again. Wolf ducked and heard the blade whistle through the air above his head. The momentum twisted the man too far around. He realised his mistake and tried to turn back, but it was too late. Wolf seized his chance, plunging his sword into the soldier’s side. With a sideways motion he ripped his blade free, blood spraying his legs as the body toppled face first into the mud.

Across the battlefield Wolf could see Saker fighting bravely against three soldiers at once. Even as Wolf ran to assist him one of the soldiers fell, the wooden shaft of an arrow protruding from his neck. Wolf rushed in to help Saker finish off the two remaining soldiers. Beside them, another soldier fell, slain by an arrow to the head.

“It’s Lark,” Saker panted, his face spattered with blood and gore. “He’s in the trees somewhere.”

Wolf turned and scanned the tree line, but could not spot Lark among the branches. Typical he should be hiding, safe out of harm’s way while the rest of them fought hand to hand, face to face. Another arrow thudded into the chest of a nearby soldier and Wolf was forced to grudgingly admit that Lark was an excellent shot for a coward.

“Wolf!” A voice cried out in warning and Wolf twisted instinctively, bringing his sword up as he turned. The soldier who had come up behind him gasped as Wolf’s blade entered his body. He shuddered once and was still.

“There’s too many,” Saker said. “I saw Tregaar fall. I think he’s dead. We have to surrender or we’ll die.”

Wolf glared at him. “If we surrender they’ll hang us and we die anyway. I’d rather die fighting.”

“If we give ourselves up now, maybe it will stop them looking for the camp.”

“The camp is lost without us anyway. I say we fight, to the death if necessary.”

“It’s not your choice,” Saker replied steadily. “You’re not our leader yet, Wolf.”

M
agnosa walked slowly around the whore house wondering if she would ever see it again, this place she had called home for nigh on thirty turns. It had all happened so fast, Enola’s sudden decision to leave the city in search of Wolf, along with Magnosa’s own rash decision to accompany her and pass the running of the house over to Taola. Over the turns, Magnosa had come to love Enola as a daughter and she could not contemplate allowing her to leave with Hawk.

During the night Taola had come to her room with the other girls. It seemed they too had come to a decision. They wanted to leave the city with Magnosa and help the renegade cause. At first Magnosa had argued, but the girls stood their ground. If Magnosa would not permit them to travel with her and Enola, Taola had said firmly, they would set out on their own.

Eventually Magnosa agreed, hoping, perhaps, there would be safety in numbers. The girls excitedly ran back to their rooms to pack a few meagre belongings while Magnosa wondered if any one of them fully understood the magnitude of what they were about to do.

Outside, the girls were already aboard a hired wagon with young Hawk hidden beneath the seat. So long as he stayed silent and the guards on the city gates did not inspect their wagon too closely, she was confident they would get him out if the city undetected. And should they be asked why so many whores were leaving at one time then Magnosa had devised a story by way of explanation. Even so, when they reached the gates she was relieved to see two guards she did not recognise. If they did not frequent the whore house then they would have no reason to question her story.

Three wagons ahead of the girls, Rixley shared a joke with the guards and left them still smiling as he drove his wagon through the gates. Not once did he glance back to where the whores waited their turn among the wagons leaving the city.

Eventually, they passed through the gates without incident, the guards blithely accepting Magnosa’s tale of leaving a number of girls behind at the whore house while she took extra girls to the outpost to service the brave soldiers fighting the renegade forces. It was fortunate also, that the guards were distracted by a scuffle between two traders further back in the queue and waved Magnosa through the gates without even a cursory look in the back of the wagon.

Once clear of the city, Hawk was allowed out from his hiding place and he sat close to his mother, his eyes wide with wonder at the sight of the rolling country side. The girls too were strangely subdued, perhaps realising their future was anything but certain and there was no going back now that they had come this far.

Further along the road, Rixley waited for them, having agreed after much persuasion to lead them to the renegade camp.

“Assuming it’s still there,” he warned grimly. “I heard a couple of traders talking at the inn last night. They said there was a mighty battle between the renegades and the King’s Army, with many dead or captured.”

“Not Wolf,” Enola said with quiet confidence. “I would know if he was dead. Wherever he is, Wolf is alive. I can feel it.”

A long time ago The King’s City had been known as Barrowhearth. It had changed its name when the current King, Ombar, had overthrown his brother and taken the thrown for himself, making Barrowhearth his home. Like The Walled City, the entire city was surrounded by a high stone wall, but, because The King’s City was considerably larger than its counterpart, it had more than one guarded entrance. The castle itself stood on a hill in the centre of the city, circled by a second impenetrable wall.

Deep beneath the castle lay the dungeon, a large chamber with a low ceiling and damp running down the walls. The humid air reeked of sweat and urine. Conditions were not improved by the arrival of one hundred and thirty renegades in addition to the forty or so prisoners already in residence.

“At least it won’t be for long,” Saker remarked dryly. “They will be doing us a favour by hanging us.”

“Don’t be so sure,” one man called out. “I’ve been here for five turns.”

“I’ve been down here for twelve,” another said. “And the bastards still won’t hang me.”

“Fifteen turns for me,” a third man said. “And that lot over there, they reckon they’ve been here for nigh on thirty turns.”

He indicated a group of ten older men stood together at the far end of the dungeon. The men stared back, regarding the newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and dismay. Wolf could only imagine how it would feel to be imprisoned for thirty turns and then be invaded by so many renegades.

With nothing to do but wait, the men settled on the damp stone floor, some of them even managing to fall onto an uneasy sleep. Saker and Wolf moved among them, offering what little comfort they could, even though they too were exhausted and despondent.

Wolf felt eyes upon him and turned to find the group of old men watching him. He met their gaze steadily hoping there would be no trouble in these cramped quarters. Warily, he allowed one of the men to approach, noting that thirty turns underground had done nothing to lessen the man’s distinguished stature. If he had not known better the young renegade would have thought he was having his first encounter with nobility.

“Well met, Renegade,” the man said, his voice low and even. “I am Trobard.”

“Well met, Trobard,” Wolf replied. “I am Wolf of the renegades.”

“Wolf? An interesting name.” Trobard looked him up and down speculatively. “A strong name for a strong man I’ll wager. You are young to be a leader, Wolf.”

“I’m no leader.”

“Is that so? The men look to you for support and guidance. They respect you. I have already seen you put their welfare before your own. Are these not the traits of a leader?”

Wolf shrugged. “If I was their leader we would not be here.”

“Ah, you think there is glory to be found only in dying on the battlefield?”

“More so than swinging from the gallows!”

Trobard laughed, a strange sound in the dark and miserable dungeon. Several men turned their heads to stare at him surprise. How could a man find anything humorous in such a situation? Unless thirty turns in the depths of the castle had sent the poor fool mad.

“I like you, young Wolf,” Trobard said, unconcerned by the bemused looks from his fellow prisoners. “Whether you like it or not, you are a leader. And who knows, maybe you will prove to be the salvation of us all.”

I
nstructing the whores to stay behind him and allow him to do the talking, Rixley guided the wagons through the forest in search of the renegade camp. Before they reached it, a small group of armed men emerged from the trees and although they greeted Rixley amiably enough, they regarded the second wagon with undisguised suspicion.

“Back so soon?” one of the men asked frowning up at Rixley. “And leading strangers to our camp too?”

“They are whores from The Walled City,” Rixley said by way of explanation. “They can do you no harm, Fairac.”

“Whores? Rixley we have no need of whores. Barely sixty five men survived the battle with the King’s Army. Of those, close to forty are injured, some of them seriously so.”

“Then we will help you care for them,” Magnosa addressed the renegade, her tone bearing no argument. “We are not simply whores. We can cook and sew and some of us have healing skills. Allow us to tend the wounded while those of you who are able bodied concentrate on getting back the men who were taken prisoner.”

Fairac studied Magnosa, undecided and unhappy. The truth was the renegades were floundering, having found themselves leaderless. Tregaar and Garstan were among the dead, Saker and young Wolf captured. With so many men injured, Fairac reasoned, they would need all the help they could get even if it did come from a bunch of women. And a child! Women were bad news enough, but a small child in camp was out of the question. He would allow the whores to stay, but Rixley would have to take the child away with him.

Enola saw the renegade’s expression as he looked at her son and she pulled Hawk to her protectively.

“This is the son of the renegade Wolf,” Magnosa said, and an audible murmur rippled through the small group of Renegades. “Is he among you?”

“No,” Fairac shook his head and eyed Enola with sympathy as her face fell with sharp disappointment. “So far as we know he is alive, but he was among the prisoners taken to the King’s City.”

“Then as I said,” Magnosa stared down her nose at Fairac and he shrank visibly beneath her steely gaze. “Allow my girls to care for the wounded while the rest of you work on a plan to free the captured renegades.”

With a reluctant nod, Fairac turned and signalled to the other men. They fell back and allowed the wagons to pass, silently observing the women with suspicious glares.

As soon as they reached the main camp, the girls disembarked and instantly set about making themselves useful. They relieved the men nursing the wounded, who were mostly exhausted and in need of some care themselves. Taola and Krisha took over the camp fire and soon had a cauldron of mouth-watering rabbit stew bubbling furiously over the flames.

By evening the men were fed and rested, and a strange sense of calm had settled over the camp. A group of men gathered around the camp fire and finally began to discuss plans for an attack on the castle, their mood darkening as they faced the unlikelihood of thirty eight men, at most, succeeding against hundreds of highly trained soldiers.

Leaving Krisha to watch over a sleeping Hawk, Enola strolled through the camp, promising Magnosa she would not venture far. She had no doubt she was safe here. Word had spread quickly among the renegades that she was Wolf’s woman and her child was Wolf’s son. It surprised her how much respect it earned her from the men. Wolf, it seemed, was revered by his comrades. Assuming he could be freed from the castle, the men had already accepted he would be Tregaar’s natural successor despite his tender age.

Enola wandered through the trees and soon came across a small clearing with a crystal clear stream running through it. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was still in sight of the camp she settled on the damp grass and slipped off her shoes and stockings before dipping her bare feet into the stream. A small gasp escaped her lips as the icy water flowed over her skin.

“It’s colder than it appears,” a voice said and Enola looked up sharply.

On the opposite bank a young man emerged from the bushes, a bow slung around his chest and a quiver of arrows on his back. He had dirty blond hair which reached untidily to his shoulders and grey-blue eyes, handsome in his own way. Enola had seen him around the camp during the day, fetching and carrying yet somehow always seeming to be outside of the group.

“It’s Lark, isn’t it?” Enola said. “Shouldn’t you be sitting in the council meeting?”

“No,” Lark replied, his tone neutral. “They wouldn’t listen to anything I have to say anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not Wolf.”

He waded across the shallow stream and dropped onto the bank beside her. Enola glanced at him sideways and realised he was actually a good deal more attractive close up. His features were softer and less striking than Wolf’s which, Enola thought, was not a bad thing.

“You don’t care much for Wolf, do you?”

“More like he doesn’t care for me,” Lark countered. “None of them do. I’m not a good rider and I’m useless with a sword. Wolf thinks I’m stupid and the others agree with him.”

“There must be something you’re good at,” Enola said kindly, feeling oddly guilty that Wolf should be the cause of the boy’s alienation from the renegades.

“I’m okay with a bow and arrow,” Lark conceded with a shrug of his shoulders. “But Wolf says it’s the weapon of a coward and the others ….”

“The others agree with him,” Enola finished for him and Lark nodded miserably. “Why does it matter so much what Wolf thinks of you?”

“Because he’s everything I’m not. We’re the same age, but Wolf is seen as a man while I’m still treated as a child.”

“You’re hardly a child,” Enola said. She reached out to touch his hand reassuringly, startled when he jerked away as though her very touch burned his skin.

“Lark!” Fairac stepped from the trees behind them, his eyes flicking from one to the other in disapproval. “You need to collect more wood for the fire.”

With a sigh, Lark got to his feet and headed towards the camp. Fairac grabbed his arm, fingers digging cruelly into the boy’s arm as he swung Lark around to face him.

“If I catch you sniffing round Wolf’s woman again I’ll beat you within an inch of your pathetic life. And you’ll be grateful for it because it will be preferable to what Wolf will do to you when he returns.”

Enola bristled with anger at Fairac’s words. How dare he threaten Lark when the boy had done nothing wrong? She watched Lark scurry off back to camp with his head bowed low. For the first time she felt relief that Wolf was not in camp. A great man among the renegades he may be, but to Enola it sounded as though he had become little more than a bully. She had dragged Hawk, Magnosa and the girls away from their home and into danger for a man she was no longer sure she would even like.