Joseph laughed as Stanchion stretched his legs into a run. The crisp autumn air seemed to crackle around them bringing everything into a smooth sharp focus. The horses delight in the crisp, clean season echoed his own.
"You know Joseph if he should prove too much for you I can always take him off your hands," Willis called from rear guard position.
"He wouldn't have you. He's got good taste," Joseph called back over his shoulder. Settling back in the saddle he let himself relax a little. It was a fine day and they were far enough from the border to be able to enjoy the ride. It was rare that Fergus’ patrols penetrated so far and there was a truce besides. It had not stopped the minor raiding, but Fergus had not mounted a major incursion since his daughter was wed. Joseph knew better than to trust familial love had anything to do with the break. Whatever Fergus’s reasons were, their forces needed the break.
He was glad the autumn circuit was almost over. They only had two towns to finish before returning to Blue Lake. Normally he would be thrilled to return home, but the prospect of spending the winter under the same roof as Stephen’s wife had his skin crawling. Stephen was no prize himself these days. The more he considered options, the more resolved he was to spend the winter in the guard keep. It might be cold, but the company was far better than the great hall.
The Duke, he didn't use father even to himself, was getting temperamental as age tightened its grasp and Stephen was always on edge. He understood the need for Stephen to marry Duke Fergus's daughter to seal the official peace between the counties but that did not mean he thought it would come to any good in the end. He could almost see the malaise descend upon Blue Lake the moment that woman had stepped in the door. She was never anything but polite, but her eyes were as empty as a snakes. He had enough of a gift to know she was poison.
He breathed deeply trying to dispel the unpleasant memories with the rich, clean smell of the fall air. It was always best this time of year. The village harvests were in and the people had yet to face the hardships of winter. It was a time of joy without all the hunger, hurried plantings and fear of the spring. Each village in the duchy had their own celebrations and ceremonies, but the next village was the crown of the fall rounds. No village was a better host and no village had a greater reason to love the Duke. Rhinehold lived on the very borders of the duchy and without the messengers and the heavy patrols in the region, it would have suffered greatly from the nearly twenty years of war with Fergus.
Among the messenger patrols the Rhinehold route was a prize to be vied for and earned each year. It was almost guaranteed that the village would throw a special feast for the messengers, treating them like royalty. Except that unlike royalty, the messengers earned the privilege. Joseph quickly censored his thoughts. His father stayed loyal to the King, but he had no illusions about their ruler. The High King would happily see his family dead, for all that they had been weakened by the years of war. The loss of Duke Torrin had unsettled the nobles who knew enough not to discredit the rumors of the King‘s involvement. For from strengthening the King‘s hold on the land, the betrayal of Torrin had spun new alliances across the lands, none of them involving the King‘s interests.
He shook his head. He joined the messengers years ago to avoid the politics of court and here he was brooding on it. It was not like he could make a difference out here anyway. Biting his lip, he forced his mind back on more pleasant paths. They were nearly at the village and he knew he would be welcomed handsomely. He was well known to the village, he had been assigned to their route for three years. It was more than a little matter of pride that his assignment had nothing to do with being the Duke’s son.
He patted Stanchion affectionately. The stallion had more than a little to do with his assignment. Stanchion was the culmination of nearly a decade of breeding and training, his own special project. Willis had the strongest sword arm and Edgar was without question the best man with bows, but he too was the best . He was one of the better tacticians in the duchy and was the best horseman. The proof of that was moving beneath him.
Stanchion had been an ugly colt., looking like a spindly little wretch next to the burly foals of the Duke's war stock. Even as infants the heavy foals ponderous play promised power and strength from nearly the first breath. The Duke had repeatedly cursed as the young foal matured that Stanchion had been a waste of a good mare. He had too much leg and not enough bulk to carry a man in full armor and too much war horse blood to be an easy saddle mount. It had taken all of his arguing skills to keep the foal from being culled and his sire sold.
They had bought Stanchion's sire, a hot blooded little desert horse, to add refinement to their saddle horses. The silver beast had done that, but many of the saddle horses were too high spirited for easy use. Most had been sold at reduced rates. It had been an inspiration to take the silver to the prize mare he had been given on his 14th birthday. The Duke thought he had lost his mind. It had taken six years of cross breeding to produce Stanchion. He smiled to himself at the memory of the Duke's horror at the much awaited result, but he had known better.
The foal matured into everything he had hoped. For good or for ill Stanchion was just as fiery as the stud, but as he matured he grew into his long limbs. Joseph had known as soon as he saw the Stanchion that this was the beast he had been waiting for, the one that would be able to physically perform the maneuvers that seemed so impossible for the Duke's heavy steeds. It had taken a bit longer for the others to see his potential. As he played with the ponderous war horses it became obvious. He was like a falcon among war eagles, all speed and elegance. He had the height of his war horse ancestors and the leg and shape of his delicate sire. It almost made up for his temper.
More than one groom had come to grief on Stanchion's maliciously wielded teeth. Stanchion was large and swift and very particular about who touched him. Stanchion only allowed him to touch him because he had been with the foal daily since birth. Eventually he had started Stanchion in the war maneuvers that he had seen in the house books of his late mother. She had come from a long line of horse trainers known for their specially trained horses. The family books had shown how to train a horse into a living weapon. That weapon had allowed him to win every riding competition he entered and gave him his place among the messengers. Stanchion was now acknowledged as one of the best beasts in the duchy.
His gaze swept over the rolling fields leading up to the village and came to rest on the village's large horse herd. He had to smile at the beautiful animals he saw playing there. They were just what he was hoping to breed. When he was born the village was little known. It had sheep and cows and was indistinguishable from the forty other little villages within the Duchy. Sometime in his youth the village had started breeding horses, within a decade the horses were highly prized all over the kingdom. The Duke had been smart enough to take his taxes in horses and leave the breeder alone since the that held the contracts was a freeman with no official ties to the duchy.
Over the last decade traders had begun to stretch their routes to the duchy even though the wars raged every summer. The village’s herd had grown dramatically over the years as trading and war booty filled the ranks of breeding horses. The refugee responsible for their bounty was known to hate Fergus with a special vehemence. It was rumored he even staged raids to snatch Fergus’ herds. His efforts appeared to have been well rewarded.
Although the man had enough money to purchase grazing rights and land grants from Duke Henry he had chosen to live quietly. A small loft above the stable served as the man's home. The finest stall in the stable were always offered to the messenger's horses free of charge. Even the horses liked stopping here. Recently the Duke had been considering positioning a few guards in the village because of the increasing value of trade in the region. Joseph thought it was probably overdue.
A peal of laughter brought his mind back to his companions. Willis and Edgar were laughing with the deep chuckles of well-pleased men. Edgar had been on the village circuit the longest of any of them. Although Edgar was known to be withdrawn, he had sought Joseph out as soon as he had joined the messengers. He had just been twenty one and had a large chip on his shoulder. He could not avoid the suspicion that Edgar was only interested in him because of the Duke's command. After they had become true friends, his suspicions had been confirmed but by then it did not matter. He had proved his worth.
A year after his training had began, they had gone to town after a particularly intense practice session when they came across a huge brawl. A massive soldier was taking on a half a dozen of his compatriots. He moved to break up the fight when Edgar restrained him. As they watched, Willis had destroyed the other men and continued on into the tavern. A few drinks later and they were fast becoming friends. Willis was a veteran of all eighteen years of the war, having joined the Duke's army when he was only ten. He drank hard and trained harder, he claimed that was the only way he survived so long. Later in the year they had managed to convince Willis to join the messengers. It had entailed copious amounts of ale and a carefully engineered bet but it had worked.
Since Willis's arrival all the messengers had shown a marked improvement in their fighting abilities. Willis said that just because they ran around on horses was no excuse not to fight well. What had started as informal classes in swordplay soon became a required daily practice. Even the Duke had noticed. Willis would have probably been offered a position of swordsmaster within the first year if it were not for his choice of companions. The Duke would not take such a strong fighter from his son’s patrol route. For once he had not minded the manipulations. There was something infinitely comforting about having Willis's sword at his back. With the truce he could no longer justify his selfishness though, he planned to ask the Duke to offer the position this winter. There were far more than just the messengers who could benefit from Willis's expertise.
Edgar broke out laughing as a group of large near-yearlings came galloping across the field. They were squealing and fighting in a swirling circle. Joseph turned an appreciative eye to their horseflesh. He did not know where the village was getting their stock but they had better horses than were bred at his father's stable. There were some definite types with in the colts. He saw a few war-horses with clean long limbs and powerful muscles and some very fast smaller colts that screamed of the Moorish blood he had been hoping to gain.
Stanchion's head perked up and he sent out a ringing call over the fields. Joseph cursed and fought for control, Stanchion was never gelded but it was times like this he almost considered it. His struggle became worse as a few of the mares grazing in the field answered Stanchion’s call and started walking toward the fence. It was just his luck if a couple were in season. Joseph gave up trying to master Stanchion to an even walk and planted a heel firmly in his side. If he wanted to act up he could run out some of his energy. Stanchion settled into a hard run in a split second.
Joseph ignored the cries of his companions and grinned as Stanchion swept him quickly away from the outer fields. The pounding thunderous strides were soon echoed back to him by the walls of the approaching village. Stone defensive towers loomed over the open gates of the village. A single guard stood at the gates, the fact they still posted a guard, unlike many of the other villages their size spoke well of their vigilance and experience. The guard waved him past with a grin.
Stanchion's hooves clattered loudly on the stone street. The village had put in the stones to keep the traders carts from bogging down in the spring rains. Every time he returned to the village, the stone streets had grown and new people were added. Soon they would have to call Rhinehold a town, maybe even a city within his lifetime.
Smiling to himself at the thought, he pulled Stanchion down to a sedate walk. Even the horse seemed to be pleased to be in the town. His neck was arched as he pranced into the village, his hooves striking sparks against the hard stone. Children came out of the houses, bringing the late day chores to a halt as they stopped to admire the show. Mothers stopped mid-scold whenever they came to get the wandering children and some even offered smiles of greeting. The people of the village were always friendly, unlike the northern border towns. Spring or fall, hunger or plenty it did not matter, messengers were treated like honored guests. It was rumored that the horse breeder funded the festivities, but the man never mentioned it or even approached him for a favor.
The large stable that dominated town’s center was soon looming before him. He dismounted at the large doors admiring it anew. It was equal to Blue Lake’s fine stable and was truly a magnificent structure. He was careful not to detail exactly how fine a building it was. Although the Duke was a man of honor, he would not put it beyond him to strong arm George into coming to Blue Lake. If the Duke thought it would aid the war effort, he was capable of nearly anything. Joseph shook his head, no matter what, George had been through enough in his life. He did not need to be told that the man had once been a noble of some sort. Fergus’ torturers did not waste their time with villagers. Whatever the secrets were that the man held, he served Blue Lake now. Joseph was not going to ask him for more.
George came out and quietly took Stanchion from him with a nod. The man's oddly scarred face offered no hint of his thoughts. Joseph greeted him softly, knowing from long experience that the man would not reply. No one knew where he came from and the woman that had cared for him had died within a few years of the stable's completion. It was said by the villagers that he had come when the fighting first started, his wounds fresh and horribly maimed. The quiet woman that had been with him nursed him back to health that first winter, paying the villagers for her food and upkeep. In the spring the Duke had received the first of their land petitions accompanied by a small sack of gold. It was all his father had needed to know.
Stanchion tossed his head briefly as George took the reins and then followed the quiet man as docilely as a well-trained dog. Joseph grinned and started wiping the travel dust from his clothing while he waited for Edgar and Willis to catch up. Even Stanchion minded his manners around the man, that was proof of magic as far as he was concerned.
The smell of fresh baked bread wafted across the stable yard and mingled with the clean smell of hay. Joseph's mouth watered, The thought of fresh bread after so many days on the road was a siren song of invitation. Nodding to the children clustered around the blacksmithy, he started towards the town's only inn. A loaf of bread and a jar of honey nearly uppermost on his mind, only the inn’s sweet cider tempted him more.
Edgar and Willis came cantering into the town as he paused below the placard of the inn. Both cast glowering looks as he saluted them jauntily. He would order the first round and be well on his way to his second before they were done. By the time they made their way from the stable, he was feeling quite cheerful.
"Leave it to prettyboy here to make an entrance into the village." Willis growled as he plopped on to the bench next to Joseph. "So what was your hurry? Some lass you looking for?"
Joseph snorted at that particular quip, they all knew how unlikely that prospect was. "Like my brother would tolerate it. Every time I would even think of it, he holds Fergus up as an example. ‘We don’t need any more of that kind around here, keep it in your pants.’� He echoed in Stephen’s sonorous tones. “I swear there are times that I think he is planning to marry me off too." Edgar choked.
"Good God why? He can make his own heirs now." Edgar sputtered with outrage as he raised four fingers in a signal to the innkeeper.
"Stephen seems to think it is the duty of every family member to marry for the advantage of the family." Joseph grimaced, "Not that it has made him happy or given him children yet mind you." he kept his voice low but allowed his bitterness to show. "He keeps trying to arrange some sort of marriage for me, never mind I'm a second son and he's got a wife that should produce soon. It makes me feel like some horse, they haggle over my marriage contracts. It only stopped when I told Stephen I was thinking of running away to court."
Willis snorted, "At least you won't have to go through the trouble of finding a wench and with your blood she's likely to come with land." He sighed as the innkeeper put a full mug in front of him and stood waiting, another mug in his hands. Willis smiled at the man and drained the first mug in one long pull. Before he had the chance to wipe the foam from the ale off his face, the innkeeper had exchanged the empty mug for the full one. They waited for the man to leave before resuming their conversation.
"You say that, Willis because you would be happy with some woman to fill your bed and who's money could fill your coffers. I on the other hand would like a companion." Joseph knew he never should have said those words as Willis rolled his eyes and Edgar looked faintly ill. They had said on multiple occasions that his notions were born of too much inbreeding and not enough practicality. He was sure his last statement would only add to their conviction.
The innkeeper came to their table carrying a huge tray of breads and cheeses. Behind him came his daughters carrying platters full of meat pies. Joseph smiled at the charming young girls and lifted their burdens from them. Smiling and giggling in the first attempts to flirt, they ran back to their mother. He shook his head and resolved to send only older messengers in a few years. They wanted to keep the towns good will and those girls were going to be a handful. The sound of the innkeeper clearing his throat brought his attention back to the large man.
"My wife is made up an apple pie in anticipation of your coming. Your campfire was spotted by the herdsmen last night. It should be ready in a few candlemarks. If you should wish for more cider just signal me." The man left them to their drinking and laughter.
The people of the villages were always obliged to care for the messengers needs, but Rhinehold was always the best. Joseph shook his head in disbelief, they had made a pie. He was not sure his own home would have troubled themselves in such a way. It was an uncomfortable thought. He turned his gaze back to Willis and Edgar, they were both watching him with troubled eyes obviously wanting to continue their conversation but unsure if it was wise.
He sighed, even after all this time they could not forget that he was the Duke’s son. He continued where they had left off, trying to ignore the pain in his heart. "As I was telling you before, you would probably hate the idea of an arranged marriage. I like the old ways, I want to find my Ashieva." He confided with a wince, even though they did not have the option of the bonding in their marriages.
"Oh yes," Willis said his tone condescending. "That is a lovely thought, sharing everything with your wife." He shook his head in disgust. "If I were in your shoes, a younger son and all, I would find her a lot easier to bond with if she came with her father's money." He broke off in a loud gwaff as Edgar chuckled in appreciation of the lewd gesture that had accompanied the words. Joseph just grimaced.
"You know if I wanted money or land I would just go to the north and carve out a holding there with or without the High Kings blessing." He shrugged as the concept obviously caught their attention. "I don't envy my brother his position and I wouldn't want the responsibility." The thought of his brother's cold wife and his stomach nearly turned. The woman was just plain frightening. "I would much rather be with you ingrates than have to exchange pleasantries with Fergus or his kin." They grunted their agreement to that while he went on waving a piece of cheese for emphasis, "but I would defy the both of you to enjoy the idea of marrying Count Rudolph's daughter."
"Count Rudolph? I don't think I remember him." Edgar stated with a puzzled tone.
"Oh I remember him," Willis exclaimed excitedly. "He was the old buzzard that came with that pretty little thing to the Spring feast." He turned an astonished gaze to Joseph. "What are you complaining about? She looked like a pretty handful."
"Oh she was, Willis, but that was his wife." Joseph rejoined with a perfectly bland tone. Willis choked mid drink as Joseph's reply filtered into his consciousness.
"Good Lord with that old man!" Willis ignored the cider dribbling down his chin as he stared incredulously. Joseph calmly wiped the sprayed cider from his face while Edgar reached over and began dabbing the liquid off Willis's face and chin.
"You know, you may want to have that seen to," Edgar said as he mopped the rest of the mess off the table. "I mean losing your drink. You must be on your way to dotage, old man.�
Willis swatted at him playfully as he focused on Joseph with his strange multicolored eyes. “If that little miss was not his daughter, who was?�
Joseph’s lips twitched with humor, you could always tell when Willis got intrigued, he lost his accent. He wondered when Willis would trust them enough to explain why he spoke as cleanly as any nobleman. If he judged the information correctly. Willis would be sputtering in the high language in a moment.
"I can't believe you don't remember her, Willis! The woman that won the arm wrestling contest with the blacksmith? The one that nearly drank you under the table?" Joseph hid his smile as the smooth sibilant sounds of the high language split the air before the rich sound of Willis’ laughter rolled through the inn.
"Oh the Blessed Spirits!" Willis's voice was a deep growl of appreciation. "She's more of a woman than his wife!" His face fell into unaccustomed lines as he mused aloud, "Much more of a woman." Joseph almost thought the sad, regretful look was an illusion as Willis cracked a huge grin and lapsed once more into a thick accent. "That's all right, I'll save you from her. She seems like a bit more of a woman than you could handle anyway." He rubbed his hands together. "So you think the old goat would mind some common blood in his line?"
Edgar groaned hiding his head in his hands. “You‘ve done it now, Joseph. I think he is in love.�
Willis snorted and ticked off his points. “She got everything I like in a woman; meat, curves, money, no siblings. So what do you think?"
Joseph took a chance and answered in the high language. “I think you are about as common as I am.� Willis glowered at him but did not reply as Edgar broke in.
"Gods, the thought that the two of you could breed." Edgar said in mock horror. "Who needs the Vikings? We'd be breeding our own terrors right here."
Willis frowned clearly welcoming the distraction. "No, you've got it all wrong my friend. What sons a woman like that would breed." Edgar snorted and rolled his eyes.
“You sound like a bloody lord worrying about his offspring, I think you have been hanging out with Joseph here too long.� Edgar shook his head. “You should be worried about what will happen when your sword arm grows weak than you should be worrying about sons that you might not be able to feed.�
Willis nodded as if granting a point. “That might have been right, but you know that’s not a worry at Blue Lake. Joseph and Stephen have far too much honor to let a guardsmen’s family starve. It lets a man focus on other things.� The serious air dissipated as Willis leaned back and gestured grandly. “A woman should be selected as carefully as any mare. If you want a good sturdy colt you get a strong mare." His hands outlined his ideal woman as he spoke, bringing tears of amusement to Joseph's eyes. "It seems to me if you want strong sons you should look for a sturdy woman."
He blinked and smiled slyly, "I'll bet that’s what happened to the king’s line. They always married the pretty or the well off. You almost never see a real woman as Queen." He snorted, "They just kept marrying those dainty little things and their sons turned out with finer and finer bones. Now all they have is a sickly thin boy."
He turned to Joseph, his face comically serious. " Make sure when you marry that you chose a well muscled woman, not a waif. You are about the right height and have some good muscle to you but you would not be called burly by any stretch of the imagination. You are kind of like your horse. Make sure you marry someone as well put together as yourself or you run the risk of weedy sons." He gwaffed, "I would be a damn shame if a grandchild of Duke Henry was one of those little refined dandies."
He was rather befuddled as Joseph rose from the table with a sickly grin on his face. "While you two sort out what kind of woman is proper to marry, I'm going to pay our respects to the village headman." Joseph gave the two men a jaunty salute and walked outside. He did not know how much more of Willis's witty remarks he could take. They touched on a raw cord. He was tired of being told what he should do. He had hoped that by joining the messenger's he could at least have some small freedoms away from Blue Lake, but even here he was not free. Circumstances were conspiring to catch him and bind him away from all of his pleasures.
One of the reasons Stephen was so keen to marry him off was the need for heirs. His brother seemed unblessed in that particular area. It had been nearly a year since the marriage to Fergus's daughter and there was still no telltale thickening of the woman's waist. He was Stephen's heir until his brother produced a male child. He was not going to be able to hold out much longer. He needed an heir and soon. If something were to happen to Stephen the Duchy would be open to many "noble" predators. He would probably be dead within a year and Fergus or one of his allies would have an addition to his realm.
He shook his head; his life seemed to be a string of contracting options. This winter he would have to see if he could find a woman acceptable to both his family and himself before he found himself in a church staring at a complete and utter disaster in the making. With those happy thoughts to brace him he started down the street to find the local privy and locate the blacksmith.
The fall rounds were generally used to check the state of the villages and to shore up their defenses. With other towns, messengers had to organize food storage and settle disputes. It was never the case with Rhinehold. There was probably some last minute harvesting still going on but nothing they really needed to be concerned with. Willis had added training to the rounds, using them to ensure the drilling of the village men was effective. The war had dragged on for so many years that every man that could bear arms was needed because they did not have the seamlessly boundless share of troops that Fergus fought with. The people fought for Blue Lake with a ferocity that Fergus' mercenaries could not match.
The sweet scents of fall came to his nostrils as he walked in the cool air of evening. It felt like the calm before the storm. He couldn't shake the feeling that the peace was just an illusion, it was as if he could not relax. His brother's marriage and the subsequent treaty seemed no more than an overly long lull in the fighting. Perhaps it was because fighting was almost all he had known all of his life, but peace seemed far off in the still night air. Fergus's men raided just as their own villagers did, but now the attacks were not claimed.
Joseph fingered the hilt of his sword feeling his calluses rub against the wrapped leather of the hilt. Fergus would grow bold again soon, he could feel it. Maybe he had been too long at war. Before he had joined the messengers he had fought in many battles the same as his brother, perhaps they had forgotten how to have a peace. He tried to shake his grim mood as he turned his mind back to the business at hand.
The hot smell of the forge was carried on the wind to him. The harsh smells on the wind let him know the blacksmith was working late, probably to make up for the interruption tomorrow would bring. At least the village tanner seemed to be done for the season. The smells of the forge and the tanner would have set up a formidable stench. He got out his lists to review before the sunset drew the light down to nothing. The fall routes were a little less structured than the Spring circuit. They took tallies of village resources and counted the villagers, really just seeing which villages were doing well and which might need more attention in the Spring.
Even with Rhinehold’s prosperity and obvious loyalty there was something that always bothered him about the place, something always seemed off. He could never put his finger on it, but he was determined to find the source of the strangeness. Though the people were friendly, he could feel they were hiding something. It shouted to him in his very bones, but he could not confront them on his feelings alone even if this town clung more strongly to the old ways than most.
He did not think that the village's religious beliefs were the source of his discomfort, though it made him feel a little strange to know they considered him one of the Blessed Ones because of the blood that ran in his veins. It did not seem right, but that was not his call. The Duke had always told him that there were many truths in the land and that the people did not need to be bludgeoned into conversion no matter what the high court felt. There were still priest and priestesses of the old ways walking the roads of the Duchy. They were getting fewer as the years went by, but they were not persecuted. It was not the scattered traces of the old ways dotting the town that bothered him, at least here the gifts of the nobility would not be the source of dark rumors. No, it was something else. The odd sense of something out of place had been growing in him every time he visited, worrying at him until he developed glaring headaches within hours of riding into town. He had sworn off drinking anything but the mild cider during his visit in the spring because the strange sensations combined with a mild hangover left him violently ill.
Tom the Blacksmith looked up from the glowing metal rod he was hammering on as Joseph walked into the shed. The blacksmith turned his work over to a strapping young man that had to be his son and walked over to a barrel of water standing at the entrance of the shed. He drew his thick leather apron off and placed it on a peg as he turned to look at Joseph in quick evaluation. He grunted as he plunged his head and arms into the clear water, washing away the grim of sweat and dust. "I assume you'll be needing us on the Green in the morning?" Tom said as he toweled off the water, dirt and sweat with the cloth that had been wrapped around his waist.
He nodded, but was quick to qualify. "If that does not cause any problems for your people. We are here to help you, not place an additional burden or to keep you from necessary chores." He carefully spelled out. The Duke wanted these rounds to bind the duchy together not to drive the peasants to revolt. They would not enjoy being made to miss needed work and the drills would not help a people going hungry from tasks not done.
Tom shook his head is a curt negation of that concern. "No, we made sure to have everything ready for the winter well before you came here." He hung the cloth on the wall and shrugged into a shirt that barely stretched over his massive form. Once he settled the shirt he motioned Joseph to follow him into the house attached to the smithy. He held the door open for Joseph to enter saying, "We all know how important vigilance is with Fergus on our border. The boy will be sent to mind the sheep and cows tomorrow. Just tell me what we need to do." Joseph smiled and sat at the table within the dwelling. There was a reason this town was growing so quickly, the people were the best within the duchy.
After he had finished outlining the schedules for the villagers he went back to the inn to prepare for the coming days. He wanted to be out of this village as soon as possible. It looked to be an early winter this year and he did not fancy being caught on the roads when the first blizzards came. The storms were as quick to kill as any sword and just as painful.
Another of the villages oddities struck him as he made his way back to the inn. There seemed to be few chickens around for all the meat he saw hanging by the doors. The town had not advanced enough to have many specialist shops yet, so he could not write it off as the work of a yet unseen butcher. Even stranger, the town had some luxuries that were usually only found in the greatest houses. The dogs he saw with the flocks were typical for just about any village. Huge and white, the dogs blended well with the sheep but there were other dogs in the village that did not resemble the common mutts in the least. He had seen massive black dogs that had the look of hunting hounds. He wondered where the village had found such animals and why they bothered to keep them. Such large animals ate as much as the sheepherders but did not seem to protect the crops. Joseph imagined that they would be good in war times but the village was not at constant war. The cost of maintaining the dogs alone was enough to make them prohibitive. He wondered what they could be doing for the people that made them worth the price of their maintenance.
Perhaps the refugees had brought the stock with them as they came. Either way, the fact that the villagers had kept them added to the mystery of the place. Many other towns had as many refugees throughout the years and as many opportunities for change, but this town somehow had harnessed the tides of war to their own ends. Other towns in their situation had grown some but were basically the same as they always were. This town had always been different.
He rubbed his head trying to ease the tension that these inconsistencies always brought on. He really hated the headaches that always seemed to come in this place. Maybe he would be able to figure it out over the winter. At least he could bounce his thoughts off of Stephen then, he just hoped his brother would not feel the need to investigate himself. Rhinehold and all its secrets had somehow become his own personal project. His headache grew as he tried to puzzle it out.
When he walked back into the inn Willis and Edgar didn’t even look up. They were well into a discussion that would probably make sense if he had drunk as much as they already had. He shook his head and went to check on the horses before he settling down for the night. The air of the inn was too close for him to tolerate at the moment and Edgar’s convoluted logic was making his head pound even worse. When he got to the stable George showed him right in leading him back to the mounts. All were freshly washed and brushed, their coats gleaming in the dim light of the stable. There was a generous supply of hay on the floor of each stall and a sweet mash filled the feeding trough.
There was a small bandage on Stanchion's hind leg though he was putting his full weight on the leg. He looked up at George questioningly, knowing the man would find a way to tell him what had happened. George rubbed his hands together for a moment and then placed the scarred and mangled appendages on Joseph's arm, letting him feel the heat.
“The leg was hot?� He questioned softly, wanting to be sure he had understood the man correctly. George nodded swiftly and lifted his hands away. Joseph nodded his thanks, distracted by the damage on George's hands. How did the man manage to get things done? There did not seem to be a properly shaped bone left in the man's fingers. He shook his head slowly trying to fight off the rising rage at Fergus's brutality. Promising himself that this and many other wrongs would be addressed he turned his attention back to his horse. It was just as well that he was helping Willis drill the men tomorrow. Stanchion could use the rest from the constant travel even if he was too stubborn to show it. He picked up a brush and began currying the already gleaming coat, needing the mindless motion to soothe his own scattered thoughts.
It was fully dark by the time he left stable. The muted lights of the inn guided his footsteps back. He was actually glad for the cool darkness as the monstrous stirrings of his headache grew worse. At least Willis and Edgar never complain of them, or else they would have been in deep trouble. His first year on the circuit he had made the mistake of drinking with them in an attempt to drown the pain. He had not been able to eat for days. Edgar told him it was because he worried too much, Joseph wasn't sure. He was beginning to suspect that it had something to do with the strangeness of this town itself. Willis just told him it was because he had not drunk enough.
He smiled to himself at the thought, that was almost always Willis’ solution. At least this year he had the forethought to bring some tea to help him dull the ache. He would get the innkeeper's wife to brew it. He adjusted his course for the kitchen entrance, conversation ceased as soon as he walked in the door leaving abrupt silence. His headache was getting bad enough to not care what they were saying. He left curt instructions for the preparation of the medication and went back into the taproom. Willis was regaling the crowd with war tales. The stories sounded a little tamer than usual, Joseph looked around the crowd and saw why. There was not a man in the crowd that did not bear some battle scars. Tall tales were for those that had not been there. Stories were for those that had. These men had likely been a part of the war on and off as long as Willis had. He would do little bragging and much talking tonight. The men were sure to listen closely to his swordplay session tomorrow morning.
Willis and Edgar had already set up a palette in the corner, clearly planning for his headache. At least the pain would be gone in the morning if he was careful. If he was very lucky, it would not come back before dusk. He settled on the edge of the bench and drew off his boots with a muffled groan. Before he was finished, the innkeeper’s wife brought the tea with a small stick of crystallized honey. He breathed in the soothing vapor as he stirred a bit of honey into the cup. As he inhaled he detected a subtly different smell to the tea. He sniffed again carefully, as the Duke’s son he could not relax his vigilance against poison even here. Briefly his alarm flared. Martha had changed the teas. He breathed in the odor again to make sure he was right before he confronted her. The smells quickly sorted themselves out. She had given him a tea with a few more herbs in it, including a mint if he was not mistaken, but nothing lethal. He sipped the tea gingerly and had to repress a sigh of pleasure. The tea he had asked her to prepare was bitter and foul tasting. This one he would not mind drinking daily. The honey and the mint had combined to smooth over the more bitter flavors in the medicine. When he was done he was surprised to find her waiting to take the cup from him.
"I hope that's better for you, young sir, that's mixed up for a lady who has need of it sometimes. We keep a supply at the inn for those feeling poorly. This time of year there is some always on the pot." She flushed for a moment as if she had said something she shouldn’t and then continued, "If you are anything like the lady, you'll feel well in the morning." She put a cool hand to his forehead and clucked. "Your not hot for sure so its likely just the ague." Before he could question her further she bustled off, clucking to herself like his old nanny.
He made a mental note to track her down later and ask her about this "ague." He had never heard of such a thing but she seemed to know more than Blue Lake’s healer . He put away the rest of the thoughts for another day and relaxed into the palate. It was not as nice as a real bed but was far better than the road. They even had real blankets here so he did not have to wrap himself in his cloak. His last thought was that Willis and Edgar better turn in soon or they would be good for nothing in the morning.
To his great relief, his head was clear and pain free when the morning came. He grabbed a couple of rolls and made his way to the practice field. Everyone in the village would be vital in an attack. Edgar had suggested placing man traps around the village since it was walled. Joseph had been thinking about it ever since trying to find a way it would be feasible. The traps would have to be well known and marked so that the villagers and traders could avoid them, while still being hidden enough to catch the invaders. He thought maybe the trick would be to place them where no trader or villager would normally go but where invaders would likely assault.
He let those thought settle to the back of his mind to stew for a while and started watching the more brawny or talented villagers work with Willis. There were even a few women in the mix that were agile enough to work the sword. The Duke provided weapons to all able-bodied fighters. Some had objected to the Duke's stance on women warriors, but he had reminded them that it was women who bore the worst fates in a sacked village. There had been no more objections as they all remembered the atrocities that had been common at the start of the war. Now everyone in the villages found the time to come to one training session or another. Since Rhinehold was the last village on their stop and the one closest to the border, they took their time and extended the training over several days.
When the final night arrived the people of Rhinehold emerging from their houses in festival colors. Delicious smells had been wafting through the village over the last several days, promising delights when the festival finally came. The town green was surrounded with bright fires as women joined in a circle of dance. Willis was obviously the life of the party. He stripped to the waist and challenged the blacksmith to a wrestling match as the townsfolk lustily cheered them on. They both ended up as a heap on the ground with no clear winner. Willis’ rich laugh echoed across the green as both men shook hands and set about serious drinking. A few of the villagers produced drums and pipes inducing most of the revelers to dance.
It soon became evident that Willis was far better at swordplay than dancing. Joseph laughed as Willis gave up any attempts to copy the villager's intricate steps and started making up his own with a smile on his face and a tilt to his chin. Joseph rose and made his way over to the musicians where the town goodwives were sitting and clapping. He executed his most formal bow to Martha and offered her his arm. She blushed like a girl as he spun her through the dance. He knew better than to dance with any of the younger women, but found to his surprise that Martha was a delightful dancer.
When he finally collapsed into his bedroll it was quite late. There were still a few dancing and merrymaking, but he could afford no more lost sleep. They had to ride out by midday and the good-byes and the message rolls always took well into the morning to finish.
**********************************************************
The morning dew had faded from the grass by the time they were able to emerge from the village. Stanchion's gate was slow and easy with no hint of pain. It seemed he had enjoyed the rest as much as his rider. It had almost seemed that the stallion was reluctant to leave his stall. It could have had something to do with the warm mash that George fed the horses or the apples the children slipped him or it could have had something to do with the chill in the air.
Everyone's breath shot out in front of them like great smoking plumes as they loaded the horses. When they had finally left the village everyone had turned out to wave them on their way. Stanchion shifted underneath him restlessly, finally returning to his normal troublesome self as the village disappeared behind the rolling hills of their pastures.
A breeze caused the shrubs dotting the landscape near the forest to wave. Stanchion was still young and hot blooded enough to be spooked by them if he was in the mood to play and Joseph was not in the mood to be thrown so early into the ride. He reined in the horse for a moment to try and settle him before going near the trees. The forest was only a short gallop away as he considered his options. He could let Stanchion run out his fit or he could fight him all the way to the forest. Joseph eased him into a walk when it suddenly occurred to him SOME OF THE BUSHES WERE NOT MOVING IN THE BREEZE.
Kicking Stanchion into a gallop, he shouted a warning just as the first bolt of the ambush took him in the shoulder. He felt the impact but did not feel any pain yet. Sending thanks to whatever merciful guardian blessed him with numbness, he moved into the battle. A score of soldiers rose from the bushes, all wearing Duke Fergus's livery. This was no small skirmish.
Ice ran down his spine at the sight of them holding massive crossbows, if they did not close with them, they were dead. He drew his sword and kicked Stanchion into a dead run. There was no way to outrun the bolts, his only hope was to close before the soldiers could fire again. If Stanchion had not been on edge they would have all been dead already, he took that as a sign luck was with them - for the moment.
Willis shouted a wild war cry off to his left as he too kicked his horse into a gallop. More arrows flew past. He felt a passing gratitude that no more hit him as he leaned low on Stanchion’s withers. About half the ambush teams were frantically cranking on the reloading wenches for the crossbows. From their scrambling actions he guessed they had not planned on their victims living past the first volley. A heavy crash sounded to his right as Edgar’s horse went down.
He risked a quick glance under his elbow to check on his companion and smiled mirthlessly. They had taken Edgar's horse from underneath him but had left him unwounded, that was a mistake. Edgar would use the dead animal as a shield while he peppered them with arrows of his own. Joseph could not spare him any other thoughts as Stanchion bore down upon the men with shocking speed. He barely had time to set himself in the saddle before the impact with the first soldier stepped in front of Stanchion, a useless knife in his hand. The hapless man was obviously trying to give his compatriots more time to fire.
A signal with his knees had Stanchion rising in an odd hop, hooves striking out in front of him just as he was trained. The maneuver was executed as beautifully as if they were still on the practice ground. The soldier fell bonelessly beneath them without even a pause in Stanchion’s charge to mark his demise. Joseph brought his sword down on top of a bowman's head using the horse's momentum to enhance his blow. The man did not even have time to bring the crossbow around before he fell.
An arrow burned the air in front of his face, giving him no time for breath. The next pair of soldiers were moving to meet his charge. Joseph snarled in outrage and signaled Stanchion to do a quick leap. The crossbow jumped in the bowman's hands and a sudden searing pain in his leg told Joseph he had not been lucky this time. He did not bother to look yet, there wasn’t time to figure out how badly he was wounded. If he lived he would worry about it, but if he stopped to worry now he would be dead for sure.
The archer stood his ground, futily signaling his partner to reload as Stanchion thundered toward them. Joseph guided Stanchion straight at the shooter, pushing aside the other soldier in his haste to address the main threat. Aiming a vicious slash at the backpedaling archer, he struggled to strike the man before he dodged out of range. Their momentum and the man’s own dodge carried the blow lower than he intended, knocking the man's useless bow aside and opening his stomach. The man fell to the ground screaming as Joseph turned to deal with his fellow, leaving the man kicking in the dirt. He nearly lost his grip on the sword as the soldier used his crossbow to block the swing. It was not enough to save the man's life as the blow sunk deeply into the soldier's face, but the crossbar of the bow did damage of its own. It snapped up under the sword, striking a searing blow to his arm.
He gritted his teeth and struggled to raise his arm, making it move despite the instant nausea the pain brought. There were more men coming up behind him, he could feel them in the icy crawling of his spine. Clamping his knees harder onto Stanchion he signaled the horse to turn and meet the threat and choked back another scream. He had forgotten the arrow in his leg, he could not allow it to matter as he signaled Stanchion to strike again. Stanchion squealed in pain as he threw both rear legs out in a kick. He fought the pain of Stanchion's movements, struggling to stay conscious as the world went gray and mute. Through the haze he felt Stanchion trampling the attackers and was grateful the horse remember his training without prompting.
The pain in his leg faded, allowing the world to come into a sharper focus. There was a man dangling from Stanchion's mouth as the irate horse shook him like a dog with a particularly juicy rat. Stanchion had taken to battle training far better than he realized a distant part of his mind noted.
Joseph tried to blink back the haze to focus on the utter chaos of the battle. There were oddly streaked white shapes running through the battle taking more of the attackers to the ground. They resolved themselves into huge herding dogs. As Joseph watched, one of the archers was taken in the throat and another dog fell to the blows of a mauled soldier. Edgar was nowhere to be seen while Willis was engaged with four enemy soldiers. There were still a few bowmen on the field taking note of him even as he saw them. Willis saw him the same moment they did.
"Run, Boy!" Willis shouted as he used a particularly vicious street maneuver to kill one of his opponents. "They're after you, run for the forest!"
Joseph knew he couldn’t fight any longer, his arms were useless. It was all he could do to stay in the saddle. Pointing Stanchion for the forest he gave him the signal to run. Stanchion seemed to fly as he left the battle and all its terrible sounds behind. Joseph knew with out looking that he was being followed but could barely muster the energy to stay in the saddle and hold his sword. All of his wounds were screaming and he could not focus enough to screen them out.
Stanchion did not even slow as the forest closed around them. He leaned over in the saddle to keep from being swept off by low limbs as they wove between the trees at breakneck speed. He knew better than to hope that he would lose his pursuers, Stanchion was leaving a trail wide enough for a child to follow. Perhaps fate would be kind and lead them to some help. He was in deep trouble no matter what happened though, he could hardly breathe. Deep pain lancing through his body from the bolt in his shoulder and spilled out the ache in his thigh. The world faded to a dark green blur while he floated in a sea of pain. He said a brief prayer as the world went black.
Something roused him and for a moment he had trouble focusing. Stanchion was holding still while a woman approached them, it was all he could do to make out her form with his blurred vision. They were no where he knew, it looked to be in some sort of clearing in the wood. Stanchion did not even lay back an ear as the woman came to stand beside him, her voice a low buzz of reassurances. Shock and concern were etched deeply on her face making it impossible to judge her age.
He was shaking uncontrollably with the effort not to cry out in agony, but the shaking only made it worse. The woman placed a hand on Stanchion’s foaming neck and the horse went rock-steady as she whispered a command. Before he had a chance to wonder at her ability, her hands reached up to support and steady him. Taking the support she offered, he tried to ease off Stanchion and found he could not dismount. He was horrified to realize he was solidly pinned to the saddle by an arrow through his thigh. From the grim look on her face the woman realized the problem. He clutched the thick arrow shaft rising from his leg futily with his useful hand. It did not matter, he did not have the strength to break it, much less lift it free on his own. Desperation rose in his throat.. He glanced back the way they had come and saw some huge dogs at the edge of the clearing. The woman's hands cover his own useless clutch on the arrow.
“We will protect you." Her firm, rich voice both reassured him and threatened the soldiers behind. From the compassion and a deep resolve in her hazel eyes, and he knew without a doubt she would do exactly as she said. He abandoned himself to whatever fate there was. Here at least was a chance.
"Thank you, Lady." He broke off, shocked by the thin sound to his own voice. Swallowing, he tried again. "Soldiers are coming." He stopped again, out of breath and appalled at his growing weakness. Waves of dizziness broke through him. An odd detachment came over him. He was not sure if it really mattered if the soldiers came anymore. Velvet darkness danced at the corners of his vision promising a peace he was not sure he would ever emerge from. His wounds were bad enough to challenge the best healer in the kingdoms. He was not sure anyone could help him, even Stephen with his strange gifts and stranger knowledge. Even one blessed with the old magics had limited in healing abilities.
“I will hurry.� She said in a warm, low voice calling him back from the dark thoughts. He gathered his courage as she gently pushed his hand aside and took a firm grasp on the arrow. His breath hissed out in a muffled cry as she snapped the arrow off just above where it protruded from his leg. He gulped and tried to quiet the quick shallow gasps sawing in and out of his chest, but the air did not nourish his lungs. Forcing himself to take deeper breaths, he fought the pain in his shoulder and the blackness that promised ease. As the ringing faded in his ears he became aware that she was holding him upright in the saddle.
“Here we go.� She said softly as he met her eyes. "Take hold of me if you can, it is time to get you off of that."
He was hardly in a position to protest. Unhooking his other leg from the stirrup, he brought it around nodded his readiness to her. She knelt down slightly and unhooked his useless leg from the stirrup. Moving her hands into a lifting position she nodded to him. He was not sure how they were going to meet the ground, but he knew it was the only way to get off the saddle without more help or time. He nodded to her, unwilling to waste another moment. They strained together. He had just enough time to realize the harsh scream that rang in his ears was his own before the world fell into darkness.
