Chapter 4

 

This cannot be the end. Jarin had no sooner thwarted one soldier’s vicious attack, when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the other soldier’s blade plunging toward his side. Until now, he’d been able to use his finely-honed skills as a King’s Guard to fend off the two brutes attacking him. And quite successfully, he would add, for blood saturated the arm of the smaller man, where he’d sliced the skin to the bone. If only Jarin’s hilt hadn’t gotten stuck with the larger soldier’s blade. As it was, he knew he could not react in time.

Sudden and unusual fear squeezed his heart. What would become of Cristiana? And the Knights of the Eternal Realm? Even worse, where would he end up? He’d not been on speaking terms with the Almighty in quite some time. Sweat stung his eyes as he prepared himself for the pain of the sword.

Snap-swoosh, snap-swoosh. Fast and one after the other, the sounds filled the air. An arrow cut through the smaller man’s arm. He dropped the sword. The other soldier groaned in agony as another arrow pierced his thigh. But ’twas not enough to stop him. With a mighty growl, he swung his blade toward Jarin.

Jarin raised his sword to fend him off just as Ronar charged the man, leveling his own sword at the man’s chest. “I’d drop that if I were you.”

The soldier, who appeared more beast than man due to the large amount of hair on his face and neck, sneered at Ronar, hesitating as if contemplating taking on both of them.

The other soldier, still moaning from his wound, inched his hand toward his sword on the ground, but Lady Falcon kicked it aside and pointed her arrow at him, giving him a sweet smile.

The large soldier’s eyes widened at the sight of Lady Falcon—no doubt recognizing her. Surely he’d be rewarded handsomely for bringing such a prize back to Sir Walter and Bishop Montruse. But he must have realized who he was up against, for his expression fell, along with his sword thudding to the ground.

“Begone! You may leave with your life if you leave posthaste,” Ronar said, glancing at the man’s wounds. “However, I advise you to hurry ere darkness falls and wolves emerge from their dens, drawn to the stink of your blood.”

Jarin chuckled.

A snarl lifted the large man’s lips as he glanced at his friend, who lumbered to his feet, the arrow still protruding from his arm. Together they hobbled away as fast as their wounds permitted them.

Lady Falcon, who kept her arrow pointed at them, finally lowered it and called after them. “Do tell Sir Walter, the Knights of the Eternal Realm send our regards.”

Still chuckling, Jarin faced his friends. “If you must know, I had the situation quite in hand.” He sheathed his blade, even as a wave of relief settled through him.

Ronar grabbed his arm and squeezed it. “I do not gainsay it. But what harm is there in a little aid from friends?”

“A little?” Jarin faced the infamous Lady Falcon. Waves of fiery hair flowed about her face and over the huntsman attire she wore that failed to hide her feminine curves. Her green eyes held a world of wisdom and spunk as she assessed him, and Jarin could see why Ronar was taken with her. “Bosh! Rescued by a woman, her two arrows fired so swiftly and precisely there was naught left for us to do. And us, King’s Guards! The shame of it. My lady,”—he dipped his head in her direction—“’tis our job to rescue you, not the other way around.”

Sheathing his sword, Ronar smiled at his betrothed. “Alas, a fact of which I have informed her many a time.”

Lady Falcon flung her bow over her shoulder and placed a hand on her hip. “It pains me greatly that I have caused your pride to suffer, gentlemen, but if ’tis a maiden you wish to rescue, it may please you to look elsewhere.”

Jarin shared a glance with Ronar, who shrugged and smiled at Alexia. “Tush, love! You cannot gainsay that I have come to your rescue more than once.” Ronar grabbed the soldiers’ swords off the ground and handed one to Jarin ere he approached Lady Falcon.

“Did you, Sir Knight?” She pursed her lips at her intended, an impish sparkle in her eyes. “Mayhap. Yet I trust I have more than returned the favor.”

Ronar slid a finger over her cheek. “In part, I’ll admit, but I hope you will repay me in full one day soon.”

Jarin growled, the exchange reminding him he’d not enjoyed such amorous banter with the softer gender since meeting Lady Cristiana. “Enough of this sickening flirtation! Let’s away to the cave. I have much to tell everyone.” He marched off, pushing aside a shrub whilst chuckles followed in this wake.

Ronar caught up with him. “Pray, what news from Luxley?”

“’Tis not good. But I should wait until Damien and the friar can hear as well.”

Ronar nodded, his expression stern in the fading light.

“How fares Anabelle?” Lady Falcon spoke from behind him.

“She is well…brave as always.” Jarin glanced over his shoulder at her, but she had disappeared up into the trees. Without a sound, he would add.

“I am pleased to hear it,” he heard her say from above them. He shook his head. The lady was more bird than human.

“You weren’t followed?” Ronar asked.

“Nay. Nor discovered.” Jarin glanced upward. “Your disguise worked, my lady.” Leaves rustled, but he could no longer see her as night dropped a black cloak o’er the treetops.

No further words were said. The sound of their breaths mingled with the hoot of owls, the hum of insects, and the distant, eerie howl of a wolf.

A prickling scraped across the back of Jarin’s neck. But not from the wolf. He rubbed it, trying to shake off the foreboding, when Ronar threw an arm out to halt him. Together they stood still…listening… barely breathing. Above the noise of the forest came footsteps…tentative…soft. Joined by the sound of Lady Falcon’s bowstring pulled tight from a branch above.

Ronar drew his blade. Jarin did the same. Backing off the trail, they eased into the shadow of a large tree.

The footsteps grew louder. Leaves rustled. A feminine sigh followed by a slight whimper caused Jarin to loosen the tight grip on his blade. Ronar’s shoulders lowered as well. Yet they remained hidden.

In moments, a shadow entered from their left and wandered down the path. A woman. A shaft of moonlight broke through the canopy and transformed her braid of hair into glistening ivory.

Leaves rustled overhead, and she glanced upward just as the name “Seraphina” loosed from Lady Falcon’s lips, and she dropped onto the path before her friend.

Though the woman shrieked and leapt back, within an instant she flew into Lady Falcon’s arms, crying in delight. “I found you, Lady Alexia! I found you!”

Heart leaping at the sight of Lady Cristiana’s dear friend, Jarin emerged from the shadows, Ronar by his side. ’Twas indeed her! The woman who never left her lady’s side.

“Where’s Lady Cristiana?” Jarin approached her, though she still sobbed in Lady Falcon’s arms.

Ronar touched his arm and sent him a look of censure. ’Twas obvious the woman was distraught, for they could now see her woolen kirtle was torn and stained, her hair disheveled, and her emotions awhirl.

Still, she pushed from Alexia and faced him with tears forging tracks down her dirt-stained face. “’Tis why I have come, Sir Jarin.” She released a heavy breath and stumbled.

Ronar caught her. “Let’s get her back to the cave posthaste. She needs care.”

“Dear, dear, Seraphina.” Lady Falcon embraced her again, then took one arm while Ronar grabbed the other and hoisted the bulk of her weight onto his shoulder.

“Pray tell, is my sister alive?” Lady Falcon’s voice rang with the same fear Jarin felt inside.

“She is, my lady,” Seraphina breathed out as they proceeded.

Feeling his fear soften a bit, Jarin took the rear, cursing his selfishness even as he grew desperate for further news.

That desperation mounted as they approached the waterfall, made their way through the prickly brambles surrounding it, leapt atop moss-laden boulders, and slipped behind the cascade of water. It further grew as they squeezed into the narrow opening behind the cleft of a rock, then felt their way along the winding tunnel leading down to the place Jarin had called home for nearly a year.

A secret knock, the turn of a latch, and the friar’s kind face appeared behind the wooden door. With a gentle wave of his hand, he beckoned them inside. His smile faded to concern at the sight of Seraphina.

“Place her here by the fire.” He gestured toward a high-backed bench, cushioned in red and perched beside the hearth, whilst he sped as fast as his old legs could carry him to the other side of the room, his brown robes flowing behind him.

Jarin closed and latched the door, allowing the warmth of the well-appointed chamber to sweep away the chill of the forest. Alack, his desperation remained. Yet, as light from several lamps alighted upon Seraphina, that desperation faded to mere impatience in view of her ragged condition. Aside from her torn and stained kirtle, bruises and cuts marred her arms and face—a comely face that appeared sunken, no doubt from lack of sustenance.

Dropping her bow and arrows on a table, Alexia grabbed a coverlet, flung it about the woman’s shoulders, and knelt before her. Despite her obvious discomfort, Seraphina smiled at her friend, then shifted her blue eyes up to Ronar, then over to Jarin. Was it merely his own hope, or was there a flicker of eagerness in her gaze when it met his?

Friar Josef returned with a pewter mug into which he poured steaming water from a kettle hung over the fire. “Here my dear. This will soothe you. Holy saints…” He examined her cuts and bruises and turned away, no doubt to seek out salve and bandages.

“Never fear, Friar.” Alexia stayed him with a touch to his arm. “I shall tend to her wounds. Let us allow her to breathe.”

Seraphina sipped the tea, closed her eyes, and swallowed it, her breath still coming fast. “I need no time. Thank God I found you! I have been praying…praying…searching the forest. But in His mercy, our Lord led me straight to you.”

“’Tis truly a miracle.” Removing his sword from its sheath, Ronar sat in one of the chairs across from her.

Alexia slid onto the bench beside her friend, while the friar gripped the cross hanging around his neck and stood waiting off to the side.

Waiting had never been one of Jarin’s skills. Shifting his gaze from the lady lest he burst out with the questions burning on his tongue, he glanced over the large chamber, still fascinated that such a place existed beneath the earth. Colorful tapestries decorated the stone walls, and fine oak chairs and tables furnished the room. One entire wall was lined with shelf after shelf of books, before which sat the friar’s desk, a storm of parchment and quill pens scattered across it. A linen-clad trestle table where they enjoyed their meals stood to the right. Beyond that, a small corridor led to two other chambers, one of which was where Alexia slept for propriety’s sake.

He returned his gaze to Seraphina, who took another sip of tea and appeared to be trying to settle her breathing.

“Where is Damien?” Ronar addressed the friar as he leaned forward on his knees.

As if summoned by his name, the secret knock echoed through the chamber, and Ronar rushed to admit his friend and fellow King’s Guard, Sir Damien LaRage. The mighty warrior, still attired in the leather, metal, and myriad weapons of a King’s Guard, stomped into the room, a smile on his face and two dead pheasants in his hand. “Supper!” he announced. “We shall feast—” His eyes landed on Seraphina, and it seemed for a moment he believed not what they told him.

She smiled his way. “Sir Damien.”

’Twas all it took to cause him to drop the birds to the silk carpet and rush forward to kneel at her feet, scanning her with a gaze that bespoke of concern and—dare Jarin guess—affection? ’Twas a rare thing for Damien to take an interest in anything save his drink and his revenge. How had Jarin missed this?

For moments they stared at one another as if they were the only two people in the chamber.

Chuckling, the friar picked up the birds and set them on a sideboard by the hearth.

“Fetch her something to eat,” Damien barked.

“Nay.” The woman set her tea aside. “I must speak first.”

Forcing himself to stand, Damien took a spot beside Seraphina, his steely expression masking his emotions.

“What news of my sister?” Rare tears filled Alexia’s eyes as she gripped the woman’s hands. “Pray, ’tis not bad, is it? I could not bear it.”

Jarin raised the steel fortress around his heart once again. At Seraphina’s appearance, hope had lowered it slightly, but he could not allow that. He was well acquainted with bad news. In truth, he’d been battling it for years, and he would not grant his enemy another victory.

“Pray, forgive me.” Seraphina squeezed her friend’s hands. “Never fear. She is well, my lady. At least last I saw her. But she finds herself in a desperate situation.”

“Tush! Where is she?” Ronar asked. “And where have you both been these ten months?”

Drawing in a breath, Seraphina tugged her hands from Alexia’s, clasped them in her lap, and proceeded to tell them a tale of such woe, Jarin could hardly keep silent. She relayed how they had escaped the day of Cristiana’s wedding to Cedric, how they’d spent six months out in the cold, hungry and frightened, then how they discovered that the Spear gave Cristiana the power to heal.

“She healed the sick and lame without recompense, merely for scraps of food,” Seraphina continued. “Until a man named Lord Braewood took us in.”

Jarin knew enough about the world, knew enough about the greed and depravity of man to know this Lord Braewood had ill intentions even before Seraphina continued with the rest of the story.

Jarin could hold his peace no longer. “And she does not attempt to escape?”

Seraphina fixed him with eyes filled with despair but also determination. “She is frightened Sir Jarin. Lord Braewood offers her security, a home, her every need met. After what she has been through—abandoned by everyone she loved, poisoned and kept prisoner in her own castle—can you blame her?”

Alexia lowered her gaze, a visible shudder running through her. “I should not have ceased searching for her.”

Rising, Ronar slid beside her and flung an arm over her shoulder. “We did all we could, my love. We searched high and low for three months, spoke with countless peasants, tradesmen, farmers, and clergymen.”

Damien moved to stare at the fire. “Aye, and risked arrest everywhere we went.”

Seraphina shook her head and gave Alexia a sympathetic look. “You would not have found us. Lady Cristiana wanted to get as far from here as she could. We hid in stables, barns, and abandoned churches, and oft in the forest. We became quite good at staying out of sight.”

Damien smiled her way. “We trusted you to care for her.”

She returned his smile as Alexia gripped her hand again. “I owe you everything for staying by her side.”

“You owe me naught. She is not only my lady but my friend.”

“Still.” Alexia frowned. “I should not have given up.”

“We had our battles to fight here,” Ronar offered.

“And we trusted God to bring the lady back in His good time,” the friar added.

Tiring of talk, Jarin stepped forward, anxious to do something. “Does this man have improper intentions toward her?”

“Nay, ’tis not like that. At least not what I have seen. He wishes only to use her power for money.”

“Then she is not safe there.” Jarin gripped the hilt of his sword.

A tear slipped down Seraphina’s face. She swiped it away. “I doubt he would harm her. As long as she continues to heal those who come for help.”

“But what happens when he finds the Spear?” Jarin huffed. “Or worse, it ceases to heal?”

“’Tis not the Spear that heals,” the friar interjected.

Jarin frowned at the holy man. ’Twas not the time for his spiritual babble. “Regardless, should this power fade, what would become of Cristiana?”

Seraphina lowered her gaze. “I’ll grant you I do not know the answer to that.”

Ronar held his palm up to Jarin as if to calm him. “Then we have a bit of time on our side.”

“Nay, the situation is most urgent,” Jarin shot back. “Not only due to this vermin Braewood, but because of what I overheard at Luxley today.”

All eyes snapped to him.

Shrugging from beneath Ronar’s arm, Alexia stood. “Prithee, give us the sum of it.”

Jarin scrubbed the stubble on his chin. “They intend to hunt her down and kill her. And they will find her, I assure you. They have powers of their own—dark powers. I felt them today.” He stiffened his jaw. “They are stronger than ever.”

“Aye.” Ronar ran a hand through his hair. “I felt them as well a sennight ago when I snuck into Luxley through the tunnels. Whatever evil is there, it grows.”

Damien crossed arms over his chest. “How do we fight something we cannot see?”

Friar Josef smiled. “With another unseen Being much more powerful.” The man’s infernal confidence and peace always grated on Jarin.

Alexia nodded. “Indeed.”

Ronar stood. “Agreed.”

Jarin moved to a cabinet against the wall where they stored their weapons. “Then we must go rescue her! I will not be detained further.” He chose several knives, a long dagger, and an axe.

Ronar growled and moved to stand beside him. “I have not detained you, my friend. I merely advised you after we wasted three months searching for her, to remain here where we would eventually receive news of her. And hence, we have.”

“All in God’s good time.” The friar moved to the sideboard where he gathered a piece of bread and handed it to Damien.

The large knight knelt before Seraphina and gave it to her. “I am in agreement. We cannot delay her rescue,” he said to them all, though his eyes never left the lady.

Alexia shook her head. “Alas, we cannot all leave now. Not with the villagers depending on us for food, and the darkness soon to swallow Luxley. Our battle is here.”

“You are right, my love.” Ronar sighed. “Damien, I need you here.”

Alexia grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows from the table. “I must go.”

“Nay.” Ronar’s tone was commanding. “You will be caught.”

“She is my sister.” Alexia swung her quiver over her shoulder and faced her intended. “I will not disappoint her again.”

Ronar growled. “You are wanted for witchcraft. And your face is known throughout the land. I will not lose you.”

“Enough! I will go.” Jarin sheathed his weapons and addressed Lady Falcon. “Ronar is right. You should remain.” He gripped her hand in an effort to assure her of his determination. “Never fear, my lady. I will find her, and I will bring her back. You have my troth.”