Chapter Three
“I cannot believe it has been six years.”
Gage had just been thinking the exact same thing.
He heard Laurence’s softly uttered words, nodding his head as his gaze moved over the lush and verdant lands of his native England.
Not just England, but North Yorkshire. There was a thrill in his soul that he’d almost forgotten about, something stirred by the smell and sights of something so very close to his heart.
He was almost home.
“It seems surreal that we’re returning to Northumberland,” he said. “Since we left England, we’ve been to many places but only twice have we been back to England.”
Laurence nodded. “Cornwall, both times,” he said. “Cornwall is full of pirates and halfwits but, even so, it felt good to be on English soil once again.”
Gage turned to look at him. “How does it feel now?”
Laurence grinned. “Marvelous.”
Gage snorted, returning his attention to the road ahead. He found himself inhaling deeply, breathing the air of his homeland. He wasn’t honestly sure he’d ever return, but here he was.
Six years later.
Gage was riding point of a small army along with Laurence and another knight named Azul de Velez.
Azul was from Castile, a tall and powerful knight with the blood of the Moors flowing through his veins.
He had long, dark hair, flowing like silk, a trim beard, and a bright smile that had been an invitation to many a swooning maiden.
He was thoughtful, loyal, and skilled and Gage liked the man a great deal.
He was also a rash, obedient to a fault, and fearless beyond measure, traits that were encouraged in the professional army of Varro de Soto, the man otherwise known as El Vibora.
The Viper.
That’s where Gage found himself these days, as a paid warrior in an army of paid warriors. But it wasn’t simply any army – it was a mercenary army, more regimented and brutal than any army Gage had ever been part of in the English world.
And all of that was attributed to its leader.
Varro was a strict and unforgiving taskmaster and he expected his men to be utterly emotionless, utterly courageous in any and all endeavors.
He didn’t care about a man’s background so long as he could fight, and fight well, which meant his army was a mix of bachelor knights, dishonored knights, outlaw soldiers, killers, murders, or men simply looking to make their fortune in the world.
It was a blend of everything. He was unfailingly fair when it came to paying his men, for a well-paid army was an eager army.
Varro knew how to treat his men. That was one of the things Gage appreciated about him.
Varro also happened to be his uncle.
On his mother’s side, of course. Varro and Gage’s mother were brother and sister.
Coming to serve Varro had been an unusual path for Gage, one he reflected on as they headed north on a road that he’d traveled many times in the past. It was the same road that he and Laurence had taken south out of Northumberland when they had fled Septentrion Castle and there was a weird sense of déjà vu, but also a sense of comfort. Returning to the country he loved.
Returning home to the north.
But his return to his old and familiar stomping grounds had him thinking about his life before joining The Viper’s mercenary army.
It seemed so long ago. The life of a mercenary was different from anything he’d ever known, a hard life but a rewarding one.
From the very first day, Varro demanded emotionless perfection from his men and that was what he received.
But the young English knight who often let emotion cloud his judgment had hard lessons to learn.
One such lesson saw Gage receive a nasty gash from another mercenary down the right side of his face, leaving a scar that never went away.
He never made the same mistake again.
The months and years passed, and Gage learned what it meant to be emotionless and efficient.
He learned what it meant to be cold and calculating.
So very cold. That knight whom friends in England had known as warm and humorous became something quite different with the proper training.
The blood in his veins had been replaced with ice over the years, but that was deliberate.
He wanted to become a pillar of stone and he had.
Laurence, in particular, watched Gage go from a kind, compassionate knight to a cold-blooded killer.
If El Vibora told him to kill, he would.
The army full of hardened men saw something even darker than themselves in Gage de Reyne and began to whisper of a knight who was as cold and brutal as the icy winds of winter.
El Viento del Norte.
The North Wind.
Now, The North Wind had blown back into England, back to the land of his birth, but back to the land where a man lived who had greatly wronged him.
Laurence had been watching Gage the entire journey back to see if he could spot any discernable reaction to his surroundings but, so far, Gage had been emotionless, which was normal with him these days.
He barely registered anything at all.
“?Estamos cerca de nuestro destino?”
Jolted from his thoughts, Gage turned to answer Azul. “We’re nearing Durham,” he said, having come to understand the language of his mother over the years. “It is a very large city. I have told de Soto that we should stay there tonight.”
Azul was looking northward as if he could see their destination in the distance. “As long as there is a warm fire and warm women, I do not care where we stay,” he said. Then he seemed to shiver. “Is it always so cold here? I feel it through my tunic.”
Gage cracked a rare smile. “It feels like heaven,” he said. “It is better than some of the heat we’ve experienced over the past several years.”
That was true. They’d done a few jobs in Granada and even one that was across the Gibraltar Straight in Tangiers, which proved to be a hot, dusty, and bloody conflict between two brothers.
“Agreed,” Azul said. Then he looked around to see where Varro was in their column. Spying the man back towards the middle, he returned his attention to Gage and lowered his voice. “Has de Soto told you where we are going yet?”
Gage shook his head. “He does not usually tell us until the day before,” he said. “He only told me that we were coming to Northumberland because he knows I was born here. He wanted to forewarn me so I would not be surprised.”
“Your brother still lives here?”
“If he is still alive, I am sure he does.”
“But if he was dead, would they not send word to you?”
“How?” Gage shrugged. “No one would know where to find me. I never told anyone where I was going.”
Azul knew the story. He and Gage had become close over the years, so he knew the story of Gage being exiled by his greedy brother.
He suspected, deep down, that Gage still hurt over it even though as The North Wind, he never revealed his feelings on that matter or any other. The man was like ice, in all things.
Even returning home, it seemed.
“Will you see what has become of him, then?” Azul asked. “If he is dead and you are the new lord, should you not know this?”
Gage was looking up the road as if imagining the world he’d left behind, now a strange but familiar world he was returning to. He felt some trepidation, just for a moment, but shook it off.
“We are here to complete a task,” he said steadily. “I am not here to look in on my brother.”
Azul opened his mouth but Laurence caught his eye, shaking his head. Azul could see from Laurence’s expression that this line of questions could only come to no good end, so he wisely changed the subject.
“I will ask de Soto if he wants to send out scouts to see where we should camp for the night,” he said. “El Norte, is Durham a large town?”
Gage nodded his head. “Quite large.”
“Will there be many taverns?”
“Aye.”
“Then let us find a tavern to stay in,” he said. “The men can sleep on the ground. Do we not deserve a soft bed and a good meal?”
Gage looked at Laurence, who grinned in agreement.
He could see that Laurence was in favor of a roof over his head after weeks of travel.
After a moment, he shrugged. “Tell Varro that we will settle the men in the encampment and then go into town to find lodgings for the knights,” he said.
“He will want to sleep in town, too. Invite him to dine with us.”
With a swift nod, Azul was gone, plowing back through the ranks of heavily armed men. As he thundered away, Laurence turned to Gage.
“He’s right, you know,” he said quietly. “You should at least find out if Boothe is still alive. If he isn’t, you could be the heir to Stagshaw.”
Gage didn’t say anything for a moment. “Part of me does not care,” he said. “The title meant something when my father had it, but I am sure my brother has ruined any respect the title may have had. Why would I want to inherit a bereft title?”
“Because it has been in your family for over one hundred years.”
“That does not mean I want it.”
“If you do not preserve your father’s legacy, then who will?”
Gage saw the logic in that, whether or not he wanted to admit it. After a contemplative pause, he grunted.
“I know you are trying to make a point, but I did not come to England to check up on the health and welfare of my brother,” he said, trying not to sound snappish. “We are here to complete a task and that is all I wish to do, so no more mention of my brother.”
“As you wish, Gage.”
“Besides… if I was going to make contact with anyone, it would be my cousin at Throston Castle.”
“Understood.”
“Or even Alnwick or Ashington. But not my brother.”
Laurence eyed him. “Ashington,” he muttered. “We spent our fair share of time there.”
“We did.”
“De Thorington was a good man,” he said. Then, he snorted. “Remember his heiress? The one who was so sweet on you?”