Chapter Three
Braden
I awoke the next morning before it was even light outside to the sound of the men around me moving in the crowded room.
I came instantly awake and sat up abruptly, terrified to learn that it hadn’t been some kind of dream.
I was afraid to see what this day would bring.
Their leader, the impossibly gorgeous man I’d spoken to the night before, was not in his bed and nowhere to be seen in the room, but the others, all soldiers from the look of them, were busy packing up their gear and getting ready to leave.
The mean one from the night before came over to me and pulled me roughly to my feet.
“We’re going down to see if there’s any food we can eat in this pigsty. Make a scene and we’ll cut your throat and that of every mortal in this place. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” I replied sullenly, in no doubt that he would absolutely do it and cheerfully too.
He grabbed me by my arm and yanked me out of the room to walk beside him down the narrow corridor and stairs to the room below.
There I saw the one who looked like a Faery Lord from the night before, whom I’d already decided must be important, with his hood up to cover his hair and shadow his face.
He was talking softly to the innkeeper. He’d clearly roused the poor man from his bed.
Apparently, he needed an early start. He turned to look at us as we came down the stairs, all the others now with their own hoods up or their caps pulled down low on their faces and ears, all except for me.
He nodded toward the fireplace, and we all sat down close to it on the long table there for a little extra heat that frigid morning.
A serving girl, still in her nightdress with a shawl draped around herself, brought us ale and dark bread.
It was probably at least a day old, but toasted to make it nicer, and there was no meat on the table, like I’d expected there to be.
But there were slabs of cheese and pitchers of milk, for those like me, who didn’t drink ale.
The innkeeper also brought in a big pot of steaming gruel, a thin, simple porridge made by boiling oatmeal in milk.
It was bland but filling, and when my portion was put down by me, along with a hunk of bread and a thick slice or two of the cheese, I ate it quickly.
I had no idea when I’d get the chance to eat again.
Everyone shoveled their food down quickly, and then we set off, stepping out before daylight.
In fact, I could see that even though the storm was over, it was still quite dark, though there was a narrow quarter moon perched above us, with a bright star at its nether tip.
And I could see the frozen stars, which looked close enough that I could reach out and touch them.
An icy wind was still blowing, and I began shaking from the cold right away, but one of the soldiers threw me a fur that I quickly wrapped around my body, pulling it up high on my shoulders to provide some protection for my ears and face.
The others were wearing similar furs across their shoulders and began following the Lord, who was at the front of the column as we all trudged through the fallen snow piled up in drifts down the street.
What was I doing out here so early on this snowy morning, and for that matter, why in God’s name had I been taken by the Faeries?
Once again, my thoughts went back to my uncle.
I sent up a prayer of sorts that he had returned home safely and was no part of any of this.
I wasn’t a true believer, by any means, but I thought Leofric was, and I thought that he’d appreciate my prayers.
I knew better than to ask about him again, though, and it occurred to me suddenly that I might never know what happened to Leofric.
I wondered if I should call out or start some kind of fight before we left the city walls.
I’d be quickly killed, no doubt, but better to be killed here than somewhere in the forest or countryside, where the animals and birds would pick at my body until nothing was left but my bones.
I was thinking seriously of calling out to the guards there or making some kind of disturbance when the Faery lord suddenly turned and came back to walk beside me.
He took my arm and glared down at me, growling, “Your thoughts are so loud I can hear them plainly, boy. Don’t even think about shouting out, or I’ll cut out your tongue here and now, and make it hurt.”
“Go ahead,” I said defiantly. “Kill me while you’re at it. You’ll do it soon enough anyway.”
“Don’t make my decision so easy for me.”
I had little to say to that, so I decided to keep my mouth shut. No sense in dragging other innocent people into this whatever-it-was and causing their deaths too.
Sullenly, I yanked my arm away. “I hate you, you know.”
He actually smiled at that, though it barely touched his eyes. “Why do you think I care about that?”
“You probably don’t, but I wanted you to know.”
“I see. Well, I’ll try to bear up under the strain.”
“And you can put this on my tombstone. Here lies Braden Wanderer, killed by treacherous Faeries. He cursed them with his last breath.”
“What makes you think you’d have a tombstone?”
“I don’t,” I said with a shrug. “It’s something to say to keep myself from screaming. Did I mention how much I truly hate you?”
“A time or two. And yet, I still don’t care.”
“I-I’ll come back and haunt you for revenge, you know. Like you said that twice-dead man did.”
“Twice-dead Pierre? I never said he haunted me, and besides, he was a demon. Is that what you’re claiming to be now?”
“I could be. You never know. I’m not saying I am exactly. But it would be wise to let me go, just in case.”
“Or perhaps I should kill you and have done with it. I’ll keep both options in mind.”
We were coming to the city gates, and I started to slow down, pulling back a little, without even realizing what I was doing. He did though, and he took my arm again in a hard grip.
“Stop acting like a child and dragging your feet. And remember what I said about causing others to die along with you.”
As we neared the fortified entrance to the city—Jorvik had been sacked by invaders too many times over the centuries for officials not to be at least a little worried about it—the Faeries abruptly turned to make their way toward a building about three hundred feet away from the city gate.
I would have asked where we were going, if I’d had any expectation I’d be answered, but I didn’t, so I shuffled along where I was being taken.
We arrived at a stable for their horses.
It was surprisingly clean and well cared for, and there were about twenty horses inside, all black, and all beautiful, tall, noble-looking Fresian horses, with leg feathering and the typical long manes and tails, but several of the ones closest to me rolled their eyes toward me and made a snorting sound out of their noses.
It was typical of horses and their attitudes toward me.
I found that most of them didn’t like me and tried to fling me off if I rode them.
I’d finally found an old horse who seemed to more or less accept me, though I suspected he was too worn out from a life of hard work to care overly much.
He was still with Leofric’s horses though.
Most of the horses that day were munching on hay and had blankets slung over their backs for warmth.
Fresh water was available in troughs inside their stalls.
Considering how stiff I was from sleeping on the cold floor all night, I thought these horses had probably received better treatment than I had.
The soldiers all began to find their bridles and saddles and began getting them ready to leave.
“Do you ride?” the Faery lord asked me, saddling up his big, black Fresian and throwing a fur over the saddle for warmth and comfort. The beautiful horse was standing quietly, uncomplaining about it all and seemingly much better tempered than his Lord.
I nodded, a bit sullenly. The horse glanced back at me, giving me a baleful look and shied away a few steps, as I reconsidered my opinion of him.
The Lord looked at me oddly before patting his horse, murmuring to it and then going over to speak to the stableman, who brought out a small horse, though still a nice one, I thought.
He was a Rouncey, and an older horse, like I was used to.
He didn’t stand nearly as tall as the Fresians, nor was he nearly as beautiful.
I could relate to that, so I went over and spoke to him, gently scratching the side of his face and putting my forehead to his to tell him I was glad to meet him.
Though he rolled his eyes at me a little, and he snorted a few times as if to get my scent out of his nose, he calmed down as I spoke to him.
I was whispering to him, but I looked up and saw the Lord staring at me with a puzzled look on his face, like he was trying to figure out what I was doing.
“What? I’m saying hello to my new horse.”
He merely shook his head like there was no accounting for anything I might do and went back to check on his men, while the stableman brought me a saddle and bridle for my new horse.
“What’s his name?” I asked, as the stableman started to walk away.
He gave me an odd look and shrugged. “He hasn’t got a name. He’s black. Call him ‘Blackie’ or ‘Moor’ if you like.”
In those times, a horse’s name, if it had one, typically described its appearance or its color. Maybe even its job, rather than having any kind of fanciful or human sounding name. “Moor” was a term sometimes used for a horse with a black or dark coat in those days.
“I think we can do better than that,” I told the horse softly once the man had walked away. “I’ll call you ‘Crow,’ because they’re smart and wily creatures. I bet you are too. I used to live near some of them as a boy, and I made friends with one of them.”
He looked at me as if he might understand me, or perhaps he was puzzled because he wasn’t used to anyone ever taking the time to talk to him at all. He still wasn’t sure if he liked me, but he looked as if he were willing to take a chance, and that was good enough for me.
“Get on your horse, Braden. We need to go before you’re missed.”
“The joke’s on you then, because there’s no one to miss me here.”
It wasn’t strictly true. I suppose that Leofric and his wife might eventually wonder where I was, unless Leofric had met with some terrible accident.
Then his wife’s mind would be so occupied with her own tragedy that she wouldn’t think of me for a long time, if ever, and be glad I wasn’t around and underfoot.
The Lord gave me another odd look, tightening his lips and jerking his head at me, so I’d hurry up and follow along behind him.
He had pulled up his hood again before going out on the street, as did the others.
Even on this dark and gloomy morning, their bright beauty would surely have been noticed if they hadn’t.
Not to mention those pointed ears. Still, I thought my horse and I must look like cuckoos in the nest beside all these beautiful Faeries and their noble horses.
Thus, we rode out of the city gates and into the frigid snowy morning—it was the last time I would ever visit Jorvik, as it turned out.
I should have been terrified, and I was in a way.
But I was very young—young enough to believe that I lived a charmed life and could talk my way out of most anything.
Even when my mother had tried to carve out my heart, I’d been begging her to stop, and my loud cries had brought the woodsman to help.
Or perhaps the Faeries were using their magic to keep me calm. All I could really think about was that an adventure, however short it might turn out to be, was about to begin.