Bardess of Rhulon Read online

  A chance to study at the Bard Academy in White Thorn enticed her dreams, but she had no funds now. Her hoarded savings had been snatched by her mother during the turmoil of refusing Simon’s proposal, if you could call it that. He never asked her, she was merely informed of it. That made it worse somehow. Still, she vowed that one day she would study at the Academy.

  She wondered what people would think of her. Could they accept her as her own people had not? Would she be an outcast? No matter, she would make do in a new world and not whine about it. But even these intense thoughts did not distract her from shivering in the chilly morning air and being so damned hungry. She knew even if her mother did not speak of her running away, she knew Agnes Split-Oak would be wagging her tongue.

  Foolish Rose. Imagine a girl traveling alone in the strange land. She must surely be mad. Why else would she turn down my handsome Simon? What a fool!

  Better a mad fool than a married one, Rose thought.

  She wondered about the tall folk. She had read about them, but had never met one. Blast! What she wouldn’t do to talk to Belenus again.

  Rose stumbled down the hill and a lump in her boot forced her to stop. She rested on a fallen log and pulled off her boot and shook it until the source of her irritation, a small stone, tumbled out onto the muddy ground. “Oh yes, this is high adventure worthy of a great poem! A huge pebble has invaded my boot. I shall cast it out anon by my mighty hand.” She laughed and rubbed her foot, and slipped her dirty boot back on.

  Loud male voices alerted Rose to take cover. Though her tortured feet begged for a ride, wisdom prevailed over comfort. Even though she wore a boy’s disguise, she took pains to be careful with the people she begged rides from. Not everyone would be kind and Rose had enough sense to take that to heart. The sounds were coming from inside the forestnot the road! That was oddly suspect. Frantic, Rose took refuge off the road behind a hawthorn tree as the first tall folk men she had ever seen appeared.

  What giants! She spied two men in leather jerkins rode in a rickety wagon pulled by two horses. Dirty and rough looking, they openly carried swords. The size of the horses mesmerized her, their gargantuan size giving rise to the mythic stories of the flame-winged mounts of Celestial Warriors created by Ursas. The shaggy Dwarven horses of Rhulon were miniature toys compared to such majestic, albeit frightening, horses of the tall folk.

  The driver stopped the horses when they reached the road and the wheels of the wagon creaked to a stop. He did not seem so godlike. He was mortal to a fault. A thick fellow with a head of shaggy, dark blonde hair; he looked disheveled and grimy. His companion, a lanky man with greasy black hair, jumped down from the wagon.

  Fearful, she crouched lower, her mind racing with prayer. Please Ursas and Ishar, creators of all things, protect me from my enemies. Save me from a terrible fate if these men be evil.

  The man wandered over to her side of the road. She should have fled deeper into the woods when she had the chance. Better to face trolls than such strange callous men. He was close enough she smelled his rank odor of stale sweat and beer. Rose held her breath, afraid of making a sound. He stood on the other side of the hawthorn tree she hid behind and pissed. She squeezed her eyes shut when the flow of his urine showered the tree and he moaned with relief.

  “Hurry it up, Albin!” the driver shouted.

  She closed her eyes, silently begging, Go away! Go away! Go Away! Don’t walk around the tree! Dear gods—will he ever stop! Her heart hammered in her chest, thumping with violent thunder. She was certain the giant men would hear her and drag her out. She would suffer a gruesome death as his pitiless lands, never to be discovered in this feral grove. She would haunt the forest as a pale phantom, the bleak fate of the dead cast away without proper burial or prayer.

  Curse my imagination!

  Finally, Albin stopped urinating and returned to the wagon. What did he do to relive so much water—drink an ocean of beer? They drove away, urging the horses to a fast gallop; the mud caked wheels moving southward down the path.

  She exhaled, dizzy from holding her breath for so long. She remained hunched over in her hiding spot until they were long out of sight. When she finally stood up, her legs tingled with pins and needles. She rubbed her legs and tried to get the blood flowing again. She picked up her lute and satchel, relieved for the first time to be alone. They were going in her direction and that frightened her.

  Afraid to walk out in the open, she kept off the road but stayed close enough to follow it. She hiked a few miles, until she saw a stream. The morning sun shone brightly on the clear water, making it shimmer like magic. Fresh water! She ran to the stream’s edge and knelt to refill her canteen. She splashed handfuls into her eager mouth. The clear, chilled water tasted so good! She washed the grime off her hands and face. She knew she must keep moving and find a proper shelter and sleep without fear of strangers.

  A flock of black crows burst out of the trees. They shadowed the sky with dark wings. Rose shivered, thinking of the goddess Karta. Crows and ravens were her sacred symbols. She stood up to leave, grabbing her canteen. The snapping of a branch to her left stiffened her spine. From the corner of her eye, a dark-haired man stepped out from behind a pale birch tree, a dagger dangling in his filthy hand. It was Albin, the one who pissed on the poor tree.

  “What have we here?” he grunted. “A little boy? You lost? Come here boy.” His accent was guttural and she found him hard to understand, but his malicious grin made his intent quite clear to her.

  Forsaking her satchel, she grabbed her lute and ran. Horses charged into the grove and blocked her way, the corpulent blonde man holding the reins. The horses reared up, and she spun away, terrified they would trample her with giant hooves. The stranger’s long strides matched her speed with ease and he seized her by the waist. His companion laughed as he grappled her. She had dropped her lute in the clash for survival. He lifted her high in the air and spun her around. She dangled from his arms, thrashing at him with her fists and kicking her feet.

  “Be still, little boy!” he ordered, holding her out like a ragdoll and shaking her.

  Her hat flew off and her hair tumbled down her back in a thick braid. He roughly threw her face down to the ground. Her nose and mouth filled with the tang of moist forest loam followed by the sour taste of sweaty skin as his enormous hands cupped her mouth. Mad with terror, she bit his hand hard. Warm salty blood stained her tongue. He yelped and snatched it back. She scrambled away, but strong hands dragged her back and rolled her over on her back. He pinned her down with large hands.

  He growled in his throat. “I told ya’ to settle down!” He cuffed her hard with his fist. Pain and dizziness overwhelmed her. She screamed as he straddled her little body with ease, a terrible victorious giant. He leaned in and pressed the tip of his dagger to her throat.

  The blade’s threat silenced her.

  “Can’t escape old Albin,” he laughed. He looked her over and grinned. “Hey, you’re not a boy. Hey Fendrel, we got us a little girl.”

  Terrified, jaw throbbing and bleeding, she lay still. Afraid he might indeed kill her, she obeyed him. She read stories about highwaymen and cutthroat thieves. Their cruelty was not an exaggeration. He was too big to fight off. He must be nearly six feet high! It might as well be a troll or ogre holding her prisoner.

  Fendrel hollered, “Little girls fetch a good price in the whore houses. Tie her up and put her in the wagon.”

  Whore house! Never! Not even if the gods demanded it, Rose silently fumed.

  Albin’s greasy smirk revealed stained, broken teeth. “Hey, you ain’t no child! I think you be a woman by that body! Look Fen, a tiny woman. That’s funny. Tiny woman.”

  “Brilliant observation,” Rose spat in Rhulonese.

  “Huh?” he said. “What’s that gibberish? You some kind of foreigner?”

  She realized she lapsed into her own tongue. Forcing her voice to remain calm, she formed the words slowly, hoping not to mangle the speech, espec
ially since her life depended on it. “You are quite right that I’m a woman. I’m a bard from Rhulon, good sir. You’re doing me a great injustice and more to yourself.” A small window of reason rationed how she might deal with these thugs. She had no hope to fight them off; perhaps she could talk her way out of this madness.

  “You talk funny,” Albin grunted.

  She smiled up at him, as though she were having tea and crumpets with a friend. “Albin, I have just arrived to your kingdom. I know you’re gentlemen of adventure, but I must warn you that I do have friends. They are meeting me here. They will be here very soon, so for your own sake, let me go! I will not say anything if you free me. Be wise! My companions will be angry if you hurt me.”

  “More little folk like you?” Albin smirked. “We can handle’em.”

  “No, they are not little folk. They are quite tall—taller than you even.” She added in her own tongue, “Except that they bathe.”

  “Hey, what did you say? Sounds like rubbish to me.”

  “Sorry, I am trying to say your words correctly. Do you think I would be traveling alone in such bleak territory without protection?” Rose maintained her lies so smoothly she stunned herself. “If you hurt me, you will bring trouble on yourself and your friend, for I am the newly appointed Bard to the House of Astriad in White Thorn.” She plucked the name from an old Tirangel poem.

  “They sound like noble caste?” Albin grumbled, trying to gage her words.

  “Yes, an old noble family, good sir. A powerful family. They will react violently if one of their own is harmed. I know you have your reasons for being outlaw, but take pity on a lone woman making her way in the world. Think of the harm you would do to your business adventures should you act hasty. My friends will be back soon. We have journeyed long from Rhundoran Keep in Rhulon. I just wanted to walk alone for a spell, to work on a song for my new Master. My muse demands solitude. A smart man like you must understand such things. If you let me go, I’ll compose a poem about you, Albin, a highwayman who spared a poor maid out of kindness. People will admire you.”

  He nodded at her words, agreeing with her bold assessment of his intellect.

  “Listen to me Albin; I’m just a simple bard. I am poor, like you. I rely on the kindness of benefactors. Often I have gone without food and shelter, as I know you have in your life.”

  He scratched his scruffy beard and his bushy brow furrowed trying to work out if she was lying or speaking the truth. “I been hungry and poor,” Albin agreed. “I’ve never had a song written about me.”

  “Let me sing for you to prove I’m a bard.” She began to sing a simple ballad. She feared her voice would crack from stress, but her vocals were smooth as honey. As she sang, a strange shiver rushed through her body; her face and hands suddenly felt hot. It made her dizzy. Rose was terrified, but she continued to sing. Albin’s expression wavered and he slowly drew back his dagger, smiling like a child. Even Fendrel paused, his scowl softening to a smile. Rose finished, a little stunned at the effect of her song.

  Fendrel blinked and shook his head. Albin still stood there like a moon-eyed puppy. “ALBIN! Snap out of it,” Fendrel hollered, shattering the fragile charm Rose had nearly woven over them both. “She’s lying, except about being a bard. Only a foolhardy bard would talk that much with a dagger pointed their way. Just put her in the wagon. We can sell her for a good purse to an eastern slaver. We can’t let folks talk their way out of being slaves. Bad for trade.”

  Albin lingered in confusion, his jaw working as he digested her pleas. She had placed a seed of doubt at least.

  Fendrel barked, “Put her in the wagon now or I’ll take care of both of you myself. NOW ALBIN! And gag her too. She’s too yappy.”

  “All right, all right!” Albin leaned in close to her, his breath fetid. “I’m still gonna sell ya’ tiny woman. Don’t get many dwarf girls in the south. Your price just went up!”

  He dragged her toward the wagon by her feet and roughly tied her hands and feet with coarse rope. Albin gagged her with a filthy cloth. It tasted foul and she winced. He scooped her up and dumped her into the back of the wagon like a sack of potatoes.

  “Take care with this one,” Albin warned Fendrel, climbing into the front seat. “Her talk is as dangerous as her bite,” he groaned, wrapping the bloody hand she bit with a dirty kerchief.

  “You don’t say?” Fendrel grumbled and leaned to spit again.

  The wagon jostled along the rough road. The ride was brutal as she felt her body bruising with every bump and hole the wagon drove over. In her prison in the back of the wagon, she tried to wriggle free of her bonds, but Albin had knotted them too well. The long wooden boxes roped together unnerved her. She feared a heavy box would topple and crush her.

  She blinked back tears for her lute, lost to her now forever. The satchel she could do without, but the loss of the lute was heartbreaking. Belenus had left her that lute and she failed him.

  It was as though Karta, Goddess of Fate, decided to mock her foolish bravery with a cruel storm. Hard rain poured down on Rose with vehemence and she shivered with cold. Fate had more trials for her, it seemed.

  Soaked and miserable, Rose scolded herself for believing that sprites, ogres or trolls were a danger.

  Human men were much more terrifying.

  Chapter Five

  The wagon rolled over every bump and fissure in the road, jarring her body until she feared her bones would snap. The abrasive ropes cut tightly into her wrists. The crude remarks of her captors burned her ears. If her mother heard such vulgar language, she would perish from shock! Rose morosely dwelled on her bleak fate, plagued by her own overactive imagination, tormented by visions of her mother’s frowning image gloating over her prone and trussed up form, tapping a rolling pin in her plump hands with stern satisfaction.

  You should have listened to your poor old mother! If you had married Simon, you would be baking an onion pie right now.

  Rose was not sure which fate was worse.

  The sun dipped low in the sky and flocks of crows, hundreds of them, roosted in the surrounding trees as dusk settled upon the forest. Their deafening caws rattled her nerves. The sparse trees soon drooped with black-feathered leaves. Rose flashed to the mythic tales of crows she had studied to keep her mind focused but distracted from her pain. Crows appeared in many legends and could be omens of good or evil, and often acted as messengers for the gods, especially Karta. Crows are smart and clever. If Rose were as clever as those mysterious black birds, she would not be a prisoner of evil men.

  She winced at the constant gutter language of her captors, despite her attempts to ignore them. If only they would be silent for just five minutes! She fervently wished a pack of vicious trolls lurked nearby. She imagined a garish tale where snarling trolls attacked these smelly ruffians and devoured them, crunching their bones with daggered teeth. As trolls chewed grimly on her enemies, she also wove an image of her rescue with hundreds of crows flying down and carrying her far away to safety.

  Her imagination could be a solace, after all.

  Despair returned to torture her thoughts, which Rose crushed with forced optimism. But all her fantasies could not erase the fact her stomach growled angrily. How can I risk flight and freedom when I’m so weak from hunger?

  The wagon finally stopped. She relished the relief to her battered body, but shifted to panic again as a gruff, new voice spoke to her captors with clipped authority.

  “You’re late! Any trouble along the way?” he asked gruffly.

  “None at all, Rebec,” Fendrel answered. “We mostly kept to the back roads and wooded pathways. Not a ranger in sight neither, even on the main highways. Since the crown built those new roads, these routes have fallen into disuseand to our advantage.”

  “Good,” Rebec replied. The stranger walked over to the back of the cart and peered down at her. What the hell is this?” he bellowed, pointing at Rose. “A child? They’re too much trouble.”

  “Nopeit’
s a tiny woman,” Albin snickered, jumping down from the wagon.

  Rebec jumped into the back and coldly gazed down at Rose. A swarthy man in black leather and a dark turban, she cringed as his large hand cupped her face and examined her worth. She marked his cruel eyes, a jagged red scar that ran down on his cheek, and sour breath.

  “A Rhulonese dwarf? They don’t come south often and they certainly don’t let their women wander neither,” Rebec said suspiciously. “I don’t like this.” He sat back on his haunches, looming over her like a fearsome titan. “Rhulonese women are a unique prize and she may fetch a nice clutch of gold on the auction block. Still, it bothers me.”

  “She was alone,” Fendrel insisted. “Carried a lute and blabbered about being a bard. She was dressed up as a boy too, but we weren’t fooled.”

  “Big lies for tiny woman,” Albin replied, still amused by his term for her. “She speaks fancy. She nattered too much, so we gagged her to shut her up,” he added, unhitching the horses. “She’ll fetch a good price from a whore house, being a rare piece of tail.”

  “Just feed the damn horses, Albin,” Rebec ordered. “Tomorrow we ride east with the cargo.”

  “When do we get paid?” Albin asked.

  Rebec’s voice tightened with impatience. “After we cross the border and collect our payment for the womengot it?”

  “I got it. Man needs to watch out for his interests, you know. I ain’t stupid, you know,” Albin muttered.

  “No Albin. Stupid isn’t the word I’d use,” Rebec replied sharply.

  "How much they gonna pay us this time?” Albin needled.

  “Just shut your mouth!” Rebec commanded. “Now do as I say or you’ll get a lashing! My whip hasn’t been used today and it feels neglected.”

  Albin ceased talking. Rebec must be the leader of this lewd group of ruffians, judging by how Fendrel and Albin deferred to him.