Camilla stopped walking.
Brix continued a few steps and turned to look at her.
She said, “People with gold or birthright win all disputes?”
Brix shrugged.
“Always?”
Brix nodded.
They walked on in silence because he’d spoken out of turn, and she because of considering new information. When Camilla sprinted ahead, he chased after. When she walked again, he silently fell into step beside her.
At a bend in the road, a solitary tree stood, barren of leaves and most of the bark long gone. The tree stood at the edge of the road, weathered gray and without smaller branches. Camilla slowed.
“What is it,” Brix asked, hand on the knife at his waist.
“That ugly tree is a boy from the soldier school.” She pointed at it. She kicked the bottom of her staff so it raised waist high and jabbed it into the trunk with so much force it jarred her. She pulled it back and grasped the middle of her staff in what felt like a defensive position. Then she swung one end and hit the side of the tree. Then the other side. Then the first again. She pounded the tree until the staff fell from her limp fingers. Then she fell to her knees and cried.
Brix moved to her side. He lifted his staff and swung at the tree, his face set in a grimace. He was slower than Camilla but determined, and each blow resounded with a solid sound.
“You don’t have to do that for me,” she said.
“For me,” he panted, pausing before drawing a few deep breaths and beginning again.
Camilla stepped up to the tree and struck it with several more well-defined blows. She concentrated on pulling the staff back quickly and keeping her feet positioned to provide the maximum power. She turned to Brix and said, “Ready to run again?”
“You really want to do it all, don’t you?”
Her new smile slipped. “The next time those boys come for me will be the last. For them or me, but I intend to hurt them so bad they never come at me again.”
Brix kept up with her sprint, and she ran farther than before. They walked and ran again. Near midday Brix spotted a pear and an apple tree growing next to a tangle of wood and vines that had once been a cabin. When he turned to tell Camilla, her attention was focused ahead. “What?”
“I saw movement up there.”
“Men?”
“I think it was the soldiers.”
Brix glanced around, then back to where she first watched. “We can try to slip into the trees and go around them or wait here and hope they pass us by. There are apples and pears in those trees at the side of the road.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Edward knew the Slave Master and Weapons Master would soon figure out they were chasing the wind because of the misleading directions the villagers provided. Served them right for ordering the villagers around and acting superior. He dressed and went to the railing that looked over the common room. A few men ate or sipped ale. One lifted his mug in friendly salute. Edward responded with a curt nod.
Finding the innkeeper, he asked for quill and paper.
Skipping breakfast, he went down the stairs, returned a few more nods from people half-remembered from the drunken night before, and walked to the stable. “My horse.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man reached into his pocket and held out a copper coin.
“What’s that?” Edward demanded.
“Sir, if you’re leaving so soon I cannot accept a full copper.”
“Keep it. I’ll be back, and you can owe me.”
The coin disappeared. The stableman trotted inside the barn and returned with Edward’s horse, saddled and looking brushed and well cared for. He held the stirrup for Edward to mount. Riding towards his camped procession outside of town, Edward discovered an odd sensation. The villagers treated him well. They seemed to like him for himself. None tried to take advantage—and none laughed at him behind his back.
His experience had always been with servants who laughed when they believed he looked the other way or royalty who did worse when they laughed as he looked at them. He was treated with the respect due to his birth, and theirs. The King’s sons didn’t like him, while the sons of lesser nobles treated him with deference.
He had more than one task to accomplish this morning. The caravan leader and guide spotted him and mounted his horse. Edward pulled to a halt and waited outside the camp.
As he neared, the guide called, “Sir, it is good to have you safely back. All is packed and ready for your triumphant entrance into Nettleton.”
Edward silently waited.
When the guide pulled even with him, Edward spoke softly to add emphasis. “My mission in Nettleton will take more time. It is my mission, directed by the sheriff and approved by the King. I have no more need of you nor the rest of those,” he waved an arm in the direction of the campsite.
“Sir, we cannot leave you here. Tomas and the sheriff will have my head.”
“No, they will not. You are to carry these letters from me.” Edward handed him several sheets of folded paper, each with a name clearly printed on the outside. “The one to Tomas says I will take all responsibility for sending you back early. It also says that the sheriff and I will have another private meeting to discuss this fiasco of a trip and the costs involved. The one to the Earl asks him to delay paying for this trip until I return. The third is for the sheriff’s eyes alone. It says that I am in competition with the Slave Master and Weapons Master to locate the boy we are searching for.”
“I don’t understand.”
Edward drew himself up and inhaled deeply before speaking. “Then understand this. If I should arrive back at the palace and find that any but the sheriff has read his letter, I will have you hanged by the gate until your corpse rots and falls apart. If I find either of the other two was not delivered intact, without other eyes peering at them, I will have you drawn and quartered, and I will personally issue the order for the horses that will tear you apart.”
“Sir?”
“I have told you the gist of each letter to save you the bother of trying to find someone to read them so you can sell the information. Only you and I know what we have discussed this morn. Only you have the letters. They are your key to safety, and I’m sure there will be a small stack of silver for your troubles. However, if my instructions are not followed, I will use that same silver to post rewards for your head all over the seven kingdoms.”
The guide looked ill. He held the letters by his fingertips as if they were generating heat. “Sir, I take orders from Tomas.”
Edward smiled, using much the same smile as the sheriff at the first-day meetings when assigning a distasteful task to an underling. “You have my instructions. Hung, drawn and quartered, or rewarded, it makes little difference to me. You will not be my only messenger delivering the same messages, and that fact should give you pause.”
Edward broke eye contact and turned his horse. When the horse faced the village, he put his heels to it and allowed the horse to set its pace. The horse wanted to run. So be it. His hair flew out behind, and he broke into a laugh.
The stableman greeted him, reaching for the bridle and talking softly to the horse.
“Good man, I am traveling further, today. Will you be so kind as to quickly gather whatever I need for a trip of several days?”
“Sir, I’ll have it ready in two shakes.”
Feeling good, Edward said, “Make that three or four shakes, instead. I’m going to eat a hearty breakfast before leaving. Who should I see about clothing and whatever else I may need?”
“I’d ask the innkeeper. He can make up a store of food good for traveling, and I’ll be sure he has some clothes travelers left at the inn that’ll fit. Maybe a groundsheet and a blanket, too.”