Finan gazed out into the mist. It was early, a cold damp day of drizzle falling from invisible skies. He shuddered involuntarily. It was too silent, too still. He couldn’t see ten foot through the cloudiness that surrounded him, and he felt exposed, defenceless, and open to attack. Agitation churned in his stomach, and his hand moved to grip his sword in a clammy grasp.
“’Tis just as well Rafe is not here,” came a languid voice from behind him. “He would be driven mad by such weather.”
Finan tensed and turned quickly. Leofric eyed his friend’s partly drawn sword. Finan cleared his throat uncomfortably, sliding the weapon back into its sheath.
“He never could stand the damp,” Finan returned foolishly, a clumsy attempt to hide the nervousness that he had betrayed.
Leofric had a cloak flung around his shoulders, and a steaming goblet in either hand. Finan accepted the beverage and inhaled its sweet aroma.
“He says it demoralises the men; in truth ‘tis only that it pricks his impatience.”
Leofric watched his friend’s obvious unease from sharp eyes, but when he spoke it was with a light-hearted laugh.
“He is right; I feel completely demoralised.” He gave Finan a nudge. “What say we go and toast ourselves by the fire?”
“Not just yet.”
Leofric eyed his friend perspicaciously and then nodded, looking out into the mist. For a moment both men were silent; one with an anxiety that held a strange kind of panic, and the other with languid easiness.
Eventually Leofric leaned towards Finan, his eyes never wavering from contemplation of the white cloudiness.
“What is it that we are looking for?” he whispered.
“Nothing.”
“I can see plenty of that.”
Finan forced a smile that he was obviously far from feeling.
“Do not pretend to be more of a fool than you already are, Fricka.”
“Me?” replied Leofric, affecting to be stung by such injustice. “This from the man who has spent the last hour staring out into the mists in search of nothing!”
Finan did not respond, and Leofric dropped his attempt at cheering him.
“Come, Finan, what is it?”
For the first time Finan looked irritated by Leofric’s questioning.
“Nought that I can explain,” he replied shortly. “’Tis only the mist, it… unsettles me.”
Finan may not have wished to explain his feelings to his friend but it did not really matter, for Leofric knew why Finan was so agitated.
It was all on account of Lord Targhe.
For on just such a morning as this, sixteen years ago, Evoric had died.
Leofric had not been present at the battle of Calis, being only a small boy at the time. Rafe had been the one to tell him all that had transpired that day, and in his pain Rafe’s account had been graphic and without omitance.
It had been early, the mist had been present at first light. Evoric had joked that he wished it had remained dark, for then at least he had been able to hope that the morning would bring sunshine. They had been stationed as lookouts, a small group of soldiers huddled around a fire.
At that point there had been no action, in fact there had still been hope that negotiation could be made. Rafe had said that although the night had been damp and cold, both he and Evoric had enjoyed their first foray into camp life. Finan had watched over them in amusement, and jeered playfully at their inexperience from his own lofty five years seniority.
When the attack came it was as unexpected as it was fierce. Suddenly men had loomed up out of the white obscurity surrounding them, one of them grabbing Evoric by the shoulder. Finan had lunged at his brother’s attacker, and together they had rolled from sight. One of the lookouts had managed to sound the alarm before an enemy’s blade had silenced him forever. Rafe had found his sword and turned to grapple with another phantom like shadow. At his left he had seen Evoric similarly engaged, but their exertions had carried them away from one another.
The next time Rafe had seen Evoric had been at the approach of dusk when he had all but stumbled over the boy where he lay in the mud.
Finan rarely spoke of that day, but it had left a mark upon him that Leofric knew he would always bear.
“What was that?”
Leofric started out of his reverie and watched as Finan tilted his head.
“I heard nothing.”
Finan lifted his hand, demanding silence, and stared out into the milky whiteness. Both men stood listening intently.
“Horses.” Leofric shook his head. “I cannot make out from which direction they are coming.”
Leofric heard the rasp of Finan’s blade as he pulled it from the sheath at his side. His friend had paled dramatically, and he flexed restless fingers against the hilt. Leofric’s own hand came to rest on his sword, but he did not pull it free of its scabbard. To his ears, the approaching hoof beats were tired of pace.
Dim shapes began to emerge from obscurity, at first vague, nothing more than shadows. As they came closer they took on the more recognisable form of horse and rider. Leofric had seen many strange things in his life but never before had he felt such a certainty that he must still be asleep and dreaming.
Out of the mist came two ladies, one dark and the other fair, both tired, clinging sleepily to their mounts and possessing a great deal of ethereal beauty. It seemed to Leofric’s befuddled mind that they and the suddenly enchanted whiteness were really one.
“Perhaps you could tell me, kind sir, in which direction Merrodon lies?”
It was the fairer of the two that spoke, her voice warmly husky, the words slurred slightly with sleepiness. Her gaze fell briefly on Finan’s sword but as she lifted her eyes to his face, Leofric could see that they were free of fear and filled with a soft, untroubled peacefulness.
“You have arrived at Merrodon, my lady,” responded Finan, his voice a little shaky as he slid his sword back into its sheath. “Perhaps I might direct you to your final destination?”
“I seek Lord Rafe of Valrek’s army, Finan of Gournay sent me.”
Leofric turned sharply in surprise. He was just in time to see the colour flee from Finan’s face, a circumstance he had rarely witnessed in his friend. He realised, with an agility of mind that few knew he possessed, that there was before him a mystery. It was equally clear to him that Finan possessed an intimate understanding of the circumstances that had bought the two women to Merrodon.
“You are here, my lady, the camp is not fifty yards away.” Finan faltered.
“Then I beg you will take me to Lord Rafe, I am Lady Adele of the House of Berron.”
Finan heard a stifled gasp from Leofric and a prickle of unease ran the length of his spine.
“You wish to see Lord Rafe?”
“Yes, immediately. Finn said that he would be here, I need to speak with him.”
Finan seemed unable to respond and so Leofric stepped into the breach.
“Where is… er… Finn?”
For the first time the other lady spoke, her voice impatient.
“That is why we must speak to Lord Rafe: Finn has been captured by Lord Gradock!”
The reaction to this statement was not as dramatic as Eda had thought it would be. Neither man made any noise or movement, but both stood stock still. Eda glanced nervously from one to the other and then across at Adele.
“I will see the men get ready,” stated Leofric quietly.
“And I will see the ladies are comfortable and then join you,” replied Finan, forcing his words past bloodless lips. Leofric contemplated his friend’s horribly white face and the tension in his every limb.
“You will be well?”
“Fetch the men.” Finan’s voice was hollow.
Leofric nodded and then turned and disappeared into the mist. Finan shook his head as if to clear some unpleasant thought from his mind, and stepped forwards to take the reins of both horses in his hand. Silently he lead them through the camp to his tent.
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“Fraedric!”
A page with brown hair and a liberal dusting of freckles appeared from inside the tent. Finan turned from helping Adele and Eda to dismount to speak to the boy. Adele took the opportunity to go to Charger’s head.
“You did splendidly; enjoy your rest, good boy.”
“Take Charger and Valiant and see that they are fed and watered, mind that they are brushed down well,” commanded Finan of the freckle faced youth.
Adele’s eyes came to rest sharply on his face as he spoke these words, and a thoughtful expression entered her eyes. Finan turned to find her watching him with candid interest.
It unnerved him.
“This way, my ladies.”
The tent was not very large. A makeshift bed lay opposite the entrance, and two rough chairs stood next to a welcoming fire that drew Adele and Eda towards its warmth like moths to a flame.
“You are welcome to use these apartments, you look as though…” He checked. “That is, you must be tired. Druce will see to your needs. Druce!”
There was a small disturbance by the door and then Druce entered. He paused on the threshold at the sight of two ladies in his master’s tent.
“Yes, Lord Rafe?”
“Lord Rafe!” Eda gasped, her eyes sliding to where Adele sat near the fire. Nothing in Adele’s manner betrayed surprise.
Finan barely noticed Eda’s outburst.
“Druce, see that both Lady Adele and Lady Eda have all that they need.” His words were hurried, and there could be no mistaking his desire to be gone.
“You are going to aid Finn?” asked Eda.
An awful bleakness entered his eyes.
“Yes, my lady, rest assured that all will be well.” The assurance was perfunctory and with a swift bow he was gone.
Eda and Adele remained silent after his hurried exit.
“Might I fetch a goblet of wine for you, my lady?” asked Druce shyly.
Eda turned slightly dazed eyes upon him.
“Yes, by all means.” She laid a gentle hand on Adele’s shoulder. “Would you care for some wine, Adele?”
Adele nodded absently, and Druce saw a faint inflection of worry pass over Eda’s face. He had never been called upon to wait upon ladies before, excepted of course Lady Esme and Lady Aisly. His master’s sister’s were inclined to treat him with the same amused and indulgent affection as Lord Rafe, so they hardly counted. Besides which he had known them forever.
Druce had been Lord Rafe’s page from the early age of four when Lord Rafe had found him engaging in a brawl with another boy some years his senior. The prize over which they had fought was an apple that had chanced to fall over the wall of the orchard. Druce had displayed a great deal of cunning. As both boys, breathless from their exertions, had fallen apart to glare at each other in open hostility and pant out fierce taunts, it had become clear that Druce could easily best his opponent with words even if, in the end, the other boy’s brute strength had won the tussle.
Druce had taken his defeat philosophically, knowing that not every battle could be won. Lord Rafe had achieved hero like status in the little boy’s eyes by riding alongside the wall and picking the reddest, biggest apple from the aforementioned apple tree, and giving it to the defeated party. Rafe had been amused by the child’s pithy wisdom. He had lifted Druce upon Charger’s back and taken him home to his parents, giving the command that he was to be brought to the hall on the morrow to serve as a page.
Ever since Druce had travelled in Lord Rafe’s train. He had made it his business to know how Lord Rafe liked things done, that it might be him that his master called for and not one of the other pages.
It was, therefore, with complete certainty that Druce knew that Lord Rafe had never before entertained women in his camp. Druce felt a little unsure of them, wondering what they could be doing here. It was a conundrum he did not have the answer to and so, with a shrug of his shoulders, he hurried away to procure their wine.
“Adele?” Eda’s voice was hesitant.
Adele did not answer at first, but gazed into the depths of the fire.
“T’was not how I expected it to be,” she mused at last. “In a way t’was better, for I always feared that there would be a great deal of awkwardness between us. As it was there was little time for awkwardness, was there? Or for anything.”
“Are you alright?”
“Alright?” asked Adele surprised. “Why should I not be?”
“I… I just thought…”
Adele smiled.
“Come, Eda; I have been preparing all my life for this moment, ‘tis not so strange for me as you seem to think.”
They were silent for a time until Eda, filled with curiosity, asked the question she had been longing to ask ever since Lord Rafe had left them.
“What did you think of him?”
“We hardly spoke, Eda.”
“But you must have thought something.”
Adele was silent, a thoughtful crease between her brows.
“I thought that he was not so tall as Finn.”
Eda snorted.
“Well if that is not just like you!” she exclaimed. “Finally you meet him and all that you have to say of him was that he was not so tall as Finn?”
“What more do you wish me to say?”
“I do not know. That you liked him, that you thought him kind; anything but that which you did say!”
“Eda, I already know that Lord Rafe is kind and that I shall like him. I knew that before I came here from reading his letters. You can hardly expect me to draw any conclusions on the short exchange that passed between us.”
At that moment Druce returned, bearing their refreshment. Adele had not really noticed his presence before, but now she smiled at him gently.
“What did you say your name was?” she asked.
Druce, young though he was, was not impervious to her quiet charm. He relaxed a little, the half anxious frown disappearing from his chubby face.
“Druce, my lady.”
“Mine is Adele, this is my friend Eda.”
Druce bowed formally to each of them in turn. He was not acquainted with all of the facts, but he was aware, as was everyone, that Lord Rafe was betrothed to Lady Adele of Berron. He also knew that when Lord Rafe had left Valrek it had been to fetch Lady Adele. His quick mind, connecting the fact that Lord Rafe was not with the ladies, to the expression of worry on Master Finan’s face, realised that something was wrong.
“Please, my lady, you were travelling with a soldier from Valrek, were you not?”
“Yes… do you know Finn, Druce?” asked Adele.
Druce nodded his head, gulping.
“Please, my lady, where is he?” The little boy’s voice trembled and Adele turned to Eda, her eyes wide with hesitation.
“Please tell me, my lady. Why has Lord Rafe had to leave to fetch him; what has befallen him?”
Druce’s hand was tight on Adele’s arm, and she covered it gently with her own.
“He was… detained… on Lord Gradock’s lands.”
Druce paled and his eyes filled with tears. He knew the danger that Lord Rafe was in. If he had been caught on Lord Gradock’s lands there would be fighting; Druce suddenly wished that he were older that he too could ride to his master’s rescue. Adele watched the little boy tremble, and felt tears welling up in her own eyes. She reached out and pulled him to rest his head against her shoulder.
“Do not worry, Druce, Lord Rafe will see that it is alright.”
Druce shook his head, but could not tell her why he feared that it was not possible to settle matters as easily as that.
Chapter Seventeen