Minstrel

Chapter #11 ~ Riptide

Rip couldn't believe that. Someone had to care... he cared. She wasn't alone, but he couldn't let her know that. She wouldn't believe him anyway.

When her skin had broken, sending blood down her face she had smiled. It wasn't a smile of joy; it was a bitter smile full of hatred. That's when Rip knew. He knew that the fugitive hated herself. She wasn't scared of death... she was willing to welcome it. Something was holding her back. Something that kept her balancing on the edge of life and death.

Then the young man had woken up and pulled her away from the bars. He had held her in his arms after she had passed out. Rip couldn't remember when the slavers had gotten back and the wagon had continued on because he couldn't get the sight out of his head. The sight of her scarlet blood against the silver bars. It dripped down and formed a pool on the wood below it.

Even when the birds began to sing, something that Rip had never heard in his entire life, the sight didn't leave his mind. He had a feeling it would haunt him for a long time, possibly the rest of his life.

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Stumbling over a pine cone, Rip looked around. The road in front of him was blocked by a fallen tree, it's blackened trunk evidence that lightning was responsible.

Sighing at the inconvenience of his situation, Rip turned and continued to follow the wagon tracks around the tree.

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Rip stood in front of the king, his throat strangled with dread. He knew why he was here in the king's court room surrounded by a jury of nobles and their ladies. He was being tried for treason. He had helped a wanted fugitive and now he would pay the price.

Rip knew they would sentence him to death and he knew it would be the right decision. He had broken the law of the land. The punishment was death, there was no way around it.

They would hang him in the grand plaza and he hoped his father would be there to watch. He wanted the man, who wanted nothing to do with him, see what had become of his blood. He needed his father to realize that he was nothing like him. He may have inherited his black hair and colorful eyes, but every shard of his personality had come from his mother. A mother who had loved him more than a heart could handle just to make up for the hate he received from his father.

Could he even be called that? A father? By nature he technically was, but he did his best to make sure everyone knew blood didn't matter to him.

Sylvester Florence Dublin. The great duke of Dublin. The king's most trusted adversary. A kind and loving man to those who didn't know him; a viscous minion of evil to those who did.

Rip's mother would tell him his father hadn't always been so cold. Rip could only believe her because he couldn't imagine her marrying a man like Duke Dublin.

Riptide looked through the jury, but his father was nowhere to be seen. He probably couldn't be bothered to come to such a meaningless case. He probably was happy to learn that his cowardly son was finally going to get what he deserved.

Rip had never understood why his father wanted him dead. He thought the duke would want a heir to his land, someone to continue the family's powerful name.

He shouldn't have been so naive. His father had had plenty of affairs while Rip's mother was still alive and her death only gave him the opportunity to legally remarry.

When Rip was three, two years after his mother's death, the Duke of Dublin had married a powerful, cruel lady. Lady Valery, a woman Rip's father had consummated a son with three years before Riptide had been born.

With the new marriage, the Duke of Dublin had a valid heir and no one was dumb enough to question it. Rip never met his step brother. Lady Valery refused to let her son live with such a disgusting boy, so Riptide had been given away. When he was four years old the Duke gave him to the king as a present for his fortieth birthday.But the king didn't want him and had him train with the best warrior in the king's army.

Twelve years later, here he was standing before the king, the man that owned him, about to be found guilty for the highest form of treason in Florencia.

Assisting a musician.

Rip didn't really care what they did to him. His life had never been all that great, the only family he had ever had were the men in his regiment. They might not understand why he had betrayed them, but they would never hate him for what he had done.

Keeping his head held high, Rip stood before the king; the convicting judge.

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Riptide shivered at his own nightmare of a daydream. He knew it would be his future if he went back now. The only hope he had of saving himself would be capture Creak and bring her to the king. Rip would be forced to watch as they beheaded her in the grand plaza. The crowds would cheer, so only to satisfy the king's hunger for power. But just as the king could never be satisfied, Rip would never be able to live with himself if he did something like that.

He had been hunting musicians for as long as he could remember, but he had never personally brought one in. The idea of bringing a person to certain death made him sick to his stomach.

Rip cursed under his breath as his leg cramped up. He couldn't stop now, not when he knew where the slavers were going. The city StoneCold. It was the only place that made sense this time of year. A winter festival would take place there in less than two days. A festival with food and drink, games and gambling, and an auction. The biggest attraction in StoneCold and the biggest slave auction in all of Florencia.
It was the only place Creak and her new friend could be sold for a decent profit. The thought of her standing up on the stage, chains around her wrists and ankles, caused Rip to pick up his pace. Despite the idea being horrid, he couldn't help but wonder how much she would go for and if paying for her freedom was the best option.

She was a thin, short girl, but also the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Sure she had a crazy look to her, but most men wouldn't even notice at a first, or even second, glance.

As long as the slave traders had the sense to clean her up, Creak would easily sell for one of the highest prices.

Rip shook his head in frustration. He didn't have any money... well he had a little, but not near enough to buy the fugitive's freedom.

Lights danced in the distance throwing glittering shadows through the forest. The sun, blessedly behind him, reflected off the frost and made the ground shimmer. It was beautiful in a cold kind of way and for some reason it reminded him of his mother. He couldn't quite remember what she looked like, but he knew she had been beautiful and had acted with a cold logic. She was smart and maybe that's why Rip's father had lost his love for her. The duke couldn't stand when someone was smarter than him.

His feet crunched beneath him as Rip took one last step. He stood before a small town, only ten buildings at most, and looked at the wagon that rested in front of him.

It was the slaver's wagon, but Rip's heart sank at the sight of it. Empty. It was empty. Creak and the young man must of been taken inside the village inn.

Not sure if it would be the right move or not Rip walked up the wooden porch and pushed through the front door. He was sure he would find Creak inside, but he wasn't entirely sure that was what he wanted. He had made a promise to her back at Riverfall before he had let her go.
'The next time I catch you, I will kill you.' The words rang in his head and Rip gulped not knowing if he could keep such a promise.