The Law of Surprise [On Hold]

Adrift

Tess passed time by cutting herbs. She kept an eye on Dandelion as he slowly grazed down the grass in the small clearing. Nibbling along in a wide arc from side to side, he mowed entire strips before taking a step forward, his mouth seldom leaving the ground. She had left him free to roam and eat or to roll and itch his back.

“Where were you when I was making the poultice?” She asked the yellow flower in her hand as she set her knife to its long stem.

Tucking the handful of calendula she gathered into the bag, Tess moved on to the borders of the clearing, looking for other things worth picking. She smiled when she spotted an outcropping of mushrooms near a half decayed tree stump.

“At least I can eat you instead of those damn biscuits,” Tess cheered to herself as she cut them off close to the ground. Brushing the dirt off one by one, she added them to the pack.

Dandelion jerked his head high and Tess caught the motion out of the corner of her eye. He chewed once and paused. His nostrils flared as he snorted.

“What’s wrong, Dandy?” Suddenly frightened, Tess turned to stare the way he was facing. Her eyes scanned through the trees, checking for movement and colors that shouldn’t be there.

Her breath caught at the sound of scrambling hooves. Spinning around to look at Dandelion again, she watched as he dug into the sod and bolted, darting into the trees. It was then she saw what had spooked him.

A trio of men with swords brandished kicked at the gear she had left near the rock outcrop. One of them stalked her way.

“Well hello, pretty girl.” He said and smiled wide. His sword turned in his grip. “What’s your name?”

Tess scrambled to her feet and sprinted into the woods.

****

Ulric debated going home, Marta’s rage be damned. His life was already misery and he doubted his wife could make it any worse.

He had arrived at Bad River before Old Gray decided it was enough. The pony laid down and died at the stable. Much to Ulric’s dismay, the animal didn’t even have the courtesy to die out on the road where he could have been left to rot instead of costing Ulric a fortune in burial fees.

Adding insult to injury, no one had seen a red-headed girl and her swordsman guardian come through in the last two weeks. Ulric drank himself into a stupor at the tavern once he realized he should have taken the other road.

Still hungover two days later, he purchased an old, three-legged lame plow horse on the extremely cheap. The saddle that fit Old Gray was much too small for the horse, but Ulric forced it to fit. After a few miles down the road back the way he came, the old mare found a spark of life and put up one last bout of resistance against his ham-fisted guidance and repeated smacks with the whip.

With the effort of an animal half her age, she gave a buck that unseated and dumped him into the ground over her right shoulder. After that, she ran as fast as her crippled legs would allow.

Ulric rolled over onto his back and looked up at the canopy of tree branches and leaves over head.

He cursed Tess’ existence.

****

Rowan Marsh owned few things that belonged to his father. One of them was his sword. The other was a worn spyglass. Both items had returned beside his father’s body at the end of the first war. With them was a note personally signed by the duke, noting Eoin Marsh’s loyal and steadfast service. His rank had required such a commemoration.

Arda burned the letter in front of the courier and dared him to say anything.

By the time Marsh was in his early teens, he carried his father’s sword. It was too long and unbalanced for his young arm and attributed to his use of daggers and throwing knives, but he kept it strapped to his back regardless. Lithe and quick, Marsh secured a place in the regiment as a scout.

The spyglass gave him the ability to see beyond the limits of normal eyesight and in turn, protected the regiment against ambushes. It also pinpointed weaknesses in opposing forces well before skirmish range. These advantages earned them the nickname of Weller’s Ghosts after the duke himself, but the name Marsh preferred was the one given to them by the enemy — Devil’s Demons.

His talents as a scout and spy helped him climb through the ranks as he grew into his father’s sword. Marsh commanded a five-man scouting unit before he decided he had enough of the blood lust and wanton disregard for human life. Commands to cut down women and children whose husbands and fathers were out fighting for the opposing force were beyond tolerable. He resigned and never looked back. Evidence of such war crimes made sure his resignation would be honored.

Marsh found a hill opposite of the fort and circled around behind to mask his position as he climbed it. Once at the apex, he flattened himself against the ground and opened the spyglass to gaze at the deteriorating structure.

The men who kept watch were organized in their patterns, never leaving any portion of the wide approach unguarded. Similar discipline was amongst those that patrolled the towers and the wall between them.

Marsh shifted his focus to the courtyard of the fort. Nothing there indicated livestock — no pens, bales of hay or straw, or even hanging beasts that had already been slaughtered mired the cobblestones. The only thing Marsh saw were empty wooden cages that lined one of the walls.

“Dammit, Irv,” Marsh swore as he lowered the spyglass. He hadn’t signed up for a job like this — cages such as those were common amongst slavers. It also meant he was way over his head.

It explained why the men were outfitted as well as they were — selling slaves was a profitable business. More so if the human chattel were from abduction. While somewhat unfashionable in the county, slavery was still practiced elsewhere. Most likely, this group of men were from another country, slipping over the border to capture several dozen head before returning to sell their wares. Whomever they took would not be heard from again.

Marsh raised his spyglass and scanned for the man in charge. He looked for anyone who was a little better dressed or flashed an extra sword or two. He found the man at the window in the northern tower overlooking the courtyard.

One of the guards below yelled up to him and the man disappeared from the window. He reappeared moments later and strutted out into the courtyard before passing over the dropped gate. Swinging the spyglass down the path, Marsh caught a glimpse of dust swirling in the breeze — ahead of the cloud were three men on horseback. The one in the lead rode with something draped over the front of his saddle.

He let it go once he arrived at his boss. Falling to the ground in a tumble of skirts, the unconscious woman laid in a pile at the horse’s feet. The man from the tower pushed her over with a foot before reaching down to clutch a fistful of red hair. He approved of what he saw.

In shock, Marsh's hands lost hold of the spyglass.

“Tess!”