Rinnet of King's Helm (COMPLETED)

Chapter Six

They arrived at the base of a low, grassy hill in the country, where Yurovin knew the Coretians were camped just on the other side. A few of the prisoners had tried to run when they were untied to mount the riders' horses, but none succeeded thanks to the quick reactions of Yurovin's crew.

Without blindfolds, the Coretians stayed quieter than they had on the ride from Goldsriff. Most were too busy staring at the land, its rolling forests and meadows of farmland. With the sea on its western border, Tevar grew lush vegetation the Coretians did not know. Much of their country was barren, dry plains, arid and cold in the winter; Tevar enjoyed humid air and milder weather. Minyavo itself, surrounded by networks of rivers and large lakes, was an oasis Coreti would love to get its hands on.

And if it hadn't been obvious before, it was now. With the Guardsmen over the hill and within hearing distance, Yurovin kept his voice low as he commanded his riders to help the Coretians dismount. From the treeline he knew more Tevarian soldiers waited, about forty in total. He signaled, and they emerged.

Harbaud saw this and sneered underneath his helm. "What is this? You need all of them to drag us around?"

"They are here to keep everything under control," Yurovin said. "We're expecting a number of Guardsmen to meet us here."

"Coretian Guardsmen?" Flensing asked. "They're meeting us on this side of the border?"

"It's where they decided."

"And they're coming to take us back to Goldsriff?"

Not likely. "Perhaps," said Yurovin. 

The captives chattered in excitement. Harbaud, however, planted his feet and huffed. "So what's with the helmets then? I want to take mine off. I look too much like one of you."

"I would advise against it even if you could," Yurovin said, nodding at Harbaud's bound wrists. "We're still on Tevarian land, you know. A stray farmer with a slingshot and a sharp eye is not uncommon around here."

Harbaud tried not to look toward the dense forest behind them, but the shift in his stance gave him away. Yurovin was glad, at least, to be telling the truth about this. Tevarians this close to the border seldom went unarmed and kept on their guard. The helmets weren't much without the rest of the armor, but they would do against a sharp rock.

"But...we really do look a bit like Tevarians." This was from the girl who had warned of the escape. She looked so helpless to Yurovin, her shoulders hunched and head never quite straight above them. "Will they recognize us as their own?"

"They know you will be on foot," Yurovin said. Back to lying. "And if they are wise, they'll have their own helmets. The only target more appealing to a rural Tevarian than a normal Coretian is a Coretian Guardsman."

The girl nodded. Behind her, the Tevarian soldiers gathered, curled around the captives in the shape of a horseshoe. Growing anxious, the Coretians fidgeted, and Harbaud regained his impatient anger.

"Well, when are they getting here?" he said. "I refuse to stand around here with your thugs breathing down my back. Are you that afraid of a few Guardsmen?"

Yurovin shrugged. "Should we not be?"

Below the helmet, Harbaud turned as red as his hair. It reached down to his exposed chin and neck. "Of course you should! They'll kill you all for dragging us to your disgusting city and penning us up like animals!"

Yurovin said nothing else but continued to face Harbaud. He was a healthy man, maybe thirty, tall for a Coretian but still a head shorter than the average Tevarian. He had a bad temper, Yurovin thought, but he wasn't in the best of situations, and there were good people with bad tempers.