Silence Deep as the Snow » Sihtric || The Last Kingdom

Mercenaries

I didn't dare look back as I slipped away from the scavengers down on the beach. Dancing between the large stones, clothed in green moss, I made it to the cover of the forest. The shadows were deep purple with early morning, sunlight cutting like daggers through the leaves. Autumn was well on it's way. It would soon be the turn of the seasons.

The sound of fresh water gave me pause. After swallowing so much saltwater, I was parched. Dizzy with exhaustion and hunger, I slid down an embankment to a little creek that burst from the ground under a felled tree. It was a hidden space, the last green of wild vines curling over me as I stepped into the gentle current. Birdsong filled the wood.

I breathed deep before cupping my hands and drinking. It was sweeter than any water that I had ever tasted. 

After drinking till my hunger pains abated, I sat down on the sandy bank under the upended roots of the tree. I needed a moment to think. My mind was foggy from my sleepless ordeal, but my senses were sharpened with fear.

I couldn't let panic take over.

"Almighty God, guide my steps," I spoke to the silence with my eyes closed. "Mother, guide me."

I had been raised in observance of the Christian church. But also in the old ways of my grandmother. Perhaps that dual protection of the Lord Jesus and the ancient gods was what led to my next adventure.

"I thought I spied someone stealing away from the beach."

The peace of my hiding place was stolen by that alien voice. Leaping to the other side of the creek, I held my skirts in preparation to run. Though odds were slim that I would make it far through the tangled thicket.

Squinting against the broad sun, I peered up the embankment. A figure in leather armor stood on the brink. Fair haired with large blue eyes, they rested a muscled hand on the hilt of a sword at their hip. A grotesque scar ran from the edge of their jawline and spider webbed across the cheek.

A woman. She would have been beautiful if not for her deformity. And the sardonic grin that she wore as she sized me up.

"No shoes, soaked to the bone, but finely dressed." She hopped down and strode across the creek. "Don't make a move to run. My companions are all about us."

I lifted my chin, eyes never leaving the hand that played with her sword hilt. "What do you want from me?"

"Were you in that shipwreck we just found on the beach? The dead man, do you know him?"

"No," I lied automatically then blinked. "Yes, but no. I only met him last night. He gave me passage."

She grabbed my chin and forced my mouth open, inspecting my teeth. "From where?"

"Ceredigion."

"Cymru?"

"Yes."

She released me roughly and sniffed, perching her hands on her hips. "Are you highborn? Don't lie, it's written all over you."

"Yes."

"Why are you seeking passage into these lands from your own native country? Are you running away?"

"Yes."

"From what? A betrothal?"

"My stepmother. She wishes me dead." 

I forced myself to maintain eye contact. A woman like this would only be impressed by courage, not groveling. If she was a Dane, she would be disgusted by someone who begged and wept. I didn't know much about our invaders from the east, but I had heard enough stories to know that much. 

"Dead? Why?"

"She's a witch who hungers for power. She wants my father's throne." 

I knew that I had said the wrong thing the moment it came from my mouth. A change swept over her grotesquely beautiful countenance. Greed lit up her pale eyes like twin lanterns.

"Throne," she repeated thoughtfully.

A stirring came from the wood behind me, but I didn't dare budge. "If she's royal, she could carry a ransom."

"I won't," I spoke quickly. "I am no use to my father. He has cast me off. My stepmother saw to that. She has given him an heir." I had no idea if the child Morgann bore was male or female, but it was better to pretend that I did. 

The woman waved to her hidden companions. Two emerged from the wood, as armored and armed as herself. Two men with broad shoulders and beards, but as different in color as the sun from the moon. One was pale blond like the woman while the other had dark skin with thick, jet black hair. His eyes were as black as a moonless night.

"I- I have money. Please. I'm only seeking safety in these lands," I said, beginning to feel frantic.

The dark man laughed low. "You won't find safety anywhere on these islands, little princess. Not in these times."

"Safety from my stepmother at least. Perhaps then someday, I may return to reclaim what has been taken from me," I spat, feeling the rage that I bore against the witch who married my father bubble over. "And send her back to the pits of hell from whence she came."

The men chuckled at my outburst. The woman seemed amused for a moment, but still studied me contemplatively. I lifted my chin. I had a strong heart, my mother had always told me. If this was to be my end, I would meet it as a daughter of Cymru.

"What are you called, little princess?" she asked.

"My name is Rhoswen."

"I'm Tola. That is Turgan," she pointed to the dark warrior. "And the other barbarian over here is my brother, Ivar. We hold no allegiance to any kingdom or jarl, unless they have the gold to pay. These lands are filled with men without honor, except perhaps a few rare ones. We look to fight for them."

"You are mercenaries?"

"Yes, but not without scruples," the warrior called Ivar said with a shrug and a wink, relaxing his stance.

"You won't get far without shoes, Rhoswen. Truth be told, you wouldn't get far even with them. Not alone, anyways. Do you know where you are going?" Turgan asked.

I wet my lips, trying to recall my plans. After the last few hours, everything had changed. "I was hoping to reach Wessex. We have heard tell of Alfred's kingdom and that his son has taken the throne."

"Do you know what you'd have to get through to make it to Wintanceaster?" Tola pointed to my hip. "You don't even carry a kitchen knife on you, girl. How did you think you were going to make it? By your wits?"

I felt it in my best interest not to mention the precious stones in my skirts, but pulled out the pouch of gold. "Bribery seemed my best option. I've never handled a blade in my life."

Ivar let out a bark of a laugh as he bit into an apple. My mouth watered at the sight despite my circumstances. "At least the lass is practical."

"I can pay you to get me to Wintanceaster," I spoke calmly and held out the pouch. "I'm not lying. This is honorable work. I just want to be safe from my stepmother."

"And you think you'll be safe in Wessex? With the upheaval of Alfred's death?" Tola demanded, clucking her tongue. "No. There is too much unrest there right now. In a few years perhaps, but not now. May I make a suggestion?"

"I don't know you. Why should I trust you?" I demanded, pulling the gold back to my belly.   

Turgan spit and hitched his thumbs in the armholes of his leather chest piece. "As much as I despise pointing out the obvious, but what other option do you have, little barefoot princess?"

With a sigh, and struggling to maintain my composure despite my weariness, I met Tola's fearless glance once again. "Well? What do you suggest then?"

"An earldom not far from the capital of Wessex, Lady Rhoswen. That is where we are bound. A place called Coccham. Ivar and I have kin there among the men that fight for their lord. Uhtred rules there. You should be safe. Well..." she gave a vague wave of her hand as though casually swatting a fly. "Safe enough, I suppose."