‡Eglantine‡
Sweat has drenched my body through by the time Caergwyn and I make it to the Granzian headquarters in Entel. They told me they’d be here to receive me when I found the proper news. It is the perfect hideout, really. Granziar took it and left no survivors, and it is so remote that the rest of the country is entirely unaware the little outpost was even attacked.
They’ll take this news on the fastest pegasuses to Rite and Granziar, delight over it, marvel at their good fortune, and tear Yuragwyn apart before Kaitra and the rest can get to their feet. Then they will give me what they promised, and I will no longer have to worry about being able to care for myself out on my own.
I rap on the section of wall beside the gnarled gumbat tree to the right of the trail and wait, hopping from one foot to another and looking around for Hiltraud to appear and kill me, for someone to open the door and let me in to safety.
Long moments later feet shuffle to the latch on the other side of the wall and admit me into the sanctum. Wordless, he leads me through the dirt compound to a small, square building in the center. I duck my head as I enter. Cyneric himself is sprawled in a large wooden chair in front of a desk.
He smirks a bit, looking me up and down, “You certainly perfected the art of deceiving. They spared nothing in your care. This shall not be nearly as hard as I thought.” And then looking at me as though he were addressing me for the first time, he says, “Come now, what choice morsels slipped from their mouths?”
I swallow against the sudden lump in my heart. “Honorable Urien...”
“No titles, dear,” he interrupts.
“Urien is rather shaken up over Briallen and will no longer heed Lord Cadfael’s instruction,” I blurt, wishing I could scoop up all my words and bury them even as I pour more out. “I also snuck into Urien’s tent while he was out and read the letter Hulderic sent him. The Master is near death, but no heir has been named.”
Cyneric’s chuckle turns into a full-bellied roar, and even as he signs the papers giving me ownership of a little house in Rite, I turn hollow inside with guilt. The three pages he gives me chaff my hand, and the meager words written across the top- DEED OF SALE- swirl around amongst my tears and become TRAITOR and THEIF and MURDERER. I pay Cyneric, not in bills or coins or labor, but in lives, lives of the people who fed me and gave me these clothes and lives that have never heard of me who are only trying to survive this war also.
“Eglantine, dear,” Cyneric says offhandedly, “You came with a pegasus, did you not?”
I nod dumbly.
“Then go off to your new home. You have upheld your end of the agreement. Goodbye.”
The door between us closes before I can even process his words. I move towards the opening in the wall to let myself out, but the thick, rusty handle is too hard to move with my one spindly hand, even with my full weight pressed against it.
I collapse against the stone wall and let my tears soak into the dust.
₰Traugott₰
I make my way quickly through the wind and mist to a small village just a mile away from Cordina in hopes of borrowing a sturdy pegasus. Raindrops hit my outstretched sword with small metallic plinks, but the rustling of the grasses drowns it out and any sounds of an oncoming attacker. Calanthe’s words slither around me and turn my stomach, but I push them aside and strain towards the single light on the watchman’s post a few yards away.
“Who goes there!” A harsh voice calls out to me.
I clear my throat, “Traugott, of Cordina, with an urgent need for a strong, flying pegasus.”
Hooves thump towards me on the moist dirt. “Come.”
Soon a large black pegasus stands below me on the gentle slope. The rain has died away, but the wind still threatens to lift a corner of my cloak and rip it off. We thunder off and take to the air.
I only hope Kaitra is safe and is where I can find her.
∞Kaitra∞
After a long night, the dawn lightens the thick clouds above us. Today, we bury our dead, and the very thought makes me want to snuggle down under my thick woolen blanket and claw for sleep.
Hiltraud, as if knowing my thoughts, taps lightly on the sealed flap of my little tent. “Lady Kaitra?”
I groan, but he gives me no time to make excuses. “Daughter of Yuragwyn,” he responds. The title carries all his meaning and trumps all my escapes, and I have no choice but to scrape the warm coverings off me and pull my boots on.
The brisk chill of the mountain morning flushes my cheeks and tousles my hair as I try to braid it. Little auburn fly-aways tickle my ears as I sit down and rummage through my food pouch for a bit of breakfast that I have the best chance of being able to hold down.
Maxen plops down beside me with a cold biscuit and ham sandwich, “And how are you on this fine morning, Kaitra?”
“Lady Kaitra,” Hiltraud corrects, glaring.
I shake my head, “It’s alright, Hiltraud. We’ve met before, and I requested that he call me Kaitra.”
“No, no, I shall call you Miss Lady Kaitra, and my greatest apologies for ever doing otherwise,” Maxen amends grandly. “Now, Miss Lady Kaitra, your answer?”
I manage a smile, “I shall be alright.”
“I see; you’re worried about the day’s task, are you not?” He asks.
I nod and take a small, dry bite of my grain bar.
“Well, I remember my first one of these,” Maxen begins, settling back and staring off like people do when they picture things. “I was no more than a boy just learning to imitate a man, thirteen or fourteen. My first battle, it was. All my boyhood friends made it through that one. Being the youngest and the newest, we were among the first to take hold of the rough shovel handles and dig the long shallow rows. I lost my whole breakfast and the ability to eat lunch or dinner. I didn’t know most of those I was laying to rest, but the sight of mangled and beheaded people and centaurs and pegasuses was new and painful. It has gotten no easier now, for though I am more hardened to the sight of the dead, those I bury are more likely good friends than strangers.”
He snaps to attention, shoves the rest of his biscuit in his mouth, takes a long drink of water, and hops up. “I’m going to go down to the gravesite to help mark the boundaries.” And then, as if remembering his tale was supposed to be supportive, flashes a lopsided smile at me. “You will do well, Miss Lady Kaitra, never fear.”
I finish my breakfast dully and follow Hiltraud down the slope to a low basin area with a stack of shovels and four sticks at the far corners of the ground that is to be tilled. Hiltraud bows to Honorable Urien, who nods back to him and bows to me. Then, turning back to the assembled, he speaks. “Another battle has taken precious lives of the loved. Let us lay them to rest respectfully and determine to fight for their memories.”
The youngest and the strongest alike take hold of the shovel handles and sink the metal into the ground with dull thuds, while a large portion of women and centaurs snake their way down the path with the first of the slain. Strong arms grip my waist and keep me from fainting straightaway. “Just a little longer, at least, Lady Kaitra,” Hiltraud whispers. “For them. Men will never follow a soft-stomached leader. Show them they can believe in you.”
₰Traugott₰
My ears pique at the thump of shovels in the hard mountain dirt. I guide my pegasus down to the path and to a slow canter and draw my sword. Granzians, too, bury their dead.
The path is well and widely trodden: another sign of large occupying armies. It is littered, though, with large granite spheres splattered with blood. Bile rises in my throat at the sight, even so long in the army. Yuragwynian? Granzian? I cannot know, for crusty red is crusty red, yet one I love and one I hate.
Rounding the corner, familiar faces, some beaded with sweat and some set in the ways of death, greet me and bring the relief of finding comrades in a nest of enemies.
Three figures stand on top of the hill, blackened by the sun at their backs, and I groan as I recognize each one of them. Hiltraud stands behind Kaitra with an arm around her, and Kaitra lies limp against it as though she would faint straight to the earth if left to her own two feet. Honorable Urien leans considerably on his right foot, and his whole manner seems much older and frailer.
I shuffle out into the open and lock eyes with Kaitra. I see Hiltraud’s arm tense around her and can feel his stare as well. I must speak with them and bring Kaitra home so Calanthe will forgive me and the country will be safe yet again.
“Kaitra!” I call, advancing towards them. All work stops, and soldiers watch as I make my way up the hill.
Hiltraud glares and says lowly, “Lady Kaitra. You would do best to remember.”
I stumble a bit but continue coming forward. “Lady Kaitra, it is not safe for you here. Your father has expressly commanded you to return home, and I’ve come to take you there.”
“Traugott,” Honorable Urien’s voice bites. “Pick up a shovel.”
I look to Kaitra to argue, but her eyes hold nothing, and Hiltraud’s eyes only second Honorable Urien. I have no choice but to stomach the task I dread most and wait until the evening to convince her.