The Outcast, page 2
part #2 of A Knight's Journey Series
“What happened?” someone asked.
“The people that had gathered at the front gate fled screaming and woke most of the city. The castle grounds were closed, but shortly after, the gates opened and guards came patrolling through the streets. They kept order and told everyone to stay inside. At the time, it was strange and imperious. But looking back, their actions made sense. They walked the streets looking for anyone or anything out of place, waking people as they went. At some point, they began going door-to-door looking for someone.”
“Who were they looking for?” Sloan called from across the room as he finished filling the wineskin. He couldn’t help himself from listening in on the conversation. And it appeared that despite his earlier words, the youth was very interested in the man’s story as well.
“I dun know,” the trader called back. “They were vague at the time, and I didn’t pay them much attention. They didn’t even ask me directly. If I had known then what I know now, that the royal family had been killed, I would have paid much more attention. I just assumed that they were looking for some troublesome youth, an apprentice of some sort, I believe that's what they said.”
Sloan nodded, passing the wineskin across the bar to the youth.
“There’s water out back. I can fill your skin if you have it on you.”
“Thank you, but no. I will fill it myself, if you don’t mind.”
Sloan shrugged and turned towards the men conversing across the room. He expected the youth to take a seat somewhere, perhaps eat a bite and join the conversation. Instead, the boy turned towards the door.
“You are mad if you truly intend to go.”
“I must be off. It would do no good to linger here.”
“Not even for a night? For a short rest?”
“I cannot stay.” The youth cast a wary glance about the room, lingering on the two traders and their hired guard. He took the bundle of supplies that he had been given and walked out into the night.
Sloan watched him go and then returned his attention to the men's conversation.
* * *
The following weeks saw the first snowfall of the season, little more than a light dusting of powder that hinted at what was to come, and a surprising number of travelers. Sloan was used to a drop in patronage once the first snow fell. Travel and trade became less common as the weather and the land made even short journeys trying and uncomfortable at best. Even the townsmen, with their nightly drinking ritual, came less often, preferring the warmth of their beds and wives than the beer and wine that Sloan could offer. He couldn’t blame them, however. Eska kept him company and it meant less work each day.
This year, however, the Wayside Inn saw an increase in travel as the winter months drew nearer. This would not have been of note to most inns, barely a handful of visitors every other day, but given the relative isolation of the Wayside and the time of year, the unexpected business kept the innkeeper and his wife busy.
Sloan catered to his guests, telling them what he knew in exchange for the most current news. All talk was of the capital and the royal family. The Lord Commander Gannon had taken on stewardship of Estoria, and the capital had been closed off for trade and travel, the city kept under constant guard. With the roads watched and travel restricted, there was little word from the capital. Only speculation, which abounded. It was commonly known what had happened to the royal family, though the specifics were unknown. Most seemed to think that an assassin had been sent to kill the king, though some believed that the royals had been betrayed by someone close to them. There were many opinions and thoughts as to how and why it had happened, but there was one question that everyone wanted answered: who was responsible?
There was also much grumbling about the increase in armed patrols on the kingsroad and other major roadways. Groups of soldiers were becoming a common sight on the main roads, some marching towards Oscilliath and others creating checkpoints along the roadways. A checkpoint was even established on the kingsroad near Durrenhill, despite the small size of the town. Rumor spread that the soldiers were looking for a fugitive, and the implication was that the person was somehow involved in the death of the king and the princess. No details were freely given, though.
By this point, Sloan had completely forgotten the youth who had visited his inn more than two weeks past. Graff and his companion had long since left with their hired guard, and Sloan currently had only two guests who were staying the night: a man who had left the road on his way to Durrenhill and found the Wayside Inn, and Sid Flaors, whose wife had kicked him out after a rather nasty quarrel pertaining to the bedroom. Sid refused to offer details and Sloan wasn’t going to ask.
It was still early in the evening when the knock came at the door. The sun had yet to set and dinner was still being prepared. Sloan was sweeping the front room and Eska was cooking. At first, he thought it was simply the wind, but the knocking came again, this time heavy and insistent. Sloan lay aside his broom and went to open the front door. He found it curious that anyone would knock before entering an inn until he opened the door.
On the front steps of his inn was a sour-faced man in uniform, flanked by a pair of armored soldiers. Sloan knew enough to recognize the man as an officer and promptly stepped aside to admit him. The officer gave a curt nod as he entered, glancing about the common room to examine his surroundings.
“You must be chilled,” Sloan said, thinking of the two soldiers wearing armor. He closed the door against the cold and gestured towards the fire, where a table was ready for visitors to warm themselves.
The officer glanced towards the table and frowned.
“Thank you, but I prefer to stand.”
Sloan halted, already turning to move towards the fire. He glanced at the two soldiers, but if either of them were bothered by their officer’s rejection of the hearth, they did not show it.
“Very well,” Sloan said, thinking to himself that this was a strange visit. “How may I be of service to you?”
“This is the Wayside Inn, is it not?”
“You’ve heard of it! Have you been recommended? By a friend perh—”
“You mistake my intentions,” the officer stated coldly. “I have not come to you seeking to stay. I have come seeking information.”
“I suppose I trade in information and gossip, though I’d not thought anyone would come here, so far out of their way, for talk alone.”
“It is for precisely that reason that I have sought it out.”
Sloan was beginning to wish that he had not opened the door. He did not know what business this man had, but he would rather that it did not involve him. Or Eska. Sloan glanced back towards the kitchen, where his wife still labored over dinner.
“I would be glad to assist you, if I am able.” Sloan let the end of his sentence trail, inviting the officer to introduce himself.
“Your assistance is mandatory, though your cooperation is noted. It makes things easier, for all involved.” The officer paused, considering his next words. “Have you had many visitors over the past few weeks?”
The casual question took Sloan by surprise. Given the recent events, Sloan had expected the conversation to focus on the news of Estoria. He had thought that perhaps he was going to be ordered to spread official news from the army. Or perhaps he was to be questioned about the grumblings of the people regarding the army. Many were discontent and some were more than willing to give voice to their thoughts when aided by drink.
“I’ve had more than is usual for this time of the year. None that caused any trouble, though.”
Again, the officer paused to consider his words.
“You have heard news of Estoria, yes?”
Sloan nodded. It was all anyone spoke of.
“I am looking for someone. A boy.”
“Your son?” Sloan guessed. An officer of the army wouldn't usually attend to such matters unless they were important or personal.
“No. This boy is a fugitive fleeing the crown’s justice, dangerous despite his youth. The boy is wanted for questioning by the Lord Commander and Steward of the Realm, Gannon.”
The worry that Sloan had felt before doubled. He was more than willing to trade information and gossip, but he had no desire to be involved with someone like Gannon. He had heard troubling rumors.
“The boy that I seek is young, no more than seventeen or eighteen, and he is likely traveling alone and on foot. He is dark of hair and light of skin, and he bears a unique sword of blackened metal.”
“You believe he was here?” Sloan asked. He tried to think of all the visitors that he’d hosted. Many of them had been traveling alone, but he remembered none who matched such a description.
“I believe that you will assist me to the very best of your abilities,” the officer said menacingly. “There is a price on his head. If he has been here and you are able to help identify him, you will be rewarded. If not, then you have been warned.”
The man’s threat was thinly veiled.
“Now, think hard.”
Sloan shook his head. “I cannot recall anyone of that description. A number of people have passed through though, many traveling alone. It may be that I’ve forgotten or did not notice.”
The officer examined him, searching for some indication of falsehood. When he found none, he reached into a pocket and produced a sheaf of paper with writing on it.
“To spread the word,” he said, handing the paper to one of his men, who proceeded to nail the paper to the wall.
Sloan stared at the notice in annoyance, but he knew better than to protest.
“Someone will be sent to check again soon,” the officer said over his shoulder as he left. The door slammed shut behind and Sloan shivered as the cold draft washed over him. He feared the thought of another visit from such men.
“Who was at the door?”
Sloan turned at the sound of his wife’s questioning voice. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hair bundled up and an apron draped loosely over her dress.
“Soldiers,” he told his wife. “An officer came looking for someone.”
“Who was it?”
“Don’t know. The man wasn’t too specific. He described a youth traveling alone, no name given. Nailed a notice to the wall as well.” Sloan gestured towards where the paper had been nailed in place.
Eska gave a shocked gasp and crossed the room to examine the wall, voicing her displeasure. Sloan, however, was no longer listening. A memory had come back to him of the lone traveler several weeks past. A youth hidden beneath his cloak, one who could have passed for a grown man. He had carried a blade, though it had looked ordinary to Sloan.
The youth could very well have been a simple traveler. Or he might have been the one that the soldiers were hunting.
Sloan suddenly felt weak with dread. He sat himself in one of the many vacant chairs and tried to think. What would he do when he was next visited by the soldiers? He shut his eyes and cursed the fates for involving him in such matters.
Chapter 1: Eliza / Gannon
Eliza fled down the hallway without glancing back. The way ahead was lit by torchlight, but the light went out as she ran, leaving everything in her wake in the darkness. Her thoughts were hazy and muddled, slow and disjointed. She did not know where she was or where she was going, but fear gripped her and she knew that she mustn’t stop running.
The princess reached an intersection and came to an indecisive halt, looking frantically about. She mustn’t stop, but where to go? Where would she be safe?
Safe from what? a voice in her head questioned.
There were screams behind her, causing the young princess to turn back towards the darkness. She could see nothing, but that only made the fear worse. Something bad had happened. Something was coming for her. She needed to move, to run and escape what was happening.
More screams came from the darkness, prompting Eliza to turn. She turned down the hallway to her left without a thought and ran as fast as she could, knowing that she was being pursued.
“There she is!” a voice cried out.
Eliza cried out in panic and ran harder, tears blinding her. She was already lost, so she took every turn that she found, hoping desperately to escape her pursuers. She could see shapes, formless masses on the ground meant to trip her. She tried to be careful, but she was running too fast and the ground had become wet and slippery. Her foot caught on one of the things that littered the floor and she tumbled to the ground, crying out in pain.
In moments, she would be caught. Without thinking, without looking, Eliza hurled herself through the door to her right and crawled into a corner behind something large and heavy. The room was dark, the light from the hall now gone.
Heavy footsteps came from outside. Eliza listened hard, hoping to hear her pursuer pass her by, but the footsteps stopped outside of the room. Eliza whimpered in fear and pulled her knees to her chest, willing herself to become smaller.
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the princess’s muffled sobs. Then she felt something grab her, jerking her from her hiding spot and out into the open. She screamed and tried to fight, but found herself powerless as she was pulled towards the hallway. As she struggled, she caught a glimpse of what awaited her.
Bodies littered the floor, blood pooling on the floor. Eliza could see now that her hands and dress were bloodied as well. There was red everywhere. Death everywhere. She tried to shut her eyes against the horrors, but the images wouldn’t leave her. She saw her father’s form, disfigured and grotesque.
“You are no longer safe.”
* * *
Eliza woke screaming, her voice filling the room. She looked about frantically for the figure of her father, fearful of what she would find. Her room was empty, though the adjoining rooms of her suite were dark. Anything could be hiding in those shadows, and she gripped her bedsheets tightly.
The door to her room opened and someone spoke to her in soothing tones. Eliza slowly began to calm as she realized that she was not in danger. She was in her rooms, alone but for the maid beside her. She’d had another nightmare. She shivered at the memory, the fear not yet gone.
“Are you calmed now, mistress? Is everything alright?”
“I’m safe,” Eliza whispered to herself. “It was just a nightmare. Not real.”
Spoken aloud, her words brought her clarity. She had been having a horrible dream, that was all that it was.
For a moment, she felt better. Then she remembered the figure of her father and the reason for her nightmares. Not everything had been imagined. Her father was still gone.
“That’s right, Princess. You are safe,” the maid responded. “It was nothing more than a dream. Everything is better now.”
Eliza frowned at that. Everything was not better. Her nightmare was over, but she could not escape the reality that now faced her. Her terror had simply given way to the pain and sadness that weighed heavily upon her.
“Are you feeling better now that the nightmare has passed?” the maid asked.
No, Eliza thought, but she did not give voice to her thoughts. Instead, she managed a hesitant nod and turned away so her expression would not be seen. Her eyes still watered, a mixture of lingering fear and sorrow.
“That is good,” the maid said, pulling away and crossing the room. Dim light flooded in as she pulled back the window curtains. “You have been unwell lately, and I know that you must still be tired, but it is very nearly midday. It will be good for you to try and rise, even if only to walk about your rooms. Your body will not get stronger if you stay in bed.”
“I am tired, Tilly. I would like to rest,” Eliza said. Now that she was awake, her head was swimming and the light made her eyes ache.
“I would like to get you some fresh air. It is a shame that you are not able to leave your rooms. I would open the windows for you, but I fear that the cold would do more harm than good. The sunlight will have to do, for now.”
Tilly went about the bedroom and the sitting room, dusting and finding things to clean, talking as she went. Eliza made no effort to listen. She lay back and closed her eyes, trying to shut out the light and stop her aching head. She felt the pangs of hunger, but could not bring herself to care.
My father is dead.
The thought consumed her, something that she wished desperately to reject. To forget. To ignore. But she could not escape it, not even in her sleep. And her father was not the only one who had died. Many others had lost their lives on that night, and Eliza did not even know how many. She remembered very little of it all, only bits and pieces that had become distorted by dreams and nightmares. The one image that stuck with her was the sight of her father’s body, bloodied and dead.
Eliza’s most recent memory had been waking several days after the event, finding herself under heavy guard. Her thoughts had been muddled, her body weak, and her throat raw from screaming in her sleep. The Lord Commander Gannon had come to see her. He had told her of her father’s death, giving truth to her nightmares. She had been told what transpired, that her father, the king, had been assassinated by some foreign power. Eliza had been found alive, kept safe by Gannon’s own soldiers. He assured her that he would keep her safe and that he was working to find out who was responsible.
The sadness threatened to overwhelm her, but she fought against it by burying her emotions deep within her. It helped to dull the pain, but only temporarily. The sadness was ever-present, waiting to break her spirit and crush her. She could only remain detached for so long before she would break again.
“You are going to need to eat, Princess,” Tilly said as she took a tray of food from Eliza’s bedside. The tray was still laden with food from when it had been brought to her the previous evening.
“You have not been eating well. You have not been sleeping. You must try to recover, else you will not be well for the funeral.”
The words struck Eliza.
“I don’t want to hear of that,” she said weakly.
“But it has been weeks, Your Highness. The preparations have been made, and the date can only be postponed for so long. The people need to see you, to know that you are still alive.”
