John Marco - The Devil's armour

It was a supposition, nothing better. Riding into the Bleak Territories was a great risk, but he supposed Jazana Carr thought him dead, or perhaps still near Carlion. He had told no one of his intention to reach Liiria.

After an hour more he stopped for rest. He gave Poppy some water from his skin, then made his pasty porridge of bread and fed it to her. The girl grimaced, but his persistence eventually won her over and she ate. Lorn looked around as he held her, studying the moonlit frontier. If he could find a farm there would be a goat or a cow that could give milk. Determined, he mounted again and rode deeper into the valley. Because there was no real road, Lorn drove his mount carefully, wary of breaking the beast’s legs in the darkness. The rubble of the Bleak Territories surrounded them, but far ahead the landscape changed, giving way to patches of green and occasional trees. Heartened, Lorn steered toward the waiting prairie. When at last he reached it he gave a grateful sigh. Against the moonlight he could see a house and few other structures, all surrounded by rugged farmland.

‘You see, daughter? Your father never fails you.’

Their gelding quickened a little, sensing Lorn’s excitement. As the distant farmstead drew nearer Lorn studied it. Like the territory itself, the house was shabby and weather-beaten. A stable stood off to its side, dilapidated, and the stone fencing was broken in places. Lorn could see no one in the fields or around the house, but there was light in the windows and he knew the place wasn’t abandoned. He knew, too, that he simply couldn’t ride up to the house and ask for help. This was Jazana Carr’s territory, after all, and Lorn’s paranoia was acute. Instead of going to the house he would go toward the stable, he decided, and steal whatever milk he needed for Poppy.

‘Keep yourself quiet, girl,’ he whispered to his daughter. ‘Let’s not be discovered now that we’re so close.’

Poppy, who was awake again, made no sound as they rode toward the farm, going around the long way so as not to be seen through the house’s dingy windows. The stable itself was dark; Lorn kept to the shadows as best he could, pausing behind trees as he made his stealthy approach. There were chickens in the yard dumbly pecking at the earth. The door to the stable was ajar. Lorn stopped a moment to listen. The clucking of chickens and the wind was all he heard. Very quietly he slid down from his horse with Poppy in his arm, then tied the steed’s reins to the tree. They were well hidden from the house by the long stable, and Lorn didn’t expect to take long.

‘Come,’ he told his daughter. It didn’t matter if she could hear him; he spoke as much to comfort himself. Together they tiptoed past the chickens in the yard, slinking low as they approached the stable. Lorn kept one eye on the house as he pulled the wooden door farther open. The darkness of the stable enveloped him at once. Taking a chance, he left the stable door open a bit to let in light, then scanned the interior. He spied hay, some tack on the wall, and a bank of rickety stalls. But no cows, and no goats. A horse that looked as old as the stable clopped at the ground in the closest stall. The other stalls were filled with oxen.

‘Fate above, I don’t believe this,’ groaned Lorn. Stepping into the stable for a closer look revealed a small stool and some farm tools, but that was all. Immediately he realised that the oxen were for working the fields, and supposed the chickens gave them eggs. They must barter for milk, he thought blackly.

‘Blast them. .’

He looked around, out of answers. There was no way he could go on without getting Poppy proper food. If there was milk in the house, he’d have to get it.

‘A thief,’ he snarled. ‘That’s what I am now. That’s what Jazana Carr has made of me.’

He was armed and a good fighter. If they wouldn’t give him food, he would take it. But he knew he couldn’t take his daughter with him, so he found a corner of the stable that seemed relatively clean, kicked a mound of hay into it to make a bed, and set the infant down. He then wrapped her more tightly in her heavy swaddling clothes, pinning her limbs. Poppy squirmed but seemed comfortable enough. With the oxen in their stalls, he knew she’d be safe for a time.

‘I won’t be long,’ he told her. ‘Just sit tight.’

Now free of Poppy, Lorn could move more stealthily. He slunk down low as he left the stable, then crept along the stone fence as he slowly neared the house. The farmhouse was made of the same smooth rocks as the fence, with few windows and a single, splintering door. Most of the windows had been shuttered closed, but the largest one, the one nearest the door, remained open. As he neared the house, Lorn could see figures through the wavy glass. He kept his head low as he drew closer, until at last he found himself against the wall. Quickly he scanned the yard, grateful there were no dogs to give him away. Finally he snuck a single eye around the window frame and peered inside.

There was a woman. And a cooking fire glowing in the hearth. A kettle steamed over the fire. A young boy sat at a table, waiting for food. Bread and cups sat on the table with a pair of candles. Lorn’s heart thumped in his chest. Was there milk in the cups? he wondered. And what about a man? Where was the woman’s husband? She was a small thing, thin and reedy with dark, tied-back hair. Lorn could barely guess her age. Neither she nor the boy had noticed him, so he boldly moved his other eye to the glass, viewing all of the small room. Now he saw a cradle in the corner, and a baby in the cradle. Boy or girl he couldn’t say, but he could tell the child was nearly Poppy’s age.

And then his dark idea occurred to him.

‘Oh, Fate,’ he whispered. ‘Could I?’

There was nothing to be done for it. He’d come this far already. Killing good men and betraying his people hadn’t stopped him. Why then should this? He’d be as gentle as he could, he decided. At his side he wore his sword. He thought about it a moment, then chose his dagger instead, slipping the blade from its sheath. If there was a man inside the house, he would deal with him. If there was more than one. .

There isn’t , he decided in an instant. And the woman would obey him; she had the children to protect. He straightened, crossed the window without being seen, then went to the door. Without pausing, he knocked loudly. Behind the door he heard a surprised commotion. In his right hand he held his dagger, but let it dangle less threateningly at his side. A hush from inside followed. Lorn knocked again, this time more forcefully.

‘Open the door,’ he boomed. ‘I came upon your farm just now and need help.’

Feet shuffled closer. The iron handle of the door turned and the door opened a crack. The little woman with the dark eyes peered out. Her mouth hung open in concern. Quickly she sized up Lorn, but by the time she saw his dagger he’d wedged his foot into the jamb.

‘No, don’t run,’ said Lorn as the woman jumped back. His free hand sprang up and seized the door. The woman backpedalled into the house.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded. Her boy child sprang from his chair to defend her. A bread knife on the table leaped into her hand. Lorn pushed open the door and stood on the threshold.

‘Now we both have knives,’ he said. ‘But I know how to use mine.’

‘Who are you?’ the woman spat.

So far no one else had appeared. Lorn blessed his good luck. ‘I’m a traveller, not from around here. I came upon your farm and saw your lights.’

‘So?’ The woman’s angry eyes glared at Lorn as she pulled her son by the sleeve to get behind her.

‘Put the knife down,’ said Lorn. ‘You cannot harm me. You are alone here?’