Leslie Moore - Griffin's Daughter

“ Wha…what is it?” she asked blearily. She had been in the midst of a dream-a confused jumble of images and sounds-and wasn’t quite sure if she was truly awake yet.

“ We’ve got to go now, Cousin,” Magnes whispered urgently. Jelena sat up, fully awake now and jittery with alarm. Magnes pointed back toward the gently rolling terrain they had crossed last night. “I spotted them a few moments ago…a group of horsemen, riding this way. I’m not sure they’re from Amsara, but I don’t want to wait around to find out.”

Jelena imagined the thwarted and angry Duke Sebastianus leading the search for the concubine who had dared to defy him by running away. She shivered as she helped Magnes gather their things and obliterate the evidence of their camp.

“ How close are they,” Jelena asked tensely. Several crows began screaming raucously overhead, startling her so that she nearly dropped her long knife as she was trying to secure it at her waist.

“ We’ll have at least a half hour’s lead on them…more once they reach the trees. It’ll be slow going for them, riding through these woods.” Magnes had already smothered the fire with dirt and was busily spreading around the forest litter. “Any decent tracker will be able to tell we’ve been here if he looks closely enough, but let’s hope that they’re just searching and not actually following our trail.” He wiped his hands on his thighs and hoisted his pack onto his back. “Ready?” Jelena nodded eagerly, anxious to get moving.

As they traveled further into the perpetual twilight of the deep woods, it became difficult to judge the sun’s position in the sky, and Jelena soon lost all track of time. They marched along wrapped in a cool, dim bubble, with only the sounds of their footfalls and an occasional birdcall to break the stillness. Once, they startled some small creature that went wildly plunging off into the dense undergrowth.

The trees were getting larger the further into the woods they traveled. The undergrowth steadily diminished, which made for easier going. Jelena was awestruck by the majesty of the deep woods giants. It seemed to her that these trees must have been standing here since the very beginning of the world, when the gods had brought forth order out of the chaos of the Void.

They stopped briefly to rest and drink a little water. Jelena asked Magnes how he knew which direction was the correct one without using the sun. He explained that, as long as they kept the mossy side of the trees behind him, then he knew they were heading north. “Once we reach the river, I’ll be able to see the sky again, and when the stars are out, I’ll know whether we need to go up or downstream to reach the fords.” Jelena fervently hoped that the river was close. She kept imagining that she could hear the sounds of pursuit behind them, drawing ever closer.

They walked in silence for a time. The rhythm of her footsteps lulled Jelena into a trance, so she was unprepared for Magnes’s abrupt halt. “Ow!” she cried as she fetched hard up against her cousin’s back, knocking her forehead on his pack with a painful thump.

“ Shhhh!” he hissed, holding up one hand towards her face. He peered ahead intently, the other hand cupped to his ear. Then, Jelena heard, as well.

Voices.

Magnes signaled that they should change course, away from the still-hidden speakers, and attempt to circle around without being detected. Jelena’s heart slammed against her chest wall and her mouth grew dry with fear. She had no desire to find out whether the owners of those voices were friend or enemy.

Slowly, carefully, they moved forward and around, keeping the faint buzz of conversation always to their left side. Jelena had to focus all of her concentration on moving as quietly as she could, and soon, the underarms of her shirt were soggy with sweat. The sound of her breath roared in her ears, and each tiny crackle of leaf or twig under her boots seemed as loud as a thunderclap. Gradually, a growing awareness of a new sound insinuated itself into her consciousness-a smooth murmur, like wind sighing in the treetops. At the same instant, she realized that she could no longer hear the voices.

Magnes stopped and drew her close against him, setting his lips to her ear. “Can you hear it? The river,” he breathed. She nodded in assent.

A heartbeat later, the forest erupted around them. Jelena barely had time to register what was happening before she was slammed face down into the ground. A grinning, hairy face pressed itself against hers, and she gagged on the putrid odor of rotten teeth and onions. She heard Magnes shout her name, and desperately she struggled to break free, but the body that pinned her to the earth was too heavy. Her efforts seemed to amuse her assailant, who uttered a low, throaty laugh. She felt a hard tug on her shoulders as her attacker pulled at the backpack. She heard the snick of metal cutting through leather straps; then the pressure released as the pack was ripped away from her body and tossed aside. In that instant, Jelena’s arms were free, and instinct took over.

In a single motion, she pulled her knife and stabbed upward and back. She heard a bark of pain, followed by a string of profanities, and suddenly, the cruel weight that had been crushing her into the forest floor vanished. She rolled over and scrambled to her feet, crouched, knife blade at the ready. She assessed the scene quickly.

Magnes was standing, but she could see a bright ribbon of blood snaking its way down from above his left eye. “Are you hurt?” he asked in a low voice. She shook her head and moved to press her back to his.

There were six of them, lean and vicious as starving wolves. A seventh lay writhing and moaning at Magnes’s feet, clutching at his belly. Blood seeped steadily through his fingers. The youngest, Jelena could see, was a boy of no more than thirteen summers; the oldest, a balding man well into his middle years. They all shared the same cold, hard, desperate look of men with nothing to lose. Each one had a weapon of some sort-knives, a rusty shortsword, a club.

“ I guess we weren’t quiet enough,” Magnes whispered out of the corner of his mouth. He shifted his stance slightly and raised his blood-stained sword a little higher. “We don’t have anything of value, except our food,” he said in a calm, steady voice, addressing the bandits collectively. “We want no trouble, but as you can see,” he gestured to the fallen man, who now lay still and silent, “we are capable of defending ourselves. Please, just take what you want and leave.”

Jelena tightened her grip on the hilt of her knife and fiercely willed her hand to remain steady. Her eyes darted from one dirty face to another, seeking in vain for the tiniest flicker of compassion, but there was none, only feral, predatory interest.

The older, balding man spoke. “Give us the girl and we’ll let you go,” he said, speaking to Magnes but looking directly at Jelena. His eyes glittered like dirty ice chips in his grimy face.

“ Impossible. She is my kinswoman and not mine to give. Sorry.” Magnes’s voice dripped sarcasm. He scowled, then said, “Let me rephrase. You will leave now, with nothing, or I’ll kill the lot of you.”

“ Magnes!” Jelena gasped. Up until that moment, a blanket of numbness and a sense of unreality had been keeping her fear in check; now, with Magnes’s brash words, the numbness abruptly evaporated. The perilousness of their situation became abundantly clear. The balding man threw back his head and guffawed, and the others joined in, laughing and nudging each other as if Magnes had just told them the funniest joke that they had ever heard.

“ Get ready to run,” Magnes whispered. Suddenly, Jelena felt him lunge forward, and abruptly, the bandits all stopped laughing. She turned in time to see their leader falling backwards in a spray of blood, the hilt of Magnes’s boot knife protruding from his throat. For an instant, everyone froze.