HONOR BOUND

Chapter 10

The noises of the camp around me are so familiar. Not that I've actually accompanied troops anywhere near the battlefields on more than one or two occasions – but when staying in a castle that's in the middle of a war, one only needs to go out to the courtyard to be in a war camp already. Yes, this is a camp all right, but not one going into a campaign very soon, or the morning wouldn't be half this peaceful. There are voices talking, the sounds of work, but nothing to get alarmed by. Efficient but not urgent. I wonder –

Then I remember, and the truth hits me hard. This is not a camp where I should be. This is the camp of Lord Berdar and his mercenary army, and I am here as their prisoner.

The pain returns with the memory, and I wince when all the aches and sores remind me of themselves. They're all still there, with some new friends: my back is stiff from sleeping on the hard ground, my throat is sore, my hand numb after being caught underneath me. Outside the tent the day is breaking, but its light fails to make the world look any less gloomy.

Quickly I close my eyes when something moves at the entrance to the tent. A few steps, booted feet by the sound of it, then I feel someone nearby but pretend to be asleep. Something hard nudges my shoulder roughly enough to make me whimper against my will, and I squint up at the soldier standing next to me. He's young, in his early twenties if even that, and I recognize that glare. I must be careful with this one. He's young and inexperienced and thus wants to be all the more of a man to make up those shortcomings. It'll only take one word to incense him, and then there's no telling what he wouldn't do.

Desperately I try to decide in a blink how to speak to him, but before I come up with anything he glances at the door.

"Is he awake?"

"Looks like it," the youngster says and makes way as another man comes in and kneels beside me.

"You'd better hope so," the newcomer says drily, "or there'll be hell to pay. You need to learn that it might not take much to break a skull that's already bruised."

The younger man swallows audibly and something clicks in my head. The older man crouches to look at me closely; I blink at him.

"Where am I?" My throat is so thick and dry that it takes a few tries before any words come out. "Who are you, Lord Doramir's men?"

"Lord who?" The man frowns.

"Lord Doramir of Malderyl, of course!"

Both men swear aloud.

"This is no Malderyl," the older man says levelly. "This is Tmer, and we're Lord Berdar's men."

"Tmer?" It's not at all hard to speak haltingly. "I've – I think I've heard of Tmer, it's somewhere in the south..."

The younger man lunges down to shake me by the shoulders and I howl as the bump on the back of my head hits the ground. The other soldier is quick to regain his balance, though, and shoves the other one roughly aside.

"Are you crazy?" he growls. "Isn't the Lord mad enough already?"

The younger soldier shrinks away, cursing under his breath, and the other man turns to give me another hard look. I mustn't push things too far, this one's not stupid.

"What's your name, minstrel?"

"Z-Zyan," I manage.

"We're not in Malderyl," he repeats. "We're close to Tmer, and you've come here from Noragayll. Do you remember?"

I close my eyes and frown. "Yes... yes, I think. Noragayll. The castle in the valley."

"That's right. You rode to Tmer from Noragayll with this knight."

"I did?"

I must have moved my head without thinking because pain spikes through it. Another surge of nausea and tears follow in its wake, and the sob that escapes me is genuine. The soldier's mouth presses into a hard line and he pushes himself up.

"You." His finger stabs hard on the young man's chest. "You stay the hell away from here! I'll take care of this guy, and if he's not up to talking soon, I'll see to it that it's you the Lord will have skinned alive. Understand?"

The door flap of the tent rustles as the youngster goes out, leaving me alone with the other one. He's not exactly gentle but still careful enough as he prods me all over to check for injuries, even takes the trouble to do something about the worst ones. The filthy corner of a blanket clenched between my teeth keeps me from howling when he removes my right shoe and ties something firmly around the ankle, but after a while the pain actually subsides a little. The man looks at me, chewing his lip.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"N-no." The thought makes me swallow uneasily. "But if I could get out, please."

He hauls me up and practically carries me a little out of the camp so I get to relieve myself, and that's enough to drive home to me that this time I'm really thoroughly in a pinch. I cannot put any weight on the damned foot, the slightest attempt makes the world turn upside down in my eyes, and after hobbling to the makeshift latrine and back again with the soldier I'm bathing in cold sweat and ready to weep.

He puts a cup of water beside me and then goes, leaving me alone with my bleak thoughts and the noises of the camp outside the tent.

What am I going to do? Even if all of the soldiers miraculously disappeared all of a sudden, I am in no condition to run away. And even if I were, what then? No, such thoughts are completely futile. All I can do is to somehow buy Rogher and his charge more time to get away. I've managed to throw the men off for now, but I'm not enough of a comedian to pull this trick off indefinitely. Sooner or later the Lord will want to question me again and he won't take 'cannot remember' for an answer. He'll ask me which way they have gone. What will I tell him?

It would be a lot easier to put the pursuers on the wrong track if only I knew for sure which route Rogher would take, but I don't have a clue! Whichever way Rogher has chosen, the road is bound to be long and perilous. He wouldn't risk everything by wandering blindly in the woods covering the mountain slopes, no, only a fool would choose such a slow, uncertain alternative. So, which way? The northern pass – short, steep, tough, dangerous? Or the eastern – much easier going and no doubt quicker but also quite a bit longer. If he were alone I wouldn't need to think twice, but with a woman, even such an accomplished horsewoman as Lady Inella, and practically without provisions, too...

On the other hand, what point is there pondering this? Whatever I say, Lord Berdar is never going to believe that I honestly don't know. The thought makes me shudder. What will he do to make me tell? What am I going to say, and will anything keep me from being beaten into pulp?

I fumble for the cup and take a gulp of water. It doesn't taste too stale but still makes my stomach heave, and for a few moments I just lay there panting. Eventually the nausea vanishes and I close my eyes more tightly, trying not to hear or think of anything at all. That's easier than I've realized and soon I'm drifting in and out of sleep. I should be taking advantage of the quiet and try to get my thoughts into some kind of order but am too exhausted to even try.

For some unfathomable reason I'm left alone for the better part of the day. I have no idea of the passage of time before someone comes in and stirs me awake enough to realize that it's getting dark again. It's the same soldier, who still keeps mostly quiet but brings me food, watches me eat a few mouthfuls and then helps me once more to the latrine. Getting there and back is no less painful than earlier, but I do appreciate the fact that I'm not forced to soil myself. Probably that's just because he's been told to sleep in the same tent and doesn't want me to smell too bad, but I don't care for the reason as long as it means a little bit more comfort for me.

By the morning I'm feeling a lot more together and even my head has cleared up quite a bit, and a faint hope begins to raise its head. It is soon crushed, though, when two soldiers walk in and stop to stand by my meager bed. One of them is the older soldier who looked after me earlier, the other one I cannot remember seeing before. Their assessing eyes make me cold inside.

"How're you feeling, minstrel?" the first one asks. "Do you now remember where you are?"

Words stick to my throat so I just nod.

"That's good, because Lord Berdar has some questions for you," the other soldier sneers. "Get up."

"No, that doesn't work." The first man shakes his head. "I looked at that foot, there's no way he'll walk on it. I'm betting there are some broken bones. Careful now, you don't want to make him pass out."

They almost carry me out of the tent and into a semi-cloudy morning. In front of his own bigger tent Lord Berdar is again sitting in his chair, apparently in a sour mood. The men lower me to sit on the ground before him. He eyes me up and down, and my stomach squeezes into a tight ball of fear.

"All right, minstrel," he grunts, "now perhaps we can talk?"

I look as blank and expectant as I can.

"Where's the knight from Noragayll you were riding with?"

"I don't know, honored Lord," I say reverently. Lord Berdar's face darkens even more and he hits his knee with a thick fist.

"Don't play games with me, dog! Where is he?"

I hear the two men behind me step closer.

"But honored Lord, I really don't know, I swear! Please, you must believe me!"

"I must do nothing," the man says in a casual tone that chills me to the core, then nods to someone on my right. Instinctively I glance that way and bile rises to my tongue. The other man who's been to fetch me from the tent has stepped closer to the fire and picked up something from it, something black and thick and glowing dull red at the tip.

"No. No. Please, no!"

The man walks towards me with the thing in his hand. I try to crawl further away but the other soldier grabs my arms and pulls them behind my back, pinning me in place so tight that I cannot even squirm. It's there now, in front of my face, close enough so that I feel the heat from it even though I close my eyes. I have to get away from it but cannot without pulling my shoulders out of their sockets, cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot even scream because the words trip on each other in their rush to get out.

"Please don't! I swear I don't know which way they went, I swear, no, please no –"

Someone slaps me in the face, I choke on a sob and then realize that the hot iron isn't quite as close anymore. Lord Berdar is leaning forward in his chair and staring at me intently, eyes narrowed.

"What did you say?" he asks in a slow, low voice.

What did I say? I'm not sure myself, but I can't summon the strength to be too ashamed of it.

"What do you mean, honored Lord?" I squeak.

"You don't know which way 'they' went?"

"N-no, my Lord." What does he mean?

"Who are 'they'?"

The word is sharp as a whiplash. I open my mouth, try to speak but cannot, as realization dawns at last. Lord Berdar did not know I was not traveling alone. I actually did manage to warn my companions in time, and either cleared the campsite well enough or perhaps even drew the pursuers away so that they never even found it. They didn't know about Rogher and Lady Inella!

Or rather, hadn't known. My heart that has taken a few triumphant beats is quickly sinking back to my feet. A moment ago I was congratulating myself, now I wish I could drop dead this instant because I've just gone and spoiled everything.

One of the soldiers shakes me by the shoulder.

"Speak, wretch!" he barks at me. "Who are you talking about?"

I grope for a convincing lie but come up empty-handed.

"The knight," I force through my teeth.

"And?" Lord Berdar growls. "The knight and who? Speak now, if you want to keep your life!"

"This – this woman."

I hang my head, trying to catch my breath, but the soldier pulls it up by my hair.

"What woman?" Lord Berdar has sprung up from his chair, face red with fury. He gestures to the other soldier. "You, bring that poker. And make sure it's hot enough!"

The man must've held the thing in the fire all this while, for I feel the heat again already before it's closer than two feet from my skin. There it stops, hovering a little in a thickly gloved hand, and the other soldier turns me to face Lord Berdar.

"Now listen to me, minstrel," he says through clenched teeth. "You were charged with taking Lady Inella to Noragayll, were you not?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"Good boy." Lord Berdar sneers. "So, this woman you speak of – could it be that you and your friend the knight were traveling with Lady Inella?"

Something occurs to me.

"I don't know, my Lord."

Lord Berdar's hands ball into fists and his mouth twists into an ugly grimace. "Don't play dumb, wretch! Is it Lady Inella, or isn't it? Answer me!"

"I – I – how would I know, honored Lord?" The stammer is genuine; my teeth are chattering. "We only stayed two nights in the Manor, and – "

"Don't claim that you didn't see her!"

"But I didn't," I insist. "There were two other minstrels, I spent some time with them but I didn't see her Ladyship. I first saw this woman on the morning when we were getting ready to ride off, and I just thought it's very strange that a man would let his daughter go on such a journey all alone with a man who's not her married husband!"

I hold my breath and wait. The poker hasn't moved. The Lord stares hard at me.

"What about on the journey then?" he asks. "What name does he call her by?"

"He calls her 'my Lady', of course," I say truthfully and venture to add: "But then of course he would, while I'm around."

Lord Berdar's lips press into a tight line. He considers this for a while.

"What does she look like, this woman?"

Now he's suspicious.

"She's a little over twenty years old..." I try to think of anything that could apply to both Lady Inella and her maid – stupid me, why didn't I take a proper look at that hapless maid when I had the chance? "I believe her hair is rather blonde, although it's covered all the time, and –"

"Can she ride?"

"Yes, that is, tolerably well." I'm so afraid that my voice sticks to my throat but I must make him believe me. This might be my only chance to make up for my earlier blunder.

Lord Berdar sits down once more and entwines stubby fingers over his belly. He looks thoughtful.

"The knight and this – woman," he says then, "which way did they go?"

"I swear I don't know."

The man with the poker moves closer.

"No, please let me explain, honored Lord! I swear I really don't know, he hadn't made up his mind by the time we parted ways, may all the gods be my witness!"

"Don't waste your breath on swearing. Just try to refresh your memory, minstrel, and maybe I'll spare you. Which way?"

The last two words are slow and low. I open my mouth but no sound comes out, I swallow and swallow and pray to every god I've ever as much as heard of; pray that they'd help me, and keep Rogher safe, and perhaps some day let him forgive me if I now choose wrong.

"The eastern pass," I stutter. "They are going for the eastern pass."

"Why should I believe you?" Lord Berdar looks almost bored as he waves a hand to the man. The iron swipes past my face, I scream as I smell singed hairs. "Why would he choose the longer way?"

Please please please just take that thing away from me... "Yes, it's longer but it's also a lot easier to ride, and with a woman –"

"All right. So they've gone east. But then tell me just one more thing, minstrel. If the three of you were indeed a decoy, why would you travel so stealthily? Why not try to draw a little more attention to yourselves?"

"I wouldn't know, honored Lord. I wasn't there when they were planning this. I'm just –"

"Shut up, wretch. I'm tired of your lies." The Lord gets up and nods to his men. "Get the truth out of him but make sure you don't kill him. We might find some use for him yet."