The Forgotten - Chapter 7

Astrid slowly slid down and faced the knight who returned to the inspection of the great blade, then used his cloak to finish wiping off the remaining blood.  She slowly reached into the sling bag of laundry for the dagger she stole from Cull’s body.

“Don’t try it,” Sigwulf told her in that same quiet voice without looking at her, but peering into the mixture of leafless and evergreen trees in the direction that they came from instead.

“Who are you?”  Astrid demanded.  “You and Vance?”

“Quiet girl,” he snapped.  “I’m trying to listen.”

Astrid was stunned into silence by the venom in his voice.  They stayed quiet for a few moments and Astrid slumped to sit on the ground, a hand pressed lightly against her ribs and the laundry bag laying across her lap.

Sigwulf finally straightened and sheathed his cavalry sword, glancing at Astrid as he did so.

“Don’t even try it,” she said in a low voice that sounded suspiciously like a growl, clutching the laundry bag tightly to her chest, covering her nakedness.  “I swear that if you try to touch me, if you even lay one finger on this flesh, then I will...”

“Oh, please,” Sigwulf said in a voice full of scorn.  “Thank you for the offer of rape but the Gods only know what you may have.”

“No man has ever gone to my bed.”  Astrid flared as she began to rummage through the bag of dirty clothing.  “If you’re not going to do anything, then why the threats?”  She demanded.

“Listen, Princess...”

“Don’t you dare try to sway me with pretty words.”

Sigwulf gave her a stunned look.

Astrid suddenly felt a little less sure of herself as she stared at him and stopped ferreting through the clothing.  “Why are you looking at me like that?  And just who are you and Vance?  Why do you insist on calling me what I am not?”

“You don’t know?”  Sigwulf asked her, still surprised.

Astrid began to rummage through the dirty clothes again until she pulled out a frayed and stained tunic.

“Know what,” she asked in a wary tone, pulling a boy’s tunic on over her head.

Sigwulf rolled his eyes.  “I’d gladly kill Cull if he wasn’t already dead.  Slowly,” he muttered to himself.  “With a spoon.”  He looked back at her.  “Right then.  Astrid, is it?  Do you have a necklace?  An amethyst in a circular shape surrounded by diamonds?  An inscription on the back saying, ‘to my daughter from your mother’, or something like that?”

Astrid nodded, pulling out a pair of tattered trousers from the bag.  She stood as she began to tug them on

“That’s something at least.  Now, try to follow me on this.  Your full name and title is, Her Royal Highness, Princess Astrid Nara Katrall.  True heir to the Kaltharian throne.  I am Sir Sigwulf, a Galadon Knight.”

“Galadon,” she breathed uneasily.  “I’ve heard the stories about them.  There was once a line of proud and powerful leaders blessed by the Gods themselves, and the Galadon Knights were their faithful protectors.  Great knights and fearless men who then turned against the good and beloved Royal line.  They committed a regicide down to the last of the Katrall’s and ended the Royal Family.  The Clergy of Kalash condemned the brutal knights who had turned to evil ways.  The Kalash Clergy then avenged the Royal line by rounding up all of the knights that could be found and stood them on trial as a group.  The knights boasted about the regicide and were found guilty by confession, when they were then throttled to death as the Clergy killed every last Galadon Knight charged and sentenced in a court of law, and then declared any survivors as outlaws.  Everybody hates them for what they did.  The Royal Family was a blessing but the Kalash Clergy is now nearly as bad as the knights were.  The regicide happened about, um...”

“It was about 120 years ago that we were outlawed, but that is the only detail of that parroted nonsense you were correct about.  The Kalash Clergy murdered us yes, but not after a trial.  There was no trial, no court of law, no confession.  We were butchered along with our entire families in our beds while we slept.  At that same moment the Clergy was also murdering the Royal Family.”

“Your order killed the reigning monarchy, and you now call me the last of the line.  How can you then expect me to trust those that murdered the line I am supposedly from?”

“Because our order never killed the Royal Family!”  Sigwulf raged.  “Damn you. listen.  I have been charged by my Lord Draynon to take you back to our stronghold in the Hawthorn province to prove your legitimacy and stampede you back to your throne, by force if necessary, and it most likely will be.  No murderous intent unless Kalash Clergy members happen to be on the other end of my blade.  We never turned on the Katrall family, but died for them and let ourselves be outlawed for them instead.  For you.”

“So Vance really was telling the truth?”

Sigwulf paused, his face twisting slightly with pain at the mention of the man’s name.  “I don’t know how much he told you,” his voice soft again, “but yes you are a Princess and a Katrall.  The last Katrall.  I am a Galadon Knight and sworn to protect you, not kill you, otherwise I would have done it by now.”

Astrid’s face had gone quite pale and her eyes were very wide as she stood there, dressed in a boy’s dirty tunic and trousers, bag of clothing and dagger forgotten.  Sigwulf knew women and used his attractive grin.  He noticed that it did not have the normal devastating effect on Astrid as it had on other young girls.

Astrid, however, had not noticed as felt her whole world crashing down around her.  She held her composure for about another ten seconds before she collapsed to her knees, buried her face in her hands, and convulsed in heaving sobs.  Sigwulf unfastened his cloak and draped it around her shoulders, more to ward off the chill winter wind that had sprung up than to comfort her.  Sigwulf watched her cry for a few moments before he said anything.

“Strip,” he told her softly.

She looked up at him, her expression dumbfounded and hurt.

“Just the tunic.  I need to have a closer look at that rib.”

Astrid made no move.

“I saw the hit Cull gave you and heard your shout.  I’m amazed you made it this far without puncturing a lung.”  Sigwulf moved to his horse that cropped on some damp winter grass.  The knight searched through his saddlebags for a bandage.  He turned back and saw her clutching at her clothing protectively.

“Listen Princess, I’ll not let my close friend die in vain because you won’t show me less than you just showed over 300 people half and hour ago.”  He turned back to his saddlebags still searching.

Astrid began to tug off the shirt, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about her half nakedness now that she was alone in his presence.  Though she was not happy about it, she had felt more comfortable of her nakedness during the slave auction.  She clutched the tunic to her chest.

Bandage in hand, Sigwulf turned back to her as Astrid raised an arm so that he might check her properly, as she held the tunic tightly, covering her breasts.  He paused for a moment, seeing the beautiful body for the first time this close without fighting adding a distraction.  The skin was unblemished and the upper body was toned and slender.  He could smell her womanly scent mixed with sweat and horse.  Sigwulf gathered himself as he gently probed the rib just under swell of the left breast.  He forced himself to spend no more time than was absolutely necessary as he held the breast up slightly to properly check the extent of the injury.  Sigwulf did notice how soft and heavy it was and how well it filled his hand.

“Ouch,” she said at one point and he prodded her side.

“Sorry.”

Sigwulf made sure that the rib was in place and began to wrap the bandage firmly around her ribcage.

“Why so tight?  I can barely breath,” Astrid complained.

“Would you rather it was loose so that the rib can pop out of place and pierce either the skin or a lung?”

“Why so loose?  I can still breath.”

Sigwulf gave a small, low pitched chuckle and moved back to his horse to buckle his saddlebags while Astrid dressed again.  When he turned back she was still sitting on the grass, staring at her hands that were in her lap, fingers twisting as she fidgeted, unsure what she should be doing or even feeling.

“I feel cast adrift,” she whispered.  “Alone and lost in a nightmare.”

Sigwulf made no inclination that he had heard the soft words.  “Time to go home,” he told her in a low tone.

Astrid looked up and sniffed.  “What home?”

“Your new one.”

  They rode all of that day stopping near a shallow stream that ran near the monotonous main road between Derrell and Hawthorn as evening fell.  Sigwulf made a small fire and cooked a large, unlucky  hare that he had shot with his crossbow that afternoon after it crossed their path, leaving Astrid to work her way through what he had told her that morning.  She had not said a word all day, instead numbly following where he had led her.  Sigwulf heard a loud quavering sigh come from her as they both sat next to the fire.  He looked up at her with an inquiring expression as she sat across the fire from him, smoke and light softening her features.  Her green eyes a mystery, were still staring at the fire when she asked him.

“What happens now?”

“Now?”  Sigwulf replied, his tone flat as he threw some more wood on the fire, sending sparks flying high into the clear and starlit sky as though trying to join their glittering brethren.

Astrid watched the spark but did not truly see them.

“Now?”  Sigwulf prompted her.

She sighed and started at the fire again.  “Now.  Today.  Tomorrow.  What happens now that I am, well, that you say I am a, a...”

“A Princess?”

Astrid nodded mutely, still wary of both this man and her current situation.

Sigwulf stoked the fire a little more and turned the hare that was on his makeshift spit.

“Well, first we reach the stronghold in the middle of the Hawthorn forest.”

“Isn’t that forest supposed to be haunted?”

Sigwulf grunted.  “If you believe the local superstition.  We like it that way.”

“So the Galadon Knights set up the rumours themselves,” Astrid deduced.

“Quick,” he complimented.  “Once at our stronghold you will be presented to my Lord Draynon, the leader of our particular stronghold.  He declares that you are who we claim you are...”

“And you people seem to think so because of my name and some pretty bauble that’s probably just some cheap glass knock-off.”

Sigwulf paused and looked directly at the pale young woman.  “As I was saying, Lord Draynon declares that you are who we say you are, then we march on Kothmar, kill all the Priests and Priestesses of Kalash that we can lay our hands on.  We have a huge blood bath and then make you a Queen before the first new moon after your 21st birthday.  Then you find a husband, get married, have children, and your line continues.  We Galadon Knights get reinstated and our families will be safe and never need to fear for their lives ever again, and we all live happily ever after.  At least that’s what the plan is,” he said, looking back at the roasting hare.  “Or it has been for the last 120 years at least.”

Astrid slowly gave a small nod.  “And if I don’t want to co-operate, do I get to leave?”  Sigwulf gave her another direct stare.  “I wouldn’t recommend it.  You now know that we exist for one thing, and for another, where we are.  You are our last and only chance to live normal lives.  You will not be allowed to leave.”

“Not allowed?”  She snorted.

Sigwulf shrugged.  “If you become too much of a problem you’ll simply be made to, or shall we say encouraged to, produce an heir then unfortunately die in childbirth and your child shall inherit the throne.  We have no choice in this as it is our last and only chance.  Simple really.”

Astrid’s face was outraged.  “So I just become some brood sow and then get culled?”

“Only if you don’t co-operate.”

“So as soon as you are all safe, I get bred?”

“You will get some time to choose for yourself, but continuing your line is a very high priority.  We will reveal ourselves only to put you on the throne.  If you have no heir at the moment of your death, everything will revert back to the Clergy of Kalash who will murder us again.  There is no second chance for us, or your line.  Galadon and Katrall will be extinguished forever.  So, if you insist on using that terminology then yes, you do need to breed willingly or you will be bred.”

Astrid glared at him.  “I don’t think I’m hungry.  I’m going to sleep, and I’m keeping my dagger close.”

Sigwulf grinned as she lay down and rolled away from him, pulling his cloak tightly around her shoulders to ward off the winter chill.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Princess,” he replied.

The tall knight received a disgusted grunt in reply as well as a rude gesture with a hand from over Astrid’s shoulder.

  Sigwulf finished eating the hare and stoked up the fire before settling down for the night.  He glanced across at the sleeping young woman who was now facing him and his breath caught in his throat.  The hard lines on her face had disappeared as her face was softened by sleep.  Her tangled hair and skin glowed softly in the fire light, a smudge of dirt on one cheek.  He stared for a long time at the beautiful woman.  Not just beautiful, he concluded, but luminous in her beauty and vulnerability.  There was one more thing about that he also noticed.  There was a hint of innocence that tugged at the heart.  As he studied her delicately wrought features with her wide, high cheekbones, pointed chin, evenly placed eyes with long eyelashes that brushed her cheeks, he could see there was no denying that this young woman was a member of high nobility.  One of the horses whinnied slightly but he could not tear his eyes away from her face.  He lay there for a long time, just watching and feeling very protective.

Sigwulf grimaced to himself.  Him, the son of a whore who was now a simple soldier and her, a noble woman, a princess?  It would never be allowed no mater how much he might sometimes wish otherwise.  His first love years before had made perfectly clear how his worth was viewed by others.  No one paid his kind any attention unless it was to glance at a wall of names that honoured the dead.  People did not care about soldiers who sacrificed their lives for the common good.  Not unless it disturbed their breakfast and then all they would do was complain.  He grunted at his situation and folly for admiring her beauty.  Finally exhausted, he leaned back using a horse blanket to keep warm and fell asleep as a light frost settled around them.