The Dragons Egg : XXVII : The Assassins: Maethilda : Draft : Caution Scenes of Adult Nature

XXVII

The Assassins

Maethilda

Maethilda looked down at the large and in depth map of Summe, and pointed the tip of her index finger upon the largest summerian lake, Loagh which lay fifty leagues north from the city of Nor.

“We make for Loagh next which should be a three day journey from here,” she said to the pickets and Aabe. They had left the great city of Nor behind them a day past, and were now making their way north via the great river of Rada, which sprang from the great lake and made its route south towards the eastern shores of the Black Sea. Upon their left was the great forest of Mayr and upon their right the great green plains of Emir.

“The other groups are not too far behind us,” Marini said with a scowl as she smoked from her pipe. “Wee beasties!”

“The obvious route to take would be via cou road which bypasses the western edges of Myra and passes over the Cou river and meets the lake from the southern shores,” Evalean said, her right hand over her eyes as the harsh winters sun beat down upon her from high in the blue skies above. “I say we follow the Rada river until it meets with Coun river, then we take a detour off the road and travel north by approximately fifteen leagues and then turn west until we approach the eastern shores of Loagh. It is as I can see in all of your eyes the harder route, having to bypass the heavy marshlands, but I believe it the better of the two options.” Maethilda nodded, her eyes upon Aabe.

“What do you think Aabe?”

Aabe, his hands planted upon the green grass below looked at the women with a faint smile.

“The groups are indeed pressing on us and I believe using past experiences as my evidence they will wish you harm, this including the stationed guards at the lake,” he said with a thoughtful gaze, as the thin cloud of grass smoke whirled about his face. “I agree with Evalean, the route will be harder, especially with the white rains upon our heels. However, it is the shortest route and from the eastern shores we can assess the task and evaluate the levels of danger we face from a variable safe distance.”

“All here who agree say aye,” Maethilda said with a clear voice.

“Aye!” the pickets and wizard called out merrily. Maethilda picked up her map and rolled it under her arm before plopping it into one of her satchels. The group made their way back to their mounts and when upon them, carried on west via the narrow and dusty road which made its way up with raging river of Rada. Maethilda led the group alongside Sabia who was also smoking from her pipe. Their journey up the river was arduous due to the rocky road and the now heavy wind which brought with it great clouds that were a fill with white rain. Maethilda brought the hood of her cloak over her head as they journeyed westwards in silence, the heavy rain smashing down against the river and the road. They travelled onwards through the bitter cold wind and heavy rains until Maethilda couldn’t take much more and turned abruptly to the group.

“We need to find shelter, I’m freezing to my bones!” she said aloud.

“My pipe has perished!” cried out Marini as the group halted and turned to face each other. Maethilda looked out across the barren lands of Emir and sighed.

“There are a few trees about a hundred feet north, can you see them?” Aabe called out to Maethilda, the sound of the sound of the heavy rain meeting the ground akin to the sound of a thousand arrows piercing the sky. Maethilda turned her eyes north and saw a small patch of woodland.

“Aye that will do!” she cried out. The pickets and Aabe turned their exhausted horses about and kicked them fiercely into a gallop. They sped off the muddy road and onto the great grass plains and made for the woodland. When upon the woodland, Maethilda guided Art through the trees until she came to a small space, which was dry and well covered. The rest of the group followed suit and within half an hour they were all sitting under a small clock covered space, a small fire within the centre.

“Wintur is upon us,” Evalean said quietly as she worked with her arrows, using the blade of her knife to sharpen their points. “There are snowflakes within the rain.”

“It will be a harsh wintur,” Innis said as she put a small cloth over her short brown hair. “The crops have failed and the animals are slim about the bone. There will be hardship, especially if war is upon us.”

“There are grain reserves in the cities,” Maethilda said as she brought forth her small golden telescope. Snapping it out to its full length she propped herself forward slightly and directed it across the plains to where the road lay.

“You know they only cater to the citizens within the cities, rarely do they distribute their reserves equally,” Sabia said with a groan of displeasure. “My family nearly starved to death last wintur.”

“My father will ensure that all Sumerians will be looked after,” Aabe said as, lifting his eyes from a scroll of paper. “The time has come to put aside such petty differences and unite, for we must be united in the face of our enemies.” The group fell silent upon Aabe’s words, despite his attention fleeting back to his scroll.

“It is strange don’t you think that we haven’t run into the other groups yet?” Sabia asked as she fiddled with her boot laces.

“I say we should be thankful for not running into any of those two faced, deceitful fu…” Innis said with anger, shutting her mouth when her eyes fell upon Maethilda, whose brows were quite high.

“Just because we carry swords, ride like men and in some regards behave like men, does not mean that we lose our sense of who we are,” Maethilda grilled Innis with a sharp tongue. “We are women and should not be ashamed to speak in finer terms or to partake in the ritual of wearing gowns, or in marrying. I will not allow my pickets to turn into foul mouthed gits. Do you understand?”

“I thought you were against the ideology of marriage?” Sabia interceded as she dropped her right foot to the ground and folded her arms about her. “You said quite clearly that it is a human market in which ladies are sold to the highest bidder…”

“Did you really say that Maettie?” Evalean enquired with a surprised look in her hazel eyes.

“Well yes I did, but that does not mean I am against the idea of a true marriage, which is one of consent on both sides,” Maethilda said as she raised a hand in defence. “The point of my heated statement is that our purpose is not to morph into men our purpose is to protect who we are as women, with a sword in one hand and a book in the other. If men are to respect us and see us as equals then we cannot lose our identities.”

“I have much respect for my women,” Aabe mumbled to himself. “Unfortunately our people are steeped in tradition, and when uncertainty and war are upon the horizon they tend to become heavily defensive of their traditions.”

“Aabe you are to modern in thinking for this sadly perturbed generation of men,” Innis said with a disgusted groan as she turned away from Maethilda, red faced and shamed.

“There are many men of my age who think along the same lines, unfortunately they are few,” Aabe returned as he shut a small book loudly. “The rain is settling now, we should move on before the sun sets.”

“Can we not rest a moment longer?” Marini said with pleading eyes.

“No, Aabe is right, we have not the time to rest, we must make for the Coun hills and seek shelter,” Maethilda said as she got to her feet and snapped her telescope back into its original form, packing it into her satchel. It did not take long to ready themselves, and when they were upon the backs of their mounts the group set off once more, finding the path by the river and heading westwards, as far as the horizon in which several small hills lay with a light dusting of trees. The rain did not stop falling, and their journey was rough and exhausting, so much so that when they had finally found the small hills and light forest, they unpacked their belongings, fed the horses and then themselves, all in silence. When night had come, their exhaustion was so that they all fell into a deep slumber, unable to find the strength in which to converse or indeed plan. As the morning birds sang out, Maethilda opened her eyes and felt the heaviness of the previous days riding as she sat up and stretched out her arms. Around her, the rest of the group lay sleeping and their mounts quietly munching on the fresh grass. Her bones and muscles aching, she got to her feet and walked over to the fireplace, shuffling about the ashes with the point of her leather boot. It was a fine morning, and the rain clouds had gone, allowing the marginally warm rays of sunlight to stream through the thin trees above. As she walked about and stretched her long legs she heard the sound of hoofs from afar and stopped in her tracks, suddenly falling to the ground upon bended knee, her eyes turning southwards, scanning the area vividly with her sea green eyes. The sound of hoofs grew louder and by the pattern of the thuds against the ground she knew that there was more than one rider upon the road in the distance. Finding a small stone, Maethilda threw it in Aabe’s direction heralding him from his own deep sleep. Again she picked up several stones and cast them at the pickets, awakening them all with her index finger upon her lips. They made sounds and groans as they awoke slightly dazed, but soon the companions kept still and listened with their ears, each of them making for their weapon of choice. Innis crawled over to Maethilda with her sword.

“Come, follow me,” she whispered as she crawled amongst the grass through the trees, Maethilda closely following from behind. Together, Maethilda’s knife within her mouth, they made it to the edge of the small forest and cast their gazes across the grass plains and towards the river.

“Five men,” Maethilda said as she kept herself low upon the ground. “I do not recognise their faces, do you?”

“No, they are not from the groups, and they wear no summerian colours either,” Innis returned with a concerned gaze. “Do you think they are following us?”

“I’m not sure,” Maethilda whispered as the five men upon their dark steads began to slow down their pace and stop, each of them scouring the ground as though following a trail. “Shit they are! And the tracks lead off the road in this direction!”

“Quick we must get back to the camp!” Innis said with alarm, turning about abruptly with Maethilda upon her heels. When they had reached the camp, the rest of the companions were now readying themselves.

“They are coming towards us!” Maethilda said aloud as she picked up her satchel and swung it over her back, racing across the ground to Art and untying him with rapid speed. “Hurry!” she cried out as the rest of the group also panicking as they untied their horses and jumped upon their backs.

“Which way?” Sabia called out as the riders drew close.

“Through the woods, we head north!” Maethilda said as she kicked Art into a gallop, swerving him through the trees, her heavy satchel’s bouncing upon her back and sides. As she rode onwards with fierce speed, several branches struck her face painfully. She could hear her companions as they were close upon her, Innis and Sabia to her side. It was not long before they were free from the forest and were now ascending the hills of Coun. Looking behind her she could see a small cloud of dust arising from the forest below and new the riders were not far.

“What do we do Maettie?” Marini cried out as she rode to her left.

“We ride hard and hope to lose them!” Maethilda bellowed as she rode over the hill and down the other side.

“Maettie there is a village up ahead,” Aabe called out from behind. “Make for the village!”

Maethilda turned about and nodded to Aabe. The sun beat down upon her back and she felt the heat upon her hair as she rode as fast as the nimble wind and made for the small village, which was but one league in front of the company. Time was of little relevance to her now as her watering eyes stayed ahead, refusing to turn and face the riders.

“Maettie look to your left, a rider is making for us!” Sabia hollered as she brought forth her sword from its sheath.

“He wears a colour upon his breast!” Innis shouted across at Maethilda.

“He is from Summe!” Marini said with shock.

“It is Morad!” Evalean cried out with joy. Maethilda felt her heart stop as Evalean spoke his name aloud. Turing her eyes, she looked upon his distinguishable figure and felt her lips rise.

“How is it possible that he is riding after us?” Evalean said as they made for the small village. Maethilda did not know in that moment whether the tear that fell from her eye was merely due to the wind or the joy and relief she had felt when her gaze fell upon Morad. Soon the company fell upon the village, which was made up of about a dozen round houses, all compiled about a great square. Maethilda slowed Art down as they entered the village, the women, men and children crying out in shock as they entered. As the company came to a great stone monument, they turned their horses about and bent down over them, their breathes hard and laboured. Behind them Morad galloped through the gates in their direction. Maethilda wiped her brow and kept herself to the back of the company as Morad came to a halt before them. He was clad in his dark leather and boots, the colour of summe upon his breast and a heavy cloak upon his back. His dark hair fell over his dark eyes and heavy brows as he tried to control his mount.

“Brother!” Evalean rejoiced with a smile so broad and radiant, Maethilda thought the sun jealous.

“Sister!” Morad returned as he brought his horse to her and embraced her quickly. “What have you done to your hair!” he said with astonishment, his eyes now darting from one woman to the next, widening until they fell upon Maethilda who kept herself quietly subdued. She felt her body quake as his eyes absorbed her, taking in every minute detail.

“Morad how are you here?” Aabe asked, breaking the moment between Morad and Maethilda. Morad turned to his friend.

“Assassins are upon you friend!” Morad said with a hurried voice. “We were in the city and whilst staying in a tavern learnt of their plans to follow you from Nor with a plan to abduct you and Maethilda!”

“That cannot be possible!” Aabe returned quickly. “How could they know?”

“Someone must have recognised you in the city,” Morad said with a shrug. “My men are as we speak following them from behind, they will soon be upon the village! We must ready ourselves for attack.”

“But the villagers!” Innis said as she jumped down from her horse. “They must be warned!”

“Then go and warn them!” Morad said with a roll of his eyes.

“We must find out who sent them!” Aabe said with a growl as he descended from his horse and turned to help down Evalean. Maethilda jumped down from Art and drew out both her long and short swords. The village turned into a flurry of disarray as Innis and Sabia ran about trying to warn them into their houses for shelter. She could see him from the corners of her eyes as the group armed and readied themselves. Evalean and Marina made themselves ready with their bows and arrows, standing before the rest of the company, smaller in height and acting as a wall. She could feel him beside her, his eyes upon her but his mouth silent. She tried to find focus as the riders descended upon the village, their swords and bows drawn. As arrows pierced the air, a great hand came across Maethilda’s stomach and flung her backwards.

“Stay behind me!” Morad ordered darkly as two of the riders jumped down from their horses and ran across the muddy ground in their direction.

“I can fight!” Maethilda growled as she stood up and ran out of Morad’s way drawing her long sword high into the air and wielding her short sword about in a ritual dance as she collided with one of the assassin’s. She fought with strength, valour and need as she floored the man and slit his throat. Blood spurting upon her face she turned and ran across to aid Sabia and one of Morad’s company in bringing down a rider from his horse. A harsh wind whirled its way about her body as she fought sword with sword and struck her enemies, piercing them to the blood stained ground below. As she brought herself up from the ground, wiping her brow she felt a striking sting upon her leg and cried out. Turning, she saw that she had been struck by an arrow and without thinking snapped its tail and sought the owner. She stumbled as another arrow struck the same leg, only a light higher in location. Again she cried out as the metal met with her bone. She felt her leg grow limp and within a minute was upon the ground, her enemy upon her, his bow ready once again. About her her companions were embroidered with their opponents, and she was alone as she bite down on her lip and cried, the pain beyond anything she had felt before. Her skin began to burn as she tried to find her footing, only to fall once more upon the mud. The assassin, his face hidden beneath a dark hood now aimed his arrow at her and drew the nocking point back. Maethilda rolled herself over and felt the arrows deepen in her legs as she did so. When she was on her back once more she saw the figure of Morad as he jumped over her body and struck the assassin head on with his sword, slicing off his right hand arm, the bow falling to the ground with a soft thud. Maethilda watched on as she felt a sudden wave of nausea swirl about within her stomach. Around her the rest of the assassins had fallen to their enemies. Morad turned, his dark eyes upon her and threw his sword to the ground and walked over to her with intent. Falling down to his side, he lifted her leg.

“Bite down on your hand, I must take the arrows out,” he said as he tore off a leather glove and flung it to the ground beside him. With his fingers he pulled the arrow heads out of Maethilda’s leg amidst her cries. As the arrows came forth so did a gush of warm blood. Turning from Maethilda, Morad held out his free hand and with his teeth tore at his shirt until a long piece of cloth fell loose. Quickly, his gaze meeting hers briefly he bound her leg with the cloth tightly. Maethilda felt the tips of her fingers edge into the mud beneath her as she closed her eyes, the soaring pain deepening. Around her the rest of the company were alongside Morad’s men, assembling the dead bodies of the assassins. When Morad had finished binding Maethilda’s leg he placed his arms under her and lifted her into them before lifting himself to his feet.

“I can walk!” Maethilda groaned and he made his way over to the stone monument. He said nothing as he put her down, her back to the monument. Turning to her, his eyes dark.

“Don’t move!”

With a groan he turned away and headed back to the others. Maethilda watched on as the villagers came forth from their houses, women bringing with them bowls of water and cloth. The men went to Morad and Aabe and helped them to lift the bodies of the dead, going through their belongings quickly. Evalean, Sabia, Innis and Marini came to Maethilda and fell down before her, their faces painted red with blood, their eyes wide with horror and elation.

“Your wound needs to be clean,” Sabia said as she took her drinking satchel from Bre and drunk from it heavily before handing it to Innis who thus handed it to Marini who then handed it to Evalean, who then turned to Maethilda and handed it to her.

“She needs something stronger!” Evalean said in desperation as two women came to them, followed closely by three young children. Maethilda felt her head spin as she drank the water.

“Can you carry her?” a young woman with black hair, blue eyes and stubby nose said sternly.

“I am fine here!” Maethilda said with determination not wishing to be cast the role as dying victim.

“Where too?” Sabia said, ignoring Maethilda’s hot eyes.

“My house is near, bring her and I can mend her wounds,” the young mother said as she pointed over towards a small round house. Sabia alongside Innis, lifted Maethilda onto her feet, and each draped an arm under her own. Slowly Maethilda hopped across the square, following the hardy young woman until they reached a small round house. Inside the house was filled with thick smoke, and the air smelled bitter with meat. The women stripped a single wooden table of its contents and lay Maethilda down upon it. “I need someone to hold her leg down,” the woman ordered as she rolled up her sleeves. “Over there is a jug of laman, give her a mouthful and then hand it to me.” Maethilda felt a sudden fear grip her as she lay in agony. Soon Sabia came to her and lifted her head slightly.

“Drink plenty, it will ease the pain,” she said kindly. Maethilda feeling not only nauseous but faint found she could not muster the strength to argue and simply drank before being laid down once more. Innis and Evalean grabbed her legs and Sabia held down her shoulders, her eyes upon her own. “It will be over soon.” Maethilda felt the alcohol seep into her wounds and cried out, her body shaking wildly with green sickness. As her legs burned, she felt her fingers contort upwards and her vision fail her. As she bite down on her lip she felt a hand fall within her own and opened her eyes. He stood beside her with a serious look upon his face as he clasped her hand.

“I cannot believe you cut your hair,” he said roughly, his face stained with blood.

“Such a derogatory statement from a man,” Innis said in defence. “It was actually a very clever move and I will not hear our leader being insulted!”

“Your leader happens to me my oldest friend,” Morad said darkly. “I mean her no ill will.”

Maethilda unable to speak simply looked up into his eyes and held his gaze, her eyelashes fluttering wildly against her skin as she tried to keep herself focused.

“That’s it, keep your eyes on me, it will soon be over,” Morad soothed gently. “Trust you to get shot down with arrows,” he said with a small smile. “Your face looks like it had been horsewhipped!”

“Thank…thank you,” Maethilda whispered before falling unconscious.

*

Maethilda could feel the flames of the fire upon her feverish skin as she awoke from a long and dreamless slumber. She was lying upon the floor of the roundhouse, surrounded by the rest of her company, all now asleep upon blankets and fur. Her leg burned slightly under a grey woollen nightdress and with quiet intent, she lifted herself up from her place upon the cold floor and lifted the hem of her dress. Her wounded leg had been wrapped in a cloth and upon the edges a wet mixture of leaves and ointment glistened against the light of the flickering flames. Lifting herself up, Maethilda hobbled unsteadily on the ground before bending down to lift up her blanket and draping it about her shoulders. She had for the longest of moments thought Morad’s appearance but some hazy dream until she had been shot and had realised that not only had she been chased from the city by assassins from Galgor, but that Morad had come to her rescue. She felt her heart thud at the thought and felt her body tremble. With a staggering walk she found the door of the roundhouse and opened it softly. The rain had stopped and the village was isolated and covered only in the light of the moon. Maethilda needed to assess the night sky, her fear of the aligning stars growing within. With the musty smelling blanket about her and her bare feet sunken within the muddy ground below she looked up into the clear sky and found the great stars of Ungilith, Maglorn and Zuenaye. They shone so bright that their combined light was in competition with the light of the moon. They lay at a northerly position and their forms were now nearly locked together. The light of the stars seemed to direct itself to the south west of her location, and with furrowed brows and a rattled mind, Maethilda guessed that the light fell upon western coastline of Summe, somewhere between Eel cove and Novi, a rather large town that lay close to the lake Saios. As she lifted her index finger in the air and slit her eyes, she touched the stars with the tip of her finger, whilst rummaging through her mind looking for answers to the assassin’s intent. They had been sent from Galgor and the mad King Beon. It worried Maethilda that her identity had been breached and that she was now known to her enemies. It had never really worried her before, because she knew her identity to be safe and secret, but now that she was known she knew that her days of contentment and ease were over. Ravan of Taer and those who would wish to take his place upon the throne would now be looking for her.

“What are you doing out of bed?” a gruff voice whispered from behind.

“I could not sleep,” Maethilda muttered in return, feeling Morad’s heavy presence behind her and refusing to turn her eyes in which to meet his own. A part of her was happy to know he was close and the rest of her angry. This challenge was for her and her pickets to prove themselves as worthy soldiers and equals to the men of Summe, but her shame at being shot and having to be saved by Morad was deep and unacceptable. She loved him and yet despised him for the swirling and perilous emotional journey that her feelings for him had put her through. She had felt alive and free away from his gaze and his presence and now that he was here she felt under his spell once again and hated herself. She wished to be free from the feelings of unrequited love and childishness, she wished to be mature and serious and care not for the way Morad walked, talked or laughed.

“You will get a fever out here,” Morad said with a commanding voice. Breathing in her agitation, Maethilda caught sight of what looked to be stables and hiked up her dress and hobbled her way over to it, her feet disgustingly muddy and sore. “Maettie!” Morad whispered after her as she stuck her nose in the air and made for the stables.

“Go away from me!” she said loudly with a wave of her hand. “I don’t wish to speak with you!” she said as she entered the stables, which were surprisingly warm and comfortable. She found that her company’s horses had been placed within the large stables, and smiled across at Art who was munching down on silage. She heard the door of the stables shut behind her and stopped before Art, nestling her face against his own. She could see his figure from the corners of her eyes, standing erect before the door.

“Why do you speak to me thus?” he asked aloud, his hands upon his hips.

“Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you and your group be journeying towards the lake at all speed, knowing we are behind?” Maethilda said with a spark in her voice, her anger towards him heightening.

“Do I even need to answer such a question?” Morad said with a dark look as he made his way through the stables and towards Maethilda. Maethilda sighed deeply in response.

“Why are you still here?”

“Why did you cut your hair?” Morad said gently from behind. “You look like a boy.”

Maethilda turned to Morad and with her tightly fisted hands punched at his chest, forcing him to step backwards.

“Why does it bother you that I cut my hair? You wouldn’t care if I looked like a boy or a horse…” she said bitterly. “As a matter of fact it was for a disguise, since not only are the competing groups trying to kill us but the soldiers who are meant to be protecting the flags seem to also want to kill us.”

“Not my group of men,” Morad said with honesty. “But if what you say is true then you cannot possibly go on when you are in danger.” Maethilda laughed loudly.

“Of course you would love that wouldn’t you!” she turned away and hobbled across the stables. “To have me step away and look like a fool. Well I am no fool, I am as strong and as intelligent as the men who stand against me. I and my friends have won three flags thus far and will win the cup! What kind of leader would I be if I were to quit due to the scaremongering tactics of immature men who know nothing of valour and honour.”

“Maettie, does it not worry you that assassins working on behalf of Beon know your name?” Morad asked calmly as he followed her about the stables, keeping himself at arms length.

“It was going to happen at some point!” Maethilda returned, her voice squeaking with emotion as she stopped moving, her leg sore and her chest tight.

“Maettie, times are changing,” Morad whispered softly as he lay a hand upon her shoulder. “Believe it or not, I do not want you or your friends to quite the games, I want you to get to the finish line and prove your worth to Anvin and the rest of the Lords, but my sister is at harm and I would be lacking as a brother and friend if I were not to warn you.”

“Well you have warned us,” Maethilda said graciously. “I thank you.”

“But?”

“There is no need to stay, you and your team can go now, we are safe and well,” Maethilda said quietly as she turned her sea green eyes to his own dark brown gaze. “I cannot ….you make my head succumb to this strange enchantment and I find I cannot think straight with you in my sight!”

“Such power I wield,” Morad said with a steady gaze. “I never took you for one of those simpleton girls who lost their heads over silly boys who know nothing of their own minds.”

“Mock me if you will, you know not how I hate myself for it,” Maethilda said hotly. “How I hate you for it.”

“Maettie, we have been best friends since childhood, how can you let these feelings cause such a divide between us,” Morad whispered soothingly to Maethilda, his face lowered downwards, and the tips of their noses but mere inches from each other.

“Do you think I like feeling like a childish girl with stupid fantasies and shameful hopes?” Maethilda whispered in return. “Do you think it makes me feel any kind of worth? It does not. Loving you has only heightened the hate I bare towards myself. When you are not here I am free and my mind is whole once more, but when you are close…,” Maethilda turned her face to the ground. “You make me hate being a woman.”

“Why, because I make you feel in a way you had not before known?” Morad said with a silky voice as he took her hands and traced his fingers across her palms, letting them course over her wrists and up her arms. Maethilda stole her hands away from him and without thinking slapped his face.

“Do not mock me like I am one of your whores!” she said with disgust. “I am not a whore and your words of poetic love do not cast their spell over me!”

“Then why are your lips trembling?” Morad said deeply as he stepped towards her again, his hands finding her own. “Do you know what you fear Maettie?”

“Get off me,” Maethilda said with a shaking head. Her body felt strange and tight as Morad’s dark eyes absorbed her soul and mind.

“You fear the way your body changes when a man touches you or sees you in your true likeness,” Morad said with a firm nod of his head. “You fear losing control and handing over the one thing you have left in which to guard, which is yourself.”

“Don’t speak stupid Morad,” Maethilda said crossly. Morad let his hands settle about her long neck.

“You have lost everything, and will fight tooth and nail to hold onto your mind, body and soul,” Morad said more deeply, the tips of his fingers soothing her skin. “And I understand.”

“How could you understand? You have no control over your body!” Maethilda hissed.

“There is no shame in seducing your own pleasure,” Morad whispered into her ear. “No shame in allowing another being too warm your body and soul.”

“I do not give myself freely!” Maethilda whispered quietly, her eyelids closing despite her inward fight against the wave of feelings Morad had manipulated so wantonly.

“It’s alright to be afraid Maethilda, it’s alright to lose control sometimes and it is normal to fear what comes next,” Morad said gently as he kissed her cheek lightly.

“This is no game!”

“I know,” Morad said with a smile. “I would never play games with you Maettie, you are my best friend.”

“Then stop touching me!” Maethilda argued. “You do not feel the same way as I.”

“I love you in my own way,” Morad said as he brought his face away from her own and looked down at her with a serious expression. “The women I have lain with hold no spell over my mind or soul, they give my body pleasure but that is it. You see, you and I are alike. You keep yourself guarded from your own wants and needs for fear of them being taken away and I give myself freely because I am afraid of looking at myself in the mirror…, and because it widens the gap between myself and you.”

“Why? Why would you do that?” Maethilda asked her oldest friend with a frown, her hands upon his chest.

“I am but a peasant, who wields a sword for a purpose,” Morad returned with shaking lips. “You are a Queen and our worlds are far apart from each other. You think you love me now, but when you grow up and embrace your destiny, a whole new world of men will open up before you, men who are on another level from me and then you will turn from me and leave me broken.”

“I would never do that,” Maethilda said with a hurried rasp of her breathe. “Would you paint me so coldly?”

“Not you, but reality,” Morad answered with a frustrated look as he stepped back and ran his agitated fingers through his hair. “Young women have their minds filled with idle romance and unrealistic expectations of a man. I am flawed, I am human and I do not believe myself to be as devoted to you as you are to me, and yet,” he stopped moving. “I want you. Don’t you think me a beast? Cannot your rose tinted vision of me fall away for a moment so that you can look upon my real face?”

“I am flawed too,” Maethilda said as she wrapped her arms about her chest, feeling vulnerable and uncertain.

“You should feel disgust and shame towards me, not hope and expectation,” Morad said with a thud of his foot. “I want you now, because you are without the robe of your destiny, because you are without strength and are under the light of this miserable moon, you. I have no fancy words when I stand before you and I believe it demeaning to woo you with poetry and seduction, they are false pillars of love and if there was one woman to whom I can be brutally honest, it is you.”

“I don’t want words of poetry or love, they are illusions,” Maethilda said calmly. “We don’t need to speak at all…” Morad looked at her, his body tilted away from her slightly. Maethilda felt the corners of her lips lift a little. “No words tonight, no promises for tomorrow, just us and this moment that is all, if…if you will have me.”

“I cannot touch the heir of Taer, not like that,” Morad whispered as his eyes roamed over her body slowly. “Anvin has forbidden me.”

“It is not for Anvin to speak of such things,” Maethilda said with defiance as she felt her legs give way, her anxious nerves multiplying, the pain in her leg gone. “It is my body and I shall give it to whomever I please.” Morad came to Maethilda and looked at her with suspicion.

“Here in the stables?” he said with a look of confusion.

“Yes,” Maethilda said breathlessly as she planted her anxious hands upon him. “I am no flower Morad, I care not for soft beds and fine gowns. I am of the earth and so this is as fine a place as ever.”

“And you care not if you wake up and I am gone?” Morad asked as he kissed her lips roughly.

“No,” Maethilda lied. “I care not.” Morad held himself back and looked down into her eyes. She heard the gulp of fear that ran down her throat and willed her eyes to cover the deceit of her words. She would regret this night for the rest of her life and she knew it, but somewhere deep down, something primitive and primal did not care for emotions, she only cared for the touch of him and for the warmth of him about her. She knew that she was letting her principles loose, giving way to her set in stone ethics and setting alight to all of the promises she had made for herself so many years ago. He could never love her in the same way and tonight she didn’t care, if she was to be with him intimately for only this night then she would gladly bare the pain of rejection for the rest of her life. She embraced her childish whims, forwent her need to be wise and authoritive and allowed herself this one moment of young foolishness, for the times where changing and she knew that her window of opportunity was nearly gone.

Morad found her lips again, and she allowed him to lead her on this new and awkward ritual. She didn’t know what to do with her body. She knew not whether to keep her eyes open or where to place her hands. She felt him strong, lean and trained and simply placed her faith in him, despite the fear of physical pain and the fear of him casting his gaze over her naked self. The illusion that sex was smooth and without edges had all but erupted before her as she was placed down upon a great mound of dry hay, Morad’s eager lips and roaming hands gently covering her body, and touching the sacred parts of her, parts she had barely acknowledged herself as a growing woman. Maethilda hissed as Morad’s leg brushed up against her own wounded leg, forcing him to sit up a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently as he drew himself back and looked down at her with a smile. She lay wanton, her body splayed shamefully upon the hay, her chest rising and falling, her mouth open, her breathe rasping and her eyes wide. She felt the shame of lying so open until he lifted her wounded leg and played back her woollen gown. She moved slightly at the touch. He ran his hands up her long leg until they rested upon the medical cloth. With his lips he kissed the edges of the cloth, his eyelids closing tightly as he gently kissed away the pain. Maethilda felt her fingers grab at the loose strands of hay and bit down on her lip, her back gently arching against the pain and pleasure. Morad looked up from her leg, his eyes serious and now without any trace of jest. Gently he placed her leg back down upon the hay and with ease pulled away at his heavy white shirt until it fell behind him onto the ground. Maethilda felt another gulp rattle down her throat as he flung off his boots and came back to her, covering her body lightly with his own. She could feel the ends of his lashes upon her feverish skin and the tip of his nose upon her own. His left hand was firmly planted within the hay, a little to the side of her head and his free hand now untied the rough lace of her nightdress, giving way to her naked body beneath. Above her a thin stream of moonlight fell upon his naked back and she found her hand lifting, her muscles still trembling as she sought his strong back. He flinched at her touch and closed his eyes, his nostrils widening as he took in a deep breathe. Maethilda quickly took away her hand in fear of hurting him.

“Pleasure, not pain,” Morad whispered with a smile as he sought her hand and brought it to his chest. Maethilda fluttered her eyelashes as she splayed her fingers over his warm skin. With his lips he showered her brows with kisses as he lifted her dress up over her waist. Sitting back he took her hand and placed it over her head along with her other arm and then with gentle ease, brought the rest of her nightdress over her head until it fell to the side in a heap. With shock and shame, Maethilda quickly covered her small breasts and turned her red stained face from him, the anxiety of the next act now causing her to feel faint and without feeling. She felt him move off her, discarding the rest of his own attire before re-joining her. “Look at me,” he said quietly. “There is nothing to feel shame about, you are beautiful and petite.” Maethilda felt her hand turn her face, so that her moist eyes met with his own. She felt his naked form upon her own and looking into the depths of his dark eyes, felt the fluttering wings of anxiety begin to fly away as pleasure substituted anxiety for the first time. Her hands fell away from her chest and found the strong muscles of his back as his lips fell to her own and kissed her deeply, his body groaning and arching against her own. It was awkward and yet right, sinful and yet heavenly, primal and yet gentle. Maethilda let her head roll backwards as she arched her long neck and body, his lips caressing every hidden corner and open plain, his fingers tracing the contours of her curves and lines, gently skimming over her collar bone, breasts, finely moulded ribs, flat stomach until they met with her most hidden place, bringing to life a new realm of physical feelings. It was as though a bolt of intense lightening had struck her body, from the tips of her arched toes to the ends of her short strands of golden hair. The pain of her wounded leg was no more and the pragmatic thought processes which had tortured her so often in regard to Morad had all but been dispelled as he moved over her and within her in a dance so old and so artfully perfected that she found herself at the mercy of human pleasure and ethereal awakening. Her eyes closed and her teeth biting down upon her bottom lip, the dark wilderness of her mind suddenly erupted into a thousand stars as her body filled with an electric heat and pleasure, her mouth opening as a cry came forth from not just her own lips but the lips of Morad, who for a brief moment held himself still within her before falling upon her body in a heap of skin and sweat. She felt a tear of pain and pleasure fall from her eye as Morad rolled off her body and moulded himself against her, turning her body about upon its side, his strong arm wrapped about her waist and his head hidden within the cove of her neck. She felt him relax into a sleep, but felt her own body still shake and breathe heavily, her eyes upon the hole within the roof. She could see the great stars above and smiled quietly to the Gods.

*

Maethilda felt the sun upon her skin and awoke with a smile, her body a little sore and rigid. Finding the gaze of her horse, Art, she smiled across at him. Strange how altered she felt this morning, she was no child anymore, she was a woman and the man she loved was lying beside her. Furrowing her brows, she looked for his hands and found them missing. Slowly, he leg a little sore this morning, she turned, finding herself alone, Morad gone from her and her dress neatly piled beside her. Shaking her head she smiled again, he surely must have arisen to wash and dress. Sitting up she slowly dressed herself and brought herself to her feet, lifting her blanket which had been pulled over her naked body during the night, covered in stray strands of thick hay. Dreamily, she made her way out of the stables, the village awake with young women making for a nearby well, with large bowls upon their heads. Maethilda wrapped her blanket about her and made for her nurses house. As she entered, she found the house awake and busy. Her companions were dressed and eating a thick oaty breakfast. Their eyes arose from one another and fell upon her.

“Where the bloody hell did you go?” Sabia asked with a quizzical eye.

“I was in the stables,” Maethilda said as she yawned deeply and took a seat beside Evalean who looked at her strangely.

“You look…strange,” Marini said with a confused glance as she handed Maethilda a wooden goblet of water.

“How is your leg?” Innis asked as she bite down into a slab of bread.

“Well enough for us to ride this day,” Maethilda returned as the young mother called Bertha walked over to her with a plate of oats.

“You will need to wash and have your wound changed before you leave,” she said with a motherly gaze.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Maethilda said as she took the woman’s wrist. “We have put you and your husband to great trouble.”

“It’s nothing,” Bertha flushed. “We have to help each other in times of need.”

Maethilda let go of Bertha and tucked into her breakfast, her stomach incredibly hungry. After she had eaten, washed and dressed, she exited the house and walked over to the stone monument, expecting to find Morad and his men awaiting them. Instead it was only her own company standing with their readied horses. Aabe looked across at her with a suspicious look.

“Were is Morad?” Maethilda asked as Innis helped her up onto Art. Aabe already upon his own mount wrapped his cloak about his body.

“He left this morning with his group,” Aabe returned as Maethilda shuffled about in her saddle, her hips a little sore and tense. She felt her heart stop at his words.

“Did he leave a message?” she asked her friend without meeting his eyes.

“No,” Aabe answered flatly. Maethilda looked up from her gloved hands and smiled awkwardly, her throat tight and her stomach sick. She turned to Aabe and nodded.

“Maettie, are you alright?” Evalean enquired gently from her right. Turning, Maethilda smiled.

“Of course, what could be wrong?” she said with a muffled cry, kicking Art into an instant gallop, needing to put space between herself, the stables and her friends. She flew through the village and out into the open, the harsh wintur winds upon her face, numbing the pain of Morad’s disappearance, without a word or message. No promises for tomorrow.

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