Chapter 4

  The Bride

  An errant stalk of straw got caught against her ribs at just the right angle that it no longer provided soft bedding but became a non-lethal spear instead. Mary was wide awake in an instant, a pained gasp escaping her lips as she flailed about in the haystack. She had momentarily lost track of where she was, what time it was, and who she was with. Her desperate escape of the haystack’s embrace connected one grasping hand with a solid jaw, and the groan from said jaw put a stop to her dramatics immediately.

  What ... why ... a boy? Mary's heart plummeted as she tried with renewed desperation to remember her current circumstances. Of course, she breathed with exaggerated relief, palming matted, umber hair out of her face. Straw was tangled all through it and the sun was sifting through the dust in the air as it traced a delicate line through the doorway and into Mary's eyes. Ansel. We're climbing The Mountain. She sighed, shaken by her momentary disorientation, and bent to the task of making her hair as presentable as possible without the aid of a mirror.

  Outside, the sun was high enough to pierce down into the courtyard, and the stalls on either side of the travellers were now emptied of the livestock they had housed overnight. Mary had not even noticed when they were shooed out, although her deep sleep had come at the cost of several hours wasted the night before, tossing and turning to the unnerving shifting of large, ruminating beasts.

  “Ansel,” she whispered into the dead silence of the stable. The lad didn't so much as stir, although he did provide a gentle snore as if on command. Outside in the inn's courtyard the noises typical of a business were beginning to reach Mary’s ears, but within the stable, nothing at all stirred now that the animals were gone.

  “Ansel!” she hissed, growing more insistent on being heard. She looked nervously about, afraid to draw attention to herself. She felt naked and isolated on this side of The Gate, and wanted them both to be on their way as soon as possible.

  The lad stirred at last, although clearly still mostly incoherent. With a mighty stretch in the straw, his dazzling blue eyes opened, if only a crack. He made some half-hearted sounds - sighs and groans that marked an unwillingness to leave the straw. It was by far the softest bedding the pair of them had been blessed with in a very long time.

  “Is the sun up?” asked the boy, his slowness to wake sounding akin to delirium.

  “For some time, yes,” Mary nodded, concern in her voice. “We should leave this place!”

  Ansel groaned himself into a sitting position. “We should eat first,” he ventured.

  Mary shook her head nervously. “Please, Ansel,” she whispered. “I don't want to stay here. Let us pass through The Gate and be on our way. We can find food on the other side. This side of The Gate is not safe.”

  Ansel nodded once in that simply trusting way that he had. It put Mary at both great ease and discomfort at the same time. She knew he trusted her to guide them, but she also harboured a deep worry that he would trust her too far.

  I am by no means without fault, she worried to herself. What if I should lead him to his doom? I was so eager to escape the restrictions of my life in the land of The King that I paid no heed to the way I would need to follow in order to return. Indeed, I never imagined I would want to return.

  Ansel was already on his feet and plucking a few stray stalks of hay from his tunic and pants. His flaxen hair resembled the haystack he had just crawled out of. When he noticed that Mary had stalled in her attempt to extricate herself from the haystack, he leaned over and held out his hand. He rarely outright smiled, and Mary had certainly never heard him raise his voice in anger. She had caught him twisting the corner of his mouth up into a small smirk on occasion, but was not sure if he was mocking someone or if that was his attempt at a smile.

  She accepted his hand and he pulled her smoothly from the hay and set her on her feet. He turned once more to look out the wide opening of the barn while Mary busied herself with attempting to make her person more or less presentable. It was a dubious prospect considering their lodging. Her hair was thick, and provided good hiding for the straw and chaff. At last she decided that she had done all she could, and eased up to Ansel's side quietly, more or less comfortable in the knowledge that he had never mentioned her appearance before, and there was no reason for that to change now.

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  “Lead on,” he said, with an innocent tilt to his head and the look of expectant bewilderment that Mary had come to associate with him.

  With a deep breath in, Mary stepped out into the sun and turned her attention to where a narrow path could be seen snaking up the steep climb that began immediately upon the town's outskirts. To get there, they would need to traverse the jumble of houses that had been crammed onto every available piece of even remotely flat and stable land on the ridge. All the roads in the town were narrow, and seldom long or straight. It was oddly difficult to find one's way through the settlement considering its modest size.

  They crossed the inn's courtyard, which was easily the single largest open piece of real estate in the town. It was a little dusty bowl amidst the rickety, crowded houses that grew up like weeds on the lower end of town. Like the dilapidated houses around it, the inn's gate sagged as if under the weight of life. Once through the gate, the sun was blotted out by the concentrated homes and businesses.

  Mary forced herself into a quick march despite the fear that always lingered on her heels. When Ansel had seemingly randomly offered to go with her on her journey, some of her fear of being alone and easy prey had abated, but it had never truly gone far. And now, it was offset by a deep dread that they would stay too long and fall into the same trap as many other prospective climbers: the idea that this place was good enough for now, and that they would resume their climb when they were better prepared, whether provisionally or mentally. The town was populated by procrastinators and those who understood there was good coin to be made off them.

  Ansel peered about with a meek sort of curiosity at the nature of the town they were walking through. He would occasionally pause momentarily to take a closer look at some odd addition to a house, or make a disbelieving noise of horrified wonder at a structural decision that had been made. He walked directly behind Mary, mostly due to necessity. There were no yards in this part of town. Only houses and the lanes dividing them. At best there was perhaps room for four men to walk abreast, but there was also an accumulation of detritus and household waste along the sides. As such, the actual walking space was more suited to two abreast, and the lanes were quite busy at this time of day.

  The heavy jangling of harnesses on a warhorse triggered an instant fear within Mary, and she pushed herself up tight against the nearest house, Ansel following her example. The warhorse in question was one of two, and they looked larger than life itself in the cramped walking space. Upon them rode hooded figures, patiently guiding their mounts down the bustling laneway.

  At the fore rode a tall, well-built man who seemed like Ansel in appearance, but with more muscle and years on him. He was clad in chainmail covered with flowing white cloth that marked him as a knight of The Mountain. Behind rode a woman, also tall, but delicate in frame and so beautiful that Ansel stared and Mary wanted to. Her hair hung like a crimson veil, unbound and contrasting starkly where it lay against her white cloth and mail. Both wore sheathed double-edged swords on one side, while their shields were strapped to their horses' opposing side.

  “Do you make for The Gate?” demanded the male knight, staring fiercely down at Mary.

  She could not help but squeak in terror at the unexpected address. It had seemed bad enough that such imposing individuals would pass them by so close, but to also be brought into conversation?

  Why me? Mary practically screamed in her mind. There are thirty other people you might have spoken to!

  “Come, girl, I'll not devour you,” growled the man, glowering irritably. He loomed over Mary's head, almost double her height due to the immense size of his horse.

  “Ser Justice, do not torment the girl!” exclaimed his female colleague, looking mortified.

  “I am not tormenting her, I am trying to save her life!” blustered the man indignantly. “Would you have me ride straight past that her feelings be preserved?” He pointed a big gloved finger at first Mary and then Ansel. “This town approaches its judgement day. Do not linger here if you wish to live.” Then he nudged his black warhorse and moved quickly along, his fierce gaze hunting for his next unwitting victim.

  The woman followed in his wake, concern on her features for whatever abrasive warning would leave her comrade's mouth next. She gave an apologetic smile to Mary and Ansel as she passed by on her good-natured, chestnut mare.

  “Flee this place!” she whispered to Mary, her concern now directed at the runaway. “It lives on borrowed time.”

  Even as she spoke those words, there came a roar as if a great pile of kindling had gone up in flames in an instant. Smoke climbed lazily into the clear morning sky, visible even over the roofs of the houses crowded around them. A sharp crack resounded all about, and the houses shuddered all the way down to their foundations.

  The woman's eyes widened as she looked over her shoulder to where the sounds had come from. Then she looked back to Mary.

  “Make for The Gate,” she cried. “Run!”

  Without awaiting Mary’s decision, Ansel seized her by the hand and ran.