Chapter VIII - Shyla

Zoe followed the two men into the camp on foot, every sense alert. She led the gray gelding by the reins, fingering the leather. She was not worried…yet. The two men had not shown her any violence, but she did not like that she was unaware of their nationality. They walked up to one of the largest fires and she was grateful for the heat that emanated from it. She felt the curious stares of many passing soldiers but ignored them. They need not know why she was here.

“Wait here, Mistress Zoe,” the first man who escorted her in told her. “Remar, stay with her.”

The second man, Remar, nodded his head but did not say anything. The first man left, exiting the circle of light that the fire threw out. She eyed the camp surreptitiously; on each tent was a crimson and white pennant of a great rearing unicorn. She had never seen that particular banner during her time in Ruma, which was a good sign that she was finally among the Aerilyans, who were more likely to be friends than the Elangsians.

It took several more minutes but eventually the first man returned, this time with several men trailing him. They looked to be military commanders, but Zoe was not sure what rank they held. The man who stepped forward was dark-haired with a furrowed brow and a fur cloak thrown over his shoulders. He wore a leather breastplate that was studded with protruding bits of iron, and a large sword hung at his side by way of a wide belt.

“Who are you?” he asked in a deep, husky voice. His question was blunt but his tone still courteous.

“My name is Zoe,” she replied, repeating what she had already told the two men who originally stopped her. “I am looking for a man called the Hunter. Do you know of his whereabouts?”

“What business do you have with the Hunter?”

“I am an escaped slave. I have just come from Ruma and wish to speak to him.”

“You are from Ruma?” The man’s voice was laced with suspicion.

“No, I am not native of that country,” she explained. “I was taken as a slave there in mid-autumn. I was sold to a merchantman and only escaped three days ago. I must speak with the Hunter, for I have friends still trapped in Ruma.”

The commander remained silent for a moment, and two of his companions talked softly together. Zoe wondered what they were saying. She squared her shoulders, tightening her grip on the leather reins a little. It was time to ask a few questions of her own.

“Am I right in supposing you are Aerilyan?” She knew it was fairly obvious by now that they were, but she wanted to hear them say it.

The commander looked surprised at her question and nodded. “Yes, we are. I am General Marron Kane, and this is First Marshal Harris and Corporal Faleron.” The marshal and corporal bowed their heads politely to her, and she nodded back. “So, you are not native to Elangsia; where then do you hail from?”

She hid her frown. She had just lost the upper hand in the questioning. “I traveled from the other side of the Cirthian Mountains. I had been in this forest for only a week before I was kidnapped and have since been a slave in Ruma.”

“For the last three months you’ve been a slave?” asked First Marshal Harris skeptically. Zoe could feel his mistrust emanating toward her. “You escaped and now you wish to find the Hunter?”

“I have been a slave the last two and a half months,” she corrected him coolly. “And yes, I escaped, but not before trial and error. I was thwarted by my master the first time I attempted to leave.”

“You were in Ruma?”

“That is where I was bought.” She hesitated. “I’m not a spy for the Elangsians, if that is what you are getting at.”

General Kane looked at her keenly. “You must admit that your story is rather fantastic. You have traveled from a land far from here, were soon kidnapped and sold to the country we have been fighting for over a decade. Now you return to Aerilya, searching for a most powerful ally to our country. How else are we to view you?”

“With trust,” she responded. “I bring nothing ill to this camp, nor am I seeking to harm the Hunter or reveal his secret. I merely have friends whom I wish to see free once more. I have tasted the bitterness of slavery,” she added, her words quiet, “and I do not want others to continue suffering that same fate.”

“Strong words from a young woman,” the general said, his craggy face thoughtful. Zoe disliked his insinuation that because she was a woman she had no reason to speak strongly, but let it pass. “I will be perfectly blunt with you, Mistress Zoe. Your conduct and story are both difficult to believe.”

“Sir, I have nothing to prove that my word is true,” she said calmly. “But I can tell you that I despise slavery and everyone who support its vile continuation with all my heart. If it were in my power, I would see the king of Elangsia off his throne for the cruelties he has put upon his people. I am not an enemy nor a spy of Elangsia.”

“Hmm” was all the general said.

Zoe took a deep breath. “And I wish to see the Hunter. I know he is a powerful man and I seek his assistance.”

She stood as straight as she could, vaguely aware of the night activity of the camp around her, but more focused on the men who stood in front of her. Remar and the other man who had originally brought her into the camp waited silently on the side. The first marshal and corporal were also quiet, standing a little behind General Kane. The general’s eyes were hooded and unreadable. Zoe wished she could know what was going on behind his brooding expression.

“As you have been frank with me, I will be frank with you,” he finally broke the silence. “The Hunter is a very well guarded secret of our country. No one knows where his camp is except for few privileged persons. I cannot tell you its whereabouts.”

Zoe’s heart sank for a moment. So close. She would have to continue searching on her own, then. Somehow, she would find this mysterious man. But just then, another voice came from the darkness outside the ring of firelight, interrupting Zoe’s thoughts.

“You cannot tell her where it is, General Kane, but I can.”

Zoe turned and stopped in surprise. The gelding’s head swerved around too and he inhaled, his nostrils flaring as he took in the newcomer.

A woman stepped into the light, her form tall and lithe. Her dark blond hair was plaited and the long braid was pulled over her left shoulder and hung down almost to her waist. Her face was beautiful and smooth, though she was clearly at least forty-five years of age. But what struck Zoe the most were the woman’s clothes. She was dressed in an outfit similar to Zoe’s own—leggings, a long tunic, and a wide belt. Zoe had not observed another woman dressed as she was since she had left Braedoch and seen her sisters for the last time. She took all this in at a quick glance and then her green eyes darted up to meet the woman’s cool blue-gray gaze.

“Shyla, are you sure?” General Kane’s voice broke through Zoe’s thoughts and jerked her back into reality. “She could be a spy.”

The woman, apparently named Shyla, kept her gaze locked with Zoe’s. A long moment passed, and Zoe struggled to keep her chin up and eyes steady. Finally Shyla spoke, and though her words were directed toward General Kane, she did not look away from Zoe. “She is no spy, General. Her eyes verify her story. She is not a traitor, nor a liar.”

Zoe felt relieved that the woman believed her story. “Who are you?” she asked softly.

“My name is Shyla,” she replied, “and that is all you need know at the present, besides the fact that I can take you to the Hunter.”

“How?”

“I have my ways,” she said, amusement coloring her voice. She finally glanced away from Zoe and toward the cluster of military leaders. “General, I will take her with me. If I have judged wrongly and she is a traitor, I will bear the blame and consequences.”

The general seemed hesitant but resigned. Zoe had the feeling that he knew this strange woman well; he knew that once Shyla’s mind was made up, it was not going to change. “Very well,” he agreed. “You may take her with you.”

Shyla nodded. “Thank you,” she said with a gracious air. “Zoe and I will leave at dawn, then. That is, if you wish to come with me,” she looked back to Zoe. Her tone seemed to bear a ring of challenge to it.

“I will come,” Zoe said simply. She was never one to pass up a challenge, but still, her quick decision surprised her a little. She knew next to nothing about this woman, yet she somehow felt Shyla could be trusted. She suspected Shyla was thinking similar thoughts about Zoe too. Neither woman was familiar with the other, but they were willing to trust each other, for the moment at least.

I wonder how she knows about the Hunter’s hideout, she wondered vaguely. She did not say anything as Shyla worked out some small details with the military men. Weariness was beginning to overcome her, despite the situation. At the moment, all she wanted was a warm, comfortable bed with a heavy blanket and a night with no dreams. She closed her eyes briefly as she thought of the imminent nightmares. I pray they don’t come tonight, she thought, but she had little hope of avoiding them.

“Zoe.” Shyla’s voice came. Zoe opened her eyes and looked at Shyla, who beckoned to her. Zoe wondered if she imagined the quick flash of gentleness in Shyla’s gaze. “Come with me. You may stay with me in my tent tonight.”

“Thank you,” Zoe responded gratefully. She glanced back at the general and his companions, and the general dipped his head in deference to her. In response, she also inclined her head slightly. Shyla walked quickly toward a brown tent that was positioned on the other side of the large fire and Zoe hurried to catch up, the soles of her boots sinking into the ankle-deep snow with a slight crunch at each footfall. Shyla pulled open the flap and Zoe followed her inside the tent.

“Here are blankets and a cushion for your head,” Shyla said, handing the items to Zoe. Zoe thanked her and took in the small enclosure at a glance. There was no cot. A simple bedroll was on the ground and a knapsack was open at its base. Zoe looked at it curiously but Shyla closed it before she could see any of the contents.

She laid out her “bed” quietly and then sat down cross-legged on it as Shyla followed suit on her own blankets. The two of them looked at each other silently for a long moment before Shyla broke the silence.

“Why are you looking for the Hunter?”

“I have friends back in Ruma. I have only heard rumors, but it seems he frees slaves. I am hoping that he will help me.”

Shyla appraised her, her eyes showing neither agreement nor disagreement to Zoe’s presumptions about the Hunter. Zoe knew the woman must know a great deal about the man if she was privy to the whereabouts of his camp, but she was not sure how to get the information out of the woman.

“You were a slave in Ruma?” Shyla questioned finally.

“Yes. I was originally bought in Ruma, but the man who purchased me resided in Ruma.”

Shyla’s blue-gray gaze seemed to sharpen and she asked, “How did you escape him?”

“During the Mid-Winter Festivities.” Zoe did not mention the hatred she had observed radiating from Cormac as King Brastus passed in the entourage. She changed the line of questioning a little, not wanting to dwell on the months in captivity. “How do you know about the Hunter?”

“All you need understand right now is that I can lead you to him.”

Zoe frowned a little at the finality in Shyla’s voice. “Is he the sort of person who will listen to me?” she asked with a bit of frustration. He is my only hope for help in saving Grace and the others. Without him I have to do it alone…which I already know would not go well.

“He is a good man,” Shyla said quietly. “He will give your request fair consideration.”

But will he grant it? Weariness came over Zoe again, for she knew she would not receive a reply to that question if she asked it.

Shyla cleared her throat and said, “We leave at dawn tomorrow.”

Zoe heard the silent advice: Get some sleep. “Very well,” she replied softly. “Goodnight, Shyla.”

“Goodnight.” The woman blew out the lone candle in the tent and Zoe lay down, wrapping herself up with the cloak and blankets. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The faint sounds of camp activity drifted to her ears, and the fiddler’s music echoed hauntingly. She focused on the melody as she drifted away, praying that tonight she would rest well.

è è è è è è è è è

Three days passed. Shyla was a steady traveler, beginning at dawn and journeying until long after dark. The winter days were short, which meant that for three or four hours of their travel they were cloaked in darkness. Their rests and nights were brief, but Zoe was thankful that she was tired enough to evade the nightmares.

Shyla was not an especially vocal person, but Zoe still found out small tidbits about her as they went along. She was a mother of two children, a young man and young woman. Her husband was dead and had been for several years. Zoe was curious about where Shyla’s children were, but Shyla remained mute about their whereabouts or lives. She did not mention grandchildren, so Zoe knew that the two were probably not married. They are most likely about my age, she realized.

She surreptitiously looked at Shyla as they picked their way through the forest. If her children are my age, then Shyla is perhaps a little younger than my mother would be right now, if she were still alive. The thought of Lydia Romany was sobering, as always. Zoe wished she could have known her mother better. Daelia and Wren had filled in as best as they could, but Zoe felt that she had missed a very special, irreplaceable person. The details of her parents’ death were sketchy, at best. Zoe knew they had died when she was five, and she strongly suspected that it had something to do with Maeron Duard, but she had no proof. Nor did any of her other siblings to the best of her knowledge.

Sighing, she pulled her mind away from her family. It never did her any good to think of them…it hurt too much. And yet, she so often found it irresistible, when memories presented themselves to her, not to brood over and treasure each of them. I’m a walking contradiction, she thought dryly.

Shyla was capable of handling herself in the woods and among men; Zoe had seen that much during their travel together and the short amount of time in the Aerilyan military camp. I wonder how she acquired her skills. Zoe had not met very many women, but from what she had observed, she and Shyla were oddities among their own kind.

Just then, Shyla pulled her dark brown horse to an abrupt stop. Zoe followed suit, tugged back on the reins of the gelding who snorted and tossed his head at the sudden move. Shyla dropped her knotted reins and lifted her hands to her mouth. She whistled loudly, three short blasts and then one long one.

They waited a moment, the only sounds being the shifting of their horses and faint jangle of the bits being chomped. Finally an answering whistle sounded, the reverse of Shyla’s call: one long blast and three short ones. Zoe glanced at Shyla, and the woman silently motioned her to follow. Zoe urged the gray gelding forward, alert. For the last three days, Shyla had shown herself trustworthy, but now came the final test. Was she a traitor or not?

They slowly picked their way forward and Zoe scanned their surroundings for signs of movement. A flicker in her peripheral vision to her left arrested her attention and she wheeled the gelding around just as three men swung down on long ropes from the top of a tree to land on the snowy ground. Startled, the gelding backed quickly away with a snort. Zoe calmed him with her hand on his neck and murmured, “Shhh.”

“G’day, m’lady,” the first doffed his dark brown hat with a rakish grin and a long dimple appeared in his right cheek. He and his two companions all wore clothes of the same color as his hat—dark brown, so they blended in with the tall maple trees bark perfectly. Even with the tree stripped of its leaves, Zoe had not spotted the threesome before they swung down. Her eyes darted warily between them and she did not reply to the first man’s greeting.

Shyla rode forward and smiled at the three. “Greetings, Lance. Is all well?”

“Yep. Good to see you again, Shyla,” the man called Lance replied. “Who is this with you?”

Shyla turned and her eyebrows rose at Zoe. Zoe cleared her throat and said guardedly, “I’m a friend of the Hunter.”

“That’s all we need know here,” a dark haired man said from Lance’s left. “Welcome and well met. M’name’s Hartley.”

“I’m Geoffrey,” added the third, a boy who looked to be about fourteen or fifteen. Zoe masked her surprise at his youth and nodded to them all.

Shyla spoke again. “She wishes to speak with the Hunter. I’m bringing her to him.”

“You’re in luck, then,” Lance said. He waved his hat vaguely to the west and said, “He’s back from his latest mission, as of two nights ago, in fact.”

“Right on schedule,” Hartley added proudly.

“When ain’t the Hunter on time?” Geoffrey scoffed. Zoe hid her amusement; obviously there was some hero worship going on.

Shyla said, “We’ll see you all when you’re off duty. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Shyla,” Hartley grinned. “You know the way in. The Hunter oughta be ‘xpecting you. Warrick went on ahead to let ‘im know you were coming.”