The Silent Companion

The Silent Companion

She feared an ambush along this road. She hoped her newfound companions were as skilled at fighting as they were at avoiding her questions. Her legs were aching much worse than yesterday. Although the rain had stopped, and she was grateful the sun was warming her as it peeked through the trees, the road was still wet and the mud thick. It did not seem to slow the others, but every step she took felt like it added more weight to her mud-soaked boots. She was proud to have at least had the wits to replace her corsets and gowns with the worn brown leggings, tunic and riding boots she wore this day. It was smart of her to cut her hair short too, it was so frizzy and damaged, and her face and clothes so riddled with mud and dirt she wagered even her own mother would not recognise her. That’s if mother was still alive. She asked the tall skinny archer who claimed his name was Oliver “Am I still free to go?”

“Of course, little lady, but be careful out in the wild, plenty out there who would want to do harm to one as precious as you. You may look tough and worn today, but no doubt if you let that chestnut hair of yours grow a little you would become an ever-greater sight to behold. Especially with that fair skin of yours.”

“If I stay will you tell me where we are going”

“Its wartime little lady. We are heading to war, and you, well, we will find somewhere safe and warm for you.” They always answer me and yet never tell me anything Tia thought as she kept pace with Oliver. He was well spoken for the crabber’s son he claimed to be. Handsome too, his chestnut hair went down to his shoulders, his teeth where as white as a high lord’s and when he smiled, and his hazel eyes looked at her she truly did feel like a companion and not a captive. She had even had a dream about him last night. It was a dream about her maidenhood, the kind the high priest would be distressed to hear of. It must have been a dream, her maidenhood was long gone, not that anyone knew.

They continued along the muddy track that was no wider than two horses pressed side by side. She wondered Do they know who I am? Do they know I am the reason this war has started? She asked herself that every day since they took her four days past. She was stupid for trying to light that fire, she couldn’t even get a spark before all the noise she had made alerted her current companions to her whereabouts. They had treated her gently so far. It had not been the brutality and raping she expected when a group of armed men had taken her prisoner. Especially a group as threatening as this one looked. She was sure they would rape her when the first question came from Oliver after they seized her “How old are you girl?” She had the wits to take three years off when she gave her response of “one and four ser”. On reflection she realised I doubt bandits and rapers care little if a girl has had one and four name days or one and seven. They removed the bonds from her hands after the first day and said she was free to go on the second. That was after Oliver questioned her and she lied again and again. They even fed her twice a day, stale brown bread and hard yellow cheese. When they had fed her on the first night it was the finest meal she had ever had. It was not as extravagant as the meals she had at court, the likes of roast boar with stewed onions and honey roasted parsnips and even sweet berry tarts for dessert when she was good. Desserts were few and far between. But she had never been as hungry as she was on that first night. The stale bread was tastier than any raspberry and cinnamon tart she had ever had.

She continued to walk beside Oliver following the other three in their company. She had decided the one they called the Bear was the leader, his moniker suited. He was around seven feet tall and four feet wide, he had long scruffy brown hair and a round beard that went to the base of his neck. He was the hairiest man she had ever seen, even if the rest of him was hidden under chain mail, boiled leather and a worn brown coat. The plump short man with dark stubble and not a single hair on his head was Grunt. She had come to know why he was called that. In four days, he had made no other sound except what could be described as a grunt. Grunt frightened her. His crooked yellow teeth and nose that had been broken at least twice unnerved her. She trusted Grunt least of all, that was aside from the other. The one who never made a sound. His long grey hair and short grey beard made him look older than he was. He didn’t wear tunics, leggings or armour like the rest of them. Instead he wore a dark green cloak tightened around his waist by a grey girdle. His eyes matched his attire, piercing green eyes that looked at her with doubt, or was it lust, I cannot not read this man. Can he read me? Can he look into my eyes and see me for what I am? a lady of noble birth, a princess, a queen if father had procured his wish. And now a murderer too. She hoped the quiet one was just playing at being a sorcerer and that his walking stick was just that, and not some magical staff that could condemn her to tell the truth. Grunt continued to lead them along the muddy path with the woods engulfing them from both sides. She was content to walk beside Oliver even as her legs continued to ache and her steps became shorter and heavier. She was beginning to fall behind when she realised it was getting darker, perhaps only two hours of light remained for the day. She jogged back up beside Oliver with the mud wet and heavy underfoot, she asked “Who do you fight for? Who is your king?”

“The true King.” Oliver winked at her, then smiled and kept on walking. She had asked the same questions four days now with no real answer ever given. I need to know where we are going, I will never go back home, I would rather live and die as a tavern whore. She repeated “Who do you fight for?” The Bear stopped and turned to her and said, “No more questions little lady, we may have unbound your hands, but I’ll gag you if you can’t keep quiet.” She didn’t believe him, and as the bear began walking again, she spoke “It’s said the women and children are the ones who suffer most in times of war. Yet you spared me. You feed me and treat me gently. You commanded Oliver to arm me with this rusty dagger of his. Why?” She knew his threat of gagging was not genuine as he began to speak. “Because we are not craven savages like our enemies, we don’t harm innocents”. Grunt grunted at that. “And I warned you, no more questions”. She defied him again. “I command you tell me who your liege lord is!” All five in the company halted as the bear raised a fist. Grunt grunted. Oliver began to laugh, and the Bear looked at the quiet man and nodded his head. The man in the green cloak walked up to her and gently touched the tip of his walking stick to her lips. She wanted to ask what that was for, her lips moved, but she could make no sound. The bear saw the panic in her eyes and said “Fear not, let us have an hour of peace and quiet and then he’ll give you your voice back. I swear it”. Oliver, Grunt and the one who had made her a mute walked on. She stood there and gave the Bear a look which must have made her intentions clear.

“You can stay there, or we can have Grunt hogtie and carry you. Which do you prefer?” She walked beside Oliver once more. So much for being free to go. She kept trying to make a sound, a scream, a whistle, but no matter how her mouth moved, the only sound that came was her heavy breathing. And even that grew quieter as she calmed. It felt as though she had walked for leagues in silence. Surely it has been several hours, it is getting darker, an hour of daylight left, if that. Soon she was walking beside Oliver with the clearest thoughts she had had in months. She realised her legs didn’t ache as bad as before. The occasional interruptions from Grunt had become as insignificant as the noises of nature all around her. Just as she had become content with the silence Oliver began to sing. So much for peace and quiet. After Oliver sung the first line the Bear joined in and bellowed along with Oliver’s more courtly voice

The hunter struck and seized fair maiden

Unhand me your vicious craven

Tis not you I seek but that Boar you love, you are just a trap sweet dove

Save me Boar I have missed your meat, kill this craven, sweep me off my feet

the hunter struck and slayed the Boar, fair maidens love, was no more

and that night they had a feast, but the flavour was of a different meat.

Another stupid girl getting everyone killed. The muddy track came to an end just as the ballad did. As did the woods and they were met by a small stream and an open field that stretched for several leagues until the woods re-emerged. They all stopped as the Bear raised a fist and said “Take a breather. Grunt refill the skins.” As Grunt went about his task the Bear was seeking counsel from the silent man, she watched as the Bear did all the talking Oliver leaned down to her and showed his handsome white smile and said “What do you think lads, has our fair maiden been silent long enough? We should be careful, or she might just kill our man and break the spell that way.” Oliver winked at her and before any response could be given, he collapsed at her feet. An arrow had entered through the back of his skull and pierced through the very eye that had blinked at her a second earlier. She froze in shock, looking at Oliver’s lifeless body. She no longer saw the white of his teeth but instead the point of the black arrowhead protruding through his eye. It was so clean for something that had just pierced bone, brain and flesh. Something happened then. The world became so small. It was just Tia and her companions. A clear green mist was present up to each one’s knees. Outside of the small circle of green mist the rest of the world was dark grey. It was a circle of light encompassed by darkness. The Bear ran over to her and pushed her to the base of a tree and said, “Stay down”. He left her there and called out “To arms!”

She could see so much; The Bear was armed with the longsword that previously hung over his shoulder. Grunt was armed with a rusted axe and a round wooden shield. The man in the green cloak held his staff in two hands out in front of him with his head bowed. It was perfectly vertical with its end placed on the ground. It was not muddy here; the earth was hard dirt with green grass growing sparingly. She could see them approaching from behind the grey. It seemed like a hundred were coming from the woods at first, but eventually she realised they were two dozen at most. They were unmistakable in their black attire, shadow folk. Tia had met few, but was sure, nonetheless. She remembered something her father had said ’The shadow factions may be famed for their art and architecture, but they are useful killers also, no one can ambush you as swiftly and quietly as a shadow scout’. She saw a dozen of them nock their arrows from the grey part of the world. Then they released. The arrows destined to strike her companions disappeared into harmless splinters as they met where darkness became light. One charged through on a grey warhorse towards the quiet man. The Bear stood in front of his companion and swung his sword. The sound of steel on steel was deafening. The Bears sword had crashed into the rider’s breastplate and unhorsed him. The next sound that came was a loud thud as the bear raised his sword and brought it down on his grounded enemy. She saw three arches enter but just as soon as they took a step the silent man thumped his staff to the ground, and they went flying back into the darkness. She noticed grunt was defending the silent man at his back. Two arrows had struck his shield and one enemy was striking at him with a short sword. The sound of a small thud made her turn her head to the Bear who was several feet in front of his fellow fighters. As he took off an enemy’s leg at his knee with the sickening sound of steel biting through bone, she realised he had one arrow through his right thigh and another in his ribs. More were entering now, and she realised, they are outmatched. I need to help them; I won’t be another useless maiden in some song. As she stood from the tree base, she heard an awful scream to her right.

“Ahhhhhhhhh!”. All it had taken for Grunt to make a different sound was a spear being thrust into his abdomen. It was viciously twisted from his flesh as he fell. This time the spear was thrust through his boiled leather and into his spine to finish him off. When she looked at the Bear again the two arrows had become at least six, he looked at her and sighed a shallow breath, then collapsed. She looked at her last companion, he still seemed unharmed and head bowed. An enemy swung his long axe at his throat as he galloped passed. In a flash he swung his staff up and blocked it. The green mist disappeared, and the world was no longer light and grey. He was blocking and striking at two enemy’s as She noticed more of them advancing on him. She drew Oliver’s dagger from her waist and charged towards her last standing companion. From the corner of her eye she noticed an archer nock an arrow and take aim just a few feet away. He was aiming not at her, but at her last living friend. She threw the dagger, it bounced harmlessly of his bow arm, but his release was interrupted, and he missed his target. She tackled him to the ground, but he was stronger than her and he rolled her onto her back and grasped around her throat. Her legs kicked and she was kneeing the man and striking at his arms, but his grip only tightened. The hard dirt was scratching at the back of her head with more force as she felt her throat tighten. Her left hand was clenched and striking his arms whilst her right was searching the dirt and grass for help. She felt the hilt of something small and heavy. The dagger. With all her strength she pierced her enemy’s black leather jerking just under his right armpit, he released his grip immediately. He was not dead, but no longer a threat. The dagger remained in his side as he cried in pain on the ground beside her. The silent man. She stood up coughing and holding her tender throat, her last companion was still unharmed and fighting. Too many surrounded him now, but she charged towards him once more. A mounted enemy was approaching him from behind with hast. It was much quicker than her. I’m sorry, I am not going to make it. She opened her mouth to scream, whether she made a sound or not she could not tell, a spear crunched into his spine, staff and body dropped as one. The spear was left embedded in his back as he laid motionless face down in the dirt. She stood several feet away looking down at him. Someone grabbed her hair from behind so hard she could feel the roots tearing. It spoke in the shadow language “My lord, a girl.” She was grateful she had learnt their language; she even spoke it well according to her teacher. The lord who approached was half a foot taller than the rest, seven feet at least, and thin, dressed in darker robes and armour than the rest as well. His white hair hung down past his shoulders and his milky white skin and yellow eyes did not match the green complexion and dark eyes of his kin. He looked her up and down and said in his native tongue “Leave these two for the wolves, burn the warlock”. She was sure they would not harm her, the shadow lords where allies with her father, and they certainly wouldn’t rape her, she knew of their ways, it was impure, a crime against their gods to lay with other races. The lord looked at her once more, he asked in the common tongue “State your name and why you travelled with these outlaws?” She tried to speak, to tell them she was their queen, but Oliver was wrong, death had not released her from the spell. She tried to make the words come out, but nothing happened. A moment later the lord spoke again “We have no need for a mute bandit, strip her and hang her.” She threw her arms up in panic and tried to scream to no avail.

Two seized her by each arm and walked her back to the tree she had previously cowered with, another threw a rope over the lowest hanging branch, they tightened the noose around her neck. As the other brought forth his warhorse and began to tie the rope to its saddle, she could feel her tears running down her cheeks and tasted the salt on her lips. Her scalp was stinging, and she could smell blood. They sheared open her tunic with a dagger and threw it to the ground. Her small breasts were left open to the harsh chill that came with sundown. They seized each of her arms and held them tightly. I should have given father what he wanted after mother died. My hand in marriage and not a knife across his windpipe. The warhorse began to walk. The rope began to tighten around the tree branch. She looked at her three fallen companions. I’m so sorry. Thank you. Then it tightened around her neck, as she lifted off the ground they released her arms, she gasped for air, her fingers tried to dig hopelessly beneath the rope, the world darkened am I dying, then she saw a blinding light, or was it a flash of green.