Page 8 of Crown of Iron
“I’ll tell them you went to the Sibyl Temple if anyone asks me,” he finally says.
I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. “Thank you.”
He gives me two awkward pats on the back before giving in and returning my embrace.
“Bring him home, Elle.”
“I will.”
I creep into the stables on the far side of the property and saddle my father's black stallion. The massive beast snorts as I mount him but gives little protest when I urge him toward Lucent's gates.
Oil burning lamps and storefronts line the main cobblestone street. During the day, shoppers crowd the sidewalks, and at night, the more adventurous set out for the pubs and street festivals. But at this hour, there is nothing but the chirping of crickets. I pull the reins and steer the horse into the alley between two buildings. With my eyes closed, I will the unsettled nerves stewing inside me to calm.
“Easy, Nortus,” I whisper, brushing the horse's mane.
I've only been beyond the wall a handful of times and always with my father. He was careful to keep me within sight, and we never traveled after dark. I pride myself on facing this situation on my own, but I still need a little help. I've never been to the military camp which is my father's home away from home, and I need an unexpecting guide to lead the way. I know the perfect person.
Leif always leaves for Basecamp just before dawn. He says there’s something about the quiet moments before the world comes to life for the day. It’s a way for him to recenter himself and prepare for the seriousness of his job after spending time with his friends and family. It makes sense. His decisions can mean life or death for our soldiers.
The clapping of hooves echoes through the street, and I sit straight. The closer the galloping gets, the faster my heart races. I adjust the hood of my cloak and grip the reins. Nortus stomps backward, swinging his head from side to side. I chant for him to steady and focus straight ahead. The rider flashes past in a blur of black and brown. I take a deep breath, count to ten, and spur the stallion forward.
Looking up from under the brim of my hood, I catch the guard at the gate wishing Captain Stone safe travels. She forgoes the pleasantries with me as I speed past, keeping my head down. She most likely thinks I'm just another deserter abandoning our kingdom for Stigian.
Leif doesn't let up; he rides hard and fast. I grit my teeth against the burning in my thighs and aching ass. Mile by mile, my horse slows, and I struggle to keep sight of my best friend in the gentle light of the early morning. The last thing I want to do is push Nortus too hard. He hasn'ttaken this journey in a long time, and I need him to withstand the rest of the journey to Basecamp.
We round a curve in the road and the branches of tall trees arch to block out the royal blue sky. A shiver runs down my spine as the leaves rustle despite the absence of wind. Aggressive animals are known for roaming these woods, as are people who don't want to live under the rule of the king or queen. The heels of my boots meet the horse's side, pressing him on, and I lower my body to his back. He pushes forward, and just as quickly, his front legs lift from the ground. I grip the saddle horn, but he bucks again, and I sail through the air. My back slams to the rocky dirt, leaving me gasping for breath.
Scurrying to my hands and knees, I stare at the ground to regain my bearings.
“Nortus.” My throat burns from the absence of air, and I struggle to project my voice. “Nortus!”
My ears strain, hoping to hear horseshoes against rocks, but there’s nothing but the early morning birdsong… and shuffling feet.
I slowly lift my chin to find three very sharp swords pointed at me. My body works on pure reflex, scurrying to my feet.
“Look what we have here, lads. She is but a wee thing; too bad her man didn't keep a better eye on her.” The dirty face of the man across from me breaks into a smile, displaying the few teeth remaining in his mouth.
An unnerving roll starts at the pit of my stomach and spreads throughout my body. There are people who live in our kingdom who don't follow the rules of the land. The outlanders are known for stealing and performing disgusting acts on unexpecting travelers. Micah has worked tirelessly to push them away from communities, but it's difficult when they drift and have nothing to lose.
I set my jaw and inch my hand toward the hilt of my sword.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you. It would be easier for all involved if you didn't put up a fight,” says a robust man with a long, tangled beard adorned with beads.
“Look at her fancy clothes.” A younger man sweeps his hand in front of him, and a gust of air catches my cloak and pulls it behind me. I recoil at the misuse of his gift, but my disgust does little to deter him.
He rakes his gaze over my tight riding clothes. “I bet we could trade those leather trousers for a round of pints.”
“My trousers will remain on my body,” I say, my words leaving my mouth on a growl.
“Is that a challenge, girl?” the first man asks.
“I sure hope it is.” The younger man licks his chapped lips while his fingers trail down his bare chest and over the front of his weathered trousers. He grips himself in a lewd gesture, saying, “I enjoy fighting women out of their clothes. So, what will it be: are you gonna fight or be a good girl?”
I hold his stare, and he provokes me with a cocked eyebrow. Anger boils within me; my face burns, and my muscles coil until they quiver, and I can't contain it anymore. I draw my sword and lunge forward. “Fight,” I hiss.
The young man pulls his sword and metal clinks against metal. I keep my moves swift and precise, waiting for him to topple me over with a blast of hurricane strength wind. It quickly becomes apparent that I've seen the extent of his powers when he does nothing more than block each of my blows with sloppy swings of his blade. I jump back as he swipes at my abdomen, catching a button on my coat.
“I'll undress ya piece by piece,” he says through his laughter.
