Chapter Twelve

Muirgen cursed as her needle pricked her finger for the hundredth time that day. She pulled her lips tight with displeasure. It seemed as though the driver sought out each pothole. Evan and Artair exchanged amused glances that irritated her even more. The two men had been subjected to some rather colorful, unladylike exclamations and threats over the last few hours. She was attempting to sew hidden pockets into each of her dresses, but the damn carriage had her unpicking half the stitches she made. The carriage slowed, and Muirgen set her sewing aside for the moment. She leaned past Artiar, opening the door to survey what had caused them to stop.

A dead horse blocked the way. It’s stomach half eaten, mostly rotting in the sun. She held a hand up to her nose, shielding it, before calling up to the driver, “Go around. We shouldn’t linger.” The driver nodded, snapping the reins as she pulled herself back inside and shut the door.

“What was it?” Artair asked, his concern feeding through the link.

She frowned, settling back down as the driver took them off the road and into the grass to go around the animal. “A dead horse.”

Artair frowned, “In the middle of the road?”

She jerked her head toward him, “Yes.”

He reached for the door, throwing it open to holler, “Faster! As fast as they will take us.” The driver snapped the reigns and the carriage surged forward. Muirgen yelped as her head hit the back wall. “It’s a common technique used by road brigands,” he explained, tightening his belt and unsheathing a dagger.

She heard one of the horses scream in fright, and the carriage careened onward at a frightening speed. “What happened?” Muirgen asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

“They’ll have a tree a few yards in front of us to slow the horses,” Artair said. He swore, “I wish I had brought my bow.”

“I’m at your command, Lord Dragon,” Evan said, raising a closed fist to his chest in salute.

“I’ll need every knife you have,” Artair said, bringing two more from his back and one from his boot. Where he had been hiding the two on his back, she could not tell. Evan handed over four more knives and Artair nodded. “I need you to get the reigns, steady the horses. I’ll deal with anyone on the ground.” Evan hiked up his dress and knotted it between his legs. Then he opened the door and pulled himself onto the top of the carriage with a heavy grunt.

“What can I do?” Muirgen asked, catching Artair's arm before he went out the door. She narrowed her eyes as he stared blankly at her, “Don’t you dare say 'nothing'.”

He nodded finally and asked, “Do you have any experience blocking arrows or knives?”

She tilted her head. “Some.”

“Protect Evan. He’ll need to focus on calming the horses and getting us around the log.”

“My sword is in my bag.”

He unsheathed his own sword, “Take mine.” It was heavy, much heavier than her own. “I’ll lift you up," he said grabbing onto the roof and pulling himself up. She grasped the metal rod running around the edge of the carriage roof and Artair took her hand to pull her up. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as he grabbed her around the waist to pull her the rest of the way up. She clawed her way onto the roof, looking around wildly for any sign of bandits. Just as Artair had predicted, there was a fallen tree ahead.

Evan had reached the reins and was attempting to steer the horses around the log, the driver was nowhere to be seen. A handful of rough looking men ran out from the woods, their faces painted with mud and twigs in their hair. They screamed as they charged the carriage, scaring the horses even more, but Evan snapped the reins, spurring them onward.

Artair whirled into motion. Two of the men went down without a fight, but the rest scattered, readying their own weapons. Muirgen lifted the sword, though her forearms protested the weight. An arrow whipped past her shoulder and she whirled around, searching for the archer. Another came toward her, and she twisted her blade, making contact with the head of the arrow and sending it wheeling away. The carriage slowed slightly as the horses struggled to bring the wheels back onto the road, but Evan’s insistent snapping of the reins kept them moving forward. When they made it back onto the road, Evan urged them on even faster, putting more distance between them and the men.

When they were far enough away, Evan slowed the horses to a walk, then to a stop, allowing them to rest from the extra exertion. Artair hopped down and reached up for Muirgen.  She handed him his sword first before sitting down, dangling her legs over the side before jumping off. He caught her, then lowered her to the ground.

The horses shied back and forth, still a little agitated from their encounter. “Barely even a day’s ride from the castle and these brigands think they can harm any traveler who crosses their path.” She smoothed her braid in irritation, “We are constantly under attack from the Northmen and our own citizens create more havoc.”

Evan cleared his throat and adjusted his seat, “Your Majesty, I’ll take the driver’s place.” She nodded in thanks and yanked the door to the carriage open, settling herself inside roughly.  Artair got in, sitting across from her as she picked up her sewing once more.

Evan cracked the reins and Muirgen began angrily picking at her sewing. Finally she broke the silence, “When I was fifteen my mother took me on a tour of the country. We visited each of the lord’s manors. We drove through their villages. Never once did we encounter someone who meant us harm. During her rule our people were happy. Content. Now…”

Artair shook his head, "I spent more time in the village growing up than I did the manor. People were poor then as well. They were hungry. The nobles taking what little they had and giving little in return. But now they are scared, and sometimes that can make them do awful things, like turn to thievery.”

She frowned at him, “You cannot think what they did was right. They killed our driver.”

He sighed, “No, of course not. But there have always been brigands. But you probably traveled with a royal guard who would take care of any threat long before you ever saw them.” He leaned back against the cushioned seat back and closed his eyes.

She set down her sewing, embarrassed and slightly angry. It was uncomfortable to realize what a privileged life she’d led. And yet, he was right. Her mother had been a good queen, loved by all, but the people had still whispered that she was a witch. She’d been studying her entire life, preparing to be queen. To navigate the balls, politics, war, and the duties passed down with the pieces. She knew that she was a miserable failure at controlling the Council, but to realize that her people were suffering day-to-day and not just from the Northmen...it hurt. “What is to be done, then?” she asked, picking at her dress.

“If you instructed the lords to tax them less, that would help,” he offered, cracking an eye.

She snorted, “The Lords live off the taxes they collect, and the little bit of power that I hold over them is the fact that I then collect taxes from them. If I lose that power…” She shook her head.

“When you do that they don’t just hand you more of their wealth,” Artair said, leaning back against the cushions. “They take more from their people. And tell the people that it is your fault they have to tax them more.”

“There is no way to win then.”

Artair smiled, "Of course there is. You could pass an edict that made it so the Lords were only able to tax the peasants a certain amount each year. That way, if you raise taxes on them as a punishment, they’ll have to provide the bulk of the additional funds from their own collection of wealth.” He pulled up his sleeves, rolling them so they were bunched at his elbows.

She tapped her lips with a finger. “You are quite good at this.”

He shrugged. “I studied the laws in great depth when I was younger.”

She laughed, “I can't imagine. They put me to sleep.”

He smiled tightly, “I’m a bastard who doesn’t know his parents. Growing up with that knowledge that you weren’t wanted…it ate at me. So I spent a lot of time trying to figure out where I came from. Part of that research had to do with the adoption laws.” He frowned at his boots, "From what I've seen, the powerful use the law the force those less fortunate into servitude. I am already at a disadvantage, with my parenthood. I wanted to know my rights and what I could expect out of life."

“Did you…” she trailed off awkwardly.

“Find my parents?” He shook his head. “No. No record of them anywhere. They did have a crest, but I’ve never met anyone who has seen it.”

“When we get back to the castle you should ask the historian to do some research for you.” He nodded and she picked up her sewing again, tugging out the last few unfortunate stitches.

The sun sank in the sky, and eventually Evan pulled off the main road, leading them to a patch free of trees so they could set up camp. Silently they set about their tasks, next building a fire pit that Evan could cook over while he disappeared into the woods to find them something to eat.

He returned with two hares and set about skinning them. Muirgen’s stomach turned, the combination of watching and listening to the rabbits skin get torn off a bit too much for her to handle. Artair and Muirgen sat on their rolls, watching as the smoke from the fire curled around the base of the pot. Evan sprinkled in some of the dried herbs and added hunks of the meat slowly so there wasn’t a splash.

As he stirred he commented, “Do either of you have a map?”

Muirgen frowned, “No…” Artair shook his head.

Evan sighed, “I was afraid of that. How well do you know your kingdom, Muirgen?”

“Well enough. I can name each town from here to the sea.”

He smiled, his lips coming together thinly, “Good, because I think the map went with the driver. I didn't realize it until now. I was too occupied by watching the forests for any further attack.”

Artair rubbed his forehead in irritation, “Tomorrow I’ll take one of the horses and ride ahead until I find the nearest town. One horse and one rider will be faster than the both of you together. I should be able to find the next village and make it back to you before dark.”

Evan shook his head, “It’s too dangerous. The Dragon should stay with you, your Majesty.” Muirgen nodded, thinking the same. “I’ll go,” Evan volunteered.

Muirgen nodded, “Thank you.”

“We’d make better time if we left behind the carraige,” Artair pointed out.

“How much better time?” Muirgen asked, not keen to submit herself to any kind of weather while riding several days across the countryside, but seeing the wisdom in the suggestion.

“A few days at least,” Evan said, “But we’d have to leave behind most of the cooking things.”

Artair shrugged, “True, but we could still build a spit and roast over a fire. We don’t necessarily need a pot.”

Evan shrugged, “I like to keep my options open. And there is the likelihood that Muirgen has never ridden more than a few hours at a time.” He slid his eyes to her to confirm. She nodded warily. “Riding bareback for that long will cause a great deal of pain for the first few days.”

Muirgen sighed, “Let’s sleep on it and decide when you rejoin us.” After dousing the fire, they laid out, snuggling into the blankets and furs for warmth.