Captives: Homeward VI Read online

  Homeward:

  Captives

  Barb Hendee

  Tales from the world of

  the Noble Dead Saga

  Copyright

  Barb and J.C. Hendee / NobleDead.org

  Copyright 2012 by Barb and J.C. Hendee.

  ALL RIGHTS RESEVED.

  Design, layout, and cover art by J.C. Hendee.

  ISBN-10: 0985561688

  ISBN-13: 9780985561680

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior contractual or written permission of the copyright owner(s) of this work.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or deceased, businesses establishments, events, or locales is entirely incidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Captives

  Other Works The Noble Dead Saga

  Tales from the world of the Noble Dead Saga

  The Mist-Torn Witches Series

  The Vampire Memories Series

  Foreword

  No knowledge of the Noble Dead Saga or other related works by us is necessary to read and enjoy any of these stories in “Tales from the world of the Noble Dead Saga.” Any reader new to this world can step right into it through any one of these short works.

  Tales are organized into “collections” where all stories therein share a theme and/or premise. Most tales are not sequential and can be read in any order. When one or more link together, subsequent stories will mention “sequel to…” on their covers to guide you.

  These short works can be your first adventure into our world or something to tide you over in the wait for the next of our novels to be released.

  —Barb & J.C.

  Captives

  Three days after Chemestúk village nearly burned to the ground, Julianna walked through the wreckage with Nadja, the village zupan’s wife, as they scavenged for anything left that might still be of use.

  “Oh,” Nadja breathed. “How could this have happened?”

  None of the huts still smoldered, but the few that remained partially upright were little more than blackened shells. Julianna couldn’t allow herself to mourn yet—or to feel much of anything. But she was glad Nadja had come down here with her.

  At the old stone keep up above the village, Nadja’s husband, Zupan Cadell, had gathered all the survivors in attempting to ensure their safety. But he’d given Nadja and Julianna permission to make a quick trip down to see what they might recover.

  A few bodies with smashed skulls still lay within sight, but so far, it had seemed too risky to send enough people down—who’d need to spend a good deal of time out in the open—to bury them.

  Julianna looked away from the blackened huts to her companion.

  In her mid forties, Nadja could still be called pretty, even beautiful. With shimmering dark hair and a dusky smooth complexion, she was lithe and slender though well-figured in a red dress tied at the waist with a wildly patterned, orange paisley sash. She was of the Móndyalítko, a vagabond people who traveled the land living in wagon-homes. But back in her youth, Nadja had married Cadell before he became the local zupan, and she now helped him oversee the keep and its five attached fifes.

  Julianna adored her.

  In contrast, Julianna had recently turned twenty. She viewed herself as too tall and gangly, with long straight hair a shade somewhere between dark blond and light brown. She’d been orphaned as a girl, and later, Nadja had taken her in. Julianna now often wore red dresses—but only because she admired Nadja so much.

  It was strange how the color of a dress had mattered only a few days ago.

  “I don’t think we should enter any of the half-burned dwellings,” Nadja said. “A number of villagers are still unaccounted for. They might have hidden inside during the raid and burned to death.”

  Julianna didn’t see how charred bodies could be any worse than those with smashed skulls. Closing her eyes, she quickly opened them again for fear of picturing those remains or the horrors that had taken place here while she had been living safely up at the keep.

  For now, she simply tried to make sense of what had happened here… and why.

  From what she’d pieced together, about a moon ago, Prince Rodêk of the House of Äntes—the current reigning grand prince of Droevinka—had left the royal castle in Kéonsk to see to a matter in his family’s home in Enêmûsk. He’d left his prime counselor in charge, a baron called Buscan; while the prince was away, Buscan had been assassinated.

  No matter which of the noble houses was currently in power, soldiers of the House of Väränj always guarded the royal castle and grounds at Kéonsk. Apparently, Baron Buscan was hated by many of the Äntes, but they still accused the Väränj of allowing him to be murdered.

  The Väränj were proud, and in turn accused the Äntes of murdering the counselor to bring shame on them and distrust from the other houses. Fighting between these two houses broke out inside the city of Kéonsk and began to spread.

  Of course the villagers of Chemestúk knew nothing of these events—nor did they care about pride or power struggles between the noble houses. Then five days ago, soldiers in the light yellow tabards of the Äntes had ridden through and conscripted every man in the village between sixteen and forty. They even entered the keep and took Nadja and Cadell’s son, Jan—who was in his mid-twenties and a state of fine health.

  Just the thought of Jan trapped into conscription made Julianna want to weep. At the time of his abduction, she’d thought nothing could get worse than the prospect of Chemestúk losing most of its men… and what awaited those men.

  She was wrong.

  Two nights later, soldiers from the House of Väränj dressed in chain armor and bright red tabards had come riding in with torches, shouting about the people here being “traitors” to the land. They began setting fire to the huts and killing people at random.

  Between the conscriptions of the Äntes and the following massacre launched by the Väränj, a village of over two hundred people was now down to forty-seven, consisting of women, children, and aging men.

  “I don’t see much of use,” Nadja said, looking at the charred rubble that marked another lost home. “And I can see this is upsetting you.”

  “I am well,” Julianna answered, trying to sound as if she meant it. “And if we can scavenge a few more cook pots, we’ll be able to fix larger meals in the keep’s kitchen.”

  In spite of everything around them, Nadja smiled. “My strong girl. We’ll keep looking.”

  Julianna followed Nadja’s advice and didn’t enter any of the half-burned dwellings. After digging through rubble until nearly dark, they found only one usable teakettle and two cast-iron pots.

  “We should start back,” Nadja said, “or Cadell will begin to worry.”

  Carrying their meager finds, the two women turned to follow the road up the forested dome hill to their home. The old fortress disappeared from sight for a short while as they pressed along. When they finally reached the top of the rise, Julianna was glad for the sight of the solid keep.

  The surrounding forest had been cleared away for some thirty paces on all sides of the decayed stonewall encircling the grounds. Judging by some of the wall’s taller sections and fallen stones lying about, it had lost half its height. Its gate doors were completely gone.

  The keep was simple, barely a huge block of stone
with one half tower, or turret, sprouting from a forward corner, and the place was more than a bit worn with age. Moss grew between lichen-spotted stones on its lower half. To one side of the grounds was an undersized stable while the other held a small barracks with a clay chimney.

  Julianna knew most people would look at this place with utter dismay, but for her it offered safety and food and warmth and love—things she had once lost and never thought to regain.

  To her, the old keep was a haven.

  “What did you have in mind for dinner?” Nadja asked as they trudged toward the broken gate. “I think the children are growing tired of lentil soup. Perhaps we should cut into one of those hams we’ve been saving?”

  Julianna didn’t answer. Instead, she held up one hand, half turning and looking back. She thought she’d heard something.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  Nadja fell silent in listening. The sounds came again… the voices of men coming up the road behind them, numerous voices.

  Looking back toward the keep as if gauging the distance, Nadja whispered, “Run!”

  · · · · ·

  Jan was thirsty.

  He and the other men taken from Chemestúk were kept in a tight group surrounded by Äntes soldiers as they’d slowly been moving west. The soldiers stopped at every village along way, taking men wherever they saw fit. They gave no thought or pity to the women, children, and elders left behind.

  Due to his attire and coloring, Jan stood out like a bright stone in a stream of gray pebbles. He resembled his mother to a striking degree: slender, with even features and hair that hung to his shoulders in a wild, unruly mass. His dusky complexion contrasted with the milk-pale men around him. Unlike their drab clothing, he wore russet breeches with high boots and a sea-green baggy shirt with the cuffs rolled halfway up his arms—and he sported three silver hoops in one ear. As a zupan’s son, on the day of his conscription, he’d been allowed to gather a few belongings, so he now carried his violin in its case.

  Evening began setting in as the sun dipped low.

  “Make camp!” called out a voice from the front of the line of marching men.

  Jan breathed in relief, hoping that meant a ration of water. Over the past few days, he’d paid attention to anything said around him, learning what he could. The men in charge were a Captain Oakes and a Lieutenant Braeden. Apparently, they’d been appointed with the task of gathering men to be taken back to Enêmûsk to reinforce the city’s forces in case the Väränj decided to lay siege.

  Oakes was a stocky man in his late forties, with peppered hair and a long moustache. He was business-like in his manner and appeared determined to fulfill his current task to the best of his ability. Braeden was younger and clean-shaven, tall and well built, and sported a perpetually arrogant expression, as if his current assignment was well beneath him.

  Both men wore chain armor, swords, and the light yellow tabards of the Äntes.

  By Jan’s count, over a hundred and fifty conscripts had been taken. He and the others with him were herded into an open meadow and allowed to crouch down. Some of the soldiers began building fires and setting camp, but a number of them were left to watch over the conscripted men. Looking around, Jan searched for a possible way to slip away and vanish into the trees before anyone noticed him gone. He could not stop thinking about his father and mother… and Julianna left alone, without him, back at the keep.

  He had no intention of being taken to Enêmûsk and trapped inside a walled city—so he had to get free before getting that far. As of yet, he’d seen no chance to escape.

  “Have you seen Cherock?” someone whispered beside him.

  Turning his head, Jan realized he was crouched beside one of the keep’s guards who’d been taken along with him back in Chemestúk. He thought the man’s name was Klayton.

  “Cherock?” Jan scanned behind them. Cherock had been the man in charge of the keep’s few guards and been with Jan’s father for years. Jan knew him well. “No… I don’t see him. He was near the back earlier.”

  Just then, a commotion pulled his attention left toward the tree line, and three Äntes soldiers emerged—two of them dragging a man by his arms.

  Jan rose a little, trying to see what was happening. The man being dragged was Cherock.

  “Get your hands off me!” Cherock was shouting. “You’ve no right!”

  The soldiers kept dragging him until he was close enough that Jan could see the mix of fear and anger etched on his face. Lieutenant Braeden came striding toward them.

  “What is this?” he demanded.

  One soldier holding Cherock answered, “We caught him trying to escape, sir.”

  Braeden looked Cherock up and down in open disgust. “A deserter?”

  “I’m no deserter,” Cherock argued. “My place is in Chemestúk. I was assigned there by Lord Malbek himself.”

  Braeden didn’t acknowledge that Cherock had spoken. Instead, the lieutenant glanced around until his gaze stopped near a wagon and fixed on a small upright log and an axe that the soldiers sometimes used to split wood.

  “Bring those over,” he ordered, pointing.

  Jan went cold, and Cherock went wild, fighting to break the grip of the men holding him. He failed.

  A stout Äntes soldier carried over the axe and the log, setting the log upright on the ground.

  “Execute him,” Braeden ordered.

  “No!” Klayton shouted, straightening up next to Jan.

  No one even looked their way, and Jan held his tongue. He needed to get himself out of here, and there was nothing he could do to help Cherock.

  The lieutenant finally turned to address everyone watching. “Your prince is at war,” he called out. “Desertion is a crime and will be treated as such.”

  Jan realized he was setting an example.

  Cherock was dragged over and forced to his knees. His head was barely pushed down on the log’s upward end when the axe swung high and came down. Cherock’s head rolled off in the meadow’s grass as blood spilled over the log’s top.

  Lieutenant Braeden walked away, as if to see to his next duty, having finished with this one.

  Jan was struck hard by the reality that slipping off into the woods and trying to run was no longer an option.

  · · · · ·

  Julianna’s legs were longer, and she ran ahead of Nadja, reaching the keep’s doors first and opening them.

  “Inside, quick,” she whispered as Nadja caught up.

  Both women were soon inside and running for the main hall, skidding to a stop in the archway and looking inside. The hall was a large, open space taking up nearly half the main floor of the keep. Stairs circled up along the left wall and matching ones went down below to the right. The original fire pit in the hall’s center was filled in with floor stones, and a hearth large enough to stand in had been added to the back wall.

  Zupan Cadell stood by the blazing fire, a barrel of a man in his late-fifties with pale skin, fading freckles, and cropped red hair flecked by gray. He always wore brown trousers and a brown shirt.

  “Cadell,” Nadja panted. “There are men coming toward the keep.”

  “Soldiers?” he asked in alarm. “How many?”

  “I do not know,” she answered, leaning forward and trying to breathe. “We only heard their voices.”

  “I know,” another voice said from the archway.

  Looking back, Julianna saw young Gideon standing there. He was about twelve and quite skinny, with crooked teeth and hair that stood up in the front. But Julianna had always found him quick witted.

  “What did you see?” she asked.

  “I was up on the wall,” Gideon answered, “and I saw about twenty men coming with swords and axes. But they aren’t wearing tabards of any color.”

  Zupan Cadell was already striding toward the archway. “Nadja! Julianna! Get everyone below. You know what to do.”

  Indeed they did, and as the two women quickly and quietly spread the alarm, al
l the villagers now living in the keep made a run for the kitchen.

  As there was no way for the walls or gate to be rebuilt or reinforced, Zupan Cadell had decided to try and use the decaying state of the keep in their favor. The downward stairs in the main hall led to a cellar of seven good-sized storage rooms, along with what had once been a prison hold.

  Anyone invading the keep would almost certainly go down and search there. However, the kitchen was positioned near the back of the main floor. At the back of the kitchen, just inside a short passage leading to the back doors, was a narrow door that opened into an equally narrow stairwell. This led down to a few small storage rooms once used by the cooks here—in the days of the keep’s glory, when noble vassals had entertained guests.

  Cadell’s plan was that should any band of soldiers or deserters come to plague the keep, everyone here would hide in these less obvious lower storage rooms. He’d had food and water and a few weapons stored down there.

  When he’d first explained this to Julianna and Nadja, he expressed that any raiders would believe the old place abandoned. With luck, they would ransack the main floor, the upstairs, and the main cellars and then leave. Cadell was gambling on them not paying attention to a narrow, non-descript door near the back beyond the kitchen.

  Of course this plan had several flaws—and risks—but it was still better than remaining openly visible and attempting to welcome any invaders in a friendly fashion or to try and fight them, as either of those options would most likely result in Cadell, the boys, and the few aging men being killed and the women being abused.

  Besides, Julianna had not come up with anything better, and no one was willing to abandon the keep. Everyone here had been informed of exactly what to do. As a result, it took a surprisingly short time to get everyone through the kitchen and then into the narrow stairwell, descending below.

  In addition to Julianna, Nadja, and the zupan, there were forty-seven people to hide. Julianna found herself toward the front of the group in following the zupan’s lantern while Nadja brought up the rear. The stairs emptied into a small rectangular space.