“Ho there!” she called. The small mass of soldiers immediately surrounded their captain in an effort to protect him. “Who wishes to pass my bridge?” she yelled. The soldiers looked around for the bridge she spoke of but none saw it. The captain spoke up first. “What bridge do you speak of brigand?” he called back. She laughed. “The one above your heads. And I believe you are the brigand for I see a murder among your ranks,” she said. She stood, with her hands on her hips, on a platform above their heads. She swung down on a thick rope in the blink of an eye. “The toll for this bridge is exactly that actually. His body would equal your passing. So if you don’t mind,” she said with a flourishing bow. “I do not believe this bridge was approved by the taxing service provided by His Majesty,” the captain said slowly. He climbed off his horse and handed the reins to a foot soldier. “Aye, but he did. Do you not trust that I am one of his faithful sheriffs set out to do what His Majesty cannot do on his own? Can you not see the king’s seal?” she asked. Another person stood on the platform now and quickly carved the king’s crest into the thick wood. “Now, the toll.” “I will pay no such toll and I will pass under this bridge. I am the king’s commanding officer in his imperial guard and refused to be treated as a commoner,” the captain huffed. He drew his sword. “If you do not wish to let me pass, I will fight my way through.” He braced himself for her blow. The girl pulled a sword from her own hip and positioned herself. “But I think you shall pay the toll,” she said. She whistled. 100 other peasants leaped from the brush and debris covering the forest floor. They flew at the small group of shocked soldiers. Shouts and whoops echoed. While the captain was distracted she leapt at him, cutting his fat purse from his belt. “I would not think it wise to carry such a heavy sack with you everywhere you go, captain. Brigands will not take kindly to your gold,” she teased. She fingered the gold inside. It was so tempting. But this was not why she was here. She slashed him across the cheek and waltzed onward. She smacked his horse on the butt and watched it run off. “Sir, I believe your horse has crossed the bridge without paying the toll. I will keep this to repay your debt and your horse’s.” “And what of my men?” he asked, too shocked to move. “I don’t think they shall be crossing the bridge,” she said. She pointed behind her as the last of his men scattered amongst the forest. The captain fled, following his horse. Once she was sure he was gone, she let out a whistle. The peasants leapt from their various positions amongst the forest floor to enjoy their success. “Did anyone find the body?” she called to the group. They fell silent, most bowing their heads. “We did my lady. He is badly wounded, near death. I don’t know if he will make it through the night,” one of the servants said, stepping forward. She paced. “He is in the safe house, under lock and key. Do you wish to see him?” She nodded vigorously. They led her to the safe house; the opening was through a thick tree trunk. A small, narrow staircase spiraled down into an open cavern. Various tunnels led to different caverns, all finding their way back up above. The servant led her through a tunnel off to the right. There he was. “Tristan,” she breathed. She rushed forward, grabbing his hand and placing it on her cheek. It was icy cold. Black marks streaked down his face. He had been crying. She ripped through his shirt and placed her head on his chest. “His heartbeat is weak. We need to warm him up, now,” she said. “You, start a fire.” “Yes, miss,” one of the servants muttered. They went over to the hearth and began to strike the flint. She watched impatiently. “I want the men gone, now!” she shouted. The men servants disappeared from the room. “Bridget, I want you to help me. Take your clothes off. He needs heat now,” she said. She stood up and began to unbutton her own breeches. “The rest of you get blankets. Someone needs to get bandages, fresh water, bread, and some bark. Go.” The servants ran their opposite ways to do their tasks. Bridget lay down next to Tristan and began to rub his back, her body pressed close to his. Emily bent and did the same. She threw Tristan’s limp arm over her and rubbed him down. “The fire is lit miss,” the servant answered. “I need to get more wood.” “Alright, go. Be quick about it. Make sure the coast is clear before you return,” she said. She looked at Tristan’s bloody face. His eyes were swollen shut and his lip was split. His ears had been boxed and his left cheekbone looked shattered. Cornell had beaten him terribly. They probably lined up and took shots at him. That was usually what he did to train his men in hand combat. Except Tristan wasn’t fighting back. She wondered why. This was not the man she loved. She felt tears pushing her eyes as Bridget stood and began redressing. “I need to help with the blankets, my lady,” she said. “The fire is warming up quickly. There will be no smoke because of the ventilation. See?” she said. She pointed to the uppermost corners of the room. Holes released the smoke from the room. Emily nodded. Bridget curtseyed and left. Emily got dressed and dragged Tristan by his arms closer to the hearth. “Stay strong, love,” she whispered. She kissed his lips. She let a few tears fall. “I’m supposed to be the one who gets saved,” she whispered. She brushed his curly brown hair from his eyes. The room was sweltering now. She glanced over her shoulder as the servants returned, some carrying food and water, others had blankets and bandages. She kissed him one more time. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. She joined the rest of the peasants in tending to him.
Copyright 2008 Lucy
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