The Distant Kingdoms Volume Eleven: A Far Reaching Destiny

PROLOGUE

126 AD

BRITAIN

NORTH OF HADRIAN’S WALL

THE COUNTY OF YORKSHIRE

The weather was cold. Cold and snowing and miserable as usual. Every day was miserable and cold in this miserable and cold country. Titus Pontius Sabinus stood on a large rock outcrop, the furs around his lean frame barely keeping the chill from his bones. He continued staring into the distance, his light brown eyes alight with an interest born of having witnessed a great many unusual curiosities in his life. This late afternoon, the object at the centre of his attention was beyond anything he had ever seen in all his days. In his time, the secondary commander in the Ninth Spanish Legion, which had been initiated by none other than Julius Caesar himself, had battled great armies, bested seemingly unbeatable foes of Rome, imprisoned the populations of far-flung countries, captured and tamed animals that near defied description and even viewed the assembly of the Roman republican congress. Now, the mighty warrior and expert soldier was … ‘dumbfounded’ by the vision set before him this day.

Is there a problem? a familiar voice called up to him.

Turning his head slightly, he looked down towards a short, muscular man of slightly older age who sported curly, light brown hair and a ready smile.

I … Um … Think you should see this for yourself, Titus Annius.

See what for myself?

I cannot describe it.

Is it a massive Germanic army? Titus Annius chortled up the slight incline to his friend’s vantage point.

The off-the-cuff remark created a minor stir amongst those soldiers gathered in the area. Many chuckled lightly while others simply smiled at the light-hearted quip. So long as their commanding officers were joking amongst themselves, the situation was in good order. It was when they began screaming commands to one another that events tended to fall apart in swift order.

Titus Sabinus now turned his undivided attention back to his long-time friend. In the valley below his position, he could clearly view the entire membership of the Ninth Legion, all four thousand, seven hundred and fifty-three of them. So many armed and uniformed men made for an impressive sight as they stood in lined formations, awaiting further instructions from their commanders.

It appears to be some sort of mist directly ahead of us, the legionnaire nervously surmised.

Titus Annius placed both hands across his mouth in a display of mock horror. He subsequently removed his hand and grinned. Oh, may Apollo preserve us! he blurted, creating even more mirth amongst the soldiers. After everything these warriors had been through over the years, it was good to give them some joy in their lives. Battling the Gallic hordes had come at a dear cost of the lives of many of Rome’s finest fighters.

Please, Titus Pontius Sabinus, come down from there and give me a full report.

Doing as he had been told; a standard practice, the second-in-charge scrambled down from his temporary perch to stand before the superior officer. A number of lesser officers gathered around to overhear his verbal report. Most of the regular soldiers remained standing at attention, ready to receive orders. Such was the way of all things while in service of the Legion.

So tell me, Titus Annius inquired, his curiosity alight. What is it about this mist that has inspired your fear.

The fog is … Sort of glowing.

Glowing fog, the ultimate commander murmured, still mildly amused by his friend’s state of confusion. Just how far ahead of us is this evil, glowing mist?

I did not say it was evil, the other Roman protested.

If this fog is glowing then it must be a harbinger of some great evil.

More laughter came from the other officers and troops.

So, the commander further inquired, what is this mysterious mist doing?

It is just sort of sitting in the middle of the road- as if waiting for our arrival. It is about a league away from our present position.

Titus Annius gave a great sigh. Right! These are my commands and they are to be treated as if from the mouth of the great Caesar himself! We will continue on and ignore this glowing mist. He grinned at the slightly taller man. If the fog attacks, we shall defend ourselves to the last man! He turned to those soldiers nearest to him. Who amongst you is brave enough to battle this evil fog?

No one moved.

What! Are all of you afraid of some glowing mist? Titus Annius bellowed, completely ignoring a mass of grinning faces. He was having fun at his close friend’s expense, but who was to tell him otherwise. Hauling out his stout sword, the commander, held the weapon high overhead. Then I say; follow me, you craven cowards! I will lead you into victory over this glowing mist! Are you with me?

A great snickering roar rose from out of the assembled might of the Ninth Legion. As Titus Annius and his second-in-command, Titus Sabinus led them along the road, the army moved as one towards their own mysterious disappearance.

And up ahead, the strange glowing mist patiently awaited their arrival.

CHAPTER ONE

THE EASTERN SEABOARD

THE AZZIL TERRITORIES

The inn was situated beside what could laughingly be referred to in polite society as a road. ‘Goat track’, ‘game trail’ and ‘wandering lane’ would have been other quite apt descriptions of this most meagre thoroughfare. The inn itself was certainly no great palatial manor. The structure was, at best, decrepit and leaned to one side, almost as though the building had indulged its thirst with far too many mugs of the watered-down ale served here. The upper level that contained the living quarters for the owner, staff and clientele was surrounded by a wide veranda complete with a rickety railing. The handrail would most probably have toppled over should anyone display enough foolishness to place their weight on its structure. Most people staying in one of the tiny, dusty, flea-ridden rooms usually remained well away from the balcony itself. No one, even someone who had partaken of the establishment’s beverages, trusted the entire edifice not to topple into the street under even a moderate measure of weight.

Early this morning, only three people were to be found inside the tap room on the lower floor. The room was decorated in a style which one might generously refer to as ‘obvious degradation’. The stone fire place set in one wall often billowed fresh, grey smoke into the chamber, three low-hung oil lamps gave barely enough light to see by, the main bar was little more than a couple of timber planks set on two wooden kegs and every single piece of furniture in the place constantly threatened to topple over due to greatly uneven legs. Of the three people in the room, only two were customers. One client, an elderly man sat in a far corner, his right fist clenched around a half-full mug of weak ale, almost as if the brew was an elixir capable of defeating even the most serious of diseases. The other patron was a tall man, of slightly less than middle age with darkish auburn hair, hazel eyes and a thick beard in a slightly lighter shade than his longish hair. The nondescript-looking individual sat at a table, peering down at a bowl bearing what purported to be a broth- complete with meat and fresh vegetables. If the vile concoction held either of these ingredients then the cook had done something to change not only the look and taste of meat and vegetables, but also the smell. The broth honestly smelt as if an animal had recently defecated directly into the bowl. Much to the client’s disbelief, when he used a local form of a spoon to poke at the meal, the substance had the disturbing tendency to continue moving around of its own accord.

The only staff member in attendance at the time wandered across to the not unattractive-looking man and smiled at him. Is your meal good, dear?

The heavily bearded man looked up at the somewhat rotund, appallingly dressed woman who stared back at him with a mixture of hopefulness and gratitude. Gratitude and hopefulness for what exactly; he had no idea. His initial instincts were to pick up the bowl and fling it and the rancid stew directly at her grotesquely made-up head. However, good breeding and manners prevailed on this occasion and he simply shoved the ceramic container away with one hand. He prayed whatever was dwelling within the stew would not take a quick bite out of any of his fingers in the process.

I’m not really hungry, the patron lied, politely.

Seems a pity to waste good food, she commented, picking up the plate.

The client was in complete agreement with the woman’s last sentiment, although he had absolutely no idea just what it had to do with the meal served to him this morning. Still, he was sort of hungry and only possessed a meagre assortment of dried fruits and smoked meats in his saddlebags currently up in his room.

You wouldn’t happen to have a couple of bread rolls handy, would you? he inquired.

She smiled to him. I will see if the cook has any back in the kitchen.

Not uttering another word, the waitress fled the area, the bowl and contents held in one hand.

The man seated at a bench table only hoped she was not going to feed the meal to one or more of the local dogs. In his mind, cruelty to hapless animals was near sinful. He leaned back on the crude bench seat, looking about the slightly dishevelled taproom. Personally, he thought this part of the inn was as in poor taste as the rest of the establishment. A nice rug here and there on the floor would have helped, along with some new curtains at the glassless windows or even a potted plant in some of the corners. A great, big fire really would have done the trick as burning the dive to the ground was, truthfully, the only means of improving the place.

The maid returned a short time later and stepped directly across to her only sober customer. In both hands she now clutched a wooden tray on which sat two bread rolls, both the size and shape of a large fist. Also to be found on the tray was a small metal tray on which lay a glob of slightly grey butter. Next, she placed the tray onto the table before the tall, bearded man.

You are in luck! she chortled, happily. The cook found these in a drawer some place.

The client picked one of the rolls up with his right hand.

The cook said they should only be a day or two old! the waitress boasted.

The man grinned up at her, the bread roll still held aloft. Yes, I believe that! And if Mickey Mantle or Reggie Jackson just happen to wander in here sometime soon, I can have them sign these!

The overly cheerful expression on the woman’s pudgy face wavered.

It’s just a joke, he assured her, dropping the age-hardened roll back on the tray. Tell the cook I said ‘thanks a lot’.

I certainly will, sir, the waitress responded, her falsely happy look back in place. Pardon me for saying this, but has anyone ever told you, you talk strangely?

Colin Bourke rolled his eyes. All the time!

Much to his chagrin, he decided that this would most probably be the best meal on offer for quite some time. Disregarding the smeared knife provided by the establishment, he ripped both rolls apart with his bare hands. To his immense surprise, both bread morsels turned out to be reasonably edible, once you managed to chew your way past the toughened exterior. He resorted to using his own sharp, clean knife to spread the insidious-looking butter across the white surface of the torn rolls. Once done with the process, he began devouring these rather tasteless treats with a hungry relish. Colin’s mind wandered during this time, travelling back to his escape from the insanity and carnage of the assault on the city of Terrimorter. There were always serious doubts plaguing his conscious about leaving the impressive fortress city during such a time of great devastation. The invasion had succeeded in rescuing the Royal Thellon family from a certain death, along with the other people held hostage by the despot, Ruler Jom Azzer. Unfortunately … No- the term ‘unfortunate’ did not do the resulting casualties justice. In Colin’s mind, the entire event had been nothing short of tragic. Thousands on both sides of the conflict had perished both before and after the mighty gates of the city had been blown apart by the Iroquois helicopter- along with a little help from the fools who had obviously decided to deposit an ammunition dump in close proximity. On the plus side, Colin honestly believed between King Entell Thellon, Thellic, Colonel Ferran Cintras and a conglomerate of his fellow Beyonders, there were more than enough capable people left behind to mend the broken city and deal with its people.

In the time since leaving Terrimorter, Colin had basically wandered across the countryside with no real direction or purpose. His travel plans amounted to riding the roads during the day and camping someplace private at night. He had taken plenty of the local currency with him, so paying for better room and board was not really an issue. Sometimes, he quite enjoyed staying for a couple of days at one of the better boarding houses to be found within most of the larger towns or small cities scattered at random throughout the western districts of the Azzil Territories. The only real downside to such a mode of lifestyle was that these heightened accommodations were not to be located in every village or hamlet he visited during his travels. This inn; or ‘disgusting shithole’ as Colin liked to refer to the establishment, held no real recommendations for the weary traveller other than foul food, watery beer, flea- infested rooms and no real place for the horses to stay. Currently, his two horses were tied inside some sort of rickety shelter located at the rear of the main building. To his chagrin, every time he ventured near either animal to feed or water them, they affixed him with an expression bordering on abhorrence over these accommodations. Neither horse really minded the constant traipsing across the countryside, after all, that was their mission in life. However, they certainly did not enjoy the breezy accommodations, the stale hay on offer nor the fact the flimsy shelter appeared to harbour a particularly appalling flea infestation.

Colin finished off one of the bread treats then paused to reflect on his time travelling the roads these past months. Only on one occasion had he ever really been in any serious trouble. At the time, no less than twelve bandits had accosted him out in the middle of nowhere. These crudely dressed robbers had surrounded him, each pointing a rudimentary model crossbow in his direction. One of these petty thugs had spoken to him through a mouth full of rotted teeth.

Off your horse and we will let you live! the chief ignorant bandit had offered.

Have any of you ever gone on the Colt .38 hay-ride? Colin had calmly inquired, producing a revolver from out of his clothing.

What is it? the head moron had demanded.

Raising the late Rodney Meredin’s handgun high into the air, Colin had pulled the trigger. A single shot then blasted away the residing tranquillity; if thirteen people gathered in one spot on a dirt road could be referred to as ‘tranquil’. The horse Colin was seated on, as well as the second animal, had startled at the abrupt noise. Both mounts had gone through the attack on Terrimorter and were quite used to these unexpected reports. The horses the bandits/fools used were nothing of the sort and promptly went insane. Three of the robbers/half-wits were thrown to the ground at that instant. A number of others desperately held onto their horse’s reins in an attempt not to get tossed aside. One bandit managed to find his way onto a low-hanging branch of a nearby tree. The chief robber fell from his mount and was dragged, screaming, out of sight along the road. Thankfully, his passage was in the direction Colin had come, so he would not be forced to make his way around the resulting mess- once the horse decided to cease its head-long charge away from the horrific thunder.

Right now, the only issue Colin had to deal with was some bad food and fleas. These were far from good times, but at least they were tolerable. No one was trying, on a pretty regular basis, to murder him in cold blood. During his stay in Xerous City it appeared every other day there was yet another assassination attempt on his life. If not for the concerted efforts of a handful of good people he had come to regard as friends, Colin held no doubts in his mind that a deep hole in the ground near the creepy- looking castle would be his final resting place. The wayward scientist mused on the people he had met in the past eight months or so, some from Earth, others from this world of Perencore. He hoped they were all doing well for themselves and in good health.

A disturbance sounding from just beyond the less than palatial interior of the inn brought his mind back to the present time. The sounds emitting from outside appeared to be in the form of a brutal fight. Some cheers- and yells of anger and pain were to be heard from those persons directly involved in the mêlée. Deciding to check the fight out for the sake of his own idol curiosity, he slowly stood up, shoved the last remaining fragment of the bread roll into his mouth then stepped towards the open entrance.

Ah, excuse me, sir!

He turned to look at the waitress who currently stood behind the sort-of-main-bar. The woman appeared to be in a highly agitated state.

What’s wrong?

I would not go out there if I were you, she issued him a stern warning.

Why not?

I believe this involves a local gang. They do not appreciate being disturbed.

He grinned at her. I’ll let you in on a little secret- I just live to disturb local gangs! Not uttering another word, he swept out of the tap room and onto the rickety, rotted timber walkway that lay outside. The sight he beheld from his slightly elevated vantage point horrified him to the point of insensibility.

Only a short distance away, no less than five large men were in the process of beating up an elderly woman. One of these brave souls swung his open hand at her, knocking the woman to the dirt road. Others began kicking at the cowering, shaking figure as she valiantly attempted to protect her bleeding, bruised form with both hands.

Meredin would have been proud of what occurred next.

Colin drew the deceased corporal’s sidearm from his belt and shot the nearest man in the leg. The thug let out one almighty scream of pain while clutching at his recently acquired wound with both hands. A horse tied to a vertical hitching post broke free, charging at top speed along the road. The other men ceased worrying about the old woman and focused their attention on the tall, bearded man holding some strange weapon in his right hand. One of their number marched across to this person. Just what do you think …

Colin smashed the man in the face with the pistol. The street thug screamed then collapsed on the spot, his hands busy attempting to stymie the flood of fresh blood from his shattered nose and split mouth.

The next one of you sonsabitches that touches that woman is going to have a sudden dose of dead! he roared at them.

Apparently, they all believed him. The thugs picked up their injured colleges and fled the scene at an impressive pace. Once they were well out of sight, Colin stepped across to help the elderly woman to her feet.

Are you all right? he inquired, ushering her into the inn.

She nodded a couple of times, one hand holding onto her mouth from which seeped a light trickle of blood. Some of this residue had dribbled onto her threadbare, dirt-smeared blouse, staining the aged garment. In a moment, the woman was seated at the table he had only recently occupied.

She should not be in here! the waitress insisted.

Colin looked to her. Why the hell not?

Those men might come back and cause trouble.

Only if they find a lot of help, he grumbled. Colin noticed the victim of the odd mugging presently sported a number of scratches and scraps on her face and hands. Do you have any strong alcohol handy? he asked the inn’s employee.

You need to get her out of here! And what was that loud noise I heard?

Leaving the still shaking, sobbing woman, Colin stepped across to the bar. What’s that stuff? he demanded, pointing to a dark green glass bottle propped on a shelf to the rear of the bar area.

The waitress turned to peer at this item. A local brandy.

Pass it over.

But …

Now, thank you!

Huffing in sheer exasperation, the waitress passed him the bottle. This is expensive.

I’m sure I can afford it. Do you have any clean rags handy?

I suppose so, the waitress murmured, leaving the main taproom.

In one corner, the other client stirred in his alcohol-induced slumber.

The waitress returned, holding a white cloth in one hand. She handed it to the obstinate patron then returned to her place behind the bar.

Colin returned to the elderly woman, both recently acquired items in hand. He knelt down beside the local resident, using the rag and brandy to clean her fresh injuries. Thankfully, none of the cuts and other assorted wounds appeared to be all that serious. His patient remained steadfast silent, only occasionally producing the odd grimace and huff of pain. Once finished, he placed the bottle and bloodied rag onto the table.

Are you hurt?

She turned her slightly bruised face to stare up at him.

Do you think any bones are broken?

She shook her head, an act that caused her to wince in pain.

Much to his surprise, he now saw the woman was not anywhere near as old as he had first figured. In his estimate, he felt she would have been around fifty-eight to sixty Earth years of age. Also, he could clearly see that at an earlier time of her life his patient had once held a great beauty. An impressive beauty could be see just beneath the surface of her wrinkled features. He silently wondered exactly why she was roaming about the ramshackle hamlet, being beaten up by the local goon squad.

Do you have a name? he inquired, deciding to begin the conversation with an easy question.

I am Trellia Fearen, she murmured, her response barely audible.

Well, Trellia Fearen, I’m Colin Bourke.

The elderly woman turned her head to stare at him. Colin Book?

Ah, Colin Bourke, he kindly corrected her.

Colin Bourke, she repeated, still frowning.

He reached across to a glass stationed on the table, placed the item before the woman and poured some of the dull brown liquid into the not-so-clean container. He figured the high alcohol content of the brandy would kill any germs. Here, have a drink.

Trellia Fearen continued to stare at her new-found benefactor. Displaying some minor trepidation, she reached across to the third-full glass before delicately sipping at its contents. She coughed a touch, but finally finished off the drink.

Do you want another? he inquired.

She placed the glass back onto the table then shook her head. No, thank you. She focused her attention on the unusual man with his strange speech pattern. Why did you do that?

You looked like you needed a strong drink. Even if it is a little early in the morning.

No, I meant why did you interfere in something that was none of your business?

There was no anger in the inquiry, just a touch of curiosity.

Where I’m from you don’t just stand around while five street thugs beat up a lady, Colin retorted, his anger easily visible.

And where are you from, Colin Bourke?

The United States of America.

She frowned at him. I must admit to never having heard of this place.

It’s a long, long way from here. Believe me! He paused to take stock of the situation. Now I get a question: Why were those pieces of … I mean men beating you up like that?

Trellia Fearen’s features blushed. They raided my garden a couple of days ago and stole all of my food. I just asked if they might not give some of it back. It seems they took offence.

Colin turned to the waitress. Hey! What’s the chance of having the cook actually do some cooking?

Excuse me?

See if you can get the cook to make a half-way decent meal and not that god-awful slop you tried to pass onto me!

The cook will not like being spoken to like that, the waitress retorted, slightly red faced.

Stepping across to the woman behind the bar, he reached into a pocket and hauled out no less than six copper coins. Here! he told the slightly stunned inn employee. Tell the cook I can pay him. But, I want a good meal to go with that. Okay?

‘Okay’? she repeated the unfamiliar term. She gave a great sigh. I will see what I can do.

Thanks a lot.

He returned to the only occupied table in the establishment. On this occasion, he sat back in his former chair, directly opposite the elderly woman. He did not wish to crowd Trellia Fearen and cause her any more anxiety. She had suffered enough already and the day was still young.

Do you mind me buying you a meal?

She looked to him across the table before finally shaking her head. Hunger had obviously overridden any feelings of trepidation and reluctance to speak to the stranger.

Now, he began. Aren’t there any cops … I mean law enforcement officials about to stop people stealing your food?

No, not really, she admitted, her left eye now showing signs of swelling from her recent beating. There is an army garrison in the nearest town, but that is many days travel from here. And besides, they would not be interested in the plight of some old woman. She fell silent for a short time. May I ask why you speak like that, Colin Bourke?

He gave a mild shrug. That’s just the way we speak where I’m from. He figured it was his turn. Tell me about yourself, Trellia Fearen.

She appeared stunned by this question. A long paused passed as the elderly woman stared across at her new found benefactor. I do not know where to begin, she freely admitted.

Where you born here?

No. I was born and spent my childhood in a village not far from here. I met my husband there and we moved here to start a farm … Her voice trailed away as though she did not wish to continue.

You really don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want too.

It is all right, Colin Bourke. She paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing her account: The farm went well for many seasons. We had four children, three daughters and a son. Unfortunately, there was an illness that swept through the entire region and decimated the population. Things were so bad that Ruler Jom Azzer ordered the entire area to be isolated, so the disease could not spread. By the time it was over, all of my children and my husband had gone to the gods. My husband was very sick in the end. He lived long enough to help tend to our children. The day after we lost the last one, our son, my husband passed away. I buried him in the same plot with our children. Trellia Fearen smiled at the strangely merciful man. That was quite a number of seasons ago. Since then I have been living by keeping up a vegetable garden. I save much for my own use and sell some to local business and people.

And I thought I had it rough being on the wrong planet! Colin huffed, his mind reeling from the tragedy the unfortunate woman had endured through her life. A nagging voice at the back of his mind was currently scolding him for having a big mouth. Colin wondered in silence just what was bothering the stupid thing when …

He looked across the table at the elderly woman.

She was staring back at him through fear-filled eyes. There was no doubt in her mind the polite and kind man with the unusual speech pattern was indeed telling the truth.

She started getting to her feet, her mind panicked.

Wait! I can explain! he told her.

I should leave now, she muttered, all pain from her previously received injuries gone. In their place was a near hysterical fear that threatened to overwhelm all other senses. She just wanted to run from this place- and the strange man and go back to her home.

I’m not going to hurt you, he declared, rising to his feet.

I have to go!

The waitress arrived carrying a large plate with one hand. On the plate were two cooked pieces of meat, some vegetables and a great deal of gravy. She placed the plate and its fragrant contents before the standing woman.

Here is your meal.

At least stay long enough to eat, he near begged the old woman. I’m no threat to you- promise!

Trellia Fearen stared down at the food before her. Right now fear was putting up a valiant fight with the pangs of hunger. After a few moments, hunger beat the daylights out of fear and sent the emotion cowering to the back of the elderly woman’s mind. She sat down, picking up an eating utensil and began shovelling the food into her mouth.

Colin reclaimed his own seat and watched the woman eat like tomorrow would be the end of the world.

Yeah, I’ve been there, he murmured.

The off-the-cuff comment caused her to briefly cease this process. I am being rude. Would you care for something to eat?

No thanks, he responded. I’ve already had two baseballs this morning.

Baseballs? she queried before continuing to eat at a frenzied rate.

It’s a game where I’m from.

And you eat the balls?

He grinned. No! The balls we use in the game are very hard. Almost as hard as the bread rolls they serve around here.

Trellia Fearen smiled for the first time. She again ceased eating to study the other occupant of the table. Are you really from another world, Colin Bourke?

Yes, I’m afraid so.

How did you get here, on Perencore?

I sort of made a machine that went a little haywire … Well, actually it’s probably the single biggest scientific screw-up of the ages.

The elderly woman continued to stare at him. I do not know about any of this.

Don’t trouble yourself over it, he murmured. The meal did honestly smell quite – edible. He wondered in silence if there was any left back in the kitchen.

In a particularly short time, she had finished the food down to the last morsel. In fact, she was staring down at the plate as if wondering how to lick up the gravy without appearing sort of unladylike.

Don’t worry, Colin assured her. There have been times in my life recently when I thought about eating the damn plate.

Trellia Fearen chuckled.

The smile faded from her wrinkled features. I really should be leaving now. Those men might return with friends.

Believe me on two levels: One; I can deal with them. And two; they’re not real men!

The woman stood up. I should return home, she kindly informed him. But, again, thank you, Colin Bourke. It has been a long time since anyone showed me any level of kindness. I will not forget about you ever.

He stood up as she moved towards the exit. How far away do you live?

It will take me about half a day to walk back to my house.

Colin Bourke smiled. I think we can improve on that.

***

The so-called road to Trellia Fearen’s farm was more a run-down game trail than any real thoroughfare. Tall trees stood close by either side of the track and lose stones littered the dry, hardened surface. As to be expected, Colin Bourke and the elderly woman each sat astride one of the horses. The weight of his supplies and equipment had been evenly distributed between both animals for the short journey. Even though the woman did not weigh any great amount, he still felt it unfair to burden one horse with such a weigh plus that of his supplies. The horse carrying Trellia Fearen did not really seem to mind the task. Much of its attitude could have been due to the fact she babied the animal outrageously, often calling it a ‘nice horse’ or ‘lovely horse’ and a dozen other variations of these references. Most of the journey, she spent gently patting and scratching the animal. Colin wondered in silence if the animal would be impossible to deal with after having endured such over-the-top pampering. Their life on the move had often been harsh, ploughing gret distances along generally unsurfaced roads, spending chilly nights in the open and often enduring rain and strong winds without any form of shelter. Sometimes, he would just give in to these irritating forces of nature and build a camp just off of the road, well out of sight of any passers-bye. He had a waterproof canvas tent and matching awning in which to seek shelter. However, the horses were forced to stand in the rain. They tended to stay near the tent, staring in abject pity at their current owner. Unfortunately, there was simply nothing he could do about their horrible plight. Two full-grown horses simply would not fit inside the tent with him.

Colin Bourke, Trellia Fearen inquired, as they moved at a leisurely pace along the trail.

Yes?

These ‘car’ things you were speaking of; just how fast could they go?

Much faster than any horse can run. A lot faster.

I would like to see one of these machines.

Me too, he readily admitted. The horses have their benefits, but they’re a little on the slow side for getting around.

He had no real idea as to just how much of his words either animal could understand. Strangely enough, on this occasion both animals turned their heads to briefly offer him an expression of intense irritation. Once done with these displeased gestures, they continued plodding along the otherwise deserted road.

What are you going to do if those morons show up at the farm?

The elderly woman considered this inquiry. I suppose defend myself to the best of my ability. I do have a crossbow and some bolts handy. Also, my husband left his sword for my use.

Colin was highly disturbed by the vision of an elderly woman, even one as sprightly as Trellia Fearen, taking on a handful of the local goons with some old crossbow and a rusty sword. An idea came to mind. If you don’t mind, maybe I should hang around for a couple of days. To be quite honest with you, I don’t really have anywhere to go in a hurry.

You are welcome to stay if you so please, Colin, she retorted. Unfortunately, since those men raided my place, there is little food to be had there.

I’m sure I can rustle up something suitable.

‘Rustle up’?

Well, if worse comes to worse, I can shoot some game with the gun I’ve got with me.

Even though you have said that you hate using those gun-things?

He gave a mild grimace. As I’ve said; I’ve seen far too many people die. I’d rather not have any more blood on my hands.

She fell silent for a moment as they rounded a bend in the road. I still cannot get over the fact Terrimorter has fallen to our enemies … I mean, King Entell Thellon’s forces.

To be honest … His voice trailed away as he stared off into the distance.

Trellia Fearen instinctively turned to see just what sight had shocked her travelling companion to such an extent. As she watched, a single column of black smoke began to rise high above the tree tops. The pyre increased in height and thickness, marking the end of some object further ahead.

My cottage is in that direction! she gasped in shock.

Stay here! he commanded, kicking his horse into motion.

The journey between his initial position on sighting the smoke and the source of this dreadful harbinger of destruction took the better part of twenty minutes. During his time on the road, he had developed into quite the competent horseman; at least to the point of not falling from his horse should the animal in question so much as break into a mild canter. Much to his shock, he discovered that the source of the ever- expanding smoke stack was indeed a smallish house set a short distance away from the narrow, infrequently used road. In the distance, he could just make out the forms of about four men on horseback riding with great speed away from the scene of the obvious arson attack. By now, the house was little more than a ruin, spouting flames high into the air. The entire roof was gone, having burnt to charred remains before collapsing into the structure. The stone and mortar walls were, for the most part, crumbling and likewise toppling in on themselves. Nothing could be done to save the building. In a few short hours, precious little would be left to mark the position of the quaint structure other than some piles of badly scorched stones.

Cursing under his breath, he did seriously consider pursuing the cowards responsible for the disgraceful act of retaliation. He soon dismissed the notion once his mind became clear and calm. The men who had destroyed the house, no doubt, held a great local knowledge of the surrounding terrain. Granted, he was armed with far superior weapons, but they could easily lay in wait for his arrival should he seek to chase after them. Also, should these gang members kill him, there was every chance of them returning to finish off the task they had started back in the village on Trellia Fearen.

She arrived at the desolate sight only ten minutes after Colin.

A couple of minutes passed as she remained on the horse, her expression one of complete shock and hopeless loss. Soon afterwards, she carefully climbed down from the horse and slowly stepped across to the furiously burning cottage.

That was everything I owned! she exclaimed, tears beginning to roll down her slightly withered cheeks. The only memories I had of my husband and children were in there. Her mouth moved as if attempting to form suitable words to express her grief over this terrible tragedy. I have nothing now, she finally commented.

Look, Colin responded, not really certain as to how best deal with this shocking situation. You said you came from another village not far from here. Don’t you have any friends or relatives still there?

She gave her bowed head a slight shake. There were only my parents back there. They passed away a long time ago. I would not recognise anyone else from that place.

Can I make a suggestion?

The elderly woman gave a mild shrug.

Come along with me. I have two horses, so it’s no real problem.

Now she turned her head to stare at him. And what am I supposed to do … Wherever it is you are going?