Rage and Rebellion (Histories of Havenhearth)

4.3 Cerys

Floren, after returning from one of his scouting trips, exclaimed that they were nearing the first small city in the north east, region of Angounesse and that they should consider stopping in Charroux for the night, before making the last little bit of the trip to Chevelles. As they rounded the top of a hill, a small walled city came into distant view. Proper walls only existed on two of the four sides, the others fallen into various extents of disrepair. Conversely, the four watch towers in the corners still stood solidly, as did the four entry gates in each compass direction. A former small castle was also visible in the middle of town. As they neared the gates, the road thickened with traffic: people on foot, people pulling carts behind them and donkey-pulled wagons.
"You wait here," Floren called back to them, "I'll go ask for suitable accomodation." Then he shouted something at Falenne and the others and galloped off.
Not long after he had departed, Cerys heard some yelling outside the wagon, peeking out onto the road. A woman stood there, with her sword poised in her hand, shouting at Falenne and the other porters. Cerys started to get out to see what was happening, but instead Bernebe jumped onto her, placing a blanket over her, and getting out himself. She peaked out anyway, both curious and confused. The yelling got even louder, and now three women had pulled out swords from their tunics. Falenne shouted something at Bernebe who bowed low, speaking in Cassioni to the women. There was more shouting, and Cerys caught Floren galloping back towards them at full tilt, causing everyone in front of him to dive out of the way. Something was wrong. A clash diverted her attention back to the scene just outside of the wagon. The porters including Falenne, were in full battle with the women that had started the shouting. Cerys thought she heard Floren scream out "Run!" and without thinking, she threw off the blanket, jumped out of the wagon, starting a wild sprint, out into the field, not hesitating an instant to see what had happened, and ignoring the shouts of her name behind her.

Floren reached the wagon, galloping by, swiping with his sword at the people that had attacked the porters. Two heads bounced to the ground, and the mêlée came to an immediate stop. Floren turned his horse and having seen her breakaway, took off after Cerys, who was still blindly running into the fields. Floren caught up to her in no time, grabbed her arm and in one smooth motion swung her up onto the horse, just like in the cowboy stories she had read as a child. Rather than return to the wagon, he kept galloping on, until they came to a stream. Only here did he reign in his horse, dropping Cerys to the ground, dismounting, and taking her in his arms, leaving the horse to drink. She was out of breath from her run, and he could feel her heart rate pounding, but slowing gradually, against his chest. "It's all right." He whispered to her in a quiet silky voice. When she had calmed down, he let go of her.
"Sorry," she muttered, "someone said run, I didn't know what was happening, there was a sword fight, and I don't know." Her cheeks flushed fuschia with exertion and embarrassment.
"Well, nobody can ever say you can't run," he said, flashing her a smile.

The scholar arrived clumsily atop a horse, blood spilling from his arm, with another in tow, neither with saddles. "Quickly, we have to leave,"
Floren mounted one of the horses without saddle, leaving Cerys to ride his. "We'll go meet the others, » Bernebe added something in Cassioni and Floren nodded.
"What happened?" Cerys asked.
"I'll tell you later. We had better get going now," the scholar said.

They trotted off, stopping eventually at a small structure, not even as high as a person on horseback, made crudely of bricks and roofed with wooden planks in a triangle above the bricks, no doubt built by a local farmer who had brought the bricks back from the fallen wall of the city they had just departed, and lain the bricks themself. It appeared to Cerys to be a little shrine. There seemed to be remnants of a scene painted around the outside, but time and weather had rendered it little more than some pale splashes of colour. They all dismounted, and tied their horses to a tree, sitting under another nearby, waiting for the rest of their caravan to arrive. Within the structure- Cerys had indeed heard them call it a shrine- sat a sitting figure with one hand in the air carved from wood. It sat on a shelf at about chest height, also succumbed to time and disregard, except for a knitted hat of vermillion wool upon its head, which must have been left as an offering fairly recently, perhaps even as part of the recent festival of lanterns. A second timber shelf below it, which stuck out a little bit further had atop it a pile of dust.
"What happened?" Bernebe asked impatiently.
"Foreigners are not to enter the city right now." was all Floren offered, met with silence.
"The Golden Defenders?" Bernebe ventured.
Floren raised his shoulders in a shrug, and neither of them said anything further, both deep in thought, for they, Cerys realised, understood what just happened and did not want to discuss it in front of her.

After an hour or so, the porters, dragging the wagon behind them arrived. Cerys was surprised to see that Falenne was not among them. Neither were the mules.
"Where's Falenne?" one of the male porters pointed to a roll on the back of the wagon, a stain of blood visible on the fabric. Bernebe's eyes widened in understanding and Cerys came over to give him a hug. "We have to bury her," he said and they did just that, right under the tree by the shrine, burning several sticks of incense for her: that's what the pile of dust in the shrine was, a pile of ash from the burnt sticks. In addition to losing her, and the mules, they had also lost some provisions, and luggage, including Cerys' bag of clothes. "Don't worry, we'll have some made for you when we get to Chevelles." Bernebe tried to cheer her up.
Not wanting to sleep near the dead, they went a little ways away to set up camp for the night, all sharing the same campfire this time, but it did not last for long, and after dinner was eaten the porters and Cerys retired, leaving the two foreign men alone. She laid awake for some time, listening to the sounds of the sleeping porters and the night.
"What is going on here?" She heard Bernebe ask in a low voice.
"I keep hearing things, and you know how I feel about that: if you hear something, it's probably true."
"So it's all true?"
"I don't know for certain. There may have been a murder, not long ago."
"No!" Bernebe nearly shouted, taken aback. "Who was it?" He resumed his low voice.
"Tainish, unclear if it happened or will happen. My sources of information are sending jarbled messages. Cassioni valiers and protectorate responded immediately. Dealt out lots of punishments. Pretty severe ones too."
"Are we in danger? Is Cerys in danger?"
"On the road, maybe."
"And in Chevelles?"
"We'll have to wait and see, won't we?" Cerys could hear the smile in his voice.

It was a restless night for her. Between the wonder of this new life, the fear and panic of the day's events, the grief of losing someone who was hired essentially to carry her luggage, and the even greater desire she had now for Floren, having felt his full body against hers, as he had gently stroked her hair to calm him down. Sleep came to her in fits.