The Measure of a Queen

Fire and Ice

“We have to run.” He barely heard her whisper. It was the only warning he had before the big stallion bolted. Navarre nearly lost his seat; keeping it only by wrapping his arms tightly around Cera’s waist. “What are you doing!” he shouted.

She didn’t answer, but leaned low over her horse’s neck as if urging him to greater speed.

The hood over her hair blew back and Navarre caught a glimpse of Cera’s face bathed in moonlight; fear, it said, and he was surprised. Then he glanced behind. The group of men had seen them and had also set their horses to running.

Trouble, Navarre thought, and turned again to face forward, leaning as low as he could over the girl’s body, trying to ease his weight off the horse’s rump.

Ceralyn’s eyes watered and she blinked away the wetness. When she could focus again she was surprised to see the warm flicker of lights not so very far away.

“We’re almost at the Ford,” Tristan told her. “We’ll have to swim the river if you truly want to leave Mid-Range this night.”

“You know I have to,” she said seemingly more out of breath than the running horse.

“Then be ready,” he said as he pounded into the small courtyard of the hostel.

Navarre jumped from the back of the horse before the big animal had even stopped. He spun, facing west and the group of mounted men riding hard toward them. Moonlight glinted and he could see that several swords had been drawn. His expression became grim as he reached over his shoulder and slowly drew his own long blade.

For all his training as a warrior, he had yet to have to kill another man. For Tarran-Navarre, second son of Bomar, King of Northborn, there had been no wars to fight, no battles or skirmishes, not even the odd duel that his brothers sometimes indulged in.

He licked lips gone suddenly dry and settled both hands on the hilt of his sword, gripping it tightly as he caught the sound of the stallion behind him clattering out of the courtyard. “Stay behind me,” he ordered the girl, expecting to see her twin blades dancing at the edge of his sight, flashing in the glow of the courtyard’s lanterns.

He caught nothing; no sword flash, no swirl of cloak or swing of braided hair. Navarre looked quickly around and found that except for himself, the courtyard was empty. He glanced back at the approaching horsemen then ran around the corner of the hostel in time to see Cera ride her horse down the packed landing, and onto the wooden dock.

Navarre’s eyes widened.

She wouldn’t…..would she? The young man shook his head in disbelief as, without pause, horse and girl sailed off the end of the dock and splashed heavily into the cold, dark river.

He was running before he realized it and reached the dock in time to see the stallion swimming strongly toward the opposite bank, his white mane a beacon in the moonlight as the river’s current began to carry him steadily downstream. Of the girl, he saw no sign and he felt a cold sense of dread wash over him.

The heavy sound of horse’s hooves sounded behind him as the riders pulled their horses to a stop at the top of the landing.

“Halt, in the name of the Royal Guard!”

Navarre started in surprise, and he gave the dozen men at the top of the landing a puzzled glance. Royal Guard? He looked back to the river, straining to catch sight of Cera, his heart beginning to pound loudly in his ears, and was finally rewarded by the flash of moonlight on twin sword hilts. The girl clung to her horse’s saddle, but seemed to be struggling.

“You will drop your sword and stand where you are!” one of the guard shouted. Navarre looked at the guardsman and then back at the girl disappearing into the river’s darkness.

“Ashes and fire,” he swore softly, shaking his head and securing his sword in its scabbard.

“I told you to drop that blade,” the guardsman growled roughly, stepping onto the dock with the others fanning out behind him.

Navarre shrugged and raised both arms, empty palms open. He had thought she was too young to be running from bad trouble, but running from Crown City’s Royal Guard was definitely bad.

His father was not going to be pleased.

“Please believe me," Navarre told the guard apologetically, “Had I any other choice I most assuredly would obey you.” Navarre half bowed toward the guardsmen before springing backward, twisting in midair, and diving cleanly into the cold water.

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