Free The Guardian by Angus Wells

hips, her shoulders hunched in irritation. I could hear her muttering furiously. I let her wait, taking my time as I brought the horses to the stream and let them drink, then hobbled them and left them to graze. I opened my saddlebags and fetched out provisions. I was, I must admit, hungry myself, but I was a soldier and accustomed to an empty belly. I took out cold meat and bread and offered her a share. She stared at the food and turned away, so I stretched on the grass and began to eat. Ryadne had thought to include wine, for which I was most grateful—I felt in need of drink—and settled myself comfortably with one eye on the princess.
    I had thought she might make a run for her horse, but instead she came back along the stream’s bank and hunkered down where I had left her food.
    “You would have spanked me?” she asked.
    I nodded. “And might yet, do you continue to act like a spoiled child.”
    “I am Chaldor’s heir!” She stared at me, outraged. “I am a princess!”
    I laughed, which pleased her not at all. “Here,” I told her, gesturing at our bucolic surroundings, “you are not a princess. You are my charge—I am sworn to defend you to my death; to protect and guard you. And I shall do that, even does it offend you.”
    She chewed the meat and spat a piece of gristle into the stream, where small fishes rose to nibble. I tossed her the wineskin.
    “This is not easy,” she said.
    “No.” I watched as she drank.
    “I am not used to this.”
    I said again, “No, but these are strange times and we must adapt to them if we are to survive.”
    She looked at me then and asked, “Shall we?”
    “Whilst I live,” I said, “no harm shall come you.”
    “And Chorym; my mother?” Her pretty face grew troubled. “Chaldor?”
    I felt suddenly awkward. “Did Ryadne … your mother … not explain?”
    Ellyn nodded. “But I’d hear it from you.”
    “Why?” I asked.
    “Because you’re a soldier. Because my mother trusts you—as did my father.”
    Her voice had grown small, and when I looked at her, I saw tears slowly traverse her cheeks. Bereft of her arrogance, her haughtiness, she seemed very young. I said, “Talan brings all the might of Danant against us. He defeated us—thanks to his Vachyn sorcerer—on the plain before the Darach Pass. He slew your father and is bent on conquering the Bright Kingdom. He’ll land his army and bring it against Chorym, and I think the city shall fall.”
    I might have put it softer, smoother, but such tact is not the Devyn way, and in my clan we believe that a child is best taught the hard lessons early. Also, I’d no wish that Ellyn perceive this journey of ours as some casual pleasure trip, an outing on which she might behave as she chose. I had sooner she know and accept the reality early, that our journeying be easier.
    Even so, I regretted the flood of tears my words elicited.
    “And Mother shall die, no?”
    “She’ll not wed Talan,” I said.
    “Mother said he’d have her; or me.”
    “He’ll have neither.”
    She swung her head to face me. Her eyes were red now,her cheeks all silvery with tears. “Because Mother will die before he can?”
    I nodded.
    “And me?”
    “Not while I live,” I said.
    Ellyn’s laughter came strange and shrill. Both horses started at the sound.
    “Why not? You don’t even like me.”
    “I gave my word,” I said. “Andur was my sworn liege lord, and I gave my word to Ryadne.”
    “And so you’d die for me?”
    “For you and Chaldor.”
    “But you’re a mercenary. You’re a Devyn clansman. A …”
    “Hire-sword?” I finished for her. “Yes; I am. But I hired my blade to Andur, and swore then to defend Chaldor—and I do not break my word, Ellyn.”
    “Even though it might cost you your life? Even though Talan shall hunt us? And you might win great wealth by handing me to him?”
    “You don’t understand.”
    “I’m trying to.”
    “Then know this: Yes, I could give you to Talan and ride away