The Kingdom - 01

Chapter One
In Which Maid Loren of Thornfield is Accosted by Outlaws on Her Homecoming

The forests of Norwood were thick and its paths long and winding, and were said to be impenetrable except to those who have already traveled through it before. It was fraught with dangers— wild beasts and poisonous shrubs, and trees so tall they blot out the moon and even the sun save at midday, so that it was easy to get lost and impossible to find your way at night. And in the days after the Siege of Norland but before the Reclamation, there was an added threat: an encounter with the Dissenters, who were violent, skilled swordsmen, former soldiers turned outlaws, common bandits now robbing the nobles and tradesmen who passed through the forest, which was the only way to get to the northern province. For Norland suffers, or is protected by, depending on how one would look at it, a peculiar geography. It is bordered by tall, treacherous, impassable mountains on two opposite sides, the sea on one, and the formidable Norwood on the other. Such were the discouragements from inhabiting the place, on top of the cold northern climate, but the rewards for conquering these hazards were well worth the trouble and risk. The mountains held mines rich in precious stones and metals, and the land was immensely fertile. It is said that one of the mountains bordering the valley was once a volcano, the eruptions of which during ancient times made the soil in the surrounding lands high-yielding. As a result, the province had always been affluent, with a bustling economy that was self-sustaining and at the same time profited from the outside trade that persisted despite the obstacles.

Maid Loren of Thornfield, who now travels alone on horseback through Norwood, was remembering these facts as the reasons her father’s ancestors chose the region well over a hundred years ago, when the then new King, having just conquered what now comprised the Kingdom, had given them the choice of an estate. The Noble House of Thornton, which had served the King well and loyally, and besides were akin to the royal line though distantly, was awarded prime holdings in the province. The estate, which they named Thornfield, was Loren’s ancestral land and home.

Her home, which she hadn’t seen in almost a decade. Had it changed as much as the forest paths she once knew so well? The paths, once well tread by tradesmen’s feet and wheels, were now thin from underuse, and threatened to disappear into the moss. She had planned on continuing on her journey even at night, but found that she couldn’t, for the paths were impossible to follow by the meagre moonlight that seeped through the treetops. On her first night in the forest she persisted, but promptly lost her way; she had given up and waited for daylight before she tried to find her way again. The slow progress had made her anxious. The longer her journey took, the greater the risk of an encounter with the Dissenters. Though she was confident she could defend herself, lone travellers were easy prey for forest bandits, and a lone female traveller with a strong, young horse was doubly attractive to brigands.

She had tried to make as little noise as possible, and so had ridden at the quietest workable pace. She was wearing clothing that concealed, as much as possible, the fact that she was a woman, even though that meant wearing a man's breeches and loose shirt. She was no stranger to them, having foregone skirts for practicality’s sake whilst she was abroad. She smiled as she imagined her sister Sara’s face when she arrived at Thornfield in men’s clothes. Her genteel elder sister would blanch at the impropriety, and then ask her to describe what it felt like.

The trees rustled unnaturally nearby, bringing her mind back to the present moment. Finally, she thought. They had been following her all day, but she hadn't noticed them since noon. Perhaps they had just returned from luncheon, she joked to herself. She was in a rather spacious area of the forest when they started following her. Now that the path was narrowing and the trees were getting closer together, the Dissenters must be getting ready to make their move where it would be harder for her to get away. This was the last patch of thick forest before the woods thinned out again and finally receded into Norland. It was rather unwise for them to make their attack so close to the edge of Norwood, but she supposed they had no choice. She was sure they hadn't detected her presence in the forest until that morning. She smiled inwardly at her stealth. She had been taught well and had learned well.

At that point she cut her thoughts, as this was not the time for self-congratulation. Besides, had she really mastered surreptitious passage through hostile territory the Dissenters wouldn’t have been aware of her presence at all. Their footsteps were getting closer and more urgent. She could either stop her horse now and wait for them to come out from the cover of the trees, or keep on with her journey and pretend to be unaware of them, until they blocked her way. What were the chances that they would consider the proximity to Norland's outer villages too risky and let her pass without incident? Close to nil, she thought, especially with a strong young horse as an attraction, aside from whatever coin she carried. Still, she didn't stop. She was an optimist.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to dismount, sir." A lone man came out from behind the trees and stood blocking the narrow path. He was tall and lean, and wore a hood that shadowed half of his face.

She tugged at the reins for her horse to stop, and lowered her voice to mask it. "And why would I do that?"

"Because my men surround you at all sides from the trees and are ready to shoot you and your horse at my signal, so you must do as I say."

"I see no men. What a fool I should feel if I do as you say against my will, and it turned out you were alone after all."

A glint of steel she knew he deliberately let her see flashed for a fraction of a second. "I’ve no patience right now for verbal sparring. You know I am not alone or you would have ridden on past me, without giving me heed. You know we'll have to do this quickly as you're so nearly out of the forest. You also know we've been following you all day. You even know we left you for a little while and have only just got back."

"I was beginning to miss your little escort service," she said dryly.

"Now you listen,” said he in a warning tone. “We are rebels against the House of Stewards, which the usurper of Norland—“ At this his face carried a brief, subtle flicker of enmity. “—supports, and which taxes the people of Norland dry. You will tell me who you are and what your business is in this country and we will assess your belongings, and from this information a fair amount of tax of our own will be collected. I can tell you now that your horse will do well at a farm, if we can find no use of our own for it, as I'm sure you can finish the rest of your journey on foot.” He looked her up and down and added, “Though you are a rather wiry specimen of youth."

Strangely, Loren felt something familiar in the way the man had stood on the path, and now in the way that he moved as he spoke. There was even something familiar in his voice, though from what she could make out she had never met this man. She raised her chin in defiance. "My name and my business are none of yours, as are my belongings. And who is to determine what is a 'fair' amount of toll? You, who threaten me with a blade, or your men, who hold arrows over my head?"

"I didn't say you had a choice in the matter," said the man. "Dismount."

Slowly, she did as he demanded. Two more men stepped out of the trees, but she caught more movement in the woods out of the corner of her eye.

"If you co-operate fully, you will not be harmed and we will send you on your merry way." The hooded man made a gesture with his index and middle fingers as if they were legs running away, and smiled wryly as he spoke, while his men searched through the packs hanging from the saddle of her horse. They found her purse and counted out the silver and gold.

Hood approached her and gave her a curious look. "You know, you're a little young, and small. Are you sure you don't want to tell us your name and business here? It might make us… sympathetic." She must look odd to him; A man of small frame, wearing soldier's clothing that was too loose, and a bulky hat that wrapped his head, making it look abnormally big. She looked like a large-headed teenage boy in his father's clothes. The peculiar hat was the only way she could conceal her long, braided hair. She didn't want to cut it in the style of a man's; She didn't want to shock her sister too much, and besides it would be easier to move around Thornfield without the stares of servants and villagers—stares that would be drawn by a lady that carried the disgrace of having short hair.

As he circled her, observing her strange appearance, she grew irate at his impertinence. "The Lord of Norland is loyal to the King," she told him in a carefully controlled voice, turning her head so she could face him. "He would never support the House of Stewards."

Hood raised his eyebrows. "Really? And how would you know this?"

Loren didn't answer. It was a mistake to have said what she did, but she couldn't stand having the Lord of Norland called a traitor.

"Do you know the 'Lord of Norland'?" asked Hood, pronouncing the title in a mocking tone. "Are you acquainted with him?” More of the men stepped out from the trees, curious to listen to this exchange. “Is he a friend of yours?”

Loren seethed inside. The nerve of this man and his followers, the utter insolence! From the look of their build and stance, the talk of the Dissenters being ex-soldiers was true. The perfidy of their abandonment of the Lord of Norland when he needed them most, and now the mockery they made of him, using a lie to justify their unwarranted control of the forest, infuriated her and fuelled a rush of adrenaline.

The same anger seemed to fill Hood's face. He seized her by the arm, and hissed, "Your name and business, boy!"

Loren took her chance. She delivered a heavy chop to a pressure point on his neck with the side of her hand, and in his momentary disability she pulled his sword from its sheath, and held its tip to his throat as he fell to his knees. His men started to make a move when she first hit him, and then froze when they saw she held their leader at swordpoint by the neck and a twisted elbow. "Tell your men to return my coins—every piece—and my horse, and let me go." When he didn't say a word, she pressed the tip of the sword to his skin so that a few droplets of blood started to form.

She shouted in her deadliest, gnarliest voice to the men surrounding them. "You are to leave my purse and my horse and retreat far into the trees, until I can no longer hear even the slightest rustle of your movements! Or I shall slit your leader's throat right here!"

The men who had shown themselves started to back off, even as Loren feared Hood was too big and strong for her and could overpower her easily. She counted on his archers being poor marksmen who would be too afraid of accidentally shooting him instead of her to release their bows. On both counts she lost; She heard the zoom of an arrow aimed at her back and moved to avoid it, but not quickly enough. In that second of distraction, he escaped from her grip and elbowed her to the ground.

She fell on her back and felt his forearm bear down on her chest so she couldn't move and couldn't draw air. He held his sword at her throat but didn't cut it. Instead, his eyes widened in astonished disbelief. She was choking from the weight and force of his arm. She didn't notice that the arrow had hit her hat instead of her back, sliced her hat in two, and caused it to fall from her head. Her long tresses, piled inside the hat, cushioned her head from a deadly blow, but were chopped in the process. Her dark chestnut-coloured hair splayed in an uneven, chin-length cut that framed her face, softening her features even as she glared daggers at him. At this close angle, the femininity of her face, which she had disguised with patches of dirt, was striking—the long lashes at her eyelids, the high bone structure and the fullness of her cheeks, her gently rounded forehead, the delicate, gentle curve of her jaw line—and if that didn't convince him, there was the unmistakable softness on which his forearm was pressing to hold her down. He looked at her face again, more carefully, and her eyes looked wildly back at this clearer, unobstructed view of him. A jolt of surprise hit both of them at the same time, as recognition formed simultaneously in their minds.

In his astonishment, she was able to bring up her leg and kick him hard on the back of the head. He released her, his hand reflexively flying up to rest on where she had hit him. She sat up, gasping for breath. They turned to look at each other. "My lady!" he exclaimed, just as she herself exclaimed, "My lord!"