The Pain of Compassion

by Roland Boykin

  Moonlight gazed up into his eyes with such intensity that, for the first time, he felt a presence in his mind not his own. Compassion and encouragement slowly filled an empty space inside of him he never knew existed. Navon returned her look, hoping she could feel the gratitude and affection he felt for her.

  “Altair believed in me, my mother believed in me, and now you,” he said aloud and turned back to the clearing. “Maybe it is time to start believing in myself.”

  That said, he pulled out his sword and resolutely stepped forward onto the paved road, Moonlight close by his side. When the last hair on her tail passed the line of the boundary there was an intense flash of light, and the entire clearing, including the young man and the wolf, was gone. The forest re-appeared as if nothing else had ever been there.

  Thunder Dancer and Shadow huddled together in terror until their eyes adjusted to the darkness of the forest. As soon as they were able, they raced back down the path, howling in misery, convinced their sister was lost forever.

  * **

  Far to the west, on the coast of Marlinor, sat the bustling city of New Bratan. The Capitol enclosed the mouth of the White Feather River where it ended its long journey from the farthest reaches of the interior. Not only did the city enjoy the advantage of a thriving river trade, it also oversaw the largest natural harbor on the west coast. The Bay of Salia provided shelter from the fierce storms that blew out of the north, and being the homeport of the King’s Navy, it was a safe haven from pirates.

  The King’s Palace overlooked the entire bay, and for several miles in all directions from a position atop a point of land at the north end of the bay. Designed by men and built by ogres, it was sometimes referred to as the Iron Fortress and had never been conquered by any enemy.

  In a small chamber, adjacent to the Royal Audience Chamber, King Charles d’Rodare met with his Council of Dukes.

  “Today, my friends, marks a turning point in the history of our country. Duke d’Lorange has worked tirelessly on my behalf these last several weeks negotiating with the Queen of Dahlian to secure a lasting peace between our two nations.”

  The King then passed the golden Cup of Truth to his closest friend and advisor seated to his right at the round council table. Tradition held that in council, only the person holding the Cup was allowed to speak, and they must speak the truth.

  “Marcus, if you will.”

  “Thank you, Majesty. As you all know, we have been at war with the nation of Dahlian for as long as anyone can remember.” He paused for a moment to make sure he had the attention of the other Dukes, and then continued. “What has it gained any of us? We have all lost family members to a useless war that has proved nothing. We finally have the opportunity to end this conflict now and forever. The Queen of Dahlian has agreed to the betrothal of her youngest daughter, Princess Sofia, to King Charles’ son, Prince Mathias.”

  Duke Anthony Strumant pushed back his chair, almost knocking it over, and stood to his full height. With a face that appeared carved in stone, he stared at the King, and then leaned forward with his knuckles on the table.

  “Majesty, this is preposterous. There can never be peace with those witches.” He continued through clenched teeth, “Why wasn’t I consulted on these negotiations?”

  The King, equal in stature to the Duke, was not intimidated and calmly answered as Marcus returned the Cup. “Sit down, Anthony. You have made your views perfectly clear in the past, and even though we all held similar views, it is time for change. I believe you will also find that this treaty will open up a whole new market of eligible young men for those daughters of yours.”

  With a harrumph, the Duke re-seated himself at the table, ignoring the smiles of the others. “Very well. But would someone please enlighten me as to the additional benefits of such a union.”

  Benjamin al’Fortuna, the Eastern Duke, signaled for the Cup. He had been quiet up to this point, but began to tick off points on his fingers.

  “One. Our trade, especially through your port here in New Bratan, will certainly double or more. Two. While we have been fighting each other for control of the Straits of Durmont, Rogosh the Pirate has been stealing us blind. Our combined Navies should be able to send him packing back to his island and keep him there. And finally, though I have been unable to substantiate this, rumors from the east say the Elders are upset about something and coming out of their seclusion in the mountains.”

  Duke Strumant, still ignoring the Cup, glared at everyone seated there. “I will agree that your first two points would be a great benefit to our country if we can trust the Dahlians that far. What I do not understand, Benjamin, is why we should be concerned by rumors of the non-humans?”

  “Anthony, my old friend, it is not the Elders we should be concerned about. It is what they are telling the people. They say the Ancient One has warned them the Scarred Mage has become more powerful than he was before, and is once again threatening our lands. My friends, we all remember the tales of the massive destruction and loss of life caused by the Dark Lord. There are no more Deluti left in this world to protect us if he is truly still alive. The combined armies of our two countries may not be enough to save us.”

  A dark, foreboding silence fell among those at the table as childhood memories played out in their minds. Memories of great-grandparents who struggled to convey the horrors passed on from their ancestors who survived the Deluti War. One by one, each man raised his head to face his King.

  The Cup of Truth already before him, King Charles took a moment to collect his thoughts before he answered the questioning looks of his Dukes. “My friends, this is dire news indeed, if true. However, before we become overly concerned, I feel we should take the time to ascertain the validity of these rumors. Benjamin, I must ask that you return to the east and personally visit your Barons to gather whatever information you can. It would be preferable if you could speak directly with one of the Elders. In the meantime, Marcus, if you would be so kind, I want the proclamation sent out to announce the upcoming betrothal, and individual invitations sent to all the Barons requesting they attend the formal banquet.”

  The King stood up from the table with the Cup held before him and continued with a smile. “It will take an ogre appearing at court to personally convey the truth before I will believe that the Ancient One or his brother is still alive after all these years.”

  As the others rose from their seats, he bid them a good day. “May the Eyes watch over us, my friends.”

  ***

  In a secret room, deep within the Duke’s mansion, there hung a special mirror. This mirror, however, did not reflect a person’s image. A single large feline eye, the vertical pupil surrounded by a dark red iris, filled the mirror. No matter where the Duke stood in the room, the eye always appeared to be staring right at him, even though he had never seen it move.

  The eye in the mirror was not the reason for his unease. The image that would replace the eye, when he uttered the words of calling, still turned the blood in his veins to ice. The memory of that first contact, over a year ago, remained branded in his mind with fire and pain.

  A voice in his head woke him from a deep sleep. It commanded he arise and follow its direction. When he tried to ignore it, pain such as he had never felt before forced him to obey. The voice then directed the Duke to a door hidden behind a tapestry inside his office. It guided him through a series of secret locks that opened the door to the mirror room.

  The moment he opened the door and spoke the words forced out of his mouth, a hideous, scarred face replaced the eye, and took him, mind, body and soul. All of his memories, emotions and plans paraded past the edge of his awareness as the Dark Lord sifted through them. After an eternity, the image in the mirror released him and spoke for the first time.

  “ I am Scorpios, your new lord and master. You may continue your plans to usurp the Crown, I care not, but you will do and say what I tell you or the pain you experienced earlier will become a fond memory.”

 
The Duke took pride in his ability to not show fear, but was unable to prevent the beads of sweat that formed on his brow in anticipation of this meeting. He had learned long ago not to lower his eyes in the presence of his master, so he kept his eyes fixed on the mirror as he spoke the words of calling.

  The scarred face of his master appeared to be distracted before those hate filled eyes locked onto his. “Ah, my little Duke, the would-be King, what have you to report?”

  “The terms of the betrothal were agreed upon by both rulers, and Princess Sofia will leave the Rose Palace in the morning along with the chest you required. They should arrive here in the Capitol within the week depending on the weather in the Straits. Also, just as you foresaw, the boy was driven from his home by his father, but the men I hired to capture him have not reported back. I must believe they have failed.”

  On anyone else, the smile that appeared on the face in the mirror would have given the Duke some hope. The cruelty of that smile convinced him that the Dark Lord was aware of his heightened fear, imagining the punishment he would receive for his failure. The smile widened, confirming his fear.

  “Fear not, my little would-be King. Your men were never more than a diversion to set up the boy for the real abduction. I have a team planted in the village that will accomplish the task. I expect to hear of their success very soon. However, I suggest that in the future, you hire men with more intelligence to accomplish any task that I have set before you.”

  The Duke knew this to be more than a suggestion, and could only nod. “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Now, no one there will be able to open the jeweled chest that the Princess is delivering, so I will send someone to you who will open it and remove the item inside. He will replace it with something dear to the King. My man will remove the hidden locks so the King will be able to open it himself at a ceremony you will arrange.”

  Once again, that smile twisted the face in the mirror. “What the King discovers inside the box will guarantee your needed diversion as he initiates another war with Dahlian. Plan wisely, my little Duke. I am sure my brother is aware of your ambition and is watching.”

  Chapter Six ~ Death of a Princess

  “Ronald, whoever planned this ambush must have given orders to leave none alive. I know my sister Darnelle is ambitious, but this seems above what even she is capable of. It appears I have even more reason to leave the country now. The men who escaped will report that the Princess and the Lieutenant survived, therefore we must effectively disappear.”

  “And how do you plan to accomplish that, Princess?” he asked around a mouthful of stew.

  Sofia chose to ignore the sarcasm in the lieutenant’s voice as she continued. “You and I will become successful caravan guards, mercenaries if you will. I’m sorry, Ronald, but everything that has a Palace mark on it will have to be left behind. Choose the best armor and weapons from amongst the attackers to replace your own. I have already made certain that the weapons I carry bear no markings, and in this outfit I look nothing like a princess.”

  After a quick glance up at the Princess, he shook his head. “Your hair.”

  “What?”

  “Princess, you could be dressed in sackcloth, but with your face and that hair, someone will recognize you. We can’t do anything about your face, but something will have to be done about your hair.”

  Mind racing, the Princess scanned the clearing for something, anything she could use. With a slight smile, she began to braid her hair and loop it around her head. She picked up Gilfor’s discarded helm and set it on her head, covering her hair.

  Ronald nodded in approval, and then scooped up some ashes from the fire. Dipping a fingertip in the ashes, he gently smeared a small amount onto her eyebrows, then stood back and smiled.

  Sofia regarded the lieutenant with suspicion. “Now what?”

  “Well, every good merc has a nick-name. I think yours should be Surly Sofia.”

  “Ha ha, very funny. Now get busy, Ronald the Wretched, we’re wasting time.”

  With a chuckle, he began unbuckling his armor and headed for the line of corpses. Looking down at the bodies of his men, he felt a surge of sorrow, regret, and anger. This was supposed to have been a mission of honor, not a rendezvous with death. He was proud of them, especially since there were twice as many dead attackers. His men had acquitted themselves well.

  Sofia scooped up the last of the stew into a bowl and brought it over to the young guardsman. “Here, eat this and then rest. I need you strong enough to ride. Your mission is just as important as ours. The Queen’s life may be at stake.”

  Gilfor’s voice already sounded stronger. “Just tell me what to do, Your Highness. I won’t fail you.”

  “Will anyone in Kiplar recognize you if you go there?” Gilfor shook his head no and continued to eat. “Good, this is what you will do.”

  ***

  The sounds of the galloping horses and the spinning coach wheels were like thunder in Floanne’s ears. From the moment the coach lurched forward and slammed her against the leg of the rear bench, she had held on to that leg with all of her strength, unable to let go. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears formed a puddle under her face.

  Before she left the Palace with the Princess, she had never moved any faster than her feet could take her. Riding in the coach had been so exciting, and the speed at which they traveled took her breath away. Now, the one glimpse Floanne had dared through the wildly swinging coach door made her squeeze her eyes even tighter.

  She repeated the words of her mistress over and over in her mind. “I will let nothing harm you, Floanne.” The Princess must still be alive. Somehow, Floanne understood their lives were now tied together, and could sense her mistress. But would the Princess be able to catch up in time to protect her from these terrible men? What did they want?

  After what felt like hours, she heard one of the riders outside yell. “Slow down! There is a farmhouse ahead where we can hide the coach.”

  The thunder diminished to a low rumble as the coach slowed, then swerved off of the main road. They came to a stop as she heard the creaking of rusted hinges, then moved again into darkness. The coach leaned to one side as the driver climbed down.

  “You two find a lantern and give us some light. Take two of the horses from the coach and hitch them up to the wagon that should be here. The sooner we find that jeweled chest, get it loaded in the wagon and leave, the happier I will be.”

  “Eric, what about the Princess’ jewels?”

  “You fool. What would you do with them? Who do you know with enough gold to buy them who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you to get his gold back? Just leave them. They are not for the likes of you or me.”

  Having completed the task of hitching up the wagon, one of the attackers went to look inside the coach while Eric searched the large travel chests strapped to the top. The first thing he saw upon opening the door was a pair of bare white legs.

  “Well, well, well…. Eric, looks like I found something better than jewels. The only thing I like better than a good fight, is an unwilling wench.”

  Eric, jeweled chest under one arm, climbed down and glanced inside the coach. “Keep your britches tied up, Bron. I want to be gone from this place now. She’s just the Princess’s hand maiden and worth nothing. Kill her.”

  “Eric wait,” the youngest of the three spoke up. “I enjoy killing someone who has raised his sword against me, but I don’t like to kill for no reason. Besides, she is worth considerably more than you think. I know a man in Whitecliff who will pay a lot for a virgin.”

  The silence stretched as Floanne’s fate hung in the balance. Eric quickly took the measure of the defiant young man, and decided that now was not the time to test him.

  “Since you are new to the group, Harlo, I’ll let that slide for now. However, the next time I tell you to kill someone, I will expect immediate obedience. Do you understand me?”

  The young man’s eyes never left the face of his leader as he nodded once. Harlo ha
d his own plans, and they did not include the other two men. He ignored the look of un-disguised lust on Bron’s face as he brushed by and gently pried the young woman’s fingers from the bench leg. He carried the maid, unresisting, over to the wagon and laid her inside. His Master had foreseen Princess Darnelle would try to double-cross him and keep the chest for herself. It did not concern him whether the Princess received the jeweled chest now. The item they all wanted was no longer inside. Somehow, Princess Sofia and her hand maiden had removed the item from the chest and hid it in the skirts of this young woman. He could sense the power within the item, but his Master had warned of the consequences were he to touch it.

  Floanne made no effort to struggle, or make any sound. From the moment she heard Eric say “Kill her”, her consciousness fled to a far corner of her mind where it huddled and wept, repeating over and over, “Princess, help me.”

  ***

  Gilfor left on his way back to Kiplar with instructions to contact the old arms-master, Master Horshall, and tell him everything. Dressed in the Lieutenant’s armor, he would not stop until just outside of the Royal City. There he would discard the armor and royal trappings. The uniform should prevent anyone from impeding his progress, and spread rumors of a Lieutenant of the Palace guard racing back to the Palace alone.

  Sofia and Ronald left the clearing soon after, dressed as merchant guards with serviceable, but unmarked armor and weapons. The only exception being Ronald’s sword. They would claim it was a gift from a wealthy merchant. In fact, that wasn’t far from the truth since it had been a gift from his father.

  They had been on the road for over an hour, alternating the gait of the horses so as not to harm them. Another hour and they would switch to the backup horses. The slow, steady pace chaffed at Sofia like an ill fitted breastplate, but she knew better than to abuse the horses. Her anger continued to burn its way to the surface and push for more speed. Added to that, the overwhelming compulsion to find Floanne, both confused and frightened her with its intensity.