“Milady. It warms me to see you well.”
Phaera took in Kort’s emaciated state and the pain etched on his face. She sat in the chair next to him and seized his hand in both of hers. When Kort winced she quickly loosened her grip but did not let go. “But you are not well, my friend.” A closer look showed her swollen knuckles and cracked, reddened skin. “When we are finished here I will tend to your pain. You may tell me more about that in private.”
“I have no wish to speak of myself when so many have suffered more.”
“Yet, you shall. I insist.”
Kort rewarded her with a wan smile.
Raskir cleared his throat.
Phaera let go Kort’s hand, giving Raskir a nod of confirmation.
“We have business to discuss,” Raskir began. “Kort has not relayed all of his news to me, asking that he need only tell it once to all of us together.” Raskir turned to Kort. “You have our attention, sir.”
Kort took a big gulp from the goblet of wine in front of him, his hands shaking. “You have spies in the castle – at least one, likely more.”
Raskir interrupted him. “Yes we have discovered one already. Or rather Lady Phaera did. He is dead.”
A look of profound relief swept over Kort. “That is well. But there may be more, both inside and outside the castle. I am glad to see you both so well guarded.” He met the eyes of Phaera and Lady Flor in turn.
He shifted in his chair with a wince of pain. “I have sent out men and they have spread into both Exalon and Belthorn. Several have already given their lives.” He ran a hand over his eyes, heaving a great sigh. “Others have brought information. I have already told you the first. Mathune appears to have left Belthorn. Some say he is in Exalon but no one knows for certain. Knowing his need for revenge on you, Lady Phaera, I beg you to take extra care. Some rumours have him already here, in Marsten.”
Phaera felt a chill down her spine and could not prevent a visible shudder.
“In both Belthorn and especially in Exalon he has men in plain dress killing, stealing, and raping at will. No one is spared. There is no one to stop them. Freaks, like the crippled, slow-witted and ... my kind … have been targeted. Many have died under torture. Exalon is under a state of siege. Women and children huddle in their dwellings. Men are accosted and killed in the streets for no reason we can know. Mathune’s thugs demand that people inform on their families and friends. Those who refuse do not make it home. They are left in the streets as warnings, to be discovered. These things are also happening more and more in Belthorn.”
Kort turned to Raskir. “Captain, Mathune does not conduct warfare in the traditional ways. He sends no troops to fight other troops. He cannot be bested on the battlefield. There is no battlefield as we know it. He fights by stealth and deception.”
Raskir looked grim but kept silent.
After Kort had answered more questions and filled in more details Phaera declared, “We have much to think about. But there is nothing to be done that cannot wait until after dinner. Kort, here, needs my attention. I suggest we all meet here again over dinner to discuss plans.”
Lady Flor, who had not spoken, rose hurriedly. “Yes, I shall have the meal served in here.” Her face lost a little of the pallor it had taken on during the Kort’s tale. “I think this is all we can comprehend for now.”
Raskir rose as well. “Agreed, Milady.”
Phaera reached out to support Kort, who failed to hide his pain, in spite of a visible effort, as he tried to lever himself out of his chair.
“Come. You will have some relief before we meet tonight, I promise.” She debated with herself whether to take him to her chamber, which was closer, or her new apothecary where she had more supplies, minimal as they still were. “Are you able to walk with me a way?”
“Of course, Milady.” His gasp as he had risen from the chair betrayed the brave tone but he managed to remain upright and put one foot ahead of the other.
“Lean on me, then.” To argue with him would have embarrassed him.
“Milady…”
“Do not try to speak yet. You need your strength until we get to my apothecary. I will tend to you first. Then we will speak.” She looked back to make sure her two guards followed behind. Somehow they were more welcome than before.
A low moan of agreement was Kort’s only response.
Their progress was slow but Kort did not ask for rest and Phaera left him his pride. Once inside she helped him sink into one of her two chairs, placing one cushion under him and another behind his back. Though she could have helped him lie on the table she decided against it. He would feel freer to speak if they were face to face, even though the table might offer more comfort. He had earned that bit of dignity.
“Rest, Kort, while I brew a tea to help with your pain. Take time to collect your thoughts.” Phaera looked out the barred window in the door to make sure the guards were alert, then closed the shutter she had had installed there for privacy. As she waited for the water to boil on the brazier that was kept hot during the daytime, she took the candle she kept lit at all times from its sconce in the wall and used it to light her two lamps. The new light banished the shadows and eased some of her tension. A look at Kort, head lolling to his chest, told her he had fallen asleep. Good, I can use the time to prepare some dressings and heat more water to clean his wounds and examine them. A sudden thought made her halt. Have they castrated him? Might that be what causes him such pain? She shook the thought away just as quickly. Had that happened he would not be alive now.
As soon as she had arranged her supplies she set the other chair opposite Kort, sat facing him, and began to examine him with mostly her eyes, only gently lifting edges of clothing away to check for bruises or other injuries. It became clear that he had lived rough and eaten far too little. His skin, between the bruises, was loose and dry, with little muscle underneath. She suspected his elbows and knees would be as swollen as his hands, and just as painful. Had he lived on no more than water?
She rose, drew back the shutter, and spoke quietly to one of the guards. “Find someone to fetch bone broth from the kitchen. And soft bread and honey.”
“Yes, Milady.”
She listened to his footsteps echo until he reached the end of the hall, then low voices, and his returning footsteps. Why do I feel afraid? Nothing has changed here. But it had. She knew it deep inside. No one was safe anymore. Are you safe, Bain? Papa? Would Kort know anything about them?
Kort let out a loud snore, which seemed to waken him, then groaned as he tried to lift his head. Phaera took the cup of willow bark tea over. She held it to his lips with one hand as she supported his head with her other. “Drink this. It will relieve some of the pain. I have bone broth coming.”
Kort grimaced at the bitterness of the tea in spite of the liberal amount of honey Phaera had stirred into it, but drank it all. Just as he finished Phaera heard female steps approaching. “That will be your broth.” She set down the cup and took out her key to open the door. She sniffed the contents of the bowl as she took it from the maid. “Thank you. You may go”
She sniffed the broth again. I must be becoming spooked. It smelled fine but she dipped the end of her forefinger into it and licked off a drop. Finding no signs of poison she took it to Kort. “Here, this will help you get back some strength.” When Kort tried to take the cup from her she placed her hands over his to steady them. He drank it eagerly.
Phaera set the empty cup down, broke some bites from the soft, fresh, bread, removed the crust, and dipped it into the honey before feeding it to him. After several moments she could already see Kort’s colour improve and his eyes showed more life.
“Thank you, Milady.”
“Kort, it looks like you have not eaten well in some time. Your body is covered with bruises and your joints are swollen. A few more days and I fear you would have been beyond my ministrations. Can you tell me what has happened to bring you to such a state? These bruises are not from blows.”<
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Kort met her eyes, not making any attempt to hide the sorrow there. “I have had to flee the company of others, Milady. I have hidden in the forest. Only a very few trusted friends knew how to find me. They brought some food when they could but …” A single tear slipped over his left lid and made a slow track down his cheek. “So many of them dead, Milady. Mathune and his men hunt us like animals. Most who still live have gone into the forests as I had to do. We are not trained to know what is safe to eat. Some die from starvation, others from poisoned plants.”
Phaera took his hands in hers, taking care not to squeeze too hard. “Oh, my dear friend. This is horror. But you are safe here. I am glad you have returned alive and I am able to see to your recovery.”
“Milady, there is rumour. I cannot confirm it. But I have heard that Lord Bain has discovered Mathune’s tactics and ordered his men to pair off without uniforms and infiltrate Exalon in secret. At the last word he is still safe.”
“Kort, have you heard if anyone has been able to reach Lords Makin and Danza with this news? If they remain in armed formations, as they were, it gives the advantage to Mathune. He expects us to follow the rules of war while he does not.”
“I cannot say for certain, Milady. Some of my band have tried to get word to them. I do not know if they succeeded. I will set out tomorrow again to get through with that information. That is my next mission.”
“You will do nothing of the kind. I will not allow you to leave until you have your strength back.”
Kort smiled his gratitude but shook his head. “There is no time, Milady. I must.”
“No, we will find another way. You have served us beyond duty. And if you leave before you are well you will never reach your destination. When we meet at dinner with Raskir we will find another way.” She rose to stand beside Kort’s chair so she could help him up. “Now, let us return and find you a chamber with a soft bed where you may sleep for a short while.”
Kort made no protest.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE INN
Mag had welcomed Bain and Jessin’s protective presence for the night but knew little more than what she had already told Bain the evening before. He did glean from her where in the city he would most likely find some of Mathune’s men. Rumour had it that they favoured two of the largest inns.
“I think his men have likely taken over these inns entirely,” Mag said they are close together. We will seek them out there.”
Jessin looked dubious. “But Milord, that might be a trap. Even if it is not, surely we will be discovered and killed. You are Lord Makin’s heir. You must not risk your life so readily.”
“That is so, Jessin, but,” Bain jerked his head slightly to the right and behind him, “do you not see those two men in conversation in front of that shop?”
“Yes.”
“And those shadows receding into that alley?”
Jessin looked puzzled. “Yes, but…”
“Do not look closer, but all four are our men. That you did not recognize them shows how well they have kept hidden. I have spotted them, and others, now and then. They search for Mathune, yes, but also keep track of our movements.”
Jessin’s eyes widened. “I ought to have recognized them, too, Milord.”
Bain chuckled. “No, Jessin. Two of them are scouts, trained to hide in plain sight. The other two are seasoned soldiers - under orders to stay hidden where possible. You are well trained in weapons but these tactics take years to master.”
In spite of the reassurance Jessin looked unhappy. “Are there more we have not seen, Milord?”
“I have not seen more but I suspect Reynce is not far. While I gave orders to disperse I am certain he has higher orders from Lord Makin that I am to be protected at all costs. I do not doubt he is nearby.”
Jessin looked relieved and seemed about to speak, then change his mind. After walking in silence for several minutes he ventured, “I must be more observant.”
The idea that he needed such protection rankled Bain but he knew better than to think it unwise. I must live to produce an heir. He pushed a worry about Phaera aside as they approached the street where the first inn stood, and slowed his pace. “We will enter as mercenaries wishing to join Mathune. They will not question our swords, then. We will say we have heard of his power and know he is the man to back.” When Jessin gave him a startled look he added, “You are my man. Follow my lead and do not speak unless necessary. You will call me Krell. Do not forget that – Krell.”
“Krell.” Jessin rolled it over his tongue a few times, then squared his shoulders and met Bain’s eyes. “I will not forget.” His voice had taken a new resolve.
Bain strode to the door of the inn with Jessin close behind, pulled it open and boomed, “Is this where two good men may offer their services to Lord Mathune?” He remained limned squarely in the doorway, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other on his hip, and waited. The inn fell silent. All eyes turned in their direction.
Bain gave them a moment. Without taking a step into the inn he swept his left hand toward the men at the tables. “What, have I the wrong inn? Come, who is in charge here? If you have no need of us I shall find another who does.”
A man sitting with his back to the far wall rose with deliberate slowness, leaned forward and placed his palms flat on the table in front of him. “We have no need of more men.” His eyes bore into Bain.
Bain make a quick decision. He gave a mocking laugh. “Ah, then you must be unaware that Makin has troops all over Exalon.” He watched the men exchange glances before turning back to the one who had spoken.
“You lie.” It was a clear challenge.
Bain laughed again. “And you, sir, cannot afford to take that chance.” He did not give the man time to respond. “I know Mathune has this land under control … for now. My man and I wish to see that it remains so.” He gave a loud chuckle. “And we like what we see here.” He grabbed his crotch and thrust his hips forward, catching the eye of a man with a frightened looking young girl on his lap.
A low rumble of laughter ensued but stopped abruptly when the leader slammed a palm loudly onto the table.
“So, do we talk?” Bain planted his feet further apart and thrust his chest forward.
The man at the table had not moved. Now he rose to his full height and folded his arms across his chest, still glowering, eyes narrowed. “Who are you and where are you from?”
Bain took a step into the inn making room for Jessin to edge in behind him. He trusted, without checking, that the men they had seen outside were close at hand and observing. “I am Krell. This is Jessin. We claim no land. We follow fortune.” He swept his free hand over the men again with a wide grin. “And fortune has led us here.” He took another step into the room, allowing for Jessin to stand beside his shoulder. “And how may I address you, sir?” Bain knew he had to let the man understand that he accepted his leadership. He lifted his hand from his sword and placed his hands on his hips, though he remained alert and ready.
“Call me Freskus - Captain Freskus.” A cunning look came over the man’s face. “So, you like ‘em young?” He indicated the man with the girl on his lap. “Take her. Show us how much you enjoy her.” With a sly leer he added, “Gunt, give the wench to our new recruit.”
Gunt scowled but shoved the girl off his lap in Bain’s direction. Bain caught her forearm with one hand and, in the same motion, swung her behind him and out the open doorway. His sword was in his hand before the motion had finished, as was Jessin’s.
As he had hoped the sight of the girl careening out the door with a scream brought four men into the inn, swords drawn.
In the short melee that followed Bain became aware of Reynce fighting back to back with him, though he had no time to wonder how Reynce had managed to position himself so well. When the shouting and clashing of swords ended five of the enemy lay dead or dying. Ten others cowered in the corners. “Freskus” lay pinned on the floor, a sword at his throat, until one
of Bain’s men trussed him up.
Bain looked at a body at his feet and at his bloody sword and realized he had cut the man down - his first kill. Before that could register he noticed two of his own men on the ground. One dead. The other - no – not Jessin!
From what sounded like far away he heard Reynce. “It is over Milord. We are safe.”
It did not fully register. He knelt by Jessin and heard a groan. Alive. The relief was fleeting. A short examination showed him the young man was mortally wounded.
Jessin opened his eyes and smiled as he saw Bain. “Safe, Milord…”
“Yes my friend, we are safe. We have prevailed.”
“Am I … will I …?” Jessin gave a weak cough and bloody foam bubbled over his lips.
From behind Bain felt a hand on his shoulder and recognized Reynce.
Jessin coughed again. “Milord …?”
Bain grasped the young man’s hand in both of his, brought it to his own chest, and shook his head slowly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.
Jessin did not take his eyes form Bain’s face but a look of anguish came into them.
Bain felt a squeeze from the hand on his shoulder and sensed Reynce standing and backing up. He was alone with Jessin. What could he say?
“Jessin, my brave and loyal man. You have saved my life this day. You fought nobly. I shall not soon forget your sacrifice.”
Jessin’s voice grew fainter. “Mamma...? …please…”
“I will tell her of your bravery. She shall have your sword from my own hand. You have my word.”
When Jessin coughed again the blood on his lips was brighter. Bain could see he was near the end. He bent down and put an arm under Jessin’s shoulders. He drew him up, until the young man’s head rested on his chest, and cradled him.
Jessin’s breathing became shallower. Bain held him until, with a last bubbling cough, he went limp in his arms. Bain laid him gently back down. He took out his own handkerchief, tenderly wiped the blood from Jessin’s face, and smoothed back the damp hair from his forehead. He remained kneeling beside the body until Reynce once more placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Altered Destinies- Earth Reborn Page 16
