“Take me back to the tower,” Kestrel told Guardsman Sung, as he let Ashby oversee the water lines.
Minutes later they arrived at the tower, where a pair of guards stood at attention at the door, and allowed them to enter. Inside the room was brightly lit, and Kestrel stopped in the doorway as he looked in astonishment at the sight before him.
Creata and Wren stood side-by-side, their shoulders touching as they leaned over a table and looked at a large parchment spread out on the surface. And next to them, his finger pointing out something on the paper, stood Kestrel’s own body, now occupied by the soul of the prince of Seafare.
Those inside the room looked up, and froze at the sight of the new entrants.
“Sung, you and the others,” Kestrel gestured to a pair of guards also in the room, “leave us now. I want to discuss something with these others in private.”
His eyes remained focused on his own body as the Seafare guards left the room, and closed the door behind him, and then he walked over to the table, examining himself keenly. “You are the prince of this land?” he asked in a neutral tone. Kestrel suddenly felt a surge of jealousy towards the man – the man who was truly engaged to Moorin, the man who was ruler of a nation, the man who possessed his own body.
Ruelin was studying his own body just as closely as Kestrel was. “I am, and I thank you for all that you are doing here. I apologize that I misjudged you so badly when we were in Kirevee, but I was not truly myself,” he spoke warmly to Kestrel. “Despite all the turmoil of this body swap, you’ve made me a better man.”
Kestrel felt his face grow flushed, embarrassed by the generosity of Ruelin’s response compared to his own.
“We’ll work to give you a better city before we get the body swap issue figured out and reversed,” he answered. His eyes flickered towards Creata, and he stepped to the side to embrace his friend in a hug.
“Where’s your sister?” Kestrel asked, looking for Picco.
“The imps took her to the healing spring,” Creata said. “They told us you ordered her to accompany a half-human there. Didn’t you know?”
“Ah,” Kestrel said softly. “She’s there with Moorin.” His eyes flickered towards Ruelin.
“Is Moorin alright? Has she been injured in the conflict here?” the prince asked.
“She suffered some small injuries, but nothing life-threatening. I thought the spring would give her a place to heal and a place to stay safe until we know how things are going to turn out here,” he answered. “I told the imps to give her a companion, Picco, or Alicia or someone else, and apparently they picked Picco.”
“There couldn’t be a more beautiful pair of women together than those two,” Ruelin said.
Kestrel looked at him from the corner of his eye.
“The waters will be good for Picco too,” Wren said switching to elvish, so that she spoke only to Kestrel.
“Why? Is she not feeling well?” Kestrel answered in the same language, wondering what his cousin was hiding from the other two men.
“She feels as well as a pregnant woman can feel on-board a ship,” Wren answered.
“Pregnant?” Kestrel’s voice rose in surprise.
“She hasn’t named the father, but I have my suspicions,” Wren said, “just to warn you.”
“What are you two going on about?” Creata spoke up.
“Just a quick chat,” Wren answered in the human language, then directed the conversation elsewhere. “Ruelin was just showing us the layout of the palace grounds,” she nodded towards the paper on the table.
Kestrel looked down. “Where are the officers’ quarters?” he asked. “We just converted more than a score of the junior officers to our side, and they’re arranging for the enlistment of the rank and file right now on a parade ground close to their quarters.”
“That would be here and here,” Ruelin said, pointing on the chart, and the discussion turned to how many men would be needed to secure the palace grounds.
“There’s something else we have to do,” Kestrel told the group. “Probst said he sent a messenger ship early tonight to call for a huge army from Uniontown to come here. Is there any way to stop that ship at sea?”
“We’ve got our Graylee ship at sea right now,” Creata answered. “We can send directions back to them to divert their course.”
“The ships of Uniontown are recognizable at sea; they’re black hulls with green sails,” Ruelin said.
“If your imps will take me back, I’ll ask the captain to change the ship’s course to try to find the messenger,” Creata volunteered. “And then they can take me on to Graylee, so I can give Philip your news,”
The timing of the sunspots was incredibly lucky in terms of having cleared up, Kestrel thought. The successes of the past few hours were entirely dependent on the assistance of the imps, assistance that had been limited or non-existent just a few days earlier. Thank you, Kere, he said a quick silent prayer.
“Canyon?” Kestrel called into the air, and waited only seconds for the imp to arrive. “Would you escort Lord Creata back to the ship he came from?” Kestrel asked.
“We could have just left him there in the first place,” the imp said petulantly. “But for you, Kestrel friend, we will do this.”
“And take him to Graylee after that?” Kestrel pressed.
“And take him to Graylee after that,” the imp said with a sigh. “But you will owe me time at the healing spring.”
“And you will get it when this event is over,” Kestrel solemnly promised. There were so many different actions taking place simultaneously, and survival depended on them all succeeding, he thought wearily to himself. And even more things would have to go right in the long run, things he hadn’t considered or figured out or even learned about.
“I’m ready to go now,” Creata said. “I’ll be back with news from Graylee in a few hours, I imagine.”
“Tell the captain that I’ll join him on his ship when I can, to help fight the Uniontown ship,” Kestrel told Creata, “and tell Philip I’m sorry I couldn’t leave here to return to Graylee as well.” He placed both his hands around Creata’s as imps appeared and surrounded the Graylee envoy, and squeezed his friend’s hands tight. “We’ve been through a lot already, haven’t we?” he asked.
“You more than the rest of us Kestrel. Take care, my friend,” Creata answered, and then he was gone.
“I’d like to go back to my suite, your suite, in the palace and get my bow,” Kestrel said. “Let’s start walking there and you can tell me what steps you think we need to take tonight.” They left their small conference and rejoined the guards outside, then went back to the residential wing of the palace as Ruelin explained where they needed to send forces and who they needed to give Decimindion’s water to.
“Would Probst have kept any monster lizards at his embassy?” Kestrel asked, thinking of Graylee.
“No, he brought them all here to the palace, I suspect so they could have more influence on my council and the general staff of the guard,” Ruelin replied as they approached the entry to the royal suite, which stood unguarded.
“This is quite an arrangement you have here,” Kestrel said dryly as he cautiously opened the doors. “What are their names?” he asked.
“Girls!” he called as they stood in the doorway.
“Who are you talking to?” Wren asked. “What are you talking about?”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” Ruelin muttered in embarrassment. “The Viathins had me under their spell, and they kept me out of the way of what they wanted to do by keeping me preoccupied with other things.”
There was the sound of multiple doors opening, and women’s heads peeked out, then all the members of the prince’s harem came running down the hallway of the suite and mobbed around Kestrel. “They told us you were dead!” multiple women exclaimed as they hugged him.
Wren looked on in shock, Ruelin in embarrassment, and Kestrel waited, his mind distracted by the voluptuous human anatomy, and
then diverted to wander down a random course to think about Picco, pregnant with his child, the result of the one bittersweet night of abandon they had shared at her family’s empty seaside villa. They had been told there was to be no future between them, and they had cared deeply about one another as friends, and their souls had been stirred by the appearance of the spirit of Picco’s mother, and the thought of her reunion with Picco’s father in the afterlife.
There were consequences to so many actions, Kestrel realized again. He needed to talk to Picco, to understand what she wanted to do, and what they would have to do with and for each other.
And even as he thought about Picco, one of the women of the prince’s harem, determined to get his attention, suddenly placed her lips on his in a passionate kiss of welcome. And at that moment the imps returned to Kestrel, bringing Picco and Moorin back to the palace.
“Kestrel, you goat, take your lips off that woman!” he heard Moorin’s voice speak in elvish, in an angry tone.
“Moorin?” Kestrel turned in a state of discombobulation. “I didn’t think you would come back until the morning!” His eyes looked at her, and saw that she looked healed, and then he looked at Picco, and saw little evidence of pregnancy, though she looked lovelier than he had ever remembered before.
“This wasn’t my idea,” Kestrel said in elvish. “I came here to get my bow, and these women saw Ruelin’s form. Tell her Wren,” he said, as he shook himself loose from the harem and went over to the two new arrivals with their small squad of imps.
“There is truth in his words,” his cousin affirmed.
“Picco? You are well?” Kestrel paused as he switched to speak the human language, and then he embraced her in a clenching hug. “Is it true what Wren says?” he asked in a soft voice.
They looked at one another with searching gazes, as Ruelin came to hover nearby. “My lady Moorin,” Ruelin said, “I am glad to see you alive and well. I would welcome you to the palace, your new home, but it is not a very welcoming place at the moment!”
“If Wren said what I think she said, then yes, it is true, my sweet one. We’ll have something to always unite us,” she said. “And yes, I feel well.”
“Him? He’s the father of your child?” Moorin asked in a shocked voice as she overheard the conversation. “Kestrel is the man who made you pregnant? And then you left her to come woo me? Kestrel, that’s despicable!”
“Picco?” Ruelin asked with equal dismay. “You’re with child? The elf hero is your lover?”
“This is astonishing!” one of the women in the harem exclaimed.
“You don’t know the half of it!” Wren told the women. “Now, all of you go back to your rooms and put on clothes,” she ordered, and slapped the bare bottom of one of the dawdling women with the flat of her sword to emphasize her message, sending them scrambling away.
“Kestrel, I thought you were belligerent and boorish and nothing but a warrior thug, then I thought perhaps you were an enlightened leader, and now I find that you’re a man without principles,” Moorin said angrily.
“Kestrel friend, we did not mean to cause trouble, but we thought you would want to see your companions quickly, so we brought them back as soon as they were healthy,” Dewberry hovered nearby, seemingly as shocked as Kestrel by the unfolding spectacle.
Kestrel felt his mind reeling from the cascading series of personal dramas that were piling upon him so heavily that he felt like he was suffocating.
“You two,” he looked at Picco and Moorin, “I want to keep safe. We’re in the middle of trying to stage a coup to capture this palace in the middle of the night, and there are very few places I know to be safe, but I want to put you in the tower until the chaos is cleared up, and we can have time to talk. There’s so much I want to tell you, both of you,” he said.
Majesty!” Captain Ashby rushed in the door.
“What?” both Kestrel and Ruelin answered, then Ruelin looked sheepishly at Kestrel.
“The senior officers are leading a counterattack! You’re in danger here; we need to move you someplace safer,” Ashby shouted. There was the sound of conflict in the hallway outside.
“Dewberry!” Kestrel called. “We need to evacuate!”
“You need to speak to her in elvish,” Wren reminded him, and he quickly re-announced his need in his native tongue.
“We are here to help you, troubled Kestrel dear,” the sprite replied.
“Take Moorin and Picco to the top of the tower, and take these other women from here as well,” Kestrel said. “Ladies!” he called the harem members out of their rooms, then dashed back to retrieve his magical bow.
“What do you want to do? Go with the women or go with us?” Kestrel asked Ruelin; Picco and Moorin were already gone.
“I’ll fight with you,” the prince replied indignantly.
“Come on then,” Kestrel saw the sprites carrying away the startled members of the harem, two at a time. “Let’s go Wren,” he added.
As soon as they were out in the hall they saw a small group of loyal guards trying to fight off a larger group of attackers. “Lucretia, do your best for me,” Kestrel cried, and he threw his knife along the length of the hall.
“Why are you throwing from here?” Ruelin asked. “Great Gods!” he exclaimed as he saw the knife hit its distant target.
“Lucretia, return,” Kestrel called, and the three of them and Ashby started to run towards the battle.
“Will this night never end?” Kestrel cried.
“The sun is starting to rise in the east, my lord,” Ashby answered the rhetorical question.
Kestrel caught the knife, and as they approached the clashing swords and shields, Kestrel scanned for the officer in charge of the attackers, and threw his knife, then pulled his bow and strung an arrow.
“You can’t do any good with arrows, Kestrel,” Wren warned as she slowed down next to him, looking at the flailing movement of their own soldiers that obstructed the view of the attackers, as well as the shields they held.
“I can with this bow,” Kestrel grunted, and he let loose a high shot that flew an inch above the defenders and struck one of the attackers in the forehead, striking him dead, while Kestrel pulled out another arrow and aimed at another soldier, and struck him too, then fired a third arrow. The bow felt marvelously attuned to Kestrel once again, the carved wooden grip perfectly suited even to his human palm and fingers, the string taunt without threatening to break, and the twang of each shot like a musical note.
“Lucretia, return,” he called as he paused in his shooting, then captured the knife and threw it again at an attacker who he couldn’t take a clean shot at, a large brute who was winning his matches against every defender he faced.
Kestrel pulled his bow back in place, and fired two more arrows. The men he was attacking were falling among their companions, both interfering with their motions and spreading fear, so that the attackers began to edge backwards, then turned and ran back down the hallway and around a corner.
“My lord!” Ashby exclaimed. “Your prowess in battle has never been proclaimed to us! How can we lose with you on our side?”
“What do we need to do now?” Kestrel asked.
“Come lead us in the battle in the parade ground, my prince!” Ashby begged. “You can turn the tide of the battle!”
“Let’s go,” Kestrel turned to Wren and Ruelin, then started running after Ashby, who was ahead of them, joining the defenders who Kestrel had bolstered.
“How did you make those shots?” Wren asked Kestrel in elvish as they ran after the guards, and began to descend a set of stairs. “Those were more than good, and too consistent to be lucky,” she said.
“I was given the bow when I was in Kirevee. I think it’s a gift from Kere. It makes me believe that any shot is possible,” he answered as he puffed along behind the others.
“You didn’t keep this body in very good shape,” he commented to Ruelin, who easily jogged along beside them.
“It served m
y purposes at the time,” the prince said crossly.
They were running outside in the darkness, towards the back of a large building that was outlined by the gray light of the dawn starting to break, and as they came around the corner of the building they found a wide battlefield full of strife, with hundreds of men fighting one another.
“Who’s on our side?” Kestrel asked Ashby as they came to a stop and watched the clashes occurring in the dim yard. “Who are the best targets?”
“There are the leaders of the opposition,” Ashby answered, pointing to several men standing on a balcony of a building on the far side of the field.
Kestrel saw only dim outlines against the lit squares of the windows behind the men, but threw his knife at the one on the far left, and waited for seconds until the figure toppled over. He recalled the knife, and threw it again, then again, and one more time, before those on the balcony fled inside.
“Where is the skin of Decimindion’s water?” Kestrel asked Ashby.
“It was on the far side of the battlefield, where we had men lined up to drink from it when the battle started,” the captain answered.
“Wren, you take Ruelin and the guards and go try to find the water skin and protect it. Ashby and I will go try to hunt down the officers who just fled inside, and break up the leadership,” Kestrel directed, and they split up immediately.
Ashby led Kestrel inside another building facing the parade square, and they ran unopposed through the dark halls, then exited at the far end of the building, in immediate proximity to the location of the commanding officers. The air was cool with an autumn chill, the sun was rising, and the field of battle was growing more visible, revealing the bloody pandemonium of small groups of guards and soldiers standing together, fighting against anyone who approached. The identities of those for and against the prince were impossible to assert, leading to chaos.
“There they are!” Ashby said excitedly, as he spotted a group of officers leading fresh guards out onto the battle scene.
Kestrel pulled two arrows from his quiver and balanced them briefly, then released his shot, and pulled out two more, and shot them one on top of the other as well. All four arrows struck the leaders of the rebellion, and all the new additional soldiers turned to face Kestrel and Ashby. Ashby tugged at Kestrel’s shoulder. “We’ll need to run, sire,” he said, as the guards started to charge towards them.
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 05 - Journey to Uniontown Page 3
