by K T Munson
He put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder and whispered, “We cannot stay here.”
“Celia said she would come back for us once the town was settled,” Evanora said looking up at her father.
“I have to make this right,” Deckard replied shaking his head. “I should never have left Tiam.”
Deckard made his way towards their cabins. Evanora was fast on his heel as he went down to the inventory. He gathered the little luggage he had and walked back to their rooms. Marisol was sleeping, taking an afternoon nap. She could not abide by the violence and had decided dreams were better than the reality. Perhaps she was right.
“Marisol,” Deckard said shaking her, “Wake up.”
She groaned and rolled over, her eyes half-open. “Is it dinner time?”
“No dear,” he said gently, helping her sit up. “We are leaving.”
Marisol’s eyes shot open and she was suddenly very much awake as she demanded, “Leaving?”
“I have to leave Hadrian’s service and fix what I have done,” Deckard informed her as Evanora strode into the room.
“I got some food from the kitchen,” she said with a satchel across her chest.
Deckard slung his big pack over his shoulder, but was careful with the smaller case. The little one contained his papers and inks. It was his life’s work put into a leather briefcase. Evanora gathered her things and helped Marisol with hers.
“Where are we going?” Marisol asked.
“The countryside?” Deckard said offhandedly.
“We are going to Vargos,” Evanora informed them. “Their new queen will be sympathetic and will need our information.”
Deckard was surprised and said slowly, “That makes sense.”
They finished gathering their possessions and walked out on deck. Most of the boat was empty except a few men with bottles in their hands. On the dock there were men singing of the ruin of Roanoak. Deckard paused on the docks and looked back at the burned city of Guildafrey one last time. Evanora slipped her hand into his and squeezed. He turned back to his daughter, straightened the pack on his back, and strode out into the unknown.
Chapter 45
Ashira Highlander
Eliron jostled on the horse behind her as they rode towards Oaken Harbor. He was holding onto her loosely, his grip faltering worse every hour they rode. It had taken them three days of hard riding to arrive at the port. Now it loomed over them like a dubious safe haven.
“Eliron, look,” Ashira said glancing over her shoulder at him, “We’ve made it.”
There was sweat on his brow and he managed a strained smile as he said hoarsely, “I look forward to a good meal.”
Worry traveled through her as she studied his face. The herbs she had picked from memory to help with toothaches and open wounds didn’t seem to be working. She turned and urged the horse forward into the city. Men and women were in the streets crying that it was the end of all days.
She went straight to the depository, and withdrew as much gold as she could. Word of her family’s death had not reached Oaken Harbor. Ashira was careful to use her aunt’s information and use the funds they kept at the harbor banks. The man gave her a perplexed stare, but she had all the right information and it was difficult to deny her.
When she returned she found Eliron leaning heavily on the horse trying to be intimidating. He only managed to appear angry and clearly unwell. She did not know what to do for him and wished one of her handmaidens were there to help.
“Come on,” Ashira said, staring down the street. “There is a nice inn just around the corner.”
They walked slowly, Ashira leading the horse and Eliron leaning on it. When they reached the inn Ashira left him with the horse and went into the establishment. Although it was not the most expensive or nicest inn in town, it was known to be discrete.
“How can I help you?” The man at the front asked.
“I would like a room for two,” Ashira said before adding, “and a place for my horse in your stable for two nights.”
The man behind the counter was inspecting her, as though trying to remember where he had last seen her, but it couldn’t come to him. In her rumpled state she hoped she looked like every girl in town. He turned back and picked up a key before holding it out to her.
“It is two gold a night,” he said holding out his hand.
Ashira pulled the gold from her small coin purse; the rest was hidden throughout her clothes and her belongings. She counted out two pieces, glanced at his indifferent expression, and took a third. She closed the purse and dropped them all into his hand.
“Two for the night,” she explained, “and a third for your silence.”
The man nodded before handing over the key. She turned on her heel and hurried back out to get Eliron. A young boy came for the horse and a young woman for their belongings. Eliron lurched forward from the horse as Ashira put an arm under him. He threw his arm over her shoulder and they walked into the inn, following the young girl.
They followed her up the stairs slowly before coming to a small room decorated in blue. The water lapped along the shore on the ceiling and the canopy bed was big enough for three people. Ashira felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she helped Eliron into a chair.
She reached into her coin purse and pulled out a copper to give to the girl. She curtsied when Ashira held it out to her and said, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Please bring me water.” Ashira informed her, “and a needle and thread.”
The girl curtsied again before rushing off. Ashira closed the door behind her before turning back to Eliron. She touched his head and felt that there was fire beneath his skin. She helped take his shirt off so she could look at his wound. She slowly unbound the bandages and saw it was black.
Eliron glanced down at it as she began to pick the herbs from his body before saying, “Whatever blade that man carried, it was cursed.”
He sucked in a breath when some of the cloth adhered to his skin and she grimaced. She would need a needle and thread to bind the wound. Staring at it now she wished she had paid closer attention when learning now to sew. She had treated bumps and bruises before, even the occasional scrape, but never a sword wound.
A knock interrupted her thoughts. She stood hastily and shifted the canopy’s curtain across to hide most of Eliron. She straightened her clothes and strode over to the door before opening it. The girl stood with a bowl and pitcher; the needle and thread she had asked for was in the bowl. Ashira opened the door for her and the girl came in just far enough to set the pitcher and bowl on the table by the door.
“Is there anything else?” The girl asked.
“We will take lunch in an hour,” Ashira said with a smile.
The girl nodded and closed the door when she left. Ashira picked up the bent needle and thread, and measured out a decent amount. She threaded the string through the needle before tying the end off. When it was done she carried them over to Eliron. The girl had known she needed a suture needle and not a sewing needle. The girl had earned herself another copper when she returned with lunch. She pushed back the curtain and set them on the bed. Eliron gave her a strained smile and she gave him one back.
She returned to pick up the pitcher of water and pour it into the bowl. She watched as the water swirled before setting the pitcher back on the table. She picked up one of the cloths and placed it in the bowl. Carrying them both over she sat on the bed and started to clean the wound. His face was grave, but he was careful to hold still.
When it was clean she set the bowl down on the floor and picked up the needle. Eliron put his hand over hers and said, “I’ll do it.”
“You’re hands are shaking,” Ashira protested, “You can hardly see the wound.”
“Take the mirror from the wall,” Eliron said taking the needle from her, “And bring the alcohol, the yellow bottle.”
He stood slowly and walked over to the bathroom before stepping into the stone area that was for bathing in. Ashira grabbe
d the bottle and the mirror from the wall before going to him. She found him sitting on the high square side. She set the bottle next to him before leaning the mirror against the wall. He looked up at her and met her eyes steadily.
“You need to leave.” He said softly.
She studied at the scars on his chest and asked, “Did you stitch all of them up yourself?”
“No,” he managed, his face pale, “Go.”
Ashira turned, with her coins on her hip, and fled the room. She heard his hiss of pain as she closed the door behind her and turned the key. Pocketing it she hurried down the hall and into the street. She took a few deep breaths trying to calm herself. It was too much; it was more than she could bear.
Suddenly, she became aware of her surroundings as others stared at her. Some of them would recognize her eventually. Turning down an alley and coming out on another street she turned towards the dressmaker’s. She would need to buy new clothes for her and Eliron and she desperately needed a veil to hide her face. She wanted to wear her mourning veil, with its pearls of life and onyx for death. It had been her mother’s and now it was hers and yet it was lost. Everything that had been hers was lost and she could not mourn; not for her home or for her family.
She purchased clothes for herself, a simple new dress and a dark veil to obscure her face. Ashira bought two sizes of men’s clothes, one for herself and one for Eliron. She had come as a woman and would need a new dress to continue to be one, but she would need the men’s clothes for when she rode. Her inner thighs hurt from the travel and the lack of protection.
Ashira walked through the streets listening to the gossip and the whispers. Oh, how the whispers seems to dance on the wind. They all spoke of the fall of Guildafrey and how the royal family was trapped inside. That Vargos had come to their aid and how valiant they were to do so. Some said it was a beast or a demon that came and captured the city. Others spoke of a sorcerer who could make metal fly. Never before had she felt so alone.
She bought herbs and listened to the healer’s gossip. She wondered if Cain had survived, but she scarcely allowed herself to hope. More than anything she wanted to know the man who had committed the crime. She wanted a name she could curse, and a way to hunt him down. Grief and vengeance swirled within her.
Fighting down her ramped emotions, her feet carried her back to the inn and she hurried up the stairs with her purchases. She unlocked the door and slipped inside. Ashira looked around the room, but Eliron wasn’t there. She set down the packages on the bed before moving towards the door. She rounded the corner only to find Eliron on the floor.
“Eliron!” She called and rushed over to him.
The yellow drink had been knocked on its side and spilled onto the floor. The mirror was broken in the tub and blood spotted the ground. She turned him over carefully and found the needle still in his skin. He was nearly done, except for the last bit. Grimacing she reached down and forced the needle through. He awoke and tried to push her away until he saw who she was.
“Ashira,” he whispered desperately.
Ashira bent and broke the thread with her teeth, then tied the ends off. She set the needle next to the bottle and tipped the bottle upright, her hands shaking now that the task was done. Helping Eliron sit up she was slowly able to get him to stand, stumbling only once, but she managed to keep her footing on the wet floor. Once completed she escorted Eliron to the bed and straightened him out, her mind reeling as she fought to keep her emotions under control.
Eliron caught hold of her hand when she turned to get the herbs. “You must go.”
“I went and I returned,” Ashira said and pushed his hair out of his face. “You need to rest.”
“I am dying,” Eliron said tightening his hold on her hand. “You need to leave me and run.”
“I won’t abandon you,” Ashira replied firmly as she pulled her hand free.
She retrieved the herbs and the bandages before returning. She sat on the bed and began to press the paste into his shoulder. He groaned in pain and his eyes fluttered back in his head. He grasped her wrist as he wheezed.
“I cannot keep you safe,” Eliron barely managed, “and I will only slow you down.”
“I won’t abandon you,” Ashira repeated desperately as she started to weep. “There must be something.” Ashira continued to cry until sleep took her.
И&S
The morning sun crept across the floor as she lay against Eliron’s chest and was roused from sleep by its persistent light. She raised her head and touched his cheek; it burned like a thousand suns. She remembered his words and shook her head. Ashira put her hands on each side of his face and kissed his forehead.
When he didn’t stir she looked out the window. Over the top of the building across the way she could see the desert. Her mind wandered to happier times, when the desert had been part of her childhood stories. She had pretended to be a stolen princess and her brothers had come to save her. She could remember them dancing around her and her parents safely hiding under a tent. As she daydreamed a memory struck her.
As she studied Eliron’s pained expression she realized there was only one thing in the world that could save him; the potions that the People of the Dunes made. They didn’t sell them to very many people and they were very expensive. Ashira regarded the desert as she remembered that no one knew where they were and it most certainly was filled with countless dangers.
Ashira stood and leaned over Eliron putting her head against his and whispered, “I won’t let you die.”
She straightened and gazed over her shoulder; the desert waited.
Chapter 46
Lancel Storm
Lancel listened as patiently as he could as two farmers argued over the ownership of a pig. They had stopped addressing him and were instead shouting at each other. Lancel leaned his head heavily on his fist and wished Eliron was back. He was made to settle such petty disputes with a single command. While Lancel was a knight, meant to follow and obey.
“Enough,” Lancel said as he rubbed a hand over his face before saying, “Sell the pig and split the profits.”
“I need this pig. She is my breeding pig,” one man said mournfully.
“Use your neighbor’s male breeding pig and split the litter,” Lancel countered.
“I don’t need a bunch of piglets later, I need dinner,” the other man countered.
Lancel tried not to roll his eyes and groan before he managed, “Breed your male pig and then eat him.”
The man looked aghast. “Not Rocky.”
“Rocky?” Lancel asked not at all amused.
“My breeding pig,” the farmer explained. “I can’t eat Rocky; she competes and wins every year in our local fair.”
“Then what exactly do you want?” Lancel said with a frown.
“That pig was supposed to feed us for the next few weeks until the first harvest,” the man retorted. “We would starve without it.”
“I know for a fact you have food saved and she is my pig,” the other one said with a scowl. “I am trying to breed her for next year or our stores will be without food the following year.”
They began to bicker again and Lancel considered tossing them out when a messenger stormed in. Lancel perked up at the interruption. Anything had to be better than two farmers arguing over a pig. The messenger didn’t wait to be summoned as he staggered forward, as though in a daze.
He came up to the edge of the dais and kneeled before standing and saying, “I bear bad news.”
The two farmers stopped arguing and turned to the messenger with interest. All the hair on Lancel’s neck stood at end. With great effort he buried his worry and prepared for the worse.
“What has happened?” Lancel demanded.
“Guildafrey burns,” the man said his hands worried on his hat, “Roanoak has fallen.”
“Out,” Lancel whispered before saying louder, “You breed the pig and then give it to him to eat the pig. Now get out.”
The courtroom emptied
in a short manner as Lancel came down off the chair. He came to stand in front of the upset messenger. When the last person left and the doors were closed Lancel asked, “What else?”
“The Water King and his Bride are missing,” the messenger said his eyes fixed on his feet. “There are whispers from men that they escaped the slaughter and that King Rodrick is dead.”
His mouth was suddenly as dry as the desert on a sunny day. He tried to swallow, but everything was captured in his throat. Lancel licked his lips as his body went into shock. His king and his friend were missing as was Ashira. Without them, Vargos would pass to Eliron’s sniveling cousin.
“How were they overcome?” Lancel inquired.
“That is unsure,” the messenger replied glancing up at him nervously, “There are different reports. Some say they flew and rained fire. Others say a band of men overtook the palace and started fires throughout the city. The last says a beast came out of the desert and consumed the king.”
“Are you able to ride again?” Lancel asked pointedly.
“I am a castle’s messenger,” he responded.
“Perfect,” Lancel retorted, “Gather the King’s Council in the strategy room.”
Lancel didn’t wait for him to respond, but hurried towards the White Knight. They would need to fortify the city walls and prepare them for an attack. Whoever attacked Roanoak would soon turn to Vargos and they needed to be ready.
As Lancel moved through the castle with purpose he tried not to think about Eliron. Even worse, he worried for Ashira. Eliron could take care of himself, but Ashira, though she had a strong personality, she could not defend herself. The Queen had made it to Guildafrey and was in the palace when it was attacked, he worried that she had been taken prisoner or worse.
If Eliron had survived and was not captured, he would come back to Vargos. If Ashira escaped he wasn’t so sure she would. Guildafrey was her home, and perhaps she would return to Vargos because there was nowhere else to go. More likely she would hide out amongst the people throughout Roanoak. She was ever the unpredictable one.
