Erob was kneeling by the fire. Bending over, Arkon placed the pot on the stones that were already heating in the fire. Soon, the water was boiling. After cutting the ham in small pieces he chucked it in along with a few vegetables, spices, and herbs. It would have to do.
Since Ria wasn’t here, the duty of cooking fell upon him. Erob’s idea of a good meal was to go into the nearest tavern, drink and eat whatever the owner placed in front of him. The princess didn’t know how to cook. Arkon wasn’t good at the task either, but at least he produced edible meals that weren’t likely to poison any one of them.
He glanced at the princess. Zo, he corrected himself. It was better to think of her an ordinary person, and not a royal. If anyone ever realized she was from the royal house of Iram, her life would be in serious trouble. Ria’s death had taught them an important lesson; no one was safe in Jiambra, least of all a royal mage.
Zo placed the diary in her pack and pushed back her spiky hair with both hands. She stared into the fire, lost in thought.
“I told Alicia about Ria’s death,” she said, almost as if talking to herself.
Arkon used a spoon to move the murky liquid in the pot around. “Did you scry them?” He didn’t know much about magic, but he’d seen many mages staring into bowls of waters as they talked to others far away.
“I’ve a diary I can use to communicate with her. Whatever I write becomes visible in the twin of this diary. Zima has it. She will pass on the message to Alicia,” said Zo.
Arkon nodded, not wishing to know more. Magic was an alien concept, and he preferred to deal with steel and flesh than shadows and spells. He remembered the way she’d unleashed her power at the mages after they killed Ria. Her magic was potent; he’d heard tales of the royal princesses being born with unusual magical powers but this was the first time he'd actually witnessed the fury of her gift.
The ease with which she snuffed out the lives of their enemies was astounding. Although he suspected their deaths weighed heavy on her conscience.
Erob stood. “I need to get something,” he said. “There’s a tavern nearby. I’ll be back.” Abruptly, he walked off into the nearest grove of trees.
“Let him go,” said Arkon as he saw the princess open her mouth to call the spy back. “Everyone grieves in their own way. He’ll lose himself in the drink, and maybe forget about the healer for a while.”
To his surprise, tears shimmered in her eyes. “It was a needless, pointless and senseless death,” she said as she watched Erob take off on his horse. “If only I had…”
“You did what you could,” he cut her off. “You told her to shield herself but she didn’t obey fast enough.” He shook his head. “Ria had never been exposed to any real danger before. She didn’t react fast enough. A moment of hesitation in a battle can be deadly, and in her case, that proved to be true.”
“She was just a child, barely grown.”
“And her death is king Vindha’s burden to bear,” he said in a harsh tone. She had no need to blame herself. None of them did. “He has spawned the monsters that are spreading death and destruction on this land and the innocent people who call it home. They did it. You did what you could to save yourself and the rest of us. Do you think the mages would have let us live? Erob and I would’ve been killed had you not been there to protect us?”
Picking up a blade of grass, Zo chewed on it. Her eyes were still shining from unshed tears. “It’s hard to believe that anyone with such power and responsibility can be so callous with it. The mages have a duty to others. Why don’t they understand it?”
Arkon laughed; the sound both shrill and harsh. “They understand the need to overthrow, capture, and kill. That is what they have been taught. Human life has no meaning for them, and ordinary people, without magic, are mere bugs to be crushed under their feet whenever the need strikes them.”
With an effort he controlled himself. It wasn't her fault that the mainland mages were bloodthirsty and vicious. It was king Vindha's fault as he expected them to be so. The mages in Iram were not the same; they were taught to respect their gift and use it for the good. It had taken Arkon a long time to understand that magic itself was neither good nor bad; it was the wielder who decided its purpose and worth.
“It’s sad that there is no one around to oppose him.” Zo looked towards the river. Two people were rowing a narrow boat, carved out of a tree trunk, across the churning waves. She watched until they disappeared from sight.
Arkon poured more water into the pot. The devastation in Jiambra left him shaken. In Iram, he’d heard tales regarding intense torture and murder in Jiambra, but in the calm and secure environment of the island, everything appeared distant. It wasn't something that concerned them or had the potential to affect their life - but here, after witnessing a brutal killing in front of their eyes, it was impossible not to be personally involved with the plight of others who were undergoing or already had suffered the same fate.
Arkon could understand Zo’s frustration. The desire to do something burned inside him, but he was bound by the same oath she was. Their priority was, and would have to be, to return to Iram with the flower of rosem. Over the last two days, he had begun to admire the princess’s courage. In the beginning, he thought she was a spoilt royal, who thought too much of her own magical power, and too little of other people’s feelings. Now that he’d seen her magical wrath, he knew she was a formidable mage, but more than that, she was a brave and caring woman.
It was a fact she tried to hide behind a veneer of indifferent attitude.
So far their journey had been hard and tiring. He didn’t hear her complain once. She appeared indefatigable and committed to their cause – yet, at the same time, he sensed her struggle to help those she saw suffering around them. She had a soft heart, a brilliant mind and a strong backbone.
It was an impossible combination to resist.
And yet, he must ignore his feelings for her. She was a princess, and he was a nobody. Their lives were poles apart. Arkon concentrated on the stew. It wouldn’t do to dwell on things that were not within the realm of possibility.
He gazed at her. She was looking into the fire, a haunted look on her face.
“The first time I killed a man was three years ago,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He wanted to share this with her. Maybe it would ease her burden. “I’d traveled out of Iram into Jiambra on the king’s business. There were three of us. Seven men ambushed us. They wanted our money, whatever little we had. It was an uneven fight as they were young lads and not trained fighters. We easily overcame them, but then suddenly one of them stabbed my friend with his dagger. It was a clean hit in the stomach. Without realizing it, without meaning to, I raised my sword and took that young man’s head off. My friend survived, but that boy didn’t.” He looked into her eyes. “I still remember that last, surprised look on his face.”
For a moment, there was silence as they both pondered over their own thoughts.
“I shouldn’t feel guilty about killing those mages,” said Zo. “Their actions were reprehensible.”
“Yes.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “But I do feel guilty. Unclean. Bad.”
“That’s because you are compassionate. You respect others. They didn’t. Do you think they felt wrong about killing all those innocent villagers?” He stirred the spoon in the pot. “They deserved to die, or else they would have killed others on another day, in another place. You did the world a favor by ridding it of them. In a battle, you either kill or you are killed.”
For a long time, both of them shared a companionable silence.
Finally, Arkon sighed. “The stew is ready…or as edible as I can make it.”
Zo’s laughter broke the silence of the forest. For a moment Arkon stared at her, bewildered. He had never seen her laugh. Smile, sometimes, but never a full-throated laughter. She was always reserved, holding them all back with a quiet dignity; a princess in the company of mere commoners. Tonight, however,
something special was happening. Letting go of the reserve which she usually wore like a mantle, she was interacting with him as an equal, even as a friend.
As she doubled over, her laughter pealing into the air with a merry sound, Arkon saw her as she really was; a woman, gorgeous, courageous, strong, and lovely beyond words.
“Well, it’s a duty you are stuck with now.” Zo wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes. “Trust me, I’m worse than you. Whenever I step into the kitchen, the cooks tremble with fear. Twice, I’ve set fire to the castle kitchens.”
With a cloth, Arkon removed the pot from the fire. He placed the piping hot stew into two wooden bowls, and passed one to her. “The most I can say is that it’s nourishing and hot.”
Zo took a spoonful. “And spicy,” she grimaced. “But it’s not bad,” she assured him.
Smiling, Arkon took a spoonful from his bowl and nearly choked. He coughed, and hastily set the bowl aside to take a large swallow of water from his water skin. “Shouldn’t have put in that green chili,” he said.
Tearing off great chunks of bread, he passed two to her. They spooned up the stew with the bread and ate, along with big gulps of water. The spice made their eyes tear, and burned their tongues.
Overhead, the half-moon shone through the hazy cloud cover. Stars twinkled merrily. Deep in the forest, an owl hooted. Crickets chirped in the undergrowth. It was a beautiful night, calm and peaceful.
After clearing the food away, Arkon spread his blanket. Zo was not yet sleeping. He bit his lip. Perhaps it was a bit insensitive but he needed to know something.
“Would you be able to identify this flower of rosem now that Ria is no longer with us?”
Zo closed her eyes. “Alicia gave me a drawing of it, just in case, you know.”
Arkon breathed out a sigh of relief. All was not lost. He didn’t exactly relish the thought of going back, or waiting for another healer, who could identify the flower, to join them.
The princess was soon asleep. Arkon stared at her face. In her sleep she looked at ease, free of the perpetual worry that marked her during the day. He empathized with her tension. Not only was she living with the fear that her brother and sister were teetering on the cusp of death, but also it was her responsibility to save them. Any delay, or failure, on her part would push them over the edge. He saw her sometimes staring into the distance, chewing on her lip or gnawing at her nails, always worrying.
Ria’s death would increase the burden she already carried. He sighed, knowing there was little he could do to ease her pain. A rustling in the bushes alerted him. He could smell the fumes of strong whiskey from far off.
Erob stumbled in from among the trees. “Oh, our royal princess is asleep already,” he said as he plopped down on a grassy knoll. He stared into the dying embers of their fire. “Poured a whole barrel of whiskey down my throat, but it doesn’t make me forget her face. That girl, so innocent she was. What a terrible way to die!” He shook his head.
Arkon stood. Picking up Erob’s blanket, he unrolled it and placed it as far away from Zo as possible. “Get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll leave early tomorrow.”
“March along, march along to the princess’s tune! What a boring man you are. Next time, come with me to the tavern and I’ll show you heaven.” Erob stood and stumbled his way to his blanket. He lay down, not bothering to take off his boats.
Arkon stayed quiet, not wishing to encourage the man to talk further. For the first time, he felt a kinship with the spy. Ria’s death was a burden they would all carry…perhaps, for a long time. It was important to remember, however, that she’d died for a reason, and it was their job to make sure her sacrifice wasn’t wasted.
And that meant he would have to ensure their mission didn’t fail. They would have to do their best to acquire the flower and go back to Iram to save their king.
Finally, he slept. Dawn broke over the dark sky in soft scarlet hues. The moon clung determinedly to the horizon, but soon the sunlight chased it away. A hasty and quiet breakfast later, the three of them embarked on their journey again.
The horses plodded through the forest, dodging thorny bushes and undergrowth that clung to their legs. The scorching heat intensified as the day progressed. The dry grass crackled under the hooves of the horses. Around mid-morning it began to rain, bringing a welcome respite from the heat.
Their relief was short-lived. The downpour thickened until it became impossible to see ahead. Arkon motioned for Zo and Erob to stop. He dismounted. In this deluge it would be easy for a horse to set foot inside a ditch, breaking a leg. They couldn’t afford to lose their mounts. Miles away from the nearest village, they wouldn’t be able to buy a new animal for days, losing precious time.
Spotting a grove of elm trees, Arkon led the horse under the relative protection of the dense branches. The others followed.
“I don’t know what’s worse, this heavy rain or the terrible heat,” Zo said as she took off her soggy cloak.
“I’d take the rain any day,” said Erob as he lay down on a less soggy part of the grass and promptly went to sleep.
Arkon and Zo sat to wait for the torrent to lessen. Arkon could sense Zo’s agitation. Every moment they sat here was a lost opportunity. He watched as she took the diary out of her pack and scribbled something on it.
She sat staring at the diary for a moment. Suddenly she sat up straighter and brought it close to her eyes. “He lives,” she breathed out the words like a prayer, an elated look on her face. Hurriedly, she scribbled on the diary again, and then read something. “All is good.”
Closing the diary, she clutched it to her chest for a brief moment and then wrapped it in an oilskin before placing it back in the bag.
Arkon was about to enquire what she had written when they both heard a scream. The two of them stared at each other as if not sure if the other person heard the same thing.
Erob gave a loud snore, oblivious to the unfolding drama.
“Did you…?” Zo stood.
“It came from this direction.” Arkon pointed.
Zo grabbed the reins of the horses and tied them to a low-hanging branch. “Let’s go on foot.”
There really was no other choice. Despite their urge to remain inconspicuous, both of them knew that if anyone was being killed or tortured so near them, they were morally obliged to intervene. Arkon wondered how many more victims they would have to save before they reached their desired destination.
Zo left her cloak draped on her pack, and strode out from under the shelter of the tree. Arkon glanced at Erob, but still under the influence of the copious amount of whiskey he had consumed last night, he wasn’t likely to be of any help.
They made their way through the trees with cautious steps, not willing to step into trouble without first scouting the area. Due to the torrential downpour, it was impossible to see anything five feet ahead of them. That was probably an advantage though. The enemy wouldn’t be able to hear or see them too. Water ran down Arkon’s hair and face in torrents. With an impatient gesture, he wiped his eyes.
Another scream cut through the pouring rain.
With quickened steps, Zo moved forward and disappeared behind a large tree. Arkon rushed, drawing his sword clear in one clean gesture. All he saw was the backs of two men, robed in black, as they stood over a small boy who was lying on the wet ground, hunched over in pain.
Before he could lift the sword, Zo sent a whirlwind of ferocious air towards the wizards and forced them off their feet. Over the boy’s head they flew and collided into a tree. Both fell on the floor with a resounding thud. One lay still, the other tried to sit. Zo swiped her hand in his direction, and another gust of wind knocked his head against the tree. With an astonished look on his face, he fell face forward on the muddy floor.
Arkon stared at the boy and the child in turned gaped at Zo with his mouth hanging open.
Zo spared a glance at the men. “Mages,” she spat out the word. “They’ll be up soon. We should get away before
they wake up.” Turning, she strode back towards their shelter.
Nonplussed, Arkon looked at the child. No more than ten, he was a scrawny child. His dirty matted hair hung past his shoulders, dirt covered his face and his clothes were tattered. But his eyes were a beautiful, clear grey. Intelligence shone through them.
Having never dealt with children before, Arkon didn’t know what to do with this one. Trust the princess to leave him to handle the difficult part. “Run along then,” he said to the child as he sheathed his sword. “Where are your parents?”
The child stared at him, unmoving.
“Go on. Get away before they awake.” Arkon pointed at the mages.
The child stood and moved cautiously away, keeping his eyes on Arkon. Within moments, he stepped behind a tree and disappeared.
Arkon breathed out a sigh of relief. After one last unsympathetic glance at the unconscious mages, he walked back. Zo had already awoken a bleary-eyed Erob and the horses were ready.
“What happened?” Erob asked Arkon, stepping closer to him.
Arkon gave him a summary. Erob shook his head.
“Probably a young thief they caught somewhere.” He yawned. “Was it necessary to fight? We would have the entire army on our backs once they go back and report to the king. As it is we killed three of them yesterday in the village.”
Arkon shared a glance with Zo. Erob was right. Had they unwittingly set into motion an event that would spiral out of their control now?
Since the rains hadn’t abated, they chose to lead the horses on foot. As they trampled through the squelchy undergrowth, the pounding sheets of rain made further conversation impossible. It was all they could do to keep their eyes on the ground and put one foot in front of another. Near late afternoon the rain turned into a misty drizzle, and they mounted the horses, glad to be off their feet.
The Demon Mages (The Power of Three Book 1) Page 9
