Inside the house, she set the basket upon the table, then took Elva to her bedchamber, trying to coax the child into sleep. Oh, if Kael ever did return she would thrust Elva into his arms and flee, and be grateful that he had never wanted her in the first place, and she would never, ever desire another warrior as long as she lived and breathed, for this endless waiting was far too much to ask any woman to bear.
When Elva finally dropped into sleep, Alyn lay down beside her and wept, despising her feelings for a man who cared not one whit about her, despising her anxiety and despair.
Why did she fret so much about the man? He’d shown no sign of interest. She might as well have been a piece of the furniture, for all he cared. But still, her heart ached. He was a man of the sword and would eventually fall by the sword, and it didn’t matter if she cared for him or not for he would someday just die for his king, and would that king shed a tear? No. Would his own father shed a tear? Who would cry for Kael when he died? Only she. Only she, and it wouldn’t even matter for she mattered not to him.
7
The Blue Crystal
In the murk of the deep forest, Kael’s eyes fluttered open and strained to focus in on the blur of faces that hovered above him. Cool air brushed across his skin and in his groggy state, he realized his chest was bare.
These faces … are they Corkers or Tillamans? Through the fuzziness that cloaked his mind, it began to dawn upon him that surely they were not Corkers or he wouldn’t still be alive.
Noticing a blue hue glowing in the strange hands above his chest, he forced his hand up, weakly snatching the crystal back, feeling the chain tug at the back of his neck.
“I wasn’t tryin’ to steals it,” the man huffed. “I was just admirin’ it.”
Blasties! Kael could see now they were not Men, but Blasties. They looked like Men, but their skin was darker brown and they were much smaller—timid creatures living in the cover of the deep forests, rarely coming out to mingle with Men.
Kael struggled to sit up, but when he moved an acute pain ripped through his torso, forcing him back down and he moaned.
“Takes it easy,” another blastie spoke. “Ye gots t’recover so’s ye can gets back t’battle. We’re on the same side here, Tillo man. We hates the Corkers as much as ye does. At least ye Tillo mans doesn’t kills us every chance ye gets. Ye lets us live an’ be.”
“Where am I?” Kael croaked. “Where is my horse?”
“Don’t know where yer horse’d be. But ye’re safe from the Corkers here. They never comes this far in.”
“I have to get back,” Kael said, but was much too weak to attempt rising again.
“Ye’d better lie still, Tillo man. Ye doesn’t wants t’start bleedin’ again.”
Kael glanced down and could see the thick bandages covering the side of his abdomen. It had been a deep wound with profuse bleeding and he was certain it had killed him. “How did the bleeding stop?” he wondered aloud.
One of the blasties jumped up, grinning wide. “I dids it.” He beamed. “I sewed ye up just likes ye was a torn shirt, I did.”
The very thought made Kael grimace, but it had obviously worked for he was still alive. Painfully weak, to be sure, but still alive.
The blastie who’d been admiring the crystal pointed at the stone. “That’s what the dragon’s been a’lookin’ fer.”
“I thoughts it was supposed t’be in the hands of a trollie, not a Tillo man.”
“Well, I guess that old dragon doesn’t knows it all after all,” the first blastie spoke again, chuckling. “Thinks he’s so smarts, he does.”
“If I was ye, I’d hides this away,” the blastie who’d sewn him up whispered into Kael’s ear. “’Cause Raggs is a’lookin’ fer it.”
“What do you know of this stone?” Kael asked.
“Only that Raggs wants it. He wants it bad.”
“Don’t be worryin’ him with dragon talk,” the second blastie said. “He needs t’rest.”
“I wasn’t worryin’ him. I was just tellin’ him.”
“Well, don’t be tellin’ him. Go fetch him a drinks o’water.”
“Fetch it yerself. I sewed him up.”
“Well, I bandaged him.”
“Well, I’m the one who founds him.”
“Then ye should finds him a drinks o’water, too.”
“And what makes ye thinks I wants to?”
“’Cause the more Tillo mans left livin’ means more Corkers dead. And we wants this Tillo man t’live. So go gets him some stinkin’ water!”
Grumbling, the blastie left, returning a few moments later with a small tin cup filled with cool water. He helped Kael sip it down. The blasties continued their chatter, and fatigued by pain, Kael dozed, unable to fend off his drowsiness any longer.
When he awoke again, he forced himself to rise. The pain wrapped around him like a vise, but he couldn’t forget he was at war and on an urgent mission.
He bade his saviors farewell and slowly worked his way back to shallower woods, struggling to keep his senses unclouded beneath his pain. Nothing looked familiar in these woods. All he could do was try to keep his direction set and hope to not stumble upon any more roving Corkers.
Coming upon a brook, he followed it through the trees and had he been able to, he would have leapt for joy when he spied his and Farin’s horses still tied to the tree where they’d left them.
His arms weak and quaky, he secured the discarded armor onto Farin’s horse before easing gingerly onto the back of his own gelding. Riding west at a steady gait, leading Farin’s riderless horse behind, he began to fade and fought to stay awake. By the time the encampment came into view in the distance, his shirt was once more wet with blood. Determined not to succumb to death yet, he urged his horse to move faster.
When the gelding trotted into camp, Kael’s shirt was drenched and he tumbled from the horse to the dirt below, too weak to stay aloft any longer.
“Ten thousand men … and a bridge,” he managed to whisper before losing consciousness once again.
He spent several months recuperating in the house of a tiller north of Rand before he was strong enough to rejoin the battle.
By all rights he should have been dead. He would have been dead if not for the aid of the blasties and their crude tailoring job. Even so, his recovery was long and many hours were spent in frustration at his incapacitation. Most of those hours were filled with thoughts of Alyn and Elva, but mostly with thoughts of Alyn and he vowed that before he died, he would at the very least, know the taste of her kiss.
The war waged on and despite the Corkers’ superior numbers, the Tillaman warriors steadily pushed their ranks southward. Some say the Tillaman victory was due to peasant uprisings inside Cork and some say it was due to Blastie subterfuge and some say it was due to the Tillaman allies in the neighboring realm of Donnel who attacked Cork from the western mountain slopes, thus calling for a division of Corker forces. Whether it was one, or all, eventually the Tillaman warriors were able to push the Corkers back across Broad River, destroy the unfinished bridge, and reclaim their land. The village of Aarl was no more. Homes had been burned, fields devastated, and entire hillsides were devoted to graves for the dead.
As new, stronger fortifications were being built along the north bank of Broad River, the remains of weary northern regiments worked their way back to Fead where they were awarded with long deserved comforts at the palace by a fair-minded and grateful king.
There was great celebration in the inner palace courtyard, with much feasting, dancing, and countless tales of heroic deeds. King Tilla, himself, joined the celebration, commending his men for their outstanding bravery.
Kael leaned against a stone pillar, watching his fellowmen as they reveled in their triumph over the Corkers. He spied Evan across the courtyard, engaged in conversation with two dimber young ladies. Not so expendable, Kael thought with a smile, relieved to see his old friend still alive.
Evan gave Kael a wave of acknowledg
ment and began striding across the courtyard, coming his way.
“Come join the celebration,” Evan urged as he drew close. “We have earned these luxuries.”
Kael shook his head. He was weary enough, still not owning his full strength or weight after his long recovery, and the strain of battle remained within him. Besides, he had other, more urgent business to attend to.
Brushing his wavy red hair back, Evan leaned against the pillar next to Kael. “Do you choose not to join your brothers in celebrating our victory? Even your father is taking a few moments to relax and join us.”
It was true. Dian was with the captains at the feasting table, roaring with laughter.
“It’s not that I don’t wish to join the celebration, Evan. It’s just that I have other matters to attend to. I really have no choice.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth, Kael. Everything you do is a matter of choice. Are you choosing business over pleasure?”
“My business might ruin or save my life. Should I ignore that?”
“But is it so imperative at this moment that you can’t take a breath for pleasure first?” Evan’s green eyes twinkled as he pointed across the courtyard at the two young women he had just left. “The one in the blue has set her cap at you.”
The raven-haired girl was eyeing him and the slow burn of a flush swallowed him up. Certainly she was appealing and he couldn’t deny he was beginning to feel the desperate need to occupy a woman, but if he were to break his shins against the garden rails, it wouldn’t be with that one. There was but one woman he wanted. Though he kept her close in his heart, she was far from the palace grounds.
“Not tonight, Evan. I don’t have time.”
“Come on, Kael. You can’t let those tools of yours get rusty.”
Kael didn’t want to admit that his tools had never been out of the barn. “My business—”
“Your business can wait,” Evan cut in, tugging at Kael’s arm. “Come and meet the girl, at least.”
“No, Evan. I don’t want to meet her,” he said, despite the temptation. What was he afraid of? That courtesan wouldn’t refuse him. He could finally taste what he’d been hungering for and be done with it.
“You will meet her,” Evan insisted, forcibly pulling Kael away from the pillar. “Her companion won’t join me in the garden if you don’t, and my tools are oiled and ready to be put to good use. So do it for me. Just meet her. You don’t have to do anything else, though I don’t know why you wouldn’t.”
Reluctantly, Kael allowed Evan to escort him across the open court to the breezeway where the two courtesans waited.
“Kael,” Evan spoke, motioning to the dark-haired woman. “I’d like you to meet Patri.”
Her dark eyes fluttered and Kael clung to his fleeing courage. “Greetings, Patri,” he said quietly.
“Greetings, I’m sure,” she replied, the smile upon her ruby lips a coy, playful whisper.
What do I do now? Kael’s legs felt weak, his mind a blither. Nervously, his fingers tapped upon the hilt of his sword.
“We’re off to see the gardens,” Evan said, leading the other girl away. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Kael nodded at his friend, wishing he possessed even a tiny portion of Evan’s confidence with women.
“So tell me, Kael,” Patri said. “Are you going to draw that sword, or does it just enjoy the touch of your strong hand?”
Kael’s fingers froze upon the hilt and slowly, he brought the hand away. “It’s … it’s just a habit,” he mumbled, feeling noddish.
“Come walk with me.” Patri slipped her arm around his. “The palace gardens are beautiful in the moonlight.”
Wae! What to do? Should he accompany her? This was no common whore. No, this was a royal whore. A courtesan, employed by the king to entertain his warriors, to keep them happy, and oh, how he longed to know that happiness. But not with a whore. He did not want to know this woman that another man had known yesterday and another would simply know tomorrow. He wanted to know a woman that would be his and his alone.
“I’m afraid I cannot accompany you,” he told her. “I have business I must attend to.”
Patri caressed Kael’s arm and he shivered at her touch. “Can it not wait?” Her gaze bespoke a silent promise.
Kael sighed, ignoring the urgings of his physical want. “It cannot.”
Stoically, he turned and walked away, leaving the girl alone in the breezeway, and he wondered, would it have been so terrible?
“Oh, you are a fool, Kael,” he berated himself. If he kept this up, he’d never know the sweet, warm depths of a woman.
Leaving the courtyard behind, he turned down a long, torch lit hallway and entered the door of a side turret, working his way up the winding stairs toward the wizard’s quarters. Kirts was wizard to the king—a most powerful magician in a powerful office. Perhaps Kirts could answer some of the questions that plagued Kael’s mind.
He had nearly climbed the entire height of the tower before he found the wizard’s darkened room. The air reeked of smoke and fumes and through the open door, Kael spied the dark-skinned, slender wizard, furiously writing upon a parchment leaf near the rear of the flickering candlelit chamber. The walls were ornamented with charms, feathers, and small animal skulls. A large, hooded and tethered falcon perched upon its roost in the center of the room.
The wizard continued his work, oblivious to Kael’s presence at the door.
“Good day, sir,” Kael called, trying to gain the man’s attention.
The wizard turned an ominous stare his way and it felt as if those dark eyes had crawled beneath his very skin.
“Is it now?” Kirts said, rising. His lean frame towered above Kael by at least a head’s length. Long black hair and an equally long beard hung below his waistline and his features appeared to have been graven in stone. “What is the meaning of this interruption? Do you have an appointment?”
The imposing stature of the wizard caused Kael to momentarily forget why he’d come. He was accustomed to Fith, a far more congenial sort. From its hiding beneath his shirt, Kael pulled the crystal out for the wizard to see.
“What I have is this,” he said, noting the astonishment alight in the wizard’s eyes.
“Where did you get that?” Kirts asked, peering about the room as if making certain they were alone, and he hurriedly closed the door behind Kael, sequestering them both inside his quarters.
“It was given to me by a wizard.”
“Indeed.” Kirts raised his eyebrows. “And what did he tell you it was?”
Kael let the stone fall back to his chest. “He told me it was a talisman that would protect me from Ragg.”
“Yes.” Kirts nodded. “If that is the one, then this is true in a manner of speaking, though not altogether true if what I’ve heard of it can be trusted. It is said that when Makor created his dragon, whom you call Ragg, that crystal was created as well. The power it contains within will protect its owner from the beast, if that is the same crystal.”
Kael gave a light nod. “I believe it is, for Ragg cannot touch the one who wears it. This much I already know.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
“Tell me about this stone,” Kael said. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do with it.”
Kirts paced the room, his hair shimmering in the candlelight. “It is well understood in wizard lore the danger of creating dragons,” he spoke. “Few of us ever attempt it, for dragons cannot be trusted. They have no loyalty and Makor was a fool to create a dragon far more powerful than himself.” Kirts pointed at the crystal. “That is a wizard’s stone, a tear of a Guardian, and has been in a wizard’s hiding since Makor relinquished it many ages ago. Its possessor has always remained secret until it is passed on, for to have its possession revealed puts its possessor in grave danger. But now it has come into the unskilled hands of a warrior. Why would a wizard bestow it upon you? Do you intend to fight the dragon?”
“No, I have no wish
to fight the dragon. The wizard gave it to me because there was no one else he could give it to. He was Ragg’s prisoner when I found him and he put it into my keeping to keep it from Ragg.”
“Splendid!” The wizard rolled his dark eyes and shook his head. “So Ragg knows you have it.”
“I do not think so,” Kael returned, ignoring the barb, “for I hear he is looking for it among the trolls.”
Kirts nodded. “Yes. I have heard this as well, but I thought it a jest. What wizard in his right mind would give it to a troll? A troll would hand it right over to Ragg. My question to you, warrior, is what do you intend to do with the stone?”
“I intend to keep it safe. Or perhaps, since it is a wizard’s stone, I will give it up to you.”
Kirts held his hands up, stepping back, shaking his head. “You will do no such thing. I do not want it. I refused it when it was first offered to me, and I certainly don’t want it now that the dragon is actively seeking it.”
Kael was taken aback. It was a wizard’s stone, was it not? Hadn’t Kirts implied that it should not be in the hands of a warrior? Why wouldn’t he take it? If a wizard as powerful as Kirts did not want the stone, what was Kael to do with it?
“It is imperative that it never, ever fall into Ragg’s hands,” Kirts said. “Makor revealed that much at his death. But he failed to reveal its power and it has been passed down from wizard to wizard ever since. None has discovered how to use it. Now it is in the hands of a warrior. But, better a warrior than a troll. Keep it hidden, warrior. Keep it safe. Never surrender it, on your life, should Ragg come to face you. And I regret that I can offer you no greater protection against the beast than you already have.”
The Legacy of Skur: Volume One Page 23
