Forget Me Not,

by Juliann Whicker

  Balthaar shrugged as though that were unimportant. “How did the Emperor do it, curse Lady Perr?”

  The High Precept sighed. “She loved you. Elsyrians do not love easily. Without her love of you, her weakness to one he owned, the Emperor could never have reached her mind however he tortured her body.”

  “I am responsible,” Balthaar answered closing his eyes while his face tightened with restrained emotion.

  “Perhaps,” the High Precept said in a gentle voice as he put a hand to Balthaar’s shoulder. “But she chose to love you. She chose to die beside you rather than returning home in Elsyria without you. Such devotion can be twisted, unfortunately.”

  “Does she know that I’m well? She should not worry about me. She should know that I can easily endure any unpleasantness the Elsyrians could inflict upon me. Tell her. Tell her that no one can hurt me, that she should not worry about someone, something like myself.”

  The High Precept smiled. “The Barabbas army will come in the spring. How will she suffer then, I wonder?”

  Balthaar returned his smile. “Targen wishes to be the next Emperor. Perhaps he won’t continue the war with Elsyria.”

  “Perhaps he will not. Then again, to not continue while Elsyria is so hard pressed would be foolish. Targen may have been easily to manipulate to betray his Emperor by sending his loyal general away, but is he a fool?”

  Balthaar shook his head. “You wish me to challenge Targen’s place as the next Emperor.”

  The High Precept frowned. “I do. It’s the best possible outcome for Elsyria, for Hatia.”

  The Barbarian general shook his head. “How is that good for her? If she was willing to die with me, perhaps she would also be willing to live with me far from blood and violence.”

  The High Precept nodded his weary head. “If you can think of a more peaceful land than Elsyria, we should all go there.”

  Balthaar laughed then sighed, running his hand over his head as he leaned back to look at the sunset spilling gold over the stone. “They always called me son of the Emperor, but I never knew until he said it, his words the same as the day he branded me. I should have been bound to his words, his defense, but I gave her my name, my heart, and she freed me from the Emperor’s compulsion. How did you find out about me, that I was the one who was her weakness?”

  “And her salvation,” the High Precept said gently. “It took almost a century. It was Hortham. He read the etchings on your sword.”

  “He knows Bashai secrets?”

  He shook his head. “Not Bashai. There is a race of witches that inhabit the swamps. I should say that there was. Some called them dark elves with their heavy magics for they shared many similarities with Elsyrians. They were skilled in matters of deception as our Thormul possessed. He fooled us all with his presence until the very end. The witches language, their spells were studied by Hortham, however the last traces of their race have vanished as the Emperor’s Bashai. It took him time, but the marks on your sword spoke of more than violence and destruction. You had marks of devotion, remembrance, the marks an Elsyrian would put on his sword as he defended his home, his family. You have more inherent Elsyrian tendencies than your father had. Your mother must have been one of these witches, your father, Tharmul.”

  “You knew of my attachment to Lady Perr from markings on my sword? That is impressive.”

  The High Precept smiled, his eyes twinkling. “It took far too long, but I am pleased with how it has ended.”

  “Ended? Your people are on the brink of destruction.”

  “But Lady Perr is cured. As for you, I understand your distrust, your reluctance to ally with a race you’ve fought so long, but she will change your mind.”

  “When will she come?”

  The High Precept’s smile dimmed somewhat. “She’s fighting for your freedom, your rights as a visiting dignitary who is under her care. She hasn’t shown any signs of interest in your becoming the next Emperor. She’s afraid that you’ll die, be harmed if she can’t protect you, keep you close. I fear if we release you, she’ll convince you to run away with her. First, I must instill in her some loyalty for her own people.”

  “Her people were not kind. They treated her like a pariah,” Balthaar said in a harsh voice.

  “She doesn’t care about that, only about you. Besides, not all Elsyrians took their fear out on her. I know that she would regret her actions, abandoning her people as time wore on. Immortality can be a heavy burden. Perhaps you could protect her from her own regret.”

  Balthaar gazed in the distance, his thoughts far from the small cell, to a future with Hatia at his side, laughter, children, safety and peace. Would her eyes hold regret?

  “I wish to see her,” he said in a low voice.

  The High Precept stood, gathering his robes around him. “You shall. Thank you for your patience. We both know that those chains and this tower could not hold you unwillingly.”

  Balthaar grunted but felt some tension leave his shoulders. He had not been created to trust, but perhaps the High Precept’s interest was the same as his own.

  Chapter 18

  “You can’t keep him there like a common prisoner,” Lady Perr said, pacing in front of the High Precept, her former vagueness replaced with a sharp focus that made him shift uncomfortably in his chair.

  He shook his head as he closed the narrow book of poems. “He murdered an Elsyrian.”

  “He executed a dictator. As general and Barabbas, surely he’s entitled to actions of such violence however inappropriate for an Elsyrian. We all know that barbarians would be throwing parades in his honor. The Emperor was not loved, Balthaar was.”

  “Because he slaughtered Elsyrians.”

  “He bested them in battle.”

  “He killed thousands of Elves.”

  Lady Perr took a deep breath. “You brought him here as ambassador. He is under my protection at your behest. I will not allow you to imprison my guest simply because he engaged with a member of his own race and came out victor.”

  The High Precept smiled at her. “You sound well.”

  “You’re trying to change the subject,” she said, but as she smoothed down the violet dress knew what he meant. Ever since the celebration where Balthaar had executed the Barbarian emperor, she’d remembered everything. The pain but also the good memories. She recalled every conversation and heard those around her, noticed their movements and desires.

  “On the contrary,” he said, rising to his feet. “I have a new assignment for you. How difficult do you think it would be to break a Barbarian general out of prison? I have two men you can rely on,” he added as the Rasha, Maltha and Hortham entered the room, silver armor properly gleaming even in the study’s dim light.

  “Break him out?” Lady Perr repeated, frowning from the High Precept to the two men. “The only reason he hasn’t broken himself out is that he’s not trying to leave High City. He’s not fighting.”

  “A hundred years is a long time to fight,” Maltha, the green-skinned Rasha said with a slight smile. “Also, he hopes to see you again. Why would he run when he can die gazing at your lovely face.”

  Lady Perr blushed as she folded her hands in front of her. “As I said, breaking him out of imprisonment isn’t the problem. The problem is holding him in an unethical manner.”

  “He injured an Elsyrian,” Hortham said, raising his arm where you could see the white gauze beneath the armor.

  She waved it away. “Interfering on Barbarian business, and it’s only a scratch. He could have killed you, couldn’t he? He deserves a full pardon, not only a pardon but an apology. We are not Barbarians. If you were going to release that monster, Tharmul with a scolding, how can you hold Balthaar?”

  The high precept smiled. “Well you see, my dear, he hasn’t agreed to our terms yet.”

  “What terms,” she asked, her mouth tightening in a thin line.

  “The terms of his release,” the High Precept said soothingly. “The General must be persuade
d to engage in civil war, Viceroy against Viceroy. That will end our own war with the Barbarians and be the only thing to save us. It’s vital that the general go to war. He could be the next emperor.”

  “That’s what you want?” Lady Perr asked, her heart constricting painfully. She ached at the thought of Balthaar spending another hundred years fighting, blood and heat leaching out his heart, his soul.

  “Otherwise, we have no guarantee that the place of Emperor won’t pass silently to one of his viceroy’s and Elsyria becomes overrun by Barbarians come spring,” Maltha said soothingly.

  “You’re all so soothing, but you’re talking to me instead of him. He’s declined. He doesn’t want to fight another war.”

  “He must be persuaded,” the High Precept said, cocking his head at her.

  Lady Perr turned and left the room, the two Rasha falling in behind her.

  Chapter 19

  The escape was ridiculously easy. The two Rasha went to get him, and marched him to a boat instead of to the High Precept, to take the waterways to the crumbling manse at the edge of the city where Hatia waited on the balcony overlooking the river, a river where a ship lay at anchor just out of sight. That night it would come close enough to row out, to stow the General safely on board, sending him away to safety.

  “Your country is beautiful,” Balthaar said from behind her, his step soundless on the stone, soundless as an Elsyrian.

  “You hated it when you arrived,” she answered, staying in her place.

  He frowned at her slightly as he moved closer to the elven woman with pale hair, only a few wisps escaping from the elaborate braids that circled her head like a crown. “How suddenly things change,” he replied in a low voice as he moved behind her, resting his hands on the stone, arms on either side of her, untouching but holding her fast.

  “You are leaving,” she said in a voice she struggled to keep level.

  “Am I?” he asked, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent.

  “You are a general. Your place is at the head of your men.”

  “I am an ambassador and a calumnious traitor. I will be executed the moment I step on Barabbas soil.”

  She spun around, gazing up at him with her startling amethyst eyes, gripping his shoulders in her slender fingers. “Then you must run far away, somewhere no Elsyrian or Barbarian will find you.”

  He frowned slightly as he glanced down at her, the soft mouth he’d never touched. As far as he knew, Elves did not kiss. Too many sharp teeth would make it an act of war, not love. He was willing to engage in either with his Lady Perr.

  “I don’t believe you’re supposed to smuggle me into the wilderness,” he said leaning slightly towards her. “You’re supposed to convince me to return and fight the Bashai with my army.”

  She shook her head, raising her hand to brush her throat, covered in pale purple silk. “That is the High Precept’s will, not my own.”

  “What will you do, Hatia,” he said, hands sliding together on the balcony until his arms brushed her sides, “when the Barbarians descend in the spring, burning, killing, destroying everything you love?”

  “Not everything,” she replied lifting her chin in spite of the uncertainty in her own eyes. “The Elves will flee, abandoning Elsyria to its inevitable ruin.”

  He tilted his head to the side, his golden brown eyes looking mysterious and Elsyrian almost. “Many will stay and die with the land.” He shook his head. “I only waited to see you again before I returned to my people. Your eyes are as stunning as I remembered. What are jewels compared to your eyes, sparkling with life and…”

  “Tears,” she said, closing her eyes tightly. “You never used to speak so, of my eyes or any other part of me.”

  “Are we still bound by the strictures and regulations from that time? If so, I should never be here, gazing upon your bare face without appropriate paces between us.” He pulled her against him, his arms iron bands around her. “Tell me. What did Tharmul say to you that took you into the arms of the Bashai?”

  Hatia struggled to breathe evenly, her body brought up hard against his. She swallowed before she could speak. “He said that you had asked for permission to court me, that you were being executed.”

  Balthaar relaxed his grip slightly on her, studying her face with a frown between his dark eyebrows. “So you were fleeing to safety.”

  She shook her head and tentatively reached up, sliding her hand along the side of his face. “I wanted to be at your side, to die with you. It sounds so foolish. What would a Barbarian want with an Elsyrian?” she asked, frowning at him as she stroked his cheek, the soft skin around his eyes to the roughness of his jaw.

  He grasped her hand, stilling it. “I’m not actually Barabbas. I am possibly the most barbaric person you will meet, however,” he said with a slight smile before he turned his face and kissed her fingers.

  She inhaled deeply as his soft lips caressed her flesh. “What are you?” she asked, her words trembling.

  He raised his head to gaze at her as if considering how much to tell her. “There is some conjecture, however it is likely that I’m half dark elf witch and power mad Elsyrian.”

  “The Bashai and the dark elves… Of course,” she murmured, cocking her head. “I saw some engravings when I was a child, learned a few letters from Halthom. He was always fascinated with them, but some said they were mythical if not long extinct. So, the Emperor found them and married one of them…” She frowned as she considered. Elves were not known for their excessive breeding.

  “And here I am.”

  “Just like that,” she said with a slight smile before she sighed, leaning against him with all of her weight. “I suffered through a hundred years of insanity caused from thinking that you had been executed out of love for me. What happened to you? Why did you join the army? Did you know that the Bashai…”

  “No,” Balthaar cut her off, frowning at her fiercely. “I never knew you had been taken by Bashai. I received a letter from your hand that you had received an offer from an Elsyrian Lord and were going to become his bride. It smelled of you, felt of you. I truly believed you were the author of that letter that broke me and sent me running away from everything that reminded me of you like a weak, cowardly fool.”

  Lady Perr pulled away from him. “I wrote a letter.” She shivered. “I was told that you would be safe if I did.” She turned her face away from him, but he drew her back with his hand, warm against her cheek.

  “Why would you try to protect me? I was only a Barbarian, someone who debated logistics and morality with you. Why would you care?” he whispered, leaning close so that his nose brushed her cheek.

  She shivered and closed her eyes. “I suppose I loved you.” She opened her eyes and pushed him back, surprising strength in her arms. “Why did you slaughter my kind? Must you take out your hatred of me on them?”

  He shook his head, smiling slightly before he caught her once more in his arms. “I did not fight Elsyrians until the fury when they attacked us. Perhaps you can forgive me some day for all the evils I have done. I tried to hate you, but how could I? Surely I had only deceived myself, thinking that you had some feeling for me. You never spoke of it, and I knew deep down that you were better with another man, an Elsyrian who could give you a world of peace and beauty instead of what I had to offer.”

  “What is that,” she asked, studying him intently.

  He tightened his arms around her unconsciously. “My sword, my skill, my mind, and my heart. I offer all I am or will ever be, to you.”

  “You can’t still care for me. I’m a shadow of what I was.”

  He shook his head, gazing into her eyes. “We have both changed, but to my eyes, you are more incomprehensibly exquisite every time I see you. Your mind was broken, but even in madness, I would have happily stayed by your side until eternity faded from the sky.”

  “You would?” she asked, doubtfully.

  He smiled and leaned his forehead against hers. “I hope you still talk to s
tatues and dance in the moonlight. It would be hard seeing you and you not knowing me, but I have ached for a century to hold you as I never did when I had the chance.”

  She closed her eyes and relaxed against him, letting him hold her for a moment without thinking of the past or the future, enrapt in a single moment that shone like an eternally falling star.

  “I accept,” she whispered. “That is, if you’re still offering,” she added glancing up at him through her pale lashes.

  He frowned suddenly. “There is no place for an Elsyrian woman and a Barbarian warrior,” he said roughly. Suddenly she seemed light and airy as a handful of clouds and as difficult to hold onto.

  “Then we will make one,” she said before she brushed his warm lips with her cool ones.

  Balthaar’s heart sang as he felt the soft skin against his own, his mouth vulnerable to the sharpness he wanted to consume him and devour him until nothing was left of the Barbarian but a skin she could wear over her shoulders.

  He fell to his knees before her, gazing down at her delicate hands in his. “I must protect you. Whatever else comes, I cannot live knowing that I brought harm upon you again.”

  “I insist that you live,” she said with a laugh in her voice. “You will live nearly as long as I,” she said sounding nearly giddy. “What shall we do? Where shall we go? It doesn’t matter,” she said, leaning her cheek against his. “All will be well. I know it.”