“We’ll start with something easy,” Thorl began as he gently stroked his goatee and paced back and forth in front of Bella and Sarimus. “Let’s see. How long have you been on this dreadfully unpleasant island?” He looked around in mock disgust and laughed. “It’s very hot here you know.”
Bella’s eyes stared forward into emptiness as though she were a mindless zombie. “Sixteen years.”
“I see.” Thorl scrutinized her face for a moment. “You’re an old woman now, Bella. Where were you prior to this?”
“Vistrello.”
The answer seemed to spark an interest in the Blood Lord as he stopped pacing and faced her directly. “Vistrello, you say? How strange. I believed that island to have been uninhabited. Why were you there? What was your purpose?”
“I was the leader of a coven of healers who sought a cure for the darkness in Fandrall.”
“Yes Bella.” Thorl’s eyes gleamed with greed. “Tell me everything. Were you successful? Did you find a cure?”
At this Bella seemed to fidget. Her face made a grimace as though she might sick up, and her body began to shake as she fought against the enchantment. Thorl, sensing her struggle, thrust out his fist, twisting it in the air as though he were choking her. After a moment Bella gasped and tears formed on her cheeks.
“We did,” she said at last, in a hoarse whisper.
“What was it Bella, tell me? I must know.” Thorl was incessant, his crimson eyes wild with excitement.
Again Bella fought. She clenched her fists, and concentrated with every ounce of her being but it wasn’t enough. Exhausted from the effort she collapsed to the floor, her eyes wide with horror as her mouth uttered a single word against the force of her will.
“Maehril,” she croaked.
The Blood Lord, so animated with anticipation and victory only a moment earlier, stepped back with disappointment. Clearly the name meant nothing to him, and his face was a mask of contempt and confusion.
Sarimus had finally heard enough. He took the small blade he’d been concealing and lunged at Bella. He planted the dagger in her chest. Bella’s face twisted into a pained smile as the last moments of life left her body.
“Thank you,” she whispered with her last breath.
“No!” cried Thorl. “Stop him!”
But it was too late. Sarimus had already removed the dagger from Bella’s chest. He turned to the window and looked right into Sim’s horrified eyes, then stabbed himself in the heart. His body fell forward dropping lifelessly beside Bella. One of the Blood Lords soldiers knelt to see if Sarimus could be saved but nodded a fear filled no at his wild eyed commander.
Outside beneath the bay window, Sim wept openly in Enaya’s arms.
“I’m so sorry, Siminus,” she whispered through her own tears. “I’m so very sorry.”
Chapter Five: The Othoran Plains
Lady Enaya Relador could hardly look away from the slump-shouldered boy riding beside her. Well not a boy really, she was only three years older herself, but his lack-witted naiveté made him seem like nothing more than a child to her. Her heart ached for him and what he had just endured. Despite the excitement of finding him after eight long years of searching, she knew that handling him going forward was going to be a delicate situation that demanded a precise hand. After all, the fate of the entire world was resting on those slumped shoulders.
The scene back at the common room had been horrific and gruesome, and in some ways she had gained a measure of respect for the boy. Not just anyone could watch their parents being murdered and keep enough of their wits about them to know when the cause was lost. It truly was most unfortunate that the Blood Lord had arrived when he did. It made her job that much more difficult starting this journey blindly. Just thinking of the information she might have learned from questioning Sevin and Bella Kelmor herself made her want to curse. Very interesting people, those two. They appeared as simple innkeepers to the world, but underneath they were so much more. Had Bella truly been part of the Da’suri on Vistrello? That had been quite an amazing revelation. And the leader as well. Truly remarkable.
She looked again at the boy and frowned.
Delicate.
There was so much to do, but she must be careful not to push him away. There was absolutely no way to tell how he would react to the trauma of witnessing the murder of his parents. It was something she could at least relate to. Her own father had been poisoned when she was only ten years old, and she had had the poor misfortune of finding his body. That wound would never fully heal, but Enaya felt that in the years since it had made her a stronger woman. Perhaps, if she could guide him with a gentle touch, the psychological damage could be kept down. Perhaps.
It had been several hours since they had made their escape from the burning city of Dell. The sun was well past its peak, and she intended to ride until darkness fell before making camp. She felt confident that their departure had gone unnoticed. Givara had given Sim an herb to calm him down, though in truth she had to force him to take it. Without that herb, he might have burst into the common room and gotten himself killed trying to avenge his parents. It seemed the boy had courage to spare. He would need it for the path ahead.
They had slipped away on a trail behind the inn’s stable that led them right out to the Othoran Plains. Givara had doubled back to erase any trace of their tracks leading away from the inn. Hiding their trail out here on the plains was another matter entirely. Sim had said there was a road to the south, but she felt that if a search party was sent out, it would be best to stay off of the obvious routes.
Out in the plains the traveling was difficult. The Othoran wheat grew thickly and stretched out as far as the eye could see. It was an endless rolling sea of pale green stalks blowing back and forth in a slow dance pushed by the cool swirling ocean wind that swept across the plain day and night. Sim had mumbled a few details about the wheat when she had pressed him, but with the tragedy numbing his mind and senses, it had been useless hoping he could be of more help at the moment. He had said that walking would be slow because of the nearly rock hard stems that held the wheat down against the wind. With every few steps they had to be careful to keep the horses' hooves from becoming tangled in the dense patches of wheat. In the first hour of travel alone, Enaya had been thrown from her horse twice as the mare had nearly tripped from being made to walk too quickly. It had made putting distance between themselves and the Blood Lord a bit more tedious than she would have liked.
To this point, neither she nor Givara could decide on a definite plan. Escape had been all that mattered, and since they were on Caramour for the first time, the island was a mystery to them both. Enaya had no idea where they were going, whether there was another town on the island at all, or what to do once they found another town. They were walking blindly, and she would have to wait until the effects of the herb Sim had taken wore off. Even then she had her doubts. There was a good chance that Sim had never even been away from Dell, and the rest of the island may be as foreign to him as it was to Givara and her. It was a fine mess, but she had certainly been in worse.
Looking back over her shoulder, she could see Givara trotting to catch up, pulling the reins of her mare roughly as she tried to steer the animal clear of the thicker patches of wheat. Givara had doubled back several times since leaving Dell to scout for followers and to try to clear their tracks. Enaya pulled the reins to stop her mare and waited for Givara. Her guardswoman’s face was always outwardly calm, and as she rode up Enaya could detect nothing that might indicate a dire situation.
“I believe we are safe, my Lady,” she said, never looking at Enaya, but rather scanning the horizon for threats. “I followed a course for the road the boy described and found it about twenty minutes ride to the south. I followed it back a ways toward the city, but saw no sign of pursuers.”
Enaya glanced at Sim, slouched in his saddle, seemingly unaware that they had even stopped.
“It may be as you say, Givara, but I’ll err o
n the side of caution. We continue across the plains until we make camp. Tomorrow I’ll consider the road.”
“As you wish my Lady. I believe it will be night soon. I’ll begin scouting ahead for a place to make camp.”
Enaya simply inclined her head, and Givara took off working her mare forcibly, trying to make haste among rough terrain. She watched her ride away then turned to Sim. The herbs should be wearing off soon, if they hadn’t already.
She kicked her legs and snapped the reins setting an easy pace for her mare. Sim rode several paces behind her, handling his horse in silence. Occasionally he looked out across the plains as though he was unsure of where he was. Had it been under different circumstances Enaya might have enjoyed the ride. The wind blew in steady gusts, but the cool ocean air felt good against the sun burning with a harsh intensity even as it fell ever closer to the horizon. The air in the plains carried a familiar scent that she couldn’t quite place, something from her childhood perhaps, that made her think of her grandmother. What one had to do with the other, she couldn’t explain, but it was there all the same, a feeling of something…
“It’s the wheat," Sim said suddenly, and she realized he was riding beside her. His sad green eyes watched her.
“The what?” she heard herself say. Sim’s face began to blur in and out, and she felt herself becoming dizzy. Suddenly, she felt Sim’s strong hands against her back holding her. There was a waterskin thrust at her mouth, and she could feel the cool water sliding down her throat. Then she could taste a bitter paste being shoved into her mouth making her retch convulsively, but within moments of being force fed the paste, the spinning began to slow, and she started to regain her senses.
When she regained control of herself, she was lying with her head in Sim’s lap on a rough burlap blanket among a sea of othoran wheat. Sim’s face looked concerned, and she slowly realized that for now his attention was solely on her and not on the tragedy that morning.
“What happened?” Her voice sounded as weak as it felt.
“It was the wheat,” he said warmly, stroking her hair and gazing deeply into her eyes. He does have nice eyes, she thought to herself. “Othoran wheat is very difficult to harvest. That’s why it’s considered a delicacy.”
He pointed to a nearby stem, and she followed his finger to the base of one of the plants. She could see that at the base of the green stem was a black liquid in a thin membrane sack.
“It’s a poison. It’s the plant's natural defense against animals that graze on these plains. Walking across the wheat fields, our horses are breaking the sacks with their hooves. Airborne we are fairly safe. The worst that can happen just did. You might lose consciousness momentarily or hallucinate. In a concentrated dose, if for example some of the liquid got into the harvest and was eaten, you would become seriously ill. If you had a large enough dose, you may as well say goodbye to your loved ones.” The last few words were spoken with a bitterness that he couldn’t hide.
Enaya sat up, feeling embarrassed for having had her head in Sim’s lap. Her mouth still had that acrid taste. She reached for the waterskin and took a deep drink, swishing the water around to wash the taste away.
“What was that you gave me?’ she asked. “It tastes awful.”
Sim laughed.
“It's fettle root paste. My mother makes it.” He showed her the jar in the burlap bag he had insisted on bringing. “It tastes like horse dung, but it cures just about any ailment, including Othoran poisoning.”
“But how come you’re alright?” she asked getting to her feet and climbing up onto Flora’s back.
“Teenagers like to come out here at night to have a goodtime. Once you get used to the gas the poison gives off, it can give you a pretty interesting experience. It opens your mind up in a way that a few pints of ale might.”
“I see,” Enaya said thoughtfully. A recreational use for poison. What was the world coming to?
Sim could see the disapproval on Enaya’s face. He got back on his mount and they began to work their way across the plains once more.
“I take it you spent quite a bit of time out here as a youth?” she questioned him.
“It takes a bit more than a walk across the wheat fields to make me feel something.”
“You act as though your tolerance is something to be proud of, boy.” She meant for him to feel admonished, but he laughed as though it was all a joke.
“Around here, it is.”
“What is the world coming to?” she muttered under her breath.
******************************************************************
As the sky slowly began to darken, they made camp. Givara had scouted out a thick outcropping of trees that surrounded a small shallow of fresh water. Sim had told them that all of the fresh water on Caramour essentially came from a massive network of underground springs that bubbled up in various locations all over the island. The easiest way to find them was to look for a few trees.
The trees themselves were very strange and exotic. There were no branches along the trunk, but at the very top huge thick reddish green leaves reached out in all directions creating perfect canopies of shade. It was warm enough at night that they wouldn’t need a fire for which Enaya was extremely grateful. While it was possible that the Blood Lord wouldn’t realize his mistake, she was willing to take no chances. A fire would have been a dead giveaway to a party tracking them at night.
After taking care of the necessary traveling chores like tending the horses and refilling the waterskins, Sim and Enaya settled down on some travel blankets and had their evening meal. Givara had packed some hard bread, dried cheese and fruit. It wasn’t much, but after a day of hard traveling the broth from a boiled shoe might have felt satisfying. Givara left Sim and Enaya alone in the enclosure while she silently stalked their perimeter keeping a vigilant watch. It was on nights like this that Enaya was truly grateful for her guardian and her particular gifts, one of which was not needing to sleep.
Sim lay on his back looking up at the canopy of leaves. It would be difficult to gauge what kind of lasting effect the events of the morning would have on him, but she believed in the prophecies, and thus she believed that witnessing his parents' death was necessary for him to fulfill his destiny. It was a hard thing to consider, that a tragedy like that could be necessary, but Enaya had given herself over to the ideas of fate and destiny long ago, and her belief in cause and effect was absolute. Somewhere down the line, the scar of this tragedy would make Sim a better man, a stronger man, a man capable of carrying the fate of the world on his shoulders.
“I don’t want your pity,” he said suddenly, lying on his back, staring up at the stars.
“Sim…” she needed to be delicate. “You are not alone. It may help you to know that my own father died in my arms when I was just a girl.”
He turned and looked at her. His eyes asked the question before he could speak.
“He was murdered, Sim,” she told him, surprised that the pain of the event wasn’t causing her to choke up as the memory had so often done in the past. “My father was a very important nobleman. Our family has a large estate on the southern coast of Fandrall in an area called Merrame. My father was poisoned. I was just a girl, only ten. I’d been out riding that day. I found him lying on the floor of his study, barely alive. He tried to tell me he loved me, but he didn’t have the strength to say it before the poison finished him off.”
Sim sat up and looked at her squarely, a darkness coming over his face.
“Did you ever find his murderer?” There was no emotion in his voice.
“King Desirmor,” she told him flatly. “He sent an assassin to kill my father for what I can only assume to be political reasons. My father had been very vocal about increases in taxes in Merrame. Desirmor doesn’t like dissenters. Most nobles these days do anything Desirmor desires for fear of retribution. There is virtually no opposition to his rule. No-one will even second guess him. My father was just one of many nobles over the year
s who died unexpectedly after questioning King Desirmor.”
Sim was silent for a moment, looking down thoughtfully.
“I’m sorry about your father, Enaya. Truly.”
Enaya suddenly felt that familiar welling of emotion suddenly trying to break free, and she struggled to regain control of herself, fighting back the tears with a steely resolve. Not in front of the boy, she told herself. He needs to see your strength right now.
Sim reached out and put his hand over hers.
“I’m going to kill him Enaya.” His eyes were hard, emotionless. “I’ve never broken a promise in my life. Never. I promise you, Lady Relador, if it costs me my life, I will kill King Desirmor.”
The fierceness of his words scared her, but deep within, where the scar of her father’s murder lay buried, she felt a surge of gratitude and hope. Siminus Kelmor would be the champion the world needed. And she would guide him to his destiny, for that was her destiny.
Sim lay there quietly for awhile gazing at the stars which continued to grow brighter as the sky darkened. There was only one moon in the sky and it was a half moon. There was very little light around the enclosure without a fire to guide your eyes.
“Enaya…” Sim sat up and looked at her. “I think I’ll take my shift on watch now.”
“That won’t be necessary tonight, Siminus,” she told him. There was no point in keeping secrets from him now that their fates were bound together. Givara preferred not to have her true identity revealed, but Enaya had already informed her that it would probably become necessary, and the matter had been resolved. “Givara doesn’t need to sleep.”
“Everyone needs sleep, Enaya,” he tried to reason with her.
Enaya sighed.
“Givara is not just anyone Siminus. When you were a child, did your mother ever tell you the story of the Battle of Three Queens?”
The Innkeeper's Son Page 8
