by C. L. Scheel
"Well, they look horrible. They look like...they are hideous. And the ugly one with those scars! Ugh! I wonder if they are going to kill us?"
"I do not think so. And, I think they look magnificent in a sort of ferocious way. They remind me of eagles."
"You are ridiculous, Kita. You--"
Kitarisa suddenly held up a hand, silencing her. The air smelled slightly musty and rank and she felt a quick chill of terror shoot up her spine. Instinctively, both of them crouched down, listening. From just beyond a low rise in the forest they saw them. There were at least eight, maybe ten--the chalky gray skin was unmistakable: marglims. Flesheaters.
Kitarisa motioned Alea to stay silent as they hurried back to the camp. She ran straight to Assur, her eyes wide with terror.
"Marglims," she managed to whisper.
At once alert, Assur took her elbow to steady her.
"Where? How many?"
"Eight, maybe ten, just beyond that hill."
The others needed no instruction. At once their swords were drawn and they fell into an offensive stance.
The horses smelled them too and whinnied nervously; their eyes rolled showing the whites.
Grunting and shuffling, the marglims had heard the horses, breached the low hillock, and descended on them like a vile plague.
Of all the frightening stories adults used to elicit obedience from children, the warnings about marglims were the ones believed. Marglims: the vile ones, flesh-eaters.
The Talesians wasted no time for the marglims to reach them. With wild battle cries they flung themselves at the hideous, gray creatures, swords arcing and striking with deadly accuracy.
Clutching Alea, Kitarisa watched as Assur's men attacked the marglims, leather-skinned and bony creatures, with long arms that ended with three, claw-like talons. Great scoop-shaped ears sprouted from their squat, oval heads and two large tusks grew from their lower jaw. Immensely strong, they fought with only their hands and teeth, occasionally using an axe or a knife. They stank of carrion and blood. And they ate...anything.
There was blood everywhere, oceans of it. As the battle grew in fury, Kitarisa pulled the trembling Alea near a tree and crouched down, covering the younger girl with her own body to shield her from the horror. She could barely think or even move, but only stare in mute terror.
Their courteous, mysterious saviors were suddenly transformed into savage killers. Kitarisa watched the fiercest-looking one, Kuurus, hurl himself at two of them, sword slashing. In two neat blows, he decapitated one, whirled lightly on his toes and brought the sword down on the other's shoulder, splitting the creature nearly in half--its screams of death filling the forest.
Each of the Talesians fought with a cold fury--deadly earnest and unyielding. In the midst, Assur struck at one of the marglims, its hideous face slobbering and gabbling as it tried to pin him to a tree. Using his shoulder, he rammed into the creature's belly sending it staggering back. In a heartbeat, gripping the sword with both hands, Assur thrust the sword deep into the marglim's throat. Blood gushed from the open wound in a vile torrent, spilling down its leathery skin to the ground where the beast toppled into a stinking heap.
One by one the hideous creatures fell. Although strong, they were immensely stupid and slow. Only by sheer numbers could they be a serious threat to a trained fighting force, but Assur's men took no chances. Assur quickly assessed the carnage. All the marglims lay dead in piles of severed flesh and reeking blood. He nodded to his men.
"Del, Courronus, get the horses. Brekk, the rest of you look up beyond the hill and see if there are any more."
He turned toward Kitarisa, when they all heard a shrill scream pierce the air. One, lone marglim, smaller than the others had crept into the clearing unnoticed and managed to pull Alea away from Kitarisa. It would never let her go unless they severed the arms from its body.
"Assur! Help us!" Kitarisa shrieked, as Alea was savagely torn from her arms.
Gabbling and slobbering, the marglim dragged Alea from the clearing. Alea screamed in terror, trying to fight the creature, but her screams seemed to excite the marglim even more. It howled in triumph, lifting her high over its head as if she were some kind of prize.
Kuurus and Assur surrounded the beast and attacked, repeatedly driving their blades into it, shifting quickly to avoid striking the terrified girl. Grunting in pain the marglim stumbled and lost its grip on Alea. Kuurus raised his sword and brought it down in one mighty blow, severing the creature's arm at the shoulder. Too frightened to move, Alea sagged in the grip of its other taloned hand.
Like a pack of savage wolves, Kuurus, Assur and two of the others swarmed over the marglim, striking and cutting, forcing the vile creature to its knees. Groaning and bleeding from its many wounds, the beast sank and dropped Alea. With a final blow, Kuurus drove his sword deep into its chest. Death blood spewed from its mouth, spattering Kuurus on his face and shoulder.
Assur did not allow any of them to linger over the dead marglim. Grabbing Alea, he motioned all of them to get to the horses.
"My lord, I cannot!" Kuurus gasped, clutching his belly in agony. "I have swallowed its blood."
Assur and the others went ash-white. Marglim blood was harmless on the skin even if cut, but ingested it was certain death.
"Can you ride?"
Kuurus nodded weakly. A frightening urgency pervaded all the Talesians. The horses were gathered and swiftly mounted. Even Alea did not protest and obediently scrambled up behind Brekk. Grabbing for the roan, Kitarisa dragged herself onto his back and kicked the horse into a bone-jarring gallop.
Riding between two of his comrades, Kuurus managed to hang on, doubled over, clenching his teeth in pain; the wild eye markings and face scars made him appear even more terrifying.
Assur set a brutal pace, taking them through the most dense part of the forest to the west, beyond the Rift Cut.
Kitarisa knew roughly where he was leading them, far north of Gorendt into the easternmost reaches of the Adrex Mountains. There were plenty of valleys and glens where they could stop safely.
When the last pale thread of light left the sky, Assur finally stopped. The small clearing overlooked a wide valley, easily guarded, and a fresh, fast-running creek flowed not far from where they were to camp.
Kuurus nearly fell from his horse, his face white with agony--the livid cheek scars stood out in hideous contrast to the paleness of his skin.
"Get him down and get a fire started as soon as you can," Kitarisa ordered firmly.
Assur and the others looked at her, bewildered.
"He will die soon, my lady. Verlian will Summon him," Brekk was quick to comment.
"No, he is not going to die."
"Marglim blood is poison to death; no one survives it," Assur added.
"No. He is not going to die," Kitarisa repeated. "You must get the water boiling. Alea, get the bag from my saddle."
Assur frowned at her, unconvinced. "Are you sure of this, my lady?"
"My Lord Assur," she said, standing to face him. Unconsciously, Kitarisa had begun referring to him as "my lord" as easily as the others--somehow it befitted him. "Kuurus will not die, if you let me attend to him. I know what to do, I have seen this before."
"You have seen someone survive the blood-poisoning of a marglim?"
"Yes, but we must hurry. Please, my lord."
Assur studied her for a long moment. Kitarisa knew she had not failed him once since they had fled Sherehn Keep, but it was vital he believe her.
He nodded, making his decision. "What should be done?"
"Help me to remove his jerkin and tunic; get his cloak, the fur one to wrap him in, and remove all his weapons so he will not hurt himself."
Assur nodded to his men and they jumped to obey.
Boil the water, girl, and make a strong, black tea of the borgonwort flower.
From her satchel, Kitarisa removed a small silk bag that held the dried blossoms of the borgonwort. It, like the other herbs she kept,
served well for the petty little aches and pains Alea so commonly complained about--Kitarisa discovered by keeping a small supply of medicines and herbs, she saved herself and those attending Alea much hardship.
When the water boiled, she dropped the dark brown blossoms and leaves into the water, turning it to a bright amber color.
Kuurus was thrashing now, the blood of the marglim roiling in his stomach. Sweat covered his body as he fought the effects of the poison. With firm hands, Kitarisa held his head and poured the hot liquid into his mouth. The fierce Talesian choked and sputtered, but she did not stop until all of the cup's contents was down his throat.
Pour as much of it as they will hold, child, till the vomitin' comes. Let `em retch till all the blood's out.
Gently, Kitarisa helped Kuurus turn and expel the vile blood. His skin felt hot and sticky and she stared in amazement at the number of scars criss-crossing his lean body. When Kuurus finally lost the last of it, he sank back exhausted, his eyes fluttered open long enough to let her know it was all over.
"Will he be all right now?" Assur asked in a low voice.
Kitarisa looked up at him and suddenly realized that his eyes, those remarkable eyes were dark, vivid blue. She stared at him and for a moment was lost for an answer.
"He should be, if he is strong enough. He must fight the fever. If he survives that, he will recover completely."
For the next two hours, Kitarisa sponged Kuurus' shaking, drenched body with strips torn from her petticoat and from Alea's, while the six Talesians watched on anxiously. Curiously quiet, Alea knelt by Kitarisa to assist her as if she had at last realized the value of these strange, serious men, particularly the one lying before her.
Kitarisa finally stood up, wiping her hands and face with a scrap of dry cloth.
"He will sleep now." She sighed heavily, passing a tired hand over her hair. Kuurus was indeed asleep, the shaking had stopped and he rested quietly underneath the fur cloak.
Kitarisa turned and made her way to the little creek. The cold, fresh water felt marvelous as she sponged her neck and shoulders, allowing the cool liquid to run down between her breasts.
"This is twice, now, that I owe you for the life of my men, particularly this man," Assur spoke from behind her.
"He saved Alea's life, what else could I do?"
"Still, I am grateful to you."
"Then we are even, Lord Assur."
"Perhaps."
He came to stand next to her, watching her ablutions. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him taking in the soft, whiteness of her breasts just showing from the top edge of her gown. Too weary to be self-conscious, Kitarisa simply folded and squeezed out the wet rag.
"Will Kuurus survive?" he asked.
"Yes. His fever has broken and the marglim blood is gone. Kuurus will be weak for several days and he must not be allowed strong drink; no wine or ale."
"I will see he obeys. You realize, of course, he will take an Oath of Duty on your life, once he realizes he will live."
"I do not understand; an `Oath of Duty'?"
"Saving the life of a Talesian, particularly one of the Siarsi Tribe is a serious matter. Our law is clear. Kuurus must swear a solemn Oath of Duty to you. He is yours to command, my lady. He will do anything for you. Anything."
"I do not want his oaths," she said, exasperated. "I just want him to get well."
"He will, but he must never forget what you have done. Nor will I," Assur added softly.
"No more oaths, please," she said with some asperity.
"Kitarisa, why do you turn aside kindness, when you so readily give it?"
She looked up at him, trying to read his meaning. The dark eye markings did not mar the gentleness in his gaze and it was impossible not to miss the warmth in his voice.
"I spare myself the pain, my lord. I cannot afford it." She offered him no self-pity, but rather hard reality. "I am tired and I am going to sleep now. Kuurus will be all right if someone stays with him."
Abruptly, she turned on her heel and strode back to the camp, not knowing she had left Assur troubled--deeply troubled.
Chapter 4
THE NORTH TOWER, the oldest tower of Gorendt Keep commanded the best views of the city, but it was only accessible by a long narrow corridor, poorly-lit, forgotten and never guarded. Even if one could be persuaded to stand guard in its dark, narrow recesses, it was not necessary. The occupant of the tower required no protection. Few knew of the tower's resident and Kazan was determined to keep it that way. Only one, silent wraith of a girl in immaculate white robes, delivered the trays of food and then retreated to the sanctity of a remote chamber when her tasks were completed.
Kazan reluctantly approached the first of the winding steps leading to the tower's upper chamber. He was rarely frightened, but the impending interview filled him with dread.
A rat scurried past the heel of his boot and vanished into the shadowed edges of the stairwell.
The stairs were steep, the tower having been built in the old days of the empire when it was needed as a lookout for encroaching Qualani or the mindless Huons. It had even been used that terrible day when the first watch saw the oncoming deluge of Talesians. How many warriors had climbed these very steps to report on the progress of a battle? How many had sought out the advantage of the tower's height to send a rain of arrows down on their unsuspecting enemies, Kazan reflected as he approached the great oak door that sealed the tower room from the rest of the keep and the world.
He knocked lightly. A cool, detached voice bade him to enter.
"Have you come to report your failure?" the serene voice went on as he shut the door behind him.
All he could see was one slim, white hand resting on the arm of a high-backed chair--the deep shadows concealing the occupant from him. The fingers curled, beckoning him to approach. Long, white nails, more like talons, flexed momentarily and resumed their resting place on the black wood of the armrest.
The chamber was simply furnished with the one tall chair, intricately carved and embellished with deep inlays of old ivory, breok horn and blood-colored carnelian. A narrow, draped bed stood against the side wall; two or three trunks were placed near it. In the center of the room was a round table, also deeply carved like the chair and upon it, silver candlesticks and the strange paraphernalia of the room's occupant. A brass brazier, standing on taloned legs radiated warmth and the faint smell of incense, keeping the room comfortable and fragrant. To the back, one of the many mullioned windows had been opened to allow for fresh air.
"There have been some unexpected changes in our plans Holy Sister," Kazan said, hoping his voice did not betray his apprehension.
"Changes? The only thing I require is a complete explanation."
Kazan forced himself to face the colorless, ice-water eyes. Hair as white as the purest snow, spread like a veil over her shoulders and arms, down the sides of the chair, nearly to the thick carpet under her feet. A pale, beautiful face, that once held the promise of compassion and wisdom, was now marred by corruption and cruelty.
She glared at him.
"Please explain, dear Kazan."
"I have been informed the High Prince, the Ter-Rey himself, has sent a band of mercenaries and they have managed to free both Alea and Kitarisa."
"Did you not instruct Reddess to kill her if the plan failed?"
"I did--his instructions were clear, but the barbarians came too early and they did something completely unexpected; they burned Sherehn Keep to get Alea out. The Talesians took them both. I presume the Riehlians found out about the abduction and somehow got a message to the Ter-Rey."
"And Sherehn is now in ruins, with all your precious weapons in ashes," she finished for him. "Your ineptitude is only surpassed by your stupidity. I will not tolerate another blunder. You are a fighting man, or were." She gestured to his spreading middle. "Talesians are well-known for their superior fighting abilities. Common roadwilds like Reddess are as inferior to Talesians, as stupid oxen are t
o blooded horses."
"Reverend `Fa, it was you who wished this abduction to take place. How was I to know the High Prince would find out and send his warriors? My own men pace and rage in their garrison--they are itching to fight, but I must hold them like leashed hounds, forbidding them to leave lest they break the prince's peace. A sorry excuse indeed!"
"My instructions, Kazan, were for you to arrange the abduction itself. The council in Riehl found out and has told the Ter-Rey, temporarily halting our plans. But it is done. Alea's return is assured and the Talesian barbarians will, no doubt, inform His Highness of this awkward misunderstanding. Your precious twins may never fulfill your lofty ambitions."
"I will see Alor sit on the Falcon Throne and Alea will marry into the House of Maretstan."
"Alor! Bah! He is worse than useless--a sniveling boy."
"Nevertheless, Holy Sister, I mean for him to hold Riehl."
"Such grand ambitions," she sneered softly. "It is Kitarisa you must contend with now. As long as she lives, Kazan, neither one of your spoiled brats hold any claim to Riehl's throne."
"Then what do you recommend? Poison again?"
"No. I must think. This must be planned with the utmost care."
"And the Talesians? What of them?"
"They are dangerous. You must watch them carefully. The Blessed Medruth has warned me of them. Their leader is intelligent and more cunning than I suspected. He is most assuredly a spy for the High Prince."
Kazan snorted in disgust. "The High Prince grows cabbages and fishes for blacktrout!"
"Yes, the elder prince, the Descending High Prince, takes his ease now, but it is the younger, the Ascending Prince we must watch."
The woman stood and moved to the window to gaze down upon the subdued activity of the city, her back to Kazan.
"Leave me now. You will pay the Talesian mercenaries generously. Make a show of your gratitude."
"And Kitarisa?"
The white-robed shoulders shrugged. "Do as you wish, but she is not to be harmed, not yet. I want no more mistakes. See that you do not disappoint me like Reddess. He has paid the highest price for his blundering."
