‘Where’s Eijelin?’ asked Immosey, looking around for the little Princess.
‘She’s somewhere she hasn’t been since she returned to Castle,’ said Tiernan, ‘somewhere important.’
‘Surely she doesn’t have any more markets, or wells, or buildings that aren’t exactly to her satisfaction,’ said Louisa incredulously. ‘Where is she?’
‘She’s in the sandpit. She’s playing with Kalinya.’
‘Good!’ said Louisa sounding relieved, ‘very good.’
‘Alasdair will remain with her,’ said Tiernan in response to Immosey’s concerned look. ‘She’ll be quite safe.’
‘It’s strange,’ said Immosey, ‘to think that both Tatharlia and Alkira have been ruled by two young girls. And they’ve both done amazingly well.’
Eijelin picked a handful of leaves from a low bush and pushed them into the sand in a row like little trees beside her sand castle. Kalinya sat scratching absently at the sand and watching the Princess warily.
‘I used to play here with Elliot,’ said Eijelin sadly.
‘Who was Elliot?’
‘He was my best friend.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He died.’ Eijelin blinked back tears and bit her lip. ‘What are you going to do here in Castle?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. I thought maybe I could work in the kitchen.’
Eijelin dropped the remaining leaves and looked at him with a frown. ‘I said this morning I didn’t want you hanging around the kitchen! We already have really wonderful kitchen servants and you couldn’t do better than they do. They’re the best. I think putting you in the kitchen would be a waste. Everyone told me what you did for Elena and how brave and clever you are.’
Kalinya blushed as he understood how badly he’d misinterpreted her earlier words. ‘I thought you didn’t want me eating all the little buns,’ he admitted.
Eijelin shook her head. ‘I sneak in there all the time for buns! No, I just think you could be anything you wanted to be. What do you like doing?’
‘I like looking after the Queen, and I like sailing, and Kelian told me if Colonel Borgulnay was seriously injured I could replace him. He was just joking around, but it was a lot of fun.’
‘Then you shall be my Colonel! Colonel Borgulnay is King’s Colonel. I shall make you Princess’ Colonel.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘Probably not.’
Kalinya laughed. ‘That sounds fine then. I’m Princess’ Colonel Kalinya! And I’m hungry,’ he added.
They held hands as they ran to the kitchen together.
Chapter 40
Larund’s Betrayal
Larund became more and more agitated as they neared the Ice Coast. He disappeared for longer and longer periods, always using the excuse of keeping an eye out for the guardians, and even Kelian began to sense that he was up to something. He’d had no direct contact with Kelian after their one conversation in Starly Forest, and Kelian was sure he was using all of his limited skills to try to hide Kelian’s thoughts as well as his own. Kelian wasn’t at all confident that the warrior could maintain his facade and he began to wonder what would happen if the fallen discovered Larund’s treachery. He found out on the very first night they crossed over onto the Ice Coast. They made camp near a small stone hut, built in the typical style of the fallen. Kelian was pushed into the hut and ignored. Larund entered the hut and removed a large black pot from a high shelf. He built a cooking fire and left the hut. Another warrior entered the hut and placed huge cuts of awleotil on the low table, and then he also left the hut. Kelian looked around. There was a knife on the high shelf. He picked it up and was about to cut himself a slice of meat and cook it over the fire when Larund appeared carrying a small wooden pail of clear water.
He said nothing, but took the knife from Kelian and gestured for him to move to the far corner of the hut. Kelian backed away. Larund cut the meat into bite sized pieces and threw it into the pot along with some water, and then opened a lumpy cloth bag. He drew out a bunch of herbs and a good number of root vegetables. The herbs went straight into the pot, but he paused to scrape the roots clean before chopping them and throwing them in with the meat and herbs. He placed the cloth bag on the high shelf. The stew began to smell very good indeed and Kelian found his mouth watering. He’d been given a small roll of hard bread each day, the occasional piece of fruit, and enough water to keep his throat from drying out completely and as the smell of the stew filled the hut his hunger returned with vengeance, he could feel a gnawing inside his stomach. The thought that the stew might be distributed amongst the fallen and he might not even be offered some crossed his mind, and he watched Larund anxiously. Larund took a wooden bowl from the high shelf and dipped it into the pot, filling it as full as he dared. He handed it to Kelian.
‘Hurry,’ was all he said.
Kelian needed no urging. He wolfed the stew using his fingers and drinking the broth from the bowl, and then he handed the bowl back to Larund.
‘Thank you,’ he mouthed silently, and Larund gave him a quick smile.
Larund took a second bowl, filled it with water and passed it to Kelian, and after Kelian drank his fill, Larund took both bowls, used a little more water to clean them and placed them close to the cooking fire. They dried quickly and the warrior replaced them on the shelf, seemingly untouched. Then he took a small wooden ladle, dipped it into the broth and set it aside, balancing it carefully to prevent spilling.
Kelian sat back against the cold wall and watched Larund. He knew the warrior had taken a risk in allowing him the food, and he was grateful. Larund ignored him. He stood still for a moment, as if listening then took the cloth bag down from the shelf where he had placed it earlier. He took a small wooden board and placed it on the low table. He knelt and paused again, took a deep breath and upended the bag onto the wooden board. His knife moved fast, but Kelian recognized the green devils berries and some little orange berries known as poison nuts before they were entirely chopped into portions so small it seemed they had been ground rather than chopped. Larund scraped them into two little piles, one green and the other a mixture of green and orange, then he lifted the orange and green pile with the blade of his knife and dropped it onto his palm. He closed his fist tightly. He held his hand in the pail of water and swished it around for a half a minute before removing his fist and squeezing the water out of the chopped plants. He threw the plants into the pot of stew, and once again using the blade of his knife, he scraped the second pile of chopped plants into the pot. A strange smell drifted across the room. He stood as if considering his actions, and then he reached into the cloth bag once again and extracted a handful of small strangely shaped mushrooms and some bear weed. Both were quickly chopped and added to the stew. Almost at once the strange smell disappeared. Larund picked up the pail of water and smelt it gingerly. He frowned and glanced at Kelian who was now watching him extremely warily.
‘Well, you’ve seen what went into the stew,’ Larund said softly, ‘so let’s just hope we have enough time to get away from here after everyone eats. It doesn’t work on us like it does on humans, they won’t be returned, or at least most of them won’t, but it should lay them out for long enough. I hope. Are you fit enough to run?’
Hope flooded through Kelian’s heart. ‘Yes - I think so.’
‘Good. If I can, I’ll stay with you, but if this doesn’t go exactly to plan...if something goes wrong just try to find your friends. I know they’re following us.’
The door opened and four warriors entered, making the room feel crowded. As they turned to look at their prisoner, Kelian saw Larund lift the little ladle he’d placed aside earlier, and hold it as if he’d been using it to stir the meal.
‘You can get back in the corner. You won’t be getting any,’ said Larund nastily and Kelian sank back against the wall.
‘Smells good,’ one of the warriors commented. He was shorter than most of the other warriors, but far broader in the
shoulders. ‘I’m not so hungry, but I’ll take a small bowl.’ He gave Larund a questioning look as he spoke and Kelian saw Larund give the warrior an almost imperceptible nod.
Larund ran his finger across the ladle and licked it. ‘Not bad at all!’ he boasted. He placed the head of the ladle in his mouth and took the wooden bowls from the shelf. The only other suitable vessels were drinking mugs, so he lined these up beside the bowls, then taking a mug with a large handle he used this as a ladle to scoop the stew into the bowls and mugs. He took the smallest mug and scooped into it a tiny portion of stew. No-one seemed to notice, except for the broad shouldered warrior who accepted it with an expression both wary and resigned. Kelian did a quick tally and saw there was one bowl or mug remaining for each warrior.
One by one they filed into the hut, took a bowl or mug and left. Larund took the pail of tainted water and placed it on the low table and quite a few of the warriors lifted the pail and took a drink before collecting their meal. Larund gazed down at the table and his lips pressed together. There were three untouched mugs. He hunkered down against the wall and waited as the minutes passed. Eventually he stood.
‘Any second now, Kelian,’ he said very quietly, pushing the door completely open. ‘This stuff should be potent enough to-’ He broke off as an agonized groan came from across the ice. Kelian joined Larund in the doorway of the hut to watch the result of Larund’s treachery.
It was an awesome and hideous sight. Everywhere people either lay rigid on the ground, seemingly drowning in their own vomit, or they were thrashing about wildly, unable to restrain their bodies. Many lost control of their bodily functions and several knelt staring ahead, waving their arms as if trying to beat off some invisible horror their contorted mind was failing to deal with. The putrid smell of feces and vomit was enough to make Kelian gag. Larund walked from the cabin to gain a better view of the result of his handiwork, seemingly unmoved by the torment surrounding him.
Suddenly he cringed like someone had slapped him. Across the ice, not more than eight hundred paces away, three warriors were heading towards the camp.
‘You forgot the sentry, didn’t you,’ said Kelian, his voice sounding sarcastic rather than scared.
‘I did,’ Larund admitted. ‘I only remembered when I found the three mugs of stew left over. I hoped they might not notice what was going on for a bit longer, but I was mistaken.’
‘Now what?’
‘Run!’
They raced around behind the hut and started to run. Within seconds Larund was fifty paces ahead of Kelian. He turned and ran back.
‘Run!’ he commanded, trying to drag Kelian forward.
‘I am running,’ Kelian gasped.
‘You have to be faster! If I carry you they’ll catch us easily!’
‘You have to go, Larund! If they catch you now, they’ll return you in a split second!’
‘No! I can’t leave you here! If they don’t return me Guardian General Callian will hunt me down and do it anyway!’
‘Do as I say! Go! Go and find them for me!’
‘But-’
Kelian’s started to gasp from the exertion of the sprint. ‘Larund, they’re not going to kill me yet. Please. Find Callian and tell him everything you can.’
Larund hesitated for a second longer, and then he sprinted away. Kelian was surprised by his speed. He gulped a few times, thinking he’d run a bit further if only to give Larund a few more seconds to get away. Then the fallen were upon him. Someone backhanded him across the face and another caught him by his collar as he fell. Kelian saw that only two had remained with him and one had gone after Larund. They dragged him back towards the hut and threw him down on the ice. A boot hit his side with such force his body slid across the ice. He was kicked again and again, and several ribs broke. Another vicious kick, this time in his groin and he knew if he hadn’t already been on the ground, he certainly would be now. The boot caught him squarely in the face and he felt his nose break. Blood gushed from his nostrils and mouth. Yet again he was kicked in the face. The pain was intolerable and he gave a scream of agony. Then the one who was kicking him moved away and through blood and tears Kelian saw him examining the poisoned warriors. The second of the three sentries approached. He was carrying a knife. Kelian’s heart sank as the warrior eyed at him calculatingly and he knew immediately that this warrior was going to enjoy hurting him.
The warrior’s eyes opened wide in anticipation as he grabbed Kelian’s wrist and squeezed. There was a ghastly cracking sound and Kelian cried out once again. The man let him fall heavily. He tried to push himself upright, but pain shot through his wrist and he fell. The warrior grabbed Kelian’s broken wrist and twisted it. Kelian’s screams rose as he was flung across the ice again. He struggled as the warrior grabbed him and dragged him upwards, but it was no use, his grip was unbreakable and Kelian was only causing himself more pain. Kelian glared up at him through bleary eyes. The warrior ran his blade across Kelian’s fingers, and blood oozed from the deep cut. A split second later, before the pain had even registered, the warrior slammed Kelian to the ground, pinning him on the ice by his broken wrist and he brought his blade down across Kelian’s fingertips. Kelian screamed in acute agony as blood flowed from his severed fingertips. The blow had removed half an inch of flesh and bone from the ends of three fingers. The warrior reached down, grabbed Kelian’s fingers and squeezed, with a look of excited pleasure on his face. Kelian’s screams were now punctuated with uncontrolled sobs. The warrior took his knife and struck it against the exposed flesh. Kelian thrashed about desperately and managed to pull away and roll onto his side, cradling his wounds against his chest. His mouth was open but he was now beyond screaming. His cries came as low strangled moans. The warrior laughed at the tears running down Kelian’s face, and then smashed his boot into Kelian’s mutilated hands. Kelian was flung backwards and his head slammed into the wall of the hut.
Larund ran as he had never run before. He doubted he was faster than Connal, who he knew was about five hundred paces behind him, and he felt certain he could not outpace him for any length of time. He felt sure the guardians would be following their tracks, so he retraced their path across the ice and concentrated on maintaining his pace in the hope of reaching the guardians before Connal caught up to him. As he left the ice and moved through trees he thought about the choice he had made and the implications of this choice. On several occasions by his own wits he’d managed to avoid Nandul’s suspicion, using his own cunning to convince Nandul of his loyalty. He considered his options. For a long time he’d hesitated to make the choice to openly oppose Nandul. Now, regardless of the fact that his attempt to occupy his comrades for long enough to allow Kelian to escape had failed, he felt a sense of relief that the choice had been made. It annoyed him that the undoing of his plans was due to his lack of foresight. He was too far away now to have any idea what was happening, but he knew it would be some time before the effects of the poisonous plants he had placed in the stew wore off. He felt a savage twist of satisfaction as he thought of them; some writhing and vomiting, others either paralyzed or debilitated by imagined terrors. With luck, he hoped they might even begin fighting amongst themselves, overcome by paranoid hysteria. He glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t see Connal through the thick trees, but the warrior wasn’t bothering to hide his mind at all and Larund could sense his murderous, vengeful determination closing on him. He tried to move faster, but he was going uphill and the uneven ground, rough grass, hidden logs and low bushes hindered him considerably. He crested the hill and cursed as cliffs dropped away before him, making it impossible for him to continue east. He made a split second decision and ran north along the edge of the cliffs. The undergrowth thickened, and he was forced to beat his way through, and he began to wonder if it would be better to turn and fight. He dismissed this thought immediately. His strength was not in fighting. It took everything he had to concentrate on how he could outwit Connal, and comprehension struck him with such force h
e actually grinned. It was his weakness that would save him now. Common sense cried out to him to hide his thoughts, but he ignored it and opened his mind as fully as he possibly could. With every iota of his being, he cried out for help, seeing in his mind the attack on Kelian and the warrior who was now chasing him, and hoping desperately that if the guardians were close enough they would catch his thoughts. Connal was barely three hundred paces behind him now and Larund knew that if help didn’t come in minutes he’d most likely be returned. He slowed as he considered the plants around him, then he pulled his sleeve down to cover his hand and ripped bunches of foliage from spurges as he ran. The forest thickened and he searched for a place to hide. Almost immediately he saw what he needed and he dashed away from his natural course and hid himself behind a huge tree trunk. He dragged himself up onto the lowest branch, taking care not to drop the bunch of broken plants. He waited, listening to Connal’s footsteps coming closer and then slowing and stopping. Now he concentrated like never before on hiding his mind. For a few seconds there was complete silence then he heard Connal curse as a twig snapped under his foot. He was very close now and without thought to the burning pain it was causing on the skin of his hands, Larund ground the foliage between his palms releasing its white sap. He held it ready.
Connal drew his knife and crept towards the tyalla and it was obvious to Larund that the warrior was not aware that his peril was coming from above. As Connal rounded the tree, Larund dropped from the branch, nimbly avoiding Connal’s knife, and crushed the broken plants into the warrior’s face, forcing the milky sap into his eyes. Connal gave a screech of fury and pain and lashed out with his knife, catching Larund across his stomach. Larund fell backwards, holding his own knife in one hand and clutching his wound with the other. He stepped forward as Connal staggered away, scraping hopelessly at his eyes and face. Larund watched with relief and satisfaction as Connal stumbled forwards, cursing as he felt his way blindly. There was a swish and a thud and Larund’s jaw dropped as an arrow buried itself into Connal’s back. Connal fell to his knees and groped sightlessly. He coughed and spat blood onto the ground. Then, as if after a moment’s hesitation, he fell sideways into the pale, prickly grass.
Child Of A Guardian And Of The Free (Book 3) Page 35
