Boris followed her inside and closed the door. “Traveling will be hard with that dress on, Alexandra. Do you have anything more functional you can wear?”
Alexandra walked to the center of the room and seated herself in the armchair there. “I will not be going anywhere, Boris,” Alexandra said as she looked Boris over. She looked as though she were about to cry. “You, however, will be. Guards!”
Boris stood stunned as the doors to Alexandra’s chambers opened and half a dozen guards poured in. A hidden door along the wall also opened, revealing yet more guards. Boris was forced into the center of the room as the door to the hallway behind him slammed open, guards rushing in. All had swords drawn.
Boris reached for his knife. Fool, Boris thought. I should have known this was too easy. I let my emotions blind me. He turned to Alexandra, hoping to buy time. “Why did you betray me, Alexandra? That story you told me, of your husband, of the lack of children, of being a prisoner here, was that all false?”
Alexandra’s eyes flickered toward the floor, but as she opened her mouth to answer, she was interrupted by a voice coming from her bedchamber.
“Of course such a preposterous story was false, you fool. One of the patrons at the inn overheard you speaking, remembered your previous dalliance with Alexandra and the circumstances of your departure all those years ago and came to tell my chamberlain. As you were on your way, we devised this clever scheme to capture you.” The voice belonged to Lord Morozov, Alexandra’s husband. He was a bulky man, with balding hair and beady eyes. Behind him walked an even older stooped man, who must have been his chamberlain.
As Lord Morozov spoke, he stepped up behind the chair Alexandra sat in and placed his thick hands on her shoulders. She flinched against her will. “You have been caught breaking into my manor and into the bedchamber of my lady. The punishment for such a crime is enslavement. You shouldn’t have been so foolish to come back here, Boris.” He glanced at the knife Boris carried and chuckled. “I wouldn’t try and fight, if I were you, for my guards would gut you like a deer. Drop your knife.”
Boris let his knife drop to the floor. As the guards rushed in to seize him and place shackles on his wrists, he ignored Lord Morozov and studied Alexandra, who was continuing to study the floor. She was telling the truth, Boris realized with a start. That bruise, on her cheek, it wasn’t there this afternoon. Indeed, a large red mark had begun to bruise on Alexandra’s left cheek. “I will come for you,” Boris said.
Alexandra looked up at his words and locked eyes. She mouthed “I’m sorry,” before again averting her gaze.
Boris gave a small nod before returning his gaze to Lord Morozov. He hoped that the lord had not understood the exchange.
“Where you are going, fool assassin, there is no return. You will have no chance to have your revenge on my lady or me.” It seemed he had indeed misunderstood the exchange. Lord Morozov gestured toward Boris. “Guards, throw him in the dungeons. Geoffrey, see that he is sent to the market first thing in the morning.” The chamberlain bowed behind Lord Morozov.
As Boris was led out of the chambers, he kept his gaze on Lord Morozov. He would be back, to take his revenge on Lord Morozov and free Alexandra.
Chapter 7 - Awakening
John was startled as he woke to find a strange woman at his bed side. “Who are you?” He asked.
The woman sat up from where she had been resting. “Oh, you’re awake, good. My name is Anwyn. I arrived shortly after you were shot,” she indicated the bandages with a wave of her hand, “and helped to get the bolt out of your chest.”
“Oh,” John replied. “All that is a little fuzzy.” Panic suddenly set in and his heart skipped a beat. “Wait, where are my friends, Ashley and Jason?”
“Your friends are fine, John. They are downstairs chatting with my companion, Dawyn. I came up here to knit in peace and watch for you to wake. How do you feel?”
His heart beginning to calm down, John looked down to see a large strip of cloth banded around his chest. “I feel fine. A bit weak and very hungry, though.”
Anwyn nodded. “Both are to be expected. You’ve gone through an experience that would have killed most men, and left others lying in a bed for weeks recovering. Let me check your bandage.” She stood up and began to lean over his chest.
John furrowed his brows. “How long have I been lying here?”
“It has been about a day since the attack.” Anwyn began untying the white strip of cloth. “After the attackers were dealt with, you were brought back to this inn on a stretcher. I bandaged your wounds and settled in to wait. Ah, good, all healed.”
John looked down and opened his mouth in astonishment. His chest looked perfectly normal, minus some missing hair. No scars, no blood, no sign of a wound at all. “How did - how did that happen?” he stammered. “I remember being shot. You said I had been shot. How do I not have a wound?”
Anwyn gave a small smile as she continued to remove the bandages. “It’s a long story, and better left to Dawyn to tell, but let’s just say you have the ability - gift may be a more appropriate word - to heal more quickly than ordinary humans. It’s this ability that saved your life.”
“Oh.” That was all John could think to say. It was all too much. First appearing in a foreign land, then being taken as slaves and now being shot but healing super quickly? What sort of world is this?
“Here, take my hands,” Anwyn said as she offered her hands. “We’re going to sit you up and see if you can walk without issue. Pull yourself up.” With Anwyn’s help, John pulled himself up to a sitting position. For the first time, John realized he was clothed in brown trousers, but no shirt. The room began to spin for a moment, but the dizziness soon subsided. John studied the room. He was in a bed suitable for two people. A small glass window occupied the wall to his right, though the shutters were closed, while along the wall in front of him, next to the door, was a wooden chest of drawers. Behind Anwyn was a brass bath tub. A lantern sat atop the wooden table to his left, joined by a ceramic bowl, while another hung from the ceiling.
“Now stand with me,” Anwyn said. John continued into a standing position. Aside from feeling weak due to hunger, John felt fine. Anwyn looked down at his legs and stepped back, assessing his strength. “Good, it seems you’ve fully recovered. I have placed some clothing on the bed for you,” she gestured to the foot of the bed. “I will give you some privacy while you dress, then we will go downstairs to reunite you with your friends.” Without waiting for an acknowledgment, Anwyn glided from the room.
John hadn’t noticed the clothing at first. A forest green tunic, gray socks and brown leather boots sat at the foot of his bed. Walking over to the pile, he picked up the tunic. “Where are my clothes?” he wondered aloud. A search of the chest of drawers yielded nothing, and there were no other places to store clothing in the room. He shrugged and donned the tunic. It was loose and the material was itchy, but nevertheless it felt comfortable. Tugging on the gray wool socks and leather boots, John walked to the door and opened it. Outside stood Anwyn. “Anwyn, did you…,” he felt his cheeks begin to heat up. He looked down toward his trousers. “Did you…?”
Anwyn seemed to guess what he was thinking, for she followed his gaze down to his trousers and then looked back into his eyes before chuckling. “Did I undress you? No, your girlfriend, Ashley, undressed you and changed you into your trousers and new smallclothes. She’s a keeper, that one.”
John nodded. “Yes, she is at that.” A thought occurred to him. “What are smallclothes?”
“They are the small clothes under your pants. Come on, let’s go downstairs.” Anwyn led John down the hallway to a staircase. Together they descended the stairs to the ground floor of the inn. As they descended, John looked around at the inside of the inn.
The tavern was packed. Every seat seemed to be taken, while serving girls rushed from table to table, dropping off or picking up plates of food before hurrying to the kitchens. At the bar, the bartender was sharing s
tories with patrons while refilling their stoneware mugs. In a corner of the inn, nearest the hearth, stood a scrawny red-haired woman singing a bawdy song that made John’s cheeks burn anew.
Anwyn led John through the throng of people, past the bar and stage, toward a side hallway. She stopped at the second doorway and knocked before entering. She beckoned him inside and held the door for him.
John nodded his thanks to Anwyn and walked into the room. The first thing he saw were three people seated at a dining table. He recognized Ashley and Jason, despite their unfamiliar clothing, while the third person was unknown to him. He had short brown hair, with two swords belted to his waist and he looked to be about John’s age.
Ashley’s eyes grew wide as she saw John. She shot up from her chair and rushed over to him. “Oh, John! You’re alive!” She embraced him. “I mean, Anwyn and Dawyn said you were going to be alright, but, seeing you here,” she was interrupted as John took her face in his hands and turned it upward. Leaning down, John kissed Ashley passionately on the lips.
“Hey you two, get a room.” Jason came up to the pair and clasped hands with John after Ashley had pulled away, pulling him in for a brief brotherly embrace. “It’s good to see you, man. Don’t ever come close to dying on us again, okay?”
John laughed. “Ha, you got it, Jason. It’s so good to see you guys. When I woke up I thought maybe something had happened to you but, I’m just glad you’re safe.”
During the reunion, Anwyn had taken the empty seat next to the third occupant of the room. Ashley turned toward the stranger and Anwyn. “We owe our lives, and our freedom, to these two. John, you’ve already met Anwyn, but this,” she pointed toward the man, “is Dawyn Darklance. He and Anwyn arrived shortly after you were shot. They took care of the slavers.”
Dawyn stood up and stepped forward to shake hands with John. “A pleasure, John.”
“Likewise,” John replied. “So, what were you guys discussing?”
Dawyn, Ashley and Jason resumed their seats and Ashley gestured for John to occupy the seat to her left. “We were just learning more about one another while we waited for you to wake. Dawyn was going to brief us on what the next step is once you were awake.”
Dawyn nodded. “I’m sure you’re famished, though, John. Let me order some food for us, and then we will discuss our plans.” He stood up and exited the room.
John turned toward Ashley and Jason. “So I was seriously only out for a day?”
Ashley nodded. “Yeah. Our escape attempt was just last night.”
John reached down and lifted up his shirt, revealing his chest. “Look at this.”
“Whoa,” Ashley exclaimed, her eyes growing wide. “You’re completely healed. Not even a scratch!”
Jason stood up and came over to look at the area more closely. “It’s not a skin graft. There’s no sign of stitches or anything else, either.” He looked up at Anwyn. “Your magic can’t do this?”
Anwyn shook her head. “Druids know how to use the natural remedies of nature to cure many ills and to speed the healing of physical wounds, but there is no power known to druids that can heal a man this quickly. It must have been as Dawyn described, these - nanites.”
Ashley nodded. “It’s hard to wrap my head around it, but it must have been.”
“I still have my doubts,” Jason said.
“Wait, fill me in here,” John said as he leaned forward. “Nanites? As in tiny little robots I would see in TV shows and movies?”
“That’s basically what Dawyn said are inside of us. He claims that these,” she held up her wrist to reveal the strange blue symbol, “are actually billions of tiny nanites bonded together. When you were hurt,” she paused, swallowing, before continuing, “the symbol seemed to diminish, so we could barely see it. Dawyn claims that this was due to the nanites moving to the place of the wound and repairing it.”
The door opened and Dawyn re-entered, followed by a stout man carrying a tray full of plates. “Everyone, this is Thomas. Thomas, these are my new friends. Please treat them with the same respect you would me.”
The stout man set the platter down and stepped back. “’Tis a pleasure, you three. Anyone who is a friend of Dawyn’s is welcome under the roof of the Plump Chicken.” With a slight bow, Thomas saw himself out.
Dawyn resumed his seat. “Have you filled him in?”
“We were starting to. I just got through the part about the nanites,” Ashley said. “It seems that your theory was correct - he has not a scratch on him from the wound.”
Dawyn nodded in a matter-of-fact way. “Good, that confirms that theory. Now, I’m sure the three of you have a million questions for me, but let’s eat first,” he said while reaching toward the tray and grabbing one of the plates.
“What meat is that?” John asked as he helped himself to a plate. The plates held a dark meat that had a pleasant aroma.
“This is venison. Have you had it before?”
“Only once. My dad wasn’t much into hunting, so we didn’t get venison much, but one time a friend of the family brought some over. It had an odd taste.”
Dawyn nodded. “It can take some getting used to, but then, there’s far more to get used to on this world than just eating different meat.”
The door opened and Thomas returned, this time with several mugs of a dark liquid.
“It’s ale,” Dawyn said before John could ask. “Not very potent, but ale nonetheless. Water can be unsafe to drink, so if you’re in doubt, drink alcohol.”
The room filled with the sounds of chewing, swallowing and drinking as the group ate and drank their fill. At last, when all the plates were empty, Dawyn spoke. “Alright, now that we all have full stomachs, what further questions did you have?”
“Do you know how we got here?” Jason asked. “One second we were at the university in the cafeteria studying, the next second we’re here.”
“As I said before, I don’t know how you got here. All I knew was that you would be coming.”
“How did you know we would be coming?” John asked.
Dawyn reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a letter. He unfolded it carefully. “I have been carrying this letter around since my sister and I arrived in these lands. I’m not entirely sure who it was written by, but I think it was one of the original colonists of this world, known as the Founders by the people here. The letter tells that you will arrive, approximately when and where and tells that you will be among the saviors of mankind.”
John took a swig of ale. “Whoa, that’s a lot to take in. Saviors? Of all mankind? I don’t think so. You must have the wrong people.”
“You’re not,” Dawyn said firmly. “The letters named you.”
“Oh.”
“Look, we’re happy to help with whatever,” Jason said, “but we’re no heroes, or saviors. All we want to do is go home.”
Dawyn turned his gaze to Jason. “Don’t you think that I would like to go home? Don’t you think that I’ve tried everything? There is no way that I know of to return home. Not at this time anyway. You may not be heroes yet, but the letter makes it very clear you have a role to play. So I suggest you overcome your reluctance and accept that you are important.”
“So, can someone fill me in on what this world is?” John asked.
Dawyn proceeded to tell John about the world of Tar Ebon, much like he had done with Jason and Ashley the day before. He told them of the various kingdoms and oceans, of magic and druidism and society in general. “…that’s the basics,” Dawyn concluded a while later. “There’s still a lot for you to become accustomed to and learn, I’m sure, but unfortunately that has to come with time. We’d be here for weeks if I were to teach you everything there is to know about this world.”
“You mentioned the Tower of the Seven Stars,” Ashley said. She had been quiet during much of the discussion, watching each party speak and absorbing the information. “How far is it from here?”
“It will take a fortnight by horseback to reach
the tower. Once there, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of a master mage while Anwyn and I pursue the leader of the slave bands.”
“How did the person who wrote the letter know we’re mages?” Jason asked. “I’ve never used magic.”
Dawyn shrugged. “I don’t know, but the author of the letter has been right so far in everything he predicted, so we’re taking you to the mage to confirm you have the potential.”
“How long does training to be a mage take?” Ashley asked.
“Most mages are trained from a young age, but I don’t know how it works for older people attempting to train. We’ll find out soon enough, however. We’ll set out tomorrow - there’s no point waiting.”
“One last question,” John said. “Where are our clothes?”
“You mean the clothes you came in?” at John’s nod, Dawyn continued. “I threw them in a large bag for safekeeping. However, you should not wear the clothing - it will make you stand out and declare you as an outsider. I’m going to stash them someplace safe for now. No more questions now, let me show you to your rooms.”
Chapter 8 - Regrets of a Fool
The dungeons of the Morozov estates were like many of the dungeons Boris had encountered over the years: cold, dank, dark and with a pervasive stench of sweat, blood and human waste that would never leave.
Boris was awakened by a boot to the gut, causing him to begin coughing. Before he had a chance to orient himself, rough hands seized him and hoisted him to his feet. Two guards held him up, while a third inspected him. “Yep, he’s the one,” the third guard said. “Get him out of here. He’s off to the markets.” The guards began shuffling him forward, his shackles clanking on the stone floor as he trudged forward.
Thinking back to the previous night, Boris realized he had been a fool. He should have known that with security so scarce there was something amiss. Years of experience as an assassin had been thrown out the window when he thought of Alexandra’s beautiful face. Now he paid the price for his lack of caution. How had the lord known he was coming? She had invited him there during the very day he arrived. Perhaps someone had recognized Boris and alerted the lord, allowing him time to speak to or threaten Alexandra about setting a trap before Boris arrived.
Time of Shadows (The Saga of the Seven Stars Book 2) Page 5
