“That’s not true! You’re making that up!” he almost screamed his rejection of her outlandish claim.
“You may think so, and I may wish so, but it’s the truth. It’s the main reason I came to Firheng, was to find the growing legend of Kestrel, my cousin, not knowing what a lecherous jerk he would turn out to be,” Wren told him.
“How do you know we’re related?” Kestrel said.
“My mother married a human from Estone, and that’s where I was raised. She told me that when she grew up in Gretna Green her twin sister had become pregnant and had a baby boy with an elf, and then ran away south, deeper into the Eastern Forest. They never heard from her again. The baby’s name was Kestrel; mother told me that from the time I was a little girl,” Wren answered.
“She told me I had a cousin named Kestrel, and maybe someday I’d get to meet him and play with him, and it was always the golden promise I hoped would come true. But when it did, look how it turned out – you were snooping around my room, you’ve taken me against my will to this place, and now you’re ogling me in a way that makes me think you’re gross,” Wren began to cry.
Kestrel almost felt sorry for the girl. He wasn’t going to try to hug her or comfort her under the circumstances, but he felt sorry for her. And he could almost believe her story. He didn’t know much about his mother’s past; she had never mentioned anything about her family or past, but Wren’s story seemed plausible.
“Is your mother still alive?” Kestrel asked.
“Yes,” Wren answered.
“Where does she live?” he queried.
“I told you, in Estone,” she said shortly.
“Right in the city?” he tried to pin her down, the possibility of a quick trip to meet his aunt suddenly blossoming before him.
“No, we lived out in the country, on a farm near a village,” Wren said. “We were half a day away from the city.”
“Someday when we have time, we’ll go visit your mother and see what she says,” Kestrel spoke noncommittally. He stared at her face.
“What?” she protested. “Stop staring!”
“I just want to see if I think I see anything that reminds me of my mother,” he told her as he studied. Maybe there was something there, maybe there wasn’t.
It was a startling story, one that was unbelievable, and given Wren’s personality, not one he particularly wanted to prove true.
“I don’t care why you’re looking. I want you to stop,” she repeated.
“Let’s get the imps up and going,” Kestrel said, falling backwards into the water, away from Wren. “You go over and start pulling them out of the water and lay them on the grass. I’ll go get our clothes and be right over,” he told her before he started to stroke back through the warm spring water to the far side of the spring, where their clothes were in two piles.
He picked up the clothes and then ran back across the short stretch of water, where he deposited the items on the ground and went over to help lift imps from the water. He carefully averted his eyes from looking at Wren’s naked body, knowing how touchy she was.
“You ran across that water just like an elf. I wish I could do that,” Wren said wistfully.
He looked at her as he handed her clothes to her, appraising her body. “You might be able to, but I doubt it. Have you tried?” he asked.
“Turn around and stop looking at me,” she ordered. “When I was little I tried. We had a pond on our farm, and my mother could run across it. I wanted to be an elf so badly when I was little,” she said.
“So did I,” Kestrel said softly.
“But you are an elf,” Wren said, pulling her shirt on.
“Not enough of one back then, not to most of my neighbors,” Kestrel lamented. “My ears weren’t pointed enough, my eyebrows weren’t arched enough, you know,” he explained, wondering why he was bothering to tell this girl who might be a cousin.
“Maybe we can get you out running on the water sometime and see if it works now that you’re older,” he added as he finished dressing and continued to pull imps from the water.
Moments later the last of the imps were spread out on the lawn, their small wet bodies glistening in the sunlight.
“They’ll start to wake up in a few minutes, and they’ll tell us about the beautiful dreams they had,” Kestrel predicted.
“Then what?” Wren asked. “Will they take us to Graylee? Are we going to start fighting tonight?”
“I’m going to ask them to take us to Green Water first, for a quick errand, and then we’ll go to a couple of spots in Graylee. Hopefully there will be no violence,” he disappointed her by emphasizing.
“Green Water? Do you need to go visit a favorite doxie? You’ve probably got diseases I’ve never heard of, or is that why you visit this water so often, to cure those problems?” she asked cynically.
“I’ve not ever visited a doxie, in Green Water or elsewhere, but putting up with their a doxie’s charm would be easier than your constant negativity!” Kestrel lashed out. “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything,” he used a command his own mother had given to him as a young boy.
“You sound just like my mother,” Wren said sourly, but said no more, until the imps began to stir a few minutes later, and as predicted, each exclaimed about the beauty of the dreams they had experienced.
“Lord Kestrel,” Jonson said a few minutes later, when all were dressed, “allow me to introduce several members of my court to you and,” Jonson paused momentarily with a look at Wren.
“This is Wren, your majesty,” Kestrel quickly began an introduction, “she is joining me in the battle against the Viathins.”
“I’m his cousin,” Wren quickly chimed in.
“A cousin? How wonderful to meet a member of your family,” Jonson said.
“That remains to be seen,” Kestrel said under his breath.
Jonson proceeded to call forth several of the imps who were nobles, and introduce them to the two large beings.
“Stillwater and his companions have been wonderful company to have,” Kestrel told Jonson, as some of the noble imps began to depart, their visit to the wonderful waters of the healing spring. “They’re very useful.”
“We owe you everything we have, Kestrel. If there is anything else you need, let Stillwater know, and he’ll arrange it for you,” Jonson said sincerely. “Good luck to you and your cousin.”
“Thank you, Jonson. Luck is in order,” Kestrel replied. “And good luck with setting your court in order and in hunting down the monster lizards.”
Jonson said goodbye to Dewberry, then left, so that there were only the five original imps remaining with Kestrel and Wren.
“Well my friends, are you ready to travel again?” Kestrel asked them.
“Where are we going now, friend-Kestrel?” Stillwater asked.
“At a place where Dewberry visited me once, at a blacksmith shop outside of Green Water. You brought me a skin of healing water that you got from Alicia,” Kestrel reminded the sprite.
“Yes, I recall the place,” Dewberry agreed. “We can go there,” she motioned to the imps to join her in closing in on the elf and human, who both began to hug, each feeling awkward.
“Why did the king of the imps call you ‘Lord Kestrel’?” Wren asked in an incredulous tone.
“This is your cousin, not your lover?” Dewberry asked.
And then they disappeared from the springside lawn, and were suspended in the dark nothingness of the transport dimension.
“She believes,” Kestrel told Dewberry as they emerged in the yard behind the smithy, “that our mothers were sisters. It may be true, but I do not know,” he expressed his reservations about Wren’s incredible story.
“When I hear that, I think I do see some resemblance,” Dewberry replied nonchalantly, “but I have seen a resemblance between you and many less pleasant creatures as well, so I will withhold judgment,” she said as she floated around him, seeming to example his profile from one side
and then the other.
“Yes, he called me Lord Kestrel,” he added as he turned to Wren. “The king of the elves named me Warden of the Marches for saving his daughter from the Uniontown forces.”
“And for not marrying her; he thanked you for not marrying her, didn’t he?” Dewberry asked.
“I could have married her,” Kestrel said absentmindedly, still focused on Wren and the mutual hostility that seemed to already be a permanent, and growing foundation of their relationship, “she and I talked about it.”
Dewberry stopped floating, and the others looked at him as well.
“You will become the prince?” Dewberry asked. “We’re going to be invited to a royal wedding! How wonderful!”
“No. No, no,” Kestrel interjected, realizing he has said what he shouldn’t have. “It wasn’t a serious conversation. We do not have plans to get married,” he exclaimed insistently. “Now, no more talk of this.
“Wren,” he was determined to change the topic, “you learned to fight with a staff at Firheng?”
“Yes, of course. I polished my skills there,” she said matter-of-factly, “Prince Kestrel,” she added with a sneer. “You’re making this stuff up – all of it.”
The imps seemed to sense the need to remove themselves from the battlefield between the two, and they suddenly disappeared.
Kestrel grabbed her arm in a firm grip. “I’m tempted to tell the imps to take you back to Firheng and leave you there. I have a mission, and it is much bigger than babysitting a spoiled, self-centered girl. So change your attitude or you’re on your way back to Firheng, and they’ll promptly kick you out of the Guard.” He was tired of her attitude and ability to make something as simple as a getting a new staff into a confrontation.
Wren tried to shake her arm free as she glared at him. She was on the verge of shouting back at him, when a new voice entered the conversation.
“What’s the hulalaboo? Most folks don’t come to the smithy for a lovers’ spat,” Kestrel turned to see the same blacksmith he had met months before, holding an iron rod as he stood at the corner of the building.
“Why don’t you be a gentleman, mister elf, and remove you hand from the girl?” he suggested.
Kestrel released his grip on Wren.
“We don’t see many elves up this way. What brings you and the lady here to Green Water?” the smith asked.
Kestrel realized that the man did not recognize him, with his ears fully grown out. “I was here a year or two ago, and you made a staff for me. I had brought a couple of elf slaves out of the gambling hall.
“you’re a little different now. I figured you were dead; there were a gang of men who came looking to do something to you,” the smith replied.
“We came because we want two new staffs. I like the design of the last one you made for me,” Kestrel told the man.
“I want to pick out my own staff,” Wren spoke up.
“Every warrior does,” the smith answered reassuringly. “Come on around here and we’ll look at what we can do to suit your needs.”
Without a backwards glance, Wren shouldered her way past Kestrel, who fell in behind her and contemplated whether to just call the imps and disappear. He could rid himself of the painful anchor he had accepted by just walking away from her, he told himself.
Around the corner of the building the open door of the smithy came into view, and Kestrel heaved a sigh as he realized he wouldn’t abandon the girl as a hopeless project yet.
He listened as the smith began to show Wren a variety of caps that could be attached to the ends of a staff, then offered her the choice of a number of wooden posts, dense, dry wood that was aged and ready to be put to use.
“He’s paying for this,” Wren jerked her head towards Kestrel when she made her decision.
“I want the same design I had before,” Kestrel pointed to two end caps, one with barbs and one with hooks. “And I’ll take the same wood she has,” he added.
“I’ll be done with these tomorrow about noon,” the smith responded as he gathered up the items the two had collected. “I’ve got a set of door hinges I have to finish tonight.
“You two go on into town and come back tomorrow,” he dismissed them.
“I don’t want to stay in this town,” Kestrel said as soon as they were back around the corner of the building. “I’ve been here before, and it’s not a good place.”
“My dad said the same thing,” Wren agreed, although Kestrel suspected she didn’t like agreeing with him.
“Dewberry, Stillwater,” Kestrel called and then waited briefly. “We would like to go to Creata’s home, in Graylee City,” he told the blue swarm as soon as it arrived. He looked up at the sun, now well down towards the western horizon; it was getting too late to try to get to Graylee City and then to Margo’s manor home. “We’ll spend the night there, and make a couple of more trips tomorrow,” he explained.
“Are the other human women at the home of the humans?” Dewberry asked.
“I don’t know. I doubt that they’re in the city,” he answered. “It’s not a very safe place right now.”
“That is too bad, Kestrel-friend. The city should not be dangerous for such beautiful women,” Dewberry’s words seemed sincere, and Kestrel wondered if she sensed how short his patience had grown after dealing with Wren’s intransigence on the trip. The imps gathered around the two elf-and-human individuals, and the whole group transported to the room on the third floor of the elegant city home of Creata, the heir to the Eastern Shore Duchy.
Chapter 4 – Graylee Conflict
The room that the group arrived in was a shambles. The bed frame was torn and the mattress was slashed and torn open, its wool stuffing strewn about the room. The window was broken, letting the early evening breeze blow into the room and through the open door, which hung crookedly on its hinges.
The sound of conflict came from the hallway, a distant battle somewhere downstairs. Wren pushed herself away from Kestrel and drew her sword instantaneously, while Kestrel pulled his bow off his shoulder and notched an arrow.
“Kestrel-warrior, do you wish to leave?” Stillwater asked.
“No, we’re here to fight!” Wren said exultantly, and dashed out the doorway.
“Wren, wait!” Kestrel called, and ran out after her. The girl didn’t know where she was going or who she was going to be fighting; she might nor even know whose side to fight on, Kestrel worried.
The pair of them plummeted down the stairs, the sounds of battle much clearer. No swords were striking one another; the sounds were cries and shouts and flesh striking flesh for the most part. The sounds were coming from the ground floor. “We’re fighting against the Prince’s soldiers,” Kestrel shouted at Wren. “Take them on; help the people without uniforms!”
“Thanks!” Wren called sarcastically over her shoulder as she turned the curve and started down the next flight of stairs, followed by Kestrel who was tailed by the imps.
Creata was in the house, along with a pair of other rebels, Kestrel saw as he descended low enough to see into the parlor. Nearly a dozen members of the palace guard held them and were beating them mercilessly, as the household staff of servants was held by other guards who were using unnecessary force to restrain and humiliate those they restrained.
Wren plunged directly into the fray, shouting and swinging her sword with abandon as she sought to stop the assault on the rebels. She dropped one man to the floor and sliced deeply into the arm of another, before two guards drew their swords amid a renewed round of screams and shouts of confusion.
Kestrel stopped before reaching the bottom of the stairs. He fired his first arrow at the man who was bashing Creata’s bloody skull with a wooden mallet, then fired a second arrow at the man who stood behind Creata, holding the unconscious nobleman in place to be tortured.
Creata fell to the floor, unconscious, as the man behind him released him and cried out when the arrow struck his shoulder. Kestrel changed his aim and fired at one of the
men fighting Wren, then turned and fired at one of the guards who had been groping a young crying maid. He fired a second shot at another man holding the staff as well, then called to the imps. “Go set the servants free!” he directed them.
Kestrel turned back to the other room again. One of the rebels had shrugged free of the man holding him and was beginning to fight. Kestrel aided him with an arrow at one of his foes, then shot another man starting to engage against an outnumbered Wren. He dropped his bow and wrenched his sword from his scabbard, and plunged into the parlor, as he heard the imps engage in battle in the dining room.
Wren was fighting magnificently. Three men had fallen at her blade and with Kestrel and the freed rebel joining the fray the battle in the parlor was rapidly becoming a rout, as the remaining guards fled through the back hallway, heading towards the kitchen and the rear exit from the city home.
Kestrel turned as he struck his last blow, and looked into the dining room, where the sprites were enjoying similar success, setting the astonished servants free.
“Stillwater! Go after them! Don’t let any escape if you can prevent it!” he shouted, and watched the squad of imps go speeding out the rear of the room, as Dewberry came whizzing over to see him.
“The imps did a wonderful job, Kestrel-colonel! They’re full of blood-lust now!” she told him. “How are you?”
“I suffered no injuries. How are you Wren?” he asked, looking over at where Wren stood, panting heavily, her eyes alight with battle lust.
“This was nothing!” she said loudly. “A small skirmish.”
Kestrel strode over to Creata, and knelt next to the lord of the household.
“Who are you and what are you doing to him, elf?” one of the other two rebels asked in a hostile tone.
Wren came over immediately, as Kestrel replied. “I am a friend. I want to save him.”
“Leave the elf alone; he’s a good man,” Wren said protectively.
“Dewberry, Stillwater, come back,” Kestrel called aloud in elvish. Seconds later the imps flew back in through the doorway.
“We got them all, Lord Kestrel,” Stillwater reported.
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 04 - A Foreign Heart Page 5
