The Healing Spring tisk-1

by Jeffrey Quyle

  “Thank you honored elf healer,” Dewberry said.

  “If there’s nothing else for you to do here, we can take you home to your own bed so you can get some sleep,” Kestrel suggested.

  “That will be fine, in a minute,” Alicia agreed. She sat down next to him. “So what are you doing in Estone? I know you’re just passing through, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “I’m going to go to a reception in the Doge’s palace tomorrow night, in my honor, and then I’m going to take a ship to North Harbor the day after that, to start my journey to my assignment,” he told her. “Have you ever heard of a place called Uniontown?” he asked.

  “I haven’t,” Alicia answered. “Why? Where is it?”

  “It’s a city that has sent an ambassador to Estone, for no good reason. I was briefly in the same room as the ambassador from Uniontown, and it felt creepy. I don’t know why that seems important, but I think Silvan should know,” Kestrel answered.

  “I’ll tell him,” she assured him. “Anything else?”

  “No, that’s all for now,” he said. “Go on home and get warm. I’ll see you again in a few months.”

  He paused. “I have forgiven you Alicia, just so you know; I felt we could trust you — I sent Dewberry to your room because I knew we could count on you,” he told her. “Dewberry,” he called, “you can take the doctor home now.”

  The sprite roused her companions, and they gathered around the elf woman. “Take a water skin back and use it to heal Termine and Hinger,” Kestrel reminded her, handing her the strap for one of the skins in the pile.

  “Be careful, Kestrel,” she answered, just as the sprites surrounded her. It seemed she was ready to say more, but instead she disappeared, and a minute later the sprites were back.

  “Where are we going to take Jonson?” Kestrel asked Dewberry.

  “We can take him to our quarters in his father’s palace,” she answered.

  Carefully, Kestrel reached over the waterline and grabbed hold of Jonson’s hands, then lifted him from the water and laid him on the shore line. “Here,” he gave a pair of water skins to each of the sprites, “take these to the place he’s going to stay, to your quarters,” he instructed Dewberry. “You’ll need to use this water to bathe his legs as they grow back, and give him some to drink each day.”

  Each of the sprites flitted away, and then returned moments later. “Are we ready?” Kestrel asked.

  “We’re ready,” Dewberry and the others agreed. Kestrel picked the still sleeping Jonson up, and then was transported to the palace of the imps.

  When he arrived he immediately crouched down; his head just barely avoided hitting the ceiling of the room. He saw an expansive bed, by sprite and imp standards, and gently laid Jonson on the mattress. “His care is in your hands now,” Kestrel told Dewberry, “and I know he’ll be well tended.” He yawned.

  “Let us take you home, dear,” Dewberry said, looking up from where she sat on the bed next to her husband.

  “I left a couple of skins of healing water at the spring. Can we go there first and get them?” he asked, and so he was taken first to the side of the healing spring, and then back to Merilla’s bedroom.

  “Leave us,” Dewberry said to the other sprites. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, as Kestrel looked at Merilla’s sleeping form, lying on her mattress beneath a thick cover.

  “You have been such a good friend,” Dewberry told him, floating in the air directly in front of him, whispering in his ear. “If there is ever a way I can repay the debt I owe, even if it means giving up my own life for you, please let me know.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly, and then she was gone.

  “Who’s there?” Merilla’s voice called sharply.

  “It’s me, Kestrel. I’m back,” he said wearily.

  “Is everything okay with your friend?” she asked in a sleepier tone.

  “His condition was grave, but I think he’s going to be okay now. It took quick action to save his life,” Kestrel answered. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the mattress, then picked up his shirt that had remained on the floor in his absence. Merilla had changed into a warm nightgown, one that covered her from neck to ankle, it appeared.

  “We can never expect to be a couple,” Kestrel said as he pulled his shirt over his head. “As much as we care for each other, fate has decided to keep us apart.”

  “I know Kestrel,” Merilla said softly. “But I hope we can still be friends.”

  “I hope so too,” he answered. “Will you still go to the Doge’s palace with me?”

  She appeared to hesitate, then answered. “Why not? Why not go with the hero of the city? Yes, I’ll go. Come pick me up at my father’s shop at the proper time.”

  Kestrel bent and kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to leave now,” he told her, “and I’ll pick you up in the afternoon. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was crying, just as he felt a tear run down his cheek and drop on her head.

  “Kestrel, here,” she pulled a paper-wrapped package from a bedside table. “It’s your shirt for tomorrow. Now travel safely on the way home, and make sure you close the door tightly when you leave!”

  Kestrel gave a quick chuckle, then took his leave, walking through Estone’s blustery cold night on his journey back to his inn, a journey that came after a much different experience than he had anticipated. Four men were leaving the inn when Kestrel came within sight of it finally, travelers getting an early start on their day’s journey, while he had yet to get to sleep. He reached the main door, went inside, and wearily climbed the stairs.

  His door was ajar. Kestrel felt suddenly alert, and he held his staff in readiness, as he stood outside his room. He pushed the door open with his staff, then cautiously peeked inside. The room had been torn apart, with his small supply of belongings scattered across the floor. He checked the hidden pocket of his pack, and found it cut open, with Silvan’s directions of how to write coded messages, and where to leave them, gone. His communications with Center Trunk were already compromised before he had even had a chance to use them.

  It would be weeks before he even needed to use them, so there was no immediate loss, but it was a blow. He had an option, he realized; with Dewberry’s help, he could pass messages to Alicia, getting information to Center Trunk on an almost instantaneous basis. If anything, it dawned on him, the thieves may have forced Kestrel into a better form of communications.

  Kestrel lit his room’s lantern from the one downstairs at the desk, then returned to his room and pushed the door shut, throwing the bolt securely in place, and sat on his bed. He thought back to the men he had seen leaving the inn as he arrived; could they have been the thieves who had plundered his room? He tried to remember them, and his memory painted their clothes in shades of deep red, the same as the Uniontown ambassador’s entourage, but he had no clear, reliable recollection. He couldn’t imagine why anyone from Uniontown would want to rob him, yet his instincts jumped to the conclusion that the robbery was the work of forces from Uniontown.

  He kicked off his boots, still damp on the inside from the swamp water they had received while saving Jonson, and laid back on his bed. He felt exhausted, as the rush of adrenaline from the discovery of the burglary passed away, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

  Chapter 31 — The Palace Reception

  Kestrel awoke to the sound of banging on his door. “Sir? Sir? Will you be leaving us today, sir?” the innkeeper’s voice called.

  “Just a minute,” Kestrel called groggily. He sat up and saw bright sunlight streaming in through his window, then staggered over to the door and opened it. “We’ll need to clean the room sir, if you’re leaving today,” the innkeeper said, as Kestrel kept the door cracked only inches open.

  “I’ll pack up and be out in just a little bit,” Kestrel told him, then pushed the door closed again, and sat down on his mattress. He looked about the room, then stood again and quickly stuffed his belongings into his pack, strappe
d his weapons securely in place, then left the inn, and went to Castona’s shop.

  “Someone broke into my room last night and stole my instructions for how to pass messages to Center Trunk,” he told the merchant.

  “Did they learn any names?” Castona asked intently.

  “No, no names, but they know the code I was supposed to use. Where I can I stay tonight that will be safe?” Kestrel asked.

  “Why not stay at the palace?” Castona suggested. “Go ask the herald to assign a room to you, and you’ll have a suite. It’ll make it easy for you after the reception.”

  Kestrel thanked his friend, and went to the palace gate, where he received prompt entrance, and was sent to wait in another parlor.

  “How can I help you, young champion?” Moresond said as he entered the room.

  “I’d like a place to spend the night, and I thought the palace would be safe, if you have a room I can use,” Kestrel answered.

  “As a Captain of the Fleet, you are always welcome to use one of our guest suites, and as the Champion, I suppose we should have a specific suite reserved for you somewhere anyway. Follow me and we’ll set something up for this evening,” the herald replied. He led Kestrel to meet the steward, who in turn took Kestrel to a sunny wing of the palace with wide, high windows that allowed much sunlight to enter the hallway.

  “Here is your room,” the steward and another servant announced as they opened a door at the end of the hall, and let him enter first.

  His room was a suite of five rooms — a lobby, a sitting room, a dining room, and two bedrooms, plus a bath and a balcony patio. “Is this sufficient?” the steward asked. “We would have had better for you if we had known you were coming.

  “This is more than I’ve ever had before,” Kestrel breathed. “Thank you,” he added. “This is perfect.”

  “If you need anything, pull this cord,” the servant showed a cord that wrapped around a pulley and disappeared in a small hole in the floor. “This will alert the staff, and someone will come immediately.”

  With that the two staff members discreetly departed, and Kestrel unloaded his goods. He removed his boots and placed them by the fire to dry. He went into the bathroom and started filling a tub with hot water, amazed at the pipe that delivered the hot water from some mysterious source, then soaked and relaxed in the tub. He decided to take full advantage of the palace amenities; he got out of the tub, and donned the robe that hung on his wall before he pulled the magical cord that brought a maid to his door within minutes. The young lady graciously agreed to deliver food to his room, and just a few minutes later he sat at the dining room table and ate a late lunch that was his first meal of the day.

  It was almost time to meet Merilla, he realized with a start as he nibbled on the food, and so he rushed to throw on clothes and ran through the streets to reach the millinery shop. “She’s been waiting; her mother thought you were a phony, but I had faith,” Daley said as soon as Kestrel entered the door. He went back to the stairs and called, and Kestrel heard Merilla’s footsteps on the stairs, then saw her standing at the doorway, shining and beautiful in her gown, looking at him with a dazzling smile that disappeared a moment later.

  “What’s wrong?” Kestrel asked.

  “Where’s your shirt?” Merilla asked.

  “Oh, I left it at the palace. I have a room there now. I thought I could change when we got back,” he declared.

  “Tsk,” Daley said from behind his counter. “Your mother is going to be furious when she finds out he rates his own room at the palace! She was so sure he was a homeless fortune hunter,” he laughed gently.

  Merilla laughed. “He did hunt a fortune for me, in a fashion. That yeti he killed gave me enough to buy my own house!”

  Kestrel was delighted to see the girl in such good spirits after the debacle of their encounter the previous night. “Let’s be on our way,” he suggested, and went out in the street to flag down a carriage to protect Merilla’s gown from the elements.

  They rode in silence on the way to the palace, sitting across from one another, Kestrel discreetly examining Merilla’s beauty.

  “Yes, I’m wearing make up!” she finally laughed. “A girl’s got to do something special when invited to the palace! I’ll never be going back like this again.”

  They disembarked at the palace gate, and Merilla was impressed when Kestrel was immediately ushered inside, ahead of the line of invitees waiting to enter and attend the reception as guests. Holding hands, they walked to the correct wing of the palace and entered Kestrel’s suite.

  “Oh Kestrel, all of this is for you?” Merilla asked in amazement as he changed shirts, buttoning up the flimsy material that exposed his skin for everyone to see.

  “I feel like I’m on display,” he complained.

  “And how do you think this feels?” Merilla asked, tugging at the low collar on her gown, one that showed her cleavage.

  Before Kestrel could answer, there was a knock at the door, and Kestrel answered to find the steward there. “The Doge wanted assurance that you felt well enough to attend tonight,” the man politely let Kestrel know he was late.

  “I’m ready,” Kestrel replied, strapping on his sword.

  “Regrettably sir, no weapons are allowed in the reception while the Doge is present,” the steward informed him.

  “Is a staff allowed?” Kestrel asked.

  The steward opined that it was, then escorted the couple to the great hall. A crowd stood at the doorway, while the Doge stood waiting along one great wall, and Kestrel and Merilla joined him there. “You may not have done anything quite like this,” the Doge said pleasantly. “All you need to do is remain here with a smile frozen on your face and say hello to everyone who comes by. We haven’t have the pleasure, my dear,” he spoke to Merilla, who immediately dropped a curtsey.

  “No, please rise,” the Doge extended his hand and helped her stand up. “Tonight others will curtsey to you as the companion of our honored guest. You do not need to bow to any man or woman tonight.”

  He nodded to the steward, who asked Merilla’s name, then told his staff as he walked up to the doors and allowed the crowd to enter.

  The next hour was an exhausting blur for both Kestrel and Merilla, who were not as practiced as the Doge in making idle small talk. Kestrel was most conscious of the eyes that focused on his chest as he tried to speak politely to each person, while Merilla was confused by the number of men who commented on her beauty and tried to discreetly ask if they could call upon her, even as she stood next to Kestrel.

  The end of the line of visitors was occupied by the body of men who came with the ambassador from Uniontown. The men strode by insolently, barely noticing Kestrel, and leering at Merilla in an insulting manner, until the ambassador himself came, the very last person in the line.

  “So we meet at last,” he spoke to Kestrel. “I was told to expect someone more imposing, and perhaps more exotic in appearance. I hope you can put up a suitable struggle.”

  “What do you mean?” Kestrel asked, not able to comprehend what the man referred to, as he felt warmth and tightness begin to grow on the surface of his chest.

  “Your goddess had few good choices apparently when she designated her champion for your side,” the ambassador pointed at Kestrel’s chest. “I am Amyrilon; I was chosen through a grueling process that left no doubt I deserved to be a champion of our side.”

  “You’re a champion? Chosen by a deity?” Kestrel asked, comprehension beginning to dawn.

  “One of the champions, and after I defeat you, probably the pre-eminent champion for our new gods from the south,” the ambassador affirmed. “There are new powers rising, and coming to consume all these lazy, soft lands in the north. The old gods are too weak to fight against it; they discovered it too late, and raised their champion too late, and chose an inferior one at that,” he sneered at Kestrel.

  “The southern gods felt your elevation, and were surprised that it should happen so far north, in such
an insignificant place, but they sent me up here to find you and deal with you anyway, just to be prudent. Why else would I be here? This insignificant village deserves no ambassador.”

  He stood silently and looked at the stunned Kestrel with a triumphant gleam in his eye, then moved on, looking at Merilla. “Perhaps you’ll turn out to be a plaything worthy of a champion, at least for a little while,” he sneered at her, then left.

  “Castona said he seemed evil, but I had no idea,” Kestrel muttered softly. “He’s either an embodiment of evil, or completely insane.”

  “Estone does not feel safe with that one in the nation,” the Doge commented, having overheard the conversation. “What are these new southern gods he speaks of?” the Doge asked Kestrel.

  “I have no idea,” Kestrel answered, watching the back of the ambassador as he disappeared into the crowd that was milling about in the great hall. “But he is frightening.”

  Music started up, and a dance floor was cleared, as couples began to rhythmically step into the patterns of the formal dances that were performed at the palace. Kestrel and Merilla walked over to the food buffet, stopping every five feet to say hello again to someone they had just met, or to clarify their relationship, or to answer where they lived, and if they were or were not neighbors with the questioner.

  As they reach the middle of the floor, the music stopped, and then after a moment of silence, a new tune began, a stately one that caused everyone else to leave the floor, isolating Kestrel and Merilla alone in the center, the focus of all eyes.

  “Shall we dance?” Merilla asked him mischievously.

  “I’ve never danced in my life,” Kestrel answered in a panic.

  Just then a flower was thrown out onto the floor near them. Kestrel looked at the yellow flower, then looked as another yellow flower was thrown on the floor on the other side of them. Men in red, the Uniontown attendants, shouldered their way through and out to the front of the crowd that was watching Kestrel and Merilla, and the ambassador was with them. He felt another sudden surge of pain on his chest, as the crest of the goddess began to burn, serving as a call to action.