Fairytales Slashed, Volume 2

by Megan Derr

  There was no sign of Cos, minus a wide scattering of hay littering the floor around the ladder to the hayloft. Roark didn't bother trying to rustle Cos down—he could make whatever apologies he decided to make in the morning.

  Crossing the stable quickly, Roark grabbed a coil of rope from the floor, tugging it up and looping it around his arm—until it stopped, and Roark frowned, because the rope was still intact. It wasn't cut, so either the man was a ghost or a fantastic contortionist.

  Pulling the rope until he could reach the knots, Roark slowly began to untie them, his tired fingers fumbling a bit in the dark. They came free after a few minutes, and, grumbling about unexpected guests and contortionist feats, Roark chucked the rope towards the far corner of the stable.

  He was twice as hungry now, stomping out into the dark. Then he paused, turned back, and blew out the lantern. No sense adding to Amara's troubles by burning down the stable. He stumbled a little less this trip to the back of the house, though it was probably more dumb luck than learning the way.

  Amara had a plate of food and a severe expression waiting for him, but Roark just smiled at her as he let himself into the kitchen.

  "He was asleep, I think," Roark said, lying through his teeth. He didn't doubt Cos had been wide awake in the loft, listening to every move he'd made. "In the loft."

  Amara sighed, her severe expression melting away. She would make a good mother with that look. Roark could recall how cowed he and Kiran had been whenever their mother had leveled a similar look on them.

  "Eat, Roark," Amara ordered, pointing him towards the table where a plate had been heaped with food and a tankard filled with something he hopped was the delicious beer she brewed.

  "So where did you pick him up?" Roark asked casually, sitting himself down and hoping he wasn't opening himself up to her temper again.

  "I didn't, really," Amara said, fidgeting about the kitchen putting things away. "He showed up not long after the wizard's fortress fell."

  Roark nearly inhaled the piece of meat he was swallowing. Amara turned away from the counter, back towards the table. She raised her eyebrows in concerned inquiry, but Roark just waved her off.

  "I'm fine," he coughed out after a moment, then cleared his throat loudly. He swallowed a mouthful of the beer to sooth his throat—and it was wonderful, better than any Roark had gotten since Amara and Kiran had wed. "The fortress fell? When?"

  "You didn't get my last letter, then," Amara said, frowning at the inadequacies of the post. Roark just shook his head and stabbed another chunk of meat. Amara sighed, then fetched herself a pint of beer. Roark continued to eat steadily, waiting patiently for Amara to sit down and explain.

  "About a week back," Amara began, curling her fingers around her glass and idly drumming her fingers against the sides. "There was a loud noise, louder than thunder. The sky was clear in any case. No one could figure out where it came from and no one really wanted to go inquiring of the wizard if everything was all right."

  Roark nodded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn't too impressed by any of these villagers—to not notice for years, maybe decades, that an evil wizard was slowly going through their ranks and kidnapping people for nefarious reasons. Then, when they did realize, to cower in fear and not send so much as a single letter for help.

  "So your stable boy is from the fortress?" Roark guessed, then shoveled the last of the food on his plate into his mouth.

  "He hasn't said as much, but it makes sense," Amara said. Her eyes closed briefly and then she forced a smile. "Some others came back, too. A day or two after the fortress fell."

  Not Kiran. She didn't have to say it, not when Kiran's absence was so obvious and her smiles still didn't reach her eyes.

  "Didn't you say he only took villagers?" Roark asked. Why was the mostly mute man hiding out in Amara's stable instead of returning to his own home?

  "He's not a villager," Amara said firmly, obviously guessing what Roark was thinking. She narrowed her eyes at him, looking displeased that Roark had brought Cos up again. But that was better than her dwelling on Kiran's absence. "I don't recognize him. I think—he might've been in there a long time, Roark. Or he might've just been passing through—a wanderer or something."

  "Right," Roark muttered, unconvinced. Or he was a passerby who was taking advantage of the situation for free food and lodging.

  "I'll check out the fortress tomorrow, see what I can find," Roark said, swallowing another mouthful of beer.

  "Lehan's organizing a small party to go up at some point," Amara said, rolling her eyes and not sounding too impressed by this. "They said they were waiting a few days to see if anyone showed up with knowledge of the fortress."

  "No one who's come back knows anything?" Roark asked, frowning. At the very least they should be able to tell where they got out—where the other victims, if they were alive, would be.

  "They're —" Amara hesitated, glancing down at the table for a moment. "None of them are quite right anymore, Roark. Their minds—they're missing memories, they remember things that never happened to them—Carry doesn't remember her husband. They don't remember much, and Cos—" Amara paused, blinking a few times before continuing. "Cos is the only man among them."

  "Are you sure he's a man?" Roark asked, not really thinking before he voiced the question. Amara shot him a withering look, but didn't bother to answer. "But that suggests Cos was kept with the women and that the men were kept someplace separate—maybe somewhere they couldn't escape from when whatever happened went down."

  "Right," Amara said, sounding unconvinced. "Cos is awfully small. The men who were—taken, they were all big, strong—like Kiran."

  "They probably required more secure quarters then," Roark said sensibly. "Anyway, I'll check it out tomorrow. The sooner we sort this out, the better."

  "Do you want to join Lehan's group?" Amara asked, her lip curling a bit. Roark scoffed quietly.

  "They've had a week. If they want to join me, they'll have to catch up," Roark declared. Amara nodded, smiling a bit.

  "I'll send Lehan a note after you leave," Amara said. "He can follow you up the mountain if he likes."

  "Sounds good to me," Roark said, grinning a little vindictively—he wasn't opposed to being less than courteous to one of the villagers who was delaying Kiran's rescue.

  "I'll make up some gear for you—will your horse be rested enough or should I ask to borrow the mayor's fancy stallion?" Amara asked as she stood. She drained her glass and started clearing their dishes.

  "Make up gear for two," Roark said, standing up himself. "My horse should be fine. I'll take it slow up the mountain, since it'll take more than one day to get there."

  "For two?" Amara asked, frowning and pushing back her messy hair. "None of the farm hands will go with you, and I can't bring Harro up the mountain."

  "I'm bringing your stable hand," Roark said, yawning jaw-crackingly wide. "He might be able to help once we're there."

  "Roark, that poor boy has been through enough without you scaring him witless and then dragging him back to the very place he was held captive!" Amara said, slamming down the glass she still held. It made an awfully loud crash, startling both Amara and Roark. Deep in the house, baby Harro started to cry.

  Roark winced as Amara swept past him and out of the room, muttering a soft curse under her breath as she went to tend to her son.

  Sighing, Roark ran a hand over his face. He was exhausted and tomorrow he got to gallivant up the mountainside and deal with an unknown, possibly dangerous situation, with a scared refugee of the fortress at his side.

  Worst case, Roark could always use him as a human shield, right?

  Harro's crying stopped, Roark noted as he navigated the cramped kitchen to the doorway Amara had disappeared through. Hopefully she wouldn't press the point of his taking Cos until the morning—Roark wanted nothing more than to collapse and sleep now.

  Amara nearly ran into him, coming out of a room to his right. She steadied hers
elf by quickly planting a hand on his chest, but just as quickly she regained her balance and pulled away.

  "The guest room is made up for you," was all she said, stepping back so Roark could pass. "The one you stayed in for the wedding."

  "I can find it," Roark said confidently. "Good night, Amara."

  "Good night," she replied.

  Roark turned back to the kitchen, intending to grab his bags and one of the candles before heading upstairs. Amara's voice stopped him a few steps into the kitchen. "And we'll talk more about this nonsense idea of you bringing Cos in the morning."

  "Make up two kits," Roark said, only halfway turning back towards her. "If he won't go, no harm done."

  Amara hesitated, and then said, "Fine. Sleep well, Roark."

  Roark muttered a half-hearted reply and headed back to retrieve his bag and the candle. With any luck, it would only be a matter of rescuing the men who'd disappeared. The wizard was hopefully dead, and it would be a wonderfully ironic twist if the he'd been done in by one of his own spells. Then all Roark would need to do was find Kiran and bring him home.

  *

  *

  *

  Part Two

  Roark woke much later than he'd planned to. There were birds chirping in the tree outside his window and he could hear Harro wailing from somewhere downstairs.

  Roark stayed where he was for a long moment, weighing his options. But he'd slept later than he should've already; there was no justification for lounging abed while his brother was still missing.

  He climbed from bed slowly, stretching. A bath would have to wait until he returned; so too would taking proper care of his horse's gear. Though Amara might have a spare set hanging around—it wasn't like he'd gotten a good look at the stable last night.

  Rummaging out the freshest clothes he could find from his bags, Roark hastily washed up using the small, lukewarm basin of water set on the dresser. Then, slightly more awake, he headed downstairs.

  The house was flooded with light, sunshine beaming through the windows. That would make the ride to the fortress easier—Roark hated riding in the rain.

  The kitchen was busy. Amara and another, unfamiliar woman were fluttering around preparing a meal and taking turns distracting the baby in the basinet tucked into the out-of-the-way corner by the door. It must have been later than Roark had first estimated, if they were nearly done cooking a meal.

  "Morning," Roark greeted, pausing to make a face at his nephew. Harro giggled, then contentedly returned to sucking on a small wooden duck.

  "Barely," Amara said smartly, distracted as she shoved something into the oven. While Roark entertained Harro some more, she piled together a plate for him. "Eat quickly, I have to get the rest of this together before the hands come in from lunch," she ordered, shoving the plate at him.

  Roark didn't argue—the faster he ate, the quicker he would be able to get going. "Where do I find Cos this time of day?" he asked around a mouthful of jam-slathered biscuit.

  "He'll turn up with the farm hands," Amara said, frowning as she set about fixing four large plates, heaping them high with large portions. "Don't pressure him, Roark. He's nervous enough after your meeting last night." The other woman looked over interestedly at that, but Amara paid her no heed. "I made your apologies and told him to think about joining you."

  "All right," Roark said agreeably, glad he was spared that conversation. He quickly finished his plate, intent on being ready to leave as soon as Cos showed up.

  The farm hands were three local young men who lived in town but hired themselves out to Amara and Kiran's farm and the farm next door during the busy seasons. They piled into the kitchen, laughing loudly and shoving at each other playfully until the lead man caught sight of Roark.

  Cos wasn't among them, Roark could tell that at a glance. The three men were tall, thick, and nowhere near as timid as Cos had been.

  "You must be Kiran's brother," the lead man said, the smile dropping off his face to be replaced by a more solemn, serious expression. "I'm Ejoc."

  "Roark," Roark said, shaking Ejoc's offered hand. He liked the man immediately, though he really shouldn't—this man was one of the villagers who'd done nothing.

  "Good to meet you," Ejoc said, his mouth twisting unhappily for a moment. He didn't say anything stupid though, like 'even under these circumstances,' and that only made Roark like him a little more. "These are my cousins, Negan and Shotan."

  Roark nodded at each of them. They were spitting images of Ejoc—sun-bleached blond hair, deep tans, wide muscular builds, and they all had the same pale blue eyes. The woman in the kitchen, the one Roark didn't know, cleared her throat.

  "And I'm Gaima, that idiot's sister," she introduced herself, gesturing rudely at Ejoc. "We lost our mother, three years back."

  "She was a little flighty," Ejoc said, a tad bitterly. He moved further into the kitchen so his cousins could stop lurking in the doorway. "We always thought she just ran off to have the grand adventure she was always talking about."

  "She might've," Roark said, not in the least sympathetic. He half-wanted to take Ejoc to task—but he had more important things to worry about. "Where's Cos?"

  Ejoc looked surprised for a brief moment, something like amusement flickering over his face—at Roark or at Cos, Roark didn't know, but neither did he particularly care.

  "He'll be outside," Amara said, shooting Ejoc an exasperated look. "You boys eat your fill, but don't linger too long."

  "Yes, ma'am," came the chorus as Amara snatched up one of the plates and headed for the back door. Roark managed—barely, in the press of bodies in the kitchen—to skirt around Amara and open the door for her. She smiled distractedly at him, and Roark followed her out, suddenly incredibly curious about the man who wouldn't step foot in Amara's house.

  Unsurprisingly, Cos turned out to be the exact opposite of Ejoc and his cousins. The only thing they had in common was the blond hair, but Cos's was a warm golden color instead of the sun-touched, dirty blond of the farm hands.

  His eyes—still wide and nervous—were a bright, beautiful honey color. He was pale as a ghost though, and the thinness of his face and the dark smudges under his eyes gave him a hollow, wasting look that did not complement the beauty of his eyes at all.

  Amara didn't hesitate to approach him at all, and Cos didn't flinch away from her, though he did flinch when he met Roark's eyes.

  "You don't have to go," Amara was saying. Roark kept quiet, trying to convey with a look that yes, he did have to. If he liked having all his arms and legs attached.

  Cos took the plate from Amara gingerly, like he might break it just by touching it. He didn't say a word, despite Amara's hovering and her questioning look.

  "Are you coming or not?" Roark demanded when Cos just continued to be quiet, staring at his plate. He didn't so much as pick at the food, either. "Because if you're not, I can leave now."

  Amara shot him a dark look and opened her mouth—either to scold him or reassure Cos—but she didn't get so much as a single syllable out before Cos finally spoke up.

  "I'll go," he said, looking up and meeting Roark's eyes steadily. He was absolutely petrified at the thought, that was clear in his expression. Amara gaped, her mouth hanging open just a little, but she bit back whatever she had to say.

  "Good," Roark said, satisfied. The man was terrified of returning to the fortress—or of Roark—but either way he wouldn't hurt Amara.

  "I'll go saddle my horse," Roark said, stabbing a finger at Cos. "Meet me at the stable when you're done eating."

  A brief flutter of a frown flickered across Cos's mouth, and he looked down at his plate doubtfully.

  "At least eat some of it," Amara said plaintively, eyeing Cos worriedly. The idiot probably hadn't been eating right.

  "Clear your plate," Roark ordered, giving Cos a steely gaze. That might do better than Amara's pleas and the sad look on her face. "You're too damn skinny."

  That proclamation made, Roark headed for the stable
s, not waiting to see if Cos obeyed him.

  Muttering under his breath about stupid, too-thin morons who didn't eat properly when they had good food before them, Roark crossed the yard. He let himself in, noting that his horse's gear was clean and looking almost new. He'd have to thank Amara for that.

  It didn't take him very long to saddle up his horse. Halfway through the process, he heard Ejoc and his cousins pass by, presumably on their way back to work. Roark made a note to pester Amara further about them—there had to be some reason she was nice to them when they'd done nothing to help her.

  Cos appeared as he was leading the mare from the stable. Thankfully, she seemed mostly rested; Roark would just make sure he didn't push her unless it was necessary. Accepting the saddlebags Cos handed him—and Cos didn't meet his eyes as he gave them over—Roark secured them behind the saddle.

  "We'll double-up on the way up, to go faster," Roark said shortly. "We can walk the way down. Ever ridden a horse?"

  Cos peered at him from beneath his rough-hewn haircut, shaking his head timidly like the wrong answer would make Roark tie him up in the stable again.

  "Fine," Roark said, gesturing for Cos to mount. "You first. I'll hold her steady."

  Cos nodded, his skin losing what little color it had as he stared at the mare. Just when Roark thought he was going to have to make Cos get up, he moved, sticking a foot awkwardly in the left stirrup and hauling himself up. He nearly pitched himself over the other side of the horse, but he was up and stayed up. Roark smothered a laugh; Cos looked like he was about to tip over, both hands grasping the pommel of the saddle tightly.

  "Get your foot out of the stirrup," Roark said, smacking Cos's leg and nearly making him startle off the horse. Roark grinned, mounting gracefully. Well, gracefully in comparison, anyway.

  "You won't fall with me up here," Roark said sharply when Cos's grip on the pommel tightened. "Just relax and enjoy the ride."

  Cos said nothing, but Roark wasn't really expecting him to. Nudging the horse into motion, Roark kept the pace to a sedate walk and made bets with himself as to how long Cos would stay tense. Probably pretty damn long, he thought. Cos was obviously uncomfortable with the mare, uncomfortable with Roark, and completely unhappy with their destination.