“I’m from Oaktown,” Kestrel answered easily.
“Nothing good comes from Oaktown, that’s what my mother says,” the boy spoke up.
“Shush now Jereed!” his mother admonished him as she came into the room with three bowls. “I never said any such thing,” she retorted, though her face was bright red nonetheless.
“It’s hard to know what to expect from someplace that’s far away,” Kestrel made an excuse, as he took a bowl from the woman and handed it to her son, then took another bowl for himself, as the mother sat down on the other side of the bed.
“I slept in a big, empty house on the other side of the village,” Kestrel answered the other question the boy asked.
“The haunted mansion?” Jereed looked at Kestrel. “Did you see any monsters?”
Kestrel stole a glance at the boy’s mother; she appeared torn – she seemed to want to tell her son there were no monsters, but she also seemed eager to hear Kestrel’s answer.
“I didn’t see any monsters,” Kestrel answered with a smile. “But I didn’t like being in there after dark either.”
“They say a monster lives there and it killed a whole family a long time ago. That’s why no one lives there now, even though it’s the biggest house in the village,” Jereed insisted.
“Those are just stories to scare children,” his mother spoke up. “Now eat your breakfast before it grows cold.”
The bowls had appetizing mixtures of ground acorns, mushrooms, squirrel meat, and crickets, much to Kestrel’s delight, and he exercised his self-restraint prodigiously to prevent himself from gobbling the meal too quickly and running his finger around the bowl’s interior.
“Thank you so much,” he told the woman sincerely when he was finished. “I’d like to give your son another dose of water, and then I’ll go around to check on the neighbors. There should be some friends coming from Oaktown this morning to help folks in the village. It looked like everyone here was under the illness yesterday.”
“We were, we all were,” the boy’s mother affirmed as Kestrel handed her his bowl and unstopped one of his water skins to give the boy a drink. “A week ago a handful had it, and by three days ago we all were catching it.
“I’d never have thought Oaktown would care enough about us to send help. That’s very kind; there must be a new lord of the land,” she speculated.
“I am,” Kestrel concurred. “I am the Warden of the Marches now, but haven’t ever had time to go around and meet the people of this village. I’m sorry it took such dire circumstances to cause me to come.”
“My lord!” the woman said, giving a perfunctory curtsy. “I meant nothing unkind with my words.”
“You said nothing unkind,” Kestrel assured her. “Now you get well,” he tousled the boy’s hair after giving him a swig of the water from the skin. “I’ll go visit your neighbors. Come find me if you need something,” he instructed, then nodded, and left the room.
He made his rounds of the homes, finding most of the elves in the village in much better shape by mid-morning, when a small Oaktown squad of assistants arrived, carrying packs of food, and accompanying three nurses. Kestrel explained the situation, then sent the men to dig graves for those who had fallen to the plague, while the nurses went about delivering the rest of the healing spring water and checking on the conditions of those they encountered.
Kestrel left them to their work, while he went back to inspect the home that had so unsettled him during the night. He stood in front of the building, inspecting the stone construction. It was unusual by elvish standards, but not a totally one-of-a-kind structure. It looked solid and well-built, despite its apparent abandonment. With a deep breath, he stepped into the airy interior, and began to walk though each room, inspecting them in full daylight carefully, looking for anything that might explain the sounds he thought he had heard during the night.
His search turned up nothing, and after a pause, he decided to go down into the cellar, where a few rays of indirect light let him see that the cellar walls were also stone, and soundly mortared into place except for one extremely dim corner where the mortar was missing and some stones had fallen outward onto the cellar floor. There were no openings among the remaining stones to allow anything large to pass through though, nothing as large as an imp even, certainly nothing that Kestrel considered likely to be able to speak in any language.
Not satisfied, but convinced that he would discover no more, Kestrel ran back up the stairs and back out into the sunshine of the afternoon. He stood in front of the house again and looked at it one last time, then went back into the village and found the nurses and workers from Oaktown. Together, they decided that though the village was recovering nicely thanks to the work of the water from the healing spring, they would stay for the night and then all return to Oaktown the following day.
At Kestrel’s suggestion they began fixing a large batch of stew in the center of the village, and invited the residents to come share a communal meal as the sun set. When all the residents were gathered, nearly three score who were strong enough to come out and join the group, Kestrel was introduced by the other Oaktown visitors as the lord of the Oaktown manor and the person who had arranged for the assistance to the village.
“I want to give thanks to the Oaktown elves who came to help their neighbors, but I also want to introduce and thank some other neighbors, the neighbors who brought me here, and who helped deliver this extraordinary spring water that has cured you all and saved so many lives,” Kestrel spoke loudly. “Please let me introduce my close friends and allies, your neighbors, the imps of the Swampy Morass!”
“Stillwater, Odare, Killcen,” he called softly, and he listened with satisfaction when the crowd of observers burst into shouts as the three blue bodies appeared in midair, then immediately disappeared again amidst the hullabaloo they had stirred.
Kestrel quieted the crowd down. “They’re shy sometimes, so don’t make a racket,” he told the crowd.
“Will they hurt us?” someone in the crowd asked.
“Hardly,” Kestrel answered. “They saved your lives by bringing the water here for you.” He called the names of his friends again, and after an awkward delay, Odare arrived, darting wildly for several seconds.
“Is it safe? Are you safe?” she asked Kestrel as she observed the crowd, then slowed down and floated to a position of sitting on his shoulder.
“All is safe,” Kestrel assured her. “I’ve told these people that the imps saved them by delivering the spring water.”
“That’s true enough,” the imp agreed. “We did so because you asked us to, of course, Kestrel-friend.”
“Everyone, please say thank you to the imps for saving your lives,” Kestrel called out to the crowd, who responded with a round of polite applause.
Pleased with the applause, Odare silently summoned her companions, so that Stillwater and Killcen returned as well, and the applause increased.
“These are my friends,” Kestrel shouted to the crowd, which quieted. “There should be only friendship between the imps and the elves. The Swampy Morass is a very big place. It is big enough for all of us to live around it or in it in peace. There are fish and birds and plants and game that is plentiful enough for all of us to share.
“Thank you Odare, Stillwater, and Killcen, for your friendship and help,” Kestrel saluted the imps.
“They can sleep in our house tonight after the party!” the boy Jereed piped up loudly, making the crowd laugh. The imps bowed to show their appreciation, and the food was served. After an hour of hovering near Kestrel and receiving the greetings from many individual elves, Odare spoke to Kestrel.
“The king will be astonished by our news,” she told Kestrel. “We are ready to return home now, and we will tell him that you are fostering friendship with the people of this village.”
Kestrel reached out and gently pulled the little imp into his range, then made the crowd whoop and holler as he gave her a quick kiss.
S
he looked at him archly. “I shall not tell the queen about this, for she will think that I am your favorite imp to pine for. I know that it’s true, mind you, but I do not wish for her to know!”
The imps all grinned, then disappeared from the village, causing an increase in the amplitude of the chatter among the elves in the open space.
Kestrel and the others from Oaktown were shown to rooms in various houses that night; Kestrel spent the night with Jereed and his mother. The next morning, after a round of visits convinced Kestrel that Cedar Gully was back on its feet, he and his companions gathered in the undefined center of the village, as many of the residents thanked them and threw flowers upon them.
In high spirits, Kestrel led his group back to Oaktown, where they arrived in the mid-afternoon. Kestrel let each of the three nurses keep a water skin that contained some remainder of the water from the healing spring, and he thanked everyone who had provided assistance, then he returned to his manor.
Chapter 4 The Twins Visit the Spring
Whyte, the steward of the manor greeted Kestrel soon after he returned to his home.
“Whyte, how many villages are under the domain of this manor?” Kestrel asked the man as they entered his office.
“Perhaps two dozen sir; perhaps a little more,” the steward estimated thoughtfully as Kestrel took his seat at his desk.
“Can you draw up a map of all of them?” Kestrel asked.
Whyte looked at him in surprise. “I suppose I can talk to the traders and find out where they go. No one’s ever asked for anything like that.”
“I’d like to visit every village I’m responsible for,” Kestrel explained. “If I’m lord of the manor for this portion of the Eastern Forest, I want the people of our region to know who I am, and know that I’ll look out for them.” He went on to explain the introduction of the imps to the elves of the village of Cedar Gully, and his hopes that he could improve the relations between the two communities.
“I suppose it will be good,” his steward said doubtfully. “I’ll work on putting together your map for you, sir,” Whyte said as he excused himself from the office, and left Kestrel to sit and contemplate what he should expect to do as the lord of the manor and Warden of the Marches.
The next day Kestrel called Dewberry in the middle of the morning, and spent the day until dinner time at the healing spring, soaking imps and sprites in the waters until there were no suitable spots available for the blue races to slumber in the water, while Kestrel filled several water skins that he took back to his manor house with him.
He repeated his efforts to repay his debt to the imps and sprites two more times in the next week, until Whyte came to his office one day with a rolled up parchment, which he spread out on the desk top as they both looked over it.
“There are nearly three score villages that are considered attached to Oaktown Manor!” the steward told his lord in astonishment. “No one had any idea there were so many.”
“I imagine that means no lord of the manor has ever gone to visit them all?” Kestrel asked.
“Sir Chandel certainly never did any such thing; he only visited those villages that he thought owed him greater remittances. His predecessor Lord Chebert ruled for a very long time in the manor, and he never went very far from the manor – he was a homebody, unlike you, my lord,” Whyte said with a smile.
“I’d like to take Remy, and Parisse and Jacquie to go with me,” he referred to two of the nurses who had visited Cedar Gully. “Would you see if they’ll be available next week for a trip of about five days?” he asked.
“Nurses, sir?” Whyte asked.
“I’d like to check on the health of the elves we visit,” Kestrel replied. “That plague at Cedar Gully killed several of our elves. I think we should check to make sure there aren’t any other problems like that in the area the manor is responsible for.”
“Which days will you be gone?” Whyte asked. “Next week is the due date for sending your remittance to the king.”
“Can you send the remittance without me going to Center Trunk?” Kestrel asked hopefully.
“We could,” Whyte said doubtfully. “Presenting the remittances is traditionally an opportunity for the lord of the manor to appear at court and call the king’s attention to his faithful service.”
Calling the king – and princess’s – attention to himself was not something Kestrel wished to do. “Who would be a good proxy to send in my place? Would you like to present the remittance to the king, Whyte?” he asked.
“Heavens no!” the steward said fervently. “We can just send the money with guards and a note, I presume, if you wish, my lord.”
“Let’s do so,” Kestrel agreed.
The next day he called upon his imp friends. “Stillwater,” he summoned.
“I’d like to go to get a new staff before I take a journey next week. Could you take me up to a blacksmith’s forge outside of Green Water? No elf could make a proper staff the way the humans make them, and the blacksmith at Green Water’s made more than one to my liking,” he explained.
“And would there be a stop along the way?” Stillwater asked.
Kestrel considered. “There could be. It could work out very conveniently if we could go to the healing spring for instance, while waiting for the staff to be constructed.”
“Let me summon some helpers,” Stillwater asked.
“And let me go collect some water skins,” Kestrel proposed.
Minutes later, Kestrel and a collection of water skins met Stillwater and two other imps on the patio outside his office.
“This is Acanthus and this is Mulberry,” Stillwater introduced two imps who Kestrel had never met before.
“Are Odare and Killcen in good health?” Kestrel asked after making introductions.
“They have taken time off to be with one another,” Stillwater answered, his cheeks darkening.
“They’re a couple?” Kestrel asked in surprise. “I never had a clue!”
“Neither did Killcen!” Acanthus spoke up with a jolly laugh. “I think he was as surprised as anyone.”
“Odare may have decided that our queen’s forthrightness was not such a bad personality trait,” Mulberry responded. “She seems to have caught Killcen unprepared.”
The three imps grinned at one another.
“We look forward to working with the pre-eminent friend of imps and sprites,” Acanthus said, taking a midair bow, as Mulberry curtsied.
“I hope your time with me will be incomparably boring compared to what your predecessors have experienced, eh Stillwater?” Kestrel asked.
“I hope they’ll not have to go through such events,” the lead imp agreed, “but I would never give up the experience of helping you be the most heroic person I’ve ever met!”
The imps gathered around Kestrel. “Take me back to the blacksmith,” Kestrel urged, and then he was engulfed in the gray chill of the dimension that he could not comprehend, except to know that the imps and sprites used it to travel in a way no mortal could.
I wonder if this is how the gods and goddesses get from place to place? He just managed to form the question in his mind when the gray numbness ended, and he found himself in the familiar spot behind the stables of the blacksmith.
He dropped his pile of water skins. “Thank you. Please wait and I’ll be back in a few minutes, I hope,” he told the three imps, then he walked around the corner and went back to the doorway of the forge where the smith worked at his tools.
“An elf?” the smith observed out loud after he finished hammering a piece and looked up from his anvil. “I don’t see elves here. You look familiar though. Do you speak the language?” he asked.
Kestrel’s mind whirled, as he realized that he had fully adapted to the elvish language of the Eastern Forest once again, even feeling at home with the slight drawl that was characteristic to the elves of the Oaktown region.
He stood silently as he translated the smith’s words, then replied after his pause. “I do
speak the language, and I’ve been here before, so I might look familiar, though my ears weren’t quite what they are now.
“You sold me a staff, a wonderful piece of equipment, with hooks on one end and blades on the other. I wonder if you could prepare another for me?” Kestrel asked.
“Elves don’t use staffs,” the smith dismissed the request.
“I do,” Kestrel said. “It’s a lot better in close fighting than a bow and arrows.”
“Let me see,” the smith motioned over to a cluster of raw staffs that leaned against the wall in a corner of the room.
Kestrel took one of the staffs, then went through his dimly-remembered training motions, feeling rusty – and silly – but demonstrating that he could handle a staff. The staff he held was an uncapped piece of wood, a light color, possibly oak, judging by the yellow tint of the timber. It felt good.
“Is this oak? Is this staff for sale?” he asked as he stopped swinging the staff and walked over to the smith.
“You’ll not get in trouble for serving me; no one from the city will see me come or go,” Kestrel assured the smith after the man stood without answering.
“I did sell you a staff before! You brought a woman – she was part elf too, wasn’t she?” the smith asked, his memory finally recollecting Kestrel’s second visit to the forge.
“Alright, I’ll put the staff together for you. I’ve got another job to finish here first,” he indicated the blade he had been working on. Can you come back around nightfall?”
“I’ll be back,” Kestrel agreed. “Here’s a down payment,” he placed two silvers in the man’s hand as a sign of good faith, then nodded and left the building.
He was vulnerable, he realized. He didn’t have Lucretia, his enchanted knife; he didn’t have a shield plastered across his chest that resisted attack, and he didn’t have the great power of the gods within him, despite the strange tale Kere had told him weeks earlier. He was simply an elf on the edge of a hostile human city, an elf whose only comfort came from having three imps waiting for him.
The Guided Journey (Book 6) Page 4
