The next room was the housekeeper’s; after standing indecisively at the door with his fingers on the handle, a noise down the hall spooked him, and he hastily pressed the door open, slipped into the room, then shut the door behind him.
Clara, the housekeeper, slept in her bed, apparently untroubled by the occupying force from Center Trunk. Kestrel stepped over to the bedside and squatted down.
“Clara, wake up, please,” he said gently.
She mumbled, then opened her eyes and stared uncomprehendingly.
Then she screamed.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Clara, it’s me, Kestrel,” he answered. “Don’t scream,” he said urgently.
She sat up, holding her covers over her chest.
“My lord, is it really you?” she asked.
In response, Kestrel raised his hand. He made a small ball of glowing energy appear, then let the light float up towards the ceiling. “Who else could it be?” he asked with a grin.
Clara responded by breaking into tears, then leaned over and hugged him tightly. “No one but you!
“Thank the trees and the skies!” she said. “We’ve been sorely in need of you and an army of your imps to come and chase this mess away. They’ve ruined the manor; it’ll take a year of nonstop cleaning to remove the filth they’ve spread in just a month’s time.”
“Are they treating you alright?” Kestrel asked. “How is everyone else?”
“They’ve not done me any harm,” she answered. “Nor have they done much to most of us. That rascal Remy, his friend from the village, Pont, and your young ward Putienne fought them for a day or two, then fled north.”
“Where did they go?” Kestrel asked intently.
“They said there was a place you knew, Firheng, where there’s rumored to be many that are fighting against Center Trunk,” she answered. “Now that you’ve taken control again here, maybe the scamp can come back?” she asked.
“I’m here alone, Clara,” he replied. “For now,” he added. “I just got back from a journey, and I had no idea any of this had happened.
“I’ll have to go get help to set the manor free,” he thought out loud.
“You can just call those imps of yours to pop out of the air!” the housekeeper proposed.
“There’s a problem with that,” Kestrel replied.
“Don’t tell me you’ve broken the hearts of those imp girls you flirt with, and now they’ve shunned you!” Clara cried.
“No,” Kestrel laughed, “nothing that dramatic. The sun has changed its energy and that’s made it impossible for them to appear and disappear,” he explained.
The woman looked at him with an empty expression.
“Well, anyway, I’m going to set the city free,” he said. “I’m going to go now,” he told her. He made his glowing ball of light disappear, and saw that a hint of rosy dawn was creeping in through the window. “You stay calm and out of trouble. I’ll be back in a few days,” he promised her, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind.
They each heard footsteps in the hall outside her door.
“Where’s Whyte?” he asked one last question.
“They took him away as a prisoner to Center Trunk,” the woman replied.
“We’ll have to fix that too,” Kestrel said with determination. His steward had grown to be his most trusted advisor and servant, and Kestrel was indignant at the thought that the senior elf might have been mistreated.
He walked over to the window and looked out. The tents were all still, with no one moving about. Kestrel gave a silent wave to Clara, then slipped out and started walking on tip toes through the camp.
“You, hold still!” a voice suddenly called, and as Kestrel turned to see where the shout came from, he heard the whistle of an arrow flying through the air. He started to raise his hand to motion a protective shield of energy into existence, when the arrow struck him in the chest. He felt it strike him precisely where the handprint scar of Kai covered his heart; the arrow bounced off him, and dropped to the ground, while he staggered backwards from the force of the impact.
“He’s still alive!” the voice bellowed.
Kestrel raised his hand again and created the glowing blue shield to protect himself, and a number of shouts sounded all around him.
“It’s the evil one himself!” someone said.
Elves were boiling out of the manor, while the occupants of the tents were crawling into the yard.
“All of you must leave this place!” Kestrel shouted. It was an act of bravado, for he had no plan to fight them all. “I am going now, but I will be back, and woe to you if you are still here when I return.”
He closed his eyes, then made his shield glow with an intensity brighter than the sun itself. The Center Trunk forces shouted in fear, and shut their eyes, temporarily blinded, while Kestrel took advantage of their disability to run away into the forest.
Chapter 2
Kestrel stood in a glade in the forest, not far outside Oaktown, breathing heavily, more from shock than exercise. He was reeling from the discovery that his home had been occupied by an army from Center Trunk. He had to take action, but he was at a loss as to what to do, or at least what to do first.
He could go into the Swampy Morass and ask the imps for help. He had no doubt that his allies would assist him without reservation. And though they could not transport instantaneously from place to place, they could still fly, and they could still fight.
Or he could go to Hydrotaz, and ask Yulia for an army of humans to come with him to fight. She too would grant him his request, he was sure. But the thought of relying on humans troubled him as he considered it in the brightening morning light of the forest. Humans were not likely to be comfortable fighting against elves in the forest; they weren’t likely to be successful either, he admitted to himself as he considered the option. And he would be portrayed as a traitor, a part-human renegade allied with a human invasion. That was an unacceptable outcome, if it could be avoided.
“Kere, what am I to do?” he called out in frustration.
And then it struck him; he could call out to the gods here, the gods he knew, the gods he had grown up worshipping.
“Kere and Morph, I ask you for help,” he prayed beseechingly. “I do not understand what is happening here. Tell me please. Help me.”
He waited hopefully. Perhaps, he told himself, perhaps because he was directly in the Eastern Forest, he could communicate with them, despite the interference of the Rishiare Estelle, the bloody sun.
There was no answer. He thought he might have felt a touch of empathy, but there was nothing more.
His decision was clear. He would go into the swamp. He would run to Blackfriars and visit the court of Jonson and Dewberry, and he would ask for help.
He saw no alternative, and he found no flaws in the plan. He turned to the southwest, and started running. He crossed the main trail that passed from Oaktown to the northwest, and kept on going, using a network of game trails to lead him towards the border of the Eastern Forest. He spent over a day running through the forest, and slept in a tree that night.
By the middle of the next morning the ground was turning moister, the trees and plants began to change, and the insects became more profuse. He knew that he had crossed over the unmarked boundary between the lands of the elves and the imps. He wasn’t sure where to go within the swamp, however, other than to follow the waterways that would lead to the Flowing River, which would eventually lead him to Blackfriars, the only city that he knew the imps lived in.
He spent another long day slowly moving through the Morass, and only increased his traveling speed when he left the ground and took to the trees, running and leaping from branch to branch, disturbing squawking birds as he passed through, and finally reaching the banks of the sluggish Flowing River.
Kestrel wasn’t sure which way to go when he reached the river. He made the decision to go left, and was rewarded when he spotted a trio of imps slowly flying i
n the same direction, pulling ropes attached to a crude floating raft in the river.
“Hello imps!” he called ecstatically.
Two of the imps dropped their ropes immediately, and darted towards him, spacing themselves apart to approach him from different angles. They drew knives as they took positions and hovered on either side of him.
“Who are you? What elf dares trespass in our kingdom?” the imp on his right spoke.
“An elf who is a friend and neighbor,” he replied immediately. “I am the Warden of the Marches in the Eastern Forest. My name is Kestrel; perhaps you’ve heard of me?” he said with false modesty, certain that his name must be known to all imps after his spectacular series of adventures with and on behalf of the imps.
The two small beings looked at him suspiciously.
“I set up the mushroom market in Oaktown,” he added in exasperation a few moments later.
“You were the one who did that?” the left imp said excitedly. “Can you get more? I didn’t get any mushrooms!”
“I got some,” the right imp said smugly.
“You always get the good things!” the left imp complained loudly.
“I hope we can set the market up again next season,” Kestrel interrupted the brewing battle. “I know the king and queen would be happy to talk about that, if I could reach the court. Can you direct me in the right direction?” he asked.
“Follow us,” both imps simultaneously responded.
“Gladly,” Kestrel replied. “Will it take long?” he asked.
“Another few hours; we should arrive around sunset,” one of the imps said. “Will you be able to keep up?” he asked.
“I saw how slowly you were going,” Kestrel laughed. “The question is really whether you can keep up with me?”
He saw a look of set determination cross the imp’s face. “You won’t find us being the laggards!” the imp declared. He turned and zipped back to the center of the river, where he dove to the surface and plucked his abandoned rope out of the water. “Can you believe the cheek of that elf?” Kestrel heard the imp say in a low voice to his companion who had remained with the small barges. “We’ll show him who can and can’t keep up!”
And so began the journey that was really a race. The imps pulled their boats with great vigor, creating a rippled wake upon the river as they vigorously headed upstream towards Blackfriars. They generally found, to their disgust that Kestrel could easily leap from tree limb to tree limb with no problems, letting him out pace the imps. But when his riverbank route was interrupted by the mouth of some tributary stream, he would have to divert away from the river, allowing the imps to catch up with or pass him.
Two hours later, a short pier came into view on the river bank, and a horn sounded loudly. The pier was on the opposite side of the river from Kestrel, and the imps angled their barges towards the pier, chortling triumphantly.
“What a race!” Kestrel heard one of them say. “I’m glad we won; can you imagine the shame of losing to an elf?
“Elf slow one,” the blue creature turned and shouted across the river as the barges pulled up next to the docks, where a crew of imps tied them fast to the piers. “We appreciate your sporting ways; you made things interesting, though of course we won, as an imp might be expected to.”
Kestrel stewed momentarily, then shrugged the comment off. “So can you send a boat over to give me a ride across?” he asked.
“What? The mighty elf can’t cross the river?” one of the imps hooted, making the whole crowd laugh.
Provoked by the arrogant attitude of the imps, Kestrel turned and disappeared back into the forest that bordered the river bank, making the imps smirk with delight, until Kestrel reappeared ten seconds later, running at his fullest elven speed. He stepped out onto the surface of the river and proceeded to kick up a small rooster tail of foamy water in his wake as he ran across the river and leapt up onto the river bank. He turned and looked at the stunned crowd of imps. “Oh, do you still have to unload the cargo? I’ll go ahead and tell the king you’ll be along…eventually,” he smirked, as he turned again and started walking along the road that led from the river to the city.
He felt good, energized by having won the petty battle at the docks, so good that he whistled as he walked along. He saw imps floating high overhead, and then he followed the turn in the path and suddenly faced the sight of the high towers of Blackfriars, the city of the imps.
“Odare!” he shouted. “Killcen! Mulberry! Where are you all?” he shouted. He repeated the names, cupping his hands around his mouth to project his voice high up into the sky.
Imps started streaming out of the doors and windows of the towers.
Kestrel watched with satisfaction, pleased to see the stir he had raised, but he grew concerned when he saw a small cadre of imps come plummeting down from the sky, heading directly towards him. Just before the numerous imps reached him his concern turned to joy, as he recognized that the approaching imps were the friends he knew, the very imps who had been stranded apart from him when the Rishiare Estelle had disrupted the plans they all had made to travel together to fight the Viathins and free the captive gods.
The first two imps struck him simultaneously, Odare from the right and Mulberry from the left, driving him to the ground with the impact of their reckless regard. He felt numerous things going on all together in a welter of impressions. He felt imp after imp strike and add to the pile of small blue bodies that rested upon him in a squirming mass of affectionate friends, as kisses and pinches and shouts of glee rained upon him for a string of minutes that stretched out.
He felt his own eyes fill with moisture, and then spill tears of joy at the happiness of the reunion. There may be no place in the world where I could be more exuberantly welcomed than here with the imps, he found himself thinking, and he knew he took great pleasure in the thought.
“What ruckus is this that disturbs the royal nap?” a shrill voice called.
The imps that were piled upon Kestrel began to immediately untangle themselves and float up away from him, so that within a minute he could see the sky above once again. The sun was setting he realized, and then, against the backdrop of the reddening sky, he saw Dewberry hovering directly overhead. The queen of the imps was large with child, and her face glowed with a radiance born of both her physical state as well as the joy of seeing Kestrel alive and at her home.
“I might have expected to see you upon your knees to greet me, Kestrel-always-traveling, but lying on your back is a novel way to greet your favorite untouchable beloved. Is this some new custom you’ve learned in some exotic locale?” she asked, and then she plummeted down to kiss him and be engulfed in his gentle embrace.
“My queen, I could not imagine living another day without seeing the great, very great, make that very, very, very greatness, that you have become!” he replied.
She bit him laughingly on the shoulder, then floated up away from him.
“Because I hold you in such high esteem, I will ask the guards to place you in the nicest prison cell we have for making such mean comments!” she scolded him. “Come up, come up! We will have a dinner with you, and hear your news. We are so sadly cut off from the world because of the Rishiare Estelle conditions; we want to hear everything you have to say.”
And so half dozen imps gathered around him, and physically lifted him to a balcony in the royal tower.
“You are very light, Kestrel friend,” Mulberry told him as they set him down.
“He looks very thin,” Killcen agreed.
“He has pined away from a broken heart, without an appetite, because he could not see me during all these past weeks,” Odare declared. “It is touching that he is here to see me now.”
With such ongoing joking and laughter, Kestrel was escorted to a large banquet hall, where Jonson sat at a table set upon a dais, with many other tables set on the floor just below.
“Come sit with me, friend Kestrel, hero of the imps, and tell us what you have been do
ing. We need to give the cooks time to prepare the unexpected banquet they now must provide, and I trust that your story will be exciting – we don’t ever expect to have boredom when you are around!” the king said.
Kestrel stepped up to the table, and after a hearty welcome from Jonson, he was made to stand and tell his tale, speaking to a room that started with a crowd, and grew more crowded as he spun the extraordinary tale of much that had happened since the fateful day when the Rishiare Estelle had disrupted the plans of all involved. He judiciously pruned references to his own temporary divinity, aware of how raucously the story would be received and treated.
“And so, my friend, I am here to ask for your help, again,” Kestrel told the king as he ended his story with his return to the land of the Inner Seas, while Jonson sat upon his throne.
“You have great powers, while we are still suffering from the Rishiare Estelle,” Jonson replied. “I would never say ‘no’ to you, for we owe you all the help we owe to our brothers. But I wonder what we can do for you.”
“The Eastern Forest has fallen into a civil war, and my friends are in trouble. I need a squad or more of imps with pikes to help me help my companions,” he replied.
“You are asking us to go to war with the elves?” Jonson asked in astonishment.
“Not precisely,” Kestrel answered uncomfortably. “Not all the elves. Just the ones who are following the princess on this strange course she follows.”
“I’ll fight for Kestrel!” Killcen shouted.
“I’ll fight for Kestrel too!” Mulberry echoed.
The room erupted with promises of support.
“What a warlike crowd!” Dewberry marveled. “I expected them to offer to go to war against Kestrel heartbreaker, not for him.”
“On behalf of the human and elven maidens whose hearts he has broken?” Mulberry asked.
“Don’t forget the gnome girls too,” Odare chimed in to much frivolity.
“And these are your friends,” Jonson leaned over to comment sotto voce.
A Marriage of Friends Page 2
