“What did you do to him? How did you do that?” she asked.
“Oh my word! You’re truly an elf!” her voice rose in shock.
“I am, my lady, partly, but I mean you no harm,” he said. “I was only traveling to Uniontown, and our paths have crossed,” he apologized and tried to explain.
“You’re not, I don’t,” the woman stuttered. “I know you mean no harm,” she said at last. “Thank you for saving me from that man last night.”
“What did you do to him?” she asked again. She stared at him in fascination.
“I turned him to stone. I have powers that allow me to do special things,” he tried to generalize.
“You’ve got such beautiful purple eyes. You’re the legend they all talk about, the one everyone is afraid of, aren’t you – the elf with purple eyes! What is it they call you?” she asked.
“The Destroyer,” he answered wearily. “That’s not what I call myself.”
“Oh,” was all the lady said.
They sat there in their respective positions for a full minute of silence, looking at one another.
“You’re hurt, badly. What can I do for you?” she asked.
Kestrel considered.
“When Coplin comes up, would you ask him to send an ewer of hot water up from the kitchen, so I can clean this blood out of my hair,” Kestrel replied after a moment.
“I can go downstairs and get the water; we don’t have to wait for Coplin,” she said indignantly. She looked down at herself, hiding behind the blanket Kestrel had provided, and she blushed.
“I’ll just have to go next door and get dressed,” she added.
“The, man,” she began to inquire.
“He’ll still be stone. He’ll remain that way until I release him, if I ever do,” Kestrel replied.
Her eyes widened. “You’ve got powers, just like the Viathins used to have,” she said in awe.
“That’s not the comparison I’d want to tell,” he replied with a wince.
“Oh, of course,” Gail said. She stood up, then went to the door. “I’ll be right back,” she told Kestrel, then she slipped out, and was gone.
No sooner did she leave than Kestrel heard steps on the staircase, and Coplin appeared a moment later.
“My lord, will you be ready to leave soon?” the coach driver asked doubtfully as he stood in the doorway and looked at the disheveled Kestrel.
“I’ve had a bit of a tumble, Coplin. Would you go to the kitchen and fetch a pitcher of hot water, and a cloth?” Kestrel requested.
“Certainly, and I’ll tell the stables we’ll be late leaving today too,” the man said obediently, then left the landing and clomped back down the stairs.
There was a sound on the landing. “Was that Coplin?” Gail’s muffled voice came around the corner.
“It was. He said he’d bring the water up for me, so you don’t have to trouble yourself,” Kestrel said, as he leaned forward, his forehead resting on one hand whose arm was propped against his knee, while the other hand held the back of his head. His eyes closed as he let himself begin to drift back to sleep.
He heard a noise on the landing sometime later, and then after that, he slowly rose back to consciousness when he felt warm water on the back of his head, tiny rivulets running down his neck and down his back.
“I’m sorry,” Gail’s voice spoke from behind him. “I’ll have to take your shirt off of you or it’ll be soaked. Will that be okay? Would you prefer that I ask Coplin to do this, for your modesty’s sake?” she asked.
“No, I’m sure you’ll be gentle,” Kestrel said dreamily as he awoke. He thought of the times he had bathed at the healing spring with the imps and the sprites and so many others – modesty had diminished as a concern. “Just be careful of my arm and shoulder,” he warned, as he felt her tug at his sleeves.
She gently slid the cloth away.
“Oh my, Sir Kestrel,” she said softly. “You’ve got another wicked wound on your back too, and your arm is a mess. You should be in a bed somewhere with a nurse watching over you,” she said as her fingers gently and tentatively probed at his various injuries.
“I’m far from home, my lady,” he said simply.
Without further talk, she dipped a cloth in the warm water and began to gently clean his hair and then his back, then she swabbed his neck and shoulders as well, before the water grew cool.
“Perhaps we should stay here for another day, to let you recover,” Gail suggested.
“No,” Kestrel protested. He was more awake after the bath. “Thank you for your care,” he told her as he struggled to his feet. He picked up his shirt and carefully pulled it onto his body, then sat and struggled with his boots.
“I’ll go finish dressing myself,” Gail said suddenly. She had been staring at him, he realized, doing nothing else, before she spoke, and then she left the room in a rush.
Kestrel made slow progress with his boots, and then his cape. He carefully picked up his pack, then opened the door and stepped out on the landing. He turned and knocked on the other room’s door, and it immediately opened. Langravine Gail stood in the doorway, and her luggage was behind her. She was veiled once again, completely covered from head to toe.
Kestrel motioned for her to proceed, then he awkwardly lifted her bag, and carried it down to the lobby.
Coplin was sitting in the dining room with two other men, each of them smoking a pipe and drinking a pot of ale, when the coach driver looked up and saw his passengers shockingly ready to depart. He shot up from his seat like a cork released from a bottle of ale, and hustled over to see Gail and Kestrel.
“Are you thinking of traveling today after all?” he asked anxiously. “I thought you looked as though you needed a day to rest,” he told Kestrel.
“The fresh air will do me good, and I can sleep on the carriage,” Kestrel assured the man.
“You’ll sleep in the carriage,” Gail said assertively. “You’ll ride in the carriage with me and rest. There’s plenty of space for you in the cabin.
“You’ll go around and fetch the coach immediately?” she asked Coplin.
The man looked regretfully over his shoulder. His two companions at the table held their heads low, not making eye contact, as his unfinished pot of ale sat alluringly on the table.
“Yes, my lady,” he said woefully. He turned and walked back through the dining room, stopping to gulp a large portion of his ale, then walking on through the back door on his way to the stables.
Kestrel picked up the bags, and took them to the door, where he and Gail stood waiting for the arrival of the coach.
“Have you heard from Kras?” one of the men at the table said to the other. “He disappeared around midnight, and said he had a little errand to run. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Nor have I,” the other man said. “I thought he was going up the stairs,” he began, then he glanced over at the waiting figures by the door, and his voice dropped much lower, so that even Kestrel’s hearing could not interpret his words.
The sounds of the coach arrived in the front of the inn disrupted his efforts to overhear the conversation, and a moment later, Coplin opened the door, letting a cool breeze enter from the outside. It was not a bitterly cold wind, Kestrel noted, but more of a promise that winter was fading and the spring time was not far away.
Coplin picked up the bags and carried them to the carriage, as he led his passengers to their ride.
“You’ll ride in here with me,” Gail said firmly to Kestrel.
He silently nodded his agreement as he held the door open and offered his hand to assist Gail into the compartment, then followed her in, and sat across from her on the cushioned seat, as Coplin shut the door behind them. The coach gave a jerk a moment later, and their journey resumed.
Kestrel sat quietly, his eyes closed, the aches and pains in his body commanding his attention, as his chin dropped to rest on his chest. Langravine Gail was silent as well, and the sound of the horses’ hooves alon
g with the turning of the wheels were the only sounds they heard, until their driver began to quietly sing a tuneless tavern song, one whose lyrics proved to be inappropriate to be sung in the company of a lady.
Kestrel felt his cheeks grow red as he tried to ignore the colorful descriptions of the ladies who lived in a town called Plucktree.
He opened his eyes and raised his head to look at his companion, who remained inscrutably unfathomable within her layers of veils.
“Perhaps I should go ride up front again,” he suggested.
“No,” Gail said immediately. “Why don’t you talk to me instead?” she asked. “Unless you’d rather not,” she hastily added.
“Why?” Kestrel started to ask the question that was foremost on his mind, then stopped, afraid it was impertinent.
“Yes? Why what?” the lady prompted him.
“I had a note from the Marquise, telling me that,” he paused, “you,” he paused again, “had a disfigurement,” he spit out the end of his statement. “I’ve seen you, I apologize, and I saw nothing but a beautiful woman.
“What was the purpose of the note?” he asked. “Do you know?”
Gail was silent, and Kestrel apologized again.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” he said. “Please forgive me, and pretend I didn’t say anything.”
“Are you serious?” Gail asked after a moment, emotion clear in her voice.
“Please forgive me,” Kestrel said in a low voice. He regretted the wall that he sensed he had raised with his thoughtless question. “I think I’ll go sit up front now.”
The Langravine made no protest, so after a polite moment, Kestrel opened the window and called up to Coplin, telling him to stop.
The singing stopped, and then the carriage did as well. Without another word, Kestrel climbed out, then up to the bench, next to the surprised coachman, and their journey resumed.
They rode through a handful of villages during the course of the day, as Kestrel fitfully slumbered in his seat, his hood pulled forward to cover his face as much as possible.
Kestrel awoke in the late afternoon, as Coplin pulled into an inn in a small city.
“We won’t be able to get to a better place before nightfall,” he explained to Kestrel. “We started too late this morning,” he explained.
Kestrel climbed down without comment, as a stablehand came to hold the reins.
“You’ll bring the bags to our rooms,” he commented as he started to open the compartment door.
“I’ll need to go in to get the rooms first, my lord,” Coplin reminded him.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Kestrel replied, as he looked into the compartment and saw Gail’s figure. “You heard?” he asked her.
“Sir Kestrel?” she replied. “Would you join me please?” she motioned to the seat he had vacated earlier.
Kestrel shrugged and sighed, realizing he was likely to be about to receive a reprimand, but he climbed in and shut the door nonetheless.
“You are an elf?” Gail asked in a low voice.
Kestrel looked at her in confusion in the dim interior.
“I am, my lady. You know that I am, mostly,” he replied.
“Do elves see colors, the same way that regular people do?” she asked.
He looked at her in confusion.
“I ask because I do not know!” she said apologetically. “I know nothing at all of your people, and it occurred to me that your question earlier was sincere, that you simply could not see.”
“See what?” Kestrel wondered if the blow to his head had addled his comprehension. The conversation made no sense at all.
“Exactly!” Gail replied triumphantly. “You cannot see. You were not being hurtful before.”
“I do not follow your thoughts at all,” Kestrel admitted.
“My hair,” Gail placed a hand on the outside of her veils.
“It’s long, and thick, and red,” Kestrel said cautiously.
“You do see it then!” Gail’s voice rose to a shriek of indignation.
The door opened suddenly, and Coplin appeared. “Your rooms will be ready shortly. There’s a parlor where you can wait inside by the fire,” he informed them.
Kestrel climbed out, and offered his hand to assist Gail, who ignored his hand as she lowered herself to the paving stones, then strode inside.
Coplin stared at Kestrel, who shrugged and walked inside as well. A maid was leading Gail upstairs in the nearly empty building, and Kestrel followed.
They sat in silence in the parlor, Kestrel convinced that there was no rational thing he could say that would make a conversation a success. Minutes later, the maid returned, and reported that their rooms were ready, then led them to adjoining rooms at the end of the hall. Coplin followed with their bags, and moments later, they were in their separate spaces.
Kestrel took off his cape and hood, then pulled a chair over by the room’s window and sat down to watch the people and traffic that passed by the inn. They were often lightly dressed, he noticed, more evidence that winter was no longer a heavy burden on their lives. One couple that passed by looked up at the inn and pointed, causing him to withdraw from sight, not wanting his elven features to be seen. He lay down on his bed and rested, until Coplin knocked on both doors after sunset.
“I’ve had dinner sent to the parlor for the two of you,” he reported. Kestrel smelled alcohol as the man spoke.
Kestrel re-donned his cowl, then walked in silence down the hall, just in front of Gail.
The table was set, and a serving maid stood waiting for them.
“You’re dismissed,” Gail told the girl, seeing all the food set at the table. The girl looked at Kestrel in surprise, but he only nodded his concurrence, and she slipped out of the parlor.
Gail unwrapped her veils deliberately, then looked at Kestrel confrontationally as she set her accouterments aside. He held a chair out for her, and with a confused look, she accepted the gesture and sat.
“Your appetite won’t be affected by the sight of my hair?” she asked him.
He looked at her in surprise, trying to judge what trick was waiting to trip him up.
“Your hair is lovely,” he said after a moment’s consideration. He pulled his own hood back, and offered her the platter of sliced meat.
“Why are you doing it? Why are you being so mean? The Marquise’s note said you were really nice for an elf,” she chided him.
“I am not being mean. I’m being polite and kind and complimentary,” he shot back. “You just seem determined to find fault with me. And elves are regular people, by the way,” he added, her earlier comment still grating on his nerves.
“Polite? The way you keep mentioning my red hair?” she shot back heatedly, nearing rising from her seat in her agitation.
Kestrel felt his head throbbing in pain.
“Your hair’s just as red as any elven maiden’s hair might be. There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said as he rubbed his forehead.
Gail was silent. After several seconds, Kestrel opened his eyes and looked at her.
“Elves have red hair too?” she asked uncertainly. “You don’t think it’s awful? No elves think it’s a disfigurement?”
Kestrel stared at her in astonishment.
“That’s your disfigurement? Your red hair is what the note referred to?” he asked in disbelief. “People in Uniontown don’t like red hair?”
“No, of course not. It means a person is rude and violent and uncouth. And it looks so awful!” Gail replied.
“What? Who told you that?” Kestrel asked in astonishment. He tried to comb his memories, thinking of the human societies he had visited, trying to recollect redheads he had seen out among the humans. “Do all humans hold such superstitions?” he asked scornfully. He could not think of redheads he had seen in Estone or Graylee or elsewhere, but he didn’t remember any prejudiced statements against redheads either.
“Well, of course they do, don’t they?” she said firmly. “I haven�
��t been anywhere outside Uniontown to know,” she admitted.
“Well, I don’t think it’s ugly,” Kestrel stated. “It’s quite striking,” he told her.
She lifted one of her tresses in front of her face to stare at it, then refocused her eyes beyond her hair, to look at Kestrel. “It almost makes me want to be an elf!” she laughed, then abruptly grew serious. “Not that there’s anything wrong with elves, I’m sure. I’ve never met one, ‘til now.
“Are they all like you? Where do elves live?” she asked.
Kestrel smiled at her ignorance. Human societies were so different from one another – some knew elves, some didn’t: some disliked elves, some didn’t care.
“Our food is growing cold,” he told her. “Let’s eat.”
She looked at him uncertainly, but when he began to serve himself food with an unconcerned air, she followed his lead. After three bites, she put her fork down.
“The Marquise’s note said that you would travel with me to Uniontown and protect me along the way, but it didn’t say why you were going there,” she stated. “What reason would draw a powerful elf like you to a city in such turmoil?”
“I have been through Uniontown before,” Kestrel told her. “I’m going back to help a friend.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Gail said with a smile. “You’ve come a long way?”
“All the way from the Eastern Forest,” Kestrel confirmed. “I’ve been traveling for a fortnight.”
“What’s your home like?” the lady quizzed him. She took the wine bottle on the table and boldly poured a small amount for herself. “Would you like some?” she asked Kestrel.
“Yes, please,” he said, momentarily remembering the night that he and Margo and Picco had shared wine and a piece of chocolate cake as they sat together on the floor of a room in an inn, not too different from the one he was in at the moment.
“What’s so funny?” Gail asked as she saw his smile while she poured the wine.
“I was just remembering another time I drank wine,” Kestrel told her.
“So tell me about your home,” she repeated.
“There are lots of trees, tall trees, and many small villages, but only one large city, and it’s not so large as Uniontown,” he told her.
A Marriage of Friends Page 21
