by Cat Bruno
A half-moon past, he had wanted to save the girl and return his father to the throne. Now, he cared little of what happened to her, knowing he had been tricked once already.
It did not take long nor did it take much coin to find word of the healer. Some were reluctant to speak of her, yet a jingle of his guardsman’s purse loosened lips.
“Up ahead, just there,” Raoll called.
When Crispin looked to where the man pointed, he noticed an inn, unimpressive by Rexterran standards, yet clean and large, and of a style that they had seen often in the Southern Cove. Quickening his step, Crispin closed the distance to the inn, paying little heed to his men behind him. He nearly pulled the heavy door from its frame as he rushed in, wiping at his brow that had grown wet. Before the door could slam closed, his men reached him, until they all stood just inside the sun-lit entry.
For a moment, the prince did not move, looking around with haste as he searched for Caryss.
“Check the rooms,” he ordered his men, who fanned out behind him, hands on their hilts.
He could hear Raoll ordering them about, dividing the guards into two groups, yet Crispin stood motionless, his life pulse racing beneath his heavily threaded tunic.
Behind him, a voice rang out, “What is the meaning of this?”
The words had been shouted in Common, and he turned on his booted heel to find a short-haired woman staring at him. She was clothed as if she was a mercenary, and, at her waist, hung a thick sword.
It was not the sword that concerned him as he looked about for his men.
She must have realized his intentions, for her next words caused him pause.
“If you call for your men, I will put this arrow through your heart, my lord.”
Without taking his eyes from her, Crispin called, “My death guarantees your own. Think long on what you threaten.”
“Aye,” she said, showing gleaming teeth. “You think I did not expect you? Your men will find nothing. Nor will you.”
Her arm did not quiver as she gripped the bow, the arrow’s tip still pointed at his chest. Her eyes, round and wide, did not stray from his face, as if she dared him to move or to speak. While she watched, Crispin considered his options and nearly yelled for his men. Just before he could, another thought occurred to him.
Lifting his arms, his hands outstretched and without weapon, he called, “I seek no fight here. I have come a long way in order to find my father. If it is truly as you say and you know why I am here, then tell me of him. Tell me if he yet lives.”
Only then did he notice hesitation in her, and Crispin knew that he had not been wrong. Caryss had been here.
“I know not what she told you. I have no quarrel with the healer, either,” he pleaded, trying to keep his voice even. “I only wish to bring my father home.”
Further down the hall voices called out, loud and deep. The sound of swords being drawn could be heard as well. When Crispin looked to the woman again, her face was severe, drawn and anxious.
“I will tell you of your father once your men have laid down their swords.”
He hesitated, but finally yelled for his men to return to him. Neither he nor the woman spoke again. Heavy boots on the faded stone floors of the inn could be heard nearing them as his guards hurried back to the entrance. Crispin had to call for retreat several times before all of his men had returned, and the woman had not once taken the bow from her arm.
“Give me your word that my men will not be harmed.”
“I want no blood here, my lord. It was you who came unannounced and with swords drawn. This is my home, and Covian Law gives me the right to defend it.”
As the prince reached for his own, he bellowed, “Place your swords at your feet.”
It did not take long for his men to acquiesce, and, within moments, the clang of sword on stone echoed through the entry. When he looked back to the woman, Crispin’s eyes glossed gold and his vision darkened to a red haze.
Still the arrow was pointed at him. As he opened his mouth to complain, the woman whistled, a high-pitched sound that was soon greeted by others, calling in return.
Light footfalls closed in on them until boys not much older than his sons appeared. Each was armed with bow, like the woman’s. His arms began to rise, but before he could call for fire, the woman cried to him.
“Look around you, Lord. I have twenty of my best students circling you and your men. They will not strike unless I give the order. Do not make me do such.”
“You promised us safety,” he hissed.
Her eyes gleaming as a smile spread across her face, the woman laughed, “You are in the Cove, Lord Crispin, where words are weapon and game. I promised no such safety.”
“Would you risk war for one girl?” he spit at her, his temper firing hot.
“None spoke of war,” she told him.
“Your country is a small one, with an army one-tenth the size of mine. I would have it destroyed within a moon,” he screamed.
She readjusted her bow. “I don’t think that likely. First, I could kill you all now, and none would know where and when the King’s Heir died, for I would guess that you told none of your travel. Or I could let you all go, only to have you return with more men than we could counter. But, I would advise against that, my lord, for there are others who would strike at Rexterra in your absence, including your own brother if we hear true in the Cove.”
“Gather their weapons,” she called to the boys.
Crispin hurriedly raised a hand as his men shuffled behind him, ready to defend their prince.
“They are but children. Let them have the swords. If she had meant to kill us, it would have happened already. This is but a Covian game.”
It was known that the Islanders were fond of game and riddle, Crispin remembered, staring again at the woman as she nodded toward a few boys as they collected the Rexterran steel.
“I will play along, but only shortly. You are guarded by children, while my men have been trained since birth to be Royal Guardsmen. I would not seek the blood of children, but do not press me.”
“Ask your questions and be gone then, prince.”
“Is my father still alive?” Crispin called to her, without pause.
“Aye, and improving I would say. What else would you ask?”
“Where can I find him?”
“I know where he will not be found, and that is here on Francolla. Nearly half a moon past did they depart.”
“Where is she taking him?” Crispin demanded.
“I am neither her mother nor her husband, and she owes me no explanation.”
His face burned and his hands ached as he clenched them, trying to keep the flames extinguished. The woman toyed with him, he knew.
“You shield a woman who has committed treason by kidnapping the ruling king. She could be put to death for her actions! Yet you would side with her!”
Her laugh rang through the room. When she brought the bow to her side, Crispin paled, wondering what game she now played.
Her voice calm and her hands steady as she strapped the bow to her back, the woman told him, “Perhaps in the Cove, laws differ, my lord, but it is not kidnapping if the King went willingly.”
“He would have sent word, had it been so!” Crispin shouted. “You have seen him and know how weak he is. His silence is not consent. He sleeps overmuch and has little understanding of what occurs around him.”
The woman walked near, nodding at the boys as they carried off the swords. Half of them remained, bows still taut and aimed.
“As you say, my lord. But I have been in a room with the King when he has been awake and would say that he quite enjoyed Francolla. Many come here for respite and rest, and not once did I hear him express a desire to return to Rexterra.”
“Why did the healer come here?”
The Islander now stood behind a large desk, and she no longer watched him, as if she had grown bored. Crispin rushed to where she stood, caring little for the boys who still had a
rrows pointed at him and his men.
“Why did she come?” he screamed, slamming his hands onto the burnt wood.
With a sigh and shrug, the woman told him, “She came because the Great Mother willed it and showed her the way. She would have stayed, and your father would have recovered, had you not trailed behind her. So, tell me, my lord, which of you seeks to truly heal the King?”
Slamming his fists onto the desk again, he cried, “Where has she gone? Tell me that and we will be gone.”
She shrugged again and Crispin reached for her, his hands burning.
Just as he felt her tunic beneath his fingers, he heard her call, “Hold your fire!”
To him, she whispered hotly, “The healer is not here. Nor is your father. They are a half-moon ahead of you, although I know not where they have gone. We Covians live a life of peace and seek no part in the battles that wage on Cordisia. You waste your time here, my lord.”
As he released her, Crispin stepped back, spittle dripping down his chin and his eyes glowing orbs of gold fire. He could burn the inn to the ground, he knew, but struggled to control the fire that sought release. If not for the children near him, he might have let flame fly.
“Return our weapons and we will be gone.”
Shaking her head, she told him, “You will understand why I am unable do that, Prince Crispin.”
“Our boat awaits us at the pier. You can escort us back, if you insist, but the swords are ones that have long been carried by my men and their kin. I cannot leave without them.”
When she laughed, he nearly struck her.
“We have rooms to spare if you would like to stay.”
“My men could kill all of you with hands alone,” he hissed.
“But you will not give that order. Half of Francolla waits outside these doors to catch a glimpse of the Rexterran prince now that my children have carried word of your arrival. You made no attempts to hide your presence and another crowd has followed. Any attack on us will be an act of war. One that Francolla will not win, but one that will force you to answer questions about your coming here. It is best for both of us if you leave without further incident, Prince Crispin.”
“Where is she taking my father?” he growled.
“I do not know,” she sighed, waving him off. “And if I did, I would not tell you. She is a healer, as I witnessed myself. She will not harm him, and, when he recovers, she will see him safely back to Rexterra. If you care for him, then give her time for his healing.”
There was much that he wanted to say, but Crispin backed away from the desk. With a nod to his men, he strode across the room and exited the inn. The sun was bright, casting yellow streaks across the whitened buildings. For a moment, he could not see around him, blinded by the fading red fog of his fury.
When he looked up, clearer now, he noticed a large group of Islanders watching him and realized the mistake he had made in coming. While his men wore nothing to mark them as Rexterran, and he wore nothing to identify himself as King’s Heir, he had been naïve to think none would recognize him. Many did, and, as word spread, the Covians had gathered to bear witness to the royal visit.
After a brief pause, he rolled his shoulders back and waved to the crowd, a large smile spreading across his flushed face. He was Prince once again, polite and respected, as he made his way through the crowd, greeting the Islanders with smiles and words of praise for their island.
It was not until much later, when he and his men were aboard the ship, that Crispin realized that his brother would hear of his visit, before he had even returned to the King’s City, he guessed. By then, he knew, he would have an explanation for the visit. By then, he hoped, the girl would be found.
*****
Caryss hurried across the hallway leading from her room to the dining area, distractedly looking for the others. When she noticed that Otieno was standing near the curved wooden bar, she paused, then moved on once she realized that he was in conversation with a man near his own size, a farmer she thought. Toward the back of the room, she saw Sharron seated at a small, round table.
Dropping into the chair, she asked, “Who is Otieno talking to? Surely he knows no one here.”
“He said something about finding the boy. The diauxie is not used to following others, Caryss. He grows impatient,” Sharron told her, twirling a small mug between her hands.
Her words were spoken gently, yet Caryss heard rebuke in them, and retorted sharply, “We have no spirit animals to ride and a king who cannot walk. How quickly did he expect us to travel?”
“How do you expect to find the boy?” the other healer asked, giving little attention to Caryss’s temper.
“I had hoped to ask around.”
“You do not think that Herrin had already tried that in his own attempts to find him?”
With a deep sigh, Caryss replied, “I am sure that he tried, just as Otieno is doing, it seems. I had not thought on it fully perhaps. Sharron, now that we are back in Cordisia, do you think we should better disguise the King?”
“While you were still outside, Otieno told me that it was not necessary to worry about the King being recognized.”
Caryss hurriedly turned to watch Otieno, who had moved further down the bar and was engaged in conversation with another blue-eyed, light-haired man. For a moment, she thought of joining him. Instead, she addressed Sharron again.
“What did he mean?”
“He is not just warrior, Caryss. And, with Aldric, they alternate who wards the King, I suspect. Then, neither tires overmuch.”
“Where is Herrin now?” Caryss asked, her voice low enough that only the two of them heard.
“Sleeping. Aldric has gone to look for supplies and horses. After I have eaten, I will go back to the room. Caryss, even with the King hidden, we should not stay in one place overlong. Each night we stay brings the Rexterran Army closer.”
“You think I do not know that? I think on little else,” Caryss hissed. “Does he really believe it wise to ask of the boy? We need no extra attention.”
Sharron’s face was flushed and her hands tight on the mug as she told Caryss, “Both he and Aldric have tried to find the boy, with no luck. You have brought us here, yet still we know not where to go next. We have no time to waste searching each direction from here. On the morrow, we must choose a path.”
“Then I must try to contact him,” Caryss told her, pushing her low chair away from the table and rushing off.
Outside the inn, the slanting sun reminded her that it was just after midday. Several low buildings, constructed of slate and wood, stood near to the inn. The town was not as big as Litusia, and not a tenth the size of the King’s City, but it was thriving, as timber and slate had become much needed. Men lined the streets, in toil and in conversation. The women, too, were of a thick build, tall and strong, and dressed in practical grab, unlike the ladies of the King’s City. Most appeared well-fed and friendly, yet, after speaking with Sharron, she realized that none would tell her of the boy. She would need to find the boy on her own, without any seeing how she did so.
After walking to the back of the inn, Caryss hid behind several wooden barrels, shielding herself despite the emptiness of the alley. The dirt beneath her feet was no longer the ground of the Great Mother, and Caryss closed her eyes, uncertain and afraid if she would be able to call the boy here. Sinking to her knees, she mouthed a silent prayer that he might hear her.
Just as she had done before, she drew forth the atraglacian blade. Before she could change her mind, Caryss opened her gray-green eyes and lightly cut a line across her palm, holding her breath until a thin trail of blood appeared. She cupped her hand, allowing the blood to gather in the center. When it covered most of her creased palm, she tipped her hand, letting the blood drip toward the dirt.
With her other hand, she wiped the blade clean before slipping it back into her pouch.
As her hand throbbed with stinging pain, Caryss thought of the boy, of how he looked when she last saw him.
With his sun-kissed face and sky-rimmed eyes clear in her thoughts, she called for him. On her knees, in mud and shit, she begged him to hear.
Her hand continued to cascade blood onto the ground, while she gently rocked on her knees. The uninjured hand reached for the center of forehead, then chest, as she offered the Great Mother’s prayer.
“Show me the way, so that you may join us,” she whispered in the empty alley.
With her hand dropped low, chin resting on her chest, hands near the babe, she waited, calling for him over and over, in chant.
It did not take long, for she was still in the cradle of the Great Mother and her power strong.
“Have you really come for me, lady?” a voice called, distant and rumbling.
When she looked for him, she saw a fog-covered shape steps from her, about the size the boy would be.
“Come closer. My magic is weak compared to yours.”
“Did you call for me?” he quietly asked, words louder as he neared.
“Yes, Jarek. Did it work?” Caryss asked, wrapping her hand in the ripped fabric of her tunic.
“I was seated for my lessons when I heard a voice. When I looked about, no one appeared. Then, I felt a tug at my arm, as if I was needed. It took me a while to understand what was happening, as I have never been called upon.”
Breathlessly, she told him, “We need to find you soon. Do you recognize where I am?”
In a voice that was more boy than man, he called, “I have waited for you since seeing you at the palace. I knew that you would come.”
Unable to hide her impatience and growing weak, Caryss cried, “Which way from here must we travel?”
The boy’s eyes, a faded shade of blue now, glanced around, a faint mist trailing him each time he shook his head.
“We are in Toccovo, near the Eastern Sea,” she explained, noticing his confusion.
