by Liz McCraine
Standing in the middle of the room, he closed his eyes, feet wide apart, hands fisted tightly at his sides. Focusing on his breathing, he took several deep breaths through his nose until he felt the rage begin to pass. Slowly, he unclenched his fists and relaxed his muscles one by one until at last he dropped his head, rolling it from left to right and back again. Shrugging his shoulders back, he opened his eyes and raised his chin. A little calmer now, he walked forward to his desk, taking a moment to light a candle and cast a faint glow into the room.
Lucien preferred the dark. He enjoyed the deep whispers of the shadows as they covered everything in a cloak of uniformity. All things were the same in the dark. All things were equal. And it was where Lucien did his best work.
He sat down, leaning forward so that his arms rested upon the old desk, his hands stretched forward to tenderly grasp the crystal. Pulling it toward him, he stared deep into the foggy depths. He didn’t have much time.
Placing the onyx stone atop the sphere, he quietly chanted a few simple, silken words. The cloud cleared, and the image of a beautiful maiden was shown, her eyes the color of a tropical sea, her dark hair scraped back in a thick, messy braid. She sat looking confused, trapped, as though imprisoned by something other than the gleaming iron bars surrounding her. So quietly she sat. So disturbed, yet so quiet. And Lucien would make sure she remained quiet.
A few more whispered words and the image changed. A burly, hulk of a man coated in armor and sitting atop a bay gelding came into view.
“What are you doing?” Lucien asked out loud into the dark, empty room. He didn’t have use for idle servants. “You haven’t completed your task, you fool. Perhaps I should remind you of our agreement?” His threats were unheard.
Suddenly, he grabbed the onyx stone and yanked it from the crystal. The image instantly disappeared. Lucien tossed the stone down on the desktop and reached for a small piece of parchment, writing a message on the delicate paper. Finished, he pushed himself away from his desk, his actions those of a man on a mission.
He strode impatiently to a large wooden box located in the far corner of the room. Reaching atop the box, he pulled back the rusty bolt on a small trap door, no more than a hands width across. Lowering his hand slowly, ever so slowly, he waited. Soon, he felt a small clawing at his skin. Immediately, he grabbed at the woolly body and pulled out an adult bat. It was brown and hairy, except for the wings, which were like bits of black leather patched across long, thin bones. Claws pulled and tugged at his skin, leaving scratch marks and beads of blood as the bat struggled. Lucien closed the cage door with his free hand and walked back to the desk with his captive. Sitting, he held the bat still as he wrapped the message around its leg, heedless of the pain the small creature was causing him in its attempts to escape. When he finished, he stood.
“Go my child and do not fail
Deliver this message come sun or hail
Faster than light, more powerful than dark
My soldier in the forest shall be your mark.”
He walked to a window covered with heavy shutters. Swinging them open, Lucien winced as the bright sun shone into his face like a bolt of lightening hitting too close to home. Thrusting his arm out, he opened his fingers and released the bat. It hesitated at first, flapping its wings in the air just beyond Lucien’s extended hand. Then, acclimating to the sudden change in atmosphere, it took off, wings flapping ferociously, and headed straight into the Rockwood Forest.
There wasn’t much time left. The witch had to die before it was too late.
Chapter 10
Larra distinctly remembered being upset, cold, and bound, with her hands slowly turning numb before she drifted off to sleep the night before. Yet she awoke warm, comfortable and unbound.
At first she didn’t want to move, the combination of warmth and deep slumber surrounding her with a cocoon-like comfort. The quiet sounds of nickering horses and men packing their gear had barely pricked her consciousness when a hand roughly shook her arm, lurching her awake and into a sitting position. It took only a moment to recall where she was and why. And only another moment more to see the angry red welts marring the pale, delicate skin of her unbound wrists.
Instantly she was flooded with dark memories of Smithen standing behind her, tightening her bonds and whispering threats in her ear. So how, then, had she become untied? And who had brought her the extra brown, woolen blanket that lent such warmth against the cool, forest morning?
She looked up and, through the bars of her enclosure, caught the color of deep hazel from across the campground. No sooner had the captain’s attention captured hers than he turned away to give directions to a red-haired knight.
Larra suspected that he was responsible for her comfort, since no one else would dare untie a witch. But she doubted his aid even as she suspected it. It didn’t make sense for him to loosen her bonds and cover her with a blanket when he had made it plain the night before that she was nothing more than a security hazard that might interrupt their peaceful night’s sleep.
A moment later, a tired but kind-looking Sir Griffen brought strips of cloth made from a clean saddle blanket to wrap around her injured feet. Then he escorted her to the river for a few moments of privacy.
Griffen showed no hesitancy or discomfort at being alone with her, which was surprising. The older man was becoming a stalwart comfort in the short time she had known him, treating her as a human being instead of a witch, offering neither threat nor negativity toward her. She was glad of his help, particularly because it meant she didn’t have to suffer the presence of either the captain or Smithen. One because he intrigued her so greatly, the other because he frightened her.
After returning to the camp and partaking of a simple fare of bread and honey, one of the knights assisted her back into her mobile prison. Griffen, she noted, was readying his pack, the time spent guarding her at the river taking him away from his routine tasks. Just as the knight turned her around and pulled her arms behind her, preparing to tie her wrists before imprisoning her in the cage, the captain rode up on his great black horse.
“Don’t bother with the ties,” he commanded. “We’ll take our chances without them.” He turned to her as he spoke, his face serious. “She’s suffered enough from that rope.”
Larra’s heart thumped fiercely in her chest. It was true, then. He really had come to her aid last night. She started to thank him, but before she could utter a word, he had ridden away.
She was in a daze. This man had checked on her during the night and eased her suffering. His actions suggested that there was a kind, thoughtful man beneath that knightly exterior. Knowing he was concerned for her comfort filled her with a peculiar warmth. She was beginning to like him, she realized, beyond his handsome exterior and despite the reasons he was here.
She was so involved in this new revelation that she didn’t notice being boosted into the cage by the knight, or the locking of the door behind her. She had gone her whole life without liking any of the boys from the village, not even Jess, who she was friends with and admired greatly. And now, when she was on the verge of losing her life, she found herself developing feelings for the handsome captain. It surprised her and confused her all in one fell swoop.
The incident occupied her mind for the entire morning. When the sun was at its highest, the captain called for the group to stop in a small clearing to rest the horses and eat a midday meal. After traveling under the deep covering of trees for so many hours, the contact with direct, uninhibited sunlight was welcome to everyone except Larra, whose only enjoyment was to stretch her arms between the iron bars and allow the light to soak what little skin she could offer. The day was plenty warm, though a slight breeze drifted through the woods, announcing the coming of autumn like a bugle announced the arrival of royalty. Last night had been the first of many cool nights, and they would only get colder and longer as autumn drew near.
The market would have started by now, Larra realized, sad that she never got the
chance to go. The select villagers who were attending this year’s market had left during the week Larra was confined to the cottage. Jess hadn’t ended up going, of course, because of the accident with his sister. If he had, he would never have been there to see her arrest. So much had changed for all of them because of an incident that occurred before she was born. All of their futures had changed simply because her mother had stopped to help an injured fairy.
Food was handed to Larra between the bars by a young knight with a shy, surprisingly kind smile, and she took it gratefully. Her muscles felt tight from sitting for hours, and she longed to get out of the wagon and stretch her limbs, as she saw many of the men doing after dismounting their horses. The overall mood was relaxed.
She watched as the captain commanded Smithen to lead the horses to the river for water. It was an odd and lengthy task for just one man, as the river was located several yards away from the clearing. And Larra was curious why Smithen was asked to do it alone, without the help of the other men. Not that she was complaining about him being gone. Not at all! He had blessedly kept his distance from her all morning, and Larra wondered if it was the captain’s doing.
While Larra sat chewing her food, she surveyed the clearing. With the sun streaming down on the thick green grass and the almost ornamental ivy scaling the surrounding tree trunks, the place appeared angelic. The wild flowers intermingling with the lush grasses only added to the effect. Had there not been big, brawny men everywhere, she could almost imagine it a home for some mythical creature, so beautiful was the location. She memorized the view, knowing it would be a spot of light to carry with her through the dark days ahead.
The snapping of branches from an area just to the side of the wagon had her dropping her food and jerking around. Green leaves fluttered like butterflies’ wings in the air as the stems of the bushes moved back and forth. Larra barely had time to register the movement before the branches opened and two very small people stepped through.
Forest gnomes!
Larra had heard about the miniature beings on more than one occasion, usually from Kiera. Since they weren’t considered “magical,” Larra never felt guilty when her ears were filled with the lavish stories. The little man and woman were just she had imagined. They were no more than two feet tall at the most, their stout, round figures outfitted in simple garb the color of the forest. The woman’s skirt and tunic were dark green, made of some woven material that appeared both durable yet lightweight. She had a bit of yarn tied around her thick waist with a comparatively large pouch attached made from a bit of supple leather. If she were human, Larra would put her at no less than forty years of age, though it was difficult to say due to the smallness of her features. She had a tiny upturned nose and a pointy little chin. Her ears were also pointed, reaching daintily towards the sky.
The male appeared to be of a similar age, with a puckish face weighed down by caterpillar brows. He, too, wore simple clothes—a pair of brown leggings of the same durable material as the female, and a loose green tunic. He carried a small dagger at his waist, and a stick over his shoulder attached with a bag full of possessions.
Both wore knee-length leather boots, surely too big for their little feet, and padded with the grey, fuzzy pelts of small woodland animals. The tip of each boot reached far in front of the little persons, shaping upwards in a long crescent and finally coming to a sharp point at the top. They were boots perfect for easing the way through thickets and deep grasses, and unlike anything Larra had ever seen worn by any human.
The gnomes could probably have slipped around the group unnoticed, so natural was the color of their clothing. But while their garb helped to camouflage them in the woods, their hair became a beacon in the sunshine. Thick, brilliant white hair, brows, and lashes adorned the little people, sending rays of light shooting back up at the sun. They literally glowed.
The two beings paused when they saw the giants spread out about their clearing. They had come across humankind before, but not so many and certainly not in their private backyard!
“Here now, what are ye about?” came a high, yet oddly masculine little voice that seemed to echo across the silent clearing. “Yer all in our space here, ye are!” A look of annoyance flashed across his elfish face. “Well? What’ve ye got to say fer yerselves?”
Larra just stared. From the stories Kiera had told her, forest gnomes lived quiet, simple lives in the forest. They tended to stay away from humans as a general rule, preferring to keep to themselves and their own little world in the solitude of their woodland surroundings. They lived in the hollows of trees, ate berries and fish, and trapped small game for meat and furs. Everything they needed to sustain themselves was found in the forest. They didn’t have acting magic, that was, magic that could affect another person or object; but Kiera had mentioned that these little people were truthsayers and had the ability to foretell the future. Many a young man, the girl had told her, went into the forest seeking to know their fortunes. Most returned without knowing anything, though from time to time one would return with small stab wounds on his feet made by an angry gnome too busy to play fortuneteller for an addle-brained youth. Larra wondered how accurate Kiera’s stories had been.
A throat cleared, breaking the suspense.
“So sorry to intrude, friends,” the captain cautiously approached the newcomers. “We were just passing through and decided to take a short break from our travels. We didn’t mean to trespass, and if you will allow us enough time to finish watering our horses, we shall be on our way without any harm to you or your place here.”
“Humph,” sounded the gnome. “Makes no difference to me, as long as ye leave us be and don’t damage our property. We’re just off to take a lunch ourselves, now. Ain’t we deary?” His expression turned into that of a lovesick puppy as he turned to the female by his side. Whatever their relationship, the little man was obviously infatuated and not about to allow a conflict to interfere with his romance.
“We’ll just be finding a different spot, then,” he said.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” the captain responded. His eyes shined with barely concealed humor, though he didn’t allow himself to smile. Probably a good idea, Larra thought, since any offense to the lovesick couple would likely result in multiple stab wounds on the captain’s ankles from that little dagger. She found herself struggling to contain a grin at the thought of the gnome savagely attacking the big knight in defense of his lady love.
The gnomes continued forward, their pointed shoes parting the way through the grasses. They headed toward an area on the other side of the clearing, small smiles on their faces and tiny, chubby hands linked together to keep each other close.
When they passed Larra’s wagon, the female suddenly stopped. She didn’t release her companion’s hand, causing the male to jerk backwards and lose his balance. Once he got his feet beneath him, he turned with a perplexed look.
“What—” But he didn’t finish the question when he saw the expression on his little lady’s upturned face. She was staring at the wagon. More specifically, she was staring at Larra.
Larra watched the little gnome go rigid and turn brown, hazy eyes to her own. She was spellbound as the color turned from hazy brown to midnight black. She didn’t breathe, move or think. She simply listened.
“Ye are an innocent, here,” the gnome said softly, her words carrying no further than to those standing close to the wagon.
“There is no black within yer heart; it is pure as the driven snow. And yet ye must suffer anyway. Fear not the lash of man’s evil desire. Be strong, and fulfill yer destiny.” She paused. “Remember—to those who endure great suffering come the greatest rewards.” Tears of empathy filled the brown eyes and the blackness cleared, releasing Larra from their hold.
The gnome turned away and grasped her companion’s hand again, urging him to continue walking. They didn’t say another word, making their way across the clearing and out the other side.
Larra stared af
ter them, overwhelmed by what she had heard. It seemed the gnome had been foretelling her future, but the phrases she’d used were unlike anything she’d heard. Fear not the lash of man’s evil desire? Great rewards? She wondered again just how accurate Kiera’s stories were, and if gnomes could indeed tell truths and see futures. Part of her hoped the stories weren’t true, because if they were, then it appeared Larra was to suffer greatly. Of course, she thought wryly, that was to be expected. After all, she was headed to an almost certain execution.
A shuffling sound beside her had her twisting toward the captain, who was standing close enough to have listened to every word. Astonishment was written across his face, as if the world had suddenly begun to turn in the opposite direction. His eyes shot to hers, and Larra had the impression that he was trying to find an answer to some question only he knew.
A moment passed in silence, their communication a turmoil of emotion that drenched the air around them. Larra didn’t know who looked away first, but the next moment found her sitting alone in the cage, staring at the captain’s broad back as he returned to his men.
What had just happened?
Smithen stood on the banks of the river, tapping his foot on the pebbled ground as he waited impatiently for the last two horses to finish drinking. One hand held the long leather reins that ensured the horses would not wander off, the other toyed with the handle of his hunting knife. He had a sword, which he’d left at the clearing in order to give himself more mobility with the horses, but he never left his knife. Touching the weapon reminded him of the task he needed to accomplish before he returned to the palace. The girl needed to be killed, and preferably in a way that left him blameless of the deed.
While he was considering his options, a hard object suddenly struck him from behind. He stumbled forward toward the river, his erratic movement spooking the horses and they jerked back, yanking the reins from his hand and running back to the clearing. Between the push forward and the pull of the reins, Smithen found himself sitting in the water at the edge of the river. Cursing loudly, he pushed himself up, the river rocks bruising the same hand that so recently stroked the handle of his knife. He stood and angrily waded out of the water, cool liquid sluicing down his breeches and sloshing from his leather riding boots. He began squeezing the excess from his garments, angry at the thought of the forthcoming ride in wet pants. It wasn’t going to be comfortable, and he would get his share of ribbing from the other men. He had just finished when an object hit him a second time, this time in the chest.
