The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 01 - The Healing Spring

by Jeffrey Quyle

  Kestrel picked up the paper and pen on his bedside table. He looked at Merilla once more, then set his pen to scratching across the surface of the paper. He was writing a long, rambling epistle that recorded his thoughts and impressions and plans. As soon as he was finished with the third page of Elvish writing, he blew on the paper to dry the ink, then softly called with his voice and his heart and his mind. “Dewberry, Dewberry, Dewberry.”

  Seconds later the small blue sprite appeared, lying on the bed with him, between he and Merilla.

  “Friend-hero Kestrel, how are you?” Dewberry asked in genuine concern.

  “I’m doing fine Dewberry, getting better all the time. How are you? How are Reasion and Jonson?” he asked.

  “Reasion is well, and back to normal. Jonson is impatient and grumpy – he wants his legs to grow back all in one day, instead only a little each day,” she replied.

  “That great lizard that he fought in the swamp, had the imps ever seen anything like that before?” Kestrel asked.

  “They have never seen anything like it, and they are scared of it, and any others like it that may still be in the swamp. They think there may be more,” she told him. “All the men want to be heroes and go out to hunt them like Jonson, while I tell Jonson to tell them to be better at it than he was!” she smiled gently. “And I think he understands.”

  “Will you do a favor for me Dewberry, a small favor?” Kestrel asked.

  “Anything I can, if I can,” she said brightly.

  “This letter – would you deliver it to Alicia for me? She and the elves at Center Trunk need to know about the evil that visited Estone, the sooner the better,” he explained.

  He heard Merilla yawn and stir behind his back, and he saw Dewberry’s eyes flicker from him to the woman behind him.

  The sprite accepted the letter from Kestrel’s hand, then stood on the mattress, looking down at him. “So you want me to deliver this letter to the elf woman who is beautiful, but not as beautiful as me, while you are sleeping here with the human woman who is beautiful, but also not as beautiful as me, according to what you’ve told me in the past? Of course I will!” she mischievously said.

  “Take care friend Kestrel,” Dewberry said, then vanished from the morning light that filled the bedroom.

  “So you prefer small, blue sprites to normal, healthy humans and elves?” Merilla asked from behind his back, as she poked him in his ribs. He rolled over to see her rising from the bed and pulling a robe over her gown.

  “I’ll go see if breakfast is available for me; maybe your sprite-lover can bring some back for you?” she grinned down at him.

  “If it’s not too inconvenient, I’d appreciate you providing some breakfast, since you’re already up,” Kestrel replied. “And could you hand me my staff so I can hobble to the bathroom?”

  Not much later, as they sat eating breakfast at the dining table in Kestrel’s suite, Merilla spoke. “Will you be able to leave as you plan, or should you stay here a few days more, so that the doctor can make sure your leg heals all the way?”

  “I feel the need to leave,” Kestrel said. “There’s something out there I need to do,” he replied.

  “You’re sure that you just don’t want to escape from the human lover who cannot be your lover?” she asked with a smile. “Are you on your way to some lovely elf?”

  “She cannot be my lover either,” Kestrel replied. “And I’m going as far away from her as I am from you on this journey. But in the end, I’ll always know that there’s a good-hearted friend here in Estone I can always come back to and rely on if I need a friend’s help.”

  “Yes you can Kestrel, yes you can. You’re a great person, we’re all discovering, and I hope that you find you always have friends available to help you be our champion and fight this battle that you think is coming,” she replied. “And may the gods continue to help you.”

  A selection from The Yellow Palace, Book 2 in the Inner Seas Kingdom Series…

  Kestrel awoke early in the morning, awoken by the throbbing pain in his leg from where Sleek’s arrow had penetrated his flesh. He used his staff to gingerly make his way downstairs to the breakfast table, the first one to arrive. He asked a servant for a cup of willow bark tea, then sipped his tea as he ate fruit and bread and bacon.

  He tried to imagine what all the ramifications of the altercation at the archery field were going to be. He knew he was now identified as the champion of the old human gods, and was identified as an opponent of the prince. He was also identified as the man who had slain Sleek and Brace and a pair of guards; there was every reason to expect that he would soon be under arrest and in a prison somewhere, unless he fled from the city as quickly as he could manage. And no matter whether he fled or stayed, his friends who were identified with him were perhaps equally in danger, and he worried most of all about how to protect them.

  He felt a strong pair of hands on his shoulder, and they began to massage the tension out of his muscles. “You’re tight and you’re worried, Kestrel,” Philip said, then he came around and sat down at the table.

  “You’re worried about yesterday, aren’t you?” Philip asked.

  “We all should be,” Kestrel replied. “What danger are all of you in because of the battle on the field?”

  “I’m not sure, Kestrel. I’m going to go out and find out how the city’s reacting. The prince fled from the scene pretty hastily, and with good reason I’d say,” Philip recounted. “The crowd there was on your side in the battle. Things may not be as dire as you fear.

  “Let me talk to folks, and we’ll decide this morning if we need to get you out of town immediately, or just soon. I’ll send a messenger to father to tell him to expect your arrival at the estate,” Philip suggested.

  “Don’t send the messenger to your father yet; I’m not sure which direction I’ll go if I have to go. I’m not sure what my duty is at this point,” he admitted frankly.

  “Good morning gentlemen,” Margo said as she entered the room. “What are you drinking Kestrel?” she asked.

  “Willow bark tea,” he grinned.

  “That is what I want,” Margo told him emphatically. She repeated the comment to the servant in the room. “You plied me with too much wine last night,” she told him in an accusatory tone as she sat down next to him.

  “I don’t want to hear about my little sister’s debaucheries,” Philip said as he stood. “I’ll go out and keep my ears open. You stay here and stay put,” he told Kestrel, and then he was out the door.

  “What did he mean, Kestrel?” Margo immediately asked.

  “We were talking about how the prince is likely to react to last night’s battle on the field,” Kestrel replied. “I suspect I will be picked up by the police or the guards before long.”

  “If the prince has a lick of sense, he’ll be running for a safe place, so that he doesn’t run into you again!” Margo replied indignantly. “Kestrel, last night, when Picco removed your shirt, these letters fell out. I picked them up to keep them private, since you were carrying them next to your body,” she handed him the two letters, from Alicia and Lucretia, that Dewberry had delivered before her departure.

  He took the letters and placed them in his pocket. “Thank you,” he said gravely. “And you were wondering what language they were written in?”

  “It’s none of my business,” Margo answered.

  Kestrel cautiously moved his chair closer to hers, then leaned towards her, until he felt her hair on his cheek and his lips brushed against her ear. He smelled the fragrance of her perfume, and though it seemed as delightful and appealing as Margo herself was. “Margo, one of those was a letter written in Elvish, from the slave girl I set free. She is safely back in her home. I set her free myself, and sent her away.” He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes, as he realized that Margo would hate him for what he was about to tell her. But he felt compelled; he couldn’t bear to keep his secret from her any longer.

  “I can’t lie to you any long
er,” he continued. “I’ve known her, Lucretia, the slave girl, from the time before she was a slave, before she was captured in battle. I met her months ago, in Center Trunk, the capital of the Elf nation. She and I, we’re the same – I’m part elf, mostly elf. I have to be honest with you.”

  He drew back from Margo’s ear, and wiped the tears out of his eyes and off his cheeks. He saw the damp splash marks of his tears on the shoulder fabric of her dress, and then he looked at her eyes, and saw a horrified fascination. “Kestrel, can you come upstairs? Will your leg allow you to climb the stairs?”

  He was confused by the request, but he stood and leaned on his staff. “Lead the way,” he said, and slowly stumped up the steps after her, then turned after her in surprise as she stopped on the second floor, and led him back to her own bedroom, a place he had never been.

  She closed the door behind him, then motioned towards a pair of chairs and sat down as he did. He looked around at the simplicity of the decoration, the clean white lines and cloth that defined the room, so appropriate for someone as pure as Margo was.

  “I brought you here because this is the most soundproof room in the house. No one can hear us in here,” Margo explained. “And I don’t believe I heard you clearly when you spoke downstairs. I thought you said that you had known an elf before she was a captive, which I can believe, since you say that elves and humans comingle in Estone. But then I thought I heard you say you were an elf yourself, and I know that I didn’t hear you correctly. Please tell me I heard you wrong?” Kestrel saw the pleading look in her eyes, and heard it in her voice. She believed him – she believed he was an elf. But she wanted to be able to deny it, if necessary. Kestrel wasn’t sure if the deniability was for his sake, or hers, or someone else’s, but he understood.

  She knew the truth about him now. He had told her. And she accepted it, or seemed to. What her acceptance meant was yet to be determined.

  “I think you heard me wrong,” Kestrel said after a pause.

  “Thank you,” she said with real relief. “It’s so funny how my ears play tricks on me sometimes. Is there anything else you wanted to tell me, while we’re safe here?” she asked.

  Just then there was a knock on the door and Picco came blithely barging into the room. “Kestrel isn’t in his room and he’s not downstairs. Where in the world could that crippled hero be, when I’ve woken up so early just to take care of him?” she asked, and then saw Kestrel sitting in the chair.

  Her facial expression changed from mock petulance to surprise. “Margo, I’ve never known you to have a man in your room before,” she said slowly. “Should I leave you two alone? Is there something going on here?”

  “No,” Margo said calmly, as Kestrel wiped his eyes again, astonished at the depth of Margo’s placid soul. She had already made peace with who he was, and was ready to move on, while he was still weeping over his fears that he had lost her friendship. “We just needed a moment to chat.” She and Kestrel both stood, and she linked her arm in his, signaling to him that they were still friends, as Picco looked at them with an inscrutable expression. “Let’s all go have some breakfast, shall we?” Margo suggested. “Kestrel had a cup of willow bark tea already, and I think I need one too. How about you?”

  “I’m sure I need one now,” Picco said faintly, and they all went downstairs.

  Shortly after they returned to the table, as the three of them sat in awkward silence, eating and drinking, Creata came to the table. “Hello everyone,” he said. “What’s our status? Is Philip around?”

  “I’m not sure what our status is,” Picco said carefully. “I thought I knew, but now it seems that perhaps things aren’t what they seem.”

  As Creata looked at her quizzically, Kestrel spoke up. “Philip is out in the city trying to find out what the circumstances are now. I imagine I will have to leave you all very soon.”

  “You’ve got enough money to buy your freedom,” Creata said. “You know we can buy your way out of any prison with all the golds you won yesterday.”

  Kestrel had forgotten about the winnings from the tournament somehow, even though the comments over the money had precipitated the argument that became the battle. “How do I get that money delivered to Kai’s temple?” Kestrel asked.

  “It’s a heavy load Kestrel. It’ll take a lot of help,” Creata answered. He stood and looked out the window. “I don’t see any guards outside left over from your crew of followers last night.

  “Let me go talk to Clarce and see if I can get some help to carry your money. Will the three of you be okay while I’m gone?” Creata asked.

  “We’ll be fine.” Margo answered. And moments later Creata was gone.

  “So tell me, what were you doing in her bedroom?” Picco asked Kestrel.

  “Margo said that her room is the best place in the house to talk about secrets,” Kestrel replied.

  Picco looked guiltily at Margo. “I hope it is, because I’ve told my share of secrets there.”

  “I told her,” Kestrel rose from his seat and leaned over towards Picco. “I told her that I helped set the elf slave free,” he whispered.

  “Well, there’s a news flash,” Picco replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “As if I didn’t figure that out as soon as we got back.”

  “Really?” Kestrel asked in surprise.

  “Yes, really,” Picco said smugly, apparently pleased to once again be in control of the situation. “And just for the record, while you may have been the first man to be in Margo’s room, you haven’t been in my room yet, have you?”

  There was a sudden pounding at the door, and Margo rushed to look out the window. “Kestrel! It’s the prince’s guards!” she spoke fearfully. “We need to hide you; we need to get you out of here.”

  “I’ve got this bad leg Margo,” Kestrel said, feeling a strange calmness overcome him. “I won’t be able to get away. It’s better that I give myself up, and avoid giving them any excuse to harm either of you.” He walked to the door as one of the servants opened it.

  “I presume you’re here for me,” Kestrel addressed the guard at the door before he could even speak.

  “That’s correct,” the man said simply. “Will you come with us now?”

  Kestrel turned and looked at the two girls, frozen in the dining room, unprepared for the sudden arrival of Kestrel’s arrest. “I’m ready,” he said calmly. “You’ll have to make allowances for my leg.”

  “We’ve got time, don’t worry,” the guard said.

  “Thank you girls,” Kestrel stood at the door and said. “You are both two of the best people I have ever known.” And with that the door was closed behind him and he slowly advanced down the walk, surrounded by a half dozen guards, as another six waited out by the street.

  Kestrel asked no questions as he was walked through the streets, and no explanations were offered. His injured gait, aided by the staff he was allowed to use, was slower than the guards wanted, it was evident from the repeated comments to “pick up the pace”. Kestrel wondered if they were just impatient to deliver him to his destination, or if they feared an incident on the streets.

  No event disrupted their journey, and soon they entered the gates to the palace, and descended into a subterranean passage that was dimly lit. After a further journey beneath the palace they came to a block of cells, where Kestrel had his staff, his knife, his boots, and his belt all confiscated, and he was then pushed into a cell, and the door was slammed shut behind him.

  There was virtually no light in the cell. The only illumination came from a dim lantern that sat on a desk outside the room, so that even Kestrel’s elven vision strained to see many details in his captive home. He had a chamber pot and a cot, and nothing else. And so he sat and waited to see what would happen.

  After what seemed to him to be several hours, Kestrel quietly called, “Dewberry, Dewberry, Dewberry,” in a forlorn hope that he might be rescued easily by the sprite. As he suspected though, his friend did not appear, apparently still in th
at other place, wherever it was, that Jonson had gone in order to find an answer to Uniontown’s monster lizards.

  There eventually came a noise, and then the sound of several feet walking in the hallway. The group approached his cell, the door noisily opened, and a trio of guards entered the cell, holding a smoky torch. “We’re here to escort you to your audience,” the lead guard said, and Kestrel was walked through numerous halls and upstairs, traveling slowly without his staff to help him. It was dark outside, he realized as he saw a dim window.

  They slowly climbed another set of steps, and entered a room that was dimly lit by a few candles. A small group of men stood at the other end of the room, their features hidden in the darkness. Kestrel was pushed against a wall, and shackles were attached to his wrists and ankles, securing him to the hard stone surface. He felt the fear that was rapidly rising in his psyche, climbing up, as the escort guards left the room, and the shadowy men moved forward, the candles coming with them.

  “We know you are helping the old gods who want to overthrow the prince so that they can expel the followers of the new gods from Graylee,” one man said. As he came into view, Kestrel could see that he and two others wore the red robes of Uniontown, while two other men wore nondescript clothing, attire not of the noble class.

  “We want you to give us the names of all the people who are conspiring against the prince,” the nameless man said. “And we’ll stay here all night to get those names if we must.”

  After that statement, and Kestrel’s protest that there was no conspiracy, a brutal night ensued. Kestrel was beaten with fists and clubs, cut with knives, and his hands were smashed against the wall. The attack was relentless, as the torturers grew frustrated with his lack of cooperation.