The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 02 - The Yellow Palace

by Jeffrey Quyle

  “Maybe there are other delights here for us,” the forward bandit said coarsely, raising objections from one of the two captive men, while the other simply dove off his horse and onto the assailant, knocking them both to the ground before another robber dismounted and stabbed the captured man in the shoulder.

  The women screamed with concern and fear, and then two of the robbers in the back of the pack screamed too, as Kestrel’s arrows killed their neighbors, just before his next set of arrows killed the screamers as well. Kestrel used two more arrows to kill his fifth and sixth robbers, before the men in the red hats figured out where the shafts were coming from. Just as realization arrived, he dropped straight down from his branch onto one of the robbers on a horse, breaking the man’s neck with his rough landing. He shoved the dead man aside and settled himself into the saddle, to the astonishment of all that were there, then whirled his staff and crashed it into the side of the head of another assailant, and threw his knife into the chest of another robber still on a horse.

  In the span of less than a minute Kestrel had killed nine of the robbers. Two were on the ground with the captive they had tussled with, and only one of the robbers was left alive in his saddle. “Lucretia return!” Kestrel called his knife back to him, as he threw his staff javelin-like at the robber who had knifed the captive. The spikes at the end of the staff pierced theman’s face and he screamed in pain, while Kestrel threw his knife again at the other robber, who had begun the assault on the women.

  “You can go now, but don’t ever come to this land again, and don’t look back,” Kestrel told the terrified robber who was still alive and atop his horse.

  And that short, heroic battle was how Kestrel became a member of the household of Philip, a nobleman of Graylee, and a regular attendee at court.

  “Gods above!” swore the man who had been captured and not fought back. “What are you?” he asked in a high pitched voice.

  The women were screaming at the mayhem around them, and the wounded captive who had fought to protect them was kneeling, holding his stabbed shoulder and looking astonishment.

  Kestrel dismounted from his horse, women. “Stop screaming, miladies, stop the screaming!” he spoke about in shock and

  and went to the two loudly. “You’re safe now!” He knelt and took the plundered jewelry from the hand of the dead thief, and handed it up to the women.

  That act seemed to snap them into sanity again, as their screams jewelry.

  “Are you an elf?” the man on the horse asked.

  Kestrel was startled by the question, wondering if his ears had somehow grown back to their natural form in some unnatural way.

  “Are you looney?” the other man, the wounded one spoke up, rising from his knees, still holding one hand over the injury in his arm. “He’s not an elf! No elf would ever fight like that! Pull your hair back and show him your ears,” the man scornfully told Kestrel.

  Kestrel did as told. “See,” the wounded man said with satisfaction. “He just wears his hair long like an elf.” And it was true; all during his winter in the mountains with the gnomes, Kestrel had not cut his hair, which hung stringy and unkempt almost to his shoulders.

  Kestrel sighed in relief, then retrieved his knife and his staff, as the wounded man waited for him.

  “We are forever in your debt. Your heroism was magnificent,” the man said enthusiastically. “To echo my friend, who are you, and where did you come from?”

  “My name is Kestrel,” he answered, “and I came from the north.”

  “Are you a member of the royal guard? Where did you learn to fight like that?” the man asked.

  “I’ve learned fighting skills in many places,” Kestrel answered evasively. “How did you come to be in such a predicament as this? Don’t you have retainers to protect you?” he asked, genuinely interested.

  “Look at his eyes!” the red-headed girl exclaimed. “They’re purple!” Her hair was a reddish shade of blond, and seemed to change color, lightening or darkening as she turned her head.

  Kestrel blushed in embarrassment, having forgotten about the effect of the spring water he had drank with the gnomes, but the two men ignored the comment and continued the conversation about the confrontation.

  “When we’re this close to his lordship’s home, we don’t expect to be accosted,” answered the man in the saddle, the one who Kestrel was beginning to identify as a dandy of the court.

  “Creata’s right,” the wounded man agreed. “We just took safety for granted. All my life these roads have been safe, until now.” became sobs, and they cautiously accepted the offered

  “It’s the war,” the attractive brunette woman said. “It’s making the whole country mad. All the good men are going away, and everyone who’s left thinks it’s okay to bully around everyone who’s smaller or weaker.”

  “Margo!” the other woman said in shock. “It’s not the war! These men were just criminals.” The group lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

  “Is there someplace nearby we can take you to have your wound looked at?” Kestrel asked the injured man.

  “My family’s manor is not far. We’ll go back there right now,” he answered.

  “Would you like to come with us?” the woman named Margo asked.

  “Yes, do come with us!” the injured man urged. “We owe you thanks.”

  “I left some things in the forest; let me get them,” Kestrel replied as he considered the good fortune of falling into the company of obvious members of the nobility through such favorable circumstances. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said as he went into the forest and retrieved the goods he had left in the tree. He was back quickly, and pulled together the leads of the horses that had formerly belonged to the bandits, then selected one to climb aboard.

  “What will become of these bodies?” Kestrel asked, looking at the carnage spread across the roadway.

  “I will send our groundskeeper to remove them,” the nobleman’s son said, and they started to ride. “I am Philip,” he introduced himself. “My father is the Baron of the Northern Mountains.

  “This is my sister, Margo,” he introduced one of the women, a girl who was little older than Kestrel, as Philip appeared to also be. She was dark-haired and seemed shy since her outburst against the war.

  “This is my good friend, the lady Picco,” he introduced the other woman, the redheaded beauty, “and her brother Creata. Their mother is the Duchess of the East Sea Shore.”

  “I’m honored to be in such esteemed company,” Kestrel replied.

  “Where are you from? How did you happen to be on Philip’s lands?” Creata asked. “Where in the north is your home? I didn’t think there was anything north of here but the mountains,” he looked at Philip for confirmation.

  “I came from Estone,” Kestrel replied, as their horses gently plodded along. “My ship was caught in a North Sea storm in the winter time, and I was ship-wrecked on a wilderness shore. I crossed the mountains and came south. I was on my way to the city of Graylee when I heard the commotion and came to see your predicament.”

  “You crossed the mountains? Alone? In the winter? That’s impossible!” Creata cackled.

  Kestrel said nothing, and there was an awkward pause.

  “Did you really cross the mountains? Did you see any of the monsters – the yeti or the gnomes?” Picco asked.

  “What makes you say the gnomes are monsters?” Kestrel asked.

  “Well, maybe not monsters,” Picco amended her question, “but they are such ugly little brutes, I’m told, and they don’t speak our language, and they don’t welcome intruders to the mountains.

  “So, did you see any?” she repeated.

  Kestrel hesitated, wondering what the implications were for a response either way, then decided to simply tell the truth. “I did see them. I spent part of the winter in one of their villages with them. They probably saved my life; I don’t think I could have crossed the mountains on my own in the winter, as Creata said, if they
didn’t help me.”

  There was silence as all four of the young nobles looked at Kestrel in astonishment.

  “And then they just let you go?” Margo asked in a small voice.

  “They did. They weren’t holding me captive. I told them I wanted to return to my own people, and they led me through a pass to come down the south side of the mountain,” Kestrel confirmed.

  “I’ve never heard of any human crossing the Water Mountains, under any conditions,” Creata said flatly, as the woodlands came to an end and they emerged into pastures and open fields, under a cloudy sky.

  “Have you ever seen one man destroy a dozen bandits in two minutes?” his sister asked softly. “I just did. Anyone who can do that can surely climb through the mountains.”

  “There’s home, just ahead,” Philip interjected, trying to ease the strain. He motioned ahead. “Welcome to out manor, Kestrel. We’re glad to have you as our guest.”

  Kestrel looked across the fields, where horses were pulling plows to turn over the soil and plant the spring crops, at the large and luxurious stone palace that stood atop a small hill, looking out over pastures and newly planted fields. “It’s a beautiful place,” he complimented.

  “It has to be, to keep civilized people living up here on the edge of the wilderness, especially with the winter winds that come off the mountains,” Creata chimed in. “I’m sure Philip would trade it in an instant for a nice seaside estate next to ours where one can go sailing on the Inner Seas four seasons out of the year. Eh, Philip?” Creata teased his friend.

  “Philip might take a southern estate to spend more time closer to Picco; I think that would attract him more than the sea shore,” Margo teased, a telling shot that made both the mentioned parties blush.

  “It is home, and it looks comfortable and beautiful to me,” Philip answered. “But right now it’s the thought of a bandage on my arm that comforts me most. Creata, would you ride ahead and ask them to prepare for our arrival?”

  The southern nobleman complied at once, digging his heels into his horse’s sides and jumping out in front, then galloping up the road towards the manor. “Kestrel, I’d like to know how we may repay your great service?” Philip asked after Creata was gone. “You saved our jewels, which is of little importance compared to protecting our honor and safety, and we are in your debt. Let us begin to repay that debt in some way.”

  Kestrel looked at the manor house, and thought of all the luxuries he had missed duringhis sojourn in the mountains. “You owe me nothing,” he said. But, if I may have a room to bathe in, and a change of clean clothes before I go on my way, I’d be very thankful.”

  “Just that?” Margo asked. “Surely we can do more for you than that!”

  “I’m traveling south,” Kestrel replied. “So a chance to get comfortable and clean again, for the first time in a long time, will be a blessed relief,” he grinned.

  “Why not wait and go south with us?” Picco asked, looking at Philip.

  “Yes, Kestrel,” Philip affirmedimmediately. “We’ll head south ourselves in three days. “If you could stand to wait so long, we’d appreciate having you in our company on the road, as our guest. We could take you to court with us and introduce you to people there, or in the army, since you’re such a warrior.”

  They reached the front of the manor house, where Creata and his horse awaited them, along with several grooms, and a pair of other male servants with anxious looks on their faces. “I told them how we fought off the bandits, but you were injured,” Creata explained as the others rode up.

  “You mean how Kestrel fought them off,” his sister corrected him, receiving a disdainful stare in return, as they all dismounted.

  One of the servants immediately began to remove Philip’s shirt to tend to the wound, as the grooms began to lead the horses away. “What shall we do with all these other animals?” the senior groom asked.

  Philip looked at Kestrel, then answered. “They belong to our guest; stable them with ours for now, and we’ll wait to see what his plans are.

  “And when you’re done with that, could you send some folks out to the western road in the woods by the hops field? There’re several dead robbers’ bodies there that should be buried in the paupers graveyard,” he added, then winced, as his servant applied something to his wound.

  “This will clean out the bad from the wound, sir,” the servant assured Philip. “We can do the rest indoors,” he suggested politely, and they all moved towards the grand door.

  Inside the manor house was a grand entry, from which a set of stairs and a pair of hallways led in various directions. “Margo, would you have Kestrel settled into a guest room on the north side, and arrange for some clean clothes for him?” Philip asked.

  “We’ll have dinner an hour before sunset, if you’d like to join us,” he said directly to Kestrel, then was led away by his servant.

  Creata and Picco excused themselves, while Margo looked speculatively at Kestrel. “Let’s go this way. Would you like for a servant to carry your things for you?” she asked, referring to the bags and bundles he had draped about him.

  “No, I’ll take them,” he replied, and followed the girl up the stairs and down a long hall that ran to the back of the house.

  “Since you want a bath, you should have this room,” she opened a door and entered the room. There were several chairs and a table, as well as a large bureau, and a door. Through the door was a small hallway, and three more doors. “The bathroom is in there. I’ll send a servant up to check your size; will you take a quick bath, or would you like to relax a little while? I’d relax, personally,” she recommended as she motioned to the bath through a door at the end of the hall.

  “I’d appreciate some time to relax,” Kestrel agreed, removing his items that he had carried on his back and stacking them in a pile in a corner at the end of the hall.

  “Very good,” Margo answered, and she returned to the door to the main household hall. “It will be some time before a servant arrives, so take your time. And thank you again for helping us this afternoon,” she said as her hand unconsciously held the ripped fabric of her bodice. “You were extraordinary; a true hero,” she complimented him as she closed the door.

  Kestrel looked longingly at the luxurious mattress, then sat on it to remove his boots and undress, before he entered the bath. He saw two metal pipes, and sighed in relief at the sign that there was both hot and cold water available. He hadn’t been sure what level of plumbing to expect in the country, even in such a luxurious residence.

  Though he couldn’t coax truly hot water out of the spigot, the warm water he bathed in was satisfying enough, and Kestrel soaked and scrubbed away months’ worth of grime and dirt as he relaxed and remembered the palace at Estone, where Merilla had bathed him during his brief time as an invalid there, before he had begun the illfated voyage across the North Sea. He stayed in the tub, laying back with his eyes closed, until he heard a knock on the door. He hastily grabbed the robe that hung on the door of his bathing chamber and wrapped it around his wet body as he hurried to open the door. He tugged it tightly closed at the neck to make sure his tattoo and shield weren’t exposed.

  Margo stood outside, along with a man who carried several pairs of pants and shirts, draped over his arm. She had changed out of the torn riding outfit, and wore a simple white dress now. “We are here to give you the start to your new wardrobe. This is Chambliss, my brother’s valet.”

  Kestrel stood in confusion for a second; he’d never heard the word valet before, and was trying to decipher it when he saw the momentary glance of alarm in the man’s eyes, apparently concerned about working with such an uncouthappearing client. “Come in, come in,” Kestrel asked them. “I’m sorry I’m like this,” he apologized as they moved to the chairs in the corner of the room. “I was still relaxing in the tub.”

  Does his lordship feel better?” Chambliss asked politely.

  “I feel a world better, praise the goddess,” Kestrel replied,
and saw a momentary smile of approval on Margo’s face.

  “Which material would your lordship prefer to wear?” Chambliss asked, spreading four pairs of pants across the table in front of them.

  “I’m not a lord,” Kestrel answered first. “You can just call me Kestrel. And I’d prefer pants like those,” he pointed to a pair of plain black pants, rejecting the colorful purple pants and the two pairs with different types of stripes.

  “And what style of shirt would you like?” the valet asked, as he gathered up the pants and then draped several shirts in front of Kestrel.

  “That one,” Kestrel answered without hesitation, pointing to a plain white shirt with buttons at the neck, reminiscent of the shirts he wore in the Eastern Forest.

  “Very simple tastes, very classic,” Chambliss said approvingly. “Now for some quick measurements. Please raise your arms.”

  Kestrel wasn’t sure what was about to happen but obeyed, then looked in surprise at Margo when she gasped. “Kestrel, what happened to your leg?” she asked, pointing to his thigh.

  In raising his arms, Kestrel had lifted the hem of his short robe, and unknowingly revealed much of his thigh. He looked down and saw the vivid red line that was the scar given to him by the Uniontown ambassador in Estone, when they had fought at the palace.

  “I was in a sword fight in Estone,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I got this scar, and my opponent got worse.”

  Chambliss proceeded to wrap a tape around his body in two or three locations, then stepped away. “That’s all I need,” the valet said. “I’ll find some clothes in the wardrobe and have them sent up in just a little while.” He walked to the door, then paused and looked at Margo, who still sat in her chair.

  “May I stay and chat?” she asked Kestrel. “Or would you like to soak and relax a while longer?”

  “Please stay,” Kestrel replied, wondering if he had done something wrong.

  “Please leave the door open, Chambliss,” she asked the valet, as he departed. “Daddy has such old-fashioned values,” she said apologetically, “but it’s his house and we should respect them.