“You’ll have to take Philip up into the mountains someday,” Paul commented. “Our family is the Barony of the Northern Mountains because once upon a time we were here to protect Graylee from threats that might emerge from the mountains. My great grandfather used to go regularly riding and hunting in the mountains, twice a year, to make sure all was safe.”
“Kestrel tells us he lived in a village with gnomes during the winter,” Picco spoke up.
“Did you? North of Great Mountain?” Paul asked in surprise.
“Is Great Mountain the largest one, the one the river valley comes from?” Kestrel asked.
Paul nodded.
“Yes, we were a little ways north of there. I couldn’t have crossed that ridgeline on my own in the heart of winter, I know now,” Kestrel answered. “The gnomes showed me the way after the spring thaw was underway.”
“Family legend says that the gnomes live north of there, in a rugged wilderness,” Paul nodded his head.
“’Rugged’ is a mild term to describe the gnomes’ mountain lands! They knew the pass that brought me to this side, and they showed me the way, but they didn’t come any closer than three or four days from the closest farmstead I saw,” Kestrel affirmed.
The conversation moved on as the next course was served, and Kestrel talked little more throughout the meal. When the dinner ended, Paulgently held Kestrel’s arm. “Would you come into my study and show me where the gnomes were on my maps?” he asked.
“When the youngsters told me that they had been attacked by thieves and then saved by a man who appeared from nowhere, jumping out of a tree, I was astonished. I was saddened to know that we have a band of outlaws in our lands, so close to the manor at that, but pleased to know someone had been present,” Paul started.
“I expected to meet a giant of a man, but I’m actually happier to know that you could fit the mold of any man; it restores my faith in humanity,” he said, making Kestrel grin at the thought that an elf was receiving such praise.
“I apologize for making the political comments at dinner,” Paul continued, “but I was pleased to hear you speak your opinions; I think the things you stated, though perhaps put more dramatically than I would have described, are dead on.
“Our nation is in grave danger from the corrupting influence of this Uniontown ambassador, and the weak mind and morals of our young and rudderless prince. But you will find that your opinions are in the minority, especially in the City,” Paul advised. “Be cautious, my young friend, or you will find that you have put yourself in jeopardy. Young Creata is a good boy, but lately he’s been one of the supporters who so enthusiastically relishes war and conquest and empty death, and he will warn others of your attitude, so beware your words.”
“Thank you for the advice, my lord,” Kestrel said, suddenly remembering that he was a spy, and supposed to act as a spy while he tried to carry out both his assigned mission – to learn of plans for attacks on the elves – as well as his self-assigned mission – to learn more of the influence of Uniontown, and foil it if possible.
“Are there others who believe as you do? Are there people in Graylee I can trust?” he asked.
“Yes Kestrel, there are many. You will find them scattered through the land. You will not find many of them going to the palace or the frivolous activities at the prince’s court,” Paul answered. “As you travel, and if you choose to spend time in Graylee City while my children are there, please keep an eye on them and keep them safe. You’re no older than them, so there’s no good reason to expect you to be a chaperone or guardian, but I trust you – your words and actions have shown that you are trustworthy.
“Now,” Paul unrolled a large scroll of paper, “so that we can say we looked at the maps, show me where you’ve been,” he opened up a sheet of paper that covered the entire surface of his desk.
Kestrel looked at the detailed map, which displayed much more information about Graylee and the region than any map he had seen or studied at Firheng. He saw that they would follow a river most of the way to Graylee City, and then either follow the shoreline or sail to the capital; he hoped they wouldn’t sail.
“Here is where my ship went down in the North Sea,” he spoke as his finger circled an area near the top of the map, a spot in the sea not far off a cape of land. “And I followed this river up into the mountains.
“About here is where the gnome village was, and we came down through the mountains around here,” he added as his finger traced its way towards the Baron’s manor house. It was interesting to see how little distance the map made the route through the mountains appear to cover. Yet he knew how trying that route had been.
“The gnomes aren’t considered friendly towards outsiders. In fact, they’re considered quite hostile,” the baron remarked casually. “Why did they show you such hospitality?”
Kestrel considered how much to trust the older man, and decided he could reveal some of his story. “I found a yeti attacking a mother and two young boys, gnomes, and I fought the yeti. I killed it,” he saw Paul’s eyes widen, “and I took care of the boys. When the mother died from the wounds, I buried her respectfully. Then, when the other gnomes found us, I think everything they saw made them consider me to be no threat.”
“So you killed a yeti?” Paul asked. “I actually believe you. It fits with your ability to slay eleven men at once. You’re a dangerous man to have as an enemy, it seems. I hope my family and I stay on your good side,” he smiled gently.
“Now, let’s be out of here and on our ways,” he said as he led the way out of the room and back to the main hallway, where he bid good night and they parted ways.
The next two days were idle ones for Kestrel. He worked out in the armory, where a morning practice session with Creata revealed that the young nobleman was no warrior with a sword, and Kestrel held back his abilities to avoid embarrassing him too much as they sparred with swords. “So, you know this ambassador from Uniontown?” Kestrel asked as they crossed swords.
“Poma? Yes, I’ve met him several times at court functions. He’s a great man, with a vast number of servants,” Creata said enthusiastically. “No matter what they said up in Estone, Poma is nothing like that. He and his staff help the prince do all kinds of things. The only thing odd about him is the pair of monster lizards that he keeps as pets in his residence; he shows them to the women just to make the girls grab him in fear, I think!
“And he hosts such lavish events at his residence! I’m sure there’s nothing like them in Estone! You’ll have to come with us,” he went on, ready to forgive Kestrel for all his criticisms of the night before as he waxed rapturously.
“I’d be most interested in that,” Kestrel replied, and they soon finished their bout, so that Kestrel could go to the stables and look over his horses. He had eight mounts now as a result of the battle in the forest, and he wanted to take all the horses out for rides to learn which would be best to keep for himself, and which he could plan to sell.
He also wanted to find out if Dewberry was available for communications once again. Not only did he need to re-establish his ability to send messages to Center Trunk, but he missed the companionship of the sprite, who was both a friend and a reminder of the life he left behind. A lonely ride out into the countryside and the forest would give him the chance to find an isolated spot from which he could call to the sprite.
He took the first horse out into the yard, prepared to go riding when Picco appeared. “Are you going for a ride? Looking for company?” she asked. “I’d enjoy the fresh air,” she added.
“I wanted to test the new horses,” Kestrel explained, with no good justification for refusing to take the girl along.
“I’m fairly good in a saddle. Let’s each ride one and we can go through them all for youin half the time,” Picco replied brightly.
And so it happened that Kestrel and Picco were soon out riding through the countryside together.
“There’s a lovely ride down by the river,” she suggested
. “It won’t take long to reach, and you’ll not only get to judge your horses, but you see some of the prettiest countryside in Graylee.”
“Isn’t all the countryside in Graylee pretty?” Kestrel impishly asked before he could stop himself.
“Well! The great hero has a sense of humor too, I see,” Picco laughed, as she pulled her reins and started to lead the way to the river. “If Margo knew that about you she’d be completely besotted; more so than she is already.
“Well, aren’t you going to play the game and ask the follow-up questions about her so we can talk about your conquest?” Picco asked after a pregnant pause.
Kestrel smiled. “I’ve only just met the girl and I’ve seen enough of her to imagine she already has a string of ardent admirers waiting upon her, as I imagine you do too,” he said gallantly. “There’s no reason to imagine she’s besotted with anything like me.”
“There’s no reason except you’re heroic, handsome, modest, and her father approves of you,” Picco said. “And her father doesn’t approve of many young men, nor would Margo look at a man without her father’s approval.”
“Be that as it may, I’m not here to lead Miss Margo on,” Kestrel answered. “Now,” he decided to change the subject, “how far to the river, and how rough is the ground? I’d like to stretch these boys out.”
“It’s this way,” Picco shouted over her shoulder as she spurred her heels into her horse’s ribs and slapped its hindquarter, then leaned low and rode him at a galloping pace.
Kestrel smiled at the girl’s impulsive energy, and kicked his own heels to urge his mount to chase after the other, and for the next several minutes the horses flew over the country lane surface until they reached a sharp bend, right at the river bank.
Picco’s horse skidded on a slippery patch in the lane, and went down, throwing Picco through the air. Her head struck a low-hanging tree branch, and she plummeted into the river, whose languid waters at that spot immediately swallowed her into their cold green murkiness.
Kestrel dismounted as his horse arrived at the turn in the road. Picco’s horse was already up on its feet, showing no signs of injury, Kestrel distantly noted as he ran to the river bank.
“Picco! Picco!” he called, looking up and down the water, trying to locate the girl. He sat down and pulled off his boots and his shirt, then dove into the water. He felt his whole body protest at the frigid temperature of the water that had so recently been melted snow coming down out of the mountains, and the air in his lungs burst out. He rushed to the surface for a deep breath, then went back down below the water, looking for Picco. There was little current, so he couldn’t imagine her drifting a great distance; he stroked downstream, then turned as he dove deeper, down to the river bed itself, and began working back up to his point of entry.
Ten seconds later he saw a patch of white, and he found her body, her blouse providing an indication of her location, lying inert on the muddy river bottom. He reached down with one hand to grab her arm, then stroked upward, and dragged her behind him. He reached the bank and pulled himself up with one hand as he held to Picco with the other. He carried her away from the bank, and laid her on her back, and checked her pulse, then checked her breathing. There was no sign of life, and there was a large knot on her forehead from having hit the tree branch.
Kestrel flipped the girl over and pressed down hard on her back, forcing water to gush from her lungs and out of her mouth. He raised her torso slightly, then pressed again, and did it again, getting more, but decreasing quantities of water each time. His fourth effort to empty her lungs produced no further results, and he flipped her over again, then pressed her chest down and let it rise. He repeated that, as he had been taught while a raw recruit in the elven guard, and did it several times, then pressed his mouth to hers, and began to breathe for her, forcing air into her lungs to inflate them, tasting the river water that rinsed around her tongue, and breathing in again.
He raised his head from hers, then placed his hands on her chest and pressed, only to raise his hands in surprise as she began to cough violently. “Thank you all the gods,” he said, turning his face upward to the sky.
When he looked down again, her eyes were open, staring up at him. “What happened Kestrel?” she asked. “My horse threw me,” she answered her own question. “I don’t remember anything.”
“You hit your head on a tree branch; you’ve got quite a knot there already,” Kestrel answered. “And then you fell into the river. I pulled you out, and here we are.”
Picco put her hand to her head, and winced as she touched the red knot. “That tree must have really not liked me,” she gave a weak smile, and laid her head back. Her eyes drifted down from Kestrel’s face to his bare chest, and she suddenly gasped. “Oh Kestrel! That’s beautiful! What is it? I’ve never seen anything like it.” She raised a hand and without asking began to gently stroke the colored shield on his chest.
Kestrel raised his own hand and placed it on hers, then firmly lowered their hands to the ground.
“I supposed I would have slapped a boy if he had started touching my chest like that,” Picco said with a feeble joke. “My apologies. Is this why you were so modest with Margo the other day– wouldn’t let her see your chest?”
“I prefer to keep this secret,” Kestrel said. “I’d appreciate…” he began, before another voice interrupted them, startling them both.
“Well, well, how touching,” a man’s voice spoke from nearby. “What do we have here, a tender moment between lovers?”
Both Kestrel and Picco looked down the road, where two men on horses sat watching them. Both men were dressed completely in red. Both wore an air of menace that set Kestrel’s senses on edge.
“We’re just talking,” Kestrel said, trying to edge his body in front of Picco’s.
“Just talking,” the same man repeated, as he dismounted from his horse, as his partner casually raised a bow with an arrow already on the string. “We may be here looking for someone who is just talking; someone special, with a special mark.
“The gods told us that there was some mysterious trouble up north last fall, but then, they thought, a convenient storm seemed to erase the problem, and we all were happy to go on with our lives. We mourned the loss of our friend Amyrilon in the north, but since his…problem…was presumed to be gone, we thought no more about it,” the man said, slowly walking closer.
“Stay where you are,” Kestrel said, standing and moving away from Picco, now that he knew she was not the target of the men. He felt a burning sensation on his chest, and realized with shock that this was one of those deadly confrontations with the forces of Uniontown that the goddess was warning him of– one of the battles she expected him to fight.
“But then,” the man ignored him, putting more space between himself and his partner, slowly drawing his sword from its scabbard, as he approached Kestrel.
Kestrel reached his horse, and pulled his staff off the saddle.
“What’s happening here?” Picco asked. “Who are you?”
“We’re acolytes of Poma, the Uniontown ambassador,” the one on the horse said.
“We were told that the menace that had disappeared in the north last fall had somehow sprung back to life, right here in the north of Graylee. Our master gave us a tool that locates the threats to our gods,” he held up a small round box, “that would lead us to this problem, and we were assigned to come and find the problem,” the man with the sword said, “And resolve it, permanently.”
As he said the word ‘permanently’ the man on the horse shot his arrow at Kestrel, hitting his chest with full force. The shaft fell to the ground as it knocked Kestrel back against his horse, and Picco screamed. Kestrel reached for his knife and flipped it towards the man with the bow, even as he staggered backwards from the force of the arrow. Kestrel used his staff to regain his balance as he managed to set his feet beneath him, then saw the man on the horse topple to the ground with Lucretia in his chest.
“H
ow did you do that?” the man with the sword asked in shock. “How did you turn that arrow?” He stood still for a moment, then rushed towards Kestrel with his sword. “Regardless of your trick with the arrow, you won’t avoid my sword,” he said.
Kestrel held his staff in front of him protectively, turning the first murderous stroke aside, and swinging the end of his staff down at the knee of the man in red. “Lucretia, return,” Kestrel called.
Kestrel’s swipe with his staff missed the knee of his red-suited opponent as the man agilely danced away. In response to the effort, the Uniontown warrior sliced his sword down towards Kestrel. Kestrel’s right hand was trying to catch his knife as it returned, and he subsequently failed to properly control the staff in a defensive position as he held it with only his left hand. The staff did not raise up high enough to completely protect Kestrel, and he cried in pain as the redrobed man’s sharp blade bit deeply into the flesh of his hip, just as Kestrel’s fingers grasped the handle of his knife once again.
Without hesitation, even as he started to fall backwards, Kestrel released his knife again, and saw it fly only inches from his hand before it planted itself in the chest of the man with the sword, who slowly toppled over.
Kestrel gave a sob, as his leg gave way; he dropped his staff and clutched at his hip, feeling terrible pain, and feeling a steady stream of blood flowing away at an alarming rate.
“Kestrel?” Picco screamed, as she raised herself from the spot she had laid on, from which she had watched in horror as the brief, deadly fight took place. She ran over to Kestrel, averting her eyes from the dead body that lay just a few feet away. “Oh Krusma, help us!” she cried. “Kestrel, there’s so much blood! What can I do?”
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 02 - The Yellow Palace Page 7
