“Go back to the river bank and get my shirt,” Kestrel told her. He wasn’t sure what to do, or what to tell the girl. He was stunned by the sudden fight, by the inexplicable ability of the Uniontown forces to know of his existence, and to find him.
Picco came running back with Kestrel’s shirt and his boots. He grabbed the shirt from her and wound it around his waist, covering the wound, then twisted it tightly, as he closed his eyes and lay back on the ground.
“Kestrel? Kestrel, are you okay? Don’t die Kestrel, don’t die,” Picco sobbed. “Someone help us!” she screamed loudly.
Kestrel opened his eyes at the sound of the scream. “Picco,” he said gently. “I don’t think I’m dying. I’m just resting a moment. Help me sit up, please,” he asked, realizing he had to give the girl something to do, something to focus on. She came into his field of vision and helped raise him up. As she did so, he looked at her, really looked at her for the first time – her wet, darkened hair hung limply from her head, her clothes were stained with mud and river debris, and being still wet, clung to her body in a revealing manner. She had apparently worn some type of artificial coloring on her face, because dark streaks ran beneath her eyes, and the knot on her forehead was bright red.
Yet despite her own physical trial and shock, she was still eagerly helping him, he noted appreciatively.
“Those men came here to kill you Kestrel ,” she stated, looking at him. “How did they find you? Who are they, and why did they want to kill you?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you my story. I promise,” Kestrel whispered. “But not right now. We need to hide the evidence of this attack, and then get back to the manor. Will you help me?” he asked.
“Yes, yes! Anything you need,” Picco said quickly.
He wouldn’t tell her everything, he knew; he wouldn’t tell her he was an elf, or a friend of sprites. He would start his story with his adventure in Estone, and count on that to be enough to convince her of the seriousness of the situation he was in.
“You need to undress these bodies,” Kestrel told her. “I’ve only got one hand to use right now, so I’ll try to help, but you’ll have to do most of the work, and you can do this. I want to undress the bodies, then throw them in the river,” he explained as one hand pressed against the wound on his hip, restricting the flow of blood. “Then we’ll gather up their clothes and take them back to the manor with us.”
“What about the horses?” Picco asked.
Kestrel anguished over his answer. “I’d like to take them, but that would be noticeable. We’ll give them to some farmer along the way,” he finally answered.
“And where’s that object, that little round box one of them was holding?” Kestrel asked, looking around.
“It’s in the road, over there,” Picco pointed.
”Would you bring it to me?” Kestrel asked.
Picco retrieved the small box and handed it to Kestrel, her head close to his as he laid it on the ground and looked inside the open top. The box was dark, dark green on the outside, with faint golden swirls that made some type of ornate design. Inside it was completely black, with a transparent covering, like an impossibly thin and clear piece of glass. Underneath the glass was a light green arrow, one that appeared to almost glow inside its dark enclosure.
“What is it?” Picco asked in a whisper.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Kestrel answered. He placed it on the ground and looked up at Picco. “Go to that body over there and remove the clothes. I’ll try to start to strip down this one here.”
“Kestrel, I’ve never seen a naked man before,” Picco blurted out, confused by the all that was happening.
“Well, this will be the first time then,” he answered simply. “How many men’s chests have you caressed?” he asked.
For a moment her expression was blank, and then her eyes shifted from his face to his chest and back to his face. She blushed furiously. “That wasn’t like that!” she answered indignantly.
“Exactly,” Kestrel agreed. “And getting rid of these bodies isn’t like that either, so go.”
She stood and started to walk towards the first victim of Kestrel’s knife, then stopped and turned as though she were about to say something, then resumed her mission. Kestrel in the meantime painfully dragged himself to the other body, that of the assailant that had wounded him with the sword, and began to strip off all the clothes.
The dead man’s body had a large tattoo over his heart, a dark oval with a red snake creating the border, and the head of a large lizard inside.
“Picco,” Kestrel called, “does that man have a tattoo on his chest?”
“Yes, he does, with a snake and a lizard,” she replied.
They each kept on working, and soon had two piles of clothing and two dead bodies. Kestrel carefully stood, feeling agonizing pain in his hip. Together, he and Picco dragged each body to the river, and threw them into the water. They collected the clothes and stuffed them into one of the saddlebags from the assailants’ horses, and Kestrel placed those bags in his own horse, though he kept the sword of the man who had tried to kill him. Then he slowly climbed atop his horse, embarrassing Picco further by making her shove him upwards to help him reach his saddle.
“We’ll stop at a farmhouse and leave the horses with the farmer. When we get back to the manor we’ll tell people the truth of what happened to you, and we’ll tell them that my knife sliced me in the hip when I fell while trying to save you. Can you stick to that story?” Kestrel asked as their horses slowly walked; he winced with every bump in their gait.
“Yes Kestrel. I don’t understand this whole thing; you promise you’ll you tell me why all this just occurred?” she asked.
“Picco, I am in such pain right now I’d like to wait; but I truly do promise I’ll tell you later. And please don’t tell anyone about my marks on my chest either,” he requested.
Chapter 5– Hydrotaz Trampled
Ferris stood dispassionately, as the majority of his squad attended the brief burial service along the roadside. He didn’t mention to his squad leader that the bodies of the soldiers they were interring would be dug up and desecrated before dawn; hedidn’t want to think about how the officer would react if he knew, and the consequences the nearby village would suffer.
The two dead soldiers were part of the security squad that was covering several counties of land in Hydrotaz, supporting the newly installed Graylee tax collectors, judges, administrators, and other local government functionaries that had been imposed on Hydrotaz since Graylee’s conquest of the nation.
Though the subjugated population of Hydrotaz, stunned by their conquest, their nobles and leaders cowed by the hostage-taking that had occurred, had initially accepted the new regime with little protest, the advancing spring weather had coincided with a growing sense of rebellion, especially in the countryside. Graylee’s puppet government had been surprised and dismissive at first, then indignant, and now was moving towards punitive reprisals.
Squads like the one Ferris served in were the answer the Graylee regime had adopted. The squad was a mixture of soldiers brought in from Graylee, men who were thoroughly loyal to their nation, and Hydrotaz guards, the men who remained from the former army of Hydrotaz. The majority of the squad were Graylee men, and the commanding officer was a Graylee officer. And their job was to travel a wide, circuitous route throughout their portion of north-central Hydrotaz, to let the administrators and their increasingly restless clients know that there were arms available to enforce the law.
The result was increasingly coming to be what the patrol squad was engaged in – dead squad members who were being buried. The leader of the squad– the Graylee leader of the squad – was frustrated and angry and ready to seek retribution, especially because somehow only the members of the squad from Graylee were killed by the lone archers and knifewielding assassins who shadowed the patrol’s journey.
Ferris kne w, and the squad leader didn’t, that the Graylee soldie
rs’ bodies would not be allowed to remain buried in the soil of Hydrotaz. Members of the underground opposition would come to the burial ground at night, after the patrol had departed, and remove the body. Whether it was dumped in the river or abandoned in the forest or otherwise disposed of, Ferris didn’t know, but he did know that the dead soldiers would not be given the grace of a consecrated burial. He understood why; yet he had gotten to gingerly know a few of the Graylee soldiers, and knew that many of them were simply farm boys who had been recruited into the army, and came to Hydrotaz with no ill-will.
The burial problem was something Ferris couldn’t and wouldn’t address though. He was only participating in the patrol as the officer in charge of the Hydrotaz guards, and he made sure he kept his men in proper order, so that they gave the Graylee officer no excuse to punish or humiliate them. He’d been successful so far during the first ten days of the current patrol. Since they had witnessed the dismantling and shipment out of the siege engines at the city, his men had listened to him counsel them to be patient.
Ferris was thinking about the sight of those large timbers being hauled onto ships to leave Hydrotaz, the day he had been pleased to see the removal of the engines that hurled destruction through the air. He’d relished the machines for a few days, after they’d so heroically defeated the elves of the Eastern Forest. Then he’d been horrified to learn that they were used to besiege the capitol of Hydrotaz, and contributed to the conquest of his own nation by Graylee. Even observing them leave had been a slightly bittersweet experience, as he heard rumors that they were being sent to Channelport to be engaged in Graylee’s next war of conquest.
He was rousted from his recollections by the sight of four Graylee members of the squad departing from the scene of the funeral as soon as it ended. There hadn’t been any previous practice of such small patrols leaving the squad, and Ferris strolled over to Captain Groud, the Graylee commander of the squad to learn what the men were off to do.
“They’ll provide s ome punitive encouragement to the neighbors,” Groud said smugly. “Once we start on the rest of our route, we should expect to find several dead locals strung up along the road. From now on, for every one of our men who is killed, four locals will be killed in retribution.”
“But how can you tell who’s responsible? You don’t wa nt to just kill innocent people!” Ferris immediately protested heatedly. “You’ll make us even more hated than we are now.”
“If we don’t lose our men, they won’t lose theirs,” Groud answered. “The villages need to start policing their own countryside to make sure we aren’t attacked by any more of these criminals,” the Graylee officer said. “I didn’t want to do this, but I’m not going to watch any more of my men die; and if a four-toone ratio doesn’t work, we’ll try a ten-to-one, or a twenty-to-one or whatever it takes to put an end to this rebellion. You’re dismissed,” he told Ferris summarily, and turned away.
Ferris stalked away, with two sure thoughts on his mind: he was sure that he was angry enough to kill Groud himself, and he was sure that within the next twenty four hours, the local assassins would find out about Groud’s policy, and the captain would be the next victim of attack.
Chapter 6– The Healing
When they reached the first farmhouse along the road, Kestrel ended up sitting stiffly in his saddle as he traded the two horses for a clean shirt he could wear to hide his chest, and then they continued on their way back to the manor. Their arrival, and their condition upon arrival, created quite a stir, as Picco was led away wrapped in a blanket, and two men carried Kestrel to his suite on an improvised stretcher. A doctor was called in to look at both of them, and pronounced that Kestrel would not be able to move for at least a week; he put some crude stitches into place to hold the flesh closed, sprinkled in some herbs to prevent infection, and considered his work done.
Kestrel was dosed with willow bark tea, and then left alone to rest for the afternoon. As soon as he was sure that he would not be disturbed, he did what he had expected to do earlier that morning– called upon Dewberry, hoping that the sprites’ season for movement had returned.
A smiling blue figure appeared in the air above him, then her face turned grave as she saw the pained expression on his face. “Friend Kestrel! I’ve been waiting for your call for days, so I would know where to find you! What has happened to you?”
“Dewberry, I’m so glad to see you, my friend,” he replied with a genuine smile. “I had a fight, and it wasn’t painless,” he told her.
“A fight? Tell me who it was, and I’ll help protect you,” she said fiercely.
I don’t need protection from them any longer, but I will need to watch out for their friends,” he replied. “How is Jonson?” he asked. “I’ve wondered about him for months.”
“Kestrel? Your eyes,” Dewberry floated very close, so that her small face was very near his, “your eyes are purple! Purple! Are you going to turn into a gnome?”
“No, I don’t think I’ll turn into a gnome, but over the winter I stayed with a gnome village in the mountains, and they gave me some water from a special spring that turned my eyes purple,” he explained.
“Well, you must have been well-behaved,” Dewberry answered. “They do that ceremony when a young person becomes an adult, and is old enough to marry. Did you propose to one of them?”
Kestrel thought about the sweet maiden who had given him lessons on the pipes, and wondered what she and others had thought about him. Greta had been a patient and tender girl, unlike any preconceived notion he had harbored about gnomes. He unconsciously gave a bemused shake of his head, then focused on Dewberry again. “So how is Jonson?” he repeated his question.
“The spring water worked its miracles, and he has his legs and feet back, but there has been another of the monsters spotted in the swamp,” Dewberry explained.
“I worry that there may be more of them coming; the people who I fought in Estone, and the ones who did this to me,” he indicated his wound, “they come from a land where those monsters live.
“Could you and some friends carry me to Center Trunk for a little while?” Kestrel pleaded. “I’d like Alicia to look at my wound, and I want to tell them about what has happened here.”
“I will help you Kestrel dearest,” Dewberry answered, “It feels so romantic that I am taking you to see your elf lover, since your gnome beloved must have rejected you; I want to help your love affair
– any love affair! – blossom,” she teased him, just before there was a knock at the door.
“Kestrel, may we come in?” he heard Picco’s voice ask from the other side of the door.
“You go see if you can find friends to help transport me,” Kestrel urged Dewberry, “and when you return, you can come into the bathroom,” he gestured towards the door, “to make sure these visitors are gone. I’ll get rid of them as quickly as I can.”
“Is this a new human lover you’ve acquired?” Dewberry asked.
“Kestrel, are you okay?” Picco’s voice called.
“Just a minute!” Kestrel called out loudly. “No, she is not a lover; she’s the girl who was with me when I was attacked. Now go on, you troublemaker!” he laughed in a quieter tone to the sprite.
“Come in!” he called loudly, as he watched Dewberry float into the bathroom.
The sound of the door opening reached his ears, then footsteps. “Kestrel, are you alone?” Margo asked as she and Picco appeared at his bedroom door.
Not since the two of you came in,” he answered.
“We thought we heard,” Picco began, then looked around the room. “It must have been our imagination,” she finished weakly, as they both came and sat down.
“How do you feel?” Margo asked.
“I’m in some pain. Sleeping seems to be the best way to escape the pain; I was just trying to fall asleep when you knocked,” he hinted, as he gave an exaggerated yawn.
Picco looked at him shrewdly, while Margo spoke up. “We’re so sorry. We thought y
ou might want some company, but perhaps we better go.” She stood up, and gave Picco a significant glance.
“If you don’t mind letting me rest today, I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow,” he assured both girls.
“We just wanted to let you know that we’ve all had a discussion about the trip to Graylee City,” Picco told him. “Creata wants to hurry to the capital to take part in some of the spring pageants that are goingto happen, but between your injury and Philip’s the rest of us are going to wait a week, so that we can all go together. There now, doesn’t that cheer you up?” she asked, looking at him archly.
“Come on, Picco, let the poor boy sleep,” Margo said, tugging on her friend’s elbow.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. You promised to tell me a story,” Picco added, as she let her friend pull her away. “Good night, Kestrel,” they both smiled at him, as they left the room.
“One human lover, one gnome lover, and one elf lover are not enough to help you mend your heart over losing me? You need two more human lovers?” Dewberry asked as she and Jonson and Reasion came out of the bathroom.
“Jonson! My friend! How good to see you!” Kestrel smiled broadly as he cautiously sat up and gave his friend a hug. “You look good and whole!
“Reasion, it’s good to see you alive and well too,” he nodded with a smile to the silent sprite. “Could you grab that saddlebag and bring it to me?” he asked.
“We will take you to the doctor’s room, where we will not be seen,” Jonson explained, as the three small blue bodies crowded around his. He nodded his head in agreement, and they made the indescribable jump across distance, so that Kestrel found himself sitting on the same narrow bed they had discovered Alicia sleeping in alone when they had come the previous autumn to seek her help saving Jonson’s life.
He opened the saddlebag as the sprites and imp moved away from him. He needed to cover his ears, he remembered, now that he was back in the Eastern Forest, back in the land of the elves, where he was the one who looked like an outsider, and would be threatened if discovered in human form.
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 02 - The Yellow Palace Page 8
