He sat up and threw his knife at one of the guards, then rose to his feet and hurdled his staff at the other.
He looked murderously at the prince. “That is not the behavior of a legitimate ruler!” he shouted. “Murder and ambush are the tools of criminals, not royalty!” he called, then suddenly cried in pain as an arrow struck him in the thigh. He fell again, and saw that Sleek had shot the shaft that took him down.
“Lucretia! Mastrin!” he called.
“Let us leave now, your highness,” Poma said to the prince, as the crowd around them turned outraged by the attacks upon Kestrel. Both weapons returned to Kestrel’s hands, and he threw the knife at Sleek, striking him in the neck, and causing a frothy spray of blood to spurt outward upon those nearby as Sleek twisted in agony, then collapsed to the ground.
The prince’s party beat a hasty and violent retreat, knocking spectators aside heedlessly as the prince and his companions left the ugly atmosphere that had sprung up in the tournament field.
“Kestrel! Are you okay?” Clarce knelt next to him.
“I have an arrow in my leg? What do you think?” Kestrel asked with a tight grin. “Can you stand back for a moment?” he asked, then called his knife to return. “Lucretia, good work,” he said softly, and the weapon flew back to his hand.
Philip and Creata and several others were standing with swords drawn in a protective circle around Kestrel, while the vast majority of the audience at the tournament was rapidly fleeing from the deadly scene.
“Kestrel, how do you do that?” Picco asked, as he placed the knife on the ground next to him.
“Lucretia is a special gift, given to me by Kai,” Kestrel said. “My staff was enhanced by the goddess as well.”
“And your vest that repels arrows? Did she give you that too?” Picco asked.
“No, it came from the skin of a yeti he killed,” Margo said as she knelt beside them as well.
“And how do you know that?” Picco asked Margo.
“We have our secrets, don’t we Kestrel?” Margo smiled.
“Well, we have secrets of our own!” Picco asserted.
“It’s not secrets I worry about right now; it’s this arrow in my leg,” Kestrel told them both. “Can one of you use my knife to cut it out?”
“I’ll do it,” Margo said, picking up the knife. “What do you want me to do?”
“Slide the point of the knife down along the shaft of the knife, and pop the head of the arrow out,” Kestrel explained.
“Are you sure? How deep is it?” Margo asked.
“It’s deep enough to hurt,” Kestrel answered. “I’d guess around two inches into the flesh.”
With a grimace, Margo placed the point of the knife at the entry point of the wound. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, then began to work the point down into his leg.
“By the sap of the first tree!” Kestrel grimaced in pain, swearing in Elvish without realizing it.
Margo exclaimed, “The knife is at the end of the arrow!” she grasped the shaft with her free hand and tugged, as she leveraged the knife blade up, and the arrow popped free from Kestrel’s leg, as Margo pulled the knife out, and blood welled up from the wound.
“What do we do now?” Picco asked.
“Put Kestrel on the cart with his winnings, and let’s cart him home,” Philip suggested.
Three of them picked Kestrel up and laid him atop the bags of coins that still remained where the prince had abandoned them, and they journeyed slowly back to Creata and Picco’s home.
Volunteers who had accompanied them stayed outside the house guarding the doors, as the friends carried Kestrel inside and upstairs to his room.
“I’ll stay with him and watch him,” Margo volunteered, “Picco, could you bring up a tray of food and drink?”
As soon as everyone else has left the room, Margo sat down next to Kestrel. “When I put the knife in your leg, you said something, and it wasn’t in our language Kestrel. What was it you said?”
Kestrel looked at her, suddenly filled with a desire to tell Margo the entire truth, to leave no lies between them.
“I want to tell you everything, Margo, but I’m afraid you’ll never trust me again if you know the whole truth about me,” he began. “You’re right; it wasn’t human, but I’d rather not tell you just now what it was.”
“Kestrel, whenever I’ve doubted you, I’ve discovered that the secrets you’ve kept hidden always have explanations that absolve you of whatever misbehavior I suspected you of, like with that elf you slept with,” Margo told him. “I will keep your secrets for you, and I will trust you with my life, always.”
As she finished the statement, there was a knock at the door, then Picco and a maid each carried in a tray, one with foods and one with drinks, that they set on a table near the bed, as Picco dismissed the maid and took a seat by Kestrel.
“What secrets are you two sharing up here right now?” she asked knowingly as she served slices of bread around to them all, and gave each of them a glass of wine.
“I asked Kestrel what that was he said when I cut into his leg,” Margo said calmly.
“It was cursing, I sure know that!” Picco laughed. “It doesn’t matter what language it was, he was telling you something that would make you blush. Was it Gnomish, Kestrel, from spending the winter in their village?”
“Yes,” Kestrel answered, relieved to have a ready-made dodge handed to him. He took a sip of his wine.
“Here’s a toast to the man who stood up to the prince today!” Picco said suddenly, enthusiastically. They all three drank their wine, as Picco and Margo exchanged a significant glance.
“Here’s a toast to the champion of the tournament!” Margo added, and they drank again.
Picco refilled their glasses. “Here’s a toast to the goddess Kai!” and the girls sipped as Kestrel drank again.
Margo proposed another toast, and suddenly Kestrel was aware that between his loss of blood and the wine he had drunk, he was becoming intoxicated.
“Here’s to Kestrel’s vest, that saved his life today,” Margo toasted.
“And here’s to his mark underneath, that would have saved him if the vest hadn’t,” Picco proposed.
“Not for the shots in the back,” Kestrel objected.
“I thought it went around to the back,” Picco insisted. “Let us see.”
She reached to pull his shirt over his head, just as there was a knock at the door, and Philip entered.
“How is our wounded hero?” he asked, then assessed the situation. “Margo, what is happening here? This doesn’t look like something you would do?” he said, making his sister blush.
Kestrel jumped to her defense. “She hasn’t done anything wrong! Picco just wanted to see my mark from the goddess,” he said.
“We’d all like to see that, I’m sure,” Philip said, as Picco resumed removing the shirt.
“It’s beautiful Kestrel,” Margo said as she gently stroked the vibrant colors.
“I touched him like that once and he said he was entitled to stroke my chest in return,” Picco told Margo, who quickly pulled her hand from Kestrel’s flesh.
“That’s not what I said!” Kestrel protested. “See? It doesn’t cover my back; I just have the goddess’s hand print back there,” he leaned forward, and then ended up explaining most of what had happened to him in Estone in terms of being named a champion and fighting the ambassador from Uniontown. Yet despite his mild inebriation from the wine he had drunk, he remained prudent enough that he did not reveal his elven origins, nor discuss Dewberry and his acquaintance with sprites and imps.
“I don’t think I’d want to be touched by the goddess if this is the result,” Picco said after Kestrel finished his story later that night.
Kestrel lay back in his bed, worn out from the day-long tournament and the battle and the wine. Creata entered the room then.
“So this is where everyone went? Kestrel, you didn’t invite me to the party?”
“Let’s let our champion rest,” Picco said. “Come dear brother and I’ll tell you all about it. Good night, Kestrel,” she gave him a kiss on the cheek, and ushered the others out, as Margo lingered behind.
“Good night Kestrel,” she said softly. “You were a hero today, even if you made us miss the Reverse Ball,” she told him as his eyes closed and his breathing softened. “You’ll owe us a dance someday,” then she too was out the door.
Chapter 9– Arrest
Kestrel rose 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 promptly 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 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 trio 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 nearly brushed against her ear. He smelled the fragrance of her perfume, and thought 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 stand to keep his secret from her any longer.
“I can’t lie to you any longer,” 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. Bu 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 the startling new knowledge of 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. “He
llo 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?”
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 02 - The Yellow Palace Page 16
