“Thank you, good friends,” Kestrel said. “I won’t bother you any more tonight. Go enjoy yourselves!”
“Will you go with us to the spring of wonderful waters, and help us to bathe there?” one of the sprites asked. “Reasion said that you would?”
Kestrel looked at Reasion, whose face had a guilty expression, and he realized how Reasion had persuaded the others to help. “If you can wait a few hours until I do some work here, we could all go to the spring tonight. Would you like that? Could you take Alicia and Lucretia and I,all of us, to the spring?” he asked.
“We would love to,” the spokesman for the sprites replied immediately. “But carrying three elves around would be a great deal of effort for three of us.”
“Would you like to take some friends along as well?” Kestrel asked. “Several friends?Would that help?”
“Yes it would!” Kestrel saw the delight in the eyes of all the sprites as they contemplated a great party.
There was a sound at the doorway to the kitchen.
“I’ll call you soon when we’re ready to go,” Kestrel whispered. “Go now and I’ll see you soon,” he patted Reasion on the back just before the sprites disappeared.
With that, Kestrel was alone outside the green door. He plunged forward along the hallway, moving away from the kitchen, then began to wander about in the hallways that took on the character of the residential regions of the palace as he stumbled into them. He knew that he needed to find his way to the reception, but he had no idea how to navigate his way through the parts of the palace he was lost in.
He rounded a corner and literally bumped into a young woman, who he hadn’t anticipated meeting. They made such forceful contact that the girl bounced off his chest and began to fall backwards, until Kestrel hastily reached out and grasped her hands in his, preventing her from losing her royal dignity by dropping onto her haunches.
It was the princess Elwean, who had been virtually running down the hall, in tears, and so had not seen Kestrel or been able to react to his sudden appearance around the hallway corner they had each been cutting around.
Kestrel immediately recognized her, instantly recollecting the girl from the chance encounter they had momentarily shared the year before, when he had participated in the spring archery competition. “Highness, my apologies,” Kestrel said, releasing the girl’s hands, then kneeling momentarily before her in a gesture of obeisance.
“No, no, it’s not your fault,” Elwean replied. “I was rushing without looking,” she said graciously.
Kestrel saw the redness of her face and the tears in her eyes, and realized that she was upset, and probably couldn’t have seen him very well in any event.
“Is everything okay, your highness? Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked. He didn’t trust the girl, having heard that she was favorably inclined towards Sir Chandel, but he hated to see her in distress.
“No, thank you, that’s kind of you,” she replied. There was the sound of distance footsteps behind her.
“What are you doing back here?” she asked without rancor. “These are the private quarters.”
“I got lost,” Kestrel said simply. “I was supposed to go to a reception, but I’ve never been in the palace before, and somehow I found myselfhere. I’m trying to find my way to the reception.”
“It’s back this way,” she pointed. “I’ve just been there. It’s been ghastly,” she said.
“Is everyone okay? Is there trouble?” Kestrel asked, his voice rising slightly at the thought of conflict.
“No, oh, I meant that it’s been ghastly for me, but it’s a typical reception. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. It’s typical for most people – Chandel just had too much to drink and was raving about his lizards and promising to kill someone. It was very unbecoming, very inappropriate for a public function, and when I told him that quietly, he just,” she paused, and stopped herself. “None of that matters to you, I’m sure,” she said mistakenly.
“Let me show you the way to the reception; you’d never find the hall on your own from here, not before you’d be caught up by security and things would be memorable in the wrong way,” she took out a dainty piece of lace and turned her face to wipe her eyes again.
“Do I look horrible?” she asked, turning towards him with a half-hearted smile.
“Not when you smile. I mean, no, not at all,” Kestrel stumbled. He took a breath. “You look fine, wonderful, and you have a lovely smile.” He exhaled noisily.
“I’ve seen you before,” she told him, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “Come along,” she said, and started to walk back towards the reception, Kestrel taking a position beside her.
“I don’t remember,” she said after several steps. “Where have I seen you before?”
“In the spring archery competition of last year,” he supplied the answer.
“That’s right! That’s it. You were the mysterious archer prodigy who disappeared after the first day; the one who looks part human. We heard about how marvelously you shot the first day, and then no one would explain what happened to you the day of the finals,” Elwean told him. “Father was convinced you had too much stemweed and couldn’t get out of bed,” she said in a confidential tone. “What really happened?”
Kestrel thought about that day’s dizzying experience. He had done so well in that tournament, and Silvan had wanted to keep him unnoticed and anonymous; Silvan had hustled him out of the city quickly, before the start of the second day of the tournament.
“I was assigned to go up to Firheng the next day,” Kestrel answered.
“Oh, you must be in the army?” Elwean asked.
“I am. I’m in the guard,” Kestrel answered as they reached a pair of impressive doors, manned by a servant who held the door open.
“And what’s your name, brilliant archer?” the princess asked as the door opened and they entered a vast room, well lit, where people strolled in profusion and calm music played from a quartet in a corner.
“Kestrel,” he answered simply, then gave a quick gasp, as the shield on his chest grew uncomfortably warm, warning him of an approaching encounter with Uniontown’s evil. He didn’t need the shield to warn him though, he realized.
A group of people in the crowded room were walking towards their doorway. Kestrel recognized Strab, and Chandel too. There were several others in the crowd who wore red colors in their cloaks and hats, the same shade of red that the Uniontown representatives dressed in. It was disturbing to see the color so predominant in the palace.
“Kestrel?” she asked. “You’re Kestrel? The brilliant spy, who must be a traitor?” she asked with a quizzical scorn in her tone.
“There he is! Elwean, stand back!” Chandel shouted, and he pulled a sword off his hip, a human weapon that seemed strangely inappropriate for an elven nobleman, especially within the royal palace, Kestrel thought fleetingly as he moved himself away from the princess and placed both hands on his staff defensively.
“I’ve heard you fancy you’re pretty good with that staff. Let’s see how you do with it when you face a real swordsman,” Chandel challenged, as a wide space opened in the reception floor. A woman screamed softly, and Kestrel heard a man call out, “What is the meaning of this on our floor?”
“Father, it’s Chandel. He’s attacking that Kestrel we’ve heard about,” Elwean replied, and then Kestrel heard no more as he lowered the left end of his staff to block Chandel’s first stroke against him. The end of the staff he engaged was the one with spikes protruding slightly, and as the contact with the staff redirected Chandel’s sword stroke, Kestrel swung the hooked end of the staff forward with a fluid motion that snagged the cloth of Chandel’s shirt and ripped a long gash across his chest.
Chandel didn’t even notice the rip as he gracefully accepted and redirected his blocked sword stroke, and swung it in a round, swooping motion that brought the blade around and up towards Kestrel’s chin.
Kestrel pulled his chin back as the hooked en
d of the staff in his right hand swung across his chest and came down on the sword blade, pressing it downward, and pulling Chandel downward too, his torso suddenly awkwardly bending towards Kestrel, who reacted by raising his knee with a jerk. His knee made smashing contact with Chandel’s nose, and blood instantly spurted in all directions as the nobleman’s head snapped upward and back and he staggered away from Kestrel with a stunned look in his eyes.
Kestrel immediately followed his violent success with a jab of his staff that missed Chandel’s chest but made him jump further away. The nobleman raised his hand that was free of the sword, snapped his fingers, and pointed at Kestrel, as he warily watched the ends of the staff feint another attack.
Kestrel heard the snap of multiple bows, and something bounced off the back of the yeti skin vest, then something bounced off the front of the vest, and then another arrow penetrated the back of his thigh, knocking him down as a rush of pain made him gasp.
Chandel stepped forward and swung the sword again, seeking to take advantage of Kestrel’s injury; Kestrel succeeded in blocking the stab, andtweaked Chandel’s wrist with the spiked end of his staff. Chandel raised his hand again, just as Elwean’s voice shouted out, “Fight him yourself as a man, Chandel. Don’t expect others to save you in this battle!”
Chandel angrily snapped his fingers again, and another trio of arrows flew at Kestrel. One hit the yeti skin again, but one hit him in the same thigh that was already wounded, while the third hit his shoulder with full force, its point penetrating to the bone.
With a cry, Kestrel dropped his shaft, then reached with his good arm inside his shirt behind his neck, and pulled his knife free. As Chandel charged at him he hastily flung the knife across the short distance, and saw it strike his adversary in the chest just as Chandel’s sword point hit his vest and careened wildly to the right, while the onrushing momentum of Chandel’s already dead body flung its mass upon Kestrel, knocking him backwards and leaving him sprawled on the floor in agony as his landing drove the arrow tips further into his leg while snapping the shafts off.
“Lucretia, return,” he croaked, as he pressed Chandel’s body upward with his good arm, off of him, and felt the knife flip into his hand, just as Strab appeared over him with a knife drawn threateningly. Kestrel released his knife again, and watched it fly upward to kill the turncoat spymaster.
Through the haze of his pain he was dimly aware of the screams that had erupted in the hall. He watched as Strab’s body seemed to fall in slow motion and landed on the floor next to him. “Lucertia, return,” he whispered. With difficulty he raised his head to look around the room, and spotted one of the archers, his bow held ready to fire an arrow at him again; Kestrel snapped his wrist to release his fabulous knife, letting it fly towards the target, a man who Kestrel belatedly recognized wore the red colors of Uniontown beneath and among his elaborate attire for the reception.
The pain in his leg and shoulder was excruciating, making Kestrel close his eyes and shake his head as he moaned in agony. He opened his eyes to look around again, and saw another man in a different part of the room, one who wore an outfit that exactly matched the clothes worn by the first archer he had seen.
“Lucretia, I need you again,” he called softly, and as soon as the knife was back in his hand he threw it at his target.
Two men in the livery of the palace approached him, spears held with points down, ready to attack him. “Throw no more knives,” one of them said.
“There’s another archer out there,” Kestrel gasped.
“We’ve already apprehended him,” the guardsman said.
“Lucretia, return,” Kestrel called, and then lay the knife down beside him when it returned, to show that he held no further intent to attack. He closed his eyes and laid his head back, listening to the rush of people and the shouts and panicked whispers of the reception crowd that was fleeing from the deadly spots of death that had erupted around the great hall.
There was the sound of shuffling feet, and Kestrel looked to see two men carrying a stretcher in and laying it on the ground next to him. “Can you hear me?” someone asked.
“I do,” Kestrel answered, his eyes closed again.
“We’re going to put you on the stretcher and take you someplace in the palace where we can have a doctor safely look at you,” the voice asked. “Are you ready to be moved?”
Kestrel silently nodded his head, and made sure his hands grasped his knife and his staff as he was lifted and carefully laid on his side on the stretcher. “Were any others hurt?” he asked softly.
“No, you kept your bloodshed limited to your own little war, I’ll give you credit for that,” one of the stretcher handlers answered.
“Those men I fought, they’re traitors to the Elven kingdom,” Kestrel said. “If there’s anyone in the court who was an ally to them, you need to put them in prison before they betray the nation.”
“Not surprisingly, they happened to say the same thing about you, said you were a traitor,” a new voice said. Kestrel saw that an officer had arrived to walk alongside the stretcher, wearing the elaborate uniform of a high-ranking someone who had been at the reception as a guest.
“I’ve been in four lands now, lands where Uniontown is trying to take control. They’ve conquered most of the rest of the kingdoms around the Inner Seas. These men like Strab and Chandel were going to try to weaken our kingdom from the inside, so it will be easier for Uniontown and the southern gods to conquer us,” Kestrel said. He was feeling weak, starting to suffer from the loss of blood, he suspected. He suddenly recollected his conversation with Hitchens, about proposals to send the elven army into battle in Hydrotaz.
“They’re the ones who proposed to send our army out to fight in the open fields, aren’t they?” Kestrel asked. “They intended to let our fighters be destroyed in battle, so that we couldn’t defend ourselves afterwards.”
“That cockeyed scheme was theirs,” the officer agreed as Kestrel’s stretcher moved through a doorway and out of the ballroom. “The military professionals have been telling the king how dangerous that plan was,” the officer agreed. “So you’re Silvan’s protégé, Kestrel?” the man asked.
“I am,” Kestrel agreed sleepily.
“I’m Elder Miskel, the man who formerly had command over Silvan,” the officer said.
Kestrel opened his eyes to look at the man, a tall, portly elf who carried himself with ramrod straight posture that helped to disguise the amount of extra weight the officer had distributed on his frame. As Kestrel studied him, a junior officer came up to him and spoke softly. “The door to the cells is locked from the inside,” he told Miskel. “We can’t get in.”
Miskel reached out and put his hand on the shoulder of one of the elves carrying the stretcher, stopping their progress. “Let’s take this man someplace quickly; we need to get a doctor here to look at those wounds. We’re leaving a trail of blood as it is,” he commented.
“Take me to the closest room you can find,” Kestrel spoke up. He was feeling his weakness and knew he needed to call upon Reasion as soon as possible to get him to the healing spring. He reached out with his good hand and grabbed Miskel’s jacket. “Quickly. I can heal myself if you’ll put me someplace with privacy.” He looked up at the officer who looked down at him, and their eyes locked on one another as Kestrel tried to emphasize his need and ability.
“What’s behind that door?” Miskel asked a guard who was trailing along.
The man opened a door. “It’s a pantry, sir,” he replied.
“Will that do for you?” Miskel asked Kestrel.
“Yes – anywhere,” Kestrel replied. “Will you recall Silvan to office?” he asked.
“As soon as I can get clearance. It will take a few days for all the uproar of your reappearance and this fracas at the palace to diminish and allow anything to happen,” Miskel replied as the stretcher entered a small, dark pantry. “Chandel and Strab and one other were the main instigators of Silvan’s exile, so there
will still be some resistance at court. If you could personally testify to a few leaders, it would help me make the case.”
“I want everyone to leave now,” Kestrel said. He closed his eyes. “Even you, Elder. I’ll be back in a day or two after I’m healed, and I’ll give a full report, and we’ll find out if the court is ready to listen to me and set things straight for our nation. Leave me now, and close the door. I’ll be gone soon to get healed. And take care of my horse!” he added in a weak voice as he heard the sound of footsteps leaving the pantry, and then the door closed.
There was no light in the pantry, and he could tell no difference when he opened his eyes. “Reasion, Reasion, Reasion,” he called out quietly. “Take me to the healing springs,” he asked the darkness, trusting that sprites were present, and then feeling relief when he felt the small bodies surround him.
He experienced the expected moments of physical turmoil, his feeling of dislocation softened by his waning consciousness. “Go get Alicia and bring her here,” he murmured as they landed on the grass and he painfully crawled into the water, leaving his weapons behind.
He lay on his side in the warm water in the nighttime darkness, only the cold, bright stars illuminating the landscape around the spring. He listened to the gentle rustling of the water as it flowed, and he thought about the number of times he had come to the spring with Alicia, so often in need of healing. There was a sound of muffled arrival on the lawn, and then Alicia was splashing into the water.
“Kestrel, why are we here? Are you alright?” she asked.
“I had a little altercation at the palace,” he answered weakly but calmly. “I’ve got two arrows in my leg and one in my shoulder, but I’m okay now that I’m here.
“I promised the sprites that we’d let them all enjoy the spring water,” he told her as he lay with his eyes closed, feeling sleepy.
“Oh Kestrel, I see the wounds now,” Alicia’s voice was close. “And you must have promised them quite a party. There’re a dozen sprites here.”
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 02 - The Yellow Palace Page 33
