Arto's Enchantress

by Morgan Henry

  “Lady Valina, may I trouble you to let the others know that we’re going back to our rooms? Please give them our apologies,” Arto requested. He slipped his arm around Cella’s waist.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” replied Valina with a little curtsey.

  Arto swiftly led Cella past the table and out the door. As he passed he heard Suro make a snide comment about Cella being too delicate to serve tables.

  That woman set his teeth on edge. He never could understand why she seemed so popular among many of the ladies that frequented the common rooms.

  The common rooms. Something about that teased at his peripheral thoughts, but he had to put it aside as Cella groaned and clutched her belly.

  “Sola, I’m here. What do you need?”

  “Home, please,” she groaned.

  Arto scooped her up as slowly and gently as he could manage, but Cella still closed her eyes and swallowed heavily. He could feel her force deep breaths in and out of her lungs.

  As swiftly and smoothly as he could manage, he brought her to their rooms, taking her to his bathroom. He deposited her in front of the privy just in time.

  She began to heave her guts up.

  He shucked his dress tunic and rolled up his sleeves. He soaked a cloth in cool water and grabbed a silk scarf that Kyna must have left.

  He knelt beside Cella and gathered her soft, silky curls in his hand and tied them back with the scarf as he had done with the bit of leather weeks earlier when first teaching her to ride. When there was a pause in her heaving, he wiped her sweaty face with the cool cloth and gave her a glass of water to rinse her mouth.

  “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Let me help you out of this dress. It’s not helping.”

  She nodded and he undid the various ties and fastenings of the beautiful gown. It was new, he knew, for the occasion. A deep blue with dark green embroidery and trimmings, she had looked stunning in it.

  The neck was low enough to hint at her lovely breasts, but not so low as to show too much. The heavy material had flowed over her from the tight cinching under her breasts, just skimming her curves, barely hinting at them, to those that had no right to look at his lover.

  It was a bit of an exotic fashion for Kerban, and he saw how the ladies looked at her and suspected there would be hints of this style on others in the months to come.

  Finally ridding her of the heavy fabric, he worked on the underskirt and other things women wore under their dresses. There seemed to be a lot of them, but he finally had her down to her chemise. Just in time for her to go another round with the privy.

  He again held her until she finished, cleaned her up, and slipped his own robe around her shaking body.

  She was sweaty and clammy, pale, shaking, and looking downright awful.

  “Oh, God and Goddess,” she exclaimed and pushed him away. “Please leave,” she begged as she sat on the privy and her bowels gave way as well.

  Several hours passed this way.

  Arto had not felt quite so helpless in some time.

  There was no beast to slay, no villain to beat, not even a broken bit of tack to repair, just his lover in distress and misery.

  As the time passed, he felt an iron spring wind tighter and tighter in his own guts. His limbs were aching with unreleased tension as he tried to handle Cella gently.

  Kyna and Tors returned from the Year End dinner to find them still in the bath chamber, Cella limp in Arto’s arms. He was giving her sips of water, but she wasn’t able to keep them down.

  “My Lord?” queried Tors as Kyna gasped in the background.

  “Fetch the Healer on duty,” instructed Arto.

  Kyna filled the bath and Arto heated the water with a bit of kerfios. Together they slipped Cella in the warm water and cleaned her. Kyna fetched a clean nightgown and robe for her.

  Tors and the Healer returned. It was Usomia.

  “How long has she been ill?” the knave asked as she helped Arto lay her on the bed.

  “Several hours. It came on suddenly at the Year End feast.” Arto’s hands clenched and unclenched.

  “Did I see her serving drinks? To the scullery maids, I thought.” Usomia didn’t look at Arto as she checked Cella over.

  “Yes. Then she ate with a group of us. No one else, as far as I know, felt ill.”

  “I see.”

  Arto saw the Healer centre herself and felt the manipulation of kerfios, though having no healing talent himself, he couldn’t make out what she was doing. When she was done she scribbled on a piece of paper, folded it and handed it to Tors.

  “Take this to Lady Kerla immediately. Wait for her instructions, please.”

  Tors hurried out.

  “What is it?” snapped Arto.

  “She has been poisoned. There is a drug in her system, galar. It can be used to induce vomiting if needed when there is no Healer near, but it has been…entwined with kerfios and I am unable to untangle it.”

  “And Lady Kerla can?”

  “I believe Master Caeg can, but Lady Kerla will have to make sure no one else in the Keep has fallen ill with this. You were sitting with the King, were you not?”

  The reality of that slammed home.

  What if Graydon had been poisoned as well? Or the King’s guards?

  “How bad is this?” he demanded of Usomia.

  “In a single person, it should not be fatal, but if large numbers of people are affected, there could be some fatalities if we were unable to treat all of them in time. This is not something that any apprentice could deal with. If there are many affected, Master Caeg may be able to teach others to untangle this web of kerfios and drug.”

  Arto’s thoughts raced. Did he see to the King or to Cella?

  “Help me.” Usomia’s command made his mind up for him.

  “What?”

  “Hold her head and give her water. I will make her swallow and see that it stays in her body. It is all I can do while we wait for Master Caeg to arrive.”

  They tended to Cella silently.

  The spring let go in Arto’s guts and they churned and turned liquid with his divided loyalties.

  The reality was, he wanted, needed to be with Cella, but his sense of duty said to check on the King. He tried to tell himself that there was nothing he would be able to do for the King, just as he could do little for Cella.

  The door opened and the unflappable Lady Kerla entered, along with a short, stocky man with a Master Healer’s sash and badge and a bushy red beard.

  “Let us tend to your Lady, Your Grace,” Kerla ordered in her calm, smooth voice. “The King and his guard are fine. No others have been found to be affected thus far, but the Healers are checking on all in the Keep.”

  Her fine, strong hands eased him to the side as the man he presumed to be Master Caeg laid his hands on Cella’s forehead. The air practically started to hum with power as the Master worked.

  Arto knew it wasn’t a great length of time that Master Caeg worked on Cella. It may have felt like hours, but in reality, it was only a few minutes. He knew this, and yet, to stand and be helpless in the face of her illness felt like an eternity.

  “She will be well now,” Master Caeg pronounced in a voice that sounded as though it had seen too many smoky taverns.

  “Thank you, Masterhealer.” Arto barely remembered his manners before he started questioning. “How did this happen? What was the cause of this?”

  “This was an interesting bit of mischief,” the hoarse voice of Master Caeg stated. “The emetic in itself would not have harmed her, just made her very unhappy. Combined with a bit of kerfios, it created more havoc in her system. Once it was realized what the combination was, it wasn’t too hard to correct.”

  The bearded man turned to Usomia. “Knave, you and I will discuss this.” He crooked his finger at Usomia and they left.

  Arto raised an eyebrow at Lady Kerla.

  “Cella will be fine. She needs fluids and rest. I’m sure you and her maid will
be able to provide for her. Usomia will be in to check on her tomorrow. I’ll see myself out and send the maid in.”

  Lady Kerla looked at him a little more closely. She walked over and placed her hand on his shoulder.

  “She will be fine, Arto,” she repeated with emphasis and squeezed.

  Kerla left him in the room, speechless with the swirling mess of emotions in his chest, foremost of all, relief.

  “That’s good to know,” a hoarse voice noted from the bed.

  “God and Goddess, you’re awake!” Arto was by Cella’s side in an instant.

  “Thirsty,” she croaked.

  Arto held a glass of water to her lips and she drank.

  Kyna entered the room. “Now, my Lady, I’ve instruction from the Master Healer. My Lord, will you help me in caring for Lady Cella?”

  Kyna took over.

  * * * *

  Arto stalked down the hall toward the King’s private rooms.

  The guards had taken one look at his face and hastily stepped aside, being unable to scatter completely.

  Arto supposed it was a good thing that his mage abilities were so weak, or he would have exploded something by now.

  How dare anyone poison Cella?

  How dare they?

  The rage in him flared anew, vision tunnelling, heart pounding, and the urge to break the very stones around him were barely containable.

  It didn’t matter that it seemed more of a prank gone awry than an actual attempt on her life. She could have died.

  Right now, she was sleeping again.

  Kyna, Tors, and Nia were looking after her. Arto had been there in the morning when Usomia pronounced her more or less recovered, just needing rest.

  He had then escaped to the training grounds to spar with some young knights. He handed them their asses on a platter, working up a sweat and off some of his frustrations. He supposed he should have been a little more charitable and more focused on teaching, but he had needed to burn off some of the pent-up energy in his system. Energy, hell, call it what it was—rage.

  He checked on Cella after he had cleaned up. He shared lunch with her, feeding her with his own hands, despite her protests. He smiled as he recalled her initial protests and how sweetly she had capitulated and accepted his care.

  Some of the ire in him eased as he recalled that her cheeks had colour in them again and that she had eaten well from his hand. She had felt well enough to protest being in the bed in her chambers.

  Arto knocked on the door and bowed to his liege when he entered Graydon’s office.

  “How is Lady Cella?” asked the King.

  “She is almost recovered. Just resting a bit more, Your Majesty.”

  “Will the Knights you defeated this morning recover as well?” The briefest trace of a smile hovered at the corner of Graydon’s mouth.

  “Aye, Your Majesty. I did not break any bones, just left a few bruises.”

  “The Healers tell me she was the only person affected. They were unable to find the compound in any of the food leftover from the banquet.”

  “Part of me wants to search every room in the Keep for it, Sire. I know it’s not really worth doing at this point, but…”

  “I understand. We are men of action. We want to go and slay whoever has wronged our loved ones. When it’s not clear who the villain is, it’s much harder.”

  “Do you think this has anything to do with the malicious gossip about her?”

  “Too early to say, I would think. But I’ll have Doan keep digging, and I have other ears.”

  Arto knew Graydon had a network of “ears” that reported to him various rumours, tales, and talk around the city. There were more around the country that reported to him as well. Much of it was filtered through Merrin or Falk, but some went directly to Graydon.

  “Thank you, Sire. I’ll keep my ears open as well. Did anyone search Dochir, Amard, or Mogren’s rooms?”

  “Dochir offered his rooms for search, and though we did, I did not expect to find anything, And we didn’t. Amard’s rooms are regularly searched. Mogren’s room wasn’t searched. His accommodations are considered Torquin territory. I can’t…invade, for lack of a better word.” Graydon’s mouth was downturned and his eyes watched Arto with almost pity in them.

  The anger began to build in Arto again, pushing out against his skin like a living thing.

  “I want whoever did this caught and punished. I don’t care if Mogren’s rooms are Torquin territory, he is a suspect and I want his rooms turned upside down!” Arto’s fist banged on the desk.

  At Graydon’s slight frown, he caught himself.

  “I apologize, Your Majesty.” Arto took a deep breath. “I understand, I do, but watching her so ill…”

  “Thank you, Arto.” At Arto’s sharp look, Graydon continued. “Thank you for reining yourself in. I want whoever did this caught as well, but there is some balancing to do.”

  He held up a hand at Arto’s rekindled ire.

  “Yes, balance. You guard the border. I know that you deal with the Torquin on a much more personal level that I do. But if I go charging into Mogren’s rooms, he will report back to the Emperor and then both of us will likely wind up dealing with border raids by the Undean tribes. We both know this, Arto.” Graydon’s voice was even and calm, exuding the patience that Arto was unable to feel right now.

  Arto growled and looked away.

  “My hope is, that this was a stupid prank. It is the most likely scenario, given that no other attempt has been made to harm her. Well, that we can prove.”

  Logically, Arto knew his King was right, but his gut was telling him differently. It wasn’t just sympathetic pains with Cella’s digestive system.

  There just seemed to be something more going on.

  Chapter 17

  Cella was done for the day.

  It was the end of the week. Tomorrow was rest day and she would not go to the Lithalla. She was hoping to go riding with Valina and likely some others.

  Her classes were going well. They were classes for beginners, those that had just come into their ability to use kerfios.

  Most of what she was to work on were basic principles, but she tried to make it at least somewhat interesting. The students were so new they were not allowed to do much yet.

  Cella decided to impress upon them the importance of not experimenting at this time in their career.

  She brought in a wand lighter that needed its enchantment replenished. It was used to light candles, lamps, and such. It was a simple enchantment that lasted a fair length of time if done properly.

  If done improperly, well, Cella would show them.

  “We have discussed the consequences of improperly applied enchantments. Would anyone care to repeat them for me?”

  Various answers were called out. “It won’t work.” “Ruin the implement.” “It might catch fire.”

  “Yes,” Cella acknowledged. “Those are all correct. I will demonstrate one of the consequences. Watch carefully, as this is a common mistake made by beginners.”

  She moved the students to the periphery of the room and set the wand in the centre of the table. She centred herself and started to lay down the strands of kerfios in the pattern the enchantment required. Then she deliberately mislaid several of the strands and continued the enchantment until it was finished.

  “What did I do there?”

  “The last several strands were reversed,” came the answer from one of her students.

  “Correct.” Cella leaned forward and carefully placed her finger on the silver circle at the base of the wand and activated it.

  The wand exploded in a three-foot high pyre that was white-hot, scorching and blackening the table beneath it, as Cella knew it would. The heat thrown from it was intense and the students shied from it, throwing up arms to protect their faces.

  Satisfying gasps and cries were heard around the room.

  Cella threw a bucket of sand over the wand, smothering the flames. She extended her se
nses and untangled the web of kerfios in the wand. She took her pointer and carefully extracted the wand from the sand pile. It was twisted and blackened. The silver was melted into a puddled chunk.

  “I would think that is enough for today. Any questions?”

  The room was silent, Cella’s point made.

  She locked away her brooches. Dochir had made her four thus far. They were beautifully crafted and were strong enough to hold her small enchantment for a number of good strikes against the shield. She needed to work on expanding the surface area it covered.

  The enchantment was a complex one. She could only enchant one of the brooches per day, as the spell took a great deal of time and energy. She had tried to do more, but was left so exhausted, she could barely ride back to the Keep and went to bed before dinner. Arto had not been impressed with “her disregard for her own health,” as he had put it.

  She collected Thede and they rode back to the Keep. Dismissing the man for the day, she assured him she would be in the castle and would not be leaving.

  Not wishing to stay in their suite or go to the commons, she wandered about the Keep for a little while. She was trying to find the way up to the rampart that Arto had taken her to on the first day. The view had been amazing and she wanted to look over the port again.

  Finally she located the way up. Climbing the stairs seemed to take forever, but the view was worth it as she looked over the wall.

  There was a little breeze blowing fresh air from the sea. There were only three large ships in the port today. One was flying Jorval colours, the other two she didn’t recognize.

  Cella enjoyed looking over what she could see of the city. There was a large open market that had plenty of people milling around, making their purchases before the rest day tomorrow. The tops of the stalls were covered with brightly coloured fabrics that looked wonderful in the sunlight. She hadn’t been there yet, but would like to go.

  The streets were laid out in a mostly uniform fashion. Cella could see residential areas mixed with various shops and businesses.

  It was different than her home in Jorval, but she liked here, too.

  The colours were subtly dissimilar and the architecture a little more angular than curved. The people of Kerban were like Jorval—most were good human beings, some were indifferent, and a few were less than upstanding.