The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 03 - Road of Shadows

by Jeffrey Quyle

  “Here,” Kestrel thrust the keys he held into the hands of the prisoner who had spoken. “Go open every cell door, but tell everyone to wait down here, and we’ll go upstairs together.”

  Together, he and Philip moved the unconscious guards, and the one who was tied up, into Philip’s empty cell while the other prisoners were set free. They stripped the uniforms off of them, and offered them to Philip’s friends to wear.

  Minutes later they emerged into the nighttime darkness of the palace grounds. “The lizard’s pool is that way, adjacent to the residential wing of the palace,” one of the prisoners told Kestrel, pointing to their right.

  “I’ll meet you in the basement of Creata’s house,” Kestrel whispered to Philip. “Good luck,” he added with a slap on the shoulder, then separated from the rest of the group and went to carry out his next impromptu mission.

  He walked confidently along the dark paths of the palace grounds, wearing the disguise of his stolen uniform, and within minutes he came to an ornate building, one whose beautiful exterior left no doubt in Kestrel’s mind that it was the residence of the prince of Graylee. Kestrel climbed up into a tree as he heard a patrol approach, and hid in the darkness among the budding branches as the guards strolled beneath him, walking with a casual pace that showed no alarm or awareness of the escape taking place elsewhere on the grounds.

  Cautiously, Kestrel dropped to the earth and began to follow behind the guards as they circled the residence. When he saw a glint of the crescent moon’s light reflect off a wide expanse of glass he shrugged through a hedge of bushes and crouched down to approach the home of the Viathins, clothed now in their primitive, monstrous forms of giant lizards. How did they like the form they adopted in his land, he wondered. Were they miserable with the limitations the bodies imposed on them? He hoped so.

  The glass windows of the building were steamy, fogged with condensation, he noticed as he circled the building seeking a means of entry. He found a door, unlocked, and pushed it open; he left it open behind him, letting the cool outside air breeze into the warm, humid interior.

  “Is there anyone here?” Kestrel called. He heard a slight motion of water, but heard nor saw nothing else.

  “Is there anyone here beside the sad Viathin losers? The ones who were defeated by the Parstoles, and exiled from that world?” he called out more, a taunt that produced much sound from the pool as bodies began to move rapidly through the water.

  Kestrel pulled out his knife, and held it before him. “I know what you are; you’re a plague. I’m here to tell you that our world will not allow you to overrun us. You are on notice – you must leave us now, as quickly as possible, without doing further harm to our people or our lands or our gods. From now on we are fighting back, and we know how to fight you,” he spoke loudly.

  There was a motion nearby, and he turned, then drew his arm back, threatening to throw the knife. “Stop there, or you die right now,” he warned the lizard that sought to sneak up on him.

  “You’ve been warned. Leave our lands immediately,” he concluded, then stepped back through the door, leaving it open so that the cold evening air discomforted the Viathins, and he turned to run away.

  The glass house around the pool was immediately filled with the thunderous roaring of multiple monsters, raising an angry, horrific ruckus of noise as they blasted out their calls of indignation and anger. Kestrel saw lights suddenly illuminate several windows in the palace as guards turned up lanterns in response. He fled from the vicinity of the residential building, then stopped and hid behind the corner of another building as a squad of guards came running along a path, headed towards the residence. Their leader had been presumably alerted by the Viathins, Kestrel realized, now that he understood the means of control that took place among the people conquered by the Viathins. And if he had a water skin of the water that was able to disrupt that connection, he could simply give these people in the palace a sip of water that would end their slavery.

  He ran towards the trees he had used to enter the palace grounds, only to be distracted by a large squad of soldiers who were moving hastily in a different direction. They could be headed to a battle at a gate, where the escaped prisoners might be trying to fight their way out of the palace, he told himself, and his help might make a difference to help Philip and his companions escape. Still wearing his stolen palace uniform, he felt confident as he switched direction and began to boldly follow along behind the guards.

  The sound of combat he heard as they approached the main gate of the palace confirmed his suspicion. He split away from the rear of the reinforcements, and scrambled up onto the second floor balcony of a building, where he found a view of the gate and the battle.

  The gates were closed, and the escapees were trapped against them, their numbers already reduced and shrinking under the assault from the guards. Kestrel unslung his bow and began to fire arrows at the guards in the forefront of the attack, trying to provide some breathing space for the escapees. His first several arrows scored successfully before anyone in the chaos of the battle began to notice the new element, and he saw a pair of officers looking around in the evening darkness trying to find the new threat they faced.

  He flattened himself on the floor of the balcony, then raised his head and threw his knife at one of the perceptive officers, before ducking again. “Lucretia, return,” he called after waiting several seconds. The knife returned to his hand, and he raised his head to look at the second officer, only to find that the man had vanished. He panned across the field of battle, and saw Philip working to open the gates, but distracted by a guard that was attacking him. Kestrel threw his knife at the attacker, then turned around in startlement as a lantern light suddenly shone through the door that looked out onto the balcony he occupied.

  He hastily slung his bow over his shoulder and ran across the balcony, then climbed up a drainpipe to the roof above and clambered over the edge of the roof as the door below burst open and several guards poured out onto the balcony. Kestrel pulled his legs up after him, accidentally knocking a roof tile loose and causing it to fall onto the soldiers below, giving his escape route away. He rose to his knees, and turned. “Lucretia, return,” he whispered, wanting to recall the knife before he fled further from the pursuers.

  As soon as he caught the knife he began to run carefully across the roof top, slipping in places on the smooth, slanted tiles. When he reached the middle of the roof a hatch opened in front of him, and a guard started to climb out. Kestrel desperately tried to stop, but slipped on the roof and began to fall, sliding towards the edge.

  He felt his legs slide over the back edge of the building, and he tried to find something to grab onto, but his hands clutched in vain, and then he fell through the air, using his elven reflexes to keep his legs under him. He landed hard on his feet, and a shaft of agony rose along his leg from one ankle, making him roll in pain and clutch at his ankle. He heard, footsteps approaching rapidly around the corner of the building, so he forced himself to rise, then hobbled away, using his staff as a crutch. There was a hedge of bushes growing along the foundation of the next building over, and Kestrel dove into the greenery, hiding down among the roots and the low-hanging branches that were sprouting fresh green leaves.

  He clamped a hand over his own mouth to try to muffle the moan of pain he felt rising from his chest, as several guards went thundering past the bushes in search of him, their boots tramping the ground just a few feet in front of his face. The squad passed without slowing down, and Kestrel breathed a sigh of relief. He reached for his skin of water from the healing spring, then moaned in despair as he remembered that he had left it in the basement of the armory.

  There was still the chance to escape via the sprites and imps. Cautiously, He stood up behind the bushes and stumbled out onto the dark empty path, then limped to the closest door he could find, in a small, unpretentious building that stood forlornly alone. The door opened quietly as he tested the knob in his search for a hiding place,
and Kestrel hobbled inside the dim space, then turned to close the door behind him. As he held the door, something heavy and powerful hit him in the back of his skull, slamming him against the door, unconscious.

  Chapter 14 – The Real Moorin

  Kestrel awoke to a bright light shining into his eyes. He raised his hand to shield the glare from his eyes, and realized that his hand was a throbbing pain, as was his head and his ankle.

  “What were you doing, sneaking in here?” a woman’s voice asked him. He felt the point of a knife poke his neck.

  He remained silent for a moment, trying to digest the presence of the woman and trying to understand his surroundings.

  “There’s a battle outside,” he croaked. “I think I broke my ankle, and I was trying to get someplace safe.”

  “Broken ankle? Which one?” the woman’s voice asked from the other side of the candle in front of his face.

  “My, ah, left one,” Kestrel groggily answered.

  “Here?” the woman asked, as the knife left his throat and her hand poked his leg, then grabbed the ankle.

  “Ohh,” Kestrel uttered something between a yell and a whimper.

  “I guess that’s it,” the woman said, matter-of-factly. The candle moved away from his face, and his eyes adjusted to the dim room. He was lying on the floor in a small room, and the outline of the woman moved in front of the candle’s flame, then the room grew brighter, and the woman turned around again with a newly lit lantern.

  Kestrel still couldn’t see the woman’s face in the glare from the lantern. He closed his eyes in pain and rested his head on the floor again, turning it to the side so that the painful knot on the back of his head didn’t rest directly on the floor.

  “Why does my hand hurt?” he asked dully.

  “You crushed it against the door when you slammed against it, after I whacked your head,” the woman told him without apology.

  “Let me look at it,” she took it with more gentleness that she had shown up to that point. “Here, see how your fingers are mangled; let me slip this ring off,” she told him as he felt a gentle tugging on his hand. “Then I’ll see if I can have some ice sent over to put on your hand and your…” she stopped in mid-sentence.

  “You’re not human,” she rose quickly, and the light backed away from him, and Kestrel realized that she had removed his ring that altered his identity. He was possibly only moments away from being revealed; he needed to take action to protect himself. If the person facing him had been a male guard or soldier, he would have had no scruples about unleashing his knife to put an end to the life, but the female voice of the unseen person somehow made him reluctant to act.

  “You’re an elf,” the woman stated. “An elf in Graylee; who would have thought that? Are you a run-away slave? No, your feet are whole.” Her breath came in excited gasps, but without rancor or fear.

  “You’re not a guard for Prince Namber, despite that uniform,” she continued. “You’ve got a magic ring to disguise your identity, and you were trying to find a place to hide.”

  The light approached him again. “Here, let me help you up,” she said as she set the lantern on the floor and placed her arm beneath his shoulders, helping him to stand.

  Kestrel rose cautiously to his feet, accepting her unexpected aid, painful as the effort was. As he stood in the embrace of the unknown woman, he turned to look at her face, for the first time illuminated so that he could see her.

  And then he passed out again in astonishment and pain, as he realized that the woman who was helping him was also an elf – it was the extraordinarily beautiful face of Moorin, the half-elf who he had been tricked into believing he had met in Albanu, the girl he had been prophesized by the goddess Kere to meet and ordered by the goddess to protect.

  Chapter 15 – Leaving the Palace

  Kestrel awoke in a dark place, lying on a thin layer of padding atop a hard surface. His ankle, his hand, and the back of his head were each a painful source of throbbing discomfort. He struggled to rise to his feet, and felt around, trying to get his bearings. There were soft clothes on two sides of him, and then he bumped into a hard surface as he turned. Moments later there was a noise behind, and then a flood of light that made him blink as he turned around.

  “I never thought I’d see the day a man would actually faint at the sight of my beauty,” Moorin said with a laugh and a grin. She was standing wearing a non-descript nightcoat over her sleeping gown, and her hair was mussed, showing the signs of having spent the night on a pillow.

  “Shh, now stay quiet,” the girl with Moorin’s face told him. “I’m sure there will be guards coming by any time now. You have to stay quiet.”

  “Where am I? What’s happening?” Kestrel asked.

  “You are in the luckiest place possible for an elf like you,” the woman said. “You are in my closet, the only place that would be remotely friendly to an elf on the grounds of the palace of Prince Namber of Graylee.

  “Now stay quiet, and I’ll brew some willow bark tea for you,” she said.

  Kestrel reached out with his good hand, and grabbed her forearm before she could leave. “Is your name Moorin?” he asked.

  She looked closely at him, her face reflecting her surprise. “Yes it is. How did you know? I am supposed to be the best kept secret in Graylee.”

  “The goddess told me about you; Kai said that I would meet you. And then there was,” he paused without finishing, as Moorin patiently waited for a span of moments.

  “There was what?” she asked.

  “Nothing; nothing that matters right now,” he replied.

  “Stay here and stay quiet; sit down and rest. I’ll go get your tea,” she said as she gently pulled her arm free and shut the door.

  Kestrel slid back down to the floor. He couldn’t comprehend a more bizarre set of circumstances, and no amount of reasoning seemed able to put the pieces of the story together.

  The door opened again, and Moorin offered him a fine china cup of steaming tea. Before he could even take it from her hand, there was a knock on a distant door.

  “Now stay quiet,” she warned him. “Those are the morning guards coming to check on me. They’ll only stay a few minutes.”

  “Ask them about the battle last night,” Kestrel promptly requested. “Find out what the outcome was.”

  She looked at him indecisively, but the knock on the door was repeated, and she shut his closet door without further comment.

  Kestrel sat and gratefully drank the warm tea, bitter though it was. The cup it came in only added to his confoundment; the china was elegant, dainty and light. It was certain to be among the best available on the grounds of the palace. How it came to be in the hands of an elven girl was inexplicable – the presence of an elven girl, seemingly not under duress, was inexplicable, and her apparent protection of him was inexplicable.

  He closed his eyes again, and apparently drifted back to sleep, because when he opened them the closet door was open, and he gazed out to see Moorin standing in the adjacent room, changing her clothes. Her body was similar to Picco’s he thought, an odd recollection he realized, since he had little knowledge to base his judgment on. She had more curves than an elf – much more evidence of the human heritage that Kere had claimed for her, yet she was not so voluptuous as Merilla, or even as Margo appeared to be. It had been a long time since he had seen a woman, and he swallowed hard as he felt his throat go dry.

  She looked over at him and realized his eyes were open, and she silently stepped back out of his line of sight. A moment later she reappeared, much closer, and wearing a sheer robe that did little to hide her attributes.

  “How long were you watching?” she asked with an amused tilt to her lips.

  “Just a couple of seconds. I just woke up,” he replied in embarrassment.

  “Would you like to come out of the closet? I won’t have any more company for two or three hours,” Moorin suggested. She held her hands down to him and helped him rise, giving a grunt as his w
eight almost pulled her back down.

  “So tell me,” she began as they sat at two chairs next to a dainty small table across the room from her bed, “where are you from?”

  Kestrel couldn’t comprehend at first what she was asking, and he tried to think through the fog of pain in his brain to grasp her words, when it suddenly struck him – she had spoken in Elvish! She had an odd accent, but it was Elvish, nonetheless.

  “I am from Elmheng, originally,” he replied in Elvish. “And where are you from?”

  “Elmheng? Where in the world is that?” she asked in reply.

  He looked at her strangely; though it was not a large city, Elmheng was widely known among the elves of the Eastern Forest. “You know, about three days trip west of Center Trunk,” he answered. “Not too far from the border with the humans – not far enough.”

  “Center Trunk? You’re from the Eastern Forest?” Moorin asked, her eyes shining as she leaned in closer to him. “That’s why you speak so slowly?”

  “Yes, I’m from the Eastern Forest – Elmheng,” he repeated. “Though I haven’t been there much the past two years. I’ve been traveling.”

  “I’m from the Northern Forest, from Kirevee,” she told him, naming the capital of the northern elves.

  There was virtually no interaction between the two nations; there was no hostility that separated them, just a lack of mutual interest and a lack of a common border. A few elves were known to travel from one nation to the other, but not many. Kestrel knew the name of Kirevee, but no other places in the Northern Forest, and suddenly Moorin’s ignorance of Elmheng made sense.

  “I’ve never met a northern elf,” Kestrel said. “Why are you here?”

  “Why would the goddess tell you my name?” Moorin asked in return.