Stories from a clever mercenary in a wild world.
I knew from researching drawing programs for my tablet that there are quite a few for smartphones. Some people text, do social media or flash games-i’m over here like “Look! It behaves like paper!”
P.S. drawing with your fingertips is hard!
“It’s a good thing I kept those extra nanny goats last year!” announced Ironsides, setting the pitcher and mugs on the table and beginning to pour. “Otherwise we’d only be sharing thimbles of their milk instead of cups,” he smiled and Quill and I moved over to the table to receive our mugs. “Milda will be in shortly with the rest of breakfast.” Ironsides settled himself on a bench, and we sat across from him sipping our milk.
“It’s good,” I said, just to say something.
“Thank you,” replied Ironsides.
After that no one said anything, just sat drinking goat’s milk and observing the shape of the room. I wanted to ask more about Narya’s sorcery, Quill’s father, the new king, and everything else. But I wasn’t sure I should with Ironsides there. Finally, Milda came in with breakfast—a warm porridge with bacon and quince on the side. Then at least we had the food to discuss, even if it was in short bursts. I felt as if the reality of the Nether Queen’s sorcery was sitting at the table with us—silent, imposing, and superior. Was Ironsides right when he said she was already too strong…and if so, did that matter? To what hope did Quill refer? These questions took spots on the long benches also, and the room began to feel quite crowded to me. If Nadine were here conversation would have flowed easily in spite of all this. Or so I imagined. I hadn’t had the chance to discover if Nadine’s silver tongue had any effect on Quill’s stubbornness, but Ironsides at least would have talked. The princessly skill of table conversation was invaluable for diplomacy and information gathering—it was a tool I had to consciously pick up to use, whereas it was a part of Nadine. I wondered where my sister was, what she was doing, and if she were alright. Were they treating my family as valuable prisoners, protecting them as they should? Though nothing good could come of their imprisonment.
The porridge caught in my throat as grief from the past two weeks crashed down on me. A little food and sleep and suddenly I had energy to think about my problems again. My stomach turned over and I set down my spoon.
Quill and Ironsides both stopped to look at me. “Are you alright, my lady?” asked Quill.
I nodded. If by “alright” you mean “not choking to death,” then absolutely.
“What’s the matter, child?” asked Ironsides, setting his own spoon down, too.
I managed to meet his eyes. They were blue and kind, and if I looked too long I would cry. “I’m sorry,” I stood up, “I was thinking of my family—thank you for breakfast!” I nearly ran out of the great room and down the hallway that led out of the house. The air was cool but the morning sun was warm as I picked a direction and kept going out of the front yard. I didn’t go back into the orange grove, but cut right and discovered the barns. Past those, in a rocky paddock full of goats, I found Sinker and Hook browsing happily. I went to them and after a quick greeting, leaned into Hook’s shoulder and cried. The horses continued to clip grass, though Hook occasionally reached back to nose me while I sobbed about everything that had happened in the past year. My tears so rarely come there is a backlog of things to cry over. I thought of everything from my favorite gown that burned with the palace, to embarrassing flubs at the circus, to the certain doom of my sister and parents. Not even the circus master’s broken boxes went unmourned. Finally, when my soul had run out of even the silliest memory to cry over, the tears stopped and I pulled away from Hook.
The black turned his head to nudge me, I patted him. “I should probably go get cleaned up,” I told him. He flicked an ear and nibbled my cuff. “Aww, thanks, I’m glad you don’t mind my face.” I sniffed and turned to go back to the house. I hoped I could sneak in—but there was no chance of that. Ayglos was leaning on the fence, waiting for me.
I walked toward him, embarrassed.
“You OK?” asked Ayglos as I slipped through the fence.
“Yes,” I let him pull me in for a hug, “I’m feeling better now.”
“Quill followed you here, then when Namal and I got up he told me where to find you,” explained my brother as we turned together for the house.
“Kind of him.”
“He’s a royal guard,” smiled Ayglos, “There was no way he was letting you disappear.”
“I meant to let me wail in peace—although I suppose our royal guard would have done that, too.” I desperately wanted to rub my face, but my hands were covered in horse-dirt and would only make matters worse. “I must look a sight.”
My brother snorted. “Any knight would leap to right the wrongs that caused your tears.”
I noticed that Ayglos had new clothes, too; fitted deep brown trousers and a shirt that was a dusky cherry tone. Like mine, they were good thick cloth, soft with wear. “You look nice,” I commented as we entered the yard.
“Ironsides is most generous,” replied my brother.
“Ayglos,” I stopped him before we could enter the house, “I was talking with Quill this morning—he said that Narya really is a sorceress—that Shyr Valla and her armies are truly gone without a trace.”
Ayglos turned back to look at me carefully. “He did?”
I nodded. “That is how Dalyn fell: Her armies were—disappeared—poof—and did not come to lift the siege. When no rescue came, the city fell.”
Ayglos considered this for a moment. Before he spoke I knew he had decided on skepticism. “There are any number of things that could have happened to that army,” he said at last. “Perhaps they joined her army,” He held up a hand to stop my protest, “Stranger things have happened. Though the city is a harder thing. Did Quill see it?”
I closed my mouth. Quill hadn’t said he’d seen it himself, technically, though I was sure he had.
Ayglos knew he had won his point. “There now, nothing is certain. There is no use worrying.” He led the way into the house, and had the good grace to take me to the hallway where all our rooms were rather than to the main hall.
He left me at my room and I washed my hands and splashed more water on my face. Not feeling quite ready yet to face the others, I also unbraided and combed my hair before twisting it back into braids and curling these into buns at the back of my head. When I was finished I took a deep breath and walked back to the main hall.
When I arrived my brothers were standing, staring at one of Quill’s men, who was sitting on a bench with a weary slump that implied a hard ride and a recent arrival.
“You’re sure?” asked Namal.
The man nodded. “It looks like they had wagon trouble. The wheels were mismatched like they’d had to get new ones on their way.”
“But you’re sure it’s them?” repeated Ayglos.
The man nodded again.
Just then Quill entered the room from the kitchen door, carrying a tray with a porridge bowl and a mug. His eyes met mine and he nodded to me before going to his man and setting the tray down before him. “Here you are, well earned.”
The scout, for he clearly was, gratefully fell upon the porridge. I walked up to the table and my brother’s noticed me for the first time.
“Zare,” Namal turned to me and held out an arm. I stepped in to his embrace. “Zare, they found our family.”
When I awoke the room was awash with soft sunlight. I wondered on which end of the day I was waking. I rolled to my feet and looked down at myself. If I had been civilized, I would have shed my dirty clothes before sleeping. I shed them now, and finding a basin and pitcher of water on the little table by the bed, washed up in the chilly water. There was a pair of dark billowy trousers and a pale blue shirt waiting at the end of the bed. The cloth was a good thick cotton and some simple embroidery adorned the waistband of the pants. Nothing too fancy but well-made and worlds above the rags I had been wearing, I pulled them on gratefully. The trousers were slim through the hips and upper leg, then plumed out before coming back to wide cuffs at the ankles. The cut was more typical of summer, but this fabric was definitely suited for winter and I liked the way it fell. My daggers belted on much better over this ensemble and I felt pretty—it was nice. I pulled my sad shoes on and ventured out into the hallway and headed back the way we’d come the night before.
Ironsides’s home was uncomplicated, and I had no difficulty finding the central room with the fireplace. The fire was going and I saw Quill and Ironsides standing by the mantle looking quite serious. I approached and discovered they were arguing.
“It is too soon. The sting of her victory is too fresh,” said Ironsides.
“Shouldn’t that make the people all the more willing to rebel? They still remember what it was like before the Nether Queen!” replied Quill. “Wouldn’t it be better to stop her before she gets even stronger?”
“She is already too strong,” Ironsides countered, frustration in his voice, “Or have you forgotten what happened to Dalyn’s armies?
Quill paused, “I have not forgotten.” Each word stood by itself like candles in the night.
Ironsides softened then. “Then keep doing what you’re doing—be a thorn in her side—be a wound that festers. Be hope.”
Just then Quill noticed me. He turned, “Lady Zare,” and their serious air dropped to the ground like a magician’s cape.
“Good morning,” I said, stepping closer and resting my hands on the back of a big chair. “It is morning, isn’t it?”
“It is, indeed,” Ironsides smiled kindly, “I am surprised to see you up, you are the first.”
“Thank you for the clothes,” I dipped in a little curtsy, lifting the flowy sides of my trousers.
“You’re welcome, they become you,” Ironsides bowed in return and then turned toward the kitchen door, “I will let them know we’ve got one more for breakfast.”
I looked at Quill. He was watching me closely–but with a neutral expression which would make diplomats envious. “Ironsides doesn’t approve of Dalyn’s rebellion?” I asked, quietly.
Quill’s eyes sparked then, and he shifted, “You heard.”
I nodded. “What do you think?”
Quill met my gaze. His eyes were a deep brown and I was startled how unguarded they were. I felt like our souls were staring at each other. At first it was unsettling, but then I realized that I liked what I saw.
“Do you know how the wars started?” he asked, breaking the spell.
Of course I did, I was royalty. I recited, “Laird Wynn of Shyr Valla declared war on Narya Magnific of Hirhel because of repeated assassination attempts on the life of the crown princess, A’rora Wynn.”
“Do you also know how Shyr Valla fell? Or Dalyn?”
My heart jumped. Would he tell me? “Not really,” I said slowly, “Everything about battle is rumor: Convoluted tales told by spies and peddlers who insist that Shyr Valla is gone without a trace.”
Quill looked into the fire, “Dalyn, as you know, was Shyr Valla’s strongest ally. Due in large part to the engagement between our crown prince, Trinh Kegan, and A’rora Wynn. The day Shyr Valla fell Trinh Kegan was defending her with a large contingent of Dalyn’s army. My father was an officer among them.
“There was a mighty wind on the mountains that day, and then Narya Magnific and her army marched out of the hills and fell upon Dalyn. Dalyn, of course, was not so well defended as she ought to have been—with the bulk of her armies in the mountains. But the city also assumed that she was being attacked instead of Shyr Valla, and that Trinh Kegan would discover this and come to her aid. But days turned to weeks and no rescue came. Our fears grew wild and weakened the cities’ already tottering defenses so Dalyn fell to Narya’s horde. The king was executed, with many of his guard, and his younger son, Tar Kegan, who was only fourteen, was set up as a puppet king in his stead.” Quill paused.
I said nothing. This might have been my story if Galhara had fallen without burning to the ground.
“Later, when things were more settled under Narya’s thumb, our new king secretly sent scouts to Shyr Valla to find out what had happened. Except there was no Shyr Valla to find.” A bitter edge crept into his voice, “The city is gone. Gone as if she had never been. And whatever horror befell her also befell her armies. There were no bones, no bodies, no scorched funeral pyres, no burial mounds. No hint of a great battle of any sort. Just an eerie feeling and grass.”
I stared at him. I had been around overblown rumors so long I wasn’t surprised by the story, and was accustomed to wondering if the rumors were real. I had no doubt that Quill was one of the scouts who’d gone to Shyr Valla, and that he was telling the truth. This forced me from the comfort of uncertainty into a terrifying reality. What devilry simply wiped a city and army out of existence?
Quill tore his gaze from the fire and looked at me again.
I swallowed. “So she is a sorceress.”
He nodded. “But, she has not used magic like that since Shyr Valla. Its rumor goes before her and makes all her other conquests easier. Some cities have surrendered upon receiving her declaration of war. Magic is costly to her, I think, and she uses it shrewdly.”
“Oh, that makes it much easier to cope with,” I said.
“It does,” Quill laughed and I smiled in spite of myself. “My lady, we have hope now. My king desires to throw off her yoke and avenge his kin, and I serve my king. The Nether Queen hasn’t conquered all yet.”
Before I could ask Quill what hope he was referring to, Ironsides came striding back into the room carrying a pitcher and three mugs. I guessed that story-time with Quill was over.
Hi everyone, sorry for the delay in Zare’s story! I was traveling for several weeks for work, and that has put a serious damper on my story producing ability. My goal is to resume posting next Monday!
-Abigail
More doodles from my plane trip a few weeks ago. I am really fond of this one. It came out much better than I anticipated.
I was on a plane a couple weeks ago…but I had my watercolor crayons, my water brushes, and my markers. And hours to redeem. I actually got sleepy before I was able to finish the purple zinnia with the red center…but I’ll come back to it! Bajillions of little petals are just what the doctor ordered when you are trapped, tired and a little bored.
My brothers and I followed Ironsides into the dim of the house, Vaudrin and Quill entered behind us. Sunshine from a window above our heads provided ample light for the entryway and central hallway of the manor. I looked around. The lower half of the walls was bare stone, the upper was coated in plaster. The entryway was wide, and there were two doors leading into rooms on either side. Iron Sides ignored these and led us down the hallway until it reached the great room. This room was lit by four windows at the moment, but there were also lamps hanging from the ceiling and a generous gray stone fireplace. An assortment of chairs draped in blankets and furs were grouped around the fireplace. In the middle of the room was the dinner table. It was at least twelve feet long and made of thick slabs of knobby olive wood which had been sanded until it was as smooth as glass. Two benches ran down either side and two large chairs sat on one end. Six hunting hounds were sprawled under the table, they leapt up and ran to greet us when we entered.
“Please, sit.” Ironsides gestured to the table. “I will call for food.” He left us to the wriggling of the hounds and went out a door at the back of the room.
Quill bowed slightly, “Take your rightful places, my lords, my lady.”
Namal and Ayglos bowed in return and walked to the table. There was more than one acceptable way to arrange seating, and normally such things would be determined in part by the nature of the visit and relationship with the host. Namal chose to sit on the right bench, and indicated that Ayglos sit on his right. I sat to Ayglos’s right, and Quill and Vaudrin sat across from Ayglos and I, respectively, leaving the seat across from Namal empty. Perhaps for Ironside’s lady, or if he had a chief warrior or advisor he would want in attendance.
Ayglos leaned in, “Does Iron Sides have a proper name?”
Quill and Vaudrin hesitated.
“Ironsides is his name,” said Vaudrin.
“I think the family name is Bairdwynder,” offered Quill with a shrug.
Iron Sides re-entered the room and to our surprise took the seat across from Namal rather than the seat at the head of the table. “Food is on its way,” he announced cheerfully. “Your people have been arrayed in the day laborer’s hall and will also taste my cook’s wizardly food. She is a miracle worker in this times when spices are hard to come by. Now, I have only one question for you: Are these women with you by their own will?” He leveled a stern glare around the table, but especially at Quill and Vaudrin.
“Yes. We rescued them from the garrison at”—Quill began.
“Stop,” Ironsides held up his hand, “That will suffice. I haven’t decided yet if I want to know what Dalyn’s royal guards are doing this far afield.” He pointed at me and my brothers, “Or who they are.”
“Fair enough,” Quill leaned back. “May we spend the night here? We have traveled hard these past several days. Even your barn would be a welcome refuge.”
“That, I can provide,” replied Ironsides, shedding his stern looks and allowing a smile. “Some of you can even have beds—though I can’t sleep forty in the house! And I am still well situated so I can bolster your provisions a bit for wherever you’re headed.”
“We would be grateful,” put in Namal. “Our path has taken unexpected turns, and we did not prepare for so many mouths to feed.”
“Sounds like a marriage,” laughed Ironsides.
Before anyone could react to Ironsides’s joke, the door to the kitchen opened and a pair of maidservants came in carrying platters of food –two each—and two boys around the age of ten scuttled in behind them carrying plates and silverware. Immediately the delightful smell of roast lamb and garlic filled the room. My mouth started to water and I breathed deeply, it had been a lifetime since I’d had roast lamb. The maidservants skillfully placed the platters in the center of the table and the boys breathlessly plunked the plates and silverware in front of each of us.
As the boys turned to scurry away Ironsides reached out and caught the boys by their britches and tugged them back to him. The boys dissolved into giggles as Ironsides’ arms closed around them. “Friends, these are my sons: Alam and Wyck.” The lads squirmed, laughed, then straightened and stared at us with bright eyed curiosity. “They were supposed to stay in the kitchen, little rascals.” He growled gently at them, and they giggled.
“We were helping!” announced the taller one.
“We’re sorry, sir, we told them to stay behind,” one of the maidservants paused close to Ironsides and scowled at the boys.
“I thought as much,” Ironsides turned the boys around to face him, “There now, you’ve seen the strangers, head back to the kitchen and eat your supper.”
The boys had evidently been hoping for a different verdict and their shoulders drooped. “Yes, sir,” they replied. Their unison that much more impressive considering their gloomy tone.
The boys both kissed their father on the cheek before heading back to the kitchen, this time the maids shooed them along before them. I caught snatches of soft scolding as they exited and the door closed behind them. I looked after them wistfully. Ayglos and I had once haunted the kitchens of Galhara. Cooks are very good friends to have–although they will make you earn your handouts. Or at least ours did. There were times when all four of us would loiter in the kitchens and she would task us with preparing herbs–we would race to see who could strip the most rosemary or lavender.
Ironsides’ voice brought me back to the present. “My apologies,” he said, a smile lingering on his face. “I had thought it would be better to keep my lads out from underfoot—considering the times and not knowing what errand you’ve been about. They are good boys, but like all children have a nose for secrets.”
“Sadly a wise choice, I’m afraid,” replied Namal.
“Say no more,” grunted Ironsides, “Let us eat and be grateful for peace tonight.”
I was certainly grateful—the roasted lamb was as perfect as it smelled; moist and laced with garlic. There was also a spinach pastry drowned in butter, and flat bread with tomatoes, hummus and a bowl of pesto. I ate as if I’d never had food before—and I ate too much. No one talked much during dinner. Ironsides occasionally commented about farming or the weather, but most of us were happy enough to commune with the food. After we finished, the maids came back in and Ironsides asked them to show us to rooms, since we were clearly tired.
My limbs were heavy and I felt like a round decanter brimming dangerously full as I followed one of the maids down a hallway and into a modest little room with a bed. She showed me also where the wash house was, and where the lamps were. I thanked her through my food-stupor, and as soon as she left I kicked off my shoes, collapsed on the bed, and burrowed under the blankets. I was awake just long enough to coo over the touch of a real mattress and then I slept without dreams.
A good middle class outfit for Zare. Messing around with ink pencils again.
I always liked what God had to say about horses–holding them up as an object lesson for Job about how awesome and powerful God is.
When I woke up it was dark and I felt a bit better, though my limbs were sore in places from all the swimming. I found Quill and made him change places with me—it was his turn to look weary and not argue. Over the next few days we stopped only for short rests, eating handfuls of road food and passing around water skins while we walked. We had to outdistance any hunt from Gillenwater, and we still hoped to rescue my family. Quill assured us we would find refuge and help in Dalyn, so we set as blistering a pace as we could manage. I wondered, too, if perhaps our family had been sent to Dalyn to take the river to Hirhel instead of going overland.
Though Dalyn had been conquered five years ago, her puppet king was of the rightful line and clearly the city’s spirit was not broken. What with her royal guard marauding around area cities to harass the Nether Queen and all. As with the Nether Queen’s other conquests, the toppling of Dalyn was shrouded in rumor and wild stories. I quickly learned that one contributing factor to the rumors was that none of Quill’s men—who had all lived through the conquest as children—were willing to talk about it. The first day or two, if one of the men wandered close I would ask him what happened and generally their reply was, “Dalyn fell,” spoken with finality as if there were no other variables.
Not that there was much talking of any sort on this march.
Night and day traded places again and again, and still we walked or jogged south and west. Five to ten of Quill’s men were always scouting ahead or to the sides—steering us around hamlets, homes, and other travelers. Quill mostly rode Hook, but still walked for ever lengthening periods to stretch his legs. Having no other duties, I usually walked between the horses.
Our scouts did see hunting parties from Gillenwater’s garrison a few times, and worked hard to lay down misleading trails to confuse the trackers. It appeared to work, because none found us.
The women, even the girls from Gillenwater who were not accustomed to life on the road, were all in good spirits. A few were suffering from colds, but on the whole they were doing very well and keeping up with the soldiers. Sinker was indispensable—providing a mobile resting place for them. Gabe and Balleck, too, were quite busy helping any way they could. I wanted to talk with my circus people—particularly Olena, but there wasn’t really time. What talk was had was between her and Ayglos, for he stayed close to her.
On the fifth day we came to the orderly lanes of an orange orchard. One of the scouts came trotting back to find Quill. The scout fell in step beside Hook and I sidled close to hear what he said. “Iron Sides says it is safe to come ahead.”
“Excellent. We shall have a warm supper tonight.”
The scout grinned and moved off again.
Quill looked down at me, “Iron Sides was once in the royal guard, now he lives here.” Quill gestured to the orange grove. “This estate belonged to his father, but when Dalyn fell it passed to him.”
“Was his father in the army?” I asked quietly.
Quill looked grim. “Not exactly. He was a priest and a seer, and the Nether Queen had him executed.”
“What?” I had not known that she executed priests—and no one executed seers. “Did she kill all the priests in Dalyn?”
“No,” Quill shook his head. “Just the one who was a seer.”
“Perhaps he foresaw her doom,” I said, bitterness creeping into my voice.
“Undoubtedly,” came Quill’s dark reply.
We fell silent and continued along the lanes of the orchard. Soon we started to catch glimpses of laborers and whiffs of cooking fires. Namal joined us and Quill explained about our plans to spend the night with Iron Sides. The peaks of a manor house appeared over the orchard trees, and then the lanes came to an end at a packed dirt yard before the house itself. A well-built man with chin length honey colored hair stood in the doorway to the house with his feet spread and his arms crossed. I guessed he was from Remko’s generation, and I liked him immediately because of the association. He watched the company spill out of the orchard and pool in his yard like an overflown spring, and then he smiled. The look so transformed his face I felt like I was looking at a different man. He stepped forward.
“Quilleran! How you’ve grown!”
“Iron Sides! Yet only one foot in the grave?” asked Quill, dismounting and moving forward to greet Iron Sides with manly back slapping.
“Just a toe,” replied Iron Sides with a grin before turning to Vaudrin. “Vaudrin Lakeside? The guard suits you, too.” Iron Sides was the same height as Vaudrin, but his build was tighter knit and it gave the odd impression that he was a small man. Small and dangerous, like a crossbow quarrel, I thought. “Your men and women we can feed in day laborer’s hall,” Iron Sides was saying, “we’ve been preparing for them since your scouts told us of your approach.”
“Thank you,” said Quill, “And we have three for your hearth, also.” Quill gestured to my brothers and I. “They are allies.”
Iron Sides turned to us. “Come in, and welcome to my home,” he bowed and gestured for us to follow him inside.
The Legend of Zare Caspian 