Category: fantasy

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36-Capture

I shouldn’t have been looking over my shoulder; I should have been running. Those two horsemen had overcome our little roadblock faster than they were supposed to. My foot caught on a stone and I stumbled. Thinking a few choice words, I staggered and dove toward the side of the road. I just had to stay out of reach long enough to get to the river. I smashed blindly into the underbrush. The light from the soldiers’ lamps didn’t penetrate far into the woods, but I couldn’t wait for my eyes to adjust. I ran with my arms outstretched, hoping I wouldn’t hit a tree. “Don’t trip, don’t trip,” I panted to myself right before I rammed straight into a bush. I flailed to the side, trying to get around as the horsemen closed in noisily. As I struggled clear I could see more of the forest—but that was because the horsemen behind me carried lanterns. The golden light flashed on the trees and made me think of the long thin teeth of an angler fish closing on its prey.

A heavy weight hit me from behind and I pitched to the ground with a cry. Caught like a little fish. Hands grabbed my arms, pulling them roughly behind me while a knee crushed my torso into the earth. I struggled vainly as the soldier twisted rope around my wrists. I could barely breathe under his weight. Horrible thoughts chased themselves through my head; I thought of the fate of the circus girls, and then of the irony of my capture on a mission to free my family. There was no way they could engineer another rescue before Dalyn. I wondered if I would die, or worse, if I would live in captivity enduring who knows what horrors.

“Do you have her?” The other soldier was mounted still.

“I’ve got her,” grunted my captor as he finished tying. “Get up!” he commanded, lifting his weight off me and picking up the lantern he’d dropped in his efforts.

I pulled my knees up under me and rolled to a sitting position. Spitting dirt out of my mouth, I tossed my head and looked up at them defiantly.

Both soldiers stopped in surprise and stared at me for a moment. Then the mounted soldier said, “She must be related.”

My captor sent him a quick look then turned back to me and growled, “All the way up.”

Related? I stood, shaking the leaves and dirt off as I did. Had they spent a great deal of time looking at my sister, then? Anger stirred in me and quickly overwhelmed my fear. I flinched for my daggers, but they were out of reach.

“Who are you?” demanded my captor.

“I am Zare Caspian of Galhara, your last prisoner,” I snapped.

The mounted soldier whistled. “How many more of them are there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied, “We are ghosts who walk the night carrying retribution for our city and doom for the Nether Queen. You cannot contain the Galhari. You cannot stop us.” What was I saying? Another time, I would have been frightened by the fire inside me, by the violence radiating from my soul. But I didn’t have time for that. It was all I could do to keep from flinging myself at the soldiers in some ill-conceived and useless manner.

My captor snorted and jerked me close. He pushed his face close to mine. I lifted my chin and met his gaze.

“You are a just a girl without land or title. Very much flesh and blood,” he whispered the last words with a leer and then pushed me away, turning to mount his horse.

Seething, and impotent, I watched the soldier tie my rope to his saddle. I must not remain their prisoner.

The soldier remounted and turned his horse back toward the road. “Now, walk,” he ordered.

Both soldiers nudged their horses forward and I walked as ordered. No point in getting dragged or trampled. I wished fervently that I had knives hidden in other places—a wrist sheath perhaps—so I would have had options. The soldier yanked on the rope and I stumbled, nearly falling into a bush. I shot a glare over my shoulder at him. He smiled wickedly.

There was crackling in the underbrush like a couple more horsemen were coming our way. Probably sent to aid their comrades. Not that they needed it. I snarled inwardly and tried to think of something, anything, I could do to get out of this mess.

Just then a draft horse burst into the circle of lamplight and slammed straight into the soldiers’ mounts. I gasped as I recognized Sinker, with Jemin on his back, sword in hand.

I was yanked forward as the horses churned—but not before I caught a glimpse of Hook and Quill barreling in. Swords flashed as Quill and Jemin engaged the soldiers. The horses pranced and turned while I ran and dodged to keep up. If the soldier’s horse bolted I was going to die gruesomely at the base of a tree. The thought moved me to action. I flopped on my rear and tucked my hands under my legs to move my bound hands in front; then I jumped sloppily to my feet. Darting between horses and blows I reached the side of the soldier who had the other end of my rope. He saw me a moment too late. I caught his elbow and pulled savagely, throwing my body weight to the ground. He twisted out of the saddle with a yelp of pain. His horse shied as he fell and then it bolted forward. I had no chance to react as the horse hit the end of the rope and kept running, wrenching me off the soldier and dragging me after it. I tumbled on the end of the rope like a fishing lure in the wind. I was vaguely aware of Quill shouting after me as bracken flew in my face and I bumped along pondering the irony of the situation. I supposed dying from the very bolt I was trying to avoid was a little better than dying in the prison I’d rescued my family from.

Then I slid to a stop and was lying face first on the dark forest floor. This was it, then. I hadn’t noticed hitting a tree so it must’ve been quite a thorough bashing. So far death wasn’t too bad. I wondered if the stories were true about a tunnel with the light of Eloi at the end.

“Zare!” Quill’s voice was right above me, and a second later I felt his hands on my shoulders and back. “Zare, are you alright?” his voice was thick with concern.

At his touch, I startled and opened my eyes. I could see the faint outlines of vegetation in the darkness. I realized my hands were stretched out before me, still, and there was no tree. I wasn’t dead. I pulled my arms in carefully, they ached but weren’t broken.

“Are you alright?” asked Quill again, gently supporting my shoulders as I pushed myself up and turned slowly to a sitting position.

“I think so,” I said. The shakiness of my voice surprised me.

He whipped out a small knife and started cutting the rope off my wrists. “Is anything broken? Can you stand up?”

I took inventory while he worked. Fingers and toes responded on command, I didn’t appear to have any gaping holes anywhere. As soon my wrists were free I touched them and winced. Rope burn. “I’m ok. I think I can stand,” I said.

In the dark, I couldn’t see his face, but I sensed the relief flow out of him and for some reason I wanted to cry because of it.  “Come on, we need to keep moving.” Quill stood and reached down to help me to my feet.

The world spun as I rose and I leaned heavily into him. Quill hooked one arm around my waist and I dropped my head on his shoulder, struggling to regain control while he fussed with the horses. Horses. I picked up my head. I could make out the soldier’s mount standing docilely next to Hook.

“You stopped the horse,” I said stupidly.

“It was absconding with my princess,” replied Quill. “I couldn’t allow that.”

He’d saved my life. I was seized with a wild desire to kiss him. But I didn’t. He shifted me around to Hook’s side and boosted me into the saddle with such care I could been snuggling into bed.

“Now we go help Jemin,” he said, mounting the other horse and turning back the way we’d come.

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35-At the Cymerie

As the sun drew closer to the horizon we saddled Hook and Sinker with old tack from Ironsides’ storage shed then, Namal and Ayglos mounted and set out at a swift pace. I traveled behind, on foot with Quill and his men, cutting through the orchards at a quick jog. I was pleased that all the foot travel over the past week had made this pace quite reasonable. Our packs were freshly loaded with food but I had traded Quill the heavy crossbow from Gillenwater for his bow, and we were both happier for it. We were heading cross country to hit the main road where it crossed the Cymerie, an angry little tributary of the Bandui River. Quill had sent two men to track the progress of the prisoner transport and to slow them down if necessary so we could reach the Cymerie and prepare for them. I had never met the Cymerie, but knew it was smaller river, swift and scored with rapids and gorges. The Cymerie wasn’t the wide and deep trade conduit that the Bandui River was. In fact, it was mostly in the way. Which was perfect for us. Ayglos and Namal would reach her before we did, and were tasked with securing the river’s help.

As we jogged, my mind turned back to the morning’s counsels. There were thirty men escorting the barred carriage, which made any attempt at open battle on the road foolish. Neither could we wait for help inside Dalyn.

“The city is not ours yet,” Quill had explained, “The Nether Queen has many agents in the king’s court, and her ambassador is formidable. I cannot speak for my King to promise you a rescue within its walls. Such an event might destroy the rebellion before it has really commenced.”

So we had to be clever.

I grimaced and focused on keeping my footing in the less cultivated terrain. I hoped we were clever enough. Those of us on foot made good time cutting over the gentle land and I caught scent of the turbulent Cymerie long before we heard its roar. It was dark when the trees stopped and the silhouette of an arching stone bridge stood against the sky. Quill’s men scouted the area quickly and returned with Ayglos and Namal to announce that the road was clear in both directions and the Cymerie was, if not delighted to help, willing enough.  We set to work with the yards and yards of thin cloth. At every moment I expected to hear the prisoner caravan on the road, but we finished our preparations without so much as a bat swooping overhead.

I took my place in the center of the road on Dalyn’s side, just far enough that you had to be quite across the bridge before your lantern would show my presence. Wide strips of the thin white cloth crisscrossed the road like the masterpiece of an ambitious spider. Perhaps several ambitious spiders. I stood in the midst of the cloth web, a swath wrapped around my shoulders and head like a hooded cape. My mind was oddly quiet as I waited, listening to the river and the sounds of the night.

I could not be sure how long it was before I heard horses and the jangling of harnesses. Then the lanterns carried by the caravan swung into view, moving at a good pace. As reported, there were mounted men riding ahead, and behind the barred carriage. The first of the horsemen reached the bridge and the clatter of hooves on stone sounded deafening to me after the stillness of waiting. The din only got louder as the carriage hit the rocks. The lead horsemen reached my side of the bridge and pulled up sharply when the light of their lanterns glanced off the gauzy web across the road. Their cries of “Halt!” traveled back over the vanguard and the whole company came to an abrupt stop.

The horses skittered about unhappily as the leaders dismounted and approached the web with their swords drawn and their lanterns held aloft. Before they got too close, I took a step. They startled, seeing me for the first time, “Who goes there?” they demanded.

I took another drifting step, “Have you seen him?” I asked mournfully.

“What?” asked the man on the right.

“Have you seen him?” I asked again, “He rode to the underworld, and I seek him.”

I felt the shudder of uncertainty rush through them, and then be replaced by impatient anger. “What are you talking about, woman? Clear the road, we are on the Queen’s business.”

I turned to face them and raise my arms. “The Queen of the Underworld?” I demand. “You took him! You slaves of darkness!” On cue, two crossbow quarrels flew through the air and the men dropped to the ground, their lanterns spun to the ground, casting bizarre shadows as they went. The other men in the column had been watching and they cried out, spurring their horses forward. I dashed forward for the lanterns. They were the same orbs dangling from polls that the patrols in Gillenwater used. I leapt back into the web as the first line of horsemen bore down. I needed to lure more away from the carriage.

“Can you tell me where to find Maten?” I bark at the soldiers, hoping they knew their legends like Quill did. “Speak now and I may spare your lives!”

They couldn’t reach me in the web, not mounted. Swords drawn, three men jumped down as others rode up. I raised the lanterns, illuminating our little circle of road for my bowmen. “I gave you a chance.”

The quarrels flew, but the third man ducked into the web and charged at me. I swung the lanterns, deflecting his sword. He came again and I dodged backwards, bouncing off a swath of cloth right before he sliced through it. How long did it take to reload a crossbow? “Know the wrath of Nelia!” I cried and he dropped to the ground with a gasp of surprise. Not long.

More horsemen were gathering and dismounting. I couldn’t stay here. Even if I could dodge them, sooner or later one of them would produce a crossbow of his own. I lifted the lanterns again, they were sputtering now after being swung about—I guessed there were eight men coming for me, with five down, that meant only a little over half still close to the carriage. Those were better odds than we started with. Dropping the lanterns, I tossed aside my white trappings and ran.

Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw chaos on the road. A couple of the soldiers had stopped to see to their comrades, and others were hacking madly at the cloth to clear the way for the carriage. Two of them jumped their horses over the tumbling web and thundered after me.  Behind that, on the bridge, men were climbing over the sides of the bridge from where they’d hidden—dangling off the side like fish at a fish market.  The bulk of Quill’s men, and my brothers, gathered at the carriage. They cut the horses free and while some held back the rearguard—taking advantage of the very narrow space—the rest heaved the carriage over the side of the bridge and into the turbulent Cymerie.

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34-Kindling

 

Balleck had carried his poi—chains with the weighted ends tightly wrapped wicking–with him all the way from the circus caravan. “You never know when you might need a diversion,” he winked, holding the poi while I used the flint from my daggers to light them. He had soaked them in kerosene from a lamp in the day laborers’ hall and the poi sprang to life with a gentle froosh. Most of the circus women, and the girls from Gillenwater, had followed us from the hall to watch.

Picking up the slender chains Balleck spun the weights till the fire looked like golden wheels. The wheels danced, interlaced, twisted and came apart again. I could see the world falling away from him; he seemed to forget about me as he moved with the fire, bending and turning and leaping like a flame himself. The rest of the circus people trickled out of the hall.  Olena came to stand beside me, I put an arm around her shoulders. Balleck spun the flames in a fury of motion, between his hands like a potter’s pot, then arching around himself until it looked like he would be consumed.

Balleck ended with a backflip, the fire trailing from his hands stilled and, as if waking from a stupor, he noticed just how large his audience had gotten. He bowed deeply while his colleagues clapped.  Seeing Olena with me, he came over and offered Olena the poi.

Hesitantly, Olena accepted them. With Balleck’s encouragement, she stepped out and gave the poi a test spin. The weights performed. She spun the other poi, then took another step or two and sunk into a deep lunge. Now the poi swept up in an arc and the red haired Olena followed them into a leap. The other circus women gave hoots of delight as Olena, too, threw herself into the fire dance. All her considerable skill came out as the poi danced at her bidding, as she danced, too. I stole a look at Balleck and noticed tears in his eyes as he watched his cousin. I wondered if he felt as I did—torn by a thousand emotions. Our parting, Olena’s ordeal, and even this bright moment of restoration all threatened to overwhelm. Balleck caught me looking at him—my ears turned red and he reached out and squeezed my hand. I quickly looked away before tears could escape my eyes, too.

Olena finished with her back to us, the poi spinning slower and slower until they stilled. The circus women cheered. I could feel the hope in their cheer—Olena had found herself again, so there was hope for each of them. Olena drew a deep breath and then faced us. She dipped her head shyly, like a child who has been caught singing when she was alone. Balleck walked out to her and folded her into his arms.

The crowd dissolved, some went back into the laborers’ hall, others lingered in clusters outside—a few started stretching. I imagined they were testing themselves, to see if they still were who they remembered.

That would suffice for my fire spinning lesson. Turning to go, I smiled my goodbyes to the few who noticed my departure and hurried off to find my brothers. There were preparations to be made, not the least of which finding something along the lines of armor. Our plan was on the wilder side, but at least this time there was a plan.

I hadn’t gone far down the lane when Jemin fell in step beside me. I looked at him in surprise, “Jemin! Hasn’t Quill got you busy?”

The bearded soldier laughed, “He has, he told me to watch over you.”

“Oh, of course,” I felt silly. Naturally. “Well, it’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you, milady,” replied Jemin, still smiling.

“Do you know where they are?” I asked, gesturing vaguely at the little dirt road and the surrounding fields and trees.

“I have an idea.” Jemin picked up the pace and I followed him at a trot along the dirt path until we came a large barn which had an entire side open to the air. Inside were huge wooden crates, stacked neatly. Also inside were ten of Quill’s men, along with Quill and my brothers. My brothers were outfitted with whatever bits of armor Quill’s men had spare, and were openly wearing their swords. They had one of the crates open and were pulling swaths of gauzy white material out of it.

They greeted me as I approached.

“Ironsides has taken his sons and gone to survey his fields and orchards,” said Namal, “Most of his servants have been given the day off or instructed to teach the circus women some tasks around the grounds so he can explain their presence if he has to.”

“That explains why I haven’t seen hardly anyone around.” I stepped closer to the crate to finger the cloth, though it was so thin it scarcely deserved the word.

“It’s for protecting fruit trees from pests,” explained Quill, sensing my question.

“It’s perfect,” I replied.

“Zare, try these on,” Ayglos tossed me a handful of hard leather.

Catching the bundle, I examined it, finding a pair of bracers, boots, leather breeches, and a leather jerkin that looked as though it had been folded for a very long time and just recently oiled. “Thank you.”

“I think the jerkin belonged to Ironsides when he was a boy,” said Ayglos apologetically. “Do you want to go back to the house to try them on?”

“I can just go around the crates to that corner,” I pointed with my chin. Months of living on the road had done much to change my sensibilities. Ayglos didn’t argue and I ducked around the corner between some crates and began shucking my shoes and trousers. I slipped into the leather breeches with some difficulty. They were newly oiled, but still a touch stiff with age like the jerkin. They fit well enough, and I was grateful to have them. Next were the boots. They were a little too big so I stuffed grass in the toes. The jerkin and bracers I applied over my blue shirt and it took a bit of fussing to get everything arranged properly. The final touch was belting on my daggers again. I twisted and kicked, testing out the motion of my new garb. That would do. I felt a smile. It was not as nice an ensemble as I’d had in Galhara, but it was closer than I’d been in a long while. The leather gear would offer more protection than the cotton, and every little bit helped. Gathering up my trousers and shoes I headed back to join the men.

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I looked for you

This is an art piece I did for my novel–it’s set in the same world as Zare. In fact it’s about Shyr Valla–the first city Narya Magnific conquered, the one Quill says was wiped off the land as if it had never been.

The novel isn’t finished, but Zare is helping. She’s the best.

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…loot…

We were pretty close to having a Zare episode today. I wrote for hours yesterday–and still didn’t get one finished. But I got a lot of things worked out. So. That’s good. Bodes well for next week!

In the mean time, I have this:

Yup, I made myself a tee shirt! I kind of love it.

You can have one, too, if you want. I have it for sale at Redbubble.

Also, there is more than t-shirts; pillowcases, mugs, bags, notebooks…

You should go check it out. 

Also, Redbubble is having a 20% off sale today (Monday, 6/20) use code CARPE20 

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doldrums

Late Spring/early Summer is apparently a rough time on my writing! I apologize for the interrupted posting. It’s when all the travel wraps up that I tumble flat on my creative face and find that coloring books are about all I can manage. That and practicing my penmanship.

I promise I’m working on the story, too.

I even drew a little from scratch this week.

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