Tag: fantasy adventure

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46-Dalyn

 

The sun was setting when we crossed the bridge to Dalyn and drove through the sprawling city to the king’s palace. Though the palace sat on the riverbank, the streets were arranged so there was no direct way there. Namal and I were silent, listening to the wheels on cobblestones and trying to internalize everything Jemin had told us on the journey. Jemin prodded the doctor, who opened his eyes, and pulled the cotton out of his ears. Rawyn Drayk looked bleary eyed, like he had really fallen asleep in his self-imposed isolation. He nodded to us. We nodded back. In a short while the carriage halted, we heard voices and Jemin leaned forward to open the curtains. A helmeted guard appeared at the door. “Jemin, doctor, we have been expecting you for hours, is all well at the villas?”

“Better now that I’ve been there,” said the doctor brightly, “It is good the Clanor family wished me out today, for the king also found work for me through his generosity.” Here the doctor gestured to Namal and I.

The guard peered in at us, “Ah, yes, the captain told us to expect the king’s visitors.” Stepping back, he called to someone else and I heard the clang of a gate’s locking mechanism. “Come ahead,” called the guard, walking back toward his post.

The carriage rolled forward again. Jemin left the curtain ajar. “It will be all over the palace by the end of the evening,” he said, “No point in making it spread faster by keeping the curtains drawn.”

Through the crack I glimpsed ornate sills and glass panes on the many windows, and gargoyles hunched on corners, watching everything. The carriage halted and a footman leapt down to open the door. Jemin climbed out and waited as the doctor and then Namal alighted. Namal turned and offered his hand to me as I exited the carriage. It took conscious effort not to step out with my head high and my back straight with the easy assurance of my rank. I tried to shrink in awe in my green traveling dress—which was difficult as the dress made me feel beautiful. I looked around, widening my eyes as I admired the impressive stonework. The palace was magnificent. It appeared to be carved out of one solid piece of gray stone—though I didn’t understand how that was possible since we weren’t even in the foothills of the Magron Mountains. Scrolling patterns were painstakingly carved around the doors and windows, and I realized with a start that they were portraying the currents of the Bandui River. The patterns were beautiful, and flowed from opening to opening, giving the palace a molded, wind-driven look. A white canopy covered the arching entrance and two servants were waiting. Jemin led the way to the archway. Straight ahead was a courtyard, but there were doors on either side under the archway that must lead into different wings.

Here, the doctor excused himself. “It was a pleasure,” he said, bowing slightly to me and then took the door on the right.

Jemin stopped by the servants, “Here are the king’s guests.” His tone was military: direct and disinterested.

The servants, a man and a woman dressed in the same gray as the palace, bowed. “Follow us.”

We fell into step behind them, leaving Jemin behind at the door as they took us through the left-hand door and into the palace. I didn’t look back for the bearded guard, as much as I dearly wanted to, and I felt very alone even with Namal walking beside me. The hallways were wide, and smooth archways adorned every junction. The windows on this side faced east, and the fading daylight was surrendering to the golden light of lamps. We passed mostly servants, going to and fro, but there were a couple people dressed in fine clothes who looked at us with pointed interest as we passed.

“This is the guest wing,” announced the man, when we had turned down another corridor. We said nothing, and neither servant looked back at us as they led the way down what felt like miles of gray stone, dotted with occasional tapestries depicting scenes of trade and ships. Finally, the servants stopped.

The woman pushed open a sturdy wooden door, “This way, miss.” She stood back, waiting for me to enter. I looked at Namal, and then went inside.

Thick carpet silenced my steps. It was a sitting room with red woven carpets, carved wood furniture scattered with colorful cushions, and a fireplace. After the endless, smooth gray of the palace this room exploded with warmth and color. Gold laced up the lampstands and around the legs of chairs and tables, a gem encrusted statuette of dancers stood on a side table nearby. The finery reminded me of the home I had lost.

Another gray clothed servant girl was tending the cheerful fire. I noticed two doors off to one side—bedroom and washroom perhaps? And a third door on the other side. I walked into the chamber slowly, aware of the other servant closing the door behind me. “This is Amantha,” said the woman who brought me here, motioning to the girl by the fire, “She will be your servant while you are the King’s guest.”

The girl turned to us and curtsied. “Miss.”

I nodded at her. “Hello.”

“The king requests your presence at dinner,” the woman looked at Amantha and I severely, “We haven’t got much time to get you cleaned up.” She walked to the pair of doors and pushed one open, revealing the washroom. It was gray stone, like the rest of the palace, but reed mats covered the floor and the tub was carved out of olive wood. There was a fireplace in here, also, and a long counter down one wall. I noticed incense on the counter, and the toilet just beyond.

“I have just had a bath,” I managed. If she was in a hurry she was not likely to stand for my insistence on bathing alone, or how long it would take me to dry.

She took my elbow and turned me around, appraising me. If I had not spent a year in the circus before coming here, I would have had a very hard time restraining my indignance. “Very well, it appears Sinensis isn’t entirely devoid of civilized manners.” Releasing my arm, she pointed to the pitcher and bowl on the countertop. “Freshen yourself, and then go to dressing room. Amantha will help you dress.”

She turned on her heel and left me alone in the washroom. I took a deep breath, quickly washed my face, and returned to the sitting room. The dressing room was next to the washroom, the door was standing open and Amantha was inside laying out a gown. She looked up when I entered. She was younger than me, I guessed. Her hair was blonde and pulled back into a tight bun. The gray clothes made her eyes look gray. There seemed to be no trace of the openness of Caraca in this palace.

“My name is Analie Meredithe,” I said, hoping to thaw the reserve in Amantha’s face.

Amantha stepped forward and began unlacing the traveling dress. “Miss Meredithe.”

“This place is beautiful.”

“That it is, miss,” replied Amantha. She was kinder than my guide had been, but her mask would not budge.

I fell quiet as she helped me into a burgundy evening dress with a high lace collar that then swooped down my back in a graceful cowl. I swiveled in the full-length mirror, admiring. Amantha had brought out high heeled shoes of the same color and I sat down on the dressing room stool to put them on, trying to remember the last time I’d worn high heeled shoes and wondering if I would be able to walk in them.

Amantha watched me for a moment, then said, “You’ll be joining the king in his hall for dinner. It is not a full court dinner, those are once a week, and not for three more days.”

I looked up at her, openly surprised that she was talking to me.

“The general, the ambassador from Hirhel, and the king’s chief advisor are often at the king’s table, along with whatever noble or dignitary who is being courted for one reason or another,” she continued, her eyes very serious, “You are to be seated across from the king with your brother, because he is very interested in your story. Your rescue is a diversion to him, an escape from the pressures of court. But you are not to speak unless spoken to, not to him or any of the others present.”

I nodded and wondered if our servants gave this same talk to middle class visitors to my father’s court. I hadn’t really expected to meet Tarr Kegan in public, actually. Much less at the same dinner where I met the ambassador from Hirhel. I couldn’t even imagine the terrible things that would happen if it was the same man who’d been the ambassador to Galhara before the war.

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45-Preparation

 

Jemin approached the gate without hesitation. After a quick exchange of salutes, he explained he had orders to settle the king’s guests here and then produced a letter to prove it. I raised a brow. Apparently, he’d come quite prepared for my father’s verdict. The guards opened the gates and we entered the king’s orchard estate.

As we approached the massive front door to the house, a servant boy ran down the steps to take the horses. Behind him a short man dressed in the deep blue of Dalyn, stepped forward and bowed. “Welcome to Sinensis, the King’s orchard,” he said. “I am Tangel, I am the caretaker here.”

Jemin showed the caretaker the letter, “The Guard rescued these merchants from brigands on the road, the king desires they stay here until they recover from their wounds.”

Tangel looked at the letter and then turned to us. “You are welcome in the King’s house.” He was middle aged, with thinning hair that had once been darker. His face was more weather beaten than was typical for house staff, I wondered if he had started in the orchards, or worked there still in off season. “Follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

My brothers and Jemin helped my parents off the horses, then we all followed Tangel through the enormous double doors. The entryway was vaulted and paved with beautiful mosaic patterns. Just beyond was a huge room with an even higher ceiling and twin sweeping grand staircases. Tangel led us up the left-hand staircase and down a long hall. He installed our parents in a spacious room, and the doctor stayed behind with them to make sure our father was recovering from our journey. Nadine was next, which prompted Jemin to tell Tangel that Namal and I would not be staying the night here, but needed fresh clothes and a carriage as the king desired our company. Tangel inclined his head and showed me to the adjoining suite’s washroom with a promise that a maid would be along shortly to draw a bath.

The men proceeded down the hall, and I wandered around the suite. Thick rugs covered wood floors and a huge bed dominated one wall. There were a few other pieces of furniture around to make the room quite comfortable. The washroom was modest compared to the rest of the house, but there was a fireplace mere feet from the tub and my heart leapt in anticipation of a real, warm bath. A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and a middle-aged woman entered carrying an armload of towels. “Good afternoon, miss,” she proceeded directly to the washroom, deposited her load of towels on a little table then turned to me. “My name is Caraca, I’ll have a bath all ready for you in just a few moments.” Her voice trailed off a little as she took in my rags and dirt. Her face filled with compassion. “Here’s a basket for you to put your clothes in.” She pulled a round basket out from under the table. “You’ll have to forgive us, we weren’t expecting anyone today.  But we’ll have you all ready to meet the king, don’t you worry.” She produced a long white dressing gown and laid it out on top of the towels. “There you go, you sweet thing.”

I nodded, “Thank you,” and was suddenly aware that meeting the king would be a much bigger deal to a merchant’s daughter than it was to me. I should probably act nervous.

“You go ahead and get ready, we’ll have the water all set in just a few minutes.” Caraca gave a little curtsey and left again.

I began to peel off my layers. It was just as well do this without Caraca to watch—or help. What would she think of my leather layers from Ironsides, or my knives? I shed my ragged vest and dress, and wiggled out of the leather jerkin and breeches hidden beneath. I slipped into the white dressing gown and reveled in its softness. I would like staying in Dalyn. Rolling Shiharr and Azzad into the jerkin and breeches, I shoved the bundle down into my pack. My bracers were already in there, with some underclothes and food stuffs, but that was all. The rest of my spare clothing had gone to dressing Mother and Nadine for the past few days.

When I returned to the washroom the tub was nearly full and steam curled off the surface of the water. I trailed my fingers in the water and found it delightfully warm. I heard the bedroom door open and Caraca appeared, this time carrying a tray of little bottles.

“Isn’t it a lovely invention?” she smiled, her cheeks round as biscuits.

Oh, right. If we were poor merchants—as our clothes certainly suggested—then I might not have seen plumbing before.

“One of the old king’s architects came up with it—the king was skeptical so he had it installed in a country home first, to see if it really worked.”

“It’s brilliant,” I replied. The king’s architect was a fantastic liar: The nymphs had had plumbing for centuries under Daisen Bay.

Caraca tossed salts and oils into the bath, “This is the only kingdom that has them, so far as I know. Get in, now, child.”

I balked as fear shot through me like a nightmare. If she helped me bathe, she would know what I was. Some of our feats these last days could only have been achieved by nymphs. “Please,” I stammered, “I am accustomed to bathing alone.”

“No need for that, dear,” said Caraca kindly.

“Please,” I said again, eyes wide in desperation. “I would be so much more comfortable.”

Caraca relented, sympathy oozed from her like an overfull jar of honey as she stepped out of the washroom and closed the door behind her.

I waited a moment as the room filled with sweet smelling steam, then shed the robe and slipped into the divine water. I hadn’t had a bath like this since leaving my grandfather’s palace. I retrieved soap from the tray Caraca had left behind and began to scrub. Heavens, I had missed warm baths. The blue patterning on my body came vivid in the water. Graceful stripes trailed down my arms and legs and swirled over my shoulders and hips in interlocking arcs, and reached sweeping tendrils up and down my torso. My beautiful camouflage. I could have lingered in the bath tub forever, but didn’t want Caraca to come check on me. So I rushed through my scrubbing and rinsing and climbed out to towel myself dry and don at least the underclothes before calling Caraca. I used every single towel Caraca had brought in an effort to fade my stripes faster. Finally, I judged they were faint enough to only be noticed by someone looking very closely, and opened the washroom door.

Caraca was waiting, and soon I was standing in front of a mirror while she fussed with the dark green travel dress she’d picked for me. “The palace staff will have a proper ball gown for when you’ll be presented to the king, we haven’t got time to pull one together for you here. Jemin is insistent that you be back for the evening festivities.” She gave the bodice a final brush and stepped back admiringly. “Lovely,” she announced.

I had been watching in the full-length mirror, and I smiled. Caraca had braided my hair into a crown. The travelling dress, with its long and split skirt and trim bodice and matching coat, was beautiful. There was black embroidery covering the bodice and dripping down the skirt in flattering lines. I liked the newer fashion of frothy cuffs peeking out from slim cut sleeves. I admired the dress, truly, but it was also downright novel to have a full mirror again. Mother was right, I had gotten almost frighteningly lean. Perhaps my thin cheeks had given authenticity to all my ghostly antics. I hoped we’d be in Dalyn long enough to eat some real food.

“Now, you sweet thing, it’s time to be off, Jemin will be wearing a path in the floor downstairs if I know him.”

Goodbyes were short, and full of meaningful looks because we dare not speak in front of the servants. My throat grew tight. It wasn’t easy to say goodbye so soon, and knowing that even here, they weren’t really safe. Jemin had a carriage waiting for us, his and the doctor’s horses tethered behind. In a moment, we were all seated inside, the curtains were drawn, and we trundled down the road toward Dalyn. Immediately, the doctor pulled a wad of cotton out of his pocket and stuffed it in his ears, he smiled at us, then leaned against the wall of the carriage and closed his eyes as if he were going to sleep.

Jemin turned to Namal and I, “We are going to the palace, you will be given rooms there. The story is the same, you are the children of a merchant who was set upon by brigands. The king’s guardsmen rescued you and the king has taken an interest in you. This is your excuse for being here, and being at any function the king desires you to attend.”

Namal and I nodded. Then Namal asked, “What kind of merchant, and from where?”

“Pick something you know about, and be from Dalyn’s lands closer to the Bay. Your accent is very slight, but sounds like the Bay.”

“Spices,” said Namal. “An attractive industry with much potential, but most only manage moderate success.” Namal, the heir of Galhara, well-schooled in politics and economics.

“Very well,” Jemin turned to me, “Zare, the king is not married, however, he known to take comfort in women.” His eyes turned apologetic, “Everyone who sees you will assume this is why the king has brought you here. But it will serve as a cover for any meetings.”

My cheeks heated, “Very well.”

“Now, you cannot use your given names. You will go by Alban and Analie Meredithe.”

“Alban Meredithe, spices,” Namal smiled a little and bowed in his seat, “Honored to meet you. Let me introduce my sister, Analie.”

I demurred, and flicked my eyelashes, “I am honored.”

“Less polish,” said Jemin, seriously. “You are only moderately successful, and from the middle class. The court is foreign to you.”

The middle class. How strange to realize we had very little experience in that sphere. We knew the ways of the court and the circus but not the society in between. Our befuddlement must have shown on our faces because Jemin said, “It’s not so different from the court—but people are louder, say more to your face, bow with less precision, spill food occasionally, and talk openly about the wealth of the court.”

Namal and I looked at one another. “You may have to show us how to bow.”

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44-Wet Trees

The doctor was just finishing when we arrived in the cellar, and Jemin was immediately sent back out to fetch my brothers. My father still looked pale, but now he looked relaxed. His torso was wrapped tightly with cloth and there was an array of little brown bottles sitting on the floor next to him.

“He will be alright with rest and food,” said the doctor, looking up from packing his bags to give me a reassuring smile. “Broken bones don’t mix well with exposure and lack. He should heal respectably with those barriers removed.”

I nodded.

“I am off to observe the horses,” the doctor finished putting away his tools and stood up, slinging his saddle bags over his shoulder. He bowed and headed for the stairs just as Jemin was returning with my brothers.

“An odd excuse,” commented Nadine.

“He doesn’t want to hear what comes next, I expect,” I replied. I wouldn’t miss it for the world

My brothers arrayed themselves to the right of my father, Nadine and I pulled up chairs with our mother on his left. Gravity descended on the cellar and if I closed my eyes I could imagine we were in the golden throne room of Galhara. Jemin stood before the royal semi-circle just as comfortably as he’d played the bumpkin in Gillenwater.

“Tell your news,” said the king, his voice still full of weariness.

“Your Majesties,” Jemin bowed. “Captain Quilleran sends his greetings and hopes you are well. He has spoken with the King of Dalyn on your behalf and the king would like to meet with you to discuss the possibility of Galhara joining the cause. There is a place for you to stay in the city while you are our guests.”

My father nodded gravely. “My family and I are very grateful for the risks Captain Quilleran and his men took on our behalf, we will still honor our original intent to meet with the king. However,” He paused, “I would not have my entire family inside Dalyn’s walls. My son, Namal, will go as my emissary, as before. The rest of us will stay in hiding.”

I felt myself wilt in disappointment.

“Very well, your majesty.” Jemin bowed. “If it pleases you, I will take you and your family to stay at one of the king’s orchards. Comings and goings to this place would be noticed, and this cellar is not a good place to stay in winter.” He’d been prepared for this decision, apparently.

My father dipped his chin in consideration.

“There are but few servants at the orchards this time of year,” continued the burly guardsman, “and they can be told you are a merchant who the king’s men rescued, and at the king’s pleasure you are being nursed back to health.”

“Very well,” agreed my father. “We will go to the king’s orchard.”

Jemin bowed again. “There is one other thing, your majesty. My king especially desires to meet your daughter, Zare, because he has heard rumor of her deeds.”

My family turned to look at me.

“Rumor?” asked my father, his weariness banished.

Jemin’s comfort evaporated and he shifted his feet. “Yes, your majesty. She has been seen fighting the Nether Queen’s soldiers several times in the past fortnight.”

“I wasn’t trying to be seen,” I exclaimed in defense. Except for the drunken act, and the ghost act, and other ghost act…My cheeks burned as every brazen move from the past two weeks jumped up and paraded through my memory. My heavens, I had taken some chances.

Nadine and Ayglos looked amused, Namal looked tired.

“The rumors do not agree on her identity, or even if she is living or ghost,” added Jemin, as if he were trying to help. “She is often accompanied by a host of deadly warriors.”

“That’s us,” Ayglos laughed and gestured to include Namal and Jemin. “Zare’s army.”

“I promise, father, I made sure she was well guarded,” said Namal, turning to Zam the Great.

Guarded? I considered feeling indignant. As if I had not fought in the siege but was some helpless princess to be protected at all times. My mind flicked back to my capture at the Cymerie: I was here because of Quill and Jemin. Indignation could wait for something better.

“I would imagine you did, Namal.” My father shook his head, fixing each of us marauding offspring with a stern look in turn. He wasn’t angry, though. I suppose, with secrecy so entirely lost, desperation forgives risks.

Jemin continued. “The stories are already tavern favorites, though in the court they are only whispered. My king feels this may already be the spark to kindle the heart of the city.”

“Fire is a fickle beast,” my mother spoke and we all turned to her, “the hearts of men even more so.” Her eyes seemed even bluer than usual as she looked at Jemin. “I fear that the hearts of the people are not ready to be stirred. They are like young trees cut down in a violent storm—their wounds are too fresh and still too soaked with the destroying rain to catch flame.”

“There are some who burn already, your majesty,” replied Jemin, “Perhaps they can burn off the rain.”

“Perhaps,” said my mother. One word imbued with hope and weighed down by sadness.

“Zare,” my father turned to me, “You may go to meet King Tarr.  As you argued in Gillenwater, you can help Namal blend in.”

“Thank you, father.”

He gave me a small smile that said he knew how disappointed I’d been when I thought I wasn’t going. I blushed.

“Thank you, your majesty.” Jemin bowed. “If it pleases you, we shall make ready with all speed to take you to the orchard, and then bring Prince Namal and Princess Zare into the city.”

My father agreed and dismissed us to prepare. Just like that the throne room façade fell away and we all scurried about packing our meager bags while Jemin prepared the horses. Soon my brothers were helping my father up the stairs and onto Sinker, and Jemin and the doctor were offering their mounts to Mother and Nadine. I swung aboard Hook, and we were off. Jemin set a brisk pace, and I soon persuaded the doctor to ride. The poor fellow had not spent the past few weeks becoming a hardened runner and he lasted only a few minutes. Our journey, however, lasted for hours as Jemin led the way overland. I didn’t see a single road as we crossed field and forest before finally coming to rows of meticulously cultivated fruit trees. At first I thought this meant we were close, but I was wrong, and starting to wonder if we would ever arrive when Jemin slowed. He motioned for us to hang back while he went ahead. In a moment, he returned and led us out onto a dirt road toward a big stone house. House was probably too small a word for the towering stone edifice before us—it was something between a villa and a castle. The windows were far too large to be defensible, but parapets crowned the building. Tall white columns supported a covered entrance. Between us and the house was an iron gate and two liveried guards.

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The Un-funeral

It’s hardly fair to Thomdal. He was a gentle soul and everyone in the village liked him while he lived. But I was willing to bet good money that the only one listening to the eulogy was Priest Bayer and that was only because he was giving it.

Every eye was fixed on the open casket at the front of the chapel–to look elsewhere would be to cast suspicion. The soldiers lounging at the back of the chapel watched the funeral proceedings casually. They seemed mercifully unaware that the boiling tension in the room was not grief.

Priest Bayer finished and it took the congregation a half beat too long to realize he’d extended the Last Goodbye invitation. Hurriedly, the first row stood and filed up to pay their last respects to Thomdal. I watched the soldiers out of the corner of my eye as the rest of the congregation took their turns as if nothing were amiss. The soldiers were only here because they were told to watch us, and we were all here. They had no reason to suspect what was really going on. At least, that’s what we told ourselves. Each congregant filed past Thomdal’s coffin, their faces carefully masking what else was in the coffin–that tucked against good Thomdal’s corpse was a golden bow the height of man. The Kingmaker of Achen was no ordinary bow–and the youth crouched at the foot of the casket was no ordinary child. If the soldiers found our village hiding either, we would all be ash on the wind by sundown.

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First line of last paragraph of page 51

Looking for Zare? Click here for Episode 44!

The book: Wings of Dawn, by Sigmund Brouwer.

The line: He clapped his hands twice.

The creation:

He clapped his hands twice. Nothing happened. Strange, it’s always worked before. He kicked the interface and clapped again. this time the ship hummed to life and the lights on the display blinked beneath a thick layer of dust. Sig sat in the pilot chair and blew on the console. The nav computer screen glowed green, happily showing their safe arrival at Herion 1 on May 23rd, Earth Year 2015, and today’s date of March 10, Earth Year 2020.

Stunned, Sig leaned back in the pilot chair. “Five years?” he said, “How can that be?”  Think, Sig. Your last memory–was docking.

Sig stood. The computer must be wrong. Something must’ve messed with its clock during their landing. He left the cockpit with purpose and lowered the ramp to leave his faithful–if delusional–starship.

Before he could take a step a woman leapt onto the ramp and ran to his side. “Sig! What did you find?”

“Who are you?” demanded Sig.

She blinked. “Funny, Sig. We don’t have time for this.”

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Life as a Side Kick

Looking for Zare? Click here for Episode 44!

There are a lot of perks to being a sidekick: All the adventure you could want and almost none of the responsibility–it’s the hero’s job to save the day, you just have to help. Plus, you usually survive disasters, which I’ve always found appealing.

No, life as a sidekick wasn’t so bad, but it occasionally led to awkward surprises. Like a strange, freakishly beautiful woman being present when you wake up–in all your ruffled, untucked, possibly drooling glory.

“Who is she??” I demanded hotly, jolting awake and scrambling to my feet.

“Sam, this is Shaya,” explained Declan (the hero, in case you couldn’t tell from his name), “Shaya this is Sam.” Nothing ruffled Declan, so anyone listening to our introduction might have thought we were in a cocktail lounge rather than a lifeboat. Of course, even sunburnt and scruffy, Declan would have made any cocktail lounge proud–even if he would have stood out like a sore, super sexy, thumb.

The lifeboat, I might add, was adrift in the ocean alone when I went to sleep. As it happens, it was still adrift in the ocean alone. Perhaps I had underestimated Declan’s ability to attract women…I stuffed my shirt into my pants and finger-combed my hair in a quick swipe–not that it really mattered. “What a pleasure to meet you,” I pasted on my biggest smile and held out my hand.

She looked at me with a cautious and slightly confused smile of her own.

“A handshake is a gesture of greeting,” piped Declan, seeing her hesitation. He grabbed my hand and pumped it a couple times. “See?” He handed my hand to her, and she imitated his movement with significantly less bone crushing.

“A pleasure to meet you, too, Sam,” she said. She sounded like she was from an Ivy League school. Interesting.

“Don’t take this personally,” I said–might as well ask, Declan could get us out of whatever huff I got us into, “but how the heck did you get on this boat? And did you bring food?”

“I came for help,” she answered.

Of course, because that explains it.

“The leviathan that sank our ship has lost its mind and is rampaging on the ocean floor,” said Declan.

“I’m sorry?” I offered, figuring that was close to the right answer.

“Shaya has come to ask for our help putting it out of its misery,” he finished, his blue eyes sparkling at the prospect of an adventure. “And of course saving her homeland.”

Naturally. I nodded. Just when I thought I was used to all the crazy stuff heroes assume is normal, Declan finds something totally new to throw at me. But I’m a sidekick, and I know how to roll with the punches. I got this.

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43-Thrilling Gossip

“Rydderhall?” I demanded. “Any relation to Quilleran Rydderick?”

Jemin followed my gaze. “I will tell you, my lady, if you will come back inside the villa.”

Fair enough. I followed him back through the doorway and as he kept going over the pile of pillars and down one of the hallways that was still reasonably intact. We stopped at a circular room lined with windows that looked out at a tiny walled garden. “You know your way around this house, too,” I accused, taking a seat on a windowsill.

“Yes, I do,” confessed Jemin, settling in the next window. “Vaudrin does, also.”

“It belongs to Quill, doesn’t it?”

“By rights, it is his. But the Nether Queen forbade it from being rebuilt—there are many in the city who support her reign, she would find out if she were defied. Add that Quill’s survival was very likely an oversight, and you can see why it remains a ruin.”

I waved my hand, “That part isn’t a mystery. Who are the Rydderick’s that they garnered such treatment?”

“Quill told you that when you arrived,” replied Jemin, “Lord Rydderick was a formidable officer in the war, and the rumors say he came close to reaching the queen herself in a battle.”

I was unsatisfied, and apparently looked it because Jemin added, “You can ask Quill yourself if you want more details about his past. It’s not my place to tell his secrets.”

He was right, of course. “Alright, then, tell me about you.”

Jemin opened his mouth to object, then closed it. “Alright, your highness,” he used my proper title to show his displeasure. It made me feel delightfully at home. “I’m the lesser son of a lesser lord with a small holding. I joined the guard the same time Quill and Vaudrin did, and we became friends.”

“That wasn’t too terribly hard,” I replied. I wanted to ask him more but decided to press my luck in other ways. “Now,” I said, “Tell me about that gossip you mentioned earlier.”

Jemin leaned back and rubbed his hand through his beard, as if this wasn’t really an improvement in topics.

“Oh, come now,” I exclaimed, “It can’t be more scandalous than anything I heard while I was princess in Galhara.”

“No,” Jemin shifted again and took a deep breath. “I was going to have to tell anyway, I expect. You, well…you have made quite an impression on a number of soldiers between here and the garrison in Gillenwater.”

I stared at him, “What do you mean?”

He continued, “Soldiers love to talk even more than court ladies. When we went down to the taverns in the city everyone was talking about a girl—perhaps a ghost or a sorceress—who was attacking soldiers and freeing prisoners. They say she spoke of judgement and vengeance at each turn. Of course, there are those who believe she is flesh and blood, but most of the stories agree that she is undead or magical somehow—because how else could a mere girl wreak such havoc among the queen’s armies?”

I laughed. “Really?” There must be a downside to this, but at the moment I was entertained.

“Really. If they didn’t believe initially, they may have convinced themselves thusly to save their own hides.”  Jemin shook his head. “There are stories I recognize from our mission in Gillenwater and the rescue by the Cymerie. But it seems that every strange happening or failed duty is turning into a ‘I saw her also!’ story.”

“Incredible.”

“Indeed.”

“Is it useful, you think?”

“Maybe. The king thinks it might be.”

“King Tarr? You have spoken with him?” I asked, leaning forward. Tarr Kegan was seventeen or eighteen now, but had been crowned five years ago when Dalyn was conquered. A mere lad, he’d been set up as a puppet—the rightful heir, so harder to argue with—but really controlled by the Queen and her ambassadors. I wondered what he was like.

“Quill spoke with the king,” corrected Jemin. “Once the doctor is finished I am to speak with your father about the next steps.”

“Are we to go into the city?”

“That is ultimately for your father to decide.”

“If we did, would we have to sneak in as peasants? Or would we pose as visiting nobles to make it easier to move about the court? With better tack Hook and Sinker would fit that part well enough.”

Jemin shifted, “I’m not certain. Some of that depends on what your father decides. But also, you could not all come openly—your parents are too recognizable, and the soldiers from Gillenwater are still in the city. We could not risk them seeing your parents or sister. Possibly not even you.”

“I suppose that means Ayglos and Namal will get their chance for daring deeds.”

“That’s possible.”

I wrinkled my nose. I tried not to be too disappointed as I thought of weeks closeted in hiding somewhere waiting for things to happen. It would be restful. Restful was good.

Jemin laughed. “You are the most unusual princess I have ever had the pleasure to fight beside.”

“What?” I tried not to grin. Pleasure to fight beside.

“You look like a puppy being left behind by its master at the mere thought of being out of the action.”

“I want to help.” My protest sounded thin, even to me.

Jemin stood to his feet, his eyes sparkling, and offered me a hand up, “Shall we go check to see if the doctor is through?”

“Jemin,” I accepted his hand and then swept down the hall as regally as I could, “Is Quill the Captain of the Guard?”

“Yes.”

“How on earth did he get away for so long?”

“It was a holiday.”

I stopped, “What an awful holiday. How does he explain his wounds?”

“Hunting trip,” Jemin grinned. “He will not be hunting with that neighbor again.”

“How is he Captain of the Guard when his family was so singled out by the Nether Queen?”

“You are full of questions.”

“Yes, but this hardly qualifies as prying into his past.” We were climbing over the rubble before the great hall now, where my brothers were wrestling and the horses loitering.

“He took a different last name when he joined the guard,” explained the big man. “He goes by Quilleran Silver.”

“Huh,” we crossed the great hall and headed for the kitchen. “I don’t think I like it so well as a Rydderick.”

“I don’t think he does, either.”

Click here for Episode 44!

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42- Rydderhall

 

Nadine and I sprang to our feet and darted away from the window opening. “Blast it, Hook,” I hissed. The riders were approaching quickly and if they hadn’t been headed to the villa already they certainly would be now. One hand on my daggers I started moving toward the kitchen, Nadine followed. I could hear the horses turning in to the little court yard before the back door. Stopping by a hole, I peered through the wall at the two men dismounting on the other side. I grinned when I recognized the burly form of Jemin. “It’s alright!” I cried, as Ayglos and Namal came running from the great hall. “It’s Jemin!”

My brothers heard me, but kept their hands on their weapons as they reached the door and stepped out to meet the arrivals.

Jemin came to meet them with a grin and a bow, “How have you fared, my lords?”

“We are well,” replied Namal, inclining his head in princely acknowledgement, and then turning his gaze to the stranger with Jemin. “Who is your companion?”

“I have brought a doctor.” Jemin gestured, “This is Rawyn Drayk, one of the finest doctors in all of Daiesen.”

Rawyn Drayk stepped forward, saddle bags slung over his shoulder, and bowed. He was old, but wiry and radiating energy. He had close trimmed white hair and beard, and his dark clothes were both well-made and unassuming. “I have been told that there is a wounded creature here who needs my help,” said the doctor.

Namal bowed slightly and moved aside, “Please, come in, and welcome.”

Namal led the doctor inside, and Jemin and Ayglos followed with the horses. Nadine was gliding to meet them even before they were in the entryway. “Doctor,” she stretched out her hand, “Thank you for coming.”

The doctor took her hand and bowed, touching it to his forehead. “My lady,” he replied.

Watching the exchange, it was easy to forget that there was no roof on this place and the walls were blackened and crumbling around us. I wondered how much the doctor had been told about us, and how much he would know once he saw our father.

“Please, follow me.” Nadine turned and the doctor followed her down the hallway toward our cellar.

The rest of us lingered in the entryway. Helping Boitumelo with Remko had been hard enough, I didn’t want to have to help with my own father. My brothers were likely entertaining similar thoughts, because Ayglos said, “Let’s see to the horses, shall we?”

The four of us led the horses to the great hall where Hook and Sinker were already grazing. As we walked, Jemin explained their cover, “We’re expected back in the city before nightfall. I have ridden with the good doctor in escort on a visit to one of the nearby villas—the caretaker is old and much loved by the family; he has been ill and the family wanted him checked on. Rawyn Drayk is one of the best physicians in Dalyn. He is a kind soul who only wants to heal, he will not betray your secrets.”

We tied the horses to the water fountain with enough line to let them graze a little. Hook and Sinker investigated the newcomers and settled into grazing nearby.

“Well,” I said, “I was going to explore the villa.”

“Don’t wander far,” Namal replied. He was already moving off to a spot clear of the horses and taking off his sword belt. “Ayglos and I will be here wrestling for a while yet.”

“Jemin?” I asked, “Would you like to join us?”

Jemin hesitated.

“If you’re worried about me getting into trouble, then you should come along, because I am going to explore.” I was quite experienced with persuading reluctant companions.

The burly man grimaced. “I will accompany you.”

“Excellent.” I turned and headed toward the front of the villa this time. The past two days we’d stayed at the back of the villa, Nadine and I had started at the back and hadn’t gotten far, so I wanted to start someplace new.

Jemin jogged to catch up with me. He was wearing an unremarkable gray cloak, but underneath was a dark blue uniform trimmed in gold. The golden river of Dalyn circled on his shoulder. I remembered back to the tavern in Gillenwater and marveled at how unlike the simple country workman he seemed now.

“So, what news from Dalyn?” I asked as we reached the end of the great hall.

“We all arrived safely back in our various ways,” replied Jemin, giving me a hand over some fallen pillars. “Dalyn is much as we left it. Though…” he paused and I looked at him with raised brows.

“Though?”

“Though the gossip is more thrilling than when we left,” he hopped off the pillars.

“I would imagine they have a lot to talk about.” I ignored the hallway crossing our path and moved into what must have been a beautiful foyer—the floor was scattered with rubble, but underneath I could see a mosaic depicting fields and trees. The walls had been faced with smooth white stone, though now only pieces remained in place. “I bet they had a skylight in here,” I commented, picking my way forward and gesturing toward the sky.

“Why?” asked Jemin.

“Because I would have,” I replied. There were alcoves off to either side of the foyer. I could see the remains of chairs tucked in them. The front door to the villa was a dark, heavy wood that was bowed and splintering as if it had tangled with a battering ram. It hung half open, its hinges partially ripped from the door posts. Hunting scenes were carved all over both sides of the door. I touched the door gently, tracing my fingertips over the horsemen and stags until they were obliterated by the bludgeoning. I felt as if I were touching the embodiment of loss.

“My lady,” Jemin’s protest came as I slipped through the front door and stepped onto the front stoop. There was even more debris out here. Once, carriages would have been able to pull right up to these stairs, but now the generous courtyard was full of weeds, smashed crockery and furniture…as if the Nether Queen had first had her men break things by hand before burning the place down. Thorough of her.

Jemin squeezed himself out the front door and I turned to greet him, but the words died in my mouth. Across the lintel was carved the word Rydderhall. This place must belong to Quill. 

 

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41-Sister Talk

Quill and Jemin left at dawn after showing us where the well was. “You will be safe here for the time being,” said Quill. “The road is that way,” he pointed, “stay away from it.” There was another hedge of happy cypress trees, and who knew how many fields, between us and the road, but we promised to stay away. “One of the men you know will come back in a day or so to bring you supplies—a doctor if I can manage it—and hopefully word about an audience for you with the king.”

They headed back the way we’d come yesterday. I was disappointed that I didn’t get the chance to corner Jemin before they left, but that was forgotten quickly enough. After checking on the horses I went back to bed and slept for several more hours. In fact, most of the family did. For the next two days we barely stirred from the hideaway, even when we were awake. Our most daring act was on the morning of the third day: we built a fire to warm bath water and toast waybread.

Then I convinced Nadine to come explore the villa with me while Ayglos and Namal were sparring in the old great hall. We hadn’t gone far down the destroyed hallway from the kitchen when Nadine pulled me into an alcove and down beside her on an old window seat. “Now,” she commanded, “We are alone. Tell me the whole story—from beginning to end.”

I told her more than I’d told anyone: Starting with the counsel in the leopards’ wagon, the taming of Hook for Quill to ride. Then about finding Quill’s men—and finding out he was their captain–going back to Gillenwater with Jemin and the Tryber showing me the way into the garrison.

“We were already gone,” she put in ruefully.

I told her about the soldiers leading me to the girls, my impulsive intervention, and the ensuing daring escape. Nadine gasped at all the right parts and urged me to keep going when I paused at the homecoming. “We walked for days and days,” I replied, waving my hand. “First to rejoin the men, then to get as far away as we could, then to rescue you. We left the girls with Gabe and Balleck at the house of a friend, they’ll be going to rejoin the circus as soon as they’ve rested.”

“I bet Ayglos and Namal were upset you didn’t leave them any heroics to do in Gillenwater,” laughed Nadine, tossing a look toward the old great hall.

I laughed, “Probably.”

“What about Balleck?” asked my sister.

“What about him?” My cheeks warmed. I didn’t want to talk about Balleck.

“What did he think?” Nadine arched a brow, well aware she’d hit on something.

“He was glad enough to have Olena safe,” I replied.

Nadine studied me, looking for the things I hadn’t said. “What did he think when he found out who you were? Since I assume that secret didn’t last long past that captain recognizing father.”

I bit my lip. “He didn’t know what to think. Especially once we were with Quill’s men and I started doing dangerous things.” I paused, then charged ahead—Nadine would drag it out of me eventually anyway.  “Before we left to stop your caravan he asked me to go with him when they went back to the circus.”

Nadine sat back, her blue eyes widening, “Go with him? Just to be safe, or forever?”

I shifted. Technically he hadn’t said, but, “Both. I think.”

“Oh, Zare, and you said no.”

“I couldn’t say yes; my place is here.” I looked out the window. There had been glass panes once, but the jagged pieces that remained were blackened from the fire. “I can’t leave you, and I can’t leave the fight.”

Nadine grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Do you think…that ended it? Until those soldiers came I was really expecting him to ask father about courting you before the year was over.”

I thought about the conversation Balleck and I had in the barn. “Oh yes, the possibility of us is gone.” The thought made me sad, but not as sad as I would have expected. I turned to Nadine, realizing with some surprise the fullness of what she’d said, “You expected me to marry a circus performer? So soon?”

“Well,” defended Nadine, spreading her hands, “Galhara burned, we were hiding, our dethroning seemed rather permanent. The circus wasn’t a bad life, you and Ayglos in particular were quite at home there. It didn’t feel so farfetched at the time.”

“Would you go back if you could?” I asked.

“To the circus?” Nadine thought about it. “I don’t know where else we’d go.”

“We could go anywhere.”

“Not really, we’d have to find a way to eat.”

I leaned against the wall and regarded her. “You would probably be married to what’s-his-name now if we hadn’t been besieged.” Even with the fear of the Nether Queen throwing all sorts of strange kinks into the chess game of marriage alliances, Nadine had been engaged. I didn’t think they’d been in love, but he was likeable prince from Charpolia, the city across the bay from Galhara.

Nadine looked out the window. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I probably would.”

“And I would be wading through suitors, complaining to you about the process,” I added.

This brought a smirk to my sister’s face, her eyes flicked back to me for a moment. “As entertaining as that would have been, I don’t mind missing that.”

“If this rebellion succeeds, we’ll be going back to that.”

Nadine turned back to me, “Would you rather have Balleck?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. Instead I turned back to the window and starred out at the overgrown lane and the cypress trees. I had already given up the circus, and I didn’t have a deep desire to go back. But I also wasn’t sure I wanted every aspect of royalty now that I’d tasted life away from it.

Just then two heads bobbed into view on horseback and I heard Hook whinny in greeting.

Posted on

40-Safehouse

 

“This is the back entrance,” explained Quilll, sounding apologetic as we filed in. “This passage leads to the main hall, and this to the left to the kitchens and larders. We can block the door behind us and turn the horses loose in the main hall—it’s grassy now and there is an old fountain we can fill for them from the well in the courtyard behind you.” He gestured broadly and led the way left toward the kitchen.

There was plenty of rubble around, and not much roof to cast shade even with the sun going down. But the hallway was passable and the six Galhari followed Quill while Jemin took the reins of the horses and headed for the main hall.

The house had been splendid once. Little bits of the carved trim remained on the walls, hinting at the taste and wealth of the former owners. The kitchen Quill led us to was huge and still had most of its ceiling. He kept going into what was clearly a sizeable pantry–sunken a few steps into the ground and lined with shelves that still held dusty jugs and jars. At first I thought he was looking for food, but he went straight to the back and pushed on a stone in the wall. With a soft clunk the wall swung open like a door on hinges, revealing another passageway leading down.

 “Follow me, we can rest in here,” Quill trotted down the steps familiarly and we followed.

“What better place for a secret room than with easy access to the pantry,” commented Ayglos when we’d reached the bottom.

“I believe the first lord intended it for a wine cellar,” Quill replied. “Then a later lord decided this one was far too small.”

“Too small?” I marveled. The room was plenty long, most of it was dark but there were slits in the walls near the ceiling that allowed daylight and fresh air inside. It appeared that the cellar had been used to store excess furniture, but only half-heartedly as the room was by no means full. There were chairs in stacks against one walls, a thin table, a bookshelf and a pair of wardrobes. Quill was rummaging in a corner and produced some candles and a lamp. Ayglos helped him light them while we looked for places to spread our beds.

“No one comes close to this villa, by order of the Nether Queen.” Quill hung the lamp from a hook on the inside wall. “But it is still safer down here than in the main house—warmer, also, and drier.”

“Why this villa?” I asked.

“The owner was one of her staunchest opponents during the war with Dalyn. They say that he killed one of her favorite commanders and nearly reached her in one of the last battles of the war. She didn’t forget. This place is an example of what happens to her enemies.” Quill’s voice sounded husky, but he turned back toward the stairs before I could ask more questions, “There are one or two others she destroyed to make a point, but this is the only one that she forbade to be rebuilt.”  Pausing at the foot of the stairs, he turned back and bowed, not meeting my eyes, “If you excuse me, I will see what I can do about water.”

I thought about following him to find out more; why did he know his place, to whom did it belong, had he truly been overcome with emotion just then? I decided that following would be too forward. I might ask Jemin, though.

Quill wasn’t gone long, but when he returned with Jemin we had quite a bit done. Ayglos and Namal had found eight serviceable chairs and set them around the thin little table. Nadine and I had spread the bedrolls deeper in the room, then with help dragged the wardrobes out a little to block view of the bedrolls from the stair—just a little more protection.

“You’ve been busy,” said Quill with a smile. He lofted a large, chipped, pitcher with one hand and pushed the hidden door closed with the other. Jemin was already lumbering down the stairs carrying a full bucket in one hand an empty basin in the other.

Ayglos and I met Jemin at the bottom of the stairs, Ayglos insisted on taking the bucket of water and I snatched the basin out of his other hand before he could protest.

“Thank you,” said Jemin, obviously feeling awkward.

I smiled at him, “You’ve done quite a lot for us, we’re grateful too.”

Quill reached the bottom of the stairs and Jemin reached out a hand for Quill’s pitcher, as if he wasn’t sure how to walk into the room without carrying something. Quill handed the pitcher over, and then I noticed that he had a sowers bag slung over his shoulder, and it was bulging and heavy.

“What do you have?” I asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

Quill grinned. “Come see.”

He led the way to the table, where Ayglos had already set down the bucket, and hoisted his bag onto the table. It thunked heavily. He reached in and fished out a glass jar full of something dark.

“Preserves!” exclaimed Nadine.

“Are they still good?” asked Namal.

“We’ll find out,” replied Quill, unloading the rest of the jars onto the table.

Everyone took turns cleaning up with the pitcher and basin while Quill and Jemin gathered our food supplies and set about opening the jars. Jemin announced his success cheerfully, “Raspberry preserves!” He sniffed the contents and grinned. “Still as wonderful as the day they were jarred.”

Raspberry preserves improve almost everything they touch—even waybread. We crunched on our sweetened fare while the sun set and darkness enfolded the ruin and our hiding place. We swapped stories about the past two weeks and I lent Nadine and Mother Boitumelo’s satchel to treat Father’s injuries. Or try to. Then, finally, we slept. For the first time in two long, harrowing weeks, we were together and safe.

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