Sword and Sorceress 28

by Unknown

  No official reason had been given for Faydra’s death. But rumor had it she had been plotting to overthrow the king. Even though we hadn’t seen each other in over five years, I knew that wasn’t Faydra. It just wasn’t in her character.

  I had tried to confront King Liam as to why he had ordered her death but found myself barred from his presence. The one time I crossed paths with him, he refused to even look at me. I suspected my presence reminded him I went there by his command.

  I shook my head. She could have stopped me—countermanded the order and halted the Huntress spell. But she didn’t. “All it would have taken was a single word,” I whispered. “But you didn’t. Why?”

  Only silence answered me.

  I drew the shutter and went to the hearth, where I found a few embers ready to be awakened. I stirred them to life and fed them a few pieces of oak. The reborn flames danced prettily. As always, Faydra sprang to mind when I did this, reminded of how we first met.

  In my early years, I lived quietly with just my mother in a small cottage. But one day during my tenth year, she took to her bed and shortly died. While my cheeks were still wet with grief, the men arrived. And I learned the truth. My mother had been a mistress of the king, and I, his illegitimate child.

  I was straight away taken to my father, King Liam. He gave me one look, said I looked like my mother, and dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I was assigned a room, fed and bathed with nary a kind word. I later learned the servants were terrified to show me any favor lest they bring down the Queen’s fury. She had not been a kind lady.

  And so I found myself in a strange room, in a strange bed all alone. I still remembered how terrified I was that first night. The bed had seemed huge. The shutter creaked in the wind and the room was cold, so cold I could not get warm. Yet I was determined not to cry and denied the wet streaks sliding down my face. Maybe I dozed, I’m not completely sure, but a loud pop from the fireplace startled me. I bolted upright to find someone stoking the fire. A girl just a few years younger than me squatted in front of it in nothing but her nightdress. The orange light from the fire illuminated the fabric and seemed to make her glow with warmth. She must have heard me sit up and turned to look at me. “I thought you might be lonely,” she said and grinned. She ran to my bed, and giggling, jumped under the covers beside me. Suddenly the bed had seemed snug and warm. “I’m Faydra. We’re sisters. I’ve always wanted a sister.”

  I smiled to myself. She had gotten a severe scolding for that trick. Her mother forbad her to have anything to do with me. (Not that it stopped her.) I was, after all, her competition for the king’s favor.

  I sighed. Little chance there had been for that. I learned early on that in my father’s eyes, daughters were nothing but brood stock for alliances. And that was one fate I was determined to resist.

  I went to the foot of my bed where I kept my gear. I took up my sword and carried it back to the fire along with some oil, rag and whetstone. I pulled my sword from its scabbard and began to rub it down. The servants would do this for me, but I insisted on doing it myself. Your weapons are your life in a fight and I didn’t relish trusting mine to servants who were more interested in their next cup of ale than keeping me safe.

  I swore I wasn’t going to look, but I did anyway, finding them exactly as before: two irregularly shaped spots on the blade just shy of the guard. They looked like where drops of water had wetted it, yet for some reason refused to roll off. Two of them. One for each of the tears my sister had shed.

  Afterwards, on the night of her death, as I cleaned my sword (and shed my own tears), I noticed them for the first time. How had they gotten there? I tried to clean them off with oil, but they stubbornly remained no matter how hard I rubbed. The next day, I went to the blacksmith and he tried various methods including heat and scouring, but neither worked. He suggested I see an alchemist to perhaps try acid, but warned it could permanently weaken the blade.

  I next went to a priestess, reasoning it must be some kind of magic. My sister did practice—some said she was very good. The priestess confirmed it was indeed some kind of sealed spell with some sort of trigger. But as to what the trigger was, she had no idea.

  “You say she died when these were made,” the priestess had asked.

  I could only nod.

  “That would explain their feel. A casting quite powerful is locked inside one of them. Whoever did this must have been desperate, because she poured the remains of her life into it.” She looked up into my eyes and found something painful. She immediately glanced away. “But other than that, I cannot tell you more.”

  So what exactly had my sister done? I didn’t think it was to harm me. To me, she had always been sweet and gentle. Only once had she been short with me. Not too long after my sister reached marriageable age, she was bargained off to one of my father’s stronger lords to consolidate an alliance. With the queen having died the year before and no one to intervene on her behalf, she had resigned herself to her new fate. She had come to see me the day before she was supposed to leave.

  As soon as I saw her, I could tell she was angry. At first I thought it was at me, I had by that time made myself quite undesirable as a bride.

  “No, my sister,” she shook her head. “I’m not angry with you. It’s father I’m angry at. This alliance is only for war and his foolishness will ruin the land.”

  “But you are going in my place,” I protested. “I’m the one that should be leaving. I can understand why you might be angry with me.”

  Her expression softened and a sad smile touched her lips. “Your destiny is much different from mine. You have a great duty ahead of you. A very important one.” And with that she pulled me forward and gave me a kiss on the forehead. I felt it tingle. “Our time together has been short. Never forget that I love you. I have from the first time I saw you enter father’s court. Just remember that I will always protect you.” I could see tears in her eyes.

  I remember watching her turn and walk briskly from the room. I think I heard her give a single sob as the door closed behind her. Why? Why five years later did she have to die?

  Why did father order me to kill her?

  I went back to cleaning my sword. These were the questions I pondered until the horizon began to lighten. And I was no closer to an answer than I was several months ago.

  ~o0o~

  When it was light enough to see, I pulled on a loose shirt and trousers and went out to the practice yard. I faced the rising sun and stretched as my old tutors had instructed to prepare for the more complex moves to come.

  Father had thought it amusing that I took up the sword. A girl. It provided him great entertainment to watch me fall on my backside while I learned. That will teach that girl her place, I could hear him say. To discourage me, he sought out the cruelest tutors he could find. And for the first few years, my backside stayed quite bruised. I cut off my hair and would dress like a boy, almost always covered in bruises and dirt from the practice yard. The servants constantly talked about me. The Wild Girl, they called me. Those in my father’s court laughed. But I ignored their chattering. I persisted and grew stronger.

  One day a minor lord boasted to the king he would show me my place. He was good...but I was better. Another came forward days later and I beat him too. Perhaps a little more soundly than I should have.

  Suddenly no one laughed anymore—including my father. Shortly after, he ordered me to start wearing dresses and sent servants to bathe and dress me. I kept the bath, but sent the dresses back.

  Next, he found me a husband. When I refused, my father decreed that the first man to best me, could bed me. I did not think that was amusing. And the first few challengers did not think their method of losing was amusing either.

  Angry now, father sent me into battle. I returned victorious. But instead of the recognition I craved, he decided that I was too dangerous to leave unchained.

  Oh, how I cursed that day.

  “Mistress!” I jerked at the sudden i
nterruption of my thoughts. I slowly turned to find a servant at the edge of the practice field. I glared at him coldly and he swallowed nervously. “Mistress. His majesty requests your presence in his quarters.”

  “What does he want with me?” I wiped the sweat from my forehead, watching the servant dance nervously from foot to foot.

  “Mistress, I do not know. But he did receive a visitor late last night.”

  I frowned. This could only be trouble. Yet it would give me a chance to finally talk with my father. “I will be there after I get my coat.”

  The servant took a step back. “He said to tell you to come now.” He swallowed nervously. “He said he didn’t care if you were stark naked in bed with your lover or straining over a chamber pot, to get there now.”

  Typical father. I sheathed my sword. “Lead on.”

  I expected to go to his court, but instead I was led to his private chambers. Two soldiers stood either side of the door: my father’s personal guards. They barred my entrance. “Your sword, Mistress Kerrin,” said the one on the left.

  I knew no one was allowed to bring a weapon into the king’s presence. Not even his daughter. Or more likely, especially this daughter. My first impulse was to say something rude and refuse, but I decided that today perhaps I should play along. I unbuckled it and handed it to the guard. He seemed relieved and stepped aside.

  Knocking once and entering, I found father sitting in his favorite chair, and strangely, still in his bed clothes with his gray hair still unkempt. He also seemed thinner and his eyes had dark shadows under them. I blinked in surprise. Normally, he was up and fully dressed before the sun. Was father ill?

  My half-brother Prince Cavan lounged across from him in all his richly dressed, royal splendor. Their conversation stopped immediately.

  Goddess, could this day not get any better? Cavan was very much the spoilt child: extremely impatient and expecting to be pampered and flattered. In appearance, he took more after father with light brown hair and a handsome face (or so the ladies said). He also had father’s temperament. Only Cavan was crueler. Much crueler. I dreaded the day he became king.

  “Good day to you, sister.” Cavan smiled, but his eyes glinted with malice. “Are you feeling any better? I heard you’ve been having nightmares.”

  I stiffened. How did he know? He always did have a knack for finding out secrets. Cavan was using that knowledge to try and goad me into losing my temper in front of father. But I held my tongue and kept my expression blank. I didn’t want to spoil my chance to question father.

  King Liam leaned forward. “Kerrin, we’ve found a task for you. We’ve gained a clue as to the whereabouts of the rebel leader. You’re to leave immediately to find him. Now hold out your arm.”

  I didn’t move. “The last time you did this, it cost me my sister’s life.”

  He paused in mid-motion. “That was a mistake!” He spat out. The venom in his voice surprised me.

  “A mistake! You used that damn spell to make me kill my sister, and it was a mistake!”

  He looked up at me with fire in his eye. “Yes, a mistake. Somehow the traitor managed to switch the anchor with another. Unfortunately, it was one of Faydra’s old scarves she left behind.”

  He pulled out a small silver box with a hinged lid. “But with this, we’ll have our revenge.” He opened the lid.

  The inside was lined with black velvet and laying across it, I could see a single long hair, light in color. He carefully lifted the hair and looked up. He seemed surprised I hadn’t already extended my arm.

  “I don’t want to do this....”

  “Huntress,” he commanded and I instantly stiffened as the spell seized me.

  He didn’t even seem to notice. “It is not your place to question me. I have this on the best intelligence. Now, extend your arm! I want you on your way within the hour. I want my revenge!”

  The spell would not allow me to disobey. I extended my right arm and he carefully draped the long hair over my wrist. He smiled wickedly up at me. “By my command, seek and kill. Huntress. Get the bastard that caused Faydra’s death.”

  Spurred by father’s anger, the binding spell hit me hard. By itself, the hair wrapped itself tightly around my wrist where it would stay until my task was completed. I spun on my heel and stepped toward the door.

  Cavan called after me, his voice dripping in sarcasm. “I do hope this hunt doesn’t make your nightmares any worse!”

  I ignored him. My concern at the moment was to control the spell long enough to get my gear together.

  ~o0o~

  The horse trotted down the road at a good clip. After a week of travel the prey had grown very close. The spell wanted my mount to run, to gallop until his heart exploded. But I resisted, knowing, as the spell did not, that pushing the animal to death would not help.

  I shifted in my saddle. I also rode alone, with my father’s guards several hours behind me. They had long since learned to stay out of my way.

  Damn this spell—this collar of magic my father had put on me. I cursed myself for being a coward.

  ~o0o~

  Several years ago, on the day after I returned from my last battle, I was called to my father’s court. I had expected to be rewarded for my bravery, but instead I was surrounded by twelve of his personal guard. My weapons were taken and my hands bound. Father then announced to his court that I had become a threat to him, and especially, his heirs. I had grown too powerful, and, with my bastard status, he feared I would challenge his legitimate children for the throne. But he was merciful and saw usefulness in my service. So he gave me the choice: die...or receive the Huntress Collar.

  And in my cowardice I chose to live.

  I shook my head. The Huntress Collar was a powerful spell, more curse actually, which would force me to obey not only my father’s orders, but those of his children, Faydra and Cavan. I also was prohibited from harming them without a direct command.

  And use me, my father did. I became his assassin: a deadly weapon with no mercy and no choice. All he needed was an object that belonged to the person, and I would track them down. I was no stranger to killing, having survived a few battles. But there is something very different about facing an armed soldier on the battle field and some terrified minor lord in his bedroom.

  Faydra was horror struck by what father had done. Until she left to be wed, she would seek me out after I returned from a hunt, and we would weep together.

  On this day, the sun was high overhead and pleasantly warm for early spring. Some of the trees beside the road had already started to bloom. This had been Faydra’s favorite time. As a child, she had so loved to watch spring unfold. We often snuck away to help with the horses and maybe get a brief ride if we were lucky. It was on just such a day as we walked back from the stables that she stopped and squatted beside a tiny purple flower poking up from the ground. She looked at it for quite a while, carefully studying it, until I prompted her that we had to be back. Her mother would discipline us both.

  But Faydra did not move. She had always been a little strange for a child. I supposed it was her magical abilities, which had awoken so very early. She would just sometimes go elsewhere in her mind.

  Suddenly, the moment broke. She looked up at me with a very serious expression, and then she said something which I only recently understood the meaning of. “You know I can do magic, don’t you.”

  I nodded. Suddenly afraid to speak.

  “I can even see into the future. Take this flower. It will be crushed under some cow’s foot before the week is out. But that is all right, because that trampled flower will have managed a single seed. Then, next year, from that seed, another flower even prettier and stronger will grow. And from that daughter flower, seeds will spread which will turn this entire meadow a beautiful shade of deep purple.”

  I held out my hand to her. “We must be getting back before they find us missing.”

  She ignored me, continuing in her speaking. “I also know you’re going to
kill me one day. I’ve known since the first day I saw you. But don’t worry, it’s not for many years yet and it’s not your fault.”

  “That’s nonsense.” I said, thinking her playing some prank on me. “I’d never hurt you.” I reached for her hand. “We have to go.”

  She snatched my hand tightly and rose, pulling me close. “But remember sister, I will protect you....”

  I shook my head to clear the painful memories. She had known I was her death. And yet she befriended me. Sought me out even. Why had she done it?

  The Huntress Collar jerked me out of my thoughts. A side road appeared to my left, and it was insisting I take that direction. I could feel we were very close and I urged the horse into a gallop.

  Rounding a clump of trees, I spied a cottage just up the hill and knew my target lay just inside. I urged my horse even faster and felt the familiar spell fall in around me. I couldn’t suppress the evil grin which spread over my face.

  I reined in just before the door, trampling several rows of flowers just starting to bloom, and dismounted before the horse had even stopped moving. I ran to the door, shoving it open with my shoulder where it banged loudly into the wall. I scanned the cottage’s interior noting the single hearth on the far wall, a single bed with two pillows to the right, meal preparations scattered on the table before me. Two bowls sitting out.

  I heard a frightened sob and glanced to the corner where an older woman huddled in terror. I drew my sword and prepared for the death blow....

  When a small red haired child, with vibrant green eyes, rose over the woman’s shoulder to stare at me. And I was so taken off guard I froze for just a moment. The old woman wasn’t my target. It was the child!