by Edun, Terah
When Vedaris indicated a small portion around the lung and some small tendrils that had spread further, Sidimo muttered, “It’s as I suspected. The poison hasn’t completely overwhelmed his system. There’s still a chance.”
Sidimo took a calming breath and looked up at his companions. He said, “Here’s what we have to do. Allorna will break off the head of the arrow in his back. Vedaris is going to pull the arrow shaft out of his chest and keep an eye on the poison. I’ll temporarily block the blood flow out of the affected area. Maride will keep an eye on his mental state.”
Sidimo paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, “The next steps are some of the most crucial, particularly for Maride. If his brain looses too much blood, he may live but his mind will die, which is why you need to keep an eye on his mind. Allorna will cauterize the wound. And Sitara will keep a steady flow of air into the sealed lung.”
Allorna shut her eyes quickly and sent a quick prayer to the gods: “Heaven help us all.”
All five of them were pale, nervous, but determined to do their parts. They got to work; and they all held their breaths until the sharp snap of the arrowhead parting from the shaft reverberated through the clearing. At Sidimo’s nod, Vedaris carefully pulled the arrow shaft back through the opening in the watchman’s chest. As he did so, he noticed more blackness leaking from the shaft into the body. The black fog dispersed as soon as it made contact with blood, but there was nothing he could do about that. He noted the dispersal to Sidimo absentmindedly.
Sidimo, aware of the rising poison, did what he could to block the blood loss. There was nothing he could do as the poison spread through the man’s body. He asked Allorna quietly, as he rearranged the torn flesh, to lightly cauterize the wound to stop the intense blood flow. Carefully, she called up a blue flame into the palm of her hand—about a tenth the size of the flame she normally used, and searing hot. Lowering her palm carefully over the area Sidimo indicated, she proceeded to burn the flesh closed.
Sitara had already selected a tiny bit of breeze, the size of a quill, from the sky to flow into the man’s mouth. She asked Maride to monitor his mental state as she did that; she knew if the watchman became distressed, that meant the air flow might be too intense. As they closed up the wound, Maride stood up. He was careful to keep monitoring the watchman, but he had heard something: a rustle of leaves nearby. It wasn’t coming from the direction of the convoy, which had been passing them even as they stumbled down the hill, but off to the right.
Out of the trees walked a young man; Maride could see that he wore the badge of the gardis. Vedaris looked up from the wound in ire. He could smell another person, and wanted to know the identity of the idiot interrupting his concentration. To his annoyance, he saw that it was the gardis from the market. Without really thinking about—it was Vedaris, after all—he said caustically, “What? Are you following me now?”
The young gardis crouched by the head of the watchman with Sitara, who hadn’t turned around from her duty, to his right and behind Maride. “No,” he said shortly. He noted that the youths were attempting to save the man’s life in a brief glance, and with surprise also noted that they were doing a pretty good job of it.
Standing up, the gardis unclipped his silver badge from his waist, raised it to his lips, and said, “Tenase—Gardis, Section 3, Sandrin. I’m about two miles south of the Madrassa on the Imperial Way. There’s an injured guardsman and five youths here. I need a healer’s aid immediately. Over.”
A moment later a male voice replied, “Madrassa Central responding. Healers out. Expected time, 4 minutes.”
After that, there was nothing more to do but wait. Tenase said nothing; and although worried about a multitude of things, neither did the five youths. They continued with their ministrations.
When the two pegasi-born healers arrived, things moved quickly. They checked the imperial watchman’s vital signs, instituted emergency aid, and bundled him onto the tarp spread between the two pegasi.
The Initiate who came with them, Thoth—the Ansari from earlier—told the five youths to follow him. He carried with him a temporary portal. The portal was a rare article imbued with Residual Magic, which would allow its bearer to jump from place to place within a certain range and for a limited number of times.
When they arrived back at the Madrassa, the five youths noted glumly that the pegasi had already arrived with their patient as Thoth guided them into administrative headquarters. Vedaris, sharp-eyed, said quietly to his companions, “It seems the day isn’t over yet.”
They noted the warning in his tone, and looked over to see that the standard bearers for both the Duke of Carne and the Imperial gardis stood in the hallway. “Dreck,” muttered Sidimo, too tired to care about language.
Headmaster Masadi motioned for all of them to follow him up the stairs into the Administrator of the Citadel’s office. It did not look good for them. As they entered, Vedaris, Sitara, and Allorna had an almost defensive look about them.
Maride noted silently that the Duke of Carne was present, as was the Commander of the Imperial Guard and a tall man behind a rather large desk, a man who must be the Administrator of the Citadel. Thoth stayed with the group, but Masadi excused himself to tend to the fallen imperial watchman, Mikkelwite.
Allorna raised her head and strode forward. She was determined not to let her friends take the fall for this—any of this. She said, “Commander, Duke Arnis, and Administrator: I take full responsibility for the actions which led to the destruction of the tower back in Sandrin…and… and for breaking an accused murderer out of jail.” Her hands were clenched tightly at her waist. At that moment, she looked every inch the proud but scared 15-year-old girl.
Maride began to protest, “But she didn’t do it all on her own!” He ignored Allorna’s caustic look, and continued, “I said before that I didn’t kill my fiancé, and I didn’t! But…but I did deceive Allorna into breaking me out and helping to bring down the tower.” His voice shaking as he continued, “I’m sorry, but she didn’t know what she was doing, and I will answer for those crimes.”
Not to be left out, Sidimo stepped forward and said resolutely, “And I as well.”
The Administrator stared at them with an unreadable look on his face. The Commander of the Imperial Guard was stone-faced and stern, and the Duke just arched an eyebrow curiously. Sitara and Vedaris, for their part, stood tense and quiet behind their friends.
Sitara was squinting at something to the left of the Commander. Allorna noted that out of the corner of her eye, but thought Sitara was staring at her father’s uniform…until Sitara took a hesitant step forward, and Vedaris grabbed her wrist harshly. On the streets an ordinary city watchman would hit a girl who stared too blatantly, never mind the drecking Commander of the Imperial Guard.
What they didn’t know was that Sitara could see a second aura hovering near the Commander’s shoulder. It was very hazy, like a second shadow. She squinted harder, but nothing more solid appeared. She wondered…and then she felt Vedaris’ touch.
As soon as he grabbed her, Vedaris cursed loudly and for a long time. The power that surged from him to her popped a visual barrier. This time, since she knew what to look for, Sitara felt and saw the moment the cloak fell from the person it surrounded. It had happened again: the stupid veil trick.
Vedaris’ curses were so strong that Sidimo, Maride, and Allorna turned to look at him in amazement. Vedaris knew who this was; you had to before boarding any ship destined to dock at the Windswept Isles for passage to Sandrin.
After a long moment of silence, Duke Arnis said, “Maride. Turn and look.” Maride did so, looking like he wanted to break down sobbing on the floor. He had imagined guardsmen would appear at a silent signal from the Commander, ready to arrest him for his crimes; or worse, the Inquisitor might come to question him. But Maride nearly collapsed when he saw who it really was. His gasp had Allorna and Sidimo quickly turning to see what Vedar
is and Sitara already saw.
Damian, Lord of the Windswept Isles and Guardian of the Port, stood just to the right of the Commander of the Imperial Guard—whole and alive. Finally, Maride did collapse. Sitara grabbed him about the waist and eased him to the floor, glaring daggers at the lord whom everyone had thought was long dead.
Damian swept forward—to talk to Maride, to console him perhaps. None of them were sure, as Allorna firmly stepped in front of him, her stance indicating that she was ready for a fight. Damian halted, not just because of Allorna’s fierce disposition, but also due to the restraining hand laid on his arm by the Commander. With a deep sigh, the Commander said, “Allorna, my daughter, you have always managed to attract so much…trouble.”
“Daughter!” Vedaris squawked indignantly. Everyone else ignored him.
“I think it’s time that we explained what has been going on,” said the Administrator of the Citadel, as he stood up and stepped out from behind his desk.
Thoth spoke up from the right side of the room: “It would be best if everyone grabbed a seat, then.” They each sat in an available chair, while Thoth perched on an open window ledge.
The Lord of the Windswept Isles sighed, then said, “I cannot tell you everything.” His gaze was directed at Maride as he continued, “But know that you were never in danger of being convicted of treason or murder, or hurt in the least way.”
He turned to the entire group. “The Empire has been fighting wars in the North. You know this, but only intellectually. For a long while, Sandrin has been shielded from the effects of these wars by both distance and natural barriers. But that war has now come to us.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him. “There was a targeted attempt on my life last fall, as well as on the lives of many of those closest to me.”
Vedaris frowned, wondering why assassins had chosen to target this particular minor lord. As if he had asked the question aloud, Damian rubbed his eyes tiredly and said, “I guard not only the main port into Sandrin, but also maintain the protective barrier over the city and its inhabitants. If my family falls, so too does that barrier.”
The Commander interrupted: “Twelve weeks ago, soon after the attack on Damian, we learned that an attack had been directed against, amongst others, Maride Bercen—his fiancé.” Maride paled but didn’t object to the narrative; Sitara held his hand tightly.
“It was at that point that I decided I needed to keep him safe, away from the possibility of another attack,” said Damian.
At that statement Allorna protested loudly, “By imprisoning him in a tower and accusing him of murder?!”
The Lord of the Windswept Isles said icily, “He was never formally charged with anything in court, and I gather that the only reason you knew of his imprisonment was because you read your father’s correspondence.”
Allorna shifted guilty in her seat. Maride said quietly to his friends, “I…was never interrogated. Just questioned, really, and told that I had stay in the tower.” He looked uncertainly at his fiancé. “Books were brought every day.”
“So your accommodations were nice,” commented Vedaris sarcastically. “It’s still wrong. Drecking nobles.”
The Administrator said, “I’ll remind you to watch your tongue, Master Saracen. You’re still on thin ice here.”
Sidimo sighed, sensing that all this was going nowhere, and asked, “And what about the Imperial guardsman?”
The Commander of the Royal Guard said stiffly, “We knew of your journey here about two days after you made it.” At this, he turned his eyes to Allorna, who cringed in embarrassment—whether due to the tower break-out, or the fact that she hadn’t alerted her father to her whereabouts, her friends weren’t sure.
The Commander continued, “I dispatched an Imperial Watchman to keep an eye on all of you and send for me if anything else went awry.” Noticing his dry tone, the five youths all shifted in their seats, even Vedaris and Sitara, who were no doubt thinking of their own unconventional methods of arrival.
“So what happened to him?” questioned Sitara.
“That is not up for discussion,” said the Duke of Carne sternly.
“But we are grateful for your timely intervention,” responded Thoth. The students looked like they wanted to protest, but the conversation was clearly over. Sitara, at least, wanted to leave before it segued into why they were outside the Citadel grounds in the first place. She couldn’t remember if that was against the rules in the handbook or not.
The Commander said, “Yes, it’s getting late. You’ll be updated on the watchman’s health, but know that your extraordinary skills saved a man’s life today.”
The Duke of Carne, the Administrator of the Citadel, and the Lord of the Windswept Isles all nodded solemnly. Vedaris looked like he was about to roll his eyes, but Maride pinched him before he could.
The Commander noted, “You’re all dismissed back to the Marsea Gatehouse. Allorna, stay behind.”
Damian gestured hurriedly to Maride as they all stood. “If you have a moment, I would like to discuss this,” he said.
Maride opened his mouth and then closed it mulishly. After a long moment, he said in a low voice, “If you don’t mind, milord, I need some time to think.” He turned away, and then turned back to say, “As long as I’m not under arrest?”
The lord sighed, but all he said was, “All charges have been dropped, and nothing was filed beyond that.”
“Thank you, milord,” responded Maride as he quietly slipped out of the Administrator’s office alongside Vedaris, Sidimo, and Sitara.
Sidimo looked behind him at Allorna, and noted that she and her father were following them out. They diverged off toward the courtyard, however, as the other four youths walked toward the gatehouse.
As Allorna walked by her father’s side, she remembered a day on a sandy beach just over a year ago, when they had also walked side-by-side. I thought that day was bad…but today is bound to be worse, she mused. Once they were surrounded by the hedges of a flowering garden her father—no, the Commander of the Imperial Guard—turned to face her.
He took a long moment, taking in her features while she stood ramrod straight. He could tell she wanted to shift uncomfortably under his gaze, but, he noted proudly, her training came through. “Allorna,” he began, “I…”
“Father,” she said, “Wait.” Her voice wavered as she continued; “I am so sorry. Sorry for disappointing you, and for disappointing the family. I’ve shamed us—shamed you as a guardian of the royal family, and as a citizen of Sandrin.” She stood shaking, not out of fear but out of inner turmoil.
“If you would let me finish my sentence, dear daughter,” said the Commander wryly, while pulling up her chin to meet her eyes, “I was going to say that I’ve never been more proud of you as a father.” Her eyes widened in surprise, but she remained silent. He continued with a gentle smile, “Yes, you broke every rule in the gardis handbook—but you did it to save a boy who truly needed you.”
They stood for a moment, the silence flowing between them as he paused to collect his thoughts. Finally he asked, “What have I always told you?”
Allorna recited from memory: “A true gardis trusts their instincts.”
“Yes, and that was precisely what you did. You trusted your instincts, and you were right: Maride was not a murderer. But you should have come to me first with your suspicions.”
She opened her mouth to interrupt, but the frown on his face halted whatever she had planned to say. “I may not have been able to confirm your doubts,” he said, “But I would have listened and acted in service of the realm.” Allorna nodded numbly.
“As the Commander of the Imperial Guard,” he continued, “I cannot and will not condone what you did. As such, I am withdrawing your bid for full traineeship under the tutelage of the Knights of the Realm. In a year, you may reapply as a junior candidate.”
Allorna paled, pursed her lips, and did not comment.
She deserved far worse, and she knew it.
“In addition,” he continued, “Half of the pay from your student worker salary for the next year will be used to finance the debt incurred from the tower reconstruction.”
Allorna nodded her head, looking down at her feet. She whispered a “Yes, father,” when nothing more was forthcoming. She had thought she would be returning to Sandrin. As she stared down at her feet, contemplating the judgment, she couldn’t decide whether this new development was good or bad. Deciding there was nothing to do now but accept her fate, she straightened her shoulders and gave him a salute.
At that moment, a commotion sounded from inside the glass atrium where she and her friends had met for the first time two weeks ago. The doors swung open with an abrupt bang and gust of wind. Out strode two of Allorna’s worst nightmares. A young man walked in front at a fast clip, his leather boots striking the ground firmly and his blue cloak flapping in the wind. Behind him sashayed a woman with the curves of a goddess and the smirk of a trueborn bitch.
Allorna and her father stood staring at them both, Allorna thinking—but not voicing—a string of curses that would have made Vedaris proud. Her father’s face was unreadable as he took in the pair before them. When the young man had approached to within five steps of them, her father knelt on one knee. A half-second later, so did Allorna. The delay was unconscionable, but she begged the gods to forgive her and keep her from striking the boy. She refused to even think of him as a young man, before crown and country. As they knelt before him, the boy—who was only a year older than Allorna—and the woman stopped before them. All Allorna could see were shiny black leather boots and the cascading flow of a red silk dress. Her lip curled in distaste.