North & South

by K T Munson

  He put his hands on her shoulders and settled her down as he asked as nicely as Rauf could, “Please undress.”

  Celia eyed him suspiciously but began tugging at her layers. She unbuckled her belt and let it fall on the bed as she untied the lacing on her dress. She began to pull at its holds until it loosened enough that she was able to tug it over her head. Under she wore a loose shift, the one she normally slept in. She reached up to loosen it as well when his hand stopped her.

  “That is enough,” Rauf said and she swore his eyes burned with fire as he said it. “Lay back, close your eyes, and trust me.”

  Celia frowned but she did as he asked. “You had better believe, oh!”

  He had lifted her skirts and pried her thin small clothes away. She had liked the way the thin silk felt and was loathed to part with it even though it offered little protection. Celia’s eyes shot open as his breath touched the inside of her thighs and she tried to jerk away startled, but he locked his arms around her legs. She began to protest but instead gasped as his tongue found its mark. She moaned in pleasure and forgot all objection; her embarrassment forgotten in pleasure. Rauf was right; he did make her scream his name.

  Chapter 39

  Hadrian

  The city of Tiam rose up before him like a promise; he could all but hear it whispering his name. It had been decades since he had seen Tiam; not since he fled Roanoak an exiled man eighteen years ago. As he stared at the building tops he knew that somewhere within those walls was a man who had created his salvation; the ability to fly and attack from above. His people had been right to say Roanoak would not accept him back with a warm embrace. It only would see an exiled prince and an army of freed slaves.

  He had slowed the progression of his people and gone ahead. It would be best to search Tiam alone without the scrutiny of thousands of eyes on twenty two ships. He had gathered goods to be sold and put them onto a single ship. They would pose as merchants that had left before the fall of Ostapor. Hadrian was among them pulling barrels and crates.

  He listened to the talk of the men on the docks and learned much from them. Sometimes he wondered if merchants were the worse gossip mongers; more than even little old ladies with nothing better to do. Some wanted to be paid for the information, but Hadrian sent them on their way. It was his experience that information that was bought was not as good as information freely given.

  When the last of the barrels were unbound he went into the city with Kal. Old man Kal had a face that suggested calm and wisdom. With him Hadrian hardly drew any attention to himself as he made his way along the docks. There were storage houses along the southern bank and whispers that a flying machine was guarded there.

  When they entered the district, there were rows and rows of storage, but it did not take long to find the right one. Two guards were talking in front of one and had their hands on their swords. One pulled out a cloth and wiped his brow. Hadrian tipped his head towards it and Kal nodded in acknowledgement.

  Kal stepped out into the aisle and waved at them, “Finally, I was wondering if you gentleman could help me?”

  “Stop right there old man,” one said with hostility. “Turn back.”

  “Jarid,” the other one said reproachfully, “He is just an old man.”

  “An old man invented this thing, don’t underestimate them,” Jarid retorted before pointing at Kal and saying, “Off you go.”

  “Could you just point me towards the north dock, where the merchants are?” Kal asked taking a step back and pointing the wrong way. “Is it that way?”

  “Turn around and head north,” the other guard responded, “When you reach the fish docks, turn right and head north east. That should bring you to the primary merchant docks.”

  “Much obliged,” Kal said with a wave and turned back.

  When Kal joined him, they turned back north towards their ship. They had confirmed where it was and how many were guarding it. He would need to come back and extract it tonight. Hadrian wondered what the flying machine looked like.

  Kal remained silent their entire walk back until they arrived at the boat. Some of the men were out and about and a few women were flirting. All of them were gathering information and when they saw him each discretely excused themselves for dinner. They went aboard the ship and down into the galley.

  Hadrian stepped down into the galley and all eyes turned on him as he commanded, “Report.”

  “Otto Deckard is the inventor of the flying machine,” a woman said softly, she was sitting next to Celia. “He is currently under house arrest.”

  “What for?” Hadrian asked startled.

  “His invention could damage Tiam’s commerce,” Celia informed him. “He is currently removed from teaching at the university and very few people are permitted to see him. I believe much of it is slander and something else is going on. Everything else I found on the man suggests he loves Tiam.”

  “One of them is the inventor’s colleague, something Travell,” a younger boy informed him.

  “Celia, I want you to take Rauf and find this Travell,” Hadrian said after a moment. “Explain to Otto we are offering him passage to Roanoak and a place amongst it. In exchange he will build more of these flying machines. He has until midnight to decide. We will send men for him if he agrees or none at all.”

  Celia nodded and stood, the girl stood as well and they all left. Hadrian glanced up at Rauf when he went by; the man was as strong and as ugly as a bull. Yet somehow he revered Celia as the more important person between the two. She may be the size of an underdeveloped teenager, but she had this strange way of persuading people. Anyone could become strong and learn to kill, but convincing someone to do something in such a way that they enjoy it, that was a real talent.

  “I need seven men to come and collect the machine,” Hadrian said and pointed out the seven he wanted. “Let’s eat.”

  Kal was at his elbow when the food came around and Hadrian turned to go above deck. Once out in the open air he marveled at the city of Tiam. He watched as the first shadows formed and as the sun bent its head towards the horizon. Impulsively he wished he could show Vica this sight and he hoped her ploy had gone well. The expression of conflict on her face when he had offered to take her with him, but in the end she had decided her place was there. She could better protect his escape by claiming to have taken the city. Eswan and Sylon would not attack a daughter of Byden Blackwood. Kal waited silently, he was a patient man.

  “You will need to ready the ship,” Hadrian said standing at the rail, with his arms clasped behind his back, “we only have a day’s head start and the rest will join us. Tiam will not risk war over an old man and a missing machine. They are old men and women and they are comfortable. When they see the ships passing them by, they will close their gates and wait for it to pass.”

  “You are right,” Kal agreed as he stood next to him. “Are you sure we must go to war?”

  “Rodrick told me that returning to Roanoak would be like returning for my death,” Hadrian explained with a heavy sigh. “I will give my half-brother the choice to accept me as king and surrender.”

  “Will he surrender?” Kal asked with a straight face.

  “No,” Hadrian said with no pleasure. “He won’t. Not the man I knew. Surrendering would be worse than death.”

  “Could you kill your brother?” Kal asked, clearly curious.

  “Yes,” Hadrian turned and studied Kal’s wrinkled face, “If he won’t surrender, then he will meet my sword.”

  Chapter 40

  Otto Deckard

  Deckard paced restlessly in the courtyard as Evanora played her finger harp. He listened as she plucked away and the music flowed like sweet nectar into his senses. And yet, his mind could not be soothed as he paced. Travell was late and, since he was the only person permitted that Deckard actually liked, it made him impatient. Marisol couldn’t stop crying and his daughter was strangely calm, both of them were driving him crazy.

  The anger that was boilin
g up inside of him was mostly because he was helpless. One moment he was on the top of the world and the next he was a prisoner in his own home. The very people that he wanted to build his invention for had turned against him. His daughter had continued with her insane notion that they must flee Tiam.

  He rubbed his chin viciously as he tried to calm himself down, but to no avail. Evanora had started to play the harp because they could hear Marisol crying in the kitchen. He could imagine her tears becoming part of their bread. She was making morbid bread while he wore the soles of his shoes thinner. Evanora’s fingers moved and she seemed to be playing in a daze.

  When the guards spoke her fingers slipped and played a sharp key. Deckard walked to the gate hastily to see what the commotion was about as Evanora began to play again. There was no limit on time. Travell could come at any time, and he was going to tell them exactly that. When he drew closer he immediately saw the reason for the guard’s anger; beside his old bent friend stood a young woman in a cloak. Her hair was dark brown and she stood no taller than Evanora, but she was clearly a woman. When he drew closer her attention turned on him and her eyes inspected him.

  “What is going on here?” Deckard asked the guards, but it was also directed towards his good friend.

  “You asked for a music teacher and this was the best I could do on short notice,” Travell said, presenting the woman as he nodded his head emphatically. “She comes highly recommended.”

  “What is the problem then? My daughter has been practicing by herself and Phineas said she needed refinement,” Deckard demanded of the guards.

  They glanced between each other before the bigger one said, “Fine.”

  He extracted the keys, undid the lock, and held the door open for them. Deckard opened the inner gate and waited. Once they were both inside the guard closed the outer gate and turned back to his post. Travell and the woman walked past Deckard into the open courtyard. When Evanora saw the woman she immediately stopped playing.

  Deckard waved to her and she started up again right where she had left off as he turned to Travell, “Who is she?”

  “My name is Celia,” the woman whispered, her voice surprisingly commanding for such a little thing. “I am here with an offer from Hadrian the Hero.”

  “The Chain Breaker?” Deckard asked astonished.

  “Is that what he is called here?” Celia said her eyebrows rose, “He would like that, I imagine.”

  “I want nothing to do with that coming war,” Deckard exclaimed, but was careful to keep his voice low as he walked over and sat on the bench close to his daughter.

  Travell came over and sat next to him as Celia stood waiting. His good friend let out a heavy sigh and he settled back. Deckard felt old, and tired all the way down to his bones. Deckard listened to the harp and the gurgle of water as he tried to remember how he got into this mess.

  “You should listen to her offer,” Travell finally said. “Tiam is not what it once was. Phineas wants to see you ruined and he might succeed.”

  “I have done nothing wrong,” Deckard insisted.

  “It is a matter of money and Phineas has enough to buy every vote so that they are all against you,” Travell informed him, leaning forward to emphasize his point. “You built it, it works, and you cannot take it back.”

  Deckard felt his jaw clench as he had to fight back the bile rising in his throat. Travell was not entirely wrong and the injustice of it hit home. Deckard loved Tiam, from its old districts to its new; from the view of the sands when you stood on the western wall or standing on the docks and gazed across The Knife. It was a part of him.

  Deckard nodded his head and Travell waved her over. Evanora continued to play, but her attention was on them. Celia sat down next to Evanora, gave her a smile, before turning back to Deckard. His daughter seemed to size up the woman and try to determine something.

  “Hadrian is marching south to Roanoak,” Celia informed him. “He has 400 strong warriors, and another 400 followers. He wants your flying machines to lead them into battle.”

  “There are no slaves in Roanoak, what reason does he have to go south?” Deckard demanded and she looked surprised.

  She smiled as though amused and said, “Hadrian was born Prince Hadric Rohan, first born son. His brother usurped him and stole his throne. His people want to get back what was taken from him. Just as our freedom was taken, his birthright was taken. Will you help right that wrong?”

  “My flying machine is not for killing people,” Deckard explained.

  “Hadrian came here to take your flying machine and its inventor. He believes that without it more people will die. Roanoak’s only princess married the King of Vargos. If we attack Roanoak, Vargos will come to their aid. That is unless we have something to deter them; such as having something that is far before its time,” she explained, as though she had anticipated his objection.

  “Can you promise me that?” Deckard demanded sarcastically.

  “No,” Celia responded honestly, “but can you promise me that the council of Tiam won’t stop you from ever inventing?”

  Deckard sucked in a surprised breath and asked, “How old are you?”

  “I am 18,” Celia said, but her eyes fluttered.

  “You seem so young to me,” Deckard said, but leaned forward to look in her eyes. “Yet, somehow, your eyes seem older.”

  “Father,” Evanora said as she stopped playing, “She is right, listen to her. There is nothing left for us here.”

  “I will give you a moment to decide,” Celia said standing as she glanced towards the kitchen and the weeping Marisol, “Could I ask for some water?”

  Travell stood and held out an arm. “I will show you.”

  Deckard watched them go, the pretty girl with old eyes and the old man with young eyes. Quite a pair the two made and Deckard somehow was able to smile. When he turned back Evanora was inspecting him. She set the harp down and came to sit beside him. She curled her arm around his and laid her head on his shoulder.

  “This is all my fault,” Deckard said with a heavy sigh.

  “No, father,” Evanora said holding tighter to his arm, “It is the fat Phineas’ fault.”

  He laughed and she giggled, but it was filled with desperation. His daughter was trying to be funny, but even she could find very little humor in her own joke. It was a disbelieving laughter, reserved for innocent men about to be hung. If he couldn’t invent it would be a form of death. It would kill him slowly, eating away at his very soul.

  “We are going to miss the second growing of the blood orange,” Deckard finally said.

  “We will be alright as long as we are together,” Evanora replied firmly.

  “We shouldn’t bring Marisol with us,” Deckard thought aloud.

  “She won’t let you leave her behind,” Evanora said and he could hear the tears in her voice.

  Kissing the top of her head he fought back his own tears. Deckard pulled his arm free, threw it around her, and drew her against him as though to protect her from the world. He rested his cheek on her head and held her there. He could feel her shoulders shudder, but she didn’t make a sound.

  “You’re right,” Deckard whispered, “Tiam is no longer safe.”

  Chapter 41

  Ashira Highlander

  Her days had been filled with travel and the inside of traveling tents. She had seen very little of Lancel and even less of Eliron before they left. Just thinking his name brought a blush to her cheeks. Not everyone had the good fortune to fall in love with one’s husband. Yet, there she stood as her handmaidens washed her from a long day. The day before last they had passed through the Maiden’s Gate. Now, they sat across the lake from her home, Guildafrey.

  It warmed her to see them, the domes of her home, and when she was done she would go to the lakeside and gaze upon them. Well, it was unfair to call it home, when Evermore was now actually hers. But, it was hard to forget Guildafrey and its rainbow palace. She could close her eyes and she was there again, amo
ngst the glass and flowers. Vargos could not even begin to compete with the number of flowers Roanoak had.

  When she was washed they helped her dress in a beautiful teal gown that was covered in amethysts. They weaved purple flowers into her long braid, those that the people of Roanoak had brought to her. It had been such a relief to be greeted with such happiness. When they had touched her she had almost shied away, the memory of the marketplace in Evermore flashing across her mind. This wasn’t Vargos, here she was loved.

  Missari came running into the tent with flowers in her hand. “The King is outside practicing.”

  Ashira jumped up to her handmaiden’s protest and walked out of the tent. Once she passed through the second layer of it, she was able to see him. Her hand touched the sheer cloth as she stared at him; transfixed. He held the sword she had gifted to him and was practicing with his army. They were disciplined and moved as a single unit.

  Hardly noticing anyone else she stared at him and his bare chest covered in perspiration. The other men were practicing as well without their shirts, but her eyes never wavered. She felt her chest tighten as her breathing increased. She watched as his muscles tightened and the sweat slide down them. It seemed to glisten and wink at her in the early evening light.

  Someone said something and Eliron turned towards the tent. When his eyes met hers she felt a blush rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. He smiled at her, the way Lisbeth said he only did for her, and the world seemed suddenly brighter. She touched a hand to her stomach as he nodded to her.

  “Continue!” He called before jogging over to his discarded shirt.

  He sheathed the sword before running a cloth over his face. She tried to avert her eyes as he pulled the shirt over his head and ruffled his mussed hair, but she couldn’t. Eliron turned back around and walked towards her in long, determined strides. Ashira discovered that she was beginning to like everything about her husband, even though that seemed impossible.