THE CHOOSING

by PhyllisAnn Welsh

  It was obvious she had found the house’s supplies for attending to minor hurts. It was a lucky find, and Feenix felt quite pleased with herself as she carried the box, pot of water and towels back into the large room where L’Garn lay.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing this for,” she told the half-elf as she sponged the wound clean of blood. The shirt and belt had done their job, and the cut was no longer bleeding more than a little.

  “I should just walk away and let you die. That’s what I should do,” she continued as she crushed some dried mullein leaves into the cut. “Make a slave out of me, will you? It would serve you right if you did die.”

  Feenix had to stop again and catch her breath. The burning in her side had grown more intense after all the carrying and lifting she’d done. She would like nothing more than to lie down and sleep for three days, but she knew that was impossible. She had to finish tending to this miserable Night Elf and then make good her escape before the others returned. L’Garn would be fine once she took care of this cut she had given him. His own people would nurse him back to health, so she needn’t feel so bad about leaving him.

  Besides, she wanted to be well away from him and never set eyes on him again! Yes, she did, and no amount of guilt would change her mind, she scolded herself.

  Feenix dropped the needle once before she was able to get it threaded. She hated the feel of the steel entering flesh and then the sensation of the thread as it pulled through muscle and skin. However, it must be done, or there was no hope of the wound ever healing. As much as she hated magic, she would give her second best sword for a Healing Spell right about now.

  The stitches were not neat and dainty the way a proper woman would make them, she supposed. Rendolin’s boring mate, Korrene, would probably stitch the shoulder closed with neat, smooth stitches, and finish up with a pithy little homily tattooed in his skin so he would always remember the lesson of clashing swords with Feenix of Port Marcus! Something like, “Never cross swords with a human slave,” or some such.

  She closed her eyes and waited for the latest of the waves of dizziness to pass. They were coming more often, she knew, but the job was almost done. And then she could make good her escape.

  She bit off the thread after the final stitch was in place, then rinsed her hands in the pot’s red water. Dipping the towel into the water, she wrung it out and wiped his shoulder one more time. Drying her hands on her filthy gown, she opened the leather pouch and separated a goodly portion of the spider web from the clump. Carefully, she wrapped his shoulder with the thin material, pressing it down gently over the wound.

  When that chore was finished, she took the remaining two towels, made a pad of one, and then ripped the other into strips to fasten and tie the makeshift bandage in place. Her strength was fast running out, and it took longer each time to lift his side to wrap the bandage. Finally, just as she was sure she would faint with exhaustion, the job was finished.

  She looked at her handiwork, the mess of dried leaves, bloody material, and puddles of water scattered over the table. She didn’t have the strength or the desire to clean it up. Those Night Elf scum could clean it all. She had done the important part; L’Garn’s wounds were bound and the immediate danger of him bleeding to death was over. Of course, fever was bound to follow, but she wouldn’t be around to deal with that, would she?

  Of course not. She had to get out of here. Get back to Shalridoor and report to Rendolin and Thelorin. She had a mission to complete, didn’t she?

  She placed her fingers at his neck again, and the pulse seemed to be stronger. There. She could leave him with a clear conscience, couldn’t she?

  “Thank the gods,” she whispered to herself. Then Captain Feenix of Port Marcus did something she hadn’t done in decades.

  She put her head down and wept like a baby.

  ~*~

  “Pretty Feenix have to wake now.”

  Something slapped her cheek, and the sting brought tears to her eyes. By the god’s left ear, who was hitting her?

  Feenix picked her head up with a start and groaned in pain. The wound in her side felt like it was going to tear her apart. She swiveled her head around, trying to identify her assailant.

  In front of her, lying atop a large wooden table was L’Garn, unconscious and covered with blood. Standing on the other side of the table, grinning at her like an open gash in the side of a hill was her troll acquaintance, Eagnad.

  “Pretty Feenix come,” he said in his deep broken voice. “Come before workers come.”

  “Come?” she asked, shaking her head clear of the sleep and exhaustion. “Where?”

  She hadn’t planned on falling asleep, and look what happened! That troll person found her lying over the hacked-up remains of his master. Would he turn her in, or help her?

  “Eagnad, do you know how to get me out of here?”

  The little troll picked up L’Garn without any difficulty. “Come. Follow Eagnad.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” she commanded, rounding the table and stopping him with a hand on his arm. “Leave him here. His people will take care of him, and he’ll only slow us down.”

  “No. Prince die. Must come.” He turned and walked towards the door.

  “He’s dead?”

  With a feeling that her heart had just dropped out of her chest, she scrambled over to the half-elf and felt his neck.

  L’Garn’s skin was clammy and slick with sweat, but he was not dead.

  “Pretty Feenix bring things,” the troll said. “Eagnad bring prince. Hurry. Workers come.”

  There was no arguing with the little troll, and if she were totally honest with herself, she didn’t really want to leave L’Garn here without being sure he would survive. Besides, the decision had been taken out of her hands when Eagnad picked up the half-elf and headed out the door.

  Without another comment, Feenix quickly gathered up L’Garn’s gear, including the dagger and pouch. She grabbed the box of herbs, and as she jogged after the retreating troll, she picked up the two swords they had used. You never know when they’ll come in handy, she thought to herself with a leer.

  She stepped onto the porch and realized the sun was breaking over the edge of the eastern mountains. The glorious sight brought tears again to her eyes. How long had it been since she had seen a dawn? By Mac Lir’s eye balls, never had she seen such a beautiful sight.

  “Pretty Feenix hurry,” Eagnad yelled back to her. He was already a small speck in the distance, heading south. With another hungry look at the pink and golden sky, she set off after him, favoring her left side.

  The pain in her side reminded her she was in no condition for an all day hike, but for some reason she felt sure the troll’s destination wasn’t that far away.

  The swords and gear were awkward, banging against her legs, and slipping from her grasp. In her weakened state, she’d never keep up, carrying all the stuff this way. It was hampering her progress. She stopped and donned the leather belt, sheathed the dagger, tucked both swords into the belt and wrapped the remaining items inside the bloody tunic. Slinging the makeshift sack over her shoulder, she continued slowly down Eagnad’s back trail.

  Ah, life was definitely improving; she smiled to herself in the warm morning air. A sword at her side and no chains were simple pleasures she had never truly valued. Of course, the cursed metal was still around her neck and wrists, but as soon as they reached their destination, she would correct that oversight. L’Garn must have that little key somewhere in his gear, and as soon as she found it, she would be truly free of him.

  Feenix lost sight of the troll as he ducked to the left, between the branches of a group of huge scruff elms. By the time she reached the spot, there was no trace of where he could have gone. While she struggled to regain her breath, she searched the ground, but the rocky terrain left no clue as to the path he had taken.

  “Eagnad,” she yelled. “Eagnad, where are you?”

  No sound greeted her question. Even the birds stilled
in their morning singing to listen with her.

  Just when she had decided to search further into the trees, something clamped around her ankle and yanked her off her feet. With a startled squeak, she fell down a dank hole and landed at the feet of the troll.

  “Pretty Feenix must not yell. Looker get she.”

  With a groan, she regained her feet, and looked around. They were in a deep ravine, shaded by the dense growth of trees. A pool of water beckoned tantalizingly at one end, and a clearing amid the rocks and boulders waited at the other. A crude bed had been thrown together under the overhang of the ravine’s edge, and L’Garn now reposed upon the branches and grass that made up the mattress. She was sure it wasn’t the most comfortable bed in the world, but it looked like heaven to her right now.

  “What is this place, Eagnad?” She was comforted to see that no one would easily discover the place. Not unless they were actively seeking.

  The little troll began to make a strange and horrible sound, as his body bounced erratically. It looked as if he was about to have some sort of seizure, and she panicked for a moment, absolutely positive that her meager healing skills would never cover treating such a problem. Would he become violent in the thralls of the fit?

  “This be Eagnad’s special place,” he said between the terrifying sounds. “Looker not find. Pretty Feenix and prince be safe here.”

  His hideous, pocked-marked face pulled into a tight grimace, and his mouth opened, showing broken and greenish-yellow fangs. The frightening noise continued to issue from his mouth, but he made no threatening move…and she finally realized the troll was laughing.

  “Mac Lir,” she growled to herself, “if you think this is what I had in mind when I told you to help me, you are more of a useless piece of sea scum than I had ever imagined!”

  She dropped her pack, pulled the swords from her belt, and sat wearily down on a low rock. She was too tired and hurt to enjoy the troll’s humor.

  “Eagnad, can you find me some more of those pretty flowers? The flowers you gave me in the laundry?”

  She had little hope that he would know what she was talking about, never mind know where to find them. However, she was past reasoning with herself. If she didn’t do something soon, she would collapse and never get out of the Night Elves’ hold.

  As abruptly as it began, the laughter stopped and Eagnad slipped quietly and quickly up the side of the ravine. It amazed her that he had not made a sound.

  She only had a moment to ponder that phenomenon before she slipped bonelessly to the ground, unconscious.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The smell of crushed green leaves, and moist earth warmed by sunshine, brought Feenix slowly awake. It was glorious to float towards awareness on a cloud of comfort and wellbeing for a change. No one slapping her awake, or jerking her up with the command to get breakfast before starting chores. Not even the blare of a bugle to announce a change of guard in the barracks. Just soft, blissful feelings of safety, peace and comfort.

  Then she made the mistake of trying to turn on her side.

  Excruciating pain knifed through her, cutting her breath off like the agony of a vivisection without benefit of any pain-numbing herbs.

  “Pretty Feenix wake now?”

  She opened her eyes, but had to shield them against the brightness of the afternoon sun filtering through the elm leaves high above.

  “Er, um,” she managed to growl past her dry mouth and tight throat before a coughing fit assaulted her. She didn’t know what was worse—gasping for air between gut-wrenching coughs that made her side ache unbearably, or Eagnad pounding on her back in an attempt to help.

  “Enough...stop!” The little troll backed away. “Damn, Eagnad,” she sputtered as she tried to catch her breath. “You’re going to kill me. Stay away from me!”

  “Pretty Feenix better now. Eagnad help.”

  “Fine, just help over there, and don’t touch me!”

  The look of hurt that settled on his horrible face sent a shaft of remorse through Feenix’s conscience. She didn’t know how it was possible, but he looked like a puppy that had just been kicked by its best friend.

  “Oh, Mac Lir’s ears,” she said in exasperation. “I’m sorry, Eagnad. I’m a bit of a bear when I first wake. I didn’t mean it.”

  She felt totally foolish apologizing to him, especially since she couldn’t remember the last time she had apologized to any living soul. However, at her words, he perked up again, and his face broke into its usual gashed grin.

  “Pretty Feenix nice,” he said eagerly. “Eagnad help.”

  “No!” she commanded when he took a step towards her again. Immediately, he halted in his tracks. “I don’t need any more help, thank you, Eagnad. Unless,” she said after reflection, “you can get me something to drink and help me up so I can...um, go for a quick walk. Then I need to check on the prince.”

  “Prince not wake,” the troll said as he gently helped Feenix to her feet and then handed her a battered cup filled with water.

  “Did you get the flowers for me, Eagnad?”

  She downed the entire contents of the cup and handed it back to him. The effort to remain on her feet made her side burn with fire. She was going to have to see to herself soon.

  “Yes.”

  His short answer surprised her somewhat, but she was too intent in getting herself to the thick bushes where she could have some privacy to give it much thought.

  By the time she returned to the camp, Eagnad was warming something that smelled almost edible on a small fire. Her stomach growled, and she realized it had been quite a while since her last meal. She wondered what had become of the pot of hot water she had started in the house.

  “Where are the flowers? I need to make some tea for the prince and me.”

  To her surprise, Eagnad had already heated a dented pot full of water, and the Kestrel was laid out on a rock by her resting place.

  She snipped off the flowers and leaves and discarded the stems. Then, rubbing them between her palms, she crushed the fragrant flowers and dropped them into the simmering pot. A wonderful aroma wafted into the air, and Feenix tried to stifle a huge yawn without success. She put the brew aside to steep for a while.

  “Where are we, Eagnad?” Perhaps she could gather some information while she checked her side. She opened the herb box and took out enough supplies to tend to her own gash. If she didn’t clean it out soon, it could become festered, and then she’d be in deep trouble.

  “This Eagnad’s secret place. Atop.”

  She was beginning to read his face, and recognized that his open, gaping mouth meant he was smiling or happy when it was accompanied by his orange eyes squinting and glinting. He was smiling now.

  “Does anyone else know where this secret place is?” she asked as she ripped the last towel into bandages. The troll watched her intently, but made no move to help her or come nearer.

  “Eagnad show only pretty Feenix and prince secret place. Looker not even know,” and he exploded into another laughing fit. It was horrible and enthralling to behold.

  “Who is this Looker you keep talking about?” She turned away from him and lifted the remains of her gown to get a look at her side. The wound had bled through the towel and then dried over the course of the night. A fetid stench emanated from it, and she knew it was going to hurt like Mac Lir’s toothache when she pulled the cloth away to clean it.

  “Looker big. Bad. Kill she. Looker not nice.”

  The troll had moved so that he could see what she was doing, although he kept his distance. She decided to ignore his presence and concentrate on taking care of herself while her mind was still free of the fever. Strange, her skin had not yet begun to burn with a rise in temperature. Neither had L’Garn’s, come to think of it.

  “Eagnad, I’m going to soak in that pool of water,” she said, tearing another piece off of the remains of her gown. “Will you keep a watch on the prince for me?”

  She stood slowly and stumbled. The tr
oll reached her side before she could go down, and picked her up as if she weighed no more than a child.

  “Put me down! I can walk!”

  “Eagnad help,” was all he said as he carried her to the edge of the pool. Tenderly, he put her down on a flat rock within stepping distance of the water. When he was sure she had her balance, he turned and went back to tend the fire, leaving her alone.

  Feenix didn’t quite know what to make of him. He was certainly one of the ugliest beings she had ever encountered, but it seemed that he was determined to take her under his wing and help her all he could. So be it. She was not a fool.

  She would take his help now, and when she was out of this situation and back to her own life, she would reward Eagnad for his service. Feenix of Port Marcus knew how to take care of those who helped her, make no doubt about that.

  She removed the rag she wore, and slipped into the water, surprised at the warmth and texture. The pool was quite obviously fed by a hot spring, and judging by the pungent aroma, the water was full of minerals. When she first approached the pool, she should have noticed the multi-colored deposits along the edges and where steam rose in cooler weather. Her survival skills seemed to be impaired by her recent adventures.

  She sat down on the bottom of the pool, the warm silt shifting and billowing around her, covering her legs with a brown fog. She eased her body down and submerged herself up to her neck in the soothing water.

  Ah, gods, this is heaven, she thought, closing her eyes and relaxing as she hadn’t done in more time than she could remember.

  She reminded herself to only enjoy a few moments of bliss before taking care of the business of removing the filthy bandage. But the lure of the water was overpowering, and she soon drifted into sleep, lulled by the warmth and quiet of their hiding place. Eagnad was standing guard, and there was no need for her to worry.