by Gail Gernat
Darnovam smiled into his beard. “Then my Lady, please allow your attendants to remain and enjoy our hospitality.”
Ashera piped up, “Yes, my Lady, please allow me to remain. One of the serving girls wants to speak with me about Southern Reach. It would be a great favor.”
Illera could feel the warnings dancing along her nerves, strengthening the anxiety already building in her but she smiled to the lord, “I have been through a harrowing few days, and I would feel much better if my servants would stay near me.”
“But my Lady,” pleaded Ashera, stopping when the earl held up a hand.
He spoke, his voice hard and demanding. “But surely if your attendants have given good service they deserve a little reward for their hard work. Or do you subscribe to the view that servants are lower than the dogs that feed on the droppings of our tables.”
Illera looked at the brothers and Ashera seated at the fireplace, trying to convey her warning with her eyes alone, and rose from her chair.
“Really Lord Darnovam, these verbal sparrings are fatiguing when one has traveled all day. If any of my entourage chose to remain and sample your cellars, they may, but I will rest better knowing someone watches over me.”
She caught the flicker of understanding in the eyes of the squires, but Ashera leapt to her feet, and sketching a cursory bow followed one of the serving girls.
“My Lord,” Raven bowed low, “we are also tired from the last few days and would be best served by retiring with the princess.”
The Earl’s mouth drew down in a sour smile. “Very well, Mista will show you to your rooms. A bath will be prepared my Lady, at once and you may all retire. However, I insist on sending some of my finest vintages for your attendants to taste. I simply must have input from people outside my own jurisdiction. How else can I trust that I am improving my stock?”
Illera nodded and followed a small, bone thin woman through the twisting corridors and up three flights of wooden stairs. The servant led her to a suite of drafty rooms. The outer room was an odd shape, having seven walls, furnished with a table and six chairs, with two straw pallets in one corner. One wall sported a series of shelves containing a number of bottles, jars, carvings, and parchments that were strange to Illera. The next chamber was the bedroom, large and wide with a single giant wooden bed in the middle of the floor. A small fireplace on the outside wall beside the tall, thin window contained a newly lit flame, dancing feebly on damp logs. It did little to dispel the chill from the musty room. On the far side of the bed, one of her chests sat, already opened. A wash of anger coursed through her at the sight.
Mista opened the only other door in the chamber and showed Illera a small bathing chamber with a round tin tub steaming in the middle of the floor. A stand holding a washbasin and jug graced the back wall with shelves containing linens over it. The rooms were barren and repulsive, and Illera knew if she were to behave like a princess she would protest.
“Mista, that is your name, Mista?”
“Yes, my Lady,” the woman bowed her head, backing away from Illera’s presence.
“Are these rooms the best this…this pitiable excuse for a castle has to offer?”
“Ah… ah…of course my Lady? There are no better ‘ceptin’ m’Lord’s own.”
“It is disgusting. You may tell your Lord that and not fit for my attendants let alone myself. I will speak to King Korul about this, this failure of hospitality.”
The woman’s eyes widened as she backed from the room and scurried back the way she had come. By the time Illera walked into the first chamber, a lovely young woman with a large bosom, most of it on display, was serving Lark and Raven.
“See to it that I am not disturbed,” she told them in lieu of what she really wanted to discuss.
She returned to the bathing room and stripped off her soiled and frayed clothing. The water smelled unpleasant to Illera, sulfur and bitter. She sorted through her opened chest, finding the bag of her medicines. She chose the astringent leaves and scattered a handful of them over the surface of the water. It turned a blood red, gradually clearing to an appearance of normal water, but Illera was warned. She washed from the water in the jug on the stand and tossed her dirty clothing into the tainted bath. Taking her herbs with her, she climbed into the huge bed. The sheets were chill and damp. She huddled into a ball and tried to sleep.
A banging, rattling noise intruded on her rest. Illera tried to turn over and ignore it, but it continued, and the new spot on the bed was cold. She sat up. The fire had faded to ash, and the wind whistled in around the window. She went to it as a dark shape battered against the pane. Illera jumped back, stifling a scream at the suddenness. The shape hovered, pecking at the glass. She slipped the catch and opened the window and the bird tumbled in. It gurgled at her and perched on her shoulder, rubbing the side of its head against her face.
“Maggie?’ whispered Illera unable to believe it was her old friend. “What about your babies?”
The magpie made soft shushing noises at her. Maggie grabbed a lock of Illera’s hair and pulled her towards the outer door, chattering softly in the back of her throat. Illera tiptoed to the door, opening it a crack. Lark lay propped against the wall, a line of spittle running from the corner of his mouth, down his chin and across his chest. His arms were not placed naturally at his sides but lay at awkward angles. Illera opened the door slightly more and caught sight of Raven in a boneless heap against the other wall. His head was on the floor and his backside canted up the wall. One arm was twisted behind his back, and the other was straight down in front of him bearing the full weight of his body. She could hear men whispering around the curve of the oddly shaped room. Maggie tugged her back into the room.
Illera dressed quickly in warm clothes, all in black. She braided her hair back from her face and donned a fresh cloak. The bag of herbs went at her belt, fastened tightly. She took a dagger and sheath from her chest, and attached that to her belt beside the bag. The magpie watched her with fascination and a small burble now and then.
Illera checked the drop from the window, noting she must be in one of the overhanging parts of the castle for there no other structures close, even beneath the window. Closing it tightly, she turned to Maggie. The bird fluttered towards the door, walking solemnly out of the crack Illera opened. Illera bent to check the brothers, noting their breathing was shallow and labored. Lark had a number of fluid-filled pustules on his visible skin. Quickly Illera reached for her herbs, selecting two and crushing them, forcing the bits between his open lips. He twisted under her hands at the bitter taste and pungent aroma. She stroked his throat to make him swallow. She crossed to Raven, giving him the same mixture.
Maggie lingered just out of sight of the rest of the room. Illera stood behind her, listening and trying to plan her next move. She could hear the voices of three men in the other room as well as the clatter of the bones rolling in a dice game.
“Shit, Mogr you al’us wins!”
“Nuthin’ like a li’le extra. Gonna get me a war-horse. Jest like them ‘uns those squires rode in on.”
“Shit Mogr, why’n ya jest take one a them?”
The third voice spoke, “You dummy. We gotta kill them animals. What if old Korul comes snoopin’ aroun’ and finds ‘em. Probably be th’meat in yer stew fer the next few months.”
The men laughed.
“When’s we gonna take ‘em?”
“Gotta wait. Th’Lord said ta wait ‘til second moon rising ‘cause th’princess wouldn’t drink th’wine. Had ta stick it in her bath water an that takes longer ta work.”
“Shit, wanna get it over an get back ta th’castle.”
“Screw this up, an th’earl will gi’ya ta th’witch an she’ll have yer balls fer breakfast. Cost th’earl plenty ta get th’old hag to gi’him that powder.”
“Witches gi’ me th’screamin’ jeebies.”
“Do that ta us all.”
“How much longer?”
“Roll th’ bones
, ya meathead. I’ll let ya know when’s time.”
“Mogr, ya know how far ta Sea Reach.”
“Yeah, if’n we go now, an fast, should be thar about noon, day after ta marra.”
“Them pirates gonna be waitin’.”
“Suppose ta be. Can’t never trust them’uns. Soon as double cross ya as spit.”
“Shit, Mogr yer not suppose ta win agin.”
“Quiet Droove or ya’ll wake her highness.”
“Roll th’ bones.”
Illera peeped around the corner, noting the three guards gathered in one corner. They were throwing the dice and quaffing beer as they played. Her attention wandered to the shelves and one particular pot decorated with arcane symbols. She signed to Maggie. The bird lit on her wrist that she held high over her head. Spreading her wings, the bird glided to the shelf. She indicated articles with her beak and Illera shook her head no until she came to the pot.
Nodding vigorously, Illera watched Maggie remove the lid, scoop up a beak full of powder and glide over the steins of beer and deposit the contents of her beak in one glass. She walked back to Illera, and they repeated the procedure until each guard had a large dose of the contents.
The powder worked fast. The first guard slumped into the corner, ruining the dice toss. The second tried to strike him for that and ended collapsed over his body. The third guard stood, lurched drunkenly to one side and tumbled to the floor as he tried to move towards Illera.
She turned her attention to the brothers. A few soft slaps brought Raven semi-awake, but Lark was more difficult. She fed him some more of the leaves, and he opened his eyes wearily. Raven had righted himself and was trying to stretch out the stiffness.
“I overheard them talking, and they are planning to sell us to the pirates. We are supposed to leave at second moon rising, so we don’t have much time. I have to find Ashera, and we must hurry. Do you know where the horses are?”
Raven nodded, “Yes, I’m the only one who can take care of Abbadon. The grooms couldn’t touch him.”
Illera helped him to his feet and returned to Lark. She shook him hard then slapped his face again. Pushing her hand away, he staggered to his feet.
“Yeah, I heard,” he muttered, “but right now I have the worse hangover in the world.”
Illera jumbled through her bag producing a sliver of pink and silver fungus. Silently she handed it to Lark. Another smaller slice went to Raven.
“I’m going to try to find Ashera. You get the horses and meet me at the side of the castle nearest the road,” she told them.
Illera replaced the cover on the pot, wrapping it tightly with one of the scarves from her chest as she left the room. With Maggie gliding ahead and leading the way, Illera followed the magpie through the twisting corridors and down a set of narrow wooden steps. Another long hallway and second set of stairs confused Illera as to her location, but Maggie seemed sure, so she followed her. The bird stopped with a soft squawk, perching on the doorframe with her head hanging down, peering into the room. Illera tiptoed forward.
Ashera lay with six other girls and women in an untidy heap in front of the enormous fireplace. The wood had burned down to glowing coals, and the room was in deep shadow. Illera moved stealthily to Ashera’s side, the bag of herbs in her hand. She gently shook the giantess’s shoulder, but Ashera was oblivious. Illera crushed the herbs and forced them between the woman’s closed lips, stroking her throat to make her swallow. One of the other girls began to stir. Illera hunkered down on the floor and froze in position. The girl rose and went to the fire, stirring it and adding fresh wood. The flames blazed up, and the girl returned to her spot on the floor. Illera tried to rouse Ashera, slapping her gently and shaking her shoulder. The woman sleeping against Ashera began to grumble and gave the warrior a shove. Illera eased away carefully, tiptoeing backward to the door.
She shook her head at Maggie and whispered, “Lark and Raven, outside.”
The bird flew back the way they had come, leading Illera down another set of stairs, these ones made of stone. A small heavy door was latched and bolted. Illera drew the bolt, wincing as it shrieked like a mountain lion with an arrow in his flank. She waited long moments before opening the door a crack and sliding out. First moon was far overhead, and she could see the faint glow preceding second moon behind the branches of the trees. The crunching of boots on gravel betrayed the presence of a guard. Following the magpie around the building, Illera stopped to let other patrols go by as she hid in the dark crevasses of the walls. In one inky pool ahead, she could make out the lighter shape of a horse and the blaze and stockings of another. Crouching, she ran to the squires. They boosted her onto a normal saddle, and she flashed them a smile.
Raven looked grim and whispered, “I think I killed a guard outside the stable.”
“I’m sorry, Raven, but what else could you do. We have to get away from here.”
“It feels wrong to kill my own people.” Illera could see the corners of his mouth pulled down and dark creases of a frown on his forehead. “It’s just wrong. We’re supposed to be on the same side.”
Illera leaned towards him, placing a hand on his arm.“Having arrangements to sell us into slavery isn’t being on the same side.”
Leaving Ashera’s mount tied to a post, Raven nodded and headed the horses down the eastern road that would lead to Korul’s Castle, but Maggie flew in his face, chattering in muted tones until they turned north and trotted swiftly away from the castle. Behind they could hear the commotion moving down the road to the east.
The single guard at the outer palisade walls was asleep. The gate here was small and little used. Lark dismounted and crept up behind the man. He clapped one hand over his mouth and Illera tied the man’s hands together behind his back. Lark gagged him with a strip of heavy cloth torn from the man’s tunic.
Raven slipped the bar and opened the door, Illera and Lark crept through, pulling their horses behind them. Shutting the door carefully from the outside, he joined them. They urged their mounts to a gallop. The road twisted and snaked through the pines with quick choices to make between many side roads. Raven led the way uncertainly, pausing before a large road swinging west. Illera startled at the sound of manic laughter as Maggie flew in Raven’s face, turning him from that path to the northern one. Second moon was well above the trees now, and the double shadows made treacherous movements out of bushes and tall pines. With Maggie leading the way, they raced down the narrow forest road.
It folded through the dark woods, twisting back on itself. They set their horses at top speed; Illera holding Copper back for the slower war-horses. A dark shape eclipsed the moon. Maggie shrieked and flew back to them, fluttering in their faces. A second time the moon vanished behind the bulk of something large. Raven pulled his horse to a stop. Abbadon shivered and snorted. Appolon tried to leave the trail and hide in the trees. Copper reared and threw herself about, causing Illera to bless the normal saddle she rode.
“Dragon,” called Raven as the shape crossed the moon again.
“Small one about ten or fifteen feet,” agreed Lark.
“What do we do?”
“Hide in the trees,” Raven told her.
They turned off the trail and tried to ride under the branches, but the brush was too thick. Dismounting, they slapped their horses sending each one away in a different direction as they waded through the undergrowth, looking for a suitable hiding place. In the distance, Illera heard the howl of a wolf. Stopping under a fragrant spruce, she called and sent forth her calls to all the other animals that might assist them against the dragon. She poured all her strength into the call and became dizzy, sitting down suddenly in the scattered needles under the tree. Lark and Raven dove down beside her as a blast of fire scorched the tree where they had been standing.
Scrambling on hands and knees, they crawled to another sheltering spruce with branches that reached almost to the forest floor. Sitting silently against the trunk of the tree, they listened. The flapping
of leathery wings was close; then the tree exploded into fire. Leaping to their feet, they ran, dodging between the close growing boles, whipped in the face by branches. Illera turned her head once to see their pursuer.
It was as Lark said, about ten feet from snout to tip, the color of blood or the hot coals when the fire dies down. The wide wings were double its length. It dangled four legs of equal length, all armed with razor-sharp ripping talons. The face surprised her, being pug-nosed with long tendrils around the mouth and over the eyes. The large dark eyes bore into her own, filled with terror and uncertainty. Around the sinuous scaly neck was a sharp, barbed metal collar. Illera stopped.
Lark and Raven each pulled one arm and dragged her behind them.
“Let me talk to it. It is in pain,” she instructed them.
“No way Lady, if you stop you will be in cinders.” Lark yanked her forward.
Illera tried to concentrate on the dragon, singing to it. It paused, alighting on the ground. A shrill wailing came from the beast and Illera pulled free from the squires and faced it. It took a step towards her. She stood still and sang to it. Desire warbled from its mouth, and it came closer. Lark and Raven drew their swords, prepared to try to kill the creature but Illera held up her hands. The dragon placed its snout in her hands, the feelers reaching out and caressing her face.
A high shriek, more mental than physical, shook the forest. The dragon whipped its head back. It shouted its defiance, but the shrill voice dominated. The reptile slashed its head from side to side, warbling and pleading in its cries. The voice was implacable. It turned its head away from Illera and spat, causing the tree where the spit landed to burst into flame. Illera backed away from the creature. Lark and Raven were watching her closely, following her every move.
The dragon howled again, a cry of purest agony, then it charged, spitting at them as it came. Lark pulled Illera to one side as Raven jumped the other way. A low growl behind him made him leap forward over the flame. Six large dire wolves crept from the shadows, fangs bared. The dragon leapt for the sky, fighting its unseen controller. Illera skirted the fire, moving to the wolves. The brothers shouted behind her. She sang to wolves, and they approached and rolled over at her feet. From a tree behind them, a lion leapt and rubbed his face against her leg. Lark and Raven watched, swords at ready and horror on their faces.