For a moment, Myra’s thoughts strayed to four years earlier when she had lived in Brenna, the eldest daughter of the city’s wealthiest merchant, Mirk Erdwood. Theo had made his yearly visit to the city during the Harvest Fest and they met during a banquet her father held in the City-Lord’s honor. Theo had courted her like an infatuated teenager, eager to please her and so generous with his gifts. Despite the age difference, Myra had found herself succumbing to him. He was not a handsome man but he had an undeniable charisma and force of character—and he had blinked back tears when she accepted his proposal. Myra’s family, her father especially, had been silently opposed to the marriage but there was little they could do to stop it. Myra had arrived at Serranguard and looked up at those golden walls with a sense of wonder—upon marrying Lord Brin she would become mistress of this castle and all its inhabitants.
Myra sighed at the memory of her shallowness and vanity. Disappointment would have settled in eventually, even if she had not met Jennadil Silverstern. Theo Brin shared power with no one and he could only co-exist with those he could control, which was why he was so aggravated by his willful daughter. He had married Myra because he had been sure she would obey him; a serious misjudgment on his part.
Myra’s thoughts returned to Jennadil once again—she had wanted him from the moment they were introduced, but she had initially fought against it. Her resistance only encouraged him. His bright, intelligent gaze and playful smile were hard to resist. It took a year and a half but finally Myra gave in to her passion, and once she did, she cared for nothing else. She still did not.
At the edge of the battlements, Myra placed her hands on the rampart in front of her and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. There was a narrow space between the huge battlements; Myra could easily see between them. She leant forward, squeezed her eyes shut and tried to forget she was afraid of heights.
It was a long way down from here.
Thoughts of the past had distracted her; but she had not come to this lonely tower to reminisce or to admire the view.
Myra kept her eyes squeezed shut and fought to control her terror. She had contemplated other ways of killing herself but she did not have the stomach to take a knife to her wrists, nor access to poison. This was the only way, and she was determined to go through with it.
Still keeping her eyes shut, Myra pulled herself up into the narrow space between the battlements. The stone was cold and rough to touch. She pulled herself up into a crouching position and stayed there for a few moments before she opened her eyes and straightened up.
It was a windless day; no breeze stirred against her chilled skin as she stood, wedged in-between the battlements, and looked around her. From up here it felt like she was a bird, an eagle, soaring high above the city. Just one step would take her over the edge. Just one.
Myra was not sure how long she stood there, readying herself to take that step, before a drawling voice sounded behind her.
“You’re taking your time milady. Jumping does not guarantee certain death . . .”
The shock of realizing someone else was standing behind her on the tower, nearly sent Myra over the edge. Her heart hammered hysterically and her body went rigid.
“Would it help if I pushed you?”
Through the haze of misery and pain, Myra felt a stab of outrage. Who would dare make fun of someone about to take their own life? What kind of person would watch as if for sport—and who knew she was up here?
She twisted her body, taking care not to move her feet, and looked back at her tormenter.
The tall, lean form of the Tarantel bounty hunter leaned up against a battlement on the far side of the tower-top. His arms were folded across his chest. The expression on his face was a mix of incredulity and amusement. Myra recognized him; she had caught the bounty hunter looking at her once or twice during the dinner he had attended after bringing Jennadil to Theo. His looks had not been lustful, men no longer looked at her that way these days, but speculative. She had heard about those of Tarantel and their mind powers – she had heard they had the power to hypnotize, to read minds.
Reading her mind then, Dael inclined his head slightly and raised a dark eyebrow, “I saw you sneaking through the palace after breakfast. I decided to follow you and see what you were up to,” he said by way of explanation.
“I was not sneaking,” Myra replied coldly. “Did my husband bid you to follow me?”
“No Lady Brin, I am my own man.”
“Then kindly slither back into the hole from which you emerged and leave me alone.”
“What?” Dael laughed, a low, surprisingly warm sound, and shook his head so that the crescent moon he wore on his left ear sparkled in the sunlight. “And leave you to leap to your death without a witness? I think not, milady.”
Myra gritted her teeth to stop herself from screaming at him. Her nerves were stretched taut. She felt hysteria looming.
“Keep away from me,” she hissed. “I’m going to jump. Don’t try and stop me!”
“I have no intention of trying to stop you,” the bounty hunter replied mildly. “You might take me with you.”
Myra clenched her fists, squared her shoulders and turned her back on him.
“This is all a bit pointless isn’t it?” The voice drawled behind her once more. “The enemy is coming and there is little chance any in this city will survive. If you wait a day or two, a Morg will slit your throat for you. It’ll save you the grand gesture of suicide.”
“Do you think I’m doing this to get attention?” Myra spat, her hurt and outrage finally boiling over. Two spots of color marked her thin cheeks and her blue eyes glittered with tears.
“No, I think you’re a coward.”
Myra snorted and turned her back on him again. Tears ran down her face as she answered. “Well, that’s the first thing you have been right about.”
There was a moment of silence before the bounty hunter spoke again. “Such a fuss over a worthless man who cares nothing for you—I suppose the humiliation is too much to bear.”
“Be silent!” Myra screamed. Years of pent up fury finally erupted from her. “Get away from me, you with your poisonous, lying words. Leave me in peace!”
Sobs wracked her thin body and a vice-like pain crushed her chest. She could not breathe. Suddenly, it was all too much to bear.
Pushing herself forward to the edge, Myra jumped.
However, instead of sailing through the air, her skirts billowing around her, Myra found herself hanging upside down over the edge of the tower staring down at the city below her.
Strong hands grabbed her about the legs and hauled her back from her death leap. Her skirts had fallen up around her shoulders. She struggled violently, humiliation and rage coursing through her.
The bounty hunter paid no heed and pulled her slowly back up. Myra fought wildly but the grip on her ankles did not lessen. She bruised and scraped her knees as she struggled but the pain just spurred her on.
Finally, Dael managed to haul her back onto the top of the tower but was instantly forced to defend himself. She clawed at his face and kicked viciously at his shins. Dael finally got her pinned up against the wall, and Myra looked into his face, seeing to her fury that he was grinning.
“You’re stronger than you look milady,” he taunted. “It’s a pity you show a backbone only when it comes to killing yourself.”
“You know nothing of me fool!” Myra panted.
“You forget—my people are able to read minds. Some are easier to read than others. Your husband’s mind is a sealed vault, but yours is as transparent as a mountain stream. I read all your sniveling thoughts the moment we met. ‘Tis odd that you object to my words, and yet allow Theo Brin to humiliate you at every turn.”
“It is his right,” Myra glared at him, their faces only inches apart. “It is not yours.”
Dael stepped back from Myra with an infuriating smile still plastered across his face.
“You sa
id you would not stop me from jumping,” Myra accused. The anger was slowly draining from her voice. She did not have the strength left to sustain it for long.
That’s right, I did,” Dael replied glibly, “but I’m a liar.”
The bounty hunter moved swiftly to her right, striking like a snake. Myra had no time to defend herself. The blow caught Myra expertly across the back of her neck.
Lady Brin crumpled without a sound at the bounty hunter’s feet.
Dael picked her up easily, noting as he did so, how painfully thin she was. He carried her down the stairwell, out of the tower and through the palace. He met no one and did not expect to; the palace had been emptied except for essential servants. All hands were needed to make weapons in the city below.
Dael carried her up to where Serranguard’s City-Lord and Lady were lodged and met a servant in the main corridor. He was the creepy fellow who had escorted him to see Theo Brin the day before. Hugo’s eyes widened upon seeing the swarthy bounty hunter carrying the unconscious Lady Brin in his arms.
“The Lady has taken ill,” Dael snapped. “Show me to her chamber at once.”
Hugo hesitated for the moment but the bounty hunter’s expression made him decide against refusing the order. He hurriedly led the way, left, up a stairwell, to a large, ornately furnished chamber. A narrow single bed sat in the room’s center. Such a small bed looked lonely and out of place in such an opulent room. Dael gently laid Myra down on the bed and turned to Hugo.
“Fetch Lord Brin,” he ordered and Hugo fell over himself to comply. Dael watched the chamberlain go with a frown—he could see that slimy little man was enjoying this.
Dael looked down at Myra’s unconscious face and decided the time had come to leave Falcon’s Mount. Lady Brin would wake shortly and would have Theo Brin to contend with. He did not want to be here upon the City-Lord’s arrival.
“Sorry about hitting you milady,” he said softly, reaching down and stroking her cheek. Her skin was rose-petal soft. “But you were a danger to yourself.”
With that, the bounty hunter turned on his heel and left the chamber.
***
“How did you get that scar?”
Will looked up from where he had been cleaning the blade of his sword.
Adelyis met his eye. “You do not mind me asking?”
Will smiled and reached up to touch the long thin white scar that ran down the left side of his face, starting parallel to the eye and almost reaching the chin. It was an old scar and disfiguring. Upon first meeting him, her eyes had been constantly drawn to the blemish but now she barely noticed it. Still, Adelyis was curious as to how he had got it. Hunger and fatigue made her bolder than usual.
“No, I don’t mind,” Will replied in a low voice. Next to them, Taz had curled up on the storeroom’s cold flagstone floor and was gently snoring. The watery light filtering in from a tiny window above their heads had dimmed considerably. The day had passed slowly but now night was approaching. They had been trapped in the storeroom since the night before; soon it would be time for them to make their way back to their former hiding place where they had water and food—but they would have to wait here a little longer, until darkness cloaked Serranguard once more. There was a little time to talk.
“I was thirteen, growing up in Brenna. My family lived near the docks, where my father worked. We were a big family and a very loud one,” Will said with a wistful smile, “but we were poor. There were always fights about money and squabbles over food. Two of my sisters died of a fever one winter and one of my brothers drowned in the lake when he was five. I was the oldest and from when I had passed my sixth summer, I was sent to work with my father at the docks. My three surviving younger brothers did the same as soon as they were old enough. I hated working with my father; he was big and mean and I was small for my age. He drank too much and he beat us—and it was always worse when he’d been drinking. He beat my mother much worse than the rest of us. She always fought back and it made him nastier. There were many times I thought he’d kill her. When I was little, I stuck my fingers in my ears to block out her screams but then one day, during my thirteenth summer, I challenged him while he was punching her. He grabbed a carving knife and went for me with it . . . and that,” Will stroked his scar absently, “is how I got this.”
“What happened after that?” Adelyis gasped.
“He threw me out, said I could come back home when I learned some respect.” Will’s gaze hardened. “But I knew I’d never go back. I was bleeding badly and in shock—I collapsed on the street in front of a group of soldiers who were on their way to their barracks outside Brenna. They took me with them and looked after me until I healed. I stayed on as a stable-hand for a while. Later, they trained me and I joined Serranguard’s Army. So there you have it,” Will turned his face and looked at Adelyis in the gathering darkness. He could see her fine features creased in consternation. “Sorry, you asked a simple question and I’ve told you my life story.”
“What an awful childhood,” Adelyis murmured.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Will replied, “Brenna’s a rough town and a lot of people fared worse than me.”
There was no reply Adelyis could make to that.
We come from different worlds,” Will was smiling again; he studied Adelyis’s face as he spoke. “I’m rough and unlearned. I can read and write only because my friend, Jennadil, a wizard who once lived at Serranguard, gave me lessons, but I do so like a child. You’ve spent your life immersed in your studies amongst civilized people.”
He accented the word ‘civilized’ in a way that made Adelyis stiffen.
“Do you dislike the Ennadil?” Her voice had an accusing edge to it.
“Not particularly,” Will held her gaze, “I have no reason to dislike your people—however most of the Ennadil I’ve met have been a bit haughty.”
Will laughed and held up his hand as if to fend off the icy glare Adelyis was now giving him.
“Present company excluded of course,” he finished with a grin, but when he saw Adelyis was still glaring at him, his grin faded. “Come now, Adelyis, you know the ways of our peoples are very different. The Ennadil never bother to hide their disdain for us. You think Orinians crude and uncultured but, in truth, Orinians have always envied the Ennadil their serenity and wisdom. We feel like unruly children around you.”
The ice in Adelyis’s eyes melted slightly at this and her mouth relaxed. “I never had much interaction with Orinians before now,” she explained, “and I must admit I was prejudiced. My people are more subtle than yours; we keep our emotions well hidden under layers of etiquette and we pour our passion into our art, literature, poetry and architecture. All these things are windows into our inner world. You are so different. Orinians have their culture but only a few among you have access to it; and your lack of self-restraint makes the Ennadil uncomfortable. For us it is dangerous.”
“And do you dislike us?” Will turned Adelyis’s earlier question back on her.
Adelyis smiled and shook her head. “Your ways are odd but not as unpleasant as I had imagined.”
“What exactly about me do you find odd?” Will raised an eyebrow.
Adelyis’s smile widened. “Oh . . . many things, your sense of humor most of all. You make jokes about everything, even bad things—we Ennadil take life much more seriously. Sometimes when you say things you confuse me, for if I were to take you literally, as I would an Ennadil, I would be constantly offended by you.”
Will looked down at the sword he had been cleaning, his face serious, before he replied.
“I’ve never meant to offend you Adelyis,” he looked up and Adelyis was surprised to see softness in his eyes, “but if I have I apologize for it. To me, you are a beautiful, other-worldly creature; you belong in a palace, a worshipped queen who rules over vast lands with many who seek your counsel—not trapped in an occupied fortress with the likes of Taz and me.”
“Speak for yoursel
f!” Taz grumbled, coming awake at the sound of his name. “What with the two of you blathering on like fools, I am surprised we don’t have the entire Morg army beating down this door!”
Will and Adelyis abruptly broke off their conversation. It was almost dark inside the storeroom; the three of them could barely make out each other’s faces. It was time to move on.
“We are going to need a plan,” Adelyis spoke, tucking the two spell books back into her cloak. “Once we get back to our hiding place we will have little time left. They will eventually find us.”
“I don’t know how we can make use of the information you’ve discovered about the Morg’s weakness to cold,” Taz replied. “Perhaps you can cast a weather spell yourself, bring freezing weather upon us and kill the vermin in their beds!”
Taz spoke with such zeal that Will was glad, once again, that they were on the same side and not opposing ones.
“I need a different spell book,” Adelyis replied. “Neither of these have the spell I need.”
“Well then, we’re finished.” Taz replied bluntly.
“Taz has a point,” Will spoke up. “We stayed with you to help you get your staff back and discover what the Morg were searching for. Now we’ve done both and we’ve discovered that even knowing their weakness we still cannot stop them. I say we make haste for Falcon’s Mount this eve. The library at Falcon’s Mount is the largest in the City States of Orin; there you’ll find your spell.”
“A good plan!” Taz nodded. His yellow eyes fixed, unblinking, on Adelyis.
Adelyis sighed, knowing she was beaten. “Very well—but we will not travel far on empty stomachs and without water. We must stop at our hiding place first.”
“It is too risky,” Taz growled, “from here we can travel directly down into the dungeons. We will have to make a long detour if we go back to the secret chamber. I say we wait until we reach Delm Forest before we eat and drink.”
Adelyis and Taz looked at Will, waiting for him to make his vote. His stomach ached with hunger and his mouth was dry from thirst but he knew he could go on a bit longer without eating or drinking. It was Adelyis who concerned him. She had an iron will but she was physically much more fragile than either he or Taz.
The Children of Isador Page 20