A Marriage of Friends (The Inner Seas Kingdoms Book 8)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  Some of the vendors he bought from said nothing to him – they merely asked for coins, and took their payment. Others looked at him inquisitively, or even spoke up.

  “Your ears, they are not usual,” one woman selling hardboiled eggs commented.

  “No, they’re not,” Kestrel agreed. “The other elves made fun of them because I’m one quarter human.” That answer made her look at him blankly, and so he moved on.

  “What goods come up from Uniontown these days?” he asked another vendor, a one-legged man who had claimed to be a former river sailor.

  “No goods, except for some of the people,” the man selling dried fish had replied. “They have so much trouble down there now that coal and timber and people are about the only things that ship up here anymore. The people are mostly just trying to get away from trouble – some of them are hardworkers, but others are just cowards.”

  “How’s the civil war going?” Kestrel asked.

  “It’s a mess, and it just gets messier. Fields is going to win, but the others won’t admit it,” the merchant said, his eyes looking past Kestrel to search for other potential customers.

  “How is Duke Listay doing?” Kestrel asked while trying to seem unconcerned.

  “You’re a follower of his? You’re the elf they all talked about?” the man’s eyes swung around to sharply examine Kestrel’s face.

  “I am an acquaintance,” Kestrel replied. “And I know his chief guard, a good man. I owe him a favor.” He wasn’t going to reveal too much to this merchant, he decided.

  “What have you heard?” he asked.

  “Duke Listay is alive, and no longer involved in the fight for the throne,” the crippled man replied.

  “Why?” Kestrel asked, astonished.

  “Because Fields holds his daughter, and intends to marry her. Listay can’t do anything to endanger his daughter.”

  “Lark?” Kestrel’s voice rose in pitch as he responded with shock. “Fields is going to marry Lark?”

  “He caught her trying to return to her father. She’d been out on some adventure, and he took her captive, her and a few guards,” the merchant said. “So now she’s his to have and to hold.”

  “Excuse me,” he said brusquely to Kestrel as another customer approached.

  Kestrel walked away from the booth, stunned by the revelation.

  There was a silver lining to the story, if it was true. At least Kestrel knew that his companions had survived their own return to the land of the Inner Seas, and had found a path from their portal to Uniontown. Wren and Stillwater had made the return as well, he was happy to believe.

  His mission had just grown more complicated. He was no longer going to Uniontown to fight on behalf of Duke Listay, as a favor for Lark, and to try to understand if there was a relationship between Lark and himself. Now he had changed his mission; he was going to Uniontown to rescue Lark. And along with that, he expected he would help her father.

  With his face set in a grim expression, he began jogging through the city streets, headed south. He passed through the gates in the city walls, where the walls were damaged and still unrepaired from the harm Uniontown had inflicted years earlier during its conquest of the city. It was mid-day, and the road that ran along the Gamble River was open to him, ready to carry him all the way to Uniontown at the point where the Dangueax River joined the Gamble.

  Kestrel passed by the outskirts of Lakeview’s settlements, and then came to the bridge that carried an eastern road over the river. It housed a settlement of homeless people who lived on the shore beneath its abutment. He passed by the turn off to the bridge, and continued south on the road, drawing near to the massive jumble of large stones within which he had hidden with Hierodule and Hiram, during a battle with the Viathins.

  Kestrel skirted around the stones, mindful of the men who lived within the maze of passages that wove through the stones, and after that, he flung back his hood to enjoy better vision, and began running in his true elven manner, speedily leaving all the other human travelers along the road amazed at his passage. He ran until sunset, then climbed into a tree in an orchard. He was hardly hidden among the bare branches, but he was fifty yards off the road and satisfied that no one would spot him in the dark of night.

  At the beginning of dawn he awoke, chilly from the night in the elements, and started running again. Dark clouds moved in during the day, and a heavy rain began to fall shortly after noon. He passed through the ruins of a deserted village, and took shelter in an abandoned barn, while he stood in the doorway and looked out at the weather, the rain falling in sheets, at first, then dwindling to a heavy mist that steadily soaked the ground with chill water.

  Despite his hopes, the hours passed slowly while the cold drizzle continued. Kestrel grew frustrated, then impatient, and finally decided to run through the rain anyway. He pulled his hood tight around his already wet hair, and burst out of the barn to return to the road. His third step landed on a slippery patch of wet clay, and he fell hard to the ground.

  “Oh Kere!” he swore softly, as he lay in the puddle and rolled over onto his back, clutching his injured right arm with his left hand. The pain was intense, and he recollected the fall he had taken back so long ago, in the Eastern Forest, while he had been entering into his first great adventure. He slowly sat up, then rolled into position to rise, and began to slowly jog, holding his arm tightly against his chest, trying to minimize the nauseating pain he felt.

  He ran slowly through the rain in the dim, cloudy light, continuing to move south. He saw no one else on the road as he ran, and by nightfall he knew he needed to find someplace to rest and recover – he needed a dry spot. He was shivering in addition to feeling the throbbing pain in his arm, and the sight of a light not far off the road, as the sun set in the west, drew him towards what he hoped would be a dry shelter.

  Several minutes later he found he was on the outskirts of an estate, where several buildings surrounded a large chateau. As he stood in the shadows of a grove of trees and studied the scene, he saw a man with a lantern exit from a large door in one building, and return to the chateau. The building the man left behind was dark, and the size of the door made Kestrel guess it was a barn.

  He stumbled through the darkness, as the rain began to fall more heavily, and he struggled his way into the building.

  The odor made it evident that he was in a barn. He smelled horses and hay and manure. A horse nickered inquisitively as Kestrel stumbled past its stall, and he reached out with his hand to pat the animal’s head while he passed by. The interior of the barn was nearly pitch black, but Kestrel’s keen elven vision spotted a pile of hay bales in a corner, and he wandered over to the hay, then carefully lowered himself down to the ground, and let out a sigh of relief.

  He was out of the rain, and out of the wind. He sneezed violently. His clothes were sopping wet. Kestrel held his painful right arm in his lap, and awkwardly used his left hand to pull his boots off, then his pants. He wrangled his cowl off after several efforts, and finally pulled his shirt up over his good arm, then gingerly slid it down the wounded arm, and threw it up over a bale of straw, so that it could join the other pieces of clothing in drying out. Naked, he squirmed back into a narrow opening between the bales, curled up, and fell into a feverish sleep.

  Chapter 15

  Kestrel found it difficult to awaken. When he did, it was pain that goaded him back into a muddled awareness. He might have screamed, but he couldn’t be sure.

  When he opened his eyes, he looked up and saw a ceiling overhead, while a man – a human man – stood over him.

  “So you’re coming around finally, are you?” the man spoke to Kestrel, his hands gently touching the injured arm, that Kestrel suddenly realized was tied down, immobilized. Kestrel looked around wildly, straining to move the arm, at a loss to understand his situation. He remembered that he was cold and sick and injured, in a barn, but nothing else came to mind.

  “You’ve been here for three days, you know. Hardly
eaten a thing, even though her ladyship has told us to feed you with nourishment that you need, even though the larder won’t have hardly enough for the staff after the next tribute payment,” the man breezily chattered.

  “Where am I?” Kestrel asked.

  “What’s that you say? Using those elven words on me? They don’t do you any good, even though they sound downright musical,” the man told Kestrel.

  Kestrel paused and switched gears mentally. He focused, then spoke in the human tongue.

  “I don’t know where I am, or how I got here,” Kestrel spoke.

  “You are in the home of the Marquess Thuringa, after you helped yourself to spending a night in her stables. Your clothes are over in that cupboard,” the man added with a smirk. “You apparently didn’t need them, since the groom reported you weren’t wearing any when he found you unconscious on the floor of the stable.”

  Kestrel tried to figure out the references; none of the man’s comments made much sense.

  “I’m,” he tried to think about where he was. He had run, he knew. “I’m in Lakeview?” he asked.

  “No, you’re in the northern region of Uniontown, or it would be if there was a king to rule over the land,” the man replied to Kestrel, his comments descending into muttering as he finished his answer.

  The king of Uniontown, or the lack of a king. Suddenly the issues made sense and snapped into focus for Kestrel. He remembered why he had begun traveling towards Uniontown, to see Lark, and to help her father. And Lark, he had been told, had been taken captive.

  He needed to go. He had to be on his way to find Lark and set her free.

  “Can you untie this to set me free?” he asked the man. “I appreciate your care. Thank you for taking me in and tending me. I have to be on my way.”

  “Well, let me talk to her ladyship about whether to release you or not right now,” his caretaker replied. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, then slipped out of the room.

  Kestrel looked around the room. It was bright, with high ceilings, a comfortable room, and there was a small fire burning in a fireplace, there to keep him warm. The humans of the estate had taken steps to care for him, he realized. He would have to be sure to express his gratitude to them.

  He reached across his body with his right hand, and began trying to untie the straps around his left arm, to set himself free. There were splints as well, keeping it even more immobilized. The ties were tighter that he expected, and he was still in the middle of his efforts when the door opened and his caretaker returned, accompanied by a heavyset human woman.

  She had glossy dark hair, and was old enough to be his mother, though not elderly.

  “Stop your worrying at that strap,” she said as she walked in and saw what he was attempting. “Marlin, set the boy free,” she directed the servant.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Kestrel replied, as the man came over and began to untie his straps.

  “Thank you for the care,” he added.

  “You were very ill when Gaster found you in the barn. I had you brought in immediately. Heavens, an elf found in Thuringa! It’s a wonder. If I could tell anyone they’d be amazed,” she told Kestrel.

  He tested the motion in his arm. It was stiff – beyond the way the splints held it straightened, and painful. If he had access to the healing spring, he could make the problem go away in a few days, he regretfully told himself. There was a way to send himself to the spring, but he didn’t understand it – when he had done it before, his subconscious had taken over and done it without his volition or awareness. The healing spring was not an option until the imps could travel once again.

  He sat up, and realized that he had a sheet spread over him, but no other clothing. He felt his cheeks grow warm.

  “My lady, I am on my way to Uniontown. I fell and hurt my arm in a rainstorm and I caught a cold, so I thank you very much for your care, and I wish I could offer you some token of my thanks, but I have little to offer now,” he said. “I’ll just take my things and be on my way, and trouble you no more, if you don’t mind.”

  “Gracious, you should rest for another day. You’re just getting out of bed. Stay here and rest,” she urged.

  “It’d be better if he left before Fields’s forces came to collect their tribute,” Marlin spoke in a low voice.

  “Oh, they won’t come search the house room by room,” she responded. “What’s so urgent that you want to go out in the winter on a long journey?” she asked Kestrel.

  “I have to meet a friend,” he said evasively.

  “Who’s that, Duke Listay?” Marlin cackled. “Are you the elf who’s coming to help him win the war?”

  The man and the noblewoman smiled at the joke, as Kestrel stared at them in disbelief. The merchant in Lakeview had referred to his arrival as well; somehow, the thought of Kestrel arriving to help Listay had become common knowledge, and a public joke.

  “No,” Kestrel said softly. “That may be someone else.

  “I need to be on my way. If you’ll hand me my clothes, I’ll be out of your way in just a few minutes,” he pointed towards the garments that were in the corner of the room.

  “So be it, sir elf. I hope your journey is a safe one, and you find the friend you seek,” the lady said, taking Kestrel’s hint. “I’ll leave you to your privacy.” She turned and left the room.

  “Your clothes are there; your other things are still in the stables,” Marlin told him, as Kestrel jumped across the room and hastily pulled his pants on, then his boots. Marlin helped him with the shirt over his head and his splinted, painful arm, then the hooded cape.

  “I’ll show you to the stables,” the man offered, and he led Kestrel through the manor house to the barn yard behind the house. “We’ll go this way,” he said, and led Kestrel through the blustery but sunny morning to the stables building.

  Kestrel started to collect his pack and his staff, when there was a clatter in the yard.

  “Oh,” Marlin said softly, as he stood by the door waiting for Kestrel. “That’s not good.”

  “What is it?” Kestrel asked without real curiosity. He was focused on resuming his journey, and thinking about how effective he was going to be in battle with an injured arm. He knew that his vastly enhanced control over his powers would be little affected, but when the time came to use a bow and arrow, he’d be useless until his arm healed, which felt as though it was several days away at best.

  “Fields’s men are here early,” Marlin said. “They’re here to get the tribute. Let’s get you out of here now. We’ll go out the back way,” the man said, pointing and starting to lead the way down between a row of stalls.

  Kestrel followed him to the back of the barn, where Marlin slid a latch and opened a door. “Go straight out back, and hide in the woods. I’ll come get you after they’re gone,” he told Kestrel.

  “Why? What’s happening?” Kestrel asked.

  “There’s no time to explain,” Marlin hissed. There came a banging sound at the front of the barn. “Go!” the man said urgently, then he closed the door and left Kestrel alone.

  Stunned by the unexpected turn of events, Kestrel ran awkwardly to the trees behind the estate, then stopped there, and leaned against a tree trunk, trying to make sense of what was happening. Fields was the opponent who was fighting Duke Listay in pursuit of being crowned as the new king of the land; he was the man who allegedly had Lark held captive, with intent to make her his bride; and he was apparently levying tribute demands upon the lesser nobles of the land.

  Kestrel heard a shout and a scream from the estate. He turned and ran back to the door he had just escaped through, then pulled the latch open. The interior of the barn was bright, as the large doors at the manor-side of the building were open, and he could see men carrying goods out of the barn.

  “What’s that? Who opened a door in the back?” a voice called harshly.

  Kestrel abruptly closed the door and stood outside the barn.

  There was another cry from the far s
ide of the barn, trouble of some kind clearly taking place, and now, Kestrel feared, he might be part of the problem.

  He darted to the side and around the corner of the barn, then crept along the exterior to the front corner. He crouched low, then looked around at the open space between all the buildings.

  A dozen men and horses were scattered about, and a wagon without drivers stood at rest. A few crates and barrels were loaded on the wagon, the apparent tribute that the estate was making to Fields’ forces.

  Marlin knelt in the center of the yard, while a man stood over him, a sword pressed against the servant’s neck.

  “Who was it? Where is he?” the man with the sword roared. “Tell me or this slave loses his life.”

  “It’s me,” Kestrel called. He stood and stepped out into the open, just as he heard a shout behind him, from guards who had circled around the barn looking for him.

  “What do we have here? A spy? An assassin? Why did you try to hide him?” the swordsman demanded loudly.

  The Marquise was standing next to the door of the manor. “He was just a traveler who stopped here,” she said.

  “Come over here – now!” the man roared at Kestrel.

  Kestrel did three things. He flipped his hood up, knowing that it was a futile gesture to hide his identity at that point in the confrontation. Then he reached for the energy within himself, preparing to use it at any second for whatever might come. Finally, he began a slow walk over to the center of the yard, where he saw Marlin’s pale face was drenched in sweat as his life was threatened.

  “Faster! Move faster, you miserable cur!” the swordsman shouted. The other members of the hostile force were watching passively, while a pair of servants stood still watching the unfolding drama.

  “You two, get back to work! We’re taking those supplies no matter what, so load the wagon!” the leader of Fields’s forces roared.

  “What do we have here?” the man asked as Kestrel approached him. “An injured traveler who just happens to be here when we arrive, and tries to hide? Why did you try to hide him?” the swordsman directed his question to Marlin, as he kept his eyes on Kestrel, studying him from top to bottom.