hair,” insisted Harris as he followed behind Brenin.
“What about a vote?” asked Balthus as he turned
to see them leaving.
Harris turned; his eyes narrowed towards Balthus.
“What have you done?” his smile twisted.
Balthus pulled out a small parchment from his
robe pocket. “Three hundred and twenty-four staff in
the palace, the majority voted a haircut,” he smiled as
he handed the parchment to Harris, who stood with
his mouth gaping at the parchment. “The guards still
haven’t got their vote back to me, with over a thousand
guards it may take some time.” His eyes widened as he
looked to Harris, whose face was a picture of utter
trepidation. “It was a lot of effort,” he commented.
“I can see that, Balthus!” shouted Harris. He
stormed back into the palace flailing the parchment.
“Fine!” he shouted, “I’ll get a bloody hair cut!” He
turned to Balthus and continued walking backwards,
“if the guards reflect the same!” He pointed to
Balthus. “Well played, old man, well played!” he
shouted as he turned and walked back inside.
The hall was quiet, the council sulked about the
halls, having lost one of their own, the only councillor
who seemed remotely happy that day was Kailron.
Harris greeted him as he came towards the fountain in
the hall, Kailron was walking towards his chambers.
“One minute!” called Harris, Kailron stopped as
Harris searched the parchment.
“You voted,” his finger ran down the parchment,
his eyes widened as he looked straight faced to
Kailron, “you voted for me to cut it!” he shouted, he
held no anger in his shouting, “why?”
Kailron laughed, “Your reputation has already
proven fact, your work is without doubt some of the
best we’ve ever seen, but your hair, Harris, we struggle
to take you seriously.”
“Ha,” sighed Harris as he shot up the stairs and
into Brenin’s chambers. He glared at the guards on
the door who had also voted. “You as well!” shouted
Harris as he stepped into Brenin’s chambers. Brenin
stood by his desk, giving a grumbling laugh. “I
expected better from you.”
“Come on, Harris, you could be nesting wild birds
in there!” he laughed as Harris came towards him.
Harris looked to the stairs, Librye’s name was
missing from his vote. “Where’s Librye?” asked
Harris, his humour dropped as his eyes searched the
room.
“I thought you would’ve known,” said Brenin with
a tone of wonder. They both left the office towards her
room.
Harris gave a knock to her door, Mord soon
appeared at the door. “She isn’t well,” said Mord.
“Is it her back?” asked Brenin as Mord stepped to
the side, Harris and Brenin walked into the room, to
see Librye shivering in her bed. Godfrey was sat by
her side. “Godfrey, what is it?”
Harris quickly walked to her bedside, he sat on the
edge and held her hand, her eyes drifted towards him.
“What is it, Tiny One?” Before she could reply, she
sat up and threw up down his front.
“Oh! That is horrid!” Panicked Harris as he stood,
he was clearly having a bad day. He hurried to the
washroom, where he listened to Brenin and Godfrey.
“Well, she isn’t fevering,” said Godfrey, “which is a
relief, however, her illnesses seem to be coming in
waves.”
“What does that mean, Godfrey?” asked Brenin as
he took Harris’s place and sat by her bedside.
Godfrey leant towards Brenin. “In all honesty, I’m
not quite sure, her symptoms always have something
to do with the outing of her wings.” Brenin’s eyes
drifted towards Godfrey, a look of doubt seemed to
stick in his eyes. “We know what they are, Sire, we
cannot deny them.” Godfrey stood as straight as he
could. “My work here is done, I can no longer help
her, she should be with the torbs now, Sire, they can
help.” His raised brows spoke to Brenin.
Harris continued listening as he tried his best to
remove the sticky vomit. “Bushwell is yet to reply to
me,” said Brenin as he looked to Librye, now
slumbering, “we are lost, without her,” he softly said.
“I can take her,” said Harris as he stepped from
the washroom holding a towel, he continued cleaning
his tunic. Brenin turned. “I can take her,” Harris
repeated with his eyes wide, “Bushwell will be pleased
to see us, I’m sure.”
“Not yet,” said Brenin as he turned back, “we will
await his reply.” He softly stroked her forehead.
The night brought a pattering of rain from Librye’s
window outside.
“You go,” whispered Harris as he sat with Mord
beside Librye’s bedside. The entire day had been
spent in her room.
“It’s my duty, Harris, I can cope fine, you have
more work than me, get some sleep,” Mord argued.
Harris rubbed his eyes. “Mord, go now, please,”
he begged, “I’ve gone for half a turn without sleep
before, one night isn’t going to be my end.”
Mord slowly stood. “Only if you’re sure,” she
softly said.
Harris widened his eyes. “Go!” he brushed his
hand towards the door. Mord slowly left, taking
Harris’s armour with her.
Harris spent the night hunched onto the side of
Librye’s bed, he still sat on the chair and rested his
head on her bed. Librye slowly woke, the darkness of
the room took over as she slowly opened her eyes.
She saw Harris laying his head on her bed.
“I’m just resting my eyes,” he mumbled.
Librye sat up. “What’s wrong with me, Harris?”
she moaned.
Harris sat up straight, he looked to her, his eyes
filled with a wonderous sympathy. “There’s nothing
wrong with you,” he softly replied, “what makes you
say that?”
Her eyes were still weary as she sat forward.
“Harris, my back hurts.”
He had not seen it before, he had only ever seen a
slight dotting on her clothes, as he leant her forward,
his eyes turned to a look of pained horror. Blood
covered her sheet and back. The sticky red covered
his hands as he tried to see where it was coming from.
“Guard,” he softly said, shock had taken his voice.
“Guards!” he eventually shouted.
One of the guards stepped inside. “Again, with
this, Librye?” he sighed.
Harris thundered towards him. “Don’t just stand
there, get the fucking alchemist!” he shouted in a deep
grumbling voice.
“It happens a lot, Harris.” The guard tried to
assure. But Harris would not calm, he could not calm
as he frantically searched the room, trying his best to
gather some towels. He leant Librye forward, the
pouring blood would not stop. “Harri
s, it’s pointless,”
said the guard, “it’ll stop soon.”
Harris frantically carried on; he pressed the towels
into her back. “Harris,” whispered Librye, “it’ll stop
soon.” He looked to her, his eyes were widened and
panicked. “Please, Harris, just stop,” she softly begged.
Harris would not listen; he needed the bleeding to
stop. He untied her nightgown and pulled the back
down. The strange lumps had again grown, but this
time raw bone protruded from her back, small thick
bones stuck out from her back by a couple of inches.
“What the fuc…” whispered Harris, he did not want to
finish talking, his face said everything.
“What did you expect, Harris? things like this
don’t happen over-night.”
Harris looked to Librye, he took some towels and
placed them onto the bed, he softly laid her back.
“Librye,” he said with a quivering voice. Words
were hard for him to find. “You could bleed to death,”
he softly said, his mouth curled down with horror.
“She could,” said Brenin as he stepped into the
room, Branwen was by his side, she ran towards
Librye. The attentive nurse Harris remembered so
well was back, as Branwen began stemming the
bleeding. “Hence the reason we need the torbs,” he
came towards the bed. “Librye, how are you feeling?”
Librye swayed her head, her exhausted eyes
seemed to swirl around the room. “She isn’t well,
Brenin, she needs help,” insisted Harris.
“The torbs can do that for her,” said Brenin as he
slowly sat beside the bed, “she is going through a fast
process, the torbs need to slow it down, they are the
ones with the potions and magic, even the fey’s magic
doesn’t compare.”
“The point is, if this happens again, it might be the
last,” Harris warned. He looked to the blood covered
bed, “she needs to go, now.”
Brenin slowly shook his head. “Bushwell will do
something, he has already received the letters I’ve
sent, I know he will do something.”
“Harris, your boots,” Branwen quickly insisted as
she remained inspecting Librye’s back. Harris looked
to her wide eyed. “I’m not playing, Harris, I need your
boots.”
It was clear that she knew Harris well, he took his
boots off, using a small dagger she began to unscrew
the bottom of his boot, revealing his alchemist kit.
“Impressive,” Brenin softly said.
Branwen took a small bag of white powder, placing
some on the end of the wounds the bleeding slowed
and finally stopped. “There, now, if you need anything
else, call me,” her voice carried a warning as she
looked to Harris and Brenin. Harris replaced the
screws and his boots. “I shall leave you to rest,” she
softly said as she left the room.
“I must say, Harris, you are full of surprises,”
commented Brenin, his tone remained impressed.
His head rested on Librye’s bed. Another day had
passed and still Librye remained unwell. A captivating
scent woke him, his eyes slowly opened. Harris slowly
lifted his head to see Maple sneaking into the room.
“Good morning,” greeted Harris.
“If that’s what it is,” replied Maple in a quiet voice
as she came close to the bed, she was holding a large
plate draped with a white cloth. Her grin was wide as
she placed the plate down for Harris. “I made you
something,” she said with a wide smile. She quickly
removed the cloth to reveal a small loaf of bread, the
scent of lavender and rosemary took his senses as he
looked to the delicious looking bread. Beside it were
two sweetbreads. “I know you must be missing your
journeys, so I had the sweetbread brought in for you,
the other is of my own making.”
Her formidable voice seemed to captivate Harris
further as he took a piece of the delightful bread. He
fell back in his chair.
“Oh! Maple,” he sighed with a wonderous tone of
utter enchantment, “you know how to make a man
happy.”
Maple laughed, she folded some of the sheets
beside Librye’s bed, saving a job for Mord.
“You sound like my husband,” she replied, her
smile softened as a sparkle of reminiscence hit her
eyes, “he always used to say, ‘My bread could revive
an army.’”
Harris listened, he looked towards her, feeling
slightly guilty that he did not know the man that well.
“What was he like?”
Maple stopped folding; she took the seat at the
side of Librye. “He was a wonder,” she said with a
sorrowful sigh, “he was never made to be a
commander, he was meant for the temples, he always
wanted to make people proud, always pushing himself
further, no matter how much I told him, he still
wouldn’t listen, I was so proud of that man, everything
he did, everything he witnessed, his work never
seemed good enough for him.”
Harris leant forward. “They were big boots for me
to fill,” he sorrowfully said, “when I arrived in
Marrion, I had been there for no more than a few
days, a stray arrow, took him amidst the chaos.” Harris
heavily swallowed his bread. “Were you told what
happened?”
Maple shook her head. “No,” she whispered, “it
was far too chaotic for details to be sent.”
Harris looked towards her, he knew what
happened, and he knew he could bring some comfort
to Maple. “The village where you’re from,
Shawhope.” Maple sat upright to listen. “That’s where
I sent the letter, hoping you would receive it,” his head
lowered, sitting back in his chair he cleared his teeth
with his tongue, “I wrote in that, the details of his
death.”
Her voice quivered as she replied, “I never
received the letter.”
“Very well,” said Harris, his tone changed as he sat
forward, “then I can tell you. He did not die without
cause, he died to save several others from death, he
fell to a barrage of arrows, using himself as a shield, I
was there,” his eyes drifted down, “I brought him to
the camp, atop Svend, we tried for hours to save him,
I took his final command, before he succumb to
shock.”
“What was his final command?” a tear in her eye
began to grace her cheek.
He struggled to talk, but knew he needed to tell
her directly. “He told me that I was to end Marrion,
end it, he said, don’t let the bastards take it.” He
looked to Maple; her face was now wet with tears. “He
asked me, to tell his Holly that he loves her.” Maple
broke, her tears fell freely from her eyes. “I never
understood, why I was writing to a Maple, but he
called you Holly?”
“He would call me Holly, saying I was filled with
unbreakable spines
, but with a soft centre, we always
wanted children, when Marrion ended, we were to live
out our days in a village to the east of Shawhope,
Organa, a beautiful place, untouched by Atlanti hands,
we will never have that now.” Maple stood, as she
turned to leave, she looked back to Harris. “You did
though, you ended Marrion, Harris,” she gave a soft,
tight smile. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Marrion fell, Maple,” he said with regret.
Maple quickly turned, a glow in her eyes spoke of
a secret knowledge. “You say that,” she noticed his
eyes narrow, “even though Marrion fell, you didn’t let
the bastards have it.”
The palace had been talking, the kitchen was alive
with rumours of Marrion, many lie dead in Castle
Marrion, an invisible killer had taken them all, Harris
did not allow them to take Marrion, although nothing
would ever lead back to him.
Chapter Fifteen Quick Stop
or days, Harris could not leave Librye’s side.
His desk was piling with letters, the kitchens
F remained quiet as Harris’s visits dwindled and
stopped. Librye remained in her bed, the Greendia
moon approached. Harris knew he would need to
catch up on his work soon, as he was requested in
Sonnin. Leaving her bedside seemed like an ultimate
challenge for him. The only time he had left was to
change his clothes and bring her food from the
kitchens. Even Branwen no longer possessed his
thoughts entirely.
Mord thought it best to give Harris a break, to
allow him to catch up on his work. On his way up the
stairs to the east tower, Harris could hear her, the faint
footsteps of Branwen, as she paced his room. He
came to the top of the stairs and remained silent. Her
glare towards him held concern.
“How is she?” she asked, panic stricken.
Harris threw his sword and belt to the side of his
desk as he quickly made his way in. “She’ll live, for
now,” he said as he sat. He let out an exasperated
breath as he looked to the work on his desk. Sat at his
chair he began to read.
“I remember this,” Branwen softly said as she
lowered herself into the chair opposite, “the days and
nights, sat at your desk, watching you work.”
Harris looked up from under his brow. His hair
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