Endless Abduction

by Gloria Martin

  The stranger didn't flinch. "I am a man of honor," he said. "You need not worry about your enemy offering me a better price. I am no mercenary to be so easily swayed."

  "Good," Ulric said. "Captain Alfred will show you to your room, at the top of a turret, as you requested. You will find it sparsely furnished, however. It has been many years since those rooms were used to house guests."

  "It will suit my needs," the stranger said. Brida quickly left the room, hoping to keep her intrusion unknown, but not quite sure why it mattered. Had her father not wanted anyone into the room he would have had the doors shut and ordered the guards to bar anyone from entering. She had just as much right to know what was going on as anyone else.

  Still, she couldn't push away the feeling that she wasn't supposed to have been there. She heard Alfred's voice behind her, drawing close to the door, and made her way towards the garden. She had every reason in the world to be there. No one would question her presence.

  She felt eyes on her before she quite got out of sight, and couldn't stop turning around to see who it was, expecting her father, but it was not. Alfred was speaking, completely unaware that Brida was near, but the sorcerer was looking right at her with eyes as sharp as a hawk's, even as he followed behind Alfred. Brida's throat tightened and she feel her cheeks warm, the intensity of the stranger's stare boring right through her. He turned his head away eventually and vanished around a corner after Alfred, but Brida still felt the weight of his gaze on her all the way to the garden.

  She sank down on a bench and tried to still her pounding heart. He was far more attractive than she had expected, even more-so up close, and his eyes... they were almost golden, and almost too bright against the darkness of his hair and brows. His stare remained burned into her as she sat in the fresh, cool air, watching a patch of sunlight slowly move across the ground as time passed. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she failed to hear the soft crush of boots on the grass approaching her.

  She jumped at the voice that spoke. "Your brother spoke much of you, but he failed to mention your beauty."

  Brida pressed a hand to her chest as her heart settled from its scare. "Thank you," she said, breathlessly, and looked up into the eyes of the sorcerer.

  "I hope I'm not intruding. My manners are lacking," he said.

  "No," Brida replied. "No, not at all. You may sit, if you like."

  She moved to the edge of the bench to make room, the cold stone seeping through the layers of her dress. The stranger pulled his cloak aside and sat on the opposite edge, so still that he looked like a statue himself.

  "My name is Cynric," he said. "I'm sure you know why I am here."

  "To help us," Brida replied. "They say you have powerful magic."

  "In a manner of speaking," Cynric said. "So long as your father keeps the promise his men made to me, you and your family need not worry for the future."

  “I can't help but wonder what you were offered to lend us your aid,” Brida said. “We're strangers to you.”

  “Not many people know where I make my home,” Cynric said. “I would prefer to keep it that way. Your brother offered both wealth and solitude once this conflict is done.”

  “You don't sound eager.”

  “I am not,” Cynric replied, “but I gave my word, and I will keep it.” His tone rang true. If her brother and father trusted him, or at least believed him, then she would as well.

  “Can you do magic?” she asked.

  “Not any kind you would understand,” Cynric replied.

  Brida's brows dipped. “Try to explain it, then,” she said.

  A corner of Cynric's mouth twitched. It could have almost been the start of a smile. “I commune with the earth,” he said, “and can call creatures long hidden from the eyes of man to my service.”

  “Such as?” Brida asked.

  “Such as dragons,” Cynric replied. “The fierce wyverns answer my call. There is no army on this earth that is fit to stand against them. Your victory is assured; you have my solemn oath. As long as your father keeps his promise to me.”

  “You're very suspicious,” Brida said.

  “A man like me must be,” he said, “or else face persecution or worse. Mankind is not as accepting of the old ways, now. It is better for me to be on my own.”

  “You must be lonely,” Brida said. She blushed at her own boldness. Cynric only shrugged.

  “At times, yes,” he said, his gaze on Brida heavy and thick with something left unspoken. “If you will forgive my forwardness, it's part of why I sought you out. I sense the same loneliness in you.”

  Brida looked away and folded her hands in her lap. “It's hard to be the only woman,” she said. “My brothers are good men, but they treat me as something fragile, something to be protected. I know I am stronger than they think.”

  “You are,” Cynric said, surprising her. “I can sense it. There is little that you cannot take in stride. They will learn that, one day.”

  “I hope so,” Brida said. She glanced at Cynric from the corner of her eye. He looked to be the same age as Eldric, who was only five years Brida's senior, but he seemed so much older, his shoulders heavy with the weight of a lifetime of knowledge and experience. It should have been intimidating, but instead Brida simply felt a great sadness.

  “I thought also,” Cynric said, “you might like to know that the army will assemble and march in two days’ time. Your enemy's forces have already mustered, and there is a choke point they can be funneled to where there will be no hope of victory. Your brother and father will lead the charge.”

  Brida knew the day would come, but it didn't stop the sharp pang of terror in her chest. She let out a shaky sigh. “Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I will pray for them.”

  “They will return safe,” Cynric said. He reached over and laid one warm hand over Brida's own. “I swear to you.”

  Brida looked down at their hands, but didn't move hers away. “You're very certain.”

  “I have every reason to be,” Cynric said. His touch lingered for a second longer, enough that by the time he stood all traces of cold had been driven from Brida's fingers. “I'll leave you to your thoughts,” he said, and bowed stiffly before turning away.

  Brida watched him go and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. A small mist formed in front of her face. She noticed then the goosebumps on her arms, but couldn't be sure if they were from the air or from the feel of Cynric's hand over hers.

  *****

  The second time Brida watched her brother ride away from the keep he had their father at one side and Cynric at the other, the sorcerer sitting uneasily on a borrowed horse. The beast shifted restlessly under him, pawing at the ground and shaking its head. She and Edmund were left behind, Edmund temporarily taking their father's place as head of the household. Were the army not to return, then he would be king in Eldric's place. Brida hoped it wouldn't come to that. The sound of the army marching away from the keep was almost deafening, and when the thud of hooves and clank of armor and weapons faded, the silence they left behind was just as loud. Edmund leaned heavily on his cane, his jaw tight and skin pale. Brida slipped her arm through his and leaned into him, worry eating away at her stomach.

  “They'll come back,” he said. “They must.”

  “Yes,” Brida replied. She thought back on Cynric's words and wished she could believe them as much now as she had in the garden. There were so many variables, and she shared her father's skepticism about Cynric's powers. She bit back a sigh. So long as they returned safe and sound and their foe defeated, it mattered not if Cynric could truly wield magic or not. All she wanted was her family together again and her home at peace. She knew Edmund was thinking the same.

  “I'm hungry,” her brother said. “Shall we see what we can filch from the kitchens?”

  It felt good to smile. Brida nodded. “Sounds like fun,” she said. Edmund slowly turned around and offered her his other arm, and together they made their way
back into the keep, both desperate to find something that could push their worries aside.

  The waiting was agony. Messages were few and far between, the risk of the birds being shot down far too great. The front and the passage Cynric had spoken of weren't far, but Brida knew that battles could take anywhere from hours to days, and with no word from her father or brother she had no way of knowing what was happening. The lack of information ate away at her as much as her worry and anxiety. She could tell Edmund was worried as well, though he hid it much better, and had far more to distract himself with. Brida only had needlework and books she had read already to try and tear her thoughts away from her family's safety. Edmund had the responsibilities left behind by Ulric and Eldric, which were far easier to lose oneself in than what Brida had.

  Edmund, at least, was kind enough to keep her in the loop. When a bird finally arrived, he summoned her before he even unrolled the missive tied to the creature’s leg, his face a barely concealed mask of the anxiety that Brida's own mind echoed.

  “It's father's seal,” he said when she entered the room, quickly limping over to meet her at the end of the table. He tossed his cane on top of it and popped the seal with his thumb, fingers shaking. Brida touched his hands to steady them and helped him unroll the delicate parchment. Together they silently read the message, short as it was. Brida's knees went weak with relief.

  “Victory,” she said.

  “Yes,” Edmund replied, “but there's more. Another note.” He put one piece of parchment aside. The message continued, the bottom signed with Ulric's mark. “Casualties..., Eldric's well... A dragon? What?”

  Brida snatched the paper from him and read the message over again. “Cynric said... but that's impossible...”

  “What did he say?” Edmund asked, followed by an irritated, “Brida,” when she didn't immediately respond.

  “I asked him what kind of magic he does, and he told me he could summon dragons, but Father says that... he himself is the dragon. How is that possible?”

  “Does it matter?” Edmund said. “We won.”

  “Yes, but... He's injured. Cynric.”

  “They'll treat him on the road,” Edmund replied. He was grinning broadly, his face crinkling in all the right places. “We won, Brida,” he said. “I know you understand what this means.”

  “I do,” Brida said. “And I'm happy, I am. I only wish it could have been accomplished without so much bloodshed.”

  Edmund chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Women,” he said, not unkindly. “You would have everyone talk and embrace to solve their problems.”

  Brida took her brother's jest in stride. "The world would be a better place if they did," she said, still looking at the message. "They'll be home soon. I should find people to help care for the wounded, and they'll need a place to rest..."

  "I'll have men set up a temporary hospital," Edmund said, still smiling, but all joking aside. "And we must throw a feast to celebrate our glorious victory." He squeezed her shoulder. "Smile, sister. Our king and father is well, and our brother has returned safely to us. The plan worked. God is good."

  "Yes," Brida said. She rolled the messages back up and pressed them into Edmund's palm. She smiled, but her worry still eclipsed her happiness. Why she cared so much for a stranger confused her, but Cynric had risked his life so that he might be left in peace. He didn't deserve to die for someone else's war. And if all this talk about him being the dragon he told Brida he could summon... She needed time to sit and think about Ulric's message.

  She found her solace in the garden by the statue of Mary. There would be time enough to gather healers later in the day. She knew many women who tended to the keep who had experience with herbs, and there was herself as well. Sorting out her thoughts, however, was a completely different and far more challenging task. It was impossible for her to believe that a man could change his shape, but there was no reason for her to think her father had been lying. It was no wonder the thing Cynric wanted most was to be left alone. She had a dozen questions to ask him, and hoped that he would be well enough to talk when they finally returned home.

  ***

  Ulric must have sent the message on the road, for it was only a day more before he returned at the head of his army, much diminished in size and leading carts full of wounded. Brida had wrangled up a handful of women and older men from the keep and nearby villages to tend to them, and Edmund had a hastily constructed tent set up outside the walls, close to the river, where any infection or spreading sickness could be easily contained.

  The messenger that Ulric sent found Brida first and gave her the news and spewed thanks when Brida gave him permission to seek out a hot meal and warm bed. Brida hurried to find Edmund, who was still breaking his fast in his room, and saw more of her brother than she wished to when he threw back his bedclothes to fetch his cane and dress. The ordeal made her laugh, to Edmund's embarrassment, though the flush remained on her cheeks until Edmund joined her in the bailey to greet their father. She was pleased to see the color on his cheeks as well. Still, he reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly.

  "He's home," he said, sounding for an instant like a small child. "And all is well. Now we can focus on those cursed pagans to the south, reinforce our border before they set their sights on our treasures as well."

  "Wait until Father tells us himself that all is well before you jump to such conclusions, brother," Brida said. "We do not know if the enemy is completely vanquished."

  "They would not be coming home otherwise," Edmund said. He was convinced, but Brida was not so sure. She would wait until she heard the truth from their father's lips. The brightest part of Ulric was his crown. Their father was covered head to toe in dirt and mud, or at least Brida hoped it was that and not dried blood, and there were more lines on his face than Brida cared to comment on. Despite it all, he looked happy and when his gaze settled on his children he grinned broadly and swung off his horse. Eldric was close behind him. There was a cut on his brow, running from his temple to the corner of his eyes, but it looked clean and Brida saw no other wounds.

  "We are victorious!" Ulric shouted, throwing his arms up. Cheers erupted from those who had gathered in the bailey to see the homecoming. Ulric directed his attention to his children. "The war is over, my children," he said in a softer voice. "All thanks to Cynric. But, I shall tell you the details later. For now, there are wounded to tend to, and men to feed." He kissed Brida and Edmund's brows. "Come now, I've missed you both dearly. Tell me what has happened whilst we've been away."

  "I should like to tend to the wounded, Father," Brida said, ducking under and away from Ulric's arm. "You know I have no stomach for talk of war, and that's all Edmund wishes to hear."

  Ulric sighed and looked back at his army. "Very well. An extra pair of skilled hands will go far. But be mindful, Brida, and be sure you're in time for the evening meal tonight."

  "I will, Father," Brida replied. Ulric nodded and walked towards the keep with Edmund at his side. Eldric paused, holding his helmet under his arm, and leaned into give Brida a one armed hug.

  "The sorcerer is in a bad way," he said, just for her to hear. "You'll not believe what I saw, Brida. He was a man, and then he was not. I never thought such a thing possible. He won us this battle, this war, make no mistake of that. You must save his life. We owe him that much and more."

  "I will do all I can," Brida replied.

  "I know you will," Eldric said. He kissed her brow, just where their father had, and followed Ulric and Edmund inside.

  Brida rolled up the sleeves of her dress as best she could and weaved through the ranks of rancid, tired men to where the wounded were being taken into the hospital tent. The others Brida had asked to help had already gathered, and were separating the men into three groups: those who could be left for last, those who would need immediate care, and those who were lost causes. Brida was horrified to see that Cynric was in the last group, his torso almost completely covered in blood-stained bandages. She nudged
others aside in her attempt to get to him.

  "Ought not waste time with this one, m'lady," one of the soldiers said. "Smells like an infection, and he's feverish as well. Best you can do is make him comfortable as you can and say a prayer for his soul."

  "I'll be the judge of that," Brida said and gently pushed the man aside. Cynric's skin was pale, almost white, and sickeningly clammy, yet hot to the touch. He didn't move at all when she began to peel back the bandages to inspect the wound, but the stink of it nearly made her sick. Infected indeed, it looked like he hadn't been tended to at all on the journey, just bandaged up to keep him from bleeding all over everything and left to die.

  Brida grabbed the elbow of a passing servant. "I need clean water and rags and strong alcohol, and honey, if we have it."

  "Yes, m'lady," the girl said without hesitation and ran off to bring Brida what she needed. She turned back to Cynric's unmoving form and stroked his dark hair back from his brow.

  "You saved so many lives," she said, "of hardworking, honest men. It's only fair that I do my best to save you as well, no matter what kind of man you are. I can't imagine what kind of fate would have awaited me otherwise." She sighed and finished unwrapping the bandages. "All you wanted was to be left alone, and my brother dragged you from your home and forced you into a war you had no part in."

  There were punctures from arrows in his side. At least someone had removed the heads, though they'd not done a good job of it, and they had barely missed his lungs. The worst injury was a long gash that ran down his chest. Brida couldn't imagine what it had been caused by.

  The servant returned shortly. "Thank you," Brida said. "Help me wash him." The girl looked like she would rather do anything else, but she obediently knelt beside Brida and soaked one of the rags in the water. With the worst of the blood and dirt washed away it was easier for Brida to see the extent of Cynric's wounds. She clicked her tongue in annoyance. There were men missing legs who had been given more care than Cynric had, and Brida knew the reason why. The men feared what they didn't understand, and they had seen Cynric turn into a dragon before their very eyes, or so Ulric would have it told.