by Susan Faw
Chapter 39
LAURISTA LEANED IN TOWARD RYDER as they walked down the steps of the government house. “Well played, my lord,” she whispered, eyes darting around at the guards on either side of the double doors.
“So the tea was poisoned?”
“No, the cup was. The maid poured tea in his cup only to make sure he got the clean cup. I quickly rinsed your cup with the tea I poured, and then I combined it into mine while his attention was on you. I emptied the poison into my cup.”
Ryder’s head swung in her direction, alarm in his expression. “How are you still standing then?”
“I didn’t drink any of the tea. I only pretended to. The tea never touched my lips.”
The corner of Ryder’s eyes crinkled in laughter. “Where did you learn to be so devious?”
She stepped along, raising her skirts to avoid the puddles left over from a passing shower. “I was the king’s taster in my younger years.”
Ryder’s eyes widened, in response to her words. “You were in the royal court? Why did you leave?”
“I was reassigned to some country lord who was in charge of the legions in the outer territories. When he died during a siege, I ended up assisting the healer to the legion. Funny enough, everyone in the royal court was dead within a year of my dismissal from my post…with the exception of the queen, of course. I suspect they all died of poisoning, although it is considered treason to voice that opinion.”
“Well, I am certainly happy to have found you. Do you really know the antidote to that poison?”
“Yes, I recognized the herb being used. I can make an antidote for it.” She laughed. “The magistrate may not be pleased with its side effects, however, as unfortunately you find yourself with wicked cramps that require an inordinate amount of time spent in the privy.”
Ryder laughed in response. He intended to be far away before the magistrate found the need to use that particular remedy.
***
Ryder and the band left the fortified town the following morning. Once the levy had been arranged and paid for, they were invited to trade openly with the townsfolk, who were happy to entice the soldiers with wares gathered from the four corners of the queendom. The men were allowed to return to the town in groups no larger than ten. They were required to sign in and out before the next group entered.
Despite the restrictions, the townsfolk were eager for news from the outside word. It seemed merchant caravans avoided the town due to the taxes levied. A vigorous smuggling trade was the result with an active underground component.
Ryder chose what was purported to be the best inn in the town, the Flaming Phoenix. They took a quiet booth in a corner away from the crowd of locals who appeared to be flocking into the inn for an evening of entertainment.
Ryder sipped on the house specialty, a spiced rum punch served in a mug decorated with a hand-painted phoenix. Ryder thought they looked like flamingoes with attitude. Laurista sat beside him, as did Darius and Lazaro who had insisted on accompanying them.
The inn’s entertainment for the evening was provided by a man playing a dulcimer while a middle-aged woman sang. The townsfolk formed squares and began to perform a dance unfamiliar to Ryder. He watched while sipping his drink. People clapped along in time to the music.
A short muscular man took a winding path through the crowd to Ryder’s table. He swept the hat from his head and then bowed to Ryder and said quietly, “My lord, I would speak with you, if it pleases you?”
Ryder nodded and motioned to the seat across from him.
“My lord, I have been told to enquire about your purpose in passing through our town?”
“We seek to catch up to some companions we were separated from.”
The man nodded. “We have been commissioned to pass a message to the man who hails from the cliffs. Is this the man you seek?”
Ryder observed the man, trying to get his measure.
“Perhaps.”
The man lowered his voice to prevent being overheard.
“Would you be headed for the capital?”
“It’s possible.”
“I have a contact in a village outside of the capital in a town called Lower Cathair. I have been instructed to advise the leader of the band from the cliffs when he passes through to find a man named Denzik.”
The man glanced around again quickly, checking the crowd. The noise of the dancers drowned their voices and made listening in by normal means impossible.
“I am also to give you this.” He slid a leather pouch across the table. “Do not open it here. Open it in private.”
Ryder picked up the bag and tucked it into an inner pocket of his cloak.
“Please pass this message to Denzik when you see him. Tell him we stand ready to serve. The watchtowers are manned.”
Ryder nodded.
The man stood up and without a backward glance walked away.
Laurista leaned her arms on the table to watch the man depart.
“Kingsman, do you think? Or a spy for the queen?”
“Could be both. What do we know of the politics in this area? It’s time we moved on though. It’s dangerous to stay in one spot for too long. Let’s head back to camp.”
Chapter 40
THE PEOPLE ASSEMBLED BEFORE CAYDEN were the ragtag remnants who had managed to flee before the legions descended on the outlying villages of Cathair. They had joined the Kingsmen’s flight as they left the capital, blending into their ranks and fading into other villages, establishing new lives in order to protect their sons from the conscription teams. The light of rebellion shone in their eyes. Men and women alike were armed, the men donning pants and armour they had obviously created for themselves. Hand-tooled leather fashioned to fit each individual was proudly worn complete with leg chaps and arm guards.
The women had shorn their hair into a pageboy style that somewhat disguised their gender. They had fashioned linen amour that molded to their feminine forms, layers on layers of tightly woven linen, bound together and as thick as Cayden’s thumb. Each woman’s armour was specially made for her body and dyed vibrant hues of red, green, yellow, and blue. The amour made them look as intimidating as female dragons guarding their nest of younglings. To Cayden’s eyes, they appeared every bit as fierce as the men.
Cayden nudged his horse into a slow walk. The sun had cleared the treetops. It promised to be a hot day.
Tobias advised they would reach the castle with two days of steady travel. He had sent runners ahead to scout the way and locate a promising area to camp their large band.
The wind rustled the treetops and played with the edge of his cloak. One of the women of the village had produced a fine silk cape made of a deep purple with golden crowns embroidered on the hem. The crest of the king was embroidered over the right breast. It had been part of the ceremonial uniform of the King’s Guard and the men had insisted Cayden wear it in their honour. Cayden had refused the gift, of course, but with Ziona’s frown and the men’s disappointment clearly etched on their faces, he had succumbed and now it was fastened around his throat with a fine golden clasp shaped like an eagle.
“I feel like a circus monkey,” he said, tugging at the clasp.
“You are the image of the king. Yes, you are or soon will be.” Ziona laughed as he grimaced.
His frustrated posture made her smile widen and she leaned over to straighten his collar. “Smile, the people are watching. You cannot let them see your insecurity or uncertainty. You must always display confidence and courage. They draw strength from you.”
“Let’s get this circus on the road,” he said with a wobbly twist of his lips. He booted his mare to a trot, his guard spreading out around his mount.
They kept a steady pace throughout the day, catching up to the scouts about an hour before dark. The spot they had chosen for the camp was bordered by a stream on the west and the east was boarded by the road, which had been strangely empty all day. They settled in a meadow knee high in grass. The men and l
adies quickly dismounted, hobbling their horses and giving them quick rubdowns before saddling them again. They set up a quick camp without tents, prepared to move quickly as they entered the area patrolled by the queen’s guards. Small fires were lit, and as soon as the meal was prepared, they were doused and buried.
Cayden settled down in his blankets and gazed up at the stars glimmering above. He sensed the wolves nearby. Sheba was off meeting with the packs around their camp. He felt she was setting up her own guard, unbeknownst to the group surrounding him.
Ziona leaned over and checked his shoulder again. The arrow wound was a faint pucker now, the skin pink and healthy.
“Rest well, Your Majesty,” she grinned and with a quick curtsey, dropped down, and buried herself in her blankets, giggling at his reaction.
Cayden grimaced and then a grin tugged at the side of his mouth. He chuckled as he relaxed, stretching an arm behind his head for a pillow. He drifted off to sleep, secure in the fact Sheba was watching out for him.
He jerked awake what seemed a short time later, to Sheba’s howls combining with the howls of a dozen other wolves. He leapt to his feet, grabbing his sword as the urgency of her cries pierced his mind.
“To arms,” he shouted before he even cleared his blankets.
Shadows flitted at the edge of his vision, as Ziona shot to her feet at his call. Cayden continued to holler and the camp erupted, the shadowy forms coalescing into soldiers brandishing swords and cudgels. Battle erupted around Cayden, who found himself in hand-to-hand combat for the first time since his arrest and attempted abduction from the legion. He scrambled to right himself then deflected a blow aimed at his head, the sword skidding along his blade and bouncing off his guard at the last second.
He shouldered the soldier, throwing him off balance and Ziona stabbed the fallen man. She backed up to Cayden and as a unit they battled the oncoming soldiers. Cayden’s downward stroke sliced the wrist of the next soldier, as he attempted to stab Cayden in the thigh. Ziona’s swing took the soldier in the throat and the man fell, blood spurting from his opened neck.
Cayden felt sickened. He did not want to kill. I could not kill…not even to save myself.
Ziona felt no such compunction. She fought like a cornered badger; her every intent to kill. Ziona shoved Cayden behind her, shouting, “Cayden! Do not worry about attacking to kill. Just wound. I will finish them.”
The enemy soldiers surrounding them hesitated when the pair began fighting as a cohesive whole. Suddenly, all four soldiers attacked at once. Cayden’s mind flashed back to his days as the rabbit and he sought a low center, his back guarded by the rock that was Ziona. Cayden dodged the first sword and ducked under the cudgel swung at his head. His sword arced, slicing through two sets of kneecaps, causing the two soldiers to stumble.
Ziona’s sword decapitated the closest soldier, his head bouncing across the trampled grass, the soil darkening with his blood, even as she stabbed the second facing her in the shoulder causing him to curse and stumble away from her. He was lost from Cayden’s view.
Cayden saw the two soldiers facing him pause, drawing back to reassess their opponents. Then they rushed him together and he sought to keep them at arm’s length. He felt Ziona jerk behind him and heard the lone soldier facing her grunt.
The sounds of battle were suddenly muted under the howl of wolves. From the corner of his eye he saw multiple sets of glowing eyes, a second before the wolves attacked.
The air around them exploded as the snarling pack of wolves fell on the enemy soldiers. They fell back, attempting to guard their throats from the razor sharp fangs and curled claws. Men fell, hamstrung and ravaged by the savage attack.
Cayden stopped fighting, mesmerized. He could understand the communication between the pack members. He could hear what they were thinking. He knew where the wolves would attack next. His focus switched to an unfortunate soldier, who had been attempting to flank Cayden and Ziona, by taking advantage of the confusion caused by the wolves’ arrival. The soldier realized his mistake a moment too late and with an agonized cry, disappeared beneath three large wolves.
The rest of the camp fought on, but the attacking forces were disorganized now, the wolves putting a panic into the defeated troops. Within a few minutes, all fell still, the few remaining legionaries retreating and disappearing into the trees on the opposite side of the road.
The wolves disappeared, silently sliding back into the shadows. Sheba padded up to Cayden and sat down at his side. She cocked her head to one side, panting at him. Cayden knew she was asking for confirmation she had done well. Cayden knelt beside her and hugged her. He cupped her wolf face between his palms. “You did great, Sheba. Well done!” Her tongue flopped out to the side for a second, and then she licked his hand. She trotted back into the woods, seeking her kin.
Cayden stood up and turned to speak to Ziona. It was only then he saw her swaying on her feet. Scarlet blood soaked the left side of her tunic. Cayden grabbed her as a surprised “Oh!” popped out and she collapsed in a heap.
Chapter 41
“ZIONA, YOU’RE HURT!” Frantically, Cayden pulled open her tunic to see a deep cut had opened up a belly wound, her intestines clearly showing through the open flap of skin. Cayden gasped and clasped his hand over the wound, attempting to keep her together.
Ziona’s eyes glazed in pain. As she stared at Cayden, his silhouette glowed as blue and clean and clear as a summer sky. His silhouette shimmered and blurred as she struggled to focus on him. She knew it was blood loss, but in another part of her she saw his soul pulsing with life and comfort. She knew she was gazing at a god.
She smiled at him. “I am not afraid, Cayden. I see you clearly for the first time. I am yours; my soul is yours to do with as you please. I do not fear death when you are near.” Her eyes drifted closed.
Cayden’s heart burst within him. He shuddered and yelled, “Ziona, don’t you give up on me. You cannot die! I need you. Please!” He shook her shoulder, begging. “Please, Ziona, stay with me!” Ziona did not respond. As he gazed at her, he saw a mist begin to rise from her body.
He pulled her body tightly to him, sheltering her in his strong arms. Hot tears slid down his cheeks as he gazed at her bloodied form. They dripped unchecked from the end of his nose and splashed onto her smooth alabaster cheek, sliding to join the dusting of black-tipped lashes feathered under her eyes. His soul was as parched as the desert, soaking up her life essence. Love, pure sweet love, slipped past his barriers, breaking free, gathering into a tempest that beat inside of him, an avalanche of feelings long resisted and buried deep. Ziona, my heart, you cannot die! I will be lost without you! You are the completion of my soul. Please do not leave me. Please, I beg you! I beg you!
Cayden shook, his body quaking, refusing to accept what he was seeing. He threw back his head and howled, his soul screaming in pain. He expanded his will and called frantically to the spirit of the Aossi, his tears and his voice recreating the song of the flute, but this time it played from his inner being. His lips formed words into a chant he did not know the source of. Nonsense tumbled from his lips as he prayed.
He opened his eyes and saw time had frozen around him. The men who had reacted to his scream had slowed, as though they were walking through air thickened by molasses. Surprise slowly spread across their faces as they moved with the tiniest of increments. He focused on Ziona and saw the mist had slowed also.
Aossi walked up to Cayden and placed a hand on his shoulder, sharing his view of the still woman.
“It is not so easy to watch them die, is it, young one? Yet they pass their spirit to you without a thought. They trust you to care for them both before and after death. It is what being a god is about.”
Cayden eyes filled with tears, his chest constricted in anguish so tight he struggled to draw breath. He could not focus on her words.
“She cannot die. I need her, Aossi! She is my guide. I am lost without her.”
“Yes, she is your guide. You ch
ose her long ago and you chose well.” She tilted her head observing the woman and then looked back at Cayden. “I can do nothing for her soul. That is her gift to you. I can return her body, heal her wounds, as she is not completely gone from this world as of yet. But only you can return her soul to her.”
Cayden looked away from Aossi, wiping tears from his face. “I do not know how.”
Aossi grinned impishly and tapped Cayden’s nose with her finger. “I think you do, young one. You stilled time so you would have the time to save her. You also know how to return it. It is a similar thing to return her soul to her body. But be warned, the power of a god is not without repercussions. She will live in a half world from this moment on. Half of her soul is bound to you in truth as she had begun the process of the transfer. Return it to her now and you are also bound to her. You will feel her near or far, forever more.” She fondly lifted his chin, meeting his eyes. “You already share such a bond, do you not…with your sister?”
Cayden considered her words, frowning. It was true. He could always tell where Avery was. He nodded his agreement with her words.
“Let us begin then.” Aossi knelt down and replaced Cayden’s blood-soaked hands with her own. She traced the line of the sword slash, humming a tune that brought a mental image of butterflies in a garden, lush with flowers, their wings sighing on the breeze. The skin knitted together. The mist remained frozen in time.
Cayden closed his eyes and concentrated on Ziona, seeking her essence in the air, gathering the pearls of her personality and tiny shards of her sensitivity, the wisps of her soul, and pulled them into a tight ball of bright being. Some of his own soul blended with the compact point of light, surrounding it and containing Ziona’s spirit. He then pushed with his own soul, taking the point of life and forcing it back into the body lying on the ground. He didn’t understand what he was doing, working with raw instinct as he searched for a spark to attach the light to. His soul touched her mind and prodded it to accept the blended essence.