Ascalla's Daughter

by M. C. Elam

  ***

  The garrison bustled with activity. Training exercises occupied several fields, but Evan knew Marcus worked almost exclusively with the archers. She left Tommy with a groomsman and walked along the outer edge of the garrison compound. Heavy rain the night before had turned the field into mud soup, and she trudged along the northern edge picking her way around a few lingering puddles. Cheery greetings followed her path. Here, she was no stranger. She had trained in the same skills the recruits now practiced and, with the exception of hand to hand, mastered each of them. Her ability with broadswords and battle-axes lacked muscle, but no one matched her stealth or accuracy with a dagger. She paused watching the two-man groups practice broadsword technique. Shield up, take the hit, swing and strike, she remembered how her arms ached after an hour of practice.

  “Will ye take a turn, Evan?” Knight Klea called out when he saw her watching.

  “Not today, Klea. I came to see Marcus.”

  “He be yonder with the archers.”

  She waved and moved on. Word would spread through the ranks faster than she could walk the distance to the archery field. The men all knew her, knew Marcus was her friend, knew she was Prince Hawk’s confidant. She suspected they also knew, or had at least heard a rumor, that the king denied her entrance to the palace.

  As predicted, news of her arrival traveled quickly. Marcus waited for her at the edge of the archery range. He knows, she thought. They all know. Self-doubt threatened her resolve, and she shook her head to banish it.

  “Ah, there you be, girl. The look of you be a spot of sun on this cloudy day.”

  His voice sounded so warm and welcoming that she smiled despite the reason for the visit.

  “Can you spare me a minute from the field, Marcus? I know about the king’s order, though I was probably the last to know.”

  “Sorry I be for that, Evan.” Marcus searched her eyes trying to identify the look he saw behind her dark lashes. She blinked rapidly fighting the tears that welled up when he spoke. He knew letting the men see her cry was the last thing she wanted and turned his talk to field exercises, hoping that might give her time to compose her emotions.

  “Care to show these blokes how to handle a bow?”

  A man within earshot nodded. “Aye, Miss Evan, make a contest of the practice with us.” A chorus of voices joined him, shouting good-natured invitations and dares.

  She turned toward Marcus, one fist wiping furiously at her eyes. “His name slips my mind, Marcus. Who is he?” she whispered.

  “That be Benjamin Caldwell, Evan. He be son to the stone mason in Falmora.”

  She nodded and smiled at the young man. “Any other day, Benjamin, but today I have a bit of business with Sir Marcus. I wish you a strong arm and true aim.”

  “I pray for that, Miss Evan.”

  “Good the way you think of the men, Evan. Asking a name’s no a small thing,” said Marcus.

  “It’s little enough, Marcus.”

  “Not so wee a thing. Calling a man by his name gives him worth.”

  She walked a short distance from the field, and Marcus followed her.

  “Marcus, I need your help. I must have audience with King Ian. You may be the only one who can make that happen.” Her back was to him, and she wanted to keep it that way. Knowing King Ian could turn her away hurt, and she didn’t want Marcus to see her cry again.

  “Gods Marcus, I remember sitting on his lap, me and Hawk, too, while he spun tales to entertain us. Now, he has shut the doors on me.”

  “It be a shameful thing to my thinking, Evan, and for anything else, you know I be your man. But what you ask,” he shook his head. “His order be law.”

  She did turn to face him then.

  “He will grant you audience?”

  “Aye.”

  “Can you carry my message without doing yourself harm?”

  “Aye, I can carry your message.”

  “Then tell him this. Say to him, that I have a pearl, a black pearl. He will know. Tell him I wish to return it. I need not enter the palace, but I must put it into his hand myself.”

  His raspy voice came to her, whisper soft, from behind the cloth that masked his mouth. “I’ll carry your words.”

  She patted his arm. “I knew I could count on you.”

  “I be ever in your service, little one.” He wanted to comfort her, and then dismissed the idea. The last thing her fragile composure needed was a tender word to push her over the edge. Instead, he watched her cross the compound toward the stable where she had left Tommy.

  ***

  Three days later, Ian Hawkins dispatched a messenger with a formal invitation requesting her presence. Good as his word, Marcus had delivered her message. She didn’t bother about formal dress or even care whether her appearance challenged Ian Hawkins sensibilities. He had demeaned her, made her feel like an outcast. What she wore seemed of little consequence the next morning when, clad in trail leathers and riding astride, she made her way to the palace. Perry stepped aside and opened the door for her.

  “What? Have you no greeting today, Perry?”

  “Of course, Miss Evan, a fair morn it be.”

  “And where am I to go? Do you have an order for that?”

  “Aye, miss. The king bids you come to the council chamber.”

  She made her way down the long corridor to the council chamber and rapped lightly. A squire opened the door. Ian Hawkins looked up as she entered and motioned her to come forward. She curtsied and thought how absurd she must appear making a curtsy clad in leathers, but it was too late now to take it back. She approached the table where he sat surrounded with books and documents. A wave of his hand dismissed the squire, and they were alone.

  In the old days, long before Ian’s reign, the council chamber had served as a chapel. The high arched windows were set with colored glass depicting the biblical days of creation. Sunlight caught the colors and made the room gleam like a little jewel. When she and Hawk were children, the room was a favorite playground. Today the colors dancing across the floor in the morning light did little to brighten the occasion.

  “No formalities, Evangeline. Sit that we may talk.”

  The sound of his voice jarred the memory away and, keeping her eyes cast upon the floor as his royal position demanded, she took a chair on the opposite side of the table. She reached into her pocket for the little pouch, opened it and poured the black pearl into the palm of her hand. She extended her hand across the table to him.

  “Majesty, I have brought home a black pearl from the strand known as the Queen’s Pearls. I know it belongs here and not with me,” she said.

  She waited for him to take it. He looked at the pearl with an expression she would later think of as a sad kind of resignation.

  “How came you by the pearl, Evangeline?”

  “I don’t wish to say. Please, sire, can’t having the pearl returned suffice? Clearly, you mean to put me away from contact with your household, and I am bound to obey.”

  Ian touched her hand and closed her fingers around the pearl. The warmth of his hand surprised her, and she looked into his face.

  “I won’t take the pearl from you, Evangeline. I know Hawk gave it to you. You couldn’t have come by it any other way. But now you must tell me what he promised when he gave it to you.”

  “If you know the pearl came from Hawk, then would his promise be wrong?”

  “Thunderation, girl. Did he promise to wed you?”

  Evan jerked her hand away. The pearl fell to the table, rolled along the surface, and came to rest between them. Her body stiffened. From the same pocket where she carried the little pouch, she produced Hawk’s letter. Instead of putting the note into King Ian’s hand, she put it on the table and pushed it toward him, as though the idea of touching him again was repugnant to her.

  “You may read his intent for yourself, sire.”

  King Ian unfolded the note and read.

  ***

  Dearest Evangeline,
<
br />   My sweet bride, I am sorry to leave you, sorrier still to ask so much of you, but duty would have it. I am on a quest, sent by my father. I cannot tell you where I have gone. Honor to my word swears me to secrecy. Keep the pearl close to your heart, and through it feel my love for you. Father must know of our marriage as soon as possible. I leave telling him in your hands, my love. Faced with the finality he must accept our union. We will undertake a formal ceremony beginning with the reading of the bans in Falmora Cathedral upon my return. I pray that day is not far off. Be strong, love, and now my dear one, I must go.

  Hawk

  ***

  Silence hung heavy in the air on that crisp fall morning. Outside the sun spoke of summer’s last reprieve before the trees gave up their leaves, and the harvest season ended. Tension clutched her throat when she tried to swallow, and her breath came in shallow agonized spurts. Why didn’t he say something? Shout or roar? Surely, he wanted to end the audience, get her gone from his sight. She had not made the current order easy to uphold. In spite of his command, here she sat, across from him with a single black pearl and a letter from his own son threatening to change the royal blood of Ascalla.

  “Hawk’s letter takes the speech from my mouth, Evangeline. You know the marriage is illegal.”

  Evan held her tongue.

  “Hawk compromises your position, and I am sorry for his rash behavior. You deserve better. I gave the command excluding you from the palace because I thought a clean cut best for both of you.” He ran a shaky hand through his sparse hair and sighed. “The marriage is no marriage, Evangeline.”

  “Father Wryth did marry us. I love Hawk. I tried to persuade him that this was not the course for us, but he insisted, and Father Wryth did marry us.” Where she found the strength to speak so boldly before a king, she did not know, but the truth needed telling.

  “Wryth, Wryth married the two of you? How dare he do such a thing?”

  Evan stood to go.

  “Sit down, girl. You will hear me out. I am no monster intent upon your suffering. Now sit and listen to me.”

  She fell back in the chair, her body stiff with tension and her eyes brimming.

  “Hawk will one day rule Ascalla. He must marry for the realm, a bride that will strengthen Ascalla. In my time, I loved a woman I could not wed. My duty was clear, and I obeyed. I honor the memory of that woman, Evangeline.”

  She wished he would stop saying her name.

  “My queen was patient, and in time, I grew to love her as well. My queen brought land to Ascalla and extended our borders. The plight of every Prince of Ascalla is an arranged marriage. I expect no less from Hawk. He shall marry Princess Allison of Glynmora. My ambassador is there now, seeking the alliance”

  “He knew of her?”

  King Ian nodded.

  “How long?”

  “Does that really matter?”

  “To me it matters.”

  “He learned of it the night you were wed.”

  “Father Wryth?”

  “Nay, betray me, perhaps, but never his conscience. Wryth was not party to Hawk’s betrothal negotiations.”

  Masked in silent resignation, Evan listened. I am shrinking, she thought, and when I am small enough, I shall slip from this chair, creep under the door and escape. The room grew quiet, and she abandoned the idea that she could disappear.

  “I know that he loves you, Evangeline, and I do not doubt your love for him, but the marriage is illegal. Even if I agree, the high council will dismiss any such claim. Duty ties Hawk to Ascalla. Surely you understand.”

  Something gnawed at her insides. Her stomach churned, and a sour taste blossomed in her mouth. She feared she might be sick all over her lap. The buzzing sound she took for a fly was not a fly at all. It came from inside her head. Understand, did he ask her that? Of course, she understood. She was lowborn, a girl child found on a mountain. How could she think to love the son of a king? Quite impossible—yes, she understood.

  “I’ll be gone before he returns, milord. All will be as you direct.” Her voice came out in a shaky whisper as she stood and began to back toward the door. “I’ll return Tommy to the stable, though I fear I have spoiled him. He needs a gentle rider, someone to appreciate him. Never a bit in his mouth, he responds to the push of a knee against his side.”

  “Evangeline stop. I would not take your horse. I don’t wish you to leave. Ascalla is your home.” He stood and came around the table. “I’m sorry child, for what you suffer today. Truly, my heart breaks for you. Take this.” He pushed the pearl into her hand. “Hawk gave it to you in love.”

  Anger boiled in her core. If Hawk loved her so much, why had he kept Princess Allison a secret? She knew the answer. He meant to take what he wanted. Touched, tarnished, sullied, she wanted to scrub her body clean. A hundred dirty vermin crawled on her skin, a thousand. Love her, how could Hawk claim he loved her when he knew about his betrothal all along? She pulled away from King Ian with an angry thrust and threw the pearl across the room. It clattered against the casement, bounced on the floor and came to rest in a corner behind the council table.

  “Yes, he gave it to me to bind me to him, make me his whore. I am no man’s whore, no man’s. Take the bloody thing. I want it not.”

  “Evangeline, speak not to me in that tone. I am your sovereign Lord. Take the pearl, for it is yours.”

  She sucked in her cheeks and bit the soft flesh inside her mouth to keep from calling out her anger.

  “My tongue betrays me, sire. Please, may I go?”

  “As you wish, child. I shall not hold you longer.”

  She bowed once, turned and left the room.

  Ian thought that she would take the pearl as she left, but she did not. The set of her shoulders spoke of pride and determination. Hawk should own such presence. Was she the one, he wondered, his spirit sister?

  9 - Spirit Brothers

  Three days from Falmora, they crossed the border and camped by a small creek at the edge of the Outlands. Hawk unsaddled the horses and walked them down to the water. A mile beyond the grass thinned to ragged clumps, smothered by desert sands that stretched to the horizon. In the distance, massive thunderheads clustered close to the ground and extended in an east-west line as far as he could see. He wondered if rain would reach them by morning. A ways upstream from the horses he heard Father Wryth and went to join him. The priest knelt to drink. Hard riding dined heavily upon Wryth, and when he stood, Hawk offered an arm.

  “Not dead yet, Prince Hawk,” the priest grunted and managed to stand.

  Too proud, Hawk supposed. He had thought priests were born to humility. A lot about Father Wryth ran contrary to his preconceived notions.

  “Drink deep tonight, my son and again when we break camp. We must see the animals partake as well.”

  “The desert?” asked Hawk.

  “Aye, boy, the desert,” he handed Hawk two smooth stones the size of gold sovereigns. “Keep these with you. Put them in your mouth tomorrow when you grow thirsty. Not God’s sweet drink, but they will help ease your craving for water.”

  “But the storm, Father, surely those clouds mean rain. See how heavy they loom on the horizon?”

  Wryth laughed a full-throated belly laugh. “Storm you say?”

  “Aye, see it on the horizon,” Hawk pointed. Perhaps Wryth’s distance vision had faded with age.

  Wryth laughed again, this time a chuckle. “What you see is no storm.” He gestured in a wide arc with his arm. “Feast your eyes, lad, upon the Southern Range.

  ***

  The priest roused him a few hours later; he hoped to make half the crossing before midday. Flat and treeless, the Outland Desert spread before them. What guided the old man; Hawk could not say and wondered how the priest judged their location. Wryth paused often to read the land and make small adjustments in the direction they followed.

  “Are we lost, Father?” asked Hawk. Wryth had stopped for a longer than usual time. He judged the position of the sun and t
hen the distance to the mountains. “Father,” Hawk repeated. “Are we lost?”

  “What, lad?” he looked at Hawk. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Nay, we are not lost.” He climbed down from his horse. “Best we walk a while.” He started on in still another variation of their southward facing direction.

  “Walk?”

  “Aye, the horses need rest through the heat of midday.”

  Hawk dismounted. “How do you know which way to go? You turn right and then left. It all looks the same to me.”

  Wryth stopped. “Come here.” He waited until Hawk stood beside him. “Now, forget about the sand and heat. Look toward the mountains. Find the place where the color changes to an arch of deepest purple.”

  “I see it, Father. I see it.”

  “That is our destination. A waterfall plunges from a great height into a pool so clear you can see the rock formations on the bottom. The water is deep, deeper than any lake or pond in Ascalla. Take the lead, Prince Hawk and bring us the rest of the way across the desert.”

  Hawk hesitated.

  “You did see the purple arch?” Wryth asked.

  “Aye, I see it now.”

  “It’s all the landmark you need.” He patted Hawk’s shoulder. “Go on now. Lead us across.”

  ***

  At twilight, they reached the waterfall and made camp. Hawk led the horses into the shallowest part of the pool, splashed them with cool water and rubbed them dry with burlap cloth that Father Wryth produced from his travel pack. He hobbled them in a patch of sweet grass. They lowered their heads to crop the tender shoots and made contented chewing sounds as they rolled it around in their mouths.

  Wryth was nowhere about when Hawk finished with the horses, but he had gathered deadwood and built a fire. Off tending his own business, Hawk supposed. The old man was private about such things. Funny though, his neatly folded cassock and under garment lay across his pack.

  After a day of desert heat, the night air felt cold. Too tired to worry about food, Hawk made a pillow of his travel pack and leaned against it. The fire warmed him, and the chill subsided. He pulled off his boots and examined one foot where a nasty blister had burst earlier and left a seeping raw spot.