Trinian

by Elizabeth Russell

  66

  The Noose Tightens...

  Lavendier gripped her blade tightly, listening to the boom, boom, boom of approaching beasts. The gorgans had indeed been closing in on their band, methodically and carefully, and they had at last managed to entrap their victims. With a roar and a stamping, they approached the women and child, and Lavendier hesitated not as she defended Viol, Adlena and Jacian from the onslaught. She whirled, slashed, stabbed, and kicked with great ferocity, her tattered dress allowing her legs free movement, and the weeks of living outdoors hardening the strength and dexterity of her limbs. But she was only one, and the gorgans were many, and as they pushed her backward, step by step, she finally had to turn and flee.

  Viol had already led Adlena and Jacian away, and now they were trying to find a tree to climb, but all the trees were cone shaped, with bristly needles and thin branches, and they could not ascend. They were trapped like birds fallen from a nest, without the refuge of the high spaces. Lavendier did not know how many circled them about, but it was many, and it felt like whatever number of them she felled, three rose to replace one, and she was wearying. She fought with a single-minded purpose – one, now the next, now the next. When two came at her, she whirled and stabbed and whirled and stabbed, and both fell.

  Viol blew a horn, hoping to summon Asbult and Garrity to their aid, but there was no answering cry, no head of red or brown ascending the crest of a hill to save them. They were alone, and the gorgans would not die.

  * * *

  Cila rose up and tried to run toward her sisters, but found herself pushed down a steep embankment. She fell and rolled. A gorgan followed her, and she whipped out her knife, scrambling to her feet. As he descended upon her, his teeth sharp and glistening, she threw herself forward and plunged the blade into his heart, then whipped it out and stabbed his neck. He fell over, dead. She returned to the men by way of the camp but it was deserted. There was still the sound of combat from where she had been lying and she made her way back there with all speed.

  Asbult was in the distance, a pile of dead gorgans heaped about him, in a deadlock with a mighty gorgan that wielded a three-pronged mace; it was twice the size of most and Asbult had already pierced it through the neck and groin. This large one, somehow, seemed more fierce, intelligent, and dangerous – and difficult to kill.

  Garrity was nowhere to be seen. She drew back her knife and waited for a propitious shot, but the engagement was fierce and their bodies would not separate. She watched warily, and there was a brief moment where she knew that Asbult had seen her. He took his chance and butted the beast away as at the same moment, Cila hurled her knife and pierced the monster’s breast. The giant gorgan fell to his knees with shock, almost dead.

  But then, in a last act, he lashed out his mighty mace and gouged Asbult deep in his stomach. Then he roared a loud laugh and Cila, with a scream of agony, ran forward and stabbed him through the brain, and, at last, he fell dead to the ground.

  Cila hurled herself beside her husband, and in one soundless moment, cried, “Oh god, the blood!”

  He should have been dead already. The hole ripped through him was larger than her own hand. She wondered wildly if there was anything nearby large enough to cover it up, to staunch the bleeding. Asbult looked at her and his eyes were lucid. He seemed, he who had always had such life in him, to be more alive than ever. “Don’t leave, my dear. There is nothing to be done now, except to be together.”

  Her green gown on one side blended with the grass in the early light of dawn, and on the other was soaking up the color of his life’s blood. “Tell me what to do for you.”

  He smiled at her. That smile was astonishing and incongruous, and there was something wonderful about it. She could not look away from his beautiful blue eyes. “I always thought,” he marveled, “that when this moment came, I would be miserable. But I am so calm. So at peace. Is that selfish?” But it was not a real question; his eyes were laughing at her.

  “Very selfish.” She shed silent tears. “What do you want of me?”

  “You gave me your heart,” he said, “and it was always enough. You know. Since we were children, I’ve never wanted anything else. Look at you – your eyes swollen from weeping and your nose red,” he reached up and touched her, “and still, as I look at you, my heart swells for joy. I was your buffoon and I made you smile – how could any man ask more from life?”

  Finally, she smiled a little. “I love you. I have always loved you. And I always will.”

  For a long moment they simply took rest in one another’s eyes. He was fading fast and she knew it, but now her expression was not so tragic as at first. They were both waiting: he with tranquil expectation, she with a tragic weight slowly smothering her heart.

  Asbult broke the silence. “Where is Garrity?” Cila looked up but there was no one near. From the distance sounded the dull clanking of steel against steel, and then the call of a horn. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Tell him,” said Asbult, “tell him that I am not worried. I would have thought I would be, but now that the moment is upon me, nothing is as I once thought. Everything will be alright. I know.”

  “I don’t,” she wailed, lost in a sea of misery. She knew nothing would ever be right again.

  He was shaking now. The numbness had worn off, replaced with pain. “You’ll tell him that you will find safe haven? That everything will be alright?”

  “Yes.” But she didn’t care about that. Only him. His eyes were not looking at her, but beyond and to the sky, when he breathed his last breath. They were as blue as the deepest blueness – but the clarity had gone.

  Garrity charged through the trees, running fast with great gulping breaths, sweat and blood falling down his face co-mingled, a gaping wound in his forehead. His sword at the ready. Too late.

  He came up beside her, where she wilted in her green and scarlet, and saw in a moment how the matter stood. He reached down a bloody hand and took her red one in his, but she was passive and gave no response.

  Garrity spoke through gasps, attempting to regain his breath. “We –have to – go. Cila – we will be overrun – in a moment.” A strangled breath escaped him that sounded strange and harsh, but was in fact a sob. “You have to leave him.”

  “Leave him?” she said quietly. “That is impossible.”

  Garrity looked over his shoulder. The sound of pursuit that he dreaded grew into a thunder. “Come!” he pulled her limply to her feet, slung her over his shoulder and took off running. He made for dense overgrowth and there lay down to conceal them both.

  At the same moment, gorgans burst through the trees, and with rapacity gruesome to see, surrounded Asbult’s body, swarming about it like hornets in a nest. Garrity, every fiber screaming for action, but instead gripping his sword with ash-white knuckles, looked at Cila. Her glazed eyes were fixed on the spectacle, tears streaming steadily down her white stark face. The gorgans moved on, leaving their hiding place undisturbed and taking the body with them.

  * * *

  With terrifying speed, a beast circumvented Lavendier and made for Jacian. The little boy screamed and threw a small knife at him, but the monster batted it away. It reached out a mighty arm, but the Queen, her long knife already drawn, launched at it and severed it. The beast screamed, she grabbed Jacian, and they stumbled back two paces before Adlena tripped and fell heavily to the ground.

  “Run, Jacian!” the mother cried, but there were too many all about; Lavendier was locked in combat, the boy would be taken, and another was making its way to Viol.

  Then, at last, Lavendier saw Garrity fly towards her and with a single blow, fell two of the three beasts she held at bay. He threw a knife and slew the one reaching for Viol, then leapt through the air, and with a single slash of his sword, cut off the head of the one looming above the queen.

  Lavendier killed her last assailant then turned in relief to her companions – and gasped with sudden wonder. She gazed at Garrity in awe, and her sword po
int dragged unheeded on the ground.

  For Garrity stood before them mightily, his hair shining in a shaft of light that flooded through the branches above, his beauty and grace more magnificent and majestic than she had ever seen before; his stature grand and imposing and bronze, all the gorgans dead at his feet, and her heart beat loud in her chest. Looking upon him filled her with radiance, and stronger and more beautiful than she had ever felt before, she adored him and yearned for him to worship her. To have a being of such might in her grasp, to prod and cajole and manipulate, was an intoxicating desire that made her dizzy like strong wine. She wanted him to protect and save her, to be her bodyguard and live only for her pleasure and protection. To hold her close and whisper words of love…

  But strictly, as she had lately learned to do, she pushed those thoughts aside; though this time, with more effort than usual. She chided herself that it was not right to think of such things, and she turned her mind to the others.

  “Where are Asbult and Cila?” she asked.

  “They are safe,” he stepped towards her. “I need to speak to you alone.”

  Lavendier could hardly breathe, he stood so close, so intimately near, that she could smell his sweat and feel the heat of his body. She looked toward Viol. “Will you be alright?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said her sister. “We will find the others.”

  Garrity took the princess’s hand and led her behind a grove of dark green firs, and she followed trustingly. “What is it?” she asked, but as soon as they were out of sight, he whirled suddenly and kissed her deeply.

  She melted into him, surprised and elated, and did not pull back; but after a moment, the kiss grew deeper and more insistent, and she grew uncomfortable. She jerked away, and his hand caught her arm. “Don’t you want this?” he breathed, his breath warming her face.

  “We should go back,” she whispered. She felt strong desires stirring in her breast and her blood was racing, but she was angry with him too. She did want this – she had hoped for it many times – but it was wrong. She felt that to indulge now would be wrong: because she was frightened and vulnerable and selfish. Yes, there was something selfish between them, she sensed, in this moment. “They need us.”

  “I need you,” he murmured, and leaned down.

  “No!” she cried. She had never said no before. “Stop. I don’t want this!” But his hands were too mighty for her, and she was helpless in his grip. “Garrity, stop!”

  “You resist me?” his voice was harsh and his hands tightened so that she thought her wrists would snap, and she cried out sharply in alarm. “After all your fantasies and indulgences and schemes? Is this not what you want – to be safe and loved and protected?”

  “No, no, this isn’t love. This isn’t love, and you know it!”

  At last, he let her go and she stumbled backward and fell to the ground. Then, with an evil glare in his eyes, he raised his sword high, a blade still covered with the boiling and freezing blood of the gorgans, smiled with wicked pleasure, and slashed her across the ribs.

  It was not a mortal blow, but it bled, and Lavendier screamed an unending scream of confusion and terror.

  “Laven!” When her vision cleared, Viol was kneeling beside her and trying to staunch the wound. “Laven, what’s happened? Who was that woman?”

  “Wh-what woman?”

  “A woman. She ran away from here – and where is Garrity?”

  Lavendier’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “It was not Garrity,” she gasped. “It was not him.”

  67

  And Death Feasts Unsatisfied

  With a gash in his spirit greater than that on his head, Garrity led Cila away. And if his heart was torn so to pieces, Cila’s surely was gone. She had to be led like a lifeless thing.

  He was worried about the others. He knew Lavendier would have done her best to protect them, but their fate could have been the same as Asbult’s. Keeping a sharp eye out, unable to call to them for fear of calling the gorgans back, he led Cila quietly and cautiously among the fir trees. The sun was just rising in full over the rim of the earth when they suddenly heard a familiar voice, and Viol emerged from behind a thicket.

  “At last,” said Garrity. “I was beginning to wonder if we would find you.”

  She looked at Garrity for a long moment, as if in fear, but then shook her head. “The others are nearby. This way.”

  They followed, but apparently not fast enough to suit, for she begged over her shoulder, “Hurry please! They need you.”

  “What is wrong?”

  But she only urged him again to hurry, and suited word to action by sprinting ahead.

  Garrity’s chest constricted as he followed; death seemed to devour them like a ravenous dog, feasting unsatisfied until they were all within his jowls.

  The girls had found a rock outcropping that formed practically a cave within the rock face, with overgrowth screening the exposed side. It was not perfect protection, but it was better than he could have hoped. Jacian was in one corner, curled up against the wall, weeping and kicking his feet on the ground. But it was a frightened cry – he was not hurt. Adlena was on the other end, bent over Lavendier who, to his horror, was lying senseless on the ground. Garrity knelt beside them.

  “What happened?”

  The princess was bleeding from her ribs and her face was deadly pale.

  “Sword wound. I’ve cleaned it, but…I don’t know.” Before Adlee finished speaking, Garrity had fully assessed the danger. It was shallower than it might have been, but it was dirty, and that made it treacherous. Adlena had been unable to do more because the medicine bag was in Garrity’s pack, so he pulled it out and deftly washed and wrapped the wound, silent all the while. Then he looked at Adlena, who was gazing across the cave to her sister-in-law, crumpled in a helpless heap.

  The queen’s eyes were soft and glistening as she turned back to him. “Are you alright?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “But you’re not,” she reached up toward the wound on his forehead but did not touch him. “Your poor head. Clean it; go on, I’ll stay with her. There is a little trickle on the outer rock face.”

  He found the water stream and wearily washed his bloodied, sweaty visage. Then he laid his arm on the wall and his head on his arm. He stood there a long time. When he finally looked up, Viol was watching him.

  Her sun-browned face was unusually ashen, and her blue eyes looked strangely large in the pale morning light.

  “Was it terrible?” Her lips trembled. They all knew what had happened without asking.

  “I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there. Fighting elsewhere.”

  Viol was silent a moment, then – “Is,” she stopped and caught her breath; then began again. “Is Laven going to be alright?”

  “I don’t–” It was so hard to speak. Pain, like a tidal wave, was coursing through his heart, swelling his throat and halting his speech. He could not look at Viol. At her burnished hair tangled and unwashed, her slender throat tanned through the long, hard months, her young, wistful lips parted in unending hope. He could not meet her trusting gaze, and so he stared, choking, at the thickly tangled trees and the overwhelming, consuming forest.

  A soft touch, a firm pressure on his wrist, and Viol’s arms were around his neck, holding him tight. Her hair was no longer unwashed, for his tears fell upon it with a healing sorrow, and for an unending moment, they held each other close.

  Adlena emerged from the shelter into the gray daylight.

  “She is at rest,” she said, “and Cila watches beside her.”

  “How is she?” asked Viol.

  Adlena pursed her lips to keep back the tears. “She wanted something to do.”

  Garrity nodded. “I’ll prepare breakfast.” Drawing from his pack the carefully wrapped eggs, which were surprisingly unbroken, he fried them.

  All that day, Garrity sat awake beside his new friend, and woke no one to ask that they take his place. He knew that sleep
was as far from his eyes as it was for the slim blonde widow who sat beside the fire, alone beneath the cloudless sky.

  As day passed to night, and the hours deepened, Lavendier’s breath grew more and more ragged. He felt her forehead and it was hot. Fear gripped him, but he only collected water in a bowl and clean rags, and spent the night placing cool cloths on her forehead, and putting coals near her feet. He had seen other soldiers react badly to a wound, and he had seen them recover, and he repeated that over and over in his mind.

  At midnight, the fever broke at last, and sweat bedewed her forehead. Her breathing relaxed, and with a moan, she fell into a deep slumber. His throat choked still with tears, he sighed, changed all the bandages, and leaned against the cave wall. She, at least, was going to be alright.

  X

  MERCY

  “Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more

  than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two

  grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you

  shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you

  have them, they are not worth the search.”

  - Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

  68

  Bandits in the Wild

  The barren wilderlands stretched before Trinian, a flat plateau of rocky, scraggly prairie land with juts of rocks and old, crumbling buildings, with small pockets of thickets sprouting here and there across the expanse. These provided plenty of cover for bandit groups, waiting for anyone foolish enough to travel from one city to another, particularly in the land stretching northwest from Drian.

  Though Trinian had traveled through some of the wilderness on his wanderings with Adrea, he had not gone northwest toward the larger cities. They had had no reason to search for Healers there, since they would have known if they existed by virtue of report. But now it was his intention to secure good relations with them. Not just friendly, as they had been for years, but actually renewing the old relationships that had once bound the empire together as a strong whole.