The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 04 - A Foreign Heart

by Jeffrey Quyle

  “The word will be around the palace in a matter of minutes that you’ve returned,” Moresond said abruptly. “And that will raise some eyebrows.”

  “Why?” Kestrel asked, struck by the tone of the herald’s voice, and the way his eyebrows rose.

  “There is a young woman, one who you knew fairly well, who claims that she cannot remain married to her husband because she is in love with you,” Moresond said. “The husband has made this a public issue, and petitioned the Doge for an annulment of the marriage, and revocation of your titles.”

  Kestrel thought of the bashful Hammon who Merilla had married, a shy leathermonger who had been a passive bystander as his marriage to Merilla was arranged by the two mothers of the couple. “It hardly seems like the husband’s way to make a public fuss,” he replied.

  “While I believe the common word is that his mother is forcing this issue, nonetheless it has not been something the Doge appreciates having discussed in and about his court,” Moresond replied. “How did you come to be wandering around the private rooms, by the way? I’m surprised the guards at the gate didn’t stop you, or at least mention something to you.”

  “The imps brought me to my suite,” Kestrel answered absently, thinking of Merilla. “Where is she now?” he asked.

  “Who?” Moresond queried.

  “The bride, Merilla; the one who has rejected her husband,” Kestrel clarified.

  “She has a new home she bought. Apparently you turned over all the profits from your yeti booty to her, and she’s living very comfortably these days, without her husband,” Moresond explained.

  “Have you come just for a social visit?” Moresond asked. “If so, now is not a good time for you to do so. You should invite those extraordinary blue friends of yours to join you in addressing the Doge; seeing them will probably bolster your social stature.

  “If you are here for something more substantial, we should arrange for a quiet meeting with the Doge or his ministers,” he added.

  “I don’t need anything now, but as we go to war, we may need all the lands of humans and elves to fight together,” Kestrel explained. “I wanted to advise Estone that the time is coming when your arms may well be needed. Together, we can defeat Uniontown and end the wars and destruction.”

  “Kestrel,” Moresond leaned in and placed his hand on Kestrel’s shoulder, “I will pass along your message in confidence to the Doge, and when the time comes, Estone will stand with her champion. For now though, you should leave the city and give the scandal over this troubled marriage time to fade from the public’s memory.”

  Kestrel sighed. He’d visited two cities, and had suffered disappointing conversations in each city. In the aftermath of the battle at Hydrotaz he’d had great expectations of creating a harmonious alliance united against Uniontown and the Viathins, but he was coming down to earth with the realization that individual egos and agendas were not going to disappear unless or until all parties found themselves pressed to act in dire circumstances. It was incredibly unfortunate that things as small as unhappy relationships between men and women could prove to be disruptive though, he told himself as he thought of the marital problems in Center Trunk and Estone.

  “I’ll do as you say,” he agreed with Moresond, “And move along for now. I don’t anticipate any immediate needs for services from Estone in any event.”

  “Come back in another month or two and this will have blown over, like any squall at sea,” Moresond said assuringly.

  “Thank you,” Kestrel said despondently. “Stillwater, Dewberry, Odare,” he called, tilting his head upward to speak to the ceiling. It was a pointless gesture, he knew, but he did it anyway from force of habit.

  Seconds later the parlor filled with blue bodies. “Great gods!” Moresond exclaimed. “If you can summon such familiars so easily, perhaps we should take you to the Doge after all. He’ll be impressed enough to overlook any romantic irregularities or the absence of the goddess’s mark.”

  “We arrive here Kestrel-friend, and within two seconds your amorous adventures are brought up by the human one,” Dewberry spoke to Kestrel in the elven tongue they spoke in common.

  “I want to be accepted for the right reasons,” Kestrel said to the herald, ignoring the sprite for a moment. “I’ll be back when the need is urgent, and the imps will be with me then, my friend. Take care and good luck with a resolution to the romantic issues,” he finished. “The imps and I will go to the bank to get some funds, and then be on our way,” he said as he shook hands and parted from Moresond.

  He and his cheery blue accomplices left the palace and went to the bank in the main square, drawing crowds of attention along the way. Kestrel furtively wondered if he would see Merilla, but no encounter occurred, and he was quickly shown into a small private room, where he was allowed to withdraw several gold and silver coins from the account that had accumulated during his absence from Estone.

  “Are you ready to take me to Firheng?” he asked Dewberry. “If so, let’s go,” and just like that, they left the astonished banker in Estone and traveled to a small room at the training base in Firheng.

  Chapter 2 – False Starts

  The student lodging room was empty of people when they arrived, but the presence of various personal items made it clear that there was an occupant in the space that Kestrel had called home during his time at Firheng. “Let’s stay together while we’re here,” Kestrel said to his friends, fearing that he might have to leave the training base just as quickly, and with just as much disappointment, as he had found in Center Trunk and Estone.

  In neither city, he told himself in frustration, was there a question about whether it was appropriate to lend aid to the effort to fight against Uniontown and the Viathins, a fight that Kestrel was prepared to help lead into Graylee. Instead, the conversations had broken down over the mundane things, the personal lives of participants, including his own personal life, maybe in both cases, he admitted. He was certainly a part, though not intentionally, in the case of Merilla’s unhappy marriage, and only indirectly, in the case of the lingering suspicions and discord that still hung in the psyche of Silvan, and probably Alicia and Giardell as well.

  “Who the blazes are you and what are you doing here?” a girl’s voice startled him, and he turned to see a girl standing at the door, observing him stand in the middle of what was presumably her room.

  “What are? Are those? There are sprites in the room!” she screeched loudly, causing all the blue bodies to disappear in surprise at the sudden, unpleasant sound. Funny, Kestrel thought to himself in a personal aside, how they could fight in a battle and not be upset, but the sound of a woman’s scream in a non-combat setting could drive them away; he remembered Dewberry’s disappearance upon hearing Merilla scream in the inn at Estone.

  “Where’d they go?” she asked. “And why are you in my room? Why were they in my room?” the tone of her voice changed once again from wonder back to suspicion, and she pulled her knife from the sheath on her hip.

  “Put that away, there’s no battle here,” Kestrel said as she stepped into the room. He looked at her closely, shocked by the features he saw as she moved out of the glare of the backlit doorframe.

  “You’re a human!” he gasped.

  “Not completely, and you don’t look to be any pureblood, high-and-mighty elf yourself, so drop the righteousness!” the girl exclaimed, still holding the knife.

  She did have some elven features, Kestrel realized. Her ears were larger, longer than a human’s, though not prominently, and her eyebrows had a fetching curve to them. She was built well, he told himself; he’d say she was robust for an elven maid, slender for a human, but very attractive for either race.

  “I’m not pure elf,” Kestrel switched to the human language. “I’m Kestrel,” he held out a hand to greet her, hoping to ease her hostility, and to allow himself to quickly leave the room, so that he could go on with his plan to talk to Casimo and Arlen and try to salvage some support from this circu
it of visits with his imp companions. “We just came to this room by chance, not to bother you.”

  The girl’s eyes grew wide and her face turned pale.

  “What is it?” Kestrel asked. “Don’t you feel well?”

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” she murmured softly. “I wouldn’t have pictured you looking like this, but now that I see you, it all fits.

  “I’m Wren,” she said expectantly, putting her knife away. She surprised Kestrel by not only accepting his outstretched hand, but leaning into a full embrace, as her other arm wrapped around his shoulders.

  He stood stiffly, uncertain about how to react to the sudden mood change, and she backed away from him. “Haven’t you heard of me?”

  “I’ve been away from Firheng for a long time,” Kestrel answered. “Almost two years,” he added. “I haven’t talked to or heard from anyone here in a long time; sorry.”

  “I see,” Wren said after a moment’s pause. “Well,” she paused again. “Never mind,” she awkwardly said. “Well, go on; go do whatever you intend to do.”

  “I shall; don’t scream anymore,” Kestrel warned. “Dewberry, Stillwater, return please.”

  Within a moment the band of blue bodies was floating within the room.

  “Wren, this is Dewberry. She is the queen of the imps from the Swampy Morass, although she’s a sprite. This is Stillwater,” he motioned, “and here are Canyon, Killcen, and Odare.”

  “Kestrel, must you arrange another lover so soon?” Dewberry asked.

  “Yuch! We are not lovers!” Wren instantly spit the answer out.

  “Well, we don’t see that reaction often for my ardent admirer,” Dewberry lectured the imps.

  Kestrel stood silent, amused and yet mildly nonplussed by the reaction.

  “We’ll be going now,” Kestrel announced. He stepped past Wren to the doorway. “It was nice to meet you, and I apologize for entering your room. We’ll find a different spot for arriving in Firheng from now on,” he assured her as he left her space.

  “So the human women find him unattractive, and that’s why he pursues you?” Odare asked Dewberry as Kestrel started to climb down the stairs.

  “No!” Kestrel snapped.

  “Not many of them have seemed to reject him so openly,” Dewberry replied thoughtfully. “One must admit that he isn’t really that unattractive. Her reaction seems overwrought. What did you say to her, Kestrel-uncouth one?”

  “I have no idea,” Kestrel said as he reached the ground and started walking toward the headquarters building. There was no guard outside the building, so he entered unmolested, and started down the hall, where he recognized Gion, Casimo’s office guard, who was watching the approach of an elf with five blue companions. Gion knocked rapidly on the door in a loud, staccato cadence.

  “Kestrel? Is that you? Are you leading an invasion?” Gion asked when Kestrel’s group was three quarters of the way towards him.

  “Listen to his words,” Dewberry told the imps. “These elves are wise enough to fear the prospect of an unwinnable war against our people!”

  The door that Gion had knocked on opened, and Belinda stuck her head out into the hall. “What on earth are you drumming away about?” she asked before her mind registered what she saw.

  “Kestrel! Kestrel! Kestrel, you’re back!” she completely ignored the imps as she threw the door open and raced down the hall to embrace Kestrel and kiss him soundly.

  “Perhaps he has had someone tucked away here I didn’t know about. The boy can be more discreet that his looks would lead you to believe,” Dewberry commented as the imps idly circled above the affectionate reunion.

  “We have heard bits and pieces of rumors of the most amazing exploits,” she began. “Look at your eyes! Won’t Arlen have something to say about those purple eyes!

  “Come in, come in,” she began to drag him into the office.

  “Good to see you Gion,” Kestrel spoke as he passed through the door.

  “Good to see you back, Kestrel,” the guard said with a smile.

  “Have a seat. What are you up to? Why are you here?” Belinda asked as the two of them sat down side-by-side and she watched the imps explore the room.

  “I’m here to see Cosima, and you, and Arlen,” he answered. “My friends the imps are learning all the places I may need to come to in the next phase of the war, and this is some place I wanted to come back to anyway.

  “How is Ranor?” he asked about her husband.

  “He is splendid, absolutely splendid,” Belinda said gently, as she placed her hand on Kestrel’s arm. “He’s on his way to Estone right now, resuming his trading practices. He promised me he’ll never go to Green Water again, so I don’t worry about him suffering from an attack there again. It’s been so wonderful having him back Kestrel; we owe you so much.”

  They chatted comfortably for several minutes, as Kestrel talked about his visit with the gnomes and Belinda talked about her husband’s return to a healthy life.

  “I better go find the commander. I assume he’s at the armory?” Kestrel finally asked.

  “He should be,” Belinda agreed. “He’s working with a couple of students who he thinks have great promise. Not up to your untouchable standards of course; he holds you up as an idol to them.”

  “Is one of them a girl named Wren?” Kestrel asked on a hunch.

  “Ah, yes. Have you met her already?” Belinda asked.

  “Just for a few moments,” Kestrel answered.

  “She’s a fighter. Casimo likes that about her. But she’s always angry; I don’t know why, but she doesn’t seem to me to have the personality to just fit in and avoid notice, the way a spy should,” Belinda observed.

  “Will you be staying here with us for long?” she asked as he stood.

  “Probably not, maybe just a couple of hours this time,” he answered.

  “Oh no! You have to come back soon; we shouldn’t have to wait so long to see our greatest hero come visit, or his platoon of friends,” she motioned to the quiet blue crowd that circled near the ceiling.

  “Come along, platoon of friends,” Kestrel said drily, then kissed Belinda on the cheek before leaving her office. He said farewell to Gion as he strode down the hall and back outdoors.

  “I’m not sure there was lust in their hearts,” Odare said to Dewberry as they floated above Kestrel’s head.

  “They may not have shown it that time, but this Kestrel-dog, he has a woman in every city,” Dewberry replied. “Remember how he has us translocate him here directly into a girl’s room.”

  “I thought it was his sister,” Canyon spoke up.

  “She did look like him,” Dewberry agreed. “That must be why he didn’t pounce on her.”

  “Stop it!” Kestrel spoke as they reached the entry to the armory, scandalized. “She may have been part-elf, part-human, but that doesn’t mean she looked like me. You all just don’t know how to tell us apart.”

  Inside the building the clatter of practice weapons instantly ceased at the sight of Kestrel and the imps. “Falling trees, would you look at that!” one of the dozen or so students exclaimed.

  “Kestrel!” the familiar voice of Arlen spoke out, and Kestrel located his former trainer, working with Wren, of all people, Kestrel noticed, on the sword-practice mat across the room. The two men met one another in the middle of the room and thumped each other on the back as part of a hearty embrace, while Casimo, strode over to see Kestrel, wearing a broad smile.

  “We’ve heard some stories, but none of them mentioned gnomes,” Arlen said as he looked at Kestrel.

  “He does have the purple, doesn’t he? And he has something even more unusual; look at the great beauty and grace he has brought to visit us,” Casimo said, looking up at the imps.

  “Someone here has proper manners at least, I notice,” Dewberry said to Odare, the only female among Kestrel’s assigned guards.

  “Everyone! Gather around! This is the great Kestrel, the elf who’s lived among the human
s in many countries, and lived among the gnomes too, apparently! Welcome back Kestrel,” Casimo spoke loudly.

  “You’re going to make his head swell,” Wren spoke up defiantly. “He still pulls his pants on one leg at a time doesn’t he, or does he make his imp slaves do that for him too? I found him prowling around inside my room a little while ago; being a sneak doesn’t sound like my idea of a hero,” she said sourly.

  “Wren, you can go put your pads away. We’re done for the rest of the day,” Arlen spoke up before Kestrel or Casimo could. “Go blow off some steam and try to think about how you should be getting along with people instead of throwing insults at them,” the instructor said.

  “What brings you back to town?” Casimo asked. “Do you have time to go for a horseback ride, just the three of us?” he gestured towards Arlen.

  “Yes. Let’s do that,” Kestrel agreed, and he began to explain his mission as they rode their horses through the forest.

  “Silvan has remained upset about the affair ever since he was recalled to office, and have you considered that he can’t take it out on Alicia, so Giardell is the only one he can blame,” Casimo said at length, as Kestrel spoke about the frustration of his visit to Center Trunk. “I don’t know the entire story as well as you do, but that’s my impression from this distance.”

  “So how can we help you right now?” Arlen asked as they neared the stables on their return to the base.

  “I don’t have any immediate need,” Kestrel replied. “But I will soon. Depending on how Graylee is reacting to the defeat of the Prince’s invasion of Hydrotaz, it may be possible to contribute to the creation of a new order there. I’ll need to spend a lot of time just administering this,” he patted the skin of water he had carried with him, the soul-curing water given to him by Decimindion, the god of the land of the far-distant Parstoles.

  “Well if we can’t do anything for you, would you do something for us?” Arlen asked. “As a favor?”

  “What favor can I possibly do for the two of you?” Kestrel asked curiously.