The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 04 - A Foreign Heart

by Jeffrey Quyle

  Kestrel inhaled deeply. “I think I should go find a room at a nice inn. I appreciate your offer. Have you seen where Ree has gotten off to?”

  “She is among the group that is dancing on the north terrace,” Stelten said. “I wish you all the luck in the world tomorrow. I hope you win the championship,” he held his hand high, and Kestrel pressed his own palm against the count’s. He glanced once more at where Moorin stood, then walked away to the dance floor, confused and miserable.

  He reached the stand where the band was playing, and stood looking out until he saw Ree, dancing with another male elf, enjoying herself. She saw him, and smiled, then waved. He waved back, and nodded his head to indicate that he was ready to leave.

  Ree left her partner and danced her way over to where Kestrel stood. As he watched her approach, he noted that Moorin and Ruelin were also approaching the dance floor. “Kestrel come out and dance with me!” she spoke loudly to him, her eyes shining with enjoyment of the festive atmosphere around her.

  “I’m ready to leave now, I think,” he bent low and spoke into her ear. “I really appreciate you bringing me here, but I’m tired from the tournament, and I have to be in good shape tomorrow.”

  “One dance! Just give me one dance; it won’t wear you out. You’re a strong, strapping lad!” Ree giggled, her cheek pressed against his as they spoke to each other.

  “Hey ugly, get away from my partner and find your own girl,” a hand shoved Kestrel unexpectedly in the back as a man’s voice spoke.

  Kestrel whirled around to see that the dancer Ree had left on the dance floor had stalked over after her, a look of indignation on his face, and the smell of chairstem weed on his breath. The man, an elf through and through, was inebriated. “She came over to see me, and she came here with me. Now just be patient and we’ll be done here soon,” Kestrel was dissatisfied with the man’s manners, but willing to calm the situation.

  “Patient? Why should I be patient that a slug-ugly half-breed is messing up my fun?” the belligerent elf shot back. He had a pair of friends standing behind him, and the people on the dance floor were starting to move away from the confrontation.

  “Warrick, be nice!” Ree interrupted. “You are at Moorin’s own house and party, you ignorant dolt,” she hissed. “Think about your words, idiot. Kestrel was my date to come here and we’re talking right now. Go wait over there and I’ll dance with you again. You’re a good dancer,” she tried to mollify the man.

  “You’re right. I’m a good dancer – a better dancer than him, I’m sure, and better at a lot of other things too, I’ve no doubt. Stupid half-breed,” he muttered in a lower voice, but still loudly enough for Kestrel to overhear, and his patience snapped.

  “You think you’re better than me?” Kestrel asked loudly, making the elf jerk his head up and look at the challenge in disbelief.

  “Kestrel, no. Kestrel, don’t please. He doesn’t have any idea who you are or what you can do,” Ree began to press Kestrel away as she remembered his warrior skills in the battle in the forest.

  “Yeah, go on, let the little girl protect you,” the elf taunted Kestrel.

  “I challenge you. Here. Now,” Kestrel said flatly, knowing that it was the wrong thing to do. He should just walk away, but he was already filled with confusion and anger over so many other questions about things to do, things to walk away from, things to stand up to – this was a clear, simple opportunity to not walk away.

  He had issued a challenge in front of witnesses, and now Warrick the elf and Kestrel were falling into a confrontation, a duel.

  “Knives. One each. Here on the dance floor at fifteen paces. You throw first, I’ll throw second. Can you handle that?” Kestrel asked, knowing that he was creating an unfair challenge, one in which he held an unseen advantage because of the divine tattooed shield he wore across his torso.

  The band was faltering, the few remaining dancers were scrambling away, and Kestrel was slowly stepping backwards onto the dance floor, as Ree went along with him. “Kestrel don’t do this. Kestrel stop it! This is supposed to be Moorin’s celebration!” she urged and cried. “Don’t ruin it for her!”

  Kestrel glanced over at where Moorin and Ruelin stood among the watching crowd, then he hooked his arm around Ree and gently pressed her back behind himself. “Stay back there little one; stay safe,” he told her.

  “Come on. Here I am. Throw if you’ve got the strength,” Kestrel taunted. He saw his opponent being urgently talked to by his friends, but upon hearing Kestrel’s call the man angrily shook them off.

  “You’re ugly and stupid!” he said, then pulled his knife out and hurled it with all his strength at Kestrel.

  The knife struck Kestrel’s chest directly above his heart. Kestrel stepped back two steps as he absorbed the momentum, and he stepped on Ree’s toes with his second step, as the knife fell to the dance floor with a clatter.

  Kestrel stood on the floor alive, the stunned crowd speaking loudly and pointing, while Warrick’s face turned white. “That’s it? That’s your best?” Kestrel asked, his accent growing stronger as his emotions flowed.

  He pulled his own knife from its sheath on his hip, then felt Malindaree place her hands over his. “Kestrel, it will be murder if you throw at him now! He’s not as good as you!” she shouted the words at him. “Please don’t kill him!”

  Kestrel stood staring at the man, who suddenly bent over and vomited in fear on his own shoes. Kestrel looked over at Moorin, who stood with Ruelin’s arm around her bare shoulder. He shook his hand free of Ree’s then slowly slid the knife back into its sheath. “I’m going to go now,” he said quietly to the girl next to him, and stalked off the dance floor, a wide avenue opening in the crowd as he approached.

  He had made Warrick look like a fool. And there had been no real reason to do so. He didn’t feel any better, he acknowledged to himself as he stomped across the patio and through the chateau. He felt angry with himself for allowing the situation to devolve as it had. If he took that level of frustration and anger with him into the tournament competition on the palace grounds, he would be doomed to failure. If he carried it into his campaign against Uniontown and the Viathins, everyone he cared about would be doomed.

  After a long walk through the city he came to an inn that was near the palace gates, and he paid for a room, then went up to his bed and lay there, thinking. He had the tournament to think about. He had Moorin to think about. He had the return of Lucretia and Aurelia to think about. He had Ripken and Tewks to think about, along with Philip and Alicia and Picco.

  Kere, there is more than I can handle – too many questions, too many responsibilities, and I am too tired and confused and weak, he prayed a silent plea.

  You are strong, young one, he heard Kere’s voice.

  You are wise, young one, he heard Kia’s voice.

  Do not despair. Do the good works that your heart tells you to, that is all we ask, Kere spoke.

  We trust in you Kestrel. You are our champion, Kia added. Now rest and sleep peacefully.

  For tomorrow will be a fateful day, Kere chimed in.

  And then Kestrel fell asleep.

  Chapter 16 – The Perfect Bow

  Kestrel awoke to the sound of boots walking in the hallway outside of his room, and sunlight streaming through his curtains. The morning was well underway, and he knew he needed to be ready to return to the palace and win the tournament.

  “Stillwater,” he called. “I’m ready for you to deliver the girls.”

  He sat up and pulled his boots on, then saw the instantaneous materialization of Aurelia, surrounded by the three imps who carried her.

  Aurelia, the princess with the unusual, deadly aging disease, was a blooming, beautiful young woman.

  “It worked!” she shrieked as she leapt upon Kestrel, her arms and legs inelegantly encircling him as she shouted out her joy. “Look at me!” she spoke directly to Kestrel, their faces inches apart. Kestrel saw the imps disappear. Her face was a mask of indesc
ribable joy, lit with warmth and a restored hope for the future.

  “Feel my skin!” she reached and grabbed his hand, then rubbed it up and down on her soft, pliable cheek.

  “Kestrel! I’m healed! I’m who I am. This is wonderful! We can go see my father, and he will be like a man brought back to life!” she was exuberant. “I can tell him about how incredible you’ve been, and how evil Exmoor has been.

  “He’ll become a real king again. He’ll force my brother to end his unsavory relationship with Exmoor, and we can bring justice back to the throne,” she forecast all the wonderful things she expected to occur.

  The imps returned with Lucretia. The girl took one look at Aurelia’s celebration and she laughed, then jumped on Kestrel as well, who tottered and fell backwards onto the bed, both the girls landing atop him, laughing with great pleasure for being alive and healthy and back in their home town again, convinced that their health was an omen of good things to come. And Kestrel found their enthusiasm and optimism to be infectious; he laughed with them.

  “How were the travels, Stillwater?” Kestrel asked the imp from beneath his assailants.

  “It was difficult, friend Kestrel. After today we will not be able to use our means to travel,” the imp told him.

  “Will you return to your home now?” Kestrel asked.

  “We will stay with you for as long as you think you need us, for the duration of this problem, if you wish. We were assigned to assist you, and we’ll do that in any way possible.” Stillwater answered stoutly, as the others nodded their heads in agreement.

  “You’re good friends, great friends, all of you,” Kestrel praised them. He gave a might shove upward, and dislodged the princess so that she rolled off of him and onto the mattress, while Lucretia clung to him and remained in his arms as he stood.

  “I say that we should all go to the palace now and get this tournament over with!” he declared. It was one thing that he felt confident he could succeed at, another positive thing on top of the return of the healed princess. With those victories accomplished, there would be fewer things left for him to ponder, things like his fate with Moorin.

  “I am not ready to have my mighty squad of imps exposed to the court of Kirevee this morning if it’s possible to avoid it,” Kestrel said. “Stillwater, would you and your friends go to my rooms in the tower and wait there until I call you?” he asked.

  “We would like to be part of the fun today with you, but we will wait if you think it is best. May we fly to the tower instead of transporting?” the imp asked, and when Kestrel agreed, they opened the window and flew out, creating, Kestrel was sure, some spectacle for any observant residents of the city.

  Together, the three elven occupants of the room left the inn, and chatted as they quickly reached the palace gates, where Aurelia was recognized and quickly allowed inside with her friends, along with an escort of guards who were immediately attached to her.

  “If you are safe with your guards, I’m going to go see Lord Ripken and pick up my bow,” Kestrel told the princess and Lucretia.

  “We’ll be watching for you!” Lucretia promised, and then they went their separate way, as Kestrel strolled towards the competition grounds.

  He found Tewks waiting for him at Ripken’s stand, although it was still well before time for the last round of competition to begin. “Here Kestrel, the best bow I could find!” the boy spoke reverently.

  “Did you really have a duel with Warrick last night?” he lowered his voice and asked in a stage whisper.

  “Let’s go check this bow. Pick up the arrows and follow me and we’ll try some practice before the competition starts,” Kestrel answered, taking the bow and walking towards a vacant competition field, one that was empty after being used during the previous day’s preliminary rounds.

  “So what’s this you say about a duel?” Kestrel asked as he placed an arrow on the string and slowly tested the resilience of the bow, flexing it gingerly without releasing the arrow.

  “I heard that you went with a pretty girl to the engagement party at Count Stelten’s home, and you got in a fight with someone who had eaten too much chairstem weed, right on the dance floor,” Tewks recounted. “I guess it made the bride pretty mad that you upset her party like that. Did you?”

  “I don’t know if I upset the bride,” Kestrel said with regret, wondering if he had ruined her celebration, unsettled as it had already seemed to be for her. He liked the feel of the bow, and just the touch of the instrument made him feel confident that he could win the contest he faced; the weapon was made of a very dark wood, almost black, while its front was decorated with an intricate woven pattern of inlaid lighter wood that provided a beautiful, elegant appearance. He put the question about Moorin out of his mind as he stared at the target, minutely adjusted his aim, then smoothly released his shot.

  The bow was a perfect piece of equipment, absolutely flawless; his shot flew on a level plane all the way to the center of the target, where it soundly embedded itself in the colored middle.

  “Nice bow,” he told Tewks.

  “But the rest is true?” the boy persisted.

  Kestrel aimed another arrow. “More or less,” he agreed, and released his second shot, which nearly struck the first arrow as it too landed in the center of the target.

  Kestrel fired five more arrows, and all flew true. It was a marvelous weapon.

  “They say Count Stelten says that you’re a good person, but his daughter said that you’re a bore and a creep and she doesn’t want to ever be around you again,” Tewks dished the details that sounded most extravagant.

  Kestrel looked at the boy. “Right now, I’m going to focus on the competition. We want to put on a good show for the princess,” he said.

  “That’s the other big news! The princess was missing all night! No one knows where she is!” Tewks was reminded of more gossip. “I think Exmoor has her,” he confided.

  “She’s back. She came back to the palace this morning,” Kestrel said simply.

  “Did she? You’re sure? Is she a little girl right now?” Tewks was practically dancing in excitement on hearing more news.

  “I think she’s cured of her disease,” Kestrel answered. “Why don’t you go find out? I’m going to go to the competition field and wait for the start.”

  Tewks raced off, and Kestrel calmly walked through the increasing number of elves who were entering the competition fields to witness the finale of the archery contest. The line at which the contestants would stand was a long one, indicating that several competitors would be involved in the final round of shooting. Kestrel took a spot near the end of the line, towards the side where several plush stands were erected, presumably for royal and noble audience members to stand in.

  Kestrel was not alone as he waited. Almost immediately he was joined by a pair of other archers, wearing bright, pristine outfits that made Kestrel realize he still wore the same disheveled green and white garment that he had worn the day before, a garment that was torn and dirtied from the arduous and violent conflicts he had engaged in throughout the day. He wouldn’t represent Ripken well in appearance, but he hoped that his success in the tournament would overcome his clothing shortcomings.

  Tewks arrived soon thereafter, preceding Lord Ripken, who arrived with a dozen guards and supporters. Ripken took up a position in the elegant stands, and waved to Kestrel.

  Other noble members of the court arrived, and then Exmoor came, surrounded by a large entourage of his own guards. Kestrel looked away from Exmoor and happened to look upwards towards the sky, where the looming comet hung, clearly visible even in the daylight, an omen of evil that Kestrel dismissed, for he felt confident that luck was with him on this day.

  After Exmoor Kestrel was startled to see Count Stelten arrive, attended by Moorin and Ruelin, as well as several others, and then loud applause began to rise in the distance, and moved closer as the royal family approached. Kestrel watched all those around him bow towards the royals, and he joined
in the bow as the procession crossed the competition field and entered their viewing box.

  “Kestrel! Kestrel!” Aurelia called from the box, her voice loud and clear, broadcasting across the field. “Come over here Kestrel!” she shouted.

  “He’s the one papa,” she told her father the king as Kestrel approached and stood in front of the royal box. “He saved me from Exmoor’s kidnappers, and he healed me of the illness.”

  “You’re one of Ripken’s men?” the king asked.

  “Yes, your majesty,” Kestrel spoke slowly and tried to minimize his accent.

  “He’s a good man, a true supporter of the kingdom’s best interest,” Kestrel said.

  “Kestrel, come over here,’ Aurelia asked. She was standing at the end of the royal box, right next to Stelten’s box, and as Kestrel approached her he came to stand within just a few feet of the silent Moorin as well.

  Aurelia bent low over the railing towards Kestrel, and when he stepped forward towards her, she put her arms around him and kissed him soundly on the lips. “That’s for giving me the most amazing night of my life last night!” she told him as she broke the clinch. “Now go win the tournament so I can congratulate you!” she said with a smile.

  Kestrel’s eyes darted to the side, to see Moorin watching him, and then deliberately turning her back to him. With a sigh of confusion, and less confidence than he had felt before, Kestrel turned and walked back to his spot on the firing line.

  All the competitors were in place, nearly fifty in all it appeared to Kestrel. He held on to his bow, and felt his confidence start to return as his fingers gripped the wood stock that seemed carved specifically for him. “All competitors prepare,” the judge advised. “There will be ten arrows, and half the field will be dismissed at that point. There will be ten more arrows, and half the remaining field will be dismissed, so that the remaining competitors will have ten final arrows to win the title.