“What type if flower is that?” Kestrel asked Merilla, suddenly frightened by what he thought was developing on the palace dance floor.
“I think it’s a rose,” Merilla answered. “Kestrel, are we going to dance?” she asked, holding her arms wide and in position to begin.
The third and fourth roses came flying from the hands of the men in red, forming a perfect square, with Kestrel and Merilla in the center.
“I don’t think we’re going to dance,” Kestrel answered softly. He looked around, and realized that he had left his staff leaning against the wall where they had received guests. He had no other weapons, as per the steward’s rule.
A square of yellow roses meant that life-threatening conditions were imminent — he remembered that from the codes he had been trying to memorize, the codes that had been stolen from his room at the inn. The Uniontown ambassador, Amyrilon, had sent his men to steal those codes, and now he was flaunting his successful theft in Kestrel’s face.
“Merilla, walk rapidly away from me,” he said urgently to the woman he cared so much about. “Go to the herald, the man in black, and tell him to send armed guards immediately!”
“What are you talking about?” Merilla asked, confused by his tone and comment, unaware of what the flowers meant, or what was happening. Kestrel glanced about and saw Moresond standing off to his right; he reached out and grabbed Merilla’s hand, as the crowd started to clap politely, believing the dance was about to begin at last.
The clapping stopped in shock, as Kestrel pulled Merilla’s arm and then propelled her towards Moresond. “Give him the message,” Kestrel said loudly as Merilla was flung away, a startled look on her face.
Three red flowers were suddenly thrown onto the floor, and Kestrel stared at them as he recollected that according to the code, a triangle of three red pansies meant that he expected he was going to die.
“I see the panic in your eyes,” the ambassador said, walking closer to Kestrel. “You recognize the meaning of these flowers, perhaps?”
He suddenly pulled a sword out of thin air, making the audience gasp.
Kestrel, if they are going to break the rules of the game, we may too, he heard a strong feminine voice speak in his ear. There is now a throwing knife on your hip; if you throw it at a target you can see, it will hit that target, no matter what. If you name the blade and call it, it will return to you. If you name your staff, it will answer your call and fly to you when you ask it to, Kai told him.
“Your delightful young friend will be my plaything tonight, not yours,” the ambassador pointed to where one of his henchmen held the struggling Merilla in his arms.
“And no one will interfere with this short battle that will put an end to your brief life,” the ambassador added, as he raised his hand in the air and made an obscure gesture. A dome of smoky red appeared within the ballroom, separating Kestrel, the ambassador, and his henchmen from everyone else.
“My staff is an honest weapon,” Kestrel growled at the ambassador, drawing a momentary look of puzzlement on Amyrilon’s face. “As honest as the man who was my first commander, Mastrin. I name my staff Mastrin, and I call it to come to me now!” he shouted, and held out his hand as his staff came flying through the air, penetrated the ambassador’s shield without incident, and smacked against his palm.
He could protect himself against the sword now. In a moment he would use the knife to set Merilla free. But there were four other henchmen inside the red dome as well, and he needed a way to fight against them while trying to protect himself and Merilla.
“”Dewberry! Dewberry! Dewberry!” he called with his voice and his heart and his mind. “I need a squad of sprite warriors to fight against the men in red,” he shouted out instructions.
He looked over his shoulder, at the red-robed man who held Merilla in front of him, a knife pressed against her throat. She looked terrified, and the man was using her to protect himself, forcing her body to block every part of his body from view, except a small portion of his face and his neck. Kestrel would trust the goddess; his hand reached down and found the knife on his left hip, then in one motion he flipped the knife backwards, behind his back.
“There goes vengeance! I want vengeance on the people who killed Lucretia; it will be in her name I give to this blade!” he shouted, and listened to the crowd around the dome scream as the knife swerved and flipped in the air, before it landed in the throat of the man who held Merilla, showering her in a bloody red spray as the man collapsed. “Lucretia, return!” Kestrel commanded, feeling somehow automatically connected to the weapon as though he had known it all his life. He felt the handle of the knife smack against his palm, and he slid the blade back into its scabbard.
There was another scream from the crowd as a small host of blue bodies erupted into the air of the dome, and began to stab and attack the unprepared red-robed acolytes of the ambassador.
“Now, Mastrin, let’s begin,” Kestrel spoke gently to his staff, and thrust it at the astonished ambassador. The first poke, using the end with the sharpened spikes, landed firmly on the hip of Kestrel’s opponent, and Kestrel twisted the staff to slice the flesh bloodily. The pain of the contact seemed to awaken something within Amyrilon, and he swung his sword with a cool, precise manner that Kestrel barely blocked with his staff.
There were shouts around Kestrel, as other battles raged, but he couldn’t spare a moment of his attention to look away from the ambassador, whose sword suddenly sliced repeatedly at Kestrel, striking his staff with steely, clashing sounds as the man controlled his weapon with a faster stroke and recovery that Kestrel had ever faced before, much more proficiently than even Arlen had ever demonstrated against him. He was stepping backwards, giving ground, as he was continually driven by the onslaught. One stroke of the sword hit his staff then deflected downward, slicing the flesh of Kestrel’s leg deeply, and forcing him to kneel in pain and immobility.
The ambassador smiled in triumph, and stepped back to prepare to deliver a fatal blow to Kestrel. He feigned a low slice, then as Kestrel reacted to block the blow Amyrilon shifted his blade and drove the point with speed and strength directly at Kestrel’s chest.
The point of the sword struck a seemingly fatal blow, but instead of penetrating Kestrel’s flesh, it slid along the divinely tattooed surface and flew high and wide, slipping up over his shoulder as it slid away, and the ambassador stepped back in shock at the failure of his effort, while Kestrel toppled backwards. With a flick of his wrist, Kestrel reached for his new goddess-given knife, and flung it at the ambassador’s chest, where it buried itself deeply with a resounding thud.
The ambassador looked down at Kestrel and smiled, causing the elf to momentarily panic, until Amyrilon slowly collapsed to the ground, dead, and the red dome vanished as the will of the ambassador ceased to generate its existence.
Kestrel reached forward and pulled the knife from the dead Uniontown leader’s body, then turned to locate and fling his blade at another antagonist, only to see that there were no other red-robed figures left standing. All of them were dead, lying on the floor thanks to the surprisingly ferocious fighting abilities of the sprites, and one small blue body lay unmoving as well.
With a groan, Kestrel used his staff to rise to his feet, and limped over to where the sprite lay on the floor, as the other sprites floated above it, and one of them knelt next to Merilla, who had also run over to try to tend to the blue victim.
“She’s not dead!” Merilla said, looking up at Kestrel.
“Who is it?” he asked fearfully.
“It’s Reasion,” Dewberry answered, looking up at Kestrel.
“Take Merilla to her home; she has a skin of the healing water there — bring it!” he urged the sprite. Within an instant a flock of sprites enveloped Merilla and disappeared.
Kestrel looked up at the sky, and realized that the humans of Estone were tentatively approaching the battle scene. “Stay back!” he shouted. “Stay back for just a few minutes more, please,
” a cry that stopped the crowd, as Merilla and her blue escort returned.
“Pour the water on her wound.” Kestrel directed, looking at the vicious stab wound in the blue stomach. “Now pour a little down her throat; just drip it into her gently,” he said a moment later.
“She should be okay,” Kestrel guessed. “Take her to Alicia and ask the doctor to check on her, please. I don’t want any of the blue people to die for me,” he said, looking at Dewberry, “although I know you’re brave enough that you would.”
“Friend Kestrel, what manner of battle was this? The opponents appeared to be humans, but the evil they brought with them was powerful beyond mortals,” Dewberry said.
“I don’t know yet, Dewberry,” Kestrel said, and he winced as he felt a twinge of pain in his sliced leg.
“Oh Kestrel,” Merilla called. “Do you want me to dose you with the healing water?” she started to turn the skin towards him.
“No!” he said firmly. “I can’t afford to be healed that way; I’ll heal the usual way. I need to keep this appearance as long as I can, so that I can head towards the Inner Seas Kingdoms. I need to carry out my mission, and I need to try to find out more about these forces from Uniontown.”
“Take your people and go to health and safety, Dewberry,” he said. He turned and waved to all the sprites. “Thank you all for your help and your bravery!” he told them all.
They descended and scooped up Reasion, then all disappeared.
The crowd held back longer, but Moresond led a squad of troops forward to see Kestrel. “My lord, what has happened here?” the herald asked in an awed voice.
There was a clap of thunder directly overhead, seemingly from inside the hall itself, so terrifyingly loud and close that people covered their ears with their hands.
“You all have been witness to the victory of your champion, and his emergence as the standard-bearer of your society, and all of humanity,” a deep feminine voice spoke from a point somewhere overhead, a voice that Kestrel recognized “Evil is coming among us with a strength and profundity that our age has never seen before. This small victory is a first step, and an important one in the war that is coming. Estone must prepare, and be prepared to make sacrifices in order to preserve the future from evil and slavery.
“You have done well tonight, my champion,” the voice spoke directly to Kestrel. “Be ready for greater challenges to come as you journey to the Inner Seas.” There was another clap of thunder, and the voice and its presence were gone from the hall. And then Kestrel passed out as his blood continued to seep away through the deep cut in his leg.
Chapter 32 — Filing the Report
Kestrel was resting in his palace chamber. There was clear morning light slanting in through his window that illuminated the weary beauty on Merilla’s face as she slept beside him. He looked down at his leg, where the painful stitches installed by the court physician three nights before were starkly visible against his skin; he wished with all his heart he could use the water of the healing spring, but he knew that it was something he could not touch for the next several months, except in situations of extreme need.
Merilla was staying in the palace with him as his nurse and his friend. The two of them understood that any relationship greater thank friendship was prohibited by the gods, and would become impractical once Kestrel left the palace to journey away, without any reasonable expectations of when he might return to Estone.
Her mother had swallowed any objections to her temporary residence at the palace when she and her father, as well as Merilla’s sons, and even her erstwhile fiance-to-be, had all been invited to the palace and seen Kestrel’s chambers there.
Castona had also come to see Kestrel, at his invitation, and informed Kestrel of the salacious details that had emerged in the aftermath of the defeat of the ambassador. The local police had stormed the ambassador’s residence early in the morning after the battle at the palace, and discovered no one left alive there, except a pair of elven slaves, kept in cages like animals, and the remains of two others, who had apparently been slaughtered in some ritual whose bloody evidence had turned the stomachs of those who had witnessed it. And a large, monstrous lizard was found in a pool that had been dug in the basement; the lizard had been killed by the palace guards, but had been difficult to kill — cunning in its efforts to evade attack and counterattack, as well as tough-skinned with a hide that was not easy to penetrate.
“Get descriptions of everything that was seen there,” Kestrel had urged. “Write it all down, and send it to the elves; escort the freed slaves and send them to Firheng with the report. Cosima will know to send it to Silvan.”
Kestrel blanched at the notion of human sacrifice and the whispered rumors of cannibalism as well. The ambassador had been a frightening person, a frightening entity; Kestrel knew that he had managed to win the battle and stay alive only because of divine intervention. The thought that there were other divinely appointed champions, appointed as the ambassador had been, by diabolical divinities, was frightening, and Kestrel intuitively sensed that the apparent, disruptive rise of an unknown evil force might be a factor in the battle the elves had suffered such grievous losses in.
The Doge had told Kestrel not to worry about missing the cutter he was scheduled to take passage on. Regardless of the weather, the Doge would make another ship available for Kestrel’s use. That new departure date appeared to be five days later than the original departure, based on bullying the palace doctor to release him from medical care sooner than the doctor wished to.
Kestrel picked up the paper and pen on his bedside table. He looked at Merilla once more, then set his pen to scratching across the surface of the paper. He was writing a long, rambling epistle that recorded his thoughts and impressions and plans. As soon as he was finished with the third page of Elvish writing, he blew on the paper to dry the ink, then softly called with his voice and his heart and his mind. “Dewberry, Dewberry, Dewberry.”
Seconds later the small blue sprite appeared, lying on the bed with him, between he and Merilla.
“Friend-hero Kestrel, how are you?” Dewberry asked in genuine concern.
“I’m doing fine Dewberry, getting better all the time. How are you? How are Reasion and Jonson?” he asked.
“Reasion is well, and back to normal. Jonson is impatient and grumpy — he wants his legs to grow back all in one day, instead only a little each day,” she replied.
“That great lizard that he fought in the swamp, had the imps ever seen anything like that before?” Kestrel asked.
“They have never seen anything like it, and they are scared of it, and any others like it that may still be in the swamp. They think there may be more,” she told him. “All the men want to be heroes and go out to hunt them like Jonson, while I tell Jonson to tell them to be better at it than he was!” she smiled gently. “And I think he understands.”
“Will you do a favor for me Dewberry, a small favor?” Kestrel asked.
“Anything I can, if I can,” she said brightly.
“This letter — would you deliver it to Alicia for me? She and the elves at Center Trunk need to know about the evil that visited Estone, the sooner the better,” he explained.
He heard Merilla yawn and stir behind his back, and he saw Dewberry’s eyes flicker from him to the woman behind him.
The sprite accepted the letter from Kestrel’s hand, then stood on the mattress, looking down at him. “So you want me to deliver this letter to the elf woman who is beautiful, but not as beautiful as me, while you are sleeping here with the human woman who is beautiful, but also not as beautiful as me, according to what you’ve told me in the past? Of course I will!” she mischievously said.
“Take care friend Kestrel,” Dewberry said, then vanished from the morning light that filled the bedroom.
“So you prefer small, blue sprites to normal, healthy humans and elves?” Merilla asked from behind his back, as she poked him in his ribs. He rolled over to see her rising from the b
ed and pulling a robe over her gown.
“I’ll go see if breakfast is available for me; maybe your sprite-lover can bring some back for you?” she grinned down at him.
“If it’s not too inconvenient, I’d appreciate you providing some breakfast, since you’re already up,” Kestrel replied. “And could you hand me my staff so I can hobble to the bathroom?”
Not much later, as they sat eating breakfast at the dining table in Kestrel’s suite, Merilla spoke. “Will you be able to leave as you plan, or should you stay here a few days more, so that the doctor can make sure your leg heals all the way?”
“I feel the need to leave,” Kestrel said. “There’s something out there I need to do,” he replied.
“You’re sure that you just don’t want to escape from the human lover who cannot be your lover?” she asked with a smile. “Are you on your way to some lovely elf?”
“She cannot be my lover either,” Kestrel replied. “And I’m going as far away from her as I am from you on this journey. But in the end, I’ll always know that there’s a good-hearted friend here in Estone I can always come back to and rely on if I need a friend’s help.”
“Yes you can Kestrel, yes you can. You’re a great person, we’re all discovering, and I hope that you find you always have friends available to help you be our champion and fight this battle that you think is coming,” she replied. “And may the gods continue to help you.”
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-f7d365-1dbe-ef48-c1b0-4cfa-7c8d-ff9068
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 20.06.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.35, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
The Healing Spring tisk-1 Page 36