Talystasia: A Faerytale

by Haadiyah Cardinalis

  Eventually she reached a large public square, hemmed in by empty market stalls and shuttered shops. Tiny motes of torchlight flickered in the distance, forming a line across the fog-drenched sky. Only a few late night stragglers still skirted along the roadside on their solitary business, shielding themselves against the rain with cloaks pulled high over their heads.

  A vast outline coalesced out of the sky, taking on the form of wood against stone, stone against night—the east gate of Talystasia. Faceless black blobs marched lonely paces on high, the torchlight shining dully off their armour and crossbows.

  There was a small guardhouse in the base of the wall. Inside a lone guardsman sat reading a book by the light of several candles and a sputtering torch on a pole. Dropping his book as she pulled up, he raised a pair of shaggy eyebrows querulously.

  "Can I—" the guard trailed off, glancing at her collar. "Are you lost? Where's your master?"

  "No. I'm not lost. Master is. Open the gate please, I need to get out."

  "I can't do that."

  "Did Lord Telyra ride out this way this evening?"

  "I wasn't on shift ..." he started. "Lord Telyra's your—?"

  "Yes, check the log!"

  "Why?"

  "Why? ... I need to know if he came back. He's hurt, and I think he needs help. Dorthelda sent me," she added, "If that helps. Lord Telyra’s head housekeeper."

  "I don't know that person. Do you have some sort of letter?"

  "No, I don't have a letter ... but this is a matter of—"

  "I can't let you through, sorry. No letter, no permission, couldn't be held to blame if you’re a runaway, particularly if you’re Lord Telyra’s."

  "You can't afford to be held to blame if Master needs my help and you prevented it! Please, just check the logs at least?"

  "Fine. If you’ll leave me in peace. Let's see, it says here ..." His eyes trailed over the small ledger on the wall beside his desk and then widened.

  "You said … you said you think he went out and didn't come back?"

  She nodded fiercely.

  "You were right."

  "Thank you! So let me through?"

  "... I still can't do that. I need to hold you here."

  "But I’m not tryin' to escape! Honestly.”

  "I'm going to have to have someone escort you home. I’m sorry. You're outside of your household alone, without a sealed letter."

  "Then call the city guard. Do it! I don't want to look for him on my own! And don't you dare try to send me home, or I will run. If you could just get a message to someone I know ... try Lieutenant Gulthor, he'd know me ... Please," she pleaded.

  There was a sound of hooves behind them, and a soldier on a large roan horse pulled into view, a spear and helmet latched to his saddle. Chain mail glittered and clinked from under his soaked cloak. "... Let her through!” the newcomer shouted in a baritone bellow. “And for gods' sakes man, let me through too."

  His skin was the colour of aged copper, his black curls slick with rain, his dark eyes flashing with impatience. He shifted in his saddle as if he couldn’t stand to sit still.

  "Who're you?" she asked in bewildered gratitude. "Where'd you come from?"

  "… Cyril Rizaq," he said breathlessly. "I heard the argument and came over to see what was going on."

  There was a look of slender, almost feminine grace and adolescence about him, but she was certain the look of youth was deceptive. A hardened sorrow lurked behind his eyes.

  "Master’s friend Rizaq?"

  "I think I know you—Julia?"

  She nodded emphatically.

  Rizaq turned back to the gate guard. “Send for more help please. This is ridiculous.”

  Grunting, the guardsman threw down his ledger and cranked a lever in the floor. With a shuddering grind and a trumpeting groan, the great gates creaked open.

  "Where'd you get the horse?" the general shouted above the noise.

  She cringed. "Blackmail ...? Failed blackmail?"

  Rizaq blinked and then started to laugh.

  "The path down the mountainside branches in two. At the fork, you take a right and I'll take a left. Stay alert, as we don't know what we're dealing with. But I don't think he's been captured. Nobody’s asked for ransom, and nobody’s sent us his head. He could've come back in through another gate, but I say we don't give up till we hit the base of the hill. By the time we've done that the other gates should have been alerted."

  "Why are you helping me ...?"

  "Because you're trying to help the lord. Anyone with a brain can see that—ride."

  Rizaq kicked his horse in the haunches and vanished. Julia followed his lead and sprang through the gap. The rumbling of the city gate lapsed into silence, the black outlines of trees a ribcage against the sky.

  Moments later, the fork that Rizaq had indicated materialized out of the blackness. The forest zoomed toward her in patches of dark and darker. Her stomach in her throat, she pulled desperately on the reins, yelling lest they plunge down the muddy mountain path and into oblivion.

  The stallion came to another violent halt, snorting and tossing his mane.

  Again she found herself panting, struggling to get a hold on her shaky nerves, adrenaline buzzing through her like a static charge.

  The horse had already buried his nose in a stand of plants along the path.

  Tugging on the reins, she urged him on, steering painstakingly around patches of mud and trotting delicately over rocks and sprawling, gnarled roots. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the chilly breeze carried the scent of loam and fallen leaves, damp dirt and decaying matter. Overhead, translucent leaves glowed the faintest fluttering grey, permitting only the dimmest rays of light to pass through to the forest floor.

  Reaching out, she pushed aside an intruding branch. The twig she touched snapped, and with a sharp intake of breath, she filled her nostrils with the thick, bitter smell of resin.

  There were parks in the city. Lord Telyra had brought her to them on a few occasions, but they didn’t compare, not even remotely. Grazing her fingertips from trunk to trunk, she relished a world of sensation, exploring every surface. The rough bark was damp with rain and sticky with sap; moss dangled down from above, glowing softly like angels’ hair. Night birds trilled from tree to tree, serenading the forest with their lonesome arias.

  Sometimes she forgot the world outside wasn’t just pictures in a book.

  It was right here, not ten minutes from the castle gate. There’d been no particular danger over the past few years, so why hadn’t he ever brought her with him on any of his rides?

  “Bastard,” she muttered, and then choked, covering her mouth to contain a scream.

  A dark shape was catapulting up the hillside, making a beeline directly for her. Before she even had time to gather her wits, the horse shot into the trees. Screaming, she yanked on the reins, covering her head. In frozen terror, clinging to his neck, she waited until the shape on the path drew to a halt. Then out of the dappled shadows emerged a familiar equine face.

  "Seleda! Oh thank gods—"

  Her mount whinnied, stepping out tentatively from the trees.

  She waited until the tremendous mare had trotted up and circled them twice before she reached out to pat her neck. Seleda nickered in recognition, and then trotted back down the path. After a few yards she stopped and turned her head. Julia squeezed with her thighs and followed.

  Ahead, the path widened. After what seemed an interminable time following the dark silhouette through the creaking, rustling blackness of the trees, Seleda snorted and turned off the path with a crackle of bramble.

  Julia wove between the trunks and dismounted when the brushwood became too dense, leading her mount by hand. The monstrous red warhorse ambled deeper into the undergrowth with a strangled, pathetic whinny.

  "Oh somebody please, please listen if you're there, don't let him be dead. Don't let him—"

  They emerged into a clearing; a crumpled body lay in its center.r />
  "Master!" she shrieked, running to him. Kneeling, she shook him, running her hand through his hair and down his blanched cheek. "Master, wake up, please, wake up, don't be dead, Master—"

  Lord Telyra's lips cracked open, and he groaned weakly. "I'm not ... dead, you little ... you—" his eyes flicked open in surprise. "What are you doing here—? Is this a dream?"

  “Oh my gods, thank gods—!” She flung her arms around him with a ferocity that surprised her. He winced.

  "—Where are you bleeding?” she gasped, pulling away. “Did I hurt you? Oh—" She tore a strip of fabric from his cloak, lifting up his arm and wrapping it around his shoulder blade.

  "My leg—my thigh, can you—"

  He lifted his leg, just barely. She tore another strip, feeling the damp blood through his trousers.

  "There's a ... pamphlet of some sort a couple feet to my left. See it ...?"

  She nodded, picking it up. "What is it?"

  "A calling card ... I think. Put it ... in my saddlebag. Didn't ... answer my question."

  "I'm here to rescue you!”

  "... Can see that ... how ...? Why you?"

  "I'll tell you later. Master, you need to get up. I'll help you, can you—" She slipped her arm under his, trying to reach beneath his torso.

  "What’d I tell you … about telling me what I need … you ..." he looked up at her feverishly, "... disobeyed me again, left your room, eluded my staff, stole a horse from my stables, left the grounds and escaped the city ... to find me?"

  "Master, you have to—" she started, and broke off, frightened of him even as he lay helpless. “Yes, I did. More or less.”

  "... That's the best thing I ever heard,” he groaned. Then his head fell back and his eyes flickered closed, his arms going limp in hers.

  "Bloody hell!" she yelled. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ..." Frantically she searched the clearing for something that could help with the impossible task of lifting him off the ground.

  "Seleda. You've got to ..."

  Gently, she took the mare's reins in her trembling hands, and motioned her toward Lord Telyra. "… Please, you've got to lay down by him ..."

  The mare's bloodshot eyes stared blankly back into hers.

  Julia knelt down on the ground beside him and tugged downwards on the reins. Grabbing him under the shoulders, she looked back into Seleda's eye pleadingly. "Please understand, please, please ... lay down …"

  Seleda wrenched her head away, the reins slipping out of her grasp. She circled around Lord Telyra’s body, then haltingly sank down into the mud.

  "Thank you!" Julia dug her arms into the muck under his back and heaved for all she was worth.

  Slowly, his body rolled up against the mare's back. She crawled against him and clawed underneath, leveraging her whole weight, her back screaming with exertion as she hoisted his torso over the saddle. When she was done, she fell over backwards and collapsed in the mud, panting for breath.

  A long black nose prodded her in the forehead. Dragging herself upright, she set one slippery foot in the stirrup and slung herself up, sagging forward exhaustedly. Then she started the long journey back through the muddy woods, Seleda’s reins held loosely in her other hand.

  ~~~

  "You should know that you probably saved the lord's life," Kalorn stated an hour later as Lord Telyra was loaded onto a stretcher in the castle. "He might've made it a few more hours, but he probably wouldn't have survived the night."

  Julia covered her mouth, mortified, but nodded. "Thank you," she whispered. "I think I'll go back to my room."

  Kalorn shuffled off with the stretcher, yawning and shouting orders to his attendants.

  She turned back to Rizaq, who stood by her side, his face creased with concern. His eyes, however, were clouded with wrath.

  "I'm going to stay with him,” the general said.

  "Look, please don't tell him anything—if he doesn't remember anything when he wakes up—"

  Rizaq shook his head firmly, putting a hand on her shoulder. He stood only half a foot taller than her. In this light though, there was no longer any mistaking his middle years.

  "I can't do that. He has a right to know what happened here tonight. Both what they did—" He shot a scathing look at the cluster of staff huddled by the fireplace, “—and what you did.”

  "He already knows they don’t give a damn about him.”

  "Why are you trying to cover for them? They could have killed him. It’s hard to lob an accusation of treason against them for simply not doing something, but I should’ve heard about this from a castle watchman or courier, not from you. Every guard who works inside these walls is going to be discharged. Possibly jailed. The rest, these civvies … I’d kill them myself if I could. It’s a shame he’s outlawed capital punishment."

  “What’d they tell you?”

  “They told me … they were working on it. That was their excuse. The way you told it, they’d just as soon you’d put a knife in his heart.”

  She wasn’t sure why she’d told Rizaq at all. Heading out tonight, she’d been determined to keep the details to herself. Returning with Master unconscious on Seleda’s back, she’d been so furious she could scarcely contain her tears. There were the staff beside the fire, giving her the evil eye … but beside the doors was Rizaq, waiting with Kalorn at his side. She’d run to him and bawled out the whole thing.

  "I ... threatened them," she explained slowly. "You don't know how they treat me. I told them they could take credit for his rescue if they leave me alone. And that otherwise, I’d tell him what they did."

  "Lord Telyra has a right to know how they treated him, even if he'd have seen it coming. You're going to have to find another way to deal with your problems ..."

  "But he’s one of my problems. He said he'd kill me if I left my room, and I left the city. I broke practically every slave law in Talystasia."

  Rizaq burst into laughter. "Lord Telyra isn't going to kill you.”

  “Look at me.” She gestured at her swollen face, feeling pitiful. “He did this. He did this to me, and I rescued him.”

  “Who’s he going to bitch about all the damn day if he doesn’t have you?”

  She flushed.

  “No, you should be flattered. He wouldn’t be so critical if you didn’t mean the world to him. You think he bitches about them all day? He doesn’t care about them.”

  “Oh, general … How is it that Lord Telyra is even still in power?”

  “Hmm?”

  “He’s unpopular. He’s always been disliked. But tonight … I saw it like I’ve never seen it before. Attacked by one enemy, left for dead by the rest. Why hasn’t somebody assassinated him? Is it really out of fear? He’s just one man. All it would take is a mob to finish him. I’m frightened for him.”

  “There are several reasons. The core of the military is loyal to him—that’s one. Andreas provides for people—and that’s another. He’s done a lot of favours without making a fuss. But the biggest deterrent? He’s the last Telyra. And when the last Telyra is dead …” He shrugged. “Imagine falling off a cliff you’ve been hovering at the edge of for hundreds of years. No one knows what it will mean. For all this city has been torn apart by conflict, it has also been defined by that division.” He hesitated. “By the way … sorry to bring this up if you’d rather not talk about it … but his penchant for violence … It has gotten worse over the years hasn't it? More brutal, less precise, less provocation needed to set him off?"

  "Yeah ...! I thought it was my fault—" she drifted off questioningly. “Things have degraded. Please don’t tell him I said this …” She broke off again.

  “I knew he slapped you around, but the extent of it …” He shrugged. “I don’t mean to be insensitive. He treated it as a casual thing. Hell, he and I have brawled when we’ve lost our tempers. We’ve given each other more than a few black eyes. How bad is it?”

  She tried to think of something to say. This man, like so many others, would likely perceive no
wrong-doing in her master’s actions. As Lord Telyra himself had so unemotionally observed, abuse was something that happened to people, not property.

  “It used to be.”

  “… Casual?”

  “No, there was nothing casual about it—that’s not what I meant. He was careful. He used to be careful. Well … mostly.”

  “And now?”

  “Bad. It’s become bad. Now it is casual. Casual, careless and cruel.”

  “It’s not your fault. Or not entirely. Whatever you may have said or done to piss him off, trust me, it's only half of it. Have courage with him if you can; he's a good man, one of the best I know. I reckon he's right proud of you, and proud to call you his friend.”

  She wanted to tell him that Lord Telyra had long ago turned his back on her, that he was not a good man, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. His love for his friend might be blind, but it was touchingly sincere. And tonight, when it was so clear to her how deeply despised Lord Telyra truly was, she couldn’t spoil it.

  “Why did you ask …?” she inquired instead.

  “… Has he ever really been straight with you about his life here in this city? … You know by now I'm sure, that he never wanted anything to do with it."

  "He told me that; almost as soon as I met him, actually."

  "—And the fighting too. He loathes the fighting. Well, that's not quite right; he gets off on the killing, but he's too good a man to accept it. And you know ... he doesn't do it for them." He waved vaguely at the gossiping staff, who returned his gesture with dagger glances.

  “He doesn’t do it for anyone who wants him to. He does it, when he has to, for those that don’t. He does it for me, for you. Even for those across the Wall who want to live in peace." Rizaq smiled sadly. "The thing is, he needs his violence. He can't slake it, it's like a pain you can't purge, no matter what you do, a thirst you can't quench. He's losing—" he drifted off and shook his head. "It's not his fault, but he blames himself."