by Greg Curtis
After that, while she lay there, bleeding from her nose which had been smashed into the ground, and gasping for breath, he grabbed her hand and dragged her along the ground to where her gloves were lying. He then forced her hand down on the nearest one.
She gasped, stiffened, and collapsed. And in that moment he knew he was safe.
Realising that, Briagh’s remaining strength left him and he too collapsed, gasping with relief. It also occurred to him that he had just won his first ever fight. As a man that was. He never fought. He ran and he hid. He avoided conflict at every turn. But he had won. Even if it was against a woman.
Damn! He’d fought a woman! He was suddenly sure that that wouldn't be seen as a good thing. Certainly not a noble thing. Especially if she was actually a princess. Was there a penalty for attacking royalty? Even when they were trying to kill you? He suspected there might be.
Still, he didn't care. He was alive even if he was hurting and still shaking. That was what mattered. And as he lay there, breathing heavily and trying to still the tremors racking his body, he concentrated on that. He had survived.
In short order he realised he had things to do. Things that began with removing her weapons and making sure she could never harm anyone again. So he rolled her over, undid her belt and pulled the sword, knife and pistol she had grabbed from her horse's saddle bags, and tossed them away. He grabbed the whistle too and tossed it at the nearby stream. He threw it with all the strength he had, never wanting to see that evil thing again. Then he started undoing the laces to her armour so that he could lash her wrists together with them.
She didn't object he noticed. But then she couldn't. The power of those gloves, whatever they were, was absolute. And there was a certain welcome irony in the fact that she had been struck down with her own weapon. It would have been even more welcome to have skewered her with her own knife as well. He could see the blade lying on the ground only a few feet from her, covered in his blood. But for some reason he couldn't find it within to pick up the blade.
Maybe he should have killed her? Briagh certainly thought about it. And the unrelenting hatred in her eyes told him that letting her live was probably a mistake. But it would have felt wrong killing a helpless woman. Even her. He actually felt bad just seeing the blood still pouring from her nose. Besides, he figured, the fae were going to want to have words with her for this. They'd been attacked too. And he doubted they were going to just let her go. So he tied her arms behind her back, making sure that if and when the paralysis wore off she would be helpless. Then he lashed her feet together as well – just in case.
After that he spotted the Captain, staggered over to him, rolled him over and checked that he too was alive. He was, though he didn't look happy about it. Maybe the paralysis had frozen his face just as he'd become angry with the woman, but Briagh wasn't so certain of that. It looked like he was scowling at him. Briagh just hoped he didn't blame him for this. The last thing he needed was to be sent packing again. Just when he was finding his feet here.
“All right Captain, you're safe. I'm going to go and get some help.” It was what he had to do he knew. He couldn't simply leave these paralysed rangers out here to be attacked by animals, and he didn't know how long they were going to be like this. It could be days for all he knew. Worse, it could be permanent. Not everyone was a morph. The sooner he could get some physicians to help them he figured, the better their chances.
Of course the quickest way to do that was on four legs, and so Briagh began undressing. It would be embarrassing in town, shifting back to his human form and having to get help while naked. But he was too weak and unsteady to make the town on two legs in any reasonable time. Besides which, the shift would help heal his injury some more. He could never let it be said that he hadn't done everything he could to get them the help they needed. If this all turned out as badly as he feared it might, he wanted to be able to leave this realm in one piece. Not be buried in it. And after all, he realised as he finally found the security of four legs, he had brought trouble with him.
The fae were not going to forget that in a hurry. His troubles he suspected, had only just begun.
Chapter Twenty One
A gaol was not a pleasant place to be. Still, Briagh thought, it was better than a dungeon. At least he had a window – even if it was covered with bars of course – and more bars instead of a front wall and door. But there was still plenty of light. He had a straw filled mattress which was comfortable enough after sleeping outside for as long as he had, and he hadn't even heard, let alone seen a mouse. He was served warm meals and the food was actually quite reasonable. Porridge instead of thin gruel and even roast meats for the evening meal. They had even provided him with water and soap for bathing. They did made it clear however, that they expected him to shave.
And his fellow prisoners weren't so terrible either. There weren't many of them for a start, and none of them were blaggers, cut-purses or killers. Instead he mostly had the company of lushes and rakefires. There had been a bed-hopper too. He hadn't even known that that was a crime, just a disgrace. But he supposed the fae took their bonds of hand-fasting more seriously than he was used to.
There were worse places he could be. He had lived in some of them actually. But after days stuck in this gaol cell he still wanted to be gone. Long gone and far away.
Unfortunately leaving was likely to be difficult. He had not wanted to be thrown in the gaol at all of course. And he had hoped things would go his way and he would simply be allowed to leave. But when the town's healers and guards had arrived at the camp site and seen the rangers lying there, they had demanded he stay. Especially when he had told them that he had attacked the Princess. Looking back, he probably shouldn’t have said that. It was why he'd first been locked up. Attacking a royal visitor was a crime. He should have simply told the officials he found the rangers like that and then quickly packed and left before the rangers were able to contradict him. His fate had been sealed because of that mistake.
When the rangers had started returning to life a day later and confirmed all that he had said, he had once more hoped that he would be released. But it wasn't to be. Instead, his time in the gaol had been extended and he had been told in no uncertain terms that he would have to face justice. And that, despite the fact that Briagh had acted to protect the Captain and his rangers! Captain Hillaren it appeared, was no friend of his.
Justice had begun with the town magistrate who had listened to all he'd said, and presumably to what the rangers had said, and then failed to reach any sort of a determination. Instead he had sent for Lord Daelyn in Egoli. The Lord had then gone through exactly the same process, but hadn’t so far informed him of his decision. The fact that he hadn't, worried Briagh. It made him think that they were hiding something from him. Something bad. He was starting to think that they weren't going to let him go at all. If he wanted to be free he was going to have to escape. That however, would not be easy.
The town gaol was actually part of a larger compound – a stockade that doubled as a barracks for the town guard and a garrison for the rangers who rode through. As such the gaol was surrounded by a large courtyard filled with soldiers. The town guards were constantly around as were the rangers from the Forty First out of Egoli. Then there were palisades surrounding everything.
First though there were the bars to get through. And despite being a follower of Elm Tibesh, he was no expert with a lock pick.
Of course, it would have helped of course if he still had a weapon. A knife perhaps. For some reason though they tended not to like prisoners keeping things like these.
Briagh was worried. He didn't know how long he would be here or whether he would be released at all. In Abylon he would probably have been killed once they found out what he was. Here it didn't seem to matter that he was a morph. But he was human and a crime had been committed in the fae realm. A serious crime. You did not attack a princess Not when an attack on her was considered as an insult to her hosts, the Lord
s of Wynde Par. It didn't matter that he had only attacked in self-defence. Or that in doing so he had perhaps saved lives. It didn't even matter that he had had no idea that Elan was coming. In the end she had come to Wynde Par because of him and so her crime of attacking the rangers was in part his doing. He therefore got to spend some time in the gaol and wait nervously to find out if he was going to swing from the end of a rope.
The irony was that he might swing alone. Elan was somewhere in the gaol as well. He hadn't seen her, but he had been told she was here and like him was being interrogated. But if she actually was a princess as she claimed she was probably safe. He couldn't imagine that the fae would hang a princess even after what she'd done. He however, wasn't so lucky. In a strange way, she might actually have succeeded in having him killed after all. The irony was bitter. But the one thing every morph knew was that there was no justice. Not for them.
“On your feet, prisoner!” His gaoler Careyn addressed him abruptly, startling Briagh out of his dour mood.
Briagh was quick to get to his feet. He might not understand this land, including how he could have a woman gaoler, but he understood one thing; she was in charge. She had some sort of magic that took control of his body. He either did as she said or she made him do as she said. And when she made him do it, it hurt. A lot. Under the magic his muscles seemed to cramp and tear. It was if they didn't quite know how to respond to her will. Besides, he wanted to live. Giving the guards cheek wouldn't help with that he guessed. This was Wynde Par. Rudeness would not be tolerated.
Dutifully having jumped to his feet he stood quietly in front of the bars while she inspected him. But in fairness he returned the favour.
She was actually quite pretty, he thought. He hadn't had much to do with fae maidens before. But then he normally didn't have a lot to do with women anyway. They were dangerous to people with secrets. But despite everything he quite liked her – and in truth he didn't have a lot of secrets anymore. Not in Wynde Par.
Careyn was on the small side like all her people, and her skin was a little more tanned than he was used to. Sometimes, when the light from the window hit her just right, it almost seemed to sparkle. He liked that. She also had hazel eyes and surprisingly white teeth which also appealed. But the thing that stood out most for him was her hair. He wasn't used to seeing women with their long hair hanging all the way down below their waist. It was dark and curly and looked pretty but it didn't seem very practical. Especially for a gaoler. A prisoner could just grab a handful and pull it and she would be caught. On the other hand, her gift would probably protect her from any prisoner foolish enough to attack her. Besides which, most of the other prisoners had been jailed for public drunkenness. They didn't seem particularly dangerous. Just embarrassing – and a little unpleasant when some of them threw up in their cells. Too many of them had done that.
Naturally he hadn't enquired about Careyn's appearance, and he wasn't going to. It might be taken as rude and he couldn’t afford to be considered that. It would count against him when the time for sentence to be passed came.
“Good, you appear presentable.” She pronounced herself satisfied with him. “You have a visitor, and it would be wise to be respectful.”
“I will.” Briagh nodded politely. He was always respectful here. And that was after three gruelling interrogations where he had fairly much told them everything about himself as well as what had happened. He didn't want to give the gaolers any reason to be upset with him. Not when his life was hanging in the balance. And especially not among the fae. Manners were everything to them, and rudeness a crime.
He did though wonder who was visiting him now. Was it to be another interrogation? He had had enough of them. First the Captain had interrogated him, and he had been just as unhappy as Briagh had suspected he would be. It wasn't just the devastating power of that infernal whistle and those gloves. It was being left vulnerable by an enemy. That was something Briagh could understand. But Captain Hillaren was also annoyed that he'd had to be helped. Briagh suspect that that was the real reason why the Captain disliked him.
Next the town magistrate had interrogated him for the second time, asking the very same questions the Captain had asked and then moving on to examine his life. All of it, practically from birth. And he had been even less happy than the Captain. Especially when Briagh had more or less admitted that he was a thief. It was perhaps a dangerous admission to make, but they had his coin purse and knew the wealth he carried, and none of his crimes had been committed in Wynde Par. How much that mattered to the magistrate Briagh wasn't sure. The man had a naturally sour disposition. Maybe it came from dealing with criminals and crimes, though judging from the emptiness of the gaol, he wasn't kept particularly busy with his work. Other than the drunkards he could see only a few rakefires who obviously couldn't pay a fine but could work off their sentences.
It was when Lord Daelyn had arrived the following day and started asking questions, that Briagh had realised he was in serious trouble. Lords did not concern themselves with the crimes of commoners as a rule. But if royalty was involved, that was another matter. Briagh had again told him everything that had happened and everything he knew of his enemy. He'd had no choice when the lord had come with a soothsayer. But what he knew was precious little. He had assumed that she was exactly what she claimed to be – a poet warrior. That was until the Captain had arrived and informed him otherwise.
As for his knowledge of the royal family, he had little. King Harold the Good was mad, and he'd never seen him save when he sometimes rode by in his carriage. The queen was dead. The sons were absent, supposedly being schooled and trained to run the kingdom. And though he knew they had a daughter, he had no idea if she and the poet warrior were one and the same. He wouldn't have thought so though. Not even now. After all, why would a Princess be pretending to be some sort of commonplace warrior? And wouldn't her father, crazed as he might be, have put a stop to it if she was?
Lord Daelyn had concealed his feelings on the matter, but Briagh suspected that he had been no happier with his answers than the Captain and the Magistrate before him. Especially considering that he had travelled some distance to interrogate him. Egoli, which his family held dominion over, was some twenty leagues to the north.
But with his soothsayer beside him he would also have known that Briagh had told him what he believed was the truth.
“Hands!”
Briagh obediently held out his hands through the small hatch in the bars so that the gaoler could affix the manacles to them. He didn't even flinch when she started tightening them around his wrists. He had been through the procedure several times before. But neither did he point out that he was a morph. If he changed forms the manacles would simply fall off. Neither panthers nor wolfhounds had hands. She probably knew that though. And there were other ways a morph could be manacled. For example, he was aware that there were manacles that pierced the flesh. The usual one as he understood it, was the manacle with the central steel spike that was driven between the bones of the lower arm so it couldn't be removed. He didn't want to find out how painful that would be.
Once the manacles were fastened he allowed her and a second guard to lead him out of the cell to the gaol's central room by her and another guard. He even sat down in the chair provided for him as ordered. If he was going to have to run, his best chance was to do it if they weren't expecting it. And he would probably only get one chance. After that he waited patiently for his inquisitor to arrive.
It wasn't much of a chamber as such things went, he thought. Simply a circular chamber with a floor made of paving stones and walls made of bars. Beyond that he couldn’t see anything as darkness cloaked everything past the bars. High above he could see glass inset between some more bars, which together formed a huge circular window. Inside the room there were two wooden chairs and a table between them, none of them of particularly good quality. But it had a view of the blue sky above, and he liked that. He spent some time leaning back in his chair star
ing up at it, wondering if he would ever be able to see it again without the frame of bars.
He was aware of course that he was being watched. He was sitting in the light, but he could only see as far as the bars surrounding him. Somewhere in the darkness beyond he guessed there would be guards. His inquisitor too. No doubt he was studying him. Looking for some sign of wrongdoing. Or perhaps they believed he was a monster – a dangerous morph ready to strike. He still couldn't quite bring himself to believe that they didn't hate and fear morphs here. Even if they didn't seem to openly hunt them down.
The next person who arrived though wasn't who he expected. It was the poet warrior who had attacked him. She was led out by two more guards and sat down in the chair opposite him. At least she was in manacles, and unlike him she couldn't escape them.
Seeing her sitting there across from him Briagh couldn't help but feel anger. In fact, the rage surged through him like an ocean wave. This woman had tried to kill him; twice. And for no reason save the fact of his birth. Moreover, the memory of that damnable siren whistle was still with him. In all his life he'd never known such terror as when she'd blown that thing. Even the memories of it echoed painfully in his soul. But he knew better than to attack her. Of course, he could. He could shift, leap on her and kill her before anyone could stop him. Well, he might be able to. Then again Careyn was somewhere nearby he guessed and she could use her magic to stop him. With an effort he controlled his anger. He knew this had to be some sort of test. But even if it wasn’t he just wasn't a killer.