by Lloyd Baron
“I had guessed as much. You have always been a good healer, yet not even you could have healed that.” He watches her closely for any sign of how she feels about it, but her stoic expression gives him nothing to go on.
“Once we have delivered the message to the Princess and our part in all this is over I will turn myself in.”
“What!” he shouts standing. He stares at her in disbelief. “You know what they will do to you?”
“Yes. I have thought about this since it happened and I have made up my mind.”
Darwin’t continues as if she had not spoken. “They will force you to stay within the city. You’ll be branded as a Mage and forced to abandon your healing. You can’t do this!”
She stands. The small room forces them to touch but she will not have him towering over her. “My mind is made up. My healing has always been magic, Darwin’t. Why else would the doctor not be able to get my herbs to work for him? Because the herbs did nothing but hide what I was doing. I have always known I was different. But look what it has done to that wretched man.” She uses her thumb to point at Tarfleam. “He can use his arm, but his mind has been damaged.”
“That was not your magic, Riochald. That was everything. Tarfleam has always been: weak of mind. Why else has he always used bullying tactics to get his own way? Your magic heals. It is a wonderful thing...”
“Wonderful!” she screams over his words. “You didn’t see it! You didn’t feel it! It was anything but wonderful!. If you could see evil and disgust it would have been that. Black and putrid.” The last words are spat out with venom.
Darwin’t does not know what to say. He reaches out a hand to comfort her but that old feeling of dread tickles up his arm into his body. His stomach flips and he drops his arm.
“That,” she says thrusting her finger in his face, “is what everyone does. It’s like you can’t bear to touch me with your skin. It’s what I’ve lived with these past suns. Even Canace hates to touch me, yet she does because she loves me and knows I mean her no harm.” Tears well up in her eyes. “I’m cursed.”
The door thunders open and Danlynn flies in backwards. Before Darwin’t can comment two men in city guard amour follow him in. They flank the door and allow a third to enter. He is dressed differently and Darwin’t recognizes the royal crest, two red eagles.
“There are two others,” he says to someone out in the hall. “The blond girl and the pirate. Find them.” The sound of footsteps echoes into the room. He turns to regard the four of them. Darwin’t reaches out and takes Danlynn’s shoulders, urging him to keep away from the guards. He does not like the look of the swords they wear. Both men look a little hateful and ready to use the weapons.
“What is this about?” It is Riochald who asks the question.
“I am Gareth Zian. I am chief of the Queen’s Eyes, and I’m here to take you to the Palace.”
Darwin’t cannot believe his ears. They will get their audience with the Queen sooner then he thought. That was easy. But how had Danlynn managed it?
“There you will hear her sentence for the attempted kidnapping of the Princess.”
“How do you know we are looking for the Princess?” Danlynn blurts out.
“And a confession. The Queen waits.”
Derry’n slips into the alley beside the inn and crouches down beside a crate. A whole horde of city guard has just rushed into the inn, carrying Danlynn like a rag doll. Instinct had taken over and he had leapt into the cover of shadows.
He listens with his sharp ears and just makes out a conversation about an attempted kidnap. They must have mistaken Danlynn for the kidnapper. Or had Danlynn been the one being kidnapped?
He stands and walks from the alley. He is sure he can help sort out this mess.
“I wouldn’t go out there my friend. They look angry.”
Derry’n stops and turns back towards the alley. A guard passes him and he tries to act casual. Once he is sure the man is out of earshot he gently calls out to the voice. “Who is there?” He scans the darkness. A crate sits at the side with a small cat sleeping on it and a few old barrels litter at the back within the deep shadows. He steps closer, but is unwilling to enter the now unknown darkness. “Where are you?”
“Are you blind?” The voice says again. But it does not seem to come from within the alley now. He turns around. Confused.
“Oh my. I thought you would know me.” The voice, which is deep and gruff like an old Man’s echoes inside his skull. “I’m over here dummy. On the crate.”
Derry’n turns around expecting to see a small old man, yet all he sees is the grey and white kitten, which had been sleeping before. His patience runs out and he storms into the alley, jumping behind the crate in the hope of frightening whoever is sitting behind it but it’s empty.
“You don’t even know you’re doing it, do you?” The voice chuckles into his head. “I’m the cat, stupid!” To prove it he turns a full circle and meows. “We met before at the Nine Swans Inn.”
“But you’re a kitten!” Derry’n says in disbelief. He shakes his head. “You can’t talk.”
“No,” the voice says. “I can’t talk but I can enter your mind.”
“But you’re just a kitten!”
“Kitten! I’ll have you know that I’m eight purrs old. I’m almost an adult.” He lifts his two front paws and waves them around. “See my claws? See how big they are?”
“Fine, you’re an adult, almost. That doesn’t explain why you can talk into my head.”
This is too much to take in. He would say it was a prank if it wasn’t for the fact he is looking at the cat and its huge blue eyes are staring right back at him. Then he remembers the dog, Buddy.
“There was a dog. I could understand him.”
“Dog!” The cat exclaims in disgust. “I’m surprised it could make you understand their primitive tongue. They are so stupid. Yes, yes. I know who you speak of. His Old name was Hamman.”
“Old name?”
“Yes. Before he was a dog. Before his life moved on. He was a butcher. I on the other hand was a scholar of old magic. Which is why he is now a dog, I’m a cat, and poor old Fiegus is a rat.” He chuckles again. “A long story. I’m sure we will talk about it many times. As for why I’m here. Well.” The cat stretches and yawns, arching his back. “I’m your protector. She has sent me.”
As the conversation progresses, Derry’n is becoming more confused and more annoyed. He desperately wants to find out what is going on within the inn, yet at the same time is captivated by this talking cat. He swallows and decides some questions are in order.
“Just answer me yes or no to these questions.”
The cat starts to protest but Derry’n repeats the sentence again, more firmly. The cat settles back and nods for him to continue. It is such a strange expression for a cat to pull and Derry’n almost laughs. “What is your name?”
“How am I meant to answer that with yes or no?” The cat says smugly.
“Just answer the question,” he snaps, losing his composure.
“I am Kloek by birth, but that witch at the inn called me Munchkin.”
“I’ll call you Kloek if you wish.”
“I would love for you to...”
“Just yes or no.”
The cat looks away from him a moment as if thinking of an appropriate retort, but decides against it and answers with a polite yes.
“You’re here to protect me?”
“Yes.”
“And my friends?”
“No.”
“Who sent you? One word answer.”
“I don’t know her name.”
“Where did you meet?”
“We’ve never met.”
Derry’n shakes his head. The cat’s tone is playful and he seems to be relishing the man’s discomfort. Finally Derry’n gives in and allows the cat the freedom he wants to speak.
“I am Kloek, the brightest mind in all of Atlantia. Or at least I used to be. My mind these days is
cloudy at best and I have a lot of cat issues to deal with. I hate not burying my excrement and love so much to chase after mice. I am more cat then I am man these days, yet I’m hoping that time with you may open my mind a tad.
“When I was alive I was a scholar as I said. I studied the old ways and ancient magic. I found a way to lift your soul from your body and keep it safe within a cocoon of light energy. The only problem was you could not return it again to the same body.
“Is that how you became a cat?” Derry’n interjects.
“No no. Please no interruptions.” The cat chuckles through Derry’n’s mind and the big man cannot help but to smile.
“She found out what I had learned. She came to me in my dreams and told me what I had to do. Two others came and were also told they must be your protectors. So we used my magic to remove our souls and place them within the light.”
“When was this?”
“Oh let me think.” The cat turns a circle and settles itself down. It begins to lick itself again. “It would have been two, maybe three thousand suns ago.”
“What!” Derry’n’s exclamation echoes down the alley and into the streets beyond. It would have defiantly drawn attention.
“Keep it down, boy!” Kloek admonishes. “You don’t have to speak with your mouth. Just think what you want to say and I’ll pick it up. Go on give it a try.”
“Just think it?”
“Yes.” Kloek settles back into his sitting position and waits.
Derry’n closes his eyes to focus his mind and draws on calm. A technique he had learned as a child to block out all the stares and whispered comments about his height or origins. He opens his eyes once he has reached the calm and settles his eyes upon the cat.
Can Y-u H-ar Me?
The cat shrieks and leaps high off the box. It races out of the alley, skids in the dirt, sending up a huge cloud and then tumbles back into the ally. It jumps up onto the crate, shaking his head, a paw waves at his ear. “That was so loud! Why did you shout it at me?”
“I just wanted you to hear.” Derry’n says with a smile on his face. “I guess it worked, then.”
“Yes it worked. Shall I continue?”
Derry’n goes to nod but then remembers the guards pushing Danlynn along. He grins at the cat.
“Want to test mindspeak over a distance?” he says playfully.
“I don’t understand,” Riochald mutters as she is marched out of the room and down the hall. Her face is a picture of confusion and her eyes are beginning to shine dangerously. She will not hold her temper for much longer.
Tarfleam follows, his head bowed and breathing fast. Danlynn moves forwards and guides him with a gentle hand on the shoulder, the man himself looking no better as the guards hasten them along with the tip of their swords. They reach the stairs and Danlynn looks back at his friend. His dirty mop of hair falling in front of his eyes, but Darwin’t can still see the fear reflected in them. Fear he is feeling in the pit of his stomach. The man in charge, Gareth, has been unwilling to listen to his pleas of innocence and has ordered their immediate arrest. They are to be taken to the Queen, where they will be sentenced for the attempted kidnap of the Princess. It does not seem to matter that none of them has been in the city long enough to have a bath let alone kidnap the heir to the throne.
They are bundled down the stairs and through the inn. One of the guards pushes Tarfleam in the small of the back, and the man falls to the floor. A swift kick to the back of his head and the frail man passes out. Danlynn drops beside the man but he is pulled back to his feet and hauled away.
“You,” one of the guards says. He is a short stocky man with dirty teeth and horrid breath. “Carry him on your back.”
Darwin’t does as he is told. This is how they first enter into the grand Palace of the Queen of Atlantia. Riochald in a boiling temper, which she only holds onto with a fine hair of will power; Danlynn casting fearful glances to his closest friend and trying to keep from vomiting; and Darwin’t, with his human burden weighing him down. They see little of its grandeur as they are shoved through the guards’ entrance and into the tunnels below the main halls. The same tunnels the Princess had crept along only the day before, not that any here would know that.
They enter onto a spiral stairway which leads them down into the deepest parts of the Palace, where only a few small candles burn to keep the darkness at bay. As the large iron gate slams shut on them all hope flees and Darwin’t collapses to the floor. Tears spill down his dirty face leaving tracks which no-one will ever see. This is where they will stay until the time of their deaths.
Only the sounds of Danlynn crying and Riochald pacing echoes around the dungeon. Then there is a sound. A soft padding and slight scratching sound moves closer to him. He reaches out and his hand touches something small and furry. A rat! He shrieks and lashes out with his feet, kicking the rat hard against the far wall. The soft noise has stopped. He must have killed it.
Pain flashes across Derry’n’s mind and he clasps hold of his head with both hands. The sensation is short lived and he opens his eyes in relief to find that he is sprawled across the stone floor of the Palace parkway.
He had been following the cat that had run ahead to watch what happened to his friends. He had been sending back detailed descriptions of what was happening until they reached the dungeon. He had told Derry’n to stay where he was and not approach the palace, as he would be seen by the guards. Derry’n was replying that he would take to the park and keep his distance, when Kloek had sent a message that he was approaching the dreamer. He assumed he meant Darwin’t.
That was when the pain had hit him and he must have fallen. The last thing he can remember is the cat saying he was not to draw attention to himself—and here he is; face down in the middle of the main road through the park. Already people are staring at him. He must have made for an amusing sight. A tall man, dressed in farmer’s garb, covered in dust and grime blocking the road in the upper-class part of the city.
A woman approaches and sternly asks if he is feeling alright. When he answers that he is, she turns on her heel and calls back that he should stop blocking the road.
He gets to his feet and casts his mind out to the cat but finds only a dark nothing. He suddenly feels alone and empty. He wishes he knew what had happened to Kloek and the others.
“Canace,” he says out loud and turns back in the direction of the inn just in time to catch the club in the face instead of on the back of his head. He falls back to the floor. Blood comes from his nose and lips and spills down his chin. He is about to get up and fight when he sees that his attackers are palace guard and instead of fighting he raises his hands in surrender.
24
A STORY
The shaft of light blinds Darwin’t as it pours into the dark basement. He sees his confines for the first time, and takes this opportunity to look around. The cell is a tiny space made of rough rock which glistens with damp. Mud and old straw cover the stone floor and rodent droppings are piled in every corner. There are six cells which face a circular room with an empty table and one chair in its centre.
Riochald’s sharp eyes lock onto his for a second, and he is shocked to see how dark and empty they are. Her mouth twitches and as if she has seen him for the first time her eyes regain some spark and she turns away towards the light. He glances up into the open portal but cannot see past the intense light.
Danlynn reaches through the bars and catches some dripping water, which he sucks into his mouth. He looks terrible. His eyes are sunken and he has deep dark circles over his cheeks. His hair, which is always a mess seems to be nothing more than a matted tangle more suited as a bird’s nest. He looks pale and ill but quite well compared to Tarfleam. The man who shares his cell is still sleeping. He has lost so much weight in the last four weeks. The bully who chased him across the fields and through the well is nothing but flesh and bones. His teeth are dirty and his skin is torn and sore. A huge blister is growing on his top lip, and wha
t is left of his cheeks are sunk so far into his face that it looks like the skin could tear at any moment. The man needs food and drink urgently, yet more importantly he needs his mind dealt with.
Stories of the city when they grew up were so grand that he cannot help, yet feel he has been lied to. The city they have seen is dirty and harsh and unjust. People suffer and steal and mug others just to live. Their circumstances are extreme, yet he still feels that the city is a place of hatred.
A silhouette fills the space and the light dims. Suddenly a huge man hits the stone floor. He stares at the unmoving form with a growing horror as a pool of blood slowly begins to seep out from under him.
“By the Goddess!” Riochald screams and reaches through the bars, trying to get hold of the man’s arm.
“Riochald cursed,” Danlynn mutters in his shock. “She never curses. Who is it?” He asks rubbing his eyes.
Darwin’t knows the answer, but his throat is closed and he drops to his knees. He gasps a breath and begins shaking his head. “Is he dead?”
Brilliant blue light erupts from beyond his cell, and he falls back. Riochald barks another even fouler curse as she pulls her hand back into the bars. The light fades back into the darkness and into the form of Danlynn. The scruffy man looks shocked at what he has done. He stares at his hands, which still glow with a faint blue. The temperature in the cells drop, and their breath clouds in front of their faces.
Riochald reaches out of the bars again and takes hold of the man’s wrist. He is deathly cold, but he has a pulse. Lowering his body temperature could have saved his life. She looks up with a confused smile. “He should live.” She looks over at Danlynn whose expression has gone cloudy. “You’re a Mage too? You’ve just saved his life.”
The door to the cellar opens again and new light floods the dingy room. “A healer is on his way to see your friend. We can’t have him die before the Queen judges him.” He shivers and rubs his hands together. “Blimey! It’s bloody freezing in here.” He turns and calls to someone behind him. “Get a stove and a torch. We can’t have them all becoming ice-men before tonight.”