The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 01 - The Healing Spring

by Jeffrey Quyle

  When daylight came he was glad to see that the rain had finally stopped. Kestrel picked up his messenger tube and the skin of healing water, then went to Casimo’s office. He arrived before either Belinda or the commander, and sat down on the floor outside the office door, awaiting the arrival of someone to receive him.

  Belinda arrived first. She walked the dim corridor towards him, unable to tell who was at her office until she was close and he rose to stand. “Kestrel!” she greeted him with a friendly laugh and a hug.

  “Here,” Kestrel told her, before she had even unlocked the door for their entry. “I brought you more water,” he held the skin before him.

  She looked at him with grateful tears in her eyes. “Thank you Kestrel. He continues to regrow his hands and his eyes. I dream at night about maybe having a talk with my husband again someday, and when I wake up I think it could be possible.”

  She stood for a moment, overcome with emotion. “Goodness! Here I am keeping you standing out in the hallway while my mind is a hundred trees away! Let’s go in the office,” she said as she juggled the items in her hands and brought out the keys that unlocked the door.

  Within the office Kestrel took a seat and watched as Belinda bustled about, preparing the office and putting things in order for the day. “Was it worth it?” he suddenly asked as he watched her.

  “Pardon me?” she asked.

  “Was it worth marrying someone who hasn’t been a partner for so much of your marriage? If you had it to do over again, knowing that Ranor would be like this for so many years, would you still marry him?” he wanted to know. He wanted to know if a happy marriage with a partner for a short time was worth giving up so many other long years.

  “Kestrel, I didn’t have just a few short years with him,” she replied, leaving off her tasks to come sit beside him. “Even when he’s been in a coma, I’ve had the memories and the knowledge of the love and the bliss of those years. They weren’t perfect by any means, but they were the best of my life, and I still feed off the love of them.”

  She stood up. “I’m sure you’ll find that out for yourself someday, maybe someday soon.” She returned to her desk, and got there just as the door opened and Cosima and Gion entered the office.

  “Well, look at who has come back again! He’s like that magpie you shoo away every morning, and every night he’s back to chatter and do mischief,” Cosima said. “Welcome back Kestrel. I see you’ve changed your looks once again. Are you going back out into the field?”

  Kestrel held out his message tube and delivered it to the commander. “Hello Gion,” he said in a friendly tone to the guard who stood nearby.

  “Hello Kestrel. Good to see you again,” Gion said heartily.

  “I’ll go take a look at this, and then we can talk, if you don’t mind,” Cosima said, holding the tube. “Just remain here and keep Belinda company, but don’t disrupt her routine!” He spoke over his shoulder as he headed into his office and pulled the door closed behind him.

  Kestrel returned to his seat and watched Belinda, as he thought about her answer to his question. He was haunted by the thought that in a few days he would be passing back through Estone again, with another chance to see Merilla, much sooner than he had expected. Was she his chance to find happiness? They’d really only spent a few days together, he realized, but the days had been intensive, constant exposure to one another, day and night, through their most intimate moments, and he’d found nothing about her that worried him, other than the fact that the goddess had sent Dewberry to keep them apart one time.

  “Kestrel,” Cosima called as he opened his door, interrupting Kestrel’s musing, “come in here and we’ll talk.”

  When Kestrel was settled into a seat in the office, Cosima began talking. “According to Silvan, you’re going out on a mission, and we need to sharpen your skills before you go, especially with horses. So I’m going to send you out on a horse to Green Water. It’s a small human harbor on the North Sea, at the foot of the Water Mountains. They ship mining goods out of there.

  “Ride your horse to Green Water. Find out anything you think is interesting, then ride back here. That should be eight or nine days each way – plenty of riding. That’ll give Silvan time to send another message with further instructions. Did you know about that?” Cosima asked.

  “He told me about it,” Kestrel affirmed.

  “Good. Go tell Arlen what you’re going to do, and get on a horse as soon as possible,” Cosima ordered. “Any questions?”

  “No,” Kestrel said after a moment’s thought. Within three hours, after a long, friendly reunion with Arlen, Kestrel was in the saddle and traveling alone to Green Water.

  The journey was simple at first. He rode through the forest, past the nut gatherers, into more sparsely populated parts of the forest, and then into parts where there seemed to be virtually no one at all except the occasional settler. The forest switched to a large marsh, and he rode around the north end of that, taking a day of riding in the rain just to get past the bog. By then he was in an open country, with few trees and open plains which stretched without interruption until he reached the coast. He was eight days into his trip by then, and he and his horse were partners that understood one another very well.

  For two more days he rode along the coastline, captivated by the beauty and the smell and the birds and animals that inhabited it. On the second day along the coast he rode through rain until he smelled smoke, and he came to farms and then his narrow road merged with a larger, busier one that came down out of the mountains that he could barely see through the misty rains, a road that led him directly into Green Water within another hour.

  The town was both old and raw, it seemed. There were some structures that were aged and solid, such as the temple to Shaish, the goddess of the water. But most of the buildings were raw wood, looking cheap and temporary. Some were burnt shells, sitting empty along the main road that led from the south straight to the docks in the small harbor. The road was a busy one, with constant traffic, consisting mostly of mules carrying cargo towards the seafront.

  “Come in, come in handsome man. We’ve got the best-looking women in the town. Come in while you’re still good-looking and you can have a discount,” a man called from a balcony where he stood above the street, sheltered from rain by a canvas awning, while a number of women sat idly by, paying attention to nothing in particular.

  Kestrel rode on by, trying to figure out what the barker was selling. “How much for the horse?” another man asked as Kestrel continued down the road. “I’ll give you top dollar. You’ll have enough to outfit yourself for a good gold stake in the mountains,” he called as Kestrel passed. “Or enough to gamble for a week, longer if you’re good!” the horse-buyer offered.

  Two men came stumbling out of a bar, walking into the road directly in front of his horse. Kestrel pulled up the reins to prevent an accident, and as he did, one of the men suddenly grabbed the halter, while another man came from behind Kestrel and tried to pull him out of the saddle.

  Kestrel started to fall backwards. He flailed his left hand out wide, and grabbed hold of his staff. In one fluid motion he lifted it and swung it in a wide arc that struck solidly on the head of the man behind his back, who was trying to pull him down. The man let go and Kestrel struggled up, then swung his staff again, aiming for the man at the halter, and rapping his knuckles sharply.

  He dug his heels into his horse’s ribs, not caring if he trampled the hijackers he had encountered, and swung his staff wide on each side as his horse jumped in response to his command. The trio around him scattered in self-preservation, and Kestrel reined his horse around, and rode carefully back away from the center of town, past the places that he had seen.

  After fifteen minutes he came back to the quieter part of the city, the eastern edge, away from the mountain road, and away from the dockyard. He saw a blacksmith shop that appeared to have a stable, and he rode into the yard, where he dismounted.

  “Can I leave m
y horse here in your stables?” he asked a boy who was crossing the yard with a pail of water in each hand.

  “Hold on!” the boy shouted as he hurried on his way into the forge. He came back out two minutes later, as Kestrel dismounted and waited with his horse.

  “Here he is,” the boy called over his shoulder, and a large man came out behind him.

  “What do you need?” the apparent blacksmith asked.

  “I wondered if I could stable my horse here while I go into the town,” Kestrel restated his intention.

  “Why?” the blacksmith asked simply.

  Kestrel told his tale. “So it seems safer on foot, maybe,” he ended, suddenly wondering if he had any cause at all to really go into the city. His test had been to ride and bond with the horse, he felt, not to brawl and get robbed pointlessly.

  “You fought off three of them?” the blacksmith asked.

  “With my staff,” Kestrel reached back and rested his hand on the length of wood demonstrably.

  “I tell you what,” the blacksmith said. “I won’t rent a stall in my stables,” he saw the look of disappointment on Kestrel’s face, and held a hand up. “But for a customer I would let your horse stay here at no charge while I do a job for you.”

  “I have no work I need done,” Kestrel protested.

  “Sure you do,” the blacksmith said. “In Green Water you need to have metal caps on the ends of your staff. It’s a much more effective tool. I’ll fabricate and install ends on your staff for you for five silvers, while your horse stays here, and you can borrow one of my staffs to carry into town. How does that sound?”

  “What kinds of caps do you install?” Kestrel asked. “Five silvers is a lot.”

  The blacksmith sent his assistant into the forge, and the boy came immediately back with a staff, which he handed to Kestrel. Kestrel held the staff in front of his face as he examined the metal ends. The caps were heavy; they’d throw his balance off until he got used to them. But they were intriguing; one end had a number of small spikes that jutted out, while the other end had a pair of sturdy looking hooks.

  He thought immediately of the additional abilities the tools would provide, both lethal and useful. “Step back,” he motioned for some open space, and then he began to practice the forms and positions Arlen had taught him, feeling the extra weight, and adjusting to it as he swung and poked and ripped the wooden staff in the space all around him.

  “Alright; it’s a deal,” he agreed, as he walked back to the blacksmith.

  “You know how to handle that; you’ve had training. Where are you from, and why are you here?” the blacksmith asked as he watched Kestrel count the coins out of the purse on his belt.

  “I’ve been in Estone, and I came here because I’ve never been here before,” Kestrel answered easily.

  “How long will we keep the horse?” the stable boy asked.

  “This afternoon, maybe into the night,” Kestrel said. “Will you be here when I return?”

  “I sleep in the loft, with three blankets,” the boy answered.

  “Try to find a clean doxy,” the blacksmith advised. When Kestrel looked at him blankly, he added, “You don’t want to get a pox do you? Try to pick a woman who hasn’t been in the house long. It probably won’t help, but you ought to have the sense to try.”

  Recognition dawned in Kestrel. “I’m not here to try that,” he said, finally understanding what he had seen earlier in the town. His cheeks grew red, and the blacksmith laughed.

  “You take that staff along to protect yourself from the doxies and you’ll be fine. Watch out for the pickpockets and the drunks too,” the smith turned and carried Kestrel’s staff into the smithy. Kestrel went back to his horse and grabbed his sword, wrapping the belt around his hips, and for good measure he pulled his bow and arrows free as well.

  The rain had stopped falling as he talked to the smith, so he pulled his hood down as he started walking back into town. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see or accomplish, but he had been sent all the way to Green Water, and he wasn’t going to turn around to leave without seeing something of the town.

  The trip was slower, and dirtier, as he traveled afoot, stepping repeated around or over droppings from the mules and horses that were prevalent along the main road. With the end of the rain the mist began to dissipate, and Kestrel became aware for the first time of the full view of the ring of mountains that came virtually to the edge of the water and the town. They were imposing, tall mountains. They looked stony, with cliffs and steep rock slide areas interspersed among the evergreen trees. They were the Water Mountains, a large, impenetrable chain of mountains that separated the lands of the North Sea from the lands of the Inland Seas. They were the home to yetis and gnomes and miners and outlaws, an area as unknown to the elves of the Eastern Forest as the lands of the humans.

  Kestrel continued to walk along the side of the road, and soon passed the house of the doxies again, but drew no sales pitch as he walked modestly along on his own feet instead of an expensive horse. Looking down side streets he saw similar establishments too, he now realized.

  As he passed by one large, nondescript building, there was a loud and sustained roar of delight from inside, and several men came flowing out of the wide double doors, happy and flourishing cash in their hands. Curious, Kestrel turned towards the building and started to enter, only to be stopped at the door by a pair of bulky men. “No weapons allowed,” one of the men told him.

  “What’s in there?” Kestrel asked.

  The two men grinned at each other.

  “Dreams,” one said. “Hope,” the other said.

  “Suckers,” they both laughed.

  “It’s gambling!” said the first who had spoken to him. “Did you just arrive in town fresh from your mother’s apron?”

  “I’ve never been around it, I guess,” Kestrel answered, abashed.

  “Well, if you leave your weapons here, we’ll let you in. Then you can probably leave your money here too,” the guard grinned at Kestrel’s naiveté.

  “Go in Kestrel. Help our people,” Kestrel heard a woman’s voice softly whisper.

  He turned his head to look around, but saw no one.

  “Are you going in? If so, put your weapons in the locker; if not, move out of the way,” the second guard spoke to Kestrel.

  Unnerved, Kestrel stepped over to the row of open lockers, and placed his weapons within one of the empty ones. “Goddess, was that you?” he asked silently, but there was no answer.

  Cautiously, Kestrel entered the doors of the gambling hall. “Save some money for breakfast, tomorrow,” one of the guards advised as he passed them.

  The hall was much larger than he would have guessed from the outside, as it seemed to stretch for a city block or more. It was dim and noisy and smelled of alcohol. Men, and a few women, stood or sat around various tables, focusing on the activities before them. Some laughed and talked, but most were silent, and a few looked desperate or anguished.

  Were these people the ones the goddess wanted Kestrel to save, he wondered. There was no evidence that they needed his help, but the goddess had sent him in. He walked around the room, occasionally looking at the tables, trying to understand the games, failing to see the appeal. By the time he reached the far end of the game room he had concluded that there was no obvious need for his help for anyone in the building. Yet he knew the goddess would not have spoken without reason, if he really had heard her voice.

  He stood against the wall, and watched as a door opened, and a pair of workers began to limp across the room, carrying a large platter of food to serve to the customers. Kestrel idly examined the tray, wondering what kind of food was eaten in the hall, when his attention was dramatically drawn to the limping workers who carried the trays – they were elves!

  The two men were elves, each wore chains between their legs, and each was missing most of a foot. They looked thin, haggard, and scarred extensively – scars on their faces, their arms, their shoulders and
backs that were visible through rents in their clothes. He recollected Silvan’s bleak report that elves in the battle against the human fire-starters had been captured and turned into slaves. Here were two of them, somehow transported all the way from the western border of the forest to this lawless corner of Estone.

  Kestrel blanched at the thought. He understood now – the voice he had heard had been the elven goddess Kere, not the human Kai. She was an elven goddess, commanding him to set these elven slaves free. He needed to find a way to do it, and then he could transport them back to Firheng and return them to their own people, to freedom and their families, away from captivity. He could even give them a dose of healing water to fix the injured feet and the scarred bodies they had suffered.

  Carefully, Kestrel began to walk towards the elves, to study them closely, to possibly talk to them, to figure out how best to set them free. He was only steps along his route when a man stepped in his way, blocking his access to the slaves.

  “I’m sorry, that food is reserved for our paying customers, the ones who are in the gambling hall to gamble,” the man said forthrightly. “We don’t serve food to people who just stand against the wall.”

  Kestrel was taken by surprise; he hadn’t realized he was under observation.

  “This is all new to me, and I want to take it in before I try anything,” he told the gambling hall manager. “I won’t eat any of your food. I just want to watch and think for a while.”

  “That’s fine,” the manager said, “for a while. But sooner or later, if you don’t plan to do any gambling, we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “Understood,” Kestrel acknowledged, and he turned away from the manager and the food. He went to stand beside a table of gamblers who were on the path the slaves would have to take to return to their entry door, where he planned to wait for their empty-handed return.

  “Are you going to play?” a man asked Kestrel.