by Diane Rapp
Confused and frightened, Tempest ran away from the flag station. Using speed time Donovan chased the horse. He caught Tempest and swung himself into the saddle. Feeling his rider in place, Tempest responded by thundering toward the flag station. Donovan stuffed the flag into his shirt. Enraged to see flying horsetails ahead of him, Tempest poured on speed. The oriental veered onto the mountain trail while Hembly and Forshell followed the flat route. Donovan guided Tempest up the steep slope.
Tempest strained up the mountain. He crashed through brush and scrambled on loose rocks. The horse huffed with exertion and Donovan wished he could use speed time to help. Tempest strained valiantly to catch the oriental rider. The filly climbed the mountain like a goat, her sure hooves digging into the hard turf.
When the oriental led his horse down a steep slope, diverging from the trail Trenton had marked out, Donovan knew the detour wouldn’t favor Tempest’s long stride. He stayed on the elected trail which was torture for Tempest. He watched the stocky filly disappear with a disgruntled whinny but submitted to Donovan’s guidance.
The trail narrowed. Recalling Kriegen’s warning, Donovan searched for evidence of Jarrack’s trap. Heat steamed from Tempest’s hide. They noticed black shadows skirt through the trees. Smelling wolves, Tempest halted, snorting, and pawing at the ground.
The trap is just ahead on this trail. We will lead you past.
“Easy now, Tempest. They’re friends, here to help,” Donovan said and urged Tempest forward. Sleek bodies crossed the trail ahead and Kriegen emerged from the trees. The wolf guided Donovan and Tempest into the dense forest and down a steep decline to the bottom of the canyon. They stopped at a shallow brook. The horse drank, eyeing the canine warily. Donovan heard the sound of hooves echo through the canyon and spurred Tempest on.
Rocks crashed from above and soon cascaded into an avalanche. Frightened horse and rider raced through the shower of dirt, rocks, and broken limbs.
The evil one tries to bury you. His mind shouts in anger because you skirted his trap. Kriegen led them out of the canyon. This trail is safe, and we return to the forest to track the evil one. Kriegen melted into the forest.
Grateful to escape the trap, Donovan wiped dirty sweat from his face and noticed Tempest’s coat looked gray with dust. He felt guilty about sending an avalanche onto the oriental rider but pressed on. Donovan and the oriental rider emerged from the forest at the same time. They both grinned and dashed down the flat road, seeing Hembly and Forshell thunder toward them.
The last two jumps were just ahead. Hembly’s horse pulled even before they reached the water jump. From the corner of his eye, Donovan saw Hembly swing a riding stick at him. He ducked, keeping his face against Tempest’s neck as the blow landed on his shoulder.
Thrown off balance by the blow, Tempest recovered swiftly. He dug hooves into the muddy bottom of the water trap and powered up the steep side. Thrown off balance by his rider, Hembly’s horse stumbled and tossed Hembly into the mire.
Fire shot up Donovan’s arm. His grip on Tempest slipped as Forshell’s white stallion streaked past, closely followed by the oriental rider.
Tempest huffed in a steady rhythm that matched his stride. The final jump loomed ahead. Forshell’s white stallion strained to clear it. The powerful muscles in Tempest’s hind legs bunched as he sailed over the hedge. They landed just two strides behind the white stallion.
The crowd screamed.
Tempest inched closer, his hooves pounding the turf. Forshell looked back and cursed, violently whipping his horse. Each hoof-beat jarred Donovan with a shock of pain. Seconds crawled by as Tempest gained ground. A ribbon marking the finish line stretched across the opening just ahead. The massive black horse trembled with strain and Donovan held his breath.
The black and white horses rode neck to neck, their wild manes streaming and riders bent into the wind. The crowd erupted as the ribbon snapped.
Who won?
The crowd hushed, waiting for the call. Silence, broken by the huffs of exhausted horses, swept over the crowd. They waited. The judge looked stern and held up red colors—Forshell’s colors. A roar of protest frightened judge, who dropped the colors.
Halder shouted, “Another opinion! Give us another opinion!”
The oriental rider rode forward.
“It’s Marasuta,” Halder shouted and the angry crowd hushed again.
“I saw the results from an excellent vantage point,” Marasuta said in a clear voice. “The black broke the ribbon. You can see that the ribbon still clings to his chest!” The crowd cheered, pointing at Tempest.
The judge shook his head. “The nose of the white stretched across first.”
King Halder grinned and held up a hand, demanding silence. “We stretch the ribbon across to determine the winner! The first animal to break the ribbon wins. The horse’s nose doesn’t matter unless he broke the ribbon with it!” Halder proclaimed.
Forshell glared at the king.
“Equal points to both!” The judge insisted.
“Equal points.” The crowd chanted.
“All right, equal points to both riders.” Halder saluted Donovan as the rightful winner. Everyone knew Hembly tried to knock Donovan off his horse, yet failed. More ballads would be written tonight.
Krystal stroked Tempest’s sweaty muzzle as Andrew threw a blanket over the steaming hide. Tempest nuzzled Andrew, searching for a cruncher.
“Give him anything he wants,” Donovan said. “He’s the best horse in the universe. I see he made another conquest.” Donovan’s arm slipped possessively around Krystal’s waist. “She’s mine, Tempest. I’ll find you a good filly of your own.”
Krystal accepted Donovan’s kiss. He winced.
“You need some special attention, too. She pulled out the chain holding her crystal and Donovan felt warmth spread through his shoulder.
Tempest whinnied and arched his neck toward Donovan. “Enjoy your oats and crunchers tonight, my friend. I’m off to spend time with my lady.” Tempest snorted and let Andrew lead him to the stables.
******
Jarrack waited impatiently at the site of his trap. Hearing Donovan diverge from the trail just in time, he stormed to the canyon’s edge, kicking rocks down into the gorge until a landslide nearly sucked him into the canyon. Hoping he’d buried his enemy, Jarrack deactivated the device and retrieved the black box.
What happened? How could Donovan avoid his trap?
His horse whinnied and sidled away from the edge of the forest while Jarrack tried to mount. From the back of the horse, Jarrack spotted ominous shadows move. He spurred the horse to run.
Wild-eyed, the horse ran as if wolves nipped at his hooves. Jarrack clung to the animal, afraid to look back, afraid to see what monsters pursued. They broke cover at a gallop, racing into an open field. Finally, Jarrack managed to stop the horse, whirling in circles until the panicked animal calmed.
Jarrack stared into the forest but saw nothing. Trees stood sentinel along the edge of the open field, and he knew that something hid in those dark shadows. Jarrack cursed and pledged to rid himself of Donovan. Abruptly a chill crept up his neck. He saw a lone wolf emerge from the trees and felt sure it was the same creature that watched him kill the shaman.
The wolf’s golden eyes penetrated his mind to wrench thoughts out. Jarrack kicked the horse and whipped the animal’s rump. The wolf’s howl reverberated in Jarrack’s skull as they ran in a panic, unwilling to stop until they reached the safety of the campsite.
Tossing the reins to a groom, Jarrack stomped into his tent, unmindful of the bloody tracks his whip left on the horse’s hide. His hands shook so hard he could hardly hold the cup as he gulped a strong dose of liquor. He could still see those golden eyes, feel the wolf touch his mind, and hear that eerie howl. He’d never enter the forest without armed men at his back. He’d stay clear of that wolf!
13 ~ Chella’s Mistake
Kneeling on the icy floor, Chella bent her head in prayer. Forshel
l stood with a priest and observed from a distance. The priest murmured, “She’s very devoted, sire. I don’t think she’ll betray them.”
“When distorted properly, faith can blind the faithful,” Forshell said. He handed a blue vase to the priest. “Use sincerity to dispel suspicion. She’ll be unaware of her betrayal until it’s too late.”
“To hear is to obey.” The priest touched his forehead and his heart. “Sire, how long before I can return to the desert? I dislike this charade, living among infidels, masquerading as one of their holy men.”
Forshell’s malevolent expression stunned the man. “If you value your life, never question my orders again!”
Trembling, the priest knelt before Forshell. “Sire, I beg your forgiveness.”
“Raise yourself before someone marks your actions,” Forshell hissed. “My life depends on your success.” Forshell faded into the shadows, but watched the priest to be sure the plan worked. He’d spent a great deal of money to secure that bottle.
The priest glided over marble flooring toward Chella and waited until her eyelids opened. “Bless you, daughter.”
“Thank you, father.”
“I have a gift for your master.” His hand trembled slightly as he offered her the blue bottle. “This oil was blessed at the Shrine of the Protector. Use the oil to anoint Donovan’s sword and bless his victory.”
Chella’s eyes widened. “What a wonderful gift! Thank you!” She cradled the bottle like a baby. “I’ll make sure he receives it right away.”
The priest smiled. “Your faith grows stronger each day, my child.”
Forshell smiled as Chella rushed from the chapel, and the priest walked complacently into the blade that pierced his black robes. “No longer taint yourself with this infidel religion,” Forshell whispered.
The priest’s lifeless body crumpled to the cold marble floor.
*******
Chella felt elated with the priest’s gift. Donovan and Krystal were still asleep, so she cheerfully set the bottle on the window ledge, near the polishing cloths. Maggie hummed as she prepared breakfast. Maggie ran the kitchen with an efficiency that amazed Chella, who was incapable of preparing edible food. The tempting odors of fresh bread permeated Maggie’s warm kitchen. Chella’s mouth watered in anticipation of the first bite.
“May I help?” Chella asked.
Smiling indulgently, Maggie settled Chella at the table with the rolling pin. “Roll this dough smooth, about a quarter-inch thick.”
Chella set to work.
Maggie said, “You’re back early. Is anything wrong?”
“No.” Chella considered telling Maggie about the holy oil but Maggie scoffed at religion. “Everything’s fine. How did the Tournament go yesterday?”
“Donovan placed third in the log toss. What a sight! Each man picked up a twenty-foot log and tossed it end-over-end. Judges marked the distance to declare the winner. You should have seen the faces of the men as they tossed those logs. They looked truly comical! I scooted Trenton away before he broke out laughing.” Maggie chuckled. “The unarmed combat bout begins today. With Donovan’s training, he should do very well. Will you watch?”
“Yes, I plan to attend.” Chella spent most of her days reading copies of old books in the cloisters. “How long before the Tournament is finished?”
“A few more days but Krystal is worried about the finals. The contestants fight with real swords and Donovan could get hurt. Please stay close for support.”
Chella rolled more dough. “I’ll be there, but Donovan is destined to win.”
Maggie cast a sidelong glance at her friend. She didn’t comment on Chella’s prediction. Sometimes Chella saw glimpses of the future, but they didn’t always happen.
Early in the morning the kitchen—its warm ovens, tantalizing aroma of breads and sizzling meats, and the cheerful clatter of pots—felt like a real home. The ambiance and easy routine of Maggie’s kitchen was a true pleasure.
Maggie took great care in preparing Donovan’s tray. She piled savory slices of meat and fresh rolls so high that the diminutive woman lifted its weight with difficulty. “Let me carry that for you, Maggie.” Chella grabbed the tray and headed out the door when Trenton appeared with the blue bottle in hand.
“Where’d this come from?” he asked. “I found it on the window sill next to the polishing cloths.” He tried to snatch a roll from the tray as Chella slid past.
Maggie shooed him away. “This tray is Donovan’s. Yours is coming.”
Trenton moaned in mock pain and Maggie giggled. She slapped his hand as he reached for a tempting morsel. When she brushed against the blue bottle, Maggie staggered and fainted. Trenton caught Maggie before she hit the floor and guided her to a chair. Chella set the food tray down and fetched a damp cloth. Soon Maggie’s eyelids fluttered.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You fainted dead away. How do you feel?” Chella placed a cool hand on Maggie’s forehead and Trenton ran to fetch Krystal.
“I don’t know.” She surveyed the room and her gaze stopped at the blue bottle on the table. “What’s that?”
Chella stiffened. “A bottle of oil that’s perfectly harmless.”
“It’s not harmless! There’s something…radiation…get it out of here at once!” Maggie’s face turned pale, her eyes wide with distress.
Krystal arrived. “What’s wrong?”
“Something’s wrong with that blue bottle.” Chella could hardly say the words. How could holy oil cause Maggie’s illness?
Krystal eyed the bottle suspiciously. “Where’d it come from?”
Chella felt guilty. “I brought it here. It’s a gift from my priest, holy oil.” She lifted the offensive bottle in slender fingers. “He sent it for Donovan’s sword, a blessing of protection. I didn’t think it could hurt…”
“Put that bottle down!” Maggie ordered. “I sense radiation. Please take it away before it does real harm.”
“Maggie’s always right when it comes to radiation leaks,” Trenton said.
With grim determination, Chella slipped the bottle into a heavy metal tankard and closed the lid. She handed the tankard to Trenton, who whisked it out of the room.
Krystal summoned a servant. “Please fetch Dr. Alexander from the king’s tower, it’s urgent.”
Chella sat feeling dazed. How could a man of God deliberately harm us? Something nagged at her memory. His words? No, something I saw.
Krystal sat next to Chella. “Which priest gave you the bottle? I’ll have Trenton fetch him so we can get some answers.”
The ice in Krystal’s voice made Chella cringe. Did Krystal blame me? She searched her memory, trying to ferret out what bothered her. She closed her eyes. A robe swished in the shadows of the chapel, but the priests all wore robes. Why did these robes bother me? The priest approached me while someone waited in the shadows. The robes billowed in the breeze, like a colorful cloud…color…Priests all wore black!
Chella’s heart pounded and she entered a trance.
A knife dripped blood on the smooth marble floor. Colors swirled and she recognized the man who held the bloody knife. A desert rider slashed at Donovan with a long sword…there was blood everywhere…Donovan was covered in blood and his face contorted into a grimace…She couldn’t breath…The desert rider told someone to kill her…Everything went black.
When Chella woke, Krystal stood over her, holding a bottle of smelling salts.
Donovan’s voice echoed through the hall. “What’s happening?” he bellowed. “Where’s the trouble?”
Chella sighed with relief. Donovan was still alive but the vision left her feeling alarmed. She cursed her erratic clairvoyance. Was the vision of a possible future or was it a certainty?
Krystal gripped her hand too hard. Chella jerked away. Gazing into Krystal’s face, she knew they’d shared the vision. “We can stop it, Krystal. We won’t let him die,” she whispered.
Krystal covered Chella’s lips with her finge
rs. “Hush. Don’t tell anyone what you saw. Your visions are difficult to decipher—the interpretation is often wrong.” Filled with Krystal’s warm reassurance, Chella marveled at her friend’s calm courage. “Donovan will not die,” Krystal said.
How can she be so sure? How could she ignore the bloody image?
Dr. Alexander arrived with King Halder, carried on a litter. Alex checked Maggie, his hands hovering above her body to read her life force. “You’ve been exposed to minor radiation but not enough to damage your cells.” He checked Chella and nodded. “You’re both okay.”
“Radiation!” King Halder growled. “Assassins used the same ploy to kill my family. How did you come in contact with radiation?”
“I’d like to hear this.” Donovan sat, munching on a cold meat roll.
Chella said, “A priest gave me a bottle of holy oil contaminated by radiation. He told me to rub it on Donovan’s sword as a blessing. He wanted to kill Donovan, perhaps all of us.”
King Halder met Donovan’s glare with tired eyes. Trenton entered the room, carrying a bloody knife! Chella knew what Trenton would say and dread filled her chest.
“The priest is dead, stabbed in the chapel not an hour ago.”
Chella nodded. “I saw the man who killed him in a vision. He wore colorful robes.” Krystal placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. Chella explained about her vision of the stabbing. When she omitted the part about seeing Donovan covered in blood, Krystal gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Halder absorbed the story in agitated silence. He asked, “You saw the man’s face in this vision? Would you recognize him?”
“Yes.”
Halder smiled. “Tomorrow we’ll have Chella sit in the stands with me. When she spots the man, I’ll make sure he doesn’t escape—not this time!”