WINDWEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Damn it!" he spat as something thick and viscous dripped onto his right shoulder and the musky stench of excrement filled his nostrils. He jerked involuntarily, gagged as the glob traveled down his chest, slid down his side. Whatever had landed on him oozed past his waist and he felt the trail of its passing like something alive. "Damn it!"

  He jerked again, trying to rid himself of what had fallen on him. The movement brought fiery pain through his hands and arms, needles through his fingers.

  He gave up and sank into a semi-conscious state of anger and humiliation.

  * * *

  "You've done what?" Liza shouted at her brother, jerking away from his restraining hand. "How dare you, Griceland? How dare you!"

  "Easily!" Grice snapped. "He behaved like an animal and he is being treated like one. I will have no more of this talk. You'll do what Mama and Papa say, Anya Elizabeth. He stays where he is until the ship is readied." He put his face close to his sister's. "And you'd better remember what Mama said. If you try to go to him, or encourage another to do so, you will only be increasing his time in jail!"

  Spinning on his heel, the eldest Oceanian prince stalked from the room, slamming his sister's door behind him.

  Liza flung a vase of fresh-cut flowers against the door where it shattered onto the carpet. Furious, she snatched up her shawl and flung open her door, mindless of the glass shards crunching beneath her slippers. Her angry stride took her to her mother's room where she knocked with a heavy hand on the pine portal.

  "Come," the Queen called even as the door opened.

  "I will not have it, Madame!" Liza shouted. "Release him this minute!" She came to within a few inches of her mother and stopped, her gaze angry and belligerent. "He has been through enough because of me already!"

  Medea nodded. "And will suffer much more because of you."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It is not up to me to explain the future to you, girl. You should know it yourself. If you don't, that is the will of the gods."

  "I know this. If you don't have my husband released immediately, I'll never speak to you again!"

  The Queen shrugged. "That can't be helped, Anya Elizabeth." She sat heavily on her bed. "You don't realize what it is you ask. I am only trying to protect you."

  "Conar can protect me. Together, he and I, can defeat Kaileel Tohre and his followers if that is your concern." Liza went to her knees in front of her mother, taking the older woman's hands in hers and bringing them to her cheek. "I know you mean well, Mama. I know you love me, but I am a woman grown." Her face turned sad. "It is my husband we have to worry about. Not me."

  "Do you honestly believe you are in no danger?" her mother asked incredulously.

  Liza shook her head. "It is Conar who bears the burden of Tohre's hatred." Her gaze shifted away. "Or love, as that fiend knows it."

  Medea's face flamed. She looked down at her folded hands. "Even though he is a man, and even though Conar does not return that…that…" Her face burned even brighter. "…love, as you call it, Tohre is a rival, daughter." She looked at her child. "Jealousy is a dangerous emotion when two people are fighting over the same loved one. That man could be a danger to you as well."

  Liza shrugged. "I can take care of myself."

  "As you did when Galen McGregor took you?" her mother asked softly.

  "I made a mistake in underestimating my enemies, Mama. I shall not do so again. Tohre had a lock of my hair and I did not realize it. That particular threat has been neutralized. Have no fear,; I know who my enemy is and I know what he wants—my husband."

  "Tohre will let nothing stand in his way, Anya. He is dangerous. If he can not have what he wants, he might destroy it entirely."

  Liza stood. "You told me once that all little birds have to leave the nest and learn to fly on their own. You said it was difficult for the mother bird to watch them fall, harder still not to pick them up and help them back into the roost. You asked if I thought the little birds would ever learn to fly if the mother bird was always there to pick them up, to smooth their crumpled feathers." She touched her mother's cheek. "I have left the nest, Mama, and made a place of my own with Conar. When we fly, it must be together. If he falls, I will pick him up; if I fall, he will be there to put me back in our nest."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because Conar and I were destined to be together. I am the Keeper of the Wind; he is the Prince of the Wind. Our love is greater than all the adversity thrown our way. Nothing, nothing, will ever keep us apart! Not even the Maelstrom!"

  Queen Medea lowered her gaze so her daughter would not see the knowledge of the future in her shining green orbs. Sometimes it was best if the child was spared the agony of what was to be, what could not be altered. Looking at her daughter, she sighed in defeat. What would be, would be.

  "He will be released this evening," Medea sighed. "His men will be put on board the ship first so there will be no trouble and you may join him once he is on board." Her delicate shoulders sagged with helplessness. "I only wanted what was best for you."

  "I know," Liza told her, bending to kiss the feather-soft flesh on her mother's cheek. "I thank you for that."

  As she sat there after her daughter had gone, a sad, fleeting smile of hopelessness flitted over Medea's face. It was a heavy thing knowing the future, an even heavier thing to be able to do nothing about it. Sometimes she wished she had no such ability.

  "We will protect her," a soothing wind whistled through the Queen's bedchamber.

  Medea nodded. "So you have said."

  "We will," came the soft reply. "Do you doubt me?"

  The Queen flung a heavy strand of jet-black hair from her high forehead and glared into the room's dark shadows. "I find I doubt everything these days."

  "Have your doubts, woman. They are of no consequence to me. I have given my word that Liza will be safe." A menacing tone crept into the words. "But you will not be!"

  Tears filled the Queen's eyes. "I know," she whispered to the fleeting wind. "I know."

  * * *

  When his cell door opened and two guards entered to unlock his manacles, Conar chaffed his wrists and glared at Grice Wynth. The Prince Regent of Oceania stood in the cell opening and motioned him out.

  "What now?" Conar asked, a surly expression on his unshaven face. He had been in the cell two days, had expected to be there longer, but there was something in the way Wynth stood that caught Conar's immediate attention. Something had happened. "Tell me."

  "Your Elite have engaged some of my guards. There has been a death and they have taken hostages. They are demanding to see you." Grice's voice was tight with rage. "Papa wants you to speak with your men so there will be no further bloodshed."

  Conar stumbled forward as one of his guards shoved him toward Grice.

  "Stop!" Wynth shouted to his man.

  But Conar didn't pay any attention to his indignities. Concern filled his face. "Are my men well?"

  Grice looked away. "We were in the process of releasing them to take them to the ship, when your man, Sentian, attacked. He took charge and your other Elite followed him."

  Conar grinned. "Good for Sentian."

  Grice ignored the comment. "Our guards were only doing their duty. Blood should not have been shed. Your Elite are threatening to kill a hostage every half hour until you are brought to them." His face took on a hard edge. "Will they do it?"

  Conar's grin faded. "They will."

  "I want your word that there will be no more trouble, McGregor."

  "We didn't start the trouble."

  "A man died! Didn't you hear me?"

  "And I tell you, you asked for such trouble when you slapped me and my men in your gods-be-damned dungeon. Sentian did his duty. You can not fault him for defending his Overlord."

  The look his Grice gave Conar was one of pure disbelief. "Aye!" he snarled, "and a good man died because of Sentian Heil! Does that make you happy?"

  "I am never happy when innocent lives are
lost, Wynth; but you are responsible."

  Grice Wynth was deeply upset that any lives had been lost. His guards weren't prepared for the sheer volume of violence Sentian Heil garnered as the last man was freed from his cell. Conar's guards had been docile up to that point, but upon hearing their Overlord had also been—and still was—incarcerated, the men had gone berserk.

  Hard-pressed to keep themselves from being slain, astonished at the savagery with which the Serenians fought, Grice's men took flight. It was not until Grice had given his word—as Liza's brother—that no harm would befall Conar then the Elite backed off, taking five hostages as they waited for their commander to be released. Grice could only imagine what they would have done had they been told Conar was shackled to a stone wall, standing ankle-deep in shit.

  Conar's grin returned, for he picked up on Grice's thoughts. "Aye, it's a very good thing," he warned and watched Wynth start with surprise. "I will give you my word they will not harm anyone else. All they want is to see me safe. Once that happens, they will be satisfied as long as none of them have been hurt."

  "Your men weren't harmed," Grice said with clenched teeth. He walked away, expecting Conar to follow. He flinched when Conar put a light hand on his shoulder. "What?" came the snappish query.

  "I am sorry, Grice. For the loss of your man."

  A quick, grudging nod was the only answer Wynth could give. He walked as fast as he could down the darkened corridor to the holding area where Sentian and the others were keeping hostages.

  Seeing the grim, dark circles under their Overlord's eyes did little to calm the Serenians. When Thom noticed the raw places on Conar's wrists and realized he had been shackled, he howled with rage and threw himself at Grice. He would have crippled the Oceanian if Conar had not stepped between them.

  "No, Loure." He put a hand on Thom's thick chest. "There has been enough violence done."

  "They chained you!" Marsh Edan spat, shoving the hostage closest to him against the wall. "They dared to chain you!"

  "And they told us we are to leave, but they make no mention of our lady!" Sentian shouted. "We do not leave without her!"

  Swallowing bitter bile in his throat at the reminder that Liza was being kept from him, Conar looked at Sentian Heil. He knew he had chosen wisely that day, long ago, when Sentian asked to join the troop leaving for Norus. He also knew Sentian was now his wife's Sentinel, her guardian, her helper in the magic she wielded.

  The young village man had become a leader, it seemed, and it was obvious the others now looked to him for guidance. Conar felt a great deal of pride in Heil. It wouldn't surprise him if Heil was voted second in command of the Elite behind Thom, since that position changed yearly.

  "See that our departure is made easy, my friend," Conar asked, laying a restraining hand on Sentian's shoulder.

  "Does Her Grace travel back with us, Your Majesty?" Sentian inquired, asking what was obviously on the mind of every Elite.

  Conar drew on every ounce of his strength to look his friend in the eye. He knew his men would view his answer as defeat; his face burnt with the humiliation. They were willing to fight for him, and even though circumstance forced him to deny them that right this day, he knew in his heart they would come back for his lady. "No, she does not, Sentian."

  Grice could have told him differently, but he saw the looks passing between Conar's men and he folded his arms over his chest, curious as to what would happen next.

  "If your lady does not leave these shores, Majesty, neither will we!" Storm Jale spoke up for all the men.

  Smiling grimly at his friends' words, Conar drew a deep breath, his heart filling with pride. "I appreciate what you are willing to do, all of you, but I have given my word we will cause no further trouble."

  "We didn't give our word!" Marsh shouted, his eyes blazing. "We will fight to the death, if need be. You have only to say the word, Commander."

  "She's our Princess!" Thom snapped. "Our lady goes home with us!"

  "Else we stay here," Marsh snarled. "Under Oceanian soil, if need be, but we'll take a few of these bastards with us! I'd give my life for her, Milord!"

  A lump formed in Conar's throat. "I am honored by your offer, but I gave my word for all of you. Would you shame me before these barbarians?"

  Grice threw Conar a challenging look, but remained silent. He was intrigued by the loyalty these men were showing his sister.

  "If it is your wish, given without duress, that we go to the ship, then we will. We would never do anything to shame you, Commander," Thom told him.

  "Then lay down your weapons and go with these men to the ship." Conar glanced at Grice. "You have His Grace's personal word that no harm will come to you."

  Grice nodded.

  "And do we have his word that no harm will be done to you?" Sentian asked Conar.

  "He'll be on that ship with you," Grice replied. "I promise."

  "Unharmed?" Storm wanted clarified.

  "Unchained?" Thom added.

  Grice turned to the man he considered the leader. "Aye, Heil. Unharmed, unchained and unlikely to be of any further nuisance to me!"

  "Don't count on it," Sentian replied. His dark look glazed with ice. "If his lady doesn't go with us, expect plenty of nuisance."

  "He can expect more than nuisance!" Thom put in.

  "Don't talk to His Grace like that, you gods-ugly troll!" one of Grice's men snarled, taking a step toward Thom, although the Elite had at least fifty pounds and seven inches in height on him.

  "Rest easy, Kristoffer," Grice warned. "Insults are like maggots, they only hurt men who have open wounds." His furious glance went to Conar. "This fellow's toadies haven't even struck blood yet, let alone wounded me."

  "I'd say we struck plenty of blood when your man fell," Thom gloated.

  "Aye, and anymore blood you shed will see your ass swinging from the highest yardarm!" Petrov, Kristoffer's brother, growled.

  "Treat my men well, Wynth, or I promise you'll regret not doing so," Conar warned.

  Grice stared at him. "You are nine to my…what?…hundred or more in this keep? Don't threaten me, McGregor!"

  Conar's smile returned with a deadly sheen. "It wasn't a threat, Wynth; it was a promise."

  * * *

  As they made their way to the throne room where the King and Queen of Oceania were awaiting Conar, Grice cast a sidelong glance at his brother-in-law and begrudgingly spoke what was uppermost in his mind. "Your men do you proud."

  Conar didn't look at him. "They love me."

  "And my sister? Do they love her?"

  "Aye, that they do. And they know injustice when they see it, and are willing to fight for what they believe in." He walked through the doorway Grice indicated. "They also recognize spite."

  Grice shrugged. "One man's injustice can be another man's retribution; one man's spite, another's vindication. You have atoned for only a small portion of the crimes you have committed against my sister."

  Unaware they had entered the throne room, Conar stopped dead and turned to stare hard at the man. "There is no punishment either you or your parents could conceive that would torture me more than does my conscience, Wynth. Rest assured my punishment will last far longer than these scabs!" He held up his wrists and was startled to see Grice look away with what could only be described as shame. "You manacled my body; Liza's pain manacled my heart. Think your punishment the greater of the two?"

  Grice turned a scowling face to his brother-in-law. "It would suit my purposes better if you were kept in the dungeon. Then you couldn't hurt my sister ever again! You haven't been punished nearly as much as I would have liked!" He took a step closer to Conar. "But I can promise you, there will come a day when I'll see you pay for all your sins against this family!"

  "That's enough!" Grice's mother shouted, her body fairly trembling with anger. "Find your sister, Griceland!"

  "He—" Grice began.

  "Find your sister! Now! This minute!"

  "You didn't tell him, d
id you, Grice?" his father inquired from the throne.

  Grice shook his head and strode angrily away, his shoulders hunched. "He didn't deserve to be told."

  "Tell me what?" Conar demanded.

  The queen glanced first at Conar's tired face, then his filthy clothing, and she was not pleased with what she saw. Nor what she smelled.

  She crinkled her nose. "I shall have a bath prepared on ship for you immediately."

  "I think you have a leak in one of your privies, Madame."

  Medea's gaze went to his wrists and then to the calm face looking back at her. "You are hurt," she whispered, knowing full well her daughter would be furious.

  "I could use some salve. The cuts could become infected."

  The queen raised her head, her pride pricked by the condemnation she saw in her son-in-law's azure depths. "I'll use a healing charm—"

  "Just some salve will do." His own head raised a fraction. "I will do the rest."

  King Shaz frowned. He did not like his son-in-law's tone. "Your stay in jail did nothing to temper your mood, did it?"

  Conar switched his steady stare to the king. "Put me there again, if it pleases you. Either imprison me or kill me, for I will never leave this land without my wife."

  "You gave your word—" Shaz began.

  "That my men would cause no more harm, and they won't. I didn't say anything about me. I won't leave these shores without Liza at my side. You can try to keep her away from me, but I will find a way to get her back. She belongs with me! I will fight for her!"

  "And die in the trying?"

  "If you think to kill the very heart inside this body by trying to give her to another man, then you had best have me hung, for I can promise you, I will fight to the death to keep her. I have suffered more than you will ever know for the love I fight to keep. What is a little more pain?"

  "Medea, will you listen to him? I don't think—"

  "Anya will be leaving with you, Conar," Medea announced. "That is her wish, not ours."

  "We still have our doubts," Shaz fumed.