by J Battle
Chapter 32 Fleur
‘What did you do?’
There was silence in her head, as if a great absence had grown within her.
‘What did you do?’
Still no answer.
Was he gone? She thought, a tiny flower of hope emerging.
‘No, he’s just not talking to me,’ she sighed, because she could feel his weight within her belly, and she knew that her life was just not like that.
The pain across her body had subdued somewhat, whether because she was getting used to it, or because her son had chosen to numb her in some way. She couldn’t say, but at least her mind was a little clearer.
She wouldn’t let herself think about her brother, not yet, for she needed to think clearly and she had no time now for grief, and soon enough she would join him, unless she could find some means of escape. Failing that, mayhap she could foil whatever scheme it was her son had in mind. That would be enough, if she was any judge.
If she had a blade, she thought, she could ram it into her stomach and twist the blade before the pain overwhelmed her. Yes, she could do that, and she’d have no regrets. And, if she perished herself as well, then it was a price worth paying, and she would smile as she passed from this world.
Above her head, and just to her left, she could see, with the eye that had been spared, a long thorn, mayhap six inches long.
That would do, she thought, though I’d have to keep on stabbing him, until the job was done.
She tested her bonds, the grasp of the tangleweed. She could lift her right arm as far as her shoulder, but her left wouldn’t go above her waist, wrapped up as it was in the prickly, ropy vines.
She tried to shuffle her body around a little, to see if that would help, but she just seemed to be tightening the grip of the terrible plant.
She sighed and blinked her one good eye. Were there others that she could reach? The light beneath the forest of the tangleweed was dim, but she had grown used to it.
There, to her right, and low down, was an even longer thorn, seven inches at least.
If I can just stretch my arm enough I can…
‘What are you doing?’
The voice was back in her head, cold, clear and unforgiving.
‘Just…stretching. Could you not allow me a little more freedom of movement, like? I can hardly get up and run away, with the size of you now.’
‘I think we’ll leave things just as they are, for now at least. You wanted to know what I’ve done? Well, I have wiped out the Elvenfolk race. An Elder race of wonder and legend, and it was so easy.’
‘But…why would you do that? What harm could they do you? What harm could anyone do you?’
‘Ah now, mother. It is not about harm. And they are only the first, believe me. When I am born, I will be the only creature who fits that description, of wonder and legend. And what wonders there will be, and what legends will be created? No, there are more to come, though the journey may be too much for them, I think. But they will all make the attempt, you can be sure of that.’
She closed her eyes and tried not to hear his words. She felt sick to the stomach at what her son planned, and the idea that he would soon be born and free to bend the world to his will was too much for her to think about.
‘When will you be born?’ she asked, her voice no more than a whisper.
‘You think to end your misery soon? Mayhap you are close to being right. It won’t be long.’
Fleur rested her good eye on the long spine of the thorn.
Not long then, she thought. Not long at all.
**********
They were a strange sight together as they walked the long roads. He was as big as a small Giant, and she was small and slight, even for a human woman.
But she kept pace with him as if it was the easiest thing in the world, and he looked down on her, his affection growing with every step.
‘What be your plan, then? ‘Cause I reckons you’ll have one all worked out,’ said Rootheart, as they came to a little wooden bridge.
‘Well now, you’re not far wrong, and you’re not far right,’ replied Ellaine, as she sucked on her pipe.
‘Where are you going? There’s a perfectly serviceable bridge here,’ she said, as Rootheart stepped into the fast-moving water of the narrow stream.
He stopped in the middle of the water and looked back at her.
‘That’s a wooden bridge, that is. And I don’t walk on wooden bridges, I don’t. Not after one collapsed on me and I ended up all wet.’
Ellaine resisted the temptation to observe that he was already quite wet, and the bridge was still whole.
‘I’s too heavy, you see,’ said Rootheart, thinking that she didn’t understand him.
‘Oh, I see that, lad, I do. I’ll just meet you on the other side, then, shall I?’
He splashed across the stream and dragged himself up onto the bank and joined her back on the road.
‘So, this plan, then?’
‘Oh, there’s time for that, yet, I reckon. And, mayhap, by the time I have to tell you about it, I’ll have it all worked out, if fortune shines on one such as me.’
‘One such as you? Hard to think there’d be two of you, I’d say.’
‘Now, how should I take that, young man? Do you seek to compliment me, or insult me?’ She smiled up at him as she spoke.
‘I…,’ suddenly he felt abashed, for there was a twinkle in her eye and if that smile wasn’t a suggestion of wonderful things to come, then Rootheart knew nothing about women.
He reached down and took her hand in his great paw. ‘I reckon I would be a fool you insult you, if I could even think of something to say that was bad.’
Ellaine tugged his hand and they stopped.
‘It’s been a long morning of walking, I think, and we’ve many miles yet to go. And I think we could rest on that soft green grass, over there beside the road, and mayhap we’ll see what happens. What do you reckon?’
Rootheart smiled and picked her up into his arms as if she was no more than a child.
‘If that’s the sort of plan you’re working on, then I think I like it, I do.’
He carried her from the road and she laughed.
Chapter 33 Richard
When he awoke, he could hardly open his eyes with the pain in his head. He squinted, and then he groaned as he moved his head.
‘Here now, he’s awake, I reckon,’ said Garraldi, moving closer.
‘Don’t you be touching him now, or you’ll only annoy me, again.’
Garraldi stopped in his tracks, and he thought, she is surely an easy woman to annoy.
The soothnurse bumped him as she went past him, to check on her patient.
‘How you doing, love?’ she asked, her voice all soft and fluffy.
‘I…, I don’t really know,’ said Richard slowly, trying to focus.
‘Well, I reckon your talking means you’re not dead, which is a good start, with the wound you have in your head.’
‘Thank…, thank you for your…ministrations?’
‘And big words too, I reckon that is good, ‘less you don’t know what you’re saying.’
She was a tall woman, with little in the way of flesh on her bones or softness in her eyes, unless she was looking down on her patient. Mary-Kate she was called by her parents, but she was mostly called Nurse.
‘Where am I?’ He seemed more aware now. ‘Oh, stupid question.’
‘Yes, you’re in your own bed,’ said Nurse, with something of a mocking tone to her voice.
‘Will he be alright, do you reckon?’ asked Cavour.
‘Do I look like a fortune-teller? Speak to my aunt if you want to know what’s going to happen, and she will only lie to you a little.’
Cavour moved closer, unconcerned by her sharp tone and sharper eyes.
‘In your considered opinion, will he survive?’ he replied, calmly.
‘Well, the sewing’s neat, and there’s no heat to him yet, so, if there ain’t somethin
g wrong inside his head where I can’t see it, then he might survive the week. Can’t say more than that, I can’t, ‘cause he’s only a man, and when he’s back on his feet again, he’s as likely to do something stupid like fighting a Trytor as not, and that’s a fact, I reckon.’
‘Thank you for your aid, ma’am, and I’ll tell you this for nothing, I won’t be taking up arms against a Trytor again.’ Richard lifted his head as he spoke.
‘Don’t he talk nice, when he gets himself talking?’ said Nurse, and there was something very close to a smile on her face.
There was some noise behind them and the walls shook around them.
‘Oh, I didn’t reckon…it were 10 steps before and I only counted eight. So, that can’t be right. Did I knock it down? I didn’t want to knock it down. Not with it being a tavern, like.’
Cavour rushed out to meet the Giant.
‘Just hold there ‘till I get to you,’ he called.
‘Is the tavern still there?’
‘Yes, you just gave it a bit of a shaking, though. Now, step back one step, and then one step to your left and you’ll be set fair.’
Carefully he guided Ferrooll into the tavern and got him settled in the middle of the floor.
‘What happened in there?’ said Cavour, resting one hand on the Giant’s shoulder.
‘Well, I sat for a while. And then I sat for a while longer. And then my stomach started rumbling and I reckoned it was time to come out.’
‘No sign of the Trytor?’
‘Not unless he crept past me like the quietest of mouses, and that’s not like a Trytor, I reckon.’
‘So…are we saying he’s dead, then?’
‘You can say it if you likes. Don’t mean it’s true, but it could be.’
‘You’ll have a drink?’
‘Took you long enough to offer, I reckon. And some food, if you like.’
As he pulled a pair of tankards, Cavour apprised him of Richard’s condition.
‘Well, that’s good for sure.’ Ferrooll nodded for emphasis. ‘Oh, I’ve got something for him, I reckon. Well, I reckon it is his.’
From the back of his belt, he withdrew a man-sized sword that looked tiny in his meaty fist.
‘That’s a fine sword,’ said Cavour, as he walked from behind the bar, ‘but how do you know it belongs to him?’
‘Well, it smells strange, and I reckon that be the Magic, I do.’
‘Magic? It’s a Magic sword? I never heard of such before.’
Cavour put down the Giant’s ale, close by his big feet, and he took the sword, holding it carefully with his hands beneath the blade.
‘Don’t be touching the handle now, ‘cause you’ll get a surprise for sure, you will.’
Cavour held the sword up to take a look at the hilt. ‘Is that… is it a tiny piece of a Wellstone?’
‘Ay, I reckon you’re right there, you are.’
‘He’ll be happy to get this back.’
‘Can you help me into the back room to see him, like? When I’ve supped me ale.’
A few moments later Cavour had guided him into the room at the rear of the tavern.
‘It’s good to see you again, Ferrooll. I never thought to see you again.’
‘I reckon you’re lucky to be seeing anyone again, after what the Trytor did to you. Did you kill him, do you reckon?’ Ferrooll placed one hand on the foot of the bed.
Richard frowned as he sat up a little higher. ‘I hurt him badly, I think. My sword was near hilt deep through him before I was struck down. It’s hard to think he would have survived.’
Cavour stood in the corner with his arms folded and kept his council to himself.
Garraldi was sitting in the only chair in the room, in the opposite corner, with a tankard of dark ale in his hand.
He placed his tankard on the floor beside him.
‘A world without Trytor. Now, that’s a thought, I reckon. Just what our parents were trying to bring about.’
‘They won’t see it now,’ replied Cavour, simply, with no hint of extra meaning.
‘Ay, you don’t need to tell me that, brother.’ There was an edge to his voice.
‘There was no accusation, brother.’
‘It’s about time you spat it out then, because I know what you’re thinking!’
Cavour unfolded his arms and he nodded at Richard before he left the room.
Richard and Garraldi watched him go.
‘He was always like that,’ said Garraldi, bending to retrieve his ale. ‘You could never get him to…express his feelings, I reckon you’d say, though he’d snap your head off for saying such a thing to him.’
‘Mayhap he has some blame himself to consider, when he is sharing it around?’
Garraldi considered Richard’s words but made no response.
‘He told me he worked for the Trytor, he did, and he was saddened to say it, I reckon,’ said Ferrooll, slowly, as if he was picking each word one by one.
‘It was his very own choice,’ responded Garraldi, without looking up from his tankard.
‘So, Giant, what plans do you have?’
‘I plan to drink ale and eat food, little Lord, I do. Don’t know what else a blind Giant would plan to do.’
‘Well, I’ve been thinking as I lay here, and, now that the Trytor is dealt with, I want to return to my home. To Misthaven.’
‘Misthaven? I thought you lived in…what was it called now? Oh, I got it, it was hanging around in my head somewhere, it was. You said we could visit you in Hesselton, you said, and we’d have our fill of ale, we would. A Giant ain’t likely to forget an offer like that.’
Richard smiled, softly. ‘Misthaven is by Hesselton, and we don’t talk about it to strangers. But I’m amongst friends here.’
‘Ay, friends we are, for sure.’
‘I was also thinking that you should come along with me.’
‘For all the ale and the food?’
‘Ay, that certainly. But, there is another reason for you to join me. There is a mage there, an old friend, and he has access to Magic, and healing your poor eyes will be no trouble at all to him.’
‘Well, that sounds like an idea worth a long walk, I reckons.’
‘There is some information you need,’ said Cavour, from the doorway, with a freshly lit pipe in his hand.
‘What’s that then?’ Ferrooll turned his head in the direction of the speaker.
‘Mage Evens is not what he once was, and has put aside Magic, and the new Mage is dead. There is no Magic left in Misthaven.’
‘How do you know this?’ asked Richard, sharply.
‘I was there not two weeks ago.’
‘Did you…did you hear of my daughter? Alice, she is called, Lady Alice.’
‘Indeed I did, and you should be proud of her. She takes her position very seriously, and she is loved by those around her.’
‘The new mage? Was that… it wasn’t Anders, was it?’
‘Ay, it was. But he didn’t survive a meeting with Elvenfolk, and his Stone was already stolen.’
‘So, Misthaven without Magic? That is a concern to me. I must be on my way now, to get home as soon as I can. My daughter will need my help.’
‘I’ll come along, I will,’ said Ferrooll, rocking on his great buttocks as if he meant to be moving sometime soon. ‘There might not be any Magic, but there’ll still be ale and food, won’t there?’
‘Ay, my old friend, there’ll be plenty of both.’
‘And I will join you, if I may,’ said Cavour. ‘It will be on my way to where I need to be next.’
‘Where do you need to be next, brother? Now that you’re no longer under that monster’s sway?’
There was a sharpness to his tone but Cavour didn’t seem to notice as he considered his response.
‘Well now, this is how I see it, now I’ve had some time to think. Mage Even’s Stone is nigh used up. Mage Anders’ Stone is destroyed. I am almost certain there is another Stone on Fairisle, so that’s wh
ere I need to be, to finish the job if you like.’
‘What job would that be, brother?’
‘Why, is it not obvious? The land will be a better place without Magic, and I intend to do what I can to bring that happy event nearer.’
Richard frowned at his words, and he might have spoken words of disagreement, but Garraldi jumped to his feet.
‘In that case, brother, I reckon I’ll come along with you,’ he announced.
‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘We are brothers, and I have no-one else left in the world.’
Cavour studied his face for a moment, but he resisted the temptation to explain his brother’s part in his lack of family.
‘Fair enough then, Garraldi, we’ll walk the road once more, and place our mark on the world.’
Garraldi looked as if a hug was on his mind, but Cavour turned edge on to him, and the moment was lost.
Chapter 34 Sleurth
His round head made a bow-wave as he surged away from the harbour, his long pale body trailing behind him.
His heart was pounding in his great chest, not from the effort of racing from the shadow of Fairisle, but from fear.
He had rushed to give what aid he could to the Elvenfolk, but had done no more than watch them walk to their doom, frustrated at his limits. They were too far from the water and too close to danger. There was nothing he could do but mourn their demise.
He’d wallowed in the quiet waters of the harbour, empty of boats and people, with hardly a sea-bird to be seen. What could he do now? He’d thought. But no answer came to him.
He’d turned, thinking the open sea would clear his mind, and mayhap he could seek out his fellows and lose himself in their company.
Then he’d felt the call; wordless and silent, but it called to him still. He turned back to the grey harbour wall, expecting to see him standing there, with his arms outstretched to welcome him.
But the harbour was empty, he was not there.
Without a thought, Sleurth swam closer, with a languid kick of his submerged legs. As the wall drew closer, he reached out one long arm, pale and glistening in the early evening light.