by James Fuller
“I still do not understand why Zada would give me such a weapon and not warn me of its abilities.”
“That, I do not know. Unless she feared what you might do with the dagger.”
Meath rubbed his temples, his head still pounded horribly. “I should go.”
“You can tell no one that I told you any of this, Meath,” Stefan called to him, his tone full of worry. “My very life could rest in the balance.”
“I will not breathe a word of it, my friend, and I will allow no harm to come to you, I promise.”
Meath left the alcove with more daunting questions now than when he had left the night before. So many secrets and lies were being revealed and so many things hidden from him. If it had not been for his promise to Stefan, he would have marched on Lady Zada’s house. He clenched his hands in rancorous bewilderment; several of the small cuts that riddled his body broke open and oozed fresh blood. He eyed the pathway he had come down as an idea roused in his head.
Meath staggered awkwardly into the opening and soon all eyes were upon him. A call came out for someone to find Lady Zada as a handful of others came to aid Meath over to a bench to rest. Questions assaulted him from every mouth, yet his blank stare and muteness steadied their tongues before too long.
Within moments Lady Zada was there, fear and anxiety clear on her expression.
“Meath, what has happened to you?” Zada asked as she knelt down beside him to get a better look.
He looked at her with dazed eyes and licked his dry lips. “I found... Hector.” He rasped, his throat unbearably dry.
Zada’s eyes widened as she looked down at his empty sheath. “Where is the dagger Meath? What happened?”
“He took it from me,” he coughed out, “before he escaped. I tried to stop him but he was too powerful...” Meath slumped back against the bench, his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Zada stood unnaturally rigid, her expression reflecting pure horror at his words.
“My Lady, he has fallen unconscious and his wounds are many…he has lost much blood. He needs assistance and quickly,” Venus said, not sure if her words even registered. “My Lady?”
Zada was pulled from her thoughts briefly. “Yes, Venus, take him to his room and tend to him.”
“Yes, my Lady.” Venus motioned for several others to help gather Meath up.
“Venus, when he awakens come find me.”
“Of course, my Lady.”
“You told me he was ready!” Zada screamed angrily. “That Meath could easily defeat a heavily drugged Hector…if he was provoked enough!” She stormed fretfully around the room. “I would never have agreed to this if I did not trust your word! Now look where we are!”
“I do not see how Meath could have lost,” Donner replied honestly. “Hector should hardly have been able to stand, let alone put up much of a fight.”
Zada’s cold eyes pierced through him. “Apparently you were wrong and it has cost us heavily.” She rubbed her temples. “We should never have done this, we should never have underestimated Hector, we should have used someone else... now he has escaped and has Thane’s dagger. Do you know what he could do?”
“Of course I know,” Donner growled. “The drugs will remain within his system for some time. He will still be weak and hopefully easy to apprehend. I shall take two others and we will bring him back, or at the very least the dagger.”
“That dagger needs to be returned Donner,” Zada said heartless anger barely in check, “at any and all cost.”
“I know this as well as you,” Donner sniped back.
“Then why are you still standing here?” She barked. “Hector does not need a longer head start!” Donner quickly took his leave, leaving Zada alone in her small home, with her anger and her oppressive thoughts.
How could she let this happen? She had been so careful, so meticulous over the years to never let something as foolish as this interfere with what needed to be done. She cursed herself, but more so she cursed Hector for demonstrating that even after two decades of being imprisoned and sedated, that he could still prove a threat to them. A lingering doubt formed in her head - if Meath could not defeat Hector in the state he was in, how would he ever defeat Astaroth? She shook it away. Meath had survived his encounter with Hector - there was still hope.
A light knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts and had been what she had been waiting for. “Come in.”
“Meath, my foolish son, what were you thinking?” Zada scolded upon entering his room and seeing him upright in his bed. He still looked worse for wear, but his wounds had been healed and some color was returning to his features.
“I have lost too much in life of late to have allowed such a crime to go unpunished,” he replied as he stared at the floor.
“What are you talking about?” Zada pressed.
“Kara was one of the closest people I could call friend, and Hector killed her. I could not just sit by and do nothing!”
“I ordered you to your room, Meath. There was reason for it. Hector - as you have so foolishly discovered - is very dangerous and now because of your actions, has escaped unpunished for his new crimes.”
“You expected me to do nothing?” Meath stood defiantly.
Zada’s eyes burned with resentment. “I expect you to listen when commanded! It may very be that because of your foolish actions, Kara’s death will have been in vain. Is that what you wanted?”
The words stung Meath and he lowered his head. “You know that it is not.”
“Then you had better pray that Donner can pick up Hector’s trail and bring him to justice.” Zada’s voice softened only slightly.
Meath reached for his things. “I should be with him! It is my fault Hector escaped.”
“You shall do no such thing, Meath,” Zada stated firmly. “You are to stay here and continue your training. You have your purpose and must ensure that you are ready for it. The time grows near and you have still much to learn. You can ill-afford to lose focus now.”
Meath slumped on his bed. “You are right. I need to continue to prepare to face Astaroth. But with Donner gone, who will train me?”
“Unfortunately there is no one better suited for the task than Donner himself.” Zada sighed. “He shall not be gone long - until he returns, you will practice what he taught you on your own. You shall also increase your training with Tabitha in the hopes of finally learning which is the greatest element of your powers.”
Meath nodded. “As you wish, my Lady.”
The words nearly caused Zada to gasp. At first she thought he mocked her yet his demeanor and tone stated otherwise. She smiled inwardly - this unpleasant turn of events may have proven to have benefited them more profoundly than she could have hoped. “I want you to rest this day, you have been through a lot. Not many can claim to have survived an encounter with Hector. On the morrow, you will continue your routine.”
“Yes, my Lady.” Meath stopped her before she had reached his door. “When is Kara’s funeral pyre to take place?”
Zada paused, her hand on the door handle. “It will be tonight, after the sun sets.”
All of Salvas had gathered to mourn and say their farewells to one of their fallen. The sudden news of Kara’s death struck the small community hard. Death was not something they had to deal with often, more so one of this violent nature.
Meath stood away from the rest of the group as Kara’s funeral pyre was lit. His heart was heavy with loss once more and could not trust himself around others.
The seasoned wood ignited and the flames spread quickly to the yellow linen that wrapped Kara’s body. The smell of burning flesh was masked by the fragrant oils that had been poured onto the wood, the redolent oils carrying their grief.
Meath let the tears flow down his unshaven face, with no thought to wipe them away. They would fall as nature intended, in Kara’s honor. Suddenly Meath caught sight of Daden pushing his way through the crowd of mourning friends and leaving hastily, through the
trees. He felt bad for him and knew the world, his mind, and heart would know now. The thought to go comfort him was brief. They were not friends; Meath’s words would not help him. Daden would have to grief in his own way.
Meath blinked away the last of his tears as he gazed down upon Kara’s fire one last time. “I will never forget you, Kara.” He turned and left.
“There will be much talk of how this happened,” Titus said from the high podium that looked out upon the funeral pyre.
Zada’s eyes were looking to where Meath had been. “I know, but there was no way around it. This was needed to make it work.”
“Where did you find a body?”
“Do not ask questions you do not want answers to,” she replied firmly.
“Are you sure Daden will comply?”
Zada’s eyes shifted to where Daden had made his leave. “He has too much to lose if he does not. He holds no comradeship with Meath; I believe he will do as told.”
Titus nodded his jaw firm. “I pray you are right.”
*****
Meath stood in the center of Donner’s training circle. The air around him was still and no outside sound entered the treed-in grounds that Donner had claimed as his own. Meath felt odd being there without Donner to guide his training, yet it offered him a good chance to test the strengthened powers that flowed within him.
Meath closed his eyes and inhaled deeply - the twelve torches around the circle came to life at once with little more than a thought. With another, every second one wavered out, leaving only six burning. Meath exhaled and could feel his fortified abilities within him, calling to be released like never before. His eyes opened and in rapid session controlled bursts of air extinguished the remaining torches, uprooting only one of them.
Meath set himself into an offensive stance, his eyes glistening with eager anticipation. The ground stirred in several places, earthen targets rising to challenge him. Nearly as fast as the targets presented themselves - they were destroyed by ice, fire, or energy. He continued to defeat his earthen enemies until finally his head grew dizzy and sweat stung his eyes.
When he had collected himself, he looked around at the mounds of earthen rubble. The training circle looked more like a tilled farmer’s field than a warrior’s teaching ground. The startling sound of clapping pulled him from his self-admiration.
“Impressive,” Tabitha observed as she came closer. “Donner had said you were getting better, but I never would have guessed he meant that good.”
Meath cursed to himself but tried not to let his apprehension at being caught show on his face. “As Donner so enjoys pointing out to me, fighting unmoving targets is child’s play in comparison to fighting a living, breathing person who does not want to die.”
Tabitha smiled. “True, but do not belittle what you can do now.” She reset the fallen torch in its place. “I know many who have been here for over a decade who cannot do what you just did.”
“I am sure they are not nearly as motivated to learn as I am,” Meath countered, his features hardening.
“A fact one cannot argue,” she admitted. “I just wish you showed as much conviction in healing as you do in ‘killing’ unmoving targets,” she teased as she moved closer to him, her eyes searching his for something. “You seems different today, Meath, are you sure you are okay? Kara’s death has left us all with heavy hearts.”
Meath stiffened as the reminder. “I will be fine. I am using my grief and anger to fuel me forward to my purpose.”
Tabitha nodded. “That is what I wanted to hear. Go and get cleaned up and meet me in our normal place. Hopefully you have saved some of your Gift.”
*****
Astaroth gritted his teeth at the pulsing pain that gripped his shoulder where the Sintu’s arrow had struck three days earlier. He rolled the shoulder hoping to loosen the muscles that were cramping, yet the effort proved excruciating and he muffled a curse. He took his hand and gently tried to massage it, but when his hand touched the tender spot, he cried out. His eyes blurred for a moment and his feet dragged across the gravel, his steps faltering.
“Are you all right?” Vashina asked, slipping an arm around him to keep him from falling.
“I... I am fine,” he lied, through clenched teeth.
“You are a horrible liar. It is a wonder you were able to fool King Dante that you were his son.”
Anger mixed with pain flashed through him and he let his hand fly, striking her across the face with as much strength as he could muster. The sudden movement knocked him off balance and he crashed to his knees, a growl of agony escaped his lips and he grabbed at his shoulder again. “Something’s wrong,” he wheezed, his eyes clenched tightly. “My shoulder is on fire!”
“Master, what can I do?” Keithen cried out at seeing him in such pain. “We need to help him!” He looked to Vashina urgently.
Vashina shot Keithen a vicious glare, silencing him as she rubbed the side of his face where Astaroth’s hand had landed. “Let me see your shoulder.” She pushed Astaroth’s hand away forcefully, not caring at all if it hurt him as she ignored the stinging, smarting handprint on the side of her face.
“Careful, you wretch!” Astaroth hissed.
Vashina’s face hardened when she saw the dark bruising and inky, blackened veins that spider-webbed around where the wound had been.
“What is it, Vashina?” Astaroth asked, his brow already clammy with perspiration. “Do not consider misleading me.”
“I would never dream of it. Foul beasts the Sintu are,” she muttered. “You are lucky you pulled the arrow quickly, for it was tainted with Sintu trickery.”
“Poison,” Astaroth grimaced and Vashina confirmed with a nodded. “How bad is it?”
“I have seen worse…once or twice,” she lied.
“Can you cure it?”
“I cannot, but I know who can and I know you are not going to like it.”
Astaroth sighed already knowing who it was, “Valka.”
“She is the only one I know who knows the poison well,” she confirmed.
“We are still days from Dragon’s Cove, how long do I have?”
“We will need horses and quickly.”
“Keithen!” Astaroth commanded and the young wizard was at his side in an instant.
“Yes, Master?”
“You will do everything Vashina asks of you as if it were I myself that commanded you and without question.”
“Yes, Master.” Keithen eyed Vashina nervously. He knew the woman held nothing but contempt for him.
“We need horses - keep up with me, or I will kill you.” With that, she slipped into the trees and was gone.
Chapter 16
The cord bit deeper into the soft, fatty flesh, cutting off the desperate gasps for life-sustaining air. Stumpy, well-adorned fingers clawed frantically at the squeezing twine but well-pruned nails retrieved nothing but bloody skin for their efforts. Slowly the hysterical mission of the portly hands ceased and they hung limply toward the ground in still defeat.
Barnaby furrowed his brow in disgust at the chubby, dead merchant before him. He had never enjoyed killing and tried to avoid it as often as possible, but this had been a necessity. Keisha needed him and if killing some arrogant, ill-mannered glass merchant with loose morals would help him save her, then he would have killed a score of them.
He said a silent thank you to whatever entity had enticed the merchant’s need to piss so close to where he had been lying in wait to ambush.
Barnaby had been waiting two days for an easy target to pass by. Many had travelled through, but were too heavily guarded to make any attempt against, foolish or otherwise. Barnaby was no warrior and had no desire to die before he could save his sister. His quick mind and patience had kept them alive this long and he planned on ensuring it kept them alive for years to come.
He quickly donned the merchant’s silken fineries, happy to see they had not suffered much from the ordeal. They fit him loosely and to a trained eye, one cou
ld tell they were not his clothing, but he was about to enter a camp of slavers and doubted they had an eye for such things.
Or so he hoped.
The other merchants, gamblers and buyers would be too busy losing coin to notice him for the short time he planned on being in their midst.
He tucked the small, bloodied length of cord into a pocket, and then clasped the embroidered cloak across his shoulders. His fingers lingered on the fine quality of the stitching and material used and could not help but grin. He hoped the day would arrive when he could indulge in such fineries without having to steal them.
This will do for now, he thought. His hand slipped into a pocket and felt the heavy coin purse within and hoped it would be enough to buy Keisha back.
He left the canopy of growth to the tanned mare that awaited him. The beast whined and pawed at the earth nervously, sensing something wrong with its rider.
“Shh, it is all right girl, there is nothing wrong,” he cooed to the uneasy horse as he grabbed the reigns gently. He let the mare smell his hand as he rubbed its neck softly, letting the animal get to know him before he attempted to mount it. “See, nothing wrong at all. You should be thanking me for what I did. I have lightened the burden upon your back.” He joked and by the horse’s eager movements, he wondered if it understood. “I think I am going to like you.” He smiled, gently patting its neck.
Before long he was within the saddle and the mare seemed eager to move. “Calm yourself, girl, there will be much time for running by the end of this I fear.” He stroked the horse’s neck. “Hopefully you will be ready for it then as you are now.”
Barnaby rode up to the edge of the busy slaver camp and took in as much detail as he could, without looking suspicious. The layout of the camp was simple; the buildings ringed the outer boundaries of the camp, leaving the center mostly open. Covered wagons and canvas tents were being erected in groups around the camp. Barnaby had to assume they were separate groups and by the unfriendly atmosphere building, respect was not commonplace.