by Cathi Shaw
Brijit shook her head. She couldn’t tell from where she lay on the bottom of the cart. Prince Meldiron began to wail and Aranel’s son joined in.
“Shhh, shhh,” Aranel murmured to the terrified infants. She looked at Brijit in despair. Brijit took Meldiron in her arms. Instantly the prince calmed down and looked up at her in wonder. Aranel silenced her son by putting him on her breast. Soon the sound of a baby suckling filled the cart.
Outside Brijit could hear the clang of metal on metal as the Elders and Weylon engaged in battle. The sounds were far off in the distance. Annoyance filled Brijit at not being able to seen anything, but Prince Meldiron let out a little sound of distress at her tenseness. “It’s okay,” Brijit whispered to him, forcing herself to relax.
As the baby settled, she listened hard again, her eyes meeting those of Nestariel on the other side of the cart. The sounds of battle were fading in the distance. Weylon was leading the would-be attackers away. Relief flooded through Brijit. She smiled faintly at Neirdre who was looking a little less terrified.
Just as the women in the cart started to relax, the back of the cart swung open and a dirty grizzled man with only one leg and a wicked curved blade in his filthy hands fixed his crazed eyes on them.
“What have we here?” he chortled as he took in the occupants of the cart. His eyes flicked over each of them until they settled on Neirdre and the small crown on her head.
“An Elder princess and her entourage, I would guess,” he looked greedily at Prince Meldiron and then Aranel’s son. “And which one of these is the Crown Prince?” Quickly he grabbed Neirdre and yanked her out of the cart. “Get out. All of you.”
Nestariel rose slowly but obeyed. Brijit followed her lead and stepped out with Meldiron cradled in her arms. Aranel followed, but Erulassë dissolved in hysterics.
“Get out, sister,” Nestariel hissed, but Erulassë would not stop wailing.
“Shut her up,” the man hissed. Brijit saw now that he was younger than she thought. And he had a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Git out!” he barked at Erulassë, but she didn’t shut up, nor did she try to get out of the cart. Instead, she started to scream.
Lightning fast, the man swung his blade and sliced Erulassë’s neck. As her hot blood pooled onto the sand before them, Neirdre fainted. While the bandit was distracted, Nestariel kicked him in his good leg. He yelled, cursing as he fell, the blade knocked from his hands. Brijit lunged for his fallen weapon grabbing it and standing in front of him, Prince Meldiron still cradled in her arms.
“Drop it!” A cold voice said.
Brijit turned and saw another grizzled man, this one with both legs and a wicked looking dagger in his hands. He held Aranel’s son by one heel. The terrified baby was wailing, and Aranel was sobbing. “Let him go! Let him go!” He backhanded Aranel across the mouth. She fell to the sand and did not get up.
This bandit was considerably younger than his companion. He looked at the babe he was holding and then at the one in Brijit’s arms, weighing his options.
“One of these two is our new Crown Prince, I would suspect,” he drawled. “Is it the one the Coimirceoirí is holding or the one the nurse was so distraught over?” he paused looking at each of them in turn. The only sound was Aranel’s son’s increasing wails. Impatience flared on his face.
“Kill ’em both,” the bandit at Brijit’s feet hissed.
“Good idea, old man.” And before anyone could move he rammed his dagger deep into the wailing child’s chest and threw his body on the ground, advancing toward Brijit.
White rage filled Brijit. “You will not have him.” Her voice was one even she did not recognize. And before the bandit could step any closer to her, Brijit reached out with her power and invaded his mind.
He screamed and fell to sand, holding his head in both hands. Before he could recover, an Elder arrow pierced his heart. Brijit continued to cradle Prince Meldiron, tears flowing down her cheeks as Weylon leapt from his horse and severed the head from the one-legged man who was still cowering on the sand.
Chapter Nineteen
The settlement could be seen in the distance when the stench hit them. Brijit fought the urge to cover her nose, but Princess Neirdre didn’t try to hit her disgust.
“What is that smell?” she asked in horror.
It was Nestariel who answered her. “That is what the dead sea smells like when the wind blows this way,” the old Elder said, amusement in her eyes.
Neirdre looked at her aunt in disbelief, but Brijit’s attention was captured by the collection of buildings she could see in the distance. Could it be that after twelve long days on the road they were finally at the safe haven?
Her question was answered before she could voice it. Their little caravan rolled to halt as a young man emerged from one of the buildings. Brijit recognized him from the ceremony at the Academy so long ago. He was a Coimirceoirí apprentice from Stone Mountain.
He studied them with a quizzical expression when he saw them. Then his eyes landed on Weylon, and his face split with a huge grin.
“Weylon!” he called and hurried over to where her fellow Coimirceoirí was dismounting.
“Finn!” Weylon answered and the two men embraced.
“What is going on?” Finn asked when they stepped apart. He looked over at the party that accompanied Weylon. Brijit imagined they looked quite the sight with their exhausted faces and tattered clothes. Tears rolled down Aranel’s cheeks as she embraced Prince Meldiron. Holding the small prince was the only thing that seemed to calm her since her little boy had been so brutally taken from her.
Neirdre had aged since her mother had been killed, and Nestariel looked exhausted. Brijit imagined that she didn’t look any better herself. After the attack, they had kept moving until they arrived at the settlement. Weylon had thought it too risky to make camp, and privately Brijit agreed with him. None of the others argued.
But traveling nonstop had taken its toll. They did have to rest the horses, but they had done so during the day and only for short periods of time. Weylon had always been watching the horizon, as had the two Elder soldiers with them.
The ramshackle settlement that lay out before them, really just a collection of rudimentary buildings, looked like heaven. Even Neirdre stopped complaining about the stench in the air when she realized that she would have a real bed to sleep in that night.
“We have the Elder princess and her newborn son,” Weylon told Finn. “The Crown Prince sent us to you for safety.”
Finn took in the tired-looking group and nodded. “Fair enough. That explains why this place has been fitted up as it has.” He looked at Weylon. “I was questioning why there were so many supplies and rations when it was just me they sent out here.”
He redirected his gaze to the group of women still huddled in the wagon. “Let’s get you all settled. It looks like you could use some hot water and warm beds.”
That was all Neirdre needed to hear to climb down from the wagon. Brijit followed her, stopping to help Aranel and Nestariel down. Finn came over and offered his arm to Nestariel when he saw the old Elder was a bit unsteady on her feet.
“Thank you, Coimirceoirí,” she rasped. “It has been a long journey.”
Finn nodded and directed them toward the large building in front of them. “There are beds for everyone. Come, get settled. I’ll let my people know that you are here.”
Brijit raised her eyebrows at that but then saw that there were, indeed, others milling around the building. A man and two boys ran forward to take the horses to the stable. There were several young girls hanging around a woman who appeared to be the housekeeper.
“Stella, tell Cook we have guests and they are going to need a hot meal and a good long night’s rest.”
The young red-haired girl nodded and then disappeared into the building.
Brijit smiled her thanks at Finn and then followed the others inside. She could hardly believe they were safe. She just hoped it lasted.
#<
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Weylon smiled at his friend. As the group milled around, Finn directed them to different rooms in the large building. Once they were all settled, he took Weylon into a common room and poured him a pint of ale.
Looking at his friend closely, he said, “Are you okay, Weylon?”
Weylon looked up, fear pricking his heart. Could Finn tell that easily that he had changed? Was the darkness so easy to see. “I’m fine,” he answered too sharply then quickly added, “Why?”
Finn narrowed his eyes at him. “You just…look different.” He shrugged and had a sip of his ale. “Probably you need a bath and a good rest.” Then he lowered his voice. “How bad was the journey here? The desert is rife with looters.”
Weylon nodded and told Finn about the attack. “We lost an old woman and a baby,” he said quietly, thanking the stars once again that the looter had chosen Aranel’s baby rather than the Crown Prince’s son. But then again, Brijit had been holding Meldiron. Weylon had arrived just as she took hold of that man’s mind, making him scream. He didn’t want to know what she had done to the criminal, but he was thankful she had protected the baby in her arms.
“And your fellow Coimirceoirí?” Finn asked.
Weylon stiffened, “What about her?” he asked coldly.
Finn chuckled. “That bad, eh?”
Weylon shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood for Finn’s riddles. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Weylon, you were the one who always was saying not to get involved with our fellow Coimirceoirí! Now you’ve gone and done it.”
He looked at Finn in surprise. “Why would you say that?”
“Because, my friend, if you didn’t care about her an awful lot, you wouldn’t be so angry.” Finn held up his hand before Weylon could say anything. “And you, my friend, are angrier at that girl than I’ve ever seen you before.”
“I have no feelings for her,” Weylon said tonelessly. It was true. He didn’t care about Brijit at all anymore, except for the low burn of hatred he felt for what she had done to him.
Finn just shook his head. “Okay, if that’s what you say, buddy.” Then he laughed quietly into his ale. “I really never thought I’d see the day when a girl would shake the concentration of the great Weylon Forborrow.”
Weylon growled low in the throat and Finn got serious.
“I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Where did they send you, Weylon?”
Weylon looked across the room unseeingly as the events of the last half-year played out in his memory. He looked at his friend who was watching him expectantly.
“It’s a long story. I have much to tell you. But tonight the bed and bath you offered is calling to me.”
Finn nodded. “And I have much to tell you as well, but you need to rest first.”
Weylon finished his ale and stood.
Finn paused and then looked at his friend shrewdly.
“Oh, you should know something, Weylon.”
Weylon smiled down at him. “What’s that Finn?”
“I’m not the only one who is living in the Wastlands. We are not alone.”
THE END