by M. J. Evans
The drips of water dissolved quickly on her tongue but gave Carling the moisture she needed in order to speak. “What does the Commander want with me?”
“How would I know?” came the curt reply. “He doesn’t consult with me before he does something, you know.”
“No, I suppose not. I’m sorry.”
“No skin off my haunches,” the guard said, brushing aside her apology.
Carling followed him out the cell door, leaving it ajar. Another guard was waiting for them in the hallway outside her cell. He held a long spear in one hand. The Centaur who had entered her cell took the lead, Carling went next, and the other guard followed in the rear. They walked down the narrow, damp hallway, which was lit dimly by an occasional torch set into the wall. Carling recognized this as being the way they had come the previous day. Or was it the day before? She wasn’t sure. When she was led around a corner, she recognized the three doors of the cells that held her companions. Suddenly, she cried out, “Higson, Tibbals, and Tandum!’
The guard whirled. “Do not speak!”
Sensing that he feared her and certain he would not touch her, Carling continued speaking to her friends. “Are you alright?”
“I said, do not speak!” the guard said, stomping a front hoof.
From behind each of the doors, a voice answered.
“I’m okay,” said Higson.
“Hungry and thirsty but alive,” said Tandum.
“I could really use a bath and a brush,” said Tibbals. Carling smiled at that.
The rear guard pounded his spear on the three doors. “Silence!”
“You don’t need to behave like that,” Carling said calmly. “They can’t hurt you.”
The guard snorted and jabbed her with the spear, tearing her tunic and cutting her upper arm. She stumbled against one of the doors with a cry of pain and slid to the floor.
“Carling! Carling! Are you alright?” shouted Higson from behind the door.
Carling reached up with one hand and covered the cut, but blood oozed out between her fingers. She glared up at the guard, who stood over her with a sneer on his face. “I’m fine,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Get up! Get up, now,” shouted the guard, poking her again with the spear but with less force this time.
Her arm throbbing, Carling gritted her teeth and struggled to her feet to the sounds of her friends yelling threats through their cell doors. She glared up at the Centaur who had stabbed her. “You could say you’re sorry, you know.”
He snorted. “I could but I won’t. Now get moving!”
Carling followed the first guard up the same circular stairs they had come down the day before and, after many twists and turns, found herself outside the Commander’s chambers. Two sentries opened the doors and motioned for Carling to enter.
Carling walked into the large, cold room, feeling very small but surprisingly confident. The Commander sat on his throne and watched as she crossed the mosaic pattern of the flagstone floor. His eyes glanced briefly at the blood that trickled down her arm, but he said nothing about it.
Carling’s violet eyes found those of the Commander and she held his gaze as she walked directly up to the dais.
She stopped squarely in front of him. “You wanted to speak to me?”
The Commander smiled. “Yes, my dear. But I have found that the best conversations take place on a full stomach. Please join me, won’t you?” Turning toward the servants who were stationed around the room, he added, “And would someone get something to clean up that arm. I detest the sight of blood.”
Immediately, a mare approached Carling with a warm cloth and gently cleaned her cut, smiling sympathetically as she did so. Carling appreciated the show of kindness, something she had been sorely missing, and smiled back. Several other Centaurs appeared then, carrying platters of food, the sight of which both thrilled and sickened her.
Standing in front of the copious amounts of food, Carling placed her hands on her hips and said, “I will not eat until my friends have been fed.”
The Commander slowly smiled and nodded. “Very benevolent of you, I must say.” Turning to his servants, he said, “Take some of this to the other prisoners.” Immediately three Centaurs left the room with platters of food.
“Now, Knightess in Shining Armor, please eat.”
Carling sat on a cushion that was placed on the floor, appreciating the softness, and took some fruit from the proffered tray. The sweet berries melted in her mouth and she ignored the juice that ran down her chin. She closed her eyes and took a moment to savor the sweetness, a stark contrast to the bitterness of her surroundings.
She continued to eat food from the trays that were offered to her until she was quite full. Only then did she look back up at the Commander, aware that his eyes had never left her.
She sucked in a deep breath. “So, why did you call me here? It certainly wasn’t to make sure I was adequately fed.”
The Commander chuckled. “You know, I actually find myself liking you, knightess.”
“My name is Carling.”
He gave a wave of his hand and a slight bow of his head. “Alright then, Carling, let’s get to the purpose of this meeting.” The Commander’s eyes sparkled dangerously and a cold smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You are the wearer of the silver breastplate, a condition that it appears I can do nothing to alter, at least at this time. Yet you are tiny and weak. You need me and my army. It has occurred to me that we could make a great team, you and I. Together we could rule this land with an iron hoof.”
“I prefer to rule with the four virtues the Wizard has instructed me to acquire,” Carling replied.
“The Wizard? Tell me about this Wizard.”
“The Wizard of Crystonia.”
“I know nothing of such a Wizard.”
“He is the one who gave me the breastplate and sent me on my quest to collect the four stones of light.”
“I see only one stone.”
“Yes,” she said, her hand unconsciously covering the beautiful green stone. “It is the stone of Mercy.”
“Mercy?” he scoffed. “What good is that? You showed mercy to Clank and where did that get you? He turned around and brought you to me. On second thought, perhaps that was the best thing he could have done for you, bringing you to me, that is. Now, tell me about the other stones.”
“I do not yet know about them. The Wizard is planning on my return to Duenton so he can give me further instructions.”
“Well, no need of that. You don’t need any more stones to make you powerful. I can provide all the power you need.” He leaned forward, capturing her in his gaze. His eyes twinkled. “I have an army of hundreds of strong and well-trained warriors. As I initially proposed, let us band together. With you, the wearer of the silver breastplate, by my side, no one in Crystonia will question our right and authority to hold the throne. And if they should, my army will take care of them.” The dangerous spark returned to the Commander’s eyes as he looked down at her, awaiting her reply.
Carling felt her heart pounding in her chest. The palms of her hands felt wet and she wiped them on her pants legs, which were already quite soiled. She looked up at the Commander again. “I cannot take your offer. I must wait for instructions from the Wizard.”
The Commander jumped to his hooves. “The Wizard!” he shouted. “I have heard quite enough about this worthless Wizard. What is he to us?” Motioning widely with his arms, he continued in a rant. “Does he have a castle? Does he have an army? No! All he has is a silly breastplate in need of completion. Ruling this land requires the strength of the Centaurs…the Heilodius Centaurs.” He stopped and growled as he glowered down at Carling. “I only offered you this opportunity out of the goodness and generosity of my heart. Now I tire of you. Return to your cell, oh queen. I will not see you again unless you change your mind. Rot in the dungeon for the rest of your meaningless life for all I care!” He motioned for his guards to take her away before turning h
is back, his tail swishing in anger.
Chapter 28
Rescued
Carling was returned to her cell. With only the dim morning sun casting a faint beam of light across the western stone wall, she felt melancholy and very alone. Once the door was slammed shut and the bolt slid loudly into place, everything around her became silent, both inside her cell and out.
She sat on her stone slab, crossed her legs, rested her elbows on her knees, and held her chin in her hands. She needed to think. No, she needed to cry first…then perhaps she could think. For several minutes she let her fear and loneliness trickle down her cheeks. Finally, she opened her eyes, brushed away the remaining tears, and set her mind to thinking.
First she reviewed her audience with the Commander. Perhaps she had made a mistake and acted too hastily. Perhaps she could work with him and even control him. No, she decided. There is no chance of that. His desire and objective had been to control her, not the other way around. But if she worked with him, she could keep an eye on him. No, what good would that do? He would surely do whatever he wanted anyway. Then again, perhaps that would be her only chance to free Higson, Tibbals, and Tandum.
Her brain began to hurt as the battle went on within her head. How she wished her mother were here to help and advise her. It was so hard doing all of this alone. It was a lot to ask of a sixteen-year-old Duende with no worldly experience whatsoever. She felt her throat constrict and the backs of her violet eyes begin to sting as the tears threatened to return. She pursed her lips and took a deep breath, then shook her head and brushed back her auburn hair.
She thought of the Wizard. Where was he now? Did he know about her captivity in Fort Heilodius? Did he know of the intentions of the Commander? If the answer to any of these questions was yes, why was he leaving her to face this alone? Couldn’t he help?
She hopped off the stone slab and began pacing the length of her tiny cell. The day wore slowly on and her cell darkened even more with the setting of the sun. At last, she lay down on her rocky ledge that served as a bed and went to sleep.
A number of days passed. She knew this to be true because she’d been watching the thin strip of sunlight travel across her floor and finally disappear each day. Food and water were scarce. Both were slid through the slit in the base of the door at irregular intervals. She relished the water but the food was barely edible. No eating utensils were provided so she tipped the contents of each bowl into her mouth, trying not to look at what was inside and swallowing quickly. The muscles in her throat threatened to gag as what passed for food entered. She forced it down anyway, doing her best to avoid tasting it. Within an hour of each meal, Carling’s stomach rebelled and she had to lie down to try to settle it.
Both the days and nights were equally quiet outside her cell door. She tried to call out to Higson, Tibbals, and Tandum, but the sound of her voice was absorbed by the moss-covered stone walls. She never heard a word from them. She tried not to let this worry her but it was hard not to feel uneasy. The Commander did not summon her again.
On the fifth or sixth, or maybe even seventh, day, Carling was sitting cross-legged on her stone bed, rehashing all that had transpired since she’d released an arrow toward a Centaur in a forest clearing. That event had proved to be the beginning of the end of the life she had once known. Now she was trapped inside a musty, dirty, stone cell. She felt the frustration rising inside her. She had to move. She unfolded her legs and hopped off the stone bench. She walked toward the slit that served as a window and pressed her face against the cold stone to get as close to the fresh air as she could. She took in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and exhaled slowly. Just as she did so, she heard her cell door open so quietly she could have easily missed the sound.
“Carling, follow me,” she heard a voice say in a soft whisper.
Turning around quickly, Carling caught her breath. There, holding the door slightly ajar, was a short creature concealed by a black hooded cape. He tossed back the hood.
“Pik!” squealed Carling.
“Sh-h-h-h,” said the Faun with his finger to his lips. “We must hurry, Missy.”
“How did you find me?” she said as she ran to the door and resisted an urge throw her arms around him.
“We’ll talk later. Follow me.”
“But we can’t leave without Higson, Tibbals, and Tandum.”
“The other Fauns have them. Now quit talking and move!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hallway.
They ran down the hall and turned the corner. Carling caught a glimpse of Tibbals’ blond tail disappearing up the stairway. But her heart stopped when she saw a Centaur guard standing at the base of the stairs, letting them pass. He turned and motioned silently for them to come forward.
Carling hesitated but Pik moved boldly toward him. “It’s okay. Come, Missy. Come with me,” the Faun said.
When they reached the guard, he bent down and gave Carling a hug. “Hurry, little one. The sleeping potion I gave the guards won’t last long.”
“Bale! It’s you,” she exclaimed, a surge of excitement and gratitude flowing through her.
“And Dalt is up ahead. Now hurry,” he said with a smile.
Carling and Pik quickly caught up with the rest of her companions. In the lead was another Centaur whom Carling assumed was Dalt. Even though he was limping on his left front leg, he was setting a fast pace down hallways and around corners. In one hand he carried a flaming torch that apparently had been removed from a wall sconce. The flames caused eerie bouncing shadows to slither and slink along the stone walls.
At each corner or intersection of passageways, Dalt stopped and then slowly, cautiously peeked around the corner. If all was clear, he waved them forward. They passed several guards who were sound asleep, snoring loudly. No one stopped them. Finally, they went down a narrow passageway that ended at a wooden door that was so small the Centaurs would have to duck their entire upper bodies to get through. Dalt stopped in front of the door. He haltingly turned, his face grimacing. Carling could tell he was still suffering from his injuries and felt deep gratitude that he was taking such risks to help them.
“My friends,” Dalt began, “this part of the Commander’s citadel forms part of the wall surrounding the city. This door will lead you directly into the forest. You will need to work your way back to the east and south to get to your homes.”
Pik stepped forward. “The Fauns have set up a camp downstream from the river that flows off the mountain. They are expecting you and will take care of you until we catch up.”
Looking at Dalt, Carling asked, “Aren’t you coming with us?”
“Oh, no. I would never make it. Plus, Bale and I can best serve you by making sure that you are not followed. There will be quite an uproar as soon as your empty cells are discovered,” he said with a smile.
Tibbals stepped up to Dalt, wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “We can’t thank you enough.”
His face flushed bright red as he returned the hug. “You saved my life. This was the least I could do to return the favor.”
Releasing her, he looked down at Carling and Higson. “Go in peace, my little Duende. It is my hope that we will meet again under happier circumstances.”
Carling pressed her lips together and blinked rapidly to hold back the tears. “Thank you, Dalt.”
Bale stepped up and opened the little door. “Go quickly.”
Tibbals and Tandum lowered their heads and torsos and scooted through the opening. Carling and Higson, being so short, didn’t need to crouch. Pik and the other Fauns who had accompanied him came through last. Once outside, the Duende mounted their Centaurs and turned toward Bale and Dalt, who were bent low and peeking through the doorway.
“Goodbye, dear friends. May we meet again,” was all Carling had time to say before Tibbals and Tandum set off in a gallop through the forest that clothed the sides of Mount Heilodius.
Chapter 29
Help from the Fauns
; The river was quite easy to find. It flowed down the mountain from the glaciers at the peak of Mount Heilodius to the Swirling Sea on the east coast of Crystonia. The waterway’s beating and crashing against the boulders was audible from quite a long distance. Tibbals and Tandum followed their ears and were soon drinking from the fresh cool snow melt. All the while, Carling kept glancing back to make sure they weren’t being followed. They continued on by staying close to the river as Pik had instructed.
A few hours later, Carling sensed that they were not alone. At one point, she heard a branch snap. She jerked her head to the side and looked in the direction from which the sound had come. Nothing. Thinking it might have been just a forest animal, she didn’t say anything to her companions.
A little further on, however, she was certain that she heard leaves rustling. “Stop, Tibbals,” she whispered.
“What’s the matter?” Tibbals asked, turning her upper body to look back at Carling.
“I keep thinking that I hear something.”
“Like what?”
By this time, Tandum and Higson had stopped as well. When Carling voiced her concern, Higson tried to reassure her. “You’ve been in the forest enough to know there are lots of creatures moving around and making sounds,” he said. “I’m sure there is nothing to worry about.”
“I know. My nerves are frayed. I guess I’m just jumpy.”
Tibbals patted her leg. “And you have every right to be after all we have been through.”
“Let’s keep moving,” Tandum said as he started off, picking the easiest course he could find through the thick forest and fallen timbers.
They had traveled only a short distance when Carling heard another branch crack. “Stop! Something is out there, moving along with us. I’m sure of it.”
Tibbals and Tandum stopped and looked from side to side, peering between the trees and under the ferns. “I see nothing, Carling,” said Tandum.
“I know something or someone is following us. I can feel it.”