by D A Godwin
“As the moon shines… No… By the light of the moon, we beseech you, Mistress Eluria, Goddess of…” Her voice faltered as he coughed blood. Nothing was happening. She feared being left alone in this unfamiliar place but didn’t know what to do.
“Ask… with your heart,” Tormjere whispered. “You must… believe if She is to believe.”
Kataria blinked. How could it work without the right words? There were specific prayers to be used for different maladies and injuries. She didn’t know which was the correct one in this case, but to make the wrong request could cause more harm than good.
She hesitated, then pressed a hand onto his bloody side. Was she supposed to look at the wound? His eyes screwed shut, then snapped opened. She stared into them, dark pools filled with a pain that… that she could feel! Deep in his side, in his face, his shoulder. She held his gaze without blinking, terrified of looking away.
“Eluria, I do not know the words,” she began, “but I ask for your healing love to save this man. He has seen to the safety of your servant this day, and surely has so much more left to give.”
A soft, silver glow enveloped her hand, and warmth flowed down her arm and into his body. The blood on his side dried beneath her fingers before darkening and flaking off, and the pain in his eyes diminished. Kataria continued her prayer in a firm, steady voice, not even knowing what words she spoke. She did not stop until his wounds had completely closed, and she felt the last vestiges of pain leave his body.
Tormjere lay back and took a deep breath as the tension drained from his body.
“Thank you,” he said, his head still spinning.
She winced suddenly and let go of her symbol. Deep lines were pressed into her hand from where she had clutched it so tightly.
“I have never done that before. Initiates are not allowed to heal.”
Tormjere grimaced as he sat up. “Not bad for your first attempt, then.”
His face hardened as he saw the steward trying to crawl away. Kataria looked from Erbac to Tormjere and back, her elation at healing him rapidly fading to sadness.
He forced himself to his feet. Erbac rolled to his back and watched fearfully as they approached.
Tormjere pulled his knife free, drawing a ragged cry from the man. Kataria knelt beside him and placed Erbac’s trembling hand against the wound to stop the flow of blood.
“Why?” she asked, sounding as if she didn’t really want to know the answer.
“Your Highness, please!” Erbac begged. “This man is crazed. I have served your father well for many years.”
“He has already saved my life. That does not seem crazed to me.”
“It is a ruse! I can still protect you.”
Tormjere crossed his arms. “You seemed more interested in keeping her here than seeing her to safety.”
“You are the one who is duplicitous!” Erbac shouted. “The King will stop at nothing to see her returned.”
“I’m not trying to force her anywhere,” Tormjere snapped. “She’s free to go where she pleases.”
“It will be your head for taking her! She is to go with us, where she will be kept safe.”
“Aren’t you listening? I haven’t taken her anywhere she hasn’t asked to go, and I’m curious where you consider to be safe. You should’ve ridden from here the moment she arrived. And who is ‘us?’ Are you waiting for someone else?”
“No one! I…” Erbac’s eyes darted back to Kataria, and his voice became pleading. “We were waiting here for you, Your Highness. Just you.”
“And Sir Worston,” she said softly, withdrawing her hand from his. “You were waiting for me and Sir Worston, and his second. Were you not?”
Erbac licked his lips and coughed.
Tormjere glanced at the horses again. There were ten, all saddled. Five men had been in the camp, and Kataria made six. If two of those killed in town were protecting her… “Only the four you sent to take her were to return, weren’t they?”
A flicker of guilt flashed through the steward’s eyes before he could suppress it.
Kataria saw, and her face went red as she took a step back. “Master Erbac, how could you?”
“Your Highness, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing, I—”
“Do not lie to me! You were not going to take me to Fallhaven, were you?”
The man whimpered and shook his head. “No. You were to be taken north and given to another.” He looked pleadingly at the princess. “It was only to keep you safe!” he wailed.
“Safe from what?” Tormjere demanded.
“From the war!” Erbac cried. “Even as we speak forces are… in motion to…” He collapsed, and his eyes lost focus.
Kataria stared at him with a mixture of pity and anger.
“They will know,” he said, “and… they will find you. I am… sorry…, Your Highness…” He trailed off as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Kataria stared around the clearing in shock, as the reality of what had just happened sank in. She jumped as a horn sounded, startling her back into focus.
“We aren’t safe here,” Tormjere said. “They’re probably coming this way.”
She swallowed and looked down at Erbac again. “What of him?”
“I’m not going to carry him anywhere.”
“I cannot leave him to those creatures.”
“If convicted of treason by one of the high court, there is but one punishment,” Tormjere said dispassionately. “Princess Actondel.”
Kataria’s breath caught in her throat. She had just saved a life with a miracle of healing that she had not dreamed she could accomplish, and now she was being asked whether to take another. Erbac was almost a member of the family; he had served her father for longer than she had been alive. Yet he had just admitted to participating in a plot to kidnap her, to take her to some unnamed location for who knew what true purpose. How could this have happened? Worse, how could she leave him here, to be found by goblins? Another long call on a horn sounded, closer this time.
She looked at Tormjere and nodded.
He retrieved the hammer from the ground where she had dropped it and brought it down with a sickening, wet crack. Kataria flinched, but did not turn away. He wiped the hammer on Erbac’s clothes and handed it back to her.
She accepted it without comment, horrified by the traces of crimson still on the head. It was such a small thing to have caused such damage, but it felt heavier now in her hand. Tormjere yanked the belt from the man who had originally carried the hammer and tossed it to her. She wrapped it twice around her small waist, which left the weapon hanging from her right hip. It was probably backwards, but she did not dare adjust it for fear that he would think her inexperienced.
Tormjere moved towards the nearest horse, which was eyeing him in an unfriendly manner. He had never ridden anything larger than a mule and had little affection for the animals, but they were in a hurry. He stretched a hand towards the bridle, hoping the princess would not notice his hesitation.
The animal had other ideas, rearing back and striking at him with its hooves. The other horses looked similarly skittish, and Tormjere decided not to approach further.
“There are mounts such as those in the Legion,” Kataria said, “trained to obey only one master. We will not be able to ride them.”
“Then we walk,” he said, adjusting his bedroll across his back. “This way.”
Another horn sounded, nearer this time, and she took off as fast as her legs would allow.
They hurried into the woods, trying to put what distance they could between themselves and the goblins. They had not made it far when angry shouts carried up the hill behind them, followed by a sharp pattern on a horn.
“I think they found the bodies,” Tormjere said, picking up the pace.
“Where are we going?” Kataria gasped as she struggled to keep up.
“Fallhaven, but the question is how. Once we’re clear of the goblins, we’ll decide.”
They scrambled up the st
eepening foothills, racing against both the goblins and the sinking sun as they headed further away from Jonrin. He pushed her as fast as she could go, for as long as possible, before finally stopping to rest.
Kataria collapsed onto a rock, breathing heavily.
“Where are we?” she asked, twisting the weapon on her belt so it was not jabbing into her side. The woods were turning dark, and the trees were silhouetted against the thin blanket of clouds that shone orange with the setting sun.
“Northeast of Jonrin. The road to Fallhaven is to our south, back down the hill. Kenzing lies half a day to the north, over the mountains. We would avoid both by turning due east, but it’s nothing but wilderness from here to Shallowell so that’s not the best plan. Turning towards Kenzing would seem the safest choice since it has a sizable garrison. Once there, Lord Cheldiff can see you safely escorted to Fallhaven.”
“I cannot walk that far!”
“The only other option would be to return to Jonrin, but we know there are goblins in that direction.”
She stared at him as if the entire day was his fault.
“We’ll go slower; it will leave less of a trail anyway. Let’s at least make it up the rest of this hill, and then over into the cove tomorrow.”
“Would the road from Jonrin through the pass not be easier?”
“It would take us longer to get back to the road than to go straight over the mountains.”
“You want me to walk? Up the side of a mountain?”
Tormjere took a deep breath before answering. “I’m not planning on carrying you, Your Highness, and it seems the safest route.” He held up a hand to forestall her response. “There are few who live in the woods between here and Kenzing, but if we see any horses, I’ll get you one, if possible.”
It was doubtful they would find anyone living on the steep slopes between here and Kenzing and even less likely that they would find someone with a horse, but she didn’t need to know that right now.
She glared at him angrily, then turned and stomped up the hill.
Tormjere rolled his eyes and wondered what he had gotten himself into. He ran a hand across his shoulder to see if the cuts were still bleeding and was surprised to find them already healed. Between the confrontation with Erbac and their rush to escape he had not noticed. After a quick check, he found that every cut, scrape, and bruise he had suffered that day was gone. He had been healed twice before, and neither time had been so thorough. Clerics of Eluria were said to be better healers than those of Amalthee, however, so perhaps it wasn’t unusual.
The sun was set by the time they crested the top of the foothill. It had taken twice as long as he had expected. Kataria’s dress caught on every branch and bramble, and her boots slipped on the damp stones.
“I am hungry,” she said, sitting heavily on a rock. “What are we going to eat?”
“I’ve some trail bread and nuts,” Tormjere said, pulling the food from a pouch and handing it to her. “We’ll stay here tonight and should be able to make Kenzing easily tomorrow.” He began to sweep the dense mat of leaves together.
“My dress is ruined, I am starving, and now I am going to sleep on the bare ground?”
“I’m afraid I have only a light cloak, and it provides more warmth than comfort,” Tormjere said. “There are plenty enough leaves here for a soft bed.”
“You do not have a tent?”
It was a ridiculous question, but Tormjere unrolled his cloak and set aside the few items it had held, none of which would have passed for even the smallest of tents. “Rangers travel light, especially this time of year.”
“What about a fire?”
Tormjere shook his head. “We’d be seen. It’s only for one night.”
Kataria looked as if she might scream at him, but instead she wrapped the cloak about herself indignantly and sat in the nest of leaves he had made.
She shivered, unused to the dampness and the elevation. Twilight slipped away, leaving the woods dark and quiet but for the sounds of insects and birds. Occasionally she would hear something unexpected, but he did not seem worried, so she refused to allow herself to appear bothered by any of it.
This morning—had it really been such a short time ago?—she had been woken by Sir Worston, sword in hand, warning her of the attack on the town. They had stayed locked inside, until goblins put the home to the torch. Their flight from the chaos came to an abrupt halt when they were attacked. Both men protecting her had died before her eyes, at Erbac’s command. She never even knew the name of Sir Worston’s second.
The events of the afternoon were a blur that she could not entirely remember. Except for watching Erbac die. Her insides twisted into knots at the memory.
How could he have done that to her? Something must have changed to make him do such a terrible thing. Perhaps she should have healed his wounds, talked to him and turned him away from whatever evil had come over him. But now it was too late, and she would never know.
What had she done?
She put a hand to her face and felt wetness on her cheeks. She wiped it away quickly, determined not to show any weakness. She was a princess, after all. Up to now she had relied on Tormjere to keep her from the goblins, but tomorrow she should make the decisions. A part of her realized how fortunate she was to be alive, and she looked to where he sat huddled against a tree, barely visible in the moonlight.
“Tormjere?”
He glanced up.
“Thank you.”
The corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile. “You’re welcome, Your Highness. Get some rest, and we’ll return you to civilization tomorrow.”
She doubted she would have any peace tonight, but, despite her discomfort, she was asleep the moment she closed her eyes.
Tormjere watched the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept, mulling his options. This wasn’t the first time he had been forced to run from goblins, but at least they were not being actively pursued. The steward’s betrayal was a greater cause for concern. He understood what Erbac’s role had been from her description but couldn’t fathom how or why a man in such a position would feel a need to kidnap her. There were mysteries here, but they mattered little beyond their immediate impact.
There were people in Kenzing he could trust, and who would know what to do with the princess. From there, she could either wait for the raid to be dealt with and return south to the capital of Merallin, or travel on to Fallhaven. Drex would be looking for him by now. There were signs he should have left for the other Ranger, but in the rush to escape he had forgotten, and there was little to be done about it now.
He rubbed absently at his side where the guard’s blade had pierced his body. Outnumbered or not, he had almost allowed her to be taken. He reviewed each event of the day, determined to find any error in his actions, no matter how small. This was not a simple patrol anymore, and there could be no further mistakes.
He drew his sword and wiped down the blade, then checked it for damage and found… nothing. He turned it slowly back and forth, letting the light of the moon slide along its length, around the tip, and back down the other side. Not a single nick or cut broke the razor edge, and its surface was as polished and smooth as the day Fendrick had given it to him, despite all he had done with it. He regarded it thoughtfully for a moment, then returned it to its sheath.
The forest was quiet and still, reminding him that it was time to sleep. He let his senses extend through the woods but felt nothing that should not be there. Goblins could see better than humans in the dark, yet rarely ventured out once the sun went down, so they should be safe. Still, he decided to sleep only in short spells.
The damp chill in the air sent a shiver down his back, and he quietly swept leaves around and over his legs and stomach. With a sigh, he made himself as comfortable as possible and waited.
He woke her the next morning, as soon as there was enough light to see where they were walking.
Before setting out, he disguised their makeshift campsite by s
preading out the leaves they had slept on and eliminating any trace of their presence. Kataria looked at him strangely as he did so but offered no comment. The dark circles under her eyes and slowness in her step underscored how great a toll the previous day had taken.
Tormjere began at a slow pace, and they made frequent stops. Thick clouds gathered throughout the morning, blocking the sun and keeping the woods cool.
Kataria’s boots were ill suited to the rocky terrain, and by the time they had gone over one ridge and down the other side, most of the day was gone. When they stopped at a merrily bubbling stream to drink, she sat on a downed tree with a grimace of pain.
“Take them off, and let me see.”
Kataria removed her boots tenderly. The silken socks underneath were worn through in multiple places and her feet were red.
“You don’t have any blisters yet, but you’re getting close. Put your feet in the water and let them soak.”
Kataria hobbled on tiptoes towards the stream, attempting to avoid rocks and roots with her delicate bare feet. She stepped in up to her ankles, and immediately sucked in her breath.
“Oh, that is cold!”
Tormjere grinned. “Feels good, doesn’t it? It should help a bit.” He dug in the bag that was wrapped inside his cloak. “I have an extra pair of wool socks that you can use.”
While she tended to her feet, Tormjere gathered blackberries to supplement what little food he carried. It was still too early in the season and there weren’t many to be found, but there would be plenty to eat in Kenzing.
When he finished, Kataria was still standing in the creek, lost in thought. Tormjere handed her the berries and a piece of bread as hard as the rocks she stood on.
“Soak it until it softens enough to chew. Once we make this climb, we’ll be in the valley proper and our path will become easier.”
“I do not understand how you can know where you are,” she said, looking up at the peaks and ridges around them. There were trees everywhere she turned and not the first hint of road or trail, just the ever-steepening slope. “I am unable to see more than a few feet ahead.”