by Justin Kauer
“It seems that after your tangle with OoftHall, you were allowed to rest in the carriage that . . . the one we tried to steal. I know because I was summoned for questioning about the nearest source of water. I was about to tell them that the Sea of Desolation was only a few days’ ride from here, as a joke that would probably have gotten me beaten about. Suddenly, however, the rest of the party with which you were traveling arrived. There was a long discussion about all that had happened. The leader of the caravan . . . what is his name?”
“Decebal?”
“Yes. That is he. He began to talk about you and that you should be feeling up to getting about your duties.”
“Well, he’s been injured again after a battle that saved your daugh . . . Joan’s life.” Ryan had said.
“He started to say daughter, and then stopped and used her name?” asked Alban.
“Yes. I found that odd, as well,” explained Wafflestonks.
“It just means that he trusts me.” asserted Alban. “Please go on.”
“Huh? Oh, Joan . . . How is . . . she?” dissimulated Decebal.
“Thanks to Alban, she is unscathed. Who knows what would have happened to her had he not been there to stop them!”
“To stop whom?” asked Decebal.
“The thieves! No one has told you?”
“Apparently not.”
“Wow! Where do I begin? He single-handedly took the whole band of the Desert Thieves of Verdis GranSecas.” Ryan exclaimed.
“Single-handedly? A slave took the Thieves of Verdis GranSecas? I highly doubt that!”
“Well, then you highly doubt the truth when it stares you in the face!” Ryan sparred back, perceptibly displeased at the impunity of his honor.
“You mean to tell me that that boy took on the greatest menace east of the Barrgle Mountains and, not only did he live, but he managed to capture them all?”
“Boy? Hardly!” Ryan quipped.
“Well, he looks quite young,” Decebal explained.
“I don’t know about that. Anyway, my men and I came riding up at the end. We saw him riding out of the basin on top of my carriage with a sword at the throat of their leader. If you don’t believe me, Joan can confirm all of my words and more, as she was there in the wagon, you’ll remember.”
“No, I do not remember that!” snarled Decebal. “I told her to . . .”
“There was no time! If she hadn’t gotten into the wagon, she could be dead right now. It turns out that by making that one calculation, she saved herself and possibly the rest of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if she had not gotten into the wagon, perhaps Alban should not have fought so bravely. Their leader was astonished at the ease with which he cut though his best men — with an ease that he had only seen one place. Oh, he’s right here, just ask him.”
“How can I trust the word of a thief? And why did you?” snarled Decebal.
“As I have stated, I saw these things with my own two eyes.”
“You said that you came riding up after the fact, as he was leaving!”
“Well, I do have two good eyes! There were also the men that he left bloody and bruised, though he took care not to slay them, which he could have easily done.”
Decebal, stood, weighing the story and his options. At length, he offered, “Perhaps he has made a deal with these men to bring us all into some sort of trap!”
“Yes! It’s a trap which involves being captured and losing a dozen men in an attempt to escape. Then they lie in wait for an Effulgian army to come and take them all to prison or the gallows! Ah, the intricacies and cunning of those thieves’ plan! Just when we think that we have them, they line up to die! The irony of it all astounds me! And, to think that you have so masterfully smelled the whole plot out within seconds of having arrived! Amazing!”
Alban laughed at both the remarks that Ryan had made to Decebal and the joy with which Wafflestonks related the tale. “He said all that, did he?”
“Yes, he did, good sir. Yes he did!” laughed Wafflestonks.
“Look, they are still trapped in this basin.” continued Ryan. “Besides, one of the thieves tried to kill Alban — twice. He finally was dealt with when he overpowered a guard, took his sword, and tried to take Alban out from behind. The man has eyes in the back of his head, I tell you, and the reflexes that make a goitercat look slow. I thought that he was a dead man, as he was rushed from behind. He was a flash of lightning, and the thief lay there dead.”
“I don’t pay you for your insolence!” growled Decebal.
“No. You pay me to keep you in the money. You need me more than I need you. Without me, you would never have gotten the Darvanian account and well over half of the others. You have the capital; I’ll give you that, although you do owe me greatly, as well. I should like to settle with you now.”
“You should like to settle? Who have you been talking to that you have acquired such manners?”
“I have been speaking with Alban. He merely reminds me of things that I already knew,” explained Ryan.
“You really are taken with this slave, aren’t you?”
“I do respect the man most thoroughly. He is no longer a slave, by the way. I have released him from bonds. You can take that out of the wages and other monies that you owe me if you should like.”
“You cannot release another man’s slave!”
Ryan paused to sigh in disgust at having to correct Decebal yet again; then he offered in rebuttal, “I am a legal agent for the company. I have the legal authority to bind or release slaves for this company in this or any other state in which we do business. You know that.”
Decebal stood thinking too long but came up with a brilliantly evil idea. “I bought this slave with my own personal money. That means that he is my personal slave, and as such, you have no power to free him.”
“From whom did you buy him? Do you have the bill of sale?”
“A slaver needs no receipt!”
“He does if he plans to use him as his personal slave, Decebal! You know the law!”
“Ryan, don’t push me in front of the men like this.” Decebal half-begged.
“Look, I am not the only one to have figured out certain things about you. A lot of us know that you are having legal problems that are catching up with you. You owe a lot of money due to your gambling and drinking, as well. You have swindled quite a few, which further accounts for your need to send me along in front of you to carry out your dealings. Even after all that I do for you and this slaver camp, you are running it into the ground. Then someone comes along like Alban to whom the men can look up and it makes your cause even more uninviting. As it stands, I will see you to Darvania, and then I want my money. I know that you have it there in your “secret” stash. In fact, at first light . . .”
“At first light, what?!” Decebal bellowed menacingly.
“At first light, we must be gone from here. There is an Effulgian army about to descend on this area; I do not intend to be here when it does.”
“You’ll do as I say while you are in my caravan, or you can travel these deserts alone!”
“If I must do so to avoid a confrontation with the Effulgians, I will gladly travel alone. The ferocious desert predators are tame compared with them and their famed skill is unmatched.”
“They may be grateful for the capture of these thieves, though.” grinned Decebal.
“It would be a fool’s errand to seek for a reward from them. Especially with all of the turbulence that has been brewing in their kingdom, what with all of the rebellions and battles. And you should do well to remember that they are fresh from battles. They would need no time to knock the rust from their swords, only time to clean the blood from their blades after the battle. They have gone against the best that the world has had and beaten them soundly.
“You must be thoroughly desperate to even consider waiting for a reward.” Ryan continued. “Why
is that? What have you done?”
Decebal thought for a moment, shuffling the sand anxiously. All that he could come up with was, “I don’t answer to you, Ryan.”
“You will, Decebal. Sooner or later, you will answer to me. Withhold a tinkle of my money, and you will answer me much sooner.” Ryan said in somberly cold tones. Then he asked, “Well . . . what are you going to do?”
“You’ll get your money!” growled Decebal, as he turned to leave.
“I know that. I have said as much! I want to know if you are going to leave in the morning or stay here to die.” When Decebal did not answer nor turn around, Ryan added, “Like I said, I will get my money at Darvania either way.”
“So . . . we are awaiting the outcome of that conversation?” Alban asked Wafflestonks.
“No, my friend, we are not. Ryan has gone earlier today with his men. They set out at first light. They are probably half way across the desert toward Darvania.”
“So, he just left me here in bonds and fled?”
“No. He left with great threats that you were not to be touched. He even left his carriage for you to ride in until you got better. Then he said that Joan could ride in it the rest of the way to Darvania.”
“She is still with the caravan? Is Decebal mad? How could he risk getting her hurt or even killed like that?”
“I have to wonder myself, though I do not have such a great interest in it.”
“Ah! Then you have not seen her up close! He is probably going to try and use her as a shield against you. He did take great notice when Ryan told him about your skill against my . . . the . . . well, I guess that they are your bandits.” Wafflestonks corrected himself.
“Well, my friend, we both must get well clear from here as well. When the Effulgians get here, we may both be dead. Until I know why it was that I was being taken away from the burning towers of Effulgia’s main castle and by whom, it will be impossible to know whom to trust and who will recognize me before I should remember them. Anyone could be placed in my way, only to lure me into a trap.”
“You are surely not suggesting that I am trying to trap you!”
“Good! I had never even wanted to do so.” laughed Alban.
Just then, Alban heard Joan’s voice; it sounded quite distressed. He looked around to see where she was, but she was hidden from view. He decided that the sound was coming from Ryan’s wagon.
“Please, please, please . . .” he heard her say.
“No!” yelled Decebal, followed by a string of stuttering, slurred speech, for he was obviously very drunk.
He stumbled out of the carriage . . . well, it is much better stated that he fell, really, right on his face. From the light of the greater moon and the torches placed on the carriage, Alban could tell that his nose was bloodied quite badly.
“Actually, the moon that is called the greater moon is said by astronomers to be smaller than the small moon, but it is much farther away in its orbit around the planet.” the old king explained to the audience gathered around the fire.
“What?” asked a few of his listeners in near synchronicity.
“The moon that we call the greater moon is actually smaller than the smaller one. It just seems bigger because it is closer. Anyway, Alban was not thinking about those things (the size of the moons) at that moment. He was anxious to get clear of his present predicament and to see about getting Joan and Wafflestonks out of the basin area and out of that infernal desert.” the old king began anew.
Decebal had not noticed the fact that his nose was bleeding until one of the guards pointed it out to him.
“Look what you made me do, you crav-murdeling wench!” he yelled to Joan. “Get out here and clean me up!”
Alban found himself on his feet.
“No, I will not!” was the answer that he received from Joan.
A nearby guard came over to Alban. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked menacingly.
“Get out here now, or do I have to drag you out and have you whipped?” bellowed Decebal.
Joan just screamed in return.
“I was going to get these ropes cut off. They are really a bother.” Alban stated to the guard.
“Oh, they are, are they?” was the reply as he came closer.
Alban replied a different way. He made his hands into fists and jumped forward and up, smashing right into the guard’s jaw with both hands. The taller man fell to the ground without a vocal sound, though he was a big man and made a good thud as his huskiness hit hard on the basin floor. Alban grabbed for his sword, but the guard was not unconscious and he grabbed the hilt just as Alban was pulling it from the scabbard. The sword’s blade was still out far enough that Alban was able to cut the ropes from around his wrists. As the guard tried to pull the sword free from its scabbard, Alban grabbed the guard’s right hand with his left, trapping the blade in its sheath. Alban's right hand grabbed a rock and then hit the guard’s head with it hard enough to send him out cold — this time.
Decebal pulled out his whip and ordered the guards to bring Joan out of the carriage.
“If you have to . . . or got to . . . yank ‘er hair out to get ‘er out here, do it!” he stammered.
Alban ran as fast as he could, but he was still weak from the loss of blood, and it was hard to get his feet to move, let alone run. It was like a nightmare in which you have no strength, but you still have to try your best to get free of the pursuing monster or monsters. By then, the guards had pulled Joan out of the carriage.
“Tie ‘er to that tree . . . er captus . . . cactsus.”
As the guards had nothing with which to tie her, they stood there for a moment, looking around as if to find a convenient desert vine (which does not grow in that particular desert). Decebal lost his patience and told them to hold her arms out with her back to him; they obliged timidly, as they knew how drunk he was. He brought the whip back, but as he tried to bring it crashing down on Joan’s back, he found that it would not budge. He pulled a couple of times but found that it did no good. Then he turned around to see Alban there, holding the whip. He gave the whip a tug and it flew out of Decebal’s hand.
“You should know better than to attempt to beat someone of royal blood! It is against the law and could carry the penalty of death.”
“Who’s a gunna to enflorce sucha law out here?” Decebal reeked out through his clenched teeth.
The guards threw Joan to the ground and began to draw their swords.
“Do not do it!” warned Alban.
One of them went for his sword anyway, Alban let the whip fly and it caught the guard with a loud snap on his sword hand. If only it had been the guard that was drawing his sword!
“Hey!” said the guard, wincing in pain. “I had stopped!”
The other guard also stopped in confusion. He had no way of telling if that display was on purpose, or if Alban was just horrible with a whip. The surprised look on Alban’s face gave the secret away, so he drew his sword and began to get into a more advantageous position. Alban swung the whip again and hit Decebal in the chest with another loud crack of the whip. This time, Alban covered a bit better by raising an eyebrow as if in a challenge for the guard to try him. Decebal passed out cold.
“Drop your sword!” Alban insisted.
The guard actually followed his order. As the sword fell, Alban began to sense his vision narrow, and he began to tremble. He did not pass out immediately, but he was too weak to stand any longer without doing so. Joan saw his state and ran to help him.
“Help me to get him into the wagon!” she yelled at the guard that was not whipped.
The one who had been whipped responded. The two of them each grabbed an arm and placed it around their respective shoulders. They dragged Alban to the carriage and hoisted him up into it. Then the guard placed him back on the bed and began to leave.
“I’ll need boiling water and bandages!” Joan ordered with a snarl.
“Yes, my lady.” he half-whispered. Then he offered, “I do apologize for my actions. I didn’t know you were of royal blood, or I would never have laid a finger on you.”
“I can tell that you are sincere. That one will be answered by Decebal,” answered Alban for Joan.
“My lady?” pressed the guard.
Joan took a few seconds to swallow her pride.
“That is fine.” she began. “We will have no further problems, will we?” she asked with a glance that showed a mix of compassion for the guard and a firm resolve to be respected in the future.
“That is no way to treat any woman.” insisted Alban.
“You are right. I just . . .”
“You just know how Decebal gets when he is drunk,” Joan explained for the guard.
“Yes. I suppose. It still is no excuse. Again I beg your pardon, my lady.”
“Quite so. Just get the water and bandages and we will be at peace.” she returned.
“Yes, my lady. Thank you for understanding, Lady Joan.” the guard offered as he withdrew.
Joan nodded, and then went back to attending her now a perfectly professional patient. She had him turn from his side to his stomach in order to get a better look at his wound. As she lifted his shirt, she gasped at the sight. The gash had been opened again, and it looked to be badly infected.
“You could use spider webbing to help against the infection,” Alban suggested.
“What?” Joan asked. “Are you delirious?”
“I am definitely delirious in my devotion to you . . . Lady Joan.” Alban flirted.
“You can save such flattery for drunken barmaids! You are not getting out of things that easily!”
“Why would I flatter a drunken barmaid? What do you mean? Oh! I tried not to give your royal blood away. I mean, I was only trying to help. I mean . . . you were not whipped, right? Look, I care about you, and it is not just because you are the only woman that I know. I honestly cannot say if I have ever felt this way about another before . . .”
“I will not stand by and watch as you put your life in jeopardy time and time again!” Joan interrupted, whisper-screaming between clenched teeth so as not to be heard outside of the carriage but still convey great displeasure.
“Then we understand each other! Tell me how Decebal was not going to have you lashed because of your involvement with me. Tell me that you were not going to take the beating for my sake!” Alban countered. Then he calmed himself a bit and said, “I am sorry to have to break this to you again, Joan, but there is love between us. Worse yet, it is a selfless love. I would easily lay down my life for you . . . and I believe that you would do the same for me.”
Great tears welled up inside of those gorgeous eyes that made Joan’s face the envy of the greater moon. Soon streams of tears were flowing down her soft, fragile cheeks.
“I was jesting about that being bad news, Joan. I happen to be ecstatic at the thought.” Alban began. Then a realization escaped his mouth before he could stop it, “You are betrothed . . . to a king!”
Great sobs came from Joan as she hid her face from Alban’s view. Alban tried to reach out to her in comfort but had not the strength. Joan saw his outstretched hand and shrank away.
“You had to ruin everything! Do you think that I did not notice the feelings that grew within my own breast? Do you think that I have not been tortured at the notion of falling so deeply in love with . . . with a slave! It has tormented my soul from the minute you first saved my life at the raiding of my caravan as I traveled to meet my future husband, a skirmish which you obviously do not remember. I have since lost count how many times you have saved my life.”
“You have saved my life, as well, probably more times than I remember.”
“Stop it!” Joan sobbed. “You have made it all melt before my eyes! The whole world that was before me! We were to go away together — somewhere no one knew us at all. You speak foreign languages, as do I. We could have blended into the fabric of some countryside and lived out our days in peace as man and wife. You just could not keep that mouth of yours shut.”
“No. I could not.” Alban countered. “I could not sit and watch as you were whipped for having helped me as you have. I could not be held by bonds or sickness. That is the veritable truth!”
“Hang your truth! The truth is that I have never been happier than I have been as I attended to a slave’s wounds — the slave that loved me and whom I loved most dearly! You have melted my dreams away into water that is slipping through my fingers!”
“You, dear Joan, have warmed my heart so that it burns brightly within me! I could never look back on these days with any degree of sorrow.” Alban paused a moment and then added softly, “I do not mean to make things any more difficult for you, Joan. As for the truth, that is all that has really spilled out of your heart in this matter. No real harm has been done by our admission of feelings, one for another.”
“Can we still just leave and find a place where we can live in peace?”
“I am sorry, Joan. It could be, from what Wafflestonks has told me, that there is war brewing in Effulgia. It could easily be so in other lands as well. For all I know your abduction (at least from your kingdom’s point of view) could be at the heart of it. Could you live in peace knowing that, by doing so, many families would suffer the loss of their husbands, fathers, and sons in order to win your peace? I know that you could not. You are too noble for that.”
“But they would not know that I am nobility!” argued Joan in despair.
“I was speaking of the character trait!” Alban feigned laughter and then lowered his head in sadness, saying, “And you know it!”
“How did you know, anyway?”
“That you are an honorable person? You show . . .”
“No!” Joan interrupted. “I mean, how did you know that I am of royal birth?”
“I had forgotten that I had a most beautiful dream one night, in which you were to be married. You wore a bright crown upon your head and you looked like a most precious angel. There was great joy in your eyes as you took your husband’s hand in marriage. Though, in my dream, your hand was scarred; yet your king loved you all the more. I awoke with such a great peace deeply emanating from my heart, that I must believe it will come true. I am sorry that it must be so, but God has deemed you fit to be happily married to that man. Shall I attempt to turn back the hand of God? Will you?”
Joan’s tears flowed even more freely. She could not decide exactly how to feel at the moment. She ran out of the carriage, leaving the door wide open.
“Joan! Joan! I was not finished!” Alban yelled after her, but she would not turn back.
Alban thought long and hard on that last bit. He could not understand why he had been shown that particular dream. He tried to figure out what it had to do with him. That was when Alban’s strength left him and he either slept or went unconscious.
Chapter Thirteen – Déjà Vu