by Lana Nielsen
The lead raider took up his sword, but didn’t bother putting his pants back on. His privates dangling about with each step, Arithel decided she’d try her damndest to cut them off.
“That’s my fecking brother, you cunt!” The raider screamed at her, beating on his chest. The blond lad was gravely injured yet still alive. He curled into a fetal position and thrashed about the ground, vomiting twice as he bled out. Bits of his scrambled guts had slipped from his wound.
“He deserves to die, just as you will,” Arithel answered.
Confidence surged through her.
The man swung his broadsword at her head. She ducked and attempted to slash at his thighs whilst she was still low to the ground. He stabbed at her but she parried the blow with all her strength. Her arms trembled under his blade’s brute force, but she continued to grip her slender knife as tightly as was possible. As he hacked at her torso, she nimbly jumped to the side and dealt a shallow cut to his cheek. She had been aiming for his eye, but any injury would do when it came to this piece of filth.
Her triumph was short-lived. The raider flew into a narrow-eyed rage and aggressively swung his sword at her neck. It exhausted her, body and mind, to dodge each near-fatal blow, and she found herself being backed to the precipice of the bluffs. The river was a good sixty feet below. She furiously lashed at her assailant like a drowning cat might with its claws. But it was to no avail, and soon enough there was nowhere to go. The raider sensed this and paused to wipe the blood from his face.
“Run, Anoria!” Arithel shouted as she nervously glanced at the inky water so far below. The raider reared his sword high. Arithel closed her eyes in preparation for the killing blow. However, instead of cutting her down with his blade, he simply kicked her in the center of the chest. She tumbled off the side of the cliff.
“Freeze in hell, sweetheart!” he yelled as she careened through the air. Arithel still had her knife in hand. She braced herself for impact, expecting to hit one of the many rocks jutting from the river.
Instead she was greeted with a plunge into icy waters. She slipped far beneath the surface, seemingly sinking for an eternity as the cold temperature heightened her senses. She opened her eyes but could see absolutely nothing beyond a never-ending blackness. She briefly considered that she was dead and this was her passage to the otherworld. She kicked towards the surface desperately.
At last she surfaced, gasping for air. Her extremities were already beginning to numb and her teeth chattered. She treaded water, trying to scope out an escape from the river. Tremendous guilt knotted in her throat as she thought of the hell Anoria would be going through. In frustration, Arithel hit at the water repeatedly, knife still in hand. When she regained her senses, she tucked it in her belt. She noticed she was swiftly drifting away from the craggy riverbanks; she was caught in the Black River’s current. With a shudder, she recalled dumping the changeling woman’s body into the same river three years ago. It was a horrible irony.
If she didn’t find a way out soon, she’d die of hypothermia. She swam furiously for the far side of the river. The embankment was less steep there and there were more shrubs and stunted trees to grab hold of. She was shivering and aching but kept going. The swim was much further than it looked. Her strength began to wane about halfway across.
“Come on. Come on!” she told herself as she gritted her teeth. She swam more slowly and methodically to conserve energy. A few large boulders rose above the waters a few yards away.
This is a good development, she hazily thought. She could grab one and rest a bit to recover her strength. She smiled to herself as she clung to the slab of rock. She attempted to scramble to the top but her hands and feet were useless with chill. She gazed up at the sky and saw stars, though she knew it was impossible because of the dust. Yet even the moon was now gleaming brighter and bigger than ever. It is a miracle, she thought. She found herself gradually drifting into some dreamlike state as she continued to tread water. All the sudden she heard Anoria call her name, and a pale light approached. Something splashed nearby—a fish, perhaps.
“Are you all right?” Anoria asked, in her cool, sweet voice.
“I’m fine. No worse for the wear,” Arithel answered with a laugh. Suddenly she felt something encircle her waist, and she was moving towards the far side of the river again. She reached it before she expected.
“I knew I’d make it,” she muttered. She felt a hand brush across her face, then slap it. She then realized someone had helped her swim across. She looked up and saw only the blurry outline of a man. It was too dark. The moon and stars were gone now. The man hoisted her body across his shoulders and laboriously ascended the embankment. When they reached the top, there was a fire. The man laid her beside the fire and prepared some sort of concoction in a metal bowl over the flames. He poured it into a little cup, and brought it to her lips, forcing the hot liquid down her throat. Within minutes she passed out and the warmth of the liquid enveloped her body.
***
Arithel was dizzy when she awoke. Her eyes tried to close and she felt as if she were drifting between worlds. It was daylight now, yet everything still looked dim and foggy. The events of the preceding night immediately flooded back, overwhelming her with visceral waves of anger and grief.
She sat up. Her limbs were heavy, yet she felt oddly content and comfortable. She realized she was naked beneath the fur blanket wrapped tightly around her.
She blushed as she saw that Fallon was seated close by, tending to fish frying in a cast iron skillet over the campfire.
“You saved me last night.” The words formed slowly in her mouth.
“I suppose you could say that,” he answered without looking at her.
“How did you find me? How did you know I was there?” she questioned, finding the coincidence uncanny.
“You were glowing.”
“What?” Arithel laughed, but stopped in understanding. The necklace, the changeling woman’s stone; it must have glowed when she was in peril just as it had when the changeling woman passed into the next life.
“Give back my stone,” she stated darkly. Fallon strode towards her and dropped it in her outstretched palm.
“You shouldn’t have touched it. It’s cursed,” she added.
“Seems more blessed to me. I thought you merely found it in a streambed.” He lifted an eyebrow. She looked away and pulled the blanket closer about her.
“Thank you. I owe you my life,” she told him gravely.
“It’s all right, Arithel. I’m only returning a long overdue favor,” he said, offering a piece of fish. She picked at it but found it hard to eat considering the circumstances.
“What happened to you, Ari? Why were you nearly dead in the Black River?”
There was almost an expression of pity in his eyes, a look she didn’t like.
Arithel laughed nervously. “It’s far worse than what you’re probably thinking.”
“Well, go on...”
“Anoria ended up journeying with me after all. She was on guard, probably not doing a good job, and I was asleep. Three raiders showed up. They took all our things and Anoria too. I really don’t know what happened to her. I, er, injured one of them badly when I was trying to stop them from… The brother—he kicked me into the river. He wanted me to freeze to death, I suppose. That’s what he said, at least. Or mayhap he just didn’t want to leave a dead body as evidence alongside the road. I don’t know. All I know is that I probably caused a worse fate for Anoria by fighting.” She rehashed the story very quickly, adding, “I’m surprised I even recall this. In the river, I saw the moon and stars again. I was halfway to the otherworld, I reckon.”
Fallon’s chin rested in his hand. “I’m sorry, Arithel. You’re wrong in thinking it was in any way your fault. You did the best you could. You did the honorable thing.”
“I practically pestered her to death to get her on the road with me. And now she’s gone.”
It seemed Fallon was unsure how to res
pond. Hell, she was unsure. It was all so overwhelming; everything had happened so fast. A shameful thought crossed her mind. How was she supposed to explain this to her family, to the village? Arithel bit her fingernails. She did not want to cry in front of him.
“You drugged me last night, didn’t you? What was that stuff?” She tried to distract herself.
He nodded slowly. “It helped to warm you and relieve pain. It’s a paste made from poppy oil. The effects should wear off by tonight.”
“Ahh. And you took my clothes off while I was drugged?” she raised her brows.
Fallon stared at the ground with an emotionless expression.
“They were cold and wet. I had to.”
“Oh, I’m not critical, just curious. Modesty is the least of my current concerns.”
Fallon paused for a second, “I can escort you back to Portreath whenever you’re ready.”
“Portreath?” Arithel spat. “Why on earth would I go back there?”
“It’s your home,” he said, his voice cracking.
“I can’t go back without her. She’s still out there, going through Agron knows what.”
“We must inform the proper authorities, Arithel. My father, the constables...they can set up a search party, to see if she’s still alive.”
“Go, inform them. Hopefully they’ll actually do something, but I have my doubts. Meanwhile, I’ll be on the road,” Arithel said, fantasizing about a bloody and drawn out revenge against the highwaymen.
Fallon swallowed hard. “You’re being irresponsible. And reckless. You need rest and time to clear your head.”
She shrugged “So be it. I’m not going back; I’m not telling anyone anything just yet. This disaster will be yet another black mark on my name. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly welcome in Portreath these days. You think I can waltz back home and casually inform my parents of the horror that befell their second daughter? You think I could explain this to her sisters in the nunnery? They’d find some way to send me to the stocks!” Her jaw was clenched and her hands trembled as she popped her knuckles.
“You’re not going to get very far with no money, no protection...”
“I’ll find a way. I always do.” Her eyes were blazing. After a few seconds of silence, she asked, “Have you heard of Altinsayah? That’s where the men said they’d sell us. They were slavers, Elinmoorian ones judging by their accents. The ferryman warned me back in Verdana, but I didn’t believe him.”
She took great care to speak in a calm, measured voice while terrible visions of Anoria swarmed in her head.
“Altinsayah is the name of Tiresias’s work camps, a complex of mines at the southern reaches of Elinmoor, almost to the border with Ialori. The locals call it the Valley of Death—most of those sent there don’t last a year. At first, it was solely a holding area for Tiresias’s political enemies… but as they died off, the Nureenians began paying handsomely for any warm body delivered there. It’s brutal, back-breaking work, the worst on the continent—no one knows why, but the slaves are put to work extracting salt and some sort of black sludge that is shipped to Nureen. Women who are sent there fare even worse. I’m sure you can imagine why. But there’s no guarantee these men will take her there, even if they talked of it. Altinsayah is many hundreds of miles overland, and slavery exists underground anywhere you care to look hard enough, even here in Neldor. They could smuggle her onto a ship bound for Ialori, Paden… maybe even beyond the continent,” Fallon told her.
Arithel shook her head and said: “It’s settled—Anoria must be headed to Altinsayah. I will go there and I will save her. I am nothing if I don’t at least try. Surely you understand, Fallon.”
Fallon sighed and brushed away a lock of hair that was hanging in front of her eyes. “I won’t stop you, nor tell anyone what happened.”
“Thank you.” She looked up at her friend with deep gratitude and watched as he slowly pulled his hand away.
“But.” He fished a pipe, jar, and measuring spoon from his nearby pack. He lined the bowl with a layer of crushed dried leaves, and carefully meted out pinches of a sticky, dark paste. He lit the mixture in the bowl, and the scent of opium drifted through the air. Arithel figured he was fond of the stuff since his nurse administered it as medicine so often in his youth. She was surprised he remained alert when he indulged.
“Yes?”
“I can’t take it upon my conscience to let you go alone.”
Arithel bit her lip. Truly, his help was welcome, but she feigned otherwise and shook her head. “I’ll manage.”
Fallon exhaled fragrant curls of smoke. “I’ll go with you. I’ll take you to Altinsayah, if that is really what you want to do.”
“No, Fallon, you’ve your own affairs to attend to. No need to waste more time on a commoner’s. I’d rather not be indebted to you my entire life.”
“I was only brief with you at the wedding because my mother had her eyes on me the entire time. She never liked you like my father did. She’s always been mad.” He prodded at the dirt with the end of a broken stick.
“Why are you bringing this up now?” she asked incredulously.
Fallon only sighed. ”Do you want my help or not?”
“I do. I just wonder how it’d ever be possible to repay you,” she said politely.
“You don’t have to,” he replied, just as she expected. He glanced up at her with a strange expression.
“Well, actually, there is something you can do—if you want, that is.” He chose his words carefully. Arithel noticed that his voice was suddenly clear and poised.
She nodded, genuinely surprised he had something in mind.
“I’m collecting an important package in Aelfelm, a tiny village in the north of Elinmoor. I need to take it back to my employer in Paden. Hostile conditions might arise. I need an assistant I know for certain can be trusted. Someone who can do what is asked without question.”
“You need a servant,” Arithel said with a slight laugh.
“Not a servant, an assistant,” he clarified.
She paused to think. “It’s all quite vague, but… fine. It’s not as if my land is still waiting. I’m sure my evening swim ruined the deed.” She joked, although it was painful. A damned deed that was now ruined anyway was ultimately the cause of her sister’s disappearance. It wasn’t as if she could return to Karidan and ask for a new one after she had betrayed his trust. All the money she had accepted in that bribe, too, was gone with the raiders.
“Not entirely, actually. I found it tucked into your shift. It is badly damaged but perhaps salvageable. I laid it out to dry with your clothes.”
She should have been encouraged by this development but she cared little.
“I suppose it’ll still be waiting when I return after all,” she muttered.
Fallon smiled slightly. “We have an agreement.”
“Aye, we do,” Arithel said. “You help me however you can, and I help you however I can, all the way to Paden.”
He nodded slowly. The firelight flickered in his pale eyes. She offered her hand properly and he shook it. They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. Arithel felt relieved to have a plan, to have purpose again.
“Fallon?” she asked as a thought occurred to her. “How did you happen to be traveling so close to the spot where I fell into the river? Close enough that you happened to see the glow of my stone?”
“Fate? Chance? Who knows? I was merely on my way to Aelfelm.”
“Ah. Would it not have been faster to take a more direct and southerly route?” she asked, visualizing the map of Neldor and the Elinmoorian borderlands that hung on the wall of Sir Karidan’s office. She remembered the location of the rural wheat-growing district where the town of Aelfelm lay. It was called simply ‘The Farmlands.’
Fallon seemed astounded that she had even pointed it out. “Would you rather me have not been there, Ari?”
“I wasn’t suggesting that. Mere curiosity, my friend. I am grateful no mat
ter why,” she said, searching his eyes for answers.
Fallon didn’t look back at her, but his posture straightened a little.
Chapter Six
“It is truly a blessing from Madroste that the Queen didn’t lose her babe,” said Selka, Glorun’s primary lady-in-waiting. Selka was a happily married woman in her mid-thirties. She had sparkling blue eyes and sleek light brown hair. Glorun enjoyed her company but found it difficult to relate to a woman two decades older than herself.
“My heart nearly stopped when I saw all of that blood,” Glorun agreed, not divulging that the only reason she was concerned was because she feared she would somehow get blamed for what had happened.
Due to occasional unexplained episodes when her eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth frothed, and her limbs flailed violently, she was an easy target for any number of malicious rumors at court. Her family claimed that during these episodes, furniture would shake, wind would blow swiftly indoors, and fires would fizzle out by themselves. Glorun had no memory of such occasions and was unsure if these stories were true. All she could ever recall was being overwhelmed by a nauseous, light-headed sensation where she lost mental and visual focus. She’d awaken hours later in her bed.
It was said that her condition was part of a curse set on her family when her father accidentally married his half-sister, and refused to leave her even when the high cleric told him the truth. It was also whispered that this curse was the reason for Wulfdane’s frightening and irrational bursts of anger. Even if her family was cursed, as the folk of Staska seemed to think, it did not bother Glorun in the least. So what if her parents had been siblings? Many of the gods themselves knowingly wed their sisters. The Dusaldrs had the divine right to do as they pleased.
Selka sewed silver threads along the edges of a black field of cloth. The two women were weaving a standard for the King’s guard. The last one had been torn a month prior when Nureenian settlers had defeated Wulfdane’s army in South Paden, stealing yet another bit of territory in the Shadow Mountains. This time, they had taken the third most important pass in the entire range. More misfortune was bound to follow unless Morden was able to find the hidden weapon he always bragged about to the king.