The Dimming Sun

by Lana Nielsen

  As soon as it was over, Mira turned her back on him and dressed. Her face was sullen and her jaw was clenched.

  “Thank you, Mira. I appreciate it,” Fallon told her in a cordial tone.

  “You’re welcome,” she growled.

  “I expect you to keep this between us; your debt is repaid. We don’t have to do this again. Unless you ask, of course.” He laughed.

  “How considerate.” Mira sneered and fisted her hands against her hips. “Do you even like women?”

  Fallon glared. “Of course. What kind of question is that?”

  “Have you ever had a woman?” she asked.

  “What should it matter?” he replied. “I just don’t prefer to dally around with the act. Sex is just an urge. I apologize if you aren’t accustomed to it; I figured you were, with your past.”

  “You know nothing about me or my past. Good night,” Mira said, her voice trembling.

  She stomped through the woods. Darren crouched lower so that she wouldn’t see him.

  He wondered what Arithel would think.

  ***

  The travelers rose an hour after dawn the next morning. Arithel yawned, and realizing her canteen was empty, set off for a nearby stream that branched off the River Thespolid.

  “Mind if I join you?” Fallon asked.

  “Of course not,” she answered. He had been unusually chatty last night when he and Mira had finally returned. Arithel was surprised his good mood had carried over into the morning.

  On the other hand, both Mira and Darren had been sour. She had put little effort into dinner and made Fallon serve himself. Darren had been quiet, staring into the distance.

  “Do you ever wonder what is going on back home?” Arithel asked Fallon as they hiked. “I’m thinking I should send a letter to my parents.”

  “I’m sure it’s the same as ever in Portreath. No doubt my father is still demanding of the townsfolk and my mother is still consorting with swindlers. As for spoiled Corinne, perhaps she is learning there is more to being wedded to a handsome commoner than the initial bliss. Hopefully his coarse manners have not already led to blows.”

  “Veseltes, huh?” Arithel almost rolled her eyes. “What I meant was, how do you think Arderon is doing? Do you think his delegates have been elected yet?”

  Fallon shrugged. “I’m sure everything is fine. All I’ve heard so far is that he’s expelled all the foreigners from Neldor, even the ones who—”

  A hoarse yell suddenly echoed through the valley. “Somebody help!” It was unmistakably Darren.

  “You hear that?” Arithel asked Fallon.

  “Aye,” he answered nervously.

  Without looking back at him, she drew her sword and took off running towards camp.

  When she arrived, she was greeted by the sight of Darren writhing on the ground in agony, blood soaking through his pants. A slit about four inches long had been cut into his upper left thigh, and it looked as if someone had tried to sever his femoral artery. His face was an odd shade of yellow, and he feebly hit his leg. He muttered prayers, pleading for solace from Agron and the saints.

  Fallon rushed behind Arithel, absolute horror in his eyes upon seeing Darren’s condition.

  “What happened?” she asked Darren, looking about in all directions for some clue.

  She sat beside him and examined his wound. He was losing a lot of blood, but it was not so deep a cut that it would be a death sentence.

  “Mira.” Darren grimaced and shakily pointed in the direction of the hills.

  “Of course, it was her,” Arithel spat. Anger rushed through her veins; her hands and face became hot. She had been so worried about Darren that she failed to register Mira was missing, along with most of their supplies. She had left the horse behind—probably because it wouldn’t cooperate. The saddle was gone, however.

  There was no way the petite woman could have escaped too far carrying all that, unless she had accomplices hidden somewhere.

  Fallon breathed in and out rapidly, and clutched his forehead.

  He drew his sword.

  Arithel reflexively grabbed his arm, her fingers encircling one of the silver braces on his wrists. “I have no idea how to treat this kind of wound. You stay here, tend to Darren. I’ll get Mira.”

  To her surprise, Fallon nodded in agreement. He looked incredibly bewildered, more proof to Arithel that Darren was of great value, and not just some unexpected traveling companion.

  She cursed as she realized that her bow and quiver had been taken along with their other things. She would have loved to cut down Mira from a distance, to watch her tumble into the leaves as an arrow pierced her deceptive back.

  Fallon pressed his hand against Darren’s injury and he screamed. Fallon took off his own belt and tied it around the top of Darren’s leg.

  “She took all the medicines, hold tight,” was the last thing Arithel heard Fallon say before she took off sprinting.

  Mira’s trail through the leaves was obvious. Arithel tripped over an upended root but quickly collected herself and resumed running. She channeled her anger and general disgust for Mira into determination. Mira seemed frail and ill. She could not be far.

  Arithel did not tire as she ran up the incline of the hill, the highest point in the whole river valley. A wood-cutter, one of the few Elinmoorians she had seen all morning, dropped his axe in surprise upon seeing her tear past him. He barked at her as the handle landed on his foot. She said nothing to him. Her heart swelled with the prospect of revenge, and her lungs expanded to take in more air. She ran in zig-zags to ascend the rise faster, something she had seen Neldorin soldiers do in military drills outside Northglade.

  When she reached the crest of the hill, she caught sight of Mira trudging down the slopes towards the river. Mira wasn’t in much of a hurry for someone who had just committed robbery and attempted murder—she was taking great care not to jostle the goods nestled in her arms. Both Arithel’s and Fallon’s packs were strapped to her back and several bags of coins were tucked into her belt, pockets, and shift. She had discarded a basket of food a quarter of the way down the hill—it lay in a scattered pile beside a birch tree.

  Arithel descended after Mira. She slid on her arse in several spots, having lost her footing on loose layers of leaves. But Arithel rebounded from the falls, using her momentum to attain greater speed. Mira did not notice Arithel coming until she was within about fifty paces. Mira ran, her arms flailing at her sides in an awkward gait. She dropped some of the supplies in an effort to run faster, but Arithel quickly caught up anyway. She charged at Mira and leaped towards her with both arms extended. Mira toppled over as gold and silver cuplets spilled across the ground.

  Arithel forced Mira onto her back, pinning the woman’s arms to the ground. Although Arithel was stronger, Mira did not go down without a struggle. Her fingers were free though her reach was limited, and she managed to tear out a few strands of Arithel’s hair. Arithel cursed. Mira slipped one hand free of Arithel’s grip. She pulled a knife from her belt and shoved it at the side of Arithel’s face, but Arithel quickly leaned back and deflected the blow, knocking the knife out of reach. When Mira kicked wildly at Arithel as a last resort, Arithel simply drew her sword and pressed the edge of her blade to Mira’s throat.

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t lie still,” Arithel warned. Her hand was unwavering.

  Mira struggled to break free one last time. Arithel cut a shallow line across the underside of her jaw. She had done it without thinking and was surprised she had been able to restrain herself from making a deeper cut.

  Mira sighed and laid her head back on the ground. The strained cords of her neck softened.

  She turned her head to the side to watch a passing flock of crows. “Go ahead. Finish it.”

  “I’m not going to kill you as long as you cooperate,” Arithel said, her blade still at Mira’s neck.

  “Why not? It’s better this way. You won’t have to go through the trouble of delivering me to the
sheriff for my crimes, and I don’t have to be hanged.”

  Arithel laughed.

  “You tried to kill my friend, and all you consider are your own affairs,” Arithel said. Mira closed her eyes and grimaced.

  “You must be afraid to do it,” Mira whispered.

  “No.” Arithel dug her knees into Mira’s ribs. “I’m just not letting you off that easy. Understand?”

  Arithel turned her sword around, gripping the blade carefully so as to not cut her palms, and bashed Mira in the head with the hilt. Mira looked dazed upon receiving the blow and her eyelids fluttered.

  “Before it’s over, you’re going to tell us why you did this. You’re going to tell us who you really are and what you have to do with that witch Elspeth,” Arithel said.

  “Elspeth—” Mira mumbled in confusion. Arithel struck her again, harder, so that Mira would be stunned long enough to tie her hands. The thudding blow to the top of Mira’s skull made Arithel cringe in spite of her zeal for revenge.

  ***

  Darren was barely lucid. He tried not to flinch as Fallon dressed his wound with a strip of cloth torn from his own tunic. The pressure of the bandage was uncomfortable. Every minute or two, Fallon would snap his fingers, peer into Darren’s eyes and ask him basic questions. Darren supposed Fallon was trying to keep him from passing out.

  Fallon forced Darren to smoke some of his opium, which helped to soothe the terrible pain from the cut. The wound still felt fresh and searing hot. Darren had never felt such pain in his entire life. He looked forward to Arithel’s return, knowing that Mira had taken most of their medicines. He was relieved when he saw Arithel walking towards them, their belongings at her back. Mira stumbled behind Arithel—her hands were bound by an improvised rope made from strips of knotted cloth and a belt.

  Arithel yanked on the rope to make Mira walk faster.

  It seemed unnecessarily cruel to Darren. Why couldn’t he be upset with his enemies? He supposed even Agron would interpret it as weakness. But the woman had been coerced into servicing Fallon the night before and bore awful scars that attested to the kind of life she came from.

  “Is he doing any better?” Arithel asked Fallon.

  The edges of Darren’s vision were becoming blurry. He couldn’t tell where her hair ended and her clothes began.

  “I think so. We need to get him somewhere warm with a roof over his head. If he rests for a few days and we keep the wound clean, he shouldn’t have any lasting damage.”

  Arithel kneeled over Darren and gently brushed the fringes of his hair from his forehead: “Do not worry, Darren, I found your attacker. She’ll get what she deserves. I promise you that we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Darren wanted to tell her to go easy on Mira, to tell her what he had seen last night, but it seemed inappropriate. The look in her dark eyes was so intense that he was afraid to say anything back—not to mention how difficult it was to speak through the excruciating waves of pain.

  Darren mouthed, “thanks.” Arithel nodded stalwartly and stood up. She tied Mira to the base of the tree, drawing her bonds tight. Mira alternated between mild protest and prayer.

  “I’ll get to you in a moment. I hope you’re ready.” Arithel completed the final knot. She cast one last glance of utter disgust and malice towards Mira. Poor Arithel, Darren thought. Arithel was not a cruel woman, but it was clear she didn’t mind acting that way when circumstances required.

  Fallon quickly fished through his pack to retrieve alcohol, poultice, and herbs. He removed the bloody bandage from Darren’s thigh and without warning poured all the contents of a small flask over his wound. Darren screamed louder than he ever had before. Arithel pressed her hand over his mouth to muffle him.

  The agony was as bad as that of the initial cut. He kicked into the air, trying to knock the flask from Fallon’s hand even though Darren knew it was for his own good. His leg burned so badly that his vision blackened. Arithel and Fallon’s conversation sounded very funny, as if their voices were being distended and stretched.

  When he came to his senses, Fallon had already wrapped a clean bandage around his leg.

  Arithel pulled a biscuit out of one of their bags and handed it to Fallon. “He has lost a good deal of blood. He needs to eat.”

  Fallon waved it off.

  “He can eat later. It might make him vomit. Let me apply the medicines, Ari. You take care of Mira, figure out why she did this,” Fallon said.

  “Gladly,” she answered.

  Arithel stood before Mira, her legs apart and her feet firmly planted on the ground. Darren worried about what she would do next.

  Arithel pointed her sword towards Mira. Mira looked apathetic. Darren sat up as Fallon applied some sort of numbing gel to the surface of his bandage. It worked within seconds but smelled like wet dog. The pain turned into more of a continuous discomfort, like pins and needles tingling deep inside his flesh.

  Darren refocused his attention on Arithel, craning his neck to get a better view of what was going on. Fallon pushed him back down and told him to stay still. Darren complied. He was sort of impressed with Fallon; he hadn’t thought much of the lairdling, yet here he was, caring for Darren as if they were brothers. On the other hand, his ungentlemanly behavior towards Mira had likely driven the woman to despair; perhaps Fallon was only being kind because he knew he was responsible.

  Arithel pressed her sword to Mira’s cheek and drew it downwards. She removed the blade once drops of blood ran from the cut. Mira wiped her face on her right shoulder.

  Mira gritted her teeth. “Kill me, damnit!”

  “You’re not getting out of this!” Arithel snapped and gave Mira another shallow cut, this one on her arm.

  “This is your last chance. Tell me why you tried to murder Darren. Should you not, I will disfigure your face. I imagine that would be very difficult for a woman of your profession.”

  Mira shook her head and smiled. “You people disgust me.” She spat on Arithel’s feet. Arithel laughed and dealt Mira a cut to the other side of her cheek, this one deeper. Mira recoiled but smiled again, infuriating Arithel further. Arithel struck her in the knee with the flat of her sword.

  “What, you don’t think I’m serious?” Arithel drew her weapon back. “I will torture you until you confess. I swear it!”

  “That’s enough, Arithel!” Fallon barked. Darren was surprised Fallon had said something. He was glad, for he himself had been afraid to.

  Arithel huffed and resheathed her sword. Though Mira had been making quite the show of remaining stoic, visible relief flickered in her eyes.

  “What do you mean? We have to get to the bottom of this. You damn well know it. This is murder we’re talking about. Attempted murder of a friend.” Arithel looked Darren directly in the eye. He could not help but smile a little. No one in Aelfelm would have acted so passionately on his behalf, not even his own grandparents. The most they would have done to Mira was shame her. They would have told Darren to deal with his injuries and move on with his lot in life.

  “You damn well know that beating her half to death isn’t going to make her talk if it hasn’t already,” Fallon said.

  “She must have spelled you,” Arithel said and narrowed her eyes at Mira.

  “I needed the money—that’s all. Should be obvious,” Mira muttered.

  “Why, pray tell, did you try to kill Darren if this is only about money?” Arithel asked.

  “I thought it would keep the two of you distracted long enough that I’d have a chance to get away. I’m sorry, Darren. I was only thinking of starting a new life,” Mira said.

  Darren nodded weakly. He was unsure how to respond but said, “It’s all right, I understand.”

  Arithel scoffed loudly. “She tried to kill you, Darren. Only her incompetence kept you alive. There’s no understanding.”

  “Perhaps I want to forgive her, if she finishes explaining herself,” Darren said.

  “Maddening.” Arithel said, shaking her head an
d popping her knuckles.

  “Go on, Mira. Say your peace,” Fallon commented. He had finally finished administering medicines to Darren, who felt queasy. Fallon helped Darren sit up and face Mira.

  “As some of you have already figured out.” Mira eyed Fallon, “I’m a whore. I used to work in Belhaven for a man called Richard Edgestone, a moneylender who runs a brothel in secret. I became a whore when my mum couldn’t pay off her debts to him. He took me as payment. When I realized how many cuplets and treasures you folk had, I knew I had a chance to pay off the debt once and for all. I haven’t seen my mum since I was thirteen.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, mixing with the blood that still trickled from the shallow wounds.

  “I knew it all along.” Arithel paced back and forth. “I knew it was a terrible idea to allow her to join us.”

  “I’m not sorry for stealing. I don’t know much about you all or what you’re really doing, but I do see you people are terribly wicked, and it’s not by Agron’s grace you travel with such riches. I only wish I’d had the courage to attack you two instead of Darren,” Mira shot at Arithel and Fallon.

  Arithel rolled her eyes. “We will turn you into the authorities in Belhaven as soon as possible.”

  “That’s fair,” Mira said.

  “How did you find yourself at Elspeth’s?” Darren asked.

  “Richard arranged for me and several other girls to be leased to a Nureenian garrison on the frontier for a few months. I didn’t mind; Nureenian men are usually easier to deal with than Elinmoorians. About two weeks into the job, a terrible windstorm spooked the commander after I spent the night with him. He had me thrown into a wagon and driven to the edge of Wilderwood. He left me there, within walking distance of Elspeth’s place. I could see her hearth light and the candles burning in her windows. I waited there for what seemed to be hours, until I heard bells approach and smelled baking bread. That’s the last I remember.”