Chapter 21: Ambush
Lorea stood facing the mirror, braiding her hair. Her mother's bathroom was very big, and also very bright. The mirror, too, was large and from the corner of her eyes she saw Dextus sneak in and lean against the wall. "Hello," she said and he jumped.
He pulled a hand over her arm and she spun around. "What is it?" she continued, and he smiled towards her, though she didn't think it reached his eyes quite.
"I have to go," he told her softly. She frowned, but laughed a little.
"Why?" she asked him. He tucked one of her stray hairs behind her ear, kissed her on the forehead. She wrapped her arms around him hard. "When?"
"As soon as I can," he answered. "I have to. You know, my work."
Lorea didn't want to let him go. Instead, she stood on her toes and leant her cheek to his neck. He carefully caressed her back and she shut her eyes. "You could come with me," he added, and pulled away, held her an armlength away. Lorea froze.
Of course she'd like to, but she was aware that she couldn't. Her mother, she had noticed, never slept well, nor did she eat well. Her mother insisted it was her usual habits, but Lorea suspected that it had something, if not all, to do with Odale. She could never leave her mother, her very own mother, alone in that state. "I can't," she replied. "Mother..."
"Then take her, too," Dextus said. "Just come with me, please."
She shook her head. "I am so sorry, I just can't," his hand, which he'd once again stretched out towards her face, was dropped to his side. He looked down, stared at their feet, only inches away. His feet were bare, not at all how men in the Eastern Snowplains usually dressed. Lorea was confused that he, who seemed to love the Snowplaininan culture, didn't dress traditionally.
"Sorry," he mumbled, and turned around. "Maybe I shouldn't have..."
"Wait!" she pleaded. "Dextus, please, we could talk it over."
Dextus stopped. "Say it again," he pleaded.
"Please, wait," she told him. "I-I'll see what I could do, okay? Maybe it could work."
But still, she couldn't leave her mother. It was only to humour him, to make him not leave her that she said it. He smiled a weak smile, and Lorea, with her hair braided, walked out of the bathroom, only to find her mother sitting with her face cradled in her hands.
Cashmére was shaking, and for a moment Lorea thought it was about her and Dextus, that she would possibly leave. Then, she understood it was about Odale.
"Mother?" she said softly, and Cashmére looked up, briefly. Her face was puffy and red from tears, and she quickly turned her face away again. She clasped her hands together and brought them to her mouth, not saying anything. "Mother, what is it?"
"Nothing," Cashmére retorted, far too quickly and rose. "Lunch, I'm sure you're hungry... I'll make some."
Lorea grabbed her mother by the arm. "Sit down," she told her mother, "Mum, you're upset. Sit down and breathe."
Her mother did not, instead she wailed and hid her face in her hands, once again. She kept on mumbling and sobbing, and all Lorea could do was to lift her mother back on to the couch. Cashmére, to Lorea's big surprise, clung to Lorea's shoulder, sobbing into it. "Sorry, I'm so sorry..." she whispered, over and over again, and instead of asking why, Lorea only patted her gently on the head. It was then that she truly realized that she definetley couldn't leave.
In the morning, Alistair woke her up by grabbing her wrist, making her stand up. "Quick, quick," he told her, "Change your clothes."
Odale caught a glimpse of the sky outside, it was still darke. She moved away from him, sat down, shutting her eyes. "Do we have to go now?" she asked him. "It's barely morning."
For whatever reason, he pulled his red cloak from his shoulders and swept it around her. It smelled like him, not so strangely, and his sweat. Odale protested, but he pulled her up and out of the tent before she could protest, grabbing her small bag with her belongings on the way out. "It's urgent," he told her. "Rebels are here."
"Rebels?" she was confused, for a second. Then she saw the fires. Many, if not most, of the tents were on fire and she was surprised that she had not heard the screaming. Everyone seemed to scream, it rung in her ears. People were pouring out of the tents, and out on the great plains only to be met by soldiers on large horses, wielding spears.
Odale didn't know in what direction to look, but didn't have to worry about it as Alistair pulled her away, hard. She was horrified, almost disgusted, that he seemed to be so untouched by what he saw. "What's happening?" she breathed.
"What does it look like?" he snapped, and she still didn't know where he was taking her.
"A massacre," she told him coolly. He turned to glare at her, only for a few seconds.
"Here," he told her, grabbed her and lifted her by the waist.
"Hey!" she said, and he chuckled as he lifted her onto a horse. "Alistair, what's happening?"
He looked, she thought, oddly symphatetic, perhaps because her voice had sounded so whiny. Gently, he pulled a hand over her arm. "We have to go now," he said. "It's going to be okay."
She was, Dextus thought, remarkably soft. He held her tighter, and she let out a muffled noise. To make sure Lorea wasn't actually hurt, he let her go. "Love?" he asked.
"My ribs," she said. "I have those, too, remember?"
Dextus laughed uneasily, pulled a hand through his hair. "I'm going now," he told her slowly. Her face turned stiff, and she took his hand. There was a huge contrast between the two of them, he noted. Lorea was so dark, and he was pale like milk, and her hands were soft, just like her. And her fingers were bare, unlike his, which were covered with rings in different shapes and sizes.
She locked eyes with him. "For good?" she asked. "Like you said before?"
"I don't know," he said.
He'd left before. His little brother, he'd been two. Never looked back, but he'd regretted himself horribly ever since. Now, it was too late. What could he ever tell him, if they ever met? Oh, I'm your big brother who left you. Nice meeting you again. "What do you mean with 'don't know'?" she said.
"Are you coming with me, or not?" he wondered.
"I can't," she said, without heistation. That hurt. "Mother needs me, and she'll never leave."
Dextus twisted his face into a grimace. "Then not yet," he told her.
"Who is this?" the Stranger was a take no nonsense kind of man, which in many ways was good. However, Alistair thought, his tone was something that Alistair hated. "Or rather," the Stranger smirked a little, "Who is she for?"
"This is Overstrand's daughter," Alistair responded dryly, and he noticed how Odale flinched as her last name was mentioned. "I'm taking her back to the camp."
"Is this true?" the Stranger looked to Odale, who of course didn't understand a word that had been said, save her last name. "Speak!"
"She only speaks castelian," Alistair snapped. "She grew up in the Castle, Overstrand left the girl with her mother."
"Hmm," to Alistair's knowledge the Stranger didn't speak any Castelian. "Very well. Don't get to close with her, I can imagine Rodrian wouldn't like that."
"Knock it off," Alistair said angrily. The Stranger laughed, and walked off. He, most likely, had prisoners to take care off. Alistair kicked the horse, a brown one which was smaller than the one he'd ridden before, in the sides, lightly, allowing it to follow the smaller group which, instead of taking prisoners with them, had begun to head back to their camp.
"What did he say?" she asked him, and he almost flinched. Odale had yelled and she had cried at him about the attack, furious that he hadn't done anything. She, however, seemed to have calmed down enough to talk like a reasonable person.
"Nothing special," he asnwered shortly. He didn't even understand what the big deal was. She didn't know the people, what did it matter to her?
"Where are we going?" she inquired. Once or twice, Alistair thought, she must have interrogated someone. She kept asking him as if he was an encyklopedia.
"I told you," he snapped at her. "A rebels camp."
"But where?" she said, seemingly annoyed.
"We say Fort Highpoint," Alistair replied. "It's not too far from here, I don't think that the Wanderers knew about that."
Odale turned quiet.
She swore to herself in her head. Then again and again. The mountains? In the mountains? How on earth was she supposed to get out of there? Odale pulled her hair. Maybe she shouldn't have even talked to Alistair, it was stupid. She should have hit him and ran, far far and then figured things out from there. Now, that would be hard. Especially since they thought that she was Rodrian's daughter.
Odale sat down behind him on the horse, but she had to hold onto him tight so that she did not fall off. His cloak was still on her shoulders, and she still wore her nighttime clothes from the camp. She peeked back, but couldn't see the people anymore. Was Ila okay? She'd seen someone get pierced by a spear, had that happened to her, too?
Don't think about it, she thought to herself. Don't even think...
"How far away is it from here?" she asked him. Her voice was still a little hoarse from yelling at him, and she almost felt a little bit bad that she had yelled at him. What did he have to do with the whole thing, really? Except from being one of them, of course.
"Half a day, I'd say," Alistair replied, looking up at the mountains. "Not too far. And then, of course, the horses has to rest..."
Odale pursed her lips. She'd like to be there as quick as possible, so that she could get away as quick as possible.
Zamir sat outside the Wizard Tower, on the stairs leading up to the big entrance. In his hand he held a small glass figurine in green, red and warm yellow, which had the shape of a girl. He'd found in on the Wizard Way, swept in a small piece of cloth, as if giftwrapped for him. It looked as if it came from the Southern Deserts, the way the girl was depicted as if wrapped in colourful cloth. She was very detailed, with a small but plum nose and mouth, and large eyes and even tiny ears. The folds on her clothes were elegant, she even seemed real to him. Zamir wondered who'd made it, and if they had used Magyk.
As he was moving the figurine from hand to hand, he saw a creature sneak by, far by the great arch. It was wearing very dark clothes, and they were very wide and flowy. By the looks of it, it was a witch. Zamir stood up. A Port witch, possibly, but what buisniss did a witch have walking by the Wizard Tower and heading up the Wizard Way late at night?
Quietly, he followed the figure, who seemed to be in a hurry, marching with long strides. Was he only paranoid, or was it something that was not right? Zamir kept sneaking after, but slower and was careful to stay in the shadows, so that if the figure turned it was less likely to see him.
The figure itself made no attempt to sneak or stay hidden, which, but only for a moment, made him believe that maybe he was just worrying over nothing. But that was when the figure snuck in through the Palace gate, which was always open.
Zamir murmured a quick invisibilityspell, and hurried after it.
He pursued the figure, and was now very close, close enough to notice that it was a femenine figure. An adult one too, he noted, around maybe fourty or fifty years of age. It was a witch too, now he was certain, and a Darke one at that. He could feel it in the air, on his skin, and it made his Cursed eye roll wildly. The witch stopped, and so did Zamir. First, he thought that she'd noticed her, but it quickly turned out not to be the case. Instead, the witch turned her head towards the Palace Landing Stage.
Then, he saw why the witch was there. Jenna sat by the landing. He could see her, even there. Of course. He cursed himself. Even he could've seen that coming. However, he kept stalking the figure as it made it's way up to the Landing.
Jenna turned around and she saw the witch, opened her mouth to scream, but the witch snapped her fingers and there came no noise. At once, Zamir tackled the witch, who hit the ground and screamed. He was still invisible, and both Jenna and the witch looked confused. Zamir recodnized the witch as the Witch Mother, leader of the Port Witch Coven. The spell that the Witch Mother had cast on Jenna disappeared, and she screamed, understandably. The Witch Mother shoved Zamir of off her and he lost concentration, making him visible again.
The Witch Mother laughed when she saw him. "I knew that Laurine had turned soft," she said, "But you, Zamir? You too? Dear child, I might've known."
Zamir bared his teeth, hurled a Thunder Stun at her. The Witch Mother seemed ready to hurl herself at him, but then someone came running. She stopped, looked around, very pale. Then, she disappeared.
"Jenna?" Zamir said. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Jenna replied, "My goodness, thank you!"
He smiled at her, made a fake bow to her. "Anything for your Highness," he told her, jokingly. "I'll walk you back to the-"
"Jenna!" it was Milo, Zamir saw. Instead, he gave Jenna a reassuring pat on the shoulder and turned around to walk back to the Wizard Tower, leaving her with her father. Then, there came another voice from behind him.
"Zamir?"
"Madam Marcia?" Zamir felt confused. Shouldn't Marcia be in her rooms? What was she doing by the Palace? It was none of his buisniss, however, and he looked at her.
"What on earth happened?" she asked him, brushing her hair back from her face. She had ran, he realized, and smiled a little. "Did you see?"
"It was a witch," Jenna told Marcia, in his stead. "Zamir hit her down..."
"Oh," Marcia looked at him, with a worried frown. "Good, then."
Zamir could guess what she was thinking. The Witch Mother had just walked right in, and it didn't make anyone feel any safe. A little strange, Zamir thought, considering how Jenna's mother was murdered. "I'll walk Jenna back to the Palace," Milo said, glancing at Marcia, holding an arm over his daughters shoulders. Jenna didn't look entirely comfortable.
"Alright," Marcia replied. "I'll go back to the Tower. Zamir, are you coming with me?"
"Of course," he said.