Chapter Twenty-Five

Back to Kyrria?

When Daria awoke, the first thing that came to her mind was how bouncy it was. The ride. She was on a horse, with a stranger's arms wrapped securely around her. The hood of her cloak was pulled way down, no doubt to protect her face from the bitter wind. She looked around her, noting the grassy plains and the small dirt road. Judging from the position of the sun, it was just after noon.

She stirred. The rider seemed to have noticed her awakening, for his arms tightened, as if he was afraid that she would start fighting him. Daria did not have the strength to fight him. She felt very drowsy, as if she had been sleeping for two days.

"How long have I been unconscious?" she croaked out.

"Two days." His voice, soft and deep, was soothing to the ear.

"Why?"

"Because you got drugged."

Her temper flared. "I mean, why are you doing this?" she said in annoyance.

Silence. Daria frowned, wondering whether he did not hear her or was ignoring her on purpose. "I said, why—"

"I heard you," he cut in silently. "Are you thirsty? You must be thirsty."

Daria scowled. What on earth was he asking at a time like this?

"Well?"

"Yes," she said stiffly. He handed her a flask; she accepted it grudgingly and drank.

"We are now reaching the border of Kyrria and Antares. We shall cross into Kyrria in a few hours."

Daria frowned. "Wait, wait. I went to Antares for a holiday! I do not want to go back to Kyrria! Take me back to Lady Aelis's house!"

"Of course, Your Highness," he said dryly. "Let me, the person who kidnapped you, obey your orders."

She despised him. Really. Daria began to struggle, but he held on tight.

"Why are you doing this?" she demanded again. "What do you want from me? For ransom?"

He did not answer.

"Answer me!"

"Be quiet!" he hissed. "I need to get you across the border!"

She stared at the path before them. "Why?"

"To keep you safe."

This time, she whirled around and faced him. "What?"

She had expected to see a typically rugged face—two day's stubble and everything. Instead, she saw black—the man was wearing a mask. She smiled wryly. "How clever."

"What?"

"Your mask. You don't want me to identify you."

He snorted. "Sure. Why not," he replied condescendingly.

Glaring, she turned away. "To keep me safe? From what?"

He did not answer.

"I just love your silent responses."

"I'm sorry I had to drug you. I had to take you away without any struggles. You would have fought; admit it."

"Of course I would have fought!" she said hotly. "Am I so idiotic that I'd thrust my wrists to you and say, 'Please, sir, bind me and kidnap me'?" Upon saying this, she looked down and noticed that her wrists were not bound. Either the man was confident in his abilities or he did not have confidence in hers. If the latter was the case, then she did not blame him. She was not a fighter.

"Lady Gina was wrong in allowing you to go to Antares," he said calmly, ignoring her outburst. "She should have known better. She acted without thinking. And you should have been stopped from the beginning."

"What are you talking about? Stop speaking in riddles and just explain yourself!"

Silence.

"Fine! Don't answer! I don't care!" In truth, she did, but she was not going to give him that kind of satisfaction.

He chuckled. "You do. I know you do. Are you hungry?"

Now it was her turn to bring the silence.

"I don't care if you stay silent, for it brings a disadvantage only to you and not me. Again, are you hungry?"

"No!"

Her stomach growled. The man chuckled and handed her a loaf of bread. "I'm sorry it is not a feast." She did not take it. "You try my patience, Daria. Eat this or die." When she gave him a frightened look, he sighed. "From starvation, I mean. I'm not going to kill you."

She took the loaf of bread and began to eat, though grudgingly. "So you're not going to answer any of my questions?"

"If I do, it will put me in a rather difficult position."

"How come?"

He did not answer.

"How about this: what's your name?"

He did not answer.

"You know, we really need to work on your communication skills."

The rest of the ride was silent.

A few hours passed. They had only stopped once. Daria hated to admit it, but she was starting to feel comfortable in his presence. There was something about this strange rider that was so…gentle. When he spoke, his deep voice brought comfort, and she knew (or rather felt, for she could not have known) instinctively that he meant no harm. It was foolish of her to let her guard down, but she could not help it. She could not help yielding without guilt or caution.

"Are you betrothed?"

She blanched. "What? No."

"That's odd. A girl your age should be either married or about to be married."

"Well, I guess I'm an exception," she said dryly. "And how is it any of your business?"

He shrugged. "I guess it's not."

"I'm glad we agree on something."

"Are you in love?"

Daria fell off the horse—figuratively speaking. The man's hold on her was too secure. He would not have even let her almost fall off the horse.

She did not answer.

"Judging by your silence, I will assume it's a yes."

"Wrong," she said coolly. "If you are going to judge my silence, you should assume that it's because my being in love or not is also none of your business."

"Oh, touchy. I see." She could almost imagine the smile on his face. "But judging by your touchiness, I will assume it's still a yes."

"Wrong!" she answered testily. "If you're going to judge my touchiness, you should assume that it's because you're trying my patience, all right?!"

He did not answer. Even though he opted to remain silent, Daria did not feel as if she had won the fight. This brought some resentment, of course. She glared at the road ahead.

A long moment later, he spoke.

"Maybe you are in love, but you just don't know it."

This time, she turned around and glared straight into his dark eyes. "Stop it," she said icily.

He stared back. Daria faltered as his strong gaze met evenly with hers.

"As you wish," he replied. The fact that this remark was said so nonchalantly, so unaffectedly, made Daria feel as if he had won the fight once more. How could he maintain such a cool temper? Was he even human?

She faced the road. Why was her heart beating so fast? Was it because of her anger? Her frustration? She was not sure.

A piercing cry distracted her from her thoughts. Daria looked up, eyes widening when she saw a falcon soaring above, heading straight towards them. She gasped and ducked as the falcon flew swiftly, landing on its owner's gloved hand.

"Glad to see you," the rider said softly. Daria watched in fascination as he untied a small piece of parchment from the falcon's leg. She tried to discern the expression in the rider's eyes as he read the note, but they revealed nothing. He concealed his thoughts well.

"What is it?" she said, at the same time wondering why she even bothered asking.

"Nothing important," he said lightly. He lifted his arm, and the falcon flew.

"You lie!"

"Of course. But I thought that that would have been better than mere silence."

"It wasn't."

"Well, I tried."

"Try harder."

He chuckled, but said nothing. The sun began to set as they reached the outskirts of a fairly young but vast forest.

"What's going to happen once we arrive in Kyrria?" Daria asked. "Will you explain everything to me then?"

"Probably not."

"Despicable," she muttered to herself. It was, however, still audible to him.

"My apologies," he murmured.

Daria pursed her lips and shifted in her seat. "I can't feel my legs," she mumbled.

"Do you think you can make it till we reach the border? I really don't want to stop right now. Not when we're so close."

"I suppose. But if—"

An arrow whizzed past her ear. Startled, the horse neighed loudly and stood on its hind legs. As Daria cried in alarm, the rider's arms tightened around her, to prevent her from falling off. He gripped on the reins and tried desperately to calm his horse. However, by the time the horse was ready to obey, it was too late. Figures jumped out from the trees, one after another, blocking the path and surrounding them completely. The rider jumped off the horse gracefully, bringing Daria with him, and drew his sword.

"Stay close to me!" he shouted, assuming a fighting stance.

Daria looked around her. There were too many of them. There was no way they could win.

A tall, lanky man with an ugly leer stood haughtily in their way. "Did you really think that you could escape from Antares unchallenged? Just hand over the girl, and we'll spare you," he said to her companion.

The rider stood defiantly between him and Daria, giving him his answer.

"Fine. You just made your death wish." He held up his hand in signal, and the rest flocked towards them.

Daria hated her helplessness as she watched the rider fight so skillfully and gracefully. She hated just standing there. She hated not knowing how to wield a sword. Despite the numbers, the rider proved to be a magnificent swordsman. He did not let anyone come close enough to lay a finger on her or him.

However, he was just one man, despite his skill with a sword. There were too many of them. Daria cried out as a man finally managed to grab her hair. The rider, however, took him out before he could do anything else.

He cursed under his breath. "There are too many of them." Daria looked at his eyes and saw helplessness. They could not win, and he knew it.

The leader of the band knew it, too. He guffawed loudly, watching his men wear the opponent down.

"Kill him! Kill him and bring me the girl!"

A man, heartened by his leader, leaped forward—

An arrow shot him. Daria stared at him in shock as his eyes glazed over, and he fell to the ground with a loud thud. She turned around. Three riders in hooded cloaks rode forward, swords in hand. They dismounted gracefully and joined the rider.

"About time!" the rider cried.

"Sorry," said a tall man with a muscular build. He, along with the second rider, began to fight. The third person, however, stood by Daria, taking her gently by the arm.

"Are you all right? Stay with me."

He was not wearing a mask. Daria looked into the hood and gasped. "Christian?"

Grey eyes smiled at her. "It's been a while," he said pleasantly.

She looked over her shoulder. "Behind you!"

He pierced the axe-wielding man with his sword without even turning around. "I know," he said casually. "I could hear him breathing a mile away."

"You arrogant, arrogant man," she said, her smile quivering. Her eyes began to tear up. "I don't know why I'm starting to cry."

He chuckled. "Just stay close to the four of us, all right?"

She nodded. He began to fight seriously. All four were skillful and agile. They made the fight look like a dance. Daria didn't like being the "damsel in distress," but what could she do? Take up a sword and fight with them? She snorted. That was ridiculous. She would only be in their way. She would probably also get herself killed in the process. But what was going on? What was Christian doing here?

One of the rider's hoods fell back. Daria gasped again. "Phil?"

WHAT WAS GOING ON? What was Phil, mere gardener and humble husband of Clarisse, doing there?

Her head ached. She brought a hand to her brow and rubbed it.

Soon, only a few enemies were left. The leader of the band had no choice but to join in, drawing his sword and heading for the masked rider, who was already busy with three other opponents. Blood and bodies were scattered everywhere. Daria suddenly felt extremely ill. She forced herself to remain calm, despite the fact that her stomach really wanted to be emptied.

She did not succeed. Bending over, she began to retch violently. She closed her eyes and berated herself. Great, I'm so pathetic…

"Daria!"

There was a cry. Daria opened her eyes and froze when she saw the leader's blade wedged in the masked rider's body. All feeling and courage drained from her as the leader, sneering in triumph, pulled his sword out. The rider, his body stiff and weak, fell to his knees and collapsed on the ground. Daria felt as if it was she who had been slain.

This grave act gave the other fighters the last surge of power they needed. Furious and desperate at the same time, they charged, attacking with full power. Christian slew the leader, hate in his swing.

Daria ran. Forgetting about everything else, she ran to the fallen rider. She already knew…she already knew…

Even though she already knew, she removed the mask.

"No no no no no no no no…" Tears streamed down her cheeks, landing on Jerrold's pallid face. She cried, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed violently. She never knew such pain could exist. She thought she was going to die, for her heart hurt so much.

Jerrold's eyes fluttered open. "I love you," he whispered. "You know that, don't you?"

Because she was sobbing too much, she could not answer. She tried to speak, but her words came out as breathless gasps. She could only stare back and cry, her tears flooding down and landing on his cheeks.

She shook her head. "D-don't…d-don't…" She could not even whisper. "Don't" came out as a thought rather than a word.

Christian and the others ran to Jerrold's side after defeating the last enemy.

"Jerrold, hold on," Christian said in desperation.

"Let me see," said another. Daria looked at the man. There was something familiar about him…but she could not tell what it was… Where had she seen him? Why was his face familiar? She did not know. But there was just something about him…

When the man opened up Jerrold's shirt and looked at the wound, Daria knew that it was serious. She could tell by the way the man's eyes darkened with despair and desperation.

Suddenly, he looked at her, his gaze softening a little. "I—"

Daria cried out. A sharp, sudden pain exploded in her back, as if an angry arrow had hit her. Time stopped for her, but not for everyone else. She watched rage quickly fill the man's despairing eyes. She watched him rise quickly and charge after the hidden archer. She watched Jerrold's eyes widen upon seeing the arrow on her back.

Then, silently perceiving Christian and Phil's horror, she closed her eyes and fell right next to Jerrold.