Title: A Game of Chess: 28 of ?
Author: Sam
Series: A Deeper Magic
Last Chapter: Ahamo and Lavender separate from Fynch and travel across the Crack in the O.Z., discovering worrisome information concerning Az's rescue of Zero the afternoon before. Jeb and Mariah meet again with Norison in Central City.
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Never taking her eyes from the injured bodyguard on the bed, DG lay the revolver on the small dressing table. Shaking her hand, as if to relax the tight muscles, DG turned to Ambrose and softly instructed, "Lock us in. He's going to have to knock this time." Apparently ignoring her damp limbs and underpants, seemingly momentarily unaware of her general nakedness, DG reached over and started unbuttoning Wyatt's none-too-fresh uniform. As an afterthought, she said "And, Glitch? Leona's going to need help."
"Those guards are going to be extra careful now that they know what a good shot you are," Ambrose murmured, one hand flitting up to touch his bandages.
Without looking away from Wyatt, DG snorted. "That was the first time I've handled a revolver. I'm not particularly good with Pop's rifle, either."
Ambrose paled further, dark eyes widening in shock. "You were bluffing?"
She glanced over her bare shoulder, giving Ambrose an impatient glare. "Glitch! Leona . . ."
"Right," he replied, ignoring the name she'd used for him. Fortunately the royal advisor could function even with the pounding headache from his surgical wound. He quickly locked the door to the hall and slid the key next to the revolver on the desk. Striding quickly through the bathing room, Ambrose momentarily checked that Leona remained in stable condition on the wet floor then continued into the attached room he'd inhabited since the siege. Gathering linen shirts, four water tumblers, and the remains of Jeb's medical kit, Ambrose returned to DG's side. He placed the objects within easy reach of the princess' desperately questing hands ending by sliding the single wooden chair to Wyatt's bedside. Ambrose filled all four tumblers with cold water from the bathing room sink and set them carefully on the chair. Then he hesitated.
He knew none of them were safe there, but the general needed DG for his sick breeding plan. Unfortunately, that made her the safest of them all for the moment. The royal advisor knew he had to look out for Leona and himself now; DG had blown their cover in her mad dash to save Wyatt. Without a word, Ambrose opened the armoire, dug out Wyatt's duster, and headed for the connecting rooms. Carefully he helped the weakened, feverish Leona to her feet. He gasped; his strength was quickly leaving him. Clenching his teeth, the man forced Leona to move quickly, half-pulling her as she stumbled into their room. He took the time to lock the connecting door, wrap the remaining linens in the duster, grab the fedora to pull over his bandaged head, then once more half-supported-half-bullied Leona from the room into the long corridor.
"Shh," he warned Leona, needlessly as the woman merely dropped heavily against him. Listening warily, Ambrose closed the room door and locked it then bent and shoved the key through the small gap under the wooden barrier. Finally, he tugged Leona towards the suite on the opposite side.
The door opened easily under his hand and Ambrose tugged his companion into the room before he allowed her to collapse onto the floorboards. Feeling above the doorframe with one trembling hand, Ambrose's other hand clutched spastically at his head. His wound pounded like guild fighter drums and nausea choked at his throat. Ruthlessly, the advisor pushed back his weakness, reminding himself that if Cain could run with fang wounds and Raw could fight through electrical prods, he could very well make sure Leona was safe before indulging his own weakness. Long clever fingers stumbled over hard metal just as a confusing thought washed over him. 'Who the hell are Cain and Raw?'
His head throbbed harder and Ambrose swallowed the rising sick, hand flying from the hat covering his bandages to cover his mouth. He pulled the thick metal key from it's all too typical hiding place and fumbled the lock closed. Turning, the desperately ill man stumbled through the bathing room and into the connected lady's room, finding the key to lock that hall door, too.
At last, he made his way to the commode and knelt down, his hat falling to the floor, and he gripped the porcelain in weakened fingers as he vomited the little bit of food he'd eaten before their breakfast had been destroyed. Ambrose let his mind go temporarily blank, not wanting to think as his stomach emptied and his body switched to dry heaves.
A soft, trembling hand on his back brought Ambrose to reluctant awareness, and he wondered when he'd passed out . . . and for how long. Troubled, he turned his head, cheek against the commode seat, mouth sour and throat raw. Swallowing a minor urge to heave once more, he focused his eyes on the pale, nude form of a soapy, wet Leona nearby. He knew she must've crawled after him.
"I've got to check your stitches, Ambrose," she whispered, though he wasn't certain if she kept her voice low due to her own weakness or a fear of being caught. "You probably hurt yourself, you silly brave fool."
'Silly brave fool?' Ambrose shot her an annoyed look. He certainly wasn't foolish or silly, and he'd never been particularly brave. A flash of fighting a group of Long Coats crossed his ravaged memory, but he pushed the wayward thought aside as implausible. He'd never been a fighter and dancing a group to submission really would be preposterous if it were possible. Of course, he'd had training on how to use his body as a weapon, but he'd never had a reason to use such training . . . at least not that he could recall.
Leona reached for the bandages wrapped around his shaved head and the royal advisor allowed it. He did lift his head to give her easier access, though he trembled with the effort. As she unwound the bandages, he studied her with serious brown eyes. Despite her own wounds, her fever, and her recent terrors, the princess appeared calm and determined.
She quickly peaked under his bandages then rewound them securely, softly saying, "you'll do for now, Ambrose. no tears or even over-swelling. Looks like magic healing took hold." Leona sat back on the tiles, lifting a hand to brush her long mass of water-logged hair from her eyes. "Of course, doing brain surgery is ludicrous without healing magic, so it makes sense that you'd have magic healing."
"I'm worried about DG and her husband," Ambrose changed the subject; his predicament came secondary to the woman and injured man down the hall. "She's caused a lot of trouble fighting the Long Coats, I'm certain . . . and popping out the wrong door like some guild fighter in a Secretia flower . . ."
Soft laughter from Leona stopped him mid-tirade. "What? He asked, wondering if he'd missed some joke.
"DG's too tall to be a guild fighter." Leona smiled at Ambrose. "She'd have to be the size of a small child to hide in a Secretia flower."
As usual Leona seemed to have missed the main thrust of the conversation. "I was making a comparison not claiming she'd . . ." He frowned, scooping up the fedora and putting it back over his bandages. "What I meant, Ona, was that they're bound to realize she came out the wrong door. The moment they figure out this floor has suites . . . What?" he demanded as she laughed again.
"What?" she echoed, "they'll move them to another floor? Take both keys?" She shook her head and laid a hand on his soaked and sticky pajama-covered chest. "Randu would be stupid to do anything but make a public show of disciplining those guards, even if he ordered that attack."
Ambrose opened his mouth to protest only to feel Leona's steady fingers cover his lips. "Think about it, Ambrose. If they had a means of escape, they never used it. Even when those men beat on Wyatt, she insisted on going back to the room instead of trying to leave. If you were Randu, what would you think?"
The advisor thought, pushing past the throbbing in his head. Finally, he suggested "either they're idiots, truly devoted to Randu's cause, or hiding something . . ." His eyes opened wider as understanding dawned on him. "If I were Randu, I'd think they'd be hiding someone important . . . possibly the surgical patient . . . me . . ."
With a smile, Leona nodded, as if pleased with his cleverness.
Ambrose frowned, "That's not good, Ona! He knows I'm here."
"No," she corrected, still smiling. "He thinks she may have found me." She emphasized her words by tapping her chest, drawing inadvertent attention to her nude breasts.
Heat rose in Ambrose's face and other parts of his body. Frowning severely, he pushed to shaky feet and grabbed a washcloth and towel. "Let's finish cleaning you up, Leona." He deliberately slipped back into her formal name, hoping she hadn't caught his usage of the diminutive earlier. "Then you need re-bandaging and dressing."
"So do you," Leona said, still smiling. "You need bathing and dressing." As Ambrose flushed, Leona laughed softly. "I'll wash you if you wash me, Dillian."
Straightening in surprise, Ambrose growled out, "Leona, do not call me that!"
She replied, "oh, but you can call me 'Ona'?" and Ambrose wasn't sure if she was challenging him or inviting him.
Confused and exhausted, Ambrose turned on the water in the hipbath and began to carefully bath the still laughing princess, trying to think how he could get the most annoying woman of his acquaintance to safety before he succumbed to the temptation of letting her and her confusing ways get recaptured by the enemy.
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When the door finally closed and she heard the sound of the secondary door locking, DG sighed, though she didn't relax. Rather, the princess continued to unbutton Wyatt's jacket. Glancing down at the man's bloody, torn trousers, she clenched her teeth and stepped back. She needed to cut the uniform off; any other method of removal would cause too much pain and blood loss. She desperately needed bandages and medicine for him, too.
Wyatt tried to say something, but DG shook her head. "No, don't talk. I've got this." She reached into his inner jacket pocket to pull out his straight razor. "Just stay still," she said, "I don't want to cut you." At a groan from the injured Tin Man, DG took a breath, plucked the blood-soaked cloth away from his skin, and carefully slit the material.
Not giving herself a chance to study the injury, DG hurriedly finished cutting away the trousers, jacket, and tunic, leaving the remains under him on the bed. Finally, the former farm girl studied the slashed thigh and hip, torn shoulder and neck, battered face, and general overall bruising; he most likely had cracked ribs, too.
Turning a sob into a growl, she sprinted into the washroom, soaked the one remaining towel, and came back out. She washed blood away from the gash, trying to judge the severity of his wound. He needed stitches she determined.
A sudden knock on the door brought DG whirling around, grabbing for the revolver. She got up, unlocked the door, and flung it open. Glaring, she threw her head back to look up at the General's face. Without pausing to consider her situation, DG growled out "your flunkies nearly killed my husband."
With an answering frown, Randu stepped into the room, a large bag slung over one shoulder, a covered tray in his hands. He slid the tray onto the writing desk and walked over to study Wyatt's wounds. With a nod, he placed the sack on the nightstand and turned. "I will have them severely punished, Princess." With that, he clicked his heels together, bowed to DG, and strode from the room, never once glancing around. He closed the door and his footsteps could be heard down the hall then the steps, fading quickly.
DG sprang forward, not bothering to lock the door. It would be obvious she couldn't run anywhere; Wyatt was too badly hurt. Quickly, she delved into the pack, thankful that Randu had taken her message to heart. The bag overflowed with bandages, suturing supplies, various medicines, and other emergency medical equipment. With a shake of her head, looking for what she needed to treat Wyatt, DG reminded herself that Randu was not an ally. His use of her rank hadn't gone unnoticed . . . it was quite possible that without Leona, Randu had his men incapacitate Wyatt so the general could gain free access to the unprotected DG.
Pushing aside that unwelcome idea, DG began to pull out the supplies she'd need. Fortunately, she'd had enough practice tending wounds on the farm, even if it was on animals rather than humans. DG's hands moved quickly to clean and bandage Wyatt's leg and hip, shoulder, and neck. After cleaning off more blood, she knew that thigh and hip would definitely need sewing up. Expression turning from frown of concentration to one of distress, DG sorted through the medications until she found the ones Ambrose had earlier identified for her. She knew then that Randu must have planned this; the bag was too well stocked, had arrived too quickly, to be anything but pre-arranged. She was going to kill that asshole.
Slipping an arm behind Wyatt, she helped him sit, watching as he tried to suppress his moan of pain. His skin paled further and his eyes rolled back in his head; he nearly passed out. "Oh, no you don't, Wyatt! I need you . . ." She didn't finish the sentence, but he appeared to respond, struggling to open his eyes and obey her. "Here, drink this," she quickly poured the contents of a small twist of paper into the tumbler of water and offered the grey-dusted water to him.
Wyatt raised a hand to take the glass, but he shook from pain and weakness. Seeming to settle on merely helping hold the glass, he allowed DG to bring it to his lips and swallowed the bitter fluid completely down. Not one to give into his pain, Wyatt rarely ever took medicine, but he seemed to allow DG to ply him with two types of pills in addition to the grey powder. Finally, she took the glass and set it on the night stand.
Carefully, DG lowered Wyatt back to the bed. She took a deep breath and began threading the suture needle. The medicine wouldn't have time to kick in yet, but she didn't want to wait for the Tin Man to lose even more blood, or for Randu to determine he should return. Rather, the princess gritted her teeth and began to stitch Wyatt's thigh flesh.
He screamed and passed out.
DG offered up a small prayer of thanks while simultaneously apologizing to her bodyguard. She sewed rapidly then moved onto his flank while he remained unconscious. Afterwards, shaking and covered in his blood, DG sat back on the dirtied bed, looking over her ragged stitching. She'd never been a seamstress, but the wounds were clean and closed; she figured Wyatt would just put up with the scars that would result.
Finally, DG rose shakily to her feet, amazed at how tired she was from the intense concentration she'd expended. She didn't rest yet, though. Rather, she finished washing the blood from Wyatt's nude body, dropping the used cloths in a heap. She then stripped the bed and slid the messy bedding and destroyed uniform from under his heavy body, trying to roll him slightly to gain leverage, but not skilled in this practice either. Her parents back on the farm had never been sick, and whenever she had been, she was too far gone to really notice the specifics of how her cyborg mother had been taking care of these details.
Gathering up the dirty pile, DG trembled as she walked to the hall and dumped the entire mess on the floor to let the guards or Randu tend to. She leaned against the wall to merely rest a moment but a glint of metal under the heap drew her eyes. Curious, a trait DG had never been able to fight, the young woman knelt down and unburied the bloodied knife one of the Long Coats had dropped in the scuffle against Wyatt.
She grimly picked up the dirtied blade, noticing a small piece of the tip had broken off. With another frown, she looked around, but didn't really have the strength to check the heap of laundry just to find the useless tip, so decided to ignore it. DG pushed from the wall with one hand and the floor with her knife hand, standing shakily. Walking across the hall, she tried to open the door and found it locked. Something registered in her tired brain: a locked door on an unoccupied floor meant someone else was there.
Softly she called, "Glitch?"
The door unlocked after a long moment and Leona swung it open slightly. She smiled. "Hello, dear, come to call?"
DG blinked in confusion. Then she shook her head. "Yes, I've stitched up Wyatt and I've found you a knife." She offered the bloody blade.
Leona smiled, seeming wobbly. "Thank you, that'll help I'm certain. Did you want to get dressed and come back?" The older princess glanced beyond DG to the mess of cloth on the floor and frowned. "Or did you want to raid one of the rooms for clean linens?" At DG's insistence, Leona took the knife.
"Right," DG sighed, gathering herself. "Clean linen and clothes." Her memory sparked and she straightened slightly, "oh, and Asshole brought up food."
"Language," murmured Leona, but DG ignored her cousin; the general didn't deserve her respect.
Pulling up reserves of strength, having had a moment to at least catch her breath and rest as she spoke to Leona, DG nodded. "I'm going to raid Jeb's room. I'll be right back with food and medicine." She grinned. "General Randu was kind enough to get me supplies." The sarcasm in DG's voice belied the sweet words.
With a nod, Leona carefully shut the door and the key sounded in the lock.
DG sighed and turned to raid the nearby room Jeb had been given not too long ago. How long had it been, she wondered to herself, 'three days? Two days?' DG had lost track of time and was too tired to puzzle it out. Instead, she set to work stripping the bed and bathroom of all usable cloth items then went back to her assigned prison room with the loot.
Inside, having seemingly caught her second wind, DG quickly made the bed. This time, she rolled the sheets for half the bed and left that next to Wyatt's sleeping form. Then, she hefted Wyatt into a roll onto his good side, over the small lump of rolled cloth. It worked and DG felt a minor spark of elation as she pulled the sheets from under him and began to make the other half of the bed, storing away that little trick for future use.
Checking on Wyatt's injuries once more, DG felt satisfied. He was still cool to the touch and no blood showed through the bandages. She felt that she may have just done this nursing thing right.
With a stretch to work out an ache developing in her muscles, DG reached for a robe from the wardrobe and headed into the bathroom to strip and wash the blood from her body. She dried on one of Jeb's borrowed towels then put on the robe and headed back to the armoire for some underpants and a chest band. Once barely decent, DG slid the pack over her shoulder and hefted the tray, surprised by how heavy it felt.
She walked across the hall, still not locking her own room, and used her head to tap on the door, calling "Glitch." She figured she might as well make it a code word.
The door unlocked and opened and Leona backed out of the way, wiping sweat from her brow. She moved to the bed on shaky legs, her flushed skin giving evidence that the princess was certainly not well. DG walked in and kicked the door shut, not bothering with the lock since her hands were full. She slid the tray onto the nightstand and dropped to Ambrose's side of the bed.
Reaching over a hand, she checked his surgery wound and nodded. "Looking good, Ambrose," she said. Turning, DG lifted the lid from the tray and sucked in a shocked breath. There sat lunch for three people: soup bowls, juice cups, bread and fruit. "She narrowed her eyes. "He's testing us."
Ambrose laughed softly. "Well, I'm not particularly hungry right now. I'll have my normal half a share, please."
DG nodded and smiled at her friend. "We'll all only eat our normal shares. The third can go untouched and Randu'll have to wonder."
All three began eating lunch, carefully ignoring the third serving of everything despite hunger from small rations. After a while DG noticed how Ambrose trembled in growing weakness. Softly, she asked, "didn't the magic work from the surgery?"
Ambrose stared at her blankly, and DG sighed. "You're glitching again," she said. He sighed and nodded, but merely chewed his bread and looked confused. DG worried that the surgery hadn't worked right; every time Ambrose glitched, he seemed to get worse not better. "How do you feel, Ambrose?"
"Fine," he said, looking at her with a winsome smile.
Leona chuckled softly. "He's doing well, and once I'm over my fever I'll give him a jolt of light to help him out."
"Jolt of light?" DG questioned, attention immediately on her cousin.
"Yes," Leona replied, dipping her bread in the last of her soup and offering it to Ambrose. "You can heal using light magic, DG." She let Ambrose take the bread, he didn't protest, and turned her attention to drinking her water, ignoring the juice once more after that morning's debacle. "Of course, true healing needs to come from the Aquam Clan. They can heal any wound, any illness. But Lux Clan can do their small share. Ambrose would have been perfectly fine within hours if he'd been attended by an Aquam during surgery."
"Instead," DG filled in, "my sister helped him. Oh!" Her eyes opened wide at recalling something from her quest. "Viewers can heal, too. Raw healed Wyatt's leg after a Papay bit him."
"Well, lucky he didn't have fang pox," Ambrose said, unaware how he echoed his earlier comment from almost a month before.
Nodding, pushing the tray slightly to indicate that she was finished, Leona added "Yes, but they use herbs with their medicine. And the Nature Clan can heal, too, but use their magic to heal plants rather than people. Mortem Clan heals, too, to some extent, but only in a small way." She beamed tiredly at Ambrose, who turned his head away, flushing as if embarrassed.
DG gave a small smile; her advisor and her cousin made a rather cute couple, if they ever realized it.
When Ambrose put down his cup of water, too, DG turned to quickly check on Leona's bandages. She left them some of the clean linens as well as an amount of medicine then grabbed the tray and stood with a sigh. On the tray were an empty bowl, a full bowl, a half full bowl, and all three glasses full of apple juice. One and a half small loaves of bread sat there, too, but all three apples had gone missing. DG didn't begrudge Ambrose the fruit; Radu could hardly take it as a sign of a third person just because the extra fruit was being hoarded or eaten.
She looked over the pair as they seemed to settle further into the large bed, both pale and apparently very tired. Leona's fever medicine had apparently kicked in, though, because her cheeks were less flushed. DG nodded. "Gotta go. I'll be back later. Lock the door behind me, okay?
She turned and walked out of the room, listening as one of her friends got up to seal the door, key clicking in the lock.
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Continued in Chapter Twenty-Nine: (when written)
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The Twelve Clans of the Outer Zone with the Ruling House of Each Clan:
Aquam Clan/ House of Rimi . . . (Ice- Mount Runcible)
Cogitatio Clan/ House of Idae . . . (Milltown)
Corde Clan/ House of Animum . . . (Viewers)
Fortitudo Clan/ House of Greyhatt . . . (Guilds- Munchkins)
Lux Clan/ House of Gale . . . (formerly House of Ozma- Gillikin)
Mortem Clan/ House of Shiz . . . (Alma Mata- Gillikin)
Nature Clan/ House of Terrae . . . (Vinkus- Thousand Year Grasslands)
Papay Clan/ House of Somniabunt
Phlogiston Clan/ House of Pyre . . . (Fire- Desert surrounding O.Z.)
Sapientiam Clan/ House of Quinolui . . . (Quadling- Realm of the Unwanted)
Spiritus Clan/ House of Aeris . . . (Air- Lake Country)
Tenebris Clan/ House of Fugae . . . (Witch's Dark Tower- Gillikin)
