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Chapter 7 - Clowd

"No, you grab, then twist, then pull it down," I interrupt, batting Cindra's hands away from my nose. "You're supposed to kick them or something when you yank their head down."

She carefully cups my nose again, making the phantom move to twist it, then lowers my head to her knee so she can pretend to break it. "Like that?"

"Yeah, that was perfect," I declare, breaking away and righting myself. "Now I can show you—" But just as I'm putting up my hands to demonstrate a throat punch on the air in front of me in the healer's wing, the queen's magically amplified voice rings through, urging us to the throne room. "Nevermind. It'll have to wait." I shoot her an already-exasperated look.

Cindra seems unexpectedly puzzled, though. Usually she'll give me a knowing smile and I'll punch her arm, and it'll be something really stupid like a warning to be on look out around the manors that she got advance information about because she's some special healer or whatever. This time she doesn't look like she has any idea what the queen's calling us into the throne room for.

"Thundria," the queen begins before we're even all settled. She stands with Duss and Mauzian next to two young men I don't recognize. They smell terrible. "Lady Fyrra and Sir Peyelt just returned from a patrol of the Shodawes border and found these two Shodawes knights."

She motions to the young men. I peer at them. Shodawes knights! I haven't seen any of those since they attacked the castle a few years ago. Now I can defend myself, though. I look for Fiyr, waiting for the signal to attack. When nothing comes, I return to examining them with a huff of disappointment. They're both skinny as stalks of wheat, tall, and pale as Fiyr and I compared to the Thundrian court, and clothed in the dark neutrals of Shodawes uniforms.

The man on the left has a bit of a mousy-look, with brown hair and a small pointed face. His companion is pretty good-looking, by human standards anyway, with dark hair and a square jaw, if not for the crust of inflamed acne across his chin and forehead that makes my nose flare with revulsion.

"They requested an audience," the queen says dryly, then turns her sharp gaze on the two now-cowering men. "Well, here we are. Tell us what you were doing on our territory."

Despite the queen's tone giving every appearance of her usual self, I'm a little confused as to why she's doing this on display. Seems more like the kind of thing she'd disappear into her private chambers with Cindra, Samn, and Lady Fennen for. Speaking of the former, she stands between me and her mentor, looking more than a little uncomfortable with how the queen is going about this.

"We… we were just..." the mouse-man begins, then clears his throat as his voice squeaks. "We were just… sleeping."

What… the… "Sleeping?!" Fiyr shoots me a look for my outburst, but a ripple of amusement runs over the court.

"You were sleeping," the queen repeats. "I see! Well, that certainly explains it."

"We were hoping you had food and medicine to spare," the other man admits, somehow sounding even more like a pubescent boy than his rodent-like friend.

"Ah! Of course." The queen is almost vindictive in her smile at them as she says, "Shodawa has always been a friend of Thundria!"

Cindra shifts next to me and I understand her feeling; I like watching a good Bluelianna-thrashing as much as the next squire, but this is just a bit much. They're clearly terrified of her, and as I look closer at them, I notice how their pallor isn't just from their ancestry, but also generally sickliness; their under eyes are dark and there's a near-bluish tint to their skin. Despite the warmth of the throne room, both of them keep tightly bundled up and I wonder if they're hiding other symptoms beneath heavy travelling coats. Maybe they really do need our help.

"Your Majesty," the smaller man mumbles. "We are truly sorry for trespassing, and trust us when we say we don't agree with everything our king does…"

It's nearly an outright confession of weakness, and I can feel the shock of our court as the implications roll over us. The queen also pauses, levelling a newly-interested stare at them as he continues.

"But we are running out of options." He doesn't even sound desperate. Just quietly defeated as he peeks up at the queen. "Our court is in chaos. The sickness is out of control and soon there will be no living left to bury the dead."

Unease tingles in my scalp. What…? Weren't they at the Gathering a few nights ago? No one said anything about them being in chaos. Not to me, at least. Faern's off with Sir Fere, watching the knights and the queen in total rapture. I frown at her. She was supposed to tell me everything when she got back.

"I see," the queen says, expression giving nothing away. "Then perhaps we should speak privately."

A little of the tension that built in me at the queen's strange choice to hash this out in front of everyone eases, but it's replaced with burning curiosity. What's she going to do? Shodawa attacked us, and now they're weak. Surely turnabout's fair play? Visions of flashing true-steel and the low hum of life-force play in my head.

She waves a hand, and Duss and Mauzian withdraw, then she ushers both Shodawes men away from us and into her private chambers. A heartbeat later, Cindra and Lady Fennen pass through the crowd to join them. No! I wanna hear! Everyone else seems content to return to what they were doing before the meeting was called, though, and Fiyr disappears with Samn so I'm out of things to do.

Except maybe to happen to overhear the private conversation. Glancing around to make sure no one's watching, I edge over to the dais and sit on the steps, facing away from the throne. It takes a minute to filter out the other sounds, but as I concentrate on the dull thrum of the conversation coming from behind me, it comes into sharp focus and everything else fades into silence.

"...not Thundria's responsibility," the queen is saying. "We would bring further belligerence from your king were he to know you have come to us behind his back."

"We know," the voice of the black-haired man squeaks. "We don't mean to cause trouble, but we don't know what to do. Our healer has stopped treating the king entirely and he says we have to wait, but we're dying. Please."

"Your Majesty…" Cindra interjects softly, then stops.

"I must speak privately with my healers," the queen declares. "You will both leave and return to your court, or what's left of it, and we will send word of our decision when it is made. Wait outside, I'll have my captain escort you back."

Then I hear the door open, and the queen begins speaking again. I relax my focus, though, because I'm more interested in the two men who just left. The court room is mostly deserted, and neither Fiyr nor Lady Faise are around to reprimand me if I start doing something I shouldn't be. Like talking to two Shodawes knights.

I jump to my feet, turn, and hurry over to them. The mousy one has begun to pace, while his better-looking friend leans against the wall. When they notice me, the former freezes.

I look them over as they exchange nervous looks, then ask, "What're your names?"

"Sir Cleud," the shorter man says, extending a timorous hand and then snatching it back, seeming to think better of it.

"I'm Sir Terote," the other says, his voice lilting over the 'r' in the same as Lady Fennen's does. He gives me a suspicious look. "What's yours?"

He's sizing me up like I'm a threat, which makes me puff out my chest a little. He must think I'm a knight. But I can't tell them my name. Then again, it wouldn't give away my life-force, but… "None of your business. Is your court really falling apart?"

"None of your business," Sir Terote snaps back. Sir Cleud is twisting his hands and looking at the door of the queen's chambers nervously. I give Sir Terote an imperious look.

"You're in my court, aren't you?"

"Only because we have to be." He sags suddenly, leaning back against the wall this time as if it's more for support than out of nervous boredom. I step back, a little concerned by his abrupt change. He fixes an exhausted blue stare at me, and I fold my arms. "You know, you Thundrians like to strut around all holier-than-you until you actually have to do something. It's not our fault our king's about as useless as a glass sword."

I scowl at the insult to Thundria. "We do not strut! And we don't owe your lot anything; you attacked us!"

"You kept the tyrant," he spits.

"He's dead!" Faern told me that much about the Gathering, at least, and from Sir Terote's expression, I know he's already heard the news. He grits his teeth and starts ignoring me. Are all Shodawes knights idiots? I look at Sir Cleud, whose brows have knitted together in a terribly worried look. "What's wrong with you?"

"Thundria helped us before," he murmurs, not meeting my gaze. "Shodawa needs help again, okay? We're not all proud assholes. No kingdom prospers eternal, and we're in a terrible situation."

His candour disarms me, but I quickly swallow and look away. "Yeah, well, the queen's… the queen's good. I'm sure she'll do the right thing."

Not all Shodawes knights are all pitiful and shrinking, right? Sir Cleud definitely doesn't look like some brute of a man I could defeat in glorious combat. Sir Terote might if he had a deep voice and body language that gave any impression that he had command of his joints. It's disappointing. I guess I'll just have to wait for an elf. Or a dragon. But the memory of a forest made of burning death is a bit too scarring, so maybe a rampaging orc band or something would be better.

"Where did the sickness come from?" I ask instead of pointing out how wimpy they are.

Sir Cleud shakes his head. Sir Terote continues to ignore me. "We don't know. Med Naos thought it was the vampires, but…"

"Vampires?" I imagine myself walking into a dark cavern as malevolent eyes watch from the shadows, black lips drawing back in fanged smiles. I'll pass. Too creepy.

Sir Terote huffs a laugh. "It was a Shodawes tradition before the tyrant. The Black Caves are fuckin' swarming with them, and apparently new knights used to go hunting to prove themselves or whatever."

"Hunting?" I wrinkle my nose. They ate vampires? No wonder those idiots got sick.

"Not to eat," Sir Cleud explains, eyes dull. "Just to prove who the most reckless, bloodthirsty knight at court was."

I roll my eyes. Now that sounds like Shodawa.

"King Naitienne wanted to bring the tradition back…" Sir Cleud shakes his head. "Med Naos can't keep up. For every person getting better, there's…"

He trails off, but I don't need to hear more. His face is dark, clouded by memories of the dead.

I refocus on the voices from the queen's chamber in time to hear the queen say, "Then I will have Samn and Sir Harte escort them back."

Just as the three women leave the chamber, I scurry back to the edge of the dais and concentrate very intently on my thumbnail. It's getting long; dirt is flecked beneath the white crescent. I watch out of the corner of my eye as Lady Fennen leads Cindra back to the healer's wing and the queen brings the two Shadowes knights to the dining hall, where I'm guessing Samn is waiting to bring them back to their territory.

When they've disappeared, I glance at the healer's wing and bite my thumbnail, thinking. I could go grill Cindra on the conversation that I missed when I was talking to them, or… Samn and Fiyr emerge with the Shodawes knights in tow. Maybe they'll let more slip to Fiyr. He's nosy.

So as the four of them disappear out the castle doors, I count to thirty, then slip out the doors in pursuit. The weird smell of the Shodawes knights is gone when I reach the stables and mount Sir Fluffyhooves, so I hurry my horse over to the patch of leaves and waste no time descending to the forest floor. There's really only a few paths they could be taking, and a moment of concentrating on the sounds of the forest quickly tells me which Samn picked. Faint hoofbeats to the east.

I set off after them without hesitation, and strain to hear their voices through the trees. Unfortunately, while I can hear Sir Cleud and Sir Terote mumbling to each other, Fiyr isn't subjecting them to the interrogation I was hoping for.

Still, maybe they'll make a break for it and turn into deep-voiced elves or something so we can have a good fight. As the ride drags on, my hope wanes. Fiyr and Samn still have no idea I'm a few hundred metres behind them. Call themselves knights?

It's a few hours of a fat load of nothing before we reach the Shodawes border, and I fight a yawn. I should've just gone back to the castle. I perk up a little as I watch Sir Cleud and Sir Terote ride away from Fiyr and Samn. Now's your last chance if you want to sneak back into our territory.

But they don't. They ride down a hillock to the edge of the soulpath, then along it as it rises up sharply. A moment later, they seem to suddenly disappear. Whoa! What? I lean forward on Sir Fluffyhooves, trying to spot the entrance they took, which my horse takes as his cue to ride out of the trees toward Fiyr and Samn. Shit.

"Clowd?" Fiyr jerks Blitz around and stares at me. "What… how long have you been following us?"

I shrug, trying to avoid looking too guilty. "Not… not long."

"But you're here," Samn interjects, shooting Fiyr a look. "You should have stayed in the castle."

The urge to roll my eyes is strong, but I wave my hand impatiently. "That's not important! Those two knights just poofed into the thin air! Don't you want to know where they went?"

Samn nods. She's got that true-steel look in her eye, the one she gets if Faern got a nick in training or something. "Yes. And I want you to go back to the castle. You shouldn't be here."

"But I am, so let me help investigate!" Without waiting for an answer, I spur Sir Fluffyhooves down the hillock, along the path the Shadowes knights took. I can see why we don't go down here much; it's a steep decline and the earth is practically bare. Unless I want to go hunting for earthworms… but more interestingly than the lack of anything living is what lies in the shadow of the soulpath. It's an opening in the raw gray stone that almost forms the mouth of a cave, though it's too squared off and deliberate for me to believe it's natural. As I approach it, I see long, flat shards of white lying on the ground. Is that… an old soulpath, maybe?

"Clowd, get away from there!"

I ignore Fiyr and continue to inspect the shards. They form an almost-path with big pieces missing, like a mirror someone tried to piece back together with half of the original glass. "I think it's a broken soulpath!"

Peering into the gloom of the not-quite-cave doesn't help much, though. What little light does enter it catches on the shards and stops there. I have no idea where the cave comes out. But Sir Cleud and Sir Terote took that path without a second thought. Does it go to Shodawes territory? Where does it come out? Just on the other side of the border, or…

"Clowd!" Fiyr calls again.

I roll my eyes. "What?"

"It could be dangerous!" Fiyr has ridden over to reprimand me, and I resist another eyeroll.

"Those two knights used it to get back to their territory." I gesture to the dark opening of the side of the soulpath. "It can't be that dangerous. I think it could be useful, actually! What if it comes out in the middle of Shodawes territory? We could attack the castle without them ever knowing what hit them!"

Fiyr doesn't seem to hear a word I said. "Clowd, you can't follow us and then go sniffing around the Shodawes trace-line. Get back from there."

I give an exaggerated sigh, then bring Sir Fluffyhooves back toward Fiyr and Samn.

"For following us, you're going to be doing the squires' and elders' laundry for a week," Fiyr declares. "And stay away from that cave."

"It's not a cave! It's an old soulpath, or a broken one or something," I pursue, ignoring my fresh load of laundry duty. "Don't you think it could be useful? What if we have to attack Shodawa?"

"That's not your concern," Samn says, voice chilly. "Let's get back to the castle to tell the queen that the Shodawes knights are gone"

As we leave the trace-line, Fiyr gives me a look. "Did you hear me? Laundry for a week."

"I heard," I say, not bothering to even look at him. At this point, I think I can just assume that I'm always going to be on laundry. What's the point? I'm not going to just do whatever he tells me because he threatens me with dirty pillows. But that's the Fiyr way, to keep doing something pointless over and over again even when you keep getting the same result because you're not bright enough to consider trying something else. It's never different.

I've thought that sort of thing before, but this time it's accompanied by a little voice piping up, It could be. I think of my father, of the image he gave me of frowning-me in a forest. I feel frowny. We return to the castle, and I return to ignoring Fiyr. He shouts something after me as I go back into the healer's wing, but I tune him out.

Time to find out what the queen decided about the Shodawes knights. Cindra is already shaking her head when I come over to her.

"I can't tell you, Clowd, it's private."

"Just a hint?" I wheedle. "Is she going to help them?"

Cindra purses her lips.

"Blink twice if she's leaving them to die."

Cindra's jaw tightens. "I tried to tell her… forget it. I can't tell you."

So she's not going to help them. I'm pulled in two directions by the news. Guess it's good not to interfere. Still, the look in Sir Cleud's eyes… I shudder. "That's awful. What do you think will happen to them?"

Cindra sighs.

"I talked to them when you and Lady Fennen and the queen were meeting privately," I admit carelessly. "They're not very scary. I thought they'd at least have a necklace made of teeth or something."

"They're probably not much older than you," Cindra sighs again.

"What? But they're knights."

"You age faster, I think." Her gaze darkens. "And the tyrant made a lot of kids squires before they were twelve. Sir Cleud and Sir Terote look about sixteen or seventeen to me."

I can't think of anything to say to that. Sixteen…? I remember my conversation with them. The way Sir Cleud said that Thundria helped them before. But that was like, ten years ago. My stomach turns. When Sir Cleud would only have been six by Cindra's estimation. He made a lot of squires before they were twelve… I don't really want to believe it but Cindra's face doesn't leave much wiggle room. Six year old knights?! I imagine Sarola, Rhane, or Siotos on the battlefield. They scream when they skin their knees. What kind of evil...

"They need us again," Cindra whispers. "They need help, it's just a question who's going to help them before more people die."

There's a look in her eye that reminds me of my dad when he asked me to live with him. Determination and desperation coexisting. What are you going to do? It's on my tongue, but if this whole thing goes south I don't want the queen grilling me on my involvement. "Right. Well. I have laundry to do."

She forces a smile. I leave the healer's wing. She's not going to wait, I know. My dad will, though, right? Oh, we've gotten to Dad now have we, brain? I test it out in my head. Dad. Living with Dad. Dad's house. Dad's people. I feel a little of the sickness in my stomach put there by Cindra's somber insinuation about Sir Cleud's age fade. Wouldn't have to worry about that kind of thing if I joined the gods, right? Whoever heard of gods getting sick? Maybe it's a solution that wouldn't get me in trouble. Dad wouldn't give me laundry duty, I think.

Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed, and please leave your thoughts in a review!

~Akila