Chapter 25: A Wedding, a Theft and a Murder
Frosty PJ, my thanks... and my apologies for .:glares evilly:. But you didn't copyright it...I hope. -.-
Also Thank you to Briar Rose for the complements, and yes, I intend to update soon. (Well i DID intend to...sorry)
How'd I cliffhanger you? Ah...nvm. Lol, I know, guys suck! Juicy, hey?...I like it...lol. I'm not sure what the world's coming to and yes, this chappie will explain (or, i had thought it would). Thanks, Cheeky!
My, my there were a lot of you people reviewing...my thanks (that was sarcasm for those nitwits out there)...where are my precious reviewers...not dissing you three...one more and I wouldn've had eighty...80!
Yona slipped out of a window in on the castle's third floor. Quietly, he snaked down the long, black rope attached to the window above him. Once firmly on the ground, he ducked into the shadows and tugged the rope. The special device at the top folded itself and dropped to the dirt, where it was quickly brushed off, then, after the rope had been coiled around it, placed carefully back into it's slot in one of the spy's numerous buckled packs attached to Yona's arms and legs.
The spy had spent the last two hours with the Knighted Count, Marcus DeBracy, explaining himself. Not as well as the Count would've liked, but as straight answers as one can get from a spy not employed by the questioner.
As far as Sir DeBracey knew, his name was Yona, he worked for Duke of Lormington, and indirectly the leader of the Green Coterie Mother Iku. The spy knew that the Count wanted more, but the spy knew his limits. Finally, far from satisfied, Sir DeBracey let Yona go, on the condition that he would meet three days from today.
Few people had ever gotten Yona to talk. Hinda and Hershel were the two besides Iloria with whom Yona had shared. The spy led a solitary life, not really needing to work, but doing so out of pure enjoyment for his craft. A spy needed to be sharp, in the mind and body.
Within an hour from departing from the palace, the spy had reached the gypsy ring, situated near a small village. Gypsy weddings always happened at night. He watched from the crook of a comforting oak. The plants had stopped flaring with light when he came near...Hershel told him that it was because they had gotten used to his presence.
The ring around the fire had been cleared and white petals were scattered around. All the gypsies were dressed in their best. Skirts of bright, natural hues reached between the ankle and mid-calf were paired with the natural, unbleached cream of cotton for the women. They lined their eyes with kohl acquired from trades with pirate merchants (yes, there are such people) and looped their ears with the golden hoops. Golden bracelets adorned their wrists and ankles, and they sashes flowed as they swirled around the fire, dancing an energetic polo. The men, dressed in their usual loose shirts and pants, the pants tucked into calf-high boots, danced with them, a colourful array of colour and joy. The men wore sashes, just as vibrant in colour as the women's, which were tied about their waists. The men would also line their eyes with kohl, though it tended to be messier than their female counterparts.
Yona watched happily as the caravan danced, joyful in the anticipation of the union about to commence. Finally, after a zesty finish, the sound of a wooden flute filled the night air, instilling a sweet strain of beauty to the forest's spirit. Hershel walked through an opening between two wagons. His dark curls bounced as he walked around the circle of his friends and family. Meir came out when he had finished the round journey, holding two braided rings made of Hershel and Hinda's locks and also two plain gold rings. He finished his own round and stood beside his brother, the two sets of rings carefully balanced on a set of linen cloth.
The crowd held their collective breath as Hinda entered, dressed in a simple white gown trimmed with bright green. Threaded through her dark hair was a crown of white flowers and green leaves. Her eyes were also lined with kohl, though far more conservatively then the other women's, and the cosmetic enhanced her already lovely brown eyes.
She walked in time to the melody of the flute round the fire and past her intended. Everyone's, but especially Hershel's eyes, followed her, entranced. She walked gracefully, the long sleeves and skirt of her white dress flowed out behind her.
The flute's music ended, as her walk around the circle finished. She stood and faced Hershel from the opposite side of the fire, her hair streaming from her shoulders. Mutely, Meir handed them each a ring of hair and they slipped their own on their middle finger. Loudly, but specially, they spoke together, and everyone hung on their words,
" Hair of my love, braided with my mine own; a symbol of our new unity. Set upon our fingers to remind us of our togetherness." Meir handed them each a golden ring, and over the flames, Hershel held out his left hand to his beloved, who placed the ring too large for herself on his finger next to the pinky. She in turn, held out her own left hand, and upon her forth finger, he placed the golden ring he held.
Quietly they spoke,
" With these rings I show you the gift of my heart, my body and my soul." Hinda spoke,
" I give you my love until I die and after. I give you my soul in perfect purity. I give you my body in perfect purity. And above all, I give you my love in it's imperfect, but complete purity." She flushed prettily and plucked a single white jasmine flower from her hair and held it over the fire. Hershel received it and said in return,
" I also present to you my love. I shall love you until I die. I shall provide for you until I cannot move any longer. I shall protect you before myself. I present to you my whole self, pure and unspoilt. I have saved my wealth and intimacy for you and our marriage." The two people asseverated as one,
" I love you. I will love you until I die. My flame of love will not diminish like this fire around which we stand, rather it is my most solemn wish that it would grow and flourish. Together, we will flourish...together we are one." As they spoke, the flame rose and seemed to envelope them.
In the tree, Yona stifled his instinct to jump down and pull them out, but the other gypsies had made a move. They watched with intensity, as after a moment of consideration, the spy followed suit.
The flames rose and turned a blinding light, causing everyone to look away. When they turned their gazes back to the fire and the couple in it, the flames had decreased to a normal fire-ring and the newly wed couple stood, still wrapped up in a passionate kiss.
The cheers of their caravan startled and interrupted the couple, causing them to break apart. They, as with their surrounding friends and family, laughed and the festivities began. A mandolin, tambourine and fiddle joined the flute, adding to the happy tone.
Yona watched, relaxing the tree. After an hour or so, he quietly tapped both bride and groom on their shoulders and drew them away from their well-wishers.
" I am so pleased for you both." Yona handed them each a white rose. Hershel tucked it in his collar and helped his wife tuck it into her hair. " I wish you a loving and beautiful marriage." The young gypsy man gripped his friend's arm gratefully and Hinda leaning against her husband's chest, nodded,
" Thank you so much Yona." She glanced up fondly at her husband she spoke, " I understand that you first pointed out an eligible woman to my dear Hershel...and for that I thank you." Hershal flushed slightly.
" Yes, I thank you... if you had not nudged me towards her, I would still have been floundering with my life, wondering." Yona nodded and after more expressions for their new life, took his leave, much to the couple's disappointment.
" Stay, Yona...sit with Meir, talk with him, he has missed you." Yona shrugged and made no promises. He disappeared into the forest, but only a few feet into the darkness, he stopped.
Meir sat with a trencher of food infront of him, eating steadily. He periodically glanced up at his brother and his new sister. He smiled at what he saw, obviously reveling in their joy. Yona sat beside him and Meir silently offered him a piece of white cheese. The spy accepted gratefully and ate.
The man clothed in black unconsciously forsook his plans for the rest of the evening and spent it sitting with Meir, watching the celebration dances and munching on the food provided.
The celebrations went on long into the night, even after Hershel and Hinda had retired to their newly build caravan wagon, which still smelt of cedar. The gypsies danced and ate and made many toasts to the absent couple as the stars grew more vivid in the black
The beginnings of golden sunlight shone warmly in the early morning, heating the city. A messenger clattered over the cobbled streets into Lennick's Marketplace, drenched from the nocturnal rainstorm that he had traveled through. In his pouch, he held numerous letters, and a small package.
He reined his tired horse and dismounted. As the man searched for the pre-paid for inn that he was to stay at, several anonymous figures followed at a distance. Suddenly a man clothed in black dropped from a balcony, startling both the man and his mount.
" What's the matter with you!" The messenger snapped as he calmed his horse. The man to whom he spoke didn't answer his question. Instead, he demanded the messengers pouch in a rough voice. " My pouch? Are you insane? I can't be given my pouch away...be off!" The man began leading his mount forward, but the glimmer the other man drawing a sword stopped him.
' Lovely, a thief! Bloody hell...' the messenger slipped his gloved hand into a pocket and fingered the spell-scroll that his preceding messenger had given him along with the pouch of deliveries. The mail system worked in said way, save with private mail. The people in an area would bring their parcels or letters to a designated spot, where they would be sorted as to their destination. Each week, they would be sent off by messenger, who would meet a replacement, hand off the pouch of deliveries to his successor, who would travel to another meeting spot and do the same. This would continue until the final destination.
The previous messenger had given him the spell scroll, telling him to use it if there were any troubel getting to Lennick's Marketplace. 'Perhaps this was what he meant.'
The man infront of the messenger spoke again,
" You will give me your pouch and leave with your life...refuse and you surrender your life to my blade."
" You can't make me. Someone'll hear...you'll be caught and whatever it is you want will be found by the authorities...this is useless." the messenger tried to convince his opponent of what he himself did not believe. The marketplace was full of people, but they did not abide by the Palace Guard's law...the sheriffs were easily and periodically bribed to ignore any misdoings.
At the messenger's words, the man infront and those behind and to his every angle laughed mockingly. The man turned, realizing with amazement and fear that he was surrounded. His grip tightened on the spell-scroll.
" Give us your pouch, fool. These matters are above you." The man cursed silently and sent out a plea to Solaro and Remaneen... ' Tell my Annie I love her...tell her to marry Ned. Tell her I loved her.' With a snap, he broke the small scroll in half. Instantly, a dark mist grew and expanded around him.
A yell went up from the assassins and thieves. The messenger ran in the direction that he hoped he would be able to get through, leaving his poor horse behind.
A chance and unaimed back slash caught him on the back and he gasped, but staggered on. The mist lessened as he ran as speedily as his bleeding body could carry him down the narrow alley. In his pounding ears, he heard the scrape of fabric against the rough walls.
He turned, unsure if it was his clothes or a pursuer...
Nell, a kitchen wench in the Drifting Vagabond Tavern and Inn, walked quickly through the misty morning. She wound her way familiarly through the winding cobblestone roads her work. She turned into the alley which would open to the street where the Drifting Vagabond was situated.
Suddenly, she stumbled, dropping the basket of apples which she had bought with her Employer's coins. She cursed. The apples, should they be lost or harmed would come from her pay.
Nell looked down to see what had caused her loss and stifled a gasp. A man lay on the cold ground, a deep wound in his back and several through his gut. This insides were outside of his body; obviously he was dead. Nell knelt, and, keeping her eyes on his face, recognized him. Euan, the messenger. She checked his mail pouch. It still contained many letters, nothing else, but a few letters from the orchard county of Arulanthu.
She shrugged and plucked the satchel from his cold, still form. 'Many people die, but the mail still needs to be delivered.' She thought practically.
The woman gathered her apples and walked through the alley to her tavern. She would tell Varden, her employer about Euan and he'd tell one of the sheriffs. Hopefully, the sheriff would be quick enough so that the body wouldn't began to stink.
The Queen rung her hands...the messenger with the vial of Tuliane Flower Cordial was due today... would the old gypsy follow through? The half elven gypsy woman had promised that it would be sent with haste and a precaution against theft. A spell-scroll of Black Mist, was the protection, though the Queen did not know the particulars. All she knew was that the protected vial was to arrive that day...anxiously, she watched the sun bathe the city in it's golden light... and waited.
Posted on February 12th, 2005
