Forenote: I don't think anything I can say right now would be redemption enough for me, except for the fact that I have completely planned out the chapters up to 21, which gets exciting and includes all the fun stuff I've been dying to throw in. So… read and… it'd be wise to put the pitchforks aside, yeah. :lopsided grin:
Oh, yes – and this chapter doesn't do much except give the footing and basis for what I am really planning to throw at you… it may be a little uneventful, but that is only because I'll be using it as foundation. I know, I know; I finally update, and the chapter is dissatisfactory; you'd do well to get over it.
Responses:
Stunned as I was by the booming feedback resulting from Chapter 15, I am very and very sorry to say that I have no time to write responses. It's either 'Get this chapter done and live!' or 'Linger and die a horrible flaming death via A Gypsy's Tale review's pages!' And I honestly believe that I am making the right choice.
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Chapter Sixteen: Round the Nonexistent Campfire
o...o...o...o...o
Though the afternoon weather had been rather still and blue at the very beginning, rolling bunches of gray soon developed in the firmament above us, grumbling threateningly as they hit against one another. We hadn't ridden for ten minutes, but the later half of the afternoon often brought darker weather nowadays, and we suspected rain. Dark bunches of cloud slid across the sky, acrosss the dim prominence of the sun, concealing orange sunlight. The sky rumbled and complained, and the landscape grew darker as we rode on. The day grew dark enough to seem tinged with shadow.
A familiar lodge-like building that loomed beside a flat green field rose into our range of vision, and I breathed again. I had been near positive that perhaps I had gone the wrong way, leading us to inevitable doom, but I suppose my unstable sense of navigation had one of its good days today.
There, we came to a stop and hid among the bushes while I ventured up to the tavern entrance. I knocked on the door, and not a second later it was opened by a hunched old lady who was yelling over her shoulder.
"Laddy, be sure to remember that the rum had better be stored by tonight if you want to keep your situation, unless we can get Berrett to do it first. Don't make me have to talk to your father again! Marsi, is that you?" But once the stooped woman who pulled open the door turned her head, she could clearly see it wasn't. Her already thin lips seemed to disappear into her withered skin as she pursed them; her eyes narrowed warily.
Wringing my sore, cold hands, I explained myself. I was trembling slightly from sick worry regarding the bandits, but miraculously I kept my voice smooth. "Madam, I do not wish to stay, but just to find someone I must speak to. I believe his name is Artor; have you an idea in which inn he stays?"
Her eyebrow rose at his name, and surprise flitted over her age-obvious face. "Artor? Why, he stays in our vacant rooms abovestairs. I suppose you can call it an inn-room. He is here, and for a change spending the day indoors. Would you like me to call him?"
"Yes, please. Tell him Evetti requests to see him."
She limped up the staircase in the back of the spacious, combined den and bar room, disappeared for a moment, and came back down, a befuddled-looking Artor in tow. He was in a vest of handsome brown wool and seemed to prove the old innlady right when she said he would be staying inside the building; his white linen shirt was fancy enough to keep limited to indoor exploits only.
Eyes widening at the sight of me, shock was clear in his friendly eyes, or at the moment, his friendly-but-unpleasantly-unnerved eyes. "It is you! That - that girl from a few nights ago, is it not? The one who asked about the baroness. The noble-girl. Why, this was rather unexpected; I didn't expect you'd remember my existence, nor I yours. You needed to see me?"
When the old innkeeper hobbled out of earshot, I flew into a rushed explanation.
"Yes. You remember that I was striving to learn what endangered your baroness? Well, we have discovered them, and my lady-in-waiting, the Lady Asca, and I are escaping from those dangers; we are here to beg you to accompany us. You claim you took part in the army in Arvette; you must surely know the way back. And we need defenses - we are not weak women, but are undeniably vulnerable – for the moment, be it. Bandits who have sought after the baroness's fortune trail us, wish us dead. If you are kind enough to take our predicament to heart, you would help us. We have no way of surviving out there without someone with traveling experience. I know we have just met, but I assure you whatever you wish if you can be of aid - I have connections with the Royal Family, and I would make sure you should have a luxurious life if you may save us now." My voice gradually lost its official tone after several words, and my hands kept on with their wringing, knotting and re-knotting over and over until my knuckles were cold. He had better answer soon, or I'd jump out of my skin in impatience and horror if we wasted another minute. It could be at any given moment when we'd find the bandits right at our tails. And who knew what they'd plan for us then?
He was silenced by the news, and he looked behind my back into the cloudy day to see if he could spot the baroness, probably to be sure I told no false tale. Lady Asca and Corinne came into view to look at him in curiosity and bewilderment, but only Corinne approached us. Her cheeks were pink with sheepishness, but her voice was strong and determined.
"Milord, I cannot say more than what my Lady has said to you, but that we need you if we should have any chance of making it back to Arvette and saving the baroness's life. I am but a lowly handmaiden, but I know a disaster and a last chance when I see them." She nervously brushed her russet curls from her face, tucking them behind her ear and looking imploringly up at Artor with her eyes of a warmly dark brown, today dark and dim with demanding resolve. I had never taken the time to wonder how mature she was for someone so young, but then again, I was virtually a practiced noblewoman even at sixteen. I had been through things that could not help but make me mature, and although Corinne had so suddenly emerged into the painful world of reality, she was adapting well.
Artor stared at Corinne with a strange look on his face; his gaze was peculiar, and oddly enough for a man like he, unreadable. And then his features softened, and his benevolent smile returned. Still gazing at her, he said, "I cannot lie and say that I am not startled by this interesting proposition. But you are most obviously in desperate need if you feel that I of all people am your last hope, so I will do what I can. But do you truly believe you can travel all the way to Arvette with horses alone?" he added, staring at me in incredulity. I glared back with mild indignation.
"Our leave was sudden, and we were not able to stop for proper supplies. We figured we would get them here." And still perplexed, Artor called for the innkeeper to bring us rations and supplies, paying with a handful of silver. It seemed that he truly was familiar with travel, for he thought to bring a fair share of nifty weapons and a thick roll of maps, which he kept in a knapsack that was later tied to his horse. Corinne, Lady Asca, and I took this opportunity to water and feed our horses for the long journey ahead, and soon the two women grew to be more comfortable with Artor's presence, although they still stepped around him stiff-backed and wary.
As a stable boy provided me with a sturdier saddle for my steed, I glimpsed at Artor and found him staring at Corinne for a long moment. Then he shook his head once, seemed to laugh at himself, and resumed readying his horse. I jumped at this strange observation, and found myself approaching him, my curiosity piqued, and my temper beginning to surface.
"Artor," I hissed, narrowing my eyes. He jumped, turned in a swift movement, and stared at me. "What exactly inclined you to travel with us? I doubt it was due to my magnificent persuasion skills."
He laughed and tightened the leather strap that kept his knapsack secure. "I suppose your persuasion skills played some part, but it was mostly due to –"
"Corinne's interjection, am I correct?"
He blinked and seemed to take a step back. "Is that her name? But no, it was not due to her interjection. It was more of the fact that you needed my help to… ah… survive, maybe? Yes, I believe that was your argument."
I was not perturbed. "Do not pretend that you were not staring at her just a moment ago." I paused and went on, feeling a bit sick. "You aren't a philanderer, are you?"
Artor gave a sudden laugh, one of incredulity and amusement. "No, I'm afraid there was only one woman for me throughout my entire lifetime, even if it didn't end well. It is only that your handmaid reminds me so much of…" His eyes strayed again, and there was something like wonder in his gaze. This was disconcerting, and I was a bit more than panicked.
"You aren't exactly near her age, are you? The girl is fifteen, I believe, and I'd imagine you to be in your mid-twenties – "
"Twenty-six, actually. And I assure you; I bear no romantic notions for her in the least. It is only her appearance that intrigues me. Vedora looked a great deal like her." And like the mention of his drowned friend, the mention of this Vedora woman brought a more closed aura to his face; his lips thinned and the twinkle in his eyes were gone for a moment, but they returned just seconds later.
I was quiet, and forced to contemplate. So perhaps that was what instilled his obvious interest in the girl? The fact that she resembled a failed love of his, despite her much younger age? It was highly plausible, but I couldn't be reassured. The way he stared at her from afar – sadly, passionately, longingly – was rather discomfiting, and I departed with my small troop with a grim determination to keep an eye on Artor. I trusted him enough to request his accompaniment, yes, but he was not a best friend yet.
o…o…o…o…o
Soon enough we were atop our steeds and holding onto our small bags each (they held clothing, gear, and money, and we divided the huge load in the case that if one bag were lost, we would not lose them all), saying our thanks to the inn taker. She gave us gnarled smiles and waved as we departed, but it was too easy to sense the uncertainty and question in her eyes. The baroness, an exotic "Kionean" visitor, her petite handmaid, come to the inn-and-tavern to whisk away one of her guests? It was a very far-fetched idea.
But life was oftentimes uncertain, and we did not believe the inn taker's doubts would endanger us.
Artor rode in the front, while the three of us trailed behind, awkwardly quiet. He had offered to keep a diligent lookout for any guards or bandits on horses and to stop us when he suspected something. Meanwhile, Corinne, Lady Asca, and I put on silk veils with flowers along the front – which was traditional Kionean wear for women attending a wedding – for disguise, and we let our hair fall into our faces as to make us look unrecognizable. A ridiculous costume, true, and very easy to notice (considering three women on horses seemingly attending a wedding) but also commonly shrugged off in a busy place like Whitewhey. People would notice, but pay no mind. It was a good costume, overall, even if it did send me into flustered fits more than a few times. We donned them, put on a few of the bracelets and necklaces the baroness had about her to further the disguise, and mounted our beasts.
It was a good time for conversation – as we trotted mildly along the main road, which branched out of the solitary path that led to the tavern and was an alternate route out of Whitewhey – but none of us had words.
I sighed impatiently, and shifted my veil with a restless hand. Lady Asca glanced at me with a smile, and she touched her own veil.
"I think it is a nice tradition," she said evenly, laying a delicate hand on her veil's flower trail. I gave her a skeptical look.
"It is nonsensical. We should wear what we feel is proper, instead of these ridiculous thick things across our faces. Perhaps there are those that cannot tolerate curtains that suffocate."
"Perhaps they overreact."
I looked up and took in her expression. It was smug, and her eyes laughed at me. So here is someone who can finally go against me with her wit, I thought, not feeling displeased about it in the least. Although Clement comes disturbingly close.
"We have your trust?" I changed the topic uncertainly, wondering if she still looked at our situation as a grand joke. Her brow furrowed with unspoken thoughts, and she looked down at the small pale hands that held her horse's reins. "You are in serious danger," I continued. "And so are we. We need your complete cooperation with everything if we wish to make it out alive."
She hesitated, but the look in her eyes did not. Anger was easily ignited, and no veil could hide the evident frown to her lips. "I have lost my husband, my best friend. I constantly look over my shoulder, wondering why I seemed to be the only one who cared. Those that never gave a sixpence for me in the past suddenly baby me as though I am a fragile piece of glass that if not handled carefully would fall and break apart. Maybe that is what I am, but I would not prefer it." She shook her head. "I have no time and energy to comply completely with anything, but I will try. I am not attached to Ozril's money, but I will not let anyone besmirch his memory by stealing it. He never tolerated thieves and scammers and those who exploited. And I don't either." A sigh passed her lips, and it was tired and sad and almost old. "When that man held a blade against your handmaid's neck, I knew then and there which side held my trust."
My mind was scattered with relief, but sorrow also. What would I have done if I lost Clement or my family? The thought was unbearable. Perhaps I would die alone and wandering, still reading philosophy texts in library corners, huddled against firelight with tears streaking down my old, toughening face. Or maybe I'd recover, and live on in their memory, being happy as I know they would've wished me to be. And then I looked at Lady Asca, and I could see the suppressed grief hiding behind her eyes, and a strong woman's hand holding them down. It was then that I knew what path of the two she would take. She was not stupid, and she knew how to overcome what traps and obstacles and tests destiny would dare to put before her; and from what I could tell, she overpowered them with honor. My heart swelled with admiration for her, and I glanced away smiling, sparing a serene glance towards Corinne.
She was looking drowsy and uncomfortable, holding her mount's reins unsteadily. There was something strange in her veiled face, some sort of squinting activity with her eyes, and one hand went up to rub at her brow lightly. If I knew anything at all about illnesses, I would've called this nausea, or perhaps something else. An unspoken weakness, maybe? I'd have to find out, if I wanted her to remain healthy on the journey.
She stirred at my glance, and her hand flew quickly to her reins.
"Are you all right, Corinne? You look tired. I could always persuade Artor to slow down so you could spare a moment to breathe, if you would like it."
"Oh, don't worry about me, madam. I am not strong; that is all. Maybe if I had a bit more rest earlier, I'd be fit and rosy. There is… nothing to worry about." The glazed look in her eyes betrayed her, and I knew there was more. She said nothing, and I said nothing, but looking up I saw Artor come riding back towards us, gesturing with one hand that did not hold his reins.
"The gate leading out onto the traveler's road is not far from here," he said as he galloped closer. "From then on, we ride like the god of winds and spare no time for rest. I regret to admit that we cannot take the shorter route to Arvette; that is too predictable. We must ride along the main road, but turn at the fork beside the Redtide Forest. There is a small village not far from that fork – a place called Loranen Village, I believe. We can be permitted rest there, if we keep a low enough profile."
At the mention of 'sparing no time for rest', I looked anxiously at Corinne, who was rubbing at her brow again with one hand while the other trembled as it clutched the straps. "How far will we get, Artor, by today?"
"That I do not know; it would've been only a little more than a day's ride to Arvette using the main road, but we cannot take that way. It would be too easy to guess. We cannot afford anyone to tail us."
I snorted softly. "Cannot afford anyone to tail us? That could be a problem. We have nothing but enemies from what I could see; at least, not until we hit Arvette. Do you not mind endless streams of bandits tracking our every hoof print, or is that bothersome to any degree?"
Something urgent and harried flashed through his face, and he sat up straighter and tightened his reins, sending his horse into a trot in front of us. He spoke as he did so, and deliberately made his tone seem light and casual. "And I forgot to mention; I saw dark horsemen going around the town, and they are not far from here. Luckily, however, they decided to assume that we took the other route, from the looks of it. So I suggest we take advantage of this to the best of our ability, and leave as quickly as we can."
He trotted away, leaving us three women to share a stressed silence. So they already guessed we were gone. I suppose we had just begun our chase, but it was all too apparent that we were only at the point they all call the "calm before the storm." I could only pray we'd make it out of the storm triumphant and whole. Lady Asca, Corinne, and I exchanged looks, and they seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Together, we rode after him, ceasing all floaty-natured conversation and laid-back complaint. The idea seemed to strike all three of us at once; the chase would begin soon, and we should not be caught unprepared in it, lest we bring failure and penalty upon ourselves and – possibly – our companions.
We rode on in silence.
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Once we left town and began to ride through the countryside, any positive and relaxed emotions fled completely. At least in town and among crowds, we were able to keep ourselves silently entertained and comforted by the sight of untroubled and busy faces everywhere, but the same did not apply to riding in the country. The country scene was nothing but long, sad stretches of a drying green – for autumn was approaching – and an endless road that seemed impossible to cover, so neither brought any thoughts of comfort. Artor insisted it was safe to ride with a mild trot, but this "mild trot" idea seemed to double the amount of time it'd take to reach Arvette.
Artor would not confess how long that would initially take, no matter how often he was probed. He knew maps, and navigation, but he would not tell us of his journey estimate. After a while, Corinne, Asca, and I decided we didn't want to know.
By nightfall, we were given leave by Artor to rest by a luckily thick patch of trees not far from the road, and he later relented when we requested to spend the night there. The road in general would be dangerous, and night would only make it worse.
Asca and I sat by a pile of firewood, staring at pieces of rock we collected and wondering how we may make a fire start. Corinne had volunteered to tend to the horses, and we left her to it; it was an easy job, and would not exhaust her so easily. She was getting sickly enough as it was.
"You'd think that as educated noblewomen we'd know how to light a simple fire, wouldn't you?" Lady Asca grumbled under her breath, striking two thin stones against each other and getting nothing but a small cut on her delicate white hand. I grimaced. It was not yet the time to reveal my true identity to her, but as my thoughts drifted I wondered that if she knew I were a gypsy, she'd probably say the same. Gypsies set up camps regularly; starting fire, for us, was a simple and easily taught skill. But unfortunately enough, I had been one of the children, never having to set the fires and pitch the tents and fetch the firewood. I played, danced, and sang with the other children, no matter that I was already sixteen. Eighteen was when I'd be given responsibility.
That is, until now.
"That does not make me a ranger," I replied in the same growling tone. "Sulfur, is it? Or flint? How can they expect us to find sulfur in a woodland area? Do you suppose Artor knows?" I abandoned the stones and fell back against a rock, and immediately regretted doing so. Lady Asca grinned at me and sat back with more grace, carefully folding her arms over her belly.
"Perhaps so. Perhaps not. He seems like he knows what he is doing. I do not regret letting him take lead." I nodded and looked up at the sky, searching for a sign of a lightning storm. None. The day had cleared finely, actually, with flashes of darkening orange that filtered in through the thick canopy of treetops up above. The sky we could see was a violet-streaked blue that still mingled with a sunset's bold hues of heat, even as they sank below the horizon line.
"Do you, ah, intend on filling me in on the whole 'danger' concept, Rozenta?" Lady Asca's voice was tentative and hesitant. I brought my head down and stared at her, wondering what would be appropriate to say. That it was her brother's fault entirely, as he tried to kill her and take her money? That she was as vulnerable as a pigeon? I didn't know which would bring a more frightening reaction.
"I… suppose so. But you will not like what you hear."
She nodded once and seemed to brace herself for it.
I launched into the story, speaking carefully when naming her brother and being as clear as I could, obscure though the entire plot was. Her face went blank whenever her brother was mentioned and her eyes would go dark and stormy, but other than that – and the tightening of her lips – she showed no blatant reaction. When I finished, I could've sworn I saw tears start in the corners of her eyes, but they disappeared as startlingly as they had materialized. She gave a pained shrug.
"An interesting story. I think I do believe you now. It all fits. The bandits pursuing us, your strange behavior as my 'friend', my brother's sudden attention…" her eyes began to shine again, and she clutched at her stomach harder. "He was always jealous of me. He had more, but the little that I had caught his attention. He wanted it all. I always knew there was something wrong with his mind, when we weren't playing together and he'd sit and count his things repeatedly… I did not suspect it'd fester and become this, though. No; this was unexpected."
Was it really? I suppressed the thought and buried it in the more forgotten depths of my mind.
We spoke no more of the subject after that, but she did look as though she were about to say something, opening her mouth, and then her face would harden and she'd shut it. Confused, I noticed the way she held her belly. It was odd. Protective… desperate, even. Was there a secret that she wanted to voice, and then couldn't?
Corinne came over, looking happier and brighter than before, and joined us by the nonexistent fire, smiling. Artor came striding in behind her, looking bewildered and sending several incredulous glances towards Corinne, and remembered to nod courteously for the Lady Asca. She did not notice; her head was turned, her stare at a tree, her attention elsewhere.
"What news, Artor?" I asked him, reading his expression. He stared at me, confused at first, but then his face became a little stiffer. "News? News. Well, I've discovered a slight problem in my plans. You see, I've wondered what could happen if the bandits did think to take this way, and the consequences are quite dire, I'll have you – "
His words vanished as an arrow came whizzing by, zipping into our camp and hitting into the trunk of a tree not three paces from Artor. For a moment, time stood still, air stood suspended and frozen, and stricken, no one moved. When we regained motion, we were all scrambling up, yelling, and panicking, our arms flailing and eyes popping.
Artor practically threw all of us onto our horses, and as he mounted his, he kept yelling all the while, "Ride, ride, ride, ride! Ride!" We gladly did so, as fast as we could, and fortunately, we hadn't finished setting up camp long enough to leave any gear behind.
Our horses were fast, and our attention was focused, and we could vaguely hear other hoof-falls far behind us, not as swift as ours were. Still, we were terrified and anxious to check our chests and throats for any unfelt arrow hits. They were still shooting arrows into the air behind us like mad. My breath did not come in even intervals, my heart felt ready to cave in to fear and beat itself to silence, and my lungs did not fill fast enough. My mind raced with prayer. Please, oh God, please, please, let us escape… guide us through this nightmare.
We lost the bandits in due time, but we wouldn't stop. We rode on as though we ran from our deaths, though they stood far behind us, and we ignored the pounding in our ears and the blood threatening to burst from our veins. We only rode, and rode, and rode, running and weeping and keeping one another in sight, only riding and riding. We did not stop until twilight.
o…o…o…o…o
The acolyte named Samuel stood with the magician again, but both were not by the Prince's tent. They stood in a meadow with trees scattered here and there, and a spring that bubbled from underneath a pile of rocks beside a rather large oak. It looked sanitary and sparkling, letting the sunlight dance off of it with diamond like twinkles, and around it grew small green plants of various shapes and features. The two men were bent over in the tall grass, examining and analyzing a clump of bottle green ferns.
"What was the name of the plant again, Master Magician sir?" Samuel asked, frustrated. He fingered the tiny leaves of one fern and frowned at the way it felt more like rubber than leaf.
"Magician would suit fine enough, my boy. And the plant is lark's fern; it is small, it is green, and it has leaves that feel like sandpaper, with very smooth and shining tips. With this, we could make a tea that would sustain the Prince, and with magic cure him of the ailment."
Samuel flinched; it were practically hopeless. Here they squatted in a field of small, green ferns with a countless number of leaves, and how could one hope to find this lark's fern thing? Samuel had very careless fingers that had no gift with texture, and from the way he had already punctured his fingers on some very prickly leaves, they were roughened enough to barely feel at all. The magician, however, was having no trouble with the task, handling only a few leaves at a time, spending more than a minute at examining them. But there was something in his face – was it desperation, perhaps? – that frightened the Prince's loyal acolyte. If an experienced magician-physician was becoming anxious, what hope was there left for any with lesser knowledge about these things?
"Magician, sir, I cannot find the lark's fern. Are you certain it grows by meadow springs?"
Impatience and aggravation seeped into the old magician's tone, sharpening it. "I am an old man, acolyte. I have seen many things that have taught me many things, and one of the things I've learned is when to say you are certain, and when to admit you are not. And Samuel, I am certain that lark's fern grow by springs in meadows. It is the fault of magic. But that is another subject entirely. Now we must focus on finding the plant, or the Prince will only weaken."
Samuel froze, his eyes wide and apprehensive. The Prince was weak enough; could he possibly get weaker? Awakening in his tent, the Prince could barely limp out of it without the aid of Samuel, and nor did he eat; he took a glass of thin ale and then a glass of spring water every morning, to rouse himself, he said. And then, stumbling in his armor with the rest of his weary troop, he'd trudge along and struggle to think up decent questions to ask in towns about Lady Rozenta's whereabouts, until a fed-up sorceress once took him by the ear and dragged him back into his tent, where he was forced to rest. Upon hitting his head on the pillows, he instantly dozed and did not even snore. And snoring indicated good health.
Samuel knew his voice was pathetically meek. "Weaken, Magician? Magician, we cannot even find the thing. The Prince is already endangered enough by simply being on this trip."
The Magician did not look up. "Which is why we must. Find it, that is. Find it as soon as possible, if he is really as drained as you imagined. And though you don't think so, Sorceress Flondrahna was right to drag the boy by the ear. He is a stubborn lad."
Samuel stared at the Magician, who was smiling slightly. He had forgotten how much Magicians and Sorceresses could do; they could read minds as well as wield magic, but only when they intended to. Samuel supposed something in his clearly restless face intrigued the Magician and brought him to peer in on his thoughts.
The acolyte scowled at the floor smooth with green fern-fuzz, hoping to feel a sprout with a rubbery tip and rough body. He felt none. The Magician insisted that they'd find the thing soon enough, and that there was certainly a few sprigs of lark's fern somewhere in the fern-fuzz, but the Magician also stuck close to the idea that the Prince would heal eventually. Samuel wondered if perhaps, somehow, magicians did not know as much as they let others think.
o…o…o…o…o
Afterthoughts: :chuckles weakly: Heheheh… well, apparently, I've been absent from the world of Fanfiction, BUT it was for a WORTHY cause. Reading more and learning to keep my details short but compelling, I've been pursuing steady ground as a writer, and I think all my groping will be coming to fruition soon enough. I'm in the process of developing a real novel idea, and I'm still planning it out. Maybe, at a more comfortable time of day, when I'm no longer rushing to finish the Chapter and post it up before I am devoured by mobs, I will ramble on and on about the long-term story idea. But for now, I will close my Author's Note and leave you to fume in PEACE. :scurries out:
