A/N: Sorry for the short chapter but I've been crazy tired this week.
I love you all :-)
Beckett felt a harsh heaviness upon his head. It was then her knew that he was waking up.
The ground was cold and wet, the moisture softened the sound of the brush but strengthened the aroma of the dirt. He cautiously sat up, wary about exacerbating his growing migraine any further. Beckett sighed and noticed a small cloud of what was his warm breath.
"No wonder why my head is killing me," he thought. "The night before must have been frigid."
He was tolerant and some would say rather fond of the cold but in serious temperatures, he would bundle up like anybody else. Beckett was, however, thankful that he only had a cold migraine. Anyone else may have had a sore throat or worse from the night air.
Like a shot, the memories began to creep back into his mind and he recalled what had happened earlier. The dark conjurer taking the servant girl and upon departing, creating a terrible sink hole that claimed a good chunk of his men. Sadly, Beckett started walking around the campsite assessing what (and who) was left. By his assessment, there were 47 men in all, excluding himself, that survived. The rest and many of their horses were devoured by the burgeoning gap created by that sorcerer.
He ignored his threats. He actually seemed damn amused by them. Beckett was not a man led by his ego but he treasured what little pride he did have and above all, carried himself most proudly in the eyes of his men. All that despicable cretin do was not only wipe out nearly half of Beckett's forces, but he also planted seeds of doubt in the hearts of those that remain.
Beckett was full of questions, albeit many of them concerning Victoria.
"Why did she come?"
"If she thought herself useful, why the ruse?"
"Was she really expecting to enter battle?"
But one query made Beckett have a bad feeling in his guts.
"What did that malcontent want with her?"
Beckett cleared his throat, making certain that the conversing soldiers noticed their captain was awake.
"Anton, report" he ordered.
A tall man with blond hair longer than Beckett's stood stoic, with respect.
"Captain, the last of the men have awoken. Majority of those injured seem fit to travel now."
"The horses...are they well?" Beckett asked.
"Aye," Anton nodded. "They have all been fed this morning. We have been taking them for drink in the crick yonder in pairs at a time."
Beckett and smiled and slapped his hand on Anton's shoulder.
"Good man," he nodded. "Where is the compass?"
"Here, sir" said a burly man with about 10 days' growth. He handed Beckett a wooden box.
Beckett opened it and saw the compass waving about on its small gimbal. One of the men he lost was William, the navigator and enthusiast when it came to astronomy. He had shown Beckett how to effectively employ the compass were the group be forced to separate, so both had someone who could show the way. He was a simple man and clearly was bemused by such a contraption on sight. But Beckett knew this was going to help them so he had to focus and remember what William had taught him.
"Give us a half hour," Beckett commanded to Anton. "Tell the others to be ready to move by then."
"Yes," he nodded.
The three women journeyed fourth beyond the limits of Moken-Laut toward the Nessil Mountains. The trio made certain that they had taken with them at least two week's rations and other supplies. Catherine told the sisters that they journey back would feel just as ponderous as the road to Rosym.
For the first few miles, they passed several hillocks before finally coming to the actual foothills of the mountains.
Victoria looked up as Trina strained to look ahead.
"Are your feet tired?" asked the older sister.
"No," Victoria replied.
"Me neither," Trina grinned bravely.
Catherine sighed. "The beginning is the hardest part, I promise. The peaks get smaller as we go."
Victoria nodded and walked on. "Alright then."
"May I ask you of something, Victoria?"
The brunette turned back to the redhead, a little surprised.
"Yes?"
"Permit me," Catherine cleared her throat. "But I have heard of the princess only in passing. We seafarers only visit Reinhart now and again. I was only curious...what is she like?"
Victoria looked at Trina, who understood all too well the implications of such a question. She knew that her baby sister saw the King and Queen's daughter much differently than any lady would. Trina was sympathetic as well as nervous for how Victoria was going to respond to this.
"She is beautiful. That is the short answer. Up close, it is more...complex than that. Her face is as white as freshly fallen snow with piercing blue and green eyes. It is the perfect foil to her hair which is so dark, light never touches it. And her lips..."
Victoria suddenly caught herself and contritely looked ahead, trying desperately not to make eye contact with any of her companions.
Catherine looked over to Trina and exchanged a look of confusion. Trina's eyes toward Catherine was a plea to not push the issue and continue to walk quietly. The redhead understood.
Noxymis paced about his throne room, perplexed by how Geolia managed to somehow heal her sister. And now she was assisting her on her quest. He had underestimated what the witch was capable of. He glared at the jewel in his palm and narrowed his eyes.
He knew deep down that while this small object amplified his strength as a sorcerer fifty fold, there was no preventing her from making another jewel. Perhaps one more powerful than this one. Noxymis regretted playing his hand too swiftly. He should have bide his time and could have had Geolia at his disposal. But the only way to get her to comply was to threaten the one thing she valued most.
And fate would have that same woman was the object of Jadelyn's affections.
Quite the conundrum. But being a man who held his abilities in high regards, Noxymis shrugged and wagered that he could take care of Geolia. He knew the more difficult matter was to overtake Jadelyn's heart. He did not want to risk of Victoria resurfacing and undoing his handiwork. But he needed to accomplish this from afar somehow. He couldn't leave his conquered land unchecked. Noxymis was not confident just yet of the bonds he was forging with the king's men.
As he was pondering, Bartleby flew in and let out a squawk.
Noxymis turned to his feathered spy. "Have you found them yet?"
The bird spread its wings and squawked again.
"The mountains?" he queried. "Are you sure?"
Another, more prolonged, was Bartleby's usual noise for responding in the affirmative.
"Very good," he grinned. "Then they would be passing by" he gasped in anticipation. "Ah yes! Perfect; there will not be anything left after Attorenth has had his way with her," he chuckled.
The women continued to traverse the sloped land. Catherine walked ahead, knowing the way while Victoria was in the middle with Trina behind her.
None of the travelers could see the arrow being aimed right at them from yards away. The skilled hands pulled on the wooden bow, drawing it back further and further. Then the assassin lets go and sends the projectile flying with a soft whistle.