Chapter 19
Dowbreth
pulled Tolian by the hair, dragging her next to the warhorse. She cried out in pain. He deposited her and picked up the mysterious
sack. His normally pale face was bright
red with rage. “We are finished with
these games, my Lady of the Silvery Light,” he hissed. “You will obey me without question, from now
on.”
She
was terrified and hyperventilating. She
knew she did not want him to have that victory over her. No matter what he would do, she had to find a
way to be strong, to fight back her fear.
She ran the warrior’s mantra through her mind. Fear is for my enemy. Fear is defeat, and the forerunner of
defeat. I will hold no fear.
Bravery
was the only recourse for a warrior. She
had to summon whatever courage and defiance she could muster. No matter what he does to me,
she told herself, I will not be defeated. Fear is for my enemy. Fear is defeat, and the forerunner of
defeat. I will hold no fear.
The
faerie towered over her. His rage was
quelled already, and replaced by an expression of sadistic glee. He held the bag over Tolian’s head. She had no clue what he was doing.
“You
think you can be strong. That there is
nothing I can do to you that can break your spirit, is that not so?” His words were full of a triumphant
savagery.
He
grabbed her by the back of her neck and hoisted her up to a sitting
position. Every time he touched her,
every time he laid his filthy hands on her, she was seized with an
indescribable revulsion and experienced extreme apprehension. She felt like she thought a dog must feel,
always waiting for the next beating.
“There
is another,” he said, “better method of obtaining your cooperation—your true
weakness ... your lover—Brythia.” He
spit the words, his voice full of violence and threat.
“Do
not defile her name with your tongue,” Tolian commanded. “By what power can you affect her? Now that she can no longer use the Moonsword
to follow us, she is safely out of your reach.”
“Is
that so?” Dowbreth asked. He seemed pleased
with himself. “Perhaps, what you say
would be true if it were I alone involved in this conspiracy. But I have many accomplices, one of whom is
quite well trusted by you and she alike.”
Another
wave of panic engulfed Tolian. She
managed to hold it in check this time.
Anger replaced it. After all, the
faerie was most likely bluffing.
“You
lie,” she shouted at him.
“Right
now,” replied Dowbreth, “you have the luxury of believing that if you
wish. In a few moments I shall
demonstrate the truth of my words.”
“And
how can you prove such lies?” Tolian demanded.
“Ah,
such fire in you. I thought you had
already succumbed to meekness and fear.
I am grateful that your spirit is not yet broken. It gives me something to look forward
to. But for now, your fair question
deserves a fair answer.” He held the
mysterious bag for Tolian to look at—a plain, drab gray-green fabric, mostly
filled, seemingly, by a single oblong object.
Wholly unremarkable. “As you are
no doubt aware by this time, this bag has some magick to it.” He paused,
looking to see if his statement caused a change in the princess’ new
skeptically defiant pose.
“I
had rather gotten that impression, yes,” she said casually.
“One
of my fellow conspirators has a similar bag, and we are able to communicate
with each other utilizing these bags.
Oh, and if I had neglected to mention it, my friend is among your
precious Brythia’s trusted companions.”
Tolian
was determined to keep her face brave.
“You
still haven’t offered the slightest proof as to your claims, and frankly, I
don’t see how you can. What, will your
magick bag second your claims with expletives?
I shall not trust it, either.”
The
faerie smiled, revealing his filed teeth.
He was evidently enjoying himself a great deal.
“What
if I show you the danger your druidess is in, the power I hold over her? Would you then call me a liar?”
She
stared at him blankly. Give him
nothing, she told herself.
“Humor
me, then, princess. Close your eyes.”
Dowbreth
held the bag a few inches over her head.
“Close your eyes,” he repeated.
“The bag’s magick will allow you to look through the eyes of my friend,
to see what he sees. You will learn
firsthand, my power.”
She
closed her eyes. At once, she was
looking through someone else’s eyes.
Utilizing their sense of sight.
It was snowing there, as well. There
were several people huddled around a small fire. From what she was given to look at (she could
sense the conspirator was being quite deliberate about it), she could not
discern anyone’s identity. It was clear,
however, that they were all men. Except
one person. The one person in the entire
world Tolian longed to see.
She
was garbed in her battle armor, though her white, winter cloak was pulled
tightly around her. Her face seemed cast
in granite, in a grimness etched in the pink marble of her chill resolve. Even that cold hardness did nothing to
diminish the beauty in Tolian’s view.
Just seeing her, even with this borrowed sight, made her blood burn
twice as hot with her desire. Her hair
spilled golden like honey from her hood and about her shoulders. A few snowflakes glittered there, caught in
her blonde tresses. And those eyes. Blue.
The clearest, brightest blue.
Pools of sapphire brilliance.
It
seemed to Tolian that she could reach out and touch her beloved. But no, the person whose eyes she looked
through moved casually behind the druidess.
He looked down and allowed Tolian to see the point of a sword just
inches from Brythia’s back.
Tolian
wanted to scream a warning to her, to rush to her side, to protect her. She could do none of those things. There was nothing she could do to help her
wife. It was agonizing.
Apparently,
Dowbreth and his ally felt that they had shown Tolian enough and the vision
vanished. Her eyes were closed and saw
only blackness. She felt a jolt of
malice like a bitter aftertaste. The
hairs on the back of her neck lifted.
She
opened her yes. The faerie was beaming,
which made the most unpleasant aspect on his face.
“So
you see,” he said calmly, “I can have your little playmate killed at my
whim. You believe me now; I can see it
in your expression. Now you are truly
afraid.”
She
said nothing. There was no need. She knew her face was transmitting her fear
and this new vulnerability all too well.
He was right. Yes, of course,
there was the possibility that she had been shown an illusion. She could not take that chance.
“Do
you wish me to exercise my power? Do you
wish her killed?”
“No,”
she said sharply. “Do not kill her.”
“And
you will do as I ask?”
“I
will.” She said it flatly, without
emotion.
“No
more tricks, no more escape attempts, my little goddess?”
Tolian
exhaled heavily. “I will do as you
say. I won’t try to escape. No tricks.
I give you my word, but no harm must come to Brythia. You must give me your word, if it has any
value.”
He
tried to fain hurt at her accusation.
That expression also did not work well on his countenance.
“The
word of Dowbreth, Warlord of the Sidhe, is better than gold. If you cooperate fully, neither myself, nor
my associate will harm your druidess. I swear
it.” He said it like he meant it, for
what that was worth. A sense of relief,
though tempered with some uneasiness and uncertainty, flooded her
consciousness. “We have a bargain then,
Lord Dowbreth,” she declared.
The
giant smiled again. He set his bag down
lightly on the snow and removed a jagged blade from his belt. With one motion, he cut the bindings from
around Tolian’s wrists.
“You
will find that cooperation offers many advantages, Your Highness,” he said, his
tone much less harsh and savage. There
was less implicit violence.
Tolian
watched the cords fall into the snow with disbelief. They were speedily buried beneath the heavily
accumulating flakes. She moved her sore
wrists to loosen them up. One was at
least badly sprained. She was surprised
that she still wore the bracelet Kelvris had given her. It had been completely obscured by her
bindings. Even in the dim light, it
shimmered slightly. It was simple and
elegant. She never would have suspected
Kelvris of having such good taste in jewelry.
The pain of her red and swore wrists distracted her from the gift. They were badly rope-burned. She stuck them into the snow. The cold felt almost good for a moment.
She
was still worried, of course, and somewhat unsure of what would be entailed by
this “cooperation,” but she was happy that her Brythia would be safe. Nothing else mattered in comparison; Dowbreth
had reminded her of that. He had helped
her find her courage again. She would
willingly submit to anything for her wife’s sake. Anything.
She shuddered. Gods, how she
missed her.
Dowbreth
reached into the snow, took her hand, and helped her to her feet.
“Come,
Princess,” he said. “This snow is
becoming a nuisance. There is an inn
nearby, we shall rest and warm ourselves before embarking on the next leg of
our journey.”
“Where
are we going, anyway?” Tolian asked.
“I
wish to surprise you,” answered Dowbreth.
“You will see soon enough.”
The
Tanslynt Inn was a modest coach and wagon stop on the trade road between the vast
farmlands of eastern Lorm and the palace in the interior of the kingdom. Throughout the growing season, the road was
jammed with farmers, merchants, and tradesmen bound for the markets of the
capital with their produce and wares, but in late December it was
desolate. There were virtually no crops
to be sold (save for cabbages), and if the merchants had not already made the
trek to the palace, it would be too late to set up shop for the Solstice by
that time.
The
inn itself was comprised of a large building, built three quarters with
stonework dating back some three hundred years, and a wooden portion (most of
the second floor and all of the third) rebuilt within the last ten years. There were also a stone stable building and
two wooden outbuildings of recent vintage.
All four of the structures were topped with snow. There were no other signs of civilization in
the vicinity. The main building, or inn
proper, sat right up on the road (which in the near blizzard conditions, was
all but obscured). What was visible of
the well sat halfway between the inn and the stable, and next to it stood a
trio of snowmen, the tallest nearly seven feet tall and the shortest just less
than five. They were crudely fashioned
of three snowballs each—work evidently having been suspended because of the
worsening snowstorm.
Snow
stuck to the sign hanging just above the door, making it all but impossible to
read.
Tolian
was surprised that Dowbreth would consider stopping at an inn. He must have felt that the word of her abduction
could not have reached so far so soon, and that their pursuers would have no
means of tracking them there.
Nonetheless, as the raging snowstorm stung her cheeks, nose and ears,
she was comforted
Dowbreth
brought his dark steed quite close to the door.
He gently lifted Tolian from her position in front of him, to the
ground.
“Go
in and order us some food and a room.
I’ll stable the horse,” he directed.
She
turned and obeyed him. She opened the
door, and the warmth from inside hit her in a most welcoming fashion. She stepped forward into the inn, feeling
completely detached from reality.
Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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