Pixilated Page 9

  The mercenaries crested the crease that had hidden them from view, a pair of Templemen. Digging his heels into his horse's flanks, Kree crouched low over the stallion’s neck. Minutes later, he passed Eldren in a smoky equine blur. Coaxing every bit of speed he could from Sirocco, Kree came abreast of Kayseri’s mare. He pushed Kayseri forward so she too rode low over the horse’s neck. Then he grabbed Mistral’s bridle and veered them toward the forest. Their horses were nearly spent. Even Sirocco couldn’t maintain this breakneck pace much longer, and the forest offered place for his Wilderkin to hide while he and Chana dealt with their pursuers.

  Far to their rear, Eldren screamed.

  "Prince Eldren!" Kayseri shouted. Both the girls sat up in the saddle.

  Namar's tears, Kree shoved Kayseri’s face down against the mare’s neck as Eldren’s rider-less horse shot past. "Keep down. Keep going." Kree wheeled Sirocco around, Chana tight on his flank. "Stay with the Wilderkin," he ordered again. The sister nodded once and moved off after the young ladies.

  Kree spied Eldren face down in the tall grass where the trees thinned out for a short space and spurred toward him. The prince had taken a crossbow bolt just inches below his left shoulder blade. Blood bubbled up around the wound. He struggled to his knees as Kree reached him.

  "Leave me. Sandahl needs you."

  Kree threw a quick glance at the fast approaching mercenaries. This was no time to argue. He grabbed the elf, heaved him onto Sirocco’s back, snatching his crossbow from its loop in almost the same motion. "Now we’re even." Kree slapped his horse across its hump. Hard.

  Chapter Nine

  Each time Kayseri caught a snatch of berserker laughter on the wind, she knew Kree lived. Chana set a blistering pace. Tall trees pressed in around them, offering safety, but the sister did not slow. Kayseri worried Sirocco would catch a hoof in the undergrowth. Kree had such big dreams for his prized stallion. Much too soon they out ran the sound of Kree's laughter, leaving Kayseri with nothing but her fear.

  Chana slowed their blistering pace at last, and they stopped so Kayseri could climb up behind Eldren and hold him in the saddle. Prince Eldren's blood coated Kree’s gray stallion as red streaks of war paint. A fool could see if they did not find help for him soon the elf lord would die. Kayseri was not pixie-stupid. Her mischief had brought them to this. How many times had her father urged caution? She could hear his words in memory. Actions have consequences, daughter. The consequences of mischief to Eldren were proving steep indeed. And what about her captain what price had he paid?

  Up ahead, smoke curled into the early evening sky marking a homestead or a trapper’s campsite. They followed the smoke to a woodcutter’s cottage built of river rock and rough timbers. Several cords of wood stood in neat rows awaiting delivery, and a week’s worth of washing flapped on the clothesline.

  A young man chopped wood in front of the house dressed in rough brown homespun wool britches. His discarded shirt lay across a cord of wood. His occupation had left his upper body well muscled, but his was not a sculpted physique. This young man was stocky, his musculature overlaid with flesh whereas Kree appeared carved from stone. Kayseri found the captain's form far more pleasing. As they reined up before the cottage, the young woodcutter rested his axe on his shoulder and regarded them with quiet brown eyes.

  "We have an injured elf here." Chana called to the young man. "We need water and a spot in your barn where I can tend to him."

  Before he could answer, a plump gray haired woman with a kind, grandmotherly face came to the doorway. She wore a simple midnight blue dress topped by a bright red apron. "Good God of Mercy! Hob, get those children in this house where I can see to ‘em proper."

  "They ain’t children, Mama. They’re guardians."

  "I can see that, son. I ain’t in my dotage. Where are your wits, boy? Yon forest lord is bleeding to death. Help the warrior woman move him into this house. Get a move on!"

  "Thank you, Good-wife." Kayseri slid wearily from the saddle. Her legs ached so badly, she swayed against her horse.

  "There’s no need to thank me, child." The woman picked Sandahl up and rested her on her hip. Supporting Kayseri with her other arm, she herded them into the house. "There are such in these parts what don’t like guardians, but your folk have always been kind to me and Hob. To my Jess too, afore he passed."

  Their house was warm and homey. The front door opened onto a cozy sitting area where a pile of red and blue knitting lay abandoned in the seat of a well-worn upholstered chair. There was a large spinning wheel in the corner near the window, and a stone fireplace, used to cook and heat, dominated the back wall. Next to it, a hutch housed matching rose patterned dishes. Their prominent display showed them to be the good-wife’s pride and joy. A small table with four chairs completed the dining nook. Two sleeping areas were to the right of the fireplace. Hob laid the wounded elf on the bed in the smaller of the two.

  "He looks bad, Mama," he called over his shoulder.

  "The bolt punctured his lung," Chana said.

  Greta clucked sympathetically. "Do what you can for him. I’ll get these two children cleaned up. The poor dears are near dead on their feet."

  "Sister," Kayseri asked. "Aren’t you going back for My Captain?"

  "His orders were to stay with the princess."

  "But... "

  "But nothing. Orders are orders. He's tired. Suppose those men defeat him. I am the only one left to protect her."

  "I will suppose no such a thing."

  Chana glared at Kayseri annoyed by her snippy tone. "Grow up, little girl. Whatever you think, Kree Fawr is just a man. He bleeds red like all the rest of them. Trust me. I’ve seen him bleed often enough to know. Now, go with the good-wife, and stay out of trouble."

  ***

  Kayseri dreamed she slept in a soft feather bed on sheets smelling of sunshine, and Kree held her hand. She did not want to wake from such perfection, but a delicious aroma lured her toward consciousness. Her stomach growled as she recognized the scent of chicken and dumplings. Her head thrashed from side-to-side on the plump feather pillow fighting the return to reality where Prince Eldren lay dying, and her beloved captain might already be dead. But, that wonderful relentless smell pulled at her.

  She cracked her eyes open and found she was not dreaming, not entirely. She was in a bed, and someone was holding her hand, a beefy stranger with spiky blond hair and the saddest brown eyes Kayseri had ever seen. Hob, the woodcutter, she recalled. Her stomach growled louder, and she levered herself to a sitting position.

  The young man dropped her hand, a blush rushed up his neck all the way to his hairline. "You must not exert yourself, Miss. You gave us a fright fainting like you did."

  "I fainted?" Kayseri glanced around the room. Sister Chana lounged in a chair with her eyes closed. Sandahl sat beside Eldren’s bed. Hob’s mother busied herself cooking. Kree had not come to them. Perhaps, he never would.

  Sandahl rushed over and hugged her. "My prince is very ill, Kayseri. The captain is lost to us, and I am so afraid."

  "He is not lost. He can't be." Kayseri absently smoothed the elf girl’s pale hair, brushing away a stray tear that had somehow found its way down her own cheek with her free hand.

  "Please sir," Kayseri begged the woodcutter. "You know these woods. Please search for our captain?"

  The young man’s already sad eyes filled with sympathetic tears. He blinked them away. "It won’t do any good to go looking till morning, Miss."

  He looked so sad Kayseri searched her mind to something he could do. "Something smells wonderful."

  Hob leapt to his feet upsetting his chair. "Rest here, Miss. I’ll fetch you a bowl."

  "Hob." His mother shouted. "Leave off pestering that young lady. I’ve done got a bowl dished up for her on the table. The only thing you’ll be fetching is fire wood. Gods above son, a body would think you’d never seen a pretty woman afore."

  The young woodcutter retreated red-faced, and returned with an armloa
d of wood. "There's a man watching the house, Mama." He dropped the wood into the box beside the fireplace.

  Chana drew her saber and took a defensive position beside the door. Kayseri and Sandahl clung to each other.

  Hob fetched his axe and joined Chana by the door. "He’s one of the biggest men I've ever laid eyes on, damned near a giant. Pardon my language."

  The Sister’s grim face broke into a wide smile. She sheathed her blade. Kayseri and Sandahl lit up like sunshine and nearly knocked the sister down in their eagerness to reach the door.

  Tension melted from Kree's shoulders as Kayseri ran toward him. They had found safety. Good. There was no telling friend from foe in the present circumstances. Not knowing which he would find inside, he had watched the cottage a good while trying to gauge how much fight he had left in him. Not much. He kicked his recently acquired steed into motion. Sure, it looked like a warhorse, but the plug had flanks of steel and a mouth of pig iron. It might be deaf. He would have laughed if he were not so tired.

  Kree just managed not to fall out of the saddle before Kayseri leapt on him. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her arms encircled his neck. On reflex, he cupped her bottom with one hand while cradling her head with the other, and kissed her like a drowning man sucking air. The long gash on his thigh made him stagger under her slight weight. The only thing he wanted to hold on to slipped from his grasp.

  Kayseri stepped back. By her startled expression, she realized she had hurt him. She placed her hands on either side of his blood-smeared face very gently, peering up at him though the gloom. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she did not let them fall. Bless the Goddess, her tears would have ended him on the spot, and Kayseri seemed to understand this. She stretched up on her tiptoes. Reading her intent, Kree leaned down. Careful not to touch him anywhere else she pressed her lips to his.

  He gasped equal parts pleasure and pain. His hands encircled her tiny waist, pulling her closer. Namar’s tears, she fired his blood like nothing since Goddess nectar, and he was too tired, too hurt to resist the flame. His head screamed folly! But his heart was far past caring. Kayseri’s arms slipped around his neck, her mouth opened under his. He flexed his knees compensating for his greater height, a big mistake. Fresh pain screaming down his injured leg helped him regain control of his runaway emotions.

  Kayseri gazed at him, dazed and shaken. Had his burst of passion frightened her? Covered in blood and sweat, his own and that of other men, he smelled like a filthy beast. Goddess blood! He was a filthy beast! The bloody smeared on her innocent cheek proved it. Kree opened his mouth to beg pardon, but the little princess pressed against his good leg sobbing her heart out. He sank to his knees to better accommodate her embrace, and he remained on his knees long after Chana shooed both Wilderkin back inside the cottage.

  A worried line creased the sword-woman’s brow. "You can’t get up, can you?"

  "I can." Kree closed his eyes against the throbbing pain in his side. His legs were numb. His stamina spent. "Give me minute."

  "How about I give you a hand instead?"

  "Katie will see."

  "What if she does?" Chana protested. "My Captain, the chit is Wilderkin, but she is not completely witless. She can see you’re hurting." She helped Kree stand. "Lean on me you big idiot. How much of this bloody mess is yours?"

  "More than I’d like to own. I nearly got my arse handed to me on a platter."

  "Ah, but you didn’t, did you? And do you know why?"

  "Skill?"

  "Nope." They reached the front door and Chana braced Kree against the wall so she could lift the latch. "Because you are the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the world."

  Inside the cottage, their hosts radiated anxiety. The young man stood protectively before his mother. Kree knew he looked horrible if a warhorse like Chana called him a bloody mess. He should do something, say something, make some gesture to reassure the kind folks who had opened their home to his people, but he could not think of a thing. It was hard to think over the roar of his stomach. As soon as he had entered the cottage and got a whiff of the good-wife’s cooking, hunger assailed him. The aroma made him dizzy or maybe it was blood loss.

  He extended his hand to the young man. "Kree Fawr, captain out of Qets Garrison."

  "Hobson Woodstock." The young man’s good nature reasserted itself. "Hob. This here’s my mama, Greta."

  "Ma’am, whatever you’re cooking smells like heaven. I’m not in fit condition to sit at your table, but I’d happily stand out on the porch if you could spare a bite."

  "Stuff and nonsense. The day an honest man ain’t welcome at my table is the day they put me in the ground. Hob'll fetch some water so's you can wash your hands a bit first, whilst I dish up a bowl."

  Kree limped over to the bed, touched the back of his hand to Eldren’s forehead. The prince’s fevered eyes fluttered open.

  "You look a perfect horror," Eldren wheezed.

  Kree wanted to smile at the elf's insult, but it felt like way too much effort.

  Swallowing hard, Eldren struggled to bring another breath. "Take Sandahl. Flee into Nhurstari. Tonight."

  "Tomorrow, elf."

  Pain glazed eyes focused upon him. "Now—must go to Rian. Time is short." Eldren’s voice faded. He lost consciousness.

  "Sure, Eldren," Kree whispered. "I live to serve."

  "Sit here, My Captain." Kayseri pulled a chair away from the table and patted the seat. "Eat something."

  Kree limped over and sat where she indicated, trailing his hand over her hair along the way. "I'm fine, Katie. Stop worrying." She smiled at him, if you could call that wobbly thing a smile. She looked so adorable. He could hardy remember the last time someone worried about him.

  He tore off chunk of fresh hot bread, sopped it in his bowl, and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste for a minute, before picking up the spoon and devouring the bowl of chicken and dumplings Good-wife Woodstock placed in front of him. After the second serving, he started feeling human enough for conversation.

  "That crazy elf," Kree gestured toward Eldren with his spoon, "wants us to take the princess to the Nhurstari tonight. As if I could, even if I wanted to. Which I don't. The Nhurstari are behind this kidnapping. Mark me, Chana. With Eldren out of play, how am I supposed to know which Nhurstari to trust?"

  Sipping the good-wife’s home brewed honey mead Chana palmed her mug. "Probably only this Rian fellow."

  "Right. And just how close to a reclusive, elfish prince heir do you think I’m going to get?" Kree barked a short laugh, winced, pressed his hand to his side. "Not close enough for talking. That’s a solid fact."

  He pushed up from the table. "Ma’am, is there some place more private where I can clean up?"

  "Hob’ll show you, sir."

  "Chana, fetch my field kit. I'm going to need some stitching."

  While Hob stoked a small iron stove to heat water for his bath, Kree eased himself onto the bench running the length of the bathhouse. He'd just finished cutting away his britches leg when Chana returned with his field kit. She knelt beside him, flipped open the box, gave a low whistle at the ugly seeping gash running from his hip to his knee, and pulled out a flask of whiskey.

  "Do you want to hold or sew?"

  Kree snagged the flask. After taking a gulp of whiskey, he poured a liberal portion over the gash sucking in his breath at the burn. His eyes watered.

  "Sewing is women’s work."

  "Good to see you’re not dying. Unless, your smart mouth gets you killed."

  He jumped when Chana stuck him.

  "Keep still. You are such a baby."

  "Your pardon." Kree took another gulp of whiskey, flinched again on the next stitch.

  "Hob, get over here and hold his skin together." Chana glanced up at Kree then back to Hob. "Talk to him."

  Hob nodded. "That little scar by your ear means you’re one of them Goddess-born fellas. Right?"

  Leaning back with his eyes closed, Kree sipped whiskey.
"Uh huh."

  "How come your hair is not real long? I heard Goddess-born don’t cut their hair. How come you’ve got no blessing braids? You look like a monstrous good fighter to me."

  "Good? Nah, I'm lucky. Ask Chana." Kree opened his eyes and gazed at the young man. "I lost my temper and cut my hair off. I don’t wear braids, because I don't go to Temple. I quit."

  "I didn’t know Goddess-born could quit."

  "This one did." He closed his eyes again. "Are you interested in the Temple?"

  "That stuff—Goddess nectar, is it what made you so monstrous big?"

  "Combined with a lot of hard work, yeah. A natural predisposition doesn’t hurt either. I was bred for size."

  "Kree." Chana chided.

  He smiled at her use of his given name. Taken with her tone, she thought he was being crude. Women. "It’s true. You know it. Are you almost done?"

  "Just about."

  Kree sipped whiskey and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You didn’t answer my question friend, Hob. Are you interested in the Temple?"

  "I might be." Hob picked up Kree’s emergency Goddess nectar and held it up to the lamplight. "Is this the stuff?"

  Kree’s eyes popped open. "Put that down, friend."

  "If I drink it, would I look like you?"

  Kree threw back his head and laughed. Pain shot through his side. His laughter turned into a groan. He pressed his hand to his battered ribs. "If you drink that, friend, you’ll look dead. That extract is for the Goddess-born, not Templemen. They start us on it as soon as we're born. You seem like a good man, Hob, so I’m going give you a few solid facts. The most the Goddess Namar can do for you is adding definition to the muscle you already carry and increase your stamina. They’ll give you an extract designed just for you. It will make you feel stronger and more powerful than you really are, and after awhile you won’t be able to live without it.