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Chapter Six - Segue part
3
Lark felt very warm and secure when she woke up. There was a sense of comfort she was unaccustomed to and she supposed that alien feeling was what had awakened her. Her whole back, from shoulders to buttocks to thighs was stiff and aching, every inch of muscle was tightly clenched. Her throat felt dry and sore, her head a bit heavy. Something under her moved. She opened her eyes, realized why she felt so warm and comfortable. She smiled.
"Good morning, Princess," he said.
She stretched, trying to relieve some of her stiffness. "Is morning?" she asked, hoarsely.
"Probably not."
She directed a question at her familiar, rolled her eyes at his response. "Is always supper time!" she chuckled. "He says is evening."
"How are you feeling?" he asked, rubbing her back.
"Stiff. Sore. Thirsty."
"Would you like some water?" he asked, getting up.
"Please."
He got up, went into the front room for the other pitcher of water. Lark felt something warm and furry brush against her feet and lifted the covers. Scraps grinned up at her, trotted up to say hello and beg for some attention. Landros brought her a cup of water, helped her sit up to drink it. “I see someone has made himself comfortable,” he commented dryly. The raccoon wandered off the bed and disappeared. Landros set the cup aside when she finished and settled on the bed again, his back against the headboard, holding her. "Ellinoia," he began, burning to have his questions answered, but not certain it was the right time to ask them.
"Yes?" she asked, snuggling up to him when he did not continue.
"Do you want something to eat?"
She shook her head minutely. "Not now."
He tenderly brushed loose strands of hair from her face.
Lark realized something was very different about her hair, did not feel its weight and warmth flowing over her shoulders and back. She ran her hand along the back of her head, feeling for the length of her hair and found the braid, pulled it around so that she could see it.
"What is the matter?" he asked, noting her confusion.
"Never worn hair like this. Is... feel strange."
"I suppose it keeps it from getting tangled," he muttered. "Lark," he began again.
She looked up into his troubled eyes. "What?" she asked softly. "What is wrong?"
"I hate to ask, but I have to." He stroked her cheek softly. "If you are up to it?"
"Up to what?"
"Telling me what happened."
She laid her head down on his chest, clung tightly to him.
He rubbed her arm, held her tightly, "Hey, you don't have to tell me now, if you can't. But I will have to know soon."
She sighed, stared blindly into the fire, trying to put it into words somehow without running it visually through her mind, to be detached enough not to panic him, or anger him. "Went to dressmaker today. Leaving there, stopped to help with house on fire, made rain. Ran into old friend after and we walked. There was black-skinned man, badly wounded and stinking of spent magic begging anyone who would listen for help, promising money, whatever wanted if would help his friends. He muttered on about an ambush and men like maddened devils, that they had his brothers. No one would listen. We said would go and was led down alley to warehouse. There was man there, I think. Could have been woman, hard to tell, wore hood and gloves. Even by voice was not certain."
Landros stiffened, felt a chill in the room in spite of the fire. How could they have moved so quickly? Had this warehouse been a secondary site? Did they switch back and forth, or to another site to keep from being observed or followed or ambushed?
"Hood offered opportunity to help him. When refused, ordered us killed, said something about 'get right this time.' That was when sent Nightingale to find you. Thinking this might have been how Ashanda and other missing were killed," she added, looking up at him. "Is making sense."
He nodded. "I know that already. Go on."
She sighed. “We were surrounded. Had only dagger and without sword am little good in close fight. Was too close to fight to cast anything, so slipped into shadows. I threw my pendant into fight, to give friends light and me shadows to hide in. No sooner I call up poltergeist were ripped from my control. That was when felt dagger I think, in my back. I turned, saw hood behind, controlling my poltergeists, attacking me with them. Could see fight going badly for others, but could not help. Can only guess what must think of me, fleeing fight, think I abandoned. but needed to get away from fight, to have room to use magic." She choked back the tears threatening her, refusing to allow them voice. She could explain to them what happened, what she was trying to do when she was well enough to see them. She continued. "I felt something, lot of somethings hit me from behind, and that was last thing remember."
Landros felt his heart tighten uncomfortably; did not want to have to tell her what he had to, but there was no way around it. "Lark, I need to know who those people with you were."
Lark thought about that before she said anything. Why would he have to ask her? Why wait until she was healed and woke up if all he had to do was ask them. Unless he could not ask them. She sat up, not caring how much it hurt, looked at him, trying to find the answers to her fears in his amber eyes. She found them. "I am... only... one?" she stammered, feeling her blood go cold.
Landros sat up, held her tightly as her arms began to tremble, unable or unwilling to hold her own weight. Lark was in complete shock, unable to breathe, to think. Landros knew survivor's guilt, knew that was what she had to be feeling. She drew a sudden, ragged breath. Nightingale hopped off the bedpost onto her knee, piped his concern. She took a deep, slow breath, getting herself under control, stroked the bird’s breast feathers softly. He rubbed his tiny head against her finger, made a sad little noise.
“Man was Ebastion Shadowfalk,” she said slowly without looking up at him. “Was with Keltree, Rue and I on Evandair. Helped kill vampire, well… body at least. Woman was name Lulelani. Was friend of Ebastion. Only met her few moments before, was with Ebastion. I think… I think Keltree knew her, or she knew Keltree. Might ask him.”
“What about the other man?” he asked softly.
She looked up, “What other… oh! Him. Him I do not know. When Vashinti, or whatever name was, come to us and began leading away, this man came up, asked if was trouble. Lulelani told him yes, and would he like to help. So he came with us to die. He never told his name. There was not time.”
“Damn it!” he swore, banging his head against the headboard in frustration.
“What is?” she asked, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand. “What is so important about this man’s name?”
He sighed. “He was a Hawk, a full knight. That is what is so important about his name. I have to report his death and I do not even know who to say has died.”
Lark winced as she pulled her sore muscles trying to sit up to comfort him. “Lot of people have died in last few days. Lot more will die and many nameless. We cannot save them all. You cannot save them all.”
He sighed, took her hands from his face, held them in his own. “I am upsetting you,” he moaned. “You need to rest. I… I have things I have to do.” He started to get out of the bed.
“What, now? Is nightfall,” she protested, grabbing hold of his left shoulder to hold him back. She pulled back with a squeal when he flinched, giving a low shout of pain.
He stood, turned to face her, holding his arm and trying to get his pain under control.
She grabbed his open shirtfront and pulled it back far enough to see the bandage on his shoulder. “You are wounded,” she gasped. “How… Rescuing me?” No, she thought, not more blood on my head!
“No,” he groaned. “I…. Remember last night I told you I had some things to do? That I was close to finding out what was going on and why so many free-lance adventurers have disappeared?”
“I remember conversation,” she nodded.
“Well, I got into it this morning. The black skinned man, that Northman with the torn up face you met. That was Vanishti, a one-time companion of Ashanda, and that cut on his face was my doing. It turns out he betrayed Ashanda, sold her out for his own life. These men have been luring free-lancers in, and then petitioning them with promises of money, glory, whatever it takes to get them to turn coat. If they refuse, they die. There is no telling how many have taken the promises offered.” He began to pace. “Maybe I should have accepted,” he muttered. “Gotten myself in and used that to discover who they had corrupted and how deep they have gone. Maybe found out just what the enemy is up to. We turned them down and they nearly killed us. If Adrick hadn’t teleported us out….”
“Adrick teleport….?” She asked, incredulous. “Did not know Adrick could….”
“Apparently, neither did he,” he mused. “He prayed for a miracle and well… he got one. I took a shoulder hit. Adrick took some minor damage. Barak nearly lost his arm, and I don’t think Lithgorin was too severely hurt. Which is more than I can say for his brother.”
“Lith had brother?”
“Not anymore,” he sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He buried his head in his hands. “There has been so much blood lost already! If Adrick had not been so divinely inspired, there might have been no one to come to your rescue, princess. They outnumbered us two to one, easily. How many men were there who attacked you?”
She rested her chin on his good shoulder, wrapped her arms around him from behind. “Five, or six. Maybe more, I was little busy.”
“Yeah,” he snorted angrily. “Busy getting stabbed in the back.” He covered her hands with his, relishing the feel of her so close, so caring. “Something has to give, Lark. Somewhere the storm is going to break. I only hope that whatever is keeping the king does not keep him long. Or there may not be a city left to save.”
“What do you suppose is keeping him?” she asked.
“The Goddess only knows. It would have to be serious, I am sure. Maybe another army? I don’t know. With no news coming in…. The whole country could be at war for all that we know!”
Lark pulled him backwards, laid him across her lap, brushed his hair from his eyes. “Then what does any of this matter?” she asked. “All we have is now. What will be will be no matter what we do, and war, king, yes, even your precious Lord Colwyn can wait for sunrise. You need your rest, and I am not willing to let you go. At least not for few more hours.”
Landros sighed, closed his eyes, savored the soft stroking of her cool hands on his brow. It was so easy to just fall into her embrace and get lost there forever. “I really should head over to….” Lark bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, inadvertently pressing her breasts against his forehead, smothering him in her musky warmth. He gave a quiet moan. “Maybe I do hurt too much just now,” he mumbled, reaching up to deepen the kiss.
She stiffened suddenly, held her breath. He let go immediately, slid out from under her. “What’s wrong?”
She let her breath out slowly, took another deep breath and repeated the process. She shook her head. "Just... sore. Getting stiff," she said. It was more than that, but there was no sense in worrying him. It would pass. Even now she could feel the spasm letting go, her muscles relaxing a little. "Am fine," she said, sitting up straight again, smiling intentionally.
“Do you think you could eat something now?” he asked her, kissing her fingers.
“Maybe a little. Nothing heavy, would make sick,” she groaned.
He kissed her fingers again. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He fetched the magic blanket from its cabinet and spread it on the floor in front of the fire. Scraps ran over, sat just off the blanket, watching eagerly, waiting. Landros concentrated on the kind of food he wanted, spoke the command word. A large bowl of a rich broth appeared, with a loaf of still steaming bread and a large hunk of sharp cheese. There was a pitcher of mulled wine, and a bowl of crawfish and apples. Landros was somewhat startled. When a pair of black paws snaked out and seized the nearest crawfish, he was even more surprised.
"What?" Lark giggled from the bed. "You look startled."
"I did not ask for crawfish, or apples," he answered, watching the raccoon retreat into a warm corner with his prize.
"You think maybe he did?" she laughed.
"I said before I do not understand the magic completely," he said, shaking his head. He got up and began carrying the food to the small table by the bed, dragged the chair over beside it. Lark sat on her knees with the sheet draped over her lap, accepted the mug of broth that he poured for her.
The two of them ate quietly, shared the meager bounty with the animals. Lark laughed softly as she watched the raccoon holding his apple up for the bird to pick the seeds out. She watched Landros watch the animals, lovingly memorizing his face, his expression. He seemed at peace right now. Ironic, she thought, that it takes nearly killing him to get him to unwind. She gasped as her back seized up again, every muscle tightening.
Landros turned his head sharply to look at her, felt a pull from his shoulder as he did. "What? Princess, are you all right?!" he asked, tossing the heel of his bread on the table and grabbing hold of her to keep her from tumbling forward off the bed.
She let her breath out slowly, unfolded herself and laid down. She pulled the pillow down to her instead of crawling up to it, digging her claws into it. “Hurts,” she mumbled into the feather pillow. “So tight….”she gasped.
Next to him, on the table, he heard a noise, turned to see the bird sitting with one claw on the over-turned bottle of medicine that Brother Ferin had left for them. He looked back at Lark, took her hand in his. “I think we both could use some of that,” he admitted reluctantly. He picked up the bottle, made a face as he uncorked it. He hated this sort of thing, medicinal herbs and drugs which fuddled the mind, but he could not stand to see her in so much pain, and the priest had left it here in the belief it would be needed.
He poured a few measured drops of it into half a mug of the wine and helped her to sit up enough to drink it. "Come on," he said. "It will help with the pain. Help you relax."
She drank it slowly. Laid back down. He set the cup back on the table. "It might take a few minutes to work," he said, hating as well this feeling of helplessness.
She barely nodded. "If like Laud'num, will not take but moment," she wheezed.
For lack of anything else to do, he began to wrap the remains of the bread and the cheese in a cloth for later, put the empty bowl of broth back onto the blanket and banished it. He shook out the blanket and folded it up, putting it away. He checked on her again. She was still tense, clenched almost into a complete ball, breathing spastically. "You have to relax," he said. "If you want the muscles to relax..."
"Is not... me," she gasped. "Is muscle not relax."
He sighed, thought a moment. He remembered something, had an idea that might help her. He went into the washroom, opening the small cabinet where the towels and soaps were kept, looking for a bottle he remembered having seen there. Something his brother had left. He found it pushed towards the back, lying, forgotten, on its side. He brought the bottle into the bedroom, setting it on the hearth to warm up. He came over to the bed, pulled back the covers and laid a large towel down beside her. “Come on,” he said, helping her over onto the towel, “On your belly.”
“Why, what…?” she moaned, not helping, but not resisting either. He began to pull her shift up, trying to get it off, over her head. “Lover, is not time for….” she protested. Her muscles were tightening up further, reacting to the pain, making it worse.
"Relax, my princess. It is not what you think." He stopped for a moment, looked in her dark eyes. "Trust me," he said softly, managed to get her on the towel, undressed and returned to the hearth for the bottle. He opened it and, pouring the warmed oil into his hand, set it on the bedstand. Rubbing his hands together, he climbed up onto the bed, straddling her body and began to massage the oil into her shoulders in long, slow, deep strokes. She gave a sudden, shuddering moan that had nothing to do with pain, and slowly began to relax. He worked his way down her back, trying to conserve his strength, to be gentle, on her as well as himself. The oil made it much easier on both of them, letting his hands glide across her muscles without having to exert too much pressure which might have done more damage than good.
She could feel the knots beginning to unwind as he rubbed, the muscles to stop complaining so loudly. The oil smelled strongly of juniper and wintergreen, and she began to feel a cool burn across her shoulders where the oil was beginning to dry. “What is… this?” she moaned, surrendering completely to his ministrations.
“It’s something my brother left here once. Something he swears by for getting a woman relaxed and… well…” he felt his face beginning to flush. “…ready,” he finished. “I thought it would help the tightness, ease the pain. I’m not hurting you, am I?” he asked.
“No,” she murmured.
He had his doubts, though. She was moaning an awful lot. He moved back as he rubbed, working his way slowly down to her thighs. There were small red spots all over her back, evidence of where the nails had been, though the wounds had closed. By tomorrow, he knew the marks would be gone. In the middle of her back, just under her left shoulder blade was a thin red line, no more than an inch or two long, a blade mark. Judging from its placement, the assassin knew the human body, knew what he was doing, and where to place a blade to keep a victim from screaming. He should have hit her lung, but there was a chance that Lark had moved just in time, that the blade had slid in sideways, just missing the intended target.
He finished the massage without being as thorough as he would have liked. His shoulder was beginning to ache again. He leaned forward, kissed her cheek softly. She was already asleep. He got off of her and out of the bed, drew the covers up over her naked body. He stopped at mid-back, examining the small knife scar before covering her up completely.
He stood up, mimed putting a knife into her back at about the height of her wound. From what he remembered, the hooded figure was a little bit taller than himself, and therefore taller than Lark, so it had to be an underhand stab. He tried it with both hands, imagining her standing in front of him. It felt awkward making a right handed stab to her left blade, felt more natural, and therefore more likely to go right with a right handed attack. So the hooded person was left handed. That made things a little easier. Most people were right handed.
Well, it was a start, he thought. He checked on Lark again, made certain she was warm enough and sleeping soundly. He was restless himself, not ready to go back to bed. He figured she would probably sleep until morning, which meant he had time, if he felt up to it, to go to Colwyn's and make his report.
He only thought twice about it before he shrugged out of his nightshirt and pulled clean clothes on. Scraps climbed up on the bed, sat up, called attention to himself. Landros looked at him as he tucked his shirt in. "Yes, I am going out. Now, are you going to stay here tonight and keep an eye on her?” he asked in a low voice, indicating the sleeping girl, “Or do you what to come with me to Colwyn's and scruff around in the woods?"
The raccoon gave a soft chirr and crawled under the blankets. "Fine," he sighed. "Suit yourself. I swear you are as bad as Portholus about beautiful women." He put his cloak on and paused to have a word with the mockingbird. "I don't know how much you understand," he said softly, "but I want you to keep an eye on her. If anything happens, or she needs anything go down to the kitchen and someone will come up. If it is an emergency, I will be at Colwyn's, where the wagon is. You can find me there." He stroked the soft breast of the bird. "I just hope you understand enough," he sighed, and left the room quietly.
Landros slipped quietly passed the watchmen in the streets, encountering no one the whole way to Colwyn's house. He snuck quietly through the back gate and up to the house where he knocked on the kitchen door. The scullery let him in, greasy from head to toe from scrubbing the supper pots. It was not long before he was led up to the study where his lord was pouring over some maps and comparing them to reports. Colwyn looked up. "Ah, come in, come in! Had you been an hour earlier you could have had supper with me. Would you care for something to drink? Brandy? Wine?"
"No thank you, my Lord." He crossed to the desk, glanced over the papers spread on the surface and then politely looked away.
"It is good to see you in one piece. I was beginning to wonder what with all that happened today," he said, clapping Landros on his shoulder. Landros of course, buckled almost instantly under the heavy hand of his lord. Colwyn grabbed for him immediately, set him down in the nearest chair. "What? You've been hurt? I'm sorry, boy! I really... If I had known...."
"It's all right, my Lord. It's all right. Just... let me get my breath," he gasped. "You have a hand that could damage a whole man, much less a wounded one. Of course, it did not help that you picked the shoulder everyone seems to be favoring lately," he chuckled. "Which is a matter I will take up with you later."
"Yes, you will," Colwyn said, pressing a glass of brandy into his hand whether he wanted it or not. "First you are going to tell me what happened to you and what you found out this morning."
He poured himself a glass and sat down in the chair across from Landros, waiting for his squire to begin.
"We've got problems, my Lord," he said. "Problems that might be more dangerous than the fireballs or the breach of the North wall last night."
"Do tell," he prompted.
Landros filled him in on the fruits of the last three days of skulking around Bayside. All the way up to everything he could remember about the fight in the alley and the people involved. Lord Colwyn was silent through the whole dialog, sat swirling the brandy in his glass.
"And that is not the worst of it, sir," he added. He waited until the knight raised his eyes to meet his. "The worst of it is, how many people SURVIVED this trap. Vanishti is probably the most obvious of the lot. The others will be difficult indeed to find. I fear the city has been seeded with traitors, beginning with who this damned mage is!"
"Any ideas?"
Landros shook his head, took a hard swallow of the brandy and savored the smooth burn of it down the back of this throat. "Not a clue. I don't even know whether it is male or female. All I do know is that the mage is about a head taller than I, and left handed."
Colwyn stopped in the midst of drinking, raised an eyebrow over the rim of his glass. "Left-handed? How are you sure?"
Landros rolled the glass between his gloved hands and studying the dark amber liquid, getting his emotions under control before trusting himself to speak. "Lark... was lured into a similar trap by the black man, who is dead now, I will add, and encountered the survivors of the previous battle."
Colwyn leaned forward, "When did this happen?" he asked.
"While we were at the Temple licking our wounds and mourning our dead. Lark was stabbed from behind by this hooded mage, and, judging from the placement of the wound, this person not only had to be left-handed, but also knew exactly what he/she was doing. I think the blade missed her lung only because she moved."
"She would never have even screamed," Colwyn finished with a nod. "This is a problem. I am sorry she had to get caught up in this mess. How is she?"
"Sleeping. Her familiar found me at the temple at about the time she was taken down. I barely got there in time. There... were three people with her," he added, hesitant. "One of them she knew, the second by association with the first and the third... a man they met while being led into the trap who offered assistance. Lark said the man never had time to give his name."
"And these three are dead?" Colwyn assumed, leaning back.
Landros nodded. "The third man… was a Hawk."
Colwyn's glass shattered in his hand. He got up quickly, began mopping at his pants and the spill with a handkerchief, tossed the largest pieces of glass into the ash bucket. "Are you certain?" he asked when he had regained his composure.
Landros nodded, staring into his brandy. "He was wearing a gold knight's ring. Unless he stole it, or it somehow ended up in his hands. But from Lark's description of his behavior, I doubt that."
Colwyn nodded, rested his elbow on the mantle and scratched his chin with his thumb, thinking. "I'll go up to the House of the Old One tomorrow and see if I can identify the body. I'll stop in and talk to Lark as well, while I'm there. See what else she remembers. She is in the Maiden's House with the other wounded, I assume?"
"No," he answered, draining the glass and setting it aside. "She is at my apartments. They took her into surgery immediately. As I said, I barely got to her in time. Since she had been given healing, and they needed the beds for those that had not, they asked me to take her home. So I did."
"So what are you doing here?" he asked.
"Giving my report. As I said, she is sleeping. I gave her some of the medicine they gave me for her for pain. She dropped right off."
"This could still have waited until morning." He sighed, went over to sit at the desk, ran his hands through his hair. "Go on home, take care of her. Rest yourself. You are no good to anyone if you can't take even a little jostling. We will need to find these other men, though, as soon as you are up to it. Before they kill or turn anyone else."
Landros got out of the chair, tossed his cloak over his shoulders. "You can stop in and see them at the House of the Dead as well, my Lord. Lark's friends and this unnamed Hawk all but finished what the five of us had not been able to this morning. Barak and I finished off the last two when we arrived."
Colwyn sighed, gave a tired smile. "Landros, you are going to have to learn to leave some of these men alive for questioning," he said, propping his head on his fist. "Now go home and get some rest. The war can wait until morning. I'll send for you if I need you."
Landros nodded, gave a short bow as he left. He wandered out to Lark's wagon, glad that she was now in the habit of not locking it. It meant she felt safe here. He sighed, it was just when she left the protection of these walls that she was in danger. But there was no way he could keep her here. To lock her up within these walls would destroy her and he knew it. That was not worth her life. Even he had to admit that.
He lit the lantern on the hook outside, went in and looked for a change of clothing for her. All that he could find was her new blue dress. He looked everywhere, but there was nothing. Not even a spare blouse. He began to wish he had commissioned more than just four dresses for her. He took down her pack, checked inside it, but it was empty. He folded the dress up and put it into the bag. He took her violin down, in case she felt like playing to keep herself from going crazy. He did not think playing the fiddle would be too strenuous.
Stuffing everything into her pack, he left the wagon, slinging it over his good shoulder and headed back to his rooms at the inn.
As he approached the front door of the inn, he saw the figure of a young woman in a hooded cloak also headed for the door. He opened it, held it for her. She paused, laughed and dropped her hood. "Fancy meeting you here," Rue smiled.
"Rue?!" he exclaimed, began looking around for the mockingbird who he thought had to have brought her. "Is there something wrong?"
"No, you paranoid goose. Come on, it's cold out here," she said and went inside the inn. He followed her, began to lead her up to his room. "I just got up and, since things were relatively calm right now, I thought I would stop by and check up on the pair of you. Bring you something for pain if you needed it. I see, however that you are well enough to be out and about," she said, not without some sarcasm, which he chose to ignore.
"I had errands to run. I am home for the duration now," he said, reaching for his key.
She gestured to the patchwork bag on his shoulder, "Getting Lark some of her own things to wear? What, my hand-me-downs are not good enough for her?" she teased.
"Humph," he said. "That explains why the shift is a little long and a little narrow."
She chuckled. "It is good that I ran into you though," she added. "I knew you had taken rooms here, but I did not know which. Brother Ferin could not remember, so I trusted the Maiden to lead me here. I did not expect her to send me a guide," Her eyes twinkled when she said that.
Rue admired the small apartments..
"It's not much, but it suits my needs more than adequately," he said, setting Lark's pack down on the couch.
"It's cozy," she murmurred. "So, who's first? You or Lark?"
"Lark, if you don't mind waking her up," he said.
"Oh, I probably won't need to do that," she smiled, following him into the bedroom.
Scraps sat up as the door opened. Landros turned to tend the fire as Rue went to the bed, whispered a hello to the raccoon and pulled the covers back from Lark.
"Oh merciful Maiden," Landros heard her gasp behind him. He turned.
"What?"
Rue stepped aside, pulled back the covers. Landros crossed to the bed, looked down at Lark's still body. Her back was covered in dark red spots and tiny, yellowish striations. "What the hells...!" he began. "They were not this bad when I left her just over an hour ago."
"What was not this bad?" she demanded.
"The scars, the wound marks. They were just small pink marks. She was having muscle cramps or something, said her back was tight. And it was. I gave her a back rub with this," he said, handing her the bottle of oil. "She fell asleep before I was finished."
"Muscle spasms?" she asked.
There was no color in her face at all. Landros put a hand on Lark's back, not comfortable with Rue's reaction. Lark was burning up.
"Landros, there were no marks on her body when she left surgery. We healed everything."
Panic began rising up again, followed by an anger with no focus. "Then what in the name of the Three is wrong with her?"
"Move," she snapped, pushing him out of the way and laying her hands on Lark's back. Scraps watched, confused as she closed her eyes and prayed, placed his paws on Lark, too. Rue's hands began to glow with a cold blue light. Landros paced, worrying. He looked around the room, hunting for the familiar. He found him watching from the windowsill, pressed against the closed shutters where it was cooler. He did not look well. Landros picked him up, cradled him in his hands, using him as a focus for his attention to keep from venting his frustration physically.
Rue stepped back, took a breath. "What, what is it?" he demanded.
"She's been poisoned," she answered, began working frantically. She ripped the blankets from the bed, took her medallion off and laid it on her back.
Landros grabbed her arm. "What do you mean she's been poisoned?" Nightingale protested as he inadvertently pressed too hard with his other hand. Landros lightened his grip on him. "How? When?" he demanded.
"I don't know. The knife she was stabbed with was probably poisoned."
"The knife? Then how the hells come you didn't catch that when you were healing her?" he snarled.
Rue jerked her arm away, snarled back. "Healing is not a general art! You don't just lay hands on and pray and the hurt goes away! There has to be skill and knowledge in the application! I have to know what is wrong with her before I can fix it and we were not looking for poison! We were concerned with keeping her alive and getting the nails out cleanly and preventing infections from the rust! Now if you will let me alone long enough, I will get to work!" She turned from him and wet a rag in the water pitcher. She wrung it out, tossed Lark's braid out of the way and laid the cloth on the back of her neck.
Landros stood watching at the foot of the bed, one hand clutching the bird to him, the other clinging white-knuckled to the bedpost.
"Landros," she said, laying her hands on either side of the medallion. "This is going to take some time. I would suggest you take the animals into the other room and do something constructive. Have a bath brought up or something."
Landros hesitated, not wanting to leave Lark. But there was something in Rue's tone which told him she did not want him here. Rather than possibly distract her from her work, he coaxed the raccoon into his arms and carried both creatures into the other room.
He set both animals on the sofa, making sure that the bird was comfortable on a pillow, and went downstairs to order the bath brought up. The servants nodded, said that water would be heated immediately. Landros got a bottle of wine from the taproom and headed back upstairs. No one got in his way. He sat down in the chair by the unlit fireplace, poured a glass of the wine and sat with it in his hands, not drinking. He stared for a long time up at the elven sword over the mantle, tried to take comfort in its history and heritage, tried to tell himself that she was only human, that her life was but a blink of his and her death, whether today, tomorrow, or fifty years from now, was inevitable and something he could not change. But he was not listening. Every reason he gave himself for not caring what was happening in the other room, he shot down with very little reason and pure, blind emotion. The answer was simple. If she left, the hole he felt inside him right now at the thought that he might be losing her, would eventually swallow him whole.
She was a wanderer, he knew that. Not knowing how she felt about him exactly, he did not know if she would not be wandering off again no sooner the siege was over. He felt better now that she was staying at Colwyn's, at least then, even if he did not see her, he would know that she had not just wandered off again like the last time. Still, even her wandering off, even that uncertainty was far better than her dying. No, too many had died all ready, too many trying to protect her. No. Her death he would not permit.
He started to get up, to pace again, found himself dislodging Scraps. He did not remember the critter climbing onto his lap. Scraps gave a surprised screech as he hit the floor, gave Landros a dirty look and crawled into the fireplace and up the chimney. "I'm sorry," he called. But the raccoon did not respond. Landros sighed, resisted the temptation to go into the other room to check up on the women. He sat at the desk instead, penned a short letter to Lily, telling her not to worry, but that Lark had been seriously hurt and was in his care for a few days. He folded the note carefully, sealed it. He looked towards the bedroom door. Still no sound. He sighed, wrote a letter to Colwyn informing him of the recent revelations regarding the attack on Lark. Colwyn had told him how to word these letters, how to address them in such a way as to let the initiated know that the contents were Hawk related without it being obvious to the uninitiated; as well as teaching him how to recognize when a letter was penned in full code. He was not to be taught the full code until he received his gold ring and jesses.
He heard a noise in the other room. He knocked his chair over in his haste, opened the door to see Rue sinking into the rocking chair. Scraps was on the bed, snooping at Lark who still lay unmoving on the bed. "Rue? Everything...."
She looked up at him, as if she had not just heard him charging in. "Fine. Everything is fine. I need something... to drink," she said weakly.
He went back into the other room, poured her a glass of wine and brought it to her. She took it in trembling hands and sipped it slowly. "Thank you," she sighed.
Landros went to the window, closed the shutter. Apparently, that had been the noise he had heard, Scraps breaking in. The animal looked innocently up at him, chittered in his direction and rolled over begging for a tummy rub. He had no doubt learned that little trick from Landros's brother. He sighed, covered Lark up with the blankets. There were no signs of her injuries on her dark, creamy skin now. He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek.
Lark stirred, felt the touch and opened her eyes. She looked up at Landros, smiled softly. "Mmm, felt good," she sighed, stretching. "Thank you."
A knock on the front door called his attention before he could comment. He gave her a quick kiss and went to let the water bearers in.
Lark sat up, realized suddenly there was someone else in the room and covered herself. "Rue?" she asked. "Did not hear you come in."
Rue smiled. "Quiet as a mouse, I am."
"Are you all right?" she said. "Look exhausted."
"Oh, I am fine, my dear," she sighed. "Just a little tired. I will be myself again in a few minutes."
"Why are you here?" Lark wondered aloud, snatching up the shift on the floor by the bed and slipping into it.
"Oh, just checking up on you two."
There was something about the way she was smiling that gave Lark the impression she was keeping something to herself which amused her. Lark got up, poured some wine for herself and sat down on the hearth, stirred the fire.
"You really should not be out of bed, dear," Rue said gently.
Lark shrugged. "I feel fine. You need rest. You cannot keep going without rest and expect to not fall over."
"I slept this afternoon. Just after Landros brought you here. I got up not too long ago to check up on you."
Lark drank from her glass, thinking. "Do not look like just woke up."
She sighed, set the chair rocking. "You do not remember what happened after the back rub?" she asked. There was something in her eyes that told Lark there was a point to the question, reminded her of her Gruma, asking questions she already knew the answers to.
She shook her head. "Nothing happened. He rubbed my back and then you were here, though I do not remember when you came in."
"You must have fallen asleep on him."
"Is possible," she shrugged, stretching, feeling the tension ease out of her. "Is felt so good."
"You were poisoned, dear," Rue said bluntly.
Lark almost choked on her wine, coughed until she could breathe right again. "Poison? How?" Her eyes darted to the little bottle on the nightstand. "He gave me some of that," she said, indicating the medicine. "Was this the...."
Rue shook her head. "No. We just missed it. I think the dagger you were stabbed with was poisoned. A subtle poison.”
"Rue," Landros said from the door. "I want this man... woman... whatever. I want this person in a real bad way."
"I can understand," she said. She got up, set her glass aside. "I should get back. There are others who will be needing my services. I just stopped by to check up on you two and to bring you this," she added, pulling a leather bound book out of the medicinal bag at her hip. She handed it down to Lark. "I thought you might need something to keep you from going back to work before you should. You can give it back to me whenever you finish it. It's not like I am going to have time to do much reading in the near future." She did not wait for a response, drifted out of the room. Landros saw her to the door.
"I want you to rest as well, now," she warned, fastening her cloak around her.
"For a day or so," he agreed. "I won't promise any more than that."
"Go on," she said. "The bath is getting cold."
Landros closed the door behind her, went into the bath and lit several candles on the washstand, then tested the water. It was not too hot. He went back into the bedroom for Lark. She was sitting on the hearth still, idly scratching the raccoon's belly as she looked through the book. He walked over to her, gently took the book from her hands and set it on the rocking chair. She looked up, quizzicly. Taking her by the hands, he pulled her to her feet, led her back into the other room and into the bath.
She took a deep breath of air, sighed with anticipation. Steam curled off the surface of the water enticingly. She leaned back against Landros's chest, tilted her head up at him. "Are joining, yes?" she purred.
"If you insist," he sighed with mock resignation. He perked up when she smiled, gave her a soft kiss. "That's what I want to see."
His hands began to pull up her shift, intent on pulling it over her head. She gave him a sly look. "Thought Rue say no strenuous exercises?"
"Oh, there won't be," he answered, succeeding in divesting her of the shift.
She gave a pout.
He sighed, feeling an ache inside at the expression. He gently touched a finger to her lips. "Princess, neither you nor I are up to that at the moment. Though later... later. I did make you a promise last night. Now get into the water before I have to pick you up and hurt myself again."
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