17878265 (12 page)

“I do not know for what the sea is named,” Avalana replied bashfully, not seeming to mind Loric’s frank manner of speech. “I only know that my home is close enough to the Shimmering Sea that I can almost see it as the gods view it, in all of its breadth. I miss the sea, my home.”

Avalana’s smile, which had been such a welcome sight to Loric, faded as she finished

speaking. Her voice dampened in speaking her longing for Regalsturn. Loric’s thoughts also turned homeward. He remembered it. “Taeglin is my home.” He caught Avalana’s eyes as they lit upon him. They seemed to request more information, so he went on, “It lies southwest of Moonriver, along a branch of the Moonbeam Stream.”

Avalana’s lips parted jubilantly. “Speak on if you remember more, but if not, drink the
curatif
brew. The vapors have done much to cure your wound. Do you also feel refreshed?”

Loric continued his nod of agreement.

“The herb from which I made it is more potent when you drink it,” Avalana shared. “Go on.

Drink it. Drink,
Ami.”

The princess pointed to the bowl next to Loric. He took the container between trembling hands. He watched the blue liquid splash the inner round of the vessel. It created foamy waves, like the ocean he had heard about, but only imagined. The wayward traveler stared at the wavelets as he lifted the bowl to his lips and sipped its contents. There was no bitterness to the remedy. He drank. To his surprise, the steamy brew went down cool. It was sweet to the taste and smooth on his throat.

Loric felt better after his first drink. It infused him with energy. When he finished, he asked,

“What is this? It not only satisfies the mouth, but it restores vigor to the body as well.”

“The
mathasz lutinszba nes do
is a mystical plant found along the seashores near my home,”

answered Avalana.

Loric was dumbfounded. It was a mouthful to speak something as simple as a specific type of plant in Avalana’s strange language. He opened his mouth to repeat the words,
“Maw....

thawz-”

Avalana stopped him with a giggle.

Heat rose from Loric’s chest to his cheeks. Warmth faded, leaving him cold and hollow.

Avalana apologized, “I am sorry.” She took up a wooden cup and drew a sip from it,

returned it to its place on the table. She slowly repeated the words,
“Mathasz lutinszba nes do.”

She reached out with her narrow fingers, which chased in circles for the right translation, offering, “In your language, it means....
weed of the elf.”
She smiled, pleased with her grasp of the native tongue.

“I see,” Loric replied, “although I am unfamiliar with this plant.”

Avalana continued excitedly, “It grows near Crenullaisz, across the sea. I frequently employ the use of this and other enchanted herbs. In my home country, people consider me a gifted healer, but I sometimes doubt the high praise I receive. I have simply been well schooled in the use of blessed plants.”

“I know nothing of healing,” Loric admitted, “but I know that everything you have done for me has eased my pain and cured my head.” He offered further encouragement, saying, “I feel mild throbbing behind my eyes, but that is not due lack of attention on your part. You have gone to great lengths to comfort me. You have restored my vision and my memory, and for that I owe you thanks and a debt that may not be within my means to repay, milady.”

Avalana smiled and assured him, “You owe me nothing.” She paused, reconsidering her

position, before she decided, “You owe me continued rest, until you are well.” Avalana moved toward him unexpectedly, murmuring, “I should check your bandage.” She leaned close to Loric, who caught the fragrance of lavender wafting toward him. Avalana lifted a corner of cloth from his forehead, taking great care not to irritate his wound. After a peek at his brow, the lady informed her charge, “This must be changed.” Avalana removed the old wrap. Then she

withdrew a jar of creamy paste from a pocket of her dress and smeared it onto a new bandage.

Avalana slowly pressed the poultice to his head, warning him, “This sometimes burns when it is first applied, but it should ease your pain.”

It burned like fire. It was as though she had placed a hot coal upon his brow. Loric grunted and reached up to strike the bandage away.

Avalana stopped his move to resist her with a firm, “No!” Loric’s discomfort and her harsh command caused Avalana to say, “I am sorry, Sir
Ami.
The pain is part of the cure.” She soothed him with a touch of her hand and words of encouragement. “The burn will pass. It should feel better in a moment.”

As promised, the fiery balm cooled. Pleasant numbness settled into Loric’s forehead. “Ah,”

he sighed, as the burning sensation finally faded away. “That is much better.”

There followed a long pause in which neither the princess nor Loric spoke. Young man and young woman looked about with no focus. Avalana fidgeted with the clasps of her hands, right upon left and then left about right, afterward interlocking fingers in various combinations. Her smile rose by half, and then it twisted downward, before it arose again, her eyes twinkling. At length, the princess shrugged and her face brightened. She spoke, though hesitantly, asking,

“Who is Adie,
Ami?”

Adie!
“I know that name. Adie is my mother’s name. Why do you ask?”

Tension melted away from Avalana’s face in the warmth of her bright smile. She made a poor attempt to hide her relief, as she curtly answered, “Oh, no reason.”

Loric shrugged.

“You said that name while you slept. That is all,” Avalana added. Her face crinkled in perplexity as she went on to say, “Well, actually, that is not all. You also muttered
sunset
many times and -?”

“Sunset is the name of my horse,” Loric declared proudly. “My father gave him to me.”

“That was a rich gift,” Avalana remarked. “Your father must be a wealthy lord to spoil you so,” she chided. Her eyes were serious and thoughtful.

Loric bit back his discomfort at telling his half-truth. Palen had told him Sunset was his when he finally left his boyhood home, but Loric had departed unbidden, no matter how he tried to justify his thievery. As for the armor and sword, he had stolen them outright. Guilt tortured him for doing that, especially when he looked about for them and discovered they were gone.

The bandits must have taken everything,
he thought darkly.
Wait. She thinks my father a lord?

And wealthy too?

Avalana smiled, not seeming to notice Loric’s tormented state. Her eyes were in another place as she remarked, “He is remarkable.” Upon reading Loric’s quizzical expression, she added, “I mean your Sunset; not your father, although he may be remarkable as well. Rumor has it your steed was reluctant to accompany Lord Aldric’s soldiers back to camp.”

“Sunset is here?” Loric questioned. His mindset instantly lifted above the gloom into which it had settled. When Avalana nodded, he sighed, anxiety eased. “I am glad to know he was not taken--that I did not lose him. That is good news.” He beamed broadly as he shared, “I suppose this is a time of good news. I know who I am. I know who my mother is, and my father, and my horse.” He went on to introduce himself with a polite nod, saying, “I am Loric son of Palen, of Taeglin, at your service and deeply in your debt, Princess Avalana.”

Avalana extended her hand, fingers down. Loric reached up beneath her delicate digits, gently placing his thumb over them. Their eyes met, causing them to smile at one another dumbly. Loric felt Avalana pull against his hold, so he released her warm hand and admiring eyes.

Avalana’s cheeks retained their pink afterglow as she inquired, “Do you remember anything else about yourself, Loric? I mean brothers, sisters, friends--lady friends, perhaps?”

The last part of the question caught Loric off his guard, but he cleared his throat to rid himself of the bitter lump Belinda’s betrothal to Barag had left there. His tone was measured, as he politely replied, “I am the lone son of my father, with no sisters. Of my friends, there is little to tell. Most of them are older fellows who have followed their hearts unto other lives--usually to make war for Lord Garrick, as I too intend to do. Some of the lads let a pretty, young girl snare them before they could go off to war. Those poor chaps have settled down to build nice farms, close to their families.”

“No such
snare
was set for you,” Avalana began, disdainfully crinkling her nose at Loric’s word of choice, before she posed, “or did you use your wit and cunning to avoid it? After all, it would seem that war is the pitfall to avoid.”

Loric cocked his head at Avalana’s last remark, failing to understand her meaning. “There was one hook and lure I thought to let take me....” Loric started, but as the rest came back to him, he grunted, “....things did not sort themselves out between the maid and me.”

“Oh,” the princess responded, almost cheerily.

Loric frowned at her happiness, which caused Avalana to mirror his expression.

The princess quickly shrugged off the affront, as if it were no more than a trifle. “Perhaps it is for the best,” Avalana assured Loric in her most comforting voice. She applied two nervous pats to his shoulder for emphasis, before she ventured, “What was the girl’s name? Belinda, right?” she answered.

“Yes,” Loric rasped. “I suppose I spoke of her in my sleep as well,” he reasoned.

“Oh,” Avalana cooed. “This Belinda was a waste of a good dream, Loric.”

Loric disagreed with a hard stare.

Avalana giggled.

That giggle was an infectious sound that made it hard for Loric to continue his glowering gaze. He cracked a smile, unable to shield himself from the disarming presence of the princess before him.

“I know this must sound harsh,” Avalana said in defense of her position, “but her loss is sure to benefit another maiden--and you as well.”

The tent was quiet. Avalana watched Loric throughout the break in conversation, waiting for his reaction to her words, digging for it with prying eyes and a sly grin. Loric remembered Belinda and Barag dancing together. He shrugged and answered, “I would like to hope you are right, princess.”

“I know I am right,” she told him with the confidence of a person who is seldom wrong, or never hears aught of it when she is.

“Yes, milady,” was the only proper reply to that.

Outside, rain continued pouring earthward. It seemed as though it would fall forever, until the whole of Beledon was submerged. Drops of water beat against the tent with a continual, monotonous patter. The wind remained calm, but never-ending rain threatened to wash

everything away.

“Princess Avalana, you are a truly gifted healer,” Loric said after a time, to wake himself from the wearying spell of the elements. “I pray that you are only half as good a storyteller. If that is so, I will consider myself blessed to hear a tale from you.”

Avalana giggled. “Am I a bard?” she asked. She waved her query away as frivolously as she had discounted Loric’s heartache over Belinda and asked, “What tale would you hear from me, Loric?”

“What happened to me?” he asked. “Or rather, what great stroke of luck has brought me into such competent care as your healing hands have provided for me?”

Avalana seated herself upon the trunk next to Loric and warned him, “I lack the gift of the storyteller, but I will relay to you events of my journey and how it intersects your own, nevertheless.” She smiled away her uncertainty and began, “We set sail across the Shimmering Sea, as I have already told you.” Her eyes squinted bashfully to punctuate her humble beginning, and her voice softened until Loric had to strain to hear her. It was as though the person telling her tale was someone other than the socially adept maiden with whom he had previously been conversing. “Our ships landed off the west coast of Beledon, just north of the Emerald Mountains. There, we met Lord Aldric and journeyed through what your people call Great Westwood. Lord Aldric let us refresh ourselves at Emerald Spires before escorting us to Moonriver Castle, where my father will meet with Lord Garrick.”

Avalana paused to ask for clarification on a key point, her curiosity emboldening her tone,

“How did Lord Garrick and Lord Aldric come about their strange alliance, for it seems that they share equal titles with no king? In my Regalsturn, lords are lords, and the king is the king. Lords swear fealty and bow to the king. How do lords bow to lords?”

Loric tripped over Avalana’s question. His mouth hung slack, with no words to work his jaw.

“It is strange, no?”

Loric nodded. “I suppose it is at that. I am not sure that I understand any of the affairs concerning these Succession Wars, especially the alliance between Lords Garrick and Aldric.”

“What do you mean?” the lady pressed him.

“What I mean to say is that a long time ago Lord Garrick’s forebears--they are directly descended from King Donigan, you see--well, they came to blows with Lord Aldric’s fathers descended of Sir Bornan’s line. He was brother to the old king. They waged war on one another over the crown and scepter,” Loric explained. “In the end, Aldric’s father offered the hand of his daughter Lady Elena to Lord Garrick in exchange for peace with him.”

“Why would he value such a thing more than kingship?” Avalana asked. “I do not approve of war, but men seldom choose peace over bloodshed, especially where power is concerned. Did something force him to see the wisdom of peace?”

“Huh?” Loric recovered and said, “On the surface, it appears as though he gained little from surrendering his claim, but the Lord of Belgandost had died without an heir....” Loric paused as the falsehood of that long-accepted half-truth struck him full in his face. “Well,” he went on,

“that is not exactly right either.” The look on Avalana’s face was one of greater confusion than before he had begun his answer. Rather than enlightening her with more complexities that he barely understood, Loric waved the matter aside and explained, “Whatever the reason, the traditional Lands of Belgandost were left leaderless. That encouraged war between Egolstadt and Durbansdan, whose lords both desired to broaden their boundaries. Lord Garrick won the war quite handily for his father, so the two lords agreed to terms that would allow Aldric’s father to swear fealty to Garrick’s sire and withdraw troops from disputed lands. In addition, Garrick’s father gave Aldric’s father a seat of honor at Moonriver Castle, along with assurances of protection from Sir Sturgeon’s hostile descendants in Landolstadt.”