In the Rain – Chapter 6

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Point of View: Meliara

- - - - -

The first leg of our ride out of Remalna-city was not a pleasant one. Even the tenderness that fluttered in my stomach for Vidanric—rising to pound joyfully in my heart whenever I should glance over at him—could not bar the aches and jolts and chills of those hours. Now the sun lingered pale behind rolling gray clouds. Winds from the east whooshed in my ears over the rumble of our mounts' hooves, and damp leaves slapped against their parent boughs in an eerie, continuous rhythm.

Eventually we judged to need a change of horses. The party thudded to a stop at the entrance to the a small town's stables and I gratefully clambered to the ground, peripherally aware of handing my reins to a swift stable boy. I rubbed my clammy hands together, the wind tugging at my cloak as I waited for Vidanric to finish addressing the riding guards. Soon the riders moved off, following a stable hand around the low building.

"Let's get indoors," Vidanric said, nodding to the attached inn. At the entryway he opened the door, catching it as it buffeted slightly in the wind, and waited for me to precede him inside.

A young woman with braided brown hair and a crisp white apron greeted us in the main room. "Needin' a room to rest in, sir, miss?"

Shaking out my damp hat, I saw across the vacant room several cozy piles of cushions around a warm hearth. Vidanric glanced at me and followed my gaze.

"This will do," he assured the girl, drawing a coin pouch from his pocket and handing it to her. "The rest of our party should join us shortly from the stables—we'll need plenty of food and drink, as well. Thank you." The girl exited through a door in the back wall, her braid swinging with each bouncing step. Vidanric turned back to me, holding out his arm.

I accepted, quirking a look as he conducted me the short distance to the cushions. "Formalities, even now?"

His eyes crinkled tiredly. "I find them rather steadying in times like these," he admitted, sinking to his own cushion. I settled myself across from him, scrunching a face as I felt my joints grind into the new position.

Vidanric's brows snapped together. "Hurting?" he asked, looking at me closely.

"I feel like a battering ram that went up against a castle and lost." I rolled my neck, stiff and knotted from the ride.

He winced, offering, "I've found it pains doubly so when one has gotten out of the routine of daily riding."

"I believe it," I said, shrugging.

Vidanric made a soft noise of sympathy in his throat. "Here." He took up my left hand in one of his own and turned it palm up, smoothing it with his free hand. Glancing up at my puzzled expression, he paused to explain, "The pressure points of the hand can be used to affect the body's muscles, and relieve pain. Was a fad in Colend when I visited."

"I see—How does it work?" I asked keenly. Watching his hands with interest, I felt some of the cogs in my tired brain start cranking again.

"Well, every area of the hand—and foot, as well, though not as conveniently employed—is said to be connected to an organ or muscle." I nodded, and he went on. "This area," he said, tracing the outer edge of my smallest finger and on down my palm, "affects the neck. Others are connected to the back, stomach, heart… and so on," he finished delicately.

I grinned at him. "I'd wager the Colendi use this for more than just healing, then."

Vidanric just shook his head and bent over my hand, the corners of his eyes crinkling. I sat quietly for a few moments as he kneaded warm circles into my skin. A loose piece of his hair dangled smoothly against his cheek, and the added shadow made his face look more drawn than I had ever seen it. I wished we could rest, there in the inn, until he had his full energy back—but I knew there was nothing for it.

I settled for brushing the piece of hair away from his face. "The next phase of the ride—what should I know?"

"You already know best how and where to reach the Hill Folk, so the route you take is yours to choose. An escort will ride with you, of course," he added.

I made a puckered face. "An escort? You'll need all the riders you can get, and I'll just be riding the main thoroughfares, then some little mountain trails…" He gave me a stern look before finishing my left palm with a caressing motion, next taking up my right hand.

I sighed. "Okay, okay. And I know which forests are nearest, so I guess that's set."

"Good," he murmured. Eventually he finished my second hand the same way as the first, leaving my fingers loose and tingling.

"Better?"

"Very much so," I said. I moved my neck and rolled my shoulders to show him, then squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, giving me a wry smile.

"Um—ahem." A slight cough told us that the young woman had returned. Quickly setting down her laden tray, she said, "Your party will be inside in a matter of moments, sir, miss." Looking anywhere but Vidanric and blushing rosily, she scampered from the room, her braid fluttering after her.

Half-raising an eyebrow, Vidanric turned to look bemusedly at me. I smothered a laugh. "Seems you've acquired another admirer—and on my watch, too!" I exclaimed, attempting a scowl. He shook his head, looking amused, and I added playfully, "I'll just have to see that the competition doesn't get the better of me."

I leaned close, feeling my spirits buoy lighter than they had in hours. A light peck to his cheek would have satisfied my motives, but Vidanric, looking as though it had just struck him that we'd be parting within the time change, caught my lips for a deep kiss.

Pulling back, he looked at me seriously. "When all… this… is over… " He trailed off, but the sincerity in his tone made up for what words could never capture. "When this is over, we'll have time… time for building something new, instead of just clearing away the old messes. Not just for the kingdom, but for us."

"Good," I said, taking pleasure in murmuring the word back to him.

He looked at me, and his thumb running lightly along my jaw, brushed the softest of kisses against my cheek, and then we were quiet until the others joined us.

- - - - -

My escort and I were soon slogging up the muddy, rocky mountain trails that lead to the forests of the Hill Folk. Our heavy mounts had been replaced and we now rode the sturdy mountain ponies I knew from childhood. The three riders who accompanied me, Jarnal, Fridric, and Lisma, made their approval evident as we made two days and nights of steady progress towards the fir-covered hills fringing the horizon.

On the third morning my tired, itchy eyes squinted the base of a familiar rocky outcropping.

"Alright," I said, my voice sounding gravelly in my ears. Fridric, the youngest of the riders, had been waiting for my alert.

"Ai! Lisma, Jarnal!" he called. The two who had been riding guard in the rear urged their mounts forward and drew up to us, where we formed a tight circle.

"We are here, then," observed Jarnal, his dark eyes darting watchfully between the trees.

"Yes," I said. "I should be able contact the Hill Folk from just off the trail, within their forest."

"Very good, my lady," agreed Lisma, the leader of the three. She tucked a piece of her curling blonde hair back under her helm and flit a gesture with her hand. "Lead on."

I paused, somewhat embarrassed. "I thought I might call them on my own, return to you afterwards." Lisma frowned, so I explained, "To reach them, I need to sing."

"Sing?" repeated Fridric, leaning forward in his saddle.

"Yes, and as for my talent, it's pretty much nonexistent… Or it has at least done quite a good job of disguising itself from my few unfortunate listeners."

Fridric grinned, but Jarnal said seriously, "This is not a recital in Athanarel Hall. We must be wary for one another's safety."

"Besides, a bit of caterwauling might wake us up, eh?" Fridric teased, somehow still good natured when bone-weary.

"I'm afraid that settles it, my lady," Lisma said crisply. She firmed a new grip on her reins and nodded, so I had nothing to do but resign myself and lead the way into the trees.

I only hoped Danric was so well protected.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Point of View: Vidanric

- - - - -

The Marquise was completely pale in the face—so furious that her irises twitched and shook.

I thought it to be a perfectly reasonable reaction, however. She did have a half dozen flashing swords pointed at her throat.

Looking away from her, I swept a glance around the tent, my expression especially bland, as I hoped to avoid inciting her into any further reckless actions. The shadowy room was now filled with loyal riders bearing the crowned sun of Remalna on their tunics, handpicked for their skill in chaotic situations. In a nearby corner sat Fialma, also surrounded by several riders, but she was apparently only sulking harmlessly from a cushion and staring at the ground. The Duke of Grumareth was nowhere to be found, though Barons Chaskar and Hurnaev and Baroness Orgalion had been apprehended with ease, uttering foolish squeaks of fear at our arrival before falling silent and meek.

From outside the tent I could hear the muffled sounds of hooves and running feet and the shout of orders from the riding leaders. It sounded as though they had already fanned out and secured the majority of the Marquise's camp, but, if my plans for a swift capture had failed…

I turned quickly to address Captain Courin, the leader of this special force. "See that these women are removed to the secure area. I must leave you to see—"

"Not so hasty," the Marquise hissed. She seemed to have regained her composure, at least enough to twist a coherent word or two from her traitorous mouth. The guards surrounding her tensed and glanced at me.

"Hasty is not the word, my lady," I said tonelessly. "Expeditious are our actions. Someone with your reverence for ambition should have learnt to recognize a wise endeavor long ago."

Her lips twisted. "Such a speech from you. I've not forgotten those many years you spent, acting the fool—a dandy fop! And my brother believed it—until your treachery opened his eyes and thrust a sword between his ribs. You imagine your honor," she spat, narrowing her eyes at me. "It will be a stolen throne you sit upon."

Maintaining a blank expression—she clearly desired no response, or at least not the one I was tempted to give—I gave a curt nod and signaled my leave to the commanding officers, turning to leave the tent and the sight of the Marquise's rigid, hate-filled features. But a stride from the canvas door my ears stung with a sharp noise. Eerie, throbbing hacks—of laughter. As my every muscle tensed and I spun back around, the laughter was joined by a heavy thump and the shocked voices of the riders guarding the Marquise. My eyes snapped back to her—downward, for she now knelt on the ground as if her knees had suddenly given way.

"Farewell… my king," the Marquise rasped, biting off stilted words. The veins of her face were engorged and throbbing but she glared through the pain. A moment later a tiny clink sounded and I spied, too late, a needle on the ground, and a trail of blood mixed with poison coating the vanquished's wrist.

Suicide.

A few quick strides and I was at the tent wall, thrusting open the rough canvas and bellowing for a healer.

And thoughtlessly disregarding any further danger waiting at my back.

Barely had I opened my lips than I heard a shout from behind me and felt a soft glance, like a chill wind, dart just by my neck. At once I turned, finding myself almost nose to nose with Fialma—she had lunged at me. Gripping her bony shoulders with alacrity, I was surprised when she merely stood lifelessly in my grasp, looking down and faintly muttering. She made no further attempts to brain me—but had she done so in the first place?

As a pair of guards hurried forward and seized their charge—looking suitably abashed to have overlooked her in the commotion—one pointed wordlessly behind me. There, stuck in the tent-cloth at a height just above my shoulder, was a delicate silver needle. I moved closer to examine it: hollow, identical to the Marquise's own, it now oozed a honey-colored venom. As the deadly stain lazily trailed its way down the canvas a cold dread wrenched my stomach. I numbly ran my fingers across the skin above my collar, certain to find a gash dripping warm blood and hot poison, knowing I was done for as I soon as I felt the burning, open flesh lacerated by that dart.

But I never felt it. I touched skin, solid and whole.

So I dropped my hand and clenched tight my composure, letting my eyes flicker across the canvas door in an assessing manner for a moment. A deep breath through my nose and I was quickly delivering orders to the waiting riders.

"Someone see this canvas disposed of and replaced. My riders, follow me." I glanced at the ground where the now prone Marquise lay motionless in a circle of boots, adding, "After the Healer does what possible, move as earlier instructed." I nodded to Courin to transfer command. His eyes were steady and his bristly gray beard twitch with a grim look as he saluted.

Stepping outside—making careful use of the tent flap not coated in poison—I readjusted my commander's helm to better survey the camp, waiting for the assemblage of the half-dozen men who broke off to form my personal guard. From this vantage point, I assessed, things seemed to be going well, no nearby fighting or bloodshed—but that told me little. In truth, there was no one about except the wary horse hands. I could see only row after row of tents—peaks of brown, tan, gray cloth, the colors of one who wishes to adapt to whichever party will pay the highest. On foot and boxed in is never a choice lookout point, and as this was exactly the vantage the Merinders had settled on for their camp, the last of my surprise at their easy capture dropped away.

Now the six guards who would accompany me emerged from the tent and waited for orders, hands ready on hilts. I nodded to the nearest horse hand, a young blonde fellow who clicked his tongue nervously as he led our mounts over, squinting from the fierce sun as he looked at me for further instructions.

"That's all," I said, accepting my reins. "Balsarth, isn't it?" He nodded once, his eyes lightening slightly, and I remembered that he was one of the riding's newest recruits, too young to have been a member during the Rebellion. "Good. You all will ride out with Captain Courin's men," I said, motioning to his group of horse hands. "Remember your training. Dismissed."

Balsarth saluted, walking back to his group with a straight back and somewhat elevated expression. In years to come I would see him progress steadily through the ranks, becoming a captain himself—but that would come later, during the war that would ravage the entire continent. Now, as I swung onto my mare, a light breeze ruffled the feathers of my plumed helm; with the wind came the sounds of sharp, yet muffled noises from within the camp. The action continued deep inside the maze of tents, I guessed, if not on the far side of the rows—everything in eyesight was still, no riders or mercenaries appearing to shatter the bright calm.

Riding toward the intermittent noise, we trotted silently along the outer column of tents, glancing down each row for signs of movement. Guiding our horses carefully, we avoided the arm's length of ground directly beside the tents, for the sun created shadows between those cloth walls that would easily hide a lurking enemy. My priority was not, of course, to duel with every lackwit who had jumped eagerly into this plot, but to make sure that the men who did have that duty would not follow commands of false strategy, or of disorder, or of unwise judgment.

Noise struck my ear once more… a scuffling of boots, a shout, then silence. "Blades out," I advised, and seven pieces of steel slid from their holders. Another sound—more shouting—a bellowed command. Then a heavy rhythm, growing rapid.

We urged our mounts forward. Again, we passed a row of tents, our eyes all sharpened to the space between—movement. Tensing, swords raised in the sun, we saw a single rider, at first obscured by dust and distance, galloping straight at us. He charged forward under the squares of light and shadow created by the tent rows, turning his livery black-white, black-white. Finally, as he hurtled to within a hundred paces of our group, I squinted the golden sigil of a messenger flashing on his chest, and, no longer awash in darkness or piercing light, the tan and green livery of Remalna.

"Messenger, to whom do you ride?" I called, slipping my blade back into its holder. My guards remained at the ready, two turning to secure our back.

The messenger pulled hard on his reins, he and his horse panting to a stop just in front of our group. He grinned.

"You, your grace," he said, mopping his brow quickly with a handkerchief. I stared at him as he continued to smile, taking his time in replacing the handkerchief in a pocket and pushing a few of his curling brown hairs from his face. After a moment he blinked, seeming to notice my expression, and hastily handed me a note with the seal of the regular force commander. "After you read the note, follow me and I'll lead ya right to 'em," said the messenger heartily. "Just 'round a few bends is all. Saved me a ride, you did, coming this far into the action. Didn't rightly expect that. Your grace," he added quickly.

I slit open the message and scanned the few sentences:

Operation a success. Denlieff and garrison commanders captured, nearly all mercenaries as well.

Main force now guarding prisoners; four patrols scouting landscape.

Mssgr. Dirksen to lead to our location.

Rosilinar

When I looked up, six pairs of eyes were trained impatiently on mine. (Dirksen was now fanning himself and idly patting his tired horse.)

I tucked the note away, hiding my surge of relief. "It's good news, men. Messenger Dirksen, lead on."

- - - - -

"Renselaeus!" A booming shout jarred the tightly-wound atmosphere of the newly captured camp. Rosilinar, the commanding officer, appeared by my horse with a salute and a laughing toss of his head, black eyes dancing from within his crinkling, sun-browned face. Barely pausing for me to slide from the saddle, he grabbed up the mare's reins and strode off in his heavy trot toward a far tent, shouting orders to several soldiers as he passed. Always in good spirits after a victorious campaign, never able to stem the flow of energy from his limbs when delighted, he would no doubt be doubly imbued with vigor today. Glancing over one wide shoulder, he called, "What a sight for these old, tired eyes, eh? First we're off to Council, plenty of details for you to pen, no doubt. Good man, couldn't have planned that operation better myself."

"We should send your messenger back to Courin with details and an escort," I reminded him, removing my helmet and matching his strides.

"Oh, yes, of course. Dirksen will handle it. Good man," Rosilinar rumbled approvingly. "You there, some orders…" He paused to relay instructions, deposit the mare, and heave a jovial pat on the back of the nearest rider. "Renselaeus? Ah, there you are," he said, his head spinning quickly on wide shoulders. "Wouldn't want to lose Your Grace in this scene, I wouldn't. Not that it's as hectic as it seems, of course," he said, continuing to thud down a row filled with a pair of hurrying soldiers in the Renselaeus colors, several horse hands with stallions in tow, and a short line of silent mercenaries flanked by guards. "Yes, yes, things are falling right into place, don't you agree? Eh?"

I glanced around, then rather pointedly back at him. "I'll defer to your greater experience in the matter, if I may."

Rosilinar laughed. "Yes, yes, to each his own expertise, I say. And with that in mind, perhaps you'll make my excuses for not joining you inside?" he said, nodding as we stopped in front of a tent, two riders stationed at its entrance. "Never could stand these pointless hash-outs with the commanders. Boring as all get-out."

"You're of more use out here," I agreed, remembering past meetings filled with Rosilinar's continual pen-tapping, barked comments, and suggestions for breaks to "check up on the men… and maybe take a quick walk, and find some fresher coffee".

He clapped me on the back and strode off toward the center of camp.

I shook my head, fighting the upward twitching of my lips, and called after him, "You may be called in to consult as we finish up, of course."

Once more, he just boomed out a laugh. "Don't you try to ruin my good mood now, Renselaeus."

- - - - -

Four days later, only half a candle past noon, and I was already reaching for the day's eighth cup of coffee. The nine operation commanders (including Rosilinar) and I were still working out where everyone from mercenaries to barons to their captors would be dismissed, how, and when. I swirled the hot, dark liquid in my cup, hoping this would be the last piece of business, the final day of talks. Too long we had been deciding and reconsidering, penning and repenning orders—careful minds balancing hearts restless to be home.

Courin glanced up, laying down his pen on a tall stack of documents. "All the west ridings' orders hashed out, then."

"I'd say that's the last thing anyone can think of, right, men?" Rosilinar was abruptly on his feet, stretching. Courin's moustache twitched, but no one spoke any objection. I closed my eyes with thankfulness, suddenly inexplicably weary—even the muscles of my eyelids ached with dull, random twitches. "All right then," Rosilinar continued, "a break for the rest of the afternoon, I think. Well, for you all, I suppose, I can't be lolling around in a nice tent myself, not when there's a camp to be charge of. Meet back here after dinner, perhaps—Renselaeus?"

I opened my eyes, needing to wait a moment for the blurry image of the exiting commanders and a questioning Rosilinar to focus itself. Even after I could see sharply, Rosilinar's face looked strange. Vaguely puzzled, I nodded shortly and turned away as I got to my feet.

When I turned back, Rosilinar was still there, alone, blocking the exit.

"Yes, commander?"

Rosilinar didn't smile—his brows knitted and ridged together, making him appear angry to one who didn't know his habitual good nature.

"Renselaeus, you've had about six more cups of coffee than anyone else at the blasted meeting today," he said quickly, gruffly. "I don't know why, in any case, stuff can't be working, you still look like you're awake by sheer force of will—I could knock you to the ground right now, and finding yourself laying down, you'd take a nap in the dirt!"

"I hope you don't, then," I said blandly.

"Well, then," he said, frustrated, "tell me I'm not right."

I frowned. "We've all been working hard, and as the one in charge, does it not translate that I'd be more tired than all others?"

"Well, yes—"

"Then why the confrontation? Do I look bad enough you expect I'll drop dead in the next candle? I admit, I haven't looked in a mirror in the past few days…"

Rosilinar groaned, then shook his head. "Look, it's obvious I'm not going to get some kind of admission out of you, now, but you should know that, your state… some of the other commanders have noticed as well, and they haven't even known you as long as I."

I closed my eyes briefly, thinking, and when I opened them again, the same blurry effect happened as before. I bit the inside of my cheek in frustration, but to Rosilinar, I just nodded. "Do you suppose if I went back to my tent and took a rest, everyone would feel more easy?"

"Yes, yes. Just the thing!"

"Good. Then you might unblock the door?"

"Hah! Course," he said, holding open the tent flap and following me outside. "I'll even make sure you get right to your tent, no interruptions, questions, surprises—"

"No surprises at all?" asked a voice from behind me. "Then I'm afraid I've already ruined your promise."

"Pardon?" said Rosilinar. We turned around and I saw a familiar, rosy, smiling face.

"Meliara!"

- - - - -

AN:

1. A thousand thanks and praises to the lovely, amazingly patient reviewers who have made me feel nothing but happy (with a needed prod of guilt here and there, as is well deserved) since this fic began. A huge round of applause for the wonderful: Wake-Robin, Starlight77, Adalon Ithilriel, FelSong, Squirrel Maiden of Green, mooseyfate, Sailacel, cai, PhoenixMage, Koli Chale, SarcasticMsEm, Mystical-Eternity, Jowa, Queen's Own, mysticdreamer42, Lady Fate, Knight-whosays-ni, Legofiance, Paige, kayleigh, siriusforeva, elra of mirkwood, naomi, the eggplant tyrant, Lady Belaqua, Sheyana, lady sweetz, grimreaperkitty, FoREvEr ends, minichibi, and mistressofhawks!

2. Final sentence, first scene: An extra huge "thank you!" also goes out to the awesome FelSong for beta-ing this chapter for me, and for suggesting an integral part of this sentence. You rock!

I know this chapter probably had less Mel/Danric stuff than you'd like, and more military stuff and original characters. Thank you all for bearing with me while I suffered through some very major writing block (not this chapter, really, but the next couple, had me fairly worried, and now I finally have an idea of what to write). But now Mel & Dan are back together!

Thank you all so much for your kind comments and encouragement, as well as tips for improving my writing and getting the characters in-character. All comments are welcome!