Kara (4 page)

“Sire.” Tyr’s deep voice greeted him. La’ard
visibly shook each time he heard Tyr’s voice.

Kreitan watched, apparently amused. La’ard
knew he enjoyed Tyr’s demon vocal cords placed in a behemoth of a
man. His voice rattled the prisoners to madness and their hearts to
despair.

“Bring me the prisoner.” La’ard
commanded.

Tyr struck the floor twice with his mighty
poleaxe. The sound reverberated off the stone walls. Within
seconds, a smaller guard appeared at Tyr’s side.

“Prisoner.”

The guard wasted no time on his mission.
Within a minute, Kara’s father crumpled on the floor before
La’ard.

The baker struggled to look up. Shackles
weighed down his arms. His eyes widened as he recognized the
king.

New strength allowed him to scramble forward
and reach out for the king’s boots. “Your majesty….please….”

Tyr raised one foot slightly and stepped down
on the baker’s arm. The prisoner howled in pain as a bone
snapped.

“I heard you have not answered my questions
satisfactorily. Now, why would you want to make me angry?” La’ard
said.

The sniveling heap of a man looked up again.
One eye, half-closed by swelling, and a burn mark on his left cheek
marred his face. Life had melted away from the baker, seeped into
the walls, and escaped.

“But…” A raspy whisper through the pain.

La’ard nodded to Tyr, the slightest of nods.
The poleaxe, pole side, smacked the prisoner under the chin,
lifting his whole form up off the floor only to fall back again.
His face slammed into the hard, stone floor.

Master Kreitan watched from the side, showing
no outward signs of enjoyment.

“I am a patient man.” La’ard said. “But you
are spending that patience quickly. Your daughter will soon be with
us. And perhaps your Mordock brother, as well.”

“What? No.” Even through all the pain and
hurt, the concern came through.

“Then tell me what I want to know. Where is
the shard?” The king’s anger reared its ugly head.

“W-why….”

La’ard barely heard it. “Why, you ask? You
stupid, stupid man!” La’ard turned toward Tyr. “Make the prisoner
stand.”

Roughly, the dungeoner hauled the baker to
his feet using one huge hand. Slowly Kirt’s legs firmed enough to
hold him upright without support from Tyr.

The king kept his eyes focused on the
prisoner, but held out a hand. “Kreitan, your sword, if you
please.”

Kreitan pulled his sword from its scabbard
and handed it to the king.

La’ard admired the blade, turning it over in
his hands. “Your daughter will die today for your stupidity, baker.
I am only asking for information about a simple object, yet you
refuse to tell me what I want to know. What if I take your precious
little girl away from you? Maybe I will bring you her head and see
if that….”

The prisoner lunged at the king. “You
wouldn’t dare, you tyrant!”

Tyr’s strong hand crushed the prisoner’s
shoulder. The baker cried out and fell to his knees. The dungeoner
coaxed him back to a standing position.

“I grow weary of your blatant disrespect of
your king.” La’ard approached and laid the blade against the
baker’s neck and pressed just hard enough to draw a thin line of
blood. “Last chance.”

From the left came a squeal of laughter and
clanging chains.

An emaciated man in manacles ran straight at
the king. La’ard ducked as a chain whipped by his head. It struck
the baker in the forehead, knocking him to the stone floor.

Tyr’s large black hand shot out and grabbed
the escaped prisoner by the face and flung him back against the
wall with a crack. The assailant fell to the ground, unmoving.

The king screamed in anger. “What is the
meaning of this? Do you let your prisoners run free?”

“Sire, Jenkins has an uncanny ability to
escape.”

“Then make sure he doesn’t do so again!”
La’ard turned away from Tyr and saw the baker was out cold. He bent
down, grabbed the prisoner by his hair, and shook him. “Where is
it? I was not going to kill you today! Where is it?” La’ard shook
him again, but there was no response.

He shoved the prisoner away and glared down
at the unconscious man.

“I tire of this charade, Master Kreitan. We
were close this time. Very close.”

Kreitan did not say anything, but kept his
eyes locked on La’ard’s. The king looked away first.

“The girl, then?” Kreitan’s voice held but a
simple twinge of delight. Delight for the future prospect of
telling the girl that her father was imprisoned, probably.

La’ard rubbed at his temples and then ran his
hand through his hair. “Do you think she knows something?”

“She did run.”

“That does not mean she has the shard. Like I
told you before, you
do
tend to scare children with your
tactics. Roughing up their parents isn’t a suitable way for saying
hello.”

The king turned to Tyr. “Take the baker away.
Lock him in a cell with that thing.” La’ard gestured to the slumped
form of Jenkins. Tyr barely nodded. “Oh, and next time I visit,
please make sure the guests are properly restrained.” A weak smile
graced the king’s face before he turned to Kreitan. “Bring me the
shard.” La’ard whispered. “Do it quickly, Kreitan. I don’t know how
much time she has left.”

La’ard proceeded up the stone steps slowly,
wearily. So much at stake. He slowly turned to look at his
underling. Kreitan rubbed his hands together. Something about that
worried the king.

Guards unceremoniously dragged the baker
away. A trail of sweat, grime and even a little blood marked the
path. In the corner, a rat scurried by. Kreitan bent down and
snatched it by the tail. It squeaked a horrible sound as it fought
to be free of the hands. Kreitan caressed it.

A shudder passed through La’ard as he watched
the scene. Doubt crept into his mind about the captain’s
involvement.

“Take care of my prisoner.”

Master Kreitan turned and casually tossed the
animal over his shoulder. The rat hit the stone floor. Its feet
found purchase and it darted away.

Chapter Three

Hambone trudged up the hidden pathway to his
quaint, little house carrying the sodden human over his shoulder as
easily as if she was a sack of potatoes. With one hand he pushed
aside the weeping willow branches that concealed the front door,
pulled a huge iron key from his right pocket, and unlocked the
door. He grabbed a voluminous wool blanket off his bed, flipped it
open onto his easy chair, and laid the girl across it. He swaddled
the cover around her, making her look like an overgrown sheep in
need of shearing. Kara slept while he busied himself by the fire,
heating a pot of water for soup.

Since this was the first human he’d ever
seen, Hambone kept looking back at her. Her appearance was
fascinating, and he couldn’t wait until she woke up so they could
talk more.

“Ahhh!”

Hambone jumped at the sound of the human’s
scream. The girl flailed about in the chair trying to free her arms
from the confining blanket.

Hambone rushed to the chair. “It’s okay,” he
said. “You’re safe here.”

“Ahh!” she cried out again. She worked her
arms free and slapped at him.

Hambone drew back, realizing he scared her.
“Shhh. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“W-what…and where?” Her head swiveled as much
as it could, looking up at all the pipes running along the
ceiling.

“I brought you home.” Hambone looked down at
her. He smiled real big. His oversized teeth gleamed in the
sunlight. “I’m making soup.”

Panic showed in her eyes. She struggled
against the blanket, but only managed to roll out of the chair onto
the floor. Hambone picked her up and set her safely in the
chair.

She threw her arms up in front of her face.
“Please d-don’t eat me!”

“Eat you?” He laughed heartily. “No, I’m
making soup for you to eat.” Hambone loosened the blanket and then
walked back over to the caldron of bubbling broth.

***

Kara watched the creature called Hambone
intently, not sure if she really believed him. He seemed to be
making soup. In went a variety of vegetables and herbs, each making
a plopping sound that made her shudder. Was this her meal or his
meal?

“Were you out for a swim? The river can be
pretty intense.”

“Wha…no…I was…” And that was when a flood of
memories came pouring back. The Witch Guard torturing her father,
Birch kicked by a soldier. What had happened to them?

A tear slipped from her eye as she stared
blankly into the wool.

“Are the onions making you cry? I guess I’ve
just got use to them. I will try to hurry.” Hambone fanned the air.
Kara swiftly took care of the tear, not wanting to correct him. She
chased away her memories and steeled her heart. Now was a time to
be strong. Especially if she was in danger.

“It smells good.” The words helped lock her
emotions away. They also made her stomach realize it was hungry. A
grumbling noise came from underneath the blanket.

Hambone stirred the pot; his huge form
crouched down by the fire. “If I had made it to market, I would
have had more to give you to eat.”

The spell of the soup’s scent captured her
again. Time stood still for her, as pleasant thoughts and colors
flashed in her mind.

“Um…Miss Kara?” Hambone nudged her. He held
out a huge bowl of steaming soup to her.

“T-thank you, Mr. Hambone.” The dish was warm
in her hands. Hambone sat across from her, his huge form engulfing
a stool that looked to be a slice of tree trunk. He began eating
immediately.

She decided to do the same, but didn’t get
past the first glance.

Kara just gazed down at the soup. Her mouth
fell open in awe.

The soup swirled an enchanting blue hue that
of pre-twilight. It shimmered as the sunlight danced over the
surface. Every ripple caused by her spoon made a new shade of the
mesmerizing color.

Her nose again picked up the aroma and the
daydream state returned. She slowly stirred the soup staring
intently. Kara never remembered anything ever being so beautiful
before.

Several slurps later, Hambone noticed Kara.
“Is this your first time having Fedashala?”

Kara barely heard the creature speak to her,
but his voice did break some of the enchantment. She willed herself
to look away from the soup to answer.

“P-pardon?”

“Fedashala? It is a fairy-elf traditional
celebration dish.”

“Um…I’ve never had or seen anything…” And her
eyes were drifting back to the colors.

“The elves make it for almost any kind of
get-together. Ra’na taught me how to make it. Non-magical version,
of course.” He went back to slurping.

She barely grasped half of what he told her.
The soup was calling to her again.

“Take a sip first or you will be staring at
it all day,” he advised. The words registered, but she drifted back
into bliss.

Kara closed her eyes and took a spoonful. The
liquid ignited a warmth like that of a summer fire. It spread
through her whole body. Sliding down her throat, the soup’s aromas
now became flavors that all blended together in harmony. It felt
like hours passed with that one spoonful. She let out a sigh and
slowly opened her eyes. Hambone stared at her with a large
grin.

“A newbie to elf-fairy food. And this isn’t
even the magical kind.” He let loose with a laugh that shook a
small table nearby. Then he grabbed his bowl and drank the last of
his broth. Kara stared at him, confused, warm, delighted, and
hungry.

When she looked at her soup again, the
mystical color was gone. She dipped her spoon in, trying to
recreate it with ripples, but it stayed a dark blue color. It still
looked pretty, but nothing like that first glimpse.

Cautiously, she brought the spoon up and into
her awaiting mouth. It still tasted good, but it did not send
shockwaves through her system.

Hambone noticed her disappointment.
“Non-magical. It looks marvelous and tastes great, but that is only
the first spoonful. Don’t get me wrong, it is still good. But not
as much as that first bit.”

Kara had to agree with him, and she soon
finished. She chose not to slurp the rest.

Kara placed her spoon in her bowl and raised
her eyes. Hambone had done the same and awkwardly they stared at
one another. Hambone rubbed his stomach as if it were a dog. Kara
eyed her bowl nervously, wanting something to break the
awkwardness. She chose to say the first thing that came into her
mind.

“Who’s Ra’na?”

“W-what? Oh, the one who taught me the soup
recipe. She’s just an elf friend.”

“A real elf?”

“Are there any other kind?”

“I’ve just never seen an elf before.”

“You’re kidding. At your age, I thought you
would have seen plenty of them.”

“At my age? What are you talking about?”

“Well, aren’t you like sixty or something? By
then, most humans have seen the world. Or so I have heard.”

Kara laughed. “Sixty? I’m only twelve.”

Hambone looked shocked. “I thought humans
shrank with age.”

“No, where did you come up with that? I’m
just a kid. How old are you?”

Hambone thought a moment and then just
shrugged. Kara looked confused and then laughed.

“I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

They both enjoyed a laugh with that. But
soon, silence fell again. With the soup gone, there was nothing to
do but feel awkward.

“Do you feel safe now?”

“What?” The question took her by
surprise.

“You were pretty shook up at the river.
Something about the Witch Guard.”

The name brought the whole ordeal upon her.
Inside, the emotions burst forth. Her home burning, her father
being tortured, her mother nowhere in sight.