Pixilated (12 page)

"Leave me. Sandahl needs you."

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

Chapter Nine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The bolt punctured his lung," Chana
said.

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

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

"His orders were to stay with the
princess."

"But... "

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

"I will suppose no such a thing."

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How about I give you a hand instead?"

"Katie will see."

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

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

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

"Skill?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look a perfect horror," Eldren
wheezed.

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

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

"Tomorrow, elf."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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