The Protector of Esparia (The Annals of Esparia Book 1) (15 page)

“No,” Jessica cried.  “Don’t kill him.  We may need him.”  The young man hesitated.  His mouth was drawn down at each corner, his jaw clenched.  The muscles in his neck were taught, causing the veins to bulge and pulsate with each heartbeat.  His gaze was fixed on the black robed assassin.  Quick as lightning, the Elitet pulled a concealed knife and lunged, but faster yet, the older rescuer threw his own dagger with pinpoint accuracy.  The Elitet fell dead, his hand still gripping his blade.

The only sound in the forest was the heavy breathing of the three standing men.  Jessica turned her attention back to Varnack.  She ripped the shirt in her hands into several long strips and bound up his wounds.  Anton sank to the ground.  He neither uttered a sound nor winced when the elder rescuer dug the arrow from the back of his shoulder.  The younger man went from enemy to enemy, checking life signs on each.  When he came to the one Jessica had hit with the log he announced, “This one’s still alive.”

“Bind him tightly,” the older man ordered.  “Elitet take a suicide vow.”

Having never killed anyone before, Jessica felt relief that the man lived.  The thought of taking another life caused a shiver of horror to run the length of her body.  She knew how sacred life was.  ‘Thou shalt not kill’ was a premier command in all cultures since the dawn of time.  However, she now knew, if forced, she could take a life, but not to save herself.  No, never for something as selfish as that.  She thought of Varnack, Uncle Anton, and the innocent villagers of Vergan Hoffle, the children.  For them she could do the unthinkable.  To save them, she could kill in the heat of battle.  She shuddered and put the thought to the back of her mind.

Turning her doctoring attentions to Anton, she held her hand to his wounded back.  The hole left from the arrow was the size of a quarter, and blood continued to drain from it, but no air whizzed out.  “Man, you must live right.  Your lung’s not punctured.”  She rinsed the wound with water from her flask, then folded a large piece of black cloth and placed it firmly over the opening.  She secured it with a second bandage wound around his shoulder and back. 

The two men in blue moved the bodies of the four dead Elitet through the trees beyond Jessica’s sight.  When they returned, she addressed the older man, “Are you wounded?”  She scanned him for signs of blood.

“No, I am unhurt, Protectoress.”

Too concerned with his wellbeing, Jessica barely noticed his use of the title.  She crossed to the younger man.  Blood stained his upper arm.  “Sit down,” she commanded, ripping his sleeve away.  She cleansed the slash mark with water, and using the last of her black cloth, bound his arm.  “Any place else?”

“No, My Lady.”  He stared at her.  Under his gaze, she became mindful of her own appearance.  Touching her hand to her face, she felt it moist and sticky.  Bringing the hand down, she was shocked at the sight of her own bright red blood.  It took a moment to realize her lip was bleeding.

“I’m surprised my nose isn’t broken as well,” she mumbled and searched the ground for something to wipe her face.  The elder warrior tore a piece of shirt from the bound Elitet, then brought the cloth to Jessica.  He fell to one knee before her and when the younger man joined him they simultaneously touched their left fists to their foreheads and then left breasts.

Taken aback by the soldiers’ actions and the realization of who Reese was, Jessica was uncertain how to react.  She looked to Anton, hoping for some guidance.  He formally addressed her.  “Protector Jessica, may I introduce General Ophir, commander of the Esparian Security Academy at Ider Hoffle ‘n his companion, Lieutenant Reese, grandson of General Gammet, commander of the forces at Saylon Dorsett.”

Realizing something needed to be said, she stammered, unsure of what words to say, “Thank-you,” was the best she could come up with.  But then quickly added, “I think we would have been lost without you.”

“Oh, I don’t know ‘bout that,” joked Anton lightheartedly.  “I thought we had things pretty well in hand.”

Jessica gaped at him in disbelief.  “Yeah, right,” she laughed, as did the two kneeling men.  “Please stand up,” she begged.  “I’m not used to this.” 

Ophir rose first, he looked admiringly at Jessica.  “You look a great deal like your grandmother.”

“You knew my Grandma?”

“Knew!  I know your grandmother.  She’s here, My Lady, and your father accompanies her.”

Jessica felt the blood rush from her face and Reese sprang to her side.  He helped her sit down.  The shock of this news was more than she could have hoped.  She held up quite well after the rush of adrenaline from the fight, but now her emotional defenses were drained and tears stung her eyes.

“Gayleena is here?”

“Yes, Anton.”  Ophir briefly explained the events at Ider Hoffle.

Captivated by the story, Jessica reined in her crumbling emotions.  She used the rag to wipe her face once again.  This time she winced at a pain in her chin and found it too was split.  However, emotionally, she felt much better for having shed the tears.  They were on Edia.  Her Dad and Grandma were here.  Her heart felt lighter than it had in days.  She would see them soon at Ramadine and she could hardly wait.

Ophir started a fire, then retrieved the five Elitet horses while Reese hunted for food.  Soon they were all fed, except the captured Elitet.  He refused to eat. 

It was determined Ophir would stand the first watch, sword in hand, while the others slept.  None of them were naïve enough to think this was the only team of Elitet on their trail.

Lyrista

The journey to Ramadine began with a flourish.  Since news of Protector Gayleena’s return preceded them, crowds lined the streets to watch her small coach speed by.  Everyone sought a glimpse of the great lady, and curiosity concerning the tall, handsome healer who accompanied her ran high.  It was no secret he was her daughter’s husband, and rumor had it he came to help the people.  John felt extremely uncomfortable being the object of so much interest. 

The richly forested land surrounding Ider Hoffle was surprisingly flat.  The pole trees were no longer thin, but grew fat, some nearly three feet in diameter.  Their waxy branches grew lower on the trunk and the leaves were more opaque.  The thick dandleberry bushes stretched upward, with few berries on the pointy red boughs.  Slender, eight-pronged spider plants crisscrossed the forest floor, sending out ribbons of twisting bright green and brown vine in all directions.  Many of the vines twisted up around the pole trees.  Small bunches of grass-type bouquets, ranging in height from a fraction of an inch to nearly a foot, dotted the ground.

The road out of Ider Hoffle cut a straight path through the dense foliage.  Every crossroad was well marked with distance signs and directional arrows to the nearest dine.  It was a broad, well-kept highway that provided ample room for the carriage, oncoming traffic, and spectators who stood three to four people deep at both sides.  Many of the brightly dressed inhabitants smiled and waved, others pointed or nodded their heads in acknowledgement.  A non-stop buzz of excitement filled the air from the moment the party left Lyrista’s home.  Not one section of the roadway was without onlookers for several filons.  The crowds gradually thinned away as the last of the farm steads dwindled behind them. 

Lyrista took command of the journey.  She positioned Mica and Garrett, the two young soldiers who had offered their services, at the rear of the coach.  They had strict instructions to stay alert and have their weapons at the ready.  The driver acknowledged his instructions--keep up and have weapons beside him.  John was simply told to stay close.  She took point and set a quick pace, never looking back, but constantly scanning the crowd and the forest beyond the highway edge.

John was out of his league.  To carry any sort of weapon on a horse he could not ride would have been a disaster waiting to happen, and he knew it.   He spent the first hour trying not to fall off of Fireguard.  With the horse alternating between a fast cantor and slow gallop, the rhythm never settled in.  He finally decided to relax, and once he did, he was surprised at how much easier it was to keep his balance.  By the end of the day, after much trial and error with posture, leg placement, knee squeezes, and leaning in different directions, he felt he had established some basic stop and go parameters.  He was not sure if the horse was training him, or if he was actually in control, but at least Fireguard was following commands.

The distinguished group traveled as swiftly as the two coach stallions could manage.  At Gaylee’s request, they paused briefly in some of the larger tierns and dines for her to tell of the massacre at Saylon Dorsett and warn the local Olders to be on their guard for possible attack. Each settlement, whether big or small, was enclosed by a short, decorative stone wall.  The buildings within these boundaries were similar to those of Ider Hoffle, complete with the blue Palium roofing.  They were clean communities, with no signs of poverty. 

Lyrista organized their lodgings on the first evening and took up guard duty at Gaylee’s chamber door.  John, Mica, Garrett and the coach driver slept in an adjoining room.  At least Mica, Garrett and the coach driver slept.  John tossed and turned, only managing to catch snatches of sleep.  Unaccustomed to horseback riding, his body ached all over from the full day atop Fireguard.  Finally, somewhere between the second and third watch of the night, he rolled out of bed, pulled his shirt back on, and left the snore filled room. 

Lyrista was still where he had last seen her, standing watch over Gaylee’s room.  “I’m here to relieve you,” John said matter of factly.  “If you don’t get some rest you won’t be any good in the morning.”

“I’ve gone much longer periods before without sleep,” she replied curtly.  “I’ll be fine.”

“I have no doubts as to your abilities to be on your guard,” John said more gently.  “I just can’t sleep any more.  I’m wide awake.  I’m grateful for all you’re doing for Gaylee - for us.  Trust me when I say I’m very capable of handling protection duty.  If I get into any trouble I promise I’ll scream.”  Lyrista smiled, but didn’t move. 

“Seriously,” John continued, “take my offer and get some sleep.  Now go.”  She still hesitated, but her face had relaxed and weariness showed in her eyes.  “Go.” John repeated, and with one finger he pushed at her shoulder.  She slowly stepped toward Gaylee’s room.  “Sleep.” John said firmly.  She opened the door and walked through. In the morning, they were off before the sun was up. 

As they took their journey along the road, John was acutely aware of Lyrista.  She handled her horse as if the mare were an extension of her own body.  There was grace in every movement she made.  She had her bow within easy reach at her side and a full quiver of arrows was strapped to her saddle.  Two daggers attached at the front of her belt, a third and fourth were strapped to each thigh.  A short sword hung at her right.  Garrett, Mica, and the coach driver seemed comfortable with her leadership and that meant quite a bit.  These men treated her with the utmost respect.

John couldn’t help but compare himself with what he felt her abilities might be.  He was good with a bow.  His childhood fascination with the hunting prowess of Native Americans had fueled a passion for bow hunting.  It was one of his few hobbies and he was good at it.  He also had skill with a knife, thanks to his comprehensive military training.  It was the sword that made him feel inadequate, a feeling he intensely disliked.  He wondered how hard it would be to learn the art of sword fighting.  Would he even be here long enough to need that skill?  His plan was to retrieve Jessica and return to Earth.  Staying had never crossed his mind.

John possessed great self-confidence, almost to the point of arrogance.  He knew his skills as a surgeon, a teacher, and a politician, but when it came to women, he found himself at a loss.  In a normal work environment, he thought of his female colleagues as ‘one of the guys’, never as potential companions.  Since his wife’s death, he never dated.  So now, his attraction to Lyrista threw him off balance.  With a desire to know her better, however, he pushed his uncertainties aside and on the morning of their second day on the road he struck up a conversation. 

“Lyrista, how far is it to Ramadine?” 

“About five hundred filons.”

“And how long should it take?”

“Normally, a good horse can reach the Ramastar in five or six days, but that’s really pushing hard.  Because of the coach, we can’t go nearly that fast, so we should arrive there in eight or so.”

John hid his disappointment.  He hoped it would take less time.  Each passing day brought more worry about Jessica.

As if reading his thoughts, Lyrista sympathized, “This must be awful for you, not knowing from day to day if your daughter is safe.  Ophir will find her.  I’ve known him all my life and I don’t trust anyone more.  I’m sure this Varnack is very good, but rest assured, no one, not even the great Anton is a better tracker and warrior than Ophir.”

“Do you know of Trigal hounds?  Is Varnack adequate protection?”  John hoped her answer would give him some measure of assurance.

Lyrista pursed her lips in thought.  “Trigal hounds are part myth, part legend and part reality.  In my mind, the three blend together.  This much I do know as fact: their clan lives in the farthest northern regions.  They don’t interact with humans, so for Healer Larone to have one as a friend is quite amazing.  My father told me, when he was young and exploring the northern mountains beyond Marone, that he had met one.  It was a great red creature, with bright red eyes.  It would not let my father go any further and forced him to turn around - leave the area.  It never spoke, but made its wishes known through unmistakable body language.  My father had the distinct impression this was an animal capable of killing him quite easily if it had wanted to.”

“So you’re saying Varnack is a worthy guard.”

She nodded.  “From my father’s description, yes.  I, for one, would not wish to challenge him.”

They rode together in silence.  John thought about a large hound watching over his daughter and shook his head.  Finally, with nothing more to say, he slowed his horse until he was even with the driver of Gaylee’s coach.  He judged the man to be several years older than himself, though exactly how many was difficult to tell, with the Edians aging so differently from Earthmen. 

“How goes it?” John yelled over the din of the galloping horses and rolling carriage wheels. 

“The road is smooth and the horses respond well,” the driver called back.

“Maybe later you could teach me how to handle this thing,” John gestured at the vehicle with his thumb.

“I’d be honored.”

Realizing that conversing over the noise of the carriage, compounded by the chatter of the crowds, was nearly impossible, John gave up his efforts with the driver and let Fireguard fall behind the coach.  He joined the two soldiers who served as rear guard.  He soon discovered them to be amiable fellows and spent the rest of the day in their company. 

The older of the two, Garrett, stood a full four inches taller than Mica.  A garrulous speaker, Garrett found great pleasure in the sound of his own voice.  Once John asked a question, any question, it took nearly half an hour before Garrett finished lecturing on every aspect of the query.  Mica, on the other hand, when Garrett paused for breath, would offer his short, to the point opinions.

John found, once he sifted through the life histories of these two childhood friends, Esparian life was no different for them than it was for Gaylee.  One topic they were able to provide a measure of illumination on was Lyrista herself.  John began his probing by asking about Cordon, her older brother.  “Reese mentioned he has an Uncle, a soldier named Cordon.”

Garrett, eager to show his knowledge, no matter how slight it might be, took John’s nudge and ran with it.  “Cordon is Lyrista’s only brother.  They had another sister, Reese’s mom, but she died when he was born.  Since Reese’s father is a career soldier, Lyrista raised him.  Cordon’s father is, er…was, Gammet.  He and Ophir were best friends, like Mica and me, and life-long defenders of the Saylons.  Lyrista’s whole family, for generations back, has produced famous Ider Warriors.  Cordon followed Gammet as a member of the Saylon bodyguard while Lyrista decided to teach at the Defense Academy.  She trains in hand-to-hand combat.  Her specialty’s dagger dexterity.” 

When Garrett stopped his oration to flick at a fly, Mica spoke up.  “I’ve never worked under Cordon, but his reputation and skill are well known.  The Saylon bodyguards were always the most elite warriors in the country.  Everyone knows Lyrista.  She’s taught at the academy for nearly ten years and remembers the name of every student she’s ever had.  I don’t know any man who wouldn’t be honored to serve under her in battle.”

Garrett picked up the conversation.  “Lyrista speaks her mind.  Once I had…”

John quickly cut off the side story.  “So is Cordon married?”

“No,” Mica spoke quickly, “but he’s kept company with a lot of women, even courted my mom for a while, before she married my dad.”

“Truly?” Garrett’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  “He was with my oldest sister for a time.”

John laughed, “Sounds like Cordon just hasn’t found the right girl yet.”

“Lyrista hasn’t found the right man either,” Garrett offered.  “My sister said Lyrista’s always had a warrior’s way.  Most men are afraid of her.”

“I wouldn’t annoy her,” Mica added.  “She’s a fourth bar officer.”

“Fourth bar?” John said.  “Out of how many bars?”

“Seven.”

John did some quick calculating.  That would make her a captain, or possibly a major.

“Mica, I can’t see you annoying anybody,” Garrett said.  “You’re the easiest going guy I know.”

“That’s why I’m still your friend,” Mica chuckled.

After the second day on the road, John’s legs were on fire, for the leather saddle chafed his inner thighs raw.  When he helped Gaylee from the carriage that night, he looked longingly at the empty seat opposite her.  “Your ride looks comfortable.”

She smiled.  “Yes, it is.  Are you ready to swallow your manly pride and ride with me tomorrow?  I’m impressed you’ve lasted this long on the horse.”

“I was hoping you’d offer,” he laughed.  “To be honest, I’m not sure I could ride another day.”  His voice took on a serious tone.  “Any premonitions about Jessica?”

“No, none.  I promise, I’ll tell you if I feel anything, even the slightest tremor.”

As much as John hated to admit it, he quietly confided, “I may not believe in your fifth dimensional disciplines, but I know from experience you have a unique sense of family.  You’re the only link I have right now.” 

* * *

John found the luxurious coach to be a pleasant form of transportation.  Its motion was made smooth by large metal springs on each wheel.  The shock absorbers worked remarkably well considering the speed with which they were traveling.  The beige leather of the interior was velvety smooth with ample padding in the seats and side rests.  And even though the open windows were excessively large, John felt much less exposed to the curiosity filled eyes of the Esparian people.