“I agree. A simple messenger would have been killed or released. A son of a wealthy family might bring gold for his release. I have to approve of your evaluations on all counts. Interesting points you make. While all you say is probably true, what is more interesting to me is that you figured it out so quickly. Now, I must go report to the princess.”
He stood and vanished in the shadows. The lure of the sea kept me standing at the same place. The shoreline was a ragged line of darkness, but a single spot of yellow-orange brightness drew my attention. A campfire? A lantern in a house by the sea? Whatever, it was out of place.
Kendra emerged from the door with the girls at her heels. She walked directly to me as if she knew where I’d be. After glancing around to be sure we were alone, she told the girls to sit near us and said, “Flier is in the salon, almost unrecognizable, but for his limp.”
“A change for the better?”
“I’m glad you brought him. Remember the man at the inn who mentioned mages teaching language with magic?”
“I do. But, mine is too small and localized for that.”
She smiled and bobbed her head to indicate the shore. “My dragon is right over there eating a sheep.”
“Your dragon, now?”
“Of course, she is mine. I am hers. However, not my point. She is close to us. Your magic should be at its maximum levels. Tonight, after Flier is sleeping, can you use your magic to touch his leg? The bones of his knee? He said he took an arrow and it didn’t heal properly. Maybe you can help him.”
Her request was odd. She knew the limits of my meager magical abilities, and she knew things of that nature were handled by sorceresses. Mages used thunder, lightning, flames, and rain. Elementals, some called them. Sorceresses’ magic worked on flesh and individuals, usually without their knowledge. While mages impressed kings and crowds with their skills, many believed it was the sorceresses who controlled the real power, and they changed thoughts and ideas. And more. They were said to control feelings.
The powers of the sorceresses lay behind the scenes—it delved into human relationships instead of the flamboyant displays. Two kingdoms might go to war over minute observations mentioned at a party, or over the choice of dance partners. Handled properly, mortal enemies were made with the help of sorcery. On the other hand, a sorceress might encourage a prince to fall madly in love with a princess from another kingdom, thus joining the two in marriage, as well as the future of two kingdoms.
Most people were unaware of the extent of the power they held. For some, the mages in their fancy, floor-length robes, and imperial attitudes were all they saw. The women tended to hold back, to live in the shadows of their male counterparts, but to those who paid attention, the women were far more dangerous.
However, I’d always considered myself more of a mage than sorceress, of course. Yet, Kendra was hinting that I might have powers unknown. Her powers were also unknown only days ago, so her suggestion was completely reasonable. The truth was that we really didn’t know much about magic, and there was nobody to ask. Mages taught their own. We needed to learn about our abilities and limitations ourselves, through trial and error.
“I’ll think about it,” was my answer.
She gave me a nod of approval instead of the expected argument. I left her to spend time in the salon again. And to find a bite to eat. Flier was there, sitting at the table, a bowl of weak soup cradled in front of him like the bowl contained gold coins. His hair was wet and slicked back. It had also been trimmed as had his shaggy beard. His clothing was clean. In short, he looked better than me.
“How is it going?” I asked as I sat across from him.
“Food. More than I can eat. I’m dry and warm. How can it be bad?”
I took a handful of hard crackers to munch on and poured a little wine. He was right. When you get down to basics, those are the things that count. I ate crackers as I listened to the various conversations around me, and marveled that not once had I seen Princess Elizabeth in the salon or dining room. “More food below in the dining room. We can go there, later.”
Flier said, “A lot of eyes follow you wherever you’re at. Does it bother you?”
A quick glance around confirmed that several people were covertly looking at me. Probably not for the right reasons. My hair was tangled, my clothing torn and stained with blood, and I could smell the sour scent that came with fear and fighting for my life. “Tonight, it bothers me. I need to go clean up.”
“Should I escort you?” Flier asked seriously.
My reaction was to ask myself, why would he offer to accompany me? The answer came quickly as I looked around. Not all the stares were friendly. Some were outright angry, hateful, or accusatory. “Perhaps. Well, better change that to a yes. Thank you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
F lier walked with me to the cabin we were going to share, his crutch regularly thumping with every other step. He didn’t speak or mention my poor reception in the salon. His eyes looked to where attackers might hide and spring from. He took the lead, and as I followed, I remembered the words of my sister about using magic to heal him. I sent a puff of air to put out a candle, so knew my magic was working. Having never done anything like it before, I let my mind reach out and move to his bad leg.
It was only a mental touch, but he reacted as if poked with the ember at the end of a burning stick. He skipped a step, then caught himself on his crutch before falling.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Every now and then there’s a sharp pain.”
“When your leg gets turned a certain way?”
He limped down the passageway as he said, “It just happens once in a while.”
We went into the cabin, and I cleaned up, which I should have done before going outside after returning to the ship. In my defense, there were so many things happening that the battle in Trager was almost forgotten. I found two more clean shirts stuffed into my bag and selected a brown one. My pants had blood splatters and one larger unknown spot. A pair of pants worn a few days earlier was my only option.
Before donning them, I washed head to foot, turning the freshly replaced water a charcoal color instead of the expected red. That simply indicated how dirty my body was. My hair was as bad. A small bottle of scent from my bag helped disguise my smell.
“Hungry?” I asked Flier.
“Always,” he grinned.
In the dining room, we drew few less stares, but as usual, people looked. Flier was a new passenger, and he limped with a crutch, so people casually glanced his way to see him. Their gazes held none of the hostility had been shown that had been present in the salon before cleaning himself. Funny how a little water and a change of clothing changes perception.
The sideboard had several varieties of cheese, small loaves of bread, and a pot of thick soup that must have been heated on the pier before sailing. It was still warm. Vegetables swam in a thick, brown broth. Stringy meat floated too, not much, but enough to draw my interest and hope the meat had come from the ship’s stores. Small pitchers contained red wine.
We served ourselves and sat at a tiny table barely large enough to hold our two bowls and mugs. Flier didn’t stuff his face as expected, but spooned soup into his mouth and closed his eyes as if he’d entered the third tier of heaven. After a small bite of cheese, he touched the mug to his lips and sipped.