Jeffrey Quyle - The Healing Spring

“I’m ready,” Kestrel replied, strapping on his sword.

“Regrettably sir, no weapons are allowed in the reception while the Doge is present,” the steward informed him.

“Is a staff allowed?” Kestrel asked.

The steward opined that it was, then escorted the couple to the great hall. A crowd stood at the doorway, while the Doge stood waiting along one great wall, and Kestrel and Merilla joined him there. “You may not have done anything quite like this,” the Doge said pleasantly. “All you need to do is remain here with a smile frozen on your face and say hello to everyone who comes by. We haven’t have the pleasure, my dear,” he spoke to Merilla, who immediately dropped a curtsey.

“No, please rise,” the Doge extended his hand and helped her stand up. “Tonight others will curtsey to you as the companion of our honored guest. You do not need to bow to any man or woman tonight.”

He nodded to the steward, who asked Merilla’s name, then told his staff as he walked up to the doors and allowed the crowd to enter.

The next hour was an exhausting blur for both Kestrel and Merilla, who were not as practiced as the Doge in making idle small talk. Kestrel was most conscious of the eyes that focused on his chest as he tried to speak politely to each person, while Merilla was confused by the number of men who commented on her beauty and tried to discreetly ask if they could call upon her, even as she stood next to Kestrel.

The end of the line of visitors was occupied by the body of men who came with the ambassador from Uniontown. The men strode by insolently, barely noticing Kestrel, and leering at Merilla in an insulting manner, until the ambassador himself came, the very last person in the line.

“So we meet at last,” he spoke to Kestrel. “I was told to expect someone more imposing, and perhaps more exotic in appearance. I hope you can put up a suitable struggle.”

“What do you mean?” Kestrel asked, not able to comprehend what the man referred to, as he felt warmth and tightness begin to grow on the surface of his chest.

“Your goddess had few good choices apparently when she designated her champion for your side,” the ambassador pointed at Kestrel’s chest. “I am Amyrilon; I was chosen through a grueling process that left no doubt I deserved to be a champion of our side.”

“You’re a champion? Chosen by a deity?” Kestrel asked, comprehension beginning to dawn.

“One of the champions, and after I defeat you, probably the pre-eminent champion for our new gods from the south,” the ambassador affirmed. “There are new powers rising, and coming to consume all these lazy, soft lands in the north. The old gods are too weak to fight against it; they discovered it too late, and raised their champion too late, and chose an inferior one at that,” he sneered at Kestrel.

“The southern gods felt your elevation, and were surprised that it should happen so far north, in such an insignificant place, but they sent me up here to find you and deal with you anyway, just to be prudent. Why else would I be here? This insignificant village deserves no ambassador.”

He stood silently and looked at the stunned Kestrel with a triumphant gleam in his eye, then moved on, looking at Merilla. “Perhaps you’ll turn out to be a plaything worthy of a champion, at least for a little while,” he sneered at her, then left.

“Castona said he seemed evil, but I had no idea,” Kestrel muttered softly. “He’s either an embodiment of evil, or completely insane.”

“Estone does not feel safe with that one in the nation,” the Doge commented, having overheard the conversation. “What are these new southern gods he speaks of?” the Doge asked Kestrel.

“I have no idea,” Kestrel answered, watching the back of the ambassador as he disappeared into the crowd that was milling about in the great hall. “But he is frightening.”

Music started up, and a dance floor was cleared, as couples began to rhythmically step into the patterns of the formal dances that were performed at the palace. Kestrel and Merilla walked over to the food buffet, stopping every five feet to say hello again to someone they had just met, or to clarify their relationship, or to answer where they lived, and if they were or were not neighbors with the questioner.

As they reach the middle of the floor, the music stopped, and then after a moment of silence, a new tune began, a stately one that caused everyone else to leave the floor, isolating Kestrel and Merilla alone in the center, the focus of all eyes.

“Shall we dance?” Merilla asked him mischievously.

“I’ve never danced in my life,” Kestrel answered in a panic.

Just then a flower was thrown out onto the floor near them. Kestrel looked at the yellow flower, then looked as another yellow flower was thrown on the floor on the other side of them. Men in red, the Uniontown attendants, shouldered their way through and out to the front of the crowd that was watching Kestrel and Merilla, and the ambassador was with them. He felt another sudden surge of pain on his chest, as the crest of the goddess began to burn, serving as a call to action.

“What type if flower is that?” Kestrel asked Merilla, suddenly frightened by what he thought was developing on the palace dance floor.

“I think it’s a rose,” Merilla answered. “Kestrel, are we going to dance?” she asked, holding her arms wide and in position to begin.

The third and fourth roses came flying from the hands of the men in red, forming a perfect square, with Kestrel and Merilla in the center.

“I don’t think we’re going to dance,” Kestrel answered softly. He looked around, and realized that he had left his staff leaning against the wall where they had received guests. He had no other weapons, as per the steward’s rule.

A square of yellow roses meant that life-threatening conditions were imminent — he remembered that from the codes he had been trying to memorize, the codes that had been stolen from his room at the inn. The Uniontown ambassador, Amyrilon, had sent his men to steal those codes, and now he was flaunting his successful theft in Kestrel’s face.

“Merilla, walk rapidly away from me,” he said urgently to the woman he cared so much about. “Go to the herald, the man in black, and tell him to send armed guards immediately!”

“What are you talking about?” Merilla asked, confused by his tone and comment, unaware of what the flowers meant, or what was happening. Kestrel glanced about and saw Moresond standing off to his right; he reached out and grabbed Merilla’s hand, as the crowd started to clap politely, believing the dance was about to begin at last.

The clapping stopped in shock, as Kestrel pulled Merilla’s arm and then propelled her towards Moresond. “Give him the message,” Kestrel said loudly as Merilla was flung away, a startled look on her face.

Three red flowers were suddenly thrown onto the floor, and Kestrel stared at them as he recollected that according to the code, a triangle of three red pansies meant that he expected he was going to die.

“I see the panic in your eyes,” the ambassador said, walking closer to Kestrel. “You recognize the meaning of these flowers, perhaps?”

He suddenly pulled a sword out of thin air, making the audience gasp.

Kestrel, if they are going to break the rules of the game, we may too, he heard a strong feminine voice speak in his ear. There is now a throwing knife on your hip; if you throw it at a target you can see, it will hit that target, no matter what. If you name the blade and call it, it will return to you. If you name your staff, it will answer your call and fly to you when you ask it to, Kai told him.

“Your delightful young friend will be my plaything tonight, not yours,” the ambassador pointed to where one of his henchmen held the struggling Merilla in his arms.