swayed a bit as he stood there, making her concerned he might fall with the tiny child, but he kept his feet. “Grow strong my son; live and make me proud.” He kissed his son on the cheek and handed him to Elena. “I love you both.”
“Forever,” she replied and kissed him quickly.
Taking her free hand Tyndal led her into the bedroom. She left him for a moment and gathered a few things. Dressing quickly she put on simple breeches and a plain tunic, then she slipped her surcoat over it. She buckled on her sword and joined her husband; he had gone out onto the balcony.
Standing there she looked at the man she had pledged her life to protect. The man she had to leave behind. Doubt assailed her, “Are you sure?”
“There is no other way. I am dying already; you must break your vow. You have to escape if our son is to live,” he replied. Tears stood out in his eyes.
Elena looked away, then she went back inside. She pushed the furniture in the anteroom against the door then went to reclaim the assassin’s sword. She put the stranger’s weapon in her sheath and then returned to Tyndal, holding her own sword in her hand. She held the blade out to him and their eyes met. “I, Elena di’Cameron forsake my bond and I ask for your release.” She spoke the words no Anath’Meridum had ever spoken.
Tyndal reached out placing his hand over the blade, “I, Tyndal Ardeth’Illeniel release you.” As he spoke the blade glowed for a moment before going dark, then it shattered like glass. “My strength is almost gone Elena, you have to hurry.”
Dropping the hilt she embraced him and then took their child from his arms. “How is this going to work?” She wasn’t sure how he planned to get her down; the balcony stood nearly a hundred feet above the courtyard below.
“You will be light, like thistledown. You’ll have to jump, but my magic will keep you safe till you reach the ground. I’m sorry, its all I have strength for…” he said. He spoke a few words in the ancient tongue and put his hand on her brow.
'I love you,” she said and put her hand to the rail, holding their son close with the other.
“I know. You carry my heart in you, and my life in your arms. I do not die tonight, so long as you live.” He kissed her and then she jumped, drifting down like a feather in a light wind. As she floated downward she heard a noise come from the room above and Tyndal turned back to the bedroom. Men were forcing the door inward, pushing the furniture aside. Tyndal walked toward them with fire dripping from his hands. A second later he was lost to her sight as she drifted lower.
The night grew bright for a moment as flames shot from the balcony. The fire grew, brighter and brighter till it seemed as bright as the sun, consuming their bedroom and a large portion of that floor of the keep. Then it dimmed, fading back to an orange glow as the keep began to burn from within. Tyndal Ardeth’Illeniel, the last wizard of Lothion, was no more.
Elena reached the ground and gazed upward a moment longer. Then she looked away and began running for the stables. She wept silently as she ran, holding her infant son. It would have been shameful for someone to have seen one of her order crying, but then, she was Anath’Meridum no longer.
She reached the stable in less than a minute and ducked inside. Amazingly the place was empty. Wasting no time she saddled one of her father’s coursers, fast horses bred for the hunt. It wasn’t easy to mount carrying her babe, but she managed it somehow and then they were out, racing away with the wind whipping her hair back.
They rode across the castle yard and through the gatehouse. There were men and horses gathered outside but she caught them by surprise and was past before they could try to stop her. Looking back over her shoulder she could see them mounting to follow, shouting at her to stop. She paid them no heed and rode on, flying headlong into the night.
She rode through the night, pushing her mount, hoping to outdistance her pursuers. Sometime near dawn her horse faltered and nearly fell, forcing her to stop. She dismounted hastily before her mount collapsed. She had ridden it to death. The horse was blowing hard and its mouth was covered in froth but she had no time to mourn it. It sank to its knees, and trying hard not to think, Elena opened the artery in its neck, giving it a quick release.
I have seen nothing but death this night, and I have nothing but more of it ahead of me, she thought. Another day she might have shed tears to have slain such a beautiful animal, but there were none left in her. She lifted her son and began to walk. As the hours drew on the pain in her belly grew worse till it felt as though her stomach was on fire. Something was broken inside but she could only hope it wasn’t enough to kill her before she reached Lancaster.
The Duke of Lancaster was her father’s liege-lord and the closest place she could hope to find refuge. Eventually she found herself on the road again, and she walked eastward into the rising sun. She was uncertain where she had met the road, so she couldn’t be sure how many more miles it was to reach Lancaster. She kept walking. She could see smoke rising beyond the next hill so there must be a dwelling nearby.
An hour later she was having trouble thinking clearly. Her mouth was dry and her body was hot. Fever had set in and she feared that she would collapse before reaching help. Glancing over her shoulder she saw a man following, a hundred yards back. By his clothes she could tell he was one of the assassins from the night before.
Adrenaline gave her a moment of clarity and she sped up. He was afoot so she figured he must have ridden his horse to death trying to catch her during the night. She felt a moment’s pity for the animal. Her body was weak, too weak, and even the adrenaline failed to give her enough strength. The man drew steadily closer and she knew the result was inevitable.
He was only twenty yards back now, and she could hear him breathing hard as he approached. Neither of them had the strength to run, making their competition into a grotesque parody of a sportsman’s race. He was striding heavily while she stumbled along. “Goddammit just stop!” he shouted at her. “Quit now bitch and I’ll make your last minutes pleasant before you die.”
Elena di’Cameron was no fool. She could not continue and she had no strength to fight. Setting her son down she turned back. Five steps… then ten… she collapsed as he approached. She lay face down with the sword she had taken cradled beneath her. She would not think of it as her own sword; that sword had been broken. She heaved great lungfuls of air and dust from the road as she tried to get some strength back. Her only hope was that he was stupid enough to have some sport of her before he killed her.
She waited till he stood above her, hoping he would pause. She seemed helpless, which was almost the full truth. Standing there he decided he was too tired for fun and drew his sword. Elena rolled and thrust upward, trying to impale him either in the groin or stomach. It very nearly succeeded, but her arms failed her and the strike was too slow. He kicked her sword aside and then came down hard, planting his knees on her shoulders. She felt her collarbone snap and screamed with what air she had left.
Pinning her to the ground he drew out a small knife, “I’ll finish your kid with this after you’re dead witch!” His eyes held no trace of sanity. She tried to spit in his face but her mouth was dry and there was nothing left. Then an arrow sprouted in his chest. He seemed surprised, looking at it in astonishment. Dropping the knife he tried to pull it out when a second arrow appeared in his throat. He fell off of her, dead before his head found the road. Elena tried to get up, but nothing worked. She could hear her son crying as her sight grew dim. Darkness closed around her and she sank into oblivion.
Some nameless time later she awoke. She attempted to move and her collarbone shifted, grinding. The pain forced her into stillness and she lay there taking stock of her surroundings. “Don’t try to move. Your body has been through too much,” a voice said.
A woman sat beside the bed. They were in a small room, some farmer’s cottage perhaps by the look of it. She rinsed a cloth and placed it back on Elena’s forehead. “Your body is taken with a terrible fever. I thought for a while you might never awaken.”
Elena stared at her; the woman had a kind face, with strong features, “My baby…”
“Shhhh, don’t worry he’s ok. He’s right here. A good strong boy you have; he’s been crying lustily since Royce brought you in.” She leaned over and lifted Elena’s son from a makeshift bed they had set up in the room. Elena wasn’t able to hold him so the woman settled him beside her, where she could feel him with her hand.
“I need to tell you some things,” she started.
“Nah nah, don’t work yourself up. Your body is working hard to fight the fever. You need to rest. There will be plenty of time later,” the woman reassured her.
