I was being carried on the back of a horse and held in a man’s arms. Wrapped snugly in a cloak so tightly that I couldn’t move. My body ached–my ribs felt as if every single one had been shattered and were held on by one stitch, my back and shoulders pounded from my fall and I was so cold that I was past the shivering stage although every few minutes, a shudder wracked my frame causing my captor to curse and kick his mount faster.
We were galloping down one of the many new turnpikes built by Newlander labor and paid for by tolls imposed on merchants and farmers bearing their produce to city markets. One half of the monies levied went back to the communities to pay for repair, maintenance and patrols, the other half to central government in the Oldland capital.
So the pavement was smooth and level posing no challenge to the Ranger’s galloping horse. He saw my eyes flicker and heard my groans. The first thing I said was, “Arian?”
“The girl? She took the horses and fled.”
“All?”
“All but the Shire. He was shot.”
“Clean?”
“Yes, cleanly. The beast didn’t suffer. What ails you? We tried to feed and hydrate you. You threw everything back up.”
“Cursed,” I said and felt my lungs strangling. I wheezed and he looked alarmed as I felt my face turn red and then pale. He called out to the others and incredibly, they increased the pace. Yet, the faster they traveled, the more it stressed me and the harder it was to breathe.
I was barely conscious when he galloped his leg-staggering mount into the courtyard of the Government Mansion and Military Compound. The moment he pulled his gelding to a halt and leaped off, the horse collapsed, dead with blood running from its nose.
Armed and uniformed men ran to him but he shouldered them aside to run into the offices of the General Aide-De-Camp, a man named Lord Allemande. He was from one of the oldest families of the Oldlanders, nearly ranking as high as my grandfather, the Earl of Gleneden.
I was vaguely aware of my surroundings when he laid my limp body on the heavy couch in the Lord’s office. “Damn,” he cursed. “He’s not breathing again.”
Once more, I felt his lips encircle my mouth and he literally pushed the air into me, letting me exhale on my own. My heart which had been struggling, skipping and sending burning jolts down my arm steadied. “Ah, his color’s coming back,” he said and lifted my ribs with his hands. Up. Down. Inhale. Exhale.
“What the devil’s wrong with the boy?” Lord Allemande asked. “Who is he? One of the commoners that had approached the Border Wall?”
“Open your eyes, man,” the Ranger snorted not at all afraid of this High Noble. “This is the fugitive, Baronet Tobias Lynette Swan Spencer. The old Earl, Warlord Gleneden’s grandson. There’s a Wanted out on him. Detain and returned to Gleneden–Posthaste. Do no harm to the boy. Signed by the Earl himself. How in Glacier Hells did he wind up here? It’s three thousand miles from his last reported position.”
“Which was?”
“What was left of Cape Fear,” returned the Ranger grimly.
“Cape Fear–that’s nearly two hundred miles from his home territory!”
“The boy can ride. He said he was cursed. We can’t get him to eat or drink, everything comes right back up. And he has trouble breathing, twice now he has stopped completely. Turns blue and looks dead. There was a girl with him. Strange looking but she escaped with his horses.”
“Horses? How many?”
“Six. One of the Ranger shot one, a Shire workhorse. Those were fine animals,” he admired. “Fast. As fast as anything I’ve ever seen. If he hadn’t been ill, we’d never have caught him.”
“I’ll get a doctor here to look at him. A wizard too, if you say he’s been cursed.”
“I didn’t, he did,” I saw the Ranger point at me. “There’s a big reward on this one. You pay it or the governor?”
“You’ll have to apply to the Government Treasury Office for that,” Lord Allemande shrugged. “We don’t carry that kind of coin around.”
“It’s enough to retire on. Too bad I couldn’t catch those horses.”
The Lord was sharp. “Those animals belong to Earl Gleneden, not anyone who takes a fancy to them. You’re dismissed, John Colton. Thank you.” I felt his footsteps retreating and widened my eyes as the aide stood over me.
“Tobias?”
“Know you?” I gasped, trying to see his face. His was long, long thin nose with narrow bridge, pinched between light blue eyes and dark amber colored hair with just a hint of red. Ruddy cheeks and a wind-burned look. His mouth was pinched and mean.
“I was a neighbor of your grandfather’s. Your father and I played together as children. We were not friends.”
“Nor we,” I grunted and tried to sit up. My body was very weak and tired. If I moved too quickly, I felt faint and my chest tightened. My heart thumped in my ears.
It wasn’t but moments later that a surgeon entered the room, saw me and raised an elegant eyebrow that had clearly been plucked and shaped. His hair was thick, brushed back from a high forehead and his eyes a piercing blue that contrasted against his dark hair. He was tall and wore his suit with its fashionable ruffled blouse with aplomb.
“Who is this, Daniel?” He drawled in that upper crust Oldlander accent that made my teeth hurt. My father had it but his had been softened and blunted by his years in the Newlands.
“Gleneden’s grandson. Says he’s been cursed,” Allemande returned and the doctor examined me quickly with slender hands that were a shade too familiar. When I tried to push them away, I became rapidly hypoxic.
“Steady, lad. Breathe deeply, slowly. If you get agitated, your lungs will work harder but open less,” he advised and I would have laughed if I had the lungs for it. “Tell me how you were cursed and by whom?”
I wasn’t bringing up my great-grandfather’s name, which would put me in the position of a slave to fate, a power pawn to be played by either side. I couldn’t admit to being across the Border Wall, either. That would earn me a quick trip to a dark dungeon cell and perhaps even a hanging.
“Neighbors. Wanted. Dad’s. Horses,” I improvised. “Cursed. Me.” Slowly, painstakingly, I managed to repeat the entire curse except for the last line. It took me nearly an hour because I could only speak one word between each breath. When I was finished, I was exhausted and shaking with it. The doctor turned to the Lord and frowned.
“He’s thin, dehydrated and running a fever. If we can’t find something to treat him, feed and hydrate him, he’ll be dead in less than a week. He could go weeks without food but without liquids–well, three days is all he has. Less, the condition he’s in. As for breathing, I could put him on forced air but I’m not sure that would work, either. From the description, it’s like he’s breathing pumice and ash from a volcanic eruption–it must feel like his lungs are full of cement.”
“Will he survive to reach Gleneden’s and the Emperor?”
“I doubt it. Let me talk to Blackfin, he’s had dealings with these curses before.”
“Will he survive in the dungeon cells?”
“God no!” The doctor was aghast. “In those dank, moldy cells? He be dead before dawn! He’s too weak to attempt escape. I daresay locked in a bedroom or empty office will hold him well enough. Make sure it has no windows, though.”
“I’ll see to it. I have to send a message to the Earl and notify him that we have the boy in custody. Thank you, Percy. Will you call Sergeant Tolliver and have him stand guard until one of us returns?”
“Of course.” I heard the door close softly and shut my eyes conscious only of the need to force air into my lungs. They left me alone in the office and when I was sure both of them were gone, I forced myself up onto my feet and searched the room. He had a desk piled with dispatches and orders, forms to requisition monies, material and men. Applications for permits to build bridges and warehouses but nothing that could help me. Some of his drawers in the old Admiralty desk were locked. The wall behind his desk was covered with filled bookshelves, the other walls paneled in light oak and fancy ogee molding. The ceiling was carved and held an ornate crystal chandelier and there were matching sconces on the wall. Indeed, it was a fancy office of the General Governors’ Second-in-Command. Two portraits graced the wall between the windows. One was of the Emperor and the other must have been the Governor General, he was painted in the robe and wig of the High Office.
A spare man, tall and thin with an aesthetic look to him, no humor in his eyes or thin, pursed lips. His hands were large and prominently displayed folded in front of his vested waist and he wore a wide gold band indicating he was married.
I shuffled over to the windows. They were as tall as I, floor to ceiling covered with heavy silk drapes in deep maroon with thinner white gauze liners. When I tried to open the panes, I couldn’t lift the sashes higher than two inches. The air coming in smelled fresher than what was in the room.
I glanced back at his desk and saw his inkwell with quill still dipped in it and heard the faint ticking of a clock. In the corner near the doorway stood a venerable old grandfather clock and as I watched, it chimed 3 PM. The bongs echoed in my head and made me shiver. Time was running out so fast and I wondered where Arianell was; I hoped she was safe and kept my horses safe, too.
The door swung open and I turned, startled. Nearly fell to my hands and feet on the wide planked floor. Tugged me over to a straight-backed chair and held my chin up as he seated me. “Blackfin, this is he,” he announced and I rolled my eyes.
“Indeed,” I replied.
“Save your breath, boy,” the surgeon told me currently. “You live or die by our whim.”
“Hogs spittle.”
The Newcomer wore black robes etched in scarlet thread with a hood over the face. Tall, so when he threw it back, I was startled to see that it was a red-haired woman with black eyes, sharp nails painted blood red and with matching red lips that were a bold statement against her lily-white skin. No freckles for a redhead.
She put her hand on my forehead and my senses retreated until I was falling into the black well of her eyes.
Newlanders had experience with wizards and sorcerers from the Oldlands and did not trust them. Most were charlatans who had no clue as to what was real magic. Some made their living selling charms and love potions, wards to repel warts or spots and the like. Then, there were ones like this woman who commanded real power. She frightened me and she knew it.
“Yes,” she hissed in a voice between the rasp of a snake and acid-dissolving metal. “He is cursed and by a very powerful spell. Speak the curse, boy.”
Obediently, I recited it without hesitation and trouble breathing. The minute I was finished, however, I felt a constriction in my chest and coughed. Coughed until I fell to my knees as little stars flickered through my entire vision. She spoke a power word. It washed over me and eased the weight in my lungs.
“Take him to his cell or room that faces north,” she ordered. “Give him not a bed but a pallet on the floor and bind his hands and feet with silver chains. I will think on the rest of the curse and see if he can be fed or watered. Tis a powerful curse for a Newlander to know.” She glared at me. “Have you told me all, boy?”
Weakly, I spat at her and she gripped my chin twisting my head. Not a squeak of air entered my lungs. I passed out.