The Best Medicine Ch. 01

'Free access?' Trina thought. 'You mean the would-be husband list.' "I don't care if he's on a 'free access' list or Santa's list. I need to know everyone who's coming here and who they're bringing. Got it?" Actually, she did not really need to see the list, nor did she have the authority of a full head of security. She just liked yanking Morbis around.

"Put me down!" Morbis shouted, trying to convince himself that he actually had a pair. "I will speak to his majesty about your behavior."

"Go ahead. I am Vanesse's appointed guardian and battle-dancer, and her safety has been my concern since the day she was born. You want to complain to the King about me doing my job? Fine." She dropped him back in his chair and grabbed the visitor manifest. The Baron would be arriving in just three days.

Trina knew that Montain was the front-runner in the king's list of would-be suitors for the Princess's hand, and that alone made Trina distrust him. He was arrogant, ultra-conservative, and completely behind the king's opposition to the Unveiling. But since even the king could not force Vanesse to marry against her will, he limited her exposure to anyone who did not meet his criteria, hoping that Vanesse would eventually just wear down. He limited Vanesse's exposure to anything.

She spun on her heel, tossed the list back onto Morbis's desk, and then headed back to the garden. She resisted the urge to apologize to Morbis for her rough treatment of him (she really did not like hurting people), but this time managed to remain firm in her lack-of-caring. She found Vanesse sitting in the same spot, but she had retrieved some of the books.

"Everything all right?" the Princess asked.

Trina smiled. Vanesse knew her too well. "The good Baron Montain is coming for another visit."

Vanesse let out a very unladylike snort. "That boor? Why Uncle Tarrin keeps throwing him at me is beyond me. I mean, he is handsome enough, but a viper can be pretty. It still doesn't mean I would want to lay with one." The Princess blushed and her face looked pained. "Forgive me, I should not speak of such things. They are . . . improper."

'Never apologize to me,' was what Trina wanted to say. At that moment, Trina realized that she had to get the Princess out of that place. She had hoped that Vanesse would come to that realization on her own, but --

"Trina, I think I need to leave," Vanesse said suddenly.

Trina stopped in mid internal diatribe. "What?"

"I need to get out of here. This place, these suitors, it's all too much. What kind of queen would I be if I just hid from the world?"

'Keep talking,' Trina thought excitedly. 'This is your parent's daughter talking, not the worn-down creature your uncle has tried to create.' "You should tell your uncle --"

"Why, so he can talk me out of it like he has so many times before? Honestly, I don't know why I've let him do that time after time."

'Perhaps because he's been influencing you?' Trina thought. "It is potentially dangerous," she said.

Vanesse gave her a meaningful stare. "You WANT me to do this?"

"I didn't say --"

"I know. If this was really dangerous for me, you would be all huffing and puffing and threatening to call my uncle. But 'It is potentially dangerous'? For you, that's like buying me a bus ticket with your own money."

"I don't have money, remember? You don't pay me."

"And why is that? You should have some spending money."

"And where would I spend it?" Trina said. She knew that one reason she received no stipend was to prevent her from aiding in any escape attempts.

"I'm sure that you'd think of something." Vanesse looked around conspiratorially. "Let's leave tonight. We could catch some kind of transport out of Fairbanks --"

"Vanesse, it's twenty miles to Fairbanks, and it is the middle of winter. Only intense magic is keeping us from freezing to death instantly. We have no supplies."

"We can get supplies. Through tomorrow's drop." Vanesse snapped her fingers. "A snow . . . bicycle . . . contraption."

"A snowmobile?"

"Yes, one of those."

"And you think that Morbis will order you one without asking any questions?"

Vanesse's mouth moved, but she lacked the focus to form words. "Why are you discouraging me? I thought you'd want me to do this."

"I am not discouraging you," Trina replied. 'I'm not encouraging you either,' she added to herself.

"You don't like my uncle. Don't bother denying it. You never say anything, but I see the way you look at him, and you certainly don't say anything to support him. So why don't you ever support me?"

"I cannot --"

"Don't tell me that you 'cannot comment' or 'don't think it's your place' or any of your stock responses. What do you think that I should do?"

Trina was wracking her brain for a response that did not involve breaking her Word. "I can't answer that question," she said softly.

Vanesse was no fool. Naïve, maybe, but no fool. She could tell that her friend and guardian wanted to answer, but something was holding her back. She knew enough of the world of magic and elvish politics to understand that there had to be a reason. Maybe she just needed a better question?

"Trina, if I decide that I want to leave, will you help me?"

"I will do anything you ask of me," Trina said, seeing some recognition in the Princess's eyes . . . cunning. "My first duty is and always has been to see you safely through your life."

"Then put together a list of what would be needed to get the two of us to Fairbanks."

"As you wish," Trina said. She actually already had such a list. She'd had it for ten years.

------- ---------------------

Across the world . . .

------- ---------------------

The Alpha plopped a folder down on the Shepherd's desk. "Found a trucking company out of Fairbanks, Alaska that had the most unusual order. One of my folk got a driver drunk enough to talk about it, despite a pretty nasty contract that the driver had signed. Seems that periodically they take a shipment out into the middle of nowhere and just leave it."

"And no one ever bothered to ask why?"

"Throw money like that around, and 'why' ain't that important, particularly for guys trying to make a living in the ass end of nowhere. Take a look at that," the Alpha said, pointed his furry chin at the manila folder. "See if anything looks suspicious to you."

The Shepherd picked up the folder with surprising steady hands. He had been waiting for a long time for word of his granddaughter, and this was as close as he had gotten. And with every page, he felt he was more sure. "Tarrin always had this exaggerated notion of how royalty should live. I don't think he ever got over what happened in the French revolution. He found commoners beheading nobility as an affront to decency."

"Never mind what nobility does to the commoner?"

"Exactly. Look at this, the finest spices, seeds, furniture . . . chocolate."

"The finest chocolate?"

"Not the finest," the Shepherd whispered, "but it's dark. Vanesse loved dark chocolate more than breathing. Said it was the greatest invention of the human race, and for that alone they should be thanked."

"I'm more of a milk chocolate kinda guy myself," the Alpha said. When the Shepherd stared blankly at him, he continued, "What? Can't a man have a few vices?"

"You have more than a few. Alpha, she's here. I know it. Now, I just need to get her out without Tarrin or his ilk knowing of my involvement until I have had an opportunity to talk to Vanesse personally. It would be best if the Tribunal as a whole did not know either."

"Why? They're on your side anyway, even if they aren't paying attention. The Representative is still in Atlanta, Katar is busy learning the rules around here, and the Dweller is somewhere in the Pacific trying to keep the merfolk from freaking out. You're pretty much good to go."

The Shepherd sank back into his chair. "How long would it take for Joker's Wild to get to Alaska?"

The Alpha grinned. "They're already on their way."

"Presume much?" The Shepherd smiled. It was good having a friend like the Alpha. "So how are they going to handle the Princess's battle-dancer?"

The Alpha's face went from self-pleased to concerned. "Battle-dancer?"

---------- ---------------

Two days later . . .

---------- ---------------

Vanesse was so excited that she could barely stand it. Earlier that morning, Trina had shown her the master plan for their grand escape. It involved cross-country skiing to Fairbanks, making one significant withdrawal from Vanesse's royal coffers, then taking small charter airplanes from small town to small town until they could sneak into Canada and then down to Seattle. Trina knew everything that they were going to need, down to the last article of clothing. She had no idea how her guardian had put everything together so fast, but somehow she had. It felt amazing to know that they were so close to making a break for it and leaving the safe, isolated existence behind. And if she did not know any better, she would have sworn that Trina was even more excited.

The Princess was so excited that she had wanted to be there when supplies were unloaded, just to see that they were there. The skis had been ridiculously easy to get, as Trina had said that Vanesse would never venture outside the magical lodge without suitable guards, and had actually ordered twenty extra pairs for the other guards. Of course, Trina would sabotage them before she and Vanesse left --

"Princess Vanesse, what are you doing here?" Morbis asked, sliding over with such smoothness that she expected to see a slug trail in his wake. "A loading bay is no place for a lady such as yourself. If you --"

"I just wanted to get to my candy as quickly as possible," Vanesse said, hating that she sounded like a ten year old when she did it. "I'm out."

"Still, we could bring it to you at the house immediately after it is unloaded. Now just follow Trina back out --"

"Are you telling the Princess to leave?" Trina asked, her voice going up just slightly for the word "telling."

"Absolutely not," Morbis said, throwing up his hands. "I'm just saying --"

And THAT was when hell broke loose.

A couple of guards had wandered over to the large metal storage pods that housed their incoming goods and rolled up the doors at one end. A pungent, wild smell filled the garage, and the guards started to shout. Initially, all that Vanesse heard was the sound "thwip" followed by "thud." Trina pushed Vanesse behind her and then backed them both up towards the door.

Black-clad figures streamed out the containers, guns pointed all around. There had to be twenty of them in there, more than enough to easily overpower the few guards that had come down to the loading bay for what should have been a mundane check-in. One of them turned and looked over towards Trina and her charge.

"Damn, that's her!" came a masculine voice with just a touch of accent.

"This is gonna be easier than we thought!" another added, bringing his (her?) weapon to bear on them.

"Duck!" Trina shouted. The two of them were just missed by two darts that buried themselves in the wall.

Vanesse's heart was pounding like a hard rain as she crawled towards the office area. The guards were going down easily, and no one had been able to get to the alarm. Five attackers diverted themselves towards her and Trina.

"Sorry sweetcheeks, but we just want the top-heavy chick behind you," one of them said, pointing his dart gun at Trina. "Sit still and this won't hurt a bit.

Vanesse almost felt sorry for that one. Trina did not like it when someone spoke down to Vanesse. The battle-dancer rolled back onto her shoulders, then launched herself off the ground, kicking off the wall and then launching herself with two fists extended at the stomach of the nearest attacker. The man went down with a grunt.

And just like that, Trina began to dance like only she could. From the day that Vanesse's parents had found this orphaned child, Trina had trained to dance with war in her thoughts, a song in her blood, and a steady beat in her heart. She jumped six feet in the air, clearing another volley of darts, spinning 360 degrees while catching one masked man with the front of one foot while another attacked was hit in the nose by Trina's heel. She fell to the floor doing the splits, then pushed off the floor with one hand, swinging her legs around and tripping up two more opponents.

Across the room, two individuals stared on as their remaining compatriots attempted to swarm the two remaining conscious elves. The description of their target had been slightly outdated, but there was no mistaking the lovely woman who was desperately looking for a way out. The taller woman, however, was a variable they had not counted on.

"Who the hell is that?" one of them asked.

"Hell if I know. I've never seen anyone fight like that," the second one asked, his voice brimming over with something resembling awe. "She's beautiful," he added as the warrior elf did a step-front kick and almost knocked someone's head off. She twisted over onto her toes, grabbed a man standing behind her by his shirt, then lurched backward. She rolled onto her back, launched the man up and over with her feet, causing him to land on his fellow attackers. That was when the two onlookers heard --

"Sorry!"

Onlooker One looked on Onlooker Two. "Did she just apologize?"

Onlooker Two nodded. He listened carefully and was able to hear a stream of "sorry" and other apologetic statements, each uttered right after the graceful woman nailed somebody.

"This is just too weird," Onlooker One said.

"I think she's a battle-dancer," Onlooker Two replied. "I've heard about them, but I've never seen one in action before. Crap, that means this chick we're looking for is a noble or something. Why couldn't the boss give us a little better intel?"

"Hey, he says jump, we just ask 'How high?' Crap, a battle-dancer? Don't they have this magical sense of where the person they're guarding is at all times?"

"Yep. We either have to kill her or --"

"I know, I know. Well, since we're not going to kill her," Onlooker One said, watching the girl kick two more opponents in their respective groins, then dropkick another one through a plate-glass window. "As if we could. Okay, she's making us look bad."

Onlooker One walked towards the fray, but diverted to get a clear line on their actual target, pulling a gun from its holster. "Okay, no more Mr. Nice Guy," the masked entity said. "Switching to live rounds."

Trina's head shot around just in time to see the speaker's gun leveled and the trigger being pulled. "No!" she screamed, jumping and putting her body in the line of fire. She had often wondered when the day would come that she would have to put her life on the line for Vanesse, but she had not expected it to come for soon. What was worse, she did not think that her death would save --

A dart planted itself right into Trina's chest. Immediately, she felt her body grow sluggish and her vision became clouded.

"What . . . the --" she muttered, struggling to her feet.

"What, you really thought I was going to kill her?" the masked person said. The voice sounded feminine, but had a rich quality to it. "You just kept dodging, so I had to find a way of discouraging that. Don't worry, I won't harm a WHAT THE --" she shouted as Trina rolled forward, grabbing the gun from the woman's hand and then head-butting her in the nose.

"You can't have her," Trina sputtered, stumbling backward and falling to one knee. It was getting very hard to see, and she could not seem to remember where she had put her arms and legs. They had been attached to her a second ago.

"Crap, that shot would've put an elephant down by now." The woman grabbed another gun and pointed it at the falling guardian. Then something else unexpected happened. The would-be target picked up a two-by-four and charged in front of her bodyguard. 'A noble guarding a guard? That's different.'

"Stay back!" the girl said, swing the weapon with far to big of an arc. She obviously had no idea what she was doing, but she was not going to let anyone hurt her companion.

Onlooker One stepped forward and when the girl swung, she reached out and simply plucked the two-by-four from her hands. "Give me that before you hurt yourself."

Vanesse was scared, but she was also furious. They had done something to Trina, and now this one was sounding amused. She formed a punch just like Trina had taught her and swung for the fences. The shot was easily blocked, and her arm was twisted behind her back.

"Okay, I'm going to try and be reasonable," the woman said. "Your friend has made this much louder and more painful than it needed to be, and I think she broke my nose. Now be a good girl and relax. Don't hurt us, and we won't hurt you or your friend here."

"Get . . . your hands . . . off of her," Trina muttered, crawling forward on hands and knees towards the sound of her attacker's voice.

"Or you're going to do AUGH!" a nearby adversary said, screaming when she lashed out, hitting him in the knee with a palm-strike and sending him toppling to the floor. Another individual grabbed the discarded two-by-four and raised it overhead, intending to put the woman out of their misery.

"Stop!" the primary onlooker barked. She watched as the elf guardian crawled forward a few more feet and then collapse onto the ground, muttering an apology to the person she had just hit. "She's . . . mostly out."

"Nuke her from orbit," another said, letting out a high-pitched laugh. "It's the only way to be sure."

"I . . . I can't see you," Trina said, the last of her sight and bodily control slipping away.

The prime onlooker looked down at her captive, who seemed much less concerned for her own safety than for that of her bodyguard. She let the girl go and, sure enough, she went and knelt at the fallen woman's side.

"I'm right here," Vanesse whispered. "Please, I'll go with you, just don't hurt her." She did not look around but she felt something sink into her neck.

"Good to know," were the last words the Princess heard before she went unconscious.

------ --------------------

Some time later . . .

------ --------------------

" . . . like a baby. Seriously, 'Don't hurt her'? That chick fucked up most of the capture team. See, this is why we need to stick to dealing pot and the occasional grand larceny. Kidnapping girls hurts."

"Well, at least we got what we came for. Still no sign of pursuit?"

"Fuck no. We blew up the roads, and those magical flares you had us bring were the shiz-nit."

"Jack, I hate it when you try to talk Snoop Dog. Didn't we talk about that?"

"Yes, we did." There was a pause. "Looks like our guest is awake."

Vanesse was struggling to sit up. Her mouth felt like cotton and tasted even worse. And either her eyes were hazy, or someone nearby was smoking. She quickly decided that "both" was the appropriate answer.

"So how ya feelin'?" came a woman's voice. This was the leader of Vanesse's attackers.

Vanesse was going to pretend that she did not speak English, but then remembered that they had heard her speak back at the garage. So she just chose to ignore them.

"C'mon now, sweetcheeks, I'm willing to bet you'd kill for a glass of water right now. That stuff we shot you and your people up with tends to dry you out a bit."

Vanesse blushed, both because she was indeed craving water and because she hated being called "sweetcheeks." Again.

"Okay, now you can behave yourself and drink what I put in front of you, or we can stuff a funnel in your mouth and pour it down your throat."

Vanesse's vision cleared and she finally got to take a look around. They were in a small room that was tackily decorated and furnished, much like a common tavern. She was sitting on a bed and there were about six people in chairs or on the floor, and they were all eyeing her in a fashion that could best be described as hungry. No longer dressed in all black, they now wore combinations of leather and denim that seemed oddly familiar.