The Brush Tiger of Derven Ch. 12-14

Sitting still, Namora's leg doesn't hurt as much. Though her eyes burn from lack of rest and her body aches from fighting so hard, her ears are as keen as always. At first she thinks it is coming from her chest but she realizes the irregular breathing is coming from Eric. She can hear his rough hands scrape together as he wrings them nervously in his lap. To her relief, she also hears footsteps coming down the hall. A few seconds later, Eric hears them too. He helps Namora to her feet and a few steps away from the bench; she sways painfully, trying to keep off of her injured leg. He makes sure she is balanced before he lets go.

"Remember," he whispers, "that you are supposed to be a servant, not a Princess. Don't make eye contact and bow when introduced."

The door opens. Before she has a chance to look at anyone, Namora balances her weight on her right leg and leans her torso forward. From their feet, she can tell that Wardens John and Dell enter first. Behind them, she sees the flowing hem of the Queen's skirt, followed by a pair of well worn leather boots. The door slams shut.

She feels Eric nudge her with his elbow; unsure of his signal, it takes her a while to realize that he means for her to stand. She draws her shoulders back first as if a string attached to her neck pulled her up. Her chin remains lowered to her chest and she keeps her eyes on the ground. Though she can't distinguish much of his face from her periphery, she guesses he is around her age; he is dressed plainly in brown suede pants, tucked into his boots, and a deep green shirt. His clothes appear to be snug on him-not because he is over fed, but because he is too muscular for his own good.

It takes a lot of effort to look at the floor and she only does so with great difficulty. Her father always taught her that she must look people in the eye, so that they know she speaks true. Few of the attendants in the castle ever look her in the eye but they do so out of respect; she wonders if it is as hard for them as it is for her.

She sees Master Rickan's boots walk in her direction. Eric slowly moves away from her, his place taken by Rickan. When he circles her, looking her over she finds that his step is light and quiet; something she didn't expect for a man so thick.

He stops in front of her; she can feel his eyes wandering over her face, "What is your name, servant?" The voice that is directed to her is different than what she expected; he speaks firmly but with kindness. She finds that it isn't at all unpleasant, yet he reminds her of an ominous cloud on an otherwise beautiful day.

She inhales deeply through her mouth, taking care to remove the usual authority from her voice before she speaks, "It is...Mora." She doesn't want to use the name a few of her friends call her but it seems inappropriate for someone other than her father to call her Namora without 'Princess' in front of it. She can see Eric shifting nervously and she quickly corrects herself, "My name is Mora, Sir." To her ears, her voice sounds tiny and feeble and it makes her mad.

Master Rickan doesn't respond right away, as if he was expecting more of an answer from her. After a while with his eyes still burning into her forehead, Namora feels an odd sensation inside-as if her fire is quickly snuffed out-when he speaks with tenderness to her, in a very personal sort of tone, "Very well then, Mora." He clears his throat, raising the volume of his voice, "It appears that you are indentured to me for-a week, is that right, your Majesty?"

Queen Sheynne's voice has a smug quality to it that wasn't there before. It is as if she got something that she wanted, "Yes. In one week, Master Rickan, I will need you to accompany her to the eastern border, near the public road."

He turns around and walks away from her; his voice is now flat, "Fine. Come along then," he says to Mora. She can see his boots and the wisp of the Queen's dress leave the room.

Mora breathes deeply, stretching her neck from side to side. She starts to move forward, trying her best to follow but doesn't make it more than a few steps before she is forced to stop and lean against the door frame. Eric walks to her; bending at the middle he puts his shoulder into her stomach and lifts her over him like a sack of flour. While she finds herself getting irritated at being treated like property, she knows that he only has the purest intentions so she doesn't object. She hangs limply over him and tests out her old voice, making sure it still works, "Thank you Warden." It is firm and strong.

Mora can't distinguish much of the castle other than the well worn stones beneath Eric's feet. The rest is all upside-down. Eric's arm presses against her wound; she must have winced because she hears Dell's voice behind them, "Careful of her leg, Eric," he whispers.

When she lifts her head up to see him, he quickly wipes the worry off of his face and tries to sneer at her. She suppresses a smile; he must have gotten over her trying to kill him. Walking quickly next to him she sees John also has a faint look of concern. "You should tell Master Rickan about it, maybe he could give her something for the pain?" he quietly joins in.

The walk is long and though Eric tries to be careful, he bumps her knee a few more times. She can't hear the Queen and Rickan talking anymore; Sheynne must have separated from their group to go back to her normal life. The air begins to warm slightly as they ascend in the castle and she can faintly see the halls getting brighter. Before long, they are at a set of huge wooden doors just outside the castle walls. There is a pair of horses waiting, tethered to posts. When Eric sets her down, she is able to breathe easier without his shoulder in her gut but he doesn't wait for her to take a full breath before his large hands clasp around her waist and he lifts her up onto the horse. Caught off guard, she feels her cheeks grow red; she has been touched more times by a man in the past day than she has in her whole life. He tenderly helps her get her injured leg onto the other side of the saddle; the whole time Mora takes care to not let the pain show in her face and to keep her eyes down.

Even so, she can see Master Rickan looking at Eric. His voice comes out harsher than before, but she wonders if it is because of the way Eric handled her, "She isn't useless, is she, Warden?"

Mora can see Eric's jaw tense with anger at the comment. She, too, doesn't appreciate the idea of someone considering her useless but for some reason she isn't boiling over with fury. Eric turns to Rickan, restraining his voice well, "No, Master Rickan. During her capture she was bitten by a borderwolf. I drained her of the poison, but she has quite a wound on her leg," he says somewhat smugly, as if to take credit for saving her life.

"A borderwolf?" Rickan's eyes are now on her, but she keeps hers focused on the coarse, black mane of the animal beneath her, "However did she manage that? They don't normally bite anything."

"Well, let me tell you, she killed that wolf," John boasts on her behalf; she sees him sway almost proudly when he says it, as if he had a part invested in Mora.

"And she almost killed me," Dell adds, voice growly but none the less he shows off his wound as if he got it in war.

Mora doesn't feed into their conversation but instead continues to keep her gaze down. Almost as if he is touching her, she knows Rickan is reevaluating her carefully. She sees Eric lock the end of her chains onto a metal ring that is attached to the saddle. He turns away from her and hands the reins of her horse to Rickan.

"She sounds like a handful," his voice says, somewhat excitedly, like she will be a challenge for him.

"She was, until we beat it out of her," Eric all but growls. He turns to Mora and catches her eyes, "Isn't that right, darling?" One of his green orbs winks at her.

"Yes, sir," she mumbles, catching his hint.

CHAPTER 13: AT FIRST SIGHT

With the reins of her horse in his hands, Master Rickan rides a few paces in front of her, allowing her to carefully look at her surroundings. The Queen's castle sits on top of a hill with its back to the northern mountains. From its mouth is a wide cobblestone road that leads down the hill towards a small and dreary town off in the distance.

Though the brightness of the sky would suggest it is only early morning, Mora guesses that it must be near noon. She looks up to see the sun lying hidden behind menacing looking clouds. When her gaze drops to the bleak, wilted conditions of the plant life surrounding the road, she has a feeling that it has been a long, long time since sunlight directly touched the depressing country.

When they are about half way between the castle and the town, Master Rickan slows his horse down so that it trots next to hers. Mora's eyes snap back from the surrounding landscape to the animal's mane. Her back is rigid with proper posture but she isn't able to slouch because it puts tension on her knee. Even with her chin down to her chest, she can feel that he is watching her.

Their horses walk on, the pair remaining in the awkward position for several moments. Mora can feel her heart start to quicken and her cheeks begin to blush when his stare never waivers; no one other than King Irron has ever spent so much time blatantly looking at her.

"I hope they didn't hurt you too badly. Wardens tend to be a rough bunch," his voice is soft, with that same tender, personal note in it.

She clenches her jaw tight, a lump stuck in her throat. A man is dead, her life is turned upside down and her country lies in limbo while she is held hostage in a foreign land. She shakes her head no as her only response. She is still unsure of the man that the Queen entrusted her life to and she assures herself that is why she feels so strange.

"What's the matter beautiful, cat got your tongue?" She can see him trying to smile at her. She wants to look at him, to chastise him for being so informal when there are so many lives on the line but she keeps her eyes down and doesn't feed into his attempts. Her heart pounds in her ears.

When he is rejected another response, he waits a few moments before trying to engage her in conversation again, "So, Mora, where are you from?"

"Not from around here, Sir," is all she can think to say; she can barely hear herself above the pounding in her chest.

"Well, obviously," Rickan mutters before he gives up.

The town is larger than the one she lives in but it seems smaller because the buildings are so close together. It doesn't have a grand square, just a dusty road that winds through it and continues on. While all of the buildings are made from wood, they lack the proper care that Dervens take pride in. Instead of being rich in color and texture, they appear to be poorly maintained, dried out and slightly warped.

Though it is around lunch time there are no people walking along the boardwalks but she knows they are all inside because Mora can almost feel the curious eyes of the townspeople on her. They trot about half way through town before Rickan draws their horses to a halt in front of one of the nicer looking, two story buildings. It stands tall above every other shops with a narrow alley on the side that must lead to a stable in back. While there are no windows on the first story and none on the second towards the front, Mora can see a few on the upper back half along with a wide balcony that looks over the other stores and to the castle. A cracked, wooden sign designates it as a Tavern, but it is far larger than any tavern Mora has seen.

Knowing they are home, the horses remain still in front of the building. Rickan dismounts before handing both sets of reins to a young stable boy; he is maybe around twelve and resembles the other Sceaduians that she has met: pale, green eyes and darker blonde hair. The boy looks at Mora with intrigue; when she makes eye contact with him, she isn't sure if the look on his face is shock at her foreign features or if he doesn't see women much in general. He holds on to the horse's bridle, petting it on the nose while he waits for her to get off so he can tend to them.

Mora can see her knuckles are white under her grip on the saddle. She slowly swings her bad leg over the rump of the animal. Not thinking straight, she realizes that she dismounted on the wrong side and is now forced to put weight on her injury to free her good leg. When she does, she buries her face into the saddle blanket to stifle her moan of pain. Her leg throbs and she remains there, head buried into the side of the animal, calming herself with the familiar smells of horse and hay.

"What's wrong with her?" she hears the stable boy ask Rickan curiously.

"She was bitten by a borderwolf," he responds, his voice flat like before.

"What? And she is still alive?" astonishment rings in the young voice.

"Well it appears so, Jacob, doesn't it?"

She feels a hand on her shoulder, the pounding in her leg now competing with the pounding of her heart. Rickan's firm grip gently pulls her away from the animal. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself as he turns her to face him.

"Can you walk?" he asks plainly, unlocking her chains from the horse.

Keeping her eyes down, she nods a yes to his boots. With teeth clenched together she takes a graceful step forward, past Rickan to the tavern; the pain doesn't crack the harden facade of her face but even so Rickan must have seen her favor the leg.

"Nonsense," he calls her out.

When she feels an arm pressed against her lower back she instinctively jerks away. The sudden movement sends pain shooting up her thigh and she almost falls forward trying to catch herself. Behind her, Rickan pauses as he waits for her to hold still. When she is done, he replaces his arm on her back and she restrains herself from shying away. With ease, he sweeps her up, his other arm behind her knees. Holding her against him, she can't help but notice that his chest is firm yet forgiving, unlike King Irron's.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I just don't have all day to waste for you to get upstairs," he says roughly, but jokingly. Rickan's strong arms carry her through the threshold like a man would carry his wife; not like how Eric carried her like a sack of food. Only once before has a man held her close with such regard; when she was nine, Laren and her were practicing with staffs. He caught her off guard and landed a hard blow to her ankle; fearing it was broken, he refused to let her walk to the doctor but carried her in his arms like Rickan carries her now.

Mora counts thirty three steps to the narrow balcony above the tavern below. She doesn't see much of anything since she keeps her eyes on the chains around her wrists. Rickan carries her with ease as if she weighs as much as a feather. Feeling awkward about being held by a strange man, she is tempted to look up at his face, which is only a few inches away, but she doesn't. His large stride quickly takes them to the far end of the balcony where Rickan opens a set of doors leading into a grand bedroom. His bedroom, Mora guesses.

She tenses nervously when he sets her down on a chair. Her heart continues to pound and she wonders for the first time if Eric didn't suck all of the poison out and she is dying. Over the back of the chair she sits in is some clothing; behind Rickan she can see a large stone fireplace that consumes most of the wall, with a crackling fire in its mouth. In front of it is a beautiful, high backed copper tub full of steaming water. Mora has never seen so much metal used for one large, frivolous object outside of King Irron's caravan. With the tub fully exposed to the rest of the room, she can feel her cheeks begin to glow when she realizes he means for her to take a bath. She should feel angry at being treated so-even if she were a common woman, she wagers her chastity would still have value.

Rickan's hand grazes hers when he reaches down to unlock the chains on her wrists. He casually tosses them behind her; they land with a soft thunk that makes Mora think that there is a couch back there. She leaves her hands folded in her lap and has to swallow hard to get the lump out of her throat. His hand floats towards her face but before he touches her, it drops and his boots disappear from her sight.

A loud dragging sound makes her turn her head; all she can see is a large folding screen now in between them, separating her and the tub from the rest of the room. He stands on the other side, speaking quietly, "I am guessing that after your adventure last night, you wouldn't mind a bath." She can hear him take a deep breath when he pauses, as if trying to reassure himself as much as her, "I won't look and I won't come onto your side of the screen until you are finished...unless you need help...because of your injuries," he quickly adds.

Mora looks at her hands; they are dirty and covered with dry blood. She wonders how much of it is her own and how much of it is Dell's. Below her hands, her dress is filthy and has a dark, dried patch from her wound-she knows that is all her blood. As she stands to get undressed, she decides that Master Rickan isn't entirely awful. She shouldn't punish him for her mistakes and the Queen's wicked plan; after all, Rickan doesn't know who she is or why she is enslaved.

"Thank you, Master Rickan, for your thoughtfulness," she responds quietly as she undresses.

Somehow without great difficulty she eases herself over and into the tub. The hot water envelopes her, washing away the soreness and disaster from yesterday. Submerged up to her neck, it drains the pain from her leg. With the dirt washed away from her body she can see the garish bite the animal left on her. Several ragged puncture wounds in a cluster adorn her upper calf, to the outside of her knee. While some look like a dog bite, she wonders if the other smooth cuts are from Eric. The skin surrounding it is bright red and swollen. She carefully washes it with soap, biting her lip so she doesn't scream out. It takes some scrubbing but when it is finally clean, she relaxes her leg down into the water and washes her long, tangled hair. Soon the smell of campfire, roasted pheasant, blood, sweat and anger is replaced by lemongrass soap.

Even though the warm water feels wonderful and the heat that has seeped into her muscles makes her tired, she reluctantly drags herself out of the tub. The cool air prickles her skin; she finds a towel and hastily dries off. She walks to the chair that the clothes are draped over, looking around to make sure no one is watching.

Expecting to find a plain dress, she is surprised with a pair of pants, a ruffled shirt, a sleeveless shirt and some other contraption she isn't sure about. Sliding the pants over her legs she notes the fabric they are made from is soft against her skin, unlike the rough wool of Derven sheep. They fit well but they are significantly tighter than she is used to, leaving nothing to the imagination. They don't extend the full length of her legs either, but stop mid calf. With the towel wrapped around her top, she looks down upon her legs; the pants are black and are even slimmer than the pants she wears at the Festival. From her waist, her hips curve back into her knees. Looking curiously at her feet, she realizes that they are pale in comparison to her face, as are her arms, since they rarely see sunlight.

Discarding the towel, she pulls the tighter, sleeveless shirt on. As it resembles her pants in fit, she is thankful for the looser ruffled shirt until she pulls it over herself. When she looks down, Mora is unnerved a bit to see the tops of her breasts showing. Never before has she felt so naked in clothing.

Mora hears the floor boards creak. She glances over her shoulder to see the figure of Rickan standing behind her. Wondering how long he had been standing there, her heart begins to race in her chest and her skin flushes with embarrassment. She feels so vulnerable; she is injured, almost helpless, in the presence of a strange man who is not her betrothed and now she is clad in clothing that shows everything she has hidden all her life. She faces forward, dropping her gaze to the floor. Her right hand clutches the front of her shirt together at the neck to hide her skin.