The Fires of Cerran

Chapter Twenty-Six

The bedsores felt warm. Broken, cracked skin, that glistened red and leaked clear puss, extended across the lower half of Astriel’s buttocks and thighs. Though the maids and servants had tried, and the Queen had regularly washed the girl during her daze, there was still a good bit of damage to the poor archer of Mair. The alchemist had seen the girl in the morning, and a small ointment was applied to the area. The girl’s coprolalia were heard in almost every corner of the place and having told the alchemist exactly where he could shove the other bottles of medicine he carried; she was finally left in peace.
 
She was walking now, and though her wounds were still healing, the swelling had almost entirely receded, leaving only bruising around the scarred skin. Being a warrior, Astriel wore the scar with pride, and she offered no apologises for her actions to anyone whom frowned upon them. Against the advice of the Queen, she had begun to take regular walks along the corridors of the Castle. Her strength was returning to her now, and the feeling of cold stone across both her feet was almost euphoric for her.
 
Soon after, the crutches she had requested, lay unused in the corner of the bedroom where she had assumed she would die, and she began to walk unaided for the first time in what seemed a lifetime. She held her blades now, refocusing herself on the training she had received as a young girl. Closing her eyes, she returned to those long-lost days and watched herself perform the flips and tricks she had been taught. Her wound still pained her when she crouched, and for a time she wondered if her style of fighting would need altering to accommodate it. No, she decided. She had never lost a fight in her life, and she certainly would not allow herself to fall to this inconvenience.
 
Relaxing against the wall, sharpening her blades and listening to the steady crackle of the fire embers, Astriel caught a shadow against her doorway.
 ‘You’d be dead the moment you opened the door.’ She called out.
 ‘Thank you for warning me.’ Called the familiar voice of Lenren as he entered the room, a warm smile across his face. ‘Hello Astriel.’ He said.
 ‘Hello Lenren, how are you?’ Astriel asked, offering the man a stool that sat at her opposite.
 ‘Worried, to say it plainly.’ The man returned as he sat with a heavy sigh and thud. Astriel put down her blades and pulled her legs up to rest her chin against.
 ‘How so?’ She enquired.
 ‘There is a girl here, Melran. She claims to be from Sera but cannot recall anything about the place other than a boy she claimed to be her brother.’
 ‘Claimed?’ Astriel replied curiously.
 ‘Aye, until she didn’t. Benji, name ring any bells?’ Lenren returned with a knowing gaze.
 ‘Benjen Westbrooke?’ Astriel replied, her brow furrowing as she fought to recall the boy.
 ‘Aye, the second son of Lord Westbrooke, Lower Lord of Crayton Bay. The boy was sent to the Kingsmen after his father’s passing.’
 ‘He doesn’t have any sisters.’ Astriel returned.
Lenren nodded and sighed again, heavier this time as he rubbed his face.
 ‘Why is this girl here?’ Astriel asked.
 ‘She’s a paraninr, she is able to form a bond with living things, whether animal or man. She can sense things, hear true thoughts and desires.’ Lenren returned, his eyes now watching the embers die.
 ‘The dragon?’ Astriel enquired, receiving an affirmative nod from her commander. Her face sunk into her knees at the thought of such things. ‘Can we trust her?’
 ‘Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know if she evens trusts herself. But she’s got a job to do, just like we have. When we’re out there we need to protect her as one of our own, that’s what she becomes once we leave these walls.’  Lenren returned, he sounded unsure of his own words and his gaze still eluded Astriel’s angry eyes.
 ‘And what if something happens? What if she tries something?’ Astriel said.
 ‘Then we have each other’s back. Just as we always do.’
 
A small table had been laid out, breads and freshly baked pastries lined the centre along with pies both savoury and sweet. Jugs of wine and brandy, some from the King’s own private reserve, were placed at equal intervals between the occupants of the meal. It was a grand affair, backed by a familiar band playing familiar songs on their harps and bows, and a sweet symphony of ballads from years gone by. In the centre of the table there was a glorious roasted goose, laid on a platter and surrounded with high towers of vegetables and grains. The Great Hall of Ceraborn had seen many meals like this across its long and mirky history, but as Brodon sat looking out into the place now, he wondered just how many of those past guests and banqueters were there now, lurking in the shadows.
 A light touch on his hand brought him back around, and Neriel filled his cup with wine and gave a warm smile. He smiled back, but his gaze caught the guardsman standing silently at the doorways, shrouded in darkness, and he could not help but feel that same fear once more. Velgar, who’s own plate was pilled high with pastries and fruits, drank merrily that night. He wore his finest purple gowns, the tradition garb of the Arch Chancellor of The Welling when at any official dinner such as this. Atop his balding head he wore a white silk hat, trimmed with purple fabric, and from his shoulders hung a golden amulet depicting the Gods watching over the world. It was all very proper, all very official.  
Lenren drank little, but he ate meat and fish and grains plentifully, as he always did before a long ride. Food was always scarce on such journeys, and no-one ever quite knew what type of reception the Archers might receive at an Inn house or suchlike. Astriel stayed away from the heavy drinks, instead sipping slowly on wine and enjoying a meal that seemed all the more delicious to her deprived and placid taste buds.
 
Ser Ramon of Garth drank from a large goblet, the stripped remains of the Goose’s leg sat resting against a few mashed carrots. He didn’t like the pastries, he had never had a sweet tooth and so elected to send his portion across to a rather delighted Velgar. Across from him sat the girl, now fitted in fine shirts and trousers, much more akin to those of Astriel, and he noticed that she had left a large amount of her own meal, simply moving the chunks of meat from one side of the plate to the other, her gaze never faltering from it.
 
The Queen, of course, sat in splendid gowns of green, with extending elegantly from her slender neck and resting at her bosom. She ate daintily, as she had been taught by her mother in the East. She had grown to quite enjoy Western foods and drinks, though she still harboured a great desire to taste the succulent orange pears of Cyronos once more before she died. It is said that they are the most delicious fruits grown anywhere in the world, and that the grounds on which they grow are guarded not only by a legion of men in Cyronosi armour, but also by an elusive band of assassins. Perhaps it was also fictious, but she did not really care to admit that. The dream excited her.
 
Once the meal had been consumed, and the music had begun to slowly drift away into soft melodies of Spring and Summer ballads, the King glanced over to Lenren.
 ‘I wish you well, all of you. This is by far the most dangerous task you have ever been asked to perform. I cannot imagine the fear that you may be feeling, but I say this with the upmost conviction, I am proud and honoured to have such fine warriors in my service.’
Lenren looked away from the King and across to his colleagues, Astriel evaded his gaze whilst Ramon simply stared blankly into the darkness beyond his commander.
 ‘I thank you my King,’ Lenren began after a moment. ‘From us all, I thank you. And I hope that we be seated here again soon, on our return.’
The King raised his cup in response and nodded appreciatively at the man.
 ‘You ride tomorrow?’ The Queen asked after a moment, her eyes shifting between her left and right.
 ‘Yes, my Lady, at dawn.’ Ramon answered, his voice softer than Lenren had otherwise heard.
 ‘You will have use of Lord Tharandal’s rooms.’ Velgar interjected, passing a scroll to Lenren.
 ‘Ah, good. We will sleep there before we come back.’ The Archer returned, looking to the scroll to see the aforementioned Lord’s signature at the bottom of the paper. If we get back, Gods hope. He thought as he pushed the paper into his pockets.
 ‘Then, may the Gods bless each of you.’ Neriel announced, erecting her own cup and signalling Brodon to do the same. All cups followed, all except Melran’s. Lenren nudged the girl, and her startled eyes seemed to show he had interrupted a moment of deep thoughtfulness. He nodded to her cup, which she took and raised it to meet with his own.
 
And as the night wore on, the girl watched as the men and women around her laughed and joked with one another. She listened to the tales they told to the legends and the myths. And for a moment, she felt at peace.