Princess Interrupted, page 24
part #1 of Prophecies Series
It was midday as Arabelle slowed the horses to a trot and approached the cluster of villages near the caravan. She tied the horses to one of the village’s hitching posts. In the distance she heard a woman crying and on the other side of the village, Arabelle saw a cluster of people.
I wonder what the commotion is about.
One of the village children was running past her and Arabelle grabbed his arm and asked, “What’s going on?”
The brown-haired boy yanked his arm back. He turned and as he ran down an alley and yelled, “The princess is dead.”
Arabelle repeated the words, “The... princess... is... dead...?”
She screeched, “What!”
A large boy approached her with a quizzical look on his face. He looked about sixteen, but she paid no attention to him. Arabelle took a few steps toward the soldiers. Something had happened and she had to clear things up.
Before she could take another step, the boy grabbed her arm and dragged her toward him with a smile. “You don’t want to go there. They’re hurting people.” He tried to pull her toward one of the alleyways. “I’ll take care of you.”
Arabelle snapped out of her daze. The boy was muscular, with barely a hint of a beard and crossed eyes. The most disturbing part was the smell. He smelled like the manure that he seemed to be covered with. She looked at the dirt-encrusted hand that gripped her arm, and grimaced.
It probably wasn’t dirt.
She tried to pull away from his grip, but it was like an iron manacle. He sneered at her resistance and pulled out a small rusty dagger. “This can be done the easy way, or it can be done the hard way.”
Arabelle pulled with all her might and screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping to get someone’s attention.
The boy cursed and lunged at her face with the dagger.
She’d managed to draw one of her daggers and deflected the attack, but just barely. He was slowly pulling her into the alley and she panicked. Arabelle slashed at the arm holding him, and even though she had only intended it to be a shallow wound, the skin parted and bled profusely.
The boy cursed and lunged clumsily at her while pulling with his other hand. Arabelle lost her footing in the mud and luckily he missed her with his dagger thrust, but not before he connected with his knee on her cheek. As his knee connected, Arabelle’s head snapped back and she saw sparks while the light of day dimmed to darkness. Despite being disoriented, she heard the sound of metal against metal and a cry of pain.
Was that me?
She felt herself being lifted in the air and a nearby voice that sounded familiar cried, “Princess? Wake up. Please wake up.” Arabelle felt herself being moved, and the familiar voice said, “She is hurt. Run ahead and get another tent ready for her, I will take her to her father. And you! Drag the pieces of that scum outside the village. Let it be eaten by the blink dogs and vultures. If he has family, promise them that I will personally see them get the same treatment if they think to bury him.”
The light began to brighten. She felt the muscular arms carrying her and muttered, “I want to be in my own tent please.”
The motion stopped and she heard Tabor near her ear. “Princess, you are waking. Everything will be fine.” She heard a catch in his throat and he cried, “I thought you were dead.”
Arabelle opened her eyes and howled out as the light caused spears of pain in her head and Tabor continued walking with her in his arms. She heard him singing a lullaby that she remembered from her childhood. She looked at his face and winced at the lances of pain she received from her neck.
Why does my neck hurt?
Her heart nearly broke as she saw what the strong man who always hid his emotions looked like. His blood-shot eyes and tear-soaked beard were obvious along with the emotion he exuded in the song he was quietly singing.
“I’m sorry, Tabor. I felt I had no choice but to leave my tent when I wasn’t supposed to.”
Tabor sobbed as he carried her and shook his head. “No, my dearest princess. Thank Seder or any other spirits that were involved that you weren’t in your tent last night.”
She wasn’t sure if she heard him correctly. Maybe my brain is addled and I don’t know it. Arabelle painfully raised her head to look around and gasped as she saw an entire troop of twenty soldiers escorting then to their destination. As she rested her head against Tabor’s chest she felt very sleepy and confused. Castien’s warning suddenly echoed in her mind and she knew with a moment of crystal clarity the trouble she was in. “Tabor, promise me something.”
“Anything, Princess.”
“A vision has told me that what I must do now. I have some of my mother’s abilities. You understand, right?”
There was a momentary pause and he whispered, “Yes. Perfectly.”
“Don’t let me sleep in the tent. I absolutely must be awake. Get me a mortar, pestle, and the bark of the willow and the leaves of the khat bush. I must make a tea from that to get better. If I don’t, I may die. Please tell me you understand.”
“Princess, rest assured, it will be as you ask.”
Tabor raised his voice. “Khalid, you personally take care of the princess’s request. Find Janius Mizmer and get a supply of willow bark and khat leaves. We need it immediately. If she doesn’t have any, find it, I don’t care what you have to do.” She heard the sound of footsteps racing away.
A bout of dizziness and nausea hit Arabelle as her mind wandered. She hoped she didn’t lose her mother’s daggers. Wait, what happened to that boy who attacked me? She hoped Maggie wasn’t frantic. A thousand questions dawned on her as her eyes closed. She remembered resting in Tabor’s arms just like this when she was five ...
Arabelle cupped another steaming mug of tea and sipped at it. The pain in her neck had diminished, thanks to the willow bark, and she was wide awake, thanks to the khat leaves. However, no amount of painkiller could have prepared her for the news Father shared with her about Maggie. The guilt she felt over her death was so intense that Arabelle wanted to crawl inside her own wretched shell and die. Either Father or Tabor was at her side for the next week.
She’d told Tabor, and then her father a tale of a vision that she received. It was the reason she’d traveled north, and the journey had taken longer than expected.
Upon hearing the tale, Father simply said. “It is a miracle, my precious daughter, that you weren’t killed. I will forever be thankful to the guiding spirits that saved you that night.”
Even though Arabelle hadn’t truly lied, the guilt she felt over what had transpired in her absence made it all irrelevant.
She barely ate, she only moved around sufficiently to keep the worst of the poison at bay, and Arabelle hadn’t even given thought to a bath. No bath or tears could wash away the guilt that she was feeling. The pain as she touched her cheek was nothing when compared to the pain at the loss of the girl she’d loved like a sister.
Arabelle knew she was physically going to be fine. After a week, the swelling had diminished, but she knew that she was being treated like she was still severely injured. As the caravan moved to its next location, Tabor insisted on carrying her in the middle of the night to a covered supply wagon with a large bed that normally carried thousands of pounds of supplies. Tonight, the only thing it carried was Tabor and the princess. She really didn’t mind staying hidden for now.
The guilt that only she knew about had been compounded when she asked for Grisham to visit her. He might have been the only person in this world other than Castien with whom Arabelle could have shared her guilt-ridden tale. The only difference would be that Grisham would have cared and likely given her what she needed. It was hard to imagine Castien being able to respond in anything but a clinical, elf-like manner.
Unfortunately, when she asked about him, Tabor informed her that the young dwarf had disappeared on the same day she had.
Arabelle couldn’t imagine what had transpired, but it certainly had to be her doing that forced his departure. I suppose someday I could try to seek him out and try to make amends, but for the moment, my life was altogether too complicated.
The entire caravan was on the move. As they bounced along on the bed of the wagon, she asked, “Where is our next stop?”
Tabor paused in honing the edge of his sword. “Aubgherle. Your father absolutely dismissed the idea of stopping before then. He sent patrols to the villages we are bypassing, letting them know we’ll be located outside of Aubgherle for two months. We will complete the trading season there.”
“Aren’t we supposed to follow the same path we normally take?”
“Your father stood his ground and gave Kirag an ultimatum. We skip the wasteland villages until you are completely healed or we go directly to Cammoria and settle this with Azazel himself.”
She gasped. “Father did that? Why?”
Tabor beamed with pride. “We are the Imazighen! Your father felt that you were safer being away from the smaller unprotected villages. There are only more of those pigs like the one who assaulted you. In the larger cities, people have Protectors and must follow the laws. Throll, Aubgherle’s Protector, is a dutiful keeper of order.”
Arabelle felt a warm flush of pride as she thought of her father standing up to that giant enforcer. “What happened to that boy who attacked me?”
Tabor’s face turned red, and only until he spoke did she realize it was with bitter hatred. “That vermin will never bother anyone ever again.”
“What happened? I mean when I got hit in the face, I don’t really remember anything afterwards. Were you the one who found me?”
Tabor turned and looked at her with a serious look on his face. “Truth?”
“I’d like to know everything.”
“All of our men were searching for you. We were searching every inch of the village that morning. I was near the other side of the village when I heard your yell. It was the same yell I remembered you giving when you were frightened as a baby, and I knew immediately you lived and you were in trouble.”
Arabelle smiled as she saw his eyes well up with tears. She motioned for him to go on.
“I completely forgot about everything when I heard that scream. I ran without saying a word to anyone else and when I reached the far side of the village, I happened to look into one of the alleys and I got to you in time to see that beast trip you. I already had my sword drawn and ran down the alley. The boy saw me racing toward him and let go of your arm as I swung my sword. Let’s just say that he fell to the ground in more than one piece.”
She understood what Tabor had done, yet Arabelle found herself unable to express any real emotion other than amusement. “I can imagine he soiled his pants as he saw you bearing down on him like an unleashed demon.”
Tabor chuckled. “Who could tell? He already smelled like an outhouse.”
She let a hollow laugh escape as she realized Tabor was probably right.
It had been three weeks since they’d arrived in Aubgherle and Arabelle finally found herself emotionally ready to wander the caravan again. The primary difference was that instead of Tabor or a pair of guards, she was never under less than a six-guard escort anywhere she went.
Father told her he had arranged for a new handmaiden to visit her during the morning. He’d insisted that it wasn’t proper for his daughter to only be with soldiers, and Arabelle absolutely needed the company of someone who she could talk to of the same sex. This was something she couldn’t argue strongly against. She just needed to make sure she didn’t expect too much from this new person. Nobody could ever replace Maggie.
Arabelle stretched under her covers as a brown-haired head poked her face into the tent and with a shaky voice whispered, “Princess?”
She studied what she saw peeking into the tent, the uncertain look on her face and the scared brown eyes immediately drew Arabelle to her. She sat up in bed and waved her in with what was her best attempt at a smile.
The petite girl entered and looked like she was a few years younger than her. She wore a fine dress cinched tightly at her waist. She approached the foot of Arabelle’s bed uncertainly, a rosy blush filling her cheeks. The girl looked down and mumbled, “Princess, my name is Miriam. I am here to help you with anything you need.”
Arabelle looked at the poor girl who seemed to be a nervous wreck and tried to imagine what she’d been told.
“Go work for the princess.”
“The last person who did, died brutally.”
“Don’t upset the princess.”
She studied Miriam. “Will you break your fast with me?”
Miriam looked up and bit on her lower lip uncertainly and Arabelle asked, “What’s wrong? You look troubled.”
Miriam’s face turned red once again and the worried expression was evident when she hoarsely announced, “I don’t cook very well. Are you sure?”
The princess couldn’t help but laugh when she realized this poor girl knew nothing of what her role entailed.
Miriam wrung her hands and looked dreadfully embarrassed. Arabelle pulled her feet under her as she sat on her bed and patted the place next to her. “Sit down, let’s talk.”
For the next half hour, Arabelle learned about who she was and what she was skilled at. She learned that Miriam’s father was a scrivener, and her mother was a painter. They both lived in Cammoria where books and art were highly prized. She was a distant relation on Arabelle’s mother’s side, and had been apprenticing with one of the larger businesses in the caravan to learn basic trading skills.
Miriam smiled uncertainly. “I’m really good with numbers, Princess. I also like to play music.”
“Will you do me a favor?”
Her eyes widened. “Anything, Princess!”
“At least when you and I are alone, can you please just call me Arabelle?”
Miriam’s eyes darted toward the tent’s entrance, then she whispered, “Are you sure? It seems improper.”
“Well, I am the Sheikh’s daughter. If I say a friend can privately call me by my given name, why would that be improper?”
Miriam mouthed the word ‘friend.’ Her eyes widened with surprise. “Arabelle, you would be my first friend since leaving Cammoria.”
Well, that’s good. I have at least one soul in Trimoria willing to call me by my name besides my father and a missing dwarf.
Arabelle gave Miriam a reassuring hug. “We’ll get along just fine, I promise you.”
Arabelle spent the day with Miriam and was surprised to find herself laughing. Miriam’s astonishment at things Arabelle took for granted was a constant source of amusement for the princess. When she decided to take her to Madam Mizmer’s food tent, Miriam was shocked at the escort of half a dozen soldiers.
Miriam leaned into her and murmured, “It’s like a wall of leather and iron surrounds you at all times.” She strained her neck to look past them. “How can you see where you’re going?”
After spending a few hours with her new handmaiden, Arabelle knew Father made a good decision in pairing the two of them. She needed a girl she could talk to.
Later in the day, Arabelle began exercising again in earnest. Her arms and legs had been aching and the only thing she could think of that would help was to wring them out with strenuous exercise. She was surprised when Miriam asked if she could join in, but was delighted to see her try.
Not surprisingly, she didn’t have the stamina required to keep up with her, but as Miriam wiped a sweaty lock of her dark-brown hair from her face, she watched Arabelle with wide-eyed fascination.
As Arabelle finished one round of exercise, she realized she longed for the weapons practice she’d grown accustomed to with Tabor. She went to the wooden chest at the foot of her bed.
She found her daggers arrayed inside, but Castien’s dagger was missing. Even though everyone had tried to hide what had happened in her previous tent from her, Arabelle overheard enough. When her items were placed in this new tent, several things had gone missing. She was ever so thankful that she’d placed the ancient tome back within Father’s safe-keeping. However, the one item which she cared about the most was the gift from the sword master. She couldn’t explain this to anyone, but it had been a moment of sadness that compounded all the other sad events.
Arabelle pulled out her mother’s daggers and began her practice.
As she wielded the daggers, Arabelle performed a series of lunges and blocks along with the complicated attacks that Tabor had taught her. She also practiced the weaving attack which Castien had shown to her on that fateful night. As her hands blurred, the blades became extensions of her body. She could feel more than see them as they sliced rapidly through the air, serving both as shields and weapons. Arabelle maintained the blurring weave for as long as she could, and without warning lunged with both daggers at an imaginary target.
The first time she did it, Miriam gasped with surprise. “Arabelle, you are your own wall of iron. I’ve never seen the like.”
She continued the exercise, and let her imagination recall some of the most recent events. Arabelle smiled as she remembered the feeling of her blades as they dragged roughly across the cartilage of the enforcers’ throats. For the briefest moment, she found herself wanting to relive the scene. Arabelle gasped in shock at the feelings coursing through her and nearly dropped her daggers.
She refocused on her exercise, and admitted to Miriam some of the truth of her training. “I was taught this by the sword master of the Elven people.”
Arabelle fully expected Miriam to laugh at her, like her father did anytime she brought up the men of the woods.
“Really? That’s amazing,” Miriam murmured in an awed tone. “I’ve only read about elves, but never have I met one. Do you think I could meet one someday? I’ve read that they studied the positions of the stars and learned to make instruments to observe them. I have so many ideas and thoughts about the stars, but nobody believes that I could make something to see things far away if I had the right type of glass.”
