Then suddenly a brilliant light flared in the darkness, so bright it stole her vision from her and the cockroaches froze, stunned. Some tumbled to the dirt instantly, but further others fell away as someone lifted her to her feet. Much to her shame she found herself clinging to her saviour, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Are you all right, milady? Do not be fretful - I shall save you from these dastardly brigands." He pried her free of him and stepped between her and the raiders, flinging his flaming torch to the ground in the same move. It flared and burned out, darkness descending once more.
She blinked through the after image of fire and eventually discerned his figure. He was a Meerkat, tall, and lean, his hair rising in a magnificent mohawk. Clad simply in a lace-closed tunic and leather leggings, he still made quite a dashing sight. From his belt, she noticed, hung two long scimitars, and now they found their way into his hands, held before him, crossed and ready.
"Well?" He said, "who shall be the first to challenge me? Or are you all affrighted by a few bugs?"
"Bugs?!" Spluttered a voice from the darkness, "those are no bugs - those are the dreaded blagh gru. I've 'eard that a swarm o' 'em can drain a man o' blood in less then five minutes."
Her saviour sniggered. "So you would run and cower in fear from a few bugs, abandoning your sweet and delicate charge? Why, whatever you have been paid, I can see it is too much."
"I'll fight you." The Otter strode forward, hat slightly askew and still bearing the mighty slash mark from Farleigh's horn. "You think you can strut in here and steal what I rightfully have taken? I think not. Fetch me a sword." He commanded. A Stoat darted forward, heaving a large, broad-bladed sword into his hands. It was almost too much for the Stoat to lift, and the Otter appeared to be faring little better. He appropriated a fighting stance.
The Meerkat snorted. "Very well then, prepare to be defeated."
"Nah, 'tis you that shalt be defeated."
The Otter's blade came swift and fast and low, but the Meerkat countered easily with one sword, sweeping the other about in an offensive manner, cutting in from the other side. Unable to parry in time, the Otter could do nothing but drop to his knees to avoid the blow. The sword sliced by, nearly trimming his ear along the way. Rolling on his back, he slashed again, but it was plain the Meerkat had the advantage, and a heartbeat later he found both scimitars directed at his throat.
"All of you," the Meerkat snarled, "all of you be gone from this place, and pray that never I must look upon your cowardly faces again. The girl is mine now."
Aeturnis could not help but be a little afraid of the way he said that. She did not want to be his, she did not want to be anybody's (well, excepting maybe Chaz's, but that was another story and she shouldn't even be thinking about that sort of thing - imagine what her Mother would think?). She watched as the Stoats and Ermines fled into the darkness. When they had disappeared, the Meerkat drew the swords away from the Otter's throat.
"Be gone with you," he said. Staring at him a little stunned, the Otter scrambled to his feet, picked up his hat, dusted it off and sat it crookedly atop his head. The Meerkat waved the sword, which was enough to send the bandit fleeing into the night, in pursuit of his fellow brigands.
Was it Aeturnis's imagination, or had that been a little too easy?
"Right then, shall we see about freeing you of those nasty chains?" He said, bowing slightly.
She rattled them. "They're locked," she whispered, and her voice sounded pathetically small.
"Well then, fancy that. Luckily I 'm quite a dab hand at picking the old locks," he said (Ed - apparently he's British, next thing you know he'll be saying "old chap"…) , producing a small, twisted piece of metal from somewhere about his person. "Now, hold still milady, this shall not hurt at all." She held her bound hands before her, and he fumbled about with the wire for a moment or three. She was conscious of how close they were together, and how dark it was and how he smelt of musk and sweat and how there was noone around, noone except those horrible cockroaches, which she could hear scuttling about in the shadows. She shivered.
"Are you cold?" He asked, misinterpreting her reaction. "I must apologise for failing to tend to your injuries." Stooping, he retrieved the rather tattered blanket and wrapped it about her shoulders. "It just occurred to me that you would be rather in preference to being freed of your bondage afore I start my ministrations upon you."
She nodded. When he put it like that, she felt almost safe. Well, somewhat more secure at any rate.
"There," he said, and the handcuffs dropped to the ground, chiming loudly against the stones. For a moment even the scuttling of the cockroaches ceased and silence descended sharply and sweetly. Then, too swiftly, it was over and the frightful noises began once more.
"Who are you?" She managed to ask.
"Oh, please do be excusing my un-gentlemanly behaviour," he exclaimed, giving a little bob. "I am Deryk Almeeda, humble traveller of these paths."
"I'm Aeturnis Christie," she said, and then her legs folded beneath her and she would have fallen, had Deryk not caught her. Her head felt light, as though she were floating in the clouds. She had felt that way once before - and that had been at a Midwinter ceremony when she had discovered, for the first (and last) time, alcohol. Through the fog that clouded her mind, she felt Deryk wrap her in the threadbare blanket and ease her gently to the cold ground. A short while later the flickering lights of a fire fought through her sub-consciousness, and then all turned to mist and darkness.
She awoke to the bright morning glare of sunlight streaming down. Deryk crouched a few metres from her, shining his sword with a scrap of cloth. He smiled at her, he had a kind, friendly smile that crinkled the sides of his mouth, and she felt instantly reassured.
"And how do you fare this fine morning, milady?" He queried.
"Much better," she replied, "although a little giddy and weak."
"That's the blood loss, 'tis to be expected after a run in with such fiendish devils," he replied, "do not worry your pretty head, I have prepared a hearty breakfast that shall revitalise and restore you." He gestured with his rag to a pot atop the fire that sizzled and exuded forth a hearty, oaty aroma. "Alas, 'tis nothing more then porridge, but it shall certainly energize you." Taking the bowl from the fire, he sprinkled it with sugar and handed it to her.
She smiled, sniffing the warm mixture. Hunger tore at her belly like a wild beast, demanding sustenance. Eager to please it, she took a mouthful. It was delicious, thick, but not lumpy and sweetened with honey. "Thank you," she said, "thank you for rescuing me and feeding me and stuff."
"'Tis my pleasure to aid a lady in distress," Deryk bowed. "Especially one as lovely as yourself. But pray, tell me, what was one such as you doing travelling the roads? Were you perchance part of a group, or were you alone?"
"A group," she replied, not liking to voice untruths, " we were attacked and they kidnapped me." She looked Deryk hopefully in the eye, "did you perhaps come their way? Have you got news of them?" She knew even as the words passed her lips that they were useless - if he had passed them, surely he would be aware of her plight and would not have to ask questions.
He shook his head and glanced away, unwilling to meet her eyes. "I am afeared I have some rather bad news for you," he said, his voice cracking under the strain. "I passed a wagon some distance away, a brightly coloured affair?" He rose an eyebrow, questioningly.
Aeturnis nodded. "Were they there? Is Farleigh all right? What about Rose? And Chaz?" Her heart fluttered and plummeted - she could tell from his manner as much as his words that the tidings were not good.
He shook his head mutely. "Alas, my poor dear," and he put an arm on her shoulder. She did not resist. "They appeared to have met with some difficulty and…" He gulped, and could not look her in the eye. She did not want him to continue, did not want to hear him say the words that she knew were poised on his lips, waiting to flow free, but on the other paw, she had to know. "The skrittlings must have come upon them in the night and assailed them." He shook his head grimly, "'twas a terrible sight to behold. I'm sorry. Not one of them survived."
And then the tears came, although Aeturnis could scarce believe his words. Surely, surely Mysanthropi had been able to defend themselves against the fierce cockroaches? The alternative was ridiculous. But why would Deryk lie to her? What would he hope to achieve? She folded into his arms, surrendering to her grief.
Farleigh, disabled and dead.
Rose, devoured by vermin.
And Chaz, kind, gentle Chaz who had shown her the fyreflits and been so sweet and considerate.
How could they be dead?
How could they?
He broke her from her distress with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "I am sorry to be the bearer of such dire news," he said, "but the road is a harsh and dangerous place for the inexperienced traveller. I found this, it may bring some comfort to you. The boy clutched it tightly to himself, even in the embrace of death. I pried it from him, thinking it might help to identify the poor, lost souls." He pressed a book into her hands. Her Memory book.
A bloody handprint marred the cover and the pages were stained and dirty.
"Chaz," she whimpered, cradling it to her chest, but even this relic of her mother's brought with it little comfort.