For a Precious Person (2)
Theorad dreamed.
It was a small, simple dream. He was a child again, sitting in a garden filled with marigolds, weaving the flowers into a wreath with his little hands.
When it was finished, he got up and walked toward the crest of a hill.
A witch stood there, wearing a robe worn thin with age.
“Why…?”
Her voice trembled with something like resentment.
Theorad approached her without hesitation and gently set the wreath upon her untidy hair.
The witch raised her head. She frowned at him, teeth clenched, as though she couldn't begin to understand.
Then she cried out:
“Why? Why are you doing this to me…?”
Her protest broke into sobbing. She covered her face with both hands.
Theorad knelt before her, looking at her with pity.
“I don't know why you hate me. But I think you and I could be friends. So please… won't you tell me your name?”
The witch could not make sense of him. Was he acting, or did he truly mean what he said?
Whatever the answer, she could feel the warmth in his voice.
She laughed sadly between her sobs, wiped her eyes and whispered:
“My name is—”
Theorad opened his eyes.
A crescent moon hung in the night sky above him.
…A dream?
He lay still for a moment, then felt for his chest.
There was no wound. No blood. His muscles ached as though he'd been beaten all over, but his body was whole.
I… died. Didn't I?
He had felt the bolt pierce his heart.
Confused, he turned his head—and caught his breath.
What?
The elf lay beside him.
She was deathly pale. She barely moved, drawing breaths so faint they seemed about to stop altogether.
Theorad pushed himself upright despite the pain shooting through his body.
“Elf!”
She didn't answer.
He caught her by the shoulders and called to her desperately.
“Wake up! Why are you lying here like this?”
His voice rang through the clearing. She neither stirred nor opened her eyes.
Only then did he understand what must have happened.
The elf had used some kind of magic to save him. Now she was dying in his place.
“You insolent…!”
He gritted his teeth and slid one arm beneath her back, the other under her legs, lifting her against his chest.
“Did you think I'd be pleased if you risked your life for me? That I'd be happy to see you throw your own life away?”
The elf couldn't hear his angry words. Theorad struggled to stand, holding her securely while the wind lifted strands of her silver hair.
“Don't do this to me. If you die now…”
The hand supporting her shoulder trembled. He couldn't bear to look down at her tear-stained face.
He raised his head and began walking.
“…What am I supposed to remember you by?”
He'd spent so much time with her. Some of their memories were frightening and painful. Others were warm, even happy.
And yet he didn't even know her name.
Calling her “elf” was no substitute for knowing who she was.
He couldn't allow her to disappear like this.
“Don't die without asking me. Keep breathing. I'll find some way to save you…”
He talked to her as he walked, hoping to keep her faint hold on life from slipping away.
His newly restored body wouldn't obey him easily. Every muscle burned, but he kept moving.
He was afraid that if he stopped, she would die.
He hugged her a little closer.
“Remember when I stole your pudding and ate it? The look you gave me! You threatened me as though I'd committed some terrible crime just because I ate it without asking…”
He left the clearing, walking deeper into the mountain.
If he had been alone, he would have stayed where he was until morning. With the elf in his arms, that was impossible. He had to find someone who could help her.
So he kept talking.
“You always seemed so confident that I assumed you knew everything. But after spending time with you, I realized we're not so different after all. Remember when you sulked and left the room…?”
His arms shook with exhaustion. His head pounded, and each step became harder than the last. Still he refused to loosen his hold.
“We're almost there. Hold on. There's a clinic not far ahead.”
There was no clinic in sight. Only trees and undergrowth surrounded them.
He was lying because he wanted the elf to keep fighting for breath.
Her breathing grew weaker. Soon he couldn't hear it at all.
He clenched his teeth in fear.
“Viscount Theorad! Where are you?”
“If you can hear us, please answer!”
Lights flickered through the trees in the distance.
Benelia's soldiers!
Theorad shouted with everything he had left.
“Here! I'm over he—”
The rest of his cry never came.
The moment he realized help was near, his body gave way and he collapsed. The sound was enough to draw the searchers toward him.
“The Viscount's over there!”
“Bring a stretcher! Hurry!”
He could see the soldiers running toward them.
“Thank goodness… Thank goodness…”
Even as consciousness clouded, Theorad kept the elf in his arms.
“You're not a child anymore. Why have you suddenly decided you need swordsmanship lessons?”
In the backyard of Deharem Manor, Beynon rested a hand on his sword's pommel and gave Havid a teasing look.
The elderly steward scowled.
“I used a sword when I was young, you know! If it came to defending myself, I could manage one opponent!”
“Is that so? Well, let's see your stance. I can correct the basics, at least…”
Beynon broke off and looked up.
A shadow was moving over the full moon.
What…?
He had seen lunar eclipses before, but never one that happened so quickly.
Then he felt the presence of others nearby. Cold, hostile attention seemed fixed upon him.
His expression sharpened. He put a hand on Havid's shoulder.
“Grandpa.”
“What is it?”
“Go inside. Gather everyone in the household and flee to the count's castle. Now.”
Havid stared for a heartbeat, then nodded. He had never seen Beynon's killing intent laid so bare.
Clutching the wooden practice sword he'd brought, the old man hurried toward the back door.
“Grandpa!”
Havid turned.
Beynon was smiling broadly and raising one hand in farewell.
“Thank you. For everything.”
Havid understood what he meant. His eyes filled with tears. He wiped them roughly and ran inside, knowing there was no time for a longer goodbye.
Only after Havid disappeared did Beynon lower his hand and sigh.
“The young master gets braver every day. I wouldn't have imagined him behaving this way before. He's become a man worth being proud of.”
He gave a short laugh and turned around.
Figures were emerging from the trees and bushes.
Ten armed assassins faced him, weapons drawn. They didn't attack immediately.
The man at their center stepped forward. He was Tolask, Seamerd's right-hand man and an officer of the Black Dogs. His orders were to eliminate the people of Deharem Manor.
“Your reputation is deserved. I thought you were hiding all of it.”
“Of course I've got a little skill. Do you think they made me a knight for nothing?”
“You had a reputation even in your mercenary days.”
“What the hell are you talking about—”
“Heavenly Hawk.”
Beynon's mouth closed.
He didn't like having that name spoken aloud.
“A legendary mercenary, they said. Every war he entered ended in victory. Though his career didn't end quite so well, did it?”
Tolask smiled.
“Captain Falair.”
Beynon's face hardened. His hand settled on the hilt of his sword.
“Digging into a man's past isn't polite.”
“Your days of being a knight are over. Is this really the time for manners? I thought you'd understand, considering the dirty work you've done.”
Beynon had no answer. He only glared at Tolask.
Unhurried, the assassin reached inside his clothing and tossed a pouch toward him.
Clink.
The mouth of the pouch opened as it struck the ground, spilling several gold coins.
“Esteban imperial gold. Enough for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life. Spend it carefully and you'll have something left for entertainment, too.”
“…What's this?”
“A bargain. You wear a knight's emblem, but you were a mercenary once. Take the money and leave the manor. We won't pursue you.”
Beynon nodded slowly and bent to pick up the pouch.
He looked inside, his eyes brightening at the sight of the coins.
“Well, now. You've put rather a lot in here.”
“I could add more, if you—”
Beynon seized the bottom of the pouch and swung it hard.
Gold coins scattered through the air. Some struck Tolask before falling to the ground.
Tolask's face twisted. Silence spread across the yard.
Beynon chuckled, tossed the empty pouch aside and wrapped his hand around his sword's hilt.
“Thank you for the offer. It's only human to want enough money to live comfortably and keep your skin intact. But…”
He drew his blade with a savage grin.
“Where's the romance in that, you son of a bitch?”