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Chapter 60. Brigit |
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rigit crawled out of bed to the distant murmur of people gathering in the courtyard outside her guestroom window. The sun was near zenith and she imagined work had been stopped for the afternoon meal. After that there would be a long stretch of peace as most everyone napped through the hottest hours of the sultry summer day. She was still tired. After quarreling with Armand she had paced and fretted until morning arrived, only then succumbing to exhaustion and uneasy dreams. For a while she sat on the edge of the bed eyeing the washstand and the long-cooled ewer of water. Selfish though it was, she did not wish to be with anyone let alone talk. She thought of Teleri and immediately pushed the image of the woman’s empty gaze from her mind. They had spent the prior evening sitting at Mabane’s bedside as the boy drifted in and out of nightmares. He was recovering, but he was a sad replica of his mother, forlorn and grief stricken. As for little Sabina, the babe had been taken into the care of one of the Crystal Palm’s families. Brigit admired the child’s ignorance for she had seemed content during her last visit with Teleri. If only the needs of an adult were so simple. She wondered vaguely where Armand had wandered off to. By the time she had cooled down enough to return to their guestroom, he was gone. Perhaps by now he was in Cantha. Well fine, abandon her, she was not really his type when all was said and done. Her parents had been right; they always were. She just needed to keep her mouth shut and not be so picky. In time she would find another young warrior and settle down. And lead a bleak existence in the middle of nowhere. Biting her knuckle to stifle a cry of misery, she paced anew. Who was she fooling? She loved Armand, but he was such a selfish oafish infuriating man. Why did he have to be so blunt all the time? Until that moment she had never understood Teleri’s occasional frustration with Pendaran. Were all men this annoying? “I just can’t stay angry at him. I’m pathetic. I don’t see him for a day and now I’d give just about anything to be with him.” Brigit strode toward the window and drew back the pale curtain to gaze upon the yard and the grim tower where Morisedd was being held. “And I’m talking to myself. I’m crazy.” The thought of Morisedd sitting in the darkness alone evoked a strange mixture of spite and grief. At one time she had been quite fond of him. Teleri had confided in her that she wished he would take an interest in Brigit and not Uriel. It would not have worked, in any event. Morisedd was a taciturn soul. He made Armand seem extroverted and playful by comparison. Where she had once felt confusion and pity, a slow churning rage boiled up inside of her. To think that she had even considered Morisedd a friend. So many people were in jeopardy because of him, and she would never be able to forgive him for harming his own sister. Seized by anger, she quickly donned her loose work clothes and boots. Within minutes she was outside in the sweltering heat crossing the yard with long clomping strides. A pair of Crystal Palm warriors turned to gaze upon her once she was in the shade of the tower’s grim doorway. They recognized her and nodded a greeting. “I wish to speak to Morisedd.” The larger of the two men regarded her thoughtfully. She was unarmed and they did not seem overly concerned that Morisedd would attempt to escape. Keys jangled loudly and the lock clicked open followed by the groan of the iron bound door. The chamber beyond was dark and it took her eyes a moment to adjust when she stepped within and the door was closed behind her. Thin shafts of light leaked through slits near the ceiling and pointed accusingly at the straw-covered floor. A figure squatted against the far wall of the prison. “I came to tell you about your sister and your nephew,” Brigit said, her voice smoky as anger percolated in her gut. Morisedd’s eyes gleamed in the dimness as he gazed up at her. His face was coarse with a rough beard and framed by an untidy mane. He was no longer a figure of menace and his rawboned frame was devoid of his crusty mien of quiet dignity. He reminded her of a frightened animal now and he flinched at the sound of her footfalls. “I wanted to tell her I was sorry,” Morisedd croaked, sensing the mood she was in. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to Mabane?” He lowered his face but said nothing. “When Zhou drew him awake he pleaded that he be allowed to die so he could be with Pen. He’s twelve years old, Morisedd, and he already wishes he was dead. That’s what you did. And I hate you for it.” Morisedd began to weep, a sound so empty and pathetic her rage evaporated and she stared numbly at him. “He was scared and alone and he pleaded for his children, like my father,” Morisedd babbled, “Like my father. Please just kill me.” “Kill you and become you?” Brigit replied coldly, “No, I hope you live a very long time with the knowledge of you have done. It will prepare you well for your meeting with Grenth. Plead to the gods for mercy. I doubt you will find it among mortals.” She left then, no longer trusting herself to stay rational. Her body was shaking with anger and adrenalin when she rapped on the door and emerged once more into the sultry heat of midday. “Sister Lemony and Mog Ruith have returned,” said one of the warriors in stilted Tyrian. The two Canthans nodded respectfully to her and withdrew to their post. “Thank you,” she replied, stunned. She saw the courtyard was bustling with curious people. She rushed toward the great hall, knowing instinctively Lemony and Mog would be taken in my Xiang Yi. Gods, she hoped they were alright. She had to find out before she went looking for Armand. The crowd parted for her and she rushed up the steps and moved toward the new infirmary where Mabane still recovered. She wondered vaguely if Teleri was still there and hoped she had not been left alone. There was little time to dwell upon this, however, when she reached the dim chamber. She heard a man’s voice crying out in agony followed by Lemony’s high-pitched chatter. There were several people gathered around someone in one corner of the room and she finally caught sight of the little monk dodging and weaving among the larger folk. “Don’t hurt him! Oh Moggie, it’ll be alright, don’t fight them, darling.” One of the servants went flying and she saw the mesmer’s booted foot flailing around to plant another kick. Lemony shrieked when a second man dropped to the floor bent over in private agony. Xiang Yi was frantically shouting orders in Canthan while Mog fought to escape. Without thinking, Brigit rushed forward and grasped Mog’s legs below the knees and held on for dear life. She had always assumed magi were weaklings since they seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time on their rumps studying but Mog was clearly not of that variety. He thrashed like an enormous fish and the language spewing from his mouth caused her to burn with embarrassment. It was far more creative than anything her father might utter in the heat of battle. Her intervention must have helped, however, for Mog became suddenly limp and his breath rasped loudly in his throat. He looked terrible. Brigit wondered what had been done to him and feared it was another case of demonic possession. Xiang Yi guided them all into an adjoining room and had a heated conversation with Lemony in Canthan while Brigit helped the others lay Mog’s feverish form on a narrow bed. Or at least attempt to. “Let’s try this in Tyrian,” Xiang Yi sighed miserably, “What do you mean a fish drank his dreams?” Nervous laughter went up among the small crowd. Lemony blushed. “They made him drink something called Amuridan. Zhou knew what it was.” “Ah,” Xiang Yi replied grimly, shaking his head. He lapsed back into Canthan and the servants nodded and scattered, only a few of them remaining behind with their hands pressing down on Mog’s heaving form. “You can’t do that!” Lemony cried, “That’s horrible. He’ll be scared and uncomfortable…” “He may hurt himself or others if we do not,” Xiang Yi said quietly, “Would you like me to procure some Amuridan and keep him dependent upon it? Which do you think he would choose?” “Lemmy, don’ fret,” Mog coughed, “I’ll save us.” Brigit instinctively pressed down on his legs and was proved right when he started to fight them anew. Her time with Armand had taught her to recognize the sounds of spell incantations and she flinched as the mesmer slurred a particularly nasty hex that failed to find a target. That seemed to convince Lemony and she sat down gently next to his head and stroked his clammy face. His eyes rolled wildly and it was unclear whether he recognized her or not. “Moggie, we’re home and it’s safe and you’re very sick. Now you calm down and stop hurting our friends with your fussing.” “I’m home?” he croaked. “Yes, love.” “But I don’ ‘ave a home,” he replied miserably. “Sure you do,” Lemony said sweetly, “It’s where your friends are and I won’t leave your side until you’re feeling better.” He lay still, his pale face lined with pain and exhaustion. Lemony smoothed his unruly ginger locks from his face where they had become plastered to his skin by sweat. The servants returned from their search with swathes of silk and Xiang Yi ordered them to remove his heavy clothing with shears. “No,” he cried miserably, “Not me Krytan garb. Don’ cut me clothes.” “It’s all dirty and ragged, Moggie. As soon as you’re well we’ll get a new set made.” “No. Where’s Army? He’d ne’er let this happen. He rescued me.” Brigit felt the blood drain from her face. “He did?” “Yes, Zhou and Army both,” Lemony said, her voice catching with emotion, “Otherwise we’d be dead.” Brigit’s hands trembled over Mog’s bare ankles. The man’s struggles suddenly renewed and he cried out in pain and fear as bands of silk were wrapped around his body by the servants. They anchored him to the bed so that in a matter of minutes he could barely move more than his head upon the pillow. Lemony wept to see his terror and confusion. “You should rest a while, Sister,” Xiang Yi said as the room began to empty and Mog’s cries for help died down. Only then did Brigit clearly see Lemony’s face, haggard and filthy, her torn clothes splattered with blood. Her soft weeping betrayed her own suffering for it was only by focusing on Mog’s pain that she avoided facing her own. Without a sound, Shikai arrived. Brigit nearly jumped out of her skin when the woman drifted to Lemony’s side and wrapped her willowy arms around the little monk as if Lemony were a child. “Come, Liang Meng,” Shikai whispered, “Mog would not have you suffer like this. He will recover in time and he will be grateful that this was done to protect him and those he loves.” Brigit backed away from the bed and stood beside Xiang Yi, relieved when Lemony nodded and allowed Shikai to guide her away. A terrible mixture of guilt and dread settled upon her soul. She had quarreled with the man she loved on the eve of battle. It was extremely bad luck. “Where is Armand?” she asked Xiang Yi, a note of pleading in her voice. The monk met her gaze with a compassionate smile. “Here,” came a familiar voice. Brigit nearly fell over, her knees weak as she spun around to greet him where he stood in the doorway. “Thank the gods,” she croaked. “I suppose,” he said with a sardonic grin. He looked strange swathed in black silk for it made his creamy flesh stand out like alabaster. His clothes were ripped and splattered with gore and he smelled of blood and sweat. “Don’t you ever run off on me like that again!” she blurted, instantly feeling stupid as the words kept tumbling out of her mouth with all the subtly of an avalanche, “I suppose now I’ll have to marry you just to keep an eye on you!” “Bwee?” he gasped, his face turning an exquisite shade of red. Xiang Yi guffawed behind her. “Ye’v gone an’ done it now, Army,” Mog rumbled incoherently. Brigit opened her mouth to speak again, as if somehow the words would tumble back inside and they could pretend it had never happened. “I’d settle for a kiss,” Bright mumbled apologetically. Armand regained his composure and smiled, his gaze so tender and apologetic she became choked up with emotion. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him but she only laughed instead, not trusting her mouth to do anything more than kiss him. And that was enough to soothe away the anguish and the hurtful words. |
