The Southern Trail (Book 4) (43 page)

“Don’t be a dramatic fool, you fool,” Argen hissed.

In response, Marco made his hand glow, causing the crowd at the party to gasp.  He focused his attention, and caused a blue dome to form, isolating he, Argen, and Argen’s party from all the others in the room, bathing the occupants of the dome in a cool blue glow.

Marco lowered his sword and advanced, as Argen shrank back and motioned for his guards to move forward.  The four men spread out to encircle Marco, as the sounds of people outside the dome only distantly pierced his consciousness.

The swordsman on his left closed towards Marco first, but as soon as Marco started to react to his approach, the man on the right rushed at him as well.  Marco responded by letting his sword direct his work, blocking the initial attack, stabbing the man on the left in the thigh to wound him, then sliding on the floor past the wounded man and rising instantly to his feet again with the injured man providing an impromptu shield momentarily.

Marco didn’t stop to take advantage of the new tactical advantage he had.  Instead, he hurtled forward, jumping over the slumping injured man and rushing directly at the other attacker, who had never caught up to Marco to start an engagement.  Another fighter did join in the fight, and for thirty seconds Marco’s blade moved faster than his opponents’ eyes could follow, as he backed the two men up, knocked their weapons away, then stabbed them each on the shoulder to remove them from the battle.

Only one guard remained, and he moved himself in front of Argen and his female companion, who had both backed up against the interior of Marco’s dome.

“You can put your weapon down and walk away,” Marco offered to the fighter.

“Don’t you dare!” Argen screamed.  “I’m paying you money to fight for me!”

“And he’s paying me with my life,” the man said flippantly.  He dropped his sword and circled around Marco, leaving Argen and his woman alone in front of the implacable fury of Marco.

“Do you want to take it all back, and apologize to Ellersbine?” Marco asked, as he stepped forward and extended the tip of his sword so that it rested against Argen’s throat.

“I take it back,” Argen immediately agreed.

“And do you publically, officially release Ellersbine from your betrothal?” Marco asked, pressing the point harder.

“I do,” Argen agreed in a whisper.

“Say it louder!” Marco said forcefully.  “Let everyone hear you.”

“I release Princess Ellersbine from our betrothal,” Argen said loudly.

“Now, bow down to her,” Marco commanded.

And as soon as he did, the room reverberated with the sound of an enormous explosion, a clap of thunder.  Marco was unaware of the sound though, as an enormous wave of pain swept through his soul; he found himself on his knees, holding his head, and he was vaguely aware that the blue light of his dome had turned purple, because a red dome had appeared outside it, and was squeezing it tightly, forcing his dome in upon itself, and causing the painful feedback that was disabling him.

Instinctively, Marco raised his hand and tried to strengthen his shield against the unknown attack.  He saw Argen drawing his sword, ready to take advantage of Marco’s apparent incapacity.  In response, Marco threw his sword like a spear, piercing Argen in the shoulder, and collapsing him like a screaming rag on the floor.

Marco staggered to his feet, unsteady, looking for the other challenge, the sorcerer who was attacking his energy dome.  He held his hand up and called his sword to return, making Argen scream again as the blade wretched itself free to answer Marco’s summons, even while his head continued to pound with pain from the effects of the sorcery battle.

And then suddenly both the domes overhead disappeared.  Marco felt another wrenching twist in his soul, and he went down to one knee.

“Enough!” A voice like thunder spoke.

Marco was seeing spots as he tried to look around, when suddenly he felt Ellersbine placing an arm around him.  He closed his eyes again and rested.

“You were magnificent!” she spoke in his ear.  “Itterati said you were exceptional to be able to use your powers and fight a sword battle at the same time.

“And he said Argen got what he deserved,” she added.

Marco rested in her arms, suddenly realizing that he had destroyed Conor’s festive event with his actions.

“You’re quite a raw talent,” a new voice spoke, and Marco knew that Itterati had come to him.

“The king will be most interested in my report.  With the exception of me, no one in the kingdom could have done half of what you just impulsively did.

“I look forward to seeing you at court,” he said, and then the sorcerer was gone.

“How is he?” Marco heard Prina’s voice, as he rested in Ellersbine’s arms.  “Should we take him some place to rest?” Marco noted the genuine concern in her voice.

There was a rising volume of noise around them, as the guests at the party spoke among themselves about the spectacular display they had witnessed.

“No, I’ll be able to stand in a moment,” Marco answered for himself.  He pressed himself up into a sitting position, then took a deep breath.  He opened his eyes and saw clearly, without the spots.  The people were studying him.  The immediate pain was gone, with only a lingering headache left.

“Here we go,” he told Ellersbine, as he pushed himself up into a standing position.

The crowd around them began to cheer.

“They’re cheering for you, Marco!” Ellersbine said proudly, her arm around his waist.

“That was extraordinary!” Conor came over to join Marco.

“I’m sorry to have ruined your party,” Marco apologized.

“Ruined it?  You’ve made it the biggest hit of the season; the best party held outside the palace in years,” Conor exclaimed.  “People will talk about this for years!  I want you to come to every party I throw.”

“I think I better take your entertainment home for the evening,” Ellersbine said firmly, and Marco agreed with his silent acquiescence.

The grooms helped Marco and Ellersbine into the saddle on the horse, and the pair began riding away.

“Did you hear him?” Marco asked as they rode along.  “Did you hear Argen renounce the betrothal?” Marco asked Ellersbine over his shoulder.

She squeezed him tightly.  “I did.  Everyone did.”

“I’ll speak to your uncle tomorrow, to ask his permission to seek your hand in marriage,” Marco said.  “I think I better move fast, before everyone knows that you’re available for the taking.  There’re sure to be a number of other suitors arise.”

Ellersbine squeezed him tightly, and they rode on in silence, until they reached Ellersbine’s home.  They dismounted, and the princess helped herself to a drink of water from his finger.

“I want to see you take a drink of this too,” she insisted, placing Marco’s finger in his own mouth.  “You get your rest now, my hero,” she told him softly, and she kissed him on the lips with a passion that left his knees weak.  He watched her enter the house, as a doorman closed the door behind her.

He was extremely weary as he rode back to Prince Mersby’s home late that night, and he left his horse in the hands of a sleepy stable hand as he stumbled upstairs to his room and collapsed on his bed, still fully clothed, where he quickly fell into a deep, deep sleep.

And he dreamed.  He dreamed all night long, his imagination and his memories pushed to reexamine the events of the day.  He dreamed of the disfigured odalisque, Giselle, who he had promised to heal, and his dream figure became Mirra, before he had altered her appearance.  It was the first time he had thought of Mirra in many, many days, as his intertwinement with Ellersbine continued to weave a net around his heart and soul.  He dreamed next of the battle in Barcelon with Iago, when the sorcerer had infected Marco’s body with a malicious energy that had tried to take possession of his soul, and he dreamed of the battle in the Barcelon palace, when the evil power had nearly succeeded in overwhelming him, when he had cut off his own hand to avoid being possessed, and had then fought the next person the power had possessed, in order to survive.

Marco’s dreams turned to Athens, when he had fled from Iamblichus in the caves beneath the Acropolis, and again, when he had defeated the mighty sorcerer only by a desperate measure that was his last effort before he would have been beaten.  And then he was facing Itterati, as he dreamed that the mightiest of the sorcerers of King Moraca was able to overwhelm him in any battle the two tried to fight.

When he awoke at last it was a relief to be free of the horror of his dreams.  Though he couldn’t remember a single one, he knew that he was tense and tired.  His bed was wet with sweat from the anxiety of the night.

He sat on the edge of the bed and sipped on his finger, then took a hot bath to relax.  At last, by mid-morning, he was able to slowly walk down the stairs and ask a servant if Prince Mersby was available.  When he learned that the prince was not, he felt inward relief, for he was still drowsy and unsteady after the night’s activity and the night’s unpleasant sleep, and he decided it was just as well that he not try to make his formal request for Ellersbine’s hand in marriage.

Marco rode a horse to the palace and arrived at midday.

“You – or someone just exactly like you – is all the talk of the palace this morning!” Gaddis told him excitedly.  “What a performance you must have put on at that party!  Tell me all about it.”

So they sat in the steward’s office and Marco recounted the story of the party.

“So you’re telling me that you did not kill a dozen men by yourself?” Gaddis asked.

“I fought four, and wounded four, including Argen, who I should have killed,” Marco said.

“And you resisted Itterati?” Gaddis wanted to know.

“I tried; I didn’t succeed,” Marco answered.

“Well, the sorcerer himself is allegedly singing your praises,” Gaddis let him know.

“We better get to the harem quarters before the stories get out of hand,” Marco decided.  The water he had sipped from his finger was starting to settle his spirits and his physical state.  Yet he had a feeling that the challenge ahead in the harem would leave him just as worn and drained as the night before had.

They walked to the hallway entrance, where the guards admitted Marco, and he walked straight to Madame Lafarge’s office.

“Well, I had doubts that we’d see you here today.  I hear you had a rousing good time last night,” she commented as Marco slumped into a chair in her office.

“I had an unpleasant time last night,” he corrected her.

“Unpleasant because you didn’t kill Argen when you had the chance?” Lafarge asked.

“No,” Marco considered thoughtfully.  “It’s just as well to not have killed him.  I got what I wanted from him for now.”

“He’ll plot revenge on you, you know,” Lafarge said matter-of-factly.  “Of course, if you become the apple of the eye of Itterati and the king, Argen will be powerless against you.”

“Let’s get down to business,” Marco decided to change the topic.  “Were you able to get everything I asked for?”

“Yes we did,” his companion stated.  “It’s all stored in an empty room down the hall.  How would you like to proceed?”

“I’ll need to spend time concocting the salve, paste, and potion I have to use,” Marco answered.  “Let’s go down there and I’ll start preparing things.”

As Lafarge escorted Marco down the hallway, numerous members of the harem poked their heads out of their rooms to congratulate him on his great performance at Conor’s party, the stories having made the rounds of even the harem.  They went directly to a room at the end of the hall, where a table held several jars, bags, and vials.  Marco asked for water, and boiling hot water, then settled in to begin the processes he knew were necessary to put together the complex formulae that Giselle’s case would require.

Lafarge sent a serving girl back to him, carrying an ewer and bowl with the water he needed, and he began to use the water for the portions of the process that required it.  He set some items aside to await the arrival of the boiling water, and continued to mash and peel and mix each step, using up his supply of bowls, and asking for more when the servant returned with the boiling water he wanted.

The afternoon passed and the extra bowls came, and the number of ingredients he had prepared grew, then began to shrink, as he began to combine the items and the mixtures into new combinations that slowly reduced to three separate bowls containing three different potions and putties that Marco hoped were destined to restore the appearance of the girl who hid in her room down the hall.

“Giselle?” he called as he knocked on the door, several hours after he had arrived at the harem.  “Giselle?” he repeated more loudly.

“Go away, hero boy,” he heard her call from the distant recesses of her room.

Marco stepped into the room, then walked to the back of the small suite, where he found Giselle, sitting at a desk, staring at a book laid flat before her on the desk top – a book of delicate illustrations of flowers.

“Go away, I said,” she told him as she turned her scarred face towards him.

Marco ignored her as he walked over to the desk and set the three bowls down.

“What mess are you bringing in here?” she asked.

“Go lie down on your bed,” he answered.  “I’m here to heal your wounds.”

Giselle stood up, then shot her hand out towards his face, aiming a vicious slap at his cheek, only to be stopped as his golden hand flew into its path and blocked it.

“Get out!” Giselle screamed.  “There’s nothing you can do about this.  Killing me would be the best thing you could do.”

“I can do it all,” Marco answered.  He stepped into her, bumping his chest against her, then putting his hands on her shoulders and pressing her backwards to the edge of her bed.  He moved his hands up from her shoulders to the sides of her head, then closed his eyes and focused on the idea of using energy to relax her, to make her grow calm and quiet and sleepy.  She sagged downward in response, sitting on the side of the bed, and still he continued to reduce her awareness and energy.  “Go to sleep Giselle, and dream happy dreams,” he spoke quietly, then laid her back and straightened her out as she complied, and fell asleep.