Euphoria Page 2

  The boy vanished, never heard from again.

  So when the captain of the Royal Guard arrived at her door late afternoon, it took her by surprise. “Please, ma’am, your queen needs your help.”

  Hazel stared. A captain of the Guard calling her ma’am and not ordering her to fix a problem immediately? The man before her looked a little pale and in need of some medical attention as well. In his arms he struggled to hold a young woman.

  The old woman motioned for the captain to set the queen down on the bed while Hazel went to her cabinet for the necessary bottles and thread for stitching up the hole.

  “Highwaymen? Did they rob you?” Hazel set her supplies on a nearby table.

  “No….” The man did not offer any more.

  “Straight or barbed?”

  “What?” He looked confused.

  “Is the crossbow bolt straight or is it barbed? Makes a difference.” Hazel pointed to the captain’s shoulder. He glanced at it, confusion crossing his face.

  “I…I don’t know…. Forget about it for now and fix Euphoria.”

  Her concern shifted to the woman lying unconscious on the bed. “What happened to her?”

  At her question, she sensed the captain’s hesitation. “We were riding, and the queen…she fell from her horse.” His eyes never met hers.

  She stared at him a moment longer before examining the queen, starting with her head. Her fingers slowly probed through Euphoria’s dark hair, finding no wounds. Hazel lowered her ear to the queen’s lips, listening to her breathing—all the while watching the captain. He was hiding something.

  “Name’s Hazel. Hazel of Smead.”

  “Taylon. Captain of the Royal Guard.”

  “Not the Witch Guard?”

  She saw him shudder. “No. Queen Euphoria disbanded that group after the death of her father.” Still, the captain did not meet her gaze.

  Hazel paused at this news. “I hadn’t heard about that.”

  “So what is wrong with her?” Taylon nervously looked from the woman to Euphoria and then back again.

  “You need to settle down or you’ll be passing out next.” She pointed a gnarled finger at him. Taylon obeyed, sitting still and watching the old woman.

  “As far as I can see, she’s sleeping. Maybe it has something to do with the magic necklace she has on.” Hazel watched for his reaction as she made the suggestion. She wasn’t disappointed.

  “Magic….”

  Hazel moved up on the captain so she was in his face. “If this was a magical attack of some sort, you better tell me everything you know for me to help her.”

  A mixture of emotions swelled within his eyes, but Hazel knew he would tell her truthfully. Men, when in love, will do anything for their beloved. The concern in his voice told her so.

  Taylon tried to stand, but Hazel pushed him back down into his seat. “Did you not listen? You will pass out and probably hurt yourself more if you move. Where are you going, anyway?”

  And the story came out. About the ride and then an attack by…Hazel wasn’t quite sure she understood that part right. The captain claimed it was an elf. She held that bit of surprise to herself.

  “And she used some box.”

  “A box?” The words felt icy and evil coming off her lips. Images of tormented souls and screaming people filled her head at the mere mention.

  “It’s out…by my horse…” Taylon put a hand to his forehead as he swooned. Hazel stood, taking his arm.

  “I need to tend to you first, before it gets any worse.” She pushed thoughts of the box away for the moment.

  Taylon moaned as Hazel began to remove his vestments. The tunic tugged slightly on the bolt. Once he was bare-chested, Hazel inspected the wound. The bolt punched almost all the way through his shoulder.

  She stood and calmly walked over to her workbench. The wound would require a bit more finesse than her usual bandages and salve. She selected a dirty-looking bone and a mallet.

  “What is that for?” Taylon asked.

  “I have to drive the bolt through the other side. If I pull, the barbed head may come off, and then I have to cut. Much more difficult.”

  “Then what’s the bone for?”

  “To catch the pain.” She held it by her teeth and mimed biting down. “I don’t think Harvey will mind.” Hazel placed it to Taylon’s lips.

  “Is Harvey your dog?” He placed the bone in his mouth and bit down.

  “No.” She placed the hammer by the bolt and raised it back. “Harvey was my husband.”

  His eyes went wide, but he didn’t release the bone.

  Hazel swung.

  Thunk!

  It connected with the bolt. Taylon’s body went suddenly rigid, his teeth straining against the bone. She tensed too, knowing what kind of ripping sensation and fire-like pain coursed through him. A sickening sloshing sound came as the bolt’s head popped out the other side.

  Hazel, unfazed by the sounds, went about her medical duties. Simple as plucking a weed from the ground.

  “That is a doozy. I was right to push it forward.” The bloody tip of the bolt curved back in an evil-looking barb.

  In a matter of minutes, the medicine lady safely removed the arrow and applied a poultice to the captain’s wounds. Hazel hummed softly as her hands did all the healing work. After her treatment, she brought the captain a cup of water.

  “Drink, swish, spit. Get the taste of that bone out of your mouth.” She traded the water for the bone. He did as commanded.

  From the other cot came a soft, agonized moan. The captain instantly tried to sit up and move to Euphoria’s side, but he winced in pain. Hazel turned her attention to the queen.

  “Now, now.” Hazel drew a wet rag over the queen’s forehead. Euphoria’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Where…?”

  “I’m here, your majesty.” The captain’s words masked a deeper connection, Hazel thought. He sat up. Hazel noted how he carefully made his way into her line of sight.

  “Taylon…what happened?”

  “You’re safe.”

  Euphoria tried to sit up, but Hazel held the palms of her grizzled hands against the queen’s shoulders. “Who’s this?” Her words came out pitched high in alarm.

  “The medicine woman in the closest town. You were unconscious.”

  Hazel watched the woman as the soldier spoke. Something seemed off about this queen. As Euphoria slowly sat up, with Hazel’s help, the royal eyes told the old woman that everything was not all right.

  “What do you remember, my dear?” Her hand rested on the queen’s shoulder, her touch reassuring and allowing Hazel to feel the queen’s response as well as hear it.

  The question made the queen pause. She looked toward Taylon, who nodded. Hazel caught that signal. “Someone attacked us. A female, I think. I saw Taylon fall and then felt a sizzling pain. It was everywhere at once. And something talked to me. A demon, maybe.” Her eyes glazed over briefly.

  Hazel pulled back her hand, but Taylon stole her question. “A demon? The wraith?”

  The wraith? Taylon’s words startled Hazel even more than Euphoria’s.

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Hold on.” Hazel stood up, waving her arms to stop the conversation. “I think I need the whole story here before we go any further. And you”—she pointed to Taylon—“tell me again where that box is. I have a feeling your troubles have only just begun.”

  ***

  She crashed through the foliage, her heart beating fast. Katrena couldn’t run anymore. She shivered. Her arm, numbed with pain, hung limply at her side. She had been close to death before, yet this felt different. A few medical spells helped clot the blood faster, but her thoughts were going. She was sure much of the trek home still came before her. While her body failed, her mind flared with anger and spite. It drove her. But the rage was with her. She let her revenge get in the way of her skills. For the novice move—reaching for the box—she paid a heavy price: the loss of her hand. “Stu
pid elfling!” Her trainer would have told her before beating her with a stunning stick.

  The brush became difficult, and any moment, Katrena was sure she would fall. As she crashed through some trees, a little cottage came into view. Smoke drifted from the fire stack, and a dilapidated cart hitched to a shabby-looking mule stood next to the house. Hope flared in Katrena for a moment. Desperately, she needed rest and sustenance.

  But her skills made her hesitate, if only for a second. The elf had no disguise. These humans would see right through any ruse—magic or otherwise. And when it came to fear, humans were unpredictable, especially if they had weapons. Katrena also had no clue how many were in the shack. Her fighting ability was a bit stunted, and even her mental mantras could not be trusted. Never had she been wounded this bad.

  Still, it was her only hope. She had to try.

  Carefully, the hurt elf dragged her way closer, observing, listening. Laughter, a woman’s, came from inside. It sounded as if someone was running around in the cottage. One swift sprint brought Katrena to the side of the house, where the voices became clearer. She panted, knowing every effort could be her last.

  “Oh, Rodrick!” Another girlish squeal as the running footsteps echoed within.

  “Gotcha!” And the running instantly stopped. Kissing noises ensued.

  Ugh. Young lovers. Surprise would be her only tactic that could overtake them, but both would defend the other to the death. It was a scenario she had dealt with before.

  “Come on, Chele.” Another giggle and an exaggerated kiss.

  “No, no. You behave now. I have to finish preparing this meat.” Another laugh.

  Katrena felt an upheaval of fatigue. She bent her head and closed her eyes tight, willing her body to stay upright. Slowly she moved around the side of the cottage toward the cart and mule, carefully avoiding any of the windows.

  Currently the beast of burden was munching on the long-neck grass it could reach near a shrub. It looked at Katrena but disregarded her. A look of exhaustion crossed its sad eyes. The animal turned back to its meal.

  As she reached down for her crossbow, her disability came into play. A two-handed sword would not work for a one-handed elf. Aggravation welled up in her, and Katrena almost screamed. Instead, she tossed the weapon aside in frustration. There had to be another knife in her boot, something easier to handle.

  Then her fingers found it. A blowgun!

  Not as powerful or as shocking as a crossbow bolt, but she could manipulate it with one hand.

  All Katrena needed now was the mule to make a ruckus.

  Pfttt!

  The dart hit the mule in its hindquarters. Nothing happened. The stupid animal was supposed to bray, but it went on chewing, not even noticing the dart. Fire flared through her, and a wave of nausea surged. Her strength waned. Katrena only had one more shot at this.

  She fumbled with another dart, barely loading it. This time she aimed for the neck.

  Pfttt!

  True to her mark, it stuck. The animal chewed and then looked at her, paying no heed. All the mule did was shake its head as if a fly were buzzing around.

  Katrena tried loading a third dart when a tremendous thud rocked the ground. Her finger almost slipped and hit the tip, but the dart slid in the tube. Startled, Katrena glanced up. The mule had fallen over, taking the cart with it. Produce rolled around the animal, resting before the prone body.

  Surprised, Katrena stared at the remaining darts. Then back at the mule. Oh. Katrena remembered that these were the spider-venom darts, deadly and fast-acting. How stupid could I have been?

  The front door of the cottage banged open.

  “Brutus! What are you doing…?” A human male ran out of the house quickly, looking at the overturned cart and mule. Luckily for Katrena, he did not look toward her.

  She raised the blowgun, feeling her knees buckle beneath her. One breath is all she needed.

  Pfttt!

  The human’s hand went to the dart in his shoulder. He pulled the dart out, looked at it, and caught sight of Katrena. His mouth opened to say more, but the venom acted quickly.

  A few steps behind, the human female came out the door. She saw her beloved fall. Katrena only heard the scream. Her instincts tried to react, but her energy was gone. She fell to one knee, the blowgun dropping from her hand.

  The human woman ran to comfort her mate. Katrena’s soul frantically tried to will her body to respond, but she was unable to command her hand to do anything. The throwing dagger could work. Her skills wanted to react, to reach for it, but her fingers dangled by her boot, too tired to work.

  Weeping turned to panic as the woman focused in on Katrena. She clutched at the dead male’s hand, the poisoned dart scraping her wrist.

  Katrena fell on both knees, wobbling forward.

  The human woman screamed, not sure what to do. She started to run away, but her legs didn’t work right. They failed beneath her, and the human toppled to the ground. A loud crack sounded as her head bounced off a raised rock.

  Katrena, now on all fours, crawled her way forward. Pain in her arm caused it to collapse. She met the grassy dirt hard. Trying to move her other arm, she found that nothing responded. Soon a dark haze overtook her and the darkness beckoned her to sleep.

  ***

  Trouble, that’s what Fret was looking for. Something to get into to make the day enjoyable and go faster. The town bully walked through Smead, knowing he would find something special to satisfy his need.

  A rumor buzzed today around that a member of the Royal Guard and a lady were seeking medical help. Probably from crazy old witch Hazel. She was the only medical woman in town, if you could call what she did medical help. In Fret’s opinion, he’d rather have a phsyciker himself.

  Fret overheard Tailor Roberts telling Baker Tucker this. While eavesdropping, Fret helped himself to some of the baker’s bread while the two gossiped. He hadn’t paid much attention to the rumor until the word royalty stuck with him. Royal personages carried their valuables everywhere they went. He had read that in a book somewhere. Maybe there was something of considerable wealth he could acquire off one of their horses.

  Confidently he strolled down the street, noticing shadows of figures dart away in the distance. Playthings dropped and left as Fret came by, but he took no interest in them. In his wake, the children cautiously returned like frightened rabbits to carrots.

  An only child, Fret was spoiled by his father, the cobbler. His parents wished and prayed for a child, but the fates denied that until by chance or by miracle, as his father would say, Fret was born. His mother passed away during the laborious childbirth.

  Fret grew up into a fine young man who bullied the rest of the town. Kids ran from him—if they were lucky enough to see him coming. Adults would look the other way instead of confronting him. Their pity led to the adults’ fear of the young man. Smeadians loved Fret’s father, a kind sweet soul. The passing of his wife crushed everyone in town, and so they did whatever they could to help the family. Fret took full advantage of his plight. And once the townspeople began to realize the monster Fret had become, they did not have the heart to tell the poor cobbler.

  Also, because Fret was stocky and had arms the size of a horse’s thigh, no one matched him in strength. His father liked to joke that Fret could literally put the cattle out to pasture by throwing them.

  As he neared the crazy medical woman’s shack, Fret took in the two horses tied up outside. Fancy saddles and royal markings. Not typical beaten-down ranch mares. So the rumor was true. He was surprised guards were not watching these horses. Royalty always kept loot in their saddlebags.

  Fret glanced about the street to see if anyone watched. Not that he cared. Smead feared him. He casually strolled over to the animals. One saddlebag yielded nothing but a waterskin and a few carrots. Fret threw the carrots to the ground, frustrated. Maybe he wouldn’t find anything of value.

  But then his hand touched a bag tied to the far side of the saddle, a br
own leather sack with a hefty drawstring to keep it cinched. Gold?Gems? Deftly, his fingers worked to remove it. The knot proved difficult, and he tugged violently. The horse shifted, stamping a hoof. Fret jerked back, and the bag came loose. Another part of the saddlebag sprang open and a severed hand fell at his feet.

  “Ugh!” Quickly he hushed himself, clutching his treasure close to his chest. Who carries a severed hand with them? A witch? A killer?

  But instinct warned him to disappear quickly with the loot, and that’s what he did. Fret scuttled away, running in no particular direction, but away from the witch’s house. The theft would be discovered. He didn’t want to be anywhere near when the royals became mad.

  An old barn sat outside town. Abandoned. The owners, two elderly citizens, barely worked the land anymore. The barn stood as a rotting remembrance of good times gone by.

  As he ran, the contents in the bag clinked together. Gold! His heart raced, thinking of how it could change his life. Running as fast as he could, Fret came upon the barn. Quickly he sneaked inside. He was eager to see his newly gained riches. Down on his knees, he dumped out the bag’s contents greedily. Instead of the sparkle of gold, glass shards fell out, about fifteen in all. It took him a minute to realize what lay before him. His dream of luxury popped, replaced by anger.

  “What the…?” Fret reached down and picked up one of the shards. Simple glass, maybe from a window or picture. A sharp edge cut his finger.

  “Ow!” A long, red line appeared along his flesh. He dropped the shard immediately. Crimson oozed from the shallow wound. It dripped over multiple shards before he retrieved his handkerchief to stave the blood.