Rewrites Have Started

As you all may know, the beginning did not start with a book in mind.  However, after the first eight or so chapters, it started writing itself into a book.  I need to go back and flesh out the characters and add some excitement to Bartholomew's life as he journeys to Meneldur.  Also, the more current chapters will have the name changes.  SO...I apologize to those who started with the old and are getting confused with the new.  I will try to post some of the name changes in these smaller posts as I need.  You can always ask for clarification if you get too muddled!

I thought about putting a brand new post for the revisions but then the chapters would get all out of order and I didn't like that thought at all.  Therefore, I will go back, edit, and copy the changes OVER the previously posted chapters.  With that being said, Chapters 1 and 2 have been revised and now posted.

For my more recent posts/revisions, the chapters will still need to have the grammar, spelling, etc. edited.  But, I think any errors will be relatively minor, and since my editor has been ill and doesn't have the stamina to do the job right now, I didn't want to hold up the book just for those minor changes.  I hope you will forgive!

Please feel free to give your opinions either under the chapter posts, on guild wall, via messenger, or any other creative outlet you might find.  I want this to be the best it can be.  Or, to borrow a phrase:  I want this to be all that it can be!  Thank you for your support and encouragement!  I hope that you like what you are reading!


Love you all,
Larien  <3

SALVATION FOR THE FALLEN Chapter 20

Larien stopped dead in her tracks the moment she recognized the man being brought into her care.  Huor!!  Finn and Butch were trying very hard to keep him as still as possible.  The men had formed a rough litter of tree branches covered with a few blankets found in the resting tents.  Butch carried the foot and Finn was up at Huor’s head.  While he wasn’t a big man, Huor’s battle armor was still on and added additional weight which made it more difficult to transport him uphill from the battlegrounds.  Coupled with the small confined space of the secret hallway and the speed with which they transported him, both Finn and Butch were winded when they arrived.  From the look of the stain on his right side, Huor had either gotten severely wounded or, like the hard-headed man that he was, stayed to fight as long as he could.  She certainly hoped for the latter reason although she will probably take him to task for doing so.  The former scared her too much to even contemplate.  Larien took a deep breath.  She never thought that she would ever have to take care of Huor in this way.  In all the years that she knew him, he was always very careful, his sword strong and true; his battle strategy sound. 

As she walked into the triage area, she kept reminding herself that it might not be as bad as it looked.  She looked towards heaven with closed eyes praying.  Larien was pushing up her sleeves as the men brought Huor to her.  Even though they were as gentle as they could be considering the weight, a groan escaped Huor’s dry, parched lips.  His face winced in pain at the jolt.  It pierced through Larien’s heart to hear it.  Larien knew that they would first have to remove his armor before she could look at his wounded side.  She didn’t think he would be able to help remove it himself in the shape he was in.  She glanced up at the door just as Deamon and the twins entered.  She motioned them to come over to her.

“Good!  I need for you five men to help remove his armor.  I cannot see anything with all the metal on his body.  After you are finished, I want him put on this cot, please.”  What was it that Deamon always told her to do?  Oh, yes, breathe.  She took a deep one and let it out slowly.  “I will go warm some water and get my other supplies together while you do that.  And please do be careful pulling his chainmaille off.  We do not know how bad it is and his arms will need to be raised over his head.  I see absolutely no other easy way to remove it.”

Finn’s concerned voice broke through her slight fog as he asked quietly, “Are you going to be alright working on him, Larien?  We could get Melilot or Nathra or someone else if you are too shaken to tend to Huor.  I’m sure they won’t mind.”

Deamon added, “I don’t like that you lost color in your face when you saw him.  You still do not have all your strength back, you haven’t eaten, and to now work on Huor.  We would understand if…”

Larien held her hand in supplication.  “Stop!”  She paused before continuing, “I will be alright.  Please, get him undressed.  I am over the shock of seeing him brought to me wounded.  Now hurry so I can get him fixed.”  She didn’t look up at either man; she didn’t think she would be very convincing if they were to see her face.  She needed to stay busy.  She told herself to stay focused on the job at hand – and breathe.  What was she doing?  Oh, yes.  Supplies, she needed her tools.

Larien left the men standing next to Huor’s prone body and walked away on slightly unsteady legs.  She could not have anyone else take care of Huor.  He was her responsibility.  As she went to the fire pit to hang the water pot to warm, she saw that her hands were not steady.  She needed to get her emotions under control.  She was a healer, first.  She was his friend, second.  She had tended many friends in the past few days without this type of reaction.  Why now?  She took a deep, inhaling breath and held it to the count of ten.  Larien cleared her mind of all thought, save one; an Angel warrior needed her skills.  She exhaled.  She gathered the remaining supplies she thought she would need and placed them in the basket; gauzes, thread, needles, salve and comfrey leaves.  Larien took them to a small table close to Huor’s hospital bed. 

Finn, Deamon, Butch and the twins were still working to remove Huor’s armor.  They weren’t quite ready for her.  She went back to check on the water.  It was boiling so she gathered a bowl and an additional pitcher of cool water and carried it carefully to the patient.  They were now working on removing Huor’s final piece of armor, his chainmaille. Just lifting it over his head caused him great distress.  He moaned loudly, his body ridged with pain.  As Sly tossed it to the ground with the other items, Larien walked over to pick it up.  There, on the right side, was a clean cut in the maille.  It was the length of her complete hand with her fingers splayed outstretched.  It was a clean cut.  Her heart did a double-take.  She closed her eyes and prayed for strength, wisdom, and her fingers to be swift.  Huor had already lost a lot of blood.  While the men had him braced in a sitting position, they removed his shirt and gently placed him down on the cot.

Larien cleared her throat.  With as steady a voice as she could muster, she said, “Thank you, men.  Please carry his armor and things out of here so that I have room to work.”  Finn scooped up Huor’s belongings.  With a final look at his sister, he followed the other men out of the room.  He prayed to the gods that Larien knew what she was doing.  Personally, he felt she was too close to Huor to be able to treat him but he knew that she had a very strong will when she needed it.  This seemed to be one of those times.  He hurried to catch up to the brothers.  He needed to speak with Deamon.

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There it was again!   Just as she was getting use to the dullness; the pain was renewed, potent.  She had to stop and rest.  Her head was fuzzy and she was having a difficult time focusing on where she was going.  What was happening?  Would she make it in time?  She felt she was close, oh so close.  She must continue but it was so hard to move; to breathe through the agony.  Perhaps if she rested a few minutes the pain would subside and she could continue.  Her head fell to her chest.  She let out a low rumbling groan that started deep in her throat and gained intensity.

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Larien sat next to Huor’s cot and looked at him.  He had his eyes closed and his complexion was pasty white – no color whatsoever.  She cleared her throat and spoke softly, “Huor, I am going to have to move your right arm and place it above your head.  It might hurt but I need to see just how badly you are injured.  If you can’t talk, blink your eyes to let me know that you hear me and understand.”  Larien waited for his acknowledgment.

Huor kept his eyes closed but whispered the words breathily, “Yes, my Queen.”  He took a few shallow breaths and continued, “I’m sorry.”

Larien helped move his arm, slowly, carefully, trying not to stretch his side any more than needed.  She knew it caused him great pain.  “So am I Huor.  I am going to need to wash it.  You lost a lot of blood and I need to cleanse the wound.  There is too much dried blood to get a clear idea of what we are up against.”  Larien poured some of the hot water in the basin and soaked some gauze to swab the wound.  She worked quickly and methodically, rinsing the blood from the cloth after each pass.  She continued talking in a soft but stern voice that only Huor could hear, “And you should be sorry, my Duke.  Do you know what it felt like seeing you come in on a stretcher?  Others carrying you?  Unresponsive?  Then, after the men removed your chainmaille, to see the slice in it knowing that it pierced your skin but not how deep it went?  Do you know the fright you put me in?”

Even in his pain riddled mind, he could hear the waiver in Larien’s voice.  She tried so hard to cover it but he still detected it.  She caught the edge of the wound as she tried to remove a particularly stubborn crust of blood that still clung to it.  He winced, his body trying to move away from her ministrations and from the slow torture.  She murmured, “I know you’re sorry and you didn’t do this on purpose.  How did it happen?  Are you strong enough to tell me?”

In a halting and ragged voice, Huor forced his mind to chronicle the events that brought him to Larien.  “I was battling an orc.  I raised my right arm.  He raised his.  Our swords connected, clashed.”  Huor hesitated before continuing, “We both had put a lot of force behind our swings and his knocked my arm up and out of the way.  My side was exposed to his blade.  He cut a swathe of my armor and pierced my side just as I was turning for a better angle.  I felt the cold, hard, sting of his blade.  I countered with a backward slash.  I took the bastard’s head and severed it from his shoulders but,” he gasped, “not before I was cut.  Damn, that burns like hell!”

“Why didn’t you come to me after it happened?”

Several minutes passed.  Huor mumbled, “The battle was not over yet.  I thought,” he took a sharp intake; “I thought I could wait.  I thought I could just fight through it.”

“Umm, I’m not so sure you really did think, Huor.  So, you stayed fighting until you fell down from loss of blood?”  She shook her head at his stubbornness.  “I’m almost done with the removal of the dried blood.  Just let me do a final clean with fresh water.  Then I will stitch you up and pray it’s not too deep.” 

Larien stood with the basin filled with now red water.  Nathra came towards her with a fresh basin.  Larien had been so engrossed in tending Huor that she did not see the other ladies arrive.  “Here is a fresh bowl, Larien.  I will take that from you.  How is he doing?”

“I don’t think it is as bad as I first feared.  Thank the gods.  I know that it did not knick his ribs so it was more a slice than a pierce.  That will help with a more speedy recovery.  However, we will need to watch for infection.  He didn’t come for attention for several hours after it happened.  That could spell trouble as the conditions on the battlefield are not very clean.”

“He’s strong, Larien, and a fighter.  I’m sure he’ll be fine.  He has you taking care of him…he has no other choice!”  Both women smiled at Nathra’s comment.  Larien sat down in her chair to give the wound its final wash.  Yes, it was not as bad, a few stitches would close the wound.  Her next concern was for infection.  Huor was fortunate that this was not as bad as it could have been.  He was still a very stubborn man and he’d better use that to get past the next few days!

“Huor, the easy part is over.  I need to stitch your wound.  Do you want me to give you something for the pain?  I would say that it will need about 12 sutures.”

“No.  Just do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yesss.  I’m ready.”

Larien threaded her curved needles and laid a fresh cloth on Huor’s chest.  “As you wish, dear.  You will have to lay still.  Are you ready?”  Huor nodded.  She saw his body tense as she said, “This is the first stitch.”  Larien pierced his skin going deep enough to hold the stitch and to bring the edges together.  The needle went in, down, and curved back up.  She drew the thread through the holes in the flesh and tied it off.  She did it again, down – through – up – tie, and again and again.  Each time Huor’s muscles tensed and quivered as he fought to stay still; trying to make Larien’s job easier to complete.  Larien broke into Huor’s concentration, “This is the last one.  It took 14, not 12. We must now guard against infection, Huor.  You won’t have too much of a scar considering what it could have been.”

Larien set the needles aside so they could be sterilized and put the rest of the items in the basket.  She then took the whole comfrey leaves and placed them over the wound, dampening them as she went to help them stay.  She dressed the incision and covered it with a clean cloth.  When she was finished, she looked at Huor.  His face was contorted and wet with sweat.  His body was shaking.  She covered him with a blanket.

She placed her hand on his chest as she whispered, “I am done.  You must sleep.  I won’t be far away and I will check on you soon.”

As she moved to get up, Huor croaked one word, “Baroness,” before his body went limp and he passed out.

SALVATION FOR THE FALLEN Chapter 19

Larien walked into the room and one by one the conversation at the various tables and groups quieted.  All eyes turned to her and her entourage.  Larien and Deamon exchanged questioning glances.  Her curiosity, coupled with anxiety, heightened.  She scanned the room, looking at the Angels’ faces trying to ascertain if she should be worried or happy or afraid.  She even tried reading their thoughts but the confusion swirling around in her head made it hard to pinpoint a main topic. 

All eyes swiveled from Larien’s group to a group of three men standing off to the side, next to the group of stalagmites by the back entrance to this area of the cavern.  As the din in the room hushed, the three people stopped talking and looked up.  Bone Face caught Deamon’s eye as Deamon pulled on his ear.  Bone Face gave a negligible nod of understanding.  There were two men of above average height whom Larien didn’t recognize.  They looked tired and dirty; perhaps travelers.  The third was much shorter and stocky with a braided beard hanging down across his chest; more like a dwarf scout she once knew.  She continued walking over to where they were standing.  As she got closer she realized that it was her dwarf friend, Baulde Gamal.

“Good morning, my friend.  I didn’t recognize you at first.  Welcome to Meneldur, such as it is at the moment.”  Larien gestured at the cavern as she continued, “How have you been?  We haven’t seen you or your family for quite some time.  I do hope they are all well and prospering.”

“Ah, mornin’, Queen Larien.  Good to see ya, too.  We are fine, fine.  Kids growing like weeds ‘n the missus always busy.  Sorry to hear of yer losses.  War with orcs is never good.”

“Thank you so much for your sympathies, Baulde.  We are doing relatively well considering the length of time we have been at war.”  Larien gave Deamon a small side glance.  “Deamon assures me that we are in the last stages so I hope it won’t be long until we have all our people back together and can start on the enemy burials and rebuilding Meneldur.  We cannot let the dead stay there or we will have infection and plague within our walls.  You know how I am about the health of my Angels, livestock, and friends.  I want to be assured that the bodies are not those of any of our loved ones.  I do not look forward to the cleaning up of this horror.  However, I sense that there is another reason for your visit.  Perhaps it has to do with these two gentlemen.”  Larien looked at the two strangers.  “How may the Angels assist you today?”

The older gentleman of the three started to speak.  Baulde stayed any comments from his companions with a show of his hand.  “Let me. Well, I was on a scoutin’ party ov’r by the backside of the mountains looking fer game when I ran across a band of travelers.  I reckon there were about 25 or so.  It’s not oft that we git people comin’ ov’r the mountains like that.  You know how hard that is.  So, I knew they’d be needin’ a place ta rest.  Thought to yud be needin’ help with yer battles.  So, I brung them ov’r to ya instead of takin’ into a minin’ town.”  He stopped for a breath and pointed to each man in turn.  “Harry Hopplehead here ‘n Fawkes Garewal standin’ next ta him.  Gents, this fine lady is Larien Arcamenel, da Angel’s Elf Queen.”

Larien smiled at the two men.  Harry Hopplehead was the older of the two.  He was a bit over average height for a man.  His hair was salt and pepper and a bit receding above the temples.  His face was kind-looking with a big infectious smile that lit his face and blue eyes.  His face was flushed; either from the sun or the journey, she wasn’t sure.  He had a gentle and caring spirit and Harry immediately put Larien at ease.  While he spoke quietly, she sensed that should he raise his voice, all would listen to what he had to say.  Larien could also tell that he enjoyed life and lived it to the fullest.  Harry must have the honor and respect of his friends if they allowed him to represent them to the Angels.  This was another indication that he was a trusted individual.

Fawkes Garewal had positioned himself to the left of Harry and a step back, resting against one of the stalagmites that were grouped in this area of the room.  He looked weary.  Larien studied Fawkes.  He was the taller of the two visitors with dark hair covering his forehead but not overly long at the sides and back.  She couldn’t tell in this light whether it was black or dark, dark brown.  His soft brown eyes sat under arched dark brows.  He sported a well-trimmed moustache over thin lips.  He stood upright at her perusal and gave a fleeting smile which softened the planes of his face.  He had a dimple in his right cheek.  That smile changed his whole countenance and gave her the welcoming feeling she needed from him.  Larien smiled to herself.  An angel had kissed him before he was born.

Both men showed signs of their trek over the mountain.  She was familiar with the little used path.  Only local people knew of its existence.  It was curious that Harry and Fawkes would also be aware of where that particular path ended.  It was best left to the mountain goats and sheep and not humans; especially a large number such as their party held.  Baulde must have brought the men to see her immediately.  Their hands bore bloody scratches on the knuckles and their nails broken, probably from grasping the rocks for leverage as they maneuvered through the tight places.  Their pants bore the signs of the trek; other than the mud and grass stains, Fawkes had a slight tear, probably from the brambles catching the threads.  Sweat stains were still visible along the shirt collars and underarms.  Yes, their journey had not been easy.  It was no wonder that they looked tired and weary.  Larien felt that there was a deeper reason for these men and their fellow travelers for ending up in Meneldur.  Larien suspected she would soon find out.  Not many would come visiting in time of war.  Most visitors arrived on horses or in carts, not over the mountains.

After her quick perusal of her guests, Larien smiled, including both men when she said, “Thank you, Baulde.  Welcome, gentlemen.  Please come and partake of our hospitality.  We have food and shelter for you to share.  Many of our able-bodied warriors are still on the battlefields and our wounded are either in the infirmary or with their families here in the caves recuperating.  There is food over there and tables in which to sit and eat.  I will get someone to help find places for you to sleep.  You look very weary from your travels and the path here over the mountains was not an easy one.”

Deamon felt that Larien was almost done speaking and interjected holding out his hand to the men, one at a time.  “Welcome, Harry, and greetings to you too, Fawkes.  I am Deamon, Meneldur’s Master of Whispers.  This is our Elf Queen, Larien Arcamenel.  To her right is one of my twin brothers, Bone Face, and behind her is the other, Sly.” 

Harry firmly grasped Deamon’s hand with his calloused one and looked Deamon in the eye as he spoke quietly, “Hello, Deamon.  I would like to thank you for welcoming us during your time of great stress and responsibility.  We are very familiar with war and its ravages and have been touched by its horrors.”  Harry glimpsed quickly in Fawkes direction before continuing, “On behalf of the remaining residents of Lambton, I thank you.” 

Deamon looked each man in the eye as he was shaking their hands.  He often could read a man by the way he was greeted; by both the hands and eyes.  Deamon looked not only in the strength of the handshake but how the hand was extended to him.  When someone extends his hand with the palm facing in a more upward position, whether the clasp was strong or weak, it translated to Deamon that they were willing to submit to the upper hand dominance - his.  The firm handshake generally is given as an outward sign of confidence and minimal deceit.  Since the firmness of ones greeting was not always reliable, Deamon liked to look the person in the eyes – to see any eye subtle movements.  Direct eye contact when the stranger spoke with him generally was a sign of truthfulness.  They’re eyes are not shifting from side to side trying to fabricate ideas rather than stating facts.  If the eyes stayed attentive and focused with Deamon, it showed Deamon that they were interested in the conversation and not thinking of potential lies or subterfuge to counter his questions.

Both Harry and Fawkes greeted Deamon with an upward, firm handshake and did not shy from eye contact.  Deamon was pleased that at this point, he did not think that these two strangers were a threat to Larien or the other Angels.  As he was completing his greeting to Fawkes, he queried them, “And just why did your group make your journey to us?  Surely Meneldur is not on your normal route from Lambton to anywhere else.”

Fawkes was first to reply.  “You’re correct, Deamon.  We made our way to you for a couple of reasons.  We just lost most of our village to a marauding band of evil warriors.  They claimed to be following the ways of Dimosthenis.  That was very hard for us to believe but we were not in a position to argue.  We were fighting for our very lives and the existence as we knew it.”  Here he stopped to compose himself.  “On the last day of our battle against Dimosthenis’s men, we saw a signal fire high up on the mountain top.  Harry mentioned that he had never seen the fires lit in his life – ever.  It was always at the ready as far as he knew but had never been utilized.”

Harry continued, “I belong to the oldest family in Lambton and can trace my heritage back several hundreds of years.  I knew that we would not be able to stay with so few as we had left after the ravages of Dimosthenis and his men.  The blazing signal fire was a sign from the gods that we should take shelter with the Angels of Meneldur.  The new aggressors were not looking up into the mountains so they did not see it.  We knew that we could not stay under the new lord’s rules and become slaves to their needs.  Our hopes were that if we escaped, Dimosthenis’s men would just think they killed the whole village.  So, we gathered those folks left alive and packed our very meager belongings.  Under the dark cover of night, we left our lives behind and worked our way over the mountains.  There were a couple of us that knew the route and felt it was the safest way to come.  Meneldur, even across the mountains, was closer to us than going by land in the other direction to the nearest village.  My father had always spoken highly of Meneldur.  Our hope is that you will not only give us the shelter we need now, but that we would be able to become part of your………..”

Suddenly a buzz of activity coming from the doorway leading to the secret passage interrupted Harry Hopplehead’s words.  Those sitting at the tables closest to the opening, stood.  The surprise and shocked voices spread like a wild fire.  When it reached Larien and her small group, the twins took a protective stance, shielding her from the view.  She started forward until Deamon stayed her with his hand on her arm.

“Please wait, my Queen.  Let me first see what is about.” 

He hurriedly left with Sly to investigate the commotion leaving Bone Face to protect Larien should anything be amiss.  Larien was torn.  She felt there was more that Harry Hopplehead had to say.  However, she also strained to see what was happening.  By the look of shocked faces closest to the entryway, she felt it was not good. 

She was preparing to give her excuses when she heard Deamon shout, “Larien, come to the infirmary now!”

Larien heard the urgency in Deamon’s voice so she started to run towards the triage area.  She flung over her shoulder, “Excuse me, gentlemen, but it seems we have an emergency.”  Her mind now needed to focus on what she might find.

As she advanced closer to that part of the area, she saw that someone was being carried by Finn and the new young man, Butch.  The Angel warrior was not able to walk; he wasn’t even able to stand.  Larien took a sharp intake of breath.  NO!!  It couldn’t be!!  Surely, she must be seeing things!!  Her brain didn’t want to accept what her eyes were showing her.  She recognized the body that was being brought for her to mend.  She saw the dark red stain along his right side, drops of blood still pooling on the blankets where he laid.  Her eyes widened in her now white face and her heart skipped a beat. 

SALVATION FOR THE FALLEN Chapter 18

He took the handle of his sword and rapped loudly against the stone wall.  Nothing.  He repeated it, harder, longer.  Still nothing.  Bone Face called out Deamon’s name.  They had tried to wake the couple but to no avail.  Bone Face and Sly looked at one another.  Bone Face shrugged his shoulders and questioned, “He did say ANYTHING, right?”  Sly answered with a mirrored shrug and nod of his head. 

Bone Face pulled the curtained door aside and strode into the room.  He tried rousting Deamon with urgently calling his name – several times.  When that still didn’t work, he walked over to the side of the bed prepared to poke his brother awake.  He peered down at the sleeping couple.  Deamon held Larien in his right arm; his left tangled in her hair.  Her head was resting against his chest with her hair spilled wildly about, a few strands caught on his damp lips.  Deamon’s breathing slightly moving the curls giving them a life of their own.  They looked peaceful, content.  The bedcoverings were twisted around the two making a fabric cocoon holding them together in its own special embrace.  Bone Face was reluctant to interrupt their peaceful slumber.  He knew that Larien really needed more than the five or six hours that she had probably gotten since they were last in her room.  Bone Face still hesitated.  One thing about Deamon, you did not wake him up without suffering possible repercussions, especially when he was with a woman!  But, the twins felt it important enough to risk Deamon’s response for this was important news – or so they felt. 

“Deamon!”  Bone Face jiggled Deamon’s shoulder.  In his sleep, Deamon just turned his head and pulled Larien closer to him, burying his hand more into her locks. Bone Face looked at Sly.  With a look of determination, he shouted, “HEY, RÉVEILLE, GROUILLE.  Wake up now!”

Deamon’s eyes flew open.  He was startled into wakefulness.  He tried flinging his left arm at his assailant but his hand was too caught up in Larien’s web of hair.  He blinked the sleep from his eyes trying to focus in the dim interior of the bedroom.  Bone Face was standing at Deamon’s side of the bed and Sly was standing at the foot.

When Deamon realized that it was Bone Face waking him, he thought that Bone Face was very fortunate that Deamon’s hand did not made connect with his gut.  If Deamon had been out in the tent, he could easily have had a dagger in that hand.  Last night his only thought was to take care of Larien so he was unprepared for a surprise morning visit from anyone.  However, now that he thought about it, it could have been the perfect time to kill her – while she slept.  In fact, they would probably have both been killed! 

Deamon was hampered in sitting up because of Larien lying across his chest and he cursed at his brothers as he tried to move Larien and protect her modesty at the same time, “Maudit!  What the hell are you doing here anyway?  This had better be good, Bone Face, to come in here and wake us up.   Dammit!  You are lucky I’m with Larien and didn’t think to put my dagger under my pillow last night!”  Deamon lowered his voice a bit, “I could have killed you!”

While Bone Face anticipated the fact that Deamon would not be happy at being awakened, he didn’t think he deserved Deamon’s tongue-lashing.  He glared at Deamon and snipped back sarcastically, “Well, now, let me see.  I tried knocking, Brother, but you evidentially didn’t hear it.  In fact, we rapped on the outer wall twice!  You didn’t leave us many options other than to come into the room.  I called out to you from the sitting room with no reply from you.  And, excuse us if we took you at your word.  When we left last night, you said to wake you if anything happened.  You even emphasized the word anything, Deamon.  Mon dieu, why else would we brave the lion’s den, huh?  You figure it out!  We’re leaving.”

Bone Face was a bit upset over Deamon’s treatment when he actually was coming to help him.  Everyone was already awake and about their chores.  Yes, it was still quite early but things were happening and Deamon and Larien both needed to be there.  Bone Face volunteered to get them.  Next time, he’ll just draw straws and let someone else do the dirty work.  He stiffly turned on his heal and started around the foot of the bed towards Sly.

Deamon fell back against the pillows.  “Wait!  I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, Bone Face.”  He rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes after having freed his hand from Larien’s hair.  “You’re right, I did say that and of course, you were right to come and let me know.  I also just realized what a terrible job I’ve done in trying to protect Larien while she slept.  You could easily have been someone who wanted to do her harm and I would have slept through it and been killed along with her.  What a fool I’m been!”  Larien began to stir.  Deamon continued, “Dammit!  Guys, please wait out in the hallway and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

Bone Face attracted Deamon’s attention when he chuckled.  “Well, that’s not quite true, Deamon.”

“What’s not true?” Deamon queried the twins.

Sly was smiling too as Bone Face continued, “On second thought, maybe the part of you being a fool is, though!”  Bone Face gave a quick glance at Sly and Sly winked back.  He looked back at Deamon and continued, “You see, we knew that Larien needed sleep and we knew that you were not going to leave her.  We also figured that you would not be able to stay awake with all the fighting and stress you’ve been under.  So, Sly and I pulled our blankets to the end of Larien’s passageway and slept there in shifts.  Anyone wanting to get to either you or Larien would have had to go through one of us first.”  Bone Face smirked as he finished, “So, now you can say thank you and we can say you’re welcome.  We’ll be right outside when you’re ready.  Oh, and, you’re welcome, Deamon!”

The rumbling of Deamon’s chest in her ear and the male voices raised in argument finally broke through her slumber.  Larien woke.  She turned her head slightly to see the backs of Bone Face and Sly walk through her room and out the door.  She moved her hand down Deamon’s chest and sleepily asked, “What was that all about?”

She took him off-guard.  “The boys came to wake us.  It seems there is something that needs our attention.”  Deamon captured her hand and brought to his lips, kissing her palm.  “So, ma chérie, we must be up.  The day awaits your beautiful face and your healing hands.”  He grinned mischievously at her and teased, “Your body will just have to wait for the night.”  Larien giggled just as he hoped she would. 

He did not want her to have the chance to dwell on any undercurrents she might have felt when the twins were there.  He hoped that she was too sleepy to have been able to read any thoughts that Bone Face or Sly might have been thinking.  He felt that things were soon coming to head and that it wouldn’t be too much longer before all would be revealed.  Deamon and Larien were both in their own little worlds as they went about preparing for the day ahead.  He was buttoning his shirt when he looked up to watch her brush her hair.  He could still recall the fresh scent of her hair as it wrapped itself around him during the night.  Her small hand on his cheek; her legs entwined with his.  Deamon still did not want to warn her of the danger she was in.  He warred with himself about telling her anyway.  Would she be better off prepared?  Deamon still hoped that Bone Face would be able to recognize the voice of the co-conspirator before he made a move on Larien.  But, what if he couldn’t?  What then?  Deamon felt he was performing a balancing act where the wrong move could cost someone he loved, her life.  Deamon was putting a huge amount of faith in himself and that he would be able to protect her.  He attached his sword and placed his dagger in his boot.  He still lived in hope of finding out just what her protection was.  Perhaps that should be something they discuss tonight.

Larien interrupted his thoughts when she asked, “How do you think the battle is progressing?  Is this madness close to being finished?  We have had so many injured that I am running out of supplies.  Fortunately, we have not lost a lot of Angels’ lives to the orcs’ blades.  The number of funeral pyres has diminished greatly, especially from the beginning.  Thank the gods.  Our food supplies are still adequate as is our water.  However, I know that the women and children are anxious to be with their husbands and fathers; to make sure they are okay.  The only ones we see are the ones needing urgent attention.  They know there are some that haven’t come in to be seen – so are they alright or lying amongst the dead littering the field.  They have asked King Jareth but he has yet to give them an answer.”

Deamon jerked to attention at her remark about King Jareth.  Fortunately, her back was to him when she spoke of the vile man.  Deamon’s anger was instant.  He had to forcibly calm himself before he spoke so she wouldn’t question him as to why he was acting so oddly regarding the king.  He was able to reply in a neutral tone.  “Well, I have not seen him.  However, I have been busy fighting so I do not monitor the comings and goings of the Angels.  I am not a good one to ask, Larien.  Why do you ask?”

“King Jareth tells them that he will find out when he goes down.  But when he comes back to the cavern, he has no news and changes the subject.  Sometimes he picks up a baby to tickle its tummy.  Or, other times, he’ll ask them a question about something totally different.  The Angels will not question his intent because he is their king.  Since he comes into the caves twice a day, the gossip is that the king might not be going to the battlefields at all.”

“I have no answer for you.  Are you almost ready, dear?”  Larien nodded.

He picked up his cloak and waited a few extra seconds for Larien to grab a clean work apron before they left her room.  Bone Face and Sly were waiting.  Deamon caught the eyes of his brothers and gave his head a very minute shake as they all proceeded down the hall and into the main area.  Larien could already hear a buzz of activity.  The noise level of the room was louder, more intense.

Bone Face read her surprise and said, “Yes, there is something going on.  That was the reason for the early morning wake-up call.  Your presence was requested, my Queen.”  As they came into the room, Bone Face surreptitiously moved to her right, Deamon was on her left, and Sly was walking behind her.

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The pain was making it very difficult to move and varied in intensity when she did.  It was getting harder for her to breathe.  Walking was such an effort.  She had to get to him – NOW.  She had to see, to check for herself.   She knew that she would have to take the journey in parts…she could not rush it.  The pain would not let her.  She must not give up but she had to rest, just for a few minutes.  Then she would go on.  She must.  To her, it was a matter of life and death.

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