Arine's Sanctuary (3 page)

              Arine turned around to face Cavon. “Welcome to Sanctuary,” she said quietly. Reaching out and taking him by the arm, she pulled him forward.

Chapter Three

            
 
T
he waterfall dropped into a partially hidden lake, churning the calm blue waters into a white torrent. A portion of the tor had broken off eons ago, letting sunlight shine down on small fields overflowing with crops. Shaded by what remained of the towering rock, row after row of neatly laid out buildings sat nestled in the shadows. Hundreds of people bustled about the cobblestone paths. Arine stayed back, letting Cavon take it all in.

              After a minute or two, she broke the silence. “I need to report to my Mistress. Go with these women and they’ll take you someplace you can rest and clean up.”

              Anxiety crossed his face.

              “Don’t worry, Cavon. All will be well,” she reassured him. Turning on her heel, Arine began her descent down to the city below.

              She strode purposefully through the busy streets, acknowledging the occasional greeting with a nod. Few ever tried to stop her. They knew what she had to do when she returned.

              “About time you got back.” The snide voice stopped Arine in midstep.

              Whirling, she leveled a withering gaze at the man who spoke. “My comings and goings are of no concern to you, James, or the one you serve.” Her blue eyes, filled with contempt, locked with black ones. A hint of fear showed on his face as she took a step closer. “Unless you care to explain to Mistress Bryn why you felt it necessary that I report to you before her, I suggest you crawl back into whatever hole Talia found you in and waylay me no more.” Her tone was quiet, but firm.

              She watched him swallow hard as he struggled to regain his composure. His hand shook slightly as he pushed back his stringy brown hair. “The Lady Talia suggests you watch yourself, Lady Arine. You won’t hold your place as Mistress Bryn’s favorite for long.”

              Snorting in disgust, Arine gave James a withering look. “Tell your Lady that I keep my position because I do my job better than she does. If she’d do as she was told and not try to collect a stable for herself, I might be concerned.” Before James could reply, she turned and continued down the street.

              Her destination finally emerged
as she rounded a corner. She pulled on the bell rope harder than normal; irritation at James’ brash manner made her want to spit. Judging from the startled expression of the woman who opened the door, she hadn’t concealed it well.

              The familiar space calmed her as she followed the woman toward Mistress Bryn’s inner office. The plaster walls were decorated with an eclectic collection of paintings, some better than others. Oddly matched furniture sat in various rooms, all functional if not aesthetically pleasing. Mistress Bryn was often given gifts by those who had come to Sanctuary after learning a trade. While not always tasteful, she accepted them all with a graciousness that made the maker feel special.

              The corridor ended at a pair of double doors.
The fabric covering the panels had faded
over the years, becoming threadbare in places. Yet it remained, as it was another gift from a new arrival. Arine shoved the encounter with James from her mind and smiled at the memory of how Mistress Bryn accepted her gift with glee. It was not long after that day, however, that the weaver told Arine she was to learn a completely different art.

              She rapped lightly on the door, framing her report in her mind.

              “Come in, Arine,” Mistress Bryn’s melodic voice beckoned her.

              Placing a slender hand on the brass handle, she pressed downward with a slight amount of force. The handle had a tendency to stick. The door shuddered slightly before giving her admittance.

              Mistress Bryn sat at her desk, her blonde head bent over a sheaf of paper. Arine knew to wait for her to finish. Interruptions were a pet peeve in this office. Silently, she slid into a chair across from the ornately carved wood desk and waited.

              “You are late. I expected you a day or two ago.” Mistress Bryn kept writing.

              “It was unavoidable. Some hunters caught up with us. We … had to take a few days to recover.” Arine shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

              “Was Cavon injured?” The sound of her quill on the paper echoed in the still room.

              “No, he wasn’t.” Unable to stay still, Arine rose nervously. Crossing the room, she stared out of a window to a small courtyard garden below.

              The writing stopped. She could feel Mistress Bryn’s green eyes on her as she shifted in her chair.

              “You were? That does not happen often. The hunters you encountered were well-trained?”

              Arine nodded silently from her place at the window. Drawing in a deep breath, she replied, “They had access to cargrada. Their blades were laced with it.”

              Footsteps crossed the carpeted floor. A gentle hand touched hers, urging her to sit on a small couch. Sinking into the soft cushions, Arine struggled to regroup. She looked at the concerned face across from her. Mistress Bryn sat next to her, patiently waiting for Arine to continue.

              “One of them got lucky. A dagger thrust to my side that was just a shade too fast for me to parry. I woke up a day or so later in a cave. Cavon found it, brought me there.” She paused, unsure of what Mistress Bryn would believe.

              “They couldn’t have been using cargrada, Arine. You’d be dead if they had.”

              Arine met her eyes, and Mistress Bryn sat back, her face unreadable. “What else happened, Arine? Even if you are uncertain, I need to know.” Her voice carried a tone of command that Arine knew better than to resist.

              Drawing in a deep breath, she plunged into retelling her sketchy memories of the cave, of Cavon’s reaction when she woke up. Mistress Bryn listened in silence. Her story complete, Arine raised her face, expecting to be told she imagined it.

              To her surprise, Mistress Bryn sat still.
Small creases
in her forehead appeared like they always did when she was deep in thought. “How much do you know of the old tales, Arine?” Her voice remained light, but there was a serious undertone.

              “The same as everyone else. We’re all taught them as part of our learning
. That some men
once wielded magic, those who didn’t controlled those who did. How the Great War almost killed both our people and the land. That those who were left, the first Domines, seized power so that the warmongering of men could never happen again. The mages died out. No one was willing to admit to using magic; it was banned as a consideration in a dowry. The lineages of power were broken.” She spoke evenly. The lecture regarding the history of the Great War was one of the more boring things she’d ever sat through, and the scariest. Magic led to death.

              An almost oppressive silence hung in the room. Mistress Bryn’s uneven breath made Arine’s ears perk up. “And if I told you that Cavon was descended from the lineage of one of the greatest mages, and that magic had saved your life, would it change how you saw him?” The look in Mistress Bryn’s
eyes sent a cold shiver down Arine’s spine.

              She looked away, momentarily stunned. She recited in a sing song voice, “The Law is absolute. Any boy found with the ability to wield magic is to be put to death. The Domines will not allow …”
Her voice trailed off. Cavon? A mage? Her hand absently moved to where her wound had been. The skin felt cool beneath her fingers.

              “Not all magic is evil, Arine. The reason Domine Elsa wants him is to mingle her bloodline with his. She wants mages she can control.” Arine closed her eyes and she shuddered with the thought of what could happen if that came to pass.

              “This is why you had me fetch him? To keep him from her? Why not just have me kill
him?”

              “Would you have Logan executed as well?” Arine whipped her head around, fear knotting her stomach. Not her Logan! He couldn’t be one of them!

              “We didn’t know until yesterday, Arine, and neither did he. There was a minor incident, and he reacted without thought. It took me the better part of an hour to calm him down. He was ready
to end his own life because of it.”

              Arine slumped forward, burying her head in her hands. She’d fetched Logan from another town about three years ago. Less than a year later, she’d allowed him to share her bed. It was unclear to both of them when they decided he should live with her. An image of his lean face, brown hair framing ice blue eyes, formed in her mind. His was the face she wanted to see when she came back from Mistress Bryn’s errands.

              “He is waiting for you at your home, Arine. Go there; see for yourself he has not become the monster your instructors told you he would be. I need to talk with Cavon.” The note of dismissal was impossible for her to ignore. Slowly, she rose from the couch and exited the room. It would be a long time before she would sleep.

Chapter Four

D
ark shadows filled the streets as Arine made her way toward home, the flickering candles in the lamps offering some meager light. She knew this street well, better than the one leading to Mistress Bryn’s house. She’d been walking it since the day she first came to live here.

              The alley was narrow, but uncluttered. Many of her neighbors came home late like she did. They all kept it clean. Nothing for them to trip over in the dark, or for others to hide behind. Life wasn’t perfect here in Sanctuary, but it was better than most places.

              The light from the sconce near her door guttered in the slight breeze, fighting the impulse to go out. Smiling, Arine felt herself relax a bit. Logan
always kept it lit when she wasn’t around. It was his way of welcoming her home.

              Slipping silently through the door, she lowered her pack and cloak to the tile floor. Easing the door shut, she moved the latch slowly to minimize the noise it would make as it clicked home. The tan walls reflected the meager light that shone from the main living area. She sat down on the small bench nearby, taking her time in removing her leather boots. Dried mud dropped in flaky chunks onto the floor. She’d clean it up later. Silently, she crept towards the light. No noise reached Arine’s ear. It was late though. He might be asleep. Still, she remained cautious. Meeting James on the street wasn’t an accident and she knew it. Talia was growing bolder
;
the jealousy she had for Arine’s position becoming clear to everyone among the Moreja.

             
The simply furnished room held only one person. Logan lay on the couch, eyes
closed as if asleep. A strand of brown hair had come loose from the tie he normally kept it secured in, falling across the bridge of his nose. On silent feet, she crossed the room and removed a blanket from a chest he’d left open. Trying not to rouse him, she spread it across his lean frame.

              “You’re late.” Logan’s deep voice held no accusations.

              Settling down to sit near his head on the floor, Arine smiled briefly. “It couldn’t be helped.”

              She watched him shift slightly, resisting the urge to move the stray lock of hair. “One of these days I’ll actually get Mistress Bryn to let you come home before reporting.” He opened his eyes and looked at her.

              Arine finally gave in and reached out to
brush aside the
wayward lock. “You know that’ll never happen. She likes to get her reports before small details are forgotten.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I understand you had your own adventure while I was gone this time.” She tried very hard to keep her tone neutral. Mistress Bryn’s revelation that Logan had used magic still left her uneasy.

              She watched him carefully as he rolled onto his back, looking at the ceiling instead of her. “I don’t know how it happened, Arine. I was in the shop, preparing the wicking for the day’s candles. Julia was in the back, working with the wax. I heard a crash and ran in. She stood there, pale. The kettle had fallen off the chain and pinned her against the wall. I didn’t think. I just wanted to move the kettle before it crushed her legs. It came off the ground without me touching it. She moved away, and it crashed back to the ground. Next thing I knew, Mistress Bryn was there.” He paused; a tear slowly trickled from his eye. “I don’t want this, Arine. I don’t want to be a monster.”

              She reached a hand toward him, frantically searching her brain for the right thing to say. A loud crash as the door flew open resounded in the room before she could utter a word. Arine bolted to her feet, her hands flying to the daggers at her side. She heard Logan standing up behind her.

              Several women, and a few men, filled the room. All were armed, the unmistakable green and gold badge of Talia’s personal guard present on each of their tunics. Arine didn’t lower her weapons, choosing to stand ready against the intruders.

              Talia
sashayed
in, her black hair swinging in rhythm with her steps. James skulked in behind her, shadowing her every step. Arine watched warily as she took her time surveying the room.

              “Get out of my house, Talia,” Arine growled through clenched teeth.

              Talia smiled coldly. “No, I don’t think I will. Not for a very long while. I rather like it. I’ll have to redo the décor, you understand. Just not my taste at all.”

              “You’ve got that hovel you call a home. Mine’s occupied.”

              “Not for long, Arine. You and that
thing
” -- she thrust her chin contemptuously toward
Logan – “are under arrest. Please tell me you’re planning on resisting. I’d be terribly disappointed if you came peacefully.” Her black eyes were filled with contempt.

              “What are the charges?” Arine demanded.

              “Harboring a mage, and assisting Mistress Bryn in bringing another here.” The disgust in her voice hit the cold lump in Arine’s stomach like ice.

              Arine quickly assessed the strength of the guards Talia had brought with her. She could easily dismiss James and one or two others as no match for her, but there were still too many for her to know she’d win any fight. Logan wouldn’t be a help, either. He dealt with wax and candles all day, not weaponry. Reaching back, she found his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

              “I think I’ll have to disappoint you today, Talia. If there’s to be a fight, let it be before the Council. I answer to them, not you.” Arine paused, putting every ounce of contempt she could muster into her voice. “The truth will come out, Talia, and I doubt I’ll be on the losing side. You’re nothing but an opportunistic
wench.
If you spent more time on your skills and less on plots, you might be worth notice.”
With that, she sheathed her daggers and allowed herself and Logan to
be
escorted from her
home.