Sorrows of Adoration (2 page)

I was fortunate to
acquire employment as a barmaid at a fairly respectable inn along a
major trade road. I say fairly respectable because it was clean,
the owner was not particularly unkind, and although there were
women of the sexual profession employed there, I was never asked
nor forced to participate in such things—which I hear is not always
the case for a young girl out on her own. And it was at that inn,
the Traveller’s Torch as it was called, where an event occurred in
my twenty-first year that dramatically changed the direction of my
life, and certainly was a crucial element in my foolish quest to be
remembered.

It was a biting winter
night and had been quite cold for weeks, though no snow had yet
fallen. The inn was more crowded than usual, especially given that
it was a slow season for trade. Every room was booked, and down in
the pub area where I worked were no less than fifty customers, all
packed into their tables so tightly there was little room to move.
Only about twenty of them were regular customers. The other thirty
or so had arrived together the day before and set up camp in the
field behind the inn. I knew none of them, and I rarely forget a
face, even when most of the faces I saw in my work were haggard,
dirty, and drunk.

These men were not like
that. Actually, they were dirty, and some were quite drunk, but
they didn’t have that tired look a typical travelling merchant does
when he finally finds a place to rest in relative comfort for the
night. They looked alert, dedicated, as if they were gearing
themselves up for some great event. Some even looked inspired. Also
unusual was the way the ones who were not drunk chastised those who
were. I heard one of the lot, clearly some sort of leader, tell one
man quite forcibly to “sober up, or you’ll drag us down.” That was
certainly a strange thing to hear on a cold night in a pub that was
far from any town.

Their odd behaviour and
demeanour intrigued me, and I made a conscious effort to listen to
them above the noise of the rest of the guests. I made sure to be
available whenever any of them made an order so I could be closer
without being obvious about it.

I heard much that
either made no sense without a context or was obviously unrelated
to whatever cause they seemed to be gathered for. There was mention
of making sure to eat and rest well before the next night, clearly
indicating that they were planning some important event for that
time. Two men entered a debate as to whether it was preferable to
stay up late tonight and sleep late into the afternoon tomorrow, to
be rested for this mysterious event, or to rest now and prepare
physically in the afternoon.

Then, as I leaned over
the table to fetch empty wine bottles, I overheard a quiet opinion
that chilled me: “We’re better off rested for the attack, because
no amount of exercise tomorrow afternoon will prepare us to slit a
throat any more than we are prepared tonight.”

Quickly I schooled my
face and body to not show how the words had frightened me, for
logic told me I would be in danger if they knew I had overheard
their words. I gathered the bottles and carefully carried them
away.

As soon as I was out of
their sight, I shuddered and almost dropped a bottle. I chastised
myself for nearly attracting attention. My heart raced, and my mind
was filled with a thousand possible explanations for what I had
heard. Did they intend to slit our throats? That made no sense—most
of the money in the innkeeper’s safe this week was paid to us by
their group. I considered the other guests—none of them were anyone
I knew to be important or influential. Being a rather respectable
inn, we occasionally did attract wealthy merchants and on a few
occasions a nobleman and his entourage. But these current customers
were typical stock, and it seemed implausible that they would be
the target of an organized group. Perhaps a traveller would arrive
tomorrow, but again, why such a large group organized here where
there were witnesses?

I realized I was
standing still and knew that if the innkeeper saw me doing so he
would yell at me. Worse still, I knew that I had made myself a
regular presence among those men, and a sudden prolonged absence
might arouse suspicion. I scurried to fetch two pitchers of ale and
carried them out to be served.

Afraid to hear more but
also desperately curious, I found myself focusing on the
conversation of the leaders even when my back was to them as I
served another table. It was some time before I heard anything
suspicious again, and I began to wonder if perhaps I had overheard
a jest that I did not understand.

Then behind me, in a
low voice, a man proposed a toast: “To Prince Kurit of Keshaerlan
on his last night amongst mortals.”

I might have been only
a barmaid, far removed from the world of kings, nobility, and
political affairs, but I knew the name of the heir to the throne of
my own kingdom, and to hear such a thing from these men filled me
with a dread I had never known before. I almost spilled ale on a
man at the table I was serving, but thankfully he was too drunk to
notice.

Quickly, I finished
delivering the latest round of ale and ran to my small area of the
kitchen. In the summer, the other two barmaids and I lived in the
loft over the stables, but during the winter we were allowed to
sleep on cots in the warm kitchen. The other female employees had
rooms of their own, but that was largely because they needed the
beds for their work.

I told the innkeeper’s
wife, who was cooking in the kitchen, that I was going to see if
any of the group who had remained in their camp outside wished to
order ale or food, and she approved. In truth what I did was wrap
myself in my winter’s cloak and hurry outside to spy on the men in
the camp in the hopes that they were being less circumspect in
discussing their plans.

Indeed, I did not have
to wait long in the darkness near their fire to hear them say that
the outpost where Prince Kurit and his small group were staying was
only about two or three hours away by horse. I knew of the outpost,
having heard it frequently mentioned as a landmark along the road.
I had thought it unused, since our kingdom was at peace. But these
men had reason to believe that Prince Kurit and company were
staying at that outpost, and they intended to kill him as part of
some sort of rebellion. There was little talk of the rebellion
itself—no details I could hear given as to why these men sought to
rebel, why the Prince was chosen as the target, nor why I had not
heard of such unrest previously.

I realized that it was
my duty to inform someone of this fiendish plot against the only
son of our King and Queen, but who was I to tell? The innkeeper
would not have believed me, and even if he would have, there was no
reason to believe he would have cared enough to risk himself. There
were no noblemen nor guards nor anyone of authority anywhere
nearby. I certainly couldn’t trust one of the other guests to be
bold enough to risk his life to flee and warn the Prince. If I
wished to warn him of the imminent danger, it seemed I would have
to do so myself. The thought of leaving was unsettling, but I had
at no time intended to make this employment a permanent way of
life. Weighing my choices led me quickly to decide in favour of my
duty as a Keshaerlan.

I crept to the stables,
intent on stealing a horse, but stopped short of the gate when I
realized the men would undoubtedly check their horses before
retiring and notice one missing. Also, the fact that I had never
ridden one and really had no idea how to do so made me decide to
flee on foot instead. I thought the outpost could not have been
very far away, since travellers used it as the landmark before our
inn. If horses could get there in two hours, then it seemed
reasonable to me that it shouldn’t take me very long.

The men inside were
already being tended to by one of the other girls, since I was
purportedly taking orders from those outside. The men outside, of
course, had not seen me in the darkness. Furthermore, the group
apparently planned to remain near the inn until late afternoon,
that they might arrive at the outpost in darkness. It seemed that
the conditions for fleeing were as good as I could have
realistically hoped for.

I said a quick prayer
asking for speed, my need being noble, and crept away from the inn.
As soon as I was out of direct sight, I ran as fast as I could,
spurred on by fear for myself and for the Prince, who surely
suspected nothing of this plot.

I ran fast and hard,
which soon made me quite warm in my cloak despite the frigid night
air. The moon was out and, when not covered briefly by cloud or
shaded by trees, provided enough light that I could follow the
road. I heard noises from off the path, and my heart thumped in
fear for what I had done—run off in the middle of the night with no
weapon or means of defending myself against animals, thieves, or
any of a multitude of horrors that no doubt waited a lone,
defenceless girl. The more I tried not to think of how frightened I
was of these unseen dangers, the more frightened I became, and the
faster I ran.

I continued that way
until my lungs were raw from breath and the sweat from my brow
dripped stinging into my eyes. I slowed to a walk, wheezing
pitifully, and realized that horses must move awfully fast compared
to people, because I had run for a good long time and didn’t seem
to be very close to anything resembling an outpost. I walked until
the fire in my chest subsided, and then jogged lightly thereafter,
pushed on by fear for the Prince, fear for myself in the darkness,
and a dread that the bandits may have noticed my disappearance and
could be pursuing me at any moment.

I continued on as dawn
broke and still onward as the sun passed overhead. My feet and legs
had become numbed with the effort, and my head pounded with
exhaustion. I had been awake since the morning of the day before
and had not yet eaten dinner when I left the inn. Hunger had long
since subsided into a cramp, and I tried to stretch my aching torso
as I ran. Determination to do my duty as a loyal citizen of
Keshaerlan as well as mortal fear kept me pressing on as the hours
passed.

As the sun began its
descent, I found myself desperate to rest but too frightened for
even a short pause. I knew they must have left the inn by that time
and would soon be on my heels. Just as I began to lose hope in my
foolish quest, I crested a low hill and saw a squat stone tower
joined to a cabin, with a small stable off to the side. I stopped
in my tracks, stunned at the sudden realization that I had arrived.
I looked behind me and saw no imminent sign of the would-be
assassins, but I knew they must not be far off.

Inspired anew by the
sight of the outpost, I sprinted hard to the door and banged on it
furiously. There was no immediate answer, and I panicked.

What
if the Prince knows of the plot and has left?
I thought.
What if there is no one here at all? No,
there is smoke rising from the chimney—

And then the door
opened. A short, elderly lady stood in an apron at the door and
asked politely what I wanted.

I tried to answer, but
found my parched and tired throat unable to make a sound. I forced
a cough and hoarsely said, “The Prince. Is he here? It’s urgent,
there are men on horses coming to kill him.”

She opened the door
further to admit me, and I stepped inside the little cottage. At a
table near the hearth were seated two men, both very handsome, one
considerably larger and more muscular than the other. Both had
ink-black hair, which I had heard was a common trait amongst
Kydrenians, unlike the mix of reds and browns of my own Aleshan
people. The larger one’s hair was shoulder-length and parted in the
middle. He had a moustache and beard around his mouth. The other
was clean-shaven, with slightly shorter hair that was parted just
off-centre on his right.

They looked at me
strangely, not with fear—for what would have been fearsome about a
girl in rags at the door—but with an obvious concern as to why such
a girl would be at the door of a remote outpost.

I looked at them both,
and realized I had no idea as to which man was the Prince, nor who
the other might be. As I was exhausted, panicked, and starved, my
mind dispensed with any thought of pleasantries or proper
discourse, and I bluntly asked, “Which of you is Prince Kurit?”

There was a moment’s
pause during which I panicked anew, thinking perhaps neither was
and in fact these men were part of the group of bandits. But then
the larger of the two stood and said, “I am. Who might you be?”

The sound of his voice,
sure and strong, reminded me of my station and I fell to my knees
before him and bowed my head for a moment. Then I looked back at
him and tried not to sound as nervous as I truly felt. “I have
overheard a plot to kill you, Your Highness,” I said. “I am a
barmaid at an inn north of here, the Traveller’s Torch, and there
last night were gathered no less than thirty, perhaps forty men,
and I overheard them speaking of slitting throats tonight. They
intended to leave this afternoon, and had horses. I’m sorry I took
so long, but I came on foot—”

“You travelled on foot
by yourself?” asked the other man incredulously.

I thought perhaps he
was angry that I had not taken a horse and felt ashamed. “Yes. I’m
sorry, I have no horse. I came as quickly as I could. I ran all
night. There was no one there to trust to tell you. The inn is not
in a town, so there are no King’s Guards stationed nearby.”

“And what did these men
say that makes you think they intend to kill me?” the Prince asked
calmly.

“First I heard them
speak of cutting throats, and I was afraid that they meant to rob
us, but I heard them later quietly drink a toast to Prince Kurit,
on his last night amongst mortals. I went outside where the other
men were camped and listened to their plans, and sure enough many
times they spoke of coming to this very outpost to kill you, Your
Highness, for some rebellion, though I swear I have never heard of
such a rebellion before.”