Traitor's DefianceA Chapter by SpeedyHobbit Armstrong Xenia chooses to ignore her fears of capture despite a narrow miss with two orc soldiers from her homeland and go to her usual haunt- the archery range near her residence. Will she come to regret it? This feeling of apprehension was getting ridiculous. Xenia had safely returned to her room and unloaded her groceries, but she could not shake the ominous sense that her encounter with the human and his hobbit friend portended ill news. Between those two and the Drémeadow orcs, not to mention the number of hobbits lately, she was beginning to wonder whether it was necessary to hit the road. It would only be a matter of time before someone recognized her as the fugitive princess even with her precautions. She could not shake the pensive stare of the wiry hobbit that accompanied the man from her mind. Had that youth realized who she was? Was that why the human insisted she accompany them? Were they bounty hunters? In league with one? She was not about to sit waiting in fear. No, she, Xenia, would boldly go towards where she normally went to alleviate her fears- the Eye of the Bull Archery Range. She could release tension shooting targets while showing all eyes on her that she was a more formidable adversary than she looked. Or you’ll confirm who you are; it’s no secret you shoot well, you were known for it even before you were royalty, a sly voice teased. She tightened her jaw. Upper school, where she had forged a name for herself both in marks and points earned in archery tournaments, had ended ten years ago. Surely her disgrace had completely eradicated memories of her skill in archery? She slung her quiver over her back and hung her shortbow over her shoulder, exiting the house. It would be a relief to let off steam and it would not do to allow herself to be trapped in her own home. ~*~*~ The archery range was just over a quarter mile from Xenia’s home. Along her route, she caught sight of what first appeared to be a large ragged blanket hanging from a clothesline between two abandoned buildings. She was about to dismiss the sight when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning her head toward the movement, Xenia saw a piece of parchment affixed to the corner of the threadbare blanket. There seemed to be writing on it. She moved closer to read the words “Future Home of the Bolingbarke News Network.” Xenia cocked an eyebrow, staring disbelievingly. This was certainly a peculiar form of advertisement. Shaking her head and smirking slightly, the hobbit proceeded to follow the cobblestone road another two hundred feet before turning down the dirt alley that opened up into the archery range. It was a quiet time of the day for the facility as most went . The only other people there were an elderly man who might as well build a home on the property for the amount of time he was here and a hobbit. A tall, lanky young hobbit a pinched look as though he had either recently seen a lack of food or, more likely, hit his growing spurt. A hobbit with a green cloak and grey hose tucked into battered boots. A hobbit with soft, thick golden-brown curls that spiraled several inches from his head up into the air, dark-brown eyes and a rather thin, delicate-looking face. If she was not very much mistaken, the hobbit from before. He was a decent archer, too- every attempt of his at least hit the target, and most were within the inner circle. A few feathered arrows had even found their way into the center. Xenia was staring nearly half a minute before she caught herself. Blinking and shaking herself, she hastily moved to one of the positions by a target, dropped her quiver and bow on the sodden grass and commenced warming up her upper-body muscles. She was in the midst of stretching her triceps when she realized the other hobbit had noticed her. In fact, the kid was openly staring. He was loosely hanging his crossbow at his side. An emblem of red, brown and gold adorned the top of the bow just before where the string connected. It was the former Drémeadow crest. Just what I need… a Drémeadow official’s attention, she thought grimly. The lad looked slightly too young to be an official, let alone have the old emblem, but then again, the minimum age might have been lowered. It could also be that he had one of his parents’ weapons, in which case she likely had nothing to worry about- unless he recognized her. Ought she to leave? No, it would look too strange that she had come to the archery range only to depart right after making eye contact. Xenia raised both her eyebrows as high as they would go, fine lines on her forehead deepening. The lad looked from his bow to Xenia’s, then back at her. Shrugging her shoulders, Xenia picked up her shortbow, intending to nock an arrow and shoot at the target a hundred feet away. The other hobbit, however, walked right up to her. Tensing slightly, Xenia relinquished her grip on her arrow. “You look familiar,” the adolescent said succinctly. Xenia’s stomach plummeted. “Do I, now?” Xenia replied tensely. “You do.” Xenia remained silent. It seemed wisest to be as taciturn as she possibly could; talk would do more harm than good. He might lose interest if she spoke little. “You look like someone I know,” the younger hobbit continued. “Oh?” Xenia laughed nervously. “Funny how that happens sometimes. I don’t think I know you though…” She wasn’t certain, however. Even though this boy looked quite different from anyone she had known, there was something very familiar about him. Perhaps, she thought, she had encountered him once a long time ago? He could be a guard’s son, or a classmate’s younger brother? The lad elaborated, “you look like my sister who ran away.” This was getting very unsettling. After a brief silence, she said “do I, now?” for the second time in the most casual voice she could muster. The kid whispered something under his breath. Xenia tilted her head, frowning slightly. He beckoned her closer. “Xenia?” he whispered uncertainly. The blood drained from Xenia’s face. She took two steps back, wanting to run- but her feet seemed rooted to the ground from sheer terror. She needed to flee, though, this kid might have reinforcements… after five years, she had felt safe, but it appeared she was safe no longer… she was cornered… she needed a way to escape… this was the closest someone in league with her homeland that was aware of her identity had gotten since that bounty hunter who’d trapped her in a pit in Spolingharrow. Xenia had been obliged to crawl through brambles and thorns; the alternative had been waiting for the profiteer to return with Spolingharrow law enforcement. At least, she thought, it wasn’t an unpleasant choice between thorns or and a lovely combination of interrogation, imprisonment, extradition and whatever Drémeadow would have had in store. Why was this kid so familiar, anyway? “Xenia… it’s okay. It’s me.” She gawked at him. Just then, a recent memory floated to the surface of her mind. Now she knew where she had someone looking like this, though he’d looked haggard and battered in the sketch and there’d been dry blood staining his hair. Although the youth before did look thinner than he ought, he seemed otherwise healthy. However, there was no mistaking it, unbelievable that it was. “Folco?” He placed a skinny finger to his lip, nodding his confirmation- then threw his arms around his dumbfounded older sibling. Xenia returned the hug, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of pointed shoulder-blades poking into her arms. Folco was taller than she now by over an inch, she realized. When the brother and sister finally broke apart, Xenia stammered out, “I… I can’t believe this! Here! Of all places! You look older!” Folco snickered. “Yes, well, big difference between fourteen and nineteen.” “That’s for sure! How are you taller than me? I remember you being up to here!” She indicated her collarbone. “You were this pudgy little thing.” Folco scoffed, “I wasn’t pudgy. It was baby fat!” She grinned. This kid definitely seemed like how she remembered Folco all right! “How did you end up down here? Why do you have… what’s going on?” “Not here,” Folco replied curtly, all merriment suddenly gone from his voice. “Come with me… will explain when we have more privacy…” Swallowing hard, Xenia did as he said. Wanted poster against him notwithstanding, things must be grim in Drémeadow indeed if Folco was all the way in Simillior by himself- or with that human? ~*~*~ Xenia’s youngest brother led her back to the very bakery in which he and the yet-unnamed paladin obscured by a golden cloak had first noticed her. The elf shopkeeper flashed a jovial smile before turning to Folco. “I knew you would be back. I see you’ve found a friend?” “In a manner of speaking,” he responded casually. “She’s with me. The Waste of Dré shall fade away.” The elf fixed the older Foxtrot with a long, searching stare before stepping aside to permit the pair entry. When they crossed the threshold, the wooden door closed behind her and Xenia found herself facing a long, winding staircase leading underground into a cellar. A few steps down, Xenia stopped under the guise of studying the dusty walls. Her brother did the same once he’d noticed her footfalls had ceased, then walked back up to meet her. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly. Xenia sighed lightly. “I am, it’s just… ah... I can’t believe given the size of the world we just happened to run into each other in Dolingdarrow…” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you and others tracking me or something?” Folco looked as though she’d slapped him. Xenia felt a sudden twinge of shame. Considering he too was a wanted criminal in the eyes of Drémeadow, she supposed her accusation was over-cautious and perhaps a bit harsh. “I suppose I understand why you might think that… but you are no prisoner, I give you my word. I merely wanted to introduce you to someone… I just don’t want to say too much, you know?” “Understood…” Xenia said, recommencing her descent. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, which opened up into a very cramped room, Xenia’s mouth opened slightly. There were about a dozen hobbits, several of whom were children. They looked, for the most part, as though they’d seen better days. There was also a few elves, a strange creature about the height of a dwarf whose race she could not place- he certainly was no dwarf and looked more a hobbit or elf than anything else, only not quite- a bespectacled human girl who looked to be in her early-to-mid twenties… and the man in gold from before. He’d doffed his head, revealing a handsome, clean-shaven olive-skinned face suggesting he was around her age, tidy chestnut hair brushing his broad shoulders in waves, and soft brown eyes that looked at the same time kindly and commanding. An emblem of his god Heironeus adorned his chest. The man from the Drémeadow Wanted posters. The man who had apparently killed her mother. What was Folco doing with him? Seeing the look of recognition, Folco stepped between the two, gesturing to the paladin with a sweep of his hand. “Here’s the man who murdered Mother,” he said. Sarcasm rang clear as the bells of the cathedral at the pinnacle of the highest hill in Dolingdarrow. An uncertain look came into his slightly pinched face. “You… didn’t believe the Wanted posters at all, did you?” “No!” she replied too quickly. Folco raised an eyebrow. “Well, not about you anyway, I know you would never… but… what the plague is going on?!” The prince’s eyes shut briefly. “Drémeadow’s… changed. For the worse. Let’s just say you left at a very good time.” “Aye, well, Father and I never exactly got on well, not for a very long time.” Folco would certainly know that to be painfully true; she and their father had been constantly at odds since before Folco was old enough to remember. “The funny thing is, I was thinking of going back and apologizing. I was really angry, but I was thinking I did not want to leave forever… but then I found out he had people chasing me. Like I’d killed someone and not simply lost my head after that really bad argument… I’m sure you remember that.” “How could I forget?” Folco said in a small voice. He had been around when their father had been angry enough to throw Xenia into one of the palace closets and lock her in. He’d regained control of his temper and let her out shortly after and Xenia had stormed up to her bedchamber and locked herself in. Her last conversation with her youngest sibling had been through the door with her refusing to permit him entry. “Right… well, I got scared.” Folco looked away. “I would, too, if I were being chased by our family’s own guards.” “Yes, well, I don’t know why he had to be such a…” Xenia cut herself short. Folco, and the rest of her siblings and her mother, had been forced into the middle of far too much rancor as it was. “Such a what?” “Never mind… I know you never liked it when we had our fights, I won’t put you…” Folco cut her off with an emphatic hand flourish. “Yes. Well. It’s hard not to fight someone who’s become a tyrant.” Xenia stared. She herself had privately called her father that when she felt he was being too strict or overstepping what was acceptable in dealings with an adult child, but to hear Folco say it like that, in regards of how he conducted his reign… that was a much more serious accusation. “Really? You’re kidding.” “I wish,” the prince said bitterly. “I’ve seen a lot of … well, the Rebellion will put a stop to him.” He crossed his arms, scowling. "Anyway.” Gawking at the adolescent, Xenia said, “You know, you’re starting to sound alarmingly like me.” She jammed her hands into the pocket of her loose brown pants and stared thoughtfully past him to the brick wall. “I suppose he was right about me being a bad influence.” She smiled crookedly. “Anyhow, I still don’t understand. What’s happened? Why is there a Wanted poster for you and your friend- Kiran Mani, I presume?” She shifted her eyes to the paladin. Kiran Mani confirmed himself with a nod. “Yes. Kiran Mani, Constable of Northchester and a Paladin of Heironeus.” He inclined his head her way. “I am afraid I am rather the catalyst of everything that has happened in the last few months. You see, I was visiting Drémeadow at the end of December as an envoy- the Duke of Northchester sent me. Duke Ivan, he’s one of the Benoits- am I correct in assuming you are acquainted with the Cancalian royal family?” Xenia nodded. She and her older sister Nora had accompanied their father to Southchester, Cancalia’s capital, in the second month of her father’s reign. “Anyhow, your father invited me to stay through the New Years’ celebrations. Naturally, I accepted his invitation, and the visit was going very well… until the Pre-New Year’s Banquet.” Behind Kiran, Folco’s jaw was clenched. At the mention of the feast, his scowl deepened. “What happened on New Years’?” Xenia asked apprehensively. She had her suspicion, given what her brother and the paladin were accused of, but she wanted to hear it from them.. “The Queen was murdered, and I was accused. I protested my innocence, since with Heironeus as my witness I did not have anything to do with the assassination, but even with evidence given as my favor I was made the scapegoat and banished from Drémeadow.” “And Folco thought you were innocent?” Xenia asked evenly, looking past the paladin to her brother. “More than thought. Knew,” corrected Kiran. Her brother bobbed his head emphatically. “He was with me and Lin-“, his voice broke, “and my friend all afternoon. We were playing games with his little cousins. Then when I had to get ready for the banquet, Kiran stayed with them.” Folco seemed distressed for some reason. perhaps from the agony of remembering the night their mother had been killed. His voice's pitch had gotten progressively higher as he explained about playing games with one of his friends and his eyes looked oddly shiny. Kiran rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m guessing you told Father this?” Xenia said, comprehension dawning. Had Folco been vilified by means of the posters simply for defending the paladin? “I did.” “And he didn’t listen?” “Obviously not,” her brother spat bitterly. “Is that why you have a price on your head?” Xenia squeaked incredulously. King Hrothgar had truly outdone himself in absurdity with his children if that were the case. She’d thought she’d had it bad when he had continually thrown barbs at her for being thrown out of her university and called her a waste of intelligence, talent, money and time! “Not exactly… well, yes, he was extremely angry because I stuck up for Kiran, but the main reason is because I got away, I’m guessing.” “Got away?” Folco paled slightly. He started to attempt to elaborate, but fell silent after a few unintelligible words, looking suddenly much less composed than usual. Kiran squeezed his shoulder. “He landed in a spot of trouble just outside of Drémeadow; I found out where he’d been taken and helped him get away, as did Nont’im,” the paladin explained. “That is Nont’im, by the way.” He gesticulated towards the peculiar flaxen-haired creature that looked a mix of elf and hobbit. She had to admit that he was rather handsome once one got past the peculiar hybrid nature of what looked to be a priest, or perhaps a devoutly religious healer. “Pleasure to meet you, milady,” Nont’im said graciously. “Or do you prefer being called Your-” “Just Xenia is fine, thank you,” the princess said quickly. She had not used any of her titles in half a decade, so they certainly were not necessary too. It was obvious Kiran and the creature Nont’im were on familiar terms with her brother anyhow. That was more than good enough for her. Nont’im smiled, then withdrew so she, Folco and Kiran might continue their discussion. “So now you’ve all ended up here. Forgive me for asking,” she glanced at her younger sibling, “but how did our mother die?” Folco responded, “It’s your right to ask! She was poisoned. Someone tampered with her wine. Kiran’s nothing more than a scapegoat.” “That must have been hard on him… on both of you,” Xenia said quietly. Kiran put in, “Yes, but that does not stop me from wanting to do right by your land and the rest of that world. Drémeadow is in very big trouble, and particularly since I have an unintended hand in everything going on, I wish to do everything in my power to rectify matters, and my lord has been most generous and understanding. I have been sending some of my people in Northchester to investigate both neighboring lands, Drémeadow itself, and areas that are heavily traveled this time of year. However, I’ll leave that report to my spy.” The corpulent girl with spectacles stepped forward. “Lucia Finch,” she said, sweeping her wispy fringe out of her dark brown eyes. “I’ve been in Bolingbarke, Cancalia for the past month and a half dealing with both the affairs of that city and learning the gossip swapped by travelers. That city has two universities, the Magic School and Bolingbarke University, and,” “Nora went there,” Xenia interposed. Lucia snapped her mouth shut, looking faintly annoyed. “Sorry to jump in, but I remember both those names.” “Right,” remarked the russet-haired, adjusting her spectacles. “Anyway, as I’m sure you’re aware, March is a heavy travel time anywhere near a university since that is when pupils return home for the planting season. I frequented Bolingbarke’s inns- hardly unusual, students go to them a lot to learn news from other places. Besides, I went with my friends at B.U. Anyhow, Dremeadow has been isolating itself. It recently withdrew from I.C.T.A.” The Intracontinental Trade Alliance, Xenia knew, was the mercantile alliance between most of the lands on the continent. Xenia stared, flabbergasted. “Withdrew from I.C.T.A” she echoed. “But… we always profited from that! We’ve always exported much more than we imported! Why would we want to sever trade? How is that supposed to benefit Drémeadow? What is he thinking?” She glanced at her brother, who shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve got me,” Folco said. “I’m as baffled as you on that one.” Lucia brushed more stray wisps of hair from her face. “Well, so is the whole world. The Drémeadow monarchy has become a topic of discussion in many places as of late. There are those expressing the opinion in taverns that Drémeadow’s king is wholly out of his reckoning- no offense to you two.” Xenia shrugged her shoulders, privately agreeing, and Folco’s face remained deadpan. The young Cancalian woman wrung her hands together. “Anyhow, Your High, ah, Xenia, those guards that were chasing Kiran and Folco were not the only orc guards Drémeadow has. In fact, they’ve a great many now.” Xenia’s mouth formed a perfect O. She could not believe what she was hearing. She could not believe that her father would stoop to such measures. She could not believe that the hobbits back at the place from whence she’d came were accepting of it. “Since when?” This time it was Folco who spoke. “A few months.” “What is he thinking? Where did he get such a mad idea?” “From one of his advisors.” Xenia squawked, “Really? I don’t remember any of them being off their rocker… at least, not enough to result in orcs.” Xenia heard indistinct mumbling from her youngest sibling’s direction. Frowning, she shook her head at him. “There are different advisors than the ones you remember,” Folco reiterated, “and one of them gave him the idea.” His expression grew unfathomable. “An elf.” ` “Hold on…” Xenia adjusted the straps on her pack, “are you telling me he’s got people who aren’t hobbits, then?” “Indeed,” confirmed Folco. “In theory, it’s a very utilitarian idea, and there’s no denying we aren’t exactly used to being a monarchy… much more accustomed to things than the first year especially,” he grimaced at the memory while Xenia stirred uncomfortably; she’d only been there the first few months, “but we aren’t exactly even the Spivaks of Gloomf let alone Cancalia’s Benoits, we definitely needed the help. Our kind among the advisors don’t know any more than our family does when it comes to the nuances of running a whole kingdom… but some of these more recent ones, just, oi.” Folco wrinkled his nose in distaste. “And… I’d always been a little leery of some of them… not that Father would ever take my feelings and opinions into account, of course. You know how he’s always been even before becoming well… asunreasonable as he is.” Xenia gave a hollow laugh. That was the kindest adjective she thought possible for a tyrant. “Because he’s 32 years older… well, 42 for you, he automatically knows best no matter what and he’s always right, even and especially when he’s wrong? Yeah.” She could think of a plethora of incidents and disputes between her father and herself where he most certainly had been at least partly wrong or at fault, although orcs would be paladins, champions of benevolence, justice, altruism and law before he ever admitted to such a thing. She wanted to comment more about that being one of the root causes of her being pushed to the point of fleeing Drémeadow but preferred not doing so in the presence of others. “So at least one of the advisors wasn’t exactly looking out for our best interests, for Drémeadow’s best interests. Orcs? And what façade of logic convinced him to accept that idea?” Folco shook his head. “Something about us needing protection from larger races.” He snorted, face darkening. . “Absurd. Anyway, long story short, Mother was poisoned, Kiran was blamed, I got in heaps of trouble for defending Kiran, never mind that both I AND my friend, who I trusted… trustwith my life said it couldn’t be him… oh, and dozens of others just in theoriginal group were forced to leave their homes behind. And apparently there have been others forced out of their homes since then. People who question whether Kiran is indeed guilty- which he isn’t!” “Original group?” repeated Xenia. Folco shivered. “From the feast. Father… there’s no easy way to put this… ordered an attack on people trying to get him to hear Kiran out.” His eyes closed as though in pain. “We got away though, thanks to Kiran, he and Nont’im helped us get out, we ended up in Cancalia staying with the Cancalian king’s brother, some other things happened… and, well, eventually some of us ended up in Simillior to seek and contact people who left after us and others affected by what’s been going on in Drémeadow… you’ll hear more later… but there’s the basics.” Xenia’s heart was racing. She jammed her hands into her pockets. This was truly very painful to listen to. “Do you wish to help us?” Kiran asked her. Seeing Xenia’s frown, he hastily added, “or, of course, would you like time to think about it? I know this must be quite a lot for you to hear at once.” “I need time to think,” she responded immediately, biting her lip. Folco put in hopefully, “you’re still welcome to stay with us so long as we are here and listen to everything happening.” He managed a smile. “We know you’re no enemy of ours, and I certainly know I can trust you.” Xenia smiled back at her little brother, no longer so little. He was taller than her, let alone the actual little children there, who were playing with Nont’im and a very strange ball. Nont’im had just thrown an iridescent ball the size of an orange at the wall. Instead of ricocheting off and back into the room, it seemed to pass through the wall. Xenia thought it had disappeared into nothing, but then one of the girls squealed, “Heads up, Meimi!” Another girl, so diminutive compared to Kiran that she only came up to his kneecap, squeaked and ducked giggling just in time to avoid being clocked in the head. One of the boys, who had apparently managed to get on top of a chair without anyone noticing, jumped off as the ball came his way, clearly intending to knock it down with his own weight. He missed- and landed in a heap on the ground. Xenia cringed, immediately moving towards the child. To her relief, he was immediately on his feet. “I’m all right!” he laughed upon seeing the worried look on her face, brushing some of the dust off his clothes. “That ball’s too fast!” “Good,” she said, then gently chastising, “please be careful, this is a small room, don’t want anyone getting hurt, especially not from jumping off furniture. And there’s people much bigger than even me in this room; you don’t want them tripping over you.” Meanwhile, Nont’im caught the ball and passed it to the lad who had attempted to pin-dive it. He threw it to the floor as though to bounce it. Instead, the ball vanished through the floorboards, re-emerging from the ceiling and continuing in the trajectory back to and into the floor. Folco chortled beside Xenia. “One of the wizard’s creations. I’m not certain if he’ll be here before we leave, but if he is then you’ll meet him.” The prince’s thin face sobered up. “So will you at least stay?” Xenia nodded. “All right. I will need to get things I need though… either way, I know I ought to disappear from here if there are Dremeadow guards coming to this area before ones that aren’t such dolts as those orcs from earlier spot me. Gotta sort out my last rent payment, furniture I don’t want and other such fun.” “I’ll come with you to help carry things,” Folco offered. Several of the children chimed in that they would as well. Her brother looked crestfallen for some unfathomable reason. “Very well,” Xenia said with a smile. “Let’s get cracking, then.Come on, follow me!" With a departing wave to Kiran, who mouthed "be careful," she led the younger hobbits up the stairs.
© 2014 SpeedyHobbit ArmstrongAuthor's Note
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SpeedyHobbit ArmstrongLong Island, NYAboutMy name is Cher Armstrong, also known as Speedy Hobbit. I'm a USATF athlete in racewalking for the Raleigh Walkers club team. I just graduated from Queens College in Queens borough in New York Ci.. more..Writing
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