The call was less than that, being no more than a yearning he was reluctant to send out even as he was sure they would heed it. All the horses that had been in Quagari had been appropriated by the Zidjma with what little wildlife and livestock there had been. Nothing but the overly large blood sucking insects that droned continuously in the dry heat, irritating and annoyingly quick that it was impossible to swart them, remained. They were supposed to live in humid climates yet they thrived in Quagari where nothing else, not even a stray rabbit, lived. The darkness that underlay the forest had chased away the scurrying under-brush creatures making the forest eerily silent if not for the occasional rustling of the trees.
Sluggishly flowing water seemed to be part of the silence failing to leave an impression upon him unless he made a point of listening. Ariantha had been a land networked with sparkling clear rivers, birthed by rainbow pierced springs that led to deep crystal clear pools and dams between low valleys and dells. Now all that was left were dried stream-beds that in places had been harrowed out into gullies and ravines, stagnant pools rancid and putrefied. The water was brackish and the source of much disease for those who had no way of purifying it.
In his mind's eye, Ferik saw all this, the wide streak of forest that had become marshland in some places and even further in the other lands where hardly any trees existed. He cursed the fate that had brought him here even as the guilt of his bloodline resurfaced. They had not been adequate protectors.
Hoof beats sounded, many of them, his sensitive ears told him, more than they would need. The forest floor resonated with their thundering cadence and he in turn knew each of the herd, thirty-five of them. The stallion, larger and more magnificent than any other, proudly led them, his glorious mane flying in the wind of their passage. Leagues away, Ferik saw and followed their passage, swifter than the horses the in-landers were used to, only the earthpower-induced flight he had experienced was swifter. All were fawn coloured and silvery manned, long limbed and delicately formed as to be almost dainty, but the power in their sleek muscles was unmistakable, their land eating pace testified to it. There was a joy in their flight, freedom wild and untamed, and nature at its most magnificent.
They would be here in an hour or little more, a distance that would take a normal horse two and a half days at full gallop without rest. These were not ordinary horses though they resembled them; they were akin to the wind. Their name, Nakim meant of the wind.
"Ferik?" he turned to regard the serene eyes of the princess, he could see the effort it took her and he berated himself for his helplessness. He should have gone as far from them as possible. "Breakfast is ready." She stated evenly.
He wondered why they had sent her instead of one of her companions more suited to the task, he definitely did not want to see too much of her. Without a word he was up, walked up the front steps towards her as she stood besides the double glass doors. She did not release his eyes and he was reluctant to release hers even as his were indifferent. Only the forest knew how hard it was for him to keep them so, the maiden would never know.
She turned back into the house, he followed, one of her male companions stood just inside the door, and the glare he gave Ferik was unmistakable. Ferik raised a questioning brow at him but the other stayed stoic, betraying none of the source of his enormity. As Ferik passed him he fell in behind as if to defend the princess from him.
Their footsteps echoed sharply in the silence, marching arrhythmically to an unsung and discordant beat. Ferik could only hate himself for what he had to do knowing the reaction would be unpleasant. Although he wished to spare the princess any pain, his presence was already causing her a lot. He could not leave and he doubted his absence would be less painful, probably more. Was it possible to touch someone so deeply in little more than a score hours?
An all too familiar pain had eclipsed the joy of realization for Samara. Knowing that those about her pitied her, not her unfeminine stature for whatever spell the Zidjma had cast, it had transformed her short stocky frame into an exceptionally tall and stately built. Now she was as tall as her friend Nadira was and in the past two years, the beauty she had had matured so that she was beyond stunning. Still it seemed she could not escape the pity. Now the young man legend had reserved for her wanted nothing to do with her despite the throne she came with. Only she could have such unlovable traits that a crown did not tempt a suitor.
Nothing though would make her disgrace her status so with the serenity two years of imprisonment had earned her she led him to the second floor private dinning room. She wished master Galmishrak would stop trying to put her much in his presence; he would never care for her so there was not any point. She also wished the magical moment when they had met had not happened or at least not been witnessed, it hurt too much.
The breakfast scrounged in the mostly soiled food stores was meagre, to say the least. Comprising mostly of over dried tough husks that had once been fruits. The rest of their party had not started eating reluctant to consume such fare though they had not eaten anything in over two years there had been no need. Hunger now reasserted itself and even as they shunned it, it was all they had.
"Would you mind if I...made breakfast?" Ferik asked a hint of his former smile in his soft voice.
"Please do." The king declared throwing back the husk of what had once been a pear into its platter with a resounding clang.
Everyone, with the exception of Samara looked expectantly at him, some dubious. He waved the unappetizing fair to a side table and whilst most marvelled at the small feat food appeared before them. None saw it appear but now uncommonly beautiful silverware graced the table, platters full of piping hot scones and breads, carafes with steaming brews some a thick dark brown, others a light amber and some a pale green. Milk, juices, butter, cheeses, an array of differently prepared eggs, bacon, ham, fresh fruits, soups and some they could not name, all freshly made.
"How...?" one of the queen's ladies asked.
Ferik smiled softly. "My people have no need to prepare food; Ariantha provides all we need for the asking."
"You do not cook?" she was incredulous.
His smile broadened taking on an impish cast. "It is an alien art recently explained to us. Any one of us would burn water if we tried." He laughed softly.
"I had heard about that." Galmishrak mused. "We all thought it was a tale you had encouraged to discourage hunting."
Sadness replaced the laughter on his face and his eyes became earnest. "We do not kill anything." He stated. "The only time my people ever did being during the war and we mourn our mistake even now."
