Mal/Yavenna
Mal Wainwright staggered towards the rickety wagon where his friend Gared and Sam the wheelwright, Gared's employer, were waiting. His head still felt like it was being crushed in a vice, after the mead he'd drunk yesterday to celebrate his eighteenth birthday. Damn it, he wished there was some way he could stay here in the village and look for his dog, but as he squinted at the two men waiting for him he knew there wasn't. Sam was old and his eyesight had really deteriorated lately, and if they didn't make a good profit at the market today Mal knew Sam wouldn't be able to pay Gared his wages or pay for the services of the village healer. And Gared's family needed all the money they could get; with his father working as an odd-job man and five mouths to feed, life was hard for them.
"Sorry I'm late." He scanned the village behind them and the surrounding woodlands as he spoke, blinking in the bright light. Rolling his broad shoulders to try to ease his pounding head, he looked at Gared.
"There's a problem. It's Yoldas. He still hasn't come home. I've got no idea where he is. Last night was strange. That pedlar he bit seemed really villainous and Yoldas's never bitten anyone before." Mal hoisted himself onto the wagon next to Gared, brushing his dark wavy hair back from his handsome face as he thought about how his dog had tried to attack the sleazy stranger. Immediately afterwards, while Mal and Gared were walking back home after the evening's celebrations, Yoldas had just vanished.
"Do you remember the pedlar called Yoldas "a monstrous outlaw", or did I imagine that?"
His friend shook his head, "No, that's what he called him."
Bumping along in the wagon, with the cart behind them full of different sized wheels, Mal grimly studied the woods and fields they passed. As the two horses splashed through the ford of the river Springdrift and trotted along the rough track towards the main road to Dinwald Mal's headache got worse. Where was Yoldas? He never missed a day at the market. He always seemed to know when Mal was going to help Sam. It was almost as if he actually understood the word "market".
Mal rubbed his head. It was only two leagues to Carthaven from Gelenburg and in no time at all the ancient city walls were in sight. But on the main road ahead was an astonishing sight. Sam reined in the horses, and the cart lurched to a halt in the middle of the main road.
Lopsidedly straddling the main road, with one wheel split and another missing a spoke, was a magnificent, cream-painted carriage. Another cream carriage, almost as splendid-looking, and a black one bearing a coat of arms; a gold sword against a black castle, had drawn up behind it. Spread out around them was a group of some forty or so guards.
"Stop right there! You'll have to wait till we're done," shouted one of the guards.
Mal and Gared exchanged glances.
"We'll never get a stall if we 'ave to wait for them lot. They'll be 'ere all day, like as not," mumbled Sam under his breath.
"Then we'd better see if we can help them, hadn't we?" said Mal, jumping down from the cart.
But then he heard Gared whisper, "Don't bother, Mal. That coach's got the King's coat of arms on. Why would you want to help him? Anyway, it's not worth drawing attention to ourselves." Pulling the scarf he always wore around his neck up over his light brown hair, his handsome friend climbed over into the back of the wagon with the wheels.
Mal frowned at him, whatever was Gared concerned about? He ignored him and strode up to the guard who'd shouted.
"We can help if you like. I'm a carpenter and they're both wheelwrights."
"You mean "We can help, Sir, if you like,"" called the guard.
Mal was just about to reply, when he heard Gared whisper.
"Do not be rude to him, Mal, we don't want any trouble."
Mal kept his face blank as he said, "We can help, Sir," but then he turned his head away to look at Gared. What on earth was the matter with him?
Mal lifted some tools and a spare wheel from the wagon and walked towards the carriage while the coachman opened the door and helped the occupants down a small step to the ground. Laying his tools down on the grass, Mal looked over his shoulder to see who was getting out of the coach. There were two girls, one pretty with lustrous dark hair tied up in a bun, the second was very pale-skinned, around his own age, with long silvery-gold hair. They were followed by an official-looking portly man whose jacket had gold-embroidered lapels. Mal realized with a jolt he was staring at the fair-haired girl and quickly turned back to his tools. Damn it, she was beautiful!
As he and two coachmen began to repair the broken wheels, the fair-haired girl stood close by, watching, despite the portly man urging her to sit in the other cream coach. After a few minutes the sky darkened and cold pellets of rain hit Mal's face and arms as he worked. The two coachmen ran to find a cloth to use as a canopy and Mal was left on his own under the coach.
He lay on his side on the road, a stone poking in his ribs as he unscrewed the wheel nut. Suddenly the strut holding up the coach moved sideways. Mal saw the floor of the coach falling down onto him.
Two pale hands grabbed the bottom of the coach just in time, and held it up. Mal moved the strut back into the right position, and one of his fingers lightly brushed against the girl's hand. He felt her flinch. He banged the strut back into place and rolled out from under the coach, as the fair-haired girl stepped back, hastily looking around to make sure no one had seen her holding up the coach. Mal stood up and stared at her, astonishment washing his face several shades paler than normal. The girl just shook her head, and raised her index finger to her lips, her eyes fierce.
"Don't say anything!"
Mal glanced over his shoulder, but the other girl and portly man were facing in the opposite direction, sheltering from the rain under a tree. The guards were trying to look like they weren't doing the same.
As quickly as it started, the rain stopped. The girl stomped away from the coach towards the other two members of her party, as if trying to distance herself from her impulsive action. Mal bent to fix the new wheel into place but he just wanted to stare at her. Had he dreamt what just happened, did he drink more mead last night than he thought? How could she be so strong?
The sun came out and a breeze swept across the road, Bright rays shone behind the girl as she climbed back into the coach, and her hair blew out in a cloud around her face. Silver highlights gleamed in her hair and her grey gown shone. Mal studied her, entranced. She looked like a vision from a dream shimmering in the doorway.
***
Yavenna glanced at the young man as she hurried back into the coach. He was gorgeous! But she couldn't believe what she'd just done. How could she have been so shockingly stupid? Of all the dangerous things to do, revealing her worrying strength to a complete stranger had to be one of the worst. What would she have done if he'd said something about it to her in front of the other people? She couldn't tell anyone about the strange strength that had unfurled in her body during the last year. She didn't want to even think about it herself. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, knowing she was different from everyone else.
Before she closed the door, Yavenna turned to have another look at the young man and her pulse leapt. When she was holding the coach she'd hardly noticed what he looked like. He was very handsome, his wavy dark hair pulled back into a loose queue, not that much taller than her, but she could see through his clothes that his body was strong and muscular. She put her finger on her hand where his skin had brushed hers, then realized she was flushing. She'd jumped when he touched her. Yavenna turned round suddenly, realizing that she was looking at him far too closely. Shaking her hair away from her face she pulled the door shut and sat down. He was a commoner who'd stopped to do a good deed, that's all, and then she'd helped him. She'd never see him again, so obviously there was no point wasting any time thinking about him. He looked kind, though. Perhaps King Ulric would be like him; kind and handsome...Perhaps she'd even find out that the King knew nothing at all about the slaves, that someone else had brutally enslaved thousands of men, behind his back, and in his name. Perhaps. Or perhaps not.
Yavenna lifted her eyes above the young man to the outline of the city in the distance. It wasn't far away now and a sort of nauseous unease had started to grip her stomach. Well - too bad! Whatever King Ulric was like, anything was better than being confined in dungeons.
The young man climbed back in the wagon next to his companions. Lord Rassten, King Ulric's Grand Vizier, who was accompanying her on the journey, threw him a coin but he ignored it. Despite herself, Yavenna couldn't help glancing out of the window again to look at him. As he sat down he lifted his shirt for a minute, letting the breeze waft the fabric, and Yavenna caught a glimpse of a muscular tanned chest, with a light covering of hair. The unexpectedness of it shocked her, and she felt heat in her cheeks. Then Lord Rassten closed the door of the carriage and they set off to the city.
***
Mal fanned himself and sat down in the back of the wagon next to Gared; he could see from his friend's position that he'd been watching him. Glancing at the pale-haired girl looking out of the carriage window, Mal couldn't stop himself from saying, "I've never seen anyone so pretty in my life, she looks like she's made of silver..." But she must have muscles of iron, he continued in his head.
Gared twisted away from Mal; a deep frown furrowing his brow. "She's probably worth her weight in silver, I'd say. Get on with it, Mal."
"More likely worth her weight in gold, judging by the look of all that lot," grunted Sam from the front seat.
A few minutes later they reached the city, only to find they'd been relegated to a pitch just inside the gates, instead of getting Sam's usual stall in the middle of the market. But Mal barely noticed. Despite what had just happened, as he helped Gared stack the wheels around the stall, all he could think about was Yoldas.