Huntress
The Fourth Tale From Carrock

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Dido rushed up the hall, long skirts flowing behind her, face flushed and red hair bouncing with her rapid stride. Another flight of stairs, one more corner. Hurry, hurry! She tripped on the wide steps, but expertly caught her balance.
     “Damn dress,” she mumbled, gathering up the heavy golden brocade so she could run more easily. She made it to the top of the stairs and dropped the dress. Two deep breaths and then she turned the corner. The family was already waiting.
     “Dido!” Lady Tabea’s lips curved down in disapproval at the young woman’s tousled crimson locks. She reached out and righted the silver circlet on the girl’s brow, shook her head at flushed face, the heaving breast.
     “Take a moment to compose yourself,” the lady ordered. She herself was the picture of perfection, long, graying gold-brown hair caught up in a complex bun, her diamond-set circlet in just the right position on her brow, pearl-and-diamond earrings catching the light as she shook her head. Her right hand grasped the edge of her midnight-blue dress, embroidered with real gold and silver threads. She turned and stepped next to her husband, resplendent in the white uniform of the Lord of Carrock.
     “You were late again,” Asha whispered as Dido took her place next to Kyle.
     “Shut up,” she snapped at the other girl. The young man glanced at his fiancée, brow just slightly annoyed.
     “Stop it, Asha,” he ordered. His sister stuck her tongue out — very unladylike, but typical of her. She straightened her green dress, cut just like Dido’s and held her arm out to her cousin Jeb, who had offered to escort her that afternoon.
     The lord nodded to the marshal, who in turn waved at a servant. Melodious thunder of a horn and the curtains raised to let in the light and allow the royal family to step out onto the balcony to watch the arrival of the ambassador from Geshur.
     Dido bit her lip as she glimpsed the woods beyond the walls of the castle of Carrock.
     “Homesick?” Kyle asked through his official smile. She gave no answer, only bowed her head slightly for a moment, then raised it again.
     The train of the ambassador wound its way up the hill like a gaily colored snake. First came the honor-guard of Carrock, all on horseback, then the cavalry of Geshur, followed by the gilded carriage of the ambassador and two more in silver. Another cavalcade of armed horsemen completed the train. Dido’s brown eyes followed with only marginal interest as the first carriage drew to a halt and disgorged its cargo. She stuck out her lower lip a bit as she noticed the squat man in the turban and flowing, varicolored robes. The lord and lady descended the stairs, followed by their children and escorts. Kyle gently squeezed Dido’s hand and she immediately put on her winning smile, but her eyes stayed cold.   
     “Welcome to Carrock, Ambassador Kasim,” the lord said with a courtly bow.
     “Lord Dylan, an honor it is,” the ambassador replied, pressing both hands together under his chin and bowing lower than his host. “And m’lady.” He bowed to her as well.
     “My family,” the lord said, stepping aside.
     “Ah yes, young Lord Kyle,” Kasim acknowledged with another deep bow.
     “My fiancée, Dido,” Kyle introduced her. She curtsied. The ambassador gave her only a quick smile, just glancing at her fresh, full beauty.
     “And young Lady Asha.” The girl was delighted as she curtsied. “You are looking more like your beautiful mother every day.” At that Dido’s smile drooped a little and her eyes became even colder.
     “Thank you,” Asha whispered.
     “Shall we?” the lord asked, gesturing to the entrance to the great hall beneath the stairs.
     “Of course, of course.” The ambassador officiously stepped up next to the tall, gray-haired man, a fat dwarf compared to the ruler these lands. For a moment Dido’s smile became a sneer, but she quickly contained it, flicking a quick glance at Kyle. His smile was still there, but it was perfunctory, his eyes fixed straight ahead at the back of his mother’s head. The lady dropped behind the two men, as Geshurian custom dictated, and followed them into the great hall.
     The young people came next, followed by five servants of the ambassador and later by two veiled women and their entourage. Dylan took his seat on the throne at the head of the high table, Kasim to his right and Tabea to his left.
     “You must be tired from your journey, lord ambassador,” the lord was saying cordially as Dido was seated across from Kyle, next to Tabea.
     “Oh, no, oh, no,” the little man laughed, brushing at his formidable moustache. “I usually sleep when we travel. The Geshurian carriages are built in such a way that they make the ride almost as smooth as a boat trip over a calm lake.” Dido’s eyes flicked towards him disdainfully and then rested on the table cloth. She looked across at Kyle. His smile was still there, just barely and his green eyes had a bored quality to them. She waited long enough until his eyes caught hers.
     “How long ?” she mouthed. He wove his head back and forth slightly. Too long. She bit her lip again and then winced. She looked at Asha who was sitting next to her, grinning impishly. It was all Dido could do not to reach down and massage her leg. She looked back over at the little man, who was droning on about Geshurian technology. Tabea was still smiling and it still looked somewhat real. The lord looked interested, but there was just a slight tautness to his smile. She looked at Kyle and then abruptly stood up.
     “Excuse me,” she announced, turned and walked out, leaving stunned expressions at the table. Only Kasim didn’t notice and continued his monologue. Tabea gave a quick nod to her son, who rose and followed his fiancée out of the great hall.

     She ran down the hall, tearing the circlet out of her hair and making the pearl-tipped pins fall out as well. Up one flight of stairs, then to the right.
     “Dido!” came a voice from behind her, but she did not slow. She slowed just before the wide, oaken door, shoved it open and careened into her room. The door slammed behind her.
     “Aaaaaagh!” she howled, hurling her circlet across the room. She looked around and grabbed up the heavy silver pitcher from her washing stand. It, too, crashed against the wall.
     There was a thumping at the door.
     “Dido!”
     “Go away, Kyle,” she snapped and hurled a cosmetic bottle at the entryway.
     “Come on, Dido, what’s wrong?” he called through the heavy wood. “Can’t we talk?”
     “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Kyle á Carrock!” she screamed. “It’s all this pomp and circumstance. It’s that fat little b------- in the great hall. It’s that stinking sister of yours. It’s your mother’s looks. It’s your whole damn family! You understand?”
     On the other side of the door, the young man sucked his breath, a furrow on his brow, eyes clenched shut. His one fist tightened then released. His eyes opened.
     “Look, I’m sorry.” He pressed the words out uncertainly.
     “Yeah, right, you’re sorry!” the girl on the other side roared. “You drag me up to the castle from my lovely home. You make a lady out of me. You make me attend boring state dinners. Your family disdains me. Well, I tell you what, Kyle á Carrock, I’m leaving. I’m going home.”
     “No!” The strangled cry escaped his lips. He could hear a bustling about in the room, then a tearing sound.
     “Come on, Dido, just this one more time and then we’ll go out to the woods, like I promised,” he pleaded.
     “You said that last time and then that jerk of a father has you riding all over your precious lands to make sure that all is in order and I have to cool my heels here in this dank dungeon of a castle with that stinking sister and arrogant mother of yours! Well, not anymore, Kyle á Carrock, not anymore!”
     “Dido...”
     “Just leave me alone, will you?” It was almost a wail. He grasped the handle and turned it. The door gave easily and he looked into the room. She was standing there in the middle of it in her under-dress, the gold brocade in a crumpled heap beside the bed. Her hair was wild, her makeup smeared. A single tear ran down her cheek, brown eyes angry, broken. Unbidden, the memory rose in his eyes.
     “Dido,” he whispered. She sniffled and stumbled two steps forward, a wounded doe, and collapsed into his arms. Her head was on his chest as she sobbed, makeup and tears staining his white uniform. Tears of his own stood out as he stroked the dark red hair, kissed the top of her head, drew in her smell.
     “Don’t leave me, Dido,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

“Well, Dido made quite a spectacle this afternoon,” the lord said quietly as he eased himself into his favorite chair in Kyle’s room. The young man just nodded mutely.
     “She feels trapped,” Dylan continued after taking a sip from his cup. “It’s not easy for a country girl to come to a city — much less our city with all of its tradition.”
     “Dad, she’s not really a country girl.” Kyle’s voice was strained. The older man looked up sharply, green eyes taking on a keen tone.
     “Oh?”
     His son tightly clasped his hands between his legs.
     “I never told you, because she asked me not to.”
     “Then don’t,” Dylan said quickly. Kyle looked at him, the anguish bright in his eyes.
     “She wants to go back — if only for a little time.”
     “Now?” the lord asked.
     “Now. And I need to go with her.” He leaned back, gripping the arm rests.
     The gray head shook emphatically.
     “No, not now. Not until Kasim leaves.”
     “That little jerk is going to stay here for another month,” the young man cried. “Dido needs to leave now. I promised her, Dad, I promised.” He held out both hands, palms up.
     “And there are some promises you can’t keep.” He set down his cup and leaned forward. “Kyle, you are the heir of Carrock. You have responsibilities to your land.”
     “That never stopped you from seeing Mom!” He leaned back again, glaring.
     “That was different,” Dylan returned, stiffening.
     “Look, Dad, I’m first and foremost Dido’s fiancée. I need to go with her.”
     “No, Kyle.” Now the voice had become firm, commanding. “You are first and foremost my son. You are the heir of Carrock and the Northkin. You will stay until Kasim leaves. No ifs, ands, or buts.” He wagged one finger at his son, eyes serious. The young man glared for a moment, his knuckles white on the arm-rests. Then they relaxed, though the eyes remained distant.
     “Very well, Father.”
     There was a flicker in the older man’s eyes for a moment and his lips softened at that epithet.
     “Good night, Kyle,” he said and left. His son did not answer, only rose and went to his balcony, looking out into the gathering night.

     She had tidied up best she could and now sat perched on the edge of her bed, still in her under-dress, red hair tousled, knees drawn up, looking out her open balcony doors. The mountains beckoned her, a majestic, blackish-purple beneath the darkening blue evening sky. Her mouth was open just slightly in a longing pant.
     There was a tap at the door. She did not move. Another tap and then the sound of the handle turning.
     “Dido?” Lady Tabea inquired, sticking her bejeweled head through the crack. The girl remained still. The woman let herself in and closed the door behind her. She sat down on the edge of the bed, just behind Dido. The girl’s lips pressed together as she heard the rustling dress, felt the weight on the end of the bed.
     “It must be so hard for you, dear,” the lady began gently, “missing all of the beauty of the forest.” She sighed. “I know. I sometimes miss my farm, too.
     “Still,” she continued after a good silence, “you need to be a bit more courteous to our guests. I know that Kasim is an arrogant little man and I don’t like him, either, but he’s an important guest and we have to be nice to him.” She paused. “You’ll do better next time, I know.” Silence rested on the room. Dido gave no sign whether or not she’d heard. After a moment Tabea reached out and gently brushed the red-brown locks with her fingertips. Immediately the girl jerked her head away, and favored the older woman with a glare. She shuddered at the cold, brown eyes, but remained until Dido looked away again, back towards the dusky mountains.
     “Good night,” the lady finally said, rising. She rustled her way to the door, opened it quietly and let the lock click into place behind her.

     Now the white moonlight lay over the room, washing the still-motionless Dido in its glare. The mountains were almost invisible. You could just discern them against the slightly lighter blackness of the early summer sky. Then the curtains stirred in the gentle breeze. Dido drew her breath in delight. There it was: the scent of fir, oak, and maple, of rich forest soil.
     As suddenly as it came, it was gone, but not so the light in the girl’s eye. She leaped off the bed and shed her under-dress. She grabbed a towel and wiped the last vestiges of make-up from her face before opening her wardrobe. She reached down into the farthest corner of it, feeling around in its dark depths until she found it. She withdrew a light pile of carefully folded clothes and carried it to her bed. First there was the loin-cloth of deer-skin from a fawn. She tied it snugly around her waist. Then she slipped into the supple leather dress that fell just below her knees. The moonlight hid the blemishes, the careful patches and repairs. She took a heavy leather belt and tied it around her waist, raising the dress so it now came to just above her knees, gathered her hair back and tied it with a leather thong. Then she pulled her rough woolen cloak around her shoulders.
     She went back to the wardrobe and retrieved a skin bag and a wrapped package of white linen. She laid the package on the bed and untied it, rolling it open. Inside were a staff, a short bow, unstrung, and a quiver full of arrows. She hesitated then slung the quiver over her shoulder, the bag over the other and grabbed the staff and bow. She rushed to the balcony and perched on the edge of it, reaching out to grab the heavy ivy that grew up the side of the castle, her path to freedom. She hesitated again. One word passed her lips.
     “Kyle.” She glanced at the darkened maw that was her room, looked back at the ivy and then turned and hurried back into the bedroom. She rummaged in the desk for a moment, drew out a sheet of paper. She dipped her quill, not bothering to check it’s sharpness, and hurriedly wrote a few lines. She blew on the paper, folded it up, wrote a name on it and dropped it on unrolled linen on her bed.
     She paused to look around, her mouth turning down a bit at the edges, eyes glistening with moisture. She brushed at her cheek.
     “Good-bye.” It was a bare whisper. And then she was out the door and down the ivy — to freedom.

Late morning sunlight filtered through the high windows of the hallway to the women’s wing as Kyle made his way to her chambers. His gait was hurried but measured, as he’d been taught. He paused and knocked at the door.
     “Dido?” No answer. He knocked again, this time a bit more insistently. “Dido?!?” Still no answer. Hesitantly he tried the handle and drew his breath when he felt the door give. He pushed it open, looking into the large, dim room. Sun would only fall through the west window in the evening, just the way that Dido liked it. He glanced around the empty room and then entered.
     “Dido?” he asked again, this time more timidly. He walked to the washing-room door. It was open and there was no one there. He turned around and nearly tripped over something white on the floor between the bed and the open balcony doors. He bent and picked it up. It was her under-dress. He glanced over towards the wardrobe and noticed that the door was wide open.
     “Oh!” The sound just barely escaped his lips. With one bound he was in front of it, looking back into the darkest, farthest corner of it.
     “Oh no!” he whispered. “No!” This time it was a yell. He turned and stormed out of the room, missing a small, yellowish piece of paper lying against the wall next to the door.

     “She’s gone!” he announced, bursting into his father’s office. Dylan looked up from discussing some policy with Kasim.
     “Kyle, this can wait,” he said sternly.
     “No, it can’t. She’s gone!” He stood there, hands firmly planted on his hips, glaring. The lord turned to the ambassador.
     “I’m sorry, lord ambassador,” he began.
     “No need, Lord Dylan,” the little man replied, getting up with a simle. “In Geshur family matters always take precedence. Your marshal had kindly offered to show me your arsenal and fire-arms manufacture. I believe that I will take him up on that now.” And with a quick bow to the lord and a glare at the young man he left the room.
     “Now that you’ve competently ruined the best discussion that I’ve had with Kasim since his arrival, I want to know exactly what it is that brings you barging into my study,” the gray-haired one said icily. The son’s stance did not soften one bit.
     “Dido is gone and it’s your fault,” he snapped.
     “How so?”
     “Because your precious Carrock negated the promise I made to her. If you had let me leave as I had asked this wouldn’t have happened.”
     “How do you know that she’s not hiding out in the castle somewhere?” his father asked, placing his fingertips together to form a tent. A light of hope dawned in Kyle’s eyes.
     “I hadn’t thought of that.”
     “No, you hadn’t, had you.” The lord’s green eyes still had a piercing cast to them. “Next time think before you go running into a high office that is in the middle of delicate negotiations.” He waved his right hand. “Now go and search the castle. And,” he added in a gentler tone, “let me know what you find.”
     Kyle nodded once and left the office to call out a few of his servants to aid him in the search.

     She awoke when the sun was already high overhead, and rolled over, blinking at the blue sky that peeked through the leafy canopy of the light wood. At first she stretched luxuriantly and reached out to grasp the covers and pull them up to her chin, but all her searching fingers found was the rough, red wool cloak that she’d covered herself with the night before.
     “Wha...?” The words escaped her and then suddenly a blissful smile spread across her face as she stretched again, looking around at the small dell where she’d decided to bed down in the wee hours of the night. Her eyes widened as she sat up and looked around again.
     “Oh!” she gasped. “I’m free!” She laughed loud and leaped up, twirling around.
     “I’m free!”
     “Sir?” Kyle turned his head from where he was leaning on the balcony railing of Dido’s room. Benedic was plucking his elbow, swarthy features serious.
     “Yes, what is it?”
     “I found this.” The servant held out a small yellowish note, with Kyle’s name sloppily written on it. The young man’s mouth drew back into something between a grimace and a smile.
     “Thank you, Benedic,” he said, nodding. The servant gave a slight bow and floated back into the room gracefully. Kyle paused for a moment and shook his head.
     “She’s still not sharpening her quill,” he muttered to himself and opened the note. And as he read it, he paled.

I want to be a Huntress again.
I want to be alone in my forest again.
I want to feel freedom again.
So let me go!
[Inspired by “Huntress” as recorded by Dido on No Angel]

     He read it again, unbelieving. Then he staggered back and sat down hard on the marble floor of the balcony.
     “She’s really gone!” And he buried his head in his arms for a long time.