A Lacuna

Kalena was awoken by the tingling sensation of the magical elixir against her dry throat. She reflexively swallowed, then gulped, choking a little bit. Coughing, she opened her bleary eyes and then grit her teeth as the excruciating waves of agony hit her. The back of her head was aching and throbbing painfully. She reached up to feel the unaccountable injury and winced, discovering a sizable bump under her hair. What happened? Had she fallen from a horse and hit her head?

She didn't know where she was except that she was lying down and someone was knelt over her. Tears of pain blurred her vision and the shadowy figures swam in and out of focus. She thought one might be her burly stable-hand, Grunar, but when her vision sharpened she saw they were both strangers. Her confusion only increased as she realized she was outdoors somewhere in a dark-looking forest, the trees stretching above like an enshrouding canopy.

Then all of a sudden the intense pain and dizziness she was experiencing began to subside, and the incessant throbbing from her head gradually died away. The swelling receded; the bump shrank and disappeared, and her mind became clearer.

As the groggy daze vanished from her eyes, Kalena slowly sat up from her supine position. Scanning her surroundings, she saw that she was in a camp of some sort. There was a softly crackling fire and meat roasting over it that smelled quite delicious. The small group of men gathered about had the look of commoners, and also the look of seasoned soldiers. Mercenaries, she thought at once. Nobles and merchants in Dalen employed thousands of them rather than depend on the Queen's army that was stretched a bit thin once you left the capital.

Kalena turned her full attention to the two sitting across from her. One had a somewhat broad build and wore light leather armour. His face was strong and proud and framed by straight dark brown hair almost the same shade of colour as hers. It complimented his sun-kissed skin, which was more than a trifle darker than her own fair, slightly olive complexion. His brown eyes were hard and firm, but she sensed no threat from him. The other was a lanky adolescent and she noticed the uncanny, gem-shaped bottle that he was holding, and guessed as to what it must have contained given her miraculous spontaneous recovery.

"Thank you, good sir. I am most grateful. But who are you? How did I get here? What happened to me?" Kalena's voice was filled with barely restrained urgency and bewilderment. It was plain that she did not recall the bandit assault on the wagons and riding to their aid.

For a moment, her delicate features knit into a puzzled, anxious frown, as though trying to remember a dream; there was something there, but it was elusive, intangible. She knew memory loss was a frequent symptom of head injuries, a form of amnesia that was often only temporary. Still, she hated the sense of vulnerability, the disorientation of not having a clue where she'd been or what she'd been up to.

Kalena concentrated, trying to think of the last thing that she could clearly remember. She was at home tending to her horses, enjoying a peaceful, leisurely day, and then... and then...

She let out a sigh and shook her head with frustration. She absently looked down at herself and noted her still-full-looking coin purse attached to her belt. She was aware that she ought to be relieved to have been found by this apparently honourable band of men, especially in a place like Dalen where all manner of dangers lurked. If they were indeed mercenaries they did her old profession proud. She would have to be sure to pay them for their trouble as they had undoubtedly saved her life.