by Cyn Bagley
“Eat,” Hilda said, after seeing the look on his face. “You can tell me after we eat.”
He nodded and ate. The Draugr wasn’t attacking yet. They would have time to plan.
He glanced at the horses and they were breaking off pieces of grass and chewing. They weren’t nervous. The horses would tell them if the Draugr got too close. Yes, they still had time to plan.
In the Forest
Hilda Brant
Davi’s news just reinforced what Hilda had felt as they traveled the small path through the forest. It was why Hilda had gotten off the horse. It was much slower traveling, but her back and thighs were cramping from riding so much. She sighed. She was supposed to get tougher each day, not sorer. Even with the liniment, each day she felt worse. As an innkeeper she lifted and pulled barrels of ale. Riding exercised different muscles.
Hilda kept moving because, if she stopped too long, her muscles would stiffen and she wouldn’t be able to move at all. Whoever said age was in the mind was full of crap.
After the two of them ate, she began her sword exercises. She felt the muscles groan in her arms and back. Then she took Davi through stances. He had picked up the martial stances quickly. She looked him over. His legs were muscled, but his arms and chest needed a lot of work. When they reached the city, she would introduce Davi to one of the sword masters.
When it came to the sword, she made sure Davi used a stick. Davi was able to hold the stick out in front of him, but not at any great length. At his age, or at least, his body’s age, Davi should have been working to gain the muscle mass he needed to wear armor and handle a sword. It was ironic that Hilda was preparing a dragon for combat. It wasn’t lost on her that this was against all of her principles.
She had spent many years as a mercenary, fighting mages and dragons. Each of these dangerous creatures needed different tactics to neutralize them. It wasn’t lost on her that she was willing to teach tactics to one of her species’ most dangerous enemies.
Davi was not her enemy and had shown that he was Michael’s friend. If she had to kill Davi one day, she would mourn him. She had been his protector. The more she worked with him, the more she knew that one day he could kill her.
Today, though, Davi was unimpressed by having to stand in a sword stance with the stick in his hand for what seemed like hours. He complained, of course. He was still young and dumb.
Hilda walked around him and kicked the foot that wasn’t straight. He almost fell. She grinned, and he looked at her warily. “If you were doing the stance right, I wouldn’t be able to trip you.”
“Don’t touch the ground with the tip,” she warned him.
A minute later he found himself kissing the ground. His back and arms groaned, but he felt triumphant. The stick was still in his hand and hadn’t hit the dirt.
“Come on,” Hilda said. “I’ll make sure you get some of that liniment tonight.” She almost laughed at his expression. “And no, you are not ready for that move yet.”
She handed him a scabbard. “You need to carry this with you at all times.”
He strapped the scabbard around his hip. The scabbard was old and worn. He thanked her for the use.
“Put your stick in it.”
He complied. The scabbard banged against his legs as he walked around.
Hilda pulled out her scabbard and showed him how the scabbard should be worn so the sword would stay against his side while he as running. Then she gave him his final instructions.
“Keep it next to your blankets,” she said. “It must be in easy reach at all times.” She leaned against a tree and faced away from the fire. She groaned a little. Someone had to watch for the Draugr. The fire popped and crackled and she heard the owl hunting for prey.
In the Forest
Draugr
The blast from the broken time loop had damaged his eyes. The Draugr was in two worlds, the world of forest and trees and the desert. For a moment he hadn’t known which world his body was in until he saw Hilda and Davi on the dusty path. He closed one eye and saw the trees and followed them. He could feel the heat of the other world on his skin and looked for shelter.
When Hilda and Davi stopped in the clearing, he hunkered in the brush, watching Hilda teach Davi the way of the sword. A spark in his head tried to tell him that the woman was good. If he tried to eat her, she could kill him with the true death.
The rabbit he ripped apart and sucked dry brought him back to the world of trees. He would have to be more cunning so he didn’t get hurt again. Although it seemed like there was a lot of thoughts in his undead brain, the thoughts moved slowly.
Hilda sat against a tree trunk and looked away from the small fire into the darkness. He stayed still so that she wouldn’t catch any movement in the corner of her eye. For a moment, he was ready to attack. She kept looking in his direction. Then the moment passed. He slid back from the brush. She might hear some of his movement. An owl hooted and she looked toward the owl, which was on the other side of the clearing. Then he was gone.
He kept one eye closed, just in case he found himself in that desert world again. He followed the path back to the small village. He was very hungry and the mage potential here was safer to catch and eat than the woman and dragon.
The anticipation of a good meal caused the hunger to roar in his brain and stomach.
Elita and her village didn’t have the resources to stop him. Water, swords, even magic couldn’t stop him. No mage could control him now. He had chosen to follow the dragon. Now he was choosing to eat.
He ripped through the village in a single hour and ate his fill, then disappeared. A woman and child slipped away soon afterwards. It was the child that broke the loop.
Chapter Ten
Delhaven
Grandpa Stevens
Grandpa Stevens was a light sleeper. He woke to the sounds of other men, also retired, as their bodies jerked and thrashed from the nightmares. One man moaned and then settled back into sleep. He hadn’t slept well either. Even though it had been a long time since the battlefield, he had woken up when he felt the spear go into his chest. It was just a memory, but his chest ached as if he had happened again.
The boy woke and put another log on the fire, then he slumped on the ground in front of it. Grandpa Stevens smiled. He remembered feeding the fire so many years ago when his joints didn’t hurt.
Fingers of peach spread across the sky and slipped through the window. Grandpa Stevens stretched. It felt good to have a place where he could sleep in peace. Michael, Hilda’s brother, had understood their needs. Michael never forgot to bar the door at night. If he had, Grandpa Stevens or one of the retirees would have watched the door until morning. Old habits die hard. But they were the ones who had survived some of the most brutal battlefields.
A soft knock on the door broke his reverie. Grandpa Stevens dragged his old body to the door and unbarred it. Another merc got up and took the other end of the bar. As Grandpa opened the door wide, it creaked. It wasn’t the nightwatch. Behind him a couple of the old farts were still as death. They weren’t asleep, just waiting for the attack. Since the attack by Lord Barton, and the burning of Hilda’s Inn, no one trusted the authorities.
Grandpa Stevens knew that some of them would have hands on sharpened knives. They couldn’t afford anything of value, but there were scrap heaps. They had learned to make weapons out of the most unlikely things. If there was danger, they would be ready.
As the door opened, Grandpa gave a sigh of relief. A woman with a young girl stood in front of him. Then the young girl staggered. She was as white as a sheet and he could see that the girl was going to collapse. He ushered the two of them into the kitchen, then closed the door behind them.
Then Grandpa too a closer look at the woman, who held onto the younger girl’s hand. A smile quivered at the corner of his lips, then he roared as he hugged the woman hard. There was a hesitation and then she leaned into him.
“Elita. It’s been a long time, girl.”
Elita looked up and tried to smile. Her face and arms were clawed and there was a terrible look in her eye. “Is Michael here?” She didn’t let go of the girl.
Grandpa opened the door, then gestured to one of the younger retirees. He climbed up the stairs toward Michael’s rooms. The man pulled himself up the stairs by holding onto the sides of the stairwell walls for support. Despite his disability, he went up the stairs quickly.
“What’s wrong, Elita?”
Elita was one of the strongest women that Grandpa had ever met in the mercenary guild. She was short, almost as short as a dwarf, with a strong back and arms. She could pick up equipment twice her weight and not strain. Grandpa compared her to dwarfs, but in his heart he knew she was too tall to be one. Still she had been a good soldier when they served.
Everyone knew that dwarfs made swords and other useful items. She had never shown such aptitude. Well, she had been a mercenary and not a bloody blacksmith.
Grandpa Stevens found a chair near the fire for Elita and her daughter. He fussed over them. The cook was soon in the kitchen and was pulling out bowls and serving soup to Elita and her daughter. Elita took the bowl and slurped the soup down.
“Thank you,” she said quietly to the cook. The cook nodded.
Moments later Michael, rubbing his eyes, wearing a nightshirt and pants underneath, stumbled down the stairs.
“Can we talk somewhere else?” Elita asked Michael.
The men in the main room had been polite and kept their eyes from the two of them. Still they would have listened. Grandpa Stevens wanted to know more. He would get the information out of Michael eventually.
Michael pushed everyone out of the kitchen, even the cook. That would cost him, thought Grandpa Stevens. He tried not to laugh. With a cup, and an ear placed strategically against the kitchen door, he would hear every word. Well, he was partially deaf—one of the other mercs would do the spying.
He fell asleep listening to the crackle of the fire. The drudge had also been rousted out of her place in the kitchen. She was on the floor near his feet and snoring.
Yeah, his man would tell him everything. They trusted in their own ingenuity. It was the merc way.
Plus this new inn was their home, too.
Delhaven
Michael Ordson
“Are you really, Michael?” Elita spread her legs, put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Because you don’t look like her.” Elita had refused to sit down when he had pulled out a bench so Michael stayed standing as well.
“What are you doing here?” Michael didn’t feel the need to explain his relationship to Hilda in the early morning and in his own kitchen. The cook would be mad if he fiddled with the fire or any of her pots and pans. She was already mad that he threw her out of her own kitchen. He turned his back on Elita, stoked the fire, and put the teakettle next to the stew. At this point he didn’t care if it burned. He was tired and grouchy.
He turned to the young girl. “What’s your name, honey?” Elita glared at him. The little girl looked up through her eyelashes and smiled. This girl would break a lot of hearts with that smile.
She whispered, “Kayla.”
“Well, Kayla,” he said. “I’m making tea. Would you like a cup? I’m warning you--my tea is not as good as the cook’s.”
She nodded, yes. Elita’s glare softened. Definitely this little girl was the apple of her eye.
“And you?” Michael asked Elita. She nodded yes, then slumped on the bench. Kayla sat down with her.
While he was putting mugs on the table, he started to talk. “Yes, I am Michael. Yes, Hilda’s my sister. We had different mothers.” When the pot was hot enough he poured the water through leaves. He quit talking when he saw Elita relax. The little girl had already decided to trust him.
A good thing, because he could feel the magic as waves, as it rolled off her.
When Elita finally had wrapped her hands around the mug, she started to tell him a story. Some bandits had come to their village and kidnapped their children. They had put the children in a time bubble for a day before Hilda had come to the village. She glossed over why Hilda was there.
Michael considered what Elita was not saying. Since Elita’s village was under attack, they had captured Hilda. He tried not to grin because anyone who decided to capture his sister, any of his sisters, would have a problem. They could take care of themselves and anyone who tried to lock them up.
“Then the Draugr—”
“Stop.” Michael set his mug down before spilling the hot liquid on his lap. “The Draugr was there?”
Most Draugrs were undead warriors, reanimating after a betrayal. They followed their quarry for miles until killing them. They were not anything like the zombies that were created by witchdoctors in the far south. The Draugrs were more dangerous because they could still think and plan. Violence was their utmost impulse. They fed on blood and flesh to keep animated.
This Draugr was different because he had been made by a black mage in Lord Barton’s tower. He used to be a spymaster so he was craftier than most. He had already killed and dismembered the mage who made him. Michael shuddered.
“Are you the only two left in your village?” Michael could tell that Elita had been a mercenary. How else would she know Hilda? He could tell from her energy that she was a dwarf. Dwarfs usually stayed away from human habitations.
He had heard rumors that dwarfs helped dragons. A dragon had intervened on his behalf for the sake of Davi, the dragon boy. Without him Michael would have died in the forest after the fight with the Grimoire. Still, the details were hazy. He didn’t know if he had seen dwarfs or not.
Elita set her mug down and a tear rolled down her face. It was more terrible because he could tell from her posture that she rarely cried. And to cry in front of a stranger like him, it was even more terrible.
“We were asleep. The Draugr ripped through our guards and they died before they could raise the alarm. He crept from house to house, killing the adults and eating the children. By the time he made it to our home, Kayla woke me. We slipped out the back to find you.”
“Why me?” asked Michael. From her facial expressions, she hadn’t wanted to come here to a human city with her obviously magical daughter. Her face closed up and she glared again.
“Because Hilda told me to. She said you could train my daughter.”
Michael was stunned. He still couldn’t reach the magic even after a session with the mind healer. It might be months before he could be a mage again. And Hilda thought he could teach it?
Several emotions rushed through him—anger, shame, and hurt. “I don’t have magic,” he said bluntly.
“But,” Elita looked shocked. “But, Hilda—”
“I was injured. If I can’t hold the magic, I don’t know if I can teach it.” Michael wanted to scream with pain. Being in the presence of magic, and not being able to touch it, was a special torture.
He felt a soft touch on his arm. Kayla had her hand on his arm. Her face was upturned toward him. “Shhhhhhh, shhhhh,” she tried to soothe him. Michael felt ashamed that he had almost lost it in front of this young girl.
He slumped and the pain slipped away. He pulled her close and felt his heart ease. He then looked at her mother. “I’ll give her the skills to meditate and to direct energy. But when she gets too powerful, then she’ll need to go to the mage university. I can only take her so far.”
He continued. “She will be safe here. Do you want to stay?”
Elita looked at her daughter snuggled against this man. She sighed. Her daughter was no fool and trusted this man. He was the brother to the only human she trusted. “Yes, we’ll stay.”
“But I need to work. Do you need a bouncer?”
He looked at her small body, but didn’t laugh. Dwarfs were sturdy and strong, even their women. He wouldn’t want to get hit by this woman because dwarfs had natural magic that could pulverize when they were angry.
“I’ll think about it.”
/> Grandpa Steven shook his head from sleep and watched them walk upstairs. The woman and her child would have one of the rooms. Michael needed something to keep his mind off his own magical troubles. These two would do. Grandpa chuckled as he settled into sleep.
Delhaven
Rooso Derne
Rooso staggered into Mary Rose’s private rooms. They were not fluffed and gilded like the rest of the brothel. After his session with his handler, he had wandered from pub to pub, getting drunk. At the last pub, a group of men tried to shanghai him. It would have been the solution to his problems. How did he get so entangled with a target?
But instead his red hair prevailed. He yelled and cursed, while slurring his words, and took down the three men who had decided he was easy game. Only one survived the encounter. The other two died on the pub floor, blood spilled across the chairs. Instead of facing the guards, Rooso left a few steps ahead of the pub owner. He found a quiet alley and spewed all over the rotten vegetables and human stink.
He had suspected for awhile that the handler had subverted his talents to someone else—who had the ambition to be king. He suspected that his information was not going to the king or the king’s spymaster. He would have to follow the handler, but there was one problem—the handler was also a mage.
And the handler was better skilled at magic than Rooso. Rooso was a spy and assassin. His heart dropped. What if the handler told him to kill Mary Rose? He needed to find out the identity of the bastard.
Rooso looked down at the fluffy bed, white sheets, and an angry Mary Rose in the center of it. “Where were you?”
Her voice was hard. He couldn’t tell if it was from worry or from rage. He ran toward the chamber pot, and threw up again.
“Damn it Rooso,” now her voice sounded worried. “What is the matter?”
And what could he tell her? Nothing, of course.
She called down to have a tub filled and gently helped him out of his clothes. He was soon in a bath of warm water and she was washing him.
