THE CHOOSING

by PhyllisAnn Welsh

  The shock of water up her nose snapped her awake. She gasped and a mouthful of water leaked down her throat and into her lungs. Another coughing spasm claimed her, and the little troll came running to her aid.

  “Pretty Feenix must not sleep. Water not good for sleep. Kill she.” He knelt at the edge of the pool and held her arm, which prevented her from slipping fully into the water, but also kept her from catching her breath, since she struggled to get free.

  Finally, her lungs cleared of the water and Eagnad let her go.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered through her raw throat. “Fine. You can go back to the fire. I’m fine.”

  “No go sleep,” he ordered before leaving her with a reluctant glance behind him.

  He was right. Feenix had better not go to sleep again. At least not until she was out of the water, her wound tended and some food in her belly. She was more tired than she had thought.

  The bandage came off with only a slight pull. The warm water had worked its magic, washing away the dried blood and cleansing the gash. It didn’t even hurt as much as it had before she got into the water. Must be the minerals, she speculated.

  After climbing out of the water, she applied the dried mullein to her wound, then bound it up as tightly as possible. It could probably use a couple of stitches, but she couldn’t sew herself up with the cut in such an awkward position, and she didn’t think Eagnad would know how. She’d just trust to the god. He had to be useful for something.

  Pulling the ragged and dirty gown back on her body was not the most pleasant thing she had ever done, but neither was it the worst. She checked L’Garn before joining the troll at the fire and accepting a plate of the meal he had prepared. She had learned through many years in primitive camps, eat when you can, and don’t ask too many questions about the contents of your dish.

  The sun was setting. The golden light slanted through the leaves, casting an almost magical glow around the camp. The Night Elves would be out looking for them as soon as twilight descended.

  “Are you sure no one knows of this place, Eagnad? What if some of the prince’s people come looking for him? Do you think they’ll find this place?”

  She had no way of knowing what precautions he had taken, if any. Nor did she know the lay of the surrounding land. It was like trusting their lives to the whim of a child, and she did not feel comfortable about it at all.

  “No one come. Looker keep away.”

  “What do you mean? Why does the Looker let us stay, if it will keep them away?” She was completely confused. Didn’t the troll say the Looker would kill them?

  “Looker not know secret place,” he smiled at her.

  “Then how will he keep L’Garn’s people away?”

  Eagnad put his food down and took her arm. He tugged her to her feet, and led her over to the pool. He skirted around the edge and pushed his way through a thick clump of scrub oak and elm. The leaves gave way to a slick, black cliff that towered above them and looked like it disappeared into the sky.

  “See big cave?” The deep rumbling of Eagnad’s whispering voice seemed to sprout out of the ground at her feet.

  The little troll pointed a dirty finger towards the sky. Far up the cliff, in the dying rays of the sun, Feenix realized part of the black cliff was actually a dark opening in the rock wall.

  “Yes,” she whispered back.

  “Looker live there. Prince’s people not come. Looker keep away.”

  “Do you mean to tell me,” she demanded, stunned to her core, “that we are camping at the feet of this Looker’s home?”

  Eagnad’s face cracked open and his orange eyes started to twinkle as if lit with a hundred tiny campfires.

  “Yes. Looker live up there. Not see Eagnad’s secret place. Good joke, yes?”

  By Mac Lir’s beard, the troll was either the stupidest creature since the discovery of Siravo desert sheep, or he possessed the wisest survival instincts she had ever heard of.

  “Why does the Looker not see Eagnad’s secret place?” She had to know.

  A chuckle escaped his lips, but he contained his full mirth with a bit of hard won control. “Looker look out and away. Not look down!” Another chuckle rolled out, and this one seemed to have a whole horde of brothers and sisters just waiting their opportunity to escape. “Who be stupid enough to sleep at Looker’s feet?”

  Eagnad slapped his two hands over his mouth and raced back to the fire before his laughter erupted like an explosion of unchecked water from a burst dam.

  She looked up through the concealing leaves and strained to see the opening in the cliff again. Every thief surviving on the Port Marcus streets knew the best place to hide a stolen object was in plain sight, right beneath the owner’s nose.

  A movement at the entrance of the cave high above caught her attention. Something was up there!

  Feenix looked after Eagnad, but the troll was apparently already back at the fire enjoying his joke. She didn’t dare call to him for fear of alerting the Looker—whatever it was.

  She concentrated on the spot where she was sure she had seen movement. The twilight and distance made it difficult for her to be certain, but her warrior instincts and the chill that raced up and down her spine pretty much confirmed her suspicions. Danger was lurking up there, and she didn’t have a clue what, in the Seven Cella Worlds, it was.

  As she strained her eyes and ears for anything, a large shape burst from the side of the cliff and plunged through the air for two heartbeats before huge wings unfolded from a bulky body, carrying it from what had looked to be its death plunge up into the air. The sinking sun glanced off the enormous creature and bounced glistening ebony rays to the earth. A piercing roar rent the stillness of the night, and Feenix’s blood froze and her body became paralyzed with FEAR.

  By all of Mac Lir’s blue bells. The Looker was a creature she had hoped never to encounter again in her life. One brush with a dragon was more than any sane person wanted. But a Black Dragon...

  As the deadly creature flew off towards the West, the influence of FEAR lessened, and she was able to move.

  “Mac Lir, you miserable son of a sea whore! This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

  She watched the dragon become a tiny speck in the night sky, and then disappear all together from her sight.

  “Get me the hell out of here, do you hear me? I don’t care what it takes! I don’t care what I have to do, but if you don’t help me out of this situation soon, I swear by my favorite sword, I will never help you or your pathetic silvan children again!”

  Feenix stormed out of the bushes and retraced her path around the pool. With each step, the verse from an ancient childhood song repeated through her brain.

  “Sleeping at the feet of a dragon; Invisible for all to see; Sleeping at the feet of a dragon; Hip Hop, One, Two, Three!”

  When she returned to the fire, Eagnad was standing as still as a stone, staring into the night sky.

  “Looker go. Be back later.”

  It seemed to Feenix that he had to drag his eyes back from the sky to look at her. “Eagnad go. Masters look for Eagnad. Must not be late.”

  “Wait a minute,” she commanded, as the troll started to leave the ravine. “Where are you going?”

  “Eagnad must go. Masters beat Eagnad if he not work in laundry.” He reached out a dirty hand to pat her shoulder reassuringly. “Eagnad back before sun. Pretty Feenix eat, sleep. Help prince be well.”

  He turned to leave again, and she grabbed the back of his tunic.

  “When you come back, bring some clean bandages for the prince, and see if you can find some ale, or wine, or something stronger than water.”

  He looked at her with those strange orange eyes, which seemed to hold more intelligence than she was willing to admit. Then he grinned and nodded once before he slipped from her grasp and disappeared up the ravine wall.

  Shadows had slid into the ravine some time ago, and with the setting sun, it was getting difficult for Fee
nix to see. But the fire burned low and gave off a comforting light. Its glow spilled across L’Garn’s pallet, and shone on his still face.

  She knelt beside him and checked again for fever. His skin was warmer to her touch, but not dangerously so. How odd. She could not remember ever seeing a wounded man not come down with a fever, unless they had received a Healing Spell.

  Perhaps L’Garn had some magical ability to fend off the fever. He was half elf, after all. No telling what sort of tricks those magical beings had.

  But that didn’t explain her own lack of illness, she realized suddenly. Nor did it explain why she wasn’t hurting as much as she had when she first woke. In fact, she marveled, she wasn’t nearly as weak and exhausted as she should be. Why?

  Feenix checked the bandage on L’Garn’s shoulder. She needed to remove it to look at the wound, to make sure it was not festering, but the thought of putting the dirty rag back on him again turned her stomach. Perhaps she should wash it in the pool and let it dry by the fire before binding him up again.

  His skin around the wound was red and inflamed, but there was no bad smell coming from it. Neither was there any oozing or leaking. The stitches were holding, and the herbs seemed to be doing their job.

  Of course, closing the wound was only part of the healing process. L’Garn might never be able to use his arm again, and the thought of that sent a shudder through Feenix’s soul.

  “Why in Mac Lir’s blue ocean should I care?”

  As she packed new webs over the wound, the half-elf moaned and tossed a bit in his sleep. It was a good sign, she thought. At least he wasn’t completely unconscious any more. What a fool she was for getting so excited over a little moan.

  Raising his head, she pried his lips open to dribble some water from the pool down his throat. As soon as his body recognized what it was, he drank greedily, and she was afraid he might overdo. She only allowed him half a cup before lowering his head gently back onto the pallet.

  He gave a slight whimpering sound, and she couldn’t help the smile that touched her lips. She felt his brow again, and then trailed her fingers over the stubble on his face that had grown in the past twenty-four hours. Had it only been one day? It seemed so much longer.

  Her fingernails rasped against the black bristles, and she found herself liking the feel of the prickly texture against the soft pads of her fingers. She brushed them back and forth, against the grain of growth as well as with the smoothness. Then she ran her fingers over his full lips, which were cracked, but still moist from the water.

  Curiosity got the better of her, and she lightly touched the tip of his ear. The skin was smooth and cool. With both hands, she rubbed his temples and the area behind his ears, then traced the shell of his ears lightly with her fingers. Why had Mac Lir given his silvan children pointed ears, she wondered? Was it to tempt humans the way she felt tempted?

  Her eyes trailed down his chin, over his neck, and lingered on his broad shoulders and chest. A forest of short, swirling black hair grew in a V-shape on his chest. Not so much that it hid his male nipples, but enough to tantalize and excite her.

  She leaned down and rubbed her cheek across the springy hair. His smell was exciting; pine and musk and totally L’Garn. Without conscious thought, she tasted his skin, and the tang of salt exploded in her mouth, causing an aching hunger that screamed to be sated.

  By the god’s left toe, what was she doing? She jerked her head up and looked into his light blue eyes. How could she hunger for this half-elf? He was at death’s door, and all she could think of was touching and tasting his body.

  Then she stilled as the realization that his eyes were open hit her like a two-handed axe.

  L’Garn was awake.

  She held her breath, not knowing what he would do. After all, the last time he had looked at her, she’d been trying to kill him. Come to think of it, she reflected, he had been trying to kill her, too. Her whole body tensed.

  L’Garn lifted his left hand and cupped her cheek. His long fingers caressed her jaw and hairline. Tingles of pleasure rushed over Feenix’s head and down her spine. She felt herself lean towards him as if her body had a will of its own.

  “You are a dream,” he whispered before pulling her mouth down to meet his.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  He knew he was dreaming. A part of him, deep down inside, knew that Teela—no, was it Feenix—would never look at him with anything except hate and loathing. Instead of light fingertips caressing his skin, she had run a cold hard blade of steel through his chest. L’Garn preferred his dream to the reality.

  The phantom woman’s nails trailed across his chest and nipple, and he almost moaned aloud. The sensation was delightful agony. She put her head down and lightly brushed her cheek across his chest. He dared not move for fear of waking and chasing his dream away.

  The gentle rasp of her tongue against his skin forced his eyes open. The top of her head was right beneath his nose, and the female scent of her filled his brain with a heady excitement. It appeared that he was dreaming with his eyes open. What a strange thought.

  As if she had suddenly become aware of him, she sat up and peered deeply into his eyes. A look of wariness and annoyance combined in her sapphire gaze which, instead of cooling his ardor, only served to heat his blood more.

  He reached up and caressed her cheek because he could not live another moment without touching her. The fact that she did not pull away, or try to flay him alive with her caustic tongue, only confirmed to him that he was dreaming. And such a nice dream it was.

  “You are a dream,” he murmured and then pulled her luscious lips to his.

  The tantalizing taste was not enough; he needed to deepen the kiss, to experience all of her. He reached to enfold her completely within his arms and almost yelled out in agony. He could not move his right arm and it felt like it was being ripped bodily from its socket.

  By the Jewels! It was not a dream after all. Teela was a spy and had tried to kill him. Worse. He had failed in his last duty to eliminate her and save his people.

  He broke the kiss and pushed her away with his left hand. He was as weak as a newborn; the gesture should have sent her flying from his side. Instead, she only retreated a couple of hand widths.

  “Are you here to finish the job you started, Teela?”

  His throat was parched and dry and the words were mere whispers. However, by the hard look that came over her face, she clearly understood him.

  “And what would that job be, elf-man?”

  He hated to see the light in her sparkling eyes dim, but it was necessary. She was a spy. She was a danger to his people. He had no business wanting to kiss her and hold her.

  “Killing me, of course. It is obvious you bungled the job, despite your many boasts of skill. Are you now going to finish it with a dagger while I sleep?”

  “Why, you arrogant, pompous ass,” she sputtered, standing up quickly to loom over him. “I’ve been exhausting myself trying to keep you alive, and you have the gall to accuse me of stabbing you while you sleep? I wouldn’t have to resort to such a cowardly trick, if I truly wanted you dead, elf-man.”

  He watched color blossom across her angry face and the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell with her agitated breathing. Her hair had come loose from its bindings and it covered her shoulders like a sable mantle. He wanted to slip his fingers into the silken tresses and bury his face in her scent.

  Instead, he steeled himself to keep her at sword’s length until he could gain his bearings. Where were they?

  He turned his head and saw rock and dirt walls, guarded by numerous elm trees. The branches and leaves provided a speckled canopy over their heads, where a few stars peeked through. A small fire had been banked close by, allowing for heat but little light. Obviously, she knew how to make a camp which would be difficult to find, if others were searching for them.

  “What is this place?” He tried to sit up, but almost passed out with the pain instead.

 
“Lie still or you’ll open your stitches and start bleeding again,” she ordered.

  The woman was always issuing orders or yelling insults. Why could she not be quiet and biddable?

  He closed his eyes, hoping to ward off the pain, as she fussed around his arm and chest.

  “I don’t have any more clean bandages until Eagnad gets back, so you just lie there and go back to sleep. Unless you want to bleed to death. That would be just like you,” she muttered as she jabbed his chest and moved his arm into an agonizingly awkward position. “Ruin all my hard work simply because you’re too stubborn to do what you’re told.”

  “Stop it,” he ground out between gritted teeth. “By the Jewels, woman, shut your incessant noise and leave me alone! You are doing more damage to my wound than I ever could. Answer my question: where are we?”

  “We are in Eagnad’s secret place. We’re safe, for the moment.”

  She backed off from trying to make him comfortable—if that was truly what she was trying to do—and stared down at him with her hands on her hips. “Do you want something to eat?”

  His stomach rumbled coincidentally at that exact moment.

  “Actually, I am rather hungry,” he admitted. “Who is Eagnad and how did I get here?”

  She spooned something brown onto a metal plate and handed it to him, along with the spoon, before answering. The low glow from the fire cast her shape in outline against the night. She had such lovely breasts. The urge to hold them was like an ache.

  “That’s so typical of royalty!” She sat down on a rock in front of the banked fire. “Eagnad is one of your slaves, your highness! You should know that.”

  “Why should I know his name?” he asked around a mouthful of food. “I do not know the name of every slave in Cragimore.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  The sarcasm that dripped from her words sent a burning blush to his cheeks. She had little respect for him, that was obvious. Why should that bother him? He was a Night Elf. What care he for the respect of a human slave?

  “There are over three hundred slaves in Cragimore,” he could not help but defend himself.