Demonhome (Champions of the Dawning Dragons Book 3)

by Michael G. Manning

  She made up her mind, and when the next clearing presented itself she held up her hand, “We should camp here.”

  Matthew nodded tiredly and she wondered how much he had realy understood.

  “Rest,” she told him. “Let me have the sword, and I’l try to make a palet for us to sleep on.” Starting early would give her time to gather green grass and possibly make something less uncomfortable to sleep on than the cold ground.

  He gave her a confused look, and she repeated the key word while pointing at his waist, “Sword.”

  “Ah,” he answered and then unbuckled his belt and handed her the scabbarded weapon.

  She motioned toward a dead log, “Sit down. Rest. I’l be back soon.”

  After that she headed back in the direction they had come. They had passed a wilow tree not long ago. The long draping limbs and soft leaves would probably make good bedding, and covered with some of the river grass it might make for a better night’s sleep. “Unless I’m alergic to the grass,” she muttered.

  The sword sliced easily through the thin branches, and she marveled again at its sharpness. In a short span of minutes, she gathered as much as she could carry and then began making her way back to their new campsite.

  The return was a ten-minute walk and Matthew was missing when she returned. She had been gone less than a half an hour, and she wondered

  whether she should stop and search for her companion. In the end, she decided against it. If he was stupid enough to leave without her, he wouldn’t last long. He had probably just gone off to relieve himself.

  She piled the wilow branches up and went back for a second load. As she walked she absently noted an abundance of deadwood along the

  way. A fire would have been nice, but she had absolutely no idea how to start one without a lighter. Even if she had had something like flint and steel she knew it took great skil to create a fire that way.

  When she returned with her second load of branches, he was stil missing. She was getting worried now. Gritting her teeth, she went to cut

  some of the tal grass by the river. The light was failing rapidly.

  “No way I’m going rambling around in the dark looking for a nutjob I hardly know,” she growled to herself. Karen knew she was lying to

  herself, though. She had grown used to the stranger’s presence, and being alone in the mountains without resources had begun to erode her natural confidence. She didn’t relish sleeping alone through the cold night with nothing but grass for a blanket.

  Walking back with her arms ful of fragrant fresh cut grass she noticed the smoke immediately. “What the hel?” Quickening her steps, Karen

  reached the campsite in record time. Matthew was sitting in the middle of it, a smal fire burning in front of him.

  “How did you make a fire?” she asked, but his reply was more gibberish.

  He held up something dark and furry, “Food.” It was a dead marmot.

  Karen had never eaten wild game, and the thought of eating one of the cute animals would ordinarily have turned her stomach. Now, though,

  hunger and the prospect of starvation caused her to feel a surge of hope at the sight of the creature. How did he catch that?

  Matthew pointed upward, toward the limbs of a nearby tree. It took her almost a minute to spot what he was indicating, a brace of rabbits

  hanging from a tal branch some fifty feet off the ground.

  “Why did you put them up there? How did you put them up there?” she asked incredulously.

  He answered with a long series of words, none of which made any sense to her. Finaly he paused and seeing her confusion said simply,

  “Bear.” He lifted his arms and growled, miming the grizzly they had met that morning.

  Karen sighed. She knew very wel the dangers of keeping food in a campsite, “Yes, yes, I understand. You don’t want to attract bears, but

  how in the hel did you get them up there?” He had no rope, and the rabbits had been spitted on what appeared to be a sharpened branch. “Did you climb up there?” The limbs were too smal to support a man’s weight at that point.

  Matthew grinned and pointed at himself, “Nutjob.”

  She laughed, “At least you’re honest.” They laughed together for several moments, though she doubted her companion understood what she

  found funny. It felt good to release the tension at last, but when the humor died away, she had to fight back tears. The past two days had been a serious shock, and now her emotions were working their way to the surface.

  He noticed the change in her and moved closer, patting her shoulder. When he lifted his hand and began to stroke her hair she felt a shiver pass through her. There was something electric about his touch. As though his body emanated a peculiar heat that set fire to her nerves. For a second she wanted to hold him. No, not him, anyone. You’re scared, Karen, a normal reaction for anyone in desperate circumstances.

  She stepped away, cutting the moment short. The last thing she needed was to show vulnerability to this strange man. He seemed nice enough, but she was al too aware of the dangers men could pose, especialy when there were no eyes watching to keep them honest. Even if he wasn’t that sort, she had no desire to mislead a madman in the forest into thinking she had some sort of romantic interest in him.

  Looking over to see if she had offended him, she was surprised to discover that he had already moved back to the fire, seemingly oblivious to her awkwardness. It was abundantly clear that he had no interest in her. Placing more wood on the fire he began to use his smal knife to skin the marmot.

  Then she noticed her forearms. The hardwork of cutting wilow branches and dragging them back had made her sweat profusely; that,

  combined with the abrasion of leaves and limbs had rubbed away the sunscreen from large areas of her skin. Her unnatural skin tone was showing through.

  What about my face? she thought with a sense of panic.

  The light was dim, so it was possible he hadn’t noticed. Moving calmly, she took her sunscreen out of her bag and walked toward the river.

  Once there she applied it to her arms, neck, and face. Without a mirror, she couldn’t be sure how good her efforts were. He probably saw my

  coloring earlier, I haven’t thought about it all day.

  It shouldn’t matter. He was a complete stranger . Why would he care if she was an inbred freak?

  Chapter 6

  Matthew built the fire carefuly, until it became a cheerful blaze. Then he let it die down, exposing a nice bed of hot coals. Fire had been a daily part of his existence growing up, though his family didn’t use it nearly as much as the people in Castle Cameron did. One of the advantages of living in a house ful of wizards was that there were always easier, less smoky ways to heat water or cook food, and heating their home hadn’t been an issue at al.

  Here he needed to conserve his aythar, so having a good fire was almost a necessity, rather than waste his resources keeping them warm in a more direct fashion. He had only used his magic to produce the initial flame.

  Karen seemed amazed when she saw his catch, but that didn’t surprise him. Given the nonexistent level of aythar in her world she had probably never met a wizard before. Correction, he told himself, she probably hasn’t ever met a nutjob before. He was picking up the basics of her vocabulary quickly, and he was confident that within a few days they would be able to communicate much more easily.

  After a short conversation (if it could be caled that), Karen began to laugh, so he laughed along with her. When her laughter turned to tears he felt vaguely uncomfortable, but he did his best to comfort her. Her dark mood seemed to pass quickly, so he returned to the task of dealing with the marmot he had chosen for their meal.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t particularly skiled at cooking. Most of his meals came out of a kitchen and a lot of what he did know about preparing food didn’t apply wel when it came to camping and using an open fire. It also didn’t help that they had virtualy no ingredients to use for seas
oning.

  Chad Grayson would have been particularly handy just then, and he wished he had spent more time learning from the man. Gram would

  probably be better suited to the task as wel, since he had spent so much time learning woodcraft.

  Matthew knew the basics, though. He was confident he could keep them from starving, it was the flavor that worried him. A few vegetables

  would have been a big help, or even better, some salt. There was no use crying over the lack, however, he’d just make do with what they had.

  Some of the plants nearby might be edible, but he had no knowledge of which ones, and no desire to experiment.

  Using a few of the wilow branches Karen had brought back he saved some of the sweetmeats from the marmot, the liver, heart, and kidneys.

  After gutting the animal, he discarded the skin and sliced away the better cuts of meat. It had been a big one, and the meat reflected that, containing a significant amount of fat.

  His butchery wasn’t the best, and he was glad his mother wasn’t present to see his results. It hardly mattered, though, since it would al go in the pot together. They didn’t have a pot, of course, but he had an idea to remedy that problem. It would cost him a little more of his aythar, but he thought the cost would be worth it.

  Standing up he motioned toward Karen, “Let me borrow your hat.” When that didn’t work he pointed at it and tried the word he thought she

  had used for it previously.

  She took a step back and after several confusing minutes she eventualy figured out what he was asking for. After removing it she pointed at it and intoned her word for ‘hat’. Then she pointed at her head and used a different word.

  Oh, he smirked, I was asking her to give me her head.

  He turned the item over in his hands. It was made of some strange cloth, and it had a section close to the brim that was nothing but mesh. It had been sewn together with stitching that seemed impossibly perfect and even. The hatter that had made it must have been skiled beyond belief. “With stitching that fine he should have been a tailor instead,” Matthew observed.

  Karen asked him a question, pointing at the hat.

  “I’m going to cook our food in it,” he replied, guessing at her question. When that failed to work he turned it over and pointed to the bowl and used the word he was certain meant water.

  She frowned and then pointed at the mesh band.

  “Wel, obviously, it won’t hold water as it is,” he replied. “Don’t worry, though, I’m a nutjob.”

  Karen must have understood some of that, for she closed her eyes and covered her face with one hand. Apparently, she didn’t believe he could make it work.

  That’s alright, I don’t need you to believe me for it to work. Chanting a short phrase in Lycian he focused his wil. It was a spel he used frequently in his workshop, one that would make the hat impervious to flames. He modified it slightly to also make the fabric and mesh impermeable so that the hat would hold water.

  Leaving the campfire, he walked down to the edge of the stream and dipped the hat into the flowing water, filing it halfway up. Then he

  returned and placed it carefuly on the ground. He hadn’t considered how he would keep it in place over the fire.

  Karen stared at it, clearly wondering why the water wasn’t draining out of it.

  In his own world, he would have just used magic. In fact, he could have dispensed with the hat altogether and just kept the water in a

  temporary container of spel-wrought aythar. Even the fire would have been unnecessary.

  But here, he needed to conserve his aythar.

  Carefuly, he fashioned a stand using wilow branches. He wasted a bit more of his precious aythar binding the framework together and making it resistant to flame, and then he was ready. Karen yeled when he put the hat in the smal rectangle that would hold it without letting it fal through into the fire.

  “Hey!” she cried, pointing at her hat and folowing the exclamation with an impassioned speech in her native tongue.

  Matthew was forced to grab her when she moved to snatch her hat away from the fire. “Just watch,” he told her. When that failed to dissuade her he sent a thought directly into her mind, an easy task while they were touching, even though she wasn’t a mage.

  Your hat will be fine, he told her, trust me.

  She froze as his mind touched hers. Eyes wide she stared at him, her mouth forming a smal ‘o’ of surprise.

  He heard her thoughts clearly, and though the words were strange, the meaning was clear, What are you doing to me?

  This is just a different way to communicate. Be still a moment. Slowly he lifted one hand, placing it against her cheek. Sharing thoughts was easier the more direct the contact. The easiest solution would have been to put their heads together, but he didn’t think she would react wel if he tried that. We can hear each other’s thoughts now, he told her.

  Such close contact also had the effect of transmitting emotions more readily than even thoughts. As she stared at him he felt a sudden warmth.

  Beautiful, came her thought.

  Not wanting to embarrass her, he kept his own mind tightly contained. He started to explain his stewpot-hat idea, but then his eyes fel on her left ear, which was now peeking through her curly hair. It tapered to a gentle point. He had seen ears like that before. Matthew’s curiosity was immediate, Your ear…?

  Karen’s panic made her flinch, and she tried to pul away. Matthew tightened his grip on her wrist reflexively, and then her instincts kicked in.

  Turning her forearm, she twisted free of his hold and stepped forward slightly.

  Matthew tried to take a step back as her other arm snaked up and behind his head, grabbing his hair. His heel caught on her foot as she jerked downward on the back of his head—and then he was faling.

  He landed hard, the stony ground sending sharp reports of pain up through his spine as his butt struck the earth. Without thinking, he raised a shield to protect himself in case more attacks were forthcoming.

  She stood over him, her face flushing with embarrassment. Blurting out something that sounded like an apology she turned and walked away,

  toward the river.

  Standing back up Matthew released the shield. He already regretted wasting the aythar, it had left him feeling lightheaded. After she had left he turned his attention back to the makeshift stewpot and began dropping pieces of marmot into it.

  Having grown up with a sister, he was wel acquainted with sudden changes in mood. He didn’t realy understand it, but he had learned not to think too deeply on such things. People were either rational, or they weren’t, and if it was the latter he didn’t believe in rewarding them with extra attention. It wasn’t worth his time and effort.

  I’ll just avoid the topic of her ears from now on, he thought, filing the information away.

  Instead he considered the marmot stew. He would have added the bones as wel. You couldn’t eat them but they might have given it a better

  flavor. The problem was that the hat wasn’t nearly large enough to accommodate them along with everything else.

  ***

  Karen watched the moonlight reflecting from the ripples in the stream. Ordinarily she considered herself an extremely level-headed person, not given to excesses of emotion, but the last few days had left her in a mess. She was tired, sore, hungry, and suffering from two days of accumulated stress.

  Somehow, she thought the situation would have been both more frightening and less stressful if she had been alone through it al. Alone there was nothing to cry over. Alone there was no one to judge you for your appearance. You just got up off your ass and did the best you could. Alone, failure would simply have meant freezing or starving, possibly to death.

  That seemed infinitely preferable to having someone staring at her birth defects.

  “It’s not as though I chose to be born of inbred parents, or to have this weird skin,” she told herself. “It wasn’t my choice to be unable to tolerate an
interface. I never wanted to be a freak!”

  But she was.

  It set her apart, like a living relic from the past. She was forced to use antiquated technology that made her forever inferior to her counterparts, whether it was gaming or working, or just trying to summon her damned pert to get her out of the goddamned mountains.

  It should have come as no surprise that her mother wanted little to do with her. Who would want to admit to having been parent to someone as defective as she was?

  That was why she had come hiking alone. That was why she had so few friends. Alone was always better. Online her physical appearance

  mattered little, but even there she was treated with contempt, or perhaps pity. “Poor Karen, always forced to use archaic interfaces, she won’t be fast enough to keep up with us,” that’s what she imagined they said when she wasn’t present.

  “You’re being too hard on yourself, Karen, and making assumptions that probably aren’t true,” she said aloud. That’s what her father would have said, but it was hard to realy believe it.

  She wrenched her thoughts away from the old ruts and turned them back to what had just happened. Beyond her embarrassment, there were

  things happening that made no sense whatsoever. How had he done what he did with her hat? Most of the water should have drained out of it. The fire should have burned it.

  “And what the hel was that light that sprang up around him when I knocked him on his ass?!”

  Had that realy been his voice in her head?

  “I may have to rethink this wizard thing,” she said wryly. Or my own sanity, that could be where the problem lies.

  Chapter 7

  Senior Defense Coordinator Donald Aiseman was watching the sunset over the sea when the alert came in. It was in the middle of his rest

  period, which was unusual in itself . Ordinarily any urgent issues would go to the First Deputy Defense Coordinator, John Wang, during Donald’s off time. For it to be sent up the chain during his rec time meant it had to be particularly important.

  A quick mental command opened the channel, and Donald watched as a large three-dimensional display opened on the sand in front of him.