Mine to Take

by Dara Joy

  “Yes.”

  “Does your name mean Arrogant Beyond Belief in your language?”

  He laughed, a rich sound of amusement. “How did you know?” he teased her, rubbing his chin against her shoulder.

  She twisted to look up at him. “Really? It does?”

  He laughed out loud. “No, taja, it does not,” He winked roguishly at her. “I am sorry to say…”

  Jenise made a face. “Then it must mean Infernal Annoyer.”

  He grinned, liking this. The Familiar adored games of any kind. And, like cats, they were ready to play at an instant’s notice. In all ways.

  “How about Never Listens? Is that it?”

  “Um, what did you say?” He cupped his ear. “I did not hear you.”

  She poked him in the side with her elbow. “Impossible beast.”

  “Nooo, that is not it either.”

  Her lips twitched. “I did not mean…never mind. So what does it mean?”

  He watched her through lowered lids. “Guardian of the Mist,” he said evenly.

  “Guardian of the Mist…what an odd name. Does it have a certain meaning for you?”

  He answered her carefully. “It refers to my abilities.”

  “In what way?” she asked curiously.

  “I am considered a master of the hunt.”

  That she had already surmised. “But what does—”

  “To be an effective hunter, or protector, one must have the ability to seem to hide in mist, to come out of nowhere, to be upon one’s prey before the target even realizes it has been marked.”

  “I see.” Jenise knew he referred to much more than a physical situation. He was speaking metaphorically as well. She herself had already noted his acuity, his stealth. He was exactly as she had surmised. Dangerous.

  “Does it have any other connotations?” she asked shrewdly.

  “Yes.” The green/gold eyes glittered beneath the black spiky lashes.

  Jenise paused a heartbeat. “What?” she asked.

  “I will tell you some other time,” he drawled. He captured her lips to silence her.

  Two small, pretty pebbles were carefully placed on top of her cloak.

  Jenise yawned and stretched, trying to wake up. The stones had obviously been chosen with great care for their unusual color and shape. A gift? she wondered.

  She looked over at Gian curiously.

  The Familiar was already gathering their small store of supplies. First the small flower that he placed in my ear…now this. How odd. Although it was rather sweet in its way.

  She decided not to mention it to him. By the covert manner in which he bestowed the little gifts, it seemed as though he might be embarrassed if she did. She tucked the colorful pebbles away in a concealed pocket of her cloak.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Gian noted her accepting the gifts of the t’kan. It pleased him.

  “These supplies were most likely left by some merchants who frequent this route during the trading season.” He tied the bag with a systale vine, leaving some of the goods behind for the next traveler. “When we get to the next world we must thank them and arrange for payment somehow. I will send something from M’yan for their thoughtfulness.”

  Jenise felt the concealed compartment of her cloak. There was something she should tell him. “Gian, you do not have to—”

  “It is nothing, I assure you.” He glanced over at her. “We should leave soon.”

  She reached for her garment, pulling it on. Before she could pin the clasp he was behind her, taking it from her hands. It never ceased to amaze her how silently he could move.

  Or how fast. Clasping her gown for her at her shoulder, he placed a tender kiss on the curve of her arm.

  She smiled up at him. “What is that for?”

  “Everything.” His passionate dual-colored eyes gleamed at her.

  Jenise swallowed. It was difficult to get used to his sexual ways. “I am ready.”

  Amusement lit his face. He raised a brow. “Are you?” he murmured suggestively.

  Very difficult. “To leave,” she clarified.

  “Ahhhh…” He smiled slowly. “While you were sleeping I discovered that the path at the far end of this cavern leads directly to the center of the mountain. All we need do is follow it to where it joins the steps down into the center. There we will find the Tunnel entrance.”

  “I am glad we do not have to go outside again; I do not like this place overly much.”

  “I agree,” he said wryly, rolling the residual stiffness out of his shoulders. Familiars always preferred comfort over bare necessities.

  Even if they could make a hard floor seem positively luxurious simply by stretching out on it.

  “Although the company has made this cave more than it ever seemed it could be.”

  Jenise’s lips parted at the eloquent and completely unexpected compliment. She lightly touched his arm. “The same for me, Gian.”

  He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her words. He took her hand to lead her. “Be careful where you step. Follow my footsteps—some of the rocks are loose and there are bottomless pits ahead.”

  She took his advice. After all, when it came to being sure-footed, who better to trust than a Familiar?

  “They are no longer on Ganakari, my lord.”

  Karpon viewed the leader of his elite guard with disdain. “How can that be? You did as I told you? Sent out the extra contingents to stop them?”

  “Yes, my lord, of course.”

  “Then how is it an unarmed man and a woman were able to escape your men?”

  “We do not know. All we know for certain is that they somehow reached the second Tunnel ahead of us. Several merchants recalled seeing them enter the portal. I am at a loss to explain it.”

  “Fool! There has to be an explanation!”

  “Not unless he was able to fly like a winged beast across the valdt.”

  Karpon wondered…No; that was impossible even for a Familiar! And what about Jenise? From all accounts, she was still with him. His blood boiled at the idea of her in the Familiar’s arms.

  Unfortunately, at present there was little he could do about it. By this time they could have linked to another portal and their trail would be difficult if not impossible to follow.

  So be it.

  He had lost Jenise, but he still had his kingdom. Not a bad trade, he supposed. In time, when he had more resources and men, he would go after her to reclaim what was his.

  He rolled the vial of amber liquid in his palm. For now he would settle on controlling a world.

  And all the Familiars he could capture.

  Chapter Nine

  “Seeking for Familiar?”

  Traed switched his focus from the mouth of the Tunnel to the creaky voice coming from the direction of his elbow.

  The being standing before him had a lot of wrinkled skin and a large snout. Two dark brown eyes gleamed out of the folds of skin. “Seeking for Familiar?” It asked again, waving its small, crooked staff.

  “And how do you know that?” Traed watched the life form carefully. He was cautious by nature; on a quest especially so.

  “Saw Familiar!”

  Traed arched a brow. “Really. And where did he go?”

  The alien pointed to the Tunnel.

  Traed already knew that. “My thanks.” He started walking to the portal. The odd-looking alien rushed up behind him. In an instant Traed pivoted about, light saber drawn and pointed at the protruding snout.

  The being stopped short with a small squeak. “No harm!”

  Traed wondered if he meant not to harm him or that he would not harm Traed. In either case he did not lower the blade. Krue had trained him always to be on his guard in new situations.

  Traed carried the advice one step further; he was always on guard in every situation.

  “What do you want?” His steely tone caused another squeak to issue forth from the alien.

  “Dangerous journey even for warrior. Gruntel gu
ide you!”

  “Are you saying you wish to be my guide?”

  The snout bobbed up and down.

  “I see. And why should I trust you?”

  The question seemed to baffle Gruntel. He cocked his head to the side and raised bushy eyebrows. “Not trust?” As if he’d never heard of such a thing.

  The expression was so humorous that Traed actually chuckled. The being appeared to be harmless. He lowered his blade. “Are you a…what exactly are you?”

  “Aha-ha-ha!” He did a little dance. “Got warrior fooled, Gruntel does!” He spun around, fat feet pounding the dirt.

  Traed watched the show patiently. When the antics had quieted down, he calmly asked, “What are you then?”

  One of three leathery fingers pointed to his stubby chest. “Wiggamabob!”

  “A what?”

  “Wiggamabob. Lots Wiggamabob. Go here.”

  “I see.” Although he didn’t. “Do you know the terrain beyond the portal?”

  Again the snout bobbed up and down. “Gruntel merchant guide. Take many.”

  In what way? Traed wondered. The creature could be trying to lead him into a trap. Nonetheless, Traed had no idea what existed beyond this Tunnel; it might be wise to engage the alien’s services.

  “Very well. You may guide me.”

  Gruntel did another little dance, presumably of glee. He waved his crooked staff in the air as he hobbled in front of Traed, beckoning him to follow.

  Traed crossed his arms over his chest and held his ground. He waited patiently, as was his wont, until Gruntel realized he wasn’t following him.

  The bumpy-headed alien stopped, circling about, a confused look clouding his features. “No follow?”

  Traed shook his head slowly from side to side. “No follow. Lead. You follow me through the portal.” He was not about to allow himself to be ambushed by possible accomplices on the other side.

  On these outlying worlds, the Tunnel portals were unmanned and to a large extent, ungoverned. Just going through would be a risk. By leading, he felt that if there was a danger of any kind, he would gain a precious instant of reaction time.

  Sometimes an instant was all a man with Charl abilities needed.

  Traed passed the alien guide and stood before the pulsating maw. The High Guild was not in favor of keeping Tunnels open in stasis for many reasons. For one, certain fluctuations of the space/time continuum could occur at both end sites. For another, the Guild preferred to maintain its control of the Tunnels; such a position strengthened the Alliance as a whole, while curtailing acts of unwarranted aggression.

  In spite of this, because of their remoteness, certain areas had to be held in stasis. When Tunnels on remote outposts such as this one were left open, they were routinely phased by the Gatekeepers for maintenance of the temporal continuum.

  Traed was thankful the Tunnel was still in its unsealed phase.

  “Tell me what to expect on the other side,” he commanded.

  “Not much. No beings. Place between worlds.”

  Traed understood; the next world served as a connecting plane. “What is the terrain like?”

  “Flat as flat. Must climb to enter next. Listen to Gruntel be fine.”

  “Hmm.” Traed withdrew his Cearix from his waistband as a precaution and stepped through the portal. A light-blade could inadvertently harm someone where it extended while coming through the portal. By using the dagger, there was more risk to him, but Traed would not risk harming an innocent.

  He came out onto a flat plain dotted with rocks and brush. A few nanyats graced the otherwise barren landscape. Gruntel almost fell into him as he hobbled out of the entrance. Traed threw him a look.

  “Most apologetic. Not like Tunnels. Go through fast.” He grinned at the tall Aviaran man, showing two pointed teeth.

  Traed’s returned a stony expression. Which was the normal set of his features. Such obscurity was one of the traits that Yaniff most admired about him. At the moment the Aviaran warrior was conveying patient acceptance of a universe out of his control. Traed was ever the observer on the complexities and incomprehensibility of life.

  Seeing no immediate danger, Traed replaced his dagger in its scabbard.

  “Way to pass!” Gruntel pointed one of his three leathery fingers towards a distant domed peak. Then he pointed up to the sky at the binary suns. “Most hot now.” He covered his bumpy head with a swath of dark gray fabric from his robes. “Protect too, Aviaran.”

  Traed nodded. He lifted the hood of his cloak over his head. “How did you know I am Aviaran?” He spoke low.

  “Knife-dagger. Aviaran.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Very old. Very powerful.”

  Traed wondered how Gruntel knew that. Perhaps the strange little alien had gifts of his own. “It is called a Cearix.”

  “Cearix,” he repeated before scurrying past him to begin the long trek across the land.

  Traed stepped up beside him, taking one step to the alien’s three.

  “Cearix,” Gruntel repeated again.

  “Yes.” Traed’s thoughts went to the legend of the Cearix, the Aviaran ceremonial dagger.

  It was said that the Cearix of each man’s line carried with it all of the truths learned by each generation that wielded it. According to Charl mystical belief, one would come whose powers were so great that he would be able to “see” all knowledge passed down from the ages by holding the Cearix within his hand. Such truths were said to be contained within the clarity of a knife’s blade.

  Although he honored the tradition, Traed did not subscribe to the belief. If it were true, he ruminated as he walked on, then the Cearix he carried—that of the line of Yaniff—would carry with it untold power.

  Traed shrugged. Such tales were simply the fables of old Guild members. He preferred the reality of life.

  As the day wore on, its unrelenting heat made a misery of the crossing. But finally as the long shadows of the suns inched across the plain, Traed and Gruntel reached the base of the mountain.

  “Steps for us to climb!”

  The small alien guide placed his curved staff on the first platform, hopping up on it.

  Traed gazed up, taking in the distance to the top. Unconcerned with the climb, he started to place his booted foot on the platform.

  A sharp pain stung his upper chest above his heart. Tendrils of fiery twinges radiated from the single point, crossing his torso. Clamping on him like a vise.

  Stunned, he gazed down at the spot below his shoulder. A thin, pointed quill was stuck in him; its sharp point had cut right through his cloak and shirt.

  “Honored Aviaran!” Gruntel had caught sight of the quill. He scrambled down several platforms to aid Traed. Taking the green-eyed man’s arm, he tried to yank him onto the platforms, out of reach of the shooting quills.

  Despite the acute agony, Traed leapt onto the platform, his opinion of the guide increasing by the moment. “Good, Gruntel.”

  Gruntel gave him a worried look. A fat, leathery finger pointed at the quill still protruding from Traed’s chest.

  “It is nothing.” Traed grabbed the spine and yanked it out without so much as a flicker of expression. Blood spurted out of the opening, quickly saturating his cloak. The Aviaran warrior ignored the injury.

  “You see? Let us continue now.” He made two steps before he collapsed.

  Gruntel stood over him, clucking his tongue. “Warrior not as strong as he thinks.”

  With surprising strength, he picked the man up and flipped him over his knobby shoulder. The warrior’s ponytail dragged across the stones as he hefted him up the pathway.

  Traed opened his eyes to the sight of a small pool in front of him. He blinked. How had he…?

  Then it came to him. Gruntel…the quill…

  He sat up fast.

  Too fast.

  A wave of dizziness assailed him. As was his nature, he ignored it. His hand went to the dull throbbing above his left breastbone. A small banda
ge covered the spot.

  He noted his black shirt and cloak lying on the ground nearby.

  “Cleansed wound, Gruntel did. Fix good! Maybe die if not for Gruntel.” He knelt beside Traed, offering him some broth.

  Traed smiled at him slightly, grateful for his care. He took the broth from him. “I am in your debt, Gruntel.”

  The odd alien made a rude sound, as if Traed had insulted him. “No debt! Do for right!”

  Traed nodded, thinking that all such decisions in life should be so clear cut. Right and wrong. For some strange reason, he thought of his father, Theardar. Light and dark. Life did not follow such narrow guidelines. Edges often blurred. Difficult choices became devastating ones to a man who wielded too much power…

  “Called name in your sleep. Many times.” Gruntel peered at him curiously, his small, dark eyes penetrating.

  Traed lifted the broth to his lips and took a swallow. It was surprisingly tasty. “Did I?” He did not seem overly interested. “What name was it?” He made to take another sip of the liquid.

  Gruntel told him.

  He paused with the bowl halfway to his lips. Even though no outward emotion showed on his features, it was obvious he was shaken.

  “A female?” Gruntel asked with keen interest.

  The green eyes became shuttered. “It is of no importance.” He drank the broth, ending the topic.

  Gruntel was not convinced. He had seen the man’s face when he called out for that name. Contrary to what the Aviaran warrior claimed, the name seemed to carry great importance to him.

  Traed finished the broth and set the bowl aside. His brow furrowed as he felt the loose strands of his hair. It was full of little twigs and dirt. Frowning at the tangled mess, he looked at Gruntel for an answer.

  The Wiggamabob shrugged sheepishly. “Much tall for warrior. Hair regrettably sweep behind.” Gruntel snorted playfully. “Clean many steps!” He grinned engagingly at him.

  Traed glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Hmmm.”

  Gruntel did a little dance, apparently finding this very humorous.