He’d taken but a dozen steps when the absolute rightness of his decision hit him. He kept walking. And by the time he reached a spot where roads intersected, he no longer had to consciously think about which direction to take. The compulsion drew him onward like a child guided by leading strings.
A variety of noisy cars whizzed past, their drivers often invisible through their shaded front screens. Many were even bigger than Roth’s SUV. Surprisingly, they didn’t assert their superior size and flowed smoothly along with the smaller conveyances.
Danbur waited for a sizeable gap in the flow of traffic… that never came. He grit his teeth, and was debating sprinting across the street and hoping for the best, when a young couple appeared from a nearby building and headed his way. They halted beside him and the male reached out to smack the pole beside the path. They both stood patiently, yawning in between sipping beverages from strange cups topped with white lids.
At some signal Danbur could not discern, the approaching conveyances halted. Whatever devices powered them were still rumbling, however. And then he heard a loud, harsh buzzing sound.
The young couple stepped off the pedestrian path and set off across road, walking briskly. Danbur followed, the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end, expecting at any moment one of the cars would lurch into motion and run him down.
When he reached the opposite side, he halted and shook himself, hugely relieved to have made it across unscathed. He turned to stare across the road, waiting for… something. He caught a flash of green, and then the conveyances growled to life again and shot off.
Fascinating.
A warning throb in his belly prodded him to move. He imagined having been lassoed with an invisible rope that was tugging him onward. And, strangely, the pains in his belly eased the closer he got to his unknown destination. The Crystal Guardian’s doing, no doubt. A little syrup to sweeten the pot and encourage him to do the old bastard’s bidding.
A feral snarl curled Danbur’s lips. If he found no suitable weapon before their next encounter it mattered little. His bare hands would be weapon enough to crush the old man’s windpipe before he could cast another spell.
Chapter Six
Danbur had passed stores pedaling gods only knew what wares, as well as all manner of abodes. Some were recognizably similar to Sera’s home, erected a ways back from the roadway on a fenced patch of ground. Others were situated much closer to the roadway and constructed in rows, so at first glance they appeared to be one very wide building decorated in a variety of colors. And still others appeared to have been constructed for purposes Danbur could not fathom.
The air he breathed stank. He suspected the blame for that could be laid on the many conveyances using the roadways. Larger ones, especially, belched noxious fumes from their rears. His nostrils twitched as he passed a waste receptacle attached to a pole. The putrid odor coated his throat. He quickened his stride.
By now the sensation in his belly had been reduced to an occasional twinge, and he took this to confirm he was almost at his destination. A relief, indeed. Already his senses were so dulled by the constant barrage of noise it was difficult to remain focused and alert. He didn’t know how much more of this strangeness he could take.
A large expense of green caught his eye. It appeared out of place among the buildings and pathways and roads. A portion of the area contained bizarrely shaped, brightly colored structures. He could make head nor tail of their purpose until he registered the small figures swarming over and through them.
A playground.
Danbur had witnessed children make a playground of a bare expanse of sand and a ball of rags. This area would have awed and delighted the small boys of his home world. He ground his teeth. He didn’t relish the thought of turning it into a killing ground. He would have to rethink his options.
The compulsion tugged him across the grassed area. And then he saw her. Seraphine. Standing at the top of a tall structure that incorporated a long, tongue-like metallic strip stretching toward the ground.
Her name threatened to burst from his throat and, as he clenched his jaws to subdue it, his mind whirled with a startling possibility. He might have been mistaken. It could be Seraphine summoning him, not Peter Stone. After all, Sera had called him from the chunk of danburite. He and the child were connected in some strange way, Danbur knew. And it could be no coincidence that she would be here, innocently playing in the very place he’d been drawn to. Likely she, too, was controlled by the sorcerer—another pawn in the old man’s game.
His warrior instincts smacked him upside the head. It behooved him not to announce his presence until he’d assessed possible threats. Best he not stand here like a witless stripling, an exposed and easy target for someone lying in wait. But before he could take cover Sera spotted him.
“Dan!” she shrieked. And launched herself down the metallic strip, sliding on her bottom, legs outstretched, arms waving wildly above her head. Despite Danbur’s concerns his lips tugged up at the corners. He couldn’t help being enchanted by her exuberance. If he weren’t a grown man on a mission he might be tempted to try the ingeniously constructed “slide” himself.
Sera trotted toward him, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose with her forefinger, a huge grin splitting her face. When she neared, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms about his thighs. “I told him you were coming,” she said, peering up at him. “I could feel you getting nearer all the time and then I knew you were here!”
Danbur scooped her up with one arm and settled her on his hip so he could better read her expression. And shield her body with his own if it proved necessary. He already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, but there was always the minute chance he was mistaken.
Gods. Please let him be mistaken.
“Who did you tell, Sera?”
“Mr. Stone,” Sera said. “He’s looking after me ’til Mommy gets back tonight.”
A chill gripped his heart. The tiny prickles dancing down his spine morphed to claws that dug deep. The sorcerer had convinced Opal to abandon her daughter to his care. And the stakes had been raised tenfold.
Sera pointed toward a low bench shaded by the spreading branches of a large tree. “See? There he is.”
Before Danbur could think how to react Sera wriggled from his arms. She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the bench where an elderly man dressed in a gold shirt and sturdy blue trousers lounged, legs outstretched, booted feet crossed at the ankles. To the ignorant, he resembled any other elderly gent enjoying a pleasant morning nap.
After four steps Danbur halted and gently but firmly pulled Sera to a stop. He knelt, facing her. “I must talk to your Mr. Stone,” he said. “It will be a boring adult conversation, I fear. Why don’t you go and play on the… slide?” With luck she would understand his meaning.
“I’ve done heaps and heaps of sliding already. I wanna play on the swings. I can pump my legs and swing real high all by myself now!”
This last was declared with such pride it was obviously an accomplishment she’d worked diligently to master. He forced a smile. “That is something I would like to see.”
She thrust out her lower lip. The expression tugged at his heartstrings, and he wished he could scoop her up and hug her tight and protect her until she was a woman grown.
In one corner of his mind a question niggled. How could this girl-child have burrowed so deeply into his heart and soul in so short a span of time? His connection to Sera must be the result of some magical tampering. The actions he planned to take in the very near future might well serve to shatter that connection. And if that happened, Danbur suspected he would greatly mourn the loss.
“I get tired after a while,” Sera said. “Can you come push me once you’ve talked to Mr. Stone? Pleeease?”
Danbur’s gaze flicked to the apparatuses he guessed were the “swings”—black slings hanging from chains attached to a sturdy bar. A woman hovered about a young child seated in one
of the slings. Each time the child swung near, she pushed the sling with sufficient force to keep it swinging. He could do that… provided Sera didn’t run screaming from him once he’d snapped Mr. Stone’s scrawny neck.
“Yes,” he said, ruffling her hair. “I can push you on the swing.”
The pleasure he witnessed on her face blanketed him like beams of morning sunshine after the rigors of a chill desert night.
“Yay!” she shrieked, and hurtled off at a run toward the swings.
When she nearly tripped over an uneven patch in the grass, his breath caught in his throat. He tensed, readying himself to snatch her up and soothe her hurts. But she staggered and recovered her balance, and when she reached the swings and settled her rump into an empty black sling, he allowed himself to breathe again. She reminded him of a newly born foal, all gangly uncoordinated limbs.
He observed her closely as she exerted herself to set the sling in motion, and then, confident she was safe for now, he discarded his bag of clothing and turned his focus to the man he intended to do his utmost to kill.
He had lost the element of surprise to be sure, but he might yet hold a slim advantage. The powerful were often arrogant, underestimating—even dismissing—those they considered lesser beings. The priests of his fief were prime examples of men so accustomed to being obeyed they could not conceive of anyone ignoring their decrees. And for one of the warriors they expected to do their bidding without question to assault them? Impossible!
This sorcerer was of a similar ilk, so confident of his safety that he had slumped in his seat, eyes closed, chin resting on his chest.
Danbur drew on all his training, cloaking his stealthy approach in the twittering of birdlife, the squeals of excited children, and the tolerant admonishments of their guardians.
He got within arm’s reach of his target when the sorcerer sighed gustily. “I suppose you believe ending my life will solve everything.”
Danbur stilled. And then relaxed his stance. He stared down at the old man. “Tell me I am wrong.”
“You are wrong.” Peter Stone patted the bench beside him. “Sit. And let me tell you why strangling me will only complicate matters.”
Stubbornly contrary to the last, even in the face of death—or worse, another sojourn in a crystal prison—Danbur retrieved his bag and opted to take a seat on the grass. And he thumbed his nose even further at the smug old bastard by lounging, elbow resting on one bent knee, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He plucked a thick stalk of grass and stuck the end in the corner of his mouth. “Enlighten me,” he said, feigning a bored tone.
Peter Stone threw back his head and cackled with abandon. “I believe you might be my favorite yet,” he said.
“Favorite victim?”
All trace of amusement fled the old man’s features. “Do you wish to be fully informed so we have at least a small chance of defeating this twisted curse? Or would you rather remain ignorant until the crystal takes you again. It is your choice, of course. But if it were me facing such a fate, I would rather know the stakes.”
Danbur stared at him. “We?”
Piercing blue eyes that had seen ages come and go, caught and held Danbur’s gaze… and allowed him to see a startling truth.
“Gods,” Danbur whispered, shocked to his core. “You—“
“Are as much a victim as you?” The old man’s proud features collapsed into weary lines. “I have not suffered the tortures of total deprivation like you and your troop-mates,” he said. “And I would not stoop to compare my situation to yours, for to do so would make a mockery of all you have endured.”
Danbur swallowed his astonishment. This was… unexpected.
“But in the sense that I am beholden to a higher power—” here, the old man’s grimace was very close to a snarl “—and will not be granted the oblivion I crave until I fulfill the geas laid upon me? Then yes, you could say I am also a victim. Alas, my untimely death will only serve to bring you to the attention of the very goddess who uses me to do her bidding. And please believe me when I say she is… difficult to deal with at the best of times.”
This time Danbur could not prevent his eyebrows from peaking and he turned away, fixing his gaze on Sera. The little girl was still swinging, her features wreathed with delight whenever the momentum of the sling allowed her to lean back with legs straight and toes pointed.
“She is a beautiful little soul, is she not?”
The affection Danbur heard in the sorcerer’s voice was undeniable. And when Danbur faced him again, he couldn’t deny what he saw, either. Mere minutes ago the old man had seemed wholly deserving of an ugly death at Danbur’s hands. Now he seemed all-too human, someone Danbur could relate to via their affection for a small girl with green eyes and a smile that tugged one’s heart.
Peter Stone’s seamed face split into a delighted grin. “I knew it. You see it, too, don’t you? Her potential?”
“She will break hearts when she is grown.” Danbur’s gaze drifted back to Sera. He wished he could stand at her side, ready to put the fear of the gods into any youngling who so much as looked at her in a lustful way. He knew what young men thought about when they saw a pretty girl. A long time ago, in a different world, he’d been one of those young men whose thoughts were filled with matters of the flesh, and whose cock ruled him if he allowed it.
Given the chance, he wouldn’t allow any young male within a sword’s length of Sera unless they were willing to commit their hearts and souls to her wellbeing… and prove their good intentions to his satisfaction. Or else.
“She will do all that and more,” Peter Stone murmured. “Provided she is not psychologically scarred by the events of the coming weeks.”
Danbur’s gaze snapped back to the old man. “Over my dead body will I allow harm to come to that child,” he said, his deceptively soft tone at odds with the rage that blazed through his veins.
“Then we are in perfect accord.”
Peter Stone gazed steadily at Danbur, once more revealing a hint of what lay in his heart. And then he turned his gaze upon Sera, and lowered his voice enough that Danbur had difficulty making out the words. “I dare not pledge my intent in such a way that it becomes immutable for fear that she will learn of it, but I can say this. If that child is harmed, I will make the one responsible wish for death. It matters not if she is a goddess and I am subject to her will. It matters not how long it takes. I will make her pay.”
That truth tolled like a sonorous bell in Danbur’s mind. “Duly noted. Now, tell me everything, old man.”
Peter Stone’s gaze drifted back to settle on Danbur. “There have been certain strictures placed upon me—” He threw up a hand to cut short Danbur’s protest. “But I have found ways around them in the past. I will tell you what I can now, and hope I may reveal more in time. And I will aid you as much as I am able. This I vow.”
“I believe you, Peter Stone.”
A smile ghosted across the old sorcerer’s face. “Good. Then let us start with another truth. My name is Pieter. I am named for the pietersite crystal.”
Danbur’s jaws clamped down on the stalk of grass, crushing it. He turned aside to spit out the bitter juices. “I have no knowledge of this crystal.”
“That does not surprise me,” Pieter said, “for it was yet to be discovered by your people.”
“Ah.”
“Another name for pietersite is the ‘tempest stone’.” He paused, obviously waiting for Danbur to draw some conclusion.
“I can only surmise that a tempest stone would have a connection to storms.” And it could be no coincidence Danbur’s people called themselves Styrians, Storm Riders.
The old man bobbed his head. “Through my affinity to pietersite, I hoped to control the ‘storm’ your kind unleashed upon my own people. I hoped to protect my village’s women by capturing your raiding party in your namesake crystals. However I began to doubt myself. I feared I did not possess the strength to work such a spell. I needed to be s
tronger in mind, body and spirit, but I had no time to waste. I needed help.”
“From this goddess you spoke of earlier. The one who now forces you to do her bidding.”
“Yes. But had I known the spell I cast would warp and mutate into a black curse only a deity could break—I would not have dared use it.”
Danbur didn’t bother to disguise his disbelief or his bitterness. “Even to save your womenfolk from debauched slavers? Who treated them as chattel? Abused and raped them?”
Pieter’s sigh tinged the air with regret and sorrow. “You and I both know none of that is true. Your people cherished the women you stole. Your captives were precious to you, valued and treasured. But that does not negate the fact you took them against their wills. You gave them no choice.”
“I presume you are aware why we were driven to such lengths.”
“Yes, I am aware.”
“And despite the fact my tehun—my troop—acted upon orders, you not only imprisoned us for our crimes, you subjected us to deprivations few could endure without losing their sanity. For centuries. Without surcease.”
“With the benefit of hindsight such events cannot be viewed as black or white, wrong or right,” Pieter said. “You believed you were acting in the best interests of your people. I believed I acted in the best interests of mine.”
The simplistic summation rankled. Danbur curled his lower lip into a sneer that would have earned him a cuff around the ears had he been foolish enough to aim it at tehun-Leader Malach. “We were trying to repopulate our world, to counter a curse that caused all our womenfolk to bear boys. My people were dying out! How can that be compared to—?”
“The men who fell beneath the hooves of your battle-mounts? Those you slaughtered when they dared rise up to protect wives, sisters, daughters, nieces, from being ripped from their families?”
Danbur dug his fingers into the soil, clawing a clump of grass out by the roots. He contemplated it for a long moment and then tossed it over his shoulder. “Wrong or right, we followed the orders we were given.” He brushed the soil from his fingers.
Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series Page 10
