Nyx yawns and pops the last of her dinner into her mouth before it closes. Using a bookshelf for leverage, she gets to her feet and massages her tingly legs until they can move without twinges of pain. Stretching her arms over her head, the half-elf whimpers at the popping of her stiff joints.
With a weak smirk, the caster looks at her host and says, “I really need that bath.”
*****
Guards patrol the tents beneath the cloudless sky, their keen senses honed by years of training and practice. Their swift reaction to every suspicious movement makes it a challenge for the dark figure to move throughout the camp. Slipping from one shadow to another, she soon finds herself cornered behind a water barrel. Armed warriors in all directions, it is only a matter of time before the intruder is seen. She knows that putting a few people to sleep would risk being detected, so the cloaked woman casts a spell with no words or gestures. The entire tribe falls asleep, including the female guards at the top of a nearby dune. An occasional splash of water can be heard from the other side of the hill, guiding the stranger to her target.
Sneaking around the dune, she sees Nyx floating on her back in the pond. The half-elf has her eyes closed and is gently singing an Elven tune as she drifts on the surface, seemingly unaware of the approaching figure. The woman strips off her clothes, the blue moonlight making her cobalt skin even more beautiful. She slips into the pond and silently swims towards Nyx, her eyes glowing with raw power. Pushing her target’s long black hair out of her way, the stranger reaches out with a hand bathed in white fire.
Moving as if she is on land, the woman darts away from a fist of electrified water that erupts from the placid surface. The illusion of Nyx shifts and warps as the real one remains hidden in the pond. Sensing the location of the half-elf, the other caster disperses into the water and reappears behind her enemy. With a glint in her eyes, she boils the water and is surprised that Nyx is unaffected by the change. A spear of force is casually batted away by the long-haired woman, whose features never come into focus. Pushing down her instinct to kill, she instantly turns the pond to ice and electrocutes the half-elf enough to knock her out. When the water thaws, Nyx floats to the top and gasps for air while her heart stutters. Unable to fight back, she is easily pushed to the shallows by the stranger directing the currents.
“I was hoping for more,” the woman says as the spell masking her identity fades. Trinity floats next to Nyx, using her magic to control her movements. “You’re lucky I don’t know you because I can see that you exaggerated parts of your illusion. The hair is easily overlooked, but your chest is much smaller than what you made. Such a beautiful channeler and you’re self-conscious of your body? Such a shame.”
“When I can move my limbs again, I’m going to kill you,” the helpless half-elf growls. She is surprised when Trinity flips to her feet and sits cross-legged on the water. “You’re much stronger than before. Why aren’t your gems glowing when you cast magic?”
“So you can’t cast spells without gestures?” the chaos elf asks in disappointment. She runs a finger along Nyx’s body, reviving the young woman’s muscles. “I sensed you were the stronger one, but this one was closer. My power is still too weak to reach you from so far away. Though it might be more of a problem on your end. A pathetic specimen of a channeler and a champion? You make me want to cry.”
“Who are you?”
Trinity helps Nyx to her feet, frowning when the half-elf nearly plunges into the water. A warm wind whips at their bodies and dries them as they walk back to the shore. It takes the half-elf a few minutes to get dressed while her mysterious companion is clothed in the blink of an eye. The taste of impatience and disappointment is thick in the air, but the fake Trinity relaxes when she rises into the sky and Nyx rockets by her. The chaos elf floats in a wide circle, her eyes a shimmering white as she examines the other caster’s mind and aura.
“I think I understand. You weren’t trained as a channeler. Your mind is still locked in gestures, spells, and words. Even worse, you have a specialty, so the opposite area is a challenge for you.”
“Who are you?” Nyx repeats while flames dance through her hair. She panics when the fire turns into a pillar without her influence. “Never alter my spells unless you want a fight.”
“You would lose, but it’s nice to see you’re protective of your aura,” Trinity states with a friendly laugh. She glances over her shoulder and picks out a distant dune, which erupts into a tree of shimmering crystal. “Can you do anything like that? What about destroying a city or single-handedly laying waste to an army? Without the use of your hands or words, of course.”
“I . . . I never tried anything like that, but I cast a forbidden spell once,” Nyx replies, staring at the beautiful creation. Choosing her own dune, she attempts to will the sand to change and only feels a pain growing in her skull. She curses under her breath and the sand bursts into a hungry flame that she swiftly puts out with a snap of her fingers. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m not a living weapon or anything like that.”
“All channelers are living weapons. It’s what we were born to be,” the cobalt-skinned woman says with a wave of her hand. Noticing the disheartened look on Nyx’s face, she pulls the half-elf into a tight hug. “My poor child, you are so close to understanding. Don’t focus on the weapon part, but on the living. We are Gola’s greatest creations and the Magic Queen made us to be powerful. Destruction is at our fingertips, but we can also love, create, and do what all living things do. By the way, I hope you and this one plan on breeding because I don’t want my lineage to end. I worked too hard to create multiple channeler lines and the rest are dormant or sickeningly weak.”
“You sound like my mother.”
Trinity releases the hug and floats away with white energy twisting around her outstretched arms. Fireballs, lightning bolts, and enchantments that Nyx has never even dreamed of leap into the sky, high enough that the people of Bor’daruk can see it from miles away. Some of the spells disappear among the stars or go racing into the distance, only Trinity knowing where they will land.
A warmth spreads over Nyx’s body as if she is being enveloped in a thick blanket on a winter day. Closing her eyes, she tries to join in the display without moving her arms or whispering words. Most of her spells head directly for the ground, which she cuts off before they can hurt anyone. Only a few fireballs go where she directs them and the last one races for Trinity, who puts out her foot to stop the spell.
“You used a gesture,” Nyx states, her eyes flying open. Her courage grows when she sees the arrogant smirk on her rival’s face. “I want to know who you are. What do you mean I wasn’t trained as a channeler and why is having a specialty bad? Stop talking without giving me answers or explaining yourself.”
“Under pressure, a channeler might use a gesture to focus his or her spell. It’s nothing to be ashamed of like having to use one’s hands for every spell,” Trinity explains, cutting off the display. She drifts closer to take the other woman’s face in her hands. “I’ve seen you cast spells by will alone when they are small and personal, so the power is inside you. That ability is what you should have been taught since birth. Then again, I sense that the knowledge of what you are was lost a few centuries ago. Those damn fools and their Great Cataclysm made a mess of everything. As for the specialty, it weakens you in some fashion. You are a master of fire, but water and ice have become unnecessary challenges. A channeler can have a favorite area of magic, but one should never allow the connection to become as weak as you and your disliked element.”
“I always thought illusions were my worst subject.”
Trinity averts her gaze and scans the area to see if anyone is conscious, putting a persistent voice from the camp into a deeper sleep. “Our people are very close to the aura of Windemere and every living thing upon her. We are bonded to it all and, unlike necrocasters, we do not violate the auras of those we manipulate. Channelers respect and embrace this energy because we are its natural
conduit. This does mean that discerning an illusion from something real can be a bit . . . problematic for us.”
“So why won’t you tell me who you are?” Nyx asks, gently touching Trinity’s hands. A jolt of energy courses through her body, making her lick her lips. “Maybe I should be wondering what you are instead of who.”
“I’m your mother,” the chaos elf replies with a tired sigh. “Not of the body, but of your aura. The last of our original clan and the progenitor of the channeler bloodlines. All of your magic comes back to me. At least that which can escape from your pathetic style. Perhaps the weakness of my children is on my head, but it is beyond my control.”
Nyx floats back to the ground, feeling like she needs another bath to relax. “I’ve had enough riddles and mysteries to last me a while. If you’re not going to give me a straight answer then let me wash up and go to bed.”
“We will talk more when our auras truly meet,” Trinity promises, landing on the pond and examining her Elven features in the reflection. “I must return this one to her mischief. Come to Bor’daruk soon to begin our people’s rebirth or death. It really depends on how you answer my final question.”
“Which is?”
“This isn’t the time for it,” the chaos elf whispers as she sinks into the pond. “When I say final question, I mean it may be the last thing I ever ask you before you die.”
Nyx waits for Trinity to return and tries to sense the other woman’s aura, but the chaos elf has completely vanished. The idea of a second bath no longer appeals to the half-elf, so she walks around the dune to find the nomads are still asleep. Halfway between the tents and the dune blocking the pond is Dariana, the silver-haired woman apparently having fallen asleep on her way to the pond.
“Thanks for the work, old woman,” Nyx mutters as she prepares to wake everyone. An invisible force catches her wrists before she can finish clapping. “I’m not testing my abilities on these people. I could hurt them, you crazy fossil.”
Trinity materializes in front of her and releases her hands as if tossing away a foul-smelling package. “My name is Casandra. Respect your elders, infant.”
The woman disappears again with a loud crack of sound and an explosion of light that sends Nyx tumbling back a few feet. Everyone wakes up and goes about their business as if nothing happened, most falling back into a natural sleep. Only Dariana is confused and she stares at her friend in the hopes of getting an answer. Instead, Nyx shakes her head and silently heads off to sleep within the library tent.
12
Delvin watches the large gathering of people surrounding the tiny group of mourners in the courtyard. A few young children run after the peacocks, but the adults all have the same expression on their faces. Even the Grasdons look emotionally exhausted, a sign that this event has become far too common in their lives. The former mercenary knows the feeling far too well after burying so many battlefield brothers. He is sure that most of them have run out of tears and are more focused on when their next loved one will fall. From the high balcony, he can see that only Kira is crying as she clings to Luke’s arm. The forest tracker sits quietly and holds her, but his attention is obviously more on Wayland who occasionally scowls at his daughter’s heartbreaking display.
“Something about that man is worrying me,” Sari says, snapping Delvin out of his thoughts. She backs away from the railing after a quick glance. “He is really angry about Luke being here. Did you hear him yelling about not wanting a freak of nature in the family after Asher told him about the transformation?”
“It was over the top, but I can’t say I’m surprised. The man needs a target for his rage and Luke is technically taking his daughter away,” the warrior states. He bows with his fist to his chest when Asher looks in his direction, the noble nodding a thank you. “The rest of the family are nice, but I still have to leave. At least Asher understands and won’t stop me. Quill and Wayland might be an issue if they catch me. Why are you up here, Sari?”
The gypsy walks over to the railing and frowns at the people below. “If Nyx was standing with another guy and his family, would you want to be down there? Besides, I don’t want to make the Grasdons uncomfortable with my presence. It’s not the time to compete with Kira even though she keeps demanding it. She really wants me to fight for Luke, but I’m afraid I’d crush her and ruin everything.”
“I’m sorry things have become strained and complicated. If it makes you feel better, I’m really happy to have a friend see me off.”
“She is not the only one here,” Timoran states from the doorway. Fizzle darts off the barbarian’s shoulder and lands on Delvin’s head. “I can understand not hearing Sari enter the room, but I am not a silent walker. Can I request that you remain here or take someone with you?”
“I can’t do that because Kira’s family needs us here,” Delvin answers, walking into the room to start packing. He tosses his clothes into his bottomless bag, not bothering to fold them or see if they are clean. “All of you are very important to the defense of the manor. With Asher here, I’m not really needed. He knows the terrain and is an excellent tactician. That means I can go looking for Nyx and Dariana without causing trouble.”
“Fizzle go with Delvin,” the drite declares, leaning forward to look the warrior in the eye. “Help friend not get lost or eaten.”
“They need your magic here, Fizzle.”
“Sari have spells.”
“I won’t let you follow me into danger.”
“Fizzle no let you go alone.”
“I forbid it.”
The dragon hops off Delvin’s head and hovers upside down. “How you stop me?”
Muttering complaints under his breath, the warrior jams the last of his clothes into the brown bag. He ignores the expectant stares of his friends as he carefully fills two waterskins and packs them away. Rubbing his chin, Delvin eyes Fizzle and opens his mouth to argue. The drite vanishes from sight and darts around the room to repeatedly tap his friend on the nose. It is impossible for the warrior to catch or block the tiny dragon, proving that he can do nothing to stop his friend from following unseen. As an act of acceptance, he dumps a bowl of apples into his pouch and puts up his hands.
“I’ll take Fizzle, but you two stay,” Delvin orders, fixing the others with a stern glare. “I know Timoran doesn’t have a problem with this, but I know you hate it here, Sari. Please hold out a little bit longer because things will get better once I bring Nyx back. She’ll give you someone to vent to or maybe she’ll smack Luke around to settle things.”
“What kind of motivational talk was that?” the gypsy asks, storming over to the warrior. She jabs a finger into his chest, pushing him back until he falls onto a couch. “I’m miserable and stressed. I’ve entertained myself by secretly chilling Kira’s bathwater, but I seem to always get Luke or her maid. That woman keeps unknowingly dodging my pranks. Wayland has been drinking watered down wine for the last two days, which is why he’s drinking twice as much as before. Where was I going with this?”
“I have no idea,” Timoran admits while taking a seat.
“I’m guessing you have a reason to stay in a place that makes you upset,” Delvin suggests as he draws his sword. He checks the edge, frowning at a few nicks left over from the fight with the Felcri. “I should fix this, but I don’t want to lose my chance to escape. Maybe I should look into an enhanced longsword or a durable one. Both of those magic weapons are expensive, but easy to find.”
“I’m sure Kira or her dad would be happy to buy you one,” Sari bitterly states. She sinks to the floor, her skirts pooling around her. “Give me some time before I’m my perky self again. Being told that someone hates me and will hate me even more if I give her what she wants isn’t something I’m used to. Maybe I’ll feel better when they unlock the wine cellar and I beat Timoran to it.”
“Lock stop Sari?” Fizzle asks, scratching his head with his tail.
“I’m trying to behave for Luke’s sake. At least with the stealing
.”
Strapping his buckler to his forearm, Delvin gets off the couch and holds out an apple to attract Fizzle. The drite lands on the edge of the shield and wraps his tongue around the fruit, covering it completely. The warrior turns to leave, but stops and hurries to a bowl of chocolates, dumping them into his pouch. Sari flashes him a grin of approval and flips to her feet, walking out onto the balcony. Delvin gestures for Timoran to check on her before heading for the door and slipping out into the empty hallway.
“Do you think he will be okay?” the barbarian asks as he joins his friend. “I trust Fizzle and know Delvin is smart enough to stay out of trouble. Yet I feel we should have tried harder to talk him out of this. Nyx could be anywhere out there.”
“I know, but he’s too determined to stop. Nice to see a man willing to tear down a wall and conquer a desert for the woman he loves,” Sari replies, her voice devoid of emotions. She squints at the crowd below, most of them looking bored as Wayland gives a speech. “Something is wrong down there. Where’s Quill and his fiancée?”
Timoran turns to go back into the room when the doors slam shut and lock. He grabs the handles and a surge of magic rushes through the balcony. A magnetic pulse erupts beneath the two champions and slams them to the solid floor. Sari hits with enough force to fall unconscious, the spell rolling her onto her back. Timoran is still awake, so the pulse turns on and off to pound him against the marble. After four strikes, he refuses to pass out and uses the doorknobs to help him struggle to his feet. The doors fly open to yank the dazed warrior into the room where an aura-infused punch meets his jaw. With a strange spin, Timoran groans and collapses in front of his attacker.
“Take the hint and sleep next time, you stubborn brute,” Trinity growls, massaging her aching hand. She flicks Timoran onto the balcony with a gust of wind and locks the doors behind him. “That should keep you two out of the fun. Sweet dreams, little champions.”
Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) Page 23
