by Cole Pain
Broody swayed, but he finally conceded by rolling off his friends, blubber shaking when he hit the ground. “What offer?”
“Well,” Neki began, scratching his head and trying to come up with an impromptu bargaining strategy, “I was just admiring your boat there. I have need of a boat like that and I heard you were wanting some more fine whiskey.”
“No,” the voice of the first said, rubbing his shirt where Broody had saturated it.
Neki glanced up at the stars, resolution filling him. “Not even for half a bag of gold?”
Broody’s eyes widened. The one sitting next to Broody turned to the first and licked his lips. “That’ll buy lots whisky, John.”
John pursed his lips and shook his head. Neki knew the boat hadn’t been worth a half a bag of gold when it was new. He stood for a few heartbeats, trying to decide if he should offer them the entire bag. If he did he had nothing else to bargain with. “All right. Three quarters of a bag, and that’s my final offer.”
John’s eyes flickered to the bag of gold in Neki’s hand. Neki jingled it for emphasis.
“All the bag and I keep the bloody oars.”
Neki looked at John in shock. Keep the oars? The boat was half useless without the oars.
When John saw Neki’s shocked expression he hung his head. “Sentimental reasons.”
“All the bag and you keep one oar.”
“Done.” John staggered to his feet. Neki breathed a sign of relief as the other men began to laugh and dance around the dock. John snatched the gold from Neki’s hand, forgetting all about the sentimental ore as soon as his hand touched the laden burlap cloth, and staggered off with his companions.
Neki wasted no time. He jumped into the rowboat and surveyed his new purchase. It was large enough to hold five men and five horses comfortably but small enough for one man to steer with only a little difficulty, or so he hoped. The more he examined it the more shocked he became. John had to have built the contraption. Although silly looking, it was bound to be useful. Surprisingly, it was very well made. He suddenly felt slightly ashamed for failing to remind John to take an oar. He could see the hard work that had gone in to shaping the wood and carving the handles with swirling designs.
John probably lived upriver and had constructed the phenomenon to make swift passage to the city: upriver use the oars, downriver use the sail. Sounded like something Grauss would invent, or at least ponder over for days.
Neki went to the mast and untied the sail. Although the night was calm, he could always hope a breeze would stir. When the sail was free he stepped to the side of the vessel and reeled in the anchor. Just as he began walking to the front there was a loud clamor and the boat rocked violently. Neki wheeled his arms, trying to regain his footing, but soon the boat’s motion toppled him. Within the span of one breath he spun to a sitting position, dagger in hand, sure it was John returning to see if he carried any more gold for his life.
Instead of looking into the eyes of an inebriated man, Neki stared into the eyes of the kota. Keena blinked at him as if pouncing into a rowboat was something she did every day.
He didn’t have time for this. “No,” he said, striding forward, waving his hands in frustration and trying to make her jump back to the dock.
She growled.
He stopped. Had he mistaken her purr for a growl? Keena just stared at him. He walked forward again. This time she not only growled, she also bent her head and pointed her stunning horn at him.
“Whoa!” Neki said, slowly backing up. “Just trying to save you a little seasickness.” With each retreating step, her stance relaxed, but only after he settled at the fore of the ship and began dipping the oars awkwardly in the water did she turn full circle and find a spot suitable to settle her large frame. There was nothing threatening about her now, only two large, soft brown eyes staring at him with complete trust.
“Ren has some good people on his side, girl. He’ll be all right.”
She whimpered as if she understood his words. A shiver went down Neki’s spine. He shook it off, forcing himself to concentrate on oaring, or rowing, or whatever it was called, but the oars were distanced just far enough apart that he couldn’t get a good grip on both at once. By the time he slid from one side to the other the boat was moving in the wrong direction. He was, at best, only compensating for his last stroke.
After a moons’ click of awkward maneuvering, he was drenched in sweat and his buttocks had collected a thousand splinters. He glanced at the sky. Ren’s star still continued to drift and the hazy white cloud still moved to where the star used to be. Neki rested the oars in the boat and put his head in his hands. He was going to be too late. If only there was a breeze.
Neki looked at the dormant white sail. If he could make a pebble spin in the wind, cause tree limbs to shake, and create a dust storm he could sure cause a breeze to move a boat. With budding confidence Neki concentrated on his emotions and looked at the sail. Nothing happened. He tried again. The sail only fluttered, careening to each side in a teasing manner.
Neki glanced at the synergy as a sick feeling rose inside him.
“Move!” he screamed to the night. He pulled out the sail and tried again. Tears of frustration burned his eyes. He dropped the sail and sat down beside Keena. An ore pressed against his back, telling him it was his only hope.
The kota whimpered and Neki turned to her. “You think you could row?” Keena just stared at him.
Neki scratched her on the head. “Then what good are you?”
She leaned against him but didn’t purr. That still bothered him. Ren was in trouble and Neki was the only one who could help. This was his chance to contribute to the cause. He looked across the black waters of the Old Sea, then back at the sail.
Neki cleared his thoughts and focused, not on his panic, but his determination. He could feel the Quy inside him, building in strength. He could sense her just beneath the surface, ready to help. Neki breathed her in. The sail filled and sprung to life. Keena’s eyes opened wide when Neki slapped her on the neck and bellowed with laughter. He had never felt so good. They shot down the river like they were in the midst of a cyclone.
“Whoa!” Neki jumped to his feet. They were moving faster than dragons could fly but they were going in a straight line – the river curved.
With consternation Neki realized he didn’t know how to change the wind’s direction.
He dove for an oar and veered the ship back to the center of the river just before it made a disastrous course for a river tree.
Nothing was ever easy.
Chapter 19
They were approaching Dresden with a speed Nigel thought impossible until he realized the wizard had helped the winds a little.
During the ride Zorc had been mumbling to himself, drawing symbols on the deck with silver dust and checking the inner compartments of his robe. Nigel didn’t ask. He would never understand wizardry. Although he had the power, he didn’t know if he wanted to learn it. Galvin paced, shoulders and arms tensing under his dark tunic, a worried look on his face. Nigel was the only one perched on the edge of his seat with grim anticipation. The Druids were finally going to know him, this time intimately.
He watched the approaching island. Tall, spindly, white birch trees reached to the sky like pikes, warning off any trespassers. The trees had been cleared from the front of the Obelisk and cut back in a triangular shape from the entrance. The Obelisk shimmered in the rising dawn with wicked surety. The trees surrounding it matched its sinister appearance. Only the Druids could turn a sparkling white island into something that made your skin crawl.
As they moved closer even Nigel grew somber. The Obelisk’s beveled peak towered over the ship and seemed to whisper a warning. Its smooth surface looked like it had been polished every day for centuries. If a window marred its great height Nigel couldn’t find it. All he saw was flawless, shimmering moonstone.
The only sound heralding their arrival was the creaking wood of the ship. Nigel sear
ched the shore for guards, expecting an alarm to sound. When none did Nigel turned to Zorc. The wizard observed the island with severe eyes. His midnight-blue robe blended into the morning’s dimness but its silver swirls danced around him with a life of their own.
“Guards?” Nigel mouthed, shrugging in confusion.
Zorc’s face darkened. “Every Druid will want to attend the closing.”
“Then we have an edge.”
“Maybe an edge to no avail.”
It was the first time Nigel had heard the wizard express fear. For a few heartbeats, Nigel’s confidence waned.
Before the boat had docked they all jumped into the shallow water and ran like the ten winds, each intent on the moonstone structure jutting out into the dusk like a sword’s edge. The moonstone pathway led straight to the temple, but there was no door. Zorc began examining the structure, scowling and mumbling under his breath. Nigel could tell the wizard’s tolerance for delay would last as long as dry grass in flame and moved back even before Zorc motioned them away.
Zorc plunged his hand into his robe, pulled out a fistful of silver dust and hurled it against the wall. Nigel dove to the ground, pulling Galvin with him as moonstone exploded in all directions. A rain of dust showered over them.
As the noise stilled, Nigel cleared the air with a wave of his hand. “What a novel idea. Alert the entire Druid cultus we’re here. It has merit, wizard.”
Zorc glared at him and pointed to the hollow opening.
A main passageway could be seen through the hovering dust. A young Druid cowered just beyond the wreckage. Nigel had never seen such stark terror scrawled in a face before, even when he had been on one of his execution missions. Another Druid lay dead inside the ruin, skull crushed by a large piece of moonstone.
Nigel pushed past Zorc, face hardening into an emotionless mask. “Take us to the Chosen.”
The Druid cringed, eyes moving fitfully between Nigel and Zorc. Nigel leaned down and drew him up with a fistful of gray robe. “Now.”
“I don’t know where he is,” the Druid said. “Honestly. Please. I don’t know.”
Zorc moved closer, eyes shining like hot coals. “Then take us to the Drek.”
Nigel almost felt sorry for the youth. To be under the gaze of his people’s assassin and a wizard who had just blown a hole the size of a horse in the sacred temple must approach the boy’s worst nightmare.
Nodding, the boy spun and hurried down the passageway. The halls were deserted, and their footfalls echoed with ominous bearing on the moonstone floor. Nigel felt his longing to destroy the entire Druid line burgeon inside him but shoved the feeling down. His first priority was Ren. Then he would decide how many he would destroy.
Religious charlatans deserved death.
The boy turned and scampered down a narrow hallway to the right and led them to a column of winding stairs. They were moving to the heart of the Obelisk, to the temple. When they reached the landing the boy glanced back and darted away. Nigel put his hand on the hilt of his sword. He took the last few stairs and stepped into a large chamber. At least one hundred Druids were scattered over a terraced landing, chanting and swaying. One lone figure stood on the stage, long beard betraying his post.
Nigel stepped forward and strode to the Drek. His black cloak swirled about him as if a storm followed; inside, one did. Zorc and Galvin flanked him but Nigel barely noticed.
The Druids didn’t hear them. Every eye was closed and raised to the hollow section of the Obelisk. Nigel recalled his pain from years ago when the three Druids had tried to claim his power. His anger boiled inside, yearning for a kill.
Nigel stopped in front of the Drek and put a hand on the wizard’s arm, indicating for him to remain silent. Zorc bristled but nodded his assent.
Nigel clutched his anger to him like a blanket and pulled his sword from the scabbard. It echoed in the chamber with terminal resolution. All humming stopped. The Drek’s eyes opened. His face held no emotion, but Nigel could see the recognition in his gaze. The Drek’s body grew taut and a nerve began to twitch near his left eye.
Nigel smiled, free of the mask he had worn his entire life: first as a prince, second as an assassin. From that day hence he was neither price nor knight. He was who he was. And all would know.
He took a step forward. The silence was penetrating.
“My name is Nigel Augustus, heir to the throne of Oldan, known to you as the Black Knight. Years ago Druids took my sister, my love, and my life. I declared war. Today I wish to end it if and only if you honor one request.”
An electric current went through the assembly as quiet words were whispered and then stilled. Nigel could smell the hate, and the fear.
“Give me the Chosen.” When he was met with no reply, he lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “I don’t think you’ll like the consequences if you refuse.”
“The Chosen isn’t for us to give,” the Drek said.
Nigel could sense Zorc quaking anger and put out his hand, signaling for Zorc to remain silent. It didn’t work.
Zorc pushed past him. “Where is he!”
It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.
The Drek focused on Zorc for what seemed to be the first time. His brows twitched for a few breaths, but then his features smoothed into an emotionless mask.
Nigel could feel the Druids’ weak attempt to gain entrance to his mind. He grinned. This would be fun. Zorc batted at the air as if a swarm of gnats were in his way. The Druids were either too few or too weak to do anything to the wizard.
The Drek glided back a step as Zorc strode forward. Nigel’s eyes were drawn to the pedestal behind the Drek. Blood stained its surface. He remembered Ramie’s description of the prince. Ren was a kindred spirit, a brother and a friend. Nigel took a step closer.
Zorc grabbed the Drek with both hands. The Druids rushed forward to protect their leader. Zorc was ready. He raised his hand. The Druids slammed into an invisible wall.
“You fool!” Zorc said, leaning closer to the Drek. “Did you honestly believe you had the One? Did you?”
The Drek’s eyes widened.
With that look, Nigel saw the truth. The Druids had been tricked. They honestly thought they had the One. Apparently Zorc saw it too, for he released his hold, although his eyes still burned like two hot coals.
“You’ve sentenced the world to darkness,” Zorc said. “Were you such a fool to think you were protecting the Lands? Did you honestly think closing the Chosen would force Barracus to wait for another? Now Barracus will be able to enter the Chosen with ease, for now Ren can’t fight back.”
Tears shimmered in the Druid’s eyes. Nigel almost felt sorry for the Drek until he glanced back at the pedestal. He tightened his grip on his sword.
The invisible wall exploded with a sharp “swoosh.” Zorc’s scream shattered Nigel’s calm. The Druids began to rush them. Nigel spun.
A Druid ran from a side door. He had the most putrid yellow eyes Nigel had ever seen, and they were focused on the wizard.
Zorc lay on the floor beside a broken bottle, dreadfully pale.
Nigel grabbed the Drek and put his sword against the hollow of the man’s back. The horde of Druids stopped, unsure of what to do. The yellow-eyed Druid continued to walk forward, eyes finding Nigel.
A sharp, hard slam exploded in Nigel’s mind. His internal door almost imploded. Nigel sagged backward, holding his door firm but feeling the resonant pressure of the depraved man on the other side. The yellow eyes narrowed. The pressure became stronger.
Just as Nigel felt himself weakening, his mind emptied. Nigel released a gasp just as Galvin screamed a warning.
Galvin pointed, but it was too late.
Nigel was shoved forward. His sword sliced through the Drek.
The Drek grunted as blood pounded from the wound, but instead of looking at Nigel the Drek turned to the Druid who had pushed Nigel’s sword.
“My only son.”
A murky-eyed Druid hid a smile a
s his eyes flickered to Nigel in victory. He turned to the horde of Druids and shouted, “He has killed my father. Now we must kill him!”
The Druids screamed in rage and rushed forward. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Nigel looked into the murky eyes of the new Drek and felt his loathing grow to the very depths of his soul.
The Black Knight came to life.
He rose in a wave of black fury and grabbed the man around the neck of his white robe, raising him off the ground. Nigel brought up his bloodied sword and wiped it on the Druid’s robe, signifying the betrayal.
The mass of white-robed Druids still hurled forward. Nigel felt the power inside him and remembered the feel of Zorc’s fury as he unleashed it to create the invisible barricade.
He cracked his internal door and hurled his hate forward with the Quy, slamming a wall of air into the approaching Druids, hurling them back. The man in his hands squirmed and choked.
“Where is he?”
Nigel felt a hard slam in his mind. He gasped, trying to close his door, but it was too late.
The yellow-eyed one began to take his power. For the second time in his life, he felt part of his soul being torn from him.
Galvin had his sword at the hollow of the yellow-eyed Druid’s neck. A small rivulet of blood oozed from the sword’s tip, but Galvin had turned a ghostly white. For a heartbeat Nigel thought the Druid had somehow taken Galvin’s mind, but after a slight hesitation Galvin drew back his sword and slammed it against the Druid’s head, knocking him unconscious. The pressure immediately dissipated.
Nigel slammed the invisible wall back into place, but he knew he couldn’t survive another attack. He turned to Galvin with unspoken haste. Galvin scooped up the wizard and ran for the door. Still clutching the Drek’s son, Nigel ran after Galvin, leveling the remaining Druids with his gaze. He released the Quy and shut himself protectively behind his internal sanctuary, safe from the Druids’ tentacles. A large vessel with glowing embers rested beside the door. Nigel kicked it over, spilling its contents. A white curtain shielding a side room from view ignited in flames.
