The sound of running water and scent of flowers and grass wafted in on a soft breeze. Birds chirped somewhere in the garden, and he saw a brilliant-blue butterfly bobbing around some yellow flowers.
“That would be perfect. Thank you.”
The servant, whom he took to be a chambermaid, curtseyed again and departed, the slightest of smiles touching her lips.
Taren walked outside into the atrium, which stretched about twenty paces from his room to the trunk of the tree, and curved out of sight in both directions past the hedges. Thick grass was cool and soft beneath his bare feet. The dense foliage made the lush garden feel private. Pink and orange rays from the setting sun streamed into the atrium, setting the flowers ablaze with color. The notes from a flute trilled softly from somewhere nearby. He craned his head upward but couldn’t see if the flutist was on any of the balconies above.
He followed a narrow path beneath some broad-leafed plants and across a small wooden bridge over a brook into a densely foliaged area. Within was a small grove and a still pool of water fed by the brook.
Taren disrobed and lowered himself into the water, which was pleasantly cool but not uncomfortably so. When he ducked beneath the surface of the pool, the water stirred his hair, which had grown down to his shoulders. He scrubbed himself off then simply enjoyed the sensation of floating in the water for a few minutes.
Feeling refreshed, Taren toweled off and walked back to his room, where he dressed in the comfortable set of robes laid out for him. The garments fit as if tailored just for him, the satin material shimmering in the light as he moved. He went back out in the garden, dipped his boots in the brook, and washed the mud off as best he could.
He rubbed at the scruff on his cheeks with a frown and wondered if he would be able to find a razor anywhere. He could use his dagger, but he hadn’t quite mastered that skill yet, ofttimes ending up with a mass of small cuts on his face.
Taren rang the bell, and the elven maid appeared after a moment. “I don’t suppose you have a razor or anything, so I can shave and trim my hair?”
“Of course, sir.” The chambermaid appraised him for a moment then gestured toward the garden. He stepped outside and sat in a wooden chair just outside the door at her direction.
Silver flashed in the sunlight, and a slender knife appeared in the maid’s hand. Taren blinked in surprise as he hadn’t even seen her move to draw it from whatever sheath it had been concealed in. She combed his hair back with her fingers then proceeded to efficiently trim it. Once she finished, she came around in front of him. Leaning over, she ran her fingertips along his jaw, studying his growth of beard curiously.
Taren realized he hadn’t seen any elven men with facial hair. “Oh, I can—”
“It’s no trouble, sir. Will be my first time is all, but I do enjoy a challenge.” Her studiously blank face relaxed, and she flashed a crooked smile.
Taren watched her curiously as she went over to some plants and plucked off a few small round berries then gathered some flower petals. The chambermaid crushed the berries in her small hands and rubbed the petals in. She dipped the mix in the brook a moment to wet it. In the sunlight, her hair was no longer gray but shone silver with subtle undertones of a bluish color that enhanced her huge gray eyes.
When the maid returned, she wiped the gel-like salve she’d prepared over his scruff of beard, her strong fingers massaging it in. The smell was earthy and pleasant, with a slightly tart berry scent, not flowery as he had expected. The knife reappeared in her hand, and with quick, sure strokes, she neatly shaved off his facial hair. After rinsing his face with the towel, he felt suitably cleaned up and rejuvenated.
“Much better, thank you.”
“Just a moment, sir.” The maid fussed with adjusting his robes briefly then seemed pleased.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Aninyel, if it please you, sir.” She regarded him boldly, and he suspected she was more than a simple chambermaid.
“It does. I thank you for your timely aid, Aninyel.”
“I’m confident the princess will be most impressed.” She shot him an impish smile again before curtseying and taking her leave.
Taren checked on Elyas. His cousin remained sleeping, as if in a magical slumber. Perhaps he is, to allow him to recover from his wounds. Taren eased his cousin’s sword from his hands, where he clutched it to his chest. He leaned it near the door, removed Elyas’s boots, then draped a light blanket across him.
“Wish I wasn’t going to meet the princess alone. There’s a fair chance I’ll make a fool of myself and represent the human race poorly. You were always the ladies’ man… I always get tongue-tied around them.” He fretted nervously, not knowing what to expect. He imagined he’d be subjected to curious or perhaps even unfriendly looks, along with a multitude of questions from Zylka and her advisors and whatever influential people from the town dined with the princess.
Enelwyn appeared a short time later, looking lovely as ever in her green-and-yellow robes, with her holy symbol hanging between her breasts. She cocked an eyebrow as she looked over Taren’s new garments. “The robes look nice on you.”
“Thanks. I don’t know how the servants knew what would fit.”
“The staff is good at what they do,” Enelwyn replied cryptically.
Taren tried to imagine a gaggle of the servants trying to measure him while he slept and grinned to himself.
After briefly checking on Elyas, she escorted Taren along the corridor back the way they had come that morning. They passed by the entrance and continued down the corridor into the opposite wing of the estate. Taren expected some grand dining hall, but Enelwyn directed him to enter the atrium instead, likely at some point opposite his own room, from what he could determine.
Twilight had fallen outside. Within a private grove, a table was set for two people. Beeswax candles were lit atop the table and also in a candelabra alongside it. A flagon of wine sat beside a bowl of fresh fruit.
Taren looked around nervously, surprised nobody else was in attendance. “Is it just to be the two of us?” he asked. He’d expected at least some advisors or important people, but he couldn’t even see any guards or servants hovering around unobtrusively.
“The princess isn’t very traditional, as you’ve likely surmised. I gather that the steward and town elders disapprove of the honors accorded you with a private dinner, but she won’t be told differently.”
“And what do you think about all this?”
“I tend to agree with the princess’s views, but I’m in the minority and quite young, so my say doesn’t account for much. Making friends and alliances with the outside world is preferable to isolating ourselves.”
Taren tapped his fingers nervously on the back of a chair, not knowing what to do.
“Princess Zylka will arrive momentarily. Help yourself to some wine if you like, Taren.” Enelwyn gave her soft smile, and Taren could’ve sworn her eyes danced with amusement at his discomfort. “Fear not, she won’t bite.”
He cleared his throat. “Right. Thank you.”
Enelwyn bowed her head and left him alone in the grove.
Somewhere in the atrium, the lilting voice of a minstrel accompanied what he thought was harp music, singing softly in Elvish. He couldn’t understand the words, but the melody was lovely. Trying to relax, Taren poured himself a goblet of wine. He spotted a stone bench tucked away beside a statue of a leaping fish, and he sat, sipping his wine.
He didn’t have to wait long. Zylka Daerodil arrived in a few moments, gliding across the soft grass toward him. His breath caught in his throat, for she was a vision of loveliness. Gone was the warrior woman with her tightly braided hair, woodland garb, and sword and bow. In her place was the princess of the elven people, beautiful and graceful as he’d always imagined a princess would be. She wore a long gown of emerald green, with layers of lighter mint-green beneath, revealed when the garments shifted over her lithe form. Her long hair was combed out and styl
ed into loose braids, gleaming a fiery gold in the candlelight. A silver necklace across her throat and matching earrings sparkled, but none so much as her eyes. They were large and liquid, gleaming a green gold in the candlelight.
Taren got to his feet and bowed clumsily. “Princess Zylka, you look… lovely,” he managed to say although he felt his cheeks burning.
Zylka’s smile lit up her face. “You don’t clean up so bad yourself, Master Taren.” She extended an arm, which he took and guided her to the table. “And is that odruneberry I smell?”
“I’m… not sure. Your chambermaid chose it when she gave me a shave.” He pulled out her chair so she could sit then took a seat across from her, feeling proud of himself for his gentlemanly manners.
“Did she now?” Zylka looked amused. She poured each of them some wine and took a sip, regarding him over the rim. “I’ve lost count of how many elders and advisors I’ve displeased by showing you such courtesy. Steward Galdir was furious that I planned to dine alone with you.” A mischievous grin spread on her face, and her eyes shimmered. “But if he gets heartburn over this, then so be it. Our people must realize how times have changed—we must engage with the world or have it pass us by.”
“I’m honored you think highly enough of me to provoke their anger.” He took a sip of wine, pleased by its complex flavors.
Zylka waved dismissively. “If they haven’t gotten used to me by now, they perhaps never will. Even with my brother assuming the throne, we elves are too set in our ways. Many oppose him—and me—but I have more freedom to disregard proper protocols, being the younger sibling. It works out better this way—I have not the patience for the pomp and foolishness of court life.”
“How is it that you are here and not with your brother?” Taren asked.
“This is our family’s retreat, so I’ve every right to come here. With our sages auguring war, my brother and I thought it wise that I muster some defenses and post sentries here at the southern edge of our kingdom, so I brought a hundred warriors south with me. Some are household guards, but most are quartered in the town below, where there’s a small barracks. Turns out it is fortunate I did, with the incursion into our forest. Are you hungry?”
Taren nodded.
She rang a small bell that sat on the table. Within moments, servants arrived with plates of food, still steaming.
Taren’s mouth watered at the scent of roasted venison and some type of fowl he guessed might be pheasant, steamed potatoes and mushrooms, different gravies and sauces, and cinnamon-sprinkled sweetmeats with butter. Some tart pink berries offset the sweets.
Zylka picked at her food daintily but regarded Taren with amusement as he wolfed down the succulent food.
“Taren, you will be happy to know the Nebaran invaders suffered a rout but a few hours ago. My archers decimated them with a hail of arrows before they wisely fled back to the south, whence they came. Only a handful survived.”
Relief flooded Taren at the thought of the inquisitors many miles away, their numbers greatly lessened. “That’s great news! What of the lead inquisitor, Tellast, and his ogre?”
Her pleased smile thinned, and she shook her head. “Regretfully, they were no longer among the group in our forest. My scouts followed their tracks leading back to the south. They must’ve fled in the night, leaving the rest of their number to be slaughtered.” Disgust was evident in her tone.
Taren speared the last piece of potato on his plate and finished it. After a long sip of wine, he found he was getting pleasantly light-headed. “I wish I could repay you for your hospitality and kindness. I’m afraid I’m but a simple farmer, now homeless. I don’t know any important people that you might discuss alliances with or anything of the sort.”
“Not necessary. You’re my first human guest. If you would seek to repay me, then tell me of your life. What was it like growing up on your farm? What about your uncle and your parents?”
Taren told her how Wyat had raised him and that he hadn’t known his parents, mentioning they both had some magical talent and he was frustrated to not have their skill. He left out the part about his mother ruling Nexus, however. Perhaps the next time we speak, if I’m so fortunate.
Zylka refilled his wine, listening to his stories with a smile, seemingly content to learn what she could of the ways of human life.
Taren talked about Wyat and some of his war stories and also told her how Elyas wanted to be a soldier like his father and would soon join the army. She seemed particularly interested to hear the story of the wyvern they’d hunted a year past, which had terrorized some of the local farms.
“So Elyas seeks to be a great warrior. And what of you? What would Taren, raised humbly on a farm, whose parents carry great legacies, do with his life?”
He considered a long moment. “I would do something about this invasion, were I able to. I hate the sight of good people being slaughtered and run off their farms all because some mad emperor somewhere wants his war. It’s a pity I don’t have any magical talent as my parents.”
“Perhaps you do. Our people born with the art often don’t show any signs until they have seen sixty, sometimes even a hundred summers, which age is considered young adulthood for an elf. As a young man, you should give it time. I tend to think there’s a good reason fate has crossed our paths. The world is changing, and I have confidence you’ll find your true calling before all is said and done.”
They talked a while longer, until Zylka told him she had to meet with Steward Galdir and some advisors to discuss matters of security following the ambush on the Nebarans. Although he couldn’t be certain, she sounded reluctant to take her leave to deal with her other commitments, and he was reminded of what Enelwyn had said earlier about how Zylka’s life must be lonely without many friends, with those close to her primarily advisors and elders always looking to influence her in some way.
Taren walked back to his room, head buzzing pleasantly from the wine. Zylka’s stunning smile when they parted had made his knees grow wobbly.
Without any servants to escort him, he managed to find his room again after only opening one wrong door. Fortunately, the room had been empty, sparing him any embarrassment at barging in on an occupant uninvited. His own room was dimly lit by a pair of candles atop the dresser. As he crossed the room, something caught his foot, and he stumbled and nearly fell onto his bed.
Looking down, he noticed a slippered foot. Following the slim leg, he saw Enelwyn crumpled on the floor beside his bed, her cornsilk hair matted with blood, which was pooling on the floor.
The sight gave him a shock like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He stumbled back into the wall, eyes wide and adrenaline pumping. A sudden sense of wrongness swept over him, quickly replaced by panic when he looked at Elyas. His cousin’s face was purple, his neck looking as if it were being compressed in a vice, but he saw nothing there that could’ve done such a thing. Elyas hadn’t even stirred, yet he was strangling in his sleep.
Taren opened his mouth to cry out but stopped himself as his rational mind took over. He slipped into his second sight and gasped at what he saw.
An inky blot loomed over Elyas, its aura sickly. The unseen form was vaguely man shaped, with a stout trunk and long wiry arms and legs but no head. It was throttling the life from Elyas.
Taren backed toward the door, and his hand bumped the hilt of Elyas’s sword, leaning against the wall. Without hesitation, he drew the enchanted blade and hacked at the thing killing his cousin. The sword cleaved into the shoulder area of the invisible attacker. He felt brief resistance, as if he were chopping into a melon from the garden. The arm parted from the torso with a sizzling sound. No blood or any visible sign of the wound appeared, yet the aura leaked ink in a spurt.
The invisible creature recoiled then instantly surged at Taren. He managed to bring the sword up enough to slash weakly at its torso before the blade was swatted aside. Taren was bulled backward, slammed against the wall by the thing, and his breath blasted fro
m his lungs. The beast definitely had a tangible mass to it.
With his second sight, he saw two more tentacular arms appear from the invisible monster’s torso, and those tentacles twisted his arms painfully, its grip like being held by unyielding vines. Elyas’s sword fell to the floor with a loud clatter. He opened his mouth to cry out, and another limb, or tentacle, wrapped around his face, filling his mouth. He tried to bite down, feeling a rubbery resistance, and nearly gagged at the sensation.
Without a sound, the creature effortlessly lifted him into the air, securing him tightly against its torso, and swept through the open door. The corridor receded swiftly behind him as it bore him away.
Taren struggled, but the beast was fearsomely strong. He managed to twist his head sideways just enough that he could see the corridor before him in his peripheral vision.
This beast means to steal me away right out the front door! And take me where? To the inquisitors?
From the corner of his eye, he could make out a couple of figures in the distance, conversing in the corridor. Taren tried to shout to them, but only a muffled grunt came out. The creature made not a sound, sweeping along as if it were a gust of wind. The wide entry doors were rapidly approaching.
One of the figures took a step farther into the corridor, and he saw the gleam of light on golden hair and the emerald-green dress.
Zylka! He tried to call her name aloud, but nothing came out. Help! Turn around… Please see me.
Just then, as if sensing something amiss, Zylka glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of Taren being borne away in midair.
“Taren?” she called.
An older elf beside her stood with mouth agape, staring.
“Guards!” Zylka cried. She hiked up her dress and ran toward Taren, but he knew she would be much too late. The creature slowed and smoothly pivoted as it reached the doors.
Taren got a good look straight into Zylka’s startled face and then the creature slammed into the double doors. They burst open, and it surged forward.
Scions of Nexus Page 25
