by L. L. Bower
“Geryen,” I say, “I think you should shower before you lie down and wash that plant sap off you. You may be having a reaction to it.”
He looks down at his arms and coughs. “That’s why my skin itches and feels on fire. My back hurts too.”
“You don’t sound well, Geryen,” Crisa adds. “I’ll look in on you once I finish with Simean.”
“Thank you. And I will take your advice, Calen.” The giant heads off, I assume to shower.
Later, after a refreshing shower and a brief rest, I, together with the others, except for Baru, Simean and Geryen, sit down to a sumptuous dinner of roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a smorgasbord of fruits and vegetables.
The meal is served to us by magic. The serving trays, loaded with bowls and platters of food, hover in the air over each person’s plate.
Our gracious hostess, Crisa, says, “All you have to do is think of what you’d like to eat from the tray, and those foods will transfer to your plate through magic.”
I could get used to living with magic like this.
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When we finish the meal, Claymont, who’s never eaten beef before, comments, “That was cow, you say? Who would have thought such an ugly animal could be so tasty? Swordfish was my favorite dish up to now, but I’ve found a new favorite.”
We sip after-dinner coffee and finish off large slices of apple pie ala mode.
As we enjoy our pie, we all settle back into a comfortable and silent stupor.
By my heel, Brutus has finished a plate of his own that now lays empty on the floor. He licks his chops as if he’d like some pie too. I wonder if sugar is good for dogs, but I cut him a small piece and set it on his plate anyway.
When we’re mostly finished, Crisa says, “Geryen is sick and won’t be coming with us tomorrow. The shower helped his skin, but he has the flu. He’s got a fever, body aches, a cough and a terrible headache. He needs rest for a few days.”
She flicks her wand and causes the coffee carafe to make the rounds and fill everyone’s mugs with fresh, hot coffee.
She takes a sip from her mug before saying, “He also has a nasty bat bite on his back that I’m treating. Simean, on the other hand, will need longer to recuperate. I sent magic trays of food to both their rooms earlier.”
I neglect to tell Crisa that I too got bitten and clawed by a bat because it’s already healed, due to the fairy prince’s touch.
I take a sip of the wonderful coffee. “We could’ve used Geryen’s size and strength when we break in.”
Crisa flicks her wrist, and the carafe settles back onto the table. “Geryen keeps saying he’s all right. I may have to put an attachment spell on him to keep him from following us. He needs rest.”
Claymont, the merman, lifts a last bite of pie to his mouth. He swallows it and then says, “Thank you for that wonderful dinner, Your Highness. I’ve never had apple pie before, and now I’m a fan of both the beef and the pie. As you can guess, fish is a main staple in our world.” He pauses and adds, “But I’m worried about Baru. I know it’s nearly night because your magic sunlight has dimmed in here. He should have returned by now.”
Crisa turns to him. “He’ll be fine. I think the hummingbirds would have sent word if he’d been injured or captured. If he reaches the front entry, I’ll know it and will open the stone for him.” She smiles. “I won’t make him stand out there in the dark. In the meantime, let’s plan our attack. We leave before first light.”
“So soon?” Lawra, the oread, asks. Her eyes look heavy, and she keeps supporting her head with her hands. “Couldn’t we sleep in a little?”
Crisa raises her head as if she’s listening for something. A high-pitched whistle echoes through the cave like a steaming teapot. It must be some kind of alarm because Crisa says, “Someone’s here, seeking entry. Let’s hope it’s Baru.” She rises from the table.
She waves her hand over the table, and her viewing ball, which I’ve seen before, appears. After gazing into it, she declares, “Oh, my, I wonder what they’re doing here. I hope it’s not bad news.”
We all rise from the table and follow her to the front entrance to see who’s arrived. Whoever it is seems to have upset her.
They must not be dark creatures though because she waves her magic wand, and the rock over the front entrance vanishes.
Chapter 8 – Battle Ready
Two warriors, Pholas and Chearon, tower before me, their silvery armor gleaming in the sun’s last rays. Although the faces of my fellow escapees register their surprise, these centaurs, who taught me to fight like a champion, bring a grin to my face.
We three have been through a lot together, first when I was a human and had my house in the woods marked and then demolished by dark ones. And later, after Crisa changed me into a centaur to disguise and protect me, Pholas and Chearon invited me to stay with them in Equis, their village. When I took part in their annual centaur games, much like our human Olympics, I surprised myself by coming in second.
Of course now I’m back to human form, which I trust is a permanent state, since I’ve completed their training and am in full control of my Creator-given weather powers. Although I practiced a lot, my centaur gallop never felt natural. I’m grateful to have only two legs to keep straight.
While I found these two powerful commanders intimidating at first, they’ve become good friends and respected battle strategists. The massive horse/men salute me, and I return their salute, noticing they carry full saddlebags. Pholas’s bag has a large shield tied to it.
Pholas bows to Crisa and huffs his words out, as he takes great gulps of air between phrases, I assume from galloping across Fairyland and up the mountain. “So nice to see you again ..., Your Highness.... Greetings, everyone.”
She bows in return. I step forward to greet them, but the others cluster behind Crisa. The fierceness of centaurs is legendary in Fairyland, and their size and strength are awesome to behold. Pholas swishes his gray tail, and Chearon stomps the ground with nervous energy, his long black-and-white fetlock hairs riffling up and down.
“And you too ..., Master Calen.” Chearon acknowledges, with a snort and a grin. He reaches out with his hairy arm for a fist bump—and I reach up to return the gesture. I taught them this interchange from our human world, as a way to show triumph, and now they seem to use it for any and all reasons.
“Good to see you both again,” I say.
Pholas extends his hand for a shake, which I grasp and pump. Pholas and I do our usual competitive thing of trying to see who can grip the other’s hand the hardest, and my incarceration hasn’t done me any good in the strength department.
Pholas raises his eyebrows when I say, “Ouch, please let go.” He relaxes his grip, and I withdraw my hand.
He glowers. “What has Galdo done to you?”
I work my fingers to get the circulation going again. “Treated me like his prisoner. A single apple a day, a crust of bread and no exercise does not promote good health.”
Chearon slams his fist into his other hand. “I’d like to get my hands on that fiend.”
Pholas cranks his neck around, toward his saddlebag. “You’ll get the chance to show Galdo what a human champion can do, now that we’ve brought you a new set of armor.” Pholas draws himself up. “We’re also helping with the break-in tomorrow. With Ruby’s help, we’ve scouted the location of the ‘killing cave,’ as she calls it.”
“So you’re joining us in the morning?” I ask, surprised.
Chearon smiles. “We’re the diversion to keep the guards busy, while you recover the dragon babies. We’re taking an entire regiment of our fiercest warriors with us, as Jade requested.”
I scratch my head. “Jade is coordinating the attack?”
“It was her idea. We’ll pretend to fight the indentured dragons, the mothers of those babies, who want to revolt against Galdo,” Pholas says. “Then they’ll act like they’re dead, which will force the minotaur and ogre guards from the caves. That
’ll leave Galdo and whoever else is in his lab for you to battle.” He leans in. “But you should know, our sources tell us he’s become an even more powerful sorcerer since you last met.”
“Of course he has.” Crisa rolls her eyes. “He stole my spell books. If he’s been studying them, his power has increased proportionately with that knowledge.”
“All the more reason for urgency,” Pholas stomps a hoof. “Will you signal us like before when you’re ready for our attack?”
“Yes, this time I think I’ll use pink, my favorite color.” She smiles.
Pholas grins. “I’ll have to pretend it’s a ‘manly’ signal.”
“I’m sure you’re secure in your masculinity.” She smiles back.
Claymont steps forward, an anxious look on his face. “Did Ruby say if the hummingbirds have found my friend Baru?”
“I’m sorry.” Chearon shakes his head. “She didn’t mention anyone named Baru. She simply provided us with directions.”
Claymont sighs and drops his head.
I introduce my new friends, who nod their acknowledgement and manage weak smiles.
“So happy to meet all of you.” See my friends’ discomfort, Pholas cracks a smile. “Glad you made it out safely.”
“We were eating dessert,” Crisa says. “You’re welcome to join us for pie and coffee.”
Chearon bows, “We appreciate the offer, Your Highness, but we need to meet with the dragon leaders tonight to devise a realistic-looking but safe battle plan. If you’ll take your armor, Calen, we’ll be on our way.”
He removes his saddlebag and holds it out to me. Pholas does the same.
I take a loaded saddlebag in each hand but find I can’t hold them. They plunk onto the ground. Mordea steps up to help. I untie my shield from Pholas’s saddlebag, and Mordea and I empty the bags onto the ground.
My new armor is scrolled with flourishes and a centaur on the chest piece. I’m flattered they’ve chosen this image, that of a fearless warrior, to adorn my armor, which also commemorates my time as one of them.
Pholas looks down at the armor. “When we heard you’d been found and that a rescue was imminent, we put in an order for new armor with the ground gnomes. We assumed your old set was taken from you when Galdo captured you.”
I hand the empty saddlebags back to the centaurs. “Thank you, yes. I lost my armor, in addition to my swords, when I was seized. But I wasn’t rescued. A goblin helped me escape.”
“A goblin you say?” Pholas raises an eyebrow. “This war becomes more complicated every day. We’ve got dragons fighting with us and now goblins as allies. We can use all the help we can get, but it’s getting difficult to determine who’s on which side of this war.”
Chearon points to my armor. “Your helmet will need Crisa’s special magic added to it, but the rest of your armor is ready to go. The gnomes still had your measurements.”
“We even brought a new scabbard for your sword.” Pholas has two scabbards over his shoulder, one without a sword in it, and he hands me the empty one. “We understand your other sword is still missing.”
I nod and rub my fingers across the incredible, soft leather of Noblesse’s new sheath.
“As you can see,” Pholas says, “the pixies duplicated their previous work.”
I slide Noblesse into her new home, which fits her perfectly, just like the old one. She sighs contentedly.
Pixie leatherworking is phenomenal, even supernatural. As with the previous sheath, the etchings in the leather have been tooled to match each leaf, fairy, flower and vine in the sword’s design, while the strap has the same creamy feel. Even my name in Gaelic on the sheath is precisely the same as on Noblesse.
The two pieces, sword and scabbard, fit together as one, like twins from the same mold, and yet they were made by different tribes who live nowhere near each other. How do the pixies know what the gnomes design? Someday, I’ll have to ask.
I strap Noblesse to my waist, although she can also be strapped across my shoulder.
Mordea and I start to pick up the remaining armor pieces. The other two tomtes walk over to help me carry my armor back to the cave, keeping their eyes on the centaurs all the time. I’m guessing they’re less afraid than the others because they know they can shapeshift into centaurs of equal size and strength if need be.
“Leave the helmet with me, so I can magic it.” Crisa directs, and I hand it over. “I’ll leave it outside your room when it’s done.”
When Crisa says she’ll “magic” my helmet, she means she’ll give it the same supernatural abilities my previous helmet had. That helmet gave me a full circular view of my surroundings and signaled a threat by outlining any attacker in flashing red. My other helmet saved my life during the harpy battle.
Chearon salutes. “We must meet with the dragons now, but we’ll be there tomorrow, before first light.” He rears up, pivots and gallops off.
“Until tomorrow.” Pholas bows his head, pirouettes on one foot and then kicks up his heels to catch up with Chearon.
“See you then,” I yell to their retreating backs.
I turn and re-enter the cave with the others, some of whom carry a portion of my armor.
Crisa closes the rock opening with her wand and carries my helmet to her room, which is off to the right, an area she didn’t show us on the tour. The fact that many of her guests are male may have something to do with her desire for privacy.
We take the remaining armor to my room and then head back to the dining area to finish our dessert.
After we’re done, Claymont and Olea, who aren’t going with us in the morning, retire to their rooms. Claymont is staying back in the hope that Baru will arrive. Olea refuses to join us because he contends, “Yours is a suicide mission, and I won’t leave my wife a widow and my children fatherless. I’ve been away from them for weeks, and I want to go home. I’m heading there tomorrow.” I’m disappointed, but I understand his reasons.
With the new information from the centaurs, I, Crisa, the other two tomtes and the two oreads plan our attack strategy. The others, except for Crisa and me, voted that Grog not be included in the planning. I think that’s a mistake, but I can’t force them to trust him.
An hour later, the tomtes and oreads retire to their respective sleeping rooms, as we’ll be getting up before first light and need at least a partial night’s sleep. Crisa, Brutus and I remain in the dining room. Brutus lies on the floor with his eyes closed.
I stretch back in my chair, ready for bed too, when Crisa studies my head and shoulders.
“You need a shave and haircut,” she says. “I can conjure scissors and a shaver and make quick work of it.”
“Can’t you just wave your wand over my hair?” I ask. I’m tired and need to sleep, but the hair in my eyes and ears has been annoying.
“I could, but then you’d never experience my cosmetological skills.” She grins. “I’ll make it quick.”
“Okay.”
She waves her wand, and barber scissors and a straight razor appear on the table. With a flick of her wrist, a pile of shaving foam appears in her empty hand. She stows her wand, lathers me up, then shaves, snips and clips my hairy head and face, which makes me sleepy. I don’t nod off, however, when she’s so close to my face, her wildflower perfume and soft touch infusing my senses.
After a while, she steps back and declares, “A handsome champion if I ever saw one.”
I feel my face flush.
A mirror appears out of thin air. Crisa grasps it and hands it to me.
I stare at my reflection. “Thanks. I look civilized again. I’m not sure the others will recognize me.”
Weary, I rise from my chair, bid her good night, and Brutus and I wander toward my bedroom. Brutus plops down on the bed. I turn to close the curtain over the room’s entryway.
When I turn back, a naked man sits on my bed, holding one of the bed pillows in front of him where it counts. His chest is a thatched wiry mat, and he has a thick, full mane of
hair and a bushy beard.
I say, “Noblesse, ready to fight,” as I draw my sword from her new sheath.
“Relax.” The stranger raises his hand. “It’s me, Brutus.”
I aim my sword at his chest. “You think me a fool? What dark magic is this, and where’s my wolf?”
He sighs deeply and then whispers, “Would you be quiet? I don’t want anyone to overhear what I’m about to tell you. I am your faithful wolf guardian, and I’m not a dark one.”
Noblesse agrees because she isn’t vibrating. Could she be malfunctioning?
He walks to the back of the bedroom, still holding the pillow, and motions me to follow him, so we can talk privately. “I am and always have been a werewolf.”
I murmur, “Werewolves are the stuff of fantasy, not reality.”
The man grins. “So, you’ll believe in fairies, a basilisk, a bugbear, a dragon, but not a werewolf?” He says his last word a whisper.
“I’ve seen those creatures before.” I keep Noblesse pointed at his chest. “But I’ve never seen a werewolf.”
“That doesn’t mean we don’t exist. Had you ever seen a fairy before you stepped on Prince Enlil?”
“Okay. If you’re Brutus, tell me something only he would know.”
My stranger cocks his head, much as a wolf would. “Well, you sleep mostly on your left side, and you named the squirrel that tormented me in your back yard ‘Attila the Hun.’ I also kept bogles from attacking your cottage one night, which you thought was only a storm.”
He rubs his hairy chin. “And you paid a hundred dollars for me, a purebred dog, from the great magician Zamir. Didn’t it seem odd that he was asking so little?”
The thought had crossed my mind, but I sloughed it off, thinking Zamir, who was white-haired and wizened, was too aged to care for an animal and wanted to get rid of the burden quickly.
I point my finger at him. “Aha, I caught you. Zamir wasn’t a magician. He was just a feeble old man.” I refuse to acknowledge the accuracy of his other claims.
