by Lorna George
Shrieking, she called her sisters, and within moments, two answering cries came up from the woods. They were on the ground, but after her brush with death, she had no wish to land and screamed again to bring them up to her. Her sisters were in no hurry to do her bidding, not wanting to show deference or weakness, but eventually appeared from the sea of green, flying up to where she waited. As they came closer, the magic sang loudly in her blood, and she could smell their fear and confusion at her altered appearance. They could smell her power, and it pleased her.
Odette, youngest of the three sisters, and weakest, showed concern. ‘Sister, what has happened to you?’
‘Master has given me great power!’ Genevieve cried, circling impressively and flashing her needle sharp fangs of steel. ‘He has torn me from the jaws of death and named me his favourite!’
‘He has given you armour to protect your feeble form?’ sneered Naeva, the eldest. She had always fancied herself the head of the nest and the strongest, but where there may have been cause for contest before, Genevieve knew that now there was not.
‘This is no armour, Sister,’ she replied, flying closer to her older sibling to prove her point, and revelling in the fear Naeva smelled of. ‘My form is no longer feeble, as yours is. Our master has made me his weapon!’
She had expected deference then, but Naeva spoke through her terror at her sister’s altered form and scorned her. ‘He has cursed you!’
The magic screamed for blood, for submission, and losing herself to the call, Genevieve launched herself at her older sister. Her claws pierced her flesh easily, where Naeva’s clanged without purchase, and with a screech of violent fury, Genevieve’s jaws sank into her soft throat, ripping and drinking with a hunger that would not be quenched. The life was drained from the body in her claws, her prey’s struggles useless and eventually ceasing until it was nothing but a motionless corpse. She shook the mangled thing from her talons and it dropped to the distant ground like a stone.
Madness and seized her, and she turned to her other sister, who now reeked with terror and flapped gracelessly.
‘No, my sister!’ Odette cried. ‘I pledge my allegiance only to you, the strongest of our nest and the favourite of our master!’
Genevieve stopped her approach, and spoke with the voice of their master. ‘You are weak, Odette, but you may yet come in useful to me. Keep your life for now, but follow my bidding or you too shall perish.’
Odette lowered her head in submission, flying lower than her more powerful sister, but Genevieve could no longer savour it. Her mind was taken, her body writhing in pain beneath the metal surface her master had given her. Through her agony, all she knew was that she must find the Small Warrior and kill her dragon, as her master bade her.
*
Arun was jolted awake by the sounds of people in their camp. Immediately alert, despite the long day, he looked at Naomi asleep beside him. Remembering that she was unlikely to wake because of the poison still working its way through her system, he very carefully eased out of their bedroll to the edge of the platform high in the trees. They weren’t discovered, he was glad to find, but on the ground beneath where they were spending the night was a group of ten or so men sporting the Ffionite uniform. They looked like they were planning to set up camp there themselves.
He looked hesitantly at the sleeping woman, oblivious to their dangerous situation, and wondered if he should wake her. He wanted her to rest, knowing that despite his own assistance and her attempts to brush it off as nothing, she was severely weakened. That said, he also knew she was the best person to offer up advice in this situation. It was possible they could spend the night without giving their presence away, but if these soldiers decided to use Naomi’s own tactic of sleeping up in the trees, all would be lost. Right now they had the element of surprise, but he was unsure how many of his men were awake, and if it was even possible to signal them. He had his own sword, the dagger Naomi had very quietly kept and a bow with a quiver of arrows, but no other weapons.
He couldn’t risk any of the Ffionites getting away to tell others of their location, but from his current position there was no way for him to reach his own men and organise an ambush. Not while keeping his own restriction spell in place, at any rate. Thirty paces wasn’t far enough to do anything constructive, and if he tried to get to the next tree across where he knew the Sergeant was sleeping, he risked accidentally dragging Naomi off the side of their own platform. Even if she was awake, he didn’t know if she would have the energy to follow him across, negating this thought even as he completely refused to break the restriction spell without a solid cause.
There was always the option of magic, of course. He was powerful enough that he could take out all of their foes with one fell swoop and solve all of their problems. Still, Naomi would be angry, adamant as she was that it would give away their position to a host of other enemies, and he had finally managed to get onto some common ground with her. He didn’t want to jeopardise that, and again glanced at her peacefully sleeping figure. Perhaps he really should wake her? If she could see the situation for herself, she might decide it was a risk worth taking?
‘Looks good, Verne,’ one gruff voice spoke loudly from right beneath their tree. ‘Lots of canopy cover, but a good, clear bit of ground so we can keep watch.’
‘Any water?’ The one called Verne shoved his way through the jostling men and come to stand with the first speaker.
‘A small pool, just a little West of here,’ replied his companion. ‘Won’t be much of a detour in the morning for anyone as wants it. Still got the provisions from those we left back there, too.’
‘Damn clabbert,’ cursed Verne. ‘Four down now, thanks to those blighters.’
‘Maybe they’ll catch us up?’
‘You better hope not, Paget. Leaving them in the middle of this place with no food or water, poisoned up to their eyeballs? We’ll all be sleeping with one eye open if we know what’s good for us.’
There was a dark chuckle from the one called Paget. ‘Don’t be daft, man. They’re dinner for some lucky creature by now, and you know it. Told ‘em all, we don’t carry no dead weight, and once you’re hit by one of those darts, that’s all you are.’
‘Dead?’ Questioned Verne, and they both laughed uproariously, clapping each other on their backs.
Arun’s nose curled in disgust. Clabbert poison wasn’t fatal, as he’d learnt today, so what these people had essentially done was left their own men out to die in the forest, completely incapable of taking care of themselves, and taken their supplies. Naomi had told him it took a good day for the poison to pass through, and only then if you managed to treat it in some way. The men left out in the forest were surely dead by now, and if not yet, would be by morning. Here, he assumed, were their commanding officers laughing carelessly at their grim fate. He found it almost intolerably cruel, and was glad Naomi wasn’t awake to see it. He knew it would shame her.
‘Alright, you lot!’ Verne called out to the others. ‘Get your backsides out there and find wood for a fire and sleeping platforms. Don’t know about you, but I’m bloody knackered!’
Hearing this, he knew he had no choice but to act. Moving away from the edge of the platform, he debated what his best option was. He ought to wake Naomi, but some small part of himself wanted to do this on his own. Something about her always made him feel so incapable, and in truth, he was fed up with having to rely on her help. It was a simple ambush, and judging from the fact she hadn’t moved at all during the loud conversation right beneath them, she was in such a deep sleep that she was unlikely to wake any time soon. If she was still riddled with poison and half coherent, what help could she be anyway? He could do this without her help, and prove to her that he wasn’t as useless as she seemed to believe.
Of course, there was no way he was going to break the restriction spell. They had come a way to understanding each other, and despite her almost thoughtless courage earlier today that had both touched and terrified
him, he still didn’t trust her not to make a run for it. Still, it was now painfully evident that the thirty paces was a lot less than he had initially believed, and he felt like a hypocrite for only realising now it was an inconvenience to him, and not the multiple times Naomi herself had tried to tell him as much. Eighty paces, that was more like it. He still had control over where she could go, but it would give them both a little more freedom of movement. It might even help in his attempts to win her over.
Reaching deep into his magic where the spell was hidden from her, he focused on extending the distance between them while still retaining his hold over her movements. She didn’t move at all while he did it, and he was glad that at least mentally the spell wasn’t too invasive. In sleep her defences were lower than they would be usually, and he was very tempted to just have a small peek into her memories and see if he could glean some sort of clue as to her background. He then thought better of it. It was information he could wait for, at least for now, and he really did want to win her trust. With trust came respect, and with respect came friendship. Who knew where that might lead in the end?
For better or worse, she was his wife, and despite everything, he still wanted to have a happy marriage. It had been an unconventional start, but he had meant it when he’d confessed earlier that he had chosen to go through with the marriage based almost solely on their conversation in the dark. He had judged her then as clever, brave, and in a difficult situation. It hadn’t been precisely the situation he had expected, but he hadn’t been far off the mark. For now, all he could do was hope he could somehow talk her around and be patient. It wasn’t going to be easy; the woman was so pig-headed sometimes and made him feel like an idiot almost constantly, but they would get there. They had to.
Careful not to disturb her, he retreated from the connection of their minds and had to force himself not to reach down and softly touch her cheek while she slept. Standing up quietly in order to physically put some distance between them, he turned away from her. Slinging his bow and quiver over his head and shoulder, he began to climb up and out of the tree. Trying to concentrate on being as quiet as possible so as not to be detected by the impending threat beneath him, he found himself wondering if she felt their Bond as strongly as him, and if she did, how she could continue to deny it.
Mulling over ways he could potentially expose her to the irrefutable connection between them, he was only half listening to the exchange between the soldiers on the ground. It was only when he heard a faint tune, not unlike what Naomi had been casually humming yesterday, than he stopped his stealthy movements and looked down between the branches to the platform where he had left her. She hadn’t moved, and he had to lean across the branch he was clinging to a little precariously to find the source.
The song was again wordless, and a little faster than Naomi’s. It sounded almost panicked, desperate, but still somehow beautiful. It seemed to be coming from a sealed, metal crate that a few of the Ffionites had gathered around, and he listened intently even as he began to move again towards the tree beside their own.
‘Can’t make the cussing thing shut up,’ came the voice he recognised as Verne. ‘No tongue to cut out, no throat to slit.’
‘We just got to encourage it to change to its human form,’ replied Paget.
‘And how do you propose we do that, eh?’
There was that horrible little laugh from the man called Paget again, and Arun made a mental note to seek that one out himself when the time came. ‘Easy. It just needs a bit of incentive, you know? Let’s get that fire properly going.’
The singing grew more frantic and became louder, making Arun pause for a moment. Whatever was in that crate was in a lot of trouble, and obviously knew it. He had no idea what kind of creature it might be, but he wasn’t about to stand by and allow these men to commit the torture they were obviously planning. If he stood by and did nothing, he was just as guilty as they were.
He began to move a little more quickly, finally finding a branch solid enough for him to cross into the other tree. Sergeant Naseem was standing on the platform and could now clearly see him. He had his bow notched and ready, watching the exchange below. When he noticed Arun, he went to offer help, but was waved aside. Since Naomi had joined their party, everyone had been treating him as though he were completely fragile. He knew it was probably the loss of Rayan and Esta that contributed to this, as well as his recent displays of emotional instability, but he was still in control.
He made it at last down to the platform and the Sergeant whispered near silently, ‘I’ve sent Rostam around to the others. We’re taking aim so we can consecutively shoot down and finish them all at once, but we have to wait for his signal first.’
Nodding his assent, Arun removed his own bow and notched an arrow carefully. He watched the camp below, their fire now roaring furiously as Paget and Verne looked on eagerly.
‘You boy!’ Paget called to a scrawny young thing almost concealed in the side-lines and clearly not wishing to be spotted. ‘Drag that crate over here.’
The boy hesitated. ‘Sir, we ought not… The Watcher…’
‘You do as you’re ordered, or we’ll leave you here to fend for yourself!’ Verne snapped back, then snorted as the boy jumped to do as he was told. ‘The Watcher. Never heard such crock in all my life.’
As both men laughed, Arun felt a little sorry for the boy, but knew he’d done something very similar when Naomi had mentioned the forest spirit. Had he sounded like this awful man? Scorned her beliefs with no regard? He knew he had. It was yet another thing to add to the list of apologies he needed to make.
‘Open the lid, boy,’ ordered Paget, a long sword held in his hand as he stood between the crate and the fire. The boy did as he was told, looking decidedly miserable about the whole thing, and Paget thrust the sword point-first into the now open crate.
‘A nice bit of sport,’ he laughed.
The wordless singing was loud now and Arun felt the air squeeze out of his chest as a sense of pain overwhelmed him. He felt dizzy and sick, the music igniting a horror he had never felt before and a rage that nearly blinded him. When he looked back down to the clearing, he saw the sword had been pulled from the crate, and wrapped tightly around its length was a winding vine, covered in green leaves and purple flowers. The crying fear was coming from that, and as he saw Paget turn the sword slowly, then look to the burning flames of the fire, he knew they had to act now if they were going to help this poor thing.
‘We can’t wait,’ he gasped, drawing his bow and taking aim. ‘We have to act now.’
‘We could miss them if we start firing without the others.’ Naseem warned, his whisper barely audible. The song was in his head now, pleading, hurting.
‘No, we have to help it.’
‘I’ll signal first, that way we might have a better chance,’ Naseem let out a strange bird call, and drew his own bow. As he took aim, he suddenly asked. ‘What’s Lady Naomi doing?’
The desperation that was humming in his body in time with the tune dulled a little at this question. He grit his teeth. ‘Sleeping.’
‘I hate to tell you this, my King,’ Naseem sounded suddenly less far away, and he looked at his Sergeant’s wry expression as he pointed down to the edge of the clearing. ‘But she isn’t.’
Confused as the anger ebbed a little from his mind, Arun looked to where he was pointing. Sure enough, there she was, and as he recognised his own magic wrapping around her, building in force and power, he realised the fury and pain he was experiencing belonged to her. Now able to target it, he blocked the worst and felt his vision begin to clear. Hot wind blew through the small clearing, and her hands ignited with bright flames of burning power. Afraid for her state of mind, Arun reached out to her mentally, but was pushed back firmly. She was in control despite her world-rocking rage, and it shocked him to see her harness his magic with such skill and force.
The boy noticed her first and screamed. ‘It’s The Watcher!’
&nbs
p; ‘How dare you,’ she spoke, her voice hushed, but carried threateningly by the magic. ‘How dare you do this in my forest?’
Chapter Fifteen
She hadn’t meant to tap into Arun’s magic. She had no experience of using fire like this or being in control of someone else’s gift, but it had happened so fast. It was almost a natural instinct. Her land magic had been strong when she had it, but using it for attack took skill. She supposed the years of practice back then were serving her well now, and walked slowly towards the men that were desecrating her home.
The cries of the baby wood sprite rang in her ears, its pain and fear having woken her from her deep sleep, and finding Arun gone without trace, she’d almost thoughtlessly ignited the magic and dropped down into the enemy camp. Walking slowly across the damp grass with deadly intent, she didn’t notice that the grass where her feet touched curled with the heat and turned black. From the trees, two men ran to attack, swords raised, and without so much as a second glance, she raised her hand and burnt them to a cinder from the inside out. The lifeless husks fell to the ground, a cloud of ash rising from where they made contact, but she didn’t even pause. Her target stood at the camp fire, frozen in horror, the crying baby wrapped helplessly around his sword.
‘Who the hell are you?’ barked the large man beside the perpetrator. There was a teenage boy cowering behind them both, whispering fearfully.
‘It’s The Watcher! I told you, I warned you, but you didn’t listen!’ he bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. ‘We’ll all perish!’
‘There’s no such thing as the damned Watcher!’ replied the big man. ‘Paget, tell him! That’s just a woman!’
Naomi smiled then, and the one who had tormented the baby he still held looked fit to soil himself. His eyes bulged and he took a step back, but didn’t relinquish his hold on the still crying child.
‘Paget,’ she spoke his name quietly and the fire she held in her clenched fists flared. ‘Release the baby.’
