Lexin's Quest (Knights of Kismera Book 2)

by Tamara H Hartl

  Vashti was just over five feet tall, slender as a willow and easily as graceful. She had long blond hair so pale it was almost platinum and violet eyes, an intense color against the paleness of her skin.

  Vashti was also a sorceress, one of much power and skill. She had pledged an oath to aid and protect the Lionblade clan, so served Ki and Drace and Ki’s father before them. Despite her youthful appearance, Vashti of Ferndale was four hundred and twenty-six years old.

  “Oh thank God,” Cerise breathed. “How did you get here? Did you come by ship?”

  “No, my lady. I was sent by Nimbus to aid you if it is possible. I shifted into the form of the falke and flew here. I had just managed to locate Cearan with mind touch when the wave took you. Thinking you might have the greater need, I followed you. I could not use my magic as the falke. Then, I thought it best to remain as the falke when the male Werre came from the forest. Thank the gods he had no ill intentions.”

  “So you will tell him when he gets back that you are here?” Cerise asked. “He left this morning to go in search of Lexin and the others.”

  “No, my lady, I will go in the morning as the falke to find him and see if I can aid in the search.”

  “That would be wonderful. Oh thank you, Vashti. I don’t have the words to tell you how…” her voice broke and she couldn’t finish as the tears threatened.

  “Now tell me what has brought you and the others here and all that has transpired. And as you tell this tale, I will help myself to those berries,” Vashti said with a smile, referring to a small basket of berries that Yetta had offered Cerise. Having no appetite, Cerise had left them.

  She rose and retrieved the basket and set it in front of Vashti along with a cup of fresh water.

  “Thank you, my lady. I have hungered for food such as this for days, but the falke cannot survive on it. One is as the animal they shift to, including the hunger.”

  Cerise shuddered in memory of the bird eating the mice.

  While Vashti ate and refreshed herself, Cerise told her their story, from Lexin riding into the keep to the wave and all that she remembered in between.

  Cerise finished recounting all that had transpired just as Vashti was finishing her meal. The sorceress delicately wiped at her mouth with the tip of one finger.

  “Thank you, my lady,” she said with a slight dip of her head. “Now I have one thing I think you should do.”

  “What is that?” Cerise asked her.

  “I think you should speak with Riordan’s father. I do not understand why he reacted as he did when the High King was mentioned, but I have my suspicions.”

  “And what are they? How can I help?” Cerise asked. She was eager to do whatever necessary to move closer to returning to Kismera with Lexin at her side.

  “Deverell became upset when the High King was mentioned. He is a Werre warrior of many years. An older warrior would not be as missed in his service to the king. I think he was one of the two warriors who traveled with the child Greer.”

  Cerise sat stunned for a moment at Vashti’s reasoning, doing some thinking herself. “Vashti, how could you remove a birthmark on a small child?” she asked, not liking the ways that ran through her head. “Are there herbs or compounds that could do it?”

  “Of course, but those would be dangerous, as they could poison the child as well as disfigure it. You said though that the herbalist refused to sell any such potions to the woman who took Greer,” Vashti replied.

  “Yes, but she may have found someone else to do it, or found another way. How old do you think Riordan is?” Cerise pondered.

  Vashti looked at Cerise, her reasoning the same as the other woman’s. “You are thinking that Riordan is the child Greer?”

  “Yes, and I plan on finding out tomorrow for sure,” she said and sat back with a stubborn twist to her mouth. She looked at the elf woman and noticed how tired she appeared. “Let’s discuss this later. You look exhausted.”

  “I am fairly tired, my lady. I may not get the chance to talk with you in the morning. Here is my plan and we will both pray that I find the men of Oralia.”

  Minutes later, a falcon slept on its perch, head beneath its wing and Cerise lay in quiet slumber, a slight smile upon her lips.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cerise found Deverell the next morning in a clearing with several Wilder young men and women. He carried a long sword and was shouting instruction in Elvish.

  The youths were similarly armed and began to spar, pairing up as they practiced. Deverell walked among the groups, correcting and directing each one.

  Cerise watched for a while waiting for Deverell to notice her. She was sure on several occasions that he had seen her, but continued with his students.

  Finally, he called a break and thirsty fighters went to the village well for water. Unable to avoid her any longer, Deverell went to where Cerise sat underneath a shady tree.

  “I see you are feeling better, lady. It is good for you to be out and about,” he greeted as he stuck the tip of his sword into the ground and leaned on it.

  “Yes, thank you,” she replied politely. “Would you sit with me a moment?”

  Deverell sat on a bench that was next to hers. “Is there something I can help you with? Riordan is searching for your mate and all we can do at this time is pray to Arahtok that he is successful.”

  “I know. Patience has never been one of my virtues, though.”

  Deverell chuckled at that comment and then sobered, looking at her with eyes still sharp, despite his years. “You did not come to talk of virtues, I would wager.”

  “Deverell, I have been thinking on something and I believe it is time that I am totally honest with you.”

  “Hmm, this sounds serious, lady. Go on,” he said, leaning once more on his sword, even though he was seated.

  “Lexin was sent by the High King himself to look for a child, well a man now, who supposedly died soon after his birth. In fact though, the baby lived and was taken away. I don’t know the reasons for sure and now it doesn’t even matter. We were not sent to lay blame or punish any of those who were involved—only to find the young man and bring him back to Bellmore to claim his right to the throne at Yeager’s death.”

  Deverell sat there with a face devoid of any emotion, although Cerise noted that he looked a little pale.

  Quickly she continued, “The men I traveled with have put themselves in great danger at no personnel gain to bring this man home. The lady Ki Lionblade knowingly gave up her right to the throne when she bonded with my nephew Drace,” she explained. “Cearan is next in line to be High King and does not wish to claim it. Lexin is his half brother and is the next in line behind Cearan.

  “We don’t wish to cause harm,” she added and waited for his reaction to her story. He seemed to relax a degree but continued to sit with his expression still carefully blank.

  Deciding she was already in it deep, she decided to continue, “The baby was taken by the maidservant of his mother at the direction of another. Two Werre men went with her and a wet nurse was found and brought with the child. One of the men was lost overboard a vessel called the Sea Witch. I am of the opinion that…,” Cerise paused, ready to do or die. “You are the other warrior that accompanied them.”

  Cerise had been watching him carefully, and although he blinked a couple of times, he did not move or change expression. She hated that ability that men had, at least the ones she knew, to not give any indication of what they were thinking if they did not want another to know. Right in front of her was a prime example.

  Finally, he shifted, sitting a little taller, hands still wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

  “And if this is true, then Riordan is the man we seek. His father called him Greer. I’m assuming that his name was changed to further hide him.”

  “Be silent woman,” Deverell barked at her suddenly and stood, walking off a few steps then stopping, his head bowed. Finally, he sheathed
his sword, jamming it into the scabbard roughly, making the steel on steel hiss.

  He turned and stopped again in front of Cerise but did not take a seat. “I have raised that boy as my own. He is mine in here, if not by blood,” he said in a quiet snarl, thumping his chest over his heart. Grief lined his face. “I have tried to do right by him for the wrong I was ordered to do. The woman you speak of that carried the babe from the castle—I killed her after she burned the child.”

  Cerise gasped at his words, holding on to the edge of the bench with her good hand.

  “So determined to hide the boy, she took a dagger and laid it in a fire. Once it was hot, she laid it over the birthmark he carried to conceal it. She burned his other hand for evil reasons known only to her. When I heard the babe’s screams, I lost all reason and I slew the woman in cold blood. The wet nurse stayed with me to care for the child. There was no love lost between the two women. She died of a fever when Riordan was ten summers old.”

  “I was told you were headed to Burning Wood. How did you end up here?” Cerise wanted to know.

  “Burning Wood is an evil place! It is no place for a child. I came with a band of traders to this place and then I met Yetta.” His expression softened momentarily at the mention of his love. “I could not leave after that. She loves Riordan as if he were her own.”

  He sat heavily after that, as if all the air went out of him. “And now what would you do? Force him to go back to Bellmore? You have seen how he is with these people. He is happy. He has a life as a free man, to come and go as he pleases.”

  “I don’t think it was in Lexin’s plans to force him to do anything of the sort. That would be up to Riordan. Yeager would be pleased just to know that Riordan is alive and well.” Cerise ducked her head. “You would wish to know the same if you were Yeager, true?”

  He did not reply.

  She looked up again. “How would you feel if your son was stolen from you after only one look, and then your wife died? He has lost everyone that mattered to him.”

  Deverell looked at her with pain in his eyes. “What would you have me do?”

  “Tell Riordan the truth and let him decide,” she said, simply.

  “And if he hates me? Then I have lost a son either way. He either leaves me here,” he gestured with a swing of his arm towards the village. “Or he leaves me here,” he placed the same hand over his heart.

  They became aware of the returning students who waited for Deverell, watching the two of them curiously.

  “I must return to my work. You should return to Riordan’s house and rest. I will have one of the children find your falke something to eat,” he said as he stood once more.

  Cerise looked up at him, a rather guilty expression on her face. “I, um, released her this morning.”

  “Why did you do that?” Deverell asked in surprise.

  “I hated to see her tied so. If she wishes, she will return.” Cerise shrugged. “I am feeling stronger. I will see if Yetta can use my help with something,” she said, not exactly sure how she would communicate with the woman.

  “As you wish, my lady. I must go.”

  “Deverell,” Cerise called to him as he started to walk away. He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. “Just think about it, alright?”

  He nodded once and then continued on to join the others.

  Cerise had cleaned Riordan’s small house—one large room, really—until not one speck of dust was to be had. There was no armor to polish as he had left wearing a sad looking old chain mail shirt. He lived simply. But Cerise did find one thing that gave her some insight into the man. On a shelf halfway hidden behind the screen that offered privacy for the bath or the chamber pot, she found several little woodcarvings. All consisted of animals that inhabited the forest around them along with one of a horse. The carvings had intricate detail. She did not know if he had done them himself or if they had been gifts. There was no other decoration in the home. His weapons, hung on the wall, appeared ready for any trouble.

  She took the carvings and cleaned them until they looked oiled and then placed all but one back on their shelf. The one of the horse she placed in the center of the table, staring at it until tears choked her. It reminded her of Mitch. Although he had been the cause of all her troubles, or at least the start of them, she missed him terribly.

  Memories of the big wave assailed her. She could clearly see Lexin’s face as he raced down the slope to reach her. She hoped she never saw such fear again. Overwrought, Cerise placed her head on her arms and cried. Yetta found her there much later, asleep.

  The elf woman gently woke her and helped her into bed. Once Cerise was asleep again, she sat beside her, one hand on the younger woman’s shoulder in comfort. She knew how to heal wounds of the flesh, but had never figured how to ease the suffering of the kind of pain this woman had.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Riordan crept on his belly closer to the encampment, trying to see what had this large group of Wilder elves so excited. He was pretty sure he had found Fen’s main camp, but had yet to see Fen himself.

  Riordan had searched Burning Wood carefully, keeping to the shadows in case one of Fen’s band was lurking about. Fen knew Riordan only by reputation, and as far as Riordan knew, he and his father were the only lion men in this area. Trackers were hunters and Riordan had been hunting Fen for some time and Fen knew it. Not uncovering any sightings of Fen or the lion men who had come with Cerise, Riordan returned to the forest surrounding the village of Burning Woods and began to carefully scout throughout.

  Inching his way closer to the commotion, Riordan peered carefully into the night, catching glimpses of the band as they moved around a large campfire. Something large was behind the fire and the elves seemed intent on it. Finally, several moved out of his line of sight, giving him a view of a cage and the bodies of two men tied, arms over their heads, to trees on one side.

  There was a large cask of ale close by and from the drunken antics of the elves, much of its contents were gone. Several of the elves had sharpened sticks and were taking turns poking the two men. One stuck his stick through the bars of the cage and an angry roar sounded from within.

  Riordan shrank back at the sound in surprise. A lion? What in the name of Arahtok are they doing with a lion, he wondered? Surely they are not getting it into a frenzy and intend to put the men in with it.

  One of the elves viciously jabbed the man with blond hair and a lion’s rage was his reward. The man lashed out with a booted foot, roaring in fury and fighting his bonds. His kick caught one of his tormentors in the knee and the elf fell. He was close enough that the lion man could get his legs around him after giving the elf a wicked jab with his spur and then proceeded to try to choke the life out of him.

  There were several shouts and another elf lashed his staff around, catching the Werren man in the face. His leg hold loosened and then released after another elf kicked him in the ribs.

  The cage shook as the lion inside hit the bars, one paw coming through with razor sharp claws hoping for a victim.

  Riordan’s lips curled back in a snarl as he watched helplessly. He was one against nearly thirty elves who were heavily armed.

  Suddenly, the man he sought appeared by the fire. Fen brought a halt to the torture with a shout. He went to the cask and kicked it over angrily.

  Riordan could not hear what Fen was saying but he thought he could safely assume that Fen was not happy with his men. The men slowly dispersed to find bed rolls. Fen stood over the tied men for a moment and then picked up a dropped staff. He walked to the cage, aimed quickly, jammed the staff inside and then walked away as the lion inside roared in pain.

  Feeling impotent rage, Riordan retreated to where he had his own hidden camp. He sat in the dark for several long moments, shaking.

  Flying in on nearly silent wings, a falke landed by his boot and looked up at him quizzically.

  “Well hello there little one,” he murmured. �
�What are you doing here? Cerise will be missing you.”

  There was a slight shimmer and suddenly a woman stood before him. “Riordan?” she asked in a soft voice.

  Riordan crabbed backwards from his place on the ground and then rose quickly, drawing his sword.

  Vashti raised a hand. “Hold. I am sent from the guardian dragon, Nimbus.”

  Riordan’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you that you would know the guardians?”

  She lowered her hand slowly. “I am Vashti of Ferndale.”

  Riordan lowered his sword and knelt on one knee in front of her. “Sorceress,” he whispered respectfully and with considerable surprise.

  Vashti rested her hand on his shoulder. “Rise Riordan. There is no need to honor me so.”

  “Lady, all have heard of you, even before the Battle of Hopa. It is said you may be the strongest of sorcerers, second only to the guardian dragons.”

  He came to his feet, stepping back a step. “You said you were sent?” he asked.

  “The Werre that are held are friends of mine and belong to the clan Lionblade. I serve that clan. I can help you free them.”

  “Sorceress, there are almost thirty men over there. While I respect your abilities, I fear we are grossly outnumbered.”

  Vashti cocked her head and gave him a little smile. “Are we?”

  Riordan looked over Vashti’s shoulder into the dark forest and saw nothing but the trees. “I believe you have left your army behind, sorceress.”

  A soft laugh drew his attention back to her face.

  “Look closer, lion man,” she said softly and turned herself to look.

  Riordan peered hard into the darkness. After a moment, he saw something so subtle it seemed shadows were sliding over shadows. Then he saw the large figure emerging from the darkness. He dropped to a knee once more, Vashti following suit beside him.

  “My Lady Zara,” he said quietly, bowing his head in homage.