by A. J. Searle
Fiona stiffened. “I’m a changeling.” Generally people did not like those that were different. Some even went so far as to say a changeling was someone magic had marked or cursed. Most like that were driven by fear, jealousy, and cruelty. She hadn’t thought Ronan Culley was like that.
Ronan grunted. “An interesting one at that. A deadly snake. Beauty with a bite.” Ronan chuckled at his own joke. “Do you know the wizard who is to be king?”
“Yes.” Fiona got up and moved to toss more wood in the fire. He wasn’t judging her. He was just stating the things he saw. He’d not cared before that she was a changeling. It had seemed unimportant to him when he kissed her.
“What is he like? I’d heard he was young. Chosen early because he is more powerful than many others who have trained their magic for years.” Ronan turned his head to look at her as he returned to his side.
“He is young but he is wise. He spoke kindly of you. He’s seen you in his dreams and thought you may need someone to protect you. I’ve done a very poor job of it thus far,” Fiona replied guiltily. “You were very brave today. Sledgers are dangerous creatures. How did you know what to do?”
“Someone told me.” Ronan rolled his head to the side to gaze toward the road. The horses still awake near the road. Fiona followed his gaze and found Ahearn looking back at the blacksmith. Keegan had mentioned some kind of communication between the blacksmith and the larger horse.
“Fortunate for you,” she said and Ronan looked at her again. “It is dangerous to use the sword the way you did.”
Ronan sighed heavily. “Are you certain you will not kiss me tonight?”
Fiona pressed her lips together. He did not want to talk about the sword. He’d changed topics each time she mentioned it. Perhaps, he’d already discovered the danger of the sword.
“Quite certain. And it will not help you to start begging.” She grinned.
“Then I will sleep. You said I needed rest. Perhaps you were right.” He closed his eyes. Fiona remained at his side, studying him closely. He’d been brave without the white metal. He’d faced the centaur with a mock of the King’s Sword, faced him with dark danger in his eyes. She wondered if maybe she was wrong about him.
Two hours later, Ronan’s temperature began to rise. Fiona bathed his face and arms with cool water while trying to keep him still. She considered waking Ula when she was unable to keep the blacksmith from tossing and turning. Instead she held on to him as he rode through the fever. But then, when the fever receded, chills began to rack his body.
“Dragons…blood,” He cursed from between chattering teeth. “I’m…so cold.” Fiona frowned. He had two blankets covering him and they’d done nothing to warm him. She glanced at the others who still slept. Finally, she lifted the covers and slipped beneath them at his side.
His head snapped around and he stared at her as she slid her nearly naked body against him. “What are you doing?” Fiona almost laughed. He was looking at her as if she’d bitten him.
“I have to get you warm,” Fiona explained patiently as she wrapped her arms around him. “Try to sleep.”
“Not an option,” Ronan answered. Fiona mistook the strangeness in his voice for caution. No doubt he had to be so since he started this journey to Merisgale. Too many would try to throw him off course or attempt to harm him.
“I will not harm you. You can trust me. I only want you to grow stronger so you can take the sword to Merisgale,” Fiona insisted, tightening her arms around him. “Are you not warmer?”
“I am,” he said. “Considerably so.”
“Then sleep.” She felt his arm come up across her back and did not resist when he pulled her closer, resting his head against her shoulder. He was seeking warmth, giving into the reason she spoke. When he inhaled deeply though, she stiffened.
The air had changed. Before he had only been flirting playfully, passing the time. Now, she was acutely aware of the thick tension that stretched between them. She started to pull away but he held her still.
“Much warmer,” her murmured in a deep voice as his fingers splayed across the small of her back, holding her to him. Fiona didn’t move, her heart pounding. Only seconds before he’d been as weak as a babe. He was not a babe now. He was a grown man with a grown man’s body, one that yearned for pleasure just as any other. She hadn’t considered he might want more than warmth from her.
“Your skin,” Ronan’s hot breath slipped across her shoulder in a thick whisper and she almost shivered herself as it caressed the sensitive skin of her neck. “It is so soft.”
“Don’t think of me like that,” she told him. She was lonely. It had been months since she and Diato had come together and her body had begun to finally want for a man’s touch again. That’s all she could think of to explain the heat that began to coil in her belly.
“And warm,” he said in a low voice as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s been so long…too long.” He brushed his mouth against her shoulder. She shivered when she felt the wet heat of his tongue as he licked her. He is ill, Fiona told herself. He doesn’t realize what he is doing. It is the fever. But the temperature of his cheek was only slightly warm when he breathed in her natural scent again. He lifted his injured arm and rested his hand on her hip, caressing her through the leather she wore.
“No, don’t move that arm. It needs to be kept still so it can heal properly.” Fiona bit her lip as his arms tightened and she realized she was pressed completely against him. He wasn’t listening to her. His breathing had deepened and his body was relaxed against hers. He’d fallen asleep. Moments later, he began to snore.
Fiona let herself relax. But the ache that had come to life within her still stirred. Her attention remained on the hardness of the man who held her. She could still hear the depth of his voice, feel the roughness of his fingertips echoing upon her. She closed her eyes, forcing thoughts of her mission to replace those that were tempting her. She could not allow her dedication to Merisgale to be swayed. She would not. She was a Serpentine Warrior.
Eight
“I may not be the smartest of men,” Keegan’s baritone voice filled with good humor roused Fiona from sleep, “But it looks to me like you took advantage of being ill.” He followed the observation with a laugh.
Ronan frowned as Fiona stirred, then sat straight up. He’d wanted her to sleep as much as possible before they headed out. He vaguely remembered her being awake during the night, at his side and tending to him.
“You are right, Yore. You are not the smartest of men.” Ronan continued to adjust his pack on Sorcha’s back, being careful not to move his arm too much. He’d awakened to Ula pouring her concoction down his throat and the serpentine sleeping soundly against him. He’d tired to push the healer away but she forced him drink every drop of the broth. It had obviously worked because half an hour later, he felt much stronger and revived.
“He is a King’s Guard now. He can do anything he wishes.” Arien came to Ronan’s defense and the blacksmith smiled. The boy suffered only a reddened bruise across his chest. He hadn’t even complained of it.
“And I couldn’t have done much anyway in the state I was in. I can barely remember anything that happened.” Ronan glanced at Fiona. Pity. She looked breathtaking as she rose from his blankets.
“You were feverish and talking nonsense most of the time.” Fiona rose to her feet and collected the blankets. She reached for her sword and sheath and slipped them across her back before handing the blankets to Ronan.
“No trouble from the centaur Bryan then?” Ronan made himself look away from Fiona and rested his eyes on Keegan.
“None.” The horseman shook his head. “Perhaps he hasn’t even noticed the sword he carries is a fake. Or he could have given up.”
“I don’t want to take any chances.” Ronan tucked the blankets beneath his pack on Sorcha’s back and then turned to wave to Ula. “Come, take a walk with me. I wish to speak with you privately.” The healer looked surprised at his request. She hur
ried forward to do as he wished, glancing back at the others.
Ronan walked beside her deeper into the trees, away from the campsite. Surrounded by the foliage and growth, the atmosphere was quiet except for the rustling their footsteps made beneath them. He’d discovered he liked the quiet of trees and nature. It helped him to think more clearly, to reason without interruption.
“I deserve an explanation. I must know those who travel with me for the sake of keeping the sword safe. I thought I knew who you were until yesterday.” His steps halted and he looked at her black eyes. “Start talking.”
Ula looked down at the moss-covered ground, breaking their eye contact. “I do not know where to start.” Her shoulders slumped as if she suddenly understood why Ronan had called her away from the others.
“Let me help you. Begin with how it is that you managed to appear a young maid when you were fighting those Sledgers.” Ronan crossed his arms.
“That is a bit more complicated than I have time for.” Ula shook her head. Ronan stared at her for moment.
“Then what kind of healer can create, carry, and throw magic from the palm of her hand?” Ronan let no softness find his expression or voice.
“I’m not a healer,” Ula said after a moment of hesitation. “But I do have healing capabilities.”
“Then what are you?” Ronan demanded. He was not impressed with her vague answer. He wanted an explanation, not an answer that would smooth things over. That’s what she had been doing all along. He felt foolish for allowing her behavior. Now, he would get the truth from her.
“I am a sorceress.” Ula winced when his breath sucked in through his teeth. “That is precisely why I didn’t tell you before. It does nothing but strike fear in the hearts of those I try to help.”
“And explains why you can use dark magic so easily,” Ronan added, feeling a bit guilty for his reaction. He also felt stupid for not guessing the truth before.
“Yes.” She sighed. “I mean you no harm, Ronan Culley. I only want…”
Ronan held up a hand for her silence before dropping it back to his arm. “You’ve lied to me. You’ve withheld information that I should have known from the beginning about the sword. Give me one reason I should allow you to continue to Merisgale with me. Why shouldn’t I doubt you now?”
Ula’s black eyes welled, surprising Ronan. “You speak the truth of me. I did not lie when I told you I had powers to know where I’m needed. Things are not as they should be. Someone is not who they seem.”
“It would appear that someone is you,” Ronan said pointedly. But some of his edge left him. A sorceress was powerful but rarely did you find one that worked their magic for evil purposes.
“We all have secrets. Mine are not those that bring danger to you or your journey.” She clasped her hand together. “I have always used my powers to protect.”
Ronan studied her for several minutes. He recalled the times she’d summoned the darkness. It had been times when someone was in danger. And she’d only used her sorcery when she fought the Sledgers. He wanted desperately to believe her, to believe that he’d judged her correctly.
“I am a blacksmith. I know very little of magic and sorcery. Tell me of the sword now.” Ronan leaned against the rough bark of a tree.
Ula nodded. “The white metal of the sword can only be used to stop the dark forces by a wizard. It is crafted into a weapon by a blacksmith who has shown great skill, skill that others have taken notice of. If the sword falls to the dark forces, Sleagan will be given rule of Meris.”
“Can’t another sword be made if that happens?” Ronan interrupted.
“Yes, but it has to be made before the white metal turns yellow. Once the metal of Hadenla is yellow no other sword can be made. Only when the power is held by someone pure, does the metal remain white.”
Ronan nodded that he understood. “If the sword falls into Sleagan’s hands and the metal of Hadenla turns yellow is there no hope of ever taking the power back from the dark forces?”
“It happened once before. Long before any of us were born. Sleagan got the sword and kept it for a very long time. Then a wizard called Robusk saved us.”
“Robusk,” Ronan repeated. There wasn’t a living thing that didn’t know the name of the wizard of the high council. He was said to be the most wise of all wizards and the strongest that had ever come out of the monastery. Of course, Thestian was said to be just as gifted.
“He destroyed Sleagan and took the sword back,” Ula nodded.
“But Sleagan lives,” Ronan argued. “If he did not, there would be no threat to the sword.”
Ula shook her head and explained, “All those who reign over the dark forces are called Sleagan. It is a title, passed on if one is killed. Most do not know that.”
“And what if the sword is given to someone who does not intend to use it?” Ronan was thinking of Bryan. “Would it end the battle between wizards and the dark forces?”
Ula smiled knowingly, as if she knew his thoughts. “The centaur’s intentions are good and pure. But one cannot hold the sword for long without having the urge to use it. And only a wizard can use the power of the sword correctly. It is why nine guards are dispatched to receive the sword. On their journey back, they hand the sword off to one another so that none of them grow attached to it.”
“Are you saying the centaur would use the sword?”
“Yes.”
“And if he did so, being no wizard, he would perish.” Ronan was beginning to understand.
“Or worse. He could be sent to join the dark forces, thus giving control to Sleagan,” Ula added.
“Why didn’t Thestian send more than one warrior to help me?” Ronan frowned.
“I don’t know.” Ula shook her head.
Ronan stood still, contemplating all she’d told him. It was a lot to process. But one thing he understood above all. This was a more important journey than just delivering a weapon.
“Why did Fiona attack you?” Ronan looked up when she sighed heavily.
“When she was a child, her grandmother was put into the same situation you find yourself in today. She took up the responsibility of delivering the sword. I’d known her for some time. And I knew the moment the dark forces took her over, felt it deep within me.” Ula’s eyes filled with sadness and her gaze dropped to the ground. “I killed her. Unfortunately she made a choice and I was made to do it right in front of Fiona. She was just a girl.”
Ula shook her head. “But it made her stronger. That child took up the sword and carried it all the way to Merisgale alone.” The woman shrugged. “She has hated me these many years and I kept away from her.”
“Because you are afraid of her?”
“No. I kept away because it would cause her pain and because of the River Blanch. When I returned home, Theora’s death is what the river haunted me with. It was the same when I crossed again with you.” Ula’s hands shook. “It is the only time in my life that I ever considered allowing the dark forces to have the sword. Theora was my friend and I know what I did had to be done but it has never allowed me peace.”
Ronan regarded her expression closely, suddenly feeling sorry for her. She was like him. She lived with a death that rode guilt into her with every breath she took. He knew how that felt.
“You may continue with me, Ula,” Ronan finally said. “This is the second time you’ve made me doubt you. Do not do it again.”
“I will not. I have laid it all before you,” Ula vowed.
“All except why I saw you as a beautiful young woman yesterday,” he amended and she smiled. “But I shall allow you that one secret. As you say, we all have ours to keep.”
“You have no secrets.” Ula tilted her head. “Your eyes give away everything about you.”
“Do they?” Ronan allowed himself to smile.
“It is why the centaur shows you respect even though you stand in the way of the sword.” Ula nodded in the direction of the camp. “And why they follow you and do as you say.�
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“The boy follows me because he sees me as a father figure. I accept that. Keegan comes with us out of fear that I will keep his horses. And Fiona is here because she was sent by the wizard Thestian,” Ronan corrected.
“You are not a very bright blacksmith are you?” Ula’s lips curled. “You make excuses rather than accept that people care for you, or respect you. Even a sniveling thief looked at you with admiration.”
Ronan shifted. “Because he thought I would kill him if he did not.”
Ula waved a finger in the air. “He was afraid of Keegan Yore. He was not afraid of you.” She smirked then. “And Fiona may be here to make certain that sword goes to Merisgale but when she did not know who you were, she was still drawn to you.”
“You knew about that?” Ronan felt slightly embarrassed.
“Keegan runs his mouth more than usual when he’s been drinking,” Ula told him as she stepped forward. “Let me look at your arm. The broth I gave you should have it healing quickly.”
“What exactly was that foul tasting mess you made me drink?” Ronan asked as she unwrapped his arm to peek at his wound. Strangely it did not hurt.
“Cow urine,” She answered.
“What?” Ronan’s stomach turned but Ula’s laughter settled it again. “Witch.”
“It was just water, herbs, and a bit of healing magic.” She cut her eyes up at him. “I wouldn’t have fed you urine unless you were dying.”
“Remind me not to die when you are close by.” Ronan wrinkled his nose. She rewrapped his arm.
“It is healing quickly.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Ronan told her.
“A little spell to ease your suffering.” She shrugged. “I thought you would need it after that exchange between you and Fiona last night. You may not remember but if you hadn’t have been ill you would have needed both of your arms.”
Ronan frowned. “You should have healed me earlier then.”
“I tried. You would not drink the broth remember?” Ula looked at him and he grinned.
