Water Spell (Guardians of the Realm Book 1)

by Lizzy Ford

  “I’m proud of you,” she said. “But I’m not sorry I slapped you.”

  Tieran’s gaze went to the ground, as if he did not know how to handle her when they were not yelling at one another.

  Sela held out her hand in a peace offering.

  He leaned forward and took it, shuddering when her cool magic soothed the fury in his blood. He shifted closer, as if testing her to determine if she had forgiven him. Sela tugged him over to the bed and stretched out on her side.

  Tieran lay on his back beside her, and she relaxed. The tension and agitation fled from his body with the contact of their bodies.

  “How will you avenge your sisters’ deaths?” she asked.

  “I challenged the man who murdered them to a battle in the morning. He is meeting me by the lake.”

  “Lake,” she breathed. “You need my help?”

  “Never.”

  She rolled her eyes and shifted away, leaving him to deal with his fevered blood alone.

  “Settle,” he warned and tugged her back to him. “You are going. I do want to see if you can do anything you claim you can.”

  I can drown you, she thought.

  “Try it, mage.”

  Sela muttered curses she had learned from Karav. “Does your enemy have a name?”

  “Nyan.” His tone carried a lethal note, as if he could murder the man by saying his name. “Sleep. We rise early.”

  For a moment, she debated telling him how sorry she was about his family. She decided not to. If he heard those thoughts, he said nothing, and she suspected his confession this night was one of the only insights she would hear from the man who spoke as few words as possible and rarely about what he felt.

  Drained from the day, Sela closed her eyes and slept.

  11

  Tieran rose early the next morning, before the sunrise, as the light of dawn began to creep past the horizon.

  Sela roused herself, not about to let him leave for the lake without her. “What of our companions?” she asked. “Will they travel to the lake, too?”

  “No. We’ll return for them.”

  “You never told me why we’re traveling with them.” She sat up and watched him tuck weapons around his body. “Do you intend to ransom them?”

  “Yes.”

  She rolled her eyes. He was distracted and agitated already, his features grave. Sela stretched out and touched his arm.

  Tieran tensed and stilled. The moment her cool magic reached his blood, he relaxed. He moved away and opened a saddlebag. He held out clothing without a word.

  Sela accepted it. She shook the rolls of cloth free. It consisted of a shift and a gown, plain yet well-made. He had spent a silver on it, perhaps a little more.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, touched by the gesture. Did he feel that guilty about yesterday? Or was her honorable savage capable of occasional kindness?

  She placed the gown on the bed.

  A knock at the door undid her magic instantly. Tieran strode to it, knife in hand, and yanked the door open.

  Sela could not hear the words the two exchanged. When Tieran closed the door, his eyes were alive with anger.

  “It seems Nyan thought to strike first,” he said with eagerness she did not share. “He and his men are waiting for me.”

  “Here?” she asked, frowning. “Not at the lake?”

  “Here.”

  “Does this lake exist, or are you tormenting me?” she grumbled.

  “Perhaps I do not feel like being drowned today,” he snapped. Tieran yanked the door open once more, a new charge in his step, and strode out.

  With hands not yet responding to her sleepy mind, Sela changed clothing quickly, from a squire’s ill-made tunic and breeches into Tieran’s gift. She fumbled with her boots before securing it around her calves. She snatched her cloak and whirled it on, racing after Tieran, who had already exited the inne.

  When she reached the dirt road outside the inne, she was breathless. Her guardian strode towards the stables, but her focus was on the line of horsemen gathered at the edge of the village. Her eyes widened.

  Tieran had not challenged one man to a duel. Dozens of Inlanders stood waiting at the bottom of the hill up which she had ridden the day before.

  Sela raced into the stables after Tieran, who was readying her gelding.

  “Which man is Nyan?” she asked, pausing in the doorway of the open stall.

  “I’m facing all of the men of his clan,” Tieran replied calmly.

  “Alone?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you call me the proud fool.”

  He gave her an irritated look. “I will have my vengeance or die trying.”

  “I’m glad you are content to die, because it appears very likely,” she retorted.

  “Mage,” he growled.

  “You cannot face them all at once, Tieran!”

  “If you do not curb your tongue, I will chain you beside a lake, close enough for it to torment you, far enough it cannot reach you, until I grow tired of you begging me to free you.”

  Sela flushed but bit back her response. Unlike yesterday, there would be no changing his mind this morning.

  She whirled away and strode out of the stables. She went to the edge of the town, facing the men on horseback. She counted them, and her insides twisted.

  Sixty three. Tieran had challenged sixty-three Inlanders to a battle.

  The sky was clear, and only the town well whispered to her. Unlike the wells near Tieran’s uncle’s fortress, this one was not connected to a great body of water for her to call upon. It possessed enough water for her to disable maybe one man.

  What was one man when Tieran would be left facing sixty-two more?

  She was, again, helpless.

  “Of every forsaken land to be trapped in, why am I here, where there is no water?” she muttered.

  Tieran passed her, mounted on the horse Karav had left her.

  “You may die, but don’t hurt my horse!” she shouted after him.

  His focus was ahead of him, his eyes glowing with feral fire similar to that he displayed the night he bound them.

  “What is this madness?” Citon asked, joining her.

  “This is my guardian choosing death over serving me,” she replied.

  “Sixty three,” Citon said. “I’d say his odds of winning are good.”

  She glared up at him. “They would be, if I were close to a lake or the sea.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were concerned, mage.” His smile was faint.

  One of the men on horseback dismounted, and Sela’s attention returned to her guardian. By the tension in Tieran’s body, this man was his enemy, Nyan.

  She felt ill. Did she actually care if he died?

  If so, was it because of what happened the day before? Her thoughts about him had changed within the span of a breath, when he chose to spare his enemy’s family. She did not want to think it changed … well, everything between them.

  “You are both young,” Citon observed.

  She had never paid much attention to Tieran’s age. But compared to the seasoned warrior he spoke to, he appeared young. She was one and twenty seasons, and she guessed Tieran to be five and twenty.

  “He is as lost as you,” Citon added. “At least you knew of you mages and magic. He knew nothing but the Inlands before you.”

  “I did not choose to be born a mage or to make him my warrior,” she objected.

  “Neither of you did. But both of you could stand to try to understand one another better. You are bonded for life. You are the only water mage, the first in a hundred seasons. And I have only heard of a mage-warrior fighting like he does in legends. Combined, no king or priest can control either of you. Everyone in the inne overheard your fight yesterday. If freedom is what both of you want, you have a better chance of obtaining it than any other mage and warrior in history, assuming you can become allies.”

  The words were gruff and gentle, spoken in a tone t
hat reminded her enough of Karav, her eyes watered.

  Sela could not refute the truth in his words, as much as her anger wanted her to.

  “By the end of the day, I might not have a warrior,” she returned with no heat. “He chooses his own fate.”

  “Yet here you are, wishing you were near a puddle, so you could help him.”

  She said nothing, uncertain why she bothered trying to talk Tieran out of it, when his death would ensure her freedom. Against her better sense, was she starting to care for the obstinate savage?

  She could not identify what compelled her to watch when she was better off hiding and waiting for their bond to break. His death was a possibility this morning, but she wanted to be nowhere else.

  Whatever discussion Tieran and his enemy held, it was quick. Tieran stepped away and drew his sword, while Nyan strode back towards his line of men and motioned for everyone to dismount.

  “This is madness,” she whispered.

  “It may be in our best interest to help, if he needs it,” Lord Winlin said, joining them. He stood to the other side of Citon, but he was close enough for her to pick up on the enchantment in his air.

  She leaned around Citon and eyed him. “Do you not wish to become my warrior, if he fails?”

  “Stranded in the Inlands with my brother hunting me and Citon waiting for the right moment to chain me and ransom me to my king?” Lord Winlin shook his head. “You would complicate my situation.”

  If anyone had tried to tell her it was not an honor to be a warrior to the water mage, her father – and Karav – would have struck the ignorant fool down. Yet she had met two mage-warriors who did not view her guardianship as an honor but as an impediment to their freedom.

  At times like this, she wanted to go home, where she was never frightened, even if that meant she became a broodmare for her arrogant cousin.

  She scowled, hating this thought as well. Both her father and Karav believed her to be the strongest mage ever born. What would they think if she chose to cower behind her uncle’s throne?

  If she could almost hold her own with her Inlander guardian, she was not as weak as she often felt.

  Six men, excluding Nyan, charged Tieran, and her irritation fled.

  His movements were unnatural. She had the sense once again that he was moving while the others stood still, for, several breaths later, all six men were dead on the ground. Had she blinked, she would have missed half the battle.

  “That is why I will never challenge your warrior,” Lord Winlin said. “Whatever blood is in his veins, it’s more than mage-warrior magic.”

  “Aye,” Citon agreed. “The first time I saw him fight, I knew him to be different.”

  She glanced at him then back. She had never considered Tieran’s otherworldly speed to be rooted in anything other than his fury and natural prowess. Karav had never moved this quickly, but Karav was more than twice Tieran’s age, and capable of cleaving three men in a row in half from his size and brute strength alone. Did Tieran’s ability have anything to do with the odd trace of water magic she sensed in him from time to time?

  “What else is there?” she asked, puzzled as to how he possessed any magic at all beyond that which bound him to her.

  “Many ancient magics were lost over time, and more than elemental magic exists in the realm. Moonburrians, Dracons, and the Sorcerer across the sea all possess a different form of magic,” Lord Winlin replied. “Perhaps his blood was mixed with one of them. Or perhaps, his ancestors were mages.”

  “There is also the possibility he draws part of his ability from you as well,” Citon said to her. “With his natural abilities enhanced by your bond, you may be the source.”

  “My father and Karav – my former protector – used to say I was stronger than any mage he had ever heard of,” she said, considering. “But they spoilt me. I assumed it was flattery, because no one living had ever met another water mage.”

  “Have you ever been to the great ocean?”

  “Karav would not take me there.”

  “He knew, or sensed, enough of your ability to know the danger,” Lord Winlin said. “Citon and I can sense it, too. Your magic is ancient, powerful.”

  Sela nodded. Citon and Lord Winlin continued to talk, but her attention was on Tieran.

  Twenty men charged her guardian.

  The swarm of men surrounded him, whose blade was visible tearing through them. She did not need to witness him in action to understand he would never retreat. He would win or die where he stood.

  Sela watched, breathless, as her warrior cut down man after man. She began to realize twenty men could not attack him all at once. There was no room to maneuver or fit them all in the limited space surrounding him. Tieran was masterfully managing the flow of attackers in such a way, no more than five at a time posed a threat to his life.

  More than once, she flinched when a blow landed on him and willed him to his feet when he was knocked off balance.

  “Good,” Citon said, eyes riveted to the battle.

  “No part of this is good!” she replied.

  As if hearing her, one of the men outside the twenty attacking Tieran mounted and drew a bow. He aimed and shot it. Tieran deflected the first arrow with instincts that defied the abilities of any normal man. But busy fighting off two men, the second arrow lodged itself in his shoulder.

  Sela’s breath caught, as much from the thought he really could die, as from the mad display of agility and power he possessed. The longer she stood, the more awestruck she became. He did not move as a man but as a god. There was nothing natural or human about his ability, and she began to understand how tolerant he was of her, when he could have cut her down with little more than a thought. She posed no threat to him on any level, and he had never once hit or hurt her. He scared her, yes, but this seemed to be to cover his pain and to hide his true character from her.

  I want to hate him, she thought, while simultaneously acknowledging it was impossible. If anything, she was drawn to him, curious about him, concerned for him. Admiring his skill was not enough. She admired him.

  Sometime later, Tieran stood, chest heaving and clothing soaked in blood, amidst the twenty-six men he had cut down. The bowman took aim at him again. Rather than wait to deflect, the cagey Inlander whipped out a knife and threw it. It buried itself in the archer’s throat, and the man toppled off his horse.

  Tieran pointed his sword at Nyan in what Sela took to be a direct challenge. If the man cared at all for saving the lives of the rest of his men, he would agree.

  Instead, Nyan shouted for the rest of them to attack. Two more archers prepared to fire, while the remaining forty men charged.

  Tieran disappeared into the flood of warriors, and Sela wrung her hands, hating how helpless she was to help.

  “Now?” Lord Winlin asked, reaching for the broadsword at his back.

  “Now,” Citon confirmed. “Avoid the man he challenged.”

  The two warriors jogged into the melee. They hacked paths through the attackers and headed towards Tieran, whose sword flashed and blurred as it moved.

  Enthralled in the battle, Sela did not notice the presence of someone behind her before he spoke.

  “Tieran’s slave.”

  “I’m not a slave. I’m a …” She stopped, not recognizing the voice. Sela turned to face the speaker and stepped back.

  “His mate?” Nyan was behind her, sword drawn.

  It took her a moment to recover from her surprise. “Of course not,” she replied. “He is my servant.”

  Tieran’s enemy smiled and then laughed.

  She pursed her lips. “Why can you Inland savages not accept that a woman is capable of being anyone’s master?”

  “With a face and body like yours, you are more likely to be a whore.” Nyan’s gaze was hard and appraising, with a familiar flicker of wildness she had witnessed more than once from Tieran.

  She crossed her arms, wishing she had thought to grab her dagger before running after Tie
ran earlier.

  Nyan moved towards her, and she shifted away smoothly.

  “Did you murder his sisters?” she asked.

  “All three,” Nyan said with a ruthless smile. He moved towards her again, and she hurried out of his reach.

  Sela glanced back towards the battle, judging the three mage-warriors to be too preoccupied to help. If she kept the seasoned man talking long enough, one of them might notice her danger. She tested her connection to the village’s well. Would it be enough to save her, if the mage-warriors could not?

  “Tieran says you did not murder them honorably,” she said, hedging. The water in the well was weak. She called it to her.

  “I showed them an Inlander’s justice for wrongs committed by their grandfather.”

  “And what form did that justice take?”

  Nyan told her in detail.

  Sela’s breath caught, and she ceased moving away, too disturbed by the pictures his words painted in her mind to be aware of her danger simultaneously. How was this level of depravity possible?

  When he finished, he smiled again.

  “You really did those things?” She managed to swallow back the bile in her throat. “I understand why Tieran wishes you dead.” How she kept her tone level, she did not know. She viewed Tieran’s actions the previous day in a new light.

  Before she had recovered enough to move, Nyan wrapped his hand in her hair and wrenched her head back. “Then you will also understand why this savage will not let you live, either.” His breath reeked of stale mead and something putrid she did not wish to identify.

  “You do not want to do this,” she said, grimacing. Desperately, she stretched her senses towards the well in the middle of the town, urging it to hurry. Its response was tiny but eager.

  “Murder his bitch? I do.” Nyan held the sharp edge of the sword to her throat. “I will do to you what I did to his sisters.” He grabbed her arm and began dragging her away, towards one of the buildings in town.

  “I’m not his bitch,” she objected again.

  “He favors you, or he wouldn’t travel with you.”

  Sela went for fear of slitting her own throat on his sword if she resisted. She gave one last look towards the battle before it disappeared behind the building.