“Now you are truly mine, little queen,” Stephen whispers into Trinity’s ear. He kisses her on the forehead with enough force to press her head into the damp sand. “Don’t get too comfortable within my heart. Your time is swiftly coming to an end.”
1
Delvin Cunningham pants and grunts as he runs through Visindor Forest, his white shirt drenched to the point of tightly framing his toned physique. He pays little attention to the serene landscape as he jumps over tree roots, veers around mushroom-covered stumps, and sidesteps knee-high rocks. It is a grueling pace that he is trying to maintain and the stinging sweat pouring down his face makes it more difficult to see the various obstacles. Fatigue clenching his muscles, the brown-haired warrior gradually slows down and his surefooted pace is broken by an occasional stumble. He refuses to give in to the strain and pushes himself again, his knuckles white as they grip loops of rough cord. Several strings of metal orbs have been bound by the ropes and Delvin carries them on his back like a load of heavy lumber. Hoping to reach his destination within the next two minutes, the warrior focuses on the sound of his booted feet and falls into a mild trance that helps him ignore the aching of his body.
The banyan tree sits among the maples and oaks, its horizontal branches with aerial prop roots giving it a unique appearance among the other plants. Delvin groans as he touches the smooth trunk with his forehead and he gladly lets the metal orbs fall to the ground. Songbirds flit through the treetops and fill his ears with a soothing song, which nearly causes the warrior to fall asleep. Tearing strips off his shirt, he binds his bleeding hands and massages his arms to prevent them from getting stiff. He spends the next hour lifting the orbs like weights, stretching his legs, and using a low branch to do pull-ups. A skunk wanders over while Delvin is hanging from the tree, forcing him to remain in the air until the animal waddles out of spraying range. Dropping to the ground, his knees buckle and the forest seems to spin haphazardly around him. Expecting to find a waterskin, he reaches for his side, but the warrior realizes he left it behind in his rush to clear his mind.
“Guess it’s to the pond with me,” he mutters as he gathers the orbs.
Delvin grabs a fig off the banyan tree as he jogs to the west where he knows a decent-sized pond can be found. As he moves through the forest, his mind wanders to thoughts of his friends who he hopes are still recovering in Nevra Coil. He is struck by a pang of guilt for not letting them know that he arrived at Hamilton Military Academy. The warrior can only imagine how angry at least one of them might be considering it has been over a week since he left the other champions. His thoughts continue down a path of worry, so he is caught by surprise when he comes to the pond and finds a slender figure with short, black hair at the shore. Delvin sees pointy ears and what he thinks is a red shirt, which causes him to skid to a stop and nearly crash into the woman. His battle-honed reflexes are the only thing that allows him to spin to the side and avoid a humiliating collision.
“I am very sorry for not contacting you, Nyx. I’ve been busy and didn’t want to disturb your recovery,” the ice blue-eyed man says as the woman turns around. He blushes when he sees the confused look on the dryad’s face, her fairy-like features clearly not those of the temperamental channeler he mistook her for. “Well, I feel like an idiot. I forgot there are a few dryads in Visindor and the red caught me by surprise. From behind, you look a lot like the woman I’m in love with and I thought she hunted me down out of anger. Anyway, I’ll find another place to wash up and leave you to whatever you’re doing.”
The dryad cocks her head to the side and giggles, her warm hand reaching out to touch the human’s chest. “I was just leaving, young warrior. I am searching for someone worthy to father my children, but I can see that you have already been claimed. Something tells me that it would be very dangerous for me to even ask. Enjoy your bath and I hope your true love does not hurt you when you reunite.”
“I didn’t say true love.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The dryad pats the warrior on the cheek and drifts into the nearest tree, her hair leaving a patch of black moss on the trunk. With the popping of joints, Delvin strips out of his clothes and carries them into the water with him. He is keenly aware of not being alone as he repeatedly dives underwater and returns to the surface. Once his clothes are clean enough for the run back, the warrior hurries out of the pond and hangs them from a branch. On his way back to finish his bath, Delvin grabs one of the rough cords and drags a string of metal orbs into the water. With his feet planted on the muddy bottom, he leans back to keep his face above water and tries his best to ignore the hidden eyes that are watching from the shadows. The longer he waits, the more he wonders if he senses an enemy or a curious forest creature. Part of him wishes that Luke and Timoran had come with him since they are more adept at sensing enemies outside of a chaotic battlefield.
“I’m not in the mood to fight!” Delvin shouts when he hears the rustling of a bush to his left. He steps back until the cool water is no higher than his shoulders. “I have a lot on my mind and I’m naked. Neither of those things are going to make a brawl worth your time. Do I smell oiled leather and some really strong perfume? You can’t possibly think you can sneak up on me like that.”
Without a sound, a slender figure drops from one of the branches that hangs over the pond and lands on the warrior. Delvin sinks to the bottom of the pond and shoves his attacker away, his hand touching leather armor. He grabs for what he thinks is an arm, but ends up being the brown-furred tail of a calico. The hard squeeze causes the hazel-eyed woman to erupt from the water with a screech of pain and surprise. She scrambles to the shore and checks her crooked tail as the other warrior swims over to join her. A solid boot to Delvin’s exposed chest sends him flailing back into the pond where he remains out of reach of a drenched and scowling Theresa Marley.
“You know I could have bashed your head in with these orbs,” he mentions as he lifts the weights out of the water. The warrior drifts away and plans to retrieve his clothes, but realizes that they are missing. “I thought we agreed not to leave each other naked and embarrassed after that disaster with the mountain bandits. How did that fight go? You were missing your shirt and I was missing my pants while we fought our way through twelve, heavily armored orcs. Oh, and one obnoxious goblin.”
“We both know this is the last time I can prank you like this since you’re almost a claimed man,” Theresa states while she pulls his folded clothes out from behind her. The former mercenaries stare at each other, both acutely aware that she could playfully toss the garments into the water. “I’m sorry I missed you during your previous visit. I was away on a job to clear out some assassins in Freedom. You know, I wonder if you would have given Nyx a second look if I was around. Not because I’m better than her, but because you’re such a gentleman that you’d never hit on a woman in front of an ex-lover.”
“I’m sensing you’re still angry about what happened in that small village outside of Vorgabog.”
“Do you blame me? The bed wasn’t even cold yet, Cunningham.”
“I told you I wasn’t hitting on that barmaid. She was a calico too and I was asking if she had any . . . bedroom tips I could use with you.”
“I kept saying that you only had to ask me.”
“Do you really think we’d have lasted anyway?”
Theresa’s tail flicks at the ground and the tufts on her ears twitch. “Probably not. I still had a chip on my shoulder about famous male warriors, so our time together would have ended once you were made the Mercenary Prince. I think I enjoyed being with someone who was fresh and inexperienced. Besides, you were always meant to be a champion and that would have gotten in the way. Why are we talking as if we were going to be married? You and I were nothing more than partners in work and pleasure for a few months.”
Delvin climbs out of the pond next to Theresa and shakes as much water off his body as he can. The calico hands him a small towel while she smirks at his na
ked form, a few fond memories coming back to her mind. Sensing the young man’s awkwardness, she wrings out his clothes while he dries off. With a sigh of contentment, Theresa hands over the damp garments and watches him get dressed. She waits for him to start putting his shirt on when she attempts to playfully smack him on the butt. The smirking woman is surprised when her old partner catches her by the wrist and spins her into a friendly hug. More flexible than Delvin, the calico bends out of his grasp and finishes getting her final blow on his backside. Part of her is not surprised to feel a hand on her rear at the same time she strikes.
“A final touch for old time’s sake, Cunningham,” Theresa happily declares. She notices the confused look on his face and remembers that he is probably not used to her being so playful and happy. “I’ve changed a lot since my mercenary days. Working with Selenia Hamilton and my new relationship with Thomas Strogan has mellowed me out. It helps that nobody gets special treatment here, so I’ve had to let go of my old grudge. Seems an arrogant hero who hates arrogant heroes can find herself in a lot of trouble with the original Mercenary Queen around. So these days I just want to be happy and enjoy my life.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re doing well,” Delvin says with a broad smile. He cringes at the sensation of a stiff neck, which disappears after he feels a tight pinch. A shudder runs down his spine as Theresa performs a massage, her knuckles pressing against the knot. “Just like the old days, Marley, but one of us isn’t bandaged and we aren’t arguing over who gets the bigger cut of the reward. That usually resulted in more injuries.”
She gives the young man a solid poke on the neck, making him yelp in surprise. “It wouldn’t have been a problem if you simply did what I said. You were the apprentice and I was the master, so I always deserved the ogre’s share.”
“To be fair, I tended to spend a lot of my money on stuff we shared. Food, lodging, baths, and coffee,” the champion says, groaning in pleasure from the massage and thoughts of a hot drink. He recalls that it was Theresa who introduced him to his favorite drink, which reminds him of everything else he has learned from the calico. “You and I went through a lot, Marley, so I’m sorry that our partnership ended on a sour note. You always told me that a disastrous job can damage a relationship and you were right, but I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long. Even after I got out of the Neberith temple, I should have gone in search of you instead of starting my own group. If for no other reason than to thank you for everything. Guess I was too hurt to face you or even talk about our time together. So now’s the time to say what I’ve wanted to say for a few years. Marley, I owe you a lot for working with me even though I was an inexperienced whelp with a sword. You taught me nearly everything I know about being a mercenary. Selenia may have taught me how to fight, but you showed me how to survive. Though not every lesson translates to my current path, such as getting half of the payment before signing anything.”
“That doesn’t work when you’re negotiating an instructor contract either,” the calico says as she lets go of the other warrior. Licking the back of her clawed hand, she cleans some dirt off her face. “Anyway, I’m glad I got permission to leave the grounds and find you. I wanted to have an intimate talk about old times and make sure you’re serious about Ms. Masterson. I don’t want to see you get hurt. By that I mean, beaten by Kevin or set on fire by his daughter. You really know how to pick them, Cunningham.”
“Very true. I picked you after all,” the younger warrior says, his mind still on thoughts of Nyx. He clears his throat and blushes, the narrow-eyed stare of his companion making him sweat. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of her and that ends up making me spout whatever corny line comes to my mind. Not to say that you were a mistake, but I don’t want you to think I’m hitting on you.”
Theresa rubs her eyes and walks backwards, effortlessly avoiding every tree and stone that sits in her path. “I don’t think I ever remember you so flustered. This caster is really dear to you, huh?”
The young man winces as if something has stabbed him in chest. “Yes, but please don’t say what I know you’re thinking.”
“And what is that?”
“If Nyx is so important to me, why did I abandon her?”
“I figure you have your reasons. You always did what you felt was right.”
“What about not contacting her like I promised?”
“Oh, you’re a jerk for that and you’ll be punished severely,” Theresa states as she turns around. Her tail swishes through the air as if to tease the other warrior. “In fact, that’s why you’re wanted in the academy. Somebody wants to have words with you and there’s only one translation for that in our world.”
Delvin looks up at the cloud-flecked sky and has the distinct feeling that he will be staring at it a lot in the near future. The only thing he is unsure of is if his opponent will be the woman who saved him from a life on the streets or the man whose daughter he is courting. Either way, the warrior is sure the lesson will be one of the most painful events of his life.
*****
The wooden longsword flies for Delvin’s neck before he deflects it and steps closer to his opponent to deliver a shove with his shoulder. Selenia Hamilton spins away from his low slash, the headmistress stabbing down at his wrist. The half-elf is impressed by the way her former protégé rolls his arm to avoid the precise attack. A shield punch toward her gut forces the agile warrior away and she rolls against the side of the academy fountain. Selenia hops onto the edge of the basin and backs along it, her lavender eyes never leaving her opponent. When Delvin swings at her knees, she leaps for the sword arm of the statue and flips onto the head of the marble Elven swordswoman. Running a hand through her short, pink hair, the former Mercenary Queen takes a few moments to catch her breath and consider her next move. The sound of gasps catches her attention and she finds herself tempted to throw her practice weapon at the crowd of gawking students.
“I have a question, Mr. Cunningham,” Selenia says before jumping down on the far side of the fountain. She listens for the direction that her opponent is coming, his booted steps barely audible even for her keen ears. “Have you been holding back all these years? I’ve always been able to best you after fifteen minutes and it’s been nearly an hour. I can’t remember the last time I had so long a sparring session, so it could be that age has caught up with me.”
“Trust me, teacher, your skills have not dulled,” Delvin states as he cautiously walks with his wooden sword held out. He swiftly drops the blade to avoid her weapon and steps in for a blow to her shoulder that is barely blocked. “It’s taking all of my skills to avoid getting hit and you’ve come closer than I have. My problem is that I’m still too cautious and I think my strength is more in counterattacks. Your reflexes are too quick for me to take full advantage of the brief openings.”
With the hint of a smirk, Selenia quickens her pace and unleashes a barrage of blows on her former student. Each strike and stab is deflected by the sweat-covered champion, his speed increasing to match her every time. At one point, the half-elf leaps forward and is struck in her stomach by his shield, which forces her to flip over his head. The headmistress lands in a crouch and whirls around to block the counterattack, the point of Delvin’s sword gently running along the leather patch over her stomach. Realizing that he is still holding back, Selenia bats his next attack away and delivers a painful kick to his exposed side. The blow knocks him against the fountain and he comes dangerously close to falling into the water.
While rubbing his bruised side, Delvin circles the headmistress who turns to continue facing him. He makes a few feints that she refuses to acknowledge because they are clumsy and pathetically amateurish. The gathered students and teachers shout for more action, all of them believing the younger warrior to be afraid of the legendary woman. None of them realize that his circles have been getting tighter and his fake attacks have caused Selenia to misjudge his distance. It is something she realizes when Delvin makes a quick swing for her hip and their wea
pons strike closer to their hilts than she expects. The moment the half-elf steps back to gain some space, her former student pushes forward with precise strikes that mirror the onslaught she previously unleashed. Without a shield, the headmistress finds it more difficult to block every attack and has to twist her body away from several attacks. The movements prevent her from throwing a kick or punch, which would probably hit the shield that he has yet to include in his advance.
Selenia eventually catches Delvin’s blade and slides her weapon along its edge to step within his swinging range. The pair push against each other, their muscles straining to gain the upper hand. Every time one of them is about to gain ground, their opponent shifts enough to continue the frustrating stalemate. With a grunt of exertion, Delvin moves his shield in front of the headmistress’s face and blocks her view. Knowing she is expecting him to push forward, the warrior falls onto his back and lets the surprised half-elf’s momentum slam her face into the wooden disc. The back of his head bounces off the ground as he flicks his wrist to deliver an extra shot to Selenia’s chin. She rolls away from him to recover her senses, but Delvin scrambles to keep her in reach and continue his attack as they stand.
“You actually hit me,” Selenia states when she notices that her nose is bleeding. She ducks under her opponent’s swing and aims her hilt for his stomach, the blow only grazing his shirt. “I think you’ve achieved two firsts for this academy, Delvin. Nobody has ever drawn my blood or made me dizzy during a match.”
The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9) Page 3
