*****
Timoran hears Nyx approaching long before she steps out of the forest and joins him at the lake. It takes several minutes for the frogs and crickets to revive their nocturnal symphony, which is occasionally joined by a hooting owl. Several ducks are swimming and diving for food, their eyes shimmering in the crimson moonlight. The barbarian smells a herd of deer in the distance and a well-fed bear in the opposite direction. He has no fear of the predator since its movements and sounds are lethargic, the animal more interested in scratching its back against a tree than hunting. Being so close to such a large beast reminds him of his homeland where powerful snow tigers roam the wilderness. It is a memory that is soothing for a few seconds, but turns sour when he hears the nervous tapping of Nyx’s foot.
“There is nothing I could say to make things right,” Timoran whispers, trying not to shatter the serene atmosphere. He refuses to face the young woman because he does not want to see the rage in her eyes. “The Compass Key showed me my temple while we were in Bor’daruk. It requires that I return to my tribe where there is a delicate situation that I am not ready to face. So I kept it secret and then we were caught up with Catarina Warrenberg’s inventions. Yet if I had told all of you the truth then Delvin would not have left us. His departure and the issues you are having with your magic are entirely my fault.”
Letting the silence linger, Nyx extends her hand to attract a pair of fireflies. She lets the tiny insects wander around her fingers and gradually moves them closer to her face. They have a strong odor that makes her nose wrinkle, so she covers her skin in aromatic aura. With a gentle puff from her lips, she sends the bugs into the treetops where they are joined by hundreds of fairies that bathe the lake in prismatic light. Feeling more confident in her magic, the channeler touches a nearby tree stump and enchants the stubby mushrooms that are feeding off the decaying wood. Each one twinkles like a tiny star that attracts green-winged moths that are bigger than Nyx’s fist.
“I assume you are waiting for an apology,” Timoran says with a tired sigh. The Compass Key sends beams of colorful light across the lake as he turns the relic in his hand. “I am truly sorry for my selfishness and putting all of us in danger.”
“You forgot to apologize for making Yola Biggs go mad, giving Catarina the idea for the toys in the first place, weakening the curse, and telling Delvin to go away,” Nyx replies, frowning when her magic sputters and dies. Her attempt to make a danger-sensing fog fails and creates a pathetic wisp around her ankles. “All of that was beyond your control and in the works before you made a bad decision. As for Delvin, I’m starting to believe he would have done this eventually. If the next temple is in your homeland then he might have hopped over the border as soon as we finished there.”
“I notice that you agree with me about my decision being a mistake.”
“Haven’t we all made a few of those?”
“Some more than others.”
Nyx jumps to playfully smack the barbarian on the shoulder, but the impact makes her hand numb. “I see you have a sense of humor about this. So, am I able to ask about what’s keeping you from going home?”
Timoran sighs and draws his great axe, which causes the nearby animals to run away from the lake. The redheaded warrior sits on the shore with his legs crossed and examines the edge of his weapon. He draws a whetstone from his pocket to remove a few nicks even though he has learned that the axe repairs itself at night. Even so, the action of maintaining the blade helps him relax and draws him into a trance where his memories are clearer. Timoran is thankful that Dariana is not around to spy on his thoughts, but he pushes them away when he realizes that distance is not a major hindrance to the telepath.
Nyx flexes her fingers and searches for anything that can keep her occupied while the barbarian thinks. The channeler finds herself mesmerized by the fairies that are darting through branches and she faintly hears the sound of crying. It is a deep voice, so she assumes it is Timoran and turns to console him. There are a few tears in the big man’s eyes, but the mysterious sound is not coming from him. A more high-pitched whine bursts from the treetops and puts Nyx’s nerves on edge.
“That is a weeping owl and it changes its tone to mimic the creatures it sees,” Timoran explains, smiling at his companion’s confusion. Pointing at a nearby maple, he can barely see a gray-feathered bird among the leaves. “You are hearing two of them and they are emitting mating calls. The deeper voice is the male and the high-pitched one is the female patiently rejecting him. He will try various tones until he is either accepted or attacked. It is interesting how the natural world confuses you.”
“If I didn’t study it then I’ve no idea what’s going on,” the channeler states as a pain-filled shriek cuts through the night. A winged form soars over the trees and crashes into the distant branches. “I’m guessing the male is going to have a lonely night. So you’re not going to tell me why you’re scared to go home.”
“It is not fear,” the barbarian proudly declares while rising to his feet and sheathing his great axe. Thumping his fist on his chest, the towering figure gazes at the three clouds that are sitting around the moon. “All I can say is that I had to leave and returning would cause problems for the entire tribe. So it is best that I stay away for as long as I can. It seems trouble is inevitable and Gabriel had this planned all along. Perhaps I should not be fighting this anymore.”
“On the plus side, you won’t be facing this alone.”
Timoran smiles and reaches over to pat Nyx on the head, earning him the scowl that he has come to cherish. “I will be depending on my friendships when the time comes. This is a problem that cannot be solved by muscles alone.”
“Then I can blast our way to victory like I always do,” the channeler replies, her fingers wiggling in the air. Her head droops when the lightning she was hoping to create is nothing more than a static charge that makes her hair stand up. “This is going far beyond embarrassing now. At least we’ll have Sari to charm everyone in our path and Dariana to suggest they take a nap. Do you really feel responsible for my magic being unreliable?”
“It is obvious that Delvin’s absence is making your recovery difficult.”
“I’m worried, but it shouldn’t be that big a factor.”
“Love is more powerful than you realize.”
Nyx touches her chest and cringes when she pulls a glowing orb out of her body, the pallor of her skin becoming paler. Her hair hangs limp and bags appear under her eyes as she examines her core. A thick tether keeps her connected to the magic, but she is still weakened by it being outside of her body. The globe sparks a few times and throbs with power before erupting into a churning flame that is swiftly frozen by a coating of frost. Not wanting to leave her aura exposed any longer, Nyx plunges the orb back into her chest and gasps as if she has been holding her breath the entire time.
“I’ve been experimenting with ways to examine my own energy,” the channeler explains as she slumps to her knees and searches her belt for the waterskin she left at camp. Noticing Timoran’s flask of Ifrit mead, she gestures toward the metal container and smiles when he places it in her quivering hands. “Thank you. As I was saying, aura sight only allows me to view the energy of others. I realized during my training with Casandra that there has to be a way to take stock of my own power when things aren’t working right. So I talked to Dariana about psychic tethers and used her explanation to design a cord that keeps me bonded to my own magic. It’s a variant of an old spell that casters once used to dominate their enemies.”
“It appears your magic is as potent and alive as always,” Timoran says, watching the slender woman take a long drink from his flask. Her violet eyes bug out of her head, but she refuses to return the barbarian’s drink. “Does this mean that the problem is not with your aura, but with your mind?”
“Actually, my magic is . . . missing something and I don’t know what,” Nyx answers while turning the flask over in her sweaty hands. “I’m still powerful, but it�
��s like I’m back to my training days when I had to use more gestures. Almost like I lost the key to my magic or some type of analogy that makes it sound like my power is temporarily out of reach. So you or Delvin can’t take the blame for this. My problems are on my head and I’ll have to figure out what that missing piece was.”
“It could be Delvin.”
“He isn’t a part of me.”
“Is he not?”
“I haven’t let him in that far, so he shouldn’t be a factor.”
“Could he have taken some of your magic with him?”
“I doubt it since he isn’t a caster or a channeler. If we end up in Darkmill then I’ll ask Queen Ionia if she has any ideas.”
A strong breeze washes over the champions and travels across the pond to scare the ducks away. Fizzle slows down enough to be seen over the shifting treetops before zipping back to his friends. With the fluttering of his crimson wings, the drite darts from Nyx to Timoran until landing on the half-elf’s head.
“Fizzle come get friends,” the dragon announces as he nods toward the camp. All of them can see a distant flame, which is too small to be coming from the fire. “Queen Ionia here. She need talk. She say urgent and have meal. Fizzle nervous. Something not feel right. Too many surprises. Nyx know why here?”
All the black-haired channeler can do is awkwardly shrug and say, “Maybe she heard me say her name?”
“Considering the tales I have heard, I would not be surprised if that is the case,” Timoran replies before straightening his back and leading the way to camp. Aware that he is about to meet one of his tribe’s greatest allies, the barbarian wipes his hands on his black fur vest and does his best to neaten his wild, red hair. He ignores the chuckling from his companions and prepares himself for what he assumes will be another awkward encounter.
*****
Nyx chews on the stale bread and dry meat from her trail rations as she watches her friends eat the feast created by Queen Ionia. She brushes crumbs off her favorite crimson shirt, which is becoming thread bare in a few places. The violet-haired ruler watches the young woman with a warm smile that most would find soothing. Nyx is well aware that they are being pampered in preparation of a favor or, most likely, a demand that goes against their current path. By the time most of the food has been devoured, the half-elf is nervously bouncing her leg under the table and trying with all her might to avoid grabbing the last dinner roll.
“Eat something, little one. You look terribly thin,” Queen Ionia says, breaking the extended silence. She rolls her wrist to summon a small platter of quail and carrots, which floats to the defiant channeler. “Then again, I see that you have more muscle tone, so it might be the way your clothes look on your body. Your hands have some interesting calluses too. Have you been training to fight without magic?”
“Timoran is teaching me a few things,” Nyx replies while she eyes the meal. The rumbling in her stomach is too much, so she grabs a carrot and devours it within seconds. “Why don’t you want us to go into Yagervan Plains? Don’t act cute and pretend you were in the area since we’re still a week away from Darkmill.”
“Actually, we’re five days away from her territory,” Luke interjects while enjoying the taste of fresh juice and warm chicken. He catches the incoming piece of carrot in his mouth, the satisfying crunch making him grin. “That means we’re pretty close to reaching the border. If we push through after two or three hours sleep then we might be able to catch up to Delvin. He’s probably been taking his time since he doesn’t know we’re following. There’s only a few border towns that he would pass through, so it should be easy to find him.”
“Your friend went through Roeth last night,” the Caster Queen announces, tapping her manicured nails on the table. Whispering a soothing spell, she takes a deep breath and releases a curl of smoke from her lips. “I heard from a few sources that the Mercenary Prince was heading for the plains. I tried to confirm the rumors without getting in your way. My search led me to Fort Journeyman, which has been destroyed and everyone inside is dead. So I went scrying for you, found that our handsome friend isn’t with you, and notified my captains to arrest him on sight.”
“That sounds rather drastic,” Timoran states while swirling a goblet of wine in his hand. He takes a small sip before having a neat bite of food. “I have the deepest respect for your station and you have always treated my clan well. So it is with some trepidation that I question your reaction to a warrior wishing to cross the border. For no other reason than it could lead to an unnecessary fight.”
“They no stop Delvin,” Fizzle declares from his basket of apples. “Delvin strong and smart. He find way through. Not need fight too.”
Queen Ionia chuckles and stretches her arm to tickle the drite’s chin. “He is, but your friend crossed the border a few minutes before my message went out. I was tempted to contact him and order his return to Serab. Then I remembered this silly little treaty I made with the tribes. If I send any magic into their territory, they get to charge me for trespassing. Not even with money, but rare fabrics and whatever else those unpredictable nomads want. They’re always looking for a way to get Serabian goods for free. Serves me right for making a deal with someone because they had a cute smile and very strong hands. Avoiding war and keeping the borders at peace was another good reason for the treaty.”
“So you want us to go after him,” Sari guesses before she notices a tense furrow on Dariana’s brow. She is concerned when the silver-haired woman hums a droning song and nervously rubs at the barely visible ring on her finger. “Are you okay, Dariana? You’re acting stranger than usual.”
“You must be the telepath,” Queen Ionia says with a smile. She blows a kiss to the champion and watches her paralysis spell take hold. “I’m truly sorry for letting things come to this without giving you a chance. It’s just that I know Nyx and I can’t have you adventuring around Yagervan. The area has become unstable and your presence could be mistaken for an act of war.”
The sound of booted feet can be heard in every direction as a small army of soldiers step out of the forest and surround the campground. Many of the warriors are in chainmail and have their longswords ready, the moonlight glinting off the keen blades. Rustling branches reveal the presence of nimble archers who have their arrows ready to fly, though the soldiers are praying it will not come to that. None of the champions attempt to draw their weapons, but their captor knows it is more out of respect for her than fear of getting hurt. In fact, she knows the adventurers could fight their way through her men and lead her on a tiring chase through the wilderness. Once Dariana is revived, the chances of stopping the powerful group would be even worse. She can already see the other woman’s fingers twitching, which means there is very little time to make her point.
“Before you try to injure my men and force me to battle my best friends’ daughter, I want you to listen carefully,” the elegant noble says while leaning back in her chair. The wooden seat transforms into a crystal throne that absorbs the moonlight and adopts a dull red hue. “Ralian scouts have found evidence that there is political strife and upheaval within the tribes. The migration patterns of the people and animals have changed over the last seven months. Some groups have disappeared completely without leaving bodies behind while others have grown in size. It has not been due to a rise in their birthrate, so we think the stronger tribes are absorbing the weaker ones. This could be a battle over limited resources or a push to create a solitary government over the region. Whatever it is, the event is bigger than the territory skirmishes that we’ve seen in the past. The problem is that everything is guesswork, so we don’t know what this means for Serab. We have to be cautious, which means no provoking the tribes even by accident.”
Luke is the first to stand and places his hands over his head, gesturing for the others to follow his example. Timoran is the only one who copies him while Sari moves closer to Nyx and prepares to stop her from attempting a spell. The channeler picks at a piece of quail while
ignoring the soldiers and her friends. She stares at Queen Ionia, who grows visibly anxious under the predatory gaze. The air is thick with magic as the two attempt to intimidate each other with subtle surges of aura. Even though Nyx is not as strong as her opponent, there is a sense that she can erupt at any moment. A shudder snaps Dariana out the paralysis spell and she slaps her hands on the table before psychically freezing all of the Darkmill warriors. Instead of facing Queen Ionia, the telepath turns to Nyx and bows her head as if she is a peasant speaking to a powerful noble.
“I understand that you want to follow Delvin, but now there is more at stake,” Dariana insists as she releases the soldiers from her power. She inches closer to the half-elf and refuses to make eye contact, her mind sensing fear from Queen Ionia. “I’m sorry if you think I’m turning against you, but I can taste their anxiety. Your friend is not lying when she says a war can break out if we’re not careful. That isn’t what the champions were made for and such an act could be used to strengthen my father.”
“How do we know he isn’t behind this? Delvin could be facing his agents alone,” Nyx argues, refusing to back down. The table crumbles into sawdust and the food melts into puddles of aromatic muck. “Stephen or Trinity or even Yola Biggs could be out there. You can’t expect me to stay in a border town while that possibility exists. At least one of us has to cross the border and let Delvin know about the danger.”
“And who would you suggest?” Sari asks with a musical laugh. She takes her friend’s hands and holds them tight, smirking when Nyx attempts to heat her skin. “Fizzle and I would be the best choices, but the plains are too immense. Delvin could be anywhere and we’d have to do it without asking the locals if they’ve seen him. Trust me, Nyxie, we need to be smart here. The threat of starting a war is enough to give me pause.”
The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9) Page 14
