“Dariana could contact him,” the channeler desperately suggests. The idea is immediately dropped when she sees the worried look on her friend’s face. “One of us has to do something before he gets killed.”
Timoran drops his arms while whistling for attention, the sound sharp and thunderous. “I have a question, your majesty. We know that the situation means we cannot go into the plains without reason. If we travel with you to Darkmill, would you allow us to leave if we are in dire need of our friend or discover that he is in danger from our enemies?”
“You can even use my personal scrying chamber to spy on him,” Queen Ionia says, opening her arms as if to embrace the idea. She rises to her feet, but stays off the ground until her ivory shoes transform into thick-soled boots. “Though the magic has been getting blocked when it comes to Yagervan, which has me more worried. Maybe one of you can figure out what’s going on and keep yourselves occupied while you wait.”
“Fizzle get apples?” asks the drite as he stares at the bubbling puddle that used to be his favorite snack. “Fizzle still hungry.”
“I have an orchard that you can play in.”
“Red apples?”
“And some special ones, little drite.”
Fizzle darts around the Caster Queen and lands on her shoulder, the dragon nuzzling at her neck. With a loud clap, she signals her men to fall into formation while Sari and Timoran clear the campsite. Dariana rubs her temples and walks alongside their host to barrage her with questions about Darkmill. As the soldiers head out, Nyx lags behind and considers slipping into the shadows. The moment her foot moves in the opposite direction of the others, the half-elf is grabbed by the wrist and hoisted off the ground. She is about to curse at Timoran before she realizes that Luke is the one carrying her over his shoulder. Nyx smacks and pinches her best friend’s lower back as the rear guards watch the amusing scene. A solid elbow to the warrior’s head forces him to drop her in a patch of ivy.
“Was that really necessary?” she asks while wiping dry leaves off her pants. “I’m sure I would have turned back.”
“Better safe than sorry, big sis,” Luke says as he takes Nyx by the hand. He squeezes her fingers and flashes her the smile that she has come to associate with mischief. “Just in case you’re wondering, I’ll bring you back every time you leave. I can’t protect Delvin from here, so I’ll do the next best thing and keep you safe. That way he has something to return to, because we all know he needs that more than us by his side.”
“How is he supposed to know that if nobody goes to tell him?”
“You act as if he doesn’t already know.”
Nyx blushes and turns on her worn heels, leaving the chuckling forest tracker to trail a few steps behind her.
*****
“It is not often that I say this, but I am truly impressed with your performance, my right hand,” Gabriel says while sitting on a throne of black stone. The clearing around his chair is covered in pale roses that weave in the air with every word from the god. “Adding a bit of Stephen’s aura to your own certainly put them on the wrong path. At least in regards to their thoughts on your strange actions.”
“Thank you, but I’m unclear as to what my purpose was,” Isaiah replies as he stares into a floating pool of water. The fireskin watches his charges walk within the mass of Darkmill soldiers. “You told me to be cruel and bring some difficult things to light. I understand why you wish for them to settle these issues. They are dangerous distractions and can drive the champions apart. Yet I would think it best to treat them better since they are our last hope. If we break them now then the Baron will win.”
Gabriel rises from his throne and approaches the scrying pool, a sharp whistle changing it into a mirror. His eyes become clear orbs as he changes the pictures at a pace that only a god can follow. The instant Isaiah glances at the water, he is driven to his knees by a wave of nausea and dizziness. Noticing his agent’s discomfort, the Destiny God slows the images down and stops on one of Delvin. The young warrior is trudging through the tall grass of the plains with his companions a few paces behind him. His bastard sword has been drawn and there are smudges of blood on his armor, but it is too dark to be from the champion. As he continues walking through the open landscape, he turns to reveal a small cut on his cheek that is being held close by an expertly made suture.
Bored with Delvin’s journey, Gabriel runs his hand along the edge of the water and returns his attention to the other champions. “The reason I want to push them is because they are our last chance. We can no longer coddle them because the road is getting harder. Ancient situations have festered for so long that the future will not be kind to our champions. I want them to discard their childish problems and continue as clear-headed adults. Some may need more work than others, which is why you are not to drive the mercenary back to Serab. As much as I despise the turn of events, his journey is necessary to make him stronger and remove some unwanted factors from the game.”
“So you are not behind the danger he is walking into?” Isaiah asks with no attempt to hide his surprise. When his master mutters a curse, the fireskin bows his head and falls to one knee. “I apologize, Hell Lord. I thought you prepared this as a way to help Delvin unearth his full potential. After all, the circumstances are rather strange.”
Gabriel takes a deep breath to inhale the scrying pool, licking his lips after he swallows every sweet drop. “They are truly strange and a testament to the effect that free will has on the lives of mortals. I assume there are some connections to the prophecy, but possibly nothing more than the mercenary’s fame spreading to the darker corners of our world. I am flattered that you think I had a hand in this. All I have done is send someone who can prevent the situation from getting worse. Though that is not a sure thing when it comes to her kind. Now go back to your home and keep a watch on our champions. Step in only if the situation appears to be going out of our control. I trust your judgment, my right hand.”
Isaiah nods and points his staff at the night sky, the green gem at the top absorbing enough light to create a dense, crimson core. He takes a deep breath and considers asking another question, but the empty expression on the Destiny God’s face tells him that his presence has already been forgotten. With a long-winded spell, the hefty figure rises above the forest and transforms his robe to match the starry background. Only a few keen-eyed creatures notice the camouflaged caster soar toward the distant mountains.
7
Delvin sits on the highest point of the rock pile while he stokes the small campfire and keeps an eye out for predators. The others are sleeping a few feet below on a bowl-like ledge that has been created by the long rain seasons that eat away at the soft, blueish-green stone. The champion realizes how lucky they are to have found a perch that is unclaimed by poisonous reptiles or a pack of predators. He is sure his friends would not enjoy another night of sleeping in uncomfortable trees or risking a heavily guarded nap on the ground. Delvin moves to the other side of the fire and peers into the distance, the slightest movement of the tall grass drawing his attention. Thinking back to his distant childhood, he vaguely remembers seeing an adult goliath serpent slithering back into the earth at the sight of his father’s arrow sticking out of a collection of dry bushes. Hoping to get the same reaction, he draws his bastard sword and reflects the firelight to scare the prowling beast back into the shadows. The reaction stirs another old memory in Delvin’s mind, the voice of his mother painfully nondescript. He hears her tell him that after centuries of living alongside the tribes, the wildlife of Yagervan have become very cautious of weapons and recognize the glint of drawn steel. It means there are very few regions with animals that are as cautious and cunning as those that thrive on the plains.
The faint memories cause Delvin to scowl and he picks up a small stone to throw into the distance. He hears something retreat away from the camp, but does not give it a second thought as he wonders about his situation. The warrior knows enough to prevent a fight from breaking
out immediately and maybe even convince the tribe to let him speak with their Path Lord. If Delvin’s luck holds out then he can avoid being connected to his parents and discover if people remember his disappearance. The real danger would be in revealing his identity, which means a private meeting with the current leader would be the wisest move. While rubbing his stubbled chin, the warrior convinces himself that things will not go that smoothly and that he will have to make things up as he goes along.
“My first priority is to keep my friends alive,” he whispers before turning to scan the other side of the rock.
“Then you might have wanted to leave us in Serab,” Tavris states as he climbs to the top of the rocks. The yawning man rubs at his bare chest, which is covered in a thick layer of bug repelling ooze. “We’re in a lot of trouble thanks to the predators, the difficult hunting, the threat of running into an aggressive tribe, and those ugly birds that you assure me are bugs. I thought the jungles had massive insects, but this place wins. How do they get so big when water is so rare and the air is so dry?”
“A gift from the benevolent gods. Why are you awake?”
“Because somebody has to check your injuries and I drew the short straw.”
“You also have the most questions.”
“Yes, but those come after fresh bandages. Though if you call me a nurse, I’ll wrap your head in gauze.”
Delvin takes off his chainmail and undershirt to reveal the tight bandages that have been keeping a broken rib in place. It has been the worst injury among the beleaguered mercenaries and they all agree that it is a miracle considering the vicious beasts they have encountered. So it is with a whistle of amazement that Tavris touches his leader’s side and notices that there is nothing more than a hideous bruise. Even the pain that appears on Delvin’s face is mild compared to the breath-stealing agony he was in after the panicked rhinoceros knocked him through a tree.
“I guess Gerdo was wrong and you only had a bad bruise,” Tavris says as he puts the fresh bandages back into his bag. He glances down at his friends, who are snoring peacefully. “I always knew you were tougher than you looked. I’d still be careful with that side because the next blow could shatter something. How’s your mobility?”
“Stiff, but getting better by the hour,” Delvin replies before reflecting light at a curious hooded lion. The beast’s leathery mane snaps forward to shield its face, leaving only the nose to guide it back into the darkness. “This means Pelo wins with those claw marks on his back. He’s lucky the lion had its mouth busy with my shield. Then again, I think we’re depending so much on dumb luck that I should make an offering to Cessia in the morning. She is definitely looking out for us.”
“Either that or Gabriel is making sure we go to the death that he wants to see,” the taller warrior replies with a morbid grin. A buzzing hits his ears and he smacks the side of his head to splatter a thumb-sized bug. “Did you see that thing? It’s all over my face now! No wonder so many of the animals around here have thick hides and bad attitudes. I can only imagine how tough the locals are if they live among these stinging pests.”
Delvin chuckles before a large moth dives at the fire and erupts into flames. “To be honest, I remember the insects being bigger. Then again, I was eight before I floated away and found myself alone. I didn’t realize there were so few songbirds on in Yagervan. Just the hunting and running types that are more concerned with surviving. Makes me miss the forests and all the singing. You know Nyx can sing too.”
“You failed to mention that in our countless conversations about her,” Tavris states while cleaning his face with a rag. A large form in the distance catches his attention, plunging the pair into silence for several minutes. “Are you really from around here, Delvin? In all the time I’ve known you, I never would’ve guessed you came from the plains. Your skin is darker than most, but I always assumed it was a well-earned tan. Sorry if I offend you with this request, but this whole thing has been bothering me for days. I want you to prove you’re a tribesman and show me your brand.”
The brown-haired warrior coughs and shifts uncomfortably. “How do you know about that?”
“You have no idea how much random knowledge I’ve gathered in my travels.”
“Then you’d know a child receives the brand when they’re eight, so I could have been lost before going through the rite.”
“The sweat on your brow tells me otherwise.”
With a careful look around the stone, Delvin opens his shirt and scratches the center of his chest until his fingernail hooks the edge of a sticky square. Enchanted to resemble skin and hair, he removes the sweating fabric to reveal an old burn mark. The brand is black with bright red edging and resembles a hook-beaked bird with its wings spread to its sides. A short, fan-like tail has been colored white and brown, making it stand out from the rest of the image. Delvin is about to put the covering back on when Tavris takes the square and tosses it into the fire. The melting fabric releases a foul smell that is doused by the addition of perfume from the blonde mercenary’s bag. It is a stronger odor that causes both men to tear up and drives away several nearby animals.
“That was a gift from my last girlfriend. Though I guess she was angry considering that stench is horrid,” Tavris mutters while examining the empty bottle. He considers hurling it into the darkness, but tucks it into his pocket in case they need a container. “You shouldn’t be wearing something that hides who you really are. Facing and accepting your past means you reveal everything that identifies you as a tribesman. Is that brand supposed to have been painted in?”
“Yes, but I never got the osprey finished,” Delvin replies, the champion sniffing at a small pouch of coffee grounds. Noticing the curious arch of his friend’s eyebrow, he points at the mark on his chest. “All of the tribes are named after birds and I came from the Osprey People. It isn’t a common animal in this region since it eats fish, but it’s the top bird along the eastern and southern coasts. I think they’re in Pynofita Forest to the north too. People in Serab just call that area the conifer forests for some reason.”
The muscular swordsman smashes another bug between his hands and wipes them clean on his pants. “Probably because nobody is allowed to cross the borders. You’re the first tribesman I’ve met, which I didn’t know until recently. That brings me to my next question. Do you have a plan for revealing that you’re not a ghost, zombie, or whatever else your people might think you are?”
“They’ll go with ghost since I don’t look like a zombie,” Delvin answers while closing his shirt and putting his chainmail on. He checks his pockets for extra masking patches, but all he finds is an empty bag that once held three of them. “The fact that it’s unfinished might help our situation, but I want to go into the camp with this covered. My people fear being punished by the gods, which means we tread carefully. It’s best they think we’re foreign mercenaries looking for supplies or directions. Once I get an audience with the Path Lord, I can reveal my identity and try to keep things civil. You and the others will have to be ready to run at any moment, but do not kill anyone who gets in your way. I can’t plan for anything else until I find out more about the state of the Osprey Tribe.” The warrior sighs and runs a hand through his hair, dislodging a few pieces of dry grass. “Can I ask you two questions, old friend?”
“An argument always breaks out when you call me old friend, so ask away.”
“Do you hate me for disbanding the Frozen Blades?”
“I did at first, but I got over it. You had your reasons and it looks like you made the right choice.”
Delvin rubs his thumb along his lips while he thinks of the best way to ask the question that has been pestering him for days. “I might as well be blunt. Why do you keep getting into trouble and making an idiot of yourself? You’re very smart and can be a great leader when you put your ego aside. I don’t understand how things went wrong with Tzefira or how you fell for Weber’s tricks. Are you happy being miserable?”
With balled f
ists, Tavris leans down and gets in his friend’s face with the obvious intention to shout. The red of his cheeks is visible in the dying firelight, which neither warrior moves to revive. Refusing to back down, Delvin has his chin exposed as if daring the bigger man to punch him. Instead, his friend relaxes and pulls a long comb out of his bag to run it through his hair. He shakes the collected seeds off the teeth before staring at the twinkling stars and stretching his back. The sound of someone shuffling on the ledge reminds the pair that the next shift should be awakened soon or they will be too exhausted to be of much use in the morning.
“I’m going to ignore that third question since you only asked for two,” Tavris says with a crooked smile. He feeds some kindling to the campfire and stokes it until it roars to life. “I’m smart when it comes to sneaking through places or doing small jobs. Put me in charge of a big job that requires intricate tactics and I fall apart at the seams. You always had more faith in me than you should have, Delvin. I’m the team muscle and not too bad when I have to think on my feet. Although I can only save myself and tend to bring grief to my allies if I attempt to do spur of the moment planning. I guess what I’m saying is that the only reason you think I’m a great mercenary is because that’s what I was under your command. All of us were. Without you, the boys and I drop a few levels.”
“Not sure what to say,” Delvin replies before yawning. “Guess we have this adventure to prove you wrong.”
Tavris shakes his head and heads for the bowl-shaped ledge. “I should have seen that response coming, but I’m happy to hear it. Maybe you’ll knock some sense into this boulder I call a head. Let’s call it a night and get ready for another day of wandering. Do you have any idea how to find your old tribe?”
“They follow the silver horn herds that travel from north to south,” the champion answers while putting his gear into his bottomless pouch. He takes a final look around and reflects the firelight to scare off hungry predators. “It’s the summer, so they should be closer to the south. I’m taking us east to see if we can intercept their path. The migration routes changed a little every year, but I assume they’re in the same vicinity as they were when I was a kid.”
The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9) Page 15
