“Good plan, boss, but you’re sitting this one out.”
“I’m not letting you guys go into danger without me.”
“Your eyes keep twitching from jolts of pain and you can barely hold your sword.”
“I’m resting up for the fight.”
Tavris clears his throat and grips Delvin by the shoulder. “How many fingers am I holding up, Cunningham?”
“Three,” the champion replies immediately. “You always hold up three and the thumb never counts. The middle finger is the only one down.”
“You’re either lying or blind because he doesn’t even have his hand up,” Gerdo interjects before Tavris can spit an insult. With a charming smile on his face, the lanky warrior puts his hands on Delvin’s cheeks. “This is for your own good, boss. There’s four of them and four of us, so the sides are even. All we ask is that you trust us to handle this. If it helps, you can bark orders from here and pretend you’re useful.”
Staring into his friend’s eyes, Delvin loses the will to argue. “Just be careful. I’ll warn you guys if I see that one of you is in trouble. Pelo is a whistle, Gerdo is a bark, Scorpion is a hoot, and Tavris is a sharp howl. Number of sounds will tell you how many quarter turns to your right the danger is coming from. Good luck.”
The rest of the Frozen Blades gather around Scorpion with their weapons crossed in front of him. He uses his daggers to put the blue mixture on the tips of every sword, making sure to cover the first inch of them. A strong scent comes off the weapon, which they know will get the wights’ attention. Delvin crawls toward the blackened grass and wiggles far enough to peek through without revealing his location. With a few quick gestures, he signals for his friends to move further down before stepping into the open. The others spread out and enter the clearing, their eyes scanning for the creatures that are no longer on the shore. Two of them have returned to vomiting into the pool while the others have climbed into a twisted, poison-dripping tree. All four monsters turn to the mercenaries, their heads quivering from chattering jaws and rolling tongues.
Gerdo is the first to attack, his twin broadswords whirling over the pool like buzzsaws. The wights float out of the way and race toward the warriors, their speed increasing once they reach the shore. Tavris leaps in front of his weaponless friend to hack the fingers off the nearest undead, the stumps spurting toxic blood. He realizes that the creatures are too close for him to easily strike with his claymore and the returning broadswords will not make it in time to save him. One of the wights is knocked away by Pelo, who stabs the other in the side with his scimitar. With a twist of his wrist, the blade slips between the ribs and impales the monster’s heart to deliver the counter toxin. Unleashing a horrifying screech, the creature turns dark blue and crumbles into a pile of frosty pieces.
“I got mine!” Pelo shouts while he ducks away from the other wight. A high-pitched triple whistle from Delvin causes him to turn to his left and face the other enemies. “I think they like me more than the rest of you!”
One of Scorpion’s daggers slams into the side of the nearest wight and the other hits it in the head. The creature has no time to make a noise as its body freezes and explodes into a shower of chilly dust. Fearing the superior numbers, the remaining wights move over the water to stay out of the reach of the mercenaries. Tavris pats Gerdo on the back before charging along the shore, drawing the attention of one of the monsters. He builds up speed as he sprints for the tree, an echoing battle cry erupting from his mouth. The strawberry blonde warrior leaps into the branches that snap under his weight, the noise finally causing the other creature to turn toward the threat. Gerdo balances his broadswords on his palms and launches them at the wights before they remember him. Both blades impale the monsters through the back and return to their owner’s outstretched hands. The undead shatter when they fall into each other and the glistening remains create blue ripples in the bubbling, dark red water.
“Clean your blades before sheathing them,” Delvin announces as he walks out of the grass and joins his friends. They stop to watch Tavris awkwardly get out of the tree, the man flailing to avoid falling into the toxic pool. “You guys did great. I’m really wondering why you couldn’t make it without me. That came out wrong. Sorry.”
“Don’t be, since that’s kind of what happened,” Pelo replies while he carefully wipes his scimitar down. The rag sizzles and turns black at the edges, so he throws it into the poisonous water. “We always work well as a team. It’s the planning part that has us tripping over our own feet. Some of us lack the confidence for that role while others don’t have the talent. The only reason this went off perfectly was because you gave us orders, boss. Uh, somebody want to catch Delvin before he collapses into the pool?”
Gerdo drops his weapons at Pelo’s feet and hurries to steady their leader. “I really hope you don’t do this to your new friends. From the brief meeting with a few of them, I don’t think they’d put up with your antics for as long as we do. If anything, the gypsy or Nyx would put you to sleep every other day. So what’s next?”
“I can use my trick to purify the water and cleanse the area,” Scorpion declares with a calming breath. He waits for Tavris to join them, the tall warrior looking dejected that he never got to kill one of the wights. “There are only two problems. One is that this will leave me exhausted until the morning, so we will have to make camp nearby. The other is that . . . I must remove my mask and reveal my secret. My appearance may be shocking to you, but I hope you remember that I am still your friend.”
“I’m betting on scars!” Pelo shouts, getting a laugh from the others.
“Embarrassing tattoos,” Gerdo guesses.
Tavris strokes his chin before he says, “Very creepy eyes and no nose. What do you think, Cunningham?”
“You guys took the fun ones,” Delvin mockingly complains, pushing himself away from Gerdo. He approaches the covered mercenary and peers into the black mask. “I’m going to say that he has no face whatsoever. So we’ve all made a guess, old friend. Show us the truth and the winner gets two diamond spheres.”
Scorpion sighs and undoes the hidden clasps that keep his mask attached to his shirt’s high collar. He starts removing it from the back to let long, ebony hair fall down to his shoulders. The man hesitates before revealing a pair of pointy ears that causes all of his friends to stand a little more at attention. Every inch exposes more cobalt skin and a purple gem implanted in Scorpion’s chin. For a few seconds, he stands with his eyes focused on his friends’ shifting boots and searches for hints about their mood.
“I’m a chaos elf,” the mercenary says, feeling ridiculous stating the obvious. He tucks the mask into his back pocket and slowly reveals his empty hands. “I guess you could say I went rogue. There are many of us around the world who left Shayd in search of a way to free our people from a life of slavery. Some of us look for weapons while others try to find allies, but it never goes very far. Mostly we live in secrecy and die away from home. I understand if you don’t trust me and I’ll leave if you wish.”
“Team council,” Delvin announces, drawing the others away from Scorpion.
The four men stand in a circle and whisper among themselves, Pelo occasionally glancing at their isolated friend. A raised voice makes the chaos elf wince and shuffle his feet in preparation of having to run. Scorpion is sure they will not attack him, but his natural anxiety screams for him to be careful. A few rumbles of laughter helps him relax and the enhancer gem on his chin glints with a spark of magic that it has not shown in years.
“This isn’t right,” Tavris says, his voice loud enough for the chaos elf to hear. He waves at the sweating warrior, the others keeping their faces hidden. “Come over here, pointy ears, so we can do this right!”
Delvin waits for their companion to join them and gestures for another huddle. “We came to an agreement. You’re an idiot and we don’t care that you’re a chaos elf. In all the jobs and battles we’ve been through, you’ve had our back and never
gave us a reason to doubt your friendship. So shut up and do what you have to do, Scorpion.”
“I thought I got to ask him the question,” Pelo interrupts with a thin-lipped smirk at their friend. The man is nearly crying with excitement and his throat quivers from the flood of laughter that he is holding back. “We understand the all black clothing, but you have to explain the name. Why in all of Windemere did you choose the name Scorpion? Were you born with that name?”
“My real name is Hypnos and I was a priest of Ambrosine,” the blushing elf admits while the mercenaries give each other space. Awkwardly scratching his head, the cobalt-skinned warrior chuckles at his own foolishness. “I needed a name that was fearsome because I wanted people to give me a wide berth. After I escaped from Shayd, I landed in the desert and I heard the locals warning foreigners to beware of scorpions. So I chose that as a name and mastered the use of poisons. Funny thing is that I’ve yet to see a real scorpion.”
“Pay up, boys,” Gerdo declares before slapping their confused friend on the back. Three pieces of gold are tossed at the grinning man’s chest, the metal falling into his open hand. “I told you that he picked the name to be scary. Here’s a gold coin for your trouble, kid. Now, how about cleaning up this mess?”
Scorpion catches the coin and slips it into his sleeve, a warm smile growing on his face to match those of his companions. With a nod, he takes a deep breath and turns to face the corrupted watering hole. In a deep voice, the former priest prays to Ambrosine the Chaos Elf Goddess for the first time in over a decade. The man winces when a jab of pain stabs him in the temples, a sign that the deity is not happy to hear from him. Scorpion’s prayers become stronger and more forceful, which whips the air around his body into a frenzy. The purple jewel in his chin shines like a small star and sends beams of energy across the putrid pool. Unused to casting spells, his muscles quiver and his mind attempts to drift from his body. Opening his pink eyes, the chaos elf relaxes and lets his priestly instincts rise to the surface.
“I apologize for my absence, dear Ambrosine,” he whispers in his native tongue. The language is musical and gritty, reminding the others of an orc trying to speak Elvish. “Please grant me this one spell to heal this land. These men I wish to help have shown me kindness and accept me for what I am. It is how you wish for your children to be treated. Help me honor their friendship by repairing the land that one of them was born from. My hope is that he may return the favor and be a key to your . . . my people’s salvation.”
Scorpion draws two daggers and slices his cheeks, the sparkling blood dripping into the mud. A ripple of purple energy runs along the ground and bathes the corrupted area in a layer of holy aura. Painful spasms run through the chaos elf’s body as he focuses on the spell and uses it to attack the wights’ poison. The toxin is concentrated in the water, which Scorpion uses as a cleansing medium by reaching his arms out. With a gentle spin of his wrists, the former priest sends the purification enchantment along the river to collect all of the corruption. He remains motionless for several minutes, his skin becoming pale and dry. When an enormous orb of black and violet aura rises in the distance, Scorpion mutters a final word that disperses the energy into the sky and purges it from the area.
“That was more painful than I remember,” the weakened man says before collapsing into the purified mud.
As the others hurry to their companion’s side, Delvin’s eyes roll back and he crashes to the ground. Tavris curses as loud as he can and stomps his foot while looking from one unconscious ally to the other. Gerdo and Pelo shrug when he looks to them for an idea, the two men each choosing a fallen ally to carry. Deciding that they should not remain so close to the destroyed encampment, Tavris scans the area and points to a rock formation. He guesses it is no further than a ten minute walk and he is hoping that the wildlife is still avoiding the area out of fear of the wights. The mercenaries head away from the watering hole, glancing back every few steps to watch the corpses melt into the earth and the water turn a pristine blue.
*****
“You win this time, Tavris,” Pelo says when he sees Delvin’s eyes open. He hurries over to hand a cup of hot tea to his friend, his position helping to block the glaring light of the blazing campfire. “Drink this to clear your head. You definitely have a concussion, but Gerdo found some herbs that can help. We’ve been crushing their juice into your mouth every hour to keep you alive. Gave us quite a scare, boss.”
“What were you guys betting on?” Delvin asks as he struggles to sit up.
“Which of you would wake up first,” Tavris answers from where he is keeping watch. His towering figure is barely in the light that covers the flat top of the rock pile. “Scorpion is stirring, but he won’t open his eyes. Like he warned us, the spell took a lot out of him. Move carefully, Cunningham, because we’re pretty high up and some hooded lions are resting at the base. They won’t leave since they seem to think we’ll keep them safe.”
With Pelo’s help, Delvin gets to his feet and looks over at Scorpion, who is asleep on the other side of the fire. Gerdo is stirring a pot of soup while patting his groaning friend’s brow with a damp rag. Unable to face the fire for long, the champion peers out over the eerily quiet plains. There is a vibrancy of life that is missing from the area, but he can feel it slowly returning with every noise and movement of the night. Inching toward the edge of the rocks, Delvin glances at the pride of lions that has gathered below. Cubs snap their hood-like manes at each other as they play among the adults that watch the shadows for danger. Every sound causes them to look in the same direction and their tension makes the warrior worry even more that their troubles are only beginning.
“I’m sorry I brought you guys into this mess,” Delvin says while rubbing his eyes. A sharp pain is still in his temples, so he takes a seat and sips at the tea. “There’s something else going on here, so I’ll understand if you want to leave. You came to help me find my tribe and I thank you for that, but this is too big. There’s no payment in this adventure, so I can’t ask you to follow me.”
“I really wish I was still asleep for that,” Scorpion groans as he rolls onto all fours and crawls to his pack. He pulls a vial of orange liquid from a side pocket and rummages for a pot of blue powder. “This potion will help me recover my energy as long as I stay off my feet. Pelo can take the powder and put a pinch in each of Delvin’s nostrils. Hold his nose closed to make sure he inhales it into his sinuses where it will heal the concussion. After that, we can discuss our next course of action.”
“Are you sure you want to stay?”
“I revealed my true self to all of you. I find it insulting to be turned away after such an act.”
Tavris laughs as he approaches Pelo and takes the clay pot, a wide smirk on his face. “I want to do this to him. It’s your turn for the watch anyway.”
With a nervous chuckle, Delvin allows his friend to push his head back and drop some of the powder into his nostrils. The hand that grips his nose is filthy, but the uncomfortable fizzing that runs into his head distracts him from the smell. He breathes through his mouth with loud gasps as his head clears and the dull pain feels like it is being squeezed through his eye sockets. By the time Tavris releases him, Delvin feels more like himself, but physically drained from the experience. He glances at Scorpion, who simply downs the orange potion, shudders, and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
“Would that have helped me?” asks the champion while removing his chainmail.
“Yes, but I prefer potions to powders,” the chaos elf replies with a grin that his friends are not used to seeing. They are sure he has made the expression before, but it is strange now that it is no longer hidden by a mask. “Give me your armor and I will repair it while we make a new plan. I suggest we continue searching for the Osprey Tribe, but avoid making our presence known to them.”
“I agree because we don’t know if they’re involved in this,” Gerdo points out while handing out bowls of soup. Without missing a beat, he swift
ly dissolves the sour look on Delvin’s face with a comforting smirk. “I don’t mean that they’re behind this, boss. They could be victims if they’re even a part of what’s going on here. The Yagervan Plains is a huge place, so all three options are completely viable.”
“Maybe we’ll be lucky and those wights are the worst of it,” Pelo suggests with a hopeful half-smile. The warrior pats the hilt of his scimitar as he looks in the direction of the destroyed encampment, the ruins too far for him to see. “Then again that wouldn’t explain the carnage we found. Definitely not the act of mindless undead. Anybody have theories on what could have done that?”
“Rival tribe,” Tavris replies before slurping down his soup. “It could also be bandits, mercenaries, barbarians, pirates, or invading chaos elves. No offense, Hypnos. You know, I think I’ll keep calling you the other name.”
Scorpion puts his mask back on and opens the hidden slit to eat his meal. “No offense taken since it’s a possibility. Though my people wouldn’t use undead since they’re a constant danger on Shayd. The wights were certainly part of the attack, which makes me wonder what our enemy could possibly be. I think we won’t know until we find the source.”
“Or you can listen to me,” a female voice says from next to Pelo.
The warrior leaps back and draws his sword as a short woman steps out of the night. Her movements are not like somebody walking across the stones, but of a person extruding herself from a portal. A long jacket of black snake scales helps to hide her lean form that can barely be made out within the clothing’s abyssal shadows. The stranger remains at the edge of the firelight, her porcelain skin and emerald eyes giving off an ethereal glow. Something about the dark-haired woman makes the mercenaries’ skin grow goosebumps and their hearts beat faster. If asked to describe the sudden wave of panic, all of the men would say they feel like prey. When the stranger gets closer, they notice that she makes no noise and there is a restrained grace beneath the surface of her steps. All of the warriors are aware that this woman may be able to kill them at a moment’s notice and they should be thankful she is behaving herself.
The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9) Page 17
