The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “You spineless bastard!”

  Riak staggers back when Delvin charges and does his best to defend himself. He notices Yeldar preparing to attack from behind, the other vampire’s tongue slowly moving toward the champion. As the sharp-edged body part strikes, its target spins to the side and stabs through it with enough force to drive the bastard sword into the ground. Burning aura runs up the slimy weapon while a barrier erupts from his shield to deflect Riak’s blades. The vampire’s four arms are blown from his body at the same time Yeldar tears out his own tongue to avoid the killing blow. A casual stab over his shoulder is all Delvin needs to turn Riak into ashes, leaving only the whimpering leader to dispatch. Not in the mood for words, the champion slices his enemy’s head off and continues walking passed the kneeling vampire. He is already sheathing his blade and extending his hand to Tavris before Yeldar finishes crumbling to dust.

  18

  From atop a rock formation, the three figures watch the tribes gather their dead and tend to their injured. It is impossible to tell who belongs to which group, which is oddly comforting to the champion and two vampires. They can see the three surviving Path Lords wandering the battlefield and politely giving orders to get their people ready for the journey home. The Ostrich Tribe leader’s body has already been covered by a tawny cloak, his sons placing it on a wagon that is laden with the fallen. A one-armed priest does her best to cast healing spells while checking every corpse to make sure they were not changed by the Dawn Fangs. Her strength eventually gives out and she collapses into the grass. Delvin watches the scene and feels his heart sink when a tarp is put over the woman and she is added to a wagon. His attention falls on the surviving hooded lions that are feeding on two dammahs, their reward for participating in the battle. The champion notices that the rest of the herd remains in the distance and wonders if they are staying nearby in case they are needed again. When the dying Terzog unleashes its final shriek, the silver-horned animals bound away and leave the carnage behind. Even though Delvin is happy that the battle is over and the plains are safe, he knows that his homeland will never be the same.

  “Your parents are still alive,” Tavris says, breaking his friend out of a trance. The towering vampire adjusts the shirt that Mab has given him, the tight fabric making him feel restrained. “I snuck them out of the camp and hid them in Pynofita before Yeldar put me in the crate. Mab brought them to the mesa right after the battle.”

  “So that’s why the guys visited me in the forest,” Delvin replies with a smirk. He sighs and stares along his drawn blade, a flicker of white appearing if he thinks about defending someone else. “I jumped to so many conclusions about my powers and I still don’t understand what happened. All I know is that seeing you die again made me lose control, but it wasn’t a blind rage or grief-induced outburst. It was like I sensed you could still be saved and I was determined to bring you back.”

  “You’ve always been overly concerned with protecting those you care about,” the vampire mentions, patting his friend on the back. The blow is strong enough to nearly knock the warrior off the rocks, a quick grab of the shoulder the only thing that stops his fall. “Sorry about that. I still haven’t mastered this Dawn Fang strength. Thanks for the blood. I promise that’ll be the only time I drink from you.”

  “It’s the least I could do after everything I put you and the guys through.”

  “Don’t start feeling guilty, boss. This isn’t so bad.”

  “You’re a Dawn Fang now.”

  “Which means I’m immortal. That is unless someone plans on killing me.”

  Mab’s eyes are closed as she listens to the spirits of the dead, their confusion tempting her to interact with them. The aftermath has been her favorite part of a battle for centuries and hearing the cacophony of voices helps her come to terms with everything she did to survive and win. The reminder that even Dawn Fangs get to move on to an afterlife always comforts her even though she has no idea which god would claim her people. An old friend once said that they simply wait until a worthy deity appears to claim them from the other planes, but she has lived long enough to doubt that such an event will occur. Mab sighs when she hears a familiar voice that is muttering about how much they hate the Dark Mistress, the rant ending when Samara realizes she may be reunited with her family. A high-pitched ringing warns the vampire that messengers for the gods are about to arrive to escort the dead to the afterlife. With a calming sigh, she returns her attention to the warriors and listens to a local spirit report what her companions have been talking about.

  “Is there a reason I should kill you?” Mab asks, enjoying the shudder that runs through the youngster’s body. She runs her fingers through her hair and yawns wide enough to reveal the back of her mouth. “You’re safe for now, Tavris. I only go after those that break our laws and threaten our reputation. A vampire who proves we aren’t mindless monsters and doesn’t endanger the truces has nothing to fear from me. Though I still don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

  “I already thought of something,” Delvin says before handing a few diamond spheres to his friend. The two men have a brief shoving contest with their hands until Tavris gives up. “That’s to help you get new gear. I’m bestowing the title of Mercenary Prince on you, but under one condition. Go with Mab to hunt down the Dawn Fangs that still threaten the plains and learn about your new life. It seems there are rules you need to be taught. No better teacher than the Dark Mistress.”

  Mab growls and points her claws at the champion, grinning when he fails to summon his fount abilities. “I’m not a babysitter and I think you need his help more than I do. You still don’t have the control you need to beat Stephen. Tavris can give you some back up, especially since he can summon your other friends as ghosts. He’s a one man mercenary band, which is something you can use in your next battle.”

  “I’m not putting his life in danger again.”

  “Well I don’t need help.”

  “Then bring him to your people and have someone else teach him.”

  “I’m not going to be held responsible for another brat. Even-” Mab argues before a deep laugh cuts off her words. A sinister whisper can be heard by the others, but they are unable to hear the words that make the woman spit into her shadow. “Fine. It seems I’m being too mean and cold to someone who would be a benefit to our people. You have two choices, Tavris. One is that I toss you to one of my friends and they’ll drop what they’re doing to teach you. The other is to help me hunt the other brats and risk getting killed since I won’t coddle you. I guess there is the third option of going off on your own and praying we never meet again because it wouldn’t be civil.”

  The blonde warrior laughs and takes Mab’s hand for a shake, the two vampires trying to crush each other’s fingers. “I like that you don’t pull any punches, so I’m going to take the second option. Just to make things clear, I won’t be jumping to your rescue unless you ask nicely. Not that either of us are going to have any trouble. This is going to be like hunting dread boars in an open field. Can we stop at a bazaar so I can get a weapon?”

  “Suddenly I feel like I’m taking a child on a shopping trip for his birthday,” the female Dawn Fang growls, hiding an amused smirk behind her hand. When she is sure there is no sign of the expression left on her face, Mab reaches out to touch Delvin’s face. “Thank you for helping me and I apologize for any lines that I crossed. I’m not really good at dealing with mortals and prefer to work alone, but this was . . . tolerable.”

  “I’ll take that as a win,” Delvin says with a smile. “Thanks for training me. It might be the only thing that keeps me alive against Stephen.”

  “I still doubt that you have a chance, but I didn’t think you had one against the brats,” she admits while walking to the edge of the rocks. With a pained look on her face, Mab turns and faces the mortal warrior. “By the way, Samara and I took her body. Don’t ask why and just accept that I’m going to give it a proper burial. She wanted to be a vam
pire and the best I can do is bury her like one. Now we have to go hunting and you have to settle a few things before that spirit channeler returns. Good luck surviving the little warlord.”

  Mab steps off the edge of the stones and drops silently to the ground where she patiently waits for Tavris to follow. The big vampire gives his old friend a final handshake that they both try to pull into a hug, but only accomplish an awkward tug-of-war that the Dawn Fang inevitably wins. Pelo, Gerdo, and Scorpion appear to quietly bow their heads, the ghosts floating next to Tavris as he swiftly climbs down. The moment he touches the ground, Mab takes him by the wrist and they sink into the shadows.

  “Take care of yourselves, Frozen Blades,” Delvin whispers, gripping his sword and staring toward the north. He tries to unleash his power again, but nothing happens other than a slight headache. “I’m going to make you proud and beat that immortal bastard into the ground. By the time we meet again, I’ll be a wrinkled man that owes you each a drink. Thanks again for backing me up, old friends.”

  *****

  Three rings of funeral pyres surround the mesa and fill the sky with a cloud of smoke that can be seen for miles. The structures have been built from tents whose owners no longer walk among the living. With no priests remaining, the surviving Path Lords are the only ones able to sing prayers for the fallen. Unlike the traditional rites, there is no mention of tribe or station as all of the dead are announced as heroes. When the final prayer is said by the survivors, a strong wind carries the smoke and ashes across the plains. Yagervan is covered in the remains, which sink into the soil and create green flowers that will eventually grow higher than the grass. With the ceremony complete, the crowd divides into their tribes to take stock of their losses. Orphaned children are consoled by friends and strangers who promise to care for them. The Path Lords sit in their chairs and whisper about how they will choose replacements for their fallen ranks, none of them sure what to do about the eradicated tribes. There is a sense of apprehension in their words and the trio repeatedly glance at Delvin who remains sitting on the edge of the mesa.

  “They’re going to ask you to stay and help rebuild,” Aaron says as he approaches his long lost son. The man strokes his stubbled chin while struggling to find the right words, which causes him to chuckle. “All these years of whispering what I would say if I found you and I can’t think of a thing. Saying that I missed you or that I’m proud doesn’t seem to be enough.”

  “Well I’m just as confused, dad,” Delvin admits, rising to give his father a hug. When his mother joins them, he immediately puts an arm around her. “I always wanted to come home and find you, but I was scared. The bullies, our superstitions, and a fear that I was entirely forgotten kept me away. I feel like I’ve been apologizing for the last couple days, but I owe you two the biggest one.”

  “Thank you, but we understand why you stayed away,” Naomi claims while reaching out to touch her son’s face. Her thumb instinctively wipes away some dirt from his cheek, which causes him to blush. “We filled your head with our tribe’s stories like every other parent. It never occurred to us that such things would keep you away if you were lost. We tried to do better with your siblings and . . . we really did lose them. I’m sorry, but I need to sit down. Everything has happened so quickly and my head is spinning.”

  Aaron helps his wife to a nearby stool while Delvin gets her some water from a barrel of rainwater. They sit in silence while the other tribespeople hurry around them, the other Osprey members scattered about the mesa. With so few of them left, they have been forced to take what little space they can find. They have no belongings since they are too ashamed to return to the encampment that still stands on the edge of Pynofita Forest. Many of the other tribes refuse to trust the survivors and there are whispers of the Osprey people being absorbed instead of retaining their independence. Such a fate would be a terrible insult to their ancestors, costing them their unique traditions and migration routes. A few arguments and fights have already broken out, the Osprey members always backing down very quickly. The only ones that seem immune to the aggression are Delvin’s parents and the children who are being cared for in one of the larger tents.

  “Excuse me, but I wanted to ask a question,” the Vulture Tribe leader says as she approaches the quiet family. The mottle-haired woman bows in respect and keeps her hands clasped in front of her. “We are discussing the future of your people and know that you have heard the rumors. Before we make a final decision, the Path Lords wish to know if you believe your people can survive if allowed to remain independent. We understand that the Osprey Tribe has suffered too and absorption can be seen as an insult on top of that, but we are nearing the end of Vir’s reign. You have no harvest to reap and the chances of securing enough before Ult is overthrown by Tavon is not high.”

  “If it is between absorption and struggling to survive then we take the latter,” Naomi replies, her voice strong and unwavering. She stands with her husband and takes his hand to maintain her conviction. “After losing so many of our people and most of our belongings, we refuse to lose anything else. The plains will either provide a bounty or take the rest of us, which is how we have always lived.”

  “Then we will choose a Path Lord and send you on your way,” the other woman states, her eyes filled with disappointment. Noticing a twitch of annoyance on Aaron’s face, the Vulture Tribe leader softens her expression. “I apologize for being so blunt. You will need all the time you can get to gather supplies, which is why I suggest you not remain here. I will suggest that you swallow your pride and return to your northern camp. For no other reason than to claim those items that hold memories of the ones you lost and things to keep the children smiling even in the face of death. There is a time and place for stubbornness, so I would be careful in order to avoid another disaster.”

  “Do you think the Osprey Tribe will break so easily?” Aaron asks, unable to hide his irritation. Those around him stop and watch, none of them believing that someone is willing to argue with a Path Lord. “Those monsters put us through more than you can imagine. The fact that some of us are still alive is proof that we are strong enough to survive. I may be able to accept your sympathy, but I refuse to take your veiled insults.”

  Delvin clears his throat and steps between the tribespeople, his charming smile putting them at ease. “There’s a third option, which will require all of you to throw your pride away. The Osprey survivors can spend the harvest and harsh times with the tribe that received the heaviest of losses. When the thaw time comes, our people will be in a better position to survive on their own and have more than the clothes on their back. This can go for any survivors of the four decimated tribes too, so the five weakest can each join a different group until Yagervan is more hospitable. Understand that none of you are in a great position after so many deaths, so you’ll have trouble gathering your harvests and working in the winter. This plan gives all of you a better chance at survival and maybe it will create a longer peace on the plains.”

  “And this is why we wish for you to be Path Lord of the Osprey Tribe if they continue to exist,” the Grouse Tribe leader says as he joins his peer. The heavily bandaged head of the Pelican Tribe stands behind the others and muffles an agreement. “You have saved us and will forever be a hero of our lands. If you agree to our request then your legend will continue to grow and Yagervan will prosper. Not only for your people, but for all of us.”

  Cheers erupt from the rest of the tribespeople and the sound spreads around the entire mesa, causing the warrior to blush. The chanting stops when a roaring screech drowns them out and a griffin swoops out of the sky. People scream as the beast flies overhead and looks for a place to land before releasing a gust around Delvin. When enough space is clear, the elegant creature lands behind the warrior. She makes an odd noise of surprise when he gently flicks her beak, the sound causing several curious children to laugh. It takes several minutes for the tribespeople to calm down and approach the cooing griffin, who is doing her b
est to appear harmless. She occasionally bumps her friend’s arm, impatiently urging him to get on her back.

  “Thank you for the great honor, but I have to decline. Lucy is here to bring me to my next battle,” Delvin explains while the children enjoy petting the griffin. The warrior bows to the Path Lords and puts his fist to his chest where he feels his heart racing. “I’m sorry to leave you like this, but one of my friends is in danger and only I can save her. She’s very important to me and the man who has her is a monster. To be honest, I probably should have left days ago before I got caught up with the Dawn Fangs. I don’t regret helping you, but I can’t remain in Yagervan any longer.”

  “We understand and will ask no more of you,” the female Path Lord says while putting a hand on the young man’s head. “Thank you, Delvin of the Osprey Tribe, for being the savior of the plains. We will find a leader for your people.”

  “What about my mother or father?” he asks, grinning at his parents. They return the smile, which has a hint of apprehension at the corners. “Both of them are kind and strong. I’m guessing they’re wise too since they gave birth to me. They can choose who gets the title.”

  Aaron puts his arm around Naomi’s shoulders and playfully admits, “Your mother would be telling me what to do anyway, so she can take the position.”

  “Don’t be mouthy, dear,” the blue-eyed woman says, gently elbowing her husband in the ribs. She steps away to give her son a hug, a few tears trickling down her cheeks. “I want you to stay, but I can tell that you have a greater destiny to follow. You ride a flying beast and wield a great power, which is why we can’t keep you here. It wouldn’t be right and your friend needs you. Perhaps you can return when your adventures are done.”

  “I promise that I will and I’ll bring Nyx with me,” Delvin excitedly swears. His mother runs a hand over his face, searching for the features that she remembers from the eight-year-old boy she lost. “My important friend may end up being more of a friend, but I’m not really sure what’s going on. I’d tell you and dad all about her if I had more time.”