“Who’s to say they won’t send your supposed revenge squads into the wilderness?” Delvin asks in exasperation. A shine of magic peeks out from under his shirt collar, his aura threatening to lash out at the gypsy. “Your reasoning is flawed and I think there’s something that you’re not telling me. Even going by what Timoran said, the prison still sounds like the more important target. Does anybody else have something useful to add?”
“I stand by Sari,” Phelan announces, the young man doing his best to appear confident and noble. Ignoring the eye rolling reactions, he approaches the map and points to a thin line running between the locations. “This is a river that we can use to reach the prison after attacking the orchard. All of the Feykin with control over water can manipulate the currents to carry us to the next location. Since it flows south to north, we have to start down here. Otherwise the strain of going against the current would remove several of our warriors from battle.”
“You don’t love him for his brains, right?” Delvin asks, smacking Phelan’s hand off the parchment. Grabbing a nearby fork, he jams it into the spot where the river runs less than a mile away from the Order’s city. “I think our enemies will notice an entire army floating along a bloated river. Your plan gives them plenty of time to prepare or send their warriors to corner us at the prison. We don’t want them to know we’re on the move until our warriors are at their doorstep.”
The doors to the central hall creak open as Nyx and Fizzle enter, the drite yawning as he sits on the channeler’s shoulder. The half-elf’s hair is a mess and her eyes are puffy from a bad night’s sleep, yet she still walks with a purpose. Driven by a desire to fight and finish her business in Rhundar, she leaves fiery footprints in her wake and cracks her knuckles loud enough to shake the building. Coming to the table, Nyx waves Delvin away and glares at Sari until the gypsy slides off the map. Any attempt to talk is met with a spell that turns the person’s words into a gurgle of spit or, in Zohara’s case, a sneeze that pops her eardrums. The priestess scowls at the channeler, but retains her persona of a non-violent holy woman.
“Dariana showed me what you two idiots are arguing about,” Nyx states in a cold, stern voice. A clap of thunder silences the beginning of her friends’ arguments, the noise causing the red monkey to screech in terror. “I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to, so I’m going to give you a plan. One that either of you would have come up with if you weren’t so busy having a childish pissing contest. If you ask me, neither of you should be in charge of Rhundar because you’re acting like brats.”
“I thought we made up, Nyx,” Sari says as she stands next to the half-elf. Her mouth goes dry when the channeler casually reaches out to absorb the illusionary apples. “Then again, I guess we are putting our personal issues ahead of common sense. Not that you seem to be doing any better, Rage Queen.”
“Haven’t heard that one since we were kids,” Nyx replies, momentarily forgetting that her friend is being mind-controlled. Hearing Delvin clear his throat, she whirls around and jabs a crackling finger at his chest. “Be patient, Cunningham. You’re acting like there are only two choices here and I’m not suggesting you go directly to the main city. An option that nobody here has suggested is dividing the warriors and attacking the smaller locations at the same time. The ensuing investigation will spread their forces across all three areas. Confusion will set in and it will take longer for them to figure out what is going on. While they sort through all of the stories, you can bring the prisoners back to Rhundar for healing. Have those who stay behind prepare supply packs for the big battle, which will allow you to depart the next day. Maybe earlier if you can do any of the medical stuff during the trip back.”
“I did consider that, but we’d put too many people at risk,” Delvin argues, rubbing his chest where he can feel a welt growing. Moving Nyx out of his way, he points at the prison as if the dot is a clear picture of the area. “We’d need all of our men to take this place. It would be like assaulting the city itself. Too small a force and we only add to their prisoners. As for the orchard, Dariana pulled enough information out of the cultist to learn that the place is massive. An equally sized army would be needed to properly raze it.”
Timoran clears his throat and joins the others, the barbarian calmly stepping between Nyx and Delvin. “Unless you send the main force to the orchard and an infiltration group to the prison. As you said, a frontal assault on the prison would be identical to a siege. Not to mention our enemies will use the prisoners as shields, so the body count will be high. It might even be a waste if it takes too long to get through the front door. Sending in a small group that can attack from the inside makes the most amount of sense. They would travel faster than the larger army heading for the orchard too. A plan like this requires the right combination of skills instead of going solely for blunt force. I suggest we use the same groups that we had during the hunting and gathering outings.”
“Apparently Luke is too upset over his fight with Sari, so I’d rather he stay here,” Delvin replies, shooting an ugly look at the gypsy. “I’ll choose our best for the prison since it shouldn’t take much to set a bunch of trees on fire.”
A sizzling noise draws everyone’s attention to the table where Nyx is casually burning off most of the map. She leaves the chunk that shows Rhundar and the three targets, the rest of the display turning into a layer of ash. A stiff breeze sends the remains into the air, most of them drifting to Zohara. The Feykin coughs and waves the cloud away, but the pieces stick to her skin and clothes. Glancing up from the parchment, the channeler smiles at the flustered priestess and yawns as if bored by the sight of the woman. Tossing the awkwardly shaped map to Delvin, she stretches her arms over her head and takes a seat on the table.
“I’m going to the prison with Delvin, Timoran, and Phelan,” Nyx replies, a silence spell already dancing on her fingers. Solely for show, she juggles the magic between her hands and flashes a grin daring the others to test her patience. “Timoran and Phelan are strong warriors who will be of more use up north. Also, splitting your best water Feykin means they can communicate through the river. I should go north even though getting in requires you to be subtle and that isn’t my style. Yet escaping with every prisoner means you’ll need a big, violent distraction. Nobody in Rhundar is more violent and able to create a bigger distraction than me. Fizzle and Dariana should be enough to help Sari set fire to a bunch of trees.”
“Who put this woman in charge?” Zohara asks, surprised that Delvin and Sari are nodding in agreement. No longer sensing Nyx’s delicious misery, the priestess struggles to maintain her composure and figure out if she is losing control of her pawns. “I mean, she isn’t a warrior. Aside from battling other casters and going on some adventures, what does she know about strategy?”
“Not as much as me, but it is a good plan. An obvious desire to unleash her temper, but that could send a powerful message to the Order,” Delvin answers, a curious smirk on his face. He physically wipes it away when his fiancée pouts and crosses her arms. “Are we going to have a problem out there, Nyx? I get the sense that you’re angry at me in particular. Please tell me that I won’t have to worry about you burning me along with our enemies.”
The channeler pats him on the cheek as she walks by, Fizzle imitating the gesture with his tail. His attention locked on the departing half-elf, Delvin barely notices when Zohara takes his hand. Even when the priestess presses her nails into his fleshy palm, the warrior only flinches and rubs his eyes as if he has a headache.
*****
“You need to rest some more,” the griffin says, expecting to be ignored like the other times she has spoken up. Attempting to claim control of their body, she manages to sprout a few feathers before she is denied again. “You’re still injured. Transforming helped a little, but you still have broken bones and some internal bleeding. Where are you going since you’re not walking toward Rhundar?”
“I’m heading to where we left Isaiah. He should still be
there,” Luke replies as he continues stumbling through the jungle. The roar of his stomach reminds him of a lion and he hopes the noise will keep the local animals away. “Even if he can’t heal me, Isaiah should be able figure out what’s going on back there. We have information that he’s lacking and he’s . . . smarter . . . than . . . me.”
With the world spinning, the forest tracker attempts to take another step. His foot misses the ground by pushing out to the side, which puts all of his weight on the other leg. Unable to stand on the damaged limb, Luke crashes onto his side and coughs up blood from a freshly scratched lung. He groans and tries to get to his feet, but the pain is too much for him to handle and he collapses again. Staring into the distance, the half-elf can only take gurgling gasps while watching his surroundings twist and warp. A deep grunt from an approaching beast gives him enough adrenaline to move, but he knows it may be the last burst of energy he can muster. Using his good arm and leg, the half-elf drags himself to a patch of leafy bushes and rolls underneath. Luke chuckles when he sees a long-legged spider in the branches, his body too weak for him to get away from the arachnid’s descent.
Beetles wriggle out from under the warrior when a thudding footstep shakes the earth. He holds his staggered breath at the sensation of multiple insects crawling into his clothing and a millipede moving over his throat. Luke shuts his eyes when the spider walks down his face and pounces on a winged bug that has landed on the half-elf’s chest. He breathes again when the arachnid returns to the bush with its meal and the other insects scuttle back into the dirt. The warrior tenses at the sound of a beast snuffling through the leaf litter and plants, a small squeal erupting every time the animal finds food. The noise passes his hiding place several times while the creature tracks whatever scent has its attention. Another startling boom disturbs a flock of parrots while fruit falls from the canopy and the hungry beast continues foraging.
Luke turns his head to see that an orange pear has landed near his hiding place, but it is swiftly gobbled up by a long-nosed creature. Waiting patiently, the forest tracker is surprised to see a slender animal with brown fur and a long, white tail. The way the beast walks on all fours reminds him of a monkey, but the face is more rodent-like. Pointy ears are pressed against the side of its head, rising only when it hears a sudden noise. Luke is about to call to the creature when it bounds over to a tree and whacks the thick trunk with its tail. The blow creates the powerful boom that the half-elf mistook for footsteps and causes more food to rain down from the branches.
With a terrified shriek, a scaly animal lands on the ground and rears up to intimidate the other beast. Revealing sharp teeth and claws, the creature is obviously built more for eating meat than fruit and insects. The furry animal unleashes a wild, whooping scream that is answered by a chorus of hoots. Within a minute, more of the long-tailed beasts leap into view and pounce on the hissing carnivore. The jungle trembles as the troop members use their tails to beat on the flailing reptile, every echoing strike reminding Luke of Timoran’s great axe hitting a shield at full strength. Once the bigger animal is dead, the victors use retractable claws to tear it open and feast on the softer insides.
“We’re in no condition to fight them,” the griffin says, fearing that Luke will attempt to battle his way through. A curious animal peers at the bush and inches closer, something snaring its attention. “If you change then we might be able to escape, but I don’t know what will happen afterwards. All of us are very weak. I expect that you will pass out soon and your fate will be left to the gods.”
“What about the others?” Luke asks, his stomach growling loud enough for the beasts to hear. The one nearest to the half-elf rushes back to the others and tries to eat as much as it can out of fear of losing a well-earned meal. “They’re going to finish that animal before they come for me. Maybe Stiletto will take less energy from me and we can run. If not that then Pike can burrow away.”
“You may change back beneath the dirt and suffocate,” the griffin replies, the snake fiend hissing in agreement. She prepares to take over when Luke feebly drags himself out from under the bush and stands. “Stiletto may work, but he will have the same injuries as you. It is still a big gamble. Being out in the open like now means they can attack as you change. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Everything seems fuzzy.”
“You have a concussion and some bleeding in your skull.”
“I can’t die. Kira would cry and Sari would feel bad. Not to mention Nyx would kill me if I did something so stupid.”
“I assume you are being funny, but you may actually believe that.”
In one quick motion, Luke grips his sabers, but the sudden movement causes the broken bone in his right arm to pierce the skin. Staring at the bleeding wound, he is unsure if he feels the pain and wonders if his nerves have completely shut down. The animals try to scare him away by slamming their tails against the ground and baring teeth that alternate between sharp incisors and flat grinders. Luke falls down from the violent quake, one of his slightly cracked ribs breaking entirely. Unable to move or defend himself, the forest tracker is easy prey for the opportunistic creatures. After years of being hunted by the locals, the troop cautiously sniffs at the leaves in search of snares and other traps. Their courage builds as they surround the prone warrior, who is blindly grasping for his sheathed weapons. With the hungry animals closing in, Luke catches his saber hilts, but finds that he is too weak to draw them from their scabbards.
An arrow strikes the nearest beast and sends its body tumbling away, the solid tail flopping to the ground with a thud. Terrified by the sudden attack, the rest of the troop screams and retreats from the approaching hunters. The newcomers fire several more barbed arrows at the animals, only one of the shots finding its elusive mark. A mild chuckle comes from one of the cloaked figures, the woman drawing back her hood to reveal Elven features and ebony hair. Her grinning companions follow her example, but remain on guard with their bows ready for another threat. The female cultist’s cocky smirk changes to one of concern when she takes in all of Luke’s injuries.
“So much for us tracking down a spy. It looks like somebody got run out of Rhundar and left for dead,” the woman says, leaning forward to examine Luke’s glassy eyes. Her hand goes for a healing potion on her belt, but she stops and draws a vial of the liquid out of her sleeve. “I think this will be enough to keep you alive as we travel. Since you’re not a Feykin and were fighting us to locate your friends, our leader will want to talk to you. Not to mention you have some abilities that he finds . . . useful. Shame those abominations battered this pretty face and broke such a nice body. Hope the healers can put you back together.”
“I won’t talk,” Luke groans as the orange liquid is forced down his throat. His head clears and the internal bleeding slows, but a surge of pain drains the champion of his last speck of energy. “Never going to talk.”
The elf snaps her fingers at one of her companions, the tall man bending down to lift the mumbling forest tracker. Luke attempts to fight back, his feeble slaps at the cultist’s chest and face more like romantic caresses than punches. He manages to gather the strength to shout a slew of threats and insults before a blood-filled coughing fit drives him back to the brink of death. Not wanting the noise to attract predators, the woman puts a hand over Luke’s mouth and keeps it there until he passes out. After checking to make sure he is still alive, she gathers his fallen sabers and leads the way through the jungle.
*****
“Uli always gets such cute chosen.”
“Stop removing his clothes, Aiko.”
“But I want to get a better look, Raku.”
“You’re hogging him.”
“Will you two stop messing around?”
“You weren’t much fun as a mortal, so why be different as a goddess. Right, Yuki?”
Luke opens his eyes and finds himself in an elegant bedroom where beautiful sunlight is shining through the open windows. Satin curtains billow
into the circular room and faint birdsong brings his attention to a ceiling mural. Divided into four parts, the one that depicts spring has melodic robins within the lush greenery. Gurgling water runs around the room, the thin stream having a section that is covered in ice. As he enjoys the feeling of a soft bed beneath his body, he realizes that all of his injuries are healed and considers that he is either dreaming or dead. When Luke tries to sit up and investigate, warm hands push him back down and run along his bare chest. The red-skinned fingers leave shimmering trails on his skin as they examine his scars and toned muscles. Brown hair cascades over the half-elf’s face before a pair of luscious lips touch his and send a jolt of pleasure through his body. Another pair of hands crawl up his legs, their hot nails burning away his pants. Before the amorous ladies can get any further with the helpless forest tracker, they are yanked away and dragged to the front of the bed by two more women.
Sharing the same red eyes and ethereal glow, the Four Sisters have a brief scuffle that is no more than a shoving match. As they bicker in hushed voices, the ceiling mural swirls and blends their seasonal themes together. Once the small argument is over, the two well-mannered goddesses regain their composure while their naughtier siblings flash Luke impish smiles. The one who kissed the blushing warrior licks her lips while her sheer, body-hugging dress threatens to burst against her luscious curves. She is pulled back by the tallest of the ascended sisters, the blue-skinned deity hovering on golden fairy wings. With a wave of her hand, the azure woman repairs the mortal’s smoldering clothes and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Her silent, green-hued sibling sits next to her and grins while adjusting a dress of dewdrops that leaves little to the imagination.
Charms of the Feykin Page 18
