“Head hurts. Think I’ll sleep now.” He closed off his mind from the others and retreated into the colored landscape that served as his inner sanctum. Always vivid and beautiful, he went forth and let his mind finally rest.
His sister did not move. She remained there on the ground cradling her brother, as minutes later exhaustion overtook him and he began to snore.
III
“Tuskar!” Kylee yelled, rushing forward as soon as the crows departed.
Through their shared bond, she could feel that he was alive, but her keen eyes did not see him anywhere. The feral part of her had receded since Jared had entered her mind, and now her awareness of what happened had begun to set in.
She had not seen the wolf since the crows attacked and couldn’t figure out how he had survived; she was barely breathing herself. Her body was covered in the blood and guts of the birds she slew, as well as deep claw marks and torn flesh in multiple places of unarmored skin. Her right cheek felt like it was cut open, stinging with the encrusted dirt grating against the exposed nerves. As she surged forward, her limbs began to ache, and the exhaustion that came with overuse of her magic began to settle in.
She stumbled towards the cloaked form crouching a few feet away. The thick wool had been completely shredded and she could see broken bodies of crows laying around the armored shell; they must have broken their necks trying to penetrate the plated armor. Slowly Kore rose to his feet and removed his helmet.
Tuskar was freed from the orc’s embrace and leapt from the ground where he had been pinned. With a pounce, he traversed the distance between them and plunged into her arms. She was too tired to keep her balance and was thrown to the corpse littered ground with a thud. His rough tongue began licking the blood from her face and she turned away with an unexpected chuckle. She embraced the wolf, letting her love radiate through the bond they shared, letting him know how happy it made her that he was unharmed and alive.
A shadow fell across her and she looked up at the hulk hovering above. Kore’s tusks worked as he struggled to find the right words to say. His red eyes marveled at their reunion and she thought she saw something resembling a smile. His green tinted skin was covered with sweat and his pronounced cheek bones were smeared with dirt. His dark red hair hung loose upon his shoulders, the ends of which were covered in bird guts.
“Kore no fight birds. Axe no good,” he stammered. He had been learning their common tongue but was still struggling with its usage. She knew from the look in his eyes that the frustration of not being able to say what he meant was getting to him. “Kore only protect wolf. Armor protect.” The orc knew that he was protected in his armor and had used it to shield Tuskar rather than fight off the birds—
Her conflicting emotions raged within. She had been bred to hate the orcs with every fiber of her being. She had been resisting even talking to him the entire time they had traveled together. She remembered her sneers and nasty remarks, as well as the many times she had snuck up on him while he was sleeping and placed a dagger to his throat. Through all that hate he’d received, he had still put himself between the murderous crows and her beloved companion. Tuskar was alive because of him.
The relieved wolf finally let her sit up and a plated hand was extended from the armored behemoth in offered assistance. Taking it, she let him pull her to her feet, and they stood facing each other, truly seeing one another for the first time. “I am in your debt,” she said, bowing her head, overcome with the guilt of how she had treated him.
“No,” Kore replied and shook his head. “Tuskar one us. Kore do nothing Kylee would not.” His eyes had softened, and she could read from his expression the sincerity behind his words. She reached her arm out and gripped his elbow, an embrace of a brother in arms; signifying what no words could say. “Kore and Kylee friends now?” The brute truly did not think of anything else but protecting Tuskar. He hadn’t done it to gain her favor, but to protect an exposed member of their group.
“Yes, you and I are friends now. Thank you,” she added, trying to convey the gratitude she felt inside.
“You two gonna hug it out?” came the snide remark from behind.
She turned to look at the black knight sitting on the ground with her brother’s head in her lap. “Crap, you mean you’re still alive?” she teased back. She let go of Kore’s arm and moved in their direction. The orc came to stand by her side and was looking to the skies, as if making sure the attack was really over.
“I could say the same,” Reyna commented dryly. “My armor has dents in it that will need to be smoothed back out, otherwise I’m unscathed. You, on the other hand, look like a butchered bull carcass.”
“I feel like one,” she returned, snatching her discarded weapon from the flattened grass. A shared battle can forge a bond between those that survived and the distaste she felt towards Reyna earlier in the day began to ease. “Thanks for your help back there. You could’ve done what Kore did and just wait for it to be over. You didn’t have to help fight them off.”
Reyna’s face remained stoic. Did anything make the woman smile? “Hide in a fetal position on the ground? Not my style,” she said in a dry tone, hand stroking Jared’s hair.
She could’ve continued the banter, but to what end? The ranger paused for a second to breathe, to let the adrenaline rush subside. Her body was exhausted, and her wounds stung from the dirt caked in them. “Good thing your brother came along when he did. I don’t know how much longer I could’ve held out.”
“He shouldn’t have pushed himself that hard. This blood on his face is not from the crows,” Reyna remarked, using her canteen and a rag to clean it off. “Don’t count on him being able to save your ass again. If he dies doing so, I’ll kill you myself.”
Well, okay. Screw that brotherhood in arms shit—I still didn’t like the bitch. “I’m going to get some water,” she sneered and turned towards the lake’s edge.
“You do that,” came the quick retort back.
Merlin had better get back here quick, or I’m going to put an arrow in that black hearted witch, she thought as she began refilling her canteen.
When it was full, she put its cap on and tossed it on the embankment. Taking off her cloak and removing her gloves, she placed them beside it and turned back to the lake. Walking slowly into the water, she watched as the blood and dirt started coming off in waves. She began cleaning out her wounds, trying to calm herself down before she said something to make matters worse.
She glanced back and saw that Reyna was still glaring at her, then shook her head. This was going to be a long journey and more than likely, one of them wouldn’t live to see the end of it. Through her bond, she heard Tuskar begin to growl at the black knight and felt a smile creep onto her face.
“Merlin, where are you?”
Chapter 6
Dog bones
I
Slowly, his mind rose from the darkness as he struggled to open his eyes. It was like having a brick lying on your brain, preventing you from lifting yourself to full awareness. He moaned and felt a hand grip his; a beacon in the night. He expected to feel excruciating pain and involuntarily winced, finding himself surprised when nothing happened. The hand was leathery and wrinkled; the squeeze light and without much pressure.
It can’t be.
He forced his eyes open, prepared to see the ghost of his mother sitting by his side, ready to lead him into the afterlife. Instead, he found his father sitting in a chair next to his bed, hand over his. It startled him straight awake. He coughed, withdrawing his hand to cover his mouth, the light pressure gone as his father’s hand fell on the bed at his side. He sat up with an embarrassed look upon his face, afraid of appearing weak in front of the king. He couldn’t remember the older man ever touching him with affection before. Had he died? Was this heaven?
The look on the old withered face was one of relief and he again questioned whether this was really his father sitting by his bed. He glanced around the room and found that they had tak
en him to his own chambers, the warmth of which calmed his soul. Book shelves lined the walls full of old dusty tomes, a stuffed owl perched near the window, staring down at him. By the fireplace in the corner lay Lajeer, eyes watching closely as he struggled to speak.
“Take it easy, Son. You’ve been shot,” the old man told him softly.
When those words were spoken, images flashed through his head. The flintlock discharging, the sulfuric smell that followed, the pain in his chest—he reached down and checked where the gaping wound should’ve been. Just above his right nipple was a circular patch of pink skin, tender to the touch. It was hairless and looked raw. He remembered hitting the ground, his somehow restored wrist shattering, and what it’d felt like when his life began slipping away.
“Who are you and what have you done with my father?” he croaked, trying his best to comprehend what he was seeing, unsure that he had woken up at all. Surely if you died, you wouldn’t have a gaping hole in your chest for eternity, would you?
Constantine chuckled, “glad to see they didn’t shoot your humor off as well.”
“What’s going on?” he managed, his legs stretching, testing whether the rest of him was in one piece as well.
“Must’ve got your hearing though,” the king remarked, shaking his head.
“Now I know you’re not my father. He doesn’t have a sense of humor that I know of. I got that from my mother,” he snipped without thinking. The old man’s face darkened, and he knew instantly that he had not died; this was not a dream. The painful memory of his mother’s death was being relived through both of their minds; the wedge that had kept the two of them divided for so many years firmly in place. “I’m sorry.” He lowered his head in shame.
After a brief silence, the king let out a sigh and chuckled, surprising his son once again. “I can still remember her laugh, you know. I hear it every time you laugh and I almost turn, expecting her to be there, but then it dawns on me that she’s gone.”
“I know,” he whispered, afraid to get his father’s temper aroused.
“You don’t need to apologize, thinking of your mother at a time like this is natural. I admit, I had her on my mind also,” Constantine comforted.
“It was my fault she died,” he responded, the guilt that had built up over the decade forcing tears to spring forth.
The old man’s eyes hardened, and he flinched as if hit. “Don’t ever say that again. You are not responsible for what happened to your mother any more than the ground was for catching her, or the cleric who last treated her and found nothing wrong.” There was a pause as his father looked out the window, his face flushed. “She had headaches, you know? For months. Started off slow at first, but in the end, she would remain locked in our chambers, the blinds closed; the slightest bit of light sending her into agonizing fits. She became a shell of the woman we loved.”
He reached out and grasped Tristan’s hand once more and squeezed, this time with real strength, as if trying to emphasize what he was saying. “That last day she woke up and the headaches were gone. She felt such joy. She opened the curtains and let the sunshine in for the first time in weeks. I was too busy to enjoy the morning with her, but she insisted on going out regardless. She wanted to watch you ride your new pony and spend some time in the sun. I think on that day and I rejoice. She didn’t die curled up in our bed in excruciating pain. She was in the sunshine standing under a large oak, the fall breeze upon her face, spending time with one of her beloved sons. She didn’t feel any pain, she simply winked out. In my opinion, it wasn’t a bad way to go,” the king finished. It was a long-winded speech and the old man’s face was drawn with the effort it had taken.
Tears were streaking down both their cheeks.
“I thought you blamed me for not getting to her fast enough,” he choked, a hitch in his chest. The guilt he’d been harboring was tearing his heart with grief.
“Your riding instructor strapped your legs to the horse to prevent you from falling off, you couldn’t have dismounted even if you wanted to. There was nothing you could do even if he hadn’t bound your legs; she was gone before she hit the ground,” his father told him firmly. “I never blamed you for what happened. I was jealous that you were there, and I wasn’t. Affairs of the court kept me from being next to my wife in her last moments. I would give anything to go back and make a different choice; the right choice.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, his fingers tracing the new patch of skin on his chest. “How am I still alive?” he asked, changing subjects to avoid acknowledging their shared pain.
“We owe thanks to your fiancé for that miracle. Her quick actions and use of magic sustained your life long enough for one of our clerics to reach you and heal you properly. That’s why your skin is so raw. She stopped the bleeding and healed the wound but didn’t know how to heal the internal damage. It was just enough though. If she hadn’t been there—,” his father trailed off.
Constantine coughed and patted his hand again. “Two Guardians carried you here while Willow came ahead to get help. They brought you in here and kicked me out; me, their own king,” he feigned anger.
Shaking his head, he went on, “took them an hour to patch you up. John was about to rip the door off and demand to know what was going on when they finally emerged. They say you’re as good as new. You don’t feel any pain, do you? If they missed something—.”
He shook his head, “no. Other than some tenderness and a sore shoulder from hitting the ground, I seem to be okay.”
“Good, good,” his father said, then smiled.
What the hell was going on? He had seen Merlin change into a dog, was this him instead of his real father? Toying with him? “No offense, but are you sure you’re my father?”
The king broke into fresh laughter which quickly turned into a coughing fit. When it subsided, the old man shook his head., “who else would I be? You are my son and you were just shot. You almost died. Can’t I be your father for once and show my concern without you thinking me a fraud?”
He sighed and looked towards the fireplace. Lajeer was apparently napping now. Wait, was that his dog or the magician still masquerading? “Father, I was on my way to see you when all this happened. Willow and I were having a picnic in the forest when a strange man appeared, asking for an audience with you. Claimed you were old friends.”
“Merlin,” the king spoke with a reverence usually reserved for the Gods.
“You know?” he stammered. How long had he been out?
Constantine sighed and nodded his head, “we’ve already spoken. If I had heard all this rubbish about the Phoenix rising from the dead from any other man, or dwarf, I’d—.”
“Have them executed?” he filled in with a raised eyebrow.
“How do you know about that?” the king’s voice hardened; grip tightening.
He nodded towards the canine resting nearby, “he told me. Said you’d been given leave by the Dwarven King to dispose of the poor innocent captive in our dungeons.” It felt harsh, but how else could he put it? There was no way to sugar coat what’d been done.
The king looked over his shoulder at the dog. “Your dog told you this? So, you speak to animals now? Are you sure the clerics did their work right? I could call them back in. You had to have hit your head when you fell.”
“I’m fine. Don’t change the subject. What right did you have to just kill an innocent man, for no other reason than to shut him up?” he drilled, feeling the earlier betrayal rising in anger.
“How dare you speak to me this way! If you were anyone else, questioning—,” the old man started but broke off. The king’s hands came together, smoothing the deep wrinkles, his brow drawing together in anger. “What would you have me do? You have seen and heard what that dwarf has done in the short time he was here; the panic he caused? He would not stop, no matter what we did. I was told he was beyond healing, that he’d remain like that forever. It seemed appropriate to put the poor man out of his misery. I’d want the
same if it happened to me.”
“I could never do that,” he returned, his convictions evident in his voice.
“Son, I know I haven’t always been there—,” the king began.
He let out a quick snort.
“But let me give you this bit of advice while I still can,” his father continued, ignoring the retort. “Do not be quick to judge my actions until you are in the same position with the choice in your hands. Until you find yourself responsible for the well-being of an entire kingdom, not just your own life, and have to make a choice between their welfare and that of one man—do not judge. If you are ever in that situation, and I do pray you never are, think on this moment and then decide if what I did was wrong.”
“While you can? You mean, before you ship me off to Griedlok?” he responded with anger. “You’ve been planning this for ten years, the day you finally get rid of me.” He could not help the fury in his heart. It had been held in for way too long. “Isn’t there a party scheduled for after I leave?”
Constantine shook his head. “I deserve it, I know. I have not been the father that I could’ve been, and I no longer have the time to fix that. Arranged marriages come with the crown, my son. It’s how I met your mother. It’s how your own children will meet their wives or husbands. It’s part of who we are. Besides, I’ve seen you two together. I think I did pretty good, if I say so myself. If not for her and the wedding, she wouldn’t have been with you today and I might be burying a son, not getting chastised by him.”
He knew his father was right, about that last part at least. It still stung, the decisions that had been made and the hurt they’d caused. Still, his father was actually trying, and he had to acknowledge that; to let some of the accrued pain go. “What’s with this talk of how much time you have? You’re the king. If you wanted to spend more time with me, you could simply push the wedding back. She’s not going anywhere.”
“Yes, she is. And so are you,” his father stated.
The New Age Saga Box Set Page 14
