The elves and Sam set to work, relaying their plans to the others and preparing the trap.
***
David and Ahtash sat in the cave after the snowball fight. David sat and opened his spell tome while Ahtash gathered some of the wood the group had found the night before. She took in a breath and her eyes flashed orange and red. She exerted a burst of air from her throat and it caught flame with a spark. The flame cascaded over the wood, causing it to catch and start warming the cave with its orange glow. Ahtash looked at the wizard and remembered the rush of emotions she had felt through him earlier. “David…” She called softly.
David looked up from his book. “When the healer touched you…” Ahtash started, uneasily, “…what was that feeling we shared?”
David smiled and his face blushed and instantly Ahtash’s did as well. The dragon blinked, almost in shock. “There is it again,” she stated.
David cleared his throat. “It’s… uh... attraction.”
Ahtash shook her horned head. “No. This is something… different.”
She couldn’t find the word. It was an emotion very important to her people. She remembered feeling something similar when she thought of her mother, but this was something… stronger. “Love?” She asked.
David closed his book, his face thoroughly red. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Ahtash nodded, feeling his further embarrassment. “Yes, it must be. This is a very important emotion for my people. I know this to be love.”
“You don’t know that necessarily,” David argued.
“David, I know you better than anyone could. That is part of the bonding.”
The apprentice stood and paced about the cave. Ahtash couldn’t understand his reaction to her questions. “Are humans usually this ashamed of their feelings?”
“No,” David stated bluntly. “Well… I don’t know. Probably not. It’s just really early to be calling it love. Haven just makes me feel… oh nevermind.”
Ahtash stood, placing her hand on her hip in disapproval. “David, speak with me. This bonding we share, it must be kept pure, no secrets.”
David sighed, his tensions easing as he nodded. Ahtash smiled and outstretched her hand to take his. They sat by the fire and David took in a breath. “It all started when we first met in Tamrien…”
***
Day rolled into night and April stood watch at the mouth of the cave. Her cloak hood was drawn and she did not see whose footsteps approached her from behind. She withdrew her dagger and jumped in alarm, only to see a surprised Sam draw his hands up in surrender. Their eyes met and she instantly relaxed. “By the Sprites Sam, you need to be more careful.”
“I’m sorry, guess I should have announced my arrival,” Sam sat beside her, looking out into the blackness of the tiny snow covered valley. Their “camp” had gone undisturbed so far.
Sam shivered at the burst of cold wind that entered the cave and looked over at April to see if she reacted similarly. She was steadfast, unwavered by the cold and focused on her task of discovering their pursuer. Sam admired her determination. At times it would manifest itself as stubbornness, but in the end, it was one of her traits he respected most. His mind flashed back to their moment in the caves of Courttop. Seeing her that vulnerable, how scared she was, it was a sharp contrast to how he usually saw her, and yet, he liked that too. It had been a side of her he had never seen, motivating him to comfort her and protect her against anything. Then the night they had spent together, although innocent, made him long for more. “April, do you remember the night we spent together in the dragon’s cave?”
April nodded. “Yes.”
“Was that because of how you were worried about your brother, or was there something more there?” Sam asked.
April took a little while to answer, still not looking at him. “There may be something more there,” she responded.
Sam smiled. That was the answer he was hoping for. “Do you think… we could do it again?”
“What, sleep? Or are you hoping for more?” April now looked at him, very judgmental.
Sam could feel he was on uneasy ground. “...both?”
April sighed heavily and returned to watching the camp. “Typical,” she muttered.
Sam grimaced. That wasn’t the right thing to say. “Well, let’s try this. What do you want? You were the one who said something about more.”
“I meant a relationship, dummy. Not just sex,” April stated bluntly.
Sam looked around the cave nervously, making sure no one had heard. April rolled her eyes. “By the Sprites will you grow up and talk to me like an adult? If sex is all you’re after, I’m not the one who will provide it. We have too much history for that.”
She was right. They had known each other since they were children. Anything romantic would have years of trust and friendship behind it. Perhaps Sam needed to think this through further. He hadn’t thought about the gravity of the idea. April grumbled in disgust, she hated talking about her feelings. It made her feel weak. “Look, I’m only going to say this once. I care for you, a lot. I have for a long time. I didn’t really realize how much until that bitch started cozying up to you.”
“What bitch? Haven?” Sam asked quietly. “But she’s interested in your brother now.”
“Don’t remind me,” April glared. “Anyways, you broke things off with her, that’s fine. You had your little dalliance but that’s not going to happen here. If you want something more between us you’re going to have to let me know that you’re up for it. I’m not looking to just play around here, I want something real.”
Sam nodded, April staring at him. It was as if she was waiting for a response. “Do I have to answer this right now?” Sam asked, nervously.
April rolled her eyes and stood. “Good night Sam.”
The auburn haired rogue walked away towards the fire deeper within the cave, leaving Sam alone and confused. The Guardian placed his head in his hands, frustrated with himself. “I could vanquish a hundred foes, win a thousand battles, and still have no clue how to talk to women…”
The wind howled just a few feet away in agreement. Sam glared at the open expanse, he didn't appreciate the Sprite putting his two cents in. He picked up a stone and threw it into the icy winds outside the cave. He cast his gaze behind him at his sleeping comrades in their bundles. He decided some air would do him some good. Sam lifted the hood of his winter cloak over his head and walked out into the frozen midnight air.
***
The wind wasn’t as bad as he had originally surmised. Either that or Typhoon, the Sprite of the Wind, was taking it easy on him. He walked their staged “camp” to add tracks in the freshly laid snow around the area. No scout worth half his salt would believe the camp was real if it didn’t look like someone had walked the area. He heard a rustle in a tent that had been pitched and focused on it. It had sounded a little too heavy to have been caused by the gusts. Could something be in there?
As if on cue, a light ignited inside the flaps and set a small fire ablaze. Sam could see the shadow of a figure sitting inside. There was someone in the tent. Who would be using their camp? Sam decided to investigate. He kept one hand on the hilt of Windrider and the other reached for the flap that served as a door. As he parted the canvas he noticed the figure sitting in front of the small fire, warming his hands. The man had long black hair, wore the same color armor, and wielded a large broadsword on his back. Sam also noted a sinister looking whip at the man’s side. The character did not look at the Guardian as he continued to try and warm himself. “Brisk night, wouldn’t you agree?” The figure asked.
“I would,” Sam replied uneasily. He almost had to hunch in the low ceiling. The flaps of the tent sides rattled loudly every so often when a strong gust came through, it seemed Typhoon was as nervous as his Guardian. “The plains seem to always be windy, no matter what the season.”
The figure grunted in agreement. There was an awkward silence for a few moments as they each seemed to be
sizing each other up. “How can I help you, friend?” Sam finally asked.
“Nice camp you have yourself here, very inviting,” The figure stated, completely ignoring Sam’s question. “Almost like it was staged…”
Suddenly it dawned on Sam on who the man was. He must be the one Dinaer had sensed, the one that had been tracking them for the past month ever since they had left Tuckerville. The man had used Sam's own trap against him. The Guardian’s heart raced, sensing the struggle that was bound to be coming soon. “So… how does this play out?”
“Very simple, Guardian,” The man responded, finally looking up into Sam’s eyes. “You die.”
The man’s whip was unclipped from his belt and wrapped around Sam’s throat in an instant. Sam stumbled backward out of the tent, pulling on the leather tighter as he fell into the stormy night. The dark man flung the tent from its position and cast it into a clump a few yards away. The small fire was caught by the icy winds and blew out almost instantly. The figure tightened the leash now cutting off Sam’s air, staring at the Guardian menacingly in the moonlight. “The name’s Blaine you ignorant child. I just thought you’d like to know who is going to end your life!” Blaine yelled over the winds, which now seemed to pick up and howl all around them.
Sam managed to rise to his knees as Blaine held the whip firm. Was this it? Taken down by one of Cain’s minions before the quest even got underway? Surely Dytin was looking down at him now and regretted his decision. “No,” Sam said in a hoarse voice. “It’s the name of the man who should have known better, than to challenge the Guardian of the Wind!”
In one fluid movement, Sam withdrew Windrider and sliced the whip in two. The leather fell to the snowdrift like a lifeless snake and Sam stood defiant, removing the now loosened end from around his neck. The two men squared off, the staged camp their battle arena. Blaine charged, Sam blocking his advances and stabs easily with Windrider’s blade. The Guardian’s shield was lying useless back with his sleeping materials in the cave. Swordsmanship would win the bout, swordsmanship and nothing else. Sam considered calling out to his comrades for help, but the winds’ howls made it practically impossible to even hear Blaine’s taunts and the man was standing just a few feet in front of him. Clearly the Sprite of the Wind wanted to test Sam’s ability alone.
The two adversaries danced around the camp, trading slashes, jabs, and murderous swings. Sam had a bit of speed on his side, wielding a smaller blade than his opponent, but Blaine had the advantage of power and experience. Sam was almost completely on the defensive. Knowing full well that one hit from Blaine’s dark broadsword could mean instant death. The Guardian’s only hope to gain a distinct advantage was to try and disarm Blaine in some way.
The dance of death continued. Blaine’s strength and energy seemed almost unending, but Sam was feeling invigorated as well. Periodically Sam could feel the currents of wind shift, pushing at his back, egging him on as if it was his coach in a boxing match. Sam had started to try more unorthodox counter attacks, using knees, kicks, punches, and other strikes to curb Blaine’s momentum and hopefully slow him down. So far it had been working, more importantly; it was making Blaine increasingly angry. Anger takes away focus, lack of focus means mistakes. Mistakes Sam desperately needed Blaine to make to turn the tide.
Blaine and Sam battled around for a few more minutes until Blaine’s frustration hit its limit. He started flailing wildly with his blade, knocking over cooking kettles, tents, and other assorted campsite items placed about in the fake field residence. Sam had to do more dodging than anything else to avoid getting hit, but it was then Blaine gave him his opening. As the dark fighter raised his blade high in the air for a downward swipe, he left his midsection completely unguarded. Sam reached down, grabbing a cooking pot and hurled it towards Blaine’s face. It connected, the man unable to release the two handed hold on his blade that was balanced above his head to block it. Blaine brought his sword down with one hand and cradled his face with the other, blood gushing from his broken nose. Sam pirouetted, knocking the broadsword away and shoving his back into Blaine’s chest and with it, a backwards turned Windrider into his stomach. The whole scuffle had lasted maybe twenty minutes, but in a flash, it seemed to be over.
Sam withdrew his blade from where he knew it had met its mark and let Blaine’s body fall forward in a slump beside him. Sam wiped the blade with Blaine’s black cape and sheathed it. The wind howled in congratulatory salute as the Guardian began to let the exhaustion take over. He started to slowly walk towards the cave where his comrades slept, unaware of the movement in his opponent behind him.
Blaine slowly managed to bring himself to a stance, withdrawing the cursed black blade that had cut David on the streets of Tuckerville. Where was his back-up? Surely the Daemon he had brought with him should have intervened by now, especially with his master having a freshly made hole in his stomach. No matter, he would end the Guardian’s life himself, and let Cain’s swift justice decide the traitor’s fate.
Sam felt the wind pick up and almost cyclone his hair around him, as if the breeze was trying to turn him. The Guardian spun around just in time to get his hands up to block Blaine’s arm as it tried to come down with dagger in hand. The two men fell to the ground, Blaine mounted on top of the younger, and more surprised, Hero of Cortendale. Sam used all the strength he had to hold the blade at bay, crossing his wrists and shoving back against Blaine’s. Blaine in turn pushed down with his other hand onto the dagger’s handle, the dark blade inches away from Sam’s face. “Time to… scratch up… that pretty face… boy!” Blaine taunted through grunts of physical exertion.
Sam couldn’t keep the blade from inching closer, the dark metal starting to pierce the flesh above his right eye. Sam let out an agonizing yell as the putrid dark magic sliced into his skin, it felt like a thousand branders searing every nerve in his face. Blaine traced the blade down, crossing over Sam’s right eye and down his cheek, inching closer and closer to his exposed neck. That was when Blaine felt the cold steel enter his back and pierce his heart. A woman’s voice whispering into his ear, “Burn in Damnation you son of a bitch.”
April hurled Blaine’s body off of Sam as her dagger’s handle stuck out the villain’s back. Sam couldn’t stop yelling over the scar left on his face. April mounted him, checking for other wounds, but Sam started fighting her off. The woman desperately grabbed his wrists trying to calm him. “Sam. Sam!” She called. “It’s me, you’re alright!”
Sam couldn’t discern anything through the pain. “April! It burns!” He cried.
April checked the rest of the Guardian’s body, confident that the blood that covered him was from Blaine’s previously sustained belly wound. She picked up a handful of snow, slapped it across Sam’s face, and forced him to hold it there. “Here, we have to get you to Ahtash before it enters your veins.”
April retrieved her blade from Blaine’s back and took Sam’s arm, leading him towards the cave where he could be healed.
The Daemon waited until the two were out of sight to approach Blaine’s body. He had been in waiting throughout the scuffle, ready at a moment’s notice to engage and help murder the Guardian before he had a chance to repel two attackers. He had been ready… but had chosen not to fulfill his part of Blaine’s trap. Blaine had suffered for his arrogance, both in his pursuit against the Guardian and his treatment of the Daemon in front of their master. Now it was Blaine who was crumpled in a heap on the ground and the Daemon who was standing above him. This felt right, this felt like… justice.
The Daemon picked up the lifeless heap of Blaine’s body and placed it on the dead Lord’s horse. It grabbed hold of the horse’s reins and started walking towards the north. Surely he had plenty of time to think of a story to tell the Dark One about Blaine’s final defeat. For now, the creature relished in its revenge as the wind blew snow over the red pool left behind.
***
Sam awoke to something blocking his right eye. He panicked at first, April hav
ing to hold him down to keep from thrashing wildly. “Hey, it’s alright,” She cooed, “You’re safe.”
“What happened?” Sam asked frantically looking around the cave.
April handed him a leather bag that held water and Sam drank from it gingerly. “You were in a fight with one of Cain’s agents. What’s the last thing you remember?”
Sam finished drinking half of the bladder, his uncovered eye darting back and forth as he recalled the event. “He said his name was Blaine, he…” His memories flashed before him, “…was the one tracking us. He said he was there to kill me.”
“An assassin? Like the ones we encountered in Tuckerville?” April asked, taking back the water bladder from him and handing Sam some food.
“No, not like them. He spoke to me, taunted me, fought like I do. He was human,” Sam tore off pieces of bread and cheese, nibbling them. Every movement of his jaw irritated the right side of his face and he felt over the bandages covering it.
“Don’t remove them,” April warned, “he cut you with another one of those dark knives. Haven and Ahtash had a hard time healing the wound. It’s still fresh.”
“It felt like my face was on fire,” Sam commented.
April nodded. “David said that was what he felt when he got cut, like his skin was burning him.”
Sam and April sat in silence for a few minutes while Sam calculated the news. “How long was I out? Where are the others?”
“A few days,” April remarked, “After the storm subsided the others searched for clues to where we are. They found a small village not too far from here and have been gathering supplies and getting directions to the capital.”
“You didn’t go with them?” Sam asked.
“I wanted to stay with you…” April replied, as if her answer was something Sam should have known better than to ask.
They sat in awkward silence again for a few more minutes while Sam finished his meal. “I wouldn’t have expected you to stay after our talk…”
April shook her head, “I swear Samuel Gale, you can be just so clueless sometimes…”
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