By Magic and Damnation
“We ran like rabbits.”
Blaez sat cross-legged on the ground beside our campfire, warming his ale, scowling heavily. Nothing ever made him happy. Had we succeeded in seizing Princess Yummy as planned, he’d still find something to grouse about. So accustomed to his complaints, I paid him scant attention, and poked the fire with a stick.
I used my hand this time, not my power. Since the death of the little boy, using my magic made me feel like vomiting. Gone was the joy I felt in practicing my new craft. In its place, nausea and guilt swamped my guts, coating my tongue with slime, and made me want to hurl whatever might lie in my stomach. None of them knew I saved them as we fled from the Griffins’ wrath. They assumed the enemy beasts had been called off, like hounds to a whistle. Only I knew that had I not turned and channeled my flames at them, our corpses would litter the hills right now, picked apart by the ravens and vultures.
I cursed under my breath at Vanyar’s cleverness. Just when I thought I owned his ass, he turned my sure victory into my ignominious defeat. Damn him. Damn him and his flying hellcats. Those rocks flung from out of the smoke was, no doubt, a stroke from a military genius. Rather than hate him, I raised my own skin of ale to him in a private toast and drank deep.
“What do we do now, my prince?” Buck-Eye asked, tending to a badly injured Rade. Under the Griffins’ attack with the rocks, Hogan died from an arrow strike and Rade suffered several broken bones. Torass came through with a busted arm, thanks to the Griffins’ deadly aim.
“We lick our wounds and go home,” Blaez commented sourly. “Nothing else we can do.”
“Shut up, Blaez,” I said, my voice soft. “The King might find dissatisfaction in your performance this time.”
I turned my head to meet his hot eyes. “You certainly aren’t immune to his anger. Care to taste the whip?”
Muttering, Blaez drank his warmed-over ale, hunching his shoulders as though fearing someone might take it from him. “My man died today,” he said bitterly. “Not yours. Not fair, not fair at all.”
“If I wanted you dead,” I replied, my tone cold. “You’d be dead. Got it?”
He subsided, muttering, hitching his way from the fire, and to his pallet. Galdan stood guard, his face expressionless, and his hand on his sword hilt. I wasn’t the only one who noticed sweat trickling down his cheek. Without Hogan as his back-up, I suspected he felt alone and friendless. I knew my men liked and respected him, and none would raise a blade unless at my order. Unless Blaez himself provoked it, I’d no plans to kill Galdan.
Gathering his explosive materials, Blaez set to making more of his beloved bombs. He’d depleted his entire supply on our failed attack on the Atani, yet had a full pack-mule of material with which to create more. He set about, muttering to himself, filling both bamboo reeds and clay pipes with nails, powder, small rocks and sealing them with wax and string. I knew, earlier in the day, his bombs went off at the right time because Blaez set his spells for motion. Anytime a foot or hoof came close – boom! I let him believe I believed they were built that way. I pretended to ignore the many arrow-devices that didn’t have a lit fuse, but exploded in the faces of the flying Griffins anyway. Blaez hid his powers most cleverly.
“Make them bigger this time,” I told him. “We’ll need as many more of those arrow-bombs as you can concoct. If you need an assistant, grab one. Boden is clever and learns quickly.”
He ignored me, but delved into yet another pack and pulled out large glass containers. By their size, I knew he had them specially crafted for his effective bombs. How he kept them from breaking as we travelled was anyone’s guess. More magic, I suspected. Cushion them in spells of air, if there were such.
“How is he?” I asked Buck-Eye.
Rade hadn’t ridden long with Buck-Eye, but the mercenary knight treated him with the same affection and regard as though they’d been friends since boyhood. I liked that aspect of Buck-Eye’s nature. Once he attached his loyalty, there was no shaking him from it. I pried him from Blaez’s side for a simple reason: Buck-Eye hated Blaez, despite his allegiance to the ugly Commander.
“In pain, m’lord,” Buck-Eye answered. “He’ll make it, if we can permit him the time. But he’s hurt bad, m’lord.”
I can heal him, I thought. I knew my powers included those of healing. I could lay my hand on Rade’s brow and will his bones to knit, wash comfort over his pain, and grant him ease. Like Buck-Eye, Rade freely offered his loyalty into my hand and service. Though my cynicism and paranoia worried he’d one day sink his blade into my back, he never once turned that suspicion into proof. Part of me craved to lay my hand on his brow, and damn the consequences. Perhaps one day, I may find some redemption for the horror I’ve done, for the evil powers within me. I wanted nothing else than to help Rade, and wash the wounds of my soul by saving his life. I dared not.
I bit my inner cheek, inviting the swelling, the pain. If I did, they’d know immediately I owned magic. Would they remember their oaths of loyalty and obeisance? Would they forget the gold I paid them and rip me limb from limb from sheer panic? Or would they obey the kingdom’s laws that none may possess magic and live? What would they do then? Was his life worth my own? Of course it was. But was his life worth Fainche’s? Worth Enya’s?
Never.
Tears welled in my eyes, but didn’t fall. He’ll die, I thought, and I must abandon him to die. He can’t travel, and come the dawn we must ride hard for the Shin’Eah. Van, Malik and Iyumi won’t waste time over such thoughts of good or evil. They’ll heal the hurts of their fellows and carry on, the weight of guilt not hampering them at all.
I envied them that freedom.
Evil was a very lonely existence.
Ease his suffering, nimrod, a voice said from deep within me. The voice sounded strangely like Van’s. You know how.
I did know how. Under the cover of the darkness and flickering shadows, I conjured a pouch of white powder. I cradled it in my hands, staring down at it. Years before I watched a physician give the white powder to a wounded man and named it blackroot. Being a chatty fellow, he explained its primary use as a pain killer. First dug from the ground it was indeed black, but after drying and processing it turned white. Use it sparingly, I was told. Too much, the physician said, and the blackroot stopped the heart. The patient died as a result.
I pretended to rummage through my saddlebags and discover the leather pouch. I tossed it to Buck-Eye. “Give Rade some of that.”
“How much, m’lord?”
“As much as he needs,” I answered, drinking from my cup, my eyes on the fire. “Oh, and give a pinch to Torass. It’ll help him, as well.”
No one seemed to notice the conflicting instructions. Buck-Eye dosed Rade heavily with generous amounts of the blackroot, raising his head onto his knee and offering the laced water to Rade’s dry lips. Todaro added a small pinch to a cup of ale, and handed to Torass to drink. Torass tossed the liquor past his throat, and swallowed hard. He fell back onto his pallet, panting, cradling his broken arm.
“Sleep well,” I muttered, sipping my own ale. It tasted bitter, oh, so very bitter, on my tongue. “Come dawn, things will look better.”
“Who’s on watch, m’lord?”
I should command old Sourpuss to the third watch, the worst one of all. Unfortunately, I needed his skills as a bomb-maker far more than I needed him drowsing at his post. Given his love of the bloody things, he’ll contentedly create them until dawn broke, then doze in his saddle as we travelled.
“Me,” I whispered. “I’ll take the first, you the second and Galdan the third.”
I turned my face briefly over my shoulder toward Buck-Eye, yet I couldn’t look at Rade laying there, his head cradled in Buck-Eye’s lap. Despite my averted eyes, my ears heard his labored breathing soften, my power sensing the gradual slowing of his heart. From my peripheral vision, I saw him sink deeper into slumber, his pain gone.
“Get your rest,” I told Buck-Eye. “He’ll sleep sound this night.”
“M’lord.”
Buck-Eye tenderly lay Rade’s head down, pillowed on his cloak. After tossing a bit on the cold, hard soil, Buck-Eye dozed. His hand pulled his blanket up to his neck as though chilled. I knew the instant he dropped into real sleep, his dreams vivid yet not deadly. I studied him a moment, wishing I hadn’t the responsibility I had. I envied him his freedom to sleep, free from worries and the did-I-do-the-right-thing questions. His wasn’t the sleep of the dead, as Rade drifted toward, but the natural slumber of the bone-weary.
Around me the camp quieted, the snores of the men rising like a cacophony of disharmonic music. Blaez still worked on his pride and joy, his eyes down, as the pile of devices beside him grew. I knew he’d keep at it until weariness forced him to sleep. As he seemed to require little of that, he’d work and create the devices we must plant to kill the Atani, seize the princess and find this wayward child everyone blathered about.
The waxing moon shone down on me as I walked away from the camp, the men and the blazing fire. My power informed me only two owls, the many numerous buzzing insects annoying my ears and an early fox noticed me walk into the darkness beyond the fire. Just as I wanted it.
I knew my men were safe. Both my gut and my power told me so.
Thorny vines tried to trip me up as I paced slowly from the firelight and into sheer darkness where no light shone. My eyes, needing a fraction of light to see by, saw nothing but shadows and trees. I listened to the soft sough of the wind through the pines, its cool fingers stroking my neck and cheeks. My sweat dried under its velvet strokes, my heart trip-hammering in my chest.
I don’t belong here, I thought. This place is holy and I am not. Forgive me, please.
Out of sight and ear-shot of the camp, I sat down on a nearby oak stump, rounded by weather. Its rotting trunk lay half-buried in thorny brambles, and a small rodent squeaked within its crumbling core. A good spot to post my watch, I thought. Here the forest thinned and the ground gradually rose toward a shallow hill. Above me, the stars glittered like diamonds in a bed of black velvet, the moon but a speck upon the eastern sky. A shooting star flashed across the distant horizon, trailing its red dragon’s tail. The firedrake. An omen, the old stories said. But for what?
Pulling it from under my tunic, on its fine silver chain, I contemplated the scrying crystal my mother gave me. A smallish, gold stone, like a small piece of amber, it all but glowed with a light of its own. Though it contained a strange warmth, not from my body’s heat, its touch didn’t feel evil or tainted. Though I wasn’t mastered in the old histories, I suspected the crystal was a relic from the Mage Wars centuries ago, the battles that split the nations of Raithin Mawr and Bryn’Cairdha apart.
On my first attempt the day before, in planning our ambush, I found Van and Company by staring deeply into it, and envisioned Van within my mind. Within moments, a large moving picture – complete with color, facial expressions, background, horses and all those folks that accompanied Van and Iyumi in the sky above me. Only sound didn’t come through. When I pondered the question for a moment, such as where were the Griffins, the Centaurs, the humans placed in this column marching north, I was promptly answered. Two Centaurs paced a mile in front. Two Griffins protected the rear. Human cavalry rode to the sides and Griffins and Shifters flew watch in the skies. Any question I asked was answered, completely and thoroughly.
Except what they said to one another.
I asked to see the terrain ahead of them, and the crystal showed me the shallow valley rife with potential ambush terrain, jutting rocks and broken boulders creating natural walls. Van and Company would strike that valley late the next afternoon, if they kept to their current course. Now how to get ahead of them. I pondered on it, and the crystal obliged me with a visual of the highland hills, in all directions. If we kept to another long valley parallel with my planned ambush location and rode hard all night, we could arrive well ahead of them, and plant some bombs.
As I invoked its power well away from Blaez and the others, I tried keeping the scrying crystal a secret. But Blaez proved nosy as well as vocal. Unfortunately, he witnessed me pull it from my tunic and fondle it, as I mentally planned our assault.
“What the bloody hell is that thing?”
Shrugging, I tucked it away under my tunic, next to my heart. “A token of my sister’s love,” I replied, my tone light. “She gave it to me the morning we departed. Do you have someone waiting for you, back home?”
My question, innocently asked, set Blaez into a frothy fury of denial. I reeled my treasure back like a landed fish and thought uncharitable thoughts. Of course Blaez didn’t have anyone awaiting his return with love, a hot fire and spread legs. Any girl with half a brain knew trouble when Blaez was around.
As Blaez’s curiosity piqued the men, I reluctantly displayed it for Buck-Eye, Rade and the others, permitting them to ooh and ahh over its pricelessness. But I never allowed them to actually touch it. I didn’t know if the magic would open up to them, and didn’t want to find out. If they knew I held magic in my fists – ye gods!
Under the shimmer of the firedrake, I peered into its golden depths. Willing myself to see Van, Iyumi and that devil-creature Malik, the canvas of its power opened up before me. Like a painting over the stars, the gem showed me a camp bedding down for the night: watches set, the evening meal eaten and cleared away, bedrolls unrolled, pipes lit with flaming sticks, wine and ale warmed. Funny. Their camp activities mirrored mine.
Van, Iyumi and Malik stood near the blazing fire, talking. That huge bay and white Centaur stood at Malik’s right, while a hulking Griffin sat at Van’s back, its black-tipped lion tail twitching in sharp spasms. A second Griffin, larger than the first one and darker in color, stood behind Iyumi and appeared to be talking to her. Her head tilted back, anyway, her lovely throat exposed, her silver-gilt hair trailing in long lengths to her hips. She answered him, smiling. My eyes roved to –
A wolf howled nearby, startling me out of the spell. The picture over the sky vanished, leaving behind only stars and the moon peeking above the distant tree line. Tucking the amber gem into my shirt, I glanced around, cautious. I saw nor heard anyone close by, but knew instinctively who was.
“Hello, Mother.”
The darkness amid the trees to my right shimmered briefly. She emerged into my view, a gossamer phantom, her white and gold gown trailing mist. She strolled, with the same elegance she used to cross her throne room, stepping softly and lightly. Not a twig cracked under her slippered foot. Her fair lips parted in a faint smile.
“I see you’re using my gift wisely.”
Before I could stop it, my hand raised itself toward my chest, and the gem hiding next to my heart. I willed it to subside, and rested it against my knee. “I reckon so.”
More lovely than any goddess, Enya crossed the small clearing, her shadow eclipsing the stars. Only when she turned to face me, did the dark bruise on her cheek become appallingly apparent. Its ugly stain brought me to my feet faster than a whip.
“What happened?”
She half-turned away, her fingers trailing across the mark of a fist. His fist. I growled low in my throat, like an ugly mongrel.
“Um, yeah,” she said, her tone aiming for lightness. “Your father doesn’t care much for failure,” she said, her voice low. “Mine, yours –”
“How the bloody hell does he know I failed?” I snapped, my spine rigid, my fists clenched. “The battle was what? A few hours ago?”
She tried to remain calm, serene. She failed miserably. Her composure crumpled. She turned to me and buried her face in my chest. Of their own accord, my arms wrapped about her slender shoulders, holding her, comforting her. Her tears wet my shirt, her cheek pressed against the precious gem.
“I’m sorry, son. I tried to be strong, to be as strong as you. I’m just not –”
“What happened?”
“It’s her,” Enya sobbed. “It’s all her. She seduced him years ago, she’s a witch, a devil. She knows everything that goes on, she sees, she knows –”
“She?”
I didn’t know how cold my voice had grown until I felt her shiver.
“She has power,” my mother whispered. “Great power. She tangled your father –”
She choked over the title, swallowing her tears. “– my beloved husband, in her lies and deceit. My small magic could do nothing to save him from her enchantments. She knows you failed to kill the Atani idiots and bring in the princess. She told him everything –”
“Everything.”
“Yes, son,” Enya stammered, her breath short. “He was wroth, oh so very angry, you know how it is when he gets angry.”
I did, all right.
“He lashed out at Fainche, but I stopped him, crying, begging him for mercy. He struck me – in her place.”
I growled again, a deep rumbling in my chest. I can find him, I thought. I’ll find him and rip his throat and drink his blood, I swear –
Enya sobbed against my chest. “I wish I was dead!” she cried. “I love him, but I love my children more. I can’t stand to see him hurt you, my son, my beloved daughter. I wish she hadn’t ruined our lives! I hate her! Oh, how I hate her!”
Crooning, sing-song nonsense words left my mouth and entered her ears, her soul. In them I spoke of my love for her, how I craved to protect her, how I’d willingly die defending her. I whispered of my love for my frail, tiny sister, my Fainche. Everyone who ever encountered her bubbling laughter and smile loved her within an instant. Not even the woman who gave birth to her was immune to her sweet innocence.
Enya raised herself from the shelter of my arms, wiping her reddened eyes at the same time trying to hide them. My finger under her chin tilted her face up to mine. “I’ll kill him.”
My soft promise brought only new terror from her.
My mother clutched my fingers, new tears sliding down her cheeks. “No, son, no. I love him yes, but it’s not his fault. It’s not, don’t you see? It’s her, that witch, the Duchess, she makes him do these things, this evil. Spare him, I beg you, spare him and kill her. That’s it, kill her and your father will love us all again. We’ll be a family again, you’ll see. It’s not his fault.”
The happy, desperate smile never left her eyes, her tremulous lips, the tears that yet dripped down her cheeks. I love him, those cornflower blue eyes informed me. He lashes out at me, wounds me to the core, but I love him still. As you should. He’s a good man, deep down.
Sure he was.
I permitted her her wifely duty, assured her I’d not harm him in a million years, watched as she smiled a tremulous and hopeful smile. Yet, I promised something else, deep within my soul: I’ll kill him. Before the summer is out, he’ll be lying at me feet, bloody and spent. I have the power.
My mother wiped her swollen cheeks, and brushed my cheek with her fingers. “I have to tell you something.”
“Tell me – what?”
“The crystal doesn’t just show you your enemies,” she said, her voice choked. Her face – she kept it averted, ashamed. “If you picture them, you see them, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Find them, then will your body there. Think hard, put yourself in their space, and it’s done. You can kill them with ease, stopping their hearts before they suspect a thing. You can kill her guards, and take her for your own.”
Iyumi. Princess Yummy. I swiped my hand across my mouth, and half-turned away from her. Such thoughts – not in front of one’s mother. I will marry her, and unite our kingdoms, I told myself. She’ll love me, and offer herself willingly, happily, that luscious body mine. I imagined her pregnant, her belly rounded and tight with my seed.
Our son.
“It will happen,” she whispered “Will it and it will be so.”
“I will it.”
“Yes, my son, my favorite, my most special child. Find your will and make it happen. You have the power.’
Even to myself my voice sounded far away. “I will it shall be so.”
“She will be yours.”
“Mine.”
“Forever. Your line shall never fail. Your sons will sire kings of great renown. And all will revere your name, forever.”
The idiot wolf howled again, breaking rudely into my daydream. I woke from it, blinking, coming to myself. “Mother?”
Her hand caressed my bristly cheek, as I hadn’t shaved since I couldn’t remember when. “Remember how much I love you, my son, my Flynn. You’ll save us all, I know it.”
“I will.” I replied, my tone cold yet I took a deep breath to assuage my anger. “He’s dead, Mother. He just don’t know it yet.”
Her face turned away from me, hiding her expression. “I don’t want this,” she whispered. “I don’t want him dead. I don’t want you dead, either. I dare not make a choice. I cannot make a choice.”
My finger on her cheek turned her face toward me. “You won’t, Mother,” I promised, my voice soft. “I’ll make it.”
Her blonde, luxurious hair swept across her face, hiding it from me. “I must go, Flynn. He’ll search for me soon. I must be there, or he’ll get suspicious.”
I withdrew my hand, my heart hardening. “May the good gods guide your steps, Mother.”
I felt rather than saw her nod, as she turned away. If she spoke in return, I didn’t hear her voice or her words. The wolf howled again, closer, as she withdrew into the circle of trees and vanished from my sight.
After she departed and the wolf shut up, I contemplated the crystal again. I didn’t seek Van and Company this time. Rather, I pictured my father, King Finian the Fair, within my mind. I glanced up into the sky as the amber crystal showed me what I most wanted to see.
Finian was in bed at this early hour, but he wasn’t sleeping. Instead, he took between his covers a nubile young thing with dark hair, fair skin and wasn’t my mother. My rage soared as I realized his partner wasn’t exactly willing. Beneath her terrified brown eyes a gag filled her mouth and tied behind her neck. Heavy rope bound her hands over her head, and a bruised and bloody ankle, also knotted with a heavy rope, peeped out from under the sheet. Monstrous! With a beautiful wife and an unknown number of luscious mistresses, why did he resort to rape?
Because he can.
If I didn’t defend the girl’s honor, who would? I went so far as to collect my will, to send myself into his chambers and stab my sword through his neck as he entertained himself in his sainted wife’s absence. Only my mother’s timid voice, telling me how much she loved him, kept me on that hilltop, hundreds of leagues away.
“Flynn,” she wept, her sobs echoing within my mind. “Don’t. Please, I beg you.”
I subsided, cursing under my breath, all thoughts of Van, Iyumi and the Atani who accompanied them vanished from my thoughts.
“Your time comes,” I whispered into the darkness and starlight as I shut the crystal down and shoved it under my tunic. “I will kill you, you bastard.”
“He’s dead!”
Buck-Eye’s grieving voice broke into my restless, nightmare haunted sleep. Once more, that brat wandered into my head and took up residence. Dammit, I protested, I killed you. He didn’t speak – he never spoke in my dreams. Yet, the gaping wound in his throat grinned redly, while his dark eyes regarded me with both accusation and a weird, solemn kindness. As he often did, he reached out a small hand toward mine, as though inviting me to take it. I shrank from him, scared, knowing that should I accept it, he’d drag me down into the depths of hell with him.
What? My groggy mind tried to grasp Buck-Eye’s meaning. Yes, of course he’s dead. I sacrificed him on a demon’s altar for unrivaled power.
Buck-Eye choked, tears thickening in his throat. “M’lord, he shouldn’t have died. He was fine, he was sleeping when I took my watch, I swear it!”
Oh. That ‘he’s dead’.
I sat up, not needing to feign bleariness, but feigning concern. “What?”
The wool blanket I used to cover myself from the night’s highland chill pooled into my lap as I wiped my hand down my face. My eyes, filled with muck, tried to focus. Hell’s teeth, but I hated recriminations early in the morning.
Buck-Eye cradled Rade’s head in his lap, Rade’s dead and glazed eyes staring into nothing. He’d died some hours ago, and had already stiffened. His flesh had paled to that of a cadaver, bloodless, empty of life and soul. Buck-Eye tried to close his eyes, but Rade’s lids refused to stay down. Like a shutter, they rolled back up, revealing faint blue tinges around his irises.
“I came off my watch,” Buck-Eye said, grieving, panicked. “He slept, I swear it, he was just sleeping sound. I woke Galdan as usual and went to sleep myself. He shouldn’t have died, m’lord! He’d have been fine, after a fashion. Why did he die?”
Because I told you to overdose him with blackroot, I thought, but didn’t say aloud. Instead, I muttered, “Shit”, and ran my hands through my hair. “This just bites rocks. I’m so sorry, Buck-Eye, I know you two were close.”
Buck-Eye rocked his friend’s head back and forth, wrapped within the confines of his brawny arms. Tears rolled unchecked down his ruddy cheeks to saturate his scruffy, thin beard. “He’d be fine, I know he’d be all right, he just needed time and some fixing up. Why did he die? He didn’t need to die!”
As that fierce mercenary soldier wept over the corpse of his friend, my guilt slapped me hard across the face. No, he didn’t need to die. Had I some guts, I could have healed him while minimizing his true injuries. Had I real courage, I’d have healed him with my powers, thus showing them all that magic wasn’t evil, that it performed many good deeds. Like healing the grievously injured soldiers under my command.
Instead, I took the coward’s way out. He’d have slowed me down, so I killed him to spare myself the necessity of being noble or brave. I killed him because I was selfish. I shut my jaw tight against a sharp wave of self-hatred. That little boy didn’t need to die any more than Rade did. My magic was – is – sufficient for whatever I needed. I’d no use for more.
“I’m so sorry, Buck-Eye,” I said, and actually meant it.
Buck-Eye smoothed Rade’s hair from his brow and kissed it. “He’s in a better place, m’lord.”
I hope so, I thought. Because this place certainly bites.
Despite my haste, we took the time to bury Rade. I owed him that much. Buck-Eye chose his grave, upon a hill lined with fir, pine and oak trees, and one that gazed upon a sunlit valley filled with songbirds, falcons, kestrels, and grazing deer. Darting hummingbirds dined upon the various wildflowers strewn across the grasslands pocked with thickets of thorny thickets and scrub oak. The entire area exuded peace enough to send the most sinful into heaven.
He’d like it here, I thought, piling heavy rocks across his grave for a cairn, Buck-Eye, Torass, Boden and Lyall helping me. Blaez brooded as Galdan watched his back and Todaro watched them both, his hand on his hilt. Rade always loved peaceful scenery about him.
“How’d you know that, m’lord?”
Buck-Eye’s question brought me to myself as I straightened, brushing dirt from my hands. I hadn’t known I’d spoken aloud until Buck-Eye’s question intruded. Blaez stared hard at me as Torass and Boden tossed a few more rocks upon the cairn, gazing down at the grave of their friend. I didn’t even know how I knew that about Rade. We’d never exchanged confidences; neither trusted the other enough.
I just knew.
I shrugged, self-effacing. “He told me once,” I said, my tone low, feigning grief. “And – he’s that type. He loved the natural order of things.”
Gods be praised, Buck-Eye accepted my answer, nodding in satisfaction. Blaez continued his accusing stare as though he knew I murdered Rade in the night, and rubbed his huge bag of toys as he might a pet dog. I paid him little heed, pretending real grief as my soul ached under the tremendous guilt. Can I ever be absolved of these crimes? Can I ever stop murdering people in cold blood?
“Speak a few words, m’lord?”
Buck-Eye’s question jolted me. What could I say? Sorry I killed you, old chap? I wasn’t thinking straight, I was too frightened to use my healing magic, too fearful my own men might turn on me like rabid dogs, surely you’ll understand.
“Uh,” I began, floundering. Under their eyes, their trust, their faith, I cleared my throat. “Of course.”
I stepped up, standing near his head. I had no cap to drag down, as did Buck-Eye and Boden, but I bowed my head. My words bubbled up from a pool deep within me, unknown and unheeded until now. “Rest ye well, Rade of Blakamon, soldier and loyal officer. You died in the service of your prince –”
– wasn’t that both real and ironic? –
“– and thus your entrance into heaven is assured. May the gods shine their light upon you and guide you into peace and tranquility. The good gods be praised.”
“The good gods be praised,” answered Buck-Eye and the others, in unison.
Blaez still scowled, as though the funeral interrupted his schedule. Galdan sweated and tapped his fingers on his hilt as I tossed a fistful of earth onto Rade’s cairn. “Be at peace, my friend,” I murmured, turning away.
Buck-Eye tossed his own soil. “I’ll never forget you, brother. Be at peace. You earned it. But watch over me, when you can. Please?”
One by one, Torass, Boden, Lyall, Kalan and Todaro tossed their fistfuls of dirt onto the grave in solemn ceremony. Only Blaez and Galdan held back, as though blessing the dead might incur their own funerals. I didn’t force them, for they owed their loyalty to my father and none other. If they didn’t respect Rade enough to mourn him in proper fashion, then to hell with them.
As I walked toward a saddled and waiting Bayonne, I cast a simple spell over my shoulder. “Permit him to lie, undisturbed, until the world’s end,” I muttered, my tone so low no one could possibly hear it. “Let no creature dig up his bones, feast upon his rotting flesh, or possess his spirit. It is done. Let it be done.”
I set the spell, and mounted my horse. “Blaez, you ride the vanguard today. Galdan, you’re the rearguard. Buck-Eye, you and Torass flank me. Lyall, you ride east as Todaro rides west. Kalan.”
I glanced at the young, eager soldier with the keen eye of an eagle sizing up its prey. “You and Boden are my bodyguards. Aren’t you lucky?”
I lunged out of my blankets, horror drawing over my soul.
Sweat dripped acid into my eyes as I blinked at the horizon, judging it less than an hour after sunrise as I dragged in one lungful of air after another. Crikey, that bloody kid again. Four nights since I killed him, two since Van defeated me at the valley battle and he came to me every time I shut my eyes to sleep. This time the little bleeder spoke. He only stared at me, in previous nightmares. Now he’s learned some rather impressive language skills. Not bad for a dead two-year old.
“I will see you again,” he intoned with the deep, resonating voice of my father as he pointed his dripping finger at me, his eyes as red as the gaping maw beneath his chin.
“Forgive me,” I tried to say, to answer, to turn aside his wrath. “I didn’t know.”
“You are a fool to believe the witch –”
“Nightmare, Prince?”
Blaez cackled as he sat between me and the fire, squatting on his haunches, watching me sleep. I think that creeped me out far more than the boy I murdered pointing his baby finger at me in my dreams. How long had he sat there as the men broke camp, observing me? None of my boys stood watch over me, I realized as I sat up, my blanket sliding off my shoulders. Busy saddling horses, making breakfast, tending the fire, packing supplies – none paid any heed to the killer standing over me with hatred bared. Guess I’ll have to remedy that. Immediately.
“Yeah,” I replied blearily, scraping my hands down my bristly face. “I saw you copulating with a goat. Gave me the bleeding shivers, it did.”
Blaez rose, scowling. His right hand fiddled with his belt knife, though his sword remained curiously absent.
I stood also, feigning a yawn and a stretch as I idly meandered myself out of knife-lunging range. “Now I know the reason for your ruddy high boots.”
“It’s an hour past time we rode,” Blaez snapped, still fiddling. He eyed me up and down. “And here we sit, awaiting your beauty rest.”
“I get so little of that,” I replied, yawning again as I tried to suppress the real shiver as my mind tripped over the little rascal I’d murdered. “Mores the pity.”
I’d tossed and turned most of the night, unable to sleep. Thoughts of my father, my mother, the kid, Rade, Sim, Fainche and Sofia rode me like a spurred horse. I sweated like one, too, before sheer exhaustion dropped me into the nightmare a mere two hours before the dawn.
My illustrious sire ordered Blaez to kill me. Though he needed me find the child, he’d kill me once it was in our clutches. Then he’s proudly take it home to Castle Salagh, his prize and receive his reward from my father’s hands. But if he thought he could get away with it – Why wasn’t Boden watching over me? I bent to gather my blanket, shake out the loose dirt and twigs from it, eyeing my henchman as he bantered with Torass.
They’d saddled their own mounts, leaving them to stand unattended as they girthed Bayonne far too tightly for my liking, and Bayonne’s. He pinned his black-tipped ears and swished his tail in annoyance, but made no further expression of discontent. Far too easy-going for such theatrics as kicking or biting, Bayonne merely sighed down his nose at this obvious ill-treatment and shook his ears.
I whistled sharply as I bent down, my eyes never leaving Blaez, and retrieved my sword belt. Boden glanced around as Torass looked up. I jerked my chin, frowning slightly.
Boden, my afore-appointed bodyguard, got my message, even as Blaez grumbled sourly under his breath. I heard my royal status and a swift mention of my ancestors cast upon the light breeze before Boden arrived with his right hand resting lightly on his hilt. The rest of his bitter remarks regarding my blood Blaez swallowed as my young henchman paused at his left shoulder. Boden: young, strong, athletic towered over the squatty, ugly Blaez, his reputation as a swordsman exceeding Blaez’s as a bomb-maker.
Blaez started slightly and half-turned. Boden smiled gently, courteously, down, as Blaez’s jaw slackened.
“Forgive me, my lord,” Boden said quietly, menace soft in his tone. “I didn’t mean to startle your grace. Is there anything you require? Name it, and I’ll be happily obliged to give it to you.”
Had I not been annoyed with him to start with, I’d have applauded Boden as a genius. As it was, his young muscled body and self-confidence intimidated Blaez enough that that bad boy cursed under his breath and removed himself from my company. Muttering imprecations with no few angry glances cast over his shoulder, he stumped toward the fire, his arms swinging. He never saluted me, either, the cad.
I flung my arm over Boden’s shoulder, and steered him away from the others, out of ear-shot. I grinned at him in a comradely, friendly fashion, informing those who watched that I felt an affinity toward this young mercenary soldier.
My hand urged him to bend his head toward me, inviting a confidence.
I smiled. “Leave my side again, and I’ll gut you crotch to chin.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I –”
“Excuses are like asses,” I snapped, still smiling. “Everyone has one and they all stink.”
Boden slipped from under my arm to bow low. “No excuse, Your Highness. I’ll never leave your royal person this side of death.”
“See to it.”
“Your Highness.”
I raised my voice so it resounded throughout the camp. “And someone bring me some bleeding food.”
Buck-Eye obliged me, his cheeks reddened with chagrin that I was forced to shout for the service that was mine by right. Kneeling at my boots, he lifted a small platter of what appeared decent sustenance for a morning repast: warm bread, warmer ale, cold roast beef and hot sausages smoking from the frying pan. I breathed in the scents and my belly rumbled. Torass hurried across the camp to add his own delectables to my breakfast: white, hard cheese and an odd assortment of fruits and nuts he’d gathered as we travelled.
My guilt rose to nudge my ribs as he used only his healthy right arm to offer the small bowl filled to bursting. His hardly healed left arm still lay in its white, yet red-stained sling. His normally cheerful face smiled, yet I noticed the white strain around his eyes, and the corners of his mouth. In the past two days of travel, I wallowed in my own misery without paying the slightest heed to anyone else’s. I remembered, finally, how Buck-Eye, Boden, Kalan and Lyall fulfilled Torass’s duties as well as their own, permitting their friend to rest.
“How are you, lad?” I asked abruptly. “Your arm.”
He glanced down, surprised at my question. “Oh, um, better, Yer Highness, not so much pain today.”
“You shouldn’t be –” I began, and halted.
The old Prince Flynn would hardly care one of his men rode and served with an injury that caused him obvious pain. He’d ignore the wretch and demand service no matter what the cost. Yet, the new, powerful and tainted Prince Flynn found a strange sympathy toward the peasant soldier who reveled in the opportunity to serve his liege despite his agony and handicap.
He misread my hesitation.
“Its ruddy safe, Yer Highness,” he said, his tone half-panicked I’d fear he aimed to pison me and murder him. “My da’s a farmer and me dam, me mother, oft fed these to us younglings afters a forage in the forest. Tries them, m’lord and you’ll see. ‘Tis good.”
He bowed low, his self-effacing grin and sweat trickling from his brow in the less than hot temperatures informed me of his sincerity and dreading I’d not recognize such. If he hadn’t pleased me, he feared, I’d kill him out of hand.
My soul cringed. What kind of monster have I become? That a simple offering, a simple meal at daybreak, would revert to a life or death situation? Am I that bad?
Yes. You are that bad.
I flushed. “My thanks, Torass,” I said, trying to find a smile, or at least a lightening of my habitual oppressive expression. “I’ll wager your mother is an awesome cook.”
Accepting his offering, I bit into the juicy fruit, my throat’s glands cringing in protest. Such was its sweetness, its diverse and tantalizing taste, I gobbled it down and reached for another. “Crikey, that’s good,” I muttered, my mouth full and juice running down my chin.
“Try this one, m’lord,” Torass said eagerly, his chin jerk indicated a pale orange fruit with dark red lines ringing its exterior. “Take a bite, then chase it with these here nuts. Ye’ll swear you’d died and gone t’ heaven, that ye will. And the cheese – my dam’s made it herself, she did.”
I hoped he didn’t mean that literally, but took his advice. The flavor of the nuts pursuing the fruit did indeed make me reach for more of both. My belly didn’t just rumble this time: it screamed for more. Damn, but that combination of flavors sent my tongue into overdrive. The cheese was all he said ‘twas – delicious and sharp, with a weird tang that forced a small groan from me.
“When I’m king,” I said, my mouth full. “I’ll appoint you my chief cook.”
I eyed him sidelong. “Or maybe your mother.”
Torass grinned and squirmed like a stroked puppy. “I’m tickled ye like them, m’lord prince.”
The hot sausage, the fresh bread and swallows of thick, amber ale seemed almost a poor relation to Torass’s fruity breakfast. I ate most, waved away the cold roast and belched contentedly. Blaez sulked from the far side of camp, his pretentious scowl firmly in place. He munched hard bread and cheese as Galdan saddled his black stallion, setting out wrapped bundles of arrows for the men to collect. He’d replaced the razor-tipped barbs with bulbous homemade death, smallish rounded heads that still ended in a sharp point.
His sack bulged with his creative bombs, the feathered fletching informed me he had hundreds more bomb-arrows ready to take out Van and Malik’s hellcats. The heavy canvass collection of his creations sat at the feet of the pack-mule, who eyed it dubiously while munching the thin grass for his breakfast.
Buck-Eye, Kalan, Boden and Lyall seized bundles of these weird creations, eyeing them and one another sidelong as they attached them to the pommels of their saddles. Quivers of ordinary arrows they rolled onto their cantles along with their bedrolls, spare weapons and food.
Boden asked my leave with a glance. I gave it with a quick nod, and gestured for Torass to accompany him to collect their own quivers and finish saddling their mounts. As Buck-Eye had completed his preparations for departure, my swift hand gesture brought him sidling closer to me, his hand on his sword hilt. He knew well that my father ordered Blaez to kill me. Should Blaez try, well, Buck-Eye had few qualms when it came to killing madmen.
As Blaez tossed me my own bundle of explosive arrows, he sneered. His dark beady eyes narrowed and his upper lip lifted to expose his darkly stained teeth.
“Per your request,” he grumbled, his flippant gesture included his bulging canvas as his sneer never faltered, “bombs ready and arrows to hand. All you need do is point and shoot. Can you handle that?”
“Can you?” I replied, my hand deftly enclosing his arsenal of bristling, stubby arrows. One shot might take out as many as five royal Atani soldiers, I thought, eyeballing the fearsome collection at my fingertips. Is that not cool, or what? “Seems to me your arrows fell far short of their mark. Can it be you shoot as well as a peasant whore?”
“Whenever you’re ready, Prince,” he snapped. “We’ve a long way to ride this day.”
And so we have, I thought, rising and strapping my swordbelt around my hips. But where are we going?
Despite riding from dawn till past dusk and pushing our horses to their limits, Van and Company stayed well ahead of us. As though they knew we followed on their heels, we could neither gain ground nor get ahead of them to plant another ambush. Time and again I considered my mother’s suggestion: use the jewel to cast myself into their midst and stop their hearts with one blow. I rejected it as too risky. Though I’d learned much of my powers in recent days, Van and Malik knew far more than I. I may jump myself into their midst, kill several only to have a Griffin I overlooked strike my head from my shoulders. Or I might cast a wide spell and slaughter Iyumi along with them.
Perhaps the jewel might show me another way, I thought. I belched again, and hitched my belt more comfortably around my hips. “Be right back, gents. Commander Blaez, I trust you’ll see to our travel arrangements. Buck-Eye, you have my back.”
Without waiting to see if my orders were followed, I strode quickly into the dense mountain brush. As though answering the call of nature, which I desperately needed to do, I also required isolation and privacy to find out what Van and Company were up to. A dense thicket of tough, thorny bushes and scrub oak offered a very secretive spot to spy on one’s enemy.
I spun about and pointed. “Wait here.”
“But – Your Highness –”
“If a squirrel invades my ass as I shit, I’ll yell,” I snapped, “until then, you wait – right – here. Understand?”
He bowed low. The poor knight obeyed me, clearly unhappy as I wiggled my way into the thicker brush and high oak trees. On one hand I threatened a nasty death for failing to guard my body as I, a mere few moments later, threatened the same for staying too close. No wonder the henchmen I paid misunderstood me and wished for a saner, less temperamental, employer. Perhaps a dowager duchess whose greatest journeys were to the garden, to the privy, and back. I knew they thought me as mad as a march hare and hardly as cute.
But I pay thrice as much, I thought as I wiggled my way into the dense thickets, overgrown wild rose patches and long, sharp thorns that cut my skin and put holes in my black cloak. Should Enya see the state of my garments, she’d scream foul and reach for her needles. A royal prince shouldn’t lack for a solid, upright appearance.
There’s always a ‘however’ somewhere to hand, I suspected. That thorny thicket prevented anyone who managed to bypass Buck-Eye to sneak up on me while I conducted personal business. That done, I pulled the amber jewel from beneath my shirt and held it in my hand. Its warmth startled me, for I knew its heat hadn’t come from my body. It gave off a soft golden glow as it sat on my palm, almost seeming to pulse with a heartbeat. While I never felt evil when I touched it, or gazed into it, I also felt my presence in its territory wasn’t welcome. It obeyed me, but didn’t love me.
“Join the club,” I muttered, bending my will onto it. “Show me Vanyar.”
I lifted my eyes in time to see the blue-washed western horizon fill with black Malik waving his arms and stomping in a wide circle, his heavy tail lashing. Though I couldn’t hear his words, I knew he ordered one Griffin to fly north, another to the south. For those birdies he gestured toward rose high on sluggish wings and flew where he directed. A third leapt skyward and rose higher and higher until it vanished into the thin haze. The rayed star upon his brow gleamed under the early light as he pointed to a pair of Centaurs and gestured north. Those two loped under the trees and vanished. As I watched, a cute, dark-haired Atani, her black hair braided into a thick twist that fell to her waist, changed before my eyes into a slender doe.
I gaped. As when Van transformed from Bayonne to his own self, the change was instantaneous. Where my horse once stood, his hoof on my chest, Captain Van grinned down at me, his green eyes alight with good humor. Again, where the foxy brunette once tugged on her braid, a delicious doe bounded away on light hooves to also vanish under the trees.
Uncanny, I thought, both delighted and horrified. To have the innate ability to change into any form one desires – wasn’t that evil? Or might it be complete freedom? What might it be like to soar on an eagle’s wings and go wherever one wanted? To fly free of one’s heavy-handed father –
And Van?
The instant I thought of him, the jewel revealed him to me. Half-hidden behind Malik and a human cavalry soldier mounted on his chestnut horse, I saw him. He wore a sky-blue tunic open at the throat, black breeches, and a slender band of braided leather tied around his brow to prevent his shaggy hair from falling in his eyes. A silver medallion depicting a lightning bolt lay against his chest, perhaps a token of his rank. The hilt of a heavy broadsword protruded from its plain leather scabbard, its costly jewels winking in the sun made mine appear shabby by comparison. How much did Atani soldiers get paid? I half wondered.
He assisted Princess Yummy onto my blue roan, draped from throat to heel in a black cloak. His dark hair, swept back from his face, blew lightly from beneath the wings of the tremendous Griffin dropping to earth behind him. His piercing green eyes laughed up at Iyumi, his teeth flashing in the new light. As it had before, his simple boyish grin and devilish charm had its effect on me. I liked him then, on sight, as I liked him now, watching from afar.
Van owned that unique quality, very rare, that made folk not just like him, but follow him. Even into death, into the flames of hell. A natural leader, I knew why such a young man had risen so high in the Atani ranks. His charisma alone brought tough men to their knees. He led, they followed.
He’s the enemy, I reminded myself, trying to imagine him dead under my blade, his life’s blood soaking into the stony soil. Yet, the vision never quite happened, as hard as I tried to visualize it. I gazed at him coldly, with hate, with anger. Strangely enough, my animosity drifted on the wind and the iciness I felt toward him melted and leached away under the infectiousness of that grin. Dammit, I liked that son of a bitch. How can I hate, or kill, someone like Van?
The Griffin behind him remained grounded, colossal wings spread wide as if for flight, its raptor beak wide. Like a sentry guarding its master’s gate, the Griffin spoke to Van, tail lashing and black-tufted ears canted backward in annoyance.
Van turned his head and laughed over his shoulder, as the Griffin relaxed and shook its head. It furled its wings over its shoulders as it paced away from him. I swear it laughed along with him, its eagle’s beak parted and eyes lit with high humor. I’d forgotten how a Griffin’s, or the dreaded Minotaur’s, facial expressions could mirror a human’s so completely I knew exactly what had just transpired. He turned the Griffin’s annoyance into a joke and the deadly Griffin fell headlong into it.
Despite his light conversation, and thwarting of the vicious creature’s anger, I didn’t miss the quick, affectionate seizure of Iyumi’s hand. Her tiny hand engulfed in his calloused palm, his thumb teased her knuckles.
Ye gods, I thought. I recognized that simple yet profound gesture of a lover. I’d done it a hundred times, more, to Sofia. In that simple move, he laid bare his deepest emotions. While his grin spoke a single book, his actions spoke not just volumes but an entire set.
Dammit, that boy loves her.
Not as a liege to his mistress. Such a love was both expected and boring. Oh, no, my boy Van’s heart stood forth as clearly as a war banner on a windy day in his jade eyes. He gazed up at her with such a stark longing that my conscience kicked me in the groin.
Did Iyumi feel the same? Rapidly, muttering under my breath, I searched for her reaction. She should know that that simple knuckle rub meant. She wasn’t a fool. I waited, my shoulders tense, for the intense and irate reaction of an outraged female.
She disappointed me and I suddenly knew why.
I knew why she didn’t slap his face, or kick him in the chin, or curse him for his audacity. She should pull her hand from his with a yank and harangue him in outraged female fury. Like me, Princess Yummy liked him.
Uh, I told myself. Timeout.
Like wasn’t a word strong enough to describe the light that dazzled from her blue eyes as she gazed downward. Though she failed to smile, her hand in his didn’t respond, and her body sat straight and tense in her saddle, she responded to his subtle affections. Those wondrous eyes glowed. She glowed. She rested her hand in his as a monarch might her servant’s as she praised him for bringing her food to her hot this time. Yet, her soul burned in her beautiful eyes.
Gods be damned, I thought. She loves him. She loves him.
My gorge rose as did my hot jealousy. I knew my eyes went flat at the same moment my fingers clenched around my sword’s hilt. I couldn’t find hatred for Van before, but I surely found a reason to spill his blood now. “That’s my woman,” I muttered, under my breath. “I don’t want to kill you, boy. But I will if I have to.”
“M’lord?”
I spun around, crouched, ready to defend myself.
Buck-Eye emerged from the thorns and branches, muttering. He snagged his hands and pulled them, bleeding, from the nasty thicket. Trickles of red crisscrossed his skin and dripped into the sleeve of his tan tunic as he raised his hand and sucked at the scratches. His eyes widened as they passed from me to the scene in the sky behind me.
I hastily shut the vision down and shoved the jewel under my shirt. I coughed, clearing my throat. I half-drew my sword, only to let it slide back into its sheath as the knight gaped. “Buck-Eye, what –”
“What was that, m’lord?” he asked, his tone soft. “Magic?”
Busted, I half-thought. I’m in trouble here.
Wild explanations careened through my skull as I sought for anything, anything however plausible, to explain the vision of an armed camp in the western sky. “It’s er – not exactly what it seems, you see – “
“It was, wasn’t it? That was magic.”
His neutral tone didn’t inform me of anything helpful. His dark eyes searched the horizon behind me, yet remained quiescent of any animosity toward me. Or so I thought, until I saw his hand grip his sword’s hilt. My instincts screaming, I crouched low, drawing my own blade. “What of it?” I snapped, ready to kill or be killed. “What do you care?”
His blank eyes returned to me. Sharpened. Focused. He’s going to attack –
“Will you teach me?”
His question caught me flat-footed, off-guard and totally out of countenance. I gawked like a fool staring down a steep precipice where the light ended and hell began. “What?”
His face flushed with eagerness, Buck-Eye strode forward. My instincts had zero time to prepare before he knelt at my feet. Had he intended violence, I’d now be kneeling before my maker.
Dark eyes rapt, Buck-Eye stared upward, into mine. “Teach me your magic, Prince Flynn. My liege lord and king.”
“I, er –”
I floundered, caught unprepared and kept my sword out and leveled. Did he truly mean it? Or was this some odd ruse to catch me in a confession and execute me for a traitor and a necromancer? My heart wanted to believe him, yet my gut screamed its inarticulate warning. Soften and die. Drop your guard and die. Or just die.
Buck-Eyes gaze wandered past mine and searched the blank sky behind me. They flitted back and forth, never still, and gave me the heebie-jeebies. I alternated between icy cold rushing through my veins and a hot, sweet rush of triumph. He was like me, searching for answers – no, he was a trap and my clumsiness the bait. He wanted to slit my throat. No, he yearned for the same freedom I craved. The sweet, provocative freedom magic provided, the freedom from care, from grief, and from pain. He, too, sought absolution for his crimes, wished to change the road he stood upon.
My head swum against a tidal wave of emotions, drowning in the worry Buck-Eye sought my life and the new hope that he, like me, searched for answers in a world gone stark raving mad.
His hand left his sword’s hilt and raised, palm upward. No, he didn’t command my loyalty as I commanded his. No, he demanded my attention and I gave all. A single dart of licking flame danced across his creased and hard calloused palm. Like a tiny Faery, it lit upon his fingers before, laughing, dodged amid his hard soldier’s knuckles. Like a moth on fire, it danced and spun, bowing low before flitting across his hand to spring from fingertip to fingertip.
Buck-Eye turned his palm downward, but the flame still lingered. Trotting in precise measurements, it hopped from one finger to the next and on down the line. One, two, three, four and a final five, his thumb, lit with merry fires it left in its wake. These bright gems remained like faint torches, burning without harm as they fed on nothing I saw.
“They’ve come like this since I was but a wee lad,” Buck-Eye admitted, his voice hoarse, roughened. His eyes never left the dancing, happy flames. “Never could I control them. They come when I call, but all they do is play games. Like children.”
Buck-Eye raised damp eyes toward mine. I didn’t see a toughened, battle-hardened mercenary on his knees before me. I saw a large man, scarred, wounded, and frightened of what he didn’t understand. My gut clenched, not with fear this time, but with elation. I wasn’t alone. Neither was Buck-Eye. I knew what he felt, for his thoughts, his worries, and yes, his nightmares, mirrored mine.
Buck-Eye reached for the magic that filled his blood. The magic we both were instilled at birth, but had no clue how to control. Through my mother, my powers had increased to the levels the gods themselves owned. Buck-Eye had only touched the surface of his.
“Teach me,” he said simply. “Please, m’lord.”
“I’ll –” My throat shut down tight and I tried again. “I’ll try, micha’na.”
Why I used the ancient word for ‘brother’, I’ll never know. It came to my lips unbidden, yet seemed right, somehow. Proper. For Buck-Eye was my friend, my brother, in magic.
“Think of your fire,” I said, my voice hoarse, treacherous sweat sliding down my cheek, dampening my shirt. I shoved my sword back into its scabbard. “Imagine it – think of sending it into that stump over yonder. Think of it, then will it.”
Buck-Eye bowed his head, closed his eyes.
A fraction of a second later, the dead, dry stump whooshed into sudden flame. I recoiled, raising my arm at the same instant Buck-Eye seized my belt and pulled me backward, with him, out of harm’s way. Fire boiled out of the stump, black smoke coiling in huge plumes upward into the blue, cloudless sky. That’ll catch some attention, I half-thought, raising my hand to protect my face from its searing heat. Buck-Eye’s strength dragged me clear, and I had a fraction of a moment to appreciate that he didn’t want me dead.
“Shit,” I stammered, staggering to regain my balance as Buck-Eye’s hand under my arm steadied me. “You don’t pull any punches, do you, bro?”
Buck-Eye flushed, his face darkening to red under his embarrassed grin. “I reckon, er – I pushed a bit hard, m’lord. Forgive me.”
I eyed the fire sidelong as new warmth spread into my soul. I straightened my tunic, adjusted my swordbelt and grinned. I punched Buck-Eye in his shoulder. “You done good, boy.”
His answering grin brought a swift chuckle from me without my permission. “I did good? You mean it? I didn’t expect –”
“You didn’t expect to learn so quick?” I asked. “You’re an adept, Buck-Eye.”
“A – a – what?”
I laughed. “You’re a fast learner, micha’na,” I said, half-heartedly punching my fist toward his face. I followed that with a juvenile strike toward his gut, and ending with a pat to his tanned cheek. No lord I ever knew bantered with his men in this fashion, yet I couldn’t seem to help myself. Where once I felt alienated from the soldiers who served me, now I felt one with this man. A toughened mercenary with his loyalty bought and paid for with gold, Buck-Eye grinned at me with all the innocence of a strapping boy.
“That I am, m’lord,” he replied, fending off my fists with his extended palms, laughing.
I stopped my play and straightened. “Now will the fire out.”
Buck-Eye stopped. The grin vanished from his bristly, leathery face. “Uh –”
“Will – the – fire – out.” I gestured toward the unmarked bushes, trees, dry grasses and the forests above and below us. “We don’t want a forest fire, Buck-Eye. Causes far too much damage. Put your fire out.”
“I don’t –”
I put my hand on his tense shoulder. I gazed into his unhappy dark eyes. “You do. Fire is your slave. Make it so, micha’na.”
Buck-Eye frowned at the flames and frowned, concentrating. Raising his hands like a schoolboy practicing wizardry, he spoke slowly, intoning, “Go away.”
“Will them gone,” I whispered in his ear.
He clenched his fists, his face tightening.
Instantly, the flames withered and died. Buck-Eye gaped, his jaw slack, as the flames obeyed him instantly. I tried to smother a grin. I know I failed.
The blackened stump continued to smoke, soft tendrils of white-blue drifted upward before the mountain breeze caught them and tore them to pieces. Heat still baked off the charred wood, yet every ember within its scarred heart dimmed and failed, their red eyes changing to black as they were consumed and lost under Buck-Eye’s command.
“See?” I said, gesturing toward the twice-dead stump. “You’re an adept.”
But Buck-Eye’s face darkened, grew troubled. “Them’s just like us, m’lord,” he said, his tone pitched low, thoughtful. “The Bryn’Cairdhans. I’m not a smart man, not by a long shot. But why do we hate them if theys just like us? Why do we fight them?”
“Because they are evil.”
Blaez’s smarmy, I-know-everything tone emerged from the thorny thicket. I spun, my sword out and ready. Buck-Eye worked faster, however. Before my mind associated voice to face, he’d shoved me behind him and pointed his own tip toward the – cursing, complaining, grunting with the effort of forcing his way through sharp brambles that pierced anything soft – Commander Blaez. As Blaez was nothing save soft, he gave them ample opportunity to scratch, cut, tear and otherwise cause Blaez great pain.
“Hellfire and damnation,” Blaez choked, sucking his bloody scratches as he contemplated the rents in his otherwise pristine cloak of scarlet and pink. Thorns tugged at his woolen breeches, gouging holes in his thighs, calves and the kidskin boots that covered him from toes to knees. His spurs caught on tough vines, forcing him to regain his balance with the use of waving arms, and the handy tree with which to grab hold.
Free of tree trunk and thorns, Blaez scowled, straightening his tunic with an imperious air. “What are you doing here, Prince,” he demanded. “We saw fire –”
“We thought you in dire need of help,” Boden added, sliding through the thicket as if greased. Not a hair out of place, he stood beside a grunting Blaez with his hands behind his back. At parade rest, like any disciplined soldier, his eyes watched Blaez carefully without turning his head. I noticed, with sour humor, no thorn cut pierced his flesh nor marred his clothing
As Blaez lurched forward, bent at the waist as though searching for a place to puke, Boden politely stepped aside. His movement permitted Galdan to, cursing, push his way through the tough brambles with far less ease than Boden. Fetching up beside Blaez, he shook blood from his hands. Blaez straightened and shoved him away, angry. Like an eel, Boden slid between the two, at the same moment Blaez scowled heavily and snapped, “Don’t flick your damn blood on me, you idiot.”
Galdan dipped his head, muttering an apology and handily stepped another two paces from his master. So enthralled at how easily Blaez was separated from his only protection, I almost missed the dark anger and hate directed my way.
“I heard talk of magic,” Blaez sneered, stepping one pace toward me. “You have magic, Prince. A treasonous evil punishable by death.”
Like a shadow, Boden paced with him as Galdan busied himself wiping his hands on his cloak, his dark blonde head lowered to his task. I couldn’t help but wonder, in a fleet thought, that he deliberately placed Blaez in a position of helplessness. Did he hate Blaez? Or was he truly that incompetent?
“Are you my father’s judge?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips, grinning. “Do you plan to halt this mission and drag me home in chains to face execution?”
“Damn straight I will, boy,” Blaez snarled, drawing his sword. “I can kill you here and now, and none will fault me for it.”
As he made to lunge toward me, Boden’s dagger in his ribs effectively halted him. As Blaez raised his right arm, sword in hand, my young bodyguard slid his blade in, point-deep. As a wound, it surely wasn’t enough to kill and hardly a wound worth mentioning. I bet my soul that upon healing it wouldn’t leave so much as a scar behind.
While not killing him, it made a very effective point on my father’s right hand maniac. Boden’s skills deftly and wordlessly informed Commander Blaez that his heart lay inches from a fatal thrust. That tiny and utterly insignificant quarter inch of metal sliding like molten ice between the bones that sheltered one’s simple existence – well, maybe it’ll miss anything vital.
One can hope, I reckon.
Make a tiny move toward Prince Flynn and you’re toast, Boden’s dirk spoke, although Boden himself said nothing. Allegiance to my father didn’t include dying while trying to place me under arrest, apparently. Blaez’s dark, savage expression of hate changed to one of almost comical surprise. He froze, sword arm up. His blade tilted and drooped downward as his grip on the hilt slackened. “Galdan?”
“Sir?”
The battle-scarred merc glanced up, pale blue eyes inquiring. Before Galdan realized his master’s life was in danger, Buck-Eye leveled his own sword at Galdan’s throat.
“Don’t move, boyo,” Buck-Eye advised conversationally. “And no one gets hurt.”
“Are you all insane!” Blaez roared. “He’s got magic! That’s a criminal offense. In the name of the King, I demand you arrest him for necromancy!”
“I don’t think so, Commander,” Boden replied. “My prince appointed me his royal bodyguard. I intend to keep that body intact and safe from all enemies. Unfortunately, that list includes you.”
“Why you treacherous son of a whore –”
“Blaez.”
I spoke his name softly, without nuance, my tone low. I might have shouted and struck him across his jaw for the effect my voice had on him. He froze, his pig’s eyes wide and angry and scared, his gaze locked on mine. A flip of my hand sent Boden, and his knife, one step behind him. Ready to pounce should Blaez not behave, Boden stood at Blaez’s shoulder. At the same time, Buck-Eye’s sword urged Galdan to step further from Blaez’s side. Galdan raised his hands in surrender, carefully crossing his fingers behind his neck.
“How did you set off your bombs, Blaez?” I asked, my tone soft.
“How did – what’s that got to do with – that’s not important!”
“Oh, I think it is important,” I answered, stepping lightly toward him. I hooked my thumbs in my swordbelt. “I know you set off your bombs with magical spells.”
“What? That’s outrageous! This isn’t about me, boy! You’re the practitioner of evil witchery –”
Mid-harangue, I launched a black shadow. Shaped like the head of a spear, it flew straight toward Blaez’s chest. Its tip as sharp and deadly as a real spearhead, it would cleave Blaez’s chest in two upon contact.
Instantly, instinctively, his hands flew upward and outward. With a shout, he pumped both fists. Lightning shot from them in twin flashes of bright light. His twin bolts of white hot energy struck my black spear. As all metal eventually turns to dust, my flying death dissolved into dark ash that fell to the ground at Blaez’s feet.
He panted heavily as though having run ten leagues, treacherous sweat sliding down his cheeks. His eyes bulged as he realized what my spear truly intended. Like a fish, he swam into my net and lay caught, strangling, impotent. His mouth open and closed spasmodically, as though trying to breathe air when he craved water.
I smiled.
Blaez gaped. “You –”
“– have magic,” I finished, my thumbs still hooked and my hip cocked. “As do you. Should my father learn of your treachery, your head will rest beside mine above the city gates.”
“That’s –”
I closely examined the ground at my feet. “Blackmail, yes, I know.”
“It’s despicable!”
“It’s all in how you choose to look at it. Right, Commander?”
As Blaez stammered and fumed, trying to find words to explain to Galdan that I arranged the entire façade, of course he didn’t have magic, the whole thing was a joke, see, Galdan stared from Blaez to me and back again. I didn’t know if he wanted to run or vomit or both.
I reached out my arm and pulled Blaez under it. He stank of sweat, sulphur and the sour odor of old hate, but he moved with me easily enough. His panting calmed, yet the oily runnels still slid down his ruddy cheeks. The odor of his fear intensified.
“Come now, Commander,” I said quietly, easily, walking him away from the others and toward the mountain’s edge. “Let’s not be enemies. Our King commanded us take Princess Iyumi and the child to him. Only then can our sacred land be safe. That’s what we both desire, isn’t it? The subjugation of their land and the supremacy of ours?”
“Yes,” he replied, his tone hoarse. “Yes, of course it is.”
“Then help me,” I said, my free arm waving toward the distant skyline. “Let’s work together to make it happen. Will you do that? Will you work with me?”
Blaez moved out from under my arm, with diffident courtesy, yet didn’t step far. He eyed me openly, yet with a small measure of respect in his piggish, muddy eyes. “I’ll help you, Flynn,” he replied slowly. “Just as long –”
“It’s our secret.”
He nodded sharply. “What do you want, then?”
Without taking the jewel from my shirt, I willed the horizon to show me Van’s current location. I didn’t need it in my hand, after all. Its contact with my skin was enough. From one end of the sky to the other, Van and his friends rode across a rocky bluff. Malik cantered at the front, his black tail bouncing across the tundra. A cavalry soldier loped on his heels, as an enormous Griffin blew low over their heads to sail upward into the sky before banking high and around. It buzzed their heads again, blowing their hair into their eyes as it flew in the opposite direction to repeat the maneuver. The cute deer bounded on tiny legs in their wake, often racing away to either the left or the right to search out potential problems.
Van rode his black and white horse with neither saddle nor bridle. Had I not needed him dead so badly, I’d want him to teach me how he did that. Bayonne was a good horse, from one of the best bloodlines in all of Raithin Mawr. But –
That mare made him look like a carter’s draft beast.
Princess Yummy loped my roan stallion at his flank, looking at nothing but straight ahead of her. The blue worked hard to keep up with Van’s mare, sweating lightly. The piebald carried Van with effortless ease, her tail sweeping the ground behind her. I knew that blue roan had enormous stamina, yet I recognized a beast that grew tired. Unable to travel faster than their slowest beast, they’d be forced to rest their animals and soon.
A Griffin, on the ground, galloped at the same speed as the horses, its wings half-furled. Often spreading those huge spans at times to sail up or down a hill, the Griffin kept pace with little effort. While a Griffin running on all fours was surprising to me, I knew it would never tire as the horses might.
An eagle screamed past their heads. It cruised back under the sky-borne Griffin’s wake, its feathers ruffled but its flight intact. Circling slowly over Malik’s black head, its beak bent down as his face under that rayed star brow-band gazed up. Yet, another Shifter delivered his reports to their Lord Commander.
Stark mountains lay ahead of them. I recognized them – the mountains that bordered our beloved Raithin Mawr from magical Bryn’Cairdha. The Shin’Eah, their ranges of treacherous and jagged peaks clothed in year-round snow, kept our two nations separated. Only fools tried to cross them without guidance, and its deadly passes quite effectively halted any potential wars. They were far too difficult to traverse with an army to feed.
“I can take us to them,” I said, my tone soft. “No more chasing after them, wearing ourselves out. With my magic, we can set another ambush, and take the princess. We can be home tomorrow. What say you, Commander?”
Blaez nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Good. We’ll –“
“Why are they going that way?”
Boden’s soft comment brought me back into myself. I didn’t let go of the vision, however, and permitted Blaez, Boden, Buck-Eye and a rapt Galdan to watch as the enemy crossed the highland landscape toward our mountains. None took their eyes from the scene before them, and watched with the avid gazes of the utterly fascinated.
“Do you recognize that area?” I asked him, my chin on my shoulder.
Boden nodded slowly. “I think so, m’lord. If they keep to this course, they’ll enter a shallow valley, a narrow one. A deep river cuts through it, where they’ll have to water their mounts.”
“Are you sure?”
Boden stepped toward the vision in the sky as though getting closer might reveal certain truths to him alone. He glanced left, right, up, down and peered into the sky as though studying a map. He is my navigator after all, I thought. He knew his terrain through and through.
“M’lord, there’s no other source of water,” he said slowly, still gazing, rapt. “Not for miles. They’ve no choice but the Auryn River Valley. They must rest and refresh their animals and fill their skins.”
“When will they get there?”
Boden crossed his arms and stroked his chin with his fingers. He frowned at the scene before him. “Within two hours, give or take. M’lord.”
“We have that much time to prepare. Blaez?”
Commander Blaez stepped up beside Boden and scowled. Not at me this time, but at the situation. “How steep the valley walls?” he asked, peering intently, his words directed to my young bodyguard. “What’s to the north? The south? How deep is the river?”
At Boden’s swift answers, Blaez continued to scowl, yet I recognized a tactical genius when I saw one. As Boden answered his rapid-fire questions, I watched a plan hatch in Blaez’s brain. Last time, Van’s ingenuity thwarted Blaez. Blaez never forgot nor forgave. He intended that Van not thwart him a second time. The plan he hatched in that cunning brain would work – this time.
As the pair plotted and sketched out a plan, I smiled to myself. Yummy, you’ll be mine come nightfall.