Golden Tide (Song of the Aura, Book Four) (7 page)

The road took a bend and opened up to show the top of the mountain. Lauro was awe-struck, despite the rough handling of the guards. A tower- no, a
castle
of titanic proportions sat at the head of the rise. It was entirely Stone Strider work; it had to be, carved in the likeness of a hundred mighty gray trees like those of the towers, twisting in on each other to form a larger structure.

In essence, they stood at the foot of a huge stone tree, hundreds of feet high. Battlements and balconies laced in and out of the twisted architecture, forming the oddest and most intimidating structure Lauro had seen, besides the Royelheim: King Larion’s warcastle.
It would have taken a thousand Stone Striders to build something like that!
Lauro thought.
If they take me in there… there’s no getting out.

As they began to ascend the stairs leading up to the great, spiked black gates that led into the tree-castle, Lauro stole a sly glance at the captors on either side him, and the jailor puffing up behind them. In the corner of his vision he thought he saw a flash of red, as a nymph- perhaps the red-headed female- darted from hiding spot to hiding spot behind them. Who in Vast
was
she? He couldn’t delay long enough to find out. Bracing himself, Lauro prepared to make his move.

As they neared the top of the steps, the gate began to open outward on the wide, flat dais that lay in front, like a large doorstep. Feigning a sudden weakness, Lauro moaned and purposely slipped, throwing himself forward and coughing violently. The nymphs on either side grasped at him, but only succeeded in knocking him flat on his face. The black-masked jailor leaped back, cursing in the nymphtongue.

As the guards lunged for him, Lauro twisted on his back, desperately calling on the Power of Sky. Kicking his legs out and waving his manacled wrists, the prince flung himself back onto the dais. The movement should have carried him three feet or less; with Wind Striding it flipped him over twice. He landed on his feet, hands still bound… but it was a start. The guards clambered after him, drawing wickedly-curved, black-bladed swords from scabbards at their belts.

“
Try me!” Lauro snarled, leaping into the air, Striding the Wind and flipping clear over their heads. He came down with a heavy
whump
on the shoulders of the jailor, who had just rushed up to join his fellows. The nymph collapsed backwards, tumbling down the stone steps in a sickening series of thuds and crunches. Lauro whipped his body around in a tight flip, soaring out of danger and landing easily to one side. The jailor’s body flopped to a halt and did not move.

The two other nymphs were rushing down again, waving their swords and screaming guttural curses.
They will not take me!
Lauro skidded over to the jailor’s body and kicked it over, frantically looking for a key-ring of some sort. There was nothing. “Blast!”

Then Lauro saw the jailor’s weapon, lying across his body. Could he…

The two guards were on him. Whirling, he put out his hands as if to grab the half-spear, then flung his arms forward. The wind answered him, picking up the weapon and hurling it straight as a bowshot at the leftmost nymph. The blade punctured the guard’s chest and flung him backwards, but then his fellow was swinging his blade at Lauro’s head, and the prince leaped backwards on a cushion of wind.

Farther down the stairs the nymph chased him, taking great scathing swings with his sword. Lauro leaped and dodged, always going backward and down; he knew it was only moments before he made a bad step and fell, ending the fight. Anger made him stronger: who were these savages, to challenge him? Abruptly he stopped Striding and charged forward up the stairs.

Surprised, the last nymph took a wild swing at his head, which Lauro took no efforts to evade. Hands flung up, Lauro caught the blow on the chain that bound his hands together. Metal rang on metal, and his locked elbows jarred painfully… but it had saved his life.

“
My turn,” he spat, twisting his wrists and trapping the nymph’s blade. His knee slammed into the guard’s gut, allowing Lauro to rip the blade from the nymph’s hands. Letting it drop, he swung both manacled hands at the guard’s head like a bludgeon. The nymph crumpled, and Lauro leaped over his body, intent on getting back to the jailor and finding the key.

He halted, cursed, and whirled back again. A mob of black-masked nymphs, twenty or more, was descending the stairs through the open gate after him. And there, running up the path towards him, was the strange red-haired nymph girl, a long slim tube in her hands for blowing darts.

Caught. Lauro stamped his foot and turned in a full circle. If only his hands were free! He could fly, then, or call down lightning!

CAN I free my hands?
He wondered suddenly. Bringing his hands up, he flexed them against the manacles, concentrating. If he could Stride Wind on a small enough scale… It was hard to do without moving hands or feet to help, but…

The mob of masked nymph guards was closer. The red-haired huntress raised her dart-tube to her mouth.
Click!
The manacles dropped away. Lauro crowed in sheer triumph. He had done it! A wiry nymph hurled his blade, realizing what was about to happen. The nymph female blew on her tube.

Lauro leaped skyward, hands and feet pushing him up on a burst of wind. Sky Striding! It made him feel so… alive! The dart struck the nymph who had thrown his sword, and he collapsed beside the guard Lauro had struck down. The prince struck out at the air, forcing himself higher and higher in the sky, then twisting to one side and soaring towards the cover of the trees, arms stretched out like eagles’ wings. Safety, at last!

Dropping out of sight among the tall, dark pines, Lauro chortled to himself. Fools! Away from their precious element of Stone, he was safe. Mayhem was brewing at the M’tant tree-castle, but he ignored it. The Sky was his domain, and no one could catch him now. If he flew again, they would see him- what of it? He knew to avoid them now, and he knew what their dwellings looked like. He would slip away, and fly to the edge of the Blackwood before they knew what to think!

~

She was gone before the others knew she had been there. Fools. Idiots. The Dungeon-master was the worst of them all, thinking her a demon when all she had done to deserve his scorn was be born different than the rest of the M’tant. He hated her for her hair, did he? He knew nothing of her skills… her power. She wasted no more thought on him- he was dead now, dead for his trouble. Served him right.

She brushed the scarlet locks back from her face, pulling her cape-less hood farther down to hide the color. She knew how easy flamehair was to spot in a forest. When she caught the Wind-Walker again, he would not see her coming any more than he had the first time. Fool. She had almost ensured his safety, but the Tannarch was not likely to see things her way, now that three of his nymphs lay dead on the steps of Mortenhine.

Past trees and over rivers, sliding from shadow to shadow, she kept up the hunt. Wind-Walker would pay for his trespass, but she would not let him die.

Not yet.

~

The rest of the day spent trying to find his way convinced Lauro of the futility of attempting to trailblaze his way through the Blackwood. M’tant patrols nearly caught him twice, and soon he realized that there was no other option but to go back. He needed to find the road leading out of the stone-tree city… it could be the only chance he had of finding his way back to the Blackwood road.

Wanderwillow, why? Your token did me no good!
It was still there, surprisingly. Other than confiscating his sword, the M’tant had not worried about stripping him of his clothes or his necklace. Lucky, that. Wanderwillow had said it would protect him… he hoped it would.

And so, finally, after hours of hiding and skulking in the brush, Lauro found himself on a winding path near the bottom of the forested mountain, crouching low as a troop of black-armored nymphs marched past. So they had soldiers… and they knew he was dangerous enough to merit using them.

When the M’tant had passed, Lauro looked up and down the path, seeing no one. A few more silent minutes, and he was sure that the way lay empty enough for his purposes… at least at the moment. Climbing to his feet, he made his way stealthily onto the road, delighted to feel the solid earth beneath his feet instead of crunching leaves and snapping twigs.

Wait a moment!
He realized,
what a fool! If I fly high enough, even for just a moment, I should be able to see the way out of this nymph-city, and maybe even the way out of the forest!
It would mean almost certainly getting spotted, but if any chance was worth taking, it was this one. Steadying himself, feet planted apart for a jump, Lauro prepared to Sky Stride.

Nothing. He felt
NOTHING!
His power was there one second, and the next it was gone! Cursing, Lauro spun around, madly searching for whatever had caused the disturbance. Again, nothing.

“No! What could… what in…” he sputtered, digging hands shakily through his wild hair, gripping and un-gripping, twisting and snarling. What was going on? This was the second time he had lost the ability to Stride, right at the peak of his abilities! The first time he had assumed to be the drug from the M’tant dart, but this time…

“Welcome to Mortenhine,” said a curiously accented voice. Lauro spun around to glare at the trees, fists raised. There was no one there.

“Come out, little girl,” he snarled, “I know you’re there. You’re the one who shot me. Come out! Let’s see how you do in a
real
fight…” his words died in his throat as he felt a curved blade slip around his neck, almost pricking his throat. Nimble fingers gripped his hair. Hard. “How-?” he began, but the blade pressed hard into him, and he stopped with a gurgle.

“I do fine, Openlander…” hissed the girl’s voice. It had to be her. He could have sworn she was on the edge of laughing. How had she caught him? Lauro could have screamed in frustration. Too many mistakes… just like the despairing cleric had told him.

“Enough!” Lauro shouted, driving an elbow into his assailant’s stomach so that she gasped and lurched back. The dagger slipped from his throat, but her hand yanked his head back by the hair, and the blade nicked his jaw. He spun and tried to punch her, but stars swam in his eyes and his head felt numb.

Not again… not… again…
He collapsed on his hands and knees, breathing hard. The dust from the path was in his eyes and mouth, choking him. His limbs felt heavy and dead. Poison. The blade of the dagger was poisoned…

A slim hand took his chin and raised up his head. Lauro couldn’t help but stare at the face above him: the nymph girl
was
beautiful, far more exotic than Elia. Elia… In another time and place, he had wanted… But he couldn’t remember what, now. His head felt so… soft. Softer than the nymph girl’s touch. He was going…

He was falling…

“Sleep,” whispered the nymph girl, bending close to him. Her breath smelled of roses… and death.
“Sleep…”

Lauro woke with even more pain in his body than before. When the roaring, bloody suffering finally dissipated enough for him to think, he quickly realized that he could not move a muscle. Well, not exactly. His head could move, he found, but his arms and legs were held fast in something he could not make out in the darkness, stretched so far as to make any back-bending or similar movement impossible.

After the light of day, the meager torchlight took a long time to get used to. When his eyes finally adjusted, Lauro saw that his arms up to the elbows, and his legs up to the knees were held by rock. He was in a solid, windowless, doorless cell of rock, only big enough to hold him and his curious bonds. It was as if the rock had been a living thing, sealing off any avenue of escape, and stretching down from the ceiling and up from the floor to encase his limbs.

Suddenly, the solution hit him.
Stone Striders.
That… that
girl
had brought him back to the M’tant Stone Striders, where they had Stridden rock to imprison him. His limbs were pinioned, which eliminated almost all of his Sky Striding techniques, and the absence of doors or windows (however
that
had been accomplished!) meant that even if he did escape, there was nowhere to go. The buzzing in his head assured him that it was no use even trying to reach for the Power of Sky, anyway.

The prince didn’t bother struggling. He had taken his chance, and lost it. Now he would die, left to rot in the bowels of the earth, or taken by the headsman’s axe, if the M’tant decided he was worth the trouble. Surprisingly, he felt no anger… only sadness, and despair.
Is that what the cleric felt like? I didn’t realize… he must have wasted his life trying to bring the Old Beliefs back to the wood nymphs. At least they let him live. Why didn’t he leave? Was he still trying? I’m so… tired…