Pixilated (20 page)

"If you make the same mistake every time
you’ll get the same result every time," Kree called.

Fergus picked himself up off the ground,
once more dusting off his trousers. "What mistake?"

"He's gulling you, laddie. There ain't a
defense for that strike."

"That's true." Kree pushed to his feet,
grinning. "Lucky for you, I don't do defense. Next time Biggs hawks
down, step into his strike, not away."

"He’ll split my skull."

"Not if you do as I say. Look." Kree took
Fergus' sword and brought it to high guard. "Go for my head, Biggs,
slowly, so he sees what I do." The man swung. Kree stepped to the
right and dropped the sword to a left back ward stopping Biggs’
attack. A quick pivot brought him around to parry the next strike.
Then he grasped his blade and using it as a club, blocked and
knocked Biggs’ blade down, trapping it under his arm.

"Huzzah!" Fergus cheered.

"You do it." Kree watched them go through
the moves. "Again," he coached from the sideline. "That’s better.
Remember perception, distance, timing, and technique. Do the
routine again, concentrate on timing. You can work on technique
later."

Fergus panted, sweat poured off him. "Man,
you’re brutal," he gasped.

Kree laughed. "Again. This time, punch Biggs
in the face with your pommel when you come around." Biggs favored
Kree with a skeptical look, but brought his sword to guard.

"That’s not very knightly." Fergus
protested.

"I don’t do knightly either. Templemen ask
me what it takes to make Gryphon. You have to win challenges, and
you'll never win enough challenges if a knightly defense is your
aim. Offense wins challenges. Now, do what I tell you, punch
him."

A dozen repetitions later, Fergus finally
managed to trap Biggs’ blade, and after a short victory dance, he
dropped to the ground beside Kree. "Why didn’t you let me fight you
in the arena?"

"Mother chose you because she wanted me to
see something in you. I thought I might see it better if I didn’t
pound you into the ground."

"Are you sure you would have?"

"Aren’t you?"

The young fellow laughed. "Yeah."

"Shouldn’t we be pushing on, boss?" Biggs
poured water over his head to cool off shaking off like a dog,
throwing off droplets of water in the direction of the ladies. They
shrieked in mock outrage.

"We should." Kree stood and offered his hand
to Kayseri. He bowed to the princess. "Perhaps Your Serene Highness
can find happier songs to sing us on our way."

Sandahl looked up at him with merry eyes.
"You don’t like
Averill and Tam
, My Captain? What could be
happier than a tale of true love?"

"They die, Princess."

"Yes." Sandahl gave him a delicate lift of
her shoulders. "But they live together in perfect bliss for three
hundred glorious days."

"At the end of which a demon eats them,"
Kree stubbornly pointed out.

"But they have three hundred days," Kayseri
chimed in.

"Three hundred days," Sandahl echoed.

Kree shook his head. He wouldn't win this
argument. "Sing as you will, Princess." He went to see to his
horse.

The afternoon was fair. His little company
traveled steadily northward unmolested. Kree felt confident he had
lost their tail by sidetracking to Arbala. Toward evening Kayseri
began singing
The Star-Slayer Saga
. If there was a song Kree
hated more than
Averill and Tam
, this was it, and not solely
because it featured himself as its hero. He shot her a sharp look
stopping her mid-note. Funny. Kayseri had been very obliging today.
Maybe she was merely making good on her promise to be helpful. What
was he thinking? More likely, she was plotting some fine piece of
pixie revenge for that disastrous night in his mother’s library.
Not that he blamed her.

They reached the first forested slopes of
the Nhurstari mountain range at twilight. There was magic in these
mountains. Kree felt it dancing along his skin. They pitched their
tents, and Fergus started supper. It was a peaceful ending to a
peaceful day. Kree had just decided to wait for Duncan when it all
went to hell.

He shoved Sandahl into Kayseri’s arms. "Make
with your mischief, sweetheart." The Wilderkin vanished.

"What in the hells!" Fergus said.

Biggs chuckled low in his throat. "It might
fool ‘em, boss, at least for a while."

Kree’s sword swished from its leather
scabbard. "Get behind us, Katie. Be quiet." He felt her hand touch
his waist.

A lone man rode into the circle of their
fire's light. The wiry, mustached stranger wore black leather. He
had a weathered face and dark oily hair. Hard eyed. Professional.
He spit a stream of tobacco juice into the pine needles.

"Well, lookie here what I found. You
northern boys sure do love braids, don’t ya?" His gaze traveled
over Kree. He spit again. "Guess you’re the champion who's been
killin’ my men. I’ll take the elf girl now, champion."

The man made champion sound like a slur.
Kree adjusted his grip on his sword. "You'll have to go through me
first." He did not make a habit of talking to men he meant to kill,
and make no mistake, he meant to kill this one, but Fergus needed a
few extra minutes to settle down. The boy was jumpy as a
cricket.

The stranger slid off his horse and walked
toward them. "If you insist." He made a gesture with his hand that
brought a dozen men armed with eight-foot spears out of the
surrounding forest.

"I’m good for two, maybe three," Biggs'
voice was calm and sure at Kree's shoulder. "The laddie’ll get at
least one. Figure you can handle the rest, boss?"

Bloody sodden hell! Kree threw down his
sword.

His gaze on Kree, the man picked up the
discarded sword. "A very good choice, champion. I’ll have your
pretty knives too."

Kree shrugged out of his weapons harness.
Fergus and Biggs tossed their weapons on the growing pile.

The leader spit a stream of tobacco at
Kree’s feet. "All your knives, champion. Slowly."

Kree’s boot knives joined the pile.

The fellow looked around the campsite. "The
elf girl, champion. I'm not askin' again."

Kree said nothing.

The man nodded slightly as if to say, ‘have
it your way.’ "Kill the boy."

"Colt, Lord Hueil does not want killing." A
voice shouted from the darkness.

The mercenary held his hand up staying his
man. A tall slender Nhurstari moved out of the shadow of the trees
and came to stand at his shoulder. He bent and whispered in the
mercenary's ear.

"Is that a fact?" Colt invaded Kree’s space.
"My friend here tells me the elf girl might use some sort of
enchantment to keep us from seeing her. Is that so?" He poked
Kree’s chest with one finger. "Is that the deal? Drop the tents,"
he shouted to his men. The canvas fluttered to the ground. The
mercenary captain spread his arms wide encompassing the campsite.
"Where can she be?"

At his signal, the spearmen brought their
weapons to waist-high and closed in on the spot where Kree stood
shoulder to shoulder with Fergus and Biggs. Just as the spears
pressed into their clothing, the advance stopped. The mercenary
captain thrust his arm into the triangular space formed by the
three men's bodies, and tore Sandahl out of Kayseri's arms.

Kayseri dropped her mischief. "I’m sorry, My
Captain."

Kree squeezed his eyes shut.
Fuck! Fuck!
Fuck!
They had not known about Katie. If only she’d kept quiet.
"It’s not your fault, little girl."

Colt shoved the princess toward the tall
Nhurstari. "Your
Captain
is he?" He studied Kree for a long
moment. "Ah, yes the little blue horse soldiers? I passed your tiny
garrison just t'other day." He spat at Kree’s feet barely missing
his boots. "Pitiful."

The man grabbed Kayseri’s arm and pulled her
against his body. "Well don't you look like a tasty little tart?"
He licked her cheek. "Mmm...maybe I’ll find out just how tasty you
are." His gaze never left Kree. "You got any more revelations for
me?"

Kree shifted a spear point away from his
midriff with one finger. "Before this is over, I
will
kill
you."

The man flung Kayseri away. Sweeping Kree’s
sword out of the pile of confiscated weaponry, Colt tossed it at
Kree’s feet. His hard eyes glittered as his own blade slid free.
"Let's not wait?"

Kree's gaze traveled the circle of spearmen
before locking onto the mercenary leader’s hard black glare. "I
don’t care for the odds."

"Too bad. Cos they're the best odds you’ll
be gettin'. I’ve got the elf girl." Burying a fist in Kayseri’s
thick hair, he dragged her to her feet. "I’ve got your little
caramel tart. And I’ve got news for you, champion. It is over.
Bring ‘em."

The mercenaries shouldered their spears and
closed ranks around their captives, herding them up the mountain.
The Nhurstari male led the way carrying Sandahl in his arms. Colt
bore Kayseri before him on his saddle staying near enough that Kree
saw man’s free hand roaming over her body, squeezing her breast,
rubbing between her legs. She trembled with fear, and the man drank
her terror up like fine brandy.

Pressure built inside Kree's skull, the
herald of the peculiar madness that sometimes rode him in battle,
compelling him to actions men called heroic. He recognized this
battle madness made him reckless. It endangered the men under his
command. Freed from the affects of Goddess nectar, he had taught
himself to control it. But as the stranger pawed Kayseri, madness
swelled inside Kree until control was a slippery thing. The more he
reached for it, the more it slid away until nothing remained but
highly charged madness waiting for the right spark to touch it
off.

Three or four hours of hard hiking brought
them to a hunting lodge. Four gigantic living trees formed the
corner posts and spread their interwoven leafy canopies over the
roof. A wide quarried stone porch complimented the structure's
split timber walls.

Another Nhurstari male stood on the broad
porch dressed in a bronze colored silk tunic over black leggings
and boots. Despite his unlined face, the gray frosting his
blue-black hair hinted at great age. A thin silver coronet sat on
his smooth brow. Kree sensed the elf’s power dancing along his skin
through the haze of his madness, but it was of no consequence.
Madness narrowed his vision to his enemy and Kayseri. He had
nothing left to spare for an old elf.

Their Nhurstari guide stood Sandahl on her
feet before the elder. "Lord Hueil, Second of Nhurstari." He
touched his forehead in a kind of salute before indicating Sandahl
with a graceful sweep of his hand. "I have the honor to introduce
to you, Sandahl, of Thallasi."

At the same time, Colt dragged Kayseri off
his horse, pulled her against his sinewy body, and kissed her.
Brutally. Struggling against his grip and unable to break away
Kayseri screamed. "Kree-e-e-e!" Madness erupted. The world went up
in flames. Kree grabbed the man in front of him, snapping his neck
with one quick hard jerk. Snatching up the man’s spear, he clubbed
the next guard to the ground and surged toward Colt.

Behind him Biggs yelled, ‘Holy Hells!’ The
two Templemen jumped in to block the mercenaries threatening to
take Kree from behind. He pushed his way toward Kayseri’s tormentor
propelled by roaring madness. Colt shoved Kayseri aside as Sandahl
broke away from the old elf, ran to her, and dragged her back to
the safety of the porch. The ancient elf glided toward the fray.
Kree didn't care.

Colt drew his sword. His black eyes
glittered eagerly in the moonlight. "Come on champion," he
growled.

Fergus screamed. Biggs went down hard. Kree
swung his spear up using it as a staff to block Colt’s downward
stroke. With a hard push, he brought the spear shaft over top of
his adversary’s blade following through with a vicious kick to the
mercenary’s weight-bearing knee. Colt’s leg cracked backward, but
as Kree swung his spear around for the killing thrust, the old elf
reached out, touched him, and spoke a single word,
"Radam."
Kree dropped in mid-swing.

Chapter Sixteen

Red Fist squadron reached Kree's abandoned
campsite at midday. First Lieutenant Aimery Duncan raised his hand
signaling halt. He had not pushed his team hard enough. He scanned
the ruined campsite filled with keen disappointment.

"Maybe they took him by surprise," Chana
said from his right.

Duncan’s gaze swept the wreckage again. His
voice betrayed none of his agitation. "The man is our captain and
concerned enough to hire Templemen. How is it possible he would be
taken by surprise?"

Sliding out of her saddle, Chana bent to
read the ground. "I didn’t say he was, but I don’t discount it.
That Bruin girl has turned him up stupid."

Duncan caught an amused glance from Chana’s
longtime consort. If Duncan listened to his tracker, this one
half-pixie woman was somehow responsible for everything from
drought in the east, to typhoons on the southern seacoast.

Bird rolled his eyes in a moment of shared
mystification. "I think she’s jealous."

Chana glared at her partner. "Scoff if you
want, but you know the kind of man My Captain is. ‘See the hill,
take the hill.’ It’s a marvel to me he doesn’t have a string of
by-blows from here to Elhar. But with this Bruin girl he is
different...the way he acts…" She gave a dramatic shutter. "You'd
think he was twelve years old for all the sense he shows around
her. I should know. I remember when he was twelve years old."

"Now, I think I’m jealous," Bird quipped. He
liked to get his partner’s hackles up.

The men around them sniggered and Duncan
raised his hand again silencing them. Having heard variations on
this theme five or six times in the last three days, he suspected
Chana’s familiarity with their captain’s youth clouded her
perceptions. For himself, he wanted to find the man he had crossed
the sea to serve, and he wanted to find him alive. Concrete useful
information would facilitate this end, not speculation on his
captain’s love life. Were he curious about that, he could have it
in full color detail from his widowed sister-in-law.