Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (18 page)

“If there are beasts then we’ll handle them,” Delvin states, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. “My hope is that she can show a display of power to scare the nomads into agreeing to a peaceful negotiation. I’d use Fizzle, but a dragon might be too much. Then again, Nyx isn’t known for restraint and might scare some people to death. By the way, have you figured out why the Helgardians are attacking you?”

“Nothing confirmed,” Asher states with a tired sigh. He sits in a nearby chair and signals for a butler to bring him a warm cloth to wash his face. “For a few weeks, there have been rumors that my family stole some relic from the Helgardians. Some people say it’s a scepter while others say a staff. It holds a religious significance to all of the nomad tribes, but it is carried by the Helgardians. Such an item would explain why they are treated like royalty out there.”

Delvin drags his chair across the floor and sits in front of the noble. He takes the towel offered to him and presses it to his face, massaging his forehead through the soft fabric. The soothing warmth nearly puts him to sleep, but he shakes his head clear and rubs his neck until the cloth has cooled off. Leaning back in the simple chair, he watches Asher for any sign of anxiety, but all he sees is fatigue on the nobleman’s face.

“Did your family take this relic?” the warrior asks, leaping to his feet when the other man stands. He puts his hand on the other man’s sword, stopping him from drawing it. “You know I had to ask. I don’t know you or your family, so I can’t jump to conclusions. It could even be someone in your organization that did it. So please tell me if it’s possible.”

“Anything is possible, but I doubt it,” Asher states, removing Delvin’s hand from his scimitar. “We don’t trade in stolen merchandise. Timbre and Quill are ruling members of an organization that my father founded to punish those who steal cultural relics. If someone in our household has done it then they would not have stayed on the grounds. We’ve had no disappearances or firings among our staff in years.”

“So you were framed by an outside party?”

The dark-haired nobleman takes his seat and stares at the map table, the clean depiction of war turning his stomach. “It would be the most likely scenario, but my father has proof that the relic was never stolen. Apparently, he had one of our clerks traveling with the Helgardians and contacted this man to see if the stories were true. The relic was said to still be with the nomads, but our employee was found dead at the front gate two days later.”

Delvin groans and drapes the cool towel over his face. Both warriors are falling asleep when a strange scuffling from outside catches their attention. They are already heading for the door when a gurgling scream erupts from the courtyard.

*****

Timoran’s sapphire eyes sparkle at the sight of the exquisite decanters on the table, each one filled with a different alcohol. He can smell rich Dwarven ales and expensive Calican liquors, their aromas seeping through the corks. Eileen gingerly hands him a large glass and claps her hands for one of the halfling butlers to bring a basket of warm bread. She bows to the barbarian and goes to politely sit next her mistress, who is relaxing on a low couch. Kira lazily runs her finger along the marble railing of the balcony, her eyes on the sinking sun and the pinks of the sky. She can hear the peacocks calling out to each other, but her thoughts are so far away that she would believe she is imagining them.

“I am unclear as to what we are doing,” Timoran admits as he pours himself a cup of dark green liquor. The drink is tart and has the faint taste of blackberries and mint. “This is a halfling mead from Canst’s Fields. I have tried some once before, but I never thought I would get to taste it again. Thank you for the treat.”

“My pleasure,” Kira says with a casual wave of her hand. She looks over the railing to where Luke is practicing in the courtyard. “You and I are strangers, Sir Wrath. We know each other’s reputation, but nothing personal. Our common ground is Luke and I wish to speak with you about him. As per your people’s traditions, I’ve supplied alcohol for our discussion. Though I’m not in the mood to indulge.”

“Has he been distant?” the barbarian asks. He takes a quiet sip of his drink when Kira shoots him a withering look. “I will take that as a yes. This is what he did when he was confused about starting a relationship with Sari. Luke is rather . . . terrible at handling his conflicted feelings. You will have to take the initiative with him.”

The heiress moves to the table and dips a piece of soft bread into a dish of olive oil. She listens to the distant sound of movement, imagining her fiancée’s every motion. Her heart beats faster when she remembers sparring with him at the academy. It feels like a lifetime ago that they were together and in blissful ignorance of the looming disaster. Kira knows that Sari has fought alongside Luke more times than her and the champions would continue to do so after they leave Bor’daruk. She chews on the bread and cringes when she bites her inner cheek.

“I’ve made the first few moves and he’s been attentive the last few days,” Kira explains, sitting on a pillow and curling her knees to her chest. “I can’t even say he’s been very distant since we talk and are falling into old habits. It’s when he thinks I’m asleep or not paying attention that things go wrong. I see the pain in eyes as he turns back to me. He spends the night sitting in the window instead of in bed. I know he doesn’t really sleep any more, but he goes so far away.”

“It is a difficult decision that he will have to make.”

“You don’t think I’m aware of that?”

The barbarian sighs and claims some bread to sop up half the oil. “I can tell you want to hear specific answers, but I do not have them. The truth is that Luke loves you and Sari, which is tearing him apart.”

“I shouldn’t have let it get this far,” Kira whispers, shaking her head. Part of her regrets the words and she clenches her empty hand into a fist. “But declaring Sari as bad for Luke wouldn’t be right. She’s good for him and I’d betray the traditions by denying her. It’s only supposed to be done if the person is obviously a poor choice or dangerous. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Your culture has a law that says a primary partner can turn away a rival on the grounds of danger or proof of poor compatibility,” Timoran replies, pouring himself a cup of frothy Dwarven ale. “The danger is that if you use this law incorrectly, you could damage your relationship. Perhaps it could even lead to you being replaced by your rival, who would inevitably use the law to remove you completely.”

“You catch on very quickly. Do you have any advice for me, Sir Wrath?”

Timoran grabs the bottle of ale and goes to the railing, the sun nearly hidden by the distant dunes. He notices several forms moving in the shadows below, but Luke is nowhere to be seen among the palms and flowers. A large creature lumbers out from behind a building, the fully grown elephant grabbing leaves with its trunk as it makes its way to the drinking pool in the far corner. The night is very quiet, which makes him wonder if this serenity is being shared by his missing friends.

“Do not push Luke for a decision or you will cause him to make a mistake,” Timoran says as he turns around. He takes a long swig of his drink and smacks his lips in admiration of the crisp taste. “The best thing for you to do is make him realize how much you love him. I do not mean to prove you love him more than Sari because that will make you appear as the weaker choice. Something that I have come to notice in cities is that people fight romantic rivals in a method that is rather self-destructive. Avoid that by focusing on being the best Kira that Luke has ever known.”

“And if he rejects me?”

“Then it was not meant to be and the gods are cruel,” the barbarian bluntly states. A rumble of thunder causes him to mutter a quick prayer to Gabriel and Kerr. “I apologize, but you wanted the truth. As one who has seen Luke and Sari grow as a couple, I cannot guarantee that you will be chosen. Yet he has not given up on you, which is a good sign. Take his conflicted heart as an opportunity to rekindle what you had long ago.”

“So I probably shouldn’t confront Sari,” Kira softly mentions as she finishes another piece of oily bread. She gestures for Eileen to bring her a damp towel to clean her hands and face. “I don’t even know what I would say to her. There are times I feel bad about ignoring her and keeping Luke to myself. She’s never intentionally done me harm, but I’m treating her like an enemy.”

Timoran puts down his drink and leans forward to look Kira in the eye, holding his hand out to stop her maid from drawing a dagger. “In this arena, Sari is your enemy. Remember that a person can treat an enemy with kindness and compassion, which is what makes them a rival. By doing this, you increase the chance of retaining a friendship and not creating ill will when the final decision is made. In the end, you are the one who decides how to deal with her and our mutual friend. I would offer to help, but I do not wish to get involved any more than I already have.”

“Thank you for talking to me, Sir Wrath,” the heiress says, giving him a small kiss on the cheek.

Timoran stands up straight at the sound of suspicious shuffling, his keen vision noticing a strange shadow darting around a distant corner. He reaches down to get his great axe off the floor and is impressed when he sees Kira has drawn her weapon out from under the table. When the night is shattered by a gurgling scream, the bronze-skinned woman is the first to react. She is already over the railing and sliding down her kusari-gama’s chain as the fleet-footed barbarian rushes down the marble stairs.

10

Kira’s scream of horror drives Timoran to run faster, the barbarian charging around the corner of the building with his great axe held high. Seeing the splattered gore ahead, he swiftly turns around and blocks the young woman’s view as best he can. He looks over his shoulder at approaching footsteps and waves to Delvin, Asher, and a gathering of armed guards. The men stare at the bloody scene where a body has been eviscerated and dismembered. Even with the face bitten off, everyone recognizes what is left of Timbre. Choking down his grief, Asher kneels next to the remains and whispers a prayer that Inyo the Innocence God takes his brother into The Pasture. Frustrated with Timoran’s interference, Kira elbows him in the side and tries to run toward her brother’s corpse, but falls to her knees weeping after a few steps.

A few minutes pass before anyone realizes that Luke has been with them the entire time. He is leaning against the building with his drawn sabers hanging limp at his sides. The half-elf is covered in blood, but his steady breathing assures the others that he is not severely injured. Bruises are forming on his face and Delvin sees a chip of bone sticking out of a small cut when he gets closer. Luke picks the foreign shard out and drops it to the ground, letting his numb arm dangle again. Neither of the warriors are ready for Wayland Grasdon, who barrels into the half-elf and slams him into the wall by his sweat-stained shirt.

“What did you do to my son?” the merchant growls in a choked voice. He knocks Luke against the solid marble, the blank expression on the forest tracker’s face angering him even more. “I want to know what happened. Tell me or I’ll throw you to the city guards as a murderer and have you executed at dawn.”

“Leave him alone, dad!” Kira shouts, struggling to her feet. “Luke didn’t kill Timbre and you know it. Look at his face if you don’t believe me. That’s shock.”

A choked cry from behind Timoran stops Wayland from arguing with his daughter. The large warrior moves to reveal Quill, who has fainted into Sari’s arms. The gypsy struggles to stop him from falling onto the bloody ground, the slender man heavier than she expected. Fizzle appears above them and wraps his tail around Quill’s arm to drag him to a nearby bench. With the unconscious noble settled, the blue-haired girl walks over to the others and gently removes Wayland’s hands from Luke. She spins on her toes and bows to her rival before relaxing the half-elf’s muscles with a kiss-delivered spell. Delvin helps lower the forest tracker to the ground while Kira and Sari pry the sabers out of their beloved’s hands. The heiress refuses to look the gypsy in the eye as they step away, each holding a surprisingly clean sword.

“It dropped from the roof,” Luke says, his eyes locked on Timbre’s body as the guards put a sheet over it. Feathers sprout around his neck, but they retract when Delvin puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The thing went right for Timbre and I got in its way. I stabbed it in the chest, but the wound was gone by the time I withdrew my sword. The creature is like a large monkey with scales and fangs. It simply couldn’t be injured even when Timbre gouged out its eyes with his sickles. That didn’t even slow it down and that’s when it got him.” He leans closer to his friend. “I don’t think I should be saying this in front of Kira.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Delvin promises, rising to face the heiress. The fierce glare she aims at him makes the warrior step away from the half-elf. “I think you’re going to have to keep going, Luke. She’s determined.”

“It might be best if-” Wayland begins to say, stopping when his daughter points the saber at him. “Very well. Suffer foolishly if you wish.”

Groaning in pain, the forest tracker uses Delvin to help him stand and gathers his weapons from the two women. He slips them into their sheaths, rubbing the rubies in the hilts as he thinks. Wayland moves to yell, but is silenced by Asher covering his mouth.

“Give him time, father,” the young man states. “You don’t know what it’s like to fight these monsters. Let me tell you that his shock is more than appropriate.”

“As I said, we couldn’t hurt the creature and everything we did to it was ignored. In a real fight, it would have been killed at least seven times,” Luke explains, regaining more of his senses and composure. He closes his eyes to remember the fight in detail, shivering at the sight of the strange beast. “I need to give this thing a name, so it’s easier to talk about. The . . . Felcri knocked me away with its tail when Timbre thought he blinded it. So he didn’t expect it to . . . rip his arms off. I tried to get to him, but that thing hit me with the severed limbs. You see why I didn’t want to talk about this?”

Wayland walks to where Quill is resting and sits next to his nephew, drawing a glass orb out of his robes. The merchant focuses on the communication sphere, which turns a dull yellow and rotates in his shaking hand. He does not react to anything around him, leaving Asher and Kira to order the guards to take the body inside. Eileen is stepping around the corner when her mistress gestures for her to go back to the room, the maid hurrying to let the groundskeeper know that a priest should be contacted.

“Where did this creature go?” Timoran asks Luke in a low voice. He curses under his breath when Kira joins them. “I already know you will argue about going on this hunt. I can see the desire for a fight in your eyes. How did an heiress become so quick to enter a battle?”

“Blame Luke and Selenia,” she replies with a forced smile. She wraps her kusari-gama around her body, letting the sickle dangle in front of her. “There’s also the fact that these monsters have killed most of my family. I’ve already been on several hunts for these things and killed a flying one over the ocean last week. My experience and knowledge of the area will be useful, so I’m going with you.”

“By the dripping fangs of Urgas, you aren’t going on this hunt!” Asher shouts as he approaches. With a bored yawn, he slaps his sister’s finger out of his face. “Don’t argue with me on this, Kiki. I’m going and taking your friends with me, but you’re staying in the manor where it’s safe. We’ll have the drite stay here to guard everyone.”

“These are my friends and you can’t stop me, Ash!”

“There are plenty of ways to stop you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“We have healers for a reason, dear sister.”

Asher draws his sword and Kira expertly unravels her weapon, knocking his blade aside as she backs up. They stare at each other, neither wanting to make the first move. The dark-haired woman flicks the club end of her kusari-gama at her brother, smacking the bloody ground at his feet. When he steps forward, she darts to the side and swings the blunt end at his back. The clang of metal on wood echoes throughout the courtyard when Delvin gets his shield in the way. Asher is about to take advantage of the distraction, but Luke disarms him with a quick flick of his sabers. With a grin, Kira tries to copy her brother’s tactic and attack, only for Timoran to catch the sickle and yank the weapon out of her hands.

“This isn’t the time for a fight that both of you will regret,” Sari announces, stepping between the angry siblings. She gives Asher a calming kiss and does the same to Kira, who still manages to slap the gypsy in the face. “I’ve got to learn a better way to deliver that spell. Thank me for not hitting you back, princess.”

“I have a question if we’re done with this mess,” Delvin states while the Grasdons put their weapons away. “How have you killed these creatures if you can’t hurt them? This Felcri walked away without severe injuries. Come to think of it, why didn’t it try to finish Luke off?”

“It ran away in a panic when Timbre screamed, which was from the gutting. Your brother was really tough since he kept kicking at the Felcri after he lost his arms,” the forest tracker says, putting an arm around Kira. He sees a flash of pain in Sari’s eyes and lets his arm drop back to his side. “It’s possible that the loud noise scared it. Some animals get terrified when a person raises their voice. Almost like they think we’re calling for others and they have to escape before more of us arrive.”

“So these creatures have a bestial mentality,” Timoran claims while sheathing his great axe. He bends down to examine the ground, gesturing for Luke to do the same. “There is something strange about the tracks too. Did the Felcri ever face you of its own accord or only when you attacked it?”

The half-elf sniffs at the ground to pick up the Felcri’s scent, a small growl rolling in his throat. “It was focused on Timbre. This is strange. I can only smell myself, Timbre, and the manor’s animals. This thing doesn’t have an identifiable smell. Do you think the Felcri is more like a spirit that the nomads are directing after specific targets?”

“It doesn’t matter because we don’t have a way to kill it,” Delvin interrupts as he crouches next to his friends. “We’ll worry about the other stuff when we have a plan on how to stop it. I’m guessing the Felcri is waiting for another chance to attack.”

“These beasts can be destroyed by regular weapons, but we’re not sure how,” Asher says before clearing his throat and blinking away the last of Sari’s spell. “For example, the one that Kira killed was struck by many arrows and spears before she finished it off. We don’t know how she did it and the corpse always dissolves immediately after death. Our best guess is that damage is incurred, but not shown on the body. Maybe this Felcri could have its heart in a different place than its chest and it could have a backup sense if blinded.”

“I’m still going,” Kira demands, shoving Sari away and getting in her brother’s face. “I’ll follow you if I have to.”

“Let’s not start this again,” the gypsy hisses, grabbing the heiress by the arm and pulling her away. “This isn’t the time for acting like a child.”

The shattering of the glass orb against the building startles everyone and they turn to face Wayland. He has a proud smile on this face and hurries to the wall, drawing an old key from an inner pocket. With a dull hum, the rusty object sinks into the stone and turns with the click of an opening lock. A door swings open to the street and a small group of warriors enter the manor grounds, four of them all too familiar to Timoran. He grips his great axe when his eyes meet the cruel smile of Alanik and the other barbarians.

“I asked the city guard if there were any mercenaries in town and these men were staying nearby,” Wayland happily says, patting Sentrent on the arm. He moves away when Ralgin growls at him and Banton lazily swings his maul at his side. “The Luck Goddess must be smiling on us because they had such good fortune getting to Bor’daruk from the north. I’m sure their good luck will help in hunting this monster down. Thank you, Cessia.”

“I have an odd feeling that another god is behind this,” Luke whispers, his voice low enough so only Timoran can hear him. “Life on Ambervale must be really boring for him to keep doing this to us.”

“All of you will go!” the merchant announces, pointing at his remaining children. “Both of you are capable warriors and must avenge your brother. Quill will stay here and I will keep the drite as a bodyguard until you return. This is an excellent plan.”

“It appears I am not the only one that Gabriel is toying with,” Timoran mutters to Luke, the two exchanging a look of dread. “I assume he is bored and wants some entertainment out of us. Can you handle both of your women being on this hunt?”

“Where did the beast go?” Wayland asks as he claps his hands.

Luke sighs and points at where Quill is still resting, the noble rolling over and whimpering in his sleep. Asher hurries to his cousin and Fizzle is in the air ready to cast a spell, but they stop when the half-elf whistles. Jogging over to the area, he picks up a stone and rolls it under the bench. Instead of hitting the wall, the rock falls into a hole and bounces for a few seconds until landing with a watery splash.

“I think it came in this way and was waiting on the roof for an opportunity to strike. By attacking here, it could make an easy escape into a place most people would think twice about entering,” Luke explains, removing his blood-soaked shirt. The four barbarian mercenaries are confused and gesture for him to explain further, causing him to roll his eyes. “The Felcri is in the sewers.”

*****

Everyone in the hunting party blinks in the dim light of the sewers, the illumination coming from gems spread along the moist walls. A rolling river rushes a few feet below the wide walkways that run along the edges of every tunnel. The small group is able to walk in pairs, except for the barbarians who are too big to comfortably walk next to anyone. Alanik and his men take up the rear while Timoran plods along behind Luke and Sari, the stench turning all of the large men’s stomachs. Muck-covered ladders help them move between the levels, causing the hunting party to get lost within the tunnels. It does not help that every tunnel is made from the same gray stone and none of them understand the glyphs that they find at every intersection. After an hour, their only hope of finding their way around the sewers is to depend on Luke’s tracking skills.

“Have you found any sign of the Felcri?” Sari asks when they stop to let the half-elf examine another ladder. “We can go to the surface and see if it went up there. That way we can get some fresh air too.”

“Is the water princess feeling sick?” Kira mutters from behind Timoran. She scowls at the large warrior when he faces her and opens his mouth to scold her. “Naiads are fairy royalty and they don’t do well around polluted water. There are purifying barriers throughout the sewers, but most of them are near the docks. This water is filthy, so my question stands even if it was said with disdain.”