Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (9 page)

Nyx moves to the side of the path and rests against a tree while everyone walks by her, Sari and the children stopping to say hello. They move on after she creates a tiny deer of light in her palm and has it jump around the kids. With a beaming smile, she watches them continue walking, their excited talk of the magic woman echoing through the trees. A minute passes before Nyx falls in alongside Dariana, who is several yards behind the crowd. She takes the other woman by the arm and tries to drag her closer to the others, but they never appear to make any progress.

“Why are you hiding back here?” Nyx asks in frustration. “I take it you’re not used to crowds, so this makes you nervous.”

“When I was a child, I had very little control over my powers. Crowds were a source of anguish because I couldn’t block their thoughts and energy. Accidents happened, so I was cloistered in the Zarian Monastery,” Dariana explains without looking directly at the caster. She shivers when a few strong emotions slip through her defenses. “I learned to maintain shields within my mind, but they’re still regenerating from my long slumber. They don’t always work when I sleep, so I apologize in advance if I wander into your dreams. I might sleepwalk too, so I’m sorry if that causes trouble.”

“Stop with the apologizing,” Nyx hisses, putting an invisible hand of force over Dariana’s mouth. “For the love of every god on Windemere, would you wait until you make a mistake before you say you’re sorry? Don’t even think of saying what I know you’re tempted to say. I’ll cast a spell on you that makes you laugh for an hour.”

Dariana stares at the half-elf, unsure if she should speak or move away. The hand over her mouth disappears and she is about to apologize, but clamps her jaws shut. A curious calico looks back at the women, turning away when Nyx politely shoos him. They continue walking in silence and let the mix of voices wash over them. A violent shudder runs through Dariana’s body, which stops when her companion strokes her arm.

“I think you’re better suited to be the older sister here, Lady Nyx.”

“You’ve been around for a few centuries, so you’re stuck with the title,” the half-elf whispers, gently releasing Dariana’s arm. “So Luke and I were talking about this journey. He thought the two of us should discuss a way to prevent people from panicking. Food and rest might be an issue as well as figuring out where the children will go. I haven’t seen anyone step up claiming to be their parents.”

“One man was going to, but he’s a slave trader,” Dariana timidly states, nodding her head toward a tall elf with ebony hair. He has a dazed look on his face as he scans the forest, his glassy eyes searching for butterflies. “I . . . changed his mind and reminded him of his love of insects as a child. As for the children, I took the liberty of scanning their minds for images and names of their parents. None of them appear to be orphans, so I plan on asking Sari to help me with drawings. I can give those to someone of authority in the distant village and the children will be reunited with their families.”

“Sari can’t draw.”

“No, but I can guide her hands, which are more nimble than my own. At least that is what I will tell her.”

“What about Luke?”

“I thought this would be a bonding event for myself and Sari,” Dariana answers, fearing that she has made a mistake. She glanced at the gypsy, who is trying to convince Delvin to carry one of the little boys on his shoulders. “I sensed the most amount of hate from her, but it stemmed from being protective of everyone else. My lineage makes me a potential threat in her mind, which is understandable after her dealings with my brother and what happened with Kayn. I don’t believe the others will be as easily accepting of me as you are, Nyxie. Why are you trusting me so quickly?”

“First, only Sari calls me Nyxie,” the caster explains with a friendly smile. She snaps her fingers to hide the rest of their conversation from the ears of the curious crowd. “I read a thought within your memories that carried over the years. It was always there. You fear that you were born to be a weapon, so this prophecy is the only reason you exist. No dreams for the future because you don’t feel . . . human enough to get the chance to live a simple life. Every use of your powers and every event that deals with your destiny makes you question who or what you truly are. I feel the same way.”

“I sensed that about you, but I don’t see why you feel that way.”

Nyx sighs and rubs her amethyst necklace, the smooth facades an odd comfort. “I’ve been told of my destiny since I was a very small child. No matter what I did, I thought about how my path would be affected. I focused on combat magic and being tough because I knew I would grow up to fight. Every friend was kept at a distance because none of them could follow me. At least until I met Luke and drunkenly made him promise to help me. Look, Dariana, we might not be identical in background, but both of us have matured into the same mentality. If you can even call it maturing. Anyway, it’s only recently that I started believing I could dream beyond the final battle with the Baron. You can do the same.”

Dariana flicks Nyx’s nose, which removes her memories from the half-elf’s mind. With a swift wave of her hand, she catches the rising spark and rolls it in her palm. The energy spreads into a small pool and flows up the woman’s arm, slipping beneath her tattered sleeve and reappearing on her neck. The liquid memories go into her ear and she mumbles as if having a private conversation with them.

“It appears you took very little advantage of my memories. Are you like the others and scared to learn about me? Did you really only keep them for this long because you didn’t want to upset me?”

“It felt wrong looking through your life instead of hearing about it,” Nyx answers, nervously running her hands through her hair. She lets a few trails of fire roll through her short locks, the display earning her a few curious stares. “I know that previous champions refused to learn more about you once Stephen revealed your lineage. That was very cruel of them. Yet the answer isn’t to make yourself an open book since you did nothing wrong. It was our predecessors who were in the wrong. You’re a living creature who needs friends, so share your story with us as we travel.”

“I will try my best,” Dariana promises as she scans the crowd. A few powerful emotions strike her mind and her mouth goes dry, the taste of iron appearing on her tongue. “Something is wrong. The barbarians are gone. All five of them. I’ll catch up.”

“Good luck,” Nyx says while she watches the silver-haired woman sprint into the forest.

*****

Timoran catches the stone maul by the handle and casually tosses the blonde barbarian to the side. His great axe is still strapped to his back and he refuses to draw it while his armed enemies circle him. The heavily scarred man with a notched broadsword fakes an attack to draw the adventurer’s attention, but the older warrior does not take the bait. The swordsman’s companion does not realize their plan has failed and continues his sneak attack. Timoran steps aside and pushes the charging spearman ahead, using the youth’s momentum to knock him off his feet. A black-haired barbarian in chainmail anxiously watches and waits for an opportunity to strike with his sapphire axe. Every time he thinks the veteran is distracted, he inches forward and stops when Timoran whirls around to face him.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” the redheaded champion says as he turns to watch all of his enemies.

“That makes our job easier,” the axe-wielding barbarian states with a grin. “We weren’t sure it was you until we heard that warrior say your name. Now that we know, we can claim the bounty on your head.”

“And we only need the head too,” the spearman jokes, chuckling at his own joke. He frowns at his armored leader and holds out his hands. “Why aren’t you laughing, Alanik?”

“Shut up, Ralgin.”

“Ralgin and Alanik. That means the other two must be Sentrent and Banton,” Timoran says, his hand falling to the handle of his great axe. He sees the swordsman and maul fighter nervously glance at their leader. “What reward could four deserters claim? You would be arrested upon your return to the tribe.”

“He’s right, Alanik,” Sentrent says, letting the tip of his sword drop toward the ground. “I think we should forget about this. Besides, we were never able to beat Timoran in the sparring sessions. He’s legendary.”

“At least he was before his exile,” Banton points out, his voice gravelly and deep. He swings his maul over his head and slams it into a small tree, knocking it over. “I say we stop being nice and take his head. The reward didn’t say we need to bring him in alive.”

Ralgin chuckles and spins his spear in anticipation. “That’s what I said.”

“Will all of you shut up?” Alanik angrily growls. “Timoran has a point. We’re as wanted as he is, but bringing him back alive would help us gain some forgiveness. Killing him makes us mindless mercenaries. Alive shows we’re interested in justice, which would appeal to King Edric’s honor. Aim for the limbs or try to knock him out.”

The barbarians start to close in, but they are paralyzed after a few steps. Their attempts to speak are thwarted by lockjaw and their muscles quiver with impotent rage. When Alanik tries to back away from Timoran, his body is freed and he signals for the others to do the same. The snapping of a twig draws their attention to Dariana, who tosses the broken branch to the ground at Ralgin’s feet. The silver-haired woman looks uncertain as to what she should do next, so she rubs her temples with her knuckles.

Being the closest to her, Banton drops his maul and rushes forward with his burly arm out to grab Dariana. He is surprised when she leans to the side and delivers a quick jab to his armpit. The force of the blow numbs his limb, which he stubbornly swings like a fleshy club. Dariana effortlessly dodges the haphazard attacks, backing toward Ralgin who readies his spear. He stabs at the woman, but his muscles painfully lock a few inches short of hitting her. Banton freezes in mid-flail and growls as the champion steps out from between the two barbarians.

“I’m sorry, but I need to ask a question before continuing,” she says with a small bow to Timoran. Deciding to make a show of her powers, she snaps her fingers to free Banton and Ralgin from their paralysis. “I’m not sure what this is about or why you refuse to truly fight back. I will fight in your place to relieve you of the threat of killing your kinsmen. Do you wish for them to die, be injured, or simply knocked unconscious?”

“You’re not going to hide behind this woman, are you?” Alanik mockingly asks, tossing his axe from hand to hand. Being smart enough to know the stranger is some kind of caster, the man’s dilated eyes reveal his fear. “Do you know you’re helping a criminal?”

Dariana meets the deserters’ leader with a confident gaze that sends a chill through all of her enemies. “He’s my ally and I know him to be a good man. I don’t know the details, but I sense this is a complicated situation. Still I will side with my companion.”

“She’s not normal,” Sentrent whispers to his leader. “Let’s run away.”

“Shut up, Sentrent!” Alanik shouts, throwing a rock at the cowardly warrior’s head. “We outnumber them and she’s so scrawny. Even if she froze us, we know where they’re going and will catch up easily. After all, we won’t have a herd of farmers slowing us down.”

“Magical paralysis would be a blessing after I’m done with all of you.”

Timoran laughs at the primal fear on the barbarians’ faces and takes a seat in the middle of the circle. “My hands are tied because I swore to never shed the blood of my tribe. Even these deserters are protected by my oath. All I ask is that you keep them alive and in a condition where they can travel to the village.”

Dariana sprints at Ralgin and lands a flying kick to his chest, sending the larger fighter crashing through a full grown tree. Banton and Sentrent rush forward with their weapons held high, slamming them into the ground where their opponent once stood. The nimble woman swings out of the branches and gracefully lands behind the swordsman. She delivers a powerful kick to the back of Banton’s legs, flipping him off his feet. Before he lands, she drives her elbow into his stomach and knocks the wind out of his lungs. Sentrent cautiously moves away from Dariana as Ralgin erupts from the forest with another roaring charge. Leaping at the enraged barbarian, the champion grabs the spear and hoists him off the ground. Spinning on her toes, she hurls him at Sentrent, who dives to the side and lets Ralgin slam into a boulder. With a lightning quick kick, she sends the swordsman rolling through some thorn bushes and into a stump where he remains whimpering and holding his jaw.

The sound of a blade moving through the air causes Dariana to spin around, catching the throwing axe an inch from her face. She drops the weapon and moves to step out of Alanik’s way, frowning when the black-haired barbarian stops short. His tight swings are met with precise bare-handed blocks that hit the axe head with the same amount of force as its owner. A few stiff kicks strike the armored warrior, but Dariana is unable to use her full strength as she maintains a protective coating on her hands. Dropping her defenses, she lets one slash come narrowly close to her chest, the edge nicking her shirt. With a fluid motion, she grabs Alanik’s wrist and yanks him off-balance. The silver-haired woman’s leg shoots up to ram her bare foot into his jaw and fill the area with a painful crunch. The cursing warrior crumples to his knees and spits out several teeth, his dominant arm hanging useless at his side.

“We should return to the others,” she tells Timoran, a sense of urgency in her voice.

“Let us make sure they are out.”