He shuddered and proceeded down the cobbled path. He passed a pen with horses and another pen with funny birds that couldn’t fly before the path turned into a dirt trail.
He had no intentions of following the trail, as it led to other mountain villages; instead, he turned north toward the remains of the elven encampment. He knew it would take almost half a day to reach the camp, but that didn’t deter him. He thought it might be worth checking out the tent the elves had left behind.
Although the trees covered the ground with shade, he could see the early morning sun peeking through the needle canopy, spotlighting the forest floor at regular intervals. The mountain birds chirped, and morning dew still covered the world. A comfortable breeze cooled him as he traversed the woods on his own. The walk gave him time to think things through.
He knew that Samara probably hadn’t meant to do what she had done. He had seen terror all over her face, but he couldn’t fathom how that made any difference. She had killed them. On accident or on purpose, they were gone. But then, so was she.
All that really mattered now was fixing what was left of the tribe. He assumed Orin would protest staying in the mountains with the clansmen, but he felt like he could persuade him. If they didn’t stay with the mountain men, they would be taken in by a different tribe on the plains.
By the time he neared the remains of the elven camp, the midday sun hung directly over him, and the smell of rot and refuse lingered in the air. He circled around the area where the captives had been held.
He walked up to where he had seen the elven tent, following Orin’s old tracks. Then, he noticed a recent trail crossing over the old ones. Judging by the width and depth of the footprints, he determined that they were only a day old, at most.
As he followed these new tracks, the scent of cooking meat came from uphill. Ascending the slope cautiously, he wondered if there might be more elves than they had previously counted.
Uproarious laughter alerted him to the exact location of the fire pit, and he crouched into a hunter’s stalk. As he moved silently forward, the tent came into view, and he spotted two humans sitting at a fire with a spit, roasting a deer. A man with a thick, black beard sat across from the spit, and a skinnier man sat with his back to Nikolai.
Stepping carefully, he drew closer. Although sneaking into the tent would be foolish for most people, considering how near the two men were to it, he could stalk an owl without alerting it to his presence. Sneaking up on a deaf horse would have proved more difficult than sneaking up on these two.
Very carefully, he entered the elven tent. The space inside was larger than it had looked from the outside. Immediately to his right and left sat two large chests, and at the back of the tent lay six colorful sleeping mats.
Two of the mats appeared to have been used recently, and he could tell that somebody had tampered with the lids on the chests. He had no experience with locks, so when he tried to open one chest and it wouldn’t open, he was baffled, assuming it must be stuck closed.
Pulling out a small knife, he slipped the very tip of the blade into the seam of the chest that lay to the right of the door. Pushing down, he attempted to pry the lid open. A loud snap rang out as the tip of the knife broke off.
Suddenly, the outside chatter ceased. Cursing himself, he stepped behind the chest and shrunk into the corner, taking his spear into his hand and readying himself to strike at an intruder.
No sooner had he crouched behind the chest than one of the men stuck his head into the tent. They stared at each other briefly, then the man smiled and drew a knife. Nikolai jabbed, but the man recoiled, inches from the spear that had almost taken off his nose. The man stepped away from the flaps and out of Nikolai’s sight.
He heard the two men jabbering in Havallan while he waited for them to stick their heads in again. Suddenly, he noticed a tearing sound above him. Leaping to the side, he barely avoided a sword slashing down toward his scalp.
The skinny man slipped into the tent through the tear, and Nikolai stabbed at him. The man easily parried the spear, his spindly beard wiggling below his chin as he laughed at the young boy.
The man barked some Havallan words at Nikolai, but the young chief only recognized “boy” and “hello.” If not for the efforts of Priestess Samara, he wouldn’t have even known the chatter was Havallan.
He darted for the front flap. As soon as he stuck his head out, the man with a thick, black beard sliced at his neck. Ducking under the swing, Nikolai rolled forward and leaped back up a few feet away, landing nimbly on his feet. Turning back to the tent, he saw the spindly bearded man coming back out, and the other one advancing on him.
He stabbed at Black Beard. To his dismay, the man snatched the shaft of his spear and yanked it out of his hands. Dancing out of the way of a swing to his gut, Nikolai turned and ran. Stealing a glance over his shoulder, he saw the two men giving chase.
He kept running, leaping around trees and over roots in an attempt to lose his pursuers. He was nearing the spot where Orin had been tied when suddenly, an elf popped into existence in front of him amidst a purple light.
Skidding to a stop and falling backward onto the ground, his jaw dropped at the sudden appearance of the beautiful elven woman. She wore a green robe, richly decorated with gold and gems, and her face had paint on it. Nikolai could see his own surprise mirrored in her eyes, which appeared even larger as they widened with astonishment.
She started speaking Havallan, not to Nikolai, but to the men behind him. Glancing back, he saw the men on the ground, groveling. They responded to her, and he watched her eyes narrow angrily.
He gaped in horror as she lifted her hand, then flames pillared out of the ground to engulf the two men. Their screams mingled with her shouts of grief. Nikolai saw her large eyes well up with tears.
The smell of the two men burning made his stomach churn. He leaped to his feet and darted away from the woman just as a ball of flame landed exactly where he had been lying. He glanced at her, afraid for his life. He hadn’t been that scared of the two men. He knew he could have easily outrun them, but this elf could throw flames.
She scowled at him and raised her hands again, making strange gestures, and he dropped to the ground. Just in time, as a massive cone of ice shot over his head. She yelled at him, saying something about a bow, another word that the priestess had taught him. He took the bow off and laid it gently on the ground, backing up slowly.
Regarding him inquisitively, she smirked and lifted her hands again. He didn’t wait around to see what would happen. He turned and ran as fast as he could. He felt and heard a blast of heat and fire behind him that sounded like a hundred pantheras growling in unison, then found himself airborne. Tucking his knees to his chest, he deftly rolled onto the ground, then leaped up to continue his sprint.
While he ran, a tiny bead of flame passed by his head. As it arched toward the ground in front of him, he pushed off with his right foot and made a sudden turn. Again, the blast sent him into the air.
This time, his landing wasn’t so elegant, and his air left him when he hit hard on the ground. He rolled over, gasping, and saw the elven woman walking toward him. She looked exhausted. Sweat dripped from her forehead, and she gasped heavily.
He rolled away just as she sent lightning from her fingertips. Although the bolt missed him, he felt a shock jolt through him, his teeth clattering in his mouth.
Jumping up, he watched the elf sink to the ground, completely worn out. Drawing the sword from his waist, he advanced on her, ready to cut her down. Then he hesitated.
To his utter amazement, she was crying. She had her eyes closed and her neck exposed, as if inviting the strike. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he sheathed his sword and started to walk away.
He had no intention of killing her. It didn’t feel right. He had only killed one elf before, and that was to save Orin’s life. Prior to that, he had never killed anyone, and even though the elf was so different from him, it still seemed too human.
Suddenly, she chanted something at him, and Nikolai turned quickly, ready to dodge more strange anomalies. Her words sounded like a beautiful song, much different than any human speech he had ever heard. She had pulled the top of her robe down, exposing her neck, and she pointed at his sword with her other hand.
He shook his head at her, having already decided not to kill her. Walking back toward her, he watched her expose more of her neck, leaving an easier target. Instead, Nikolai held out his hand.
When she finally glanced up, she stared at his hand for a while, suspiciously. Then she carefully reached out and took it, allowing herself to be pulled into a standing position.
She leaned heavily on him, and he was unsure what to do next. He walked her back toward the elven tent, but she lost consciousness as they neared and fell limp into his arms.
Chapter 17: Friendship
Zayra woke to the revolting smell of cooking meat. Opening her eyes to the inside of her tent, she felt a little disoriented. The last thing she remembered was those disgusting human slaves running toward her with the human boy. They said the boy was stealing, but they were the ones wearing elven clothing and jewels.
She had asked them what happened to Aeson and Elion, and they had told her that the large barbarian had escaped and killed the two elves. The loss of her two friends had been too much for her to take.
Furious and distraught, she had expended some of what little energy she had left casting pillars of flame over the two slaves. When she had seen the boy carrying Elion’s bow, she had tried to do the same to him, but he was quick and strong.
Wasting the last of her energy, she had chased the boy down, but he had nimbly dodged her attacks. When she could cast no more, she had thought he would finish her off; instead, he had walked away. In her grief, she had begged him to kill her. He had returned then, but surprised her by extending his hand and helping her to her feet.
Sitting up, she cast her gaze around the tent. Nothing seemed too out of place. The items that had been taken by the slaves were gone, but Elion’s bow rested against one of the chests.
Hearing a fire going and the sizzling of the revolting meat, she became curious and slowly edged toward the open flap. He sat outside, turning a couple of rabbits over a fire.
His long, black hair, worn in a thick braid, draped over his right shoulder. He shared the skin tone of the large barbarian, so she began to wonder if perhaps he could help her. He obviously meant her no ill will, but she had trouble understanding his kindness.
Before she went outside, she crawled back into the tent and pulled out her well-worn tome, settling in to memorize some spells for the day. She had one specific enchantment in mind, so she flipped through the pages until she found it. The arcane words were scribbled onto the cleanest sheet in the book. She had scribed the incantation many years ago but had never used it.
Practicing the words and movements needed to cast the spell, she sat and mumbled the phrases, committing them to memory. After she finished preparing that charm, she set to memorizing some others that she expected she might need for the day, including one that would be more useful against agile humans.
Smiling, she closed her book and found the boy sitting in front of the tent flap, watching her. Staring at the pile of cooked meat he held on a wide leaf, she did her best to hide her disgust. She must have failed, because he seemed disappointed. Elves ate meat, but Zayra did not. The grease would upset her stomach for days, and she found the smell nauseating.
Crawling forward, she took the leaf and set it on top of one of the chests. She looked the boy in the eyes, smiling at him. He returned her smile and studied her nervously. She smirked and slowly placed her hand on the side of his head. She snatched a single strand of hair and yanked. He yelped, covering the offended area with his palm and scowling at her.
Giving him an amused smile, she coiled the strand of hair around her middle finger, then put that same hand out for him to grasp. He just stared at her incredulously. She carefully reached over and took his hand. She could feel his hesitation, but he allowed her to pull his arm over to her.
Yanking out a strand of her own hair, she wrapped it around his middle finger. Singing the words to cast the enchantment, she circled her free hand over their clasped ones, making the arcane movements necessary to cast the binding spell.
Zayra did not choose to cast this spell lightly. She had considered her options and felt that this boy was probably her best chance of getting help to stop Illtud from bringing the child to her home.
The spell was a dangerous one. Once cast, she and the boy would be able to communicate, but they would also be bound in other ways. With quiet concentration, he would be able to discern her exact location. With physical contact and concentration, they could know each other’s thoughts. She could already sense his infatuation, as well as his growing confusion.
Watching his eyes widen, she knew he was receiving some of her concern about casting this spell. She smiled at him reassuringly. Since the nature of the spell provided both involved with the same abilities, mages generally only used it on the rarest of occasions, and only with those they believed they could undoubtedly trust—or easily manipulate.
As her free hand circled above, her fingers twisting in mysterious motions, a warm, pink light encircled their clasped hands. Nikolai gaped at the color in wonder. When the spell ended, the light seeped into their intertwined fingers, as did the strands of hair, leaving a black ring around Zayra’s and a light blue one around the boy’s.
She released his hand, and he brought it to his face for a closer examination of the mark on his finger where the hair had been. She watched him, enjoying his fascination.
When he finally returned her gaze, questioningly, she said, “I cast a spell so that we can understand each other.”
Nikolai started at his ability to comprehend her singing. “H-how?” he stammered.
“With a spell,” she said. Leaning in closer, she could see the same nervousness on his face as young elves display when falling in love, piquing her curiosity.
Zayra knew of no elves who had ever used this spell on a human, and she had always assumed that their thoughts would be simple. This human’s thoughts were certainly not simple; in fact, the depth of them surprised her.
“I don’t understand. What’s a spell?” he said.
“It’s a special way to accomplish things that you may not normally be able to do. But it doesn’t really matter. We can talk now, yes?” she said, scooting right next to him. “I’m Lady Zayra Amastacia. What’s your name?”
The boy’s face took on a red hue as she came closer, and she almost laughed aloud. She hoped he couldn’t see the amusement on her face or detect it in her thoughts. “N-nikolai,” he stammered.
“That’s a nice name,” Zayra said, studying his reaction. His nervousness and his attraction toward her were just like that of any young elf. Turning around, she crawled out of the tent and stood up.
At the fire, she stretched, then turned to the boy, who had followed her out. He had retrieved the meat and was offering it to her again. She shook her head. “I appreciate the gesture, Nikolai, but I don’t eat meat.”
“I see,” he said, wrapping the leaf around the food and placing it on a nearby rock. He crouched down by the stone, staring at the ground. Suddenly, a burst of anger flared from the boy, startling Zayra, as he lifted his head to glare at her. “Why did you take my people?” he asked.
Chewing on her lower lip, she considered her response. She didn’t think it prudent to come right out and say they had been taking the humans for slaves, so she tried to explain it more diplomatically.
“I think, perhaps, that there are some misconceptions between elves and humans. Until recently, I believed humans to be savage beasts, to be captured, trained, and used for services. In the last few weeks, I have walked among many humans. During that time, I’ve reevaluated my opinions on the matter,” she said.
His scowl deepened, and he said,
“Is that what you were doing? Taking them to be trained?”
She bit down on her lip. “I’m sad to say, yes.”
Nikolai stood and shook his head. He turned to her and said, “The morning you took the women, there was a young girl with them, my fiancé.” He looked her in the eyes and stood tall, raising his chin, “Did you or your people kill her?”
“I can assure you that we did not. The young child did that, the one your people call Samara,” Zayra replied.
Nikolai relaxed and sighed, “I thought so.”
Sitting down by the fire, Zayra said, “You survived the destruction of your people, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Nikolai said, nodding. “She also killed most of your people during that.” Sitting across the fire from her, he asked, “Why did your people attack us that night? One of them murdered my brother.”
“Why don’t I start from the beginning?” she asked. Nikolai nodded while tossing some sticks and a log onto the fire. Zayra told him everything that had led her expedition to the edges of the mountains, before they had encountered his people.
Nikolai gazed up at the sky. He had been staring at the fire during her story. “I’ve heard that name before,” he said. “Abizou. Recently. A Havallan priestess. Her name is Samara Havelle.” He looked down at the elf. “Orin named his daughter after the woman, after she saved my cousin from a stillbirth. The priestess told me that my cousin, Samara, is really this Abizou.”
“This is true,” Zayra said, standing and beginning to pace. “That’s why I cast the spell to communicate with you. I need the help of the girl’s father, and consequently, your help.”
“Orin? What for?” Nikolai asked.
“I need to keep Illtud from taking the girl back to our homeland,” Zayra responded, stopping directly in front of him.
“She didn’t survive the destruction of our camp,” Nikolai said.
The Unfettered Child Page 24