by K R Leikvoll
Naturally, I was instantly envious that he was able to get such a beautiful emotion from my Lord, but I tried not to fret. I was his beloved after all.
“Now, off to bed with the both of you. You have much to accomplish tomorrow,” my Master told us. My daydreams of more intimate time with Vince were shattered. I accepted it nonetheless and bowed properly to him once more.
“Goodnight, my Lord,” I whispered, holding onto Misery tightly.
“Master would be the proper way to refer to me now. Run along. I have more to attend to,” Vince said, waving his hand to demand that we leave.
Varnoc and I bent our heads in respect and hurried out the door. It was not until I was nearly to my room that I turned on my heels and angrily shoved Varnoc back when nobody was looking.
“Why are you following me? Leave at once,” I hissed quietly, not fearing his physique that towered over me.
“Our Lord told me that I should not let you out of my sight, and that I am guardian of the Warden. Do you dare to defy our Master’s wishes?” Varnoc asked in response with a harsh, deep voice I had not yet heard.
“Even in my bedroom?”
Varnoc nodded in response with bright yellow eyes glaring holes into me. It was certainly disappointing after falling in love with solitude that I would have to do something as awful as sharing a room with a man that tried to cut my head off only hours previously. I am positive that Varnoc shared the same sentiment I did at that moment. His face was disgruntled, even through his awe of seeing my bedroom for the first time.
I walked uncomfortably to my bed and sat down. Varnoc paced around the room, admiring the furniture and view from the tower window. I did not trust my new companion in the slightest. We had nearly killed each other, and now I was expected to close my eyes and dream peacefully with his presence nearby. However, that was not something I dared tell Vince, especially after all he had given me. Filled with confusion and anger, I set Misery down and crawled beneath my silken blankets.
Varnoc helped himself to my water vase, removed all but his trousers, and attempted to get into my bed beside me. I sat up immediately and tried to use my feet to push him off. He caught my ankles and shoved right back. It was a bad idea to engage in a fight because I was more than willing to cut his throat for my personal space.
So, in a matter of seconds, we were in a full brawl on top of my once perfect bed. I hopped on top of him and scratched at his face as viciously as I could while he tried to block my hands. We tumbled off onto the floor with a loud slam, not muffled by the fur. It hurt too; the stone was only under one layer of covering and Varnoc was incredibly heavy.
“I don’t appreciate you kicking at me!” Varnoc yelled above my irritated screams of fury. “I am merely doing as our Lord commands!”
“He did not command you to sleep in MY bed,” I growled as I kicked one of my legs free. I was able to punt him in the groin and get one of my arms away. My fist almost collided with his chin, but he snatched it out of the air. Another kick to his gut, though he had enough of it. Varnoc headbutted me as hard as he could, sending me into a daze.
I let out another yell of defiance and thrashed in his grasp until he was forced to release me. My wrist escaped his hands and hit him in the throat. It was a lucky strike. My opponent rocked backward. A big disadvantage; I lunged on top of him and pressed on his windpipe with all of my body weight. His hands scratched at the floor trying to find something to hit me with, but the harder I pressed, the less he moved.
Varnoc’s face was nearly purple and bruised looking when a strong hand forced me off of him. I was so infuriated – so drawn to kill him – I almost returned to my task of trying to finish him off. That was until James came into focus. He had changed into black robes and was staring at me angrily. Rather than grovel like I might have done in my right mind, I simply stood and wiped the blood off of my nose.
“What are you both carrying on about? You do realize our Master prefers silence, don’t you?” James snapped at both of us. “Stonebreaker, you do as you are told by the Warden, is that understood?”
Varnoc glanced at me for a moment before nodding to James and bowing his head. I felt rather smug that I was not the focus of his scolding, despite the fact that I had started it. Much like the Everglade, Vince’s palace and coven were subjected to hierarchy rules and codes. While I ranked much lower than everyone at that time, Varnoc was still below me. He owed me as much respect as he owed everyone else. James was not finished, though.
He turned to face me with a disapproving scowl; it appeared rather unnatural to see him upset. “You are not to lay a hand on one another. Save fighting for outside the palace walls. There is already far too much violence here as it is.”
I gave him a stiff nod in return to show that I would heed his words. James and the rumors surrounding him had always given me the image of a ruthless murderer – not someone who demanded civility. After giving us both yet another disapproving stare, he left, shutting the door rather softly for how agitated he seemed.
It was uncomfortable to lie back down on my bed with Varnoc near. Thankfully, he had decided to listen to James and laid on the divan a few feet away. I remember him falling asleep immediately while I stared at the ceiling and contemplated killing him.
Obviously, Vince would be displeased with that, but if I made it look like self-defense I could get away with it. I crept stealthily to his slumbering form with an arrow clutched in my grasp. If I fired it from my bow, my Master would certainly be able to tell. If I stabbed him, I could have it appear as the only weapon I could get my hands on.
Varnoc was slumbering deeply and relatively peacefully for our situation. He did not stir remotely as I held the arrow over my head. I would plunge it through his throat and grant him a swift death. But as I stared down at him, I realized I was stalling. Somehow, he had brought himself to trust either my Master or I enough to sleep without thinking I would retaliate. It was foolish of him.
The arrow dropped from my fist to the floor silently. Stonebreaker would live to accompany me for the sake of my consciousness; I had already taken the life of one who trusted me that day. The light of the sky outside my large window had long faded to dusk. I returned to my bed to enjoy a night of much needed sleep, despite my unwanted visitor.
For the first time in my entire life that I could recall, I slept until I was fully rested. Not one person disturbed me as I dreamt of my Master and forgotten homeland. I understood Vince’s desire for silence; it was peaceful and soothing. Varnoc was not in sight when I finally stretched out and opened my eyes. The soft orange glow of Asinea against the maroon sky made my room murderously red. I never found the color as beautiful as I did in that moment. As much as I longed to relax in my new robe and bed, it was not wise to keep my Master waiting too awfully long for me to make an appearance.
At some point, someone had washed my clothing and laid them on the divan. The arrow I had dropped near Varnoc was missing, so I could only assume he had seen it. It did not matter to me one way or another. Perhaps the threat would keep him in line.
The view that greeted me at the bottom of the staircase was a small crowd of four; Vince, James, Varnoc and a man I did not recognize. He was a tall Dryad with long purple hair. The man was a prisoner based on his cuffs and the sword James had pointed at his throat. He was struggling against something, though I couldn’t see any physical hands on him.
“It’s about time you showed,” Varnoc whispered in a harsh tone as I approached. I did not respond as Vince had finally noticed me as well.
“My beloved, so nice of you to grace us with your presence,” my Master said with a hint of sarcasm and disapproval in his voice. I would learn the etiquette and how to address Vincent properly with time. Not knowing any better, however, I bowed my head in apology.
“I am sorry. My dreams of you were too good to leave,” I replied with a sheepish smile. It was a foolish attempt to divert his displeasure; he reached out and cupped my cheek with a flash in h
is eyes that frightened me.
“You will have to tell me more when you return from your duty,” he said, almost brushing his lips against mine. I was too paralyzed to move. When his arm wrapped around my back to guide me toward the palace doors, I nearly dug in my heels.
The others followed close behind, down the castle steps. Toward the bottom, Vince turned and grabbed the prisoner’s chains. With incredible strength, he launched the tall, purple haired-man into the ground below. He let out an audible groan but was too weak to make it back to his feet.
Vince leapt down behind him with a smirk on his face. I glanced briefly over my shoulder at Varnoc and James, as if to ask them if they knew what was going on. James was too interested in the stars to care; Varnoc shook his head only barely and gave me an equally as perplexed stare. I was far more confused when Vince turned his attention back to me.
“I have brought you a present, Lazarus. An ancient gift… something that has waited over thousands of years for you to emerge,” he said with a cheery attitude. It was odd to me at that time, for I had no knowledge of the joy violence and mental agony to others brought him. Regardless of my apprehension, I stepped closer to examine the man. “Do you know who this is?” Vince asked me sharply. He pulled the man’s face from the dirt so I could see him clearly.
Though he was dazed, his eyes were open enough for me to see a gleam of jade. His tanned skin, sharp teeth and clawed hands were normal for any Dryad; even his broken, wooden horns were somewhat ordinary in the Everglade. I had no knowledge of that particular Dryad, nor did I know what made him a treasure.
“This is Morgan Duskwind, the leader of the renegade Dryads that have been leading a pitiful rebellion against the rightful leadership of Duskwraith. Normally, the sentence for such a thing is death, but he could be of more use than hanging on a tree. It would be a mercy, and we can’t have that,” Vince said, pacing around the injured, unnerved prisoner. He appeared fearful, but he did not move or attempt to plead.
Vince reached out his hand near the prisoner’s face. An eerie crimson glow flowed from his fingertips and into the man’s forehead. At that action, he let out yells of pain and tortured cries for it to end. It contorted his body into different, unnatural positions until he started to swell. Whatever magics my Master summoned forced the Dryad out of his humanoid form.
Morgan turned from an odd, animalistic man to a gigantic wolf. His fur was deep purple in shade like his long hair from before. He looked like he might attempt to take a chomp out of my head, but Vince’s spell kept him unable to move.
With a look of determination, my Master pushed further; a surge of red engulfed the wolf entirely. He howled and clawed at the dirt. It was not until the shade of his fur began to change into a shadowy color that it was obvious something was happening.
“Your wrist,” Vince said, though nobody moved. It was unclear that he meant me. I did not budge, which in turn made James forcibly remove my arm from my sleeve. Vince struck me across my warm colored flesh with an unknown weapon. Nonetheless, it still stung like a blade. Red pooled from the wound and trickled down my arm, awaiting my Master’s task.
Vince took two fingers and dipped them into my blood. His concentrated stare was one I dared not interrupt to ask what he was doing. Curiosity plagued me, but I kept my interest internal. He drew an intricate, demonic symbol in the air, near the wolf’s shuddering form. The symbol floated for a moment before embedding itself on the wolf’s forehead. It sizzled like a brand from a hot metal iron causing the wolf to howl in distress.
All at once, the wolf’s anguish ended. It sat straight up and looked at the horizon. Its formerly jade eyes had changed into a startling color that matched the bloody rune marked on his forehead.
Vince let out a small sigh of relief as the spell faded. James stood on his opposite side and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder in case he needed help standing. It was silly to think he would, but nevertheless he still offered aid. Vince shouldered him away and turned toward me with a slight bow.
“Your gift, Warden,” he said, graciously gesturing to the giant, demonic wolf beside us. Beyond being utterly intimidated by the creature at first, I was unsure of how to respond to such a present. “May he serve you well on your duties.”
Cautiously, I hopped onto the wolf’s back with Varnoc’s aid. I did not wish for such help, but without it I would have made a fool of myself in front of Vince and James. Varnoc held on behind me, refraining from touching me as the wolf prepared to start toward the horizon.
Vince held up a tattered notebook to the wolf’s nose, to which he sniffed. His ears perked and he whined, as if he could recognize the scent. My Master smiled with satisfaction and approached us on his colossal side.
“I want the captain alive. Do not fail me; you won’t get a second chance.”
My Master made it quite easy for us to be successful on our mission. Wolf-Dryads were particularly gifted with a supersonic sense of smell. Whatever scent was on the damaged journal, either Alexandra’s or one of her allies’, was strong enough to guide Morgan forward without being directed.
It was a relief; without reigns, it would be difficult to steer the beast in the right direction. It would take time for our bond to grow to the point that I needn’t direct him. At that moment, all I could do was grip his black mane with a tight grasp and hope I did not fall off.
Varnoc was somewhat more comfortable riding than me, but he was distracted by the endless trees of Azmordia we rode through. I am positive he was thinking the same thing as me. It would have been effortless to escape Duskwraith altogether on such a fast, powerful mount. With how rapid Morgan bounded over the coastline, we could have made it to Evya in a short week.
It is not as if I did not have the desire to flee, but that would have made Alexandra’s death all for naught. Beyond that, I loved my Master deeply and felt as though his gifts were my affections returned. Varnoc’s reasons for remaining loyal were strangely his own. Zaarians were particularly racist to not only Femorans, but to Dryads and new Duskwraith culture as well. He had no recognition given to him by my Master, nor gifts beyond leaving the Everglade, but still he stayed by my side.
I am sure Duskwraith was beautiful before my Master’s rule began, nonetheless I found it to be breathtaking as it was. The glass trees reflected warm shades on the shabby road. I felt as if I were flying on the wolf’s back, as free as I had ever been in my entire life. The only thing that ruined my sweet liberty was Varnoc’s presence.
The closer we got to our target’s location, the more the wolf slowed. Morgan had been held captive in the dungeons for many years. Regardless of his alignment, he had longed for the hunt for quite some time. His fast run turned into a sneaking prowl. I could faintly hear the hum of voices in the distance, though too far away to discern their words. A glimpse of an orange light far-off cut both Varnoc and I’s breath short.
We dismounted off the wolf’s back and crouched low in the brush. Morgan wandered off to the east, into the thick tree lining. It was worrisome to watch the beast leave. In the dusky sky, he was only visible by his glowing red eyes that grew further away.
As we crept closer to the source of the torch, the voices became clearer. They were speaking of meaningless things that Varnoc would translate for me later, as at the time I did not understand the speech of Luxians. I remember how oafish they looked in comparison to Kaedan natives.
It was five men; a small scouting party based on their lack of supplies. Each one had a deep voice and an untamed beard. Their clothing was made of rougher fabrics with less variety in colors. They were mostly dressed in browns and grays. Even their weapons were different; far broader and made of metals I had not encountered before. They paid no mind to the forest, nor how loud they were being. The fallen foliage crunched loudly underfoot. Their mild chatter and laughter was not that of someone encroaching on enemy territory.
Our position was a risky one; if we alerted them too early in our ambush, they would certainly make
enough noise to warn their other allies nearby. I was content to wait until an opportune moment. Varnoc was far more impatient of a fighter. When they turned their backs, he charged in with his massive battle-axe drawn.
I cursed under my breath and followed him into the fight without any sort of plan. I stood from the spot I was crouched and fired crystalline arrows from my bow. As I was told the night previously, the arrows flew through the air silently and into one foe’s back and another’s stomach. Varnoc slashed two men down by himself, practically shredding them in half. The last man that I intended to question was victim to Morgan; the giant wolf flew from an opening in the trees and lunged for his throat. His agonizing screams were loud enough to echo through the forested gorge we were in, no doubt alerting all within a nearby distance. Morgan was just as irritated as I at the sound and snapped his neck to end his suffering.
Varnoc secured his axe and began to rummage through the dead’s belongings. With a scowl, I rolled over the man bleeding from the arrow in his stomach. He was still alive; a brunette man far more youthful than I thought him to be originally. I pulled his dagger from his side and pointed it at his throat.
“Where are the others?” I asked in a whisper rather calmly. He understood my strange mixture of languages that had become the new Duskwraith dialect. The word for “others” was similar to the same word in Evyan, and that was more than enough for him to know what I meant.
He shook his head viciously and refused to answer me. Even when I pushed the dagger on his flesh, he did not give me the information I sought. I saw no reason to keep him alive tortured when he had nothing to offer. The blade was brought across his throat quickly so he would not suffer. Though the bow’s enchantment might have drained his life enough to ensure his death, I did not favor the idea of his allies stumbling upon him still breathing.