by Steve Vera
And something else.
All magic-users, but especially Magi, had a sixth sense. The ability to feel another magic-user. It was like a scent with a color with weight, and right now, Gavin was detecting a presence he hadn’t felt since childhood.
“Is there somebody downstairs?” he asked, swinging his legs around, aided by the spike of adrenaline that flashed through him.
“How’d you know?”
Gavin attempted to stand, made it two inches off the blanket and then plopped back down. He closed his eyes and it was like each eyeball was coated in sand. “Anybody I know?” he asked, making another play at going vertical. This time he succeeded. Thank God for plush rugs. His clothes had been cleaned, his armor wiped of blood and he could smell frying eggs and bacon. His stomach gurgled.
“You’ll see. How do you feel?”
Gavin stretched and looked down at his body pleasantly surprised; he was healed. Mostly. That must have been extremely difficult. “Better than I did before. I don’t even remember going to bed.”
“You look better,” Amanda said with a smile. “That little hussy did good work.” She tousled his hair. “You almost look normal again.”
“Hussy?”
Amanda nodded.
“What are you talking about?”
“One of the healers. She was way too pretty,” she said with a smile and brushed his hair off his forehead.
“How many times did she have to try?”
“Six.”
Gavin nodded. “I’ve been healed so many times, Amanda, I’m almost immune.”
“So I learned. It’s a good thing Dwensolt was around. Did you know that he’s, like, a really powerful Druid? The healer seemed downright daunted when she figured him out.”
Gavin began assembling himself, starting with his pants. “He’s an Arch-druid, baby, about as powerful as they get.”
“Even for a quartet of Shardyn?”
“Well, I said ‘about,’” he said with a wink. “I love waking up and seeing your face by the way.” She was still sporting her Victoria’s Secret sassy hairstyle she’d had cut in New York, and though it felt like centuries, Gavin realized they hadn’t been on Theia for even four weeks. Not even long enough for a hairstyle to grow out. “I feel two million times better.”
They gazed at each other and somehow, from under the rubble of his exhaustion, dread and rage, he got a little butterfly in his stomach. Just like it used to be.
“Have I told you lately that I love you?” he asked.
She blinked and then shook her head sadly. “No, you haven’t.”
It was like a knife through his ribs. After everything she’d been through, all the fear and dread and monsters... He dropped his head. Gavin, you are a jerk. After a deep breath he brought it back up and looked her right in the eyes, bared himself open and let her see. “I love you, Amanda.”
She grabbed him and hugged him ferociously, toppling him back onto the bed. His body immediately responded.
“C’mere,” he whispered and pulled her face to his. “Mind if I steal a kiss?”
“How you going to pay me back?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Gavin glanced at the candle clock. “We’ve got a little time,” he said, unable to keep that gravelly rasp out of his voice when he got turned on. Now that the filter of dread had been removed, all he saw was her radiance—full, sensuous lips, soft skin and hazel eyes that could swallow him whole.
“No, Gavin, we don’t.” She shook her head sadly and looked right in his eyes, wrapped her long, cool fingers right around his hardness, gave it a sensual squeeze, and Gavin gasped. “I’m such a tease,” she whispered in his ear. “There’s somebody downstairs waiting for you.”
“I don’t much care about that,” he moaned and pushed into her hand. She smiled, both with tragic regret and mild amusement.
The one, cataclysmic drawback from being a Magi was the link between sex and the depletion of the a Magi’s Wellspring. Of course, coming so close to death yet again, he really didn’t care. She was his fiancée. What was life without love and everything that came with it? They weren’t married, he knew, and had there been a homeland to go back to, he would have been held accountable for breaking his oath to his order. But he’d known that from the very beginning.
It was a charge he was prepared to be judged for.
“Come here, Amanda, just five minutes. All right, ten minutes—”
Amanda sighed, and he could see the seriousness in her stare. “Gavin, I know how it works now, and if ever there were a day for you to need every milligram of strength and energy...” She glanced out the window. “Then that day is today. If something actually happened to you, and you were weaker than you’d normally be because of me...I’d probably kill myself.”
Since when was she the responsible one? “Fine,” he growled. “Who’s downstairs?”
“They told me not to say anything.”
“Hmmph, a surprise then.” He picked up his aketon and gave it a quick lookover. There were definitely some new scars in it, even a place that had been penetrated, though whoever had worked on it had done a good job, considering the lack of time. “As long as it’s a good surprise, I guess.”
Amanda helped him encase his torso and began fastening it.
“Is it an Elf?”
She paused buckling his strap. “As a matter of fact, it is.” She turned his face with her fingers. “How did you know that?”
“When you’re good, you’re good,” he said with a blasé shrug. “Girl or guy?”
“Guy.”
An undeniable twinge of disappointment folded up in his stomach. He wasn’t quite sure why. Well, of course he did. Battle-fatigue and irrationality were common partners. “You just gonna keep looking at me or are you going to help me with the rest of this? Chop, chop.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, nibbled his neck and with an acquired practiced ease helped him transform back into a Knight of the Shard. The silence was mutual, somber and electric. He was only too aware of her skin gliding against his.
“I always wanted a squire,” he commented after she was done, though all things being equal, he’d rather not ever have to put armor on again.
She opened the door. “Shall we?” she asked and nearly walked into a wall named Tarsidion.
“Little lady,” he said with a tip of his Apache-haired head.
“Don’t you guys ever get tired of walking around like ninjas?”
He smiled, but it was a polite smile. He had business to discuss. Behind him were Noah, Cirena and Sir Taksony.
“I guess you’ll want to be talking to Gavin.”
“Wise beyond words,” Noah said from behind.
Amanda turned and gave him a big I-love-you-smile and planted a soft, sensual kiss right on his lips. “I’ll be downstairs.”
He watched her walk down the stairs regretfully, though he noted she was a bit lighter on her feet.
“You look rested, Stavengre,” Cirena offered once they were alone.
“So do you. Those weren’t some second-rate healers Dwensolt splurged on. Those were some of the best on Theia, Aphrodite healers.”
A glance through the two windows revealed an unnaturally dark sky marching right for them.
Cirena started things off. “I think we should leave Nu’rome,” she said and raised her chin slightly.
“And go where?” Noah asked.
“Valis.”
Gavin slumped his shoulders and grit his teeth. Back to reality and the end of the world. “All attempts to hail them have failed, Cirena. There is nothing in the wind, no whispers on the sun’s rays or moons’ light. There is no more Valis.”
“I will believe that when I see it with my eyes. Know this, Stavengre, after this battle I will
go and I will see.” She looked at the rest of them, made her case with a seldom seen eagerness that thawed the purple ice in her eyes. Even the possibility of some lingering vestiges of home was seductive; Gavin easily imagined the Seneschal and Seers laying low, waiting for the right moment to reappear.
“If we leave, we abandon Nu’rome to die.”
“If we stay, Nu’rome still dies. They won’t be able to hold out this time, not with three of their armies in the field. They’re doomed, and you know it. We all do.”
And that was the truth of it. Her words were like naked fists.
“And of the innocents? Those who cannot fight for themselves?” Taksony continued.
“There is a whole world to save, Sir Taksony,” Cirena said. “What of the innocents beyond these walls?”
Taksony leaned back, his clear blue eyes churning with contemplation. All of them were. After a moment he spoke again. “I see through the prism of your thoughts, Sur Cirena, but it would be wrong to leave when we are needed so badly. I would rather fight the Drynn here than in the middle of a wilderness by ourselves. We should fight.”
The two stared at each other.
“Who’s downstairs, by the way?” Gavin asked.
“Ladom’er the Merciless,” Noah said with sly smile.
“No shit? Really? When did he get here?”
“He’s not going anywhere. He’s made a new friend.”
“Ladom’er doesn’t have any friends.”
“Yeah, well, neither does Donovan.”
Gavin had to laugh. It was funny. Two peas in pod. “All right, all in favor of staying to fight the Drynn at Nu’rome, say ‘aye,’” Gavin said. Noah and Taksony answered immediately. “Opposed?” Tarsidion and Cirena answered immediately. Which made it a tie. Which meant that Gavin’s own vote was going to decide the path they’d take.
Of course.
He got up and went to the window. Not only could they hear the distant guttural voices of the Flyborne in the darkness and clouds above, but now it was possible to see the occasional flicker of their wings. In an hour the darkness would be over the city.
“We split up. Tarsidion and Cirena, head to Valis. Noah, Taksony and his men and I will stay. We’ll rally at Valis.”
“Absolutely not,” Cirena said. “We do not separate and that is non-negotiable. We either stay or go, Stavengre. Which will it be?”
The streets were almost empty now. In the interim of his sleep, those who were leaving had gotten out, and those who were staying were hidden. Buckled down. The only ones in the streets were the formations of marching Legionnaires and white ripples of Sorcerer’s robes.
Gavin turned and faced the four of them. What would Lucian do?
“We stay.”
* * *
Nobody would ever accuse Skip of living a boring life. Just how Gavin and company could possibly know the reigning champion of the Gladiatorial Games a hundred and thirty-seven years from their future was beyond Skip, but here it was, happening in front of him.
“You finally look like a man,” Ladom’er said in his melodic, border-line hypnotic alto voice.
“And you look exactly the same, Ladom’er,” Gavin said. “Barring your new markings.”
Ladom’er looked down at his rune covered arms. There were so many of them that it was difficult to see their designs. “I have taken many heads since you left.”
“So it would seem.”
It was like two old friends who’d been in a ten-year fight meeting for the first time since, or in this case, a hundred and thirty-seven year fight. Skip wasn’t the only one watching either; the Dark Elf and Gavin had every person’s attention, including Donovan’s.
“I heard of Lucian’s fall,” Ladom’er said with a bow. “I was saddened deeply. The world will never be the same.”
“Thank you.” An answering nod. As a detective Skip had always been fascinated with the different ways people retained composure. Gavin was the type who just went dead for a second, detached and then flew back. For a warrior, it was a good way to be. Not so good for a family man. “I’m sorry I was unable to protect Alyssandra,” Gavin added, and though it could have been the blending of the commotion from outside of a particularly loud marching serjeant, Skip could have swore Gavin’s voice had just cracked.
“A hundred years ago I would have taken your head,” Ladom’er said evenly.
Gavin’s eyes frosted over. “You would have tried.”
A cold shark’s smile followed. Gavin met it with a wall of ice.
“We are honored that you are here, Ladom’er,” Noah interjected smoothly. “To what do we owe the privilege of your visit?”
The Dark Elf’s smile warmed. “It is good to see some things remain the same, Sur Noahvden.” He flicked a casual glance outside the double glass doors overlooking the beach and Northern Harbor. “The Drynn are coming, and if there is one thing I have learned in one thousand four hundred and thirty-two years on this world, it is this—when in a fight and without kin, stand beside a Knight of the Shard. They are the only Men with honor.”
Sir Taksony cleared his throat. “I would say otherwise. The Men of the south know only of honor.”
Ladom’er arced an eyebrow, and Skip was unnerved at how beautiful the Elf was. His features were flawlessly symmetrical, refined, sinister and cultured all at the same time. Gave Donnie-boy a run for his money.
“Captain Taksony of the Southern March, what strange times these are when so many fables and lost heroes gather. It is not often that I can say such things, but this,” he said, holding up a long slender finger, “is a first. And forgive me, Captain Taksony, long has it been since I’ve had need to consider the Cavaliers of the Southern March when referring to the world of Men. The chivalry of all mankind diminished the day the Southern March fell.”
Taksony nodded and accepted the apology.
“I must admit, I became aware of your existence from an unorthodox introduction.” The Dark Elf tossed his almond, silver-flecked gaze toward Donovan, who was doing what he always did...lurking. “You have most intriguing friends.”
Skip got the impression that Ladom’er had used the word intentionally.
“He’s not my friend,” Gavin said.
Ladom’er chuckled musically. “I thought not, but you are in the same company, yes?”
Skip watched Gavin look at Donovan. His shades were back. His military tactical jacket and black fatigues had been washed and looked crisp. A couple of rips, though. Skip wondered when he’d make the switch to Theian attire.
“Yes,” Gavin finally answered. “We are in the same company. Are you offering your sword, Ladom’er?”
“I am extending an invitation—the Olympians will make their stand at the Hall. It is ideal for defense and there are many tunnels leading away from the city, should the battle go badly. I know them like the lines of my hands.”
Gavin considered the proposal. “We will be on the ramparts and with the Legions.” He passed his gaze over Amanda, Skip, and Donovan. “I presume you have a plan, Donovan.”
“Of course.”
“Which is?”
Donovan took his time in answering. “The Hall of Olympians.”
Gavin nodded. “You okay with that, Skip?”
Skip looked down at the M107 Brontosaurus Killer between his legs. “Just gimme something to shoot at.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. Let’s not split up any more than we have to.”
“How ’bout it, Donnie-boy? You want company?”
“Just don’t get in my way.”
Skip turned back to Gavin. “Gotta love that guy. He’s sunshine and flowers wrapped in a rainbow.”
“Dwensolt?”
“Where do you think I could be of the most worth, Sur Stavengre?” he
asked. Dwensolt’s eyes these days were focused in the same direction.
What do you think he’s gonna say, Crazy-eyes? Protecting Amanda’s ass, where else?
“I’m sure the Olympians will welcome such a powerful ally as an Arch-Druid.”
Dwensolt nodded. “So be it.”
Gavin picked up a tall, narrow-shaped crystal glass similar to a champagne flute and half filled it with red wine. He held it up.
Everybody looked around for whatever they were drinking and matched him.
“You too, Donovan. We’re all in this one together.” A stare, a shrug, and then a cup of tea. Fourteen glasses were raised.
“To victory,” he said in a low, powerful voice.
“To Victory!” everyone called out. Except for Donovan.
Dong!
The voices of the two Legionnaires standing guard outside their quarters (compliments of the Legatus) rattled off to each other. There was the sound of running boots in military precision, accompanied by the yell of a Centurion.
Dong!
The Bells of Nu’rome tolled again.
Chapter 52
The seven of them stared out into the darkness. Lightning flashed, revealing the terrifying numbers of encircling devil’s wings. It was in that moment that true fear set into the city. A glimpse of what was awaiting them.
Down on the ground a black fog approached and within it the snarls and voices of thousands of unseen enemy.
How could there be so many so quickly? Gavin thought. It was as if they’d been waiting, already prepared...
“Remember,” Tarsidion boomed out to the archers, Sorcerers, Legions and Gryphriders assembled on the Northern Wall, “aim for the wings, the eyes or the necks. Anything else is a waste of time.” The nervous troops seemed to take heart that such a magnificent specimen of warrior would be standing beside them. Tarsidion always grew when the stakes were highest. He paced the ramparts, observing formations, offering words of courage and wisdom. “The Underworld was going to have their hands full today,” he barked.