Prince of Swords

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “Trystan fights. Devlyn…Devlyn is too much like his father, I’m afraid. I’m not sure where he is.”

  “They are together, now,” Sebestyen whispered. “Our sons have reunited, as is proper.” Liane experienced a rush of relief. Her boys had found one another, and that gave her comfort.

  Isadora was here, too, Liane realized. Always pragmatic, practical Isadora, who did not hold back her tears but cursed them as they fell. “Which is the eldest? We must know.”

  Sebestyen now looked more real than Kane and Isadora and all those who had gathered behind them, and Liane felt better than she had in years. She was young again. Energy rushed through her body, and her heart surged with love and peace. “The eldest keeps the ring,” she said. “You know the ring of which I speak, Isadora. You know.” The others faded and Sebestyen assisted her to her feet. He smiled at her, even as they stared down at the misty people who wept and mourned the old woman she had become, here in this shore town where she’d raised her children.

  She looked up at her husband. “You waited for me.”

  “Of course I waited,” Sebestyen said, with a touch of the arrogance which was so much a part of who he was, so much a part of the man he had been made by those who’d trained him to be emperor. “The land that awaits is not paradise without you, love, not for me.”

  “I love you still,” she said as her husband led her away from the scene of her death.

  “I know,” he said as he lifted her hand and kissed it again. “I love you, too. Now, let’s go home.”

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN, BUT THE CRIES FOR HELP PULLED LYR forward, as did the light from what appeared to be a fire. Fire, here in this wet place. Fire, burning in the darkness and leading him toward a woman’s screams.

  Rayne was right in suggesting that this could be a trap, and yet he could not ride by without being certain.

  When the fire was close and he could see the figure of a woman tied to a barren tree trunk which rose out of the water, Lyr turned to Rayne, who followed closely and silently. “Wait here,” he instructed.

  “No,” she said softly. “Whatever awaits ahead cannot be any worse than waiting here in the dark.”

  He heard the whisper and splash of a creature in the water not too far away, and nodded. “If it is a trap, I will hold off the enemy while you take your horse to the bank and then into the forest.”

  She did not answer, but he didn’t have time to argue with her. With a powerful mother and two sisters, he had always known that women could be stubborn beyond belief. There were times when arguing with them was a waste of breath.

  Fire burned on the water in a circle around the girl who’d been lashed to the tree. There must be some sort of fuel or magic there, he imagined, since he had never seen such a sight as fire dancing on water. Firelight and moonlight illuminated the girl’s golden hair, which was loose and tangled and fell all around her like a curtain made of sunlight.

  Again the captive screamed, calling for help. Her voice echoed in the deserted swamplands. Lyr approached cautiously, since it was possible this was a trap and the girl was bait. His sword was held ready, to strike at the enemy or to stop time, whichever might prove to be more prudent.

  Apparently the golden-haired girl heard him. Her head snapped around as far as it would go, given her bonds. Her face was beautiful, young and smooth and frightened. “Did she send you?” she asked, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Are you here to finish me since the swamp witch’s creature has not?”

  A splash drew Lyr’s attention to the creature she spoke of, a large, wide-mouthed reptile which seemed to be half-snake and half-croc. The creature swam just beyond the circle of fire. “Is the fire yours or hers?” Lyr asked as he came alongside the girl. From this vantage point, he discovered that she was unclothed. Large-breasted, firm and shapely, and completely naked.

  “The fire is mine,” she said, turning her head to look at him suspiciously. “So far the flames have kept the creature away, but it is becoming accustomed to them and draws closer.”

  “What creature are you that you control fire on water?”

  “Some call me nymph, some call me fairy, some call me witch. In truth I am all three. I live in the forests beyond this swamp, and until now the swamp witch has left me alone.”

  Lyr’s eyes reached beyond the circle to search for the witch, who had apparently used this forest nymph as bait to draw him and Rayne in.

  “Allow the fire to dwindle and I will release you.”

  The nymph shook her head fiercely. “First you must destroy the creature. The witch Beatrisa has directed it to kill me, and as soon as the fire dies, it will move. I suspect the creature will move more quickly than you.”

  “Lyr?” Rayne’s voice called to him, close and concerned and frightened.

  He glanced back at her to find that she had not approached as he had. Apparently the swamp itself was not as frightening as the unnatural creature which stayed close to the bound nymph. “Move your horse to the bank,” he ordered, and this time Rayne did not argue with him.

  Lyr’s horse refused to move any closer to the creature, so he was forced to dismount and send the animal with Rayne, to the relative safety of the marshy far bank. The shallow water did not come above his boots, but was murky and odorous and deep enough for the odd creature who popped up to show his teeth and then disappeared beneath the water once again.

  The water swirled. There were other things beneath the surface, and Lyr could not tell exactly where the reptile had hidden itself. It could be inches away, for all he knew.

  The bound nymph said the creature had been directed to her, so he moved toward her protective circle of fire. Sure enough, a furrow in the water indicated the movement of something larger than was normal moving toward the fire, then coming up out of the water inches from the flame. He swung his sword toward the slimy creature, but it dipped below the water once again, moving more swiftly than he’d thought possible.

  “When the monster shows itself again, stop it,” Rayne instructed, her voice near frantic and yet still strong as she yelled at him.

  How long could it stay beneath the water? How far could it travel? Could it move as well on land as it did beneath the water? Would it turn on him, or worse, could it race to shore and attack Rayne’s mount? He could imagine too well Rayne being thrown off her mare and into the dark unsafe water.

  “You dreamed you could part the water with your breath,” he shouted.

  The nymph’s head snapped around, and for the first time she gave Rayne her attention.

  “It was just a dream,” Rayne argued.

  “Try,” he said. “Look for an indication of movement beneath the water, and try. We have nothing to lose, and possibly everything to gain.” Her powers were very new, and she did not know yet what she could and could not do. The nymph had control of fire. It was very possible that Rayne could move aside the waters which concealed the reptile.

  Lyr saw, directly before the flame, a ripple on the water which was unlike any he had seen before. The creature or Rayne? He could not be sure, but he gave that small area his attention and held his sword ready, gripping it in both hands.

  When the water moved again, he knew it was Rayne and not the reptile which caused the movement. A furrow appeared, as if a large finger ran across the water, parting it. The furrow grew deeper and longer, and as he heard Rayne expel a long, powerful breath, the swamp water split and rose up and peeled away from the muddy bottom, where a long and dangerous creature waited.

  The thing turned its beady eyes to Lyr and leapt toward him, sensing the danger of the blade. Its coiled tail whipped into the air and its mouth opened wide. Such teeth…

  Lyr swung his blade fast and hard, and cut the unnatural reptile in half. The two parts of the once dangerous body fell into the water, which quickly returned to its normal state.

  As Lyr walked toward the nymph, he glanced toward Rayne on the shore. There was little light, and still he could see that she was stunned and
pale. No, she did not yet know what she could do. Her education would take years.

  The fire did not die entirely, but a doorway of sorts opened and Lyr walked through. He sheathed his sword and drew a short knife with which to free the naked nymph.

  “Thank you,” she said breathlessly as he began to cut at her bonds. “What an impressive display of swordsmanship and magic. The two of you work together quite well.” Her smile was wide and suggestive, and her eyes met his. They were blue; he could tell even in the odd light.

  It was impossible to free her without touching her bare body, and as she was without the protection of footwear, he decided it would be best if he carried her to the shore. She did not hesitate to wrap her arms around his neck and even to lay her head on his shoulder. His progress to the shore was slow but steady.

  “I owe you my thanks,” the nymph whispered. “Do you know how a nymph shows gratitude to a champion? You have never known such pleasures as I can show you.”

  She was beautiful, bare, and seductive, but Lyr found he was not as tempted as he might’ve been even days ago. “What is your name?”

  The nymph laughed. “No self-respecting nymph shares her name so easily, champion. There is power in a name, power I do not wish to give.”

  The nymph would offer her body but not her name. She was a magical creature not much different from the reptile he had just killed. Did she have a soul? A heart?

  “We must be on guard for the witch,” he said.

  Again, the nymph laughed. “She is surely long gone by now. She cannot face the three of us and win. Together we have the power to stop her, and so she will hide like the coward she truly is.”

  “Perhaps.”

  When they reached the shore where Rayne waited, Lyr placed the nymph on her feet. Here, in front of another woman, she would likely be more circumspect.

  The nymph walked toward Rayne and offered a hand, as if to assist her from her saddle. “Come,” she said. “I have offered our champion my body as thanks, but he hesitates. Perhaps if you join us, he will agree.” She closed her eyes and breathed deep. “I smell him in you, as I smell you on him. With the nastiness of the witch’s creature behind us, we should enjoy the remainder of the night as men and women were meant to do.”

  “I…I…” Rayne said, ignoring the offered hand.

  “Come now, you must share,” the nymph said. “What are you, lady, that you can move water aside?”

  A ribbon of warning crawled up Lyr’s spine. This creature would not even reveal her name, and yet she asked prying questions.

  Rayne opened her mouth but did not have time to speak before Lyr said, “Her father was a wizard. He taught her many tricks.”

  The nymph turned away from Rayne and looked at Lyr hard. For the first time, he saw something he did not like in her blue eyes. “Moving water is not a trick, my lord, it is magic. Real, powerful magic.” She forgot Rayne and walked to him, her bare feet getting muddy on the sloppy banks of the swamp, her nipples tightening as she grinned at him. She pressed her body to Lyr’s. “Come and take your lover from me, if you dare,” she called. “None can resist a forest nymph, not even one as staunch and determined as this one. One touch and he is mine. You can watch, lady, or you can join us, but you cannot stop me from taking that which I want.”

  Lyr tried to set the nymph away, but she was as slippery as the reptilian creature he had killed and her arms snaked around him as she ground her body against his. She was unnaturally strong, her grip was solid, and she was as much a creature as the thing he had just killed. “Come, lover,” she whispered. “Let us show your timid woman what sex can be when passion is unleashed.”

  He would freeze time and step away, but his arms were pinned down, and as long as the nymph was touching him, she would be unaffected by his magic. He had learned early on that whatever or whoever he touched when he called upon his gift moved with him as others were frozen in time. As he began to work free of the nymph’s grasp, she slithered down his body and placed her open mouth against his penis. He wanted nothing to do with this unnatural creature, but his baser instincts responded. Beneath his trousers he grew hard, and she laughed with her mouth opening against the telling swell. A rush of lust, uncontrolled, leapt in his body, and in his mind he could see the nymph beneath him, he could feel himself inside her.

  The vision in his mind was not his own, he realized, but was one she had somehow planted there.

  The thing who was on her knees in the mud clasped one of his hands with her own, and her lips moved against him, but her grip was not as strong as it had once been. The nymph thought he was in her grasp in yet another way, that he would not dare move away. Lyr pushed away the visions she tried to force upon him, he stepped back quickly and waved his hand over her golden head, and everything stopped.

  Rayne had dismounted, and she stood near the horses with an expression of dismay and petulance etched onto her face. Muddy and disheveled, she still managed to look like a proper lady, and all he could think of was how she’d wrapped her body around his last night. She was a real woman, with a fine soul and a big heart, and she was mightily annoyed with him.

  The nymph remained on her knees in the muck, and he left her in that position as he fetched a bit of rope from his saddlebag and quickly bound her hands and ankles. He’d felt her strength and knew that she’d eventually be able to free herself, but by that time he and Rayne would be far away from this place. Maybe the witch would find her before then, but that was no longer his concern. She was not an innocent to be saved but a magical creature who would have to fend for herself for survival.

  When the nymph was snuggly bound, Lyr waved his hand to set time into motion once again.

  Rayne knew what he could do, she understood what had happened, and yet she still looked startled when time moved forward and the scene before her had changed.

  “We should go before the witch decides to strike,” Lyr said, moving toward Rayne and the horses.

  Rayne snorted. Again, her expression was one of disgust.

  The nymph screamed. “What have you done? Release me!”

  Lyr ignored the naked and bound woman and gave Rayne his attention. “Seriously, this episode has cost us much time,” he explained. “If the witch is nearby…”

  “You are a dolt.”

  No doubt she was speaking of his brief encounter with the nymph. Perhaps she had seen his physical response and misinterpreted what it meant. “I stopped time and walked away,” he said indignantly. “I don’t know many men who would’ve done the same.”

  “Only anyone with a brain,” she retorted.

  “We had to save the nymph from the witch. There’s no reason to be angry. In her own way she was only trying to…”

  The nymph, still struggling, began to laugh harshly. He glanced at her to see that she was using her unnatural fire to burn away the rope he’d used to bind her.

  “She is the witch,” Rayne said sharply, “and the fact that you can’t see that for yourself means you are a simpleton or else she somehow blinded you to the obvious with a spell.”

  “And yet you can see,” Lyr said, angry with himself for not even suspecting the possibility.

  “I suspect a good portion of her magic only works on men.” She followed that statement with a snort. “Those ropes won’t hold her for very long, I suspect.”

  “Mind your own business,” the nymph whispered as she tried to ignite a small flame on the knotted rope at her wrists.

  “They’ll hold her awhile longer,” Lyr said. “Time enough for us to move on.”

  Rayne apparently did not trust his word, not where the witch was concerned. She glanced up, and with her newly discovered powers she called down the branches of a nearby willow tree. This time she did not need to thrust her hands into the mud or sing. She concentrated on the tree, and Lyr watched as those supple limbs wrapped tightly around Beatrisa’s naked body.

  “What magic is this?” the witch screamed. “How dare you turn my swamp agains
t me?”

  “Just in case,” Rayne said as she turned away and climbed swiftly into the saddle.

  Lyr remounted. Like Rayne, he ignored the curses and pleas of the witch Beatrisa. Only a few hours more, and they would be out of the swamp entirely. Taking this route had saved them many days so he could not be sorry for the choice, but he could not wait to drop his boots onto truly solid ground once again.

  They reentered the water, which was tough to travel through but less treacherous than the sloping, slippery bank. The creatures, all of them no doubt at Beatrisa’s command, had gone silent and still. Maybe they were called to her to help. Maybe she had her mind on other matters, like freeing herself. Whatever the reason, he was glad for the respite, such as it was.

  As they slogged forward, he said to Rayne, “It seems no one can be trusted.” Not Segyn, not a beautiful woman seemingly in distress…no one.

  “I trust you,” Rayne said simply and honestly. “Perhaps I can rely on no one else, not until this war is over, but I do trust you, Lyr.”

  His heart sank, and he felt more a traitor than he had when he’d gone hard with Beatrisa’s mouth over his cock and her visions of lust in his head. “Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t trust even me.” In the distance the howl which had haunted this night came again.

  13

  PHELAN CAME UPON THE WITCH WHEN THE SKY WAS touched with gray. He was close behind his prey, but the fact that they were horsed and he was not did not work in his favor. No matter how hard he tried, he could not catch them, and seeing the witch, bound unnaturally as she was, only angered him. He’d been running most of the night, splashing in muddy waters, fed and protected by the unnatural energy of the Isen Demon. And still, he had not caught them.

  For hours he’d been oddly optimistic that at any moment he might come across the witch Beatrisa and two unconscious victims, but instead he found the witch trapped much as he had been, caught up in the limbs of a tree which served Ciro’s bride.

  Beatrisa had attempted to burn away the limbs and had been successful in some cases, but she’d also scorched herself here and there during the inexact process. The beautiful witch was clearly frustrated when Phelan found her caught in twisted limbs, covered with mud and spots of burned flesh and cursing more loudly and vividly than any Circle Warrior he had ever heard.