Magic After Dark: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Erent left Raisor crouching on the platform while he scouted the camp. The Croagh was a fine warrior, but could not move as silently as his friend. It didn’t take long.

  “As he made a circuit of the fort, the hero found the main building. He counted the windows and created a mental layout of the building, where the doors and rooms were most likely situated. There were noises inside and, looking around for sentries and finding none, he moved closer to listen.

  “‘That’s right, boys,’ said a deep voice, ‘take your pleasure with these seven. We’ll sell them for labor, so it won’t matter much in the price if they’re a little messy. This one, though, she needs to be kept pure. We have a buyer for one exactly like her, but only if she is untouched. We’ll get more gold from her than the others combined.’

  “The hunter almost charged the building right at that moment, but was able to control his rage. He took three deep breaths and let them out, then he went to collect his friend.”

  Chapter 16

  “When he returned with Raisor, they estimated fourteen men in the main room of the building, and a few more scattered about in the other three rooms that shared the walls. Erent’s abilities let him know where people were, how many were there, and how they moved.

  “On his signal, they opened the door to one of the smaller rooms and darted inside. Two men were there, one standing at a washbasin and the other lounging in a chair. The whip of two arrows zipping through the air and then a wet squish were the only sounds, followed by the thump of the standing man falling to the floor. Erent retrieved his arrows from the men’s eyes and nodded to Raisor. They went to the next door, the only room left between them and the main room with all the slavers.

  “As they opened the door, Erent Caahs pushed his friend to the left, out of the way, and then spun away off to his right. Three arrows whizzed through the doorway and embedded themselves in the wall on the other side of the room, quivering. Somehow the men had known they were there.

  “The hero darted through the door, dodging two more arrows as he did so, twisting his body unnaturally to allow the sharpened missiles to pass within an inch of him. He drew back the arrow he had nocked on his bow, and one of the three men dropped, arrow shaft protruding from his throat.

  “Quick as thought, Erent drew, loosed, drew, and loosed again. He didn’t bother looking at the result, instead scanning the rest of the small room. The sound of the other two archers dropping to the floor told him all he needed to know.

  “The portal on the other side of the chamber was open, and he could see through it that the men were ready for them, weapons drawn.

  “‘Are you ready?’ he said to his friend, who had sped into the room just in time to see the archers fall.

  “‘Aye,’ Raisor said. ‘Let us be about our business.’ He hefted his broadsword and shook the small buckler attached to his other arm to make sure it was tight.

  “No other words were needed. The two rushed through the door to meet their enemies.

  “There were three more archers among the throng, and Erent targeted them first, the last just before he released his bowstring to fire an arrow at Raisor. The arrow spun crazily and skittered across the floor, embedding itself in a table leg. His friend had already bowled into a knot of four men with swords, slashing with his broadsword and batting aside attacks with his buckler.

  “Erent took two more slavers with his arrows before they surrounded him, too close for his long-range weapon. He laid about him with his bow stave, knocking aside cudgels, knives, swords, and maces. As many as there were, they could not seem to strike him. He was in one place one second and in another the next, too fast and slippery for them to touch.

  “The hero dropped his bow when the crush of men was too close for him to swing it, and he drew his long knives in a fluid motion, slashing at one man’s arm and one’s neck as the blades left the sheaths.

  “The abductors were no match for either of the two heroes. The pair cut through them as if harvesting wheat with a scythe. Before long, there were only four people left standing in the room: Erent, Raisor, the one who had to be the slavers’ leader, and a young woman. The man had a knife to the woman’s throat.

  “‘You will let me go,’ he said, ‘or I will kill the girl.’”

  “‘Go ahead,’ Erent Caahs told him. ‘I am here to kill you, not to save anyone.’

  “The man’s eyes widened. It was the last thing he ever did. Erent’s long knife flew through the air and rooted its point in the man’s eye. Lifeless fingers dropped the knife, and as it fell to the ground, his body joined it. The girl had not flinched.

  “‘I’ll check on the others,’ Raisor said, heading toward the other girls huddled in the corner of the room.

  “Erent didn’t answer him. He was staring at the young woman standing before him. She wore simple commoner’s clothing, a blue dress with a tight-fitting bodice with sleeves of an unadorned shirt coming through it. Her long dark hair fell in ringlets to the middle of her chest, framing a heart-shaped face and dark eyes that looked straight into his own. Her chin was raised, as if in defiance, and her lips were set in a line. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  “They stared at each other for a moment, an eternity and yet the blink of an eye, and then she let loose a breath and slumped as if to faint. He was there in an instant, arms around her, guiding her to sit in a nearby chair.

  “‘You are safe now,’ he told her, when he could speak.

  “‘I know.’

  “Erent gave her water from the pitcher on the table, scanning her to see if she had been hurt. She seemed uninjured, so he left her there to help Raisor.

  “The other girls had not fared so well. They had been used by the men and beaten, so they were a mass of bruises and welts. The damage to their minds was probably worse. Some did not respond at all to questions, while others drew in on themselves as if they would be beaten again. It was a pitiful sight.

  “The two heroes gathered up the girls, took what food and supplies they might need from the slavers, and left the fortress. As they departed, Erent set fire to the entire thing. They could see the light of it for miles as they made their way to a sheltered clearing in which they could camp. There was no question of spending the night in the structure before leaving. The sooner the girls left that place, the better.

  “Erent and Raisor had eaten from their own ration of foodstuffs as they pursued the slavers, supplementing it with a few wild vegetables they snatched in passing when they saw them. The girls would need something more substantial. While the Croagh watched over and soothed the seven, with the help of the eighth woman who had not been violated, Erent hunted a stag and brought back meat to cook. Some wild potatoes, onions, and a few handfuls of mushrooms completed the meal. He even found some berries for dessert. It was difficult to get some of the women to eat, but they were able to get food into all of them, though for some just a few bites.

  “It took them four days to travel to where they met the men from Villen coming toward them on the main road. In that time, Erent got to know more of the girl he had saved.

  “She tried to protect the other girls, to prevent the men from doing what they did, and for that, they beat her. Never on the face—they did not want to mar her beauty—but she moved like she had bruises all over her body. Erent did not ask to see them, and every time he suggested that she put on the salve he had created from herbs they foraged, she declared the others needed it more.

  “By the end of the four days, Erent Caahs was in love with Lela Ganeva.

  “‘Will you stay in the village for a while and rest your feet?’ she asked him, after they had returned to Delver’s Crossing, those mesmerizing brown eyes of hers drilling into him and leaving him breathless. ‘Will you not spend some time talking with me?’

  “‘I…cannot,’ he said, his heart rending even as he said it. ‘There are things I must do, places I must go. For now. I would like to visit again, if I may. To see how you are doing.
May I do so?’

  “Lela’s smile, a soft triangle showing her perfect white teeth, her cheeks raising and the skin around her eyes crinkling just slightly, made Erent stare. ‘I would like that, Erent Caahs.’ She kissed his cheek and fire rushed from it and shot through his body. It made his vision swim.

  “‘I will do so, then, as soon as I am able.’ With that, he and Raisor bade the village goodbye and they went on their way.

  “As everyone knows, Erent Caahs did visit Delver’s Crossing many times after that, always with the aim of seeing Lela. She neither married nor accepted any of the many suitors who fell at her feet, instead waiting patiently for Erent Caahs to come back one day to stay. And as everyone knows, meeting and falling in love with Lela Ganeva changed Erent’s life, and the future of Dizhelim forever. But that is a different story. For now, you know of the meeting of Erent and Lela, from one who was there, Raisor Tannoch.”

  Aeden took a breath and looked out at the family of Gypta. Some of the women had tears in their eyes, some of the men had their chins raised as if proud to hear of the heroic deeds, but all had their eyes fixed on Aeden, unblinking. The boy next to Jehira had eyes widest of all.

  In the silence, Aeden thought that he had ruined the story in his telling, but then first one, then several, then all of the people around him started stamping their feet and clapping their hands. Some whistled and some expelled ululations, and smiles broke out on their faces. Fahtin smiled at him while clapping, too, and his muscles finally relaxed.

  Darun stepped up to Aeden and clapped him on the back. “That is a tale we have never heard, boy. Are you sure you’re one of the Crows? You tell a story like one of the family.”

  Aeden didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent.

  “Which reminds me,” Darun continued. “We will break camp tomorrow and continue on our way. It doesn’t do for the Gypta to stay in one place for too long when the open road calls to us.”

  Aeden’s heart sank. Now he would find out what was in store for him.

  “I have made a decision and I am sure everyone else will agree. You have no home, Aeden, no family to call your own, no place to belong. In this, you are like the Gypta, with one exception. We, no matter where we go, have family. We may not have ever met them before, but as long as two Gypta live in Dizhelim, each will have a family.

  “We would like you to join our family, if you would be so inclined. Blood is not what makes family, but love, respect, and common purpose. Will you accept and join us?”

  Aeden’s mouth dropped open. He had not thought of that. At the best, he figured they would let him travel with them for a time, but this? With the tension from telling the story and the suddenness of the offer, he felt his eyes become wet. Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded.

  “It is done, then,” Darun said. “Welcome to the family.”

  Those around them applauded even more loudly.

  He looked to Fahtin, her smile even wider than before, and she winked at him. She was beautiful, and now she was his sister. He had a family again. He let the tears fall and smiled at the rest of them, accepting their handshakes, pats, and hugs.

  Chapter 17

  The family left the next day, traveling again. It was strange to Aeden at first, moving, stopping for a day or two, and then moving on again. On the road, people bustled around, busy as before, but they seemed both contented and excited to be on the move again. He finally understood what Darun had been telling him about the wandering spirit and the joy of the open road. It was contagious. He was starting to feel it himself.

  The one constant feature of their daily life was the music. It was everywhere. In idle times, someone always played an instrument, singing or creating a song. It wasn’t long until Aeden had learned some of the simpler songs, just by hearing them so often. He began to hum them as he worked.

  One day, as he chopped firewood, he began humming a song that had stuck in his brain. Before he had done fifteen minutes of work, he was singing.

  There was no one around, so he felt no embarrassment in doing so. Everyone else seemed to have their own work to do, and it was just him, the wood, the ax, and a few birds and squirrels. As he sang, he felt at peace and yet energized at the same time. His ax swung to the rhythm of the upbeat song, and he lost himself in it.

  As he ended his rendition and prepared to start anew, clapping burst from within the trees behind him. Turning, his face already becoming red, he saw Fahtin striding into the little clearing, her arm through the handle of a basket covered with a piece of cloth. Her eyes twinkled in the sunlight, and the smile on her face dazzled him. Her long, dark hair trailed out behind her, rustled by the wind of her fast pace.

  “That was fantastic,” she said, setting the basket down on the stump he was using to split the wood. “Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that?”

  Aeden still felt like his face would burst into flames. “I don’t sing. I mean, the Croagh, we don’t sing. Nothing but funeral dirges. Was it very bad?”He cast his eyes on the ground, still too embarrassed to look at her.

  Fahtin giggled. “Aeden, it was marvelous. You have a natural talent. If it wasn’t for the food I brought getting cold, I would have happily sat in the trees and listened to you all morning.”

  He flicked his eyes to hers and saw she was not teasing. “Really?”

  “Truly,” she said. “You should sing more. I like it.”

  He smiled at her, his face starting to cool.

  “But for now, I have brought you some roast hen and some warm bread. Are you hungry?”

  He thought about it and realized he was. “Yes.”

  Fahtin twitched the cloth cover off the basket, and the smell of the cooked bird mingled with the yeasty smell of the bread made Aeden’s stomach grumble.

  “Come on over here and we’ll eat lunch together,” she said as she took the basket with one hand and his hand with the other. He dropped the ax and let himself be led to a tuft of grass in the shade.

  They began to eat. It tasted wonderful, the hen perfectly cooked and the bread so warm and light that it melted in his mouth. Aeden accepted a liberal dollop of butter on his bread, but declined the honey. He sat back, eyes closed, enjoying the taste and the smell of the food and the feel of the light breeze on his body, sweaty from his work.

  He sensed Fahtin’s gaze on him and opened his eyes to see her biting on her lower lip while looking at him. “Your people really do not sing?”

  “We do not, other than the dirges.”

  “That is strange to me. Do the children not hum, sing, or whistle as they play?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “There is no music in the clans. It is…inessential. Our lives are based on combat. Anything that does not help to make us stronger or better at fighting is a luxury we cannot afford.”

  “But surely you have games. Children still play in the clans, right?”

  “Oh yes,” Aeden said, glad to be off the previous subject. “From when we are very young, we engage in play fighting, mock combat. Good Warriors Versus Bad, Chase the Monsters, Hunt the Bear, all of those games. We’re human, after all.”

  Fahtin just looked at him. “What of Ball and Hoop, Tag, Hide ‘n’ Seek, kissing games?” Aeden’s blank expression must have told her the answer. “None of those? Only fighting games?”

  “It is our life, Fahtin. We are bred, trained, and grown to do one thing: fight. It’s why we’re the finest warriors in the world. You cannot become the best at one thing when you spread your focus on twenty different things.”

  “I see.” She took a bit of chicken and studied him. “I like our way better. I like having music and singing around.”

  He smiled at her around a piece of bread. “I do, too. It gives me peace I have never felt. I like how it feels to sing and to listen to singing and music. Maybe some of my clan kin would feel the same if they gave it a chance. Who knows.”

  “Oh.” She sat up straight, eyes glittering. “You should learn to play an
instrument. It would be the perfect thing to immerse you in music.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Play an instrument? It sounds like it would be interesting. But no, I have no such instrument, and it would probably interfere with my training. I have been invited into your family, but I am still Croagh at heart. I will always train to be the best warrior I can. Nothing can change that.”

  Fahtin nodded, her eyes far away. “Yes, I guess so. Still, you can sing for me sometimes. Just for me. You won’t have to let anyone else hear you. We can sing together. It will be fun.”

  “I don’t know,” Aeden said. “I would feel embarrassed singing in front of someone. Plus, I need all my time for practicing my fighting.”

  “Oh, Aeden, you can sing for me. We are like brother and sister. You never have to be embarrassed in front of me. If you will sing with me, then maybe I can help with your fighting. We can train together.”

  He looked at her. “Do your people fight?”

  “When we need to.” She made a motion with her hand, and a knife appeared in it. Where had she had that hidden? “I am accounted a fair hand with a knife.” She flicked her other hand and a knife materialized in that one, too. “Or two.” He smiled at her.

  “I see your point. Fine. We will train together and sometimes—maybe—we will sing together.”

  She flicked her hands again, and the knives disappeared before she clapped and giggled. He caught the movement and saw her tucking them into sheaths strapped to her forearms under her sleeves.

  “It’s going to be fun, you’ll see,” she said, her smile brightening up the sunlit clearing.

  Later that day, as evening approached, Aeden was loading all the firewood he had split onto the cart they kept to store the fuel. Darun walked up to him, a bundle under his arm.