Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Remind me who is running this operation,” Stephen says through gritted teeth. He flexes his hand, which merges with the table and sprouts dandelions. “I wasn’t going to do anything, Yola. Release me and behave yourself.”

  “Nyder told me to negate your vile, putrid temper,” the goddess states, waving to the gnome with her foot. She stretches a lock of green hair to grab some bread and swallows the chunk whole. “This meal is so boring. I remember lavish meals where the food ran into your mouth and worked your teeth for you. A different taste with every bite.”

  “That’s how you ate breakfast and it’s because you only chew your food once before swallowing,” Nyder mentions as he sips at his water. With a tired sigh, he rubs his waxy beard and pets a peacock that is resting near him. “I have to agree with Stephen to some extent. We can’t play favorites here. Killing the daughter would deal a major blow to Luke Callindor. If we wait too long then she may become suspicious.”

  “The girl is distracted by Sari and the actions of her father,” Trinity points out with a small yawn. Her eyelids droop and she shakes her head clear, chugging a small cup of bitter coffee to stay awake. “She was getting suspicious until we sent her to handle those fake nomads five days ago. It took a while to set that up since our dearly departed General Vile controlled our criminal contacts down here. Now she’s caught up in her love life and won’t realize that we’re saving her for the end.”

  Stephen chuckles and reaches for an albino peacock, pulling his hand away when Trinity lances his wrist with a long, piercing nail. The bird hurries into the tropical plants as the man snaps the talon off, enjoying the flash of pain on the chaos elf’s face. With a roll of his hand, the wound vanishes and he grabs another chunk of turkey to devour. The lack of table manners reveals how difficult it has been for the man to maintain his disguise, a task that has left him very little time to eat.

  “I say we kill the girl and enjoy Luke Callindor’s anguish,” Stephen declares with a cruel smirk. Noticing that Trinity is holding out her hand to check her broken nail, he snaps his fingers to repair the minor injury. “She’s fighting with her father, so it’s the perfect time to kill her. The fingers will point at the old man and Luke Callindor will attack. Imagine the chaos that would ensue if a champion killed the head of a merchant house.”

  “What if he kills himself or goes insane or swims to Cerascent or murders a litter of kittens or storms Shayd to destroy the Baron?” Yola asks at a rapid pace. “Oh my me, what if he comes to kill me?”

  “There’s the chance that Luke Callindor will do something unpredictable,” Nyder agrees while he makes some notes on a scroll. He flips down his goggles to get a clearer look at the page and taps the feathered quill against his fat nose. “It’s one of the problems here. The boy has consistently done what nobody expects. Even the gods have been whispering about how he rejected his full power to keep that griffin spirit around. Yet he was still able to injure you, Stephen. Perhaps we should wait to kill Kira Grasdon.”

  “The timing is perfect!” the ancient warrior shouts, slamming his fist on the table. His chair transforms into a gelatinous blob that engulfs him. “Yola!”

  “Inside voice,” the goddess coos as a long straw appears in her hand. She sucks up the ooze, her belly bloating until she releases a dainty burp. “We don’t want the servants to discover us here.”

  “May I suggest another scenario that would appeal to your sadism?” Trinity politely requests with a friendly smile. She licks her lips as the plan swiftly unfolds in her mind. “You want to cause Luke Callindor pain. What better way to do that than to make his fiancée suffer? He’ll feel helpless since these deaths will happen under his nose. Think about it, Stephen. The great hero of the Callindor line failing to protect the family of the woman he loves.”

  “I think I see where you’re going with this, your majesty,” Nyder interrupts, tucking the scroll into an oil covered satchel. “And I like what I’m hearing.”

  The chaos elf leans over the table, her violet eyes sparking with excited energy. “By the time you strike Kira Grasdon down, Luke will already be near his breaking point. That final blow would destroy him. Even Nyx and that drite won’t be able to heal him if you attack his heart. If he goes berserk and tries to kill who he believes is responsible then that will force the others to fight against him. Still I would bet more on him becoming nothing more than a broken husk that isn’t even worth destroying. Wouldn’t that be more entertaining to watch?”

  With a heavy sigh, Stephen walks over to the plants and reaches in to pull a hooded snake out of the leaves. The terrified creature hisses and bares its fangs, but it refuses to bite him. He coils the snake around his hand and wrist, calmly observing the beast as he thinks about his companion’s idea. The temptation to kill the animal is maddening while he touches the vile scar on his throat. Before he loses control, he puts the snake back into the plants and returns to his allies.

  “I wish to destroy Luke Callindor for what he did to me. My hatred of him rivals my desire to claim Nyx,” Stephen explains in a slow, steady voice. His breathing becomes heavy and he grips his forearms to calm down. Gentle cracking can be heard as he continuously breaks and heals his bones. “Your plan makes sense and I thank you for keeping my anger in check, dear Trinity. I’m not myself lately and it’s beginning to show in the form I’ve taken here. I will focus on controlling myself, so as not ruin my chances of getting revenge on that irritating, foolish, pathetic whelp of a hero. Within a few days, I’ll break him, feed his body to the demons, and toy with his shattered soul for centuries. Nobody scars me!”

  Yola claps her hands and Stephen collapses on the couch next to Nyder. The gnome props the sleeping man’s head up and moves a pillow underneath, shaking warm drool off his greasy fingers. He looks at the goddess with a stern expression before going back to trying different bread and filling combinations.

  “You told me to stop his temper,” Yola mentions while on the verge of tears.

  “I did, but I fear he’ll be worse when he wakes up,” Nyder says, gagging on the scorpion meat. “What masochist would enjoy this horrible sensation?”

  “It’s a delicacy,” Trinity whispers as she swirls her goblet of wine. She stares at the unconscious man across the table from her and smirks. “Thank you, Yola. It’s nice to have a peaceful dinner for once during this outing. You may have saved his life because I’m sick of his ranting.”

  The goddess squeals with delight and lands on the couch next to the chaos elf. “See, Nyder, I can do a good job. He thought I was going to make a mistake and cause a big mess that you would have to fix.”

  “Flowers are sprouting out of his nostrils, you loopy deity,” the gnome grumbles over the lip of his water glass.

  “Oh, that’s just to make him look prettier.”

  “How far in do they go?”

  “To his brain, so pulling them out would be bad.”

  “How do we get rid of them?”

  “They’ll fall out when he wakes up.”

  “Tell me how to wake him up.”

  “He needs the kiss of a dangerous beauty.”

  Trinity freezes with a cherry sticking out of her mouth as her friends turn to her. “I’ll go find that snake.”

  *****

  Sari stretches her legs under the table and rubs her booted feet against the calf of her companion. Quill clears his throat and reaches down to push her away, but finds her limbs impossible to move. She stops teasing the young man and goes back to staring at the menu even though she does not know what most of the dishes are. The local cuisine is like a different language to her and she already made a mistake trying to order a drink that ended up being nothing more than herbal ice water. The other diners continue taking quick looks at the gypsy, her white skin and blue hair making her a curiosity. Enjoying the attention, she moves her hands over her water glass and draws the liquid into the air, forming angular shapes above the table. With a clap of her hands, the liquid explodes into a mis
t that shimmers like a rainbow in the candlelight.

  “That was a nice trick,” Quill softly says, waving to their waiter. He points at a few dishes and takes the menu from Sari, handing it to the young man. “Thank you for coming out with me. I normally wouldn’t involve a foreigner in my affairs, especially one who is involved with my cousin.”

  “But the situation has taken away your choices, you find me enchanting, and you’ve noticed that I’ve grown restless in your home,” Sari adds with an impish grin. She leans on the table and licks her lips, making the robed man nervous. “You can also learn more about me through our date. This will only be lunch and a romantic walk. I’m not going to make my life any more complicated.”

  “I agree and have no interest in going beyond a meal and conversation,” he responds, reaching for an apple on a passing cart. The piece of fruit darts from his hands and disappears into the rafters, startling him and several nearby patrons. “What kind of spell was that? You didn’t even do anything to cast it.”

  The gypsy grabs another apple from the cart and tosses it to Quill, pointing her finger at the ceiling as if to give a warning. “That wasn’t a spell. I brought a friend along for some added protection and to keep me company in case you left me alone. He’s supposed to be a secret, but the little guy loves his apples. Now, how does this work? I only know about the physical side of your traditions.”

  “It’s very simple and not unlike the courtship traditions of the north. We talk and get to know each other. At the end of the night, we decide if we shall go further or not. Though, we’ve already agreed to end this at lunch, so we’ll simply enjoy ourselves.”

  Sari nods her head and lifts her water glass for a drink, forgetting that it is empty. With a frown, she looks around for a waiter, but all of them are busy. Spotting a sweating pitcher at the distant bar, the gypsy focuses on it and has the ice water snake toward the table. Sari fills her glass and stares at the remaining liquid in the air. Nothing flashy comes to her mind, so she sends the water back into the pitcher. A gentle chorus of disappointed grumbles rolls through the restaurant, which makes her giggle.

  “How are you able to do that so easily?” Quill asks, cracking a smile for the first time since they left the manor.

  “I’m part naiad,” Sari answers, enjoying the crisp drink against her lips. Her tongue slips out to pull an ice cube into her mouth, the cold running through her parched body. “I’m not enjoying the heat, so this ice water is perfect. So, what issue does your family have with me? I didn’t think there would be any hard feelings if Luke picked me over your cousin.”

  “There wouldn’t be, but things are complicated with the current situation. It has created a lot of tension between Uncle Wayland and Kira the last few weeks,” the nobleman says as the waiter puts three plates of food on the table. He waits for the young man to finish and leave before leaning over his cooked pheasant. “My family has a reputation, which is crucial to business. Kira becoming engaged to a Callindor wasn’t the initial problem until my uncle discovered Luke was traveling with no sign of stopping. Also, my cousin was refusing to test her relationship. This happens more often in my generation, but Uncle Wayland is old-fashioned. I believe you’re aware of her time with Caspar.”

  “I had the pleasure of meeting him,” the gypsy admits while chewing a piece of steak that melts in her mouth. “I wasn’t very impressed with him. From the sound of things, he’s not a good example of your people.”

  “He’s an egotistical lout,” Quill snaps, unable to hide his distaste of the man. “You have to understand that Uncle Wayland was threatening to publicly denounce the relationship. That would have embarrassed my cousin. It’s like if someone asked a parent for permission to marry and was rejected in front of a packed arena. Personally, I think Kira picked Caspar to anger her father. Though, she’d never admit to it to the family.”

  “They fight a lot?”

  “Ever since Aunt Brea passed away during an outbreak of the serpent’s kiss, Uncle Wayland and Kira have argued over her future,” the young man replies, picking at his food. He smiles when Sari reaches over and wipes a tear from his cheek. “This situation with Luke and yourself has become a headache for the family. The idea that a Grasdon might lose to a common gypsy doesn’t sit well with the older generation. We youngsters are merely concerned for Kira because we don’t want to see her get hurt. So, it isn’t a personal issue towards you, Sari, but one must support family.”

  “I understand and admire that in people. It was the same within my clan, but we were more physical in our defenses,” the blue-haired girl states, her voice choking up from the rising memories of her murdered family. She puts a few scoops of yogurt sauce on her food, watching it mix with the meat’s juices. “So what’s different? You talk as if their fighting and the situation with Luke has changed.”

  Quill refuses to look Sari in the face and cuts up his pheasant, jumping when he sees another apple disappear from a nearby cart. He slowly chews every bite while he decides on how open he should be with the gypsy. On the one hand, she is a powerful ally against the Helgardians and has done nothing wrong towards him. The problem is that she is the rival of his beloved cousin. After losing most of the family in a short amount of time, the nobleman is reluctant to cause friction among the survivors. He watches Sari eat her meal and try everything that has been ordered. The relaxed casualness of his companion helps put him at ease and for a brief moment Quill believes they are on a real date.

  “My uncle has been very short-tempered and aggressive these last few weeks,” he says, forming a steeple with his thin fingers. He leans forward in order to converse in a whisper that only Sari can hear. “Kira has taken the brunt of it because she openly questions him and doesn’t always obey. They really got into it when she ventured out of the city and was nearly killed by a nomad scouting party. Priceless vases were thrown, but we’re not sure which one of them lost their temper first. This and other things have myself, Timbre, and Asher worried about the family’s future.”

  “What other things?”

  “Uncle Wayland is really obsessed with this war and keeps bringing up Aunt Brea.”

  “It isn’t strange for a man to talk about his dead wife.”

  “She died ten years ago and now he talks about the life they will have.”

  “You think your uncle wants to die?”

  Quill rubs his eyes and sits back in his chair, taking a deep drink of water. “It’s crossed our minds, but he seems very determined to win the war. If a man wishes to die then he wouldn’t try so hard to live through this. I wish I could explain it better, but you would have to have known Uncle Wayland before he changed.”

  Sari is about to speak when Fizzle darts out of the rafters and the clang of teeth on metal rings. The drite lands on the floor and scampers over to the gypsy with a narrow dagger in his mouth. Patrons scream and rush for the door when the slender bartender leaps over the bar with a short spear. He charges at Quill, but Sari jumps in the way while Fizzle lands on the noble’s shoulder to turn him invisible. Her daggers push the weapon to the side and she steps closer to kick the assassin in the stomach, knocking him into a cart.

  “Take Quill home, Fizzle, and stay invisible,” the gypsy orders, forcing the man back by quickly slashing at him. She is too close for her enemy to use the spear, so he risks getting cut by punching at her. “Let’s find out who you are.”

  Sari darts in and is a few inches from using a kiss to deliver a truth spell when the man stops fighting back. Sensing that something is wrong, she stops and ducks around him, delivering a kick to the back of his knee. The assassin spins as he falls and slams the side of his spear against her thigh, knocking her into a table. Foam is dripping from the sides of his mouth and he leaps at Sari with a sudden burst of speed. She backflips over the table to escape, the point of the spear grazing her arm. With a roar, the assassin smashes the furniture in his path and chases the gypsy into the street where she has more room to dodge the clumsy att
acks.

  “The guards are really slow around here,” she mutters when everyone clears off the streets to avoid the fight. “Why are you still after me? Go to a healer.”

  “Return the scepter to them,” the assassin drones in a numb voice. “They will kill all who keep the scepter from them.”

  Sari hurls a dagger to startle the man, but he lets it fly by his ear. She deflects a jab of the spear and slams her head into the assassin’s jaw, the dripping foam burning her scalp. Waving her hands while moving away, she pulls water out of several barrels left on the street for public drinking. The gusher takes the assassin’s legs out as it approaches Sari and transforms into small platforms that lead to the nearest rooftop. She jumps on the lowest one and is launched to the next, ricocheting off her watery ledges until she gracefully lands next to a camel-shaped weathervane. Sari takes a step toward the edge, but the assassin slams down in front of her, the man having jumped from the street.

  “Someone drugged you,” she whispers, backing away with her daggers drawn. She throws one of the weapons at her attacker’s thigh, the blade tearing a chunk off him. “No blood. I’m guessing you don’t have much longer.”