The Merchant of Nevra Coil (Legends of Windemere Book 8)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  *****

  A churning gateway opens in the ceiling of the dimly lit ballroom and spits the battling channelers onto the polished floor. The women are covered in gashes that reveal throbbing aura underneath their skin. They can barely move beyond random muscle twitches that only exacerbate the wounds, their prismatic energy flowing across the floor. Nyx attempts to take a deep breath only to hack and cough, which covers her face in the liquid magic. It is a horrible noise that startles the curious and scared figures peeking out from behind one of the crimson curtains. Through her blurry vision, the half-elf sees a lean creature with multiple tails dart out of the room. The sound of retreating, stomping footsteps gives her a headache that is so painful it creates another gash down the middle of her face.

  “What do we have here?” the Baron asks as he hovers over the injured channelers. He reaches down to grab Nyx, but his glove ignites at the touch of her skin. “This is unexpected and interesting. You are one of my enemies and you appear in my castle alongside my most trusted agent. I am not sure what this means, but this is too dangerous to leave alone. I promise that your death will be quick and merciful, young lady.”

  Sparks and bubbles run along the surface of the aura pool that has spread around Nyx and Trinity. A smirk on his face, the Baron crosses his arms as the raw magic transforms into a hulking creature that yawns and smacks its solid belly. The channelers are back-to-back with their heads sticking out of the beast’s neck, their violet eyes glowing even though they are unconscious. With a crackle of energy, the dense form bulges and grows big enough for one of the crystal chandelier to sit on its shoulder. Annoyed by the object, the creature rips it from the ceiling and casually tosses it to the floor.

  The Baron refuses to move when the monster tries to intimidate the ancient warlord with a loud stomp. He can tell that the energies of Trinity and Nyx are arguing over what to do next since their creation has yet to attack. Several times a fist raises to smash the stoic immortal, but the arm always shudders and falls to its side. Tired of waiting for the creature to make up its mind, the Baron draws an elegant rapier and slashes the beast across the waist in the blink of an eye. As the top half falls forward, he puts his hand out to catch Nyx by the throat and lets Trinity gently drift to the floor. The half-elf’s burning magic is swiftly quelled by a muttered word, but she still manages to create a few tendrils of smoke around her skin. Her greatest enemy is about to cast a spell to eject the champion’s blood from her body when his voice is forcefully removed from his throat.

  “I will give this back if you put her down,” Zaria says while holding a dark, pulsing orb in her hand. The object tries to escape and return to the Baron, but she catches and squeezes it tightly. “Both channelers are a danger to Windemere because Yola Biggs tampered with them. Killing Nyx will release her power and that explosion will set Trinity off. I know you want to rule Windemere and not destroy it, Arthuru. Please give the champion to me and I will take care of her.”

  The Baron smiles and tenderly places Nyx next to Trinity, the pair quivering from the pain of their magic trying to erupt from their bodies. Their wounds abruptly heal and he can see their aura squirming beneath their skin like swarms of furious eels. The warlord holds out his hand for his voice and grazes the goddess’s fingers when she drops it into his palm. Swallowing the black orb, the Baron whispers a long incantation that shreds his gloves and makes his fingers glow dark red. With a bellowing yell in demonic, the immortal enemy of the gods plunges his hands into the channelers’ chests. He turns his wrists like they are keys in a lock and holds them in position while raw aura tries to wrap around his body. The energy slashes at his crimson shirt and destroys his ebony cape, the strips of fabric falling to the floor and burning into snakes of winding ash. A second, violent twist of his hands makes Nyx and Trinity gasp for air and arch their backs. The movements beneath their flesh stop and they remain on the floor, their skin and hair having lost some of their natural luster.

  “I said I would take care of it,” Zaria snaps. She scowls at the Baron as he waves his hand to create pillows beneath the two women. “You will turn their aura on again, right? It wouldn’t be sporting of you to remove such power from one of your enemies.”

  “Forget fairness in the game, my dearest Zaria. It wouldn’t be right to cut these two off from their magic,” he replies with a flick of his wrist. A goblet of aromatic wine appears in his hand and he offers it to the goddess. “Their power will return once Yola repairs them. It will be a slow revival to ensure they don’t get hurt, but they will be fine. Thank you for stopping me from doing something foolish. This little one caught me off guard with her sudden arrival and impressive power. Now I can see why my son is so interested in her. I’ll have Nyder send them back to wherever they need to be for Yola to fix the damage she has caused.”

  “You still should have let me handle it, Baron Kernaghan,” she says, refusing to accept the drink. Her body begins to fade away, but abruptly returns to solid form, causing the goddess to yelp in surprise. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “First, you could not do anything because of your foolish law. Unless your precious rule is nothing more than a suggestion and can be broken whenever it suits you,” the Baron explains while creating a table and two chairs between them. A bowl of persimmons appears along with matching mugs of frothy ale. “Have a seat and talk, my dearest Zaria. I do apologize about my current state of dress, but I have had no time to freshen up for you. It has been centuries since we were together, so I apologize if I am mistaken about your favorite fruit. The ale is from an old keg that I keep preserved for special occasions. It is from that little tavern near Urgenhyde, which has long since fallen into the dust of time. Do you remember those days?”

  “I am not doing this with you, Arthuru,” Zaria declares, raising her hand to break the barrier around her. She lets her arm drop when she sees the warm smile on the handsome man’s face. “It was the tavern where we had our first date. I was the daredevil swordswoman of the Longfield Circus and you were the Master of Beasts. Though I had to pretend to be a man when on stage and . . . transform into a woman near the end of my act. Now that you know I remember, please let me be on my way.”

  “Not until you answer my questions, so please have a seat.”

  The doors creak open and Nyder casually strolls in, stopping when he sees that the goddess is still in the ballroom. He looks to his master for an explanation, but only receives a cold stare that tells him to move quickly. With a dry throat and sweaty palms, the gnome jogs to the sleeping channelers and anoints their brows with a green liquid. He winds a golden cord around his waist and those of the women before wiping some of the potion on his forehead. Muttering about how he is not an errand boy, Nyder pours the remaining liquid onto the floor. He closes his eyes while making the proper spell gestures, his hands hesitating once when he nearly forgets the next step. A portal opens beneath the trio and they sink into the swirling energy, leaving the immortals to finish their conversation.

  Zaria waits for the Baron to take his seat before she joins him, a wave of anxiety twisting her stomach. She cautiously reaches out to take a persimmon and purifies it in case it has been poisoned or cursed. Still on her guard, she opens the fruit by running her nail along its flesh and takes an exploratory sniff of the insides. The sigh from her companion almost makes the goddess smirk because it reminds her of when they were mortal. She pushes the memories out of her mind, replacing them with those of his horrific deeds over the countless years.

  “You despise and fear me, my dear Zaria, which makes me want to clear the tension between us,” the Baron says, leaning back in his chair. The red-haired goddess refuses to meet his gaze as she has a few bites of the delicious fruit. “I completely understand your emotions since I did so many terrible things to my fellow man and the gods. Though to be fair, I gave all of my enemies a chance to surrender and was merciful to those that earned it. The ones who were tortured and killed gave me little choice. It is a shame
that you never paid attention when I tried to rule with benevolence alone. You would have seen that I was plagued by assassins, revolts, and manipulative lesser nobles. I was not born into royalty, so I had to work hard to maintain order within my lands. Fear and cruelty proved to be the best course of action.”

  “You could have always given up your throne and left the power for those who wanted it above all else,” Zaria argues, her voice softening against her will. She yanks her hand away when the Baron attempts to touch it, his empty fingers drumming on the table. “I despise what you have become and fear that it will only get worse. It hurts to be near this land because it reminds me of the man I . . . adventured with and how he is no more. When we were briefly reunited in Ambervale, you forced me to become your wife by threatening everyone. That is still an open wound, Baron Kernaghan.”

  “Yet we had the child we always wanted because of it,” he replies as Raksha slinks out of the shadows. He rubs the cat’s head and gestures for Melanie to join them, the scared metal girl pretending to be a statue. “I occasionally look back on that day of conquest with fondness, but I admit that I was wrong. When I made you my wife, it was out of a desire that had been denied to us for so long. My love and rage became entwined and I acted rashly. Truth be told, I still hold the anger towards you and the gods that set me on this path. I have simply learned to . . . keep it to myself.”

  Taking a deep breath, Zaria touches the Baron’s hand for a few seconds. “I never understood why you possessed such rage. You knew what would happen between us when we agreed to free the gods from their own mistakes. Ram said that the chances of us receiving a happy ending was slim.”

  “Slim is still a chance and I expected one of us would be dead,” the warlord explains with a bitter chuckle. He takes a sip of his drink as his eyes become gold and take in the sight of the uncomfortable woman. “You ascended to the gods, which I supported because, at the time, it was not unheard of for them to take mortal lovers. The two of us could still have been together, but then you made that damnable Law of Influence. Nobody tried to stop you from doing something that betrayed the man who loved you and sacrificed so much to put you on the pedestal that you rightly deserved. Even back then, I knew the law was as flexible as a whip since the gods still affect mortals to some extent. That is why I sought to conquer all and revoke the Law of Influence. It still angers me that such a flimsy rule prevented me from getting the woman I swore my heart to.”

  “And I swore mine to you, which I have honored all these centuries. Even though you fell into darkness, I have loved no other man or god, Arthuru,” the beautiful deity argues, covering her mouth when she realizes what she has said. Flustered and confused, Zaria stands and gently pushes her chair into the floor. “You were so blind when you ascended and forced me into marriage. Did you not realize that the Law of Influence would have remained, but we were no longer bound by it? All you had to do was be the kind man you once were and let go of your darkness. Instead you remained the heartless warlord and the prophecy was allowed to continue with Gabriel taking your place.”

  Raksha hisses when the Baron pets her too roughly, the cat swiping at the nobleman’s hand and drawing blood. He wipes the wound away and teleports his pets to a distant room of the castle, protecting them from his guilt-ridden wrath. Grabbing his unfinished ale, the black-haired man stands and reduces the table to splinters with a single tap. His guest’s drink spills onto the floor and flows like a stream until it makes a large pool in the center of the room. The Baron turns his back on the goddess and stares at his reflection in the dark liquid, smiling at the handsome image.

  “Then I am the ultimate fool and will continue on my path,” he replies, a snap of his fingers evaporating the ale. He returns to the ruined table and picks a few persimmons out of the debris to offer to his wife. “My fate has been sealed by our beloved Destiny God and I will play my role to perfection. The day will come when I retake the world of mortals and continue to search for a way to end the Law of Influence. When I succeed, I will leave the choice of who you side with in your hands. I promise that I will never force you again.”

  “How many corpses must you make before you stop, Arthuru?” Zaria asks, accepting the fruit and tucking them into her ivory gown.

  “As many as I need to return to history and reclaim my throne.”

  “There truly is no more goodness in you if you are so callous about the lives of others.”

  “I care about those that I find useful.”

  “So the chosen few will be spared?”

  “You misunderstand me,” the ancient warlord states, appearing in front of the goddess to take her hands. “Only enemies have to fear me. Soldiers, farmers, merchants, and every productive member of my future empire will be seen as useful. I will not sacrifice them without just cause. That is not evil.”

  “It is not good either.”

  The Baron laughs loud enough to shake the castle, scaring all of its inhabitants. “Very few beings are born pure good or pure evil. We are living proof of that, my warrior woman. Even my monster of a son was a sweet child at one point. I do wonder where I went wrong with him, but after so many years, I feel he is responsible for his own actions.”

  “Good-bye, Arthuru,” Zaria says, sensing that her former friend and lover is merely stalling to keep her on Shayd. She can taste his loneliness as it mixes with his burning rage and eternal ambition. “I will hold onto a spark of hope that you find a way to happiness and get off this path. Though we both know it really is too late. Also, I assure you that we will not meet like this again.”

  The goddess vanishes from the stormy continent, leaving the cursed Baron to brood in his castle. Deep shadows stretch across the floor and faint flickers of clawed hands rise from their edges. They absorb the broken table and devour the remaining persimmons while their master’s mood spirals into an abyssal darkness. The Baron curses under his breath when the sound of laughter echoes throughout the ballroom, his skin crawling with a combination of anger and disgust.

  “You are so pathetic, old man,” Stephen teases from the doorway. Clutching a Nyx figurine to his chest, the naked man twitches and cackles uncontrollably. “Pining over a woman instead of focusing on power is foolish and a waste of time. I admit your goal of controlling a goddess is admirable. Though to actually be in love with her? So ends the fearsomeness and horror of the monster that was erased from history. Nothing but a heartbroken mutt pretending to be a Highcrest Wolf.”

  “Watch your tongue and know your place, child,” the Baron growls, his eyes turning a putrid yellow. “The motivation behind a man can drive him to do great things. It does not always mean such things will be for the benefit of others.”

  “Were you always this weak?” the younger immortal asks, refusing to be intimidated. He vaguely remembers a time when he had an inner voice to warn him of going too far with his father, but it has been murdered by his sister’s psychic attack. “My memories are still fuzzy. I’d ask you to jog my mind, but I don’t want to interrupt your whimpering. I know, you can invite the champions here and make friends with them. I’m sure they will be happy to lend you a few shoulders to cry on.”

  Baron Kernaghan thrusts his arm forward, punching through Stephen’s chest before the young man can blink. The warlord’s hand holds his son’s beating heart, the veins and arteries stretched, but still connected to the rest of the body. He gives the organ a little squeeze, which drives the other man to his knees. The position is very much like a deep bow, one that would typically be combined with a pledge of loyalty to a superior. When Stephen attempts to fight back, more pressure is put on his heart until he coughs blood.

  “The fact that my heart belongs to an unattainable goddess is my burden to bear and I will use such pain to drive me forward,” the Baron says, lifting his son above his head. Blood flows down his arm and onto his chest, the crimson liquid transforming into a new shirt. “Let my wife and her pompous ilk cower behind their Law of Influence while I conquer Windemere.
None of them are able to stand in my way and I will sacrifice whatever it takes to succeed. The seas can turn red with the blood of millions for all I care as long as I return to history and claim my throne. So do not test me when I have such little interest in who lives and dies in this world. I may claim that I see everyone as useful, but all of you are nothing more than pets that can wear out your welcome in my world. As for the champions, they are agents of my enemy and I will destroy them when the time is right. Go back to your room and play with your toy since that is the closest you will ever come to owning your precious channeler.”

  The Baron pulls his hand back and returns Stephen’s heart to its rightful place. He hooks a finger around a rib and effortlessly hurls his son back to the door. His mind red with fury, the warlord opens a portal to the Chaos Void and draws his rapier. Within seconds of the nobleman entering the gateway, the death screams of demons erupt from the other side and the entrance gradually closes behind him.

  “Unlike you, old man, I know how to get what I want,” Stephen hisses before kissing the Nyx figurine and biting its head off.

  14

  Kira crashes into the large trash bin while the three Sari figurines laugh and escape into the nearby alley, one of them mooning her with a flip of her blue and red skirts. The heiress curses as she watches the helpful gypsy on her shoulder tumble into a pile of something that might have been edible a week ago. The young woman hurries to help the flailing doll, but Bessaria and Catarina slam into her from behind, the sheep unable to get a solid grip on the icy street. Kira groans and crawls out of the mess with garbage stuck in her ebony hair. A large snowball drops on her from the rooftops, which is followed by more high-pitched laughter. The snow melts when she hits the bonfire insignia on her sapphire-colored leather armor, the garment humming as it warms her body. Kira scoops up her Sari figurine and looks for the ones that attacked her only to get a jet of salt water in her face.