Scions of Nexus

by Gregory Mattix

  “Sad to see them leaving?” Aninyel’s face was carefully blank.

  Zylka smiled at her. “I suppose I am although I know it’s for the best. Galdir and the others were upset and frightened after last night’s incident—understandably so, yet…”

  “Yet you hate to see a certain human lad be leaving, right? One with dark, flowing locks and lovely eyes the hue of a sylvan butterfly’s wings?” Aninyel grinned her crooked smile. She stabbed a pear from Zylka’s fruit basket with her knife and took a big bite out of it.

  “I take an interest in the humans only to learn more of their ways. They also bring much-welcomed news of the world beyond our borders.”

  Aninyel didn’t reply, only grinning knowingly until Zylka had to look away, her cheeks flushing.

  “Even if I were to feel anything more than casual interest, you know as much as I nothing could ever come of it.”

  “Who cares what the old ones think? If I were a couple centuries younger…” Aninyel munched on the pear, her face thoughtful. “Taren’s cousin has awakened, by the way.”

  “Does he seem well?”

  Aninyel laughed. “Does he ever! And a fine specimen of a man, at that. He strode in wearing naught but a towel while I was talking with Taren—a towel that he then dropped on the floor right in front of me.”

  Zylka could only shake her head, but she joined her friend in laughter. Aninyel was nearly three hundred years older than Zylka, but she had a youthful energy and a knack for mischief, as well as a fancy for humans. The two had met when Aninyel had been one of Zylka’s martial trainers back in Drinleff Kayloria, and they’d been close friends ever since. The idea had been Aninyel’s to masquerade as a servant for the young men so she could observe them and report back to Zylka.

  “Do they still think you a servant?” she asked.

  Aninyel shrugged. “Does it really matter now that they are departing?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Taren seems like a sharp one,” Aninyel observed. “I’m sure he may suspect. I happen to think I make a fine servant, though.” She grinned and ate another bite of the pear. “Although I’m glad you’ve a decent seamstress. I would’ve buggered that up for sure if I had tried to measure and alter clothes for them.”

  Zylka laughed. “The odruneberry was a nice touch, I must admit.”

  “Ah! I thought you’d like that!”

  They chatted for a few more minutes, Zylka glad for the companionship, for Aninyel’s duties kept her in the capital most of the time. With her sharp hearing, she could just make out the voices of Taren and Elyas across the atrium. She could see why her friend liked humans, remembering how handsome Taren had looked the night before, the scent of odruneberry on him, his wide-eyed wonder, frank honesty, and keen intellect all revealed during their conversation. She was disappointed the young men had to leave so soon.

  Yet events are spiraling out of our control. War begins to ravage the land, one which I have no doubt will suck our people in at some point. Yet perhaps one day, we might see each other again, under better circumstances. She sighed, knowing her thoughts were foolish—those of a dreamy girl. I must think of my people first in these dangerous times.

  Zylka stood up and stretched. “I’d best prepare to see them off. Don’t worry, I’ll have the servants provide them with enough supplies for a few days.”

  Aninyel slid out of her chair, as quick as a whip. “Anything else I can do?”

  Zylka hugged her friend, the smaller elf’s head not even reaching her chin. “I’m so glad you were the envoy sent from Drinleff Kayloria.”

  “I wasn’t about to take no for an answer. And it seems you might need me here, with invading armies in the woods and invisible monsters attacking in the night and trying to abduct our strapping young guests. Honestly, I’d be surprised if anyone ever wants to stay here as your guest again.”

  Zylka knew Aninyel was only teasing, but that made her think as they walked back toward her chambers. “With all the dangers lurking about, perhaps there is one thing more you can do…”

  ***

  Taren and Elyas stood near the base of the heartwood tree’s staircase. Their stolen horses had been fed and watered and equipped with saddles. Saddlebags bulged with provisions, and they had full skins of both water and wine.

  Kinnel had the horses ready for them when they descended from the estate after finishing their breakfast. Taren thought he’d spotted Aninyel walking toward Zylka’s chambers on the other side of the manor when they had stepped outside, likely to inform her of their impending departure.

  “Follow the stream until you reach a white oak tree with a yellow ribbon around the trunk, then take the path due east from there. That’s the quickest route to the human lands,” Kinnel advised while they waited. “Shouldn’t take more than two days to reach the edge of Fallowin Forest. Don’t stray far from the path, for there are ancient beings, fey and darker creatures that dwell in the depths of the forest, ones that could prove dangerous if encountered.”

  They assured him they wouldn’t stray, and the warrior seemed content.

  Zylka made her way down the stairs with unhurried grace, a contingent of guards accompanying her, along with the steward and a pair of elders. Enelwyn was with them as well, looking refreshed and uninjured after the attack the previous evening. Taren glanced around but was slightly disappointed to not see Aninyel among them.

  She’s only a servant. Why would she be here to see us off? However, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that the chambermaid was more than she appeared.

  When the princess stepped off the stairs, Taren bowed deeply, as did Elyas. “We can’t thank you enough for the aid and hospitality, Highness. We are deeply honored to be welcomed among the elven people with such grace.”

  Zylka was wearing her woodland garb again though her hair was flowing freely down her back as the previous night. She looked lovely in the morning light. “And I shall ever name you, Taren and Elyas, as friends to the elven people. I regret you must depart after such a brief time, but with troubled times upon us, I understand.”

  “Could I ask but a small favor?” Taren asked. “Once we reach the edge of your lands, could you see that these horses are delivered back to their rightful owners in the village of Halstead? As you’ll recall, we had to, uh, borrow them to escape the inquisitors.”

  “Of course. That is a small matter. Leave them at the edge of the forest. A scout will find them and return them.”

  “Thank you, Highness.”

  Taren glanced over at Elyas and saw he was staring at Enelwyn. The elven maid looked a little uncomfortable by the scrutiny, her cheeks coloring. He nudged Elyas, who looked away, embarrassed.

  “Allow me to give you each a small token in the spirit of friendship,” Zylka continued.

  One of her soldiers handed her a leather belt and scabbard, finely crafted and inscribed with some of the decorative patterns the elves seemed to favor. The crest of House Daerodil was prominent on the scabbard.

  She stepped forward and handed it to Elyas. “A small gift for a brave warrior.”

  The big man accepted it and bowed low. He looked pleased. “Thank you, Highness. You are too kind.”

  Zylka smiled and turned to Taren. “And for you, Taren, I can’t give you anything to aid in the knowledge of your art, but I think this cloak might prove useful in your travels.” She held out a hand, and a soldier handed her a garment. She gave Taren a finely woven cloak, surprisingly light in his hands. The cloth was of some unusual material that seemed to shimmer and ripple oddly with green and brown hues, as if reflecting the earthy colors around it.

  When Taren took the cloak, their fingers touched briefly. He had the sudden impulse to kiss her hand but decided against it. He didn’t want to shame her in front of the elders, who were watching closely.

  Instead, he bowed deeply then looked her in the eyes. “Thank you, Your Highness. I shall never forget our time here. Especially our dinner together,” he added in an un
dertone.

  Zylka’s smile was radiant. “Nor I, Taren,” she said softly. Then she stepped back, rejoining her people. “May Etenia grant you a safe path in your travels, and may we meet again someday, in the tranquil glade.”

  Taren and Elyas both bade them farewell and mounted up. They rode back the way they had come through the town. Most of the elves watched their departure curiously yet remained aloof. A couple children, a boy and a girl ran up to the edge of the street to watch them pass by. The girl waved shyly, and Taren waved back.

  After a few moments, they reached the eaves of Fallowin Forest. He glanced back, trying to commit the town of Egrondel to memory, and was surprised to see Zylka’s distant form yet at the stairs with her retinue. He raised a hand in farewell, then they entered the forest, leaving Egrondel and its pleasant memories behind.

  Chapter 25

  Sianna hummed to herself as she jogged across the castle bailey to get to her training session with Sir Colm. The tune was a bawdy one she had heard some of the off-duty guards singing one night when they were well into their cups, a song her mother and Iris would certainly not approve of her knowing. That thought made her smile, a tiny act of rebellion against the insufferably straightlaced and dull future she was certainly doomed to face as some lord’s wife.

  No, not some lord’s wife—Sir Edwin’s wife. Her smile broadened, and she couldn’t help but wonder where her brave and dashing knight was at that moment. Likely riding near Father, their horses covering long miles each day as the army grows ever nearer the enemy, ready to smite them with their righteous fury.

  Sianna rounded the edge of the stables, nearing her training sanctuary—a space Sir Colm had set up, somewhat secluded from the wandering eyes of the guardsmen and stable boys along with the gossiping tongues of the nobles and servants of the court. The grounds between the stables and the castle’s inner wall had traditionally been used for storage space, but Colm had remedied that by putting a few young guardsmen to work to make up for whatever blunders they had committed to irk their sergeant. As it was, the long, narrow space was sheltered on two sides, and a wall of empty barrels stacked high blocked access along one end. A roof partially covered the space, keeping them somewhat dry and shaded, depending on the weather. It was more of a training alley than a training ground, in truth, but it sufficed. As a sanctuary away from proper court life, it worked splendidly. Sianna felt she could be herself out here.

  She knew Colm had created the space for her sake although the true reason was somewhat embarrassing, scandalizing for Iris, and would have been to Sianna’s mother as well, had she known. Everything harkened back to the clothes she wore—a snug, comfortable set of tunic and breeches—practical dress for training yet most improper for a highborn lady, especially the daughter of the king. Since her girlish body had filled out into that of a woman over the past year or so, she garnered her share of wandering eyes from the men on the castle grounds. Sir Colm, being the gentleman he was, had acquiesced after being subjected to Iris’s incensed scolding and sought to remedy the issue as best as possible while still providing the training she sought.

  Sianna skidded to a halt when she entered her sanctuary. Sir Colm was not alone. With him was a young man, perhaps her own age, and obviously a new recruit to the castle guard, judging by the mail and surcoat he wore. He was a big man, tall and broad across the shoulders, with a mop of dark reddish-brown hair, plump freckled cheeks, and friendly brown eyes. He was noticeably uncomfortable, his unease likely stemming from the presence of Sir Colm.

  “Good morning, Highness,” Sir Colm said with a warm smile. He bowed respectfully, mostly for the benefit of the young man, since they suspended the customary courtesies at the training yard. After a moment, he frowned at the gawking guardsman and nudged him roughly with an elbow.

  “Oh, uh… pardon, Your Highness.” The big man bowed awkwardly, his cheeks turning red, and looked even more nervous at Sianna’s presence, if possible.

  “Good morning, Sir Colm,” she replied, quickly regaining her poise. She approached the pair, curiously eyeing the young man.

  “This unrefined greenhorn’s name is Rafe, Princess,” Colm said, “a new recruit from one of the nearby villages. He’s got even less experience with a blade than you do, I’m afraid, but I thought I’d have him join our session this morning to illustrate a point.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rafe,” Sianna said with a polite nod and a smile.

  “You as well, Highness,” Rafe mumbled, blushing even more deeply.

  “Now then, Rafe—take off your mail and gambeson. You won’t be needing it for this exercise.” Colm handed one of the blunted training swords to Sianna. “You can go ahead and warm up while we’re waiting, Princess.” He also brought over the gambeson and padded leather sparring helm she was accustomed to.

  Sianna took the gear and nodded. She set it aside for the moment and warmed up, first with several stretching exercises and then by practicing some of the sword forms she’d been learning over the past months. During her early training, they had quickly realized that the broadswords and longswords favored by the guardsmen were too heavy and unwieldy for her small frame, so Colm had assigned her the short sword, a blade that seemed just about right in her hands. It was effective both at stabbing and slashing, without being too long or heavy for her to handle.

  Once she was warmed up, she donned the padded gambeson she normally wore although she knew from experience the garment didn’t completely protect her from bruises if she got smacked solidly enough. She eased the helm over the thick bun of her hair and secured the chinstrap.

  Rafe set aside his surcoat, mail shirt, and gambeson and looked on apprehensively until Colm told him to warm up as well. From his appearance, the youth was a very green recruit—he hadn’t yet gained the sturdy musculature of veteran soldiers and could obviously stand to lose some weight. His plain tunic was cinched tight across his rounded belly, and his arms lacked the hard muscle accomplished guardsmen developed. She didn’t doubt Sir Colm and the sergeants would whip Rafe into shape in short order. Despite all that, he was imposingly large and, she suspected, quite strong due to a commoner’s life of hard, honest labor.

  “Since you’ve been wanting an actual bout so badly, Princess, I thought I’d give you your wish.” Colm waved Rafe to go stand near Sianna. “Now, you two face off against each other,” the knight instructed. “Begin sparring, and continue until I tell you to stop.”

  “Against the princess?” Rafe looked from Sianna to Colm, mouth hanging open. “But… I…”

  “Don’t think, boy, just do it,” Colm barked, and Rafe instantly stood up straighter. “And remember what I told you earlier. You afraid to get bested by a lass? And a noblewoman at that?”

  Rafe flushed and shuffled toward Sianna, blunted broadsword pointed at her. Whatever Sir Colm had told him earlier, he clearly hadn’t known his opponent would be the king’s daughter.

  Sianna felt a surge of excitement. She’d never faced off against Colm or any other opponent in an actual sparring match before, having settled for many sessions of repetition, going through forms and basic attacks and defenses. What had previously qualified as sparring with Colm ended up with her flailing away with her sword and him easily fending away her clumsy strikes before smacking her with his training blade. He would then pause the bout to explain to her how she had erred, which had become too numerous to count. Now, though, she had her chance to impress her instructor against one of his own men, even a green recruit though he might be.

  She narrowed her eyes, sizing up Rafe. As the lad came awkwardly toward her, she realized how big he really was, a head taller than even the wiry Colm and a great deal heavier. He’ll squash me if he lands a blow.

  Rafe surged toward her and chopped down with his broadsword. Sianna sidestepped, knowing she hadn’t the strength to hold him off in a straight contest. She jabbed her short sword at his ribs but was a bit too slow. Rafe shuffled aside and brought his sword around in a sweeping lo
w slash. Sianna hopped back then, seeing the opening he provided with such an attack, jabbed him in the ribs with her training blade.

  The big man winced, for he had stumbled into her strike, and she knew he would have a good bruise from the blow, especially lacking a padded gambeson.

  “Well done, Princess. Come on, Rafe! This slip of a lass is barely a third your weight. Don’t think of her as a princess but a wily assassin trying to get past you and slay your king!”

  Rafe grimaced and came at her again. This time, he was much more cautious in his approach. Sianna took a few jabs and slashes at him, but his reach was so great she couldn’t strike him without somehow getting inside his guard. She quickly came to realize what a huge disadvantage she was at. He kept her backing away with cautious swipes of his own blade. They circled around cautiously, blades clanging together occasionally. A reverberation ran up her arm, and she gritted her teeth when she tried to parry too heavy a blow.

  Evade and deflect. If I can’t dodge, I must deflect rather than stop his blade cold. They worked around the training ground another few minutes, Sianna growing dismayed as she searched for an opening, but unless Rafe made a mistake, she couldn’t see how she could strike him with his tremendous reach advantage.

  Rafe seemed to be wearing down, for he was breathing heavily. She slashed at his arm, thumping her blade against his exposed forearm and leaping aside at his riposte.

  But then she felt her heel strike the wooden wall of the stable and knew she was in trouble. Rafe sensed it too, for he bulled forward in a rush. She skirted sideways, but the wall was scraping against her back and he chopped downward, forcing her to parry desperately or else get struck in the head. Their blades rang as she blocked his stroke, but the blow numbed her arm all the way to the shoulder, and she nearly dropped her sword. Rafe leaned forward, bringing his strength and weight to bear and forcing her blade back until her wrist was twisted painfully. She tried to move sideways again, but her leg struck something unyielding.