Scions of Nexus

by Gregory Mattix

  “Finish her!” Colm shouted in encouragement.

  Thanks for being impartial, she thought sourly. Her eyes desperately darted sideways at the obstruction, and she noted a watering trough had been placed along the wall. That wasn’t there before. Just when she also realized it was full, Rafe grunted and heaved, and her strength gave out. With a pitiful squeak of alarm, she toppled over the end and splashed ingloriously into the trough.

  The water was shockingly cold and went up her nose and into her mouth as she went under. Her hip hit the bottom, then she bobbed back up, spluttering and coughing.

  “Hold!” Colm bellowed.

  Sianna blinked the water from her eyes and saw Rafe still looming over her, prepared for another strike at her, had Colm not called him off. She sloshed around, tossing aside her blade, and was quickly soaked to the bone. The padded gambeson soaked up water like a sponge and suddenly felt as if it weighed as much as a mail shirt.

  “Don’t just stand there waiting for flies to land in your mouth, you oaf. Help the lady up!” Despite Colm’s brusque demeanor, he was fighting to conceal what looked suspiciously like a pleased smirk.

  Rafe tossed his sword aside and leaned over Sianna. Despite her spluttered protests, he gently grasped her shoulders and lifted her from the trough as he might a small child, before depositing her back on her feet. “Princess, are you all right? I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt you, or uh, get you wet and all…”

  Even annoyed by her dunking as she was, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the man’s distress.

  “That was the whole point of the water trough, Rafe.” Colm handed Sianna a thick towel to dry herself off with. “Apologies, Princess, but I felt the lesson might be punctuated better with this added prop.” He nodded toward the trough.

  Sianna scowled as she toweled off her face. Colm gently unfastened her chinstrap and removed the helm, and she uncoiled her hair from its bun and squeezed the water from it. Next, off came the heavy, sodden gambeson. Her sopping tunic clung to her chest immodestly, she noticed with dismay, but Colm gripped Rafe by the arm, and the two of them faced away so she was afforded some modicum of privacy.

  Well, I can’t change out of my clothes out here. I’m sure the staff will really gawp at me now. She settled for wrapping the large towel around herself as though she’d just come from the baths. “I’m decent now,” she said coolly. Gods, he bested me so easily… shoved me aside like I was a child.

  Rafe cringed when he saw her expression, as though she’d fly into a rage and start beating on him at any moment. Colm watched her with a slight smile.

  “As I said before, apologies, Princess, for that demonstration. I trust now you can see how difficult it can be to take on an opponent with much greater size and strength even though they may not be very skilled?” Colm regarded her gravely.

  Despite her irritation, she nodded, intrigued. Sir Colm would never have sought to humiliate her so without a good reason.

  “For any woman who seeks to wield a blade against male opponents, especially a woman of your size, know this truth—you will never win a contest of strength, at least against an able-bodied swordsman of middling fitness. Which should tell you that you must rely on other means. Your stamina.” He nudged her soft leather boot with the toe of his sturdy one then patted her upper arm. “Your quickness. And finally your wits.” He emphasized the last point by tapping her lightly on the temple with a callused finger. “You probably noticed your advantage with the former?”

  She nodded, remembering how Rafe was getting out of breath.

  “Aye, he was puffing like a blown horse after galloping for ten miles.” Colm’s disapproving glance caused Rafe to wilt slightly. “We’ll focus on each of those qualities some more in the coming days, fear not.” He turned to Rafe. “You can go back to your squad now, Rafe. And tell Sergeant Blaire you need some repetitions lapping the castle grounds.”

  “Aye, sir.” Rafe’s shoulders slumped as he gathered up his gear and started away. As if suddenly remembering the proper courtesy, he stopped, turned, and bowed low, fumbling and dropping his mail shirt in the process. “Your Highness.” He juggled his gear and managed to scoop his shirt back up before retreating.

  Sianna’s face softened. I shouldn’t hold any grudge against the poor lad—he seems like a good sort. All this was Sir Colm’s idea.

  “Rafe,” she called. She had enjoyed the bout, save for its waterlogged finale, and realized it was nice to have someone else of novice skill level to train with and be on the receiving end of Sir Colm’s disappointment for a change.

  The guardsman froze and turned as if expecting a kick in the rear.

  “Thank you for joining us. I hope we can spar again some time?” She gave him a gracious smile.

  “Oh, uh… well, thank you, Highness. I reckon if Sir Colm thinks so…”

  Colm glanced at Sianna with raised eyebrows. “If you feel that way, it can be arranged, Princess.”

  “Yes, I would like that.”

  “Indeed. Carry on,” he told Rafe.

  The guard bowed clumsily again although he was grinning before he scrambled out of the training yard.

  “That was kind of you,” Colm said with an approving look.

  Sianna smiled. “He seems a nice enough sort. Can’t really blame him for how you set him up just as you did me.”

  Colm chuckled at that. The formality seeped out of him, and he regarded Sianna with a bit of concern. “Are you well, lass? He didn’t hit you too hard?”

  “No, I’m not made of glass—I’ll be fine. That was a good lesson.” Her initial annoyance was gone, and she realized the wisdom of the lesson—one she’d certainly not forget.

  “I’m glad. We’ll cut it short today so you can go get changed before you catch a chill. One thing before you go…” He walked over to where he’d stacked their gear and picked up a sword in a scabbard. “You need a suitable blade, not this rubbish from the armory. I had the smith Karlotis forge this one special.”

  When he handed it to her, she couldn’t help but be impressed. Karlotis was the most renowned weaponsmith in Llantry, and his work didn’t come cheap.

  “But this must have cost a fortune,” she said.

  Colm shrugged. “Karlotis owed me one from way back, so I got a good deal. When I approached Queen Marillee, she was gracious enough to agree and provided some coin.”

  What he left unsaid was that he must have spent a significant amount of his own coin for the sword. She couldn’t help but smile stupidly, overwhelmed for a moment.

  “Go ahead—draw it.” Colm scuffed one foot at something on the ground as though afraid she’d be displeased.

  Sianna ran her fingers lightly across the filigreed hilt and studied the pommel, which was inset with an emerald, her favorite stone. When she drew it, the blade came free of the scabbard with a pure ringing sound. Morning light rippled off the folded steel. It was the perfect size—a short sword, slim bladed and wonderfully light. The hilt fit her hand as if custom forged just for her. The crossguard was graceful and detailed with scrollwork. After a few practice swings, she was grinning ear to ear.

  “Sir Colm, this is too much!”

  The old knight looked embarrassed. “Nay, lass, ’tis simply what you need. Good steel for the daughter of a king.”

  She sheathed the blade and, proper etiquette be damned, embraced the knight. He looked shocked for a moment then patted her on the back awkwardly.

  “Keep her sharp, lass. You never know when she may be needed.”

  “I will,” she vowed. Stepping back, the soft leather of the scabbard filling her hand, she was brimming with joy, having forgotten all about her earlier dunking. “I’ll see you on the morrow, then. And will Rafe be joining us?”

  Colm grinned back at her. “Perhaps. Wouldn’t want to spoil any more surprises.”

  “And this was a grand one, indeed! Thank you, Sir Colm.” She raced away, towel clutched around her haphazardly, barely noticing the gawki
ng of the stable boys as she ran, for she couldn’t wait to find Iris and show her the blade. Then she’d have to find her mother and thank her, too—after she changed, of course. She generated enough gossip as it was without showing up in her mother’s presence wearing drenched, mannish clothing and bearing a sword.

  Chapter 26

  The rain was coming down in sheets. Thunder rumbled overhead, and lightning cracked nearby. Taren pulled the hood of his new cloak lower. The material repelled the water and also provided excellent camouflage, blending in with the forest due to an elven enchantment. The day’s travel had been uneventful until the afternoon storm blew in, and it gave no sign it would let up anytime soon.

  Elyas cursed the weather, riding slightly behind Taren. He’d replaced his worn and battered belt and scabbard with the new elven one, and Taren caught him admiring it several times throughout the day, prior to the storm’s arrival.

  At one point, the rain was falling so hard that Taren lost sight of the road. He reined his horse in and looked around but realized they’d inadvertently departed the winding path. Without the sun overhead, he realized he had no idea which way was east.

  “What is it?” Elyas asked.

  “We’ve gone off the road.”

  Elyas looked around, his bearded face barely visible beneath his cowl, and shrugged. “Let’s find a place to ride out the storm. Once it clears, we’ll be able to see the path again.”

  Taren agreed. They looked around, but the trees surrounding them had thin canopies and provided little cover. He nudged the horse forward in the direction they’d been going and, after a couple minutes, thought he saw the dark smudge of a broad oak tree through the rain.

  “Over this way!” Taren said.

  As he approached the tree, he saw it would indeed provide good shelter. The rain barely made it through the thick canopy, and dried leaves and sticks were plentiful fuel for a fire. They dismounted, brushed down the horses, and removed the saddles. Elyas lit a small fire to help dry out their clothes, for he was especially drenched as his old cloak was not water repellant.

  Taren unwrapped a bundle from the saddlebags. A broad leaf wrapped up a piece of salted meat, along with some kind of crisp trail bread and an apple. He gave another leaf package to Elyas then sat back to eat. The trail bread proved not only tasty, but filling. He washed the meal down with some water.

  He leaned back against the saddlebags to rest for a bit until the storm let up. With the rain drumming on the leaves, the soothing sound quickly caused Taren to nod off.

  ***

  He awakened to find the storm had blown over. A canopy of stars was visible overhead when he stepped out from beneath the oak tree. The fire had died out, and Elyas was snoring softly. The horses were tied to a branch a short distance away.

  Deciding they’d be best off continuing onward in the morning, Taren settled back down where he had lain against his saddlebags. Odd that we slept so long—the whole day gone already.

  His gaze rested on the remains of their small campfire. I should build it up again—Kinnel said the forest holds dangers. He took a long sip of water and decided he’d get to it shortly.

  Taren opened his eyes, not even realizing he’d dozed off again. Sunlight streamed through the canopy overhead. He looked around but saw Elyas was gone. The vestiges of sleep fled, and surprise took its place. Taren stood up, looking around for Elyas. The horses stood nearby, but he didn’t see his cousin anywhere.

  Perhaps he went to hunt some breakfast. Then, however, his gaze fell on their longbow, still lying beside Elyas’s saddle. Getting worried, he called for his cousin but got no response.

  He calmed himself, listening intently. The subtle sound of flowing water in the distance reached his ears—a sound he hadn’t noticed the night before. Wondering if Elyas had gone to find the stream to fill his water skin, Taren walked in the direction of the sounds. Relieved to spot his cousin’s large footprints in the soft ground, he followed the trail. Within a few minutes, he came to a small, scenic glade with a placid pond in the center. A stream flowed off an embankment, forming a small waterfall about waist high, and spilled into the pond. Water lilies grew along the edges, their white and pink flowers blooming cheerfully.

  Elyas was kneeling beside the pond. Taren walked up beside his cousin to see him staring into the depths.

  “I was wondering where you’d run off to. Ready to get moving again?”

  Elyas didn’t respond. His hands were planted in the soft soil at the edge of the water, and he was leaning forward, gazing intently into the pond’s depths.

  “Elyas.” He nudged his cousin with his leg.

  The big man continued staring into the water, entranced.

  Taren glanced around, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw three other figures at the far edge of the pond. They looked like human brigands who might have wandered into the forest and lost their way. They, too, knelt at the pool and were raptly gazing into the depths.

  Taren knelt beside Elyas and looked into his cousin’s face. His blue eyes were wide open and unfocused, his mouth sagging open slightly.

  “Oi! Wake up! We’ve got to go.” He shook Elyas’s shoulder.

  The big man rocked slightly with the motion but didn’t respond, and a knot of fear gripped Taren’s belly.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Taren glanced into the pond to see what was fascinating Elyas so. At first, he saw nothing, realizing the pond was deeper than expected, its depths dark and shadowed. After a moment, he noticed a faint shimmering in the depths. A pale form shifted, obscured by swirling darkness. Taren squinted, trying to discern what it was.

  The features clarified, taking on the form of a woman with fair skin and dark eyes. Long black hair flowed around her, stirred by a subtle current in the pond.

  The woman’s red lips parted and moved, forming words Taren couldn’t understand. He leaned closer, seeing now the enticing curves of her nude form, the way her hands beckoned, the hair stirring across herself as if caressing her skin.

  A curtain of golden hair swept across her face, then the face was Zylka’s. The elf beckoned him closer.

  He gasped at what he was seeing. No, this can’t be. He knew what he was seeing must be an illusion, and he thought to look away, but Zylka’s beauty tugged at him, compelling him to stare. He blinked, and her features had changed again. Now, the woman was Yethri. Her green eyes glittered like polished gemstones, and her copper curls rippled in the current.

  Yethri. I’m so sorry… I wanted more than anything to see you again after Midsummer Festival. He could hear her laugh once more and see the cheer in her eyes as they danced around the maypole together. Zylka was an elven princess, and he knew in his heart there could never be anything between them, even had she fancied him, but Yethri… the way they had gotten on at Midsummer Festival had been almost as if they’d known each other for many years. He knew instinctively they were meant for each other, and his biggest regret was letting her slip away without seeing her again. His heart thudded in his chest at her nearness.

  “Come to me, my love. We can be together.” He wasn’t sure if he had actually heard the voice or imagined it, but her hand was beckoning him closer. Her copper hair teased his fingers to stroke it. More than anything, he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her freckled cheeks, her full lips…

  Taren reached out to touch a lock of her hair, barely noticing the cool water sliding up his hand to his wrist. The lock teased him, just out of reach. He leaned forward, reaching deeper, until his arm was underwater up to his elbow.

  That isn’t her! You know that—now you must wake from her spell.

  The voice in the back of his mind nagged at Taren until he finally realized he was leaning over so far that he was close to falling in the water, his tunic’s arm soaked and the water almost to his shoulder. The woman wasn’t Yethri anymore. She was the woman with black hair and dark eyes.

  Something seized Taren’s arm and pulled. With a startle
d cry, he splashed into the pond headfirst, barely closing his mouth in time and holding what breath he had in his lungs.

  A thick strand of black hair was wrapped around his wrist. He tried to pull away, but the band of hair held him fast. With his left hand, he tried to pry the hair free, but to no avail. Another lock of hair snaked out, entangling his left arm. He kicked wildly, struggling to free himself, but the hair was a swirling nimbus churning around him. He felt it tickling his neck then slipping around it and tightening, the same around his ankles. Though he struggled, it was in vain.

  He was dragged deeper, and the pond became bone-numbingly cold. The woman in the water no longer looked at all human. Slits in her neck opened and closed like a fish’s gills. Her eyes were bulbous and dark, her naked body withered and sagging. When her mouth opened, it was filled with needlelike teeth.

  Taren struggled for all he was worth, panic lending him strength. Bubbles burst from his nose and mouth as he tried to shout, striving to tear himself free. He couldn’t reach his dagger at his belt, for his limbs were stretched taut, the strength of his bonds unbreakable. The hair around his neck was choking him like a hangman’s noose. His air was nearly gone—a haze of darkness loomed at the edges of his vision, and he knew any moment he’d be forced to inhale the cold water. All the while, that spiny-toothed mouth stretched wider, ready to bite into his flesh.

  A sleek figure sluiced into the water above him. Taren saw a glint of silver, then the grip on his neck subsided. Quick slashes from a blade severed the locks of hair gripping his limbs.

  The creature in the pond became enraged. It surged toward Taren, mouth wide and claws poised, but he felt someone’s arms around him, pulling him away to safety.

  His head burst from the water, and he gasped for air, lungs heaving as if they’d explode from his rib cage.

  “Easy. You’ll be fine.”

  The voice seemed familiar, but Taren was too occupied trying to get his breath and rein in his panic to think on that. He knew at any moment the thing beneath the water would seize his legs and drag him down again to a watery death.