Scions of Nexus

by Gregory Mattix

  Water sloshed around him, and he felt himself being dragged by the armpits from the pond. He was pulled away, up onto the shore, and dragged several paces across the grass by his savior.

  He flopped onto his back, looking up into the big gray eyes of Aninyel, standing over him protectively. She had a dagger in one hand and a curved saber in the other. His mind struggled to come to grips with the sight of the Daerodil chambermaid here, having saved him, and armed for battle.

  “Ready yourself,” she warned. “The water hag will attack with its thralls. I’ll try my best not to harm Elyas.” The subservience and impish humor he was used to were nowhere to be found. She had a steely calm, eyes hard and deadly as she regarded the pool. She was all coiled violence, much like a badger protecting its young.

  Taren sat up in time to see the pond seething and the water hag rearing up. Her hair was a slimy mass clotted with algae, and her skin was wrinkled and nearly translucent, pale as a fish belly and webbed with blue veins. Filthy claws slashed the air as her black fish eyes glared hatred at Taren and Aninyel. Her mouth opened wide, and he had to cover his ears when she let loose an awful shriek. The sound pierced his skull with a stabbing pain.

  After a long moment, the shriek subsided, and Taren could only watch in horror as Elyas and the three brigands got to their feet and turned toward Aninyel and him. Their movements were jerky but coordinated, as if a clumsy puppeteer was yanking on their strings.

  The water hag floated on the surface, half out of the water, her naked sagging breasts those of an old crone. Her hands were raised as if pulling the strings of her thralls.

  Aninyel moved swiftly past Taren, crouching low to the ground. Her dagger was extended low before her, the saber up near her ear.

  Elyas drew his sword. His motions were still a bit sluggish but much smoother than at first. He raised the blade and lumbered forward, slashing at Aninyel. The elven maid dropped and spun away, sweeping her leg out and tripping Elyas. The big man grunted and fell hard on his face beside Taren.

  The three brigands raced toward Aninyel. One man threw a spear. The elf sidestepped, and it landed point-first in the grass, the shaft wobbling. Aninyel darted toward them. Her saber opened up the spear-thrower’s throat. The brigand lurched forward then stumbled and fell, a curtain of blood cascading down the ragged tunic he wore.

  Aninyel continued without hesitation, attacking the two other brigands, one short and burly, the other tall and gaunt. They hacked and stabbed at the elf with rusty swords. Steel rang as she somehow neatly parried both attacks away simultaneously. Taren blinked, and Aninyel was already spinning past them in a sweeping blur of glinting steel. Her dagger pulled free of the tall man’s ribs while the burly man lurched forward, his ample abdomen splitting open and a length of entrails spilling out onto the grass.

  The elf wasn’t finished yet. She whirled, and her saber struck the head from the tall man’s shoulders, sending it sailing into the air while the headless body stumbled and fell into the pond. The heavyset brigand blinked in confusion, trying to hold his guts in with one hand. Aninyel rammed her dagger into the base of his skull. He wobbled and dropped.

  Before Taren could fully marvel at her fighting prowess, a heavy weight fell onto his legs. Elyas had gotten to his hands and knees and thrown himself onto Taren. He knelt on Taren’s legs and with one hand pinned him down by the chest. Elyas’s lips were skinned back, and drool streamed from his mouth. His blue eyes were unfocused.

  “Elyas! Stop this—snap out of it!” Taren shouted, struggling to throw him off.

  Elyas ignored him. He had lost his sword in the grass, but that didn’t seem to bother him as he raised a big fist. Taren struggled, gripping his cousin’s fist in his hand, trying to halt the blow, but the big man’s strength was inexorable. His fist drove down, and Taren’s knuckles smacked into his own cheek. He tried to wriggle away, but Elyas was much too strong and outweighed him by nearly a hundred pounds.

  Taren punched him in the jaw, but the big man seemed not to notice. He raised his fist again, and once more Taren tried to block his blow, but again his defense was forced aside. Elyas’s fist struck him in the mouth, splitting his lip open and stunning him. The next blow would likely render him unconscious.

  He tried to focus, to gather his concentration and feel the earth magic as he had back at the Daerodil estate, when he’d destroyed the monster there, but he was hurt and disoriented. He needed time to feel the flow of the earth magic around him, and that was time he didn’t have.

  Elyas’s fist was about to drop once again.

  A glint of steel flashed across his vision, and with a solid thunk, the pommel of a dagger struck Elyas’s temple. He wobbled a moment before reaching over to feel the rising knot on his head. Taren struggled again, managing to get his legs free. He squirmed out from under his cousin momentarily, but then Elyas seized him by the ankle, dragging him closer.

  Then Aninyel appeared behind Elyas, saber pointed at the sky. She dropped her arm, and the pommel thumped into the back of Elyas’s head.

  Taren held his breath as his cousin’s eyes slowly rolled back, then he dropped, unconscious.

  The water hag shrieked again in rage.

  Aninyel whirled to face her, saber leveled at the hag. “Yui’n fard sasaed fesc du dha fuddun ull irruis fuln, us derda nirr r’daar!”

  The water hag snarled and glared at the elf a moment before retreating back into the depths of the pond with a splash and flurry of slimy black hair.

  “Aninyel!” Taren cried, so relieved to see her he didn’t know what else to say.

  “We meet again, Taren.” She lowered her saber, and the corner of her mouth curled in a half smile.

  “I knew you weren’t a chambermaid,” he said stupidly, not knowing what else to say. He accepted her small hand, and she helped pull him to his feet.

  “I thought I made a damn fine chambermaid,” she retorted, sounding miffed.

  Taren opened his mouth, wondering if he’d offended her.

  “But I like to think I make a better warrior.” The crooked grin was back on her face. Aninyel put a foot to Elyas’s shoulder and rolled the big man over onto his back. She dropped to her knees beside him and listened for his breath. “He’s alive. As are you, fortunately.” Her gray eyes pinned him with reproach. “I wouldn’t have much liked to report to Zylka that you’d been drowned and taken to the water hag’s lair and devoured.”

  Taren shuddered at the memory of the hair wrapped around his neck and limbs while being dragged into the cold depths, the spiny teeth waiting to tear into him. “I’m sorry. We got lost in the storm. We made camp, and when I awoke, Elyas was here… petrified.”

  “He was under her spell. She lures men here, and when she finds one of a particularly succulent essence, she pulls them under, drowns them, and devours them in her lair. The others she uses as thralls. You, my friend, were slated to be the prime course of the day.” She sheathed her saber and considered the pond a moment, hands on her slim hips. “We need to be away from here right now. I don’t think she’ll test me further, but if she’s hungry and desperate enough…”

  Taren shuddered at the thought. “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her she’d best retreat to the bottom of her filthy pond or taste my steel.”

  He grinned, relieved to be alive. The fiery elf inspired confidence he’d sorely lacked before her arrival. Something glittered in the grass, and he spotted Aninyel’s dagger. After he handed it back to her, she wiped the blade clean on the grass before sheathing it. She picked up Elyas’s sword and admired it for a moment before returning it to his scabbard.

  “Help me with him,” she said.

  They each grabbed one of Elyas’s beefy arms and dragged the big man away from the glade. Taren was shocked at how far he’d come from the camp—it was easily thrice the distance he’d thought it had been. He was out of breath by the time they laid Elyas down by his saddlebags.

  He saw a pack beside theirs that must
have been Aninyel’s. She had a cloak draped atop it that looked like his.

  “We owe you our thanks, Aninyel.” Taren sat down and gulped some wine from his wineskin.

  “It’s nothing. I think I mentioned once before I enjoy a challenge.” Aninyel reached over and plucked his wineskin from his hand. After a long drink, she handed it back. “And keeping you two from trouble is proving to be just that.”

  “I believe you did mention that. Did Zylka send you to make sure we made it out of the forest alive?” He tried to picture the elven princess sitting in the atrium, anxiously awaiting word of their safe departure. The thought of her concern gave him a warm feeling.

  Aninyel shrugged. “Something like that. I pretty much volunteered for it. I’m supposed to return with your horses too.” She glanced over at the pair of steeds contentedly munching on grass.

  “Why?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “I like to keep my fighting skills sharp and stretch my legs now and again. Or perhaps I enjoyed our time together a bit.” She sat down nimbly across from him, legs crossed. She gathered her long hair, which had come unbound, and wrung the water from it. In a shaft of sunlight, her damp hair with its blue undertones shone like polished steel.

  Taren couldn’t help but return her crooked grin. “Well, I’m glad our presence wasn’t too disagreeable. Where did you learn to fight like that?” With the ease she’d dispatched the thralls, he doubted a dozen of them would’ve posed much more difficulty.

  “Oh, a lady never divulges her age, my good man, but I’ll just say lo-o-ong years of practice… centuries even. My father was the royal weapon master, and he was a hard man to please, so I trained rigorously from the time I was a young girl. Eventually, the king, Zylka’s father, saw my potential and made me one of his Blades.”

  “Is that a knight?”

  Aninyel tilted her head and tapped her chin. “Not quite, but similar. More like a champion—one of five who serve at all times, until death or retirement. And I don’t plan to retire—I feel as if I’m just getting started at my age.” She laughed. “I worked at the academy, training our warriors. Zylka came under my tutelage, and we became friends. A Blade specializes in one or two chosen weapons. I was never much for a bow, myself. She’s quite a good shot, though, I must admit. Much better than I.”

  “She’s lucky to have you as a friend. Back at her home, when that beast seized me, she was fearless… trying to strike it down even as it sought to throttle her. Zylka is quite… impressive.” Realizing he’d probably said too much, Taren shut his mouth.

  Aninyel simply smiled. Without any of the teasing he expected, she nodded agreement and took the wineskin once more.

  Elyas groaned and gingerly touched his head. He looked over and regarded Taren and Aninyel, clearly bewildered.

  “I hope you’ve a bastard of a headache, big man,” Aninyel said. “And well deserved, if so. I had to teach you a lesson. You almost killed your cousin.”

  Elyas sat up. He stared at Aninyel a moment then seemed to notice Taren’s split lip and bruised cheek. “What in the Abyss happened? I had a horrible nightmare about a witch or something at the bottom of a pool.” Taren handed him the wineskin, and he drank deeply.

  Taren quickly related what had happened.

  “Gods. You beat up on my arse pretty good, huh?” Elyas glanced at Aninyel appraisingly.

  “Tragic you can’t even remember.” She rolled her eyes. “I expected a bit more out of you. But since you had your brain muddled, I suppose that’s a valid excuse. I wouldn’t mind taking you on another time,” she said with a sly smile. “I do enjoy a challenge.”

  Taren wasn’t entirely certain she was referring to a contest of arms, from the look she gave Elyas. His cousin suddenly looked uncomfortable, studying the wineskin in his hand.

  “You should’ve seen those other three louts,” Taren said to break the tension. “She dropped the three of them in a matter of seconds. Made it look easy, too.”

  “Well, it’s fortunate the princess saw fit to send you to look after us,” Elyas replied, looking sheepish. “I could’ve killed Taren and then ended up a waterlogged, half-eaten corpse myself.” He shuddered.

  “And it’s lucky for you your cousin made such a good impression on the princess. The feeling’s mutual, if I’m not mistaken.” Aninyel smirked at Taren.

  Taren felt his face turning red and looked away. He coughed nervously. “Why don’t we have some breakfast and get moving. The day grows late.”

  He didn’t get any argument from the others.

  ***

  The rest of the day went by quickly. Taren and Elyas rode for the boundary of Fallowin Forest, anxious to gain some distance from the water hag’s glade and reach human lands again. By ancient treaty, the elves retained sovereignty within their own lands, as did the dwarves in the north.

  Aninyel accompanied the cousins along the way, walking with them at times while at others slipping away to scout around as they continued steadily eastward. Taren offered to let her ride with him, which seemed to surprise the elf, but she declined. When Aninyel wasn’t around, he spent much of the day lost in his thoughts. The encounter with the water hag had made him wary of things he didn’t understand in the world. He was angry with himself, for he had read of water hags in Roland the Bold’s book, but everything had happened so quickly that he was fighting for his life before even realizing what had occurred.

  Elyas spent much of the day riding silently as well though he sneaked many a glance at Aninyel when she was with them. The big man seemed a bit intimidated by her, which Taren found amusing. Elyas didn’t know how to react to the elf’s confident swagger and impish humor, including her subtle and not-so-subtle flirtations.

  Taren could see why he kept watching her, for he also appreciated the elf’s striking looks and graceful gait as she walked or jogged alongside them. Her snug breeches and leather jerkin left little to the imagination, revealing her lithe, toned body. Somewhere along the way, the blouse beneath her jerkin seemed to have come undone an additional button or two, revealing the swell of her small breasts.

  Aninyel, for her part, was in good humor. She seemed to enjoy her duty escorting the young men, telling them much of the elven ways while occasionally tossing out a witty jest that made Taren laugh. Zylka and Enelwyn, who had been friendly to them, seemed almost standoffish in comparison. Aninyel was so utterly unlike the others of her people that he couldn’t help but wonder why she seemed so different.

  Perhaps she’s traveled and spent much time among humans.

  By the time they reached the edge of the forest, Taren was saddened that they would leave the elf behind. Aninyel seemed almost like a protective older sister in a way, wise to the ways of the world and tough as nails, yet with an easy smile and mischievous sense of humor.

  “Here ends the Fallowin Forest, my young friends,” Aninyel announced once they reached a final line of trees. “The way ahead is clear. The group of your foes who had been keeping watch shall trouble you no longer.”

  “They were fool enough to trespass on elven lands again?” Taren asked, the Inquisition immediately coming to mind.

  “No, not exactly, but the princess made it clear that you weren’t to be hindered in leaving our lands. The elders would doubtless be displeased by my initiative, yet I think if our esteemed guests were to be ambushed less than a quarter mile from our border, that would reflect quite poorly on our hospitality.” She grinned brightly. “Fortunately, I don’t answer to the old ones.”

  “Your doing?” Elyas smiled in turn.

  Aninyel shook her head, seeming disappointed. “Afraid I didn’t get the honor although, as I am a Blade, the sentries were more than happy to do as I bade them. Fear not, your foes made splendid targets and are now returned to the earth.” With a dramatic flourish, she pointed eastward, where the ribbon of a road was visible amid fields and rolling hills. “In yon direction lies the human settlement of Ryedale.”

  The two men dismoun
ted and emptied out their provisions from the saddlebags, stowing everything in their packs.

  Taren rubbed his horse’s nose affectionately and handed the reins to Aninyel. “I don’t know how we can thank you for all your help.”

  “Keep yourselves alive, for starters,” she replied.

  Taren extended his hand, and she clasped it firmly in the manner of a warrior. Elyas did the same though she was slow to release the big man, holding his gaze then giving him a wink when he flushed.

  “Give my regards to Zylka,” Taren said. “How does that farewell go? Something about meeting again in the glade?”

  “Indeed,” Aninyel replied with her infectious grin. “May we meet again someday, in the tranquil glade. If not sooner.”

  “I look forward to it. Goodbye, Aninyel.” Taren waved and walked out of the trees into the afternoon sunshine while Elyas mumbled a goodbye in turn.

  When he looked back, the elf and horses were already lost within the shadows of the forest.

  Taren sighed. “Looks like we’re on our own again, Cousin.”

  “Aye, as it should be,” Elyas said though he seemed disappointed as well. He glanced back more than once as they walked across a grassy field toward the eastward road that would take them to Ryedale. “We’ll rest and reprovision in Ryedale then make for Ammon Nor.”

  As a result of their late start, night fell before they neared Ryedale. The two of them camped in a grove of trees off the road a short distance, more at ease in the shelter of the trees than camping in the open along the road. They still had some provisions supplied by Zylka, but they built a small campfire for warmth against the chill of the night, which seemed much more pronounced away from Fallowin Forest. Summer was swiftly turning to fall.

  Elyas was eager to return to civilization and find a tavern to provide ale and a hot meal. Taren was less enthused. He would’ve preferred remaining in Egrondel longer—the city’s beauty, magic, and slower pace of life all appealed to him, and he would’ve much liked to learn more of the elves and their customs than the short interlude had allowed. However, an inn and a bed to sleep in for only the second time since fleeing home did hold some appeal. Fearing any encounters with the Inquisition or Nebaran patrols, they took turns keeping watch.