Highmage's Plight (Highmage’s Plight Series Book 1)

by Aire, D. H.

  Raven grinned at her recently made foster father then raced off once more as Se’and said in disgust, “She must learn to think in human terms again.”

  “So must we all,” George muttered in reply.

  Fri’il half smiled at him. It was clear that Raven had found a place in George’s heart, perhaps so could Fri’il, she hoped. “That looks like a lovely spot over there to set out our bed rolls.”

  George looked at her, clearly uncomfortable, knowing she was talking about more than mere duty. She took her Cathartan role seriously, all four women did, which was something both Balfour and George had discovered to their rue.

  Staff twinkled. ‘Now, George, is that any way to treat your wife?’

  George took his horse’s reins from her hand. “Why don’t you go join Raven? I can handle this.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Please.”

  She saw Se’and’s approving nod then grinned and quickly kissed George on the cheek and ran off with a “Thank you, m’lord!”

  He blinked and shook his head as Raven raced out of the glade. Se’and could not help but laugh as he blushed. Cle’or took the reins from him and led the horses away.

  Me’oh shook her head then took Balfour’s cloak. “You seem tense. Would you permit me, m’lord?”

  “What?” the elfblood muttered in puzzlement.

  “I have restorative skills, though not comparable to your healing gift, I have been told it certainly feels like magic to those I’ve aided.”

  George frowned in exasperation at his and Bal’s situation. “Bal, I’m going to take a look around.”

  Staff in hand, he hastily marched away. Se’and shook her head, wondering if he would ever learn and quickly followed as ever his faithful bodyguard.

  ‘You were not even a little curious, George?’

  He glared at the staff in his hand and muttered back, “There are some things I prefer not knowing, Staff. It’s bad enough that my destiny is no longer my own. Now, do let me have some peace and quiet. Initiate minimum level rapport.”

  ‘You so lack a sense of humor. Very well: initiating.’

  It was balm on his raw nerves to feel the computer staff’s presence fade. Yet for all that, Se’and dogging was difficult to ignore. He sighed then turned and faced her.

  “I really would prefer to be alone.”

  “Yes, I am quite certain you would,” she replied, having no intention of allowing that.

  He shrugged and walked on. Smiling grimly, Se’and followed, again wondering how the only human mage in the whole world could be so stupid.

  Fri’il broke from the tree line running toward the water’s edge as if it were the finish line. Raven frowned as she began to trail behind the young woman. She smiled, then her whole body shimmered and she fell running on all fours, bounding past Fri’il as a tawny furred beast with a black mane. She reached the stream first as Fri’il cried and laughed, “No fair!”

  Raven’s tail lashed and caught her wrist. Fri’il found herself dragged unceremoniously into the water with a splash. Raven howled in beast laughter as Fri’il came up sputtering and dripping wet.

  She plodded out of the stream and walked toward the brush. Stripping off her soaked livery and bodice, she set them to dry across a branch. She then set her short sword and daggers at the water’s edge as Raven shimmered, returning to human form with the widest of grins.

  “I ought to tell Cle’or you had to cheat to win,” she quipped.

  “Only evenin’ tings,” Raven replied in one of her rare attempts at speech and gestured at Fri’il’s longer legs. Mock seriously, Fri’il charged forward into the water, “Is that so?!”

  Raven grinned and waded deeper into the stream, the last vestiges of her bespelled self lifted as she enjoyed her freedom.

  The lithe blonde laughed and dove momentarily free of the water and out of Raven’s grasp.

  Neither noticed the man with a cruel smile on his lips who snatched the drying clothes. His partner hurried to retrieve the weapons while the pair was distracted. The two men watched in delight from concealment and waited for the young woman and the girl to tire of their games.

  As the sun set, Me’oh started a fire with what wood lay about the glade. Balfour abruptly found himself knocked off his feet onto a wide blanket as the daunting bodyguard with a faint scar on her cheek stood over him.

  “Everything must be done the hard way,” Cle’or scolded, then knelt and pulled off his boots.

  “What do you think you are doing?” he muttered.

  Cle’or shook her head as she unbuttoned his jerkin, the last item he still wore from his distant mountain home.

  “That’s better, after all, you agreed to rest,” she commented. “Now where are those canteens that need filling? Ah, there they are. I’ll see you later, m’lord.”

  Then off Cle’or went through the trees. Balfour blinked and realized she had taken his shoes with her.

  “Hey!”

  Me’oh came over to him as he began to rise. “Do lay back and rest, m’lord. It will take some time before your bath oils can be readied.”

  Cle’or returned not long after as Me’oh gave Balfour a massage. She set down the canteens, then arrayed her weapons before her and began to polish them.

  “Those girls are rather noisy,” Cle’or complained.

  “Weren’t you at their age, Cle?” Me’oh asked.

  Cle’or heatedly replied, “I’m no older than Se’and, and I have not mothered two girls either!”

  Chuckling, Me’oh replied, missing her daughters keenly, “Sharp of blade and tongue today, eh?”

  With a sigh, Cle’or nodded and stretched her arms. “I haven’t been able to exercise as much as is my wont, which adds to my temper.” And with that she rose, drawing her short sword and began her exercise with the blade.

  Balfour wearily opened his eyes and watched her. He saw she was favoring her recently healed injury. “Cle’or, are you going to let me take a look at your shoulder again?”

  She feigned disinterest, then slowed and lowered the sword. Frowning, she nodded and set the blade back down and removed her livery. “Just don’t fix my scars!”

  “I won’t, I promise,” he replied as he gestured for her to sit beside him. He examined her healing shoulder. “You’ve strained it again.”

  Balfour concentrated and rubbed his hands along her shoulder. He closed his eyes and willed relief to the muscle tissue to encourage further healing.

  Cle’or’s shoulder felt suddenly warm and infinitely better.

  Me’oh shook her head at the woman’s tact. Cle’or had deliberately strained that muscle. It seemed to be from too much practice, Balfour believed, but Cle’or might be seeking a bit of his attention. Then again, this was Cle’or. No, too much practice, definitely too much practice.

  Cle’or muttered, “Thanks.”

  “Uh, you’re welcome,” he replied.

  Me’oh commented dryly and looked at the warming oils, “Would you care for some of these scented oils, m’lord?”

  He answered quickly, “No, ah, thank you.”

  Then Cle’or suddenly kissed him, pressing firmly on his lips. “I am sorry that I never said thank you for saving my life in Edous.”

  “That was quite a thank you, Cle’or.”

  “Next time you heal me, leave me my scars,” she answered and turned with a swish of her livery and strode off.

  “I’ll remember that!” he shouted after her. She glanced back and truly smiled, which did much to soften her often war-like mien. She then donned her weapons with practised ease.

  Me’oh chuckled as she prepared for Balfour’s massage, and washed her hands clean of oils and scents.

  They reconnoitred. The camp was in view but for now they held back. He waved them right and left. Counted seven horses, three people in view in the camp, and one an elfblood, who had to be their quarry. Find the other four, he signalled, inwardly pleased.

/>   What luck! Now they would wait and strike when all was just so.

  “My lord!” Se’and called out.

  With a sigh, he turned about and leaned on his staff, “Yes?”

  Whatever she was going to say was suddenly forgotten for the look on his face made her angry. “Your childishness is wearying. I realize this is not your world, but that does not give you the right to ignore all its realities and compensations. Fri’il and I are duty bound to protect you. So, like it or not, consider us your wives!”

  “And why is that? I don’t recall having a say in the matter or inviting you into my life. Your father’s gratitude could have been more easily expressed by a gift of a few coins.”

  “You saved my brother’s life and the bonding is the highest honor!” she replied frostily. Her gaze flashed with determination. “We are your house as you are ours. We will protect you from all physical harm and we will one day bear your children, mageborn though they may be!”

  George shook his head. “Afraid I have other plans. Not only have I no intention of consummating a by-a-wave-of-a-hand marriage but I have no intention of staying on this planet, wherever it is, any longer than I have to. I will obey this Summoning spell cast on me because I have no choice. But whoever did this to me is going to provide me my way home, that I promise you! And, lastly, stop calling me a mage. I am a professor of archaeology, thank you very much. I don’t do magic, just scientifically based parlor tricks.”

  ‘George, I’m not a parlor trick.’

  “Shut up,” he muttered, “return to minimal level rapport.”

  ‘Oh, all right,’ the computer staff replied as it returned to quiescence.

  More calmly, he sighed, “Let’s be honest about this, even these lands we pass through are not your becursed Cathart. Here men are not an endangered species, requiring womankind’s wholehearted efforts to simply survive. I may be slightly out of my depths here but so are you and your sisters. And that is the truth you must understand.”

  The import of words that he had repeatedly told them since first her sire had bonded them hit her full force.

  Her ire rose. “And who seems to, more often or not, need our kind of protection? Or have you forgotten the Demonlord’s maniacal interest in seeing you dead? Did we all imagine the fight in Edous? The Demonlord nearly destroyed all of humanity once, and for some reason has decided your death is paramount! We can barely let you out of our sight for fear for your life! We have proved our worth and will likely do so again! And there comes the price: we will bear you strong daughters and your house shall live forever!”

  Ruefully, he replied, “Somehow, I doubt that’s what your father had in mind when he gifted you to us.”

  To that she could make no reply, privately admitting feeling that there had to be more to it too. The bonding was too rare to be granted as easily as her father had willed it. She sighed, suddenly amused, “You must at least accede to our prowess as fighters.”

  “Bodyguards for life is not a concept I relish, even when it seems more often than not that I am running for my life. Still my only hope lies in finding my answer in the Empire.”

  Nodding, she said, “You mean Demonlords have not always sought your life, oh mage of human lore?”

  “Hardly,” he scoffed, “archaeology used to be such a quiet profession.”

  “Thus, it is bodyguards you most need, even if wives are not what you bargained for. Yet it is more we offer, and now I realize that you really do not understand what we are, or you would resent us less. Yes, perhaps, that is the problem.”

  “Wherever did you learn to do this?” Balfour sighed as Me’oh expertly massaged his back.

  “I admit I have nowhere near the level of healing skills that you have, but I have been well-trained. I had to be to survive as I have.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said in puzzlement.

  Me’oh smiled wanly. “I was not always of Sire Ryff’s house. I was boundless for years, bore my daughters near the docks where the poorest women in Cathart live.”

  Craning his neck he looked up at her. “I thought all Cathartans lived bound to one of the great houses.”

  “No. The houses are too few these days. Our men are dying out. Perhaps all the houses will vanish in two or three more generations. That is why Se’and’s brother Vyss was so precious to us. He was the first secondson born in ten generations. We Cathartans are a stubborn people, you see. We will keep humanity alive. Yet our lords can often be foolish, which is why Cathartan women often get our way.”

  Cle’or had returned to her exercises and quitetly listened as Me’oh hesitated in her story.

  “My sire gave me in bond to one he wished to ally himself. The lord was old and had seen me and desired me. I knew nothing of the politics when I entered that nameless house. Let me just say of that time that I was betrayed and the lord cast me out.” She chuckled, “I was pregnant with his child, yet it did not matter.”

  Balfour felt her fingertips grow chill to think back to it. Me’oh shook herself then continued, “So I found myself living alone in the streets. Yet, I had been trained in my sire’s house to understand the value of certain herbs for medicinal purposes. What many saw as worthless seaweed or woven exotic grasses commonly used to pack a crate, I scavenged and later sold.

  “For those who lived on the docks, I became the closest thing to a healer they had. I learned to mid-wife and, as the years passed, I looked to the sailors for solace. I never played the harlot like many of the boundless chose. Only one became dear to me. He brought me books on mundane healing techniques. From them, I learned my craft as well as bore my other daughter. How I miss them both,” she reflected.

  “It was my growing skill that drew Sire Ryff’s attention. He needed all the skilled aid for his sick son that he could get. He knew of my past and offered to take us into his House. It was an unprecedented offer that I could not decline, even had I thought him an unkind man, which he assuredly is not. And so it is, he bonded me to you and promised to always keep my daughters safe.”

  Balfour had listened thoughtfully, realizing there was so much more to her lands than he had ever given thought to before. Cle’or frowned as she brought her sword to guard once more. She knew Me’oh’s story only through rumor. To have been boundless, without honor and duty, that was Cle’or’s deepest fear. That Me’oh had survived it and been taken in by Sire Ryff was a matter that deserved respect.

  Me’oh turned away as Balfour saw the tears in her eyes. He stood, reached out, and hugged her.

  In the brush a voyeur watched mischievously, toying with the jewelled dagger in his hands. “Take what pleasure you may elfblood, for soon you are mine.”

  Here was his prey. He only hoped his men continued to be patient. There was enough gold in this for all of them.

  Chapter 19: Tale of the Shattered House

  “M’lord, I would have you understand the Cathartan Way,” Se’and said.

  Her expression gave George pause, “I guess I at the very least owe you the opportunity.”

  With a sigh, she reached for his hand. “I had thought hard about how to explain. I feel telling you a story of my people is best.”

  She led him to sit upon a fallen tree and smiled, “It is the legend of the Shattered House.” The breeze ruffled the edge of her black livery as she ran her fingertips across the intricately styled hilt of her short sword in an unconscious gesture.

  “The house was famed in Cathart for its metal work. Their swords and knives were known as much for their beauty as their perfect balance. No other house could rival the techniques they had mastered.

  “Virgin sisters, masters of the craft, were forbidden to marry to best horde the house’s skills. That only aggravated the tragedy. You see, their aging lord was without heir. His many wives bore him many strong daughters yet none bore him a son. The heir needed to continue the house. The other lords felt triumph as the old lord became senile, however it was long years before the old lord finally died and any
of their schemes to acquire their skills and resources could commence.

  “Yet the day of their lord’s death had not gone unplanned for by the house. They would not allow themselves to be so easily manipulated by their long rivals falling to the highest bidder as it were. Len’ohr, the old lord’s twin sister and warder of the house, had quietly ruled for decades. On that fateful day she announced the greedy lords who had gathered at the Gates that a period of mourning was beginning. That in itself was not unexpected, yet her prompt declaration of ten years of mourning was. The lords were enraged. They demanded that the house be razed for its insolence!

  “Then the Mother Shaman of all the houses intervened and each whispered to their lord: ‘Every house has the right to mourn. If the house chooses it to be for ten years, then that is their right. But remember, at the end of that time they must surely disband or choose a lord from among you. Would it not be best to show the bereaved house how it is that you respect them and thus should ultimately be chosen their lord? Then their talents and wealth would be yours alone.’

  “Each lord hastily agreed and called back their guards, honoring the wit of their Mother Shaman. As so it was that for ten years the house was left to mourn. All the Lords of Cathart, young and old, even child sons were brought before Len’ohr and the crafts masters of the house. Yet none were found acceptable and Shattered House, as it became known, realized that more desperate means at finding an heir must be taken.

  “So it was that to the disgust of all the other houses, the sisters of the Shattered House could be seen on Cathart’s docks meeting foreign sailors from every ship that came to Cathart Bay. The lords cursed the women who played harlot like one of the boundless. The boundless were those cast from their houses. They had no honor and would lie with the foreigners in the hope that they might bear a son and found their own house.

  “So it was that the loveliest daughters of the Shattered House sought among the flotsam of sailors hoping to bear a son. Angrily, the lords awaited the end of mourning, knowing that they would make the foolish women regret the humiliation they had caused.