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

by Aire, D. H.

  “It was in the ninth year that the lords’ bitter plotting reached new heights. The last merchant ship arrived before the storm season. Their last chance was upon them if the heir were to be born before mourning ended. Every sailor on that ship found more willing women in Cathart than ever a sailor had ever envisioned. The Shattered House grew desperate as the lords arranged great parties for the sailors, while the women of the Shattered House did their best to meet with the men at Len’ohr’s urging.

  “Fighting broke out, yet the sailors were unaffected, joyously going with their willing hosts. Yet amidst it all, there was Ter’sa. She was very young woman, little more than a girl of the Shattered House, and had held herself apart. Len’ohr had chided her for not committing herself. Yet it was not because she did not agree with her sisters’ desperate gambit. She felt it might truly be their only hope. So she chose to disguise herself and went down to the wharf, telling herself that she must find just the right man, one only her true heart might recognize as the heir’s sire.

  “She gazed up at the now abandoned ship as the sun began to set, knowing in a few days it must leave to make its way safely back to its home port. Forlornly, she realized that all the sailors were long gone. Then she saw a light was lit upon the ship as the night stars began to appear. With a look of hope, she rushed up the gangplank onto the ship and saw someone lighting yet another lamp.

  “He was startled and exclaimed, ‘Off with you! If the captain finds you, you’ll feel his lash!’

  “She sighed, seeing him silhouetted against the faint light. He was only a lad.

  “‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He said. He stepped back and told her, ‘Best you be off the ship right quick, miss,’ then he turned and ran away from her and ducked down a doorway.

  “She grabbed up the lamp he had just lit and chased after him shouting for him to wait. She held the lantern high and finally found him huddled in a cramped room, then saw his face as he cringed back from the light. He was scarred; half his face had been terribly burned. He knew he was ugly. The crew never ceased to remind him of it as he slaved, obeying their every whim. ‘Leave me!’ he cried.

  “Instead she put the lantern down and sat beside him. ‘Do not be afraid,’ she whispered, realizing that this space must be his room. “He stared at her dumbfounded and softly cried in anguish as the beautiful girl put her arm around him and held him. When he hesitantly joined her they began to talk about life at sea and the fire that had marred him. Finally he looked up and realized that she wore but the sheerest of clothing. He saw her smile at him without pity and say, ‘My heart tells me you are the one, but so young.”

  “’The one?’ he whispered. She nodded and looked about her, then took his hand and rose. She took the lantern and peered into several rooms until she found one she felt suitable.

  “‘We can’t go in there. It’s the captain’s cabin.’

  “She smiled and brought him to the bed, where she allowed her clothing to fall. He stared at her as she waited patiently. She kissed him and helped him to remove his clothes and saw the terrible welts on his back. She held him tenderly and kissed him once more. In many ways, Kyrr was a boy, yet not in the ways that most counted to her. Before the sun rose she knew he had indeed been the one.

  “Kyrr woke to find her caressing her belly, her eyes closed. She smiled at him, ‘I shall bear you a fine son, my lord.’ He did not understand as she gingerly kissed his misshapen cheek then rose, ‘You are leaving this ship and coming with me. I will not leave you here.’

  “’But where will I go?’ he asked as she dressed.

  “‘Well, are you coming with me or not?’ she asked with a tender smile. He followed her. And so it was that Ter’sa brought Kyrr secretly back to the Shattered House. Len’ohr, to say the least, was not amused by Ter’sa’s sudden declaration that she would bear the heir, her scarred boy lover beside her.

  “‘Are you daft, girl?’ Yet Ter’sa bowed to the boy.

  “‘Forgive her, my lord, the strain of ruling this House in such times has affected her.’

  “Len’ohr's shrilling sent for the Mother Shaman to disprove the youngster’s story once and for all. Yet upon entering the Mother Shaman stared at the boy and Ter’sa then bowed, her mind dancing with vision. ‘The heir has been conceived. His lord sire stands at her side.’

  “Gasping Len’ohr stared, then hurriedly ordered, ‘Ter’sa, see to his every need but keep him hidden. This must be kept secret if we are to truly proclaim success by the last day of mourning.’ Ter’sa hugged Kyrr tightly and shouted, ‘Thank you!’

  “And so it was on the last day of mourning that the city lords came expecting an end to the folly of the Shattered House and instead they were introduced to Lord Kyrr and the babe heir of the House, born by the Lady Ter’sa. The Mother Shaman bowed low to their lords’ horror, knowing the House was indeed shattered no more. The House of Kyrr was thus born.”

  Se’and looked at George. “The Shattered House is the house of my ancestors, my lord.”

  He sat quietly contemplative and nodded. She was not certain if he understood the full import of the tale. Yet there was a furtive quality to his silence that she only then began to notice.

  “Se’and, please do try to understand.”

  She frowned, suddenly understanding all too well and casually reached for one of her knives. She drew it and used it expertly.

  He watched the second woman complete her exercise session. He liked her demonstration of skill not in the least, yet was unworried. An arrow in the back was an effective defence against even the most competent swordsman. As the elfblood held the woman beside him, he watched her march off toward the stream.

  The bowman nodded in the distance and quietly pursued her. Soon the game would be afoot. He need only patiently await knowledge of their other companions.

  Fri’il waded out of the water and only then noticed her weapons were missing. She hesitated, certain that this was the place that she had left them. Worried, she turned to call out, “Raven—,” when an arm descended from the branches above her and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck.

  “No reason to fret now,” said the man, laughing harshly, pressing his ill shaved face pressed up to her cheek.

  Raven moved to rush to her defense when a voice called out, “Do nothing foolish, girl! Your friend’s death would be meaningless, and my arrow will take you in the next step!”

  In human form, Raven was mortally vulnerability. The man who had been holding Fri’il dropped from his perch and placed a menacing dagger near her left eye. Raven saw the look in Fri’il’s eyes. It was not quite fear. They would play for time; she would deal with the pair soon enough.

  The one in the brush came out into the open, bow in hand, arrow notched. His partner stood behind Fri’il and pulled back her long blonde hair. He breathed the scent of her and gave her neck a slobbering kiss. “Have I got plans for you, lovey,” he muttered.

  “Not now you fool!” his companion shouted as he approached Raven, lowering the bow and grabbing her arm. He hauled her clear of the stream. “We’ve other work to do before we can take our pleasures with lot of them!”

  Chapter 20: Trap

  Balfour rested beside Me’oh. She raised her head suddenly. She thought she heard a noise and began to reach for her dagger.

  “Lady, I’ll put an arrow through you long before you can draw it,” rasped a voice behind her. “And mage, you can stop feigning sleep.”

  Me’oh glanced down at Balfour warningly as they warily sat up. A brown-haired figure emerged from the trees.

  “And to caution your behavior…” he nodded across the camp. Two bowmen appeared. “They have orders to kill the woman should you try to cast any magery.”

  Balfour nodded.

  “Oh, do not worry about your friends. It took time. But we tracked them all. They have now all been dealt with.”

  Fri’il readied herself, watching fearfully as he lowered his knife slightly. She
shifted and brushed his hand with her body. He grinned and moved the blade just enough to enjoy the feel of her.

  The moment his companion drew Raven completely from the water heralded her moment of attack. Raven shimmered and changed, her body growing tawny furred with a black mane, in the vagabond’s grasp. Both men gaped as the hellhound-like beast growled, then bite deeply into his arm.

  He cried out even as Fri’il stepped forcefully backward and kicked out at her antagonist’s right leg. As his body buckled she rammed her head back sharply into his face. The man lost hold of her with a shout of agony and surprise. She kicked his dagger into the stream.

  Raven clawed closer to the man who had thought her his prey as he struggled to flee from her. She charged into him and knocked him down, his bow breaking as he fell awkwardly upon it.

  Her teeth, dripping with his blood, snapped before his face as he heard his companion groaning in pain. Her naked companion shouted, “Down, Raven!” They backed up a pace, then Fri’il pointed back toward the camp, “Warn them!”

  The beast abruptly raced past, shimmered, then leapt into the air as it changed, growing wings. The great bird flew into the tree line squawking loudly. Fri’il then said to Raven’s gaping attacker, “You have really messed with the wrong people.”

  He gaped, going pale and began to beg her for help. Smiling, Fri’il ignored his pleas and sought her clothes and weapons.

  Cle’or retrieved her throwing dagger from the body of the bowman who had tried to waylay her. She heard terrible cries from the stream then soon saw the falc flying overhead. An archer rose to Cle’or’s left and sent an arrow at the shrieking bird. The shaft broke against her pale feathers. Before he could launch a second, he choked and stared at the hilt-less dagger Cle’or had cast.

  She heard swords clash and saw Fri’il clutching her livery to her with one hand and wielding her short sword in the other against a grim opponent who bled from three small wounds.

  As he closed with her, she threw her livery at the man’s feet. He tripped and she offered no mercy, though she made her attack quick. She stared down at him then took back her livery as Cle’or hurried to her.

  “Are you all right?”

  “There are two more back there,” she replied.

  “Like this one?”

  “Wounded. I left one with both broken nose and knee. Raven bit the one. I told him as she flew off that the bite contained a slow acting poison. They’ve fled off through the woods.” At Cle’or’s disapproving look, she muttered, “I couldn’t kill them.”

  “But you could now.”

  “I suppose so.” She looked down at herself. “I had only time enough to find my short sword and this before this other was upon me.”

  “Come on then!”

  George and Se’and’s conversation abruptly ended. George shook his head, slightly out of breath as Se’and shouldered him back at the sound of a bowstring’s twang. Snapping out his hand, George mentally knocked the arrow away just before it would have reached her.

  She unerringly cast a dagger. The bowman gasped, clutching at the arrow jutting from his throat. He swayed on his perch upon a sturdy tree branch then fell with a sickening thud.

  Se’and glanced down at the arrow embedded at her feet, realizing she had been the arrow’s intended target.

  “This does nothing to change my mind,” he muttered.

  Looking about them she replied, “It is you who misunderstand. Neither have you changed my mind.”

  They approached their attacker. George half-saw movement in the trees.

  ‘May I increase rapport now?’ whispered the voice in his mind.

  “Absolutely. Now, scan the area!”

  Then they heard a falc’s urgent cry. An image rose in George’s mind. “Se’and, we’ve more than isolated trouble here.”

  She quickly retrieved her thrown dagger. “Our ill luck to have been found by brigands.”

  He wondered how much luck really had anything to do with it while Staff’s scan revealed to him human-size heat signatures. He could feel their presence. “There are two more just ahead. Try not to kill them, Se’and.”

  She glared at him, knowing his aversion. “If they allow me to let them live, I shall.”

  He nodded and pulled his cloak closer about him. His hand grasped the staff tightly and he concentrated. The staff’s glow formed a translucent shield of energy beside him. The shield reflected a shadowed version of his form. He focused on Se’and’s image, which gradually appeared reflected in the field. She smiled and hurried into the brush. George would serve as bait. Staff glowed and Se’and’s image appeared beside him.

  Se’and looked at herself, looking back at her. “That’ll do nicely.”

  Nodding, George began to run back toward the camp, two more brigand archers saw his indistinct form and Se’and’s trapped reflection, thinking their quarry together. They rose and let fly shafts.

  Balfour tried to reason with his captors. “You have us at a disadvantage, sir. If it is a matter of money or food, take what you want and leave us in peace. We mean you no ill.”

  “Oh, we shall, m’lord, we shall. However, you are what we came for. Leaving your friends in peace has never been part of the plan.”

  They heard a muffled cry then that of a shrieking bird, growing louder as it neared. The brigand realized something was amiss and glaring at the elfblood mage. “No tricks, I said! Kill the woman!” he shouted at his comrades.

  The falc burst out of the trees and targeted the nearest bowman as he drew to release his shaft even as Balfour protested and reached out his hand, focusing on the second man.

  The man’s bow snapped in half, the knocked and half-aimed arrow falling aside. His other bowman screamed as the great falc raked its talons across his face. He beat it back, then hurriedly drew and shot his arrow at it.

  The leader of the brigands drew a dagger even as the arrow struck the bird squarely and broke as if striking the toughest steel. The falc was not even slowed as it dove upon him once more.

  Me’oh had grabbed her dagger and leapt to bar the man’s attack. He growled as he swept his blade forward. Desperate, he sought to close with the elfblood mage and end what he was sure was a spell wrought on his men.

  She met his attack with practised ease. Yet he was not without skill. With his other hand he drew a second and longer blade and smiled grimly as he prepared to skewer her. Then he noted the elfblood’s gaze meet his and abruptly found it difficult to breathe.

  As he hesitated the woman attacked and he elected a feint that in his last moments of consciousness allowed him to break past and stab out with his blade at the woman.

  Me’oh barely managed to twist out of its way and felt the nearness of its passage as the brigand reached Balfour, who glared at him defiantly, concentrating on mentally blocking the man’s airways and bring unconsciousness.

  The man’s knife was the merest fraction from Balfour’s chest. The brigand’s gaze held a triumphant gleam.

  Raven dove at the second bowman who had drawn his ragged looking sword and fended her off with it. As she flew into the air she saw Me’oh narrowly miss being struck as her attacker staggered past her.

  Raven flew hastily across the camp, abandoning her bleeding and exhausted attacker, and dove at the brigand leader. She knocked the man to the side and he flailed out his arm, touching her with his blade. She shrilled in agony then lost hold of her form. She fell, stunned, stumbling to the ground, once more a little girl.

  Balfour felt Raven’s anguish as he was knocked aside. He cried out, raising his hands to his ears at Raven’s mind numbing mental scream. The brigand confusedly turned away from Balfour to see a naked girl tumble to the ground. He took a ragged breath, suddenly free of the elfblood’s influence.

  “Danvers, look out!” cried his companion whose bow had been broken.

  Danvers’ long brown hair and ragged beard swung about his head as he hurriedly ducked, yet Cle’or’s thrown hilt-less dagger scratched
his arm, barely missing its mark as the mage’s other black liveried defender returned running out of the trees. She glared at him and drew another blade as the bleeding bowman grabbed his fallen bow. Cle’or ignored him as she sought to race across the encampment. Danvers, gasping deep breaths, flung himself upon the dazed elfblood and held him to the ground as Me’oh rushed him.

  The bowman anxiously drew back on the bow and readied to release, but hastily dove to the side as a young woman in blood stained livery leapt out of the forest beside him with a scream of rage. The other vagabond raced forward to defend him and met Fri’il’s descending short sword.

  Cle’or glanced back and cast her throwing knife at the bowman, who was hurriedly taking aim once more. He gasped and fell as one of her hiltless knives was driven in his upper arm. Cle’or saw the bowman’s arrow arch toward her and dove aside, the arrow narrowly missing its target. Fri’il’s blade clashed as she fought the remaining brigand, who gritted his teeth as she cut his forearm and ducked his lunge.

  Angered, he ferociously rained blows upon her, which quickly brought the slight woman to her knees as she held her sword two handed. She dropped backward and rolled aside, his sword cleaving a clump of ground. She rose and charged him. He fell back a step.

  “Enough! Or he dies!” Danvers shouted.

  “No!” Me’oh shouted as she halted in place, her defense abruptly stymied.

  Danvers had come up behind the dazed Balfour and placed his knife to his neck. Cle’or lowered her next readied knife as she came to her feet with a deadly glare. His surviving man held himself poised before Fri’il, who was perspiring hard.

  “That’s better now. Much better,” Danvers said between panting.

  Outside, Raven lay stunned, her head ringing as Staff mentally touched her. ‘Look and listen for us, little one.’