The camp had been made in a shallow depression with thick trees on all sides, no doubt the only clearing in the area large enough for a group of men. With the mid-morning sun overhead, the clearing had full light. But that light didn’t really extend into the trees, as it couldn’t penetrate the thick canopy of branches overhead. Bellomi stuck to the shadows, using the dimness to his advantage as he slowly circled the camp.
Five men were in the clearing, all more or less hanging about a large pot on the campfire, probably waiting for the food to finish cooking. He looked them over with a clinical eye. Scruffy looking men—thinning hair, clothes ragged, most of them with bushy beards and missing teeth. Their weapons lay beside thin bedrolls, which were scattered all over the place, and none of them looked properly cared for. Clearly, these men were not prosperous in this line of business. But then, if they had any fighting skills worth speaking of, they’d be guards and not bandits. They probably picked on poor merchants and farmers, the people that couldn’t afford to hire guards.
He stopped in the shade of a maple tree and studied the camp intently from one side to another, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. Five bedrolls, five men, so this was indeed the whole group. None of them looked particularly awake, strong, or much of a threat, really.
Alright.
Still hugging the shadows of the trees, he carefully made his way down to the clearing, deliberately choosing a path that would put him in between the bandits and three of the abandoned bedrolls, where their swords still lay. I bet they won’t make this mistake again.
Bellomi made it to almost the middle of the clearing before one of them saw his approach. The man flinched, as if seeing some sort of ghost, and let out a wordless exclamation before scrambling to his feet, drawing his sword free.
The rest of them looked up at their companion’s yelp and when they saw Bellomi, quickly got to their feet. The ones who had a weapon handy grabbed it and pointed it in his direction. They surely meant to look menacing—to Bellomi’s trained eye, they just looked comical. Were those supposed to be guard positions? It left so many openings, he couldn’t tell.
“Heens!” the nearest man, who could have been anywhere from a rough thirty to an older forty, spat out incredulously, mouth agape to reveal missing teeth. “Ah beet of turn, you shoween up ere!”
What language was this fool speaking? It almost sounded like Kindish, but his slang was so thick that Bellomi couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Deciding he’d better speak slowly and clearly, in case they couldn’t understand him, Bellomi said, “I’m here to work out a deal.”
They laughed out loud, some of them holding their bellies as they did. Well, from their viewpoint, it probably did seem ridiculous for him to say that. After all, he was a lone teenager against five hardened criminals. It probably looked like a lamb in a den of wolves to them. Only this lamb is not as he appears to be.
Not fazed by their laughter, he put one hand on the sword hilt above his right shoulder. “We can negotiate with words or swords. Your choice.”
Two of the men leered at him as they started forward, swords held at the ready.
“Swords it is.” He reached up and drew both swords smoothly free, falling automatically into a guard stance with one sword in front of him and the other horizontal to the ground and level with his waist.
When they were two feet from him, he exploded forward, both swords whistling around and about. With opponents on both sides of him, he didn’t have the luxury of being choosy on where to hit them, he just struck out at the best angle that would make contact without leaving himself open to attack. Both swords hit their intended target with a meaty thunk, his hands vibrating slightly from the hard impact.
In seconds, he was past them, moving quickly on his heels so that he put his back to the woods and had all of the men in his line of sight. The two he just wounded were on the ground, gasping and crying in pain, their hands clutching at the bleeding cuts.
The clearing became a frozen tableau as the other bandits stared at him in astonishment. Perhaps they were stunned at his speed and ferocity, as he had not hesitated in cutting them down. But then, he had no use for these men—they were depraved souls that chose to hurt people rather than find a better path. He’d offered them a chance to negotiate and meant it. They had no one to blame but themselves for choosing to attack him instead.
“Yee nenter!” The largest man of the group started forward, cracking his knuckles against an open palm. “Yee prolly theenk yee can tump us and valk avay, ahhh?”
“I offered you a chance to deal,” Bellomi pointed out levelly. It took effort to make his voice sound calm with his heart beating its way out of his chest. This was the first time he’d battled men and it was more nerve-wracking than he’d thought it would be. He shifted his grip on his swords, the memory of that last strike still vibrating in his palms.
“Oh, ve’ll deal,” the man promised menacingly. With a bear-like roar, he raised his arms high overhead and charged.
Bellomi ducked low, avoiding the grasping arms, spinning about on his toes, both swords held horizontal to each other. They sliced against the man’s exposed chest with nothing more than a whisper of sound. He spun again, putting himself safely out of reach, and fell into the first guard position without conscious thought.
He was free and clear before the big man registered just how badly he’d been hit. With a trapped whine of pain, he put both hands to his chest and stumbled slightly to the side, turning around to look at Bellomi with a look of complete surprise. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he dropped heavily to the ground. Bellomi fervently hoped he’d just fainted from the pain. He’d been doing his best to avoid killing anyone.
The other two regarded him with alarm, eyes darting uneasily to their weapons, lying on the other side of the clearing. Neither man had much size to him—in fact, they stood scant inches taller than Bellomi and didn’t have near the muscle that he did. If they tried to retrieve their swords, he’d be on them in a thrice and they’d be down just like their companions. And they knew that, too.
Bellomi forced his heart back into his chest and cleared his throat. “I came to deal. The offer’s still on the table.” He felt high on adrenaline and a rush of nerves, but put a stranglehold on himself to keep control.
After a long moment, one of the bandits bobbed a nervous bow. “Ve be leestenen’, master.”
“I will be making a camp nearby for today. You will leave me and the members of my party alone until we leave.” Bellomi took a step forward, rotating both swords in his hands in a menacing manner before flipping them upright again. “If you leave me and mine alone, I will leave you alone.”
Their eyes darted to their fallen comrades. If those three had stood no chance against him, they wouldn’t fare much better. It took mere seconds for them to nod hastily in agreement. “’Course, master. Your druthers ees our ruthers.”
I have absolutely no idea what that means. Wanting to make sure that was an agreement, Bel rephrased, “Then we have a deal?”
They bobbed those nervous bows again, eyes white with fear. “Deal eet ees,” they assured him in near unison.
Good enough. Bellomi gave a nod of the head. “Well enough. Tend to your friends.”
Re-sheathing the swords, he turned and walked back into the woods, carefully going in a direction away from the waterfall. He kept both ears open and listening hard to everything behind him, but they didn’t even try to follow him or extract revenge.
They really need to find a different career, he couldn’t help but think as he melded back into the shadow of the trees. Their swordsmanship is pathetic.
The waterfalls hadn’t changed a whit since she’d been in here last, almost three years ago. They still ran pure and clear, almost white as they tumbled over the cliff edge above and into the wide pool below before flowing smoothly into the river. She’d forgotten how noisy they were, though. The sound at first sounded almost deafening, like a constant rumble of thunder
mixed in with the hard crashing noise of water hitting water. She had to raise her voice just to hear herself speak.
No one had touched this place. She could see across the river to the other side and the woods on both sides didn’t have even a hint of human visitors. The trees were thick and old, entwined together like a natural barrier. But the right side of the river had a small and narrow gravel beach leading down into it so that they could get in and out of the river easily. Not that she really wanted to get closer to that water. It smelled cold even from here.
Sevana parked the king on a nearby boulder before she did anything, as she had no desire for the man to follow her around like a puppy and constantly trip her up. She’d found a nice little clearing right next to the base of the waterfall that would be a good campsite. While Bel took care of their bandit problem, she might as well set up a few necessities.
She hunted up some firewood first and started a fire. They’d need it later, considering the waterfall was fed by a mountain spring—it would be ice cold. Then she pulled the chairs, tent, and the food she’d packed for dinner out and set it nearby.
With those preparations done, she pulled out her wands and her notebook and started the magical preparations. This particular waterfall had three different sections to it, the water being divided up top by rocky outcroppings. The water’s power would be more or less consistent because it all came from the same source, but the force of it wouldn’t be. She couldn’t stand the king under something so strong that it would instantly knock him over. Her spells would channel the power of it. It wouldn’t protect him from the brunt of the water.
Hmmm…the one on the right side, closest to the camp, seemed to have sufficient power and not as much force as the other sides. Good enough. Opening her notebook to the right page, she started inscribing into the air the channeling spell. To the non-magical, it probably looked like she was just waving her wand about meaninglessly. But to the magical, the ones that could see, the complex spell would glow brightly in thick white lines.
First she drew a large enclosing circle, large enough for her to step through. Then inside the line, she wrote the precise directions of the spell in a flowing hand. Then she drew another circle to close the words in before writing another set of instructions that dictated how much power would be let through. This one was the trickiest part as her math had to be exact. But with it done, she drew one more circle, leaving a hole for the water to pour through. It would cover the king’s head and shoulders with ease. Perfect.
Without a sound, Bel appeared from the forest, as stealthy as his cat mentor and with a satisfied look about him. The bandits had been dealt with, apparently. Bel didn’t even look mussed. Even though he was on the other side of the river, she raised her voice to be heard over the thundering noise of the waterfall and called to him, “Did you even fight?”
“I did, actually,” he called back. “What can I say? They were lousy fighters.”
Apparently so. Either that, or his skill level was higher than she’d initially guessed. How much time had he been training with those swords, anyway?
Realizing he had no way to get across, she dipped into her left pocket and pulled out her skipping stones. With a casual toss, the stone skimmed the surface of the water with a slight splash. As the stone touched the water’s surface, it left a larger stone behind, large enough to step on, leaving a trail of smooth stones behind. It ended at Bel’s feet.
He raised a brow at her, impressed with it, but if he was impressed with this, he should see what she had stored in her upper rooms.
With the grace of a mountain cat—literally—he leaped from stone to stone and made it across without a single slip. Baby had indeed taught him well. As soon as he reached her side, he took in the area with a lingering study before asking, “Are you sure we need the fire already? It’s still warm.”
“Have you felt the temperature of this water?” she countered.
He glanced back at the river. “That’s a good point. Alright, anything I can do to help?”
“Yes. Get that coat off your father and lead him to where I tell you.”
His head came up and he took in the wand in her hand, the book in the other, and quickly realized she was only waiting on him. With commendable alacrity, he went to his father and did as she instructed, wrestling the coat off of him and his boots as well before urging the man to his feet.
Sevana grabbed another skipping stone from her pocket and tossed it in the direction of the waterfall. As Bel led his father carefully along the stones, she maneuvered her glowing spell-circle so that it lay flat under the waterfall, directly over one of the stones.
Bel glanced back at her, one stone away from putting his father directly under the deluge, expression asking if she were ready.
She nodded confirmation.
He took in a deep breath before guiding his father that one last step. Then he retreated back to a nearby stone and watched anxiously.
Sevana activated the spell.
~ ~ ~
Aren sucked in a lungful of air, as if he had been robbed of proper breath, and then let it out again in a whoosh. The lifelessness of his expression disappeared in a twinkling, replaced with the intelligence he’d always had. Then he blinked, and he turned frantically about, searching until his eyes fell on Bellomi. For a long moment he stared, as if disbelieving his eyes, then he ventured, “Bellomi?”
He leaped two stepping stones to get to his father’s side, and then threw his arms around the other man’s waist, not caring that he’d be soaked in the process. The waterfall crashed around his head and shoulders, cold and harsh against his skin, but that didn’t matter either. What did matter was that his father caught him and held him close, almost squeezing the breath out of him.
For a timeless moment they stood there, not caring about the freezing condition of the water, or the silent watcher that remained nearby. Bellomi just needed a moment. Just one moment where he knew his father had returned to him, and he needn’t ever look into that awful, vacant expression ever again.
Slowly, Aren pulled back a half-step, maneuvering them away from the brunt of the waterfall and to a different stone entirely to avoid being doused.
“Bellomi, son,” his father hunkered down a little to put them at more of an eye level. “Why are you still this small? A long time has passed, hasn’t it?”
“I’m still cursed, Father.” The words felt like acid in his mouth. “Although hopefully, not for much longer.”
“What?!” Aren’s eyes were confused, eyebrows furrowed in the beginning stages of anger. “I don’t understand.”
“Can you delay the reunion and all until after you’re dry again?” Sevana inclined her head toward the shoreline, arms crossed, her fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against her other arm.
Bel shook his head even as he stepped back a little. “Always practical.”
“Somebody has to be with this lot.” She snorted and waved them on. “This way, you two.”
Aren watched her hop from stone to stone toward the shore. “Who is this abrasive woman?”
“Artifactor Sevana Warran, the reigning prodigy of this age. She’s the one that has broken the curse you were under and has agreed to break mine.” As Bel spoke, he tugged his father into motion, leading him over the slippery wet stones. He hated to admit it, but continuing the explanation of everything that had happened in dry clothes sounded appealing. The water was freezing.
Sevana proved right that they would want a warm fire to huddle around. It took a few minutes for them to change into dry clothes and towel dry. Fortunately, the weather still felt slightly warm, so they felt better as soon as they had dry clothes on. Sevana magicked some folding chairs from somewhere so they all had a comfortable seat.
When they were more or less settled, Aren leaned forward, demanding of his son, “Just how much time has passed? I couldn’t keep track of it while under the curse.”
“Ten years,” Bellomi answered quietly.
; The king’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. “Ten years?! Why didn’t Pierpoint break both of our curses before this point?”
“He was dismissed from court almost three weeks after I was cursed. The reason the Council gave was he was too incompetent to maintain his position as Royal Magician.”
“The Council,” Aren repeated with dark understanding. “I see. What happened after he was dismissed?”
“A few hundred magicians of different types were trotted in to examine me.” After seeing the way that Sevana examined someone, Bellomi now realized that those other magicians were just for show. They hadn’t done more than look him over with the naked eye and then shrug their ignorance. “After a year or two of that, I was basically locked into my room and not allowed visitors. Well, not until Sevana came in and broke me out four months ago.”
Aren shot Sevana a look. “You had to break in to see my son? You, who is the prodigy Artifactor of this age?”
“The Council issued a decree that no more magicians would be allowed to see the prince,” she answered with a shrug. “So I had to be sneaky. Fortunately, that wasn’t difficult. Your guards are pathetic.”
“And then a month ago we went to see you,” Bellomi picked up the narration before his father could get into an argument with her. “We didn’t realize at the time that you were cursed. But as soon as we did, we kidnapped you. Sevana figured out how to break your curse, which is why we’re here.” He gestured to the waterfall not a stone’s throw from them.
Aren scrubbed a hand over his face wearily. “The Council has much to answer for. But we’ll deal with that later. Artifactor Warran, what can be done about my son’s curse?”
“We know how to break it,” she answered forthrightly, leaning casually back into her chair. “The problem is the solution. To have the necessary power to break the curse he’s under, I need to borrow the aid of a water dragon. That takes money I do not have.”
The Child Prince (The Artifactor) Page 21