She found Vyncis where she expected him to be, sitting behind his over-sized desk of black glass and jagged gemstones. It was gaudy and served little purpose but to bolster the man’s ego. No doubt he was severely lacking in other areas of size and might. It crossed her mind to find out, but quickly she banished the thought. Now was not the time.
He looked up as she glided up to the desk, slid smoothly atop it, and stretched out her long figure, lying her head on a reaching arm. She smiled coyly and grabbed at his chin. He stared deep into her eyes, mesmerized in an instant. Vyncis was His loyal lapdog and needed no persuasion to do his job, but Maira found it hard not to toy with the man. Even in death, she could see his body respond as it had in life.
“Vyncis, my dear, it is nearly time. Are your lovely spawn prepared?”
He drank in her sweet tone and let out an involuntary moan, shifting in his chair. His eyes darted away from her and his hand raked at his beard. “Uh, yes, your majesty, of course. As soon as, uh, the way is open…”
“Darling, dispel that formal talk. I may be your Queen now, but I am still just a woman. I have needs just like any other.” She sat up and swung her legs around until her feet rested on the armrests of his chair and her knees were at his ears. The long slit in her dress spread and pushed the garment to her waist.
His eyes looked at her womanhood for a long moment, his mouth slightly agape. She purred softly and brought her mouth close to his, breathing hotly on his lips. Her hands found his breastplate. She ran her nails along the enameled silver. He shifted again, but didn’t pull away.
“Good,” she said softly. “I have one more task for you, dear Vyncis…”
He nodded slowly, eyes locked on hers. She could sense his hands moving forward, grasping at the air, seeking what she held between her thighs. She swallowed a flare of rage and let her lips brush his.
“The way will open at the giant’s arrival. You will send forth every ounce of Shadow that can squeeze into the breach, but you must bar entry to the giant’s shadow as it comes to you. Turn him away at the gate and send him back.”
Vyncis nodded again and licked his lips. She knew he didn’t understand any of what she had just told him, but she also knew that he would follow the order regardless. Her sweet husband wanted only to toy with the Chosen and frighten the Fae. But if she could arrest the giant’s passing before it completed the transition… well, she knew all too well what that did to the mind. It should make for a lovely surprise for His precious Chosen. The sooner they were killed, the sooner destruction could be assured. Why He permitted their existence was beyond even her comprehension, but it reeked of foolish arrogance. He would not rob her of her vengeance.
She felt thick fingers grope at her inner thigh, snapping her from the brief reverie. Her fingers twisted into vicious black claws and she pressed them against the Emperor’s throat. Her eyes narrowed and she felt her mouth fill with jagged fangs.
She hissed and pushed his chin toward the ceiling, exposing his throat. The man swallowed deeply.
“Do not disappoint me, Vyncis. There is nothing I loathe more than an incompetent man. You’re not incompetent, are you, Vyncis?”
He shook his head, but it hardly moved in her tight grasp.
“Good,” she said, releasing him and gracefully spinning off the desk.
She turned and strutted out of the room.
“I’ll be sure that giant’s twisted soul remains where it falls,” Vyncis shouted after her. “After what is done to him, his mind will become a true terror come to life.”
Maira paused and almost glanced back at the man. It seemed he wasn’t quite as dull as she assumed. There were more important tasks to tend to, but she would need to change that when she had the chance.
Chapter Eighteen
“ALL RIGHT, ERLEN, that’s enough for now,” Sachihiro said, holding up his hands. The thick callouses across his fingertips were beginning to crack and bleed.
“Just one more, song singer of the superbly superb songs. I rather liked that last one. What was it?”
Sachihiro beamed at the wordy compliment and thought for a moment to take up his lute again and launch into another bawdy shanty, but it would do no good to ruin his fingers simply to please the sprite. “‘Bertha’s Bags,’” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed. “It was my uncle’s favorite. Claimed he wrote it after his third wife.”
Erlen somersaulted in the air and came to a rest on the bedpost nearest Sachihiro. “I once tamed a dragon that had a wife with three heads. The words that wafted from that wonderfully wasted wench you’d wonder weren’t worn out when I walloped them off. Woe was I! But more woe was her!”
“You know, I don’t understand half of what you say, but you sure have a way of lightening the mood.”
Erlen snapped to his feet and bowed with a flourish of his wooden sword. “It is my pleasure, Sir Sachihiro, but what need is there of lightening the mood? I’ve never known any mood but one.” He stuck out his chin and grinned so wide it looked like the rest of his face had disappeared.
Sachihiro couldn’t smile back. Instead, he found his eyes and fingers tracing the intricate runes along the lacquered body of his uncle’s lute. “Sorry, Erlen, but after what happened to my uncle…”
“Oh, yes, that bit of bad luck.”
“I always wanted to be like him. Saw the world, the whole thing, he said. And had the stories and songs to prove it. He spent a summer with the orcs, and taught music at the Civil Academy, wherever that is. Nearly drowned in the Sea of Heroes, taught a dwarf to jig, and had a pet cobra.”
“I can teach you to jig,” Erlen said, alighting on the neck of the lute and sketching out a few quick dance steps.
Sachihiro shook the instrument, forcing the sprite to dart back to the bedpost. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying my uncle got to scour the whole of Alfuria for the best songs, and he combed every tavern for the most elusive secrets. I’ve never even been out of the Great Forest. I hardly ever leave Woodhaerst.”
“You’re certainly not in Woodhaerst anymore. For this is Paladrix, capital of the Fae Wyld, island of mysticism and wonder!” Erlen began whistling and spinning about like a top.
Sachihiro had to laugh. It was forced at first, but grew genuine as the diminutive Fae creature tumbled off his perch and nearly hit the ground before getting his wings moving.
“I’ll just have to show you my home,” Erlen said, flitting to eye level. “There is no more grand a locale in all the Realms as the sprite home of Dragonslandburgiadomton.”
“Dragonsland-whatsit?”
“Just so,” Erlen said. He twirled his sword and did a backflip.
Sachihiro shook his head. “Well, whatever it’s called, I’d love to see your home. Maybe watch you in action.”
Erlen froze and his eyes widened. “Oh yes! The most excellent of excellently excellent ideas! I shall gather an entire horde of dragons before you, watch you squirm with fear, and then… tame them! With alacrity and guile and deft swordsmanship!”
“That’ll make a great song.”
“Especially the part where I tame them!”
“Of course.”
Erlen sheathed his sword with his usual flourish and darted down to the body of the lute. “Now, what’s so special about this thing? It carries a tune, I suppose, but it’s no dragondrum.” He bent and rapped on the wood with his knuckles.
Sachihiro looked back over the runes and felt his mood slide into a darker place again. He traced a jagged symbol with his finger. It felt warmer than the surrounding wood. “Jaydan says runes let a man better channel magic that his body and mind couldn’t handle on their own. Uncle used to weave some wicked charms and illusions.”
“And you?”
He shook his head. “He didn’t think I had it in me.”
“Well, isn’t that what the runes are for?”
Sachihiro shrugged. “I guess so. I never really understand when Jaydan starts talking magic.”
“Well, seems to this Dragontamer, and of that I most certainly and assuredly am, that your uncle didn’t have it in him either. Hence the fancy marked-up strumming wood you got there.”
He had never thought of it like that. “Well, I was able to use it back in Woodhaerst. For magic I mean, not just song.”
Erlen flew to Sachihiro’s nose and slapped it. “Now, there you go. See? You and your uncle are just the same. Now, show me.”
Sachihiro swatted at the sprite, but missed as he darted out of the way and moved to the middle of the room. “Show you what? I told you, my fingers are done playing.”
“Your music, while lovely, is no more remarkable than the spots on my dear mother’s backside. Magic. Now.”
Sachihiro looked at the lute, hoping to decipher some meaning or instruction in the odd symbols. He had once met a gnome that claimed runes were a dead language from before the world. The same gnome claimed to have bedded twelve giants on the same night, so he wasn’t sure the information was valid. It did him no good in either case.
“Go on,” Erlen said. “Do what you did in ol’ woody Woodhaerst.”
Sachihiro sighed and positioned his fingers on the lute. He had been meaning to recreate the spectacle he performed that night. It may not have done them any good in the moment, but the rush he got from the momentary burst of magic was exhilarating. Only a handful of previous performances could hold a candle to the feeling. Now he knew why Jaydan chased it so.
“All right, I’ll try,” he said.
His only thought was to reconstitute as much of that night as possible, and so he began “Gregor’s Cry.” Ignoring the pain in his fingers, he studied the runes and focused on trying to draw magic into the instrument. Jaydan claimed it was like breathing.
He finished the first verse and launched into the rowdy chorus. Something ran along his fingertips and he hardly noticed it above the pain and his own focus on the runes, but it returned as he transitioned into the second verse and built in intensity while the music softened. He stopped abruptly and looked at his hand.
“Don’t stop now,” Erlen said.
Sachihiro shook his head and held out his hand toward Erlen. “My fingers,” he said, stupefied.
“Yes, quite nice digits you have there. Now, on with the magically magical magic music!”
“They’re healed.” He rested the lute on his lap and examined both hands. His fingertips were still thick with callouses, but the tough skin was no longer cracked and bleeding. And the stiffness in his knuckles was gone as well.
“Well, go on,” Erlen said.
Reinvigorated beyond the physical, Sachihiro drew up the lute, stood, and launched into the ballad with gusto. He played hard and fast, fingers flying through the notes while his mind lashed out at the magic of the world that, admittedly, he couldn’t sense as well as he imagined Jaydan could.
Energy wicked up his legs and lit a fire in his stomach. He played harder, his hand becoming a blur. On the second chorus, the runes lit up all at once and the room filled with light and warmth. The world beyond his performance fell to nothing and Sachihiro focused on the instrument, silently commanding the runes to do whatever it was they did. His fingers danced over the strings, and the brighter the runes glowed, the faster he played. By the bridge, there were no longer solitary notes, but a constant hum of energy. His hands felt on fire, but he continued to play, determined to bend the magic to his will.
The end of the ballad was coming and he built up to the final push. The end of “Gregor’s Cry” was, in fact, Gregor Chalence’s famed battle cry that was said to have culled an entire horde of ravaging orcs in some bygone battle. He inhaled sharply, drawing with the breath every ounce of magic he could find, and prepared to give credence to the song’s title.
The music fell away in an instant and Sachihiro held up a fist to give the final yell, but as he opened his mouth, a crippling pain seized first his stomach and then his throat, and bent the musician double. With one hand on his throat and the other clutching the lute to his chest, he fell to his knees. He could feel his eyes bulge as he found himself unable to breathe. The room pulsed in vibrant colors and his own heartbeat deafened him.
He dropped the lute and clawed at his throat. Something clawed back. He fell forward on his hands and heaved. He could feel his throat shift as whatever was lodged within struggled to free itself just as much as Sachihiro thought to expel it. He arched his back, curled his fingers, and violently retched a dark mass onto the stone floor. At once, the air returned to his lungs and the room came into focus.
He felt Erlen on his shoulder, pulling at his ear. “Snap out of it, you poor excuse for a musical magician.”
Sachihiro groaned and sat back. He was sweating and his limbs were twitching from exertion. He looked at his diminutive friend. “So, what’d you think of my performance?”
“The lights and music were quite wonderful, but the Dragontamer is more than a little concerned about your final crescendo.”
“Maybe I got a little carried away, but I was just really feeling it at the end. Thought it was magic, but I don’t know.”
Erlen pulled sharply at his ear again and gestured to the floor. “I was speaking of that,” he said shrilly. “I may be capable of taming the most untameable of dragons, but I will be of no use in taming that.”
Sachihiro stared as the wet mass on the floor shifted, righted itself, and shook off the layer of mucus and saliva that coated its striped fur. It stood on its hind legs and regarded Sachihiro with beady black eyes. Then it squeaked and darted away.
“Oh,” Sachihiro said as the small creature scaled the bureau and perched on the top, chattering a string of indecipherable noises. “I seem to have given birth to a squirrel.”
Chapter Nineteen
ALEXANDER WOKE WITH a start. He sat breathless for a moment, shaking his head and calming the ragged panic that tore through his soul.
“Just a dream,” he said, though not all of him believed it.
He climbed from the bed and walked to the balcony, hoping fresh air would banish the nightmare. He stood against the stone railing and took three deep breaths before he noticed it. The sky. It was… dark.
He looked skyward. A dark mass of clouds swirled overhead. He grunted. Guess Tannyl was wrong. They do have night here.
As he finished the thought, a bolt of lightning ripped through the sky. Thunder boomed behind it and shook the stone beneath Alexander’s feet. He stumbled and nearly fell, just catching the railing. Another flash of lightning and rumble of thunder sent him to a knee.
In the eerie silence that followed he heard another sound that nearly took his legs out from under him completely. His ears had long ago attuned to the very sound, and it had him running for the door in an instant. Nothing moved the lanky teen quicker than did the scream of a child.
Two other figures stepped into the hallway just as he did. Sachihiro was wearing only his pants, but his lute was slung across his back. Jaydan was fully dressed and stared at him with a dazed look. The Healer looked back into his own room, examined his hands, shook his head, and then turned back to Alexander.
“Addy,” Alexander said, running for the end of the hall. He didn’t look to see if the others followed.
He shouldered into the room, letting the door crash into the wall, not bothering to stop. His senses were sharp, even in the dim light. A flash of lightning beyond the balcony revealed everything in an instant and seared it into the backs of his eyes. Adelaide sat huddled against the headboard of the large four-poster bed, blankets pulled to her chin, her mouth reverberating with an infinite shriek of terror.
Alexander turned to the shape coming in from the balcony. In the gloom, it was hard to distinguish; it seemed to be made of blackness. Burning yellow eyes stared back like small embers, giving away its location. It crept on all fours, but seemed capable of walking upright; it had the look of a shrunken and stooped humanoid. Its flesh was gray and pocked. Something akin to smoke drifted off it, as if it
were a smoldering coal.
Sachihiro and Jaydan stumbled into the room as the creature broke for the bed. Alexander moved to intercept it, but Sachihiro was quicker. Alexander stumbled to his knees as the burly man shot past in a streak of bare skin and lute. The creature screeched as it leapt for Adelaide. Sachihiro did the same, connecting with it in midair. They went to the floor in a twisted heap of man and shadow.
Alexander found his footing and scrambled to help Sachihiro. He had managed to turn over and straddled the squirming creature. Long claws of black mist raked at the musician’s barreled chest. Sachihiro yelled with primal rage and set to smashing the thing’s head into the floor. Alexander slid towards the creature’s head and grabbed its arms. It felt solid enough, but the mottled skin was colder than anything he had felt before. He wrenched, stretching the arms until a sharp pop burst from its shoulder joints. Another pair of heavy punches from Sachihiro silenced the thing and it went limp.
“More!” Jaydan yelled, and the room lit up with magic fire brighter than the lightning.
Alexander spun upright to see Jaydan hurling thin spouts of flame at two more creatures that had entered the room. A third crawled onto the balcony and joined in a collective charge. They rushed at Alexander and Sachihiro. Adelaide continued to shriek behind them, her terror rising above the thunder that shook the room without reprieve.
Alexander lunged forward to meet the foe. One was knocked off course by a burst of magic that impacted its side. The other two jumped at that instant, hitting Alexander solidly in the chest. Neither equaled even half his size, but the collective force took him off his feet. He landed on the fallen creature with a sickening crunch. Sachihiro tore one of the creatures free and tossed it across the room.
The Girl With Red Hair (The Last War Saga Book 1) Page 12