Ye gods, I thought. I recognized that simple yet profound gesture of a lover. I’d done it a hundred times, more, to Sofia. In that simple move, he laid bare his deepest emotions. While his grin spoke a single book, his actions spoke not just volumes but an entire set.
Dammit, that boy loves her.
Not as a liege to his mistress. Such a love was both expected and boring. Oh, no, my boy Van’s heart stood forth as clearly as a war banner on a windy day in his jade eyes. He gazed up at her with such a stark longing that my conscience kicked me in the groin.
Did Iyumi feel the same? Rapidly, muttering under my breath, I searched for her reaction. She should know that that simple knuckle rub meant. She wasn’t a fool. I waited, my shoulders tense, for the intense and irate reaction of an outraged female.
She disappointed me and I suddenly knew why.
I knew why she didn’t slap his face, or kick him in the chin, or curse him for his audacity. She should pull her hand from his with a yank and harangue him in outraged female fury. Like me, Princess Yummy liked him.
Uh, I told myself. Timeout.
Like wasn’t a word strong enough to describe the light that dazzled from her blue eyes as she gazed downward. Though she failed to smile, her hand in his didn’t respond, and her body sat straight and tense in her saddle, she responded to his subtle affections. Those wondrous eyes glowed. She glowed. She rested her hand in his as a monarch might her servant’s as she praised him for bringing her food to her hot this time. Yet, her soul burned in her beautiful eyes.
Gods be damned, I thought. She loves him. She loves him.
My gorge rose as did my hot jealousy. I knew my eyes went flat at the same moment my fingers clenched around my sword’s hilt. I couldn’t find hatred for Van before, but I surely found a reason to spill his blood now. “That’s my woman,” I muttered, under my breath. “I don’t want to kill you, boy. But I will if I have to.”
“M’lord?”
I spun around, crouched, ready to defend myself.
Buck-Eye emerged from the thorns and branches, muttering. He snagged his hands and pulled them, bleeding, from the nasty thicket. Trickles of red crisscrossed his skin and dripped into the sleeve of his tan tunic as he raised his hand and sucked at the scratches. His eyes widened as they passed from me to the scene in the sky behind me.
I hastily shut the vision down and shoved the jewel under my shirt. I coughed, clearing my throat. I half-drew my sword, only to let it slide back into its sheath as the knight gaped. “Buck-Eye, what –”
“What was that, m’lord?” he asked, his tone soft. “Magic?”
Busted, I half-thought. I’m in trouble here.
Wild explanations careened through my skull as I sought for anything, anything however plausible, to explain the vision of an armed camp in the western sky. “It’s er – not exactly what it seems, you see – “
“It was, wasn’t it? That was magic.”
His neutral tone didn’t inform me of anything helpful. His dark eyes searched the horizon behind me, yet remained quiescent of any animosity toward me. Or so I thought, until I saw his hand grip his sword’s hilt. My instincts screaming, I crouched low, drawing my own blade. “What of it?” I snapped, ready to kill or be killed. “What do you care?”
His blank eyes returned to me. Sharpened. Focused. He’s going to attack –
“Will you teach me?”
His question caught me flat-footed, off-guard and totally out of countenance. I gawked like a fool staring down a steep precipice where the light ended and hell began. “What?”
His face flushed with eagerness, Buck-Eye strode forward. My instincts had zero time to prepare before he knelt at my feet. Had he intended violence, I’d now be kneeling before my maker.
Dark eyes rapt, Buck-Eye stared upward, into mine. “Teach me your magic, Prince Flynn. My liege lord and king.”
“I, er –”
I floundered, caught unprepared and kept my sword out and leveled. Did he truly mean it? Or was this some odd ruse to catch me in a confession and execute me for a traitor and a necromancer? My heart wanted to believe him, yet my gut screamed its inarticulate warning. Soften and die. Drop your guard and die. Or just die.
Buck-Eyes gaze wandered past mine and searched the blank sky behind me. They flitted back and forth, never still, and gave me the heebie-jeebies. I alternated between icy cold rushing through my veins and a hot, sweet rush of triumph. He was like me, searching for answers – no, he was a trap and my clumsiness the bait. He wanted to slit my throat. No, he yearned for the same freedom I craved. The sweet, provocative freedom magic provided, the freedom from care, from grief, and from pain. He, too, sought absolution for his crimes, wished to change the road he stood upon.
My head swum against a tidal wave of emotions, drowning in the worry Buck-Eye sought my life and the new hope that he, like me, searched for answers in a world gone stark raving mad.
His hand left his sword’s hilt and raised, palm upward. No, he didn’t command my loyalty as I commanded his. No, he demanded my attention and I gave all. A single dart of licking flame danced across his creased and hard calloused palm. Like a tiny Faery, it lit upon his fingers before, laughing, dodged amid his hard soldier’s knuckles. Like a moth on fire, it danced and spun, bowing low before flitting across his hand to spring from fingertip to fingertip.
Buck-Eye turned his palm downward, but the flame still lingered. Trotting in precise measurements, it hopped from one finger to the next and on down the line. One, two, three, four and a final five, his thumb, lit with merry fires it left in its wake. These bright gems remained like faint torches, burning without harm as they fed on nothing I saw.
“They’ve come like this since I was but a wee lad,” Buck-Eye admitted, his voice hoarse, roughened. His eyes never left the dancing, happy flames. “Never could I control them. They come when I call, but all they do is play games. Like children.”
Buck-Eye raised damp eyes toward mine. I didn’t see a toughened, battle-hardened mercenary on his knees before me. I saw a large man, scarred, wounded, and frightened of what he didn’t understand. My gut clenched, not with fear this time, but with elation. I wasn’t alone. Neither was Buck-Eye. I knew what he felt, for his thoughts, his worries, and yes, his nightmares, mirrored mine.
Buck-Eye reached for the magic that filled his blood. The magic we both were instilled at birth, but had no clue how to control. Through my mother, my powers had increased to the levels the gods themselves owned. Buck-Eye had only touched the surface of his.
“Teach me,” he said simply. “Please, m’lord.”
“I’ll –” My throat shut down tight and I tried again. “I’ll try, micha’na.”
Why I used the ancient word for ‘brother’, I’ll never know. It came to my lips unbidden, yet seemed right, somehow. Proper. For Buck-Eye was my friend, my brother, in magic.
“Think of your fire,” I said, my voice hoarse, treacherous sweat sliding down my cheek, dampening my shirt. I shoved my sword back into its scabbard. “Imagine it – think of sending it into that stump over yonder. Think of it, then will it.”
Buck-Eye bowed his head, closed his eyes.
A fraction of a second later, the dead, dry stump whooshed into sudden flame. I recoiled, raising my arm at the same instant Buck-Eye seized my belt and pulled me backward, with him, out of harm’s way. Fire boiled out of the stump, black smoke coiling in huge plumes upward into the blue, cloudless sky. That’ll catch some attention, I half-thought, raising my hand to protect my face from its searing heat. Buck-Eye’s strength dragged me clear, and I had a fraction of a moment to appreciate that he didn’t want me dead.
“Shit,” I stammered, staggering to regain my balance as Buck-Eye’s hand under my arm steadied me. “You don’t pull any punches, do you, bro?”
Buck-Eye flushed, his face darkening to red under his embarrassed grin. “I reckon, er – I pushed a bit hard, m’lord. Forgive me.”
I eyed the fire sidelo
ng as new warmth spread into my soul. I straightened my tunic, adjusted my swordbelt and grinned. I punched Buck-Eye in his shoulder. “You done good, boy.”
His answering grin brought a swift chuckle from me without my permission. “I did good? You mean it? I didn’t expect –”
“You didn’t expect to learn so quick?” I asked. “You’re an adept, Buck-Eye.”
“A – a – what?”
I laughed. “You’re a fast learner, micha’na,” I said, half-heartedly punching my fist toward his face. I followed that with a juvenile strike toward his gut, and ending with a pat to his tanned cheek. No lord I ever knew bantered with his men in this fashion, yet I couldn’t seem to help myself. Where once I felt alienated from the soldiers who served me, now I felt one with this man. A toughened mercenary with his loyalty bought and paid for with gold, Buck-Eye grinned at me with all the innocence of a strapping boy.
“That I am, m’lord,” he replied, fending off my fists with his extended palms, laughing.
I stopped my play and straightened. “Now will the fire out.”
Buck-Eye stopped. The grin vanished from his bristly, leathery face. “Uh –”
“Will – the – fire – out.” I gestured toward the unmarked bushes, trees, dry grasses and the forests above and below us. “We don’t want a forest fire, Buck-Eye. Causes far too much damage. Put your fire out.”
“I don’t –”
I put my hand on his tense shoulder. I gazed into his unhappy dark eyes. “You do. Fire is your slave. Make it so, micha’na.”
Buck-Eye frowned at the flames and frowned, concentrating. Raising his hands like a schoolboy practicing wizardry, he spoke slowly, intoning, “Go away.”
“Will them gone,” I whispered in his ear.
He clenched his fists, his face tightening.
Instantly, the flames withered and died. Buck-Eye gaped, his jaw slack, as the flames obeyed him instantly. I tried to smother a grin. I know I failed.
The blackened stump continued to smoke, soft tendrils of white-blue drifted upward before the mountain breeze caught them and tore them to pieces. Heat still baked off the charred wood, yet every ember within its scarred heart dimmed and failed, their red eyes changing to black as they were consumed and lost under Buck-Eye’s command.
“See?” I said, gesturing toward the twice-dead stump. “You’re an adept.”
But Buck-Eye’s face darkened, grew troubled. “Them’s just like us, m’lord,” he said, his tone pitched low, thoughtful. “The Bryn’Cairdhans. I’m not a smart man, not by a long shot. But why do we hate them if theys just like us? Why do we fight them?”
“Because they are evil.”
Blaez’s smarmy, I-know-everything tone emerged from the thorny thicket. I spun, my sword out and ready. Buck-Eye worked faster, however. Before my mind associated voice to face, he’d shoved me behind him and pointed his own tip toward the – cursing, complaining, grunting with the effort of forcing his way through sharp brambles that pierced anything soft – Commander Blaez. As Blaez was nothing save soft, he gave them ample opportunity to scratch, cut, tear and otherwise cause Blaez great pain.
“Hellfire and damnation,” Blaez choked, sucking his bloody scratches as he contemplated the rents in his otherwise pristine cloak of scarlet and pink. Thorns tugged at his woolen breeches, gouging holes in his thighs, calves and the kidskin boots that covered him from toes to knees. His spurs caught on tough vines, forcing him to regain his balance with the use of waving arms, and the handy tree with which to grab hold.
Free of tree trunk and thorns, Blaez scowled, straightening his tunic with an imperious air. “What are you doing here, Prince,” he demanded. “We saw fire –”
“We thought you in dire need of help,” Boden added, sliding through the thicket as if greased. Not a hair out of place, he stood beside a grunting Blaez with his hands behind his back. At parade rest, like any disciplined soldier, his eyes watched Blaez carefully without turning his head. I noticed, with sour humor, no thorn cut pierced his flesh nor marred his clothing
As Blaez lurched forward, bent at the waist as though searching for a place to puke, Boden politely stepped aside. His movement permitted Galdan to, cursing, push his way through the tough brambles with far less ease than Boden. Fetching up beside Blaez, he shook blood from his hands. Blaez straightened and shoved him away, angry. Like an eel, Boden slid between the two, at the same moment Blaez scowled heavily and snapped, “Don’t flick your damn blood on me, you idiot.”
Galdan dipped his head, muttering an apology and handily stepped another two paces from his master. So enthralled at how easily Blaez was separated from his only protection, I almost missed the dark anger and hate directed my way.
“I heard talk of magic,” Blaez sneered, stepping one pace toward me. “You have magic, Prince. A treasonous evil punishable by death.”
Like a shadow, Boden paced with him as Galdan busied himself wiping his hands on his cloak, his dark blonde head lowered to his task. I couldn’t help but wonder, in a fleet thought, that he deliberately placed Blaez in a position of helplessness. Did he hate Blaez? Or was he truly that incompetent?
“Are you my father’s judge?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips, grinning. “Do you plan to halt this mission and drag me home in chains to face execution?”
“Damn straight I will, boy,” Blaez snarled, drawing his sword. “I can kill you here and now, and none will fault me for it.”
As he made to lunge toward me, Boden’s dagger in his ribs effectively halted him. As Blaez raised his right arm, sword in hand, my young bodyguard slid his blade in, point-deep. As a wound, it surely wasn’t enough to kill and hardly a wound worth mentioning. I bet my soul that upon healing it wouldn’t leave so much as a scar behind.
While not killing him, it made a very effective point on my father’s right hand maniac. Boden’s skills deftly and wordlessly informed Commander Blaez that his heart lay inches from a fatal thrust. That tiny and utterly insignificant quarter inch of metal sliding like molten ice between the bones that sheltered one’s simple existence – well, maybe it’ll miss anything vital.
One can hope, I reckon.
Make a tiny move toward Prince Flynn and you’re toast, Boden’s dirk spoke, although Boden himself said nothing. Allegiance to my father didn’t include dying while trying to place me under arrest, apparently. Blaez’s dark, savage expression of hate changed to one of almost comical surprise. He froze, sword arm up. His blade tilted and drooped downward as his grip on the hilt slackened. “Galdan?”
“Sir?”
The battle-scarred merc glanced up, pale blue eyes inquiring. Before Galdan realized his master’s life was in danger, Buck-Eye leveled his own sword at Galdan’s throat.
“Don’t move, boyo,” Buck-Eye advised conversationally. “And no one gets hurt.”
“Are you all insane!” Blaez roared. “He’s got magic! That’s a criminal offense. In the name of the King, I demand you arrest him for necromancy!”
“I don’t think so, Commander,” Boden replied. “My prince appointed me his royal bodyguard. I intend to keep that body intact and safe from all enemies. Unfortunately, that list includes you.”
“Why you treacherous son of a whore –”
“Blaez.”
I spoke his name softly, without nuance, my tone low. I might have shouted and struck him across his jaw for the effect my voice had on him. He froze, his pig’s eyes wide and angry and scared, his gaze locked on mine. A flip of my hand sent Boden, and his knife, one step behind him. Ready to pounce should Blaez not behave, Boden stood at Blaez’s shoulder. At the same time, Buck-Eye’s sword urged Galdan to step further from Blaez’s side. Galdan raised his hands in surrender, carefully crossing his fingers behind his neck.
“How did you set off your bombs, Blaez?” I asked, my tone soft.
“How did – what’s that got to do with – that’s not important!”
“Oh, I think it is important,” I answered,
stepping lightly toward him. I hooked my thumbs in my swordbelt. “I know you set off your bombs with magical spells.”
“What? That’s outrageous! This isn’t about me, boy! You’re the practitioner of evil witchery –”
Mid-harangue, I launched a black shadow. Shaped like the head of a spear, it flew straight toward Blaez’s chest. Its tip as sharp and deadly as a real spearhead, it would cleave Blaez’s chest in two upon contact.
Instantly, instinctively, his hands flew upward and outward. With a shout, he pumped both fists. Lightning shot from them in twin flashes of bright light. His twin bolts of white hot energy struck my black spear. As all metal eventually turns to dust, my flying death dissolved into dark ash that fell to the ground at Blaez’s feet.
He panted heavily as though having run ten leagues, treacherous sweat sliding down his cheeks. His eyes bulged as he realized what my spear truly intended. Like a fish, he swam into my net and lay caught, strangling, impotent. His mouth open and closed spasmodically, as though trying to breathe air when he craved water.
I smiled.
Blaez gaped. “You –”
“– have magic,” I finished, my thumbs still hooked and my hip cocked. “As do you. Should my father learn of your treachery, your head will rest beside mine above the city gates.”
“That’s –”
I closely examined the ground at my feet. “Blackmail, yes, I know.”
“It’s despicable!”
“It’s all in how you choose to look at it. Right, Commander?”
As Blaez stammered and fumed, trying to find words to explain to Galdan that I arranged the entire façade, of course he didn’t have magic, the whole thing was a joke, see, Galdan stared from Blaez to me and back again. I didn’t know if he wanted to run or vomit or both.
I reached out my arm and pulled Blaez under it. He stank of sweat, sulphur and the sour odor of old hate, but he moved with me easily enough. His panting calmed, yet the oily runnels still slid down his ruddy cheeks. The odor of his fear intensified.
“Come now, Commander,” I said quietly, easily, walking him away from the others and toward the mountain’s edge. “Let’s not be enemies. Our King commanded us take Princess Iyumi and the child to him. Only then can our sacred land be safe. That’s what we both desire, isn’t it? The subjugation of their land and the supremacy of ours?”
The Unforgiven Page 28