The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Then go home to her and leave Yagervan to fend for itself.”

  “I can’t do that. Not when I know my parents are in danger.”

  “They might not remember you.”

  “I don’t care. There’s no way I can go home and leave everyone to die.”

  Samara stops and releases Delvin’s hand, but she makes no attempt to run. She watches the star-filled sky and silently pinpoints how far they are from the Osprey Tribe’s encampment. Her attention shifts to the distant fire, the flames briefly vanishing as Gerdo walks in front of them to check for predators. The plains are filled with crickets and the echoing call of animals, both of which carry an undertone of fear. Samara takes in a shuddering breath at the realization that this place does not feel like her home any more. The once peaceful region has been corrupted and it is only a matter of time before it can no longer return to its former beauty. Glancing at the strange man next to her, the girl finds a spark of determination in her heart. Something about the brown-haired warrior with familiar eyes makes her want to help her friends and save what is left of her tribe.

  “As I said, they made camp in Pynofita Forest. They’ve been sending raiding parties out every few days,” Samara explains, leading the way back to the camp. She feels stronger and braver with every step, the desire to escape leaving her mind. “They are still gathering an army and weakening the stronger tribes. It’s getting more difficult for the Ospreys since their enemies have fractured and gone into hiding. Before I left, the leaders were still trying to get the newer vampires under their control. Some of them have mental powers, so maybe you can win simply by eliminating the four in charge.”

  “Thank you for helping us,” Delvin says as they reach the rocks. He puts a hand on her shoulder before she climbs up, signaling Gerdo to back away from the edge. “I know you’re scared and don’t want to return. So all I ask is that you bring us within sight of the encampment and then you can run away. The tribe members will recognize you, which will get you killed and I don’t want that to happen. Do we have a deal?”

  “I like that plan,” she replies, accepting his offer of a boost to the higher rocks. She sits on the lower ledge and smiles down at the champion. “I was mistaken. You really are a good man, Delvin Cunningham. Huh, that is a good surname. Maybe I’ll cross over to Serab and make my own. Samara . . . how do surnames work?”

  The mercenary clambers up the rocks and pats her on the head as he passes. “First you sleep on it and then you discuss it in the morning. Probably over a sausage and egg breakfast, which we can only get to if we get some rest.”

  The girl scales the rocks faster than Delvin has ever seen her move and hurries to her bedroll. She is asleep within minutes as the fully awake mercenaries laugh. They clear their throats and remain silent when the sound of a mournful beast crosses the plains. As Samara snores, each of the warriors wonders what horrors the future holds for them.

  10

  A clap of thunder shakes the well-furnished hospital room and startles one of the nurses so badly that she drops her tray of empty potion bottles. Queen Ionia sighs and casts a spell to repair the shattered containers, allowing the soothing silence to last a little longer. She glances at Timoran, who shrugs helplessly, his arms stiff from being in the slings for so long. The noblewoman knows that the barbarian did his best to keep his friends under control and she is happy that things were quiet for a few days. Now that most of their injuries are healed and they have been moved to a more private room, several of the champions have proven to be an endless source of headaches. Dariana has been the most tolerable only because she has been laden down with enough psychic dampening relics that she can barely talk. Her one attempt to locate Nyx resulted in a day long nosebleed that the priests swear should have killed her. The only explanation the others have given is that their friend is a lot more durable than she looks and they never bothered to pry into her past.

  As the Caster Queen expected, the real trouble has come from Sari and Luke. The gypsy’s leg is still encased in healing bandages, but that has not stopped her from routinely charming the nurses into wheeling her to the gardens and leaving her unsupervised. Each time she has managed to get over the wall or through the front gate before the guards return her to the hospital room. For her own safety, Sari is handcuffed to her bed with an enchanted manacle that switches to her other wrist every time she picks the simple lock. The key has been safely secured within Queen Ionia’s bodice, which she is fairly certain the younger woman would not dare to steal from. In truth, she prefers the amusing antics of the gypsy over Luke’s obnoxious pestering. The forest tracker has come up with so many ridiculous plans that the noblewoman is surprised he has not repeated himself.

  “I have another idea,” the half-elf announces, ignoring the cold stare from the violet-haired noblewoman. He scratches at the stitches that run along his belly and wonders if they will leave a scar like the one diagonally across his torso. “Send us to Gaia and we’ll get some help from the griffin riders. They can cover ground quickly and will be far enough away from Stephen to avoid a confrontation. At least this will tell us exactly where he’s going.”

  “That’s only slightly better than you summoning this Brocken Dragon, but the answer is still no,” Ionia answers as she takes a seat at the foot of his bed. With a pleasant smile, she strokes the warm sheets and has them wrap around the half-elf’s body. “I’ve told you multiple times that none of you are going after Stephen. He’s too dangerous. All we can do is contact Isaiah and have him take care of this, which is why I’m visiting. He got in touch with me and has agreed to locate Nyx, but he is unable to rescue her. Something about Stephen having a dangerous influence over his aura. His suggestion is to continue resting and wait for Delvin to return before leaving Darkmill.”

  “That won’t work,” Sari sings as she undoes the manacle. The gypsy tries to move her opposite arm to the other side of the bed before it is caught by the teleporting cuff, but it reappears with a longer chain. “I really hate this little trinket. Anyway, Delvin won’t be coming back here. His shield will return him to Nyx. That means he’ll be blindly traveling to Stephen while we’re stuck here.”

  “These are things you should tell me when I ask for everything you know,” the Caster Queen groans, releasing Luke from his cotton bonds. She stands and paces around the room, eventually stopping next to Dariana. “She isn’t looking any better. I know she was pale beforehand, but this shade is rather sickly and her eyes are glassy. Is it possible that something else is wrong with her?”

  Timoran joins the caster to examine his friend, leaning close to hear her barely audible words. “She says that the psychic blocking artifacts are stopping her from using her power to heal. I believe your interest in keeping us here has had some negative consequences. Dariana has promised to behave and not try to locate Nyx if you free her. Though she requests that she be allowed to contact Delvin when completely healed.”

  “Very well, but I hope she realizes that I’m trusting her to behave. The gypsy has used up most of my good cheer and leniency.”

  Snapping her fingers, the exhausted ruler removes the artifacts from the champion. Rings and necklaces float off the woman, who gasps for air as if she has been holding her breath for days. Emerald boots slip off Dariana’s feet, releasing sparks when they hit the tiled floor. A tiara is the last item to be removed and it is gently placed in a nearby box, the oak lid sealing with a loud hiss. While rubbing her temples, the champion tries to sit up and falls back down with the sound of crinkling bones. Timoran sits next to his friend’s bed and puts a comforting hand on her head, earning a smile from the weakened telepath.

  “I’m sorry I caused trouble,” Dariana whispers in a strangled voice. She cringes at the sensation of multiple broken bones, but tries to move her tingling body. “I can handle twice the amount of healing potions that a normal human can without suffering shock. That should help me regain whatever recovery time was lost.”

  “And then what?”
Luke asks from across the room. Everyone turns to see that he is sitting on Sari’s bed, helping her eat the food that is near her cuffed hand. “Her highness won’t let us go after Stephen and it’s only a matter of time before Delvin faces him alone. Can you shield our presence from your brother?”

  “It’s possible, but remember that he jumped me in Roeth. I didn’t sense him until it was too late,” the silver-haired woman explains while keenly aware of the spell that is on the edge of Queen Ionia’s mind and lips. She wipes the thought away and bows her head, yelping at the feel of two vertebrae cracking. “We come from the same father, but different mothers, which makes all of the difference, your highness. That might be how I can get close to him. My brother’s humanity is gone, which is what I always used to sense him. Prior to my attack in Bor’daruk, Stephen had a unique balance of human and monstrous thoughts. When I scrambled his mind, I pushed his psyche mostly to that of a sadistic, blood-thirsty killer. He’ll be instinctively on the lookout for benevolent auras like ours, so I can shield us by imitating those one would find in animals.”

  Ionia shakes her head, knowing that she will have to give in eventually. “I don’t really understand that plan, so we’ll talk about it later. Besides, how much strain would that put on your body? I can see that you’re very durable and have the stamina of a barbarian. Even so, this sounds like it would take a lot out of you.”

  “It would require that we be told where he is,” Dariana sternly says with a half-hearted smirk. She tries to move some of her fingers, the jolt of pain making her take in a sharp breath of oddly sweet air. “I can’t track my brother and do this at the same time. I might not even be able to walk with the pressure this would put on me. So I would be a burden to my companions if a fight broke out.”

  “Then I will carry and protect you,” Timoran claims, handing her a piece of cool bread. He hears movement in the bed behind him and turns to see Fizzle waking up for the first time since their arrival. “Welcome back to us, little one. Do you wish to know what you have missed? A lot has happened since our time in Roeth.”

  Disoriented and confused, the drite yawns and sniffs at the air when he picks up the scent of apples. He scratches at the uncomfortable bandages around his neck until they fall away to reveal the partially healed bite mark. As the nurses hurry to put fresh wrappings on Fizzle, he hops to the floor and awkwardly waddles toward the window. He tries to flap his wings, but one of them is still too twisted to move properly. Ignoring the requests for him to return to bed, the drite uses retractable claws to climb onto the warm sill. With a squeal of glee, he looks out over the gardens and spots several apple trees.

  “Fizzle hungry. Fizzle promised apples. Feed Fizzle. Fizzle hungry!” the dragon shouts as he excitedly hops up and down in the window. The roar of his stomach is loud enough to shake the castle, which causes him to blush. “Fizzle sorry. Belly not happy. Eat, wait for friends, and then talk of plan.”

  “All of us are here, Fizzle,” Ionia says before casting a spell. Apples float off the trees and are carried through the window by a stiff breeze that places them on Luke’s empty bed. “I guess you wouldn’t know. Nyx has been taken by Stephen. If you forgot about Delvin then please remember that he’s in the Yagervan Plains. Everyone else is here.”

  “Fizzle know all that,” the drite states while jumping onto the bed. He sits on his haunches and claims a small, blue apple. “Luke and Sari not here. We no talk without them. They get better fast?”

  “Luke and Sari? They’re sitting right . . . damn it!” the Caster Queen shouts, her eyes turning red to see through the illusionary champions. She pulls at her neckline to check in her bodice and finds that the key to the manacles is gone. “I was so concerned with the thief that it never crossed my mind that the forest tracker could pickpocket me. Such an easy skill for him to learn with his quick hands. Did any of you know they were going to make an escape?”

  “I always thought they would try something, but did not expect that,” Timoran answers as he stands and sniffs the air. He suddenly falls to his hands and knees, the muscular man’s shoulders nearly dislocating again due to the sudden pressure of supporting his weight. “It appears another illusion was made to mask their scent from me. It is too subtle for the rest of you, but I picked it up once I focused. I am unable to push through such a stench. I am sorry, your highness, but I will not be of any help in tracking them.”

  “And the rest of you are too injured to move. Those two really planned this one out.”

  Ionia changes her dress and shoes into clothing that will not get in the way of her running through the hallways. It takes her an extra minute to get the shades of red and white the way she wants them. Hurrying out of the room, she slams the doors behind her and a loud click warns the remaining champions that they have been locked inside. The nurses quietly finish cleaning their instruments and rewrapping Fizzle’s neck before leaving through a side door.

  “I’m surprised Sari’s illusions have gotten so precise,” Dariana whispers, erasing the fake images on the other side of the room. “She barely uses them and would have to chant to make them work. How did we all miss that?”

  “Cast while food in mouth. Muffled spell take longer, but work,” Fizzle explains while drinking the juice out of a hollow orange apple. His long tongue greedily licks every drop out of the thick husk before he devours the rest. “Sari learn tricky casting. She practice since gnome city. Not sure of smell spell. Fizzle good nose. Not smell stinky air. Timoran lie?”

  The barbarian stretches out on a bed and closes his eyes. “It happens from time to time.”

  *****

  “We don’t have much time,” Sari whispers as she limps along the path. With a grunt of pain, she turns the corner and finds herself in a dead end. “Ionia is going to find us even in this crazy hedge maze. I have a few decoys running around the gardens and a pair that are already over the wall, but I couldn’t make them very strong. Just creating the illusions of us and using my naiad powers to mist shift us out the window took a lot out of me. So the moment she gets within a block of them, she’ll see through our doubles.”

  “At least the others aren’t helping her,” Luke says while he peeks around the corner. All he sees is a rabbit that scrambles into a gap when it notices the forest tracker. “We have to help Nyx, but she’s right that we can’t go after Stephen. Do you have a plan or did one of mine sound like it would work?”

  Sari whimpers as she sits on the ground and stretches out her bandaged leg, a thin line of blood already appearing. Rummaging in his bottomless pouch, Luke pulls out a roll of fresh wrappings and some herbal ointment made by Timoran. He carefully moves her skirt to reveal her entire leg, the forest tracker being sure to keep her as covered as possible. With a delicate touch, he removes the old bandages and sits to put Sari’s leg across his lap. She squirms as he uses his fingers to smear the ointment on the ugly wound, the frayed skin on the edges healing gradually.

  “That’s going to leave a scar,” the gypsy mutters with a frown. Taking a deep breath, she lifts her leg and locks it in place to help Luke bind it with the fresh wrappings. “Maybe I’ll cover it with an illusion like Nyx does with her belly and back scars. By the way, you didn’t hear me say that. She doesn’t want you to know because she thinks you’d feel guilty since it came from an arrow that the Hellfire Elf hit her with.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Luke promises as he finishes putting on the bandages. He fixes her skirts, but remains sitting with her leg across his lap. “So what do we do? You’re right that we can’t save Nyx ourselves. Then again, I don’t think bringing Delvin back will make a difference. Why do people keep wanting to drag him into this mess when it’ll only get him killed alongside us?”

  “Because we’re stronger together,” Sari casually replies, using her foot to flick the half-elf on the nose. She immediately stands and examines the dead end, hoping to find a secret door to another path. “Delvin would be able to think of a plan. Maybe him bein
g in danger would be enough to really rile Nyxie. Besides, he’s the only one of us that isn’t injured. This is a funny little flower down here.”

  The gypsy pulls on a white lily peeking out from under one of the dense side walls of the cul-de-sac. With the rustling of leaves, a narrow passage opens to her right and she squeezes into the connected courtyard. Luke hurries behind the gypsy before the doorway closes and they are trapped. A cushion of clovers sits in the middle of the square and four leaning palms stretch their fronds to shade the natural bed from the sun. Several doves are wandering through the short grass and pecking at the ground in search of seeds that have blown in from the garden. Exhausted and aching, Luke lies down on the clovers and is soon joined by Sari. They try to get comfortable without touching, but both of them slip off the edge of the cushion.

  “Let’s get back on and accept that some innocent contact will happen,” Luke suggests as he walks around to help the injured gypsy onto the clovers. The spongey plants mold themselves to her body and do the same to the half-elf when he lies down. “I do have a plan, which I might have mentioned two days ago. At least part of it. Honestly, most of what I was suggesting came out on the spot. My goal was to get Ionia to think of something if for no other reason than to shut me up. Not sure if sending Isaiah to track Stephen is the best idea considering the last encounter with our . . . can we call Isaiah our benefactor?”

  “Guardian bastard is what I’m calling him at this point,” Sari says, her arm stretching over her friend’s chest. Wanting more space, she pokes at his nose with her thumb and uses her hips to nudge him. “Tell me the plan before you hit the ground. Don’t you know that it’s polite to give most of a bed to a lady, especially one that’s injured?”