The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  In the middle of the tents and campfires is a circle of elevated space that holds a collection of twelve chairs. The back of each one shows the symbol of a tribe and four of them are vacant, signifying that its people have been wiped out. Splintered remains lay about the natural dais, one of the pieces emblazoned with the Osprey Tribe’s brand. The eight surviving Path Lords sit with cold drinks in their hands and a feather from their associated bird in their hair or, if bald, shirt collar. They lounge beneath the wide umbrella that has been set up to protect them from the midday sun. All of the tribunal members stare coldly at the figures standing before them, thick chains tying the prisoners back to back.

  “Execute them in the morning,” the Ostrich Tribe’s leader announces to the cheering of the crowd. The bald man gestures to a young boy who hurries to refill his cup. “The woman is a monster even if she is not with the ones that have destroyed our land. It is only a matter of time before she turns on us. The tribunal agrees unanimously that it is best to destroy the Dawn Fang after allowing her a final night. There will be no offer of a last meal because we have lost too many to her kind.”

  “I’m not surprised by that, but why kill the human?” Mab asks while she rubs against Delvin. The enchanted chains make it difficult to reach the itch on her lower back that has been irritating her since being bound. “You’re not even letting us defend ourselves and Samara has been ordered to remain silent. This whole thing is a farce and you’re lucky I don’t k . . . break out and leave you to your fate.”

  “We believe he is your ally unlike the girl you forced into being your guide,” the woman in charge of the Vulture Tribe replies. She takes a few nuts from a bowl of cashews and rolls them around her mouth, the salty snack forcing her to take a long drink. “By his own admittance, the young man is a specter in that he was thought to be dead and has now returned. He is no longer one of us, so we do not have to listen to him. For all we know, Delvin Cunningham is a Dawn Fang like the returned exiles. He’s merely hiding his true nature.”

  A tall, robe-wearing woman raises her hand at the same time as a leather-armored man makes the same gesture. Their eyes meet before the man lowers his arm and holds out his palm to the other Path Lord. “The Crane and Eagle Tribes feel that we should allow Delvin Cunningham to plead his case. It would be wrong to abandon our laws even in the face of extinction. If we find a way to survive and reclaim our lands then this trial would be a foul mark on generations of honest justice. You have one speech, returning phantom, and any pause longer than two seconds will cost you your time.”

  “Thank you and I’m honored that you will give me this time to speak,” Delvin says before taking a deep breath. The warrior notices a few of the Path Lords about to stop him, but the Ostrich Tribe leader snaps his fingers for silence. “I’m going to get straight to the point. The Yagervan Plains are your home and you should fight for it. The Dawn Fangs will never give up and you will have to leave the haven eventually. When that day comes, your enemies will be waiting and more plentiful. It is only a matter of time before you’re wiped out, so you should fight back while their numbers are low. Many here are trained warriors and archers, so victory is possible with help from us. I know all of you see me as an outsider or a phantom, but that gives me a perspective about the bigger picture. The Dawn Fangs won’t stop in Yagervan, especially after they transform many of you into their soldiers. That will be the force they use to attack Serab and the other lands to the west. We are looking at a situation that can escalate to a continent wide invasion. The tribes have always kept to themselves, but that attitude may cost the lives of millions and create a kingdom of vampires that will consume the entire globe. Please let Mab and I help, because you will need every weapon that you can find to win this battle and save Windemere.”

  Silence envelopes the mesa as the champion’s words hang in the air and instill a sense of pride in the hearts of the tribespeople. Already, Delvin can see smiles and clenched fists appearing on the previously dejected people. One young man is about to raise his arm and start a chant, but stops when glared at by his parents. Several of the Path Lords appear to be rethinking their decision until the Ostrich Tribe leader clears his throat. The old man waves at one of the nearby youths who is holding a bowl of grapes. He enjoys the sweet fruit and waits for the energy of Delvin’s speech to dissipate.

  “There are more than enough casters, warriors, and barbarians to keep Serab safe from these creatures,” the bald Path Lord declares, taking no pleasure in the sadness that he sees on the swordsman’s face. Wiping his hand on his shirt, the man leans forward and balances delicately on the edge of his chair. “You don’t understand what it is like here, Sir Cunningham. We don’t have the variety of defenses that our neighbors have. Magic does not run strong in our lines and our weapons are not as advanced. We are hunters, gatherers, and tradesmen who do what we must to survive. Our original decision stands for both of you.”

  “Why does he have to die?” Samara asks from the edge of the crowd. She shrinks away when the Path Lords turn to her, but straightens her back and moves ahead of the crowd. “He lost his friends to the monsters and wants revenge. He saved me from the flesh peddlers. Just send him back to Serab if you don’t want his help.”

  Mab grins and nods her head to the girl. “You finally said something smart, kid.”

  “The warrior has returned from the dead, which means we should consider that the gods are punishing us,” states the blonde-haired leader of the Grouse Tribe. He shushes the younger Path Lords who do not agree with his superstitions. “Even without that reasoning, we know he is not innocent. Mr. Cunningham and his friends destroyed one of our bazaars. They attacked and riled the vampires, which is probably why they are going to increase their aggression. I maintain that if he was sent here to help then the gods would have given us a sign. All we have seen since his admitted arrival is more death and destruction. If we listen to the outsider then my tribe will refuse to follow him into battle and we contain the best archers.”

  “You manipulative coward!” Delvin shouts, infuriated by the man’s tactics.

  “There will be no debate!” the Ostrich Tribe leader announces while scowling at his fellow Path Lord. He yawns due to the heat making him drowsy and snaps his fingers at several guards who are standing nearby. “Bring the prisoners to the jail tent and have the priests seal the entrance. The vampire woman will be executed in the morning and we will make a final decision on the warrior before then. We should worry that he will attempt to rescue her if we release him now, so this will prevent that from happening.”

  Mab sinks into her shadow far enough to slip out of the chains, which fall to the ground around Delvin’s feet. The Dawn Fang rises back to the surface and grins at the nervous guards, their quivering swords aimed at her. Amused by the mortals’ decision and curious about their method of execution, Mab allows them to march her toward a patch-covered tent. Delvin gets out of the chains and tosses them at the feet of the Path Lords before following, his hands tucked in his pockets. Four robed priests stand at the corners and make themselves comfortable on large pillows before they begin their chanting. The prisoners are pushed inside as a glistening, crimson barrier covers the thin fabric. With nothing in the tent besides two cots and a chamber pot, they take a seat on the threadbare rug to stare at each other.

  “That didn’t go as you planned, did it?” Mab asks, scratching at a hole in the rug. Her finger hits the priests’ barrier, which creates a spark that harmlessly launches into her eye. “You remind me of another vampire I know. He always made plans that depended a lot on people acting in a certain way. Definitely a better diplomat than me. Although he knew how to adapt when things went wrong. You aren’t proving to be his equal there.”

  Delvin tosses his pouch onto the cot behind him and removes his boots, wiggling his aching toes. “I’m a tactician more than a diplomat, so I’m out of my depth here. Put me on a battlefield and I’ll be adapting with every change. This whole journey has me off
my center and it’s getting harder and harder to put on a calm façade. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake and I should have stayed with my friends.”

  “I’m going to do my best to be nice here,” the vampire explains before taking a deep, cleansing breath. It takes a few seconds for her to remember what it is like to show empathy, her centuries as the Dark Mistress taking a surprising toll on her humanity. “You seem to be a guy who does what he thinks is right for others. Some actions may appear selfish such as not riding off to save your girlfriend, but your reasoning is the opposite. In your mind, it’s foolish to get yourself killed when patience and planning can get the job done. Most mortals don’t think long term, so they focus on immediate results instead of ones that can happen if they hang back and observe the situation. Basically, they think like Samara. You get the big picture and that’s why you made the decision to help the tribes instead of going on a suicide mission. Now as far as this journey into the plains being a mistake, I’m sure you’ve realized that leaving your friends might have been the thing that saved them from Stephen. His favorite way to break a person is to crush and torture their loved ones before their eyes. You weren’t there, so he couldn’t get the full effect and now he’s trying to find a way to do that. Stephen might even want to torture Nyx in front of you if he sees you as a rival for her affections, which means there’s time.”

  “You know a lot about how Stephen thinks and works,” Delvin says as he yawns and scratches his chin. “He’s shown that he loves to torture and break his enemies. I never got the sense that he wanted an audience.”

  “I said I met him before and Clyde had an influence on him,” Mab claims, sighing at the fond memory. Closing her eyes, she can still hear the sound of Stephen’s chest caving in beneath her old friend’s fist. “It was such a beautiful beating and that idiot deserved it all. Back then, he was sadistic without focus. When Clyde forcefully rejected his offer, Stephen changed his personality to be more like him. At least in terms of confidence and brutality, which can get you pretty far in this world. So I guess I owe you an apology for my friend being inadvertently responsible for the monster you’re facing. Thinking about it, I doubt it was Stephen’s first defeat, but it was the most brutal one he’d ever experienced and that’s what he tries to imitate. The only difference is that he wants people to know how sadistic and cruel he is, which is why he wants an audience. I’m betting all these centuries of being in the shadows has pushed him to the point of madness. Sounds like you or one of your friends knocked the bastard over the edge too.”

  “His sister scrambled his head a few months back.”

  “I didn’t know he had a sibling, but her hating him doesn’t surprise me.”

  “So Stephen is playing at being tough?”

  “Think about it. Have you ever seen him get angry about something and it reminds you of a child’s tantrum?”

  Delvin leans against his cot while he thinks about the time Luke cut Stephen at the Garden of Uli. “Yes and he was about to go berserk. Queen Trinity of the Chaos Elves had to take him away before the fight could continue. Now that you mention it, I can see how it copied a child not getting his way. There was a lot of fear and rage that erupted with no build up. Even his words were along the lines of a spoiled brat getting put in his place. So he’s not as dangerous as we thought?”

  “Oh, Stephen is extremely deadly and worse if he’s unhinged,” Mab replies with a wide grin. A rumble in her stomach makes her sweat and she realizes that the repeated use of her powers without feeding very often has taken a toll. “He’s simply not as smart and cunning as you think. At least not if you disrupt his plan or insult him. Stephen is older than me, but I see him as a child because that’s how I remember him acting.”

  “Thanks for giving me some insight into him, Mab.”

  The vampire nods her head and taps her fingers on her knee, which is bouncing without her knowledge. “My pleasure. Stephen has been an irritation and my people are one of the few that know about him. He’s occasionally recruited our youngsters to use as sacrificial lambs in his plans, but Clyde made a deal with his father that we wouldn’t kill the bastard. So I’m only too happy to use a loophole and give a few tips on getting under the little warlord’s skin.”

  “I’m really curious about your people,” Delvin admits, leaning over the edge of the cot to hear more stories. His eyes droop and he nearly falls asleep, the exhaustion of being captured during his shift catching up to him. “Maybe you can sit down with me and my friends to tell us more. It’s a part of Windemere history that nobody outside of your people get to learn about. For example, I never knew about the first of your kind.”

  Mab walks to one of the walls to poke at it with her claws, sparks flying from the enchanted fabric. The dull ache that runs up her arm is barely enough to register in her mind as she attempts to put her foot into a shadow. Due to the priests’ barrier, her leg awkwardly twists up and the knee pops as if the limb has been violently rammed into a wall. Frowning and cursing, the vampire sits on her cot and shakes the damaged body part until it snaps back into place. Pulling a bottle from her jacket, she frowns at the single gulp of blood that she has to make last until the morning.

  “Do you want a taste of my blood?” Delvin asks, rolling up his sleeve. He can see the hunger in Mab’s eyes even when she moves away. “If it helps, I trust you not to drain me or turn me into a Dawn Fang. Besides, another taste might tell you more about what I am. If we’re lucky, we can figure it out before the execution.”

  “I’m not some starving whelp on the streets of Nyte,” the proud vampire declares, her eyes focusing on the faint purple veins of the warrior. Her tongue licks her lips and her fangs protrude enough to prevent her from closing her mouth. “I’ll admit that I’ve not been this hungry in centuries and I want a real taste to see if I can unlock your secret. A small bite won’t do any damage and your potency will keep me fed until the morning. Probably beyond once I escape the execution. Be aware that if you were anyone else, I wouldn’t accept your offer even if I was starving. This is more to satisfy my curiosity than my appetite.”

  “Should I look away?”

  “Sing bawdy bard songs for all I care. It isn’t like this is anything intimate and personal.”

  Clasping Delvin’s hand, Mab leans forward and puts the tips of her fangs against his smooth wrist. A shudder runs through the warrior’s body as he tenses for the pain, which hits him like a stiff muscle instead of pure agony. It reminds him of someone sewing up one of his wounds with only a touch of numbing agent on his skin. He glances at Mab, who is catching every drop and faintly counting seconds by tapping her clawed finger on the cot. Without warning, a burst of energy pulses through the tent and bounces around due to the barrier keeping it inside. Delvin collapses to the floor in a deep slumber while Mab staggers back, her head swimming with giddiness. Blinking her eyes, the vampire goes to seal her fang marks with a gentle breath and watches as they become two circular bruises that will be gone by morning.

  “That’s just great,” she mutters while putting the warrior into his bed. Full of energy and looking for something to do, she strips him of his armor and damaged clothes since it is getting hot in the tent. “He’s out cold and I’m practically bursting with energy while trapped. Guess I’ll do him a favor and fix his gear. Damn founts are always a headache.”

  *****

  Delvin opens his eyes and rubs at his sore wrist while being vaguely aware that he is in a dream. The vast plains surround him, but his vision is so clear that he can see for miles in every direction. Seeing a solitary pile of rocks, he cautiously walks toward them and reaches for his sword. All he draws is a cracked hilt and his shield is nothing more than leather straps that drop from his arm as soon as he notices them. Tossing the useless weapon aside, he jogs to the stone formation where he finds the brutally murdered body of Nyx. Knowing he is in a dream, Delvin simply frowns and turns away from the corpse. He expects Stephen to appear, so he is mildly surprised that t
he other champions rise from the tall grass. Tears are streaming down their cheeks as they draw their weapons and silently approach the warrior.

  “Let me guess how this dream is going to go,” Delvin says while casually holding out his arms. His bastard sword and shield appear in his hands, both glistening and sparking with energy. “All of you blame me for Nyx being killed. I’m supposed to feel guilty and shameful because I didn’t leave with Luke to save her. The problem is that I know this is a dream. I still trust that Nyx is safe and will hold Stephen off. In fact, I know she will, because now I know he’s too pathetic to break someone like her. He might scare her, set off her temper, and make her cry, but Nyx will always stand back up to fight him when she’s cornered. That’s the woman I love and no lucid dream is going to punch holes in that faith.”

  “Very impressive, mortal. You have made me prouder than I ever imagined,” Ehre replies, the rocks taking the form of the elegant and muscular god. A whole and smiling Nyx appears in his arms, which he places next to Delvin. “Do not mind the phantom since she is here to put you at ease. Now, I normally stay away from my chosen and trust in their abilities. Yet I truly had to meet someone who has shown such loyalty to his friends and family.”

  “If I was loyal then I would have gone off with Luke,” the champion claims, feeling ashamed in the presence of the god. He drops his gear and reaches out to caress Nyx’s face, the silent figure gently touching his wrist. “I left her in the hands of a monster. Mab is right that I made the right decision to gather information and train before making a move. That’s logic and strategy, which doesn’t always go with loyalty.”