The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  15

  Delvin sighs when he sees the wide expanse of grass around him, the warrior knowing he has fallen asleep. He is about to call Ehre’s name when he notices that there is something different about the landscape. Instead of the tawny color of the grass, the tall blades are green and remind him of a garden that has not been cared for in years. The sky is bright blue with clouds that are rimmed with yellow, but there is no sun to explain the daylight atmosphere. Birds are singing and flitting through the space between oak trees that stand miles apart from each other. A rock formation is to his right, but it is a black stone that is only found around the borders of the Yagervan Plains. Wondering if the god simply got a few facts wrong, Delvin turns to see a lumbering elephant drinking from a watering hole. The beast bends down on strange knees to get a gulping drink and is careful not to get the end of its trunk wet.

  “This is a really strange dream,” Delvin mutters while scratching his head. Glancing down, he realizes that he is wearing his armor and sword. “I only have this if I’m going to dream about a battle. Something tells me that isn’t the case here. Also elephants don’t drink like that and oak trees aren’t found on the plains. I’m sorry to whichever god put this together, but it’s all wrong and is rather distracting.”

  A solid, but oddly soft, form tackles the warrior from behind and wraps its arms around his neck. Delvin tries to shake the person loose only to find that his attacker’s limbs are locked in a tight embrace. He turns his head to catch a glimpse of the phantom only to get a face full of blue hair that tickles his nose.

  “We missed you, Delvin,” Sari says before she releases the crushing hug and gently shoves her friend away. The gypsy dances and leaps onto the top of the rock formation as if it is a small stone. “I love playing in this world. No limits and so relaxing. Even better is that time works funny here. It can go fast or slow depending on the person controlling it.”

  “Then I’ll try to make it last,” Delvin replies, scratching his chin and smiling at the sight of the other champion. The crunch of grass causes him to turn, his hand falling into the powerful grip of Timoran. “How did you two get into my dream? Are the others here?”

  “I’m sorry, but this isn’t your head,” Dariana announces, her voice echoing from every direction. The sound of powerful wings is heard before the griffin soars out of the clouds and lands with the telepath on her back. “Luke contacted me and I felt the information he has should be heard by all of us. It seems Stephen did something to him and he can’t leave his griffin form, but he can speak on this plane. I should warn everyone that this endeavor is a strain on my mind and body. Sari and Timoran have been kind enough to act as mental bumpers since they are in better physical condition than the rest of us. Where is Fizzle?”

  Sari raises her hand and leaps back to her friends, an awkward smirk plastered across her face. “I may have created an apple tree since you told me to make him comfortable. It should be around here somewhere. Funny how easy it is to misplace a drite and a fully grown tree in an open field.”

  The ground rumbles and the elephant races off with a terrified honk that sounds more like an angry goose. An enormous apple tree rises from the center of the watering hole, which moves closer to the champions. Fizzle pokes his head out of the branches, a glistening apple clenched in his jaws and another stuck on one of his tiny horns. Birds flock to the fruit, which he gladly shares with the creatures even though he knows they are as fake as his snacks.

  Sensing that his friends are annoyed, the drite darts over to Delvin and lands on the warrior’s shoulder. “Fizzle miss friend! Much bad happen. Stephen hurt all. Scar Sari. Take Nyx. Bad man need die. We not close. Still in Darkmill. Only Delvin and Luke free.”

  “That got right to the point and added a tidbit that he didn’t need to know,” Sari says, lifting her skirts to reveal a long scar that runs down her thigh. “Unlike the rest of you, I plan on getting this taken care of once we get Nyx back. The wound is fresh enough to get removed and those kinds of spells are easy to pay for if you have the funds. As long as I’m in a city, I can pay for the healing. It wasn’t caused by magic either, so I might have some extra time.”

  “Can we get to the important point of this discussion?” Timoran rudely asks, glowering at the gypsy. Dariana swiftly steps between her friends and holds out her hands in case they lose their tempers. “I apologize for my outburst. We were warned about the side effects of being bumpers. My rage has made me impatient and hostile. Sari’s natural playfulness has made her distracted and rather self-centered.”

  “If you look like me then you have every right to be self-centered,” she replies with a glint in her emerald eyes. A sudden look of disgust comes over her face as if she suddenly heard her own words. “By the gods, I’m horrible like this. All I want is to talk about myself and how all of you should give me more attention. After all, I’m prettier than Nyx and not a social disaster like Dariana. Why is it that I’m the only who has to struggle for attention when it should be given to me simply for bestowing my presence upon you and would somebody please stop me from talking?”

  The unrestrained laughter from Delvin causes everyone to stop and stare at the warrior who is holding his aching sides. Tears trickle down his cheeks, but the others are not sure if it is because he is happy to be with them or he wishes Nyx could be included in their meeting. All of them sense the undertone of grief that ebbs from their friend, which adds to the choking void caused by the channeler’s absence.

  “I really missed all of you,” Delvin finally says as he regains his composure. He gives Dariana a hug, the woman unsure if she should return the gesture. “Thank you for doing this because I need to talk to people who know me. I’m about to lead an army in a battle with very little preparation. Dawn Fangs are trying to wipe out the tribes and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re heading for Serab next. How long do I have before Luke gets back to me?”

  “I’ll be there three or four days,” the griffin replies in a female voice. She shakes her head before barking and then hissing in an attempt to access the half-elf’s spirit. “It looks like I can’t get to him, so I apologize if my voice confuses anyone. The situation is that Isaiah is either dead or, more likely, nursing injuries after helping me escape. Stephen is on the northern coast of the Crysvale Tundra and he’s waiting for us. I think he wants all of us there too. So I don’t know what will happen if he only gets some of us.”

  “Easily remedied if Queen Ionia gives me and Sari access to her scrying room,” Dariana replies while she circles Delvin. She reaches out to touch the base of his skull, yanking her fingers away as if his skin is hot. “I can send illusions made by Sari to stand on the outskirts of the battle. It will look like we were told to hang back due to our injuries. Stephen will be too busy to see through our illusions. Now tell Delvin about the threat and Nyx’s condition. That’s the important part and I’m starting to weaken.”

  “Give me a minute,” Sari interrupts before she vanishes from the dreamscape.

  A bright aura appears around Dariana whose head is being pushed back by an invisible force. The woman’s lips are pressed and becoming moist while her cheeks turn redder than the apple that Fizzle is eating. With a gasp, she relaxes and cringes once she feels a gentle fist knock on her forehead. Shaking her head clear, Dariana claps her hands and Sari reappears with a mischievous grin on her face. A handkerchief materializes in front of the gypsy’s mouth and dabs at her crimson lips.

  “Thank you for the energy spell,” the telepath says while trying to control the heat of the landscape. Hazy pillars can be seen throughout the plains, but a cool breeze keeps the champions comfortable. “Please tell them what you told me, Luke. I will focus on maintaining our connections since you told me this before.”

  “The good news is that Stephen hasn’t gotten anywhere with Nyx. From what he said, even force has failed to break her,” the griffin explains, flapping her wings in excitement. The sense of relief that pulses from the champions i
s enough to make all of them drowsy, forcing Luke to startle everyone with a roaring screech. “The bad news is that Stephen has found a way to access Nyx and Trinity’s auras. So he will be wielding his own powers as well as those of two channelers. This isn’t about the Baron and the prophecy any more. It’s all about him wanting to claim Nyx and us standing in his way of conquering Windemere. There won’t be any holding back or games when we fight him.”

  “You mean when I fight him,” Delvin interjects, his shield flying to his arm and his chainmail adopts an ivory shine. A wave of energy rolls off the warrior, causing the others to take a step back. “Let’s be honest here. The rest of you won’t make it to the tundra and Luke is more of a mount than a warrior right now. I’ll have to tackle Stephen alone and this won’t end until one of us kills the other. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it this way. I really want to be the champion to put that bastard down.”

  “There is something . . . strange about you, my friend,” Timoran says while keeping his distance. The redheaded barbarian sticks his finger into his mouth, wiping away a coating of aura from his tongue. “I thought it was only your determination before a battle and your desire to save the woman you love. Yet I sense it is something deeper. Has something changed since we last saw you?”

  Fizzle sniffs at Delvin and licks his head, swallowing a few loose hairs. “Taste power. Old energy. Not all Delvin. Yet it his. Always there and now awake. It what Fizzle and Nyx see in Visindor. Just under skin. Maybe it be key?”

  Driven by curiosity and hope, Dariana swiftly puts her hands on the sides of her friend’s head. She is careful not to go any deeper than the surface, but the churning power makes her sweat. Voices speak in an ancient tongue that has not been uttered since the day the dimension of magic crashed into the physical world. Fighting the temptation to probe further into the invigorating energy, Dariana moves away and stares into the warrior’s eyes. She is surprised to see a swirling light outside of the blue irises, but it is the last clue she needs to know what power is buried within Delvin’s core.

  “I trust that you will be trained before the coming battle,” she says, sure that he is aware of being on the edge of unlocking his full aura. She circles him and reaches out to run a finger along his shoulders, a chill running up her arm. “It might not take much to awaken you, but it will be a challenge to control such energy. Given your strength of mind and willpower, I would not be surprised if you have access to your new magic when you face Stephen. That may be the key to your survival if not your victory since he has experience over you.”

  “What am I?” Delvin asks while Sari gets closer. The gypsy touches his lips and shivers at the sparks that fly off his skin. “What woke this up? Did I find my temple?”

  “This has nothing to do with your temple. Your power has been on the verge of awakening for a long time, but your current desire to help so many has pushed it over the edge,” Dariana explains before she releases the physical images of the others from the dreamscape. She can feel them listening and watching as well as their frustration at not being able to interact with the world. “I’m sorry, but my energy is waning. I needed to release most of you to make sure I had the time to tell Delvin what he is. Long ago, the plane of magic crashed into the physical plane and bestowed aura on everyone. It was no longer the elite and channelers who could access magic, but everyone had the potential for even a few spells if they trained. Many new beings appeared because of this, like the Mylrixians who were wiped out by their hubris. This event is where your aura comes from, Delvin. Your essence is greater than other beings and collects the extra energy that Windemere is unable to contain within its own core. You are a fount, which means there is a reservoir of magic within your body that you will eventually be able to access.”

  The warrior grins and scratches his chin, the possibilities of such power running through his mind. “So I can cast spells and do things like Nyx? I can become a magical knight. That’s great and it means I can easily defeat Stephen.”

  “Not exactly,” the silver-haired woman states with a gentle hand on her friend’s chest. She represses his energy, which causes his heart to rapidly beat like a hummingbird’s wings. “First, I’m not very good at making analogies. Think of Nyx like a stomach that can absorb and process aura to cast spells. That is what a channeler does. A fount is more like a sponge that can be wrung out through various methods that depend on the background of the person. As you’ve seen, you can alter your own body and cause magical backlashes like the way you removed the curse from my brother’s bastard sword. Whoever is training you must know more about this than me because I’ve never met a fount before. You are an extremely rare breed and rumors say that there are only ten in existence to prevent Windemere from collapsing. Keep in mind that you may not gain full access and control until you discover your temple, so Stephen still has an advantage. Good luck and I hope to see you, Luke, and Nyx in the flesh soon.”

  “Wait. I have more questions! Please don’t go yet!”

  Dariana waves and walks away, her mind too tired to hear Delvin’s shouts. With the telepath gone, the landscape shifts and moves around the warrior like a distorted painting. The plains become closer to what they are really like while he takes control of the dream. Unsure of what else to do, Delvin has a tall hill rise beneath his feet and two armies appear before him. To his left are the tribespeople with their bows and simple weapons, the champion noting that the swords of the plains are wider than those of Serab. Turning to his right, Delvin examines a hazy army of people that are led by a small group of Dawn Fangs. Scowling at the smaller force, he adds twenty wights to that side and takes a shuddering breath.

  “Let’s see how bad it can be,” he whispers before clapping his hands and sitting down to watch the battle.

  *****

  The Path Lords calmly sit around the detailed map of the plains while Delvin circles the table. He stops to mark areas in red or black as he continues to meticulously choose the best place for the battle. Several used maps are piled in the corner, their surface covered by so many notes that they have become useless. Children routinely wander in to bring food and drink to their leaders, but all of them have been ignored by Delvin. He is focused entirely on finding a strategy that continues to elude him. By noon, most of the Path Lords have left the tent to attend to their people and check on the army preparations. Only the Ostrich Tribe leader remains to watch the young warrior get more and more frustrated.

  “There are too many unknowns,” Delvin finally says while slumping into a chair. He tosses the quill pens onto the table, frowning at the dots of ink they leave on the parchment. “I went through so many scenarios in my head and they were never the same twice. Yeldar could use the wights, mortal warriors as an initial attack, or have his people come at us right away. Not to mention we’ve no idea how many Dawn Fangs are out there aside from the Path Lords. The best strategy I can come up with is to lure them here where we’ll have the high ground, but we’d also be putting the children, sick, and elderly in danger. Personally, I don’t like that plan. We get one shot at this and I can’t figure it out. I can’t even factor in my powers since I don’t know for sure if they’ll awaken in time.”

  The bald man places a comforting hand on the champion’s arm and takes the seat next to him. “Thank you for putting so much energy into this. I know that this is not an ideal situation and you are more used to a well-trained force. Such a mentality might even be one of the problems you are facing. It is possible that we will never find a way to gain a true advantage over the Dawn Fangs. Would you settle for leveling the field?”

  “I’ve considered that, but that would involve setting traps,” Delvin admits while grabbing a dull spear to tap at the map. He lingers over the haven’s location even though it is not marked on the parchment. “To make that worthwhile, we would need to guide our enemies into a controllable area. The plains aren’t like the mountains and forests, which have plenty of narrow passes and clearings. It’s mostly
open space, which limits our choices. We also would have the problem of animals setting off traps before our enemies arrive. That’s if we can think of anything that could take out a Dawn Fang. I know beheading and incineration work, but both methods are difficult for our forces.”

  “Excuse me for a second,” the Path Lord whispers before hurrying to the tent flap. He sticks his head outside and calls a young woman over, handing her a hastily written message. “Wait a few minutes for someone to arrive. There is a tactic that is risky, but it could make one of those methods easier.”

  Delvin takes the time to get a drink of water and eat some of the dried fruit that has been left on a small table. He is relaxed and calm by the time the blonde-haired leader of the Grouse Tribe enters the tent. The rotund man bows his head to reveal a bald spot and part of an old crossed swords tattoo. With a nod from his superior, the younger Path Lord takes his scabbarded sword off his belt and hands it to the champion. Delvin immediately hears the sloshing of liquid inside and the faint smell of oil hits his nose when he draws an inch of the weapon. Peering at the scabbard, he can see that the opening is very narrow and only the edges of the blade avoid touching the sides.

  “There’s a flammable oil inside and it coats the weapon,” the warrior says while freeing the sword from the scabbard. He flinches, but nothing happens even when he spins the blade a few times. “I thought you had flint around the opening, but I see that would risk igniting all of the oil and injuring the swordsman. So I’m not sure how to turn this into a non-magical fire weapon. Also, won’t this risk setting the grass on fire?”

  “The decorations on the scabbard are made of flint, so we draw, spin to get rid of excess, and strike that area before we attack,” the Grouse Tribe leader explains, extending his hand to take the sword back. Being inside, he wipes most of the oil off the blade before striking it against the scabbard and setting the tip on fire. “We use these when fighting on rocks or in camps because of the danger they pose to the plains. Now the Pelican Tribe has a . . . toy for their children that might help solve this problem. They are thin bags filled with water that can be made tougher and used with a sling to put out fires from afar. To be honest, the grass being in flames might help us in this fight.”