Charms of the Feykin

by Charles E Yallowitz

“If she was then Delvin would be here too and I’d be happier,” Nyx says before flinging a colorful fireball into the sky. The spell explodes into the sizzling shape of a tree that drops puff-like bubbles onto the cheering citizens. “I can barely remember the last time the champions traveled together. Think it was Nevra Coil, which feels like a lifetime ago. We keep getting separated and now two of us might be lost or even worse. Staying here was the right thing to do for Fizzle, but it’s killing me. All I want to do is find Delvin . . . and Sari. Sorry, I had something in my throat before I could finish talking. Things are so bad that I even contacted my mom for advice.”

  “I fought Tzefira when I was fifteen because the Baron wanted me to kill someone in her army,” the chaos elf admits with a chuckle. Her mind wandering, she is about to sing a lullaby when she remembers what she is talking about. “Better to say I ran away from her since I was under orders not to draw a lot of attention. Killed my target with a knife to the throat and got chased for a couple miles. Your mother is relentless and stubborn. Though I assume she’s kind with you.”

  Nyx’s eyebrows arch in amusement and she straddles the railing to look her former enemy in the face. “She told me to grow up and trust my friends. Then I was reminded about everything Sari has survived and that Delvin was the Mercenary Prince. After that, things got a little awkward and heated. Mom told me I was being immature. I claimed to have a good reason for being worried. She said I’d drive Delvin away if I kept acting like a mother hen. Then I pointed out that my dad went off on a short adventure, never came back, and our family spent nearly twenty years not knowing each other was alive.”

  “How did she take that?”

  “She brought my dad into the conversation and they spent an hour lecturing me.”

  “At least they care.”

  “Then they tried to ground me before remembering how old I am.”

  “Again, at least they care.”

  The conversation is cut off when the library entrance creaks open and Luke pokes his head inside. The blonde half-elf is about to speak when a purple streak bursts through the doors, the force sending the warrior tumbling to the floor. No longer injured, Fizzle darts around the room and dives at the table to claim the basket of apples. An invisible hand attempts to yank the fruit back to the table, but the purple-scaled dragon smacks the spell away with his tail. Snorting a wisp of rainbow smoke at his defeated foe, the drite lands on Nyx’s head and dangles his meal in her face. Dropping the basket into his friend’s lap, he gives her a kiss on the cheek and hops onto the railing. The tiny dragon’s crimson dragonfly wings flutter wildly now that they are no longer torn and bound by bandages.

  “Fizzle all better and now we go!” he announces before devouring an entire apple. Cheeks stuffed with food, he notices Trinity for the first time and scratches his head with the tip of his tail. “Why bad channeler here? Why she in dress? Why her tummy big? Why Fizzle smell big power from bad channeler? Fizzle not know what going on.”

  “The simple answer is that the Baron and I had a falling out, so now I’m hiding here with most of my people,” Trinity replies, unsure if she should take offense at Fizzle’s nickname for her. A series of rapid kicks causes her to cringe and nearly drop the rest of her water. “I think my daughter wants to say hello or play. Either that or she’s declaring that her mommy isn’t a bad channeler. Everything I did was to protect my people and I’d do it again if I had to.”

  “Let’s hope it never comes to that,” Luke says as he joins the two women. His brown and gold-flecked eyes are bloodshot from his nightly trances being restless. Instead of his typical grace, the warrior moves with heavy footsteps and limp-hanging arms. “Fizzle told me what happened. Our friends landed in a town named Anpress and were tricked into traveling with these robed people who are part of a cult or something. They were feeding those with fae lineages to monsters called Judges and hunting those that got away. Sari and Delvin had several fights with them, but were captured in a temple that had information about the champions. Fizzle escaped and flew all the way here with a few short range teleports thrown in when he had the energy. That’s the basics, so we should head out as soon as Timoran is done getting his affairs in order.”

  “You look terrible, little brother,” Nyx says while hopping off the railing and putting the apples on the floor. A gust of wind carries the warrior’s body odor to her nose, causing her to keep her distance. “When was the last time you took a bath? For that matter, I can hear your stomach rumbling from over here. Is everything okay?”

  “I was busy tending to Fizzle and helping with the wall, so I forgot a few things,” Luke argues, his hands rubbing the hilts of his sabers. The sight of his friends and Trinity staring at him causes the warrior to lower his head in defeat. “My meditations have been a problem. Just some nightmares that involve Sari and Delvin. Like you, I’m worried and Fizzle’s story doesn’t make me feel any better. I promise to eat and bathe before we leave. Did you contact Kira and finish your spell, big sister?”

  The tired channeler nods her head and cracks her knuckles, the sound louder than she intended. “Both are done, so I’ll gather supplies for the trip. We’re traveling across the plains on snow tigers, which I’m told is a thrilling experience. Can’t be any worse than horses . . . except these mounts could eat us. Still think I like them more than those bucking, leg-biting mares. Do you need me to stay here, Trinity? In case you go into labor or get stuck in the chair again. No idea why barbarians would have such narrow seats since they’re so huge. Anyway, you can come with me if you want.”

  “Because I truly enjoy walking on swollen ankles and being off-balance,” the chaos elf states while struggling to stand. She gives up and gestures for the table to get closer, giving her access to the grapes that she has wanted for the last hour. “Sebave placed a warning spell on me, so I should be fine. That young woman takes her duties very seriously. Go get ready for your next adventure, little champion. Should be easy since you don’t have me in your way. Oh, and please say hi to Sari for me.”

  Trinity is surprised when Fizzle lands on her chair and leans over to sniff at her belly. Not realizing that the action could be intimidating, the small dragon’s forked tongue runs along his lips to clean off a few pieces of apple. He gently puts a paw on the spot where he thinks he sees movement and pulls away when he feels a spark. Fizzle darts around the chair, departing for a minute to eat another apple. When he returns, the drite stays on the table and innocently gurgles toward the unborn baby. Trinity holds her breath, fearing that she will hear her daughter talk, but all she receives is another strong kick.

  “Fizzle stay with not really bad channeler,” the dragon claims, his curiosity stirred by the power emanating from the baby. Sniffing at the potent atmosphere, he hops up and down with bursting excitement. “Curious about youngling. Fizzle have questions. Nyx and Dariana not know answers. Can Fizzle stay and talk?”

  “I guess so,” Trinity replies in an unsure voice. She swats Fizzle’s tail away from her belly and puts a finger on his snout. “First rule, never touch a pregnant woman’s belly without asking for permission. That rule is for your protection and it doesn’t matter if you’re a powerful creature of magic or not.”

  “Fizzle sorry for touch. Does baby eat apples?”

  Trying not to laugh, Nyx waves over her shoulder as she grabs Luke by the wrist and leads him out of the library. After a few seconds, she feels her arm get jerked toward the ground, which makes the channeler fall hard on the stone stairs. She twists around for a better view of the snoring forest tracker, who is slowly sliding down the smooth-edged steps. With red energy coiling around her body and enhancing her muscles, Nyx hoists Luke onto her back and heads for the citadel’s distant entrance. It is awkward at first with several ankle-straining stumbles and painful crashes into the solid wall, but she steadily gets used to the extra weight. The violet-eyed channeler makes it halfway down the long stairwell before a foul odor hits her nose and she plugs her nostrils with
lavender-scented aura. Shifting her hands for a better hold on her little brother, she realizes how oily his pants are and that he probably has not changed his clothes in days. Having a vague idea of their location and the layout of the citadel, she takes the next right turn and listens carefully for the sound of gurgling water.

  “First, I dunk you in a bath and then I’ll get my errands done. Probably have to change my clothes too if I want to enjoy the party tonight,” Nyx says before Luke mumbles and drools down her neck. The sticky liquid evaporates as her skin turns redder than her shirt and threatens to burn the unconscious forest tracker. “And Fizzle thought I had no experience taking care of kids. At this rate, you and Sari should call me mom instead of big sister.”

  *****

  The cheers from outside echo throughout the large throne room that is adorned with a preserved head from each of the region’s great beasts. Banners of long defeated tribes hang from the rafters, each one acting as a reminder to the new rulers that they should avoid unnecessary battles. A circular table sits in the middle of the room and is surrounded by wide chairs to give guests a sense of comfort when meeting with either the King or Queen. The smooth wooden surface has recently been polished and every seat has a fresh cushion, the old ones having been given to the chaos elves. Sitting on a dais is a large throne with a roaring tiger’s head carved into the top and a layer of dust already gathering on the padded seat. Timoran and Tigris stand before the piece of furniture, neither of them sure what to do about the old relic.

  “Do we take turns sitting on it?” Timoran finally asks with a smirk. The red-haired warrior puts an arm around his wife as they enjoy the solitude, which has become a rare luxury over the last week. “I am more than willing to let you use it since the thing is too gaudy for my simple tastes. Then again, we can place it somewhere else as an honorary symbol and have new ones made. I am very surprised and confused about there being only one throne. What did the former Snow Tiger Queens do?”

  “I think they stayed out of Stonehelm’s politics and remained on the battlefield. You know, doing the real work,” Tigris responds, a playful glint in her sapphire eyes. Slipping from her husband’s grasp, she approaches the throne for a closer look. “The paint is chipping and the cushion is flattened. I think you have a good idea with making it an honorary symbol since it is from the past. Now that I know it’s not a pleasant or compassionate history, I don’t really want to sit here. As you’ve said many times, King Wrath, the path of our tribe will be different in our hands. Honestly, I want to retain the court trials that King Edric implemented. For all of his faults, the poor man created the foundation of a very good system of justice.”

  “If that is your decision then I support you,” the towering champion says while fixing the laces that keep his shirt closed. A rapid foot tapping makes him sigh and he removes his royal cape of blue and black fur. “I am sorry, but this situation still feels unreal to me. I never expected to be a king, especially one who must leave his queen to rule alone. What if our people feel abandoned and rebel while I am gone? Perhaps I should let my friends go on ahead and I will catch up with them later.”

  Tigris approaches her husband and takes the cape from his hands, placing it on the back of a chair. The blonde barbarian rotates the bone ring on her hand as her eyes fall on the jewelry’s twin that sits on Timoran’s finger. Another cheer drifts from outside along with the popping of tiny spells that she can see against the cloudless sky. Taking the worried champion by the arm, Tigris guides him to an open window and gestures for to look over his kingdom. They watch as their fellow barbarians celebrate the new rulers with traditional games, roasting meat, and kegs of alcohol. Children run through the streets with toy weapons, most of them declaring that they want to be Timoran or the late Sheriff Kalten. One small boy loudly declares that he is Nyx and uses a pair of red banners to act as fire spells until his friends argue that it is not fair for anyone to play as a Near God. Seeing several of the chaos elves mixed into the crowd gives the Queen an idea and she takes her husband’s hands in hers. Savoring the feel of his calloused skin, Tigris stares into his blue eyes and gives him a long kiss that is caught by some of the citizens. The rulers ignore the applause and whistling from outside, this not being the first time they earned such a reaction.

  “Both of us know you aren’t the type of man to let his friends go into danger while he stays home. That isn’t the honorable warrior I married,” Tigris whispers while taking her husband’s face in her hands. She turns his head to watch the crowd and lets her thumbs rub the faint stubble on his chin. “You’re already a great king, Timoran. It is you who made peace with the chaos elves and have given them a chance to join the rest of the world. You are the one who revived our tribe’s honor in Aintaranurh. Every person out there is proud to call you the Snow Tiger King and knows there is more for you to do outside of Stonehelm. Do I wish you could stay by my side? Of course because I spent so many years without you. But that would be selfish and you have a greater destiny to follow.”

  “You are right and my friends need me more than ever,” Timoran agrees as his eyes settle on the group of children. He smiles as he notices that several are covered in red paint to imitate his scars and crimson hair. “My worry is that I will not come back. That would leave you a widow and ruling alone. What will you do if I fall against my enemies?”

  “I’d marry Cyrus and name our first born son after you,” the grinning Snow Tiger Queen answers without hesitation. She gives the chuckling man a kiss on the cheek before guiding him away from the window. “I know you will either come back to me or die making sure you’re the only life that is lost. You are the wisest, most honorable, kindest man that I know. If there is any champion who can carry the others to victory and make his loved ones proud then it is you. So don’t worry about me. I will be home waiting either for your return or a message that you need the Snow Tiger Tribe to march.”

  “You were kidding about Cyrus, right?”

  “I’d probably kill him before the wedding ended, so you have nothing to worry about.”

  Timoran rubs the scars on his shoulder as he relaxes and takes a seat at the table. He holds out his hands to examine the rings that adorn two of his fingers. Happy to be wearing his wedding band again, the barbarian turns the bone circle to make sure there are no chips or dents along its edges. Not wanting to lose the precious piece of jewelry, he decides to put it in the safety of his bottomless pouch once he leaves Stonehelm. Turning his attention to a ring of mottled marble, Timoran notices that the animals engraved on the relic are moving around its rough surface. The pictures stop when the jingling of bells rolls through the room and invisible hands take the crown off the red-haired barbarian’s head. The circlet of crystal and tiger teeth is placed in the middle of the table as a glass dome appears around it. A handle appears on top of the container, which becomes covered in rose thorns that glint as if made out of metal. Curling out of the wood below, a bear-headed serpent wraps around the dome and hisses for a few seconds before freezing like a statue. When Timoran clears his throat, the defenses disappear and leave only the smooth glass behind.

  “I guess that will be enough to keep your crown safe until you return,” Fortunatos says, the dark-skinned Jester materializing in a nearby chair. The guardian swings his feet to hover them over the table, the motion shaking the bells on his shoes. “Is the great and powerful Snow Tiger King getting cold feet again? You know, I’m going to be here too. Even though you gave me my freedom, I still exist because you let the power of Aintaranurh remain in that ring. For that I’m in your debt and swear to watch over Stonehelm in your absence. Though only as a guardian, so don’t expect me to do anything political. At least nothing helpful because I refuse to pass up the chance to poke at any visiting nobles.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” Timoran says, extending his hand for a shake. The three sagging spires of the Jester’s cap snake out to complete the gesture, their kaleidoscopic gems casting rainbows around the room. �
�Did you bring General Anghorn and Queen Trinity here? I want to discuss some things before joining in the festivities.”

  Instead of answering, Fortunatos stretches his fingers to open the doors and let the two patient figures into the throne room. A black-haired man with old claw marks covering his bare chest enters and leaves his more timid companion behind. Not bothering to salute or bow, Cyrus puts a powerful arm around Timoran’s shoulders and slaps him on the back. Releasing his childhood friend, the smiling barbarian is gentler with Tigris whose hand he delicately puts to his brow. Remembering their old tradition, the General leans to the side to avoid the playful flick to his nose that his Queen half-heartedly attempts to deliver. Releasing his grip, Cyrus fixes his wyvern scale bracers and moves to stand a little further away from the rulers.

  The three barbarians wait for the slender chaos elf in blood-stained robes to join them at the table. Getting impatient, Fortunatos has the floor roll Sebave to the towering figures, the purple-haired woman yelping with surprise. The priestess’s blue eyes are rimmed with the amber light of her goddess and the shine casts her face in a faint glow. Her purple hair is neatly brushed and stands in contrast to her messy clothes, the holy vestments being the only items she bothered to take from her homeland. Unsure of what to do, the nervous woman stares at her feet and tenses when Timoran crouches before her. She hears a smack and notices the shadow of Cyrus shaking a hand while Tigris points a finger at him. A meek laugh escapes her lips and she finds the courage to face the intimidating warriors.

  “I bring apologies from Queen Trinity, but she needed to rest after casting the permanent protection spell,” Sebave reports, her eyes darting from one barbarian to another. A warm smile from Timoran puts her at ease, so she politely accepts his offered hand. “She wants to thank you for your hospitality and the donated supplies. Our plan is to leave for the mountain in the morning now that the rocs have agreed to let us live there. Please give our thanks to Dariana for helping with the negotiations.”