Charms of the Feykin

by Charles E Yallowitz

  The double doors of the central hall open and seven Feykin head down the hallway. Each one is wearing a robe with either a winged stag or a leaping shark on the chest, but the garments are hastily removed as they leave. The clothing is unceremoniously tossed to the floor where creeping vines drag them into one of many suspicious crevices. Angry glares and muttered curses are aimed at Timoran and Fizzle, who have stepped out of the group’s way. Cautiously moving in the direction of raised voices, the barbarian draws his weapon and prepares to step into a battle. From the hallway, he can see Zohara sitting on one of the thrones and her head repeatedly turning from one side of the room to the other. Nobody notices the two guests until they enter the room and Timoran bats a blast of water away with his great axe. The shoulder-jarring spell punches a hole in the transparent ceiling and comes back down as a warm rain, which does nothing to cool the flaring tempers.

  “Where are the others?” Sari asks, her body entombed in coiling water. Phelan is already stepping between her and the barbarian, but she gently pushes him aside. “I just dissolved our royal council because all of the champions are here. How are we supposed to plan a war when half of our advisors refuse to show up?”

  “I told you not to fire the others, you idiot,” Delvin snaps while his ivory aura recedes back into his body. There is still a residual shimmer on the edge of his sword, which he refuses to sheathe until the gypsy returns the water to the pools. “Are you really surprised about this? Nyx and I don’t want to deal with each other. You want to chain your ex-lover behind the waterfalls and leave him there to die. Dariana is probably protecting them since Phelan attacked Luke yesterday. We should be thankful that Timoran and Fizzle came here after the terrible greeting they received. Why is your plaything here anyway?”

  “As your best hunter, I have a stake in your decisions,” Phelan announces as he takes a seat at the table. Sari makes herself comfortable on his lap and gives him a short kiss. “Besides, you have Zohara here and that means my love is outnumbered. Perhaps it is best that the other ladies and that monster are gone. King Wrath can act as a tiebreaker.”

  “That is a good point,” the barbarian interjects before Delvin can react. Timoran takes his seat at the table while Fizzle claims two apples and darts into a nearby tree. “From listening to your citizens, there are many problems. They worry about a barrier failing, supplies running low, and fear for loved ones imprisoned by the Order. I assume those are the big issues that you want the champions to help with.”

  “You speak as if we aren’t part of that group,” Delvin interrupts, taking Zohara’s hand in his. The priestess steadily regains her composure and energy, the warrior’s powerful aura washing her exhaustion away. “Keep in mind that we do plan on traveling with you once we save the Feykin. It’s just that things are different now. You have to understand this, Timoran. Sari and I have people who depend on us, so we can’t leave so easily. Especially since only one of us can rule after the war. We haven’t figured out how to decide on that.”

  Zohara squeezes the warrior’s fingers and nervously smiles at the gypsy. “That is not important right now. Our astute guest has stated the core problems that we wished to discuss with him. All of those issues need to be resolved in order to wage a successful war. The throne is a topic for another time.”

  “I still say you hand leadership over to me since I’m actually a Feykin,” Sari snaps while tracing her finger along Phelan’s jaw. Planting another kiss on his lips, she slides off his lap and hops onto the table. “We can ask Nyx to strengthen the barrier or Zohara can pray harder to make it better. The real problems are food and our captured brothers and sisters. My vote is to attack the prison because we don’t know how long those people will last. To let you know, Timoran, the limp-wristed warrior here says supplies should take a priority. With more people, we can get more hunting and gathering done in a shorter amount of time.”

  Delvin scowls while approaching the table, but he refuses to climb up to where Sari is waiting. “That’s if we can win the fight. You’re not considering the risk or even the possibility of losing.”

  “We always win when I’m on the battlefield.”

  “You’re using sneak attacks and traps, Sari. The prison requires a frontal assault.”

  “Only if you’re an idiot.”

  Timoran ignores the back and forth of his friends, their insults growing more lewd and aggressive by the minute. His blue eyes scan the room, taking in Zohara’s anxious posture and the way Phelan eyes Delvin. He half expects the Feykin to attack with the way the young man keeps licking his lips and touching his daggers. A crunch draws the barbarian’s attention to Fizzle, the drite- having stolen more fruit. The way the dragon devours every bite and juicy dribble of the apple helps Timoran come to a decision. Standing for attention, he is shushed by multiple voices when he clears his throat, the bickering rulers too entrenched in their stubbornness to let him speak. With a wall-shaking roar, the barbarian takes control of the situation and his looming rage sends a violent chill down the spine of everyone who hears the furious bellow. Risking a glance out the clear walls, he can see the citizens of Rhundar retreating from the temple and staying away from the building.

  “I agree with Delvin that supplies should come first,” Timoran says in a low voice that is tinted with his rising temper. When Sari opens her mouth to argue, the muscular man slams his hands on the table. The legs nearest to him splinter and the furniture tilts forward, causing the gypsy to slide toward the towering warrior. “I am not happy to see my friends fight like petty children. You will stop this now or answer to me. As far as my decision, little friend, it is being influenced by you pushing for an act that can set off a long campaign. It is smarter to gather supplies before declaring war because your enemies can cut off your resources once events have been set in motion. Armies need food, Sari, and if you give everything to your soldiers then the non-combatants you are protecting will starve. If you truly want to defeat the Order then you best listen to those of us who have experience on the battlefield. Stick to being sneaky and tricking your way to victory, which will be needed in the future. I can guarantee that. Do you have any arguments with my logic?”

  “No, but your breath smells like something died in your mouth,” Sari retorts while holding her nose. Patting Timoran on the cheek, she slips out from between him and the broken table to reclaim her seat on Phelan’s lap. “I see your point and will try to behave. Considering how important this is, I demand that we do some of the hunting and gathering today. We don’t know how long it will be before the prisoners are executed. It could be in a few days or weeks. If we’re lucky, the Order hasn’t learned about our friends stopping their Anpress operation. Once they hear about that, we’ll lose a lot of time.”

  “We can make a strategy as soon as we have a headcount of soldiers and a decent stockpile of supplies,” Delvin agrees while examining the damaged table. Drawing his bastard sword, he slices through the other legs to make the furniture stable. “Two large groups will be needed to get everything done in one day, so I’ll take one and Sari will take the other. I’m thinking of tracking down one of the belraphi herds for meat. You can get water fruit from the lowland springs since that counts as food and drink. Hunters will come with me and gatherers will go with Sari.”

  “Is that because you think I’m too weak to go on a hunt?” snaps the gypsy, ignoring the glare from Timoran. Crossing her arms and leaning against Phelan, she has an array of liquid weapons rise from the still pools. “In that case, you take Luke and I hope he gets himself hurt. I’ll take the others with me.”

  Delvin looks to Zohara for help, not wanting to start another fight and risk angering the irritable barbarian. Feeling helpless and trapped, the priestess can only shrug before rapidly praying to the Four Sisters. She knows that it will be some time before they agree on a final decision, so she asks the Season Goddesses to give Sari some clarity. After several minutes of awkward silence, she opens her eyes and reclaims her regal po
sture on the throne. Nobody is aware of what she has done, but her calm demeanor is enough to give Delvin the confidence to politely argue with the stubborn gypsy.

  “I’ll take Luke, but I want Timoran and Dariana too,” the warrior states in a slow, calculated voice. He is surprised when Sari tries to speak, but has a violent coughing fit instead. “Timoran is an obvious choice because whoever heard of bringing a barbarian to go fruit picking. I’m sure he can claim a big one and not have a problem bringing it back to Rhundar. As for Dariana, she can help us track the herd since they are sentient creatures. Unlike fruit, which just floats on the water and waits to get plucked. You get Nyx and Fizzle who can take down whatever you can’t handle with your own abilities. Bringing their magic on the hunt could lead to us having more burned bones than edible meat. Finally, Phelan gets to go with you.”

  “But I’m a hunter!” the male Feykin argues as he tries to stand. The immovable woman on his lap locks him in place, but his restrained anger causes his blue hair to churn like a racing river. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t be used for the hunt.”

  “Because you tried to kill Luke yesterday and I don’t want to worry about that happening again,” the former mercenary coldly states, his hand tapping his bastard sword’s hilt. Returning to his chair, Delvin takes a cleansing breath and uses his ring to pour bitter coffee into an empty mug. “This isn’t the time for petty personal issues. If it helps, that is another reason Nyx is with you instead of me. To make amends, I’ll let you two put the rest of the groups together. Try to be sensible about it and don’t take all of the best warriors for your fruit picking.”

  “I promise to behave. After all, I don’t want anything bad to happen to the friends that I still like,” Sari replies with a wicked grin. Noticing that Phelan’s hair is still shifting and dripping foam onto his shoulders, she gives him a long kiss until he relaxes. “Silly water nymphs and their rapid tempers. Come with me and we’ll go over the list in private. Both groups should be ready and gathered by Binhadar Falls within one . . . make that two hours. Is there anything else you want to say to me?”

  “Only that I don’t think you’re weak,” the warrior answers in an attempt to erase some of the tension between them. Refusing to reveal that he does not trust her to run off to battle with the hunters, he decides to stroke the gypsy’s ego. “We both know that water fruit can be guarded by dangerous creatures. Your naiad powers are better suited for fighting those while my fount abilities are still unpredictable. Strategy is all about putting people where their strengths are most useful. Wouldn’t you agree, King Wrath?”

  Still slightly annoyed, Timoran nods his head and takes in the sight of his friends. He can feel the lingering animosity between them and silently worries that one will inevitably attack the other. Not wanting to waste any time, the barbarian puts his fist to his chest and bows before heading for the door. Fizzle darts after him, but quickly turns back to snatch the last apple. The moment the adventurers get into the hallway, they hear Phelan make a snide comment to Zohara and the argument is reignited.

  “Timoran stiff. What wrong?” Fizzle asks with a mouthful of food.

  “I have a bad feeling that we are missing something important,” the barbarian replies, stopping when he returns to the Bor’daruk room. The plants have melted into puddles that have turned the sand into a carpet of dense mud. “All of us need to be on our guard once we leave Rhundar. Keep your eyes open for suspicious actions and words. I fear that things will get worse before we uncover the truth. Hopefully it does not cost us any of our friends.”

  *****

  The belraphi search the underbrush and piles of fallen leaves for food, their blunted snouts digging into the rich dirt. While not very tall, the brown-furred creatures are plump from their fat, hairless tails to their bloated bellies. The bald tail drags behind the animals, its sensitive skin picking up movements of insects in the soil. Powerful legs help them escape predators and defend themselves, the toned limbs needing only a few strikes to uproot a tree stump. At least seven hundred belraphi have gathered in the valley and more of the animals are joining the herd every hour. All of the babies are in the center of the vast group, a nest of logs and moss erected to keep them safe and contained. As a warning to predators, mounds of foul-smelling goo have been scattered about the area. The acrid stench carries on the billowing wind and is strong enough to make Luke dizzy.

  “The Feykin should be ready to attack in a few minutes,” Delvin whispers as he joins the forest tracker and Dariana. Acting as a special unit, the trio are hidden behind distant trees that are halfway up the southern side of the slope. “Belraphi aren’t too dangerous, but there could be other predators in the area. There are fifty of us, so I’m thinking three kills each. That should be enough to help us last for a few weeks and handle Sari’s ridiculous assault on the prison if she gets her way. Are you going to be okay, Luke? You seem distracted.”

  “I am,” the half-elf bluntly replies. There is so much activity in the jungle that he finds it impossible to tell if an accelerated heartbeat is from a threat or one of his excited allies. “I’m having trouble focusing on the sounds and scents. You might want to trust Dariana and Timoran more than me when it comes to tracking.”

  “It’s the Sari thing, right?” replies the brown-haired warrior, glancing over his shoulder to see if they have time to talk. Seeing the Feykin working on their spears, he scowls at the delay and pats his friend on the arm. “Don’t know what to tell you. She was happy, positive, and smiling when she met Phelan. We argued a bit, but our friendship only started to sour over the last few days. Then you showed up and she got borderline homicidal. She’s probably worried that you’ll put her current relationship in jeopardy. Kind of what I’m doing with Nyx, which isn’t making things easy for everyone involved.”

  “Don’t you think Sari is going too far with wishing death upon Luke?” Dariana asks, her eyes still locked on the strange creatures. A predatory thought brings her attention to the trees in the west, but all she can see is a jaguar eating a belraphi that strayed too far from the herd. “For that matter, your cruelty toward Nyx was too much as well. The champions survive as a group and you two are causing damage. I’m aware that you think your feelings for Nyx were a mistake and it’s nice that you’re keeping that thought to yourself. Still, it’s best to be honest. For example, tell her when you’re getting married instead of waiting for it to already be underway like you’re planning.”

  “That’s a real bastard maneuver, Cunningham,” Luke mutters while gently removing the man’s hand from his arm. No longer any use as a scout, the forest tracker sits in the shadow of a tree and checks his sabers. “I’m going to avoid Sari and let her make the first move toward whatever we’re going to be. That way it’s entirely on her terms. Not saying Nyx is already doing that, but you did spring a fiancée on her and admitted that you tried to stop her from coming to Rhundar. If you ever loved her then you need to do the right thing. Otherwise you get into my type of mess.”

  “Good point and I’ll talk to her later,” Delvin states as Timoran joins them. Rising to his feet, the chainmail-wearing warrior draws his weapon and exhales slowly in preparation of the downhill charge. “Let the Feykin go first and do as they will. The four of us will be more careful with our choices. Try to take at least two big ones and avoid those that are closest to the nest. We don’t want to kill a mother because that will cause some of the babies to starve. As much as we need food, I don’t want to wipe out the entire herd. No battle cries, Timoran, or the belraphi will stampede.”

  Delvin delivers several rapid knocks to a tree, which tells the Feykin to walk toward their prey. Painted to blend into their surroundings, the naked hunters silently move through the bushes and spread out into several long lines. With two spears strapped to their backs and another in their hands, they know that every shot counts. Once the Feykin are within throwing range, the men and women calmly scan the area for the easiest targets. It is an old hunter
on the right hand side that decides to start the attack and hurls his spear at a slumbering belraphi. The weapon strikes its target in the head as more projectiles arc into the herd. Rodent-like screeches erupt from the animals and many of them gather closer to the nest, their instincts telling them to protect the babies. The beasts that prefer to go on the offensive spit globs of reeking vomit at the hunters, the stench bringing tears to the Feykin’s eyes. One man takes a blob in the face and collapses, his body twitching from a fast-moving disease that dissolves his nerves.

  Having taken a circular route to attack from the other direction, the champions jump into the fray and do their best to draw the belraphi’s attention. Expertly dodging and blocking the toxic projectiles, the warriors split into pairs and carefully choose their targets. Guarding each other’s flank, Timoran and Delvin work together to swiftly kill six of the fattest males. With their prey taken down, the pair hurry to help the Feykin get their shares back among the trees. Briefly shining like a torch and blocking disease-ridden blobs with a wooden shield, Delvin touches the three infected hunters to heal them. The display of power is enough to scare a few of the more aggressive belraphi back to the nest, but the herd is showing signs that they are about to stampede.

  Dariana and Luke have a harder time as they find themselves among the mothers instead of those they have been told to hunt. All of the males and non-nursing females are too far away for the champions to reach without battling through the mob of screeching sows. Unable to fight through without killing the animals, the nimble adventurers leap and dive away from the flying vomit until they clamber into the nest. All of the adults inside are full of milk, which makes them docile and lethargic as the oblivious children sate their constant hunger. Avoiding the helpless babies, the champions are almost at the other side when a bellowing roar echoes across the valley. The belraphi stop attacking and huddle close to the nest, their vibrating bodies shaking the log structure. Hearing Delvin scream for the Feykin to leave their kills and retreat to the forest, Luke cautiously climbs into the open. He gestures for Dariana to stay with the babies while he stares at the predator that has interrupted their hunt.