The Witch (Dragon Eyes Book 1)

by Kristina Hlaváčková

  12 CHAPTER

  MORPHEUS

  A crack of a whip sounded through cold morning air. Harsh words followed: “Move it you sluggard!”

  Listening, Elena halted with one foot on the ground, the other already in a stirrup. Michael gave her a questioning look. Another whip crack, but this time Elena heard what must have been leather slashing through skin. Michael however didn’t have her super hearing and could hear only the whip crack and an ominous creak. Nevertheless, what he heard was enough for him to understand. Elena pulled her foot from the stirrup, straightened her sword belt, and marched off in direction of the sounds. Michael, who was already mounted, threw his leg over the saddle and slid to the ground. Grabbing the rains of both horses, he followed the girl.

  She weaved her way through several narrow streets, turned a few corners and found herself at a courtyard entrance. She halted, crossing her arms in front of her. A huge millstone occupied the courtyard center. Chained to it with arm thick chains was a huge black man. Despite the chilly morning air all he wore were a pair of trousers. And he was barefoot. Scares covered all the visible parts of his body and his back was freshly torn from whipping. It was his back what Elena focused on, as the giant pushed against a drawbar. Strong muscles bulged under dark skin. Something else was visible under dried blood and a network of whip scars. It was a regular, sophisticated map of scars filled up with black-blue paint. The man’s entire back and arms were tattooed all the way to his waist, disappearing into the trousers and going all the way to his chest.

  Elena watched him turn the millstone. He pushed it so far he was now facing her. Raising his eyes, he looked directly at the girl. His eyes were sharp as needles, penetrating and keen. Elena looked into them. And moved.

  Slowly, but confidently, she entered the courtyard. Whip in hand, a man appeared from the shadows.

  “What do you want here?” he spat and Elena straightened her back.

  “Are you the owner of this homestead?”

  “Yeah, what you’re sticking your nose in here for?”

  “Who is that man?” Elena ignored his rudeness.

  “A slave,” he barked back.

  “How did you come to enslave him?”

  “I caught him. What’s it to ya’?” He took another, threatening step towards her. Elena fixed her dark brown eyes at him, suppressing an urge to wrinkle her nose, since the ruffian stank horribly. Regardless of the ongoing encounter, the black giant pushed the millwheel impassively.

  This time, Elena spoke icily: “A Kefetian giant as a slave? I demand an explanation!”

  “How dare you demand anything?!” the owner of the mill hissed back at her, engulfing her in his nasty smelling breath, offering her a full view of his black, rotting teeth. Elena narrowed her eyes and reached for a money pouch that she had by her side, tossing it significantly on her palm.

  “I will buy him,” she said dryly.

  The bloke laughed. “What would a skinny chit of a beauty like ya’ do with such a savage? If ya’ want a little fun, I’d be a much better choice.” He moved even closer to her. Elena clenched her teeth, muscles in her cheeks moved. And so did Michael, who was until now standing somewhere behind her. His movement drew the ruffian’s attention to him. The miller growled quietly. Elena smiled at the man. It was a very nipping, wolf-like smile.

  “Won’t sell,” he hissed at Elena, but was watching Michael.

  “Why is he a slave?” Elena persisted.

  “He killed eight men with bare hands.”

  “And they attacked him why?” she asked sharply.

  “He had no business being where he was.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s a savage!” the bloke spat.

  “How much?”

  “Ya’ don’t have that much, babe, not unless ya’ want to work it off!” Stepping even closer, he reached out to her cheek. And stopped mid-motion. There was an unnatural pressure in his groin area. Precariously, he looked down, a whip in one hand, the other hand still raised to Elena’s face. Elena applied more pressure to a sword that had miraculously appeared in her palm.

  “You were saying?” she said sweetly and pressed on the blade a bit more, forcing a yelp out of the ruffian. He looked pleadingly at Michael, who had suddenly stepped down the ladder of dangerousness deep below the skinny girl with a sword. A sharp one, mind you.

  “I’d answer her, if I were ya’. Or she’ll castrate you like an ox,” the boy replied to the unasked question. Stopping his work at last, the black giant watched the scene with a passive expression on his face. A quiet squeak escaped his captor’s throat as he tried to stand on tiptoe to escape Elena’s weapon. To no avail. Elena kept the pressure on. Terrified, the ruffian weighted the whip in his hand. Noticing it, Elena moved her hand just a tad, applying even more force.

  “Don’t even think about it!” she warned him. “There are only two ways this can go. Either you take the money and I take him, or you refuse to sell and I take your bag of tricks and him.”

  “Well, there’s a fair bargain if I ever seen one. I’d think fast, if I were ya’. She ain’t very patient,” Michael advised him.

  “I’ll sell, I’ll sell,” squealed the guy. His feet and legs were beginning to shake. Elena dropped the money pouch to his feet and pulled the sword out of his groin, wiping it on his dirty trousers, obviously disgusted. She took two steps backwards. Grabbing his fork with both his hands, the man bent double.

  “Keys.” Elena ordered.

  “I don’t have them!” the man howled and Elena smiled at him. Quite aware Michael had her back, she turned away from the miller. His whip holding hand moved.

  “Ts, ts, ts!” Michael waged a finger at him and with satisfaction watched the guy let go of his whip. Meanwhile, Elena contemplated the dark giant of a man. It took just one powerful swing of her sword to cut the chains. Which should have been impossible, but there you have it. Watching her with a strange, thoughtful look on his face, the slave waited. Elena smiled at him. It was a pleasant little smile.

  “How about we travel together for some time, then you can decide what you want to do next,” she announced, and he nodded almost imperceptibly, massaging his sore wrists. Elena turned to the boor.

  “There is enough in that pouch for that horse over there. We are taking it with us. And in case you should get any stupid ideas, I will find you, gut you and castrate you. Is that clear?” Her words brought even more sweat to the guy’s face, making him nod vigorously. Then, Elena motioned to Michael, and walked over to the animal in question, who didn’t seem to mind the commotion, eating calmly in a dirty pen. Michael, on the other hand, never stopped watching his owner huddled in the mud.

  Just like the rest of the yard, the horse was unkempt and dirty. Though suspicious, he stretched his neck towards her when she clicked her tongue. For a moment, she talked to him, caressing his nose. In a while, she found a halter and put it on him, leading him out of his pen.

  It wasn’t as easy with the enslaved giant, who stood where she had left him. Elena gave him another friendly smile and offered him the reins. Without a word, he lifted his hands with shackle remains.

  “Yeah, right!” she laughed, reaching into her red hair to pull out a hairpin. In a matter of seconds, she had both locks unlocked. The giant grinned at her with a set of even, dazzling white teeth.

  “What’s your name?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  Silence. For a moment. Then the black flashed his snow-white teeth again and answered: “Morpheus.”

  “I’m Elena and that over there is Michael,” Elena pointed at her friend. The men acknowledged each other.

  Morpheus walked to his incarcerator, asking him harshly: “Where are my things?”

  The ruffian opened his mouth for a rude reply, but Elena quite significantly leaned onto the hilt of her sword.

  “In the stables,” the man decided to cooperate.

  Morpheus bend down to pull a dagger out of the boor’s belt.

  “This
is mine,” he bared his teeth at his opponent and then disappeared into the stables. When he appeared again, he was clad in a loose tunic tucked into his trousers, and a heavy vest. A wide belt held a magnificent, curved sabre and the dagger Morpheus took from the yard owner. His trousers were neatly pushed into rough, high boots. A bag was on his shoulder. Michael looked him up and down, obviously making a few assumptions, then mounted. Morpheus followed suit.

  As soon as Morpheus turned his back to her, Elena made a complicated gesture and whispered a spell towards the thug. Under no circumstances was she willing to let him change his mind and start complaining that she stole his horse and slave.

  Riding out of the little town, Michael took precautions, placing himself between Morpheus and Elena.

  “What do ya’ intend to do with him?” he inquired in Elena’s thoughts.

  “Nothing, really. Let’s escort him a few miles just to be on the safe side. Then we’ll see, what he wants to do next.”

  “Ya’re too trusting. One would have thought the elves cured ya’ of that,” Michael was grumpy. Elena smiled. She would have laughed, but that might give them away, so she didn’t.

  “Ya have no idea who he is,” Michael scolded her.

  Elena thought about his statement, picturing the black-blue map of tattoos on Morpheus’ back.

  “Haven’t you seen his back?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “His back and chest,” Elena explained patiently.

  “Why in the horse’s arse would his back matter?”

  “The tattoos. He had them all over his torso and arms. And has them on his ears. According to those tattoos, he’s a Kefetian of royal blood.”

  “And how the ya’ know that?”

  “Failon and his long and often boring history lessons,” Elena commented dryly and Michael grinned.

  “But that doesn’t mean he can be trusted,” he maintained.

  “What has that got to do with anything?” Elena was lost.

  “Well, just saying. In case ya’ intend to travel with him for a while or some.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m suspicious enough. And even if I weren’t, you’re suspicious enough for the both of us.”

  “I’m here to protect ya’, aren’t I?”

  “Just try not to overdo it.” Even though she kept a serious face, it wasn’t hard to tell she wanted to laugh. He turned his eyes skywards.

  “I apologize for asking, Morpheus, but how did you get chained to that stone mill?” Elena asked aloud.

  “As the miller said, I got into a fight. It’s probably suspicious when someone kills a bear armed only with a sword. And I’m black, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Elena watched him quietly. “Kefetians are said to be excellent warriors, I suspect you defended yourself.”

  “And successfully so, until I got hit over the head with a club,” he growled in reply. To his surprise, Elena laughed.

  “Well, treacherous villagers are really nothing new,” she commented. Morpheus nodded in assent.

  “What makes you think I am a Kefetian? They are not the only black nation,” Morpheus wondered. Elena smiled and Michael grinned.

  “I do apologize for saying so, but those tattoos of yours are hard to overlook. Besides, Kefetians have very distinctive features. You have ritual cuts in your ears, and even though they have closed themselves now, you have apparent holes for heavy earrings. All that put together clearly adds up to only one thing: a warrior from the ancient city of Kefet,” Elena explained.

  Michael gave the black giant a sidelong look. Though Morpheus’s face was absolutely impassive, Michael had a feeling he was taken aback. Needless to say, Michael disagreed with Elena showing her cards like that, but expected her to know what she was doing, nevertheless. After all, by now he’d gotten used to the fact that the heap of goof she was capable of usually had some kind of a system to it.

  All he had to do was stay vigilant, keep his nose out of things, and await the outcome.

  “Your knowledge is extensive. Can you read Kefetian tattoos?” Morpheus asked in a strange kind of voice, obviously trying to figure out how much had Elena guessed. Elena gave him a look, then stared straight ahead.

  “Just a little bit. Surely not enough to guess your secrets, those are yours alone to disclose.” Michael pricked his ears when Elena said that.

  “Are you an elf?” asked Morpheus directly and Elena smiled. She was not surprised by the question.

  “A quartling,” she answered casually. “How can you tell?”

  It was Morpheus’s turn to grin. “Elf descendants have some very distinctive features. Besides, your ears are slightly pointy, you have a very distinctive posture, and knowledge that is usually beyond human reach.”

  Elena laughed. She was beginning to rather like the Kefetian. Michael made a face because Morpheus was taking Elena’s words to use them to his own advantage. Morpheus continued after a pause: “But, of course, your secrets are yours alone.”

  “And I would appreciate it to stay that way,” was her emotionless reply, earning Morpheus’s bow. A longer silence followed, before Morpheus spoke again: “Why did you buy me out?”

  To which Elena raise her eyebrows and pursed her lips. That he would also like to know, Michael thought, and watched Elena shrug. It made him wonder, if she even had a logical reason apart from a feeling.

  “Where I come from, slavery is illegal. And as far as I know, it is so in this part of the world as well,” the girl answered simply.

  Morpheus contemplated her, seeking any other than the obvious meaning behind her words. He found none, but asked anyway, because he had a notion it might be simpler not to beet about the bush with this quartling: “What exactly are your intentions?”

  At last, Elena seemed to be taken aback, but again, she simply shrugged.

  “I’m going home,” she said, as if not understanding his question.

  “And what are your intentions with me?” Morpheus specified patiently.

  “None. You are a free man. Free, and a very much armed man. You can go wherever and whenever you please.”

  Morpheus glared at her. “If you know so much about the Kefetians that you can distinguish their tattoos and tell the ritual cuts on their ears, you must know that I cannot leave you until I repay my debt.” His tone was suddenly a lot sharper. Elena pulled Ashkent’s rains. Morpheus did the same, but also turned his horse so the girl was no longer behind his back. Elena seemed pained. But in fact she was outright offended.

  “I am Elena, daughter of John de Leon, the Berber King, and there should be no doubt about my word! I said you were a free man and I will not listen to you impeaching what I have promised. I am quite aware of the Kefetian codex of honor, and of the fact that you might feel obliged to me, but I do not see my deed as obligating. What I did was help a brother in arms, I didn’t even save your life, so you have no liability towards me. The only one obliged to me is that dog who tied you to the mill stone, because I am sure you would have taken the slightest chance to escape. And we both know, to what that would lead,” Elena growled at him.

  Her sharp reaction surprised Morpheus. As a matter of fact, the girl had been surprising him from the first moment he laid eyes on her. Obviously a teenager, she was too young for her swordsmanship, too young for her bright, smart eyes, too young for her obvious experience. Though she moved with the ease and elegance of an elf, she called herself a quartling. Well, actually, she was too short and far too redheaded to be an elf. To Morpheus she was simply confusing. And that interested him. It was true that she had inadvertently answered some of his unasked questions the moment she disclosed her descent, but that didn’t come even close to solving the whole mystery.

  It would be good to know how much she had really guessed from his tattoos, and the number and shape of the ritual cuts in his ears. Telling him she knew he had his secrets definitely didn’t put him to ease. On the contrary, in fact. It made him suspicious. Question was, whether she knew wha
t his secrets were, to what extent she used them to calculate, if she was estimating his reactions, and most of all, if she had any ulterior motives.

  Sitting astride a high-spirited black horse, looking him straight in the eyes, she looked severe. And she was awaiting an answer. He bowed slightly.

  “I do apologize, Elena de Leon. It was not my intention to insult you. I respect your will to release me from my obligation to you. However, I feel bound to repay my debt to you and I ask you to allow me to accompany you, at least until I have a chance to do so.”

  Elena gave him a prickly look and answered back: “As I said, the decision is yours to make.” Then she urged Ashkent into canter.

  Michael grinned at Morpheus. “There’ll be more than enough chances to repay ya’ debt. Question is, if ya’ll manage to do it, though,” he murmured happily and continued after a pause: “Ya’ look like ya’re a smart guy, so I guess I don’t have to tell ya’ to beware of me.” In return, Morpheus flashed his dazzling white teeth at him.

  13 CHAPTER

  Arkas

  The court was swarming with people. Arkas, the yearly two-day war games attracted half the Berber nation. Warriors arrived from all over the country to show their skills in duels and to compare the speed and agility of their horses in races. Among hundreds of men, all dressed in indistinguishable black uniforms, women moved graciously, clad in luxurious, colored dresses, ladies and peasants alike. Children were running everywhere.

  Following an ancient custom, all warriors taking part in the war games had their heads and faces covered with a ses, a long black scarf. It made the crowd seem even more chaotic and disorientating for any non-Berber onlooker or visitor. Even all the horses were painted black to be as indistinguishable as possible. Thus, none of the participants could be sure, whether he was competing against his neighbor or royalty, a friend, family enemy or a total stranger.

  Nevertheless, it was necessary to make the situation transparent for referees and audience, therefore contestants drew lots to obtain a designation to put on their sleeve.