Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (15 page)

“I know enough to tell you that your suitor’s calm façade will not be in place while you are away,” she carefully explains. Opening her eyes, she finds Nyx is swimming next to her, their heads bumping. “This is a situation that I shouldn’t get involved in. Delvin doesn’t trust me and will be angry if I overstep my bounds. Besides, he has never hidden his intentions and feelings from you. I believe it’s time for you to focus on your own emotions and make a decision.”

“I know, but-” Nyx starts to say, stopping when she hears a loud shuffling. The caster stops floating to get a look at the shore, her heart leaping into her throat when she sees the creatures surrounding the lake. “Where did all of those spadix come from? I thought you were keeping an eye or thought out for monsters.”

“I’m sorry.”

The shoreline teems with screeching spadix, the scorpion men waving their rusty weapons and pincers. Below their waists, they have eight-legged carapaces with natural armor that is on par with platemail. Deadly tails arch over the muscular creatures and bob in the breeze, a few of the projections being long enough to tap their owners on their hairless heads. A barb-covered spadix picks up Dariana’s clothes and sniffs at the filthy garments. Turning its head toward the figures bobbing in the water, the beast bares its teeth and hisses. Several of its brethren try to enter the water, but scramble back in fear while they stab at the lake.

“They can’t swim,” Dariana whispers, getting closer to her ally. “You can pick them off from here until they run away.”

“Can’t you use your powers to force them away?” Nyx asks, her eyes never leaving the spadix. She fires an acidic arrow from her palm, but she misses due to having to keep herself afloat. “I think I’m too exhausted from the heat and aura worm to fight at full strength. I’m not going to have a lot of luck unless I take my time aiming. Fire spells will heat the water and boil you. Lightning would do the same. Ice would do the opposite. If there are any archers out there, we’re sitting ducks.”

“They’re too primal for me to do anything. They know what they see and I can’t convince them otherwise,” Dariana says, her head pounding from the attempt. “You’d be surprised how stubborn a beast can be. A creature that thinks about their world is easier to manipulate. I could kill all of them by turning their minds off, but that’s rather . . . I really don’t like doing things like that.”

“In other words, you’re defenseless.”

“I could leap out of the lake and fight them with my fists.”

“Too dangerous.”

A spadix screeches from behind the women and raises a longbow that it clumsily fires. The arrow plunks into the water several feet away from its targets, but others attempt to shoot a variety of projectiles. Nyx hugs Dariana and puts up a barrier that deflects three well-aimed crossbow bolts. The barrage stops when the spadix run out of ammunition and crouch at the shoreline. They stretch their tails back as far as they can and swing over their heads to send jets of venom into the lake.

“Spadix can throw their venom!?” Nyx exclaims, strengthening the barrier. Putrid liquid splashes against the shield as the water turns black. “I can’t drop my spell to fight back! It’s the only thing preventing us from getting poisoned.”

“They do this if they are surrounding a difficult target. The attack will rupture their stingers, which is why they don’t do it often,” Dariana answers, kicking her legs to keep them afloat. “If you propel us into the air, you can throw spells at them from above. Just forget that we’re naked and go.”

With her heart racing, the caster shifts her friend to her back and launches them into the sky with a startling boom. The sudden change of focus weakens her shield enough that a bolt of venom splatters against the side and a squirt passes through. The deadly liquid hits Nyx in the eyes, causing her scream in agony. Unable to see anything, she can no longer keep them in the air and a reflexive burst of force hurls them into a nearby dune. The caster fights the urge to rub her eyes, which burn as she writhes on the rough sand.

“Stop struggling,” Dariana whispers, straddling her friend and plunging into her mind. She can hear the spadix charging as she uses Nyx’s aura to repair the damage. “It will take time and real medicine to fully heal. I saved your eyesight by turning it off, but you should be able to fire blindly at the noise.”

A high-pitched war cry erupts from behind the dune and charging horses can be heard barreling toward them. The small force of scimitar-wielding warriors charge over the sand and crash into the swarming spadix. Arrows fly from out of view, causing Dariana to stand up to see black-clothed figures sitting on camels and firing into the monsters. Spadix are killed by every barrage from the archers who shoot with such precision that their mounted allies have no fear of being hit. Within minutes, the surviving creatures are retreating into the desert and the warriors are circling back toward the women.

“Do not give us any trouble,” the leader of their rescuers says, his voice clear even through his protective head wrappings. He points a large scimitar at Nyx while he leans down to look at Dariana. “You are now prisoners of the Helgardian tribe. Get dressed, gather your things, and come with us. Come quietly and your friend will get the medicine that she needs, spy of Bor’daruk.”

*****

Nyx touches the medicinal wrap on her eyes when she can see the white fabric instead of unnerving darkness. Remembering the words of the warrior, she is surprised that her hands are not bound. Blindly groping along her body, she finds a cuff around her ankle with a slackened chain. Gently pulling on the tether causes a familiar voice to grumble and a bare foot shoves Nyx’s thigh. Taking off the wrap, her fuzzy vision adjusts to the torchlight and she sees Dariana sleeping among a pile of pillows. The adventurers have been chained together, but their bonds are loose enough to allow them to roam around the small, auburn tent. A pitcher of water and a bowl of dried fruit are on a table, which Nyx’s rumbling stomach urges her to crawl towards. The food is already in her mouth when the idea of it being laced with poison or truth serum crosses her mind. She looks for a place to spit the meal out, but all the caster sees are pillows and rugs that she knows she will be sleeping on for at least a night.

“You might be wondering why we refuse to bind and gag a caster,” a deep voice says from the corner of the tent. The statement is followed by a deep chuckle, the noise reminding the half-elf of Timoran. “Feel free to eat and drink. We don’t drug our captives and poisoning you would be pointless. If we wanted you dead then we’d have let the spadix do the job. After all, do you know how difficult it is to dispose of a body in the desert? Well rather simple, but it’s not our way.”

Nyx swallows her food as she locks eyes with the bare-chested, smiling man. His ebony skin glistens in the flickering torchlight, which illuminates every scar on his muscular frame. A white tattoo of a hooded serpent is on his bald head, the glint of ruby studs coming from the center of the crimson eyes. His emerald pants are a little baggy and are held in place by a black belt that is made from interwoven leather strips. The man casually runs his fingers along the sheathed scimitar that lays on the three-legged table next to him, but he makes no move to draw the weapon. He swirls a wooden cup of herbal water before taking a deep drink, giving off an air of calm casualness.

“My name is Nyx. Do I have to ask the usual questions?” the half-elf inquires as she snaps her fingers. A blue flame appears on her thumb and she waits for a reaction from either the tent or her captor. “No anti-magic defenses or anyone jumping in. You’re obviously not scared of casters, Mr. Nomad.”

“I am Misrae and I lead this tribe,” the warrior replies throwing the rest of his drink on Nyx’s hand. An amused chuckle escapes his lips when he sees that the flame still exists. “The Palqua sensed your power as soon as you arrived. She told us that binding you would only make you angry, so we settled for chaining you to your friend. You’ll notice that your left ankles are bound to each other instead of right to left. If you try to run, one of you will be tripping over the chain.”

Nyx flexes her fingers and stares into the gray eyes of her captor. “I could destroy the bonds with my magic.”

“That would take time and we’d be upon you quickly,” Misrae points out as he gets to his feet and crouches in front of his prisoner. “This is the test. A spy like you would lay waste to the tribe and make her escape. The Palqua says you are something else, but I forbid her from visiting you until I am sure you’re harmless. If you and your friend remain our captives without using your power to destroy us then I will give you more freedom.”

“You mean give me my freedom, right?”

The tribe leader flashes another grin that makes his teeth shine in the flickering light. He strokes the half-elf’s hair and cautiously moves to Dariana who is still asleep. The nomad tries to gently shake her awake, jumping back when she lashes out with a kick to his stomach. He rubs at the scratch left by her toenail, amazed that she came so close to striking him. The slumbering prisoner rolls further into the pillows, muttering incoherently about sand. Returning to his simple chair, Misrae grabs a slab of warm meat from a plate and takes a big bite from it. Seeing the hunger in Nyx’s eyes, he tosses her a piece that is greedily devoured.

“How did you end up in the desert?” he asks, leaning back until his head touches the side of the tent. “It’s strange to find two women so far in the wilderness with no steeds and very little supplies. Your signs of exposure are minimal, so you didn’t walk out of Bor’daruk. Perhaps you traveled with a caravan and parted ways?”

“We arrived with our friends in Bor’daruk about a day ago,” Nyx answers while pouring herself another drink. She considers throwing it at Dariana, but something about the mumbling woman tells her to leave her friend alone. “A Spurge flew in from the desert and attacked the docks. Someone turned it into a magical bomb, so Dariana and I carried it into the air before it blew. The explosion sent us into the desert and we’re trying to find our way back to our friends. Hopefully they’re staying in the city and not rushing into the desert like idiots. I trust one of them to keep the others in line.”

“Bor’daruk has locked its doors and declared war on us. Your friends are trapped within its walls,” Misrae says, breaking his smile for the first time. He pulls a blackened fang out of his belt and holds it to the torchlight. “We found the remains of a Spurge. It was destroyed in a way that it died instead of returning to the Chaos Void. This doesn’t mean I believe you were involved with it, but the evidence helps your story. What’s your business in the south?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” she awkwardly replies. Something in her mind stops her from mentioning the Baron or being a champion. Rubbing her amethyst necklace, she wishes she could contact her parents for advice. “One of my friends had a dream, which led us here. It’s about finding a lost temple that can be dangerous in the wrong hands. We believe it was unearthed somewhere in this desert.”

“You’re lying.”

“Not really. I’m telling you the basics, which will prove we’re not spies. Neither of us are from around here. So you can’t get any information from us because we have nothing to tell.”

Misrae strokes his chin and eyes Nyx, who goes back to her small meal of dried fruit. He watches Dariana toss and turn among the pillows, her mouth stuck in a proud smirk. Drawing his scimitar, he crosses the tent in two long strides and stands above the sleeping woman. The blade of his sword emanates a purple glow when Misrae points it at the silver-haired prisoner. Her body tenses and locks, the only remaining movement being the rising and falling of her chest.

“Your friend is paralyzed, but can breathe. Still muscle atrophy happens quickly under this spell,” the nomad explains in a cold, steely voice. The warmth in his eyes has vanished and all that remains are the orbs of a hardened leader. “I have been polite and patient, but I do not accept lying. Even partial stories are lies in my world because it means you are hiding something. Tell me your connection to Bor’daruk, Nyx of Rainbow Tower. Yes, I am aware of your origin and status.”

“Then why the game?” she asks, flames appearing along her arms.

“Attack me and my people come to my defense,” Misrae states, moving his blade closer to Dariana. A flutter of the woman’s eyes catches his attention and he growls as he breaks the spell and returns to the table. “The Palqua has decided to do her own investigation. It appears your friend is busy and not to be interrupted. That means I have no leverage to get the truth out of you.”

“You have a mind caster in your tribe?” Nyx asks, shrinking away when Misrae flashes her an angry glare. “I’m sorry. If I’m not telling you my secrets then I shouldn’t expect you to be open with me. Look, I really don’t want to drag your tribe into my adventures. So it isn’t that I’m lying to hide anything.”

The dark-skinned man laughs loud enough to startle the guards outside. He waves the two men away when they enter with their spears aimed at Nyx. Leaving his scimitar on the table, Misrae sits cross-legged in front of the half-elf and takes her hand. His smile has returned along with his jovial demeanor.

“You have a good heart, young caster,” he states, putting the slightest pressure on the center of her palm. He lets go when he realizes that his action can be mistaken for a threat. “There’s a rumor that I have been hoping you would either confirm or deny. As I said, I have heard of you through various sources. I know you travel with a forest tracker who is supposedly betrothed to Kira Grasdon. Are you and her friends?”