Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (22 page)

“She is busy with the Palqua for the night, so I will have some guards watch over you when you wish to go,” Misrae declares while he licks the tangy sauce from his fingers. He sees a glint of anxiety in her eyes and smiles at her. “I promise they will all be female. My people are not very concerned with being naked in front of each other due to bathing being a luxury. I shouldn’t expect you to feel the same way.”

“Thank you and I’ll try not to take long.”

Nyx burns the sauce off one of her hands and reaches to a shelf for one of the few books she has not memorized. Laying it out on the table, she goes back to her dinner while flipping pages with a casual wind spell. Misrae watches her lips move as he refills her mug and claims another piece of mutton. The lantern dims slightly, snapping the caster out of her trance and causing her to flick three floating flames into existence.

“What is it you’re looking for?” the Tribe King interrupts while he offers a handful of dried fruit to the half-elf. She blindly grabs a few raisins, so he places the rest on the table. “You told me yesterday that you found very little about the scepter, so I’m confused on why you’re still in our library. Is there something else that has caught your attention?”

“The scepter research is a dead end,” Nyx admits, rubbing her eyes with her only clean knuckle. She stares blankly at one of the floating lights above her head until Misrae knocks on the table. “I found a few mentions of Helgard, so I’ve been gathering as much as I can about my temple. Most of it is useless like a list of names, a few mentions of treasure, and what I think is a crude picture of a dragon named Cudgel.”

“The dragon sounds important because you’re now aware of the danger,” the nomad points out in an attempt to be helpful. At the sight of her annoyed glare, he leans back and holds out his hands. “I apologize. I’m sure you have very little to worry about when it comes to natural dragons and most are benevolent creatures. What was the useful information?”

“Why is it taking so long to get to Bor’daruk?”

Misrae nearly chokes on his water and covers his mouth to avoid spraying it on any of the books. He coughs and hacks to get the liquid out of his throat, pounding on his chest for no other reason than it seems like the right thing to do. A few tears run down his face and he wipes them away with a napkin. With a deep breath, the Tribe King regains his composure and looks Nyx in the eye to confidently defend his actions. Instead, he sees a rolling flame in the middle of her violet orbs and decides a simple explanation would be safer.

“We’ve had to take a winding route to the city because of the political situation among the nomad tribes,” Misrae explains as he goes to pull a long scroll off a shelf. He unrolls it to revel a map of the desert with oddly shaped patches of color covering the region. “The other large tribes have been in the desert longer than the Helgardians. We became nomads when we were exiled from your temple and we were made nobility for some reason. This has caused some bad blood between us and the other tribes, but the scepter kept the peace because of the legends surrounding it. Without our holy relic, we are open to attacks, so we have been using scouts, birds, and the Palqua to keep an eye on our enemies. It has caused us to backtrack and progress at a cautious pace. Please understand that we have children and elderly who need to be defended in case of an attack.”

Nyx places a gentle hand on the man’s tattooed head as she has seen other nomads do when being respectful. “It wouldn’t be right for me to demand that you put my family ahead of your tribe. I trust that we’ll get there soon. Looks like another day or two if we go straight through that green patch. With me around, you won’t have to worry about being attacked. I can be surprisingly intimidating.”

“You have my people’s thanks and loyalty. Do you wish to share your findings?”

“Your tribe was forced to leave Helgard because of one of the champions,” Nyx answers as she grabs the last piece of mutton. She heats the meat with a quick burst of flame and takes a bite out of it, the fire still crackling on her tongue. “I can’t pronounce the person’s birth name, but he called himself The Crafter. His specialty was modifying creatures and making golems, so he tried to make a living weapon to kill our enemy. It backfired and everyone involved was killed when they sealed the creature into the scepter. The other monsters of the temple were used as layered guardians to contain the Beast of Palqua. Any of this sound familiar?”

“It’s remotely similar to a children’s story about the noble beasts of the many tribes joining forces to defeat the fire demon,” Misrae admits with an amused smile. “It would appear your destiny is tied to the fate of my tribe. I hope we can finish our business with the Grasdons without bloodshed and swiftly escort you to Helgard. Do you want any help with piecing together your findings?”

Nyx yawns and pops the last of her dinner into her mouth before it closes. Using a bookshelf for leverage, she gets to her feet and massages her tingly legs until they can move without twinges of pain. Stretching her arms over her head, the half-elf whimpers at the popping of her stiff joints.

With a weak smirk, the caster looks at her host and says, “I really need that bath.”

*****

Guards patrol the tents beneath the cloudless sky, their keen senses honed by years of training and practice. Their swift reaction to every suspicious movement makes it a challenge for the dark figure to move throughout the camp. Slipping from one shadow to another, she soon finds herself cornered behind a water barrel. Armed warriors in all directions, it is only a matter of time before the intruder is seen. She knows that putting a few people to sleep would risk being detected, so the cloaked woman casts a spell with no words or gestures. The entire tribe falls asleep, including the female guards at the top of a nearby dune. An occasional splash of water can be heard from the other side of the hill, guiding the stranger to her target.

Sneaking around the dune, she sees Nyx floating on her back in the pond. The half-elf has her eyes closed and is gently singing an Elven tune as she drifts on the surface, seemingly unaware of the approaching figure. The woman strips off her clothes, the blue moonlight making her cobalt skin even more beautiful. She slips into the pond and silently swims towards Nyx, her eyes glowing with raw power. Pushing her target’s long black hair out of her way, the stranger reaches out with a hand bathed in white fire.

Moving as if she is on land, the woman darts away from a fist of electrified water that erupts from the placid surface. The illusion of Nyx shifts and warps as the real one remains hidden in the pond. Sensing the location of the half-elf, the other caster disperses into the water and reappears behind her enemy. With a glint in her eyes, she boils the water and is surprised that Nyx is unaffected by the change. A spear of force is casually batted away by the long-haired woman, whose features never come into focus. Pushing down her instinct to kill, she instantly turns the pond to ice and electrocutes the half-elf enough to knock her out. When the water thaws, Nyx floats to the top and gasps for air while her heart stutters. Unable to fight back, she is easily pushed to the shallows by the stranger directing the currents.

“I was hoping for more,” the woman says as the spell masking her identity fades. Trinity floats next to Nyx, using her magic to control her movements. “You’re lucky I don’t know you because I can see that you exaggerated parts of your illusion. The hair is easily overlooked, but your chest is much smaller than what you made. Such a beautiful channeler and you’re self-conscious of your body? Such a shame.”

“When I can move my limbs again, I’m going to kill you,” the helpless half-elf growls. She is surprised when Trinity flips to her feet and sits cross-legged on the water. “You’re much stronger than before. Why aren’t your gems glowing when you cast magic?”

“So you can’t cast spells without gestures?” the chaos elf asks in disappointment. She runs a finger along Nyx’s body, reviving the young woman’s muscles. “I sensed you were the stronger one, but this one was closer. My power is still too weak to reach you from so far away. Though it might be more of a problem on your end. A pathetic specimen of a channeler and a champion? You make me want to cry.”

“Who are you?”

Trinity helps Nyx to her feet, frowning when the half-elf nearly plunges into the water. A warm wind whips at their bodies and dries them as they walk back to the shore. It takes the half-elf a few minutes to get dressed while her mysterious companion is clothed in the blink of an eye. The taste of impatience and disappointment is thick in the air, but the fake Trinity relaxes when she rises into the sky and Nyx rockets by her. The chaos elf floats in a wide circle, her eyes a shimmering white as she examines the other caster’s mind and aura.

“I think I understand. You weren’t trained as a channeler. Your mind is still locked in gestures, spells, and words. Even worse, you have a specialty, so the opposite area is a challenge for you.”

“Who are you?” Nyx repeats while flames dance through her hair. She panics when the fire turns into a pillar without her influence. “Never alter my spells unless you want a fight.”

“You would lose, but it’s nice to see you’re protective of your aura,” Trinity states with a friendly laugh. She glances over her shoulder and picks out a distant dune, which erupts into a tree of shimmering crystal. “Can you do anything like that? What about destroying a city or single-handedly laying waste to an army? Without the use of your hands or words, of course.”

“I . . . I never tried anything like that, but I cast a forbidden spell once,” Nyx replies, staring at the beautiful creation. Choosing her own dune, she attempts to will the sand to change and only feels a pain growing in her skull. She curses under her breath and the sand bursts into a hungry flame that she swiftly puts out with a snap of her fingers. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m not a living weapon or anything like that.”

“All channelers are living weapons. It’s what we were born to be,” the cobalt-skinned woman says with a wave of her hand. Noticing the disheartened look on Nyx’s face, she pulls the half-elf into a tight hug. “My poor child, you are so close to understanding. Don’t focus on the weapon part, but on the living. We are Gola’s greatest creations and the Magic Queen made us to be powerful. Destruction is at our fingertips, but we can also love, create, and do what all living things do. By the way, I hope you and this one plan on breeding because I don’t want my lineage to end. I worked too hard to create multiple channeler lines and the rest are dormant or sickeningly weak.”

“You sound like my mother.”

Trinity releases the hug and floats away with white energy twisting around her outstretched arms. Fireballs, lightning bolts, and enchantments that Nyx has never even dreamed of leap into the sky, high enough that the people of Bor’daruk can see it from miles away. Some of the spells disappear among the stars or go racing into the distance, only Trinity knowing where they will land.

A warmth spreads over Nyx’s body as if she is being enveloped in a thick blanket on a winter day. Closing her eyes, she tries to join in the display without moving her arms or whispering words. Most of her spells head directly for the ground, which she cuts off before they can hurt anyone. Only a few fireballs go where she directs them and the last one races for Trinity, who puts out her foot to stop the spell.

“You used a gesture,” Nyx states, her eyes flying open. Her courage grows when she sees the arrogant smirk on her rival’s face. “I want to know who you are. What do you mean I wasn’t trained as a channeler and why is having a specialty bad? Stop talking without giving me answers or explaining yourself.”

“Under pressure, a channeler might use a gesture to focus his or her spell. It’s nothing to be ashamed of like having to use one’s hands for every spell,” Trinity explains, cutting off the display. She drifts closer to take the other woman’s face in her hands. “I’ve seen you cast spells by will alone when they are small and personal, so the power is inside you. That ability is what you should have been taught since birth. Then again, I sense that the knowledge of what you are was lost a few centuries ago. Those damn fools and their Great Cataclysm made a mess of everything. As for the specialty, it weakens you in some fashion. You are a master of fire, but water and ice have become unnecessary challenges. A channeler can have a favorite area of magic, but one should never allow the connection to become as weak as you and your disliked element.”

“I always thought illusions were my worst subject.”

Trinity averts her gaze and scans the area to see if anyone is conscious, putting a persistent voice from the camp into a deeper sleep. “Our people are very close to the aura of Windemere and every living thing upon her. We are bonded to it all and, unlike necrocasters, we do not violate the auras of those we manipulate. Channelers respect and embrace this energy because we are its natural conduit. This does mean that discerning an illusion from something real can be a bit . . . problematic for us.”

“So why won’t you tell me who you are?” Nyx asks, gently touching Trinity’s hands. A jolt of energy courses through her body, making her lick her lips. “Maybe I should be wondering what you are instead of who.”

“I’m your mother,” the chaos elf replies with a tired sigh. “Not of the body, but of your aura. The last of our original clan and the progenitor of the channeler bloodlines. All of your magic comes back to me. At least that which can escape from your pathetic style. Perhaps the weakness of my children is on my head, but it is beyond my control.”

Nyx floats back to the ground, feeling like she needs another bath to relax. “I’ve had enough riddles and mysteries to last me a while. If you’re not going to give me a straight answer then let me wash up and go to bed.”