Chapter 8
"Scones?"
The disturbing creature nodded cheerily. Margaret appraised the current state of matters skeptically, "You?"
"Of course!"
Jonathan looked amused from his chair by the table, setting out the time-polished wooden flatware. Outside, the sun had just barely risen and though he had cows to milk, horses to feed, chickens to chase, and a variety of other chores characteristic of a farmer's monotonous life, he and his wife had visitors today. His son had returned after a good six year absence, chickens could wait. Besides, the scene in the small kitchen was an amusing one.
From what he had gleaned, Margaret had come down the stairs early this morning to the scent of something delicious. This hadn't happened in at least eighteen years, as neither Jonathan nor Bren cooked. Naturally, the lady of the house had been slightly suspicious upon entering the still- dark kitchen. Finding a shadowy figure bustling about hadn't been good for her nerves, and more out of reflex than anything she'd chucked whatever happened to be in reach. The flour sack never had a chance. One whole corner of the kitchen remained covered in white powder, even a half hour of cleaning later. Happily, Vale didn't seem to mind the light dusting. He'd even volunteered to clean it up as well as continue to make breakfast. Margaret gladly handed over dish duty, but letting a stranger cook her food was another matter.
She tugged absentmindedly on one of her auburn curls, glancing between the mystic and her husband. Jonathan nodded, signaling clearly where he stood, ".Alright."
The room breathed again, and Vale clapped, "Scones it is!"
"And you'll be cleaning up the mess," she added irritably, not accustomed to handing over authority.
"Yes, yes,' waved the strange one airily, "Just the way you had it."
Margaret didn't look too convinced, but walked toward the narrow front door nonetheless. And so after a small battle of wills the duty of breakfast had be relegated to the challenger, and the champion queen wandered off to reign elsewhere.
"Jonathan, don't you have chickens to feed?"
Unfortunately, Jonathan was included in that elsewhere, "See you later, Vale."
The mystic nodded with a customary smile.
Pink light warmed the tops of the trees, painting leafy boughs a strange orange color. Normally black and white checkered chickens were shades of blue in the shadow of the coop, watching the older man with rounded blank eyes. Checking the pen's fence for holes, Jonathan nodded satisfactorily before continuing on with his daily chores, rubbing his hands together in the morning cold. Calluses answered the numbed nerves, covering most of his knobby fingers and smoothing over decade-old bumps and ridges that not even working hands were ever meant to have. Jonathan had always been a little weird growing up, although his parents had been able to take pride in the fact that he'd settled down before long. Few people knew this, though, because the old farmer possessed in spades something his son sorely lacked-subtlety.
Jonathan had grown up much like Bren had, if anyone bothered to look. He'd been born into the Alexander clan near Taos Castle, with one brother who'd sired Fenwick and a sister who lived in Juban now. Quaint little Durnham could boast only a few shops in the town, and just a few more farms. Bren's grandfather had been of the classic simple mindset; a happy, upstanding member of a tiny community. Childhood had involved a bit more magic and cheer all around, with trolls and ogres an actual threat on the borders but fairies and elves counted among passing travelers. A nice village with nice people, generally unconcerned with the comings and going of sorceress's or knights. Durnham had long since faded off the map however, brought to an end by the beginnings of the mystic war.
His family left as soon as things starting going bad (Alexander's were a cautious lot when it came to the supernatural), and missed most of the trauma. They'd relocated quickly in Taos Castle, and indeed his brother had never left. City life treated them alright, considering the times where such well-defended walls were a valuable luxury. Jonathan married Margaret there, to the raised eyebrows of family and friends. Bren was born the next year. Behind gated walls, he and his small family could have missed the war entirely. However Jonathan and his sibling had reached the age where people were expected to get involved and serve the country. So they enlisted in the infantile Taos army, waiting for the war to end in a few months. He'd been twenty one. Jonathan left the regiment six years later. The war ended another two years after that.
And this was where Bren's father also diverged from the family tradition. Returning early without a reason was something of a disgrace in war-minded Taos, and did not a hero make. Jonathan hadn't been wounded in battle. He hadn't come back early because of distress or shock like other soldiers, few noticed much of a difference in his demeanor. He didn't come home to help a needy wife. Margaret was well provided for, and his then six year old son harbored no ill will against his absent father. Bren was still the commonly accepted cause, if for no other reason than nothing else made sense. Finding another motive would have taken effort, and when most of the people remaining in the castle had their own relations to worry about Jonathan's abnormality went mostly unnoticed. He'd left the castle proper as soon as the war had actually ended with a small wave of emigrant families to Fial. Within the small agricultural town Bren's family settled down into life much like the Durnham childhood. There few people knew Jonathan participated in the wars, and Jonathan never volunteered the information.
The familiar wince of the squeaky shed door reminded the farmer that oil would be much appreciated. He'd have to get to that after he finished with the side of the house. Finding a pile of old rags and a few empty buckets, he armed himself, ready to tackle the pitch mess on the wooden siding. Walking back towards the house, he was momentarily framed by the small attic window.
Bren didn't see from where he was absorbed in digging through the old boxes for useful things. Supposedly, a small hoard of rope was buried up here, but Mom had confessed her doubts regarding ever finding it. Margaret had never professed to be the world's finest house-keeper, and after ditching a variety of mostly unused goods in the attic she'd left them there to stay. Bren was oddly reminded of the old days of cleaning his room while he dragged one particularly stubborn crate across the floor. Choking down dust and nostalgia, the knight in training tried not to think about how easy it was to fall into his old routine. Part of his brain was still pecking him about having his own chores to do. Even if the cats Bren had fed were long gone it didn't change the sudden urge to go lay out a bowl of milk before Mom got mad. The smell of the small harvest just being brought in was unnervingly familiar.
The farm would have been his someday, with the barn, the paddock, the modest herd and chicken coop. Jonathan had done well in carving out a little slice of land in what was nowhere only a decade or so ago. Fial itself remained a backwater town, just a stopping place for heroes on quests, or steadily more common, merchants and peasant folk. His parents seemed happy enough here, and the other Alexander's had given their seal of approval upon their last visit. In a different continuity, maybe Bren could have enjoyed being a simple farmer. It wasn't a bad life when he thought about it. Not bad at all. Chasing ogres cross country wouldn't have been high on his list of things to do. But hunting down mystics in the expanse of Taos forest seemed to be his lot in life now, which suited him just fine as well. Routine had never been his specialty; he'd been yelled at more than once for forgetting to feed those cats. He'd leave the farm-work to his father; he had bigger metaphorical fish to take care of.
And unbeknownst to him, a long time ago Jonathan had thought the same thing.
"Bren!"
The knight looked up questioningly at Fenwick. His squire was leaning heavily on the doorframe, a testament to how fast he'd come up the stairs, "Breakfast!"
"What're we having?"
"Scones!"
***
Taos Castle was rapidly running out of protégées, Sir Huckel realized. With a slight frown, the aged knight leaned back in his niche on the castle wall, overlooking Taos forest and the sunrise. He wasn't alone in his musing today. Sir Hanson quietly fumed to his right, and Sir Peregrine had lost himself in thought on the left. Ironically, the trio had once been a force to be reckoned with. They'd been masters of their time, heroes of the mystic war, as much as anyone could be. Now it took them all at least fifteen minutes to climb the worn stairways and reach their old watchpost, and a lot more effort than any of them cared to admit. At what seemed the ending of this decade of peace, time had taken back the reigns to hand to them over to the next generation. And now Huckel was left to worry what side of the fence that generation would be on.
"You never told us who you're apprentice was," Hanson finally broke the silence. He'd never been comfortable in stillness.
Huckel frowned, "His name's Bren."
"Bren what?" Peregrine looked up, mildly curious.
"Alexander."
"Sounds familiar."
Hanson nodded in agreement, "Is he a Farhital noble?"
"No."
The pair looked surprised, "Taos then? I don't remember an Alexander family..."
"He's not a knight. Bren's a peasant."
"Oh. Prophecy then?"
Huckel snorted, "Like I ever believed in those. No, just a plain, old, everyday run of the mill peasant, and better off for it if you ask me."
An odd look crossed Perigrine's face, "Really?"
Hanson didn't seem convinced, "He any good?"
"He could be..." Huckel shifted, not entirely comfortable discussing Bren. The boy was turning into a disappointment. A change of subject was in order, "In any case, that makes three disappearances this week."
"Four," corrected Hanson, "My horse."
Huckel felt a faint grin at that. He'd forgotten how obsessed the knight had been regarding his herd.
"Five if you include Vale."
Sir Huckel frowned at Peregrine, "Which we're not. I can tell you exactly where he is."
"Really?" Hanson looked interested, "Where?"
"Right in the middle of this mess."
Peregrine didn't look convinced, "You're overestimating the mystic."
"You sound rather sure about that."
"Yes," there was a short pause, "Yes I am. You say you found him in the Sorceress's cathedral under a spell? And there was a sign that had been posted outside?"
"No feeding the Sorceress," grinned Hanson sardonically, "Sounds like her to me."
"And she was rather explicit about not wanting anyone to remove this Vale?"
".yes."
"Then doesn't something seem off about all this? Even if he was in league with her I'd think the last thing she'd want would be to keep him prisoner. If anything, that just points to his innocence. After all, that sign would have to have been made long before we charged the place, so he'd been in bad standing with her for quite some time."
Something certainly did seem off, this Huckel knew, but he doubted it involved Vale's innocence, "What if she didn't want competition?"
Hanson snorted, "Competition from a skinny, green nobody?"
"Competition enough that she personally got rid of him."
"Not enough for him to defeat her apparently."
"Still doesn't mean he's not capable of being a problem."
"Then why not kill him?"
"Who knows why she did anything," Peregrine frowned, "I'm just saying that Vale turning out to be a megalomaniac vassal of hers just isn't likely. If he's as dangerous as you say, wouldn't she want him awake and helping when we stormed the castle?"
Hanson nodded, "I don't even remember any small green guy in the throne room last I was there. You're both reading way too far into this."
"And you're not reading far enough! No one is," Huckel snapped, "You people wonder why Emica was kidnapped so easily? Ten years ago this would have never happened, you all know it!"
"This isn't ten years ago, Huckel," Hanson frowned, more than just miffed. "And if you were so concerned with the welfare of Taos, why vanish off like you did?"
"Because I-" Huckel stopped. The answer to that was tangled far too deep for even him to figure out, much less explain. "Because."
"Well, that certainly clears things up," the rotund knight snorted.
"This isn't getting us anywhere."
"No," Hanson scowled at Peregrine, "You have any bright ideas? My daughter, the Alexander boy, the princess, and this Vale creature have gone missing. What do you think we should do, Peregrine?"
The grizzled knight didn't look too optimistic, "What is there to do? There's already a small army wandering around out there, we're 'defending the fortress,' and from the looks of things, there's not much we can do. We can't even hold a conversation."
There was a collective sigh.
Huckel glared out at the sunrise, "We wait."
***
For the second time in as many days, Emica found herself waking up in the middle of nowhere. Groggily waiting for the tree canopy above to come back into focus, she wondered how she had gotten there. Faint memories of crashing into a tree, a horse, and another crash surfaced slowly in the cauldron of her mind. The word 'kidnapped' floated by, trailing behind it a slew of unwanted memories. She'd been captured by those Farhital knights, and then what?
She'd picked the locks of her chains with a knife and tried to sneak away. There had been a white horse in the camp...Emica had tried to steal it and the thing had suddenly started galloping into the forest, with her trying to stay on. That inane golden knight had started charging at her! Yes! And then it'd barreled around the camp pell-mell until the mystic had attacked it from behind. What were presumably yesterday's events came rushing back with a vengeance as the princess started to fully wake up. The forest rushed by in her fuzzy memory, seen from the side of a flash of white above galloping hooves. Her hands couldn't get a good enough grip to swing herself over the side of the horse. She must have lost hold and crashed into a tree or something.
Looking slowly around, her head pounding far too hard to allow any quick reconnaissance, she found that she had indeed landed under a tree, in the middle of a small growth of bushes and mud. Sighing resignedly, she started untangling herself from the foliage. Various scrapes and aches protested loudly, forcing her to rethink the situation. Leaning back slowly, she decided to try one hand at a time. It was then she discovered the bushes were of the brambly sort.
"Ouch!"
Freedom came at a price, she decided, pressing the small cut against her mouth.
"Don't move. You'll just make things worse."
Emica's eyes shot up in surprise. The strange mystic was crouching on the ground not far from her. He looked rather funny at the moment, tangled hopelessly as well in the bramble bushes. The fact that a good half of him was covered in feathers didn't help much. However, on closer inspection, a small pile of broken twigs twisted branches had gathered by his talons. Raeden had been picking at the foliage for a while. A sour look of concentration marred his face as he hacked away a particularly stubborn spiked bough with a small knife.
"I'll help you in a minute."
"Oh.okay."
Emica rested as best she could against the prickly mess, wondering if she looked half as bad as her captor. If she did than it would be no wonder the knights had thought she was a banshee. The mystic had a variety of welts, bruises and scrapes to go along with the old burn and mangled wing, not to mention two days and a rainstorm's worth of mud and dirt.
After a few awkward minutes of waiting around and wishing she could do something more useful, a loud snap informed her that Raeden was finally free. She looked back just in time to see him stumble forward a bit from the momentum of pulling at the vine-like plant. For a second, he seemed to have steadied himself, wings stretched out and swaying like a tightrope- walker's pole.and then he fell flat on his face. Apparently, balance had never been the mystic's thing.
"Um.need any help?"
"No," came the muffled yet definite reply.
Pushing himself back up again, Raeden spat out some of the dirt he'd managed to get in his mouth. Half-hopping, half-scooting he made his way towards the princess, uneasy on legs unsuited for the ground. Picking up the knife he'd dropped, the mystic fell into another crouch when he reached the princess, breathing heavily.
"You okay?"
Raeden raised an eyebrow, glancing at himself and deeming his appearance answer enough. Emica suddenly felt very silly, watching her fellow escapee slide the knife under one of the larger branches in his reach. A few moments of this and Emica began to feel even more awkward, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No. I've only got one knife."
"Oh.okay."
Silence wore on, broken only by the sounds of dying bramble bushes. Their passing wasn't mourned. The princess didn't like the quiet; it was getting in the way of a lot of questions that needed asking, like 'now what?' Her kidnapper was obviously not walking anywhere, much less flying. They were lost in the middle of Taos forest (which even sheltered she knew was huge) and their horse had run off. Raeden couldn't possibly think she was still his captive. Claws or no, even she could probably outrun him at the moment.
This left the both of them in a rather precarious situation. Their respective homelands were out of the question, and traveling alone wasn't looking good either. The kidnapper could barely move, and Emica had no clue how to survive in the forest, much less figure out where she was. Waiting and worrying, she watched the fuzzy shadows playing through the thick forest. Even though it must have been at least mid-morning, the light was strangled. There weren't very many clearings in the woodlands, and after about ten feet vision became obscured by the ground covering. Recent rains may have knocked down some of the weaker trees, but the vast majority of the forest had weathered it all too well. The road could be miles away, and civilization even farther. How many towns could there be in Taos? Did Raeden have any idea how to get home either?
She hadn't considered the possibility of her captor being lost as well, but now it seemed stupid not to have thought of it. How could he, a mystic, and as Quigsburg had said, one from a desert (probably the dreaded Elymi) know where the nearest village was, or even how to find one. A horrible sinking sensation started to drag Emica's already low spirits down. She was hopelessly lost, stuck with a mystic that had kidnapped her and completely helpless.
The green ferns blurred in front of her. Why did this have to happen to her? In the fairy tales all the knights at least had a note, a clue, a little bird to tell them where the fair lady had been spirited away to. How could she even that rescue was a possibility now! The knights that did find her had labeled her a mystic. She'd be killed by anyone who'd heard the story of the banshee traveling with.with.well, with whatever the monster was.
The 'monster' frowned slightly, carefully removing the last of the brambles, "That should do it."
Emica looked up, "Huh?"
"That's the last of them," Raeden frowned, speaking noticeably slower. He had to wonder about the human race.
"Oh!" The princess quickly blinked her eyes, focusing back on reality. Sure enough, the branches were gone. "Um.thanks?"
Raeden nodded, focusing on digging out the last thorns entangled on his person. He wasn't making himself particularly open to conversation, Emica decided. Feeling uncomfortable just sitting there, she reached out to one of the lower branches of the tree, getting a good grip before pulling herself up. A bad idea according to most of her limbs and throbbing head. Raeden watched quizzically as she fell back down with a rather unladylike 'thud.' Emica closed her eyes against what must have been the mother of all migraines in her limited experience. Holding a hand to her aching head, she realized a split-second too late that it was covered in mud. Letting it drop with another, more dejected thud, she sighed miserably.
"Need help?"
Emica gave him a look that said clearly her appearance was answer enough.
"Alright then," the mystic shrugged and shuffled back a bit, claws gouging mini-canyons in the mud. Sheathing the knife back in his belt, Raeden focused on the task of standing up himself. He met with much better success, balancing shakily on the equally unstable ground for a moment. Using the tree trunk to steady himself, he managed to stay up. Walking would be another issue, however. His wings worked like anchors, soggy and completely useless. Taking a few experimental steps away from the tree, he managed to almost make it to the next tree before collapsing into a heap of mud and feathers.
The princess bit her lip, "We're not going anywhere for a while, are we?"
Raeden pushed himself off the ground again, hobbling to lean against the tree, "No.no we're not."
"Do you even know where we are?"
".Sort of," the mystic looked thoughtful, "We're not too far from the road."
Emica looked hopeful, "Really?"
"The horse ran by it."
The princess shifted her gaze to the broken branches and trampled undergrowth where the animal must have come charging through, half expecting to see the flat gravel path just beyond the trees. They might make it after all!
"How far are we from Taos castle?"
Raeden didn't like the way the discussion was going, watching the princess shrewdly, "Days, maybe weeks."
"Oh." Emica's hopes started drooping again. The odds for her surviving alone that long were slim. "Where are we going from here?"
"There should be a settlement along the main road. Until we find that, no where in particular."
That made sense. They might as well get a bearing on where they were before tromping off into the unknown. Even if they still didn't know which way they'd be going once that starting point was found, at least it a goal they could achieve. Any attempts at movement had failed thus far.
Taking a deep breath, she debated trying to get up again. Just bracing her hands against the ground started a mutiny of her extremities that stopped the effort quickly. Emica propped herself as comfortably as she could against the tree, avoiding the brambly sections. Glancing around at the mostly deserted woodland, she frowned at the silence. That needed to go.
"So.what's you're name?"
The mystic looked mildly surprised, "Raeden."
"Well, that's unusual. Where're you from?"
Easing himself onto the ground, careful of his wings, Raeden quietly wondered exactly how he'd gotten himself into this.
***
Forest trees flew by at a suicidal pace, branches reaching out to block the small path into the woods. Galloping hooves threw gravel and undergrowth, sending up showers of dirt and weeds. Eyes narrowed in the steadily growing light, the traveler twisted around corners, ducked under branches, all the while spurring the horse onward. The shortcut wasn't a well known one, but good nonetheless. They should make it to the main road in another few minutes. Riding hard all morning, she had already managed to pass the creepy old church, ahead lay the next landmark: Fial Township. With a leap, the horse cleared the fallen tree that hid the trail from the sight of the passerby. Hooves skidded across the muddy road for a moment before gaining ground again. Gloves pulled back on the reigns tightly, and the equine gladly slowed to a more accepted trot on the well-traveled highway. No need to alert anyone else of their presence, or less than legal business.
Flipping auburn hair over her shoulder with a satisfied flair, Sheri smirked in the early light, "Me, one. Them, zero."
Things finally started looking up. Running away had been even easier than she thought. Her father was a notoriously heavy sleeper, famed for managing to snore through an ambush while Huckel and Peregrine had to take care of the attackers on their own. Though he'd upped the security on the stables somewhat since the mystic's little bout of 'borrowing', it was nothing Sheri couldn't handle. Of course, all the guards had let her in without so much as batting an eye and maybe the horse she was riding did belong to her, and it wasn't so much a matter of escaping as it was walking out of town nonchalantly. But who kept score on things like that anyway? Certainly not her.
Letting the horse wander slowly down the road, she focused on the ground for any signs of someone leaving the main causeway. If she were a criminal on the run she wouldn't be staying where everyone could see her. Then again, even mystics couldn't navigate around Taos forest without a good bearing, so her targets wouldn't be too far from the path. It was just a matter of finding out how far, and then following them. Tracking them shouldn't be too much of a problem. She'd managed to trace far smaller things than a whole horse and two travelers. With a bit of luck, she could catch up to the pair pretty soon. They couldn't travel very far with only one horse for two of them to share.
Sure enough, a rather unusual gouge in the mud caught her eye, like a small landside into the woodlands from the road. None of the rain-eroded canyons compared, in either size or depth. It must have been made by something heavy. Dismounting quickly, she led her horse over to the hollow. It might not have anything to do with her mystic, but it couldn't hurt to look.
Her mare disagreed, shying back quickly.
"Hey, it's not going to hurt you.we're just looking," Sheri frowned, tightening her grip on the reigns. There was something supernatural afoot, her horse didn't spook at just anything.
Large, nigh indistinguishable muddy prints in the concave slid down the side, vanishing off into the tree cover. They were huge, probably a Clydesdale. A faint twinge of nervousness made its presence known as she skimmed down the side of the tiny hill. Turning back to the unhappy horse, she slung the reigns over a nearby treebranch, "Okay, stay here. I'll be right back."
Following the tracks, the faint twinge began to grow. Something was off, very off in the trees. Being born after the heat of the mystic war hadn't accustomed Sheri to magic, but the goose bumps running up her arms began to alert her that something ethereal had been here. The trail twisted around trees for a bit, until the tight-knit forest abruptly ended, opening into a clearing. The disturbing smell of something rotten smacked into her face Sheri scrunched her nose, putting a hand over her mouth.
Looking around the clearing, she froze. Hulking on the sides of the small patch of open forest were two ogres, both dead. Burnt branches hung at odd angles among broken fellows, littering the ground. It looked like a tornado had come through, throwing up great mounds of dirt. Stepping cautiously into the graveyard, Sheri felt her insides squirming. What was this?
Another few minutes of investigation would reveal the hastily erected grave-site of Sir Belivin's party, and even longer before she managed to make sense of the nightmare clearing. However, before too long had passed, she would notice the glimmer in the old elm tree, near even more muddy gouges tore into the thick forest. The glimmer of a golden ribbon, tied tauntingly close, as if to mark the way to go.
***
Afternoon light was cheerily beating down on the sandy beaches, sparkling on the foamy surf, glimmering between the shady palms, and tanning the hides of the many beach-goers. Ocean air permeated the port- town, mingling with the scents of exotic foods as well as exotic peoples. Colorful lanterns were hung up and down the streets nearest to the sea, ready to be lit with the setting sun. Beneath them swarmed residents, tourists, and merchants alike, all heading between the town, the docks, and the beaches themselves on the perfect autumn day. Though sweltering during the summer, Daex was relatively cool in the spring and fall. Winters were fairly mild, it never snowed on the brightly painted buildings and brighter- dressed patrons of downtown.
Far from the main area, closer to the Sajian mountain range, the weather was not nearly as perfect. Here the four seasons were far more distinguishable and autumn leaves fell from the few trees that shed them in the still hot climate. Loud crunches rang up and down the smaller and dirtier roads all fall long until winter came and blew the leaves away. Here the houses were far less grand or ornate, made to defend those who lived there. Being only a few miles away from the Elymi pass, mystic travelers were relatively common. Baily, a resident of Daex's shadier outskirts for years, knew a lot about mystics. When he'd set up his own restaurant and 'oasis' near the edge of the mountains, he'd made a decision to serve any and all who entered through his squeaky front door, barring only those who couldn't pay the tab. This had turned out for better or worse over his many years, and now as he stood behind his wooden countertop he wondered how things would have been had he never opened those swinging double-doors to the old storehouse-turned-tavern. Several of the more interesting brawls would have never come about, he noted, glancing at the ancient blackened smears across one wall. Polishing a glass with a wrinkled rag and even more creased hand he let the lazy hum of the few early regulars and flies lull the lowbrow establishment into a hazy afternoon slumber.
Chipped dusty-red painted doors squeaked open once again, creating small patches of light on the dingy floorboards. A few people looked up at the intruder, and then froze.
The Lady, for she was most certainly a high-class woman, stepped through the entrance with the air of an empress. Her strange silken robes floated gently above the dirt and grime of the world below. Creamy folds flowed in elegant yet uncomplicated liquid patterns, drawn together by a simple brown sash and golden cord. Light danced around behind her like a clumsy vassal determined to serve his mistress, and she, ever the noblewoman, quietly scorning such pitiful efforts to enhance her own perfection. She needed no help, no assistance with her faultless complexion of tanned milk and blackened bronze hair. The locks fell in ordered disarray, tailored by chaos to frame her face and slide gently over her slim shoulders and down her back. Behind the curtains of strands, her eyes stunned all held in their gaze. Ethereal in the subtle hues of the desert they invited all the world into their gaze.
She was beautiful.
The extremely large man behind her sighed, and rather anti- climatically shouldered past where she'd paused dramatically, "Are you done basking in admiration?"
She smirked haughtily, almost devilishly, "Me? Bask? Why never! Such vain notions are far below my station."
"Whatever."
The silken voice was very fitting for such a form, as was her graceful glide towards a small table near the back. It was offset amazingly by the shuffling gait and curmudgeonly manner of the tattered goliath that accompanied her. She seated herself, back to the rest of the room on one rather remarkable chair near the wall (hereto famous for it's balancing act in the hands of one high paying gentleman). Garret took the chair opposite, staring down the room rather uncomfortably. Leaning down to reach even the tall Lady's line of vision, he glared unhappily, "Do you always have to show off?"
She frowned rather huffily of one of her supposed standing, "Yes."
Garret didn't look too satisfied with the answer, but let it pass. His normal reaction of swinging an axe wouldn't go over too well with his current co-conspirator. Logic would have to do, "What if someone recognizes you?"
"Out here?" she laughed quietly, resting her visage on interwoven fingers, "I'm sorry, but no one in this room looks to be the soldier type."
"That doesn't mean they aren't."
"So? Spreading a few rumors is what we're supposed to be doing, right?"
The giant looked more than just slightly on edge, "A few rumors?"
"Calm down, we're as safe as we're ever going to be right now."
Garret didn't agree with this sentiment, "Care to explain?"
She smiled lazily, "Karashi just sent you out here so we don't know what he's doing."
"He can't see what we're doing either though."
"No plan's perfect," she shrugged, "Besides, our fearless leader already has a decent idea of what we're up to, thanks to those dear little lupines by the cathedral."
"Wouldn't he have someone following us though?"
"Doubtful. He doesn't have a scout that can catch up to me, and the only one that comes close is rotting somewhere in Taos forest."
Garret still didn't look convinced. The woman sighed, exasperated, "Even if could monitor us, the likelihood of said scout making a difference is about null. If there's one thing about this plan, few things short of the apocalypse are going to be able to throw a wrench into the mix."
"And the humans?"
"No one, least of all the King, has any suspicion that I'm here, so a hoard of knights coming around the corner isn't likely," she smirked viciously, "They're all out chasing a princess."
"Not all of them."
"All that matter anymore. Men tend to age a little faster than you," she eyed the weathered lines on Garret's raw knuckles distastefully, "Though that isn't saying much."
Garret sighed and let his heavy skull slam into the table, "Please, just be serious. Just this once?"
Smooth hands slid carefully under his chin, lifting his face up just slightly to meet granite eyes, "I am. And we will do as planned, regardless of consequence. You understand?"
Garret nodded, slowly leaning away from the mistress of dragons.
She smiled frigidly, folded arms encased in light oriental fabric. Reclining slightly as well, she tilted her faultless face up a little to reach his gaze. The stare of doom was a familiar one, connected most often to the fabled creature of lore, the demonic woman who had dragged all of Taos down with her, spreading the infamy of her legendary self to the far reaches of the world. Behind her shimmering façade hid the leader that even Garret in all his pride might have bowed to.
The Sorceress had returned.
"Scones?"
The disturbing creature nodded cheerily. Margaret appraised the current state of matters skeptically, "You?"
"Of course!"
Jonathan looked amused from his chair by the table, setting out the time-polished wooden flatware. Outside, the sun had just barely risen and though he had cows to milk, horses to feed, chickens to chase, and a variety of other chores characteristic of a farmer's monotonous life, he and his wife had visitors today. His son had returned after a good six year absence, chickens could wait. Besides, the scene in the small kitchen was an amusing one.
From what he had gleaned, Margaret had come down the stairs early this morning to the scent of something delicious. This hadn't happened in at least eighteen years, as neither Jonathan nor Bren cooked. Naturally, the lady of the house had been slightly suspicious upon entering the still- dark kitchen. Finding a shadowy figure bustling about hadn't been good for her nerves, and more out of reflex than anything she'd chucked whatever happened to be in reach. The flour sack never had a chance. One whole corner of the kitchen remained covered in white powder, even a half hour of cleaning later. Happily, Vale didn't seem to mind the light dusting. He'd even volunteered to clean it up as well as continue to make breakfast. Margaret gladly handed over dish duty, but letting a stranger cook her food was another matter.
She tugged absentmindedly on one of her auburn curls, glancing between the mystic and her husband. Jonathan nodded, signaling clearly where he stood, ".Alright."
The room breathed again, and Vale clapped, "Scones it is!"
"And you'll be cleaning up the mess," she added irritably, not accustomed to handing over authority.
"Yes, yes,' waved the strange one airily, "Just the way you had it."
Margaret didn't look too convinced, but walked toward the narrow front door nonetheless. And so after a small battle of wills the duty of breakfast had be relegated to the challenger, and the champion queen wandered off to reign elsewhere.
"Jonathan, don't you have chickens to feed?"
Unfortunately, Jonathan was included in that elsewhere, "See you later, Vale."
The mystic nodded with a customary smile.
Pink light warmed the tops of the trees, painting leafy boughs a strange orange color. Normally black and white checkered chickens were shades of blue in the shadow of the coop, watching the older man with rounded blank eyes. Checking the pen's fence for holes, Jonathan nodded satisfactorily before continuing on with his daily chores, rubbing his hands together in the morning cold. Calluses answered the numbed nerves, covering most of his knobby fingers and smoothing over decade-old bumps and ridges that not even working hands were ever meant to have. Jonathan had always been a little weird growing up, although his parents had been able to take pride in the fact that he'd settled down before long. Few people knew this, though, because the old farmer possessed in spades something his son sorely lacked-subtlety.
Jonathan had grown up much like Bren had, if anyone bothered to look. He'd been born into the Alexander clan near Taos Castle, with one brother who'd sired Fenwick and a sister who lived in Juban now. Quaint little Durnham could boast only a few shops in the town, and just a few more farms. Bren's grandfather had been of the classic simple mindset; a happy, upstanding member of a tiny community. Childhood had involved a bit more magic and cheer all around, with trolls and ogres an actual threat on the borders but fairies and elves counted among passing travelers. A nice village with nice people, generally unconcerned with the comings and going of sorceress's or knights. Durnham had long since faded off the map however, brought to an end by the beginnings of the mystic war.
His family left as soon as things starting going bad (Alexander's were a cautious lot when it came to the supernatural), and missed most of the trauma. They'd relocated quickly in Taos Castle, and indeed his brother had never left. City life treated them alright, considering the times where such well-defended walls were a valuable luxury. Jonathan married Margaret there, to the raised eyebrows of family and friends. Bren was born the next year. Behind gated walls, he and his small family could have missed the war entirely. However Jonathan and his sibling had reached the age where people were expected to get involved and serve the country. So they enlisted in the infantile Taos army, waiting for the war to end in a few months. He'd been twenty one. Jonathan left the regiment six years later. The war ended another two years after that.
And this was where Bren's father also diverged from the family tradition. Returning early without a reason was something of a disgrace in war-minded Taos, and did not a hero make. Jonathan hadn't been wounded in battle. He hadn't come back early because of distress or shock like other soldiers, few noticed much of a difference in his demeanor. He didn't come home to help a needy wife. Margaret was well provided for, and his then six year old son harbored no ill will against his absent father. Bren was still the commonly accepted cause, if for no other reason than nothing else made sense. Finding another motive would have taken effort, and when most of the people remaining in the castle had their own relations to worry about Jonathan's abnormality went mostly unnoticed. He'd left the castle proper as soon as the war had actually ended with a small wave of emigrant families to Fial. Within the small agricultural town Bren's family settled down into life much like the Durnham childhood. There few people knew Jonathan participated in the wars, and Jonathan never volunteered the information.
The familiar wince of the squeaky shed door reminded the farmer that oil would be much appreciated. He'd have to get to that after he finished with the side of the house. Finding a pile of old rags and a few empty buckets, he armed himself, ready to tackle the pitch mess on the wooden siding. Walking back towards the house, he was momentarily framed by the small attic window.
Bren didn't see from where he was absorbed in digging through the old boxes for useful things. Supposedly, a small hoard of rope was buried up here, but Mom had confessed her doubts regarding ever finding it. Margaret had never professed to be the world's finest house-keeper, and after ditching a variety of mostly unused goods in the attic she'd left them there to stay. Bren was oddly reminded of the old days of cleaning his room while he dragged one particularly stubborn crate across the floor. Choking down dust and nostalgia, the knight in training tried not to think about how easy it was to fall into his old routine. Part of his brain was still pecking him about having his own chores to do. Even if the cats Bren had fed were long gone it didn't change the sudden urge to go lay out a bowl of milk before Mom got mad. The smell of the small harvest just being brought in was unnervingly familiar.
The farm would have been his someday, with the barn, the paddock, the modest herd and chicken coop. Jonathan had done well in carving out a little slice of land in what was nowhere only a decade or so ago. Fial itself remained a backwater town, just a stopping place for heroes on quests, or steadily more common, merchants and peasant folk. His parents seemed happy enough here, and the other Alexander's had given their seal of approval upon their last visit. In a different continuity, maybe Bren could have enjoyed being a simple farmer. It wasn't a bad life when he thought about it. Not bad at all. Chasing ogres cross country wouldn't have been high on his list of things to do. But hunting down mystics in the expanse of Taos forest seemed to be his lot in life now, which suited him just fine as well. Routine had never been his specialty; he'd been yelled at more than once for forgetting to feed those cats. He'd leave the farm-work to his father; he had bigger metaphorical fish to take care of.
And unbeknownst to him, a long time ago Jonathan had thought the same thing.
"Bren!"
The knight looked up questioningly at Fenwick. His squire was leaning heavily on the doorframe, a testament to how fast he'd come up the stairs, "Breakfast!"
"What're we having?"
"Scones!"
***
Taos Castle was rapidly running out of protégées, Sir Huckel realized. With a slight frown, the aged knight leaned back in his niche on the castle wall, overlooking Taos forest and the sunrise. He wasn't alone in his musing today. Sir Hanson quietly fumed to his right, and Sir Peregrine had lost himself in thought on the left. Ironically, the trio had once been a force to be reckoned with. They'd been masters of their time, heroes of the mystic war, as much as anyone could be. Now it took them all at least fifteen minutes to climb the worn stairways and reach their old watchpost, and a lot more effort than any of them cared to admit. At what seemed the ending of this decade of peace, time had taken back the reigns to hand to them over to the next generation. And now Huckel was left to worry what side of the fence that generation would be on.
"You never told us who you're apprentice was," Hanson finally broke the silence. He'd never been comfortable in stillness.
Huckel frowned, "His name's Bren."
"Bren what?" Peregrine looked up, mildly curious.
"Alexander."
"Sounds familiar."
Hanson nodded in agreement, "Is he a Farhital noble?"
"No."
The pair looked surprised, "Taos then? I don't remember an Alexander family..."
"He's not a knight. Bren's a peasant."
"Oh. Prophecy then?"
Huckel snorted, "Like I ever believed in those. No, just a plain, old, everyday run of the mill peasant, and better off for it if you ask me."
An odd look crossed Perigrine's face, "Really?"
Hanson didn't seem convinced, "He any good?"
"He could be..." Huckel shifted, not entirely comfortable discussing Bren. The boy was turning into a disappointment. A change of subject was in order, "In any case, that makes three disappearances this week."
"Four," corrected Hanson, "My horse."
Huckel felt a faint grin at that. He'd forgotten how obsessed the knight had been regarding his herd.
"Five if you include Vale."
Sir Huckel frowned at Peregrine, "Which we're not. I can tell you exactly where he is."
"Really?" Hanson looked interested, "Where?"
"Right in the middle of this mess."
Peregrine didn't look convinced, "You're overestimating the mystic."
"You sound rather sure about that."
"Yes," there was a short pause, "Yes I am. You say you found him in the Sorceress's cathedral under a spell? And there was a sign that had been posted outside?"
"No feeding the Sorceress," grinned Hanson sardonically, "Sounds like her to me."
"And she was rather explicit about not wanting anyone to remove this Vale?"
".yes."
"Then doesn't something seem off about all this? Even if he was in league with her I'd think the last thing she'd want would be to keep him prisoner. If anything, that just points to his innocence. After all, that sign would have to have been made long before we charged the place, so he'd been in bad standing with her for quite some time."
Something certainly did seem off, this Huckel knew, but he doubted it involved Vale's innocence, "What if she didn't want competition?"
Hanson snorted, "Competition from a skinny, green nobody?"
"Competition enough that she personally got rid of him."
"Not enough for him to defeat her apparently."
"Still doesn't mean he's not capable of being a problem."
"Then why not kill him?"
"Who knows why she did anything," Peregrine frowned, "I'm just saying that Vale turning out to be a megalomaniac vassal of hers just isn't likely. If he's as dangerous as you say, wouldn't she want him awake and helping when we stormed the castle?"
Hanson nodded, "I don't even remember any small green guy in the throne room last I was there. You're both reading way too far into this."
"And you're not reading far enough! No one is," Huckel snapped, "You people wonder why Emica was kidnapped so easily? Ten years ago this would have never happened, you all know it!"
"This isn't ten years ago, Huckel," Hanson frowned, more than just miffed. "And if you were so concerned with the welfare of Taos, why vanish off like you did?"
"Because I-" Huckel stopped. The answer to that was tangled far too deep for even him to figure out, much less explain. "Because."
"Well, that certainly clears things up," the rotund knight snorted.
"This isn't getting us anywhere."
"No," Hanson scowled at Peregrine, "You have any bright ideas? My daughter, the Alexander boy, the princess, and this Vale creature have gone missing. What do you think we should do, Peregrine?"
The grizzled knight didn't look too optimistic, "What is there to do? There's already a small army wandering around out there, we're 'defending the fortress,' and from the looks of things, there's not much we can do. We can't even hold a conversation."
There was a collective sigh.
Huckel glared out at the sunrise, "We wait."
***
For the second time in as many days, Emica found herself waking up in the middle of nowhere. Groggily waiting for the tree canopy above to come back into focus, she wondered how she had gotten there. Faint memories of crashing into a tree, a horse, and another crash surfaced slowly in the cauldron of her mind. The word 'kidnapped' floated by, trailing behind it a slew of unwanted memories. She'd been captured by those Farhital knights, and then what?
She'd picked the locks of her chains with a knife and tried to sneak away. There had been a white horse in the camp...Emica had tried to steal it and the thing had suddenly started galloping into the forest, with her trying to stay on. That inane golden knight had started charging at her! Yes! And then it'd barreled around the camp pell-mell until the mystic had attacked it from behind. What were presumably yesterday's events came rushing back with a vengeance as the princess started to fully wake up. The forest rushed by in her fuzzy memory, seen from the side of a flash of white above galloping hooves. Her hands couldn't get a good enough grip to swing herself over the side of the horse. She must have lost hold and crashed into a tree or something.
Looking slowly around, her head pounding far too hard to allow any quick reconnaissance, she found that she had indeed landed under a tree, in the middle of a small growth of bushes and mud. Sighing resignedly, she started untangling herself from the foliage. Various scrapes and aches protested loudly, forcing her to rethink the situation. Leaning back slowly, she decided to try one hand at a time. It was then she discovered the bushes were of the brambly sort.
"Ouch!"
Freedom came at a price, she decided, pressing the small cut against her mouth.
"Don't move. You'll just make things worse."
Emica's eyes shot up in surprise. The strange mystic was crouching on the ground not far from her. He looked rather funny at the moment, tangled hopelessly as well in the bramble bushes. The fact that a good half of him was covered in feathers didn't help much. However, on closer inspection, a small pile of broken twigs twisted branches had gathered by his talons. Raeden had been picking at the foliage for a while. A sour look of concentration marred his face as he hacked away a particularly stubborn spiked bough with a small knife.
"I'll help you in a minute."
"Oh.okay."
Emica rested as best she could against the prickly mess, wondering if she looked half as bad as her captor. If she did than it would be no wonder the knights had thought she was a banshee. The mystic had a variety of welts, bruises and scrapes to go along with the old burn and mangled wing, not to mention two days and a rainstorm's worth of mud and dirt.
After a few awkward minutes of waiting around and wishing she could do something more useful, a loud snap informed her that Raeden was finally free. She looked back just in time to see him stumble forward a bit from the momentum of pulling at the vine-like plant. For a second, he seemed to have steadied himself, wings stretched out and swaying like a tightrope- walker's pole.and then he fell flat on his face. Apparently, balance had never been the mystic's thing.
"Um.need any help?"
"No," came the muffled yet definite reply.
Pushing himself back up again, Raeden spat out some of the dirt he'd managed to get in his mouth. Half-hopping, half-scooting he made his way towards the princess, uneasy on legs unsuited for the ground. Picking up the knife he'd dropped, the mystic fell into another crouch when he reached the princess, breathing heavily.
"You okay?"
Raeden raised an eyebrow, glancing at himself and deeming his appearance answer enough. Emica suddenly felt very silly, watching her fellow escapee slide the knife under one of the larger branches in his reach. A few moments of this and Emica began to feel even more awkward, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No. I've only got one knife."
"Oh.okay."
Silence wore on, broken only by the sounds of dying bramble bushes. Their passing wasn't mourned. The princess didn't like the quiet; it was getting in the way of a lot of questions that needed asking, like 'now what?' Her kidnapper was obviously not walking anywhere, much less flying. They were lost in the middle of Taos forest (which even sheltered she knew was huge) and their horse had run off. Raeden couldn't possibly think she was still his captive. Claws or no, even she could probably outrun him at the moment.
This left the both of them in a rather precarious situation. Their respective homelands were out of the question, and traveling alone wasn't looking good either. The kidnapper could barely move, and Emica had no clue how to survive in the forest, much less figure out where she was. Waiting and worrying, she watched the fuzzy shadows playing through the thick forest. Even though it must have been at least mid-morning, the light was strangled. There weren't very many clearings in the woodlands, and after about ten feet vision became obscured by the ground covering. Recent rains may have knocked down some of the weaker trees, but the vast majority of the forest had weathered it all too well. The road could be miles away, and civilization even farther. How many towns could there be in Taos? Did Raeden have any idea how to get home either?
She hadn't considered the possibility of her captor being lost as well, but now it seemed stupid not to have thought of it. How could he, a mystic, and as Quigsburg had said, one from a desert (probably the dreaded Elymi) know where the nearest village was, or even how to find one. A horrible sinking sensation started to drag Emica's already low spirits down. She was hopelessly lost, stuck with a mystic that had kidnapped her and completely helpless.
The green ferns blurred in front of her. Why did this have to happen to her? In the fairy tales all the knights at least had a note, a clue, a little bird to tell them where the fair lady had been spirited away to. How could she even that rescue was a possibility now! The knights that did find her had labeled her a mystic. She'd be killed by anyone who'd heard the story of the banshee traveling with.with.well, with whatever the monster was.
The 'monster' frowned slightly, carefully removing the last of the brambles, "That should do it."
Emica looked up, "Huh?"
"That's the last of them," Raeden frowned, speaking noticeably slower. He had to wonder about the human race.
"Oh!" The princess quickly blinked her eyes, focusing back on reality. Sure enough, the branches were gone. "Um.thanks?"
Raeden nodded, focusing on digging out the last thorns entangled on his person. He wasn't making himself particularly open to conversation, Emica decided. Feeling uncomfortable just sitting there, she reached out to one of the lower branches of the tree, getting a good grip before pulling herself up. A bad idea according to most of her limbs and throbbing head. Raeden watched quizzically as she fell back down with a rather unladylike 'thud.' Emica closed her eyes against what must have been the mother of all migraines in her limited experience. Holding a hand to her aching head, she realized a split-second too late that it was covered in mud. Letting it drop with another, more dejected thud, she sighed miserably.
"Need help?"
Emica gave him a look that said clearly her appearance was answer enough.
"Alright then," the mystic shrugged and shuffled back a bit, claws gouging mini-canyons in the mud. Sheathing the knife back in his belt, Raeden focused on the task of standing up himself. He met with much better success, balancing shakily on the equally unstable ground for a moment. Using the tree trunk to steady himself, he managed to stay up. Walking would be another issue, however. His wings worked like anchors, soggy and completely useless. Taking a few experimental steps away from the tree, he managed to almost make it to the next tree before collapsing into a heap of mud and feathers.
The princess bit her lip, "We're not going anywhere for a while, are we?"
Raeden pushed himself off the ground again, hobbling to lean against the tree, "No.no we're not."
"Do you even know where we are?"
".Sort of," the mystic looked thoughtful, "We're not too far from the road."
Emica looked hopeful, "Really?"
"The horse ran by it."
The princess shifted her gaze to the broken branches and trampled undergrowth where the animal must have come charging through, half expecting to see the flat gravel path just beyond the trees. They might make it after all!
"How far are we from Taos castle?"
Raeden didn't like the way the discussion was going, watching the princess shrewdly, "Days, maybe weeks."
"Oh." Emica's hopes started drooping again. The odds for her surviving alone that long were slim. "Where are we going from here?"
"There should be a settlement along the main road. Until we find that, no where in particular."
That made sense. They might as well get a bearing on where they were before tromping off into the unknown. Even if they still didn't know which way they'd be going once that starting point was found, at least it a goal they could achieve. Any attempts at movement had failed thus far.
Taking a deep breath, she debated trying to get up again. Just bracing her hands against the ground started a mutiny of her extremities that stopped the effort quickly. Emica propped herself as comfortably as she could against the tree, avoiding the brambly sections. Glancing around at the mostly deserted woodland, she frowned at the silence. That needed to go.
"So.what's you're name?"
The mystic looked mildly surprised, "Raeden."
"Well, that's unusual. Where're you from?"
Easing himself onto the ground, careful of his wings, Raeden quietly wondered exactly how he'd gotten himself into this.
***
Forest trees flew by at a suicidal pace, branches reaching out to block the small path into the woods. Galloping hooves threw gravel and undergrowth, sending up showers of dirt and weeds. Eyes narrowed in the steadily growing light, the traveler twisted around corners, ducked under branches, all the while spurring the horse onward. The shortcut wasn't a well known one, but good nonetheless. They should make it to the main road in another few minutes. Riding hard all morning, she had already managed to pass the creepy old church, ahead lay the next landmark: Fial Township. With a leap, the horse cleared the fallen tree that hid the trail from the sight of the passerby. Hooves skidded across the muddy road for a moment before gaining ground again. Gloves pulled back on the reigns tightly, and the equine gladly slowed to a more accepted trot on the well-traveled highway. No need to alert anyone else of their presence, or less than legal business.
Flipping auburn hair over her shoulder with a satisfied flair, Sheri smirked in the early light, "Me, one. Them, zero."
Things finally started looking up. Running away had been even easier than she thought. Her father was a notoriously heavy sleeper, famed for managing to snore through an ambush while Huckel and Peregrine had to take care of the attackers on their own. Though he'd upped the security on the stables somewhat since the mystic's little bout of 'borrowing', it was nothing Sheri couldn't handle. Of course, all the guards had let her in without so much as batting an eye and maybe the horse she was riding did belong to her, and it wasn't so much a matter of escaping as it was walking out of town nonchalantly. But who kept score on things like that anyway? Certainly not her.
Letting the horse wander slowly down the road, she focused on the ground for any signs of someone leaving the main causeway. If she were a criminal on the run she wouldn't be staying where everyone could see her. Then again, even mystics couldn't navigate around Taos forest without a good bearing, so her targets wouldn't be too far from the path. It was just a matter of finding out how far, and then following them. Tracking them shouldn't be too much of a problem. She'd managed to trace far smaller things than a whole horse and two travelers. With a bit of luck, she could catch up to the pair pretty soon. They couldn't travel very far with only one horse for two of them to share.
Sure enough, a rather unusual gouge in the mud caught her eye, like a small landside into the woodlands from the road. None of the rain-eroded canyons compared, in either size or depth. It must have been made by something heavy. Dismounting quickly, she led her horse over to the hollow. It might not have anything to do with her mystic, but it couldn't hurt to look.
Her mare disagreed, shying back quickly.
"Hey, it's not going to hurt you.we're just looking," Sheri frowned, tightening her grip on the reigns. There was something supernatural afoot, her horse didn't spook at just anything.
Large, nigh indistinguishable muddy prints in the concave slid down the side, vanishing off into the tree cover. They were huge, probably a Clydesdale. A faint twinge of nervousness made its presence known as she skimmed down the side of the tiny hill. Turning back to the unhappy horse, she slung the reigns over a nearby treebranch, "Okay, stay here. I'll be right back."
Following the tracks, the faint twinge began to grow. Something was off, very off in the trees. Being born after the heat of the mystic war hadn't accustomed Sheri to magic, but the goose bumps running up her arms began to alert her that something ethereal had been here. The trail twisted around trees for a bit, until the tight-knit forest abruptly ended, opening into a clearing. The disturbing smell of something rotten smacked into her face Sheri scrunched her nose, putting a hand over her mouth.
Looking around the clearing, she froze. Hulking on the sides of the small patch of open forest were two ogres, both dead. Burnt branches hung at odd angles among broken fellows, littering the ground. It looked like a tornado had come through, throwing up great mounds of dirt. Stepping cautiously into the graveyard, Sheri felt her insides squirming. What was this?
Another few minutes of investigation would reveal the hastily erected grave-site of Sir Belivin's party, and even longer before she managed to make sense of the nightmare clearing. However, before too long had passed, she would notice the glimmer in the old elm tree, near even more muddy gouges tore into the thick forest. The glimmer of a golden ribbon, tied tauntingly close, as if to mark the way to go.
***
Afternoon light was cheerily beating down on the sandy beaches, sparkling on the foamy surf, glimmering between the shady palms, and tanning the hides of the many beach-goers. Ocean air permeated the port- town, mingling with the scents of exotic foods as well as exotic peoples. Colorful lanterns were hung up and down the streets nearest to the sea, ready to be lit with the setting sun. Beneath them swarmed residents, tourists, and merchants alike, all heading between the town, the docks, and the beaches themselves on the perfect autumn day. Though sweltering during the summer, Daex was relatively cool in the spring and fall. Winters were fairly mild, it never snowed on the brightly painted buildings and brighter- dressed patrons of downtown.
Far from the main area, closer to the Sajian mountain range, the weather was not nearly as perfect. Here the four seasons were far more distinguishable and autumn leaves fell from the few trees that shed them in the still hot climate. Loud crunches rang up and down the smaller and dirtier roads all fall long until winter came and blew the leaves away. Here the houses were far less grand or ornate, made to defend those who lived there. Being only a few miles away from the Elymi pass, mystic travelers were relatively common. Baily, a resident of Daex's shadier outskirts for years, knew a lot about mystics. When he'd set up his own restaurant and 'oasis' near the edge of the mountains, he'd made a decision to serve any and all who entered through his squeaky front door, barring only those who couldn't pay the tab. This had turned out for better or worse over his many years, and now as he stood behind his wooden countertop he wondered how things would have been had he never opened those swinging double-doors to the old storehouse-turned-tavern. Several of the more interesting brawls would have never come about, he noted, glancing at the ancient blackened smears across one wall. Polishing a glass with a wrinkled rag and even more creased hand he let the lazy hum of the few early regulars and flies lull the lowbrow establishment into a hazy afternoon slumber.
Chipped dusty-red painted doors squeaked open once again, creating small patches of light on the dingy floorboards. A few people looked up at the intruder, and then froze.
The Lady, for she was most certainly a high-class woman, stepped through the entrance with the air of an empress. Her strange silken robes floated gently above the dirt and grime of the world below. Creamy folds flowed in elegant yet uncomplicated liquid patterns, drawn together by a simple brown sash and golden cord. Light danced around behind her like a clumsy vassal determined to serve his mistress, and she, ever the noblewoman, quietly scorning such pitiful efforts to enhance her own perfection. She needed no help, no assistance with her faultless complexion of tanned milk and blackened bronze hair. The locks fell in ordered disarray, tailored by chaos to frame her face and slide gently over her slim shoulders and down her back. Behind the curtains of strands, her eyes stunned all held in their gaze. Ethereal in the subtle hues of the desert they invited all the world into their gaze.
She was beautiful.
The extremely large man behind her sighed, and rather anti- climatically shouldered past where she'd paused dramatically, "Are you done basking in admiration?"
She smirked haughtily, almost devilishly, "Me? Bask? Why never! Such vain notions are far below my station."
"Whatever."
The silken voice was very fitting for such a form, as was her graceful glide towards a small table near the back. It was offset amazingly by the shuffling gait and curmudgeonly manner of the tattered goliath that accompanied her. She seated herself, back to the rest of the room on one rather remarkable chair near the wall (hereto famous for it's balancing act in the hands of one high paying gentleman). Garret took the chair opposite, staring down the room rather uncomfortably. Leaning down to reach even the tall Lady's line of vision, he glared unhappily, "Do you always have to show off?"
She frowned rather huffily of one of her supposed standing, "Yes."
Garret didn't look too satisfied with the answer, but let it pass. His normal reaction of swinging an axe wouldn't go over too well with his current co-conspirator. Logic would have to do, "What if someone recognizes you?"
"Out here?" she laughed quietly, resting her visage on interwoven fingers, "I'm sorry, but no one in this room looks to be the soldier type."
"That doesn't mean they aren't."
"So? Spreading a few rumors is what we're supposed to be doing, right?"
The giant looked more than just slightly on edge, "A few rumors?"
"Calm down, we're as safe as we're ever going to be right now."
Garret didn't agree with this sentiment, "Care to explain?"
She smiled lazily, "Karashi just sent you out here so we don't know what he's doing."
"He can't see what we're doing either though."
"No plan's perfect," she shrugged, "Besides, our fearless leader already has a decent idea of what we're up to, thanks to those dear little lupines by the cathedral."
"Wouldn't he have someone following us though?"
"Doubtful. He doesn't have a scout that can catch up to me, and the only one that comes close is rotting somewhere in Taos forest."
Garret still didn't look convinced. The woman sighed, exasperated, "Even if could monitor us, the likelihood of said scout making a difference is about null. If there's one thing about this plan, few things short of the apocalypse are going to be able to throw a wrench into the mix."
"And the humans?"
"No one, least of all the King, has any suspicion that I'm here, so a hoard of knights coming around the corner isn't likely," she smirked viciously, "They're all out chasing a princess."
"Not all of them."
"All that matter anymore. Men tend to age a little faster than you," she eyed the weathered lines on Garret's raw knuckles distastefully, "Though that isn't saying much."
Garret sighed and let his heavy skull slam into the table, "Please, just be serious. Just this once?"
Smooth hands slid carefully under his chin, lifting his face up just slightly to meet granite eyes, "I am. And we will do as planned, regardless of consequence. You understand?"
Garret nodded, slowly leaning away from the mistress of dragons.
She smiled frigidly, folded arms encased in light oriental fabric. Reclining slightly as well, she tilted her faultless face up a little to reach his gaze. The stare of doom was a familiar one, connected most often to the fabled creature of lore, the demonic woman who had dragged all of Taos down with her, spreading the infamy of her legendary self to the far reaches of the world. Behind her shimmering façade hid the leader that even Garret in all his pride might have bowed to.
The Sorceress had returned.