Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series (13 page)

“I’ve done heaps and heaps of sliding already. I wanna play on the swings. I can pump my legs and swing real high all by myself now!”

This last was declared with such pride it was obviously an accomplishment she’d worked diligently to master. He forced a smile. “That is something I would like to see.”

She thrust out her lower lip. The expression tugged at his heartstrings, and he wished he could scoop her up and hug her tight and protect her until she was a woman grown.

In one corner of his mind a question niggled. How could this girl-child have burrowed so deeply into his heart and soul in so short a span of time? His connection to Sera
must
be the result of some magical tampering. The actions he planned to take in the very near future might well serve to shatter that connection. And if that happened, Danbur suspected he would greatly mourn the loss.

“I get tired after a while,” Sera said. “Can you come push me once you’ve talked to Mr. Stone? Pleeease?”

Danbur’s gaze flicked to the apparatuses he guessed were the “swings”—black slings hanging from chains attached to a sturdy bar. A woman hovered about a young child seated in one of the slings. Each time the child swung near, she pushed the sling with sufficient force to keep it swinging. He could do that… provided Sera didn’t run screaming from him once he’d snapped Mr. Stone’s scrawny neck.

“Yes,” he said, ruffling her hair. “I can push you on the swing.”

The pleasure he witnessed on her face blanketed him like beams of morning sunshine after the rigors of a chill desert night.

“Yay!” she shrieked, and hurtled off at a run toward the swings.

When she nearly tripped over an uneven patch in the grass, his breath caught in his throat. He tensed, readying himself to snatch her up and soothe her hurts. But she staggered and recovered her balance, and when she reached the swings and settled her rump into an empty black sling, he allowed himself to breathe again. She reminded him of a newly born foal, all gangly uncoordinated limbs.

He observed her closely as she exerted herself to set the sling in motion, and then, confident she was safe for now, he discarded his bag of clothing and turned his focus to the man he intended to do his utmost to kill.

He had lost the element of surprise to be sure, but he might yet hold a slim advantage. The powerful were often arrogant, underestimating—even dismissing—those they considered lesser beings. The priests of his fief were prime examples of men so accustomed to being obeyed they could not conceive of anyone ignoring their decrees. And for one of the warriors they expected to do their bidding without question to assault them? Impossible!

This sorcerer was of a similar ilk, so confident of his safety that he had slumped in his seat, eyes closed, chin resting on his chest.

Danbur drew on all his training, cloaking his stealthy approach in the twittering of birdlife, the squeals of excited children, and the tolerant admonishments of their guardians.

He got within arm’s reach of his target when the sorcerer sighed gustily. “I suppose you believe ending my life will solve everything.”

Danbur stilled. And then relaxed his stance. He stared down at the old man. “Tell me I am wrong.”

“You are wrong.” Peter Stone patted the bench beside him. “Sit. And let me tell you why strangling me will only complicate matters.”

Stubbornly contrary to the last, even in the face of death—or worse, another sojourn in a crystal prison—Danbur retrieved his bag and opted to take a seat on the grass. And he thumbed his nose even further at the smug old bastard by lounging, elbow resting on one bent knee, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He plucked a thick stalk of grass and stuck the end in the corner of his mouth. “Enlighten me,” he said, feigning a bored tone.

Peter Stone threw back his head and cackled with abandon. “I believe you might be my favorite yet,” he said.

“Favorite victim?”

All trace of amusement fled the old man’s features. “Do you wish to be fully informed so we have at least a small chance of defeating this twisted curse? Or would you rather remain ignorant until the crystal takes you again. It is your choice, of course. But if it were me facing such a fate, I would rather know the stakes.”

Danbur stared at him. “
We
?”

Piercing blue eyes that had seen ages come and go, caught and held Danbur’s gaze… and allowed him to see a startling truth.

“Gods,” Danbur whispered, shocked to his core. “You—“

“Are as much a victim as you?” The old man’s proud features collapsed into weary lines. “I have not suffered the tortures of total deprivation like you and your troop-mates,” he said. “And I would not stoop to compare my situation to yours, for to do so would make a mockery of all you have endured.”

Danbur swallowed his astonishment. This was… unexpected.

“But in the sense that I am beholden to a higher power—” here, the old man’s grimace was very close to a snarl “—and will not be granted the oblivion I crave until I fulfill the
geas
laid upon me? Then yes, you could say I am also a victim. Alas, my untimely death will only serve to bring you to the attention of the very goddess who uses me to do her bidding. And please believe me when I say she is…
difficult
to deal with at the best of times.”

This time Danbur could not prevent his eyebrows from peaking and he turned away, fixing his gaze on Sera. The little girl was still swinging, her features wreathed with delight whenever the momentum of the sling allowed her to lean back with legs straight and toes pointed.

“She is a beautiful little soul, is she not?”

The affection Danbur heard in the sorcerer’s voice was undeniable. And when Danbur faced him again, he couldn’t deny what he saw, either. Mere minutes ago the old man had seemed wholly deserving of an ugly death at Danbur’s hands. Now he seemed all-too human, someone Danbur could relate to via their affection for a small girl with green eyes and a smile that tugged one’s heart.

Peter Stone’s seamed face split into a delighted grin. “I knew it. You see it, too, don’t you? Her potential?”

“She will break hearts when she is grown.” Danbur’s gaze drifted back to Sera. He wished he could stand at her side, ready to put the fear of the gods into any youngling who so much as looked at her in a lustful way. He knew what young men thought about when they saw a pretty girl. A long time ago, in a different world, he’d been one of those young men whose thoughts were filled with matters of the flesh, and whose cock ruled him if he allowed it.

Given the chance, he wouldn’t allow any young male within a sword’s length of Sera unless they were willing to commit their hearts and souls to her wellbeing… and prove their good intentions to his satisfaction. Or else.

“She will do all that and more,” Peter Stone murmured. “Provided she is not psychologically scarred by the events of the coming weeks.”

Danbur’s gaze snapped back to the old man. “Over my dead body will I allow harm to come to that child,” he said, his deceptively soft tone at odds with the rage that blazed through his veins.

“Then we are in perfect accord.”

Peter Stone gazed steadily at Danbur, once more revealing a hint of what lay in his heart. And then he turned his gaze upon Sera, and lowered his voice enough that Danbur had difficulty making out the words. “I dare not pledge my intent in such a way that it becomes immutable for fear that
she
will learn of it, but I can say this. If that child is harmed, I will make the one responsible wish for death. It matters not if she is a goddess and I am subject to her will. It matters not how long it takes. I will make her pay.”

That truth tolled like a sonorous bell in Danbur’s mind. “Duly noted. Now, tell me everything, old man.”

Peter Stone’s gaze drifted back to settle on Danbur. “There have been certain strictures placed upon me—” He threw up a hand to cut short Danbur’s protest. “But I have found ways around them in the past. I will tell you what I can now, and hope I may reveal more in time. And I will aid you as much as I am able. This I vow.”

“I believe you, Peter Stone.”

A smile ghosted across the old sorcerer’s face. “Good. Then let us start with another truth. My name is
Pieter
. I am named for the pietersite crystal.”

Danbur’s jaws clamped down on the stalk of grass, crushing it. He turned aside to spit out the bitter juices. “I have no knowledge of this crystal.”

“That does not surprise me,” Pieter said, “for it was yet to be discovered by your people.”

“Ah.”

“Another name for pietersite is the ‘tempest stone’.” He paused, obviously waiting for Danbur to draw some conclusion.

“I can only surmise that a
tempest
stone would have a connection to storms.” And it could be no coincidence Danbur’s people called themselves
Styrians
, Storm Riders.

The old man bobbed his head. “Through my affinity to pietersite, I hoped to control the ‘storm’ your kind unleashed upon my own people. I hoped to protect my village’s women by capturing your raiding party in your namesake crystals. However I began to doubt myself. I feared I did not possess the strength to work such a spell. I needed to be stronger in mind, body and spirit, but I had no time to waste. I needed help.”

“From this goddess you spoke of earlier. The one who now forces you to do her bidding.”

“Yes. But had I known the spell I cast would warp and mutate into a black curse only a deity could break—I would not have dared use it.”

Danbur didn’t bother to disguise his disbelief or his bitterness. “Even to save your womenfolk from debauched slavers? Who treated them as chattel? Abused and raped them?”

Pieter’s sigh tinged the air with regret and sorrow. “You and I both know none of that is true. Your people cherished the women you stole. Your captives were precious to you, valued and treasured. But that does not negate the fact you took them against their wills. You gave them no choice.”

“I presume you are aware
why
we were driven to such lengths.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

“And despite the fact my
tehun
—my troop—acted upon orders, you not only imprisoned us for our crimes, you subjected us to deprivations few could endure without losing their sanity. For centuries. Without surcease.”

“With the benefit of hindsight such events cannot be viewed as black or white, wrong or right,” Pieter said. “You believed you were acting in the best interests of
your
people. I believed I acted in the best interests of
mine
.”

The simplistic summation rankled. Danbur curled his lower lip into a sneer that would have earned him a cuff around the ears had he been foolish enough to aim it at tehun-Leader Malach. “We were trying to repopulate our world, to counter a curse that caused all our womenfolk to bear boys. My people were dying out! How can that be compared to—?”

“The men who fell beneath the hooves of your battle-mounts? Those you slaughtered when they dared rise up to protect wives, sisters, daughters, nieces, from being ripped from their families?”

Danbur dug his fingers into the soil, clawing a clump of grass out by the roots. He contemplated it for a long moment and then tossed it over his shoulder. “Wrong or right, we followed the orders we were given.” He brushed the soil from his fingers.

“Wrong or right, I took steps to protect my village. Wrong or right, I had so little faith in my abilities I begged the aid of a goddess to help me cast what I intended as a temporary imprisoning spell. And now here we both are. Bound and determined to protect an innocent child.”

“And her mother,” Danbur added absently. Opal was never far from his thoughts.

“Ah yes,” Pieter said. “Opal.”

Uttering her name conjured her image, and fogged Danbur’s mind with thoughts of what he would like to be doing to her if he had the leisure to indulge in such things. Teasing her. Tempting her. Kissing her… from head to toe, taking special care to linger on all the soft feminine curves in between. He would wager his horse and his sword he could make her scream his name. Without stuttering.

“Were you aware that she, too, is named for a crystal?”

This time Danbur had no hope of disguising his shock. “
Opal
is a crystal?”

“Indeed it is. Opals are multi-colored, appearing as though rainbow-toned fiery sparks have been captured within their depths. In fact, it was once believed an opal could harness the powers of every crystal whose base color was captured within the opal. Centuries ago, opals were deemed luck-bringers. But in latter years, due in part to the widespread popularity of a story written by a gentleman named Walter Scott, opals became associated with bad fortune, and even death.”

The old man’s expression soured. “There is no truth in such claims of course. They stemmed from pure fiction. But being named for a bad-luck stone certainly hasn’t helped Opal’s karma. Little Seraphine’s mother hasn’t had an easy life.”

Danbur frowned as he digested this information. He did not like to think of Opal suffering. Protective instincts roused, he asked, “If the stone is associated with such negativity, why would her parents give her an ill-favored name?”

“Opal’s mother had been told she would never conceive. But while on holiday in Australia—one of the countries where opals are mined—Kendall Stewart discovered her nausea wasn’t caused by a stomach upset due to unfamiliar cuisine. She was pregnant. She and her husband were understandably thrilled, and the husband gifted Kendall a fire-opal pendant. She was so taken by the gem that when her only child—a daughter—was born, she named her Opal.”

“A pretty story,” Danbur mused.

“And a pretty name—if one discounts the possibility of jinxes and tempting fate.”

“Jinxes?”

“Simply put they are akin to a minor curse that might cause a run of bad luck.” Pieter’s lips thinned to a tight white line. “Though labeling what that poor girl endured ‘bad luck’ is akin to likening a child’s sandbox to a desert.”

All the little hints abruptly fit together in one heartbreaking whole.

Danbur had been raised in a world where females were valued—precious. The punishment for any man found guilty of forcing a woman was harsh. Gelded, stripped of property and rank. Indentured servitude, and in extreme cases, death. Once women newly arrived in Styria understood the way of it, they were quick to comprehend that ultimately
they
held the power. And they reveled in it.