Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (12 page)

“I’m sorry, Luke,” the young woman whispers as she flicks her fingers at the forest tracker.

Taking control of his body, she uses his wind powers to give herself an extra boost when she jumps toward Nyx. The few people who stayed on the docks watch as the silver-haired champion rockets toward the caster. Dariana grabs her friend by the ankle, but is unable to stop the half-elf from delivering her attacks. Flipping to wrap her arms around Nyx’s chest, she makes the caster create a thick, defensive spell around them. The force from the exploding demon shakes all of Bor’daruk and the weaker structures of the city collapse. Being so close to the Spurge, Dariana and Nyx are sent hurtling into the desert, the shield spell shimmering until it vanishes over the horizon.

“Grab some waterskins and let’s go,” Delvin orders while he turns to help Timoran get onto the dock. “The quicker we move, the easier it will be to find our friends. Once they start walking, they might go in the wrong direction and we’ll lose them.”

“At that speed, they could have landed in the southern jungles,” Sari casually mentions while grabbing several bags of water. She leans away from the warrior when he gets in her face, but she refuses to be quiet. “I’m worried too, but I’m only saying it’s a possibility. That was a big explosion and they were right there. I don’t even know how Nyx got such a powerful defense spell up in time to keep herself and Dariana alive. Let’s think and plan because we don’t want to get lost out there too.”

“I’m sorry, but all four of you must stay within the city,” a guard announces as he approaches the champions. He is dressed in black clothing with only his eyes visible through a slit in his facial wrappings. The adventurers notice the blades sticking out of his leather gloves, each one sharpened to a keen edge. “Bor’daruk is locked down due to aggression by the Helgardian Nomads. They have already taken the lives of several esteemed members of our society. We ask that you let us escort you to Grasdon Manor where you have been granted food and lodging.”

“I’m not going to sit here and leave Nyx out there!” Delvin snaps at the guard.

“Same here,” Luke chimes in.

Sari stands between the warriors and happily says, “Me too.”

With Fizzle perched on his head, Timoran gives a silent nod and puts his hand on the head of his great axe. The barbarian only has enough time to arch his eyebrow when he hears the sudden burst of air from several blowguns. Four small darts hit him in the neck while his friends are each hit by one, but it still takes a minute longer for Timoran to collapse from the potent sleeping drugs. He is about to tumble into the ocean when Fizzle catches him by the arm and lowers him to the ground.

“Fizzle go quietly!” the drite announces, holding up his hands and tail.

7

Sari is the first to wake up and she is surprised to find herself sitting at a long, finely crafted table. Her reclining chair is very comfortable and she has no stiffness in her body from having been left to sleep against the plush cushions. Her vision clearing, she can see Luke and Delvin waking up in similar chairs on the other side of the table. Timoran is next to her, the big warrior sprawled on a wide sofa and covered in lacey, embroidered pillows. The large chamber has three crystal chandeliers hanging from the domed ceiling, which has been painted to depict the busy marketplace of Bor’daruk. Paintings of the Grasdon family adorn the light yellow walls, one of Kira as a child hanging across from Sari. The smell of tropical flowers is on the breeze, emanating from the hanging plants that are in the open windows. Bronze pitchers of water are spread along the table with a goblet of polished wood placed before each guest. The ache behind her eyes forces the gypsy to take a small drink, the powerful herbs in the water clearing her head in seconds. Smacking lips bring her attention back to the table where Fizzle is eating an apple among the platters of fresh fruit.

“Welcome to Grasdon Manor,” a voice says from the head of the table. A bald man with a long, black beard going down to his potbelly sits at the head of the table. He is wearing a purple robe and a red sash made out of the finest silks and cottons. His dark skin shows some wrinkles around the corner of his emerald eyes, the furrows created by years of squinting at reports in flickering candlelight. “My name is Wayland Grasdon. Allow me to introduce Asher, my oldest son, Tambre, my youngest son, and Quill, my nephew.”

All three young men stand and bow their heads to the adventurers. Asher is the tallest and more muscular of the trio, his leather armor showing signs of recent use. His chestnut hair is tied into a ponytail that is draped over his shoulder. The scimitar leaning against his chair shines in the candlelight and everyone notices that his hand is ready to draw the weapon at the slightest provocation. Tambre looks like his father, but with a tuft of black hair on his head and a narrower beard. Unlike his blue-eyed brother, he has the green eyes of Wayland and is more relaxed in the presence of the strangers. Feigning disinterest, he fixes the cuffs of his red and gold shirt, the back reaching his ankles. Proving to be the most anxious of their hosts, Quill keeps his eyes on the stirring barbarian and his thin fingers make odd motions in the air. The brown-eyed youth wears white robes that are stained with ink, so the adventurers guess that he is either an artist or a scribe.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Luke Callindor,” Asher says in a baritone voice. He sits down and signals for his brother and cousin to follow suit. “I apologize for the way you and your friends were brought here. Our personal guard didn’t want to waste any time.”

“They drugged and kidnapped us,” Timoran growls, rubbing his sore neck. He grabs a handful of dates and stuffs them in his mouth, waiting a second to revel in their sweetness. “Be thankful I did not use my rage to reduce your forces. Now please let us rescue our friends.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Wayland calmly states as he eats a slice of melon. He beckons the nearby guards with his ring-covered fingers when Delvin jumps to his feet. “I don’t know who you are, but I can tell you’re the leader. So I hope you can understand what I’m about to say. Bor’daruk is at war with the Helgardian Nomads after an unprovoked attack. Only ships are allowed in and out of the city.”

“What about our friends?” Sari politely asks. A lump grows in her throat when all four of their hosts look at her with mild distaste. “What if I go alone? I’ve a feeling you won’t mind if I die out in the desert.”

“Don’t mistake our . . . issues with you as hatred. We are merely on my cousin’s side in your situation,” Quill replies, cutting off the others with a soft, musical voice. He bows his head in response to the irritated scowl of his uncle, the motion defusing some of the older man’s bitterness. “It would be wrong to send anyone into the desert considering what we are up against. Even if we weren’t at war, this area is full of dangers that a solitary gypsy would be unfit to handle. The spadix alone kill nearly one hundred travelers a year.”

Delvin shoves his chair away from the table and heads for the nearest door, grabbing the frame when his visions blurs. He is wracked with dry heaves and an Elven butler takes the warrior by the arm to guide him back to his seat. With muffled coughs, he chokes down a glass of water that clears his head and heals his throat. Watching Delvin groan and place his head on the table, the others drain their own cups to avoid the same fate.

“Take comfort in the fact that it is Nyx of Rainbow Tower that is out there,” Wayland states with a forced smile. “Her reputation is one of a defiant survivor and a dangerous being of raw magic. My only fear is that she will not find her way back to Bor’daruk in time to aide us in the war.”

“You keep mentioning being at war, but I saw no signs of an opposing army,” Timoran says, wiping his mouth on a blue napkin. “Are the nomads using demons like that Spurge to get over the wall? If so then I believe you have a bigger problem. I have had dealings with the southern nomads once before and they despise creatures of darkness.”

Without sitting up, Delvin turns his head and interjects, “Every group is different and I’ve heard there are some that utilize evil beings to do their fighting and hunting. A Bor’darukian merchant hired me as a bodyguard and we compared tribe systems of our birthplaces. Though I was told that the Helgardians are not one of them.”

“We thought so too and it could still be true. The Spurge is the first demon we’ve seen in the attacks,” Timbre explains while unrolling a scroll. He skims through the notes and pictures, mouthing words to himself. “Strange beasts have been sent into the city and they always bypass the wall. The nomads have stayed deep in the desert while these monsters do the fighting for them. We captured a scout on the nearest dunes last week. She told us that these are the guardians of the Helgardians, but she died of her injuries before we could get anything else out of her.”

“Why you keep Fizzle and friends here?” the drite asks as he rolls onto his back and strokes his bloated belly. “We not involved, but you want us. Why city king not talk?”

“Fizzle has a point,” Sari states when she notices a brief flicker of nervousness on Wayland’s face. “I don’t know how the politics of Bor’daruk work, but it’s strange that we’re talking to you and not the mayor or whatever you call your leader. The dockhand that greeted us didn’t act like something this big was going on either. Tell us the truth, Lord Grasdon, or we leave to find Nyx.”

“By force if need be,” Delvin adds.

With a frown, Wayland nods to Asher and the warrior stands to make sure he has everyone’s attention. “The Helgardians have targeted the Grasdon family. We don’t know why they are attacking us with these creatures, but the city has decided to use their forces only to defend. This means they go about their business until a beast appears. By that time, our family has already suffered losses. They claim that this is to make sure the situation does not escalate and they lose their remaining trade pacts with the Helgardians. What you see here is all that remains of the Grasdon lineage. Every attack has taken at least one of our kin.”

“You four are all that remain?” Luke asks, talking for the first time. Feathers ruffle under his collar and his eyes shimmer gold as his panic rises. “What happened to Kira?”

“Afraid that you’ll be stuck with a simple gypsy?” Wayland Grasdon retorts, polishing a ruby ring on his left hand. He grins at the anguish on the young warrior’s face. “Maybe you’re scared that my only daughter is still alive, but crippled. If you reject her in such a state it would make you look like a monster. Then again, you probably hope she’s one of the dead, so you don’t have to make a decision.”

“Tell me where Kira is, sir.”

Asher leans over to his father to speak, but a quick hand is placed against his lips. The younger man settles back down and sighs, settling for enjoying a pear. He refuses to look at his father or Luke, his attention finding an unimportant spot on the ceiling to ponder on. Timbre and Quill exchange nervous glances and follow their elder kinsman’s example.

“I don’t know what she sees in you,” the patriarch admits, popping a grape into his mouth and squishing it between his white teeth. “I told her to test your relationship or I would publicly stand against it. What does my daughter do? Picks a claimed man who has left our city behind and uses him as public proof that she is upholding the traditions. Meanwhile, I know he wasn’t a challenge to what you two have. I’d be fine with that if I didn’t start hearing about you and this gypsy.”

“Kira told me to uphold the traditions of your people,” the forest tracker argues, letting the griffin spirit sink back into his subconscious. He can still feel Stiletto at the fringe of his mind, the dog’s influence enough to sharpen his teeth. “I was honoring her request and I thought she was doing the same. Sari and I toned it down months ago because we want to sit down and talk to your daughter. Now, where is she?”

“You don’t understand our traditions.”

“Then punish me and teach me.”

“It isn’t my place to do so.”

“Then stay out of it!”

“On my beloved wife’s spirit, I will not let my daughter destroy her life for someone like you,” Wayland coldly says. A spearman breaks ranks to whisper in the man’s ear and swiftly moves back into position. “It appears this meeting is done. My butlers and maids will show you all to your rooms. If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”

Grunts and shouts are heard coming down the hallway as Wayland gets to his feet and freezes. The sound of a body hitting the door echoes throughout the room, the sound repeating a few more times as if someone is trying to bash their way in. Asher and Timbre are on their feet with weapons drawn, the younger brother revealing a pair of long-handled sickles that he keeps hidden beneath the tail of his shirt. A lightly armored guard is hurled through the doors, the man landing on his back and rolling out of the way. Kira Grasdon storms into the room with her chain and sickle weapon drawn and a calico maid nervously following behind her. The black-haired woman is wearing leather armor and a furious glint is in her emerald eyes. She marches over to the table and slams the blade of her weapon into the polished surface, missing her father’s hand by an inch.

“This is why you sent me to check on the defenses,” she hisses in a voice that threatens to erupt into a scream. Her slender frame quivers from her anger mixing with the grief of recently losing so many loved ones. “You brought my fiancée and his friends here without telling me. I assume you were less than cordial in asking for their help.”

“I refuse to argue in front of our welcomed guests,” Wayland states, gesturing for his sons to stand down. The merchant rolls his eyes when Kira makes a wordless yell in rage in his chubby face. “This isn’t the time for you to get involved in this mess. We both know this relationship is nothing more than a fling and your mother will never approve. Imagine the pain you’re causing her by continuing with an outsider who doesn’t understand our ways.”

“Mom has been dead for years, dad!” Kira shouts, her arms shaking with anger. She tosses her weapon to the uncomfortable maid who rips the sleeve of her black and silver dress on the sickle. “Luke and I love each other and we’re in a unique situation. The rules have to be bent and I’ve jumped through every hoop you put in my way. Caspar, negotiating what you thought were impossible trade agreements, training with the local guards, and cleaning some of the more disgusting areas of the manor. What else do you want?”

“I just-”

“I don’t care what you want anymore! I can’t believe you’re continuing this feud while our family is being murdered. Get your priorities straight, dad, or you won’t have an empire to rule over.”

Quill bravely slips between his uncle and cousin, placing his hands on Kira’s stomach to move her back. “Please calm down, Kiki. We need to work together and put these personal issues aside. I agree that your father went about things the wrong way, but you can’t change the past. Let’s forgive each other and survive as a family.”

“Only because you asked, Quill, but I’ve business with two of our guests,” Kira says, her eyes never leaving her father’s furrowed face. She takes a deep, shuddering breath to regain her composure and put on a smile. “Eileen, please take Timoran, Delvin, and Fizzle to their suites. Luke and Sari will be coming with me to the peacock room. I already have the cook sending coffee and a platter there.”

“Yes, milady,” the brown-haired calico says while handing the kusari-gama back to her mistress. She turns to the adventures and flashes them a pleading look, her tail randomly flicking behind her. “Please follow me to your chambers. I will have baths drawn for you and fresh pajamas laid out on your beds.”

Timoran and Delvin get to their feet, the smaller warrior begrudgingly walking around the table. He lets the barbarian nudge him toward the door, but everyone can see the tired expression of defeat on his face. Fizzle grabs two apples before following his friends, his tail snagging a fake one out of a decorative bowl near the doorway. They quickly hear a slew of draconic curses and the wax fruit is hurled back into the room.

“No chance we get to rest before this, huh?” Luke asks as he walks around the table.

“I want to get this over with,” Sari states, grinning at the heiress. “Besides, it’s nice to finally meet my rival.”

“The pleasure is going to be all mine,” Kira says with a wider smile that sends a shiver down her fiancé’s spine. “I’ve been dreaming about this meeting for a long time. Down to the last detail. Follow me, lover and his gypsy.”