The Gems of Raga-Tor (Elemental Legends Book 1) (46 page)

“That’s her decision. We’ll only have put her there. What she does is completely up to her,” Eris reminded.

“You’re right,” Raga agreed and stood up to stretch. “I think you should sleep again,” he said and started to walk away, then paused and turned back to look at Eris. “On the other hand, maybe you should lay there and think on that bath just a little longer.”

“Why?”

“Who knows, as Erisa, you might not be so badly injured and seeing Erisa the Wench once more…well, it would do my old, weary heart good to see such beauty and perfection once more,” Raga said and sounded serious.

Eris looked wide-eyed at him and his mouth dropped open in amazement. He didn’t know what to say, what to think. Was he teasing or not? Then he snorted with derision, when he saw Raga was making no effort to admit he was teasing.

“You can go to the pits, sorcerer,” Eris growled with a scowl to match. “If you ask me to do that again, I swear I’ll get out of this bed and you’ll see what other quirky secrets I have.”

“Fine, Eris, fine. Sorry I asked. Just remember I am going to the pits for half a year. Now all I have to take with me is the memory of your threats and your scowling face.”

Eris crossed his arms over his chest and the scowl on his face darkened as Raga’s illusory morning sun began to color his illusory sky with shades of pink and blue.

In the weeks that followed, Raga found his patience tried again and again as Eris’ progress was much slower than he thought it would be. He grumbled time and again that Tas-Moren had not been altogether fair with his healing. But Eris, who had a finer understanding of the fickle nature of gods, tried to bear up with stoic determination for Raga’s sake. Yet there were many days when he couldn't force his iron will on his injured body and had to submit to weakness, to the wrenching pain that brought anguished tears to his eyes and left him immobile for hours on end.

It was on those days that angry words passed between them. Raga could do nothing, but impatiently experience the frailty of Eris’ mortality, while Eris could hardly bare the fact that Raga, with his huge vitality, had to help him take the few steps to a chair or to the cave’s opening so he would have a change of scenery.

Three months passed by the time Eris healed and his strength returned, and returned in greater proportions than he originally had. Neither of them could say for sure whether it was the effect of Tas-Moren’s healing gift or whether Eris was benefiting from a much-needed rest and the abundance of magic-enhanced food. And both of them had to admit that either Raga had become shorter as a result of his experience, or Eris had somehow gotten taller.

During the afternoons of late, Raga’s tranquil patch of blue sky and green grass was disturbed by the clangor of sword against sword or sword against shield. Eris practiced and honed his fighting skills against a small army of illusory warriors that Raga had created specifically for that purpose. The violent activity finally brought him fully back to life and put the explosive spark back into his personality.

Weeks earlier Raga had been worried about his complete recovery, as he seemed listless and slow in his actions both physically and mentally. Now he was amazed by what he saw. Eris’ powerful frame, though he was still lean of waist and broad of shoulder, seemed almost too bulky and heavy for him to have the speed and agility he displayed.

When Eris had first started practicing with the illusory fighters, Raga had insisted on at least a chain mail tunic and shield to protect from any new injury. In time the shield gave way to a small dagger, then to a second sword and culminated in the battle being carried out before him now.

Dressed now in nothing but his breeches and boots, Eris feinted and parried, spun low and thrust upward from a kneeling position to take down one of the five men facing him. As he gained his feet, the second sword swung a wide arc and blocked a blow from behind. Pivoting away from the blocked blow, his free sword took the head off of the second. Eyes, mind and body functioned as a flawless unit as the swords in his hands sung a fearless song of might and prowess. Whirling, slicing, thrusting they were a wild, exhilarating display of controlled fury and a passion for perfection.

Eris dove forward beneath the swing of a mighty battle ax and rolled to a halt on his knees before the ax wielder. Lunging forward, crisscrossed strokes of the double swords gutted the fighter in front of him. He spun a quarter turn and leaned back on one elbow. The left-hand sword swung up and back taking the hands off of a pikeman. His right-hand sword shot up from the ground and plunged into another man’s belly.

He got to his feet to see the fifth attacker bearing down on him with sword and shield ready. Sword smashed against shield shattering it and the arm beneath as Eris brought his great strength against the fifth and most powerful fighter of the five. He feinted high, then swung low cutting deeply into the man’s leg. Undone by both blows, the man staggered back a step and dropped his guard, though slightly. Eris found his opportunity. His ribs heaved in a great lungful of air. A wave of muscle flexed and rippled across his chest as his arms arced backwards leaving his chest vulnerable for one quick, taunting moment before his shoulders drove both blades downward. The blades bit into the flesh and bone of the man’s shoulders and trisected him deep into his ribs. Blood sprayed in every direction and Eris turned his head against the thick drops. The phantom warrior let go a final gasp as Eris’ foot struck him mid-chest and knocked him back to clear the blood-slick blades from his body.

“Hah! Raga, those were five of your best,” Eris shouted triumphantly. Streams of sweat colored pink with splattered blood rolled down his face and chest that had been tanned by Raga’s sun. He swung his swords with a flourish and then crossed them as he brought them down in front of his chest and gave Raga a bow. He picked up a rag and wiped the gore from the blades then tossed it back to the ground where it disappeared with the phantom warriors’ torn corpses.

“Now you know that Eris Pann is the best,” he said with a confident smile as he put the swords into their respective sheaths that hung from a branch. He turned and walked with a bit of swagger toward Raga as one hand drew off the green band he had tied around his head. He tossed it onto the shady ledge where Raga sat to watch the mock attacks and then pulled himself onto it with a show of bravado.

“The best at being arrogant and smelling like a pig is more like it,” Raga quipped. “Go throw yourself in the pond and clean up a little.”

“All right, but when I come back we’re going to discuss our plans to capture Charra-Tir. I'm as good as new.” Eris pulled off his boots and let them fall to the ground where they landed with a thump. He jumped from the ledge, loped across the practice field and plunged into the pond’s cool water that was refreshingly real, not illusion.

Raga sighed and rested his head against the cool rock wall that was part of the ledge. As thrilled as he was for Eris’ progress, so he was equally saddened. He had longed for him to heal and had berated the gods that it had taken overlong for him to do so, but now that he had, he wished against it. Eris was better than well now and they needed to finish what they agreed upon. Once that task was accomplished, Eris would go back to his people, to his own world where magic was feared, and himself to the pits to fulfill his obligation to Riza; nothing at all to look forward to and be happy about.

Now that he and Eris were on cordial terms, he realized even more how much he enjoyed his company, but he knew as well that Eris was young, bristling with renewed life and the clarion call of adventure was not far away.

Considering the fight he had just witnessed, he realized that Eris had spoken the truth when he said that his most recent injuries were not common for him and were the result of Riza’s interference. It was no wonder he was so highly sought after to ride the caravan routes, and reap the rewards of any young man in the flower of youth. Raga had already started to sense Eris’ impatience to leave the Vale and be done with the things they needed to finish.
So it must be
.

Eris swam the length of the pond several times and then rested as he floated on the sun-sparkling surface. Raga’s sun felt warm on his face and for a few sweet moments he forgot that it wasn’t real and that it was really the red and black pockmarked sky that soared over him. He was more than pleased with the results of his recovery and decided that if his new-found strength and vitality remained even after he left the Red Vale, the price of the pain he had suffered was a fair price.

He hoped their departure would be soon, though. It had taken him quite some time to get used to the idea that he was still within the Vale walls, and struggled to be calm and let down his guard for fear that some other strange thing would happen to him. But nothing happened, nothing appeared out of the ordinary and he found himself growing accustomed to the place, even going so far as to look forward to Raga’s magical feasts.

Kicking up a splash, Eris rolled to his belly and swam a few more lengths before stepping from the water. He shook his head and sent sparkling droplets in every direction from whip-like strands of hair that had grown long past his shoulders during his convalescence.

Returning to Raga’s perch, his belly growled when he saw that the sorcerer had indeed prepared one of those feasts and had not bothered to wait for him before eating.

“You should stay in the sun until you dry a little,” Raga said as water got on everything.

“You shouldn’t fuss so much, Raga. A little water won’t hurt and might wash away your ill mood."

“What ill mood?”

“The one you’re having right now. After all these months together, do you think I don’t know you?” Eris said, filling his plate with roasted meat and bread.

“Hmmph,” Raga snorted and filled his plate with game hens.

“You should be happy. You don’t have to play nursemaid anymore, the horses are ready to go and Charra-Tir will be rather surprised to find us at her door. What’s the weather like outside the Vale anyway?”

“It’s the deep of winter. Why?”

“I was just trying to think of the best route through the Zephyran Mountains to get to Charra-Tir’s keep.”

“Don’t even bother thinking about it. With the restoration of my power, we don’t need the horses anymore to get where we’re going and my posterior is very thankful,” Raga said. He saw some of the light go out of Eris’ face at his words. “Listen, as long as we’re to be friends, you will just have to live with a little magic just as I have to live with that nasty temper of yours.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No, but you should be somewhat accustomed to it by now.”

“I suppose.” Eris shrugged and picked up a piece of honeyed cake. “All I want to do now is confront that witch and get on with my life. How soon can you be ready to leave?”

“Whenever you want as long as you think you are well enough."

“I’m better than well, so what about in the morning? Those dreams are starting to come back and the force of Erisa is rising fast.”

“Very well. Pack your things and tomorrow it will be. Let’s hope the weather in Zephyra is as it should be to carry out our plan,” Raga consented, but he wasn’t happy.

The morning sky grew pink and slowly blue as Raga’s sunrise rarely changed in form or color. The sorcerer stood in the grass outside his home and ran a finger along the smooth curve of his bow. He was dressed as he was when he and Eris had first met in Rennas Baye, which now seemed long ago. The gold thread sewn into the red velvet of his tunic flickered as tiny flames. His black trousers were neat and clean, and this morning found a red velvet beret placed at a jaunty angle on his head.

“Eris, I thought you were in a hurry. What’s taking you so long?” Raga shouted up to the cave entrance.

“I’m looking for that bundle of daggers I took from Reshan,” he shouted back.

“Under the bed.”

A moment later Eris stepped from the cave with the small bundle strapped over one shoulder. The jeweled hilt of the Tamori sword indeed looked like a kingly treasure hanging at his side. The hilt of a plain dagger stuck up from his left boot top, and both bracers were tied on and laden with weapons. As he skipped down the steps to the grass, he tied his favorite green sash around his head to keep the hair from his face.

“Are you sure you can’t cut some of this off? It’s not that difficult a thing to do,” Eris said, flipping errant strands out of his collar.

“No, I can’t”

“I think it’s because you don’t want to, not that you can’t. I think it reminds you of Erisa,” Eris said. He pulled a short dagger from the right bracer and reached behind his head.

Raga grabbed his arm and pulled his hand back down.

“Don’t tease. You’re still not uncursed, and we don’t have time for this foolishness. Now, pay attention. Are you ready?” Raga said gruffly.

Eris re-sheathed the dagger and breathed audibly.

“Yes. What are we going to do?”

Raga fingered the bowstring. “How about if we just get where we’re going and I’ll explain later. I don’t feel like experiencing one of your tantrums this morning."