The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key (30 page)

So Evhan settled in, readying his excuses, preparing himself against any and all challenges, determined to make sure that when the man known as Darinor returned, the Illychar would be ready.

C
LOUDS WRAPPED THE SKY,
a blanket tucked round the heavens so that only a sliver of the sun peeked through. From these fell a light rain, a swirling mist like that found at the base of a waterfall. Trees and stones glistened amid the morning mix of haze and shadow, their soaked and ragged forms suggesting an inner chill that would not be dispelled.

His cloak wrapped loosely about him, Torin sat upon an outcropping at the edge of the entrance to the Granmarch’s cave, watching Nymphs of all ages at work and at play. As they had upon his arrival, some returned his observation with looks of disdain, while others teased him with smiles and gestures both coy and inviting. Most, however, ignored him. Being the only male around, he was surprised they didn’t treat him more as an oddity. Clearly, men had no place in this society. Or did they?

He resisted the urge to ask Amber or Mirren—his constant companions since being freed from his restraints the night before—for their surliness toward him made it seem a dangerous topic. Instead, he peered past their looming shadows and into the cave mouth behind him. Though he’d been allowed barely more than a glimpse of the deeper areas, he was inarguably impressed by these formations beneath which the Fenwa had tunneled in order to make their homes. Were it not for the braziers used for light and warmth, he might never have guessed he would find anyone living within. Animals, perhaps. Wolves and bears and the like. Or maybe one of the ancient races—orcs or gnomes or dwarves—said to have inhabited such burrows in untold numbers before the coming to prominence of man. But not humans. And certainly not a rogue band of women, out here in the wild.

Seeing no sign of movement among the cave’s shadows, he shifted his attentions outward once more. Despite the various activities, the land itself remained virtually unmarked and undisturbed. Against all odds, these Nymphs appeared to have forged a rare balance between their needs and those of nature, resulting in a simple, harmonious co-existence.

It struck him as so very primitive, and he wondered how they managed it. At the same time, it all spoke of a plainness and serenity that was somehow appealing. If given the choice, he wondered which he would truly prefer: the comforts and responsibilities of a progressive society, or the rugged freedom of being removed from it all.

He was still pondering this when he heard the light scrape of footsteps approaching from behind. By the time he turned, Dynara and another he did not recognize were already upon him. As Amber and Mirren parted to either side of him, Torin rose quickly to his feet. Surprised to see the Granmarch so clearly outfitted for travel—and with another besides her kinmate—he glanced about for the missing Naia while offering a confused greeting.

“Dynara,” he welcomed with a polite bow. “I thought you were sending another.”

Her brow tightened, but the smile she gave him was utterly beguiling. Before he knew what she intended, she snapped forward with serpentine swiftness. He found himself stumbling backward, tripped at the heels. An instant later, he was on the ground, facing the sky and a sneering visage that remained somehow beautiful. A booted foot pinned his empty sword arm, while her opposite knee drove into his stomach. When all had settled, he could feel his pulse against the edge of a dagger held to his throat.

Helpless to do otherwise, he stared at his assailant with astonishment, and watched her sneer transform into a tenacious grin.

“You must be Torin.”

He held his tongue this time, along with his breath, waiting for the other to relax. She did so finally, leaning back and taking her dagger with her.

“My name is Dyanne,” she declared matter-of-factly. “Dynara is my sister. I would encourage you to remember that.”

He wasn’t likely to forget, Torin thought, fixating on the girl’s features—most specifically her breath as it clouded the surface of her blade.

When he realized that she was awaiting confirmation, he nodded.

“My kinmate’s name is Holly. Say hello.”

Torin glanced at the other, who regarded him with a devilish smirk. The best he could manage in return was an amiable grunt.

“Well then, I see my sister has already introduced herself,” came a familiar voice.

Dyanne’s bluff expression never changed as she slid her weapon into its sheath and offered him her hand. Torin accepted it, and she sprang back, helping him to his feet. From behind her came Dynara and Naia, the latter bearing the Sword and Pendant.

Once upright, Torin was able to get a better look at the newest pair of Nymphs to make his acquaintance. He could see now that Dyanne did in fact possess a handful of physical characteristics that set her apart from her twin. But the differences were subtle—a freckle here compared to a mole there, a slightly shorter length of hair, minor variations in shape and stance. Aside from that, she might have been a mirror’s reflection of the Granmarch, and every bit as stunning. He doubted their own mother had ever had an easy time distinguishing between the two.

Holly looked a child by comparison, with sable hair and beady black eyes. Given her plaintive cast and petite frame, she might have been a lonely waif with no more strength than a sapling of her namesake. But Torin remembered clearly that flash of a devil’s smile, and had been caught off guard more than
once already by these Nymphs’ deceptive ways. He would not be fooled by this one.

“Your effects,” Dynara said, as Naia extended his talismans. Torin accepted them eagerly, trying not to appear so, keeping one eye on Holly and Dyanne.

The Sword’s hilt, he noted, had been rewrapped with leather covering and thongs. It was amazing handiwork, much tighter and cleaner than his own. He considered inspecting the blade to make sure it was in fact his weapon and not a fake, but he didn’t need to, for even while sheathed and bound in its disguise, its soothing aura was unmistakable.

“I trust I do not have to remind you of the terms of our arrangement?”

Torin hung the Crimson Stone in place around his neck. “I’ll give you no cause to regret it.”

“Dyanne and Holly have agreed to accompany you. They have been instructed to aid you in whatever manner you require, but to utilize their own judgment in doing so. If you intend to do something foolish, do not expect them to follow. It will be up to them to decide at what point, if any, those precious artifacts are taken from you and returned here.”

They can try,
Torin thought, with a wary glance at the pair of Nymph Hunters. Now that he had the divine talismans back in his possession, he was determined not to lose them again. “I’m in your debt,” he said.

Dynara nodded, first to him, then to her sister and Holly. “Then I bid you all farewell.”

With that, she turned on a heel and headed back into her den. Naia went with her, as did Amber and Mirren, wheeling about one after the other. The next thing he knew, he was alone with Holly and Dyanne.

“Have you all the supplies you need?” Dyanne asked him.

Torin hefted his leather rucksack. Meager as they were, its contents appeared to be twice those contained in the various bags and pouches slung or cinched into place on the girls’ slender frames.

“I was instructed to prepare only for myself,” he admitted. “It’s not much.”

“It’s likely more than you’ll need,” Dyanne assured him, dismissing his concern with a toss of her head. “The forest will provide for us.”

Torin did not challenge the claim. Although he wanted to be sore with her for her unforgiving welcome, he found that as they stood there contemplating one another, he felt guilty instead.

“I’m sorry for my confusion,” he said, surrendering the apology he felt he was owed. “No one told me you were twins.”

“An honest mistake,” she replied evenly. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

Torin couldn’t decide whether her words constituted an acceptance or a warning. Finally, he looked to the sopping gray skies, seeking escape from her level gaze and the awkwardness he was feeling.

“Shall we set forth then?” he urged.

Dyanne studied him a moment longer, then turned to Holly. The two
shared a brief, unreadable look that yet spoke volumes between them. When it ended, both wore what seemed to Torin a knowing smirk.

“This way,” Dyanne said.

They worked their way west, following the downhill flow of the riverbed past the various boulder clusters that comprised the Nest. Several of the Nymphs stopped what they were doing or emerged from their dens to wave or whistle or call out wishes for a safe journey—mostly to Dyanne and Holly, Torin noted, rather than to him. He searched among them for Fawn and Jess, but saw no sign of the pair who had brought him here. The rest of those he did see barely marked the trio’s progress. He counted more than twoscore, all told, a fraction of the number he was certain were busy elsewhere, in their cairn-houses or the surrounding woods.

He would’ve liked to have met more of them, he realized, which surprised him. His brief visit to their private community had thus far provided him little more than scrapes and bruises to both body and mind. But it had been memorable to say the least, repaying in the hint of hidden wonders what it had cost him in self-esteem. He knew not what sort of spell these Fenwa had woven, but it intrigued him enough to make him want to learn more.

When they had passed below what appeared to be the last of the inhabited boulder caves, his guides veered northward, up along a switchback trail similar to that which he had descended upon entering from the south bank. Dyanne and Holly strode side by side ahead of him. It was difficult to keep his eyes on the path and off their strutting forms. Each carried herself with an unflappable air of self-assurance, as if fully aware of her own strengths and charms. Neither bothered to glance back at him, seemingly unconcerned with whether he followed at all. He watched their unbraided curtains of hair swish back and forth to the rhythm of their stride—particularly Dyanne’s, whose silken strands ended just above the small of her back, as if to draw focus to her hourglass shape. Once he was caught, it became that much harder to look away, for one contour led to another, trapping his gaze in an endless flow across her supple physique. Twin sister notwithstanding, never had Torin seen such a fine array of arcs and bends in a single individual, each and every curve right where he would have placed it himself. If the woman had been a sculpture or painting, he would have considered her a flawless work of art.

A sight so rare, it almost made his trials in coming here seem worthwhile.

He shook his head at his own fascination, and averted his eyes. Time and duty did not permit for such fancies. Nor was it fair to Marisha. Wriggling free of Dyanne’s enchantment, he turned focus to the many questions that would need answering before he traveled much farther along this new road.

The first was on his lips as they reached the top of the Nest’s embankment and started into the surrounding trees. But no sooner had the forest swallowed them than Dyanne headed him off with a question of her own.

“Did my sister tell you why she was letting you go?”

Her head only half turned as she asked him this, so that for a moment, he wasn’t certain she was speaking to him at all. He started to answer, then
hesitated, unsure what all Dynara might have said, and thinking it unwise as of yet to reveal the Granmarch’s desire to be rid of her own sister.

Dyanne took measure of his silence with a lighthearted snort. “Don’t worry, I’m no fool. You’re clearly a viable Catch. Worth keeping until next Season. Maybe longer. She must have really wanted me out of her way.”

Torin cleared his throat. “She made it sound as if you were itching to leave.”

She went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “Visiting Necanicum. I’m guessing that was her idea, not yours.”

“Did Dynara say otherwise?”

“No, but I didn’t want to confirm by asking her. To do so would’ve been a sign of weakness.”

Siblings and their power struggles,
Torin thought. He shook his head. “I was told to seek Lorre. We don’t have to make this other stop if you think it’s too dangerous.”

Dyanne laughed. “Same thing my sister said. A dare if you ask me, making a suggestion and then telling me to follow my own judgment.”

“Seems a poor reason to go marching into trouble.”

The woman shrugged, still keeping her back to him, her pace unrelenting. “It’s the right thing to do, if I understand your mission correctly. The Finlorians have not roamed these lands for our lifetimes and longer. Despite how unpredictable she is, we’ve a better chance learning something from Necanicum than from Lorre. Just wanted to clarify your knowledge of the situation.”

Torin suppressed a groan. “I’m at your mercy.”

At that, Holly laughed. “He’s a fast study, at least,” she said to her companion. She glanced back at him with impish delight. “What shall we do with him, I wonder.”

Torin frowned at the amusement all of these Nymphs seemed to be enjoying at his expense. His frustration emboldened him to ask a question that had been gnawing at him. “Tell me, what does it mean, all this talk of
catches
and
seasons
?”

Dyanne spared him another half-turn. “Many of those who form our ranks come from the lands abroad, seeking escape from various circumstances. The rest are the result of controlled breeding. Our Hunters capture men from the wild and deliver them to the Nest, where the best specimens are given over to those chosen to be Mothers for the Season.”

“And that’s all that’s required of them?” He couldn’t help but scoff at what was surely many a man’s fantasy. “I can think of worse methods of servitude.”

The pair looked at each other, Dyanne with an innocent smile, Holly with a wicked grin.

“Our breeding periods are strictly observed,” Dyanne explained. “The men are leashed, and disposed of at Season’s end. Rarely is it worthwhile to keep one alive throughout the rest of the year. Men are plentiful. For each new cycle, a fresh crop is brought in.”

Torin’s tongue grew thick in his mouth. Perhaps the Nest would not have been such a magical place to remain after all.