Winter Warrior (Song of the Aura, Book Two) (30 page)

   
He was soon deep in casual conversation with Patnel, who seemed as willing as any man to have jovial company in the lonely night’s watch. Soon, seated at a low whitewood table in one corner of the armory, they shared a bottle of the strange blue wine perfected by the Reethe. As they talked animatedly of the events that had so recently rocked the Reethe city of Mythigrad to its core, Lauro stealthily scanned the tall racks of weapons and armor that lined each wall of the armory, twenty feet high, twice as wide, and almost four times as long. There was no doubt at all in his mind that he could find a suitable weapon here to replace the shortsword he had lost in the wreck of the
Mirrorwave
almost two weeks ago.

   
“…As I was saying,” Patnel continued in the high-pitched, slow accent most nymphs who could speak the common tongue acquired, “there isn’t much we can know- or hope to know, really- about the Aura who dwells in the Grymclaw. We Reethe have had few enough dealings with the outside world in the past, and even fewer now that we’ve split with our M’tant brethren in the Blackwood. Not to mention the fact that no one’s actually ever
met
one of the Aura before… it’s only rumors that say one lives in the Grymclaw at all…” And on and on.

   
Lauro had heard most of it already, and from more reliable sources than Patnel. There were few towns and no cities in the bleak peninsula of the Grymclaw, but if he was to survive he would need to find at least one of them. He thought he could, without much trouble; then it would just be a matter of time before he could figure out from rumors where the legendary being was said to abide. With his ever-increasing powers over the wind, he could easily move on from there.

   
“…do you suppose?” finished Patnel, sitting back and propping his feet up on the table, obviously waiting for an answer to his question. Lauro’s mind raced- what had the guard been saying? Suddenly, the answer came to him, and he almost laughed.

   
“I don’t know about the others,” Lauro answered, a little too quickly, “But my wind-striding will help me find the Aura the quickest, for sure.”

   
“How so?” Patnel asked, raising an eyebrow and swigging more wine from a whitewood tumbler. Lauro sipped at his own, eyeing Patnel’s for a second before meeting the nymph’s eyes.

   
“You’re draining the drink rather quickly, aren’t you?” Lauro chuckled, and Patnel grinned, his teeth stained blue. “More?”

   
“Indeed-
hic
!” smiled the guard, passing his cup. Lauro swayed as he took it, acting more inebriated than he actually was. When he grasped for the wine bottle, it fell on its side, spilling out over Patnel’s side of the table. The nymph cursed good-naturedly, hiccupping as he righted it. Two seconds for his gaze to be distracted, but it was enough. Lauro took the bottle from him and poured the rest of its contents into Patnel’s tumbler before passing it back. “Thankee,” the nymph grinned, sounding for all the world like any common human drunk that Lauro had ever encountered. The prince nodded shakily, acknowledging the thanks, and mopped up the spill with a rag lying nearby, usually used to polish blades.

   
“Well, now,” the guard finally said, “about that power of yours.” He leaned forward, an eager glint in his eye.

   
“What of it?” Lauro asked as innocently as he could. Patnel’s face was turning a bit red. Good.

   
“Do you really think you can find the Aura on your own?” The abrupt nature of the question caught Lauro off guard.

   
“Well, yes, I do,” he admitted.

   
“You really mean to run off, then?” questioned the guard.

   
The prince leapt back from the table, aided by a gust of wind he summoned in his surprise. His chair clattered to the floor. “Wha- what do you mean?” he stuttered, his chest constricting with the realization that he’d been caught.

   
“Augh, come now,” Patnel smiled coldly, pushing himself up from his seat and leaning forward conspiratorially, “Think you that you had gone so unnoticed? Pulled the wool over our eyes, as humans say? Your own friends are too clever for that. The Raitharch’s been listening to them, and they’ve been telling him to keep an eye on you… which he has, through me… and others. Your willingness to ply me with drink and your obvious travelling clothes are just two more condemnations, my friend.”

   
With an ease that belied his slim looks, Patnel slid the table aside with his right hand. His left was raised slightly, and when he snapped it a cold breeze chilled Lauro’s bones. A Frost Strider. Patnel the armory guard was a Frost Strider.

   
“Well, well,” Lauro sighed, “You’ve figured me out, then, haven’t you? Will you stop me, then?”

   
“By Sea and Sky I will, if you give me trouble,” Patnel said, raising his chin, “But now-” Suddenly, his head lolled back and he collapsed in a dead faint on the cold floor of the armory.

   
“Whoops,” said Lauro, rolling his eyes, and walked past the body…

PREVIEW OF

-THE EXCATHER CYCLE-

BOOK ONE

-MORDRED-

   
Night lay over all of Ancient Britton. It darkened the forests of Rience in the South and swept haughtily over the mountains of Darkumbra in the North. It lay heavily over the forgotten realms of Albion and Cornwall, but over the western empire of Caledonia it floated like a dream. Great forests rustled mysteriously in the midnight wind, mingling sounds of beast and tree and fountain. Immense plains and fields of shadowed amber and muted green swayed in this same breath of air, and mountains rumbled and spoke with hidden thunder. As the wind blew across the realms of living men, the halls of wood and stone sent up to heaven a melody of their own, a silence built by years of toil and valorous deeds. Camelot, the mightiest city of that age, slept in a mantle of moonlight, a monumental guardian of the land.

   
“Arthur.”
A voice whispered through the night like a breath of wind. No answer.

   
“Arthur.”
It breathed through the forests, across the fields, under the mountains, and right to Camelot's doors. No answer.

   
“Arthur.”
A barely perceptible shiver ran through the walls and towers, keeps and steeples of the great city. No answer.

   
“Arthur.”
The King of Caledonia woke with a start, the voice calling his name through the halls of time.

   
“Arthur.”
He sat up slowly, feeling for Gwen and knowing she was beside him, asleep. Quietly, he slipped out of bed and dressed, all the while that whispering windy call driving him to wakefulness.

   
“Arthur.”
Slipping in and out of the nightly shadows, he made his way to the topmost tower of the palace: Merlin's observatory. Slowly and sleepily he made his way past all of the wizard's jumbled artifacts and books. There was a door in the opposite wall that would lead him to a balcony that looked out over the whole sleeping city.

   
“Arthur.”
Not sure what to expect, he opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. He was searching for someone, anyone, but there was no one there. Who was calling?

   
“Arthur.”
The king whirled and faced the wizard who had suddenly appeared. There was silence for a long time. Then-

   
“Danger, my King. Your rule is failing, your knights are in disarray.”
Arthur tensed as the specter of his old friend spoke. “Merlin,” the king whispered, “Can it truly be you?”

   
“Danger. Your rule is at an end. Beware of Mordred.”
Merlin's face suddenly shifted, wavered, and blew away in the wind, his body following.

   
“Beware.”
The wind whipped and roared around the king like a living thing.

   
Mordred is coming.
Arthur cursed and grasped at the ghostly apparition, but the wizard was gone. In his place was a tall youth with long black hair. His white face was marred by what may have been a scar or a tattoo. His eyes shone with otherworldly light.

   
Doom.
Expressionless, the stranger blocked Arthur's lunge and gave him a violent shove that sent the king over the edge of the parapet. There was a roaring wind, and Arthur was engulfed in a wet, grey mist that stopped his fall and blocked his vision. Sounds of battle sounded like thunder around him, and the king felt a sharp pain in his side. He put his hand to his body and took it away bloodied. And all around that horrible screaming wind-

   
-Arthur woke up standing alone in a cold, desolate chamber, long abandoned. The king gritted his teeth. Of course. Merlin had been missing for years. He had somehow walked in his sleep all the way to the wizard's old and long since abandoned rooms. It had all been a dream. He turned to leave the lonely room- and stumbled on something he could not see. Hand outstretched, the king attempted to halt his fall by grasping at the door handle. Slipping to his knees, the Roman monarch cursed the dark and pulled himself back up.

   
Mordred
. The name had been violently burned into the expensive wood of the observatory door. The black marks spread out in spidery lettering like a bleeding wound: Merlin's last prophecy. Underneath the name was a series of scorches and scratches that Arthur had never noticed there before. It was writing, Latin maybe, but in the shadows he couldn't tell what it said.

   
Lurching out into the darkened hall, the king made for his room once more…