Page 43 of The Ivory King

“I was thinking of my boyhood, my apologies. Did you say something?” I shifted about on my mat, legs still crossed, to look at her profile. She was a lovely woman. If my heart did not rest in V’alor’s hands, I would have been drawn to her on a physical and emotional level, for we were well-suited in many ways. But she was rapidly becoming a sister to me.

“I thought you were perhaps admiring the way your guard captain looks in his armor,” she whispered and waggled a thin, dark brow. I snorted.

“He does look fine in it…” I paused. “And out of it.”

She laughed out loud and blushed when Merrilyn and V’alor, both deep in conversation about something quite serious, glanced our way.

“You are quite a scoundrel.” She giggled and tossed the bones from her dinner into the fire, causing the flames to spit and leap for a moment. “I find it fascinating how our chosen partners are so similar. I know that V’alor has been at your side since you were young as has Merrilyn been with me.”

“Mm, yes, he has always been there for me. I cannot imagine ever not being able to glance back and find him there,” I confessed.

“I feel much the same with Merrilyn.”

I asked a question that had been plucking at me for several hours. “Do you worry that you shall outlive her? We elves age much slower than humans.” She rolled her lips over her teeth. “I’m sorry. I should not have broached such a delicate subject.”

“No, it is fine. Honestly, I try not to dwell on that, but it is always there. She will indeed age quickly compared to me. I will bury her before I even have one crease of old age. But the heart desires what the heart desires, does it not?”

She glanced at me. I nodded. “That it does. I’m sure she will live for many years.”

“With Ihdos’ blessing,” she softly replied as her gaze flicked to her lady love.

The night passed without incident, my turn at watch ending at dawn. I sat close to the horses and mules with Tezen on my shoulder, her light chatter making the watch pass quickly. With the sun kissing the sky, we all rose with grunts and groans, none of us looking forward to another day of hard travel. Beiro watched the sky for signs of ravens returning from Celear, but none appeared as we kicked dirt over our firepit and set out once again.

The second day passed much as the first, as did the third, with miles spent in the saddle and sleeping mats on the ground. We tried our best to avoid any villages we spied, keeping to ourselves as best as we could. Raewyn and I stood out as nobles, even with our hair braided like wood elves. The length of the plaits shouted loudly about our bloodlines. We discussed cutting our tresses off, but our lovers both balked at the suggestion.

On the night of the third day, we found an abandoned barn on the outskirts of Kanazen. The roof had long ago fallen in on one side, but the walls were stout. The horses and mules were happy for old hay to rest on, and for once, we had protection from the frost that had followed us down the Witherhorn range.

We’d had no luck hunting, so our dinner was cold dried meat and the last of the fresh fruit. Water was easily found in an old well next to the remains of a burned-out home. A once proud elm stood blackened and split next to the home, the tree a testament to a lightning strike. Tezen and Beiro had nosed around inside the blackened shell, returning to the barn as night settled on the rolling farmlands to inform us that there were charred bones inside the house. Upon returning, Beiro found a place to observe us in the partially collapsed hayloft.

“We should lock the barn door,” Tezen whispered nervously, her little wings stirring up dust from the rafters that she was darting through.

“If there are ghosts, they can surely enter through the hole in the roof,” Pasil pointed out with a wave of his meat stick at the gaping hole above our heads.

“Stupid fucking roof,” Tezen grumbled, the pixie seated on a beam above us, purple dust falling down over my head. “You do know that the undead haunt places where they die a horrid death.”

We knew there were undead, yes, but they were generally raised by necromancers. And since the last necromancer of note had been killed ten years ago by Beirich and Kenton, the chances of the poor souls in the house hunting us down seemed slim. But I did not point that out to Tezen. Pixies were incredibly superstitious creatures. Science had proven many old folktales to be false already and more would fall by the wayside with the slow spread of Ihdos worshippers. Even the wood elves, with their love of Danubia, had seen a decline in the worship of the wood mother over the past few hundred years. The Sandrayan people were not as inclined to give up their gods for ours, and so that was another bone of contention in our diplomatic relations.

“I am sure the dead have been given the proper rites,” Merrilyn commented from her post at the rickety barn door. Sheand Beiro were on the first watch. I looked forward to curling up with V’alor for a few hours. I’d not touched him for days.

“What rites?! They lay there on the floor with their bones showing! That is no rite. They should be moved to the trees like the wood elves do, or incinerated as you city elves do, or laid to rest wrapped in the petals of a winter tulip and placed in a small burrow as my people do. Hell, they could even be chucked into a muddy pit like you humans want to do!”

I glanced to my right. V’alor sat beside me, his shoulders loose, his legs out before him. “She seems distressed. That was many dos,” I whispered as Tezen railed on about spirits coming for her in the night and dragging her into the bogs. She disliked bogs, it seemed. I’d never heard why swamps were so disliked by my tiny guard, but surely there was a story there.

“Pixies are always easily agitated about such matters,” he quietly replied.

“I heard that!” Tezen shouted from above, disturbing a few pigeons that had roosted on the barn beams high above. “Weare noteasily agitated! We are simply attuned to the dangers that the undead possess and if you elves were—” Her tirade stalled. “Did you hear that?!”

We all chuckled. Our pixie friend called us all withered ball sacks and pruned pussies right before the roof creaked loudly. V’alor looked skyward. A dozen or so hooded figures dropped through the hole in the roof.

This time, however, we were not caught unaware. Our weapons were at hand. Swords and bows and war picks flew into action as our attackers hit the hard-packed dirt floor.

We were outnumbered true, but we had two new fighters added to our ranks. I tried to step in front of Raewyn as I drew a dagger from my boot, but she was having none of it. With a gentle push, she moved around me, tugged her whip from her belt, and sent it out with a sharp CRACK that cut through thecool air like a scimitar. One of our attackers cried out as the whip tore through the cloth mask on her face, blinding her instantly. She fell to her knees as the other assassins leaped into action.

Even though it was dark outside, we did have the blessing of the twin moons’ light falling into the gaping hole in the roof. It struck me as a tall male came at me, daggers out, that the fight was incredibly quiet. There were no bellows or rage-filled shouts, just the shuffle of feet, elevated breaths, and the sound of steel on shield. My sight was locked on the man darting at me from the left, for he was dual-wielding, his eyes locked on me. Around me I could hear the others, the sound of an arrow from the hay mound impacting flesh, the whimper of pain as a sword entered a chest.

I sidestepped the first attack, using my blade to deflect the first strike. The second dagger found my hip, the blade glancing off the leather sheath that held my eating dagger. A lucky moment, for I could only assume the blades would be dipped in poison. I spun on my heel, driving out as the man sailed past. My dagger cut deep into his biceps, but no sound of pain escaped him. His eyes, the only part of him revealed, flashed angrily. I’d drawn first blood. Something about the shape of his eyes tugged at a memory, and then it was gone as the crack of a whip rang out in the barn. A slim figure was pulled from their feet. Tezen descended on the wildly flailing attacker, her shriek high and piercing, her picks driving deep into the assassin’s throat. He stopped struggling quickly as the dry ground soaked up his blood.

My attacker was lithe, quick, and agile. He moved around me, blades flashing as he struck out over and over, missing just by the width of a hair several times. A shield impacted someone to my left. A body fell. I ducked a platinum blade aimed at my face. I struck out like an asp. The blade of my dagger wentdeeply into the thigh of my assailant. He grunted, the tone of his voice also strumming my memory. I’d heard this man before. Perhaps he had been with the other groups that had tracked us over Melowynn.

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