My Lady Mage: A Warriors of the Mist Novel (2 page)

It was almost time to begin, but standing on the edge, so far from the center of the water, didn’t feel right. She studied her surroundings, noticing for the first time a stone outcropping that jutted out over the pool off to her left. Her feet were already moving in that direction before she made a conscious decision to go.

The mist had left the rocks damp and slippery, making it difficult to walk. Her heart climbed into her throat as she slowly made her way, sidestepping across the narrow ledge to where the rock widened out over the pool below. There she hung her cloak on a branch of a tree that twisted up and out from between the rocks above. With the crumpled paper in hand, she drew a deep breath and walked out to the very edge.

She ignored the queasy knot of fear in her stomach. With a deep sigh, she cleared her throat before reading the words, at first in a soft whisper, then stronger, offering her plea to the darkness. As she reached the end of the first line, she became aware of the heavy silence surrounding her. Gone were the normal sounds of the night, leaving behind only the muted burbling of the river itself. It was as if the entire world held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

The words, awkward at first, now poured from her mouth as she raised her hands upward toward the full moon directly overhead. The black sheen of the water swirled into silver, reflecting only the night sky above and giving no clue what lay beneath the surface.

“Mighty warriors, dwellers of the deep, hear my plea and awake from sleep. Darkness and fell deeds now haunt this land. Lift your swords for my people. This I command.”

They were daring words, she knew, as she repeated them for the third and final time. When the last one died
away, she held her breath, waiting and watching for some sign that the Lord and Lady of the River had heard and would release the warriors from their hold.

Nothing. Silence, at first, but then slowly the normal sounds of the night returned. The nearby call of an owl startled her, almost causing her to lose her balance. She quickly backed away from the edge of the drop-off, retreating to where she’d left her cloak. Disappointment tasted bitter.

Given the late hour, there was little chance that her absence had gone unnoticed. She had no choice now but to return to the keep and face the consequences of her follies. She shuddered at the thought of her uncle’s wrath, well aware that he would likely order her beaten for disobeying his orders. She still bore the bruises from her last attempt to defy him, but someone had to stand up to his tyranny.

She looked to the moon’s cool face one last time before leaving the river’s edge. Oddly enough, she felt comforted by the pure silver light that streamed down from above, less lonely, less desperate.

“Thank you for listening,” she whispered in the cool night air, feeling a little foolish.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than a ripple slithered across the surface of the pool. She froze, uncertain that she’d really seen anything at all. Then it happened again and again until the water churned and frothed with a deepening roar.

Fear mixed with wonder at the sight unfolding before her. Could it be that her plea for help had indeed reached the ears of the gods? Just as abruptly, the river stilled but thrummed like that last moment of peace before a storm exploded over the keep, bringing with it a flash of lightning and the crash of thunder as if the gods themselves were at war.

Then, an arm brandishing a sword burst forth from the
deepest part of the river. Merewen wanted to run, but her feet remained frozen in place. A second sword appeared, this one oddly curved but just as deadly. Within a handful of heartbeats, three more joined in, bringing the total to five. With the appearance of the last one, all started moving in her direction.

The manuscript had been vague on the details of what Merewen should expect, other than to say the warriors known as the Damned should not be called upon lightly. Now she knew why. One by one, five men strode from the river. Not a single drop of water fell to the ground from either their weapons or their clothing. How could that be?

And their eyes were a horror to behold—pale to the point of having no color and glowing with the cold chill of death. They spread out, leaving her no avenue of retreat if she’d been foolish enough to think she could outrun even one of them, much less all five.

The middle warrior took one step closer to her, his sword held up in challenge. “Woman, why have you called us?”

Merewen met his hard, pale gaze head-on, holding it for what seemed like an eternity. Then she did what seemed the sensible thing.

She fainted.

“Captain?”

Gideon tore his eyes away from the woman sprawled at his feet to look at his four companions, nodding at each one in turn. How long had it been since they’d last stood together, free from the deep chill of the river? Too long by far, and all too short would be the days that they walked free under the sun and moon.

The woman stirred, drawing all of their attention back to her. Who was she that the gods granted her demand when they had denied so many before her? He’d heard
each and every call for help over the centuries. Most had done little more than briefly disturb his sleep; yet this woman had called out, and the gods had answered. He sheathed his sword, confident that the others would guard his back while he dealt with her. Gideon knelt down and slid his hand under her head to check for injuries.

“Is she well?”

Gideon frowned at Averel, the youngest of the warriors. “No, she’s not. She’s unconscious, but there are no lumps or blood.”

At least she was breathing. He took in the details of her appearance at the same time he ran his hands over her in search of further injuries. Her hair was a rich, deep brown, and he was willing to bet it sparkled with red in the noonday sun. Her hands were surprisingly calloused for a female of quality. Styles might have changed since he’d last walked the land, but he recognized expensive cloth when he saw it. Who was she to wear the clothing of a high-ranking woman and yet have the hands of a commoner?

Rather than ponder more questions for which he had no answers, he rubbed her hands, hoping to awaken her without frightening her any more than they already had. Why was it that petitioners asked the warriors to appear and then panicked when they did? Even after all the times he’d answered their calls, he’d yet to have one stand his ground. At least this woman hadn’t gone screaming back down the trail, forcing Gideon to send one of his men pelting after her.

“Someone wet a cloth in the river and bring it here.”

He would’ve done it but found himself reluctant to leave the woman’s side. It didn’t surprise him that it was Duncan who immediately headed back to the water’s edge. Murdoch’s sense of duty wouldn’t allow him to leave Gideon’s back undefended while he was kneeling
and unable to draw his sword. Young Averel was too busy staring at the woman to do anything else. And Kane avoided all contact with outsiders. Whether the woman lived or died was of no importance to the dark warrior.

“Here, Captain.”

Duncan thrust a dripping scrap of cloth into Gideon’s hand and then stepped back. Gideon squeezed the excess water out of the rag before laying it across the woman’s forehead. She moaned softly, and her eyes fluttered as she tried to wake up. He didn’t want to frighten her, so he eased his hand from beneath her head and moved back slightly.

As soon as he did, her eyes popped open and stared directly into his, a wild, fey look in their dark depths. When she struggled to sit up, he reluctantly offered her his hand. She ignored the gesture, instead pushing herself upright after dropping the wet rag back into his palm. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted that she’d avoided his touch.

“Who are you?” she demanded now that she had gathered her wits about her. Then she answered her own question. “The Warriors of the River, the Damned.”

He flinched, hating that description even though it was true. He rose to his feet, towering over her. “Just warriors will do, my lady, or, as the one whose petition was granted by the gods, you may use our given names.”

When Duncan offered her his hand to help her stand, she accepted. It shouldn’t matter, but the slight fed Gideon’s temper. It wasn’t as if she knew any of them well enough to know who was the most trustworthy.

“I regret my unseemly reaction to your sudden appearance. I don’t know what came over me.”

Her smile was a bit uncertain, but she offered it to each of them in turn, even Kane, which spoke to her courage. “If you would be willing to share the gift of your names, I would know them. Mine is Merewen.”

So she knew enough of the old ways to know that there was power in the exchange of names, especially when the gods were involved. He nodded toward Averel, wordlessly ordering him to provide the necessary introductions. It was amazing to realize that the young knight still had the tendency to blush after all these centuries.

“I am Averel, my lady, and this noble warrior next to me is Duncan.” He pointed toward the other side of their ragged line. “That is Murdoch on the right, and Kane on the left.”

Each man responded to the introduction according to his own nature: Duncan smiled and bowed slightly, Murdoch jerked his head in a quick nod, and Kane stood back and ignored everyone.

Merewen acknowledged each introduction before turning in Gideon’s direction. His four friends joined her in staring at him as Averel came to attention and spoke one more time.

“And this, my lady, is Gideon, our captain and Avatar of the Gods.”

The power of her gaze held weight, as if she dared to judge him and perhaps found him lacking.

“That is quite a title, my lord. It must be a heavy burden to carry,” she said, a teasing smile tipping up the corners of her mouth.

He was too old and too tired to put up with audacity from one such as she. He allowed his temper to show in his reply. “The night grows short, Lady Merewen. We have much to do before dawn. Please explain yourself.”

She remained quiet for another few seconds. Was she having trouble accepting what she’d set in motion here tonight? Second-guessing her decision would accomplish nothing. Even if she did have regrets, it was far too late for that. The gods themselves had weighed and judged her petition and found it worthy.

For the next three months until the summer solstice,
she had five warriors to fight her battles for her. Did she think they were any happier about the situation? Granted, whatever her difficulties were, he was sure they were dire or else he’d still be sleeping beneath the heavy chill of the river. But did she think the existence that he and his men had been condemned to was any better?

If at long last he managed to balance the scales with the gods, he and his men would finally find peace in the halls of their fathers. If he failed yet again, they would count themselves lucky to end up back in the darkness under the river’s mirrored surface where not even a glimmer of sunshine penetrated. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Perhaps he deserved to wander in the eternal black night of the afterworld alone and lost, but the others were guilty only of being his friends.

He stepped forward, deliberately crowding Merewen and taking small pleasure when she immediately retreated. Then her chin snapped up, and her eyes narrowed in anger. He smiled, but the expression had very little to do with being friendly.

“You’re keeping me waiting, Lady Merewen. You’ll do well to remember that I am not a patient man.”

M
erewen flinched as the five men crowded closer. Despite their varied appearance, there was no mistaking them for anything but seasoned warriors, the shimmer of barely controlled violence there for anyone to see. One even bore the mark of a dark mage on his right cheek.

She suspected it wouldn’t take much to provoke their tempers, especially that of Captain Gideon. That would not deter her, not when the lives of her people depended on her ability to convince him to lead his men against her uncle and perhaps against even Duke Keirthan himself.

In truth, all of the citizens of Agathia had suffered under Duke Keirthan’s cruel iron-fisted rule. Her own people bore the second burden of Uncle Fagan’s selfish neglect.

Gideon arched an eyebrow and glanced skyward. Merewen followed his gaze and gasped. The moon was already fading as the world prepared to welcome the sun again. A chill that had nothing to do with the cool of the night washed over her. There was little possibility she would be able to return to the keep before sunrise.

“I must leave now. I’ll return to explain everything when I can.”

Meaning when she could escape the confines of the keep again, which would prove far more difficult to do if her uncle had discovered her absence. She started to retreat
when the dark one, Kane, blocked her path. She spun to the right, only to find another warrior in her way.

“Please, there’s no knowing what my uncle will do if I don’t return before sunrise.”

Captain Gideon gave her a considering look. When she realized he was staring at her hands, she clenched them in fists to hide the trembling. She had good reason to fear her uncle’s temper.

“How far a journey is it?” Gideon asked.

“An hour’s walk, perhaps longer.” Especially when the long trek up the mountain had already left her exhausted.

He nodded as if reaching a decision. “I will escort you to within sight of your home. You will explain your need of us on the way.” After looking at the others, he added, “Kane, accompany us.”

But she was already shaking her head. “I appreciate your offer, Captain, but it will be disastrous if we encounter my uncle or his men with only the two of you.”

Kane’s answering laugh was chilling. “For them, not us. It’s been a long time since my sword dined well on the blood of an enemy.”

“Kane, we will not provoke a fight.” The words were spoken softly, but Gideon’s rebuke was clear. Then he added, “Yet. If there is to be a battle, it will be at a time of our choosing.”

Merewen shuddered. What had she unleashed by calling upon such cold killers? But then, her uncle had left her no choice. If someone didn’t stop Fagan, the legacy of countless generations past would be destroyed and everything, including her, sold off to the highest bidder.