Sword's Call (7 page)

Jorrin’s heart pounded, his voice caught in his throat. She was absolutely stunning. All thought fled as she flashed a half-smile and he tried not to stare at her full lips. Tried not to remember them moving beneath his.

“Hi, there,” she responded in the same light tone.

“What were you thinking about?” He swallowed a cringe at the crack in his voice.

She cocked her head to one side. “Varthan, mostly . . . Aunt Em and Uncle Everett . . . what we’re going to do when we get to Tarvis . . . the list is a circle that doesn’t end.”

“Those are very dark thoughts. Too dark, in fact, for such a lovely day.”

Cera harrumphed.

“Just trying to lighten your mood. Did it work?”

“Not really.”

“Still angry with Avery?”

“Avery? No, I wasn’t mad at my cousin. I was . . . annoyed.”

“Annoyed? Sheesh . . . I hope you never are
annoyed
at me like that.”

Cera giggled, and Jorrin grinned. He’d succeeded in lightening her mood, and her laugh made his heart stutter.

“I’m not annoyed with him—anymore, at any rate.”

“Did you hear that, Avery?” Jorrin called. He glanced over his shoulder.

Cera’s cousin was riding closer to them, within hearing distance.

“Yes. Thank the Blessed Spirit,” Avery said with exaggerated relief, allowing them all a small laugh.

Trikser made a barking-growling noise Cera had never heard before.

She glanced over from the banter with Jorrin and Avery in time to see him fly like an arrow—disappearing into the woods edging the entire length of the road.

The three of them exchanged a look, and then Cera turned Ash off the road.

“Can you call him?” Jorrin asked.

Cera paused. “I suppose I could shout.” She tried not to roll her eyes.

“I meant with your mind.”

“I can’t.  My abilities are limited by distance. Besides, I’ve never seen him do this before. He seemed pretty hyped about something. He probably wouldn’t respond right away, even if he did hear me.”

“But he’s your bondmate.”

“Yes, and sometimes things work as such.” Cera frowned. “Look, I don’t have time—”

“I could teach you.”

“Teach me what?”

“I could teach you to expand your abilities. Even to see through his eyes, as if you were riding beside him while he ran. I’ve done it before, but your influence is too strong for it to work if I tried now. There are spells, as well as simple techniques to widen and deepen your magic—your bond with him. I could also show you how to understand him better.”

“Like words?”

“Not that advanced. It’s possible, but not with a wolf, I don’t think.”

Cera loved Trikser, and though she considered herself rather skilled at communication with him, she’d love to learn more.

When they’d bonded, her teacher hadn’t been the most adept mage. Karolyna had been bonded to Trikser’s mother, though, and had taught Cera all she knew.

“That’s all well and good, cousin, but don’t you think we should find him now?” Avery cocked his head to one side, and gestured toward the woods with his dagger.

Jorrin drew his sword and Cera reached for her own dagger with a nod.

“Back, beast,
back
I say,” someone shouted as they struggled through the underbrush.

Cera kicked Ash harder, ignoring Jorrin’s shout to wait. She had to stop Trikser from being hurt, or even killed.

She followed the continuing shouts, yanking Ash to a halt when she came to a small clearing. Straight ahead was a bedraggled cabin with smoke drifting from the chimney.

A ragged horse, its ribs showing, was tied to a post outside. The old nag gave a curious whinny, which Ash returned.

Cera swung her leg over the saddle, sliding down his side in a hurried and improper dismount.

She listened hard, not seeing the owner of the shouting voice, nor did she see her wolf. There was a small barn to the left, perched at the edge of the woods. It was in better shape than the cabin.

“Cera . . . what . . . ?” Avery asked from his seat on Valor.

Jorrin dismounted Grayna beside her at the same moment, and she shushed them both.

“Did you hear the shouting?”

“Yes,” Jorrin whispered. “It was over there, I think.” He pointed into the woods to the right of the clearing.

“Stop,” the voice shouted again. “Bring that back, you scoundrel! Thief!”

Trikser ran out into the clearing, something clutched between his strong jaws. His tail wagged wildly, and she received playful thoughts from him.

The owner of the item and voice didn’t follow her bondmate.

Cera stared as he skidded to a stop at her feet. “Trikser, what . . . ?” She shot a look at her cousin when he gasped and dismounted his white gelding.

“Look at that!”

She exchanged a glance with Jorrin, and then followed Avery’s gaze to see what Trikser had dropped at her feet.

Her wolf was very proud of himself and gave a small wuff as she bent to retrieve it. Cera absently scratched his ear as she tried to determine what she’d picked up.

Trikser leaned into her hand, sitting heavily on his hindquarters.

The piece was about a foot long, and looked like a refined stick. It was light and flexible, and Avery bristled when she shook it, then bent its end.

“Cera,
don’t.
Do you know what that is?” He snatched the stick from her hand.

“It’s a wand,” Jorrin said matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Avery breathed, “but I’ve never seen one this . . . this . . . well crafted.” He looked at them, gray eyes full of wonder.

The shouting in the woods became louder, but Cera couldn’t understand the words.

Cursing? What the heck language was that?

Wait.

At least one word was something Jorrin had said at the
Dragon’s Lair.

“That’s because it’s an elf wizard’s wand.” Jorrin looked toward the wooded area with wide eyes, his lips parted.

“Really?” Avery asked, turning it over. Green sparks flew when he bent it. He jumped back, yanking his hand away, almost dropping the wand.

Cera snorted. “I thought you said not to do that.”

“Never mind that. Don’t you think we should find its owner?” Jorrin gestured. He glanced at her bond, but Trik only wagged his tail.

“Why?” Avery asked. “If it’s an elf’s wand, shouldn’t we keep it? I mean, I don’t know of any elves around here, do you?” He went on before either could answer, “I mean, whoever Trikser took it from probably stole it.”

Jorrin cocked his head toward the voice that was still shouting. “Since I’m the only one with expertise in that area, I can assure you the cursing from the woods over there—and it
is
cursing—is Aramourian. Last time I checked, the only beings who speak it with the correct accent—again, as he
is
—would have to be elfin.”

“Oh . . .” Avery muttered, crestfallen.

Her cousin had always been intrigued with magical items, and he’d have given almost anything to keep the wand.

Cera covered a smile and then turned to her wolf. “Trik, what have I told you about stealing things?” The wolf rose, wagging his tail so hard his rear end wiggled. She probed his mind, but he seemed to have acquired selective comprehension. Throwing her hands up, she sighed. “Take us to the wand’s owner.”

She ignored Jorrin’s laugh as Trikser dove into the woods to the right of the clearing.

Cera followed at a jog, the two men on her heels. She gaped as her bondmate came to a stop in front of a wizened figure.

Jorrin had been right about the wand’s owner. He was an elf, no taller than a ten or eleven-turn-old human child, his face flushed with several shades of red. His bushy white brows were drawn tight and low.

She was no empath, but irritation rolled off him in waves. Cera could feel the magic.

The elf’s clothing was as shaggy as his white bushy beard. His brown tunic hung off of his thin shoulders, his dark breeches oversized and baggy with a belt tightly wrapped around his slender waist. There was a ragged black triangular hat in the fallen leaves near his left foot.

He glared up at them.

As they watched, he yanked with all his might, attempting to free his right foot. A very dark green vine-like plant Cera had never seen before encircled his ankle. The more he pulled, the tighter it got, creeping up his thin calf, well on its way to his knee.

“About time.” His accent was thick, although his earlier shouts in her dialect had been clear.

Trikser wuffed at her feet, stepping forward, then backing up. He looked up at her.

“You,” the elf shouted, pointing at her wolf.

Trikser only wagged his tail.

Cera gasped, looking from the elf to her wolf and back. She had to order herself not to step in front of Trik to protect him.

That would’ve reversed their usual roles for sure.

The elf shook an angry finger at her bond. It was quite a long finger for his small wrinkled hand.

She cocked her head to the side, studying him.

His tapered ears were longer than Jorrin’s, and his wild white hair partially concealed their tips. Somehow, he was still beautiful. Delicate.

Narrowing his eyes, he scowled at her wolf.

Trikser wagged his tail, taking a step toward him again.

Was he thought-sending to him?

“Don’t give me that. They’d have come anyway.” The elf gestured to his caught foot. “You left me helpless to my strangleweed.” He sighed, rolling his eyes to the tree canopy and muttering something in Aramourian. Then he glanced at Cera’s cousin. “Lord Lenore, may I?” He gestured to the pliable wooden stick.

Her cousin gaped and gave the wand to its owner with shaky hands.

She shot him a look and mouthed, “Do you know him?”

Avery shrugged and shook his head.

“Reverserio,”
the old elf commanded, waving his wand over the weeds. “Ah, much better.”

The strangleweed unraveled and straightened, bouncing up and appearing perfectly harmless.

The elf stepped forward, and then lost his balance. Shaking his head, he looked at Jorrin. “Master Aldern, will you assist me?”

The apple of Jorrin’s throat bobbed, but he gave a hasty nod, stepping forward to grasp the elf by his arm.

Cera wanted to demand an explanation, but couldn’t find her voice. She shook her head, following the others out to the clearing.

She glared as Trikser ran ahead.

What’s going on?

The elf tugged free of Jorrin’s hold when they reached the front of the cabin. The little man nodded thanks and jammed the pointed hat onto his head. He limped a few steps and shook his leg. “Hate strangleweed. Hate it worse when my own traps turn on me . . . mangy mutt’s fault, it is . . .” He threw a glare at Cera’s bond. “Leg won’t be right for days . . . too old for this . . .” he reverted to the other language after a moment.

“I don’t think he meant any harm.” Jorrin’s blue eyes were wide.

Cera wished she could understand the almost musical language. Even the cursing sounded pretty.

The elf shot a look at Jorrin and laughed.

Exchanging puzzled glances with her cousin and Jorrin, Cera stared at the old elf.

“I knew you spoke my mountain language. I miss them, how are they?” The longing in his tone made her sad. They were a long way from Aramour.

“The mountains?” Jorrin asked.

“Aye, of course.”

“Same as always?” Jorrin shrugged, a dark brow raised.

“Ha. I should have figured you wouldn’t have known . . .
mages . . .”
He shook his head.

“But . . . aren’t you a mage?” Avery asked.

“Wizard, my lad, old-fashioned wizard . . . if you see a wand, you have a wizard.”

“There’s a difference?” Her cousin asked, frowning.

“Much. No offense, since all three of you have the tendency, but there’s something wrong with a person who works magic without a wand.”

Avery did indeed look insulted, so Cera rested her hand on his arm to temper a response. She glanced at Jorrin, who was still studying the elf wizard as if something bothered him about the old elf.

Is something wrong?

“No offense taken,” she said, tearing her eyes away.

The elf wizard gave a curt nod and grumbled something under his breath.

When he turned toward the cabin, it was obvious he wanted them to follow, although he said nothing.

The bony-looking horse tied to a post near the front door whinnied as they passed and the elf shot him a sharp look. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

Jorrin’s magical senses screamed at him.

What kind of spell did the wizard have on the horse?

As they entered the cabin, it actually screeched. The whole place was saturated with magic. Colors and shapes whirled around him, making Jorrin feel like he was spinning in a circle. His ears ached, temples throbbed. His body hummed and his fingertips tingled.

There was too much magic.

He planted his feet so he wouldn’t keel over, dragging in labored breaths. Squeezing his eyes shut, he concentrated on shutting off his senses one by one. Slowly everything muted, the colors dimmed and he could function, but his head still protested.

“Shut up,” the wizard snapped. He was brandishing his wand threateningly in the air.

Cera’s bondmate rushed inside and flopped down on a rug in front of the fireplace, like he belonged there. When Trikser noticed Jorrin looking his way, he wagged his tail.

What the hell?

That’s a first.

The wizard gave a small smile and pointed his wand into the hearth.
“Firos.”

A warm, friendly fire sparked to life. The spellword was much the same as the one Jorrin used to start a fire with his own magic, but after what the wizard had said about mages, Jorrin wasn’t going to point it out.

“Come, come.” The elf beckoned.

The three of them were huddled not far from the doorway. Jorrin and Avery took a step forward, but Cera did not.

“I shan’t bite you, Lady Ryhan, have a seat.” He gestured to three comfortable looking chairs that were rather large compared to the stool he was perched on not far from Trikser and the fireplace.