Water Spell (Guardians of the Realm Book 1) Page 2

  “Her warrior has no training. For all I know, he may not know how to use a sword!”

  “This order is not to be questioned.”

  “Priest, this mage should never go near an ocean. We barely survived crossing the Channel!”

  “She is a water mage. It’s where she must be to serve us in the war.”

  “She is too powerful to be near an ocean with an untrained warrior, priest,” Karav said, turning his thoughts away from war. “She has had little exposure to water the past fourteen moons. The lake we passed was no more than a puddle, and it nearly drove her mad with magic. And you want to put her on a ship in the middle of the ocean?”

  “Because you grow weak, Karav. It’s the natural cycle of a warrior-mage. When your stone fades, so do you, and you begin to lose your ability to steady the mage. Her new warrior will possess the strength you lack.”

  Karav ignored the slight and focused on the more important point he wished to impress. “You do not know how powerful she will be. I have glimpsed her strength. It will be many seasons before any mage-warrior can be trained in how to balance her, and no mage-warrior, new or old, may be able to stabilize her in the middle of an ocean!”

  “If she is this strong, then she will guarantee us victory. We will take our chances.”

  The priests were not capable of emotion, only obedience to their king and gods. They did not know what it was to sleep with her body curled beside him or to safeguard her against any harm. They did not understand that this mage was also a woman whose life sprang from the same magic theirs did, and whose soul would also return to the magic when she perished, which she would, if she crossed the ocean before she was ready. She would not survive long enough to fight their battles.

  To them, she was a sword, worthy of polish and care if she bested her enemies and eventually replaceable if she did not. The priests risked much with their directive – they risked the life of Karav’s little girl.

  “You are wrong,” Karav said stiffly. “But I am more concerned about leaving her with an Inlander savage. The Inlands belong to no kingdom. The men here do not bend their wills to kings or priests here.”

  “Then we will send a mage-warrior slayer after him.”

  Karav pulled the sword from the earth with anger and rose, severing the connection to the priests. Displeased by the exchange, and more so by the threat of sending a slayer after the only person who could protect his little girl, he retreated to the camp. The priests knew as well as he did that the guardian for each mage was chosen by a power greater than them and their Runes. To tamper with that meant they were desperate, or they would not be placing the life of the only water mage in existence in danger.

  His mage sat, tense, waiting for him, when he returned. Her eyes lifted as he sheathed his sword.

  “What troubles you?” she asked.

  “Naught, my mage.”

  Frowning, she searched his face. “Is there danger?”

  “Not this night.” He settled onto his back again. She continued to look at him for a long moment then stretched out beside him.

  “You worry me.”

  “You have nothing to fear,” he assured her gruffly. “Sleep.”

  “Sometimes, I feel as though you’ve left me, Karav, even when you are beside me,” she whispered.

  She sensed the fading stone, without knowing that was what she felt.

  “I have not left you,” he said softly and forced his tense body to relax. “I am right here, as always.”

  “Very well,” she grumbled.

  He smiled. The mage pressed her back against his side and curled up. Her breathing grew deep fast as she fell into the restful slumber of someone who did not know what he did about the threats in front of and behind them.

  Karav did not sleep at all. He listened to the whispering grass for signs of those tracking them. Any attacker would be dead before he drew a sword. The most ancient line of warriors, mage-warriors were said to have been born with the instincts, senses and strength of beasts. Long ago, mages in need of protection created hybrid man-beast warriors with the forms of men and the senses of animals. The mage-warrior bloodlines interbred with normal people, which was how – on occasion – a bastard from a long dead mage-warrior line appeared in a family not known for its noble blood.

  He could only pray the ancient instincts belonging to a long dead line of mage-warriors had awakened within the Inlander, alongside the Gift of Knowing. Could any warrior’s instincts be enough to balance Sela near the ocean, without the seasons of training mage-warriors were supposed to go through?

  Sela was filled with a powerful wildness. It ebbed and flowed between them, calmed by the unique traits of the mage-and-warrior bond, but never fully under control. When they had crossed the lake in the north, her power had nearly pinned Karav to the floor of the ship. An ocean was too much, not because either of them was weak, but because no one could handle such a flood of wild magic.

  Deep in thought and troubled, Karav let her sleep past dawn. He woke her when it was time to travel once more and stood over her, frowning.

  “Karav,” she murmured before she had opened her eyes.

  “I am here, mage.”

  He replaced his weapons around his body and saddled their horses. His ward rose and tidied up their camp before bringing him a portion of jerked meat and the last of their apples. They ate on horseback as they returned to the road.

  “Hood,” he said, without looking over his shoulder to see if she wore it.

  She muttered at him.

  “You must learn to hold your tongue and cover your face here in the Inlands,” he reminded her. “This is not the desert or Vurdu. They will not be kind to you.”

  “Inlanders are savages,” she said. “The desert was harsh and the people gentle. Why are the Inlands unlike anywhere we have been?”

  “Do the people mirror the land, or the land the people?” he mused. “Perhaps both are wild because they must be.”

  “It’s not a real answer, Karav.”

  Karav smiled. When they reached a crossroads not far from the city, he nudged his horse north, rather than west toward the shallow, seasonal lake the Inlands possessed.

  “We go in a new direction,” she said.

  “Maybe I have found you another desert.”

  “I want water!”

  He chuckled at the frustration in her voice. He felt the same way about not having a woman in fourteen moons. It was little easier on him to leave the conveniences of the city to which he was accustomed.

  They rode in silence. Karav kept to the road, except when large groups of travelers approached. In such circumstances, he guided them into the grass with a glance over his shoulder to ensure his ward had her hood up.

  It was late afternoon when they ran out of water this day. The benefit of having a water mage: she could feel where natural springs, ponds or narrow creeks were hidden among the tall grass. Karav stopped his horse and waited for her to lead them into the grasses. She stopped at the top of a hill and looked back at him. Her expression was one of irritation. He pushed his horse into a trot until he drew abreast of her.

  “Savages between me and my water,” she said, gazing into the valley.

  A large party of men had set up a camp around the water hole his mage discovered. A flutter of water magic raced through his blood, and Karav assessed what was before him, not approving of what he saw.

  These men weren’t the barbarians she took them for, and the man he sought was there.

  The priests and their Runes were right for once.

  “You see how their tents are aligned and their horses corralled instead of hobbled?” he asked. “They care for their weaponry. They are highly paid swordsmen, possibly for one of the warring Inland tribes.”

  “Why does that make you frown so?”

  “Mercenaries, mage. They’re mercenaries. Worse than mere Inlanders. Inlanders hire these men to do what they will not.”

  “What would an Inlander not do?” s
he asked, puzzled.

  “The most dishonorable of deeds.” He did not expand on the thought despite her prolonged look. “Come.” He turned his horse away.

  “There is a creek nearby,” she told him, trailing. “Shall I take us?”

  “Yes.”

  She altered her route and led them northerly. Karav considered what he had seen with grave concern for the woman riding ahead of him. He thought back to his own Gift of Knowing, but was unable to remember how much it changed him to learn he bore the blood of a mage-warrior, since he was already a member of the lesser nobility from which most warriors came. It was bad enough when he thought an Inlander was his ward’s fate. But a mercenary Inlander? A man with neither honor nor tribe?

  That her protector would naturally be a strong warrior was assumed. But a mercenary had not the benefit of many seasons of traditional warrior-mage training. He would not know to be gentle with his ward. If his mercenary side won out, he would also find out quickly what happened when he tried to kill, trade or sell her.

  Yet Karav’s duty was to see her safely into the hands of a savage, even if he was the mercenary Inlander who beat women and possessed no sense of duty or honor at all.

  The water mage led them to the narrow creek hidden by the grasses, half a league from the first. She dismounted next to it. The tension dropped from her shoulders, and she sighed, cheered to be near water.

  “We will set up camp here,” Karav said, mirroring her movement.

  “So close to the barbarians?”

  “Aye.”

  Her eyes were on him, though she did not question him. She knelt to fill both their water bladders then removed the saddle from her horse. When she approached his to do the same, he held out a hand to stop her.

  “There is something I must tell you,” he said.

  She stood in front of him, gazing up at him with the stubborn look that said she knew he would tell her one day. How would an honor-less, Inlander mercenary handle her defiance?

  “We have journeyed for the past fourteen moons to find a warrior-mage,” Karav began.

  “That is all?”

  “Yes, mage, that is all,” he said with a slow smile. “Though I hoped you would have more care for my successor.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, and then shook her head. “You will go nowhere. I command it.”

  “I am dying, Sela.”

  Her breath caught at his gentle words.

  “We came here, because the priests found the warrior who will become your warrior.”

  “No, Karav. You will not die! I –”

  “You will what, mage?” He made his voice gruffer to stop the path of denial she was about to start down. “You will save me?”

  “I forbid it!”

  “Not even a princess has power over death and fate, mage. I will be gone soon. And I will leave you alone and unprotected here in the Inlands, if we do not find the warrior I seek.”

  “I will tell my uncle to speak to the priests. You will remain with me!” she insisted.

  Karav almost sighed. No, he had not done enough to teach her to be sensitive to the traditions, customs and dangers of a foreign land. He had raised her humbly, far enough from the royal court for her not to bear the lazy entitlement of her peers, but he could never fully train her not to be the princess she was.

  “Your uncle may be king, but even he cannot stop prophecy,” he said.

  She flinched at his last words. He held her gaze and felt their bond quiver with her emotion. His words were sinking in, even if she fought them.

  “But I don’t want you to go,” she said more softly. “Why is it prophecy to lose you?”

  “Lakes dry up, leaves fall from trees, the full moon fades away, and mage-warriors die. You are old enough to understand this.”

  “Why did you not tell me earlier?” she asked.

  “What would you have done, if I gave you fourteen moons to think?” he challenged.

  “I would’ve found a way to keep you!”

  “And that I cannot allow. I am weakening. I can no longer balance your magic. Another must take my place. It is for your own sake,” he explained. “You would not survive long without being bonded.”

  “No, Karav. If you are not my warrior, I will refuse to have any warrior. I will live free and wild like the savages.”

  He chuckled, unable to imagine his princess in a tent for long. “It must be so.”

  Her hands shook, and the stubborn glint was in her eye again. Unwilling to let her argue a fate that was inevitable, he mounted his horse.

  “Stay here,” he told her.

  “Are you coming back?” she demanded.

  “I am. Stay here.”

  Sela mumbled a curse she had learned from him, one that would appall her royal father. Karav smiled sadly and left their small camp.

  2

  Her anger stayed with him almost until he reached the mercenary camp, and then he felt what he dreaded: her sorrow. It was deep and sweet, a well in the middle of the desert. She ached for him, and the depth of her love was the greatest treasure he had ever known. Her sorrow, however, was powerful enough for his throat to tighten. He paused in his journey, not about to let her emotions bring him to tears as well.

  After several deep breaths, Karav hardened himself. He had a duty to fulfill. He had not the time for emotion when her life depended upon him ensuring the mage-warrior who assumed his duty understood what to do.

  He crested the hill overlooking the Inland savages where he and Sela had stopped at not long before.

  The mercenary camp was quiet and inactive, as if most of the men were away. He sensed the Inlander he sought and descended the hill at a slow pace, letting the two guards see him. When they reached for their weapons, he halted his horse and waited. One approached, hand on hilt. They were successful mercenaries, for their clothing – while worn – was of good quality and their weapons well made and meticulously kept.

  “We are passing through. If this is your land, we will only be here the night,” the guard said in a menacing growl Karav guessed worked on most men.

  “This is not my land. Tell the men of that tent that Karav has come,” he said and pointed.

  The mercenary hesitated and looked Karav over more than once. Karav made no move to arm himself or leave.

  “There are not enough of you here to defeat me, if you choose to fight,” Karav said with a half-smile. “Go and tell the men I am here. If they refuse to see me, I will leave peacefully.”

  There was a pause. “Wait here,” the merc said with a scowl.

  The camp was too neat, their dress too fine. Karav was unable to understand what exactly was before him. A private army, perhaps, of some wealthy Inlander tribe? These were not ordinary mercenaries.

  The guard disappeared into the tent Karav had indicated and reappeared soon after, followed by three men: a short blond man with a beard, a tall man, middle-aged, with the confident walk of a chieftain.

  And him. A young warrior in build with a swagger to his walk that bordered on arrogant and a gleam in his hazel eyes. He was older than Karav’s ward by a few seasons and handsome in the way Karav suspected women preferred. Physically larger than those around him, the new mage-warrior brought a frown to Karav’s face. There was hunger in his sharp gaze, the kind that could make him ill fitted to serve another’s will.

  He was a predator, not a protector.

  An Inlander by his darker skin and dress, the mage-warrior sensed Karav long before they reached him.

  Karav held his gaze as he approached. The three paused, behind their guards, just before reaching Karav’s horse.

  “What purpose-” the chieftain started.

  “We will talk,” Karav said to the mage-warrior.

  The chieftain’s stern expression softened, and he looked at the man with hazel eyes. “This is the visitor you warned us about?”

  “Aye,” replied the young mage-warrior.

  “He’s the size of a tree,” the blond
merc said with a smile.

  Karav dismounted. The guard’s hand tightened on his hilt, but the young mage-warrior stepped forward and offered a bow of his head.

  “I heard the whispers. They said a man named Karav would come bearing a gift for me,” the new mage-warrior said, a slow smile crossing his face that was at once cunning and bemused. Karav sensed the man was assessing him for weakness. “The jewel in that sword, perhaps?”

  “I will leave the whole sword. What you do with the jewel is not of my concern,” Karav said.

  The mage-warrior gazed at him, as if uncertain if he jested or not. Karav did not, but the man before him could not know that. The confidence of the Inlander’s stare did not waver.

  “The whispers you heard, and the words they impressed into your mind, are called the Gift of Knowing,” Karav said. “It cannot be undone. To refuse your calling will cause you great pain.”

  “Which he knows,” the eldest of the three said. “My nephew rode here nonstop two days ago from a battle on the other side of the Inlands. I have never known him to abandon gold for any reason.”

  “This duty will always come before all else, including gold,” Karav said severely.

  “Better you than me,” the blond man said and slapped the mage-warrior on the arm.

  “I prefer my gold,” the young mage-warrior said. He did not appear pleased by the idea of giving up gold for a mage.

  The longer he had to think this over, the less Karav wanted to leave his ward with anyone resembling the man in front of him.

  “I am Tieran,” the young mage-warrior said.

  “Karav.”

  “Welcome, Karav. My chieftain and uncle, Emin, and my brother in arms, Divin.”

  “You travel alone, Karav?” Emin asked with a chieftain’s directness.

  “I do not.”

  “You brought a ward?” Tieran asked warily.

  “I do. You should feel the mage’s presence.”

  “Must be the source of my headache. If this is what a mage does, deprives me of gold and gives me a headache, I am not the man you need.”

  Karav frowned.