Water Spell (Guardians of the Realm Book 1) Read online

  His uncle chuckled. “Come, sit with us, Karav. My nephew Tieran has already told us of you and of his new … duty.” The last word was spoken with amusement. “I admit, I do not understand how another man can make my nephew go mad. The Inlands are not like the other places in the kingdom. We do not possess any magic or those who wield it.”

  “I am aware,” Karav said shortly. He fell into step beside Tieran while the chieftain and blond man led them towards the tent from which they had all come.

  “Does this ward stay with your sword?” Tieran asked.

  “Yes,” Karav replied in a voice as level as he could manage.

  “Bring him here.”

  “When I am assured of his safety,” Karav said. Tieran walked beside him, unconcerned with Karav’s size and power, for he had his own. “Mercenaries?”

  Tieran glanced at him, and his features became hard. “Not by choice.” There was no remorse or shame in his voice. “My tribe was all but destroyed just over a twelve-moon ago. My uncle is one of the wealthiest men in the Inlands. Those of us remaining, who could fight, sold our skills to our cousins and others. Those who could not…” He shrugged.

  “The women and children?”

  Tieran did not respond immediately.

  Karav glanced at him and saw something dark cross the younger man’s face. His jaw was tight, and he drew a breath before responding.

  “None of them survived,” he said in a clipped tone. “Our enemies struck like cowards, when the men were pillaging a nearby village.”

  Karav listened, growing more concerned by the step. Had someone known Tieran was a mage-warrior and wiped out his clan? In Karav’s kingdom to the north, the rivalry among mage-warrior families was fierce, but they grew up with the danger, accustomed to the rivalry and magic. He debated questioning what had happened before deciding his duty was more important.

  “Your ward is not a warrior,” he said. “You cannot leave your ward unprotected. You cannot leave your ward behind, even to pillage a nearby village.”

  “Then he will learn to fight.”

  “It is not the way of the mage.”

  “The mage will have to change his ways,” Tieran said firmly.

  “Or you will.”

  Tieran glanced at him again at the quiet tone. “You do not believe I can defend what is mine?” He stopped walking to face Karav.

  Despite the challenge, he was not tense. If anything, Karav sensed Tieran was trying to figure him out, or perhaps to understand a kind of duty that was completely foreign to the Inlanders.

  Or did Tieran not understand what a mage was?

  There were too many possibilities for Karav to know which was true.

  “Mercenaries protect nothing but their gold,” he replied, facing Tieran. “This mage will never bring you gold or any item of value. You must protect your ward above your life and your gold. We have many enemies.”

  “So the whispers said. Come.” Tieran appeared irritated. “Drink with us. We will fetch your mage and go for women. I will take two this night. It has been far too long.”

  “A day,” his blond cousin jested from ahead.

  Tieran flashed a smile. “If my ward cannot handle a sword, can he handle a woman?” he asked Karav.

  Karav bit his tongue with such force, he nearly growled in pain. Rape was not against the laws for mages, and he viewed Sela as a father did his daughter: as the most beautiful woman in any land who needed to be protected from men like Tieran. With eyes the color of the ocean, hair darker than night and skin like the moon, she stood out wherever she went. He did not know Tieran well enough to know if the Inlander held enough honor not to hurt the woman he was charged with safeguarding.

  They entered the largest of the tents, the chieftain’s. Silent and brooding, Karav sat towards the back of the tent. Tieran joined him. The other two men remained in the front.

  “What does my mage do?” Tieran asked.

  “Do?” Karav echoed, irritated to hear the Inlander claim possession of Sela already.

  “What … magic? Can he make a man disappear?” Tieran smiled, as if not believing any one could do this.

  “Water. The mage controls water.”

  Tieran appeared pensive. “What use is this in a place of drought?”

  “It is the most powerful kind of magic,” Karav replied. “The mage could drown an army with a lake.”

  Tieran peered into his goblet. “Or one man with a pond?”

  “Yes.”

  “That could be useful.”

  Karav sensed there was more meaning to this assertion than there appeared to be on the surface. Tieran had a target in mind for the mage, which left Karav more troubled than before.

  “A mage is not a weapon. Mages live by a code, as do those who protect them,” he said. Though he did not want to, he began to pass on what Tieran needed to hear. “You must bond with your mage. It is the only way to control the magic. A mage needs a warrior as much as the warrior needs a mage.”

  Tieran leaned back. “It doesn’t seem like a warrior needs a mage at all.”

  “But he does. Our kind of warriors die without a mage to bond to,” Karav lied smoothly, wanting to scare some sense of duty into the Inlander. “You experienced the onset of the bond, or you would not have ridden across the Inlands as your uncle claimed. This alone tells me the magic flowing through your blood and mine is the same. The need to protect will consume you. The madness you have tasted is nothing to what follows, if you refuse your duty.”

  “You have tried to resist this calling?” Tieran asked.

  “Many times,” Karav replied ruefully. “I wished to spend my life in war, not far from it, protecting a creature that did not wish me near. Until the water mage, I resented my duty and the magic that forced me to do it. But the water mage … is pure power. To feel that bond, to experience the wild magic …” He shook his head. “I understood myself, my world and my duty as I never had before, and I am honored to have served.”

  Tieran was listening closely, if doubtfully. The air around him was charged, the magic in his blood awakened. Sela’s magic would pull a protector to her in order to preserve her life. Tieran felt this compulsion without understanding its source.

  “You must take an oath of service to the mage, and then, you must bind your ward to you with blood,” Karav continued. He removed a small knife, the size of his smallest finger, from a pouch at his waist. It was a sacred knife, used only once to bond a mage and his warrior and passed to the next warrior when one warrior became too weak to serve. It glowed with blue water magic.

  Tieran frowned. “We do not have magic in the Inlands,” he said.

  “Magic is everywhere. You are now just sensing it,” Karav replied. “This will bind you.” He handed the tiny dirk to Tieran.

  Tieran gazed it, as if uncertain he wanted anything to do with the tool responsible for destroying an Inlander mercenary’s fierce independence. Or was it the existence of magic that made him uncomfortable?

  Karav could not begin to answer the questions in his mind let alone address his growing concerns about the Inlander.

  “It must be done quickly. An unbound mage is a plague upon everyone,” Karav continued. “When the magic rips itself from a mage, it will destroy all those within reach. Usually, the mage-warrior will die first.” It was not the entire truth, either, but Karav could not take a chance that Tieran decided to sell his mage for gold rather than protect her, as binding the two of them would force him to do.

  Tieran looked up uneasily.

  “You must do it,” Karav boomed.

  “Very well, Karav, it will be done,” Tieran growled. “What use is a mage whose code forbids drowning my enemies? Who cannot be traded for a more useful weapon? It’s a burden.”

  “It’s an honor, one I doubt you are worthy of.”

  “It is clear you don’t believe me to be. But you are here, because your gods or priests or kings told you to be here. I follow the orders of no man or mage or deity,”
Tieran proclaimed.

  “There is no dishonor in serving another.”

  “Inlanders have never served anyone from beyond our borders. I have been forced to accept this honor by magic but will remain my own master. I do not serve your priests or gods or kings, and neither with my mage. And if I tell him to disregard this code of his, he will do it, or suffer.”

  Karav was rendered speechless by the outright threat to Sela and the arrogant disregard for gods, kings, and priests. The Inlander in front of him was as wild as the magic in Sela’s blood and would soon become the sole source of guidance and protection his sweet ward would have.

  “How many mages are there?” Tieran asked.

  “Less than ten total. They are dying out.”

  Tieran appeared to consider the information before shrugging it off in disinterest. “I don’t care for this talk about magic. Go fetch my ward,” Tieran said.

  Karav could not fathom leaving her alone with a man who readily admitted to possessing no honor. After a long moment to gather his thoughts, he spoke again. “Do you follow the Inlander custom of three oaths?” he asked.

  “Every Inlander does.”

  “Before I bring the mage, you must take an oath to the mage’s protection.”

  Tieran raised an eyebrow, displaying resistance for the first time. “You know of our tradition but not how rare it is for any Inlander to take an oath. As far as I know, no Inlander has ever taken an oath to stranger to our lands.”

  Karav resisted the urge to leave. The magic, and Sela’s life, were causes much greater than his offense at the vulgarity of her new mage-warrior. The only manner of dealing with an Inlander appeared to be force, violence, or the threat of death. Since challenging Tieran to a duel would cause Sela to suffer, should both protectors become mortally wounded, Karav had no other choice but to resort to threats and lies.

  “I understand most Inlanders do not take more than one oath during his lifetime, and never to someone from outside the Inlands,” Karav said. “But it’s necessary. I will not leave the mage to you without this oath. You have tasted madness. It will claim you. Your death will be agony, and your soul will not be set free to the Inland winds, as is tradition, but will be trapped in a hellish place foe eternity by the magic of a scorned mage.”

  Tieran studied him, considering.

  “You must swear that the mage will be safe here, in every way, and that you will protect your ward, even from your own brethren,” Karav said slowly. “And from yourself. Never to raise a hand to your ward, sell or trade, starve, harm in any way, or kill.”

  “He has nothing to fear from me as long as he is obedient.”

  “It is not in a mage’s nature to be obedient. This particular mage comes from a noble family.”

  “Noble,” Tieran repeated. “Does he have gold?”

  Karav blew out a long breath, his patience stretched thin, and then lied again. “The mage’s family is noble in name, not in gold. Now, I will have your oath before I bring the mage to you.”

  “What is the oath of a mercenary deprived of his tribe and gold?” There was bitterness in Tieran’s voice, a hardness that bespoke conviction and pain he kept hidden.

  Karav’s interest peaked for the first time since meeting Tieran. There was more to him than arrogance, though arrogance was what others saw. Karav hoped there was enough depth to this man to keep his mage safe and unscathed.

  “An oath is worth only what you are willing to do to keep it,” he responded wisely. “You are a man who does not let honor or loyalty interfere with your word. You must decide to be a man who does not allow gold to interfere with your vow – in this situation. I do not ask you to become a different man for the sake of a mage, but to accept you must be different only in your duty to one mage.”

  Tieran snorted in amusement. “I will not serve your kings or gods or priests.”

  “I do not ask you to. This oath is on behalf of the mage alone.” Karav was surprised to find he meant the words after his frustrating discussion with a priest who did not care if Sela lived or died in the middle of an ocean. Sensing Tieran sought vengeance of some kind, perhaps against those who killed his tribe, Karav found himself willing to give on any point, as long as Sela’s life was protected.

  “I hope your sword is as nimble as your tongue,” Tieran said and touched his temple, as if his headache had grown worse.

  “More so,” Karav assured him. “Its blade is protected by ancient magic.”

  “Very well, Karav. I give you my word. The whispers will not allow me to sleep until I do.”

  “The whispers are the voices of the first mages, from thousands of seasons ago. They seek to assure the safety of their kind by binding your mind to the magic of your mage.”

  “I do this of my will, not theirs or anyone else’s,” Tieran replied. “This mage had better be worth all the gold I cannot sell him for.”

  Karav smiled. “There is one more concern, but it’s one you’ll likely prefer to the headache of safeguarding the mage,” he continued.

  Tieran raised an eyebrow.

  “We have enemies tracking us. They will kill all in their path to reach the mage.”

  “I can handle an army. I will show them an Inlander’s welcome,” Tieran said with a smile that chilled Karav. “Fetch my mage.”

  Karav rose and left, dread deep in his belly. He prayed Tieran’s Inlander welcome did not extend to his ward. Tieran had taken an oath, but Karav saw little in the way of honor in Tieran.

  The men of the camp moved out of Karav’s path as he strode to the edge, where his horse waited obediently. The guards watched him, and he looked around before he mounted.

  He ignored everything but his thoughts as he tried to find some part of Tieran to give him hope about Sela’s fate. The edge he heard in Tieran’s voice after the discussion about his tribe was faint. Tieran had lost someone. Karav sensed it. A man who experienced the death of a loved one was capable of connecting with someone else, Inland mercenary or not.

  Why had Tieran not asked why his new mage had enemies? Was he arrogant enough to believe he really could fight an army, or that he would never need to?

  Karav left with more questions than he had possessed upon arriving to the camp.

  Only when he was certain the men at the camp could no longer see him did he draw his broadsword from across his back. He did not feel like he was dying, but the ember in the center of the blue stone was fainter than the moon reflecting off a piece of silver at the bottom of a murky pond.

  He was out of time, and he did not trust the Inland mercenary charged with taking his place.

  But what choice did he have? If he died tomorrow, was it not better for Sela to have the protection of someone, even if that man was Tieran?

  Of all the thoughts in Karav’s head, one stood out. His mage would die if she were not bound to someone. Her life, above all, was his sole concern.

  He returned to their small camp. The mage was pacing when he reached the creek. He managed to tune out her emotions, though he saw her eyes were red from tears. Sela searched his face. He did not dismount. She took the cue and saddled her horse.

  “What of him?” she asked at last.

  Karav said nothing, grim. When she was mounted and hooded, he led her away from the waterhole.

  “These people are different than ours,” he voiced quietly as they rode towards her new master.

  “Savages.”

  “They are.”

  Her worry was palpable. “You will stay with me until …” Her voice broke.

  “I cannot stay long.”

  “How long is long?” she whispered.

  “Tomorrow, maybe the next day.”

  “Karav…” There were tears in her voice.

  “You will not cry,” he said sternly. “What do I say about a ward who cries?”

  “I don’t care. I love you, Karav. I always have.”

  Her honesty made him sigh. She was unguarded around him, and he did not know what to say
to keep her from angering her new mage-warrior. Their bond enabled him to sense her emotions before she did many times. What would a cunning mercenary like Tieran do with that kind of knowledge and the strength to force Sela to do anything he told her to?

  What had started as dread fourteen moons ago became pain, not only because Karav would miss her, but because he left her in the hands of an uncertain – and potentially brutal – fate.

  They rode in silence, her sorrow and his unspoken regret thick between them. He glanced back at her before they reached the rise overlooking the mercenaries’ camp. Her head was hooded and bowed. She wore the clothing of a squire: breeches and tunic, boots, a sword belt with daggers. Hooded and cloaked, only her braid gave her away as a woman. Most missed the thick black braid, tucked inside her cloak. Without the cloak, though, there was no hiding her curves and face.

  Karav drew his horse to a halt where he had last time. The guards rose and waved him forward. The one that greeted him earlier spoke.

  “Tieran awaits you, third tent on your right.” His eyes went over the mage and dismissed her as the squire Karav had passed her off as for most of their travels.

  The mage was tense, afraid. Karav dismounted and led his horse and hers through the camp to the tent indicated. Men walked by, their gazes on the well-bred horses – two of the finest in any kingdom – and the massive warrior. They, too, ignored the small woman, though Karav knew that was about to change.

  Karav entered the tent. It was by no means as large or nice as the chieftain’s, but it displayed similar wealth, an indication of Tieran’s good standing.

  Tieran stood near a table, pouring himself wine. Karav had caught him mid-dress. The younger man had bathed in the pond and replaced his breeches but not the remainder of his clothing. His dark hair was tousled and wet.

  Unlike the others, the new mage-warrior sensed what humans did not. Tieran went rigid. His gaze swept over both of them. He sipped his wine, ale-colored eyes returning to Karav.

  “You bring me a whore instead of my mage?” he asked.

  “I’m not a whore,” Sela replied.

  Karav moved to the side of the tent, showing Tieran and the mage with his body that he would not come between them. He would rather be present when the woman’s loose tongue went off for the first time than trust Tieran to deal his Inland welcome upon her. He wanted to see if Tieran had it in him to respect the oath he had given.