Merchants and Mages (Highmage's Plight Book 2) (2 page)

“Je’orj,” she whispered awakening.

   He coughed
standing by the window half dressed. “Um, good morning.”

   His blonde haired young bodyguard, Fri’il, abruptly adjusted the covers, then stared at him. “Uh, I had the strangest dream.”

   With a sigh, he met her gaze. “You – uh – nearly died yesterday.”

   “It wasn’t a dream then? Any of it?”

   He shook his head, returning to her side, bent and kissed her gently on the forehead.
What was done was done,
he thought

sheepishly as he answered, “Afraid not.”

   The young woman suddenly let out a whoop for joy and burst from the sheets, throwing her arms around him. “I love you!”

   Half–
heartedly he struggled, blushing. “Uh, Fri’il, don’t get the wrong idea, this changes nothing… I still intend to return to my world.” The Summoning welled within him in protest, urging him to ardor – urging him to accept all this world offered. George gasped as his computer staff flared standing fixed beside the bed. “Back off,” he muttered, wincing.

   She
frowned, then glanced at the staff. “Oh, I think not,” she said, kissing him and pulling him back onto the bed.

   The Summoning exulted, emphasizing her words. “Staff,” he
rasped, feeling overwhelmed as he fought Fri’il’s kiss. “Um, Fri’il…”

   His crystalline computer staff, wrapped in
insulating wyvern hide, which also enabled it to appear merely a piece of wood, pushed back the worst of the Summoning’s effect.
:George, I have calculated that dampening the Summoning will have little effect on your, uh, present plight.:

The black liveried Se’and, the leader of the escort of four Cathartans, sat alone on the keep’s parapet. She stared down the escarpment, pushing back her sandy colored hair. Clouds enwrapped the sight of the lands far below. The pale furred beast with a jet black mane bounded out of the arched doorway near Je’orj’s chambers.

  
Se’and glanced down the hall and saw Me’oh now standing guard outside his door. Me’oh gave her a long look, shook her head. Se’and nodded, knowing that she had no right to feel this way. This is exactly what she had wanted, wasn’t it? Je’orj was finally accepting his fate. The House of Je’orj, a proper Cathartan House even if established by Bond, had a future now.

  The beast rose on her haunches
and shimmered. Raven stretched

out her now human a
rms and Se’and drew her foster–daughter into her lap. “I must make quite a sight.”

  “Why sad?” Raven asked ever so faintly.

  Se’and shook her head. “In my homeland men are rarer than the most precious gem. Each is a lord with hundreds of wives and sires thousands of daughters, which barely assures the birth of one male heir in his lifetime. Cathart, itself, may be truly a Cursed land, but some say it is we, ourselves, who are cursed with the inability to bear male children in any viable numbers. Even those desperate enough to sire a child by the seafarers who dare our shore find themselves bearing only daughters. When one is lucky enough to bear a son, well, a House is born and she rules.”

  That she and
the younger Fri’il were Bonded to Je’orj Bradlei, who claimed to come from a distant world, had, at first, seemed a burden. Her Sire’s choice in gifting her had seemed so unfair. Yet, discovering that Je’orj was a human mage, something unheard of in this world and fighting at his side, made it plain that the bonding was vital. The fact that Je’orj insufferably was affronted by the very thought that she and Fri’il were now his bodyguard wives was galling. He claimed such a relationship was unnatural; proclaimed he could not simple be wed with only the most casual wave of her Sire’s hand.

  His elfblooded companion, Balfour, who in his own way was just as foreign as Je’orj, had at least come to accept Me’oh and Cle’or. Je’orj had been unwilling to even acknowledge that he was a Cathartan Lord––by––Bond. However, he had come to accept their stewardship. It had become apparent that they needed each other if they were to survive. He would reach the one who had summoned him into this world. They would help him fulfill that mission. His purpose
was simple, he would demand to be sent back. The success of that request was intolerable to contemplate. Yet, they were bound and would aid him as they must.

  That he had finally made love to Fri’il surely must be a good sign. That Fri’il was her junior and very lovely should matter not in the least. The House of Je’orj would be assured. She should be happy, shouldn’t she?

  Raven hugged Se’and as she began to sob, “Je’orj is such a stubborn fool. Drat the man!”
Why Fri’il and not her?
Jealousy raged even as the humor of her plight made her laugh. When had she fallen in love with that flaming idiot?

  The wer–child cant
ed her head at the sound of her foster–mother’s laughter, knowing it was a good healthy sound.

“Nothing is going to can change my decision,” he muttered after finally extricating him from the young woman dedicated to preserving his life.

   “Fine, but you are here with me,” she replied, sitting up facing him as George put on his shirt. “I seem to remember your liking my, uh, attentiveness.”

   “Please cover yourself,” he pleaded.

   She giggled, “It didn’t seem to bother you a moment ago.”

  “Oh, believe me it did.” That was what really worried him as he knew he had more than returned her kisses... He hastily turned to flee the room, his now quiescent computer staff in hand.

   “Je’orj?” she said, frowning. “Je’orj!”

   George drew aside what was little more than a blanket pegged to the doorway’s upper frame and in one step found himself confronting the well-armed Me’oh on guard.

  “Milord,” she said with a neutral expression.

  He stammered a response as Fri’il hurried naked to the doorway, using the blanket to cover herself. “Milord, if you will give me just a moment I can accompany you!”

 
He coughed, “Uh, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be safe enough.” He tried not to run toward the stairs down the hall.

  Me’oh tried not to
smile at his discomfiture. Fri’il looked about

hastily, “Where are my weapons?”

  The older woman pointed against the hallway wall. “We found these locked away a few hours ago... but did not want to, uh, disturb you.”

  Fri’il actually blushed as she
pointed, bring them in here. Me’oh nodded, retrieving them and brought them inside. “Thank you,” Fri’il said. “Hope we didn’t, uh, disturb you.”

  “Me? Not in the least.”

  George grimaced, overhearing that as he reached the stairway. His only thought was one of disgust with himself.

:She is lovely,:
Staff opined,
:isn’t she?:

  “Oh, don’t start,” he muttered back, thinking Se’and must be pleased with herself. Yet, the Cathartans were only human – something he had to remind himself that he was, too.

  “Wait for me, Milord!” Fri’il shouted.

  He paused, shaking his head, then heard running feet. Glancing up the hall, he saw
Raven, in girl form, running from the egress to the parapet, shimmer as she dropped to all fours, and came bounding toward him. “You on guard duty?”

  She nodded
as she came to his side.

 
He began going down the stairs as he heard Fri’il say, “Me’oh, um, where exactly are my clothes?”

Cle’or had been patrolling the grounds, assuring herself that all was in order. Seeing the ogre and the boy as Walsh grinned with a terribly stupid look on his face, she decided to follow them. “Long – past – time.  Do – Service, yes – Service,” he mumbled as he led them across the courtyard, stopping, frowning, shaking his head, then walking to another point, and another until he finally halted near the West Gate.

  He looked about him. “Here – should be...  Yes, Yes...  Here.”

  Thomi and Cle’or stared as the ogre knelt and felt the ground with his fingertips. The expectancy was indeed here beneath the stone, waiting. Walsh looked up as the human mage with the staff in his hand exited the main building. He waved to him. “
Earthman
,” he called out. “Kins—man!” he laughed, remembering a life of stars and spaceports.

 
:George?:
Staff mentally whispered, incredulous.

  He hurried to the ogre’s side and clasped Walsh’s hand. “Yes, I’m of
Earth
.”

 
Walsh grinned, “Years – away – you – are... You – not – crew.”

  “No, I came here through the Gate. Not by ship...  The Highmage summoned me.”

  Nodding, the ogre fought to maintain his clarity. “Danger – here.”

  “Raslinn’s no more,
” George said.

  Shaking his head, Walsh muttered
, wave his right hand fervently, “Danger – come...  Must – be – ready...  Niota – must – be – ready!”

  Thomi rushed to
hug the ogre’s arm before he could accidently hurt someone, “Walsh, it will be all right. They can help us!”

  George frowned, “We can’t stay...  Hmm, it might even be best if everyone left this place.”

  “NO!” the ogre shouted. “Stay!  De––fend!”

  Thomi drew his arms tighter about his hulking friend’s arm, “It will be all right, Walsh!”

  Frowning, the ogre struggled to understand until he remembered that these were their friends. They did not jeopardize his purpose. But they did not understand his warning, either.

  “We cannot stay,” George replied ever so softly as the ogre continued to nod. George mentally reached out through his rapport with
his staff and touched the ogre’s mind. Walsh’s thoughts seemed thick to George’s questing sensitivity. He received the faintest images of colony ships and countless stars. A man in spacer coveralls with the name Walsh stenciled upon them momentarily knelt before him. He was big and brawny with thick red hair. He had seen centuries pass between cryogen sleep cycles.

  There was a desperate look for understanding in the man’s eyes.

Danger would come here. Raslinn had a purpose in being here beyond trapping the unwary in his twisted illusions.

In that moment, Thomi’s eyes grew wide as he somehow tapped into George’s rapport and heard his hirsute friend’s thoughts. Walsh was not seeking for George and his companions to stay to defend Niota. That was the ogre’s duty. What he needed to do was warn, help them understand what he was about to do. There was power in this place – he would set it free so that Niota could once more defend itself against the Dark One’s ilk. But there would be a price. Niota could not stand alone.

  Thomi shouted,
“Walsh, we will defend this place together!”

  The ogre
blinked as George gaped at the boy. The ogre realized that Thomi really did understand and was willing to pay the price. But did the boy truly understand what he was offering? “Bound – you – would – be.  Belike – our – Curse...  Price – no – easy – burden.”

  The boy took a deep breath. “Bound like you?”

  “Strong—er,” the ogre warned.

  “I’ll do it!”

  “No, Thomi!” his mother shouted as the odd assortment of refugees gathered around them in the courtyard.

  He turned to her. “Is it so great a price?”

  George looked from one to the other and opened his mouth to voice an objection. His eyes widened as the Summoning welled, barring him.

Thomi’s mother nodded reluctantly, “Do what you must.”

  T
he boy nodded, “Walsh, I agree.”

 
The ogre grinned and said, “Thomi – help.” He knelt and pounded his hands upon the ground, “Ni – O – Ta!”  He began the Service and the boy hesitantly knelt and did the same. “Ni – O – Ta!” they chorused. Dirt flew upward as the ogre pounded harder and harder. Walsh spoke a word beyond human ken and the Summoning

buffeted George, responding to the magery being raised.

Fri’il was buckling her sword over her livery as she felt the floor tremble. Me’oh cried out her name, thrusting aside the door hanging. “Hurry! I’ll get Balfour!”

  Frayed tapestries shook and a cloud of dirt rained. Old dusty paintings quaked and began to fall as the black liveried young woman raced down the stairs. “He’s only out of my sight for what two minutes?” Fri’il shouted as she half raced, half stumbled down the stairs.

  Me’oh burst into the next room and grabbed up the suddenly roused Balfour. “Don’t tell me that Je’orj has got us into trouble this quickly?”

  “No bets!” Me’oh cried.

Se’and had wiped away her tears and as soon as she felt presentable had come down the stairs and gone out into the courtyard. She saw Raven suddenly bristle, then felt the ground tremble. “Je’orj!” she cried, running toward him as the keep began to quake.