Pixilated (6 page)

"He could," Kree said. "But we have an
understanding. I don’t wizard. He doesn’t warrior. It works for
us." He patted his young officer’s shoulder taking the sting out of
his tease. He loved the man. "Pixies are near the bottom of the
magical power chain, Shug. They’re here and they’re pretty damn
harmless. It’s past time you got used to them."

"Yes, sir."

"Any more questions? Anyone?"

"What force are you taking?"

This from his new blade sister, Berl, he
thought her name was. She had arrived on the coach with Kayseri,
and he had not interviewed her, nor formally accepted her service.
It was disgraceful and needed immediate remedy.

"I'm taking Chana." A rumble greeted his
pronouncement and Kree slammed his hand on the table restoring
order. He flashed his business grin. "There's no reason to think
we’ll encounter resistance. All we’re doing is tracking one unarmed
elf and a runaway half-pixie girl. I need a tracker and two fast
horses. It's a solid fact." There were no more protests. He
expected none. These people knew the rules.

Kree turned to his aide, who busily
scratched down every word he said in a garrison’s daybook. "Nadol,
go over the Malachite petition. If there is anything there beyond
the usual whining about the border and the taxes, parley with their
ambassador. See if we can work out some sort of accommodation."
Accommodation. The word made him want to spit. He was a warrior not
a damn diplomat. All his instincts urged him to pound Malachite
into dust. Oh, how he longed for the good old days.

He scooped his kit up and stood. They all
stood. They always did. He hated it.

"That's all then. Sister Berl, welcome to
Qets Garrison. You’ll handle the administrative duties in my
absence." The sister’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and Kree
grinned. "You mistake me, Sister. Duncan has command. You'll be
handling day-to-day internal things. It'll give you a chance to see
how our garrison runs. Nadol will make you look efficient. The same
as he does for me."

Everyone laughed.

"I’ll see you people in a few days. Be
careful while I'm gone."

"First chance we get," they responded in
unison. But Kree was already out the door. Their parting comments
followed him down the hall.

"...so, that is our Goddess-born
captain."

"Forget it, Berl."

Kree’s lips twitched. Chana warned every
Sister posted to Qets off him. Sometimes it even worked, not often
but sometimes.

The sky was clear and the sun was bright. It
was going to be a hellish hot day. Davi waited in the marshalling
yard with Sirocco. The horse was high anticipating exercise, and
the boy struggled to hold him. Davi wore a hangdog expression that
said he believed this whole sorry business with Kayseri was his
fault. Seeing him, Kree figured he would have to think up something
to rebuild the lad’s confidence.

"Sirocco looks well, Davi. You’re taking
good care of him."

"He is a devil horse, My Captain, but I do
my best."

Kree handed his kit to the cadet. Beginning
with the right hoof, he checked the animal over with expert hands.
The admonition, be careful, was a longstanding garrison joke. He
was always careful. His command style might appear reckless, but
Kree never rode out without making sure his weapons, mount, and
gear were what they should be. He never allowed any of his people
to do so either. Sister Chana joined him in the yard, while he
inspected their gear.

Satisfied Kree gave young Davi an approving
nod and drew him confidentially close. "Take charge of Nolie while
I’m gone. You are senior. See to it he stays on top of his lessons
and does all his chores." He winked. "Try to make him think it’s
fun."

Davi squared his shoulders. "My Captain may
count on me."

He touched his fist to the lad's chest. "I
never doubted it."

Swinging effortlessly into the saddle, Kree
had barely touched Sirocco’s sensitive flanks before the gray
desert-bred stallion exploded into motion. Chana’s horse thudded
along behind.

His fellows had laughed when Kree bought a
horse good for nothing but pleasure riding. They howled the first
cold winter when he had to build a heated stable for "Fawr’s Folly"
as they dubbed his stallion. But Kree understood selective
breeding. Hell, he was the product of it, and he recognized what
they did not. If he bred a third of Sirocco’s impulsion and stamina
into his stable, he would produce the finest cavalry horses the
Kingdoms had ever seen. No one would laugh then. They'd be lining
up to buy his horses.

Thinking of horses made him think of
Kayseri. She and the elf needed another mount. The closest place to
get one was Tarburg a good-sized town on the northwest side of the
forest. It was a gamble, but one Chana agreed it was worth a try.
If they did not find their quarry there, they'd double back and
pick up the trail.

They reached the town about four in the
afternoon. The houses and shops looked sound, indicating Tarburg
must have been a prosperous town at one time, but that time had
long passed. The place had a neglected air Kree could almost touch.
He asked a ragged man carrying a bundle of firewood on his back for
directions to the livery and received a hostile stare and leftward
jerk of the head.

At the livery, Kree received more hostile
stares and surly answers. "No, I ain’t seen no elves. Hope never
to," said the stableman with a glance toward the conifer-covered
mountains looming to the north. "Did the warrior want elves? Best
he keep riding."

What in the blue-eyed world did the man
mean? There were no elves to the north, no elves anywhere except in
Thallasi down near Elhar. But that wasn't true was it? There were
these new, or rather old elves these Nhurstari.

"Ain’t seen no pretty woman either. Did the
warrior want a woman? There was a house above the tavern. O' course
there's farmsteads. Did the warrior want directions? He ought a say
so. No, them horses ain’t for sale. They belong to the squire. Did
the warrior want the squire? He could find him in the tavern."

Kree paid the stableman a gold lady for his
dubious information and assured the man he did not want the squire.
It was a generous bribe. One he thought might inspire the fellow to
wait at least an hour before running down to the tavern carrying
tales of warriors and elves. Chana disagreed chiding him for
wasting gold. A quarter hour after riding into friendly little
Tarburg, Kree rode out thinking about all the interesting things a
Knight-Protector might learn if he rode his protectorate without
banner, escort or uniform.

At Chana's suggestion, they check the
surrounding farms. The same sullen hostility met them everywhere
they stopped. The farmers looked poor although their land looked
rich enough to grow gold ingots. They all said the same thing; they
hadn’t seen no elf. None o' their horses were missing'. Confident
he was scarier than Eldren, Kree believed them. Something had
happened to Kayseri and the elf. All he had to do with the daylight
left to him was find out what.

The trail Chana picked up led into a box
canyon. Crouched low over Sirocco’s neck, Kree let his prized
stallion fly down the rock-strewn gully and hoped like the very
hells that the horse did not catch a hoof. Chana followed behind at
a more careful pace. He saw what looked like a lightening flash
ahead, then another flash and another. Sirocco balked, reared.

The captain steadied his skittish
thoroughbred with a firm hand and kneed Sirocco forward a few more
steps before another burst of light caused the horse to refuse
again. Kree put his spurs to its flanks. Logic told him where the
mage-fire was, the elf was, and where the elf was, Kayseri was.
Outraged by this abuse, Sirocco shot forward, and suddenly Kree was
riding a thunderbolt.

Three men had Kayseri and the elf pinned
against the rocky canyon wall. Kree wrapped the reins tightly
around his left hand. Sirocco was not combat trained. If he met
resistance, the stallion was going to be hell’s own to control. He
drew his saber and gave himself up to fate. Everyone excels at
something. Fighting was Kree's something. Everything about it
appealed to him. Battle was his birthright. The garrison’s battle
cry echoed off the canyon walls. His damaged larynx made the sound
all the more eerie. Startled men turned to meet him, and he sliced
through their feeble lines of defense before they quite figured out
what had come howling out of the gully.

Kree slid off his horse and stalked toward
the elf with his saber clutched in a bloodied fist. Bloodlust
burned in his eyes. He stopped about a foot away from the prince
and pointed to the fallen men with his saber. "These are awfully
persistent highwaymen, elf. Do you suppose they're looking for
this?" He tossed the porcelain doll at the elf’s feet.

Eldren scrambled for the doll, but Kree
grabbed him one handed and slammed him up against the rocks.

"I hate killing men when I don’t know why
I'm killing them or even if I should." Kree’s forever-soft voice
became a menacing whisper. He brought his saber up under the elf’s
chin. "But once I get started, it's damned difficult to stop."

"My Captain!" Kayseri shrilled.

"Shut up, Katie."

A slight movement of Kree’s wrist produced a
bright spot of blood under the elf lord’s chin. "Listen up, elf,
you’re going to tell me what’s really going on, and you had better
pray I like the story."

Chapter Five

Eldren, Prince of Thallasi, collapsed the
moment Kree let go of his tunic. Kayseri squatted beside the elf
and dabbed at the blood running down his neck.

"My Captain," she cried. "What are you
doing?"

Kree shot her a fierce, quelling glare. He
was not to blame for the elf’s weakness. Magic had a price. The
universe demanded balance. He had seen it all before. Hell, he had
lived it. The year plague blew down from the mountains, healings so
weakened Lathan Kree had to carry his theurgist friend from house
to house to lay hands on the sick. The miserable elf just needed
rest and nourishment. He would recover.

On the other hand, there were three men,
whose blood even now soaked into the porous canyon floor, who would
not recover. A cursory examination indicated the men were farmers.
There was not a warrior among them. While Kree found dredging up
pity for the used up elf difficult, he pitied these men. As he
often did, he longed for the numbing buzz of Goddess nectar, so he
could see the dead as enemies without faces, without wives and
children who would go hungry because no one would be there to bring
in the crops.

Fetching a wine skin and bag of fruit from
his saddle pack, Kree tossed them to Kayseri. He paced, kicking
loose rocks out of his path while she forced sips of wine and bits
of fruit down the elf prince’s throat. Before long Eldren was alert
and sitting up.

Kree hunkered down in front of him. "All
better?"

The elf eyed him wary realizing his
vulnerability and took his time chewing over his answer or thinking
up more lies. "Thank you for your help."

"I didn’t do it for you."

As always, the battle cry had left Kree's
voice raw. He coughed, clearing it, reached out, and plucked the
elf doll out of Eldren’s lap. The elf had used the last bit of his
failing strength to repair it. "What’s so special about this
doll?"

The prince of Thallasi waited until Kree
glowered at him before he answered. This elf had a death wish.

"What do you know about elves, Captain?"

"I know I don’t like them."

"My Captain!"

"Shut up, Katie"

"I see." Eldren sighed. "Besides that?"

"Talk to me about the doll."

"The doll is nothing. The young lady it
belongs to, Sandahl Sara el Thallasi is everything, a jewel without
price. Irreplaceable. The Nhurstari envoy and I were escorting her
to her betrothal when our carriage was set upon, and Sandahl was
taken."

Kree’s lip curled. He hated this story
already.

"Let me begin at the beginning, Captain
Fawr. There are two Elvin nations. Thallasi and Nhurstari. I should
say Nhurstari and Thallasi. Nhurstari is the mother of the
People."

"I saw that Nhurstari elf," Kree
interrupted. "He didn’t look a thing like you."

Eldren dismissed Kree’s remark with a wave
of his hand. "The rift between Thallasi and Nhurstari occurred
before the Stars fell into Elhar, before the founding of the
Kingdoms. Nhurstari became an isolationist nation hidden by strong
magic. As time went by, Thallasi fell under the influence of the
Star-wizards in Elhar. We embroiled ourselves in the affairs of
humans. Nhurstari remained pure. Thallasi became polluted. We are
both in danger."

"What kind of danger?" Kree smelled elfin
intrigue. Goddess! He hated these people.

"Extinction. Elfin children mature slowly,
more slowly than all other Wilderkin races. Thallasi bear few and,
of those we do, more than a third are of mixed race. Due to eons of
inbreeding, Nhurstari bear even fewer. Of their progeny surviving
to maturity, most are male. They must reunite with their Thallasi
kin, or they will die out.

"Thallasi is polluted by other races as I’ve
stated. Even such a one as Kayseri here may call herself a cousin
to our king. My people have lost much of our magic, our elfishness,
if you will. We must reunite with Nhurstari or cease to exist as a
unique people."

Eldren pushed pale hair off his alabaster
forehead. "We could not sit idly by while extinction and cross-race
breeding carried us away. Nhurstari’s First House had an infant son
and heir, and our seers promised a daughter heir to the First House
of Thallasi. The match was set. Our princess was to have fostered
in Nhurstari. Our High Council believed having her come to stasis
there would make the match more palatable to the Nhurstari. The
augury did not foretell we would wait ninety-six years for the
birth of our princess. Rian, Sar el Nhurstari has grown into his
first stasis yet he is as committed to this alliance as his father
has been these many years."