The Underground Witch (Incenaga Trilogy) (3 page)

Erick slipped out from behind the waterfall
and kept to the rock ledge, inching his way across the slippery stones until he jumped the last step onto the dry shoreline, blanket it hand. He had rolled it tightly enough that most of it was still dry. Emmeline smiled. Was there nothing he couldn’t do? Wrapping it around her shoulders he rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

“Th-th-th
ank y-y-y-y-you,” Emmeline said through rattling teeth.

Erick frowned.
“I’m sorry I pulled you in. I didn’t think you’d get this cold.”

“It was f-f-f-f
un. N-n-n-n-n-not every d-d-d-day a girl gets to k-k-kiss a prince under-r-w-w-water.” Emmeline tried to wink but she was afraid her shivering made her look more like a crazed animal with an eye twitch.

“Did you just wink at me?”
Erick teased.

“M
-m-maybe.”

Erick chuckled.
“Come on. Let’s get you comfortable. There is a patch of grass over there underneath that tree.”

“N-n-n-n
o sh-sh-shade.”

“
Very well, no shade. But, it might get hot this afternoon, especially if we stay in the sun. You might even want to go for another dip in the water!”

Emmeline shot him a look that suggested otherwise
and sunk to the grassy beach. Erick chuckled and sat next to her.

“
We can wait to move under the tree if you get too hot,” Erick said as he laid back, his hands behind his head.

Emmeline
shook her head and curled up next to him, content to bask in the sun for the remainder of the day. She doubted she’d ever want to move underneath the tree.

Unconcerned with the passing time,
she let her mind wander in and out of coherency, content to entertain any errant thought, or simply think of nothing. Just as the sun passed its peak, it pulsed once and an image flashed into her mind, overshadowing her sight. Instead of clouds, a ceiling of glass towered above her. Instead of grass, a lush carpet of sapphire blue flattened beneath her body. She pulled herself to her feet, her heart thumping, and turned a full circle to get her bearings.

She was in a
room of exquisite beauty, but not one she had ever seen before. Her imagination seemed to have run away with itself, and yet Emmeline couldn’t shake the feeling she had been carried to a different time, a different place. Fresh gardenia’s filled the room with a sweet, fresh scent, and a light breeze filtered through the window.

A door slammed behind her and Emmeline whirled around to see
the back of a young woman tearing through an armoire. Her black hair tangled around her waist as she searched high and low, tossing the contents of the drawers over her shoulder and onto the floor. Above the racket, desperate sobs bit into the air, shaking the girl’s frame. She paused a moment to pull an arm across her nose, but a heavy clamoring crashed outside the door and she resumed her frantic search.

“Can I help you,” Emmeline asked.

The girl made no motion that she’d heard Emmeline. Falling to her knees, she rifled through the bottom drawer as the noise outside the door grew louder. She came up empty handed and pounded her fists against the cupboard door.

“No!”
she shouted.

A loud bang rattled the door and the girl dashed to
a small table next to the bed. She thrust her arms deep into the drawer and came out with a jeweled dagger. Pushing to her feet, she faced the door.

Emmeline stiffened. She recognized the girl.

It was her.

Emmeline sh
ook her head. It couldn’t be. Not only did the room look unfamiliar, but the view outside the windows displayed far less evergreens than any Dolmerti landscape she’d ever seen. And yet the resemblance couldn’t be denied.

She, or rather the
girl before her, clutched the dagger in front of her. It almost seemed as if she pointed the dagger at Emmeline, but the girl’s gaze sliced right through her toward the door. With an expression of pure determination, she held her body in a slight crouch as if preparing for a fight.

A heavy pounding cracked through the air
and Emmeline whirled around once more to face the door. Another pounding followed. Then another. And another. The wood buckled and a hand reached into a narrow opening to release the lock. Emmeline stumbled back as a dozen soldiers rushed into the room, marching through her as if she were a ghost.

“Stay back,” the girl said in a timbre so close to Emmeline’s own that for a moment, she thought she had spoken aloud.

“I won’t go with you,” the girl said.

The
soldiers circled her, but none made any motion to touch her. The girl held the dagger higher as a man in king’s finery entered. With a mop of fiery red hair and the build of an ox, it was clear he was from a land Emmeline had never heard of. The man pushed through the wall of soldiers, his freckled face glistening with sweat.

“You have no choice,” he said. “You must come with me. I have plans for you.”

The girl set her jaw and without another word, she turned the dagger around and plunged it deep into her stomach.

“We’ll need the sailors to cross,” the Dolmertian said to Tiergan.

Tiergan bristled. Of course he knew they’d need the
sailors. He wasn’t an idiot. He was a King! The last thing he needed was a foreigner telling him how to manage his ship. Resisting the urge to pull his fist back and strike the Dolmertian, he gritted his teeth instead. He didn’t want the man to take his knowledge elsewhere, so for now, he would have to keep his composure.

The
ring of the warning bell melted into the hot night and three long breaths of silence passed before any sailors stumbled up from below, their eyes heavy with sleep. Their murmurs swept out to sea, drowned out by a loud bellowing that echoed up from behind them.

“What is the meaning of this?” a stocky man shouted. “Who dares board my ship?”

Tiergan laughed and a chill spread over the ship. “
Your
ship?”

“Of course! I am Captain Natan.”

“This is
my
ship now,” Tiergan replied with menacing assurance.

Tiergan
flicked his chin upward and his soldiers drew their swords, advancing toward the sailors. A thunderous clang of steel against steel permeated the thick, hot air, followed by the strangled cry of the injured. His soldiers battled without fear, their swift movements spanning the entire deck, killing with skill and ease.

Tiergan stood back, watching the carnage with satisfaction. The Dolmertian stood with him as well, also at ease
with the battle. He leaned an elbow against the rail and Tiergan found himself irritated by the man once again. What sort of man, who was not of royal birth, opted to stay out of a good fight?

It wasn’t
until a daring sailor found his way toward them and raised a challenging sword that the Dolmertian straightened. Beads of sweat poured from the sailor’s weather-cracked face, dripping into his eyes and mouth. Tiergan grinned and raised his sword to meet the sailor’s advance. No matter how superior his rank above the Dolmertian, he wouldn’t give the man the pleasure of this kill, nor would he miss the opportunity to demonstrate his own strength and skill. If the Dolmertian thought he could threaten him with his quick hands and hard stares, he was wrong. 

Tiergan stepped forward
and engaged the sailor. Despite his wide girth, he deflected each attack without difficulty, taking time to watch the sailor’s bravery turn to fear. It was the change in expression Tiergan enjoyed most in one-on-one combat, the confidence overtaken by uncertainty, and then finally turning to panic. Tiergan laughed as he fought with unflinching assurance.

It didn’t take long for
the panic to settle deep within the sailor’s bones, a sign Tiergan recognized through the sailor’s frequent missteps. His form had turned sloppy, desperate, and his eyes no longer tracked Tiergan’s every move. Tiergan grew bored with the skirmish and increased the speed of his sword. After a few solid swings it plunged into the sailor’s belly.

Grinning,
Tiergan brought his boot up and kicked the sailor off his weapon. The sailor’s eyes widened as he gripped his wound and stumbled to the ground. Tiergan stepped over the moaning heap and searched for his next victim, no longer content to just watch. He was thirsty for more, eager to see panic cloud the eyes of another prey.

T
he sight of Captain Natan storming the quarterdeck stairs caught his attention. Natan cursed as he took in the scene below him. Tiergan smiled. Perhaps one did not always need to duel in order to witness panic engulf another. He took a cursory glance of the ship if only to savor what he already knew was taking place. Natan’s sailors were growing desperate, their numbers dwindling fast. Blow after blow the sailors were losing as Tiergan’s soldiers fought with strength and speed.

Natan ca
lled for his men to stand down and Tiergan raised his fist into the air. The fighting ceased at once, the sailors heaving for air as their bodies took advantage of the respite, however brief it would prove to be.

From across the sh
ip, Natan pointed his sword at Tiergan, the tip of his blade as steady as the fixed stare of a leopard on the hunt.

“I challenge you and you alone,” he shouted, “t
o the death. And when you die, I will remain Captain of
my
ship and your men will leave.”

Tiergan sneered. “And w
hen you die, I will be Captain; however, your men will not have the option to leave. They will serve me or they will be executed.”

The sailors stole glances at one another before their eyes turned scrutinizing. Tiergan couldn’t help but smirk.
He knew what they saw, what made their eyes grow round and their brows pull into their foreheads. Tiergan stood a full head higher than their captain and his wide shoulders supported equally wide arms and thick hands. They might hope his large stature would slow his movements, but he knew his brute force would more than make up for it.

“We are agreed then?” Natan shouted.

Tiergan bowed, his arms stretched to either side of him. “It will be my pleasure.” He strode to the stairs and ascended the steps one by one until he reached the quarterdeck. With his sword raised, he curled his upper lip back. “Shall we?”

Natan responded with a blinding flash of his blade. It sliced through the air with a whistle and ended with a resounding crash as Tiergan’s sword parried with the strength of an ox.

“You are familiar with the sword.” Tiergan said, his voice unwavering. “I’m pleased to have such a worthy opponent.”

Natan’s eyes narrowed. “You will not be so pleased when I slit your throat.”

“We shall see whose throat runs dry.”

They met again, their blades like lightening against the night sky. Captain Natan’s speed
balanced Tiergan’s strength, his agility offsetting Tiergan’s control. They were well-matched, but while Natan’s brow moistened as the fight wore on, not a drop of sweat collected on Tiergan’s.

Demyan leaned against the main mast, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Tiergan knew
Demyan would jump in if the situation grew out of hand, but he wouldn’t let it. He could handle his own fights.

U
sing his height to his advantage Tiergan forced Natan to deflect higher than his lower stance would accommodate, limiting the speed at which he could parry the blows. Natan fell back until he pressed against the rail’s edge, his face contorted with strain. Tiergan grinned. He had him, he was sure of it. But in a maneuver that caught him off guard, Natan rolled to the ground and slashed upward.

Tiergan swung around
and drew in a sharp breath at the sight of blood oozing from his thigh. He couldn’t believe it. Not only was it his first battle wound, it was the first breach of a sword he’d ever felt in his life. Despite his many years of training, his instructors had been careful to never draw blood. And never before had he left the protection his rank offered to participate in a fight. The throbbing sensation brought with it a sense of urgency he both welcomed and despised.

Tiergan lunged forward, thrusting his sword into the Natan’s right shoulder.
Without so much as a wince, Natan’s feet shifted as he tossed his sword to his other hand. Tiergan knew it should have caused him considerable pain, especially now that he had experienced a wound of his own, but Natan only set his jaw in a firm line, a stubbornness Tiergan found irritating. When would the panic set in? When would it dull his movements and weaken his judgment?

Tiergan lunged again and Natan surged to the side. The clashing of their swords rang through the heavy air until a strained groan cut into the darkness.
Tiergan sneered as he watched Natan’s expression darken with fear. Finally, his reward. Pulling his sword from Natan’s chest, he took hold of the dying captain’s collar.

“Farewell,
captain,
” Tiergan said, his voice mocking.