Wysper

  "Greywolf," Prince Avitohol's voice called out from the doorway to the bathhouse, "are you in there?"

  "Pray bide a moment," Wysper called back, adjusting her dress before running fingers through her damp hair. Tossing the drying cloth into the basket, she stepped outside. "Prince Avitohol, I have not seen Greywolf or anyone else since I woke up. Is something amiss?"

  Prince Avitohol was dressed in a black tunic with red boars embroidered on the cloth, dark leather trousers, and boots shined to a gloss. "He's supposed to be watching Asena fight. I've looked all over the inn, and the only ones I’ve found are Az's twin Nomads, who are passed out drunk. I thought he might be back here with you."

  Unease coiled itself around Wysper’s heart like a venomous serpent. "Greywolf told me he got to know the Chaldeans a little, and the Nomads only drink sparingly. I need to examine them." The ground was cold on her bare feet as she moved past the prince.

  He followed behind her. "You look terrible. Are you sick, or was it a bad night?"

  "The night was wonderful." At least, what I remember of it. "Were I not a Blood mage with a good friend who made sure I drank enough purified water, I would be in far worse shape. Blood magic strengthens us against all ill effects."

  As Wysper opened the door, Prince Avitohol said, "Including hangovers. No wonder the outriders are such notorious drinkers." Without responding, she started down the hall, practically running as they raced past the kitchen and into the common room, the bead curtain's bells wildly jangling as they entered the private room. "They're back in the far corner."

  Wysper rushed past the tables and cushions to the corner, where deep shadows almost hid two figures in armor, propped up against the walls with their heads together and their weapons still in their sheathes. Two ceramic cups and a pitcher laying on its side sat on the table in front of them.

  The smell of wine was strong as Prince Avitohol helped her move the table away, then joined Wysper as she knelt in front of them, shaking each one of them in turn. Prince Avitohol gave the face of the Nomad in front of him a hard slap. Neither responded. "This is not drunkenness," Wysper told him as she placed a palm on each forehead. "Blood magic can counteract the effects of poison, but only for as long as the mage uses her power."

  The prince gave her a wide-eyed look. "They've been poisoned?"

  "Maybe. We will know for sure when they begin to rouse." Greywolf had taught Wysper the trick of pushing her mana out instead of just letting it flow, and as their foreheads grew warm, their eyelids begin to flutter. Now their lips were moving; the Nomads muttering together in some strange language, their voices weak. Wysper put her face close to theirs. "Apologies, but I cannot understand either one of you. If you can hear me, speak in Greco."

  "Betrayed," they whispered in unison, "by the Daemo and his guards. Little Paulus was taken."

  Wysper’s heart leaped into her throat as Prince Avitohol shook the man in front of him. "What about Greywolf?"

  "Taken as well." Both Nomads opened their eyes and grasped the wrist of the hand pressed to their forehead. "Leave us here. Find Paulus and save him."

  "But you both have been poisoned," Wysper told them as they pulled their hands away. "We need to find you a healer."

  "Too late for us. Little Paulus will be crucified; save him, avenge us, save Greywolf, keep Domina..." Their voices became too faint to hear as their eyes closed once more.

  Prince Avitohol pulled Wysper to her feet with surprising strength for someone so young, breaking the connection. "Come on, we've got to rescue them."

  "But how?" She asked as he pulled her towards the door. "We should tell someone—"

  "No time," he replied as he opened it. "Father's going to insist the games finish before he lets Timur mount a search party, and Prince Iron Butt will go along so he doesn't insult tradition." A cold breeze swept over them as they went outside. Avitohol slammed the door shut. "Hypam and her warriors are camped outside Bukhara, just beyond the outer village. She'll help us."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Realizing he was probably right, Wysper took off with him at a run, fear giving wings to her feet as they reached the main road and raced down it to the plaza, the street vendors watching with surprised faces as they passed through them towards the open gate. The half dozen guards were huddled together, facing away from them and laughing at some jest as they ran by them. Behind them someone shouted, but neither looked back as they raced across the paving stones of the white bridge.

  They reached the opposite side and pounded down the dusty street, gathering more looks from the people doing business there as several men walked out of the entrance to a three story building, two of them with wolfish faces. Castor noticed them first. "Wysper, what are you doing?"

  "Greywolf and Paulus were taken," she panted, slowing down with Prince Avitohol breathing hard beside her, “and both Nomads poisoned."

  "Poisoned?" Fenris snarled, and Wysper took a step away from him as he said, "Where are they?"

  "Private room at the 'Direwolf," Prince Avitohol said, adding, "They told us Balthazar’s Daemo did it."

  "Why are you running away from Bukhara then?" Troll hunched over as his voice turned menacing. "Unless you had something to do with this."

  Prince Avitohol stepped in front of Troll with his fists clenched. "I'm going after my cousin, Hypam, and her hundred warriors to rescue them. Any more questions?"

  Troll blinked. "I'm coming with you."

  "What about our brothers?" Fenris growled. "They die while we argue."

  "Go," Castor said, pushing his brother in the direction of Bukhara. "Get a healer for your new brothers and I'll go with the prince and find Greywolf." Fenris hesitated.

  Then whipped around and grabbed Troll by the front of his stained tunic. "Rip out that bastard Balthazar's liver and eat it in front of him." In response, Troll slammed his chest against Fenris', which Wysper realized must mean something to them because the Lycaon let him go and raced off towards Bukhara. The rest of them turned and started running the opposite way.

  Just beyond the village were the pens and fields where horses and other animals were kept, including Greywolf's Daemo mount, Rocky, who watched intently as they raced past him towards a cluster of tents at the top of a small rise. As they started up the gentle slope, a flame haired warrior in Artifact armor leapt up out of the tall grass, put her little fingers to her lips, and gave out a piercing whistle.

  The tents above became a swarm of activity, with dark haired men in leather getting to their feet or climbing out of their tents as Hypam strode down the slope to join them. "Yasataar walked my dreams last night so I knew you'd be coming, but she didn't tell me why. What happened?"

  They stopped in a group behind Prince Avitohol as he blurted out the tale, the rest catching their breath as he added, "Will you help us rescue them?"

  Hypam mussed his hair. "Of course, but on one condition." Her forefinger poked him in the chest. "You will lead the raiding party and I will be your second."

  Prince Avitohol reared back. "Me?"

  "Him?" Troll gave her a suspicious look. "Avitohol's just a kid."

  "Prince Avitohol to you, ugly one," Hypam returning him a dark look of her own as he scowled. "He leads or the Black Dragons remain here."

  "Hypam," Wysper said, choosing her words with care, "this makes no sense. You are the one with experience."

  "Which my cousin needs. Avitohol, the Keeper of the Spirits told me today is to be your trial of manhood. Lead the raiding party, rescue Greywolf and the boy, and even the Khan of khans will not be able to deny that you've earned the name of Attila." Prince Avitohol stared at her for a long moment.

  Then he drew himself up as his jaw set in a firm line. "Alright, I'll do it. Hypam, did anyone see them leave?"

  She inclined her head. "A while ago I watched as a piss colored Daemo directed four men to load a wooden chest onto a wagon, with a driver and a grey bearded man in robes on the seat. The four joined perhaps another twenty guards on horseback, climbing up on their own mounts as the Daemo climbed onto the wagon bed beside the chest. Then they all took off north towards Khor at a good clip."

  Wysper asked, "Was there anything special about the chest?"

  Hypam snorted. "Other than the holes drilled into the sides to allow air to blow in?"

  Troll gave her an ugly look. "You could've stopped them if you'd wanted."

  "I had no reason to," Hypam putting her fists on her hips as she glared at him. "Khan Huldin told me no raiding while we were on this mission, and I had no idea what or who was in the chest."

  "We're wasting time," Prince Avitohol said cutting off Troll before he could retort. He glared at the boy but the prince ignored him. "Hypam, can we catch up to these thieves?"

  "By nightfall, certainly. Horses are faster, but they don't have the endurance of Warghorses, and once the rain begins," her hand motioning up at darkening clouds far off in the distance, "they'll have to slow down or risk one of their mounts breaking a leg." Her gaze sharpened as Hypam stared at the prince. "The question is: what do we do after we catch them?"

  "Surprise them after they make camp," Prince Avitohol replied as he began pacing back and forth. "If it's raining hard, we won't be able to just shoot them full of arrows, so it's going to be hand to hand fighting. If we could distract them somehow, we'll have surprise on our side at the start." An image flashed through Wysper’s mind and she gave out a little gasp, which he noticed. "Wysper, have you got an idea?"

  I cannot believe I am seriously contemplating this. "I do, my prince, but to pull this off I am going to need Rocky's help." She looked down at her nomad-made dress and took a deep breath. "As well as different clothes."