“Mydhali Tiv e’Halvers,” the man introduced himself as he stalked closer through the new spring grass. His Eastland was utterly accentless to Simon’s ear, a reminder that he was as geasbound as Simon himself, even if he hadn’t specifically described himself with the possessive form for ‘of Halvers.’ “Simon, Yienry will be very relieved to find you alive.”
Simon realized this was the grimalkin man who had redirected the Hunt with an illusion, saving Simon’s life.
Mydhali wore only a pair of trousers hacked off above the knee, despite the cool spring air, revealing powerful muscles and the scarified tattoos of a grimalkin wizard. Those marks would be triggers for highly advanced protection and healing spells; Simon wished he could recall more of his lessons on runic symbolism. However, he did know enough to be impressed. Those tattoos meant that Mydhali was trained by his own people rather than being captured young and brought up by the Learned Men as a slave.
Simon realized that Yienry must have spent a small fortune to obtain the man. Few truly Gifted and wild-caught grimalkins were ever successfully bound. Attempts generally ended with either dead humans or insane grimalkins.
He continued his quick assessment of the threat the man might pose. There wasn’t a lot he could do about grimalkin illusions and enchantments other than hope that Tara and the Book could deal with them. However, if a confrontation between them turned physical, he would have to fight. Mydhali was three times his weight, all muscle. He was slightly shorter than Tara, but still massively larger than Simon, whose head only came up to his biceps.
A utilitarian military-style longsword hung at his waist. Simon knew from experience that most grimalkin didn’t bother to learn swordplay, but it seemed that Mydhali was the exception. In addition to that blade, Mydhali carried three throwing daggers: one strapped to each thigh and another on his belt.
Having concluded the man was a walking weapon, Simon firmly told himself that Mydhali was not a threat at the moment. He had approached openly and in peace.
“How long have I been missing?” Simon said as the grimalkin man reached them. He kept his voice level. He did not retreat.
Mydhali answered calmly, “A little over two days. We feared you lost when the ship’s captain reported you were snatched away by a portal.” There was none of the obsequious groveling common among geasbound men in his tone. He’d been bound, with all the trauma that implied, but he hadn’t been broken.
Mydhali’s blue eyes were surveying Simon from head to toe with the same level of scrutiny that Simon had given him,
“How is Elynal? Were you able to find her after I was thrown?” Simon asked while doing some mental math. It sounded as if the time differential was right around seven Earth days to one in Eastland.
“The horse is well,” Mydhali said, an approving smile touching his lips. “I put her out in the east pasture to rest, but she seems to have taken little harm.”
“That is a relief.” Simon had been quietly worried about his mare, but there had been little he could do. He shook his head. “Mydhali, there is trouble. I need to speak to Yienry.”
“There is a geas on your soul,” Mydhali said to Simon, then he turned his attention to Casey. His large blue eyes narrowed as he identified Simon’s master. That confirmed Simon’s initial impression of the man’s training, skill, and power with his Gifts. A minor or untrained mage might feel the subtle swirls of Power surrounding Simon, but only a very experienced man could distinguish that spell from the Hunter’s Mark on his back, much less identify that it was a binding so quickly.
Casey gave him a level look back, then glanced at Simon. “Simon? Do you want to explain, or want me to?”
That small gesture, in which he was clearly recognizing Simon as his equal, made Simon smile very briefly. Quickly, Simon said, “It is not what you think, Mydhali, and not the trouble of which I speak. Casey and I were bound to each other against our will.”
“It seems you may have a story to tell.” The man turned an assessing gaze towards Tara. With some surprise, he said, “It has been a long time since I’ve seen a sister of my people freely interacting with humans, without the influence of enchantment.”
Tara bared her teeth in an expression that was as much a challenge as it was a smile.
Mydhali answered her with a genuine grin, and Tara looked down, blushing a little. Simon thought he might have reacted similarly in Tara’s place, and that was a horrifying thought. He told himself he was not attracted to grimalkins; they were the substance of his nightmares, not daydream fodder, and he’d never been someone drawn to danger.
The fact remained, though, that Mydhali was physically impressive.
The grimalkin man flared his nostrils briefly, and Simon remembered, to his embarrassment, that grimalkin senses were far more keen than human. Had Mydhali sensed his very slight arousal? Hastily, he turned his gaze to Tara and hoped the man assumed that Simon liked women; it was still shameful to be attracted to any grimalkin, but at least she was not a man.
If Mydhali’s Gift included empathy, of course, he would know, but empaths tended to keep their own counsel and had good reason to hide that aspect of their Gift. It would still be embarrassing if Mydhali realized he had an inverted attraction to him, however!
Tara was now staring at the ground at Mydhali’s feet. Her pale skin hid little, and it was obvious that her cheeks were still pink.
Mydhali said calmly, “Simon, can the wizard defend his claim on you? The Hunting party that was seeking you is in the next valley over, and the hellhound knows your scent. The wind blows in that direction. It won’t take them long to arrive here. They’ll easily track you.”
Simon’s heart sank at those words. He gave Casey a sideways look. “He’s entirely untrained, but all the evidence I’ve seen suggests he’s quite powerful. I am uncertain who would win, but a fight is guaranteed to be dramatic.”
Casey smiled at the subtle teasing, as Simon knew he would.
Mydhali bared sharp teeth in a broad grin. “Sometimes, the untrained are the most dangerous. They’re not predictable, and they don’t know when to be afraid or what they aren’t supposed to be able to do.”
“Who understands what Mydhali is saying?” Simon asked. That was important to know.
Casey said, “He sounds like he’s speaking English.”
“Can’t understand a word he’s saying!” Avery countered, eyes wide behind his thick spectacles.
“The big-ass furry is talking in some weird foreign language,” Mark agreed. Simon realized it was a good thing that Mark would be unintelligible to the Eastlanders. He wasn’t sure what a ‘furry’ was, but he assumed Mark was being rude.
“He doesn’t look like a furry!” Avery objected.
“Yeah, he does!” Mark shot back. “Bet you like what you see, too.”
“Bet you do,” Avery shot back. “Dick boy.”
“Oh, please. You’ve got to be dying to know how he’s hung.” Mark said in an aggressively suggestive tone that included an eyebrow waggle and a pointed look at Mydhali’s crotch. “I know there isn’t a handsome he, she, or it that you’ve ever met that you haven’t hit on.”
“It? ... damnit, Mark, shut the fuck up. I don’t give a shit what anyone has in their pants!” Avery snapped, with emphatic, indignant, and quite truthful denial ringing in his voice.
Simon said to Casey, who now had a hand over his face, “We are very fortunate the spell does not extend to translating their words for Mydhali, only yours.”
Mydhali’s smile was gone. He might not understand Mark and Avery, but the context was clear enough, especially since he had heard Simon's comment. He knew Mark was being lascivious, and Avery’s tone indicated outrage.
“Seriously.” Casey ran his hand down his face and rolled his eyes before continuing. “Mydhali, I’m very sorry for my friends. Mark does not represent the rest of us.”
Simon added, “And silencing him is as easy as shoveling a hole in a lake.”
“Fuck you, Fairy Boy.” Mark favored Simon with the single-finger salute that Simon had seen several times from different people, including once between Shana and Avery. He hadn’t caught what had started the latter exchange, but he’d walked into the office to find Shana and Avery each aiming an index finger at the other, and giggling. He presumed the hand sign was used in a similar context to the Eastland little-finger-up gesture that implied one was a coward with a very small manhood.
Simon inclined his head in polite acknowledgment of Mark’s words. “I’m not sure what a ‘fairy’ is, Mark. Will you explain the insult further so I know how to react?”
“It’s a little elf creature. They’re, like, tiny and shit! And effeminate!”
“Ah,” Simon said. “I am short but not commonly accused of being even slightly feminine. Perhaps another nickname may be more accurate and, therefore, hurt my feelings more. I look forward to hearing what you come up with.”
Mark stared at Simon, then reached up and scratched the back of his neck. In a confused tone, he said, “Ooookay.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Verbal sparring with Mark had taken the edge off Simon’s fear of the grimalkin man, at least partly because Mydhali was aware he’d somehow been disparaged by the others, but he was simply standing there, patiently waiting for the conversation to circle back to him. Simon turned back to Mydhali. “There’s a need to speak to Yienry, but we have reason to believe he’s been geasbound by the blood mage we just drove off...”
Mydhali nodded slowly, and his ears pinned most of the way back. “I can confirm that is accurate. The spell was cast two days ago. Yienry was afoot because he gave you Elynal. He sent me to the Hunt camp, several miles away, to retrieve another mount for him. When I returned, he and the rest of the party had been bound.”
The grimalkin man stared off into the distance, jaw tight. He swallowed hard, then explained, “We’d discussed that possibility when he joined the Hunt, as Todd has an unpleasant reputation and has been working closely with Prince-Regent Rishard. The rest of the party were... not Rishard’s supporters, so it was unclear what legitimate reason Rishard had when he commanded them to attend a Hunt with his pet blood mage. There was concern that Todd might cast foul magic upon them, but none could say no to the hunt.”
At that name, Prince-Regent Rishard, Simon felt his heart sink. His earlier guesses about Eastland's political machinations might be accurate. If Rishard were regent, things would have gone very badly wrong. And, the regent’s word would carry the force of law. They certainly would not have been able to refuse unless they wished to be the next quarry of a Hunt.
Mydhali continued, “Yienry thought if you made it through to the thaw, you’d be able to cross the high mountain passes to Riesteval and escape — but the blood mage needed a Gifted elven soul to complete a talisman. Because of that, Rishard ordered a Hunt for you earlier than Yienry had expected before the passes were clear.”
“I have no magic,” Simon replied, a bit blankly. He was just an ordinary man, not an ingredient for a spell! He gritted his teeth in anger. If Yienry had been honest about his parentage, and he was known to be half-elven, perhaps people would be more apt to believe he wasn’t Gifted.
Mydhali explained, “Rishard believes, claims, based on your conviction, that you hid your Gift out of loyalty to your own race. He calls you ‘the elven traitor’ now.”
“Ah.” The Temple’s Magistrate had determined he’d used a spell to coerce Lady Stashia to his bed. He had not considered the possible ramifications of that legal finding before.
Simon explained, more for the benefit of his Earth friends than Mydhali, “I’m not Gifted, as you know, but it was politically convenient for the Temple to declare me a mage. The Temple maintains that its prophets are never wrong because they speak God’s word, so my lack of any magic proved they are not infallible — I am, in effect, heresy on two legs. Therefore, when Lady Stashia insisted I used an enchantment to seduce her, the magistrate sent by the Temple quickly determined that I had hidden a powerful Gift, thus validating the prophecy at the expense of my life. I suspect there was additional motivation to execute me, as it seemed a bit of an extreme sentence for the crime, but I was never able to determine what that was.”
Mydhali inclined his head in apparent agreement with that assessment. “What you may not realize, Simon, is that King Sohan believes you innocent of any improper behavior. He is a hard man; he must be to survive. He is not an irrational one. He’s known you all your life, and he believes you to be honest and uncomplicated, and as apolitical as is possible, given your station with Yienry. That you were sent to the Hunt, with a chance for survival, rather than burned at the stake, was his doing. He hoped you would make it over the passes to safety that fall, and when we heard that you had not, he drank himself into a stupor that evening.
“Yienry pretended to all who would listen that he was deeply betrayed by your behavior. Rishard likely didn’t believe him and ordered him to ride with that Hunt to prove his loyalty. He agreed in hopes that he might secretly help you or, failing that, to ensure your death was clean — there are those who truly believe the prophecy and would attempt to enslave you to their will as a powerful mage.”
Mydhali shook his head, then added, “Yienry did not protest the order, despite the very real risk that Todd might geasbind him. He also directed that, should I detect the twisting of a geas on his soul, I was to avoid further conversation with him. I don’t have the right set of Gifts to break a geas myself, unfortunately — I’m only Gifted in Illusions and Sight — and both of us were concerned that he might order me into Todd’s hands.”
Simon sighed. “Wise.”
Mydhali continued, “How is it you know of Yienry’s geasbinding?”
Simon saw no reason not to share the basics of their story with the man. He related it quickly and crisply while simultaneously watching Mark and listening for the sound of an approaching Hunt. Mark had sidled off to the edge of the group, arms folded, a sour look on his face, but at least he was quiet. Casey and Avery were close together, and Tara had put the brothers between herself and Mark. Simon noted approvingly that Avery had picked up the same iron bar that Tara had speared at Todd earlier. It was a good improvised weapon.
Tara also noticed what Avery was holding. In a low but audible voice, she said to Avery, “Iron disrupts magic if the spell isn’t tied off. If you throw that bar into the middle of magic in progress, it might mess it up, but be careful. Make sure you do it from a safe distance.”
“Tied off?” Casey asked.
“Like, complete.” She made a circular motion with her hands. “Don’t you know how to ground a spell or tie it to itself, so it persists without your input?”
Casey shook his head. “Simon hadn’t gotten past teaching me to levitate a little ball of wax.”
“... how was that going?” she asked, concern in her voice.
“There have been some spectacular failures.” Casey’s smile was nervous.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know nothing. Terrifying.”
A hellbeast yelped not far off, causing a ripple of reaction through the group. The others might not recognize the sound, but Mydhali reacted with an alarmed expression, and both he and Simon drew their swords. Everyone else took the hint.
Avery’s grip tightened on the iron rod. Tara crouched, and witchfire bloomed around her hands as she summoned power. Casey, however, simply gave Simon an alarmed, searching look. He looked scared, and as if he didn’t know what to do.
Simon wondered what Casey’s Gift was telling him, even as he reflexively shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. It wasn’t too late to run. He’d been well nourished for two weeks. He knew this country, including the steepest hills, and the deepest brush and rock-choked canyons where horses could not go. He could yet escape — but Casey showed no signs of running, and both the geas and the awareness that Simon would die if Casey did pinned him in place.
Sudden resolve hardened Casey’s expression. He held his hand out, and a rippling glow of raw power shimmered around it. Like Tara, he was summoning energy. Simon quietly edged away, not wanting to get caught in the blast zone if Casey’s efforts went awry. Mydhali noted Simon’s reaction with a quick glance, then, with far less subtlety, he shepherded Avery and Mark a safe distance back.
Power sparked brighter around Tara’s fingers. Her lips twisted into a snarl. Mydhali gave her a concerned look and said, “Sister, you cannot fight humans without the order of a master.”
“Watch me.” She said that in accented but clear Eastlander accent. Simon’s eyebrows went up. She spoke his language. He’d never realized.
Simon noted, “Legally speaking, she can strike a human if she is a hired guard. A geas is traditional but not technically required.” He hadn’t discussed this concept with Tara, but he assumed she was smart enough to shut up and discuss any concerns she had about Simon’s words later.
“Hnnh.” Mydhali seemed unconvinced. Simon, who had specifically researched that point when debating the ethics of buying geasbound servants with Yienry, knew he was right.
Avery said, “Simon, quick, what roles are we all playing here?”
“Roles?” Casey asked, blankly.
Now they could hear the drumming of hoofbeats as the Hunt approached at a gallop. They needed a consistent story for a potentially hostile audience — one that wouldn’t make it look like they were all complete morons. He said, “Casey, you’re a merchant from another world. You’ve legally geasbound me rather than slaying me as a Marked man for the bounty because I understand Eastland’s trade, I can translate for others, and I have numerous connections here. Avery, you’re his business partner and brother, and Tara, you’re a bodyguard.”
Avery said, “Keeping as close to the truth as possible. I like it.”
“Todd knows you three. Any major lies won’t stand up,” Simon pointed out. “But it’s been three and a half years, Earth time. His knowledge of your current state of affairs will be limited.”
“I wanna chance to fuck Todd up!” Mark shouted suddenly, over the sound of the yipping of the hellhound. “I’m gonna kick him in the nuts so hard he tastes his own dick cheese! What he did to Tara was fucking wrong an’ I done a lotta wrong things to her too, but nothing like that! What he does to everyone is wrong!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Tara snapped, looking west towards the approaching hunt. Simon judged they had three or four minutes before they arrived.
“I’m gonna beat the fuck out of him! He’ll learn what it’s like to be kicked in the kidneys until you piss more blood than pee! I will! I’ll do it! I’m not littler than him anymore!” Mark’s voice hit an even louder, panicky pitch.
Casey said, utterly calm, “Mark, we need you to be quiet and let us plan our defense. Simon’s life — and I suspect ours, yours too — could be at stake. Can you do that?”
“I wanna beat the shit out of him. Like literally. Make him crap his pants, like he used to do to me, and then I’ll make him clean it up with his bare hands! Even I ain’t crude enough to make him eat it with a spoon, but I could! I should!”
Casey spoke right over Simon’s irritated attempt to tell Mark to shut up and let the adults come up with a plan, “Mark. Now is not the time. Can I trust you to do what we tell you if we do have to fight?”
Mark opened his mouth as if to shout something angry. Casey interrupted.
“—Mark. This is my mojo talking. We will lose if you mouth off at your brother. Go take a walk,” Casey said firmly. He pointed off into the trees.
Simon blinked at Casey’s common-sense solution. Simon hastily added to Mark, “There’s a nice meadow down that way. If this ends in our favor, we'll come find you when everything's over.”
“But...” Mark’s fists balled up. He stared at them with wide, wounded eyes.
“Take. A. Walk.” Casey’s voice was firm, and his gaze level.
“Fuck you! You hate me! I wish you were dead!” Mark exploded.
Tara snarled, “Do you not care anything about anyone but yourself?”
“My brother’s the sociopath! He’s diagnosed, even! Not me! I care about people!” Mark shouted.
The sound of the approaching Hunt was louder now. They could hear breaking branches and splashing as the horses forced their way through dense willows and crossed the creek in the valley below. They were within a few hundred yards now, and coming fast. Simon, savagely, hoped a few of the men got tree limbs jammed in painful places.
“Mark, you told me you’re a terrible person,” Casey said, voice so calm it shocked Simon. “But are you, really?”
Mark shouted. “I say bad things. I do awful things. I’m just nasty! Nobody likes me! Even I don’t like me! Everyone in my entire life’s hated me!”
“I don’t believe that you’re a horrible person.” Casey reached out with both hands and squeezed Mark’s shoulders. “I need you to listen to your conscience and do the right thing. Remove yourself from this situation because you know your presence will hurt our chances.”
Tara made a skeptical noise. Casey ignored her. Mark didn’t. He flipped her off with both hands. “Fugly even agrees! She’s got more reason than most to know the truth! I don’t got no conscience!”
“Mark, that’s not true. You’re not evil, but both of us know that there’s zero chance that your presence will be helpful in the next few minutes. For everyone’s sake, I need you to take a walk.” Casey’s voice was completely without inflection.
“Fuck you,” Mark said, then to Tara, “You think this is funny, don’t you? FUCK YOU.” But then he turned around and lumbered off into the trees, fists balled and strides short and choppy. A final insult, “Kiss my taint and hope to die!” floated back to them just before they couldn’t see him anymore.
