Xaemus entered the central pavilion of the mercenary camp without alerting the two Bellonari guards standing watch. Even all the years of intense training that the warriors of the that Brotherhood underwent were no match for the skills of the hunter. Neither of the two men, both dressed to match the odd conglomeration of mercenaries that had formed Vagris’ army as was the Bellonari way, had any indication that Xaemus moved to within arm’s reach of them. Had the Xesh’lin wished, he could have taken the life of either or both men; of course, there would have been neither challenge nor profit in such an action.
The hunter was not a being of idle action. His every movement betrayed deadly purpose. When he chose to take on either the capture or killing of any being, that creature’s death was as sure as the coming dawn. Xaemus pursued only those missions that enhanced his skills and reputation, and his actions were all focused only on accomplishing his self-appointed missions. Even those who hired the hunter could not claim to be his master, for the Xesh’lin operated on his own timeline, with his own specific tasks. Those who failed to acknowledge this simple fact were forced, at best, to find another assassin of lesser skill or, at worse, become the prey of the hunter.
On this morning, on the border of Wildelves Wood, Xaemus was required to speak with Vagris. Rather than navigate the various guards and sycophants who surrounded the warlord, whenever he felt compelled to address Vagris, he did so by the most direct means possible. Thus, none of the mercenaries, captives, Xesh’lin slavers, or Bellonari who had taken up residence in Vagris’ expansive encampment noticed as the hunter moved among the various tents towards the warlord’s own large pavilion.
Once inside, Xaemus noted without surprise that Vagris was not there. The general of this mercenary army rarely spent much time in his own tent. Despite his many faults, Vagris was a good leader. He took great care to inspect his warriors and give personal instructions to each detachment before they left on another raid. It was also possible that the Bellonar General was off indulging in one of his personal entertainments. Xaemus decided, rather than perusing his target, he would wait.
The hunter’s patience was rewarded fairly quickly. After only a few hours, the entrance flaps parted and someone entered. It was not Vagris, Xaemus immediately noted, but a slave. She was nude, except for a brief piece of cloth tied about her thin waist and a veil covering the lower half of her face. Her lightly tanned skin was nearly flawless, but for a light scar on her shoulder. Iron cuffs inscribed with starfell runes had been attached to her small wrists and ankles, and yet the Sy’lv’a still moved with a grace. She was allowed to wear no jewelry, of course, and her hair had been cut short…
Her hair.
Xaemus froze, concealed within the shadows as his solid red eyes, the mark of his cursed race, locked on the Sy’lv’a’s hair. She had the Mark. She was a Daughter of the Wyld. As one of cursed Xesh’lin, Xaemus had not seen one in many years, for there were none among his own kind. His people had not witnessed the birth of a Daughter of the Wyld in many generations. Many in Davenor feared they had lost the capability, that the connection through the noble females of their cursed race to the Winds was forever cut. Even as an outcast from his own people, traveling throughout the world amid the shadows of civilization, Xaemus was still Xesh’lin. He bore the Mark of Kellinva; the blood eyes and colorless skin that kept him shunned from Sy’lva’ai. Slavers reported finding one who bore the Mark, but could never capture a Daughter, never bring one back to Davenor. Though, in his travels, Xaemus had seen the Daughters, this was always from a great distance, never so close.
The hunter had lost track of how long the Sy’lva had been moving about the pavilion’s main room. She was clearly a personal slave of Vagris, going about many simple housekeeping duties. the starfell-inscribed manacles cut her from the Winds, denying her access to the power that was her birthright and means of escape. Xaemus realized the purpose of her veil: the Change was upon her. Her slight body was in the midst of its transformation to maturity. Her hips and breasts were swelling, her mane thickening, and her limbs lengthening. Her beauty, already remarkable, was enhancing, even as the hunter looked upon the female. The air carried the scent of her, teasing the Xesh’lin, almost commanding his obedience to the emerging matriarch. The veil would prevent her from enthralling a male, from using the water of her mouth and her eyes to bind anyone, Human, Sylv’u, or Xesh’linforever to her will.
She collected an empty wine cup and cleaned the central table of other remaining refuse. Upon her entrance, she had replaced the pitcher of water that rested on a small table below a large painting created years ago by Rogan Eigenhard. While the Daughter of the Wild moved about her chores, Xaemus watched her. He could not… not watch her. His eyes of burning blood were fixed. The gentle sway of her broadening hips. The gentle trace of a soft tongue upon softer, full lips. The soft rise and fall of swelling breasts as she drew in cold, hateful air, and let drift the teasing, compelling hint of her breath.
Eventually, Xaemus realized that the Syl’va knew he was there. He did not know how long she had known, for the Daughter of the Wild had given no indication. Even once he was certain of her awareness, she continued at her duties.
Finally, curiosity overrode caution and Xaemus called out. “Kesquidicis’quel’al’a’fa?” he asked in flawless Sy’lva’n. His voice, as always, was nothing more than a harsh whisper, but Xaemus knew she could hear him.
The Daughter of the Wild stopped her work and turned to face him. Even though the hunter had still not revealed himself, still her perfect eyes, those twin orbs of glowing hazel, drifted exactly to where he stood amidst the deep shadows. She kept her chin lowered and clasped her delicate hands in front of her supple waist. Her expression was carefully neutral but Xaemus sensed an utter cold that rolled off this Syl’va’s soul. He recognized it for he had felt it himself, from his own.
“I no longer speak Sy’lva’n words,” she replied in the harsh Velish tongue of the Humans. “I am no longer one of the People, and so do not share in their thoughts.”
Xaemus stepped out of the shadows. “In that case,” he said in equally flawless Velish, “why do you ignore my presence?”
“I have been taught the slave’s lessons, my lord,” she replied. “I will speak only when spoken to.”
“So, had I not spoken to you, you would have continued to work?”
“Yes.”
“What is your name?”
“I have no name. I am a slave.”
“You are a Daughter of the Wild,” Xaemus pointed out. “Why do you not free yourself?”
She paused before answering. “Where would I go?” she asked. “I have no name. I have no family. I have no honor. I am a slave.”
Xaemus nodded. “I was a slave,” he said. “I was taken in service to the Dark Coven of Mt. Godsfire. They wished to make me into a tool for their use. I survived my slavery. I am a slave no longer.”
“And your masters?”
“As I said,” the Hunter replied, “I am a slave no longer.”
The Syl’va continued to look Xaemus in his. So cold, he silently marveled. Like flawless gems preserved in ice. “Are you not?” she asked. “Your masters made you into a monster, and a monster you remain.”
The Xesh’lin stood still, staring back at the Daughter of the Wild. “You have work,” he said finally. “I will not be the cause of your punishment if it is not accomplished.”
The tent flaps parted again as the Syl’va returned to her duties. Vagris entered and frowned at his unwelcomed guest. “Xaemus,” he noted with little enthusiasm. The warlord unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to the waiting Syl’va, barely registering her presence otherwise. “To what to I owe your visit this time?”
“We have need for coordination,” the Hunter replied. “You raids are interfering with my operations.”
Vagris sat down and held out his hand. The Daughter of the Wild placed a cup in his outstretched hand and filled the cup with wine. “What operations?” the warlord demanded. “Fak’Har hasn’t told me of any other operations.”
“Our employer tells you only what you need to know.”
“Apparently, I need to know what in Underworld you have been up to,” the Bellonar General countered. “Since my operations have been conflicting with yours.”
“Indeed.” The hunter moved to a large map on the table at which Vagris sat. Xaemus pointed. “I have been tasked with the removal of specific targets in preparation for your assault. With the raids your forces are conducting, those targets are either grouping with large numbers of soldiers, making my job take longer than initially projected, or they are retreating to the Keep, which will extend the timeline even more significantly.”
Vagris glanced up at his ally. “I thought that you were the monster of Davenor,” the warlord mocked. “Isn’t it true that no target can escape you?”
“This is correct. However, the amount of time each target is beginning to require has begun to interfere with Fak’Har’s overall timeline.”
“In other words, you’re starting to look bad to the Shadowed Mage.” Vagris stood and handed the empty cup to his Syl’vaslave. The warlord shook his head. “I will not slow the progress of my operations just to help you preserve your reputation.”
“I will be clear,” Xaemus said without emotion. “I do not fail in the tasks I undertake. I have specific targets to eliminate at specific intervals. Your military operations are threatening to delay that. Since eliminating the forces that protect my targets is not feasible, if you do not slow your raids, I will delay your operations by eliminating your army’s leadership.”
Vagris narrowed his eyes. “I don’t respond well to threats,” he stated flatly.
“Nevertheless, you do respond. And, in this case, you will respond obediently.”
The Bellonar weighed his options before answering. “Very well, Xeshlin. Since I can’t afford to lose too many of my captains, and having you killed would be more trouble than it’s worth… right now, I’ll limit my raids.”
“Good,” the hunter replied. While turning to leave, his eyes of burning blood passed over the Daughter of the Wild and held for a moment. Xaemus paused. “One final matter before I return to my tasks,” he said.
“What now?” Vagris demanded.
“I would purchase your new slave.”
The warlord started and turned, glancing first at the hunter and then to the Syl’va. The Daughter of the Wyld gave no indication of emotion, but stood frozen, offering no hint of an opinion. “Why?”
Vagris asked.
“My reasons are irrelevant to you,” Xaemus replied. “I desire the slave and have funds enough for a reasonable price.”
Vagris narrowed his eyes. “The reasons are not irrelevant, I think. The slave represents an investment of acquisition and training.” He glanced over at the Syl’va and sniffed. “I’m not about to just hand off all that effort without a good reason.”
The hunter did not respond at first. “I have an interest,” he finally said. “That is all that matters. It would be in your interest to sell her to me.”
“Does this have something to do with her mother being a Speaker?”
At the word, the title of nobility that was all remaining of the lost Sylvai Empire, Xaemus’ eyes flickered to the Daughter of the Wild. She gave no betrayal of emotion. Still, the hunter understood in an instant what had happened. A Human such as Vagris was well known among, not only the Sy’lva’n, but the Xesh’lin, as well. If the Syl’va’s mother had also been Marked as a Daughter of the Wild, then there was only one fate that could have befallen her.
The hunter’s grip tightened on his weapon. With a blade on both ends of the long hilt, his weapon was unique, known and feared throughout Ar’ae’el for all the lives that had been lost at either of its deadly, poisoned ends. Vagris had faced that weapon once before and lived; it was becoming increasingly likely he would have to face such a trial again.
“There are slaves aplenty to be found in the Wood,” Xaemus said slowly. “Get another.”
“I’m still waiting for a reason why I should sell this one to you,” Vagris countered. The warlord was suddenly painfully aware of his lack of a weapon. True he had a dagger on his belt, but in battle with the monster of Davenor, he would much prefer a proper sword.
The hunter moved his weapon slightly forward. The threat was obvious to both men, although neither betrayed the slightest emotion on their face. “Have you grown so confident in your Bellonari training that you would test yourself against me?” Xaemus asked.
“I’m not just another member of the Brotherhood,” Vagris pointed out. “I am a General.”
“You are a General of the Bellonari through deceit and poisoning,” the Hunter reminded. “You did not face Beckett through honorable combat.”
“How many have you poisoned?” the warlord asked. “At least one.”
“True. King Cylan Calonar is falling to the Kay’ay’eil’nas, brewed and delivered by my hand. I, who infiltrated the Northern Keep, past the soldiers of House Calonar, and even the fabled Archaeknights, to poison one of the last surviving Heroes of Fate. What have you accomplished General? Not even the death of Rogan Eigenhard as you claimed for so long.”
Vagris growled at the Xesh’lin’s words. Among the Bellonari Brotherhood, he still carried the shame of his dual failure, not only for the survival of the traitor, but also for Vagris’ false claims of success. “You push too far,” the warlord warned. “I have a dozen of my brothers in this camp. Not even you, with your precious sword, could stand against that many Bellonari.”
“Perhaps that is so,” Xaemus conceded. “But there are a few factors you must consider. You would still have to explain the deaths of so many brothers to the other Generals. Another failure which they would not tolerate. More importantly, you would have to explain your failures to Fak’Har and the Shadowed Mage would be even less forgiving upon his arrival. Without the Bellonari to protect you, Fak’Har would make a mockery of your flesh.” The hunter pointed one tip of his double-bladed weapon at the warlord. “But all of that is assuming you survived your battle with me.”
Vagris smiled then. He grinned with vile amusement and spoke a single word. “Queltuasor.”
Xaemus froze.
The Bellonari General continued to smile but turned and gestured for the Sy’lva to bring him another cup of wine. “That’s right hunter. The Brotherhood learned long ago her name. The secret that you thought… that you hoped had died with all Dark Coven you slaughtered so long ago.”
Taking the cup his slave brought, Vagris turned back to Xaemus. “The Brotherhood knew that someday you would become a problem. We dedicated a great deal of effort in uncovering that name. All so that, when the time came, one of the Order could take control of your weapon.”
Xaemus said nothing. He held his weapon out, extended, in front of Vagris. “Try,” he whispered.
“It’s enough that you know there is that chance. You cannot have my slave, at any price. You want her, but not as a slave. I know that now, and that gives me an advantage. I know the name of your weapon, and that gives me an advantage as well. I’ll keep my word and reduce the raids, but only because it suits me. In the meantime, return to your duties, and don’t return unless I, or our employer, call.”
The hunter lowered his arm. “You believe you have power over me,” he said. “You are not the first to believe this. You are correct that I have an interest in your slave.” Xaemus closed the distance between himself and Vagris, until there was none separating them. “Understand a simple truth, General. I will return often to check on her welfare. You will not be aware of my presence. Should any harm come to her, by your hand or any other, you will have to test the limits of this control you believe you have, since I will kill you… eventually.”
Xaemus turned and departed.