The being tilted her head and then reached for the mask again. Rezkin’s heart raced as he grasped its edge. Even if this was truly the Ancient of wind, there was no guarantee she would be amicable. There was a chance that Bilior had been lying about their deal. Rezkin took a deep breath and then pulled the mask away. A stream of bubbles instantly covered his face. He secured the mask to his belt by feel, and when his vision cleared, Rezkin was astonished. There, in the depths of a black lake in a dark cave, was an entire underwater world he had not been able to see through the enchantments on the mask. The nixies appeared more substantial, with individual features and expressions. Many of them jumped in excitement and cheered as they clapped each other on the back and hugged in celebration of some achievement.
Creatures Rezkin had never seen nor heard tell of, some larger than a horse, swam past, some disappearing into the branching caves. Rezkin finally inhaled, his mouth filling with bubbles. They abruptly coalesced and filled his airway and lungs. It was a strange sensation, but he was glad to not be drowning. Then, he saw her. Swimming toward him was not some insubstantial nixie but a real woman. When she drew closer, he realized that she was not human. Her pale, seafoam-green eyes were far larger than those of a human, her cheeks narrower, and her cheekbones sharper. Her thin mouth was set above a pointed chin. Long, ash blonde hair floated in the water around her head, from which he could see the protruding tips of pointed ears. The entirety of her skin sparkled from the tiny, translucent scales that covered it down to her waist where the scales grew larger and darker over the length of a long, sinuous fish tale. She was one of the fabled merfolk, and in her hands was a sword—the Sword of Eyre.
Rezkin reached out and stroked a strand of the mesmerizing woman’s hair. She blinked at him curiously and then stroked his own. She was fascinating, but she was not the woman from his dreams. He grasped the sword. The water abruptly wrapped tightly around him, and his entire world became a rush of bubbles and rough currents. His ears throbbed and then popped as he ascended, and he gasped as his head breached the surface.
Rezkin’s companions shouted and reached for him, pulling him onto the platform. He lay there for a moment, staring at the shadows dancing among stalactites on the ceiling. After taking a deep breath, he pulled himself to his feet and then looked down at the sword. So much trouble he had endured to gain this worthless blade. It was not worthless to Privoth, though, and that was what mattered. His ears popped again, and he realized that buzzing sound was his companions talking to him.
“What?” he said.
Mage Threll said, “You were down there forever. You are not even wearing your mask! How did you not drown?”
Farson said, “Perhaps he did, and his body refuses to accept it.”
Rezkin frowned at his former trainer and then said, “We have the sword.” He glanced back at the water almost longingly. He gained his feet and turned toward the walking path that lit as he approached.
Farson’s voice held a hint of laughter as he said, “You lost your crown.”
Rezkin brushed his hand across his head and realized that Farson was right. He did not care for the crown anyway. He was halfway across the walkway when Mage Threll gasped. Rezkin turned to see what had elicited such a reaction. He followed her gaze to a glinting object in the water. A feminine hand with slender fingers covered in tiny, sparkling scales held his crown above the water. He took the crown with one hand and held her hand with the other. She grasped his hand in return as he peered past the surface into her green gaze. Then, she slipped into the depths and was gone.
As Rezkin left the cave, he felt a loss, as if a part of him had been left behind. He glanced at his hand and found that some glittery flecks remained. It was a small token, but it was one he realized he wanted far more than the crown. He also realized that he longed for Cael.
Chapter 17
Yserria bristled as she approached the echelon’s tent. The battle had been delayed until they could reach the staging ground; and, after having traveled north for two days, she was supposed to be in the midst of preparing for it. She was, instead, needlessly summoned to speak with the echelon while the woman broke her fast in comfort. Yserria did not wait for an invitation to enter. She had been summoned after all. She was not going to give this woman the power to make her wait. Yserria stalked through the opulent travel accommodations to the small table that held an assortment of preserves, breads, and cream.
Deshari’s smile was affable, while her tone held only contempt. “Would you care to join me? These are some of the finest preserves the Souelian has to offer. This one is from Ferélle, but perhaps you prefer a taste of home? I have an Ashaiian mint-fig. I am not entirely sure what a fig is, but I do enjoy the taste.”
“What do you want?” Yserria said.
Deshari motioned to a chair. “Please, sit down. I do not care to strain my neck looking up at you.”
“No, your neck should feel great as you watch me go into battle.”
Deshari laughed. “I would never watch such barbaric sport. No, I shall enjoy the company of Gemsbrick, while you are dallying in the field, and shall be ready to celebrate our success upon your return.”
“You wish for my return?”
“Of course. I do want to prevail over Orina after all. I have no concerns that you will fare better than my Ifigen. He is a seasoned commander and is familiar with the style of Orina’s champion Carthano.”
“Then what do you want?” said Yserria.
Deshari placed her butter knife on her plate and said, “Very well, to business. I wanted to give you a chance to withdraw the challenge. There is no need to risk your life when we know that you have no intention of staying to rule as echelon. You cannot retain the position from afar. It will be pointless.”
“I will withdraw my challenge for echelon if you withdraw your claim for Lord Malcius.”
She tipped her goblet back and said, “Well, you know I cannot do that. It would appear weak. My adversaries watch closely. Many covet my position.”
“After today, you will no longer have that problem,” said Yserria.
“You fancy yourself a wolf, but we both know you are a mere pup. Without the weight of that torque and support of your master, you and your house would have no standing in this queendom.”
Yserria said, “He is not my master. He is my king and yours as well. He chose me because I can fight for him, not so that he may fight for me. If you have nothing more to say, I must return to my preparations. I go to win a battle today.”
Deshari pursed her lips, so Yserria stood and then stalked out of the tent, heading toward the staging ground. When she arrived, she was surprised to see that her force had grown to nearly double what it had been at dawn. Several dozen men ceased their chatter and stood at attention. As one, they saluted her, not the formal bow given a matrianera, but a one-armed, fisted salute of a soldier. Yserria nodded and said, “Thank you for volunteering for the battle challenge for Third Echelon. I am honored by your gift of service. It is time to solidify our plan of engagement. As you were.” The men relaxed and returned to their preparations as Yserria looked for Balen.
She found him going over plans with Malcius. For Malcius’s sake, she spoke in Ashaiian. “The echelon is worried. She tried to get me to withdraw my challenge.”
“As she should be,” said Balen. “The echelon likes to think her consort a military genius. He is a brutal warrior and a good leader, but he has always depended on his second to devise the plan.”
“How does that help us?” she said.
Balen grinned. “I am his second.”
Yserria smiled. “That is good news. I am unfamiliar with the terrain, my opponent”—she thumbed over her shoulder—“my men—pretty much all of it. I am depending on your experience and guidance.”
“That will make you a good general,” said Balen.
Yserria nodded. “Rezkin says it is important to recognize your followers’ strengths and capitalize on them. He says that I should not believe that I can or should do everything better than everyone else.”
“This Rezkin sounds like a wise man. Is he your trainer?”
“Yes, he is my king—and yours.”
“I had heard rumors, but I did not believe them all. I did not realize you were so close to your king.”
Yserria’s face flushed. “We are not close in the intimate sense, if that is what you are implying.”
“I should say not,” said Malcius. After seeing her frown, he said, “What? I am trying to defend your honor, as you asked.”