The Subtle Beauty - Ann Hunter (book recommendations txt) 📗

laid an egg. “Wonderful!” She tussled his hair. “Why worry? This cause for great joy.”

When she calmed down, Xander explained. “It would be, save he is a prince by birthright, and I am just a man. I have nothing to offer him.” He looked up at Maeb, forlorn. “A prince needs kingdoms; I only have this crumbling heap of a fortress. It is unfit for a prince. Do you understand, Maeb?” He rose slowly, his gazed fixed on Aowyn outside. “My father was not exactly keen to make allies. I have no one to turn to for assistance.” He looked at the round, elf-like woman. “Unless you know of someone?”

Maeb’s expression was blank, and she stepped back slowly.

“Maeb?”

Maeb wiped her hands on her apron and hurriedly turned away.

Xander knocked over his chair in his haste to catch her. “Maeb, do you know of someone?”

Maeb was trotting toward the door. Xander caught her wrist and spun her round. “Maeb, you must tell me.”

Maeb shook her head.

Xander grasped her shoulders. “If you know who can help, for the love of all your gods in the firmament, tell me!”

Maeb trembled in his hands. She would not meet his gaze. She swallowed hard. Her words trickled barely above a whisper. “There is rumor… but we do not speak his name.”

Xander’s grip softened, and he held Maeb’s face, pressing his lips to her graying temple. “Please, sweet mother, tell me.”

Maeb bit her lip. “Sylas Mortas.”

Xander turned her gaze to meet his. “Please tell me where I can find this man.”

Maeb clutched his wrists and pulled them away from her. “He is no man. He is only evil. Please do not seek him out.”

“Maeb,” Xander implored.

Maeb’s eyes turned icy. “In the swamps of Morgorth, not far from head of River Trefnwy.” She stole away from him and reached for the door, pausing. “But you not hear it from me.”

 

Xander spurred his horse onward. Rhun was a hulking black steed who practically had to rear up to get his front under him in order to launch forward with every stride. His mane, dark as midnight, whipped by Xander’s face. Xander crouched low over Rhun’s withers, driving his hands against the horse’s sweaty neck. They splashed into the River Trefnwy, water exploding into the air with each hoof beat and turned westward, putting the pink blush of dawn behind them. A line of alder trees loomed in the distance, still cloaked in twilight.

They cantered into the woods and wove through the trees, hopping over logs, and prancing through streams. The further in they rode, the darker it got. The forest floor turned soft and loamy. Rhun kicked up bits of silt, and a damp smell rose from below. The ground broke in to muddy patches. The dense woods around them turned mossy and abruptly sparse with narrow spruces. Rhun slowed, no longer sure of his footing. Xander dismounted and tossed the reins over Rhun’s head. Bullfrogs croaked nearby. Xander swatted a mosquito nuzzling the vein in his neck. Rhun nickered warily. Xander patted his shoulder to reassure him. Black peat squelched beneath them, belching up the rank odor of standing water. Xander could barely see in front of him. Thank the heavens for the native moonflies that glowed and dimmed like stars on the horizon. Rhun threw his head, pulling on the reins and balking. Xander exhaled between his teeth. “Easy, lad.”

Rhun’s nostrils flared and contracted, his eyes wide.

Xander chirped to him, hoping to offer some encouragement.

After a moment, Rhun finally took a step forward. Xander rubbed the horse’s forelock and forged ahead, squinting. Pockets of brackish open water gurgled and foamed. Bubbles ballooned so large that a young child could have fit inside. They burst with a splat, reeking with acidity. Xander wrinkled his nose and swallowed against the sick knot in his throat. Vines twisted at his boots as if trying to pull him into the bog and snuff out his life force. Rhun halted again and stamped his hoof. Xander thought he caught a glimpse of firelight through the trees ahead. He rubbed Rhun’s nose. “It’s not much further.”

Rhun shook his mane. Xander tugged on the reins. Something long and thin snaked through the water. Rhun skittered his haunches round, knocking into Xander and smashing his foot. Xander bit his lip hard, wanting to punch Rhun in the neck. Idiot beast! He limped a few steps, trying not to yell out and startle Rhun further. Rhun followed behind placidly as though nothing had happened. The mud sucked Xander’s boots deep into the earth. Great veils of lichen swung from the trees like specters. Xander pushed a curtain of them aside and glimpsed a campfire-lit clearing.

A pot bubbled over embers. Barrels leaned against an old, creaky shack. Across the way, a table stood beneath a steaming, burbling alchemy station. Xander tied Rhun’s reins to a branch, and the stallion dropped his nose to graze. Xander reached for the dagger at his side, wishing he had brought something larger. However, he had learned as a lad that a man who cannot defend himself at short range could not really defend himself at all. His hand tightened around the hilt. He planted his feet firmly on guard, pointing the blade in the direction of a snap from the woods. His breath raced as a tall form appeared between the trees. A figure, cloaked in royal blue with stitchings of runes, seemed to float toward him carrying a pile of logs. It dumped them beside the fire and stood before him. “It took you long enough to find me, Barwn Blackthorn.”

Xander’s breath seized in his lungs. “You know my name.” It was a startled statement, not a question.

“Of course I know who you are. I know who everyone is.”

“Are you Sylas Mortas?”

“The one and same.”

“If you know who I am,” Xander began to circle cautiously closer, “do you know why I have come?”

Sylas Mortas watched him patiently from beneath his cloak. “You seek power, young Xander. Power you cannot obtain alone.”

“Do you know why I seek this power?”

Sylas held up his hands. “I do not concern myself with the whys of men, only the what and how. You seek power; I seek to help you.”

Xander paused. “Why would you want to help me? What is in it for you?”

Sylas chuckled. “Do not worry your lordly laddie head over that.”

Xander lunged at him, jabbing with his dagger.

A massive blue light launched him through the air and landed him hard on his rear. His dagger went flying in the opposite direction. Rhun danced, startled, in the background. Sylas crouched by the fire and poked at the coals. “When you are ready to behave, I will be ready to talk business.”

Xander wiped mud from his arms and neck. What did Sylas do to him? “What is your price, Mortas?” he asked with disgust.

Sylas rose and dusted off his hands. “Allow me to help you, Xander, with payment due only with fulfillment of the bargain.”

“Bargain?” Xander got to his feet and searched for his dagger. He kept an eye on Sylas. “People say you are wicked and not to be trusted. Why should I trust you without knowing the cost first? How do I know you will not demand my firstborn?” He spotted the hilt sticking out of the ground and bent to retrieve it. He cursed as he burned his hand on a hunk of molten metal.

Sylas moved to an anvil near his shack and picked up a falchion blade. He held it with reverence. “Xander, Xander, Xander.… Have I not made it clear that I care not for the lives of men? I only seek to make a means to an end. I am sure we can come to some agreeable terms.” He turned the hilt to Xander in offering. “I believe you stand in need of a new blade. This is Idegwaed. Try her out, won’t you?”

Xander eyed the cloaked figure. After a long while he grasped the falchion. Idegwaed’s balance was unlike any he had ever experienced. Her guard was styled to resemble a screaming mouth. The flawless obsidian blade glinting in the firelight extended like a tongue. The grip was black pearl, bound in silver wire. The pommel bore a single ruby as counterweight. Xander swung the falchion with such ease. Never had his movement been so fluid and effortless. He felt as though Idegwaed had been forged exclusively for him. She sang as she sliced the air. Xander’s arm grew stronger, a river of power flowing through him, as though he could never be conquered so long as he kept swinging. Sylas’s dark laugh cut the moment, a cold piercing sound. He clapped slowly. “Beautiful, is she not?”

Xander was breathless. Idegwaed was beyond compare. She was a sword men would kill for. He swallowed. Such a prize did not come free.

Sylas’s voice was thick. “Do we have a deal?”

Xander stared into the surrounding darkness. Oh, gods, did he want this sword! Blackthorn would never be threatened again with the likes of this blade, this extension of himself, at his command. “Name your price.”

“Oh, really, my dear Barwn. It’s nothing you need to worry yourself over. Merely a trifle compared to what you’ll gain from Idegwaed. I can assure you that I deal quite fairly. You get what you want. I get what I want. Everyone is happy.”

He looked at Sylas. “If I am to make a deal, then I wish to look the man in the eye of whom I’m making the deal with.”

Sylas nodded and slipped back his hood. Sallow, spotted, green skin framed a gaunt face adorned by long, pointed ears. A blaze of flaming, orange-red hair stretched down the middle of his scalp from widow’s peak to nape. He gazed at Xander with almond-shaped, glossy black, pupil-less eyes.

Xander had never seen such a being. He quaked inside.

“With that blade,” Sylas pressed his webbed fingers together, forming a point with his thumbs and index, “I can guarantee all the power you seek. Nations will fall to your feet. However, I cannot guarantee the consequences.”

Xander swallowed. “How do you mean?”

Sylas began to pace.  "The weapons I forge have their own personalities.  Much like people, relationships with such things have lasting effects.  I will guarantee your victory, nay, I foresee it, Barwn Blackthorn, though I cannot say at what cost.  Now, do we have a deal?"

Xander caressed the ruby on the pommel as though awakening a lover. Idegwaed seemed to hum his name pleasurably. Xander felt braver and stronger the longer he clutched her.  She assured him that the consequences would pale in comparison to the things she would do for him. Sylas foresaw his success.  It was a sure thing.  How could the Barwn of Blackthorn resist?  "You say you foresee my victory..."

Sylas nodded.  "You need only tap Idegwaed’s power."

Xander ran his hand against the cool flat of the blade.  Idegwaed warmed to his very touch.  "Tell me how."

Sylas stepped beside him with a twisted smile, full of piranha-esque teeth, and placed a clammy