Chapter 3

Rotta awoke with a start. She kicked the heavy fur pelt from around her naked body. She stared hard at it as if waiting for it to bite her.

“What is it darlin?” Max lifted his head from the next pillow. “What’s got ya so riled?”

“It’s cursed,” she whispered wiping the sweat from her forehead.

“What’d ye say?” Max mumbled. “Cursed? Whose cursed?”

Rotta shook her head as if trying to dislodge her thoughts. “Not who you idiot! What! That fur, I want no part of it. I think it’s cursed.”

Max sat up. He ran a thick fingered hand through his greasy brown hair. Damn he was tired. The gang was working non-stop the last few weeks with all the pigeons in town for the festival. He handled all the heavy work and his muscles ached from carrying so many bodies to the river. Why couldn’t the woman sleep after sex like a normal person?

Rotta stood up. Max sighed. She had everything most women longed for in a body, small waist, shapely legs, beautiful straight long black hair that tickled the underside of her buttocks, and large breasts that were perfect globes. The only thing missing was a heart, but Max preferred that in his bedmates. He lifted an eyebrow. “Why don’t you come back to bed darling and I will make you forget all about your bad dreams.”

Rotta reached for her robe and yanked it on, pulling her hair out from beneath the collar. She tied the sash with small tiny jerks. Her green eyes met Max’s. “I don’t think he’s dead.”

Max shook his head. “Honey I watched him sink when I dumped him in the river earlier this morning. He’s dead, long dead.”

“Not him you idiot!” Rotta practically screamed then took a tight reign on her temper. “The Wardex!”

Max fell back into the blankets of the bed. The Wardex. In the three days since killing the young idiot Rotta spoke of little else.

“Don’t ignore this Max!” She hissed. “Of all the people we’ve killed, why is it I dream only of that one? Why is it his knife I see at my throat while sleeping? Why is it his damn fur that makes me wake in a sweat every time I sleep on it? It’s like the thing is alive with memories of him! He is alive! I know it!”

Max rubbed his eyes. “Rotta he is as dead as a man can be. You put the poison in his drink. You lifted the goblet to his lips and were three inches from his face when he drank it. He is stone dead and he would be down there with the fishes right now if circumstances would have allowed me to dump his body in the river.”

“Aha!” Rotta said pointing her finger. “Don’t you see? Circumstances wouldn’t allow us to throw him in the river like every other man we’ve killed in the last five years. Tell me, circumstances or something else? Mayhap he was who he claimed.” Her eyes widened. “They are rumored to have guardians. Perhaps his guardian…”

Max snorted. “Guardians are folklore Rotta and nothing more! The river was full of celebration the night we took the lad, that is the only reason I did not dump him. If you remember right, we have never killed on river celebration night for just that reason.”

Rotta clicked a red fingernail against her teeth. “That too is a mystery to me. Why did we break one of our own long standing rules?”

Max snorted and motioned with his chin toward the dresser where Rotta hid the large emerald. “That was worth the extra work it took me to get rid of the boy. We were lucky indeed to uncover it.”

Rotta smirked. Max was partially right. They never killed during river celebration because getting rid of the body was too complicated. She’d been celebrating, as was the gang’s custom on that particular night every year, when she noticed the large man across the hasma. He wore a large sword strapped to his back.

And who couldn’t notice him with that black hound of darkness walking beside him as if tame? The man’s long black hair was pulled back with a leather thong and his face was a work of art. He was by far the largest and most handsome man she’d ever seen. And she’d certainly seen her share. And his muscles, she almost sighed when she thought of his well muscled body. Yes, she’d rubbed her body right up against his and knew it was as hard as it looked. It was then she felt the emerald. Years of pick pocketing as a child taught her a valuable item by touch. Greed over rode lust and she sent a boy for Max. Still, she found herself wondering what the man would have been like naked and sweating beneath her.

Rotta sighed. “You call him boy but in truth he was larger than you by a good head. I don’t doubt he was troublesome to unload. How clever of you to think of incinerating his body. You did burn him didn’t you Max? I want to know for sure. I am having dreams of the man returning to Amstel.”

Max winced. In truth, the idea of burning the lad hadn’t occurred to him until Rotta confronted him on his return without the body. He was dead. Max would bet his life on that. But he would never tell Rotta he scored two gold coins from a practicing witch for the body. Dead was dead, what did it matter if an old hag witch cut the body up for potions? He looked her in the eye. “Aye he is dead Rotta. He won’t be returning unless it is as a ghost.”

Rotta studied the man’s face hard. Max was her partner in crime and her sometimes lover. He grew up on the streets with her and was everything a man of the streets could be, ruthless, brutal, strong, cunning and alternately stupid. Her eyes narrowed. If he was lying, if the so called Wardex returned, she’d slit Max’s throat herself. In the meantime, she had other uses for Max.

She smiled and the robe slipped to the floor. She took a great deal of satisfaction in Max’s reaction. “Well then, dead is dead” she purred. “Spread the fur out Max, and let’s give it some new memories.”

Max smoothed the fur pelt out over the bed. His mouth watered as Rotta closed the distance slowly, a sly smile and knowing look in her beautiful green eyes.


Chapter 4

It was well after dark before Mikael found Gainrel in the desert.

“How does he fare?” Mikael asked before uttering a respectful greeting. Gainrel cocked an eyebrow at the lack of custom.

“He is thirsty,” Gainrel said letting the slip go by. “But also he is angry. Yes, I would say by the time he reaches Amstel he will be in a killing frame of mind.”

Mikael looked down on the sleeping Cade. He perched on the rock above him.

“This seems to be a safe place,” Mikael said. “Did you guide him to these boulders?”

Gainrel shook his head slowly. “No, your human found this place on his own. Despite his thirst and the effects of the poison, he is managing to look after himself. He used a small cactus earlier for nourishment and a small amount of fluid. He will have to find water tomorrow.”

Mikael gave a curt nod. He sent a mental call out to every creature large and small, to avoid the ring of boulders.

“How fares the hound?” Gainrel asked.

Mikael sighed. “Safe. He is on his way.”

“Here?” Gainrel couldn’t hide his surprise.

Mikael nodded. “He waited outside the old witch’s house for a day before she locked him away with her magic. She was busy preparing a casting spell when I freed him.”

“Witch?” Gainrel said suddenly. “Which one?”

“Detac,” Mikael replied.

Gainrel’s eyes widened. “Detac had possession of the hound? Is he still intact? Have you scanned him?”

Mikael nodded, his features grim. “Had I waited even one more moment before going to him, he would be a servant of the dark, and probably killing this very night at the old witch’s bidding. But as far as I am able to decipher he is whole.”

Gainrel’s usually calm visage took on a somewhat perplexed expression. Detac was known by the oldest Legnas. She was a fierce witch, one of great cunning. There were rumors over the centuries that Detac’s power came from a consort dargon, but Gainrel didn’t credit such rumors. A dargon would never bother with the likes of a human witch, an imp perhaps, but not a dargon. Though something other worldly gave the old hag her seemingly infinite years and imps were not capable of such a feat.

“How do you know the hound is unmolested?” Gainrel asked.

“She had no time to molest the hound,” Mikael replied. “She was still recovering from her transportation spell when I released him from the cage. She believes her weariness comes from sending Cade to the dargon world. As far as I can tell she did not touch the hound.”

“Good,” Gainrel said. “But you must be careful of that one. She has many ambitions and will employ any means necessary to gain them. She is seldom alone, even when in an empty room. And do not touch her mind unless you have taken all precautions and have no other alternative.”

Mikael started. “I sensed no dargon Gainrel. I was very careful.”

“You can never be too careful with our enemies. Had you sensed a dargon you would likely not have returned here.” Gainrel stated.
Mikael took offense. “I am a skilled swordsman teacher. I have bested you numerous times.”

Gainrel smiled. “It is true Mikael. You are a skilled warrior. But you are young yet and have not learned all the subtle arts of war. You can be sure if a dargon of some age and power had been with the witch, you would not know it. But it would be very aware of your presence.”

At Mikael’s look of distress Gainrel relented, a little. “Your training takes time young one. You are doing very well but there is still much to learn.” Gainrel hid a small smile. “I do not think Detac has a dargon. If she had we would have heard about it long before now, in a very big way. Don’t trouble yourself. It is past.”

Mikael thought a long time in silence. “Gainrel, if I am to guard this human, I need to be better versed in the subtle arts.”
Gainrel cocked a white eyebrow at the younger Legna.

Mikael hesitated for only a moment. “May we begin? I would not have him suffer for my rashness or lack of training.” He nodded toward Cade’s sleeping form.

Gainrel smiled and nodded. From the moment of Cade’s conception Mikael watched over him. He was a good and loving Legna. “Sensing a dargon is not difficult, and you can train yourself to do it without thought. Close your eyes.”
Mikael closed his eyes and tucked his wings in tight against his back.

Gainrel breathed deep, “What do you hear?”

Mikael listened. “I hear the wind, the sand rubbing against itself in the breeze, the wildlife that burrows deep in the ground. I hear Cade’s breathing, his heart beating, his dreaming.”

Gainrel didn’t respond. Mikael cocked an eye open. “Is that right?”

Gainrel stroked his beard. “It is a start,” he said. “Close your eyes and don’t open them until I bid it.

Mikael complied.

“Now,” Gainrel said softly. “Go deeper. Listen, really listen. Open yourself up. What do you hear beyond your first surface scan?”
Mikael’s brow creased. The crease deepened. “I hear nothing!”

“Relax Mikael,” Gainrel said. “Just relax and listen. What do you hear?”

Mikael focused, determined to learn this lesson and become a better guardian to Cade. In the far distance, almost too far to be heard, no it couldn’t be, but it was. Singing! As he focused in on the singing it became louder.

“I can tell by the smile on your face you hear it,” Gainrel said. It was amazing to watch a Legna tuning in for the first time. The awe and ultimately the reverence was like watching the Just Creator breathe life into a newborn creature.

“It is so beautiful,” Mikael said. “Who is it? What is it? Where is it?”

Gainrel chuckled at Mikael’s questions. “The who and what are different depending on your location. Tonight you are hearing the few blades of weeds growing amidst the rocks, and the cacti, as well as the few animals around this spot, all joined with the rocks and sand.”

Mikael listened to the music closely. It was the most perfect melody he’d ever heard and Legna’s were known for making the most beautiful music in any world. “It fills my heart with so many hopeful emotions Gainrel. It makes me want to join in, and to dance, and to fight, and to cry, and to worship.”

Gainrel chuckled remembering the first time he heard the praise of the planet. “Mikael, now you are tuned in. You will hear the praise of the planet for the rest of your years. Everything the Just Creator makes, from the smallest blade of grass to the very highest mountain, all sing to Him alone. He created this planet, so the trees lift their branches and bellow their praise, the grass lifts its head in song, and in the dawn, flowers open their petals and bask in the suns as they sing their candied sweetness to the Just Creator.”

“How could I have missed it?” Mikael asked tears filling his eyes.

Gainrel shrugged. “You are like most young Legna, too busy mastering your gifts to listen.”

“Thank you Gainrel. Thank you for showing me this wonderful gift.”

“It is not for your pleasure that I did this,” Gainrel said. “Though I do take great satisfaction in your reverence. On all the planet, no matter where you are, or when you are, the created always sings out to the Just Creator. Even if you are alone in a room, the wooden planks, though sawed and cut by human hands, will still sing out to the Just Creator. It will be more difficult to hear, more muffled, like a man with no tongue, but still beautiful. The only time the music stops, or becomes a discordant wail, is when something so evil touches it the melody is interrupted or distorted.”

“A dargon?” Mikael asked.

“Perhaps,” Gainrel said. “Or something else of an evil bent. Just remember always, when the singing stops, or becomes more a wail of sorrow than of praise, evil is afoot.”

“Have you heard this discordant sound?” Mikael asked.

“You may open your eyes now,” Gainrel said. “Look at me Mikael.”

Mikael focused on his teacher, but the sound of the music still filled his head. “Now that you have it in your mind you can push it toward the back. Still listen, but do it as a secondary process. Understand?”

Mikael focused more on Gainrel’s words and the song lessened to a pleasant background melody.
“I understand,” Mikael said.

“There is more I will teach you about the praise of the planet, but not tonight. For now content yourself with your new ability of hearing.”

Mikael nodded. “Every day Gainrel I am humbled and amazed at the generosity of the Just Creator.”

“That is as it should be,” Gainrel smiled.

Both Legna’s opened wide their white feathered wings, each wing stretching 10 feet in length from tip to tip. They joined their voices to the chorus around them and lifted their arms skyward in praise toward the Just Creator.