The Project: A work-in-progress set in a world in which war is common and magic is not. This excerpt is from a later chapter.
Characters in Scene:
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- Pelnaya: Young woman abducted from a small village; the other captives have escaped.
- Lyforhul: Male warlord responsible for raid on Pelnaya’s village.
- Syrghoyan: Male career mercenary and captain in Lyforhul’s forces who was “gifted” Pelnaya. Currently out of favor owing to the escape of the captives and his connection to Pelnaya.
- Vorianul: Male sorcerer under the command of Lyforhul.
- Afirnul: Lyforhul’s second-in-command.
- 2 unnamed guards.
The Text:
“Where did your friends go? Left you behind, have they?” Lyforhul’s words came out halfway between a barb and a bellow. Syrghoyan stepped forward and opened his mouth as if to object, but Lyforhul’s second-in-command shook his head and Syrghoyan fell back into place, his expression grim.
“I’m where I need to be,” Pelnaya said, meeting Lyforhul’s gaze without blinking. Her answer seemed to amuse him.
“Oh?” Lyforhul gave her a calculating look. In Syrghoyan’s experience, nothing good ever came from that look, especially not when it was in response to open defiance… Yet Pelnaya did not waver. Even with two men restraining her, Pelnaya carried herself as though the world bowed to her and not the other way around.
Gods, woman, don’t antagonize him more! One of us is liable to pay for this. Syrghoyan willed her to show some deference. No such luck. Her friend’s a ravenous wildfire, and she’s a queen of ice. Where in the depths of hell did these village women come from?!
“I could have you tortured and disposed of, and no one would even care. Your village has already forgotten you,” taunted Lyforhul. “I’m the only friend you have in the world, so I suggest you cooperate and answer my questions.” At that, Pelnaya snorted, a derisive sound that prompted Syrghoyan to start silently praying to all the deities he could remember from his childhood. For her safety, for Lyforhul to get distracted, for her to stop talking, all three… Pelnaya, however, wasn’t done.
“As the women in my village say, you can’t be friends with a viper. Besides, what makes you think that I care about my village? Did you ever consider that maybe I chose to stay here?”
“Then you chose wrong,” responded Lyforhul, striking her across the face. She barely even flinched, instead licking her lips and smiling as she tasted her own blood. Outside, the wind picked up, sounding almost like a howl of rage.
“Skillful interrogation techniques,” Pelnaya said mockingly. She nodded toward the men restraining her. “But this grows boring. Send these two out, and I’ll tell you a secret.” Lyforhul did a quick calculation. Without the guards, he, Afirnul, and Vorianul would potentially have to fight Pelnaya and Syrghoyan. Lyforhul and Afirnul could easily subdue a girl and a soldier in a physical fight, and with the aid of Vorianul’s magic, there’d be no contest. He dismissed the soldiers, warning them to stay close. After the guards released her from their grasp, Pelnaya rolled her shoulders back, stretching languidly. Lyforhul turned to her as soon as the guards had closed the door.
“Very well, girl. Tell me this ‘secret’ of yours.”
“I’m guessing a mountain-dweller like you knows little of the forest, but surely even you have heard of forest-weavers or dryads, the creatures of the woods…”
“I’m not here for fairytales!” snapped Lyforhul. “You have wasted enough of my time already.” Syrghoyan winced. This was not going well, even if Pelnaya seemed to think otherwise. She was standing taller, defiantly, and meeting Lyforhul’s glare with one of her own. Meanwhile, Vorianul had a strange look on his face that Syrghoyan couldn’t interpret.
“Ask your pet mage, then!” said Pelnaya, a deadly glint in her eye. “Look at his face. He knows that I speak the truth.” Lyforhul made to turn his head, but Pelnaya stepped closer, and he froze. Her face just inches from his, she hissed, “In fact, he knows you have one much closer than you think.” He would have laughed, but something about the way she said it made his mouth run dry.
“Vorianul?” he called out, not daring to look away from this strange woman who was either insane or a dryad. Dangerous either way. “What is she talking about?”
“The explosion in the stables earlier,” answered Vorianul. “The sorceress doesn’t know how to wield her power, but she was reaching out with everything she had. I’ve never heard that dryads can manipulate magic, but Pelnaya certainly can.” Lyforhul suddenly wished he hadn’t sent the guards out. “I doubt she could manipulate a trained mage’s magic against their will,” Vorianul added. “But with an unskilled, purely rage-driven wave of magic like earlier? Sure.”
“Before you get any ideas,” Pelnaya chimed in. “I should mention that you can’t use me for breeding stock. We’re born from trees, and we can’t bear children.”
“So why shouldn’t I have you killed right now?” asked Lyforhul, a hint of frustration in his voice.
“Hmm, let me think,” said Pelnaya, as unflappable as ever. “Maybe because if you want your forces to traverse a forest or anywhere remotely near a forest unscathed ever again, you don’t want to antagonize the woman who is connected to all the world’s trees? You can chop down an oak, but you can’t bend it to your will.” She had a point. Lyforhul wondered whether he could find a workaround. Something to contemplate later.
“Why not just turn the trees against my forces when we came for your friends?” he pressed.
“Have you been to that village?” she asked incredulously. “We’d all be burned at the stake or something if I intervened. Probably the trees, too. Plus, I told you, I’m where I need to be.” This time, when she said it, it was far more disconcerting.
“But why stay here at all if you’ve been manipulating this whole situation?” Lyforhul gestured to Syrghoyan. “Why him?” He grimaced, still smarting from being outplayed (at least, for the moment. He intended to rectify that as soon as possible).
“When I was a child, a young soldier who had been separated from his regiment during a snowstorm wandered into my woods…” she began. “I wanted to know more about him, so I emerged from the shadows of the elms to get a closer look. Though his skin was near bloodless from the chill air, he offered me his cloak and a place at the fire and shared his meal with me. In return, I gave him my favorite pendant.” As Pelnaya spoke, Syrghoyan absentmindedly began rubbing the simple wooden carving he still wore around his neck. She looked at him and smiled. “He’s still the same man he was, but he’s better at navigating now.”