Gypsie Eyes

and the great writing continues. I love your work. if you write this book to the end i really think you could get it published. But be sure not to post the entire thing on young writers or no one would need to buy it.

I only wish that you could write it as fast as i read it. good luck with the next chapter.

Skell

Chapter 14

Pagrin watched as the Gypsies packed up their belongings and prepared to leave. Cerreno loaded his black charger in silence, and the gray clouds that covered the sky seemed to reflect the mood of the proceedings. Naasha and Karsh hugged goodbye, and Pagrin noticed uncomfortably that his niece held onto the boy a heartbeat longer than really necessary. The air was cold and the wind bit harshly through furs and cloaks. The long, thick red cape that Cerreno wore flapped like a banner and his black hair lashed around his face like a personal storm-cloud. He hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to the human since Pagrin had seen him on the roof.

The Gypsies took loads on their backs that would have crushed a similar-sized human, and Pagrin had to remind himself that they all possessed the magical ability for this, one of their simplest spells. Remembering the antics of their fair—the fire-breathing, the fortune-telling, the illusions—he wondered, not for the first time, why the Gypsies allowed themselves to be treated like outcasts. True, any human performer with a torch could make it look like he could breathe fire. But no human he knew could roast a whole chicken with only his enchanted breath.

Taking a deep breath, he strode to Cerreno and waited for the tall man to notice him. The Royal Eyes regarded him disinterestedly. “Yes, Pagrin?”

“If it is not too presumptuous, sire,” said Pagrin, feeling very presumptuous indeed, “I was wondering if I might ask a question.”

Cerreno nodded. “You may.”

Pagrin swallowed. “During these past few days, as in every time you have graced my household, I have observed the power of your people.”

The king gestured him to continue.

“And, I was wondering,” Pagrin stammered, feeling as if the mismatched eyes were running him through like a pig for roasting, “why—” he faltered. He couldn’t very well say “Why you let humans treat you like dirt?” or “Why, even though we kill every lone Gypsie we can grab, you prefer to take live captives and treat them well?” Finally, he rallied, “Why, with the power of magic in every one of your people, do you let humans rule this land?”

The king smiled and his eyes instantly softened. Pagrin felt himself sag with relief. Cerreno took his arm in black-gloved fingers and directed him gently away from the scene of packing. “Let us walk together, my friend.”

They strode in silence for a long time, until they came to the solid stone wall that encircled his manor. Cerreno rested a hand on it lightly, at a place where the mortar and stone blocks had begun to crumble. He closed his eyes and murmured something, and when he drew his hand away that part of the wall was as good as new. Pagrin didn’t say anything, waiting patiently for the king to speak.

“There are the obvious answers of course,” said the Gypsie. “Such as our love of the forest, the small number of children our women can safely deliver. But the true answer to your question is two-fold.”

Cerreno’s voice fell into a cadence that Pagrin had often heard from lecturing teachers, “First, it is our very power that restricts us from ruling this continent. We cannot survive without using our magic, but every day thousands of humans manage it. What would we do with a society of which nearly sixty-five percent cannot access the power we need to merely exist?”

“That makes sense,” said Pagrin slowly. He had never thought of it in that light before.

“Secondly,” Cerreno continued, and he gave Pagrin a half-apologetic glance, “we are not Firehearts. When the Elemental Sharon planted a part of his fire in the souls of your ancestors, he cursed you to be always ambitious, always seeking power. Is it not said, ‘To be human is to strive’? My people have no such goals. All we want is to be fed, safe, dry, happy, and surrounded by those we love. Those who are skillful and needed will lead when they must, but for a Gypsie to have delusions of power, to want to rule a clan more than he wants, say, a good night’s meal and the love of his wife, is to be, to us, insane.”

Pagrin felt that he should have been insulted, but Cerreno’s face was open and honest, and Pagrin felt any annoyance melt away. “I understand, sire.”

“Yes,” said the king softly. “I truly believe that you do understand, more than most men I have met. I pray that Dirantyr may someday have more citizens such as you.”

The human noble felt a strange glow of pride stir within him, and somehow Pagrin knew that he had never been given a more sincere compliment. “Thank you, your majesty.”

* * *

They were being tracked; Nadak knew this for a certainty. Just as he was following the small group from behind, a larger number were watching it from all around. For a while, Nadak considered making his move before the leader of the other trackers could interfere with his plans. But then he caught a glimpse of one of the trackers: a long body wrapped in motley clothing, moving silently and expertly through the tree-tops. Gypsies.

After a few days of flying, during with Nadak had almost lost them, the group he followed had settled down to walk. Nadak was glad of this. It meant his target was tired, worn-out, a good state for a wizard he intended to capture. He still hadn’t worked out how to get past the giant and the Elementar, but perhaps the Gypsies would handle that for him. Indeed, after a couple days of watching the forest-dwellers pull closer and closer to his target, he had decided that the Gypsie Governor’s “interference” would turn out the better for him. He could deal with mortals, even magic-wielding mortals, better than he could deal with a spirit of air and water.

And so, with an attitude of controllable impatience, he calmed himself to wait.

* * *

Elkarn was nervous. It had been three days since her birthday, and already Karenna could not imagine life without him. But he fidgeted, he squirmed, and his sparkling little eyes never stayed long on one thing. His behavior put Tannar on edge. “Why won’t he just calm down,” the Elementar muttered under his breath. “Mirnar hasn’t spotted anyone, we’re fine.”

Boom, plodding slowly along behind, said, “We passed the Palace a couple days ago. Gypsie security is always tightest around it; we should have been spotted.”

Mirnar, perched on his shoulder in human form, snorted. “Unless they did spot us and decided we weren’t a threat.”

“Why would they do that?” asked Menee. “Just let humans wander through their land?”

“And why do they have a castle out here in the middle of the Forest?” Laroo demanded. “I thought its location was secret; how could anyone not notice a castle?”

“I never said it was a castle,” snapped Mirnar, herself uptight because of Elkarn’s nervousness. “The Palace is a huge underground cave, or a series of caves, no one’s certain. The Gypsies only ever use it in the winter; they don’t like being cooped up within anything besides trees.”

Karenna remembered her own paralyzing claustrophobia, and shuddered at the thought of low, grimy stone walls all around her and tunnels so small one could barely move through them. She was tired, and a glance into a puddle of standing water told her that the spells had taken their price from her. Her eyes looked sunken, deeper, older, but beyond that she could discern nothing through the mud and hardships of the trail.

She had never been strictly uncomfortably with forests, but every story she had heard about this one made her tense. Elkarn licked her hand. It’ll be all right.

“Then why are you so fidgety?’ she whispered.

I don’t know, just a feeling.

Karenna, her attention on the fox, wasn’t watching her steps. A protruding tree-root tripped her up and she fell, scattering leaf litter. She laughed at herself and began to rise. “Well, that was certainly gracefu—”

Elkarn gave a low, dangerous growl. She looked up to find a rapier-tip at her throat. Time went slow, watery, as it had during the aborted Gypsie raid. She saw Boom falter and crash to the ground before he could even raise a fist; she saw Mirnar, in bird form, screaming a war cry from within a far-too-small iron cage. She saw Laroo and Menee struggling with two taller, stronger men with knives, and Tannar…

Tannar was on his knees in the middle of it all, five chanting figures surrounding him and golden bands of light holding him down like chains.

Time returned in a loud, deafening rush and her wand seemed to leap into her hand. In an instant the Gypsie threatening her was down in a shower of blue and green energy. Karenna rose like a demon, sword in one hand and wand in the other. Her vision was blurred with rage but her body seemed to know what to do: parry, lunge, block, duck, blast! Another Gypsie went down. She had no way of knowing if he was dead or not, and in her current state she didn’t care. She could hear Elkarn’s voice in her mind, as enraged as hers, but before she could take down a third Gypsie, he said, Wait. Look.

She looked. A Gypsie, shorter than the others and with a wide, maniacal smile on his face was holding a broad-bladed dagger to Tannar’s throat. The bands of light curved around him like snakes, squeezing, constricting, choking. One twisted from his left wrist, up his arm, across his chest, around his neck and pressed against his forehead, forcing his head back and his neck exposed. Other bands writhed and tightened all over him, dragging his arms to the ground and forcing him to fight for every breath. Did Elementars need to breath? She didn’t know.

The five softly chanting soothsayers around him had their eyes closed and their right hands stretched out towards him. Sweat stained their foreheads and chests, and she could see that each one was breathing as hard as their captive.

The clearing was silent, a pregnant, waiting silence that seemed outside of time. At length, the Gypsie with the dagger spoke. “I know, know, know your face,” he sang, with barely a trace of an accent. “You were there, you have heard.”

She scowled at him. “Let my friend go,” she said, “or I swear I’ll vaporize every one of you.”

He laughed, a high, musical, intensely unstable sound. Karenna shivered. “Hold your threats, pretty thing,” he said. “See what you have truly accomplished.”

Karenna shot a quick glance behind her. The two Gypsies she had taken down were rising unsteadily to their feet. The second one, who happened to be closest to her, saw her face and gasped. “Hisht Cerro!” he cried, and turned to their leader. “Dosh, she has Royal Eyes.”

“Silence,” the man, Dosh, raged. “It is magic, it is sorcery! You have let your fears delude you, Jaan.”

Jaan glanced at her, a quick, apologetic look. He’s all right, said Elkarn, still on her shoulder. But I’m pretty sure the other one’s insane.

She looked again at Dosh. “Let him go.”

“Let me explain things to you, pretty thing,” he said, his voice changing pitch with almost every word. “The giant is the only one of his kind, we rarely have Werebeast captives, and twins are considered good luck. All these are made safe by their value as prizes. This creature, on the other hand,” he pressed the blade closer to Tannar’s throat, and the Elementar gurgled, “we have no need of. What good is a prize we can barely control? His only value now, his only value, value, value is as a tool to control you.” Dosh shrugged. “But if you continue to resist, pretty thing, it will be clear that there is no controlling you, and therefore no need of a tool to do that.” He smiled again, and there was more in the expression than just the power of a captor.

“Let me talk to him,” Karenna said.

Dosh nodded to one of the soothsayers and the band around Tannar’s throat relaxed, just barely. The Elementar gulped air, and all of a sudden Karenna realized, He’s a water-air being, of course he needs to breath.

“They’re bluffing,” Tannar rasped. “No Gypsie has managed to kill an Elementar yet.”

“Then maybe I’ll be the first,” sang Dosh, happily keeping the blade close.

Tannar ignored him. “No Gypsie has ever brought back an Elementar prize before, either. No way will our host here give up that honor. Trust me,” his eyes were imploring, “if you give in, you’ll become a tool to keep me quiet. He’s got us anyway, but if you willingly give into him, he will press his advantage.”

“Enough,” Dosh snapped, and the band tightened around Tannar’s throat once more. The Elementar’s body twitched as the other bands constricted, and his mouth opened in a silent cry of pain. Dosh smiled amiably at Karenna. “Little lying creature,” he said, as casually as if they were discussing a recipe for bread. “He’s no real mortal like you or me; he doesn’t understand that magic bands and a magic blade can kill him just like they could kill a human.” He giggled, and hopped lightly from foot to foot. “Magic bands and a magic blade,” he chimed. “Magic bonds and magic blade and blood enough to spill.” With a quick, darting movement he drew the sharp edge across Tannar’s left cheek. Even through the crushing pressure he managed a brief groan. Blood began to stream from the wound, but not the thick red liquid Karenna knew as blood. This was a thin, silvery-blue fluid that flowed freely down his dark cheek like tears.

Dosh brandished the bloody dagger. “Made by our best chantiers for such his kind,” he intoned lightly. “It’ll kill him quick as any wand.” He sneered at the length of wood in her left hand. “Give it up, pretty thing. We both know you don’t want this creature dead.”

Karenna made the mistake of looking at Tannar. The blood, thin as it was, had begun to slow and clot, glistening on his face. She knew that he would always have a scar there. He was still gasping for air and his face, his familiar, wry face was contorted in agony. She knew, she knew that what he had said was true, that if she gave in she would become simply a pawn to keep him quiet. The part of her that had blasted those two Gypsies without a thought called for her to fight.

But another part, an unknown but somehow familiar part of her, moved her hands to drop her sword and wand and watch without moving as a Gypsie woman carefully took them from the ground. She offered them gingerly to Dosh, who sneered knowingly at her. “Pretty Palla,” he chimed. “Pretty Palla thinks I’m mad, thinks I’m mad, mad, mad as a hare in spring.” His hand darted out and took the sword, holding it out in front of him and admiring the steel. His other hand sheathed the knife and reached to snatch the wand. He sprang back, screaming, waving the free hand wildly. “Burning, burning, burning!” he cried. “Treacherous human witch!”

Suddenly he was there, right in front of her, his variegated eyes blazing. He was only a little taller than she, but he loomed as effectively as Boom ever had. She scrambled back but he advanced with her until her back was pressed against a tree. She felt the bow and quiver strapped to her back and remembered them for the first time, but dared not draw them. Elkarn, on her shoulder, made warning noises in his throat, but Dosh took no notice. His lips were dry and cracked and the sickening sour smell of his breath swamped her. “Treacherous human witch,” he ground, his face inches from hers. “Drop the spell that hides your eyes.”

Elkarn bit him, hard, in the ear. Dosh screamed again and lurched backwards, the fox dangling but holding on for all he was worth. The Gypsie grabbed the angry cub and flung him away, apparently not noticing that Elkarn had taken most of his right earlobe with him. Dosh didn’t waste time on the Familiar, though. He slapped Karenna, hard, his own blood leaving a red handprint on her cheek.

Tannar surged forward, several of the golden bands snapping and two of the five Gypsie soothsayers dropping unconscious. Dosh spun and let fly a spell. The Elementar screamed as his body was consumed by a blue-hot fire. All the bands had vanished and his back arched in pain, his screams ringing out through the cold air. Suddenly the fire and the screams cut off and Tannar dropped in a heap to the forest floor. His human form seemed to crumple, like paper turning to ashes in a fireplace, and the long-limbed, translucent-winged Elementar lay there, breathing hard and not trying to rise.

It had all happened too fast for Karenna to move, let alone help. Her cheek stung from Dosh’s slap, and her ears rang with the reverberations of Tannar’s screams. Before she could recover enough to let her anger overcome her caution, she felt wiry Gypsie hands gag her tight against any spells and tie her wrists together behind her back.

Dosh was swaying unsteadily. The energy needed to drop even a weakened Elementar might have killed an average human mage. Karenna wished it had killed him. As she watched, Dosh’s eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled silently into the arms of the Gypsie called Jaan. Jaan held his Governor gently and whispered a spell. Dosh’s eyelids flickered, and he managed to stand upright.

His eyes opened fully and fixed on Karenna. “Move them out,” he rasped, all music gone from his voice. “We make for the Palace.”

Green = Comment/Correction
Blue = Suggestion
Black = Review

*

He hadn’t spoken more than a [handful] of words to the human since Pagrin had seen him on the roof.

Since words come out of the mouth, maybe: mouthful?

Taking a deep [breath], he strode to Cerreno and waited for the tall man to notice him.

Repetition of ‘breath’ from previous sentence. Try something like: Inhaling deeply...

You’ll come up with a better beginning.

“If it is not too presumptuous, sire,” said Pagrin, feeling very presumptuous indeed, “I was wondering if I might ask a question[.]”

A little unsure here, because it could be either way, shouldn’t think end with a question mark? Perfectly all right the way it is, but I read it as a question.

The human noble felt a strange glow of pride stir within him, and [somehow] Pagrin knew that he had never been given a more sincere compliment.

I’m banning ‘somehow’, ‘sort of’, and ‘kind of’. You know, and I’ve said this a lot to other members, these are used in everyday speech, conversations you would have with friends and it isn’t right to use in writing. Unless it is in dialogue. “Some guy told me,” gives the impression that the speaker probably doesn’t know the ‘guy’ but has met him.

So please take it out, or find a better way to illustrate that Pagrin was glad of the compliment.

After a few days of flying, during [with] Nadak had almost lost them, the group he followed had settled down to walk.

‘with’ = which?

Did Elementars need to [breath]?

‘breath’ = breathe

*

Hello Bird!

Apart from a few typos and such this was another great installment—yay, you have Dosh in it! I get the feeling he may be just a little jealous of Karenna’s eyes and I’m wondering what Cerreno will say when she arrives at the Palace. Her eyes must mean something, whether they are just a spell—as Dosh assumes—or if they are real.

I’m also questioning why they were not able to detect Nadak, he’s human and isn’t it easier to sense them than Gypsies?

-- Myth

wow. its amazing I really like it...

Chapter 15

Avarn regained consciousness slowly. His whole body ached with the familiar pain of burns, and his neck felt sore and nearly crushed. For a moment he lay on the cold floor, waiting for the panic to pass before moving. Tannar was hurt, badly. At first he thought that Karoon must have attacked, and fear swelled within him. He fought it down. It wasn’t Karoon. Karoon would not have left the job undone a second time.

Slowly, cautiously, he rose, feeling around himself, unsure where he was. His fingers found the sleek surface of the grand piano, and he worked his way around to the keyboard. From there he took the four halting steps to his chair by the fireplace, which was now cold and empty. He shivered. “Mensha?” The word echoed around the huge, empty stone room.

He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around himself. His shivering was getting uncontrollable, the cold creeping into his blood. “Mensha?” Without a fire, he knew he would freeze to death. He needed her powers to start one. “Mensha!” he yelled, his voice cracking. Perhaps this was his mother’s plan: let him freeze to death, less guilt for her. He curled up in his chair, piling another blanket atop himself.

Tannar’s mind was floating at the edge of his consciousness. He reached out to it, Please, I need your help. There was nothing. No response, no warmth channeling from the Elementar’s body to his own. Nothing.

His burns still gave pain, but none of the searing heat that had kept him alive while he was unconscious. And now that that pain had faded he noticed a new one in his cheek. Lightly, he traced the course of a scar he hadn’t had a few hours ago. Only a magical weapon could have given Tannar a physical scar that would translate back to Avarn.

Moving stiffly from the cold and phantom wounds, he went to the large wooden chest of drawers and blindly pulled on all the clothes he could manage, trying not to imagine how ridiculous he looked. It probably helped that all his outfits were black. He waddled his way to the fireplace and knelt down, pulling off the two pairs of gloves he was wearing. Gingerly, he ran his bare hands though the ashes, searching for a live coal.

Finally he found one, burning his fingertips but reveling in the hot pain. Carefully, he piled wood shavings and kindling on it, waiting for the small wumph of ignition and smiling when he heard it. Feeling each piece of wood thoroughly for size and dryness, he built up the fire, badly burning his hands. The warmth of the blaze began to fill up the room, seeping through Avarn’s many layers and driving away the cold. He curled up in his chair and dared to sleep, praying silently that the fire would not die down before he awoke.

* * *

Boom had been shot several times with drugged darts. Gypsie magic could no more effect him than human magic could, and so despite Dosh’s harsh commands and smoldering anger, they made camp that night around the giant’s sleeping body. Laroo and Menee, like Karenna, were gagged and bound to separate trees. Mirnar, still in bird form, shifted angrily within the rusty iron cage. Tannar lay where he had fallen, breathing and at least semi-conscious, but making no effort to move. The five soothsayers took shifts binding him with their magic.

Karenna, unable to talk or move much, watched their captors carefully. There were about twenty in the clan, fifteen adults and four or five small children who stayed in the shadows and looked on with fascinated eyes. One of them, a boy with messy brown hair and dark copper skin like the rest of them, marched boldly up to her when he thought no one was looking. He put his grubby face close to hers, his eyes—one purple and one gray—intense. She fought down the instinct to drop her gaze; somehow she knew that trying to hide her eyes would not be a good idea. He stayed there, staring at her, for some time. At length he whispered, “Hisht Cerro, Mu sallahs fle trha, fle Cerro.” He touched two fingers of his right hand to his forehead respectfully and bowed.

“Ragin!”

The boy whirled, squeaked, and fled as a tall, vaguely plump Gypsie woman, presumably his mother, bore down on him. She was ranting away in Gift, and her face was red with the anger of mothers dealing with naughty boys everywhere. Ragin vanished into the trees and the woman paused in front of Karenna. Karenna stared up at her, testing her theory of maintaining eye contact.

The woman glanced around fearfully, touched her forehead as her son had done, and muttered “Hisht Cerro” under her breath. Hisht Cerro. Royal Eyes. She moved off after Ragin.

Laroo, bound to a tree to Karenna’s right, whimpered slightly and tried to get comfortable. They had been forced to sit while the Gypsies tied them, and so things were not as bad as if they had been standing. Karenna wished she could comfort him, but the dirty canvas of the gag blocked any attempt at speech. They needn’t have bothered to gag her. She had been spoiled for spoken spells since she had bought her wand; she knew the words in terms of the energy they produced, not their spoken sounds.

She forced herself to relax as much as the ropes would let her, and despite the adrenaline pumping through her, was soon asleep.

* * *

No sooner had she closed her eyes than Karenna found herself in a dark, cavernous stone room dominated by a sleek black object she had never seen before. Along one rounded wall was a massive fireplace where a fire crackled and smoldered contentedly, filling the cold room with warmth. I must be dreaming, she realized.

Apparently, said a voice at her feet.

She looked down to see Elkarn, sitting on his haunches, watching the fire. He had, in the real world, been put in a cage much like Mirnar’s and set far away from her. So now you’re in my dreams? she demanded.

He glanced up at her. I think this is more than a dream, he said. Look

She looked. There was a large, comfortable-looking chair set by the fire. An indistinct figure slumbered in it. He was covered in layers and layers of black clothing, and two blankets lay atop. She took a few halting steps towards him.

His face was pale, but there were mask-like burn scars over his eyes that ruined what might have been a delicate handsomeness. “Avarn.” She breathed the name.

He shifted, blinked, and looked up at her with well-remembered blue eyes. “Karenna?” he said, his eyes darting back and forth.

And she remembered. She remembered the small, thin boy who had befriended her when no one else would. He had a regal grace and precocious cunning that made the younger children of their village follow him as they would have followed a king. And he had made her his second-in-command, her, the Gypsie-eyed little maverick who refused to braid her hair like a proper girl. She had always used the unbound curtain to shield her eyes. But he had loved her eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered, wishing he could see her. “Yes, it’s me.”

He put out one slender hand slowly, until his thin fingers brushed her cheek. She realized that his hands, too, were burned and discolored. But his touch was gentle. Slowly, tenderly, he ran his fingertips over her face, his unseeing blue eyes staring straight ahead. Then, gently, but so suddenly she couldn’t react, he leaned forward and kissed her.

The dreamscape blurred, the sound and the warmth of the fire fading away. Karenna slipped quietly into the black dreamlessness of true slumber.

* * *

Cerreno strode to the room called CavernLights, which served as the core dining hall, ballroom, and meeting place. The room was huge, with the unseen ceiling towering over forty feet above him. Even with its size, CavernLights was, essentially, a great big stone prison. No Gypsie felt truly comfortable enclosed by walls, but they had found a way around this a long time ago.

So it was that when Cerreno came through the high stone archway and into CavernLights, he walked, not into a cave, but into a snow-covered forest. The trees around him were bare of leaves, but winter had dressed each bough and twig with frost and powdered snow. The sky above was webbed with naked, reaching branches and cobalt blue as a sapphire. It was not as cold as it should have been, though, for there were four great fireplaces—marked by holes in the illusion—that kept the whole Palace as warm as a womb. In the middle of the snowy wood was a large clearing, exactly the size of CavernLights’ floor, set with five huge oak tables and one, smaller, mahogany table set on a dais.

Gypsies buzzed around like bees in a hive, correcting imperfections in the illusion, setting the tables for the first great feast—which would take place three days from now—and tending the fireplaces. No Gypsie really liked fire, but these four hearths had chimneys that stretched and twisted for miles in each of the four directions, carrying the smoke to places where it wouldn’t give away the Palace’s position. If the fireplaces weren’t properly enchanted, CavernLights, and eventually the whole Palace, would fill with smoke.

As Cerreno entered, Nearn, his brother-in-law, came forward to greet him, touching his forehead respectfully. Nearn had remained in the Palace while the king’s clan had visited Pagrin’s manor, in order to oversee the preparations for the Winter Festival. “My king,” said Nearn.

“My brother,” said Cerreno, and he smiled and embraced him. “How goes things here?”

They walked together slowly, Nearn describing the progress that had been made and the short-comings that had to be addressed. Cerreno listened mostly in silence, allowing the younger man to ramble on unhindered. Nearn was a good man and devoted to his king and his people, and this was important for Nearn would most likely be king one day.

If Cerreno died, heirless as he was now, then the closest relative with Royal Eyes would take over. Technically that was Mimoa, his younger sister, but the woman would doubtless leave the running of the kingdom to her husband, and who would object?

As they walked, a small, blonde-haired girl came towards them. This was Laarhana, Mimoa and Nearn’s second and youngest child. While she was thirteen years old she looked barely ten, and was small for her age even by human reckoning. Unlike her older brother Karsh, who had gone with Cerreno to Pagrin’s manor, she had the Royal Eyes, shining bright and brilliant beneath the fair curtain of hair that she left unbound. She touched her forehead as her father had and said, in her soft, serious voice, “Welcome home, dearest uncle.”

Cerreno gathered her up in his arms and hugged her, and she giggled uncharacteristically. He set her down and crouched so he could speak to her face to face. “And how are you, my little gehellah, my golden-head?”

Laarhana’s smile melted. “I’m all right uncle,” she said gravely, “but I don’t think the Gypsie wizard is doing too well.”

“The what?”

“The Gypsie wizard,” Laarhana said again. “She’s not doing so well.”

All traces of joking left Cerreno. Like her mother, Laarhana was an entranced, a type of fate. Fates were a type of mage unique to Gypsies; they could sometimes see the future, or even what was happening miles away. “Where is the Gypsie wizard?” he asked, suddenly very serious. He did not point out that such a person could not exist.

Laarhana’s eyes misted over, and her answer was a barely audible whisper, “With the traitor.” And then she fell like an autumn leaf. Nearn caught her and lifted her in his arms, rocking her and murmuring to her softly.

“I’m sorry, sire,” he said, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was sorry for.

Cerreno shook his head. “No need, my friend. I will ask Kalab about it.”

* * *

Tannar had never been unconscious in his life, and it frightened him. He seemed to hear Avarn’s voice, calling to him from high up and far away, but he couldn’t answer. He saw brief glimpses of Avarn, curled in a chair, with Karenna standing over him. But that wasn’t possible; the two hadn’t seen each other in eight years, and this was his Avarn, the scarred, black-clad young man he had joined to. He saw Avarn lean forward and kiss Karenna tenderly on the lips. A pain, severe and unanticipated, shot through him and he cried out.

And then, for the first time in his life, Tannar awoke.

The sky was gray with predawn and the Forest had not yet roused itself. The air was biting cold, and by now most of the branches were bare.

Boom still slumbered, drugged, where he had fallen the day before; apparently they had not yet discovered how to move him. Tannar could feel the magical bindings that held him down, but only one soothsayer was working the spell now. He could have escaped easily, broken the enchantment and flown like a hawk.

But there was Karenna, roughly tied to a tree in the early morning light. Her clothes were ripped, worn, and muddy, her hair a hopeless tangle. The pain from the …had it been a dream?...returned, harsh and exquisite. He knew he could never leave her. Even if it killed him he would never leave her.

A harsh, grinning face thrust itself into his field of vision. “Good morning little demon, demon, demon,” sang the musical voice of Dosh. Tannar saw where Elkarn had ripped off almost half the Gypsie’s right ear. He knew there was something he liked about that fox. “I’m willing to bet you’ve never slept before; how do you like it? Would you like to try it again?”

Tannar glanced to where Karenna sat, no longer dozing, with a Gypsie holding a rapier to her throat. Dosh’s face split into a wide, menacing smile. “Pretty little witch,” he said. “Witch and demon, witch and demon, which will be the first to die?” Suddenly the enchanted dagger was in his hand again and Tannar could feel the freezing aura of deadly power that surrounded it. “Move the giant, little demon,” Dosh chimed. “Move the giant. I know you can, and don’t think long on escape or mercy.”

The golden bonds around him faded slowly, and Tannar stood. He glanced from Karenna to Dosh and back again. “Better get moving little demon,” whispered Dosh. “I know you’re fast, but fast enough?”

Without a word Tannar turned on his heel and strode towards Boom. The boy blinked slowly as the Elementar touched his forehead. “What…?” he looked around, dazed.

“Don’t move,” said Tannar quietly. “If we try to fight or escape, they’ll kill her.”

Boom’s large, baby blue eyes were fixed on Karenna, and his lips pulled back from his square, white teeth in a snarl as dangerous as a wolf’s. “When we can move,” he whispered, “I get the one with the sword.”

Tannar glanced briefly at the Gypsie in question. “Fair enough. I get the crazy one.”

This just keeps on getting better and better.

This. Is. Totally. AMAZING!!!

Seriously, Gyr, you need to get this published. It's great! I don't think there's any mistakes/grammer/typos in here, and anyway if there are, someone else can point them out to you. I'm waiting eagerly for the next bit! And it's at a cliffie! *waves switch-blade menacingly* Put the next bit up soon! And soon . . .

-ST

Wow, I was in a hurry and planning to just scan stuff but when I delved furthur in and found your story, I had to read it all! And now you've made me late!

Sorry, Fantasyartist. It seems that that kind of thing just happens, people sit down to just read a bit of my story and end up devouring the whole thing. I once gave my manuscript notebooks to a freind for her to have something to read on vacation, and when she got to the end of them (also a cliffhanger) she got so mad that she read the notes in the back and knew the end of the story!

Anyway, I guess it is a sort of compliment...

awww you still havent posted anymore of the story.

its been ages, *shakes* see withdrawal symptoms.
You are a good author and i want to read mroe of it. please *puppy dog eyes*

ok well i think i have made my point.

CURSE YOU SKELL!!!!!
I saw it up in the thread with a 'new' icon next to it and nearly jumped through the roof...
I read this story all through the first time I found it, which was before I joined, and it's half of what made me suddenly decide to join....
/cry
what a letdown.....

*sniff*

~sworddance

I've been so remiss--I'm sorry!

I'll have something new up soon (today) everyone, I promise!!!

Chapter 16

Nadak, standing in a small clearing in the middle of the Gypsies’ Forest, marveled at the stubbornness of Werewolves. “She killed your leader,” he said, for perhaps the hundredth time.

The broad-shouldered, black skinned woman before him, her eyes large and yellow, gave a canine-filled smile. “Keesha is the leader now,” she growled.

The wolves around her, all in human form for this meeting, grinned as well. The assassin couldn’t storm the Palace alone, and he would need a distraction in any event. He had hoped the Werewolves’ over-developed sense of vengeance could help him in this area. Keesha and her tribe were nomads, traveling the wide plains in the spring and summer and retiring, like most Werebeasts, to the Gypsies’ Forest in winter. Apparently the loss of Ravage, who had been actual leader to only one tribe but a renowned chief to many, had already been mourned and recovered from.

The battle mage tried a different angle. “The Gypsies have food in the Palace,” he said, forcing his harsh voice low and enticing.

Keesha’s triangular ears, retained even in human form, flicked forward. The other Wolves stopped fidgeting. “No way to get at the food,” said Keesha, but he could tell that she wasn’t sure of this. “No way to get into the Palace. No one even knows where main entrances are.”

He smiled. “If you leave that to me, I can supply the answer in only a few days. I’m tracking a band of Gypsies now, and I know for a fact that they will lead me to the Palace.”

“Then we all track them,” Keesha declared.

Nadak waved a hand. “You know that won’t work; the Tall Ones would detect your presence in an instant. I’m a human mage, they can’t pick me up so well. Let me follow them and then I’ll give you the location of the main Palace entrance. For free. And then all that food is yours, and all those Gypsies sitting targets.”

The Werewolf was all but drooling now. The Werebeasts had never been on really wonderful terms with any of the other sentient races in Dirantyr, and any chance to cause any non-Werebeasts trouble was a good chance. But, despite her broken speech, Keesha wasn’t stupid. “What’s in it for you, human?”

Again Nadak smiled. “All I want,” he said, “is a couple corpses.”

* * *

Avarn awoke to a gentle shaking at his shoulder. He started, amazed that he was still alive. The fire, he could feel, was still blazing as merrily as it had been when he had first started it. But he felt rested, so he must have slept long enough to let it burn down. “Avarn?” said a familiar voice above him, and he had his answer.

“Mensha,” he said, nearly choking with relief on the word.

He heard the Elementar shift. “Are you all right?” she asked. “I heard you cry out, but the mistress…”

“No worries,” Avarn waved her guilt away. “You’ve still saved my life. I would have died if you hadn’t rekindled the fire.”

“Are you all right?” asked Mensha again.

The burns on his hands still ached, but he said, “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you. What time is it?”

“Near midday.”

Avarn caressed his facial scars meditatively. Had it been a dream then? But his fingers still remembered stroking her face, and in his mind he had mapped out her features as clearly as if he could have seen her. Surely that wasn’t just Tannar’s input? Again he started. Tannar!

Here, came the distant voice.

Are you all right? Is Karenna safe?

The Elementar was a long time answering. It’s…not looking too good at the moment.

Avarn received an image of Dosh and the sense of cage bars surrounding him. Gypsies, he thought.

They’re taking us to the Palace, as prizes.

Don’t abandon her, Avarn commanded.

Tannar snorted. That seemed sufficient answer.

How is she?

As well as can be expected. The crazy one’s younger brother is carrying her through the trees, so it’s not as bad as if Dosh himself were. The twins are guarded by a Gypsie each, and Mirnar and Elkarn are both in enchanted cages.

And you?

There was the image of Karenna with a sabre at her throat.

Avarn hesitated. I see.

Tannar could not restrain a mental laugh.

The magician bristled. You know what I mean.

Sorry. At this point, I’ll grasp at anything to stay sane.

Too late for that, Avarn murmured.

Anyway, said Tannar, his voice heavy with sarcasm, they aren’t actively trying to kill us yet, and Karenna’s eyes seem to be causing a greater stir the farther we go. More and more of them are calling her Hisht Cerro and doing that bowing thing. We might have a chance.

Avarn was silent.

Is there something I need to know here? Tannar demanded.

Nothing I’m certain about.

As I said, I’ll grasp at anything.

Again, Avarn was a long time answering. Where’s her wand?

* * *

Cerreno made his way up the towering oak tree to where Kalab stood watch among the uppermost branches. Kalab smiled at him as Cerreno sat down on a broad limb next to his, “To what do I owe the honor, my lord?”

The king smiled. “A man can’t visit his best friend without an excuse?”

“A man might but a king dares not,” replied Kalab, still smiling.

“You know of the trouble with Dosh and his clan?”

The smile faded. Kalab was a handsome man, with darker skin than most Gypsies and blonde hair, which was rare for them. He was also a reader, a kind of fate able to interpret the prophecies of others and the signs of nature. Cerreno had often come to him for help in translating Mimoa’s foresights, as well as his opinions on the workings of the nation in general. “It’s always bad when a Gypsie screams,” he said softly.

“Worse when a Gypsie goes mad.”

Kalab nodded. “What is it you wanted to ask?”

“Laarhana’s talking about a Gypsie wizard. She says that this…individual is with ‘the traitor.’”

Kalab was silent for a long time. “A Gypsie wizard…” he said.

“Yes.”

“And Dosh has her?”

For only the briefest moment, Cerreno wondered how he could be sure the Gyspie wizard was female. “Yes.”

Kalab, who never cursed, said, “Damn.”

Cerreno could not restrain a small smile. “Yes.”

“But he’s got to be bringing her here, hasn’t he? He won’t let the chance of a prize like that get away.”

“That’s what I think.”

“Then why exactly did you come here asking for my advice?”

The king took a deep breath. “Mimoa believes that the Windstorm is traveling with them.”

Again, there was a long silence before Kalab spoke. “So let me get this straight. A Gypsie wizard, captured by the first mad Gypsie in over thirty years, is traveling towards the Palace, and the Windstorm is with them?”

“If one trusts the accounts of two of the most powerful entranceds in the history of our people, then yes.”

“Damn.”

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Dosh finally decided to make camp. “Camp” was, perhaps, too generous a term for blankets spread out on leaf-and-frost covered ground. The Gypsies seemed hardly to notice the cold, unlike their captives. But Dosh, after much persuasion, had allowed warming spells to be worked on them, though not to a degree where they would be really comfortable.

Again, Karenna was tied to a tree separate from the rest of her group, though Elkarn was put within a few feet of her this time. His nearness helped alleviate the headache that had been pressing on her all day and he talked to her nearly endlessly, mostly nothings, but comforting nothings. It was Jaan who tied her, perhaps the only Gypsie who had treated her with neither Dosh’s haughty scorn nor Ragin’s fearful awe. “Too tight?” he asked as he worked. Like his brother, he had little discernible accent.

“No, that’s fine,” she whispered, exhausted from strained nerves and emotions.

Jaan came around the tree and crouched in front of her, looking her in the eyes. Karenna was too tired to worry about offending him; she dropped her gaze and shifted away from his prying look. “What does he want with us?” she asked point-blank.

This time it was Jaan who dropped his scrutiny. “I really don’t know,” he said. “He says prizes, but…this isn’t our way.” Jaan sat back, resting his elbows on his bony knees. “Lone hunters, glory-seeking warriors, those we take without remorse. But children…Werebeasts…this is not our way at all.”

Karenna, brought part-way out of her fatigue by curiosity, asked, “What do you mean?”

Jaan’s eyes found hers again and this time their gazes locked. “My brother is…he is not well. Even the king knows this; he has asked me to take over if Dosh gets…out of hand.”

“I’d say this qualifies.”

The Gypsie shook his head, rubbing his hands together. Despite the warming spell that protected him from the cold, his breath still came out in visible puffs. “This is where your kind surpasses ours,” he said, with a small note of regret. “Gypsies do not enjoy confrontation amongst our own people.”

Karenna snorted. “Yes, that’s one of those wonderful human qualities everyone should have. Civil wars are so very enjoyable, after all.”

Jaan gave a wan smile. “’To be human is to strive,’” he quoted.

“Are you saying Gypsies don’t strive?”

“Not like you.” With this, the dialogue seemed ended. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded. In this, if nothing else, the Gypsies had been generous. They were excellent cooks, and had no qualms about sharing their fare. Jaan fetched a loaf of brown bread and a flask of some warm drink she had yet to identify. It had a bitter taste and gave her a rush of energy for a few moments after drinking it. Jaan had called it coneffee.

When the meal had vanished into her hungry mouth, the Gypsie took the empty containers away and brought back a blanket that helped stave off that chill that the spell didn’t prevent. He didn’t gag her. They had learned that she was a useless mage without her wand, which Dosh had Palla carry for fear of being burned again. Jaan inquired if she needed anything else, and left silently when she said she didn’t.

“Little witch,” said a voice behind her. Dosh came slowly into view, grinning the whole time until he crouched in front of her. “Clever little word-witch, twisting, twining, turning words to do your bidding.” He knelt before her, his knees on either side of her folded legs. “Yet, for all that,” he mused, “you are a very pretty witch.”

Karenna pressed her back against the tree she was tied to, trying to get as much distance as possible between them. Along with his sour smell, a pulsing fear swamped her.

The mad Gypsie laughed musically. “What, little pretty witch. Are you afraid, afraid, afraid of harmless Dosh?”

“More afraid of crazy Dosh.”

Again the laughter rang out, high and irregular. Without warning, Dosh slapped her viciously. She sat there, too stunned to cry out. “A sharp tongue makes for a sharp pain, little witch,” he sang. And then, again without any warning, he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his cracked lips.

She screamed, but the sound only reverberated through her own mind. She heard Tannar try to move to help her and Elkarn growled. Bite him, snarled the Familiar. Quicker than thought she did so, clamping her teeth down hard, and was rewarded by the sickening taste of blood.

Dosh cried out in surprise and sprang back, droplets of his blood spattering on her face. She didn’t care. Well done, said Tannar’s voice in her mind. Before the shock of hearing the Elementar’s thoughts could hit her, Dosh did. He had, like all Gypsies, a wiry strength hidden beneath his lean appearance, and the blow hurt. But the satisfaction of the space between them soothed the pain.

“Treacherous human witch!” Dosh screamed, his tone courting the higher edges of inaudibility. He lunged at her again. His fingers twisted into her hair and he pulled hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. But Karenna refused to cry out. “I might have been gentle,” he ground out, his voice little more than a whisper in her ear. “I might have been kind, kind, merciful. Not so now.” The room that her attack had won was gone now, and his slender body was all-too-close to hers.

Before he could close the distance, however, he was shoved aside by Jaan crashing into him with all his strength.

The Gypsie camp froze.

Dosh stared at his brother from the leaf-covered ground, gaping as if he couldn’t understand. Jaan was breathing hard, and seemed almost as surprised by his actions as everyone else. He recovered quickly, however. “We are Gypsies,” he said, his breath hanging in the ever-darkening air. “We do not take from a woman what she does not wish to give.”

Slowly, almost stiffly, Dosh stood and drew his rapier, the cold metal rasping on the leather sheath as his voice rasped on Karenna’s ears, “You dare to defy me?”

“I dare to defy any man who would harm the honor of any woman,” replied Jaan. He did not draw his weapon, and the use of the word “man” had escaped neither Karenna’s notice nor Dosh’s.

“I am, I am, I am,” chanted the Gypsie, “I am Governor.” He lunged at Jaan, who sprang out of the way faster than any human could have.

“You may be Governor,” said Jaan, shifting away from another attack, “but you are still a Gypsie. Or did Fakir’s scream drive that out of you as well?”

Dosh’s cry was an unintelligible howl as he dove at his brother, rapier swinging. Still Jaan kept his own sword sheathed as he dodged his brother’s thrusts, moving his lean body with a speed that made Karenna’s mind spin. Finally, inevitably, Dosh landed a glancing blow on Jaan’s leg, slicing through the winter clothes and skin beneath. Jaan gave a strangled cry and went down on one knee, clutching the injured leg to stop the bleeding. Dosh gave a triumphant shout and raised his rapier above his head for the killing blow.

Before Karenna or anyone else could move or speak, Jaan said quietly, “I will scream.”

And again the Gypsie camp froze. Dosh was as rigid as a statue, the tip of his blade wavering not an inch, his eyes wide and unmoving. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered the sword. He staggered back, eyes still large and staring. “I, I…” he faltered. The rapier dropped from his hands and made a clang as it hit the nearly-frozen ground.

And then, suddenly and with such perfect silence that Karenna could not be sure if it were really happening, Dosh began to cry. Thin streams of tears, like liquid silver against his copper-colored skin, ribboned down his cheeks. He made no sound as the sorrow poured noiselessly from his eyes. The teardrops fell from his chin and splashed quietly on the frosty earth.

Jaan rose steadily to his feet, the cut in his leg no longer bleeding. He crossed the two steps to his older brother and paused in front of him. Dosh did not seem to see him, and the tears continued to flow gently from his insane, mismatched eyes, like blood from an open wound. Gently, almost tenderly, Jaan enclosed Dosh in a brotherly embrace. “Harsht firhir, Dosh. Firhir shann lirhirra. Haa lirhaman,” he said, almost singing the Gypsie words.

For an instant, everything was peace. Then Dosh stirred, and pushed Jaan away from him, but not so roughly as to make him fall. “Sleep, sleep, time for sleep,” he chimed, and even though the tears were only now drying on his cheeks his voice didn’t waver at all. He looked around at his unmoving clan. “Sleep!” he screamed, and everyone jumped to obey.

Karenna wondered what they would have done if Jaan had not stopped Dosh with his words. Did they hate conflict so much that they would allow their Governor to kill his own brother? More likely they’re just too afraid of him to risk their own necks yet.

The voice was Tannar’s. Karenna looked at where he sat against a tree, golden bands of magic binding him to it as her ropes bound her. His dark eyes were fixed on her. How is it I can hear your thoughts? she whispered in his mind.

I think it has to do with him, Tannar nodded at Elkarn, who shifted his gaze to the Elementar. I…created him, so to speak, something I’m willing to bet none of my kind has done before. Maybe it has…consequences that no one’s encountered before. My mind to his and his mind to yours, so my mind to yours.
And my mind to Avarn’s, thought Karenna in the private, locked-off part of her psyche that she allowed no one access to.

Like a chain, said Elkarn.

Or a web, replied Tannar.

And Karenna, too tired and exhausted to think of webs and chains and magic, fell asleep leaning against the rough bark of the tree.

Hey, if you guys like Gypsie Eyes so much, you might enjoy my other works:

Symposium: viewtopic.php?t=15585&highlight=

Born of the Stars (Rewrite): viewtopic.php?t=13968&highlight=

In Thrall: viewtopic.php?t=12580&highlight=


Just a note, "Symposium" is a sort of fan-fic introduction of my main characters from Gypsie Eyes, Born of the Stars, and In Thrall; if you're not sure you'd like the full-length stories, you can read it to get a better idea. Hope you enjoy!

Goodie! The next bit! I know that it's more helpful to say what wrong with this, but I honestly can't.

Never mind, Myth, or someone else will be more eagle-eyed than I am.

I like the way you put such depth into the Gypsie culture. When Jaan says that he'll scream, and everyone freezes, that bit just says how real their way of life is, and I like that a lot.

Tannar's my favourite character in this - partly from hearing so much from him in the character dialogue.

Very good, and sorry that I couldn't find anything wrong with this. But if you think about that, it's a compliment.

-Twit