The Bard and Fairy Prince
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER
Nemirac
Nemirac kept a keen eye on his surroundings as he exited the wood’s path and continued into the Amethyst Kingdom.
It was late, the land cloaked in darkness like it had been for a thousand years, with stars and a bright full moon above.
Come dawn, however, the sun would shine on the strangely angled black buildings and gnarled black trees.
No longer was this the Shadow Lands or the Dark Kingdom, as it had once been called, but even so, already Nemirac could tell how different Amethyst was from the Mystic Valley.
Also known as the Diamond Kingdom, the Mystic Valley was Nemirac’s home, where he had lived his entire life, secluded with the rest of his people until their curse had been broken, almost overlapping with the curse broken here.
Nemirac hadn’t initially planned to travel, but after word spread of Amethyst’s curse also coming to an end—more or less—Nemirac’s mother received a letter from the Shadow King.
Finally, upon reading the letter, she told Nemirac the truth.
He wasn’t simply the Diamond Prince. All his life he had been the Fairy Prince anyway, after his mother, the Fairy Queen.
But they were no fairies, and they were certainly not elves.
They were demons.
Nemirac reached a set of steps at the edge of where homes began to line the streets, leading to the spire-topped castle in the distance.
What appeared to be a recently crafted sign was planted into the ground beside the steps, mentioning a market below and an inn “Newly Added” that wouldn’t have had any use until recently.
The inn would be Nemirac’s first stop, though he had no intention of spending the night.
“Hail!” someone shouted the moment Nemirac entered. “Another new face, eh? Have a seat, anywhere you like. We welcome all kinds here.”
The construction of the building was nice enough. Every plank of wood was black, the inn made from the same black trees as almost everything else. Nemirac had seen a few people on the streets, but here he could truly appreciate the myriad of beings that inhabited this place.
He couldn’t say he had ever seen the likes of such…
monsters, other than in storybooks. There were creatures like centaurs, nagas, harpies, and some seemed to be a combination of several.
There were also humans, elves, and dwarves, some visiting, like him, no doubt, and some who may have once been creatures themselves but had chosen to change their forms with the breaking of the curse.
The bartender, who had called to Nemirac, was something like a fish-man, with puckering lips and finlike fingers.
Nemirac tried not to let how strange this all was to him show, for though he had seen many wonders in his homeland, filled as it was with magic, he knew very little of the outside world, and Amethyst was hardly an ordinary example.
“Are you also the innkeeper?” Nemirac asked the fish-man, approaching the bar where a few patrons were seated, enjoying drinks.
“Not one for pleasantries, are you? I’m Gordoc,” the man said. “And yes, sir, this is my establishment. Just opened. You’re one of the snazzier elves we’ve had come through. You some sort of noble?”
“I’m looking for other travelers, not conversation,” Nemirac said shortly.
He’d also thought he’d chosen a more neutral outfit when he set out from home all those days ago, but looking around at everyone here, he supposed his trousers and black and silver tunic would have been better on their own, with a more basic cloak, instead of what he had selected.
He just felt incomplete without his red wizard’s mantle that buttoned into the tunic like a high collar and covered his shoulders, along with the accompanying half robe that attached at his hips and billowed low nearly to his ankles.
He was a prince, after all, but at least he had foregone his coronet for simpler adornments like his yellow leather belt.
His staff was ostentatious as well, he supposed, with its large diamond at the top.
The staff was crucial for channeling his magic, however.
He was only half-elf—half- demon —so his innate magic was not nearly as powerful as his mother’s.
For now.
“Excuuuuse me,” Gordoc said with an exaggerated raise of his finned hands. “If you’re only interested in other travelers, everyone tonight who doesn’t look like a local isn’t one. Take that as you will. Now, are you in need of a room and drink—”
“That’s all, thank you.” Nemirac turned from him without further comment and ignored the irritated huff the man released at Nemirac’s turned back.
There were many in attendance who were not monsters, but after a longer scan of the room, no one looked like someone who had seen battle or even a bar fight.
There was a young human couple laughing at a table, an older dwarf drowning in ale who could have been a grandfather, and several half-elves playing a game of cards, none of whom wore weapons belts.
Everyone else was just as unexceptional.
Since there were half-elves and at least one full elf in attendance, some of whom might be from the Mystic Valley, just to be certain no one might recognize him, Nemirac drew up the hood from the back of his mantle, forced to pull his long braid forward to drape over one shoulder.
Even while intricately plaited, his hair was long enough to nearly reach his waist, silver-colored, practically white, as if it were made from diamond dust itself—or so his mother used to lie.
The last of the people Nemirac noticed was a cluster of young women of various races in the corner, none of whom looked formidable enough to protect Nemirac should his plans go awry.
Safe within his hood, but having come up empty, Nemirac started to turn back to the bar, though he doubted it would be fruitful to ask Gordoc if there were other inns or places travelers frequented.
A boisterous laugh from the corner drew Nemirac’s attention—a male laugh, deep and resonant, amidst the gaggle of women.
Nemirac headed that direction, finally seeing that the women, five in total, weren’t clustered for their own sakes but clustered around a man, who seemed quite pleased by the attention.
As Nemirac continued to approach, he saw more of the man revealed—human, with tanned skin, brown hair to his shoulders, a neatly trimmed but full beard, and lively green eyes.
He looked large, thick with muscle beneath his teal and purple surcoat.
He also wore an overcoat with fur along the collar, and a floppy cap that tilted to one side in the same teal and purple colors, but with a green feather.
His laugh was infectious, though Nemirac assumed his admirers were there more for the strikingly handsome figure he cut—and because he appeared to be the one supplying the booze.
“Another round, eh? Don’t you lovelies go anywhere now,” he said, sliding around several of the women to get out from behind the table.
One of them must be a local, judging by her blue amphibian-like skin, and two of them, Nemirac realized, were actually slight and very pretty young men.
Nemirac changed direction to head the man off at the bar.
He was indeed large, well over six feet tall, whereas Nemirac was barely five foot ten and willowy, with minimal muscle.
Nemirac wasn’t built for combat outside throwing spells, but this man clearly was.
He had an axe on one side of his weapons belt and a short sword on the other.
He wore bracers, leather armor hidden beneath his overcoat, and the well-worn boots of a wanderer.
Perfect.
“Another round for my table, Gordy!” The man pounded a rowdy fist on the bar top and dropped a small pouch of gems upon it, spilling out a few that he passed to Gordoc, whose eyes sparkled at the sight almost as brightly as the stones themselves.
“Right away!” Gordoc gathered the gems greedily.
At Nemirac’s approach, the man turned with a grin and raised a questioning eyebrow, one with a scar clean through it that added to his rugged attractiveness.
Not that Nemirac cared . What he was after was a bodyguard.
“Are you for hire?” Nemirac asked.
“Forward, aren’t you?” The man’s deep, boisterous voice made Nemirac’s stomach grow hot. “That’s far too fair a face to be hiding in a hood. I wouldn’t be opposed to being sold , pretty thing, but I’d take you to bed for free. ”
“I-I meant as a sellsword!” Nemirac barked, feeling his cheeks grow as hot as his gut.
He was often called pretty back home, but he’d only recently come of age at twenty-two and often avoided anyone trying to court him. Books and magical study were easier to lose himself in than people.
Nemirac recognized his own attractiveness, however, combining the beauty of his dark-skinned elf-looking mother and his fair human father.
He’d always wondered why his hair was silver instead of blond, however, just as he’d questioned the gold color of his eyes, when his mother’s were dark and his father’s blue.
At least he’d wondered before discovering his true lineage.
“I’m interested in hiring a combatant, not… dallying ,” Nemirac spat.
“Pity,” the man said, eyeing Nemirac openly from head to toe.
“Are you for hire or not?” Nemirac wanted this man because he looked the strongest and was honestly the only option right now. It had nothing to do with the appeal of his broad shoulders, the twinkle in his eyes, or the single dimple on his cheek beneath the scruff of his beard.
Gordoc began placing flagons upon the bar, and the man claimed one, taking a long drink before he answered, “I can be. What are you offering in exchange?”
The man’s gems were impressive, but Nemirac had something better.
He dropped his own pouch on the bar and opened it to reveal diamonds, causing Gordoc’s eyes to saucer.
“I need you to do as you’re told and not ask questions.
This will be a long-term arrangement, likely lasting several weeks, and I won’t be staying in Amethyst, so if you intended to remain here tonight, that will change. Do we understand one another?”
The man opened the bag of diamonds farther, that same scarred eyebrow rising, though he otherwise remained impressively neutral. “The world has suddenly opened, offering many new lands for adventure. Frankly, I’m up for anything.”
“ Do we understand each other?” Nemirac asked again.
“Yes. I can follow orders just fine.” He winked.
Nemirac ignored the gesture. “Where do you hail from?”
“Originally? Ruby.”
“Ruby? You’re not a dwarf.”
“Not only dwarves live in the Ruby Kingdom, pretty, but I suppose people from other lands have forgotten that. Where do you hail from?”
“Not your concern.” Nemirac lowered his voice, since Gordoc had finished with the flagons but was hovering a little too closely.
“Meet me in the square in three hours, after all is still and everyone has cleared out, not a moment later. We will be making a hasty retreat, and I need to know you’ll be timely.
” He sneered over the man’s shoulder at the group of admirers watching with obvious annoyance that someone new had the man’s attention.
“I’m always timely—even when dallying,” the man added in a mock-whisper. “You have a deal, pretty. I’m intrigued.”
“My name is Nemirac.” This man hadn’t come from the Mystic Valley, and since those lands had been cordoned off for two hundred years and Nemirac was still young, no one outside his home should know his name.
“Pleasure to meet you, pretty . I’m Janskoller,” he said with a tip of his hat. “Janskoller Thah.”
“Janskoller the what?”
He chuckled, more like giggled, which should have seemed disjointed coming from such a masculine specimen, yet it suited him perfectly. “T-H-A-H. But if you’re asking—Janskoller the mighty? The handsome? The virile? Take your pick. Most people know me as Janskoller the bard.” He bowed deeply.
“Bard?” Nemirac hadn’t noticed before, but leaning against the wall beside the table Janskoller had come from was a lute. “I need you to fight, not serenade me.”
“Why not both? I can fight, don’t you worry about that. The serenading I’ll throw in for free.” He winked again. “Would you like a demonstration—”
“Three hours,” Nemirac interrupted, even if the lute had him curious. He had a feeling he had just made a terrible mistake, but at least the view would be pleasant.
Nemirac turned before Janskoller could say more. There was planning to be done before they met again and made their escape. It was time for Nemirac to claim his birthright—starting with the Amethyst gemstone.
But that is another story.