The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Six

They walked back over to the camp. Tracou watched them carefully, his wand already out.

"You won't hurt him?" Mirthal asked.

"Not physically."

That was an acceptable answer. Probably.

Pendaer drooped, his expression grim, until his gaze met Tracou's. Then he straightened up and even adopted a haughty look on his face.

It was so odd, seeing Pendaer interact with Tracou. Pendaer's tense body language and frequent verbal strikes against Tracou reminded Mirthal of a frightened cat, spitting at an impossibly large enemy, its fur on end. Magic never had sat quite right with Pendaer—his family line had near to no magical ability, meaning he didn't see it much growing up. Doubtless living in Dezmer would be a struggle for him.

"Are you ready, Pendaer?" Tracou asked, fiddling with his wand.

Scoffing, Pendaer crossed his arms over his chest. "Of course I am."

"If you beg for mercy, I might consider it."

That made Pendaer scowl, but he said nothing. Tracou nodded at this, for some reason Mirthal could not discern.

"Mirthal, could you carry me to the wagon? I want us to be away from the fire."

Any chance to carry Tracou was a good one, so Mirthal moved to do as he was requested. But before he could, Tracou gasped with a realization.

"Actually, I want Pendaer to do it."

"What?" Mirthal and Pendaer asked at the same time, to varying degrees of confusion and offense.

"Carry me to the wagon, Pendaer. Like Mirthal does," Tracou commanded, his blue eyes twinkling. Night hadn't fully fallen, so they weren't yet red. He would have been more intimidating if he had waited an hour.

Pendaer looked at Mirthal, eyes wide, seeking confirmation or, ideally, disapproval.

While Mirthal didn't especially like the idea of Pendaer taking his most significant job from him, Tracou wanted it. He wanted it because it would bother Pendaer, not because he liked it when Pendaer held him. Mirthal let out a slow breath.

"Do as he says, Pendaer."

Grumbling to himself, Pendaer shuffled over to Tracou. He hesitated for an exorbitant amount of time, but eventually picked Tracou up. Holding him the way Mirthal did, supporting his back and his legs, he kept his eyes straight ahead of him. He moved stiffly, trying not to touch Tracou more than necessary, which was difficult considering he had Tracou in his arms. Tracou did the same, refusing to loop his arms around Pendaer's neck to make things easier for him.

Soon, they arrived at the wagon. Pendaer set Tracou down and moved back several paces, eyeing Tracou like he could, at any moment, lurch forward and rip his throat open.

"Sit down," Tracou said, gesturing his hand toward the ground.

Slowly, Pendaer sat on the dirt. He kept his eyes on Tracou at all times, his body wound up tightly. If necessary, he could bolt at a moment's notice.

"Don't move. This won't go well for you if you move."

Pendaer said nothing.

The atmosphere around Tracou began to change. The wind picked up, swirling around them. It seemed to get darker all of a sudden and, when Mirthal looked at Tracou, his eyes were glowing red. This wasn't the normal red, the red that Mirthal had grown used to, but a deep, endless crimson that took up each entire eye and made a shiver run up Mirthal's spine. Lightning visibly crackled around Tracou.