The spidrins prickled uncomfortably at the back of Daine's senses. Numair quirked an eyebrow at her, wordlessly asking what it was, although he remained silent. Spots perked up his ears and Cloud snorted something uncomplimentary, but Daine hushed the pony. In her head she counted; there were at least four distinct sources in the distance somewhere. One of them was female. She opened her mouth to warn Numair that the danger was spidrins, but before she got a word in edgewise there was a shout that wound up into a scream and then choked off, somewhere in the forest.
Daine sucked in a breath, fearing the worst, and urged Cloud into a full gallop. The pony snorted and bolted and Numair yelped in surprise as Spots followed them without prompting. They flew down the road and then into the woods at a breakneck pace. There, to the left; a dark, hairy form scuttled gleefully toward a lump in the ground; the pink spidrin webbing, a trap, heaved sickeningly. Daine drew her bow and then loosed the arrow. It flew and embedded itself into the spidren, a female by the size of it; the massive, human-headed spider gurgled and toppled over, the arrow protruding from its neck. Cloud skidded to a halt and Daine dismounted.
Spots came up alongside her. "Sweets, are there others around?" Numair panted warily from the back of his horse, black, sparkling magic rippling around his hands. Spots, also panting, lowered his nose.
"Three," Daine said grimly, striding to stand next to Cloud's cheek, another arrow already notched in her bow. She kept the string loose and the arrow pointed to the ground as she scanned the forest floor.
There was a man on the ground, or what was left of a man. The spidren's webbing had burned right through his coat, although it was the strangest coat Daine had ever seen. It was wool, died a shockingly even blue-gray, and there was some kind of stripe on the shoulder. "Are you alright?" Daine asked, coming to kneel down beside him. She cut away the webbing, which no longer burned. The spidrin was quite dead. This man wasn't looking good either; her hands were soon sticky with blood.
There was a thump beside her as Nuamir dismounted. "I think he's dead, Daine." He laid a hand sadly on her shoulder. "Look, she bit him." The mage gestured at the stranger's right shoulder, where the fabric of the coat had torn. The spidren's fangs had left bloody, gaping gashes on the skin beneath.
Daine sighed as she looked regretfully at the wound. The venom would have killed him very quickly. Spidrins were nasty business. "You're right." They were too late. Sadly, she reached to close the dead man's eyes and leave him for the remaining three spidrens. His skin was cold and still.
Daine stood and regarded the body. Numair squeezed her shoulder. "Come on," he said gently. "Let's go ho-"
From the ground, there was a great, wheezing, shuddering gasp that cut off Numair's voice. The man on the ground jolted upright, flailing with a frightened shout. Daine, to her mortification, shrieked in surprise and leaped away.
"Mithros!" Numair yelped, taking a step back. The stranger gasped and rolled his shoulder. Daine stared at the smooth, fluid motion. Hadn't there just been a massive, gory bite there? The stranger's eyes landed on her, and he grinned fiercely.
"Bet you've never seen a trick like that," he panted, heaving himself to his feet.
"You're all wrong!" Daine blurted, unable to stop staring at him. He looked as though nothing had happened, although his clothing was torn and burned.
"Daine," Numair murmured, a token protest to her words. He seemed to agree with her, though, for he looked at the man with wide eyes. "While I am quite curious as to how you just did that," he said, "there are three more spidrens in the area, and I think it would behoove us to move quickly."
"Spidrens," the stranger echoed, still sounding as though he were out of breath. He dropped his eyes down to the dead one, with Daine's arrow sticking out of its neck. "Yes," he said, looking up. "Thank you."
Daine met his gaze evenly, and her breath caught at what she saw there. He had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, and there was a curious quality to them, a strange age, as though they were older than the rest of his face - and what a face it was. He had a strong jawbone, a dimpled chin and by the goddess, those eyes. His dark hair was wild and mussed from the incident with the spidrin. As she watched, those striking eyes went distant, as if a gate swung closed somewhere inside him, and he bared his teeth in a charming, white grin. The effect was rather devastating and there was nothing for it - the man was gorgeous. Daine loved Numair Salmalin with all her heart and soul, but this man practically exuded sex. She'd never seen anyone more attractive in her life.
"You're welcome," Daine spluttered, shaking herself. She looked back at Numair, her tall, dark and handsome mage and took a breath. He was clumsy, he was silly, and she loved him. Beautiful strangers were besides the point. She reached for Numair's hand and squeezed once. Numair blinked at her and then looked back to the stranger, tilted his head, and tugged Daine over to their horses.
"I don't suppose you have a horse?" Numair asked the man casually. "Was there anyone with you?"
Daine released Numair's hand and walked over to Cloud. She placed her palm against her pony's shaggy gray neck, taking a quick, steadying breath. Wow. Then she swung herself onto Cloud's back. The pony took no notice; she was staring at the stranger, nostrils flared.
Are you alright? Daine asked Cloud silently, concerned at her stillness. Part of her Wild Magic was speaking to animals and being understood; Daine could speak aloud or without words, and in this case she thought silence might be prudent.
Something's wrong with him, Cloud replied, standing ridged. I can smell it.
Daine frowned and glanced furtively at the man, trying to feel whatever wrongness that Cloud spoke of. Nothing. She concentrated, and then thought maybe--
The stranger, still speaking with Numair and unaware of the silent conversation between Daine and her pony, huffed a little. The sound could not quite be called laughter. "I'm alone," he told Numair easily, his accent odd and twanging and like nothing Daine had ever heard. "Haven't ridden in ages," he admitted. "And I mean that. Ages." He followed them, steps silent against the forest floor and muscles tense, as though ready to flee.
"You're not from Tortall," Numair stated, gracelessly clambering onto Spots. The painted gelding, who had also been regarding the stranger with some unease, snorted at Numair and rolled his eyes heavenward when the mage nearly fell. Daine jerked out of her unsuccessful contemplation and suppressed a smile at Numair's sheer inability to properly mount a horse.
"How'd you guess?" the stranger asked and his teeth glittered again in a charming smile. The tension melted from his shoulders and he jammed his hands into the pockets of his ruined coat, standing relaxed as though he often had his life saved by total strangers in the middle of the woods.
"I should think the accent and the clothes gave it away," Numair replied, taking Spots' reins. "Your coat is ruined, I'm afraid," he added, starting to take off his cloak in order to offer it. "If you—"
"What?" the man froze, the easy charm melting from his face like a wax mask. Something flashed in Daine's magical senses and she glanced at Numair in surprise. Numair wasn't looking at her. He was blinking, bemused, at the stranger, who was muttering, "No, no, no," as he swiftly shucked his coat. The back was badly burned from the spidrin's webbing. "No. You must have tailors," he burst out, now striding between their horses to look from one to the other beseechingly. "This—this can't be ruined," he added, and emotion dripped from his voice. "Not yet."
"We can get it fixed," Daine soothed, startled at the outburst and at the flare of something that had come from him. What was it? It was gold, she thought. Gold and howling, and as soon as she thought it, she forgot.
The man swallowed. "You have tailors?" he insisted, his blue eyes steely and wounded and old.
"Yes," Numair told him, sounding taken aback.
The man licked his lips and nodded, tucking the garment lovingly over his arm. "Good. Thank you. I— didn't catch your names." He shifted his weight, although he tried for another of those smiles. It came out as more of an uncomfortable grimace.
"He's Numair Salmalin," Daine introduced her mage, urging Cloud at last back to the road. "My name is Veralidaine Sarrasri, but you can call me Daine. Who're you?"
"Cap'n Jack Harkness," replied the stranger with another smile that tried, and nearly succeeded, in being bright. "Call me Jack." His compelling eyes gleamed in the light of the afternoon, spilling green and gold through the forest.
"Captain?" Numair asked as Spots kept pace with Cloud. "You're a bit inland for that." He glanced at Daine and she looked back, equally intrigued.
The man gave a bark of laughter, walking casually between the two horses. "My ship ran aground," he said, a dark irony in his voice that neither Daine nor Numair understood.
"Pretty far aground," Daine replied, puzzled.
The Captain's eyes went distant, but the rest of his expression remained cheerful and evasive. "It was long ago and far away."
Daine and Numair shared another intrigued look, but did not press him.
He's a wolf, Cloud told Daine softly, as though just figuring it out. Her hooves clapped against stone as they walked out of the shadow of the forest and into the bright light that shone on the road.
A wolf? Daine asked her, looking down in surprise at the pony's shaggy gray mane. Beside them, Spots' hooves clattered onto the road as he and Numair emerged from the woods, their new acquaintance still between the two horses. The set of his muscles was relaxed and he held himself casually, and yet his eyes darted, looking left and right with a strange urgency.
Cloud snorted, drawing Daine's attention away. Yes, the pony said, I do not know how, but he is. He was dead before. I could smell it. He came back to life.
"What?" Daine asked aloud, startled into verbal speech, and both the Captain and Numair looked at her. "Sorry," she told them sheepishly. Cloud rolled her eyes at Daine's carelessness.
"What, what?" Jack asked her with a grin just as the gray pony replied, I do not know.
"Never mind, I was talking to—" she gestured to Cloud's neck.
"Your horse," Jack said wryly, raising an eyebrow.
"My pony," Daine corrected.
"Daine's a wildmage," Numair explained to the stranger. "Well, the wildmage would be more appropriate – I don't think there's another like her. She can talk to animals, among other things." He smiled and Daine resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"Well, anyone can talk to animals," Jack said. "They just don't often talk back."
Daine shrugged, and very quickly transformed her hand into a wolf's paw and back. That often quieted skeptics. "They talk back to me," she shrugged. Numair quirked a proud grin at her.
"Well," Jack muttered, recovering surprisingly quickly. "I've seen stranger things. I don't suppose you're a wildmage too," he added, turning to Numair. Cloud let out a bray like laughter, and even Daine smirked. Spots snorted derisively.
"She can understand me?" their guest asked in surprise, turning to the pony. Cloud glared at him, laid back her ears and champed her teeth around the bit.
"Sure," Daine said. She tugged the reins to prevent Cloud from following through with the threat. Behave, she scolded silently. "She's been around two-leggers long enough. And no, Numair's not. He is one of the best mages in Tortall, though," she added, just as proud of him as he was of her.
Numair gave her a pained look, and Jack raised his eyebrows, but did not comment.
.
.
Right. Humanoids with horses, and good people, if he was any judge. The magic thing was weird, but he'd seen stranger. Perhaps it was some form of telepathy, or telekinesis? The shape shifting was utterly bizarre as well but, then again, the planet Kordo was filled with that sort of thing.
Okay. Mages and wildmages. He could take it with a grain of salt – if these people believed in magic, then he wouldn't stop them. It might turn out to his advantage, somehow.
The man who wished he hadn't offered the name Jack sighed to himself, a little guiltily. This whole conning gig was not for him anymore, not really. These were good people, he thought sadly, and there was no need to bring the stupid universe into their lives. He'd been around scoundrels and thieves and downright evil long enough to know good when he saw it, and these two were it. He could tell that right off the bat. He'd even slipped up and given them the wrong name. God, he never wanted to hear Jack Harkness again, not after—not after everything. He should've called himself Colla Ruff. Colla was a thief and a bastard, and he could be Colla with little problem, but—
But these were good people. The only one of his many identities that was kind in any way, shape or form to good people was Jack Harkness. So the name had risen, unbidden, to his lips. Hell.
He'd slipped up about the coat, too. What was with him today? It was an incredibly stupid and risky thing to do, especially for someone with his years and experience. He was lucky these two were good people, otherwise this could have gotten nasty, and he might have lost his coat. He still might, in fact. As it was, his slip of control had seemed beneficial; the show of emotion had seemed to soften them. Good. He would need allies. Jack hugged the beloved garment a little closer to himself.
Damn it all, he was not going to lose this coat, not to something as stupid as a shot in the back from whatever that thing had been. They had called it a spidren– he supposed the creatures were common, here. A native species? Damned if he knew.
Surreptitiously, he scanned the shape-shifting woman with his wrist strap. She registered as human, which was odd, and with a frown he scanned the man as well, with the same results. There was something wrong here; humans should not be off Earth for a few centuries yet, unless more time than he thought had passed. Never mind the whole magic thing.
It didn't really matter. It wasn't his business, was it? Besides, they thought that they had saved his life, which meant that they were trying to help.
He supposed that waking up after getting eaten would have been unpleasant. They had spared him that.
"Are you alright?" Daine, the woman who could apparently talk to animals, was giving him a concerned look. She was a pretty thing, all curly dark hair and gray-blue eyes. Her lips looked very soft, he mused idly - she seemed quite the catch. Her power, for lack of a better word, was with animals - that could make for some interesting times.
"Fine," Jack told her, and tried to blind her with a toothy grin. It must be pretty unconvincing, he thought grimly, because the man called Numair, so obviously her lover it was almost painful, eyed him oddly.
"I've never seen clothes like yours," he said. He too was a fine piece of work, was Numair Salmalin, all dark eyes and swarthy skin, his smile sweet and almost shy. They made an attractive couple, Jack thought. His pondered seducing one of them, seducing both of them, with the sort of disregard to life to which he had grown accustomed. "Where are you from, Jack?" Numair asked him.
"Far away," Jack replied with a shrug, not giving away his frankly lascivious thoughts. "Really far away."
"That's fair vague," Daine said dryly, and Jack gave her a blindingly white smile.
"Yeah," Jack agreed with every ounce of charm he could muster. "It is." It was time to change the subject, he thought grimly, because questions of his origins were sticky.
Hold on, no they weren't. He looked back at these two people - rode horses, shot a bow an arrow. He placed them as primitive humans, and if he was lucky, they were very primitive humans. There it was, he thought, the opening gamble. "You won't have heard of it," he added, watching their reactions.
"Somewhere beyond the Copper Isles?" Daine asked, all wide-eyed innocence. She didn't seem to even realize what she even looked like, what sort of information she was giving away, asking a sweet question like that.
Perfect, Jack thought darkly. Just as he suspected. They haven't even explored their own world yet. Excellent. No reason for them to know that the place he gave them would not exist for about thirty centuries or so. The best way to lie, of course, was with the truth. "Way beyond that," he said honestly. "Place called the Boeshane Peninsula. Told you you've never heard of it."
"And you speak Common?" Numair asked skeptically. Smart catch, Jack thought. He shrugged and indicated his wrist strap. "S'got a translator in it. It's keyed to me, though." That was true, too, and if these people believed in spells and magic, who was he to disappoint?
"That's some pretty strong spell work," Numair said, sounding interested. Success. "Would you mind if I take a look?"
"If I take it off, it cancels," Jack lied smoothly. He'd be damned if he let the technology out of his sight—besides, it had sentimental meaning, too. He rubbed the leather with his thumb gently.
Don't think of Gwen, he thought painfully, and suppressed the urge to run.
"When we get back then," Daine decided, and Jack let the memory slip away, forcing himself into the present.
"Alright," Jack agreed with the gorgeous young woman. Here and now, he told himself. Here and now, he was walking with two beautiful individuals, muscled and toned and lovely from riding horses, who just saved his worthless life. No reason to make them suspicious, and so long as the thing didn't leave his arm and his arm didn't leave the rest of him, he did not particularly care what they did.