“THIS LOOKS LIKE THE PLACE.” Rorie jammed her shovel into the ground.
Urstadt looked around silently. There was the tree the old woman had described, and the mid-sized boulder.
“Not sure we should’ve left her. You think she’ll be all right?”
“The queen can handle herself,” Urstadt said. A little too well, perhaps. Urstadt was not one to condemn the methods Winter had used in the clearing. She had hurt a lot of people in her lifetime, but the more she lived, the more she wondered how much of that, if any of it, had been necessary. The more she wondered what such acts had done to her, and more importantly to the people she’d hurt, that could not be undone.
“And Selldor is with her,” Rorie said as she cleared the area of fallen leaves and dead branches and twigs. Urstadt had noticed that she talked to herself when apprehensive. “He’s a strong fighter. The queen will be safe.”
Selldor will not be able to help Winter if something goes wrong. Urstadt did not think any of them could, even herself. A single warrior could only do so much against a psimancer, and a group of them…
Winter knew what she was doing. Urstadt had to trust her queen.
Urstadt dug her shovel into the dirt next to Rorie’s. “We’d best find what we were sent here to get,” she said. “So we can get back to the queen.” Urstadt knew Winter’s frost only lasted a quarter of an hour or so—its effects might have already faded. She could always take more, of course, but taking multiple doses consecutively was a risk.
A risk Winter never seemed to mind, but a risk nonetheless.
“Aye,” Rorie said, pouring a shovelful of dirt out in a slowly growing pile. “Suppose you’re right.”
Together they dug until, not quite two rods down, Rorie’s shovel struck something hard and hollow.
“Finally,” she said.
Together they dug around what became clear was a wooden box, until they could lift it and set it on the ground near the pile of dirt. The box was light, but faltira was not a heavy substance. A brass lock hung from the latch.
Rorie growled, the sound low in her throat. “Bitch didn’t say anything about a key.”
Urstadt grabbed one of the shovels, and slammed the blade down onto the lock. It snapped off, and Urstadt crouched to lift the lid.
The box was empty.
Rorie swore again. “That ain’t good.”
Urstadt was already up, hefting her glaive.
“We’re going back,” Urstadt said. “Quietly. We don’t know what we’ll face.”
Urstadt rushed back up the hill, as quietly as she could. For once, she was grateful she wasn’t wearing her rose-gold armor.
* * *
People approaching, Kali whispered in Winter’s head. A few dozen, at least. You need to be ready.
I will be, Winter replied.
She had bound Mazille and the others, who were still alive, and had continued delving Vlak, revisiting his terrible vision again and again. But now Kali had brought her back to consciousness, she saw Vlak’s eyes were blank. She tried reaching her acumenic tendron into the boy’s mind again, but there was nothing there.
She’d blotted him; wiped his mind clean, erased everything that made him who he was and how he thought. Vlak was gone.
He reminded me so much of Lian.
Kali spoke. Some of the approaching people are Nazaniin, Winter.
Of course they were. You waited long enough to tell me.
I’m sorry, I wanted to be sure.
Winter swore. She reached for the faltira pouch at her belt. She would need—
The pouch was gone.
Winter looked down frantically, but it was nowhere to be seen. She looked back at Selldor.
“Where’s—”
Selldor’s lifeless body stared up at Winter, eyes wide in shock.
“Selldor, no,” Winter whispered, crouching by the man who had been her friend, her first Ranger captain. Winter must have been so caught up in Vlak’s vision, she had not noticed Mazille use her own tendra to take her frost—or murder her friend.
Behind her, Winter heard a laugh.
Slowly, she turned to face Mazille. “You wanted mercy for you and your group,” Winter said. “It was something I might have given you, had you turned my frost over to me. But now—”
“You ain’t in no position to make demands, my dear,” Mazille interrupted. “It pains me that I’ve lost two, maybe three—Goddess knows what you’ve done to Vlak—people to get to this point, but here we are.”
Winter, I can help you.
“What have you done?” Winter asked Mazille.
“We always knew you’d come after us, just as you said. The moment Vlak told us you were close, we sent word to the Nazaniin cotir in Darbon with the voidstone they gave us. We’ve already agreed to turn you over to them if they help us. We never wanted anything to do with the Nazaniin, but it’ll be worth it to destroy you. You’re no good, Winter. You’ve seen Vlak’s vision. Ain’t sure how you did it, but I can tell. You’ll only bring death and destruction, my dear. We’re just doing what’s best for our people.”
They’re here, Winter. I can help you, but…
I have a lacuna for you. But you’re not going to like it.
The tiellan boy? I’m not going into a tiellan body, Winter. I—
If you want this to happen, Winter said, it has to happen now.
* * *
Kali’s eyes snapped open.
The sky was cloudy above, the air was cold, leaves fell to the ground around her, and she was bound to a tree. Kali looked down at herself. She now inhabited a thin, sinewy body, still ensconced in the smooth exterior of youth.
Winter stood before her, eyeing her critically—she looked every bit as she had in the Void, dressed in dark leathers, her black hair braided against both sides of her skull, while the top flowed out freely behind her in a much looser braid. And behind Winter, the Nazaniin cotir and their company were just cresting the hill.
What do you want me to do? Kali asked.
Find a way out of those bonds, first of all, Winter said. Their acumenic connection was still there, despite Kali’s recent transition. It was the same sort of connection she had had with Nash, what felt like an eternity ago.
Vlak, are you all right? Are you there?
Kali frowned. That voice was not hers, nor Winter’s. Kali turned her head. Winter had already killed one of the acumens, but the other, the old man, was bound to a tree not far from her. He was looking at her, his eyes wide.
Vlak!
Yes, Kali responded. Best for the tiellans to think she was still the lad, if possible. Her voice would sound different, now—it was her voice, her true voice, that spoke from her sift, not the boy’s—but she might be able to pass for a young tiellan lad. The connection she shared with the old tiellan acumen was different than the one she had with Winter; they would not be able to hear one another, and Kali could still effectively keep her communication with them separate. Kali’s acumenic tendra connected her with Winter, while the tiellan’s tendra connected him to Kali’s body. The channels were different, but she still needed to be careful. The old man would be able to sense Kali’s unguarded thoughts. Kali’s decades of training as an acumen enabled her to keep the area of her sift the old tiellan acumancer occupied. But it would take effort.
I was in a dark place, Kali told the tiellan man. I thought it was Oblivion. What is going on?
She tried to keep her communication short. The less they heard from her, the better.
The cotir has just arrived, the old man said. But our work is not done. We must subdue Winter, and Mazille thinks that may still be a challenge.
Even with the cotir’s help?
The response was solemn. You’ve seen her power, the destruction she’ll bring to our people. We must stop her.
The cotir approached Winter cautiously. Their soldiers hung back, weapons drawn and readied. She recognized Krasten, tall and thickset, despite his age, at the center of the three psimancers. His brown hair had turned gray, his dark brown face worn and weathered, but otherwise he was as Kali remembered him.
The two other psimancers who walked along either side of him were much younger, in their mid-twenties at the oldest: a woman, short with dark hair and a round, scarred face, and a young man, blonde, tall, and strong.
The soldiers behind them did not wear insignia of any kind—just leather armor, breastplates, and helmets, much of it lacquered black. The cotir had asked for a contingent of Nazaniin soldiers, then. Mercenaries paid for by the Nazaniin when a situation required more manpower than a cotir could reasonably offer. It was rare for them to be sent anywhere, let alone a location as remote as this.
Can you compel one of the soldiers to loose us from our bonds? Kali asked the old acumen. It was what she wanted to do, but she wanted to give this man the chance if there was any way she could still keep up the ruse of being on their side.
He hesitated before responding, and Kali knew she had made a mistake.
You know we don’t compel people to do anything, the man said. What has gotten into you, Vlak?
Kali attempted a cover. I’m afraid for my life, she said. What do you ex—?
“Danica Winter Cordier, I presume,” Krasten said, stopping a few rods away from Winter.
Winter’s face was defiant. Krasten towered above Winter, head and shoulders and then some.
“You know me better as the Chaos Queen,” Winter said. “Why don’t you kneel?”
Kali could not help but feel a spike of pride at Winter’s composure. As much rivalry as their relationship had contained, their connection was strong.
Krasten sniffed. “Kneeling is an archaic practice for the less civilized.”
Kali barely stopped herself from scoffing. Krasten had always been pretentious, but this was ridiculous.
Krasten looked to Mazille. “You have her faltira?”
“I have it,” Mazille said. “Both what we took from her, and what she brought today.”
“Good,” Krasten said. “We’ll be taking that with us, along with her.”
Mazille frowned. “That wasn’t part of the deal. You said—”
“The deal has changed,” Krasten said sharply. “I suggest you accept it.”
“Then free us, at least,” Mazille said. “My people need help.”
Krasten glanced disdainfully at the dead acumen and telenic. Was this what she had looked like when she put on the airs of the typical Nazaniin agent? Kali made a mental note to be done with such theatrics. This level of arrogance did not become anyone.
“I think you can wait another few moments,” Krasten said, “as we assess the situation.”
Kali sighed. She had hoped she would not have to reveal her power just yet, but it seemed there was no choice. Krasten would surely sense her, but she had to take action.
As quickly as she could, Kali reached out an acumenic tendron. She would need to make it happen quickly.
Winter’s thoughts reached out. Kali, she called. I did not put you in that body to do nothing. I need your help. Now.
Working on it, Kali responded.
Krasten’s head snapped around to stare at Kali—Kali, in Vlak’s body.
“I thought you told me the young one was a voyant,” he growled.
“He is,” Mazille spluttered.
Kali broke into the mind of the young soldier that stood closest to them almost instantly. With acumency, there were a number of ways to go about convincing someone else to do something, from subtle methods to outright compulsion.
Kali had no time for subtlety.
Cut the ropes that tie me, Kali commanded.
Immediately, the man walked toward her.
Hurry, Kali urged.
He sprinted, drawing a knife. Kali could not say she felt completely confident, seeing this large soldier charge her, blade drawn. It had been more than a year since she had influenced anyone’s mind in any real way with her psimancy. She half-wondered whether it would work.
“Soldier,” Krasten said sharply. “Stand down.”
Kali sensed Krasten’s tendron snaking out to the fighter she’d snagged, but she cut it off immediately. She exhaled with relief as he slipped the dagger up through the ropes that held her, and sliced them effortlessly.
The old tiellan psimancer reached out to Kali. Vlak, what is going on?
Kali ignored him, focusing her attention on the soldier she had just compelled.
Thank you, Kali said to the soldier. Now, protect me. This much raw compulsion would soon obliterate his sift. He turned, raising his dagger between her and the cotir.
“Mazille,” Krasten hissed. “What is this?”
Mazille blubbered a response, but she was clearly as confused as Krasten was.
Well done, Winter said. What now?
The male psimancer at Krasten’s left unhooked two circular blades from his belt. He tossed them into the air in front of him, and the two blades dipped for a moment before being picked up by the man’s tendra. Both flew directly toward Mazille.
The cotir would have their own connection through which Krasten relayed orders. That was one of the benefits of fighting with fellow psimancers; communication was usually clandestine and instantaneous. But that meant that Kali could not be sure what the telenic’s orders actually were.
The female psimancer stepped toward Winter wielding a long curved Nazaniin blade. Krasten’s eyes bored right into Kali.
“Release your hold on the soldier,” Krasten said, “or we’ll kill this excuse for a psimancer you call your leader.”
Kali laughed on the inside. Krasten thought she was still with Mazille. That was good. She kept her face—Vlak’s old face—scowling.
But Krasten, while pompous, was anything but a fool. Some of his pride, at least, was deserved. He looked from Kali, to Mazille, then to Winter.
“Canta’s bloody bones. I’m too old for this shit. Kill them all.”
Fear coursed through Kali’s newfound veins. She had just found this body. She would not abandon it so easily.
But, then again, she had been trapped in the Void for the better part of a year, without senses, without psimancy.
She was itching for a good fight.
The moment the tall man ordered his people to “kill them all,” Urstadt motioned for Rorie to follow her. She’d drawn her dagger in addition to her glaive; the smaller blade came in handy for close quarter combat.
Silently, she and Rorie slipped up behind the soldiers that stood at the back of the formation. Urstadt sliced the throat of the man directly in front of her with her dagger, then stabbed the one next to him just as he turned to see his companion fall, blood spurting from his neck.
As the soldiers whirled in alarm, Urstadt threw her dagger at the neck of one, then followed up by impaling the man on her glaive. She stepped back, withdrawing her weapon, and the man slid to the ground.
She had taken out three of the men; Rorie had taken two with her sword. That left sixteen.
Urstadt gripped her glaive, and charged.
She had been in more skirmishes than she could remember, and even more mock fights than that. She had rarely faced worse odds. She only hoped the distraction she and Rorie provided would give Winter the time necessary to take care of the real threats.
The wind whipped her braid behind her as she sprinted. She hefted her glaive and thrust it directly at the heart of the man closest to her. The sword screached off his breastplate, but Urstadt anticipated his movement, and flipped her glaive around to slam the butt end into the man’s face with enough force to take him down.
She twirled her glaive and attacked another. He parried one strike, but took the second in the leg. A blow to his face split his nose guard.
Rorie grunted behind her. Urstadt yanked her weapon out of the dead man’s face in time to turn and see Rorie taking on three soldiers at once. The clanswoman was both strong and quick, but her footwork was not always perfect, her strikes not always as efficient as they could be.
Urstadt swung her glaive, slashing the calf of one of Rorie’s opponents. She felt a soft thud in her shoulder, and looked down to see a long, thick arrow shaft protruding from the soft point of skin where her arm met her torso. The pain came after the sound and sensation, searing beneath her skin.
Another soldier rushed in, halberd leveled at Urstadt. At such close quarters, it was risky for the soldiers to fire arrows. She needed to stay engaged, then, to make sure they couldn’t get another off.
Urstadt parried and dodged. Pain grated down her arm and side with every movement. She rammed the butt of her glaive into the soldier’s gut, and he doubled over. Urstadt slammed her elbow down on his back with all her weight and force and he collapsed to the ground.
She was doing well enough against the soldiers, but they were not the greater threat. She could guess who the three people that stood before Winter were. Their presence here, and their ability to keep not only Winter but Mazille and her band cowed as well, made it obvious they were Nazaniin.
Only Winter could turn the tide of the battle.
* * *
“Come with us, Winter,” the psimancer said. An acumen; Winter had sensed his acumenic tendra reaching out to Vlak-Kali.
Kali, Winter reached out, what do you know about clairvoyance?
This isn’t the time for lessons, Winter. I’m trying to find your faltira. Just give me a moment—
Sure enough, Winter noticed the mercenary Kali had gained control over had started looking around.
I’m not sure I need it, Winter said. Yet. To say she did not need frost would never be accurate.
Winter sensed Kali’s hesitation before she responded. You think you can access clairvoyance as well?
Vlak’s vision was familiar to me.
How so? The mercenary Kali controlled still continued to search as surreptitiously as possible, while Mazille and the acumen shouted at one another.
I’ve seen visions like that before. On the battlefield, a few months ago. In Izet. Even what she’d seen outside of Cineste, when she first took faltira, what seemed like an eternity ago. The sensation she’d gotten while experiencing Vlak’s vision was the same she’d felt then.
Clairvoyants are not usually useful in a fight, Kali said hesitantly.
But some are?
Some are, yes. If they close their eyes, concentrating on their clairvoyant tendron, they can see things before they happen. Even if it’s just a moment before, if they can fight, they can have the advantage in any fight, no matter their opponent. But only very few voyants can do this, Winter, and it takes practice…
Winter continued to listen as best she could, but she was already looking for a clairvoyant tendron.
You said tendron, Winter thought, singular. Does that mean—
Voyants can only access one tendron, period. They call it their aspect. Even Rune can only access one, and he is the most powerful voyant on record.
What happens when two voyants fight one another? she asked, looking at the Nazaniin speculatively. The voyant must be the woman, since she could sense the other two were acumen and telenic already.
Winter, my man is about to find the faltira Mazille stole from you, so why don’t you just—
There. Winter had found her aspect, she was sure. Different from her telenic tendra, invisible tendrils that emanated from her chest. Different from acumenic tendra, wisps of strange smoke that connected her with the Void, surging forth from her mind.
* * *
This is different. It’s a good tendron; it still has that wavy, ethereal quality, but instead of coming from my mind or chest, this is a projection of myself.
I can see why they call it an aspect.
As soon as my aspect projects, the Nazaniin voyant looks up at me sharply.
Kali, my mind whispers urgently, what happens when two voyants fight?
The Nazaniin closes her eyes. I can hear Kali’s explanation in my head. If they close their eyes, they can see things before they happen.
The woman takes a step toward me, her curved sword—so much like the one Knot carried, once—held ready. I draw the sword I wear at my side.
Then I, too, close my eyes.
The aspect I saw before me while my eyes were open, a mirror image of myself made of light and inseparably connected with me, bursts into fragments of light the moment my eyes shut. For a moment I think I’m in the Void, twinkling star-lights glowing all around me. But, quickly, these lights coalesce into other forms. Mazille, Kali, the Nazaniin cotir and mercenaries, still fighting Urstadt and Rorie. I see all of these figures, and yet they are all frozen in time, bright shadows of themselves unmoving in my mind.
All frozen except for one. The Nazaniin voyant continues to approach me. We mirror each other, our swords raised, angled inward, almost touching. Our feet step in time, crossing and pacing. We circle one another.
She lunges, sword slicing toward me. Our blades meet soundlessly. A bright flash illuminates the strange space in my mind as our swords touch. She strikes again, her movements something resembling the bukaido forms. Not quite the same, but similar enough that I can enter bu-shir, then bu-endo, and finally bu-du to counter them. Each time I parry, bright flashes light up the dark as our swords meet without sound.
She disengages, moving a few paces away from me. I hold my sword ready, in bu-hai stance—one of the safest, most stable stances I know. In this stance I feel strong, ready to take on whatever attack this woman might bring to me. In the background, blurred around us as my focus remains on the voyant, the other psimancers, mercenaries, and Urstadt and Rorie remain completely still.
She rushes at me again. Wordless, soundless, just a figment of light. As she moves, I realize why I feel so strong. While my body has conditioned itself to move with the forms, it always makes my muscles burn and strain when I do not hold back. I can keep them up for some time now, thanks to Urstadt’s training and conditioning, but my muscles always smolder during and ache afterward. It’s a dull pain I’ve come to enjoy, I realize now, because I’m suddenly without it.
There is no ache, no strain. My body moves effortlessly, exactly as I direct.
The moment I realize this, as the voyant charges me, I shift from bu-hai to bu-gin, a much more strenuous stance that I can only pull off on my strongest of days. It requires the most strength, balance, and dexterity of all the initiatory stances, but it allows me to shift direction and momentum on the smallest of axes.
The woman reaches me, moving with enough force to bring down a tree. I cannot parry such a strike, but in bu-gin all I have to do is shift my weight and bend my knees, leaning backwards; my torso flattens so I’m parallel with the ground as her sword cuts directly above me. The moment she’s past, I snap back up, twisting around to meet her.
Her momentum carries her past me, and she missteps as she turns. I dart forward, trying to penetrate her moment of vulnerability, but she recovers in time to dance around my blade. I envy her agility and grace; I do not think I’ve ever looked that good when I’ve dodged an attack.
But I’m still alive, and that’s what matters.
Her blade snaps out as she twists around me, and I barely shift my own to parry. Light flashes at the contact.
We separate once more, the others a light-mural of stillness around us. My opponent’s eyes are calm. What in Oblivion am I doing facing off against a Nazaniin assassin? I’m a simple tiellan woman from a village no one cares about in the north. I have no business doing this.
But I’ve made it my business. I’m not going to stop now.
I take up bu-gin once more, balancing lightly, the form not taking any effort whatsoever. The woman’s eyes narrow, and then she mirrors me. This time her form isn’t a facsimile of bu-gin, but the exact form itself. She expects me to make the next move, but I remain still. We both stare at each other, perfectly balanced opposites, blades pointed at one another. I’m drawn, for the briefest moment, to the slight curve of the woman’s blade. I snap out of it just in time to see her break form and sprint toward me.
Our blades clash in another soundless flash of light. She kicks and connects, forcing me backwards, but I feel no pain. Nothing at all other than a pressure moving me back. I recover but she’s already raining down blow after blow, and I barely have time to parry. I sweep my leg in her direction, tripping her up, and vault back onto my feet. There’s surprise on her light-mural face, and for the briefest moment I wonder if I looked as good as she did. But the moment passes because the opening is there, and just as she regains her balance I slip my sword between her ribs, up into her lungs and heart. Light engulfs us, and I open my eyes.
Winter opened her eyes. Time unfroze. Urstadt’s halberd jutted up into the neck of one of the mercenaries. The acumen screamed at Mazille. The telenic raised a circular blade and flung it toward Kali.
And, in front of Winter, the voyant still stood with sword raised. Winter, too, had hers raised, the two blades angled toward one another, tips nearly touching. The voyant looked at Winter, surprise in her eyes, and coughed violently, blood bubbling from her lips. Then she fell to the ground.
That, Kali’s voice echoed in Winter’s mind, is what happens when two voyants fight one another.
The Nazaniin acumen, face red from shouting, turned in time to see his voyant fall to the ground. He paled as his eyes rose to meet Winter’s. Movement blurred behind the acumen, and something sailed through the air toward her.
“You’re a voyant,” he whispered. Winter could barely hear it above the chaos around her.
“I’m a queen,” she said as she caught her faltira pouch in one hand, and immediately took a crystal.
* * *
Winter made quick work of the remaining members of the cotir. Deep inside Kali, horror writhed. Winter was a psimancer in every sense of the term; she could use all three of the art forms, with power and precision; her telenic power had been present from the start, and her acumenic force had awed Kali the moment she’d first encountered Winter’s strange dark-light in the Void.
Now, Winter had discovered her aspect and defeated a very talented voyant in a matter of moments.
When the Nazaniin force—cotir and mercenaries—were defeated, Urstadt and Rorie standing bloody before Winter, Kali motioned for them to speak alone. Winter inclined her head, and the two took a few steps away.
“I assume you’re going to do what you need to do to them, to get your faltira back,” Kali said, nodding at Mazille and the remaining captives, still bound to the trees.
“You assume correctly.”
“Would you mind if I went for a walk?” Kali asked. “I’d rather not spend my first few moments back in the Sfaera witnessing torture.”
Winter scoffed. “A walk? Kali, if you think you can run, you—”
“I’m not going to run.” She meant it.
“You know I’ll be able to find you,” Winter said.
“You won’t need to.” They held one another’s gaze for what seemed like a very long time.
Winter nodded, then turned away.
Thank you, Kali said, reaching out to Winter but not sure she would hear, my queen.