CHAPTER SIX

The next morning, after doing what they could to repair carts and wrangle bleating goats, Shade and her companions bade farewell and good luck to Jolynn and her clan.

“I’ll send another message to the Kindred, Shade,” Jolynn had promised. Something had changed in the old woman’s eyes. There was a fear Shade had never seen before, a resignation. Disaster was coming, and she could no longer deny it. “I will try and make them understand.”

Shade had embraced her, glad Jolynn had recognized their predicament, but sad to see the older woman so distraught. After all, it had been Jolynn’s decision to allow Shade to remain among the clan when Cyril had brought her home with him. She was the clan matriarch, the eldest and the wisest. Her word was law. And now, she was putting all her trust in a foundling.

I will live up to that trust. Our destiny lies beyond the mountains.

With the sun in their eyes, Shade set a rapid pace back to Sicaria. Her head was pounding, and her mouth was cotton, but she pressed onward. Everyone was hurting from the night’s battle, but even more from the revelries afterward. The Golondrina knew how to celebrate life, especially after coming so close to death. Even Raiden was struggling to keep up. Apparently, he’d had quite a time among the thankful clan. So far that morning, he had emptied the contents of his stomach twice. His dusky skin had gone sallow, and his mouth was pinched white at the corners. Manoli was shadowing him, cracking jokes and showing remarkable sympathy towards the foreigner, even handing over the kerchief from around his neck so Raiden could wipe his face.

Of course, it was Manoli who’d gotten him so drunk in the first place.

After last night, her friends’ attitude toward the Imperial emissary had shifted. His skill and fearlessness fighting off the Waste beasts had impressed all of them, even Cyril. Remembering how he’d fought brought a shiver down her spine. He had thrown himself into a battle of which he had little understanding, facing supernatural creatures to save her. It shouldn’t surprise her how quickly they’d come to respect him. Cyril and Manoli were born warriors and Raiden’s skill astounded them. Petra, on the other hand, saw Raiden’s willingness to throw himself in the face of danger for another’s sake as the most admirable of traits.

“Shade, you need to slow down.”

Disturbed out of her ruminations, Shade glanced toward Cyril. “Are you serious? Why?”

Grim-faced, Cyril pointed back the way they had come. Several yards below them, Raiden worked his way up the path. Each step seemed a monumental struggle, and he paused often with hands on knees.

“He’s just feeling his drink,” Shade said. “He’ll get better.”

“Perhaps. But a rest won’t do any harm. We’ll still reach Sicaria well before sunset if you’re worried.”

She fidgeted, her hands kneading her blades. “We’re vulnerable out here,” she said. “I’m down to my last dregs.”

Cyril said nothing, only unhitched his waterskin and took a long drink.

“Fine. We’ll take a break. Everyone’s got to be bone-dry after last night’s excitement.”

Raiden seemed grateful for the respite, draining a full skin in a single draft. She watched him as she sipped at her own skin. For a soldier, he couldn’t hold his liquor all that well. Her belly roiled unpleasantly, reminding her she’d had a rough night, too. The tension across her shoulders and down her back wasn’t helping either. The red sands stretched empty in all directions, shimmering in the heat and haze of the sun, but she knew it was a deceptive emptiness. Enemies could hide in plain sight in the Wastes, especially two-legged enemies armed with magic.

We need to get back to Dante’s villa. He has enough men to dissuade even the strongest Capo.

When they resumed their journey, Raiden was a shade less sallow, and they were able to keep to a faster pace. The vast shield over Sicaria was a growing haze on the horizon, a distortion in the hot, clear sky. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long after their brief rest that her fears were confirmed. A rider appeared, heading steadily in their direction. The fact that she only saw one rider convinced her there was more than one. A lone wizard had a much better chance of staying hidden. A group less so.

Shade swore softly. The rider disappeared into a gully then reappeared in a strange haze. Other riders materialized beside the first, shimmering like mirages. It was hard to pin down the exact number of their pursuers, and she wasn’t about to stop and count them.

“We have company.”

Raiden had moved up to match her pace. Somewhere along the way he’d become the soldier she’d first seen in the streets of Sicaria. Cool, calm, entirely professional.

“Riders have been angling to intercept us for an hour or so,” he said. “I don’t think we can outrun them.”

“I know.” Shade glanced at him; he was still white-lipped and sweat glistened on his forehead, but he seemed much improved. “I had hoped to outrun them, but it looks like we’re in it for sure.”

“They’ll catch us within the hour. We should stop. It will be better to choose where we will face them.”

Her thoughts exactly. She pressed her lips together, her estimation of him growing once again. It wouldn’t be long before she started to like him. Hells…

“You may be right,” she said. She halted and waited for Cyril and the cousins. The older Golondrina looked as grim-faced as usual, though his gray eyes shone with eagerness, and he turned to face the riders with his hand on the blade at his belt.

The terrain had been growing rougher as they neared Sicaria, the red, sandy slopes turning into steep, rocky hills. The hillside upon which they stood was a rugged tumble of rocks, sand, and stunted vegetation with a narrow track the only accessible path. Above them, the track zigzagged sharply over treacherous terrain before it reached the toothed summit. It would be a tough climb on foot, and nearly impossible for horses. Shade pointed. “There,” she said. “Up there. We’ll have the advantage.”

The arduous climb took them off the qaraz, and Shade spent a little blood to keep the worst of the blight at bay. When they reached the steepest portion of the hill, they spread out along the narrow path. There was little in the way of cover, but the terrain would give them an advantage. Hopefully.

Below them, the horsemen no longer sought to conceal themselves as they trotted confidently over the rocky ground. Six riders, some bearing strong blades. At least one or two of them could touch all Four Faces which meant an amethyst wielder, at least, or topaz. The rest carried quartz of varying strengths, possibly jasper or beryl, too. None of them could touch the Hidden, thankfully.

Habitually, her hands went to her blade hilts. The feel of the smooth bone filled her with confidence, yet she knew she hadn’t fully recovered her strength. Sweat popped out on her forehead. Shade licked her parched lips and glanced at Cyril. Of all people, he knew better than anyone what her magic cost her. He must have sensed her scrutiny, or perhaps her worry, for her old friend caught her look and gave her a reassuring nod.

When she looked away, she found Raiden was watching her with his brow furrowed. “Are they powerful?” he asked.

“They’re strong, but not as strong as we are together. Keep out of our way and let us handle this; don’t give them a reason to target you. You have some resistance to bloodmagic, but you aren’t immune to it.”

He frowned, but nodded, though his hand was on his sword hilt. Would he stay out of it if things turned bad? She doubted it. The man was no coward.

The riders had reached the bottom of the hill and one by one they dismounted. They stood together a moment, conferring among themselves, glancing upward every so often. They had to understand their disadvantage. Would they keep their distance or let arrogance lead them into a mistake?

A stocky man with tattoos the color of earth and fire scowled up at them then began to climb the trail, his steps firm and quick. The others followed, younger men with flashier tattoos and rippling muscles that glistened in the bright sun. Arrogance then.

Shade ignored the youths, keeping her attention on the leader. He was the most powerful among them, older and wiser, presumably. He alone might give them real trouble.

To her left stood the three Golondrina, Cyril between Manoli and Petra, all looking relaxed and indifferent. Lazy, almost. But she knew they’d linked already, joining their magic through the blood bond of a Golondrina clan. Shade could not join in their bond, but she relied on it nearly as much as her own blades. Manoli gave her a wink, his smile broad. After facing a Blackstorm last night and surviving, he was brimming with confidence.

“Lovely day for a stroll,” the stocky man called when he and his men were halfway up the hill. He stopped on the narrow track several yards below them, his men scrambling to either side, spreading out across the rough terrain. Smart. A group was easier to target.

“Isn’t it?” Shade replied cheerfully. “Though if you come any closer you might find yourself tumbling head-over-ass down this nice hillside.”

He showed his teeth, his jowls quivering. “Now, now, that’s no way for a lady to talk.” His pig-eyed gaze traveled up and down her body. “No way for a lady to dress, either. But you’re no lady, are you, witch?”

Shade gave him a languid smile, her hands resting lightly on her knife hilts. “I’m a witch who carries obsidian, amethyst wielder. Who in the lowest hells are you, besides a man who can’t touch the Hidden?”

The stocky man bristled, and his smile turned to a scowl. “I am Lorenzo, witch, lieutenant to the Capomajus Errenzo Valentine of Sicaria and the Golden Crescent, your elder and your better in all regards.”

“But for the old part, I doubt it.” She fanned her face with one hand. “What do you want with us? And hurry up, it’s hot out here.”

“My business isn’t with you. My Capo was clear about that. As much as I’d like to teach you a lesson, witch, I’m here for him.” He jerked his chin toward Raiden. “The Imperial.”

“Him?” She feigned surprise while inwardly cursing. Of course, Valentine would take an interest in an Imperial emissary – there might be profit in it. “What do you want with him? He’s just an emissary, no one of consequence.”

Lorenzo’s hand crept to one blade, but he didn’t draw. “No one of consequence?” he said scornfully. “He’s the son of an emperor, and don’t pretend otherwise.”

Shade winced. How in the lowest hells did he know that?

“You think Safire could bring someone so important into Sicaria, and my Capo wouldn’t know? Now, hand him over peacefully, and we’ll be on our way. You can have him back once the Empire has paid his ransom.” He grinned. “In however many pieces you wish.”

“Ransom?” Raiden blurted before Shade could speak. He stepped forward. “How dare you threaten an Imperial emissary! I am an official representative of the Empire, the Emperor’s own eyes and ears, not a pawn to be used in your games. The Emperor would answer any request for ransom with fire and storm and utter destruction!”

“I don’t fear the fool who sends his only son into a dangerous land without armed escorts. What did he think would happen? I imagine he’ll pay once he starts getting you back one piece at a time.”

Before Raiden could answer, Shade put a calming hand on his rigid forearm. “His only son? I’m afraid you and your Capo have been sorely misinformed. He’s a seventh son, and the child of a concubine. He’s not exactly the royal heir. How do you think he got stuck in Malavita?” She gently squeezed Raiden’s arm, hoping he didn’t take offense. “I suppose you could hold him for ransom, but the Empire will only send a new emissary, not gold.”

“Hand him over then if he’s so unimportant. After all, you can always get a new emissary. One’s as good as another, right?”

Shade gritted her teeth. “You know I can’t do that,” she said. “I’ve grown to rather like him.” Her hands returned to her knife hilts with clear intent. Beside her, Raiden stepped to the edge of the path, his hands on his sword hilt, ready to draw, looking like he might throw himself down on his enemy.

Instantly, the air crackled with menace. To a man, the Corsaro soldiers grasped their blades and drew. Two of kunzite in deep pink, a rich red garnet, blue topaz and swirling green malachite.

A heartbeat later, Shade yanked her blades free. Cyril and the cousins followed her lead, eliciting a few snickers from the Corsaro soldiers when they saw their single, curved quartz blades. Obviously, they were unfamiliar with Golondrina magic, or they’d have known better than to laugh.

Only Raiden didn’t draw; his eyes were pinned on Lorenzo and he was as still as death. Shade both dreaded and hoped she might see him unleash his fury on this arrogant toad.

“Don’t get in the middle of this,” Lorenzo warned her. He hadn’t drawn yet, though he gripped his hilts so hard his knuckles were white. His piggish eyes switched from Raiden to Shade and back as if he couldn’t decide who was the bigger threat. He settled on Shade. Maybe he wasn’t so stupid. “My Capo wants him, witch. I’ll cut right through you if necessary and give my Capo a surprise gift. So, give him up!”

“I am not hers to give,” Raiden said, drawing his sword and stepping sideways. The long, single-edged blade caught the sunlight, shining like a flame. “If you want me, then come and get me!”

A few derisive laughs erupted from the soldiers, and Lorenzo drew his amethyst blades with a sneer. “My Capo said to take you alive, Imperial, but he didn’t say you had to be in one piece!”

“Don’t be a fool,” Shade interjected, still hoping to avoid violence no matter how futile. She pressed a blade against her forearm, suppressing a tremble. “You’re outmatched. Take your men and go.”

Lorenzo glared at her. “Put away those toy blades before you hurt yourself, whore!”

Toy blades? Shade narrowed her eyes. Rage gave her strength. With practiced ease, she sliced her forearm and called fire from the thick, hot air. A ball of flames roared toward Lorenzo’s face, wiping away his haughty expression as he scrambled to defend himself, purple blades flashing. The fireball veered to the side mere inches from his face and slammed into the hillside between two of his men. The soldiers sprang for cover, their blades flying to counter the flames.

Shade didn’t let Lorenzo recover – earth was his strongest element and she was on treacherous footing – but drew additional blood from her thigh. A wall of fire descended from her perch, sweeping toward her enemies; she felt Cyril and the cousins lend their strength to the flames. Perhaps she could end this quickly.

The Corsaro defended themselves as best they could. The strongest managed to shield themselves, but one man was singed, and another – one of the wielders of kunzite – burst into flame. His hideous scream made her wince, and it continued even as the earth lifted beneath her feet, threatening to send her tumbling down the hillside. Lorenzo was the only wizard strong enough to call water, but he’d chosen to attack her rather than save his man. Cruel bastard.

Beside her, Raiden fell to his knees on the shaking earth. Shade leapt off the path and called the Eastern Face, riding a current of air to more stable footing. Unfortunately, she was closer to Lorenzo and his Corsaro thugs. Luckily, her Golondrina friends were outside the range of his attack and managed to keep their feet.

The unfortunate kunzite wizard was still ablaze when Shade regained her footing, and she called upon the Hidden Face, a difficult and costly magic, to put him out of his misery. Water wouldn’t have done anything for him now, so she gave him mercy instead. A hard kill. It made her vision dim briefly.

Her compassion cost her. Rocks and chunks of earth flew at her from all directions as Lorenzo took advantage of her momentary weakness. Blades flashing, she countered the onslaught as best she could, leaping out of the way of some of the missiles when magic failed.

A sharp stone caught her on the shoulder, drawing blood and numbing her arm to the wrist. She barely kept hold of her blade and scrambled backward to avoid a storm of rocks.

Fucking amethyst wizard!

Attacks flew at her from the Corsaro soldiers, as well: pathetic balls of heated air or stiff winds or loose rocks under her feet. Cyril and the boys defended her from the more minor attacks, leaving Shade free to deal with Lorenzo.

Deal with him she would, too. She slashed her midsection, drawing blood from her gut. Power roared through her. Power over earth.

A crack appeared between Lorenzo’s wide-spread legs, quickly widened into a crevasse, and swallowed him whole. His startled shriek was music. Shade whooped as he disappeared, but her cry of triumph turned to a shout of dismay as the fissure raced toward her.

Too fast!

The earth split beneath her. She threw herself to the side, catching the edge, trying to bury her blades in the hard earth, but her feet couldn’t find purchase on the smooth, steep slope and she was sliding, sliding–

A hand caught her forearm. It was enough to stop her slide, slow it at least, so she could dig her toes into the earth. She looked up to find Raiden over her, his face screwed up with effort. Desperately, she scrambled out of the crevasse, the earth rumbling beneath her. Lorenzo was countering her attack from within the fissure – it was already closing on her end. Face set with determination, Raiden backpedaled, dragging her. Her feet had barely cleared the edge when the crack sealed shut with a boom.

There was no time for thanks. Lorenzo rose from the still-open hole she’d dropped him into, working his blades over his muscular forearms.

“Is that the best you can do, witch?” he cried mockingly. “I was calling the Northern Face before your father even thought about spilling his seed in your whore of a mother.”

Coughing out a lungful of dust, she gathered herself and readied her blades.

But suddenly Raiden was in front of her, his blade drawn. Cold determination hardened his profile as he dropped into his now-familiar, sideways stance. This time, however, he didn’t hold himself in deathly stillness. Instead, he charged Lorenzo with lethal grace.

The Corsaro lieutenant reacted instantly, calling his magic in short, sharp slices across his chest and torso, attacking Raiden with fire and ice and shaking earth. The onslaught slowed him when it should have killed him, but Lorenzo seemed to expect that. He was already dashing away as the last of his attacks poured over Raiden. His final blow with wind and fire managed to knock Raiden to his knees.

Cursing, Shade clambered over the broken landscape to get a clear shot at Lorenzo, praying to the Four Faces Raiden would stay out of the way. Two Corsaro soldiers appeared in her path, knives flashing green and red. With a snarl, she knocked them aside with a burst of wind. One managed to catch her with a tongue of searing hot air. She hissed and stumbled.

Then Cyril was there, and Manoli, and Petra. They shielded her from the three remaining able-bodied Corsaro soldiers, leaving her free to tackle Lorenzo. With a quick glance to Cyril, she leapt down the treacherous slope toward Lorenzo and Raiden with the elder Golondrina following.

Raiden’s uniform was singed, and blood trickled from one ear, but he climbed to his feet using his sword as leverage and flung himself at Lorenzo. His sword snaked out, a flickering of light in the bright sun and a deep slash appeared across Lorenzo’s torso. The Corsaro man screamed and his amethyst blades clattered to the earth as he clasped his hands to the wound. Bright blood pulsed between his fingers, and Shade caught a glimpse of pale intestine as she raced toward him. His tattoos worked in a scintillating weaving, but the cut was too deep. It was a fatal blow, a massive bloodletting.

Power crackled around the dying Corsaro. His eyes snapped up, his lips drawing back from his teeth in a rictus. Blood pumped from him in great gouts.

No, no, no, no, no…

Raiden had stepped back, already turning to engage their remaining foes. Shade cursed silently even as she and Cyril raced toward him. The elder Golondrina easily outpaced her, barreling toward Raiden with single-minded focus. The Imperial didn’t understand the danger. She opened her mouth to shout a warning–

–and a violent burst of power exploded from the dying bloodwizard, all Four Faces combined into one wave of force.

“No!” The scream tore from her throat but was drowned out by Cyril’s bellow as he slammed into Raiden, knocking him out of the path of Lorenzo’s death strike. The wave of power struck Cyril, lifting him and flinging him across the hillside. Raiden was caught in the wake of it; it spun him violently, leaving him in a sprawl.

Her heart pounding and her mouth dry with fear, Shade scrambled over the broken landscape to where Cyril had skidded to a stop. His bright red shirt was singed black and smoldering, his face was white and streaked with ash and blood. A roaring started in her ears as she reached for the pulse point beneath his chin. Her bloody fingers felt nothing. Feeling a choking panic rise in her throat, she managed to roll him onto his back. She dropped across him, her ear to his chest. Nothing. He wasn’t breathing, he was still as death.

Come with me, little swallow. I’ll take you home…

Her vision dimmed. Dead, he’s dead. Cyril had plucked her broken and terrified from the Wastes; he’d given her a home, a future, a life. A sob threatened to rip its way out of her. Rage and grief built into a black wave too big to hold, too violent to contain. Sense shattered before it, and Shade rose, her black blades flying, slicing deep again and again.

Power welled through her, building and building as she continued to draw blood. Her blades gleamed, no longer black but blazing like the sun. Slowly, she turned to find the still corpse that was all that remained of Lorenzo. Tears blinding her, she unleashed a wave of destruction, burning him to ash. His body disintegrated in a black cloud lit by flames. Blood dripped freely down Shade’s arms and legs, glittering with light. The power poured through her, unstoppable, fed by her rage. In quick succession, she targeted the other Corsaro soldiers, taking out two while the remaining man made a mad dash to the horses.

Strength filled her, the energy of a volcano, the deep, Wild Power only obsidian could reach. Turning, she tracked the Corsaro as he mounted clumsily and kicked his horse into frantic gallops. The air filled with menace as her rage rose. There would be no survivors to report back to Valentine. She would end this here and now.

“Shade, stop!”

It was Manoli, screaming at her from somewhere far, far away. Suddenly he appeared in front of her, raising his hands, his features slack with panic. “He’s alive, Shade! Release the magic before it consumes you.”

Deep in the grasp of her blades, touching a power which filled her with boundless energy, Shade had no desire to release it. This was the Wild Power, the power she’d always feared to handle. It charged the atmosphere, making her hair rise and gooseflesh ripple across her skin. It was beyond the elements, something more than spirit. It was glorious. With it, she could bend the world, turn time upside down and inside out.

With it, she could bring the dead to life…

“He lives! Please, boss, listen to me. Cyril is alive!”

Alive. Cyril was alive.

She heard the words, absorbed them. Relief shuddered through her, but it was distant, drowned by the power flowing in her veins.

And suddenly she was clinging to the Wild Power by her fingertips, trapped in the center of a vast maelstrom straining to be unleashed. Fear replaced her rage, icy cold. Her muscles trembled and her blades felt strange in her grip. She was already weakened; she should never have reached for the Wild Power. By the Faces, how had she fooled herself into believing she could control this? The power had to be unleashed – it demanded it!

But she had no idea how to release it without destroying everything and everyone around her.

There was only one thing she could think to do, one desperate act to keep the magic contained. She had to take the magic back–

Before she could hesitate at the sheer insanity of it, Shade plunged her blades into her thighs. A flood of agony broke her hold on the magic, and it was released back into her blood. A circle snapped closed, the wild energies spinning into a loop. The air grew still, the magic returning to her core, leaving her blades empty.

Shade waited, hunched over the searing brands plunged into her legs. Slowly, her tattoos began to work, healing all her minor wounds, absorbing all her spilled blood. The pain was unbearable, and she screamed, aware of every small cut and slice stitching closed. Only when the wounds in her thighs began to heal around her blades did she yank them from her flesh. She tossed them away, fearing the call of magic. Blood spilled down her thighs, but the wards worked quickly to seal the deep puncture wounds.

She swayed; Manoli caught her and lowered her to the ground, shouting for Petra.

“Easy, easy, we’ve got you.”

She felt pressure on one leg, and then the other. There was the sound of tearing cloth. Pain made her head swim. Her wards worked doggedly to stitch up her many cuts and lacerations, but she’d already lost a dangerous amount of blood.

“How is he?” she asked weakly, her throat dry and her lips cracked. Faces, she needed water.

“Petra is attending him, my lady.” Raiden knelt beside her, his pale face streaked with blood. He took one of her hands in his, grimacing. “This is my fault…”

The world was growing dark around her. Damn it. She couldn’t pass out. Not here. “How bad is he?”

“He’s alive,” Petra replied, his voice thick with grief. “That’s the best I can tell you, boss.”

Alive. It was her only thought as she fell into darkness.