Mevon ran.
It felt good to be in motion again. Blood flowed through limbs returned nearly to full strength after too many days spent in lethargic recovery. His chest heaved as he sucked in cold-yet-humid breaths. Balanced sweetly upon that edge between exertion and strain, Mevon was once again glad to be alive.
The pack of dark creatures nipping at his heels made him smile.
He darted through the trees, sticking to the easy footing of the path as their growls and barks and ragged caws crowded him in. Birds took flight in droves, squawking in fright, as bulky black forms disturbed the underbrush below and the branches above. The gap closed by hairs every few paces—as he intended. For their plan to work, he’d have to get the timing just right.
Draevenus had been seeking out packs for the better part of three days. It had taken that long to find one that fit the criteria: few in number, all of a similar size, and none of them men. Despite their primal nature, the feral humans had displayed far too much intelligence to let their pack fall prey to such a simple trap.
And Mevon still wasn’t sure if he was willing to kill them or not.
The proscribed place came into view, and Mevon slowed. An ambush site of their own, to make up for the one they had foolishly fallen into. The one that had nearly done them in. Mevon narrowed his stride, keeping his feet even more strictly to the path. The beasts howled, thinking victory—and their next meal—to be close at hand.
From six different directions, they pounced.
Mevon sprang forward, pushing all of his considerable if slightly diminished strength into clearing the area in time.
Surprised yelps sounded behind him.
He skidded to a halt, spinning with blades bared in case any had managed to evade capture. The precaution proved unnecessary. All six creatures twisted in suspended nets, thrashing like nightmares.
Mevon straightened, sheathing his weapons. “Perfectly placed,” he said. “Not that I expected anything less.”
“And perfectly executed.” Draevenus sauntered out of the shadows on Mevon’s left, dancing daggers across his knuckles. “Like leading mice to cheese. You have a talent for animal wrangling it seems. If you ever find yourself in need of employment, you now have something other than slaughter to turn to.”
Mevon grunted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Draevenus drifted closer to their captives, narrowing his eyes at each in turn.
“Not too close,” Mevon advised. As if to emphasize the point, one beast swung a long talon towards Draevenus, missing by only a hand span.
The mierothi chuckled at the creature’s effort. “Not to worry, my friend. I think we’ve found our candidate.”
Mevon nodded and stepped close. The foul creature barked at his approach, swiping ever more wildly. He watched, studying the movement of dark limbs, then thrust his hand forward at just the right moment. The talon caught in his grip.
Screeching with renewed fury, the dark animal clenched, seeking to pull Mevon close to its slavering beak. He didn’t give it the chance.
His free hand unsheathed his dagger, and in a single motion, chopped off the taloned foot.
The beast’s cries of fury morphed into cries of pain.
Mevon stepped back, tossing the severed limb to the side. The yelps from the other creatures intensified, becoming nearly unbearable. He tried to ignore it as he wiped the black blood from his hand.
“One wing, too,” Draevenus said. “This would all be pretty pointless if it could simply fly back to the source.”
“You’re still sure that’s where it will go?”
The assassin shrugged. “It’s the best lead we’ve got. Something, somewhere, caused all these beasts to transform. I’m betting that’s exactly where they’ll return upon receiving a grievous injury. If that doesn’t lead us to Ruul, nothing will.”
“I suppose if anyone would know, it’d be you.” Mevon approached the net again and stabbed surgically, snipping through tendons in the wing opposite the severed limb. He stepped back and nodded. “Ready to go.”
Draevenus went behind a tree and released the rope holding up the woven lattice of rope.
Beast and net alike crashed to the ground, and the occupant flapped madly to free itself. It almost looked like it would make one more try for a kill, but a gust of conjured wind from Draevenus sent it screeching and hobbling away.
Mevon watched it disappear down the path, dark smears of its blood indelibly marking its trail. It would be next to effortless to track.
“Are we done here?” Mevon asked.
“Almost.”
He felt a tingle as the mierothi energized again. Clawed hands lifted towards the remaining beasts, letting fly blue flame. The growls soared in volume and pitch until their sudden absence gave way to the crackle of cooking meat. A savory aroma filled Mevon’s nose.
“Dinner,” Draevenus said with a smile. He withdrew a dagger. “And even enough left over for the road.”
“That’s it,” Daye said, pointing through the trees. Jasside saw the stone walls of the fortress, glowing orange before the rising sun. “Are you sure you don’t want me coming with you?”
“Quite sure,” Vashodia said. “We wouldn’t want to be disabling their wards, now would we?”
“Why not?”
“Because that would ruin the surprise.”
“Ah. You’re electing the stealthy approach. I should have guessed.”
“No, no, my dear prince. The surprise is for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Vashodia pivoted away.
Jasside moved to follow but stopped short when a hand gripped her arm gently. And her power fled.
“Be careful,” Daye said.
She turned and peered into his eyes. The sun framed his face, and she stood in his shadow, surprised to find herself completely content. Being under the power of a void isn’t so scary when a good man lives under the nullifying skin.
“I will,” she said, smiling up at him. “I promise.”
“Come, apprentice,” Vashodia called. “Battle awaits.”
Jasside gave the prince a helpless shrug, then followed her mistress. They traversed a forest floor smothered in pine needles and doused in mist, climbing uphill towards the fortress. Jasside prided herself that she wasn’t winded when they reached the crest and came within sight of where the outer walls met the ground. A few years ago, she’d have been huffing halfway up and likely would have had to stop for a rest. The constant travel had been good for her physical health.
But the killing wasn’t good for her soul.
The first time she took a life, it had been her own father. Justice, she thought. At the battle of Thorull, when she’d killed her first mierothi, she’d thought much the same even though she hadn’t even known the man personally. He was guilty simply by virtue of his race. It had all seemed so simple back then.
Now she walked at a mierothi’s side on their way to kill some humans. She let out a snort of laughter.
“Something funny?” Vashodia asked.
Jasside shook her head. “Just life. It never turns out the way you expect, does it?”
“For most people, no.”
“I suppose you don’t include yourself in that ‘most’ category, do you?”
Vashodia flicked her wrist. “Please.”
They strolled a few more paces, then came to a halt. They stood now at the edge of a field filled with tree stumps and coarse grasses, all blackened by flame. A kill zone, three hundred paces deep. Jasside felt a thrumming sheet of energy so close she could touch it, and beyond that several more, layered inside each other in hemispheres around the fortress. The perimeter walls were simple enough, but two great constructs poked up behind them. Hollow tubes charged with sorcerous energy that, according to Sceptrine reports, could launch projectiles a hundred paces or a thousand, with the accuracy of a dart and the devastation of a tornado. Artillery, Daye had called them.
The Panisians knew their business it seemed. At least when it came to war.
“Attack or defend?” Vashodia asked.
“Attack,” Jasside replied without hesitation.
“Feeling eager, are we? Gone too long without a corpse to your name?”
Jasside resented the accusation. “Nothing of the sort. I thought you knew me better than that?”
Vashodia smiled. “Just stoking the flames, my dear. You’ll need the heat for what’s to come.”
“I think the cold will do just fine, thanks. Wouldn’t want things to get out of control.”
“Is that why you chose attack? Think I’ll cause too much collateral damage?”
“With you, that always a valid concern. People near you always seem to get burned.”
“Only those I intend, my dear. You’ll do well to remember that.”
Jasside scoffed. “I can hardly forget it.”
Vashodia sighed, then lowered her hood to her shoulders. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
Stepping forward through the first layer of wards, they both began energizing.
A shrill noise blared throughout the fortress immediately—the alarm sounding. Other responses took a moment to take effect. They obviously weren’t expecting any sort of attack.
And certainly not one like this.
Figures stirred on the battlements as they sauntered across the killing field. Dozens of them. Now, hundreds. One man stood above the rest, waving and shouting something made incoherent by the distance. Probably telling them to stop and state their business, coupled with thinly veiled threats for failure to comply. Jasside paid him no mind. They weren’t here to negotiate.
Energy pulsed out from Vashodia, forming into a bubble that moved as they did. A complex shield that would stop just about anything that came their way. Jasside had reached her own capacity a few beats ago but didn’t want to strike before Vashodia’s defenses were up.
There was nothing to stop her now.
She raised her arms, one each towards the two artillery pieces.
“Still with the silly hand waving?” Vashodia said.
“Always,” Jasside replied. “I don’t trust my own mind just yet, and I don’t think I ever will. Not in one mere lifetime anyway.”
“You’re limiting yourself, you know.”
“That’s exactly the point.”
Energy spun into the form she desired. Something flashy to get their attention. Her hands came down. Twin bolts, like lightning formed of darkness, lanced out of a cloudless sky.
The two artillery pieces exploded into a million sizzling shards.
Jasside had time for a single breath before the arrows began streaking down.
They struck Vashodia’s shield and burst into flames. Fire blanketed Jasside’s vision, thumping in her ears with each concussive blast. The smell of fresh char filled her nose as the heat scorched nearby tree stumps and clumps of grass.
“I can’t see a thing,” Jasside said, waving an arm forward. “Would you mind?”
“Making demands of me now?” Vashodia said in mock exasperation. “I thought I’d beaten that out of you long ago.”
Jasside shrugged. “I’ve regressed. More beating will be required. Some clarity, please?”
“Oh, very well.”
The shield morphed at Vashodia’s gentle urging. It widened and softened, becoming an almost gel-like layer between them and their adversaries. The arrows kept whizzing towards them, but instead of exploding, they merely slowed, then stopped altogether, caught in the shield like fish in a net.
Without the flaming obstruction, Jasside had a clear view of the gate. She lifted her hands again, slicing upwards with pointed fingers. A sharp line along the outside edges of the gate glowed white-hot from top to bottom. The massive iron doors squealed like stuck pigs as twisted metal crumpled to the ground.
“Oh, come on!” Vashodia said. “We’re trying to make an entrance. How can we dazzle and delight our foes when we’re stumbling across debris?”
“Have a little faith,” Jasside said. She chopped down, striking the collapsed gate with a strand of energy like a whip. The whole mess split down the middle, and Jasside pushed the two halves aside. She gestured at the clear path ahead. “You’re not the only woman with a plan.”
Vashodia twisted her lips into a smile. “It seems you’re learning something after all. Glad to know my patience isn’t being tested for nothing.”
Together, they strolled to the very center of the fortress courtyard. Arrows continued converging, forming a floating, wood-pricked sphere. Some soldiers tried rushing them but staggered back after getting mired in the shield. It was then that Jasside felt a new presence: a dozen enemy casters, fueled by light, began assaulting their position with direct spells. Vashodia grunted.
“Trouble keeping up?” Jasside asked.
“Impertinent little tart.”
Jasside counted that a victory. Her best one yet.
“Do get on with it, please,” Vashodia said. “I’d rather not be here all day.”
“Gladly.”
Jasside took a single glance around her at the soldiers swarming like ants, their cacophony an unwelcome distraction, and she knew what she needed to do. Something to quiet them. Something to make them listen. She rubbed her hands together.
I think I’ve got just the thing.
She thrust her hands outwards. The very air slammed against itself, breaking like waves, and from the center of it she yelled, “Silence!”
The spell crashed throughout the fortress, toppling those caught unbalanced and staggering the rest. Not a soul moved. The wind seemed to howl, but Jasside knew that was only by comparison. She heard few other sounds that could compete.
She had their attention, it seemed.
With space now to breathe, she looked around at the soldiers arrayed within the fortress. Not all were the same, their differences marked as much by their attire as their disposition. Slender, narrow-eyed soldiers in studded armor, similar in style to the Sceptrines, manned the walls with their bows. Another group with bodies wrapped in layered cloth, with oiled beards and wide-curved swords, were centered around the wreckage of the two catapults. Small, dark men with spears and feathered vests guarded every doorway. A few others who didn’t seem to fit any other group were scattered among the rest. And it all created a problem.
Jasside wasn’t sure who was in charge.
She angled her head and lips towards her mistress. “Which ones are the Panisians?”
“How should I know?”
“This is no time for games. I know you’ve traveled the world before. There’s no use denying it.”
Vashodia looked at her sternly, but Jasside soon realized the mierothi was suppressing a smile. It was a strange look on her mistress. She almost thought it might be pride.
At last, the mierothi waved a hand before her. “The fairest ones in all the lands. Or so I’ve been told.”
Jasside sighed. She’d have to do this the hard way. She cleared her throat, lifting her chin and her voice. “Who is in charge here? I demand to speak with the commander of this fortress.”
Every eye turned towards the group of casters standing on the ledge of an interior bunker. A heartbeat later, a woman stepped forward, dressed in jeweled armor more artistic than functional. Though fair, as Vashodia had promised, the woman’s stony gaze made Jasside suspect the woman knew her business.
“You’re in command here?” Jasside asked.
“I am,” the woman replied.
“Then, on behalf of the mierothi sovereignty, and the nation of Sceptre, I—”
The commander’s body exploded.
She could only stare, dumbfounded, as blood and bits of flesh splashed across the other casters. Everybody in the fortress flinched, coiling to make an escape should the destruction continue.
Jasside hadn’t cast the spell that destroyed the Panisian woman, but its flavor was similar.
She glanced down, horrified, at Vashodia. “What the abyss was that about?”
Vashodia giggled. “I said it before, didn’t I? We are not here to negotiate. It sounded like you were coming dangerously close to such pointless discourse.”
“I was trying to get them to surrender peacefully.”
“And it worked. Look.”
Jasside spun in a circle, noting that every last person was throwing down his weapons and raising his hands. No one looked in the mood to challenge them further.
She turned again to Vashodia. “Your methods are effective, I’ll admit. But shortsighted.”
Her mistress giggled again. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of that before. Bravo, Jasside, you continue to surprise me. Care to explain your unorthodox position?”
“It’s simple, really: Dead people make horrible hostages.”
“Ah, so you do have a practical bone in your body. I was beginning to think you’d gone soft on me.”
Jasside shook her head. “If our enemy expects no mercy, they’ll fight all the harder.”
“Mercy only makes us look weak.”
“If mercy makes you weak, then I don’t want to be strong.”
“Yes you do. Else I’d never have considered you for my apprentice. And I surely wouldn’t have kept you around for as long as I have.”
“There is strength in restraint. Taking prisoners alive is far more difficult than mass slaughter. Even you can’t debate that.”
Vashodia sighed. “If you insist. It really isn’t worth getting worked up over.” She smiled. “Let’s go deliver our surprise to Prince Daye, shall we?”
“Finally,” Jasside said, “something we can agree on.”
Tassariel looked up as soft footsteps approached. She smiled at the newcomer. “Glad you could make it, Arivana,” she said. “Any trouble slipping your minister?”
“Not at all,” the queen said. “Flumere here is quite adept helping me escape notice.”
The handmaiden blushed. Tassariel felt fire erupt inside her as she looked at the woman. The rage of Elos never failed to respond to Flumere’s presence though he still had not told her why. She’d given up asking.
Tassariel drew her eyes away from the handmaiden, and the fire subsided. She shivered. The cold was still there, always lurking in her bones. Elos rarely spoke anymore, but he was always calculating, churning his ice inside her. She’d almost grown used to it, again, but the sudden arrival—and equally sudden departure—of the fire drove her awareness of the chill towards agony.
“Is that him?” Arivana said, inclining her head towards a man seated across the courtyard.
Tassariel set her jaw to banish her acute focus on her inward turmoil, and nodded.
“Best go say hello, then,” the queen added.
“I’ve a better idea.”
Tassariel tiptoed behind the man, drawing within a hand’s width without his realizing she was there. She sidestepped right, then tapped his left shoulder. She smiled gleefully as he dropped his book and jumped up, spinning almost in a complete circle before finding her.
“Tassariel!”
“Lerathus!”
He threw out his arms wide, and she fell into his smothering embrace. Though they’d never met in person, the correspondence they’d had over the years made him feel closer to her than almost any person alive. The hug was exactly what she expected and not a bit awkward.
At last he pulled away, laughing merrily and shaking the grasslike hair sprouting from his head and face. “I’d no idea you were in town, lass. When did they let you out of that prison called home?”
“A few months ago.”
He eyed her up and down. “Adulthood looks to be agreeing with you.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Lerathus glanced past her shoulder, and his eyes widened briefly. He stepped clear of Tassariel and bowed. “Your majesty,” he said. “Your presence is an unexpected pleasure. Please be welcome to the consulate.”
Arivana inclined her head. “Thank you, Lerathus. Tassariel has told me so much about you.”
“Has she now? In that case, I must apologize. Tass here has a flair for the dramatic. Likes to tell lies and such. I’m not half so bad as I’m sure she’s made me out to be.”
Arivana hid her mouth behind a hand. “It’s been nothing but good things, I assure you.”
“Nothing but good things? She’s a worse liar than I feared.”
Tassariel punched him in the chest. Lightly, for her, but he still staggered back half a step. “Oh, stop it, Lerathus. You’re making me look bad.”
“Using me to make a good impression was your first mistake.”
“I’m beginning to realize that now.”
Lerathus chuckled, squeezing Tassariel around the shoulder. “So what brings you here?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
His eyebrows rose along with the corners of his lips. “Books! Of course. What else would it be with you? By Elos, I swear, you’ve read half our archives already. Looking to get started on the other half, eh?”
Tassariel shrugged. “Something like that. It appears the queen here is as avid a reader as I am.”
“Quite so,” Arivana piped in. “But I’m afraid I’ve read everything in my own library. All the books worth reading anyway. Tassariel has been telling about all the amazing things she’s learned from your archives, and I thought it would be wonderful to sit down amidst a fresh group of tomes.”
Lerathus frowned, then leaned in close to Tassariel. “You do know it’s for valynkar only, right?”
“Yes,” Tassariel replied. “But surely an exception can be made. She is the queen, after all. And . . .” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “ . . . only a child.”
He whispered back, “Some say it’s children who are the most susceptible to the influence of dangerous literature.”
“Is that what you’d call our archives? Dangerous?”
“Not for me to say.”
He withdrew a step, then eyed Arivana. “If it were up to me, your majesty, I’d give you the grand tour, even let you take a peek at the restricted section. Alas, I’ll have to confer with the consul before I can do that. They’d take my wings if I even tried!”
Tassariel flinched.
“Please do,” Arivana said. “I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble on my account.”
He bowed, then turned and strode away. Tassariel stepped around the corner and watched his progress through the vine-wrapped pillars of the consulate. He didn’t have far to go. Less than a hundred paces away, he approached another valynkar male. This new man was ancient, older-looking than most members of the council even. She assumed someone so elderly and holding a prestigious position would be well-known, but the man was a complete stranger to her.
“Think they’ll let us in?” Arivana asked.
Tassariel nodded. “If they’ll bend the rules for anyone, it will be you.”
“I hope so. My own library seems to be deliberately lacking anything that could tell me what is actually going on in my own kingdom. These archives sound like they’ll be a different story.”
“We valynkar have a tendency to write everything down. If there’s something to be found, it will be here.”
Lerathus and the other valynkar conversed for a while, complete with several curious glances towards her and the queen. After a few marks of this, the ancient valynkar stepped behind a pillar. Lerathus crossed his arms, as if expecting a long wait. Tassariel felt a faint flash of energy.
“What is he doing?” Arivana said.
“No clue. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s . . .” No. It couldn’t be.
“What?”
Tassariel furrow her brow. “Give me a beat, please?”
“Of course.”
Tassariel placed one hand against the nearest pillar to steady herself, then energized. Inhaling deeply, she stepped into communion.
She made out the star of Lerathus directly in front of her, but there were no others close to him. The ancient valynkar should have been practically merged with Lerathus, as close as they were physically. There was only one explanation.
He was in communion, too.
Panisahldron was a busy city. Dozens of people were there at the moment, sending messages or conversing with other casters. Tassariel ignored them all. The consul would be seeing someone important. If he was anywhere, it would be at the very heart of the city.
She turned towards it, an unmistakable pillar of light, thick with powerful casters. She moved swiftly towards it. Closing in, she observed a hollow area in the center of the cylinder, devoid of all stars, and realized what she was seeing. The towers of the six great houses were filled with magic users, but the royal tower was empty of them.
No, not entirely empty. She spied two figures, huddled close together. One wore a hooded robe, concealing the face beneath, but the other she recognized as the consul.
Almost as soon as she spotted them, however, they both vanished, returning to their corporeal bodies. She glanced over her shoulder. Another star now rested next to Lerathus. But who was the other man?
With no time to contemplate, she released her hold on communion. Blinking, she stepped into the sun shining into her eyes, her mind and body once more combined. Lerathus approached. His smile seemed forced.
“I’ve good news,” he said.
“We’ll be allowed in?” Arivana asked.
“Yes. But . . . you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“Why?” Tassariel said.
“It’s quite old, and is undergoing a bit of a restoration at the moment. But it should be cleaned up come the morning.”
“He’s lying,” Elos said, the first words he’d spoken in days.
“I know,” Tassariel said. Then, realizing what she’d done, added, “ . . . that you’ve done us a huge favor, Lerathus. You have my thanks.”
“And mine as well,” Arivana said.
Lerathus bowed to the queen once more, then winked at Tassariel. A toll ago, it would have sent her heart to fluttering. Now, she only felt cold. At least this time, the cold was of her own making and not that of the god inside her.
“See you tomorrow, then,” she said.
She turned away, and the queen followed her. They walked in silence until outside the walls of the consulate.
Tassariel sighed. “You do realize what the delay is all about, right?”
Arivana nodded. “They need time to remove any . . . controversial books. The only question is why? What do they keep there that could be so damaging? Why would they need to specifically keep it from me?”
“I don’t know. But I peeked into communion, and caught the consul in conference with someone inside your tower. If I had to guess, I’d say he was asking permission.”
“From Tior? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Little of this does.”
The queen practically growled, frustration plain on her face. “I guess we’ll have to come tomorrow regardless. It will raise more questions if we go to all this trouble and don’t even show up.”
“Agreed,” Tassariel said. “We may be lucky, though. They don’t know what we’re looking for.”
“And we do?”
“Good point.”