Position and power only mattered when it came to the rulers of the mountain. She scowled at the word ‘rulers’ as it flitted through her mind. There should really only be one leader out of all of the witches that were left.
Her.
Natosha rushed into the room, her eyes darting straight towards Mirelda. “I received your message, sister-heart.”
Saris nodded her head towards Emaree’s daughter. “There she is, though where Derge and the intruder are I do not know. They were not with her.”
“I know where they are,” Natosha said. She paced around Mirelda as she talked. “Derge has been sent on about his business.”
“And the king’s brother?”
Natosha stopped walking and faced her. “He’s right here.”
Saris lifted an eyebrow. “Sister, I know it has been a long day, but I think we both know that Mirelda has the wrong, um, parts to be Keelan’s brother.”
“I know that,” her sister responded irritably. “But I believe our visitor has some form or another of magic, and from what I was told Mirelda was not acting her usual self.”
“True…,” Saris concurred. “However that does not mean that this is an imposter.”
“It does when you were just with the real Mirelda, who was her normal grumpy self.”
Saris was startled. “Excuse me?”
“I have Mirelda down in my bedchambers. Claw brought her to me shortly after you left.” She reached out and toyed with a strand of Mirelda’s hair as she watched the silent imposter. “I actually thought that she was the intruder and branded her face with one of my lovely fire irons to try and extract the truth from her. Then your servant bursts in to tell me that Mirelda is here, with you, and so naturally I came right away. This isn’t who you think it is, Saris. No doubt the real Mirelda is still cowering on my floor while Talus cleans her up.”
“My, my…well done, Natosha,” Saris murmured sweetly. Her slippered feet made no sound as she strolled over to the servant. She grabbed a fistful of hair and kicked the girl behind the knees, watching her fall to the floor. “Let’s see if this one will talk.”
Scuffling was heard in the hallway and loud voices were talking heatedly. As the sisters looked up at the open door, Talus came trotting in with Claw at his heels.
“They’re gone, Natosha.”
“What in the Dark Moon do you mean by that?” she growled. “Who’s gone?”
“Emaree and Mirelda—they disappeared out of your room, milady. They used your powder the monkey statue was holding.”
Natosha’s jaw dropped. “How did this happen? Mirelda can’t even do magic! She doesn’t know how!”
Saris answered in a voice that could have cut steel. “That’s because the girl in your room was not Emaree’s daughter. It’s time for you to wake up and open your eyes”
Her twin spun around to face her, her eyes wild in anger and confusion.
“You’ve been fooled, Natosha.” But in her mind Saris wondered if it had truly been the case.
They both looked at the daughter of Rohedon, still on her knees in the middle of the room with a dazed expression on her face.
He hit the ground hard with his knees, and Emaree toppled off of his shoulder with a groan. His body hurt so terribly that he was afraid to move anything but he managed to reach over and pull Emaree to him. She gripped his arm weakly in response. He looked around, barely recognizing Nillias in the early morning rays of the sun as they sat in front of the palace. The place was desolate and abandoned as dawn stretched over the city. Everyone was still asleep, and the heathen witches were nowhere near. He closed his eyes and breathed in a sigh of relief.
“We’re safe now, Emaree…you’re safe,” he said softly. “Queen Silvia will help you and try to heal you. Just give me a minute to get my strength back.”
“Get your strength back for what?” came a woman’s voice from behind them.
Quentin turned his head, looking at the young lady with his eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “Please, I need your help,” he said. He regretted that his voice sounded gruffer than he intended. “I need to see the Lystian king and queen immediately. It is of the utmost importance.”
The girl walked around them, surveying the pair warily. Her long blonde hair was plaited over one shoulder, and she wore baggy leggings that were cropped off and tied at the knee, along with a leather vest which appeared to have been made specifically for her small build. Her sandals laced up her calves and each leg each bore a shin guard. Two swords were strapped to her back, and daggers were systematically situated about her belt and tucked away in nearly hidden pockets of the vest.
“Why do you wish to see them?”
Quentin sighed. “Look, I’m not in the position to hurt anyone and I need their help. The King of Lystia is my brother.”
The girl lifted an eyebrow and knelt down to look at his face more closely. “I have heard all about you—I think they call you Quentin. I am Brielle. They have been searching everywhere for you since you disappeared.”
He nodded once and said, “Can you help me get to them, please? I am injured badly, and I need to bring her with me.” He gazed down at the witch in his arms, who was fading in and out of consciousness.
“I’m afraid that will be difficult,” said the girl.
“And why is that?”
She reached out and lifted his chin, scrutinizing his wound with a cursory glance. “Because they are not here.”
Quentin stared at her in disbelief. “What in the name of the Dark Moon do you mean ‘they’re not here’?” he said loudly. “Where are they?”
She sat back on her haunches, her expression unchanging. “The king insisted that the army leave in the middle of the night. He claimed he knew you were somehow alive and that he desired to go and rescue you in all haste. They left hours ago.”
“Damn me for taking so long,” he muttered. He gazed down the woman in his arms. “I’ll still get you to the queen, Emaree. Trust in me just a little bit longer.”
A sound caught his ear and he froze.
“I thought you said they left the city,” he whispered at Brielle.
“They did.”
“Then we are not alone,” he whispered.
Brielle did not look away from him, though a few moments later she said, “You’re right. There’s someone just around the corner of the houses across the road. None of our own would move so carefully. Your ear is good.”
“There are many,” he said.
Brielle smiled. “This I can hear. I am not worried.”
She stood quickly and unleashed a dagger he had not known she’d unstrapped from her vest. It flew several yards away and thudded into the chest of a man sneaking out of the shadows.
She drew her swords simultaneously, and took up a relaxed fighter’s stance.
“You two stay down.”
A swarm of men and women poured out from behind the buildings. Brielle faced them openly, turned her neck to the side and cracked it. She rolled each shoulder as though to loosen them, and bowed to the rushing enemy ever-so-briefly before bringing her swords up to block the first attack. Her body moved in sync with the flow of oncoming fighters, and Quentin saw her dodging and weaving through them as she worked wonders with the business end of the swords. The enemy seemed focused on her as she was the only one putting up a fight. But he knew it would only be so long before he and Emaree would become targets.
A woman fell nearby, her lifeless eyes staring at Quentin as the street turned dark with her blood. The long knife she’d held in her hand clattered out of dead fingers. Quentin cautiously laid Emaree down onto the ground, motioning for her to stay there. He crawled over to the woman and grabbed the knife. He took a deep breath and stood up, holding the knife with his good arm. Being able to see clearly, however, was a bit problematic. There was no time to tie something around his head to cover his swollen eye, and he couldn’t squeeze it shut because it was too painful. He stood up and gauged the fight, figuring out the
best way he could help without getting himself killed.
An arrow whizzed by his face, forcing him to take action. He charged the archer, who was already running at him. As the man got closer he feinted to the left, but Quentin spun around mid-step and plunged the knife to the hilt in the man’s back. Retrieving his weapon, he stabbed the man again in the back of the neck to make sure he stayed down.
He looked over at Brielle and saw that she was handling herself brilliantly. She still had both weapons and was cutting down men and women alike as soon as they got too near. Her face was fierce, yet calm, and her blades were quick to hand out fate.
Quentin saw a woman in long black clothes running at him with a hatchet raised high, a scream flying forth from her lips. He waited until she got closer and dropped to his knee at the last second. As she flipped over him he launched a counterattack, bringing the knife up into the softness of her belly. Her momentum carried her past him and she collapsed in a heap, bleeding out from her stomach wound.
A figure slammed into his side, and Quentin grunted as they both went sideways to the ground. He lost possession of the knife as the wind was knocked out of him. He rolled on top of the hatchet the dying woman in black had been carrying, but managed to wiggle himself off of it so that he could snatch it. He brought the weapon up just in time, for the man who had crashed into him was bringing a blade down, aiming for Quentin’s heart. The hatchet’s handle took the brunt of the hit, and the knife glanced off.
Off to the side, he saw Brielle fall forward as she was attacked from behind. But Quentin’s attacker moved swiftly, gaining his attention once again with wild swings that he could barely block. He tried to keep an eye on Brielle, but could see that she had lost a sword and wasn’t in a good position to use the other one in such close quarters. Making a hasty decision he slung the hatchet as best he could. The man who was bringing down a sword towards Brielle’s head shrieked in pain as the hatchet buried itself in the back of his thigh.
Quentin nearly smiled at his luck, but his attacker’s knife was coming straight at him once more. As they wrestled he could hear shouting as people from Nillias began to wake from all the commotion. Soldiers were running out to help, but Brielle now had so many enemies around her that it was getting hard to see her.
He eyed Emaree over his shoulder, seeing her weak form unmoving amongst all the turmoil. Had something happened to her, or had she passed out? Panic overtook him and he fought his opponent harder, bringing a hard elbow to the man’s jaw. But the man only flinched and struggled just as hard to win the match. Quentin wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to hold out…
Suddenly, a bright flash of light erupted beside Emaree. Quentin’s attacker fell back in surprise and most of the combat ceased directly. The light got brighter and brighter, until it hurt to even blink in the direction of it. Then the light faded and Quentin was shocked (and more than a little relieved) to see none other than Goddess Aldoa sitting on the ground and holding Emaree. Light still poured forth from her being and one could tell by the look on her face that she was one angry goddess. She threw glares at the approaching enemy as though she could slay them with her eyes. Nillian soldiers hurriedly used her distraction to force the enemy back until they were all running.
The goddess looked up at Quentin and nodded her head.
He nodded back, and then jerked forward in surprise as a knife went into his back and punctured his lung.
Aldoa screamed, reaching out for him. He felt his body being pulled towards her, though no hands were upon him. She continued to stretch out her arms to him, using her magic to pull him towards her. As he came into her grasp at last, he smiled up at her.
“You were right….someone in the mountain…did need me,” he said.
Then his eyes closed.
Chapter Nine: A Meeting of the Gods
“I don’t care if she’s injured—I want to see her now!” Tinaya yelled at her servant.
The servant bowed and opened the door so the Duchess could enter. She strode in with her head held high and her nostrils flaring in anger. When she spotted Brielle, she stalked over to the girl and looked her over.
Brielle returned her gaze without speaking as her thigh was being stitched up by a healer. Her arms were covered in scrapes and scratches, and one eye was sporting a nasty bruise.
Tinaya lifted her chin and said, “I suppose it serves you right for not sounding an alarm, child.”
Brielle turned her gaze to her leg wound and shrugged. “There wasn’t much time to do any of that, Duchess.”
“You could have yelled, or…or something!” Tinaya shouted angrily. “Men died out there because of your carelessness!”
This seemed to sink in and the blonde girl lowered her eyes guiltily. “There is pride in taking on enemies alone, but in doing this my pride has taken the life of others. I understand what I should have done, milady. I cannot take it back, but I will not let it happen in the future either.”
“You’d best leave that child alone.”
Tinaya whipped around to see who would dare speak to her in such a manner. An older woman with an ageless face and long silver robes sat on a stool nearby, staring at her quietly. Tinaya was quite sure she’d never seen the woman before in her life, and wondered where she’d come from.
“You should have let her go with the Dead Queen. Her destiny does not lie within your halls, Tinaya. It was not your place to make her stay.”
“And who are you to give orders to the Duchess of Nillias?” Tinaya spat.
The woman rose and approached her with a speed Tinaya wasn’t expecting.
“Who am I?” the woman asked. “I am the oldest in your city, an ancient being called upon by the stars to do my duties. I am the healer of all things short of death and the saver of lives. Take heed, child, for before you stands Aldoa, Goddess of Healing and All Waters Smaller than the Sea!”
Tinaya fell to her knees and bowed her body before the goddess. Her blonde ringlets spilled around her face, but could not hide the shame or the coloring of her cheeks. No one ever dared to speak to a god or goddess with such blatant disrespect. “Goddess Aldoa, you have my most sincere apologies!”
Aldoa sighed irritably. “Hush and stand up. There is no time for such niceties now, but know that your attitude towards others must change, Tinaya.”
As Tinaya raised her head, she saw that the goddess had walked off and was standing next to a tub filled with water. An arm and a leg were flung over the sides. She stood up and followed the old woman to gaze upon the person in the water. It was a handsome young man, with long white hair floating around his shoulders in the hot liquid. Well, he used to be handsome. She stared at his injuries with growing horror: his shoulder was horribly bruised and swollen, and he had cuts, bruises, and scrapes on nearly every inch of his body. His ribs were also swollen and red where they had been broken on the inside from some sort of impact, and his breathing was quite labored. His hands were filthy and one of his fingernails had been ripped off. A burn that sent chills down her spine had caused one side of his face to swell almost beyond recognition. But even in this state, she recognized the King’s brother with a touch of sadness.
“What happened to him?” she asked softly, her eyes locked on the blood-filled water.
Aldoa’s look was hard and unforgiving. “He was trying to help the Lystian king and queen and ended up in the mountain of the witches. He managed somehow to save the only witch whose heart hasn’t turned into ice, but got captured in the process. They escaped, but the physical price was great. They arrived here right as your city was being attacked. Chances are, Duchess, that had he not come into Nillias when he did and drawn the attention of your fighting girl over there, a lot more people would have succumbed to the havoc the enemy wished to wreak upon your city.”
Tinaya’s eyes moved to the other tub which had been brought into the room and saw the young woman lying in it. Her eyes were open, but only enough that she could watch the King’s brother without m
oving her head. Her injuries appeared to be just as severe as the man’s, if not worse.
“Why did he save her? Is she not like the rest?” From a fold in her dress she fingered a hidden dagger, watching the witch carefully. “Maybe we should kill her now.”
“If you touch her, you will pay a price which I believe you could not handle,” Aldoa warned. Her voice had turned to steel, and as the Duchess turned her gaze upon the goddess, the latter’s eyes shown grey with magic. “She was saved for good reason. Her heart has never been loyal to Rohedon or the other wives. She may not be innocent in all matters, but her soul longs to be pure and to live in peace, and that is something I intend to give her if I can.”
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