by David Estes
Sixty-Seven
The Western Kingdom, the Bridge of Triumph
Helmuth Gäric
The clear night should’ve been bright, the sky glittering with moons and starlight. Instead it was cloaked in thick, dark smoke.
The forest known as the Tangle was burning.
Helmuth knew it was unnecessary to his greater goals, but it still felt good. He wanted to burn the Four Kingdoms to the ground, turning it into a land of ash that would never be inhabited again.
The Horde was watching, strong, pale bodies wreathed in shadows. Several of them fought over scraps of meat, but he didn’t stop them. They were close now, and he wanted them to be angry. The only question was where to go next.
If he crossed the bridge into the east, he would face what he believed was their toughest opponent—the Orians—while his force was still at its strongest. But an assault on Ironwood and the Iron City of Ferria would take a toll on his numbers. And he would need numbers for the battle against the southern empires of Calyp and Phanes.
If he marched south now, he could take Phanes in one fell swoop, spend a few days in the canyons resting and recovering.
Two options, neither perfect, but both enticing.
As he watched the fires burn, he didn’t see the shadow appear behind him, knife flashing.
Bane
He’d moved through the space between worlds perfectly, appearing in the Horde leader’s blindspot. His aim was perfect, too, the blade plunging toward the back of the man’s head. One thing he hadn’t considered, however: the vigilance of the barbaric creatures scattered across the burning wasteland.
The powerful humanoid beast came from nowhere, hammering into the side of him and changing the trajectory of the knife, which slashed across the man’s shoulder as Bane fell. The sheer weight of the barbarian knocked the breath from his lungs, but his deathmark was burning hotly and he recovered swiftly, bringing his dagger to bear, jamming it into the creature’s unnaturally pale eye.
Splattered in gore, Bane tried to roll away but another barbarian was upon him, slamming a club into his arm.
He felt his bones shatter, the pain like a white light in the dark of night, but he still managed to coil back and launch a powerful kick that rocked the creature away, his club flying from his grip.
He could hear them now, the snarls. More barbarians were on the way and his only chance was to get the hell away and live to fight another—
He gagged suddenly, the air thick and gray. He tried to wave his hand in front of his face to clear the smoke, but it wasn’t smoke, the fog forming into fingerlike tendrils that curled around his chin, probing into his mouth as he opened his lips in a silent scream.
And then:
The pain, like nothing he had ever experienced, an agony so complete he wouldn’t wish it upon his worst enemies, except perhaps the very man who inflicted it on him now.
The Horde leader stood over him, blood trickling from the flesh wound Bane had slashed into his shoulder. “Do you feel it?” he said as Bane writhed. He reached down and touched him, and everything got worse.
Bane screamed and screamed and screamed until his throat was raw and the sound was empty of all but pain.
Pain.
The great equalizer.
Sixty-Eight
The Southern Empire, The Bloody Canyons
Rhea Loren
Noura was awake, her eyes filled with starlight, staring up at Rhea. Smiling occasionally, making sweet, gurgling baby noises.
Rhea, however, found it hard to decide who to look at, for Grey’s expression was filled with wonder at the beautiful countenance of their daughter. The scoundrel he’d once been had given way to the pure honesty of fatherhood.
“She’s looking at you,” Rhea said, as Noura’s eyes shifted to look over Rhea’s shoulder.
They bounced along slowly through the night, the ride smoother than it might’ve been had the massive Phanecian horse not been so well trained on the craggy terrain. Now that Grey was coming with her, Rhea had decided to reject Roan’s offer of a guard escort, preferring to travel with only her family.
“She’s…perfect,” Grey said, something he’d already said several times.
Rhea didn’t blame him for his lack of creativity. She was perfect, despite the two imperfect souls who had created her. “Hopefully we don’t screw her up,” Rhea said, her thoughts taking voice.
To her surprise, Grey laughed, though she hadn’t intended it as a joke. “You didn’t murder my sister,” he said. “So that’s something.”
“You thought I would?”
“I thought I would,” Grey said. “Or both of us. Maybe.”
“Will you ever speak to her again?” It wasn’t a challenge. Just an honest question.
“I don’t know. I think so. Eventually. She’s been through…a lot. We all have. I’ve done more stupid things than I can count.”
“Me too,” Rhea had to admit, though she still felt the hot tip of anger in her chest anytime she thought about what Shae and Erric had done. Or tried to do. If Noura had died and she’d gone on living…
She wasn’t sure she could endure it.
“It’s strange how everyone in Phanea seems to have the same good intentions but none of them know what to do,” Grey said.
“Maybe good intentions aren’t enough,” Rhea said, thinking of her time as queen of the west. After all, she had wanted to protect her people and give them the world.
“True. Well, the only thing I intend to do is protect you and Noura. My family.” He relaxed his hands on the reins and pulled her tighter against his chest, squeezing. His lips brushed the nape of her neck and she wanted to melt into him and escape to another world. A better one, safe for their daughter to grow up in.
Noura smiled again, her head bobbing around as she learned the beauty of movement. She grasped her father’s finger and squeezed.
“Whoa. She’s got a strong grip,” Grey said. Rhea loved hearing the wonder in his voice at such a simple thing. Life, she thought, is made up of so many simple pleasures we take for granted. I take for granted. She made a silent vow to enjoy each and every one from this point forward.
The Bloody Canyons had seemed so far away when they started their journey, but now they loomed, a dark, shadowy place that conjured memories of violence and battle.
Rhea shoved away the thought, because this place had also been a new beginning. A new opportunity, one they were already wasting. And for what? Petty differences? Manmade boundary lines that separated kingdoms from empires? Different beliefs, different gods, different cultures and foods and ideals and…
Rhea shook her head.
“What are you thinking?” Grey said, his breath tickling her ear.
“Why are we leaving?”
“I—I’m leaving because you’re leaving.”
“Not good enough. Are we running away? Are we being selfish?”
“Wanting to protect one’s family is never selfish.”
“I agree, but the Horde is somewhere north and that’s the direction we’re heading.” Rhea was fairly certain the barbarians hadn’t made their way to the west yet, not if they were pursuing Annise toward Darrin. At worst they were swarming over the Mournful Mountains and into the east. But still…
“You want to bring her home. Our people are there. We can protect her behind the walls of Knight’s End.” The earnestness in Grey’s tone would be so easy to accept, only Rhea had never taken the easy route.
Tears slipped from her eyes before she was even aware that they were there. Oh Wrath, what am I thinking. I can’t go back, can’t bring Noura back to the chaos.
I can. I must.
Oh Wrath.
“Noura is peacemarked,” Rhea said.
“I—I know. You told us. But that doesn’t have to change anything. She’s just a baby.”
“And your sister?”
Grey paused before answering this time. She could feel the tension in his arms, in his fingers, one o
f which was still gripped tightly by Noura, who’d fallen asleep again. “She is wise beyond her years. A woman trapped in a child’s body.” His voice was tremulous, a quivering raindrop clinging to a leaf.
“Grey…”
His body was shaking now, wracked with silent sobs. She felt his tears dripping on her skin, soaking through her dress.
Cradling Noura in one arm, Rhea peeled the reins from his fingers, drawing the horse to a halt. The night was still and silent. Frozen, like time had stopped and the world wouldn’t start moving again until they were ready for it.
She suspected what he was feeling, the mistakes of his past piling up around him, threatening to bury him alive. She could relate to the fear she felt in him, too. The fear of repeating those same mistakes again and again, until he destroyed everything around him. She felt the very same every day. For him, she knew, he was haunted by how he’d failed his sister. How he thought he’d failed her. “Grey, you didn’t know.”
“I should’ve.”
“You couldn’t.”
“What about now? What do I know now? Nothing, that’s what. Even after everything, I don’t know up from down, right from wrong.”
“You do. So do I. Though we’re both running from it.”
“At least we’re doing it together this time.”
“At least.”
Still and silent. Deep breaths and hearts beating. A perfect child asleep under the stars.
They spoke at the same time. “We should go back.”
Rhea’s eyes closed, weighed down by the truth of their words. Grey said, “We can’t run. Not anymore. We can protect Noura. But we can’t deny her role in all this, just as I can’t deny my sister’s role. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so distracted…”
“Grey, Shae has to make her own decisions just as we do. And like you said, she had good intentions.”
“You forgive her?”
Rhea shook her head. “Not yet. But maybe I can. Someday. Just like you.”
Before Grey could respond, movement grabbed Rhea’s attention. A shadow against shadows, slightly darker than the rest. Taking form just ahead, separating itself from the inky darkness of the Bloody Canyons.
A horse.
Grey had seen it too, his body stiffening against hers. “Is it…” he started to say.
Rhea had been thinking the same thing she thought Grey was—it’s riderless—but then she noticed a hump on its back. Maybe two humps. Bags strapped to it? Or people? She couldn’t tell from this distance.
The horse was moving slowly right toward them, its head hanging toward the ground as if it was infinitely weary.
Closer, closer. Rhea recognized the breed, a chestnut mare well known in the west. Her heart stopped at the same moment the horse did. It faltered, its strength giving way as it dropped onto its forelegs. Foamy spittle bearded its mouth and chin.
This close, she could see the truth: Two bodies clinging to its back, tethered by ropes pulled tight around the horse’s chest. One small. One large.
The horse toppled over onto its side and one of the forms groaned, a deep tone of agony that almost certainly came from the larger of the two. The other form was silent. Too silent.
Grey said, “We should help them.”
Rhea knew he was right, but she also feared some sort of a trap. “Be careful. I’ll stay here with Noura.”
Grey dismounted, glancing back at her. “If anything happens, ride back. Get help.”
She nodded, watching him approach the fallen horse and riders. “Who are you?” he said loudly.
Another groan. A failed attempt at words, the gibberish of either a very good actor or someone in distress—dehydrated and exhausted and malnourished.
Grey eased in closer, wary. “By the gods…” he murmured.
“Grey? What is it?” Rhea asked, feeling gooseflesh rise on her arms.
Grey looked back once more, his eyes wide with shock. “It’s your cousin,” he said. “Ennis.”
PART IV
Nymphs Bane Rhea
Roan Annise Tarin
Christoff Gwen Gareth
Whisper Falcon Sonika
Grey Lisbeth
“Fire is as beautiful as it is deadly. Those who seek to tame it
will find themselves burned.”
Empress Fire Sandes, deceased
Sixty-Nine
The Nymph Kingdom, the Tangle
Those Who Slept
The heat came in waves, enough to make the sisters stir, but not awaken. Why wake up when their beds of moss and leaves were so comfortable?
Their sister’s arrogance, if anything, had done them all a favor. And anyway, Felicity had paid the price, hadn’t she? She’d taken on an Orian and lost, had her locket of souls stolen from her, smashed beyond repair.
Felicity, the queen of the wood nymphs, was dying, they knew, but they didn’t think about it much—not when their dreams were so beautiful and bright. Especially not then, because they knew she’d killed their mother, Dressara, claiming the forest for herself.
What of our lockets? they sometimes wondered. But the thoughts were fleeting at best, and they quickly shoved them away.
Again, they stirred, the heat growing more intense. It must be a sunny day, they thought. Beautiful and serene, with birds chirping in the wood, creatures scurrying through the undergrowth, leaves rustling under the breath of a gentle breeze…
One of them, Colya, awoke, a gasp bursting from her blueberry purple lips. The heat was all around her now and she could see the flames, tongues of orange and red crackling at her bed and the beds of her sisters. She squealed as she realized her fern-like hair was on fire. Water from the purest stream in the forest, untouched by human hands or sweat, was nearby in a clay pot. She grabbed it and dumped it over her head, feeling the cool relief even as she felt hot panic rise through her. She screamed for her two sisters to “WAKE UP!” but they only rolled over on the moss, murmuring about beauty and tranquility, dream worlds that were suddenly so far from reality Colya couldn’t fathom how they’d ever cherished them so much.
“WAKE UP!” she screamed again, stamping at the flames as she grabbed one of her sister’s arms to rouse her. Lina’s dark eyes flashed open, ringed by thorns that protruded from her rough, bark-like skin, several emotions rolling over her expression as she realized the same thing Colya had: they were in mortal danger, their long, peaceful lives threatened by something far worse than their dying sister or the Orian who had destroyed her locket and now controlled theirs.
Together, they dragged their other sister, May, to her feet, slapping her into awareness. Her cheeks were as green as the nettles of the evergreens that grew in the northern part of the forest. Her hair hung like wooly vines from the mighty banyan tree. One tendril was afire, and May shrieked as Colya grabbed it and dipped it into what moisture was left in the clay pot.
And then they ran, the forest obeying them as they opened a path to safety.
Colya and her sisters were gentle nymphs, something their eldest sister had always mocked them for. They wanted nothing more than to live in peace and harmony, avoiding the foolhardy wars of humans and their ilk.
But now, something had disturbed the forest. Someone. This fire was no accident.
Without their lockets, however, they were chained to the forest with no hope of escape. They needed to contact the Orian.
And Colya knew only one way to do that. Their dying sister:
Felicity.
Zur
In the Hinterlands, Zur was reading the stars. And he didn’t like what he saw.
Slowly, he pushed to his feet. Walked back toward the village, ice crunching under his heavy trod. It was time. He only hoped they weren’t too late.
As the first of the ice-block structures came into view, he wondered why he had ever thought isolation was the key to safety and happiness. Year after year they’d sacrificed their own people to the great god of the lake. Yes, they only chose those who were afflicted with mortal diseas
e, but still…he would’ve given anything for even just one more day with his daughter.
His brave, beautiful daughter.
He realized he’d stopped before the dark Hall of War, now empty of the frozen knights that had once slumbered there until Lisbeth Lorne had disturbed them. She’d changed the lives of the Garzi forever, and yet here they were pretending like everything was the same it had always been. He reached down and pulled the horn from his belt.
Raised it to his lips.
Blew a single note, clear and long.
His soldiers came, but not only. All the villagers streamed from their huts, dragged from sleep by his call to arms. Females, males, children, elderly, infirm. The old Crone emerged from her hut, cutting a direct line toward him. She was a tough old woman, he had to admit. And she had seen what he had not, understanding things he was only just beginning to wrap his mind around.
“It is time?” she asked in the common tongue, surprising him.
“Yes,” he responded in kind. “Lisbeth…”
“She spoke to me too. While I slept. She needs us again.”
Zur nodded, turned away. Faced those gathered before him. “Tonight, we rest. For tomorrow, we march to war,” he said.
Frowns. Ugly stares. Angry stares. “Why?” one said, and he understood the question, for it was one he would’ve asked not long ago. “What enemy has broken the Pact? Our lands are free again. Ours. None disturb us since they stole the frozen army.”
“The Pact is no longer relevant!” Zur said. “If it ever was. Too long have we relied on it to protect us, when we are capable of protecting ourselves. We must fight! We must rain down death on a new enemy, one that has come to these lands to destroy us all.”
“How do you know this?” someone shouted.
“The blue-eyed woman,” he admitted. “Lisbeth Lorne.”
“She hurt us. She stole from us. You would trust her?”
