by Carol A Park
A hand grabbed his and pressed a handful of arrows into it.
He turned. Ivana stood next to him, looking not at him, but at the dozen or so bloodbane stalking their way.
“You’re glowing,” she said, not looking away from the bloodbane.
“Yeah,” he said. He had noticed the wisps of what appeared to be silvery, shimmering steam trailing off his arms just a few minutes ago. “Weird.” He looked down at his hand. Three arrows.
There were a dozen bloodbane stalking their way, and those remaining were joining them.
And he was finally, finally, starting to feel dizzy. He was afraid if he kept going…
“You haven’t seen Thrax, have you?” he asked.
“A few minutes ago.”
There was no sign of the flaming man now.
Ivana frowned. “Why aren’t they attacking?”
She was right. The remaining bloodbane had crowded around, pacing back and forth—some even circled them—but none were attacking. It was almost as if… “You did take care of the corpse-thing, right?”
“Yes. It’s dead. Positive.” She paused. “Vaughn, they’re afraid of you.”
“What? That’s insane. Bloodbane aren’t afraid of people, they’re—”
“Look at them. Really look at them.”
He did. The five bloodwolves were pacing back and forth, snarling and snapping, their ears lain back, but their eyes rolled in their heads like terrified horses.
The three bloodcrabs danced on their needle-legs, as if eager to stab them both through, but they skittered forward, and the instant Vaughn moved, they skittered back again.
A pack of bloodrats shrieked and ran around them in a wide circle, first closer, then farther.
One of the bloodwolves took a step toward them.
Vaughn took a step toward it, holding out his steaming arm as if about to throw something at it.
It slunk back, tail down.
He looked down at himself, and then back at the bloodbane.
“That’s because you’re not merely human anymore, are you?” Ivana said softly.
Vaughn swallowed. He had no idea what was happening to him, but at the moment, all he cared about was using it to their advantage.
“I’m nearly spent,” he said. “We don’t make it out of this alive if they attack together.”
“I know.”
“And whatever my body is doing that’s scaring them, it could stop at any time,” he pointed out.
“You could be right.”
“So. Here’s my desperate plan. We stay together. I walk toward them. You stab them when they’re distracted. One by one. As fast as we can.”
“That’s your plan?” she asked incredulously.
“You have a better one?”
“Yes,” she said. “You distract them.”
And she took off running.
“Ivana!” he shouted.
The bloodwolves turned from Vaughn to easier prey.
“Distract them,” he muttered. He ran toward the whole group, and they scattered.
Ivana jumped toward the closest bloodwolf and burned aether.
Time stopped. It froze as it turned toward her, its mouth opened. She sailed through the air, grazed it with her dagger, and then unfroze time.
It collapsed behind her.
She wet her dagger with the stream of blood trickling down her palm and jumped again.
Vaughn hardly registered what was happening around him. Ivana appeared to be disappearing and reappearing at random all over the place, leaving the corpses of bloodbane in her wake. The bloodhawk that had been circling finally gathered up its courage and dove at him.
A moment later Ivana was there—the bloodhawk frozen, claws outstretched, about to rip his face off. She swiped it with her dagger, glanced at him, and it fell to the ground.
He hardly had time to register that she had included him as an active part of her time stop. When had she learned that?
What in the abyss was she doing?
He grabbed an entire pack of bloodrats that was scurrying toward him and flung them in different directions.
The dance continued. He spun and whirled, flinging bloodbane when he could, distracting them when the dizziness came back, while she darted around felling bloodbane in strange starts and stops.
At some point, Thrax joined them again.
Another bloodwolf dove toward Thrax.
Thrax let loose a jet of fire.
Ivana stopped time.
The fire was going to miss.
Vaughn grabbed the bloodwolf and shoved it into the fireball’s path.
Ivana let go.
The bloodwolf landed in a smoking husk.
And then there was nothing but silence.
Up and down the ranks they went, more and more men joining, ignoring the lines of friend and foe to focus on the task at hand. Driskell tried to keep count—he estimated some five hundred men between the two sides were now working on the burning buildings.
Little by little, the flames diminished. The buildings along the street in either direction were all but charred timber, but they had finally gotten ahead of the flames and managed to keep the fire from spreading farther into the city.
Driskell didn’t even notice that dawn had come until the last flame had simmered into a smoldering, smoking ember, and there was still light in the air.
Rest, he projected. The soldiers all began to drop to the streets almost gratefully, exhausted from their frantic labor.
Driskell didn’t know where the remaining soldiers from either side were. Many were likely dead.
He decided to try something new. Instead of a bubble, he imagined his influence as a mist on the breeze, carried far beyond his sight to whomever might be in its path.
Come, he said to the wind. We’re done here. Rest.
A few minutes later, they began to trickle in. Wounded and uninjured, friend and foe—they came at his call. They seemed confused, but he caught them under his bubble once he could see them, reiterating the command. Rest.
Someone drew another bucket of water and passed it around. Soldiers took drinks; they poured water over their heads. They laughed.
Driskell could feel his aether running thin. He was starting to get dizzy. He closed his eyes and slowly brought back in the bubble but left the mist—almost as if his aether were slowly evaporating, rather than burning at a clip.
“What in the name of all the gods is happening here?” a sharp voice cut through the rising murmur.
Silence fell.
Driskell opened his eyes. Commander Gered stood at the other side of the street, his sword drawn.
He strode into the street, and then paused. He looked at his soldiers, frowned, shook his head, and then spotted Driskell.
Panic rose in Driskell’s chest.
“You,” Gered said, spittle flying out of his mouth.
A murmur traveled through the exhausted soldiers.
Driskell tossed a tendril toward the commander. “I was trying my best to find a peaceful resolution to this.”
Gered didn’t bite. Instead, he spat. “Peaceful. I’ll have peace when every last demonspawn and their allies are rotting in their graves.”
He strode toward Driskell.
Driskell stepped back. The evaporating aether dissipated, and he threw everything he had at Gered. “Stop!” he shouted.
His head spun. It wasn’t working.
Danton was now standing in Gered’s way. He conjured a believable-looking bloodwolf, snarling at his side, but Gered ignored Danton and walked right through it.
Driskell drew his tiny knife and held it in a shaking hand. “Go home,” he tried one more time. “You aren’t wanted here.”
Gered laughed. “That won’t work on my anymore, boy.” He tucked his hand inside a leather pouch at his side and came out with a syringe. “I was saving these for the ringleaders. Thought you might be of some use to me, but I think I’d be better off putting you down.”
&nb
sp; The last thing Driskell heard was Danton shouting, Gered sneering, and his own hysterical pleading.
And then everything stopped. He felt himself crumple to the ground, almost as if watching from the outside. He tried to move, but he couldn’t. Nothing worked. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could speak, couldn’t move.
And then, last of all…
He was no longer aware of anything.
Vaughn, Ivana, and Thrax stood in the middle of pure carnage—bloodbane lay everywhere, smoking, bleeding, still.
And then there were the human bodies. Hundreds of them. Fereharian and otherwise. Mostly dead, though they’d have to check them all in case anyone could be saved.
Vaughn staggered back at the thought of sorting through all those bodies, feeling dizzy. Hundreds slaughtered, first by each other, then by the bloodbane…
And yet he, Thrax, and Ivana had taken out the remaining bloodbane—or at least those that hadn’t fled into the city—by themselves.
What kind of creatures had they become?
Ivana was right. No mere human stood a chance.
Thrax cleared his throat. “Bad news. I discovered while chasing some bloodbane out of the dungeon that Airell’s cell was broken into. He’s not there.”
Vaughn passed a hand over his face. Great.
Thrax whistled. “Say, did you know that both of you are glowing?”
Vaughn looked at Ivana. Thrax was right; she was steaming too.
Ivana looked back at the palace, then over Vaughn’s shoulder. “I’m going back inside,” she said. “Aleena’s hurt. But you might want to turn around. The city is smoking.”
Danton stood over Driskell’s crumpled form, rage and grief warring in his chest.
“He’d barely been a Banebringer for two months,” he shouted at the enemy commander. “You monster! You fucking monster!”
The words were nonsensical. The commander didn’t care how long someone had been a Banebringer, nor did he think he was the monster.
But it was so unfair. Driskell didn’t deserve this. None of them did. None of them did.
“Don’t worry,” the commander said. “I have plenty to go around.”
He tossed aside the empty syringe and produced another.
Run, Danton’s mind urged him. He could be gone in an instant. He doubted the commander even realized that.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Driskell there to be dragged away and stuffed in a hole somewhere.
He had nothing. His illusions could do nothing to protect him.
So he drew his short sword and took a step back. It was perfunctory. He could handle the weapon, but not against someone like this.
“Come, boy. Put it down and surrender. Face your crimes.”
A hard voice spoke from across the square. “He’s committed no crime, and no one is surrendering but you.”
Vaughn?
The enemy commander sneered at Vaughn and raised his syringe in defiance.
Vaughn burned aether and pushed him back.
He stumbled backward, and Danton darted out of the way.
“I’m done with this,” Vaughn said. “I told you to get out. This city is under my protection. Indeed, the entirety of Ferehar is under my protection. Take whatever remains of your troops and go back and tell the Conclave that.”
The commander spat. “You’ll rot in the abyss, demonspawn.”
Thrax, who had stumbled into the square on Vaughn’s heels, growled and moved forward, but Vaughn motioned him back.
Vaughn seized the commander’s body, keeping him on his feet but unable to move.
Whispers traveled around the square. The soldiers gathered there were staring at him.
He was still “steaming,” though it was beginning to slow down.
“I’ve already been to the abyss,” he said. He looked at his hands and waved them around a little to make the steam swirl. “And I’m definitely not rotting.”
Some of the Fereharian soldiers’ mouths had dropped open.
“Demonspawn scum,” the commander mouthed.
Vaughn swallowed. He twisted his hand, snapped the commander’s spine, then let his body fall to the ground.
He pushed aside the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him and turned his eyes away from the broken body to sweep over the soldiers sitting there. “Let’s try again. Any other takers for my message?”
As one, the enemy soldiers rose to their feet. One, a low-ranking officer judging by the stripes on his sleeve, organized them into ranks and then came to stand in front of Vaughn. “I-I think I’m the highest-ranking officer left, my lord,” he said. The officer was young and bruised and coated in soot, and his voice shook. “And on behalf of our unit, we unconditionally surrender.”
“I don’t want prisoners,” Vaughn said. “I mean it. Go back and tell the Conclave to stay away.”
The officer pressed his lips together and gave a curt nod.
“Thrax,” Vaughn said, “take the rest of our men and see that these troops find their way out of Cohoxta without causing further damage. Keep an eye out for any bloodbane still in the city.”
Thrax nodded and began rounding up the rest of the soldiers.
Vaughn waited until the square was empty of all but himself, Danton, and the unfortunate Driskell.
He knelt next to Driskell’s prone form and stared at him. “What am I supposed to tell Tanuac and Nahua?” he said, sensing Danton’s presence above him.
“That he did this. All of it.” Danton waved his hand around the square. “This city would likely be ash if he hadn’t intervened.” He ran a trembling hand through his hair. “He was my friend.”
Vaughn stood, though weariness threatened to keep him down, and put a hand on Danton’s shoulder. “Let’s get him back up to the palace.”
Chapter Sixty-One
Cursebreaker
Vaughn closed his eyes and drew in a long, deep breath before walking through the door in front of him.
Thrax and Danton were already there. He had passed Sanca in the hall coming from the room. Yaotel had sent her as one of the promised healers along with a couple hundred of Tanuac’s soldiers, all of whom had been welcome relief to the weary remnants of the Cohoxtan Watch.
Sanca merely shook her head and gave him a sad smile.
Thrax sat in the corner, his face drawn. He was abnormally sober.
Danton stood by the side of the bed, his arms folded tightly around himself.
Driskell lay on the bed before him. His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell slowly. He could have been asleep.
He wasn’t.
Nothing they could do would wake him.
“I didn’t know him long,” Danton said, “but you know how sometimes you meet someone and you know—” His voice broke. “You know you’re meant to be friends?”
Vaughn crossed to the bed and put his hand on Danton’s shoulder in silent sympathy.
After a few minutes, Vaughn spoke. “It’s been four days. We should let his family know. And Ri Tanuac. And…his fiancée.” He’d been delaying the inevitable amid trying to bring some semblance of order after the chaos and destruction of the attack—part of which involved personally hunting down any bloodbane still terrorizing the city.
“She doesn’t even know he’s a Banebringer,” Danton whispered.
“Cruddy way to find out,” Thrax said somberly.
Vaughn reached for the qixli in his pouch. “I’ll do it,” he said.
“No,” Danton said. “I…I know Tania, a little. And she should hear it first.”
Vaughn shrugged and held the qixli out to him.
Danton pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I’ve been practicing. I can do this.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Vaughn’s eyes widened. “Danton, no—!”
It was too late. Danton disappeared in a flash of light.
Vaughn ran a hand through his hair and stared at the spot where Danton had been. It was one thing
to pop around a few miles. Marakyn was three hundred miles away! Even if he did it in stages…
“Let it be, Vaughn,” Thrax said. “I know he seems goofy sometimes, but he’s not the sixteen-year old you saved anymore.”
“What’s this?” he said. “Thrax, playing the sage?” He gave Thrax a small smile.
But it was sapped of any real joy by the prone figure lying in front of them.
Vaughn and Thrax kept a silent vigil, waiting for Danton to return. Vaughn rubbed a hand back and forth through his hair. He couldn’t believe Driskell had been with the enemy army this whole time. Tanuac had given him up for lost. And yet, from Danton’s recounting of the events, Driskell had played a large part in containing the chaos four nights ago. He could have run or hidden, knowing he had no combat skills. Instead, he’d risen to the occasion.
And paid the price.
There was another flash of light, and Vaughn turned toward it. To his shock, it wasn’t just Danton who had returned. It was Danton…and Tania.
Danton gasped, staggered, and collapsed to the floor.
Vaughn’s shock turned to alarm, and he fell to his knees next to Danton.
“Danton!” he shouted, shaking him.
He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, for fifteen long, terrifying seconds. And then he groaned, and his back heaved as he pushed himself to his hands and knees. “Good. I’m good. I’m okay.”
“You idiot. Were you trying to kill yourself?”
He sat back on his heels, looking a little unsteady. “She wanted to see him. I…I had to try.”
Vaughn looked up at Tania. She was frozen to the floor, staring at Driskell’s motionless form.
Vaughn helped Danton to his feet.
“He’s… Are you sure he’s not just unconscious?” Tania asked, her voice unsteady.
“We’re sure,” Vaughn said gently.
She moved forward, hesitated, and then took his hand. She brought it to her forehead and closed her eyes. Tears gathered on her eyelashes. “He tried to tell me,” she whispered. “I…I thought he was talking about someone else.” She opened her eyes and looked around at the rest of them. “He was such a good person. I… How could this have happened?”
