by Unknown
“You’ve mind-controlled him?” said Caina. “The Imperial Guard knows to look for the signs.”
“Hardly,” said Croanna. “Mind-controlling sorcery is so...crude, so inelegant. What I’ve done is different. He is...sleepwalking, in fact. No one looking at him, or even speaking with him, will be any wiser. Tomorrow morning the Emperor will offer sacrifices to guarantee victory. Lord Corbould will be at his side, and Lucan will be there as well. And then he will strike the Emperor down. A son of Lord Corbould, murdering the Emperor before the assembled lords of the Empire...ah, that will mean civil war. Which will allow the Magisterium to retake its place as the rightful masters of the Empire.”
Little wonder the First Magus had been willing to aid Croanna.
“Really,” said Caina, taking a slow step forward. Another four or five paces, she judged, and she could put a throwing knife into Croanna’s throat. “A bold plan.”
“You, of course, will not be here to see it,” said Croanna. “I will lay your head before the First Magus and take my place among the high magi.” She cocked her head, her cold eyes glittering. “I had hoped to meet you. You would have made a tremendous magus. Regrettable that you are too clever for your own good.”
“I would rather have been a swineherd,” said Caina, taking another step. Another few paces...
“No doubt,” said Croanna. “I know what you’re doing, by the way. Trying to get close enough to pin me with a throwing knife?” She smiled. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“You’re warded against steel, I suppose?” said Caina.
“Oh, no, no,” said Croanna. “Most magi place too much reliance in their precious wards. Besides, I’ve no doubt that you have a silver-plated knife or two up your sleeve. In fact...” She took five quick steps forward, putting herself within reach of a throw. “Why don’t you do it, Countess? A knife, right through my throat. Or the eye. Come, now. Surely you can do it.”
Lucan groaned, and for a brief moment his placid expression dissolved into fear.
“Suppose I did put a knife through your throat?” said Caina. “What would happen?”
“Why don’t I show you?” said Croanna. “Siona! To me!”
Something moved under one of the tables. A little girl, no more than nine or ten, crawled out, and got to her feet. She wore only a filthy gray shift, and her face and thin limbs showed obvious signs of abuse. The gray eyes she turned towards Caina were dark with hatred and rage.
A bronze spike had been driven through her left forearm.
But Caina hardly noticed that.
The girl’s eyes, her gray eyes, were the exact color and shape of Lucan’s eyes.
“Oh,” said Caina. “That was clever.”
“You understand?” said Croanna.
“It wasn’t Lucan’s wife you had,” Caina said, her fingers tightening around the throwing knife. “It was his daughter.”
“Indeed,” said Croanna, stroking the girl’s hair. “Livia Cycorus was pregnant when we killed her. Lucan never knew. My master cut the girl from the woman’s body, believing a grandchild of Corbould Maraeus might one day be useful. And he was right...but not in quite the way he thought. Observe.”
And before Caina could react, Croanna drew a dagger from her belt and drove it into her left hand. Blood welled over Croanna’s palm, dripping upon the floor as she wrenched the blade free. She lifted her wounded hand, turning the palm towards Caina.
And then the wound vanished.
Siona shrieked, doubling over, left hand clutched to her chest. Blood welled out between her clenched fingers. She staggered back a step, and Caina saw the wound upon the girl’s palm, a wound exactly the same shape as the one that had vanished from Croanna’s hand.
“Go ahead, Countess,” said Croanna. “Strike me down. And Lucan will watch his daughter die in front of him. Shortly before he watches you die in front of him, of course.”
“You cruel coward,” said Caina. “Hiding behind a child? That’s why you lied to Lucan, isn’t it? You knew that he would act rashly, if he thought that Livia was still alive. He never knew about the girl...because you took her from Livia.” Her hand clenched around the throwing knife’s hilt. “That is monstrous, even by the standards of the magi.”
Croanna smiled and stroked Siona’s hair again, the child huddling away from her touch. “It did work out rather well, didn’t it? Lucan will murder the Emperor in front of a thousand witnesses. You dare not lift a weapon against me. A perfect trap...and all that is left for you to do, Countess, is to die.”
She clapped her hands, and shadows began to move.
Men strode out of the darkness, armed and armored, Red Trajus at their head. For a moment Caina thought that Trajus had betrayed her. But then she saw the glassiness in their eyes, the placid calm of their expressions. Croanna had forced them into trances, as she had with Lucan.
Trajus should have listened to Caina when he had the chance.
“Of course, I had to test my sleepwalking spell before I employed it upon Lucan,” said Croanna. “And dear Trajus and his men made excellent test subjects.” She stepped behind the mercenaries, dragging Siona along. “Kill the Countess, quickly. No games.”
Trajus and his men drew their swords, expressions still placid, and fanned out in a semicircle. Caina flung a throwing knife, her entire body snapping like a bowstring, and the blade buried itself in the throat of the nearest mercenary. The man went down with a scream, blood pouring from his throat, but the others continued without missing a beat. Caina yanked the daggers from her boots and backed towards the rubble heaps.
She glanced up at the broken dome, where Ark and Tanya crouched at the edge, and nodded.
Ark threw down one of the sealed flasks that Caina had taken from Lucan’s rooms. Caina closed her eyes and looked away as it struck the ground at her feet, the liquid within spilling over the floor.
A liquid that burst into blinding white flame when exposed to air.
Croanna shrieked in pain, eyes screwed up against the light, and the mercenaries flinched, hands going to their faces. Caina sprang forward. She killed one mercenary with a quick thrust of her dagger, slashed the throat of another. Croanna stumbled back, hands raised in the beginnings of a spell, but Caina seized Siona and raced towards the table holding Lucan. If she could just wake him up, snap him out of the sleepwalking spell, they could escape together, they could find a way to break Croanna’s spell over Siona...
“Stop her!” roared Croanna. Caina saw another troop of Trajus’s mercenaries move to block the exit.
They had crossbows.
Caina cursed and ducked down behind a pile of rubble as the steel-headed bolts shot past her, sparking off the stone floor. She looked for a way out, cursing her folly. This hadn’t just been a perfect trap for Lucan; it had been a perfect trap for her. She should not have come with just Ark and Tanya. She should have brought more men. She should have scouted ahead...
Siona stared up at her without blinking.
“Countess!” called Croanna. “This resistance is futile. Surrender now and I will kill you without undue pain.”
Ark would go for help, Caina thought. But there was not enough time. Not nearly enough time.
Something tugged at her sleeve.
She looked down, saw Siona staring at her. The girl had the same hard gray eyes as Lucan, filled with grim determination. She lifted her arm and pointed at the bronze spike jutting from her flesh. Up close, Caina saw the sigils worked in the metal, symbols of sorcery and necromancy. Croanna had an identical spike in her left arm. Was that the means by which Croanna transferred her wounds to Siona?
Caina gripped the head of the spike.
“This is really going to hurt,” whispered Caina.
Siona nodded, and Caina wrenched the spike free. The girl shrieked in pain, right hand flying to the gaping wound in her arm. The spike turned cold in Caina’s hand, steam rising from the silver sigils.
And if Caina was right, Croanna was no longe
r protected. She peered around the edge of the rubble heap, hoping the magus stood within range of a knife throw. But Croanna stood well behind the ranks of the mercenaries.
“Last chance, Countess!” said Croanna. A note of amusement entered her voice. “Or I’ll send Lucan to kill you himself.” She laughed in delight. “Either you will kill him in front of his daughter...or he will cut down the woman he loves. A fitting end for an enemy of the Magisterium, no?”
Lucan rose from the table, drawing his sword, his eyes glassy and his expression serene.
Caina looked back and forth, her mind racing. She couldn’t get past the mercenaries for the exit. She couldn’t get past Lucan to strike down Croanna.
There was no way out of this trap but death.
She looked at the cold spike in her hand.
Caina gripped the spike in her right hand, braced her left arm against the rubble, and drove the spike into her forearm with all the strength she could muster. Pain exploded through her left arm, and she gasped, a wave of dizziness swimming through her.
The spike grew even colder, numbing her arm.
Siona’s eyes went wide in alarm, and she shook her head, grabbing Caina’s wrist. Caina shook her off and staggered to her feet, walking around the rubble pile, throwing back her cowl and mask. The mercenaries turned to look at her, Lucan raised her sword, and Croanna smiled.
“Ah,” said Croanna. “You accept the inevitable, I see.”
“In a way,” said Caina, and raised the dagger in her right hand and cut her own throat.
She had cut so many throats in her time that she was almost curious to see what it felt like.
An explosion of fire in her throat.
Choking. Couldn’t breathe. Drowning in her own blood. Darkness welled up to flood her version. Caina fell to one knee, heard Lucan screaming in rage and horror.
And then she fell backwards, the darkness swallowing everything.
So this was how it ended.
The spike in her arm burned.
Then light exploded in Caina’s eyes, and breath burst through her lungs. Lucan knelt over her, eyes wide with shock, and helped her to sit up. Caina coughed up some blood, and found that she could breathe.
She grabbed at her throat, felt only smooth, unmarked skin.
“Gods,” breathed Lucan. “You’re alive. When I saw you cut your throat, I...”
“Help me up,” said Caina.
She stood, saw the mercenaries staring at her in stunned horror.
“That’s not possible,” said Trajus. “You...you’re a sorceress yourself, a...”
“Stop talking,” said Caina, and walked past him.
Croanna lay twitching on the ground, blood pooling around her head, hands clutching at her torn throat. Her eyes rolled to meet Caina’s, and the horrified realization filled them.
“You were wrong,” said Caina, “I was too clever for your own good.”
Croanna slumped against the floor and died.
~o0o~
“He was right, you know,” said Lucan.
“Oh?” said Caina, adjusting the bandages on her left arm.
“Trajus,” said Lucan. He held Siona, who leaned her head against her father’s shoulder. “You are a sorceress. And you don’t even need sorcery. I’ve seen you slay two master magi with my own eyes. With nothing more than tricks.”
“And burning down the occasional inn,” rumbled Ark.
“Also a trick,” said Lucan.
Caina laughed. “It’s called clear thinking, my dear. And if you like tricks, you should see what I will do to your father tomorrow.”
~o0o~
“So,” said Lord Corbould Maraeus. He looked every inch the Imperial lord, proud, imperious, and cold. “My wastrel son and his paramour the Ghost Countess. I see the two of you did not bother to attend the court. How nice it must be for the business of the Empire to be beneath your notice.”
His icy eyes turned towards Siona, and puzzlement came over his face.
“Lord Corbould of House Maraeus,” said Caina, “I, Caina of House Amalas, present you with a living grandchild, Siona, daughter of Lucan and Livia Maraeus. Having presented you with a living grandchild, I accept your terms, and consent to wed your son.”
She had the very great pleasure of seeing the astonishment on the old tyrant’s face.
He stared at her for a long time, a hint of respect crossing his expression, and at last he nodded.
Caina smiled and held out her hand, and Lucan took it.
Ru’s Bad Day
by Lorie Calkins
Everyone has her own opinion of what constitutes a bad day, but some opinions are rather unconventional. Lorie lives in Kirkland, Washington, with her husband and two dogs. Despite her allergies, she keeps her Miniature Schnauzers, Magic and Chaos, who fill the void of the seemingly mandatory Writer's Cat. Her four kids are grown, and producing a fine crop of grandchildren. She likes to read, carve, crochet, spend time with the grandkids, and visit the ocean.
Ru stomped along the cliff edge, itching for a fight. It was a sunny spring day. Wildflowers tangled around her legs like a breeze-blown calico tablecloth, and delicate butterflies fluttered among the multicolored blossoms. The cheerful song of chickadees and finches filled the air, calling for mates. Fluffy white clouds skipped through the sky above with childish abandon. The entire day was disgustingly bright, sweet-smelling, and cheerful, and she had nothing to do but enjoy it. She wanted to growl and snarl and bite something. If she hadn’t had a firm rule never to unsheathe her sword unless she meant to kill something, she would have slashed at everything along the path, cutting the heads off the flowers, blossoming bushes, and even the blasted chickadees, if they got too close! Grr. All this peaceful beauty was boring, boring, boring, and it was driving her crazy!
If it wasn’t for the massive, churning waves hammering the boulders at the base of the cliff below her, she’d have lost her mind. She focused on the slam of each wave into the headland, and the slight shudder of the ground each pounding caused. If only something would happen, someone would attack, or maybe a volcano would bubble up from a crack in the earth! But no, there wasn’t a soul in sight. It was as peaceful as a sheep pasture here. Oh, blast. It was a sheep pasture. She dropped her head into her hands, cringing as if from a stomach blow. The pleasantness of it all was unbearable!
With a roar louder than the crash of the waves, and a burst of sulfurous flame that charred the ground around her, something huge plummeted from the sky, straight at Ru. The heat of its flame pressed her backwards. The draft from its wings knocked her sideways. Glinting dagger-like talons flashed through the air, slitting the front of her tunic as she leaped back. Over the edge of the cliff.
Ru screamed cusswords in every language she could think of, grasping wildly at rocks, plants, roots. She fell. Dirt from her kicking feet clattered down the bare earth of the eroded cliff. Rocks dislodged and fell, bouncing with pops and crashes against the battered stones below. Ru clawed at the cliff edge with her hands, scrabbled at the crumbling dirt below it with her toes, and came to a halt. A slow slide, really. She glared at the sprays of colored flowers sticking through her fingers, as if they were the enemy, and not the only thing keeping her from certain death. A toe’s niche in soft dirt, and the stubborn roots of two handfuls of wildflowers and sea grass were all that held her.
Above, on solid ground, the dragon peered down at her. She couldn’t let go of the weeds to pull her sword, and she didn’t have the leverage to fight from here anyway. The thing was going to toast her and eat her, if she didn’t fall the rest of the way and drown or splatter. Well, things were looking up. This was not so boring.
“Mmmm-wwwmph,” the dragon whimpered, blowing a puff of steam from its nose that gave a remarkable impression of consternation. “Ooo-oo,” it warbled, stretching its neck out toward her, and laying its head on the ground. Was it disappointed it had spilled its dinner?
The giant head turned, and one enormous eye examined her.
One very moist eye. If it hadn’t been a dragon, she’d have thought it was about to cry. “Go away!” Ru hissed, wanting to shout it at the top of her lungs, but knowing her perch was too precarious. “Go eat those fat sheep behind you. Much easier picking than a stringy old swordswoman like me. Go fetch,” she encouraged the dragon. Hey, she said to herself, who are you calling old?! I’m in my twenties! I think. Probably. Not that old. No! Not old at all. Still in my prime. Eh, this was no time to try to remember when the last birthday was.
Miraculously, the dragon pulled back from the cliff, and it sounded like he trotted away! Was it that easy? Had he lost interest?
A sheep thudded onto the dirt above her, baaing pitifully. The dragon’s eye once again looked over the edge at her, happy and expectant. “Oh, blast,” she sighed. “Can nothing go right today?” Several of the plants in her right hand pulled free of the dirt, and her toe slipped down a handspan in the rubble, cheering Ru somewhat. Not boring.
With another sigh, she shook her head at the dragon and said, “No sheep. Not for me. No,” she said firmly.
The dragon seemed to deflate, laying its head sadly on the wriggling sheep. “Oww-oooo,” it said.
Ru wanted to scream. Of all the stupid things to happen today. “Gaahhhh!” she vented. Flower stems broke in her left hand, and the toehold gave a bit more. That’s better, she thought, adrenaline flooding her about-to-die-horribly system.
But the threat of dying was not the same as actually dying, which she did not want to experience today. Steeling herself for the humiliation, she looked up. “Hey, dragon,” she said. “Want to play tug?” The huge beast eyed her questioningly. “Give me your, uh, paw….”
It tilted its head, then tilted it the other way. It blew out a puff of smoke with a stench like Hades. It wrinkled up its nose, as if trying to guess what she’d said. Then it pulled its slobbery, scaly lips back in a horrifying snarl, or, maybe, a smile. “Warrr-uuu,” it said.
“Paw,” Ru repeated firmly. “Hand, claw, talon, foot, paw!”
