by David Estes
“On what do you swear?”
The Beggar didn’t worship the gods, not really. He had no friends, no possessions. But he had a past. He’d once had a family. A mother. A father. An aunt. A name. “I swear on my mother’s memory.”
“Who was she?” Bane asked.
An enormous chasm opened up in his chest, sucking everything into it. His heart. His soul. His past, his present, but maybe not his future. “The first person I killed,” he said.
It was the first time he’d said the truth out loud.
It was warm and dark and quiet. Bane was sleeping, his steady exhalations as soothing as a mother’s lullaby. And yet the Beggar didn’t feel tired at all.
His mind was moving too fast, like thunder rolling over the open water. Occasionally lightning flashed, splitting his head in two.
Two more deaths, and then it would be over. That was one option. Touch Bane and then kill yourself. Quick. Easy. In the dark, he crept toward the first person to ever call him friend, brother. The first one to consider his mark a talent rather than a curse.
If you help me it will change everything…
Peace will dawn upon the Four Kingdoms before winter comes…
He stopped. He’d sworn on his mother’s memory that he would help Bane. And the boy’s cause was important, grand, real. Peace. It was true: The Four Kingdoms were never going to stop fighting. Thousands more would die. What if he could help stop it? What if he could do something good for once in his life?
But did killing really bring about peace? Shouldn’t it be the opposite?
His hand hovered over Bane’s face. He could feel the plague humming along the surface of his skin, probing, searching, hungry for another victim. Hungry for human flesh and blood and bone to feast on.
Just touch him. Simple. And then be free.
Closer, closer.
End him. End him! END HIM!
A tremor shook his hand and he almost brushed Bane’s cheek, his fingers so close he could feel the heat coming off the boy’s pale skin.
He pulled away, breathing heavily, shivering despite the warmth. No, he wouldn’t kill his only friend. His new brother. “Where are we going?” he said to himself. “What are we doing?”
Bane shifted in his sleep, but his eyes remained closed. His lips parted. “The Southron Gates,” he murmured. “We have an army to infect.”
Sixteen
The Southern Empire, Calyp
Raven Sandes
The arena was nestled between the three pyramids. At the apex of each pyramid a single blue eye was painted, and seemed to stare down on the gathering, like silent god-like spectators. They represented the three most powerful Southron deities, Aero—the sky goddess—Ocea—the sea god—and Crag—goddess of the land.
The arena itself was a circle of empty dust ringed by a tall, thick wall meant to keep the action in a confined area and protect the Calypsians, who sat on the stone steps that rose a hundred high in every direction. Thousands had thronged to the arena earlier that morning. It had been eight years since the rule of Calyp had been decided in the arena, and they weren’t about to miss it.
Now the sun rose high and hot overhead, and most of the spectators wore hooded cloaks to keep the heat off of their skin, fanning themselves with thick sheaves of parchment or caragal leaves. They were growing antsy, and most were ready for blood.
Raven stood in the exact center of the arena with the shiva, waiting. It was just like Fire to be late, forcing her to look like the fool, standing under the sweltering glare of the sun goddess, Surai. Beneath Raven’s black battle leathers, she sweated profusely.
Last night they were sisters in grief, today they were rivals in battle.
A cheer rose up as a figure rode from one of the gates forged into the wall. Fire was garbed in her battle leathers, painted red with flames. Her crimson hair was spiked to a point atop her head. She raised her hand in the air, letting tendrils of flame stretch up to the tip of her sword. The enormous guanik she rode didn’t even flinch—he was her usual mount and was used to her fiery antics.
Gods, Raven thought. If the battle could be won before it was fought, I’d be waving a white flag.
Fire did a full lap around the arena, milking the crowd for all it was worth—and it was worth quite a lot by the sounds of their roars and whistles. Even if Raven won, they’d clamor for Fire afterwards.
Raven began clapping slowly as her sister finally approached. “Good show, sister,” she said.
“I’m just giving our people what they want,” Fire said. “Perhaps you should try it yourself.”
“You think they want war? You think they want to die in the desert?”
“I think they want to be strong. I can show them the way.”
Raven shook her head. There was no arguing with Fire, and anyway, there was no point. Only one of them would rule, and today’s spectacle would decide whom.
“You can still retreat with grace,” Fire said with a smirk. She coaxed her guanik right up to Raven, until their noses were practically touching. The beast opened its mouth to reveal several sets of razor sharp teeth. It roared with such force that Raven’s braided hair shifted behind her.
Raven didn’t move, refusing to let her sister get the best of her in front of her people. “So can you,” she said into the guanik’s mouth.
The reptilian creature snapped at her, but then backed away upon command from its rider. Fire laughed. “You are a worthy opponent, sister, but it won’t change the result. I shall be empress, and you shall obey me.”
Leaving Raven with that to chew on, Fire turned away as the shiva raised a hand to silence the crowd. The raucous applause ceased, and the multitude of voices died down to a muted rumble. Before the shiva could begin the ceremony, Fire’s guanik roared once more, which made the audience flare up in pockets of excitement.
Raven knew it was no accident. Nothing her sister did was an accident.
The shiva finally spoke. “On this day in the 532nd year since the Crimean invaders reached our western shores, the rule of Calyp shall be decided in combat.” More cheers, the excitement palpable, crackling like lightning. “The contest shall be between Raven Sandes, the First Daughter of our beloved Empress Sun Sandes, and Fire Sandes, the Second Daughter. May the worthiest Sandes emerge the victor!”
The crowd whipped itself into a frenzy. Fire riled them up further by tossing her fiery sword from one hand to the other. Raven just stood there, watching it all, waiting for the shiva to clear the field of battle. He climbed a ladder over the wall, and then pulled it up behind him. Once the battle began, none would be able to escape the dust bowl until it was over.
Fire turned toward her. Her guanik pawed in the dirt.
Raven said, “You would fight mounted while I am on foot? A cowardly move, sister.”
“Victory is victory,” Fire said, and then she charged.
Raven didn’t move, watching as the powerful beast galloped closer and closer, its scaly skin undulating as its muscles flexed and released. Fire’s jaw was set, her blade at the ready. Raven had seen that look of determination many times in training, and rarely did she lose.
Get ready, Raven thought.
The guanik raced toward her and Fire swung her blade. At the last possible moment, Raven dove to the side. She felt the wind from the beast’s body as it swept past, felt the heat of her sister’s sword as it narrowly missed her leather-padded shoulder.
She rolled once, letting her momentum carry her back to her feet. Drawing her own weapon, a black, barbed whip, she whirled around to follow her sister’s guanik as it skidded, turned, and charged once more.
That’s when she felt the heat on the back of her neck. She grabbed her braid and snuffed out the fire with her fingers, but she’d already lost almost a quarter of her hair from Fire’s flaming sword. Her hand was burned and charred black, but Raven forced herself to ignore the pain throbbing in her palm.
She snapped her whip with deadly precision, letting it
uncoil to its full length, wrapping around the guanik’s two front legs. With a jerk of her wrist, she yanked it back as hard as she could. When the barbs sank deep into the huge creature’s flesh, its momentum was almost enough to rip Raven’s shoulder from its socket, but she managed to dig her feet into the dirt and hang on.
The creature’s legs snapped together, and the guanik stumbled, tripped, and fell, howling headfirst into the dirt. Fire spun in the air, tucking into a somersault, still clutching her sword, which rotated in a fiery arc.
With incredible grace, she landed lithely on her feet, grinning. “Well played, dear sister. It seems we are on equal footing once more.”
The guanik groaned, and Raven felt bad for the poor beast. She tossed her whip aside. It would take time and effort to unbury the barbs from the reptile’s skin and muscle. Fortunately, she was prepared, uncoiling another whip from her belt. She had two others, if necessary.
As the sisters faced each other, the shiva stood high on the wall and shouted, “Prepare!” It was the standard command for such an event, and basically meant Get ready for something that’s going to try to kill you. Although the main goal of this event was to defeat her sister, it wouldn’t be just her she was fighting. No. Not even close.
Beneath their feet, metal clanked as spiked chains emerged from where they’d been hidden beneath the dust. Raven danced back, but she was too slow—one of the spikes grazed her leg, tearing through her leathers and drawing a thin line of blood across her calf. Pain shot through her, but it was a mere flesh wound—she would survive to fight on.
Fire had avoided the initial chain trap, but had gone in the wrong direction—now the moving chains had her surrounded, tightening their spiked noose as she whirled around, trying to find an exit where there was none.
Raven said, “Do you submit?”
Fire laughed, which didn’t surprise Raven one bit. Her sister hated to lose more than anything else. Nothing but death or unconsciousness would end this contest if Raven were to win.
The chains whipped closer, their spikes narrowly missing Fire’s face. She ducked one, jumped another, and then did a front handspring away from the danger. Defeated, the chains were drawn back across the field of battle by whomever was controlling them, and settled against the wall.
A dull roar of appreciation arose from the audience.
Raven slung her whip forward, but Fire made no effort to avoid it. Reaching the end of its length, the barbed end cracked a mere fingerbreadth in front of Fire’s face before retreating. Of course, Raven mused, Fire knows exactly how long each of my whips are. I’ll have to be more creative.
The next time she slung her whip, she released its handle, letting it slither through the air like a flying snake. Fire recognized the change in tactic a moment too late, but managed to turn her head and take the blow in the shoulder, the barbs sinking deep into her leather guard, and also catching a bit of unprotected skin. To her credit, she didn’t cry out, only gritted her teeth and ripped the whip away, blood dripping from the barbs as she tossed it to the dust. “Clever,” she growled.
Raven casually yanked out her third whip, hoping she wouldn’t need the fourth. Fire circled toward the left, slowly shifting her flaming sword from side to side.
“Prepare!” the shiva yelled again.
One of the heavy iron gates groaned as it was cranked open. For a split-second, nothing happened, both sisters training one eye on each other and the other on the deep shadows inside the wall.
With a hundred roars, a herd of guanik poured from the opening, spreading across the arena as they fled some hidden enemy. Raven lost sight of Fire as the huge reptiles swerved around them, brushing past on all sides. One collided with her shoulder, knocking her over and then barely missing her with its flat, clawed feet. She fought back to a standing position just in time to see that another beast was bearing down on her. This one wouldn’t miss.
There was only one option.
She jumped, reaching out with both arms as the animal slammed into her. It squealed as the whip barbs sunk into its neck. Raven clutched with her opposite hand on the other side, digging her own nails into its flesh. The frightened guanik snapped at her, but couldn’t quite reach, even with its long neck.
Kicking out, she clambered around its neck and straddled it. She was now above the fray, which gave her the chance to look for Fire. Her eyes darted back and forth, strafing the stampede, which was beginning to thin out, but there was no sign of her sister. She spotted a cluster of fallen guanik, which were in obvious pain, grunting and snapping their jaws at the air. Smoke curled from the midst of them, and the air held the distinct smell of burning flesh.
A sword burst from the mound of reptiles, flames dancing along its tip. It was soon followed by a hand and then an arm, and then the whole of Fire, who was covered in green guanik blood and bits of charred flesh and scales.
If the crowd was loud before, they reached a crescendo now. Calypsians, who, of course, made annual trips to the fighting pits of Zune to watch the sport of death, thrived on violence and battle as much as their Phanecian enemies to the west.
Fire leapt from the top of the pile of dead guanik, landing in a crouch in front of Raven and the beast she was now riding. The smell alone was enough to make Raven ill, but she maintained a straight face. “You always have to make an entrance,” she said.
“They got in my way,” Fire shot back.
What a waste of guanik, Raven thought.
That’s when the real challenge came: the thing the reptiles had been running from.
Long, black, hairy legs scurried from the gate. The arach was so large it was forced to duck its head before emerging into the sunlight. All twelve of its eyes squinted for a few seconds, adjusting to the change.
Gods. Why does it have to be an arach? Raven thought. She hated all spiders, both the small ones and the big ones. This was most definitely a big one, its bulbous head towering over them, staring down with all its dark, beady eyes. Its eight legs were the width and height of trees, ending in blade-like feet that could skewer a guanik from head to tail. And that’s just what the arach did, leaping forward and thrusting downwards, slashing through two reptiles at once, the stragglers squealing once, twice, and then releasing their last breaths. Victorious, the arach unleashed a cry of its own, high-pitched and awful, its black maw opening wide to reveal a single row of knives.
Another hole flashed open, and white, silky material dropped over the spider’s victims. It used its legs to tie the material around them, creating cocoons of preserved flesh. Dinner for later, Raven thought. Hopefully I’m not the dessert.
“It’s too big for either one of us,” Fire said. “We’ll have to take it together.”
Raven knew she was right. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little spider,” she said, dismounting from her guanik. The animal would give her no advantage in this particular fight, not now that the arach had showed up. The guanik didn’t need further urging, fleeing to the opposite end of the arena.
“You’re the only one who fears them,” Fire retorted. Raven still remembered the time she woke up to hundreds of eight-legged creatures crawling all over her. Fire had collected them over the course of many days in order to play the prank on her elder sister. Raven had had trouble sleeping for months afterwards, sometimes waking up screaming and brushing invisible spiders off her body.
“Not anymore,” Raven said, though that was a lie. “On three?”
“One,” Fire said.
The arach turned toward them, extracting its legs from the cocooned guanik.
“Two,” Raven said.
The arach screamed, and Raven couldn’t stop the shiver from rolling through her.
“Three!” Fire cried. As one, they charged the spider, which charged them in turn. Fire swung her sword high and hard, slashing through one of the legs before it could impale her. The hairy appendage tumbled and rolled, and Raven leaped over it while simultaneously snapping her whip.
; The barbed end traveled straight into one of the arach’s eyes, which exploded outwards with blue goo, like a popped membrane filled with paint.
At that point, the arach went mad. It leapt and slammed its legs down again and again. It snapped its deadly round mouth at anything that moved. Raven hung onto her whip, getting yanked around, rolling across the dust. She pulled back hard, trying to dislodge the barbs, but they had sunk deep into the soft ocular cavity, holding fast.
Fire fared slightly better, managing to dismember another two legs before getting knocked over by yet another of the spider’s legs. It tried to step on her, but she rolled just out of range, the edge of her leather tunic getting skewered in the process. She tried to squirm away, but the arach had her pinned to the ground. Somewhere along the way she’d lost her grip on her sword—which was no longer sheathed in fire—and it was now just out of reach.
Raven couldn’t have helped her even if she wanted to, because she was in her own kind of trouble. The beast had managed to get the whip wrapped around one of its legs, and it was using it like it used one of its webs, spinning the cord in circles, pulling Raven closer and closer. Finally, she was forced to relinquish the weapon and dive away.
She only had one whip left, which she extracted from her belt.
With only five legs, one of which couldn’t move because it was pinning Fire to the ground, the arach seemed off balance. Dark-blue blood continued to gush from its devastated eye, running down several of its other eyes and dripping into its maw.
Raven knew the only way to finish it off was to pierce its brain. Her skin felt itchy at the thought of getting anywhere near its bulbous head, but she gritted her teeth and ignored her fear, leaping and snapping her whip as high as she could, releasing a war cry that was one part anger, one part desperation.
