by J B Drake
Anise’s smile dimmed slightly.
“Even after I asked you to wait for us?”
Anise moved to speak, but as she did so, she caught Gray’s gaze.
Rolling her eyes, she smiled and sighed.
“Anise!”
“I’m here! And yes, alright, you told me to wait, and yes, we agreed no heroics. But I still found her didn’t I?”
“Gods, Anise, sometimes you can be quite—”
“Adorable?” Anise grinned.
Daniton sighed. “Nevermind. Can you get her out safely?”
Anise frowned as she stared behind her.
“There’s nobody here, Daniton.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the place is deserted. There’s nobody here save us.”
“That’s…why go to all this trouble only to leave her behind? And alive?”
“I know.”
“Hrm. Let’s talk though this when you’re out of there. Take the main road to Merethia, you’ll reach us eventually. I’ll brief Thuridan in the meantime. We’ll talk when we meet.”
Anise nodded.
“Very well,” she said before willing the stone to silence. As she moved to slide the stone back into her tunic however, a force whisked it from her grasp before slamming the cage gate shut behind her, the loud slam of the barn door echoing about them.
Startled, Anise bounded to her feet, a hand tight upon a dagger. What she saw as she spun round turned her to stone.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her gaze upon sister, Arenya Drakesong, who had an arm outstretched, its hand clasped tight.
“I’m sorry,” Arenya said softly as she offered her clenched hand to the lady beside her, the Duchess Lady Netari Fairshroud, a lady whose smile was every bit as dark and twisted as the man stood the other side of her, the Duke Lord Tirelin Fairshroud.
As Anise watched, Arenya’s fist opened and Anise’s seeking stone fell into Netari’s waiting palm. With her smile growing, Lady Fairshroud turned her gaze from Anise to her palm before raising it back to Anise.
“Seal it,” she ordered, and at her words, shapes began to emerge from the darkness behind Netari.
Snarling, Anise leapt at the cage gate and pulled it open, only for Arenya to pull it shut once more, her mind’s grasp upon the gate forcing it from Anise’s hand.
But mind magic was a discipline Arenya was weak in, Anise knew this, and with an angry roar, clasped hold of the gate with both hands, ready to pull it free with all her might. Except, this time wind vines of varying thickness grew from the air, holding the gate fast against the cage. Looking up from the vines, Anise stared at the figures that had stepped out of the shadows, figures with hands outstretched. Mages. Six of them.
Gritting her teeth, Anise stared from the mages to the wind vines. It would be a trivial thing to undo them, but she would have to undo them one at a time, and, given how quickly they were cast, as she undid one, it would be recast before she’d undone another, Anise was sure. With rising frustration, she stared back at Netari, whose smile was now a grin.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.
Netari laughed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out yet. Hearing Arenya talk of you, I was expecting some woman genius!”
Smarting, Anise stared at her sister, but Arenya’s gaze was upon the floor. Fighting to contain her mounting rage, and indeed fear, Anise forced herself to think.
“I must say, I’m also quite dis—” Tirelin began.
“It’s clear you chose to bring Marshalla here to implicate Gladespell,” Anise interjected, bringing a smirk to Tirelin’s lips, and a smug smile to Netari’s.
“And it worked,” Anise continued. “When Gray led us here, that was our assumption. But why lead us here in the first place? Why bring us here at all?”
Anise’s questions were met with silence. As Anise moved to berate them and demand an answer however, one presented itself to her, one that held her stunned.
“Gray was supposed to die of her wounds, wasn’t she?” she said at last. “You weren’t expecting her to reach us.” Then, as the implications of her words chilled her to her core, Anise turned to her sister. “You knew! You knew of all of this! All that talk of Gray’s wounds being her fault, you were trying to stop us from coming!”
As one, both nobles clapped, but Anise’s gaze remained upon her sister, and its weight seemed to bear heavily upon Arenya.
“Now, that’s more like it!” Netari exclaimed before turning to her beloved. “Wouldn’t you say so, darling?”
Tirelin nodded as he grinned. “Oh, without a doubt!”
“Quite!” Netari nodded before turning. “Yes, your beloved Gray was meant to die of her wounds. In fact, we were told she had! So imagine our surprise when we got word that Arenya had shown up at our Merethia residence saying the Tower was marshalling a search party!”
“It came as quite the surprise,” Tirelin said. “Poor Netari was so beside herself, she had to go have a…few words with the sellsword who’d led us false.”
From the corner of her eye, Anise noticed the mages squirm at this, some throwing furtive, if hateful glances at Netari.
“Naturally, we made provisions for your sister to join us immediately,” Tirelin continued. “I mean, we couldn’t very well ignore such dire warnings, could we?”
With her heart breaking, Anise turned to her sister. “Why?”
“Don’t look at me like that!” Arenya exclaimed. “It’s easy for you, you have Daniton and Baern defending your every mistake and misstep. Who do I have? Nobody, that’s who!”
“That’s not true! Daniton’s your brother, he—”
“Daniton turned his back on me years ago! You stole him from me! You stole him and left me no-one.”
“But—”
“But what? Hunh? But what does it matter? Well, it matters, Anise, it matters! Or do you think I don’t hear the rumours, the mutterings behind my back! They blame me for the Kin-Slayer escaping, they all do! Even your Baern! It’s only a matter of time before they force me out, I know it! I had to look out for my future, Anise! You don’t understand, I have to provide for my future.”
“They’re going to kill me, Arenya.”
At her sister’s words, Arenya dropped her gaze to her feet. “I didn’t plan for this, truly I didn’t. I just thought…” Then she looked up at her sister, her eyes aflame once more. “Why didn’t you wait? Daniton told you no heroics! You were supposed to wait!”
A heavy silence fell upon all as the sisters stared at each other, one with a gaze full of pain and guilt, the other one of shock and revulsion.
“I don’t hate you, Anise,” Arenya said at last as tears brimmed in her eyes. “Gods know I don’t, it’s just…gods, I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve condemned me here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Touching as this is,” Tirelin interjected, “I’m afraid we’re on a tight schedule.” Then, he turned his gaze to Arenya. “It’s best you head to the office. You don’t want to see what comes next.”
Tearing her gaze from her sister, Arenya stared at the Duke before nodding and leaving her sister to her doom.
“Your daggers,” Tirelin continued, turning to Anise the moment Arenya was gone. “Now.”
Anise snarled. “Come and get them.”
“The child’s slumber is peaceful,” Netari replied. “Our sellswords stand ready to fill it with all manner of horrors.”
Gritting her teeth, Anise stared from her captors to Marshalla before at last pulling free her daggers and tossing them at the feet of the mage sellswords.
“Excellent!” Tirelin exclaimed as the daggers were picked up off the floor. Then he turned to one of the sellswords behind him.
“You and your men get to the office, go take care of the woman.”
“What?” Anise exclaimed.
“Remember, it needs to look like she took her own life.”
“No!”
“I’m afraid it can’t be helped,” Netari replied as she shrugged at Anise. “You saw how broken she is. It’s only a matter of time before she unburdens to someone, and we can’t very well allow that to happen, now, can we?”
“Damn you!” Anise exclaimed before turning to the door behind them all.
“Arenya!” she bellowed. “Arenya, run! Run! They intend to kill you, run!”
As one, both the duke and duchess laughed at her, but Anise was unrepentant, bellowing once more with all she had. Then, the door slid opened. As it opened, Anise knew not whether to be overjoyed or heartbroken that her sister had returned. But then, as she saw who it was, and who followed behind, her heart sank anew
“What’s all this shouting about?” Larine demanded as she dragged a bound Tip behind her.
“There you are!” Netari exclaimed, her face darkening. “I was all set to come looking for you.”
With a sheepish smile, Larine bowed. “My apologies, Your Grace. The brat got away from us.”
“Yes, I heard,” Netari replied testily. “Why take so long to return?”
“Well,” Larine replied as she looked down at the cowed child, “he was most resourceful with his hiding place. Slithered into a badger’s sett, of all places.”
“A what?” Tirelin exclaimed as he stared at the child.
Larine nodded. “A badger’s sett, Your Grace. We must’ve passed it a hundred times before we finally saw him.”
“Is that what that stench is?” Tirelin asked as he grimaced.
Larine sighed, Larine nodded. “I’m afraid so, Your Grace.”
“No matter,” Netari replied, “we have him now.” Her eyes was upon the child, and they were dark and foreboding. With a slow snarl, the Duchess clasped hold of the boy’s tunic, pulling him close.
“Look at me, boy.”
Tip did not move.
“Look. At. Me.”
At last, the boy did as he was bid, the fire in his eyes matching Netari’s square. After a brief spell, Netari nodded.
“You’re not afraid,” she said. “Good. But you soon will be, child. I have waited a long time for this, and I have planned your end down to the very last detail. You will beg, boy, you will beg and you will scream. And you will know fear before the end.”
But Tip merely stared, his back rigid and his gaze fierce.
Curious, Anise eyed the little boy. The Tip she knew would be struggling to keep his self-control, and yet here he was, standing tall and defiant. Never had she seen him so bold, so brazen.
Except she had, once. And as the memories of that one battle came flooding to the fore of her mind, Anise felt her throat tighten.
“Where’s Marsha?” Tip asked.
Sneering, Netari pointed to the cage. “She’s waiting for you.”
Breaking gaze from Netari, the boy turned to stare at Marshalla’s sleeping body before turning to glare at the Duchess.
“You’d better not have hurt her.”
“Or else, what?” Netari demanded as she brought her face to within a hair’s breath of Tip’s.
Tip glared still, but kept his peace.
“Put him with his friend for now,” Tirelin said, nodding to the mage sellsword nearest Tip. As he was dragged towards the cage, Tip kept his eyes stubbornly upon Netari. But at last, he turned forward, and as he did so, he locked eyes with Anise. As they stared at each other, the boy smirked. It was brief, barely there, but Anise saw it, and as her mind screamed its meaning, Anise felt her own self-control threaten to leave her. Scurrying back from the door, she watched with barely concealed horror as the boy was shoved into the cage before the gate was locked anew. Tip, on the other hand, simply ignored her, choosing instead to keep his eyes upon their captors.
“What’s wrong?” Netari asked. “Does the boy disgust you that much?”
Forcing her eyes from Tip, Anise turned to the Duchess. As she did so, however, she noticed something peculiar about the woman Larine. Stood behind her mistress, Larine’s eyes were upon Netari, but that was not what stilled Anise’s tongue and called forth a confused frown upon her lips, no, it was the faint azure glow of her eyes, a glow that brightened as she reached for something behind her.
“What the…?” Anise muttered.
Curious, their captors spun about, turning just in time to watch their dear servant hold aloft a long and wicked blade with both hands before plunging it at her mistress, its tip seeking Netari’s heart.
With a startled cry, Netari spun to the side, the blade narrowly missing her. But Larine was not to give up so easily, and as she stumbled forward, the possessed elven woman swung the blade in a vicious arc just as she found her footing, and as Larine turned to face her mistress square, a vicious smile parted her lips as she watched Netari’s blood stain her tunic.
“Stop her!” Tirelin barked.
“No!” Netari yelled, waving back the mage sellswords that had stepped forward.
If Larine noticed, she cared little, and with her smile turning into an open snarl, she lunged at her mistress.
“Larine, what are you doing?” Netari bellowed as she darted to the side, this time far enough away to avoid the ensuing slash.
“Damn it, woman, wake up!”
Larine said nary a word, choosing instead to lunge at her mistress once more, and once more Netari darted out of her reach. Except this time, as Larine found her footing, she barrelled into Netari, the suddenness of the charge and short distance between them giving the Duchess little time to avoid it, and as Netari fought to find her footing, Larine lunged at her mistress once last time, a triumphant cry upon her lips.
But the duchess was a veteran of a great many battles, and as Larine’s blade sought her throat, Netari’s warrior spirit took hold, and in one deft motion, Netari Fairshroud clasped both her hands upon the hand that held Larine’s blade before twisting it about and pointing the blade at Larine’s chest, and all while still finding her feet.
Netari never regained her balance, however, and instead fell hard against the wall behind her, and with their hands still locked upon Larine’s blade, Larine fell upon her, upon the blade still aimed at Larine’s chest.
The pained gasp that escaped Larine’s lips pierced the hearts of many who heard it.
“No, No!” Netari shrieked as her housekeeper slowly slid to the floor. “Larine!”
With tears stinging her eyes, Netari turned to the sellswords.
“Fetch a healer!” Netari barked before staring back at Larine just as one of the sellswords raced out to do as she’d ordered. Going on her knees, the heartbroken noble placed a hand in Larine’s, squeezing tightly as she gently caressed the dying woman’s cheek.
“Larine!” she cried. “Larine!”
Coughing, Larine opened her eyes and looked upon her mistress. The woman smiled. The glow was no more.
“I knew you’d stop me,” she whispered.
“Hush, woman,” Netari ordered. “Save your strength.”
Larine shook her head. “I’m sorry, Netari. Gods forgive me, I’m so sorry.”
“I said hush, damn you!”
Coughing, Larine shook her head once more. “I didn’t…mean…to…”
Netari nodded. “I know. I know, Larine, I know. Your eyes…you weren’t yourself, I could see that. It is I who should beg forgiveness. I couldn’t stop my—”
Smiling, Larine shook her head.”You…stopped me…thank you…thank—”
“Just shut up already,” Netari pleaded.
Smiling still, Larine shook her head once more. “I’m dying, Netari, I’m…” Then she stared at the cage, at Tip. With the last of her strength, she raised her free hand and pointed at the child.
“Beware…the child, Netari. Beware…the… Kin-Slayer.”
Then she was gone.
The silence that followed was deafening. Slowly, one by one, those that remained turned to stare at the child, their expressions ranging from unbridled rage to all-consuming fear. Tip, for his part, turned to the
Archmage within the cage with him.
“Happy now?” the child said. “Are you happy now?”
“What did I do?” Anise exclaimed.
“If you hadn’t warned them, they’d both be dead by now, and we’d all be freed!”
“You did this,” Netari said, her voice quivering.
Rolling his eyes, Tip turned to her. “Who else would it be?”
With the roar of a wounded lion, Netari rose and raced for the cage.
“No! No!” Tirelin exclaimed as he charged after her, reaching her just as she grasped hold of the cage’s gate.
“No!” Tirelin repeated as he threw an arm about his beloved’s waist before dragging her towards the door. But Netari fought him with all her might, screaming and snarling as she sought to free herself from his grasp so she could rend the child asunder with her bare hands.
“Go!” Tirelin ordered his sellswords.
With little hesitation, they all obeyed. As Tirelin reached the door, he stared at the young child one last time. Tip stared back at him, the most innocent of smiles upon his lips.
Fighting to contain his rising fear, Tirelin left the room.
“Seal it!” he barked as he slammed the door shut.
Sighing, Anieszirel shook her head. “That could’ve gone better.”
“You truly are her, aren’t you?”
Ignoring the quivering Archmage, Anieszirel made her way to the slumbering elf and the young panther lying beside her.
“You’re going to have to move, Gray,” she said as she ushered the panther to the side.
With an indignant huff, the big cat acquiesced.
“Oh, don’t you start,” Anieszirel growled as she knelt beside Marshalla. “It’s your friend’s fault we’re still in here, not mine.”
“But I—” Anise began, only for her to fall silent as both panther and chronodragon glared at her.
Shaking her head, Anieszirel turned her attention to Marshalla, and leaning forward, placed a hand upon her cheek.
“Hrm,” Anieszirel muttered as she stared into the ether, until at last, staring at Marshalla once more, Anieszirel forced apart the sleeping girl’s lips as she whispered words of arcane. As she whispered, a white mist drifted from Marshalla’s lips before snaking upwards, as if it were alive.
