Ishtar's Blade

by Blackwood, Lisa

  A stiff mountain breeze ruffled Sorntar’s feathers as it blew through a courtyard in Grey Spires. Even a playful wind couldn’t distract him this day. He whirled, ignoring the slap of both scabbards against his thighs. He paced about the courtyard, cursing his sisters’ stupidity for getting captured. Fear had been replaced by chaotic waves of anger when his mother first told him his sisters were safe. They had gone with Queen Marsolwyn, seeking the humans for some purpose. His cooling anger left a yawning pit of uncertainty in its wake. Vinarah had seen something so intense it sent her running off to Marsolwyn. But what?

  Sorntar concentrated on reining in his apprehension, only to realize he was still on edge from earlier in the day when his wings had twitched with the sensation of being watched. He’d even thought he’d detected a faint essence of someone else’s power.

  His Larnkin hadn’t roused, so he’d put it out of his mind. Now the nagging sensation was back, worming its way into his mind, setting his teeth on edge.

  He wanted to blame his unease on his newly waking power. But whatever it was, it wasn’t the same restlessness that had been hampering his concentration for days now as his Larnkin gathered power. Soon it would wake fully. When it did, it would turn his well-organized life into a muddle of raw emotions and chaotic magic surges.

  When he reached a waist-high stone wall, he peered down. In the stone-tiled courtyard below, the wind tugged at the manes and tails of a small herd of santhyrians who waited with their riders for word from his mother. To their left, a mixed species group of nervous-eyed apprentices prepared to summon a Gate. Off to one side, his father conversed with Elder Cymael.

  Tension built, vibrating along his feathers while something tightened in his stomach. He hesitated to name it dread, although it was close kin. In his arrogance, he had craved responsibility, had nearly pleaded for it. But now, doubts assaulted him.

  He shook out his wings to dispel the nervousness before he descended the stairs in two bounds, his wings and tail spread to ease his landing. His talons barely touched the bottom step before he stalked to where Summer Flame awaited him.

  With a sigh, he scratched the stallion’s neck, working loose a few hairs from his winter coat while they waited for the others to be ready. The routine gesture was more for his own reassurance than performing any function the santhyrian required. Summer Flame gently nibbled his shoulder in a less-than-subtle reminder.

  “Yes, I know, time for us to be off.” Sorntar edged around his santhyrian friend in time to see apprentices summoning a Gate. Born of twin columns of fire, the newly emerging Gate stretched across the courtyard. Its two ends curved and joined at their uppermost peaks until it blanketed the entire east wall in liquid power, forming a flaming archway big enough for six santhyrians to walk abreast.

  Sorntar was about to congratulate the apprentices when the Gate flared. A cold, silver energy arced across its surface. He’d never seen such a sight. A chill radiated off it in waves, penetrating his shields and sinking below his skin.

  Thunder ripped through the courtyard. A stronger flow of power poured forth from the Gate, hammering everyone within reach. A young lupwyn apprentice standing too close yelped and collapsed in the boneless manner of the unconscious.

  Sorntar rushed to her side and arched his wings, trying to absorb more of the magic to prevent permanent damaged to the youngling. In less than ten heartbeats, the Gate morphed into a seething monster of brilliance and rage. Pale tendrils flailed out from its center. One brushed the feathers of his crest, narrowly missing hitting him in the head. He scooped up the fallen lupwyn and leapt into motion. He’d barely made it three paces when a burning cold tendril coiled around his ankle. A strong tug, a sickening blur of motion and he was moving. A breath later he slammed into the ground with bone jarring force.

  Dazed, he blinked and looked up to see his bodyguards surrounding him. One guard took the lupwyn from him, while another fought to pull him free of the tendril’s grip. The Gate pulsed again, then lashed out. It slapped guards and delegation members aside like hapless dolls. As fast as it had come, the maelstrom of power ground to a halt. Silence, broken only by soft panting, echoed across the courtyard.

  Sorntar blinked up at a purpling night sky. Lifting his head, he winced. Pain flashed through his brain. Almost in the same moment, the Gate tightened its grip on his ankle and heaved. A renewed surge of panic flooded Sorntar’s body. Then he felt it—the slow spread of heat through his blood as his Larnkin came to full awareness. It didn’t fight the Gate, instead surveying the scene, calming and stabilizing the rogue Gate’s chaotic magic. With a sickening clarity, the Larnkin gathered itself, power flowing through him like a tidal wave…every ounce of it focused on the Gate.

  Ashayna rubbed at her eyes, but the night-shrouded landscape didn’t come into any better focus as she led her gelding towards the prisoners. Fear tangled her thoughts. Did her father still live? How would she cope without him? She needed a plan but her chaotic thoughts kept distracting her. Silently, she cursed the sentience in her blood. A Larnkin they called it. The power stirring with newfound intent in her blood could only be one of those creatures.

  Once she had reported back to Captain Nurrowford with the news that a delegation was on its way, he had ordered her to ride with their prisoners. Her return route took her along the river. Wind rustled in last year’s bulrushes and caressed trees, shivering their leaves. The tranquil beauty of this place would be something she’d miss, if she lived to miss anything.

  She scanned the area between the river and camp, noting everything seemed ready. Horses were saddled, riders gathered the few remaining things they would carry with them. Both foot soldiers and horse archers were already breaking camp. Ashayna would follow with the prisoners, leaving the heavy cavalry to protect the flanks and rear.

  Her thoughts were interrupted with the sudden explosion of terror from her gelding. His eyes rolled in his head, muzzle tightening, teeth bared. Screaming a warning into the night, her horse reared, hooves pawing at the air. Again and again the gelding reared, his hooves tearing into the ground as he danced beside her. Ears flattened, he tossed his head, ripping the reins from Ashayna’s grasp. With a final snort, he turned, thundering along the trail toward the safety of the paddock and the other horses who picked up on his distress and shifted and nickered in restless discontent.

  The hilt of her sword bit into her hand, Ashayna studied a distant line of trees, expecting to see glints of silver against shadowy trunks as armored lupwyns flooded out of the darkness. The sound of the men’s voices raised in alarm was the only indication of danger, of something moving beyond them. Yet her eyes could see nothing. No army of beasts, no weapons, nothing but the darkness of the night.

  Prickles of power washed over her like rain. Now she knew what had spooked her gelding. Foreign power sunk below Ashayna’s skin, past blood vessels and muscle, seeping into her bones. Her own magic flared, eagerly examining this new power.

  Barely a hand’s span above the ground—in a swath wider than several horses riding abreast—the air rippled, making her queasy. Then, as though a torch had been applied to pitch, the air exploded into twin columns of fire, each burning with a white, unnatural light. The force of their creation blew Ashayna’s hair back; wind whistled through the tents, kicking up a smattering of dust. Two columns of light bathed the entire camp in a strange illumination, brighter than the full moons.

  Officers bellowed orders to soldiers, and the dull, metallic sound of weapons being drawn echoed throughout the camp. Distantly she heard Captain Nurrowford shout her name, ordering her to fall back, but Ashayna couldn’t take her eyes off the wall of magic. Ashayna stood enthralled by the spectacle as her Larnkin merged power with the columns. She gasped at the rush of magic flooding outward. A small, quiet part of her mind was grateful her magic remained invisible. The columns’ strange white fire intensified, leaping across empty space, taking the shape of an arch. Towering over them, it continued to grow, to gather power—
until, with a great resounding clap of thunder, it shuddered, the flames dancing through the night. Her Larnkin trembled, but continued to feed power to the arch, wanting, needing something Ashayna did not understand. Falling back a pace, she shook her head to clear it of the echoing noise and eyed the arch with greater concern. It looked stronger but less stable, and it continued to hemorrhage power.

  Men shouted, horses screamed. The air was heavy and thick with the stench of fear, of blind panic, and of magic. Queen Marsolwyn’s urgent calls rose above the storm. “Run. The Gate’s gone rogue. Run, now!”

  A deep, rending sound issued from the archway, like the creaking of a falling tree that twisted and groaned as it broke and began to fall. Ashayna shook free of her Larnkin’s peculiar desires. Instinct gored her. She turned and ran. A clap of thunder rumbled across the camp, shaking the ground and heaving her off her feet.

  Flashes of magic, like forked lightning, bombarded the camp. One hit a poplar at the edge of the paddocks. The tree exploded in a burst of leaves and wood fragments. Horses screamed and bucked. A few horse archers pursued their mounts, while others simply tried to keep themselves and their mounts out of harm’s way. Closer at hand, a group of heavily armored men-at-arms were making their way to her position.

  Another bolt slammed through the abandoned line of tents, shredding or snapping everything in its path. The canvas of the nearest tent smoked around the edge of a substantial hole. By the haze curling out of the interior, it looked like magic could spawn true fire. Soldiers huddled on the ground, keeping their focus upon the arch, trying to estimate where the next strike would fall before they began moving forward again. A new, higher-pitched hum emanated from the arch.

  Kandarra dropped next to Ashayna, her wings flowing over the ground. “You should see your face.” The phoenix chuckled, her shoulders shaking with the force of her mirth. “Don’t worry, we’ve managed to protect everyone from the mage blasts that thing’s throwing, and by the sound of it, the Elders on the other side seem to be getting it under control.”

  Forks of lightning no longer arched across the camp. Maybe Kandarra was right. “What is it? What happened?”

  “That was a Gate. And your Larnkin destabilized it by accident. Unless you tried to assassinate my brother and other members of the delegation?”

  “No…no, I wouldn’t. I swear.” Would they believe her? She hadn’t known there were others on the other side of the gate. What if those Elementals thought it was an attack….

  “Relax, Kandarra is teasing.” Marsolwyn hunkered down next to them. “Your Larnkin is a youngling, just learning her strength. No doubt, she was curious about the Gate, and when she tried to explore it, lost control. Now hurry, toss your sword close to the Gate. Later we’ll claim its iron-tainted metal interfered with the Gate’s magic.”

  Ashayna did as instructed, if somewhat awkwardly. Her blade glittered in the light of the archway.

  Queen Marsolwyn nodded. “Now move towards the shelter of the tents. I’ll go delay the soldiers. Kandarra, stay with Ashayna and inform me if her Larnkin misbehaves again.”

  Ashayna boiled with questions, but Marsolwyn had already vanished. With little else to do, she allowed herself to be led to the nearest tent, the last in a line running along the curve of the river. The tent had withstood the wild magic with little damage, only the flag pole was missing.

  Near at hand, soldiers were organizing into ranks. Yet none noticed her standing in the shadows. She’d bet her favorite dagger Kandarra used magic to hide them. Exhausted, Ashayna rested her back against one of the tent’s support poles.

  The Gate shuddered once more, and as the fire within the arch vanished, a blur of indigo was expelled onto the ground a few paces away. With a sharp snap, the Gate disappeared. The lump on the ground shivered. Massive wings unfolded. Another phoenix had just joined their midst—somewhat against his wishes, Ashayna would bet. When he finally gained his feet, he shook his head with a hiss.

  Even over the distance, Ashayna heard his enraged tone. He remained where he was, his talons flexing in the soft earth, and one hand resting on a hilt of a sword encased in an ornate scabbard.

  No longer blinded by the Gate’s bright light, she could make out his features. Ashayna caught her breath, her heart dropping. She’d seen him before. Gems shone in his longest crest feathers. Gold glittered at his neck and circled his bare biceps and wrists. His high, finely honed cheekbones and a narrow blade of a nose reminded Ashayna of a bird of prey. Piercing blue-black raptor’s eyes, several shades darker than his feathers, surveyed the humans nearest him.

  Oh yes, Ashayna remembered him. The phoenix from her vision. Instantly her Larnkin stirred, dancing beneath her skin with a warmth as unsettling as it was pleasant.

  Something in her chest tightened until she couldn’t think. A burning sensation unfurled under her heart, spreading outward to travel down her arms. Heart racing, breath rasping, she fought both panic and her Larnkin’s grip. Her vision darkened, folding down to a narrow point. Her body became a vague and distant thing. Ashayna swallowed, realization hitting with the force of a hammer’s blow.

  Reunite…safety…home.

  The wordless communication, echoing up from some unknown source within her soul, scared her as nothing else had. Her Larnkin tried to force her to move forward. When force failed, it swamped her with feelings of peace and contentment. Her hand crept towards the necklace hidden in her vest without her consent. With an extreme act of will, she closed her fist and lowered her arm.

  “Not this time,” she told the magic and stomped it back down to where it belonged.

  “I’ve heard awakening Larnkins are temperamental. I think the elders understated the facts a bit.” Kandarra shook her head, disbelief in her eyes.

  “Nice time for a warning,” Ashayna snapped. She’d forgotten about Kandarra until then. Embarrassment and fear made her sharp. Kandarra seemed not to have noticed.

  “That’s my brother Sorntar, Crown Prince of the Phoenix.” Kandarra sounded distracted. She cocked her head, looking puzzled. “He doesn’t look pleased by your Larnkin’s impatience. In the future, it will be easier if you don’t fight your Larnkin. Maybe then she’d be more tactful.”

  “If I don’t fight, it will have me throwing myself at his feet.” She gestured at the crown prince. “I don’t even know what she wants. I don’t care. I’m not going to bow and scrape to him.” Ashayna wasn’t about to trust Kandarra, or the Larnkin. She wasn’t even sure if she could trust herself.

  Sorntar jerked his head to one side. Ashayna followed where he looked. Glittering in the torch light, her sword rested in the grass where Queen Marsolwyn had instructed her to toss it. Sorntar picked her blade up and studied it, seemingly unconcerned by soldiers closing in on all sides.

  Captain Nurrowford approached, shouting out orders to hold fire. The order came too late. A volley of arrows streaked towards Sorntar. The phoenix held his ground, a frown darkened his expression. An arm’s length from their target, the arrows ignited and burned to ash. Sorntar narrowed his eyes and focused on the archers with a deadly intent as he brushed a dusting of ash from his chest.

  The echo of his battle cry dying on the wind, Sorntar wrenched control from his Larnkin moments before it could decimate the enemy. Sword forgotten, his Larnkin focused its rage on the humans when they rained their arrows down on him. He launched into the air, desperate to escape their weaponry—and save any form of negotiations. Two fierce beats of his wings and he landed on an outcropping of rock thrusting out of the east bank.

  Rubbing powdery ash from his chest, he stared across the distance at the neat rows of tents. What had affected the Gate so deeply?

  Whatever it was had forced his Larnkin to absorb a vast amount of power, more than he could safely contain. The wild current of magic stripped away the little control Sorntar had left.

  His twin swords flashed silver in the darkness as he eased them from their scabbards. Blue flames blinked into being along the
ir lengths as the blades cleared their leathers, fiery tongues leaping higher to wrap around his forearms. Living entities, the fire crept along his body into his wings, his tail, his crest—until all was ablaze.

  He could feel his Larnkin stirring again, its instinctual need to protect foremost in its thoughts.

  “Not now. Please, let me deal with this.” Sorntar struggled to retain control. “There is no danger to me, be at peace. Sleep.”

  After a brief pause, his Larnkin relinquished its hold. With it resting, Sorntar refocused, channeling his magic into the ground. The stone under his talons buckled as fissures formed. Widening cracks spread across the ground, reaching deeper into the earth with each beat of his twin hearts. The surrounding ground ruptured and heaved, spitting a plume of molten rock far up into the air.

  Humans screamed, retreating from him. He dragged in a deep breath, inhaling the stink of their fear. His lips pulled back in a hiss, disgust rearing within him. They’d been quick to attack when he’d been unprepared. Now, when he was ready to face them, none wanted to challenge him. Another hiss rumbled in his chest.

  To attack without provocation, and then flee from an opponent…such cowardice.

  He shouldn’t be surprised. Humans were without honor, as the acolytes had proved well enough.

  These humans were no different than the acolytes—suspicious, close-minded, and unreasoning in their hatred of magic. Fools. If they wouldn’t coexist, then let them damn themselves. When he returned home, he would report as much to his mother. But he had a task to complete first. Where were his sisters?

  Raising one hand, he held it suspended above the ground at shoulder level, palm facing down and allowed his eyes to drift closed. With his fire raging around him, he was safe from mortal attack.

  Below him, the earth hummed with magic, awaiting his command. With a slow graceful movement, one that was part show on his part to stoke the humans fear higher, he turned his palm up. Magic answered his summons, crawling up from the fissures like a thick blue mist.