Remnants: Season of Fire

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

Kapriel caught my eye and gestured toward him. He wanted me to maneuver the man closer to the bars.

  I scurried to the left as the second soldier grabbed at me from the right, then bent low as the first swung his sword again. The tip swished through my hair. I needed a sword of my own or I’d be sliced and diced before this was over. I eyed the man still on the ground, gasping for breath. It was possible I’d crushed his windpipe. I had to physically push away the feelings of his panic, and kicked at my attacker. I connected with his stomach, then punched him. But as I reached for his sword, now held in a slack hand, the second man was up on his feet again and wrapped huge arms around me, lifting me from my feet.

  “There you go, woman. It’s over now,” he said. “Come along quietly and I’ll see that no more harm comes to you.” His words were sweet but his tone was smarmy, sticky in my ear. I had no doubt what would happen to me if he had me alone in a room, or worse, a cell. I pretended to relax, as if I was giving up, but as his tension eased, I rammed my head back into his nose.

  He immediately released me, groaning and backing up to the bars, his hand on his bleeding, broken nose, his mouth open in horror and anger.

  Kapriel reached through the bars, grabbed hold of his head, and took a curious hold where neck met shoulder. After a few seconds, the big man went down heavily, clearly unconscious.

  The second man drove toward the bars, enraged, sword extended. At the last possible second, Kapriel edged aside, took hold of the man’s arm, and swiftly pressed forward with all of his weight. The man screamed, and the sickening sound of bone breaking echoed against the stone walls. His sword skittered to the ground. The soldier went to his knees, his arm at such a terrible angle that he couldn’t extract it, essentially trapping him. He shrieked.

  Kapriel took the sword, tossed it to me, then reached through to take hold of the second man at the curve of his shoulder, sending him into merciful unconscious. His pitiful gasps and cries came to a stop and I dared to take a breath.

  “You’re going to have to teach me how you do that,” I panted.

  “Gladly,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been trying to reach them for some time. Turns out …” Kapriel’s words trailed off as he reached through to fumble along the belt of the man with the broken arm, and I smiled, seeing what he was after. He had been Kapriel’s jailor. And now Kapriel held up his keys. “I just needed you to distract them long enough to accomplish it.”

  The first man I’d hit in the throat was crawling toward the doorway.

  As I stared in his direction, I recognized his terror. I hurried over to him, gripped his feet and dragged him back across the stone floor and into an empty cell. He was too weak from lack of breath to put up any fight, but he was heavy. Once the door clanged shut and I latched the lock, I looked in on him, panting. “May the Maker preserve you, if you have a heart worth salvaging.”

  “Every soul is worth salvaging,” Kapriel said quietly beside me.

  I turned and smiled at him. “You’re free!”

  “With your help,” he said. He frowned and looked down at the growing red stain on my ivory gown. “How bad is your wound?”

  “Not too bad,” I said, ignoring the stinging pain. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are still outside.” The sounds of ongoing battle met us as we peered around the corner of the doorway from either side. We both had swords now, but Kapriel looked even worse in the light of day, and gray and sweaty from his efforts inside. He was a great deal lighter than his brother, all sinew and light muscle where his brother was brawn.

  I saw Keallach then and took a step farther out.

  He was battling Ronan. My knight. Our brothers and sisters had obviously freed him. One of Ronan’s eyes was swollen shut, and a deep purpling bruise colored his cheek, but he appeared anything but weak. I frowned as he drove Keallach backward with one fierce strike after another, all pent-up fury funneling toward its target.

  My eyes narrowed at his single-minded focus. His rage was fierce enough to make him want to kill Keallach.

  “Ronan!” I cried. “Don’t!” Keallach had done something … reprehensible. But he was one of us. Reachable. Redeemable. He wouldn’t hurt any of the Ailith, not lethally anyway. He couldn’t. He was one of us. “Ronan, stop!”

  Ronan cast a mad glance at me, eyebrows furrowed — ​did a double take, seeing me in the bloody Pacifican gown — ​and in that second, Keallach turned and pierced him, his strike as fluid and natural as if he’d practiced it a hundred times before.

  I screamed, my voice sounding distant and hollow to my own ears.

  Ronan sank to his knees and Kapriel shoved past me, moving toward his brother as Keallach pulled the sword free from Ronan’s shoulder, using his foot to pry it loose in time to meet his brother’s charge. He brought it up and around just in time, and the two battled back and forth. But I knew Kapriel wouldn’t last long, in his weakened state. Even now he faltered.

  Ronan was still on his knees, trying to rise again and falling. I hurried to him and came under his opposite arm. “Hold on, Ronan. Come. Just over here, against the short wall, behind you,” I directed. Clumsily, we got up and over to where I wanted. At least here no one could get behind us. I could defend Ronan.

  All the Ailith were in the courtyard and stairwell around us, fighting two gray-clad soldiers for every one of them, steadily driving them away from us. Tressa knelt on the other side of Ronan, praying, but largely distracted. One by one the others killed or wounded their adversaries, leaving only the twins, Kapriel and Keallach.

  Wordlessly, Tressa helped me get Ronan’s leather breastplate unstrapped and cut away the shoulder of his shirt to look at the wound. “Press here,” she said, placing a thick cloth in my hand and pushing it across the nasty gash.

  I did as she asked, but had to swallow back a wave of nausea when I felt Ronan’s pain. My own nick was long forgotten in the face of his terrible wound. He was pale, and the cords in his neck stuck out as Tressa examined his back, where the sword had exited. She pressed another cloth on the other side and leaned toward his face. “Ronan, how is your breathing? Did he get your lung?”

  Ronan breathed in and out slowly, once, twice, then shook his head.

  “Good, good,” she said soothingly. “You’ll heal up nicely, then.”

  Logically, I knew she was right, that with some stitches and rest, he’d likely be fine, in time. But seeing him there, bleeding, hurting — ​and clearly having suffered terrible abuse belowdecks — ​made me want to hurt someone else. I grabbed hold of the sword again and turned toward Keallach, striding toward him, even as he continued to battle his brother.

  He had to have known they were hurting Ronan. Sethos couldn’t have acted without the emperor’s approval, could he?

  The storm was on us, blowing my hair this way and that, and I felt a few droplets of rain. But I could see little other than the man who had so convinced me that he was one of us that I endangered my knight by coming to his defense. Had it all been an act? It was one thing to fool me with words; how could he have fooled me with his feelings?

  Red-hot fury seemed to fill me, then began to cool, like freshly forged iron thrust into a river. Keallach nicked Kapriel with his sword and I broke into a charge, determined that Kapriel not be further injured.

  It was then that Sethos jumped from the rooftop above us, landing in a crouch, directly in my path.

  Two other Sheolites landed beside their master, and it was only because I knew the rest of the Ailith were turning toward me that in that moment I didn’t turn tail and run. But together, we are strong. I repeated it over and over in my mind.

  Sethos rose, his crimson robes plastering against his side in the fierce wind. My heart pounded in fear as his wrath seeped toward me, surrounding me, tangling with my own fury. Choking me … once again, opening something dark and insidious within …

  Behind him, Keallach whirled and struck his brother. Kapriel fell, clutching his upper arm and I saw his sword clatter to the cobblesto
nes.

  “No! Kapriel!” I cried.

  Together, we attacked the Sheolites, and nearly overcame them, when I saw Keallach raise a hand toward us, palm out. He clutched his chest and dropped his head. A second later, it was if we all had hit a brick wall. As one, we crumpled or fell backward. My head slammed to the stones and my vision tunneled toward black for a moment, then cleared. Only Killian and Bellona managed to hold on to their swords and leap back to their feet, blocking the oncoming Sheolite scouts.

  Sethos advanced on me, but Ronan labored to his feet and stepped in his path. “You shall not have her,” he bit out as I still struggled to rise.

  “We shall see,” Sethos returned fiercely, whirling and striking in one fearsomely powerful move.

  Ronan narrowly blocked his blow, the metal clanging and scraping as the swords separated. Again and again, Ronan parried, but just barely. I wearily lifted my sword, intent on going to his aid and driving Sethos back, when I saw Kapriel drop, eyes wide and to the sky, lips moving in silent prayer. He lifted his arms, palms up, and Keallach turned on him, his face an angry sneer.

  “Kapriel!” I screamed, my voice distant and slow to my own ears. Rain pelted us, so hard it felt as if each droplet was piercing, more like hail than rain. It came so hard and so fast that the stones at our feet became slippery, awash in water, blood trailing from bodies on the ground, red rivulets making their way toward the stairs in tiny, ghoulish waterfalls.

  Keallach staggered against the sheets of rain, blinking repeatedly to try and see his adversary, but a great wind blew us all to the side, and he stumbled, lost his footing, then came down heavily on one hip.

  I fell, rolled, and rolled again, shoved by the wind like a tumbleweed until I was lodged against the far wall. I watched the water in the courtyard before me clearly seeing the swirling motion. I looked up, blinking against the heavy rain. It was as if a small cyclone arose from it, and at its center were Sethos and the two scouts, with Keallach at their feet. They were glaring at his brother, then us.

  They’re in the eye of the storm, I thought, trying to make sense of it. But the small storm moved, herding them, in effect, closer and closer to the prison doorway. The rest of us regained our feet and followed behind, finding it difficult to believe what we were seeing. But when the small funnel turned into a massive blast that sent our enemies somersaulting inside, we charged after them.

  Inside, the men seem dazed and out of breath. We quickly took hold of them and slammed them inside Kapriel’s old cell.

  “See how you like being left in here,” I said to Keallach.

  He rushed toward the bars, all trace of the deadly fury I’d seen moments before now gone. “Andriana, you don’t understand. There’s still so much I need to explain.”

  I backed away, trying to ignore the pain and loss within him that muddled the sheer loathing I’d felt toward him a moment ago. “We leave you to the Maker’s mercy,” I muttered. With that, I strode out.

  “Andriana!” he cried. “Wait! Andriana!”

  But I managed to ignore him. If he was to be redeemed, it would have to be later. Our immediate call was to get Kapriel to safety. Every one of us knew it.

  Outside, we found the prince curled up on the wet stones, eyes closed. Ronan was beside him, on his knees. Above us, the sky was clearing, the clouds lifting before our eyes. Here and there, shafts of sunlight met the sea.

  “Kapriel,” I said, kneeling beside them. I took his hand but it was cold and lifeless.

  His eyes rolled as Tressa turned him to his back, his head in her lap. She leaned forward to put her ear to his mouth, and her mass of auburn curls hid them for a moment. “He breathes,” she said briskly, straightening, feeling for a pulse at his neck, and I think we all took a collective breath with him.

  “Was it too much?” Vidar asked. “Him using his gifting to such a level, before he received the blessing?”

  Shouts from inside the prison echoed out to us, but we ignored them.

  Kapriel coughed, closed his eyes, then coughed again — ​so hard it turned to retching — ​then rolled back, gasping. When he opened his eyes, he looked about at each of our faces encircling him, then slowly grinned. “It’s all right. Help me rise,” he said, his voice raspy.

  Vidar reached forward, took his hand, and helped him to his feet. The two stared at each other for a long moment, then briefly embraced. “I’m Vidar,” he said, thumping Kapriel on the back.

  I came up under Ronan’s arm, preparing to help him down the stairs, when Kapriel reached us. “She is special, this one,” he said to Ronan, wanly gripping his arm.

  “I know,” Ronan said, a tiny smile edging his lips. His good eye shifted to me, then back to our new brother. “I am Ronan.” The others quickly introduced themselves.

  “Come, my friends,” Kapriel said. “We must make haste. If we make our escape on Keallach’s ship before word reaches the mainland that there has been trouble here, we may be able to disappear.”

  “I’m afraid the Far North isn’t in working order,” Bellona said with an impish smile that betrayed a dimple on her normally sober face. She and Vidar shared a sly look that told me they’d laid waste to the ship’s engines. “We’ll need alternate transportation.”

  “And I think we have it,” Chaza’el said, looking over the wall. Ronan and I stepped up beside him and looked down to the churning ocean, a brilliant turquoise under the bright, sudden sun. I squinted down at the long, sleek motorboat, wondering if I could trust my eyes.

  “Am I seeing things?” I whispered. “Is that …” I couldn’t bear to say his name, raise their hopes, in case I was wrong.

  “You’re not,” Ronan said with a grin. “It’s him!”

  CHAPTER

  6

  ANDRIANA

  Raniero. I let out a breathy, shocked laugh as Vidar hooted and Bellona and Tressa shouted his name.

  Killian tied a quick knot in a thick rope and sent the heavy coils over the side. My stomach sank. I wanted to get down to the beach as fast as anyone. But did we really have to do it this way? Ronan’s hand covered my arm. Looking up at his handsome face, marred by the obvious beatings he’d taken, I felt more cowardly than ever.

  “It’s stupid, Ronan,” I began.

  “Hey,” he said, interrupting. “It’s just part of you, for now. Not that you won’t ever get past it …”

  His good eye met mine and we shared a rueful smile. “All right,” he amended. “Maybe you won’t ever get past it. But we can deal with it.” His warm, full lips curved into a smile and he winced, just as I saw the crack at the corner, shedding fresh blood.

  I eyed the curving stone road we’d taken up here from the harbor. “Can’t Niero meet us at the docks?”

  Ronan shook his head quickly. “Ah, we took out a fair number of the soldiers down there, and the rest are trying to save the Far North from sinking. But we want them to stay focused on that, rather than head up here to see what’s taking the others so long, right? Buy us time to get away.”

  I nodded, silently cursing my odd fear of heights. If the Maker was going to gift us, why saddle us with something else that might endanger the group? Bellona passed by us, guessing what was going on, and gave me a dubious look.

  And why was it that I had to have the handicap?

  “Ignore her,” Ronan said, squeezing my arm. “Look at me.”

  “I can’t,” I said, facing him in misery. “All I see is the beating you obviously took. While I was free.”

  I tried to ignore my stomach twisting as Bellona casually dropped over the wall with Vidar right behind her. Then Killian and Tressa were next.

  “Look at me,” Ronan growled.

  I looked up into his good eye, so tender with love, and it made me both want to laugh and cry at the same time.

  He smiled and then winced again. “There. That. Hold on to that, Andriana. Hopefully that will keep you distracted for the time it takes for me to get you down.”

  “But Ronan, your
wound. You can barely get yourself down with one good arm. You can’t —”

  “Andriana,” he interrupted. “I have you. Think no more of it.”

  I nodded and looked down as he turned, unwilling for him to see my face and guess my doubt. But I tried really hard as he crouched down to let me climb on his back. I wrapped my arms over his massive shoulders, trying to avoid his right side, clasping my hands tightly under his chin and clenching his hips with my legs.

  “Yes, good,” he said, patting my leg. “If you can keep most of your weight centered there, around my hips, it’ll help.”

  Then he was up on the wall, turning and dropping, rappelling down the side of the prison that had looked so fearfully high from down below when we sailed in. No, I told myself. Stop thinking about your fear. Think about good things. Concentrate on Ronan, as he said. His love, his crazy-fierce devotion. His love! He loves me!

  And then we were down on the ragged, black rocks, crashing waves sending a fine mist over us. Killian gently lifting me off of Ronan’s back and supported me when my trembling legs threatened to give out. Ronan turned and gave me a tremulous smile as he loosed the ropes. I could see what it had cost him, this last effort, when he hurt so. We dived shallowly into the water, and swam out to the boat, Killian helping Ronan along. “Him first,” I insisted, scared that Ronan was so weak he might drown right there beside us. Killian scrambled in, and together with Raniero, leaned down, grabbed hold of Ronan, and heaved him up and in. It was only then that Ronan cried out. It was a gasping, guttural cry.

  Vidar and Bellona grasped my arms and effortlessly lifted me in, and then Raniero was before me. It was really him. Alive. Well. “Niero!” I fell into his burly arms, inhaling the dry, strong scent of him, feeling my limp legs gain instant strength.

  After a moment, I made myself step away and look at him. Fading bruises were still visible, even on his mahogany skin. Killian wrapped a blanket around me, and I realized I was shivering and that the ripped, wet Pacifican gown left little to hide. But I was too wrapped up in Niero’s miraculous appearance to worry. “How, Niero? How did you get away?”