“To what? A mystical being that controls all destiny? Please. Elos and Ruul may not be gods, but they’re closer to it than the one you believe in. Abyss, even you and I are closer.”
“How do you—?”
Vashodia raised a hand, silencing her. Jasside lifted her head to peer down the trail.
Their argument, if it could be called that, had stemmed from boredom. They’d been lying in wait nearly half a day now and were soaked to the bone from the incessant rainfall. A crossroads lay farther up the path, and they didn’t know which way the convoy would turn. This was the best ambush site for leagues around.
After the capture of Ongshaith, the war had taken a drastic turn. Coalition forces were on the defensive for the first time since the inception of the conflict. The absolute surrender of the Phelupari forces aided things considerably. They’d handled the vast majority of logistics for the Panisians, able to carry small, untraceable loads on their backs over vast distances. Without them, the opposition had been forced to move supplies in more direct manners.
Control spiraled out of enemy hands faster every day, landing neatly in King Chase’s lap. His army now burst at the seams with new recruits as more souls were freed from bondage, and those long given over to despair found the spark of hope once more. All thanks to a little mercy, a little kindness, shown to a single Phelupari man.
A fact Vashodia refused to acknowledge.
But that had been another debate, and now was time to focus on the present. “There,” Jasside said, as the first scout came into view. His horse plodded along the road, hoof falls muted by the soaked ground and by a million raindrops impacting the trees around them every beat. A whiff of sweat and mildew reached Jasside’s nose on the next gust of wind.
“They’ve been on the trail awhile now,” Jasside observed. “Pushing hard to make up for the loss of their Phelupari assets, most likely.”
“Or to avoid us,” Vashodia said. “How many convoys will this make? Seven? Eight?”
“Nine. You were right about those sensing trinkets. It was a week well spent, laying them along all the major routes. Not a one has slipped through.”
“And none will.”
“Unless they get smart about our tactics. Look.”
A pair of scouts on foot came a hundred paces behind the first. Another hundred behind them, three more mounted men, still with no sign of the caravan.
“They’re adjusting to us,” Jasside said.
“It figures,” Vashodia said with a sigh. “That’s what we get when you insist on leaving survivors.”
“You also get a cleaner soul. War is an ugly thing already. No need to drag claws through its face after kicking it to the ground.”
Surprisingly, Vashodia had no retort to this, appearing almost thoughtful at the remark. Jasside decided to check her food bag later for psychotropic mushrooms because she knew she had to be hallucinating.
“We’ll have to split up,” Vashodia said, as if the sheer inconvenience of the idea were an affront to her character. “I’ll corral the front half if you’ll be so kind as to assault the back.”
Jasside nodded. Without further delay, she melted into the woods, paralleling the road just close enough to keep it in sight. The mist and shadows worked wonders for keeping her concealed, even on the move, and she had enough experience in the woods to avoid cracking branches or rustling bushes. She had little fear of being spotted.
Yet, a tingle of unease managed to worm its way through her anyway. She knew immediately what was causing it: Daye. Or, rather, his absence.
He’d rejoined his brother at Ongshaith, after Vashodia made it clear he would no longer be needed to babysit them. He’d been a comforting presence on their campaign, a stolid, dependable companion. Jasside didn’t realize how much she’d missed him until now.
Lost in thoughts of him, it was almost no surprise when she stumbled into someone.
She pressed a hand to her eyebrow, nursing a blaze of pain after hitting something hard. Stars swam in her sight. A figure stood tall before her, murky in the mists. A Panisian woman—a soldier—one hand wrenching her sword free from its sheath.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” the woman said.
Too stunned not to answer, Jasside said, “One of whom?”
“One of them witches we’ve been hearing about.” The woman took a step forward, raising her blade. “They’ll give me a tower for killing you.”
Jasside staggered backwards. She caught her heel on a root and fell flat, slamming into the damp soil and losing her air. Vision narrowed. All thoughts of energizing vanished as she clawed for mere breath. The soldier lunged at her.
After all I’ve been through, is this how it ends?
Jasside could only watch as the blade tip cut through the air towards her chest. The woman’s face loomed over her in the gloom, painted with an expression of fear mixed with hatred and manic joy. It wasn’t a lot to go on, but Jasside decided she didn’t much like the woman.
And my death will not come at her hands.
Jasside rolled. Sharp steel sliced past her arm, thunking into the ground.
She pushed herself up.
The soldier tugged at the sword.
Jasside stepped back, drawing a breath and energizing. The woman freed her blade, screamed, and swung.
It wasn’t hard to make her decision.
Jasside lifted a hand. A black web of energy belched forward, shredding the soldier to ribbons. Steaming chunks ran red as they sloshed into a pile at her feet.
She groaned a sigh of relief.
Shouts rang out behind her, along with spouts of energy both familiar and not.
Jasside raced towards the road, sure that during her skirmish the caravan had come abreast of her position if not farther. She energized to capacity, bursting and ready—this time—for anything. Skidding to a halt at the top of a knoll, she leaned around a tree and peered at the road below.
Though broken by trunks and branches, she could easily make out the scene. A score of wagons stretched out along the slick, muddy path. Figures raced to the front, fifty at least. Beams of pure darkness shot out from ahead of them, pulsing like a staccato drumbeat, each searing a hole into a single man and no more. Vashodia was being precise today.
Enemy soldiers fell before the onslaught of dark energy. One had managed to draw his bow before being caught in a beam. The arrow went wild, flying just over Jasside’s head and striking a trunk behind her, exploding in a shower of charred bark and kindling.
Jasside winced, covering her eyes to protect from the flash. Heat singed the edges of her robes, and splinters embedded in her arm and leg. Wincing, she quickly pried half a dozen wooden shards out of her flesh, then turned back to the road.
Just in time, too. Another group rushed Vashodia, whom Jasside could now see strolling up the road in the fog. Six bowmen had charged up the knoll and now took aim for the mierothi. At this range, they could hardly miss.
Jasside swept an arm across. Darkness scythed out, chopping through each archer at the waist. Intestines crackled with shadows, bursting from bodies that tumbled in two different directions and filling the air with a stench that made her gag. Four screams erupted from the enemy soldiers, thankfully short-lived as life and breath expired.
She looked towards the wagons again. Immediately, she noticed something new. Something that had not been present on any other convoy.
Cages.
They were attached to the sides of each wagon. Iron bars barely big enough to fit the man or woman of child tucked inside it, all Sceptrine by the looks of them. Human shields—just like they had used in Ongshaith. A foul way to ward against attack. Jasside’s stomach lurched at the sight. They all looked to be in bad shape. Malnourished and dehydrated for sure, and likely tortured; her heart went out to them. At least, with her arrival, their s
uffering would find an end.
It’s a good thing Vashodia is being discreet with her castings. Otherwise—
The caravan exploded.
All twenty wagons erupted at the same moment with a pulse of sorcerous energy. She fell to her knees, red flames filling her eyes. Some wordless cry sprang from her throat. Tears flowed like lava down her cheeks.
Heat welled up inside her, and she stifled her anguish with anger, stalking forward at nearly a run. In beats, she drew close to Vashodia.
“How could you!” Jasside said, pointing a finger at her mistress. “Didn’t you see the cages? Those were people in there. People! That has to matter, even to you!”
The mierothi waved smoke out of her eyes and shrugged. “Wasn’t me.”
“It doesn’t ma—” Jasside jerked her head back. “Wait, what do you mean?”
“Weren’t you paying attention? The energy that caused this—what was its source? Certainly not darkness.”
“If not us, then . . .” Jasside spun questing out with her senses. It took only a beat to find the other caster.
She aimed towards the trace and shadow-dashed forward. A wide-eyed man greeted her landing, cowering as she approached. He threw up a shield of light. Jasside swept it aside with a blast of her own energy, too angry for a subtle untangling. The caster plopped face-first into the mud. He lifted his head.
Jasside punched it.
“Why?” she said.
“Orders!” he cried.
“From who?”
“From Panisahldron. Can’t let you witches capture any more cargo. Better to destroy it than let it fall into enemy hands.”
“And your prisoners along with it?”
His eyes flared with fear. “Collateral damage.”
She screamed, punching his head again.
And again.
He started to energize, and she smothered him with a blanket of darkness, blotting out his light like snuffing a candle. Strange sounds emanated from his throat.
Vashodia came up behind her. “Well, well. It seems we found our culprit. A rather wretched creature, wouldn’t you say? You will, of course, end his life in the most painful way possible.”
Jasside took a deep breath, willing herself to calmness, to sanity. In a way, she had Vashodia’s demand to thank for that. She shook her head. “No.”
“No?” Vashodia giggled. “Why not? If ever a man could be found guilty of crimes in war, surely this pathetic mess before us qualifies.”
“Exactly. Which is why we’re taking him to Chase.” Jasside gazed down at the man, raindrops dripping from her nose. “He’ll get a king’s justice.”
Still, she punched him one last time.
Just in case.
Arivana pressed her face to the corner, one eye glued down the dim stone hall. She hated waiting. Hated being useless. They were only here because she had insisted, yet she had the smallest part to play in their success. Really, no part at all. She punched the wall in frustration.
“Worried?” Tassariel said from just behind her.
Arivana sighed. “About many things.”
“Such as?”
“What we’re doing here, to start.”
The valynkar patted her shoulder. “Your handmaiden may not be the most beautiful or charming woman around, but she has a certain . . . force, I guess you could say. And she’s also quite the actress. She’ll do just fine with her task.”
“Yes, but once we are inside . . .”
“Then my skills will come into play. And trust me, there are few alive in the world who are my equal.”
“I know. I mean, we’re counting on that, after all. But—”
“You’re still worried.”
“Yes.”
“About what you’re going to say.”
“Yes. That, and Tior.”
“Your minister? What about him?”
“He’s been acting strange lately. Angry. Almost uncontrollably so. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
“Did he say what it was about?”
Arivana shrugged. “Something about the war, maybe. He’s hidden the details from me, but recent developments have worried him. I don’t think it’s going very well.”
Tassariel did not answer for a time. Arivana eventually felt the need to stop staring down the hall and turned her head to peer up at the valynkar. The woman’s eyes seemed glazed over, yet she held a thoughtful, intense expression on her face. Almost as if she were wrestling with her own mind.
“Are you well?” Arivana asked.
Tassariel shivered, shaking her head as her eyes came into focus. “What? No, I’m fine. Let’s just keep watch, all right?”
“Of course.”
Arivana returned to her lookout. She didn’t have long to wait before a silk scarf sailed into the hall, falling into a patch of light cast by one of the few lightglobes present.
“There’s the signal,” she said.
“About time.” Tassariel stepped past her. “Stay behind me. And keep your feet light!”
Arivana obeyed as well as she could. Even though she moved as quietly as possible at the valynkar’s heels, she couldn’t help feeling clumsy behind the woman’s balance and poise. As they approached the opening where the scarf came from, she started to hear soft chatter and smelled the savory aroma of freshly baked peach pie. It was the keeper’s favorite. Flumere blocked the doorway to the guard shack, her merry voice encouraging the occupants inside to eat up. Behind her back she held a key.
Tassariel snatched it without slowing. Arivana’s heart thrummed as they passed the light spilling out from the shack, but no cries of alarm chased them down the remainder of the hall. She had no time to calm as they drew up before a surprisingly nondescript metal door.
Arivana had expected the entrance to the black dungeons to be, somehow, more menacing.
“Here we go,” whispered Tassariel.
She placed the key in the lock and began to rotate it, a full breath taken between each quarter turn. The creak of the lock mechanism seemed barely louder than a mouse’s footfalls, but Arivana cringed all the same. She didn’t have a plan in case they got caught other than saying, “I’m the queen.”
She wasn’t certain that would mean a whole lot considering she was technically breaking the law.
At last, the lock clicked open. Tassariel pulled on the handle, and the door swung with only the faintest squeal. Thank goodness they stay diligent enough to oil the hinges.
They slipped inside. Arivana pulled a strip of leather and wedged it between the door and the frame behind her, keeping it barely open. Flumere had suggested it, figuring they’d likely need a hasty exit and wouldn’t have to time to fish for the keys again.
Turning from her task, Arivana was greeted by near-total darkness. “What the abyss?” she said. “How are we supposed to find our way in this? We’ll get lost, trapped down here forever!”
“Calm down,” Tassariel said. “Give it a mark, and your eyes will adjust.”
“We don’t have that kind of time!”
A hand grasped her own in the darkness. Arivana jerked at the touch, but Tassariel’s firm grip soon helped to calm her.
“I’ll keep hold of you,” Tassariel said. “If I let go, I want you to tuck down and make yourself small until I come back for you.”
“What if you never do?”
“I will. I promise.”
There was a firmness—a confidence—in the valynkar’s voice that helped Arivana’s resolve. Still, she sighed, trying not to let the fear show in her voice. “Let’s go.”
Led by the arm, she let herself be dragged through several turns. Hopeless, now, to find her way back out on her own, her panic rose further. The darkness seemed complete. Foul sounds and even worse smells radiated from every cell
they passed. Her mind filled in the gaps left by her blindness, surrounding her with nightmares.
They stopped at a corner. Arivana pressed herself against a wall and immediately regretted it. Something slimy coated her back. A whiff of the stuff made her gag.
“Shh,” Tassariel whispered.
“Sorry,” Arivana replied. “Why did we stop?”
“Roaming guards.”
“How can they even see in here? How can you?”
“I can’t. I memorized the layout of the place last night. And I’ve trained myself to hear and feel and even taste my way in places where sight fails. I suspect the guards are similarly disciplined. I sense no sorcery at work.”
Arivana steeled herself to patience, yet it still took what seemed like tolls before Tassariel tugged her into motion once more.
They turned three more times but encountered no more roamers. Arivana almost let herself relax. Though she still kept expecting her eyes to adjust, the dark remained complete, and the valynkar’s sure grasp was the only thing keeping her from screaming.
“If the position I gleaned from commune is accurate,” Tassariel said, “the cell is up ahead.”
“Good. I don’t think I could take much more of this.”
“It is rather gloomy, I supp—”
Arivana heard a dull smack and bumped her face into the center of Tassariel’s back. The grip on her hand released.
She crouched, then rolled out of the way. Ending up on her side, Arivana balled herself up on the cold, grimy floor, as a struggle broke out all around her. Meaty slaps were followed by sharp grunts of pain—many with a decidedly female timbre. Gasps rang out. Something snapped like branches, once, twice. Wet crunching, and warm fluid splashed across her face. Arivana wrapped her arms over her head, failing to stifle her whimper.
At last, the noise dwindled until only heavy breathing and muffled thumps remained. The thumps grew weaker, then fell off entirely. A large body slumped to the ground beside her.
Shadow of the Void Page 32
