Sacrifice

by Vicky Walklate

  Meanwhile, Gharrick shifted back to human. His clothing was shredded, his body covered with bruises and lacerations. After sending one sentry to the castle with a message and ordering the other to stand guard at the entrance, he limped over to Brand. He said nothing for several minutes, allowing the captain to concentrate.

  Libby remained voiceless, paralyzed at the evening’s events, tears trickling down her cheeks. Why had Mhaljett lost control in such a terrible way? How had she harnessed the power of the two amulets around her neck to attack Gharrick? Nothing like that had ever happened to her in her life. Magic was a mysterious tool wielded by individuals much more powerful than herself. Unanswerable questions flooded her mind, mixed with the memories of battle and death.

  Finally, Brand sat back on his haunches, his hands and forearms covered in blood.

  “How bad is it?” Gharrick asked.

  The captain grunted. “The blade missed his heart. The bleeding has lessened, but he’ll need his amulet to heal. Hence why I said to bring the girl. The ritual must be completed.”

  She trembled as both men glanced at her.

  “Here?” Doubt colored Gharrick’s question.

  “I’m not sure. I had to get them away. Whatever illness afflicted our Lord Mhaljett, he showed no signs of relenting.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Mhaljett attacked his brothers.” Gharrick sounded stunned.

  Brand bowed his head. “Yes.”

  “What madness would make him do such a thing, Captain?”

  “I don’t know, but I must return to Trivium and find out. Stay here and protect Lord Rhetahn until Jahda arrives. She will wait with you until he awakens.”

  Gharrick’s uneasy gaze swiveled back to Libby. “Sir...the girl—”

  “What of her?” The captain rose with difficulty. His shirt was ripped and stained dark crimson. More blood matted his hair and beard. His pants were torn on one leg, revealing a jagged wound on his thigh, and his sash was gone.

  “She used magic,” Gharrick said, in a rush.

  Brand stared. “Magic?”

  “When I apprehended her. She sent me halfway across the tower.”

  She met Brand’s narrow-eyed stare and clutched the two amulets, trying to radiate confidence, like she utilized magic talismans every day.

  “Impossible.” The captain took a step toward her.

  She fumbled to her feet. “Stay away. I mean it. I’ll hurt you.”

  “By all means, try.”

  Flicking her wrists, she tried to replicate her earlier attack. Nothing happened.

  Brand took another pace forward. Fear careened through her body and a white light cartwheeled from her hand, smashing into the warrior full force. He flew backward into the shelves, sending food and supplies in every direction.

  She glared at Gharrick, who drew his sword. The sentry at the entrance gaped. Brand staggered back to his feet, blood trickling from his mouth. He unsheathed his own sword with intent.

  Magic crackled as she raised her hands again.

  “Stop!”

  The guttural order made everyone freeze. Rhetahn raised himself on one shaking elbow, his skin ashen and his body tense. The bandages on his chest were sodden, crimson rags, and blood seeped from the stab wound.

  Libby gaped. How could he be conscious so soon after such a dreadful injury?

  “The girl has worn the amulets too long.” His rasping voice was so different from the smooth tones of earlier, she flinched. “They are defending themselves, using her body as a weapon. She must remove them by choice.” His cold gaze fixed on her. “Take them off, girl.”

  His command was unquestionable and absolute. Her hands rose slowly to the thin, gold chains around her neck, then she hesitated.

  “What will happen if I do?” She hid her shock at her own daring.

  “When you do,” the god growled, “I will put on my amulet and we will return to Trivium to complete the ritual.”

  “To kill me, you mean.”

  His stare bored into her. “You forget yourself, human. You were given to me by your people. Your life is mine to do with as I choose, and I choose to end it.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Rhetahn pressed his lips together. Brand, Gharrick, and the sentry gawked.

  Magic sizzled in her fingers and the talismans tingled against her chest. “If you want to kill me, come over here and try.”

  The god sat up, his muscles shaking with effort. The makeshift compresses fell from his body, revealing the wound underneath. Blood congealed in the narrow laceration, and the beginnings of a huge, purplish-blue bruise were visible even in the dim light. Exhaustion was written all over him; nevertheless, he fixed her with another glare. She managed to keep her hands up, wishing she was wearing anything other than the delicate gown and silly shoes.

  A gust of wind rocketed around the cave and the amber dragon Jahda glided inside. Everyone ducked as she landed in the center and folded her wings. She transformed into her athletic form, complete with sword on her hip. The sentry who fetched her landed behind her, shifted, and resumed his place next to his partner.

  Jahda bowed in front of Rhetahn. “Lord. I am relieved to find you well.”

  “‘Well’ might be an overstatement, Lieutenant Jahda. What news of my brothers?”

  “Lord Mhaljett ran roughshod through the castle after your departure. Many good soldiers are dead, my lord, along with several servants. He was subsequently...appeased...and is now unconscious in the throne room.”

  “And Storren?”

  If Libby hadn’t been watching closely, she would have missed Rhetahn’s flicker of dread.

  Jahda took a deep breath. “We could not revive him. The blade struck his heart. Perhaps if he’d been wearing his amulet, he would have summoned enough power to pull through...”

  Sorrow rose in a tangible wave. The shifters hung their heads. Rhetahn seemed unable to speak. Even Libby could barely comprehend the cheerful, allegedly immortal god was gone.

  “How was Lord Mhaljett appeased?” Brand’s question was quiet.

  “A female, sir.”

  A cold hand squeezed Libby’s heart when she remembered Summer fleeing from the enraged god and Mhiri broken at his feet. “Which female?”

  Jahda’s hostility was palpable, but she deigned to answer. “A courtesan, I was told. I didn’t see her myself.”

  Exhaling, Libby slumped against the cave wall. Not Summer, or Mhiri.

  “What aren’t you telling us, Jahda?” Gharrick demanded.

  The woman shuffled her feet. “Lord Mhaljett—he—”

  “He what?” Rhetahn snapped.

  Jahda flinched. “He cloaked her.”

  Silence resounded in the cave again. Libby looked from one shifter to another. The god clenched his jaw, his skin paling even more. Brand and Gharrick stared at the floor. The sentries glanced darkly at each other as Jahda hung her head, her beaded braids rattling.

  Rhetahn cleared his throat. “Does she live?”

  “I don’t know. She shifted back to human, at least. No one can get close without risking Mhaljett awakening. We dare not try until your return.”

  “What does that mean, he cloaked her?” Libby demanded.

  The shifters’ attention swiveled back to her, like they’d forgotten she existed. She quaked, raising her hands again and causing the magic to spark between her fingers.

  “I must get back to Trivium,” the god said. “I must be there when Mhaljett awakens. Whatever insanity has struck him, I can help him conquer it once we have completed the ritual and regained our full strength.”

  Gharrick raised his hand. “What if he tries to kill you again Lord?”

  “I have to risk it.” Rhetahn swung his icy gaze to Libby. “Sacrifice, stop this charade and accept your fate. There is no greater honor than to die at my hand.”

  She shook her head. Her pious compliance of earlier vanished. She was cold, frightened, and exhausted but she’d fe
nded off two warriors already and her will to live grew stronger every minute. All she wanted to do, was go home.

  His breath hissed outward. “You’re trying my patience, human.”

  He flicked a glance at Brand. At the unspoken decree, the captain, Gharrick and Jahda formed a line opposite her. Two swords were already drawn. A whisper of steel signified Jahda joining the men.

  Libby gulped. Magic sizzled in her palm, although it wouldn’t aid her survival against the skilled warriors for long.

  Brand pointed his sword at her. “Last chance, girl.”

  “Sir! Sir!”

  The hushed, urgent voices of the sentries made everyone stiffen.

  “What is it?” Rhetahn’s impatience was obvious.

  “Lights, my lord.” One guard peered into the darkness beyond the cave. “Lights in the valley below us.”

  Brand strode to the entrance. Gharrick and Jahda remained in place, eyeballing Libby with dislike. Through sheer stubbornness, she kept her gaze on them, magic creeping across her fingers as if exploring its new home.

  After a few moments, the captain cursed under his breath and gestured for the sentries to extinguish the external torches and campfire.

  “A patrol, Lord,” he said. “Probably nothing, but with you in your current state—”

  “Agreed. We should investigate. Can one of your soldiers get close without being spotted?”

  “Jahda,” Brand said at once.

  The tall woman turned from Libby, mist forming around her body. Within seconds, her dragon form emerged, wings held tight against her leathery bulk, her tail quivering. She stalked to the cave entrance and took off with one flap of her powerful wings, stones sliding down the mountainside in her wake. Gharrick followed her path to stand by the smoking remains of the fire, re-sheathing his sword but keeping one hand on the hilt.

  Libby was left alone with Rhetahn and Brand. The captain hurried from torch to torch, extinguishing all bar two at the back. Unbidden, her gaze drifted to the man on the rickety cot. He bowed his head and took a shaking breath, and she glimpsed the heartbroken brother underneath the aloof, untouchable god.

  Despite everything, her sympathy rose. She kept silent, though. What could she say to help, other than agreeing to die?

  Guilt hit her like a missile from a catapult. Was her refusal to capitulate brave or selfish? Until today, she’d been a humble, devoted supplicant of The Three, even accepting her death as an honor when she’d knelt before them in the throne room. What changed? It wasn’t the agony she suffered under Rhetahn’s dagger, or the callousness of the rite, or her utter helplessness trapped on the altar. Or even the gods’ boredom and disinterest when they blessed her.

  No, it was Mhaljett’s eyes. His considering, triumphant countenance when he’d stared at her. She’d never seen evil, yet she recognized it, even prior to him stabbing his brothers in cold blood. God or not, they would have to knock her senseless to get her near him again.

  She glanced down at her chest, wincing at the bloodstains on the gown. To her surprise, the wound had healed much faster than she’d expected. Angry red lines in the shape of Rhetahn’s kite symbol remained, but it was crusting over now. Even the gold chains attached to the amulets caused no pain when they brushed against it. The talismans themselves nestled below the wound. She skimmed her fingertips across them in wonder. Was it them accelerating her healing?

  “Could it be dwarves?” The sentry’s whispered question skittered across the cave. “Or ground shifters?”

  “Dwarves rarely venture to the surface after dark,” Rhetahn said, seeming glad of the distraction. “Too many nocturnal predators have a taste for them. And ground shifters don’t need lights, patrols tend to travel in animal form to enhance their senses.”

  That was interesting. She was wondering if he’d answer more questions about the other Shifterland races, when a gust of wind signaled Jahda’s return. The dragon swept into the cave; her landing much less elegant than last time.

  She was drawing her sword and talking in a hushed growl as the transforming mist evaporated. “Lord, we need to get you out of here. We must leave, right now.”

  “What is it?” Brand demanded.

  “I didn’t go too close and stayed as silent as I could, but I think they saw me.”

  “Who?”

  Jahda’s voice filled with disbelief. “Demons, sir. There are demons in the valley.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Shit.” Brand’s curse was muttered and heartfelt.

  “They can’t be demons.” Gharrick crept back into the shelter. “They haven’t entered the Shifterlands since the day they were exiled. They’ve attacked the borders but never—”

  “I saw at least eight horned creatures with dappled skin and tails. I’ve not seen demons since we defeated the assault on the Juradia Marshes last century, yet I’m positive that’s what they are. We need to get out. We’re sitting ducks in here.”

  “It’s too late.” One of the sentries drew his sword. “Listen.”

  The distant sound of boots scraping on rock was unmistakable.

  Rhetahn rose from the cot, his face creased in pain. “There’s no time to finish the ritual or for everyone to escape this cave. Somebody give me a weapon.”

  Brand placed a hand on the god’s shoulder. “You’re in no condition to fight.”

  “I have no choice.”

  Frozen in place, Libby could scarcely comprehend the urgent murmurs. Tales had been told for centuries of the malevolent beasts that formerly ruled the realm. Children were warned if they misbehaved, demons would sneak from Nightspur Island and snatch them from their beds. Even sorcerers feared the monsters who channeled dark magic to destroy those foolish enough to face them. And now the beasts were here, approaching with haste if the footsteps were any indication. She cowered against the wall, feeling as weak and helpless as an infant while Brand growled orders at his soldiers.

  There was not enough room for the group to shift into dragon form. The nervous sentries held their positions within the cave entrance. Jahda and Gharrick stood motionless a few paces behind them, weapons drawn and gazes intent. After a hushed yet intense discussion with Brand, Rhetahn limped to the back of the cave close to Libby. Brand handed him a spear from the rack and took his position in front of him.

  Libby shrank away from the god. He was even more impressive up close, despite his injury. Not as brawny as Brand, but his arms were powerful and his bare chest with its spattering of dark hair was toned and muscled. Dragging her gaze from his body, she found with a rush of embarrassment that he was watching her. Her cheeks grew warm and she quickly looked away.

  The noises of the patrol grew louder, amplified by the rock. The demons had clearly spotted Jahda and the campfire and were coming to investigate.

  “When they get here,” Rhetahn said in a low voice, “they will use magic to disorientate us, either by plunging this cave into darkness or filling it with intense light. Not all demons can cast harmful spells, many create distortions to confuse their opponents. Remain alert. Use your other senses.”

  “How do you fight them, Lord?” The sentry’s voice trembled. “I have never battled a demon.”

  “Aim for their hands and faces first,” Brand answered for Rhetahn. “Try to prevent them from using their magic. Then hack at their legs. Get them on the ground.”

  The god nodded. “Their fatigues are covered in defensive spells. Go for their heads rather than their hearts for the killing blow.”

  “And don’t hesitate,” Jahda added, “because they won’t.”

  Libby cringed at the warriors’ battle advice. Magic sparked in her fingers and she whimpered. She’d never fought a day in her life, let alone against the ruthless beasts approaching, and had no idea how to utilize the magic she carried without blind luck. Had she survived the sacrificial ritual just to be killed by a rogue band of demons?

  The scuffle of boots on stones was louder now, along with rasping voices. She swallowed ag
ainst the lump in her throat.

  “Easy,” the god murmured.

  She tensed as she realized he was addressing her.

  “Imagine you’re holding a stone,” he continued. “Until you throw it, it has no discernible power over your opponents, or you. Like a regular weapon, you must define how to use it and how effective it will be. Close your fist. Keep steady and let it await your command. You control the magic – it does not control you.”

  At his words, she calmed, like on the altar. Visualizing her fist around a pebble, she projected firm, self-assured thoughts in the amulets’ general direction. She could do this. She was in charge.

  It worked. Although wisps of magic darted across her fingers, it no longer hissed or sparked. It waited, eager yet acquiescent. “Thank you.”

  “Stay alive,” he said. “I need you to complete the ritual.”

  There was no time to answer, because a whirring sound filled the air. A large orb flew into the shelter and burst with a hiss.

  She cried out, white light shooting through her vision even as she recoiled from it.

  Rhetahn cursed and shielded her as the other warriors flinched at the dazzling brightness.

  A swish of steel preceded a gurgling scream. As the white glare receded, one sentry fell to his knees, clutching the gaping wound in his throat. As he slumped sideways, a shadowy form materialized at the cave entrance.

  Libby’s breath seized.

  The hulking creature sported curved horns, its skin dappled black, gray and bronze. It bared its teeth, surveying the scene. The hooked dagger in its hands dripped with blood.

  Her heartbeat thrashing in her ears, she forgot Rhetahn’s guidance and threw her fist wildly. Lightning cracked and somehow, her small missile found its mark.

  The demon shrieked as the burst of magic sent it stumbling from the cave.

  “Good shot.” The god sounded surprised.

  Her triumph didn’t last. Seven more demons appeared in the entrance and with twisted snarls, attacked.