by Sarah Hawke
“Stay back, Red!” Valuri hissed, sinking into a crouch and holding her blade in front of her. “I’m going to do something I should have done a long time ago…”
The Huntress didn’t wait for her prey to recover. Her eyes blazed a fearsome green as she launched herself at the werewolf. She had every reason to be confident—her Senosi powers could heal almost any injury inflicted by a werewolf’s claws, whereas Selvhara no longer had the same advantage. Her left arm sizzled from the silver-wrought wound, and she could already feel traces of the toxic metal seeping into her bloodstream. Another clean strike might kill her outright.
You cannot escape from me that easily, Sarodihm!
Valuri leapt in for the kill, but the wolf’s blood wasn’t defeated yet. Even with one crippled arm, Selvhara was still faster and stronger than any mortal, even a Senosi. She snarled as she narrowly evaded the Huntress’s strikes, awaiting an opening to counterattack. Where Kaseya was a calm and patient duelist, Valuri was a leather-clad ball of fury and power. She was used to overpowering her melee opponents with raw speed and strength, and she knew she only needed one more clean strike to prevail.
But the One God knew that, too, and he turned her aggression against her. Waiting until she drove Selvhara halfway across the street, he forced the druid’s body to slip and fall back on its haunches. The Huntress rushed forward, eagerly taking the bait. But a split second before her silver blade pierced the werewolf’s heart, Selvhara’s good arm reached out and snatched Valuri by the wrist.
They struggled in each other’s grip, the tip of the blade hovering less than an inch from final victory. Selvhara fought against her master’s bonds, desperate to break his hold even for an instant, but she remained helpless as the One God closed his trap. Rather than try to overpower the Huntress, he sank Selvhara’s claws into Valuri’s gauntlet, then raked downward, shredding the leather into ribbons. The silver blade clattered harmlessly to the ground without the gauntlet to hold it on her wrist.
Valuri realized her mistake an instant too late. Before she could lunge for the blade, the werewolf slammed into her with the full force of its bestial bulk, hurling the Huntress across the street and into an empty merchant cart. The woman screamed in pain when something audibly snapped on impact, though she was far from defeated. Her wounds would heal.
But not quickly enough to save Kaseya.
Selvhara swiveled back to face the amazon, and she felt her muzzle twist into a bestial smile. The battle was still raging around them—the Inquisitrix’s forces clashed with Highwind’s defenders further down the street, and wyverns streaked past overhead—but no one could save Kaseya this time. She should have looked terrified…but instead, her brow was furrowed in confusion.
“The tethers,” she breathed, her eyes flicking up as if they were looking past her. “I can see them all…”
Selvhara snarled as she threw herself at the amazon. Kaseya’s skill and grace under fire were every bit as impressive as before. She never panicked, no matter how relentlessly her enemy attacked. Her feet kept moving like a master swordsman even while she blocked the werewolf’s brutal strikes with her shield. The One God’s impatience burned through the Aether, and he spurred Selvhara into a ruthless frenzy until her strength and speed finally won out. She caught hold of the amazon’s shield, ripped it out of her grip, and then tackled Kaseya flat onto her back. Prone and pinned beneath the druid’s weight, the amazon stared up helplessly as the wolf lunged in for the kill—
No. No!
Selvhara froze, her teeth mere inches from the amazon’s exposed throat. The One God’s voice screamed into her mind, and it was only then that she realized his control had been broken—no, suppressed, and only momentarily at that. She could still feel his presence suffusing every part of her, but his marionette’s strings had suddenly and inexplicably gone slack.
Through the Dal’Rethi collar, Selvhara could feel the amazon concentrating intently upon the Aetheric tendrils binding the druid to Dathiel’s power. The fact that Kaseya could perceive them at all was astonishing, but she had apparently figured out a way to interact with them as well. It seemed impossible…
“I will not allow you to control her!” Kaseya growled. “Begone, fiend!”
Selvhara yelped when a spike of pain lanced through her body. She glanced down, half expecting the silver blade to be sticking out of her chest, before she realized that the agony wasn’t coming from her body at all.
It was coming from Dathiel.
Insolent wretch! he snarled. The Sarodihm is mine!
But despite his protests, Selvhara could feel his control weakening as Kaseya focused upon the tendrils. The druid didn’t understand how or why, but this nineteen-year-old human girl had discovered a critical gap in the One God’s defenses—a gap that no one else, even countless other sorcerers, had ever perceived before.
Destroy her! Dathiel demanded. Destroy the dragon’s whore and set this world free!
His commands shuddered through Selvhara like a tremor, but there was no power behind them. He couldn’t control her body, but oddly, neither could she. It was as if she were shackled in the Citadel again, except now the chains were invisible…
“I cannot…I cannot stop him,” Selvhara managed, her gruff, bestial voice little more than raspy growl. “You have to kill me before…before…”
“Red!”
Valuri’s frantic cry cut through the din of battle like a clarion horn. Out of the corner of her eye, Selvhara watched as the Huntress emerged from the frozen fog and snatched up her fallen wrist-blade. Her black leather armor was splattered with blood—most of it her own—but she still sprinted forward with the silver clutched in her hand like a short spear. She lunged right at Selvhara, and the druid held her breath and waited for oblivion’s embrace—
Only to suddenly topple over as Kaseya rolled her hips and twisted both their bodies to the side. The Huntress tripped over them and rolled across the snow before flipping back to her feet.
“Red, what the fuck are you—?”
“Do not harm her!” Kaseya cried out. She thrust out a hand to ward off Valuri while her blue eyes stayed locked on Selvhara. “I know what I am doing.”
The Huntress snarled, “Are you insane? She’s here to kill us!”
“I know,” the amazon said. “But I am going to set her free.”
Selvhara was rolled all the way onto her back, still mostly paralyzed, as Kaseya’s eyes widened in concentration. The druid swore she could actually feel the other woman mentally reach out and grab Dathiel’s tethers like they really were a marionette’s strings. A wave of nausea crashed over Selvhara as Kaseya squeezed the tether together—
And then they snapped.
At first, Selvhara’s body went numb. She was floating in a still lake, weightless and adrift, as the entire world faded into nothingness around her. Even the presence of the One God faded. She felt calm, at peace…right up until she started to drown.
“Red, what are you…oh, shit!”
Selvhara could hear the others talking, but she couldn’t see them. Her vision had gone completely black, and her lungs seized up as if they were filled with frozen water. Spikes of white-hot pain wracked every part of her body, but she couldn’t even muster the breath to scream.
“What the fuck did you do to her, Red?”
“I severed the tethers binding her to her master.”
“You what? How in the—?”
“She has been bound to him for so long I fear she cannot survive without him. The Wasting Echo will destroy her. Unless…”
“Unless? Unless what? Red, what are you—”
Selvhara’s vision returned as a warm wave crashed over her. She gasped for air, breathless, as she stared up at the amazon who was now straddling her. Kaseya’s hand touched her chest, and a soothing pulse of energy seemed to ripple out from her fingertips. It was only then, when Selvhara realized she could move her arms again, that she realized she had slender elven hands rather than bestial
claws.
“Faarea!” she breathed as a sudden gust of winter wind whipped across the street and chilled her naked flesh. “He’s…he’s gone!”
Valuri crouched down over her, the silver blade still clutched in her hand. “How is that even possible?”
“I do not know…it shouldn’t be,” Selvhara said, shaking her head. She couldn’t feel Dathiel’s presence at all, but she could feel Kaseya’s more strongly than ever. It was almost as if…
“I severed the tethers, but I could not heal them,” the amazon breathed. “You have been bound to another for so long that I am not convinced you could even survive alone.”
Valuri’s green eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Red?”
“I am bound to her now,” Selvhara whispered. She had never been able to perceive the Aetheric tethers binding her to the One God, but she could feel them—and she could feel that Kaseya had taken hold of the marionette’s strings herself. “Just as I was to Dathiel.”
“What?” the Huntress gasped. “But you’re not a god or a Conduit. How can you bind anyone?”
“I do not know,” Kaseya admitted. “Perhaps it is because we both wear Dal’Rethi collars, or perhaps it is something else entirely. Regardless, she is no longer in the thrall of her master.”
Selvhara reached up and touched the collar around her throat. From the first moment she had met Jorem, she would have given anything to serve him. She had hoped that this device would bind her to him like the concubines of the ancient Wyrm Lords, but fate had chosen to bind her to Kaseya instead. What if that had happened for a reason?
“You are the Wyrm Lord’s chosen mate,” Selvhara said, reaching out to take Kaseya’s hand. “Through you, I shall serve him—now and forever.”
Valuri groaned and smacked her forehead. “You have to be fucking kidding me…”
“We can serve Jorem by defending the city,” Kaseya said, leaning back and helping the druid sit up. “This battle is far from over.”
Selvhara nodded and swallowed, a hundred separate emotions flooding through her all at once. She still couldn’t believe that a human girl a fiftieth her age had been the one to set her free. Nor could she believe that Dathiel was truly gone…
“The One God wanted me to slay you to drive Jorem mad,” the druid said. “But with his plan thwarted, he will rely upon his Conduit to finish the job.”
Valuri frowned. “What?”
“The Inquisitrix is already moving upon the Silver Temple,” Selvhara said. “If she destroys the Eternal Priestess and consumes her Godsoul, none of this will matter. Dathiel will finally possess the power to free himself from his prison in the Pale. Even a Wyrm Lord will not be able to defeat him.”
Kaseya shared a glance with the Huntress, then dove to retrieve her blade and shield. “Then we must get to the temple.”
“It’s halfway across the city!” Valuri pointed out. “How much time do we have?”
Selvhara swallowed heavily. “Precious little.”
“Fantastic. So what are we going to do?”
“We call for reinforcements,” Kaseya said, touching the ruby at the center of her collar. “And finish what we started.”
9
The Battle for Highwind III
What are you waiting for? Destroy this fool and harvest the girl!
The voice of the Godsoul screamed into Marcella’s mind even as she parried Commander Crowe’s latest attack and delivered a kick to his leg that sent the knight staggering back to a small shrine built into the wall. The hunger inside her was getting harder and harder to ignore; it had already evolved from an annoying nagging sensation to a full-body ache in the span of a few minutes. She was starting to seriously doubt whether she could keep it under control…
“Not bad,” Crowe said, breathing heavily as he readied his sword and paced a circle around her. “I’ve never met a soldier from Vorsalos who knew how to hold a sword properly before. Maybe if you’d spent more time teaching your men to fight, we wouldn’t have broken your little siege so easily.”
Marcella didn’t take the bait. If anything, she respected his strategy. He was more skilled than she had expected, which meant he was also skilled enough to realize how badly he was outmatched. His only viable strategy was to try and throw her off balance, either to goad her into making a fatal mistake or to simply delay her until reinforcements arrived.
Then why haven’t you killed him? A single spark of your power could turn him to dust!
Marcella ignored the voice and lunged forward with a sudden thrust, forcing Crowe onto the defensive. He had clearly trained in basic fencing techniques as well as traditional mounted warfare; he knew exactly when to parry and when to dodge, and he had the calm, precise footwork of an expert duelist. Her blood boiled in her veins, not from rage but from exhilaration. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had fought a real opponent blade to blade. Training with her Sanctori—or even her former Hand, Ayrael—just wasn’t the same.
Her thoughts flashed back to Nol Krovos and the myriad skirmishes she had fought alongside her amazon sisters. Long before she had absorbed the power of the Fount—long before she had even realized she was a sorceress—her entire life had been dedicated to the art of warfare. Swords, spears, fists…there was something intoxicating about the blood and sweat and pain of real melee combat.
Grinning beneath her mask, Marcella pressed her attack. The clash of their swords rang throughout the empty temple, and the sparks thrown from their blades lit up the dim hall like flickering candles. This was honorable combat, pure and true. Warrior to warrior, weapon to weapon, muscle to muscle. No flames, no strokes of lightning, no Aether—this had been her destiny once, if the moshalim and the Matriarch hadn’t betrayed her…
A flash of long-buried rage seared through her mind, spurring her to press her attack—and make a mistake. Crowe countered her relentless strikes with the patient grace of a master, and he counterattacked the instant she overextended. After parrying her reckless lunge, he slipped inside her defenses, slammed his elbow into her chest to stun her, and then swept his blade right at her throat.
A less-experienced opponent would have been decapitated right then and there, but Marcella recognized her mistake just in time to duck away. The sword still caught her mask, however, and the force of the impact ripped it from her face and sent it skittering across the hall.
“I have to give you credit,” Crowe said, retreating several steps as he tried to catch his breath. “I never thought you would have the courage to show your face on the battlefield…what’s left of it, anyway.”
Marcella clutched her scarred cheek with her empty gauntlet. She knew better than to allow herself to be distracted like that. It really had been too long since she had fought a worthy opponent…
This cretin is not worth our time! Destroy him. Now!
“I am in command here, not you!” she snarled. “I am the Conduit—I am the One Goddess!”
Commander Crowe frowned in confusion as he studied her. “You’re a petty despot with delusions of grandeur, nothing more.”
“Silence!” Marcella screamed as she lunged at the knight once more, her blade clutched tightly in both hands. She pummeled him with renewed fury, driving him back across the hall toward the chapel door. Her assault was relentless, yet somehow, inexplicably, Crowe still kept her at bay. His seemingly supernatural poise allowed him to hold and wait for an opportunity to strike…
And yet again, he found one. When Marcella’s sweeping strike narrowly whistled past his head, her blade became lodged in the sanctuary’s wooden door. She snarled and tried to jerk the weapon free, but the split-second pause was all Crowe needed. He slashed down across her body, shearing off the decorative blades of her pauldron and penetrating the armor deep enough to draw blood. She fell to her knees, overwhelmed by the sudden spike of pain stabbing down her arm, as Crowe moved in for the kill…
Enough!
The voice of the Godsoul thundered in her mind, and the claws
of her left gauntlet suddenly crackled with Aetheric energy. Marcella didn’t understand how, but her hand thrust outward of its own accord and unleashed a torrent of energy at the attacking knight. The blast struck Crowe squarely in the chest, shattering his thin Aetheric barrier and melting through his breastplate with ease. He stumbled away, his arms and legs twitching as residual electricity coursed through him, before he collapsed to the floor.
You will harvest the girl, the voice demanded. I will not tolerate any more delays!
“No…” Marcella breathed, staring down at the sparks of energy still dancing across her claws. “How dare you? This is my power. I am the—”
Without warning, a deluge of thoughts and images poured over her as if a dam had suddenly burst inside her mind. At first, the torrent threatened to drag her under—she couldn’t move, she couldn’t think, she could barely even breathe. But then the images began to crystalize one after the other, and she realized she was staring at the sprawling canvas of history. Decades, centuries, millennia…they all passed before her in an instant.
And she finally understood.
It was all there for her to see, every moment of every memory spanning a thousand human lifetimes. The first gods and their ascension, the civil war that spilled their blood across the world, the elven slaves who learned to channel its power for themselves…
Everything she had ever learned—everything she had ever been taught—was but a pale shadow of the truth. The Fallen Gods, the Wyrm Lords, even the Dragon War that had sundered the Avetharri and their empire…none of it had unfolded the way everyone believed. History had been retold, rewritten, or outright erased a thousand times over.
What if the Wyrm Lords weren’t the villains? What if the gods weren’t gods at all? What if they had been locked away for a good reason?
What if I am the fool who set them free?
“Zor kalah,” Marcella breathed. “Ancestors forgive me…”
But it was already too late. The presence that had once been little more than a whisper in the back of her mind now suffused her entire body and eclipsed her very will. She was no longer the master of the Godsoul; now she was merely a vessel for its awesome power.
