Sworn to Vengeance

by Terah Edun

“We've been in worse situations,” Ciardis said.

  “Yes, we have.”

  “And we survived.”

  “For the most part,” said Christian.

  Ciardis sighed. “Yes, well, we'll just have to keep pushing through.”

  He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow as she looked up at him.

  “Through these trials, I meant,” she murmured.

  He nodded. “What else is on your mind?”

  Ciardis opened her mouth to answer and then swallowed hastily before clamping her mouth shut.

  “Ciardis,” he prodded.

  “All right, fine,” she said harshly. “You can't tell me that even the mighty koreschie, killer and healer, doesn't have some reservations about this plan.”

  This time he laughed. “I would never dream of it. In fact, I'm terrified.”

  “Of what awaits us behind the city walls?” Ciardis asked.

  “Of the people who await us in the valley below,” Christian said.

  Ciardis blinked. That wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. Granted, she did fear the marauders. But that was all they were. Thieves. Scoundrels. Human ones.

  She'd rather face a thousand immoral humans than one hundred undead ones.

  And it was the undead that awaited them in Kifar.

  2

  Suddenly the wind shifted in their direction and Ciardis heard a voice say, “It's time!”

  She couldn't readily identify who the voice belonged to, but she was pretty sure it was one of the soldiers. He sounded young but confident. That told her it was someone new to their escapades. She'd learned long ago, as had most of her friends and acquaintances, that the only thing that they could be sure of was to expect the unexpected and to not be surprised if that was death. She'd lost too many friends, faced down too many enemies, to think that she was invincible or to not worry of what was just around the corner.

  But even so, she felt envious of his youth, his spirit, and his demeanor. She may have been younger than him in body, but she had long since shed the youthful optimism of her mind. Fighting to keep your soul whole tended to have that effect on most people.

  He sounds surer than I'll ever be about this, she thought.

  Turning around, she silently walked forward so that she stood shoulder to shoulder in a small circle of individuals. She couldn't see who it was that stood immediately to her right or left but she could hazard a guess…a guess she'd be willing to stake her life on.

  Perhaps I'm not as unsure as I thought.

  She could feel Sebastian's presence to her right, singing to her like a bright flute on a summer's day. Entrancing but closed off. Sebastian could close his mind all he wanted. So could Thanar. But they couldn't close off their presence. Just as she could feel Sebastian's bright and strong aura near her, she could sense Thanar's denser if not darker miasma of power just across the circle.

  Three steps. Maybe four…and I could…she thought before snapping out of it. Could what? She didn't know. She didn't know if she wanted to slap the ever-present smirk off the face of the daemoni prince or glare at him until the sun rose on a new day and he kissed her as the glowing rays of light touched their shoulders. She didn't know if he deserved to die or deserved to be free. Free from a promise to the Weathervane family. Free to pursue other obligations.

  Ciardis let a small giggle escape her lips. Almost inaudible. And mostly filled with nervous fear.

  It was actually kind of scary to think of what else Thanar would consider an obligation.

  Ciardis flashed back to the words he had flung at her the day they had arrived at the palace of the former empress, Sebastian's mother, when he had said, “You don't know half of me, Ciardis Weathervane.”

  At the time Thanar's mood had been playful—teasing, even.

  And now? Now Thanar reminded her of a caged beast just waiting for an opening. An opening that would allow him to devour them all and escape into the night. Not the most wonderful thing to think of when discussing the person you were soul-bonded to. Then again, it was Thanar—when was anything ever normal with him?

  Still, Ciardis thought. We have to try to make this work. For the empire. For its people. We need him to destroy that god.

  At least she thought she did. The truth was they didn't know if they could destroy it. They had hope. Hope and dreams.

  Besides which, Thanar had been right when he'd accused her of not seeing the real him. She didn't. She didn't know a thing about him other than what she had observed in the short time since he'd elected to journey with them from the north. It felt like it had been forever since then. Since he'd been given a choice. Stay in a cage and await a second execution—this one sure to be more permanent than the last. Or come with them—the Weathervane family, the assassin charged with the murder of Ciardis's mother, and the prince of the empire. Come with them and warn the courts of his master's impending venture. Of course, Thanar's decision had more to do with self-interest than a desire to do the ‘right’ thing. Lillian had been very clear about why her plan to confront the court with the truth about what had happened that night long ago, or rather her version of the truth, would benefit him. Her insidious whispers in his ear had worked.

  “Come with us and watch havoc reign in the imperial courts.”

  “Watch the humans and their courtiers flee in chaos.”

  Those may not have been Lady Lillian Weathervane's exact words…but her intentions had been clear enough. For Thanar it was like having a ringside seat at a private gladiator match. Of that, Ciardis was sure. It represented the pinnacle of spectator sport for him. But even if he hadn't been given the option of watching the court descend into supposed madness as the humans ran about in fear and indecision…he still would have taken the senior Weathervane's offer. Who wouldn't choose freedom over death, after all?

  And Thanar had already proven, with the death of his family cohort and his own survival, that he would do just about anything to live. He wasn't suicidal. Just maniacal.

  But still, Ciardis thought, he came. He chose us. He chose me. Not the other way around.

  If that was true, though, why did it feel like it was she who had chosen him? Like it was she who was stringing him along with a rope about his neck, like a child with a toy cat collared for their own amusement?

  It made her feel icky. There was no other word for it. But this wasn't her fault. Whatever this was. She was sure of that. Or, at least, that was what she told herself. Over and over and over again. It never seemed to stick, but at least she felt a bit better for a few moments. This mess of a life wasn't her fault. She'd been telling herself that for the past year. But as each week passed…and each day grew longer…it was harder to push aside the sense of guilt. She felt a darkness growing like a shadow that grew with the strength of the sun overhead in the middle of the day. Ciardis couldn't quite put a finger on it, but she could feel the sense of foreboding overcoming her like the crest of a gigantic wave. She'd been swimming with her head barely above water for a long time. She would keep doing so. But Ciardis Weathervane knew that there was only so long that she could keep treading. She was growing tired. And so were her companions. A decision was imminent. A clash of worlds and a clash of hearts. But even she wasn't quite sure who would survive the onslaught, or how.

  It feels like forever, she said to herself silently, but it also feels as if it was only yesterday when I stood over his bloodied body trapped in a cage. Head shorn. Wings damaged.

  Even now she couldn't decide if he had deserved said punishment. He'd ordered his “family” to their deaths. He'd killed hundreds of refugees. And yet—it wasn't up to the soldiers in the field to decide his fate. It hadn't been then and it wasn't up to her now. That was for the courts of Sandrin and their emperor-on-high to preside over. Never mind the fact that the emperor was an imposter who may or may not have murdered his own young brother in a bid to retake the throne, which, all things considered, was technically his. What was important now was that it was the throne itself
, and the person whose ass resided in it, that decided on the rule of law. And right now—the law said that Thanar was free to go.

  Or rather, the law had said that Thanar was free to go to Kifar in pursuit of wyvern with Sebastian and me, Ciardis thought. I'm not sure what fate holds for Thanar back at court.

  She thought about the wyvern they had faced in the North and the one they would face now. Creatures that bore the same name but were as different as night and day. One was as flexible as a snake. The other stocky like a bear. She had to wonder if the former was actually a true wyvern at all. The only one who could answer that would be Raisa, but she hadn’t been present when it formed in the air above their heads.

  As she refocused on the present, Ciardis wasn't quite sure what fate had in store for the prince heir, or herself either. For now the only thing that saved them from the court's wrath and the retribution of Sebastian’s father was that they publicly bore the emperor's favor. Because he saw them as useful, if not essential, in his tight chokehold over the courts of Sandrin and the empire itself. That could change. Easily.

  Ciardis pursed her lips and wondered if it was possible that she and they could flip the tables on the emperor before he changed his perspective on how useful the triad was to him. She knew that Sebastian would do whatever it took to protect his empire. It was Thanar who stood apart. An alliance unknown.

  After all, he was a conundrum. A mystery. A Pandora's box that she was eighty percent sure she should lock away in a trunk and toss chained into the sea.

  Thanar chose to speak up in the next second. “I assume that your plan doesn't call for us to stand in the dark like idiots for the night. I can see, but as far as I can tell the rest of you are as blind as bats.”

  His words were clearly directed at Terris. Before she could respond, Christian cleared his throat off to the left of Ciardis and said, “Do you intend to help with that?”

  “Say please,” was Thanar's self-satisfied response.

  Ciardis felt herself rolling her eyes. “Enough, Thanar,” she said in disgust.

  She saw the glowing ball in the palm of his hand flash bright, bright enough for her to wince just as a smirk appeared on his face. The ball, which had been the size of his palm, dimmed and shrank until it was barely bigger than his thumb.

  “Those weren't the magic words,” the daemoni prince said in a slow purr that had a distinctive edge.

  Ciardis glared. If he thought she was going to kowtow to him, he had another think coming. She may have felt as guilty as a kitten whose owner had caught it unraveling a ball of prized yarn about Thanar and everything to do with him, but that didn't mean she'd let him disrespect or pull one over her.

  A snort from her right told her just what Sebastian thought of Thanar's antics. Curiously, though, the prince heir said not a word aloud.

  “Really?” said the shaman who had accompanied them on this mission. “This is how we'll defeat the enemy down there? By acting like children?”

  Ciardis felt her edges of her lips tilt up slightly in satisfaction. It sounded like the shaman's fascination with the bat-winged idiot was disappearing as fast as a bird in quicksand.

  “The two groups down there are not the enemy,” said Terris—her voice wavering just a bit. “They're just in our way.”

  Ciardis grimaced. It wouldn't do to seem uncertain. Not with this group of alpha idiots that was only a team by the farthest stretch of the word.

  “You don't know what they are and what they aren't,” the shaman snapped. “My people have lived with these desert dwellers as neighbors for centuries. They'll rob you blind and rape your grandmother before opening your chest to feed the desert with your blood.”

  “An exaggeration, wouldn't you say?” one of the soldiers murmured.

  “I wouldn't,” Rachael said. “You, who come from far lands, have no idea what the peoples of the grasslands and the deserts have endured.”

  “No, no we don't,” interrupted Sebastian, “and while relevant, that isn't the time for this discussion.”

  “It never is,” said Thanar in a low, mocking tone.

  Ciardis heard Sebastian shift beside her as the rustle of weapons leaving sheaths sounded in the air. Sebastian's or his soldiers, she didn't know.

  Before this could get uglier, Ciardis said, “Enough.”

  She grimaced. It was an echo of what she'd said earlier. The same phrase that had started this whole discussion in the first place.

  Eager to move on, Ciardis tilted her head and said to Sebastian, “Please. Let's just get through this.”

  It was both a warning and a plea.

  Her words became harsher when she pitched her voice slightly louder to say, “And you, soldier, sheathe your weapons. We have one enemy in our mist and it isn't someone with bat wings.”

  For a moment there was silence, and then the sound of a sword hilt hitting a metal guard met her ears.

  She didn't sigh in relief, but her shoulders definitely slumped with the release of tension. She had been waiting to see if they would follow her orders. She was sure Sebastian had been too.

  Terris said wryly, “Now that our mini-breakdown is done, who's up for a little sand-casting?”

  A second soldier piped up, “A little what?”

  Ciardis had the exact same question in her mind.

  Terris said, “Sand-casting. A pastime of our friend over here, and one that we're going to be adept at before dawn.”

  “And what exactly is sand-casting?” asked Sebastian. His voice was cool.

  Ciardis wanted to search his face to see what he was hiding behind a detached tone, but she couldn't in the darkness.

  As if reading her thoughts, Terris said, “Thanar, Rachael, if you please.”

  Without another sniping comment, unusual for Thanar, he flicked his hand forward, tossing the tiny, marble-like ball of light he'd been flicking between his fingers into the center of the group.

  Ciardis guessed the please had done its job. As soon as the small ball of light hit the center, the shaman called up a ball similar to that which she'd doused before and let it join his side by side.

  “Shaman, daemoni prince,” Terris said cautiously, “if you wouldn't mind giving control of those mage lights to the Muareg, please. Imbue them with a bit of lasting power if you can.”

  Thanar raised an eyebrow, one that Ciardis could see was calculating because of the new source of light in their center.

  Rachael opened her mouth and closed it abruptly, as if she had thought to say something and changed her mind.

  With an abrupt movement of her hand, the shaman pushed her light into Thanar's until a ball triple the size of his original light floated in their midst—casting a strong glow that was mostly concealed by the circle of bodies.

  The Muareg, once apart from the circle and within it, took two steps further forward from the position he'd maintained just in front of the two soldiers acting as his guard.

  His face was still covered with flowing linen as he said in a reedy voice, “If I may?”

  He gestured at the ball of light.

  Terris waved him forward, and they all watched with cautious impatience as he reached forward to grab the larger mage light.

  Grab isn't exactly the right term, Ciardis thought as she unconsciously bit her lower lip and watched his movements with narrowed eyes.

  Instead, she could see that he was resting his hands just to the left and right of the flowing orb. As soon as he did, strings of energy leapt out from his palms to connect with the mage light in the center.

  Ciardis felt her heart jump as she watched the strings of energy thicken, then brighten.

  They'll give us away! she thought with shock. He needed to stop whatever he was doing now. A small fire was one thing. A glowing beacon quite another.

  They were, after all, standing on the edge of the cliff. They may not have been in eyesight of the marauders below, but any brigand worth his or her salt would have been on the lookout for strange lights in the di
stance. Lights that they would know didn't belong in an empty desert. It was too bright, and other than the stars shining down from above, there was only one place it could be coming from—the torches of enemies riding at them from across the sands.

  But just as Ciardis opened her mouth to whisper at the clothed sand dweller to keep his magical toy under firmer grip, the light dimmed to a softer glow. Ciardis felt her pupils adjust and grow wider to better take in the softer light.

  She watched his hands in awe, because the glowing object, although muted, had spread to envelop his flesh with thin strings that reminded her, curiously, of a baker's sugar quills —hollow with reedlike tubes, and incredibly fragile.

  The strings in his palms began to pulse and condense.

  Into what she wasn't quite sure. But she wasn't scared.

  Just flummoxed.

  Because the Muareg's toy wasn't the only thing that was glowing now.

  His eyes were too.

  3

  The last time she'd seen such power in eyes that glowed, she'd been knee-deep in the snowy tundra and staring deep down into the chasm of its faceless visage.

  “Or rather up at, depending on how you look at it,” Ciardis muttered.

  The beings had been massively powerful, with a stature that matched their presence. They had to be in order to guard the Northern Mountains of the Algardis Empire for centuries.

  What mattered at the present, though, wasn't their location then, but their similarities to the creature that stood before her now. They were elemental in nature, cousins to the Landwight, in effect, and they too hadn't been so happy to see Ciardis in their haven either.

  She hadn't really been looking for them, per se, when she'd found them. So the feeling of shock was mutual. She had learned then that these elementals had ruled over the blizzard-covered plains and mountains of the north silently for many years unknown. That they were more than myth and legend. That they were real. She had always thought of them as a tall tale used by village elders to scare the young into behaving.