“Tanys,” Misha whispered fervently, “you can’t take them all!”
“I can and will!” the raven-haired warrior hissed, blade held ready as she turned, keeping her body between Misha and the nearest guardsmen. Ordinary ghasts they were, not the monstrous blood slaves she had faced to win her blade. They would die as easily as any man, and they would die soon.
“Just hold them off a little longer,” Misha insisted, “Just a little longer.”
Tanys chanced a backwards glance at the girl, trying to fathom what she might be hinting at, but one of the guardsmen saw an opening in this, and thrust his blade at Tanys’ unguarded side.
With lightning speed, Tanys parried the attack and countered, driving the tip of her sword through the exposed collar of his mail armor. The blade pulled back, bathed in red, and the man fell; it circled again, whipping off the sword hand of an advancing guard, before thrusting through the faceplate of another’s helm. Misha yelped in pain, falling hard against Tanys’ backside. Turning, Tanys saw a crimson slash across Misha’s back as the girl crumpled to the floor, whimpering in pain. Tanys’ sword buried itself so deep in the chest of the man responsible that she had to kick his body clear of it before felling the next man to charge her.
A guardsman leapt forward, attempting to grapple with her, but Tanys spun and sent him crashing to the floor with a brutal sword strike that crushed the back of his helmet. She caught the next man with the tip of her blade, ramming her sword completely through his abdomen and out the back. The momentum of his charge staggered her, driving her backwards several steps, even as the man died on her blade. Looking back, she saw a guardsman standing astride the kneeling form of her wounded friend, his sword raised to deliver a deathblow to the helpless girl. With no time to draw her sword free of the twitching corpse in her arms, Tanys let him drop, yanking a heavy dagger from the dead man’s belt. Misha looked up just in time to see the swordsman above her topple over backwards, a dagger buried hilt-deep in his forehead.
“Enough!” Klavicus shouted at last, halting the advance of guardsmen on the blood-drenched raven girl and her injured companion. The old mage pushed his way through the wall of armored men to face Tanys, his lined face dark with rage. “You have caused enough mischief for one day!”
Tanys glowered at him, breathing heavily through clenched teeth, a fresh blade in her hand. She expected no quarter of these depraved men, and would consider none that they offered.
“You’ve lost.” Klavicus stated grimly as he walked over to where the guardsmen held a bruised Haru’Luk and a groggy Captain Induss on their knees before him. “Your little gambit has failed.”
“Perhaps, old man,” Tanys hissed, “but I haven’t finished killing yet.”
“I believe you have.” Klavicus countered, drawing a curved dagger from his belt as he lifted Induss’ chin to observe the captain’s glassy expression. “I think I’ll kill this one first.”
“So what?” Tanys laughed harshly, “If it wasn’t for that idiot’s meddling, we wouldn’t even be here, and I don’t give a damn about your pet goat either, so please, go ahead and kill them.”
Haru’s eyes flashed, his pride stung. He began to beg, “Please, oh noble magister, spare me! I…”
“Silence!” Klavicus growled, turning his attention to Tanys once again. “That little Leddite girl at your feet… I think you might care about her.”
“Yes,” Tanys admitted, looking down into Misha’s large dark eyes, “her I care about.”
“Then drop your sword,” Klavicus chuckled, “or I will have her roasted alive before your eyes and fed to you piece by piece.”
“Just a little longer,” Misha whispered, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears.
“You are really starting to bore me, old man!” Tanys roared, the blood flashing hotly in her cheeks, “This girl’s life is mine, and I’ll take it myself before I fall to your pack of curs.”
“Perhaps,” Klavicus muttered, “but I will have you taken alive, and I will unlock all the secrets of pain that lie hidden in your body.”
“Come then,” Tanys said, her body tensed, a stalking panther ready to leap upon her prey, “First you will learn the secret of death that lies naked on my blade.”
The guardsmen came like a cold wave of black steel, and Tanys a defiant blaze of pale flesh, red steel, and ebon hair. The raven shriek sang out a death song, chorused by the cries of men who perished on her blade. All rational thought fled her mind, lost in the berserker fury, until her body was a whirlwind of destruction. Her flesh torn, her blood mingled with the blood of her slain, she fought, and they died. At last the wave broke, and Tanys remained alone beside the trembling southern girl, ringed by the dead and dying. Tanys slumped to her knees beside Misha, even as more guardsmen arrived to take the place of the slain. Their faces, pale with horror looked upon the bodies of their kin and the single woman who awaited them in the circle of death.
Misha’s hands were on Tanys’ body, the touch of a healer and a lover. “You were magnificent!” Misha whispered proudly in her ear, fervently kissing Tanys’ neck. “You’ve done it!”
“I’m sorry,” Tanys whispered back, “I’m sorry Misha… I can’t let them take you alive.” Tanys dragged herself to her feet. The sword in her grasp felt like lead as her brain dispassionately calculated the swiftest means to deliver her friend from the clutches of the sadistic magicians.
Misha was smiling up at her, a crooked, wicked smirk that seemed altogether out of place. “It’s my turn to take care of you now,” Misha said. The southern girl rose to her feet, placing a delicate hand on Tanys’ sword arm. “Trust me,” She whispered in Tanys’ ear.
Misha gingerly climbed over the low wall of dead men that marked the reach of Tanys’ sword, pausing to brush a wayward curl of hair from her eyes and straighten the skirt of her loincloth as she stepped clear of the carnage. Her back straightened, she stood boldly before the wary guardsmen and the blood mages who had gathered to watch the slaughter. “I would like to surrender now,” Misha announced loudly, looking around the crowd of men for a moment before leveling her finger at one of the blood mages, the skinny one who had sat next to the man who had fondled Tanys, “to you there!” The mage looked a bit confused, even a little frightened. He glanced around at his fellows who shrugged their shoulders or laughed nervously.
“Please, don’t be afraid,” Misha said sweetly, “I don’t wish to be killed, and I will not fight you. I give myself to you to do with as you please, just spare my life.”
“It may be too late for that, child,” the thin mage muttered warily, “You and your friend have cost us dearly.”
“Then punish me as you see fit, master sorcerer,” Misha answered demurely, lowering her head in submission, “I will not resist.”
A murmur of laughter and rude jests ran through the crowd of enemies, even as Tanys’ grip tightened on the grip of her sword, uncertain of Misha’s game. At the urging of his fellows, the thin mage stepped forward with a rueful smirk and a cautious eyebrow raised. “You’d better hurry up and punish her before she changes her mind,” shouted a fellow mage.
The mage watched Tanys closely as he closed the distance to stand before Misha, but the raven warrior made no move to stop him, though she desperately hoped that Misha had not taken leave of her senses. Klavicus continued to glower from the safety of the wall of soldiers, his narrowed eyes shifting from Tanys to Misha and back, at last growling a command to the thin mage, “Bleed her if you want, Noxus, but keep her alive… for now.”
Noxus’ hand, already half-raised to Misha’s chest, paused and drifted down to the pommel of the dagger at his belt. A wicked grin flickered across his gaunt face. “What sort of punishment do you deserve, my sweet?”
Misha reached out, closing her delicate fingers around his, drawing out his dagger with his own hand and lifting it between them until the curved steel blade lay between her small heaving breasts. Tanys groaned in rage, taking a step toward her, and the guar
dsmen muttered and raised their blades in preparation for an attack. Misha shushed them all, stilling Tanys with a sideways glance. She turned back to the thin mage, gently caressing his bristly jaw with her free hand, even as she held his dagger close to her breast. “Have you ever visited the House of Crimson Glass?” she whispered.
“No,” the mage answered plainly, his eyes widening.
“Then you’ve never seen the Marionette’s Dance,” Misha said, her voice growing eerily cold. “It begins, thus…”
With a sudden twirl, Misha spun, gasping as the magician’s dagger traced a faint red line across her right breast. Dark beads of blood welled up from her olive skin and trickled downward as the girl spun, dancing in strange halting movements, singing low in a minor key and clapping her hands in a ragged tempo.
The thin mage watched, mouth agape, his knife still extended at arm’s length. He started to lower it, but a glance from Misha’s dark eyes stayed his hand. Tanys flinched as she watched Misha step in, raking the magician’s blade across her bare shoulder as she twirled. “You are familiar with blood magic?” Misha asked aloud in the cold, dispassionate voice Tanys had only heard once before in Cini’s throne room, “The Marionette’s blood answers its call.”
As Misha spun and swayed to the remembered music of her former masters, the trails of blood that streaked her naked flesh spiraled into strange designs. A scaled crimson serpent seemed to loop around her upper arm where the blade had torn her flesh, likewise another wyrm coiled around her right breast, tendrils of blood flowing to form tiny claws and forking like miniature jaws closing on either side of the hard little nipple.
“Can you feel your own blood answering the call?” Misha moaned, swinging close to the thin mage, offering the skin of her abdomen to the tip of his drooping blade. Soon another red snake tattoo tightened its coils around the southern girl’s navel. The mage’s breath was coming fast now. Tanys knew what it was to fall under Misha’s spell. She almost pitied the helpless man as he raised his blade again in a trembling grasp.
Misha’s violet eyes flashed in triumph, her pearly teeth showing in a half-crazed grin as she twirled close again. The thin mage drew back his dagger quickly, but not before it traced a thin cut beneath Misha’s left eye. The blood on her face curved and twisted as she danced. When Tanys saw her face again, Misha’s dark eyes looked out from behind a red leering demon mask of her own blood. “Answer me, mages!” Misha howled. Her voice cracked with the primal emotions of the frenzied dance, “Can you feel the call in your blood?”
Tanys tore her gaze from Misha’s gyrating body and looked around the room. All of the blood mages, save Klavicus, were breathing heavily, showing signs of obvious discomfort. Some clutched at their chests, wheezing. The guardsmen glanced around with worried expressions, unsure of what to do. Klavicus, too late realizing the presence of some hidden danger, shouted, “Kill her Noxus! Kill her now!”
Noxus made no move to obey. The curved dagger clattered from his shaking hand, and he pawed weakly at the collar of his robe, eyes bulging. “I can’t move my legs!” he croaked fearfully.
From somewhere far above them, a great booming roar echoed through the halls of the delv. The ghast guardsmen looked to one another and to their leaders for answers. One of the mages groaned heavily and collapsed to the floor. Others soon followed.
“What have you done, you little bitch?” Klavicus demanded, snatching his dagger from his belt as the floor shook and more roars sounded above them. Misha’s mocking laughter was his only answer as the southern girl twirled away, giving him a florid bow before resuming her place behind Tanys, her hands resting lightly on the raven girl’s shoulders.
“My men have arrived,” Captain Induss spoke groggily from where he knelt at sword point before the line of half-panicked guardsmen.
“How dare they defy the Council?” Klavicus raged, his eyes wide, scanning the ceiling as though he could see the monstrous pets of the dragon riders rampaging in the halls far above.
“What Council?” Misha demanded coldly.
Klavicus searched wildly around for support, watching his fellow mages crumple and die at his feet, their eyes staring blankly from flushed faces. The thin mage whose blade had carved the red tattoos in Misha’s flesh took one step forward and toppled over the pile of dead at Tanys’ feet. His swollen tongue protruded from between bluish lips.
“You men surrender now,” Induss said, raising his head with a toss of his silvery mane, “and your lives will be spared.”
“Kill him at once!” Klavicus shouted, but the guardsmen hesitated. Another roar sounded above them, closer now.
“Unless you plan to spend the remainder of your existence as a pile of dragon dung,” Induss growled, “I suggest that you unhand me and drop your weapons immediately!”
Several of the guardsmen threw down their swords, the rest arguing hotly amongst themselves.
“What’s wrong with you all?” Klavicus demanded, kicking one of the fallen mages who writhed weakly in silent torments.
“They drank the wine.” Misha said. She lifted a small vial of greenish glass between her thumb and middle finger. “I added a bit of flavor to it, courtesy of Lady Cini’s poison cabinet.”
Tanys marveled as she regarded her friend, blushing as she imagined the ways the southern girl might have smuggled such a deadly substance into the delv. She doubted Misha had kept the bottle concealed beneath her tongue this whole time.
“This isn’t over,” Klavicus hissed, backing away, his dagger raised defensively. Tanys moved to follow him, stalking like a lioness as the confused guardsmen melted out of her path.
“It is over,” Induss said, rising to his feet and calmly pulling a sword from the grasp of one of his captors.
“I would agree,” a weak, shaky voice called from the far side of the room.
“Carathan!” Misha cried out, all traces of cold indifference gone from her voice as she flew to him, the green vial clattering empty among the corpses on the floor.
“The day is lost for you, Klavicus,” Carathan said, leaning heavily against the far wall. His shirt hung in tatters over his heaving chest as he straightened to face his foe. Wisps of magical flame washed over his skin like a golden nimbus. Turning slightly, he opened his arms to take Misha in an enveloping embrace.
“You forget I still have the stone!” Klavicus raged, in his hand lay the acorn-sized stone that Carathan had retrieved from the sunken city.
“The stone is dead, Klavicus,” Carathan said, shaking his head, “the fire it contained answers only to me now.”
“You lie!” Klavicus shouted, closing his fist about the stone as he drew in his power to strike at Carathan once again, “I will…”
Tanys’ blade lifted Klavicus’ head cleanly from his body. In his fury, he had deemed her unworthy of his attention. Tanys calmly walked to where the severed head lay, a short distance from the edge of the fire pit. She rolled it over with her foot, looking down at it. Klavicus’ eyes blinked once in mute horror as he looked up at her.
“I wager you’ll never turn your back on me again.”
A swift kick carried the dying head over the edge of the pit, a sullen splash sounding from far below.
Epilogue
The sound of Misha rising from the bed woke Tanys from troubled dreams. The Southern girl glanced back over her shoulder, with a small beautiful smile just for Tanys, pausing in the doorway. Her naked body, illuminated by the golden glow of Carathan’s sleeping form, appeared to have recovered completely from their ordeals in the blood mage delv. Misha’s slender shoulders showed no scars where the blades had cut her flesh. Nearly three months had passed since their victorious escape from the clutches of the depraved madmen, and much had changed. The lamp in the next room flared to life, silhouetting Misha’s body against its light. The growing roundness of the southern girl’s belly bespoke the little healer’s greater claim to Carathan’s love, and Tanys found the old doubts returning, stronger now than ever.
Tanys regarded the sleeping sorcerer’s hand that lay across her chest, cupping her right breast. Little wisps of golden flame flickered from his skin, like hot whispers on her bare flesh. Whatever he had done to save himself from the magic of the Council by taking the golden fires of creation into his body a second time seemed to have permanently affected the very essence of his being. His personality, though unchanged in nature, seemed intensified, focused. He slept now only after lovemaking, and that too had become more intense since he had infused his own body with the magical flame. Tanys’ thighs still ached warmly from the exertions of the previous night. The sorcerer was nearly insatiable these days. Misha had joked that she would have to start bringing in a few of Cini’s bond girls to wear Carathan down first if she and Tanys were to have any chance of outlasting him in bed. Tanys had not found the jest particularly amusing.
Tanys’ cheeks flushed to think that she had become little more than Misha’s love toy, her body used to please the golden sorcerer who had claimed both their hearts. She pushed his hand away, perhaps a little roughly and watched his face as he turned, moaning softly in his sleep. Tanys regretfully brushed a strand of long silvery hair from his face and let her fingertips trace the gentle curve of his lips, feeling his breath on her skin. She did love him. Her eyes lifted toward the door leading to the bath chamber. Misha’s soft voice was singing a wordless, happy tune. Misha had been here first.
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