by Adam Carter
“And when you do make up your mind? When you do realise the best thing for this world is to put a knife through Karina Moya’s heart? What then? Will you be able to kill her?”
“There’ll be another way.”
“And if there isn’t?”
“There will be.”
Wren threw up her hands and turned away from him, but wherever she looked there were supporters of this insanity. It seemed even her own people had sided with him in this. And now Mannin was gone and they were still no closer to reaching Moya.
“Our problem,” Asperathes said, “if I may be so bold as to draw our attention back to the imminent death we all face? Our problem was underestimating Moya. We assumed she would send people after us, maybe a couple of monsters, perhaps even to come herself. Instead she’s unleashed a magical force even Valok can’t counter. That’s something we should, to be fair, have expected. But none of us did, which makes us all equally as stupid. Beating ourselves up over it won’t do any good, though, so what say we get out of this chapel before that cloud batters down our rather weak defences?”
“It’s seeping under the door,” Canlin said urgently, drawing his battleaxe and seeming to think the weapon might well do some good. Wren had no intention of losing two of her people in as many moments.
“Everyone through the exit,” she said. “Move, people, move.”
No one offered anything of an argument.
The tunnel they hurried down was dark, and Valok had no time to prepare a spell to make it any less so. Stumbling through with their hands on the walls, however, there was no utilitarian need for light. The priests had had the tunnel constructed to aid in their escape and thus the floor was free of obstacles and there was only the one direction in which to travel. Positioned somewhere in the centre of the group, Wren heard a shout from the front even before she saw the light ahead.
There was something strange about the light, for it was shimmering and making a soft sibilant sound. Valok had already thrown himself through the light, and Asperathes was following suit, which left Wren as the next in line. She paused, placed her hand in the strange light, and only then did her brain kick in as her hand became both cold and wet.
It was a waterfall.
“Anytime, Serita,” Crenshaw said from behind.
Wren threw herself forward and came out soaking. Her feet splashed in the shallow pool on the other side and she almost fell. Straightening, she took in her new surroundings.
They had broken out into the public gardens. A million flowers were in bloom, shielded by hundreds of trees. There were areas for people to walk, with most of the vegetation blocked off by wooden railings. Benches were placed in strategic positions, with tall lampposts offering scattered illumination.
The pool in which Wren was presently standing belonged to a fenced-off fountain area. Behind her, what she had taken to be a waterfall was in reality part of a relaxing water display. She had been to this area many times in the past, whenever she was stationed at the castle, and had never once suspected there was a secret tunnel behind the water.
By this point everyone was out of the tunnel and trying to work out where to go next. Wren reasoned the swiftest possible route to the baroness’s chambers, even though she was no longer certain that was the best plan. Standing around waiting had only cost them a life, though, so she was debating on the merits of returning to the original plan.
“Sergeant,” she said, “secure the area. If there’s anyone in here, detain them but don’t hurt them.”
Canlin ran off to obey. Whenever Wren had been here before, there were invariably young couples taking strolls or courting. The gardens were open to off-duty soldiers, civilians, even children. The thought of Canlin hacking away at all of those just to maintain their secrecy was not something Wren was fighting for.
“I think,” Valok said, “we should genuinely consider the possibility of retreat.”
“Retreat?”
“We’ve lost the element of surprise, our distraction hasn’t had the desired effect and Mannin’s dead. We don’t have any advantages left, Captain.”
“I don’t want to hear that.”
“Then you don’t want to hear the truth.”
“We haven’t come all this way to run away now, Valok. Mannin’s dead. We’re not leaving until …”
“Until we’re all dead too?”
Wren narrowed her eyes. She did not like to get emotional during battle, knew it clouded her judgement, but she had never coped well with losing soldiers under her command. That Valok was right did not make any difference; Wren had no intention of leaving the castle until Mannin had been avenged. They had come to rid the baroness of Moya’s insidious influence and that was precisely what they were going to do.
“We’re not leaving,” Crenshaw said. “Not until I’ve spoken with Karina.”
“And when Crenshaw agrees with your wizard,” Asperathes mumbled, “you know we’re in trouble.”
“Area’s clear,” Canlin said as he returned. “I don’t like this, Captain. There should be people around somewhere, and the only thing we’ve come across is that cloud.”
“Moya could be flooding the keep with the cloud,” Valok suggested. “Evacuate the whole place, sterilise it with the cloud, problem solved without any mess.”
“Any closer to understanding what that thing is?” Wren asked.
“No, ma’am. But I think Moya is a lot more powerful than any of us realise.”
An airy chuckle sounded through the gardens. “Why, thank you, Valok.”
Everyone span, weapons raised, to find a woman lounging on a bench. Karina Moya looked older than Wren had expected, somewhere in her late-forties, early-fifties. She was dressed in white, with black boots, belt and gloves. Her red curls were fading to grey, while her face was beginning to wrinkle. She sat calmly, as though oblivious to the weapons pointed her way, and within her eyes blazed a toying exuberance for whatever game she had decided to play.
“Karina Moya,” Wren said without the need to have the woman’s identity confirmed, “I’m placing you under arrest for crimes against the baroness. Surrender now and things will go a lot better for you.”
“Congratulations,” Moya said. “Now you have the entire set.”
“Is that a refusal?”
Moya made a show of considering. “Captain Wren, your incompetence does not cease to amaze. It’s taken you far too many years to get to this position. Even with all my prompting last year, it’s still taken you a baffling amount of time to be in a position to have this conversation.”
“What have you done to the baroness?”
“Nothing. Well, not nothing, but nothing you would be able to understand.”
“Valok, take her.”
Valok had spent the past few moments preparing a spell, Wren had no doubt about that, and he unleashed it the instant he was given the command to do so. Thrusting his hands forward, Valok splayed his fingers and frowned. Wren did not take that as a good sign. He splayed his fingers again, still without result. To Wren’s eyes he looked very much like a charlatan whose assistant was asleep under the table.
With a savage cry, Canlin swung his axe, but both man and weapon froze, the axe halfway into a downward swing, feral rage etched upon the man’s face.
Moya had defeated Wren’s men without even blinking. Wren had not the magic of Valok, nor the brutal strength of Canlin, but there was no way she was going to back down from the fight.
“Whatever happens here,” Wren promised, “one day you’re going down, Moya.”
“Captain, you have no idea what’s going on.”
An instant later Wren doubled over, winded by an invisible fist to her belly. She tried to stay on her feet, but a second blow caught her about the face, while a third jabbed her ribs in the same instant. She fell to one knee, cursing herself for bowing to the witch, but she had no time to think before something cracked down on the back of her head. Wren fell on her face, her body surging with pain.
A boot stamped on the back of her head, grinding her nose into the floor.
With a superhuman effort, Wren threw off her invisible attacker and got back to her feet, tottering in agony, her senses dulled and her brain swimming.
A dozen blows landed upon her, all at once and across her entire body; and Wren finally collapsed.
CHAPTER NINE
Wren’s force had been annihilated without Moya doing much of anything, but Crenshaw had to believe that was because they were soldiers in the service of the baroness. Crenshaw, Asperathes and Moya had all been prisoners in the very castle in which they were now standing, with people like Captain Wren their enemy. Moya wanted to talk to him without the soldiers standing over them, that was the answer; after all, there was no indication that any of Wren’s band were even dead.
“Karina,” Crenshaw said, trying to take a step towards her but held back through his own fear. He could see where Canlin had been frozen by the woman’s magic but could not believe that was what was preventing Crenshaw himself from moving towards her.
“Jobek Crenshaw,” Moya said with a smile. “It’s been a while. You’re looking old.”
“So are you.”
“Ever the charmer.”
“I mean it, Karina. You look fifteen, twenty years older than you should. What’s happened to you? What kind of magic are you tapping into that can do you this much damage?”
Moya rose from the bench and walked towards him. Her eyes were still playful – Moya’s eyes were always playful – and there was something she was holding back from him. Crenshaw desperately wanted her to tell him what it was, but was afraid to ever find out.
“Jobek,” she said sweetly, “tell me what this is all about.”
Crenshaw had not expected the question. “I want to talk to you, to find out what’s going on. Captain Wren wants her mistress back, and I think we can all agree that taking you away from the baroness can only be a good thing.”
“How nice for you to spill everyone’s plans, but I didn’t mean that. Asp, you tell him. You were always a lot more clued up than him.”
Crenshaw remembered Asperathes had yet to be paralysed or otherwise immobilised. He did not seem especially happy to be dragged into the debate. “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s something about you, Moya; something I don’t like and didn’t expect.”
“Well that was useless,” Moya said. “But what else do you expect from a snake man?”
“Karina,” Crenshaw said. “You never talked like that about apepkith before.”
“Then tell me what’s going on. Oh, I don’t mean your plans – I already know all your plans. Mine, Crenshaw. Tell me what I’m doing, why I’ve done all the things I’ve done.” She paused. “Do you even know what I’ve done?”
“You appeared to Wren,” Crenshaw said. “You wanted her close to me. And you appeared to Canlin and Asp. I have no idea what you’re playing at, but you wanted us all together.”
“And?”
“And? And what? With us all together, we came here, fought our way in, and now we’re finally face-to-face.”
“Oh dear,” Asperathes said in a small voice. “Why did none of us ever think of that before?”
“What?” Crenshaw asked, confused.
“She wants us here. She’s taken great pains to get us all together, at this castle.”
Crenshaw’s spirits lifted. “Karina, you want to be saved. Some part of you, buried so deep, wants us to save you.”
“Joe,” she sighed, “you always were an idiot. When we broke out of the castle, what did I want to do?”
“Train. You wanted to train to use your powers, to make your father proud.”
“And what didn’t I do? Train. I never trained. After we found out your wife had run out on you, the two of us went to settle down, and I never once trained at anything. Do you know why?”
“No,” Crenshaw asked warily. “Why?”
Moya leaned in close to whisper. “Because I already knew it all.” She stepped back, and Crenshaw knew that look she was giving him: she was trying to see whether he yet understood, and it annoyed him he still had no idea what she was talking about.
“Just tell me straight, Karina, what are you talking about?”
“Oh for … Crenshaw, what was the turning point in my magic? When did I become truly powerful?”
“I don’t know.”
“No single act of might you recall? A certain town perhaps?”
Crenshaw glanced across to Wren’s people. He had never told them of the time Moya had incinerated half a town, of how she had accidentally killed so many people. For it to come out here, like this, was not something he had wanted. “The apothecary,” he said evasively. “I took you to an apothecary and she did something to you.”
“Yes,” Moya said. “She did. Not on purpose, but I knew eventually someone would do something of a magical nature to this body, so I placed certain triggers on the amulet. Triggers which annihilated everything around me. Except you, of course; I still needed you.”
“What amulet?”
“You honestly don’t know?” Her eyes turned to Asperathes. “You hid it from him?”
Asperathes looked at his feet and Crenshaw already hated whatever the apepkith was about to say. “I knew there was power in that thing,” Asperathes said. “I kept it from Crenshaw, from everyone.”
“You still have it?” Moya asked.
“Not for a long time, no.”
“I can see in your eyes you’re telling the truth.” She sighed. “Shame. There’s still a lot of power locked away in that amulet.”
Crenshaw was following the conversation, some of it at least. “What amulet?”
“More like whose,” Moya said. “My amulet, actually. Cast your mind back to our escape from this castle, Crenshaw. How many of us were there?”
“Three. You, me and …” He stopped. “Four. Kastra? I … Kastra was killed.”
Moya laughed. “Kastra was a psychic faerie. He told you when the attack was going to be made because he could sense the heroes outside, true? Why did those heroes attack the castle? What did they hope to achieve?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nor did they. I got inside their heads, Crenshaw. I told them to attack. Just as I controlled the minds of the guards who ‘accidentally’ placed a magic user in the cell with us. Moya was cleverer than I anticipated and saw through some of my scheme, so I had the guards used asphodels on her to make her forget. Once she was in the cell, she was too preoccupied with staying alive to even try to remember much of what had brought her there.”
“Kastra?” Crenshaw asked, confused. “You’re Kastra?”
“Please tell me you figured that out a few sentences ago.”
Crenshaw’s mind reeled. “But I … This doesn’t make sense.”
“Oh it makes sense all right. I was arrested for possession, you see. You always thought I meant possession of controlled substances, but I meant possession of other people’s bodies. The law frowns on that sort of thing, although I find it handy if I want to commit crimes and have someone else flee the scene. Karina Moya was the perfect choice for me. She was young, healthy, terrified. And, most importantly, untrained. She was powerful, but had not the necessary wards to keep me out. So I broke into her psyche and hid something of myself there, placing the rest inside my amulet right at the time of my death – a death I of course arranged. This body appears older than it is – something you amazingly did notice – because I’m burning her up. It’s a common side effect of possession, unfortunately. If it’s any consolation, though, she was on the verge of breaking when I took her. After her father was murdered, she wouldn’t have lasted much longer and would have suffered what in layman’s terms could be called a magic stroke.”
“So all that time,” Crenshaw said. “All that time we were together …?”
“Faked, I’m afraid. With my old faerie body killed, I was hiding in the amulet. The apothecary released me and I took full control o
f Karina Moya. At that moment, Moya died and I assumed everything she ever was.”
“So all our time together … none of that meant anything?”
“Of course it didn’t mean anything. You were muscle, Crenshaw; physical protection while I gathered my wits and attained my true strength. Once I achieved that, I discarded you.”
“But I loved you.”
“I know. That sick feeling you have right now in your gut? That’s the way I felt every time you touched me.”
Crenshaw did not have the words to express how he was feeling, did not know whether adequate words even existed. He was hurt, torn apart, angry and terrified. But he was also a little relieved: relieved because his perfect image of Karina Moya had not been sullied. It was Kastra, had been Kastra ever since the apothecary, which meant Moya was still innocent. Even that lad whose face she had blown off back when they had first encountered Wren, even that could be put down to Kastra’s influence. Already the faerie would have been worming his way through Moya’s consciousness, violently protecting them both through whatever means he felt necessary.
Kastra had said that Moya was dead. Crenshaw did not know whether to believe that, for it could well have been a ploy Kastra was trying. What Kastra hoped to benefit from such a ruse was not something Crenshaw wished to consider, for he knew precisely what Asperathes would say once they were alone again: that Kastra would have been better off telling them Moya could be saved, for then Crenshaw would continue to protect her.
The way Crenshaw saw things, Kastra was beyond needing his protection, so the truth could not hurt. And that, in Crenshaw’s mind, meant there could still be a chance of saving Moya.
“Do you now see how hopeless your situation is?” Moya – Kastra – asked.
“No. You’ve only made me see hope, Kastra. You’ve made me see that there’s more of a chance of rescuing Karina than I ever dared believe.”
