The Defiant Heir

by Melissa Caruso

  “Quickly,” Bree gasped. “Those bastards who’ve got Terika are just ahead of us. We had them in sight when poor Alfrith got too clever and tried to cut across switchbacks to catch up. Then we all got tangled trying to save him.”

  “You’re not walking on this ankle, Highness,” Grita said firmly. “We’re taking you back to Callamorne.”

  Bree sat up, agitated. “But they’re so close! There are only five of them left, and three are wounded. There’s no way they can make it to help before we catch them, if we go now and stick to the road!”

  “Can you fix your ankle?” I asked her, making vague, wiggly magic gestures.

  Bree shook her head. “I’m no Skinwitch. If I try to use my magic on a human, even myself, the power twists away and makes me queasy. It’s like … like trying to stuff a bar of wet soap into a dog’s mouth. Only you’re also the dog.”

  “Get over your squeamishness so we can save Terika,” Zaira growled.

  “Go after her yourselves,” Bree urged us. “I’m no good in a fight right now, but I can get the ingredients we collected to the Highpass alchemist to cure the banebriar poisoning.”

  “We’ll go with you.” I’d had enough. Corpses scattered among trees that drank their blood like rain—it was too much. “I’m sorry, Zaira. We have to get out of here.”

  Zaira’s lips peeled back from her teeth. “Coward,” she said.

  “Not all of us can set everything on fire and blithely walk away,” I snapped. “You’re not the one who’d be at risk.”

  “Lienne is dead,” Zaira said fiercely. “You know what that means. If Terika doesn’t get a new jess within a week at most, she’ll die. If we walk away now, we’ll never get her back. We’re killing her.”

  “Go after her,” Bree urged, even as Grita and one of the Raverran soldiers helped her to her feet. “If you stay on the road, you’ll be safe. You can still catch them!”

  Zaira whirled and began stalking down the path, deeper into Vaskandar.

  A wild, giddy panic seized my throat, and I spun on Bree. “Your impulses have killed a dozen good soldiers today,” I snapped. “Are you so eager to add to the toll?”

  Bree flinched. But then her brows lowered stubbornly. “No. I’m eager for their deaths to have meaning.” She lifted her voice. “Braegan, go with Zaira. Keep her safe. That’s an order.”

  Braegan saluted, then turned to Grita. “Get the princess out of here safely, no matter what. Don’t come after us. That’s an order.”

  “Oh, for Graces’ sakes.” Grita looked ready to throw Bree and Braegan both down a well, but she started half dragging my cousin up the road, grumbling about being surrounded by suicidal morons.

  “Half of you with Princess Brisintain,” I told my Raverran soldiers. “Half with me. We’ll meet you at Highpass, Bree.” I hurried after Zaira. To their credit, the guards sorted it out in a quick swirl of activity, nine of them falling in around me.

  It didn’t take long to catch up to Zaira. Shortly after the terrible grove of corpses fell out of sight behind us, I scurried around in front of her implacable stride and faced her. She stopped and crossed her arms, her eyes dark and intense. The soldiers fanned out around us, watching the woods, muskets ready. The trees loomed above us, bare branches stretched against the sky like patterns of bones.

  “Zaira.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but it was hard, with so much fear and grief and anger roiling inside me. “You’re more sensible than this. We have a week. Listen, we can send in a team of spies to rescue her, or maybe get help from Kathe—”

  “No. You listen.” Her voice cracked across mine like a whip. “If I have this terrible fire inside me for a reason, this is it. So I can do things that would be madness for anyone else, like walk into Vaskandar and defy anyone to stop me.” She swept an arm at the forest. “This is what I was born for. Not to destroy cities or slaughter armies, but to save people who are beyond saving. To win the day that’s given up for lost.”

  An unearthly fury lit her face from within, like a candle shining against the shadows of the forest. She radiated the same power and grace she did when she unleashed her balefire, but her eyes were clear of its madness and piercing in their surety.

  “Let’s do it,” Braegan blurted. “My lady, she’s right, we can do this.”

  “Zaira …” I began, unsure how I would finish.

  “Do you hear that?” one soldier asked suddenly.

  A growing rustle tickled my ears, as if the forest gathered itself to scream. My scalp prickled.

  “Oh, Hells,” Braegan whispered. “Here it comes.”

  A handful of birds burst, startled, from a clump of ferns up the mountainside. The soldiers leveled their muskets at the spot.

  And they came flowing down toward us, in great fluid bounds like leaping dolphins. Long and lean like weasels, but dog-sized, with three eyes and thumb-long, needle-sharp teeth. Rows of curving, silvery thorns gleamed on their backs like fish scales.

  Chimeras. Three of them.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gunshots cracked the air, impossibly loud, one after another. One of the chimeras stumbled, hit; a chunk of thorny armor flew off another, leaving a bloody patch on its back. But all three kept coming. The soldiers cursed and dropped their muskets, their one shot spent, to draw pistols and swords.

  Panic burst white-hot in my chest and tried to fight its way out as a scream; I wrestled it instead into a ragged shout.

  “Exsolvo!”

  The lead chimera launched off a fallen log at us in a flying leap, claws flashing, maw full of razor-sharp teeth gaping—and burst into blue flame.

  Our defensive knot scattered as it landed in the road, thrashing and screaming, splashing balefire around it like hot oil. I jumped away, yelping, and nearly crashed into Zaira.

  “Watch out, idiot,” Zaira snapped, lifting arms wreathed in pale, hungry flames.

  I threw myself aside as twin lines of fire raced along the ground from Zaira to the two remaining chimeras, washing over them just as they were nearly upon us.

  For a moment, only a thin ridge of bitter blue flame licked up from their sickly silver coats, and the chimeras howled and snapped at their own backs. But then they kindled all over, a thousand flowers of fire bursting into bloom on every inch of their bodies, and inhuman screams lifted into the air with the stench of burning fur.

  “Pull back from the flames!” Braegan shouted, and we hurried some thirty feet down the trail. The chimeras lay still now, but the balefire leaped higher, fueled by their lives.

  Zaira turned to me, holding out palms on which flames snapped and danced; they licked up from her hair, too, tasting the wind. Strain showed in her face.

  “Seal it, quick,” she barked. “I’m in control now, but it won’t last.”

  “Revincio,” I gasped, stumbling back from the flames as they leaned toward me.

  All at once, the fires winked out, both on Zaira and up the trail.

  She swayed. I held out my hand, but she shook her head, steadying herself on her own. “I’m all right. That much fire, I can handle.”

  It was just as well. My own knees were trembling so badly, I wasn’t sure I could have held her up.

  This was the limitation of balefire: so long as it kept consuming lives, it could rage indefinitely; but when it was done, it took a deep toll on the warlock. Zaira had come a long way in training, to be both conscious and in control now.

  We couldn’t afford to lose her to exhaustion, any more than we could risk being consumed by her flames. My heart thundered in my chest, and panicky energy shot along my nerves like lightning, but I had to stay calm.

  Braegan turned to me, eyes white-rimmed, even as the soldiers hurried to pick up their muskets and reload. “Your Highness? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I began, “But we should—” I made it no further.

  Six more chimeras came for us, charging straight down the path.

  The soldiers cursed and fired their pistol
s; the sharp scent of gunpowder mixed with charred meat in the air, and one of the chimeras fell back, yelping.

  I drew my knife and backed away. “Zaira?” I asked.

  “Do it.” She rolled up her sleeves.

  “Exsol—”

  Something struck me from the side, hard enough to drive the wind out of me. Suddenly I was rolling in the dirt with a seventh chimera on top of me.

  I barely managed to fling an arm up between its teeth and my throat. Pain pierced my forearm, and three mad eyes stared at me from inches away. Claws tore at my coat.

  I screamed in unabashed terror as I stabbed it again and again in the neck. My knife grated twice off thorny armor, but the third time hot blood spattered over my hand.

  And then I was tumbling down off the edge of the trail, crashing through bushes and bouncing off tree roots, the thing still locked on to me and thrashing; its bloody teeth snapped near my face, and its claws raked my lower leg as we spilled down the hill together. I twisted my knife deeper into its neck as we fell, desperate to kill it, end it, make it stop.

  We rolled out onto the next switchback below; I wound up on top. I drove my dagger into its third eye, but its hard, wiry body had gone still beneath my hands. It was already dead.

  “Exsolvo,” I gasped, lurching to my feet. Pain lanced up my leg, but I ignored it, staring up the slope to the road above.

  I spied a flurry of chaotic motion through the trees—shouting, cries of pain, swords flashing, scaly backs leaping—but I didn’t have a chance to figure out what was happening, or if everyone was well. A silvery wave flowed down the slope toward me, third eyes gleaming, razor-filled maws gaping.

  Four of the six remaining chimeras had plunged down off the road after me.

  Grace of Mercy. This was my death, coming for me with eyes full of gleaming alien hatred and covered in thorns.

  I raised my knife, falling into the stance Ciardha had taught me despite the certainty I couldn’t fight four chimeras on my own. But a brilliant blue light flared through the trees.

  A wave of balefire roared down the hill after them.

  Flames devoured them, rearing up into the branches overhead and setting them alight. Near-white, starving fire flooded down toward me, engulfing everything in its path, a torrent of heat and radiance. The scent of death came in a hot wind before it.

  “Revincio!” I shrieked.

  The fire died at once. I blinked in the forest shadows. The yelling and clamor up the mountainside had diminished.

  “Zaira!” I called, my voice raw and breaking. “Are you all right?”

  “Lady Amalia!” That was Braegan, sounding panicked. “Thank the Graces! We’re coming down.”

  I took a step toward his voice, unthinking. It brought me close to the edge of the road, and a tree branch swung down at me, as if a strong wind had stirred it. I jumped back, too saturated with fear even to shriek at this point. My leg and arm throbbed, and a few scratches and bruises made their presence known as well, but none of that mattered so long as I could still walk to get the Hells out of this forest as quickly as possible.

  I started limping up the trail to meet Braegan and the others. The trees stirred around me, as if a wind blew through them. A gray shadow had fallen over everything, with no more glints of gold slanting through the leaves—the mountain peaks now blocked the sun. A haze of smoke hung in the air, from balefire and gunpowder both.

  This was no place for me. Grace of Mercy, all I wanted was to be back in the Empire, where the landscape had the simple courtesy not to murder anyone.

  Braegan came down the slope, sword in hand; Zaira leaned on him, head drooping, barely conscious. Five soldiers watched their backs, reloading their muskets.

  “Where are the others?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  Braegan shook his head, lips tight. My stomach dropped sickeningly.

  In the distance, up the mountain, something howled.

  “I know these now,” Braegan said, his voice hard and grim. “Whiphounds. The Lady of Thorns’ own hunting dogs. They’re about twenty to a pack, so we’ve got more coming.”

  “More?” I clutched my flare locket; the claws at my neck rattled. “What about Bree?”

  “I’m betting she made it to safety, because it sounds like they’re all coming after us,” Braegan said.

  Zaira lifted her head. Exhaustion pulled at her face. “If I unleash again, I’m falling over. Or else killing all of you. Your choice. Graces forgive me, but I can’t hold it back anymore.”

  The howl sounded again, much closer. More inhuman voices joined in, then broke into an eager baying, as if they’d caught the scent of prey. A chill like an ice shard pierced my spine.

  “They’re between us and the border,” I realized. “And I’ll wager they’re smart enough to know we have to keep to the road.”

  Braegan looked at me, a grim reckoning in his eyes. “They’re after you, Your Highness.”

  I swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  He exchanged glances with the remaining soldiers. A bushy-bearded Callamornish man said, “I’m in.”

  “What?” I asked, uneasy.

  “We’re not making it out past more of those things,” Braegan said. He pointed down the road. “I’ve read the scouting report for this area. We’re almost to a junction, near the bottom of the mountain. You want the right fork, which heads toward the village. It’s a bit deeper into Vaskandar, but the road crosses into Kazerath, the Wolf Lord’s domain. The hounds won’t follow you there; chimeras don’t cross into another Witch Lord’s domain without permission.” He began reloading his pistol, with the swift ease of practice. “You should be able to find another woodcutter’s trail up the mountains somewhere near the village, within Kazerath. All you need to do is stay ahead of the hounds until you cross out of the Lady of Thorns’ domain.”

  “Oh, no. I know what comes next.” Zaira put her fists on her hips, anger stirring some energy up from within her. “I hate last stands and dramatic gestures. None of this ‘We’ll buy you time’ bilge. You come with us.”

  “There’s no time to buy.” Braegan turned to face up the path, where the baying grew louder. “They’re coming. Get out of here.”

  Through the gathering shadows, through the tangled branches of the trees, I spotted movement high on the trail.

  Braegan raised his pistol in one hand and drew his sword with the other. “Run,” he urged us. “Get out of here, and boast to the rest of them for me that I died saving a Lochaver.”

  “They’ll be jealous,” Bushy Beard laughed. Laughed, with a light in his eyes. “Now, run!”

  Zaira swore and grabbed my hand.

  We ran.

  At first fear drove me with blinding urgency. The baying sounded behind us, ever closer, and thorn branches strained toward me from the woods; but if I stayed in the center of the path, they couldn’t seem to reach. Pain was something I set aside as irrelevant, a problem to deal with later, though I was aware on some level that my arm and leg were hurt, not working quite right, and complaining about it.

  After a while, the sharp reports of gunfire came behind us. We faltered, but kept running.

  I strained to hear more above my own labored breath and pounding footfalls. There might be distant shouting, and the scream of dying whiphounds; but I couldn’t tell over the clamor of my own body and the phantom sounds that fear wove in my imagination.

  Then the baying started again. Anguish twisted sharply in my chest, like a harp string snapping.

  “Hells take them,” Zaira panted. “Every one of them.”

  I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask them to die for me.

  Twilight shadows took hold under the trees and deepened around us, turning everything gray and unreal. We came to where the path split and took the right fork without slowing down. But the baying was so close now, it seemed as if the hounds must be right behind us.

  Zaira glanced back over her shoulder and swore. “I can see them.”

&
nbsp; The trail ran straight ahead; two standing stones flanked it in the distance, barely distinguishable from tree trunks in the dimming twilight. Boundary markers.

  “I think,” I gasped, “that’s the border.”

  “We’re not going to make it.” Zaira spoke with ease, while I could spare no breath from running. She had been holding back to my pace. “If you release me, I can burn them all, but then you’ll be dragging my unconscious body.”

  The stone pillars were so close. But a glance over my shoulder showed me eerily gleaming eyes and bounding silvery backs hurtling toward us.

  I stopped and spun to face them; Zaira turned with me, lifting her hands, ready.

  “Close your eyes,” I warned.

  I flipped open my flare locket. A blinding flash of light reddened my eyelids, and the whiphounds howled in pain and confusion. Without waiting, I sprinted for the stones, Zaira at my side.

  “Good thinking,” she called.

  Something ripped in my injured leg. Pain speared up it with every stride. But I kept running, faster than I’d ever run in my life, until the standing stones loomed before us and I flung myself past the invisible line between them.

  The road continued on through the forest, unchanged. But behind us, the hounds recoiled as if they’d met a wall.

  I stopped, panting, and bent double, shifting my weight to my good leg. The hounds paced and growled on the far side of the stones—four of them, sniffing and slavering, their eyes all fixed on me.

  This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. But the air was sharp and cold in my lungs, and my eyes watered convincingly, and the pain was too real.

  I wasn’t going to wake up from this. Nothing I did could unwind what had happened. All those good soldiers were dead, and we were alone in Vaskandar.

  “Let’s keep going,” Zaira said, her voice uneven. “I don’t trust those rocks to stop them for long.”

  The boundary stones. A flicker of curiosity sparked through the murk of horror and guilt in my chest. I yearned to examine them, to trace the symbols I could make out in the fading light. But with the whiphounds pawing and pacing just beyond them, I didn’t dare push the limits of their protection.