The Smoke-Scented Girl

by Melissa McShane

  More smoke shrouded the hillside ahead as if one of the storm clouds had descended to roll along the plains. This one, however, was white, and something inside it flashed briefly, reflecting light that did not come from the sun. It reminded him of something, one of the only things he’d known about Alvorian myth before meeting Kerensa, something one of the heroes had said…Dania’s Glass. One of the Four Talismans. Alvor’s Mace, Dania’s Glass, Wystylth’s Claws. Carall’s Breath. A concealing mist that protected the four as they surrounded Murakot just before killing him.

  Evon began shouting and waving one arm as he urged the horse directly into the center of the cloudbank, which was moving rapidly toward the army. It was so thick he could barely see the horse’s head less than two feet from his, and he slowed the horse to a walk, afraid of getting turned around. “Wait!” he shouted. “Alvor, wait! I know how to save Kerensa! Please!”

  The only thing he heard were his own words reflected back at him by the thick fog. “Please,” he said. Please, came the echo. He could see nothing except his hands on the reins and the blackened burn stripes circling his wrists. His pulse sang in his ears, high and fast. The horse nickered at nothing and shook her mane as if shooing flies.

  Then, “Solto spexa,” Dania said, and it was as if the fog bank was nothing more than a light gauze through which Evon could clearly see three horses and a shorter, crouching figure about ten yards from where he stood. “I underestimated you,” Dania said.

  “I was lucky,” Evon said. “And I know how the magic works. I can free Kerensa and still use it to kill the Despot.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alvor looked at him, his eyes narrowed. “Desperation drives men to many things,” he said, “but I think you would not dare to lie to me.”

  Evon shook his head. “I swear to you, sir, the Enemy will die today. I just need the four of you to defend me while I cast my spells. Hold them off for five minutes. Dania, will you paralyze the Despot when we see him? I intend to cast some very complicated spells and I will need all of my reserves to do it.”

  “If you tell me what you intend, perhaps I can assist you,” Dania said.

  Evon shook his head again. “The truth is, I’m still working out everything in my head, and I think if I tell you what I have in mind, you will all simply be distracted. Please. Five minutes. Ten at the most.”

  “Evon,” Kerensa said, “please don’t do this. I don’t think I can bear it if you give me false hope.”

  “It’s not false hope, I swear it.” Evon dismounted and went to her side, looked up at her where she sat behind Alvor. She had been crying, though she was dry-eyed now, and when he reached out to her she slid awkwardly down and threw herself into his arms. “Just…when we near the Despot, just hold the weapon in check for as long as you can, and I’ll do the rest.” He put his fingers under her chin and tilted her head so she had to look at him. “Please. If it doesn’t work….”

  Kerensa drew a deep, shuddering breath, then nodded. “If it doesn’t work…Evon, promise me you’ll shield yourself before the end. I don’t want you to die.”

  “I promise. But it won’t be necessary.” He looked at Alvor. “Ten minutes. If it doesn’t work, then Kerensa will….” He couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence any more than he could the previous one.

  The heroes looked at one another. Wystylth said, “I believe I can occupy the Enemy’s guards for at least that long. I have seen them as closely as I dare, and I do not believe they are entirely human. Something upon which I am something of an expert,” he added with a grin.

  “It will be like the battle at Riskin Falls,” Dania said.

  Carall scowled. “I should hope not. I was knocked unconscious at Riskin Falls and woke to find the battle over. I would see my blade run red with blood today.”

  Alvor gazed steadily at Evon. “I think you are desperate to save the woman you love,” he said.

  “I am, sir, but I also know what I’m doing.” I hope I know what I’m doing. This could mean my own death, and theirs.

  Alvor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then we will try this your way,” he said, “and I hope you are not mistaken.”

  “So do I, sir.”

  “We should be moving,” Carall said. His horse jigged nervously as if picking up on Carall’s restless movements. “The Breath cannot be stopped once it is set in motion, and it will leave us behind soon.”

  Evon led Kerensa to his horse and helped her mount, daring Alvor to make an issue of it. Alvor said nothing, merely wheeled his horse and set off toward the army. The others gathered behind him, Evon at the rear with Kerensa holding tight to his waist. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but none of it seemed very important right now. Time enough for that when this was all over. He reviewed the spells in his mind; the sequence was important, and so was the timing, and there were so many things he was leaving to chance, but he had to believe it was possible. Kerensa shifted a little behind him, but said nothing. What was she thinking? Her voice had had that same dead tone he remembered from Inveros. He prayed she hadn’t given up again. This would only work if she could keep the weapon from activating immediately.

  They came over the top of another small rise and saw the army spread out before them. The edge of the Breath had only just begun to reach the first soldiers, none of whom seemed to notice anything amiss. “Ride out, Dania,” Alvor said.

  Dania cracked her horse’s reins and set off down the hill at a gallop, the others following her, Evon trailing a little behind because the command had taken him off guard. They rode without speaking or shouting, the only sound the thrumming of their horses’ hooves on the snowy frozen ground. Evon wasn’t sure exactly when the soldiers heard the sound of hooves, but they hadn’t done more than stop and begin to turn when Dania raised both her hands, snapped her fingers and shouted, “Forva!”

  White fire exploded through the ranks, so hot Evon could feel his skin tighten. The Breath vanished, vaporized. Five rows of soldiers sagged and fell, and the air was filled with the smell of smoked meat and the sound of screaming. Part of Evon gaped in astonishment at Dania’s unparalleled abilities, another part made a mental note to have her teach him that when this was all over, but most of him was occupied with not falling off his horse, which might be an excellent animal but clearly didn’t have the experience the heroes’ mounts did with forva that could crisp your eyeballs.

  Dania gestured again and the fire divided, burning hotly on both sides of a cool corridor that led deeper into the heart of the army. Alvor hefted his mace, Carall drew his sword, and to his left Evon saw Wystylth’s claws fully extended and his hood tossed back to reveal a head of blond hair much like Evon’s own. He didn’t have time to notice more than this, because then they reached the first rank of soldiers and battle was joined.

  Evon wished he were watching this from the outside, not only because it was less dangerous but because the four heroes fighting together must be what legends were made of. Alvor laid about him with the mace that no ordinary man could have lifted, let alone broken heads and backs with. Carall was more subtle but equally deadly, his blade flicking from soldier to soldier and leaving piles of bodies in its wake. Dania cast spell after spell Evon couldn’t even recognize, sending enemy fighters to the ground with their bodies contorted or their faces blue with asphyxiation or, in a few cases, turned completely to ash. And Wystylth was everywhere at once, snarling defiance, his hands and claws bloody from tearing out the throats of anyone stupid enough to come within arm’s reach of him. Evon could only keep his horse under control and pray that no one got close enough to him or Kerensa that he would have to fight back. In the back of his mind he again ran through the sequence of spells he needed, testing their order—he would have one chance to do this, and it had to be perfect and perfectly timed.

  They were somehow pressing forward through the masses. Dania found a clear spot and cast forva again, though it was not as big as the first one because they
were all too close to the enemy soldiers, and cleared out a few more ranks so they could advance more quickly. Alvor swung at another head, crushing the skull, and raised his voice to say, “I think we are near our Enemy.”

  “We are,” Kerensa shouted, and Evon craned his neck to see that she’d gone pale and was sweating. “I can feel the urge pulling at me. It’s strong.”

  “Then ware guards,” Alvor said, ducking a sword thrust and booting the soldier in the face so hard his neck snapped.

  They fought for a few more seconds before Carall shouted, “I see them!” and spurred forward a bit to exchange blows with something whose head and neck weren’t quite right. Its forehead bulged high above tiny eyes, and the tips of fangs protruded from its lips. Its neck was as thick around as Evon’s thigh and corded with sinew so tight you could have plucked it like a harp string and seen it vibrate. It roared in Carall’s face just before Carall’s blade took it in the throat, then shook itself so hard Carall nearly lost his seat and his sword. Carall withdrew and stabbed at its stomach, striking below the heavy hide armor it wore to cover its chest. It shrieked and collapsed. “They die as any man does!” he shouted.

  “Then we shall have to assist them in that endeavor,” Alvor called out, and began laying about him with his mace. Evon had thought they were fighting well before, but now the blows came furiously on all sides and Evon could see their forward progress had stopped. He clenched his fists. So close. Should he help? He couldn’t afford to. But if they failed to reach the Despot....

  A gap opened up near Evon, and Kerensa groaned and her entire body went rigid with concentration, her fingers digging into his side. Evon looked around just in time to see the two-raven banner hovering nearby, framing a man in a shining steel cuirass on a massive horse armored for war. Standing, he would have been a full head taller than the inhuman creatures battling around him. His long hair hung lank and greasy around his face, and Evon could smell the sour odor of unwashed body wafting toward him on the cold breeze. The Despot kicked one of his own guards out of the way, and Evon heard a crack as the thing’s leg broke, but the man’s face showed no anger or cruelty, only a chilling impassivity more frightening than either of those. Evon jigged the horse away from the Despot, but he ignored Evon and Kerensa and made straight for Alvor, whose mace was gory with blood too red to be human. He was fighting two of the inhuman guards at once and had no idea that death was coming at him from behind.

  Evon shouted a warning that was lost in the furor of battle, then spurred his horse toward the Despot, though he had no idea what he would do—beat him over the head with his fists, maybe? He could not afford to waste any of his reserves on offensive spells. Kerensa groaned again as they neared the Despot, shoving through the melee, and Evon realized he was screaming incoherently and waving his arms. He pushed his way in front of the Despot’s horse, between him and Alvor, and the Despot looked at him with that impassive expression, then brought his sword around to strike at Evon, and Evon raised his hands because there was nothing else he could do—

  “Desini cucurri!” Dania shouted, and the Despot froze in mid-swing, then fell face down and hit the frozen ground, his right arm still outstretched with the enormous sword clutched in it. The horse reared up and screamed, then came down on the Despot’s shoulder, crushing it. Terrified, Evon kicked at it to make it flee. Everything hinged on the Despot being alive for this. “Whatever your spell is, you should cast it now!” Dania yelled at him, and turned her attention to one of the deformed things that was trying to disembowel her.

  Evon leaped down from the horse and helped Kerensa dismount, then smacked its rump hard, hoping it might find a way out of the melee. Kerensa’s face was fixed in concentration, tears leaking from her closed eyes. “I can’t hold this for much longer,” she said. Her skin was already a little too pink. Evon took a few deep breaths. He wasn’t allowed to give in to panic.

  “Take his left hand with yours,” he said, “and press your first three fingers against his pulse.” He pushed up Kerensa’s sleeve and drew runes along the inside of her forearm with his coppery chalk, then turned his attention to the Despot only to realize the man was wearing hardened leather vambraces with rusty, tight-fitting buckles. He tugged at the straps with his fingertips to no avail, then pulled out his penknife and began hacking at the leather where it attached to the buckles. It was hopelessly inadequate to the task.

  Movement caught his eye, and he looked up from his work toward the Despot’s head. The shadow under the man’s cheek seemed to shift in the dim light. Then Evon realized that nothing else, under the pall of smoke and the higher clouds, was casting a shadow. “Wystylth!” he shouted, acting on instinct. “Help!”

  Then Wystylth was by his side, looking where Evon pointed, and without a word threw himself atop the Despot’s frozen body and sank his claws deep into the man’s temples. The shadow quivered, lay still, quivered harder, strained to get away, and finally fell still. Wystylth grinned. “I have seen the Enemy before,” he said, “and it evaded my Claws. This time it is not so lucky, I think. And I am curious as to what you intend.” His grin tightened as the shadow made another break for freedom. “Knife, on my belt,” he added, jerking his chin, and Evon snatched the knife from its sheath, nearly cutting himself on the sharp blade, and sliced through the leather straps of the vambrace as if they were wet paper.

  He yanked the vambrace away, then shoved the sleeve of the Despot’s shirt away from his arm and chalked other runes there. He put his hand over the two joined ones, traced a rune on the air, and said, “Vertiri. Torpia misca ademi.” His mouth burned as if he’d swallowed a live coal, and a throbbing pain went through the small of his back as he cast the powerful, complicated spell. It felt as if someone had tied a knot in his spine and was pulling it tighter. Evon gritted his teeth and ignored it. He would have enough reserves for this. The alternative was unacceptable.

  Kerensa gasped, and her skin went a shade pinker. “That feels strange,” she said.

  “Stay focused. It’s just making the Despot a suitable host for the fire,” Evon said. It wasn’t as straightforward as he made it sound. This was the part he was least certain of, and if there had been more time...but there wasn’t more time, and Evon had had to guess. Ademi was doing something, he was certain, because he could see the Despot’s muscles twitch as part of his body began to change. Evon just hoped it was the right part.

  He ducked low as a saber struck at his head, heard the cry of its wielder cut short as Alvor hit him so hard with the mace that the man flew back into two of his fellows. The twitches came more slowly now. Wystylth grunted as the entity tried to break away again. Kerensa closed her eyes and moaned a little behind her clenched teeth. The twitches stopped. “It’s almost time,” Evon said. “Just one last thing.” He released Kerensa and the Despot’s joined hands and began unbuttoning her dress. Kerensa’s eyes flew open and she reached up with her free hand to stop him.

  He met her eyes, so beautiful and so full of pain. “Do you trust me?” he said. He removed her hand and continued to unbutton her bodice.

  She nodded. “But I don’t understand.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ll explain everything later.” He laid his palm flat against the hot skin of her chest, between her breasts, and chalked an awkward left-handed rune on the back of his hand. “I love you. Vertiri. Desini madi.”

  Kerensa’s eyes went wide as all the air rushed out of her lungs. Evon felt her heart give one final beat and stop. She blinked once, her hand reaching to her throat, then the life left her eyes and her hand went limp and fell to her side.

  Evon caught her before she could hit the ground, though she was now beyond caring. Dry-eyed, he twitched the edges of her bodice closed; he couldn’t spare the time to button it. Modesty was another thing that no longer mattered to her. Her skin had already begun to cool, returning to its normal hue. He laid her down next to the Despot, took out Wystylth’s knife and hurriedly began carving runes into the frozen ground,
making an uneven oval around Kerensa and the Despot.Now was where he learned whether he was right.

  Wystylth was looking at him as if wondering if Evon had gone insane. Evon wasn’t sure about that himself. “It makes sense,” he shouted over the noise of the battle raging around them. “There’s only one control spell. If the—” The knife caught on a clump of dead grass, and Evon hacked at it until it gave, feeling panic rise up in him at even that small delay. “If the original volunteer’s children inherited the fire,” he went on, letting this recitation of logic calm him, “it would burn them when they were born—maybe burn them in the womb, even. It was the...modifications...that were being passed on. And yet the fire and the spell survived for a thousand years, so they were being passed on too, just not at birth. In death. One host dies and it finds another one, and the spell goes along with it.” He made a final cut and then stabbed the knife into the ground, where it quivered for a moment from the force of the thrust. His reserves were almost gone. Flashes of light darted before him, and he scrubbed his eyes to dispel them. No distractions.