“I thought, perhaps, I could exterminate those snakes completely. I was very put out when you and the summoner came on the scene, but when I discovered what I really had… Well, that was a different story altogether.” Lady Ateala trailed the knife down the front of Toman’s shirt, the sharp blade catching or slicing the cloth slightly in places.
“Do you know how many places a human body can be sliced or stabbed without damaging anything important? It’s really quite remarkable. To do so, however, takes a very detailed and precise knowledge of human anatomy. Fortunately for you, I am a very good healer.” She alternately teased and mocked in a disturbing fashion. Her fingers trailed along behind the blade, then moved around it to lead the way. She felt his chest beneath the cloth of the shirt and felt the gap between two ribs with her fingertips.
“Here, for example,” she whispered. Toman felt the prick of the knife tip against his skin for a long moment before she exerted pressure on the handle. Very slowly, the blade sank into his skin and through his flesh until it had been buried hilt deep. Lady Ateala traced her fingers on his skin around the knife handle, but Toman didn’t even feel it. All he could feel was the agony of the cold steel embedded in his body, the pain amplified by his helplessness and complete inability to control anything but his eyes. Even his throat was frozen, rendering him unable to do anything other than swallow.
“Just a hairsbreadth to either side of the blade are internal organs that, if pierced, would eventually kill you. But just here… very little real damage has been done. Does that not cheer you?” Lady Ateala smiled as she began to slowly withdraw the knife. Toman had tried to hold his breath throughout the whole ordeal, but it was impossible, especially with the pain of it. Each breath sent new agony ripping through his body as his flesh pushed against the blade with tiny movements, reminding itself of its pain. Blood began to flow freely from the wound once the blade began to withdraw, staining the clean white sheets of the bed and sinking into the mattress.
“But I’m not here to please you, I’m here to please me,” the lady purred. “As I was saying before, the Reshkin were all my doing, and when you were delivered to me, I was very happy. When I learned that you were the animator that Lord Moloch both hates and desires so very much, I knew I’d gotten a lucky break.
“You see, Reshkin bites aren’t lethal to humans if treated within a day or even two, and after a dose of anti-venom, the patient will be completely well again within three days. Yes, that’s right, it’s only thanks to me that you’re still here, like this, right now. I’ve been poisoning you this entire time. If you hadn’t received a single injection after the first, you would have been perfectly well right now. As I said…so trusting.” With the emphatic “so,” Lady Ateala had found a new spot for her knife and thrust it into his chest. Toman gasped and choked as another cold shock flooded his body.
“There we are,” Lady Ateala crooned.
Why am I running? It’s such a nice day, Esset thought, slowing to a walk from his flat-out run. Then he paused to relish the feel of the bright sunshine against his skin. This was too nice a day to waste rushing about. Maybe he could somehow get Toman outside to enjoy it too.
Toman. Esset shook himself and started running again. I have to get to Toman!
Esset kept an eye on his surroundings as he ran, sharp for obstacles, but then he noticed the courier riding into town. Esset slowed and changed course.
I think Lady Ateala mentioned she was expecting a package, I should see if it’s there, he thought. He had jogged halfway down the street before he caught himself again.
What’s going on? Esset concentrated. Magic. It had to be. Some small but persistent magic was distracting him from returning to Lady Ateala’s house, even though he was certain something was wrong there. Toman was in trouble.
Esset stopped completely for a second and cleared his mind. Then he concentrated on a prayer, asking for focus for himself and protection for Toman. He prayed that he wouldn’t be too late. When he opened his eyes, he was fairly certain that the magic had been cleared, and he set off running again.
“Lord Moloch found me just upon my sixteenth birthday, you know.” Lady Ateala was still talking; she twirled a curl of hair around one finger as she illustrated the memory for Toman. “He saw me for what I was, even though I yet struggled with it. And he led me to see it as beautiful—glorious! My family disagreed, of course. So I blackmailed them and took my leave. Now, here, I can do whatever I want. I am well-funded, and I’m more than clever enough to protect myself here.
“Those stupid townsfolk believe I’m some kind of saint, even though I’ve had my way with almost every single one of them. They don’t remember, you see. Isn’t that just delicious? Of course, I nudge them towards worshipping me anyways, but it’s really quite superfluous.” She giggled, curling her hands beneath her chin, the knife blade sticking out at an angle.
“One farmer came in with a cough—just a simple cough. I kept him for three days. I ran a few experiments on him—I even tested the Reshkin venom—then tortured him at my leisure. At the end of it, I just tampered with his memory and sent him on his way, grateful that I had saved him from some rare disease I’d made up on the spot.” She sighed happily at the memory.
“But I owe it all to Lord Moloch…and you are not my only reward for obtaining the animating gloves. No, Lord Moloch has promised me greater power, some accumulated magic to call my own. Just think of what I could do with something like that…” She stared off dreamily for a moment before looking at Toman like he’d said something surprising.
“But oh! You haven’t really seen my work, have you? I mean, you know about the Reshkin, but they’re a demonstration of my work secondhand. I amplified what was there already—the aggression, the hive mind, the venom, and the physical strength. I made tiny changes to massive effect. Unfortunately they’re still very dependent on me for survival since their modifications, but in time, I will fix that. Regardless, those subtle modifications, amplifications—that is where I excel. Let me show you.” Lady Ateala wiped the knife off on the sheets and then lifted the streaked blade in front of her. “Take this knife, for example. Already quite sharp, as you’ve seen. But it is sharp as an ordinary object is sharp. The physical edge is as fine as it can be, so it cuts well. But if I help it along a little…” Lady Ateala ran her finger down the flat of the blade and it gained something like a halo. She then held it out over the ceramic mug sitting on the bedside table and slowly lowered the blade. With very little exertion, the knife sank into the lip of the mug as if the ceramic were more like butter.
“Amazing, isn’t it? How so little can go such a long way…”
Esset flew in the door and ran right into the maid, Melanie.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, grabbing his shoulders and stopping either of them from falling.
“Sorry!” Essest apologized, but he immediately began to tear away from Melanie to continue towards Toman’s room. When he tried, however, he suddenly found that she had a very powerful grasp on him.
“Esset… you shouldn’t be here.” There was something very strange about her voice—it sounded empty, like she wasn’t quite lucid. There was a lack of urgency to her words, as if she didn’t quite care what was happening, but thought she should. Esset looked up at her, and her eyes seemed blank and distant. But he didn’t have time to deal with her. He tried struggling again, only to find her grip got stronger the more he tried to escape.
“No…” Melanie murmured.
“I don’t want to hurt you. Let me go!” Esset struggled. Now he knew, really knew, that something was wrong. He couldn’t hear anything in the rest of the house, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He knew something, someone, had gotten to Toman, and he couldn’t stop until he found out what was happening. He didn’t want to hurt someone innocent, but it was pretty obvious that Melanie was under someone’s control. It didn’t seem like he had much choice.
Esset went limp, and Melanie sagged forward a bit to
compensate for the sudden dead weight in her hands, although she gripped him still harder. Then Esset suddenly jerked up, using his feet to propel him as he cracked the crown of his skull under her chin. The robust maid’s head snapped back and her hands flew open to release him. Not stopping to make sure she was okay, Esset ran off down the hall to Toman’s room.
“You know what I can’t help but wonder about, with these gloves? Can you still use them with only one hand?” Lady Ateala asked, fingering the gloves with her free hand for a moment before looking back at Toman with her head tilted to the side.
“I mean, what if a would-be animator only had one hand?”
Toman felt his gut twist again, even past all the pain, as Lady Ateala held the glowing blade over his left arm. “What if something happened? An accident or…something?”
There was a horrible sensation of searing heat and aching cold as Lady Ateala rested the blade against the soft flesh of his upper arm. The knife began to sink through the meat of his arm with only the pressure of its own weight upon it. Outwardly, Toman was still paralyzed in place; inwardly, he was reduced to incoherent screams of pain. His eyes were open wide, streaming tears, but completely unseeing. There was only the insanity inside his own head as Lady Ateala added the extra pressure needed to push the knife through the bone of his arm as well. She stopped halfway, pausing for a moment.
“You know,” she mused, holding the knife immobile in his arm, “you are helpless, and I made sure no sound can escape the room, so I might as well let you serenade me while we play.” With her free hand, she freed him from the magic keeping him paralyzed, and she shivered with pleasure as he howled in agony while she finished cutting through his arm.
Esset’s hand closed around the doorknob, and the eerie silence shattered as the soundproofing spell broke with the opening door. Esset felt a visceral reaction flood through him. Berserk rage and an incoherent need to defend his brother consumed his intellect. Even as his eyes took in the madness of the scene in the room, his lips were moving. Garbled, liquid syllables that he himself didn’t recognize rolled off his tongue and he felt the heat of a summon surround him.
Fiery wings snapped open on his back, but didn’t scorch their surroundings. A halo of heat surrounded him but burned nothing, and Esset was suddenly aware of a firm, fiery weapon that had appeared in his clenched fist. Some part of Esset knew that he had summoned the Guardian of Fire unto himself, in part becoming a summon to defend someone he loved who had been rendered completely helpless.
Esset lifted the flaming sword in his hand as Lady Ateala’s beautiful eyes flew to the door, her mouth shaping into an “O” of shock. She had no defense that could stand against him: no reason or persuasive ability, no magic strong enough to aid her, and no physical might. He strode towards her, unmerciful, her pleading words barely audible over Toman’s cries of suffering.
“No! How did you get past my precautions? How did you even know?” Lady Ateala raged impotently. She backed away from Toman’s side, then thought to hold her enhanced knife in front of her. With a wave of his free hand, Esset sent a wave of blasting heat towards her. The heat melted the knife in her hand, and she cried out in surprise and pain as she dropped it; the heat hadn’t touched her, only her weapon. Soon the lady was pinned against the wall, the flaming sword a scant hairsbreadth from her throat. The summoner’s eyes were filled with fire, freezing her in place as surely as her spell had kept Toman paralyzed. Then those eyes flicked away from her, towards Toman as he rolled onto his side, clutching the stump of his arm as his own blood soaked his skin and clothes and the linens beneath him. There was a brief flare of fire, and Toman screamed again as each of his wounds were cauterized—his pain was intensified for the moment, but he now stood a better chance of surviving his blood loss.
“No, please…” Lady Ateala begged as those fiery eyes lit upon her again. She tried to edge to the side, but the white-hot sword point, flickering with flames, followed her. Seeing no mercy in those eyes, she suddenly went calm.
“Very well then,” she said, standing straighter and putting her arms down by her sides. “If you will kill me, kill me.” She waited, staring him back in the eyes. When the sword point withdrew slightly, she made her move. Hidden in the folds of her dress, she still had another knife, one she always carried concealed on her person. She drew it and her arm arced around—
With a gurgle, her arm suddenly dropped. The Guardian had impaled her throat with the point of his sword. Lady Ateala’s eyes were wide in lifeless shock as the heat of the blade reduced her neck to ash; the invisible, consuming heat seared through the rest of her body a moment later, reducing her entire corpse to a faint sooty stain on the wall and carpet.
A second after, the fiery wings and flaming sword, the aura of heat and fire within all vanished, and Esset collapsed to his knees. Reeling a bit, Esset wasn’t even sure what it was that he had just done. He hadn’t consciously known about the Guardian before summoning it. He certainly didn’t remember the incantation anymore. But the thoughts were secondary, almost ignored as they floated through his mind. Esset was too busy struggling back to his feet and to Toman’s side.
“Toman! Oh Brightfire, please be okay. Toman, Toman!” The scene felt all too familiar; his brother writhing in agony, himself impotent to help. What could he do?
This was the hardest thing he’d ever done; it was almost impossible to think with Toman in this state. Normally, in times of crisis, Toman was the one who was good at thinking under pressure. Now, Toman was the one who needed him, so it was up to Esset to figure it out. Esset stopped his thoughts in their tracks and breathed for a second, calming his mind as much as he could.
Toman needed a healer, and the closest healer was among the Nadra; they may have been useless against the Reshkin, but wounds like Toman had now, he thought, should be within their realm of expertise. But Esset needed help to move him—he found himself strangely exhausted after summoning the Guardian, and he wasn’t entirely sure he had the strength to get Toman outside so he could summon a bird to carry them back to the city. Besides, having another Nadra with him would grant him smoother entrance into the city. He needed to contact Nassata, and get her here as soon as possible.
Esset was unwilling to leave Toman’s side to get the Nadra himself—he was not leaving his brother undefended again. So, he needed to send them a message. Esset pulled his side bag over his head and emptied it onto the floor. Then he grabbed a corner of Toman’s bloodied sheets and tore a strip off. It was difficult tearing the slick red fabric, but he managed to extract a mangled piece and tie it to the strap of his bag. The Nadra would know that the bag and summon were his, see the blood, and come running. He just had to get it to them. He was forced to either leave his brother’s side for a few moments or set the house on fire, so he opted for the former. He sprinted to the front door, passing Melanie on the floor, who was holding her head and looking around, extremely dazed—he would worry about her later.
Esset skidded to a stop on the front step and summoned the fire horse. It took him only moments to loop the strap of his bag over its neck and send it running in the direction of the Nadra. Esset went back to his brother’s room and only then went briefly into a trance to make sure the horse met the Nadra . The horse practically flew when it ran full speed—it took less than a minute to reach Nassata, and he waited only until he saw them spot the horse before banishing the creature and leaving the bloody call for help on the ground.
Coming back to himself, Esset tore apart the room until he found bandages. The summoner’s knowledge of first-aid was sketchy, but at least the bleeding had stopped. Toman was obviously in horrible pain, but Esset frankly didn’t trust any of the medicinal items in Lady Ateala’s arsenal—after revealing herself as an enemy, who knew what they could be. Hopefully the bandages weren’t tainted at all—those, at the very least, he needed. A medic he was not, but Esset managed to at least cover and brace Toman’s three wounds by the time the Nadra arrived. He’d left the
front door wide open, and the three came in, spears bristling.
“Please, help me,” Esset pleaded. Nassata immediately threw down her spear and slithered over to help.
“What happened?” Nassata was shocked by the scene, and no wonder.
“Just help me get him outside, please. I will explain, I will, but we need to get him to your healers.” Esset recognized a hint of hysteria in his voice. He was losing his grip on the cool detachment that had allowed him to plan to this moment. Now he was beginning to falter, but he had to force himself to hold it together until Toman was to a healer.
“Out of the way.” That was one of the other Nadra, a red-scaled male warrior who put down his spear as well and pushed Esset aside so that he could help Nassata pick up Toman in a way that wouldn’t be excruciating to his stump of an arm. Esset found himself staring at Toman’s severed limb and wondering if there was any salvaging it. But no—it would take a mage-healer to salvage it, and the Nadra didn’t have any of those. It was lost, all too surely.
“Summoner, come on.” It was the red warrior, giving his shoulder a little shake, and Esset realized he was probably going into shock. But not yet—he couldn’t yet. He snapped back to himself and grabbed the animator’s gloves from where they’d been dropped before moving to catch up to Nassata.
“Nassata, I need to fly to your city, can I ask you to come? One of my summons would have to carry you, and it won’t be comfortable,” Esset requested, an edge of a desperate plea to his voice. As he finished asking, they reached the front step and moved into the street in front of the house.
“Of course,” Nassata replied, understanding. With two incantations and two bursts of flame, two giant, fiery birds materialized in the street. Esset climbed up the back of one and the Nadra helped him get Toman secured in front of him. This way, Esset could make sure Toman didn’t lose a bandage and bleed out. Nassata, however, was too awkward to ride on the back of the bird—one would have to carry her in its talons.
Calling On Fire (Book 1) Page 26
