by Matt Russell
She heard what seemed to be her own voice thunder across the psychic plane, and as this happened, the flaming orb under her control grew still larger. It was the size of a carriage now, and the flames churned and spun like the currents of a powerful river, responding to her fury.
Simius's face went pale, and he shrank back. Everyone in the room, in fact, drew away, for the spell she controlled was now radiating heat in every direction.
Sweat dripped down Livia cheeks. It was intoxicating to control such terrible power, and yet... what was she going to do with it? Would she burn everyone around her to death? Was that who she was?
Livia cut off the flow of energy to the spell and it fizzled into nothingness. A swell of relief emanated from all around her, but of course, the danger was not over. She walked toward Simius and his father, staring the two nobles in the eyes with an open contempt she would never have dared before. Both of them were utterly terrified.
A soldier nervously moved to block her path. Livia flicked her wrist, willing her magic into what she hoped would be a gentle push. The man's body was whipped to the right, and he went skidding along the stone floor, his armor sending up sparks. She felt a small twinge of guilt at this. The man was only trying to protect his lord, and he was braver than his comrades. All the same, she needed to make this show of force. Hervin's life might depend upon it. The display seemed to be working, for none of the other guards moved to intercept her.
Simius cringed as Livia stepped up to him, his hands shaking at his sides. She leaned into his face and watched him flinch. This dashing young son of a lord had murdered her dwarven friend to ensure his own power. He would have killed her too, she knew. At these thoughts, her anger rose. The stone tiles beneath both of their feet cracked, and Simius shrank further away from her, letting out a high pitched whimper.
Livia tried to form words again with her mind but found she could not. That power—whatever it was—had come by reflex rather than conscious thought, and it seemed she could not yet use it at will.
"I—I won't hurt your f-father!" the young nobleman shrieked, his bottom lip trembling as he spoke. "I s-swear by the gods, I'll never touch him!"
Livia narrowed her eyes. Was that a lie? Her powers of perception had vastly increased, and yet many of the nuances of telepathy were incredibly new to her, and Simius was guarding his thoughts. That alone told her not to trust him.
She leaned in still closer to the man’s face, and he flattened against the wall, trembling. She drew out her paper and pencil, put it against the stone next to him and began writing a message. There was no fear at all of attack as she composed her words. Never had Livia felt so powerful—so invincible. She breathed softly as she finished her simple note, which read:
If your house troubles Hervin or anyone else I love, I will come for you, and I will bring Cassian Asango with me.
She flung the paper in Simius’s face and turned toward the keep's exit, not bothering to watch him read it. This place irritated her. She would have died here or spent the rest of her life as a prisoner and... whatever else Simius had in mind for her. Now she was beyond the grotesque power of aristocratic lords—a notion that would have seemed madness only a few hours ago.
The guards near the exit parted as Livia approached, none of them meeting her eyes. She walked between them and stepped up to the door. It was barred shut, just like the one that had held her a few minutes ago, but this time the crossbar was on the inside. Livia made a quick gesture with her right hand. A thin tendril of power whipped out from the tip of her index finger and shifted the mass of wood to the left, sending it skittering along the floor to the left. A second gesture pushed the door open—a little harder than she had intended—making the hinges squeal and bend. At least she had not knocked the wall out this time.
As Livia stepped out into the sunlight, it dawned on her that a different person was emerging than the one who had been taken prisoner. She walked without fear along the stone path into the city where she had spent nearly all of her life. Gods but it seemed different now—smaller, less imposing. She was beyond the power of the aristocrats behind her. The magic that whirred inside made her feel that perhaps anything was possible now.
Livia strolled back to her home, basking in the elation that she was a starborn! She felt the eyes of others on her—the judgmental thoughts of some of the townswomen, and the lustful notions of several men. There were other impressions besides the negatives. Children were at play, having fun. Men and women were concentrating on work. Livia felt the joy of a man inside a tavern savoring the delicious stew he had been anticipating all morning, and so many other impressions. This was the mosaic of humanity, and she could see it now in all its chaos, its ugliness, and its profound beauty.
Livia was in a beautiful haze when she came upon the Sondal home. Hervin was inside. She recognized his mind immediately. He was pacing back and forth in the house, thinking about what he would say when he begged to see her. The poor little man was so filled with worry. This touched Livia’s heart. She was a starborn, and that would almost certainly lead to wealth, fame, and importance, yet only two people in her entire life had loved her as the mute slave she had been, and here was one of them.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside to find Hervin turn in mid-pace and gape at her. "Livia!" he exclaimed. She felt his mind fill with excitement. "A-are you free?"
She smiled at him, and then her eyes flicked to the desk where her extra paper rested. She considered willing one of the drawers open with her mind but thought better of it for worry both of frightening Hervin and ripping the desk to splinters. There was no need anyhow. The luxury of time existed for her. She could search for Iona now. Perhaps Cassian and even the other starborn might help. For the moment though, she could spare some time to share this wonderful revelation with her father. Thus, she moved to the desk, drew out a fresh piece of paper and placed it down, and then retrieved the pencil from her pocket and wrote:
I have so much to tell you.
Chapter 42:
The Immortal People
"Remember that time you made me try to snatch the pebble out of your hand?" Glavius said as he carefully poured a single drop of the elf-blood concoction into Gretis's open mouth. "I think you were just taunting me, watching me leap for it, knowing I could never match your damned Sansrit reflexes. You never made Kota do that crap. I asked." He stared at Gretis's throat, watching for any constriction of the muscles. If she were swallowing the potion at all, he never saw it, but then she had always been a tricky one.
He glanced at the black sword that was still through her gut and wondered for perhaps the three-hundredth time if she were secretly in pain. The cart was rickety, especially on the back roads of uneven dirt and stone Darius had ordered him to take. The blade must have jostled over and over inside of her, yet no fresh blood dripped out. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
They were near a stream, and Glavius had disconnected the horses to let them have a drink and rest. The steeds were lapping up the water a dozen paces away while Glavius stood at the back of the cart. He was bare-chested, enjoying the hot sun on his tattooed back. The ride had been long and uneventful, and he had not been sleeping at night. Anxiety over Gretis's condition made drifting off virtually impossible. He kept suspecting that if he closed his eyes, he would wake up to find her entirely dead.
"Is Kota still alive?" he whispered, gazing into the woman’s olive-skinned face. If he could have her only answer one question, that would be it, but she never responded no matter how many times he asked. "Gods," he muttered, shutting his eyes, "sometimes I wish I were just a farmer like my father was. Have I told you about him yet?" He chuckled aloud. "He was the son of a lord if you can believe it, but the seventh son. No chance of inheriting title or lands, of course."
Glavius walked over to the horses and removed their hobbles, and then led them back to the cart where he hitched them. As he worked the straps, a sigh escaped his throat. "When my parents died, my gra
ndfather paid my tuition at the Onkai Academy and sent me away. I'd never even met him before. I don't think he gave a shite about me or even my father. Ah well..." Glavius climbed up onto the driver's seat and gave the reigns a gentle snap, and the horses jolted into a trot. "I had a little sister," he muttered distantly. "Her name was Annalique. The flood got her too. I was off, messing around with my friends." He shook his head. "I don't think I can picture her face anymore—not exactly—but... I remember I loved her a lot."
Glavius was silent for a long time after that. He knew it was silly to pick at old wounds, but he was bored and nervous and trying to distract himself. Over the next few hours, he spoke quietly to Gretis about dozens of things. He told her about the fight with the kobold demon down in the caves of Narethor Mountain. A spinning counter she had taught him had saved his life then. He told her about the girl he had rescued from a handful of wild ogres. She had been very pretty and... very grateful.
Throughout the day, Glavius carefully studied Darius's map. Some of the landmarks did not align precisely, but he felt reasonably confident they were on the right track. The mountains at least were easy to recognize. The last human-made road ended by midday, and he had to take the cart over grass and brush, which made the going slower. The horses did not seem to like the trudging from the way they snorted and came to abrupt stops every so often. Glavius wondered if they were afraid. Being so far from human civilization was dangerous. Some of the older creatures of the world were said to roam these forests—wild beasts whose blood still burned with primal magic. Glavius found himself gazing into the trees as the sun began to set, searching for the scaly coils of a basilisk, and he even scanned the evening sky every so often to make certain that a manticore did not drop in silence from above and sink its teeth into him.
Twilight had set in when he came upon the mountainside that matched what Darius had described in his notes. It was a rock face of sorts, constructed of dozens upon dozens of jagged spires twisting and curling up into sharp ends high in the sky. The stone was dark and gloomy, with numerous crevices large enough to hold dangerous creatures. Glavius noticed paw prints on the ground, catlike and greater in diameter than his head. Black wasps the size of pigeons buzzed about through sharp spires, some of them darting down very close to the cart.
It was all an illusion. Glavius forced himself to believe this as a wasp buzzed near to his face, baring a black, finger-length stinger. He couldn’t help imagining being swarmed by these hideous insects. Wouldn't that be a cruel twist? He would fail to save Gretis and die screaming on the ground because of a misinterpretation of a map. But then his eyes fell upon a single gray patch of stone roughly the size and shape of a handprint in the middle of one of the black rocks. He ambled toward it and put his right palm against the rough surface, just as Darius had instructed.
"Kaontis Massal," he said, hoping that his pronunciation of the elven words was at least somewhat accurate.
"Raise your hands very slowly and turn around, human," a sharply accented voice said from behind with a strange, electric cadence. "Any sudden moves, and you die."
Glavius lifted his hands. As he did, he noticed he was no longer staring at jagged rock but what looked like a solid wall of polished white marble. He had not seen any change take place. It was if it had happened as he blinked, though he could not remember shutting his eyes. He turned around very slowly and saw, to his great surprise, at least twenty elves surrounding him. There were both males and females, some holding silver bows with what appeared to be crystal-tipped arrows aimed at his chest, while others held ornate shields studded with jewels and swords that glowed a brilliant yellow that lit up the evening. They were clad in sleek golden armor with incredibly fine chain mail draped over intricately complicated hinges at the joints. All of them had either blond or red hair and turquoise eyes that visibly glowed, and every set of those eyes were locked on him.
"You are not supposed to be here, Onkai," a slender male with auburn hair running out the back of his helmet said. Glavius could not decipher his age. All of them appeared to be in their twenties in human terms, though any or all could be centuries old.
"We have a unique situation," Glavius said, finding his voice and meeting the gaze of the one who appeared to be the leader.
"The terms of our treaty are quite clear," the elf answered in a cold voice. "You are not to visit our cities unless invited. By all rights, we should kill you for this intrusion."
"I have a dying Sansrit master with a demon's sword through her stomach in my cart," he said.
"We saw her," the leader said, his expression not changing. "The treaty makes no special allowances, even for followers of the Sansrit. Her wounds are a human matter, for humans to contend with."
Glavius twitched in irritation. The elf speaking so dispassionately about Gretis's life was shorter and considerably thinner than he was—they were all smaller. He briefly imagined ramming his fist into the flawless face. What the hell kind of people could look at a dying woman and not give help? He recalled one of Master Bendick's lectures on the 'fair folk.' They were a once great but now diminished people guided by self-preservation, and their emotions were much, much further beneath the surface than humans. Did that mean they possessed no compassion?
"We will allow you to take the woman away if you leave immediately," the leader said, his glowing eyes unblinking.
Glavius drew in a breath, stifling his frustration as best he could as he said: "That is Lady Gretis in the cart. She was invited here by one of your people—a girl named Thalice of... I think it was house Corostine."
The elf gave no visible reaction to this other than a slight narrowing of his eyes. His soldiers behind him did not seem to be moving at all—not even breathing. They stood statue-still in battle poses, and Glavius briefly wondered at how much strength and speed lay in their slender forms. They were said to be incredibly formidable, though no one had reportedly seen an elf in battle in hundreds of years.
"I have notified Lady Thalice," the leader said, still staring at Glavius.
“Really?” Glavius muttered. Telepathy was such a strange thing.
“She is on her way here,” said the elf. “I hope for your sake, human, that you are telling the truth. It would bring me no pleasure to remove the head of an Onkai."
"Your concern for me is moving," Glavius muttered, keeping his hands raised. He and the elves waited in perfect silence for several long, icy moments. Eventually, he heard the sound of exceptionally light footsteps behind, and then a feminine form in a blue dress glided into his view.
"Where is Lady Gretis?" Thalice said, turning to Glavius. Unlike the other elves, her face and voice gave evidence of emotion, and she seemed quite alarmed.
"In the wagon," he said.
"Nocass vien clen Onkai," Thalice snapped as she rushed past the elven soldiers. Glavius had no idea what the first three words meant, but most of the soldiers lowered their weapons, blinking at him.
The leader frowned, then said: "It seems your life will be spared for the moment." He held out his hand, palm up. "Please surrender your weapons."
Glavius looked past him to Thalice, who had climbed up into the cart and was kneeling down over Gretis. Absently, he pulled his sword free of its scabbard, placed the hilt into the elf commander's palm, and then stepped around him, but a thin hand snapped up with remarkable speed to Glavius's chest, bringing his momentum to an abrupt halt.
"All of your weapons," the elf said.
Glavius gritted his teeth and drew the dagger from his belt, and then bent down and took his spare knife from inside his boot and handed both to the commander. "Good enough?" he said through his teeth.
"No," the elf said. "You will need to be searched."
"Nee kay ondus!" Thalice snapped, turning and glaring at the commander.
The elf hesitated for a brief moment, then gestured toward the cart and said: "You are free to move, but be warned that—"
"Uh huh," Glavius g
runted and brushed past him. He rushed through the soldiers and climbed up onto the cart next to Thalice. In a voice filled with nerves, he said: "C-can you save her?"
"I do not know," she whispered. Her slender fingers were on Gretis's stomach where the blade was protruding. "You were intelligent to leave the weapon in its place."
"What do we do?” Glavius said.
Thalice's glowing eyes blinked down at Gretis's still form. "Her honnis—what perhaps you call her animus—has been working very hard to keep her body in a suspended state." She turned and looked at him. "A demon did this? What kind?"
"We found the body of an oily, bat-like creature about the size of a man next to her, but no one saw what happened."
"What of her pupil, Kota?" Thalice said.
"We don't know what happened to him," Glavius muttered, his nerves afire. "I hope he's not dead, but the only one who might know one way or another is her," he waved his hand at Gretis.
"I see," Thalice whispered, her exquisite features contorting into worry. She glanced up at the soldiers and issued what sounded like a command in her people's sharp language. Four of the elves nodded and disappeared inside what Glavius now saw was an enormous palace of white stone. The spires of jagged rock had become towers with domed tops ending in fiercely glowing blue crystals the size of watermelons. Many other details might have fascinated him about the structure's exterior, but he scarcely registered them. Instead, his eyes fixed upon four new elves in white robes who came out of the arched doorway carrying what appeared to be a silver-framed gurney. It had smooth white cloth lain upon it rather than the rough fabrics his order used.
Glavius hopped down off the cart and reached to scoop up Gretis in his arms, but Thalice stayed his hands with a soft touch. "They can move her far more gently than you can," she said. Her tone was kind and gentle. He found it reassuring and stepped back, lowering his arms. She climbed down next to him and said: "Please come. We must talk."
