by TR Cameron
Fyre surged into flight when the lightning left him, an instant before the greatcat’s claws scraped the floor where he’d been. The emotions radiating from his partner were overwhelming and added fuel to the anger that already surged through him. When she was hurled away, he shrieked and flew over the armored figure to bathe him in ice. Every plate his frost breath touched suddenly glowed and when the brightness faded, the man was unchanged.
He banked, swooped past, and used his rear claws to strike the metal warrior on the side of his helmet. There wasn’t much behind it, but at least the blow would keep his mind off Cali for an instant. He curved in midair to move toward the cat. He could see what the other creature planned in the way its legs tensed. On another day, he might have avoided the attack and spent more time on the dance rather than risking injury by meeting him head-on.
Not today, though. When the feline leapt with its paws stretched wide to catch him, the Draksa matched his position, fluttered his wings, and positioned all four feet with their sharp claws against the greatcat’s belly. He thrashed violently and raked them along the skin while he pressed as hard as he could. The beast screamed and pierced his scales with its claws to draw long bloody lines down his sides. Finally, Fyre’s claws punched through and the cat soon began to bleed copiously.
They fell together but the dragon lizard pushed away at the last second and buffeted his wings to avoid a hard landing. His foe pounded into the floor on its side and lay still. As this wasn’t his first encounter with a greatcat, the act failed to fool the Draksa. He expelled a cone of frost breath and the seemingly defeated feline lurched out of the way and trailed blood as it positioned itself for the next attack. He’d hurt it and the wounds would surely overcome it eventually, but for the moment, his foe was far more dangerous than it had been.
Cali still didn’t know what the man had done to throw her across the room. She assumed it was magical, based on his attacks so far.
Maybe a force wave or something? But it had taught her that even getting into hand to hand combat, where she thought she’d have an advantage, wouldn’t be the right answer to the puzzle he presented. That’s fine, I have other options. She slid up the wall to stand shakily and the calm sense of well-being that always followed a healing potion surged through her.
She stepped forward and punched the air, willing the force blow to strike him in the face. The features on his armor glowed, then faded, and he didn’t move. Okay. I can’t punch you with magic because of the armor and can’t punch you with fists because of the armor. But thanks to Emalia, I have a trick up my sleeve—or around my neck, to be precise.
“Another runner in the night,” she shouted. It would seem like nonsense to everyone except her allies, Anyas, and the venue’s workers, who knew it was both a song lyric and a warning of what she was about to do.
With a shield raised to catch his attacks, raced toward her foe. When she was two feet away, she slid to a stop, squeezed her eyes closed, and twisted her head. “Iubar,” she said and held a picture in her mind of an exploding sun from a science fiction movie. As the charm detonated, a momentary hope that the Malniets outside the battlefield wouldn’t be permanently damaged was followed quickly by an acknowledgment that they’d chosen to accept the risk by being present for the battle and probably deserved whatever they got.
As unbelievable as it was, she felt the light fill the room like it was a physical thing that swelled around her. It was brilliant against her closed lids, and she was thankful she’d also thought to turn away. A howl of shock turned into a wail of despair from the deep-voiced man in the armor. The magic faded almost as quickly as it had appeared, barely a second’s worth of brilliance, and the spent charm fell with a tiny chime.
A crash was followed by a gasp from the crowd, and she opened her eyes hastily. Her opponent writhed and moaned with his armored hands over his helm. A dark shield separated the battlefield from the onlookers, doubtless the venue’s doing to protect the spectators from her attack.
I’m glad we remembered to warn them. It had been Invel’s idea and she was now definitely in his debt if she hadn’t been before.
She twisted toward the Draksa and the cat and lowered her hand to the pouch that held the globe with the devastating crystals. The greatcat was coated with ice, a still statue. Fyre turned to face her and shrugged. “Good job, buddy. Did the light hit him?” He nodded and she sighed. “That’s unfortunate.”
She walked toward her adversary. “Korota Malniet, do you yield?” Only moans answered her so she knelt beside him and drew her second dagger, the first having been lost somewhere during her cross-room flight. She saw the skin she’d aimed at before but chose instead to use the blade as a lever and pried the faceplate away from the helm.
Beneath it, the man was thin and almost sickly looking, and his unseeing eyes blinked furiously as if that could heal them. He mumbled incoherently.
Damn it. If he can’t yield, I’ll have to knock him out and given how fragile he looks, it might kill him. She looked at his supporters.
“Healing potion. Now.” One of them gave a start, then withdrew a vial from a bag and raised his arm to toss it to her. “Wait,” she snapped, then turned to Anyas. “Is it within the rules for your people to verify that it is actually a healing potion?”
The woman nodded and made a small gesture, and one of her associates bustled over and examined it. With a nod, he rolled it across the floor to her. She uncapped it and trickled it into her opponent’s lips with one hand, holding the dagger against the bottom of his chin with the other. His moans faded, and his gaze swiveled toward her. Thank heaven for healing potions. She pushed on the blade slightly, and his eyes widened. Softly, she repeated, “Korota Malniet, do you yield?”
The deep voice had apparently been provided by the magical armor because his words were high and scared. “Y-yes. I yield. Is my cat okay?” She turned to look at Fyre, who licked his paw rather than provide an answer. Returning her gaze to him, she replied, “I’m not sure. Hopefully, you have healing potions that will work on him. He’s trapped in ice at the moment.” He twitched as if to rise, and she shook her head. “No way. You stay right here until Anyas says it’s okay for you to move—long after we’ve departed. If you and your friend over there ever challenge me or mine again, or if I have even the slightest reason to consider you a threat, you’re dead. Do you understand?”
He nodded several times and clearly believed her words. She stood, faced Anyas, and extended a hand to her as the woman walked forward. “Thank you again for the use of your venue. The Malniet family owes you for sparing their followers from the pain of blindness, however temporary.” She gestured at her foe’s supporters.
Anyas gripped her hand, and the taste of pineapple teased her tongue. She didn’t need her magic to sense her goodwill, though. It was clear in her smile and approving tone. “It has been a pleasure knowing you, Matriarch Caliste. I wish you well in all things. If there is any service that I or Lutte’s may provide in the future, you have only to ask.” Fyre walked up and bumped into Cali’s leg, and the other woman laughed. “The same goes for you, noble Draksa.”
As they exited with Emalia and Invel talking excitedly behind them, Cali sent a message to Fyre. “One more trick burned. We won’t catch them off guard with it a second time. I tell ya, buddy, I’m real tired of this nonsense.” The wave of affirmation that swept over her confirmed that his opinion marched hers.
There’s no way I’ll inch up this damn ladder the way they want me to. There must be a loophole. I merely need to find it.
Chapter Thirty
Her success in the battle against the Malniets would have been the bright point of her week at any other time, but the message from Nylotte telling her that Alessand was ready to show her something exceeded it. She had been given permission to portal to the outer gate of the Kemana but no further, so she pumped magic into her muscles and ran down the tunnel, then down the long staircase that cut through the terraces around the bow
l of the city. When she reached the main street, she slowed her pace to a more dignified walk, albeit a very fast one. She was sure that if Jenkins or Emalia could see her, they would have comments about the proper behavior of a matriarch and how she didn’t live up to that standard.
Cali didn’t care. She only wanted to see what surprise lay in store for her.
Nylotte leaned against the outside of the sword shop, a few feet away from the door. The Drow was dressed all in black leather with her white hair in a topknot. She looked decidedly martial, and the young woman said a small word of thanks to the universe that they were on the same side. At her approach, the Dark Elf stepped aside, opened the door, and gestured for her to enter.
The small showroom of the shop was unchanged from her previous visit. Racks of blades of every type adorned the walls, and the center island was again empty, awaiting whatever the master craftsman would put there. But this time, the door to the back was open, and Nylotte pointed at it. “He’s waiting in there for us.”
Cali tried to control the bounce in her step as she walked toward the rear of the building. What she found was an almost pristine environment, totally unlike the workspace with anvils, fire, and cooling baths she’d expected. The walls were covered with pale-gray tile, the floor was cement, and a number of long glowing lights above cast their soft illumination over everything and made it seem almost like midday on the surface.
Alessand waited with a wide smile on his face. He wore a simple suit in navy-blue, with polished brown shoes and a white button-down shirt. The effect was more like an investment banker than a sword-maker, but she doubted the former had ever radiated as much pride as the man before her did.
He seemed to barely be able to hold the words back. “I have good news, Matriarch Leblanc.”
Quickly, she shook her head. “Cali, remember?”
He chuckled. “Right, Cali. Behold.” He waved a hand and a portion of the wall slid aside to reveal two vertical molds of a black material. The one on the left was in the shape of a large sword, with several pieces of metal positioned in their appropriate positions. That was clearly a work in progress as the empty space was more than what was filled. The other, however, was in the shape of a long dagger and held the shard she’d snatched from the Atlanteans. Several other pieces gathered from the bunker were placed near it to create an entire weapon, although still in pieces. She frowned in confusion.
“What is that?”
“That is a present from your parents,” Nylotte answered.
She turned to the Drow. “Come again?”
The other woman chuckled. “The final piece was an unexpected bonus, to be sure. But it makes sense that they would have wanted to use it as bait for you as it is part of another blade that has long been in the Leblanc family.” She nodded to Alessand. “Do your magic, maestro.”
The elf nodded and turned toward the blades. He began to speak, then to chant, and gestured his arms in strange patterns. As he did so, the individual sword pieces glowed and the light increased in intensity with each of his motions. The pressure in the room built and her head began to hurt from the raw power gathering around her.
Finally, with a loud shout, the ambient energy seemed to suck toward the dagger. The individual pieces of metal somehow became solid and liquid simultaneously and flowed into a single, unbroken blade.
Alessand stepped forward and removed it from the mold, then turned and offered it to her pommel-first. She took it and held it up to the light, marveling at the beauty of the etchings and the metal they adorned. “Amazing.”
The Drow laughed. “Don’t be too effusive. We’ll never hear the end of it.” She said it with a smile, however and the sword-maker wore one as well. “Now, it took considerable research, but I have determined what the etchings mean and that, more than the blade itself, is what your parents wanted you to have.”
Cali stared at them, unable to fathom what message they might contain. Nylotte, of course, would make her ask. She sighed and said, “Okay, I’ll bite. What are they?”
The other woman grinned. “You’re as easy to irritate as Diana is. How wonderful.” She shook her head. “They show the coordinates of a location on Oriceran. And that last rune there—down at the bottom? It’s in the local dialect of the area. It means ‘treasure.’”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ozahl sat in a back booth and looked expectantly at the door. He hadn’t been to the Stallion in an age, and the man he appeared to be had never crossed the threshold. His wardrobe was that of a businessman and his face was a duplicate of a tourist he’d seen several weeks before. He constantly searched crowds and stored people’s appearances for later illusions and had done so for so long that it was now an unconscious process.
The waiter took his order—Scotch on the rocks for him and cold Prosecco for his date—and he drummed his fingers impatiently on the table while he waited for her to arrive. Danna Cudon arrived a few seconds before the drinks, and he ordered pasta carbonara for them both as she slid into the booth beside him. She looked as stressed as he felt, but his lifetime of pretending allowed him to hide it far better.
She sighed and drank the entire glass before she spoke. “The Empress has been busy. House Jehenel has been drawn into the intrigue and we are expected to increase the pressure on Caliste to join us or end her.”
He shrugged. “We knew most of this would probably happen. Why does it have you so agitated?”
Danna shook her head. “You’re much better at subterfuge than I am.” She laughed darkly. “After all this time, no one even knows your real name although you were part of the gang. I want the girl dead before she can do further harm. I want the Zatoras gone before they kill any more of my people. And I’m tired of the surface. I want to go home.”
The mage chuckled. “You may be romanticizing that idea, love. We didn’t come from the pretty parts of New Atlantis and in my opinion, New Orleans is far more welcoming. Here, we could live like royalty if that was our choice.”
She shook her head. “And you may be romanticizing what our lives here are like. It’s different for you as you pull the strings. I am trapped between a multitude of desires—yours and mine, Usha’s, the Empress’… If this is living royally, I’d prefer a quiet existence where no one pushed me to do anything.”
Guilt flowed over him, a distinctly unfamiliar sensation. She was correct. He hadn’t been fully aware of the burden their plans placed upon her.
Well, that changes this very minute. He nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see it from your perspective. Soon—very soon—we will have what we’ve always wanted. A life beyond surface royalty. Nobility in our chosen home, our true home.” He took her hands and held them as he continued. “But tell me, what can we do right now to improve things for you?”
The waiter arrived with their food, and there was a pause while they tried it. She ordered another drink, and the server scurried away to fetch it. “There’s so much.” She sighed. “But truly, probably the best thing for me is to bring the Zatoras to an end. Doing so will allow Usha to flourish, which will take that worry and guilt off my shoulders as well. I’ll have additional responsibilities but they’ll be clear and manageable in a way that having their threat always snapping at our heels isn’t.”
He nodded. “Okay. Then that’s become our first priority.” He grinned. “I expected you’d say you wanted to kill the girl.”
A smile appeared on her face. “I assumed you had plans involving her and those might include using her against the Zatoras.”
“You are wise, my love.” They ate and drank, both in much better moods than when they’d entered. Ozahl’s clever mind was already at work on the plan to destroy Grisham and his people. The reminder of his time spent with the Atlantean gang under the identity of Aiden Walsh made bringing down their long-term enemies all the sweeter.
And oh yes, young Caliste will play a key role.
Across town at the Shark Nightclub, the Atlantean gang leader sat at the bar and nu
rsed her third Pina Colada. Her plans for the evening included several more and hopefully, a dreamless sleep in her office. The nights since she’d reported her group’s failures to the Empress had been filled with dire dreams and she had woken screaming more than once.
It was clear that Shenni wanted Caliste turned to their side more than she wanted the girl dead. It was evident in her tone if not in her words. And more than anything—even more than the pursuit of her own longing to end the vexatious Leblanc line once and for all—Usha’s desire was to give the Empress whatever she wanted.
But how the hell do I accomplish that? What could bring us together in a way that she sees the gang that’s tried to kill her as an ally?
As the initiating party, she was able to call the ritual battles off at any time. But if the situations were reversed, she’d interpret that as an insult, a statement of her unworthiness to continue the fight. That’s how one of the noble houses would receive it, and Caliste was rapidly growing into her position as matriarch.
No, it’s too risky. She would need to request the cessation before I could offer it to avoid that possibility.
One thing she might do was to let word of the possibility trickle out in a way that it reached the girl’s ears. That wouldn’t be difficult. She set that idea to the side for the moment and considered the larger problem.
Even if she’s no longer against us, how do we make it so she’s for us? We should have been there for the Kraken attack. That would have at least been a start.
