Fortune Favors the Cruel

by Kel Carpenter

  Thorne turned, leading Lazarus back into the tree hut. He moved to the entrance of a small room and held his arm out, stopping Lazarus from entering. “Wait here,” he ordered, disappearing inside. Lazarus waited patiently and when Thorne returned, he held a heavy leather satchel.

  “The stone is inside,” he said. “But before I hand it over, I desire one more thing.”

  Lazarus narrowed his eyes and waited.

  “When you leave, I insist you take Vaughn with you. He will lead you out of the mountains and act as an emissary of the Cisean people in your future court.”

  “If you want him as a symbol of our alliance, I can assure you it is not necessary,” Lazarus replied.

  A gleam of Thorne’s normal humor passed across the Cisean’s face. “Afraid he may take the girl from you?”

  Lazarus scowled. “That is not the case.” Because he’d kill Vaughn before it came to that. Not that he said as much.

  Thorne shook his head. “Whether it is or not, I will insist this time, my friend. I have no doubt that in a few months’ time you will be on the throne or well on your way, and I would like this friendship to be one that others see. It will keep certain parties out of the mountains, just as it will give the royal brats pause. You see? I will only give you this stone if you agree to these terms.” Lazarus stifled a growl. He did not like being commanded, ordered, or backed into a corner. But he knew there was little choice in the matter now. The boy would be a distraction for sure, but his presence was irrelevant.

  Lazarus nodded. “I can accept these terms.” Thorne waited another moment before he nodded back and handed the satchel over. Lazarus took it and turned to leave, pausing only when Thorne’s hand closed over his arm.

  “There is one more thing. I would ask that you keep your use of the spring between us, my friend.” Thorne posed the request politely, but the glint in his eye let Lazarus know that it was no request at all. “As the elected leader of my people, I have certain permissions. As my friend, my ally, I can give you certain allowances, but Lazarus, make no mistake—this spring is sacred to the Cisean people. We have been guardians of these mountains since before the ancient times and some might not take kindly to my allowance of you using it for this purpose.”

  “I can do that.”

  “And whatever you do, do not enter the water with her,” Thorne said, his voice dropping. “If you get into the water, the stone will take from you as well. The two times it has happened, no one made it out alive.”

  “Noted.” Lazarus turned and grasped the other man’s hand in a firm, masculine manner. The movement, the willing closeness, startled Thorne. “I will do my best to ensure we return, and your secret—it stays between us.”

  Thorne stayed a moment, assessing the truth in Lazarus’ eyes. Whatever he saw there must have assuaged his concerns, for he sighed, nodded, and then stepped back, allowing Lazarus to leave the hut.

  Lazarus tucked the leather pouch Thorne had given him into his cloak without looking inside. Quinn would be on the female training grounds at this time. He headed that way. No doubt, Draeven would be somewhere close by. His second-in-command—his left-hand—had taken to watching the girl, his curiosity mounting on the distrust he first felt towards her. Lazarus knew Draeven was concerned about Quinn, worried, and therefore, he never let her out of his sight.

  Sure enough, as soon as Lazarus stepped out of a line of trees and onto the training grounds, he saw the flash of silver hair just before Siva took her down. Not far from their sparring session, Draeven stood by with arms crossed and eyes focused. Lazarus headed straight for him, noting with a scowl that the boy was not far—his eyes glued to Quinn as she spoke with Siva from her prone position on the ground.

  Draeven must have sensed his presence and turned to greet him just as Quinn jerked her arm out and sent Siva flying. He waited as the two women spoke some more in low tones difficult to hear over the grunting and clashing of weapons nearby. Once it was obvious they were done, Draeven raised his voice and called for her.

  Ice blue eyes turned on him, stabbing deep into his gut and curling around the vile organ in his chest that kept him alive. Her frozen fingers closed over the vessel of lifeblood and squeezed. She had no clue. Absolutely none. But Lazarus wanted to see that darkness in her eyes come to life, he wanted it to fester and multiply. And when it did, he would forge her into the greatest weapon the world had ever known.

  A Warrior’s Staff

  “Weapons come in many forms, the greatest being our minds.”

  — Quinn Darkova, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister

  Sweat poured into her eyes as Quinn maintained her stance, circling Draeven as he circled her. His violet eyes were sharp, analyzing as he clenched his jaw and then swung. Quinn sidestepped out of the way and went down on one knee, bringing her own blade up to halt the assaulting weapon. Draeven’s eyes widened as he jerked it back and away. She knew he wasn’t expecting her to be any good at this. Men always loved to overlook her, forgetting not only what she was, but in this case, where she came from.

  Quinn jerked her foot out and Draeven stumbled before righting himself. She popped to her feet and resumed circling.

  “She-wolf is strong,” Vaughn commented from the sidelines as he spoke to Dominicus. Dominicus grunted, though it was neither an affirmation nor a negation of the fact that he was right.

  “That was smart,” Draeven complimented her. “Getting physically closer to throw off your opponent.”

  Quinn lifted an eyebrow and sighed. “Yes, I know,” she said in a mocking tone. “That’s why I did it.” She thrust her sword out and Draeven blocked it with one arm while the other shot out and gripped Quinn’s neck as her body came too close to his.

  Quinn’s eyes widened and she dropped one hand from her sword to grab onto Draeven’s wrist as he lifted her slightly up on her toes. He smirked. “Don’t get too arrogant.”

  She was going to make him eat dirt for that.

  Quinn narrowed her eyes, sinking her nails into his hand as she unleashed a long tendril of fear. The thing hardened and slithered up Draeven’s hand from where he held her. Cursing, he dropped her and stumbled back. Quinn pivoted, swinging her sword and aimed for his neck. Before her blade could meet flesh, Draeven jerked his own up. Metal clashed on metal, the clang echoing over the training grounds.

  Draeven grunted as he pulled back and swung again, throwing so much weight behind it that all Quinn could do to keep her hand from bending backwards was let go. Her blade fell from her grasp, landing on the carefully brushed soil as she stepped sideways and Draeven fell. Landing face first where she wanted him.

  He rolled sideways and glared at her as he spat out a glob of dirt. “You could have beheaded me,” he said as he climbed to his feet.

  Quinn shrugged as she leaned down and picked up her sword. “It’s training. If someone comes at you with a sword, they’re not going to stop.” She turned away and started towards the end of the field.

  “Yeah, well, be more careful next time,” he called back.

  Quinn pursed her lips and looked over her shoulder. “You might want to get over your fear of slithery animals,” she retorted.

  “She-wolf Quinn is vicious in training,” Vaughn said as she approached. “Strong build. You’d make good wife.”

  Quinn blanched as she dropped her sword against a nearby tree. “Uh … thank you?”

  Siva—Thorne’s wife—approached dressed in tight leather shorts and a small band around her breasts. Her bare stomach was toned, though it still bore the faint lines of having carried a child. She stopped before Quinn.

  “Where did you learn to fight?” she asked, her Norcastan far better than most of the Cisean’s.

  Quinn shrugged. “Wherever I could,” she replied vaguely. In truth, being a slave in Norcastan borders meant she wasn’t without company. Soldiers from Jibreal and Bangratas were with her—and in return for her help translating, they taught her a great deal about fighting with more than hands
and teeth. They taught her the sword, then the dagger, and before long she progressed onto weapons such as the halberd that the Cisean people so loved.

  But the dagger was where her heart lie. One day she was going to return to her homeland for restitution, and when she did, she would skin the people who thought to sell her into slavery to begin with. But that was for another time. Another place.

  Behind them, several women fought with halberds—the clattering of weapons echoing up into the tree tops. Siva looked Quinn over, her gaze assessing.

  “Why do you ask?” Quinn continued, prompting her.

  Siva reached behind her, retrieving a short rod that had been attached to the back of her belt. “You fight with this?”

  Quinn took the offered rod. It was no longer than her forearm. She frowned down at it. “I suppose I could,” she replied. She’d trained with a number of weapons, but never this.

  Siva nodded and then gestured to another woman. A blonde with dark brown eyes approached and held out her own rod. Draeven moved to the other side of Dominicus, sheathing his sword and crossing his arms as he watched from the sidelines.

  Quinn left her sword behind and took the oddly heavy rod, moving back to the area of the practice field she had occupied with Draeven just moments before. Siva followed after, stopping several feet in front of her and lifting a brow. She pressed her thumb into a notch at the tip of the rod and jerked it once.

  Quinn watched as several sections of the rod slid free from the underside, sliding down and locking into place as the rod was transformed into a full staff. Siva held it comfortably at her side. This was a weapon she was well acquainted with, Quinn noted, as she looked down at her own rod. Her fingers ran along the notches that layered the wood. She’d thought them mere decoration before now. Finding the same notch Siva had used, she pressed it and swung her arm out and the sections hidden within the smaller rod slid out and clicked into place.

  Quinn twirled the rod, frowning at the way it still had the same weight as it had before, but now felt more balanced. She swung it to one side and then to the next.

  Siva, who had been standing and waiting for Quinn to start, spoke up then. “You are ready?”

  “Nice staff,” Quinn said in response. “Can I keep this after we’re done?”

  Siva lifted a brow. “If you can defeat me in battle, I will give it to you.”

  Quinn grinned. “Deal.”

  Quinn slid into position, lowering her shoulders and releasing a pent-up breath as Siva stretched back and stared. After a moment, Quinn lifted a brow.

  “Are you going to attack?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Quinn blinked. “I thought you wanted to see me fight with this thing?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why won’t you attack me.”

  “When you come to a practice field to fight, one is the aggressor and one is not. I am not.”

  “So, I take it I’m the aggressor. Fair enough.”

  Siva didn’t respond as Quinn struck out, swinging the stick as though it were her blade, aiming for the other woman’s head.

  Siva lifted her staff—the long cylindrical rod blocking Quinn’s and sending it up and over her head, then back down to land with a light thud. Siva looked up and locked her hands around her own weapon, standing between Quinn and hers.

  “You fight as though this is a sword,” she said. “It is not. Try again.” Siva released Quinn’s staff and stepped back, falling immediately into her original position.

  Quinn stared at the other woman, this time curling her fingers around the mid-point and twirling it once. She strode forward—moving exactly the same as she had before, watching this time as Siva sighed and locked the end of Quinn’s staff to the ground—but this time she didn’t lose her hold on it. Quinn turned, elbowing the other woman in the face.

  She stumbled back and Quinn gripped the staff lightly. Spinning around, she swung it at the back of the other woman’s knees, but Siva saw her coming. She launched herself backwards, avoiding its stinging bite as she flipped in midair and landed once more, but Quinn wasn’t done.

  She swung, smacking away the other woman’s weapon, and then striding forward for the win. She didn’t see the satisfied gleam in Siva’s eyes that would have told her something was wrong. She didn’t consider the staff that came out nowhere and wrapped around her neck. Nor did she see Siva’s hand that came up to hold it there as the wood rattled the base of her skull. She shoved Quinn’s legs out from underneath her and the second jarring impact sent Quinn straight to the ground. She landed on her back, groaning as the bones of her spine protested the abuse.

  Siva popped back to her feet with an air of ease while Quinn remained prone on the ground. Leaning over so that she could look Quinn in the eyes, Siva shook her head.

  “You need more practice with the staff, but you are better than most.”

  Quinn stared back up at the older woman and instead of feeling angry at having been bested, she felt respect. “Do you have any suggestions?”

  “Suggestions?” Siva tilted her head to the side, confused.

  “Advice. On using the staff better,” Quinn clarified. She liked the weapon. It felt good in her hands, not as heavy as a sword, but still strong. The wood was agile. The weight of it was near perfect. As a bonus, she could carry it around even at its full mast and others would assume it was a walking stick, albeit one that could do some damage.

  And best of all, something she hadn’t mastered yet. The staff was a challenge.

  Siva chuckled. “Learn to better use it as an extension of your body. You use it as you would a shorter weapon, but you’re not so unwieldy that you haven’t practiced with something like it before. You don’t hesitate, nor do you pull punches—so to speak—but you ride your instincts and what you need is practice.”

  Quinn nodded. “Thank you.”

  Siva grinned, her chuckles fading. “My staff, please?”

  “What?” Quinn frowned, her hand clenching around the wood she held within her grip. “I thought you said I could keep it.”

  Siva shook her head, wild strands of her blonde hair swaying with the movement. “If you beat me,” she replied. “You did not beat me.”

  Quinn didn’t think, but let her fear rise up. Siva’s eyes widened as if she saw what was coming. She stepped back just as Quinn swung, holding the end low to the ground. With her focus on Quinn, she didn’t see the blunt end until it was too late. Siva grunted as she fell backwards and landed with an umph.

  Quinn sat up and repositioned the staff at an angle, the end digging into the other woman’s throat. Siva swallowed, a grin tugging at her lips.

  “What was that?” Quinn asked, letting her power fade away just as quickly as it had risen.

  Siva coughed, sitting up to watch Quinn’s form. After a moment of tense silence, she nodded. “I stand corrected. You may keep it.”

  There was a twinkle in her eyes that told Quinn she wasn’t that annoyed with being outdone. Besides, Quinn really wanted to practice with it more.

  “Quinn!” Draeven’s abrupt call drew their attention. Just behind the nuisance of a man was an even bigger problem Quinn hadn’t wanted to deal with today.

  Gritting her teeth, Quinn slowly stood up from the ground and reached down with her free hand to help Siva up as well. “Your master seems to be in a dark mood,” she commented. “Thorne said he was seeing him today. Perhaps talks did not go well.” Siva eyed Quinn as though she might have been the cause of the dark look Lazarus was shooting their way.

  “I doubt it was Thorne,” Quinn muttered under her breath as she strode back towards the group.

  Lazarus stood with his arms crossed over his massive chest, watching her with cold, dead eyes. She had no idea why he seemed … angry wasn’t the right word, but perhaps heated. There was a fire burning in his cold eyes, and Quinn was sure if she put her hand out towards it again, she might get burned. She wouldn’t. Not after the night they’d had because clearly neit
her of them had any plans on acknowledging whatever was building between them.

  “What do you want?” Quinn asked sharply, glancing sideways as Siva pressed the notch on her staff and then pushed the wood back inward until the weapon was once again a smaller, forearm-length rod. Quinn manipulated her own staff until she attained the same result.

  “We have business to attend to,” Lazarus said. “Come with me.”

  Quinn moved to the side and bent to retrieve her practice sword as well. “Oh? And just where are we going, your highness?” she taunted.

  Lazarus scowled at her but didn’t say anything as he turned to Draeven. “Stay here. We will be a few days. No more. We’ll be leaving for Ilvas when I return so make sure things are ready.”

  Draeven nodded. “I understand.”

  “I don’t,” Quinn snapped. “Where are we going?”

  Once again, Lazarus didn’t answer. He merely looked her over as sweat sluiced down her skin and Quinn had no doubt that her cheeks had turned pink from the sun and exertion. “You may want to wash before we leave,” he said. “It will be a short journey compared to our last few weeks, but we go on foot. No horses.”

  Glaring as Lazarus turned and strode away, Quinn only muttered under her breath as she followed at a much slower pace. “Thank the gods for that.”

  Bitter Truths

  “It’s better to be intimately familiar with pain and take the bitter sting of truth instead of the sickly sweetness of a lie.”

  — Quinn Darkova, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister

  “How much farther?” Quinn groaned, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She’d bathed before they left, not that it did her much good once they began the steep uphill climb to the top of the mountain. Over half the day had gone and passed them by and Lazarus hadn’t slowed for even a second of it.

  “We’re only a few hours out now,” Lazarus replied. He’d been stoic since they had stepped foot on the rough but worn trail. She wasn’t sure what brought on this dourness of his—whether it was the dream-not-dream or the things that occurred the night before that made him so short with her now—but he was keeping his distance. And she didn’t like it, not one bit.