Gods of Shadow and Flame

by M. H. Johnson

  Vardelos darted back an instant before she would have cleaved his crown, roaring his rage as she tore into his nose.

  To no effect.

  She blinked and hissed, Vardelos smiling wide.

  “Your blade is worthless, little harlot! You have attacked your last inquisitor, Jessica de Calenbry. It shall be my distinct pleasure to see you writhe upon my sword!”

  Jess! Twilight, gazing at her with hot intensity.

  But she already knew.

  Heart pounding with terror as much as excitement, she understood all too well what the inquisitor's wardings meant, so subtly placed, or somehow warded against her alone, such that she only sensed them now. Not seen so much as felt, heat radiating off of him in waves.

  Infernal heat.

  She felt then the hot flash of pain upon her face as the wounds took hold, even as Vardelos snarled in sudden fear.

  He knew too.

  Her blade, slashing with desperate speed, had sliced open her cheeks, even as he had taunted her.

  Blood that etched and sizzled, for all that she was no more cursed with the powers of Shadow than any girl of Highrock.

  “You are one of them,” she whispered, fierce hot shame at the tremble in her voice, her facade of mocking indifference burned away by mortal terror.

  Vardelos's smile stretched wide and mocking.

  Black, jagged teeth showing past the facade.

  Pulsing magics, like his wardings.

  Infernal arts.

  And worse, so much worse. Somehow, her foes had been able to block her sight, to counter her gift, to conceal the tainted daggers aimed for her soul.

  "You will pay for what you did to your betters, little bitch. You think it ends with Franken? You cleave but one head off the hydra that shall see your House fall, wench! Yours, and the Truebloods as well!”

  “Traitor!” Joshua roared, his voice sounding low and faint, moving with curious slowness, even as Vardelos pivoted about, keeping Jess between himself and Joshua, as the man she adored yanked free his blade, ready to charge to her defense.

  "Get him out of here, Echobart!" Jess screamed. "Infernal wards! You cannot kill him! Protect the prince!"

  She could shout no more, Vardelos having already sprung, lashing out with a blistering series of snapping high cuts even as he sought to trap Jess in his rhythm.

  It was only then, consumed by the fury of battle and imminent peril, that Jess felt all her horror melt away. Reveling in the black fury of mortal combat, laughing as she teetered upon the gaping maw of Death itself, as she and Vardelos furiously fought, before springing away once more. And always Jess kept herself well warded, waiting for just the moment before committing herself in full.

  Locking gazes with the eyes of madness.

  Feeling a darkness within her unfurl wings in unison and howl.

  And there it was. She sensed the surge and flow of his wrath, could feel the deadly dance of his blade almost as a separate soul. She felt its hunger, its desperate hunger for her blood, how it weaved and danced and sought to strike

  And when Vardelos feinted a brutal cut to her knees before twisting upwards, snapping his blade about to slash open her neck, Jess's blade was already arcing through the air with a hunger of its own, cleaving through flesh and bone, sheering through the man's wrist entirely in the instant he was wide open. As Jess knew he would be.

  Vardelos did not scream, for all that his eyes widened with horror.

  No. He smiled.

  Ware, Jess!

  And did the thing Jess did not expect.

  Thrusting his spurting wrist in her face, he screamed and charged.

  And Jess felt a jolt of terror, furiously whipping her blade about in a desperate defensive slash even as Vardelos slammed into her, knocking them both to the floor, and Jess felt her intestines explode in screaming agony.

  A cleverly concealed dagger in his off-hand, thrust through her mail and twisted savagely, right along the scar of Franken's vile blow.

  An infernal blade, she was horrifically certain, feeling his awful strength as he twisted his dagger inside her, her shirt of mail having done nothing to counter, even as Jess gasped and writhed, flooded by hideous pain, her blade trapped flat between the two of them, and Vardelos was far stronger than her, for all that blood continued to shoot from his stump.

  In unspeakable agony, the room began to spin. She blinked hot blood away, to see a furious Joshua yank Vardelos up so as to slash out his throat.

  With a blade that, finely made as it was, had not a hope of cutting through the vile curses warding the inquisitor's flesh.

  Vardelos hissed in a guttural tongue vile and foul, and Jess made out every word of his death curse, even as he spun around to disembowel Joshua before her very eyes.

  Jess screamed.

  Pain that should have left her writhing in horrific torment was furiously pushed away in a flash of hot desperation. Her blade, no longer trapped flat between her and the monster who had disemboweled her, was suddenly free in hands that wanted nothing so much as to clench her guts while she howled in unspeakable agony. Yet with the fury of a Squire who had trained to lead the vanguard against all odds, accepting the horror of death forever upon her shoulder, wishing only for her last moments to count, Jess screamed and twisted her torso in ways beyond agonizing as she forced herself to deliver one final, desperate lunge before she would allow death to claim her at last.

  Like a striking snake, her longsword plunged through the spine of her foe, infernal wards offering no more resistance to her smoking blade than her ruptured mail shirt had offered Vardelos, jarring only an instant against bone before ripping straight through and out the infernalist's mouth in a spray of hot blood.

  Vardelos shuddered and collapsed, spasming even as he died, his cursed dagger flying free, Jess collapsing as well, lost in a ball of awful hot agony.

  Forcing herself to look up from her hideous pain.

  To gaze upon Joshua, looking back down at her in horror, his own doublet and the mail shirt worn discretely underneath both sliced clean open and smoking, even as Echobart rushed to his side, helping the prince free of his attire, and to Jess's shuddering relief she saw Joshua's body bore no wound from Vardelos's cursed blade.

  Only then did Jess allow herself to surrender to the hot agony of her torn bowels searing through her, near instantly drowning in choking screams.

  Sinking into blackness she feared would consume her like the deepest, darkest sea.

  24

  “Oh gods, Jessica. Hold still. Hold still!” Warm hazel eyes suddenly before her, a trembling smile trying to be brave. “Echobart!” A roar.

  Jess grimaced, forcing herself to speak, for all that she wanted to flea the hideous pain and sink into soothing blackness once more. "The diabolists." Jess coughed and gasped, alarmed and ashamed to see Joshua's terrified face suddenly flecked with blood. "They've infiltrated the Department of the Inquisitor, the Royal Armsmen, and gods alone know what else. They, or whoever they work for, wanted Ulric to remain trapped in Faerie, you and I to burn for his murder, Apple either sacrificed or a tool for their schemes... your father finally killed when they were ready to take you all out."

  She gasped and coughed, writhing in agony, spitting out gobs of blood.

  Joshua grimaced, gently covering Jess’s mouth with a single finger. “Hush, my darling. You are injured. Please do not distress yourself.”

  Jess blinked in confusion. A wave of sudden panic flooded her veins like ice.

  “May that bastard's soul burn,” cursed an achingly familiar voice. “The damned fool thrust to gut you, right down your scar line. It pierced the membrane guarding your vitals, but the wound isn't quite as awful as the one from Franken's blade. Of course, our Hound is not here either.” Twilight's eyes flashed, though whether in fury or desperation, Jess couldn't be sure. “It's time for Echobart to take off his mask, and to do what he must to save his queen!”

  Then Echobart’s warm commanding presence filled
her sight, his gentle reproving smile putting aside her request as he gently laid his hands upon her abdomen. “The wound is grave, my dear Jessica. Please try not to move a muscle. I will do what I can to stabilize you while you keep yourself still, and we wait for those better suited than I.”

  Joshua gazed at Echobart with desperate hope. "Lord Echobart, I thought elementalists were unable to channel the healing arts! Have you found some way past that restriction?"

  Echobart's smile was grim, even as he closed his eyes and focused on Jess. "Let's just say my favorite student is not the only one with gifts that do not entirely align with orthodox traditions. And perhaps I have picked up an interesting trick or two outside of either paradigm, during my more adventurous years."

  Twilight flashed a cool grin at that.

  Jess gave a soft sigh as she felt sudden soothing warmth flow into her abdomen. Vaguely, she could sense strands of an ivy white nature, enter her flesh, very different from the Elementalist blue she was expecting. She did nothing to stop them or ward them aside. She fancied she could feel them easing together her flesh, burning away impurities that might otherwise fester.

  She blinked and shuddered, tasting a thread of crimson within the strands of white. She stared at Echobart in wonder, his eyes still shut in concentration. "Just like Malek," she whispered.

  "Hardly," Echobart murmured, "The boy's a crude mallet, a whirlwind of power with the finesse of a charging herd. I can't tell you how surprised I was to find that he could actually channel raw bloodmagics sufficient to sew anyone up besides himself, dear Professor. The darkest of wardings and inhuman vitality at the expense of one's foes are far more the province of a bloodmage. Still, those gifted with even a trace of the lost art can sometimes use it to spike even the most prosaic of spells, assuming one's knack isn't so great as to warp one's other gifts to useless shreds."

  Twilight gave an approving nod. "Ever the teacher, our dean, and utterly correct. Take our poor Hound. The moment he recalled his most ancient gifts, his ability to channel the flimsy strands of power that make up the elementalist tradition had all but left him, those strands now as fragile to his touch as they are to your own. At this point? I doubt he could even summon a storm." Her familiar winked. "There are compensations, of course. If you want a bloodward to counter a dozen mages, you know who to ask, even if he couldn't light so much as a single candle, now."

  Jess blinked and smiled, even as she writhed with sharpest pain, Joshua gently gripping her shoulders and murmuring the sweetest words as he tried to sooth and brace her according to Echobart's curt orders, and Jess understood that Twilight and Echobart were both trying to distract her with their gentle patter.

  She would be grateful, if only she weren't in quite so much pain.

  "By the gods, Echobart. That is far more than just a touch of the gentle magics you are gifted with. You are a natural healer," Joshua solemnly declared, even as Jess felt the hideous pain begin to abate at last, quietly blinking away hot tears of relief.

  Echobart gave a soft chuckle. “We all have secrets of one sort or another, dear children, and I think we can all agree mine are far less dangerous than those both of you keep close to your chest. Let us just say that being a jack of all trades, and I do mean all, is a very good trait for any dean to have.”

  Jess nodded slowly, speaking softly, terrified of straining flesh so recently tormented. “I do recall the Healers gave you a lot more respect than they did the professors of any of the other specialties at our academy. And you did seem to spend an inordinate amount of time in their wing.”

  Echobart smiled. "Only when things were particularly bad, did I exercise myself in that capacity. Let's just say I have an acute understanding of the needs of a college of healers."

  Jess nodded as certain truths became surprisingly clear. “And our college was second next to the Royal Healers Sanctum for good reason. It’s nice we have such a talented dean.” Jess writhed and twisted. “Ach, by the gods that burns!”

  Echobart sighed. “You, a blooded veteran of battle and the Shadowlands both. Quit mewling like a child. Like it or not, I have to burn free the rest of this foul taint, now that you are no longer upon the cusp of death.”

  Jess hissed. "I guess I should just be grateful that my intestines are not spewing out of me in a great big bloody puddle."

  “Let’s not trouble ourselves with tragedies successfully avoided,” Echobart counseled grimly as Joshua turned deathly pale.

  “Bloody hells,” Twilight hissed of a sudden.

  "Twilight?" queried a now suddenly sleepy Jess, her body utterly depleted after Lord Echobart's miraculous healing, the dean having no doubt drawn on her own reserves as well as his own.

  “Those blades, don’t let them touch it! You know damned well what they are.”

  Jess grimaced, realizing many senses that had at once been hyper acute were now far dimmer. Yet still she could sense the hidden nature of enchantments, even infernal enchantments, for all that her senses had been blocked from seeing what was right in front of her while Captain Vardelos had lived. And now with his death, sword and dagger both pulsed with unspeakable evil.

  “Don't touch those blades!” Jess called sharply to a startled looking Joshua.

  Joshua blinked. “I will be careful, my dear Jess, but I would take the measure of this assassin’s weapon that so skillfully sliced through mail of the finest quality.”

  Jess’s voice was filled with fierce resolve. “Joshua Trueblood, you will not touch those blades!”

  Joshua blinked, gazing at Jess with startled concern.

  "Forgive my tone, but it's best that no one touch them, save to destroy them, and it would be a threat even to the most skilled of wizards or smiths.

  Joshua, if anything, looked even more confused. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

  "Those blades are infernal artifacts, reeking of corruption. They were forged of hate and vilest sacrifice, quenched in tears and brimstone both. For the sake of your soul, do not touch them. Do not let anyone touch them!" Her imploring gaze darted from a flummoxed Joshua to a brooding Echobart.

  "Very well, my dear Jess. It shall be so," Lord Echobart assured with a firm nod, quickly grabbing a convenient rug and throwing it over the blades, even as he and Joshua subtly moved the body back.

  “Thank you,” Jess managed to whisper, before sinking into blackness at last.

  25

  A dream, Jess told herself, even as she felt herself blinded, overcome with unspeakable horror. Choking on cloth, bitter cold penetrating every fiber of her fallen form. A plaintive soul, already befouled, crying out in horror beyond the grave.

  Cruel laughter haunted her. She could sense it. Feel its vindictive power, once foolishly mocked. A dreadful might she once was so arrogant as to think she could master, now bare in all its dark foulness, free to gaze with terrible contempt at the corpse even now stiffening with death, soul laid bare before this creature in all its unspeakable power. Jess screamed then, she who was both herself and this plaintively wailing soul -Vardelos- only now in its last flickering moments of freedom, cruel chains spiked into a bleeding soul, pinning it in place, even as she struggled desperately to tear free from those awful bonds, mad to escape the clutches of the vile spider that had so perfectly caught her, and flee for the only refuge her soul had ever known.

  She was given only the barest, most terrible moments to appreciate her own folly, her own utter damnation as the unspeakably awful force gazing so hungrily down at her taunted her with the most hideous of grins. And from within that vicious smile the terrified soul caught a glimpse of a fiery Hell, heard the endless screams of souls in unspeakable torment, crying out with endless shrieks and wails as vile creatures unimaginable greedily fed upon their unending suffering.

  Madly glowing eyes bled tears of mocking laughter as the terrible monster began to whisper to the screaming soul, binding it to furious childhood oaths that had nonetheless been heard by one looking for weaknesses, any weakne
sses within the realm above, granting a certain angry young bastard who hated life itself darkest powers for the chance to wreak his vengeance, darkest powers so skillfully granted that none suspected, none fathomed that the promising royal cadet was anything other than the talented young man he appeared to be.

  No one, absolutely no one sensed the festering taint, not until the final target of his preordained trajectory became apparent to him. And somehow, that girl had known. Despite the talisman he had been given to ward him from her all too knowing eyes, the continuous stream of information supplied by their informants about all she did, revealing all her weaknesses, making her the perfect target when her folly had at last been revealed to him, just before his arrival. He had intended to succeed with a quick two-pronged gambit, where Franken had failed with such a convoluted one.

  It mattered not that she be tried and shamed before Erovering's courts. It mattered only that she die. Whether goaded to strike at him, thus giving him lawful pretext to run her through, or throat conveniently slit while under his power in route to the capital, it hardly mattered, so long as he bared witness to her eyes fogging over with death, her soul sent crashing down to Hell with his cursed blades lancing her heart, linking her spirit directly to his mistress.

  If the prince could be goaded into accompanying his target back to the capital to plead in her defense, so much the better. He would relish the opportunity to butcher them both, and already had the convoluted tale prepared that would foist the blame entirely upon the Calenbry Clan, assuring their utter destruction. He would enjoy gazing upon their horrified faces as they were stripped of all wealth and rank before being burned alive for the king's bitter pleasure.

  It had seemed like yet another dark blessing assuring his conquest over all those he had hated in life for daring to think themselves so much better than he, his spies within the academy catching sight of the Velheim agent by the cursed girl's side. His inquisitorial papers had, of course, been left blank for him to fill with whatever pretext for her capture seemed most appropriate, the signature of their Order's head at the bottom of the parchment giving it instant legitimacy.