Neenahwi looked around, searching for another source of mana. She pulled on thread after thread from the plant life around her. Small delicate strands like spiders’ silk that could snap if she tugged too hard. She drew yarn from the world and she crafted it in the palms of her hands.
“I can tell you are angry. It’s because of your father, isn’t it? It’s because Jyuth left you. He was always a worthless individual.”
She was still forming the energy in her hands, trying for the same balls of explosive fire that she used to decimate the Pyrfew fleet; but she had done that with the power of the demon stone, and what she had in her hand seemed puny by comparison. She threw it, driving her body into its momentum, her early years of learning how to throw an axe with her father and then Kanaveen coming to good use. The little red ball exploded on what looked like contact with the approaching Chancellor. Fire bloomed and Grey’s image shimmered for a second, her appearance changing, but then it returned to normal. She continued her advance, without even a singe.
“You hate the Emperor, don’t you?” questioned Grey. Her voice was calming, almost like how she thought she remembered her mother’s voice was, though it had been so long since she had really heard it, she could hardly remember it anymore. “I do too. You won’t believe how much I hate him. You and I, we can work together.”
Neenahwi pulled on the threads to the vegetation all around, ripped their life force from them, all that energy stored from the sun’s rays, and drew it into herself. The flowers, the bushes, the ornamental hedges that were a dark green in the lamplight—all turned grey and died. She was anxious now, the Chancellor was twenty feet away, and so Neenahwi didn’t even concentrate on making her weave tight. Flame erupted from the palm of her hand like a brief burst of dragon’s breath. The Chancellor walked calmly through it, her defense remaining strong, but there it was again, the flickering of her appearance. For a brief moment Lady Grey was gone, the handsome woman with the long black lustrous hair and perfect skin disappearing, and in her place was another woman, white hair with skin marred by hundreds of tiny scars. She looked familiar…
“Tarra?” asked the Librarian, his head swinging around Neenahwi’s skirts.
The name sounded familiar, and then it came to her. It all came flooding back. The vision of Llewdon speaking with a woman chained helplessly in his home. A student of Myank, like her father and the Librarian. The hundreds of red-hot nails that the sick bastard elf had conjured and driven into her body. She was Lady Grey?
Grey gave one look to the head of the Librarian but otherwise ignored him, returning her full attention to Neenahwi.
“Do you know me too, child?”
“I… I saw you in a vision. I know what he did to you. Why?” She could not understand how she could be in league with Llewdon after the things she been through.
“Interesting. Did you see how he has forced me to do his bidding for so many centuries? You hold your grudge for what he has done to your family, but my scars are even deeper.”
If Neenahwi didn’t have Mareth and Petra with her, she would have turned tail and run away right then. She couldn’t remember when she had ever run from a fight before, but now would have been a good time to see how that felt. This situation had long since gotten out of hand.
It wasn’t an option though. There was only one alternative.
She grabbed hold of the demon stone amulet, feeling the bite of the needle in her palm.
“You don’t want to use that,” soothed Grey. She held out her hand. “You know it makes you feel bad. It’s making you not feel like yourself.”
Neenahwi tried to focus on drawing a thread from the stone, but her concentration was collapsing in on itself. The threads were elusive, like they shifted away from her grasp, reaching out to the other woman who was just a few strides away.
“Why don’t you give it to me. It will help you feel normal again. I can make everything better.”
Neenahwi lifted the amulet up, the chain slipping up and over her cheeks, and she ducked her head out from under the loop. She pulled her long braid of hair from the necklace and held it out in front of her as a gift. This woman was right. She dearly wanted to be herself again. To be the happy little girl playing with her friends. To be able to feel her mother’s arms around her when she hurt herself. She wanted to be something other than revenge and schemes.
Grey reached out and gently lifted the amulet from her hand by the chain. She gripped the stone in her other hand before recoiling back in pain. Neenahwi was lost in a fog as Grey inspected the amulet, a snarl visible on her true face as the visage of Lady Grey disappeared completely, leaving the scarred soul of Tarra behind. The warmth that Neenahwi had been feeling fell away in an instant. There was no simple answer here, this was not someone who cared for her. How had she been controlled so easily? It was a violation, so raw and complete. She took a step backward, her hands coming to her face. What had she done?
“A nail? How thoughtless. How petty.” Tarra broke the needle off the back of the amulet and threw it to the ground. She looked again at Neenahwi. “With this, I can finally be free of him. No longer be in his thrall. You should take comfort, child, knowing that I will have your revenge for you.”
Neenahwi took her hands away from her face to see the look of intense concentration on Tarra’s face, quickly replaced by confusion. She was trying to use the stone but didn’t know how, and she had broken off the way to connect to it by blood.
“Why won’t it work!” Tarra screamed. Her face flushed with exertion and a rage that had lain hidden below the surface for so long. She wasn’t going to connect with the demon stone by blood, but if she got angry enough…
There was one chance. Only this split second for Neenahwi to do something. She fractured her mind once more and searched her surroundings for a source of mana, but everything around her was dead. All there was left were the two weak fonts at her feet. She could see the pulsing yellow orbs of their souls in her mind’s eye, one of them tainted with green tendrils. She had sworn that she would not take the life of an innocent. She had been unable to comprehend how her father could have killed others to prolong his own life. But if she didn’t do something, they would all die! I will take only what I need.
She chose one. Weaved a thread from their soul, they were too weak to fight her claim, and channeled it, her fury manifesting in her imagination as a great gauntleted fist. Tarra looked up in shock, her hand reaching up as the force exploded from Neenahwi. It smashed into the bound slave of Llewdon, her hastily erected shield softening what would have been a bone crushing blow, but it still sent her hurtling back through the air and past the Not-Mareth, who had been standing obediently where Tarra had left him.
Tears streaked Neenahwi’s eyes. She couldn’t see if the wizard was dead. She couldn’t tell if the doppelganger was coming to get her. She just reached down and pulled Mareth to his feet. She pushed him in the direction of the Mountain Gate. “Run!” she shouted, and like a good boy he did his best to stumble in the right direction. Petra was lighter than she expected as she lifted her up and put her over her shoulder, running after Mareth and quickly catching up. She shouted and cajoled him onward as they fled.
They reached the small pair of guard towers that overlooked the Mountain Gate. Two soldiers stepped out to ask them their business. Drawing from the energy once more she swatted them aside and pulled Mareth through the gateway and out of the palace grounds. The soul was getting dim, but she’d started now, and had to see through the plan. Weaving a ball of invisible force, she launched it ahead of her to the Mountain Gate, where it hit the great brass doors to Unedar Halt, a deep note echoing off the side of the mountain and back towards them like a gong. It would be obvious where they were now, if their destination had not been clear beforehand, and she needed to place more obstacles between them and the inevitable pursuit. Channeling the mana once more she gestured with one free hand, pulling down each of the guard towers, one at a time to close the palace gatewa
y. The soul she had chosen flickered, it’s yellow dimming to a dull gray before spluttering back to life.
“Hurry!” she yelled at Mareth, pushing him in the back once more, but he fell to his knees. Neenahwi grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up. He fell against her, too weak to hold his own weight. She clamped her other hand around his middle and slowly shuffled them toward the Mountain Gate. The pathway that joined the two realms had never seemed like a such a long way before. But now every step was a test of her own strength, carrying the burden of her friends. They were halfway when she heard the shouts behind her. Turning, she saw white-tabarded soldiers clambering over the piles of rubble, joined by a woman at the top.
“There they are!” she screamed. “Get them.”
Neenahwi discovered that she was sobbing. She had not only failed, but she had taken the life force from another. She was no better than her father. They were so close to safety and freedom, and though she kept shuffling Mareth forwards, though she kept putting one foot in front of the other and moving Petra along, she didn’t know how they would make it in time. Should she flee? Transform into a bird and leave Mareth and Petra to die? She was fairly sure that is what her father would have done. Or maybe this was the end of her story. Time for one last stand, to use her own life force in a blaze of vengeance like Greytooth had when her tribe had been destroyed. She could hopefully at least stop one of Llewdon’s agents. Yes, that might be it, thought Neenahwi. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to leave Petra and Mareth behind.
But for now, she kept stumbling forwards.
“They’re coming,” warned the Librarian, his voice without fear. Just when Neenahwi was about to drop her burdens and turn and face those that pursued her—she had already decided that she would become a wolf again for her final moments—the great brass doors to Unedar Halt opened.
“There they are,” breathed Neenahwi. “Thank fuck for that.”
Dwarves poured out from the still-opening door, the light of the moon glinting off their banded armor and their round helms. They all held sturdy rectangular shields, raised before them as they ran. The Deep People quickly swarmed that small patch of ground that moments ago had seemed like it would take her an age to cross, passing her and forming a shieldwall to cover her rear. Two dwarves took Mareth and Petra from her, before turning and sprinting back to the mountain. Another grabbed her hand and urged her to run.
As she fled, tears of relief now streaming down her cheeks, she looked back to see the palace guard and the dwarves facing off against each other. The dwarves retreated step by step behind her toward the safety of Unedar Halt. No palace guard was stupid enough to attack the armored dwarves, and for that she was thankful. They watched, frustrated, as she slipped through the doorway and into the unnatural, perpetual dim light of the home of the Deep People.
Egyed, the Keybearer, was waiting on the other side of the door and she grabbed him in her arms and squeezed, finally able to release the tension.
“What’s going on here, lassie?”
“No time. Just trust me.” Egyed raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You need to close the gate. Permanently.”
The dwarf scowled at her, but nodded again. The last of the dwarves that had been protecting their rear slipped through the closing brass door and Egyed called for everyone to flee down the tunnel. What most people didn’t know was that the title of Keybearer was not just ceremonial, and it didn’t relate to the person who could open the gate. No, Egyed was the entrusted dwarf who could lock it; and when a dwarf locked something, they made sure it stayed that way. He stepped over to a dark hole set in the wall and inserted his mace deep inside. Twisting, it clicked and gears ground behind the wall. Then Egyed ran too, leaving the key set in its mechanism.
The ground shuddered as the ceiling above the entranceway shook. Boulders the size of carts fell down, thundering against one another as they stacked up in a great immovable pile before the door. She knew that the same thing would be happening outside too, sealing the dwarves away from Grey’s revenge.
“Get them to the infirmary, quick,” said Neenahwi to the dwarves carrying Mareth and Petra. They looked to Egyed for confirmation.
“You heard her. Go!” ordered the Keybearer. The one carrying Mareth sprinted away but the other laden dwarf didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” said the dwarven soldier carrying Petra. “It’s too late for her. She’s not breathing.”
And the world crashed down on Neenahwi, as if the rocks sealing the mountain gate had smashed her beneath their monstrous weight.
Petra.
No matter her intentions, it turned out she was no better than her father after all.
Part III
Ioth
Chapter 26
The Sapphire Sea
Excitement. Terror. Apprehension. Vomit.
These were the things that washed over Alana during their first few hours at sea. She’d never been out past the harbor wall before, even though her dad was a sailor. The only time she’d been on the water was in a little row boat. Thankfully, after disposing of her breakfast—mostly over the side of the ship, but also some of it down her nice dress—she’d felt fine and she’d gotten used to the swaying of the ship. It was also a good excuse to get out of her posh frock (as Mrs. Skrudd had called it) and into some traveling clothes that seemed much more appropriate for life onboard ship; there were way too many things around that your skirt could get caught on, and its width made it difficult for the crew to get around her.
Alana still could not quite believe that she had been selected to be the ambassador for this trip to Ioth. Getting an agreement was so important that if she thought about it too much it made her hands shake and her breath quicken. And not having Petra around to discuss it with felt strange, like she was going on this adventure with part of herself missing.
Being a passenger onboard ship, she quickly realized, could be remarkably dull. She tried talking to Crews. He told her how The Darting Seal was ‘the fastest ship on the Sapphire Sea’ and even tried to explain how all of it worked; but it was much more complicated than she had imagined. Oh, she understood the basic concepts fine—sail catches wind, wind pushes boat—but how you actually did all that with the pulleys and the ropes and the people and the angles was quite arcane. She’d need to study that much more if she was to understand half of what the Admiral was saying. But she smiled and nodded nonetheless, and made the mental note to avoid talking boats with him again.
Thankfully she had other ways to pass the time. Alana was very happy to have Motega, Florian and Trypp on board. They had been secreted aboard and would be disembarking before Ioth, but it meant that Alana could continue her training with Florian in the mornings. The smaller confines of the scrap of deck they could use made for the interesting challenge of being aware of the terrain—or at least that was what Florian said. Mareth had also sent Dolph to be her personal bodyguard, and he watched on while Florian gave instructions or sparred with her, occasionally tutting or shaking his head. On the fourth day out of Kingshold, it had gotten to Florian and she was sure for a moment that it was going to end in a fight, but Florian had instead reminded Dolph that he’d be back to being substitute teacher in a few weeks and could do whatever the hell he liked then.
Two hours each morning was spent training. She loved the exertion, the focus on the physical, and learning to read her opponent. Alana was not initially keen on the audience that watched them though. There were Florian’s friends and Dolph of course, but Jill also liked to stand to the side and watch, ever attentive and seemingly very interested in the proceedings. A number of soldiers that Mareth had hand selected also watched; Sergeant Morris and his Ravens. She found it interesting to observe that when Morris was around, Florian was more nervous than she had ever seen him, stealing looks at the Sergeant as he walked her through a particular defense. Motega had told her that Morris and Florian went way back, and she sometimes saw Florian talking separately with his old squad. Though the watching eye
s initially made her self-conscious, she soon found she enjoyed the applause when she finished a session flushed and sweaty after landing a mark on her teacher. One sailor wolf whistled her, but Crews gave the offending lad a clip round the ear and additional deck cleaning duty.
Her afternoons were spent in her cabin, studying at a small square table only just big enough for a couple of books. Mareth may have scoffed at her chest full of heavy tomes; but she’d raided the palace library of every text on Ioth she could find. She pored over them, making notes on key information that she came across.
Many people thought of Ioth as being like any other of the major trading cities of the Sapphire Sea—Kingshold, Redpool, Carlburg. But Ioth had always been different. There was no monarchy. It had been traders who had first settled the scattered fragments of a few islands that became the City of Lights, and they had always ruled themselves. Over time that had evolved into a complex series of sub-committees, but at the top of it all was still the Assembly, and still there were only thirteen representatives; each one able to trace their ancestors back to the original thirteen families that founded Ioth. The Assembly was led by the Speaker, elected by the thirteen members to serve for life or until the majority stripped them of their powers and replaced them with another. Alana chewed on this as she read.
At first glance, it sounded similar to the approach for electing a new Lord Protector that they had just experienced; but in reality, it seemed like these thirteen families were much more like the nobles they were saddled with in Edland. Even if they did not have any title they were still where the power and the wealth accumulated.
Alana’s days continued with this routine, and she found herself enjoying it. Exercise. Friends. Books. There wasn’t much more she needed in order to feel content, though if the ship could stop swaying while she was trying to decipher some of the aged and loopy scrawl it would have been appreciated.
Ioth, City of Lights Page 25
