Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  And yet she was different still, as he watched her. She fought with confidence and skill, despite her soldiers losing ground around her. She was wounded, Knot could tell—she favored her right shoulder—but fought on with grace and skill. And she was leading them, that much was clear. Standard-bearers obeyed her beck and call.

  What in Oblivion was he seeing?

  Winter was dead, and yet here she was. It was certainly her: her black eyes, raven-dark hair, high cheekbones and pointed nose; her compact, now tightly-muscled frame. She was different, but the same. This was the woman who had married him.

  Just like that, Knot snapped back into the Void, in darkness, with the star-lights around him. And there, most prominent of all, the dark star. Knot stared at the strange image, his mind racing.

  “That is her, if you’re wondering.”

  Knot whirled to see a woman standing behind him. Knot blinked. One moment she was blonde, the next brunette. One moment tall, the next short. Her visage shifted constantly, never quite settling on a face or body, though it seemed to cycle through the same four or five appearances.

  Two of which Knot recognized. One was tall, with short brown hair and sky-blue eyes. The other shorter, younger, and blonde.

  As strange as it was to see this woman, Knot had just experienced something stranger. He looked back at the dark star. “That,” he said, his eyes almost unable to focus on the shifting phenomenon, “is Winter?”

  “It is her sift, more accurately,” Kali said.

  “If that’s her sift, then…”

  “Then what you just saw was real. Yes, Knot. Winter is alive.”

  Winter was alive.

  And, Knot realized, so was this woman.

  “Kali,” Knot said. “Didn’t I kill you?”

  “You tried,” she said, “but it didn’t quite stick.”

  Knot’s gaze drew back to the dark star. Seems to be a trend.

  Goddess, could it be true? Winter was alive.

  “How long have you known?” Knot turned back to Kali.

  “I’ve known she was alive for months, now. You, for slightly less time. That was more of a happy accident.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be alive?”

  “Winter thinks you are dead, too. The feeling was mutual, you could say, until now.”

  With a growl, Knot launched himself at Kali. He quickly realized the futility of the attack when his ethereal form passed straight through Kali’s image.

  Kali clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “Can’t say I didn’t expect that kind of response, but it’s still disappointingly pathetic. I can’t believe you actually killed me.”

  “Thought you said it didn’t stick.”

  “Well, it did and it didn’t. Why don’t we settle on that.”

  Realization dawned on Knot. “You’re the shadow I’ve been seein’ around.”

  “Guilty,” Kali said. “I admit I’ve been monitoring you. I’m trapped here, you see, and I’ve been looking for a way out. I think you might be my ticket.”

  Knot had so many questions. How was Winter alive? How had this woman monitored him in Astrid’s voidstone? How was any of this possible?

  But questions would only take time. He had very little of that.

  Knot hesitated. What difference did it make if Winter was alive? His body was still not his own to reclaim. As much as it was his, it belonged to Lathe first.

  Knot could choose to stay for Winter, but somehow that seemed just as much a mistake. Then, he remembered something from one of Astrid’s memories. Her father, just before she had killed him, had looked at Astrid calmly.

  It doesn’t matter what you are, he had said, it doesn’t matter where you’ve been. All that matters is what you do.

  All that matters is what you do.

  Lathe was an assassin, a killer. Lathe was willing to unleash a Daemon on the Sfaera.

  Knot had his flaws, his own inner daemons. But at least he wasn’t interested in contributing to the end of the Sfaera.

  All that matters is what you do.

  “I need to get back,” Knot said calmly. “Not just for Winter, but for me, and for the Sfaera.” He would take his body back, somehow. And he would make sure he did something that mattered with it.

  Kali smiled, the expression remaining while the faces that held it shifted and changed.

  “And for me, incidentally,” Kali said. “I’ll help you reclaim your body, but I’ll need something from you in return…”

  The Coastal Road, somewhere between Kirlan and Triah

  “They have nightsbane,” Cinzia said quietly to Eward and the other Prelates.

  They had slowly edged forward until they could make out the three Sons in the rear of the formation, and then witnessed Astrid take each one of them out.

  And then, just as she did, Knot had leapt from the carriage, nightsbane in hand.

  “Go around,” Cinzia said. “Flank them. I will approach them head-on, and hopefully distract them long enough for you to rush in. The priority should be getting the nightsbane away from Astrid.”

  Eward hesitated. “I do not want to leave you alone.”

  Cinzia nudged her horse closer and gave him a hug. “I will be fine. Do as I say.”

  Eward signaled to the Prelates. Half of them curved off to the west, the other half went with Eward to the east.

  Then Cinzia dismounted, and slowly led her horse forward.

  Astrid’s prone form, and Knot’s, standing tall, became more clear through the fog as she approached. She noticed a third figure, in matron’s robes, emerge through the fog, and then more Sons and Goddessguards began to appear.

  “And who might this be?” Knot asked as Cinzia walked forward.

  “Knot?” Cinzia asked. “Are you all right?”

  Knot laughed. “Knot is gone,” he said. “I am something completely different, now.”

  Cinzia had suspected as much when she had seen Knot leap from the carriage, seemingly free, with nightsbane in hand. He would never do such a thing to Astrid.

  The man narrowed his eyes. “You are Luceraf’s plaything,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  Cinzia frowned. “What do you know of Luceraf?” she asked.

  “She is a… colleague of my master,” the man said. “And…” the man stopped, squinting. “And I know you from somewhere else, too. That fever dream of that country manor. You were there. With the vampire.”

  “Lathe,” Cinzia breathed.

  “One and the same,” the man said, with a bow. “Although… not exactly the same. I am different, now. As you soon will be. Very soon, in fact. Luceraf comes to claim her bounty.”

  “You are Cinzia,” the Black Matron said. “The former priestess.”

  Cinzia raised an eyebrow. “You have heard of me?” Hopefully, she could buy enough time for Eward and his Prelates to attack.

  “Of course I have,” she said. “Everyone in the Denomination knows of Cinzia the Heretic.”

  “Somehow I cannot help but wonder why heresy means anything to you,” Cinzia said, meeting the woman’s eyes. “Given your line of work.”

  Then, out of the fog, Eward attacked. Cinzia heard the shouts, heard the screams, the clanging of metal.

  And then, suddenly, she heard nothing. All sound deflated around her, and her vision expanded. When it contracted, she found herself once again in the ethereal, wispy place of blue light.

  “Goddess,” Cinzia pleaded, “not now.”

  “Hello, daughter.”

  “Luceraf,” Cinzia said, “I cannot speak now. You must take me back.”

  Luceraf’s laughter filled the space around them, echoing between the blue-gray trees.

  “We will go back soon enough,” the Daemon said with a smile. “But first, you must give me what you promised.”

  41

  South of the Eastmaw Mountains

  CARRIERI NODDED TO HIS standard-bearer, who took a soaked black flag from his bundle and began waving it in the downpour.

>   Despite the unfavorable weather, the battle was going well. One of the tiellan cavalry flanks had already broken and fled. The other held strong, but soon the tiellan center would fall. The new psimancers the Denomination had brought continued to rain chaos down on the tiellan ranks. The Cantic psimancers were not nearly as effective as Nazaniin agents, but they got the job done. Winter’s abilities, on the other hand, were nowhere to be seen. Carrieri suspected she had run out of frost, but there was always the possibility the woman was saving her powers for something specific.

  His feelings were mixed as he watched his combined force chip away at the remaining tiellans. Relief was foremost. Given time, given their current trajectory, if the tiellans had not been stopped, they could have eventually threatened the very foundations of the Circle City itself. Triah had not fallen to an enemy army in Ages, but this tiellan woman presented the first real threat to the Khalic republic Carrieri could remember. Skirmishes with Roden were one thing, but there had not been a significant conflict with Roden in centuries. Who would have known the greatest enemy of the republic would come from within its own borders?

  He felt a certain sadness. He had met Urstadt once, at a formal dinner in Roden when the two nations were on slightly better terms, and she had been as taciturn then as she was now. He still itched to know why she had fallen in with the tiellans, and why in Oblivion they had let her.

  His forces pressed inward, and soon the tiellans would either surrender and be taken prisoner, or die by the sword. Carrieri sincerely hoped it would be the former—while he mourned for the slaughter of the Canaian Fields, he was not fond of bloodshed in any form, even from his enemies. A victory was a victory, after all, and the fewer deaths the better.

  He turned to face Kyfer, who looked out over the battlefield with a strange expression on his face. Carrieri could not tell whether the man was angry—his eyes certainly seemed to indicate as much, turned downward and so full of wrathful energy that they almost seemed to glow—or delighted at the destruction of the tiellan force, as his wide smile seemed to indicate.

  “This should have happened months ago,” Carrieri said, frowning at his general. “You should have heeded my counsel, and never engaged them on the Setso.”

  Kyfer turned, that exaggerated smile almost unmoving on his face.

  “If I had not lost to them at the Setso,” he said, “you would not have been able to defeat them here.”

  Carrieri snorted. “That is a foolish thing to say. Better to learn your lesson than to justify the deaths of so many with hindsight.”

  “Forgive me, Grand Marshal.” Kyfer lowered his head.

  Carrieri should have been pleased at the general’s show of humility, but something about the man was completely off.

  When the man looked up, his eyes no longer had the illusion of glowing—they were glowing, a bright, shining red. The voice that emanated from his lips was not of anything in the Sfaera.

  “I believe my time for lessons has come to an end.”

  Instinctively, Carrieri nudged his horse further away. “Kyfer!” Carrieri called. “What is this?”

  “I have done what any desperate man would do in my position,” Kyfer said, a low rumble somehow accompanying his speech. “I have given in to wrath, and wrath… now… becomes me…”

  Kyfer threw back his head and roared, the sound so loud that it split through the cacophony of battle, the rain, and the thunder above. Tiellans and humans alike stopped fighting and turned to see what had made the sound.

  As Kyfer roared, his mouth opened wider and wider, until it was no longer a human mouth at all. His limbs elongated, and he fell from his horse, writhing on the ground. The horse galloped away, mad with panic. Carrieri was of a mind to do the same thing, but could not tear his eyes away from the scene before him.

  As Kyfer writhed and roared on the ground, beams of scarlet light broke through his skin, bursting from his eyes, his fingers, his chest.

  Carrieri turned his head away, shielding his eyes from a burst of red light that bathed the entire battlefield. He blinked, blinded for a moment, as his eyes and ears readjusted. When his sight cleared, he saw standing before him a massive beast, twice the height of a man, with russet-red skin, the color of blood that had not quite dried. It stood on two massive, muscular legs. Huge claws protruded from its toes and feet, and a long tail swung lazily back and forth.

  “Kyfer!” Carrieri called again. A devastating fear burst inside of his chest, and an overwhelming anger—at Kyfer for… for doing whatever it was he had done to become this beast, and at himself for not knowing what in Oblivion to do about it.

  The Daemon looked down at him, eyes glowing scarlet red. Tendrils of luminous red smoke drifted sluggishly up from its eyes, its skin, everywhere on the monster. The largest muscles Carrieri had ever seen bulged and strained. Massive jaws, split with rows of fangs, moved as it spoke.

  “Kyfer is no more,” the Daemon rumbled. “The last of us has claimed an avatar.” The thing stretched its arms out, looking at itself. “I can now take my true form,” it said, although Carrieri could swear he heard a hint of surprise in its voice.

  Razzo, who had been mounted nearby, rode up to Carrieri. “What in Oblivion is going on, Grand Marshal? What is that?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” Carrieri murmured.

  High Cleric Butarian reined his horse up beside them.

  “That,” Butarian said, “is one of the Nine Daemons.”

  “Grand Marshal…” Razzo’s eyes were glowing red.

  “Razzo,” Carrieri said, “not you, too.”

  Razzo drew his sword. His burning eyes turned to Carrieri through the drenching rain. Then, he spurred his horse forward and attacked.

  Carrieri directed his horse to sidestep as Razzo rode past him, parrying the man’s insane blows.

  “Razzo!” Carrieri shouted. “I order you to stop, as your commander-in-chief!”

  Razzo only turned his horse and charged again, screaming. Carrieri parried blow after blow. Razzo used his sword like a club, smashing it at Carrieri again and again. Carrieri spurred his horse around Razzo, deflecting as much as he could. Razzo had a reputation as a renowned swordsman, particularly for his strength, but this was beyond any human capacity. And Razzo showed no finesse or discipline now—only brawn and muscle. Carrieri soon found an opening, and disarmed his lieutenant with a flick of his sword.

  “Stand down, Razzo,” Carrieri said, sword held ready to strike. “It’s over.”

  Razzo glared at Carrieri, his eyes burning within his skull. Weaponless, he lunged at Carrieri from his saddle with a roar.

  Carrieri struck, his sword plunging into Razzo’s chest, but Razzo did not stop. Instead, he slid forward on Carrieri’s sword, arms reaching forward.

  Carrieri pulled his saddle dagger and rammed it into Razzo’s neck once, twice, then a third time, blood spurting out of each wound. Slowly, Razzo slumped forward, still impaled on Carrieri’s sword.

  Carrieri withdrew the blade, breathing heavily. He was about to berate the soldiers around him for not jumping in to help their Grand Marshal, but he looked up to see the battlefield had completely changed.

  It was chaos.

  Whatever had affected Razzo had also affected hundreds of soldiers, from both sides—tiellans and humans, eyes burning red, attacked with berserk strength, heedless of who once might have fought by their side.

  Nearby, the Daemon that had begun it all, the thing that had once been Kyfer, rumbled a low, rolling chuckle.

  “Bloodlust,” the thing growled.

  Carrieri spurred his horse away from the Daemon. He needed to regroup his men—the ones still in control of themselves—to rally them against this horrifying beast. Whatever it was, it was clearly an enemy to both the Khalic forces and the tiellans.

  Above his head, black mist began to form.

  42

  Coastal Road, somewhere between Kirlan and Triah

  CINZIA KNEW SHE WAS back in the Sfaera wh
en Knot—Lathe—looked at her, smiling. His eyes glowed silver. She had not noticed that before.

  That is Bazlamit, a voice said inside of her. She is a tricky one.

  You, Cinzia hissed. I don’t want this, get out of my head.

  I’ve infested more than your head, my dear. You cannot get rid of me now.

  Cinzia frowned. No matter. She would help Astrid, free Knot, and then deal with the bloody Daemon inside of her.

  I’m not sure you’ll have time for that, Cinzia. We all have avatars, now. Mefiston has already taken his true form. Samann will be next, and I will soon follow. You will not last long enough to save your friends.

  Around her, Eward and his Prelates fought the Sons of Canta and the Goddessguards. A few Sons had fallen, but so had two Prelates. The Black Matron knelt by Astrid, while Lathe, eyes glowing silver, walked towards her.

  You never told me that becoming your avatar would mean I would have to die, Cinzia thought.

  You never asked, darling.

  “Knot!” Cinzia shouted, looking at the man who had once been her Goddessguard. “You must be in there somewhere. I know you can hear me!”

  She heard Luceraf’s echoing laugh inside her head, while Lathe laughed along with her. “I’m sorry, Cinzia. Knot is gone. He really can’t hear you.”

  “Let me speak to him,” Cinzia said, meeting Lathe’s eyes— although such a thing was impossible, with the strange effect his eyes had.

  Do my eyes glow now, too? Cinzia wondered.

  They do, Luceraf replied, but only Lathe can see it now. Only another avatar can see the glow behind your eyes, the essence of your power, until I am able to take my true form through you.

  You said I have power. That you’ve enhanced me. You mean I am strong?

  Cinzia could feel the pride emanating from Luceraf within her. Stronger than you know, darling.

  Good, Cinzia thought. Then, she rushed forward, kicking the Black Matron in the face with all her might. The woman’s head snapped back as she flew into the air, then slid along the dirt road.