by C. A. McHugh
Ceryst jogged to catch up with him, knowing full well the royalty Raimel referred to had nothing to do with Aerrin. More than likely, it was the scumbag who called himself the King of Thieves and ruled over Dromore’s underworld. “Are you going to tell me why I had to come along?”
“Depends on how good a boy you promise to be.”
“How about it depends on how much you enjoy keeping your pretty face?”
“Ouch!” Raimel said, his shoulders rising in a mock grimace. “At least you’ve admitted that I’m the better-looking one.”
“My patience is wearing thin.” His hands curled into a fist, but that pace at which Raimel darted through the dark tunnels left him little opportunity to land a square punch.
“Then don’t wear it out.” Raimel stopped at an intersection and repeated the same act of running his fingers along the wall. Very different from Ceryst’s way of navigating tunnels. All he had to do was look for the hidden markings. Raimel seemed to be searching for signs that were even more obscure. “My sources have left behind some clues to help us find some of the Raven Bringer’s minions, if you must know.”
“And who are these sources?”
Raimel gave him a wry smile. “Do you really want to know? Or would you prefer to feign innocence?”
Thieves. He knew about the shady connections in Raimel’s past, but over the past fifteen years, he’d managed to keep Ceryst free from their world.
But they’d also both spent the last fifteen years believing the Raven Bringer was dead. It was already six months since the fiend had announced his return, and Ceryst was no closer to clearing his name and avenging his best friend, Aerrin’s father, than when they’d begun. For that reason alone, he was willing to take a chance tonight and turn a blind eye to Raimel’s methods of capturing the enemy, even though every bit of the knightly code that had been drilled into him from childhood rebelled at the idea of allying with thieves.
“Her Highness sent me a message that she’d uncovered something under the city, and we’re going to investigate it, if you must know.” He nodded to the right. “This way.”
Ceryst’s jaw tightened every time Raimel used royal titles to refer to the leaders of the city’s criminals. It was a mockery of the monarchy he’d sworn to defend. But he kept his mouth shut. He was on their turf, and if by some chance the clues the thieves had left behind turned out to be valid, he didn’t want to risk losing what few allies they had. So far, the public had no idea the Raven Bringer was back, and if they could defeat the fiend before he regained his full power, that would ideal.
Raimel led him through the dark maze of tunnels with ease, pausing only a few seconds at each interchange to find the next clue. After what felt like a mile of travel, he halted and held up his hand.
The smell of brimstone confirmed why. Ash and sulfur mingled with the scent of death, and the temperature in the tunnel dropped until his breath curled out in front of him in an icy mist. Demons were nearby, and where there were demons, there was a chance the Raven Bringer might be with them.
Ceryst drew his sword. “Please thank your sources for me.”
“Maybe one day you’ll get off your high horse long enough to thank them yourself.” Raimel drew the two thin blades he kept strapped to his back. They were shorter and lighter than the broadsword Ceryst preferred to carry, but the younger man wielded them with lethal grace.
The pace slowed to a creep, each step taken with caution, unlike their journey up to this point. The signs all confirmed they were closing in on their target. The icy chill in the air. The choking smell of invisible fire. The hair-raising sense of foreboding that accompanied an encounter with the unnatural.
Raimel stopped at a corner and pressed his back to the wall. He pulled out the medal he always wore around his neck to the goddess of duality, Theodria, and kissed it as though it would offer some sort of protection. Then his gaze grew distant and vacant, something Ceryst was all too familiar with. Raimel could see into the realm of shadows, the place demons and other dark creatures called home, and he was gazing into it now.
“See anything?” Ceryst whispered.
“Three, plus a human.”
Ceryst liked those odds. They could handle that as long as the Raven Bringer wasn’t setting them up like before. “How far?”
Before Raimel could answer, he squeezed the sides of his head with his palms and doubled over in a wail of pain.
Ceryst cursed under his breath. Three demons were fine and dandy and easy tackled. He’d discounted the powers of the lone human in the group. And now Raimel had given away their position. “Shake it off,” he ordered as he prepared for battle.
“Trying,” his friend replied while crouching near the floor.
Several more curses rose into Ceryst’s throat from his colleague’s incapacitation. Only a powerful dark mage could invade Raimel’s mind like that, and he knew of only two people who could—the Raven Bringer and the female apprentice they’d encountered six months ago. But before he could let them fly, the first demon appeared from the shadows and barreled toward him.
The seven-foot-tall creature moved like a human on two legs, but had an extra set of arms, all holding weapons. Orange flames danced along its scaly skin and highlighted its reptilian features. This was a new demon for Ceryst, one he’d never encountered, and unfortunately, his demon expert wasn’t in any condition to tell him how to best vanquish it.
Ceryst deflected the first blow and readied his own attack. “Anytime now, Raimel.”
Another wail of agony answered him. Whatever that mage was doing to his friend, it didn’t sound pleasant. If Ceryst got to the person behind the spell, he’d gladly repay the suffering to him or her for torturing his friend.
Despite having four swords at its command, the demon moved with an awkwardness that made him an easy target. Ceryst easily sliced through one arm, then another. He took particular care to avoid getting too close to the blades. He’d already had one run-in with the sticky black tar-like poison covering them, and he had no desire to feel its effects again. Even the slightest nick could prove problematic.
“Blind from behind,” Raimel managed to gasp while nodding toward the demon.
It was all Ceryst needed. He changed his battle strategy, circling the demon and striking from behind while avoiding both the poison and the flames. Less than a minute later, the demon’s head rolled to the ground, and the flames consumed its body until there was nothing left but a pile of ashes.
Ceryst rushed to his friend and whacked the back of Raimel’s head against the wall. A yelp of surprise followed, but it sounded sweeter than the groans that had come from his friend seconds before. “Pull yourself together.”
“You tell them that.” Beads of sweat gathered along Raimel’s pale face, but his gaze remained sharp and focused. At last, he seemed to have some luck keeping the enemy out of his mind.
“Which one is it?”
“The woman,” he replied with a grimace. “Not as strong as him, but still packs a wallop.”
They were close to an apprentice, and Ceryst doubled his determination. How he’d love to capture her and find out where that son of a bitch had been hiding all these years. Or better yet, kill them both and finally clear his name. For the last fifteen years, he’d lived in fear of someone recognizing him and carrying out the execution he’d narrowly escaped for crimes he didn’t commit, and now he was this close to administering justice and finding redemption.
“How close?”
“Close enough to mess with my head.” Raimel’s breath shook as he stood up. He grabbed one of the demon’s blades and tucked it in one of the scabbards strapped to his back alongside his own weapons.
“That doesn’t help me.” Ceryst readied his sword and prepared to peer around the corner. “Be more specific.”
A fireball blazed past him, spraying sparks into his beard, and collided with the opposite wall.
“That answer your question?” Raimel shook his body loose and
fixed his battle expression in place. “Let’s dance.”
Ceryst smothered the smoke rising from his cheek and nodded.
Raimel barreled around the corner with a fierce battle cry. By the time Ceryst followed, he’d already dispatched the second demon and was locked in combat with the third.
Ceryst fixed his attention on the figure behind them—what appeared to be woman dressed head to toe in black. Even her hands were concealed by gloves, revealing as little as possible about who the person behind the featureless mask was. She stood motionless in the center of a circle scored with demonic symbols drawn in blood on the ground. Her figure was tall and slight, but there was a regal air to her posture that seemed vaguely familiar. And even though the mask concealed her face like the visor of a knight’s helmet, he could almost picture her malicious grin as she raised her hand toward Raimel and cast a red bolt of magic.
Raimel fell to knees with another cry of pain, his body jerking in spasms.
The demon he’d been battling raised one of its poison-covered blades above him.
Ceryst dove to block it, ramming Raimel into the ground. He followed it with a quick kick to the back of the demon’s knees, knocking it off its feet. Raimel rolled away while Ceryst jumped to his feet and stabbed his sword into the demon’s throat. A twist and a tug later, the demon’s head snapped off.
But the blaze that consumed the demon’s body afterward did little to ease Raimel’s torment.
Only taking out the apprentice would.
Ceryst leveled his gaze on her masked face, his sword ready to strike.
Deep, throaty laughter preceded the clang of metal that nearly knocked him off his feet.
Raimel stood in front of him, his eyes glazed, both swords crossed in front of him. A sinister light flickered off the polished metal, only adding to the chill lodged in the center of Ceryst’s heart.
“If you want me,” the apprentice said in a gravelly yet undeniably feminine voice, “you have to get past him.”
He took a step back, unwilling to engage his friend. “Raimel, get hold of yourself.”
Despite the struggle that waged across his face, his friend staggered forward, completely under the control of the apprentice.
“Raimel,” Ceryst warned, taking another step back. He needed time to figure out the best way to incapacitate Raimel long enough to get to the apprentice. He didn’t want to cause any serious injury, but he wouldn’t be above roughing him up a bit if needed.
Raimel opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Another halting step full of resistance closed the gap between them.
“He’ll follow my every command, Sir Ceryst,” the apprentice explained, her words full of mocking glee. “You’d be amazed how easily his kind submit to my power.”
Ceryst shifted his attention from her to Raimel. “She’s wrong about you. You’re not what they are.” He motioned his broadsword at the scattered ashes, all that remained of the demons they’d vanquished.
Raimel’s jaw tightened into a grimace. “Do it,” he managed to whisper through clenched teeth.
Ceryst’s heart sank a little bit more, and hesitation pulsed through him for the next few beats. He knew Raimel’s struggles with the darker part of his nature. It was nothing he’d asked for, nothing he’d set out to gain. It was the curse of Raimel’s father, a dark inheritance his best friend wanted nothing to do with. And now he was ordering Ceryst to physically harm him—maybe even kill him—in order to keep the apprentice from escaping.
Ceryst nodded and lowered his shoulders. “I’m sorry, old friend.”
Then he tackled the thinner man from the side.
Raimel crumpled to the ground, both of his swords falling from his hands and clattering into the shadows.
The apprentice raised her hands in a defensive maneuver. Two spells flew from her palms. Ceryst angled his sword, and the first spell, meant to disarm him, fizzled out when it hit his blade. She might know his name, but she seemed to have forgotten about the magical abilities of the sword he’d been given when he became the Knight Protector. No spell could disarm him.
He had no defenses for the second spell, however. Pain seared through his insides, coming from half a dozen entry points and zigzagging from one end of his body to another. His breath hitched. His vision swam, and he was forced to lock his knees to keep from falling.
“Don’t mess with me, knight. I’m almost as powerful as my master,” she taunted.
Ceryst pushed the pain back and lurched forward, every muscle tight with determination to run his blade through her. “But you’re still only second to him.”
“With an obvious blind side,” Raimel added before blinking into the Shadow Realm and reappearing behind her a split second later. He jabbed one of the demon’s poison-coated blades into her back.
A gasp pierced the silence of the room, and the spell released Ceryst from its hold. He ran forward to deliver the killing blow, but before his sword could even skim the silken fabric of her black robes, she vanished, leaving Raimel in his path.
Raimel spun to the side just in time, and Ceryst skidded to a stop before he crashed into the wall.
They both cursed simultaneously.
“I forgot to anchor her,” Raimel muttered, kicking the ashes from the demons up into the air. The spell would’ve kept her in this realm and prevented her from escaping into the Shadow Realm.
Ceryst leaned forward and braced his weight on his upright sword. “At least she didn’t anchor you or you wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on her like that.”
“True.” His friend drew in a slow, deep breath and released it with a whoosh. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize.” Under any other circumstances, he would’ve ordered Raimel to follow her into the Shadow Realm, but not now. Not after what Raimel had just suffered.
He straightened and made an act of surveying the room to avoid making eye contact with Raimel. He owed the younger man his life on more than one account, but ever since he’d learned about Raimel’s dark secret, he’d feared the day where he might have to kill his friend to get to the enemy. He’d been lucky today. Experience, however, told him there would come a day where his luck would run out.
Raimel picked up his swords. “I can’t believe I let her take control of me like that.”
“But you resisted.” Ceryst poured the contents of his flask over part of the circle to wash away the blood and break any dark magic it held. “And more important, you paid her back.”
“Yeah. Let’s see if she knows the antidote to that shit.” He looked down and appeared to be weighing his weapons in his hands. “I need to speak to Master Binnius about this. It’s one thing for them to enter my mind. It’s another when they seize control of it.”
“Agreed.” Ceryst scanned the room once more to assure himself there were no more demons lurking the shadows. “At least your sources proved to be reliable.”
“Her Highness always is.” He slowly slid each sword into its scabbard and motioned for Ceryst to follow him. “Let’s get you out of here before I’m forced to pay a tribute for your entrance fee.”
Ceryst knew better than to ask what that entailed. The less he knew about the Kingdom of Thieves, the better.
But even if they’d managed to kill the apprentice, it might not save Raimel if they came before her master in the future. Would he be strong enough to resist the Raven Bringer?
And if Raimel couldn’t, would Ceryst be able to strike down his best friend to save the kingdom?
Chapter 5
Aerrin awoke late the next morning feeling slightly hung over. His mouth was dry from all the wine he had drunk the night before, and the bright morning sun burned his eyes, making them water. But it was the incessant pounding at his door that echoed through his head and made him want to scream.
“His Majesty—” someone started to say from the other side of the door, but Leandros cut him off.
“We’re his best friends, and we have some important news f
or him.” Leandros barged into his room, munching on an apple. “You look rough. You need to learn how to handle your wine better.”
“Shut up,” Aerrin muttered as he blindly reached for a glass of water and tried to ignore the pain in his temples.
“I knew I was wise to miss the festivities.” Nyssa laid her hand on his head. A second later, a soothing spell cured all his ailments. “Better?”
“Much.” Once again, she’d caught him improperly attired for mixed company, but just as before, she didn’t seem to notice or mind. He motioned for her to turn around. “Can you give me a moment?”
She rolled her eyes, but turned her back to him as he’d requested. “It’s not like you’re naked under the covers. Besides, I’d think you’d want to read my translation as soon as possible.”
He froze, his shirt halfway over his head, and let her words sink in. “You finished translating it?”
“Yes, and as soon as you get over your sense of modesty, I’ll let you read it.”
“For a confirmed spinster, you’re certainly cavalier about partially dressed men,” Leandros teased.
“That’s because in Highmounte, we have real men, not the gangly little nobles who hail from Akershire,” she shot right back before playfully flicking her fingers against Leandros’s shoulder.
He played along, stumbling back as though she’d punched him. “Well, the women in Highmounte are so hairy, it’s hard to tell them apart from the men.”
“Shut it, you two,” Aerrin ordered as he tucked his shirt in. If he didn’t stop them now, their taunts would escalate into a full-on shouting match. “Let me see what you have so far.”
She handed him a piece of paper. “Here is my best attempt at translating Seroney’s letter. I ran into a few problems, but I think we have enough to answer quite a few questions.”
Nyssa’s no-nonsense handwriting covered the page.
Dearest Seroney,
We have at last found [unable to translate], and I fear our news is bad. She was found dead near [unable to translate] two days ago. [a few sentences I couldn’t translate]. …Raven [I assume the next word is Bringer]. Your father and I wish for you to return home as soon as possible [unable to translate the rest]. Please bring [title or endearment] Binnius with you if he is able to leave the Academy for the funeral. I will be praying to the goddess Ayselus for your safe return.