A Legacy of Nightmares

by J. M. Wallace

  “Did your lady tell you that I invited her and her friends here for drinks tomorrow before the celebration?”

  “Ah, yes, she did mention that. You are free to do as you please, so long as you are ready when I come to escort you to the ball.”

  The ball. Shaye suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Bastian had spent every moment since their return making preparations for the ritual, and the celebration that would take place beforehand. It was to be a grand affair, Bastian’s tribute to the Winter Solstice. It would be a reception marking the moment of the Magi uprising that he would lead soon after. Sorin’s forces would arrive within days and a battle like Asterion had never seen would surely follow when they faced the Nefari army.

  “With you by my side, the entire court will be in awe.” He brushed her hair from her shoulder, running a finger along her collarbone. She fought a shiver in response, refusing to show him the revulsion she felt at his touch.

  She took his hand, removing it from her, and smiled sweetly at him. “Of course. I would love nothing more.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sorin

  Sorin shoved another dagger into his pack and let out a low growl. Bron grunted in response from the corner of the small tent. “Slow down, Sorin. We’re going to get her back.”

  “Not soon enough.” He threw the overstuffed bag to the floor. “You were there, Bron, you saw her. He had his filthy hands all over her. I can’t stand the thought of her being held prisoner for one more second.”

  Bron scratched at his closely shaven head and took a swig from his flask. “I don’t know Sorin, she didn’t look like a damsel in distress to me.”

  Sorin shot a glare in his friend’s direction. He was about to say something he knew he would regret, when Mavka popped her head through the entrance. She looked between the two men with her strange, mossy eyes, pushing her vine-entwined hair from her face. “She has arrived.”

  Bron gave Sorin a sympathetic look as they stood to greet their guest. Outside, the sun was beating down, bringing the heat of summer. The crews looked exhausted, both his own and Thorsten’s. Sorin had been grateful when the captain and his crew agreed to stay and see this through. They had been just as shocked as the rest of them at the sight of Shaye standing with the Nefari. When she had been with Sorin and his men, she had struggled to drum up even a hint of her magic. Now it seemed she had claimed her power, and then some.

  They were still on the beach, just south of the Ceasg Lagoon. It had taken longer than he would have liked to make their way across the Living Sea; they had gone the long way around to avoid a run-in with the shadow monster, who by now must have realized he’d been duped. Though they were successful in avoiding the Umibōzu, the seas had been tremulous. Ylva had speculated that it was due to the anger of the beast dwelling below on the ocean floor. Still, Sorin was grateful that they had not had to face it again, even if it meant braving a stormy sea.

  Since returning to Asterion, Mavka had sent word to her father and the clans, explaining that Sorin and the others would meet them in the forest north of the battlefield. Sorin’s team would arrive there first, giving them the opportunity to scout the area and set eyes on the Nefari army for themselves.

  Ingemar was waiting for them patiently, dressed even more extravagantly than usual, though Sorin would not have thought it possible. She had on her best gown, with her thick black hair piled gracefully on top of her head, which was adorned with a sparkling crown of blue-green sea glass. A woman stood beside her, her sun-kissed skin glistening with water, evidence that she had swam there. She was wearing a silk wrap, deep blue like the sea. Sorin gave a rushed bow to both women. Time was of the essence, and he was eager to speak with their spy from the Nefari camp.

  “Signe, thank you for coming.”

  Her accent was thick like Ingemar’s as she replied, “It is an honor, King Sorin. I want to thank you for showing such kindness to my friend. If only the rest of us were so lucky.”

  “When this is all over, you will be. I will see to it personally that each of you is released from the magic that forces you to grant wishes and given the freedom you so deserve. That we all deserve.”

  She smiled a dazzling white smile at him, and he noted the golden scales along her neck and arms. It still caught him off guard that such magical beings existed. It was times like this, when faced with such courageous and caring Magi, that he could not fathom what his father had been thinking when he stripped the entire land of power. A desperate act of fear-driven people, Sorin thought to himself. He knew now that there would be no going back to the way things were when his father was alive. He had been through too much with these magic wielders and knew what it would mean for them to have their power back.

  Signe interrupted his musings, “Thank you. Unfortunately, we must make this quick. I do not have much time. Bastian allows us only a short time in the water each day. I swam as fast as I could up the coast, but if I am not back soon, he will suspect something.” It was clear that Signe feared Bastian’s wrath. Sorin could never thank her enough for taking such a great risk in meeting them face to face.

  “Of course, please, sit if you’d like.” He gestured to the logs they had placed around their makeshift fire pit on the beach.

  She accepted the offer. “As you know, Bastian now holds all three relics. He has the Stave, the Sword, and he wears the Obsidian stone in a pendant around his neck at all times. With these, and your friend Shaye’s help, he will tap into that power, making his army unstoppable. We cannot allow this to happen.”

  “When?” It was Thorsten who asked. He was sitting forward with his elbows resting on his legs, hanging on Signe’s every word. They all were.

  “Under the blood moon. Now, Bastian is nothing if not extravagant... He is throwing a ball before the ceremony. I think I can get Captain Thorsten’s men into the celebration undetected. It is likely that Bastian will not notice them in the crowd, or remember their faces from the confrontation in the Eastern Isles. If you can get to the relics, then we will turn the tides in the war that is brewing.”

  The plan wasn’t foolproof, but it would do for now. Sorin did not want to waste another moment. Signe rose to take her leave, but Sorin stopped her. “Signe, please, how is she?”

  She was thoughtful before she answered, “She has been... different, since her return from the isles. Bastian no longer drugs her with his magic concoction, nor does he use his magic to enter her mind as much as he once did...” Sorin gave a sigh of relief, but she held up a hand. “Because he no longer needs to. She is using her dark magic more readily now. I believe she is up to something. I have noticed, on several occasions, her interactions with the guards when Bastian is not watching. They are entertained by her mischievousness. She may not be an ally to the Nefari, but she does risk losing herself to the power she wields. I am afraid if you do not succeed in your mission to steal the relics, if she is in that camp for much longer, you will have lost her for good.”

  There was sympathy in her eyes as she bowed to him. Ingemar walked her to the edge of the water, taking Signe’s hand in hers. Sorin watched them from the fire; the way they held one another reminded him of the moment in the library he had shared with Shaye. He looked away, feeling this was a private moment, not meant for his eyes.

  When Ingemar returned, there was immense sadness in her eyes. She sat beside Sorin on the log, and looked longingly at the sea. Sorin put a hand on her shoulder giving it a light squeeze. “You’ll go home soon enough, Ingemar. We all will.”

  “I hope with all my heart that you are right, Your Majesty. I am not sure what awaits us in that valley, but I fear the price we will all pay.”

  “You love her.” It was more an observation than a question.

  She smiled to herself—he knew the look, she was lost in memories. “I think I always have. Though it seems I waited too long to tell her.” The pointed look she gave Sorin made him chuckle.

  “I suppose that’s something we’ll all need to work on
when this is over. Perhaps we’ll all find the courage to be bolder.”

  “Bold like Shaye.”

  “Yes, like Shaye.”

  They sat there a while longer, lost in their own thoughts, and comforted by one another's presence. When lunchtime approached, Bron and the others came down from the camp, fresh fish in hand. They roasted it over a spit on the fire, and passed the rum around. There was a quiet unrest, unusual for this group. Sorin suspected they were all preparing themselves for the trials ahead.

  Everything was packed and ready to go. They were to leave when they finished eating, giving them enough time to travel quietly down to the Nefari camp. Ingemar and Ylva would be tasked with cloaking their movements against any scouts Bastian had circling. The two women had been cloaking them since their return to Asterion, and as far as they could tell, it was working.

  Once they finished eating, they put the fire out, and gathered the horses. Finn danced around, pounding the ground with his hooves. Sorin patted the restless gelding on his neck. “I know boy, you’ll see her soon.”

  Sorin mounted his own horse and tied Finn’s reins to his saddle. At his signal, they set off. Signe had given Ingemar a location where they would be safe to set up camp. She promised to have provisions waiting for them, along with clothing for Thorsten and his men. Thorsten, Haskell, Langley, and Runa, all being human, would have to wear servant’s clothing, while Ylva would be given a gown with gloves to hide her untainted hands—without them, it would be a dead giveaway that she was not Nefari.

  By the time they reached Signe’s secret camp, they were exhausted, and the horses were grateful for the reprieve. Though the group desperately needed the rest, they had made it just in time for the celebration—which meant they would be going headfirst into the Nefari camp that evening.

  Runa sat with Mavka, watching the moths flutter in different patterns. They were forming the shapes of various magical creatures when Bron arrived from a quick perimeter check. At his presence the moths abandoned their show and fluttered over to him. It seemed they had taken a liking to the knight just as Mavka had. The girls giggled together as Bron shifted around in his seat, trying to get away from the attention. Sorin did not miss the smirk on his face, though.

  Ylva and Ingemar sat huddled together; Ingemar was trying to prepare her for the ball with information Signe had given her. Thorsten and Haskell were sharpening their swords near where Sorin sat. Sorin drew his own sword with a halfhearted intent to do the same.

  “Ready when you are, King Sorin.” Thorsten gave him a wink.

  “Then let’s not waste another minute.” Sorin feigned confidence as he stood.

  They strapped on their weapons, and bid each other farewell. Thorsten and his crew were dressed and ready for the ball. The sun was setting, and the festivities would begin soon. They needed to wait until the Nefari were gathered for the ball so they could slip in undetected.

  Sorin, Bron, Mavka, and Ingemar were headed to the outskirts of the camp. Signe would meet them and take them to the Stave and the Sword. She insisted that they would not be able to get to the third relic, the Obsidian stone, since Bastian never took it off. Two out of three would need to be good enough for now.

  He pulled Thorsten aside. “Promise me. Promise me, that you will not leave that ball without her.”

  “I give you my word that Shaye will not be left behind. Not this time.”

  Sorin nodded, confident in the captain and his crew’s love for Shaye.

  They parted ways, wishing one another the luck of the Fates. Sorin could hear the Nefari camp before he could see it. Signe had not been exaggerating when she spoke of Bastian’s need for a big show. A large tent had been constructed in the middle of the encampment. Light and laughter flowed from it. The Nefari were already celebrating their victory, and it only made Sorin more determined than ever to prove them wrong.

  Signe appeared silently from the camp. She was dressed in a deep blue gown that shined under the moonlight, stunning in its simplicity. She held a finger to her lips, and led them down into the enemy camp. They moved wordlessly past the endless rows of tents. Bastian’s numbers were far greater than Sorin had believed, and he prayed they would not have to resort to a battle. The pressure of retrieving the relics weighed on him heavily.

  The guards monitoring the camp were sparse with everyone else at the ball. Signe motioned for them to follow her quickly behind a small tent where two ugly guards stood. They were laughing about an incident they had witnessed in one of Bastian’s meetings with his generals.

  “She’s really a sight to behold! Setting fire to the duke like that. It was the highlight of my day.” The shorter guard waved his black hands wildly.

  The taller guard picked at his teeth with a small, thin dagger. Pulling it from his mouth he sneered, “Lord Bastian has his hands full with that one.”

  The excited guard, a chunky man with buck teeth, agreed, “He’d better be careful. If she gets it in her mind to challenge him, I think she’d give him a run for his money.”

  The tall guard grunted in agreement. They were talking about Shaye, and Sorin felt a small sense of pride. It seemed she had been creating her own sort of havoc in the camp. Just like the Shaye he remembered.

  Signe and Ingemar linked hands and chanted something under their breath. Their magic ebbed steadily from them, flowing over to the Nefari guards. When it reached the men, they raised their hands to block it with their own magic, but they were too late. Their eyes drifted shut, and their bodies hit the ground simultaneously with a hard thud. Sorin smiled, that’s going to hurt in the morning.

  He followed the others into the tent where the relics sat, side by side. The Ceasg women used their magic to disable the protective spell locked around the relics. Sorin wasted no time, strapping them both to his back. His heart raced as the power of the ancient objects drummed into him. It was magic not meant for mortal hands, and he wanted nothing more than to get back to the camp, to get the relics off of him.

  They left the tent, still unnoticed by the Nefari making their rounds. When they reached the clearing that led from the camp to the tree line, they heard a crow call out. Mavka held up a hand to stop them. “No,” she whispered faintly, and Sorin looked at her in confusion.

  Bron shouted something to him, but it was too late. It wasn’t until something hit Sorin from behind that he realized the crow’s caw had been a warning to them. His vision went black as he hit the ground.

  Once Sorin came to from the blow to the head, Bastian was standing over him with a smug look on his face. This was not the same hurt and frightened man that had begged for help at the palace door weeks ago. Now he revealed his true self. The signs of black magic ran up his arms in inky tendrils, and his eyes were pooled with black, drowning out the whites that had once been there.

  Sorin felt such hatred at his presence, that he attacked without a second thought. It caught Bastian off guard, not giving him enough time to call on his magic. Sorin was on top of him in an instant, pummeling his face relentlessly. One of the guards stepped in, pulling Sorin off their master and throwing him into the dirt. He rolled and stood again.

  Bastian was standing now with the help of his men, licking the blood from his busted lip. He hissed in pain, then said, “King Sorin, brawling like a common man. Why am I not surprised? All of you mortals are the same, savage and pathetic.”

  Sorin looked around, remembering his friends who had been with him during the ambush. Bron was slumped on the ground, his face a bloody mess, but Ingemar and Mavka were nowhere to be seen. Sorin prayed that they had escaped in time. To his relief, the relics were still strapped to him. He would not let them go without a fight.

  Bastian knew it, too—he held out a hand and squeezed it shut. Sorin felt his throat close, and he panicked trying to get a breath in. Bastian held tight to the power, and Sorin fell to his knees once again, his vision going white. He felt the guards roughly remove his baldric. No, he thought, it can’t end this easily. Not l
ike this.

  Bastian released his fist, and the grip on Sorin’s throat loosened. He gasped for air, choking, and waiting for his vision to return. He could hear Bastian’s laughter in the distance as he walked away. By the time Sorin’s vision cleared, Bastian was gone. In his place, stood a group of Nefari, black hands strumming with magic. Both Sorin and Bron pushed to their feet and drew their swords; they would not make this easy for the traitorous Magi standing before them.

  Chapter Ten

  Shaye

  Bastian sure could throw a party, Shaye had to admit that. The enormous tent had been transformed into a wonderland. It was alive with light and music; lanterns floated overhead, charmed by the magic of the Nefari Sorcerers. Grand ice sculptures lined the tables in the shapes of magical creatures; Sea Dragons, Unicorns, and a Phoenix winked at her under the warm lantern light, expertly crafted from the ice. Best of all was the glorious spread of food laid out around them.

  Shaye had no idea where they had gathered such a beautiful fare when the country was in such turmoil from the blight. Seeds were no longer sprouting from the land, and the game that was left in the forest was thin and sickly. She ran a hand along the lace tablecloth, lost in thought when Brina appeared at her side. Shaye knew Brina was always within view, she had not left Shaye’s side since she had arrived, unless forced to.

  Brina snorted, “This is such a joke; celebrating his victory before anything has even happened.”

  Shaye agreed, though she did not say so out loud. Too many ears were constantly listening for her to slip up. She had to be careful not to reveal her deceitful intent toward Bastian and his army. She tugged at the bodice of the gown Bastian had picked out for her. It had long sheer sleeves with black embroidered details. There was a plunging neckline, accenting her breasts. The shimmering black detail ran down the length of her torso, stopping just at her thighs, where the sheer fabric began again and continued down to the floor. It had a tulle train that flowed down around her, trailing behind like a thin veil of shadows. As beautiful as it was, she was incredibly uncomfortable.