Something flickered in Elijah’s eye, and he looked between Sorin and Bron helplessly. The fog tried to close in again around his face, but Elijah shut his eye tightly; he was fighting it. He fell to the ground, crying out in pain. The black magic would not let up, it was not going to let Elijah go.
He looked at Sorin hopelessly, and spoke in a pained voice, “Make it stop. Kill me.”
“No, Elijah, you have to fight it. That’s an order, soldier.”
Elijah shook his head. “Look at me.” He choked as the fog tried to worm its way into his mouth. “Please, Sorin. Kill me.”
Sorin looked at Bron, his hands shaking as he picked up his sword. Bron nodded to him. They both knew what needed to be done. Elijah was too far gone. Sorin stepped up to where Elijah knelt on the ground. He made a promise to his friend: “I will destroy the ones who did this to you, brother. Your work here is done... May The Mother keep you.” Sorin took a deep, steadying breath, and plunged his sword through the heart of his friend.
Elijah looked relieved as the fog faded away, leaving him lying on the ground, free in death. Sorin dropped to his knees as blood pooled around his friend’s body. Bron let out an anguished shout. Ingemar and Mavka stood silently by the trees.
Ingemar spoke first, cutting through the grief Sorin was feeling. “We need to go, Your Majesty. It is not safe here.”
“No, it most certainly is not.” A woman appeared out of the shadows. She was shrouded in black, so they could not see her face clearly. “Such a sweet display of mercy, King Sorin. I am quite impressed. Bastian had doubted your capacity to kill a man who had been raised alongside you like a brother. It seems we were both wrong.” Magic slithered from her in long, black shadows, it was like she had extra arms.
Ingemar shot out a shield of her own magic to protect them from whatever this woman was. It was clear that the shadow woman was not human by the way that she moved, almost as if she were floating above the solid ground. Ingemar tried to hold her off with her Ceasg magic, but it was not enough. Sorin knew he was too far away from Ingemar, and she had stretched her power thin to defeat the guards. The black magic extended from the shadow woman, and grabbed hold of Sorin, dragging him through the dirt, and toward her. She was like a Kraken, with a thick tendril holding him while others still reached for his friends.
She had him, but it was not too late for his friends. “Run!” He ordered them, desperately wanting them to obey. They hesitated, just long enough for an enormous blast to sound from across the camp, near the valley.
Sorin suspected he had Langley to thank for the distraction. His friends took the opportunity to do as he commanded, disappearing into the tree line. Vines appeared, building a wall between the shadow woman’s magic and his friends. They were safe, but he was not so lucky. He caught a glimpse of the woman’s face shifting beneath the veil, as if it was having trouble holding a solid form.
She smiled wickedly. “Allow me to introduce myself—they call me Umbra. I am your new keeper, King Sorin, and I believe you and I are going to have the time of our lives.”
The camp was buzzing with excitement as Umbra dragged Sorin past the tents. Her black shadowy tendrils had snaked around his wrists, holding onto him with a tight grip. Nefari, still dressed in their finery from the ball, shouted bitter, hateful words at him. Sorin spotted a few humans scattered amongst the crowd, high-ranking men he recognized from the Summer Palace.
Signe had warned him that some of the noblemen had turned to Bastian’s side, but seeing it with his own eyes now broke a small piece inside of him. Had they really been so miserable that they would choose a world of dark magic over the world his father had created? Anger boiled inside of him, those men were cowards. He wondered what riches and power Bastian had promised them.
There were other magical creatures mixed into the crowd: Orcs who foamed at the mouth, and Wraiths floating aimlessly beneath the moonlight. Bastian had built himself an impressive force. Sorin grimaced at the camp, the dark Magi, and the people who were flocked around them. He scanned the crowd for Shaye, but there was no sign of her.
Umbra led him like a dog into a small tent, surrounded by aggressive-looking guards. They spat at his feet as he passed by, entering the dark tent. A gust of wind followed them in, lighting the candles in the small space. There was no furniture in the tent, save for a small table and a chair sitting in the middle of the room. Umbra pushed him into the chair, and nodded to the guards to secure his arms and legs with an enchanted rope—the rough, brown twine shimmered with the magic.
Umbra leaned casually against the table, the light casting a glow through her veil. It was still impossible to make out her full face, but he could see the shadow of it, wavering as if she were struggling to keep hold of the human form. Though he had never encountered a creature like her, he knew for certain that she was not of this world.
She began to hum a slow, eerie tune. She was watching Sorin and smiling. “You are an interesting mortal. A man raised to hate all magic, yet the thing you love most in this world is a girl engulfed in it. Right down to her very soul.” She approached Sorin where he sat helpless. She reached out a shadow-covered hand—it was as if the fog he had seen in the forest had taken human form.
“It was you. You are the black fog from the forest.” His nostrils flared as she ran her shadowy hand up his neck and into his hair. He wanted nothing more than to escape her touch. He could feel the sharpness of her nails, long like the claws of a hellhound.
She sat on his lap, running her hands through his overgrown blonde hair, a deep contrast to the darkness of her. “Clever boy. Yes, though that is just one of my many talents.” She leaned forward to whisper into his ear. There was no breath coming from her, no heat; instead, all he felt was a deep void. “Would you like to see my others?”
“I would prefer to take your word for it.”
Umbra let out a wicked laugh. “Bastian has agreed that, for tonight, you belong to me.” She sighed and kissed him on the cheek through her veil. “Though kings hold no magic, they do contain a great deal of power... Power that I hunger for; a life force that is of great use to someone like me. You won’t mind if I take a bit of yours, will you?”
Before he could respond, he was overtaken by shadows. They consumed him so that he could no longer see the tent or Umbra, but he could feel her bony body on his still. He thrashed against his restraints, trying desperately to escape the suffocating void that she was trapping him in. It felt as if everything, the very breath and life of him, was being drained away. The pain of it was agonizing, and he prayed for it to end. There was no way to fight it... To fight her.
A force struck them suddenly, throwing Umbra from his lap, and onto the floor. His vision returned and he gasped, trying to catch his breath—his entire body ached. Umbra screeched from the floor, “You bitch.”
“Easy now, Umbra, you forget who you are speaking to.” Bastian stood at the tent’s entrance beside Shaye. Shaye’s hands were engulfed in flame and there was a fury in her eyes. Sorin did not know if it was the light of the flames, but her eyes were no longer the golden color of a sunset; instead, it was as if the flame itself was shining through them. She looked every bit the fierce Sorceress that Signe had warned him she now was. He had not been able to accept it, to let himself believe that she had been tapping into dark magic, but it was true; she had used it to stop Umbra from hurting him, and now the dark lines of blood magic snaked from her fingertips to her wrists.
“Master...” Umbra was still on the dirt floor of the tent. She bowed to Bastian, touching her head to the ground. “You said he would be mine for the night.”
Bastian stood at Shaye’s side, looking down in disgust at Umbra. “You need not remind me of what I said. Rather, it is you who needs to be reminded of who is in charge here.” He used his magic to drag Umbra across the ground to his feet. She shook her head violently, bowing once again to him in obedience.
Bastian turned to Shaye. “You see, he is alive and well. Ju
st as I promised. Now enough of these theatrics.” He clapped his hands and the tent opened up to reveal a fat, ruddy man, wringing his hands nervously, and a young woman Sorin recognized all too well: Duke Brayham and his daughter, Adella.
Adella strode in, more confident than her traitorous father, and stood at Bastian’s other side. She placed herself as close to him as she could, her arm brushing up against his, as she smiled down on Sorin, triumphantly. The duke lingered back; he looked as if he would rather be anywhere else. Sorin spat at them, wishing he could run his sword through their greedy hearts.
“Bass...” Shaye’s flames had ebbed, and she placed a hand on Bastian’s dark jacket. Sorin did not like the way she called him by his childhood nickname. Bastian, however, seemed to enjoy it. He smirked at Sorin as Shaye continued, “You do not need to kill him, you could keep him and use his shame as a display of your power. Perhaps with the king captured, his men will yield. There will be no need for a war at all and—”
Adella interrupted her, “You would say anything to keep your lover alive. Lord Bastian does not answer to you.” She stuck her too-thin nose in the air, arrogantly.
Shaye snapped a graceful finger and Adella’s dress caught fire. The hateful girl let out a loud yelp and stomped the flame out. She turned to Bastian in disbelief. “Sire, surely you know I speak the truth. She has been deceiving you this entire time. The moment those thugs of hers showed up at the ball, she did everything she could to protect them.”
Bastian held a hand up to silence her. “Adella, although you have a point, you are out of line. You are not the mistress of this camp.” He didn’t deign to look at her as he spoke, keeping his eyes on Sorin. “Shaye is. Isn’t that right, my dear?” He held a hand out to Shaye and she took it. Bastian turned to the side, steering Shaye to face him, and then he kissed her. It was not the passionate kiss of a lover, there was no tenderness there. This was a display of ownership. Bastian wanted Sorin to know exactly how much control he had over the woman that Sorin loved.
Sorin felt sick at the sight of it, and he fought fruitlessly against the restraints. He could not understand why Shaye wasn’t fighting back, why she was allowing herself to be treated like a plaything. She moaned in pain as Bastian bit her lip, drawing blood on her pale lips. Bastian pulled back, and looked Sorin in the eye again, smiling. Every instinct in Sorin’s body screamed. He wanted to tear Bastian’s black eyes from his face, to cut his heart from his chest, and hold it up for all of the Nefari to see.
Bastian signaled again to his guards, and they pushed their way into the cramped room. With them, they held Signe and the two guards that Ingemar and Ylva had knocked unconscious earlier that night. They were forced to their knees where Umbra had been moments ago. Signe’s face was bloodied and swollen; someone had done a number on her. The two men beside her looked as if they had just come out of a daze, a result of the magic they had been hit with.
Bastian looked down on the three of them in disgust. Shaye stood silently at his side with blood still on her lip. Her face gave nothing away as she looked down at the ground, refusing to meet Sorin’s eyes.
“Signe, you are charged with treasonous acts against the new regime. For this you will be sentenced to death after the battle. Once I have claimed my last wish from you, you will meet your end.” He turned his attention to the guards next. “As for you two imbeciles... You allowed women to get the best of you and nearly cost us our victory. What shall be done with you?”
The men looked up defiantly at their leader, neither said a word. Shaye interrupted this time, “I know these men from the camp, they have been faithful servants to you, Bastian. They could not have known that we would be infiltrated with people who wield magic. If it pleases you, I would ask that you spare them.”
The men looked at Shaye in blatant shock. Bastian seemed surprised at her defense of them as well. Her mercy seemed to confuse everyone in the room, but Bastian was far too vain to allow his power to be questioned. “I will spare their lives to please you, my dear, but they will not go unpunished.” Bastian snapped his fingers, and in a slash of his dark magic, the men were struck on the face. The Nefari guards fell over, but did not cry out at the attack.
When they rose, each had an identical gash running from their brow to their cheek, cutting right through their right eyes. They glared at Bastian as if the hatred they felt in that moment would cut through his own unblemished face. Bastian ignored them, no longer concerned with the men or the wounds he had just inflicted on them. He turned to take his leave, whispering to Shaye before he disappeared into the night.
Shaye helped the wounded men to their feet as blood spilled from the wounds on their faces. She held a hand over each of their eyes, summoning her magic. Sorin could see that she was struggling; she furrowed her brow in concentration, and the light of her healing magic ebbed. She could not hold it. The open skin on their faces struggled to close together. Shaye stepped back. “I am sorry, I cannot save the eye.”
One of the men nodded in understanding, and patted her on the shoulder. The other grunted in thanks for her efforts, and led his friend from the tent. Sorin could sense Umbra’s unwanted presence still in the room with them. Her darkness was suffocating. Shaye ignored her as she stood, staring at Sorin. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, struggling under the ropes that held him to his seat.
Shaye looked back at Umbra. The two meeting one another with glares of hatred. Shaye’s breath was rising and falling like she was in a panic. Sorin was going to have to say his peace with an audience—Umbra was not going anywhere.
“Shaye, you need to release me.”
“You know I cannot do that.” She stood firmly in place with a stoic look on her face; but there was true sadness in her eyes, and Sorin felt a seed of hope that she was not yet too far gone.
He needed her to give into her emotions, to tap into her humanity. So he said the one thing he knew would strike a chord with her: “I killed Elijah.”
It worked. She gasped. “W-what happened? No, the fog took Elijah.”
“Bastian turned him into a monster. He tried to destroy his soul with the darkness, but Shaye, it didn’t work. Don’t you see, Bastian is not infallible. We can still defeat him.”
Umbra interrupted, smacking Sorin in the face with one of her shadows. “Silence.”
Sorin shook his head, trying to get rid of the sting of the blow. Shaye kept her composure; her face was a mask of indifference once again. She raised her chin before addressing Umbra, every bit the picture of Nefari royalty in her black gown. “Your presence is no longer needed here. Bastian and I will be discussing the fate of the prisoner tonight. You are dismissed.”
Umbra seethed at the dismissal, but did as Shaye commanded. Sorin could not imagine how Shaye had risen so high in stature here in the Nefari camp. Bastian trusted her, and that frightened Sorin more than anything Umbra could do to him. Shaye turned to leave, but Sorin could not let her leave without telling her one last thing. It could be the last chance he had to speak with her, and he would use it to be bolder than he had been in his entire life.
“I love you, Shaye. I have loved you for a long time, and nothing that has happened here in this Mother forsaken camp is going to change that.” Tears filled his eyes, and he fought against the restraints that were burning his arms with the rough rope.
Shaye did not say a word as she took the lantern Bastian’s men had brought in with them and walked from the tent, out of his sight. A swift wind swept in, blowing out the candles, leaving him and a battered Signe alone in the darkness.
Chapter Twelve
Shaye
Shaye’s hands were shaking uncontrollably by the time she reached her tent. She stood before the entrance, trying to calm herself before going in to face Bastian. She could not show him how rattled she was by the encounter with Sorin. If he saw her like this then he would surely take it as a sign of weakness—and to Bastian, weakness meant him losing control. He would make her drink the enchanted am
ber wine to cloud her mind, and would take control of it again. She could not afford that sort of setback. Not when Sorin’s life was on the line.
She shook her hands out at her sides and bounced on her feet, but before she could enter the tent, Gorm and Ulf appeared from the darkness. Gorm held a large finger to his mouth, and gestured for her to meet them in the shadows beside the tent. Curiosity got the better of her and she went to them.
Ulf spoke, his gruff voice was no more than a whisper, “We know what you did.”
Shaye was unsure of what they were referring to. She feared that perhaps they had seen her talking to Thorsten and Ylva at the ball. She wracked her brain for a believable lie, but Gorm said, “The guards you tried to heal... They grew up with us in the mountains after we went into hiding. We’ve known them since we were boys. Why did you do it? Why did you speak up on their behalf?”
Shaye was shocked by the question. Were these men really so jaded and full of hate that they could not comprehend the idea of an outsider showing mercy to one of their own? She bit her lip anxiously, hissing as she reopened the wound that Bastian had left behind.
Gorm and Ulf did not appear to be much older than her. She had never heard about their upbringing, but it did not come as a shock that it would have been as traumatic for them as it had been for her. Had they lost their family the night of the Winter Solstice, as she had?
They waited silently for her to respond. Finally, she found her words. “I know in my heart what is right.” She took a deep breath. Her next words could be her death sentence, but she was willing to risk it—to see if it was truly possible to turn these men to her side. “Bastian is a shell of false promises. You both know deep down that he will never allow all of you to rise in stature. He will only allow you all to pillage this country until there is nothing left; and once he has control, he will discard you like the dogs he believes you to be.”
A Legacy of Nightmares Page 9