by Pippa Jay
“Of course, Your Highness. I forget that you have not lived with the insecurities and paranoia of my generation. You have never known war.”
The queen shivered at such a hideous prospect, the image his words conjured casting a shadow over the brightness of the day. “I hope I never shall.” She stared thoughtfully at her Minister of War, noting how the years and trials of his life had left their marks on his face, taking the joy and color from it. “R’hellek, I know that we have never particularly seen eye to eye. As you say, we are of different generations and times. Your life was shaped by a terrible conflict, but we are at peace now, with many friends and allies. Perhaps it is time to leave the past behind and look to the future.”
He met her gaze. “Some of us do not have the luxury of such a forgiving nature,” he said. “We cannot forget. We recognize the uncertainty of life.”
T’rill sighed at his determination to cling to the bleakness of their planet’s tempestuous history. “I do not bear a grudge for the turmoil of my early years,” she said softly, her thoughts dark with the memory of her time spent in slavery. “But I can, at least, ensure that my children and theirs will not suffer the same fate.”
“One cannot make such promises when the future cannot be predicted. Even now, there may be unseen threats beyond our world, beyond our knowledge.”
“You sound like a harbinger of doom,” she rebuked, trying not to allow her own hopes for the future to be tainted by his morbid prophecies.
“I am merely a realist. War comes easier than peace and there are forces at work in this universe we cannot always understand. Agents of chaos and random wanderers who draw destruction in their wake. Friends who can so easily become enemies.”
“You make me afraid,” she whispered, chilled despite the heat of the sun.
“Forgive me, Your Highness.” He rose. “I had no intention of spoiling your day of peace with such dismal wondering. I will leave now.”
“As you wish.” Disturbed by his gloomy words, T’rill hid her relief at his departure. Even in peace, R’hellek caused conflict amongst the court, and now within her own heart.
“I do have one request,” he added, as if in afterthought. “I have recently met a potential new ally. Perhaps a meeting could be arranged?”
“Can you vouch for this ally?”
“I can and will, Your Highness.”
“Then discuss it with J’dahzi. I’m sure something can be arranged in due course.”
“Thank you, Highness. It is always good to acquire new friends.”
“Even when they may become enemies?” she said, throwing his own words of warning back at him.
R’hellek smiled without humor. “It is just as true of old friends as new. Sometimes, even more so.”
He bowed and made his way back up the sloping sands of the beach, leaving T’rill to dwell on his words.
* * * *
Darkness still claimed the Adalucien sky when the soldiers came for them. Despite the ordeal facing them, Quin had fallen asleep huddled in her window seat. The crash of the door as it slammed open yanked her and Keir from slumber. Before either of them could stand, they were grabbed and dragged to their feet. The guards were in full armor, visors down as if they believed that the metal would somehow protect them from the magic of the Red Witch. Two more guards waited with crossbows aimed through the doorway as additional protection from any curse she might use. Serena was likewise roused and all three had their arms bound behind their backs. Then they were marched from the tower and out into the square before the palace.
The plaza was already crammed with people waiting quietly in the predawn darkness, a somber mass that the guards had to push a way through in order to pass. Quin could see nothing but staring, hostile faces on every side. A glimpse over her shoulder revealed that soldiers armed with crossbows lined the entire front wall of the palace. In the center of the square a large area had been fenced off and kept clear of spectators. A grim sight awaited them within its bounds. Three tall, metal spikes with chains stood ready to receive them, with an abundant amount of timber surrounding each, their gruesome purpose unmistakable. Beyond the clearing stood a hastily erected platform, set with a trio of thrones.
The guards pushed all three prisoners through the fence toward the spikes. They were shackled to the stakes with their arms above their heads, the metallic sound of the chains summoning a low murmur of anticipation from the waiting multitude.
Quin took the time to assess the situation, taking a careful inventory of the place and people surrounding them. A shiver ran through her, as much from the chilly air as trepidation. Aside from the huge crowd gathered around their enclosure, and the small army standing guard nearby and along the castle walls, even the viewing points on the surrounding buildings were packed with people anxious to see this rare spectacle. Guards on horseback flanked the platform of thrones and crossbows pointed at them from every direction. She strained to see Keir to her left and nodded when she caught his eye. On her right, Serena appeared pale and wide-eyed, but otherwise held herself steady.
“Are you ready?” she asked Keir, sensing his anxiety but pleased he remained calm.
“Yes,” he sent back, his thoughts firm and clear. Whatever his doubts, he kept them confined, and his trust in her was all the confidence she needed.
Quin took a deep breath, trying to calm her own inner panic. Light bloomed in the sky, highlighting the thrones and casting their shadows across the ground in the pale-gold dawn. The mournful sound of the Assembly bell echoed across the square in suitably doleful peals, and the murmuring intensified amongst the crowd. It was almost time.
A sudden grating sound preceded a trumpeted fanfare as the bronze gates of the palace opened and Rialto marched out. The commander was surrounded by his personal guard and accompanied by two women, one elderly and the other in her late teens or early twenties. The younger woman had her head bowed, her tear-streaked face revealing she had been crying hard not too long ago. As they passed in front of Quin, she saw the girl dart a quick, broken glance at Keir and felt his heart jump.
“Who is she?”
Keir’s thoughts came reluctantly, tinged with guilt. “My sister. Kisella.”
“What?” Quin stared at the woman. A tumult of emotions roiled through her stomach, adding to the quagmire already churning there. A sister? “You never said…”
“I did not know. Until yesterday.”
“Damn!” Quin clamped down on the jab of anger she felt. How many things had she not yet told Keir? She couldn’t expect him to tell her everything, but this was pretty damn important. She sighed. Regardless, it would also have to wait.
Sitting by Kisella’s side, the older woman looked as though she hadn’t slept all night, taking her granddaughter’s hand with a sad expression to stare bleakly at her son.
Rialto took center stage, raising his arms for silence from the grumbling crowd. “By our ancient law,” he cried, ensuring he would be heard by all as his voice echoed across the crowded square, “those proven guilty of witchcraft by the sworn statements of witnesses face swift execution without trial, for the safety of our citizens. Thus, the Red Witch has been condemned and her associates with her. Adalucien will finally be rid of a terrible curse!”
Thunderous applause and cheering greeted his speech, accompanied by calls for the burning to begin. Rialto appeared to savor his moment, raising a hand once more in a gesture for silence.
“The Matriarch has asked that the prisoners be allowed to speak. I will grant this request. Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”
In the expectant quiet that followed his speech, Serena chose to speak first. “I will see you burn in Hell, Rialto!” she screamed, then sagged against her chains.
He gave a wolfish grin and seated himself comfortably on his throne before glancing at his son. Keir said nothing, his eyes still fixed on Kisella’s. The commander seemed displeased, snapping at the girl who turned defiant eyes on him before looking back at her brot
her.
Quin gazed up at Rialto, radiating a calm she did not feel as she took another deep breath. “Commander!” she cried, pulling herself up as straight as she could. “People of Adalucien. I give you this one chance to release us and let us depart in peace. If not, I will call up a creature from the depths of Hell to burn this city to the ground as you would burn us!”
The audience jeered and Rialto grinned. “Any act of witchcraft,” he told her, “and I will shoot you dead myself.” He waved a hand and torchbearers approached them with flaming brands held high.
“Keir?”
“I am ready.”
Quin twisted in her chains to watch, chafing the skin from her wrists. Despite Sky’s assurances on the workings of the shields, her stomach clenched in apprehension. Would the devices completely protect them from the flames?
A loud cheer went up as the pyres were lit–flaring as the fire greedily consumed the dry tinder and kindling. Quin shied back as the flames flickered against her legs. Even with the shield she could feel the searing heat. They scorched her skin beneath her clothing, left her stung. She writhed in her chains and her legs gave out. Her breath came in short gasps. Blood hammered in her ears.
Oh, Powers…
Keir’s thoughts snatched at hers, lashed against her mind, mirroring her pain. She felt his fear, his torment, in terrible harmony with her own.
“Hold on!”
Agony swept over her as the fire rose to a peak, held back only by a blue shimmer in the air. An inferno raged around her. She screamed.
Time seemed to stretch out, every second torture. Quin sobbed as she forced each breath into her lungs. How much longer? How long would they burn?
The flames fell back. Deprived of anything fresh to burn, the fire dwindled down. The faintest breath of cooler air brushed her face and drew her back from her pain.
“Quin…” Keir’s voice came to her, shaken but clear. She pulled in a deep breath and pushed back onto her feet. The pyre was dying, a veil of gold and orange drifting downward. Her skin throbbed from the intensity of the heat and her wrists ached where she had hung in her chains. But they were alive.
Rialto leaped to his feet with a howl of anger and Quin had to shout at the top of her voice to be heard. “Your last chance, Commander! We are protected from your fire and your anger. Release us now and I will do you no harm. I swear it!”
Incandescent with fury, Rialto leaped from the platform, grabbed a crossbow from the nearest guard and advanced on her, aiming at her heart. She measured the distance and uncertainty filled her. He was getting too close. The shield would be useless… Quin prayed her telekinesis wouldn’t fail her as the commander drew nearer.
Time seemed to slow and the world faded to silence. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as her gaze locked onto the point of the crossbow. The sharp retort of the bolt being loosed made her breath catch, and the speeding projectile filled her vision with the promise of pain and death.
She reached inside herself for the blue sparks that were the dormant flickers of the alien power she carried with such resentment, buried and banked. Being almost burned alive had left her weak and shaking despite the shields, her body a mass of aches. The pulse of energy faded in her tenuous grasp and refused to be manipulated. Panic surged through her as the energy dimmed, ignoring her need. Elusive tendrils evaded her grasp. Death raced toward her.
She gasped, more of a sob than a desire for air, and suddenly Keir was in her mind, his strength filling her with radiant warmth. A jolt of blue fire rose and blazed through her, creating an invisible shield. A shower of bright sparks knocked the bolt aside, to bury itself in the wooden fencing behind.
Quin loosed a deep sigh of relief that Keir shared with her.
The commander stood open-mouthed with the useless weapon dangling from his grasp.
Quin glared and sent a message straight to Rialto’s mind in her annoyance. “So be it.”
With a powerful rush, she sent her thoughts far from the crowded square to her friends, calling for their help. In response, a loud crack of thunder sounded and the whole sky turned blood red. Cries of alarm and terror arose from the crowd. Panic ensued as people tried to run in different directions to escape the cascade of dark magic that seemed destined to fall upon them.
The red sky concentrated into a crimson mass, a raging maelstrom that spawned a creature of myth and magic. Sinuous as a snake with wide golden wings, black talons and eyes of flame, the creature surged over the heads of the masses, scattering them like a cat set loose amongst mice.
People screamed and tried to escape the square. Even the guards scattered as the dragon swooped low, terrifying the horses. It looped another circuit over the city and blasted the Merchants’ Quarter with white fire, causing an explosion that spread red-hot fragments of roof tiles as far as the city walls.
Rialto dropped to his knees and gazed upward at the hellish creature as it terrorized his city. At the sight of his dismay, Quin couldn’t quite suppress a warm glow of satisfaction that her dragon had worked so well. She directed a small jolt of telekinesis into her manacles and they snapped open. Her wrists were bleeding, but she ignored them as she ran to Keir and released him too.
“Still think it won’t work?” she yelled over the roar of her dragon and the screams of the crowds.
“We are not free yet!” he yelled back, grabbing her hand to pull her away.
Together they ran to Serena. The guards had abandoned any watch over their prisoner as they attempted to shoot down the monstrosity above. Kisella darted to them and placed a fleeting kiss on Keir’s cheek in farewell before the three escapees headed for the horses.
Keir pushed his mother to mount the nearest and Quin took possession of the chestnut mare she had led through the streets only the night before, calming the distraught animal.
“Let’s go,” she said to Keir, but he hesitated, glancing over his shoulder.
“You go,” he told her. “There is something I must do first.”
“No. Keir, what…?” She reached for his hand but he slapped the flanks of the mare, sending the animal skittering sideways in panic. Quin clutched at the horse’s mane as it reared up, her other hand fighting the reins for control as Keir dashed back across the square and was lost in the swarming crowds.
* * * *
Rialto greeted his son with a blank stare as Keir approached through the chaos, as if his mind had emptied itself of all thought, all feeling. But as Keir faced him, some emotion seemed to stir itself from within the depths of Rialto’s soul, and their eyes met in mutual hatred. Rialto rose to meet him.
“Why?” Keir demanded. “What harm did I ever cause you?”
For a long moment, it seemed that Rialto would not speak, that Keir would never know the answer. The dragon’s eerie ululations echoed across the plaza, drowning the screams of the scattering populace, a tumult of noise that seemed abruptly irrelevant.
“The night you were born,” the commander said, his voice almost lost in the snarling of the beast above, “should have been the proudest moment of my life. And then, I saw you.”
He uttered a harsh bark of sound, a laugh so full of bitterness and pain that Keir flinched.
“For twenty-five years,” Rialto continued, hate in his eyes, “I have carried the curse of your existence. I was the most powerful man in the city, and suddenly people were whispering behind my back, slandering my Family, our name and reputation blackened. They began avoiding us, shunning our company. No one would look me in the eye anymore. They were afraid the curse would fall on them.” He jabbed an accusing finger toward Keir. “My life ended the day yours began.”
“It was not my fault. I never asked to be born different.” Keir clenched his fists.
“Then you should have died!” Rialto yanked his sword free and swung with a roar.
Keir ducked and the blade skimmed over his head. In a frenzy, Rialto charged and he fell back, dodging each swoop of the weapon as the commander wielded it with terri
fying speed.
Sudden clarity sharpened his perceptions and he realized that his father’s rage had driven him to strike wildly, no logic to his attack other than blind obsession. As Rialto’s last sweep sent the tip of his sword skittering across the cobbles, Keir kicked upward, his foot smacking the soldier hard in the side of the head. Rialto rocked and staggered back from the blow. He took another swing at Keir, who evaded it, before stabbing forward with the blade. Keir danced aside and came at his father again, landing two punches to the face he knew he would hate until his last breath.
Both men were breathing hard and fury seethed in Keir’s stomach, tempered by the sure knowledge that this time he was not the one who would be beaten. This time he faced Rialto on equal terms and the exhilaration of it sang in his blood.
In a moment of strange calm, Rialto lifted his sword as if in salute. Keir hesitated at the gesture, confused by it, then his father sprang at him, insanity lighting his gaze. The sword plunged toward him, aimed at his heart. Without conscious thought, Keir twisted and the blade slid past him. He threw himself into Rialto, the impact jarring every nerve. Furiously, he reached for the sword’s hilt, his nails gouging into the commander’s hands until he wrenched the weapon free. With a shout, he shoved Rialto aside and raised the weapon high.
Rialto lay panting at his feet, fear replacing the rage in his eyes as he gazed up. A conflict of desires paralyzed Keir. At that instant he wanted to strike the man down, kill him as he surely would have been killed. Even as the urge consumed him, something within him prevented it. Even now, at the height of his fury and loathing, the thought of taking a life repelled him too deeply. He lowered his weapon.
“Keir.” Quin materialized at his side, her horse’s reins wrapped around her hand as she grabbed his arm and tried to draw him away. “We need to go!”
He came woodenly, his steps jerky. He could not tear his eyes from those of his father, hypnotized by the depth of his abhorrence, a stream of dark energy that bound them irrevocably. Even in defeat, Rialto would not let go of his hatred. Had he truly earned that? Would that remain his inheritance too? The brief flush of triumph at his father’s defeat soured in that moment and left him sickened. He allowed Quin to guide him away, obeying her numbly as she placed reins in his hands and indicated that he mount with a shove.