Dream of Darkness and Dominion

by Hilary Thompson

  Turning from the crowd, he surveyed the training grounds and the troops spread before him.

  These men and women, this Northern Army of Riata, were his charges as much as the court would now be Corentine’s. When he’d accepted the position of General, he’d vowed to protect not only the King and Queen, but also his soldiers. They had sworn loyalty to their rulers, but also to him. Their respect and honor went both ways.

  He hoped the court would develop a similar relationship with this girl.

  FatherSun knew how much Riata needed it.

  A soft din to the west drew his attention from the exercising troops. The palace rested at the top of a large hill, and the training grounds provided a gentle slope down to the forest beyond and the gleaming sword of the Conqueror’s Channel. On clear days such as this one, Dain imagined he could even see the glittering surface of SunMelt Lake on the horizon, although it was too many miles away.

  He could glimpse the docks, though, separating the ornamental iron gates of the city from the Channel. The water before the docks was no longer smooth like glass, but instead its depths churned with rising muck.

  The noise was coming from down there, and it was growing louder. His soldier’s instincts urged him into a light jog, and he called for one of his Commanders to follow as he headed down the curved slope and toward the broad stone stairs leading to the gate and the docks.

  The view opened just enough for him to see the edge of a long, magnificent boat creeping up the Channel. Even from this far, its black and white markings were unmistakable. His heart sank, even as a single guard sprinted up the stairs from the docks.

  “The Queen’s vessel!” the man shouted, waving frantically to Dain but never slowing.

  Dain barked orders to his Commander to rank the soldiers and send for Noshaya, whose army would be next closest. Then he broke into a full run, his mind buzzing with dread. He needed to see the docks and the vessel for himself, so he could make a plan.

  If that boat carried Mara herself, he would need as much time as possible to notify Corentine and her friends.

  If Mara had returned so soon, Corentine would have no chance. She’d have to flee.

  “What news?” he shouted to a second palace guard, who was running up a grassy side path.

  “Brujok,” the man yelled, hastening a sloppy salute. “Attack from Rurok!”

  Dain swore ferociously and waved the man on. He reversed his direction, returning to the practice fields. The boat and its mysteries could wait. He needed his soldiers. Now.

  COREN GAZED AFTER RESH, Sy, and Jyesh as they entered the palace, wishing she were at liberty to follow them. She needed to speak more with them, to check them for injuries, to ask Sy about the curse, to hold Resh tightly a moment longer.

  Part of her still hated the weakness of that last need, but a greater part admitted its truth.

  Answering the court’s interminable questions automatically, she demonstrated her shifter magic again and again for the curious crowd. She wasn’t tired, exactly, but she could feel her power sagging. The Vespa chirruped restlessly in her mind, bored with palace life already.

  She was about to end the demonstration when shouts from beyond the Lords and Ladies reached her ears, and the handful of guards around her snapped their attention to a pair of figures running toward the palace.

  An indecipherable word was shouted across the breeze, and she saw panic set in across the training field as the troops sprinted for weapons and ranks. Coren struggled to push aside the blustering Lords and wailing Ladies, searching for Dain.

  What was happening? The court scattered, running toward the shelter of the palace, but she resisted the pull of the crowd. Finally, she caught a single word from their scattered, terrified shouts.

  Brujok.

  Her heart sank. The witches were here, and the palace was under attack.

  Coren turned in the direction of SunMelt Lake. They must be down there. Running down the sloping fields, she cut in front of the scattered troops, finally spotting Dain. He was almost to the docks, leading a group of a dozen soldiers toward the Channel. Their weapons flashed in the morning sun, but Coren knew swords wouldn’t be enough.

  Snapping her wings out, she swooped up into the sky, shooting closer to the shouting and commotion.

  Below her, the docks boomed with the clash of metal swords, the fleshy whip of vines, and haunting Brujok shrieks.

  Dain rushed fearlessly into the fray, hacking at the net of vines the witches were weaving to ensnare the Riatan army. Coren knew the soldiers would never make it. There were still too few of them, and even some of these weren’t wearing armor.

  Though there weren’t more than a dozen witches, their magic would easily overpower swords and arrows.

  She shifted immediately into her full Vespa form and spiraled higher, then flipped and plummeted toward one of the witches. The Vespa inside her screamed its joyful mantra: kill.

  And for once, Coren didn’t mind at all. She would rip and slice every one of these witches if they threatened the peace she wanted.

  The woman’s body burst open beneath the force of Coren’s fall, and the pop of golden claws sinking through the witch’s skin sickened her stomach. But a broad section of the vine net withered instantly, releasing several gasping soldiers.

  Coren grinned. If this battle went well, she could use her success to prove herself to Riata. If she saved the palace, they would trust her to lead them.

  She glanced down at the dead witch. She was vaguely familiar, and Coren snapped her eyes to the boat. If these were part of Mara’s brood, had the Queen returned?

  With a start, she remembered Resh and Sy in the palace, unsuspecting and tired from travel. She vowed that not a single witch or spell would make it past this dock.

  Coren shot into the air again, scanning the ground for her next quarry. Two witches paired up to snag her, their spells shooting thick vines high in the air. Tendrils curled tightly around each feather, binding her and pulling her back to the docks.

  This should be easy work, though. Coren concentrated on the sources of the vines, shredding them and their hold on her - the way she’d done in the maze before. One wing flapped free, then a second, and she began to rise again.

  But as the vines slit open, Coren smelled the sickly-sweet odor of duskdrowse flowers, and her eyes began to roll back in her head a bit. She had mere seconds before the flowers did their work.

  With a grunt of pain, she shoved the Vespa aside and drew her wings back into her body. Her smaller human form was able to wriggle loose, and she bounced down onto the grass with a groan, scrambling free of the vines. Holding her breath against the flowers, Coren poured her power into dissipating the witches before her, peeling the skin from their mumbling lips.

  It was gruesome work, but if they couldn’t speak, perhaps they couldn’t cast.

  The women shrieked in pain and rage, nearly knocking each other over in their haste to slither off the dock and into the water. Below the surface of the water, Coren could see more vines snap shut around the witches, creating an airtight, impenetrable box. Coren searched along the ground for any duskdrowse flower heads and stomped them, crushing the sac of nectar in their hearts. It oozed harmlessly out between the petals, wetting the dirt.

  “Corentine!” a voice bellowed, and she whirled. Dain was battling another pair of Brujok, and he was losing. They cackled as they wreathed him in thorns and thick branches from the nearby brambles. His face was deeply scratched and bleeding, and his movements were growing more sluggish by the second.

  Coren sprinted to him and worked to free his face and arms, pulling apart the sources of the plant material. She wished she knew a counter-spell. Her shifting power was diminishing quickly, and the Brujok had barely been touched. The troops had been very unprepared for an attack on their own land; very few had even made it to the docks yet.

  The witches laughed at her frustration and danced away, leaving her to try and save Dain while they attacked a trio o
f his soldiers.

  “How are so few so strong?” he gasped, struggling his way out of the trap.

  “Have your men never fought Brujok before?”

  He shook his head. “They were always Mara’s and Cusslen’s to control,” he grunted, pulling the tail of his tunic up to wipe the blood and sweat from his eyes. “We never had a reason.”

  “You have a reason now.” Coren saw the blood smeared across his bare stomach and winced. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”

  “I’ll be fine. Please, help my soldiers.”

  Coren knew that request cost him nearly as much pain as his injuries, and she wasted no more time coddling the General. She called to the Vespa again, and it roused with glee. Four wings broke through her skin, and golden claws burst into being.

  Her fatigue made the shift painful, though, like a strained muscle. Gritting through the sudden change, she leaped into the air and streaked toward the group of soldiers. Dain had every right to be worried about them. Two were already dead, the breath squeezed from their bodies by ropes of thorny brambles.

  She shrieked at the witches, and they peered up, hatred in their eyes. Vines snaked up toward her in the sky, thorns hurtling from them like tiny arrows in a windstorm. She screamed, nicked in a thousand places.

  Darting and swerving around the waving vines, Coren tried to calm her mind. Did she have enough power left to break open the earth and swallow them whole, like Sy and Nik had done once to Shadow? Probably not. Her strength was waning, even as she swooped again to avoid the vines.

  Eight Brujok remained on the ground. Did that include the ones who had hidden underwater? Were there more, waiting on the boat?

  Only two lay dead below. One by her hands, and one pierced through with a soldier’s lucky arrow.

  Coren shifted enough to form lips, and she screamed at the soldiers to retreat and get behind her.

  They obeyed as best they could, struggling to pull their wounded from the tangles of plants. Coren made several darting passes down among the Brujok, scraping at least one of them with her claws. She hoped the poison worked on witches as well, and by the woman’s terrified scream, she thought it did.

  “Where is your Queen?” she called to the witches, flying higher, just out of the reach of their spells and vines. “Where is your Lord now?” She hoped her taunts would draw out more information at least, though she did wonder where Jyesh was in all of this. He should sense her fury and pain.

  “We care nothing for the Lord of Witches,” one cackled. “We are happy to be free of the burden of man. Even for show, Brujok detest the rule of man.”

  “And what of Mara?” she repeated. “Has your fair Queen deserted you?” None of the witches answered, their faces growing hard and serene with their secrets.

  She dodged a branch hurtling at her, wondering if she dared fly high enough to attempt another death spiral. Did she have the seconds to spare? The energy? Even now, two witches crept toward the soldiers, flanking them as they struggled to regroup. Where were the rest of them? The hillside behind her should be filled with soldiers.

  Unless they thought it was Mara, Coren realized.

  Dain was frantically searching the wrecked vines for his sword, and she knew he would be up and limping to his death soon enough.

  By the Magi, she would find the strength to finish this somewhere.

  Climbing higher and higher in a circle and gathering speed, she prepared for the pain of landing. She eyed her targets, tucked her wings, spread her talons, and dove, faster than lightning striking the sky.

  The impact caught three of the witches, killing one instantly and wounding the others beyond repair, she hoped. But it also snapped her head against the stone of the Channel’s sides, and blackness clouded her vision. Scraping her golden claws at every bit of witch she could find, she flailed to rise again.

  It felt like one wing was broken in half, and her remaining strength was barely enough to keep her conscious.

  Coren rolled onto her stomach and struggled to pull the Vespa wings inside her skin again, where at least they could be protected. She heaved the contents of her belly onto the ground before her just as the sound of booted steps rattled her brain nearby.

  “Grab her! Pull her back from the edge and watch the claws.”

  She registered the voice as safe, but she was helpless to stand or move her own legs. Her head felt stuffed with cotton. Strong arms hooked beneath hers and dragged her away from the Channel into the softer grass.

  A water skin was pressed to her lips.

  It wasn’t lemondrine tonic, but it did help clear the fog from her brain. Blinking, she grasped at the arms holding her.

  “Dain,” she croaked.

  “The General will be fine,” a man’s voice assured her. “You stay here, though. Backups are here, and we’re going back in.”

  He leaned her against a nearby tree and then sprinted back toward the witches. A large group of soldiers finally made their way down the slope, cornering what was left of the enemy. Swords flashed, and dozens of arrows buzzed through the air, loosed from somewhere behind her.

  Many found purchase in the lacquered wood of the Queen’s boat, which had begun to move in reverse, gathering speed as it churned back down the Conqueror’s Channel toward SunMelt Lake.

  Whoever was on that boat was retreating, cutting their losses, and leaving the remaining witches to die. Coren doubted it was Mara, though. She managed a smile, her head falling back against the tree.

  They’d done it.

  She’d proved her power and value. She’d even saved their General.

  Dain. Where was he? Was he safe, or had she abandoned him too soon?

  “Dain?” she called, staggering to her feet. “Dain?” Her voice barely carried past her lungs. Standing had been a bad idea. She felt her legs give out and her body slide down the trunk.

  “I’m here.” A strong arm halted her descent, slick with sweat and sticky with blood. “I’m here, thanks to you.”

  Her weight tipped into his chest. She reached a hand out to steady herself, and her fingers snagged his torn leather vest.

  “You saved me and several of my men. Well done, my Princess.”

  “Coren,” she mumbled, her knees buckling again. His grip tightened, and the agony of her broken Vespa wing seared the length of her spine. She sucked in a strangled breath, realizing her magic was as drained as it had ever been, maybe even more than after the fight against Mara in Rurok.

  The darkness slid behind her eyes again, instinct assuring her she was safe with General Watersend of Riata.

  Chapter 10

  RESH STARED DOWN AT Coren’s slim form in the bed before him, biting back his rage. He couldn’t believe this had happened right under their noses.

  Her chest rose and fell, and she looked peaceful. Except for the all the blood staining her skin, her dress, and now the blankets.

  “Are you certain you don’t want a healer? I can send the one who tends my troops. I trust her.” General Watersend had burst into their room several minutes before, torn and bloodied himself, and heaved her onto the bed.

  Sy shook his head again. “There are too many ways for someone to compromise her. I can feel her sources. She’ll heal quickly enough on her own.”

  “But she’s in pain,” Resh hissed.

  “I want Giddon instead,” Sy answered, stubborn in his request. “He’s the only one here I trust so far.”

  “Fair enough,” Watersend ground out. “I’d likely feel the same. I don’t know this Giddon, but I can send for him. Where can he be found?”

  Sy sighed. “I should go myself. He probably won’t even answer the door for anyone else.”

  “Then go,” Resh said, impatient for Coren. She may be unconscious now, but when she woke, she’d be in pain.

  “I’ll send two soldiers with you,” Watersend offered.

  “Better send a few to tail her snake of a brother when we find him,” Resh said. Jyesh went through walls like they were sm
oke, and he’d slipped out of the room at some point.

  Sy glared, bending to tug on his boots. He sheathed a knife at his belt and slipped the strap of his scabbard over his chest.

  “I’ll come part of the way with you,” Watersend added. “At least far enough to ensure you aren’t stopped. Then I must check on my men.”

  The door banged shut behind them, and Resh knelt before the bed, slipping into the familiar prayers he’d relied on much of his life. His string of black prayer beads rested against his heart, beneath the clean tunic. The Magi were still a comfort, no matter how much his world changed.

  Rising again after several minutes of pleas, he dipped a cloth into the bowl of water near the dressing table. With a gentle touch, Resh wiped at the blood on her cheeks and lips, peeling away the hair that had matted to her forehead.

  “Where are you?” he whispered. He may not be able to sense her sources like Sy, but he could feel that she wasn’t quite in her mind, either.

  It reminded him too much of the vigil in EvenFall, when the Vespa had gouged her skin. They had all thought she would die then. He didn’t have the same fear now, but a very different one had taken its place.

  He’d never feared losing anyone before, except maybe Sy. He’d never gotten close to anyone else. But watching her now, Resh suspected losing Coren would make him a different person. Darker. Something he might not be able to come back from.

  He rinsed and wrung out the cloth three times before her face was clean, and he heard a soft moan.

  “Coren?”

  Her eyelids fluttered open, but she struggled to focus on him.

  “Here,” he said, slipping the flask of lemondrine liquor from his pocket. He dribbled a few drops onto her lips. Her pink tongue pushed out to taste them, and Resh bit back an inappropriate groan. “More?”

  She opened her lips wider, and he tipped the flask slowly. A trickle of the drink escaped and rolled down her cheek, and Resh brushed it away with a finger.