by Giles Carwyn
A raindrop splattered on her nose. A few more spattered against her blouse.
And the storm had come.
Clenching her teeth, Lawdon looked up and saw two people arguing farther up the street. Both of them wore white robes and silver belts with the blue stones of the Zelani. Lawdon’s hand dropped to her side, grabbed a fistful of her skirt over the dagger hidden there.
The woman broke away from the man and ran toward her. She had a gruesome black eye; the whole side of her face was swollen. It looked like she’d taken a terrible beating.
“Shara!” Lawdon shouted as she suddenly recognized her friend. What had happened to her? Lawdon stepped forward, into her path, but Shara ran right past. She was practically naked in a wet, silk robe.
Lawdon spun around and sprinted after her. “Shara! Stop!”
The Zelani mistress flew down the hill and cut into an alleyway. Lawdon had never seen anyone run so fast. She tried to follow and slipped on the dusty paving stones, ripping her dress. Cursing, she jumped back to her feet and chased Shara down the alley.
When she emerged on the far side, there was no sign of Shara anywhere. Trying to slow her heart, Lawdon jogged to the center of the street, trying to see where Shara had gone. A young man in a blue tunic with a long spear ran up the street toward her.
“Did you see anyone run this way?”
The young man shrugged and kept on going. Thunder cracked overhead.
Lawdon shook her head and doubled back. Any man who’d seen Shara run by in that robe would have noticed. She tried a different street, jogging slowly. How could anyone be so fast?
She slowed at the next intersection as she heard a muted conversation.
“You can’t be serious,” a woman said.
Shara’s voice! Lawdon rounded the corner onto a street that looked out over the Ohndarien bay and stopped in her tracks.
Lightning boomed in the distance.
Shara was arguing with an exquisite young woman wearing long black robes. Brophy stood just beyond them staring at the ground. He hadn’t aged a day since Lawdon had last seen him twenty years ago.
The three of them were surrounded by a handful of the Ohohhim swordsmen with the shark-fin helmets. Lawdon suddenly realized to whom Shara was talking. That had to be the Ohohhim goddess, Arefaine Morgeon, the child who had started the Nightmare Battle.
Lawdon took a step toward them, and two of Arefaine’s guards marked her, hands on the hilts of their swords. She didn’t go any closer. She froze at the corner of the building and listened.
“Shara-lani,” Arefaine said in a kind voice. “Brophy needs help. My help.”
Shara ignored her, looking at the back of Brophy’s head. “I can help you here,” she said. “This is your home, this is where you belong.” Light drops of rain dotted the dry stone.
“Brophy does not agree,” Arefaine said.
Shara’s nostrils flared. Her hand twisted her wet robe at her side. “Brophy, talk to me. This isn’t necessary.”
“Sister, it is best if he comes with us for now,” Arefaine said. “Give him some time to regain his bearings. You can follow after you have set your affairs in order. His Eternal Wisdom and I have longed for you to visit the Opal Palace for many years now. We would greet you with open arms. A sorceress of your power has much to teach.”
Shara clenched her jaw, stepping around Arefaine, trying to get closer to Brophy, who still refused to look at her. The shark fins moved closer together. Shara’s eyes flashed, but Arefaine motioned with her hand, and the guards stood aside.
“Brophy,” Shara said. “Please look at me.”
He stared stubbornly down at the bay. The rain fell harder. His yellow curls bounced as the rain hit them.
Lawdon felt her face turning red. She felt like she was prying, intruding on this too-intimate moment, but she couldn’t leave.
“I can help you,” Shara said, holding out her hand, inches from his, but he did not move. “Like you helped me in the Wet Cells?”
“Please, just leave me alone. I need to be alone.” He fell silent.
Shara swallowed slowly. “Together, we can find a way, just like we did—”
“I can’t stay here,” he said tersely. His hands were clenched into fists at his side, and he took a step away from her. “I can’t hurt anyone else.”
Shara blinked, her jaw muscles working. “Please, Brophy. Just look at me…” Her voice quavered. She tried to take his hand. He stepped away.
She followed, moving into his line of vision. This time, he did look at her. He winced and looked away again. “Look what I did to you! What I did to Bae! You have to get away from me, Shara,” he said, his face contorting. “There are voices…And I see the blood…I can’t stop myself. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Together, we could—”
He turned to her, lips pulled back in a snarl. Lawdon took an involuntary step back, fingers touching the hilt of her dagger.
“Enough!” he shouted, the veins bulging in his neck. “Don’t you understand? You can’t help me! It’s got me, and you can’t stop it!”
Shara backed up, put a hand to her heart.
“Eighteen years I waited for you to come save me, and you never did! She did!” He pointed viciously at Arefaine. “You left me in there! And she’s the one who saved me! She’s the only one who can help me now!”
He turned and walked away. She caught his arm.
“Brophy—”
He shoved her violently backward. She slipped and fell, smacking her head against the street.
Brophy looked down at her, eyes wild. With a low, animal noise, he turned and ran down the slope.
Shara’s fingers trembled where her nails scraped into the rock. Her mouth opened, trying to form words, but nothing came out. Her flimsy robe did nothing to hide her nakedness.
Lawdon rushed forward, but two of the Ohohhim guards blocked her path.
“Just give him time,” Arefaine said, kneeling at Shara’s side and speaking so softly that Lawdon could barely hear.
“All these years…” Shara whispered.
“Shara,” the Ohohhim girl said. “Follow us later. A month. Is it so very long to wait?”
“No,” Shara said, her eyes unfocused.
“I understand where he’s been. I can help him and then—”
“No,” Shara breathed through trembling lips. “I can’t do it anymore.”
Arefaine touched Shara’s cheek. Shara jerked back and leapt to her feet. With a sudden burst of energy, she knocked Arefaine out of the way. Shara’s robe fell open as she raced past the Ohohhim guards and ran up the street.
Lawdon leapt after her, tried to block her path, but Shara shoved her aside and kept on going.
“Dammit!” Lawdon stumbled, regained her balance, and gave chase. Thunder boomed, and the rain paused for a short moment, as though the sky was taking a deep breath. Then the clouds opened up. Sheets of stinging rain poured down on Ohndarien as Lawdon chased Shara up the hill. The Zelani mistress flew over the wet paving stones, heading toward the ridge that towered over them.
Lawdon followed as fast as she could, house after house, block after block. Her burning lungs begged for respite, but Lawdon wasn’t going to let Shara escape this time. She shouted after the Zelani mistress, but the raging wind whipped the words back into her face.
Shara slipped once, fell, and got back up again. Lawdon reached the spot where she fell and found Shara’s Zelani belt, the delicate twist of silver chain with a smooth blue stone that marked her office, lying on the wet stones. She snatched it up and kept running.
They sped past the uppermost houses, across a bridge and onto a narrow path that cut switchbacks up the mountainside. The path ended at the base of Ohndarien’s wall. Shara darted into a dark archway cut into the immense fortifications. Lawdon followed, sprinting up the spiral staircase and chasing her all the way to the top of the wall. They emerged on the highest part of the battlements that looked over the Summer Seas. T
hunder rumbled, and lightning forked to the waterline.
Through the driving rain, Lawdon saw Shara standing on the edge of the parapets, leaning dangerously into the wind over the sheer drop. The rain beat on her naked skin as her robe flapped behind her like a ripped sail.
Lawdon wanted to call out, but she couldn’t catch her breath. Her legs trembled, and she felt dizzy. She leaned over, sucking in precious air as she staggered forward.
The Zelani mistress faced the fury of the storm, oblivious to the wind that tried to tear her from her perch. Shara put her hands in front of her. Slowly, she began to glow, and Lawdon paused, mouth open, words unspoken.
The rain veered around Shara’s body, creating a wedge of calm in the raging storm. The light increased until Shara blazed like a bonfire, throwing wild shadows across the battlements.
Lawdon screamed through the wind. “Shara! What are you doing?”
Shara looked over her shoulder, her dark eyes glistening with an inner light. Her gaze only lingered on Lawdon for an instant before she turned back and spoke to the storm. Her voice was low, the voice of a much older woman, and somehow Lawdon heard it over the storm. It seemed to be coming from every direction at once.
“The Archmage Rellana wrote that love and hate are illusions,” Shara said. “Pain and pleasure are one. Only the limitations of our minds make them different.”
“Shara! It’s me! It’s Lawdon!”
“‘Seek out the storm,’ Rellana said. ‘Build the highest tower and stand atop it. Invite the lightning to strike you. Only the power itself is real. Any meanings we attach to it are as fleeting as a gust of wind.’”
“She sounds like a fool without the sense to come in out of the rain!” Lawdon shouted. “Now get down from there before you kill yourself.”
Shara knelt, and Lawdon felt a wash of relief. She moved forward, holding out her hand, but the Zelani mistress did not come down. She pulled something from her wet mass of black hair and stabbed it viciously between the stones of the wall. It was a comb attached to a small, golden feather. The feather fluttered frantically in the wind and rain.
Shara caught Lawdon’s gaze then, black eyes flashing, as dark as the midnight ocean. She moved closer to the edge.
“Don’t,” Lawdon cried, reaching out, but she couldn’t reach Shara’s foot.
Turning her face from the wind, Lawdon climbed up on the slick parapet after her friend.
“It’s only another form of intensity,” Shara said, and released her spell. The wind hammered into both of them. It threw Lawdon backward onto the battlements.
Dazed, Lawdon stared up as Shara leaned far over the killing edge, held up by nothing but the force of the ferocious wind.
Shara spoke. Once again, her voice came from all around, from inside Lawdon’s head.
“‘There is only one way to be free,’ Rellana said. ‘To be truly free. Surrender to the pain, to the pleasure, to the storm.’”
“The woman was a lunatic!” Lawdon screamed. “Get off the fucking wall!”
Shara spread her arms. The flapping robe slipped off her shoulders and vanished into the darkness.
“Shara!”
A sudden flash blinded Lawdon, and a crack of thunder struck her with a hammerblow. She ducked into a ball, hiding her eyes and covering her ears. When her vision returned, Shara was gone.
“Shara!” Lawdon shouted. She threw herself onto the parapet and scrambled to the edge. Clinging to the windswept stone, she stared into the swirling abyss far below.
Book Two
A SEASON OF WINE AND STEEL
Prologue
Prince Vinghelt flailed against the hands that forced his head underwater. His feet churned the wet sand, but the two men twisted his arms behind his back and held him under the surf. He thrashed wildly and felt his bladder give way, warming his legs in the cold water.
He didn’t deserve this! It wasn’t his fault! None of this was his fault! He could explain everything!
His chest spasmed as cruel hands ground his face into the sand. Sparkles floated in front of his eyes, and his lungs threatened to burst. He made the mistake of opening his mouth. Cold, salty sea flowed in, down his throat. He coughed, then sucked in a bigger gulp.
Seawater spewed from his mouth as they pulled him out of the waves. He fell limp in their arms sobbing.
“Please…” he sputtered. “By Fessa’s blackness, I’m a Summer Prince,” he coughed up more seawater. Salty sand poured from his nose and burned the back of his throat. “I pay my debts. I pay my debts.”
A third man splashed into view. Vinghelt blinked, trying to bring the thick, blue leggings into focus. Rough hands grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up until he was nose to nose with the pockmarked face and gold teeth of Lord Faugher. The petty dustborn moneylender insisted that his debtors call him Lord. Vinghelt owed him a small fortune, and he hadn’t paid on time. No one ever gave him enough time.
“My lord,” Vinghelt croaked. “Surely we are civilized men. This is no way to do business.”
Faugher cleared his nose and spat in the water. “No, my lord. This is exactly the way I do business.”
“The other princes will not stand for this.”
“Actually, they will stand and cheer for this, Lord Vinghelt. They hate you as much as I do.”
“A prince always pays his debts. I just need more time.”
“You had more time, and you don’t pay your debts.”
“Just kill him,” Grouner, Faugher’s ape of a son, said.
“No! No! I have a plan. I can pay you back!”
“Shut up, you drunk fishlicker.” Grouner squeezed Vinghelt’s wrist until the bones ground together.” Enough of this, Father, let me end it. We drown one Summer Prince, and the rest of those wretches will come running to settle their marks.”
“With interest! I’ll pay you back with interest!” Vinghelt whined.
“You can’t pay anyone back,” Faugher said, flashing his gold teeth. “You drank and gambled away every star you’ve ever had. There are a hundred other traders swimming in gold from the Summer Deserts. It’s been thirteen years since we invaded, and you still don’t have a flake to show for it. Thirteen years you’ve been buying good wine with bad lies. I’m not selling any more.”
Faugher twisted a tuft of Vinghelt’s hair and pushed his head under. Vinghelt struggled, but Faugher didn’t keep him under for long.
Coughing and sputtering, Vinghelt squeaked, “I’ll double your money, double it!”
“How?” Faugher asked, putting his wide, squashed nose right up to Vinghelt’s. “Three months ago I gave you two hundred barrels of the finest red on the Summer Seas. That’s worth twenty thousand silver stars! And you just drank up the last flake you have to your name.” Faugher nodded at his ugly son and the henchman they’d brought along. They yanked Vinghelt upright, and Faugher slugged him in the stomach.
Vinghelt fell face-first into the water, gagging until they hauled him out again. He needed time. Time to think. The money was somewhere. He could get it. He just needed time.
“I can pay you! I swear!” he sobbed.
“Don’t insult me, Lord Vinghelt. I’m not the senile fishlicker you tricked into marrying you.”
“That’s right. That’s right. My wife has lands. Money. I can pay you as soon as the next harvest is in.”
“That would be an interesting offer…” Faugher caressed the top of Vinghelt’s head, then jabbed a thumb into the tender spot behind his ear. Vinghelt screamed.
“If you hadn’t already sold that harvest and the next five as well.”
Vinghelt sagged in their arms, salty snot gushed from his nose. Faugher looked at his son and shook his head. “This fish thinks I’m a fool, Grouner.”
“Kill him, Father.”
“I think you’re right,” Faugher said.
“No, my lord, you’re not a fool!” Vinghelt cried. “Only a fool if you kill me! I can get your money. If I die, there’s nothing.”
“Then where’s my two hundred barrels!”
“I sold it!” Vinghelt said. “Sold it to the governor of Physen just like we agreed. I got a good price. A great price! Thirty-five thousand silver stars!”
Faugher pressed their foreheads together. His garlic breath washed over Vinghelt, and he could see the man’s rotting teeth beneath the gold caps. “Then where’s my money?”
“Zandish!” he sputtered. “Zandish took it. His boys met me at the dock. They took it all! Your money and mine. I only owed him twenty-five, but he took it all!”
Grouner grunted. “Enough with this worthless drunk. Let’s just kill him. I told Bian I’d meet her at high moon.”
“Don’t push me, boy, or you’ll get the same.” Grouner fell into a sulky silence, and Faugher looked back at Vinghelt. “Zandish took it, eh? Took it all, you say?”
“Yes.” Vinghelt breathed hard, wobbling as a little wave hit him in the chest. “It’s Zandish you want. Zandish took your money.”
Faugher nodded to Tanik and Grouner. “Stand him up.”
“No…” Vinghelt whimpered. They pulled him upright, twisting his arms so hard Vinghelt was sure they would break.
Faugher hammered a fist into Vinghelt’s gut. The breath whooshed from his lungs. “Zandish…” Faugher said as he slugged Vinghelt in the face. “Is not my…” And in the stomach. “Fucking…” And in the face. “Problem!”
Vinghelt whimpered, feebly twisting his head away from the next blow, which never fell. “Please…” he coughed.
“Just drown the filth and be done with it,” Grouner growled.
Faugher grabbed Vinghelt’s bloody face and turned it toward him. “My son wants to see you die. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t let him.”
Vinghelt managed a drunken nod, finally found his tongue. “I just need one more run. Just one more. The run to Physen is dead. Too much competition. We need to think bigger,” he slurred. “The real profit’s across the Great Ocean.” Faugher was listening. Oh, by Fessa, he was listening. “Yes. They’re dying for good wine in Kherif. I can sell a barrel of your red for three hundred in Kec Lyn. And…And buy swords and spear tips for a song. They’re always short of good steel in the Summer Deserts. I could quadruple your money in three months.”