Fist of the Furor

by R. K. Ryals

  There was rustling next to me in the underbrush, the smell of leather and woodsmoke filling my nostrils.

  I glanced up to find Cadeyrn gazing past the foliage into the distant village.

  “It’s got potential,” I defended.

  His gaze met mine. “Medeisia is a country full of survivors,” he murmured.

  There was no condemnation in his words, only a grudging respect I didn’t expect. In many ways, Cadeyrn was a survivor. It seemed appropriate that he would relate to a country full of them.

  He motioned to the castle, which was closer to the ruins than the village. There was the glow of torches along the walls as guards patrolled the ramparts. Female laughter filled the night sky. Smoke and harsh music curled upward into the dark. Raemon was celebrating.

  “We’ll attack tonight. It will be more difficult and will put us at a disadvantage, but it will leave him at a disadvantage as well,” Cadeyrn informed me.

  I glanced at the palace, my eyes sliding from the burning torches to my wrists. The symbols on my skin glowed. They were no longer black and hadn’t been for hours. The rebels had to hide their hands inside their tunics to camouflage the shining marks.

  Cadeyrn’s gaze followed mine.

  “We don’t have long now,” I whispered.

  Weariness weighed me down. My breathing was becoming labored. Cold sweat beaded up along my brows. All of us were tired. Many of the rebels assumed it was because of the long march into Aireesi, but I knew better. Our marks were draining us.

  Cadeyrn’s hand grasped my shoulder, and I fought not to sink into his touch. I think if we had been alone, I would have. I would have fallen into his warmth and let myself slip away. It seemed easier than what we faced now, but I’d never been the type to give up.

  “Why do you stay with us?” I asked. My gaze found Cadeyrn’s. “There’s the possibility we could die, all of us, and you and the dragons would be left to face Raemon alone.”

  Cadeyrn’s hand tightened, his head lowering. “The best leaders are the ones who fight for the oppressed. For it is the browbeaten, the subjugated, who need leadership the most.” He paused, his breath fanning my neck. “It helps if you care about them.”

  With that, he was gone, slinking into the underbrush to gather the rebels.

  Left alone, I sagged, my hand finding the edge of a ruined arch now covered in moss and creeping plants. The trailing vines caressed my fingers, some of them crawling up my tunic. In their own way, the trees hugged me.

  “There is always hope,” they whispered.

  I glanced at the arch. The sprawling plants had left a gap in the gold when they moved, revealing symbols etched into the precious metal. I rubbed at the dirt and moss.

  Pulling back the sleeve of my tunic, I let the glow from my mark light up the place I’d cleared.

  “What is this?” I mouthed.

  The vines tightened on my arms. “Medeisia’s people were once bright and full of knowledge. They embraced their heritage. They were proud people, mostly scholars. They weren’t prepared for the devastation that Hedron’s tyrant heir brought them.”

  My fingers traced the symbol in the gold. It was an odd symbol, a tree with full, flat leaves. Inside each leaf was a strange design.

  “What are they?” I asked.

  “A puzzle, Phoenix,” the trees answered.

  Leaning closer, I squinted. I was beginning to learn things about my country I’d never known before. The Medeisians had been left a legacy, a bright legacy, which had been stolen from us. This was proof of that.

  The shapes on the leaves were mostly lines, some of them curved, others straight. They made no sense on their own. I traced them with my fingers. But together …

  It was a word, a single word. Knowledge.

  My head snapped up, my eyes finding the sky. The stars shone brightly. Smoke from the palace clouded the air, hiding many of them. I pulled the sleeve of my tunic down over my wrist and snuck away from the foliage.

  In Sadeemia, Silveet had come to me. Her words echoed in my brain. Your blood carries ancient powers, powers great enough to bring great destruction or wonderful peace. But you belong to more than one god, Drastona. You belong to three. Remember, it is often powers we overlook that grant us the means for greatness.

  Three gods. Maybe I wasn’t the phoenix, but I was an Aean Brirg, a little bird.

  The vines climbed back up the ruined arch, the trees swaying as they whispered, “Go with the gods, little one.”

  In the dragon Archives, a book had fallen open, revealing a picture my mother must have drawn of me when she was pregnant and living among the dragons. My mother had been a mage. I didn’t know what powers she’d had. All I knew about her was her connection to the dragons, her healing abilities, and an obvious ability to see parts of the future. She’d drawn a picture of me as a child, huddled in Garod’s Archives surrounded by scribes. Her words echoed, ‘There is magic in words.’

  The book in the Archives had fallen open for me. Only one goddess would have visited me there. Escreet, Goddess of the Scribes.

  I wasn’t the Phoenix, but it no longer mattered to me what others believed I was or who they thought I was. There was a spark inside of me. I could feel it. It tugged at me, tugged at my mind, turning my fingers black with ink and making my eyes burn.

  It was this spark that took me out of the foliage, this spark that pushed me toward the castle ramparts where the guards marched, torches burning bright. I’d been here before. It had been another time, another day, my knees shoved into mud, Kye’s knee at my back. Today, I stood alone.

  The underbrush rustled behind me, low, stricken cries reaching my ears, and I knew my absence had been discovered.

  I’d run out of time. Lifting my glowing wrists toward the guards, I shouted, “Ho! I am Sax, the mage-scribe the king has been looking for. I’m turning myself in!”

  I could hear the scrape of weapons, the hiss of swords both in the foliage behind me and on the ramparts above. There was swearing in the trees, and I knew Cadeyrn was cursing me. It almost made me smile.

  “Drop any weapons!” the guards called down.

  My bow hit the ground, and I kicked it away, my arrows splayed out along the snow. The castle gate rose. I didn’t know what plan Cadeyrn had to invade, but this was my contribution. He’d need a way into the palace, and I was giving him one.

  The blow to the back of my head when it came was fierce, and I fell to my knees in the snow, the sound of the trees in my ears. “Go with the gods, little one. Fly high.”

  The guards laughed. “You are too late, rebel. You sacrifice yourself for nothing. The king will enjoy watching you die.”

  With that, I was dragged through the gate, my gaze fuzzy and unfocused. I had just enough time to whisper, “Jam the gate.” It was an order, and the castle mice and animals heard it. There was sudden chaos in the courtyard, a flurry of honking geese and squeaking rodents.

  The guards cursed them, but kept dragging me backwards. The laughter and music within the palace grew louder, the gaping gate smaller. My marks grew brighter, and I blacked out briefly. When I came to, I was being dragged through the dark hallways of Raemon’s castle. I bore two marks. The power of the dragon pendant would affect me the most, but there was one thing I knew for certain. I wasn’t dying alone. The hilt of my dagger dug into my calf as they dragged me.

  Conviction filled my blood. The pendant Cadeyrn had given me was heavy around my neck. I would not die alone. For I was sure of one thing, it wasn’t always the hero that saved the world. It was the person most willing to die first.

  Chapter 27

  I was in the king’s study when I came to, surrounded by hard-faced, bearded men. My vision blurred, and I attempted to sit up only to discover I was bound to the floor, my hands anchored to the stone, like a sacrifice.

  There was no point in struggling. My tunic had been splayed open and left unlaced just past my chest. I wore a shift underneath the tunic, but it was thin enough to
reveal what most of them probably already knew. Sax wasn’t a boy.

  “You aren’t a bright child,” a mocking voice pointed out. My jaw tensed. I’d know that voice anywhere.

  “And you aren’t a moral man, Captain Neill. I suppose we all have flaws.” My voice was hoarse and winded when I spoke, and I noticed my marks were bright enough to fill the entire room with light.

  Neill came into view, his shadowed face all hard angles. His black hair had more white than I remembered, but his eyes were no less sharp. He wore chain mail with a red belted surcoat. The image of a howling wolf and two crossed swords stared back at me from his chest. I swallowed hard, bitter bile sinking to the back of my throat.

  “It’s happening,” he said. “You’re dying, and you know it. Tell me, what does it feel like to be drained of power?”

  I refused to struggle. Struggle was weakness. “There are powers out there much greater than magery,” I whispered.

  Neill faltered.

  Behind him, wood banged into stone. An unexpected breeze fanned my face. “What is this?” a man bellowed. It was another voice I knew all too well. The father of the man I’d once loved. The tyrant who’d destroyed the country I cared about.

  Neill straightened and tugged at his surcoat. “The girl you’ve been looking for, Your Highness.”

  King Raemon didn’t walk into a room, he crashed into one, his presence overshadowing all others. He was followed by five men and two women. My Uncle Garod, Taran, and Mareth were among them.

  Garod’s eyes widened. “Drastona!” I didn’t acknowledge him.

  Raemon never spared him a glance. His attention was riveted on me.

  “What trouble you have caused me, rebel,” the king murmured.

  He circled me. I was on my back on the floor, my legs spread and as anchored to the stone as my arms. I could still feel the hilt of my dagger against my calf, and I sent thanks to the gods I’d not been searched.

  King Raemon leaned over me, his gaze regarding my face. “The condemned girl who snared a prince. Tsk, tsk. Tell me, did you love my son?”

  I knew he wanted a reaction, and I gave him none. My chest rose and fell, the pendant Cadeyrn had given me sliding to the back of my neck. It was getting harder to breathe.

  My eyes scanned the room, my gaze finding an elderly man with a long, trailing beard. He wore a brown cloak that swept the floor. Master Aedan, my uncle’s scribe. I would have been shocked by his presence if Ari hadn’t warned me in the woods. My gaze beseeched him.

  Raemon straightened. “I take it you know my scribe? It took two months in the dungeons before he broke,” the king said, “but I have powerful means of persuasion.”

  Aedan’s gaze met mine. There was something dead about him, something broken, but I still saw the man I’d grown up with among the Archives. Aedan was like a grandfather to me.

  “What did you think you’d accomplish?” Raemon asked me. He paused near a table, his hands sweeping the surface. There was a loud clink, and I watched in horror as his fingers rose, two chains dangling from his hand. In his palm sat the dragon pendant. It was whole, the gold marred only by a faint crack.

  The king’s eyes found my wrists, his gaze frozen on the busted inkwell and burning star. “All mages and scribes must die,” he said vehemently.

  His hatred filled me, sending shivers down my spine, and I pulled at the ropes on my wrist.

  My gaze found Aedan’s again. “Don’t let him win,” I begged.

  The king laughed. “Win? Do you think I play a game? I was never good at games, child. I couldn’t play them without cheating.” He held up the dragon pendant. My arms began to burn, and I screamed.

  My head fell to the side, my pain-filled gaze finding Garod’s. Taran stood beside him, a smug expression on her face. Behind her was Mareth. My cousin was slack-mouthed. There was no hatred in her gaze, no gloating happiness. She’d been tortured, my cousin. I could see it. Being favored by the king wasn’t what she’d hoped.

  The burning pain grew stronger. There was a roar beyond the palace, the sound of flapping wings. Loud screams filled the halls.

  The king’s gaze found mine. “You brought friends, I see.” There was no fear in his eyes, nothing to show he was anxious about a possible attack.

  My eyes fell closed. “Aedan,” I murmured.

  I said his name now because I knew it wasn’t possible for an army of mages to win this battle. The mages were being drained of power. All mages and scribes were dying. There was nothing left but retribution.

  I pulled at the ropes on my wrists and screamed, the sound so loud it shattered all glass in the palace. I’d thrown every bit of my power into that scream. There was nothing left in me now, nothing except a normal girl who could talk to plants, but it brought my army.

  There were more screams, the sound of metal clashing against metal, but it was the sound of claws against stone that I listened for. Mice spilled into the room. Taran yelled, a bloodcurdling screech. Garod grabbed her, his palm clamping over her mouth. Horror filled her gaze as the mice surrounded me. There were hundreds of them, and they gnawed at the ropes holding me prisoner.

  Raemon watched them. There was no unease in his gaze.

  One of my hands slipped free, and the king clapped. “I’m impressed,” he admitted.

  My other hand was released, and I rubbed my wrists.

  “Do they do other tricks?” Raemon asked.

  My ankles were free now, but I didn’t move. I was too weak to move. The mice left me, scurrying from the room as fast as they’d entered it.

  Raemon ran his fingers through his beard. “Do you think this does anything? Let your rebels fight my men. Let them have a sense of accomplishment before they drop dead. Is that what you want?” He marched to the door. “Let the castle fill with men. I have allies, rebel, with armies of their own.”

  The dragon pendant in Raemon’s hands glowed. Black spots swam before my eyes.

  Captain Neill approached the king. “It must be swift,” he said. “The spell will kill the mages casting it. After that, it is useless.”

  Raemon eyed his captain, his fingers rubbing the pendant, before he turned to me once more.

  “Know this before you die, rebel. I have an army from New Hope even now invading Sadeemia. They’ll fail. I know it, and you know it, but Sadeemia will be weakened. They will need time to recover. What happens, I wonder, if Sadeemia no longer has a king?”

  My heart broke, my gaze finding Raemon’s. The insanity in his eyes was stark and terrifying. He was going to succeed, and he was going to start by destroying Medeisia’s scribes and mages.

  The king lifted the dragon pendant. My head fell back, the burning pain in my arms filling my entire body. Inside the castle and beyond it, the air filled with screams, pain-filled screams. Tears streaked my cheeks.

  Neill stood with the king, both of them watching the pendant. The crack marring the gold was beginning to mend, the combined magic from the marked rebels healing it.

  Words roared through my head.

  There is magic in words.

  Three gods.

  There is magic in words.

  My gaze found Aedan’s. The master scribe had inched closer, his brown robe sweeping the floor near my face. I stared up at him.

  “Scribes once held all the power in Medeisia,” I told him, my voice weak. “Knowledge is power. King Hedron knew that.”

  There was madness in Aedan’s gaze, madness that came only from torture, but he knelt, his gnarled fingers reaching for me. I took his hand.

  My gaze found the king.

  It must be swift, Neill had said. The king was using the magic of unmarked mages so that even with the pendant broken, the mages would give it enough power to kill the marked rebels. The mages were drawing our power to the pendant, mending it.

  “Ink,” I hissed. “I need ink.”

  There was an inkwell on a desk near us, and Aedan stumbled into it, knocking it to the floor. The king didn’t notice. His
gaze and Neill’s were riveted on the pendant. The crack was partly mended. There was no more time.

  Sliding my hand into the pool of ink, I watched as it coated my fingers. With my free hand, I slid my dagger free of my boot.

  The knife felt heavy in my hand, too heavy.

  There was a roar outside the study, and I watched with unfocused eyes as Cadeyrn came crashing into the room followed by Daegan and Maeve. Both of the rebels fell to their knees. They’d made it to the king who’d had them branded, but I knew when my gaze met theirs that they could go no further. Maeve’s cheek hit the floor, her eyes closing.

  Neill’s sword slid free of its sheath. His blade met Cadeyrn’s and sparks flew. Cadeyrn was stronger than Neill, but the prince was outnumbered. More blades slid from their sheaths.

  I crawled toward the king, my eyes on the pendant.

  A sword plunged toward the floor next to my face, the metal piercing my cheek. Blood trickled from the wound. “Don’t mo—!” a guard began. However, any other words he’d meant to say were cut off by the gurgling sound of blood. He fell to the floor next to me, his throat cut, his blood soaking my tunic.

  Mareth’s red-rimmed eyes peered down at me. She offered me her hand. I took it, using what little strength I had left to rise and throw myself at the king.

  In a tangle, we went to the floor. Raemon didn’t relinquish the pendant, but I gripped it anyway, my ink-covered fingers staining the gold.

  The dragons had gifted the pendant to King Hedron. They had to have known what that meant. They had to have known the power Hedron’s scribes held.

  I was fading fast.

  Raemon roared, one hand falling from the pendant to grab me by the throat. The back of my head hit the floor, but I didn’t let go of the pendant. Ink dripped onto my face, and with the life draining from my body, I breathed, “There is magic in words. In words, there is power. In ink, there is life.”