Dagger-Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  Josiah remained silent. He stilled his hands, not wanting to give away the progress he’d made.

  Elanore was staring at him, and at the goats. “All this time, I thought you dead.” Her face was blank, almost frighteningly so. “When word came, I could scarce believe it. I had to find you, to see you, to tell you that I still love you.”

  “You used me to lay claim to Athelbryght,” Josiah grated. “Elanore, you destroyed my people, my land, and my life.”

  “No, no, beloved. I never intended to destroy.” Elanore’s smile was gentle and perfect, but her eyes were cold and dead. “I just wanted to combine our lands, our people. The men I sent, the mages, they made a mistake. I never wanted—” Elanore drew closer, her hand outstretched.

  “Unless you want your face to melt away again, I suggest you keep your distance,” Josiah snarled.

  Elanore snatched her hand back. Her face changed, taking on a look of cunning and greed. “How did you do that, Josiah? What happened to you?”

  “You did.” Josiah wasn’t going to give her any help. He needed information, though. “They said you were wounded….”

  That lovely face twisted. “I’d linked with the mages that I sent to Athelbryght. There was a backlash through the link, and—”

  “Linked?” Josiah glared at her. “So you saw the battle, saw the attack through them. You knew what they were doing, damn you.”

  Elanore smiled, a slow, wanton smile. “You have no idea, Josiah, of the sheer pleasure power can bring. To feel them die, to feel that energy, that—”

  Sickened, Josiah looked away.

  Elanore kept talking, almost crooning. “They were to subdue you, and bring you to me, Josiah. You had no real battle magics; it should have been fairly easy.” Her voice sharpened. “But somehow, when you stayed conscious enough to prepare a final blow, you had power that I’d never sensed in you before. And now…”

  Josiah looked back at her. Elanore’s eyes had narrowed, and she was studying him closely. “Now it seems you have a new power. A power I need to understand.”

  She gestured, and her eyes began to glow. “How did you manage to live through that final strike? And how did you drain—”

  A shriek pierced the air, a cry of defiance and rage. “Athelbryght! Athelbryght!”

  Josiah’s head jerked up. “Red!”

  “SHE’S set a piss-poor watch, that’s for sure,” Red growled. “Sloppy.”

  She’d crawled through the brush to get a view of the enemy camp. Tattered tents hastily set up, in no particular pattern. Nothing to brag about, certain sure.

  “We can take advantage of that,” Riah whispered. He lay next to her in the tall grasses. “There’s plenty of cover to hide us as we circle around.”

  “He’s in the tent in the center. The one set up around the tree.” Onza’s eyes were glowing softly with his spell. He lay next to Red, being careful to keep low.

  “You see him?” Red asked sharply.

  “No.” Onza shook his head. “It’s more what I don’t see. There’s a lot of magic down there, but not in the central tent.”

  Red grunted. “Makes sense.” She turned to Alad, who lay next to her in the bushes, his face streaked with dirt. “Take ten men, circle around to the far side, and attack when you hear my battle cry.” Red focused on the tent. “Riah, you and your men attack from here.”

  “She’s got more of those undead than humans,” Riah pointed out.

  Red nodded. “Kill the men first, then we’ll concentrate on the undead.” She looked over at Onza again. “You use your magics from a distance, eh? We need you to get back.”

  Onza nodded.

  She turned back to Alad. “You remember what Evelyn told us about Odium?”

  Alad nodded. “Go for the arms and legs. Crush the spines. Don’t bother with thrusts to the chest or belly. We remember.”

  Red nodded. “Go, then.” Alad and his men faded back into the woods. She watched them move, then turned to Riah. “Take your men, and do the same.”

  Riah nodded. “And you?”

  Red stiffened. A woman in a fancy court dress was coming into view, headed for the main tent, the one with the tree in the center. “I’m going after Josiah.”

  JOSIAH had no more said her name than a blade appeared in the side of the tent, slicing through it with ease. Red stepped through, dagger in a defensive position. She took in Josiah with a glance, and then focused on the woman opposite him.

  “The whore of the Black Hills, I presume?” Red asked.

  Elanore screeched, and flung out her hands. Flames shot from her fingertips, headed for Red, who darted behind Josiah. The flames licked close….

  And then popped out of existence.

  Josiah almost laughed out loud.

  “Who are you?” Elanore demanded.

  Josiah felt gloved fingers on his, then a touch of cold steel. Red’s voice came from behind as she sawed at the ropes. “I am the Chosen, bitch. And this man belongs to me.”

  Elanore clenched her fists in front of her chest. “No, no, no—” She shook with fury, a rage that Josiah didn’t understand. “He’s mine, mine—you hear me?”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Red popped her head around Josiah’s shoulder to look at Elanore. “I heard tell you weren’t very juicy.”

  Elanore shrieked, gestured, and rained fire down on them.

  Red pressed herself against Josiah, and they watched as the flames danced around them. “Always thinking, aren’t you?” Josiah whispered.

  Red didn’t take her eyes off the enraged mage. “Yup. And she’s not.” Red’s breath was a warm puff on Josiah’s ear. “She’s burning herself out, and where’s all that power going, Josiah?”

  “Athelbryght,” Josiah whispered. He looked at Elanore, who was chanting and gesturing, throwing everything she could. A gale wind rose about them, swirling through the tent, tossing chairs and bottles around. But not a breath of wind touched them.

  “You had to be this tall,” Red muttered. Stretched on tiptoe, she sawed at the ropes with her blade. “Keep an eye on her.”

  “She’s going to kill us,” Josiah said calmly.

  “Not with magic.” Red kept working. “If she gets close, I can kill her. But I can’t leave your protection and—”

  Elanore screamed again, her fury rising even as she stopped to take a breath. The gale wind faltered and dissipated.

  “What’s the matter, Elanore? Too old, too slow?” Red taunted. “Or is it that time of the month, love? Or maybe you no longer bleed, eh?”

  Elanore’s face mottled with red, and she raised her hands again, as if to strike. But she seemed to reconsider. She called out something, and there was movement at the tent flap.

  “Damn,” Red stepped in front of Josiah, pulling her sword.

  Two men came in, moving slowly, their skin gray and their eyes staring blindly. Odium. There was a stench about them, a putrid smell of rotting flesh.

  “Kill her,” Elanore demanded. “Kill her!”

  Josiah yanked at the ropes, trying desperately to free his hands. They strained where Red had cut into them, but still held him captive.

  The Odium shuffled forward, and Red snarled. She waited, at the ready, until the first one moved forward, swinging its club.

  Red dodged to the side, and sliced down, cutting into the arm, pulling the blade back to try to inflict as much damage as possible. The Odium ignored the wound, and stepped forward, raising its club—

  Only to crumble to dust at Red’s feet.

  Red laughed. “Well, that was certainly clever, whore.” She danced back a bit as the other Odium made the same mistake.

  “Red Gloves. I’ve heard of you, bitch,” Elanore spat. “What are you hiding, whore? Talons? Scars?”

  Red’s fury flared in her face, but she kept a grip on her weapons and stayed close to Josiah. “Do you use those creatures for other things, Elanore? They might not mind a dry bit of puss—”

  “Gutter scum!” Elanore
screamed. “I’ll have your gloves and your tits on a platter.”

  “That’s as may be, but I have what you will never have again.” Red swiftly turned her head and kissed Josiah.

  Josiah blinked at the press of her lips, but the kiss was fleeting. Red was keeping her eye on her opponent.

  The woman turned to the table, apparently looking for something to throw. Red twisted about, and charged, sword and dagger at the ready.

  It was a feint on Elanore’s part. She turned toward Red, and flung out her hands. Magical force slammed Red Gloves back through the air to crumple helpless at Josiah’s feet.

  Elanore cackled, picking up Red’s dagger. She moved closer, her face once again melting into a horror. She leaned down, and tugged at Red’s glove.

  “No!” Josiah said. “Elanore, don’t—”

  Even as Josiah struggled against the ropes, Elanore ripped the glove from Red’s right hand.

  THIRTY-TWO

  JOSIAH roared. He yanked downward, breaking the ropes that bound him. Elanore had one startled moment to look at him before he lunged forward, grabbing her by both arms.

  She looked up at him in horror. “No, don’t…”

  Josiah shook her, furious beyond words. “Damn you! The Lord and the Lady damn you to darkness and despair.” He forced her back, away from Red’s body. She struggled, dropping the dagger. Her face was in agony, as if his touch was…

  He was draining her.

  With a fierce gladness, Josiah pinned her against a table. He held on tight and stood there, breathing hard, as Elanore struggled in his grip. He couldn’t see the magic, but he knew he was hurting her, absorbing her carefully hoarded power, maybe draining any that were linked to her.

  Elanore sank to her knees, and he followed her down, keeping his grip. Her perfume filled his lungs, cloying and sickly sweet. Memories came back to him, a wave of disgust. Had he ever really loved this woman? Josiah grimaced, but he did not let go.

  Elanore’s mouth worked, but no words came out. Her struggles weakened as he pulled her power from her.

  Josiah leaned over, putting his lips by her ear. “She’s right, you know. She has my heart.”

  Elanore’s ruined face crumbled then, and she sobbed out a ragged whisper. “Please, Josiah. Please don’t….”

  Josiah stood there for a long moment, his eyes closed, then he cast her from him, letting her fall to the carpet. Elanore lay there, crying weakly.

  A sound from behind. He spun, and saw Red rousing, her eyes opening, coming conscious, staring in horror at her bare hand.

  Her perfect, pale hand.

  NONONONONO. Red threw her head to the side and squeezed her eyes closed. No, please, no, not that—

  “Red, Red, it’s all right.” The voice was the softest of whispers, but it was as a lash on her back. Red jerked away, scrambling back as best she could with one hand in the air. Nonononono….

  Warm arms wrapped around her and held her tight. A hand grabbed her wrist. “Easy, kitten.” The voice sounded puzzled. “I don’t understand—”

  She’d trusted him. He was her uncle, her only remaining family. She’d followed him everywhere after her parents died, right through the doors of the brothel, to be sold to the madam. “You’ll whore for her, and be damned,” he’d said. “They’ll pay high for one so young,” the madam had said.

  “Red, listen.” The voice was soft and warm in her ear. “I’ll put the glove on, but you have to open your fist.”

  She’d been damned. Used, and misused, bound and helpless, hurt and damaged past caring, past hope. Made to serve, made to touch, made to pleasure with her hands. Disgusting things, nasty things.

  Strong arms held her close, and pressed her face into the shelter of a warm chest.

  She wept and cried and begged, but it went on and on and on. Until the night they’d had at her hard and fell asleep, leaving her with one hand loose and a blade close.

  “Oh, kitten,” the voice breathed. “You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm. Kitten? Can you hear me?”

  They’d paid, all of them—the men, the madam, the whores as well. They’d all paid in one night, a small girl and a sharp blade had seen to it. She’d crept down halls and into rooms, silent, careful, until all that was left was to leave.

  “It’s on, Red. It’s covered. Open your eyes, kitten. It’s safe to look.”

  She’d left, with a sharp blade, some coin she’d found, and gloves to hide her horrible, horrible hands.

  Hands that had done nasty, disgusting things.

  Hands that had slain the men who had hurt her.

  Hands that had killed her uncle, lying in the next room with another of the whores.

  She’d never look at her hands again, and would kill any who tried. Any who—

  Red’s eyes snapped open.

  Josiah’s face was close to hers, his brown eyes filled with caring. She was in his arms, cuddled close on the floor, and he was holding her hand, now covered with a glove.

  Her dagger was on the floor next to them.

  Had he seen them? Seen her shame?

  She’d never look at her hands again, and would kill any who tried. Any who—

  “There’s fighting outside,” Josiah said softly. “We can’t stay here.”

  Red blinked, trying to clear her head. She’d—

  She’d never look at her hands again, and would kill any who tried. Any who—

  Josiah stood, and offered his hand. “Are you all right?” he said, frowning, his eyes filled with…

  She’d never look at her hands again, and would kill any who tried. Any who—

  …love.

  She stared at him, seeing it for the first time. Seeing it for what it was. They’d shared their bodies, yes, but Josiah was sharing something else. He was sharing his heart.

  Red shook with fear, and swallowed hard.

  Josiah shifted, and she saw Elanore collapsed on the other side of the tent, starting to rouse. Her throat was dry, and it rasped as she tried to speak. “What—”

  Josiah stood. “I drained her. She won’t be working magic anytime soon.” He reached down, and pulled Red to her feet.

  Red let him pull her up, then stood there a moment, staring at her gloved hands.

  She’d never look at her hands again, and would kill any who tried. Any who—

  She reached down and picked up her dagger, looking at the bright, sharp blade.

  She’d never look at her hands again, and would kill any who tried. Any who—

  She looked up into Josiah’s eyes. Brown, with gold flecks, filled with—

  She’d never look at her hands again, and would kill any who tried. Any who—

  She could not kill him.

  Her body quivered, every old instinct telling her to kill the man who had seen her hands. But the new instincts, the new feelings, the ones she felt for him and only for him, cried out against it. She saw again his dead face in the bog, felt the grief that had overwhelmed her.

  Josiah stared at her with concern, the goats at his feet.

  Red shook her head, trying to clear it. “Battle—fighting—outside.”

  Josiah nodded. “I’ll go look.” He stepped to the flap and lifted it. “A few Odium, from the look of it. I’ll just…” The flap fell as he left.

  Red frowned, looking after him. Then she turned and focused on Elanore, who was struggling to stand. A threat, a threat to herself.

  And Josiah.

  Red moved to stand over her, her dagger in her hand. Elanore looked up, her face a tearful ruin, her hands clutching the fabric of her dress.

  Red scowled at her. “And what do I do with you?”

  Eleanore’s eyes sparkled with hate.

  “Did you see my hand?” Red asked.

  Elanore’s eyes went wide, and she stared at the blade before her. “No.”

  Red relaxed slightly. “I believe you.”

  Elanore snarled, “It doesn’t matter what you do with me. My magic will renew, and I’ll ki
ll you then, and all you care for, until Josiah is mine again. I’ll be back, Chosen.” She spat on Red’s boots. “Put me in a dungeon, or a high keep, or a lonely prison cell. I’ll be back, and more powerful than ever.”

  “No, you won’t.” Red said calmly.

  Elanore tilted her head up and spat a curse.

  With a swift slash of her dagger, Red sliced her throat.

  Elanore collapsed, and Red stood over her, dagger in hand, and watched to make certain the bitch died.

  RED ran outside and into Josiah’s arms as he tried to come back into the tent. “They’re still fighting,” he whispered. “I listened for a bit, and I think your men are close. Did you bind her?”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Red said hastily. She kept a hand on his arm as she stepped past him and looked around. She could hear the sounds of fighting coming from around the tents. She drew her sword, and made sure the bloody dagger was not in Josiah’s sight. “Let’s see if we can help.”

  Josiah nodded, and followed as she moved between the tents. The goats trailed behind silently.

  Riah was fighting an Odium, who’d managed to grasp his sword arm. Red ran forward, aiming for the neck of the creature, and Josiah followed right behind her. The Odium crumbled to dust, its magic drained.

  Red checked her swing. “You know, that takes all the fun out of it.”

  “Speak for yourself, Chosen.” Riah was breathing hard, with gashes on his arms that ran with blood.

  “We’d better see to those wounds,” Josiah said.

  “Later,” Red ordered. “Let’s find out—”

  A sudden noise, and both she and Riah were on their guard, taking a protective stance beside Josiah.

  Alad came around one of the tents, Onza at his side. He smiled when he saw them. “We finished the last of them. The Odium are destroyed, Chosen, and the living have fled.”

  Red and Riah relaxed. “Our men?” Red asked.

  “No losses, no major wounds.” Alad grinned. “We can loot—”

  “Do it. Take whatever supplies you find.” Red sheathed her sword. “I’ve an army marching on Edenrich, and I must return. I’ve an hour’s hard ride to get back to a portal. You’re going to have to bring Josiah to me overland.”