by Darian Smith
Brannon let the darkness in his chest fill him. “Better that than allowing you to kill our royal family and control a mage.”
Somewhere in the crowd, Claydan cheered and laughed, a maniacal, fatalistic sound.
Shool's voice was puzzled. “What have they done?”
The goela wasp's wings began to flap, faster and faster, the droning buzz sinister in the sudden quiet. Then another broke free of the arm's flesh and joined it. Then another. Still more broke free from the ice hidden in other backpacks as Draeson's magic released them.
The first wasp sank its stinger into the Father of Starlight's face. Kreegin screamed and swatted at the insect but it was too late.
Brannon scrambled back to Tomidan. The boy was loose, Darnec having worked on the ropes. The others joined them and huddled together. Brannon gripped Tommy's face in his hands. “We're going to shield you, okay? It's going to be all right. No matter what happens, you stay under cover until the screaming stops.” He looked around at his friends. Draeson, Ylani, Taran, Ula, Darnec—even Claydan. Beyond their small group were the Risen and the Children of Starlight. The goela wasps were swarming about, stinging where they could. Paralyzing their victims and seeding them with larvae. “Whoever is alive after this will get you home, Tommy. We'll make sure of it.”
Draeson gripped his shoulder. The mage had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was pale. The dragon tattoo was a faint smudge on his cheek. “Our group is too big, Brannon. I don't think I can cover us all.”
“I help.” Ula raised herself up. The whites of her eyes were gone, replaced by the glossy agate of her avatar form. Her breath came ragged and heavy but her jaw was set with determination. “Kaluki!” she boomed. The Risen all froze and turned to stare at her. “You no longer serve the Prior Shool.”
The inner wind of her power rushed through the room like a gale.
Shool wailed. “You cannot!”
Ula ignored him. She made a fist and jerked it as if pulling on a string. “I bind you to me!”
Every Risen in the room jerked as if in the grip of a seizure. Then they turned and circled around Brannon and his group. They pressed themselves together, forming a wall of undead flesh between their new mistress and the deadly wasps. When the first layer surrounded them, still more packed behind them to fill the gaps, then more climbed up onto their shoulders and leaned out to brace themselves on the top of Tommy's post, forming a sort of roof. Their bodies blocked the sight of the Children of Starlight dying around them.
“It not all solid but . . .” Ula shrugged.
Brannon swallowed. “It's good. It's a start. Draeson?”
The mage reached out and let his freezing mist pour from his hands. Ice filled the spaces between the bodies of the Risen, sealing the group inside an impenetrable tomb of flesh and ice.
Then they sat on the floor and listened to the buzzing of the wasps and the screams of those outside the fleshy frozen wall until, at last, all was silent.
Chapter Forty-One
“So there's no such thing as a frost wolf?” Aldan said, frowning. They sat in the smaller audience chamber of the palace. The day before had been a whirl of reunions and celebrations. After days inside the protective shell made of magical ice and half-living Risen, waiting for the goela wasps to die off, then the careful escape, avoiding the infested corpses with larvae maturing within, the journey home had been a blessed relief that had left Brannon as keen for celebration as anyone. Draeson, once rested and recharged with some of Tommy's blood, had sealed up the Assassin House like the tomb it now was and they hoped no one would ever find it.
The return of Prince Claydan was a miracle no Kalan had dreamed to see. Brannon's small party, exhausted as they were, had been swept up and paraded through the streets to cheering citizens throwing flowers and streamers. Brannon hadn't seen the like of it since the end of the war. The festival was still happening throughout the city, but Brannon and the king had stolen a few moments to deal with the details of what had happened.
“Oh no,” Brannon assured him. “There is. We just never had one here in Alapra. Marrol and his mage killed their victims with scratches and frozen hearts to make us think there was and when we didn't realize what it was, they planted the chrysalis to make it even clearer. But his goal the whole time was to kidnap Kalan children to sell as slaves. He intended to import silk and export people.”
“Charming. At least we have him in custody. I'd feel a lot happier if we had his mage as well.”
“So would I,” Brannon admitted. “I'm still not entirely sure why he kidnapped Draeson. I worry we haven't seen the last of him.”
“We'll be vigilant,” Aldan said. “At least we know he exists and some of what he can do. And Draeson can look after himself.”
“Usually.” Brannon rolled his eyes. “Taran should be safe now too. There's no one left in the House to come after him.” They'd gathered enough stardust elixir before they'd left to last the priest months and his supply line of ingredients would be back in place well before then. Which was lucky because they now had two princes of the realm who needed the stuff as well. “The Father of Starlight said he'd sent someone after you. I was worried.”
Aldan snorted. “Oh, he did. But I can still handle myself when I need to. That particular Child of Starlight took a walk in the courtyard from a third-floor window.”
“That first step's a killer,” Brannon muttered.
Aldan chuckled wryly. “Indeed it is.” He leaned back in his chair. “I suppose now you're going to tell me how Ylani helped save my son's life and Tommy's.”
“Well, she did,” Brannon said.
“And I suppose you think I should let her send those infernal swords back to Nilar.”
“I do.”
They sat quietly for a long moment. Aldan picked at the leather straps on his scabbard. “I'm not giving this one back though,” he said at last.
Brannon chuckled. “I think that would be an acceptable compromise.”
Aldan smiled and there was a lightness in it that Brannon hadn't seen for many years. Not since his wife and son had gone missing, presumed dead. “It's a pain in the ass how wise you've gotten, Bloodhawk.”
“Ahpra's Tears, I hate that name.”
Aldan chortled. “I know!”
“It's good to see you happy again.”
The king's eyes glistened. “I have my son back,” he said. “You did that. You and your team. Thank you.”
Brannon felt his own lip tremble. “I loved him and Sharela too,” he said. “Finding Claydan again . . . was a miracle.”
“It is.” Aldan pulled himself upright in his chair and took a deep breath. “But I get the feeling that's not all you have for me today.”
Brannon sniffed and nodded. “Astute as always,” he said. “Magistrate Gawrick wanted us to discuss my role as Master of Investigations and how it fits within his authority . . . or doesn't.”
Aldan raised an eyebrow. “Been giving you trouble, has he?”
“Something like that.”
“Send him in.”
The magistrate wore his formal robes and carried himself with a haughty air. He bowed low to the king and murmured a greeting. “I'm grateful to Your Majesty for seeing fit to assess the value and scope of Bloodhawk's new role at this early stage.”
“Sir Brannon is the King's Champion and Master of Investigations, magistrate.” Aldan's voice was firm. “I don't recall seeing the title Bloodhawk in any of my formal documentation or decrees.”
Gawrick flushed. “Of course, Your Majesty. I mean no disrespect. I merely alluded to Sir Brannon's much praised skills in battle. His strengths are proven in those areas—his return with Prince Claydan attests to that—but in matters of investigation and the law, he is but a fledgling bird. Myself and the other magistrates would consider it a great honor to mentor him and his team. Guide them in matters of jurisdiction, ethics, and the like.” The corners of his mouth turned up but the smile didn't reach his eyes. “Perhap
s we could allocate the cases so there's no conflict with our own investigations.”
Brannon clenched his jaw. Without his team's investigation, Eaglin's murder would have been left as a mugging gone wrong and dozens of Kalan children would be headed to a life of slavery.
“It's good that you bring up the issue of ethics, magistrate,” he said. “There were rumors that the parents of missing children were being told their cases would only be investigated if they paid for the service. Does that seem ethical to you?”
Gawrick folded his arms. “It seems like rumor, just like you said. Rumors don't qualify as evidence. They're just the bitter words of disgruntled folk who don't understand the investigative process.”
Aldan leaned forward in his seat. “These are serious allegations, Brannon. And the magistrate is right, hearsay isn't evidence. Was anyone you spoke to willing to testify?”
Brannon sighed. “Not on this matter, Your Majesty. Those who would have spoken up were all killed by the man masquerading as a frost wolf.”
“Ah. Well then.” Aldan sat back again.
“But we do have a witness to another matter.” Brannon signaled and a guard opened a side door.
Ula stepped into the room with Natilia at her side.
Gawrick paled. “You're dead! This . . . this is a trick. It's not possible!”
Brannon watched the man squirm. “It's very possible,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “Prioress Ula was kind enough to use her skills to turn our former harbor master into a Risen. Did you know the Risen have access to the memories of their host body, Gawrick? I don't suppose you did. It made for a very interesting conversation. How you recruited her for the Father of Starlight, to feed him information on Draeson and the timing of the gold shipment. How you knew she needed money because Darnec wasn't the only one in that relationship with a gambling problem and you'd forced her to work for you in return for avoiding debtor's court. How you spend far more than a magistrate's salary in some of the seedier parts of town. There's more. Do you want to hear it?”
The magistrate spluttered and blustered. “Lies! Whatever she's telling you is lies. The Djin witch is making it up! Natilia's ex-lover killed her. Darnec. There were witnesses! Real witnesses, not animated corpses.”
“Darnec says she was alive when he left,” Brannon told him. “And the witnesses can't say she wasn't.”
“They can't say she was, either.” Gawrick drew himself to his full height, his hands clenched and trembling. “Once again, you've nothing but made-up stories. A dead witness under the influence of Djin magic is no better than one still in the ground. You've got nothing on me. Nothing!”
Brannon glanced over to Ula. She met his eyes and gave a nod. Brannon smiled. “That might have been true,” he said, “had we not had my team searching your home and your office while you were waiting for this audience with the king this morning.” He tutted and raised an eyebrow. “Want to know what they found?”
Guards filed into the room and took positions around Gawrick. One of them carried a large bag, the kind a sailor might carry all their belongings in. He dropped the bag on the floor in front of the king and it struck the floor with a loud clank. “We found this in the magistrate's home, Your Majesty. It's a good portion of the stolen gold. There's more back at the house.”
Gawrick bolted for the door. The guards lunged after him. One of them closed his hands on the black magistrate robe, but Gawrick tore open the fastenings and the fabric slipped from his shoulders. He almost made it to the door when the Risen Natilia punched him.
He toppled like a felled tree and lay still.
“Oops,” said Ula. “Risen sometimes hard to control.” She winked.
Laughter bubbled up in Brannon as this, the last of the mysteries weighing on his chest, was finally put to rest. There'd been more death over these past weeks than he'd wanted; but fewer, he knew, than if he and his team had not done their work. Justice, at last, had been served.
King Aldan's eyebrows were raised and Brannon could see the mirth in his friend's eyes. “Well done. Well done indeed.” He clapped his hands in applause. “Prioress Ula, your skills have been invaluable to us already and I can see they would be of enormous use to Sir Brannon in the future. You are welcome in Kalanon. Will you stay?”
Brannon held his breath as he watched the Djin woman consider it. He hoped she would stay, but when she spoke, there was none of her dry humor in the words. Instead, they had the dark ring of prophecy.
“Yes,” she said. The beads in her dreadlocks chattered as she nodded her head. “There be much trouble coming to this place. It good I be here when it does.”
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Thank you for taking the time to read my book. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it.
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About the Author
Darian Smith lives in Auckland, New Zealand with his wife (who also writes) and their two black cats (who don’t).
By day, he works with people who have neuromuscular conditions such as muscular dystrophy or charcot marie tooth disease. He is also a qualified counsellor/family therapist and can be seen – by those very swift with the pause button – on television shows such as Legend of the Seeker and Spartacus.
For more information about Darian and his upcoming work, please check out his website at
http://www.darian-smith.com
Shifting Worlds
A collection of short stories by Darian Smith
Foreword by Jennifer Fallon
Drag queens fight zombies.
An immigrant artist hopes love conquers all.
Deep space explorers wrestle with an alien artifact.
A superhero is locked in an insane asylum.
These 16 stories span the worlds of fantasy, sci-fi, and literary fiction, and cause the characters’ worlds to fundamentally change. Includes several prize winning stories as well as some that are seen for the first time in this collection.
“Never fails to entertain and surprise…this collection has it all” – Jennifer Fallon
Excerpt:
There’s a moment, just before waking, when I forget it’s gone. I feel the ghost of it on my shoulders, the warmth inside. It boosts my confidence and makes me stronger. I am more myself. I am ready to rule the islands and mould the day to my bidding.
Opening my eyes is a disappointment. My old bones ache with craving. It’s been missing from me for almost three decades, but I feel it just the same. I’m simply an old man with his memories and regrets. I had my chance. I was not worthy.
Get your copy at Amazon.com & selected bookstores.
Currents of Change
by Darian Smith
Haunted house. Haunted heart.
When Sara O’Neill goes on the run, she believes the tiny New Zealand town of Kowhiowhio is just the sanctuary she needs. But a dangerous presence haunts her new home, threatening Sara’s chance at peace. Can she create a new life while dealing with ghosts from the old?
For local electrician, Nate Adams, parenting his young daughter alone has not been easy. Even with his help, can the house – or Sara’s heart – be repaired?
Someone doesn’t want an O’Neill in Kowhiowhio. Sara’s return is awakening generations of secrets.
Why has the house never had electricity?
What was the fate of Sara’s ancestors?
Can she discover the ghost’s story before it’s too late?
The truth will set…something…free.
"Well-paced paranormal romance. . . would appeal to readers who like a good ghost story, with a little bit of history and a dash of romance in the mix."
- SQ Mag International Speculative Fiction eZine
"Such an engaging mix of paranormal ghost story and modern day mystery and suspense that one can hardly put it down." – InD’Tale Magazine
Get your copy at Amazon.com or selected bookstores.