Kortiama reached the landing and crashed into the wooden door. She fell to the ground, rolling in pain. “The hell?”
Climbing back to her feet, Kortiama tried to open the door, only it wouldn’t budge. She reached into a pocket and procured a key, sticking it into the keyhole and turning it. She tried the door again—no luck. This isn’t right. The door to the tower could only be locked from the inside.
She yanked on the pull ring, pushed as hard as she could, but still the door wouldn’t move. Kortiama pounded on the door. “Solais, this isn’t funny! Let me out.”
“I’m not playing a game, Korti,” Solais said on the other side. She exhaled hard, and something heavy hit the door. “I’m doing this to protect you.”
Kortiama’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t been the only one learning these past few months. I’ve done my own training. I’ve scoured for every bit of information I could find to ensure I could effectively stand by your side. And I found one. A challenge for your position.”
A challenge? Could someone challenge her claim? How would they gain control of the Mandate? Kortiama wasn’t even sure where to find it. Tharne had warned her she’d have three years from the announcement or the birthright claim wouldn’t matter.
“The challenge is a duel to the death.”
Kortiama swallowed, the muscles in her neck tightening. Is that true? Why didn’t Tharne warn me?
“But I’m not about to stand by and watch you fight that,” Solais continued. “I’m the better fighter. You’re good, Korti, but we both know I was born to swing a blade. And you can have someone duel in your stead.” She took a heavy breath. “We both know Rikton won’t stand for your birthright claim. He’ll challenge you, and I’ll be there to fight him.”
Kortiama placed her hand on the door. “Solais, you don’t have to do this. We can face him together.”
Her sister’s voice lowered. Kortiama thought she caught a slight quake to it. “I won’t fail you. I promise.”
“Solais!” Kortiama cried out when her sister ran off. Silence was the only thing to respond. She hit the wooden door with a clenched fist. “Dammit, Solais. You’re such a fool.”
Her hands fell to her sides. Solais wasn’t the only one, though. Kortiama should have known her sister would pull something like this. As vicious of a fighter as Solais was, she didn’t lack intelligence. She was the mastermind behind nearly all of the schemes their little band of misfits had perpetrated. And she was always the one to get them out when they got into hot water.
Kortiama wasn’t like her sister; she didn’t have the same ferocious fighting spirit. She didn’t know how to create brilliant schemes. Kortiama’s hands balled into a fist. But I’m not an idiot. She had charm, and grace, and knew how to use them. She thought of the big picture, when Solais thought only of the obstacle in front of her. Solais was a good fighter, but she wasn’t the best in the clan—not yet. Her focus on winning Kortiama’s place as clan leader blinded her to that fact. Not that Solais would ever admit she’s not the best fighter as it is.
Eyes darting about, Kortiama looked for a less obvious way to escape. She was at the tower’s lowest point. She peered out the nearby window, but she was still too far up to jump. She looked again at the door. Could she muster enough strength to move whatever was blocking it? I’m not strong, but… Her eyes wandered up the stairs. If she got a good enough start and braced herself, maybe she could budge whatever was blocking the door. She might even topple it over if Solais had picked something tall and top heavy. Worth a shot.
Kortiama rushed up the stairs, going about two levels’ worth. Taking a deep breath, she sprinted down, praying she didn’t lose her balance. When the door came into sight, she braced herself for impact.
Excruciating pain shot through her shoulder when it collided with the door. Kortiama fell back on the ground, holding her injured arm. Ow… Nice going, Korti. That didn’t work… The door hadn’t budged at all.
Slowly, she got to her feet, working out the pain by rolling her shoulder. She took an annoyed breath and kicked the door with her heel before pacing. Think, Korti. Think. She had to get creative.
She stopped dead. Wait. Magic! After she’d accepted her fate as the new Lord Captain, Kortiama had worked with Liadha on honing her arcane abilities, improving her mana reservoir and control. In an unexpected way, it helped her accept her duty little by little over the last few months. Maybe it was because it helped her get closer to her mother—learn just a little more of what she was missing. Or maybe it was because it allowed Kortiama to understand her heritage better.
He fist clenched. That reasoning didn’t matter. Now that practice is going to ensure Solais doesn’t face this alone.
Question was, did she have the right spell at her disposal to help her in this moment?
Kortiama ran the limited spell list through her mind. I could disguise myself—Korti, how the hell would that help? She shook the thought from her head and skipped over her non-combative spells.
She had a lightning spell that wouldn’t help her much. Then there was a scorching fire spell. Yeah, that should work. This spell should easily destroy the door. It was also the most powerful spell she had in her arsenal.
Kortiama took a deep breath and backed up. She didn’t need to be too close and get burned in the process. She focused inward, searching for the dormant energy within her. Something sparked, and she grabbed it, willing it out and muttering an incantation. She lifted her fingers, and the moment the incantation finished, a warm glow enveloped her fingers before a hot ray of fire shot toward the door.
The fire slammed into the wood surface, spreading across it quickly and then dying just as fast. Kortiama lowered her hand and her heart sank at the sight of the still-standing door. The spell had only blackened the surface. “Dammit…”
That should have worked. Now what am I going to do?
Kortiama began to pace, thinking about her spells again. She needed something with the same force, but more concentrated. She halted in her tracks. Wait, what about… It couldn’t hurt to try that one. Combined with the damage the previous spell created, it might just work.
She backed up farther than the first spell. The force this one created could seriously injure her if she didn’t put enough distance between her and the door.
Once far enough up the stairs to still see the door, but protected some by the stone walls, Kortiama drew up the energy needed again and muttered the incantation. She lifted her fingers, and arcane energy leapt from three of her fingers and careened toward the door like fast-moving arrows.
Kortiama ducked behind the wall, crouching down and covering her head just as the arcane bolts collided with the door. A resounding crack echoed loudly through the staircase. While she’d done her best to protect them, her ears rang from the deafening volume.
When things finally calmed in her head, she peered around the stone walls of the tower. Splinters lay strewn about the floor, three sizable holes now broken into the door. While they weren’t large enough for a person to fit through, Kortiama could see the large chest Solais had used to block the door. Well, that worked, sort of. She’d get an earful from Eyro and Tharne for the destruction, but they’d understand once they heard her story.
Kortiama picked her way over to the damaged barrier to inspect it. As she thought, she wouldn’t be able to squeeze through, but the fire spell had weakened the wood, so a few swift kicks should allow her to change that.
She struck the damaged surface a few times before a large portion broke off. That should be enough. Kortiama squeezed through the narrow gap, contorting herself around the chest. Sorry, Solais, but I win.
Now free, she took a deep breath and then sprinted out of the villa for the village.
4
Grand Choosing
Dark waves crashed against Kortiama’s skiff. The full moon shone brightly in the clear sky above, guiding her way. By the time she’d reached the village,
the ships had long sailed for the secluded area where the choosing took place. Still, not all hope was lost. The choosing had been off-limits to the children before they’d come of age, but Kortiama and her band had learned the whereabouts of the grand event and found a way to sneak in.
Sailing there wasn’t much of an issue, but the wards had always been troublesome. Of course, combined heads, and some help from Liadha, had always gotten them through the traps and they’d been able to witness the choosing many times without being caught. Liadha… Kortiama still wrestled with things. Everything the witch had done for her now made sense. But could she rightfully call Liadha her mother? Though it is nice to know I’m related to such a strong and powerful woman.
The grand ships of all the other clans came into view, drawing her attention back to the matter at hand. Lanterns illuminated the decks of the vessels she sailed past, but few crew members manned the decks. Instead, they stood watching one ship in the middle, the only one lit up in its entirety, and full of life—the Dasati’s flagship, the Midnight Manta. Kortiama ground her teeth together. It’s already started.
She pushed her skiff on toward the main vessel, noting the different flags flying on ships. Not all were Dasati. Tharne had warned her that for a Grand Choosing, more than just the Dasati would be present. And from the look of the number of ships anchored, he hadn’t exaggerated. Archite, Fleckeri, Poruso—all thirteen clans were present for such an event.
Kortiama made it to the Midnight Manta, but now she needed to find a way to get up. She couldn’t expect any help from above, so she’d need to rely on herself and any tools at her disposal in her skiff. Kortiama rummaged through the sailing supplies at the bottom of her boat, finding climbing hooks. Perfect. Hooks in hand, and sure she had her rapier, she made haste up the side of the wooden vessel.
When she made it to the top, she climbed over the railing and tried to see over the massive crowd on deck. Where is Solais? She needed to know the state her sister was in. Was she okay? Was she winning? Did Rikton pull any dirty tricks to ensure a win and rip her sister away from Kortiama forever? She couldn’t tell. Too many stood taller than her, and that wasn’t okay. I need to get closer.
Kortiama had no qualms about pushing her way through or demanding passage, especially when some didn’t care to listen. Kortiama knew the faces of these ones—Rikton loyalists. They’d follow him to the ends of Arinthar if he demanded it—but she wouldn’t be deterred. Kortiama would prove she could handle her birthright claim, no matter the odds stacked against her.
When she finally found herself on the inner edge of the dueling circle, her breath caught at the sight of the massive buccaneer looming there. Solais is fighting him? Kortiama’s heart raced, her breath coming short as her eyes darted around for her sister’s wild mane, yet she didn’t see Solais. No—instead, a familiar older gentleman stood before the imposing figure—one who’d always greeted her with a smile and offered her tea every chance he got. His breath appeared heavy, his sword drawn, the kindness she knew replaced with hardened purpose. Wait… that weapon!
Eyro didn’t carry just any sword, he wielded a katana—an ornate green katana. Only one man she ever knew wielded such a blade, and he had never drawn it. It can’t be… Eyro can’t be—
The hulking buccaneer swung his sword. Kortiama gasped as her beloved gardener dodged with surprising speed and sliced into the man with two quick strikes. The challenger howled in pain, but wasn’t deterred.
“Don’t fail me,” a familiar voice said from the other side of the wide circle.
Kortiama spied her uncle Rikton, his eyes fixed on the man fighting her champion. She wasn’t surprised. She knew Rikton wouldn’t fight himself, but that didn’t matter. While she didn’t know where Solais was, Eyro had put his life on the line for her. She wouldn’t allow her uncle to win.
Kortiama rested her hand on the hilt of her rapier and held her head high, her voice ringing out above the din of the crowd. “Emerald Blade, you know what you must do.”
Her words carried a tone of authority that surprised even her, drawing the attention of every onlooker. A ripple of astonished chatter coursed through the crowd. She suspected that may happen the moment she spoke his old name. If his weapon hadn’t been a dead giveaway before, not many could deny the deceased privateer was back from the dead.
Even his opponent gave pause, his eyes now reflecting his uncertainty. The Emerald Blade had never lost a fight.
Eyro turned his head just enough to look at her and nod, his eyes burning with a fighter’s spirit despite his fatigue. “Aye, Captain. As you command.”
All these years, Kortiama had believed the Emerald Blade was dead. She blamed herself for that. Her foolishness had led to his demise, just like the others. But here he was—had always been. Her beloved gardener; the man who loved tea far too much and taught her how to properly wield a blade.
He’d never left. He’d stood by her side, guiding her in so many ways. And now, she repaid that by believing he’d defend her honor.
Rikton’s face pulled into a haughty sneer as he looked her way. “Aw, the sea-legless little girl playin’ capt’n finally decided to show up. You’re too late, girlie.” His eyes focused on his lackey. “He ain’t no fabled Emerald Blade. Just an’ old man. Kill ‘im quick-like, I ain’t got all day.”
Kortiama’s hands balled into tight fists, her shoulders squaring. She wouldn’t allow her uncle to intimidate her in any way.
Eyro’s stance changed—not a lot to the untrained eye, but Kortiama knew him—knew how he fought. He was going in for the kill. Rikton’s champion came in for another swing, and Eyro ducked and rolled out of the way, using the momentum to propel him forward and take two quick strikes at his opponent. Blood spattered across the ship’s deck, yet the two attacks seemed to do nothing to the hulking man as he raged and took another swing for Eyro.
Her champion ducked, though narrowly dodged, his balance thrown off. A knot formed in Kortiama’s stomach. This was too stressful for her liking. As much as she trusted in the skill of the legendary Emerald Blade, she’d never actually seen him fight. He was said to be undefeated until the day at the villa, but what kind of opponents had he faced in his time? Could he kill a mountain? Or would a mountain crush a gemmed blade? Oh great, I’m talking like him now.
Rikton’s champion landed a heavy blow on Eyro. Kortiama’s hand flew up to her mouth as he went flying across the deck. All manner of reactions came from the crowd—some excited, some surprised or worried.
Rikton’s lips spread into a sick, toothy grin. “Finish ‘im. Teach this Emerald Blade he should have just stayed dead, where he belonged.”
A deep, guttural chuckle came from his hulking champion and lifted his sword to swing down a deadly strike.
No… No… No! This couldn’t happen to him. “Emerald Blade—”
“Don’t worry, Captain.” Eyro drew to his feet even as his opponent swung, his posture strong, showing his sureness. “I promised I’d defend your honor. And I intend to keep that promise.”
He took a breath and then his whole body went still, his eyes closing. Kortiama’s heart raced. What was he doing? How would what he was doing win her this duel—the very duel that would decide her fate as leader of the Dasati clan?
Eyro exhaled, and then in nary a blink, he disappeared. A ripple of unfamiliar energy whisked past Kortiama, though she was too focused to register what it could have been. Rikton’s champion’s blade slammed into the wooden deck, the force so great it cracked and splintered the wood. Then suddenly, Eyro reappeared behind the man, his sword extended as if he’d struck. Kortiama watched crimson liquid drip from his blade. What did he just do?
Her champion dragged the blade over his poised leg, wiping the blood from it, and then sheathed his weapon. Rikton’s champion collapsed on the ground, his body separating into two parts where the blade had cleaved him through. Blood and viscera covered the deck, the pungent odor of bile filling the air.
Everythi
ng went still. Not a sound could be heard, save for the waves lapping against the boats. Is it… over? Numbness fell over Kortiama as she tried to process what had just happened.
Eyro let out a heavy breath. “The Lord Captain’s honor remains. Her birthright claim is held.”
A deafening uproar enveloped the ship. Some cheers, some not so much. Yet Kortiama couldn’t care less. She rushed over to Eyro just as he collapsed to one knee. She placed a soft hand on his shoulder and bent down. “Are you alright?”
He chuckled. “I may be old, but I’m still a warrior, my dear Korti. Don’t you worry about me now. Address the clan and take your title with honor.”
She nodded. “You have some explaining to do after, though.”
Eyro snickered and gave a curt nod in response.
Kortiama took a deep, calming breath, then stood up straight and rested her hand on the hilt of her rapier. “Clans of the Saricordi. I am Kortiama Ozden. Daughter of Eboneye Ozden and Liadha Rowan. Just before his—”
“Ye really think anyone believes yer the daughter o’ my brother, girlie?” Rikton chuckled and then spit on the deck. “A scrawny, unproven brat like yerself?”
“Captain Liadha uttered it from her own lips.” A devilish smirk spread across Kortiama’s mouth. “But, if you’d like to challenge her claim, Rikton, I’m sure I could find her.”
“No need,” came a familiar voice from the crowd. Onlookers practically jumped out of the way of Liadha as she approached the inner circle. Her sable eyes dead set on Rikton, the promise of death for his insolence clear for anyone to see. “And here I thought you didn’t have any balls, Rikton. Must have swiped them from the filth you scatter around under the docks, to even think of challenging me.”
The darkness in her eyes deepened, and Kortiama swore she caught traces of arcane forming on the witch’s fingers. “But if you really wish to repeat that challenge and test yourself again me, I won’t stop you. I’d be more than happy to wipe the seas clean of your pitiful existence.”
Tales From Thac Page 8