Captive Desires

by Diane Whiteside

  “Never!” shouted Kyle and Nora.

  Good, Nora had grabbed another microphone and was leading the cheer from that end of the arena with her entire family.

  “To what do we pledge all our hopes?”

  “Torhtremer!”

  All of the fighters on the floor were chanting now, plus the masqueraders. Peter Jacobsen, the movie producer, jumped out of the stands and onto the arena floor.

  Larissa started to wave her arms in a great stylized clap and the audience caught the beat immediately.

  Danae could see threads of energy, like glowing strands of color, spinning through the hall and into her skin.

  “Who will be victorious?” she demanded.

  T. Sanderson helped Miss Xenia off the stairs and into the center. They joined H. S. McCain and the marshals in roaring out the next response.

  “Torhtremer!”

  Danae anchored the threads of chi on herself and sent some strands through Alekhsiy, spinning strength into him to replace what he’d lost. He gasped briefly, then stood more vibrantly erect.

  “Who will live in peace forever?”

  She needed to see their destination next . . .

  “Torhtremer!”

  The crowd roared their enthusiasm, generously donating their chi. The stands strengthened with every syllable and the giant scoreboard overhead vibrated like a tuning fork.

  The icy mountains and beach snapped into the monitors, clear as a travelogue.

  Time to go. She silently framed her request in the Language of the Beasts, then shouted in English to her friends.

  “Who will we dream of forever?”

  “Torhtremer!”

  A black hole, edged in diamond shards, appeared directly in front of them. Good-bye, Earth.

  Alekhsiy’s hand tightened on hers and they leaped into frigid, whirling winds.

  Every light in the arena exploded behind them, destroying glass and electronics in a fiery, iridescent rainbow so completely that their shards couldn’t injure anyone below.

  The crowd screamed and prostrated themselves, only daring to stand up after several agonizingly long minutes. Shards twinkled like stardust on the floor and their ears still rang, making flesh and blood quiver in tune with the waves of that strange, far world. A child sighed and cloth rustled in distant darkness, like a coat waiting to be picked up for a long journey. A small light appeared, creeping into a shadowed corner, and another and another.

  “And I suppose,” commented Andrew from the control booth, devoutly grateful some of his emergency lights had once again survived, “some smartass will think that was the Fourth of July show and expect me to do better next year.”

  GATES OF BELUKHA IN THE BIYSK MOUNTAINS DAWN

  The sunshine, such as it was, glanced off the mountainside and the last pair of red eyes disappeared behind a boulder. The road was dank with foul dew, prophesying a worse day than the previous night.

  “May the gods be praised, I never thought we’d see the last of those hell spawn,” Jeirgif grumbled. Like everyone else, he was bustling through his morning chores, leavened by the pressing need to prepare for attack. They’d built themselves a strong fortress the previous evening but improvements could always be made.

  “Or rather, you thought we would see all of them, instead of merely their eyes,” Igoryok corrected him.

  “Are you trying to encourage us—or show us the truth?” Zhenechka demanded, busily knotting colored yarn charms. Igoryok wasn’t surprised she’d finished her assigned chores before anyone except himself and was working on her own ideas of necessities.

  “Truth,” he admitted wearily. He’d slept little, his dreams having worsened with his proximity to their source.

  “In that event, you might want to dip some arrows in this. I’d trust you with it but few others.” She excavated a well-wrapped vial from her pack and passed it to him.

  His eyebrows beetled at her unusually strict caution and he uncapped it to take a wary sniff. “Faugh!” He quickly tapped the cork back in. “What foulness did you bring?”

  “Zemlayan fire ant venom,” she retorted.

  “Oh ho ho.” That changed much. He rubbed his face and settled back on his heels, reconsidering his strategy. Her single vial should hold . . .

  She intercepted his glance, of course. “I have two others of the same size,” she snapped.

  “If three drops can kill a grown man, how much does it take to kill a chimera?” He turned as businesslike as she.

  “An arrowhead’s worth, according to my herbals.”

  “You’ve been collecting this for a long time!”

  “You met my husband, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” he agreed cautiously.

  “What better hobby can you think of? More’s the pity, I didn’t get to use any of it on him.”

  Igoryok closed his mouth.

  Somewhere an animal howled hungrily, neither honest wolf nor friendly tiger. It was answered by another in deep rumbles, which echoed through the mountain slopes themselves.

  Despite all common sense, everyone stopped to listen and paid for it with bone-deep shivers.

  “Feodor has the best arrows. We’ll start with his,” Igoryok announced briskly, cutting into the last echo. “We must make haste.”

  “It could not be done by firelight,” Zhenechka reminded him and began to fish in her immense pack.

  “Of course not,” he snapped. He was not a youngling to overlook the dangers of poor light when combined with such bitter poison. “But with Jeirgif’s Barnaul wood torches and our blessed fire from home, we now have a chance against some of the monsters.”

  “Slighter than we’d prefer, since they breed fast.”

  He clenched his fists, lest he be tempted to wring a woman’s neck for bringing another nightmare into vivid daylight.

  SOMEWHERE IN TORHTREMER

  Danae spun and spun through the blackness, lights whipping past her like an astronaut’s wildest space walk. Cold flayed her skin and ripped into her bones, attacking her innards.

  Only Alekhsiy was real—vibrant and alive like a beacon of hope. His arm locked around her, silently offering his own experience as a promise that this, too, could be survived.

  She pulled herself closer to him and held on, grappling to save their chi from the storms battering them. Somehow they had to survive and be ready to fight. Somehow . . .

  Her father’s ring rubbed her hip, a node of silver light amid all the chaos. She pressed her arm against it, comforted by the reminder of her family.

  Did the spinning stop for a moment? Or did the void simply come to an end?

  The sky broke open with a thunderous clap. They plummeted rapidly downward toward a gravel-strewn beach, bordered by boulders and ice. The web of force released them—and they dropped like stones through the last few feet.

  She landed with a thud on the beach, on her feet and desperately grateful for her boots—and years of training at being tossed and thrown about.

  Her stomach promptly rebelled at its treatment and tried to leap out of her throat. She gagged hard and fought to keep it down.

  The sky slammed shut again, booming again like a fighter jet blasting into supersonic speed just above the ground. She wavered but didn’t fall over. One small victory for womankind . . .

  Alekhsiy groaned and stood erect. “By the gods of war, I have finally made it back across the void. Many thanks, my lady.”

  She cautiously matched his stance and dared to look around. This was definitely the beach she’d seen on the monitors. It was nothing anybody would choose for sunbathing. In fact, an Alas kan fjord would have been more inviting.

  Steep mountains bordered this place on two sides, while the ocean frothed and tore at it from the third. A glacier carved out the fourth side in an angry green wall of moving, knife-edged ice cubes. Icebergs, probably the children of the glacier behind them, surged through the sea. A heavy wind ripped salt spray off the waves and flung it into their faces, like an offer
of drowning. Ice lurked between the gravel and boulders underneath their feet.

  Alekhsiy spun to survey their surroundings for their enemy, moving sure-footedly over the nasty terrain. His armor’s damn spell had probably already compensated for this wretched environment.

  Danae shivered and tugged her hood over her head. Pulling on her gauntlets helped some but not enough. But no matter what, she’d survive.

  She revolved slowly, trying to consider as many spots as possible. The ocean looked truly nasty. She paused, drawn by one particularly odd spray pattern to their north.

  “There.” Alekhsiy pointed at a small figure in the promontory farther south of them along the beach. “That’s Turner.”

  “But that’s not an iceberg or just another wave. It’s too small and too low.” She pointed at the bizarre, ongoing waves.

  He stared at them for far too long until her blood ran cold again.

  “The Imperial Terrapin is coming in the flesh to claim his catalyst.” A muscle throbbed in his cheek.

  “Crap.” She spun back to stare at Turner’s rapidly receding figure. She shivered, but not from cold. “How can we stop them? I don’t think I could send him back to Earth, since he doesn’t have any dragon’s blood. But what if I worked a spell or something?”

  “I would not advise trying it.” Alekhsiy’s expression was very grim.

  “Why not?” she demanded, arms akimbo. Dammit, they had to do something.

  “The Tungur Sea is the very core of Azherbhai’s magic and this shore is imbued with it. Do you truly believe he’d permit you to harm the human who holds all his hopes?”

  An evil voice seemed to laugh at her from beyond Alekhsiy’s shoulder.

  A bitter smile touched her lips. “Perhaps not,” she agreed reluctantly, “but we have to try something.”

  “If so, make the attempt small lest it recoil upon our heads.”

  What might work, but wouldn’t harm Alekhsiy? What was she also sure she could perform with a spell? Telekinesis was supposed to be similar to spellcasting and Earth studied psychics a lot, although she hadn’t. Perhaps that understanding would aid her in this knife-edged world.

  “May a whirlwind of stones rise up and assail Turner,” she chanted softly in the Language of the Beasts.

  A small mound of stones formed in his footsteps, no more than knee-high.

  Yes, oh definitely yes! Excitement surged through her and she started to run forward.

  Alekhsiy’s hand locked over hers and held her back. “Wait,” he growled.

  She shot a disgruntled glare at him but obeyed.

  The rocks lifted themselves into a whirling cloud, like a small tornado, and hurled themselves at Turner. But they fell back, bouncing away from him, as if they’d encountered an invisible wall. They formed themselves into a low-flying cloud, flying north like buzzing insects over the gravel.

  Danae gaped at them, shock chilling her muscles more completely than the cold.

  Alekhsiy flung himself on her and covered her with himself.

  The bits of gravel and rock flew over their heads. They collapsed back into place a few meters later, leaving the beach smoother than it had been before.

  Instinct, stronger than intelligence, demanded she lose every bit of backbone and become a worm once again.

  “Standard wards.” Her lover announced and lifted his head cautiously before sitting up.

  Sensation returned to her once again, reminded her of skin, muscle, tendons—and her beloved’s warm stolidity beside her. He was a fighter and so was she, dammit. At least she’d proved she could do magic on this side of the void.

  “Standard wards?” she queried, trying to sound casual. She stood up and tried to brush off her clothes.

  Would another spell clean the mud and ice off? It did.

  Shit, she was starting to act like a real sorceress.

  “They protect a friend by reacting with equal force against an enemy. The Imperial Terrapin won’t waste chi by adding extra energy.” He brushed her lips with his finger. “Today he does not need to, since he will be here very soon.”

  “Oh shit.” Terror laughed at her from just beyond the corner of her eyes and she blinked it quickly away. Dammit, this was no worse than an opening night without a rehearsal and she’d done that.

  Okay, so she’d sworn never to do it again. But she had pulled it off before.

  “I’ll distract Azherbhai,” she announced quickly. She was a sorceress, she had magic, but Alekhsiy didn’t. So she’d face the heavyweight. “Once you take out Turner”—and she didn’t want to know how—“that big turtle will leave town.”

  “My lady, I cannot permit you to do that.” He caught her face in his hands.

  “Both of us have to do our jobs.” She rubbed her cheek against his palm like a cat, gathering up comfort. “You just get out there and do yours fast.”

  “Once I retrieve my amulet from Turner, I can summon help.” He offered a slight smile, which he probably meant to be hopeful.

  She gave him her best one back, which she hoped looked more confident. “Sounds like a great plan.”

  “My love.” He kissed her hard and fast, too quickly for anything except the intensity of his passion to blaze through. She caught at his shoulders for an instant to steady herself and gave him everything she had in exchange.

  And he was gone, without looking back.

  She turned away, lest she bring any sort of bad luck to him by watching him out of sight. Then she started trudging up the beach toward the glacier, the closest point to Azherbhai’s approach to the beach.

  Boris stretched, pleased with how fast he was recovering from his trip. Damn, but that fall had been intense. If he ever went back to Earth, he could make a fortune selling it as a roller coaster. Or maybe not; there was a better life waiting for him here, as soon as his master arrived with the staff. Once he had that, he and his master could strut anywhere they wanted across Torhtremer.

  All he needed now was a few more minutes until his master arrived. Pity his master couldn’t fly here, too, but that was for dragons and phoenixes—who couldn’t swim like his master.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, seeking warmth, but met chunks instead. Irritated, he pulled out his cell phone and hurled it into the sea.

  The next lump was his enemy’s pendant, now a dead brown hulk of rock, exhausted from transporting him to his destiny.

  Water surged and frothed beyond the glacier and a flipper lifted in greeting.

  Hell if he needed this thing anymore.

  He dropped the amulet and ground it under his foot.

  It exploded with a small, keening wail and a brief burst of light, before drifting into dust.

  BHAIKHAL

  Khyber burst out of the throne room and onto the terrace outside, bellowing his war cry.

  “By all the gods of war, what has gone wrong?” Mykhayl ran to meet him, Dragon’s Breath unsheathed in his hand.

  “Alekhsiy’s amulet is crushed.” He roared again and smashed a section of stone railing with his tail.

  “Where did it happen? What of Alekhsiy?” Mykhayl demanded.

  “At Chulym Beach. I do not know where your brother is.” He looked up to meet his mate’s eyes.

  Svetlhana’s tongue swept out to polish her fangs and he could have snarled. Damn her for being so feminine, she didn’t have to be correct so often. At least she wouldn’t say I told you so in public.

  Mykhayl went white and almost staggered against his wife.

  “Chulym Beach?” Corinne queried gently.

  “It’s also called the Grave of Heroes, since men try to kill the Imperial Terrapin there when he comes to spawn. Instead, he destroys them and turns their weapons into jewels, which wash up onto the beach for him to admire.”

  “Do you believe Alekhsiy is alive?”

  “I do not know that he’s dead,” Khyber parried carefully, unwilling to expose his own lack of knowledge.

  “But . . .” Mykhayl stopped, reco
gnizing that was the only answer he would be given.

  “Take us to Chulym Beach,” he demanded. “Between the four of us, we’d be sure to defeat Azherbhai and his new catalyst.”

  “We will have to fly. I cannot gate to another imperial beast’s spawning grounds.”

  “But that could take hours,” Corinne wailed. “If Alekhsiy’s there now and needs help, anything could happen.”

  “He is not alone, little sister,” Svetlhana reassured her catalyst. “He will have aid.”

  “Who? What kind of help?”

  “A sorceress.” She sat down and curled her tail around her toes. “A White Sorceress—but a very inexperienced one.”

  Khyber’s fanged snout dropped open. Where had his beloved found one of those and would it be enough?

  Truly this would be a battle for commoners and the untried, not High Kings and imperial beasts.

  THIRTEEN

  THE GATE OF BELUKHA

  Another wave of hydras hurled themselves along the road toward Igoryok’s band, their many heads interlacing with themselves and their brethren to pull themselves forward ever faster. Their single long tail heaved and pushed, as if straining to devour the men struggling to defend the narrow gap between the mountains. The stone smoked where they passed and melted into a rippled glass.

  A chimera yowled in pain behind them and dragged itself away, every step slower than the last. Its golden body bore a hideous likeness to a lion, yet black drool marked where it had slavered in anticipation of yet another hapless meal. Its goat’s head, surmounted atop the lion’s back and containing its sole intelligence, bleated in frustration to the skies. Its narrow serpent’s tongue, located where a true lion’s tail should be, nipped at the road in dying fury.

  Yet two more hastened around the corner, trampling over it in their haste to join the fray.

  Igoryok’s remaining troops hurled back more hydras from high atop the battlements, slashing through their thick hides with axes and swords. Rough logs supplemented the once stout stone bulwarks.